dEarest Interesting colonel,

so you've challenGed me. a few Hours, hm? how is That working so far?

oH, I'm sOrry. I sUppose I'm not playing faiR.

but, So i see, neither are you.

naughty coLonel, you'rE not supposed to be so smart.

i suppose this makes things more Fun.

okay. i'll meeT your challenge.

leT's fast forward tIme a bit.

oh, and i would like to meet you. that's important, too.

how about in an hour? at the little Café just outside of eastern headquarters?

i Know one of your subordinaTes—ah, breda, is it?—frequents there.

Oh, and I do love Clichés. About as much as I love cocKroaches.

so come alone.

with much admiration,

your adversary

ps: i want you to think long and hard about your relationships.

It had been four hours since Colonel Mustang first opened the box, and started the "game."

Looking back on it now as he sat at the café mentioned in the 'adversary's' letter, Roy realized he might have even considered eating here, if this had been a normal day. He might have still ordered water—or perhaps some other beverage, because he might have felt more relaxed. Might have wanted to buy some food, because he knew he could keep it down—unlike now, where his stomach was so jumbled, and his nerves and patience wearing thin, that he didn't trust himself eating anything.

Eating took time, anyway. Time that Edward simply didn't have.

Seven hours left.

Oh, and that was the other thing.

"Let's fast forward time a bit," apparently, meant, "you now have eight hours left."

But that had been realized an hour ago.

It hadn't taken long, really, to decode that secret message. Random letters being capitalized didn't necessarily mean insanity or improper grammar—just a clever delivery of a message, to prove their adversary's wit.

(Perhaps as well as Mustang's own to have figured it out in the first place.)

E-I-G-H-T-H-O-U-R-S-L-E-F-T-T-I-C-K-T-O-C-K

So now, here he was. Patiently—oh, so painfully patiently—waiting on their 'adversary' to appear and say what he wanted to. It had felt like ages since the Colonel first arrived there, choosing and inconspicuous table and sitting down, ordering a water because honestly, he hadn't felt like taking in anything else.

And it wasn't until he was halfway through his third glass that the man finally sat opposite him. Mustang knew it was him the instant he saw him; Alphonse's descriptions ran true.

Square face, dark brown hair, fuzz around the chin and mouth—glasses on the nose, crazed brown-orange eyes.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing Mustang felt towards him wasn't fear at all.

It was raw anger.

"Colonel Roy Mustang."

Even that voice made him want to flip the table over and simply strangle the man. It was smooth—medium-high. Shouldn't have belonged to a man who was practically begging to be scorched on the spot.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Roy finally managed as he calmly placed his drink back on the napkin. "I don't know your name."

The man hummed, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers, and resting his lips just below them. "Actually, I have you at several disadvantages. But this one's such a shame. I rather like my name, too—came up with it myself." A grin, partially revealing spotless, perfectly-straight teeth. "I like to call myself Odi Sanguis."

Roy tilted his head slightly—a bow in acknowledgement, even as recognition flashed through his mind. Old Cretian. He had no idea what the phrase meant—but some part of him figured it'd help their case to figure it out.

"All right. How…nice to meet you, then, Odi Sanguis," Mustang said, giving a sweetly impolite smirk.

There was one falter in the haughty gleam of the man across from him—and Roy counted that as a sure victory. But other than that, there was nothing else the man gave in reaction to that subtle gesture of defiance.

"Likewise." Straightening slightly, Odi smiled as he beckoned for a waitress and ordered a glass of iced tea—unsweetened.

It wasn't until the woman had hurried away to retrieve the order that Odi leaned forward again and confided, "You know, Mustang, I must say, you're quite the interesting man." He smiled, suddenly fascinated with the Colonel as if he were a specimen under a microscope. "And I say that quite fondly. You and your men—all of them—you're so…exciting."

Mustang said nothing, taking a quiet sip of his water. His throat—for some, odd reason—suddenly felt dry, and his palms sweaty.

This wasn't…something normal to be told.

But Odi went on. "Speaking of them—they aren't here with you, right? You did, I hope, follow my request and come alone. Because if you didn't, I'm afraid there will be drastic consequences for everyone involved—and I do hate to lose my studies so early on in the game."

Despite how much he wanted to lie, Mustang shook his head with honesty. "None of my men are here. All of them have agreed to stay behind at headquarters."

One of Odi's eyebrows shot up with impressed glee. "All of them? Sitting back, while their dear leader puts himself in danger? For all you know, I could not be alone right now. And if I weren't, and something were to happen to you, well, then what would you think of your self-sacrificing heroics?"

Mustang made sure his black eyes bored deep in Odi's brown ones, a threat underlining each word. "We decided that was a risk well worth the results."

This appeared to delight the adversary extremely so. He nearly clapped with glee, grinning ear-to-ear. "So the boys really do mean that much, do they?" The Colonel didn't answer—but didn't have to. Odi was already talking once again, babbling. "Oh, I knew it, I knew it! You all are my most wonderful projects yet! I must say—the two boys were fun on their own—the infinite bond they share is so much more powerful than any brotherly relationship I've ever seen—but then you, Colonel—you and your noble men come into the scene and you add the cherry to this ice cream that I've been whipping up! How fantastic!"

"What are you after?" Mustang asked, too angry and too determined to get to the bottom of this, that beating around the bush didn't matter anymore. It was wasteful of time—time that could be spent getting answers.

By now, the waitress had given Odi his glass of unsweetened tea, and, smiling, too far gone in his happy thoughts, the man avoided the question entirely and asked one of his own, instead. "Do you know the moment I first noticed you, Colonel? It was quite a few months ago—you probably don't remember. In fact, you might not even have seen me." The grin grew—and twisted, something dark that had been brewing for a long time slithering beneath its surface. "But I saw you—you and that beautiful boy, and that lovely lady you were with. If I remember right—ah, what was that—was that Iville?"

Iville.

Memories rushed into Mustang's mind in the form of reports and mission statements, facts, codes, and data. Three months ago—that undercover assignment that required me, Hawkeye, and Fullmetal to pose as a family in order to unearth a rogue alchemist. Yes, I remember that.

It had been easy enough—required no more than a week to solve and finish—and, in reality, the entire thing was so inconsequential (and, terribly awkward) that all three of them had gladly turned a blind eye to it once it had been over.

But he had seen us?

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mustang kept his words careful and calm, guarded even as he watched the man before him drink his tea.

Odi smiled, his finger idly wiping his glass free of condensation before beginning to sketch on the table. "Everything. Because you see, Colonel—I was getting bored. So bored. 'Cuz nobody's fun anymore—people are afraid to make connections, and give part of themselves to someone else. No one stays together; they find something stupid to argue and leave each other over, and eventually, everyone learns not to love."

Something was begging to be noticed here, but Mustang, frustratingly, couldn't figure it out at the moment. Narrowing his eyes, he continued to listen as the crazed man went on. "And that's when I get bored. I mean, I can't work with anything if there's nothing there."

Odi's grin widened, excitement sparking up back up as he went on. "And then—into my life, strolling right through my vision, so ready to be ruined, passes this pretty family. A handsome, exotic dark-haired man—his fair, exquisite wife—and their golden son." Laughing a little, and steepling his fingers together, he muttered, "I must admit, you three had me fooled at first. I thought you were the real deal. And then, I dug deeper, and found out the three of you weren't related at all." A shrug—a dismissal. "Sure, I was disappointed. Sure, I had thought it would be a dead end. But I found something even better—while you three may not have been a true family, all of you and your men truly function as one."

That dark, menacing thing was back behind Odi's smile as he leaned forward, lips touching his fingers again. "And then…I found out those two were brothers, and everything was perfect."

Mustang fought the urge to stand up and growl and do something—snap—throw—punch—anything to vent to this man, to make him realize he had no right to touch something as precious as those two's love—"What makes you think you have the right to mess with people like that?"

"I'm a psychological scientist." Odi said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world—as if there were several people like him out there, doing their own things. "Families both fascinate me, and disgust me. So, I try to figure them out. I find their breaking point—what ties them together—what pulls them apart—and what scares them the most. It's quite like dissecting, really—pulling apart all the arteries, all the veins, to get to the heart of the matter, and then figuring out how best to destroy it."

Rage boiled through Mustang's veins, surging and billowing—so strong and so overwhelming that it took him a minute to get it under control. But when he did, there was a strange sense of hilarity in the whole situation that he found—one he hadn't noticed before—and upon realizing it, he began to laugh.

This, too, caught the adversary off-guard by the smallest margin. Darkness fluttered across the other's face. "You aren't supposed to find this funny."

But Mustang kept laughing—on and on, because—"Wow. You're an idiot."

This, apparently, stunned the adversary into complete and utter silence. So, Roy delightfully continued. "I mean, mistaking me and my two colleagues for a family—that's understandable. It was part of our job at the time. But then to assume that me and my subordinates form a surrogate family of sorts behind the scenes?" That was where the laughter resumed, taking him over by wonderful storm.

Once he was done, he was glad to see that the man across from him was still too shocked to speak. He went on. "Obviously, whoever is giving you your information isn't very good. My men and I are nothing close to a family. We're co-workers. Nothing more, nothing less. It's simply that simple."

"But it's still there!" Odi finally burst once he found his voice. His hands clenched the edge of the table, desperation lining his frame as he cried, "I saw it myself! I heard it! You were scared when you heard that I had them, what I had done to them! You're still scared! You said it yourself! You care! You love them!"

Now it was Mustang's turn to raise an eyebrow, casually leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. I was right. He was listening in, somehow. "I don't believe I ever said I was scared—"

Frustrated, angry, the adversary slammed his hand down on the table, over the spot he had been sketching with the excess water from his glass. A curse sprang from his lips—and suddenly, Mustang knew he had won. Time had gone on long enough—nearly another hour had already passed, too much time spent already—so he stood up. Let's bring an end to this.

A few tables away, someone else stood up at the same time, and began to make their way over.

"Mr. Odi Sanguis, we are done here. I believe you are under the arrest for tapping into military lines and bugging a military office, as well as abducting and attempting the murder of a state alchemist. You'll be coming with us, today, and most likely, you won't ever be returning to whatever place you call 'home,'" Roy muttered, smirking as Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye jerked the adversary into a standing position and began to hand-cuff him.

Odi was flabbergasted, unable to turn around and fully see the woman arresting him-but knowing, feeling she was there all the same. "You—you liar! You said—you told me—none of your men were with you! I thought you were a man of your word, Colonel!"

"But I am," Mustang replied innocently, truly seeming shocked by the accusations. "I told you all of my men stayed at headquarters."

I said nothing about her.

The other guests of the café looked shocked at the sudden arrest, but very relieved—especially if it meant whatever criminal was now caught. Now they were safe from one more menace—hooray for the military finally being shone in a good light!

But while Hawkeye made eye contact with Roy—Good work, sir. Let's take him back—and be careful. He does have men working for him—Odi Sanguis struggled futilely in the woman's grasp.

But then, finally, and quite suddenly, as if giving up on everything else and throwing it all to fate, Odi began to laugh.

"You fools! You call me the idiot! But you forget and fail to notice one simple thing!" he yelled, crazed and frantic, and powerless to help himself. An over-zealous idiot who thinks he's smart, but falls into the simplest of traps—

"You aren't in a position to be calling anyone fool, Mr. Sanguis," Roy advised, even as he stepped around the table to near their criminal. "You practically handed yourself over to me."

But Odi Sanguis met Roy's eyes with a startlingly clear look—much saner now, after a moment of madness. "And you practically signed the kid's death warrant."

Surprise and doubt made Roy bite his tongue as Odi gestured with his head to the table. "Take a look, now! You probably will recognize my work—you being a fellow alchemist and all. Not to mention incredibly intelligent—you see what I've done? Or, rather, what I've stopped doing?"

And Roy did. His heart fell to his toes.

The condensation that he thought his adversary had simply been "sketching" with turned out to be an array—an array that he had activated in his anger when he slammed his hand onto the table, Roy realized. And even though the water was scattered now, he could make out the tracings of symbols for "air" and molecular conversions from "carbon dioxide" to "oxygen"…

I was right. He was using alchemy to transmute the air Edward was breathing to keep him alive for as long as he wanted.

But now he's shut it off.

"Congratulations, Colonel. In total, you've managed to take away fifteen hours from your golden boy's life—and just in the span of a few hours, too. How does that make you feel, knowing he has only…oh, I don't know, maybe four hours—if he's extremely lucky—left to live?"

Gone was any voice of reason, now. Gone was any attempt at composure. Turning in rage, he seethed at the criminal—this piece of scum before him—because how dare this man bury a twelve-year-old boy inside the armor of his brother to die slowly and awfully—and force his younger brother to be unable to do anything to save him, instead harbor him and watch and listen as his one last, living, dearest family member dies inside him—and roared, "Tell me where they are!"

This excited the adversary, making him grin even as Hawkeye frowned and jerked his hands painfully behind him. "I'll never tell! Never in a million years! There's nothing you can do to me that will make me feel regret, or will make me confess to you their location! It's just like you said, Colonel—I consider this satisfaction of your pain well worth the risk, especially if it gives me these results! I hope you all never find them!"

Hawkeye didn't object to him punching the man so hard, he knocked him unconscious.

"…it stopped."

Edward's quiet, surprised words snapped Alphonse out of his worried daze. "What stopped, Brother?"

"That humming noise. Didn't you hear it?"

Alphonse thought a moment, stilling himself and straining to hear, listening as carefully as possible. And, well…now that Brother mentioned it, it did seem a bit quieter. Something was off—gone, no longer part of the situation and yet, Alphonse couldn't quite put a finger on what was suddenly missing.

But then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Ed stiffened, having already figured it out.

"Crap…I'm such an idiot…"

"What?" Alphonse felt something similar to pain as fear gripped his soul, something sharp and acute—a phantom spear piercing his chest. "What's wrong, Brother?"

"Alchemy. That's what it was—he was transmuting the carbon dioxide I was exhaling, and turning it back into oxygen at a constant rate. He was, but—gah, dang it!" The sound of flesh punching metal as Edward threw his fist at the metal of chest plate encasing him.

Alphonse's non-existent heart plummeted—because he knew what came next, even as Edward muttered it angrily, voice shaking slightly (because after all, how does a twelve-year-old cope with the fact their lifespan has just been significantly depleted?). He could hear his brother swallow once, before announcing the cursed reality. "…I think he stopped powering it…"

Both of them could do the math. What had once been several hours of time to wait for the Colonel—what, it had only been five hours in total so far, so they were supposed to have nineteen hours to wait—nineteen—had been reduced to only four. Maybe three.

Alphonse fought to keep his voice steady, reassuring, strong. But against his armor, he could feel the weight of his brother on him shift, tremble, and work so hard to keep his breathing and heart rate under control. "They'll find us, Brother. I bet they're really close, too—that's why they turned it off. He's worried, scared. The Colonel's almost here—I know he is!"

Edward nodded, not trusting himself to full volume, and instead, whispering with such strong—desperate-intensity, "I know, little Brother. I know he is, too."

A chill went down Alphonse's soul.

Because Brother never calls me 'little Brother.' Except…

…except for times like these, when they were in danger so great, that Edward couldn't see the way out.

It had been the same the night their mother died.

It had been the same the night they tried to transmute her back.

It had been the same when Edward had been hazy and pained from automail surgery.

And Alphonse dared fate to try and kill his brother now, after the few times he called him "little brother," and still managed to carry on, live on, to continue calling him "Al."

(Which, somehow, strangely—as endearing as "little brother" was—meant so much more.)

Crystal's Notes: Well! We've finally picked up pace! I do believe this story will be ending in a few more chapters. So thank you to all who have reviewed so far! You're truly wonderful inspirations! I've also got another idea for an FMA story that's quite...exotic? But we'll see if it sticks around long enough to be actually put into words, ha ha. Because as far as I see, very few AU's are well-received here...but we'll see!

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy! Review, if you like to be kind! (heart heart)