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

- x -

She barely managed to catch the bars in the small, high window, stopping the door only an inch from a deafening clang against concrete, and the corporal cringed. Not in the expectation of the crash, she realized, but the absence.

He'd thrown the door open on purpose. He was trying to warn someone.

Which meant the other two guards were in with the suspect.

Colonel Riza Hawkeye brushed past him without another word, now able to hear the faint echoes of a struggle. Though her standard uniform would have included heels that would have given her away, because of the Drachman presence in the building she had switched to her standard uniform, and the leather boots made almost no sound as she crossed the staging room. She glanced through the second window to get their positions even as she threw it open, and all three of the men in the cell jumped as it slammed satisfyingly against the concrete behind it.

She left her hand on her firearm but did not draw. Two startled soldiers partially obscured her view of the suspect, but she could see well that his hands were still bound to the chair, and hanging onto the armrests with enough strength that his fingers were white.

Silently she took note of each detail, the tray of food in the sergeant's hands, the spattering of it on the floor and on the suspect, the position of the second corporal as he hastened to attention. Only the suspect's harsh coughs and gasps were audible, echoing around them. She stepped more fully into the room, noting the cell door was still open; they hadn't even bothered to lock themselves in.

Not that such a misdemeanor really meant anything, at this point.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The sergeant, the ranking guard, saluted sharply. "We were feeding the suspect, colonel ma'am!"

The corporal was still hiding the main body of the suspect, and she moved far enough to the door of the cell to get a good look at him. Franklin Sorn had his head bowed, still obviously choking, and more food clung to his hair. There was a wide, vivid red stripe across the skin of his forehead, and as he recovered himself and glanced her way, she saw another one disappearing beneath his jaw.

Then his eyes slid away from her, back to his lap, and he tried to muffle his coughing.

"The suspect has not eaten since being taken into custody, ma'am. Major General Tash ordered he be encourage-"

"The protocol for force-feeding of suspects and prisoners states it is to be performed only under the supervision of a base doctor," she interrupted flatly. "I do not see one present." She cut her eyes to the other guard. "You are out of uniform, corporal."

He floundered for a moment under her glare before he realized his mistake, and then hurriedly secured his trousers properly.

"You will clean up and present yourselves to General Hakuro's office immediately, where you will explain your actions directly to him." Both soldiers blanched, but she cut off any protest with a look. "If you are not in his offices in five minutes, I will have you charged with desertion and order you shot on sight. Dismissed."

Both men saluted her, and she took several steps back, giving them a wide berth as they left the cell and closed it. She looked over Sorn again for blood or more serious injuries, but there didn't seem to be any visible. He wouldn't look at her, so it was hard to tell exactly what had happened, but his hands were still securely bound to the chair and it did not appear damaged. It would hold him for the few moments she had to leave him unsupervised.

Leaving her hand on her firearm, she followed the two guards to the staging room, where the first corporal - she'd have him charged as an accessory at minimum for the hassle he'd given her - was standing at attention, white-faced. She turned on him immediately. "You overheard my orders?"

"Yes, colonel ma'am!"

The sergeant glanced around before gingerly setting the messy tray of mashed potatoes and salisbury steak on the table, and he laid the cell keys next to it. The first corporal got the idea and placed the main door keys beside them. Then he turned to her.

"Begging the colonel's pardon for speaking out of turn, ma'am, but I beg you not-"

"Silence!" She rounded on him so quickly he took a step back. "You did not receive permission to speak, corporal. Report to General Hakuro immediately. You can beg him for clemency." Not that there would be any to be had. By sending them to Hakuro she was likely sending them to a dishonorable discharge and a ten year imprisonment. If they were lucky.

Unfortunately, by sending them to him Hakuro would be alerted to where she was, and probably what she was hoping to do. With any luck these three would provide enough of a distraction to buy her adequate time.

The corporal saluted again, though she clearly saw the fury and fear in his eyes, and then turned forty-five degrees to the sergeant, who lined them up and led the march down the hallway. She followed them to Blane's cell, where the sergeant there snapped to attention.

"Call for an approved physician, and escort them to Franklin Sorn's cell as soon as they have arrived. Also notify the general's office that three soldiers are en route to deliver an update on suspect Franklin Sorn in person."

He'd probably overheard her yelling, she thought with a bit of chagrin, because his salute was crisp and clean. "Yes, colonel ma'am!" He was after the three double-time, not to follow them but to use the phone, and she turned her back on them, returning to the cell and closing the main door behind her.

Hawkeye took a deep, silent breath and re-secured the clasp on her firearm holster. Then she glanced over the table, pocketing the cell and door keys before looking over the food tray again. It was evidence and she left it intact, continuing on to the cell.

She should have ordered another meal for the boy. It could be done after the physician had been to see him.

If he would ever trust the food after this.

Ironically, it was lack of trust that had led her to Sorn, and the memory of a certain former lieutenant colonel's lack of trust of his own chain of command that had given her the first clue. It had been shocking enough to her, when it happened, that she'd never forgotten it.

They had been standing in an alley to isolate the number of ears that might overhear, and using the relative safety of public, then-Major Alex Armstrong had been ordered to report to then-Lieutenant Colonel Mustang on updates to Hughes' pending murder investigation. It had been all she could do to keep silent when Mustang had ordered Armstrong to reveal the parties thought responsible for the murder and the major had refused.

When Armstrong had gone, she had protested, but Mustang had calmly informed her that Armstrong had told him everything he'd needed to know, and more. And while it hadn't been the same situation in this case, the longer that corporal stood literally in the jamb of the cell doorway, the more certain she'd become. He hadn't been stalling her over politics alone.

And this wasn't politics. This was simply soldiers, handed the man that had threatened their leader. To General Hakuro, this would be another Rose.

Hawkeye played the conversation back in her head, checking all bases. The corporal had looked uncomfortable, but his voice had been admirably determined when he replied. "I cannot let you pass, ma'am!"

She'd retrieved the next card Mustang had played from her memory. "You have received a direct order from a superior officer to allow access to a suspect for an interrogation, corporal."

Again he'd faltered. And she would still be quite surprised if Hakuro had specifically singled her out as an officer disallowed to interrogate the suspects, considering he hadn't put up much of a fight when she directly interfered with his interrogation of Fletcher Tringum. Due to the general's new business arrangement with Mustang, which granted was going to dissolve the moment the Cretian issue was put to bed, she had a great deal more rein than she normally did as Mustang's chief of security.

A card she could flash whenever she wanted to get access to whatever she wanted. No one could deny that Franklin Sorn was a danger to the Prime Minister, regardless of Hakuro's preemptive orders.

"I have been ordered not to allow anyone access without explicit permission from Major General Tash, colonel ma'am!"

"By order of General Hakuro?"

The guard had looked unsure, but could find no reason not to answer the question. "Yes ma'am!"

"Then secure my permission."

Almost comically, the corporal had leaned slightly out of the doorjamb he was standing in to glance about fifty yards down the hall, where a red metal phone hung innocently on stained block concrete. He had swallowed around what sounded like a case of dry throat. "I cannot!"

That was when she'd realized the problem was not a political one. "You cannot use a phone, corporal?"

"I have been ordered not to leave my post, colonel ma'am!"

Hawkeye had glanced past the shorter man, through the barred window of the door into the staging room. Unlike Fletcher Tringum's, which had been modified by his brother, she couldn't see past it to the actual cells, but she had been able to see enough to notice the low table in the room was unoccupied. "As were the other two guards assigned to Franklin Sorn?"

The corporal had stiffened. "I cannot leave my post, Colonel!"

"Answer the question, corporal. Was your order to remain at your post a direct or general order?" The two of them missing could have meant anything, it didn't mean they were with the suspect, but alarm had started creeping up her spine with its tiny needle fingers and she'd risked it. To hell with the politics - her position was nearly as stable as Mustang's. "As Chief of Security for the Prime Minister, I outrank General Hakuro in matters relating to the safety of the Prime Minister. Stand aside."

The corporal's thoughts had gone scurrying right across his face, but when no further protests came to his mind he had saluted her, spun on his heels, and unlocked the outer cell door. She'd stepped forward smoothly, experience making sure she was right behind him in case he went for a weapon, and she'd seen it in the position of his shoulder just before he'd thrown the door wide open.

There was nothing in that story that implicated her in anything. Even if they elaborated or left out something, she could candidly reveal the entire truth and not endanger anything Mustang was trying to do.

After all, Franklin Sorn was a threat. And she was Mustang's Chief of Security. There was no reason she shouldn't be permitted to interview the suspect, regardless of not receiving any orders to do so.

Sorn was still exactly where she'd left him, eyes downcast but otherwise very much as he'd appeared to her the last several times she'd seen him. A bit thinner, certainly, and his red curls were drooping and oily without so much as a shower since his incarceration in Central. It was too dangerous to let him out of the chair for very long, especially with Edward Elric confirming that he could now complete an alchemic reaction without an array.

The whole of Central City was within this boy's reach.

On closer inspection, Riza saw a few tears still quivered along his jaw, but they seemed to have been from the choking, because there were none on his cheeks. His hands had relaxed on the steel-clad armrests, now quite red as blood returned to them, and as far as she could tell he wasn't even shaking. His breathing was soft and even.

The marks on his forehead and jaw hadn't faded, however, and looked even more angry now that they'd had the freedom to become inflamed. His blue prisoner's uniform was spattered with bits of mashed potatoes but still basically in one piece, and there were no other visible marks on him.

She unlocked the cell, stepping inside before pulling it closed behind her. It was inadvisable to take a firearm into a cell with a suspect, but he could probably transmute a better gun than she was currently carrying anyway. He didn't react at all to her, even when she knelt in front of him in an effort to catch his eyes.

They were open, and she watched his irises contract as he focused on her. But he said nothing, and all too soon she realized she no longer had his attention. The eyes were diverted inward again, actively searching his knees for something. His adam's apple bobbed, but he made no sound.

Processing? Or actively distancing himself?

"I've summoned a physician," she murmured, in what she hoped was a reassuring voice, and resisted the urge to put a hand on his knee. Probably the very last thing he wanted to be was touched right now. "On behalf of the military, I apologize. Nothing like this will happen again."

No response. She might as well have been talking to a mannequin.

Hawkeye held back a sigh, studying his face closely. His eyes were twitching slightly back and forth, which the reports had said was normal. He was present, and as far as Major General Tash could tell he was actively resisting their attempts at interrogation. He called it willful, that the boy was employing a well-known tactic that would keep his mind occupied so he could better ignore what was happening to his body.

Remarkably convincing, if she hadn't known a certain other willful boy.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Nothing.

"Is there anything you need?" A change of uniform came immediately to mind, maybe a few hours to sleep in a real bed instead of being held upright in the chair if they could risk it-

"A sheet of paper." His eyes were still watching something she couldn't see, and his voice was hoarse and fighting to remain steady. "And a pen."

Hawkeye acted as though it was normal that they were speaking, that he was speaking at all. "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

He shook his head slightly, the limp curls brushing his forehead. "Then no," he said simply, then ducked his face away from her.

She watched him closely for a moment, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, and for the first time since she'd entered the cell he seemed to be looking at the floor instead of through it. She knew full well that Tash hadn't done anything to the boy besides keep him in the chair and threaten him with legal proceedings, being locked up for the rest of his life and how terrible prison would be for a State Alchemist, and a young one at that. But it was a lesson that had obviously been brought home by his guards, authorized or not. A little kindness from her could go a long way.

It had with Edward.

"I'm afraid you'd draw an array," she explained patiently. "I know you don't actually need to, but it's too much of a risk. You haven't given me anything to make me trust you."

"I know," he said, with a voice rusty from disuse and far too old for the rest of him. He swallowed, then coughed half-heartedly, but he didn't speak again.

Riza contemplated her options for a moment, still watching him. He was trembling again, she could see, ever so slightly, and obviously struggling to appear uncaring. He didn't shift or fidget in the chair, outside of refusing to look at her he wasn't really responding much at all. But he was talking, and she could probably keep him talking until the doctor showed up. Maybe during the checkup as well.

"I suppose I might be more inclined if you told me what it was for," she considered out loud. "Or if I believed that you wouldn't use it to try to transmute me or my command."

He turned his head further from her. ". . . you wouldn't even if I did."

"Is that a fact?"

"You're the Prime Minister's security chief," he said flatly. The inflection seemed to indicate he would go on, but he fell silent again.

He had a good point. "If you really wanted to kill him, I would have expected you to make a better effort." Considering how many meetings he'd had with Mustang as he'd tried to piece together the Elric's research, he could have requested and probably been granted a private audience any time he'd wanted one. He'd given the assassins information, true, but as well as he knew the building and Mustang, he could have arranged things more in favor of the assassins. All he'd needed was the threat, not the assassination itself.

It was an incredibly thin defense, but it was the best one they could come up with. Unless Franklin gave them something else, there was no way out for him.

Sorn's toes suddenly curled into the concrete and his breathing caught. She didn't acknowledge his discomfort, unable to tell the source of it, and she remained exactly where she was until he spoke again. "I . . . I just need a little bit of paper."

"Why."

His next words were too muttered to hear.

"What do you want to write?" He wasn't acting like someone who needed to confess, and even if he said it she wasn't going to buy it.

" . . . I can't . . . in my head." It was a poor explanation and he seemed to realize it, because he finally looked up at her, albeit a little sideways. "I can't keep the equations straight anymore."

"That's to be expected," she told him brusquely. "You haven't eaten or slept in days. Higher brain function and concentration fade quickly in these circumstances." He blinked at her, completely taken aback, and she gave him a small frown. "You still want to make a Stone?"

Franklin turned his face away again, and she realized that she'd never seen him do that before today. "I . . ." he started in a low voice, and then he shook his head. "I have to fix it."

She wasn't really sure how much current information Tash had allowed Franklin. That Blane had been captured, that Jannai was safe - assuming Sorn ever knew that it had been threatened at all. And it had to be terrifying to him, as it would have been to either of the Elrics, to find himself completely at the mercy of his enemies without being able to even think clearly.

"What do you have to fix?"

His lips pressed together and she could almost see the mental berating go by. He hadn't meant to tell her that, and despite the fact they were shaking he held them in a thin line and didn't respond.

"Did you talk to Full Metal about it?"

He blinked, then closed his eyes. "If I tell you, will you give me a piece of paper?"

If she put it on his lap she could keep her word while ensuring he couldn't do anything with it. Surely he had to know that, or not expect her to agree. "That seems fair."

She was right; his eyes flew open though he didn't look back up at her, and then he seemed to catch on. "And let me write on it?"

"You'd have to tell me something else for that privilege," she informed him coolly. "It's quite a risk. Do you have any information of equal value to trade?"

He hesitated. "Y-yes."

That didn't sound good. "Very well." She reached smoothly into her jacket, withdrawing her notation pad unhurriedly. He forgot himself and stared at her in shock as she ripped out a blank sheet of the two by six paper and held it in front of him between two slim fingers. "What do you need to fix?"

Clearly the boy had either never expected her to go that far or felt she would withdraw the paper even if he complied, because he shook his head, almost to himself, and lowered his chin again. His trembling was more pronounced, as was the indecision. She stayed exactly where she was, counting down the seconds. This was certainly a breakthrough, and the doctor or anyone else interrupting now would be a problem, but if she got up to lock the door she was essentially doing the same thing.

"I'm not going to stay here forever," she reminded him, and he shook his head again.

"Why?"

It seemed self-explanatory so she didn't answer him, and after almost a minute he looked up again. Then he wrapped his shaking fingers around the steel armrests. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need information."

"Then yell at me!" It was a shout itself, but her military career had trained her long ago from reacting to sudden volume. It wasn't meant to startle her; in the next moment a large tear tumbled down the boy's cheek, and he hid his face from her again. He held his breath as long as he could, but when he let it out a sob escaped with it. "Hit me! Do something!"

She did nothing at all, and he eventually kicked the legs of the chair - as much as he could with bound ankles - in frustration. "Why did you stop them?! What the hell have I ever done for you?"

"You acted to defend Central City against Craege Irving," she answered levelly. "You might have done so because you suspected he had an amplifier, but you still risked your life to stop a threat to the city."

He made a disdainful noise, but the tears trickling steadily down his face lessened its sting significantly. ". . . you could have let them finish."

"What they were doing was wrong." Obviously someone was feeling quite aggressively sorry for himself. Or he'd learned it from watching Full Metal. "I am a citizen of the country and a member of the military. Our actions are bound by laws." She didn't make the obvious correlation to alchemy, but he seemed to hear it all the same, because suddenly he was looking her straight in the eye.

"I can't fix it like this!" he cried, in a quiet wail. "I can, I know I can, I just need a piece of paper- I j-just need to do the math-"

She softened her tone, just a little. "Franklin . . . there are some things that can't be fixed."

"No!" Absolute denial. "No, it can work, it has to work, I can make it work!"

Riza hesitated. A misstep now . . . "Bringing your parents back?"

He looked away, then, a little wild-eyed. "I . . . I killed them." His voice was thick. "It didn't matter because they wouldn't die, but if I can't fix this then they did! Don't you understand?"

She shook her head, letting gentle confusion show. "You didn't kill your parents, Franklin. Avram Blane did-"

He shook his head, spattering his lap with uniform-staining tears. "No, it was me, it was me," he moaned. "I did it. I didn't think it mattered, so I condensed them. When I woke up, there was only one left, and -" He choked on another sob, then moaned again and curled over himself as best he could. "I killed them," he repeated in disbelief. "I can't undo it."

This time she didn't hesitate. "Who did you kill, Franklin?"

A shudder ran through him. ". . . I don't even know. I don't even know their names." He struggled with the tears, still trying vainly to keep them back. "They were just . . . they were nobodies. No one would miss them." He said it bitterly, as if repeating someone's words back to them. "And I did it. I didn't even think t-twice about it."

"You condensed them?" Even without a background in alchemy, she didn't need to ask what that meant.

He nodded, head still bowed to his chest. "I m-made a Philosopher's Stone. And he-he recognized the array-" It broke off in a muffled cry of disbelief, as another piece of the puzzle seemed to click for him. "Oh, god, he was right," he breathed after a moment. "He was right."

She almost started writing on the piece of paper she was still offering him, just to keep the questions straight in her head. Alphonse had said he'd thought that Franklin might have had a Philosopher's Stone, made from the nomads that had disappeared in Jannai two years ago. That was probably what he was referring to, but who was the 'he'? "And you used that Stone to revive Fletcher Tringum?"

Sorn swallowed another sob and nodded, then stopped in surprise. "How . . ?"

So he had gotten no news at all from Tash. Hawkeye mentally chewed on whether or not to take that advantage from the major general. What she was hearing was not helping Franklin's case at all. "Fletcher doesn't remember seeing one, but he doesn't seem to think what you had done would have been possible without one."

Sorn stared up at her from beneath tear-soaked lashes. "Fletcher . . . you found him?"

She shook her head slowly, hoping the motion would keep his attention. "He found us. He stopped Timothy Patterson from killing the Prime Minister."

Franklin looked stunned, and hiccupped. "He what?"

"I assume that wasn't part of the plan?"

"What h-happened?"

She hated to upset him again when he was just starting to calm down, but there was a more pressing question she needed answers to. "You said that 'he' was right, 'he' recognized the array, but you obviously weren't referring to Blane. Who was right?"

She might as well have pulled her firearm and shot him - his expression couldn't have reflected more pain. "I . . . it doesn't . . . m-matter now-" Then his face crumpled and he bent at the waist as far as his restraints would allow. He managed a ragged gasp that seemed to gag him, and quite suddenly she found herself kneeling in front of him, pulling his head onto her shoulder.

He sobbed into her uniform so hard it shook the alchemist's chair. Franklin was trying to speak but quite unable, and she only caught a word here and there as everything she needed to know poured out of him. She stroked his hair, glaring warningly at the blue-clad sergeant that was suddenly escorting the doctor in, exactly as she'd ordered. The sergeant backed off, but the doctor quietly took a seat, giving her a questioning look.

Is he alright?

She frowned at him silently over Franklin's shaking back, but he seemed to get the picture, because he said nothing. Sorn was oblivious and if anything his cries were growing more frantic, not less. And she had a feeling she already knew who he was talking about. He hadn't said that the mysterious 'he' had given him the array, or seen the array. He'd said recognize. And there weren't many people that would recognize a human transmutation array.

"What was Edward right about?"

Franklin buried his face in her shoulderpad, shaking and choking on the fabric. His answer was still badly muffled; all she made out was 'speed' and 'light' and 'relativity' and then Franklin wailed in fresh distress, and she reflexively tightened her arms around him.

"Breathe," she soothed, but he shook his head against her uniform, turning towards her so he could speak.

"I-I-he was right! I j-just sat there. . . he was there bec-cause of me and I just s-sat there-"

So he was referring to Edward's execution.

Franklin didn't realize that Edward Elric was still alive.

Hawkeye sighed, pulling the sobbing teen as close to her as she could as he struggled with the enormity of what he'd done. He had transmuted a Philosopher's Stone and thus by definition committed mass murder. He had performed human transmutation. He had all but admitted to the plot to threaten if not kill Mustang, and obviously he'd gotten as far as drawing the array for the Cretians before Edward had happened upon him. Heymans had been more forthcoming than Jean's report, but both said they'd heard from other soldiers while undercover that the two alchemists had single-handedly destroyed the forward guard, and held off the first wave for a surprising amount of time before faking their own deaths in an artillery attack. An enemy alchemist had insisted that their bodies be located to get the watches as proof, and they'd been found hiding in an underground chamber.

Plenty of time for them to chat. Plenty of time for Edward to try to talk Sorn out of it.

Only it really hadn't sunk in for the boy, not until now.

And there was really only one more question to ask. She did it firmly. "Do you still believe you can go back in time?"

He flinched in her grasp and she loosened her arms - she didn't want him to feel trapped. He interpreted that as a rejection, because he pulled away, his face almost as red as the mark under his jaw. He slumped back against the chair, exhausted and heartbroken, and his lips were trembling.

"You don't need this paper anymore, do you." She was so close to him now that even if he looked down she could still see his eyes, and while the paper in her hand was badly crumpled from holding him, she could see him eyeing it. Then his face twisted up in revulsion, and he turned away to face the bars - and to see the doctor. He took one look at the man before turning back to his lap - and to her.

"N-no," he whispered, and turned for the back wall instead of facing her. "I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

She patted his knee, forcing her own aching joints to stand. "I know," she told him sincerely before she crossed to the cell door. The doctor stood as well, and as soon as she'd unlocked the cell he entered. Franklin's sobs were much less pronounced now, the storm all but passed, and the doctor replaced her, crouching down to the boy's level. He flinched at the man's touch and the doctor didn't miss it. Nor did he acknowledge it.

"Now then, young man, how about you just take a few minutes to calm down while the colonel calls a few friends in with us?"

It was a gentle way to let Sorn know there would soon be company, and a request for her to replace the soldiers she'd dismissed. The two of them were not equipped to handle an alchemist out of the chair, but she was fairly sure she could have released the boy right now and the only thing Sorn would have done was curl up in the corner.

She had all the information she needed, and Riza gave the doctor a grateful nod and proceeded into the staging room. She'd have to tell Tash what she'd given him, but she didn't think it was going to be an issue. Franklin would probably tell them everything, now. And while she was more certain than ever that he was used - mainly because of the brief mention of Blane - she was now quite sure that he was no longer a danger to Mustang, or to Central.

The way he'd looked at that paper, she wasn't sure he'd ever use alchemy again.

- x -

"As you were."

They both settled into parade rest, and he stared straight ahead, watching in his peripheral vision as the man's hand hovered above the pile for a moment, moving as if by magnetic force to the envelope. He extricated it by its corner, just visible under a modest stack of other innocent-looking documents, and tapped it on the desk to settle the contents.

Knowing General Hakuro, he hadn't forgotten where it was, and the way his fingers played over the lip of the envelope before withdrawing the innards was every bit the teasing gesture it looked. He tried his hardest to appear unworried, but he knew damn well he wouldn't have been ordered back in unless his commanding officer had taken issue with the documents.

The commanding officer that hadn't said a damn word to him, even as they'd waited outside the general's office. The only saving grace about the whole affair was that all three of them had somewhere to be in half an hour.

Hakuro withdrew the contents after an appropriately degrading period of time had elapsed, but rather than toy with them, he laid them flat in the rectangle of writing leather. Two signatures were obviously missing, he could see the white space though he kept his eyes straight ahead.

Somehow being in his dress uniform made this a hell of a lot easier. Must have had to do with the fact he was so damn uncomfortable in it everything else was more normal in relation.

"Colonel Hawkeye did not sign these transfer papers," the general started deliberately. "She tells me she is concerned about the date, and I echo her sentiments. You were not even finished with your last mission before these papers reached West processing."

Jean continued to stare directly over the general's head, where a surprisingly sincere portrait of Hakuro's wife hung, flanked by her grown son and daughter. He supposed there was no need for it to be a complete family portrait, considering the patriarch of the family was sitting just below it, but it was certainly better looking than the general, and it kept his eyes forward and focused.

"She also tells me she would like to retain you under her command."

Of course she did.

"Frankly, I don't blame her," he continued blandly. "You're a capable, obedient officer with more live ops under your belt than almost any other lieutenant colonel currently serving. Over one hundred, in fact, with an extremely high success rate. Your performance on your latest assignment is an obvious reflection of that."

Havoc listened to the words without really understanding them. It had occurred to him a couple days ago that he'd made a terrible mistake, sending in those papers, if only because it allowed the general the excuse to start peeling away trusted subordinates from Mustang. He was obviously still interested in the Prime Minister's seat; Breda had come clean about what he'd done while they'd been on their way to the west border and both had noticed the tail Jean had assumed Hawkeye had put on him.

Last night he'd gotten a call from Heymans, letting him know that the tail, in fact, had not been ordered by Hawkeye. Which was just as well, considering he'd ditched the poor young man at least four times yesterday just for the hell of it. Not like he'd had any secrets.

Just needed to think. And his brain had eventually gotten around to the realization that he'd fucked Mustang.

Which also explained why Hawkeye was so damn pissed at him. She would have been even if he hadn't biffed the shot at Ed.

"I will admit disappointment with your mission report," the general continued. "It is much less detailed than your others have been, historically. I am also concerned about the leave you requested. It's the first time in, what, two years you've taken leave?"

"Three, sir," the colonel corrected promptly.

Hakuro nodded. "That's quite a long time without leave, lieutenant colonel. Is there anything you'd like to add to your report?"

Jean blinked, then glanced at the general in confusion. Where was he going with this . . . ? ". . . sir?"

Hakuro spread out his hands. "Your first year serving in this military saw you stationed in Ishbal towards the end of the conflict. I was there, son, and I know what you saw. Your file says you've seen worse over the years, but you have never requested a leave of absence after a mission. Your report doesn't indicate anything unusual. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"

Havoc stared at him, completely baffled. He almost killed a fellow soldier with friendly fire. It said it in the report as plain as day. "The report is complete, sir."

The general sighed, then glanced at presumably the colonel. "Colonel Hawkeye, is there anything you'd like to add or ask?"

She didn't skip a beat. "Yes, sir. I believe the lieutenant colonel feels he did not accomplish his mission objectives."

Hakuro's eyebrows twitched, and he returned his gaze to him. "Is this true?"

Why the hell were they working together? Why was the general dragging this out? To make it seem closer to protocol, so Mustang couldn't call him on it later? "At the time, sir."

The general stood suddenly, clasping his hands behind him as he started to pace. "Which mission objective did you feel you had failed to achieve?"

"My main objective was the successful extraction of Majors Edward Elric and Franklin Sorn if they should be captured by the enemy, sir."

"But you believed Major Elric would not survive his injuries."

Jean squared his jaw. "Yessir."

"And now that he has, does that change your desire to request a transfer?"

Giving him the option to take it back? Or teasing him? Jean did not glance at the colonel, and she gave him nothing. Dammit. He hesitated too long and the general stopped pacing, fixing him with a stern look.

"It's a simple question, lieutenant colonel. Do you or do you not wish to be transferred?"

It was a simple question, and that was the very reason he didn't trust it. Did he want to go? Leave them all behind? God knew Ed would track him down and let him have it, but not before Al laid him out for fucking up the shot. He hadn't even seen Mustang yet, but Riza was pissed enough for both of them. She'd keep him close because he knew too much, and no matter how much he'd screwed up it didn't change the way he felt about the team.

Mustang had done what he'd said he would. He was on top. He was making changes, and Ishbal hadn't happened again. It had almost cost them Ed, almost cost them Tringum, and Al, and Breda and Armstrong and had cost them men and civilians both. But there was no war.

"No sir."

"That's more like it," the general growled, unclasping his hands and leaning on his desk. "It was a hell of a shot, lieutenant colonel, and I'm sure everyone's glad you took it. Now get over it. Dismissed."

Havoc snapped to attention and saluted out of habit alone, too stunned to protest as the colonel turned and started for the door. The general didn't seem to think he'd done anything extraordinary, though as he took his seat his voice was deceptively casual. "Oh, and colonel?"

She paused and he stopped dead in his tracks as she turned back to the general. "Yes sir?"

"I'll need your testimony next week. Can you prepare a short description suitable to be read before a judge?"

She nodded sharply. "Yes, General."

"That is all."

Something in his brain clicked, and the surreal feeling vanished as though it had never been. She'd just paid for the privilege of keeping him, but what had been the cost?

It wasn't until they were halfway to the Prime Minister's wing that he worked up the courage to ask. "What was that about?"

She was silent for such a long time he decided she wasn't going to speak to him at all, but then the two pages ahead of them entered a conference room, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Sorn's guards took matters into their own hands."

His eyebrows twitched up of their own accord. "How serious?"

Her eye glanced back to the hall, and it was flat and hooded. "Serious enough."

Too bad. She had the self-control not to shoot them, and he was certain they'd have preferred it to whatever Hakuro had planned for them.

The general, as much of an ass as he was, was a family man. He looked at that portrait every day, had a son and daughter of his own. He'd never forgiven himself for the Liore incident and as certainly as he knew Roy would never allow another Ishbal, Jean was certain Hakuro would never allow another Rose.

He'd slapped the girl in front of his men, more to scare the children around her than the woman herself, but he'd planted the seed in the soldier's minds that getting rough with their POWs was condoned by the higher-ups. The woman had returned to her people too traumatized to speak, with a tiny infant that was obviously too pale to have been anything but of Amestrian descent, and suddenly they had themselves a martyr. A martyr that had inspired them to plan the ambush that led over seven thousand Amestrians to their deaths at the hands of Scar, to become ingredients for a Philosopher's Stone.

A small, vicious part of him was glad the kid had finally gotten a taste of how shit like him would traditionally have been treated, but Sorn was just a kid. One could argue Al had caused the same level of thoughtless disaster when he'd invited the Thule invasion And Riza shouldn't have had to walk into something like that.

She also shouldn't have had to use that to buy him out of his own guilt. "How's the kid?"

Riza sighed lightly as they ascended the stairs. "Finally convinced his plan won't work. Jean," and she paused, ". . . no one is angry with you."

Heymans had tried to tell him that, but it had taken a while to sink in. "I screwed up."

"You got them out."

"Getting him out in a casket wasn't part of the plan."

Hawkeye brushed past Goodman as they entered the main office. "Edward asked about you."

Dear god, if he remembered the conversation on the train . . . "Is he coming to the ceremony?"

She shook her head, idly twining a lock of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. "His doctor wouldn't let him. Mustang would like to speak with you."

- x -

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, all, real life crept up in the form of a friend I haven't seen in a long time, who spent the week. And it's spring outside! So, look, nothing too grand . . . Franklin finally broke down, but he didn't give them anything useful. Though really, the entire point of this was pretty much Hakuro redemption. I have never liked the fandom assumption that Hakuro raped Rose, particularly since the first time we see him he's protecting his kids on the train. I like my idea much better.

Standard typo disclaimer applies. And thank you for your wagers - this chapter didn't include everything it was supposed to, so it looks like my original guesstimate was off. Le gasp! Imagine that. )