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

Note: Some dialogue was stolen directly from a review by Silverfox. She'll see it when she gets there, I'm sure.

Special Plugs time! Silverfox also drew me more fanart! Please hit Photobucket and search jayamitai – everything there is fanart of the Perfect After All series, done by Silverfox! Go send her a review or email and tell her how cool she is!

- x -

"Honey, I'm home!"

As soon as he shoved the front door closed he could hear the steady whisper of water through the ceiling above their front hall. Their townhouse was well-built but still fairly old, and the drainpipes for the upstairs bathroom had inexplicably been run directly over the entranceway, magnifying the loud and embarrassing rattles whenever the upstairs toilet was flushed.

But being a whisper, and not a rattle, the noise told him his brother was in the shower.

Alphonse grinned to himself, setting down his suitcase quietly, and draping his long brown traveling coat over it. He'd already announced himself, but he wasn't sure nii-san would have necessarily heard all the way up there, so he crossed their dining room on the balls of his feet, slinking into the kitchen. It didn't look like Ed had eaten yet; there were no dirty dishes in the sink. Al grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water from the tap, and crept upstairs.

There was a trail of clothing starting from the bottom of the stairs leading directly to the door of the bathroom, which Ed had forgotten to even close, let alone lock. His coat had been the first thing shed, followed several stairs up by his shirt. At the landing his right arm armor and a boot had been worked off, and another four steps found the other. Once on the second floor, his slacks and a sock had been wormed off. The second sock had proven to be such an obstacle it was actually hanging on the railing around the stairs, with his leg armor lying across the floor, and his boxers were stationed in a heap in front of the hall closet, where he'd obviously stopped to get a towel on his way into the bathroom.

Ed didn't believe in a trail of breadcrumbs. Bread was food. If you wanted to leave a trail, use something inedible.

Al tiptoed toward the bathroom, grinning again at the gusts of steam billowing into the hall. Nii-san still loved his hot showers, but only as a morning thing; any time thereafter, he preferred cool. Usually because he'd been working or sparring during the day at some point to warrant the second shower, and he was hot already. It was only a quarter after seven, though, so this definitely counted as morning.

He wouldn't mind a wake-up shower himself, but with Ed hogging all the hot water, he'd have to wait. There hadn't been time to get one in Jannai before driving back. Of course, that was five hours ago, so it could hardly be called a 'wake-up' shower, but still, the chilled water in his hand was no substitute.

Of course, he wasn't the one it was going to wake up.

With practiced ease, he tossed the contents of the glass in a high arc, watching the water sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the small, high window as it fell towards the oblivious figure in the shower. There was no telling exactly where nii-san was; their tub was pretty large, and the curtain was opaque. It was better to just coat the entire area.

"RAUGH!"

Al leapt back with a laugh as the curtain was swept aside by an angry arm. It was skin-toned; there was no reason for Ed to shower in the armor unless he had company, and neither of them had brought anyone home since returning to Amestris.

"Dammit, Al!"

"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully, moving back into the hall to avoid the possible retaliation of an extremely damp tackle. "Miss me?"

"Like a hole in the head," his brother groused, grabbing the old silver faucets and cutting off the water. "Right at the end, too," he grumbled. "You really know how to wreck someone's shower, Al."

"That's what they call me. Alphonse Elric, Wrecker of Showers."

His brother stepped onto the bathmat, grabbing his towel and yanking it over his frame, and Al busied himself collecting his brother's discarded clothing. There was no real need to worry about him, or inspect him for injuries; if Ed's burns had still been bad, it wouldn't have been that hot of a shower.

However, the fact that he'd shed his clothes without picking them up himself meant he'd done it recently. Probably the reason for the lack of breakfast dishes, too – he'd just gotten home.

Which meant he'd spent the night working on Sorn's notes.

"We have class today, you know," he called as he heard heel-first tramping from the bathroom to one of the bedrooms. His answer was a door slamming, but it did nothing to remove the grin from his face. He'd collected and refolded all the clothes by the time his brother emerged, properly dressed and adding the last wrap to his braid. Ed held out his hand for his boots, which Al agreeably passed to him, and he collected the armor as the two clomped downstairs.

"Find anything interesting?"

"Met Sorn's sensei. Very nice man."

Ed nodded, plopping down in an armchair to loosen his bootlaces. "The guy any good?"

"Cured a plague in Franklin's hometown about eleven years ago."

Ed froze in the act of untangling a rather impressive knot. "Sorn's parents died of it, didn't they."

"Yes. Along with most of the town's. Whole generation of them grew up without parents. Pretty well adjusted, considering." Rachel had been, at any rate.

Ed digested that as he pulled the now-unlaced boot onto his foot. "So you think that's why he's after a Stone?"

Al shrugged, glancing around the living room for a message or letter. Ed was acting as if they had to run out the door that second, but they had a good ten minutes before they'd need to leave for the Academy. "Couldn't tell. Blane never mentioned it outright. How about you?"

Ed reached over to the fireplace, where he'd placed the leg armor, and rolled up his trouser leg. The mechanism slipped on easily, and the three catches clicked smartly into place. "Didn't get too much of a chance to study before Hakuro showed up." He pulled a fresh sock onto the armor, then followed with the other boot. "Spent the last six hours explaining to him that he couldn't debrief a civilian."

"Obviously not, since you left yours in front of the closet-"

"Don't gimme a hard time. I'm tired." It was almost a whine. "At any rate, my current going theory is that Sorn is trying to transmute a Gate to another world."

That stopped Al dead in his tracks. "What?!"

"You heard me." Ed was shrugging his right arm and shoulder out of his shirt. "Astronomy, geography, your notes on the Gate you transmuted from this side . . . he didn't get them right," his brother added with a grunt, shoving his arm into the 'automail.' "But he got close."

"Are you sure he's not just theorizing other ways to make a Stone? Does he know how yet?" He'd translated his notes? He'd written those just before attempting to transmute the Gate to where nii-san was, and it had been his most complex set by far.

Ed shook his head, only because he couldn't shrug yet. "Dunno. Unless the steam engine upgrade or the children's novel contains encoded Stone research, I didn't find any. Didn't find any chimera research, either." Al watched his brother frown as he wiggled his fingers inside the armor. "Don't suppose this Blane mentioned anyone Sorn might have been working with?"

"No. Kids in the town said he didn't have a lot of friends growing up, so he stuck close to Blane and studied."

Edward was rolling his shirt sleeve back down. "Figures."

"What were you thinking?"

"Maybe his buddy was doing the chimera research. He couldn't have gotten them that perfect on his first try, Al."

Al thinned his lips in thought as his brother stood, shrugging his shoulder to settle the arm.

"And I was hoping we'd know who we were meeting before we got there."

"Eh?"

Ed flashed him the first grin of the day. "We have an appointment this morning."

Ah. So there was a reason nii-san was hurrying. "Really."

"Yep."

"With whom?"

"Sorn and friends. If he's around. Otherwise, just friends."

In other words, nii-san had no idea. "The friends with the guns and the 'You'll never need a get-well card again' card?"

Ed grabbed an orange on his way to the door. "I hope not. They have a bad habit of interrupting."

- x -

"Mr. Tringum sir?"

Fletcher leapt away from the shelf with a half-muffled shout, backpedaling to keep his balance and barely catching himself before he took out the bookshelf behind him. The leatherbound volume of Petiolated Leaves and Their Properties squeaked slightly, blinking large eyes –

He took a deep breath, and wiped an annoying rivulet of sweat off his temple with his right sleeve, steadying himself on the bookshelf behind him. "Sergeant."

"I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized, her voice muffled by the several thin booklets on sessile leaves currently between them. "It's just, I didn't see you come in, and I finished . . ." She trailed off, and Fletcher re-approached the bookshelf, having to duck to see her through the shelves and double rows of books.

"Finished? With the investigations?"

"With . . . well, the official investigation." It was more than a little guilty.

Fletcher stared at the rows of books for a moment, contemplating his options. He was pretty gross from his work clearing the feedback on grid thirty-two. The bookshelf gave him a pretty good stink-barrier, so he couldn't offend her from here, but she was obviously not referring to the official investigation when she said she'd finished, which meant –

Which meant she was referring to the other investigation. Where southern Amestris was part of some huge conspiracy to do something that none of them were as of yet aware.

And she'd probably want to be quiet about it. Which meant she wouldn't want to talk through the bookcases.

Fletcher sighed in defeat, shuffling down the long aisle. He felt dog-tired and he knew he must look it; Russell had actually offered to drive him to the library despite the fact that Russ was actually the relief, and should have started work immediately after he stopped. Grid thirty-two had seen some heavy fighting, and was unfortunately near the end of the shopping district, so there were more than a few storeowners pushing for it to be cleaned up ASAP.

Which meant doing physical labor as well as alchemical. He'd be perfectly happy to curl up and have a nap before class, but there was this niggling thought in the back of his head that the vein structure in the petiolated leaves would allow him to control the level of sunlight compounds introduced into the plant would absorb –

It took forever to get to the end of the aisle, and he found that Sheska had been pacing him impatiently. She glanced around quite openly before handing him a slim folder, and Fletcher briefly forgot about his mental complaining as he opened it.

To find a dossier on Avram Blane.

"You kept repeating the tax number, so I looked him up," she offered, as if it was the payment for his continuing to humor her. "But Avram Blane doesn't seem to be the alchemist you were looking for. There was nothing that indicated he'd been using tubers in his research at all."

Fletcher flipped to the second page, thoroughly absorbed. For being a non-certified alchemist, he'd certainly made a name for himself in the healing arts. He'd published a couple papers, too, mostly on separating proteins in solutions through a mixture of chemistry and alchemy.

Pity there was that stupid rule about the Academy only accepting certified alchemists. It looked like Al was really onto someone that could help them out.

"Huh," he noted, when he realized too much time had gone by since Sheska last spoke. "No, I guess not. Well, I must've had the wrong person. Sheska, where did you find this?"

She just stared at him, clutching a worn brown binder close to her chest. Obviously containing more 'evidence' of the southern Amestrian conspiracy. "I was doing all the research into everyone else," she murmured, as if it was self-evident, "so it wasn't any trouble at all."

The third page enumerated every mention of Avram Blane in the Central libraries, and all his residences. He'd been born and grown up in Central, so at least he wasn't part of her conspiracy, but then, of course, he'd moved south to Souse, then Arturu, before finally moving to Rountal, which wasn't even as north as Central. That was probably why she'd gone to the trouble, actually – she'd seen him in a southern Amestrian box and just assumed the alchemist he'd been looking for would fit into her theory.

This would obviously be valuable if he actually cared, but he wasn't sure Al would need it. Then again, there was no guarantee that Al wouldn't. And she'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble . . . or maybe not, for someone with an eidetic memory. "Thank you," he said, making sure his tone conveyed his sincerity.

She seemed to shrink several inches as she visibly relaxed. "So you're not mad?"

"Of course not! This is wonderful. I could never have dug up all this information on my own. Thank you."

"Even though he's not the right alchemist? I looked all over for references to tubers when I did the research, but I just couldn't find anything-"

Dear god. She didn't stop. She didn't sleep. She was like . . . the Mechanical Librarian.

Hah! They should name all the librarian and reference assistants like they did alchemists. Maybe he should suggest it in class later, to while away the time.

"Sergeant." He said it as gently as he could. "I am capable of doing my own research. You didn't need to do this, and I feel badly about using up some of your valuable time."

Sheska looked down shyly. "It wasn't a bother."

"Did it you find anything else to corroborate your theory?" Considering she'd gone to all the trouble, the least he could was listen . . .

She glanced around again, but still seemed too shy to meet his eyes. "There are more." It was a whisper.

Oh, the things he did for Alphonse Elric. "But didn't you find anyone from the west? Or the north?"

She shook her head. "Not many." When she finally looked up, the usual fervor was burning in her eyes. "I'll figure this out."

"I know," Fletcher said, and he meant it. She'd figure out that it was all a coincidence.

Eventually.

He lifted the folder in acknowledgement, starting to walk towards the front of the library, and she continued pacing him. "So are you thinking of asking this alchemist to take the certification exam? Or is he really not the one you were looking for?"

Fletcher almost laughed. "Are you trying to bolster the ranks with non-Southerners?"

A thin hand flew to her lips. "Oh, I would never-"

"It's okay, sergeant." He glanced back down at the folder again as they passed one of the large tables. "He's not the guy I was looking for, but he does sound interesting. We could use more alchemists familiar with straight chemistry."

"There were a lot of repeat articles I left out," she admitted as they both moved to curve around the card catalogue. "Mostly about the attack and plague in Jannai."

Fletcher frowned, but kept walking. Jannai . . . that's right; she must have left it off the list of residences because she knew he already knew that one. "Plague?" Attack? Attack of the plague?

"Yes. It must have been terrible. Although a little superstitious, if you ask me," she added with a sniff, and it was all Fletcher could do to keep his expression even remotely neutral.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

They were nearly to the front island of tables, which Fletcher had noticed on his way in had been put back in their usual configuration of empty. Escape was so close, but now he was curious, dammit-

"Oh, I left that part in," Sheska said, gesturing towards the file. "After the plague was cured, the villagers were so afraid it would return they renamed the town to Jannai. It was originally called Arturu."

. . . because a plague wouldn't be able to find you again if you renamed the town. He was actually with Sheska on that one; that was a little superstitious. Even for someone who confused homunculi with aliens.

"Wow," he agreed. "I need to run home and grab a shower before class, but thank you for this." He smiled at her, and watched her hesitantly return it.

"It was no problem," she murmured. "I'm glad to help."

He had to squash the sudden urge to hug her. She wouldn't really appreciate it, considering how sweaty he currently was, but she looked so much like a kid when she did that-

With a shake of his head, he headed out the main doors. Now that sessile vs. petiol leaves had been firmly chased out of his brain, it was chewing on something else. Arturu, Arturu . . . it sounded familiar, like he'd heard about it recently. Which he couldn't have, not if it had been renamed to Jannai years ago . . .

It was a southern town. Sheska had been rattling them off, when she'd listed all of Mustang's subordinates.

"And Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery was born in Bithport! And Dr. Timothy Patterson in Arturu!"

So Patterson was actually from Franklin's hometown. But he was older, by at least five years, so maybe he'd lived in the village long enough before the plague that he'd kept the old name. He didn't seem like the superstitious type, considering he was a doctor.

Hell, maybe that plague was the reason he was a doctor. Either way, Al was obviously in Jannai to track down Franklin, but he probably hadn't thought to ask Patterson. Maybe the kid was just sick, and instead of throwing him in a hospital, Patterson let him crash at his place. So this whole manhunt could be called off with no harm, no foul . . .

Of course, if he swung by the hospital, he was more likely to get a shot than a shower. Still, the kid was just a kid, and there was obviously something up since Al had known Sheska was under investigation, and he still hadn't explained his sudden, secret promotion-

Fletcher sighed, gripping the folder tightly, and rolled his head on his shoulders. Then he headed south, for the HQ hospital.

- x -

"Don't be absurd. The only reason they were here was to observe and figure out how their assassins were failing!"

"Keeping them here against their will is equivalent to a declaration of war-"

"- say it's high time-"

"Let's be reasonable, gentlemen-"

"-insulting! We must not allow-"

He never thought he'd actually miss Chamber Speaker Durnd, but he would have given half a year's salary to have him present, rather than in his hospital room. He wasn't the Speaker of the House, but he had a voice like a bull moose and hated idle speculation. He wasn't so much a calming presence as a silencing one.

Of course, there was another way to get Parliament's attention, one he'd been aching to try out, but he was saving that for a rainy day. Since obviously he'd be inside, and his gloves would be dry.

So he had to settle for merely staring at them in a disappointed manner until they got the message.

The idle speculation wasn't really so idle. All of the Drachman 'ambassadors' were demanding to be returned to Drachma. He had First Lieutenant Ross and the master sergeant keeping an eye on the women, but as of yet he hadn't even allowed them a phone call. They had been checking in with Tolya quite regularly prior to the attack, so he couldn't keep them under house arrest forever. No matter if he could claim it was for their own safety; it would be interpreted as a hostile act.

One of them, Ambassador Agata, had been present in the hallway just prior to the attack, when she had no reason to be. She might have been hoping to cause a distraction, as her dress could barely have been considered eveningwear, but she might also simply have been the first woman to make her move. She was by far the most outgoing of the three, and considering her behavior at the dinner he attended the evening of the underground explosion, it wasn't unexpected.

Despite Armstrong moving to protect the ambassador, at possibly the cost of her own life, the selfless act had bought them nothing. Agata escaped with nothing more than some slight bruising, but he had no doubt she'd use that to her advantage. If they continued the house arrest, he didn't want to even speculate what she'd tell Tolya had happened when all was said and done. If they discontinued the house arrest, Tolya would be informed of the attack immediately.

And that could be problematic.

The fact that the four men had been wearing Amestrian uniforms that had been made for them, as opposed to stolen from an officer or a laundry facility, was also extremely troubling. And the fact that they got into his branch of the building without proper ID was unacceptable. If the enemy continued to use such tactics, they were going to end up killing someone. And while he doubted it would be him, there were many important officials in the building, and all had been at risk.

And that truly could not be tolerated. The problem was that he was more certain than ever that the Drachmans were not behind this.

Ambassador Agata had been right. The accent had been better this time, but quite obviously wrong on the word 'die.' Even to his untrained ear, it had a quality that didn't belong to a native Drachman. Unfortunately, all he had was his word that his memory was accurate. And his word was stretching very thin with Parliament these days. And then, of course, there was the irrefutable fact that all four assassins had been killed-

Which was also concerning. He'd allowed Hawkeye and Falman to deal with Goodman and Brooks, and the two bodyguards were still stationed beneath him. In fact, they were positioned by the only two entrances to the Hall, and both were still armed. Whatever they'd told Riza, she'd either bought it, or she was giving them a chance to screw up again.

Either way she hadn't mentioned it, but it had been a busy morning. He wasn't sure anyone had fixed the jade dragon yet, either.

"Gentlemen," he called loudly into the microphone. It took a moment, but eventually all but the die-hard back-biters had quieted. Prime Minister Roy Mustang hid his surprise and continued. He needed to be careful; while the press had not been invited to this session, as that would have led to outcry from the public and very possibly danger to the Drachmans, most of Parliament had not seen the damage to his wing. They were relying on gossip to gauge how successful the attempt had been. Underplaying the danger was foolish, but allowing them to blow it out of proportion to facilitate Hakuro's push for war-

Incidentally, this would probably be an excellent time to determine just how much Hakuro's voice was getting through to the Parliament.

"Thank you for assembling on such short notice," he began, pausing to make eye contact with each one of them. "As you may have heard, late last evening, around midnight, four men dressed in Amestrian military uniforms breached the Prime Minister's wing and attempted to kill me." It was a very odd thing to say so matter-of-factly. "I stand before you today due to the quick action taken by my security staff and Major General Olivier Armstrong."

There was a brief uproar, though the voices he could pick out were demanding more detail, rather than being shocked. "Though I am responsible for the explosions heard at the time of the attack," he added, as if it had just occurred to him. At least that could lessen the impact of the destruction, once they saw it. Technically he had caused most of it, and it was almost impossible to tell a grenade had gone off unless you inspected the burn marks on the floor quite carefully.

"It is also true that Drachman Ambassador Agata was present at the time of the attack."

This time he expected the murmuring, and he let it continue until it died back on its own. "She happened across Major General Armstrong and me in the halls, and I believe was there to confront us regarding possible plans to invade Drachma." Ah, there was the pindrop silence he'd so missed. "I have assured the ambassador, and will assure you, no such plans are currently in place."

The silence erupted into the previous chaos, and he gave an exaggerated sigh, so those speakers closest to him could see his shoulders rise and fall. Then he scanned his audience, waiting patiently for silence. The room was packed; the balcony of the Hall was nearly full today. While the press had been politely required to remain outside until deliberations were finished, most of the staff had been invited. It meant that within hours after the meeting, the contents would become public knowledge. It would still be front page news, but in rumor only. He had no desire nor ability to permanently hide this attempt from the public. All he could do was place some reasonable doubt into everyone's mind as to the identity of the attackers.

The Major General was present up there, though he could barely see her; she was visible in a sea of military uniforms only by her straight blonde hair. Patterson had been called in almost immediately by Parliament security staff, though Olivier was the only one treated. The second gunshot he'd heard had apparently been an attempt to shoot through her to him, and had grazed her left side. Barely enough to need stitches, but still enough to scar. She was giving no indication that it was paining her, however; at a glance she appeared as healthy and chilly as ever.

Chilly and unreadable. He hadn't spoken with her this morning, yet, but even if he had, he doubted he'd know what she was thinking.

"Gentlemen," he called again, when order didn't seem likely upon returning swiftly.

"All due respect, Minister," a voice shouted, and the din died down for it, "why the hell not?"

And here was the line that was either going to work – one more time – or lose him this fight. "I am more convinced than ever that Drachma is not behind these attempts."

He definitely wasn't going to tell them that Agata had identified the accents as false. Nor was he going to say that he had. They wouldn't buy it, and with the General perched on the right-hand side of the tiers, observing 'his' goldcoats in action, he was likely to be arguing it until he was blue in the face. No, there was a better way to accomplish this.

And she deserved it, for that little stunt she'd pulled the night before.

"Do you like the attention?" another speaker quipped, and there was a brief bout of laughter. He smiled.

"The first assassin was unable to successfully incapacitate my Chief of Security, despite the element of surprise. The second, and the one most likely to have gotten a clean shot, was cut down by his fellows' fire. A third was shot as he attempted to kill Ambassador Agata."

Rather than an uproar, there were a series of low mutters. He'd spoken with Parliament enough to recognize the sound for what it was; an attempt to speak with like-minded colleagues without allowing other Parliament members to overhear. If Hawkeye was watching, she had an excellent opportunity to see if anyone was giving the general any significant glances.

"Furthermore, we happen to have an expert on Drachman military and guerilla tactics here in the Hall," he added mildly, "and she was there to witness this attack. If I may call Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong to the podium?"

The Speaker, who had until that point been content to let him try to keep order on his own, could not ignore such a specific request. "If it pleases the House, I call expert witness and Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong to speak before her Parliament."

There were no indications that this was unacceptable, and Roy stepped off the podium, watching the major general stiffly take her feet and disappear from view. She re-entered the hall soon thereafter, on the ground floor, and didn't even glance at him as she stalked past to take the podium at the Speaker's gesture.

"Would you like to address the Parliament, Major General?"

She glanced out over the assembled men, rigid and proud. "I would not."

Another low murmur, though the Speaker was unsurprised. Parliament was accustomed to that sort of response from the military, though less so since Mustang had become Prime Minister. "Would the House like to address the major general?"

The members didn't miss a beat. "Is it your belief the men that attacked last night were not Drachmans?"

Olivier fixed the official, Speaker Morian, with a cold look. "Of course."

She didn't elaborate, and Mustang very nearly grinned. She was going to make this hard on both of them.

Morian wasn't off-put. "That was a very confident answer. Why do you believe that?"

"Your Prime Minister, his chief of security, and I would be dead," she replied flatly. He noted she included herself, despite the fact that she'd probably both dodged a bullet and knocked him out of the path of one in the same move. He didn't doubt for a second she had excellent combat skills. But neither had been aware of any danger at all until Hawkeye had warned them, and as she had had no warning before the attack on her, it was Hawkeye that was to be commended for saving both their asses last night, Drachmans or not.

Morian gave a sly smile at her answer. "Is that so. So then, who do you believe they were?"

Armstrong paused a moment, blinking slowly. "Based on their tactics, I would say ex-military or military men, of low rank, from a country that doesn't engage in small-team missions."

Well, that statement excluded Xing, at any rate, as well as Drachma. And while they hadn't worked well together, they'd been organized, which usually meant they were accustomed to not having to watch for teammates, but weren't necessarily unfamiliar with their task. Maybe a team of mercenaries, that had never worked with partners before?

"Please, major general. We're civilians."

"Their teamwork was sloppy and they were inattentive." Roy took a moment to wonder if Olivier and Alex had been raised by the same people. "This indicates they were not used to working in quarters where their stray fire could strike one of their own. Drachmans are extremely adept at this, since their homeland is nothing more than an ice and pine forest." She glanced up, to the right, but Roy didn't take his eyes off her as she continued. "Those men were used to fighting side by side, which indicates their experience was with wide, flat spaces. Avenues, plains, deserts. It's difficult to tell, as their uniforms and firearms were Amestrian."

Though not regulation. She didn't mention that, and he wondered at it.

"So, it could have been Aeruga, Creta, or Xing," Morian finished, his sly look never leaving. "That's very specific of you."

She didn't move.

Morian turned to his fellows. "Any other questions for Mustang's dog and pony show?"

Mustang kept his neutral look with effort, even as the Speaker offered the Major General a hand to assist her off the podium. She did not accept it, and the look she gave Roy as she passed was withering.

He retook the podium at a gesture from the Speaker. "Thank you for your comments, Speaker Morian," he said coolly. "Though even as a civilian, I'd have expected you could connect the dots."

"Oh, I see. This is a military matter now, is it? Were you planning on actually using Amestris' armed forces anytime in the near future?" Morian glanced around at the assembled speakers. "We might even consider allowing it, if you'd even try to see reason-"

"A soldier completes his mission above all else," he interrupted, allowing just a tiny thread of anger to cut through his tone. "When faced with capture, the men that attacked yesterday evening chose not to take their own lives, nor the lives of the security personnel that were the largest threat to them. They chose to attack an unarmed civilian, the only unarmed person present, when they couldn't get to me."

Morian allowed the interruption, though he hadn't yet retaken his seat, and Mustang regarded him with the best disappointed frown he could muster. "They wore uniforms made for them by a local seamstress, used weapons bought from a local Amestrian dealer. Yet they spoke with heavy Drachman accents – why would they do that, when they were so careful on all other counts? Why would they attack Ambassador Agata if she was placed here by their Supreme Commander to help them?"

"Obviously to feed into your delusion," Morian shot back. "I'm certain Shurik Tolya is beside himself with happiness. You continue to give him reasons to attack us without even considering striking back-"

"Briggs is our first line of defense, and I have received assurances that it will hold." Getting into a shouting match with Morian wasn't going to sway the others. "General Hakuro's interview process is moving along swiftly, and should be completed by the end of next week." Though it was likely news to Hakuro. "I appreciate your patience, and I assure you that when the true culprits are found, they will be dealt with swiftly and with appropriate military action."

Morian retook his seat, but his voice was still audible over the collective murmur. "Those platitudes wear thin, Minister."

- x -

"So what'd you write in your letter to Winry? Did Patterson make it out there?"

Ed picked his head up off the headrest, rubbing his left shoulder idly. "Oh. I called her, actually."

Alphonse didn't take his eyes off the squat, two story brick building they were both staring at. "Didn't she say not to?"

"While you were gone, I went to ask Doc to check her out. He couldn't go since one of the goldcoats is in for something, so he recommended one of his colleagues. Cranky old guy named Ackernath went down there yesterday." He chuckled, low in his throat. "No one interrupted Hakuro to tell him there'd been a violent murder in Resembool, at least not this morning, so I'm going to assume everything went well."

Al shifted to make himself more comfortable, resting one arm casually on the steering wheel. They'd decided to take Al's rental, rather than the Parliament-issued vehicle, just in case. And rental was really a loose term; Zach had let him borrow it on the grounds that he hired someone to drive it back today, and for a pretty hefty price. He and Bert also seemed to derive amusement from the fact that they hadn't revealed they'd had one until he'd not only taken a horse-drawn cart to Rountal, but actually hiked the thirteen miles back.

Of course, they didn't know that he'd gotten picked up by another cart about two miles down the road, and lectured by the smallest, oldest lady he'd ever seen about how dangerous the roads were, and how he shouldn't have been walking them in the dark, alone. He had politely not pointed out that she was also alone until she'd guilted him onto her cart, and it wasn't safe for her to pick up strange men walking the roads at night. She'd dropped him off about a half-mile from Jannai.

"So she's already been seen?"

"Assuming they let him in the house, yeah."

"That's good."

Ed grunted his assent, then pulled out his pocketwatch. Al waited for it to snap closed.

"So, people were supposed to show up at eight, were they?"

"Don't start." Obviously Ed was also wondering if he'd decoded the message properly.

"It could have been left as a trap or distraction for someone going through his things," Al offered. After all, Franklin hadn't been present when the men with guns had dropped by, and they'd obviously been hoping to find him there, so perhaps the note Ed found had been meant for them.

Ed made a disgusted noise. "It's twenty after. If they were going to show, they would have."

"Unless they went in some other entrance." They hadn't actually gotten out of the car, after all, considering they'd arrived just five minutes till eight themselves, and were afraid someone might have already arrived.

"So, you want to check it out?"

"Can't hurt." They'd already cancelled their eight o'clock's, after all. He hadn't let nii-san leave until they'd done so, and Paise hadn't asked why.

Then again, she rarely did. She really was far too unflappable for her age. Only a few years older than they were, but she had the same basic personality as Mary Marguerite.

Except for the penchant for guns. She wasn't likely to shoot them for the stupid thing they were about to do, whereas Mary Marguerite wouldn't have hesitated. Maybe that would come with age.

Then again, that would eliminate Hawkeye's excuse . . . he'd have to blame her issues on too much time spent with Mustang and Hughes.

His brother opened the car door and Al followed suit, stretching briefly after he stepped out. Too much time spent in the car today, and not enough sleeping or moving around. He hated to admit it, but he was also slightly sore from all the hiking and cart-riding of the day before. It was worrying, that cleaning up the feedback as steadily as they had been was wearing him out. He'd have to be careful not to mention it to Patterson – Doc was getting crazy with the vitamin shots. He was ecstatic he could finally push proper nutrition on a whole class of over-achieving people who rarely ate well, worked long hours, and almost never slept on a regular schedule.

Though in nii-san's case, it had probably saved his hair from his self-inflicted fireball. "The usual?"

"Sure."

Without another word, they split up, and he chose to circle around the back. Funny, that he'd been thinking of Mary Marguerite and now they were performing a standard German military maneuver. For almost the same reason, too; the quiet extraction of a citizen wanted for questioning regarding national security.

That was a sobering thought. Using Nazi tactics in Amestris.

There was, of course, a back entrance, and Alphonse was not surprised to find it locked. Two small, grimy windows flanked the door, making large transmutation unfeasible, so he simply moved the tumblers into the proper configuration and bound them there. If Franklin was in the room, he'd have noticed, so Al moved quickly, yanking open the door and keeping it between him and the room.

There was no sound at all from inside. After waiting a beat, he stuck his head around the door.

It opened into a musty hall, with rooms branching off on both sides. Cobwebs filled the doorway, but there were places on the floor where the dust had been disrupted. Someone had been here in the last few days.

Cautiously, Al headed in, keeping to one wall. The wood floor was quiet; he kept his feet and his weight close to the support structures of the wall, as it was the middle of the planks that were likely to complain. All the doors were closed, and there was no whisper of conversation. A brief blur of motion at the end of the hall-

Nii-san. Which meant the front door either led to a lobby, or just the same hall.

This building had obviously been for some kind of administrative task, such as selling insurance, as opposed to manufacturing. There were no large spaces, and it seemed all the rooms would be quite small. Al dared to open the door closest to him, finding what appeared to be a storage room filled with old typewriters.

The place hadn't been abandoned too long; possibly it had been in use until the attack on Central, but five months of standing empty had taken its toll. Thick dust lay across everything, except, oddly, the middle of the hall. There was no indication that the person who had walked through had actually stopped in any of the rooms.

Ed had obviously noticed it too; he frowned, crouching down to rap on the floor. They knew there had to be a stairwell somewhere, since the building was two stories, but it was possible the thing had a basement as well-

The knock resulted in a loud, hollow sound, and Ed glanced up at him. So there was obviously some space beneath the floor, but whether it was just a crawlspace or a basement was unclear. Al just shrugged, and moved on to the next door, taking care to step wide across the hall floor as he did so. They'd really just announced themselves, if anyone had been listening, but he would have expected some sort of retaliation by now.

This door opened into a larger room than the one across from it, and it bore two desks, some chairs, and shelves and shelves of papers. While the footprints in the hall didn't lead into the room, the dust on the floor was quite disturbed, near one of the desks and two sets of the shelves.

Possibly the missing chimera or Stone research . . . ?

Al motioned out the hall, then stepped inside, hopping in alarm as there was a light pressure on his shin. His trousers were cutting into his skin in a thin line, as if he'd just stepped across a strong spider's web, or walked into a thread-

A tripwire.

Something he'd taught his German students to watch for. It was careless of him.

"Get out!" he shouted, tracing the line with his eyes to a very small space between the back of one of the bookshelves and the wall. It was too dark, and too small, to see what kind of explosive he'd tripped, but he clapped, preparing a transmutation of wood, and put his hand on the doorframe-

-and erected a thick wall between him and the bookshelf.

And nothing else happened.

The transmutation had completely severed the wire, and unfortunately, the side he could see was firmly attached to a small eyelet hook that had been twisted into the wood of the bookcase opposite. There had been just enough room to open the door, but no more.

"Al!"

He remained frozen where he was, straining his ears for any hint at all of an explosion. Or something else; perhaps the tripwire merely raised a flag on the top of the building, or released a balloon, notifying someone that it had been entered? Or had armed a pressure-sensitive switch beneath the floorboards? So if he stepped back into the hall, he would trigger something else-

But since his transmutation had taken wood from the surrounding floor and wall, he would have expected to have already set it off, since the pressure would have changed. Maybe not enough . . . ? He put his hand back on the wall he'd transmuted, and slowly put some of the wood back, using it to 'feel' around the structure beneath the floor. He found the struts intact, and there didn't seem to be any unexpected metal . . .

"Tripwire," he called back, keeping the edge out of his voice. Trust nii-san not to have done as he was told. Ah well; his boot camp training had been limited, since he'd been marauding as a doctor and not a soldier. "Don't know what it set off, though."

"Pressure switch?"

Al took the risk, leaning as slightly as he dared and waiting to feel a vibration in the wood, even as he continued his torturously slow transmutation.

There was none. No indication at all of a pressure switch, unless it was made of wood. And he was certain, if that were the case, he'd have already set it off. Gingerly, he took a step back, keeping his hand on the wall, and still, nothing.

"No." It was extremely unlikely that the tripwire had not done something, unless it was attached to a dud . . . ? "Anything on your end?" They should probably just get the hell out while the getting was good, and figure it out from a distance-

Al took another step back, releasing his transmutation and glancing back out into the hall to find Ed was crouched low to the ground, at the very far end of the hall, obviously also waiting for an explosion. His head was cocked towards the ceiling, and he was scowling.

"Something's up there," he warned, then put his hands to the ground. He'd also prepared his own transmutation; a ladder sprang up out of the wood floor, climbing to the ceiling, where a hole was opening –

There was a series of clicks, inaudible until the hole had been created. It was rhythmic, almost like a clock, and the speed was constant. Gears of some kind were turning.

Maybe the idea that a flag was being raised wasn't far off the mark. But gears-

Then again, they were after the Mechanical Alchemist. If he was going to leave a trap, it would be mechanical in nature.

And it was obviously in motion.

Ed was already scrambling up the ladder, obviously intent on determining what the hell was going on and stopping it. If it was gears, assuming he could freeze them, whatever was about to happen could be stopped. But it was a hell of a risk, considering they had no idea what they were waiting for-

There was a growing rumbling noise, like distant thunder, and then the entire length of the hall floor just fell away.

Just the floor. The walls of the hall continued uninterrupted, and as Al fell, he had the unreal impression that he was shrinking, and the walls and hallway were growing impossibly above him.

He also had the impression he was falling a hell of a lot farther than twelve feet.

Alphonse clapped his hands, intent on transmuting a parachute out of his coat, and the hallway floor, falling beneath him, impacted something solid with a deafening slap.

- x -

"I believe he's in the apothecary. It's just past Records."

Fletcher flashed the nurse a smile and thanks, and headed down the hall. He was fairly familiar with the second floor of the hospital, considering the amount of time he'd spent working on Al when the Elrics had returned to Amestris, then visiting as a patient himself or with Russ to help those poisoned by the feedback. Still, he was pretty sure he'd never been far enough down the hall to ever see the apothecary.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to. That was undoubtedly the place Doc Patterson used to whip up batches of the things he'd invented 'back in med school.' And while all of them had proven to be excellent medicines, there was no doubt that he, like all scientists, had to have a trial and error period.

And like all scientists, you didn't test your concoctions on yourself. You used hapless plants, or small animals, or your brother. And he didn't think Patterson had a brother.

So he was definitely taking his life into his hands. But if it resulted in finding Sorn safe and sound, it would certainly be worth it, so he just squared his shoulders as he proceeded past the large door labeled 'Records' and tried to look as energetic as possible.

Patterson would see right through it, but he could try.

He knocked on the solid, unlabeled door beyond, at the very end of the hall, and there was a muffled call from inside. Assuming it was permission to enter, Fletcher did so, surprised at how heavy the door was. All the better to keep fumes or explosions down to a minimum . . . ?

The inside was quite a bit larger than he expected, and it was an alchemist's dream. Sunlight poured through ceiling-height windows, illuminating rows of benches, with overhead shelves filled with jars of every element on the planet. The equipment was old but standard, such as mortals and pestles, microscopes, and even a set of antique dial calipers. There was a slight odor of baking soda and bleach, and the clinking of glass instruments.

"Hello?" Fletcher called, closing the door behind him and gazing around the large room appreciatively. It wasn't a pharmacy by any means, but the opposite wall contained shelves of every commercially available drug, obviously for testing purposes. That bench was decidedly less organized, and the white-coated figure of one Doctor Patterson was perched on a black stool, agitating some solution with a glass stirrer.

He stopped what he was doing, craning his neck to get a good look at his visitor. "Good morning!" His cheerful look slowly fell, though, and he turned completely to get a better look at him. Fletcher just grinned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and made sure he was standing up straight.

"Good morning," he replied lightly, trying not to wince as the doc's face continued to grow more serious.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

He moved forward, grabbing a stool and leaning against it before the doc could tell him to sit down. "Sorry to just barge in. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

The doctor shook his head, eyeing him one more time before turning back to his clear solution. "I'm just fooling around. It drives the nurses crazy, but I have to be close by in case Chamber Speaker Durnd wants to ask me the same question for the zillionth time . . ." He trailed off. "You look a little peaked. Are you feeling well?"

Fletcher nodded. "I'm fine. We ended up doing some manual labor on grid thirty-two."

"The shopping district," Patterson murmured, and Fletcher grinned. He was watching the alchemists so closely these days that he'd actually memorized the grids of the city.

"The very one. I guess we've all gotten lazy, since we transmute more than anything else lately. But I'm fine," he added quickly, as the doctor's eyes were suddenly drawn to his shelf of unlabeled vials. "I actually just got back from the library, and was hoping I could ask you something?"

"Mm," the doctor replied noncommittally, snagging one of the bottles and inspecting it critically. It actually was labeled; now that it had been picked up he could see a sticker on the bottom.

Damn. He was going to give him a shot.

"I don't know if you know-"

"Yes, there was an assassination attempt," Patterson interrupted, searching his bookcase for something else. "Mustang's fine, though."

Fletcher tried not to gape. "What?!"

The doc blinked at him, then grimaced. "Whoops," he muttered.

"What do you mean, there was an assassination attempt?!" And why the hell hadn't Russ told him?!

"Four men. They were all killed." Patterson shrugged, digging into his coat pockets for a pen. "A major general was grazed, but everyone else was fine. I think the Prime Minister was more angry he couldn't question the men than anything. That's really all I know."

Fletcher just digested that as Patterson made a note on the piece of paper at his elbow. "Do they know who did it? Which major general? Who else knows?"

Patterson gave him a sideways look. "Which part of 'that's all I know' did you have trouble with?"

"So they don't know anything? They just showed up? Were any of them alchemists?"

"You're obviously feeling fine," Patterson murmured to himself in an amused tone. "Everyone's fine. I don't know if any of them were alchemists. The major general in question was . . . Armstrong, I think? One of Alex's sisters." He blew out his cheeks. "She's pretty, but scary."

Ah. His older sister, obviously. "So I've heard." That made sense; she'd be in town for the ceremony and she'd probably want to know what Roy's impressions of the Drachman's leader were, since she'd be the first to act if Amestris declared war.

Again, he had the sneaking suspicion Al had only given him the tip of the iceburg. And it made him wonder, suddenly, if he should be asking Patterson this, or he should be telling Al to ask Patterson instead. Though it was unlikely that Patterson would be hiding Sorn if he really had anything to do with whatever was going on, and maybe, if he played his cards right, Patterson would give him a couple clues . . .

"That's actually not what I came to ask you about. But it's certainly interesting," he added, leaning on the counter. Patterson gave him another sideways look.

"You sure you're feeling all right?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just wondering . . . you were born in Jannai, right?"

"Yes," he answered cautiously, giving him a strange look. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, there was a plague there, around a decade ago?"

The doctor put down his pen, giving Fletcher his full attention. "Yes, there was. Again, why do you ask?" He almost looked worried-

Fletcher waved his hands quickly. "Oh, it's nothing like that." Damn, the doc probably thought he'd been doing research because something like it had cropped up somewhere else. "It's just, Franklin Sorn was born in the same town, right? Even though it was renamed from Arturu?"

Patterson tilted his head to the side, almost consideringly. "He was," he affirmed. "Though as boys we didn't have too much contact. I don't know if he even remembers me. He was so young . . ." Patterson trailed off. "Too young to be here," he added quietly. "But then, I guess his namesake was too."

"Namesake . . .?"

Patterson grinned. "Everyone in Jannai called him 'Red Edward,' because he reminded them so much of the famous Alchemist of the People." He chuckled. "Don't tell Ed I told you that; I've been waiting for him to hear about it for a while now."

Fletcher smirked. Yes, that was not likely to go over well with the elder Elric. "Why do you think Sorn wouldn't remember you?"

"He didn't spend all his childhood in Jannai. He and his alchemy teacher traveled the country studying. He spent some time in Central, then east in Liore, and I think they even went through the Great Desert at some point . . ." He trailed off, then shook his head. "I guess I'm kind of the same case, though."

Fletcher wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"

Patterson looked surprised. "How many other twenty year old second years do you know?"

He had a point. He was by far the youngest doctor in the hospital, but Fletcher hadn't thought anything of it, since he was used to being around incredibly bright people-

Which meant that Patterson was obviously one of the club. "You're right. I never even thought about it-"

"Gee, thanks," Patterson mock-sighed. "Best in class, but of course the genius alchemists just take me for granted-"

"So how young were you when you went to med school?"

Patterson leaned back in thought, surveying his rows of solutions. "Fifteen, I guess. I was lucky enough to approach someone who wanted me to fail, so they let me sit for the entrance exam."

That was one way to look at 'lucky.' "I take it you got the highest grade?"

Patterson chuckled, standing to peruse the shelves of commercial drugs. "Not quite, but high enough that the same doctor allowed me into the school, again in the hopes I would fail."

"Sounds like a great guy."

"His office is on the third floor," the doctor replied, plucking down a box and dumping the bottle contained therein into his hand. "So what made you ask?"

"I don't know if you know," Fletcher tried again, "but Al's looking for Franklin. He missed classes, and I think the Elrics are afraid he worked himself too hard and he's ill."

Patterson nodded to himself, grabbing a small syringe out of the bin on the bench and withdrawing some of the drug from its bottle. "He's certainly taking on more than he should be," Patterson agreed, "but he isn't the only one." He gave Fletcher a long look.

He huffed in protest. "We were moving support beams. They're heavy!"

"Have you ever heard of construction equipment?" Patterson withdrew the needle from the first bottle, and plunged it into the solution he'd grabbed earlier.

Oh yes, he was going to be a guinea pig.

"Have you ever heard of deadlines?" he retorted, refusing to pre-emptively roll up his sleeves. "At any rate, I was wondering, since you two grew up in the same town, do you know where Franklin might be? I mean, have you seen him in the last couple days?"

Patterson shook his head, tapping the air bubbles out of the syringe. "Not since his last checkup," he replied. "And speaking of which, both you and Russ should have been in my office two days ago."

Fletcher narrowed his eyes. "I might be tired, but I can still take you down," he warned, but as usual, the doctor approached him anyway.

"I have no doubt that's true," he responded. "Can I have your left arm, please?"

Fletcher was unable to think of any reason to protest, so he did as he was asked. "Can you think of anyone that might know where he is? And did you know his alchemy teacher that well?"

"Not offhand . . . I assume someone tried him at home? And no, not really. I'm a doctor, not an alchemist." The doctor found a blood vessel easily; they were nicely raised from all the work he'd done that morning, and Fletcher flinched at the unexpected sting of the contents.

"Yeah, Al did. What the heck is this stuff, anyway?"

"Something I designed in med school," came the expected answer, and he turned to toss the syringe at the contaminated waste bin. Fletcher shook out his arm, letting his sleeve fall back down. He'd pulled it too tight, and his arm was starting to fall asleep-

There was a strange sensation in his chest, and he took another breath. It was like his ribs had gotten heavier. A small ball of ice was collecting in the bottom of his lungs, and he took another, deeper breath, trying to shrug off the odd feeling-

Patterson hadn't moved away from him, and he placed a steadying hand on his chest and the back of his neck. "I'm sorry for the pain."

Fletcher tried to shake his head. "Issnot that," he slurred. His tongue was thick, he couldn't move it even though he could feel it, and he started to tip off the stool. He threw his arms out, trying to keep his balance, but he could barely twitch them, and his legs felt like rubber.

Doc seemed to have been expecting it, because the hand on the back of his neck steered and controlled his fall. Patterson helped to lay him on the floor, being careful of his head and shouldering the stool out of the way.

"Doc-" He couldn't move his lips, and it was getting very hard to breathe.

"I'd give you something for it, but anything strong enough to help would show up during the autopsy," Patterson continued, apparently unmoved by his patient's sudden collapse. Fletcher tried to communicate his distress, but he couldn't move his jaw, he couldn't move anything-

Autopsy?

He knew his eyes were wide open, but it was hard to focus. He could feel his tear ducts sluggishly trying to make up for the fact that he couldn't blink. The doctor had knelt at his side, and he could plainly feel the man kneading his left arm forcefully enough to hurt-

No. It hurt because the muscles were cramping. And Patterson had expected it, was trying to ease it.

He was having a heart attack.

Fletcher couldn't move his eyes anymore. He couldn't move anything. His breaths were getting shallower and shallower, and he tried frantically to bring his hands together. It had to be a paralytic, he might be able to pull it out without crossing into human transmutation-

He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't even move his fingers.

He couldn't do anything.

The doctor had given him a paralytic. A fatal dose.

On purpose.

Patterson was still talking to him. "I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone," he said softly, and Fletcher realized he must have looked as terrified as he felt. God, his face was probably frozen that way, would be frozen that way-

This wasn't happening.

Lack of oxygen was slowly limiting his peripheral vision, and he watched it disappear with a kind of horrified fascination, no longer able to even attempt to inhale. He was dying. This is what it felt like to die. And he could feel everything, could still think and comprehend and-

"I'll do everything I can to help Russ." The doctor's promise sounded strange to his ears, and he realized with a start that the room was starting to shrink. There was a terrible chill to his extremities as blood stopped flowing through them. It had stopped flowing to his brain, too. He wouldn't be conscious much longer. Patterson was still in his field of vision, but it was impossible to make out his expression, impossible to focus on him. "Your death is not meaningless."

Another brief surge of panic, but no adrenaline to go with it, no rush of sensation. Even his glands were unable to respond. The doctor was still talking, but he couldn't make out the words, no matter how hard he struggled. He had the impression of a blinding light, but he couldn't be sure he was actually seeing it.

His arm didn't hurt anymore. He couldn't feel the doctor's hands on him anymore.

His heart had stopped.

But he was still conscious.

How could that be?

With a start he jerked upright, sucking much-needed air, but then he realized that he . . . he didn't need it. There was no feeling that he'd been suffocating, no chill to his body. No pain. He scrambled to his feet shakily, staring around at the dull yellow ambient light, aware that he wasn't standing on anything but at the same time able to feel solid ground beneath his feet.

He knew exactly where he was.

He'd seen this place once before, after all. For a few terrifying moments, when they'd been performing an infusion of base metals into Alphonse Elric.

He was dead.

And he was in front of the Gate.

There was an earthen crack behind him, though he knew it was the direction he'd been facing before he spun, he knew he'd already looked in that direction and there hadn't been anything there-

He clapped, preparing to transmute carbon into the air, but then hesitated. Why fight? If he was dead, he had no body to go back to. Russ wasn't there to bring him back.

There was no going back.

Oh, god. Russ.

I'm sorry.

Thin black hands, impossibly two-dimensional, eased around his body, gently taking his hands. Separating them. Again, his instinct was to fight them, and again, he hesitated. They didn't hurt him; they tugged at him in an almost inviting manner, and their flat fingers felt soft and warm. He still didn't turn, almost too terrified to breathe, and as another arm wrapped itself possessively around his hips, he heard a giggle of recognition.

- x -

Author's Notes: Whew! Longest chapter to date. You can anticipate that things will pick up pretty sharply from here, and they won't slow down till the end. There are a zillion typos, and I've already found several places I tried to make Mustang a her, so if you notice anything, please tie it to that brick in your hand before you lob it my way.

Should I be worried about the tepid reaction to last chapter? For all you new readers, in case you missed it – whenever I write a long fic, I tend to reward reviewers that go above and beyond by writing them a ficlet of their choice. I find it weird that the chapter in which I mention the feedback present should be the one that got the fewest reviews. Was there something there you guys didn't like? Too much plot? Too little action, or too little explanation of it? You disagreed with actions or dialogue made by the characters? I know I'm writing this one for me, and it's pretty darn complicated, but it would be very helpful to me if you guys could let me know explicitly what you do or don't like, so I can improve. Plus, story!present!

(Hopes that reminder of presents might distract readers from throwing bricks.)