A Rainy Sunday Afternoon

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for keeping up with the story! I sure hope you liked the first chapter. I write fiction and fanfiction and that last chapter is possibly one of the best things I've ever written, so I'm very glad you all read it. Anywho, welcome to chapter 2! I'm going to try and update regularly and not let a lot of time pass between my updates. Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated.

My favorite person(s): radcat38

Thanks for the awesome review! I really appreciate your input!

Well, onward to the next chapter! There might be a bit of a delay for the third chapter, seeing as how it isn't entirely finished yet.

Copyright Notice: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, it's plot, or it's merchandise. Fullmetal Alchemist is copyrighted by Hiromu Arakawa, FuNimation, Square Enix, bones, and the rest of it's sponsors and supporters.

Chapter 2 - Mind's Illustrious Mistress

"When an individual (or a group of individuals)
is kept in a situation of inferiority, the fact is
that he is inferior. But the significance of the
verb to be must be rightly understood here;
it is in bad faith to give it a static value when
it really has the dynamic Hegelian sense of
'to have become.'"

- Simone De Beauvoir

Maes Hughes could sense it immediately. A foreboding sensation of depression and misery. Moreover, the atmosphere of the dorms didn't help to eradicate that feeling. Now that he was living in his new home with Gracia, he had forgotten how disheartening the dorms at Central Headquarters could be. The only pleasing thing now was the scent of the pie that Gracia had made, resting peacefully in the basket that Maes carried. He hadn't bothered to call to tell his friend that he was coming. Roy never had company anymore anyways. After returning from the campaign in the East, the man had rarely been agreeable when it came to visitors. He spoke very little and always seemed depressed and anxious. Even Second Lieutenant Hawkeye was unable to cope with the stifling sense of wretchedness that Roy seemed to give off.

Maes finally reached his friends room and stopped at the door. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he might find in that dark chasm of agony and self-pity. This was the first time that Maes had visited Roy in nearly two weeks, but Hawkeye had disclosed to him that when she passed by his room last, it smelled strongly of paint and blood.

Determined to find out what, exactly, it was that Roy was doing in there, Hughes turned to the door and knocked.

He could hear his friend's footsteps as he approached the door, though, when it opened, Maes was still unprepared for the man that he was facing.

Truly, Roy was a wreck. His cheeks were sunken in and he hadn't shaved in days. His skin was deathly pale and his hair was tousled had certain patches of short hair or bald spots as if some hair had been ripped out. The expression in the man's eyes lined by dark circles was one of despair and anguish. However, Maes could perceive the hint of insanity that lurked behind his pain.

Hughes smiled warmly to mask his reaction of shock, holding out the basket to his friend. "This is an apple pie I got my girlfriend to bake for you. Want it?"

Roy weakly smiled and stepped aside. "Come on in," he murmured, his voice soft and feeble.

Maes stepped inside and walked over by the window, the only place in the whole room that produced any light.

He looked around him with a grim gaze. Books were piled everywhere, scraps of paper marking numerous pages, clipboards untidily holding papers with scribbles of transmutation circles and equations on it, buckets filled with red paint and transmutation circles drawn all over the floors. It was a gruesome sight, the ultimate outcome of a man's memories of war. "Roy…"

"It's just as you see," the major stated. "It's what they call a taboo."

Maes turned and strode over to his friend, anger swelling up inside him and crushing his empathy. He grabbed Roy roughly by the front of his shirt and stared at him coldly. "I don't understand alchemy," he bit out. "But there is one thing I know! Those who commit a taboo…"

Roy smiled grimly and gently pushed his friend off him. He looked away, too cowardly to meet Maes eyes. "Don't worry, I haven't done anything."

"But you were going to."

Roy shoved his hands into his pockets. "A lot of people died," he said. "I mean, I killed a lot of people, after all."

"It was a war," Hughes stated.

"You weren't there," Roy insisted, turning away.

"That's right," Maes agreed. "If you didn't want to kill the enemy in war, you should have requested a desk job like me. Did you really think that you would help if you became a State Alchemist and tried to revive some of the dead people?!"

Roy smiled smugly. "I don't know…"

Enraged, Hughes swiftly punched the man in the side of his face. "Is a taboo so easy to commit that you need to study for just a little while?"

Roy simply stared off, his fingers feeling the swiftly forming bruise on his cheek.

"Or did you want to die?" Maes continued. " If that's the case, there's an easier way to do that."

Roy's eyes briefly darted towards the gun that rest on his desk. He hated looking at the thing. It only served to remind him of how much of a coward he was. He stood up straight, still unable to make eye contact with his friend. "I couldn't try it, since I was afraid of dying," the man confessed, shame-faced.

"Of course."

"That's the kind of human I am."

"Everyone is like that!"

"But…"Roy looked up slightly, his eyes taking on a determined expression. "Even a life like mine will have some use."

Maes gave Roy a surprised look. So it wasn't a taboo he was going to commit, he thought.

"Maes," Roy began. He turned to his friend, his appearance one of unwavering strength, the first sign of life he'd really shown in weeks. "I've decided…"

Maes looked at his friend in wonder. Roy had gone from a state of horrid sadness to strong perseverance in mere moments. Whatever this plan was that Roy was cooking up in his mind, Maes knew that it was something he strongly believed in.

"Let me hear it, Roy."

Roy Mustang gazed down at the gravestone that read "Maes Hughes," a bouquet of flowers in hand. "Dammit, Maes, you're such an idiot," he mumbled.

Why had he done it?, the man thought to himself. Why did he go alone on this? Why didn't he ask me for help?

The sun was now beginning to set in the sky, shading the heavens dark hues of purple and orange. Roy knew that he probably should be getting back home for dinner, but he really didn't care about that at the moment.

With a soft sigh, he placed the flowers gently atop the grave. "You know, that kids alive, Hughes. And his brother has a body now," he whispered. "They finally got their wish." Roy's eyes narrowed and he found himself hating Edward immensely. "But why the hell did it have to come at the expense of your life?!"

He had never blamed Ed for what had happened to Hughes until now. Back then, when they were still searching desperately for that horrid stone, they had no idea that the Lieutenant Colo-…the Brigadier General had been killed. But now, for some indefinite and illogical reason, the fact that the Elrics had gotten everything they wanted and his friend ended up losing his life for them filled him with fury.

Roy hunched over as he knelt in front of the grave. "I hate them Hughes, but…I don't know why," he choked. It wasn't like him to get teary-eyed very often, but suddenly, he just couldn't help it. "I hate them and I love them. It just doesn't make any sense anymore." He put his hand on the gravestone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters on its surface. "What should I do, Maes?" he murmured as he felt a tear slowly roll down his cheek. "What can I do?"

Riza came to a halt at the flower shop in Central, gasping for breath. She had spent the last two hours running all around the city looking for Roy. The look in his eyes before he left had troubled her; she was afraid the man would try something rash. She saw a woman at the flower shop, sorting through an armful of different colored carnations and placing them into separate buckets. She was tall, curvy, a decent sized chest, with chestnut locks and sparkling blue eyes. Riza groaned and rolled her eyes as she realized that this woman probably knew exactly where Roy was. She was just his type, the kind he'd always stop to talk to on the way back from shopping for dinner. With this simple thought in mind, it made the task of asking the woman for help an even more embarrassing endeavor for Riza. With a sigh, she approached the smiling young lady.

"Excuse me, miss," she began and the woman looked up at her. "Did you happen to see a man come by here this evening. He's tall, dark hair, he was probably wearing a long black jacket?"

The woman thought for a moment and placed her left index finger to her lower lip as she pondered, which only served to stir the feeling of discomfiture in Riza's stomach. That particular gesture was something that Roy always said he found simply adorable.

'Stop doing that,' Riza thought to herself. 'He's not here so don't bother trying to be cute.' That small little thing made her feel as if the man were standing right next to her, that sly smile plastered on his face.

"I do remember him," the woman said with a smile. "He bought a small bouquet of flowers about an hour or two ago. Headed down towards the cemetery afterwards. You might find him there."

Riza didn't need anymore help in finding Roy. She knew just where to go.

She hastily thanked the woman before turning to leave, but someone grabbed her wrist.

She turned to see the young woman gently holding her arm with a small smile. She let go of Riza and offered her a beautiful, pure white carnation. "Here, why don't you give him this?" she suggested, her eyes compassionate and kind. "He seemed a bit troubled. Perhaps someone so beautiful and so concerned for him as you could cheer him up a bit with this."

Riza felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks at the "beautiful" comment and took the flower. "T-thank you," she stammered and began to dig in her pocket for money.

"No charge," the woman said before returning to sorting her flowers.

Riza clasped the flower in her hand and dashed down the road towards the cemetery. Hopefully, Roy wouldn't wander away from there anytime soon.

"Sir, perhaps we should return home," Riza suggested quietly as she gazed down at the man as he hunched over in front of Maes grave. His hand lifelessly reached out, hanging onto the gravestone as if he were actually clutching on to the late Brigadier General's sleeve.

Roy refused to move and gave Riza no signal that he had heard her. The two of them remained motionless as the sun began to gradually sink below the horizon. "Do you…think if I had realized what was going on sooner…" Roy trailed off, his grip on the gravestone tightening slightly.

Riza took another step forward. "Sir?" she asked softly. She knelt down beside the man and put a hand on his knee. She could sense a slight trembling in his body.

Finally, he looked up at the woman. "Do you think he'd still be alive?" he asked with a bleak smile.

The question shouldn't have surprised the lieutenant; Roy had asked her that question many times, but the look on his face was something she hadn't seen before. There was a look of desperation in his eyes, as if begging her to tell him what he wanted to hear. However, this time, it wasn't so he could find fleeting relief in knowing that at least one person didn't blame him, it was his last resort, a frenetic attempt to rid himself of his culpability forever. He had found another person to blame and he wanted an excuse to throw his guilt onto them.

Riza gave her former commanding officer a stern look. "Tell me what you'll accomplish by this, Roy."

Roy felt a deep pain in his heart at the sound of her saying his name; it always hurt when he remembered that she had a maturity that far surpassed his own. She'd always call him by his name when she was going to admonish him. He may have held a higher rank in the military, but he would never pass her in the ranks when it came to wisdom. She could read him like a book and instantaneously caught on to the intentions of his question.

"Sir, in all due respect, you need to move on. That's the only way you can let go of your guilt without pushing it on someone else."

Roy scowled and turned away. "What if I want to push it on someone else?"

Riza grabbed Roy's nose roughly and forced him to look at her. "Don't you dare say that," she reprimanded. "What would Maes think if he could hear you say that?"

Roy blushed and looked away, feeling ashamed. "Geez, you're rough, Lieutenant."

Riza released the man and held the carnation out to him. "Here, take this," she stated. "I'd hate to see it go to waste."

Roy took the carnation with a confused expression. "What is this for?"

Riza shrugged as she got to her feet, looking down at Maes gravestone with an unreadable appearance. "According to historical documents, a white carnation is supposed to represent pure love."

Roy stood up as well, blushing deeply. "Is that so?"

"But I don't believe in superstitions like that."

'Ouch,' Roy thought to himself. 'You really are rough on me, Lieutenant.'

Riza caught sight of Roy's sudden expression of dejection. "What's wrong, sir?"

Roy looked up sullenly at the woman. "Well, it's just-"

Grrrrrrrrrrroooooooowwwwwwlllll…

Roy suddenly stopped as his stomach loudly expressed its famine.

Riza laughed slightly and smiled. "Perhaps we should go back and make dinner."

Without waiting for an answer from the former General, she took the man's hand and began walking back to their house.

"How did you know where to find me?" Roy asked Riza quietly as the two strolled through the city streets.

"The woman you bought flowers from told me. You should thank her for that carnation," Riza responded.

Roy looked down at the flower held almost half-heartedly in his grip. According to historical documents, a white carnation is supposed to represent pure love. Why had she said something like that? Had she done it to punish him for running off on her? Hawkeye could be so cruel sometimes. "Who's taking care of the house?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the lovely flower.

"I called Havoc to come over and watch Black Hayate. He brought Breda, Falman, and Fuery with him."

Mustang suddenly froze in his tracks. "You mean to tell me, you left them alone at the house?"

Riza looked up curiously. "Yes, is that a problem?"

Roy contemplated dashing back to the house to make sure his comrades hadn't somehow destroyed it. However, he realized that doing so would be a worthless effort and he'd have to deal with whatever he would be faced with.

"Don't worry, I gave the matches to Falman," Riza assured the man, as if reading his thoughts.

Roy let out a relieved sigh knowing that his home was a little bit safer. Falman was unwavering and virtually the poster child for safety. He'd make sure the other men behaved themselves…hopefully.

Beside him, the blond woman softly laughed and he felt her hand tenderly squeeze his. "You shouldn't worry so much, sir," she insisted. "You have more anxiety now that you did when you were a General."

Roy smiled embarrassedly. "Sorry…"

Riza gave the man an inquisitive look as the streetlights slowly turned on, basking Roy's face in a soft glow. She could see the lines on his face from stress and dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. She realized how hard it must be for him, being in control of military actions for so long, and then suddenly losing that control…Riza imagined she would be stressed as well.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to bite her tongue as Roy slowly descended deeper and deeper into a pit of frustration and fretfulness. Day after day, she could see his resolve dissipating as he lost sleep and hope in whatever goal it was that he was formulating in his mind. She had seen traces of such an expression in his eyes the minute Archer had reinstated Kimbley back into the military. After that, it was nothing but an uphill struggle for the man, one that the Lieutenant knew she couldn't help him with. She could see it getting steadily worse as more and more evidence uncovered the Fuhrer as a Homunculus.

Not to mention the incident with the Fuhrer's son…

Riza wanted nothing more than to grab the man by the shoulders and tell him that it was okay to let go, that it was okay to cry and scream and yell, whatever he needed to do to release whatever aggravation it was that kept building up behind his dark eyes. However, she knew she couldn't. Partly because she knew that Roy would only isolate himself more from the world and from the lieutenant, feeling that he was being a encumbrance to her. And also…

Because she was scared of what he'd say. She was scared of the horrors that he was keeping quiet, scared of exactly how deep into depression he had fallen, scared that she might find herself beleaguered and unable to help the man. All she could do for now was just…wait.

Roy noticed Riza's gaze upon him, her eyes locked firmly upon his own. He turned to her and stared back. "Is something the matter?"

Riza promptly realized she was staring and turned away, fixing her eyes on the road before them. "No, sir, not at all."

"If you say so," Roy said, accompanied by another loud growl from his stomach.

The two walked in silence after that, both absorbed in their own musings of each other's behavior.

Finally, Roy could see their home in the distance and felt a weight of worry lift from his shoulders when he saw it still standing and unharmed. Perhaps he had underestimated his comrades…

However, that thought quickly left his mind when he heard various crashing sounds as they drew closer to the house.

Cursing under his breath, Roy dashed towards the house and Riza followed close behind. The two both burst through the front door and heard another crash sound from the kitchen, followed by a yelp and Black Hayate barking.

Roy rushed to the kitchen and came to a screeching halt.

Indeed, leaving the house in the care of Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman had been a bad idea. All four of the men were clad in aprons, where they had gotten them, Roy didn't know. Breda sat on top of the counter, trying his hardest to get away from Black Hayate, who was barking at him playfully from the floor. Falman was brandishing a wooden spoon, yelling at Breda to calm down to no avail. Fuery looked on the verge of tears and Havoc was sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in a cookbook, seemingly oblivious to the commotion going on behind him.

Roy was about to reprimand the men when he was suddenly cut off.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Riza shouted from Roy's side.

The four men suddenly froze and turned to the woman.

"Breda, get off that counter. Fuery, take the dog out back and put him on his chain. Falman, start the stove and oven this instant. Havoc, get out the food from the fridge and set it on the cutting board." No one seemed to move, still shocked at Riza's authoritative overload. "MOVE!" Riza yelled and the men began to busy themselves as they had been ordered.

Riza strode forward and snatched Breda's apron. "The least you could do now is set the table," she stated. She put the apron on, pushed her sleeves up, and began cutting up vegetables.

After a few moments, Roy felt that it was safe enough to approach the woman. "Do you want my help?" he asked as she began to add vegetables to a pot of beef stew.

Riza took a carrot and began to chop it up. "Do you think you can make a decent salad?"

Roy took the head of lettuce sitting next to stalks of celery with a smile. "I can try." He froze as Riza suddenly turned to him and reached up, lightly touching the patch over his eye.

Her expression was unreadable, but a slight air of unhappiness hovered in her red irises. "You know…it's okay," she told him softly.

"What do you mean?" he questioned.

Riza continued to gaze at him for a few moments before turning away and resumed chopping the vegetables. "It's nothing."

Roy's gaze dropped to the scar on her forearm, the mar contrasting with her unblemished, creamy skin.

It's okay…

Maybe…maybe it was okay.

The man smiled slightly before he returned to making the salad for dinner.

"You know your father loves you, right?" the woman said as she straightened the little boy's lapels. "He just wants the best for you."

The small boy sniffled, his tiny hands wiping tears off his cheeks. "But…but he won't even play with me anymore. All he lets me do is dress up for these parties or stay and watch him in the lab."

"Sweetheart, he just wants you to grow up in a proper environment. He's teaching you very important values, about socializing and about alchemy." The woman gave her son an encouraging smile.

"He never has time for me anymore!" the boy insisted.

His mother gave him an unsympathetic look. "Your father is an important person," she said firmly. "And you'll be an important person as well because you're far too good for the life of a lower class bottom feeder. You come for a prestigious family, so you'd better start acting like it."

"But, Mother-"

The woman slapped her son gently on his cheek and he swiftly stopped his crying. "Stop your sniveling. This is an important engagement your father has arranged tonight and you're far too old to spoil it with a temper tantrum."

The boy stood there, sniffling noisily, his shoulders jumping with every sob. After a few moments, his mother's compassionate smile returned. "Now, why don't you make yourself look nice so you can go greet your father?" she suggested sweetly.

The young boy finally managed to calm himself before standing up straight as his mother had taught him and allowed her to fix his hair.

She led him by his hand to the ballroom of their home where a large party was already in progress. It wasn't uncommon for such gatherings to occur at their abode since his father was always being pressed by various associates to hold them.

"There he is," his mother said as she leaned down next to him, pointing past the orchestra that was currently playing a lilting waltz, gesturing towards a man surrounded by various men in suits and tuxedos. "Go and talk to him."

She gave him a gentle push and the boy nervously stepped out onto the marble floor. "D…daddy?" he called gently, hoping his father would notice him. He didn't.

He began to walk towards him who was conversing with his friends and called out once he got closer. This time is father turned to him and greeted his son with a smile and a wave. The boy smiled brightly and rushed over to his dad.

"Daddy! Daddy!" the boy exclaimed hugging his father's leg tightly.

"Now now," his father chided gently before picking his son up in his arms. "You know you're not supposed to run in your formal clothes. Your mother gets upset."

"My, your son has grown," one of the men around commented. "He's certainly a chip off the old block."

"I think he looks more like his mother," the boy's father stated with a smile.

"He does not," came a voice at the boy's side. "He has your hair, darling."

The boy turned to see his mother at his fathers arm, her rich, red-painted lips curved upwards into a beautiful smile.

His father put him down on the floor and told him to go play with the other children before taking his wife in his arms and kissing her gently.

He watched the two for a moment before turning and walking off.

"I'm growing tired of him," he suddenly heard his mother say. "He still behaves like a baby. Whining that you don't play with him."

"Love, I hate it when you talk like this," the father responded. "He's our son."

"That means nothing. He's simply a wretched human. Nothing more. I'm not required to love him even though you think otherwise."

"Dante…"

"Hohenheim, he's just a child. Son or not, he is our heir and he is now unnecessary. I'll play the caring mother only as long as that wretched creature is still breathing."

Envy shot up in bed with a gasp, his hands clenched tightly into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The dream flooded quickly back into his consciousness and he clutched his hair tightly, breathing heavily.

"Shut up," he hissed at the voices rushing around in his mind. "These aren't my memories. He's not my father. He's just a useless bastard." His father had been the one to abandon him…yet his mother was the one who saved him in the end. Humans were such pathetic creations…

You know your father loves you, right?

"Shut up!" Envy shouted, his hands pulling at his hair, his body writhing violently as he tried to rid his head of these false memories. "That's not me! That was never me!"

Hands suddenly gripped his wrists and the homunculus quickly looked up. Ed was staring at him from the end of the bed, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and confusion. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, gently releasing the other boy's wrists.

Envy felt his breathing begin to slow and gradually released the grip on his hair. He slowly examined Ed's features, eyes darting quickly over his face. Golden eyes and golden hair, angular face, and a look of sadness in his gaze that had never seemed to dissolve during the course of his life.

Envy sighed and looked away. "Nothing, just…a nightmare," he said lamely.

Ed grinned. "I didn't know a homunculus could dream."

"Well, they can, Ed, so shut up," Envy snapped at his lover as he threw the covers off and stepped out of bed.

"Geez, you're grouchy this morning," Ed commented as the homunculus stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "Anything I can do to make you a little more agreeable?" He slid his arms around Envy's waist and hugged him closely.

Envy could always tell when Ed was making a joke. The alchemist was never extremely open with his affection. Neither of them was. Both preferred subtle acts of love and loyalty to the hugs and kisses that most couples shared. "Very funny, Ed," Envy commented before pushing the boy off him. "There is one thing you could do though."

"What's that?"

"Are you going home or not?"

Ed was silent and Envy turned to see what he was doing. The boy was staring at the bed with a look of sad fear. "What home?"

A spark of anger ignited inside the homunculus. "Your home in Resembool, moron," Envy replied sarcastically.

"I have no home to go back to. I'm dead to this world, remember?"

"Bastard."

Ed looked up furiously. "What was that?" he snapped, his hair seeming to bristle with indignation.

Envy gave his lover a smug grin. "I called you a bastard," he repeated. "You haven't changed a bit, chibi-san. You may have grown taller, but you haven't gotten any more mature. Still running from your guilt like a child."

Ed's eyes filled with rage and his hands balled up at his sides. "Don't call me chibi, and I'm not a child!" he bit out.

"Then stop acting like one, chibi-san," Envy responded with a laugh. "We're not playing pretend anymore."

"Why the hell do you care anyway?!" Ed yelled.

Envy's face took on a cool, venomous look of hatred as his gazed locked onto Ed. That single look made Ed go silent, the room suddenly filling with a fearful aura.

"Why?" Envy began in an ominous whisper. "Perhaps it's because of all your idiotic nonsense about not having a home, because you do."

"I don't," Ed insisted.

"Shut up," Envy grated out, frightening Ed into silence. "Don't you dare talk until I'm finished with you. You act as if every little thing you do is noble and for everyone else's benefit. It's sickening. You go on as if you're dead to the world that you're living in. That's just as bad as running from your problems. Like it or not, you're a part of this world whether or not you were meant to be a part of it. You have a home and a fucking family. Do you know how many people don't even have that?" He began to slowly stalk towards Edward who was beginning to tremble, like a carnivore hunting it's prey. Envy knew just what buttons to push to scare his lover. After so much time together, it grew to be almost too easy. "Or maybe it's because of the fact that you wallow around in your own sorrow, wishing and praying for it to end, and you refuse to take the one option that will allow you to end it. Just as you did when you were still hunting for the stone, you pushed all those you loved away. So now you decide that since it's convenient, you'll just do it once again." He was less than a foot from his lover now and Ed had made no move to run, but he could tell that resolve was quickly dissipating. "So, just how long until you start pushing me away, hmm?" Now Ed was slowly backing into the wall behind him. That idiot; he was trapping himself. "Tell me, Ed, when do you plan on doing the same to me?" Still the boy refused to answer, his limbs still shaking and trembling, fearful eyes gazing up at him.

Envy's palms slammed against the wall on either side of Edward's head, causing the alchemist to jump. "Answer me," he responded calmly.

"I…I d-don't plan o-on-"

Envy leaned closer to Ed's face and he could feel the hot puffs of breath that poured over onto his cheeks. "Answer me, Ed…"

Ed's eyes continued to stare into Envy's and he answered firmly, "I don't plan to…"

Envy looked at the small boy for a moment before closing the gap between the two and kissing Ed strongly on the mouth, pressing himself to him. The alchemist slowly wrapped his arms around his lover, which caused Envy's heart to skip a beat as light fingertips drifted up his spine, and the two slid down the wall and to the floor, their lips never losing contact.

Wrath gradually awoke to the sound of mellifluous singing and warm sunlight on his face. It was a fresh experience for him, waking up surrounded by soft sheets, a gentle voice, and the smell of a delicious breakfast. After he had run away from the Rockbell house, he had become accustomed to awakening to the feeling of cold dirt beneath him and the smell of clammy, grimy clothing. He slowly sat up, afraid to move too quickly. If all of this were a dream, he didn't want it to suddenly disappear.

The boy unexpectedly winced as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. All of a sudden, he recalled last night's events. He was back in the Rockbell house and in the care of Winry, no less. He looked over to see that the young woman had replaced the bandages, but still had yet to remove the bullet from his skin. It still hurt, but he found some solace in the fact that it didn't hurt as badly as it did yesterday. The scrumptious and enchanting smell of food was far too tempting for Wrath to resist any longer. Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and carefully walked to the bedroom door, his rusted automail creaking noisily along the way.

As Wrath wandered into the hallway, he could hear voices conversing in the kitchen at the end, although he couldn't see anyone in view at the end of the hallway.

"Granny, why wouldn't you let me go out and shop for food this morning?" came a very distinct voice that Wrath recognized as Winry's.

Wrath heard a moment of silence before he heard another voice speak, this one belonging to the elderly woman who lived in the Rockbell house. "I don't trust the men down there. Ever since that Derrick man started causing trouble, it's just not safe for a young girl like you to go down to the market by themselves."

When Wrath finally reached the end of the hallway, he peeked into the kitchen to see Winry slam a pan of scrambled eggs down onto the stove with a loud clang and turn the burner off with a violent turn of her wrist. "I can take care of myself, Granny!" she exclaimed before turning to the old woman who sat at the kitchen table, smoking a pipe. Winry's blue eyes flared with a defensive and fervent spark, her long blond hair practically prickling at the insinuation that she couldn't handle herself.

The older woman quietly exhaled a puff of smoke and turned to look at the young girl. "Winry, don't make a scene in front of our guest."

Winry suddenly lost her argumentative edge and her expression became one of embarrassed curiosity. She turned towards the hall with a blink and Wrath blushed when her eyes landed on him, discomfited that he had been caught eavesdropping.

She continued to stare at him for a moment and a surge of terror rose up in Wrath's chest. He remembered the last time he had been punished for being disobedient.

The stone…he needed it now. Mommy was going to die if he couldn't get it.

Wrath raced down the hallway, his severely burned body stinging with intense pains as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He burst through the door and was met with Envy and Dante, who gave him a look of surprised disgust. He lunged towards the woman, panic beginning to consume him.

"Where is he?!" the boy shouted, running into Envy, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Dante looked at Wrath with a mixture of puzzlement and impatience. "What now?"

Wrath tried to get past Envy, but the homunculus' grip was strong. "Tell me please!"

"Get off me!" Envy shouted, trying to push the boy away.

But Wrath couldn't give up; his Mommy was depending on him! "I need the Philosopher's Stone!"

Dante turned her gaze to Envy. "What's he doing here? I clearly told you I wanted Wrath to keep an eye on Edward."

Wrath raised his voice, determined not to be ignored. "I need it, I need it now! Please!"

Envy grinned malevolently. "It's not my fault he can't follow orders!"

Envy's hands were gripping Wrath's raw skin forcefully, sending burning shocks of pain through his arms and shoulders and he felt more hot tears stream down his face. "Please, Master, I need the stone now!"

Dante smiled, but her smile held no conviviality, just a chilling promise of pain and suffering. "Wrath, if you can't behave properly, you'll have to remain a Homunculus."

No, he wouldn't be forced into giving up with threats. He didn't care if he were sentenced to remain this way. He had to save her! "There's no time! My Mommy's gonna die!"

Dante's face took on an expression of perplexity. "Mommy?"

Envy scoffed. "I don't know," he said, vituperatively tossing Wrath aside. "I think he's talking about Sloth."

Wrath lay on the cold sandstone floor, panting heavily, his breaths coming in short, shuddering gasps. He looked up to see Dante's cold eyes locked on him. "Don't be ridiculous, Sloth isn't your mother. Homunculi do not have mothers. Understood?"

No, he didn't understand! She was his mother! She was all he had! Wrath summoned up what was left of his strength and launched himself at Dante, only to have Envy's arm catch him once again, knocking some of the air out of him. "Save her! Please! I need her!"

Dante's expression did not grow any softer. In fact, she looked enraged. "You're not a human, Wrath, stop acting like one."

"Mommy!" Wrath exclaimed, desperation setting in. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

Dante sighed in exasperation. "Envy."

Wrath cried out as Envy tossed him across the room. The pain in his body was growing so immense, that he thought he'd vomit. However, he had to ignore it; he had more important things to worry about. Quickly, he got to his feet, dashing towards the woman once again. "Please!"

Instead, his gut met Envy's foot and he was thrown brutally against the room's large double doors. Limply, he sank to the floor, and he began to transmute the floor into some sort of weapon, something that he could use to coerce the woman to give him what he needed. However, Envy was one step ahead of him and he screamed when the other Homunculus' foot stepped heavily on his wrist, deftly snapping it.

"Don't even think about it," he warned with a grin. "Now come here!"

Wrath began to tremble, a soft whimper rising in his throat. He didn't want to get in trouble. He didn't want Winry to hurt him; he didn't want her to take her anger and frustration out on him.

"Oh! Wrath, you're awake! I didn't know!" Winry said cheerfully, but the words were lost on Wrath's ears as he began to back away from the kitchen. Winry finally noticed and gave Wrath a look of concern. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"No!" Wrath exclaimed, backing up even further. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please, don't hurt me!"

Winry began to step forwards, her hand reaching out towards the boy. "Hey, calm down," she urged. "It's alright. No one's going to hurt you."

Wrath watched Winry's hand inching towards him, his eyes filled with terror. Her soft, delicate hand morphed into Envy's cold, callused, gloved fist and he let out a loud sob before turning and running back to his room, locking the door behind him.

Winry stared at the empty spot that Wrath was moments before, and shortly after she heard a door slamming and the clicking of a lock. She turned to her grandmother, her forehead crinkled in worried bemusement. "Granny…did I do something wrong?"

Pinako sat at the table, her pipe in hand, and a frown on her face. "You have to go slowly with that boy, Winry. I think he's had a tough time. Just be gentle with him. Give him a little time, and don't push."

Winry sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Al had been the same way for a while after returning in his brand-new body. She remembered him clinging to her, asking her where he was, why she looked so different, where Ed had gone to, crying his eyes out in terrified bewilderment. Then, the next moment, he didn't want anyone to talk to him. All he would do was sit alone in his room, transmuting dolls out of whatever materials he could scrape up. Winry could recall one of the few times she had been able to peek into his room when he was inside of it.

He had to be asleep now right? It was nearly three in the morning. Winry stood before Al's bedroom door, her hand hovering above the door, hesitating to knock.

Should she bother him any more? After all, more could be going on than Winry realized. Perhaps she should leave him alone.

No, she'd left him alone long enough. She took a deep breath before gently knocking on the door. "Al? Are you awake?"

Winry waited a moment and heard no answer. She didn't even hear the sound of footsteps against the wood floor. Diffidently, she turned the doorknob; it was unlocked. Perhaps a peek in wouldn't hurt.

Slowly, the young woman opened the door, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn't creak loudly. She quietly stuck her head inside and looked around the room, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Oh…Al…"she sighed when she caught sight of the dolls lying all over the floor.

They were shaped just like Ed, clad in black clothes and a red jacket. The dolls had long golden hair, pulled back into a braid and from the right pocket, the chain of his pocket watch was shining in the silvery moonlight.

Winry stepped into the room and picked up one of the numerous dolls on the floor. She fingered the doll and felt that the right arm and left leg were heavier than the other limbs. She pulled the sleeve of the red jacket back and her fingertips met with cold metal. The arm and leg were actually made of metal. With a frown, she carefully walked over to the bed, where she could see Al, curled up, the blankets pulled up to his chin, his hair mussed up and falling in front of his eyes. She gently sat down on the bed beside the boy, tears welling up in her eyes. The young boy did remember his brother; he had more memories than he knew.

Winry stared out the window in the kitchen, gazing at the rolling hills that lay outside. Yes, that's all Wrath needed. Just a little time. After all, that is what she had given Alphonse, and he was getting better by the day.

Knock knock!

Winry looked towards the front door as a gentle knocking sounded. She wasn't expecting anybody. "Granny, did you invite someone over or have any appointments?"

Pinako looked up curiously. "Not that I know of."

Winry walked over to the door. "Well, who could it be?" Filled with inquisitiveness, she opened up the door and was surprised to see two men standing on her doorstep. Both had very blond heads and they looked as if they were brothers. One was quite tall, the other short and the smaller one seemed to be hiding behind his brothers leg.

"Yes, hello, can I help you?" Winry inquired.

"Yes, my name is Russell Tringham and his is my brother Fletcher," the older brother answered. His face was plastered with an expression of sadness, but a glimmer of hope dimly shone in his amethyst colored eyes.

Winry gasped. "Russell Tringham?" The name resounded with familiarity in her mind. That same name had popped up all over Ed's letters to her.

Al and I have just left Xenotime. We met two brothers there, Russell and Fletcher Tringham. They were pretty good alchemists, but Russell's got such a short temper. He's unbearable. In addition, he's a year younger than me, but likes to lord his excessive height over me…

Dear Winry, we haven't heard much from the Tringham's in awhile. Roy transferred a few of their letters to us, but there wasn't much use in them. I wish he wouldn't write me unless he had some useful information…

Finally, here was the infamous Russell Tringham standing on her doorstep. But what was he here for?

Russell nodded, smiling sadly. "Yes, I'm looking for Edward Elric and I was told I could find him here."