Ed wasn't sure how long they sat there, himself sitting on the floor, Mustang in his chair. It could have been minutes or hours, or possibly days, since nothing else seemed to be obeying the laws of physics recently. As Ed watched Mustang watch the window, he had plenty of time to think.

Ed had already concluded that he only had limited ability to interact with his environment. He walked through walls, couldn't even touch a doorknob, but somehow, he had been able to possess Mustang's body, for lack of a better word. Or maybe that was the perfect word. He had actually taken control of Mustang's body, until Mustang woke up and threw him out. And, on top of that, he had been able to perform alchemy without a circle with Mustang's own hands. How did it work, though? Could he possess anyone? Was there some sort of time limit, or did Mustang just somehow regain control? The colonel hadn't acted like he knew what Ed had done. Hawkeye didn't even react to Mustang's sudden use of clap alchemy. She must have been hurting pretty bad if something like that got past her. Regardless, it was the most Ed had been able to interact with the physical world so far.

But possessing Mustang, of all people . . . Ed suppressed a shudder. Eww.

Still, with more experimentation, that was bound to come in useful later.

Mustang suddenly moved, jarring Ed out of his thoughts.

It was brighter outside, the sky lightening from black to predawn gray. Thunder still growled in the distance, the rain still pattering softly on the roof and gathering in an intangible puddle under his body.

It felt like he had just sat down.

Mustang leaned forward, put his head in his hands and let out a soft curse Ed could barely hear over the rain. Then he sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes like they were aching, one hand drifting down to massage his hip.

Ed understood. Under normal, less-dead conditions, the weather usually made his port-sites ache as if his surgery had been weeks ago instead of almost four years.

It was sort of interesting how people acted when they thought no one was watching.

For example, Mustang acted terribly human.

Ed hadn't been in the military all that long, but over the past years, he had developed very strong opinions about Mustang: the man was a self-righteous glory hound and Ed had about as much use for him as he did yesterday's newspaper. The only thing Mustang was good for was a lecture and for tracking down potential leads on the Philosopher Stone.

So naturally, it came with some surprise that Mustang was capable of being, well . . . human.

"I can feel sorry for you and still hate your guts," Ed said aloud, though he didn't sound quite that confident. Actually, he was a little bothered by how comfortable he was becoming with talking aloud to himself. "The first step in going crazy," Ed muttered, then scowled at himself. That really was getting to be a bad habit.

But it wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.

Well, except Mustang.

He glanced over to see the older man smirking grimly to himself; probably at some situationally inappropriate joke, because the idiot had no sense of decency.

Mustang grabbed his cane from beside his chair and used it to slowly leverage himself to his feet. He let out a soft hiss, face creasing in pain as he did. With another curse, he began a painful shuffle into the back room.

Instead of waiting around, Ed decided it would be more useful to look for signs of their attacker or any other hint of trouble. He rose fluidly to his feet, feeling none of physical pain that Mustang was struggling with, yet somehow feeling guilty about it. He reflexively brushed off his coat and stepped outside.

XxXxX

Mustang had a lot to think about as they trudged through the forest.

First and foremost, Riza.

He had patched her up as best he could that morning, redressing her shoulder and fastening a sling for her out of his spare shirt before they left, but it had become apparent when they set off that morning that Roy wasn't going to be very helpful to her, physically. He could barely get around himself, much less carry more than his small supply bag. Pride stung, he had begrudgingly let her take the two other bags on her uninjured side and let her lead the way.

He shot what he hoped was a furtive glance at her for the millionth time in the past hour. She had quickly grown weary of what she called "hovering," and two hours into their journey, declared that if he didn't stop fussing over her, she would shoot him herself.

So he had to settle himself for just watching. Watching the lines of pain deepening her face, and the way she winced on every jarring step, the subtle way she cradled her arm on their frequent rests.

Roy hated watching.

He hated her being hurt.

And even more, he hated her being hurt because of him.

The second thing he thought about was why they were in this mess to begin with.

Michael. Mustang didn't know him—had never seen him before in his life—and yet he had tried to kill Hawkeye.

He knew what letter the man was referring to, of course. He remembered it, but only because he had found it so odd. The letter was sent from Hughes, though he wouldn't have known by the return address. It was marked as being sent from Northern Command, but the handwriting was unmistakably Hughes', and Roy knew for a fact that Hughes had never spent a day in the North.

The only message inside read "Urgent. Will call soon." Behind the hastily-scrawled note was a simple map of Amestris. There were some markings in the same blue ink, circles and notes, a few dates notated in the margins, but Roy had literally been on his way out the door when the letter on his desk had caught his eye, and Roy hadn't had time to call Hughes to question him or he would have missed his train to Isparta, and then Ed would have never let him hear the end of it. Now, he really wished that they had missed that train . . .

This all had something to do with that map, but what, Roy didn't know. Hughes had never bothered to mention it in their limited communications, and Roy had never thought to ask.

The final, especially irritating thing he had to think about, was strolling along beside him, hands shoved in the pockets of his garish red coat, blond hair gleaming duly under the overcast sky, and golden eyes blazing like flames as they scanned the trees around them.

Sometime during the conflict last night, Edward Elric had risen from the dead to haunt him.

Not literally, of course, because though Roy knew ghosts were all too real, that's not how it worked. Ghosts haunted you in your dreams and nightmares, in the flashes of gunfire and loud noises and the eyes of Ishvalan children and bridges and the sound of running water and every glimpse of red and gold.

Ghosts did not walk next to you in the forest, whistling the Fürher's March with unparalleled pitch accuracy while making derogatory comments about Roy, someone named "Truth," the weather, and Roy again.

Roy had lost no small amount of sleep over Ed's death. Generally, it was all he could think about. It plagued him the way Ishval had plagued him, except worse. He had been responsible for Ed, and despite all of his bravado and posturing, Ed had trusted Roy, if no further than trusting him not to put him directly in harm's way.

Roy hadn't deserved his trust.

And as if to punish him for his failure, his mind had conjured up this hallucination to plague him. Except, in some ways, the boy next to him seemed more real than a hallucination should.

For instance, last night.

Roy had seen the boy appear from the wall, the way one would expect a ghost would enter. He had noted it with a numb sort of surprise. It wasn't as surprising as perhaps it should have been, though. After all, Roy was suffering from sleep deprivation, constant pain and the frayed sort of paranoia that being on the run naturally induced. He had expected the illusion to evaporate as quickly as it had materialized and Roy could get back to focusing on the man with the gun.

But it didn't evaporate. Instead, the illusion had approached, asking questions, walking around the room, and reacting to the situation as if Fullmetal were really present.

After Riza had been shot, Roy wasn't taking any more chances. He ignored the illusion completely, devoting his full attention to the situation at hand. He had eliminated Michael soon after and then turned his attention to Riza.

That was when Roy was first aware that maybe this wasn't a run-of-the-mill hallucination.

Roy became certain of that fact when Edward had jumped into his body and performed clap alchemy.

Roy could not do clap alchemy, and even if he could, he didn't have enough working knowledge of mineral-based alchemy to be able to shield himself and Hawkeye with stone on the fly like that. All evidence pointed to Edward Elric, and that just didn't make sense.

Unless the hallucination wasn't actually a hallucination.

"Sir," Riza called, her tone making him certain it wasn't for the first time.

Roy looked up. She was watching him, sherry eyes irritated but hazy from the morphine keeping her on her feet, and her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Yes?" he asked. "Do you need a break?"

Her lips pursed in a hard line, irritation blazing in a way that made him think she was more annoyed with herself than him, and that maybe she actually did need a break. "I asked if we should reconsider our destination."

Roy found a raised bit of earth with a large tree jutting from it. He slid down to the ground, slow and painful, leaning heavily against the tree, his cane propped between his knees. He couldn't quite keep the grimace off of his face, but when his leg finally stopped throbbing, it actually felt pretty good to be off of it.

Riza was watching him, her look knowing. Finally, she sat down gingerly in front of him, wincing with the movement. "Sir, what is our plan?" Her tone suggested she was asking for a longterm strategy. "We can't keep doing this. They got close last night."

Close to killing them, she meant. Roy rubbed his eyes. "I know."

But what else could they do? They were slowly moving toward the border, toward the desert. Short of fleeing the country, there wasn't much they could accomplish in their current state, and this cat-and-mouse game was going to get them killed.

"Find Al."

Roy glanced in Ed's direction through a veil of fingers. The boy was hovering just beside Riza, golden eyes burning into his.

Roy looked to the side. "I guess that depends on what our goal is now. If it's figuring out who in the military is trying to kill us, then we should be heading to Central City. If it's surviving, we should be booking it toward the border as fast as possible."

"Al can help," Ed insisted.

Roy tried to ignore him.

"So, we head to Central."

Roy almost pulled a muscle turning too fast, eyes wide. "I'm sorry? Come again?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You said yourself that if we want to figure out who is out to kill us, then we should head to Central City."

"I would have thought the survival option would sound the most appealing." Not that Roy personally had much to lose, but when Riza was in the equation, he had everything to lose.

Ed glared over Riza's shoulder. "Since when did you become a quitter?!"

"If survival were so appealing, I wouldn't be here," Riza said, soft voice a sharp contrast to Ed's outburst. She held his gaze a few moments, then looked away.

That seemed to shut the Ed hallucination up. His aggressive stance shifted just a bit, incensed glare sliding to Riza with something more subdued.

Rain started to fall, pattering against the leaves and dirt and grass. A drop slid down Roy's nose and made a dark spot on his jacket.

"What about your goals, Roy? Our goals?"

Roy looked away.

The reality of it was, he would never be what he was before. How could he possibly rise to the top as he was, a cripple with psychosis and enough post traumatic stress disorder to fill a psych ward? He couldn't even save Ed, much less a country. What did she expect him to do?

But this wasn't a battle he wanted to fight right now. "If we head to Central, we'll be heading right to the heart of it."

"They won't be expecting it."

"We'll run into our tail if we backtrack," Roy said. "You're usually the cautious one, Riza."

"And you're usually the brazen one," she countered. "We can't run forever. We have responsibilities; people that count on us."

"I know. You're right." And she was. Roy just didn't know if he was capable of protecting her anymore. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we steal a car and head to East City. From there, we get in touch with our team and find out what we know."

"Steal a car. That's something I'd like to see," Ed muttered, crossing his arms. "Like Mustang could hot-wire a car. You're both going to get shot again. You need Al."

Roy fought the urge to bristle at the commentary of his own overactive imagination. "And what about our shadow?"

Riza's hand brushed against her sidearm, but Roy wasn't sure if it was conscious or not. "If he were in any position to kill us, he would have done so last night. He obviously has other things to worry about for the time being."

There was no use speculating. They had absolutely no idea where their second attacker from the previous night was. For all they knew, he went to the forest to bleed out, or was leading a whole platoon on their heels.

But still, indecision plagued him. Roy wanted nothing more than to get Riza to safety, even at the expense of their goals, dreams and his very life, but he didn't know if he could handle her disappointment in him if he failed, especially after all she had sacrificed for them to get this far. It was throwing all the blood, sweat and tears back in her face, saying that he burned her back for nothing.

And it was with his lingering guilt that he looked her in the eye and inclined his head in a slow nod. "Alright, Riza. Let's steal a car."

From over Riza's shoulder, Ed groaned. "You can't be serious!"

Poor Ed. Still thinks that absolutely no one is listening xD

And Mustang thinks he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal. I mean, he probably is, though . . .

Now would be a great time for me to mention that this is going to be a bit AU, and I'm taking some smallish liberties with the timeline. Because fan fiction. This chapter seems kind of slow after the last one, and I'm not just thrilled with it, but we'll pick up real fast next chapter. After all, Mustang's going to steal a car :D

So I've spent the better part of the evening cleaning out my garage freezer that shut off during a power surge sometime two weeks ago. Yes, I said two weeks. You can probably imagine. But for those of you that can't, I think I know what a crime scene smells like now. I cannot unsmell what I have smelled. My nostrils have been forever tainted. Every quarter hour my gag reflex goes off at the memory. I'm going to go buy myself a bouquet of flowers now. And tie them to my face.

Hope you enjoyed :'D Leave a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next chapter c:

God Bless,

-RainFlame