See part one for notes.
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Nathan stared at the blond boy who sat across from him, with his long sleeves and gloves, indoors in the middle of summer. He wasn't totally sure how he had been strong-armed into going to Jack's house for dinner but was pretty sure it had something to do with Jack grilling steaks for them. Captain O'Neill had appeared briefly at the house, explaining the surname, before heading back out again with Major Brooks and two other men, all four dressed in jeans and shirts.
"Team night," Jack had explained. "We try to encourage them."
The meal had gone pretty much as expected, conversations reaching awkward silences and abruptly being cut off, when the front door banged open and footsteps clattered up the stairs.
"Jon!" Jack shouted.
The steps came to an abrupt halt and reversed direction. "Yeah, old man?"
Nate gaped. Whoever the boy's mother had been, he was the very spitting image of his father. He would never have believed that Jack would cheat on Sarah, but here was the living, breathing proof standing in front of his eyes. The boy was no more than eighteen at the most, very clearly favouring Jack in appearance.
He threw a brief glance at Nate, then caught sight of the dishes on the table and brightened. "The runt out?" he asked, dropping his rucksack to the floor and joining them at the table.
"Yeah," Jack informed him. "Team night with eleven. They're going skating."
Jon shrugged, grabbing the spare steak and some salad and digging in. "What's he doing here?" he asked with a brief nod in Nate's direction, causing Jack to snort in something close to amusement.
"I've asked Major Ford to consider becoming my second in command," Jack said, and suddenly Nate found himself subject to an intense study, as though this Jon were weighing and measuring him.
Eventually the boy nodded thoughtfully. "Oh," he said in a mild tone, reapplying himself enthusiastically to his dinner.
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Ed had ranted a little; well, okay, a lot and loudly; apparently furious at which people had been arrested once the leaks were discovered, apparently taking it as a personal insult that he hadn't figured out who it was. He had agreed readily to being the "trade goods", however, apparently enthused at the thought of getting revenge on the person who had put people he counted amongst his friends in such a position.
Nate had narrowed his eyes at the young man, before extracting a promise from him that Dubenich would be taken into custody whole and in such a state as to be able to stand trial without delay.
He had received a mutinous look, but the blond had nodded, apparently astonishing Jack and Jon – and he really did need to get that story out of Jack at some point – into silence.
After a long moment, Ed had sighed deeply. "S'pose you want to see what you'll be trading, huh?" he asked, yanking his gloves off. Nate felt his eyes widening as the removal of the second glove revealed a gleaming silvered hand. "Automail," he explained.
Nate couldn't quite believe it. He had seen Ed using utensils, grabbing things with that hand, with just as much dexterity as he had exhibited with his other hand. As he watched, the young man flexed his fingers, the prosthetic hand making minute, barely audible glinking noises as they curled into his metal palm.
He met Ed's gaze. "May I?" he asked, reaching out at the young man's nod and taking hold of the hand in both of his. He turned it over carefully, mindful of the fact it was still attached to Ed and examined the intricacy. "How far up does it go?" he asked, fascinated.
Ed gave a one shouldered shrug. "All the way. And my right leg to above the knee is automail too," he confessed. "The fitting on my leg's way tidier than the one for the shoulder – it's easier to fit mid-limb rather than to a joint."
Aware he was staring, Nate blinked. "That's incredible!" he exclaimed, allowing Ed to reclaim his hand and sitting back.
Snorting in something that was almost amusement, Ed turned to Jack. "So pops, if you were some slimy thieving bastard with less morals than the Fuhrer, would you want automail?"
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The following morning, Nate was back in Jack's office. "So we've got the bait, and the 'in," he began, "But we need someone to make the sell."
Jack's eyes narrowed and he leaned in. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay, I'll call Sanq. There have been some issues between them and Amestris, and it would be perfectly believable that someone from one would sell out someone from the other."
Nate paused, not liking the sound of that. "Issues," he repeated. "What sort of issues?"
Smirking, Jack pulled a file out of his bottom drawer. "Well, it started out as a prank war and kinda went from there. The pilots and Ed decided that it would be a good thing if they TPed the Military Headquarters of Amestris. Then Hawkeye and some of General Mustang's staff put mousetraps outside all the guest quarters of the Sanq contingent the last time there was a conference, and now we're trying to keep all the perpetrators apart."
Raising his brows, Nate stared at Jack. "Are they all children?" he asked. He wasn't even joking. So he was somewhat surprised when Jack laughed.
"Okay, you'll hear people referring to 'The Pilots' as a group. They're five young men who are a special response unit for the Preventers on Sanq, and they're not officially part of the organisation because thanks to certain laws passed after the second Eve wars the Preventers aren't allowed to hire them.
"Officially they were terrorists in the first Eve War, and despite their actions in the second, the Preventers are still required to keep an eye on them. The kicker though? They were all about fourteen during the first war."
Staring at him, Nate raised his brows slightly.
"So yes," Jack finished. "They were children and they didn't have chance to be children, so they're making up for lost time now. And this means that one or two of them would be perfect to play the part of the seller. The official stories make them all out to be a bit nuts."
Nate continued to stare before shaking himself out of his shock. There were several things he could have said and he examined each of them carefully before settling on, "So who would you recommend I ask?"
Jack grinned at him. "Thought you'd never ask," he said as he reached for the intercom on his desk. "Walter, send Preventers Maxwell and Winner in please?" Nate glared. Sometimes Jack knew him a little too well.
He was surprised by appearance of the two young men. To start with, both were... well, short. Short and slim, though he wouldn't trust Maxwell and his maniacal grin as far as he could throw him. And as for Winner, well, there was a speculative bent to that seemingly innocent blue gaze, though both young men were polite and well spoken. Beyond the similarities of height though, the boys were wildly different. While Winner was pale and blond, with neatly trimmed hair and a more compact frame, Maxwell was all sinew and bone, brown hair in a long, loose braid and a smattering of freckles across his tip-tilted nose.
He frowned as Maxwell stayed standing, prowling the office while Winner sat in front of the desk and smiled disarmingly. "General," he said, "I understand you have a job for us?"
Jack grinned and looked over at Nate. "You would be correct. You're going to get your fondest wish, Quatre. You get to sell Ed to someone for vivisection."