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The couch in Marcoh's home was, quite easily, the most comfortable place that Ed had found since jailbreaking Mustang.

Granted, that wasn't all that impressive a compliment to give, because everywhere else he'd found had been pretty shit. Central's sewers, with a sweaty and freaked out colonel draped all over his back. For hours and hours. Secluded forest out in the middle of nowhere, sitting with his ass in the mud and, again, with a sweaty and freaked out colonel. Again, for hours and hours.

Packed into the back of a cramped and hot wagon, in the dark, and listening to Mustang pant and whimper, for hours, and hours, and hours.

So, yeah, saying Marcoh's couch was the best he'd had in days really wasn't all that great a compliment.

Still, though.

It was.

It had been hours, now, since they'd turned up at Marcoh's place. He and Al had been left alone, without any explanation, for pretty much the entire time.

Upon their arrival, the still mysterious and unexplained Marcoh, with Sig's help, had carted the man- chimera- whatever into his house, Sig lifting him up easily into his arms while the doctor led the way into his basement. Ed had tried desperately to follow after them, Al on his tail as he strained on his tip toes to catch a glimpse of the colonel, but to no avail. They'd been moving too fast and Mustang had been too huddled up for him to get any more of a look than just a flash of him slumped, shivering, in Sig's arms.

Ed had trailed behind with Al into a secure, safe room that reminded him almost nauseatingly of a hospital. The bed, messy and small, tucked against the back wall. The tools, little knives and packs of gauze and vials of medicine, scattered about and abandoned on tables that smelled so strongly of hospital antiseptic he'd covered his nose and gagged.

He hadn't had the time to even get used to the smell.

Not five steps into the room, Mustang already flopped back onto the bed and shaking, hood heart-stoppingly close to slipping back, and they'd been forced to a halt. Marcoh had stood in their way and held his arms out even against Al, twice his size and five times his strength, and and with a voice solid as unyielding iron, had ordered them out. Something had told Ed there was not much sense in arguing.

Izumi and Sig had left almost immediately after that, with little more than a brief and tight hug from their old teacher to wish them well. It was still vital they not attract attention, and the Curtises hanging around the town doctor's place was a surefire way to do just that. Which Ed really had been all right with, at first- he knew Izumi would help them as much as she could, but the most she could do for them now was get straight back to Dublith, as fast possible.

But now, lying there in Marcoh's lonely, dusty house, curled up on a painfully unused couch, and alone with his brother and his own sick worry for hours on end, Ed found himself, missing the company. Because without it, there was no distraction- and without a distraction, whatever patience he'd had was really quickly running out.

They still hadn't heard so much of a single word, about Mustang.

Not one word.

Ed had already poked around Marcoh's house a bit, as much as he could. And... okay, yeah, against Al's weak protests, because it was clear his brother really wanted to know more, too, he just didn't feel right about digging about in a house that wasn't his for information. Fortunately for Al's reluctance, unfortunately for Ed's curiosity- there just wasn't all that much lying about for him to find.

Searching through the front room had uncovered curiously little of anything of any worth at all, actually. From what Ed could tell, this was actually the guy's house, not at all a doctor's office, but to his eyes it still somehow felt startlingly... un-lived in. It was a house, all right, but to him, the dusty clutter and stretching shadows felt like the gaping difference between some cheap hotel room and the Rockbell's.

As if this was just some old military safehouse used to stash people in, and Marcoh was just crashing here for the week.

Not that this was his home.

It felt downright weird, and despite having only been here for a few hours, Ed already wanted to go.

There weren't any pictures at all, and what furniture there was was all drab and utilitarian. There were books, at least books upon books upon books tucked away into dusty bookcases, but a few cursory glances through them revealed them to be medical texts. Some medical alchemy, some alkahestry, some not alchemic at all, but every last one of them was some dry medical textbook. And aside from that-

Well, there really wasn't much else in the room to sift through at all.

Some mail on the table. Which Ed tossed through, once again despite his brother's protests, and found nothing at all besides a few bills.

A few bills, actually, that were addressed to an Anthony Mauro, and not Tim Marcoh.

That was literally the only item of interest in the entire fucking room. In this cluttered, dusty old room of ugly, ancient furniture, lined in enough textbooks to make it a stuffy old library, the only item of any interest at all was the extraordinarily odd fact that this town's doctor apparently went by a fake name. Or, perhaps- just had a damn roommate.

Oh, right. And there was the day's newspaper, settled alongside the bills, forgotten on the old table. The day's newspaper, in which Ed learned that Kiel was holding a harvest festival soon, and that it had been approaching four days since he'd slept in a bed. That had been the last detail to filter through his fuzzy brain, because he had then slumped straight for the couch to mold himself to it and punch it as comfortable as he could make it, and had been settled there ever since.

Waiting.

Despite the old couch being pretty much the only comfortable source Ed had found in days, he couldn't sleep. He'd spent over a day cramped into that damn wagon, in a half-doze for hours on end, and just because it hadn't been a restful sleep didn't mean he was tired enough to sleep again.

And even if he had been, there was still that anxious little knot, right down there in the pit of his stomach.

Ed wouldn't have been able to sleep if someone had paid him for it.

Ed curled up tighter with a sigh, trying to pummel the ancient pillow under his head into submission. It was flimsy and half-deflated, like it'd lost its stuffing a long time ago, and Ed gave it another glare before shifting onto his other side instead, head against the arm of the ugly, grey couch and blanket hugged loose to his chest. He just couldn't stop fidgeting. Meanwhile, he could tell Al felt just as unsettled as he did, but his brother had always been better than him about hiding something like that, and instead of twitching about had instead settled down to try and read one of Marcoh's book on alkahestry.

Ed was pretty sure he still hadn't made it past the first chapter, and it had been hours.

"Brother?"

Be blinked tiredly, eyes wandering back to glimpse his brother through his hair. Al still looked skittish and uncomfortable, playing aimlessly with the corner of a page with stiff fingers and reluctant eyes. The look on his face alone was enough to make Ed want to sit up, to move closer, but there was nothing he could say to make this better and they both knew it. "Yeah, Al?"

Al drew just a little closer, one cool hand brushing against his side. It was gentle despite his size and lack of feeling, so careful and soft it was almost more comfortable than the couch, and it was all Ed could do not to melt into it right then and there.

"You can sleep, if you want... I'll wake you up if anything happens." Al paused, then aimlessly turned by yet another page. "We might not find out anything more for a while yet."

Ed scowled to himself, even as he curled even more comfortably against his brother's hand. He was right, he knew he was right, and he hated it. "This Marcoh guy should've let us down there," he grunted irritably. "We wouldn't have been in the way, we're not stupid. We could've even helped him, if he needed it! Maybe we're not doctors but three sets of hands is better than one, isn't it?"

Al laughed a little, face softening into just a hint of a smile. "In my experience, most doctors aren't all that impressed by that argument, Ed."

"Yeah, and what the hell do they know?" With another huff, Ed tucked his legs closer to his stomach to just glare downwards and say nothing. They hadn't come all this way to be left sitting alone and in the dark up here, and worse than that, they really had not come all this way to just abandon Mustang in the hands of mysterious stranger. He hated this. He couldn't fucking stand it.

And the longer he found himself lying here, the worse he felt.

Al would actually be pretty used to this by now, wouldn't he?

Forced to sit on the sidelines as helpless and silent, twiddling his thumbs in a hospital waiting room. Because this might not have been a technical hospital, but all the details that mattered were the same and Ed was too tired to draw a distinction beyond that. But sitting here, not having any way at all to know what was happening- not even a hopeful estimate of how much longer he'd be left in the dark. Ignored and powerless, with simply nothing more to do than sit here, try not to freak out, and wait for news.

Ed swallowed uneasily again, tucking his chin to his chest, and shuddered once, all the way down from head to toe.

His brother was probably really used to this by now.

And the least he could do now, was simply not pass out on him, and keep him company instead while they were forced to wait.

Keep him company by... blinking sleepily on his side... hugging a blanket... and head swimming through a half-doze so thick it felt like he was falling into a nap so securely he couldn't even try to break free from it.

Yeah.

Real good company.

With a dragging, exhausted groan, Ed switched directions, pushing himself around to be closer to Al- and, to easier glare down at the stairs Marcoh had disappeared with Mustang down hours ago. "What's even taking so long, anyway?" he grumbled, sandwiching his head against a pillow that had gotten squished against Al. "What's this Marcoh guy even doing to him? I- who even is this Marcoh, or Mauro, or whatever his name is- this place looks like a hovel, Al; we're supposed to believe he knows what he's doing? That he can actually help?" He cursed under his breath again. Maybe they could drag Mustang off to a reputable hospital, not some creepy guy's dusty house, maybe there was still time...

"Whether we do or not, Colonel Mustang does," Al chastised gently. "Besides, he's done well enough so far, hasn't he? I imagine most doctors would've kicked us out straight away. Since he's- um. H-he's..."

"...not human."

Al wilted wordlessly by his side, seeming to almost shrink, cold immutable suit of armor or no. He bowed his head without reply, and once again, Ed found his stomach turning with guilt.

That was really the first time either of them had actually, really said it. Given voice to horrible possibility and acknowledged it out loud, so impossible and final it could never be taken back. Except it wasn't just a possibility, was it? Ed may not have really seen all that much... even now, when he thought Colonel Bastard, he saw Mustang smirking at his desk, smug and arrogant behind piles of paperwork.

Undeniably, unquestionably human.

The hooded figure they'd shepherded into Marcoh's place...

Ed squeezed his eyes shut again to clench his teeth, and bury another guiltridden groan into the back of his throat

He couldn't picture Mustang's face, now. Whenever he tried it'd take him back to the smug bastard in the office, but- that wasn't his face anymore. That was as clear and undeniable as fucking day. If it was, Mustang wouldn't have spent every last moment hiding it so aggressively. If it was, then the few glimpses Ed had managed to steal wouldn't have been so earth-shatteringly wrong.

And it was inescapable, now. He'd said it, and now he couldn't take it back.

The bastard really wasn't just human, anymore.

Which meant Al was right, and the fact that this Marcoh had taken them in without a second thought, and been downstairs trying to save not-human Mustang's life for hours now, pretty much elevated him above any other option they had.

So this was their best option, then.

Settled here together in this odd stranger's house, not knowing if Mustang was dead or alive just a few feet underneath them, and forced into waiting in exhausted silence for someone to finally tell them what was going on.

Ed sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes again. He pushed the pillow further into submission, then opted to just glare sullenly down towards the staircase that Marcoh and Mustang had disappeared down, and keep his mouth shut.

He was really, really sick of being left in the dark.

He wasn't going to let that go by for all that much longer anymore.

Ed had been dozing against his brother for another painfully long stretch of a silent few hours when the door to the basement creaked open, loud and inescapable like a death toll, and the strange and mysterious Doctor Marcoh ventured back up into the light of day once again.

He'd stiffened the instant the basement door's creaking shoved its way into the silence, and was wide awake before Marcoh even stepped into view.

The man looked older, somehow, older than the doctor they'd met just that morning. With heavy shoulders that slumped and dark, hollow eyes that reminded him almost of Mustang's, proceeding up the stairs with an aching slowness and something drawn on his face that made Ed's stomach lurch. Like whatever had gone on downstairs had aged him ten years or more, and now, dragging himself back up here to face them, he was about to age another ten, and was so defeated and resigned to the fact that he didn't even care.

It would've been chilling, if Ed hadn't already been so anxious and high-strung he couldn't stand it any longer.

Marcoh, or whatever his name was, turned to them straight away, his face softening immediately into a struggling attempt at a comforting smile. It was just immediate, and steady enough that to stop Ed's deep, needling sense of fear from catapulting him into worrying after the very worst. "He's sleeping, now," he said quietly, one hand dragging through hair that was ragged and disheveled already, as if he'd already drawn his hand through it many times, by now. "He's going to be okay."

Ed breathed out harshly, sagging back against his brother. A wave of dizzying relief swam through his head and he rubbed his eyes, so exhausted and so, so relieved. Going to be okay. They'd done it. Mustang was safe, and alive, and finally Ed could be sure that he was going to stay that way.

His heart clenched, this time aching with worn relief, and for a heartbeat he wasn't capable of doing anything more than letting himself, after way too fucking long, relax. It felt like something was squeezing him and had been for hours, constricting each breath and making his skin crawl, and Marcoh's pronouncement had only loosened just one of the screws binding him in place.

He was going to be okay.

...

According to mystery doctor who Ed still wasn't at all sure how much they could trust, anyway..

And which didn't answer pretty much anything of what the hell was going on.

Al, at least, remained collected enough to respond the way they were meant to; god bless his brother for smiling back, leading the situation when he could not. "That's- that's wonderful! Thank you, really... we were so worried about him." He inched forwards, one hand still settled protectively on Ed's shoulder. "Thank you so much for helping him."

The doctor smiled weakly back, but it was hollow, too; hollow and defeated like everything about him. "There's no thanks necessary. I'd do anything to help him." He crossed back across the room to sag down into the nearest chair, head settling against his hand and gaze dropping down to the table instead of them, tracing over the scattered papers with an air of such fatigue effusing from him it was nearly too much to stand.

Nothing about this felt okay at all, and Marcoh really wasn't helping.

"So... so, um, Doctor..." Al started to move forwards, then seemed to think better of it, drawing just a little closer to Ed. He shifted unhappily, obviously not very comfortable with the thick, new silence that had settled throughout the room. Ed could sympathize. "Doctor Marcoh? Colonel Mustang didn't exactly... well, he never really talked to us, or, um..."

"We don't know what's going on," Ed said bluntly. Marcoh's heavy eyes shifted to him, and Ed stared right back in as blatant a demand and challenge as he could make it. "Like. At all. Mustang has told us jack shit and, while I am really grateful to you for helping us out, Dr. Marcoh or Mauro or whatever your name is-

"Brother!"

"-it'd also be really nice if you could also give us an explanation."

Al moaned aloud, shaking his head and waving his hands about, trying to placate Marcoh, but oddly enough, he seemed more flustered than the doctor himself. In fact, Marcoh just smiled faintly, his gaze turning to the papers scattered over his table before fixating back on them without even the slightest sense of offense or reprimand. "I see you've been snooping."

"My brother doesn't mean that, he just-"

"It's quite all right. I don't mind... there is very little of consequence here for you to find." He smiled bracingly again, features still guarded and just a bit too tense to be calm. "I would appreciate it if you called me Mauro outside these walls, though. Marcoh isn't a name I've gone by in a very long time."

Ed tensed further, teeth grinding together so hard it made his jaw hurt. That wasn't answering the fucking question. It wasn't a damn answer and the further he was left to sit here in the complete and utter dark, the worse he felt, and the harder it was getting to stand. Why was he dragging his goddamn feet?! Why wouldn't he tell them what was wrong with Mustang?!

"Brother and I will, sir. We promise."

Marcoh sighed quietly again, settling back in his chair with folded arms and a gaze that seemed just a little too guarded to be calm. "Thank you," he said, and god, Ed would've wrung his neck then, just to see if that might yank some words out of it, if he hadn't, then, at last started to talk. "Roy's eyesight will return. I'm sure you'd noticed he was having trouble seeing?"

Roy. So he and the colonel are on a first-name basis... not even Hawkeye calls him that. "I- yeah." Ed shared a look with Al and shuddered, trying to cast the memory of that out in his mind... that raw, belly-deep roar all the way back in the labs when he'd first learned that Mustang couldn't see them. "He tried to blow it off and say it was just the lighting, and I know he could see something, but..."

Roy- Roy, look at me-

I CAN'T SEE!

Ed swallowed hard, heart lodged firmly into his throat, and looked away.

"...I really don't think he was being all that honest about it."

With a sigh of his own, Marcoh sagged back in his seat, resting his face against the palm of his hand. His mouth twitched, almost into something that looked like a faint smile again, but it was gone before Ed could see for sure and faded back into that same exhaustion that had shadowed him before. "Did he, now? Well, you're right. Looking at him now, I imagine he wasn't able to see much more than outlines of big shapes and some colors. But I'll be able to fix that, in time. His eyesight will be as good as it ever was."

As good as it ever was... Ed frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. Medical alchemy wasn't really his speciality, and he certainly didn't know all that much relating to eyesight- but that didn't sound right to him. A huge relief and obviously the best answer they could've gotten out of him, but...

Well, Ed had heard a lot of bullshit claims, over the years, and something in him was set off now the instant he heard anything that felt too good to be true.

And this did.

Alchemy wasn't a magical switch that could fix wounds or restore lost senses or stitch back together a broken body. The body was endlessly complicated, the brain even more so, and alchemy just wasn't advanced enough for there to be much of a field into it. He and Al had been traveling for years now, searching through the twisted and most insidious depths of alchemy that they could find- and he'd never once found a working array that would've even given him his arm back.

An arm was a lot less complicated than an eye.

Just who the hell is this guy?

"His mouth will be all right, too," the doctor continued gravely. "I'm sure you noticed something about that, too? It will take a little bit of time to heal, and I think I'll need to call a friend of mine to help, but it'll be all right in the end." His face shadowed, a gentle crease of revulsion deepening across his brow, and for the first time, his dark eyes seemed to hide something other than a guarded wariness. "His jaw was wired shut. Broken, too. ...I think intentionally."

For the first time in hours, Ed was wide awake.

"They- they what?" His hand wavered, inching up towards his own face, then froze as he stared back at Marcoh, heart pounding. That was what had been wrong with his mouth? This whole time, it had been- what the fuck? A cold, sick anger swept through him, chilling him like a wave of sold ice; anger at the military and a particular pulsing revulsion towards every single fucking alchemist who called themselves scientists when all they did was cobble together chimeras only to cage them like animals. They'd what? Yeah, he'd been able to tell Mustang was having trouble talking, that something about his mouth had made him uncomfortable, but...

He'd never once figured that was why.

He could tell his brother was equally horrified next to him, staring at an impassive Marcoh and hand suddenly tightened reflexively on his shoulder, a bruising grip of shock and disbelief. "Why would anyone do something like that?" he gasped. "You're- you're sure it was on purpose?"

But this time, however, Marcoh did not answer right away.

Those dark eyes continued to search between them, still wary, still silent. He looked especially tired, now, mouth tightening in unquestionable reluctance, and something about the look on his face made Ed's heart squeeze with another wave of fear.

There was something the doctor wasn't saying. He could tell that right away. Something unsaid about this whole damn mess, that explained who Marcoh was, what Mustang was, why this had happened to him- all of it.

Whatever the answer was, Marcoh knew it.

And he wasn't saying it.

The frustration and fear welled up again around his heart, and once again, Ed had to battle back the ferocious urge to stomp straight up to his feet, stalk back downstairs to Mustang, and ask him the question straight to his face for himself.

Maybe would have, in fact, if Marcoh hadn't already told them the colonel was asleep, and if this morning was any indication, he was going to stay that way for a while.

If he didn't actually believe the colonel was so sick he wasn't going to be up to answering any questions for quite a while.

"Just how much do you know about Roy, you two?" Marcoh asked them finally. His voice was monotonous and somber, chilling in its simplicity, and his gaze pierced, first at Al, then met Ed's with suspicion that was uncanny. "I recognize you- Edward Elric. The People's Alchemist, they're calling you... since the military seemed to forget that's what all alchemy's meant to be for a long time ago. You work with Major Mustang, is that right?"

Ed stiffened again in apprehension. Something about the gaze just made his skin crawl. "...he's a colonel, actually," he said, narrowing his eyes. And had been a lieutenant colonel when they'd met- fucking years ago.

First name basis with the guy, but apparently hadn't met him in years?

"Really?" Marcoh's eyes brightened for the first time since they'd met, the first gentle spark of warmth in this whole day of madness and the warmth melted the tension layered thick between them to give way for a slight and proud, genuine smile. "I hadn't realized... good for him. Very good for him. And that would make you his... subordinate, then?

"...let's call it a mutually beneficial relationship and just leave it at that," he muttered, because no matter how little he cared for military rank and law, something in him still chafed at being called Mustang's subordinate. But there was a hell of a lot more here to question than that, and Ed scowled again, narrowing his eyes back across the room as his mind raced with any number of answers to this nightmare- and very few that ended well. "And how do you know him, then? Apparently well enough for him to track you down in the middle of nowhere, but you've not even spoken in years?"

"Brother," Al said again, this time much quieter, just between the two of them, but Al had always had more patience than him and right now, Ed had none for this stranger.

Luckily, however, Marcoh still didn't seem all that affronted by the obviously suspicious question, even giving another vaguely amused smile as if laughing at a joke reserved just for himself. "I suppose that's fair, isn't it? If you must know- you are correct, Edward. I haven't seen Roy in years. But I'll always do anything I can to help him, and he knows that. I..." His dark gaze drifted away, fading downwards with another long sigh. His face was drawn, now, again, that little bit of warmth already squashed away like a bug, and only that same sense of old guilt and regret as there to replace it. "I hesitate to put words in his mouth, but... I believe he considers me a friend."

Ed narrowed his eyes again.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the constant confusion and irritation at being left in the dark. Maybe it was the misplaced sense of betrayal, spurned on by whatever military alchemists had done this terrible crime but still prickling in him now, just waiting on edge to be set off again. Maybe it was all of those things; maybe it was none of them, and instead something else entirely.

But all Ed could really tell was there was something about this that still wasn't right- something that was not being said. He didn't think Marcoh was trying to trick them or hurt Mustang, exactly, but...

But something just wasn't right.

"And... and you don't consider him a friend back, sir?" Al ventured. The words came out hushed, somehow- soft, like the musty clutter of the house was suffocating them.

Marcoh frowned again. His eyes stayed down, but this time, his expression had shrouded itself shadowed and ill, guarded in a way that reminded him of Mustang but tenfold, and expressly wrong. "As I said before, I would do anything for him, and that's the end of it. However, also as I said before, I'm really going to need to know how well you actually know Roy before you get anything more than that." He leaned forwards to face them again, inscrutable and almost infuriatingly impassive, and no matter how hard Ed searched his face, he couldn't find even a single flicker of a clue as to what the hell was going on. "I could tell he's been breathing fire. Somewhat... uncontrollably. Do either of you have any idea as to why that could be?"

Ed bristled unhappily, feeling his mouth twitch back into a habitual scowl. What did that have to do with how well they knew Mustang? Seriously, could anyone give them a straight answer, here, or was he now just doomed to listen to everyone around him talk in cryptic riddles until he could browbeat the answer out of someone? "I mean, he's- we found him in a military lab," he huffed, trying and failing, yet again, to rub the sleep away from his eyes. He didn't want to say more than that, didn't want to say the horrifying reality once again, but they all knew it was true. They all know he was a... a chimera. Ed shuddered again, his throat tightening. He still hated to even think it, but if he wanted to actually be of any help at all to Mustang, he was just going to have to et over it. "I'd almost want to say they mixed him with a dragon. But no one's seen any of them for decades... I was hoping Mustang would be able to answer that question himself."

"He doesn't have his gloves," Al added. "I suppose he could have an array hidden somewhere on him- it's not as if we searched him! But it's... it doesn't feel like alchemy. I think Brother's right. Only the colonel can really tell us, but until he does I think we're just going to have to assume it was something the military did."

Ed nodded reluctantly himself, even though the reminder that it was the military responsible for all of this, that they had turned him into this just like that sick psychopath had done to Nina, turned his mouth bitter and his heart heavy. Because Al was right. He'd never quite understood Mustang's particular brand of alchemy. Even after purposefully devoting the time to figuring out, sneaking a copy of his array down and trying to puzzle it out- it had never made sense to him. Whatever symbols and history he'd studied to make his array work, they were not written down anywhere that Ed could find and study for himself, and the array on his spark gloves was rendered as foreign and unreadable as Cretan.

But he didn't have to understand Mustang's array to realize that what he'd been doing these past few days wasn't alchemy. It had always been too quick, borderline instantaneous, even, to be the activation of an array. He'd never felt or heard any alchemic energy about him these past few days, and each and every display of fire had felt just too... instinctive.

After all, Ed had had plenty of bad dreams himself, these past couple of years. He'd been badly sick and badly injured, too, and yeah, Al claimed he'd been delirious with fever that one time, which Ed didn't remember, so no, thank you, he had not been-

Well, he'd never once woken up to find that he'd been transmuting in his sleep.

Once again, Ed was reminded of a dragon- and unsettlingly so, at that.

But no one in Amestris has seen a dragon since the 1800s...

Marcoh, however, did not look very surprised by any of what he'd said. Not even when he'd mentioned his fear about Mustang being transmuted with a dragon, which was all but a horrifying confirmation to him that was exactly what had happened. No- the man barely even reacted at all. There was a little twitch in his eyebrow again but whatever the truth was behind it remained unclear, eyes still clouded and features still infuriatingly calm. "I see," was all he said, at first. "That's... interesting."

"Interesting?" What the hell? Shaking his head, Ed shoved his hair back away from his face, still utterly bewildered and lost and now, once again, wanting to just tear off downstairs to pull the truth from Mustang himself. What the hell was Marcoh hiding from them?! "Listen, I don't know what's going on, here, but-"

"Yes, I understand. However, as I am now Roy's doctor, I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep his privacy in mind, and refrain from answering any more of your questions at this time."

Ed was struck silent.

And dumbfounded.

And utterly, completely, stupidly lost.

...

What?

"I'm sorry," Marcoh continued, stacking a collection of letters together as he swept to his feet, and when he faced them there wasn't even a flicker of indecision or hesitancy anywhere present on his features. "But, quite frankly, I don't know who either of you are. All I know is that Roy needs a place to hide out for a while, and needs to be kept safe from the military- which, Edward, you are currently a member of."

Ed gaped a second time. What the hell was this guy playing at?! Shock washed through him in another wave, so brutal and overwhelming it nearly had him paralyzed right there on the couch. The idea of running back to the military to tell on the colonel was so utterly contrary to anything he'd ever even dreamed of; this time, his brother didn't even try to restrain him from shooting to his feet, and if he would have, it wouldn't have been enough to stop him. "We're the ones who brought him here in the first place! We wouldn't have helped him if we were just going to turn him in! We want- we want to help him! That's why we're here; isn't that obvious?!"

"I understand that, but-"

"My brother's telling the truth!"

And then, Al was the one up on his feet, pushing up so fast that the couch groaned with it- and so blazingly intimidating even the impassive doctor to flinch back. "We're on Colonel Mustang's side, not the military's! Even if my brother's a State Alchemist, we know what the military will do to him if they find him. We've seen how they treat chimeras before, and we'd never let them do that to him. We- we just want to help, sir!" he begged, metallic, echoing voice wavering so perilously close a crack it sounded more human than anyone else's in the damn room. "You have to let us help him! Please, sir!"

But if possible, Marcoh remained even more unswayed than before- like this was something he did every single day, like turning down someone begging to help was just a part of his normal day. "I will be glad to," he said, steady and sure, gaze lingering back on Al. "And once Roy is awake, if he gives his permission, I will, without question. But for now, for Roy's sake, I'm going to have to ask you both to wait until he's recovered enough to make the decision for himself."

Another wave of tension curled through Ed, hot and hard, like being punched in the stomach. It took every last drop of his remaining dregs of self-restraint to keep his jaw clenched shut. He still wanted to shout for a fucking answer, or perhaps just stomp his way off downstairs to put an end to this once and for all. But the words still struck a chord, faintly reminding him of something his brother had said, just days ago, and that something was enough to keep him back and his mouth shut.

He'd already spent days, so far, letting the stupid bastard haul a hood over his changed face, when they both knew Ed could've gotten rid of it in an instant any time that he'd wished. Because he'd wanted to see it, but had wanted even more for Mustang to actually make the choice to show it to him. That part of it had been more important than anything else, and no matter how stupid and bull-headed Mustang was being about it at least it would be his choice. Being turned into a chimera hadn't been, but letting them see it would be. Ed just could not force him knowing that he'd be the second one to take his choice away.

And this was the same thing, wasn't it?

He wanted to help Mustang, and knew that Al did, too. He wanted to shove Marcoh out of the way and plant himself downstairs and not move until Mustang stood up again and smirked and was back to the same proud bastard he'd always known him as.

But just like he'd had to bite his tongue and let Mustang hold the reins this entire clandestine journey to Marcoh's little village- if he really, really wanted to help him, to honestly be as much help to him as he could, and nothing beyond that-

Then he was going to have to do the same now.

That was really just how it was, now. As startling and new and different and miserable as it was, that was the truth and he couldn't do anything to change it. Ed wasn't really sure he'd ever been of any help to Mustang; certainly not any help like this. Because, simply, Mustang had never been one to need it. He was too immutably strong and solid, not even remotely related to the hooded, pained chimera Ed had had to drag around these past few days because he couldn't even walk under his own power. He still couldn't reconcile those two of being one and the same in his head, but the fact of the matter was, they were, and if it came down to a question of loyalty between the military itself and the bastard-

Well, it wasn't even a fucking question.

If Mustang needed his help now, he had it.

And if this small, mousy doctor wanted to doubt that, then Ed was going to stick around right in his face to prove it.

He looked back up at his brother, meeting his eyes for a silent nod, trying to convey the sentiment without words. Al didn't even need a splitsecond to understand before he nodded back, already in perfect agreement.

"We'll go, then. Come on, Brother." Al looked back towards the doctor as he settled into place behind him, cold and unyielding. "We're going to go find a hotel or something, so we'll have somewhere to stay, because we're not leaving. We'll be back soon."

Marcoh seemed to deflate at those words, just a little, shrinking minutely with a sense of relief. Probably because all three of them knew that if they had stood their ground, he would not have been able to actually stop them, or do anything at all but get flattened as they made their way back down to Mustang's side. "We'll be here," he sighed, all but sagging back over the table. "Thank you, really. I understand you're upset, but Roy will appreciate-"

"But."

The doctor wavered into silence again, words fading with no further provocation than that. He sat warily, watching them with the same guarded suspicion that had shadowed his eyes since they'd first met.

Ed, full aware of what his brother was about to say, kept silent.

"Like Ed told you, we're here to help Colonel Mustang. If at any point we start to think that you don't have his best interests in mind, then we will stop giving you the benefit of the doubt, and take him to someone else who does."

That said, Al then strode solidly on straight for the door, and Ed followed right behind him.

The last thing he saw before slamming the door shut was Marcoh, still standing back at the table with a downcast face, averted eyes, and a withdrawn shadow across his features that was just as apologetic as it was guilty.

A/N: I know it's been dragging on just a little so far, but I promise, everything takes a hard left turn next chapter. Which I'm probably going to post early, just so we can move the plot and Roy along. See you then!