Author's note: Now that the flashbacks are finished, I'm going to be shifting from neutral 3rd person narrative, to Ed's POV 3rd person narrative (if you didn't understand that, you will after this chapter).

PLEASE READ!!There is a part in this chapter that is not for the squeamish, as it contains needles (and we all know how much Ed likes them). It's during Ed's POV, just so you're forewarned.

Enjoy!

Winry stared avidly into the cup. Al had given her the tea not long ago, and she'd been grateful to have the friendly substance warming and soothing her from the inside out. She'd already drunk half, and was watching the dregs swirl around the bottom as she agitated the cup.

She was a lot calmer than she had been a few hours ago, not at ease, just calm. She attributed her serenity to the tea she was drinking, the blanket that was draped across her shoulders and the fact that she hadn't heard anything of Edward's antics. Although silence was just as worrying as noise, she kept telling herself that no news was good news.

"Is it strong enough?" Al asked, breaking her reflection.

"Huh?" she asked dazedly.

"The tea, is it alright?" Al explained patiently, realising that she hadn't been paying attention to anything.

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. Thanks Al," Winry replied, smiling weakly.

She raised the cup to lips and let the warm liquid flow down her throat. She swallowed and placed the empty cup by her side. She then turned to watch Al.

He was drawing transmutation circles on the floor, walls and ceiling. He would then activate them one at a time. Slowly, but surely, the corridor started to look like a corridor again, rather than the distorted world of a psychologically impaired young man. Al looked up from his work.

"I have to do this Winry," Al answered to her unspoken question. "It's really my fault that any of this happened."

"How do you figure that, Al?" Winry queried.

"I was there. I was in the library. I could have done something. I should have done something," Al explained.

"What could you have done, Al? There's no way you could have known any of this was going to happen," Winry assured him.

"I saw that the bookcase was going to explode. Brother wasn't going to move, so I should have made him move," Al insisted, guilt flooding his tone.

"Al-"

A set of footsteps made her turn her head.

It was Colonel Mustang. He walked up to the window and stared out. He closed his eyes and raised a gloved hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows fell slightly as he frowned. A pained, tired expression formed on the colonel's features. He sighed in frustration.

"Colonel?" Al asked concernedly.

Mustang looked over to the two teenagers. His face fell into a reluctant neutral expression, a weary, half-hearted smile on his lips. He sighed again, more quietly this time, however not quietly enough for Winry not to hear him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked timidly.

"Did the doctor get the blood samples he needed?" Al added hopefully.

"Not a chance," Mustang admitted sadly, shaking his head. "He's restrained, his automail's been disabled, and his still struggling. The doctor says that as long as Fullmetal won't settle, he's not going near him with a needle, says it'll break the needle and probably hurt him in the process."

"Brother's never liked needles," Al stated. "I guess he won't like it any more now that he can't recognise any of us."

"I remember," Winry mentioned softly, smiling reminiscently. "I remember when we were kids, Ed always had to be dragged to clinic."

She chuckled tenderly at the thought. She heard Alphonse giggle as well, remembering all the times he'd had to look back to watch his mother drag Edward by the hand to the clinic. Ed had always dragged his feet and clawed at the door whenever he had to have an injection. Al would be finished in two minutes, and would get a sweet for being so good, while Ed would often take ten to fifteen minutes just for one shot.

"I remember," Al agreed, laughing lightly. "You were there too, Winry. You would always tease Brother for being such a stubborn coward."

Mustang's smile grew slightly, enjoying the light-hearted moment. He stored the memory away, making sure he could recall every little detail for irking Edward when this was all over. However, the situation could not be forgotten. He still needed to think of a way to persuade the defiant young man to allow the doctor to take some blood.

"Hey, all you need is to take some blood, right?" Winry asked, bringing Mustang out of his musing.

"Right," Mustang confirmed. "We need to find a way to keep him still long enough for that, though."

Winry pursed her lips in a thoughtful pose. Then, with great deliberation, she removed the blanket from around her shoulders and laid it on the floor. She stood up and approached Mustang.

"I have an idea," she proclaimed confidently.

Ed was watching the trio very carefully. He didn't like how the leader and the girl had called the so-called doctor over. He liked the way they were talking even less. He didn't trust them at all, especially the girl. He recognised her as the one who had pretended to be a victim, like him, only to find out that she was one of them. She had disabled the arm and leg that they had given him, obviously they had realised that they couldn't control him like they had hoped. Maybe she'd been the one who'd replaced his limbs.

The fake doctor was nodding to the leader and the girl. They'd finally come up with a new method to try and inject him with some horrid substance. He was certain that it was to befuddle his mind, maybe to somehow lower his convictions, make him more inclined to believe their lies. They were no doubt trying to make him believe that they were friends of his.

He was beginning to pick up who these people were trying to pretend to be. He was amused at their attempts, though, and doubted that they had done any research into the people they were imitating. Only the one who was in the cheap armour suit put on a half-decent act, but even that was full of flaws.

What bothered him was how they'd managed to take him out of Central and away from anything he could recognise. He didn't even have a clue on which way he'd have to go to get back to Central. He would have to wait for them to let him go.

But, what would they let him go to do? Would they make him carry on with his search for the Philosopher's Stone with the fake Al, and make him bring it back to them? It was obvious that they'd have to be careful with him, if he saw anyone he knew, then all their work would come undone. That was obviously why they'd taken him out of Central; he knew it too well. There were also too many people who would recognise him in Central, which was another risk for them.

He focused on the girl, who had brought up a chair and sat beside him. She looked at him with a condescending look.

"I hear you haven't let the doctor take your blood," she stated.

"You're not interested in my blood," he retorted.

"Of course, we are. What do you think the empty vials are for?" she asked.

Ed didn't answer. He refused to give them the chance to dupe him. While they looked empty, he couldn't be sure. This girl had fooled him once, he wasn't prepared to give her a second chance.

"Oh, you are an absolute idiot, Edward!" the girl sighed in fake exasperation. "Do you need a damn demonstration?!"

She didn't wait for his reply. She took off her jacket and exposed her pale skin. She showed him the many different hypodermic needles and vials.

"It's your choice Edward. Pick a needle and vial, and the doctor will put them in me," she explained in an irritated tone.

Ed stared at her. He had not been expecting that. It was obvious that she wasn't worried about whichever instrument he chose, nor was anyone else for that matter. That wouldn't make any sense, unless they really were just taking his blood. But he couldn't explain why they would want his blood, except to further delve into this deception. They could explain that there was something in his blood that was making it impossible for him to recognise them, and then they could say that they were giving him something to help with that.

"Edward?" the girl interrupted his thoughts.

He snapped to the present, and the simple task of choosing something for them to put in her arm. If they thought that by showing willingness to go through the same procedure would make him go through with it without needing them to prove it was safe, they would be disappointed.

"Needle: second from the right," Ed instructed, unable to point. "Vial: fourth from the left."

The girl carefully picked up the pieces he'd instructed. She held them while the fake doctor put the tray aside. She was still as the needle went into her arm and she only barely flinched, hissing at the tiny amount of pain, when the vial was attached. Sure enough, the life-giving red liquid flowed into the little glass vial like it was being pulled in there by a gravitational force.

Soon, the vial was full. The doctor took it out and then brought a cotton ball to where the needle pierced the skin. He instructed the girl to place pressure on the ball, and then he proceeded to pull the needle out. He placed the thing in a biological disposal bag and sealed it.

Soon, everyone was still and silent. They were looking at him expectantly.

"Are you satisfied, or does someone else have to take a needle?" the girl asked.

Ed was silent for a moment, watching her face. He was looking for some sense of doubt, but he was disappointed to find none. Finally, he sighed in defeat and nodded. It really did seem like all they were doing was getting some of his blood.

"Needle: first on the left," Ed stated nonchalantly, trying not to sound resigned.

The doctor took the needle, and approached Ed's arm. He could feel himself tensing up, but forced himself to remain still. He was aware that thrashing would only break the thing and that would only hurt him more.

The accursed object hovered above his arm for a moment before breaking the skin, plunging deeper into him. The pain was minimal, he had to admit, but he could feel his panic rising, fighting against the self-control that was keeping him still. The vial approached and connected to the end of the needle. Instantly, his blood came rushing out of him and into the tiny glass.

As he felt his panic increase all the more, he closed his eyes and held his breath. His left hand suddenly went numb, and Ed hit breaking point.

"It's almost over, Ed," a voice called soothingly to him.

He could feel a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing the tension out of that area.

"Just hold on a little longer, I promise," the voice assured him, that... familiar voice. "It's gone, Ed. The needle's out."

"Winry...?" Ed asked as he opened his eyes.

She smiled, but the smile fell as Ed's own did. It was just the girl, the one who'd tricked him earlier. She wasn't Winry, but she'd comforted him in a voice so much like hers. What had they done to him when his eyes had been closed? Or, had he only heard Winry's voice because he so desperately wanted to hear a friendly voice?

The girl didn't speak, but instead bit her lip. She stepped back as he glared at her, which made him feel slightly better. At least she was respecting his personal boundaries, which was considerably more than if he'd been around friends.

He didn't stop glaring until only one was left in the room, the large one who was pretending to be Major Armstrong. While the guy was bulky like the Major, that was where the similarities ended.

"That was good thinking Miss Rockbell," Mustang praised, which earned him a slight blush from the woman in question. "Is it enough, Doctor?" he asked, turning to the man.

"I'm afraid it's not nearly enough," the man admitted unenthusiastically. "I can certainly perform several tests with what we've obtained now, but I need at least three more vials, and that's pushing it."

Mustang sighed, unhappy at the news that they would have to repeat this exercise three more times if they were lucky, even more if they weren't. He'd seen how close Edward had been to losing it, and probably would have freaked out if Winry hadn't soothed and comforted him at the last minute.

It had surprised all of them when he'd said her name, but the joy of the moment had been shattered the second he opened his eyes. It was apparent that he couldn't recognise them by face, but that didn't seem to be the case if he only had their voices.

"Do you think that dust could have done this to him?" Winry asked openly, hoping that someone would have an answer for her, and not caring who gave it.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Miss Rockbell," the doctor replied sadly. "Dust is just that: dust. It consists of dead skin cells, hair, and paper fibres, just to name a few things. Dust is completely harmless. It wouldn't be able to do anything like this, I'm afraid."

"So... dust couldn't do something like, change eye colour?" Winry queried.

"No my dear, dust can't do that. And, there are very few drugs that could do that, either. Why do you ask?"

"Fullmetal's eye colour has changed," Mustang explained.

"Well, that's useful to know," the doctor nodded. "That will lower the number of tests we'll have to perform."

"Will you still need more vials, though?" Hawkeye asked from over Mustang's shoulder.

"Yes, but I think I'll only need one more," the man replied.

"Well, one more is better than three," Mustang sighed in relief. "We could probably persuade him to give us that much in a day or so."

"Very well then, Colonel," the doctor answered. "I'll come back in two days."

"Thank you Doctor," Mustang murmured as the man departed.

Mustang and Hawkeye then turned to set up a watch routine with Armstrong, leaving Winry and Al alone in the corridor. The pair stood there silently, awkwardly, for a moment.

"Hey Winry, your parents were doctors. What do they do with the blood after all the tests?"

Winry looked at Al in surprise. She had no idea where Al was going with the question, and wondered if it was simply idle curiosity that was making him ask. However, she had a nasty feeling that that wasn't the case.

"Umm, I don't know, I never asked," she replied honestly. "I guess they'd destroy it. My dad once said that there could be really nasty stuff in blood, so you had to be careful with it. It makes sense that they depose of it though, I mean, they can't really put it back."

"They'll dispose of your blood, won't they? I mean, they won't even check it, right?"

"Why would they, Al? I'm not the one their interested in," Winry asked.

"The tests... they can tell you all sorts of things, right?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied, baffled by his questions. "But, I'm not a doctor, Al, and these are all really the kind of things that doctor would have been able to tell you. Why are you asking, anyway?"

"What you did in there... with Ed... Mother did that once," Al explained. "I was just wondering what the doctors would have done with Mom's blood. They wouldn't have run tests on it 'cause she wasn't the one they were interested in. But..."

"But what, Al?" Winry frowned, not liking where the conversation was going.

"What if they had run tests on her blood? Would they have found out what was wrong with her?" Al asked rhetorically.

Winry felt her stomach plummet. She had taken inspiration from that time to help Ed, but she hadn't thought about what effect that might have on the two of them. She cursed her own stupidity, and found that she had no idea what to say. But she knew that she had to say something.

"I guess there's no point wondering about it now," Al stated with a sigh. "It's not going to make any difference."

Winry didn't speak. She looked down, unsure of whether she should leave and give Al some privacy, or whether she should say something to perk him up. But, under the circumstances, she wasn't sure how to achieve the latter, and so she chose the former. She quietly started walking, pausing when she passed him. She laid a hand on his armoured arm before continuing.

As she began to descend the stairs, Al looked over in the direction of the stairwell.

"Thanks for everything Winry," he murmured quietly to the vacant corridor.