Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Russ?"

He didn't look at his brother. He wasn't actually looking at anyone. It was more an unfocused glare at the floor, left over from his bow as the general had taken leave.

Hakuro had come in and removed them from . . . access to Al, really. It wasn't as though he was purposefully trying to damage Alphonse. Presumably he'd done the same with Ed. He was trying to get Mustang's people – and alchemists – away from the Elrics, at least until the Parliament voted.

He was afraid. The question was why. What was he so afraid of.

First things first. Was everyone all right? No one had been threatened, but Winry Rockbell looked a little shaken –

She didn't seem hurt. She was hurrying over to the bedside, and Al was watching her. Without missing a beat, she knelt by his right hand, fishing under the mattress.

For her 'bionics.' To get Al's input.

Okay. Second thing would be . . . determine the problem.

Hakuro was afraid . . .they'd somehow stop the bomb test? Or the vote? The problem was the bomb.

Oh, but the problem was so much bigger. If it proved to be a huge success in the North – where they'd made little progress, even in the last four years – there would be a call for more of them. If Hakuro was actually elected, he could use that to pull funds from alchemists and give them to physicists.

Was this really about money, though? Or was it about saving lives?

Because if an Amestris physicist had made the bomb, like Havoc had said, then they could make another. If the test was stopped, if the bomb was stolen or destroyed –

Someone would eventually make another.

And no matter how observant they were, they could never actually prevent that kind of thing. If Amestris didn't do it, and one of their neighbors got hold of the idea or the specs the Research Department had already made -

So the problem wasn't the bomb. The problem was the concept itself. Even though it was obvious Hakuro was afraid they were going to sabotage the attempt, ultimately all it would do is buy them a few months.

So unless the Elric brothers could travel through time, this was over.

Okay. Main issue cannot be fixed. It must be accepted. They couldn't do anything about the bomb, at least not permanently.

Second problem – Al still couldn't move.

If they were really barred from caring for him at this point . . . but what could he try in one night? Even if Havoc disobeyed the order and let them stay, what could they do in one night that they hadn't been able to do in four days?

Why couldn't he move?

Russell finally glanced towards Fletcher, finding his brother sitting among their pretty piles of ingredients, staring at the various transmutation circles they'd designed. They had everything you could ever need to make another human body – they couldn't actually make him a new body, of course, once his soul left it and it ceased to be alive the process would become human transmutation, but frankly, all the healing alchemic arts were already pushing that envelope . . .

So long as the tissue was alive before the process was begun, and there was a mind and soul in the body, it was just really, really complicated molecular reconstruction. No different than manipulating a living plant. The same systems. Vascular, to carry liquids. Muscular, to support the cells and stature. Skeletal, like the cell walls themselves.

Humans weren't so different from plants.

Only they were. Plants didn't have souls you could accidentally dislodge as you forced new matter to occupy the place of the old. No one really knew how the soul was affixed to the body. It wasn't like Edward could come in here and rip off Al's head and draw a blood seal on the inside of his neck.

Human bodies didn't work that way.

Could they keep his body alive while he put his soul into something else? Or did he no longer have that ability? That would at least grant Alphonse the ability to briefly tell them what had happened, wouldn't it?

But if he couldn't move, could he perform alchemy?

Why hadn't they thought of it before?

But who was to say Al knew what the matter with him was?

At least he could tell them if he was in pain. The healing process shouldn't have hurt him. Maybe if he told them of something else he'd been exposed to. A poison, maybe, or some other kind of injury. Both he and Fletcher knew there was something wrong with him, something internal they couldn't pinpoint. Maybe it was really that simple.

"Al."

Winry had nearly finished placing the contraption on Al's hand again, and the young man's eyes flickered to his.

"Al, were you poisoned?"

He moved to shake his hand, and Winry tsked. "Hang on, almost done."

"Russell?"

He glanced again at Fletcher. "There's something wrong with his body, Fletcher. We've only got one more chance to fix it before . . . before the vote is in, at any rate." After all, what was their hurry? Even if Winry couldn't get Ed outfitted with the automail this evening, once the Parliament voted on the bomb test . . . it didn't really matter.

"Then again, I suppose there's no rush. Oy, I mean, other than to get Al better," he added quickly. "Havoc, I don't think we'll be able to help Mustang out. Even if we managed to stop the bomb test-"

The blonde lieutenant colonel was rubbing the back of his neck. "How tiring." He walked over to the phone and began dialing. "Still, give it a shot. Maybe there's something else he can tell us about the bomb that'll make things clearer."

"Al, do you think you can transmute?"

Winry withdrew her hands, and the odd, silver mechanical fingers were waved in a motion parallel with the surface of the bed.

No.

So much for transmuting a piece of his soul into something.

Then again, he wasn't sure those somethings could talk, but it stood to reason that they could, considering it had only been his soul in that armor all this time . .

"Were you poisoned?" Fletcher sounded almost hopeful. If they at least knew where to look –

Another lateral motion. No.

Then his mechanical fingers touched his metal thumb. They released, and touched it again. It wasn't fast enough to be a tap, but it was obvious what he was asking for.

A pencil.

Winry had already made the leap, handing him chalk and smoothing the sheets before placing a sheet of paper over them.

"Where's Ed's automail?"

"In the floor," he responded, then it occurred to him that she probably wanted it at some point. "Winry, if it's going to hurt him, you shouldn't put it on him tonight. I don't think there's anything we can do-"

"I can't get the port and leg on by tomorrow morning, anyway," she interrupted him softly, watching Al's imprecise marks slowly appear on the paper. "Even if I gave him the arm, he couldn't go anywhere. Not without crutches, or someone carrying him."

Havoc began a quiet conversation, and Russell ignored it. Al was definitely trying to tell them something. From this angle, it looked sort of like he was drawing a bisected tree trunk, but only half of one. Obviously it was half a circle, but the inner line was too shaky to make out –

Half a transmutation circle?

Fletcher moved in, staring with fascination at the circle. "Okay, Al, I get it," he said suddenly. "It's a multi-cornered circle. How many?"

Al apparently wrote a number, and Fletcher frowned. "I can't make out any of the internal symbols. Can you draw a few, bigger?"

Al waved his hand, and Winry replaced the sheet of paper. They had more than enough ingredients to make as many as necessary, though he didn't figure it was going to take the man reams to draw out the circle he'd apparently used in his transmutation to get home.

Al drew three symbols, then set down the chalk. But all three of them were oddly swirled, not the precise lines he'd expected. He couldn't make out a single one. Fletcher didn't have any luck, either, because he held the sheet of paper in front of Al's face.

"Al, did you draw these right?" he asked. Tact was not one of his strong points, but the frustration Al was so clearly feeling was deeply bothering him. They'd always been closer than he and Ed, probably because of the circumstances of their meeting. It only made sense they'd slip into the same camaraderie now.

They'd both just been boys. Only kids.

They'd all only been kids.

Really, really smart kids. How could they, even with Red Stone, have not been able to fix Al? And why had it taken so much of the Red Stone just to heal the damage from two bulletwounds? Originally he'd thought it was because of the massive blood loss and tissue damage, and it had been extensive, but even after that, there'd been something . . . off. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

Al shook his hand all over.

Okay, so the right symbols, but they didn't recognize them. Al waved his hand again, and Winry gave him another sheet of paper.

This time, he drew a single symbol, and it was one he knew well. All alchemists did, even those just starting their training.

There were three steps in alchemy. Understanding, decomposition, and recomposition. They were all represented in the beginning texts as separate, single characters.

He had drawn the second one.

But apparently it wasn't that simple, if he'd drawn out those other three symbols . . .

The only alchemists he could be sure would recognize them in the immediate area were Ed and Mustang. And since they couldn't bring Ed into the room –

"Lieutenant colonel?"

Jean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Apparently he was listening to the voice on the other end.

"Get Major General Mustang here as soon as possible." If for any reason this had something to do with the Philosopher's Stone, it was possible Roy Mustang would know. He had the dubious reputation of being the most knowledgeable alchemist still living that knew the details of the transmutation of the famed Philosopher's Stone that had apparently been created when Lior had been invaded.

He might recognize these symbols from his time with the Elric brothers, before Ed had vanished.

Once Winry left the room, she couldn't come back. None of them could. But Havoc could probably walk back and forth all night . . .

The lieutenant colonel hung up the phone, then made a face. "He'll be here when he can."

Good enough. They had all night. "I know it isn't your job, but can you show these pieces of paper to Ed? He might know what Al's trying to tell us." If nothing else, Ed might be able to guess how it was that they returned to this world with these symbols . . . even if he didn't remember.

Jean nodded slowly, but was frowning. "Do you really want to wind him up? If it's something serious and he can't be part . . ."

Good point. They could always wait and see what the Flame Alchemist thought before bringing Ed into this.

Winry was sitting beside Al, resting one hand on his blanketed knee, and as he watched, it curled into a fist.

"We can't do that to Edward right now," she told them softly. "He . . . he . . . needs to be a part of things. He's been trying to remember." She fell quiet for a moment, and when she looked up again, her expression was thoughtful. "You hid my automail in the floor, right?"

Oh, he needed to get that out. He was reaching for a piece of chalk when she stopped him.

"So there's no more scrap metal in here."

"It's all in the floor too."

"And the cart I was using to haul it in here?"

What was she getting at? "It's across the hall."

"I have an idea, but . . . Mr. Havoc, I'll need your help."

- x -

His eyes snapped open as something heavy collided with the outside of his door, and bright light flooded the room as it was shoved unceremoniously ajar. Blearily, he realized he'd been asleep, and he thoughtlessly reached up to rub his face –

Stabbing, dull pains reminded him he couldn't use his right arm anymore. Not yet, at any rate. Besides, he didn't need to rub his eyes to figure out who would have entered so rudely.

It meant she'd reconsidered installing his arm tonight.

It meant something was wrong.

"Winry?"

She hurried in, looking none the worse for wear from her encounter with Hakuro's man. Yet still, just the memory of it sent a cold band of iron through his blood, and all thoughts of his own weariness evaporated like ether.

I won't forgive you for that, either, Hakuro.

Even if the threat was silent. Even if Winry hadn't picked it up, he had. And Hakuro had known he would.

Stay out of the general's way, or something terrible could happen to Winry Rockbell.

As if he'd allow something like that to happen to her.

She didn't answer him, just flipped on the light and approached the bed. Winry was clearly anxious, but also oddly – businesslike. She took in his probably dark expression without comment. Now that the door had been thrown open, he could hear the sounds of something heavy, on wheels, trundling down the hallway towards them. Was it somehow related to his automail? Was she really going to reattach his arm? How had she hidden it from the general?

But hadn't she said that the Tringums were treating Al? Maybe they'd helped her hide it. And that was terribly ironic. He'd have to tell Russell that he'd returned the favor and become the famous Dr. Russell Tringham on the other side of the Gate. The younger man would probably get a kick out of it.

Hmm. He'd have to ask him, too, if he'd been using the Elric name during his absence. Probably not, since the rumors of his disappearance would have made it difficult to do so without making a huge fuss. Clearly Hakuro had known he'd returned four years ago, during the Thule Invasion, so at least the highest military echelon knew he'd turned up.

Then again, that only made sense. How else would they secure Central against another invading force like the Thules if they hadn't been privy to the details on how it had arrived in the first place?

If that was the case, it probably wouldn't have been a good idea to pull out the Elric name. It was likely to end him up in a prison cell. Which is apparently what had happened the last time -

"How heavy did you make this automail?" he muttered, when she pulled the blanket off him. He was wearing nothing more than the light blue cotton shorts given patients in hospitals, but the only other person currently walking into the room was Havoc, so he didn't really mind.

He had so much dirt on that guy, it wasn't even funny. That they'd behave that way around a thirteen year old! Aunt Pinako would have had them scrubbing the floors with their tongues if she had known half the things Mustang's troops had taught him in the few years he'd served in the military.

Jean, however, was apparently quite surprised at the familiarity with which Winry moved around him. He blinked, then slowly turned red.

"The cart's not for the automail, blockhead," she said simply, untucking the bottom sheet around the bed. "It's for you."

"What kind of girl are you?" Havoc murmured from the doorway, as she carelessly threw the corner of the bedsheet over Ed's leg.

Ed gave her a quizzical look. "Oy, Winry?"

"We're taking you to Al's room."

In a cart?

"What happened? Is he alright?"

Hakuro had just been there.

"Winry!" If Hakuro had done anything to Al -

The woman finally stopped bustling, looking straight into his face. Her cheeks were burning, a sure sign that she was feeling guilty about something. "Al drew some symbols, they have something to do with why he . . . why he can't really move, Ed." She averted her gaze, further giving herself away. "There's something wrong with him. Something besides the bullet wounds."

She'd known that all this time. The hours they spent not talking while she'd worked on the port -

He sat up on his own, ignoring the sharp pain across the right side of his chest. It was deep. He didn't remember it hurting down to his lungs the last time, but then again, he'd been a little kid. Something about that pain made his chest want to crawl away from the port, but he wasn't giving it much thought. As little as it was, in comparison to what he remembered feeling in the hallway, it was still exhausting him. That pain . . . he'd never felt anything like it. Hawkeye had been kneeling over him, holding his face and speaking, and he literally couldn't hear her, because it hurt so overwhelmingly -

Winry'd at least told him what she thought had happened to the previous automail. Her theory, and that brief span of time he'd been conscious to experience it - he was probably better off not remembering.

But at the same time, he couldn't remember how they got here. Where they found the bomb, the years he and Al had finally been . . . together. Al in his real body. Four years of his life were simply – gone.

What if they'd studied more alchemy? What if they'd tried something they'd discovered in those four years to get back, and he didn't know what the symbols meant?

Then he'd just have to figure them out.

"Is he-"

"He's fine, Ed," Havoc jumped in from the doorjamb. "He's . . . well, he's not fine, but he's not in pain. The rush is because-"

"Of Hakuro." He heard the growl in his voice, and he tempered it with effort. Which would probably actually freak Havoc out, considering as a child he'd never bothered to hide his emotions. "And the bomb. I heard. He wants to test it, become the Prime Minister, and eliminate National Alchemists from practicing in the military."

Havoc looked slightly surprised. "More than I heard, anyway," he muttered. "You don't remember what happened, so only Alphonse was held per the military investigation. He can't have visitors, so-"

"So you're going in the cart instead of slag metal," Winry finished. "Since your title is Fullmetal, I thought it would be appropriate."

He glared at Winry halfheartedly, but wiped it off his face when she came to the left side of the bed, and gently lifted his arm.

"Let me pull your weight up, Ed, or you'll hurt your leg," she murmured, tucking her head beneath his arm. Despite her build, he knew she was strong. She'd been a strong little girl, and a strong teenager.

Now she was a woman. She was twenty-one, and she was grown. Her frame was still slight, but her muscles were like . . . well, like automail. She had him heaved off the bed entirely before he could get his right foot on the floor.

Clearly Havoc was impressed, because he didn't say anything even bordering on inappropriate, he just moved to help.

He'd probably already hit on her and gotten beaten in the head with something.

Ed clenched his jaw as they shifted him, and he rotated himself on his heel to sit on the edge of the large, dumpster-like cart they'd secured. The remnants of his left leg felt . . . cold. Waving it around in the air pulled on it in a way he hadn't felt in such a long time, and it was getting harder to push those memories away.

"Get the sheet off the bed, so he has something clean to lay on," Winry instructed, and Havoc immediately obeyed. As soon as he'd laid it out, she gave Ed a lopsided smile.

"Sorry about this."

Then she abruptly leaned down, and yanked his right leg up into the air.

He tumbled backwards, landing hard square on his back in the cart. Pain reverberated through his angry right shoulder, and for a second, he was too surprised to say anything. She'd probably done it because the sides were high and she didn't want him hitting his unprotected leg stump, but couldn't she have given him some warning –

She leaned over the edge of the cart, and her face was shadowed, and so reminiscent of sensei's that he literally fought the urge to cringe back into the bottom of the cart.

"If you even think of sacrificing yourself to make Al better, I will come through that Gate to get you," she seethed. "And when I get ahold of you, automail will be the least of your concerns! You came back here, you came home. You're not leaving again, and neither is he. Got it?"

Not even waiting for a response, she tossed some hard, stained canvas on top of him, and the cart began to trundle away.

Ed was quiet for a long moment, letting his right shoulder calm from the sudden impact it had received. It was nothing like what it might have been if she hadn't installed the port – the nerves themselves were completely oblivious to the impact. It was the bone and muscle she'd attached the port to that were having the problem with the rough treatment.

And she yelled at him for not being careful! These wounds were going to get infected from that –

The cart was hot, and smelled of copper strongly. It reminded him of blood, and he used his left arm to push himself away from the sides, shifting awkwardly. In the end, he was able to get his back a little flatter on the bottom, and by folding his right leg where his left ought to have been, he ended up laying pretty straight. It had been a long time since he'd been without both limbs, not since –

Not since his father had replaced them.

He'd done a good job, considering the tools and limited knowledge of the country. Actually, that wasn't fair; they had flying machines, liquid fueled rockets capable of shooting past the atmosphere of the planet. But the finer points of automail had been completely lost, as had the powerful springs, the suspension system, the nerve connections –

Again, a piece of ice stabbed into his chest, and Ed took a deep, steadying breath. It had been hard, not giving it away to Winry. Something about the idea of that port going back on bothered him. And even if the military on Earth had done what she thought they'd done, why would he . . . why would it bother him, if he couldn't remember?

But she'd been very careful. Very professional. He'd asked about Aunt Pinako, about the town, what had happened since he'd left, and she'd made as much small talk as could be made during the procedure. She hadn't held herself away from him, either. It was just like she'd been when he'd landed, when the rocket Alfonse had built had smashed apart, and he'd tried to get up.

Winry was really an automail mechanic. She'd moved on. She'd stopped waiting for him, as proven by the fact that she'd had to make new limbs for him.

She hadn't expected him to come back.

He closed his eyes, relaxing his neck and letting the jostling of the cart rock him freely. Coming back now . . . what sort of life was she leading, before their arrival had turned it upside down again? He'd left her without a goodbye, hadn't had a chance, but then again, he'd left her before like that. Every time, without a goodbye, without a call or a gift, and every time walking back in and expecting her to drop everything.

He hadn't . . .meant to do that to her, had he? Had they been trying to come back? He knew when he left that he'd been focused on closing the gate Eckhart had opened, and after that the bomb, but –

He hadn't figured he ever could come back. Not without risking Amestris. Not without help from the homunculus, without help from someone from here. Al had opened the Gate from this side, and it had been his father's blood that had triggered the alchemic reaction on Earth –

But wouldn't any life? It didn't have to be the blood of an alchemist, did it?

They couldn't have transmuted the Philosopher's Stone on Earth, could they have? He still remembered the horrors lurking in the future of Europe, of that entire world . . . the fields of gas, and touch-sensitive bombs –

Had there been another war? Was that how they came back? Drawing their circle on the blood and death of others?

Ed squeezed his eyes shut tightly, taking slow, deep breaths. Could he not remember because it had been . . . something horrible? What if the Gate hadn't taken his memories? What if he'd chosen to forget them?

No. Al wouldn't have let them do that. Surely they wouldn't have been desperate enough to do that –

The cart shuddered around a corner, and he could dimly hear words.

"Ah, you thought you'd try your luck one more time, Miss Rockbell?"

"You know we can't let you pass . . ."

She laughed; the sound was oddly high-pitched. "Oh! The general spoke to you?"

"I'm really sorry, ma'am, but you need to turn in your security badge. Maybe when they come out you can catch them at home."

Ed lay quite still beneath the canvas, trying not to breathe too much for fear they'd see the wrinkled canvas moving up and down. General Hakuro had taken away Winry's visiting privileges? If they looked in the cart-

"Oh, don't be so uptight," Jean drawled. "The patient is out for the night, it isn't like she's going to overhear anything she shouldn't. Let her get one more batch done."

"Please, just this once?" Winry was really turning it on for them. He'd never heard her sound so . . . so much like a girl in his life. "You just have no idea how convenient it is! And Ed won't need his new arm until tomorrow, so I thought I'd start on another one of my customers!"

. . . what on earth was she talking about? What had she been hauling in this cart? Hadn't she said slag metal?

"But . . ." The voice seemed to be debating it. "Lieutenant Colonel, you understand. It came from the general himself-"

"And the general is already at home, because he can't interview the patient in this ward," Havoc reminded the guard.

There was a brief silence, in which Ed expected Winry was doing her wide-eyed look. Assuming she still had one of those.

"Well . . . once more wouldn't hurt, I suppose."

A pregnant pause.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," the other voice finally agreed. "Don't tire those alchemists out too much. They're supposed to be packing up their things."

"Oy, alchemists are lazy though, aren't they?" Havoc murmured, now on the opposite side of the cart. "They get all these privileges, and I've watched them playing with chalk and drawing pictures for three days. I could have been watching my sister's kids instead."

More laughs, then a much softer "Lieutenant Colonel, do you know why General Hakuro was here?"

The cart continued forward, apparently now being pushed only by Winry, as Havoc stayed behind to give the soldiers the latest gossip. And probably take a cigarette break. The soldier's voices got further and further away until they were lost beneath the rumbling wooden wheels, and still she pushed him. He was about to tap on the side of the cart and ask where they were going when the cart came to a stop, and the canvas was withdrawn.

"Winry-"

"Shh." She glanced over her shoulder. "The general took my military pass, so it's only luck that got us back in."

She disappeared briefly, then the cart was yanked to the side, and a familiar, albeit much older and less round, face appeared over the lip of it.

"Hi, Ed!" the young man stage-whispered, waving enthusiastically. "Sorry I didn't come visit, we were busy."

Not that he would have remembered if the younger of the Tringum brothers had visited, considering he'd apparently been sedated since the surgery –

The cart was pulled into a room that sounded a great deal bigger than his, and soon another familiar face appeared over the edge.

"Geez, Winry. Did you just dump him in here?" Russell gave him a once-over, critically, then rubbed his chin. "I'm surprised he fit so well . . ."

Ed blinked, cocking his head to the side in disbelief. Any thoughts that he was uncomfortable with what he was – or wasn't – wearing ground to a screeching halt. "Who's so small they can fit in the bottom of a thimble ? !"

Fletcher's face shrank away from the edge. "He didn't say that-"

"Yep. Same Edward Elric." Russell Tringum extended his hand into the cart. "Good to see you again, Full Metal."

Ed glowered at the man before accepting the outstretched hand, and once he was hauled up enough to get his right leg under him, he stood, leaning against the inside of the cart. Russell left the cart to go get something – privately he hoped it was a spare pair of pants – and Ed took a look around.

The room was huge. And bright. It had obviously been meant for a patient with a lot of extra equipment, and more than half of that space was taken up by tables of ingredients, chalk, half-sketched drawings, and a bed.

Al.

Al was laying quite still, flat on his back. He was – he was so much older. Winry had warned him that Al seemed to have aged more than she remembered, but he was . . . was years too old. So much older than the literally kid brother he'd left struggling frantically in Roy Mustang's arms.

He was going to have to have a talk with Mustang at some point. Letting Al come back on that rocket –

"Al!"

Al's eyes swiveled in his direction, and immediately closed. When they opened again, they were a cross between reproachful, relieved, and something else that Ed couldn't recognize without the rest of a facial expression.

Of course. His arm. If they'd come back together, then Al knew what had happened to him. In fact, if that pain was any indication of how he'd been feeling just prior to arriving, it was probable Al had done the transmutation by himself. Ed wasn't sure he could have put in the necessary concentration or control required to do anything related to alchemy in that state.

Had this been a rescue mission? Had they had literally no other place to run?

"He can't really move or talk," Russell noted in a quiet voice, coming back to stand directly beside him. "But he's still in there. We were initially treating him for the bullet wounds, but there's something else not quite right." The man offered him something – not the wished-for clothes. Instead, he held out a couple pieces of paper.

"What do you make of these?"

Ed took them from Russell, tearing his gaze off his brother and leaning his right hip on the cart to keep himself from falling over. The first picture was a poorly drawn transmutation circle border, with several jagged lines for the inner curve. Beside it was a great-than sign.

No.

A seven.

The jagged line was meant to show the corners.

Al had drawn a seven-pointed transmutation circle?

But . . . why would he have done that when he knew what it was for –

Ed folded it behind his middle finger and offered the bent edge to Russell, who figured out that Ed couldn't handle both at the same time, and took it from him. Then Ed looked over the next one.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he realized he'd stopped breathing.

"We didn't recognize those," Russell was saying, "but all the work you did with the Ishbal people made me think it was the Great Art –"

And he would be right.

Those three symbols made up the center of the design Scar had had on his brother's arm.

"I think they're related to deconstruction, because that was the fourth symbol he gave us," Russell finished. He was looking at Edward quite hard, but Ed ignored him.

A decomposition.

And a seven-pointed transmutation circle.

What in the world had they been doing . . . ?

He locked eyes with Al again.

"Did this have to do with the bomb?"

Al didn't say anything, but his right hand, the only one visible, twitched. It was encased in some kind of metal . . . thing, that screamed of Winry's handywork. The uncoordinated twitches somehow translated into a waggling of a series of metal finger-like things.

"That means yes."

So he'd been trying to decompose the bomb. But why the seven corners –

In case he failed. He was going to try to send it back through the Gate.

But one took so much more energy than the other! If he had somehow powered an alchemic reaction capable of calling the Gate, then he could have deconstructed something with ten times the mass!

"Al, how did we power this?" They were both still alive, so clearly they hadn't traded their lives at the Gate to get through. Winry had said that Al had been shot, and his blood would have been worth something, but not nearly enough –

"Did someone . . . die for this?"

Al stared at him a long time. Then, the faintest twitch.

Ed closed his eyes.

So someone had died, near the circle, but if that was true, why hadn't Al successfully decomposed the bomb? Why had it ended up coming through the Gate, intact?

And why had they?

Ed opened his eyes again, watching his brother. "How many, Al?"

Al didn't respond, other than to blink, and finally look away.

Many. Many had died so they could do this.

"I don't understand," Fletcher interrupted, a little hesitantly, moving closer to the cart. "What are those symbols?"

"Destruction," Ed heard himself say evenly, but he couldn't look at Fletcher. All he could do was stare at Al.

They had sacrificed people to do this? Or had those people been dying anyway? Was that why Al had gotten shot? If those deaths had paid for their trip through the Gate, then why couldn't he remember?

"So he was trying to decompose the bomb, and then . . . something went wrong . . ." Russell mused aloud. Then he made a choked noise. At the same time, Fletcher's eyes widened.

The two Tringums stared at each other in horror, and Ed blinked, then went over the facts again in his head.

Al was trying to decompose the uranium bomb.

Al had used a seven-cornered circle, to get the thing to the Gate if for some reason he couldn't decompose it.

Many died to power the reaction.

If he had access to that power, he would have completed the decomposition.

So he was stopped. And he'd already considered the possibility of being stopped when he'd drawn the circle. Maybe because he was shot during the reaction, or because he was so badly wounded . . .

He was trying a decomposition and he stopped because of injury. Whether he was shot before or during the transmutation. Meaning he fell unconscious, or was too weak to continue.

And he could have fallen forward. Onto the circle.

That was why they went through the Gate with the bomb.

Al had fallen into his own decomposition transmutation.

And maybe so had he. That was the only reason he'd have been taken through the Gate. If he himself had been too close to that circle when an alchemic reaction of that magnitude started.

But if Al had fallen into the circle before they reached the Gate, then he would have died. There would have been evidence that he'd decomposed part of himself. It wouldn't have been a surprise, there'd have been a huge chunk of Al missing.

No, that wasn't true. He was trying a decomposition on a device of iron, silicone, uranium, water, lithium, sodium, mercury, lead, and a few other base metals. Therefore, those would have been the only things that he ended up pulling out of himself.

Al's body was missing those elements, or at least parts of those elements. It depended how far he got before he lost consciousness and they were taken to the Gate.

Ed's eyes widened. Had Al . . . planned that? Had Al drawn the seven-pointed circle, not because he knew there were going to be people dying, but because he thought he was going to? Had he meant to power that reaction with his own death?

"That's it!" Fletcher was staring at the tables of ingredients, and he immediately started grabbing things. Carbon. Sodium. Iron. Lithium.

Russell had obviously come to the same conclusion. "All necessary for motor function," he murmured. "That's exactly it."

"What's it?" Winry's voice was fairly calm, but there was an edge to it. "What was he trying to say?"

"He accidentally fell into his own circle," Ed said flatly. "He transmuted a part of his body away by mistake."

Al's eyes were still closed, and his hand was still.

Oh, Al . . .

"Guys, wait."

They all turned to look at Winry, who was frozen by Al's side. Her eyes were shifting, but it was clear she wasn't really looking at any of them. "If he accidentally transmuted part of his . . . of his body away, wouldn't . . . he have died?"

Russell glanced at Ed, then answered. "He didn't lose it in a localized area, Winry. He probably didn't get far enough to do that, because the bomb was fine. We're probably lucky he didn't set it off when he got interrupted." That was probably true. "What's missing is probably no more than an ounce or two of base minerals and metals."

"And we probably replaced some without even knowing, when we used the Red Stone," Fletcher added thoughtfully. "We didn't think to use any other materials besides iron, carbon, sodium, and sugar to replace his blood, so the Red Stones went directly into his body as ingredients."

Russell just shook his head. "And we didn't even notice. I'm sorry, Al."

Al opened his eyes again, and twitched his hand.

No.

Don't be sorry.

"You saved his life," Ed said quietly, eying the lip of the cart. "Don't apologize for something like that."

Ed balanced his right hip on the edge of the lip, reaching around behind him to place his hand on the edge. From there, he swung his damaged leg over the side, straddling the edge carefully. Then he whipped his right leg over the side, catching himself just before he would have pulled the cart on top of himself.

"Ed, be careful!"

He kept the hand on the cart, glancing around the room. "Winry, can I ask you to move those tables? We need to draw a bigger circle-"

Russell was way ahead of him. "You're right. And we need to get Al out of that bed, it'll only make things harder. Fletcher, can you help me –"

It seemed only a few minutes before the bed had been shoved against the far wall, and Al – similarly clad, much to Ed's relief – had been laid out in the center of the newly drawn transmutation circle. This one was only five-cornered, and filled with an interesting variety of symbols. Ed looked over it critically from the pile of blankets Winry had made him sit on.

"Oh, I see. You need the third inner ring to focus the surface –"

Fletcher just nodded, brushing off his hand from stray chalk dust. "He's not a plant, so I figured we needed to put in the extra safeguards to protect the parts of his body that we're not going to infuse."

"You up for this?" he heard Russell ask quietly. "We've been working for a while now. If you're tired, we can wait a few hours-"

"I'm good."

It was hard to believe these brothers were –

Were grown. Like Al and him. They weren't kids. Fletcher was actually taller than Russell, just barely, and he was a man.

So much time had passed –

"Ed?"

Winry was kneeling well away from the circle, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Ed, are you sure-"

He just nodded, cutting her off. "It's not the same, Winry. We're not replacing flesh and bone. Alchemy can't do that. We're just modifying what's already there."

She nodded. "But, what about . . . Al, he said that his soul comes away . . . from his body easily. That that's why he can put it into things for short amounts of time."

Edward paused. That was true; Al had the ability to transmute pieces of his soul into armor. Al had so transmuted a piece of his soul that had passed through the Gate. Presumably twice, since he'd remembered what he'd seen on the other side.

How had he . . . paid for that trip? Had he lost, literally, a scrap of his soul?

Russell caught his eye; the man looked suddenly unsure. "We've never done this to this extent, Ed. Not to a person. There is a risk . . ."

Al's right hand began to twitch, but they'd removed Winry's device, and it was impossible to tell if he was telling them yes or no.

Had Al explained the technique to him in the four years he'd forgotten? Was it perfectly safe to do this, or would they be risking accidentally detaching Al's already 'loose' soul?

"I have," Ed replied, leaning forward on his pile of blankets. He could just reach, but he used his arm to pull himself a little more forward. "I've affixed Al's soul to his body once before. I'll keep an eye on it while you two handle the infusion."

Al's hand continued to twitch, and there were tears in his eyes.

Ed looked up at Russell, and knew that he'd seen them too. He grinned at the other alchemist. "It's fine. I should probably do this alone."

"Don't be an idiot," Fletcher snapped acidly, causing Ed to gape at him. "You're probably more exhausted than we are. And you've never worked with living tissue, excepting full human transmutations. And this isn't going to be one."

"He's right," Russell added. "I accept that you're good, Full Metal, but this is bordering on stupid. You need all the help you can get."

He kept the grin on his face easily. "I know." He could probably immediately offer up his life to the Gate, on the off chance something happened. He could protect them even if things went wrong. But were the Tringums really this good?

They'd made so much progress on the Red Stone. There was no doubt they were smarter than your average alchemists.

"I trust them, Al," he told his brother, quietly. "You brought me here, and got me help. Let me do the same."

Al's hand fell still a moment.

"I'm not going to let you spend the rest of your life like this," he continued. "Russell, Fletcher, we won't think any worse of you if you don't want to risk it."

"We gave you our answer," Fletcher responded, without even pausing.

"Besides, I'm under orders," Russell continued. "Dog of the military and all that."

Ed blinked, then grinned wider. "You sat for the exam?"

"I did. You're talking to the Winding Tree Alchemist."

Ed turned that over in his mind, then laughed softly. "That's a fitting title."

"So if two National Alchemists, one alchemist too smart to go national, and one superb automail mechanic want to fix you, you don't have much choice," Fletcher told Al. "We won't screw up."

Al's fingers were trembling, but Ed wasn't sure it was trying to indicate anything. He just made eye contact with the other alchemists. Working on a transmutation together, without practice, was going to be a little difficult, but they'd manage. The Tringums had been doing it all along, just like he and Al had. He'd stay out of their way, keep an eye on Al's soul, and they'd be fine.

If nothing else, he did know how to re-affix Al's soul.

And he would. Even if Winry really did come to the Gate to kick his ass.

Al hadn't saved him so he could die, or be trapped in something worse than armor for the rest of his life.

"Remember, Al, we still have to deal with that bomb," he reminded his brother.

"Wait." Winry's voice was small.

"It'll just take a few minutes, Winry," Ed reassured her, over his shoulder. "It'll be a little longer than the doll. You'll see."

The three met each other's gazes, took deep breaths, and pressed their hands to the circle.

A deep, greenish-blue glow slowly filled the room. It felt warm, and pulsed in a way he hadn't felt in quite some time.

It wasn't the crazed pulse he was accustomed to feeling, either, when he was trying to create living tissue, or to modify it. It was soothingly placid, and steady.

It was like a heartbeat, the beat of something so much larger than he could possibly fathom.

Did the Tringums know where this power came from? That other hearts had stopped, so they could feel this pulse?

Did they need to?

He'd spent the last few years regretting every convenient, lazy act of transmutation he'd ever performed, any transmutation that hadn't been completely necessary, because he had wasted those lives. Unknowingly, uncaringly spent the last moments of someone's life on his whim.

And Marcoh, Shou Tucker, they'd known, and still used it carelessly. Thoughtlessly.

Alchemists were disgusting creatures.

No, he decided. It was better they didn't know. They were already so close to that truth anyway, with their own research. It was enough they knew what the Red Stone they'd used was made of. If they knew every time they performed alchemy it was powered by human death –

He pulled his mind away from his guilt, focusing on what they were doing. He could feel the waves of concentration emanating from them, washing over Al. The waves were penetrating his skin, which was intact, pushing lower into the more base molecules. The ingredients they'd placed in the circle began to glow, and he felt the first few traces of sodium, iron, and lithium flood into Al.

His brother's eyes widened, but it didn't seem to be hurting him. They moved up, from his feet to his legs, then through his thighs directly into his abdomen. They'd put exactly how much they thought they'd need in the circle, and the guesstimate looked like it was going to come out exactly right.

Al gasped, and his right hand clenched into a fist.

Ed focused, reaching out for that almost liquid-feeling thing that was the human soul. It was there, safely contained, flowing in the confines of Al's body. The safeguards Fletcher had drawn into the circle were preventing them from affecting the surface of Al's body, and they were moving quickly but carefully, sure to finish patching one cell at a time.

The infusion flooded into Al's spine, and he stiffened within the circle.

No - too fast. They were moving too fast -

Quite suddenly, the pulse was gone. The circle was gone.

The room was gone.

Ed found himself standing.

Standing on his own two feet.

Two very bare feet. He knew that because he was staring at them. He wiggled his toes, but he didn't feel cold, or hot.

He didn't feel anything at all.

"When I told you my soul detached easily, I was serious," Al said, somewhat accusatorily. The voice was right beside him.

But it wasn't just the two of them, this time. They weren't alone. "That's –"

Ed closed his eyes, recognizing both the place and the voice simultaneously. They could go back if the price was paid. Nothing had to happen to the Tringums.

And if one limb was enough to buy one trip, and for some reason he had all four . . .

Ed stepped forward. There was the light brushing sound of someone following him, and he extended his right arm – his flesh and blood right arm – and barred their way.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch it in time."

The deep, earthy sound of the rocky gates pulling open echoed across the expanse of dim, golden light, and Ed opened his eyes to see the black arms of the denizens of the Gate reaching out for him.

- x -

Author's Notes: Ahahaha! Now that I've tortured you with the longest one-shot in history, I will further torture you with a cliffhanger! The next chapter will cover Gate physics, Gate logic, all the Gate incongruities the movie produced, and probably a little humor. I expect two more chapters after this one, maybe three, but it's coming to a close! Whew.

This chapter is really long, because I'm an overwriter, and there was a lot to tell. I looked through and found all kinds of things (like more instead of move, for example. If Al wasn't moring, we'd have a problem.) so I'm sure I only caught half. I'm sorry about that! Thank you guys for your plot suggestions - I will cover as many of them as possible! And thank you all for the reviews and the kind words!