A little sincerity is a dangerous thing,

and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.

– Oscar Wilde

A Modest Proposal

Mustang stiffened before his bookcase, fingers pressed to a red-bound volume. "What did you say?"

"Major Armstrong to see you, sir." Hawkeye didn't budge from the door, a folder from her own desk under one arm. Tidy as ever, her face betrayed nothing of the fruitless patrol the night before, one which left him biting back yawns and wishing for his bed. "Shall I tell him to wait?"

"No, send him in." The Colonel plucked the tome from the shelf as she turned, a book leftover from his days as a student. Settling back in his seat, he leafed through well-worn pages, ignoring dog-eared corners, faded notes in the margins. His finger traced the list of elements, their reactions when ignited with hydrogen and oxygen: lithium, cesium, barium, copper. The reactions depended largely upon how much of the element was present, as well as its volatility. Calcium was easy enough to deal with, though most could not handle it and sodium together; he'd only mastered them by lining the fingertips of his gloves with lead, the metal acting as a neutral meeting ground for the volatile elements.

Such an achievement secured his position as a state alchemist.

A soft breath and he stopped, gaze fixed on a neglected passage. Potassium, an essential part of the human build, yet seldom used in alchemy. Unbelievably soft in its natural state, the metal could not last long in open air, reduced to useless white flakes within seconds of exposure. Despite being difficult to work with, Potassium was by no means useless. Rather, it remained one of the most volatile metals, reacting violently with anything oxidized, including water. The metal could even spark in moist air–

Potassium was also the only element that burned purple.

No, lilac.

Mustang's brow pinched as he leaned closer, the fateful encounter playing over and over in his head. An order from the one in pink undergarments – their leader; he could tell by the look in his eyes, the way he carried himself – and flames leaped from the hands of another, the small one with wild hair. He looked like a boy, both of them did. Fullmetal's age, if he had to guess. Still, Potassium burned lilac upon igniting, an indisputably soft color. Nothing about the boy's fire hinted at such a shade. A royal purple, so dark it nearly blended with the night sky:

He'd barely been able to stop it.

A few quick calculations gave him the amount of potassium needed for such a transmutation, a startling yet not unexpected figure.

Mustang sighed, frown deepening as he pressed his forehead to clasped hands. There was no way, such a thing wasn't possible. He certainly couldn't do it even as the country's expert, the Flame Alchemist.

So how had that child performed the transmutation without using a circle?

"Colonel?"

He started at the sound, a voice deep as a baritone sounding at the bottom of a well. Alex Louis Armstrong stood now at his office door, radiating strength, confidence and, most of all, heartfelt warmth. Impeccable as always, the Major stood at attention while maintaining eye contact with his superior officer, stance sure, as if he could hold the position for hours.

A moment passed before Mustang realized he'd risen on auto-pilot, returning the salute. "At ease." Hand dropping to his side, Armstrong closed the door, bulk moving soundlessly across the wooden floor. "To what do I owe the honor, Major?"

"Oh no, the honor is all mine!" The bear of a man smiled then, waved mustache curling further atop raised lips. "When I heard what happened, I dashed right over!"

The intensity of his declaration made Mustang smile in turn, albeit awkwardly. "I see. Hughes must have told you."

"Indeed, though he said I needed to speak to you directly for the details." Armstrong nodded, a comical figure fitting into a too-small chair as Mustang reclaimed his post behind the desk. "The Lieutenant Colonel wished to come immediately but with things as they are in Central–"

He stopped, countenance darkening for the first time since arriving.

Mustang slid a hand into his pocket, fingering his gloves, the emblem on his watch. "So, no luck there, either?"

"Unfortunately, no. The rebels are surprisingly well-organized, resourceful. By the time we arrived, the square was empty – only the circle remained."

"I see." A nod and Mustang sighed, stifling a yawn. The coffee Havoc promised couldn't get here soon enough. "Can the briefing wait until Hughes arrives? The investigation is still on-going, classified."

"Of course. The less its discussed, the better."

Mustang's smile came naturally this time, despite the subject matter. He'd always been fond of the jubilant Major, cheerful in the most dismal circumstances, effortlessly boosting moral and brightening the room when all hope seemed lost. Such had defined him in Ishval and the aftermath, as well as countless other excursions. He was serious when it counted most – Armstrong would never wear a smile during a death match, or when companions lay dying around him – though he possessed the strength to protect his smile, the smiles of those dear to him.

That's what mattered most right now.

"Did you just arrive in East City?"

"Oh no, I've been here for hours!" The chortle surprised him, watching as blue eyes swung toward the window. "Our train arrived this morning, though it was so beautiful I wanted to take a walk. A wonderful city; it's been too long since I've visited Eastern Command!"

One word jumped out, moving Mustang to interrupt. "Our?"

"Indeed. We're living in dangerous times, Colonel. Central would not allow me to leave without an escort."

The news curled his stomach, despite Armstrong's light tone. If the military refused to let the Strong Arm Alchemist travel alone, the situation was even more dire than he thought.

Perhaps his potassium flame theory wasn't so crazy, after all.

"By the way, have any of the warehouses in Sector B been used recently?"

Mustang blinked at the abrupt change of topic, pulling away from his own thoughts. "No, they were deemed obsolete after Fuhrer Bradley took office. With everything that's happened, we simply haven't had time to tear them down."

"I see." Armstrong stroked his chin, the single tuft of blonde hair bobbing on his head.

"Why do you ask?"

"During our walk, I noticed signs of activity near one of the warehouses: disturbances in the lot, scuffed dirt, scratches on the door. I thought it odd, so we investigated."

The Colonel leaned over his desk, palm pressed against the wood supporting his weight. "And did you find anything?"

"What? No." Armstrong shook his head. "There was nothing of interest in the lot."

"What about the warehouse? Did you look inside?"

Another shake. "One of my men caught wind of your busy day, that you could only meet now. I left immediately."

A pause and Mustang withdrew, gears turning as he bit his thumb.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Colonel; a stray dog, perhaps. Nothing truly seemed out of place – we only searched as a precaution due to recent events."

He acquiesced before sinking back into his seat, massaging his temple while staring at the open book. "I'll look into it later."

Later, the magical time which never seemed to find him until it was too late. He would make time for this, however. Just not right now.

Not with a meeting with the Elrics looming.

Finally, he shut the volume, willing himself to relax. "I'm sorry, Major, but could we postpone this until after Hughes arrives? Fullmetal should be here any moment."

"Of course." Armstrong stood, towering over him, a living monolith. "How are young Edward and Alphonse?"

"They're well. In fact, I'm debating introducing them to a colleague in light of the Lior incident."

"Oh? And whom might that be?"

Mustang smirked, chin in-hand. "Shou Tucker, a bio-alchemist."

First, there was nothing. He fell alone through the void, choking as the sea, darkness deeper than the heavens could muster. Then, stars clustered, mini galaxies playing out his life's story: kithood, the trials of his early days thieving; betraying Yomi, losing Kuronue, the ill-fated encounter with Spirit Hunters. Finding his mother, eating a newborn soul – a necessary evil. Birth, maturing as Shiori's son, meeting Hiei and the others. Every battle, the constant struggle of balancing a dual existence. A reprieve at the beach; Shizuru's smile–

Yukina's scream.

Hot light and he gasped, stumbling forward. A white space, devoid of color or life. Beginning and end held no meaning here, neither did the most basic elements, the cosmos' building blocks. He knew he stood on solid ground for his weight held, air filling both lungs proved the presence of oxygen, though nothing more. Panic bit at his throat but he pushed it away, hand rising to his nape, resisting the urge to call for the others. Such a thing would prove useless–

He'd lived far too long to not know when he was alone.

"So, you're finally here."

Kurama spun at the voice behind him – a child's voice. Surely enough, a small form crouched a few paces away, body present yet not, a smile lighting the faceless head. Crouching on legs that weren't legs, arm resting atop a knee that wasn't a knee; he knew the thing watched him, even though he saw no evidence aside from that smile.

"Oh, there's no need for that." The boy – if it could be called such – said, pointing to his still-raised arm. A multitude of voices joined the first, his own and Youko's among them. "It won't work here, anyway."

Centuries of experience heralded danger yet he held his ground, hand slipping from his hair only to find a ready home in his pocket. "Who are you?"

"I have many names, though I suppose you can call me Truth." Here its grin widened, filling that white face. "You're a long way from home."

Truth. The name made his skin crawl, though perhaps the reaction was due to the strange form, the sarcastic tone. "Where is this place? Where are the others?"

"So, you really don't know anything!" Truth laughed, strange form shaking with mirth. Kurama's gaze narrowed to a glare yet he dared not speak. Information was far more important than his pride. "You're here and you don't even know why!"

"Answer the question, please."

Perhaps it was his muted tone or his civility but Truth sobered immediately, grin fading to a bemused smirk. "We're at the ultimate go-between: the border between worlds, this life and the next. Many have come here, though you and your friends are the first to arrive through no fault of your own." Here, it leaned forward with its shimmering body, voice pitched with excitement. "Think about it – you're here by a complete fluke!"

Kurama felt anger pinching his gut though he donned his best face, emotion carefully tucked away. "Where are they?"

Here Truth threw up tiny hands, the smile once again reigning supreme. "The only place they can be."

A door appeared then, tall and dark and menacing. Pale sephiroth trees lined the surface, stretching to the floor, boasting forbidden knowledge. Kurama knew next to nothing about medieval sciences though he recognized those trees, the texts chronicling mankind's quest to turn lead into gold. The practice which paved the way for modern day chemistry:

Alchemy.

"Have you ever heard of Equivalent Exchange, Kurama?"

He stiffened before frowning, brows furrowing. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know everything about you, Youko Kurama. Or would you rather be called Shuichi Minamino?" Another grin, more sinister than the last. "Don't worry, I know all about your friends, too."

Kurama set his jaw, forcing his fingers to still. "Where are they?"

"Answer my question, first."

The sing-song voice grated his nerves but he exhaled, counting silently until he regained control. "No, I can't say that I have."

"In order to gain anything, something of equal value must be lost – that is the first law of alchemy. Wouldn't you say it's the ruling principle of your world as well?"

"I answered your question." His voice came slowly, smooth as velvet yet without warmth. "Now answer mine."

"See? You already understand how it works!" Truth laughed, both hands gripping its knees. "Your last friend didn't even try to figure it out."

Suddenly, red appeared on those transparent hands, stained its legs, dripped onto the nonexistent floor. Kurama stilled at the smell of blood, the quantity pouring from Truth's fingers–

The black hairs mingling in the growing pool.

"Then again, Hiei has never been a quick learner, has he?"

Before he could stop himself, Kurama drew a rose from his hair, willing it to grow into a coiling vine. "What have you done to him?" He didn't bother smothering his fury, the panic festering on his tongue.

"Accepted payment, just as I will from you and the others."

The last stayed his hand, one last bid for patience. "The others?"

"Yep, only he and the girl have gone through. There's more to come."

Kurama paused, multiple scenarios rising only to fall beneath that sightless gaze. "And all must make a 'payment' to leave this place?"

"Yes." A gleeful hiss and the red disappeared, leaving the boy-shape and floor spotless. "You should be thanking me: normally, it's impossible to leave here with your life; only three have accomplished that before now."

"Even though we've done nothing?"

Truth smiled.

Another measured exhale and Kurama recalled his weapon, tucking the bud into his hair. "May I offer you a proposal?"

"Hey, I think he's waking up!"

Voices from far off, along with movement; pressure at his shoulder.

"Kurama, can you hear me?"

A kaleidoscope of pain roared alongside his name, drowning the voice, setting his body on fire. Every muscle, every vein; his very scalp ached. He wanted to scream but nothing came out – the black hands stoppered his tongue still. No, a bit more rest and all would be well. He would make it through the Gate and–

"Kurama!"

He groaned at the sudden jostling, head swinging back and forth.

"Urameshi!" A struggle, muffled exertion. "Don't shake him, you idiot! He's hurt!"

"I know that, stupid! But I think he's finally–"

A soft moan and pale lids fluttered, bearing green to the world. They came into focus by degrees, ever-shifting blotches of color slowly gaining depth, shape – meaning. Yusuke and Kuwabara tussled close by on the dirt-ridden floor, swim shorts horribly out of place with the musty shirts they wore. The latter had the upper hand, having pinned an arm beneath one knee, palm pressed to his opponent's cheek. Yusuke pushed at Kuwabara's jaw with his free hand, leg wrapped around his waist, fingers prying at clenched teeth.

Kurama opened his mouth to speak though a coughing fit erupted instead, coating his lips in something warm and wet.

"Hey!" Suddenly Kuwabara was there, face pinched, hands fluttering just out of reach. "Easy, we got you."

Yet his vision remained blurred, fuzzy at the edges. Hot copper filled his mouth again but he forced his head to rise, glassy gaze fixed on the psychic. "Kuwa . . . bara?" A nod though he refused to offer his usual smile, larynx bobbing beneath tan flesh. Kurama blinked, confusion tainting his tongue. "Y-Yusuke?"

"Right here, fox boy." Indeed, Yusuke crouched to his right, grinning as always. "Man, how long did you plan on sleeping? You scared the crap out of us!"

The former detective's tone was light enough, though Kurama smelled his fear, saw the worry pinching his brow. "Apologies. I didn't mean to–"

"Nope, you're awake now and that's all that matters – you're not allowed to apologize for anything ever again." Yusuke pursed his lips, studying something the red head couldn't see. "So," He drawled, fingers wiggling. "Am I allowed to touch you or will they eat me if I try?"

Only then did Kurama feel the leaves pressing at his skin, the flora feeding from him, vines nudging, nurturing. Homegrown specimens which would protect him to the end:

Plants refusing to heed his call.

He chuckled, a weak, watery sound. "That may not be wise."

A smirk, a knowing look. "Whoever said I was smart?"

In almost no time Yusuke had him upright, slipping behind him, easing him back to rest against his chest. The flora shivered and shook, rattling between them, threatening to latch onto the other man's wrists. Soon enough, however, the vines rested, pristine petals falling once more against their master. Roots rummaged further beneath his flesh, hidden from prying eyes by tattered remnants of cloth–

Such was for the best.

"How are you feeling?" Kuwabara crouched beside them, studying his pallor, the sweat marring his brow.

"Honestly? I've been better." He hated the softness of his voice, the sheer effort it took to speak. Splintering heat raced up his spine and he shuddered, head falling against Yusuke's shoulder. Even keeping his eyes open proved troublesome. "Where are we?"

"Some warehouse we found the other night. Aside from that, couldn't tell ya." Yusuke shifted to make him more comfortable, extending his legs alongside Kurama's, uncaring of the thorns nipping his abdomen and knees. "You've been out for three days."

"Three–?!" He moved too quickly and the room spun, black dotting his vision. The plants hissed before tightening their grip at his arms, his throat.

"Whoa!" Yusuke caught his shoulders, uncaring of the leaves slicing his skin, the fronds wrapping around his thighs. "Easy, man, easy."

"Urameshi, don't scare him like that!" Kuwabara seethed, finally daring to press his fingers to that pale underarm, searching for a pulse.

A snort. "That's rich, coming from you. I'm surprised you don't scare yourself when you look in the mirror!"

Before another squabble could start, Kurama raised his right hand, the one free from Kuwabara's grip. "Has it truly been three days?"

"Counting the night we got here, yeah. You've been for over forty eight hours."

True enough, night had fallen; he could see stars peeking through slits in the roof. A breeze caressed from a broken window and he shivered. He didn't comment as Yusuke wrapped both arms around his chest, focusing instead on his spiced scent, the warmth of those hands. He wanted nothing more than to melt into that warmth, to slink off to dreams of home.

Then, he remembered the white room, the Gate:

The blood coating Truth's hands.

"Where is Hiei?" He breathed, struggling once more to sit up on his own.

Yusuke would have none of it, tightening his hold, leaving his friend little choice but to rest. "You say that like you know he's here?"

"Urameshi." The admonishment lacked heat, dropping like a stone from Kuwabara's lips as he prodded at that arm, fingers prying at the pitiful sleeve.

"Fine, fine." Yusuke sighed, limbs inching closer around his friend, not yet willing to comment on his chilled skin. "You picked one heck of a time to catch up on sleep, fox boy."

So Kurama listened to his tale about waking up on a cold street in the middle of the night, the red circle and armed soldiers; the man with the gloves. Yusuke recounted the fiery escape with gusto, how he and Kuwabara fled into back allies with the injured demons, finding a place to hide. Hiei's self-healing, borrowed supplies, and their encounter with a man shorter than their first great enemy but just as intimidating. The fox was sure some of the details were exaggerated but Kuwabara made no comment, only scolding when he jostled his patient. Still, Yusuke's fear flooded his nostrils in the recounting despite the brave show, hitched his voice when describing the bald man, thighs quivering at the prospect of murdering humans.

"So, Hiei's out on 'reconnaissance' right now, looking for a new place to crash." The raven-haired man rolled his neck, shoulders sinking as he made himself more comfortable. "Which sucks but it'd be stupid to stay here now. I mean, if that guy comes back right now, we're royally screwed: the Jagan is gone, Kuwabara can't use his spirit energy, and I–"

"Kurama?"

The small voice caught them by surprise, forcing the red head to open his eyes. At some point during Yusuke's monologue, Kuwabara had not only rolled up one sleeve but the other as well, parting the material at his abdomen, exposing both chest and stomach. Through gaps in the foliage, root systems wiggled, snaking beneath the skin, burrowing through muscle, thirsty for blood and power.

Kurama didn't need to look to see Yusuke's expression mirrored Kuwabara's, dread mixing with horror on a pale canvas.

Surely they'd guessed the rest of his body was in a similar state.

Yusuke stiffened before cursing, air spewing through clenched teeth. Kuwabara pressed at his scarred stomach, noting Kurama's sharp inhale, pain lacing a wavering jaw, the way the submerged roots moved around his fingers.

"What–" Yusuke's hands moved to his shoulders once more, squinting at the infested abdomen. "What are they doing?"

"Attempting to make me live. Or rather, fighting against what they perceive as death."

Not far from the truth, though they did not need to know that. Truth's smile flashed in his mind's eye and he shuddered, prompting Yusuke pull him flush against his chest. No, they did not need to know about the proposal, the bargain which took his most precious possession–

They were safe; Truth kept its promise.

Everything else was secondary.

Kuwabara swallowed, brow furrowing as he expanded his territory by degrees. "But, but you're not dying!"

"Correct; this is a defense mechanism, nothing more."

"Jeez, don't scare me like that!" Yusuke peered over his shoulder, cheek brushing red hair. "Can you reset it? Make your plants go back to normal?"

His plants. The notion almost made him laugh. "Yes, although that will take some time. They've been quite busy since we arrived."

At his direction, they settled him against a nearby crate, allowing him room to work. Not trusting a fire after the day's events, Yusuke covered his shoulders and legs with frayed blankets; Kuwabara took watch by the far window. Swallowing any notion of discomfort, Kurama began the tedious process of coaxing each root back, bathing them with centuries-old energy. He made no comment when the tendrils attempted to latch onto human organs, their desire to devour foreign organisms. No, everything had a price:

He could only hope this world truly operated under Equivalent Exchange.

The night grew colder with the moon's ascent, though the air did not taste of snow. Ancient eaves moaned under his weight though he couldn't move, not yet. Soldiers marched in orderly lines down first one street, then another, thick blue coats banishing the chill clinging to cobbled streets. Guns glistening at their hips and shoulders, each leader gave a sharp cry when a lane was deemed safe, a call repeated every so often down the line until everyone knew to move on.

If this was how they searched for criminals, he'd hate to witness their scouting missions.

One soldier separated from the group, eyes fixed on the night sky, the smoking chimney at his back. His hand slipped into his cloak, the sword hilt warm against his palm, fingers slowly closing around the leather bindings. The woman had yet to see him, apparent by the set of her shoulders, amber eyes fixed on some point above his head. She could sense danger, he knew by the tilt of her head, instinctively protecting a throat laid bare by the hair gathered behind her head. Hands still at her side, she shifted one foot behind her, consciously making herself a smaller target. He watched her watch the roof, the smoke spilling into the dark sky, consciously resisting the urge to reach for the pistol at her hip. If she spotted him – if she made any effort to cry out or reach for the gun – he would slay her before she or her companions knew what happened. A quick, painless death:

After all, she was just doing her job.

"Leutnantin!"

She turned at the voice and he slipped around the heated stone, safe from prying eyes yet never losing sight of her. More words, gibberish he couldn't understand and she shook her head, anticipation ebbing from her hands and brow. Still, he held fast to his sword, unwilling to be caught unawares. They'd surprised him with the big one earlier.

He wouldn't let that happen again.

Soon enough, they moved on; the woman didn't glance back once. Still, Hiei waited five full minutes, branding her face onto his brain. She was dangerous: a different sort than the fire user and the bald one but a threat all the same.

He couldn't forget what she looked like

Blessed quiet settled and he relaxed by degrees, body unfurling from a crouch, hand falling away from the weapon. The burn at his forehead itched though he welcomed the irritation, the pain pounding beneath the seared surface–

Anything to distract him from his thoughts.

Still, they crept forth, relentless as those black hands. Falling past millions of stars, faces, places, names he couldn't know. Tiny fingers pulling at his face, his arm – anything to keep him from reaching her. Yukina's screams, tears mingling with discarded galaxies. The door, watching helplessly as they pulled her through; her blood–

All while that thing laughed.

Lighting from the roof, he landed in the street and darted into an alley, allowing his feet to carry him to another, then another. He couldn't worry about that now; he couldn't find his sister if those cretins discovered them first. The mission was complete: a hideout separate from the enemy, somewhere these humans would never think to look.

He just had to make it back to the others. Hopefully by now, the fox was–

Stepping into a side street, he froze, feet falling like lead into a puddle. A man sat beneath a sagging portico, wet wood mingling with the bitter aroma of sand and death. Yellow coat pulled taut against the cold, he appeared for all intents and purposes to be asleep, dark skin sullying the light garment, black pants fading into the night. Frosted locks stretching about his head, he wore sunglasses, despite the late hour, face marred by deep cross-haired scar.

For some reason, Hiei found himself stopping to study the strange mark faded by age, his companions and Yukina drifting away. The man was human, he held no doubts about that, yet something was different about him – something the ones in blue did not possess. A strange power, a peculiar energy the likes of which he'd never felt before. The essence stung his skin, nipped his nostrils, bit at his gut with such force he exhaled audibly.

The man woke up, raising his head to take in the narrow lane. Hiei didn't move as the stranger stood – his body wouldn't let him. Rather, he watched the human study him in turn, this man nearly as tall as Kuwabara but with more girth. A thick hand rose to remove the sunglasses, revealing his eyes:

Eyes as red as blood.

"Bistu a kind fun Ishval?"

A/N: Hello and welcome back! Thank you once again for your support and readership: this story couldn't be told without you, the reader, and I appreciate each and every one of you. Also, I want to thank my writer's group for their support and constant encouragement – you guys are awesome and inspire me every day.

Thank you once again musicnutftw for the German help, and WistfulSin for suggesting the Ishvallan tongue be Yiddish. That's right folks, our favorite State Alchemist serial killer speaks Yiddish in Divergence!

So, things are heating up on both sides, though is Mustang really any closer to finding answers? What exactly did Kurama ask of Truth, and how will Hiei's encounter with Scar pan out? Find out next time, can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Leutnantin – Lieutenant (when addressing a woman)

Bistu a kind fun ishval? – Are you a child of Ishval?