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

- x -

"If you would please wait here, I'll fetch my husband."

Alphonse Elric inclined his head politely, and the thin woman flashed him a nervous smile before flitting to the arched doorway leading, he suspected, to the parlor. She was gone in an instant, and he listened to the pleasant gurgle of running water, eyeing the hallway appreciatively.

There was no telling what Avram Blane did for Rountal, but it appeared to pay quite well.

Soft beiges and pastels glowed from the walls and trim, casting soft light on the finely crafted table and its ceramic inhabitants. The wood floors were narrowly paneled and a beautiful golden oak, and a very intricate, circular rug completed the picture. A winding staircase told of an upper story, and the doors to his immediate right and left were doubles, both closed. He guessed the fountain must be behind the right.

Knowing it would be rude to look, Al contented himself with glancing out of the rectangular panels of glass beside the front door, eyeing the gravel drive for motion. Or the tell-tale blue of the six soldiers he'd seen arriving when he'd left Jannai. They hadn't immediately headed for Rachel's little café, but it was really only a matter of time before they did so.

Obviously Hakuro was also looking for the Mechanical Alchemist. While it was nice to know he had backup if he truly needed it, this was a race he wanted very much to win. If Franklin actually was in danger from an alchemist, those soldiers were as good as dead. And if Franklin had taken a Stone, even an incomplete one, it wasn't very likely he'd want to return to Central when he'd only just left. Once they spoke to the same people he'd spoken to, asked the same questions, and made their own phone call, they'd make this leap as well.

But they were likely to arrive a bit faster, as they'd find a more suitable mode of transportation than one of Bert's childhood friends and an old but steady nag.

On a whim, Al raised his sleeve to his nose, wondering if-

Yes. As a matter of fact, he did smell like a horse-drawn cart. A quick clap and a brief glow later, the same test resulted in the faint aroma of cotton. Al leaned over, plucking up the small block of organic matter that had been neatly removed from his clothes, and was about to tuck it into his pocket when he heard a polite cough.

"Please, allow me to dispose of that for you."

A slightly round, middle-aged man stood smiling in the archway Mrs. Avram Blane had disappeared into. He was wearing the traditional brown suit of the region, though his was obviously very finely made, and Al was startled to see a silver chain peeking out from beneath the hem of his vest.

"Oh." He struggled to find something more articulate to say. "That's not necessary, though if you have a trash bin . . .?"

The man grinned up at him. "Forgive me for startling you, boy. The name's Avram." He tucked his thumbs into his suspenders and tilted his head to the side slightly. "That's an interesting technique for freshening clothes you have there."

Al laughed hesitantly. "Ah, yes, well, I came by horse, and you have such a fine house, I was concerned -"

"Nonsense! Don't let any of this fool you." He gestured widely to indicate the room, then suddenly reversed so that he was shooing him forward. "Come in, come in!"

A little reluctantly, Al palmed the dirt and followed his cheerful host into what he had correctly guessed was the parlor. It would have been a library save the billiards table in the center, though the walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A large work table, in front of the widest window, contained all manner of chemical analysis equipment, including one of the most complex microscopes Al had ever seen.

"You can toss that here, boy."

Avram was indicating a small wastebin, and Al relieved himself of his rather odiferous cargo. Once he'd brushed off his hands, he offered the clean one to his host. "Please forgive the intrusion, sir. My name is Alphonse Elric. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you have time."

His left hand was taken and thoroughly wrung, in much the same manner as a water pump. "I am honored, honored to have you as a guest! Please, do stay for dinner! It isn't often I have such distinguished company, particularly another alchemist!" He pulled Al slightly closer and bent his head, lowering his voice significantly. "Lily hates it when I talk alchemy at the dinner table."

Al found himself smiling. "I can . . . relate." Winry didn't hate it, exactly, but she was no fonder of alchemy now than she'd been as a little girl, and once he and Ed got going, if not for Aunt Pinako to talk gears with, he was pretty sure Winry would quickly lose it.

"So you'll stay?" The man visibly brightened, and Al stifled a sigh. He really had wanted to get back to Jannai by nightfall, and the man had all but just said there were no other alchemists in the house, but he could probably use the insight a man such as this might have into Franklin.

" . . . if you're certain it's not an imposition, sir."

"Aww, cut the sir crap. I told you, it's Avram."

Al inclined his head, and his forgotten hand was released. He was ushered to the billiards table, so he took a seat, and his host sat across from him, idly picking up a deck of cards. "So, what brings a celebrity like Alphonse Elric to our little town?"

He wondered if the man actually recognized his name, or was merely being polite. "Actually, I came to ask after one of your former apprentices . . . do you remember Franklin Sorn?"

Bushy eyebrows shot up, and the cards briefly stilled in the man's nimble hands. "Do I remember the boy? I practically raised him!" He jerked his chin towards his work table. "He fashioned that microscope I saw you eyeing earlier. Did a bang-up job, too. Better alchemist than I ever was."

Al smiled politely, and suddenly the slightly portly man frowned at him. "What's he gotten himself into now?"

Alphonse felt his smile become more genuine. It was different, but somehow akin to the tone Izumi had used when referring to them sometimes.

"I'm not quite certain at this point. I was hoping you might know where he is."

The eyes beneath those eyebrows were sharp, though the man went right back to shuffling cards. "So he's gone missing?"

Mincing words seemed unnecessary. "Yes," Al answered honestly. "I'm afraid he might be in trouble."

"Must be big trouble, if an alchemist of your caliber was sent after him," Avram mused, staring at the fluidly moving cards thoughtfully. He was exceptionally good at shuffling; Al found his eyes were drawn to the cascade of cardboard as well.

"I wasn't sent, exactly." That might come back and bite him, when soldiers started knocking on the door. "I'm one of his professors –"

"I know. Your brother is the headmaster of the Amestris Academy of the Sciences." Blane made it sound very grand. "He takes several classes from you. Respects you, too. That's a rare thing, from him." The man looked up, catching his eyes. "If you're here on your own, well, that worries me more. What happened?"

"He's missed too many classes." And it could be left at that. "I stopped by his home, to check on him, and he wasn't there. As far as we can tell, he's not in Central at all." He hadn't been in any of the hospitals, at least under his own name. "I originally went to Jannai, which his application lists is his hometown-"

"And they sent you to me," Blane finished quietly. "I'm a little surprised that town will still have anything to do with me."

Al felt himself smile slightly, tearing his gaze from the cards to the soft, worn green velvet of the billiards table. Obviously the man spent a lot of time here. "Actually, I had the pleasure of speaking with several people there who seemed very fond of you."

Avram pursed his lips. "You're nice to say so, boy, but I couldn't do anything for that town. Too little, too late . . ." He blew out his cheeks. "But it's water under the bridge. No one can turn back the clock, eh?"

There was a wistfulness in his tone that rang too close to home. "You don't give yourself enough credit, sir." Not if the young man who had taken him through the woods was to be believed.

"For a professor, you don't listen too well. It's not sir. You do that again, and I'll have Lily serve your soup cold."

Avram was grinning as he said it, as though it was a terrible threat, that someone as high-class as the Binding Life Alchemist be served something cold, and Al rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a habit, I'm afraid, from growing up around the military."

"Good habit to kick then," Blane grunted. "No offense, of course."

"None taken. I wouldn't have chosen it for us, but-" Why was he telling the man this? Again, he had the strangest feeling that he should be addressing this man respectfully. It wasn't as strong as it had been with sensei, but it left the same impression. "-water under the bridge, as you say. So, you haven't seen Franklin recently?"

Avram paused in his shuffling, deftly combining and splitting the deck in halves. "Not seen him in a long time. Haven't heard from him either since his last letter, which was, oh, a month ago maybe? He's pretty good about sending one every two weeks, but . . ." He trailed off. "You'll forgive me for maybe knowing a bit too much about military matters, but Red mentioned the alchemic feedback still present in Central. I assumed he was just tired, or it slipped his mind."

Al nodded, more to reassure the man that the feedback was not a secret. It had been said very plainly in the papers and citizens were now very familiar with the yellow and red warning ropes. Which were disappearing at a steady, if maddeningly slow, pace. "He's been looking pretty worn. When he missed class, I assumed he'd taken ill."

Blane nodded. "If he were ill, he'd probably have just gone to a doctor. Not much for heroics, that boy. As down to earth as they come. The inefficiency of being sick would frustrate him too much."

Yes, this man knew Franklin quite well. "Do you know of any projects he was working on, that might have taken him out of the city suddenly?"

Avram shook his head, going back to shuffling his deck. "None, besides his usual research. He didn't mention any breakthroughs to me, but he wouldn't unless he'd already tested his theory a dozen times and declared it sound." The man snorted. "Research he's doing, I wouldn't be surprised if it's over my head by now."

This time Al couldn't contain his protest. "As I've heard it, you're quite talented with healing alchemy."

He got a quirked eyebrow and a slow smile. "You must have talked with my children."

Al blinked, slightly nonplussed. "Ah . . . perhaps." But if one of them had been his son or daughter, wouldn't they have known where he lived . . . ?

Avram laughed. "Oh, not my flesh and blood, though we're trying for one of our own. No, it's what they called all the orphans. Blane's Children. Whole passel of 'em managed to survive." He sobered a little. "I expect they mentioned that, too, didn't they?"

Al nodded quietly.

Rachel had alluded to it, in a way, but he hadn't caught on. Not until a dark-eyed young man, maybe eighteen, had swaggered into Rachel's little café and been declared Arei by Zach. After quite a bit of good-natured teasing all around, the young man had accepted the charge of leading the 'polite State Alchemist' to the spot where the supposed slaughter of forty drifters by Ishbalans had taken place. It had been over two miles from Jannai proper, and they'd had plenty of time to talk.

"One of you folk came out, two years back. There waren't nothing to find, though." Arei had obviously walked the trails since he was a boy; he barely had to look, and wove expertly through the complex roots of the ancient trees. Behind him, Al was beginning to think perhaps he needed to transmute a little less and spar a little more. He wasn't out of breath, necessarily, but he was definitely not in the shape he'd been in Europe.

Possibly another symptom of spending too much time around the feedback, actually. He'd noticed a few more strands of hair than usual would be left in the drain when he was finished showering, but outside of that he hadn't been losing weight, losing appetite, or any of the other symptoms of feedback poisoning.

And even if he was slightly less sure-footed than he'd like, he certainly wasn't going to be shown up by this kid, particularly after some of the taunts Arei had thrown at the old men. "Then how did anyone confirm it was a group of Ishbalans?"

"She said." Arei said it in an offhand manner, as though it was common knowledge. "Best she could with no tongue, that is. Avram never could get it to grow back, but he did his best."

That was the second time they'd referred to Franklin's teacher as a healer. "Was Avram the town doctor?"

"Naw." The boy seemed to be enjoying having all the information, and was doling it out slowly. "He's an alchemist. Surprised you've not heard of him, seeing as he cured the plague."

Cured the plague. That was news. "Which plague was this?" He didn't recall reading anything in the last six years about a plague in Central, or anywhere in Amestris for that matter, at least not a lethal one-

"We called it the rot." They hopped a very narrow creek. "More'n half of the adults got it, and most of the babies from their mommas. Doctors came from the city, but they couldn't do nothing neither. Avram found a cure, but not before my poppa got sick."

Al digested this as they skirted what must have been five hundred feet of downed tree. "How did Avram cure it?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. Alchemy. He kept it from spreadin' out of the village, worked on it every day. Tried treating everyone, even people who hadn't got it yet, but them treatments only worked some of the time. After a while everyone who'd been sick was dead, and their houses and stuff burned, and so there wasn't no one to catch it from anymore. Momma said that if he hadn't found that early treatment, the whole village'd have been wiped out like Busse."

Busse. That sounded familiar, somehow . . . from before, but not . . . not from both sets of memories. Just one.

When he was armor. He and Ed had been there when he was armor, and for some reason he thought Winry, too, which meant it must have been when they were heading for Ishbal . . .

His eyes widened as his mind brought forth the image of a young girl, a stone girl, curled over a stone corpse-

The whole village had been turned to stone.

"So . . . that's what happened to Rachel's parents."

Arei nodded. "Yep. Pretty much everyone my age was raised by just one or no one at all."

And the application said Franklin's parents were dead-

"And . . . what happened to Franklin's family?"

Arei glanced at him over his shoulder. "They died too. He didn't have any sisters or brothers or friends or nothin', so Avram took him in. Took in a lot of us, but little Frankie was already an alchemist by then, makin' soapbox cars and such."

"When did this happen?"

"Ten, no, eleven years back now. I was six."

Al refocused on Blane when the man started shuffling again. "If you'd ended up talking to some of the older folks, I expect you'd have heard a different story."

Al studied him a moment, then cast a look over at the microscope again. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you stop that plague? Was it a virus?"

Blane nodded, his fingers never fumbling. "Took me a long time to isolate one of the proteins. Too long. It was in the food supply, somehow, but we never figured out what had brought it in. In the end, the best I could do was concoct a solution that caused a special secretion in the stomach. That protein in the virus would bond to it, then it would be carried through the digestive system and excreted as normal, and the person would never become infected."

He scoffed at himself. "But of course, not all the virus would necessarily come in contact with the stomach lining, or it would infect the cells there before it was bonded, so it wasn't foolproof. All I could do was keep giving it to people in the hopes . . . well, the hopes they'd get lucky."

"Sometimes that's the best you can do," Al said quietly. "No one can save everyone."

Blane gave him a shrewd look. "Expect that's a lesson you've learned the hard way, to hear you say it like that."

"I don't think that lesson is ever easy, for anyone."

The shrewd look hadn't left. "What do you really think Frank's up to?"

"I don't know." But whatever it is, I hope the kid's okay. Even if he is looking for a Stone. This man was far too good with observation; there was no need to mention Franklin's interest in a Philosopher's Stone. If he'd been writing to Blane about the feedback, about his classes, and even about his professors, then it was pretty likely he'd have written about the Stone.

Maybe that was what Avram was really asking him. An Elric who supposedly used the Philosopher's Stone more than once, and in fact actually had. The only Elric to use it, actually. It would be tacky to ask outright, after all. And Avram was pretty informal, but apparently not that informal.

Alphonse was spared any more worry on the subject when a door behind Avram opened to reveal the slim outline of his wife against the bright orange of the setting sun behind her.

"Can I offer you two any refreshments before dinner? You will be staying, won't you?"

Something in her voice sounded so hopeful, and Blane caught his eye and grinned.

"Yes, Lily dear, that would be lovely."

Avram stood, so Al did as well, and the two headed towards what Al could now see was the kitchen. The table was quite a bit larger than he would have expected, meaning this was also the dining room, and he liked the less formal look quite a bit. It was nice to be able to sit at the table and keep the person cooking company.

Lily gestured at the table, where a large pitcher of lemonade had been placed, and Avram set about pouring it while Al admired the large bay doors opposite the parlor, displaying a large and well-kept lawn that was ablaze in warm colors.

Recalling Avram's earlier comment about her dislike of alchemy as a dinner conversation, Al caught a glint on her wrist as Lily set salad plates at the three place settings.

"Oh, what a beautiful bracelet." He'd only gotten a glimpse, but if it was a watch, at least there would be a story behind something so intricate-

She ducked her head, motioning for him to take a seat. "Why, thank you for noticing! It was actually a wedding gift . . ."

- x -

The surveyor's collection was placed to the side, in its own pile, and then Edward Elric took a moment to pop his back.

He was making it terribly obvious someone had gone through the office, but then again, he doubted if Franklin was still in the city that he was unaware he was being sought. There was no real need to keep it a secret at this point if there was already a military search under way. And this way, at least he could get a handle on what the kid was studying.

Though, glancing over the piles, that was turning out to be more challenging than he'd thought when he started over four hours ago.

It had to be approaching midnight. Sorn's house had been cold and dark when he'd returned to it, and all his little traps had still been set, outside of the one on the front door. And he assumed that was because soldiers had come to the house searching for Franklin as well, and almost beat down his door.

They couldn't transmute a hole through the wall, after all, and apparently weren't willing to pick the lock, as the visitors the previous night had done. Franklin had probably made the locks himself, and the doors were stout. The front door more so, since he and Al had transmuted it back together.

But they weren't searching here anymore. No one had knocked on the door, nor come to visit him since he'd turned on the lights and started working.

The piles and piles on the great desk had been sorted by general subject, and now surrounded him like a sprawling suburban subdivision. Geography, astronomy, physics, chemistry – all of it apparently tying to a math so complex he'd barely identified half the variables. The other half were a complete mystery.

And, of course, his and Al's notes.

The Red Water of Xenotime was mostly translated, but they'd known that. And apparently it hadn't held the information Franklin had wanted, because he'd abandoned it unfinished. Their notes on Lab Five were mostly translated, as well, which was a hell of a lot more surprising. The algorithm he'd used for those was quite intricate.

But by far the most concerning were the notes he found paperclipped to a nonfiction account of Alphonse Elric's conversation with a priest in Dublith he encountered while running errands for Izumi.

Because it wasn't a nonfiction conversation with a priest in Dublith. It was a nonfiction conversation with himself. And he wasn't running errands for sensei. He'd been plotting out the underground city in Central.

These were notes Al had written probably only a few days before he transmuted Wrath and Greed into the Gate that had allowed his brother to return to this world. That had admitted the Thule forces into Central.

These were notes Ed had never read before. And the only reason he'd deciphered them was because he knew his brother well enough. Al hadn't written in travelogues after he'd returned to his body without his older brother. He'd encrypted his notes, and he'd obviously read some of Ed's own and managed to understand them, but rather than continue with the travelogue charade he'd moved on to character pieces with people he'd met.

It sort of made sense. Interactions were always more important to Al.

And quite alarmingly, Franklin had made some of the same leaps.

He'd gotten several things wrong. For one, he interpreted one of the sentences of the 'priest' as a formula representing some of the symbols on the outer ring of a transmutation circle, where Ed was thinking it was in reference to his own notes from Lab Five. The priest mentioned a couple of geographical locations that Franklin associated with Amestris as a whole, but Ed was fairly sure they were actually key structures in the hidden city.

Of course, that was only because he knew the place as well as he did, and they outlined the general area the Gate Al had transmuted had been. He knew from Al's own account of what had happened that the location of that Gate had been up to Wrath, not Al. Alphonse was pretty good hand to hand, and might have led their fight to the correct general location, but he was vaguely surprised it was really that close.

Some of the geographical research Franklin had done coincided with his theory that Franklin thought Al was talking about Amestris as a whole, but some of that didn't line up, either. He hadn't yet figured out the astronomy angle, but there was a fair amount of research done into star charts dating back up to thirty years, as well as tracking of planetary movement within the solar system.

He was also lacking any evidence that Franklin had been even slightly interested in chimera creation or research. He didn't have a single paper from Tucker, nor had he bothered with either his or Al's notes on the subject.

There were other papers that he seemed to be along the lines of his previous research – steam engines, obviously, as well as machines that utilized electricity for mathematical calculations and more recently, forays into the wonderful world of aviation.

Copycat.

Staring at the various piles, knowing what information they represented, so far he'd come up with nothing concrete. If there was a single linking theme through these subjects, he hadn't found it yet. It was hard to separate which math was from his previous research and which was new, as Sorn didn't date all his research. He'd also encrypted some of it, and Ed wasn't quite convinced he'd properly understood it. There was also undoubtedly some pieces of paper thrown in just to confuse anyone who might study his notes, as he was doing now.

If Ed put everything together, the best he could come up with was the very sloppy theory that Franklin Sorn was trying to figure out how to transmute a Gate to Earth.

Not that he had a motive for the kid wanting to do so. Bring one of Earth's armies back to Central, to fight in the impending war? In which case, he would have expected to see the chimera research.

But it wasn't even mentioned. He'd briefly considered the children's novel as a new algorithm for chimera research, but he couldn't make it work despite the underground theme and the objects the children found in the house.

Ed scrubbed his face with his non-armored hand and glanced at the wall clock.

Past midnight.

He'd rather hoped Franklin would risk it and come home anyway, as he doubted the boy would have split town without his little vial. He was pretty sure Al's assessment was accurate – it really was a miniscule piece of Craege Irving, and it was undoubtedly one of a very, very small number of those pieces remaining. The Academy's physical and chemical department had done an excellent job breaking down those remains, and while that one spot on Tracer Avenue was still under repair by alchemists, they had not located anything on the site with near the power of that tiny vial of dirt and human remains.

And as he studied these notes, he was more and more convinced that no one had placed it below Franklin's library to poison him.

He didn't really have any evidence, besides the style in which the notes had been collected and written. Franklin was exactly what he and Al had thought when they'd first met him. A genius. He really was their equal at his age. He was even less social than Ed himself had been, and there was no evidence he'd ever had an encounter like Nina, like Rose. Outside of some letters from someone named 'Avram,' whom Ed could only assume was Franklin's alchemy teacher, there were no personal papers in the place at all.

Franklin would have noticed the feedback immediately. He was far too attuned to detail, and he had few distractions. No mechanics or automail to drag him away from his research. No friends at all, near as he could tell. He had spent hours in this library over the last week, given the dates on some of the less important papers, and if Al, who had been deeply absorbed by the subject matter, had noticed, there was no way Franklin wouldn't have.

Of course, he hadn't figured out how that vial tied into his theory that Franklin was trying to build a Gate to another world. Maybe the kid had just stumbled upon it and kept it for a rainy day, but why would he have been so careless with it? Had he been hiding it in a rush the last time he'd stashed it, and simply not buried it deeply enough?

And if he was hiding it, whom had he been hiding it from? What other alchemist would have been here to sense the feedback? It had been too low-grade for a non-alchemist to notice, unless they'd spent half the day or more in there . . .

Edward pursed his lips. The idea that Franklin might have been working with another alchemist, on purpose, had never occurred to him.

Did that tie into what he'd found? If there was research into another subject that wasn't included here . . . such as chimera research . . . then it really could be a bid to protect the city by raising an army of whatever was possible.

But then again, Franklin had been interested in the Philosopher's Stone before they ever returned to Amestris, before the situation with Drachma had become so dire. And anyone searching for the Philosopher's Stone wouldn't be distracted so easily. Not someone like Franklin.

Not someone like him and Al.

Edward leaned forward, plucking up one of the non-standard sheets to glance over it again. There were many sheets torn out of a pocket-sized notebook, which he had figured would be the notes Franklin took as they occurred to him, wherever he happened to be. They were also no doubt encrypted, but as they were just very detailed ideas concerning a plan Ed wasn't sure he'd really figured out yet, they weren't turning out to be much use. He was unable to figure out which math had to do with the complex equations, and which math had to do with the geographical or astronomical studies.

This particular sheet had been torn in half, which meant the other half had either contained something not worth keeping, worth keeping on his person, or had been given to someone else. The front contained a very small transmutation circle that appeared to have something to do with atmospheric water and iron – obviously part of the steam engine theory. Which he was beginning to think was a code in and of itself.

The other side, though, was what was concerning him. It was a quickly scrawled birth announcement.

"Toman Praw was born at 8 am, Friday, October 5th, 1897. He weighed nine pounds two ounces, twenty-one inches long."

For one, it contained a lot of numbers. That made it suspect. For another, it mentioned someone he'd never heard of, and it wasn't likely that the isolated Franklin was really that interested in the weight and length of a baby born before he was.

However, it could be that the name was the initials of someone whose research he was studying. T P. P T.

Nothing came to mind.

So the date, then. 10 5 97. It didn't seem an especially auspicious date, and he couldn't recall that anything had happened on that day. It was before he was born himself, granted, but in his history studies he hadn't come across that date, nor that series of numbers in any of the research he'd just looked over . . was it the day something important had been published . . . ?

Of course, he might need to re-order the numbers. 7 9 5 1 0. All prime, of course, except the nine, so that wasn't it . . .

What if it wasn't accurate?

Ed frowned, then grabbed Franklin's desk calendar. It didn't go back to 1897, of course, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out where the weeks would have fallen..

Bingo.

October 5th in 1897 was a Tuesday. Not a Friday.

He flipped back to the current year, noting with no small trace of amusement that it was Thursday, October 4th. Of course, the year wasn't even close, being 1921 -

Ed blinked.

Of course.

This was an appointment. Toman Praw wasn't the name of a person. It was a place.

And it was tomorrow at 8 am.

P T. The intersection of two streets?

What about the measurements? 9 2 2 1 . . .

So now his numbers were 1 0 5 9 7 9 2 2 1. The repetition of the nines, twos, and ones . . . 921? 219? 129?

Edward got up, rubbing the small of his back as he headed past the large windows, over to a map pinned on the wall. It was a fairly detailed map of the city, with many of the worst areas of feedbacking marked off with multicolored pins. Both he and Al assumed Franklin was keeping it as part of his penitence for getting knocked out of the fight with Craege Irving so quickly, and it might have be right.

But it also gave him every street name, and block numbers as well.

An intersection of a P and a T . . . there were a dozen T streets. Twinnings, Toad, Tracer, Thomas . . . but the Ps were quite a bit rarer. In fact, just staring at the map, the only one he could really find was Plantir. Following it, it intersected two T streets, one in the center of downtown, the other in an almost residential area. Tracer and Threadway.

Threadway had blocks that went up to five hundred, and it intersected Plantir at the 300s. Tracer, on the other hand, intersected Plantir in the 900s.

So if he was right, Franklin Sorn had an appointment at 921 Tracer Avenue tomorrow morning at 8 am.

Edward grinned at the wall map, and caught the faintest trace of motion in his peripheral vision.

He didn't even attempt to figure out what it was. He simply stepped forward, moving his back to a solid wall. There was some chance the gunmen from earlier had returned, in which case standing in front of the window had been remarkably stupid, but he figured he'd have heard gunshots long before the men actually made it to him.

There were obviously soldiers watching the house, after all. It wasn't as if Hakuro would have it searched and then not put eyes on it. And it wasn't as if he'd made his entrance particularly sneaky. He had as much right to be looking into a missing student as the military had looking into a missing National Alchemist.

The fact they'd left him alone this long meant they were hoping he'd find a lead, and wanted to follow him. So if they were moving around the house now, that could only mean they'd gotten tired of being patient, or –

There was an authoritative knock on the front door, which he ignored. It wasn't his house, after all. If they wanted in, they could get in the usual way.

They could break a window.

The pounding on the front door continued, quite steadily, and Edward rolled his eyes and chanced a glance out the window he'd seen motion. Indeed, there was a dark figure, and the moment it saw it had his attention it motioned – forcefully – at the front of the house.

The instructions were clear. Let us in.

It was also holding its rifle, instead of allowing it to hang. That was also clear.

Open the door or we'll make one.

The fact that he'd managed to dodge his debriefing made his situation slightly more sticky than it might otherwise have been. He'd been stripped of his rank, so as far as that soldier outside was concerned, he was a civilian. Failing to obey an Amestrian soldier was punishable by arrest and jail. While he doubted any of the armed forces actually would without explicit orders to do so, he hadn't scored any points by not reporting in.

There just hadn't been time. After arranging to get the old doctor to Resembool, he'd had to go back to classes. Dueys had been quick to pull him into a consulting room with Denny Brosh, and he'd relayed all the important information to the master sergeant and gotten a couple details in return. Hakuro's men actually let him teach his classes, so slipping away from them had been easy. After that, he'd headed back here, and remained there ever since.

It was probably long past time he report what he'd seen, if Mustang hadn't, and since he had his lead, he could waste all the time he wanted. There was nothing to lose.

Assuming Hakuro didn't have him placed under arrest.

He slouched out of the library, flipping on the light in the hallway as he proceeded toward the repaired lobby. The pounding didn't cease even as he unlocked the door, and when he pulled it open, it was to see the red face of a corporal.

"Edward Elric?" the man growled.

"Yes, sir," he responded cheerfully. Then he yawned.

The corporal was not impressed. "Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric, you are charged with trespassing and interfering with a military investigate-"

"Uh-huh," he interrupted rudely. "Is the general actually here, or should I get my coat?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, corporal."

The shape that was stumping up the walkway was very familiar, and Edward didn't back up to allow the general entrance. When Hakuro had fully approached and replaced the corporal, Ed simply stared at him.

Hakuro was obviously tired, and had probably just finished up the day's work. He was still in his uniform, hat and all, and he smelled vaguely of cigar smoke. His eyes were still sharp behind the bags, though, and he looked less than amused. Edward found he was vaguely surprised Hakuro hadn't just ordered him to be brought before him in his office. The general usually preferred to try to intimidate people.

Of course, if he did so, Mustang would hear about it, which meant he'd have to turn over the results of his debriefing almost immediately, instead of withholding them to get whatever advantage he could.

Which meant Mustang hadn't clued the general into the information he'd given Brosh. Hakuro had no idea he'd already lost his race.

"We can do this one of two ways," Hakuro started without preamble. "I can detain you until the Prime Minister takes pity on you, or you can simply give me the information you've collected so far."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Why so generous?" Hakuro would hide his 'detainment' for as long as possible from Mustang and his staff, which meant he had a good chance of missing his only lead.

"I'm a generous man, Full Metal."

Ed snorted. "You were hoping Sorn would return this evening and I'd capture him for you."

The general removed his hat, clamping it beneath his right arm as he methodically pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. "You were always bright, even as a child. And I think I've been more than generous with the amount of time I've given you." He tucked the gloves into his pocket, then took a step forward, so there was barely two inches of space between them. "Give me the information or I'll ensure you don't see the sun for a week."

- x -

The dragon regarded them calmly, its bulging, spherical eyes quite passive despite its fearsome expression. Roy Mustang was reasonably sure it occasionally moved when no one was looking, making it the ultimate spy, but luckily, of all his neighbors, Xing was the least of his worries. They were far too embroiled in royal family disputes to bother with an aggressive little nation like Amestris.

So he was perfectly at ease with allowing the little jade dragon to remain on display in the main hallway, safeguarding the tapestries and ceramics of the less tolerant nations.

Oddly, the sculpture had brought a small smile to the Major General's otherwise cool lips, and she admired it for some time before she spoke.

"Have you ever been to Briggs, Minister?"

Mustang shook his head once. "I was stationed up north for a time, but never in Briggs herself."

Olivier Milla Armstrong remained as she was, almost rigidly so, her visible eye glued to the jade as if it hypnotized her. "During your demotion." It was a statement, and she did nothing to hide her opinion of it.

Now it was his turn to smile. "Are you working towards a point, general?"

"Tolya is quite personable, is he not?"

Mustang remained silent, glancing at a passing enlisted, and he nodded to acknowledge the salute. Armstrong didn't appear to notice he was there at all.

"Even on the battlefield, he is quite polite. More so with us than his own, I believe." She tilted her head slightly, shifting her hair so her other eye became visible. "You've never fought him, yet you trust him."

Roy was fairly sure he knew where she was going, as they'd sidestepped the topic of Shurik Tolya all evening. She'd been pressing him for policy changes and budgetary concerns, but the leader of Drachma himself, and the meeting they'd had, hadn't been yet brought up.

"I wouldn't use that word."

"If he meant you dead, he would have succeeded by now," she told him abruptly, eyes still on the dragon. As if waiting for it to move, to breathe, to give itself away. "You surround yourself with capable officers, but basic training does not prepare one for a skirmish with Drachmans."

One such capable officer was standing a polite distance behind them, within earshot, though Armstrong didn't seem overly concerned about being overheard.

Roy chose his next words carefully. Olivier was telling him she would support his decision not to attack Drachma. As she would be the one leading the first wave, she was certainly in a position to buy him time, but her sway with Parliament would be little. To them, she was a distant military figurehead in a very inhospitable place, a daughter of duty and too many traditions. He wasn't actually sure what Hakuro thought of her, though he'd never so much as suggested transferring her, so he obviously thought she was doing a competent job of keeping the north safe.

"How long could Briggs hold?"

Olivier's gaze never flickered. "Long enough. Assuming you allowed me to train the reinforcements."

Assuming they could get reinforcements there in time to be trained and ready. As General Hakuro had pointed out, in the dead of winter that was not a guarantee. "Is that a formal request?"

He was almost shocked into movement as she placed a graceful hand on his arm. Once there, he couldn't have removed it if he'd tried; her grip was iron. She never turned her head, never made eye contact.

"Would you be more comfortable if it was?"

Roy merely blinked at her, and the swish of fabric to his left was quite noticeable in the sudden silence. He had to turn his head almost completely before he caught sight of the sheer skirt dancing around the corner, and Olivier released his arm.

One of the Drachman diplomats.

Mustang laughed. He couldn't help it. He knew Olivier had done it so they would report back to Tolya that Armstrong was close to him, and, if only the last two sentences had been overheard, possibly trying to bed him. Still, it was a win-win situation. Having just witnessed the formidable general on his arm, the Drachmans were likely to sulk for days. Either way, Tolya was certain to see right through it, so there was no threat of his Eminence interpreting it as a rejection of his offer.

Olivier finally removed her gaze from the jade dragon, withdrawing to a more polite distance to regard him coolly.

"I'd be more comfortable if I wasn't certain you'd use me as soon as support me," he replied dryly, and was unsurprised to see the corners of the general's mouth curl upwards.

"I'll take any advantage I'm offered," she responded, and followed his gaze as he glanced again at Hawkeye. The same enlisted that had previously passed by had returned, and was actively trying to catch her eye. It was probable he had some information he was supposed to relay but he didn't want to interrupt-

Well, interrupt their conversation, at any rate. Regardless of what he thought was going on.

"How stable is Tolya's rule?" He would have expected her to report anything she thought was usable, but he knew Sheska had gone over everything ever sent to HQ regarding Drachma, and if there was a political or military force challenging Tolya, even in rumor only, she would have remembered it.

Olivier shrugged eloquently. "As stable as any leader's. I have heard nothing of any underground moveme-"

A muffled shout accompanied a sudden blur of motion, on his right, and he and Olivier whirled to see Hawkeye struggling with the enlisted. He caught the glint of something metallic before Olivier threw out her arm, almost knocking him down with the force of the strike as a gunshot rang out.

He stumbled but quickly recovered, already drawing on a glove as Armstrong leapt forward, obviously intent on a second target. There was another gunshot, and he froze, sweeping the hall in both directions.

Two uniforms were approaching from the other side, but a second glance found their firearms weren't regulation.

And they were aimed at him.

Damn.

"Down!" he shouted as he hurled himself to the side, behind the pedestal holding the Xingian dragon. Automatic fire followed his movement, trimming down his cover, and he snapped in an almost offhand manner, making certain the explosion was behind them far enough to send them stumbling, no more.

They'd gotten uniforms, somehow. That was going to make distinguishing friend from foe quite a bit trickier. Roy dared to peek around the corner, flinching back as his good eye was nearly removed by a very precise bullet.

Perhaps he was being too gentle.

"We won't stop!" the man shouted to him, his accent heavy and Drachman. He'd pulled open one of the many doors, using it for shelter, and his companion was probably in the hallway to the right. "We will keep coming and coming! You will beg for mercy as you die!"

With his back to his enemies, he got a good look at the other two attackers. Armstrong's opponent was already down, and she was making no move to staunch the flow of blood from his abdomen. Instead, she was heading both for his discarded weapon and some cover as Mustang's opponents took aim at her.

So he'd been caught in his own comrade's line of fire. That was sloppy. And telling.

Hawkeye was holding her own. Her attacker had gotten her into an unfavorable position; she must have inclined her head to listen to him whisper, and he had her by the hair. Hair was an excellent handle; if you had control of your opponent's head, you really had control of their weight. Despite it, she had pinned him to the wall behind her, beside a marble bust of some Cretain hero and protected from the remaining gunmen down the hall. She did not appear to be having trouble keeping the blade at her throat from actually cutting her, but she wasn't in a great position to turn the tables, so he reached out and lit the 'enlisted' man's right ear on fire.

Hawkeye could be trusted to keep hers alive. They only really needed one.

Once the man flinched away, howling, he refocused his attention on his own opponents. They had opened fire on Armstrong, meaning both were exposed to the hall, and he mentally calculated their likely positions before snapping again. Behind him there was more gunfire, still automatic, then the explosion, and a sudden silence punctuated with a shout of pain. Chunks of jade slid down onto his shoulderpads, and Mustang swore, this time peering around the opposite side of the pillar.

They were down. He'd aimed the explosion high, directly above their heads, with the intent to force them to the ground. Unfortunately, one of the heavy, gaudy, circular plaster decorations on the hall ceiling had come down on top of them with great speed and heat.

There was a slight chance he'd actually accidentally killed them.

Roy straightened cautiously, keeping his eye on them even as Hawkeye forced her now-disarmed opponent to his knees. Her gun lay several yards away, too far for her to retrieve without releasing her prisoner, but Armstrong was already approaching, and the two of them could easily handle him-

No. She was taking the opportunity to approach his opponents.

"I have them, Major General-"

"With all due respect, Minister, stay back," she commanded in almost a bark, actually cutting into his line of sight as she advanced.

"You!" It was a hiss, and quite surprisingly, feminine.

Then everything happened all at once.

One of the men was still quite conscious, and raised his weapon, sighting not Armstrong, but the woman in the sheer dress that had just come back around the corner of a side hallway – the Drachman ambassador.

Armstrong fired a round into his skull.

His colleague was only semiconscious at best, and had pulled a grenade. When Armstrong dropped the man about to fire on the ambassador, his body slumped onto the grenade arm of his comrade.

Mustang reached out with the array on his glove, starting to draw all the oxygen from the assassin's immediate area. He wouldn't be able to get to the air inside the grenade itself, but if he could keep the explosion small enough –

Armstrong leapt at the ambassador, tackling her to the ground and covering her with her own body –

The dazed assassin was struggling feebly to extricate his arm from his fallen comrade, and cried out in fear –

The grenade exploded with a muffled pop, making the lifeless body atop it jerk as if in pain.

There was a gunshot directly behind Mustang.

Roy whirled, glove ready, and was stunned to see Hawkeye folding to the ground. She was carried there by the dead weight in her arms – her prisoner. By the time she'd untangled her arms from his she'd been dragged to the floor, and she hastily turned him onto his back, pressing her fingers hard into his throat. She left them there for several seconds, then turned in shock to look –

To look at Goodman and Brooks.

They weren't the only ones; the fight had attracted the guards from both ends of the hallway. The skirmish just hadn't lasted long enough for any of them to intervene. Mustang had purposely left his bodyguards in his main offices when he and Olivier had decided to go for a walk, considering Brooks was one of the few staff Hakuro was investigating that had any chance of all at actually being a double agent. He hadn't wanted the man to hear what the Major General had to say.

And it was Brooks, not Goodman, that still had his weapon aimed – at the dead assassin lying in front of Hawkeye.

She was already rising to her feet, her face a mask of rage. "Why did you fire-"

Mustang turned back to the other end of the hall, where Olivier was already helping Ambassador Agata to her feet. The woman was arching and hissing like a cat but Armstrong was largely ignoring her, her eyes drawn to the location of the grenade explosion.

The fourth assassin had rolled onto his back, the stump of his arm sticking off at a weird angle, and his mouth was wide open. He wasn't moving.

They were all dead. All four of them.

Roy clenched his jaw hard to prevent himself from screaming in frustration, turning back to see Brooks lowering his weapon, gesturing at the body. "You were in danger, Colonel-"

"I had him under control!"

"He was drawing a weapon-"

Hawkeye yanked the body onto its left side, glaring down to see that Brooks was correct; the shining metal plating of a small pistol was visible poking out of the side of his too-large uniform pants.

He'd had a backup firearm, and had probably been using the distraction at the other end of the hallway to make a move for it.

Of course, the way Hawkeye had had him pinned, he wouldn't have been able to break her grip and use it. It had obviously been a last, desperate attempt, one doomed to fail.

And he would have expected Brooks to know the difference.

"Those were no countrymen of mine!" The voice was Ambassador Agata's, and it was livid. "Their accents were false! This one has orchestrated this!" He watched the brunette actually spit at Armstrong's feet.

The Major General appeared unmoved, surrendering her weapon at the MP's request. She was pressing her left hand into her side, though her uniform was too thick to see if there was any blood.

"Return me to my country at once!" Agata demanded, as soon as she realized she had his attention. "I demand to return to my homeland!"

Mustang regarded her a moment before more security personnel surrounded him, blocking her from view, and his eye dropped to the pedestal in front of him. The dragon was still watching him, but now the eye was wide with fear, the angry growl a grimace of pain. The change in expression wasn't surprising; its perspective had been shifted quite a bit, as its head was now in pieces, as was its body.

Oddly, his first thought was to wonder who he could get to repair it at this time of the night.

- x -

Author's Notes: I hope it's not terribly obvious, but the last half of this chapter was extraordinarily hard to write. I've never had that much trouble with a fight scene. I don't even know why, but I certainly hope it isn't hard to follow or jagged. So here we have it! Al's caught up with Franklin's sensei, Hakuro has caught up with Ed, and assassins have caught up with Mustang.

Next chapter will include the best of both worlds – exposition AND explosions! As usual, no beta, so if you see any typos, please let me know! I really will go back and correct them all, so let me have 'em. Hah, it's kinda like having about fifty beta-readers, and some of you guys even leave me reviews:cuddles the reviews: I wonder who the lucky winner will be this fic . . . ?