Title: Rain
Author: AkizukiSakura
Pairing(s): Roy/Ed
Spoilers/Warnings: As far as I know, the spoilers are minimal. This diverges from both the manga and the anime, and I wouldn't be surprised if I get some facts wrong anyway (like the ages they were when each major even occurred). Also, this is YAOI. Don't like it, don't read it. Period.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I make no monetary profit from the writing and posting of this, or any, fanfiction.
Notes: I like Hughes. I hate that he died. So here in fanfiction land, I'm pretending he didn't. Also, I finally have my facts straight for this story. I've got so many different stories swimming around in my head that it was getting difficult. Does that mean faster updates? I don't know. My daughter tends to put a damper on my writing. She's in that needy stage right now.

There is some OOC in this chapter, but I tried to make the OOC less, you know, OOC than it could have been. Hopefully it worked.

Many, many thanks to proser132 for taking the time to edit this for content and flow. Very talented writer and beta.

Chapter Two: In Which There is Equivalent Exchange

Golden eyes narrowed in a baleful glare at the dossier resting innocuously on the polished oak table. With the cover closed, Ed mused with a sigh, I could almost think the folder holds just another report. Unfortunately, it actually held the details of the serial murder case and the photos of dead blonde children. Ed had seen some pretty fucked up things over the years but somehow the depths of cruelty a human was willing to sink to still managed to astound him.

What was even more surprising was the cause of death for the victims. It was the same for every single child, including the most recent one, and it was utterly baffling. Aside from the array carved onto the last girl, none of the children showed any signs of murder. There were no strangulation marks. There was no sign of blunt trauma to the head. No indication of drowning, no trace of poison. It was as though every single one of them had simply stopped living.

It was frightening. The only thing Ed could think of that would kill someone so quietly was alchemy. Even so, the array in the photograph had nothing to do with murder.

He blew out a sigh that ruffled his bangs briefly, lifting the golden strands from his face as he plonked his chin down on the desk and glared unseeingly at the sky just visible from the library's upper windows. He didn't understand this killer at all. Why children? Why blonde children in particular? Did he just have some sort of weird pedophilic fetish? But that wasn't right. None of the children had been violated at all. Even the marks on their wrists and ankles – marks of restraint – were faint, as though the cuffs had been padded to save them unnecessary pain.

He growled, eyes dropping to the copy of the array he'd drawn. There were only so many times he could look at a dead child, array or no, and it was just easier to research this stupid thing if he didn't have to see the girl's open, blank eyes every time he tried to study it. Even so, he'd been at this for several hours and he still didn't understand the array. At one point he'd been tempted to throw the entire report out the window, it was frustrating him so much. Instead he'd visibly reigned in his temper and shifted his focus instead to pondering the killer's motives. This proved to be a mistake, as the only evidence of the culprit killing for anything other than simple sadism was the array that Ed was struggling with.

He sat up again, drawing the sheet of paper closer and scowling at it. He'd broken the damn thing down into its basic components, cross-referenced the sigils and markings, and still he was coming up with a blank. Even the tomes containing some of the oldest alchemical symbols were useless here. In desperation he'd tried Xingian references but those, too, yielded no answers to the endless questions swimming through his mind.

What was the killer trying to do with this array? Normally Ed didn't have to struggle like this. An array was like a simple mathematical equation to him: Each symbol represented one thing and one thing only. By stringing together the symbols, one could determine the basic purpose of an equation. It was the same with an array, though there were the added nuisances of figuring out the energy flow.

In another way an alchemical array was like an electrical schematic. There were symbols to act as inductors or capacitors, resistors, even diodes to reverse the flow of power. Ed was very good at reading and understanding arrays, but this one… He nibbled idly on the end of his braid, tipping his head back to stretch his neck muscles. It was almost as if the array wasn't supposed to do anything. But if that was the case, then why carve it onto a little girl? What was the purpose?

The scrape of a plate being slid across the table brought his musings back to the present with an almost audible thump. He dropped his gaze to the plate in question, blinked at the sandwich that adorned it, and glanced at the hand still attached to the plate. He blinked again, noting the pristine white gloves with their distinctive red array, and looked up into a familiar dark stare.

"Mustang…" Ed frowned at him as the Brigadier General put a glass of lemonade down by the plate and settled quite serenely in the chair opposite him. Ed glanced at the plate again, flushing faintly when his stomach decided to protest the fact that he'd skipped lunch, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was a horrible master for treating his body this way. He snagged the plate and drew it closer, knowing before he glanced at Mustang again that the man would be smirking.

"I knew you'd skip lunch," the General remarked with a faint hint of a sigh as he braced an elbow on the desk and cradled his head with his palm, giving Ed a rather reproving stare.

Ed ignored it in favor of the sandwich, tipping his chair back on its hind legs as he ate. "I don't know why you care," he said between bites, glaring balefully at the man for daring to interrupt his research – never mind that Mustang was trying to be nice. Times like this reminded Ed why he had a crush on Mustang to begin with, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "It's not like I haven't done it before, and I'll do it a lot more before I die, I'm sure." He polished off the sandwich in record time and drained the lemonade. To his surprise he was still hungry. Mustang's faint chuckle drew his attention – and his ire. "What the hell's so funny, General Bastard?" he demanded with a scowl.

Mustang leaned back in his chair, viewing his young subordinate through his eyelashes. The effect – similar to a bedroom stare – made Ed uncomfortably warm. "Fullmetal… You have no idea what time it is, do you?" the General asked sociably, though it was clear from his expression that, though phrased as a question, his words were a statement of fact. Ed blinked at him and slid his watch from his pocket, flicking it open and glancing at the time. He did a double take. It was well past five in the evening now. Had he really been at this that long?

"Tch. No wonder I'm still hungry." He'd missed breakfast and lunch, not that he was going to admit that to Mustang, and if it hadn't been for his superior he'd have missed dinner too. He glanced back down at the array, scowled fiercely at it, and picked up his pen. "Whatever. I'm not done." To his utter surprise Mustang stood up, reached out, and stole his pen. With a snarl he tried to grab it back but Mustang, the bastard, held it out of his reach. "Give it back, you prick!" he snapped irately, reaching for it.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Edward," Mustang said firmly, and it was his usage of Ed's name more than anything that surprised the younger man. Ed stared at his superior, hand still frozen in the act of reaching for the pen. "I realize that this is an important case, but you won't do us – or those children – any good at all if you make yourself ill."

Ed swelled with outrage. "I'm not a goddamn child, Mustang! I know the limits of my own fucking body, thank you very much. I pushed harder than this when I was working to help Al." He rose on his toes, flesh hand braced on the desk to make another grab for the pen. Mustang pulled it away from him and tucked the pen into his breast pocket.

"Come and get some dinner with me and I'll give it back," the General said finally. "I know you aren't a child, Fullmetal, and after all this time I'd think you'd realize that I know very well how capable you are of handling your body." Those black eyes glanced briefly to Ed's right arm, pointedly. "That doesn't mean you can't take a thirty minute break to see to your own needs."

Ed glared at him, fists clenching on top of the table, but an insistent rumble from his stomach made him sigh and drop his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine, fine, dinner. You're paying, though." He expected, and got, Mustang's raised eyebrow. "You're the one pulling me away from my work and insisting I eat. You can pay," Ed snapped. He stretched idly, black tank top pulling away from the waistband of his trousers. His spine cracked in several places, prompting him to wince. "Don't even start," he warned Mustang when the man opened his mouth to comment, grabbing his red coat from the back of the chair.

Mustang shrugged, surprising Ed a little. "All right, I won't say anything, and I'll pay. But I pick the place."

One of the nice things about dining in Central, Ed thought with a happy sigh, was the variety of food, not just in ethnicity but also in varying stages of formality. For a superior and subordinate grabbing dinner, a sit-down restaurant might have seemed odd, particularly because Mustang was still in uniform and Ed was a very distinctive figure in the city. The last thing either of them needed was rumors circulating. Ed didn't particularly care what people thought of him, but Mustang had to worry about what the brass might say.

Instead Mustang purchased Xingian food from a vendor in a truck and he and Ed sat on a bench near the fountain in Central Square to consume greasy chicken, rice, and beef. Ed devoured his with his usual enthusiasm, wielding the pair of wooden sticks with the ease of practice. Mustang was a little more sedate and gave up on his sticks in favor of a fork when he managed to drop beef in his lap. To his chagrin, and Ed's barely stifled amusement, it left a grease stain. Whatever else Mustang had to say about kiosk Xingian, though, it was definitely better than food from the mess hall.

"Why are you even bothering with this, General?" Ed spoke up suddenly, breaking their surprisingly civil silence. When Mustang slanted a surprised glance at him Ed rolled his eyes and stuffed another piece of chicken in his mouth. "You can give me all the crap you want about taking care of myself and all that shit, but you never bothered with it before," he grumbled, swallowing. "So, what's changed?"

Mustang examined his rice with more interest than Ed thought the grains really deserved, but the blonde recognized the guarded look on his superior's face. For whatever reason, Mustang was being particularly choosey with his words right now. His dark eyes flicked around the square, taking note of each person in their vicinity and analyzing them. "Fullmetal… You know what my ambitions are, yes?" he asked finally, startling a nod from the younger man. "I've had my team for a long time," he explained softly. "They all know what I want, and they've all pledged their assistance and absolute loyalty to my cause."

Ed listened quietly as the man actually deigned to answer. He hadn't expected an honest answer from Mustang; that was for certain. "I never did any of that," Ed reminded the other alchemist quietly. Instead of irritating Mustang, though, Ed's words caused a slight smile to curve the older man's lips.

"I'm aware of that, Fullmetal," he remarked. "And that's what's changed. I invited you to join the army when you were a child. I manipulated things so that you would be placed under my command." He lightly flicked the stars on his shoulders. "And I have benefited greatly from your honest nature and strong sense of justice. The respect that the people have for you will transfer to me when the time comes."

He didn't explain what 'the time' was, but Ed didn't need him to – particularly not in a crowded square where potential spies could be lurking. The top brass did not like Mustang. He was too shrewd, too observant, but mostly he was too kind to his soldiers and his people. Men who wanted power and wealth did not want to waste money helping the common people, despite that being the army's purpose.

"I think, after so many years of my reaping the rewards from your actions, that perhaps I can look out for you, as well. Equivalent exchange, right?" Mustang finished. Ed glanced up at him and found himself pinned rather helplessly by the deepest look he'd ever received from anyone. Without breaking eye contact, the Brigadier General got to his feet and leaned down so that only Ed could hear him. "You shine, Edward," he murmured seriously. "Everyone who meets you – who knows you – can see it. I won't see that glowing potential of yours fade away."

For a moment – a moment that, for Ed, was an eternity – they only stared at one another; Flame's gaze serious, Fullmetal's thoughtful. At last Ed nodded once. Mustang gave him a faint smile, reached into his pocket, and offered Ed his pen back. Ed stared at it for a moment, seemed to make up his mind about something, and closed Mustang's fingers around the pen. "I'll pick it up tomorrow. I think I'll leave off for the night," Ed said finally, blushing faintly at the open approval in his superior's lacquer-black eyes. "Besides… Al's probably waiting up for me anyway."

Ed got to his feet, gathering up their empty containers and pitching them casually into the nearest garbage bin. He glanced at the General, noting the way the faint breeze swept the man's hair into his eyes and ruffled his uniform. Ed hesitated for a second longer than necessary, taking in the sight of a windswept Mustang, and then raised a hand in a lazy, casual salute. "See you tomorrow, General Bastard," he said, turning away and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"See you, Fullmetal," Mustang replied as he tucked the pen back into his pocket and left the square.

In spite of Ed's best attempts to treat his memories of the evening nonchalantly he knew he was grinning goofily as he headed home. He hadn't declared his desire for the older man or anything quite so momentous, but they had successfully managed a conversation that most folk would call civil.

It was a start.

Ed would have to remember to thank Al for his advice when he got home. Sometimes he wondered when his little brother had gotten so smart.

It was time. He was sure that, this time, he was correct. His theory was sound, his arrays were flawless. All he needed now was the link. He'd done the research. Amestrians, Cretans, Aerugans, Drachmans, and Xingians… All had originally been dark eyed people with dark hair and pale skin. They had a common ancestor, it seemed.

Only Xerxians were different. No one was really sure why, but the ancient people were like the embodiment of the sun – golden hair, bright eyes, tan skin. It was a Xerxian he needed and he'd started to think that the task was impossible. After all, the legendary Xerxes had vanished in a single day, her people completely obliterated. How could there be any descendants if the people were gone?

But there were some descendants. Their blood was impure, of course, but it was the only explanation as to how there were any blondes at all in Amestris. It was vitally important to his mission that they have Xerxian blood.

The problem, however, was that the blood was too watered down. The children he'd taken had perhaps a drop of Xerxian blood, no more – and it was not enough to fuel the array. He'd tried and tried for years, taking a little boy here, a young girl there, experimenting, hoping, wanting – failing. He'd refined the array, researched more, and only in the past few months had he been so close, and yet still it did not work.

Why? What was he doing wrong? It was his life's work. He could not, would not, accept that it was impossible. He would never accept that. He'd keep trying until he died if he had to. The reward would be worth his time searching, if he could just get the damn array to work!

The sound of a pencil snapping in half caught his attention for a bare moment. He'd gripped in too hard, lost in his sour thoughts. Muttering, he tossed it aside and grabbed a new one from the tin on his desk. He began to draw again, losing himself in his thoughts once more.

It had taken years for him to realize that the array was working – it simply was too powerful for these children, with their filthy blood. Almost there, but so far away from his goal; it was so hard to keep hoping when he kept failing.

And then… And then! The rumors. A whisper here, a quiet statement there – that in the East there was a man with blonde hair and eyes of the purest gold. His heart had leapt. Could it be…? Was this the proof he needed of his prize's existence? Here was a man who looked pure Xerxian, yet his hair was still flaxen, his skin still smooth, his mind still sharp. Could it be?

It had to be. And so he had watched the man, for the man was in Central, and though he gave no outward sign of having sampled the delights of it, he was extraordinarily powerful. Transmutations with no circle, transmutations that defied logic with their brilliance. Here, at last, was proof that it existed. He began to plan anew, trying to decide how best to take the man. There was no question of simply asking him – no, no one would want to share it. All that knowledge, all that power, for eternity?

He had been almost ready. The arrays were ready, the timing, all planned down to the minutiae, and then… Then… The man had vanished. Gone, without even a trace. He could have screamed his frustration when everything fell apart at the last moment. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to go on, knowing that he'd tasted victory, only to have it snatched away from him? How could this have happened? He would just have to keep trying. The children – surely there must be one Amestrian child who had the blood? Perhaps if he used more than one?

It never occurred to him that he had procreated. He didn't even know that those children existed until word of the youngest State Alchemist in history filtered down to the depths of the underworld. Suddenly there was light in his world again, for the stories of the Hero of the People were of a child – only twelve – with hair the color of the sun and eyes of a beautiful, terrifying molten gold.

He knew he'd found the one. It would take time. Patience. Planning. This time he would not miss his chance.

It took years. The boy was always off somewhere, always moving around, always busy. It was too dangerous to try to plan when the boy was so unpredictable. He would have only one chance. If the boy was alerted to his presence it could be a disaster. His age was not as important, because he had the blood. It would work. It would absolutely work. It had to work.

It was time. He was ready to make his move. Today was the day.

He slipped out of his home, dressed casually in dark slacks and a white button-up shirt. He tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled casually down the sidewalk, whistling a jaunty tune. It was such a good day. The rain from the day before had washed the city clean and, though the autumn breeze was chilly, the day was warming in summer's last defiance.

He knew the boy's route by heart and memory. The blonde had grown comfortable ever since his brother had shed that monstrous armor. He was almost complacent now. His day was always the same. He watched from the street corner as the youth exited his apartment, calling out a lazy farewell to his brother as he moved leisurely down the street.

The young man was extraordinarily beautiful. Some might say his looks were wasted on a man, but those people were just shallow. Such splendor was not limited to women. The boy took after his father – lovely blond hair, slender but muscled, with eyes that could pierce a soul. His skin was a gorgeously honeyed. A pity it was always covered by that horrid black. White really would suit the boy so much better.

There was a glow to the Fullmetal Alchemist. He had seen it the first time he'd spied on the boy and he was utterly convinced that this was the one. No longer whistling, he set off once more, tailing the boy with the ease of a lifetime of practice. He didn't have to see him to know what path he would take. He always headed toward the army's headquarters, he always traced the same steps, and he always took that shortcut through two back alleys. No doubt Edward Elric expected today to be the same as any other day.

His stalker knew better. He hurried ahead of the boy, head down, knowing he looked like just another citizen who was late for work. He was in position when the boy turned down the second alley. The alchemist's hands were tucked in his pockets and he seemed lost in thought, but his body was tense with the awareness of one who was always expecting an attack.

Luckily, his soon-to-be assailant thought with a smile, I have insurance. He fingered the soaked cloth in his pocket idly. The drug had a distinctive smell, though – he didn't want to risk alerting the boy to his presence until it was too late.

Five steps, and then four. He tensed, clutching the cloth. Three steps… Two steps… Now! The blonde walked past him and he pounced. This, too, had been planned and practiced, down to the last moment. The Fullmetal Alchemist was known for his fighting prowess and alchemical skill. The trick was to pin his arms and slap the cloth over his nose and mouth before he could react. Just a single breath…

Even woozy with the drug the kid fought hard, scoring a punch to his jaw that would have broken bones if Fullmetal hadn't already been so dizzy. He knew the boy wouldn't be able to transmute: He was too disoriented. It was almost shamefully easy to tackle the kid and press the cloth once more over his face. Only when the blonde was truly dead to the world did he whistle the signal for his henchmen; they were dressed as professional movers. The kid was packed carefully into a wooden crate and hauled away.

He headed back to his house, knowing that his men were well-trained, a bounce in his step. Today was really such a good day! Soon he would have what he wanted – no, what he deserved! It would absolutely be his! And so would Edward Elric.

Yes indeed… It was time.

Roy frowned groggily into his morning mug of coffee, glad that today was Hawkeye's turn to brew it. It was neither too strong nor too weak, made to his precise tastes, with the perfect consistency. As he did every time it was her turn to make the coffee he contemplated simply ordering Hawkeye to be solely in charge of the coffee mess but, once again, he dismissed the idea. It wasn't fair to do so, particularly when the First Lieutenant preferred tea. Perhaps if he scheduled some sort of training…?

He sipped the dark liquid, closing his eyes briefly in bliss. Coffee was the lube oil of the military machine: It kept the army running smoothly – or as smooth as was possible in an organization as bureaucratic as the army. Paperwork was the gunk that built up in the army machine. It was an unfortunate by-product that could not be eliminated no matter how many hours Roy wasted trying to glare it into nonexistence.

This morning there was even more of it, compliments of the army taking over jurisdiction of the recent string of murders. With a sigh Roy scooped a pen from the cup on his desk. He paused, glancing at it, before turning his attention to the clock on the mantel. It was half past nine o'clock. Edward was supposed to come see him this morning to brief him on his research findings.

And, Roy thought with a faint smirk, to retrieve his pen. Well, no matter. Ed was always late. Sometimes he didn't show up until almost lunch time. He got to work, reading reports and scrawling his signature on them. Still, given the recent events, Roy couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that crawled over him. He glanced at the clock again. Almost ten… Now that he thought about it, Edward usually called if he was going to be ridiculously late like this – his official report time was 0830. Roy got to his feet and opened his door.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," he called. The blonde woman looked up from the paperwork she was delegating, a question in her wine-colored eyes. "Has Fullmetal called in this morning?" He doubted it; Hawkeye was always organized with letting him know these things. He expected the shake of her head. The dark feelings inside him nearly tripled. He picked up the phone and dialed, tapping his index finger impatiently on Hawkeye's desk impatiently.

"Elric residence, this is Alphonse." The younger Elric sounded harried and Roy realized that Al was probably just headed out to his first class.

"I'm sorry to call unannounced, Alphonse."

"Oh, General Mustang, sir!" The note of impatience left the boy's voice. "Is everything all right?" Now he sounded a little worried and Roy winced in guilt.

"I was hoping you could tell me. Is Fullmetal there?" Al replied in the negative, and shit, now he was definitely worried. "He left at his usual time? I see… No, Alphonse, that's all right. Go ahead and go to class. I'm sure he just decided to go to the library first."

"He said last night that he was supposed to report in today, though." Al's voice was hesitant, as though he knew something but didn't want to tell the older man. "He seemed to be looking forward to sharing what he'd found."

Roy's fingers tightened on the phone. "Well, we know how absentminded your brother can be," he said finally, soothingly. "I'll have my men check the library. I'm sure he's just fine. Yes… Yes, Alphonse, I will call you when we find him. As a matter of fact, I'll make sure he's the one you speak to. Of course. All right. Be careful on your way to school, just in case."

When he hung up the phone and turned to his team he found all of them had been listening, even Hawkeye. At the expression on their superior's face they stopped even the pretense of working. "Havoc, call the First Branch library and see if Fullmetal has been in this morning," Roy ordered. The man in question jumped to his feet.

"Yes sir!" he barked, grabbing the phone on the table he shared with Fuery, Breda, and Falman.

As he dialed, Roy turned to Fuery. "Go to the front desk and ask Private Leclaire if she's seen him this morning." The small man hurried out of the room. "Falman, go to Hughes. Tell him that Fullmetal might be missing. He usually has people watching the alchemists." The Warrant Officer got smoothly to his feet, saluted, executed a pristine about-face, and was gone.

Breda got to his feet. "Major Armstrong, right sir? For Al, and to see where Ross and Brosh are?" Roy nodded, unsurprised that Breda had known what to do. The man was an excellent strategist.

Hawkeye looked at Roy. "Respectfully, sir, might you be overreacting a bit? This isn't the first time that Edward isn't on time." Even as she said it, though, her eyes said that she was worried, too. Roy knew this was her way of gently fishing for information.

"Call it a feeling, Lieutenant. If there's one thing Ishval taught me it was to trust my instincts and right now they're screaming that something's wrong." He rubbed fingers that itched with the urge to snap idly, listening to the soothing rasp of the rough cloth. "I had a talk with Fullmetal yesterday," he admitted abruptly. He had been acting on Riza's advice to begin with. "We parted amiably. You know he's about as opaque as glass when it comes to his thoughts. There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest he would skip reporting it."

Hawkeye brushed a hand over her holstered gun. Like the General's gloves gave him a sense of security, her sidearm reminded her that she was not helpless no matter the situation. "I'd hoped your reasoning wouldn't be good," she said dryly. "It isn't like Edward to go so far as to not even call in."

"He hasn't been to the library this morning, General," Havoc said as he replaced the phone in the cradle. "Ms. Carson was surprised. Apparently he left all his books out from yesterday. She said he usually only does that when he intends to be back in a few hours."

Except that Roy had convinced Ed to go home after dinner. Usually that meant that Ed would have been back in the library as soon as it opened to resume his work. It would have been hard to miss him. Very few people, even State Alchemists, had the kind of drive that involved getting up that early.

They fell silent, Hawkeye paging absently through her paperwork. Roy leaned against the window sill, arms crossed as he stared at the parade ground below, hoping to catch a glimpse of that trademark red coat.

Fuery returned first, panting, and reported that Leclaire had not seen Edward and that she'd been on duty since 0530.

Falman returned at a quick march that was almost, but not quite, a run. "Colonel Hughes sent out some of his people, sir. They shall report back by noon with anything that they find." Roy knew what sort of 'people' Hughes would have deployed. If anyone could find Fullmetal, it would be them.

"Major Armstrong is off to the university to keep an eye on Al," Breda said as he pushed open the door, red-cheeked from his hurried pace. "Neither Ross nor Brosh have been in this morning. The Major says that they were supposed to be watching Edward, so he hasn't heard from them today." The Second Lieutenant yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweaty forehead. "He sent Captain Pollock to check their homes. Pollock has orders to contact you as soon as he knows something, sir."

They all waited, watching Roy as he stared into the distance. Very few people saw this coldly calculating expression on the usually charming General's face. It was one of the reasons so many people had underestimated him for so long, and why he was a Brigadier General despite a large percentage of the brass distrusting him.

Finally he sighed. "For now, everyone get back to work. Until Pollock and Hughes' men report back in, there isn't anything else we can do. I can't organize an official search until Fullmetal's been missing for at least twenty-four hours. For now, this is all we can do." No one missed the spark of anger in the General's eyes. "We will find him, though. Fullmetal is too valuable an asset to the military for them to turn a blind eye."

Reluctantly his team did as he ordered and Roy retreated to his office. By now his coffee was cold but he drank it anyway just to have something to do with his hands. The urge to click his fingers and torch any who dared to touch one of his people was almost overwhelming. He drained the mug and glanced at the barren fireplace.

Grateful for an excuse to bleed off some of his excess anger, he snapped, directing the flame to the fresh logs stacked in the fireplace. They roared into burning, popping existence, hungrily attacking the wood. He'd used a bit too much – almost a quarter of the logs were gone already.

Luckily, as the Flame Alchemist, his affinity for fire was very well known. There was always fresh wood in the grate and extra logs stacked nearby for his use. He settled behind his desk and reached for his dropped pen, hesitated, and put it back in the cup with its brethren. Instead he withdrew the pen in his breast pocket, twirling it idly in his fingers before glancing down at his reports. He got to work, signing away absently.

By lunchtime the men had reported it. Master Sergeant Pugh and Warrant Officer Lambert stood nervously at attention in front of the Brigadier General, knowing that they were about to deliver bad news and sweating over it. The rumors said that Mustang was far kinder than most of the other generals but rumor wasn't always fact.

"Brigadier General, sir," began Pugh, fists clenched tight, "under the orders of Colonel Hughes, we were sent to determine the whereabouts of First Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Denny Brosh." Both men flinched when Roy spoke.

"At ease, you two. I take it from your demeanor that you couldn't find them?"

Lambert shook his head. "Actually, sir, we found them." He handed the General a folder and stepped back, tensing to attention despite having permission to relax. "I found Ross in her kitchen, unconscious." His lips thinned in revulsion. "She suffered a severe concussion from being smashed in the head."

Roy skimmed the contents of the folder, searching for and finding the medical report. Pugh and Lambert remained quiet as he read through the short paragraphs. Ross was still unconscious and Brosh had awoken less than an hour ago, according to the file. Brosh had been found in the barracks in much the same condition that Ross had been in, though whatever he'd been hit with had sliced open his head deep enough to require stitches.

"We got them to the infirmary as quickly as we could, sir. Unfortunately, Brosh is still groggy. He says that whoever got him snuck up on him – he didn't get a look at his assailant. From the location of the trauma on Ross' head, she was likely also snuck up on." Pugh and Lambert exchanged glances as they both fell silent once more.

"You did your part, men," Roy said finally, closing the folder and looking up at the soldiers. They both blanched at the expression in his eyes. Roy held out the file. "Return this to Colonel Hughes and say nothing to anyone else except him. Dismissed!" Pugh took the folder, saluted along with Lambert, and they beat a hasty retreat. Hawkeye poked her head in a moment later.

"I took the liberty of visiting some of the local businesses along Edward's usual route to work. Everyone I asked says they saw him headed in this direction this morning, but the men who were on guard duty at the gate never saw him." She strode briskly across the room, a rolled up map in her grip. "If I may, sir?" she asked, gesturing to the coffee table.

Roy nodded and got to his feet as his Lieutenant opened the map on the table. A path had been drawn on the laminated map in bright red. Roy traced alongside it as Hawkeye continued.

"Based on what I heard, these shopkeepers saw him," she stated, pointing to each one in question, "but these did not. We can assume, if he was kidnapped, that he was taken somewhere in this vicinity." She drew a blue circle to encompass the last point Ed had been seen.

"Fullmetal would have fought," Roy mused, staring at the map as though it held the answers he sought. "In a crowded area someone would have noticed something going on, even if he was drugged." He pointed to a chain of alleys that bypassed a large chunk of Central's main street. "It's likely that he took these as a shortcut and was taken there."

Hawkeye frowned. "That suggests that this was premeditated… The kidnapper would have needed to stalk Edward for some time and learned his habits before laying a trap for him." She scowled down at the map, glancing at Roy when the General swore softly. His fingers, braced on his biceps, were strained with the urge to click.

"I'm sure I've told him before, State Alchemists are not popular. Don't make habits. Don't get complacent. Son of a…" He pinched the bridge of his nose irately and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his anger. "I swear to God everything I say to that kid goes over his head. Lieutenant," he began, looking at the blonde woman. She smiled faintly at him and handed him a single packet of paperwork before he could finish his statement.

"I've already filled out the report for Edward's kidnapping," she explained. "It just needs your signature, sir, and we can rout it as soon as the normal work day starts tomorrow." She watched him scrawl his signature over the report, noting the tense line of his jaw and the tight grip he had on the pen. She was his right-hand woman and had been for a very long time – she knew the faint signs of stress her was exhibiting. It worried her but there was little she could do about it right now.

The only one who could soothe those signs away now was Edward.

At six o'clock in the evening there were still no leads to Edward's disappearance. Al had called ten times already and the rest of his team had gone home, knowing there was nothing else that could be done until the morning. Only Roy remained in his office, arms folded over his chest and glaring into the flames. Over and over again he thought of the killer's MO. He thought of how only the last victim had been marked by an array, and how Fullmetal had struggled to decipher it.

Each new piece to the puzzle clicked into place and Roy could have smacked himself for not seeing it sooner. The killer had been after Edward from the very beginning. The military had used decoys more than once – what better way to catch a killer than putting a soldier in harm's way? The psychopath had probably used blondes for that very reason and then slapped some bogus array on the last one for the sole purpose of prodding the military into putting Fullmetal on the case.

And Roy had played right into his hands, goddammit. Why hadn't he seen it before? He'd put Brosh and Ross on bodyguard detail, but no one had expected for the criminal to be a stalker. The chances were high that he'd seen the two soldiers following Ed and had dispatched them at his leisure – the better to grab the blonde without a fight. Roy was certain that drugs had been involved for Fullmetal to be taken down so easily.

He scowled, staring unseeingly out the window to the darkened sky. Fullmetal was one of the army's greatest assets – if not their greatest asset. He was intelligent, he was good at what he did, and most of all the people trusted him. Was that why he'd been targeted? But if that was the case, wouldn't there have been some sort of ransom demand by now? By his estimate Fullmetal had been missing for almost twelve hours by now.

He swore quietly, pulling Fullmetal's pen out of his pocket and staring at it. His fingers tightened around it. He'd promised to give it back, and he never broke his promises. Fullmetal was a precious subordinate to him, as important as Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Fuery, or Falman. He wasn't going to let the younger alchemist down. He couldn't.

If you're in trouble, Fullmetal, we'll find you. This I swear to you.

Word Count: 7,193

A/N: Yeah, so, the "front desk" for a sailor is actually called a "Quarterdeck". We call the mess hall or canteen a "galley." Fun facts of the day?

You know what else is strange about Fullmetal Alchemist? The ranking system. It starts out with 'Private', which in an enlisted rate, and then climbs up to the General ranks, which are officer ranks. It doesn't work like that! It's so weird!

I've got so many stories in my head right now. There's this one, there's a one shot PWP and its sequel in my head, there's a FMA/HP crossover I'm thinking of, there's one with a school setting, and of course there's all my old stuff that I really don't want to leave abandoned. I'm still toying with rewriting my female!Ed trilogy.

I think I bit off more than I could chew with Magical Alliance, no joke. There're simply so many characters to keep up with.

On another note, I suppose the reason I'm so lax with writing is that I'm insecure. I think that's normal. I guess it's because I read so many other stories that are so amazing, with such beautiful prose, and I just can't match it. Still, I really love to write, and I really love sitting down with pen and paper and planning out a story, fleshing out a world, and getting it all just right. Please keep supporting me! Your kind words really help.