Scar looks up, shielding his eyes from the harsh setting sun. Xerxes still has a long way to go, but he feels like rarely more than a few days pass without him appreciating the progress that has been made. A part of him still wonders if it's not a little sacrilegious to come into these ancient ruins and rebuild, but at least they have the blessing of the last person who can give it to do so. He turns to greet Alphonse.

"How does the child fare?" he asks.

Alphonse smiles at him, amused as usual, but never in a way that is mean or petty. Never mocking. It's almost as if each time he is asked, he is reminded anew of his family's inclusion, their welcome, is reassured that they belong. Knowing Alphonse, perhaps he is. "The child is well," he returns in Ishvalan that seems to get better by the day, then adds, "Being horribly spoiled by all the extended relatives who can get their hands on her."

"And the child's mother?" Scar inquires, observing the ritual.

Amber eyes sparkling, Alphonse says, "Still off tracking down whatever disturbance she felt in the Dragon's Pulse, I expect. But she is well, all the same." There is no insecurity in the response, no unease in the fact that his wife—they are the parents of a First Child, in Ishvala's eyes, they are wed, regardless of their own customs—has gone traipsing off into the desert with nothing but a chimera for protection. His security makes him worthy of her.

"And the child's father?" Scar finishes.

Somehow, Alphonse's grin gets even bigger. "I have been informed that we are in need of an extra pair of hands for dinner prep tonight, since most of the usual suspects are preparing for tomorrow's feast. You have been to be made to be volunteer. "

Scar blinks up at him while he tries to process the strange phrasing Alphonse just used. "Volunteered?" he asks in Amestrian.

"No," Alphonse replies in kind. "I meant 'voluntold.' Where you are told you volunteered. Sorry, I was trying to work out an equivalent way to say it in Ishvalan, but since 'volunteer' is only a noun, not a verb, it didn't work so well."

"Voluntold," Scar repeats, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a word your brother would use."

Alphonse's smile doesn't dim in the least at the mention of his missing brother—he actually hates it when people try to talk around Edward as if he's dead—"I believe he learned it from the General."

That , Scar would believe. "I imagine he was… voluntold often in his career." Ten years since the Promised Day, and he still struggles with reconciling the monster he believed Mustang to be and the man he might actually be. He's not sure if Mustang's prolonged absence has made it harder or easier to adjust his opinion of the man. Fortunately, most of the Amestrians are willing to let him simply ignore the man's existence—even if he had tied himself irrevocably to Edward. He still did not approve of that act of alchemy, but he was not in a position then to comment. He doubts that even with their potential change in relationship, Edward would appreciate the criticism regardless.

"Often," Al says with that particular tone he gets when he finds his brother's longsuffering amusing.

Scar sends a silent prayer to Ishvala for Edward Elric's safety, and reluctantly includes General Mustang in it, if only for Edward's sake. Knowing how Edward would feel about someone praying for him does not make him less inclined to do so. Nehan comes to take the shovel he was using without a word while Scar follows Alphonse to the prep area.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks.

"Honestly, mostly stir," Alphonse says, motioning to the massive stew pot that holds what has become a staple in their diet. Adiayah, a woman some ten years older than Scar but not yet stooped with age, gratefully hands over stirring duties.

She pats Scar on the shoulder, her ring chiming softly against his automail arm. "That's a good lad," she says, as if she's his grandmother instead of someone young enough to be his sister.

He doesn't sigh, but he does give her a side-eyed look as she bustles over to help Al prep. The stew is thick, already, so it's not surprising she's tired of stirring it, and his arm won't get as tired as hers will.

"Are you excited for the feast tomorrow?" Adiayah asks Alphonse.

"I'm very much looking forward to it," he tells her with effusive sincerity. "Though I'm sorry to be such a bother. I really wish you'd let us help more."

Adiayah tuts at him. "None of that. You have your whole lives to provide for her. For this, you let family take care of," she tells him, putting a hand on his arm as well. "Why don't you go spend time with everyone. Let Ktschinya—" She nods to him, using the Ishvalan word for scar . "—and I take care of the stew for tonight."

Alphonse scratches the back of his neck. "Actually, a little bit of breathing space is kind of nice," he admits. Scar doesn't blame him. In his experience, few people attached to either Alphonse or Mei are shy, quiet, or short on personality, and the thought of being confined with them all under one roof—albeit a large one, since they are using some of the palace ruins as a make-shift inn—is still a lot.

"Everyone is so looking forward to tomorrow," Adiayah says.

"We are too," Alphonse agrees, though a touch of sadness enters his eyes for the first time. "It'd be perfect except…"

Except Edward won't be there , Scar thinks but doesn't say. Neither does Adiayah. She simply gives him work to keep his hands and mind busy.

They've only been working about fifteen minutes when the first hints of a commotion make their way to their ears.

"Alphonse!" Ruutan, a young man of sixteen, sticks his head around the corner, breathless, an emotion that Scar can't name on his face. "Miss Mei is back!"

They all blink at Ruutan because as much as Mei is loved, she doesn't warrant this kind of a reception.

Ruutan grins widely. "You'll want to come see her. Trust me!"

Before he can dash off, Scar snaps. "What is it?"

Shaking his head, Ruutan says, "You wouldn't believe me. Just come!"

Alphonse's brow furrows, and he exchanges a look with both Adiayah and Scar.

"Oh, go," Adiayah tells him. "We can manage this without you."

He inclines his head but smiles. "I can't thank you—"

"Yes, yes," Adiayah interrupts, not letting him finish the ritual phrase. "Your help has been most appreciated, now shoo! Before Ruutan vibrates out of his skin."

Alphonse bows slightly—probably to be cheeky—then scurries toward Ruutan before Adiayah can decide to see how well his wife can heal him if she stabs him a little bit.

When he disappears behind Ruutan, she shakes her head, both fond and exasperated.

"What do you think that was about?" Scar asks.

She shrugs, going back to prepping her vegetables. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Probably just another long lost extended family member," she says, but she's smiling. Mei and Alphonse are well-loved in Xerxes and by his people. No one has been disappointed by the number of people who have decided to trek out to the middle of a desert construction zone to celebrate their daughter's sixth month, even if it has made for a few uneasy exchanges. His people trust Mei and Alphonse, and trust that they wouldn't associate with anyone intent on holding a grudge. She glances up. "Keep stirring! Do you want that stew to burn?"

Scar hurriedly starts stirring again. He doesn't want her to decide to stab him just a little bit , either.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

JJ's head is spinning when they get to the edge of the ruins. The desert, the lion-man, the far too intelligent panda, Ed's magic ? Then this city rising up out of the desert? Like some strange fantasy setting? She swears she has some lecture rattling around in her head from Spencer about how people don't just randomly decide to set up shop in the middle of deserts—there are no resources, nothing to sustain them, people don't actually do that…

Except here they clearly have . And it's not just the city ruins themselves—and for all that there's plenty of new construction going on, these are ruins —ruins that are not of the type she expects to see in the desert, her brain associating "desert" with "Egypt." These ruins remind her almost more of the Taj Mahaal or Angkor Wat if they had some Western influence. Again, not something she expects to see in a desert. But it's not just the impossible city or the impossible animal or Ed's impossible not-magic.

It's the impossible people with Derek's skin tone and bone-white hair and impossible red, red eyes that watch them with open curiosity, open guardedness. There haven't been many of them, outside the walls, but they greet Mei with pleasure, Heinkel with more caution, and watch the rest of them with either guardedness or surprise.

"Is it just me," Derek asks her, low and soft, "but does it seem like these people know Ed?"

Blinking, JJ shakes off the mental fuzz of this is all way too much and concentrates on the profiling, concentrates on the reactions they're getting. They've all had to do this before, scan through hours and hours of footage while staying focused, scan through dozens, if not hundreds, of faces looking for signs of things that aren't right, looking for reactions. She just needs to treat this the same way.

Don't focus on everything , she told herself. Focus on the specifics . There are what appear to be soldiers on the top of the wall, though no specific uniform that she can make out.

"So when Ed said he's kind of famous here…" JJ trails, seeing a couple of kids giggle and run off. There isn't a lot of activity outside the walls, but there is some .

"I think he understated how famous," Derek finishes just in time to hear Ed squawk in outrage.

At some point as they'd been walking, their path had become an actual road, and before them stands weakened walls, but what was once a magnificent fortification There's a massive stone archway, and next to it, there is a statue… of Ed . A younger Ed than they've ever known—and shorter. He's not in any kind of discernable uniform, and the coat he's wearing definitely doesn't look standard, though it does remind her of the types of coats that Ed prefers. In his hand he holds what looks like some kind of talisman. His face, though youthful, is unyielding, firm. The artist managed to capture Ed's twenty-mile stare perfectly. It's somehow both reassuring and a little haunting.

Ed claps his hands, and Heinkel has to grab him.

"Don't you dare!" Mei scolds.

"Why the fuck would that thing even exist ?" Ed demands, flailing in Heinkel's grip. It occurs to JJ that the statue is… very short, and she knows that Ed is a bit… touchy about his height. Apparently this is why.

"Because you're the People's Alchemist!" Mei tells him firmly, using the exact same tone JJ uses when Henry is being unreasonable. It's a pure mom tone that she didn't expect from the young woman. "Because you helped save all of Amestris—"

"It wasn't just me—"

"You were the ones who uncovered it first!" she shouts over him, then gets teary-eyed, which at least makes Ed stop fighting. "You and Alphonse and the General and your father." The last one makes Ed look away from her and grit his teeth. Ed does not talk about his father, but the rare occasions they've brushed up against the topic have made his feelings on the subject abundantly clear. "You saved the whole country !"

"You did too," he says softly. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been alive to save anyone."

"I didn't beat god to death with half the Amestrian army watching," she replies, equally as soft. She rubs the tears away from under her eyes then looks straight at him. "I'm not the People's Alchemist. Neither is Alphonse. You are . You saved fifty million people, Edward. You put the people first. You suggested that Xerxes could be rebuilt as a waystation and that the Ishvalans should control it." JJ glances at Derek, who looks like he's not following this much better than she is. Fifty million?

Heinkel hesitantly releases Ed, looking ready to grab him again, but Ed just crosses his arms and looks at the ground. "It seemed like an obvious solution. Amestris pretty much razed their historical territory. It'd be easier to rebuild this place. It would also give them a land to control that was theirs and give them some actual, you know, leverage. There were already refugee camps here anyway…" he trails off as if nothing he just said was special or worthy of note, but the way that Heinkel and Mei are looking at him tells another story. They're looking at him with fond exasperation.

"And that's why," a new voice says from through the archway. A man in what's clearly a blue military uniform with gold accents comes into view. He has his white hair pulled back into a tail, stylized mutton chops, and is the first person she's seen in a uniform with dark skin and red eyes. "Because of your remarkable compassion and humanity. 'Alchemist, be thou—'"

"'For the people,'" Ed finishes in union with him. "Lieutenant Colonel Miles," he says, smiling. "I wondered who was keeping an eye out."

Miles steps forward and a couple of soldiers who are clearly an escort step back, though even the soldiers with him are looking at Ed with a little awe. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric." Rather than saluting, he holds out his hand. Ed takes it with his metal hand, and it's so strange to JJ to see Ed be willing to touch someone, be willing to reach out and shake.

"You know, last time I saw you, I wasn't an alchemist anymore," Ed points out reasonably. "And are you going to explain that monstrosity to me?" He nods over Miles's shoulder to the statue. It is an admirable likeness, JJ thinks, but it serves to highlight how alive Ed is in person.

"The Ishvalans wanted symbols of people to welcome people both from the East and the West. We wanted everyone to be welcome here, wanted symbols that people would remember . And we wanted to honor this place's history."

"If you wanted a symbol, you could have just used Al's fucking armor. He's as Xerxian as I am."

"Yes, but he is not the infamous Fullmetal Alchemist," Miles says, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"So who's facing the—oh, fuck. You did not," Ed says, eyes growing narrow. "You wouldn't."

"He is quite renowned in the East—"

Heinkel grabs Ed just as he makes to lunge forward, apparently expecting the outburst. "You put that bastard on the Eastern Gate?" he demands.

"You will not destroy your brother's work!" Mei says firmly, and Ed slumps.

"He would think that bastard deserves to be honored."

JJ has so many questions, but she can tell it's not the time.

There are footsteps pounding, and then a young man with dark skin and red eyes bursts through the archway, someone who can only be Ed's brother in tow.

Ed's eyes land on him almost instantly, and he says, "Al!" in a tone that JJ has never heard him use, drinking in his brother with emotions that remind her of desperate parents when they're reunited with their missing kids. He makes an aborted move toward him but stops cold, waiting.

Al's eyes are equally as surprised. He says "Brother—!" moving toward Ed for a fraction of a moment, before stopping himself, an eerie reflection of his brother. His eyes are gold, but more burnished than Ed's, just a little less striking. They go from bright with surprise and relief to clouded and suspicious, and JJ has to wonder what has happened to these people that they distrust the evidence in front of their eyes so readily. Al's gaze moves to Mei, who nods, looking hopeful and sincere. He doesn't seem relieved though, frowning instead. "Which one of us killed the first rabbit we caught on the island?" he asks.

The tension goes out of Ed's shoulders, and a tenderness JJ hasn't seen before fills his face. "The stupid fox stole it while we were arguing over who had to kill it." He closes his eyes and smiles a little ruefully. "Just as fucking well—rabbit's terrible if you're—"

He is cut off abruptly as Al flings himself into Ed's arms. Even though he isn't watching for it, even though Al is nearly a full head taller than him, Ed catches him as if he's an overeager child. Al crumples trying to make himself smaller. Ed holds him close, stroking his hair as if marveling at him.

"Brother!" Al says, voice rough with emotion.

"I missed you too, Al," Ed says softly, hugging him just as tight. "So much."