Some documents had to climb the ladder—Major Hawkeye would bring them up to Fuhrer Mustang for a final inspection. Some documents were introduced by the Fuhrer and Major Hawkeye simply had to make sure they got into the right hands.

This was one of those documents.

"Alphonse Elric has applied to become a state alchemist with dispensation from the Fuhrer.

"He has passed with exceptional marks on the written test, impressed the entire panel for the interview, and his practical exam was one of the best we've seen since his brother. Because of this, he is going to be admitted at the age of 10 as a major. Please see to it that he is fitted with a proper uniform and is found a room in the dorms.

"Until then he can reside in my house."

It was signed and dated by the Fuhrer and was a valid request for him to make. All she had to do was get a copy to recruitment, housing, and the seamstress. She had already received information that he would be working directly under the Fuhrer, so she wouldn't have to give a copy of the information to his commanding officer. Getting a uniform to fit him would be a different

She slowly began scrawling out notices to each department worth notifying. For now, Al's mail would go to the Fuhrer's house. He would get his enlistment notice, his call to the seamstress to get a uniform, and eventually, when a room opened, a dorm assignment in the Fuhrer's mail.

As Havoc drove Al to the Fuhrer's residence, the boy seemed to lose part of the light in his eyes; the jovial grin he had worn so well over the past month as a carefree child vanished as the ten-year-old stared woodenly at the rapidly disappearing military scenery.

For the first few moments in the car, Havoc tried to treat Al as a child. When he tried to explain why Fuhrer Mustang lived so far from headquarters, Al simply said in a tired monotone, "It's to make the people feel as if the Fuhrer is accessible. It was also a deal struck with some members of Parliament—corrupt, of course, but certain to increase the value of the neighborhood." At first Havoc was afraid he would stare openly at what seemed to be a stroke of brilliance coming from someone so young, but as he remembered the Alphonse he had known—hiding kittens in his armor, trying to get Ed to drink milk, and always, always trying to make sure they both stayed on their goal—Havoc was shocked that Al, so expressive as an empty suit of armor, could be this stiff doll, able to pick military and political science strategies out of a public relations campaign effortlessly.

Eventually Havoc adjusted his mirrors, increasing his blind spot, but making it so he wouldn't have to see those lifeless eyes every time he looked back at traffic.

When they made it past the two security gates and all the way up to the Fuhrer's front door, Havoc readjusted his mirrors to make sure the drive home would be safe. Then he waited several beats for Al to open the car door, but as the seconds ticked by fruitlessly, Havoc undid his seatbelt and opened his car door in one impatient, frustrated movement. Havoc made his way over to the rear passenger door and in a similar fit of rashness yanked it open.

Havoc almost regretted his impatience when he looked down at slate-colored eyes, blinking as if adjusting to the light. But as Havoc saw the corners of Al's mouth perk up into a smile, albeit a sad one, and slight emotion returned to the boy's eyes, Havoc helped him out of the car, plastering a grin on his face, content to see that some of the light had returned to Al's eyes. "Come on, boss," he said with that insatiable grin, watching Al steady himself, balancing his weight between his feet gingerly, like a cat. While Al had seemed wooden and lifeless in the car, he now seemed almost childlike in the sun, the only evidence of his adult responsibilities the crumpled pink paper in his trembling left hand.

Havoc had seen the original copy signed by Major Hawkeye, passed to the Fuhrer and then sent out.

Major Alphonse Elric, the Resurrection Alchemist,

We have received your request to stay at the military dorms in Central, however, we currently have no space to place you. As Fuhrer Mustang has requested that we not transfer you to East City, he has set up accommodations for you in his guest room. You will be notified as soon as a dorm room is available, but until then, I will have your mail transferred to the Fuhrer's residence. You will be expected to wear your uniform to work. Please pick up the uniform we currently have available for you from the seamstress. We have scheduled a fitting for Wednesday evening so you can get a uniform tailored to your measurements. The military will cover the cost of your inn until Monday at 1700. At that time Major Jean Havoc will come to pick you up and escort you to the Fuhrer's house. Congratulations on your achievements so far.

Major Riza Hawkeye

Fuhrer Roy Mustang

The letter was curt and tense, treating the ten-year-old like any other soldier. Edward realized shortly before he disappeared that even if you receive your silver watch and join the military, that doesn't make you an adult. Yet here was the military, treating a ten-year-old boy who recently lost his brother as if he had reached an age of maturity.

At least the passion Havoc had spied ever-so-briefly in Al's eyes, linking him so closely to his brother, would keep him strong. Al would not cave simply because the military placed a man's load on his shoulders while it refused to admit he was still sensitive and young. Passion would keep Al from failing, but it was passion that caused Scar to murder thousands of people, and it was passion that allowed Tucker to sacrifice his wife and daughter. They thought they were gaining something great and worthy.

What was Ed's life worth?

To Al, it could be worth anything. And coupled with that passion, how much would a ten-year-old boy sacrifice to see his brother again?

Those were questions Havoc didn't necessarily want answered.

He took Al's hand gently in his own, reassuring the alchemist that he was there, while not openly babying him in front of the several troops stationed around the Fuhrer's house.

Al gently clasped Havoc's hand and then released it, smiling gently at him, devoid of the earlier sadness. A few heart beats later, Al walked up to the Fuhrer's door and swung his silver watch between his fingers.

"Alphonse Elric, state alchemist," he said simply. He gauged the reactions of the troops for a moment then held up the piece of paper in his hand, still not allowing the silver token to disappear from the troops' sight. "I have an order here cosigned by Major Riza Hawkeye and Fuhrer Mustang telling me that I am to take residence here until the dorms are open."

One of the men took the paper from Al, flattening it for a moment, looking at the signatures. They looked at Havoc as well, a familiar face, constantly chauffeuring the Fuhrer back home. It didn't take long (just a few swings of the watch) before Al could grab the paper back and was being shown into the Fuhrer's house.

Al looked up at the high ceiling in the Fuhrer's house once the troops had unlocked the door, leading him into the mansion. He felt slightly nervous, having heard several rumors about the brother he couldn't remember and the current Fuhrer who was a new entity as well. He stood woodenly, dressed in an oversized military uniform inside of the Fuhrer's front door. Major Havoc stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and with that guesture shutting the troops out as well. He had grabbed Al's bag from the car and dropped it now on the floor, the books padded with a few pieces of clothes making a dull whumph against the ground. "Fuhrer Mustang said he would be home around eighteen hundred hours. That's about...half an hour. Would you like me to wait with you?" Havoc offered, knowing that Al would probably say no, but also knowing that the offer would be appreciated.

Al shook his head, looking at the well-decorated house. There was no way Roy Mustang decorated this himself from the state of his office, he deduced. "Do you know what room I will be staying in?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Havoc nodded and picked Al's bag back up, throwing it over his shoulder as he pointed to the spiral staircase. "All the bedrooms are on the second floor. Most of the guest bedrooms are in the west wing, but the Fuhrer has you staying in the guest room in the east wing, next to the master bedroom," he explained, pointing each direction as he talked, making it clear which way was which.

"Then I can stay in the bedroom until the Fuhrer gets home," Al said simply, taking his bag from Havoc, much to the man's surprise. Even though he was a ten-year-old in both mind and body, there was something about his soul that belied that youth. Havoc stood for a moment as Al made his way up the spiral staircase but then saluted. "Major Elric, I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow," he said, saluting the boy before turning and making his way back to the car.

Roy opened the liquor cabinet, happy to see that Riza must have dropped by during her lunch break. And if the liquor cabinet was full the chance was good that he might have dinner in the fridge. He pulled a glass down from the bar and dropped a few ice cubes in. Looking at his new selection he pulled down a well aged single malt scotch, measured out two shots and poured them into the glass. He took his drink to the table and placed it on a coaster, not wanting to ruin the nice finish on the table Riza had made him buy. He opened the ice box and was happy to find not only dinner but plenty of food for the rest of the week as well. He shut the ice box and picked up his glass, swirling it gently before taking a swig of the bitter, burning fluid. Riza had good choice in liquor.

If she wasn't gay, she would make the perfect wife, he pondered, remembering when he asked her out. The gun was in his face faster than he had ever seen it drawn before. But hell, if she would still stock his ice box, decorate his house, and make sure he had fine liquor, he wasn't about to complain.

As he was making his way to the study, glass in hand, he heard a noise he hadn't heard in over a month. He licked his lips, slightly sticky from dehydration and paused, looking up at the ceiling. The shuffled clomping resonating through the floor boards was somewhat comforting, but as he listened longer, each step made the same noise.

The noise, however, stopped him. It was so familiar—the noise of pacing slowly creeping across the kitchen ceiling then returning, repeating endlessly. Edward always was pacing there when he got home, pondering some array or pondering some text he had devoured throughout the day.

It took his slightly inebriated mind a few moments to register what made the noise grate on his mind so much. One step, two steps, four steps, they all sounded the same. There was no metal foot pounding on his expensive hardwood floors, rather two flesh feet pacing carefully.

He felt stupid after a while, thinking that Edward was back, pacing in his room. But he was the one tipping over the pictures, hiding the past, trying to forget not that they'd ever had a relationship, but that it was gone.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to see Alphonse in this state. He wasn't quite sure why he invited the ten-year-old to stay with him in the first place. Sure, the dorms had been full, but there were still other options. As soon as possible (as soon as he was able to face the boy) he would make it clear this was only until a spot in the dorms opened up.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, he tried to ignore how unnerved the pacing made him. Trying to knock the last of the liquor in his glass back, he only managed to spill half-melted ice on his face. He didn't bothered to put more ice in the glass. The ice on the floor would melt then evaporate.

By the time he was drunk enough to not remember why he didn't want to go upstairs, the glass was sideways on the table, threatening to fall on the floor, and a cheaper bottle of whiskey was in his lap. He smiled up, listening to the thuds above him—one foot following right after another.

He stood up and sat back down, dizzier than he had expected from the liberal amounts of alcohol in his system. A few moments later, he shook it off, standing up and using the table as a support to get to the stairs. "Edward!" he laughed, dragging himself up, but threatening to pull of the banister as he did so.

The pacing paused, like it always did and he heard boots clamber out of Edward's bedroom. A young boy was at the top of the stairs, pale yellow hair shining in the artificial light. "My stairs never looked so good," Roy purred, dragging himself all the way up.

Seeing Roy like this shook Alphonse greatly, and the calm, composed almost-man in the car melted. He shook his head violently, his eyes widened, taking a few steps back in fear. "Fuhrer," he said candidly, trying to regain some of his composure. "You're drunk."

"Drunk am I?" Roy laughed. "No... I'm not drunk. Come on, Edward... let's go to the library..."

"I'm Al," the boy said stubbornly. "Not Edward. Edward's not here, Fuhrer, please, you're drunk!"

Roy shook his head, slipping an arm around Al's waist. "You're so beautiful, Edward," he murmured, the smell of cheap whiskey permeating the air.

"Not Edward," Al exclaimed loudly, trying to struggle away, but the older man's grip, even drunk, was too strong.

Fabric Roy was sure was red fabric pooled at the ground as he undressed the boy, applying soft kisses to his neck as he did so. Al whimpered lightly, wishing his body didn't feel frozen. He knew he should struggle and try to run, but his body felt wooden and heavy. He knew how to deal with being treated as a child and he knew how to be treated as a soldier. This, however, was foreign and he didn't understand it at all. Roy loosened his grip a bit, one hand sneaking to unclasp the jacket, letting the black fabric join the fabric only red to him.

"Edward," Roy said, stroking down Alphonse's back, trying to calm his shaking. "It's alright. I promise."

Al whimpered, looking up at Roy with tears in his eyes. "Please, Fuhrer, no," he mumbled, suddenly realizing that even if he ran, there was nowhere to run to. "You're drunk and I'm not Edward."

"No one needs to know," Roy whispered into Al's ear, placing a soft kiss. "I understand, Edward..."

Tears ran down Al's face as Roy kissed his mouth, parting the boyish lips with his tongue. Roy didn't taste the salt, just reveled in kissing his 12-year-old lover who had disappeared so recently. Fumbling with the young boy's clothes again, Roy steered him towards Edward's bedroom, whispering love and soft things in his ear, eventually disregarding the quivering and shaking of the boy below him as nervousness.

The deep breaths were arousal, not fear, as Roy slipped the shirt off the small frame, kissing his chest and sucking lightly on the pale nipples. The hardening his hand felt under the leather pants was from his careful ministrations, not an unwilled reaction, amplified by terror. The hair wasn't sandy blonde, but bright and gold, threading through his deft fingers.

The keening wasn't a no, it was Edward succumbing to his strong presence. The struggling was simply Ed's initial denial he was attracted to the man fourteen years his senior.

After all, it stopped after a moment. The tears didn't stop flowing down Al's face, but he resigned to the soft caresses, listening to Roy tell Edward how much he loved him. Brother was gone, Alphonse knew, and he was sure Roy understood it as well, at least when he was sober. He didn't understand everything Roy was doing, or why he was purring his brother's name in his ear, but he understood one thing.

He needed to be Brother for the Fuhrer. Even if it was just this night.

He stopped struggling, letting Roy take his small wrists and pull them above his head, the man's other, larger hand roughly undoing his leather pants. He knew they were going to have sex, but that idea was still vague in his head.

But when it came down to it, he questioned whether he could go through with it, Roy's hand down his pants, Roy's pants down to his ankles.

Al's mouth went dry and the heavy fear weighed down his chest. His breath deepened again, but one of Roy's fingers went to his mouth, the older man telling him it would be okay.

Al wasn't sure why he believed him, but his breathing slowed, his eyes going lazy as Roy stroked him gently. Roy cupped a hand at his hips, shifting him gently and the older man was sure the boy mewed at him in confusion. A kiss below the ear and gentle words rectified the situation, though they were all with Edward's name.

Edward. He could be Brother for Roy.

He wasn't sure what to make of the tears when it was over, the keening no Al eventually had managed cut off by his hand during the entire act, so he pulled out, stroking the back of Al's neck and cuddled him close, not even realizing Al still hadn't come as he drifted off to sleep, still believing Edward was in his arms.

Al didn't move for a while, Roy's seed slick against his legs, cooling uncomfortably. The man's arms were heavy, but he didn't want to disappoint him, being Brother for this moment. It wasn't until he was completely sure the Fuhrer was asleep that he untangled himself from the man.

He fell to the floor, but didn't cry from that pain, hurting so much already. He didn't even try to stand up, just pulled himself along the floor by his forearms, making his way to one of the other guest bedrooms. He didn't even try to pull himself up onto the bed, just curled up on the rug, pulling his knees to his chest and crying himself to sleep, not exactly sure what to make of the situation.

When Roy got dressed in the morning for work, he was puzzled by the mess in the sheets, but try as he might, he couldn't remember who he brought home last night. He shrugged it off, after a while, sure whoever it was would call at some point during the day. For now, he had to nurse his hangover and get to work.

He completely forgot Al had moved in yesterday, and as Havoc didn't drive him to work, rather another soldier, no one was there to remind him about the 10-year-old alchemist. It wasn't until ten o'clock, when Riza calmly shoved paperwork under his nose, asking where the youth was.

"Alphonse?" Roy asked. "Wasn't he staying in a hotel?"

"He moved into your dwelling last night, sir," Riza said respectfully. "You signed the papers, remember?"

"I sign a lot of papers," Roy said, absentmindedly signing the one's Riza had given him.

"No, sir, the other line," Riza said, moving his pen to the correct spot.

"Thank you," Roy said, scrawling his signature.

Riza paused, standing in front of his desk, frowning. "Would you like me to go get him, sir?"

"Yes, please," Roy said absentmindedly. "Are these more papers on the parade?"

Riza just nodded. "I'll be back soon."

Riza got in her car, sighing, wondering how Roy was so absentminded some days. He'd gained his goal and now, having lost Edward, he was on the path of abandoning it. She'd do anything to make sure that man stuck to his morals and did the work he set up for himself.

She parked the car in the circle drive, staring the troops at the door down. They knew her well enough. They knew, at least, better than to bother her. She took out her key, opening the door, stepping inside.

She picked up a bottle of whiskey from the floor and straightened the kitchen. She frowned, looking in the liquor cabinet to see what kind of dent he had made.

"Al?" she asked, putting the empty bottles in the trash and stacking cups in the sink, filling the basin with warm soapy water. When she got no response, she plodded up the stairs. Riza paused at the top of the stairs, looking at Al's brown coat and jacket on the floor.

"Alphonse?" she asked again, picking up the clothes, swallowing hard. She turned into Edward's room. The bed was made pristinely, the sheets pulled tight and the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. She stepped forward, looking around the room.

She froze when she got to the other side of the bed, finding a mess of Roy and Al's clothes. She picked up the clothing, folding it neatly, her breath quickening in fear.

She nearly ran to the next guest bedroom and opened the door, choking lightly when she saw Al curled up on the floor, nude and sticky with blood and semen. "Alphonse!" she gasped, picking up the light boy in her arms.

Al opened his eyes, moaning lightly. "Alphonse," she repeated, standing up, making her way to the bathroom, stroking the back of the young boy's neck, telling him everything was going to be okay.

The words sounded familiar to Al. He opened his eyes all the way, staring up at the reddish brown ones intently fixed on him, full of worry. He struggled slightly, surprised not to find black eyes staring at him with lust and love, listening to the Fuhrer's professions of love for his brother.

"Alphonse," she said sitting on a toilet, holding him in her lap as she drew a bath. "Tell me what happened."

Al shook his head violently, the tears running down his face again.

Riza sighed, stroking Al's hair, trying to calm the boy. And this was the man she admired so much. She just held him for a moment, letting the bath fill with warm water, letting it cool a bit before placing the small boy in it.

"I'll keep you safe," Riza told him, slowly washing the crusted blood and come off of his legs. "But I need to know what happened."

Al swallowed hard, not understanding completely himself, not sure what to say. "He wanted Brother," he managed after a moment, moving to allow her to clean him better.

"Who?" Riza asked, handing him a sponge so he could clean his genitals himself, not wanting to ask him leading questions.

"The Fuhrer, Roy," Al mumbled, his hands shaking too much to clean himself properly. Riza sighed, taking the sponge from him, slowly cleaning him off, not sure what to tell the boy except that he was safe now.

She looked up at him surprised when he said, "I wanted to be Brother for him," and dropped the sponge in dirty water. She took that moment as an excuse to start draining the tub, refilling it with cleaner water. "I couldn't, though," Al continued. "It just hurt too much. I was afraid."

"You don't need to be your brother," Riza assured him, washing his hair gently. "You're good enough as Alphonse Elric."

Al didn't say anything, not wanting to contradict her. He knew he'd want someone to bring Brother back for him, even if it was just for a moment.

"Was he drunk?" Riza asked eventually, breaking the silence.

Al nodded, picking up the sponge, squeezing all the water out of it. "Very," he whispered quietly.

"Alphonse," Riza said, helping him out of the tub. "That was rape."

Al cried quietly in her arms, not even realizing he was soaking her, just now letting his emotions out, not wanting to admit her words were true.