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

- x -

There was disappointingly little fanfare when the doctor stepped out of the room, and Alphonse Elric craned his neck to get a glimpse in before it was firmly closed behind her.

"Lieutenant colonel, a word."

"Can I-"

"Now."

There was no unusual iron in her tone, but he followed her obediently. He'd probably get a lot more information out of Dr. Dalyell than he would his own brother, and he had a feeling what she wanted to discuss wouldn't be in nii-san's chart.

Dalyell was silent, her footsteps quick and sharp on the tiles as they crossed the hospital, heading for the administrative offices. She swept into her own, leaving her door open behind her, and he followed, taking it in. It was smaller than Patterson's, and less austere than he'd expected; fresh-cut flowers were on the table behind the desk, a comfortable and lumpy-yarned throw rug adorned the floor beneath the visitor's chairs, and the walls were papered with what looked like children's drawings. Only when she had taken a seat behind her desk did her bedside manner evaporate, and she slouched into the comfortable-looking leather chair with a groan, scrubbing her face in a painful looking fashion. There were two muffled thumps from beneath her desk - kicking her shoes off.

"The door, Elric."

"Oh." He closed it swiftly, slightly embarrassed to be caught staring as she shrugged out of her white coat irritably. This was certainly unexpected.

"I've put a hold on your brother's release, pending a psychological evaluation."

". . . what?" What the hell could have possibly happened between his leaving nii-san to drop off the briefing and now? He'd only been alone a few hours!

"General Hakuro insisted he be allowed to ask Edward a few questions, in preparation for putting him on the stand in the ongoing trials." She lifted her face, red from the scrubbing, and flipped open the folder she'd been carrying. Al didn't bother to hide his scowl.

That could explain it. "Went well, I take it?"

He got a surprisingly amused-looking grin. "My security clearance wasn't sufficiently high to allow me to sit in, but I interrupted when your brother's blood pressure reached a certain ceiling. He was in the process of trying to murder the general, and we had to restrain him." The grin faded. "He panicked and I sedated him."

All the questions - and no small agreement with Ed's sentiments - died on his tongue, and Al leaned forward in his chair. "What do you mean, panicked?"

She gestured at the folder. "It's absolutely a normal response after a soldier has been in enemy hands, tortured or not. Of course nothing about you brother is normal, and his response was in fact atypical but not untreatable. I've actually completed the eval already, calm down," she added drolly, apparently at his expression. "He's as sane as you or I."

Al stared at her a moment. ". . . so why the hold?"

"I'm pissed off." Al carefully did not gape at the flippant admission. "If I didn't know better I'd say the general wound him up on purpose, directly against my recommendation. Because of his atypical reaction, I believe putting him on the stand at the trial and letting him be badgered for hours at a time would endanger his health and recovery." She eased a crink in her neck. "Unfortunately, he's behaving so well that if anyone were to ask for a consult that doctor would likely disagree with my opinion, based on how important that testimony would be and how politically sensitive the issue is."

The pieces fit together, but the truth was he simply didn't know her well enough - obviously - to assume. "But putting a hold on his release won't prevent that."

"The general was present when the event occurred. He'll mention it to his doctors, who will all immediately assume the same thing I did. He won't dare officially question it, and if he does he knows I'll raise hell."

That Hakuro had stopped by to visit Edward before moving on to the Rockbells wasn't that much of a surprise. In fact, the threat of questioning them was probably what set nii-san off in the first place. But panic . . . ? Or was it because they restrained him? "When you say atypical, what exactly do you mean?"

She was watching him closely, he realized, the blotches on her cheeks slowly fading as she balanced her chin on her hand. "We administered the standard cocktail for recalcitrant patients, one that provides a quick paralytic coupled with a muscle relaxer. No sedative, just a chemical restraint. Only after he wasn't able to move did that anger become panic, and I was forced to fully sedate him to lower his blood pressure. We let him come around and discussed it." She gestured at a fat file on the corner of her desk, inviting him to pick it up, so he did, grabbing the top document. It was a basic psychological evaluation, and Patterson's neat writing adorned almost every line.

"Your brother is a walking psychological nightmare, and he has been since we have record. You're well aware of your history." It was almost dismissive. "Unlike other soldiers taken as POWs, he has no fear of being held against his will, or being made to feel helpless. Even when restrained and physically threatened he had no more reaction than you or I would to being offered an ice cream on a hot day."

Al glanced back up from the page, not sure if he'd just confused what he'd read with what he'd heard. "What exactly was this test?" She'd threatened him? Of course he wasn't going to respond poorly to her, she was his physician-

She ignored the question completely. "He responded negatively only when someone else was threatened. Being unable to protect others triggers in him what I would expect to see when he is unable to protect himself. In that way his reaction, while appearing quite typical, was anything but. One might conclude he feels he himself has no value, or that his wellbeing is worthless in comparison with others."

Almost the same words were shining up at him in dark ink, and Al found himself shaking his head. "That's not true-"

"I know." She picked up her chin, waving her hand at the folder, and Al turned the page to scan the back. Unfortunately, Patterson's conclusion was that the preliminary evaluation was inconclusive and needed further study. Study that he either never got around to or never got an opportunity to start. Al glanced at the date; it was almost a year ago.

These were Patterson's first impressions of Ed.

"He doesn't see himself as worthless, but he does see others - certain others, absolutely, all others, I can't tell - as extremely valuable. He could be acting on obligation, that he owes them something, or be assigning value subjectively . . . without a random supply of subjects it's impossible to get more specific."

Al looked over the doctor with new eyes. She had Patterson's basis to work from, but for someone who'd been working with his brother for less than a week she certainly knew more about him than they knew about her. They were trusting her with a lot, and it was obvious there was a lot more to her than he'd seen even as her patient himself. "He's always been protective."

"He apparently feels he has to be, particularly with your histories. As I said, it's nothing that would get him discharged. Just atypical."

Al glanced at the folder again, noting the next few sheets detailed the extensive nerve damage done him, and he closed the folder before his eyes absorbed any more. "So you think he's okay."

She raised an eyebrow. "I believe I said he's a psychologist's nightmare. Just a truly frighteningly well-adjusted one." She pointed an index finger at him, waggling it thoughtfully. "And don't give me that look. You're no better than he is. Don't doubt for a minute that there's one of these with your name on it in the desk behind me." Her expression became more serious, and Al resisted looking around her to see if his was as thick as Ed's. Probably not by half.

"I think he's a perfectionist, and I think he failed. He had a brush with death, not his first, but the first that wasn't his choice. He didn't step in front of that firing squad to sacrifice himself for anyone. He was dragged there against his will and shot. There's a difference and I want him to recognize that."

Al nodded. She was right; they were both perfectionists, in a way, and Ed had already admitted that he screwed up. And having lived with him all this time, he knew that nii-san didn't respond well to failure. But Franklin was covered, if not completely safe, so he wasn't sure Edward would see this as a failure as much as he would a screw-up. One was permissible. The other was not.

Dalyell waited until she had his full attention again before continuing. "As far as he knows, I am still completing the evaluation. I want you to keep it that way. It's to force him to think about things a little more than he'd like, and it'll be good for him. If he wants to talk, let him. Do not repeat this discussion with his superior officer."

Al blinked at her. "Hakuro? You think I'd tell that-"

She cut the air with her hand. "I was referring to Mustang." Al stopped, confused, and she scowled. "I want him to worry about this too."

There was a sudden warm feeling growing in his heart, and Al examined it before deciding that it was admiration. This was a change, all right, but it was a change he could get used to. "He is worried, you know."

"Not enough." She glowered at him across her desk. "If your brother wasn't so screwed up to start with he certainly would be after this. No one should be able to take all this in stride like Edward seems to be."

Al hesitated. ". . . I don't think . . . it's as easy for him as it looks."

Dalyell thinned her lips, then gave him a nod. "I think you're right."

- x -

"Have a seat, colonel."

She obeyed, not going as far as making herself comfortable as the general glanced presumably over the documents she'd sent over earlier in the day.

"It seems congratulations is in order."

"Sir?"

His steel blue eyes flicked up. "When I left, Parliament was leaning towards accepting the Cretian treaty. They lessened the concession of land, but it's still a wide enough belt to grant Amestris better geographical defenses. Otherwise they left it untouched. Considering we left her with her sovereignty instead of making her a protectorate, I'm amazed she even went that far."

Good news indeed. It appeared Tolya was content to hold, and Major General Armstrong would be glad to get back to her northern palace. "I'm relieved to hear it."

"As was I. It's the first treaty this Parliament has had to negotiate from the winner's perspective. They were too comfortable with giving concessions of their own."

Obviously he was going somewhere with it, and he didn't keep her waiting too long. "It was the only concern I had with redeploying you, colonel. With that out of the way we can begin processing immediately."

She inclined her head. "The paperwork should be in order."

"Impeccable as always. Your record speaks well of you," he glanced at another folder on his desk, "save the incident involving the assassination of the Fuhrer."

Which thankfully their duplicity had made nearly impossible to prosecute. From witness testimony, it was hard to determine if she had been working to save Bradley or to assist those who wanted him dead. Once the higher-ups had learned the partial truth, it had been easier to simply leave her where she was. She hadn't been the mastermind, after all, just as Havoc got away nearly scot-free for the Northern Rebellion. He was just following orders.

She shouldn't be surprised it was still in her permanent file, however. Or even if it wasn't, that it was still in his mind. Hakuro had a long memory.

When she said nothing, he sighed, putting down her transfer papers - unsigned, she noticed - and folding his hands over them. "South is rather uninteresting. Take it from someone who was stationed there for thirteen years."

She knew her smile was strained. "All due respect, general, I think I could use some peace and quiet."

"I suppose I can understand that. You nearly died just this last year, several times, and without ever being deployed. Then again, while it's been rather exciting in Central, I expect that too has come to an end." He cocked his head, studying her, and she imagined there was a great distance between them, that he wasn't really close enough to see anything that she might be giving away. He wasn't. Oh, he likely knew she wasn't happy, but it was doubtful he knew why.

She wasn't even sure herself.

But regardless of how she felt about it, the paperwork was spotless. He could only give her as unpleasant an assignment as the three she had requested, and she knew she didn't need to trade anything with him for the favor. To do anything less to the Prime Minister's Chief of Security would be scandalous, and he needed his cloister of goldcoats more than ever, if Parliament was pleased with the treaty.

"I see you want to take your current team with you."

Another concession he'd have to make to her, one way or another. "They work well and are accustomed to the way I do things."

"And the way you do things, you're satisfied with that?"

She felt an eyebrow curl before she could stop herself. "I think my record speaks for itself."

He held up a hand placatingly. "Far be it for me to disagree," he rumbled. "But this will be only the second time in your military career that you'll be essentially choosing your superior officer. That officer may not allow you the same rein Mustang did."

She simply accepted his statement without comment, and he sighed. "Colonel, while your paperwork is impeccable, your potential as an officer will not be developed in these assignments you've chosen. Yet by the same token, you have little actual leadership experience. You've been a subordinate of Mustang's since Ishbal, and I don't need to tell you that almost everything you've done in the last decade has been largely at the direction of his strings."

He expected a reaction so she didn't give him one.

"I dare say those strings have not been severed even though my office door closed behind you. Everything you've done, both personally and in your military career, has been for his advancement, not yours. Where are your strengths, Riza?"

She narrowed her eyes at the use of her given name, but didn't protest it. He'd press until he found a way to get to her, but ultimately it would get him nowhere. "I believe I would be of most use to the military reorganizing the South, sir. The discipline is somewhat lacking and all recent reports I've had to request from that area have been below acceptable standards-"

"You're a hell of a marksman. You were well on your way to becoming one of the top snipers in this military when you happened to save the life of a major who wasn't watching out for his own ass out in the desert."

That was high praise, coming from him. It made her suspicious. "Yessir, but-"

"If not for Mustang's involvement with your career, would you have continued on that path?"

She shook her head. "Marksmen are only necessary for war, general sir. I don't anticipate that we'll be having one in the near future-"

"A sniper of your caliber could start one in less than an hour," he cut her off. "Wars happen. Creta might be signing the treaty only to get her feet under her again. If you want to be a logistics officer for the rest of your life I'll sign your top choice, colonel, but for once, why not try having a brain of your own?"

She smiled at his obvious barb. "Are you saying you find the situation in South acceptable, sir?"

"I'm assigning Major General Armstrong to South, colonel. I'd prefer to keep the two of them on opposite poles if possible, but these two cities will have to do." He made a slight gesture. "I could assign you as Armstrong's assistant, if you like. You are apparently quite well suited for taking dictation and keep filing cabinets in order."

She knew it was supposed to sting, but the surprise came with just how much. "I would kill him, sir." Though having him around would certainly be nice. He did have a bit of a charm about him, and so long as she didn't have to babysit him, he would be an exceptionally fair commanding officer. It was more incentive than it seemed to hold fast her to her three chosen assignments in South.

"A fragmentation grenade exploded feet from him and the shrapnel that nearly killed his sister only penetrated a few inches into his back. He may well be bulletproof. And it's the only assignment in South I'm willing to sign off on," he finished bluntly. "Are you indicating you would prefer something else?"

He couldn't possibly deny her all the assignments she'd requested. He had to know Mustang would force his hand. "What is the general suggesting?"

"A good sniper division is as skilled at stopping potential wars as they are starting them. There's a trainer position opening up here in Central for such a specialized division, now that we have a military budget again." There was no small trace of satisfaction in his voice; he'd been fighting for more money since Parliament was first formed. For the next few years, at least, he'd probably get all that he could out of Mustang. "I want you to oversee it."

She found herself leaning back slightly in the chair. "Oversee the trainers?"

"I imagine you'd get the elite trainees, if you wanted them," he shrugged, closing the folder containing her hard-thought picks dismissively. As if he'd just made her decision for her. "It would be your program to run as you saw fit."

Giving her far more than she asked for, but keeping her in Central. Why -

Because there was no place for the rest of the team in a division like that. Except Havoc. Breda, Fuery, Falman, Sheska - they weren't snipers by any stretch, and probably could not be trained up. Sheska she could keep as her admin assistant, probably, but the other three . . . they'd be essentially taken from her and Mustang. The team would be split in half.

Divide and conquer.

"A rifleman with good aim is not a sniper," she murmured. "You say run this training operation as I see fit?"

He inclined his head. "Your intuition saved our Prime Minister's life, colonel. You won't have a bottomless budget, of course-"

"I'll need other officers-"

A careless wave. "Of course. Your current team can transfer with you. I daresay between Breda and Falman you won't have any trouble coming up with realistic and appropriate training missions, and I trust you to mask Fuery's medical condition sufficiently."

Her chest tightened. "What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

Another smile. "No need for that tone, colonel. I simply mean the man cannot pass a medical examination, and he probably never will again. I've waived the requirement as he was crippled in the line of duty-"

"Kain Fuery is hardly crippled, sir-"

"He cannot run more than a mile without collapsing. He is on a strict diet that has to be specially met by the military dieticians- it's a medical definition, colonel, not a slur on him personally," he added, when he could see the warning in her eyes. "I trust that you can guide him to a path that will allow him to excel in other ways."

Giving her the team, Fuery and all - but of course he had to, Fuery was a hero, and Mustang wouldn't let-

"I realize this would keep you in Central, but I can buffer you from any protest from the Prime Minister." Hakuro leaned back in his leather chair, folding his hands in his lap. "You've been on his strings long enough. Even your chosen appointments are all in response to him - you're running because he told you to run. You would be a fool to pass this up, Riza, and I won't offer it again."

It wasn't running. It was simply that South needed the kind of discipline that she could give it, an office to break down and build from scratch. But head of a sniper training division, it wasn't anything to scoff at. In fact, a decade ago it would have been a dream come true and Hakuro knew it.

It was, however, not a decade ago. And it would be putting herself in his debt. She was free of any obligations to him right now, and regardless of what he'd said Roy would always see and treat her the same as he always did. He'd ensure, for as long as he was Prime Minister, that she'd be fine and exactly where she wanted to be. He still thought of her as his subordinate.

But if that was true, then she didn't have to worry about that debt until Roy was no longer Prime Minister. Even if he wasn't re-elected in four years' time, that was still four years training the state's best snipers-

The corner of the general's lips twitched. "Yes, you'd be on my leash, but frankly, you will be whether it's here or in South. And it's past time you started doling out leashes of your own."

She gave him a professional smile. "I appreciate the general's offer. However, I feel-"

"Honored, yes, of course." He gave her a condescending smile of his own. "Your new assignment begins in two weeks. Prepare your staff for transfer."

She balked. "With all due respect-"

"It's an order, colonel. One I doubt the Prime Minister will object to." His tone was ever so polite, and she closed her mouth. The hell he wouldn't object, he'd see that Hakuro created a position for her and why, and he'd insist that her wishes to transfer to South be honored. Arguing it with the general was pointless. In the end, he'd capitulate.

"The creation of the division was plainly spelled out in the proposal submitted to Parliament in this year's development plan, and I think if we hadn't had so much excitement lately Roy would have already hand-picked you for it. He won't stand in the way of your promotion and career, he's already impeded too much." The smile was growing, slowly but surely. "Dismissed, colonel, and congratulations."

- x -

"We're sure about this? Because once we say something to Win-"

His brother was already nodding. "-we can't take it back," he finished. "And we can't do that to her."

Russell was standing at the foot of his bed, pulling small paper bags out of his canvas duffel and laying them out on the small, wheeled table that normally held Ed's meal tray. In this case, dinner was over, and he was starting to feel well enough that the food they were offering was beginning to taste.

Bad.

Unfortunately, what Russ was unpacking was unlikely to taste any better. Better for him, though, certainly.

"We're sure." Russell Tringum glanced at his own brother, getting a nod from Fletcher. The younger blond was there free and clear, save the arm wrapping, and was sitting indian style on one end of the cot that had been in his room since he'd been admitted, that Al and Winry had been sharing. Al was on the other side, and the pages of Patterson's plan - and a copy of Pinako's medical chart - were scattered between them.

"It'll be riskier for her than us," Fletcher murmured, staring at the papers. "I mean, it might not work at all . . . I think the alchemy part will be just fine, it's science, but you have to understand a million things could happen. And healing alchemy isn't an instant fix." Fletcher exchanged a glance with Russ. "We can take all the precautions in the world but if she's bleeding more than we think even now . . . trying this and failing will shorten what time she has left."

Ed reclined against his pillows, letting his head loll in their general direction. He was far too worn out to really sit up, but he was pretty damn proud of himself for staying awake this long. Hadn't fallen asleep once. "I know. It's her choice." Not that a choice between a risky procedure or certain death was much of a choice, for him. So long as the Tringums were in no danger, he wasn't sure how Pinako could refuse them. Other than because she didn't want the Tringums to feel responsible if she died on the table-

"If it's her choice, why do you have that look on your face?"

Ed shrugged eloquently. "We should get our hands on some bleach and acetone, just in case she says no."

The other three alchemists all paused, each one mentally combining those ingredients before Fletcher laughed.

"No, we're not going to chloroform her. And you're not going at all." The young man uncurled himself from the cot and stood, exchanging a grin with his brother. "You're barely awake as it is. Besides, it isn't like we can do it tonight. We need a surgeon, remember?"

"A whole team of surgeons," Al corrected, grabbing the papers and stacking them neatly. "We'll go run it by Ackernath while Russ treats you. Since you don't trust me . . ."

Ed made a face at him. He wasn't sure if they were putting on a show for the Tringums or themselves, but he'd known the instant Al had come back from giving Mustang his report that his little brother knew something had happened. Probably because Dalyell had told him. Since she'd decided to delay his release she'd had to, but he was still a little cross with her. He was used to doctors threatening him with this stuff, but not with the actual carrying through. Patterson had spoiled them.

"Make sure to phrase it so he can't refuse," Ed called as they both headed out into the hall. "Offer to pay him twice as much. Worked the first time!"

Neither acknowledged him, and Ed slumped back on his pillows, considering pouting before deciding that it wasn't necessary. Russ knew exactly what his problem was, even if he didn't know about the events of earlier in the day, so there was no need to pretend he felt better than he did. In a few minutes he was going to enjoy a nice, short transmutation and probably be out until late into the following morning.

Unless there really had been more strain to his heart than Dalyell had alluded to.

"They get along quite well," Russ remarked casually, carefully measuring out ingredients into a small funnel of paper. Ed closed his eyes, nodding ever so slightly.

"They always have."

"I suppose that's true." The pleasant whisper of powder on paper. "I guess we didn't meet on the best of terms but things seem to have worked themselves out."

Ed found his eyes opening all by themselves, and he gave Russell a curious look. "Feeling sentimental now that you've broken him out of the slammer?"

Russ shook his head, though he still looked amused. "It came up in conversation today, kind of reminded me of the good old days. Apparently I can't visit Creta. Ever."

It took him a second to figure it out, and Ed groaned, closing his eyes again. Franklin had been on the stand today, and apparently he'd gotten as far as telling the court - and Russ, since he was probably an expert witness - about their first time speaking with the Cretians. "Listen, you're blond, you're an ass, it just fit-"

"It's okay. This was the second time, and we almost got executed the second time we pretended to be you two, so I guess we're even now." Paper crumpled. "Though you pretended to be me a lot longer than-"

"Aaaauugghh," Ed growled in protest. "Knock it off. You're flattered."

A quiet chuckle. "I'm just saying, I didn't expect to be here a year ago."

Ed opened his eyes and stared at the other man a moment. Russell tried to hide his self-consciousness by measuring the potassium repeatedly.

"What do you mean? I didn't expect to be here either-"

Tringum shook his head. "I gave you that information on the church and told you to come back alive. You didn't." He dumped the potassium and tried again. "I heard you showed up briefly a few years later and trashed Central, but didn't really give you a lot of thought until I got a call from Mustang one night telling me to get my ass to the HQ hospital and not ask any questions." He shook his head. "You two really scared the hell out of him."

Ed shrugged uncomfortably. "Did we ever get around to telling you thanks for that?"'

Another grin. "Oh, I'd say you paid us when you showed us the Gate and then jumped into it to save the rest of us. It was incredibly stupid, but I appreciated the gesture."

Ed hesitated. Why the heart to heart? Had Dalyell told them to do this, as part of his 'therapy'? "You saved Al's life. He would have died if not for you two."

"He would have died anyway if Mustang hadn't given us the Incomplete Stone. Besides, we weren't the first alchemists to work on him that night." He was finally satisfied with the potassium, and carefully poured it into the funnel. "Actually had to go look a couple of the symbols up. Mustang didn't do a great job, but for a combustion-type alchemist he knew his stuff. Probably learned it when he was thinking about committing his own transgression."

Ed mulled that over for a second. So Mustang knew a bit of healing alchemy . . .? Then again, technically anyone who understood the human body on a chemical level could perform 'healing' alchemy. That's all it was, so long as the chemical changes made didn't interfere with the life of the organism. "I think Al's got the knack for the same reason. I mean, he was nine when we were able to completely construct an adult female doll."

Not that they'd gotten it right, exactly . . .

And not that knowing the human body so well had prevented them from being completely mystified by the very pregnant Mrs. Hughes. Knowing how the body worked chemically was only a very small portion of understanding a human being.

"He's not bad," Russ allowed. "The two of you are just too damned talented for your own good." He seemed at a loss, and frowned at his piles of elements and minerals. "On that subject," he added, clearly reluctantly, "I sort of want to ask you something. You don't have to answer," he added hastily, and Ed just looked at him.

Russell took a deep breath. "At the time I didn't really care - I mean, I was glad you were back, in a way it was nice to have been a part of that, but . . . we weren't close. I - I don't even know if we're close now. I think of you as a colleague and the guy I wanted to fucking kill when I thought Fletch- it doesn't matter," he hurried on. "When . . . the Gate spat you back out, you were catatonic. Al supposed from the memory of the pain of having your automail experimented with."

He looked for confirmation so Ed gave him a single, short nod, no longer feeling remotely sleepy. Russ noticed, and his lips tightened slightly.

"Today, in the trial . . . Franklin explained what happened. What he saw," he clarified. "He said you became unresponsive. He's fifteen but he still made a damn near perfect doll, I don't think it was a mistake." Russ took a deep breath. "Is that . . . do you remember . . .?"

Ed just stared at him, completely floored. What did that have to do with his heart . . .? "Why?" He hated how strangled his voice sounded, and he struggled into a slightly straighter position.

Russ held out a hand, misinterpreting his motion. "Hey, take it easy, you don't have to say . . . I was just . . . I never asked when you woke up. When Fletch and I left you were unresponsive, the next morning you were walking and talking. You weren't fine, I mean, you were subdued, but you were a hell of a lot better than I expected. Clearly you snapped yourself out of it this time around, too, or maybe Franklin left something out," he allowed. "I just . . . if it happens again, I'd like to know . . . you know. How to help you," he finished lamely.

He turned the memory over several times, then shook his head, once. "I don't know." He remembered . . . going, how frighteningly easy it had been, and then he remembered his body being pulled and arranged, then being yanked to his feet and dragged for what felt like forever before being dumped in front of the firing squad. "I guess you'll have to ask Franklin."

Russ was apparently trying hard to seem understanding without pitying - it wasn't a good look for him and Ed was tempted to tell him so.

"How did Mustang . . .? Do you remember that either?"

"He drowned me." It was fully possible that's what Luis had done to him, too, come to think of it. There had been a tub involved. "Stuck my face in a basin of water until I reacted." All he remembered of that was inhaling water, then getting flung back into painful air and hearing the bastard talking to him.

Russ just gave him a quiet nod. "Thanks. For telling me."

Ed shrugged, and Russ picked up his next ingredient on the line. "Was it . . . like the automail?"

"Can we not talk about this?" It was exactly what Dalyell wanted him to talk about, but . . . not with Russ.

And not with Al, his brain murmured. It's Russ or her.

She won't run to Al, he shot back.

How do you know, his brain retorted, and he sighed in frustration.

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine. Tash wasn't able to shake Sorn up much, I think his story's going to hold." Russ bent his head over some sulfur. "He's a tough kid to read."

"Yeah," Ed agreed, and Russell shook the funnel, distributing the contents.

"He's having a rough time."

Rough probably wasn't coming even close. He had no friends in the world right now, absolutely no one who understood was there, to stand by his side even though he was wrong. "I wish he had an Al." Oddly, the thought almost made his eyes water, so he closed them, leaning back into the pillows.

"Yeah," Russ agreed, and he felt the mattress sink as the other alchemist knelt on it. "He could use a Fletch right about now."

- x -

Author's Notes: Look! Progress! Dr. Dalyell isn't as crazy as everyone thought. ; ) And Hakuro is still quite obviously up to something . . . a lot is happening simultaneously on this 'day' in the fic, so I'm sorry to cut off here. Mustang hasn't forgotten about the boys an d he'll deal with the general first thing next chapter.

As usual, posted without a beta. Thanks, Dailenna, for pointing out the errors last chapter! I trust your eyes to see what my crossing ones will not.

So, want to hear my guess at chapter length now? ; ) Four more chapters, assuming none of the other characters decide to complicate things more.