A/N: I warned everybody last chapter that this chapter was going to get pretty angsty. I did not lie. But the plot hangs out for a longer visit. Also, bear in mind that I know little about police procedures, but I did at least make an effort to get it right. So, let's hear it for effort . . . or maybe not. Anyway, things are about to start getting exciting. Enjoy!

Same disclaimer applies, I don't own FMA or any of the characters therein. Would be nice *sigh* but still not mine anymore than they were in the last chapter.

Chapter 7

Rude Awakening

Sunday night – or possibly Monday morning since it was late enough that there was no telling which – Roy woke to an annoying beeping sound coming from, of all places, the laundry hamper. It took him a moment to remember that he was sleeping in Ed's room, which would certainly explain the warm body he was spooning with at that moment. However, the more important question seemed to be, what the hell was making that obnoxious beeping?

Edward was still pretty tired, despite the fact that he had spent the rest of Sunday drowsing off and on as he recovered from the reattachment of his automail. Eventually, he'd let Roy onto the couch with him, and the four of them – Roy and Ed, Al and Winry – had settled in to watch movies together. For dinner, Roy volunteered to cook, but Winry and Al were the ones to buy the ingredients. Overall, it had been a wonderful way to spend a Sunday evening. After all was said and done, Roy carried Ed to bed. Edward had huffed and looked annoyed about it, but he didn't complain except to say, "Don't come crying to me when you put your back out."

Roy was just about to extract himself from Ed to find the source of the beeping, when Ed suddenly sat up, blinking owlishly into the dark room. "Shit!" he hissed. He bent down over the edge of the bed to dig around in the hamper until he had pulled out a small device that looked like a pager. "Shit!"

"What is it?" asked Roy, sounding more awake than he felt.

"It's the alarm on my lab," replied Ed fuzzily. That was enough to drive the sleepy from Roy's mind. "Shit!" muttered Edward again, desperately trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Where the fuck did I put those fucking crutches?"

"Let one of us go to the lab for you," said Roy, sitting up.

"Can't," said Ed, shaking his head. "I could get sued for giving out the alarm code. I've got enough shit on my plate right now without trying to explain why I broke security protocols because I didn't feel like getting off my dead ass when the alarm went off." One good thing about Ed's room being so small was that he could reach nearly everything without ever getting out of bed. His dresser was his nightstand, so all he had to do was turn and dig around to grab something to put on. It was the getting dressed part that was difficult. When Ed stood pull his pants up, it was obvious that his leg was still in a lot of pain. Roy put on his own clothes fairly quickly by comparison. "Can you please wake up Al? Just knock on his door and tell him I need him. He'll wake right up when he hears my name. Just don't be too shocked by the bedhead."

"I've seen your bedhead. Somehow, I think his might pale by comparison," quipped Roy, but he made sure he was halfway out the door before he said it. He shouldn't have been so overconfident, though, because Alphonse's bedhead was ten times worse than Edward's. It was so stunningly bad that Roy had to not only do a double-take but also take a full minute to kick his brain to mouth connection back into place. "The alarm is going off on Edward's lab," Roy finally explained. Al – who rarely cursed – actually hissed a few swear words then disappeared back into his room. The brothers both tumbled out of their rooms at about the same time, Edward trying wrestle with crutches while clutching a brush, and Alphonse trying to put on his jacket and smooth down his impressive bedhead.

"I just hope this isn't another door fault alarm?" mumbled Al, still not sounding all that coherent. The brothers each poured a cup of the cold coffee from the day before and slugged it back like they were doing shots. Roy would have done the same, but he didn't think he was up for quite that much adventure just yet. If nothing else, he could grab a cup of coffee at the lab. "Brother, do you have your wallet? Lab keys? Lab ID?"

"Yeah," replied Ed, pausing to pat his pockets then nodding.

"We'll take the van. You're not well enough yet for anything smaller," announced Alphonse, and just like that, all three of them were out the door. They went downstairs to the apartment building's parking lot where Al opened up a huge dingy old van that looked like it had once belonged to a church or a retirement home. "I know. She's ugly. Ed and Winry call her Vanzilla But we needed to have as large a vehicle as possible. You may have noticed, but Ed's not very comfortable in cars. He has no problem with buses and larger vehicles though – well, less of a problem anyway. He's much less likely to get sick, and it's not nearly as stressful. We got this thing cheap and had Winry help fix her up. The bonus is that we can also haul heavy equipment and fit things like crutches in here easily. And we rigged an extra seatbelt so that we can belt somebody in who's laying down. Which is exactly what I want you doing right now Ed. Get in the back."

"Yes sir, jeez," grumbled Ed as he carefully climbed into the back of the van. There were two long bench seats in the back with space behind the second bench seat left open for cargo. The van was very tidy, probably because Ed didn't spend much time in it. Roy was learning that Ed tended to introduce a high degree of chaos into every space he occupied for longer than a few minutes.

Al pulled out a couple pillows that had apparently been hidden in the back cargo space and pretty much threw them at Ed while he was trying to get settled. "Al gets grumpy when he hasn't had enough sleep," Ed warned Roy just loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough for Al to overhear. "Just, you know, heads up."

"Got it," said Roy, casting a wary look toward the younger – and apparently grumpier – Elric brother as he walked around the van to the driver's side. Roy helped Ed get settled comfortably then jumped in on the passenger side.

Al drove as quickly as he could, but he still drove with extreme caution so as not to perturb Edward. Admittedly, Ed seemed less strained than he usually was in a car, but he was still rather jittery. Knowing how Ed had lost his limbs, his mother, and almost his brother too, Roy could hardly blame him for his general dislike of vehicles. If it had happened to Roy, he'd probably be just as freaked out. It was like somebody who had been stabbed becoming frightened of knives forever after. It wasn't good, by any stretch, but it was totally understandable.

When they reached the lab, they could already hear the wail of the alarm as they approached the building. Once they'd entered, the first thing Roy noticed was that there was no security guard behind the desk. There was always a security guard. Those who worked out of the university labs kept strange hours, so there was no telling when any of the students or professors might wander in to do some work. It didn't matter that the lab was supposed to be closed on Sunday. That hadn't stopped anybody from stopping in before. That's why, day or night, the lights were always on and there was always security 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Disconcerted by the absence of the guard, Roy entered the corridor cautiously looking around for anything that might look out of place. Al passed him and easily jumped over the desk to bypass the metal detector then flipped the switch to turn it off so his brother could enter without setting it off. While Al was still behind the desk, he hunched forward to look down at the security monitors. After a moment of watching the screens, he let out a little sound of alarm and took off running down the hall. Ed and Roy followed more slowly since Ed really couldn't move any faster than he already was, and Roy wasn't leaving Ed alone in a possibly dangerous situation. Ed might not be entirely defenseless at that moment, but he wasn't exactly at the top of his game either, and Roy would rather be safe than sorry.

Upon finally reaching the second floor, they found what had so startled Alphonse. The security guard was lying on the floor, a small pool of blood under his head. "He has a moderate to severe concussion," Al told them as they neared him. He had to practically yell to be heard over the alarm so close to the banshee wail's source. "Pupillary response is uneven, but breathing and pulse are steady. The blood is from the contusion. It looks like blunt force trauma. I've already called 9-1-1. Ed, please, don't freak out when you get over here." Al looked up at his brother with overflowing sympathy then cast a quick glance at the lab's open door then back at his brother. "I know this is going to be upsetting, but I want you to try to stay calm, okay?"

Ed hobbled forward a little faster, and when he got to the open door, the crutches fell from suddenly limp hands. He swayed on his feet a little, almost as if he was about to faint. Ed's expression was one of pure shock, but it wasn't long before his stunned expression was shoved aside violently in favor of pure, unadulterated rage. "What the actual fuck?! Why the fuck would . . .?! Don't they know what the fuck I'm trying to fucking do here?! Who the fuck would do this shit?! What the fuck?!" Ed limped forward into the lab, abandoning the crutches altogether. Roy rushed over and froze in the doorway, just as shocked as Ed.

To say that the lab had been trashed would be a grave injustice to the actual damage done to it. The desk was overturned and every piece of equipment not nailed down was smashed. All of the notes that had covered the tables and desk were gone. The machine that Ed had built with his own two hands and ample application of his pure brilliance was completely gutted, panels and parts strewn all over the room. The whiteboards with all of their scribbled theorems, formulae, and diagrams were erased, their surface scratched to hell. "Years of fucking work . . . years of work . . . gone. All of it's fucking gone! I was so close! So fucking close! But now . . . what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

The despair mixing in with the fury in Ed's voice was heartbreaking to hear. Roy could truly understand Ed's pain. If it had been Roy's lab, he would be feeling just as lost, just as hurt and enraged. Those like Ed and Roy and the other students in the labs poured their souls into their work. They gave up sleep, skipped meals and showers, missed out on spending time with family and friends, put their whole lives on hold in the quest for that elusive breakthrough. They sacrificed everything to reach their goals. To be so close to that goal and have it torn away for no good reason would be like . . . well, like losing a limb.

Almost instinctively, Roy gathered Ed into his arms. He almost expected the younger man to push him away or fight his hold, but Ed was in such a sorry state that he practically collapsed into Roy's arms. He grabbed the front of Roy's shirt in his fists, his whole body shaking with raw emotion. He didn't produce a single tear, but somehow it still felt as though he was weeping. After a moment, Al joined them, rubbing soothing circles across Ed's back with one hand. That's all they could do for him for now, just comfort him until he could find his feet on his own.

"Brother, I'll go wait for the ambulance and police so I can let them in," said Al quietly. Ed didn't indicate that he'd heard, but Roy nodded to let him know he would continue taking care of Ed in the younger brother's absence.

"Come on, Ed, we'll go down to my lab so we can sit down. Standing here isn't going to do any good," said Roy tentatively. After a long moment Ed finally nodded, and Roy turned so that they could walk side-by-side with Ed tucked under his arm, one of Ed's arms around Roy's waist for support. They paused by the door for Ed to finally type the alarm code into the keypad, shutting off the hideous wail, then the pair made their slow way down to the ground floor. Downstairs, Roy opened his lab and turned on the lights then settled Ed in the nearest chair. "Do you want me to go get you some coffee? Tasting that sludge is nothing if not distracting."

Ed's eyes, usually so bright and full of fire, were now dull and lifeless. His expressive face had become little more than a mask, showing no emotion at all anymore, as if he had reverted to a state of shock. He gave Roy a slow minimal nod, and Roy hurried over to the kitchen, returning with two Styrofoam cups full of sludge – Roy's cup mixed liberally with sugar and creamer. After the first sip, both men grimaced. Not much else needed to be said about the vaguely coffee-flavored tar – at least, not much that hadn't already been said a thousand times before.

"I . . . I need to call the old man . . . fuck," muttered Ed miserably, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed and waited while it rang a few times. There apparently wasn't an answer so Ed tried again, and seemed relieved when someone picked up. "Hey old man, this is Ed," said Edward, sounding as if he was making an effort to come across as calm but couldn't quite make it work. "Um, I'm sorry . . . I know it's late, but there's been a serious problem . . ." He stopped as if he was listening to something then sighed. "No, I'm fine and Al's fine too. But the lab . . . there's been a major security breech . . . fuck, those mother fuckers trashed everything and it looks they got all my fucking notes and the machine is in a couple thousand fucking pieces . . . I just . . . I just thought you should know." The level of hysteria in his voice rose and fell in waves throughout his broken explanation and when he was done he listened for a little while, occasionally responding with a simple "yes" or "no". "I wouldn't be so sure about that. I wish I was here. If I had been here, I could have kicked the mother fucker's ass and sent 'em packing before they could lay their grubby fucking hands on my god-damn machine!" He sighed again, closing his eyes and forcing a deep breath in then out very slowly. "Look, I know I have fucking back-ups. And I have back-ups for my back-ups. But there were more than just notes for this project in that book. I never just work on one thing. Some of that shit was irre-fucking-placeable. I've had that fucking journal for 6 fucking years, old man! I've been building and perfecting that time-eating, patience-burning, soul-sucking, brain-gnawing fucking machine for the last two fucking years! That bastard was my fucking life for the last two fucking years! I want my two god damn years back! How are you going to fucking replace that? Huh? You fucking tell me that! I can't pay for another two years of school just so I can fix this! I can't! I don't have enough funding left to rebuild that fucking thing from scratch! And what am I supposed to do about my fucking thesis?! My thesis advisor is already threatening me as it is! If I don't have some results soon, I could lose my spot and with it a good portion of my income and my future income too! You can't just wave a magic fucking money wand and make this go away you old geezer!"

"Edward, give me the phone," said Alphonse calmly, and Roy turned to see Al standing in the door. Blue and red lights could be seen reflecting on the satin finish walls of the corridor, and paramedics were already striding toward the elevator wheeling a gurney. Police entered right behind the paramedics, stopping to look expectantly at the occupants of the lab. With a wordless growl Ed handed the phone to his brother who walked away already talking to the old CEO in a much calmer tone.

"Are you Edward Elric?" asked one of the police officers, looking at Roy.

"I am," corrected Edward, sounding defeated and weary.

"Sir, if you could show us to the scene of the break in, please," requested the officer in that polite but authoritative tone unique to law enforcement. Ed nodded slowly then looked to Roy in silent entreaty. He didn't have to say a word. Roy understood. He moved in closer and helped Ed stand then supported him as he limped along. "Are you injured too, sir?"

"No," said Ed flatly. "Automail malfunction." The police officer's face did a funny sort of transformation, first shifting to annoyance at the terse answer then flipping to understanding before finally settling on discomfort. Most people just didn't know how to deal with those who weren't "whole". No doubt Ed was used to dealing with such reactions, and from the set of his jaw, wasn't a fan.

Roy couldn't see why people would get so uptight about automail. Too many people still considered those who wore automail to be "crippled" or "disabled", but nothing could be further from the truth. Edward had four perfectly fine working limbs. Two of them just happened to be made of metal. It's true there were precautions to consider and maintenance to keep up, but the same could be said of flesh and blood limbs. It's just the procedures that were different. Skin used lotions to keep its shine, automail used polish. Real limbs used pills to treat stiff joints, automail used oil. When a real limb was injured you called a doctor, and when automail broke down you called a mechanic. It's true the weight could be prohibitive, but physical therapy took care of that. In general, automailers were a more determined more diligent group of people if only because having automail required it of them. Moreover, the strength differential was unreal. Edward could feasibly stop a bullet with his automail arm and get nothing more than a dent while a real limb would be just so much hamburger. So, if anything, automailers were more able-bodied than those who had all their natural limbs. It hardly seemed fair to persecute them because they happened to have the rotten luck to lose what they were born with and yet had the guts to find a way to take it back. If anything, such people should be admired – for their moxy if nothing else.

They reached the lab, and Roy could see the sight of it hit Edward like a punch in the gut all over again. The police officer drew even with them. "Are these your crutches sir?" he asked, pointing down with his pen.

"Yeah, I used them to get here," answered Edward absently, his eyes still trained on the wreckage. "I dropped them when I saw . . ." Ed gestured vaguely at the mess. "My brother was already checking on the security guard, Howard Kessler."

"And what brought you up here so late at night?" asked the officer.

"I have this," said Ed, forcing himself to look away from the lab as he pulled the little pager-like device from its clip at his waistband. "It notifies me when the alarm on my lab goes off. The project I was working on was confidential. Amestris Pharmaceuticals is funding my research, and they want it kept under wraps until I'm ready to publish my findings."

"And what exactly is it you're researching?" asked the officer.

"You'll have to ask the pharma bigwigs. I'm contractually obligated to keep my big fucking mouth shut," replied Ed with a heavy sigh. "But I can tell you this, there's nearly half a million dollars' worth of equipment and man hours in that lab and now . . . it's just a big ass pile of shit I have to haul out to the dumpster."

"Can you at least give me a rough idea of what the research is about? It doesn't have to be anything specific, but we'll need to know as a point of reference for the investigation," persisted the officer.

"Yeah, my contract says I can tell you that much at least," said Ed with second heavy sigh in as many minutes. He looked so tired.

"I hate to interrupt, but maybe we should sit down first. It's the middle of the night and this has been an understandably stressful situation after a fairly difficult day. I'm sure this would go easier for all of us if we could make ourselves a bit more comfortable," suggested Roy smoothly. They went into the lab and the first thing Roy did was right Edward's overturned chair, rolling it over for Ed to sit on. He then found a couple of metal rolling stools and cranked up the height of the seats a little so the three of them were all more or less eye level, after which Roy and the officer sat down as well.

"Now, Mr. Elric, could you please continue?"

"Yeah, I'm researching something that I found that has the potential to stop, if not reverse, bone and tissue loss caused by degenerative diseases," explained Edward with a pained look. His eyes darted around the ruined lab, his face becoming pinched. "I could have done so much good . . . that's all I've ever wanted to do. That's what she always wanted us to do. She said that not everybody has the power to change the world, but those who do have an obligation do so. She believed that my brother and I could do serious good in the world, and we promised her we would. We've worked very hard to never break that promise."

"Who's this 'she'?" asked the police officer, but Roy didn't need to ask. He knew. It was the reverence of his tone, the grief-tinged love in his eyes, the apology in his slumped shoulders.

"Our mom," replied Ed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Does she live in Central?" asked the officer, but Roy could see in his eyes that he'd already figured out the woman was deceased but needed to have it confirmed.

"She doesn't live anywhere," answered Ed impatiently.

"And what about your father? Does he live in Central?"

"What does that bastard have to do with my wrecked lab?" growled Ed, a threat whispering through his eyes and tensed body.

"Sabotage of this nature, and especially on this scale, can often have personal motivations," explained the officer apologetically. "Is your father also deceased perhaps?"

"I wish," muttered Ed. "But no, that asshole's still kicking as far as I know, but fuck only knows where. I can tell you this though, he couldn't have anything to do with this. He'd have to actually be willing to be in the same fucking city as us – fuck, the same fucking country!"

"How long have you been estranged?"

"He fucked off to hell-knows-where when we were little – age three for me, age two for my brother – and we haven't seen that bastard since," replied Edward angrily. "He didn't even come back for our mom's funeral. You'd think the least that worthless asshole could do was come check on his sons in the fucking hospital."

"And your brother . . . you said he was the one who checked on the downed security guard, correct? Did you come here together?"

Edward tensed even more at hearing the subtle hint of veiled accusation. Without waiting for anything more overt, Ed moved to dispel the officer's doubt. "His name is Alphonse Elric. We live together. The three of us were sleeping at mine and Al's apartment when the alarm went off. Al drove us here," Ed explained, his tone even but making obvious his ire.

"And you are, sir?" asked the officer, turning to Roy.

"Roy Mustang," replied Roy simply. The best way to deal with law enforcement was to answer only the questions they asked, and elaborate only when it was necessary to steer the conversation. Although it was rarely a good idea to try to steer such a conversation, sometimes it had to be done – for instance, when protecting secrets or avoiding misconceptions.

"How do you know the Elrics?" asked the officer.

Roy cast a quick look to Edward for permission, and Ed nodded with his third heavy sigh. "I have a research lab downstairs. I'm working on my doctoral thesis as well. Edward and I became acquainted recently, and even more recently began seeing each other."

The cop's flinch was nearly imperceptible, but to someone like Roy who read people like books, it was obvious as a neon sign in an Amish village. "So, is that reason you were at their apartment with them this evening, for a date?"

"No, I was there as moral support," answered Roy, letting a little of his annoyance at the increasingly intrusive questions show through. In the same terse tone Edward had used before, he said, "Like he said, automail malfunction."

"I hate to ask," began the officer uncomfortably. "What was the nature of this malfunction?"

"A couple days ago I slipped and fell. It knocked one of the connectors loose from the receptor that's grafted directly onto the nerve endings in what's left of my leg. When the connectors get loose like that, I can feel it all the way up the nerve pathway like a jolt of electricity and it sucks," explained Ed impatiently. "Look, I could give you the whole breakdown of Automail 101, but it would take way too fucking long. The upshot is that my mechanic had to pull the leg off to fix the damn thing and putting it back on sucks harder than the loose fucking connector did. My current state of misery is the end result."

"I see," said the officer, making another note in his little notepad before turning back to Roy. "You say you work out of one of the labs here. What field do you study?"

"I'm in physics focusing in the area of thermodynamics," replied Roy, also losing his patience, but hiding it better.

"Mr. Elric, does anybody work in this lab with you? An assistant maybe, or any fellow students?"

"No, I don't like other people getting underfoot," sniffed Edward.

"Do you have any rivals researching anything similar? Was there maybe anybody up for the same funding you received or maybe bidding for the same project?"

"No chance," snorted Ed. "This discovery was mine in the first place. The theory that came out of the discovery was mine too. The research has been entirely structured by nobody but me. The only people who even know what the fuck I'm doing here are the corporate jackals I report my expenses to, the dean of the University, and my thesis advisor. What I've got going . . . what I had going was revolutionary, something nobody's figured out before or since. I fucking checked before I told my thesis advisor. Amestris approached me, not the other way around. They've been hounding me to do a project for them ever since my last big discovery. When I needed funding for this, I told them what I'd found, and they begged me to let them in."

"Could there maybe be any enemies you made during previous research projects, rivals who were angry at your success, or maybe somebody who wanted to be a part of your projects that felt slighted or left out?" asked the officer, and he was starting to get a look on his face like maybe he was getting more than a little anxious to get away. Having been subjected to Ed's burning hostility himself, even if it was just once, Roy could almost sympathize with the man's need to escape.

"There's no telling," said Ed with a disdainful shrug. "Look, I'm not exactly Miss Congeniality. A lot of people don't like me. But I'm not doing this shit to impress anybody. I don't care if they like me as long as they leave me the fuck alone to keep working. Mostly, I just keep to myself. I have a few close friends, and my foster parents, but that's pretty much it. I spend 90% of my day either in this lab or in the science building. The other 10% I'm at work or trying to catch up on lost sleep. I don't have time to piss anybody off enough to do shit like this. My research is my life."

"You say 'work', where is it that you work?"

"I teach a few classes here, I work part-time at Dante's – a diner up the road – and I tutor off and on when rent's tight. The student outreach people set up the tutoring gigs," replied Ed, sounding tired again. "And before you ask, it's not possible that I could have pissed off anybody at the diner enough for this kind of shit. And none of the kids I've tutored would have a reason to do this shit either."

"Sorry for interrupting," said Al shyly from the doorway. "Mr. Grumman is here, Brother. He wants to see the lab."

"Sure," said Ed, closing his eyes and letting out yet another heavy sigh. The old man that entered the doorway and froze just like the rest of them had was decidedly an odd individual. He had gray hair, thin on the top but trimmed neatly on the sides, a strangely pointy mustache, and a pair of round-framed glasses. He was dressed in a set of blue PJ's with little teddy bears on them and a pair of fuzzy teddy bear slippers with a long expensive-looking brown overcoat.

"Good God Edward, whose Wheaties did you have to piss in for this mess?" asked the man, awed.

"Well, I fucking well told you at the start that I'm a damn bad luck magnet. It's your own fucking fault if you didn't believe me," countered Ed hotly. "And what the fuck happened to your state of the art security system? It did fuck all to stop this jerk-off from trashing my work!"

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you enter an active crime scene," said the officer, getting to his feet to stop the old man at the door.

"It's all right. He's the man who's paying for this glorious fucking waste of my fucking time," said Ed with sarcasm bordering on hysteria.

"Seriously, Edward, are you all right? Thank God this happened on a Sunday night," said the man, brushing right past the well-meaning officer and going straight to Ed's side. He laid a hand on Ed's shoulder, looking for all the world like a doting grandfather trying to comfort his favorite grandson. "Any other night and you would have been here. You could have been hurt or worse."

"I'd like to see the fuckwad that could beat me down," snorted Ed, lifting his head defiantly as his spine straightened. The gleam in his eyes was nothing short of indomitable, and more than a little dangerous. "I'm Edward mother-fucking Elric. The man who can beat me in a fight ain't even been fucking born. You've seen my trophies. There ain't a single second or third place in there. And that was before the automail. Now I have a right hook like a fucking freight train. I dare those bastards to try me."

"And yet you still can't beat your teacher," pointed out the old man, clearly teasing.

"I said 'no man'. Teacher's not a man," stated Ed bluntly. "I kinda wonder if she's even human."

"Maybe you'll beat her one day," said Mr. Grumman, looking at Ed from the corner of his eye. "Probably not until you're taller though. I hear men don't stop growing until they're thirty, so there might still be hope for you."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE HAS TO LOOK UP AT A MICROORGANISM?!" exploded Ed, and Mr. Grumman laughed loudly.

"Well, now, that's more like it," said Mr. Grumman with a knowing smile. "It gave me the heebie jeebies to see you looking so down. It's just not like you. I bet on you in the first place because you're a spitfire and you never back down. What do you intend to do now?"

"I don't know yet," said Ed, deflating again as his eyes once more scanned the debris. "I guess I'll have to give the cops a few days to go over everything. After that I can go through and see what can be salvaged and what'll have to be replaced. I can . . . I can rebuild the machine, but . . . old man, I'm running out of time. I can do the work. But, most of the parts for that machine I had to machine myself and that takes time, materials, resources. In the meantime, what am I supposed to do about my fucking thesis?"

"Look, you'll have a few days to figure things out while the police search for evidence. Talk to your thesis advisor tomorrow, and I'll have a little word with your dean about this situation. For now, I don't want you alone with that man, so leave dealing with him to me. I'll also have a word with the board tomorrow, and hopefully we can find a way through this. You just stick to our deal," said the old man, and Edward nodded. "You stick to the science stuff, and I'll make sure you can keep doing the science."

"Sir, you're in charge of the funding for this project?" asked the officer turning his focus to the old man who looked to him as if only just realizing he was there.

"Yes, young man, I do believe that's what Elric told you," replied the old man. Roy had to do a double-take because he had just heard the slickest bit of double-talk in the history of the sport – not confirming anything nor denying anything, and said so smoothly the officer didn't even realize the old man had dodged the question. As if realizing Roy had spotted the comment for what it was, Grumman looked at Roy out of the corner of his eye and actually gave him a subtle wink. "Matthew Grumman, CEO of Amestris Pharmaceuticals. Mr. Elric has been of particular interest to us since his work with implant rejection . . . wasn't that four years ago?"

"Something like that," said Ed with a shrug. The officer looked to Edward as if he was about to ask for clarification, but Ed held up a hand to forestall him. "I created a drug that exponentially reduces the risk of implant rejection, whether it's organ transplants or automail ports. It works by inhibiting immuno-response to the foreign . . . You know what? Never mind. If I explain, you'll be snoring in no time. Which, to be perfectly fucking honest, is what I'd like to be doing. Automail reattachment is exhausting. I am exhausted. How much longer before I can go home and lick my wounds?"

"It won't be much longer Mr. Elric. But, bear in mind, we may also need you to come down to the station to make a full statement and provide a list of everything that was stolen or damaged," said the officer and Ed nodded and dropped his head onto Roy's shoulder. Roy wrapped his arm around Ed's shoulders in return and gave him a comforting squeeze.

"How about I take you for pancakes after this?" suggested Grumman fondly. "You always feel better on a full stomach, and I know how much you love pancakes."

"Sure, and I wouldn't mind some real fucking coffee too," said Ed around a yawn.

"And, of course, you're welcome to join us," he said to Roy with a smile like a mother wondering if she was about to be a mother-in-law. It was actually a little disturbing.

"Just ignore the old man – not about breakfast, 'cause free food is always fucking awesome," said Edward sounding almost as groggy as if he'd just woken up.

"Just rest for now, Edward. I'll take care of the rest of this for you," promised the old man and Ed gave him a sleepy nod. Grumman looked at the cop and asked, "Do you have any more questions for Edward that need to be answered immediately?"

"Just one," said the officer. "Who has access to this lab?"

"Nobody but me," replied Ed irately. "The only time other people are allowed in my lab is when I'm present. If I'm working on something that I don't want other people to see, I lock the door. When I'm not here, I lock the door and set the alarm. The only one with a code is me, and only my thesis advisor and I have keys to this door." Suddenly Ed sat bolt upright. "Shit! My office! I keep notes in there too. In a safe."

"Do you think somebody may have tried to hit your office too?" asked Roy, suddenly worried for a whole new reason.

"If this is about my research, maybe. But they also could have thought they'd got everything when they hit the lab," said Ed, rubbing one temple. "If it's a personal thing then they'd definitely hit my office, especially if it's a student. If it's one of the fucking students, they would have hit the office first and lab second. It's student logic, right? Where do you look for a professor? In their office."

"What kind of safe are your notes in?" asked the officer after speaking into the radio at his shoulder. "Where is your office?"

"It's in the main science building, first floor, second to last door on the left," answered Ed, all but buzzing with restored anxiety. "The safe is just one of those stupid fireproof things. It's fucking portable. If they really wanted my fucking notes they could've just taken the fucking safe with them."

"Where will it be if it's still there?" asked the officer.

"Bottom drawer of the filing cabinet," answered Ed simply. The officer spoke into the radio again, sending one of the other officers over to the science building, and after that, all they could do was wait. Al approached them while Grumman took the officer aside and began speaking to him quietly.

"I'll talk to Mr. Grumman, Brother. He knows we don't have any secrets between us, so it should be fine if I help you rebuild your machine," said Alphonse, laying a comforting hand on his brother's head. "That should shorten the time it takes to rebuild. And I'm sure Winry will help build the parts, and Pinako too. You don't have to do this all alone Ed."

"No, Al, don't worry about it," said Ed, seeming to gather himself together. He looked up at Al with a smile that was as much pride in his little brother as love for him. But there was also a hint of his old fire and the bite of steel in that smile, a show of Ed's determination to reassure Al, to be the strong big brother. "You have your own work to be worrying about, and so does Winry and Pinako. I can handle this. Come on! Who do you think I am?"

"Seriously, Brother, you don't always have to take on everything by yourself," said Al, fretting more instead of less. "I know you don't want anybody to worry about you, and I know you don't like letting other people take care of you. But we want to help you. You just have to let us do it."

"Believe me, Al, you guys are helping me, every day," Ed told him gently. "I can't ask for anything more than you're already doing. That wouldn't be equivalent. That's not how we do things."

"'Never take more than you can repay'," the boys chorused softly and Ed nodded, grinning.

"No worries, Al. I'll fix things just like I always do," said Ed, and he got slowly to his feet. He stood staring at the room, his hands on his hips. "Come on, this is your big brother we're talking about. Nothing gets in my way that I can't break down."

"Ed, I had a thought," said Al, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What if this is that dean of yours getting revenge? What if he figured out that you're onto him?"

"I've already thought of that, and it's probable but not likely," said Ed, growing pensive. "Think about it. If it was the dean, he wouldn't do anything to effect the reputation of the school. And he wouldn't have been strong enough to hit the guard hard enough to knock him out. He's a geezer. Howard could have easily overpowered him. Maybe the perv could have gotten somebody to do it for him, I guess . . . anyway, it's obvious the timing is a little too perfect for him not to be involved. But I think there's more going on than some pervert trying to save his own ass. If anything he would try to lay low, not do something that'll get cops involved."

"Well, when we get away from all these law enforcement people I can make a few phone calls and see if we can get a handle on what else the dean might be involved in, if anything," promised Roy and the brothers both nodded, still lost in thought.

"Brother, do you think . . . do you think it could be him?" asked Al, all at once more than just worried. He looked like he was genuinely afraid.

"I doubt it," said Ed, his own fear showing only for a microsecond before his expression shut down, becoming a blank mask marred only by the determined set of his jaw. "But we'll keep the possibility in mind. This does look like the sort of shit he'd do if it meant getting what he wants out of us."

Whoever this mystery man was, the boys were undoubtedly afraid of him. Could it be their father? Or maybe it was somebody who had tried to force the two prodigies to work for them before? From what tiny hints they'd dropped that sounded entirely too likely. Maybe some corporate headhunter guy had approached the boys and been sent packing, but wouldn't take no for an answer. Roy had actually seen that sort of thing happen before. Big corporations on the cutting edge of science sometimes had to use unscrupulous means to remain on the cutting edge and keep the competition from nipping at their heels. For that matter, the whole incident could just be a case of corporate espionage in the first place, some rival of Amestris Pharmaceuticals trying to get a leg up by cutting the hamstrings of the up-and-coming researcher. At this point, there were too many possibilities and not enough data to whittle them down. Definitive conclusions required supporting data. It was science's most basic of basics.

Grumman and the police officer rejoined them, and the officer cast a nervous look to Edward who flinched then visibly steeled himself for whatever he was about to hear. "I'm sorry to tell you this Mr. Elric, but they got to your office too," said the officer. Ed stood unnaturally still for what seemed like entirely too long as they all held their breath. "I'll escort you there now, if you like," offered the poor officer nervously.

Ed let out his breath in a low hiss and nodded very slowly. Al handed him his crutches, but Ed just shook his head. He was in no condition to be walking on his own, but he was clearly dead set on doing so anyway. Whether it was stubbornness or pure temper that kept him moving was anybody's guess, but whatever it was, it carried him all the way to the office under his own steam. When he got there, he stood in the doorway a long moment, his blazing eyes taking in the sight. "Fuck my life!" he shouted at last, startling everybody. His automail fist smashed into the doorframe, splintering the wood and leaving a fist shaped indent from the force of the impact.

Ed went into the office, having to step over the broken chair and around the scattered books and papers. Just like in the lab, his desk was overturned, all of the drawers yanked out and thrown around along with their contents. Ed went straight to the book cases and scanned the titles of the few books left there. He was looking over the titles of the books as if intently searching for something. After a couple tense seconds, he seemed to find what he was looking for, grabbing one book in particular off the shelf and clutching it to his chest with obvious relief. The cops looked like they wanted to protest, but Ed's glare dared them to even try to say one word. Ed carried the book over to his brother and when Alphonse saw it, he breathed his own loud sigh of relief.

"It was rifled through, like the rest of them, but they wouldn't have known the book's secret," said Al, and Ed nodded. Al let out a little giggle and added, "They probably thought you had it for sentimental reasons."

"Fuck that," snorted Ed. "Like I'd ever keep anything of that bastard's for sentimental reasons."

Roy was close enough to see the book now. It was a copy of Universal Parallels by Van Hohenheim. "I know that book," murmured Roy, remembering having read the book when he first started studying for his Masters.

Al opened the book to the back jacket which showed a picture of the author. "Doesn't he look familiar?" asked Al, snickering as he held the picture up next to his brother's face without Ed noticing. Roy looked more closely and gasped at the uncanny similarity. The author looked like an aged up version of Edward, from the gold coin eyes to the smooth honey gold hair. And when Roy thought back, he recalled the sight of Edward in his reading glasses, and it made the resemblance to the picture of the author with his own round spectacles even more uncanny. "Yeah, that's our father – or 'that worthless bastard' as Ed calls him. He even dedicated the book to us, though he doesn't mention us by name."

Al flipped to the page just before the preface, and, typed in neat italics, were the words, "Dedicated to my sons. Perhaps one day we can meet again once we 'accomplish the miracle of the One Thing.'" "If you're thinking it's sweet, think again," said Ed bitterly. "He put that there for his own selfish fucking reasons, and it had nothing to do with wanting to reach out to us. The quote is from the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus who was an early alchemist, among other things. He was also the founder of Hermeticism, and author of the Hermetica. The Emerald Tablet is a tract from the Hermetica. The whole quote says, 'That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracle of the One Thing.' Our useless piece of shit sperm donor had two loves in life: physics and alchemy."

"Sir, I know it's a little hard to tell right now, but does it look like anything is missing?" asked the officer, and Ed looked around again with a sigh.

"Just my fucking safe," replied Ed, looking heavenward even as he closed his eyes. "Fuck my life. Seriously."

"We'll need a list of broken and missing items in your office in addition to the list for your lab as soon as possible," said the officer, his face showing sympathy. "We'll make sure there's an officer here and also guarding the lab while they're still considered open crime scenes. Whenever you're ready to inventory your property, just make sure to have valid ID on you and let the officer know that's what you're there for. Here's my card in case you have any questions or remember anything pertinent to the case." He handed over a business card which Ed took and shoved into his pocket. "If there's anything you need from here, now would be the time to grab it."

Ed nodded and looked around. "Shit, the papers . . ." he groaned and pointed at the papers that were scattered on the floor. There hadn't been any paper on the floor of the lab because the vandals had taken all of the notes. But the office was pretty much carpeted in paper. Roy crouched down to pick up the nearest sheet, since it was unlikely that Ed could do so. The header marked it as an assignment belonging to a student of "Professor Elric", and the assignment had yet to be graded. "I have to grade all these fucking papers. And there are exams in there too I bet. They're graded but not recorded in the computer yet. Then there's the lesson plans for the week and the rubrics for the upcoming finals. Shit, this fucking sucks so hard. You don't even know."

"It's all right, Brother. We'll gather all these," Al reassured him, already crouching next to Roy.

"Would it be possible to only take the things that are absolutely necessary?" pleaded the officer and Ed let out an impatient growl. The officer flinched but continued doggedly. "There could be fingerprints or other evidence left behind, and we don't want to take the chance of missing anything."

"All right, look, I'll make you a deal," said Ed, taking a deep breath then letting it out slowly. "I'll give you until Tuesday afternoon to get what fingerprints and shit you can off of these papers. Take as long as you need with everything else, but those papers need to be back in my hands by Tuesday afternoon. I can wing it for my Monday class – it's Physics for Dummies, those knuckleheads won't give a shit if we play Hangman all fucking day – and I can redo the homework for the classes I have to attend on Tuesday morning. But I have an obligation to my students, and I won't let some dickhead with a hard on for ruining my fucking life fuck up things for my students too. I'll make a list with dates for when I need each set of papers back. It won't take a minute. But I expect those papers back by those dates or I'll make sure you all get really well fucking acquainted with the name Elric. You dig?"

"I understand, sir," said the officer, actually gulping and taking an involuntary step back. Ed snatched the notepad out of the officer's hand, and the officer was still so dazed that he didn't say a word about it. Ed flipped to a blank page and quickly scrawled the list on it before handing notepad and pen back to the officer. "Um, there is one more thing." Ed turned his crackling gaze back to the officer, and Roy could swear the man let out a tiny "eep" sound. "Since we don't know yet who did this or why, it's probably best if you stay with a friend until we can be sure that there's no threat to your safety. After all, they hit both your office and your lab, and if they still haven't found what they're looking for they could possibly go next to your apartment."

"Can this fucking night get any fucking worse?!" demanded Ed of no one in particular.

"Can we at least go home and get our stuff?" asked Al, sounding almost as exasperated as his brother. "Don't worry, Brother. It's not like we can't go stay at Winry's or even Izumi's."

"Yes, sir, though it might be best to take an officer with you for your own safety. Also, we would like to be informed of where you'll be relocating to so that we can contact you regarding your case," explained the officer very carefully.

"No, I'm not going to be uprooted," declared Ed, his determination forged of iron. "We know how to protect ourselves. We know how to set traps and fight. It wouldn't be the first time we've turned that rat trap apartment into a fortress and hunkered down."

"But Brother, we hated living like that. It was miserable and inconvenient and exhausting," argued Al quietly.

"And how miserable, inconvenient, and exhausting is it going to be to live with Winry or Izumi?" demanded Ed, quiet too but vehement. "Because getting hit by a wrench several times a day sounds like so much fucking fun to me. And we'd get hit by a lot worse than that at Izumi's. Plus Izumi already converted our bedroom into storage. We'd be sleeping on the floor. My back can't take it, especially not this close to winter."

"How about an alternative," said Roy, ruthlessly butting in. "You know, Ed, I don't think I ever told you why I'm going specifically to Central University when I could have gotten in somewhere nicer. It's because I have a house here. I inherited it from my parents, and started living there after I turned eighteen. It has guest rooms, fireplaces in every room, and its own library. Also, I just stocked the fridge. You guys can stay there for as long as you need to. Hell, there's so much damn space there, we could spend the whole weekend there together and still probably never see each other once, so it's not like it'll be inconvenient, or like we'll have no privacy. I might also suggest packing up whatever you would definitely not want destroyed if these dicks show up at your apartment – family photos and keepsakes, that sort of thing. You can store it in your van or in the house. Whichever."

The boys stared at him, entirely thunderstruck, as if not sure what they'd just heard. They continued staring long enough to make Roy fidget then they finally closed their gaping mouths and turned to each other, exchanging a speaking glance. They started talking back and forth softly, and, from what little Roy could hear, it wasn't in English. German maybe? But after they had reached their decision, they both turned to look at Roy at the same time. "All right, here's how it is. Elrics don't take something for nothing," began Ed.

"It all has to be symmetrical," put in Al and Ed nodded. "All gains in life come with an equivalent price. That's how we do things. We maintain a balance between what's given and what's returned."

"So there has to be a fair trade. We don't even accept birthday presents without giving a birthday gift of equivalent value later down the line," continued Ed. "Since you don't pay for rent or house payments, letting us stay there won't cost you anything, monetarily speaking, but there is a certain cost of inconvenience and groceries."

"And that grocery bill is nothing to sneeze at. Ed eats twice his weight when he's home," said Al, rolling his eyes. "It's because of the strain of the automail, but it's still a little insane. And speaking of the automail, your floor will take a beating. Also not his fault, but a metal foot is not kind to floors."

"So, to balance all that, we'll take care of grocery shopping," concluded Ed.

"And also cooking and cleaning. Ed's going to do the cooking. I can only do pancakes, but he does everything else," continued Al. "But he also couldn't keep anything clean if he had an instruction manual and a map to the trash can. So I'll be doing the cleaning."

"Plus, we're bringing the coffee machine," said Ed with a grin.

"Of course, because leaving it behind is a deal breaker," said Roy with mock-severity. "That should have been obvious."

"It was," sniffed Ed haughtily but then he laughed.

"Then I guess we have a deal," said Roy and the three of them shook on it. "Now, that we've got that settled, I guess we should go pack your stuff or we'll never get back to bed."

Ed swung a once more crackling gaze to the poor police officer and asked coolly, "Can we leave now?"

"W-we need contact information, f-for all three of you please," answered the officer reluctantly. Roy didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the guy. They all obligingly gave over their information, and the police officer happily closed his notepad and hurried away.

"Old man," called Ed, looking over at Grumman. "You owe me pancakes. Hustle your wrinkled ass out the door before they find some other way to piss me off."