A/N: Welcome back, everyone! It hasn't even been a week since the prologue for this story went up, but I was inspired and Donjusticia also badgered me when I wasn't inspired, and so the chapter got finished in a pretty decent amount of time.

Oh yeah, speaking of Donjusticia, he's writing a little parody fanfic of this story—"Again 4Koma Theater"—which is exactly as it sounds, four short parodies of every chapter of this story. Check it out if this story gets too dark for your liking. Or if you feel like laughing uncontrollably one day.

Anyways, we still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Enjoy!


Chapter 1 - Déjà Vu

"Colonel?"

No response.

"Colonel?" the voice repeats, slightly louder.

Roy shifts in his seat, eyelids almost too heavy to open. But he does open them, blinking away the drowsiness. His mind feels clouded—a haze that he can't make go away. Where is he? His office? And who woke him up? "Nnn… Lieutenant…?"

"There is an open bunk in the barracks if you need a nap," Riza replies, and for some reason Roy swears she's said that exact line to him before.

Roy presses a hand to his face, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get a hold of himself. The haze seems to leave and he opens his eyes back up, only to immediately blink in confusion. This isn't his office. He blinks again and realizes that it is his office—his office in East City, that is. It hits him then—what he'd seen in the portal, his conversation with Truth, his transmutation—his transmutation. It worked!

…But if it did work…

In a rush the Flame Alchemist is on his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process, as he scrambles to see what was taken from him. Hands, fingers, and arms? Check. Legs, feet and toes? Check. I'm not in extreme amounts of pain and I can breathe just fine, so I must still have my internal organs. And nothing seems to be wrong with my eyes, nose, ears, or mouth, so that means whatever was taken wasn't physical. Then, what? My soul? Then how could I be thinking all of this right now?

"…What's wrong, sir?" Riza's voice, with a hint of concern, drags him out of his thoughts—he'd completely forgotten she was here, and now she'd seen this entire episode.

"I—uh—" Roy coughs, sinking back into his chair. No matter how much he trusts Riza, he can't tell her what happened. Not yet. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Just took me a second to wake up, and remembered I have a lot of paperwork to file before our transfer to Central." That's a decent excuse, right? Please don't question it, Roy thinks, hiding his nervousness behind one of his sheepish grins.

Thankfully, she doesn't. "This is why you should do your paperwork when I give it to you instead of wasting your time planning dates and messing with people, sir."

"Hey—that's not all I do!" Roy objects, folding his arms across his chest and almost pouting like a small child. "And I do do my paperwork. Sometimes. Maybe if you wouldn't act like a stern mother all the time I'd get it done faster."

A smirk so subtle that no one other than Roy could notice appears on Riza's face. "I'll leave you to be a big boy then, Colonel. I have my own paperwork to take care of."

Roy makes a face while she leaves his office, and it's gone as soon as the door is shut. His expression darkens as he folds his hands together and rests his chin on them. The final words of Riza Hawkeye from the previous timeline run through his mind. "I'm right behind you, Roy." Chilling words. Heartfelt words. Cruel words. He absolutely will not put her in that situation again. He won't let any of what he saw in the portal come true here.

Having come this far back in time will definitely work to his advantage, he'll have more than enough time to plan out his "better Truth". That combined with the knowledge of how to destroy a homunculus will also come in handy. He'll be able to put a stop to their plans well before the Promised Day, he'll be able to stop Havoc from getting crippled, he'll be able to stop his team from getting split up, and—

Well.

Falman going north to Briggs wasn't exactly a… bad thing, per say. It made it a little easier to convince the Ice Queen to work with him.

Roy fishes a notepad and a pen out of his desk, and begins writing down all of the things he knows he has to prevent. Of the things he'd already thought of (with a side note to somehow work out how to gain Major General Armstrong's favor… or at least how to make her not want to take off his head as soon as he starts talking), he adds delaying or stopping Sloth from completing the tunnel under Amestris; failing that, preventing the crest of blood from being carved in the North would definitely work, stopping the Immortal Legion from being activated, and if he could, figure out a way to stop the unrest in Liore. He thinks it might be too late for the last one, but if he can do anything to save a few lives, he will.

He sighs, tapping his pen on the desk a few times. What else should he do? Finding a way to contact Van Hohenheim can't hurt. Oh, and securing Dr. Marcoh from the homunculi—the man's research on the Philosopher's Stone can possibly help him out. Is there anything else? The nagging feeling in his gut says there is, but he just can't seem to—

In an instant, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of Roy's lungs. His blood runs cold and the nagging feeling twists into a sharp pain he hasn't felt before. The pen and notepad fall out of his hands. Agonizingly slowly, his eyes trail across his desk to where the phone sits. He reaches for it—the receiver has never felt so heavy in his hands, and it's never felt so hard to dial the number in his life. There's no way. It won't work. That's what he tells himself while he listens to it ring, and ring, and ring, and—

"L-Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' office! This is, um, Private Sheska speaking! Can I help you?"

Roy blinks, his grip on the receiver loosening. Sheska? That's, the girl from the library. Photographic memory or something. Works for the records department, I think? Roy opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He clears his throat and tries again. "This is Colonel Mustang. May I speak to Hughes?"

"Ah, s-sorry sir!" the young woman's voice almost grates his eardrum. "He's not at the office right now—he went to see the Elric brothers off on their trip to Dublith. I-I think he should be back soon, though?"

His grip on the receiver tightens again. "Alright, tell him to give me a call when he gets back. Please," he adds, almost as an afterthought. He still can't believe it. Almost doesn't want to. The day the Elric brothers went to Dublith was the same day Hughes was…

"Will do, Colonel Mustang si—oh!" Roy hears some noise on the other end of the phone, and the sound of a male voice. Too muffled for him to make out, too. "Lieutenant Colonel! Perfect timing!" Sheska's voice, quiet due to most likely holding the phone away from her face. "There's a Colonel Mustang on the phone for you!"

The same pain in Roy's gut comes back—only this time it's spread to his chest, tightening around his heart and threatening to choke him. The seconds for Sheska to pass the phone off feels like hours, days even, and his mouth feels drier than a desert.

"Hey, what's up Roy?"

No. No. No. No. It's a mistake. There's… it can't…

"Trying to procrastinate on your paperwork again?" Hughes continues, none the wiser. "Or did you want something else? Dating advice? Have you finally figured out that a certain gun fanatic is the perfect woman for you and—"

There's no denying it anymore. Maes Hughes is alive and well—right now, at least, and it's going to stay that way. "Heh. You never change, Maes. And she's not a gun fanatic—"

"Ah, so you admit it~!"

"That's not what I—you know what, never mind. I don't want to argue." Roy lets himself sink back in his seat in relieve. The pain in his chest has turned into a numb sort of happiness and he doesn't want to ruin it. "Your first assumption was right. I don't feel like filing paperwork and thought talking to you could help pass the time. Got… Got any new daughter stories, Hughes?"

There's a sharp intake of breath from the other end. "Whoa, who are you and what have you done with Roy Mustang? Because there's no way my friend just asked me to talk all about my darling little angel's birthday party and how she told Winry that she was two before fixing it to three and how she practically adopted Winry as a big sister—oh it's too cute, my heart's going to explode~!"

Roy flinches at his friend's words. Hughes' heart did explode—from a gunshot straight to it. Not in this timeline, though. Not if he has anything to say about it. "I'm sure it was quite the scene. You have pictures to show me when I get to Central, right?"

"Who the hell do you think I am? Of course I have pictures! Fifty-seven of them to be exact!"

Classic Hughes. How can he afford all that film, anyways? "Of course you do."

Hughes laughs for a bit, but suddenly stops. "…Is there something bothering you, Roy?"

The Flame Alchemist freezes. He can't believe he'd forgotten how uncannily insightful his friend could be. "…Yes, but… I'd rather talk about it in person. My transfer to Central is almost through—we'll be seeing each other soon enough."

"Ah, alright. We'll talk then. I kinda have to go now anyways—I have some important research I need to take care of. I think I'm on the verge of something huge, Roy, I'll have to tell you all about it when you get here."

That "something" is going to cost you your life, Hughes. But Roy can't say that—especially not over a military line. Who knows who's eavesdropping on this conversation right now. "That's fine by me. See you soon, and… and, be safe, Maes." He hangs up before Hughes can respond. He had to say something, and that was the best he could come up with on the fly. Sure it probably just confused his friend, but it's better than nothing.

Roy looks at the clock. It's already late—but, he should have more than enough time to make it to Central. A cover story. He needs a cover story. He picks up the notepad he dropped and makes sure to grab one of his spare sets of gloves while he's at it—no, better grab two spares, he can't ever be too careful when it comes to confronting a homunculus. One of my sisters is in the hospital and I have to go see her immediately. Yeah. Yeah, that could work. He shuffles a few other things into his jacket before heading out of his office.

Immediately he's met by Riza, a stack of paperwork in her hands. Her brown eyes narrow in concern, which confuses him. "What's wrong, sir?"

He goes to reply that nothing's wrong when he suddenly realizes why Riza is concerned about him. Roy quickly dries his eyes on his sleeve, and shakes his head. "I just heard, one of my sisters is in the hospital, hurt real bad. I—I'm heading to Central right away. Lieutenant…"

"No need to worry. I'll finish filing your paperwork for you," she replies, with a glint in her eyes that screams 'You owe me'. And he does. He owes her so, so much—it's never equivalent exchange between them, he's always the one taking and taking and taking until there's nothing left for her to give. "Which sister is it?" she adds.

"Matilda," he replies without thinking. He realizes he probably should have chosen one of his aunt's girls instead, but the safety of his friend is at the forefront of his mind and so he couldn't help but blurt out the code name he'd given Hughes forever ago.

Riza's eyes narrow again, this time with a harsher edge to it. "Is she going to be alright? What happened?"

Shit, shit, I really should have used a different name. I'm an idiot. "A mugger apparently. She fought back, but still got stabbed a few times." That's totally what could have happened, right? He remembers reading the… the autopsy report, and listening to what the receptionist saw that night, and that Hughes had received some major stab wound to his side and shoulder right before his death.

"I see…" The harshness of her gaze doesn't let up for a moment. "I'm sure she'll pull through, sir. Your family is full of fighters. Stubborn, too. There's no way Matilda would let a lowly thief get the better of her."

Roy looks away, a far-off glint in his eyes and a sad smile on his face. "Yeah, you're right…"


"I need one ticket for the next train to Central. It's urgent," Roy says, digging through his pockets for the money. 700 cenz for a trip between East City and Central, as always.

"The next one doesn't leave for another hour," the ticket seller, a young brunette with blue eyes, tells him. "You just missed the earlier train, actually." She observes his uniform. "Is it military business, sir? I can—"

An hour? An hour. The ride itself takes about two and a half. I'll be cutting this way too close. "No, it's not business. Just make sure there are absolutely no delays with the next train leaving the station," he says, handing over the money for his ticket.

Roy spends the time waiting pacing around the station, a million different "what if" situations running through his mind. What if he doesn't make it in time? What if he does, but Envy still kills Hughes? What if Hughes goes to a different phone booth—or doesn't go to one at all? What if the phone call earlier throws everything he knows out of whack? What if all Roy can do is postpone Hughes' death? Surely the homunculi aren't going to let him walk free—what if they go after Elicia and Gracia to get to Hughes? But the one that bothers him the most is the idea that this is the "equivalent exchange" for his time travel, getting sent back to a time before his friend is murdered and having to watch him die all over again.

He'd barely held himself together at Hughes' funeral, and afterwards—God, afterwards.

Roy glances up at the clock—it's only been ten minutes, if that. He wants to scream. He can't make a scene here, so he can't scream, but he wants to oh-so-badly.

The little boy crying up a storm in the middle of the station, on the other hand, is making a scene, and quite a big one at that. The blond boy is wailing over some broken toy in his hands while his mother is trying and failing to get him to quiet down. Not even promising to buy the boy a new one when they get to Central stops his screaming—it has to be that toy. Not a replacement.

"Please, Eric, please, calm down!" the mother pleads, eyes glancing around at the onlookers within the station. "It's only a toy. You have other toys. Why don't you play with them?"

"I…WANT…MY…TOY!" the kid wails, stamping his feet and practically screaming as tears pour down his cheeks.

What you want is a good spanking, Roy thinks to himself as he tries, unsuccessfully, to block out the screaming.

"I know you do, I know you do," the mother soothes, patting her son on the back, "but there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry."

Roy can't help but pity for the mother. There she is, probably dealing with her own stress, and now she has to deal with her son's screaming, which she can do nothing about.

The boy's crying intensifies as he cradles his broken toy in his hands. "But why?" he whines, "Why can't…?" More shaking and sobbing. "…Why can't it be fixed?"

"I'm sorry," his mother huffs, now a hint of just a little anger coming into her voice. "It's broken. There's nothing I can do. Just… just throw it away or put it in my bag and I'll see if I can find someone to repair it later. But please! Stop… crying!"

Of course the boy doesn't stop crying. His crying even louder now. "No… please… no!" the boy begs, "I don't want to throw it away! I don't want to kill it! Please don't throw it away!"

Roy turns his head to see the boy bury his head in his mother's blouse, tears streaming down his cheeks. Something about the way the boy does this reminds Roy of another crying child, burying her face in her mother's leg.

"Who are those people? Why are they putting dirt on Daddy? They can't! I don't like it! Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do! Stop it! Stop putting dirt on Daddy!"

Gracia can't take it anymore. Face twitching with despair, she breaks down on the spot and begins weeping with her child as the workers throw heap upon heap of dirt on top of the coffin.

Elicia begs for her father, begging for him to come back. But he doesn't. He's dead, broken, and nobody can bring him back.

Roy looks at the clock again and sighs. He doesn't normally do something like this, but he doesn't think he can bear listening to the boy screaming for another fifty minutes. "Excuse me, miss?" he says. "Is there any way I can help?"

The woman's blue eyes widen at the sight of his uniform. "Oh—no, no officer. I'm… sorry about the disturbance. My son will tire himself out soon enough."

Roy kneels down to be at the boy's height. Now that he's close enough, he sees that the toy is an old, wooden yo-yo, with the string ripped out and residing in the boy's left hand. "Hey, kid, can I see your toy for a second? I might be able to fix it for you."

He sniffles, drying his eyes on his sleeve. "Y-You can…?"

"I can try.

The boy gives Roy the two pieces of his toy. The wood looks to have cracked upon hitting something, and the cheap cotton string is frayed almost the entire length of it. If that's all, then the transmutation is child's play for him. Roy goes to grab his paper and pen to draw the circle, but stops before his hands are in his pockets. His eyes narrow.

I saw what's inside the portal. Doesn't that mean I can do alchemy by clapping, too?

He strains his memory for some sign that he can—he'd absorbed so much information in that place it hurts to think about. But he sees, something. He pictures the transmutation circle he needs in his mind, and claps his hands together to complete it before pressing his hands on the yo-yo.

For a second, nothing happens, and Roy sinks, afraid he's just embarrassed himself in front of this kid. His eyes light up when the familiar crackle of blue lightning flash around the toy, and in an instant the repair is done. Roy stares at his hands while the boy celebrates his toy being fixed. He, he actually can do it. Meaning… meaning he's just made himself a bigger target for the homunculi, if word gets out.

"Wowwowwow! Mister, that was so cool!" the boy cheers. "It was like magic!"

"Magic? No, that was alchemy, kid," Roy replies with a grin, but his thoughts are elsewhere. Strange, my chest feels a bit tight now. Ah, maybe it's because I'm new to the whole clapping alchemy. "A super advanced kind where you don't need a circle," he adds. "There's only, like, three alchemists in the world right now who can do it, though, so can you keep it a secret for me?"

"Yeah! Sure!" The boy's eyes are bright as he begins messing with his yo-yo again. "Thanks super duper much for fixing it for me!"

Roy smiles again. "You're very welcome, kid."

After that, the rest of the time waiting for the train goes by so, so much faster. It feels like only ten more minutes have passed when, in fact, it's been an hour and Roy's already on the train and they're on the way and he's going to make it in time. He'll stop Envy, he'll get Hughes to a doctor, and after that he'll have to figure out how to keep his friend and family alive. If only he had the time to call in a favor with Dr. Knox—that would be much more preferable than taking him to a hospital, where who-knows-what could get to Hughes.

The train stops, and the doors open. They've made it to Central Station.

He's on his feet immediately and is the first one out of the doors. This late in the evening, there's hardly anyone in the station. He has a clear path out and a clear path on the road, he hopes.

Alright, Roy, there's no sense in overthinking it now. You've been given another chance, so don't squander it. Just take a deep breath, and do what has to be done!


A/N: You guys have no idea how equally fun and painful writing that phone conversation was. Fun because Hughes. Painful because… Hughes.

At least the banter between Roy and Riza at the start was genuinely fun.

Also, fun fact, the amount of time that Roy said the train ride would last didn't just come out of nowhere. I spent like, ten minutes calculating the distance between East City and Central based on the map of Amestris, researching how fast trains usually travelled in the early 20th century and how much tickets were back then, and then converting everything into FMA currency. And also rounded some numbers here and there for a more even result. I know, I know, I'm a nerd, I love working with numbers. What do you expect from someone trying to major in accounting?

…Well, anyways, that's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading, and I hope you guys leave a review!

Donjusticia's A/N: Wow… you're crazy, Sky. I know I certainly wouldn't kill myself trying to research the exact time it would take for a train traveling eastbound from Liore at 75 mph to arrive at Briggs on a Wednesday afternoon when goat herders are in the surrounding area.

But I would include this pointless recipe in at the end of your story!

How to Make Dr. Marcoh's famous rice cakes.

Ingredients:

3 quarts: Rice

2 whole: Eggs

1 teaspoon: Dill

1 cup: Onion

1 quart: Ice-cream

2 cups: Noodles

1 tablespoon: Garlic

1 teaspoon: Paprika

1 cup: Almonds

1 teaspoon: Sage

1 teaspoon: Tabasco

1 cup: Wasabi

2 cups: Icing

1 cup: Lard

1 cup: Leeks

3 cups: Cabbage

1: Haddock

1: Apricot

1 teaspoon: Nutmeg

1 cup: Gorgonzola

1: Eel

1 quart: Flour

1 cup: Udon

1 cup: Tarragon

2 cups: Unleavened bread

1 cup: Raisins

1 cup: Elderberries

Mix ingredients in large bowl in order and bake. Serves 1 Gluttony.

Thank you all for reading and supporting this series! More is yet to come!