"You . . ." Ed huffed.

Mustang didn't move. He didn't even breathe, eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what he had just admitted aloud.

Ed couldn't believe it either.

"You," Ed repeated, voice shaking. "Are you trying to tell me . . . YOU COULD HEAR ME THIS WHOLE TIME?!" Ed screamed, pulling back an automail fist and throwing it right at Mustang's face.

Mustang flinched, Ed's punch passing right through his pale, stupid face, doing no more than make him shiver. Ed didn't even get the satisfying shock of impact, only a tingling through his shoulder nerves.

Mustang quickly averted his gaze, looking up at Alphonse. If possible, it ticked Ed off even more.

"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M SCREAMING AT YOU!"

"What?" Al said from behind him.

"Nothing," Mustang said quickly, turning away. "We should move. It'll be daylight soon, and I'd rather already be in town."

"I will possess you!" Ed snarled. "I will possess your body, throw off your clothes and streak through Central Command if you don't turn around and look at me right now!"

Mustang continued to ignore him. But Ed knew that he could see him, and since he knew that, so many other things over the past couple of days were starting to make some sense. The way he ducked when Ed told him to, the way he winced or frowned as if in response to something Ed had said . . . it all made sense.

And now he was pretending he couldn't see him again?!

Ed jumped in front of him, Mustang halting in surprise. "Cut that out, I know you can hear me now!"

"Is there something wrong?" Alphonse asked, his earlier bitterness almost forgotten, it seemed, in light of Mustang's nervous breakdown.

If it was possible, Mustang looked paler. "No. Everything's fine."

"Everything is not fine! I swear, you are the biggest pain in my neck, Mustang! Why are you ignoring me?!"

"This is crazy," Mustang muttered aloud. "I'm not losing my mind right now."

"You lost it a long time ago, this is nothing!" Ed said. "I need you to get it together! I'm not some hallucination, I'm dead, but if I can find out who murdered me, I can come back, but I need . . ." Ed wanted to swallow arsenic rather than say what he was about to say, but that would be redundant. "I need your help, you idiot!"

Ed ran a hand down his face. "Truth is the absolute worst! I can't believe you're the only one that can see me. Ugh, and I can't believe my salvation is hinging on a complete moron!"

Mustang flinched, but finally met his gaze again. Ed could see him processing behind those dark eyes.

"Colonel?" Al tried again.

Mustang's eyes didn't waver. "Later." The comment was said for Al, but directed at Ed. "Let's get moving. We should arrive at East City before daybreak, if we hurry."

So, Mustang just wanted to ignore him in public, huh?

Ed proceeded to call his commanding officer a slew of unflattering names, but followed him anyway, keeping a close eye on his little brother as he did.

After all, he didn't have a lot of options.

XxXxX

They arrived in the city much later than Mustang had predicted. It was well past noon, and Mustang looked positively exhausted, hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, and bags under his eyes. Hawkeye was also worse for wear, sitting quiet in Alphonse's arms. Just as quite as Alphonse was, actually.

Upon their arrival, Mustang took no chances. He immediately led them through a back alley, down a vacant side street, then into an abandoned warehouse, gaining them entrance by smashing a brick through the rotted planks of a boarded-up window, then peeling back the wood in a shower of dust and splinters.

Not quite as refined as alchemy, but Ed supposed there was no point in complaining about it.

Alphonse went in first, his metal body sheltering Hawekeye as he backed through the opening, a spike of his armor scraping against the concrete frame with a piercing shriek. Hawkeye flinched from the noise, face contorting in pain.

Mustang had a lot more trouble entering, given the height of the window and his leg, and it was painful to watch. Ed wanted nothing more than to give him a boost and not have to see it, but that was out of the question. Eventually, Alphonse came out and gave him a hand, much to Mustang's obvious chagrin. Ed actually felt bad for the idiot that was still ignoring him.

With one last look around to check for any curious eyes, Ed stepped through the wall, shivering through the frigid sensation.

The inside was almost completely bare. They had entered into what was probably once some sort of office or storage closet, but aside from a pile of wood and debris and an inch of dust over the concrete floors, there was nothing much to say about it.

"Charming," Ed commented, his eyes drawn to the corner as something skittered out of sight through a crack in the wall.

"We'll stay until night, then we head to Havoc's," Mustang announced. He looked at Al. "I hate to ask it, Alphonse, but do you think you could round us up a few things? All our supplies were left back in the truck."

Al nodded. "Water, food, painkillers. I'll see what I can find."

Mustang pulled a few wrinkled cenz from his pocket and pushed them into Al's leather gauntlet. "Thank you."

With another glance at Hawkeye, Al slipped out the window, armor scraping concrete and then he was gone.

Mustang all but collapsed on the floor beside Hawkeye, putting a hand to her forehead, cracking open her eye to stare at her dilated irises. "Riza?" he asked.

Ed had the feeling he shouldn't be witnessing this and turned to examine a spiderweb spanning an impressive length of the ceiling. It didn't prevent him from hearing, though.

Hawkeye groaned something that could have been a "sir."

"Rest now, Riza, I'll wake you up when Al gets back."

She mumbled something else, then there was silence. After a few more moments of it, Ed turned back around to see Mustang studying him closely, dark eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but still sharp in their scrutiny. Hawkeye seemed to already be asleep at his side. "You're dead," he finally said.

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" Ed said, stepping closer. Mustang stretched his leg out in front of him, looking like the movement pained him no small degree. Ed looked at Hawkeye to avoid watching it. Seeing Mustang in pain bothered him, despite how much he'd been seeing it the past few days. "Will she be alright?"

"I'm no doctor, but I think so. She should be." Ed didn't miss the underlying desperation under his tone and finally looked at him again. Onyx eyes stared back, unrelenting and disquieting. "Why are you still here, if you're dead?"

"I . . . it's complicated," Ed said. At Mustang's arched eyebrow, Ed explained about Truth and the Gate and the bargain he had made.

After a few moments of thought in which his frown gradually deepened, he said, "That doesn't explain why I can see you, but no one else can."

"That's just Truth's idea of a sick joke." There was little doubt in Ed's mind about that. "Maybe it has something to do with proximity when I died, or your questionable mental state."

"Hah," Mustang said blandly. "I thought I was losing it. I might still be."

"You are."

"Hilarious, Ed. But you're real, right?" there was still a hint of desperation there, an urgency that didn't match up to Ed's image of Roy Mustang. It was a weakness, a glimmer of humanity that Ed had seen way too much of over the past thirty-six hours.

"I'm as real as any ghost, I guess."

Mustang frowned. "There are more?"

Ed shrugged, staring past his slightly-transparent feet at the cracked concrete. "Not that I've seen. But that probably doesn't mean anything."

"So," Mustang began after a pause, "If we find your killer, you get to come back?"

"That's pretty much the gist of it, yeah. But I've only got five more days."

Mustang frowned. "That's not a lot of time."

"Tell me about it," Ed muttered. "And you ignoring me didn't exactly help." Ed didn't mean for it to sound as petulant as it did, but it was too late to backpedal.

Mustang winced. "Sorry. I just . . . like I said, I thought I was losing it. Why five days?"

"Because Truth is a dirty, lowlife, pompous pain in my—"

An unnatural gust of wind whipped through the broken window and into the tiny room, picking up dust that had been undisturbed for months and throwing it into the air.

Mustang coughed on a lungful, but Ed just closed his mouth, considering. "He hates it when I call it how it is," he finally muttered.

The older man regarded him with watering eyes. "Alright, then. Any idea why he's doing this? Why bargain at all? You didn't exactly have anything to bargain with, and it's not like Truth doesn't know who shot you."

Ed had asked himself the same questions and hadn't come up with anything that satisfied him. "Maybe he's bored. Maybe he sees the world going a certain way and wants it to not go that way. I only have theories."

A humorless smile quirked the corner of Mustang's lips. "I guess if there's going to be anyone to change the course of history, it would be you."

Ed blinked. "Is that a compliment?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"No," Ed muttered. "So when Al gets back, you going to just keep on ignoring me?"

The older man pressed his lips together. "I don't think telling him will convince him of anything but my faltering mental state."

Ed groaned. "Are you serious?!"

"Fullmetal, I don't have a lot going for me right now. Alphonse . . . well, something's not quite right with him, but I can't tell if it's because he hates me or because you're . . . well, dead."

"Probably a little of both," Ed sighed. He didn't want to think about that at the moment.

"But if you can tone down the commentary on the choices I make, that would be great."

"The way you put your boots on is ridiculous, and you know it. You square them up in front of you with your socks like you have some sort of compulsion, and then you put on one sock, then one boot, then the other sock and the other boot . . . it's weird, Mustang."

He rolled his eyes. "And how do you put your boots on?"

"Socks, then shoes, like a normal person!"

"Is it also normal for someone of your age to be wearing platform shoes?"

"They're just normal boots!"

"With two-inch soles. Don't worry, though, they're hardly noticeable. Even with them, you're still short."

Ed ground his teeth. "You know what? I was starting to feel bad for you, but I take it all back. Every single nice thought I had."

"I'm touched."

"Stupid, pompous, arrogant excuse for a—"

"Hey, Fullmetal?"

"What?!"

"I'm sorry. That you're . . . you know."

The sudden shift in topic left Ed's mind reeling for a moment. He covered for the fumble with irritation. "What are you apologizing for, Mustang? Did you actually shoot me or something?"

"You don't remember?"

Ed shrugged, dropping to the ground on the other side of Hawkeye. "Not really. I know I was shot in the neck." His automail hand slipped up to subconsciously rub just below his jawline. He let it fall to his lap.

"Hmm," Mustang grunted, slumping further against the wall behind him. "That's all?"

"I don't remember any of it. Truth just told me."

Mustang looked like he was debating whether to tell Ed something or not. "The bullet was supposed to hit me. You were just in the way."

Ed didn't know that. "So that's why—" Ed gestured to his leg.

"Shot three times," he explained. "Thigh," he pointed to a place high on his leg, "hip," to what Ed guessed was the source of his limping, "and this," he said, tapping a place just below his collar bone, "is the bullet that got you."

Hearing it and seeing it was surreal to Ed, like someone explaining an important early childhood event that he didn't entirely recall. Mustang said it with a detachment that he possessed when he talked about the War, like the gruesome details were no more significant than the weather. Any vulnerability that had been present when he apologized was gone, evaporated in the wake of this cool objectivity.

Ed knew all about that. It was the way Ed talked about that night he and Al had tried human transmutation on their own mother. It was the way he referred to automail surgery and what his little brother had to go through in that suit of armor. It was self-protection, detachment through and through. Ed didn't know how healthy it was, but he couldn't fault the older man for it.

"So, I'm dead because someone missed you?" he sighed. "Great. Not like I didn't know it, but that's just great."

"We tried to go back for you," he said, the coolness cracking, almost dangerously, to reveal a hot, painful center. "Riza did. I was . . . occupied. She couldn't find you." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. "We had a funeral for you."

Ed didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear any of it. "Oh."

Mustang continued, like if he didn't get it all out now, he might never talk about it again. "We didn't have anything to bury, so we just made a cross out of some sticks. I know you don't exactly claim to be religious or anything, but we didn't know what else to do. It's out in the middle of nowhere, but under the circumstances, we couldn't get to Resembool."

"I'm sure the military threw me a real nice one," Ed said in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. He was beyond uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you're listed as MIA. It could be months before they decide you're not coming back."

That wasn't the point, but Ed was happy to be back on more solid footing. "I guess MIA is as good of an excuse as any for me not to be around." In fear of Mustang elaborating more on his funeral, he made a point of looking Mustang up and down. "You look terrible. Get some sleep, I'll keep watch."

Mustang looked at him blearily. "Shouldn't you get some sleep?"

Ed arched an eyebrow. "I'm dead. I don't sleep."

"Oh." He nodded, then worked his way down the wall so that he could lie next to Hawkeye, close enough that they were touching in a show of affection that he would never have displayed in front of Ed—or anyone—had he been in his right mind. Ed watched as the older man closed his eyes. "We'll fix this," he promised, but Ed wasn't sure who he was talking to.

Mustang was asleep in no more than twenty seconds, leaving Ed to the rattling of the wind and his own uncomfortable thoughts.

Ed wasn't sure how long they'd been asleep before somewhere deep in the building, a window shattered.

And knowing Ed's luck, it wasn't Al.

Well, look who updated!

Yes, I'm late. But that's part of my charm, right? /shot/

Anywhoo, good news! I HAVE GRADUATED! They gave me a degree and everything. It is official. No more homework, no more class! Now I just bide my time until the school year is over and, Lord willing, by the end of summer, I will have another, higher paying, more stressful job #theamericandream But really, I'm trading my time in the classroom surrounded by kids for a job that allows me to be alone more and will allow me to feel less drained by the end of the day, because life is a struggle when you're a hardcore introvert xD

I'd like to say that this means I'll be writing more (and I probably will), but my free-time priority usually goes into art because that's what helps pay those bills :'D You would not believe my water bill (adulting is the woooorst). And commission money usually helps me afford to go out with friends and pay for slightly healthier food lol. It's the little things in life. But writing is my joy, so it will not be abandoned, and neither will these fics. Hopefully I can manage to update more than thrice a year now lol.

In other news, I'm closing another show this weekend (we're doing The Little Mermaid; I'm a mersister and dancing chorus and it is absolutely delightful). The only sad thing is that I wear a midriff in the show, and my midriff looks like I've spent more quality time with chips and salsa than the gym. But you know what? I love chips and salsa #noregrets.

ANYWAYS, I digress. It just feels like I haven't updated anyone on my life thus far in a long time (I mean, September? Come on). A lot has happened, I'm in a better place emotionally and mentally, just ready to get there physically and spiritually and I'll be all set lol.

A big thank you to those that are still reading and reviewing! Reviews give me life and motivation 3 I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll see you next time!

God Bless,

-RainFlame