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

- x -

Damn.

There was no way out.

He kept his arms extended, half to prevent the soldiers from opening fire, half to prevent the prisoners from rushing the guard. They'd be cut down; another several corporals had appeared from thin air, and behind them he could see Albrecht's blood-streaked face.

Damn!

"The reason we use these," the voice was much more nasal than usual, "is so good doctors like yourself don't have to die to prove your work."

He bared his teeth. He knew he had to look a sight, with half his braid undone and in his face, his shirt and vest spattered with blood. Half of it was the speaker's; the other half had been donated by three or four other enlisted men that hadn't managed to get back up. Currently, his bravado was enough to stay their fire, but that wasn't going to last forever.

There was no escape behind them. He knew they were below ground level, and while he'd never seen this section of the complex, he knew the layout of the structure above. They were about fifty yards down the east wall, probably near the generators and the large exhaust pipes -

Ed cursed softly.

The exhaust pipes.

God, he was such an idiot.

"Tringham." Captain Albrecht was losing patience. "You don't belong in there."

"These are German citizens!" His voice was shaking with rage. "Where else would I belong!?"

"Somebody go find Dr. Klein," he heard the man mutter. "Tell him Tringham's snapped."

The sobbing behind him was growing louder, and he dared to turn his head slightly. "I won't let them hurt you," he said in a low voice. "Please stay calm."

"They are not Germans!" Albrecht sounded disgusted. "Look at them, doctor! Look at their skin, their eyes! They are inferior to you in every way!"

"I am looking," he shot back, staring down the soldiers. "And it's not your skin that makes you inferior!" He took a step forward, relieved to see the first line of soldiers fall a step back. If he could get them out of the doorway, the gypsies behind him would at least have a fighting chance. "These experiments stop now, Captain!"

Rupert's eyes, already narrowed by the swelling around his broken nose, flashed at the order. "My apologies, Dr. Tringham," he wheezed through his ruptured septum. "But unless I'm mistaken, I can't stop an experiment until it's begun, can I."

Edward took another step forward, and this time the line of soldiers at the main door didn't give an inch. The hallway the cells opened into was very narrow; with his arms outstretched, he could actually touch both walls. There were six cells, all with the same sealing hatch, and tiny round glass observation windows. The cells themselves were completely empty save a drain in the middle of the floor and a three inch square ventilation grate in the wall.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were for. Or an alchemist.

Edward was certain the men and women behind him knew exactly what they were doing in that facility. While they'd no doubt been rounded up from the hills around Stuttgart, few of them actually seemed to speak German. He had identified one woman as speaking Polish but he didn't know the language well enough to respond. They wouldn't be able to follow directions, and they likely didn't understand what he was saying.

He wasn't going to be able to keep them calm forever.

The captain glared down the hallway, signaling for something, and behind Edward, one of the men yelled out something that sounded very much like a challenge. Did Albrecht intend to pump gas into all the cells, thereby flooding the hallway as well? Because they could just close the cell hatches –

"Last chance, doctor," the captain growled. "I won't even press assaul-"

With the softest grinding whisper of leather on concrete, one of the men behind Edward suddenly rushed forward.

Everything seemed to happen very quickly. Edward threw his right arm out higher, trying to keep it chest level with the Slavic man that was trying to rush the guard. One of the uniformed soldiers fired, and Ed barely flinched as he felt the shot ricochet off the automail. He didn't see where it ended up, but the force of it knocked his arm back into the gypsy, successfully stopping his charge.

It didn't stop all the people that had been spurred to action because of him.

There had been five people per cell, and six cells, making the hallway very crowded. Ed couldn't stop them all. He was pushed to the ground at a sudden flurry of bullets, and he reflexively curled in a ball as the prisoners began to panic. In no time the wave of over two dozen had passed over him, and Ed cautiously opened his eyes, peeking around the arm he'd protectively wrapped around his head.

He was on his side, staring directly into one of the cells. A whitish vapor was pouring out of the grate, falling swiftly towards the floor of the cell.

So Albrecht had ordered them to turn on the gas.

To incapacitate the prisoners, or to kill them? If the charge was successful, if the gypsies could prevent the soldiers from closing the hall door –

The main corridor door was a sealable hatch, just like the cell doors. It was the second line of defense, protecting the soldiers and the observing scientists from the gas if one of the gaskets around the cell doors began to leak. It was a thick door, and there had been about six men out there before the volley had been fired -

Ed scrambled to his feet, eyes going for the hallway door even as his body reached for the cell hatches. Many of the gypsies had been shot, and more injured. But a sizable number were now braced against the door, shoving with all their might as the German soldiers fought to close it from the opposite side. He couldn't tell who was winning, but he knew the prisoners would quickly lose strength when the gas started displacing air.

He gripped the cell hatch, swinging it closed with a resounding clang before taking a deep breath of the clean hall air. He was in the process of turning for the cell opposite him when the cries at the end of the hallway became more urgent, and he looked up in time to see a sloshing of clear liquid come through the gap between the half-closed hatch and the wall. The liquid landed more on the gypsies than it did the floor, but it was quickly followed with another -

And then the same whitish vapor began rising off the men and women themselves.

He knew it wasn't carbon monoxide. There was no liquid reagent.

That was sulphur dioxide.

There were no drains in the hallway corridor. No place for the reacting liquids to go.

"Hold your breath!" he bellowed, pulling the next cell door closed and taking his own advice. All the cells were filling with the same gas as the hallway, but he wasn't sure of the concentrations, whether it would be better to consolidate all the available air or keep the hallway separate.

Even if they had understood German, he wasn't sure they even heard him over the cries. He pulled all the doors shut he could, but he was unable to get to the two cells closest to the hallway door. The men and women that had been shot lay scattered on the floor, and those succumbing to the gas were tripping over them in their haste to get to the other end of the hallway. Some of the ones that had been coated with the liquids were trying to do the same, and their companions were actually striking them in an effort to keep them away.

This was his fault.

Eventually Ed had to take another breath.

It was astonishing how quickly the oxygen emptied out of his blood. A few deep breaths of the gas and he realized he would have been unconscious in thirty seconds or less. As it was, he just pressed himself against the wall, trying to stand as tall as possible, while the gas displaced air. A man no older than he was stumbled into reach, and Edward grabbed him, shoving him against the wall and holding him upright.

But he was already too far gone. Ed could see how glazed his eyes were, and his knees were buckling.

There was too much gas.

They were all going to suffocate.

The area around the hallway door had cleared somewhat as the gypsies had fled to the opposite end, which had been the intent of the Germans. With no one pushing against the hallway hatch, they'd managed to close and seal it. There was no mechanism to open it from the inside, and he could see a dim outline of someone watching through the observation window.

Time to give them something worth watching.

Ed hopped into the air to take his next breath, then walked towards the door, conserving what oxygen he'd managed to snag. When he reached the door, he raised his right fist and struck the glass, squarely.

Despite the added strength of the automail, he only managed to completely shatter the thick glass, without actually pushing it out of its frame. The second blow accomplished this, and he took advantage of the soldiers' surprise to stick his face in the round hole, greedily gulping air.

The sulphur dioxide was making his eyes water, but Ed clearly made out the guns, and he ducked out of the window, pressing his back to the hallway door. When one of the Lugers poked inside, he grabbed it, wrestling it away from the startled soldier before turning it around and firing blindly into the outer corridor. Once he'd scattered the guards, he took another deep breath, then took a step back, and aimed a kick at the door.

The observation window was too high for him; he wouldn't be able to reach through to the valve on the opposite side of the door, automail or not. The only other thing that would work quickly enough was destroying the gasket, the seal around the door.

But the people that were still able to move had seen that he'd broken the window.

Hands snaked out of nowhere, grabbing his uniform, his arms, his hair. Edward fought against them with everything he had. He didn't waste air with yelling; they wouldn't understand him anyway. Another kick and he'd have it, but if they rushed that window only a handful would continue to be able to breathe, and those would just get shot –

An elbow landed against his right temple, and before Ed realized it he was on his back, and he'd taken a breath. The cries of the gypsies began to get less distinct, and even the pistol reports were soft -

"Who gets shot but doesn't bleed?"

"It's cold inside!"

"Look at his fingers . . ."

Before he could stop himself, Edward opened his eyes.

Barely. He could barely slit them open. His body felt heavier than lead, he couldn't even swallow the burning sludge in his throat, couldn't shift his tongue. The light was blinding and shapes were blurred, and he could feel that his eyes were wet.

He'd only been out a few minutes, then.

They'd opened the doors.

Edward closed his eyes again, lest they realize he was conscious, and took slow, deep breaths. He knew he'd taken some damage from the gas itself besides oxygen deprivation, but if he was conscious this fast, it wasn't debilitating.

But what about the Slavs?

"You almost killed him!" The voice was the first familiar one, and it sounded like Klein. When had he gotten there? "Are you idiots? Russell's a genius! Barely over twenty, and-"

"He's a monster." The voice was nasal – Albrecht. "Look at his arm."

Ed resisted the urge to wince. The bullet. The bullet that had hit his automail would have ripped the rubber glove.

And the glass he shattered might have cut the rubber off his fingers as well.

"Look what he did to the door. That glass was two inches thick. And he nearly knocked it off the hinges."

There was a brief pause, and Edward took another deep breath. His body was becoming more responsive, his head clearer. He knew there had to be at least four people. The voices he'd heard when he'd first come around . . . they were silent now. Where were they? They had to be close. Another few minutes and he might have a chance –

"You said the prisoners were free . . ." Klein's voice was nearer, but doubting. "I'm certain they simply rushed the door-"

"Look inside the wound. It's not just that he's not bleeding." Albrecht sounded almost frightened. "It's metal inside."

He heard motion to his right, and the unmistakable sound of scissors.

So much for his cover. Of course, even if he'd succeeded in saving those people, he'd have given himself away. All he could do now was overpower the soldiers in whatever room he was in and try to get the bomb –

"Oh my god."

He took another breath, this one deep enough that his irritated lungs had had enough. He couldn't stop the reflexive cough.

"He's conscious!"

Damn.

Edward snapped his eyes open, swinging his right arm in a wide arc. He'd been right; their voices had placed them beside him and his sudden strike hit both Klein and Albrecht, albeit glancingly. He could see now that he'd just been dragged out into the main corridor, and they had been crouched down beside him.

Ed picked up his head, hurriedly scanning the hallway. There were three other soldiers, not two, only a few feet away. The first voices he'd heard. None had a weapon drawn.

He threw himself to his feet, intending to charge them, when the floor skittered out from beneath him. Startled, Ed tried to recover, but the wall wasn't where it looked like it should be. Before he even realized he was back on the ground, there was weight on his back, pressing the air from his lungs and making him choke.

"Shoot him!"

"No! Wait!"

Ed threw his head back, striking the man pinning him in the chin. The sudden shift disoriented him further, and before he could take advantage of the successful attack more weight shoved against him.

"Hold him-"

"Keep that arm pinned!"

"Corporal! Bring me that jar!"

He twisted beneath the soldiers, fighting to extend his automail arm. They were clinging pretty tenaciously to it, to the point he was starting to actually drag them off him. Something heavy struck the back of his head, and it was a long time before voices cut through the dull buzz in his ears.

"Let's get him up."

It felt like the floor suddenly shifted beneath him, and there were hands on his face. A thumb pulled open one of his eyelids, and he barely made out Klein. It was too hard to focus on him, determine his expression, and after a moment his eyelid was released.

He didn't quite have the strength to open it again.

"You're amazing," the doctor complimented him. "I wonder how many of your limbs are metal, Herr Tringham."

Ed tried to open his eyes again, succeeding only in making out blurred lights that seemed to move.

Moving. They were carrying him somewhere.

"He's coming around again –"

"At ease, Captain. He's far too valuable to kill, wouldn't you agree?"

Something thick and wet was pressed against his face, and Ed tried to shake it off. All he managed was a weak twitch. He tried to hold his breath, but two carefully placed fingers pressed deep into his diaphragm, and he involuntarily inhaled.

The strange vapors rolled into his lungs, both stinging and numbing, and his startled mind had enough time to register it as chloroform before –

"Edward?"

Ed shook his head slightly, tearing his gaze off the highly glossed whorls of wood he'd been staring at. The early afternoon light reflected on the mahogany desk brightly, generating a very warm glow, much like firelight. He dragged his eyes back up to the cool, stern face of Vato Falman, and tried to remember what the man had asked him.

Oh. Right.

"I tried to free the prisoners used in the experiments." His voice sounded emotionless even to his own ears. "I failed. During the attempt I caught a bullet with my automail, and the rubber sleeve covering was torn. After I was captured, the automail was discovered and removed."

Falman's face was its normal solemn mask, his long, narrow eyes nearly slits as he concentrated on his writing. Anyone else would have been making scribbling noises with their pen, but somehow, despite the speed at which Falman put words to paper, the pen never sounded as though it was inflicting damage. It seemed to flow from character to character effortlessly, and the effect was rather soothing.

"Then what happened?"

He had been using that same prompt for the better part of the last twenty minutes. Never judging, never asking for more details. Simply gathering the offered data, and nothing more.

He was suddenly, inordinately grateful to Colonel Hawkeye for assigning his debriefing to the First Lieutenant. He wasn't certain it would have been this easy if it had been Breda, or Havoc, or really anyone else.

"I was treated as a British spy." Really, all they'd done was realize that Ed also spoke fluent English. He was pretty sure Klein had known all along that there was something much bigger at work, but he'd never said anything.

He'd been too excited about the automail.

"I woke up in a cell without the automail." After the chloroform, the first thing he clearly remembered was coming to, face-down in a holding cell, lying in hard-packed filth about an inch thick. He'd had enough time to roll onto his back and look over the dim, windowless room before keys had rattled in the iron lock, and they'd dragged him back to a laboratory. "My ex research partner, Dr. Klein, was granted permission to study the automail, with the hopes of application to German soldiers in preparation for the war."

Klein's study hadn't gone so well. At first he'd tried direct questions, which Ed refused to answer. But it hadn't taken them long to find his weakness.

"They told me they had Al. Said they'd told him that I'd had an accident." It sounded so simple, and it had been. Albrecht had marched into the lab, his nose stuffed with cotton, and handed Klein a rectangle of paper. Ed had just glared from the table, unable to get up even if thick leather straps hadn't been immobilizing him.

Rupert Albrecht had smirked at him. "Herr Fletcher just returned from his deployment. He's very concerned about you, Russell. He seems to think you wouldn't have been so careless in the laboratory."

"He's lucky his station requires him to get routine physicals once every six months," Klein observed, handing the piece of paper back to the captain. "Obviously your brother does not share your unique traits, Tringham."

Ed gritted his teeth and remained silent.

"It would be difficult to hide this secret from your brother, seeing as you both list the same address as your place of residence," Albrecht continued, eyeing Edward up and down. He'd been stripped of his uniform to better expose the automail ports, and the perpetual cold of the German winter had seeped into his very bones.

It hadn't held a candle to the chill that gripped his stomach as he thought of what they might do to Al.

"Therefore he's likely a spy as well," the captain concluded regretfully, turning back for the door. "I'll make arrangements, Dr. Klein."

Ed lessened his glare with effort, and unglued his jaw. "Wait."

The captain continued as though he hadn't spoken, pulling open the door unhurriedly.

"Wait!"

He cast an expectant look over his shoulder. "Why would I do that, Dr. Tringham?"

"Then what happened?" Falman's voice dragged him back to the present again.

Ed blinked, slouching in the chair so that his face tilted towards the ceiling. "I agreed to help them in exchange for his life."

"What help did you give them?"

"I told them I had gotten the automail from gypsies." Klein had bought it instantly, as he'd seen Ed's desperate dash out of the lab as soon as he'd put all the pieces together. "I told them I didn't know much about the inner workings, but I agreed not to try escape if they put the automail back on."

That hadn't gone so well. Just the memory of those repeated attempts made his stomach curl into his spine.

"Then what happened?"

"Klein tried to replace it, but he didn't know what he was doing. I kept passing out." He had vague memories of extremely bright lights, of choking on the bile in his throat, of being unable to tell which way was up and being certain he was about to fall. And pain. Overwhelming, blinding, deafening pain. "I vaguely recall seeing the Gate, and Al, and the next thing I can remember I was back in Central."

Not that he remembered much of that, either, before he'd woken in the hospital to see Havoc sitting on his bed.

Falman nodded to himself, glancing over the sheets of paper briefly. "Is there anything more you'd like to add?"

"No," he responded immediately. He'd covered everything Hawkeye had asked him to. The Gate had to be included, but there was no reason he had to lay out how or why it worked for this military interview. The point was to demonstrate that they'd destroyed the Thule gate, and not given any potential enemies in that world another road into Amestris.

And their return trip was all Al. Who was getting debriefed in a side office right now, just like he was. Probably by Breda, considering he'd been standing next to Falman when they'd first walked in.

"Then I believe we're finished here," Vato concluded, capping his pen before he offered his hand across the table. "Welcome home, Edward."

Ed stared at the grey-haired man a second before he grasped his hand, surprised at the sudden drop of his cold, professional demeanor. "So, I see you've risen in the ranks," he nodded at the man's stripes, and Vato gave him a rare smile. They both stood, waiting for the First Lieutenant to gather the papers before both proceeding into the main office.

"I was promoted to Second Lieutenant before the Thule Invasion," he explained, holding the door open for Edward. "So it's not as much as it looks."

"You deserved it," Ed told him, stepping into the offices and looking around.

After they'd parked the car, Denny and Maria had pretty much shooed them both directly to Mustang's old offices in HQ itself. They'd long ago been occupied by a Colonel Mazo, but Hawkeye had commandeered them back as a sort of base of operations for the Prime Minister's security detail. Despite Denny's words, Ed wasn't that concerned for Roy's safety. If the first assassin died of his injuries, it was probably because he was burned.

And Sheska had discovered the second one before Mustang even had a chance to see him. Although, giving him poisoned fruit was a pretty good idea. He recalled that the man loved food that came in its own edible packaging. He felt fruit was very efficient.

Which was another reason he wondered if the Drachmans weren't the ones they should be looking for.

The offices hadn't changed much. They had the same carpeting, the same large desk at the end of the room, the same side tables and typewriters and phones. And some of the same people. Havoc was nowhere to be seen, but Breda and Al were talking to Hawkeye, and behind them, Sheska was matching names from a list in her hands to squares of cardboard laid out in neat rows.

He and Falman approached the group, and Ed was startled when the up-til-then business-like colonel suddenly enveloped him in a hug.

He was taller than he'd been the first and only time she'd ever embraced him. At that time, his head had fallen somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, and he'd been more embarrassed than anything else by the gesture. Now, he was only a few inches shorter than she was, and he was able to rest his chin on her shoulder.

Haltingly, he returned the hug, and she squeezed him tightly before she let him go, smoothing the creases she'd put into his sleeves as she did so.

"I'm sorry about hustling you two into debriefings," she apologized, turning so that she was now including Al. "The paperwork reinstating your citizenships was processed with . . . unusual alacrity."

Ed scowled. So that was why they'd been treated like they were under arrest since they stepped onto HQ property. He'd been wondering about the cold reception, considering Denny and Maria had been so happy to see them, but now he understood. Better to get business out of the way first. "Hakuro's still after us?"

"Your desertion from the military six years ago still stands," Hawkeye reminded him. "But with the destruction of Lior, there were bigger things for this government to worry about than arresting you." That was probably an understatement, considering she'd known at the time that the Fuhrer was a Homunculus.

"Because of the extenuating circumstances, you are currently not to be placed under arrest or charged until a full inquiry can be launched," she added. "However, we needed to finish debriefing the both of you. Failure to have those documents completed might have resulted in unpleasantness."

Ed digested that information. The Prime Minister could get them out of serious trouble, but he still wasn't sure General Hakuro was going to let the last several weeks slide. Obviously Hawkeye had been worried about the same. Then again, she'd just said they couldn't be arrested, so it wasn't as though he could make a huge scene -

"When was our citizenship reinstated?" Al looked calm. His debriefing hadn't taken as long, nor did it seem like it had taken a toll on him, and Ed found himself relaxing a little bit. From what Al had said in the Rockbell's home, he'd never been in custody, and hadn't been told what had happened to his brother. But that didn't mean that Albrecht, or even General Walthers, couldn't have carried out their threat against his life.

Funny, that the Amestris military probably now knew more details of the last two days they'd spent in Germany than they did.

"Almost four days ago. We were lucky enough no one was sent down to Resembool to drag you back before now." Her tone indicated she really did find this surprising. "Hakuro's been too busy to pursue his pet projects with the increase in hostilities, but it wouldn't stop him from ordering one or both of you taken into 'protective custody' for the remainder of the ceremonies, should you encounter one another prior to the inauguration."

Ah. And having a full debrief on the events that brought them back to this world would eliminate the excuse of 'protective custody,' and also close the book on any future military aggression from that world.

"What happened to Winry?" She'd been with them when they'd been ushered into the offices, but now that he looked around, she wasn't present.

"She went with First Lieutenant Ross to check on the caterers. And you two are about to be late for the State Alchemists' reception." She glanced at the group. "Falman, could you show them to the hall?"

The man nodded at the same time Kain Fuery entered the room. He looked just as short, and just as young as before, and not at all surprised to see them standing there. He offered a sharp salute to the two Elrics and Ed barely remembered to return it. Al didn't even move.

If the colonel noticed their fumbling, she didn't show it. "Were you successful?"

"Well, we got him into it, but there was a little whining," Kain admitted, offering her a pocket-sized clipboard. "The alterations were correct, but he said the collar made his head look like a mushroom."

"If he would cut his hair occasionally . . ." Sheska's voice was slightly muffled by her bent position, still matching nametags to her list.

Heymans Breda was standing besides Al, and he snorted. Loudly. "You didn't tell him his head always looked like a mushroom?"

Ah. They were talking about Mustang.

Falman remained silent, other than to start for the door with a quiet "Please follow me," and Ed exchanged a glance with Al.

"State Alchemists' reception, huh?"

- x -

Author's Notes: I have to admit, I really don't like this chapter. I've rewritten it twice, and they say third time's the charm, but it just flows funny to me. I'm very nearly sure the next chapter is the last chapter. I have gotten another suggestion for a plothole, which will be resolved in the next chapter. This should pretty much wrap up any questions regarding Ed's automail discovery and the beginning of the fic – now we've gotten both Al and Ed's account of the last couple days they spent in Germany. All that's left is to swear in Mustang, and that one little plan Mustang has for the two Elrics . . .

Veni, vidi, typi. Did my best, but if they're in there, I'm sorry! Thank you all for the suggestions and the reviews and the faves! And a very special THANK YOU! to silverfox2702 for making me FANART! I have a lovely lovely Gate-rose, all glowy with tentacles and a very angry Edward in its grasp! I need to find a place to post it up where folks can see it – any ideas?