Roy was startled awake by something.

He stared around the warehouse room wide-eyed but saw nothing, save for Riza at his side and Ed nowhere in sight.

Had Ed been a dream? Had yesterday been a dream?

He panted, trying to slow the heaving of his sore ribs to better listen. He didn't have time for an existential crisis at the moment. Something had awakened him.

He'd always been a light sleeper, a talent he'd developed during the Ishvalan War, when it wasn't unheard of to find an Ishvalan assassin in your tent in the middle of the night. It only took one such instance to iron the habit into him, and it had served him well since. For the past three months, sleep had been elusive on the best of nights, traumatic on the worst, and Roy found that even the gentlest of breezes or the lone cricket were enough to rip him from his slumber.

Now he was awake, and he listened. He heard Riza's soft breathing beside him. The brush of the wind on the metal roof.

The scrape of rubber across concrete.

The hiss of fabric.

Closer.

He fumbled for the pistol strapped to his side, cocking the hammer back as a shadow fell across the doorway.

Roy flinched, finger twitching against the trigger.

The figure froze.

"Roy," the man said gently, like Roy would break if startled. Or shoot.

Roy knew that voice. He knew those eyes, but it didn't make sense.

"Hey, Mustang, relax!" Ed said, materializing from behind the man like the ghost he was. Where had he been? "Look, it's just Hughes!"

Roy's eyes darted from Ed to the man behind him. "Hughes?" Roy asked, incredulous. It couldn't be Hughes. Hughes was in Central, they were in East City. Was this some sort of trick? He felt his arm lower, the pistol sinking just a bit. "Is that you?"

It didn't look like Hughes, though.

It looked like Hughes would have if he'd been to Hell and back.

The man was dressed in civvies, dark slacks and a green button down under a black coat. His hair was combed back in his usual style, but what struck Roy the hardest was the haggard appearance of his old friend.

Behind his squared glasses, his eyes were sunken, ringed in purple like he'd spent more nights awake than not. His cheekbones were severer, face hollowed out by weight loss and stress. His hazel eyes, normally bright and friendly, were now hard and sharp, like pounded metal. There was a harshness there, melded into the very core of his being, that Roy wasn't accustomed to seeing in Hughes, even in Ishval.

How could this be Hughes?

"Are you blind, old man?!" Ed demanded, sounding more nervous than put out. "Of course it's Hughes! Don't you dare shoot Hughes!"

"Yeah, it's me," Hughes said, voice low and hushed. He took a cautious step forward, and when Roy didn't shoot him, another. Ed moved out of the way as Hughes approached until they were only separated by inches.

"I thought . . ." Hughes began, sinking to his knees, eyes searching Roy's, holding him like a spell. Hughes reached out a hand and placed it over the pistol still in Roy's grasp, lowering it to the ground. It clattered on the concrete floor. Some of the ice melted from Hughes' gaze as he took in the sight of him. "When I didn't hear from you . . . I thought you were dead, too."

Then, Hughes was embracing him, arms wrapping tightly around Roy, and he felt real.

"I thought you were dead," Hughes said again, this time his voice sounding thick, and Roy thought he felt his collar go damp. His body chimed in with a host of complaints at the pressure on his ribs and hip, but Roy didn't move.

Hughes had always been more of the touchy-feely type, but even Roy would have been remiss if he'd said it didn't feel good to be held. In the beginning, after Roy had been shot and Ed died, Roy had hazy memories of Riza obliging him, sometimes holding his hand or even allowing him to curl next to her as the pain and fever kept him delirious. After he'd healed though, she became more distant, less inclined to initiate contact for no reason. He didn't ask her about it, but he did quietly miss it and quietly speculate.

But now, his old friend was here, and Roy felt all the safety and the certainty he hadn't known in three months.

An eternity later, Hughes pulled away, holding Roy at arm's length and studying him through watery eyes. He sniffed. "You look terrible."

Roy huffed a short, slightly hysteric laugh. "Speak for yourself."

XxXxX

Ed was feeling more and more useless by the second.

There was no one to possess, nothing to do except sit and listen as they waited for Al. Now that Hughes was here, Mustang was ignoring him again, and though Ed was curious about what had been going on in the world since he'd been dead, he was tired of being ignored.

So he sulked in the corner, keeping an eye out for Al as he listened to the conversation and glared hard at Mustang's stupid face.

Hughes explained that one of his people had received a report from a concerned citizen about a seven-foot-tall suit of armor wondering through the warehouse district. He'd come as fast as he could, and when he'd found the broken window planks the trio—Did Ed actually count? —had used to break in, he knew he'd found his target.

"But I went through the front, because why on earth go through the window?" Hughes asked.

"We were going for stealth," Mustang replied.

Hughes arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You, a seven-foot-tall suit of armor, and an unconscious woman, were going for stealth?"

Mustang rolled his eyes, and Ed thought it was the most energetic expression he'd seen on the older man's face since this whole mess started. "We worked with what we had." Mustang shifted on the floor, wincing at some pain or another. "Why did you think we were dead?" he asked after a moment, his gaze sliding to Hawkeye's slumbering form. "We hadn't even received your reply in the Central Times yet."

Hughes narrowed his eyes but didn't comment on Mustang's apparent injuries. "I received a report from an informant in Angren this morning."

"How is it possible that you get information that fast?" Mustang demanded.

Hughes offered a sharp grin. "Information is my job, Roy."

Hughes was a sly fox, and Ed had learned a while back that he always knew more than he let on.

Mustang looked unsure, but didn't comment. "I guess they found a body."

Hughes looked away, rubbing a hand down his face, fingers scraping over a thick layer of stubble. "That was the last place I knew you were. The authorities said it looked like alchemy was involved."

"I guess that means they'll be looking for us, once they find out their men are dead."

"Who's they?" Ed demanded.

"Men?" Hughes questioned.

Mustang glanced Ed's way, then back to Hughes. Ed wanted to kick him. "You'll probably be hearing a report sometime soon about another man dead, a few miles outside of town. An assassin, hired by a dark-haired woman."

"An old flame?" Hughes guessed.

Ed cackled and Mustang gave them both an exasperated look. "Unlikely."

"Just a guess. Was there anymore to that description?"

"All he had was black hair and black eyes, but he said it was dark, so I assume that means any number of hair and eye color that could be construed as being dark."

Hughes frowned. "That doesn't help us out a whole lot."

"At least it rules out blondes."

Ed groaned. "Why are you like this?"

Hughes' lips quirked, then he stopped. Ed listened, picking up the sound of clanking footsteps approaching, a shadow falling over the hole in the window.

Al stepped through the window in a series of halting motions, rusted metal shrieking in protest. Ed winced, mouth opening to tell him to take it easy before closing again. There wasn't much point.

Alphonse looked around over the paper bag in his arms, glowing eyes landing on Hughes. "Mr. Hughes," he greeted, voice lacking its usual warmth.

Ed hated seeing his brother like this.

Hughes had gotten to his feet, looking like he might have gone to embrace Al, but the chilly reception stifled the idea. "Hey, Al," he said instead.

"Why are you here?" Al asked, placing his bag on the ground and crouching down over it. "I thought you were in Central." Was it just Ed, or did Al not really sound interested? Ed stepped closer, wanting to place a comforting hand on his brother, but he stopped. Would it somehow interact with his blood seal? It wasn't something he was willing to risk.

Hughes and Mustang exchanged a look. "I'll fill you in on the details on the way to Havoc's. Think you could manage to help Riza to my car? I'll get Roy."

Al stopped, like he was considering something. Then he nodded. Without another word, he grabbed the bag up in one arm, then gently scooped Hawkeye up with the other. She shifted at the jostling, and Ed felt better about her condition to see it. She hadn't moved very much over the past few hours, and her coloring wasn't much better, but Ed would take whatever encouragement he could get right now.

Mustang picked up the crutch from next to him and allowed Hughes to help him up. He grimaced, jaw tight as he dragged his left leg under him. It was hard to watch, so Ed was certain it wasn't fun to experience in person. "Come on, old man," Ed said by way of encouragement. Encouragement wasn't exactly his strong suit, he realized.

Mustang side-eyed him before letting Hughes take some of his weight and hobbling out of the room.

Ed followed and wished he could do more than that.

XxXxX

Out of the smallest thread of respect he had for Mustang, he waited outside in Havoc's living room while the Second Lieutenant examined both him and Hawkeye, putting his scant medical knowledge to use. He'd had a lot of training in field medicine that Ed had utilized more than once when he was trying to avoid a hospital stay, but Ed knew enough to know that there wasn't a lot of point in it. Most of Mustang's injuries were too old to be treated by anything other than surgery, and Hawkeye's concussion, without more advanced medical equipment to evaluate it, would be something she had to sleep off.

At least, Ed supposed, Havoc could clean up their innumerable lacerations and cuts.

In Havoc's tiny living room, Al seemed to be ignoring Hughes. The bespectacled man had tried to start a conversation with him, but to no avail. Al sat on the ground in the farthest corner possible and responded in short, monosyllabic answers that left Hughes with little to grasp. Ed had never really entertained the thought of his death past what it would mean for Al getting his body back, and he was about to decide that this was for good reason. Alphonse was more than physically lost now, and Ed wasn't sure how to get him back.

And sitting here with him so close but so completely out of reach was the most torturous of all.

Finally, the guest bedroom door opened. Havoc stepped out, the corner of his white sleeve soaked red but nothing else out of the ordinary, aside from the dark rings under his eyes and the subtle fragility he gave off, like he was one crisis away from making a bad choice.

There was a lot of that going around.

Mustang followed, crutch secured under one arm as he limped out, shutting the door behind him. His gaze flitted to Ed, then away to the rest of the room.

"Fill me in," he said, sitting heavily on the sofa like a man thrice his age, pain obvious in his eyes but not his voice.

Ed gingerly tested sitting on the same sofa in an unoccupied corner, found it solid beneath him, and leaned back into its cushions. It felt like leaning into a small electric current, and the material did not react to his weight at all, feeling more like sitting on wood than fabric.

Being dead sucked.

"I think you know most of this," Hughes stated from the overstuffed gray chair in the corner, "but over three months ago, you went missing. Official reports stated that you snapped and started shooting at our own." He glanced at Alphonse, then continued. "You shot Ed then Hawkeye before being taken down."

Al flinched, but then again, so did everyone else to some degree. Even Mustang.

"Buck up, Mustang. I'm sitting right here."

Mustang didn't react beyond a tightening of his eyes.

"Because there are no bodies, you are all still being listed as MIA, but you are assumed dead at this point."

"So why is someone still trying to kill us?" Mustang asked.

"Good question," Havoc said for the first time, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket. He placed it between his lips and leaned back further into the beaten loveseat across from them. "Right now, Breda and I are with Lieutenant Colonel Manning here at Eastern. Falman and Fuery have been transferred Hughes' office in Central."

"I requested them, and Grumman didn't seem to mind," Hughes explained. "Falman is the one that's been watching the papers, and Fuery has had his ears to the ground for anything strange happening. He was actually the one that heard about the body in Angren."

A sharp smile quirked Mustang's lips for a moment. "Of course he did."

"I know you two have been laying low for a while, but why move now?" Hughes asked. "I thought we were going to see what was going on first."

"They moved first," Mustang said, rubbing a hand over a bandage above his right ear. "Someone found us in Angren. Two people, actually. The other tried to kill us last night on the way here." His dark eyes met Hughes'. Ed felt a cold wave roll up his spine. "What was that letter you sent me, Hughes?"

Hughes' eyes narrowed. "You think it's related?"

"I think it's too big of a coincidence not to be."

Hughes glanced around the room as if making sure they were alone. "I kept it vague on purpose. I was going to call, but then all this happened."

He leaned forward, resting his knees on his elbows, eyes strangely distant. "I recently traveled up to Briggs. There was a suspicious death on base, and protocol demands that an investigative entity from another command center look into it, and since the Scar case had gone cold, I didn't have a good reason to not be sent.

"When I got there, I found something interesting." His hazel eyes met Mustang's, and Ed saw a wariness there, like what he was about to say was particularly dangerous and he knew it. "In Armstrong's war room, there were maps. Most of them were older, but it outlined the various wars and skirmishes our country has been a part of for the past century. It wasn't that big of a deal really, but when I saw it all in front of me, it seemed like there was a pattern."

Ed frowned. "To the wars?" He didn't like Hughes' tone of voice.

"What pattern?" Mustang demanded.

"I haven't researched it completely yet," he admitted, voice quiet with an edge. "But don't you find it odd how our country is shaped into a circle? It doesn't make much sense, given that it doesn't follow the lay of the land that well."

Ed had wondered about it as a kid, but just figured the powers that be had a thing for shapes and had completely dismissed it. He had to admit, now that he was older, he did find it kind of weird. No other country was so symmetrically shaped.

But could that mean . . .

"What are you implying?" Havoc asked, jaw tight and tone uncertain.

"You've said it yourself, Roy," Hughes continued. "All this country does is get into senseless wars. Maybe they aren't completely senseless. Maybe the military has to build and maintain this circle for some reason."

Mustang's expression was frozen.

He couldn't possibly be implying what Ed thought he was implying. Because that was impossible.

"Are you suggesting that this has something to do with alchemy?" Mustang asked quietly.

"I'm saying it's possible."

"But it's not!" Ed protested, standing up. No one so much as glanced in his direction. "The amount of power it would take to activate an array the size of a country would be immeasurable! Even a Philosopher's Stone wouldn't help. The backlash of an array that size could wipe out a whole city!"

Mustang seemed to be listening to him, even if he refused to look at him. "That's not possible," he agreed.

"Are you sure?" Hughes pressed. "Because I would hate to be caught up in a circle like that if it were to somehow be activated."

Mustang still wasn't moving. "Why? Who would do something like that?"

Ed's genius mind was racing a mile a minute. "When was this letter sent, exactly?"

Mustang glanced at him, then back to Hughes. "Your letter arrived right before our mission."

"If someone found it," Ed continued, "someone that knew what it was, they'd want it to be kept quiet. That's why Scarecrow was asking who sent the letter . . . he was tying up loose ends . . . but that's crazy. No one could pull off a circle like that . . ."

"A few months back, Ed showed me a circle he'd found in Lab 5."

Ed tensed. He'd never told Mustang about Lab 5. As far as Mustang knew, they'd spent their time in Central in one library or another before he'd been sent to Parteros, and then the inspection that ended with him dead.

He glanced at his brother, but Al had no reaction. Ed wasn't even sure he was listening.

"Lab 5? In Central?" Mustang asked. "That lab has been closed for years."

"It's been used alright," Hughes said. "Only it was being used for illegal human experimentation."

Ed didn't want to think about that night; the night he almost did the unthinkable for the sake of his little brother. Al would have never forgiven him for that, just like he wasn't sure Al would forgive him for dying. Especially if he didn't make it back.

"Jean, do you have a map?"

Havoc reached for the bookshelf beside him, dropping a thin atlas down on the coffee table and flipping to Amestris. "It's a few years old, but it should be adequate."

The country stretched out before them, major cities and roadways labeled and the regions colored in muted grays.

"Did you know that some of the bloodiest conflicts take place all around the border in an almost perfect circle?" Hughes began. "Riviere, Cameron, Fiske," he dragged his finger around the country, "Wellesley, South City, Ishval, Fotset, Pendleton, Reole, and Briggs. Why is that, do you think?"

Ed was afraid he saw a familiar pattern too, and he didn't like it.

"The circle," he breathed.

"This is the circle Ed showed me from the lab," Hughes said, plucking a pencil from the tabletop and tracing a star, ten points that intersected neatly with all the cities he'd just listed.

"How could . . . how could anyone . . .." Ed trailed off. It was unthinkable. He wasn't sure what a circle like that did without the missing pieces, but he knew it wasn't designed to increase crop yields and human happiness.

"He also said there were creatures down there, human-like, but not human," Hughes continued.

"Homunculus."

All eyes snapped to Al.

Now Alphonse was paying attention. "The homunculus," he repeated.

"They're dangerous," he continued. "I don't know how many there are, but one of them can take the shape of anyone else. One of them has skin that can transform into an impenetrable shield, and one has fingers that can stretch into claws. All of them have regenerative abilities and super strength."

It was more than he'd said in the past two days, and though he still sounded lost, it was the most interest he'd taken in anything besides any mention of Ed.

"And when was someone planning on telling me this?" Mustang asked, eyes on Hughes but Ed knew the words were for him.

"It was an isolated incident," Hughes explained. "There was no need to say anything until I'd had a chance to investigate further. The Fuhrer knows, and I hadn't had a chance to meet with you in person since the incident."

"What he said," Ed added.

Mustang still looked annoyed, but took a deep breath, exhaling long through his nose. "So, we think these . . . homunculi are involved?"

"It stands to reason," Hughes said.

Armor screeched and everyone looked to see Al stand up.

"Al?" Havoc asked.

"This has nothing to do with me anymore," he said quietly. "I'm leaving."

"No!" Ed snapped, standing up and darting to his little brother's side. He looked at Mustang, willing him to fix this. "Say something!"

"Alphonse," Mustang began. "Why don't you come with us? You would be a lot of help, especially with your expertise."

Al shook his helmet. "I don't owe this military or this country anything more," he said, voice burning with a quiet venom. "I'm going to go find my brother."

Mustang flinched.

"Al," Havoc began. "You're brother—"

"If he's dead, I'll find his body!" Al hissed. The rage, hot like flame, diminished as quickly as it had arrived. "But if he's alive . . ." he looked away. "He needs my help. Either way, I'm bringing him home."

"Al, I'm right here," Ed whispered. Then he rounded on Mustang. "Make him stay!"

Mustang shot him a helpless look, then turned his eyes back to Alphonse. "Al—"

Al stepped past him, passing the three men as he headed for the door, Ed trailing after him. "Mustang!"

"Al, wait!" Mustang pressed, getting to his feet with a few staggered steps.

Al didn't stop. He walked down the hallway, steps away from the front door.

Desperation clawed at Ed's stomach. If Al left, there was no telling what could happen to him, even if Ed did find his murderer and get back into his body.

He couldn't let his brother go alone. He couldn't let that happen again.

"Al!" he cried out, transparent fingers reaching for his little brother's shoulder. They passed through with an electric sizzle as Al wrapped a worn gauntlet around the doorknob.

"Alphonse."

Ed wasn't sure what it was about Mustang's voice. The tone was different; low but strong, like a mountain in a storm.

Al turned, just slightly, soul fire eyes gazing past massive shoulders to meet Mustang's.

Mustang took a slow breath.

"Ed is here."

Well, looks like Mustang's about to drop a bombshell . . .

We were literally just discussing how that was a bad idea. It's still a bad idea, dude.

And Ed's comment . . . "Don't you dare shoot Hughes."

Don't ;-;

I hate writing chapters like this . . . and I hope that doesn't show xD I've played with this for about two weeks and rewrote two scenes from different POVs trying to make it less of an information dump, but I don't know if it helped lol. This was just an odd in-between chapter and I'm honestly not very happy with it, but tired of messing with it. I seem to average about two of those per fic lol. But plot things are coming together! It's about time, too. This fic is taking longer to unfold than I had predicted . . . but my outline is seriously about ten sentences long, so maybe I set myself up for that lol.

How is everyone's quarantine going? Now that schools have moved to online, I spend all morning trying to guide middle school kids through technical problems that they're having in Google Classroom after I have to google the answer to said technical problem.

I don't know what I'm doing :')

Also, I used to be fairly active in the classroom, up and down and moving (i.e. dancing . . . I'm that teacher) and stuff, and now all the sudden I lead a sedentary lifestyle and all I want to do every time I leave my chair is go to the kitchen and find something to munch on. This quarantine hasn't been good for my waistline. I'm going to come out of this looking like Thor in the last Avengers movie.

In completely unrelated news, I've started an exercise routine.

We had a sudden cold front come through a couple of days ago, so now that I can't go outside (because NO to snow) I'm starting to go a bit stir crazy. I did buy myself a cheap animation app to play with, so I got to enjoy that a little, but aside from that, video games, and art, it's been a bit monotonous around here. I usually work in the yard and tend to my fleet of plants, so now that I'm stuck inside, I really need a physical project to get behind or I start to lose my mind. I want to paint a wall, but I can't access paint stores, and I want to hang a mirror, but I don't have the supplies. So I started having weird ideas, like I could shave my head and measure how long I'm in quarantine by the length of my hair. Does that even make sense? No.

Apologies for the rambling, but I guess if I were really sorry, I'd delete it xD

Anyway, I hope this finds you well! Prayers for safety and peace in these strange times. If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter :)

God Bless,

-RainFlame