Roy signed the last paper with a tired sort of grace, then stacked the lot of them, put them in a pale manila folder and handed them to Hawkeye. "There, I trust everything else is in order?"

"Yes, sir," she said, tucking the folder under her arm. Her warm sherry eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "You do look a bit tired, sir. Perhaps this break is the sort of thing you need."

Roy sat up from his desk and pushed his chair in. "It's hardly a break, Lieutenant. Between taking care of Fullmetal, looking into his case and this research, it isn't exactly shaping up to be the most relaxing of vacations." Though, admittedly, it was a handy thing that he was a State Alchemist. The position granted him the option of taking up to six months to research any alchemic field he desired, as long as those results proved useful to the military. "You think you'll be alright here?"

Hawkeye glanced at the door to the outer office where the rest of his team was hard at work, trying to stay ahead of the onslaught of paperwork. "With your absence, that should put a stop to some of work we've been flooded with." She stepped around his desk, seemingly casual as she looked out the window to admire the scenery. Then she was speaking, her voice barely more than a murmur, "I know you've been busy, sir, but I'm sure you've noticed; All this paperwork, the higher-ups hedging us in . . . something isn't right."

Roy frowned. Admittedly, he was a bit of a conspiracy theorist, especially when something didn't add up right. By his nature, he tended to jump at shadows and shoot at the wind, but Hawkeye was far too level-headed for that nonsense. He had possessed his own suspicions about the circumstances revolving around Ed's disappearance, but to hear Hawkeye voicing her concern made his own doubts seem much more valid.

First there was the mission Ed was sent on. It was handed to him by the Fuhrer himself, with the request that Fullmetal take care of it personally. Roy had found it odd that the Fuhrer would take so much interest in a rash of break-ins of some storage facilities in the North. From what he could tell, nothing of great importance had been taken, but that sort of information didn't always make its way down to mere Colonels. So without further investigation into the matter, and only a twinge of unease, Roy had passed the mission on to his subordinate, and Roy would never ever forgive himself for it.

When Ed missed his second check-in, Roy got worried. He made a few calls to his contacts in the North, and they promised to look into it. When Roy had called back, though, they all told him the same thing: there was no sign of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Roy was ready then and there to drop everything and head North, but that's when the red tape started to appear. Every move he made, he was blocked, be it by paperwork or procedures or matters of jurisdiction, and he was certain he called in every favor with every higher-up he knew from Central to North to get the case handed to his team.

By the time he had gotten everything in his hands, three weeks had passed since Ed had gone missing. They spent the next weeks wading through misfiled reports, stolen evidence, witness statements that didn't match, and all manner of what would be dubbed "sloppy work," but Roy had another name for it: red herrings. It took them over two months to find Ed, and when they did, he had been left for dead in the basement of an old house on the Drachman border. No clear evidence, no clear motives. Nothing.

And now their investigation since was being forestalled by the paper assault the higher-ups were waging on his team.

Now that he knew he wasn't the only one, that the nagging in his gut wasn't simple paranoia, he had a theory.

Someone didn't want them poking around Ed's case. Someone was hiding something. And if Drachma was involved, it was big, deep, and likely to be hazardous to Roy's health.

"I'm aware," he murmured. "Perhaps it's best if we keep our suspicions to ourselves for the moment. We'll have to discuss this later." He stepped to the coat rack and swung his greatcoat over his shoulders. "What do you say to dinner at my place?" he asked suddenly, giving her his brightest, most charming smile. "Perhaps on Thursday evening?"

Hawkeye didn't bat an eye. "Very good, sir. I'll bring dessert."

He smiled. "It's a date, then."

"I'll invite the others."

Roy pouted. "You ruin all my good fun, Hawkeye."

She gave him the barest of smiles. "I do my best," she said, heading for the door.

"Bring Armstrong, as well." It would be a good idea to have someone from Investigations on their side. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to miss out on my famous charbroiled steaks."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, then left to the outer office.

Roy finished packing up some paperwork, clasped the messenger bag shut, then wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed for the door.

A pale, sharp figure stopped him. "Ah, Colonel," he said, voice smooth and oily and sounding much the way Roy imagined a snake's might. "Almost out the door, I see. Lucky I stopped by when I did."

In Roy's mind, Colonel Archer bore all the traits commonly found among reptiles: cold, calculating, and with the ability to make one's skin crawl with little to no effort. He was dressed smartly in his uniform, his dark hair slicked back and a particularly chilly look in his blue eyes that set off alarm bells in Roy's mind.

"Colonel Archer," he greeted, not even bothering to keep the disdain from his voice. He was tired, and the thought of playing politics with the likes of Archer did not sound appealing to him in the slightest. "What a pleasant surprise." Like a parasitic infestation . . .

Archer graced him with a thin smile. "I'm sure. Might I come in?"

Roy's smile was positively hostile. "Certainly."

Roy led him back into his office, setting his things down and seating himself at his desk. Archer shut the door behind him and instead of taking one of the chairs in front of Roy's desk, decided to stand before him. Probably some sort of attempt to intimidate him, but Roy was far too on guard for that to work. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"First of all, how are things going with the Fullmetal boy?" he asked mildly. "As I understand it, he's staying with you."

Roy was careful to keep the surprise from his face. The only people who had known anything about that were Silas and the people sitting on the other side of his office door. How had Archer gotten his claws on that piece of information? "He's doing quite well," he responded coolly. "I expect he will be moving along on his own shortly."

"Oh? Then I can assume that your sudden need to take a sabbatical for research is purely academic in nature and has no relation to the boy's condition?"

Roy could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Ed was no business of this lowlife, and the fact that Archer had taken an interest in him made all of Roy's base instincts scream in a territorial sort of way. "You can assume whatever you please, Colonel. It makes no difference to me."

Archer's serpentine eyes narrowed into slits, but he still smiled. Like the cat that ate the canary. "Very good. Perhaps now you will be ready to follow procedure and question the boy regarding the nature of his disappearance. An act that should have been done weeks ago."

The temperature in the office dropped about ten degrees.

Roy wanted nothing more than to warm it back up with a few well-placed flames. "Fullmetal was not in any state to give his statement at that time, and frankly, he still isn't. If you would like, I can get his doctor to submit a report on the matter."

"No need," Archer said, stepping to the side to examine the books on Roy's shelves. "General Hakuro was just curious as to why this investigation hasn't gone anywhere. Frankly, I am as well." He glanced at Roy over his shoulder. "It's odd, isn't it? You would be so eager to take the boy in, but right in the middle of his investigation, you decide to take time off."

Roy felt his jaw clench, his muscles cinching tight enough to snap. "I'm not certain as to what you're implying, Colonel, but my intentions are just that; mine. My team will continue to handle the investigation in my absence, and I am not taking full leave. I will still be very involved in this case, I can assure you." He leaned forward, his lips slowly stretching into a lazy, feral smile. "And I can also assure you, we will get to the bottom of this, and anyone found remotely involved in Fullmetal's captivity and torture will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." And by any other measures I deem fit.

Archer's smile was absolutely frigid. "Good to know. Well, then, best of luck to you on your research, Colonel. I will be anxious to hear what alchemic secrets you will uncover for the good of Amestris."

With that, he turned and slithered out the door.

And Roy was left with a million questions on his mind and a cold feeling in his gut.


Ed remembered the day his father left. It was at the turning of the seasons, when winter was finally releasing its hold on the earth. The apple tree out front had bloomed the day before, filling the house with its sweet fragrance, and the grass was growing back lush and beautiful, flowers bursting across the open fields like wildfire. The morning was calm and still, the sun bathing the earth in a gentle, still sort of glow.

He remembered the day his mother left, too. Summer was dying, the leaves falling away from the trees in waves, bathing the yard in red and gold. The wind was just starting the gain the fierce bite of winter, tearing across the barren fields like an army of wraiths. It was cloudy that night, not a star in the sky and even the moon didn't dare make an appearance when their mother passed from this world.

The only thing Ed knew about the day Alphonse left was that it was cold, and he was too afraid to go out in it.

He clenched his hand in his little brother's. He knew they were standing in the entryway, far from the front door, like when Winry left. Mustang didn't want Ed out in the chill after his last encounter with the weather, and Ed couldn't say that he disagreed. He didn't have fond memories of the cold.

But his little brother was leaving, and Ed didn't even have the courage to walk him outside.

"It'll be okay, Brother," Al said gently, his voice thick. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I promise I'll call when I can. And . . . and I'll be careful, and I'll bring back anything that will help, okay?"

Ed opened his mouth, but he had a hundred things he wanted to say, and they all got stuck to the back of his throat, so he closed it and clung to Al, trying to breathe, trying to slow his racing heart. He had to be strong for his brother. Alphonse was always so sensitive, easily upset by things most considered trivial, and it was Ed's job to protect him. Even if he had to protect him from himself.

"Brother?" Al asked quietly. "Please, say something . . ."

Ed blinked back tears of his own. "I . . . I'll be okay, Al," he assured into his brother's side, weak voice faltering. He cleared his throat. "Just . . . just don't take too long, okay?"

"I promise, Brother," Al said, wrapping huge metal arms around Ed.

Ed hugged him back, no more words coming. But then, Ed realized maybe words weren't necessary. When you had known each other since birth, what could mere words possibly convey that the other didn't know?

"I love you, Brother," Al murmured, and Ed could clearly hear tears in his voice now, even if they would never manifest. "Get better while I'm gone, okay?"

Ed just clung tighter. Was this really it? He had survived months in the dark and in pain to be with his little brother again, only to have him walk out the door to go to some foreign country for who knew how long?

Maybe to never come back . . .

He clenched his jaw, feeling sick and terrified and so terribly alone. "Love you, too, Al," he managed to choke out, the words having a horrible sense of finality to them. He pressed himself into the rough, scarred armor, feeling the metal planes press painfully against his skin, but never giving him the closeness he needed.

Time was difficult for Ed to gauge now, but it seemed like there wasn't near enough of it as Al's grip loosened. "I'll miss my train if I don't go," he said softly, stepping back. The contact was broken, and Ed felt the beginnings of panic flutter in his chest. Ed wanted to follow, wanted to find him and wrap his arms around him and hold on.

But he heard the door open and a gust of cold air rushed in and he froze, instincts desperately flaring to life. It was cold, like in the basement, and if he was still, they wouldn't find him . . .

No. Stop. Al was leaving, not right now not right now.

He stood, feet glued to the floor and he listened.

Armor creaked across the floorboards.

"Bye, Brother." A whisper.

The door shut

Ed was alone.

No longer paralyzed by fear, Ed's real leg gave out on him. He collapsed to the ground, curling in on himself under the blanket. He held his throat with one hand and cradled his stomach with his prosthetic, anything to try to ease the awful, empty sensation that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. For some reason, he couldn't get his breathing under control. His lungs panted in short, shallow gasps and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Al was gone.

His little brother was gone.

The terrified sobs that shook his body were unexpected and uncontrollable.

A strong, familiar presence settled by his side, and though he reflexively flinched from the touch, he didn't have the will to do much more as he was scooped up off the floor like he weighted nothing and carried away.

"It'll be alright," Mustang murmured in his ear. "I promised you it would be, and it will." His voice was gentle and steady, ringing with resolve and conviction. He sat down, pulling Ed into his lap with him, then cradled him against his chest. He was warm, and Ed was so cold . . . so numb. He fisted his shaking hand into Mustang's shirt and clung there, leeching his warmth like a parasite, curling in closer. Trying to fill that horrible, empty void inside of him.

"He's gone," he whispered, surprising himself with the sudden words. They sounded hollow and lost, and Ed wasn't sure how to make them stop spilling from his numb lips. "He left . . . he's gone, he's gone . . ."

"Shh," Mustang murmured, a large hand trapping his head against the man's chest. "He'll be back. You know he'll be back."

"He's gone . . ."

"I know," he soothed, stroking his hair. "I know."

Ed sobbed, and Mustang held him tighter, but nothing stopped the bitter ache of emptiness inside him. The sense of abandonment burned him from the inside out and the closeness of another human being didn't seem to stifle it in the least.

He wanted Al.

He wanted his little brother back.

Ed shot from the older man's grip, clambering to his feet and limping desperately to the front door. Mustang was shouting something, but Ed wasn't listening. He felt the carpet turn to wood under his injured foot, then felt along the wall, his hands meeting the frozen glass of the side window. His hand brushed to the side, found the door handle and yanked on it.

It didn't budge.

He scrambled to find the lock, wrenching it aside, but it was too late. Mustang put a halting hand over his. "He's gone, Ed. Havoc already picked him up."

Ed tried to shove the hand aside, but it returned, sliding the deadbolt back in place. Another arm wrapped around his waist, pinning his automail to his side as it did. "Fullmetal, stop this," Mustang ordered in his ear, tone gentle but firm. "He's already halfway to the station. There's no way you can catch up to him."

Desperation and despair warred inside of him. He needed his brother! He needed him, why did Mustang not see that?!

He tried to shake Mustang off, tried once again to get out the door, but the older man was bigger and now so much stronger than Ed was. Before, Ed would have been able to get away easily, but his automail was trapped, and his wasted body didn't have the strength and all he could do was scream unintelligible threats and pleas and struggle pitifully in Mustang's unwavering grip.

He fought until he had nothing left, and then he kept fighting until he couldn't even keep his feet under him and he collapsed into Mustang's arms.

"Al . . . Alphonse . . . I need him, he's my little brother," Ed sobbed into Mustang's shirt, trembling violently.

Mustang picked him up again, holding him close. "I know, Ed."

"He's gone."

"I know."

The coldness seeped all the way to his bones, and he was convinced that no amount of Mustang's warmth would ever be enough to chase it away.


What's this, Rain? Some semblance of plot? This isn't just an elaborate excuse to torture Ed?

Yes . . . and yes xD

I'm going to apologize in advance, for many things. First and foremost, I feel that this chapter is sloppy, but I also feel like I can't do much about it for a while. I've somehow gotten some sort of awful sickness that just makes me want to curl up and stare at the wall, or sleep, or do anything that doesn't require any semblance of intelligence to carry out. My body's angry with me, my head's one big fog, and I've missed so much work . . . /shot/. I have an appointment with a specialist in a few days, so hopefully we'll have some answers then. The other doctors I've been to haven't been much help yet, and the Christmas program I'm in charge of is next week . . . wish me luck :'D

Secondly, I've got some gift exchanges over on deviantArt to carry out, and one of them is an InuYasha gift fic, so this is going to be delayed until I've gotten that done. I would say that it won't take me long, but at the rate I'm going, who knows?

Thirdly, I know I haven't responded to reviews from chapter thirteen. Now I'm way behind, but I figured you'd rather have a chapter (or some semblance of one) rather than a response at this point. I'm hoping I'll get around to responding to them eventually, but I just don't really have it in me to be sitting up long enough to do it at the moment. I just want you all to know that I've read every one of them and am always floored by your kindness and support. You guys are the best :)

Thanks so much for being patient with me! I'll see you next update :)

God Bless,

-RainFlame