Teacher was here.

He could hear them talking, but now it sounded like they were talking from the bottom of a well. He felt lightheaded, his heart once again racing in his chest, blood singing in his ears.

He all but fell off of the piano bench, struggling with his uncooperative body to get his feet underneath him. He tried to shuffle backwards, headed for where the stairs should be, but he bumped into something. The coffee table? Or maybe the end of a couch. The piano had him turned around, and he was headed the wrong direction. He wasn't sure where he was going, but the voices were getting closer. Which way were the stairs?!

Ed couldn't let her see him like this. Then she would see how much he had failed, how worthless he had become, and she would hate him for it. His teacher couldn't stand weakness, and that's all he was now. She would regret ever training him and he didn't know if he could take her disappointment in addition to everyone else's. It was too much.

He wanted to call out for Mustang, but then she would hear, too. He felt trapped, his back pressed against the wall and the chain biting painfully into his neck as he tried to keep them away.

One of the wolves snarled somewhere to his right, the sound making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Stay back," he hissed, trying to stand on shaking legs. His automail wouldn't cooperate, though, and the only thing holding him up was the wall. He couldn't run, couldn't fight.

He heard them circling, pacing, and there was no way out.

"Edward!"

He flinched away from the shout, his mind racing. Some instinct told him he was supposed to respond, to obey, but his legs were frozen and he didn't know where he was. His chest heaved with effort and he tried to remain quiet and still, his last effective defense against whatever was there. He pressed his body against the wall, clutching the blanket around his throat and listening desperately to try to hear what was happening.

He felt eyes on him, and he swallowed back a whimper.

"Edward," the same voice said again. It was low and rough, but it held a warmth that the sharp edge couldn't disguise it all. It made him both terrified and comforted, but now his terror was starting to outweigh any ease he might have felt.

There was no way this could be real because there was absolutely no reason for her to be here.

"This isn't real," he said decidedly, or tried to. His voice shook too much to be convincing, so he tried again. "It's not real . . . it's not."

"Fullmetal," Mustang's voice called out, and Ed exhaled a tight breath. But what if he wasn't real, either? What if the past few weeks had all been some beautiful dream? The hallucinations sometimes seemed real enough. Maybe that was all it had been.

He shuffled against the wall, trying to find a corner, something to hide behind, anything. Anything to orient himself with other than sound, because he couldn't trust the voices. "Stay back," he ordered, still sidling along the wall, trying to put some distance between whomever or whatever was in front of him.

"Edward Elric, stop being an idiot!" that voice said again, the familiar searing tone making him flinch.

Her next words were softer, almost maternal. "You know me. You know my voice."

Footsteps approached and he instinctively cowered, hand shooting up to cover his throat, because it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea and then he'd be gone and they would eat his body like they did with that other man. He couldn't let them bite him. Their soft growls rumbled through the basement like quiet thunder.

"Edward," she murmured, cutting through the fog of terrible memories. "You know me."

Yes, he knew her. The one that was almost like a second mother to him and Alphonse. The one that taught him about combat and alchemy and what it means to be alive. The one that would beat him senseless one moment, and the next hug him and tell him that she was proud of him.

"T . . . Teacher?" he tried, his voice a whisper in case he was wrong.

She was right in front of him. He heard the rustle of cloth and she was crouching before him, washing him in her scent of ginger and cinnamon. "That's right, Ed," she said, her voice just as quiet as his.

His stomach twisted as he held out his flesh hand, looking for undeniable proof. Needing it.

A strong, cold hand wrapped around it, and he pulled back reflexively from the restraining sensation, but strong, slim fingers curled around his and she pulled his startled body against hers. She was all muscle and softness and warmth, and once there, Ed found himself unwilling to move away.

"Edward, you idiot," she said softly, a hundred emotions ringing in those three words. She held him tightly against her and he wouldn't have been able to pull back even if he'd wanted to.

With her arms around him, he felt safe. In her arms, he felt like a kid again. There was no woman he feared more, but there was no woman he trusted more. Her opinion mattered to him as much as Mustang's, if not more, and he didn't want to lose that. Not because he was an idiot that ran off and got tortured and blinded. Would she forgive him? Did she know?

"You stupid, stupid boy," she murmured in his ear, her usually strong voice sounding thick and weak. And . . . did he smell salt? Was she . . . could she be crying?

"Teacher?" he asked, slowly removing one arm from its protective position around his torso and carefully wrapping it around her thin, strong waist. It was like hugging a tiger—and had always been about just as safe—but he couldn't stand people crying, especially over him.

She pulled him closer to her, burying his face into her shoulder. He let her. "I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered, something wet splashing on the hand he still had around his throat and he winced. "Alphonse told me everything, and I'm so sorry."

"Teacher, it's okay . . ." he tried, but now his own voice was feeling thick and it was hard to keep it steady. He wasn't going to cry in front of her, not when she was already hurting enough.

"Shut up," she said. There was no fire in her words, but he shut up anyway. She rocked him back and forth. "We came as soon as we could, but it took us a couple of days after Alphonse called. I'm so sorry, Edward." He didn't think she was apologizing about the time it took.

Then why was she apologizing? She didn't do anything . . . all of it, everything, was his own fault. "Teacher, you don't have anything to be sorry for," he mumbled, patting her shoulder with his clumsy automail hand.

The woman took a deep breath, as if Ed's words caused her actual pain. She didn't say anything more. She just held him.

Ed didn't comment on the warm tears he could feel sliding down his neck. He just curled up closer against her and tried to remember her face.

XxXxX

Roy didn't want to do it.

But Havoc, Hawkeye and Silas would arrive any minute, and Ed had to be ready for it.

Ed was currently on the couch, his small emaciated body nestled between Izumi and Sig Curtis. He looked almost completely relaxed, as if he were merely falling asleep instead of staring ahead sightlessly with his half-lidded blank eyes. His head was leaning on Izumi's shoulder and she gently stroked his hair and read aloud from a book, while Sig simply sat there, their combined presence and physical contact apparently enough to soothe Ed in a way Roy alone had never been able to. They almost looked like some strange sort of mismatched family, and Roy felt a twinge somewhere in his gut at the thought. If he were feeling generous, he might have named the twinge "jealousy," but since that was silly, he dismissed it completely.

He cleared his throat. Izumi and Sig glanced up, but Ed merely stiffened a little, his fingers curling around Izumi's sleeve just a bit tighter. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Ed will have his debriefing at seven. It's almost time."

Any trace of comfort and contentedness that had been on Ed's face completely evaporated. His body went ridged, drawing his legs and arms in to himself and the hand not holding onto Izumi pulling up to grip his throat.

Izumi and Sig watched this, then the woman set her book to the side and turned a cold glare his way. "What debriefing?"

Roy shifted on his feet, some base instinct in the back of his mind twitching at her glare. "Edward is giving his report tonight. In order to proceed with the investigation, we need more information on what happened."

Izumi glanced at Ed, the hand on his back pulling him protectively against her. Again Roy felt that twinge in his gut and again he shoved it aside.

It was funny, but Roy wasn't sure when he had grown so used to being the one Ed needed for comfort. Now that he was holding onto someone else, he missed it.

How selfish could he be?

"Is this . . . necessary?" Izumi asked, her glare once again back on Roy.

Ed surprised them both by speaking. "It's necessary."

They all turned to look at him. He continued, "I have to . . . and . . . do you think you both could leave? Just while . . . while I tell them?" Even as he spoke he sounded like he wanted to hold onto both of them forever, to never let them out of his reach, but Roy understood. Many torture victims experienced an undue amount of shame about the humiliations they've been subjected to, and the fewer people they had to tell, the better.

Roy hoped that they'd already heard the worst of it.

Some sort of war was waging in the woman's eyes. She looked like she was ready to rip something apart, and Roy absently wondered if it would be him. Finally her dark eyes stilled. "If that's what you want," she finally said, stroking his hair with pale, motherly hands. She kept her eyes on Ed, but her words were mostly for Roy. "Sig and I are staying at a hotel in the city and will be in town tomorrow. We'll stop by in the morning." Her tone left no room for argument or protests. Her eyes shifted to meet his in a challenging glare. "We'll talk then."

Roy nodded, something akin to dread fluttering in his gut. "Understood."

Izumi and Sig slowly got to their feet, Ed clinging the woman's side and following them up. Sig helped his wife into a coat he produced from one of their suitcases, then Izumi tucked the boy under her arm and kept close to her husband as they made for the door.

When they got to the entry hall, Ed stopped.

Izumi looked at him, then to Roy for an explanation. Roy motioned to the outside and mouthed "cold." Her gaze hardened for a brief second, then she turned back to Ed. "We'll be back tomorrow, Ed," she said gently, one hand brushing back his bangs from his face.

Ed nodded, looking like he was trying and failing to work up the courage to somehow go with them. Roy ignored that twinge, too. "Early?" he asked.

She gave a soft smile he couldn't see. "Early," she promised. "You're brave for doing this, Ed. I know it's hard."

Ed's almost-vacant expression started to crumble and a couple of tears spilled down his cheek. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Teacher," he whimpered. "I'm sorry."

Izumi reached forward and pulled him close to her in a tight hug. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Ed. I'm very proud of you. Sig and I couldn't be prouder."

The large man at Izumi's side stepped forward and put a huge hand on Ed's head, ruffling his hair affectionately, and spoke for the first time. "You'll be fine," he said, his voice a low rumble, and he sounded sure. Like he knew Ed would get through this.

Roy wished he had the same confidence.

Ed's lips twitched in a smile that faltered then fell altogether. "Thank you." Roy knew he was thanking them for more than kind words. He seemed to be fighting something internal, his expression torn. Then with twitching hands, he finally pulled back just a little.

Izumi helped by pulling back the rest. "We'll see you in the morning," she said, and with a pained look in her eyes, she turned away, pulled her coat tighter to herself, and walked out the door.

Sig gave Roy a nod, glanced back at Ed once more, then followed his wife out into the cold evening.

Roy was quick to shut the door after them, cutting off the sharp winter wind. He locked it then turned to look at his charge.

Ed stared ahead, looking lost and alone, his body tense and a hand over his throat. A few tear tracks were slowly drying on his cheeks while a few new ones slipped past them. He looked like an abandoned child, and some base, protective instinct in Roy flared. He stepped forward. "Ed?"

Ed flinched from his voice, then closed his eyes and stilled. "Yeah?" he asked. It sounded like he was trying not to cry.

Roy put a hand on his shoulder and he only twitched in surprise at the contact. "Why don't we have another look at that piano until Hawkeye and Havoc get here?"

The pain on his face seemed to dim just a bit. "Okay . . . okay."

Roy guided Ed back to the piano, sitting him down once again on the polished bench and guiding his hands to the keys. Ed slowly began to pick at the notes again, slipping back into the tune he had been working on before they were interrupted.

He didn't quite manage to make it to anything resembling peace before the doorbell rang again.

Ed didn't panic. He didn't jump. He just stiffened, then crumpled forward and put his head on the piano.

Roy was at his side in an instant, his heart jumping into his throat. "Ed?" he demanded, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ed just shook his head, his breath shuddering and his eyes shut.

Unsure if it was safe to leave him even for a moment, Roy fought with himself before finally tearing away from Ed's side. "I'll be right back, Ed," he said, quickly going to the door and opening it.

Hawkeye stood on the doorstep, brushing a few flakes of snow from her coat. She had a bag clutched under her arm, most likely filled with his team's findings. "Sir," she greeted, slipping into the house and out of the cold.

Roy all but ignored her, shutting the door then walking past her and back into the living room. Ed was where he had left him, still leaning his head on the piano, but now with one hand grasping his throat and the blanket while the other clawed at his eyes as if in pain.

"Ed, what's wrong?" Roy asked, making an effort to shove down the panic that was bubbling in his chest. When Ed didn't respond with more than a shake of his head, Roy got closer, gripping the boy's flesh arm in one hand and turning his knees around in the other so that the blond faced him, but Ed still held his hand over his face. "Ed, let me see your face."

The hand over his eyes shook and slowly lowered until he was staring at the floor, a few tears dripping down to fall on the carpet. He raised his head, his wide, pale eyes unseeing and empty and yet somehow able to find their way to Roy's very soul.

"They're here, aren't they?"

The lost, trembling voice broke Roy's heart.

"I don't. . . I don't know if I can talk about this, Colonel," he whispered, folding in on himself again, like he could disappear. "It gets worse, it gets so much worse, and what if I don't snap out of it? What if I can't . . . Mustang, I can't get stuck back there." He wrenched his eyes shut, but it did nothing for the tears spilling over. He grabbed his face again, metal fingertips digging into his hair. He was breathing hard now in tortured, wretched sobs, and Roy had seen enough to know Ed was in the beginnings of a panic attack.

Gently, Roy pushed him over on the bench to make room for himself. He sat down and wrapped both arms around the child. "Ed, I need you to just calm down and breathe. Can you do that for me?"

Ed was like a coiled spring in his arms, his poor starved body quivering with stress. Roy rubbed circles on his back like he had seen Hughes do for Elicia when she was getting upset. He wasn't sure if it worked on anyone older than four, but he was willing to try anything to avoid an attack.

"I just wanted to see Teacher's face," Ed whispered, voice rough and grating on Roy's ears like sandpaper. Roy had an aching suspicion that the Curtis' visit had somehow set this off, as if their presence had given him a glimpse of what he could things could be like. "They could have taken anything . . . another arm, another leg, but they took my eyes." His voice began escalating. "They took my eyes, they took them, they took everything." Suddenly he was thrashing like a live wire, and Roy was fairly certain his mind wasn't in the living room anymore. It was all he could do to hang on and keep the boy from hurting himself or Roy.

"Edward, it's in your head," he said as calmly as he could, but he sounded strained even to his own ears. His eyes snapped up to lock with Hawkeye's. She'd been watching the whole thing, and looked like she was ready to dive in and take control of the situation, but something told Roy that allowing her to do that would be a bad thing. He shook his head at her, watched her eyes narrow in understanding, then turned his attention back to Ed. "Come on, Fullmetal, listen to my voice."

Tears were rolling down his face now, unabated and hot. He sobbed and gripped Roy's shirt in both hands, pushing the side of his face to him. "It won't stop!" he cried, muscles spasming as if he were in the throes of agony and Roy was the only anchor in it all.

"Ed—"

The boy abruptly stilled.

"Stay back," he hissed, voice fierce over a thick current of terror. "Stay away from me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me."

"Edward Elric," Roy murmured, as gently as he knew how.

Ed shuddered and blinked, but his eyes clouded over again. "Stay . . . stay back . . ."

"Edward," Roy said again. "You can do this."

He shook his head as if to rid himself of a thought. "Don't . . . don't."

"You know where you are. This is my house, and you're safe here," Roy dared to move, to resituate Ed so that he was more comfortable. Ed didn't exactly fight it, but he didn't help either. "Remember? Silas just got you this piano. And the Curtis' just visited. Now Hawkeye's here, and the others will be here shortly."

Some of the clarity returned to the boy's eyes, and Roy knew that as long as nothing else surprised him, it was over. Ed's grip on the front of his shirt loosened, then tightened up again. "Colonel?" he whimpered, his voice so soft that Roy barely heard it in the silent room.

Roy started rubbing circles again. "That's right, Ed. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Shh. Nothing to apologize for."

Something in the corner of Roy's vision moved and he looked up to see Hawkeye motioning to him. She made a gesture, asking him what he wanted her to do. He mouthed "door" to her. She nodded and disappeared into the entry hall.

"It gets so much worse," Ed whimpered. "I don't know if I can talk about it . . . I don't know if I can come back if I remember everything . . . I was just back there. . . just thinking about talking about it sent me right back . . ."

"Ed, you don't have to talk about it," Roy said. He wished he wouldn't. Even if it would help in the investigation—even though it would help him find the monsters that did this to his youngest subordinate—Roy couldn't stand to see Ed in pain. He hated watching all that horrible, sickening terror every time he relived it. It seemed cruel to make him remember when all he wanted to do was forget.

Ed shook his head. "But I have to . . . I have to, and that's what makes it worse." His voice cracked at the end and he pressed his head into Roy's tear-stained side. "What if they do this to someone else? What if it happens again, just because I was too much of a coward? It could be to you, or the Lieutenant . . . I can't hide because it's hard. Then they would win."

Despite his own trepidation, Roy couldn't help but feel a faint sense of pride for the boy. He rubbed his blond head affectionately. "They don't make them any stronger than you, kid."

Ed seemed to lean into the contact, like his thin, shivering body was trying to escape an intangible cold. "That's not how it feels. I don't feel strong. I feel pathetic."

"Now you know how I feel when it rains."

Half of a smile flitted across his face for just a moment before disappearing.

"Whatever you choose, I'll back you up," Roy promised.

Ed went still. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Roy was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep.

Finally, he moved, bringing up a corner of the blanket to dry his face while the other held tightly onto Roy. "I . . . I said I'd do it tonight. So I will."

Even as Roy felt his heart sink, there was a strange, quivering sort of energy to the statement that gave him pause. It sounded suspiciously like that peculiar Elric brand of determination, and Roy couldn't help the thin, wary smile that found its way to his lips.

He hoped that determination would be enough to get Ed through the evening.


Spell check told me "spasming" wasn't a word. I checked the internet, and the internet never lies. Someone somewhere said it was. I believe it xD

Someone told me that I've been spelling "Fuery" wrong since the beginning of ever . . . my life is a lie.

Sorry this update took forever :'D I was working on "How Long It Takes." Royai is distracting like that . . . and apparently just as angsty as this lol. Anyways, I hope the end of this chapter was okay . . . I redid it, like, four times and it's still not exactly what I wanted, but I think it's okay . . . maybe lol. And ooooooh, Izumi's gonna have a talk with Mustang xD This won't go well for him . . . teehee.

So over on dA I did a special journal entry with all the fan art (that I know of) of StP :D If you're interested, you can totally go check them out and give these awesome people some love: x-rainflame-x. deviantart. (c)o m (just take out the () and the spaces c:). And while I'm promoting things, I just opened up art and literature commissions over on dA, so if you have any interest in that, you can totally message me here or there for info *waggles eyebrows* *shameless self-promotion is shameless*.

On a more serious note, someone (a guest) reviewed and said something about wondering if I even read reviews anymore since I have so many now. Well, I do and respond to every signed review I receive ;) I think I only skipped out on that one chapter ever . . . because I was really sick lol. But yes, my heart goes out to you and your family, dear, and I'll be keeping you in my prayers.

You guys are awesome and amazing and holy Moses the response on that last chapter was unreal! I just . . . just . . . *flails* I don't know what to say, except thank you and I am so blessed by you guys and . . . ;u;

Sorry this A/N is all over the place . . . I'm watching TV while I type . . . it doesn't lend itself to organized thought xD

If you have the time, drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter :)

God Bless,

-RainFlame