Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Not making any money of this. Love the idea of Ed and Roy. Please leave me a review if you like the story.

Author's Note:

I'll make this quick, but I had to get this off my chest. A couple of people sent me PMs to tell me the last couple of chapters were too slow, too boring, etc. I appreciate the feedback, but come on, you expect death and resurrection every chapter now? I'm sorry, but it just doesn't work that way! I warned you! You could have stopped at Chapter 21! After the battle is over, you always have to pick up the pieces and try to make sense of your old life. Anyway…despite that, we've broken the 100 favourites barrier - Full Circle has made it to 108 people's favourite stories! Thank you so much, that's really great. So Auric and I decided that you guys deserved one more long chapter before I got on the plane to Japan. Although I am a little aggrieved at the state of reviews…the review button is a good thing, people! Enjoy, review (please please please - doomo arigatoo!) and see you when I get back! Much love –NF.


Chapter 24: Caduceus and Crown

Roy Mustang fumbled for his keys as he leaned against the door to his rooms, fatigue and not-quite-healed bruised hands making him clumsy. The lighter Auric had given him was a comforting weight in his pocket, given that snapping his fingers was still not an option. After dropping his key ring a couple more times, he finally got the door open and reached for the lamp cord that dangled from the bare bulb in the small entrance hall. The Fuhrer had kept a much more luxurious and extensive suite of rooms at HQ, and it was his for the taking, but Roy preferred the familiarity of his own humble space. Besides, he wasn't Fuhrer yet, though the crown was within reach. How odd, to feel such ambivalence about the very thing he had been working to achieve for the better part of his adult life – or not so much ambivalence as a sick sort of anticipation, like the feeling in a diver's stomach as he stands at the edge of the diving board, the deep breath before the plunge. Knowing that this was the culmination of all your efforts, your moment of triumph, and yet sorry because…well…because once you stepped off that ledge, it would all be over, the work of years and years rushing to its fulfilment in an instant. And then the hard work of setting up for the next dive, the next competition, the next chapter would begin. He chuckled wearily to himself as the light flickered on and he stepped into the room, which looked simultaneously the same and yet utterly different after his long absence; everything in its proper place and yet hung about with an air of desolate abandonment.

He hadn't used his quarters at Central since that first night Auric had spent at Central, and the room was still in the state of controlled disarray they had left it in – chalk dust on the floor where they had been working with arrays, a couple of glasses rinsed out and left on the draining board, the half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the rickety side-table. At least the bunk beds were made up; Roy always made his bed right after waking up, the habits of a lifetime spent in the military being hard to shake, and Auric had been a surprisingly neat houseguest. The only real evidence that he had ever been there was a glittering thread of gold on the pillow that Roy took down from the upper bunk, and the borrowed crew-necked shirt that had been folded neatly into thirds lengthwise and hung over the foot rail. He picked up the shirt and walked back to the fireplace, dropping into the chair he had occupied that night as he balled up the garment and tossed it into the chair opposite where Auric had sat all those nights ago and told Roy his fear – that he would disappear, never to be remembered, wiped out of existence by Ed's return. Well, Ed had returned. And Auric…hadn't quite left, Roy rather suspected.

"Talk to him, Roy," Maes had urged. "All this pussy-footing around each other is ridiculous. He's probably just as uncertain as you are about where the two of you stand. And it's got to be hard on him dealing with Auric's memories on top of his own. And while Auric was a remarkably deft hand at dealing with human relationships, Ed always struggled with them, if you recall. And…." Roy had raised an eyebrow at the hesitation in the big man's voice, and Maes had shrugged sheepishly. "And I really don't want anything to mess up the inauguration that I've worked so hard to organize – Ed always had a nasty habit of blowing up buildings when he was upset…."

He'd nodded tiredly, too exhausted to think up any sort of witty comeback. "I know. I will. After. I'm just so busy right now, Maes, and he is too, and…."

Maes had reached over then and shaken him gently by the shoulder insistently to stop his babbling, although he was careful not to jar any of the healing injuries. "Roy. Stop. You need some rest, you're not thinking straight. Because when you love someone – yes, love, don't give me that look – you make the time." He shook his head fondly. "It's a good thing the two of you fell for each other – I don't know who else would put up with you and your grand ambitions without making the mistake of becoming either a sycophant or a harpy. Is there a masculine noun for harpy?"

Roy had snorted into his coffee at the image of a peeved Ed with wings, claws and a forked tail. Now he looked across the yawning gap between the chairs and imagined a pair of half-amused golden eyes laughing mockingly back at him and with him. Making time for him…demanding nothing less from him.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd talk to Ed tomorrow. Right now though, he was going to get some sleep. Standing, he hesitated, then retrieved the shirt from where it lay crumpled on the chair and brought it up to his nose. It still smelled like soap, and coffee, and heated steel, and sunlight. Like Ed. And as he slipped between the sheets and felt sleep reaching out to claim him with eager fingers, he hugged it to his chest and breathed it all in, putting his faith in a promise given on a battlefield not so far away.

Tomorrow.


Alphonse Elric rolled over, yanking the covers further up as he tried to get comfortable. His legs became entangled with the sheets, and he kicked irritably, then bit back a curse as his foot made painful contact with the bedpost. Damn it. His aborted workout session with his brother at the gym earlier that day seemed to have keyed up his nerves instead of tiring him out, and he debated getting up and reading or finishing up his letter home, but worried about waking Ed. Granted, in their iterant youth, his brother had been one of those people who could sleep through an earthquake, but in the brief time that Al had roomed with Auric, he had noticed that the Gatekeeper was a surprisingly light sleeper, probably a habit developed from necessity, and this new version of Ed appeared to be adopting the practice. So he flopped back onto his back as quietly as possible, staring crossly at the ceiling as he willed his eyes to shut and sleep to come, although he was beginning to realize that even a State Alchemist had no control over Morpheus's realm. The Earth Moving Alchemist rolled over again on the narrow, standard-issue bed until he was facing the twin bed to his own. Unlike himself, his brother appeared to be sleeping soundly, his golden hair spilling loosely across and off the pillow, his face managing to be both calm and guarded in repose. The younger man worried at his lip as he studied the features that were more familiar to him than his own.

"You're staring again, Al," Ed mumbled sleepily without opening his eyes, though a wry smile tugged at his lips. "Having trouble sleeping?"

His younger brother started and shook his head in amusement. "I'm with Hughes. How do you do that?" Maes had been fascinated by Auric's seeming ability to tell what was going on around him even with his eyes shut, probably because that would be an invaluable skill for an Intelligence Officer, and it seemed that Ed hadn't lost his touch.

"We do have senses other than sight, you know. Sound, for instance – it's hard to be sure, but I think you might have been quieter as a suit of armour." Ed shifted, yawning widely, and opened a sleepy but amused eye, the barest slit of gold visible through his lashes. "Besides, some Gatekeeper I'd be if I couldn't tell when someone was watching me. What's bothering you?"

Ed had evidently also retained Auric's mood swings, his brother decided, given that Ed was downright chatty at the moment, in stark contrast to a few hours prior when he had basically stormed into their rooms after their gym session and flung himself down on the bed, refusing to talk. Carefully ignoring the fact that Ed had just referred to himself instinctively as a Gatekeeper despite having only been just recertified and restored, from an official point of view, to the status of State Alchemist, Al took a deep breath. The matching silver pocket watch to his own lay on the nightstand where it had been carelessly tossed, glinting mockingly at the young man. "Truth be told, brother, you are."

Ed's eyebrows shot up in mock outrage as he sat up and scrubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. "Hey, I'm not the one who snores! How does Winry put up with it?" A pillow came flying in his direction, and he ducked, laughing. "Okay, okay, I yield. What am I doing that's bothering you?"

"Well…" Al sat up, hunching over slightly as he hugged his remaining pillow to his chest defensively, a familiar pose that Ed had seen many times whenever his younger brother wanted to broach a delicate subject, but wasn't sure how Ed would take it. It never augured well. For himself, anyway. Al hesitated, then, "I saw the scar on your chest, over your heart. Earlier today, when we were hitting the showers in the gym."

He was pretty sure that that had not been what Al had meant to say, but Ed went with it. "Oh. You know, typical Gate of Truth souvenir. Now we match!" His hand crept to his chest and he rubbed at it through his shirt self-consciously. As a child, he had generally slept bare-chested, but since his return, he'd found sleeping nearly fully clothed to be a habit hard to break, derived as it was from the Gatekeeper instinct for self-preservation and the need to be ready at a moments notice. His sais rested near to hand under his pillow.

"No. No, we don't, brother." Al's grey eyes glinted like starlight in the thin light creeping through the crack under the door to their room. "Yours is different from mine. It's not a wing'd snake on a cross. Do you know what yours is?"

"Ah…Al, you know I always left that sort of detailed research to you," Ed hedged. Al glared at him, and the slighter of the two blondes groaned. "Do we have to do this now? I'm tired, Al. Some of us actually worked out."

"So lie down and listen," replied his brother tartly. "But don't you dare fall asleep, because I'll know, and I'll transmute your pillow into gum, and then you'll have to get a haircut. And you'll never live it down."

Ed twitched. "You're evil, you know that? It must be Winry's influence. I have no idea what I was thinking, asking her to take care of you. Should have stuck Mustang with you…wait, then you'd be a manipulative bastard, that wouldn't work either, not to mention the thought of the two of you married…Hawkeye? Oh, wait, I've got it, Hughes! Gracia would have loved to have had you, and Alicia…."

"Stop trying to change the subject, brother," Al chided. "Don't make me smack you again like I did Auric."

A fond smile touched Ed's lips lightly as he regarded his brother with proud affection. "You really have grown up, Al. You're taking care of me now – it almost feels like I'm superfluous here. You don't really need me anymore."

Al lunged off his bed and onto Ed's as he smacked – or rather, thumped – Ed hard, the bed creaking harshly under the added weight. "I warned you! Does 'crazed homicidal State Alchemist' not ring any bells?" Ed choked as Al wrapped his arms around him and squeezed rather harder than necessary. He could feel his brother trembling under the iron band of muscle, and he reached up as best he could to rub Al's back, feeling the tension slowly ebb as Al began to relax. "I swear, if you pull one of your nobly self-sacrificing stunts again, I'll hunt you down wherever you wind up and strangle you. At least then I'll know where you are at all times!"

Ed shook his head gently, still trapped in Al's shoulder. "You know I'll always find a way back to you, Al. But I am sorry, that was a stupid thing to say."

"You should be," snapped his brother, but he finally let go and moved to sit with his back against the wall, long legs stretched out before him half-dangling off the bed. Ed sat cross-legged at right angles to him up by the headboard, and for a few minutes neither said anything. At last Al stirred again. "So. Your scar."

"It's a caduceus and crown," Ed sighed in resignation. He might not be as interested in minutia as his brother – except insofar as they related to his goals - but you couldn't come back from the Gate of Truth three times and not have a fair amount of stuff stuck in your head.

"What do you think it means?" His brother's brow was furrowed in thought.

Ed allowed his head to tip back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "I wasn't kidding when I referred to the scars as souvenirs, Al. The Gate marks everyone who sees it for those who understand to read. Yours tells us that your spirit and soul have undergone a successful fixation to this plane."

"Thanks to you."

Ed shrugged. "Whatever. You would have done the same for me." He opened his eyes, which glowed startlingly bright, like a cat's. "In my case, the caduceus, with its twining twin snakes, represents the union of two manifestations – Auric and Ed – around one soul. The golden ball with wings topping the staff represents the product of their successful union, the Stone, their offspring - me. Or at least, me as I will become…." He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "This isn't easy, Al. You know how weird it is to see the world through two sets of eyes, each viewing the situation through the lenses of their own experience? It's a daily struggle to reconcile the two in my head, and sometimes I feel like it's a losing battle. People keep expecting me to just pick up where I left off. Well, I can't. I'm sorry to dump all this on you, but I'm tired. Tired of keeping up the appearance of normality. Because this isn't a normal situation." His face darkened as he tilted his chin downwards, and Al thought absently that it was rather like having the lights dim on you as Ed's burning gaze fell to the rumpled sheets.

"Then the crown must represent the successful completion of the union?" Al asked tentatively. "But you just said…."

His brother's smile was mirthless. "A little presumptive and premature on the part of the Gate. I knew it was going to try to get back at me for mouthing off." He shifted restlessly. "It's a mockery that I have to see every time I look in the mirror. And it also reminds me…." He trailed off then sighed. "Never mind."

"Brother…" Al urged gently. "We've always shared our troubles, you know that. What is it?"

Ed seemed to be wrestling with himself, his graceful fingers wandering nervously across the sheets, smoothing out the creases as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Well…much of alchemic research is centred around creating a Stone. Right?" He waited for Al to nod agreement. "Suppose you do succeed in creating a Stone. What do you do with it?"

Al opened his mouth reflexively, then shut it. Was his brother serious? "Um…well, you use it."

"What for?" Ed asked. "And I'm not being facetious."

"Whatever you want!" Al said, puzzled. "Restoring bodies, prolonging life – it's a source of power, that's all."

"And what do you do when you've achieved everything you set out to do, Al?" his brother asked softly, and with that gentle question, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Ed's eyes were hollow as he sat up a little straighter and folded his hands neatly in his lap.

"A Stone's useless without a purpose."


It was sad, really, that Mustang had to be disposed of. He might be an arrogant, patronizing, manipulative S.O.B., but the man had guts, and had admittedly been instrumental in turning the tide of the Drachman war. And the people did love him; he fit the profile of the brilliant, dashing war hero to a T, and the man had charisma coming out his ears. Not to mention all that fancy Alchemy that Fuhrer Bradley had paid far too much attention to, to the man's eventual detriment. So the Flame Alchemist was a human firework, big deal. All flash and no substance. Still, he did put on a good show, and that was the problem…the man had become too big for his britches thanks to the general adulation that greeted him wherever he went. Too…popular. And that was always dangerous.

People, thought Major-General Hakuro, were like sheep. There to be led. There to be used. And who cared what sheep thought? They didn't understand that what they needed was a shepherd with a firm hand to guide them and chivvy them along in the right direction, and that that flighty, womanizing playboy was certainly not what Amestris needed right now. The country had almost been destroyed, for crying out loud, it needed to be unified and rebuilt, and Mustang was not the man for the job. No sir, what they needed was an experienced leader, a strong ruler, a decisive despot. Himself, in other words. He'd earned his rank, unlike Mustang, who had leapfrogged his way to the top…probably kissed more than just asses to further his ambitions, too. How else to explain the peculiar loyalty of the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother? And the rest of his irritatingly tight-knit staff…he'd tried to get his spies to ingratiate themselves into Mustang's inner circle even before the Drachman war had begun, but strange things seemed to happen to people who got too close. One of his best spies had woken up naked in the middle of HQ after a drinking session with Havoc, a bulls-eye tattooed neatly onto his left buttocks cheek. Another one had attempted to woo Mustang's aide-de-camp – what was her name? Liza, Rosa, something like that – and had come back with his right arm in a sling. The woman had apparently put two bullets into his upper arm after he had tried to slip his arm around her, shattering his humerus. Even that quiet little specialist, the one with the glasses, had somehow given them the slip the one time they had tried to corner him and pry information about Mustang's doings out of him, and their phones hadn't worked right for weeks afterwards.

Hakuro growled. Of course, the man's popularity meant an obvious strike against him was useless. Even if the attempt was successful, he didn't need Mustang turned into a martyr, or for the populace to become more agitated about the state of government than they already were. The popular groundswell of support would most certainly mean that those responsible would be lynched, and while he was quite certain that he had men and guns enough to defend himself, well…you couldn't kill all the sheep, what would you live off then? That left three options. Discrediting Mustang at this stage would be difficult, especially with that spin-machine Maes Hughes firmly by his side manipulating propaganda. He made Hakuro's own intelligence officers look like the bungling goons they often were. Then there was trying to persuade the one man more popular than Mustang transfer his loyalties to Hakuro. Given his past experience with the Fullmetal Alchemist though, Hakuro was quite certain that really wasn't even on the table, which was a pity, because the boy had certainly grown up to be stunning. Those eyes…those almost too-red lips…he shifted uncomfortably as he felt his face flushing hot.

Oh. Might that be how Mustang was keeping Fullmetal by his side? Why, that cunning, perverted bastard, thought Hakuro self-righteously, that's just sick. Poor moral character, there you go, we can't have that in our Fuhrer, can we? So it would have to be the third option then. Good thing he still had men stationed in HQ from the days when they had served as the Fuhrer's security detail, although he was certain Mustang would move swiftly to have them removed and replaced by his own men, so they'd have to move quickly. The sudden peaceful passing of the illustrious Flame Alchemist, hero of the Ishbal and Drachma wars by assassination – yes, without that last bit, it would read very well in the papers indeed.

He looked out the window. A heavy, dark, silent night. A good night for plots and schemes. He should turn in early though, he'd need to be fresh and alert and ready to express his sorrow in the morning when they came to give him the tragic news that the injuries the Fuhrer-elect had sustained in the war had proven too much for even his noble body to bear. And he would of course volunteer to lead the nation through this time of grief and crisis. Perhaps he might even have to console the Fullmetal Alchemist. A heavy cross to bear, but Major General Hakuro would, of course, be more than up to the job.


They had been sitting silently in the dark for a while, Al because he didn't know what to say, and Ed because he had said all he had to say. The BOQ was eerily quiet – normally there would have been people chatting in the corridors, murmuring quiet good nights and see you in the mornings, but for some reason nothing was stirring. Even the breeze that had been blowing in through the open window earlier had died down. Ed finally broke the silence.

"Go to bed, Al, it's late, and we'll have a full day working with Armstrong on those rebuilding plans tomorrow. I think we're going to have to send Winters and Klimt up north to help out, what do you think?"

Al recognized his brother's valiant attempt to bring the conversation back to the everyday. "Um. Yeah. Sure, that would work, Winters is a pretty good civil alchemist, and the North City did take the most damage." He forced a note of jollity into his voice. "Hey, maybe we could volunteer to go to East City, that way we could stop by Risembool and you could see everyone."

He felt, rather than saw Ed smile slightly. "Sure, Al. Whatever you want. We'll do it after the inauguration, all right?"

"Yeah. We should stick around for that, and Winry said she'd like to come up for it too. Not every day you get front-row seats to watch a new Fuhrer take office, and you'll be front and centre with him! We can go back to Risembool together afterwards - you'll feel better in the countryside," Al added hopefully. "It's peaceful there. And you can see the stars at night, not like here. And hear the crickets chirping…hey, listen, you can hear one now! I guess because it's so quiet tonight. It's a sign we're supposed to go home."

Ed hooted in brotherly derision. "Branching out into divination now? A 'sign' indeed. Maybe you should also look into…" and then he stiffened and stopped abruptly. His mask of mild amusement was wiped off and replaced by a look of ferocious intensity. With one bound he was off the bed, buttoning up his pants and sliding neatly into his boots as he reached for the daggers stashed under his pillow. "Al. Hurry, get dressed, we have to go."

"Now? But the trains don't run until morning!" protested Al in shock, even as he slid off the bed with a thump and began pulling his shirt over his head, automatically obedient to his brother's orders.

Ed was already rummaging in a drawer for a bit of ribbon as he pulled his hair back into a low, loose ponytail. "Central doesn't have crickets, Al, it's too built up and the weather doesn't suit them as well. Unless I'm mistaken, that's a sign all right, but not for us." He reached for the pair of gauntlets on the nightstand and slipped them on, fastening them snugly around his forearms with practiced ease, then hesitated a moment, looking at the silver watch that had lain next to them, before picking it up and swiftly stuffing it into his pocket. His old watch had been lost four years ago, which wasn't entirely a bad thing, he thought philosophically as he clipped the chain of his new one to his belt. The date scratched within its case would never be forgotten, but its significance was, in many ways, a thing of his past, belonging to a chapter of his life that was now closed behind him. It was time to move on from both his pasts. Something had changed inside him in the last few minutes, had shaken off the dark bonds of depression and started to take an incisive interest in the future again, and he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps he'd just needed to share his worries with Al? He filed the thought away for consideration at some later time; there were other things demanding his attention at the moment.

"You think it's a signal of some kind?" Al asked as he yanked frantically on his bootlaces. Ed snatched up his cloak and twirled it lightly about himself, patted himself down swiftly in a final check, then nodded, satisfied. He moved quietly towards the door, his booted feet making barely any sound, Al noticed suddenly.

"Yes. And if people are sneaking around HQ with covert signals, that can't be a good thing. My guess is that we've got company coming – and I know who I'd be targeting if I were an assassin. Come on, time to go save that bastard's ass again." And he was gone, slipping out the door like a shadow, and Al followed, frowning, because the look on his brother's face had been one of worry, keen focus – and a fierce secret joy.