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

Content Warning: Very, very mild tearjerk warning.

- x -

She draped the afghan around him as softly as possible, and he woke about thirty minutes later.

Winry Rockbell didn't budge from her spot, smoothing his hair from his face as he stirred. She'd all but eliminated the tear tracks, avoiding the scruff of his cheeks for fear of waking him. He looked as if he hadn't shaved in almost a week, and his facial hair had always been slightly darker than the blond on his head, making him look older but also hiding the salt.

She wondered yet again how long he'd been there, slumped against the wall by the door, on the cold floor in nothing more than scrubs. His left arm was bound tightly in a sling, his right forearm still bandaged, and by the time she'd woken and followed granny's heavy-hearted gaze to the wall, he'd been shivering.

Pinako had been more than happy to give up the afghan, but it seemed as soon as he was comfortable he knew something was wrong, and had been on his way to waking ever since. His golden brown eyes opened laboriously, and then Alphonse took a quick, deep breath.

He didn't draw back, though, as she continued smoothing his hair. He rarely wore it completely down, and given the way it looked he'd let it dry without even brushing it. He smelled clean, though, and she expected the nurses here had probably had something to do with that, as well as the scrubs. They wouldn't have let a filthy and travelworn patient sit on the cold floor in so little, but clearly they hadn't let him stick around without checking himself in.

"Hey," she said softly, and then Al's eyes began to fill.

"Hey," he replied hoarsely, leaning into her hand. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"We noticed," Pinako's voice drifted from the bed, clearly more amused than admonishing. "I haven't seen you sleeping on the floor since you were a boy." She didn't add 'in armor,' though it had been Winry's first thought, seeing him sprawled out like that. He used to sit that way all the time when he wanted to be near someone but thought it was an intrusion. If he stood the whole time they all got bothered that he wasn't comfortable, and he'd been so young besides that he'd still been accustomed to sitting on the floor - closest and easiest surface.

They hadn't really understood at the time, but no matter how he slouched he wasn't comfortable.

He had the same look now as he'd had then, or as much as the armor could express, closing his eyes as she ran her thumb over his eyelashes. She didn't press hard. No need to rub in the fact that he looked as if he wanted to weep all over again.

She did too.

He made no move to pull his head away from her shoulder, letting himself be cuddled, and she sighed softly, not stopping the attention. He was and always had been far better than his brother about allowing physical comfort, and though he hadn't really needed any since he'd returned from that other world, he certainly looked like he did now.

"I see you're a patient again. Anything else you've broken?"

His lips twitched. "Nurses wouldn't let me visit until I cleaned up."

"Good," Pinako murmured. "I'd hate to have to give you a bath at this age, Alphonse."

She and Al both chuckled, and he apologetically lifted his head away from her shoulders. "I guess I should go to my own room, since it looks like I'm stealing your blankets."

"Stay a while." Pinako's voice was knowing. "It's nice to have visitors."

Winry left her arm around him, elbow balanced between the wall and the top of his back, playing idly with his hair. It was quite a bit thicker than hers, each strand, and every once in a while she had an urge to tug on it. Currently it was full of knots and she was attempting to free them without hurting him, but his back was tense again now that he was awake and she wasn't sure how much success she was having.

"Want to talk?" she asked simply.

He stared at nothing for a long time, then shook his head slightly. "Nothing to say," he managed around what sounded like a sticky throat.

Winry just nodded, and Pinako sighed. "We've already had this conversation, Alphonse."

Another lip twitch, that finally burst into a small smile. "I'll convince you yet."

The woman harrumphed.

He sat up a little straighter, as if something had just occurred to him, and she shifted with him so that she was still some type of support.

"Actually, there's news on that front."

"On what front?" She was pretty sure she'd missed something between granny and Al, possibly getting her back to Resembool? Because Pinako was probably right - Al wasn't going to have much more success than she had. She was certain granny would prefer to be home, but the pain and hassle of the transport, and getting her to the house once in town . . . it would be a parade. A parade she wouldn't be comfortable being the center of. At first it had been the plan, until Ackernath had pointed out the obvious. Now there was no dissuading the woman.

However, Al had something far better. "Fletcher Tringum is alive. He's fine. Well, not fine," he amended. "But he will be."

Winry leaned back so she could take more of him in. A flash of happiness was in his eyes, echoing her own heart. "That's-that's wonderful! But how?" Surely-

Oh no.

She pulled away from him as if burned, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "What did you do." And what had he given up? Had he and Ed-?

He cowered, though it was playful, and a sudden knot of worry in her lungs loosened - slightly. "The body we found, it was a doll. Created alchemically by Franklin Sorn. The real Fletcher has been alive this whole time, in hiding."

Pinako was watching him quite closely, though Winry could see he was largely oblivious. "In hiding? From whom?"

His eyes darkened. "I don't know if I'm allowed to say just yet," he mumbled. "From the man that tried to kill him."

. . . tried to kill him? Someone had actually tried to murder Fletcher Tringum? Winry curled her legs beneath her, itching for something metallic to put in her fists. "But you know who?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We know who." It was very soft.

"And are they still alive?" Because god help her, if she ever ran into this man he wouldn't be when she was done with him. Killing Fletcher Tringum! That was insane! There wasn't a better disposed, nicer human being in Amestris! He was a sweetheart, unlike his brother, who was a bit pompous and a bit arrogant and reminded her just a smidge of Edward in that regard.

How Russell must be feeling right now . . . "Russ knows, right?"

"Yeah. He's with him right now." Then his eyes darkened again, though he added nothing else. Quickly the happiness in him was fading back into that hurt look, and she hesitated, glancing at granny.

Pinako was staring at the ceiling, her examination clearly done, and Winry half-glared. How did she always manage to read people so darn quickly?

"Wait, if Sorn . . . the kid, right?" She waited for affirmation before she continued. "If he created the . . . the doll, does that mean . . . he . . .?"

Al shook his head. "No. He provided the means for Fletcher to get out of there without anyone being the wiser."

But why wouldn't Fletcher have - Winry mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Probably because Fletcher didn't want to endanger his brother, that's why. Like another pair of brothers she knew well. And given his look, his obvious desire to be with people, and the lack of Edward, she didn't need to ask to know that something was up between Al and Ed. Or that Al was worried about Ed.

"I'm glad. Is he here? Can I visit him?"

Al shook his head again. "He's being kept for observation . . . somewhere else," he finished lamely. "But I'll let him know that you asked about him."

"Please do." She paused. "You know, you disappeared for a couple days too."

He nodded after a moment, burrowing slightly beneath the afghan. He said nothing.

Well, then that clearly had something to do with it. "In that case, I have some news for you."

Al feigned interest, and she patted his cheek fondly in reward for the effort. "You know the doctor you and Ed had sent down to see to Granny?"

He nodded, while Pinako snorted from the bed. "Turns out he's my grandfather reincarna-"

There was a polite knock at the door, which Winry largely ignored. The nurses never waited for you to say it was okay or not okay to come in, so there wasn't much point. And the door predictably opened, showing black hair and blue uniform instead of Sadie or Bonita.

Maria Ross smiled in honest pleasure and gave a little wave as she poked her head in, and when she spotted Al she fully entered the room, came to attention, and saluted.

"Good evening, sir! I have a message from the Prime Minister, sir."

Al had become tense and rigid the moment he'd recognized the woman, and his expression softened slightly as he apparently thought something through. Then he slowly uncurled himself from the afghan, using his right arm to drape it over her bare legs. "I'll be right back if I can," he promised, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing tightly before he took his feet. He gave Lt. Ross a nod and she dropped to parade rest, then walked over and gave Pinako a very gentle hug. "Sorry I woke you up."

"You're such a stupid boy sometimes," she said warmly, patting his good shoulder. "Sleep in a bed."

Then Al was himself again, dry-eyed business oriented Al, and he almost marched out of the room. Lt. Ross nodded to them both and closed the door. Winry remained on the floor, listening to their footsteps, but of course Alphonse wasn't in the orthopedics wing, so she couldn't determine which room was his.

No matter. She'd go find him in ten minutes, and if he needed it, she'd stay with him for a while.

Pinako glanced at the door again before frowning, but she didn't offer a reason, and as Winry climbed off the floor, she realized why. What it could mean when a single uniformed solider came to give a 'message' to a worried family. She said nothing either, curling back up in her chair with the afghan clutched to her chest.

- x -

"Let's not assume anything just yet."

"Realistically I think we're going to have to-"

"Just a moment." He made eye contact with each of them to ensure they realized he wasn't displeased, and he inclined his head to the room at large. "The issue, gentlemen, is whether we pursue the Cretians to the border or over the border. It's a significant distinction to the military, because our actions to this point have been defensive only. The moment we invade, we declare that we intent to take something from this conflict." His voice was steady and cool. "The State military presence in West is now sufficient to prevent the city from being taken by a second force. Laying siege to Suveine, the east-most major Cretian city, is the question on the table for this Parliament."

A formal conference table had been dragged into the center of the Parliament House, and Mustang sat at its head, surrounded by generals of varying flavors. The Speaker sat the other head, leaving his deputy to wrangle the House itself, and staff flitted in and out with constant updates.

The process, though undocumented and certainly not policy, was working quite well. It put a large number of military officers in close proximity to a large number of politicians, normally a terrible idea, but they were all working toward a common goal. Loudly and a bit rambunctiously, but overall he was rather pleased. The idea of large-scale collaboration was inappropriate for most venues, but this particular issue needed to be decided by the representatives of the people rather than the State military.

It was also a test. As General Hakuro had said, the position of Prime Minister had been created for this exact scenario. It was time to see if the reorganization of government had been effective or needed to be reconfigured.

He was quite certain they had never meant for him to go about it like this, though. He rather suspected that, in times of war, Parliament had wanted more of a scapegoat than they were getting. He'd pushed the issue - and responsibility - back to them without sacrificing swift response.

In all likelihood, this was moot, because the major general, if she was angry enough, would probably ignore Central and do as she pleased. Parliament had been quite divided over the idea that she had beheaded the enemy general and hung the woman's head from the West HQ walls on a chain. Some regarded it as the same barbarous behavior they'd tried to eliminate after Bradley's reign, others praised her ingenuity in doing whatever was necessary to protect the city.

As far as he was concerned, it was simply a victory, and the means well within the acceptable customs of war. The Cretians had pulled back a mile from the city when she'd sent a force to confront them, and once on the move it was easier to keep them that way. But there would absolutely have been a second force at least half-organized on the Cretian front in case of victory, and that force was likely to be in Suveine. Even with Central's reinforcements only an hour out and South's already arrived, he wasn't certain she had the men to successfully take the city. And it seemed his generals agreed.

"We can't ignore the fact that we could be dealing with twenty thousand or more troops-"

"And where are you getting those numbers?"

" How do you know the second force wouldn't simply be a militia to keep civil order in West as the first force moved on?"

"Mustang," the Speaker said suddenly, and the table quieted. "You're being too quiet over there. What are you thinking?"

He leaned back in his chair contemplatively, taking time specifically to ease the sense of urgency in the air around him. They did need to decide, and soon, but there was no need to rush. "Speaker Nack is correct - this government released a statement when I took the oath of office that spilled blood would not be tolerated."

And even though the Cretian declaration of war even now was alive and on a train bound for Central, whether the war had started a few hours earlier or later was beside the point. At least one Amestrian soldier had been killed. They would probably actually never identify the true first bullet, the true beginning of this conflict, but blood had been spilled nonetheless.

"And it wasn't tolerated," he concluded. "Armstrong inflicted heavy losses and took our enemy's top general as payment." Many would not consider this a fair trade, so he smiled grimly. "Whether or not we bicker over Suveine is irrelevant, as far as I'm concerned. In the end, by the time the politicians are finished with one another, we'd probably end up giving the city back. My generals agree that it would be too difficult to protect one little finger in another nation's territory, and we'd quickly lose the city if the Cretians are determined enough to get her back."

And he was fairly certain they could all agree taking and then losing the Cretian city would undo all the good their victory in West had achieved.

"I know that smile," the Speaker muttered, over the buzz in the room. "What do you intend instead?"

"Unless Parliament votes against it, I was planning to wait for the Cretian diplomats to arrive, and give them an ultimatum. Full and unconditional surrender to Amestris, or be defeated and annexed."

This announcement was met with a roar from both his military and Parliament, and he gave an exaggerated look around before settling back into his chair and letting the deputy Speaker try to regain order. General Hakuro was straightening the papers in front of him, not joining in the protest of the other generals, and Roy wondered how much of that was show and how much he'd already guessed.

"All due respect, Minister, I don't think we can pull that off," he finally said, when the initial reaction died back. "Drachma is still holding per your agreement with his Eminence Shurik Tolya, but I am not comfortable putting that new relationship under duress. Creta is hardly crippled, and will expect retaliation."

"Creta's military was turned back by less than a quarter of their force," one of the speakers called from the floor. "Why can those results not be used to our favor?"

"I won't label our victory in West luck," Hakuro spoke again, considering his words carefully. "Major General Olivier Armstrong demonstrated ingenuity and employed the appropriate tactics exactly as she was trained to do. However, despite fewer men she had many advantages, the most powerful of which was that she was playing on the home field. The simple fact is that we don't know their land as well as they do. We cannot count on these results when waging an offensive war."

It was well-explained, and Roy saw no need to add or liaise. Parliament deliberated for a moment, but it was a major general who broached the question.

"We did employ a State Alchemist to great effect."

Hakuro glanced at him, but Roy didn't indicate he wanted to field the comment, and the general turned back to the table. "Brigadier General Armstrong was deployed in an officer capacity, not functioning specifically as a National Alchemist. The use of alchemists in battle is at the sole discretion of the Prime Minister."

Mustang almost laughed outright at the general's blatant move, but he sat up a little straighter and prepared to answer anyway.

"Who if I remember correctly stated that they would no longer be deployed to the front lines," a silky voice interrupted, from the floor. "It seems to me that if that policy can be altered once, it can be altered twice."

Again, Mustang wondered what the consequences for arranging Morian's death would really be. "As the general just outlined, Armstrong was deployed in an officer role only. It was at the discretion of Major General Armstrong that he be employed in an alchemic role. While I agree that the distinction is slight, I put forth that I kept my word, as I did not deploy the brigadier general. General Hakuro did."

"That's ridiculous," Morian snapped loudly. "In that case, any State Alchemist can be deployed in an 'officer role' whenever the military likes, and your oath is meaningless."

The other generals, however, were muttering to each other, and the Speaker look downright startled. All this time, they'd never seen the fine print in his promise to the State Alchemists. Not to mention he'd added the caveat 'unless a major city is about to fall,' and this situation had of course qualified. The point was that this distinction meant he could deploy alchemists on a non-defensive basis, if he and he alone chose to. Mustang adopted his normal smirk.

"All due respect, speaker, it's my loophole to use when I see fit. It will appear to the Cretians that Amestris is willing to deploy State Alchemists, regardless of my policy against it. I have every intention of using that force in this negotiation as a tool to threaten and bolster Amestris military capabilities."

The one risk he faced was that Parliament could still vote to invade. That was the one problem with giving them part of the responsibility and credit. It also gave them some amount of say in actions to be taken.

"And are you willing to use that loophole to employ National Alchemists in a war against Creta?"

He didn't even hesitate. "That will depend on whether or not Creta gives us our treaty."

- x -

Three.

The traincar bounced slightly as it took the curve, jostling him and forcing him to move his foot out slightly to keep his balance. The officer's cars were especially equipped for comfort and smoothness, to allow planning, drawing, calculations, and sleep. They were split into six separate cabins, three on each side, and they were swank and roomy. Usually only generals and their staff traveled in such luxury, and yet the only thing he noticed was the ride.

It still jostled him.

The IV pole barely moved, though he'd seen the nurse lock the wheels when she'd settled him in for the trip. The litter itself had been set on the table in the center of the cabin, which had a rotating top that converted it into a free-standing bed, and he knew the mattress had to be protecting him a little better than his wooden chair was cushioning him.

Still, every time he saw the body move, it hurt. What if he was waking up. What if he wasn't.

Four.

Despite the jostling, or maybe because of it, his erratic and difficult-sounding breathing had eventually steadied out. Four times a minute. He'd been up to seven at his strongest point in the West HQ infirmary, but even so that was only one breath every ten or so seconds. He'd tried to match it, and despite too many years of smoking he could, but it was uncomfortable and he knew if he kept it up eventually he would pass out.

They weren't just infrequent. They were so damn shallow.

Pithe had resisted the idea of putting him on a train, but acknowledged that the best physicians had fled West on the order of Armstrong prior to the arrival of the Cretians, and he was ill-equipped to treat. They'd taken the spot Pithe had meant for Olivier, who had flatly refused to leave West despite suffering a near-fatal injury herself. A frag grenade, Alex had said, and he had to admit he'd never seen the big guy as terrified as he'd been right then, carrying the major general into the infirmary. Hadn't realized his back was also cut up from the same until a nurse came over with a tray and started working on him.

Just like he hadn't really realized he'd shot Edward Elric in the head until he was walking off the field. A soldier's brain was a funny thing. It wouldn't let you paralyze yourself until there was time for it. Or if it did, you didn't make it too long.

He closed his eyes, hoping the heavy crusting ache of exhaustion would ease, but he didn't have the energy or will to scrub it off himself. He was pretty damn paralyzed now, that was for sure, and the fact that he knew it didn't make it any easier to start moving again.

When the ache didn't slough off he gave up and opened his eyes, and everything was still the same.

One.

The train shifted again, beginning its climb up the last hill before Central, and an oily lock of limp gold hair slipped across Elric's eyebrow. He stared at it, watching each individual strand straining to hold itself still as momentum tried to drag it down. The lights flickered briefly as the engineer prepared them for the tunnel, and the Full Metal Alchemist's head turned towards him, just slightly.

There hadn't been a sight on the rifle. He hadn't even thought about the difference in equipment until he'd gotten his papers and been issued the weapon. Just for executions, it had been a stripped down Enfield with the scope removed, to ensure that bullet placement would be accurate but the marksmen could never be certain his round had been the fatal one. By the time he'd opened his other eye Full Metal had been halfway to the ground, and since he'd clipped him on the far side to get a longer, more shallow shot, he hadn't seen the extent of the damage until he was off the field, getting an ass-chewing from that bulldog of a marshal, watching the body being waved around like it was some kind of-

He closed his eyes again, wishing the image away. So much closer than he'd thought. Far too close. Might as well have shot him right between the fucking eyes instead of drawing it out like this.

Breda tried to make him feel better about the whole thing, and he appreciated it, he really did, but he fucked up and that was that. Every time he thought about arriving in Central his gut twisted up and he wanted to crawl into the head and never come out. It wasn't like Mustang would do anything. Wasn't like he had to worry about anger or fire. No, it would just be the look on his face.

The look on Al's face.

The look on Ed's face.

He had no idea if the colonel would reject the transfer he'd already requested, and if she didn't, he'd -

He'd do whatever it took to get a discharge, honorable or not. Shit. He didn't know what to do, but it was all going to hit when he got there, he needed to be able to think, to move-

Two.

Ambient light in the room dimmed suddenly, and the lights flickered again, taking over for sunlight as the train entered the tunnel. The yellow bulb made everything much duller, and he tucked his hands into his armpits, so his fingers wouldn't stray for that lock of hair.

He didn't have the right to touch him. All he could do was make sure that nothing else happened to him between now and safety. Between now and help.

And after that . . . he didn't know.

The car rattled around what he knew would be a neverending curve that would descend sharply and spit them out practically in Central proper. It wasn't too much longer that he'd get the opportunity to sit here, alone with him. He'd been looking for the words since late afternoon, after the battle, after crawling through the tunnels and going through the interrogation and explaining his uniform over and over again. What could he say?

As always, his mouth didn't help. He'd never been one to babble for the sake of hearing his own voice, but he was the only one who hadn't said anything to him. Not a word of encouragement, of apology, of reassurance. He sat here and he watched over him, and as far as Ed knew he was completely alone. He just couldn't-

Couldn't think of anything to say.

There was a terrific jerk, almost shoving him out of his chair, and Havoc's eyes flew open as he threw out his arms to regain balance. Edward's head rolled away, towards the other side of the car, and Havoc saw that the IV pole was tipping.

He was already on his feet and he sprang forward, bracing his thighs on the edge of the bed and forcing his creaking back to stretch as he made a grab for it. The second his fingertips brushed the pole the bulb over his head brightened like a star, then exploded with a pop that spat glass against the fixture. He flinched hard and then froze, perfectly still, the metal of the pole smooth and cool in his hand.

But the fixture didn't come down, and the squealing of brakes drowned out any alarmed shouts from others in the car. After a moment he realized they were just slowing, not stopping altogether, and as his eyes adjusted to the almost pitch-black, he noticed a strip of light coming from beneath the door.

Just a power surge, then. Blew the bulb. They were going too damn fast.

He swallowed his heart back into his chest, tugging the IV pole slightly closer to the bed, and then straightened, careful not to touch Edward as he felt around with his feet for the legs of his chair. He found it, about where he'd left it, and he settled back slowly. Obviously the engineer had better things to do than tell him where to find a replacement bulb, and they'd be out of the tunnel soon enough. Wasn't as if the dark was bothering Ed, anyway.

He thought about opening the door, then decided against it. For whatever reason, probably the lack of automail, actually, Olivier was keeping a lid on Ed's involvement. They'd probably spirit him off like they'd spirited him on, get him in an ambulance before the press was the wiser. Everyone in the infirmary had seen him, but without the automail few would have recognized him. They'd brought the armor with, it was in the room, in fact, and they might just shove it back on . . . him . . .

Something nagged at him, and Havoc searched the darkness for it. He'd been a soldier too long to ignore the sudden realization that something was wrong -

The clatter of wheels was just the same as before, if a bit slower, and someone was goose-stepping down the corridor. There was no buzz of light in the room, anymore, and outside of occasional creaks of furniture it was quiet.

It was quiet.

He held his own breath, counting his pulse in lieu of watching a timepiece, knowing it was increasing as time in whatever measurement was going by and he heard nothing. No inhale with a labored hiss to it, like his throat was too small, or he was about to start snoring. No sound of breath at all.

Eventually he couldn't hold his own any longer and he let it out, and then his throat constricted and his chest seized and he knew.

He knew and still he listened, staring at the darkness that wasn't quite dark enough to hide the dim outline on the bed. He listened because of course Edward would start breathing again, the doctor said once he stopped he'd never start again and so he hadn't really stopped, it was just a lull. Like the lull right after he'd been hit, the one they presumed had stopped his breathing so the enemy wouldn't see. Like the sudden drop in his blood pressure that had hidden his pulse from them.

This was just like that. A pause.

But it wasn't, and he didn't.

Havoc didn't realize he had let his head drop until it settled on a sheet-covered limb. Onto a human arm that had had its armor peeled away. A dry sob shot out of his constricted chest, but he muffled it, pressing his face into the arm and the mattress and so glad of the sheet because he didn't deserve to touch him, didn't deserve to feel that shadow of heat that would soon be gone.

The wheels screeched again as the train took another, harder curve, and then the descent began.

"Dammit, Ed . . . " He swallowed another sob, taking a deep breath. The blood was pounding in his ears, making the train seem distant. Making it seem like there was a gravelly voice, the voice he'd hoped to hear all this time, hoped and dreaded.

". . . you sweating on me?"

He didn't dare move. Imagining the voice was so much better than leaning up to find it was all in his fucking head. He half-sobbed, half-laughed at his thought. Edward would be appalled to find him crying on him.

"Cut it out."

Havoc felt his face ache as he smiled, and he leaned up quickly, scrubbing his eyes in the elbow of his jacket. "Sorry, chief," he muttered automatically, then swallowed another outburst. "I'm so damn sorry."

Just as he'd thought, the body was right where he'd left it, and as they flashed through one of the tunnel air vents, there was just enough light coming through the window to show him that Edward's eyes were still closed, and his face was still turned toward the IV. Darkness reswallowed the cabin, and yet his voice continued clearly.

"You shot me, didn't you."

Havoc stifled his next breath, staring in open shock at the mostly blackened figure. Then he bit his lower lip until it bled.

He wasn't sleeping, and he wasn't imagining things either. He could hear that voice plain as day.

Unnerved, he glanced up at the ceiling, at the dark and shattered bulb. What if it hadn't been a short . . .?

"Edward?" he breathed.

"Saw you," the darkness trailed on, still filled with gravel but not terribly pained. "Least I think I did, on the line."

He didn't realize he was shaking until he tucked his hands back into his armpits. If anyone could speak from the dead, it'd be Ed, but-

"It was me," he admitted, and then he swallowed hard. Of course, he was dead, the last thing he'd heard was 'steady' and the last thing he saw was an entire fucking army waiting to watch him die. "By the time Breda and I got there, you were-" Screaming in a tent that was surrounded by more people than they had any hope of overpowering, in the middle of the goddamn camp. "We couldn't get to you."

It sounded so inadequate. "We tried, we really did, but there wasn't any point in getting you out of there if we couldn't make it all the way, you know?"

". . . so you shot me?"

Jean cringed. "I thought-" He fought for the words. No point in lying to a dead man. "I thought I could do it," he whispered. "Wasn't much wind, close target, I thought I'd make it look good and maybe, just maybe they'd buy it. If not, at least I'd get us some more time . . ."

"You shot me," Edward repeated unnecessarily.

The wheels squealed again, and Havoc knew they'd been back in bright sunlight soon enough. He wondered if whatever Ed was doing would last that long. Long enough for anyone else to get to speak with him.

"I . . . Ed, I-"

"I guess it was better than my plan," Edward murmured, his voice a little softer. "We on a train?"

Jean nodded. "Yeah, chief. We're almost home." You almost made it home.

The voice didn't reply, and for a moment Havoc thought that he was gone. The car was filled with darkness and silence, and then the voice spoke again.

"The bastard gonna be there?"

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'd expect."

A long pause. "He know?"

A sad smile, and he wondered if Ed really knew he was dead. "Not yet."

"You still crying?"

Even dead, disembodied Ed was tactless. "Don't know what else to do," he admitted, swallowing anything else that might give him away. His eyes were exhausted, they didn't have the strength to hold back tears he'd wanted to let go since the morning.

"Hey," suddenly the gravel was unsure, "it's okay. You did good, Havoc. It worked, didn't it?"

Bright sunlight streamed into the cabin as the train cleared the tunnel, and there was no Edward sitting upright in bed, staring at him with warm golden eyes. No laughing remark about how he must look, crying his heart out. Nothing but pale sunburn and closed eyes. The arm he'd leaned against hadn't moved.

And there was no voice.

"Doesn't seem like it, no," he whispered to the air, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't just shadows.

Right before his eyes, the still chest rose, silently, and the voice came not from darkness, but from barely moving, chapped lips. "Ow."

Havoc just stared at him, mouth agape, unable to believe what he was seeing. Seconds ticked by, and the form didn't move again. Then -

"Turn off the fucking sun, wouldja?"

He jumped to his feet, hands shaking as he hovered over the body, undecided. His eyes were closed, his face was relaxed, he wasn't moving. He was dead, he was-

The faintest tightening of his eyelids, like a subtle squint. The lips parted again. ". . . Havoc . . .?"

"Here," he choked, and the eyes flickered in obvious surprise. He didn't open them, and he didn't say anything else, and Jean almost ran to the windows, drawing the blinds enough to dim the room, but not enough to completely darken it. He returned to the man's side, hesitating once more before pressing two fingers to his neck.

A pulse. Not just his pulse, his was pounding in his ears and this one was much slower. Much weaker.

"The hell?" Another twitch of his eyelids. "I'm talking, aren't I?"

He wanted to say it, to scream it, but suddenly he was crying harder and he had no idea how to stop. He was hysterical, he knew it, he'd seen other soldiers melt down and now it was finally his turn. "Ed-"

He was alive, and he was talking. He was talking to him.

The brakes applied with a squeal, and the train shifted as it began to slow down. Havoc remained just where he was, blinking away tears to make sure, make damn sure that chest kept moving. Ed didn't open his eyes, didn't move a muscle, but he kept right on breathing. Breathing like a regular human again. He eventually swallowed, and it occurred to Jean that he'd probably want some water.

Shit, he should have thought of that, instead of sitting on his ass feeling sorry for himself-

Full Metal took a slightly deeper breath. "Havoc?"

"I'm here."

"Al, didja tell Al?"

Someone must have. "I'm sure he's waiting for you."

The slightest frown. "Gonna kill me," he complained, and Jean laughed. At least he thought he did, until there was a more defined frown. "Need to get ahold of yourself," he advised. "'S fine, Havoc. I forgive you already." Then something else seemed to trouble him, and the outer suburbs of Central were going by before he spoke again.

"Sorn . . ."

Jean wiped his face again., and this time it was a little easier to keep a steady voice. "Still alive."

"Used," Ed muttered. "Blane . . . used him. Not a bad kid. Tell the bastard."

"Tell him yourself."

"Tired," he complained. "We there yet?"

A new fear gripped him so hard he almost couldn't breathe. "Don't you dare go to sleep, Ed, don't even think about it." God, what if he slipped back into the coma? What if he never woke up again? He resisted the urge to shake the living daylights out of the alchemist. "You wanna see Al again, right?"

It took a while for Ed to respond. "Something happen to him?"

Not that he knew of. "Ask him," he said instead. "He'll want to tell you himself."

"Something happened to him, you don't tell me . . . be angry," he slurred, and Jean glanced out the window again, watching HQ moving in the distance. Almost there. They were almost to the station.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Not so much as an eye flicker. "Take it back," he mumbled. "Shoot you, see how you like it."

"Kinda hard to do that sleeping," he pressed, and the wall of the yard slipped past the window. "We're here."

"Kay." Ed sighed softly, and for a terrifying minute he was afraid the man had died. Then he opened his mouth again. "Don't feel so hot."

"I know, chief," he muttered, risking sliding open the door and peeking out into the aisle. Most of the cabins were opening in preparation of arrival, and the nurse was sitting on one of the benches in the hall. She got up immediately at the sight of him, and Havoc took another swipe at his face for good measure. The urge to cry uncontrollably was gone, replaced by the need to get help.

"He's awake," he said urgently, when she was close enough to hear him. "About five minutes now."

And that was all he had to do before the cabin was a blur of activity. He'd been Edward's unofficial companion this entire time, no one had questioned his presence when he'd helped to carry the litter on the train, not even in the infirmary in West, and they didn't question him now. Nor did they put him to work.

He quickly saw there was really nothing else he could do.

The nurse opened the blinds wide, though luckily now they were in the station itself and there was no direct sunlight. Edward still moaned in sleepy protest as she pried open his eyes, one at a time. She and her colleague were charting his vitals by the time the train came to a final stop with the prolonged hiss of steam, and then, finally, she drew the sheet up to Edward's neck and motioned to him.

Time to go.

Havoc took one end of the litter, and the same orderly that had helped load him took the other. It was when they raised it that they ran into the first change.

This time Edward was awake, if not alert. And he obviously hadn't been kidding when he'd said that he didn't feel so great, because the moment the cot fabric was unsupported by the mattress and sagged, and his body sagged with it, his face contorted in pain.

He never cried out, though, as they so carefully maneuvered the litter through the narrow doorjamb, then again through the narrower steps to the platform. Jean did his absolute best to keep the litter level, but they also needed to move quickly, lest anyone spot him and realize who he was. Edward was back to short, sharp breaths by the time Havoc cleared the last stair, and he looked up only to get his bearings on the ambulance.

Instead he found the Prime Minister on his right, and Alphonse Elric on his left.

Mustang was several yards away, in conference with one of the officers from West, but his eye had fallen on them just the same, and just when Ed couldn't keep a small gasp to himself. Al was quite a bit closer, and he shortened that distance as they made their quick way towards the front of the station. Someone had had the foresight to clear a path for the injured, and though they both walked as softly as possible, they couldn't get across the floor gently enough.

Edward was in quite a lot of pain by the time the orderly crawled backwards into the waiting ambulance, and he elevated his end of the litter to keep it level. Ever so carefully they laid it down on the stretcher inside the ambulance, and as soon as he'd let go of his end Alphonse swung into the ambulance, taking the other seat. Havoc didn't so much as blink, shutting the twin doors on the back of the vehicle, and he gave it two firm knocks.

Then it rolled away, and he realized he was standing alone in the car bay, just another soldier in the sea of blue again.

A strong hand clapped him on the back, and Heyman's voice was friendly. "C'mon, Jean. Let's grab some grub. I'll even let ya smoke on the way"

- x -

Author's Notes - Well, it was supposed to be tearjerking, but Havoc decided not to get too broken up after all. This should answer the question of how Ed was interpreted dead by the Cretians, and give you a quick reminder about Pinako. Oh, Pinako . . . I guess I need to do something about her too, huh.

I'm guesstimating another eight chapters from here, so those with questions, I'm pretty sure I'll get around to answering them. Standard typo disclaimer applies. And I am going to go check on my polyurethane.