Chapter two: Hooked

As always, I heartily thank TitianWren for her awesome beta work. Sorry this chapter is so late, but it's been a rough couple of months. Leave me a review! Genbu no Miko's seventh chapter is in its final stages. This story has been moved to Fullmetal Alchemist as it's focusing more on FMA rather than IY.

………

The teacup was halfway to her mouth when the phone rang. Lowering it back into its saucer, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

She was silent as she listened. "Really? That's too bad."

Again she paused. "By all means— follow and keep an eye on her."

She fell quiet again but not for long. "No, don't worry about him. We've got our eyes on him constantly, even though he has no idea." It was the longest sentence she'd spoken since picking up the phone. Taking advantage of listening to the person on the other end of the line, she picked up her cup and took a delicate sip of tea.

"Yes, those are your orders: watch her." She fell silent again and cocked her head to the side as if listening to someone or something else. She nodded and returned to her conversation. "And clean up the mess; make sure you fix what you broke."

She put an end to the conversation by hanging up the phone. Admiring the moonlit country scenery, she took another sip of tea and gave a peculiar smile.

………

"Ed and Alphonse will return to Central when their repairs are complete. I just hope Scar doesn't catch up to them. If he does, Edward will look like Gran did after his encounter and I nearly lost my lunch right then and there when I saw what was left."

Mustang's voice ruined the pleasant fantasy Hughes was living: the paper would make such a sweet noise as one of his knives ran through it— page by page; he could hear it now, see it even: the small, sharp blade moving seamlessly through the parchment. It would make such a lovely sound, he thought, glaring at the tome. Legends filled those pages— romantic fairy tales of swords, demons, half demons — both good and evil — cursed monks, slayers with giant boomerangs, walking corpses, magical jewels— what story was complete without one?— and of course, the hero always getting the girl… the live one, that is. Nonsensical and useless — he should have brought the book home to his daughter instead of bringing it to Ed! The elder Elric brother was not going to thank him for this.

He'd been reading the text since he'd received it and had finally finished it during the car ride back to East HQ; evening had fallen hours ago and he still hadn't found a single clue to a code. He began to wonder if one even existed like he'd told Roy. It had been his intention to find the code, tell Ed about it, and let the young alchemist decipher it from there. Best laid plans gone to waste, hence the shredding fantasy. Which Roy just ruined, he growled mentally.

"And you know they're going back to Central…how?" he asked finally, looking up at his friend and blinking owlishly.

Standing, Roy went over to the window and looked down on the darkened streets. "Marcoh…" he said, trailing off.

"Polo? Aren't you and I a bit old for that? Not that I'm not game— but it'd be a bit weird. But hey, if you want to!" Hughes replied, standing up with a mischievous smile on his face.

Roy felt a vein in his forehead start to throb. Wonderful— the first time in almost half a year that he'd seen Maes and the guy was already giving him a migraine. Honestly, Hughes spent way too much time cooped up in an office. "No, Marcoh," he growled. "Dr. Tim Marcoh."

"Oh, him. And here I thought you wanted to play," he said, reseating himself, propping his feet up on the table, and resting his hands on his stomach.

Mustang bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming and tearing out his hair.

When Hughes didn't get a rise out of the colonel, he tried a different tactic. "Did I show you the new pictures of Elysia?" he asked, reaching for the ones in his pocket.

"Did I tell you what would happen if you take them out?"

Point taken.

"Roy, dammit, I know I'm your friend, but I'm not a mind reader."

"Oh? Something you actually can't do?"

"Get a wife if you want one," he said, blithely ignoring his friend's snide remark. "They always know what you're thinking. Why, just the other day…"

No, anything but this.

"…mine knew that I was going to take more pictures of Elysia—"

So what else was new? That wasn't mind reading— that was Maes being predictable. "Hughes," came the warning. If he didn't stop him now, he'd end up killing him.

"—and she stopped me," he said, going on. Roy's threat went unheard or unheeded. "She said I'd taken enough for the day. I mean I only took three rolls," he lamented.

Dear God. Please, he prayed, make him stop.

"She also knew when I was going to sneak Elysia another cookie— I can't resist that puppy-dog look she uses!— even though she'd already had three—"

His head was pounding. Please shut him up, he prayed. Please. My head is pounding. "Hughes…" he growled.

"—And of course the time I tried to eat a piece of apple pie that was supposed to be for the neighbors—"

"Hughes!" he bellowed. His head was beyond pounding; it felt like something was trying to bash its way out into the open. This must be how Zeus felt when Athena emerged from his head, Roy reflected, glaring at Maes. Tapping glove-encased fingers together he emitted a spark aimed at his incessant friend.

Maes blinked. "Something bothering you, Roy? You look like you're about to kill someone," he commented mildly, his face the epitome of concern.

How'd you guess, the flame alchemist thought savagely, gnashing his teeth together. He needed something to destroy or slam— either would work; both would be better after listening to Hughes babble. Most unfortunately, Maes wasn't on the phone; he was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table— slamming down the phone was not an option. And since Roy had ordered his subordinates not to interrupt him, Hawkeye wouldn't waltz in at the exact moment and warn him to be mindful of the phone. He hoped whatever deities were listening right now knew that he didn't appreciate their sick senses of humor.

He turned to the next best thing for stress-relief. He pictured Edward's angry face when some poor, unfortunate soul commented about his height. The furious look on the blond's face did the trick: a tiny smirk inched its way free. "Get your filthy boots off my table," he said.

Smiling slightly, Hughes sat up and turned serious. "Tell me about Marcoh."

"Dr. Tim Marcoh. Former member of the military—"

"And former State Alchemist, correct?"

Roy stared at him, his eyes slightly wide with surprise.

"Hey, don't underestimate me. I'm in the Investigations Department for a reason," he said, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Did you want to hear the story, or tell it?"

"Oh, no, you go right ahead, Colonel," Hughes replied, stressing his friend's rank.

"Marcoh was known as the Crystal Alchemist—"

"I want a cool nickname!" Maes complained. "Why do you alchemists get the coolest titles?" he asked.

"Because we did something to earn it?" Mustang asked mildly. "If you want a 'cool nickname,'" he said, making quotation marks with his fingers, "become a State Alchemist, Hughes."

Maes pouted at him. "You're so cruel," he whined. "Think 'knife-throwing expert' would get me in?" he asked, producing one and effortlessly tossing it into the air and catching it several times.

"Sure," Roy replied, shrugging.

"Really?"

"No," he said flatly. "Now as I was saying—"

"Yeah, what were you saying?"

"Hughes…" he growled again.

"Sorry," the lieutenant-colonel yelped, waving his hands. Roy was a scary bastard when he was pissed.

"He was known as the Crystal Alchemist due to the fact that he can take a substance in a liquid state, distill it if necessary, and coagulate it into a crystallized mass. Vice versa, he's able to take a solid mass, change it back into a semi-liquid state and seal it in a crucible; when this semi-liquid is released from its holding vessel and into the open, it crystallizes once more. For that aspect of his alchemy, he is like Ed."

"No transmutation circle?" Hughes asked.

Mustang nodded. "For all other types of alchemy, he needs an array."

"Unlike Ed," Maes quipped.

"Marcoh was also doing research on a certain other stone," Roy said, ignoring the comment.

"You mean the Philosopher's Stone," the Lieutenant Colonel said flatly. "How far did he get?"

"Rumor has it that he managed to find out all the ingredients, but it's unproven. I do, however, know that he came close enough to the real thing, because it was used by the Military."

"It was? When?" When Roy hesitated to answer, Hughes blinked and it suddenly came to him. "No…you can't… the Ishbal Rebellion?"

Mustang snorted. "Rebellion, Maes? Come on, you know better than that. It was genocide, pure and simple. The State Alchemists were problem-solvers for the Fuhrer. We had to clean up the mess that stupid officer started! Marcoh was along because of research. It was his incomplete stone that brought an end to the seven-year war. And I've always wondered if that child's death was an accident like the reports claimed," Roy said, as an afterthought.

"But Marcoh disappeared," Hughes said quietly, remembering the slim info in existence about the man. He looked at Roy. "What do you know about that?"

"Why do you think I know something?" he asked innocently.

Too innocently. Hughes narrowed his eyes at Mustang. "You know, I'm starting to agree with Ed. You are hiding something. Spit it out, Roy."

He should have known that Hughes would ask. He had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth and drawing the connections to it, no matter how outlandish it sounded. Mustang stared at his hands, trying to decide where to start. The beginning, he decided. It was always the safest place. Maes would ask until he got the entire story anyhow.

"Do you remember when I returned?" he asked.

"From Ishbal? Yeah, you creeped me out, man, studying that taboo and making almost flippant comments about suicide, as if living didn't matter anymore. I was worried about you."

Roy felt a rush of gratitude for his best friend. "Did you know that the first time I tried to commit suicide was in Ishbal?" he asked, looking at Maes with a twisted smile.

Rising, Hughes stared at him as if seeing him for the very first time. "Roy…"

Shoving away from the desk, Mustang stepped over to the window and stared out. "Gran was a Colonel then and I was a nothing Major, a stupid kid who'd passed a difficult alchemy exam not a year ago."

Maes watched a bitter, self-deprecating smile float onto his face in the window's reflection.

"Two doctors had come to Ishbal— they didn't care what side you were on. If you were injured, they did their best to treat you. They patched me up a few times."

"So?" Hughes asked quietly. "They were doctors; that was their job."

"You do understand the implication that they didn't care, right? To them, sides didn't matter. When Gran found that out, you can imagine just how happy he was."

"Oh, yeah."

Mustang continued as if he hadn't heard. "He called them traitors of the state and ordered their execution."

Hughes stared at him, his eyes widening as what his friend said processed through his mind. Oh, no, he thought. No way. Gran wasn't that much of a monster… who was he trying to kid?

Roy focused on Maes's shocked face in the window. "By now I'm sure you've guessed that Gran ordered me to do the execution."

Hughes sprang off the couch and over to Roy. After a few seconds of not knowing what to do, he settled for giving comfort by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I tried to refuse… desperately. Gran wouldn't hear it. He took my gun from its holster, put it in my hands, and aimed for me, telling me to pull the trigger. The Rockbells huddled together on that dirty, stone floor. I remember the fear in their eyes," he said, fighting against the nausea that threatened; sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down the back of his neck into his collar, cold as ice. "She held a picture of her child and pleaded with me," he continued, fighting a wave of vertigo. "'Please don't,' she said. 'Please no— have mercy. We're doctors. We save people; we patched you up, helped you, cared for you. How could you— please, please don't. Don't. We have a daughter!'" he recited in a high-pitched imitation of her voice.

Maes gripped his shoulder convulsively.

"I tried to lower my gun. I actually did. Gran raised it again and told me he would court-martial me if I went against his orders."

"Monster," Hughes breathed. He'd known the Brigadier General had a mean streak, but he never thought the man was so heartless— so cruel as to make a kid do the execution. Perhaps Scar did the world a favor, he thought.

"Court-martialed. Me, a kid, facing trial for having mercy. Sad world, isn't it?" Roy asked, smiling bitterly. "So I took aim. She started to sob and it made me want to as well. At the very last second, her husband covered her body with his… it took only one bullet— it got them both in the heart. He took longer to die, though. She died instantly." Roy's voice began to shake as he continued the painful recount. "He gripped the picture of his daughter and kissed it, apologizing that he wouldn't be home in time for her birthday. Then his arm went slack and the blood-covered photo fell to the ground. I remember the sound of glass breaking…" he trailed off, gazing past the wall, lost in the memory. "His fingers were still on the picture, even in death. And do you know who was in the picture?" he asked.

"No," Hughes replied steadily. "I don't."

"Edward's mechanic."

Maes's eyes widened. "My God, Roy."

"You can say that again. I'd just killed two people. I was shaking from head to foot, scared to death, frightened out of my mind. And Gran just smiled at me in satisfaction."

Oh, yeah, Hughes thought. Scar definitely did the world a service.

Roy went on. "I'd just given that little girl one hell of a present: no parents. That smiling picture of a young Winry Rockbell has haunted my dreams for so many years. What I'd just done kept revolving in my head, so I don't quite remember very much after Gran smiled at me the way he did. I think that Marcoh arrived then and got into an argument with the Iron Blood Alchemist."

Maes gripped his shoulder even harder.

Mustang's voice was steadier after his pause. "That night, I returned to the blood-soaked basement— the Rockbells former place of operation— with a bottle of scotch. I drank it, the entire bottle. Didn't take me more than five, six minutes at the most. I dropped it to the floor and stared at it, waiting for that alcohol to circulate, and then snatched my gun from its holster," he said, reaching behind to grab a gun that wasn't there. "I put it right under my chin," he said, angling his head up and creating a mock gun with his thumb and forefinger. "One shot and it would all be over; I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt or pain ever again."

Hughes desperately wanted to comfort his friend. Using the window's reflection, he looked at the closed door behind them. Screw it, he thought. Roy said no interruptions; they'll follow his orders to the letter. He's the Flame Alchemist after all. He needs this. Carefully, hesitantly, Maes slid an arm around Roy's shoulders, holding him the way an older brother would a younger onewho needed comfort. He prayed that Mustang wouldn't get the wrong idea and try to burn him extra-crispy.

Surprised, Roy stiffened in his friend's comforting but protective —and unexpected— embrace. When Hughes did nothing else, he allowed himself to relax, letting the other man comfort him. Drawing upon his friend's strength, he continued his grisly tale. "That was when Marcoh found and stopped me. I wonder if the Crystal Alchemist had been plotting his own demise sometimes. Ironically enough, walking in on a kid who'd never been out of Central before must have made him realize that it wasn't worth it. I think that's when he decided to run away, instead. I've often wondered why he confided in me that night," Roy said, as an afterthought.

"Probably because you sympathized and understood," Hughes said. "The more you talk about Marcoh, the more I begin to think that a man like him has a heart and isn't afraid to show it."

"Indeed," Roy said, agreeing. "When we first arrived in Ishbal, he didn't want to hand over what Gran called 'dominance in a bottle.' Either way, Marcoh received my promise of silence, which became my first step to redemption. With that, he took the stones, his research, and left that very night for a destination that only one person knew of. Gran blew a gasket the next morning," he said, with a small smile at Maes's reflection. He received a smirk in return— neither of them had been fond of Gran. "He questioned all of us— me in particular, it seemed. That was the last time I ever underestimated the Iron Blood Alchemist: he was far more observant than I thought. He must have seen me sympathize with Marcoh.

"When Gran asked me about the doctor's disappearance I looked him straight in the eye and asked him if he honestly believed that a man of Dr. Marcoh's integrity and intelligence would ever confide in a dumb kid like me. He didn't believe me, but lack of proof prevented him from doing anything. It's been thirteen years since Marcoh 'disappeared' from the military and I've kept his whereabouts a secret ever since— at least until Ed beat me in that fight," he said, stooping under Maes's protective embrace and reseating himself.

"Roy… about that," Hughes replied turning to him. "What happened out there? One minute you were about to finish it and the next, Ed's holding that beloved blade of his to your throat."

Mustang frowned at his hands and then looked at the Lieutenant Colonel. "I remembered," he said simply.

"Remembered? Remembered what?" At the bothered look on his friend's face, Hughes shook his head. "Never mind. You don't have to tell me."

The Colonel smirked. "That's the same thing that Edward said."

"Really now? Smart kid. So what do you think Marcoh told him?" he asked, returning to the prior subject.

"Not really so much as what— rather, how much. Oh, I'm sure the Crystal Alchemist told him a great deal— none of it in the military's favor, but then Edward already loathes us. Marcoh traveled a great deal before coming to rest in a small town not too far from East City. But I've heard he returned to Central some three, maybe four years ago. Whatever he did, or whatever he left must be what Edward is after."

"What do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure."

"Guess."

"If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that he dropped something off— perhaps that journal that contained all of his research."

"It's a theory at least. Something I can begin to look into."

"What about the book? Anything interesting?" the Flame Alchemist asked, changing the subject.

"Other than my fantasy of shredding it? No."

"Then don't give it to him."

Hughes sighed. "I have the feeling— actually, I've had the feeling ever since I got that thing— that it would somehow get to Ed."

"Really?" Mustang asked, pulling his glove on again and approaching the desk. It wouldn't if it was a pile of ashes.

Maes gripped his wrist. "No, Roy. What's to say that this is the only copy? Next time it might just end up in his possession directly. At least we have it for now and have the chance to study it before it gets to him. Did you think I'd let him have it before I had a crack at it?"

Mustang said nothing. There was nothing to say. Sighing, he went back over to the window and stared out at the dark landscape, noting morbidly that it was almost too dark and the lights weren't bright enough. He would have continued this line of thought until a photograph snuck it's way into his line of vision. Starting, he turned and glared at Hughes, who was grinning and holding a stack of pictures.

"Sorry, Roy, I just couldn't help myself! You looked so gloomy and besides, these are new! I just have to show them to you!" He shoved another one into his friend's face. "So what do you think? Isn't she the most precious little angel ever?" he asked, hugging the photo and twisting his upper body in a bizarre imitation of choking-the-life-out-of-something-by-bear-hug.

The muscles above Mustang's left eye began to twitch ominously. "Hughes," he growled, holding up a glove with a red design embroidered into the fibers. Snapping, he created a spark. He couldn't take it any longer.

That was the day all the photographs died.

………

He decided to call it a night; it had been a very long day that started at five in the morning with a miserable train ride back to Central; it was time to see his family. He instructed Sheska to go home after she finished, then left. Outside, he yawned widely, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and began his trek home. Why couldn't he have a lackey like Havoc to take him places? It wasn't fair that Roy had one but he didn't.

Ah, well, he thought, walking. Nice night, he mused looking up at the clear night sky filled with diamonds that twinkled away. Bit balmy with all the recent rain, but it was better than the perpetual dust of the East he'd returned from. He didn't know how Roy could stand it.

It was good to be back. He hoped now that Gran was dead Roy would be transferred back to Central with Ed and Al. Terrible of him, he knew, but he hadn't liked the Brigadier General one bit… and after Roy's story, he was convinced the world was a better place without him. He missed the constant amusement of watching the elder Elric fight with his superior officer. Speaking of fights, that battle assessment had been a hell of one. And Ed wondered why he'd gone running as he yelled out 'fight' into the microphone.

He would have to make the time to visit them sometime… when they were in Central, of course. Not that Resembool was terribly far, but he didn't think they'd appreciate seeing him; Major Armstrong was enough. His thoughts turned back to the book. Strange mystery, that. What would Ed and Al— whose sole belief was in alchemy— make of it? Would they simply cast if off, or dive into the myriad of legends that filled each page? And what in the world was he missing? Something either about it or from it escaped him and it was on the tip of his tongue. Something about… he bit his lower lip reflectively and closed his eyes, thinking hard. He opened them a few seconds later and began to walk again. He couldn't put his finger on it.

About it? No, there was nothing remarkable about the book itself. …In it? Yes. There was something in it… and that troubled him. But whatever it was, it was sinister enough that he just couldn't see it yet. Or remember it, he thought dismally. Some investigator I am. Another clue that cheerfully escaped, he thought, staring at the street dejectedly.

He was still moping when someone caught his eye. He'd never seen someone dressed like her. It looked like she was wearing two robes… but they couldn't be robes — the sleeves were too voluminous. Oddly enough, the inner garment matched the two feathers that decorated the small ponytail.

Wait. He stopped and looked at her again. Fan, a delicate-looking figure and features, feathers decorating what Hughes supposed could be called a knot, and… Come on baby, he thought. Give me a glimpse of those eyes. She obliged him by looking down at her fan. Dead red. If Maes didn't know any better, he'd say that he'd found the woman who'd delivered the book.

What a marvelous stroke of luck! He didn't even have to start looking for her! Now… how to approach her? He'd have to be subtle; she knew the most about the book and he knew next to nothing. So how would he word it so that he sounded knowledgeable…? She didn't give him the chance to continue. No, she began to walk. Hughes snapped out of his scheming and hurriedly followed her.

When she stopped, he dodged into the shadows of the street and watched her. He could see her clearly now and being so close to her… made his skin crawl. The shadows deepened and he flinched. What the… why did he have the urge to flee as if a hound from hell was chasing after him? She seemed to soak up the darkness and pour it forth again in miasmatic wave after wave. He began to tremble. He forced himself to stay put and managed it by sheer willpower alone. His hands, so strong and steady from knife throwing, felt weak as they gripped the sides of a brick building for support; his legs felt like jelly.

Reaching into her strange garments, she took out a shining key and unlocked the door she stood before. The mundane act helped him relax briefly, but the intense feeling of creepiness did not desert him. She went inside and after a few seconds of trying to get his breathing under control, he crept out and over to the large window and peeked in.

She stood in the middle of the roomand seethed. He wondered at that: everything looked neat and tidy. But he recalled, from so long ago what Gracia had told him during the first year of their marriage:

"'I'm not upset that you broke it, I just wish you'd told me."

"How did you know? It's the same pitcher. I made sure of it."

"Some women just know. They know when their stuff's been moved, jarred, tampered with, or broken and replaced.'"

She was obviously one of those women, Hughes thought, watching her hands clench and unclench. As he watched, she snatched her fan from her robes, opened it a bit, and swung her arm in an odd arc. Wind rushed past him, making him shiver. For a moment, he saw something gleam as it flew through the still air. Whatever it was slashed the curtain separating the front from the back to ribbons. What was that, he wondered, with a touch of fright.

Briskly, she shut the fan and turned suddenly to face him. He froze, wondering if she would turn that awesome force upon him… Could it be used on a person, he wondered dazedly. He realized with a sick, sinking sensation in his stomach that flesh cut just as easily as fabric with the right instrument. Just ask Barry the Chopper, he thought grimly. Raising her fan, she jabbed it at something. It took several moments for him to make out what she was pointing to: a "closed" sign. Below that, store hours. Store hours… he looked up: it was a shop he stood in front of. What the— he wondered. She opened at nine in the morning. Logic then dictated to him that she owned a shop.

Giving her a weak grin, he lifted his hand in acknowledgement and turned away, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and began to make his way home again. The feeling of terror left him the further he got from the shop but the questions had just started. There was something awfully odd about what he'd just encountered. Staged, almost. Maes was sure that those who saw that particular move were also on the receiving end, but she'd left him alone. Why? It bore looking into.

Kagura watched him go. Hooked, she thought. And if all went well, she would reel him in and shove him out. She didn't need Kanna to tell her that those soulless creatures had ransacked her shop. Oh, nothing was broken, not anymore, but she knew they'd been here all the same— they'd left a mark.

Did they seek a copy of the book? Of course they did. Like the fools that had it, they believed it had something to do with the Philosopher's Stone that they searched for so avidly. Which of the two sides was the more foolish, she wondered, gazing at her reflection. In the end, both sides would have to understand that they were not immortal. Sticking her tongue out at her reflection, she turned from the mirror and pushed aside the tattered curtains.

"You're right: they seek the book because they've heard it's for Edward Elric. They track him zealously. He's to be their human sacrifice."

Hearing the subtle voice of her elder sister, Kagura turned back and quickly made her way over to the mirror. The reflective surface stood in a boring frame and she knew that it had missed the carnage because it held little value for them during their search. She lifted her hand and gently laid it against the cool glass. "Why do they seek the stone, Kanna?"

"They wish to be human," she intoned in her hollow whisper.

"Is that so? I wonder why. They seem to despise humans." Kagura fell silent for a moment and then voiced the question that had been bothering her. "Kanna… these Homonculi… they have ten lives. Would Sesshomaru's sword— the one that rests in its sheath — can that be used against them?"

Gripping her mirror on the other end, the void demon told her younger sister that she didn't know. The wind-demoness sighed. "Very well. Good night, Kanna."

"Sister, watch out for the fat one. He is called Gluttony and will eat anything in sight; his appetite is insatiable."

Shivering, Kagura nodded and trudged upstairs. She wanted death, true, but she didn't want to be eaten.

Did you stick your tongue out at me, Kagura?

She rolled her eyes. Keep dreaming.

………

"No such luck."

"Then it's safe to say that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes has the only copy."

"Looks that way. I could get it. Just let me come to the HQ disguised—"

"And have him suspect us more than he does? No, you'll stay put. Don't worry, we have our eyes on him. You're to stay put and watch. Besides, should you see the Fullmetal Alchemist, you'll try to kill him. We still need him, don't forget. Stay away until we contact you."

The sigh was heavy and audible. "You're no fun."

A click resounded in his ear.

Replacing the receiver, he turned to his voluptuous companion. "Well, we have our orders. Too bad I can't fool him." He morphed into Edward for a moment. "I would so love a crack at that pipsqueak," he said, changing back to his normal self.

"Patience, Envy. Very soon."

"Lust, I'm done!"

"That's nice, Gluttony."

As Gluttony dived and ripped into the phone, Lust eased herself against a table, crossed her arms over stomach, and closed her eyes meditatively. She wanted the stone very badly— lusted obsessively after it. She wanted to be human; she didn't know why, but the desire consumed her every waking thought. There was something important about becoming human… about being human, something that she remembered only in fleeting glimpses, half remembered thoughts… something that was connected to the alchemist killer in an almost direct way. But while the reason was there, she couldn't touch upon it. She would only know when she was human.

………

A/N: If any of you can tell me where I coined the phrase: That was the day all the photographs died, I'll give you cyber cookies! Okay, small hint: song. By the way: No. No, I am NOT pairing Roy with Hughes. Sorry guys. I know that part was really odd, I even think so myself but Hughes always strikes me as the type of person who'd do something like that and Mustang strikes me as someone who could relax only in the presence of a person completely loyal and devoted to him and his cause, which Hughes is.

Kittymui— Muwaha! I'm doing good! Actually, this is a new style for me and I'm enjoying it. Sorry to confuse you. Actually, it's not when Ed gets the book; it's what will happen after that. Keep tuned!

Chibimacha7— Actually, Hughes is going to be very prominent in this story. How's yours going, by the way? Did my review of Ed's character help at all? Let me know, okay?

K.L.W.— :dryly: So glad you approve. P TitianWren, meet Kracken, my former beta-reader. She checks over again, even after you've gone over it. Kracken, meet TitianWren, current beta-reader and an extremely awesome person like yourself. You guys okay with each other? No fights, right. :gives Kracken a stern look and all too happy grin: Glad you like. I like this one too; it'll be so much fun when they meet Inuyasha and company :sighs: If you feel you must sleep, you may do so. :hands her a pillow with Trunks on it.: For your sleeping pleasures! The desk can't be that comfortable. :smiles evilly:

Jamie— Why thank you, kind sir. Where've you been lately? Hey, I saw about five minutes of Samurai Champloo! It was odd…

Kurama'sFoxyMiko— Umm… I'll see where the story takes me. I'm sorry I can't promise romance as it's not really a romance fic as you said, but I'll try.

R/R Please! I want opinions. Remember, I love opinions.