A/N: Apologies for the wait (I hope the length makes up for it)! Life's been a bit crazy these past few months. Aside from being accepted into a veterinary internship, I am getting ready to graduate veterinary school. Between all of that, though, I've managed to find some time to write. This chapter has a lot of different elements in it, with a little mix of action. Next chapter is the one that I'm the most excited for, with lots of action and a major cliffhanger in store! I'm hoping that I can write it in these next couple of weeks while the events of this chapter are still fresh in my mind. That chapter, like this one, will probably be longer.

Please let me know if there are any inconsistencies, OOCness, or some things you do not understand! And thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows. They mean so much and help me to keep going.

And at guest commenter 'Sel' (if you're still reading!): Excellent question! When I first started writing the story, I had intended for Roy and Riza's possessions to be different from Greed's because of the malevolence (their almost immediate attachment to Roy and Riza's souls). Their attachment was something that made them different from Greed in the sense that it masked the souls in the Philosopher's Stone by hiding behind their souls. Though looking back and re-evaluating it, I may work the earlier chapters a bit to make it clearer or make it initially so that they're similar in sense to Greed.

Olivier seated herself and took a few moments to glance around the room she had been escorted to by the Madame. It was meagerly lit, with only three, naked light bulbs overhead to illuminate the entirety of the space. There were numerous old, mismatched bookshelves positioned against every free bit of wall that wasn't a dedicated entrance. The shelves were sparsely embellished with no more than a few dusty books and scraps of paper strewn about. Her gaze drifted away when nothing caught her eye, and she briefly noted a variance between two portions of the floor in one of the room's corners. Her brows lifted. A secret hatch?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a glass of brown liquid was placed in front of her and she looked up as the Madame turned away and made her way over to the chair that was positioned at the head of the table. As she settled herself, Olivier's eyes flickered over the face of every girl that had seated herself at the table. They settled briefly on Catalina, who then averted her gaze down to her lap. The rest of the room's occupants were nameless, though she had no doubt they were the 'girls' she had been briefed about before.

As she lifted the glass of whiskey to her lips, a knock on the table drew her attention back to the head of the table. The Madame's wordless call for attention quickly silenced the indistinct chatter that floated around the room, and every eye turned toward her. She took a few moments to scan over everyone in attendance until her eyes fell on Olivier. The eyes, in turn, followed, and within moments every eye was on her. "I want to thank you all for being here tonight," the Madame said without peeling her eyes away from her. "Most importantly, I want to welcome the renowned General Olivier Armstrong."

There was a certain bite to the woman's words that Olivier caught. Though not malignant, it certainly wasn't completely benign. She suspected it was guarding on the woman's part, and rightfully so. Though they had both appeared on the other's radar one time or another, they had never personally met until that moment. After all, they likely wouldn't have crossed paths if it weren't for the fact that they were both unwillfully allied. She had a right to be skeptical, and Olivier wouldn't pretend that she wasn't either. She set the glass down, fingers still curled around it, all without having taken a drink, and lifted her other hand in reply. "The pleasure's mine. Especially considering the rather... unusual circumstances."

The older woman's brow rose and Olivier felt a downward tug at her lip. She came into this with very little information on Christmas, other than knowing that she was one of General Grumman's most valuable informants, and the adoptive mother of Roy Mustang. But even that information was difficult to pull, and even more difficult to interpret. Olivier wanted to believe that this alliance was worthwhile, but General Grumman's stamp of approval wasn't necessarily on her usual list of criteria.

The Madame unfolded a set of spectacles and settled them over her nose. "Well, it's best we get down to business, right?" A muted hum of agreement circled the room and Olivier sat back and waited as she continued. "I've heard from a few sources that you're revered as the 'Ice Queen,' General Armstrong, with a reputation to match."

Abandoning her whiskey glass in favor of crossing her arms over her chest, Olivier shrugged. "I care little about what I am called, only how I am treated matters to me. As long as I am respected by my men and the opposition, it doesn't matter what title I have been given."

The Madame nodded thoughtfully and laced her fingers together, settling them in front of her on the table. "This reputation certainly precedes you." Out of the corner of Olivier's eye, she saw Rebecca Catalina shift.

"Lieutenant Catalina told me about the confrontation you had with Lieutenant Hawkeye," the Madame continued. "What you did with little hesitation certainly demonstrates that."

Lieutenant Hawkeye. An interesting choice of words. Olivier held the response that came to mind in favor of analyzing the Christmas' face. On one hand, it was entirely possible that she was testing her. To brush off the choice of naming the monster for its body than what it actually was would imply that she thought Hawkeye still held some consideration to them. She may have very well wanted to test Olivier and whether she still thought of the body she had encountered as Hawkeye rather than the Homunculus. But on the other, it could mean that the Madame still thought of the Homunculus as Lieutenant Hawkeye, and therefore knew the Lieutenant on a deeper, more intimate plane. In which case, Oliver realized, meant that the Madame would fight for the monster's right in favor of saving Hawkeye. The dissolution of their brief alliance was dependent on Olivier's response; however, she would not have it any other way. Better to know then rather than later where their beliefs lied.

"There was no confrontation with Lieutenant Hawkeye," she replied. "Only the monster that took her body. I did what I did for the benefit of my nation - not for Hawkeye's benefit, no matter how unfortunate the circumstance."

Catalina's lips pulled into a thin line but Olivier opted to ignore the remainder of her autonomic response in favor of watching the Madame's.

As expected, surprise crossed Christmas' face. It was fleeting, however, and was immediately replaced with what Olivier would almost want to describe as validating. "I admire your conviction," she said as she picked up a pen and looked down at the papers spread in front of her, and she began to jot something down. "There aren't many people who would shoot an ally in the face even if they knew said ally no longer sided with them."

"Would you?"

The Madame's pen stopped. Olivier could see the tendons in her hands grow taut as her grip on the pen tightened, and the lines on the older woman's face tightened. She felt every single reproachful eye in the room turn from the table's head toward her. She remained steadfast and unyielding to their glares, having decided that the most valuable and telling opinion belonged to the Madame and no one else. Not even Catalina would be held to the same regard in her mind. No, this woman, one of the most instrumental of the Homunculis' opposition, was to be held to the highest standard.

To her surprise, the corner of Christmas' lip curled and, with a light chuckle, she shook her head. "I'd like to think I would," she said. "But who knows if I'll be strong enough then to pull the trigger when I face the monster that took my nephew from me."

The Madame's emotions were more delicate than she had anticipated. Olivier pressed her lips together, already feeling the alliance she had hoped to form begin to crumble before her eyes, and the weight of the opposition she wished to form in retaliation began to weigh heavily on her shoulders.

"Though…" she continued as the hand that once held the pen slipped beneath the table, only to reappear a few moments later with a pistol, "That's not to say I won't at least try to summon the strength to." Though always the one to hide her emotions, Olivier was surprised when Christmas gestured to her with her free hand and said, "I saw the skepticism in your eyes, General. You've been studying me, trying to get a handle on the type of person that I am. Make no mistake, I still love my nephew as deeply as I did before. But," her face contorted, "Allowing that monster to walk around in his body is something I cannot sit idly by and ignore."

In a matter of moments, the older woman's appeared to have aged by twenty years. The lines drawn taut by her frown deepened, and the spark of light in her eyes dimmed. The agony she so cleverly hid had begun to leak through her once self-possessed facade for all of them to see.

When Olivier blinked, however, the expression was gone.

"It appears you haven't gotten your hopes up," she murmured. "The Elric boy seems to think there's a way to save them."

The ghost of a smile stretched briefly across Christmas' face and she shook her head. "The Elrics are both something else, aren't they? I heard you had the pleasure of meeting Edward Elric when he was taken to the north."

"He's the one who told me. If he hadn't, I don't think I would have pieced together what was wrong aside from the fact that Roy Mustang was acting more peculiar than he already is."

The comment grazed over the Madame with little notice. She looked down at the spread of papers in front of her and pushed them around a little, an action Olivier recognized was to stall for time. She sat back and allowed the Madame to continue her task for a few moments until she categorized the information in her head that she wanted. When she looked up again, the same small smile masked her hurt. "He's said a lot of optimistic things. But this is one of those times when alchemy can't fix what's happened."

Olivier's thoughts drifted briefly to the time they had exchanged information, reflecting on the determination he exuded that was so palpable that she had nearly felt it herself before she met the Homunculus. The spark of determination, it seemed, truly hadn't crossed over to the rest of his alliance. "Is he the only one that believes this?" she asked.

Christmas shook her head. "No, his brother believes it too. Though I can't say for sure that his childhood friend shares the same sentiments."

"His brother and friend? The two who are being held captive?"

"Yes," she said. "Alphonse Elric and Winry Rockbell are currently here in Central under the watchful eye of the Homunculus known as Lust. We've been keeping tabs on them by way of a young girl from Xing who has decided to join us, at least for the time being. We're hoping she'll agree to stick around until it's time to pull the boys out of Central."

Olivier's brows knitted together. "You say that like Edward is already here? The last I heard, they were trying to account for everyone up at Fort Briggs. Surely he hasn't already returned after that."

"You're right. He isn't here… yet," the Madame explained. "But I've received confirmation that he and a few others will be returning to Central in due time."

This raised alarm bells in Olivier's mind, the confrontation she had last with the Homunculus and, by default Edward, still weighed heavily in her mind. The thought that it would be returning drove a shiver up her spine, and the realization that it would be teaming with the Homunculus that had taken Hawkeye captive vexed her more so. As though she had read her mind, the Madame shook her head. "My source wasn't able to discuss in detail what happened, but from what I gathered the Fullmetal Alchemist is still very much alive."

"And separated from the Homunculus?" Olivier pressed as she crossed one leg over the other. "My concern now would be that the Homunculus would be returning alongside the Elric boy." The Madame's brows rose and she went on to say, "I've already had the pleasure of confronting it for what it was, and the thought that it could come back to join up with the other is… less than ideal."

"As I was told, that won't be the case."

"Oh?"

Christmas shook her head. "My source confirmed that a small team consisting of Edward's alchemy teacher and a doctor infiltrated the fort and removed him without the Homunculus in tow."

"Infiltrated?" The statement dragged through her mouth like sandpaper, and she pressed her lips together to halt the frown that threatened to follow.

As though she sensed the inevitable how that would follow, the Madame said, "They found and tracked the boy through the underground tunnel that runs beneath the fort. You know… the one that presumably tracks around the entire country."

Falman had relayed more information than she had thought, and Olivier was apt to pause and ponder whether it was good or bad that he had so readily given the information away. Though, she supposed, chewing her at lip; it was inevitable.

"It seems the rabbit hole is far deeper than I previously thought," Christmas continued. Lacing her fingers together, she bowed forward and rested her chin atop them. "I'll admit that the information relayed to me has my mind turning in circles. A giant circle resembling a transmutation circle is apparently what's carved out. The only thing I understand about alchemy is that it's an incredibly difficult skill to master, as I learned when I once opened my nephew's notes years ago."

"It seemed like Edward Elric had an inkling of an idea, but I don't think that even he understands the gravity of what they're planning. No one aside from the Homunculi do. And I doubt they'd be willing to spill every detail to us. But," Olivier continued, "The fact still remains that Elric is one of the few people who know how the Homunculi function. Regardless of whatever he feels about the bodies they possess, his knowledge will be pertinent if we want the upper hand. Because killing them is more difficult than it seems. Her gaze slowly tracked over the rest of the women who sat silently listening, ultimately falling back on the only other person with whom she had any familiarity. "Isn't that right, Catalina?"

The brunette winced, but Olivier did not relieve her of her scrutiny. "You saw for yourself how resilient they are." She kept her gaze on Catalina, but raised her voice to address the rest of the room. "I put a bullet between Hawkeye's eyes and all I received in return was a laugh. They don't die by conventional means, and it seems that, in addition to the boy knowing how they function, he will likely know how to destroy them."

Her eyes flickered over to Christmas to assess her reaction. The visual, however, was less appealing than she had anticipated. Her expression had once again returned to stone, leaving little for Olivier to grasp at in terms of what she may have been thinking. It was likely, then, that she had already shared what had happened during their encounter with Lust. Olivier was beginning to run out of exclusive information that would give her leverage if she needed it.

"The only issue I see with that is that both of the Elric boys have their moral code. If they know that we're mining them for their information, only to turn around and kill the Homunculi, they aren't going to talk."

"We'll compromise then. We won't let our intentions on."

Christmas' face fell, and the age she had been keeping at bay by remaining neutral began to bleed through. "I don't think they'll take too kindly to that," she said.

Olivier shrugged. "At this point it's survival of the fittest: kill or be killed. The Elric brothers can function on their own terms, and we can function on ours. But the longer we waver between sparing them or killing them, the higher the body count will rise. So," she added as her eyes drifted over to Catalina again. "We have to decide quickly whether we are align with the Elrics or don't."

"I've already made my choice," Rebecca muttered. She looked away from Olivier and toward Christmas. "I've decided that I don't want Riza to suffer anymore. What I saw -or, who I saw- wasn't Riza Hawkeye. At least… not anymore."

"You'll follow through then?" Olivier freed a hand and formed a handgun with her fingers, and pointed it toward Catalina. "The next time you get the shot," she depressed her thumb, "You'll take it?"

Rebecca opened her mouth and promptly shut it in favor of mulling over Olivier's conditions. Believing that she would deliberate the issue longer, Olivier proceeded to address Christmas, but was cut off when Rebecca cleared her throat. "I will," she croaked. "I… I will."

"So we're all in agreement then. We will continue to play their game until Edward Elric arrives in Central. Once we find out how to destroy their Philosopher's Stones, we will make our first move." Folding her arms of her her chest, she tipped back in her chair and balanced on its two back legs. "Until then it's best to lay low and do whatever it is they need… within reason." Her eyes drifted over to Catalina. "Lieutenant Catalina. You will likely be closest to Lust. Will you be able to perform as intended until we figure out how to dispatch them."

Rebecca's face twisted into a scowl. "I mean no disrespect, General," she bit, "But I already said that I will do it."

The corner of Olivier's mouth twitched. Catalina was certainly talking the talk, but whether she could walk the walk still remained unconvincing. Before she could address the Lieutenant's contempt, Christmas cleared her throat and deviated her attention toward her. "Both Lieutenant Catalina and I agree that this is the best course of action. Not just for the whole of Amestris, but for my nephew and Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"I understand that," she said without peeling her eyes from Catalina, who had once again retreated into herself. "I just want to make sure that that we all be on the same page. One misunderstanding could very well mean the deaths of many. We cannot allow ourselves to deviate from our resolve, even if our hearts beg us to."

"Make no mistake," Christmas began, "We have no intention on giving up our resolve. We discussed long ago that this is the best course of action for Amestris and our loved ones. Driving home the point will only-"

"It will only make the resolve harder to process. I've already done the same a time or two in the past, thinking about whether I had made the right decision or not. It ate away at me until it nearly consumed me, and in the end I ended up following my heart instead of my head, and that resulted in the loss of countless comrades. I only bring this up as a warning to you and to Lieutenant Catalina because the number of lives at stake far outweigh the lives of two soldiers." With that thought left to simmer, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood. "I accept your proposition and look forward to the alliance we have formed. In turn, I hope that we continue to share the same ideals when it comes to our nation's safety."

The Madame rose from her seat as well and dipped her head despite Olivier's unanticipated withdrawal. "It has been a pleasure meeting the woman behind the name and reputation. You're truly as I had anticipated you would be."

A slight critique disguised as a compliment. Olivier had certainly had her fair share in the past. Even though the Madame had chosen the course that was ultimately right, her heart still held some of her mind's control. It was just, then, ending the conversation where it stood. It gave them the time they needed to mull over the reality she hoped she had brought along with her.

"I'm afraid it may be a few days' time before I am able to meet again," Christmas said. "With the late-Fuhrer's funeral at hand, I'm sure you have your fair share of tasks you need to perform."

"The funeral's end will mark the beginning of an uncertain future. One that I am unsure of my position in it. However, I will wait for your word on when Edward Elric returns so that we may extrapolate the information we need."

"Hopefully the message will reach you sooner rather than later. My sources keep me on my toes, and I can offer you the same."

Olivier nodded. "It will be better that way. No doubt they have my phone lines tapped."

"There may be a message coming to you from a young Xingese girl. If that is the case, she will deliver it with a black and white cat."

"I'll anticipate your message then, and keep my eyes peeled for a young Xingese girl and her cat. Until then," she continued as her gaze once again fell upon Catalina, who refused at that moment to look up from her lap. "It may be best that our paths do not cross. The less of a connection they can follow back to us, the safer we will be during this waiting period."

Lieutenant Catalina nodded, though she kept her eyes down. "I agree," she muttered.

"Good. Then I will look forward to the next time we meet. I hope until then that you will all remain out of harm's way."

The Madame's expression was unreadable, though Olivier could see in her eyes that she had already departed into herself to begun processing through the information they had both exchanged, and the unusual alliance they would form. Time was all she needed, Olivier surmised, before she would completely adopt a steadfast acceptance of the terms they had outlined. "And to you as well."

Olivier could feel every pair of eyes eye, aside from one, boring into her back as she ascended the stairs that led to the hidden room, and felt them there until she had made it to the top. By that time the bar's patrons had mostly dispersed and gone home, and the remaining staff that had decidedly not taken part in the meeting had begun to close down. As she passed them by, they too kept their eyes glued to her, scrutinizing what appeared to be an early departure. She paid them little heed as she pulled her jacket from her shoulders and pushed her arms through the sleeves. She stepped into the cool autumn night, and allowed her mind to wander back to the meeting's points while they were still fresh in her mind.

It had followed exactly the model she had predicted before. Despite the decision their party had apparently made, there was still some resistance that remained. Olivier had never had the misfortune of being in their shoes, having not held a significant relationship with either Hawkeye or Mustang, but she tried to understand. She had seen for herself the state Hawkeye had fallen into, a shadow of the person Olivier had known before. And though she had only faced the monster that had taken Mustang's body. Maybe it was her self-imposed philosophy of kill or be killed, survival of the fittest, that she had adopted that allowed her the clearness she was experiencing. Or the relative neutrality she had in regard to Hawkeye and Mustang.

Still… she could not allow their hearts to cloud what her mind knew. Because she had seen the ruin the Homunculus Wrath was capable of, and she had seen the incredible healing that they were both endowed with. The Homunculi andthe one who as pulling their strings was a menace that would bring calamity to the land of Amestris if left unchecked. She hoped that her parting words left a lasting impression that would drive them to continue to pursue the right path. There was no room for error in this battle, and she feared that Catalina would prove to be their downfall, or the first of many that be added to what she predicted would be the the Homunculis' body count.

Chess for one was hardly a time-wasting endeavor.

Wrath stole a glance at the clock that hung above the train compartment door and, to his dismay, discovered that only two hours had passed since he had embarked on his journey back to Central. If memory served him correctly, it would still be another twelve hours before it would reach its destination.

He scowled and pushed the rook he had been toying with minutes before forward, setting the opposition up to eliminate it. Unfortunately, no such opposition existed. Mustang was less enthused by the thought of engaging in a game of chess, instead opting to wade around in the pit of sorrow he had amassed after his energy had waned.

No longer interested in learning the game that only served to keep Mustang's physical mind at bay, Wrath leaned back against the cushions and turned his eyes toward the window, watching the dark outlines of the northern pine trees flash past them. The movement seemed to rouse Mustang and Wrath's hands appeared to overturn of their own volition, though he knew it was far from that. He could feel Mustang's gaze penetrating through his, soaking in every detail he could. Wrath allowed him to. It certainly wasn't harming anything allowing the Colonel to look and feel. If anything, it only served as a reminder of the power he held over him.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the flecks of blood that were still buried deep beneath his nail beds, and he felt the corners of his lips curl satisfactorily as he relished the delicious swirl of emotions that the Colonel was experiencing. Rage, to him, was the fuel that fed into Mustang's funeral pyre; the one sentiment that stabilized Wrath's new form. Devastation was the Colonel's downfall, built only to shatter and let crumble the last bit of sanity that still wallowed in his mind. Wrath could feel him teetering on the edge. And it was only a matter of time before he tipped and fell.

His fingers curled mechanically into a fist, and his hands began to tremble. A quick pause to listen confirmed that there was no one within earshot of the private section of the carriage he was in, and he turned his attention inward toward the Colonel. "Are you still lamenting the fall of the Fullmetal Alchemist-?"

The Colonel's retaliatory movement was swift, and Wrath found himself having to grapple with him for control. A hold on Mustang's metaphorical neck put an end to the struggle, but despite the abbreviated struggle, Wrath could still taste iron on his tongue.

"It seems that you are."

"You think that I would let what you've done just go?"

Wrath's smile grew as Mustang writhed against his hold. The savory swirl of blood and rage that drifted between them proved too much for Wrath to ignore. Not if he was inadvertently leaving his ire unchecked. Wrath braced his elbows against his knees and threaded his fingers together. "You forget that it was your hand that ran the boy through. I'm but a puppeteer."

"Liar!"

Wrath's jaw clenched but he did not relent despite the slight slip in favor of Mustang. He squeezed his hands together and breathed out. He would admit that the surge of strength was impressive; admirable even. He had looked into his heart before and had thought he understood the depth to which he cared for the boy. But even then he did not feel the depth of that care; and now, seeing how distraught, furious, the Colonel was, he was only just beginning to understand.

"You're a fascinating creature, Mustang," Wrath mused. You act as though that child is an annoyance at best, and a burden at worst. You become easily frustrated whenever his actions bring trouble to your desk, and yet you continue to urge him to continue. And if someone so much as lifts a finger against him or his younger brother, you immediately jump to the defensive. So my question for you, Mustang, is why do you care so much for these children? There is little for you to gain by presiding over them. There is no pot of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow; nor a prize to be had for recruiting a child to become a soldier other than a pat on the back for a job well done. So what motivates these feelings of care, Mustang?"

Mustang prickled with anger and Wrath slouched in his chair, lazily bringing his hand to his mouth as he began to unravel the Colonel's festering psyche.

"Is it guilt? After all, you are the one who decided to venture forth and ultimately sparked what would be the boy's funeral pyre. If not for you he would still be living the life of a child, albeit one restless and hungry for the knowledge to retrieve his brother's body. You handed him the weapons, made him into a child soldier and for what? For your own personal gain, yes. At least, at first. But now I can see that you share the same sentiments you do toward your other subordinates. Well," Wrath's lips curled, "Aside from one. Which brings me to my next point, Mustang. How do you think she'll react once she discovers what happened? Though you never voiced it, it was clear that you would watch over the boy, just as she is doing with Alphonse Elric and the Rockbell girl. What will she think when she learns that you hadn't the strength to protect him?"

Mustang prickled. "What makes you think the Fullmetal Alchemist is dead? There's been no indication. No news. As far as you know, Kimblee has failed."

"Avoiding the question, I see. The wound was mortal, Colonel," Wrath continued matter-of-factly as he massaged his temple. "The child would need a Philosopher's Stone to survive something like that."

"You don't know that," he snarled. "And that child is far stronger than you know."

Wrath scoffed. "You lie to yourself to prolong what you know in your heart is inevitable." He pressed his hand directly over his heart, feeling its pace quicken beneath his fingers. "You're terrified of discovering the truth. Terrified of what those who cared most for him will feel when they learn of his fate. Your avoidance in answering my question prior is evidence enough." He could feel Mustang teetering on the edge. Wrath could feel the telltale swell of blood on his tongue that signalled the Colonel's fight, and he welcomed it. It was the quickening of what would eventually be his downfall.

He could feel it…

Mustang realized this and withdrew into his mind's depths, but it did not go unnoticed to either of them the newfound tautness of their bond. He was smart in his retreat; though, ultimately, it would buy him little additional time.

Wrath pressed his forefinger against the top of the king piece and tilted it back. "Keep backing into your corner, Colonel, but soon enough…" The piece teetered on the edge of its base, then slowly tipped onto its side. "Your soul will be mine."

Every night the Lieutenant would dream. At first, Lust found the quirk fascinating, even somewhat endearing if not for the subject matter, than at the very least the entertainment. Most of them would start out with exaggerations of mundane, day-to-day tasks that ranged from grocery shopping to commutes to the office; all very boring in Lust's opinion. It was when those dreams would evolve into nightmares when Lust would become intrigued, even delighted by what the Lieutenant's tormented mind could concoct.

But even then, after time had passed, Lust grew tired of the repetition that would soon follow. Images of flashing bombs and fires that seemed to climb miles into the sky no longer interested her, and even witnessing again flesh marred by the steady hands of the infamous Flame Alchemist had become irritating, to the point of keeping her awake at night. Unfortunately for her, they persisted without hesitation and that evening, after the way the day's events had played out, Lust found herself sitting back and watching over and over again images of a familiar blond child being torn to shreds.

Once the Lieutenant's whimpering had become too much for her to tolerate, Lust cut their attempt to sleep short and sat up in her bed. Lifting a hand to her face, she pressed her thumb and pointer finger against the edges of her eyes and noted that they were wetted. It still wasn't ideal, but she would admit that it was an improvement over the reactions Hawkeye had elicited in her earlier that day. It seemed Pride had been right - loosening her grip had somewhat freed her of the Lieutenant's intolerable emotions.

While the Lieutenant's emotions had been lifted, another entirely new, yet familiar, sensation had settled on Lust's shoulders. She dragged her hand down her face and peered through splayed fingers into the darkness, looking for signs of movement. She felt the air pressure change the moment she sat up, and she would wait patiently for Pride to announce himself to her if need be. It was the least he could do for disturbing her at such an ungodly hour.

A familiar red eye and mouth finally split open in the corner to her right and she lifted an expectant brow as she pulled her hand away from her face and folded it in her lap. The mouth curved low and the eye narrowed when she failed to address it. "You don't seem very pleased to see me."

Lust stole a glance toward the clock that sat on the counter beside her bed. She could barely make out the hands on it, but from what she could see it was well after midnight. "I don't believe anyone is pleased being woken up in the middle of the night."

He made a sound of displeasure and the eye narrowed to a thin slit. "It's a necessary evil, I'm afraid; unless you wish to be freed from the weight of Father's assignments."

She felt her lip tug in a subconscious fit of nerves. "I know well enough that it would mean my premature demise. Please inform Father that I have no such intentions."

"Very well."

Lust waited a few beats in the hopes that he would continue, but when Pride seemed content with the brevity of his answer, she said, "There must be a reason for your visit tonight, Brother."

"Of course there is."

Despite his straightforward answer, he seemed… distracted. Or dare she even say… calculating? Lust leaned back against the headboard and mirrored his incredulous stare. She knew that he was sizing her up, trying to determine whether his previous suggestion worked. To question it would mean opening another line of questioning she was not eager to answer at that hour. More importantly, however, she was eager to learn what it was Pride had woken her up about. Surely it was something more important than wanting to know about her struggle to keep the Lieutenant at bay.

When their impromptu staring contest did not yield what Pride was searching for, his shadows slithered and stretched, and his overall presence seemed to grow. "It seems," he began, "That the Colonel's aunt and General Armstrong have become rather close. I saw the latter walk into the Madame's bar."

The brief skip of her heart at the Colonel's mention was overshadowed by Pride's revelation, and she looked up from her hands to look toward the mass of shadows that now occupied the better half of her bedroom. The eye widened expectantly and her brows lifted in reply when her mind had processed what her older brother had said. "I see," she hummed. "It seems they've joined forces with Briggs then? We'll have to keep a close eye on them."

"Will you be the one to pursue them, then?"

She chewed her lip and weighed his question. This new detail was crucial, if not the most important piece of information they had recently come across, and she knew that it was something she could not let go. However, as much as the thought of playing cat and mouse with them the way she had Alphonse and Winry was very appealing, she implored herself to consider the impact cornering them would cause. Her meddling could very well drive them deeper beneath the ground, to the point where they would no longer be wedged beneath her thumb. She could lose that control.

"I won't," she said, and her sibling's eye grew wide. "I feel that it's best not to, don't you agree? The second I insinuate that they are being watched, they could very well slip away and any hope of keeping tabs on them may disappear with them into the shadows."

The shadows hissed and Pride slunk forward. "Then we will allow them to conspire while we sit twiddling our thumbs? Is this newfound complacency a product of the Lieutenant's psyche, Lust?"

She did not waver from her stance, watching with the same intensity that Pride was watching her with. She knew that she would be right in not revealing that fact to them. Lust had seen what shouldering themselves into the opposition's domain had done before. Though… "I never suggested that we avoid watching them," she continued. "I simply believe that if we announce our awareness to them, we may lose them entirely."

"Are you insinuating that I continue my watch?"

There was a certain bite in Pride's tone that Lust recognized as disdain. With the events that began to unfold, she knew that Pride's hands were full, whatwith the former Fuhrer King Bradley's impending funeral as well as having to 'console' the Fuhrer's widowed wife. Living the life of a child brought another point that she had to consider.

"I'm not insinuating," she said. "I'm merely exploring every option we have to keep them positioned under our thumbs. My abilities are overshadowed by yours if we consider stealth."

"Yes, but you already know how thin I am stretched as it is. The late Fuhrer's wife keeps me occupied far longer than she did before. She insists on incessantly coddling me to the point where she is nearly suffocating me and her anguish is rather time-consuming. Though," he continued with a curve of his mouth, "You would certainly know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Her lips drew down into a scowl and Pride's eyes narrowed with what she could only describe as amusement. She rested her chin in her hands and locked eyes with her sibling, refusing to back down from after the not-so-subtle jab. "And now it seems you're the one who's instigating, older brother. But if you must know, I did do what you suggested and the results are… promising, for lack of a better term."

His eyes widened again and curiosity seeped into the otherwise rigid air between them.

She twisted the piece of her shirt that laid over her heart in her hand and continued. "The ache is still there, but it's lessened considerably."

"And the Lieutenant's mentality?"

"There's a mixture of jumbled thoughts that are far from linear," she said. "There are thoughts of remorse blended with ire that she continues to chase in circles." Lust took a moment to pause and search through the extremely polar thoughts that had most recently churned through the Lieutenant's mind, but quickly abandoned the notion when they became too difficult to categorize. "I suppose," she began slowly, "It is better than the state she was in prior."

"Modulating seems befitting then."

"It's the only way," she muttered, folding her arms and leaning back against the headboard. "If I incorporate her soul too quickly into the Philosopher's Stone, her memories will fade and with them everything I can use for leverage. Not to mention Wrath may very well lose control of Mustang if he discovers she is gone. But if I do so too slowly, she may garner the strength to try and take control again."

"I see," Pride said. "Do try to keep her well-contained when Wrath arrives."

This caught the Lieutenant's attention, and Lust forced her down. "Wrath?" Her eyes widened. "He's returning?"

"There is nothing left for him at Briggs," Pride began. "He has finished what he was sent to do, and now that the Fullmetal Alchemist is gone he no longer serves a purpose there."

"When will he return?" She curled her hand into a fist and squeezed, because whether she liked it or not, she could not deny the little skip that her heart did upon hearing Pride's revelation. It was curious, her reaction. Despite her still distinct separation from the Lieutenant, she still felt that pang of longing with the thought of Wrath's physical body. The Lieutenant squirmed uneasily and she pushed her away.

"Tomorrow."

Her head shot up, prompting Pride's eyes to widen. She silently demanded that her heart slow, and damned the connection she still had with Hawkeye, though small it was, and called for herself to focus. Lust shook her head. "Tomorrow then," she said. "Do you want me to be present when he arrives? As customary of his Lieutenant?"

"No. I want you to follow your orders to preside over the parade's security tomorrow, as well as monitor Grumman. You can touch base with Wrath at a later time."

Enough time for her to ensure that the Lieutenant was well under control, was the translation, she assumed.

"I will monitor General Armstrong and the brothel Mustang's aunt runs as best as I can given the upcoming circumstances. Do try to keep her well-contained when in the presence of Grumman and Catalina tomorrow. And," Pride continued, "Per your request we will both make sure that they are unaware of our knowledge of their alliance."

She heard the underlying threat buried in Pride's words. Another reason to keep the Lieutenant locked down. Lust shouldn't be so surprised that her brother didn't completely trust her. Their interactions from the time she had been reborn had hardly been what she would consider smooth. His disdain for the humanity her body reeks of is obvious to her, and she knew that his finger is ultimately on the trigger. His report to Father could very well seal her fate, and she may be expunged from the body she had been given.

Next time, she gathered, she may not be so lucky as to be reborn.

"That's correct," she murmured, eyes flicking across the shadows as they slowly melted into the floorboards. "In order to keep the upper hand." As she ran through the list in her head again, another hindrance popped into her mind. "Wait." The shadows reemerged and Pride's eyes rolled open again.

"Now that the Fullmetal Alchemist is… dead." She stumbled over the words more gracelessly than she desired to. "What will I do with the girl and the other Elric brother? They aren't aware of the situation."

"Alphonse Elric still holds value as a sacrifice. The girl means little to us but with the numbers of potential sacrifices dwindling, it would be best to keep him happy by allowing her to live. At least for now. Keep them in the dark for as long as possible until they find out."

"As long as the media doesn't discover it, I will. Though," she said, "With the late-Fuhrer's funeral in two days time, I'll admit that my priorities have shifted. In the heat of the moment, I told the girl to keep her distance."

Pride said nothing, though there was little he would need to say for Lust to know that he was discontented by what she had said. The narrowing of his eyes was one clear indication, while the other was the sudden change in the air's pressure around her. But rather than voice it, he chose to remain as optimistic as the embodiment of Pride could. "Then if she chooses to abide, then so be it, so long as she and Alphonse Elric remain within the boundaries we have set for them, then we care little about what they do otherwise."

It was evident that her disclosure knocked her a few notches down her sibling's list. In an effort to not display her growing concern, Lust nodded. "I understand."

His eyes narrowed, not fully convinced. However, the night's visit was already stretching beyond what it normally would. It wouldn't be long before one of the waitstaff that combed the halls of the Fuhrer's mansion would take notice of Selim's absence. Time was fleeting, though; and his retreat back into the floorboards hastened.

"Do keep that understanding in mind, Lust," he said as his eyes rolled closed. "And remember that I will be continuing my watch."

She waited a few moments until she felt the weight lift off her shoulders and sighed. Another warning to keep in the back of her mind, she thought bitterly as she slid beneath the covers. The Lieutenant, Alphonse and Winry, Grumman, and Catalina were becoming quite the handful. With the late-Fuhrer's impending funeral, she had to keep on her toes and stay one step ahead of every one of them as she had tried before, she thought as she reached over and flicked the lights off.

At least for the time being, the Lieutenant had been reduced to a small fraction of that equation.

The first thing Lust noticed upon entering the Fuhrer's wing was the tension that permeated the surrounding air. A mixture of devastation and somberness so robust that even she felt it was difficult to breathe. She passed silently by the lesser staff without so much as a second glance, and they returned the gesture with equal verve.

She had expected some sort of resistance when she made herself known in the Fuhrer's private office, though Grumman did little to acknowledge her presence. Instead he continued, eyes down and lips pulled tight, continuing with his task.

Initially unperturbed by the cold shoulder, she ambled over to the kettle and tea left untouched on the counter opposite his desk and slipped into the role of an assistant. As she began to pour it into one of the glasses, she focused her hearing behind her. The scratch of his pen against paper did not slow, even when she abruptly slammed the half-filled teacup against the counter in favor of filling another. She continued this raw endeavour for attention until she had filled every glass, and still she had not heard a single pause. No longer patient enough to drag the silence out longer, she cleared her throat. This time she heard his pen stop.

"Have you decided what you will say of your predecessor's memory, Fuhrer?" she asked as she loaded the emptiest cup of tea onto a tray. "You'll be asked to speak a few words about the late Fuhrer King Bradley during the funeral procession tomorrow."

The silence extended for a few moments longer before it was interrupted with the scratch of pen against paper. No longer able to hold her frustration at bay, she dropped the tray onto the table and whirled around to find him once again focused on the paper in front of him. She closed the distance between them in a few steps and slammed her hands against the desk. The glaring display of aggression forced the pen from his hand, and she found that even the Lieutenant had stirred in her daze.

His hand skidded across the desk and clumsily grasped the pen he had dropped as he tried in vain to continue as though he had not been interrupted. He tried again to display some semblance of indifference, but the moment the pentip touched paper, his hand began to tremble.

Knowing his resolve was beginning to crumble, Lust speeded the process along by further antagonizing him and plucked the pen from his hand.

"Apologies for interrupting," she murmured with a sarcastic drawl, "But I don't think you heard my question, Fuhrer Grumman." She flicked the pen against his nose and called for his eyes to focus on her. "Have you decided what you will say tomorrow? You're running low on time."

"What if I told the masses that you're responsible for the squabble up in the North, or about what you had done to the former Fuhrer because he no longer suited your needs? Would you still be as eager to hear what I have to say?"

"So that's what you've been contemplating?" She dropped the pen onto the desk in front of him and pulled the paper he had been scribbling on away from his reach. A glance showed her a haphazard array of lines and short paragraphs, all centered around the word 'Homunculus.' "Impressive," she said as she continued to skim across the conspiracies. "You're right about the battle in the North, though I'm sure you've extrapolated most of what you've written from the mouths of the other Generals that were involved. And I see here that you're not entirely convinced by our story regarding the Fuhrer's death."

"Even some of the lower ranking soldiers have begun to question our involvement," he said. "I've heard whisperings of it as I've walked the halls. Make no mistake - the people too are wondering."

She lifted her hands. "Let them wonder. The former Fuhrer's demise would tickle the interest of any foreign leader with a bone to pick."

"So you used the late-Fuhrer as some sort of catalyst then," he surmised. "But I don't buy the reports that it was a heart condition. It was you lot that killed him and took him from his wife and child."

"Sometimes physical illnesses manifest themselves at the most inopportune moment. It's an unfortunate occurrence, but it isn't uncommon."

"But my appointment thereafter was too sudden. And I'm sure that it was no coincidence that my granddaughter was involved as well."

"You're clever," she said. "But not clever enough." His brows creased and she walked her fingers along the desktop until it came to a pile of papers. They jumped the small ledge and slid across the top paper until they came to a rest on the military heading centered at the top. She meandered for a few moments, allowing the Fuhrer's curiosity to simmer and peak. And, once it finally overflowed and he cleared his throat to draw her attention back to him, she lifted her eyes and smirked.

The corners of his lips curled back to reveal his teeth and she almost laughed at the pitiful display. He certainly fell into the typical predictability of a human when something of interest is dangled in front of them. In her limited experience, she found it was almost impossible for them to ignore something they craved.

"You seem eager to tell," he muttered. She shot him a glance, noticing that beads of sweat had begun to form on the old man's brow, a testament to the uneasiness her presence wore on him. "The fact that you found the need to elaborate on my cleverness, or lack thereof in your eyes, dictates that."

"That may be true," she hummed as she lifted her hand and held it half an arm's length away. She turned it, pretending to admire her nails to drag the moment out far longer than it needed to be. After turning it a few times more with little satisfaction, she said, "I've little interest in backstories, though I will say that the former Colonel Mustang is the reason for his demise. It was an unfortunate blow to our plan, I will say. So we only saw it fit that he replace what he had taken from us. Isn't that what alchemists are constantly raving about? Equivalency?"

The Fuhrer's eyes grew wide. "Wait. So what you're saying is that Colonel Mustang killed Fuhrer Bradley, the former incarnation of that Homunculus?"

"In a roundabout way he killed him, but yes. He also had the nerve to almost kill the former embodiment of Lust." Gesturing to herself, she added, "We were fortunate that he had this body as his disposal."

Lust didn't flinch when he, as she expected, slammed his hands down on the desk and leapt to his feet in a fit of anger. She turned and smirked when he leaned across it. She could feel the delicious rage rolling off him, and her smile grew. "Did I strike a nerve, Fuhrer? I nearly forgot your antipathy for your granddaughter's subordination to him. You've always preferred that she retire and wed him. That's why you always offered him her hand in marriage. You wanted her to leave the military."

His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled back. "My granddaughter was an adult when she joined the military and she was capable of making her own decisions. I may not agree with them, but I respect every decision she has made with her life."

"Even if they cost her her life?" Lust challenged. She saw him recoil a moment later, and she knows that she had struck another pressure point as he was reminded of the noose that was cinched around his granddaughter's neck. His expression changed: first to rage, and then to defeat. His resolve crumbled and she knew that his reflection left him with nothing. "You might say that you want to end her life to free her, but the moment I show you my neck, you hesitate. You're too soft, Grandfather."

His fists white-knuckled and she tilted her head with eager anticipation as one of them scraped back across the desk and down to his hip. With a speed she thought unachievable by a man of his age, he drew a pistol and pressed its barrel against her forehead. The thunderous click of the weapon's safety called her attention back to his face.

The old man's face had darkened considerably and, Lust proposed, she could see a hint of madness flash across his eyes. When her face did not give way to the reaction he had hoped, he pressed the muzzle more firmly against her head, until she felt it form an indentation in her skin. "Is this still too soft?" he snarled. His finger dropped to the weapon's trigger and depressed it slightly to further drive home his silent vow.

Lust hesitated for a few beats, but the Lieutenant did nothing to preserve herself against the impending attack, failing to stir despite the momentary spike of adrenaline that flooded their shared veins. Willing her heart to slow and, slightly disappointed by the lack of response from Hawkeye, Lust lifted two of her fingers and brushed the barrel of the gun aside. The old man fought against her and attempted to replace the weapon, and she curled her fingers around the barrel and squeezed, clamping it shut and rendering it useless. Despite loosening her hold on the Lieutenant, she failed to elicit a response that truly excited her.

"Y...you…-"

She turned her attention from her dwindling thrill back to the Fuhrer and saw tears streaming down his cheeks. His hold on the gun loosened and it slipped from his hand, clattering to the desk below. The image was enticing enough to make Lust squirm -the grandfather's anguish, the possibility she could die- and yet… the Lieutenant barely stirred. And the longer Lust dragged out the moment, the less confident she felt in extracting something worthwhile from this interaction.

Pity.

She sighed and pushed herself off from the desk. "I'd recommend that get back to work, sir. In addition to tomorrow's events, you will also be making your first public appearance as the new Fuhrer. We don't want you looking like you can't play the part. The country needs its Fuhrer in its time of peril." When he didn't answer, she cast her glance over her shoulder and found that he had sunken down into his chair and buried his face into his hands.

She scoffed and turned her back to him. "I hope to see your written notes tomorrow morning. If there is any indication that you desire to reveal what you've discussed with me, I will make sure that your demise is not as quiet as Fuhrer King Bradley's."

His muted sob was his only reply, and the left the Fuhrer's office as quietly as she had arrived. Strolling past the rest of the office workers as they mingled about, Lust had already begun to formulate a secondary plan to prepare for his possible retaliation. In a matter of moments, she had seen his self-worth diminish and the possibility that he would follow through blossom into a substantial concern, because the tears he had shed were those of a man who believed he had lost everything.

"Hey!"

Lust froze when she felt an arm weave around and entrap hers. A snap of her neck around to her perceived threat produced a familiar face, and she hastily retracted the spears that had sprung from her fingertips.

Rebecca Catalina did not seem to notice or, most likely, chose not to react, and instead hugged herself closer to her. "I've been looking all over for you, Ri," she chirped. "I wanted to let you know that I've already gathered the troops and gone over the safety measures you had outlined for the procession tomorrow."

A stolen glance revealed a small alcove just off the hallway and Lust yanked Catalina into it as they passed it. Unfazed by their newfound isolation, Rebecca continued to talk, unhindered. "You don't need to worry about a thing, Ri. I told everyone to meet at 0800 hours sharp and-"

Lust wrenched her arm out of Rebecca's. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

"Of course I do," Rebecca smiled. "I'm talking to my best friend… and the demon that's taken over her body."

Lust's lip curled. "Why the frivolous display? You're certainly not fooling me."

"True," she said. "But I don't need to fool you. Just everyone else."

"Finally starting to play along, I see. It'll certainly make things easier for me."

"And me." The grin Rebecca had briefly adopted faded and she lowered her voice. "What happened the other day won't happen again, Lust." A sharp pain sank into her arm and Lust looked down to find that Rebecca had taken her arm in her hands and dug her nails into it. "Your days are numbered, you know. I'm not letting you use Riza's face to control me anymore."

This newfound confidence was certainly an interesting development, though it was hardly a surprise. There was no coincidence that Pride's visit last night to inform her of their opposition's move to unite coincided with Catalina's bold advance. The temptation to proclaim her knowledge of their meeting weighed heavily on Lust's mind, though she bit her tongue and reminded herself that doing so would compromise their struggle to have the upperhand.

"What a shame," Lust sarcastically remarked. "I was looking forward to picking your brain a little more."

Rebecca's grip tightened. "You've lost the opportunity," she said. "I know now what I have to do for Riza. Destroying you is the only option I have left."

Ahh… so the alliance revolved around their destruction. It certainly made sense: the… death of the Fullmetal Alchemist would weigh heavily on the hearts of many, and she knew that it was only a matter of time until they decided once and for all what their course of action would be. It should have surprised her that the death of a child would prompt them to leap into action, but her brief brush with the Lieutenant's innermost emotions gave her some semblance of understanding for their vacillating stances. But now that they had made up their minds, the division between them was forever set in stone.

One of them would make it out alive, and the other… "You've decided to forsake her, then?"

"No," Rebecca said. "I've decided to save her by freeing her from you."

"That's quite ambitious of you," she said. "But you do realize that by separating us, you'll ultimately be killing her."

"You don't think I know that? I've had to come to this realization time and time again since the moment I learned about what you had done to her, and only now have I realized just how much she's suffering. I…" she swallowed and blinked hard, ridding her eyes of the tears that had begun to collect in them. "I don't want her to suffer anymore. And if means that she will no longer be suffering, then I'm going to do everything in my power to make that happen."

Her heart did a little flip, and the emotion she had hoped to draw from the Lieutenant began to seep into her consciousness. She found herself disgusted by the settled resolve Catalina had adopted, and the churn of uneasiness that was brought about by the beat of hope that briefly sparked Hawkeye to life. Lust once again wrenched her arm from Catalina's hold. This time, the second Lieutenant did not try to reclaim it. Lust retreated a few steps back and circled her hand around the spot on her forearm that Catalina had held. It felt like she had injected fire into her veins. Every nerve in her arm was alight and radiating twinges of pain throughout the rest of her body. The manifestation of the Lieutenant's sentiment was unexpected, and with the anticipation of seeing Wrath still fresh in her mind, Lust knew that she had to quell her.

"You need to go," she snapped. "I still have work to do before tomorrow comes."

As she had moments before, Catalina did not argue or struggle. Rather, the expression she worked to hide still managed to bleed through, and Lust could see the bittersweet satisfaction in her eyes. Riding the wave of confidence that she carried, believing that she had won one battle of their seemingly never-ending war, she lifted her hand and snapped a crisp salute.

Lust growled and turned away. She kept her shoulders squared as she walked away, despite the heaviness of the Lieutenant's heart. She felt Catalina's eyes boring into her, repeating to herself over and over that she had won, she had won, she had won, and it took every ounce of Lust's strength to not turn around and drive her spears into her. There would be a time and place, she promised herself. Soon she would feed off of Hawkeye's despair, and relish the satisfaction of the second Lieutenant's blood soaking her hands.

Something had thrust Winry from her sleep. What it was was not immediately clear to her. All she knew was that she had been torn from a dream where she had been working on an automail limb. There was laughter, arguments, little discussions about the hows and whens that came with automail repair.

But most importantly, Edward was there.

She reached up and rubbed the sleep away from the corner of her eye, and found that it was wet. When she felt the tears begin to well up again she pushed the heel of her hand against her eye and tried to cling to those images before they faded completely.

The phone's shrill report startled her and the image of his face in her mind vanished. A glance toward the clock on the wall confirmed that it was a few minutes before eight and her heart leapt into her throat. Alphonse was nowhere to be seen, and May was nestled comfortably in a corner of the room, contently unaware of the phone's ring. She stumbled clumsily over to the phone and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she murmured, praying that it was Alphonse calling from the lobby below.

"... Win?"

The shock of hearing Edward's voice nearly caused her to drop the receiver. Winry juggled it in her hands until she got a better grip on it and pressed it more firmly against her ear. "Ed… Is that you?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's me."

Feeling tears begin to well in her eyes, Winry freed one of her hands from the receiver and cupped it over her mouth to muffle her gasp. Though she had every reason to doubt Lust's claim that Edward was okay, she still held onto the hope that, just for once, the Homunculus had spoken the truth. But now she had the proof she so desperately needed.

"Winry? Are you still there?"

"I'm sorry," she said when his voice startled her from her surprised daze. "I guess I just… wasn't expecting to hear from you, Ed."

She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. "No," he replied. "It's alright. I'm just glad you're okay."

"But are you okay?" she pressed as she sank down onto the bed. "I heard about the-"

"Yeah," he quickly said, and she stopped. The silence stretched but a few moments, and Edward was the first to recover from his abrupt and, she assumed, unprocessed, answer. "Yeah," he repeated in a softer tone. "I'm alright."

Winry should have felt relief. She had heard it before from Lust, and now that she was talking to him -actually speaking with Edward Elric himself- the knots in her stomach should have vanished. But they didn't. Instead the twists grew more taut. There was something he wasn't telling her. She could feel it.

She had dealt with this before - his avoidance in telling her what was really wrong. It would start with banter back and forth until he finally admitted that his automail was scrap metal and that his body was a little better for wear. Only this time she wanted it to be true. She wanted that little back and forth until she heard the annoyance in his voice and heard him admit that it was one of those rare occasions where she was worried about nothing. She needed it; she craved it.

"We're going to come for you guys." She closed her mouth shut, her second attempt to ask him if he really, truly was okay dying on her tongue. They were coming back? Tens of questions immediately began to pour into her mind, but before she could voice them, he began speaking again, this time his voice even more hushed than before. "I don't have much time to explain, but Teacher and the others have me with them… I'm not at Briggs anymore."

"You're not…" When he said that they were going to come for them, her thoughts had immediately turned to the Homunculi despite their promise to that they would be safe as long as Edward and Alphonse did as they were told. Her stomach had sunken into the bed and she had to shift and change her position to relieve herself of the sick feeling that had come with it. To know this now meant that the Homunculi were not longer in the picture… or at least, they no longer were on his end. She doubted that it would be the same for the one that was pulling the strings on their end. Winry swallowed, remembering what happened the day prior. Lust demanded that they leave but never followed up with how the rest of their 'arrangement' would go. She felt as though their status as 'pawns' was not over, and yet Zampano and Jerso had yet to collect them...

"Winry?"

Edward's voice dragged Winry from her quiet fit of panic and she hurriedly picked her heart up off the floor. "Yeah, Ed?" she murmured far too weakly to pass as a casual cover up of her surprise.

She heard him pause on the other end and knew that he was evaluating her response. She curled her fingers into the sheets and prayed that he would let it pass. He sighed, and she could just hear his silent assessment leave with it. "Is Al around?"

She looked up again but like she had seen before, he still hadn't reappeared. "He isn't," she said as she wrapped the phone cord around her finger. "I think he ran down to the lobby… I just woke up."

"Will you tell him that too then? That we're coming back?"

"Of course," she said. "If you hold on a minute, I can go find him and-"

"I can't," he said. "Just tell him when he comes back. I'll call again when we know where and when."

Her heart sank when she sensed the urgency in his voice. "Ed, wait!"

"Yeah…?"

She swallowed the lump that had begun to form in her throat. Pushing the tears that had started to collect in the corners of her eyes, she said, "Your automail… It's still okay, right?"

He snorted and the little bit of pain that had wrapped itself around her heart subsided some. "Of course it is. I have the world's best mechanic, remember?"

She sniffed and rubbed her cheek as a laugh bubbled past her lips. "That's right. I remember now."

"I'll talk to you later, Winry. Wait for us."

"Okay, we-" A short click followed, before she could even finish her goodbye. She held the receiver against her ear for a few moments longer in the event that something would change and that she would somehow hear his voice again. But after listening to the monotonous drone of the dial tone for far beyond what she normally would, she grew to accept that his voice would not return. At least, not yet.

She set the receiver on its cradle as a myriad of emotions swirled around in her head. There was more to it, she knew. She hadn't grown up with him to not know when something else was on his mind. The urgency of his call left her heart in her throat, and a deep-seated knot in her stomach that she knew would not unravel until she saw him again. But then, she lifted a hand and rasped it against her cheek and felt the satisfying sting on her skin, she realized that her conversation with him hadn't been a dream. He was alive and well and so him. And he was coming for them. Even at that moment he was on his way.

She hadn't realized how much she had missed him until she heard his voice, and now that she had, she realized just how desperately she wanted more. She wanted to see him… wanted to see him and hear him and touch him now. But she knew that until she received that call, she would not know when the next time would be. Winry bowed forward and wrapped her arms around herself to allay the nervous tremble that had begun to wrack her entire body.

She had to exercise patience, and continue to believe in Edward. Believe that she would see him soon. And believe that they would make it out alright.

Every single one of them...

Edward had hoped that the uneasiness he felt would vanish once he had confirmed that Winry was alright. But the moment he ended the call and set the phone down on the cradle, he felt another surge of worry pump into his veins. He tried to reason with himself, remind himself that he had just spoken to her. She had given him her word that she and Alphonse were alright. And yet… there was something there preventing him from accepting it.

He stretched his flesh arm out across his eyes and sighed. The tone of her voice was all wrong. It reminded him too much of their conversations after he would eventually admit that the reason his automail was broken was because of a less-than-ideal altercation. Only this time there was no initial vexation in her words, only concern. It was as though she had seen across the expanse that separated them and saw the sorry state he and his automail were in. He tested the latter, hearing the delayed clinks as his metal fingers sluggishly curled and uncurled, confirming that there was most definitely a short somewhere that was partially obstructing the signals he was sending it.

He almost wanted her to scold him when she saw the sorry state his automail was in to bring some semblance of normalcy to the situation they all currently found themselves in. Something to break up the constant barrage of shortcomings they kept coming up with. But most of all, and most importantly, he wanted to see that little smile after her initial reaction. Right after she would shake her head and sigh and tell him that it would be three -no, two, she would say- nights of work to fix it.

He wanted that. He wanted her. His brother. His comrades. Edward wanted the pain in his side and his heart to subside. He wanted to fight for the same cause again… together. Edward just... wanted everything to return to normal.

Edward tensed when he heard the door creak open and held his breath, preparing for another 'discussion' with his Teacher.

"Was that that friend of yours? Winry was her name, right?" He lifted his arm and watched as Dr. Marcoh knelt down next to him.

"Yeah. I told her that we'd be coming back for Al and her soon."

The doctor's lip twitched. Edward knew he had struck a nerve, but at that moment he didn't care. He had settled on the belief that Winry and Alphonse were far from being out of harm's way, and that they would not be until they were in his sight again. Dr. Marcoh and Teacher and the others could continue to feed him uncertainties about when they would return to Central all they wanted, but he would function on his own accord. Even if that meant slipping away without their notice.

But, rather than the lecture he assumed the doctor had prepared, Marcoh simply sighed and nodded. " We're definitely trying to make that a reality. Right now Mrs. Curtis is working with one of Madame Christmas' informants about when would be the best time to catch a train."

Edward's brows rose. "A train?"

The doctor dipped his head. "I know traveling by cary might be more inconspicuous, but early reports indicate that the city will be shut down. They'll likely be using police barricades to control traffic." The lines on Edward's face deepend and, to remedy the blatant display of disapproval that had settled in them, Marcoh explained, "There aren't any vehicles equip to carry us all. I feel that we may be able to get off at a stop outside Central and commute in another way."

"'Us all,'" Edward echoed. "You mean those two chimeras…?"

Marcoh nodded. "They're sticking around despite your teacher's, well, dislike of them."

The doctor's awkward neutrality almost made Edward laugh despite himself. Her distrustfulness was warranted, he would agree. But he knew by her tolerance that her trust in him was far more powerful. It comforted him to know that she still trusted him, knowing that she was still fighting every other belief of his. "I'm glad she listened," he murmured, shaking his head. "I thought for sure she would have thrown them to the northern wolves if given the chance."

Marcoh shook his head. "It's a sign of trust if I've ever seen it. Though I'll admit that they aren't exactly free to do as they please. They're, I guess you would say, a little tied up?"

An image of the two former soldiers with hands bound flashed across Edward's mind. It shouldn't have surprised him like it had a moment ago, though he would blame that on the blood loss. "I guess I wouldn't put it past her. She does what she can to make sure we're safe."

"She cares very deeply," Marcoh observed, and Edward half-nodded as his mind again turned toward his prior thought. She had listened to him and spared the two soldiers, yes, but he could not say that she shared the same sentiments toward the two soldiers he knew.

He glanced toward the door to confirm that she wasn't there. The doctor moved to follow his gaze, but Edward reached out and touched his hand to draw his attention back to him.

"Dr. Marcoh? Could I bounce something off of you?"

Marcoh appeared taken aback by Edward's 180 degree turn, as demonstrated when his lips drew into a frown and his brows simultaneously rose. Nonetheless, he entertained Edward's mild pressing with a nod of his head. "Of course, Edward. What is it?"

He stole a quick glance toward the door to ensure that his teacher was not listening and, when he again determined she was not, turned his attention toward Dr. Marcoh again. "It's about… the Philosopher's Stone." Almost instantly he saw the doctor tense, as though the topic of the stone still lingered fresh in his mind. Edward wished he had been able to pick his brain about the stone more before, back when they were wading through a more neutral territory. Now armed with the knowledge of what the stone was actually composed of, Edward could only imagine what had happened to instill in the doctor the knowledge he had tried to hard to hide away. Even so, what could happen five minutes, five hours, or five days beyond that moment was impossible to imagine, and Edward did not foresee a time he could discuss one-on-one with the doctor his thoughts. "I know it's a topic you don't like to admit knowing about," he continued, "But right now… more than ever, I need to know your genuine thoughts on this theory I have."

He paused, partially for effect and partially to invite him to interrupt if he so desired. The doctor did nothing to dissuade him from continuing, though. Instead, his silence urged Edward to continue, despite the discomfort that was still cemented in his expression."

Edward took that to heart when he elected to continue, albeit slowly. "The spirit, body, and soul are the three fundamental parts that make up a human being, right?"

Marcoh nodded. "Yes, that is correct."

"The spirit is what connects the body and soul. It's what makes each and every individual who they are," he continued slowly. "If the spirit is severed, the body and soul are no longer working in tandem." A quick glance confirmed that the doctor was still following. "And in essence, that means a human being is no longer who they once were. They may even be dead. That's why the Philosopher's Stone is so powerful; it's a conglomeration of human souls who no longer have bodies to go back to or power." He clenched his fists, reminding himself to keep this thoughts objective.

"When I fought Wrath, I saw Mustang. It was brief, but there's no denying that it was him. If he is still holding on and his soul is still intact, then that means his spirit is still bound to his body."

The doctor's brows furrowed as he categorized the information Edward had presented to him. He could tell by Marcoh's expression that he had heard, or even extrapolated, the information before. That wasn't the purpose for Edward's review, however. He wanted the doctor to read between the lines. He wanted Dr. Marcoh to follow his same train of thought because he knew from their few interactions that he was capable of it. Marcoh, as far as Edward knew, was the leading alchemist when it came to knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone, which meant that he more than anyone could understand where he was going.

"So if the souls in the Philosopher's Stone are no longer tethered to their bodies, but the predominant soul still is, then don't you think that it-"

"No."

Though unfazed by the doctor's outburst, Edward took a moment to steal a look at the doorway to ensure that he had not alerted his Teacher. She did not appear, and Edward looked back at the doctor. Marcoh's head was bowed and though he would not see his eyes, Edward could feel how potent his anger was. His gaze wandered down to the trembling hands he had curled into fists on his lap. And yet, despite the doctor's scornful criticism, Edward felt no remorse.

"Do you even realize what you're implying, Edward?" He lifted his head and clasped his hands together, squeezing them to release the tension that was beginning to build.

Edward remained unyielding beneath Marcoh's scrutinizing glare. He knew exactly what he was doing and if that meant he would be alone with his theory, as what seemed was the case judging by his instantaneous reaction, then so be it. "I do know what I'm saying and I think the theory is sound."

"It's human transmutation," Marcoh snapped. "The only 'soundness' of that theory is its disastrous consequences."

"You don't think I know that?" Edward lifted his metal arm. "I gave up my leg for the chance to see my mother again, and my arm for my brother's soul."

"Do you really?" Marcoh gestured to his arm and leg. "You say that you know, and I have no doubt you know because of what happened with your arm and leg, and your brother's body, but do you understand? What you're going to suggest is foolish, Edward."

Edward grimaced. He had expected some backlash from the doctor, but not to this magnitude. He was one of the few people Edward believed was on his side but the longer his tirade went on, the less convinced he was that he had made the right decision in sharing his theory with him.

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Transmuting their bodies to separate them from the Philosopher's Stone?" He grabbed Edward's flesh arm. "Are you thinking that this will be the price you pay?" He pointed toward Edward's flesh leg. "Or maybe that? Edward, why would you-"

"Because I'm the reason they're in this mess," Edward snapped, silencing the doctor mid-tirade. He knew the consequences of human transmutation. He had wracked his brain every which way trying to figure out a solution where neither their bodies nor his would be torn apart in the process, but he had yet to find one. "I should bear the responsibility of it on my shoulders," he continued quietly. "If it wasn't for my prying and their determination to help me, they never would have gotten dragged into any of this."

"Edward…" Marcoh's hand came to rest on Edward's flesh shoulder, redirecting his attention to him. Their eyes met and the indignation that had filled the doctor's expression slowly melted away. "What happened is not anyone's fault. Not theirs, not ours, and not yours. The one that is pulling the Homunculi's strings is the one responsible. You are a child, Edward. No matter what role you have been given in the military, you're still a child. They've given you so much of themselves." Edward's hands curled into fists. "How do you think they'd react knowing that you performed human transmutation to give them their bodies back?"

Thankful, he wanted to say. Happy -elated- to be back in their bodies.

That's how Edward wanted them to feel when they were freed from the Homunculi's grasp. But he knew in his mind and, reluctantly, in his heart, that Mustang and Hawkeye and even Ling would not feel anything remotely similar if it meant that he would sacrifice himself for them. His fists began to shake and he lowered his head. They wouldn't accept it.

Marcoh's hand tightened around his shoulder and Edward fought the urge to pull away. But Edward knew that he was right. "Edward," he said again in a softer tone. "There has to be another way. One where they get their bodies back and you keep yours."

Edward eyed the doctor expectedly, waiting for him the elaborate. But when a few moments of silence passed with no promise of another solution, he leaned back and dismissively dragged the fingers of his flesh hand through his hair. "You're right," he contended. "I'll just… have to keep thinking about it." At that point he'd say anything to end the disastrous conversation, even going so far as to agree with the doctor for the time being.

The corners of Marcoh's eyes wrinkled when he smiled, as if he was celebrating having talked Edward out of his pursuit. His eyes slid closed and he sighed, no longer able to withstand the one-sided optimism. "Dr. Marcoh… could you ask Teacher about when we might be able to go to Central? I'm worried about Al and Winry."

"Of course, Edward." The hand left his shoulder and he listened as Dr. March slowly rose to his feet and began to ample toward the door. He heard him stop just short of it and heard the rustle of his clothes as he turned to face him one more time. "I'm glad you discussed your thoughts with me. You're a brilliant alchemist, Edward Elric."

He moved his head and offered a soft 'thank you,' in response, but left it at that while he listened to the door quietly open and close. The doctor meant well, but it was simply that: well-intentioned words that were drenched with doubt. He thought that he had doused the hope Edward had begun to grow, but instead his naysay added fuel to the fire that had ignited deep within Edward's belly, and he would be damned if he would simply lie down and allow him to be told how he would save everyone involved. He would search for another way but if he did not find one, he would make one that would ensure that both his brother and his friends would be given the bodies they rightfully deserved. Whether or not he remained intact by the end of it, however, still remained a question he would have to delve deeper into.

Izumi waited until Marcoh had closed the door behind him before she elected to address him. "How is he doing?"

Despite having seen her, the doctor still started in a brow-raising display.

"He's doing as well as one would hope," he answered with a shake of his head. "He's a very resilient young man."

She pushed the tea kettle she had been draining in her wait across the table as he settled himself into the chair across from her. He gratefully accepted it and took a moment to pour some into the glass that she had positioned for him. "He's always been that way," she finally said when he lifted the glass to his lips. "He had hardly batted an eye during his training. It seemed like there was nothing that would faze him."

Marcoh swallowed the mouthful of tea. "I can imagine so," he said, and left it at that.

"So… who was he talking to before you went in?" she asked as she lifted her cup to her lips.

If Marcoh was surprised, he certainly didn't show it. It seemed that whatever he was keeping behind lock and key did not lie in whatever Edward had discussed over the phone beforehand. "I didn't realize you had heard. He was talking to his friend Winry before me."

She shook her head. "I only caught a little of what he was saying before and right after you went in. Falman needed to discuss logistics with me after that."

"How did that go? It seems like it's going to take a lot of organizing in order to get us back to Central."

"There's a train leaving for Central tonight that they said would also be hauling cargo. If we can slip into one of the cargo holds, we should be able to ride to Central undetected."

"Tonight?" He fumbled with the glass in his hand until the realization had sunken in, and then hurriedly set it in front of him. "That's a lot sooner than I had anticipated it would be."

"There's no other way," she said, untroubled by his graceless response. "Time is, unfortunately, not on our side. You know how anxious it makes me to consider moving Ed, but we have to remember now that the Homunculus is likely on its way back to Central. I don't trust that Alphonse and Winry will be safe for much longer. Our source told us that the city will likely be shut down in anticipation of the Fuhrer's funeral, and security will be tight. But it might offer us the one real opportunity to slip in and take them both while the Homunculi are occupied."

The doctor did not seem entirely convinced. As he chewed his lip for a few moments, Izumi took the chance to notice the glint of nervous sweat that had begun to accumulate on his brow, likely weighing the risk associated with such a hurried, touch-and-go plan. But the fact of the matter and the situation was that they didn't have the time to organize themselves. If there was any doubt in their minds about whether Edward was still alive, then Alphonse and Winry's lives were in imminent danger.

"There are no other options I can see," she continued. "Procuring two vehicles with our party size is difficult, if not impossible with the time we have left, and any train leaving at a later time could certainly mean life or death for Alphonse and Winry."

"I don't suppose there's a way we can meet them partway." The statement was hardly a question, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he knew otherwise. The Homunculis' threats were still fresh in their minds, and the metaphorical nooses that dangled around Al and Winry's necks, and the necks of the latter's grandmother and customers could not be ignored.

"No," she said, reaffirming what he already knew. "I imagine that we're going to confront the Homunculi head-on when it comes time to remove Winry and Alphonse, and I'm going to say that the threat will stop there."

He choked on his drink and eyed her like she had gone mad. Maybe she had in the span of time from when she first answered Edward's call for help to the moment she had to carry him, half-dead, away from the carnage the Homunculi were so effectively creating. "The battle will end there in Central with the death of the Homunculi. That is why I want you, Dr. Marcoh, to teach me how to destroy a Philosopher's Stone."

"Ugh, fuck!"

Miles was out of his chair and beside the Captain's bed within moments of his colorfully-worded contempt, and pressed both hands against his flesh shoulders to keep him in place. "You need to relax, Captain. It's only going to hurt more if you struggle."

Buccaneer clamped his jaw shut and gritted his teeth. "That's easy for you to say. You didn't get stabbed."

"He's right, Captain," the infirmary doctor, Dr. Patricia Knowles, said as she paused pulling off his dressing. "The sooner you relax, the sooner I can finish this."

He pounded his automail fist against the mattress, bowing it enough to practically toss Dr. Knowles off the end she was seated off. His eyes slammed shut and his jaw clenched again. "The sooner you pull this damn thing off, the sooner I can get back to fighting whatever Drachman scum still remains."

"'Drachman scum,'" Dr. Knowles parrotted. "I think you mean 'Amestrian scum." With a quick tug, she pulled the remainder of the adhesive dressing off the wound Buccaneer had sustained and he let out a surprised howl. His hands went immediately to nurse the wound as Miles shot her a quizzical look.

"I think you're mistaken, doctor. A Drachman managed to infiltrate the fort from below and caught us by surprise. That was a Drachman blade that pierced the Captain's side."

"I'm well-versed enough in arms to be able to distinguish between an Amestrian and a Drachman blade," she said as she balled up the soiled dressing and tossed it into the garbage can. "In fact, I'm insulted that you'd think I wouldn't notice."

Miles bit at his lower lip in an effort to shield the look of surprise that wanted to overtake his expression. She was right. Even though he had gotten rid of the blade almost as soon as she had removed it from the Captain's belly, there was still enough time for her to spot the intricate details that covered its hilt. Though not as embellished as the blade General Armstrong hung from her hip, there were certainly enough details on it to match it to a state-issued blade.

"So I want to know," she continued as she began to unravel a fresh roll of bandaging, "Why did you hide that from me, and who the hell the bastard is that did this."

He shook his head. "I think it's best that you leave this alone, Patricia. This isn't something you want to get involved in."

Her mouth fell open. After she took a few moments to pick her jaw up off the floor, she snapped, "Are you serious right now, Major? One of my countrymen stabbed Captain Buccaneer. I have every right to know what happened!" Out of the corner of his eye, Buccaneer shifted and she turned her focus toward him. "I never took you as one who would lie to protect someone else's skin."

He beat his automail fist against the mattress and snarled. "It's nothing like that, Doc, and you know it."

"Listen," Miles lifted his hands to try and pacify the increasingly volatile situation that had begun to evolve. "The more you know, the greater the chance that you might get hurt. We're trying to protect you, Patricia. Please know that what we are doing is for the betterment of the fort."

"So you'd rather keep me in the dark so that I'm blind-sided if something does happen?" She rolled what remained of the bandage back into its roll and slammed it down against the counter. "I've never kept anything from my comrades that could potentially harm. I've made an oath as both a doctor and a soldier to protect them, and you two had done the same when you joined the military."

"Patricia-"

"No," she cut him off. "No, I'm not going to drop this. I'm not going to let you try to 'protect me' by keeping me in the dark. With all due respect, Captain and Major, we are comrades and friends. And I'll be damned if I don't help you with whatever this is you two are trying to face alone. So," she continued, lowering her voice, "What is it that you two are hiding? What aren't you telling me that I need to know?"

Miles stole a glance toward the Captain, and the latter shook his head defeatedly. Turning his focus back toward his comrade, his friend, he cleared his throat and chuckled softly. "You really know how to get under our skin, don't you?"

"That's my job," she said. "Not just as a doctor, but a friend too."

"You have to promise us that you won't take action unless we hear from General Armstrong. Everything we do from this point on, we do under her command."

She put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. "As far as I'm concerned, General Hakuro is not my commander."

"That's because he isn't. Or at least, he isn't the one pulling the strings behind this. The attack on the fort or the change in command."

"The attack on the fort? You're saying that it wasn't just a targeted attack?" When he nodded, she said, "I thought it was because of Fuhrer King Bradley's death - that Drachma had taken the opportunity to attack while the nation was in a state of mourning."

"From our understanding, that wasn't the case."

"And," her eyes skimmed across him and to Captain Buccaneer. "The change in command… I never saw Grumman being the type to play favorites and change around the order like that. I understand him promoting Colonel Mustang to the role of a general -he was his 'golden boy,' after all- but I had always assumed that he viewed General Armstrong and her command here favorably."

Mile shook his head. "This is something that has gone on far longer and runs deeper than General Grumman, though," he paused and looked to Buccaneer for counsel.

"Though General Mustang is certainly part of this whole ordeal or, rather, the former Colonel Mustang," Buccaneer finished.

"Former Colonel, Captain?" she asked slowly. "What… does that mean?"

"Exactly how it sounds," Miles continued. "But before we go on, I need to ask if you have ever heard of a Homunculus before?"

Every time Roy had heard Riza's voice, it was seeping with Lust's rhetoric. He could no longer remember her own voice, her eyes, her smile, without thinking of her. He needed Riza. He needed to see her, to hear her voice.

He needed to know that she was okay.

The connection he and Wrath shared had grown taut since he had last tested it, and every emotion he felt was more strongly reciprocated by the latter. From the moment his body had stepped foot off of the train, a knot so tight that his lungs felt as though they could not fully expand had formed, and every breath he took felt forced. Wrath carried his body the way one would with weights tied to his feet, and the journey to the filthy den the Homunculi had called their home took far longer than he imagined it would. Wrath could feel what his intentions were and his body responded accordingly. The muscles in his back were tensed and his hands felt as though they were permanently formed into fists at his sides as his body trudged slowly down into the catacombs beneath the city, readying himself for an encounter not unlike the one they had experienced before.

It was akin to walking into a covert of an unknown, whether neither one of them could expect what was to come. And nothing, Roy determined, could have prepared his heart for the moment he saw her.

Wrath stopped short where Roy commanded his body to move, and the result devolved into a stumble that immediately caught Lust's eye. Her gaze wandered up his body, noticing the familiarly subtle signs of the internal struggle that had begun to take place. She stood from where she had seated herself and glided across the space that separated them, stopping just short of him. An indicatively sinister smirk that could only belong to Lust tugged at the corners of her lips, and she lifted nimble fingers to pull and tug teasingly at the collar of his jacket. "It feels like it's been so long, Wrath. Though it doesn't appear this time has been kind to you."

Roy felt a downward pull of his lips as Wrath made a forced effort to frown. A throaty growl reverberated deep in his chest and Wrath lifted his hand and clawed his nails into his scalp. The twinge of pain that transcended their connection did little to dissuade Roy and he pushed back. Wrath's jaw clenched and he finished pushing his fingers through his hair. "He's certainly putting up a fight," he managed to ground out.

She stopped playing with his collar and smoothed it against his breast as the uncharacteristic smile persisted. "I'm surprised you haven't gotten a better handle on him after everything that has happened."

"He's persistent," Wrath hissed as Roy gave him another swell of effort to combat. "It doesn't seem like you share the same sentiment."

Lust tapped her hands against his chest and shook her head. "No, I've certainly gained a better handle on her. There's been… quite a few developments in your leave of absence, though I'm sure we will have the time soon to catch up."

As they continued their superficial small-talk, Roy used his window through Wrath's eyes to scan every change in Lust's expression, looking for something that told him Riza was there and watching him too. But her violet eyes never once deviated and the curl of her lips never wavered, and it didn't appear at all that Lust was fighting anything to retain the facade she had so effortlessly worn. He looked for the blood that stained his most recent memories of her: at the commissures of her lips, her eyes, her ears - something that indicated that she was fighting too. But there was nothing.

Nothing.

A knot formed in his throat and Wrath raised his fist to his mouth to clear it, but the tantalizing closeness to her is enough for Roy to push through the wall Wrath had attempted to erect against him.

"Lieute-nant." His hands, now under his control, lifted from his sides and grabbed Lust's biceps. A surprised look crossed her face, and the smile that she had worn moments before vanished as her violet eyes pierced his and saw that it was him in control and now Wrath. His muscles begin to quake as Wrath furiously vied for control, but Roy did not relent. Not until his attempt to reach him was successful. Not until he saw for himself that Riza was there and alive and with him.

When the initial shock of his domination wore off, the mischievous smile returned. "You miss her, don't you?" Lust murmured as her eyes sank shut. "I'm sure she'd love to see you too."

The foreboding words passed over him in a wicked swell that only served to heighten the panic that had flooded his veins. When her knees buckled, he broke her fall and sank down the the ground with her as the air that surrounded her shifted and darkened.

Riza's fingers dug into his arms and she fixed her stare on his chest, her eyes wide -panicked, even. Roy gripped her arms and twisted her to look at her, and she opposed him by keeping her gaze low.

"Lieutenant." His plea, though sharp, lacked the depth his voice normally contained. Roy wetted his lips as he prepared himself to speak again and gave her a gentle shake, and did everything his panicked mind begged him to do to just get her to look at him. Why won't she look?

The persistent pull that Wrath had maintained throughout his vie for control loosened slightly, and he could feel the satisfaction dripping from him as he assessed for himself what Roy was seeing. "Look at what has happened" Wrath whispered. "Look at what she has become in your leave of absence."

Roy shoved him aside. "Lieutenant!"

She responded by digging her nails deeper and he winced when the alien claws that had become her fingertips lengthened and wedged themselves further into his skin. He stifled the gasp it drew from him, fearing his response would drive her back into Lust's arms. Riza was within arm's reach. He could feel her. And he would do everything in his power -no matter what it took- to keep her with him.

"Her soul is sinking deeper into the Stone. It won't be long until she can no longer distinguish her own voice from the thousands of voices within the Philosopher's Stone."

No. After everything they had been through. After everything they had endured. For the first time since his body had been taken, Roy had felt a sliver of hope embed itself into his soul, and it revolved around seeing her again. He would not rest until she was pulled from the deepest recesses of the Philosopher's Stone. He had found something to live for in that moment, and that something was her. "Damn it, Riza. Stay with me!"

Her body stiffened and her head jerked up and she looked -truly- into his eyes as though she were seeing him for the first time. The violet haze that had settled over her eyes slowly began to recede, and the familiar deep brown of her irises was beginning to bleed through.

"H… Colonel." Her head bobbed languidly back and forth as she grappled with the control she had pulled from beneath Lust's feet. "Col… Colonel."

"It's me, Riza. I'm here."

Like waves that swelled and frothed in the confines of a shaken flask, her soul vacillated violently as she struggled to maintain the control she had been granted. Her lips moved swiftly, and yet another word had yet to leave her mouth. Flecks of violet burst and receded in her eyes in rapid succession, arising and then vanishing as quickly as they came. This instability surpassed the struggle he had seen in her before, and with every moment that passed he could feel her slipping deeper into the Philosopher's Stone.

She shook her head, fought its grip, and blinked to try and regain focus. "He… Help… Roy."

"Riza, I'm here. Listen to me. Stay with me!"

"He's… Roy, why. He's…" Her eyes darted across his breast and her fingers sank deeper into his arms. "Please… help."

He fought to understand. To make sense of the nonsensical circles she was turning in. He wanted to help her, needed to help her. He begged her to listen, to follow his voice. To claw her way to the surface. It was that moment that he decided that he needed to see her for what she once was, not what she had become. Even if it took countless hours and coaxing and Lust's destruction from the inside out. He would fight to see her and everything she ever was again.

His resolve, however, stalled just as his heart did when she lifted her eyes and peered into his. And for a moment, just one singular moment, there was clarity there, and he saw a fraction of Riza Hawkeye make its way to the surface. And in her moment of clarity, she uttered the fixation that had begun her soul's descent into the depths of the Philosopher's Stone along the crest of control she had over the Stone's power.

Edward Elric was dead.

The revelation drilled itself into the core of Roy's soul. As he tried to process it, she slipped from his grasp again and through darkening vision he saw the burst of violet that had spotted her irises consume the remaining brown.

His entire body went numb, and the resolve he had declared and held and made his new mantra began to dissolve. The struggle he had so valiantly undertaken no longer proved to strong enough, and when he felt Wrath pull at the connection that bridged them, the will to fight for self-preservation did not kick on. The conversation, the blood on his hands, every memory of Wrath's senseless fight bled into his mind and overtook him.

Before the darkness that eagerly devoured the edges of his vision consumed him, he saw a singular flash of brown in her eyes. The weight of the entire world was crashing down around him, but with one final push he reached for her and begged her forgiveness that he could not protect him, protect her. That despite everything, he was powerless. Useless.

He… had failed.