Chapter 9

AN: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, but school has started once again.

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Winry made a slow, foggy journey into awareness. She realised she was being carried in someone's arms, but she didn't open her eyes. She needed them to think she was still drugged.

And she wasn't so sure the drugs had surrendered the struggle either. Her thoughts were still hazy, and she still felt as though her body was made of lead.

She lay still, wondering who held her. The mystery was solved when they spoke.

"Where do you want her?"

It was Envy. Winry repressed the urge to shudder, suddenly painfully aware of the places their flesh made contact.

"Just on the table, Envy."

A woman. Her voice sounded cold and commanding.

Winry didn't move as she was laid on a hard wooden surface, arms neatly by her side and legs straightened. She controlled any urge to twitch or shift, though it was hard when the sole of her foot began to itch. She could still feel the spring tucked into her sleeve, and the book was still hidden under her shirt. Small mercies, at least.

She could hear Envy talking again, and quickly strained her ears to hear his conversation with the woman.

"So, is this happening or what?"

"Patience, Envy. The circle still needs to be drawn, as Wrath would have difficulty creating the Philosopher's Stone without a circle."

"So why is she here?"

"I prefer all the ingredients in one place. The drugs should keep her from becoming a nuisance, and they are sure to last until we need her blood. Probably beyond. Don't worry, she'll be out for hours."

Envy made a noncommittal sound, the voices diminishing as they walked away, but Winry barely heard anything else. They needed her blood? It sounded like one of those bad ghost stories that were told around a campfire.

They needed her blood...but why? Wasn't anyone's blood as good as another's? Why her, specifically? At least, Winry assumed it was her they were after – they'd gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap her anyway.

She considered leaping up from the table and running for dear life, but she felt another surge of lassitude that nearly sent her into unconsciousness again. Apparently whatever they had given her was still lurking in her system, ready to drag her back to oblivion. And it wasn't like she could jump around to stave off the unnatural exhaustion.

Winry cursed silently. Faking unconsciousness was all very well when you were in perfect health. It became rather difficult when you'd been drugged and hit on the head several times.

Still, at least the conversation explained why the drug was so strong, and had acted so quickly. It was meant to lay her out for hours, and if she hadn't puked up most of it she'd probably still be out.

Winry nearly jumped when she felt fingers brush her thigh, stroking the skin through the fabric of her pants. She recognised those fingers – Envy was back.

But he wouldn't...not while she was unconscious...would he?

When she felt his hands on her knees, slowly pushing her legs apart, Winry had to bite her tongue to suppress the urge to scream. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do; doing nothing, keeping her body limp and pliant as Envy began stroking her inner thighs. At least he hadn't removed her pants.

She heard him shift, and some deeply-ingrained instinct told her that he was on the table beside her, looming over her. One hand left her legs and brushed through her hair, running over her cheek and neck.

Winry was surprised he still thought she was unconscious. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a caged bird, she was sure he could feel it. It was a struggle to keep her muscles relaxed, her breathing even.

When his hand cupped her breast, she came dangerously close to jerking away. She couldn't take this...

'Keep still,' she coached herself. 'Keep still and don't move and he might go away.'

Somehow, she knew 'might' wasn't going to cut it.

Winry felt Envy's breath caress her face before he ran his tongue across the line of her jaw, leaving a slimy trail on her skin. Revulsion rose in Winry like a bitter tide as the hand resting on her breast flexed, squeezing the flesh painfully. Then the hand on her thigh rose, higher and higher, until it pressed against...

That was it. Winry didn't care about her blowing her cover anymore, she would not lie here and let herself be molested! She was about to rear up and kick him when a shout rang through the room.

"ENVY!"

The homunculus was tackled off of her, and Winry – fake drugged sleep still believable – remained limp, eyes closed.

"What were you doing?"

Winry recognized that voice. 'Wrath,' she thought, 'If I wasn't pretending to be unconscious right now, I could kiss you!'

"You're begging for some pain, kid," she heard Envy growl.

She was considering blowing her cover anyway to help Wrath, when another voice drifted to her ears.

"Envy, you're wanted by Master."

It was the scarily-familiar woman again. Winry wanted to open her eyes and see who she was, but didn't dare. She found herself liking whoever it was, though – after all, they'd called Envy away twice now, it was hard not to like them.

She heard Envy cursing viciously for several minutes before he stomped away. Silence reigned, and for several minutes, Winry wondered if she had been left alone.

Then she felt someone levering themselves up on the table again, sitting beside her head. She felt a brief frission of fear, until they spoke.

"It's alright, Winry, he's gone now."

Of course, Wrath hadn't left yet.

"I'm not leaving, I'm going to make sure he doesn't come back again."

Winry felt Wrath's hand move through her hair, stroking it gently. Envy had done the same thing, but this time the gesture had no malice behind it, only comfort. Winry suddenly wanted to cry. Any encounter with Envy always left her feeling dirty and defiled, and while callousness would have hardened her heart, Wrath's gentleness just made her want to break down in tears.

But she couldn't. She didn't dare reveal that the drugs hadn't worked to full capacity, even to Wrath. And if she cried, the tear tracks on her face would be noticed. So she concentrated on breathing deeply and evenly, suppressing any and all urges to burst out sobbing.

She nearly lost it when she felt Wrath slip his hand in hers, squeezing lightly. Did he know she was awake? Winry decided he probably didn't – he would have been asking her to make paper planes or something if he thought she was awake – he was just acting as though she could hear him, like people did when someone was in a coma.

He squeezed her hand again, and Winry stilled the desire to squeeze back. It was hard, she wanted to sit up and give him a huge hug.

"I like your hair, Winry," she heard Wrath say. "It's so soft...and it's a really nice colour, too. We once robbed a gold train, and your hair looks just like the gold did in the moonlight."

Winry tried to suppress the reflex blush at such a compliment. It was delivered with a child's honest sincerity, which made it all the more flattering. But if she blushed...then, as the saying went, the jig was up.

Fortunately, Wrath didn't speak again, merely sat beside her, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

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Ed remained in his seat, seething quietly. He may have to sit next to his father at their impromptu council of war, but he didn't have to like it!

"We have determined that the Fuhrer is probably involved," Roy was saying, "Which means we can trust no one else in the military."

Izumi snorted at that, her disdain for the military clear. But she didn't comment beyond that – in fact, the whole room was strangely devoid of arguments or provocative remarks. It was as though everyone had called an uneasy truce, in lieu of the seriousness of the situation.

"Worst case scenario, is that the homunculus already have the Philosopher's Stone," Roy continued, "And after all this time, it's extremely likely. The only point up for debate is the fate of Miss Rockbell."

"She isn't dead!" Ed hissed.

"What do you base that on, Fullmetal?" Roy raised an eyebrow.

Ed swallowed, stammering slightly as he searched for words. The truth was, he didn't know what he based it on – just some small, naïve part of him that kept screaming that if Winry was dead, he'd know...somehow.

"She'll be alive," Hohenheim cut in.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What makes you say that?" Izumi asked.

"You know that Dante is the master of the homunculus, correct?"

A few scattered nods.

"Dante and I...have a certain history together."

"And this would be...?" Ed prompted.

"We created the Philosopher's Stone, over four hundred years ago."

Seemingly unaware of the stunned silence around him, Hohenheim continued. "Dante will betray the homunculi – she doesn't want to make them human, she wants to continue her unnatural life. To exist for so long...our bodies can't take the strain, so we have to take the bodies of others. But the soul erodes with each transfer, and each new body begins to decay faster."

Hohenheim rolled up his sleeve, revealing a patch of skin that was blackened and crumbling, the veins standing out like pale ropes.

"So that's why Winry is still alive. She's a prime candidate for a new soul transfer, just how Dante prefers them, beautiful, young women. And Winry's blood contains so much alchemical energy, it may be able to resist the inevitable decay."

"So Winry's...immortal?" Al ventured, but Hohenheim shook his head.

"No, but her body could live out a natural lifespan before it succumbed to the decay. Dante will only kill Winry as an absolute last resort, as not only does she want to inhabit her body, but she needs living blood."

"Living blood?" Roy inquired.

"Offering a dead body to create the Philosopher's Stone does nothing. Winry's blood is potent because it contains the energy released just as those people died. But if she were dead herself, there is nothing to hold the energy in the blood, and it becomes useless."

"So Winry needs to be alive when they draw blood from her," Riza confirmed.

"Instead of debating about whether she's alive or not and what Dante needs, how about we work on getting Winry back?" Ed gritted out.

Roy picked up his previous thread. "As far as we know, there are only six homunculi, plus Dante, so we outnumber them."

That was true. Ed, Al, Hohenheim, Izumi, Sieg (her husband), Armstrong, Roy,Riza, Falman, Breda, Havoc, and Fuery gave their force a grand total of twelve.

"But," Roy continued. "We have only six alchemists, which may pose some problems."

"Not necessarily," Hohenheim cut in. "Homunculi aren't immortal in the strictest sense of the word. That old saying that a cat has nine lives? Something similar applies to the homunculi – they can only be 'killed' a certain number of times before it's permanent. Almost like a set number of deaths."

Roy blinked, slightly surprised. Though the knowledge that homunculi could be killed by someone besides an alchemist was reassuring. He'd been concerned about Riza...and the others,of course. But mostly Riza.

He sneaked a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting beside him, cleaning her guns, her mouth set in a grim line. But she had every right to be grim – this would not be any ordinary battle, this was one that they might not survive, and one that had very high stakes.

He realised he was staring and tried to drag his mind back to the task at hand.

"So, are we ready to go?"

Battle was about to be joined.