Author's Note: Happy FMA Day, everyone! :D What better way to celebrate than to read the next chapter of The Flame? Also, you may have noticed that I finally found a picture to use for cover art! XD In case you can't tell what it is (I had to crop it considerably for it to look anything approaching good), it's a burning wheelchair. Which I think is appropriate for this story.

Ed sat off to the side, watching the trucks come and go behind the hospital. They would come in the evening, right around the time when all visitors had to leave. The hospital staff would unload the food and other supplies to keep the hospital running for the next day, then lock up the big doors and go home for the night. The whole bottom floor of the hospital would empty out, till only the night receptionist and a few people in the waiting room would remain.

He'd been here long enough, and he was a pitiful enough sight, that some of the truck drivers had befriended him. His favorite was the enormous, broad-chested man who drove the produce truck with all the crates of fruits and vegetables. He looked kind of funny, with his big blond mustache that nearly covered his mouth, and his bald head with only a single blond curl. But he was nice, and always had a few words for Ed.

"Edward Elric, how lovely to see you this fine evening!" he cried in his rippling, pompous voice, tossing Ed an apple as he unloaded crates.

Because Ed only had one hand, he had to scoop the apple against his chest to catch it. "Thanks!" Ed called out, taking a bite that crunched pleasantly. As he munched and looked down at the crisp white flesh of the apple, he got an idea. Brightening, he carefully set his apple in his lap and zigzagged his way closer to the truck.

"Watch yourself, Edward Elric," the truck driver said as he heaved another crate of apples onto his cart. "You don't want to get in the way and hurt your other leg."

Ignoring his warning, Ed inched closer. "Hey, do you have carrots in there, mister?"

The man chortled, "Now, now, if you eat all of my produce, there'll be none for the other patients!" But he hopped up into the back of his truck and emerged moments later with a long, fat carrot.

Ed grinned and dropped the carrot into his lap along with the apple. "Thanks!" he called again, zigzagging as fast as he could back inside. The truck driver's good-natured laughter followed him the whole way.

When he reached Roy's room, Ed was pleased to see that it was empty. He didn't mind old man Grumman, who just lay quietly in his bed and listened to the story or napped, but he never liked it when Kimbley was in the room. Thankfully, whatever he was in this hospital for seemed to be serious, and he was often away for further treatment or therapy of some kind.

It was still hard to tell if Roy was asleep or not, because sometimes he would just sit there without moving, and Ed wasn't sure if he was dozing off or just bored. It had to get boring, when you couldn't even see anything. But this time, he could see Roy fingering something, turning it over and over in his hands while he sat there.

When Ed eagerly squeaked his way over to the bed, Roy shoved whatever he'd been fingering under the covers, but Ed paid it no mind. He grabbed the carrot and shoved it into Roy's hand.

"Ed? What's this?"

"It's a carrot, dummy!" Ed snorted, picking up his apple again and taking another bite. "You should eat it, it's supposed to be good for your eyes, right?"

Roy froze for a moment, looking blindly in his direction. His mouth was slightly open, but Ed couldn't figure out from that what he was thinking. Then Roy closed his hands around the carrot and smirked. "Don't talk with your mouth full." He set the carrot on his nightstand, still smirking.

As he usually did now, Ed clambered out of his wheelchair and plopped onto the bed next to Roy, who moved his legs over to the side to make room for him. "So what happened next? They found out that the Philosopher's Stone was made from human lives—but they didn't give up, right?"

"No," Roy said slowly, settling back against his pillows. "They were close, though. After all these years, their only hope turned out to be a lie. Edward was so tired of this same back-and-forth, with no solution in sight. But there was something nagging at him, one piece of the puzzle that still wasn't slipping into place."

Ed smiled, munching happily. That was one thing he liked about the other Edward Elric. He never gave up hope—at least not for long—and always found some way out of his problems. He could always move forward, no matter the setback. Ed wanted to be like that.

"So they looked at a map of Central City, and they found a fifth military laboratory, when there were only supposed to be four. And because it was built right next to Central Prison...well, Edward was starting to get suspicious. Ross and Armstrong told the brothers to stay put and let the adults check it out...but of course they didn't."

Ed giggled gleefully. These Elric brothers were a lot like him and Al, but their mischief was so much larger because they had so much more power. As he did every time he listened to the story, he wished that alchemy was real.

"They sneaked into Lab 5. It seemed deserted, but the only way in was through a narrow chute that Edward was the perfect size to fit into."

"Hey, I'm not small!" Ed shouted, punching Roy on the arm. The man seemed to take a lot of pleasure in teasing him about his size—though how he could even tell how tall or short he was without being able to see, he still hadn't been able to figure out.

Roy just laughed and continued with the story. "But as soon as they split up, both brothers were attacked by hollow suits of armor."

"Just like Al!"

"Exactly," Roy said with an eager nod. "They were prisoners whose souls had been put into suits of armor so they could act as guards of this place. Their orders were to kill any trespassers. And they had been serial killers before, so they were eager for a fight."

Ed sat facing Roy, listening avidly to his story. He hung onto every word as Roy described the battles the Elric brothers fought separately, mirroring each other in so many ways. He gasped when Slicer's helmet was suddenly cut in two, and the Homunculi came on the scene.

He thought he could feel the other Edward's pain and exhaustion as he emerged, barely alive, from that battle. His mind raced ahead, trying to figure out what the Homunculi's plans were. His heart ached to hear of Alphonse's confusion and suspicion. How could he think that Edward would have created him? That they weren't really brothers?

It was like Roy knew the story of his soul. Not the story of anything that had ever happened to him—or ever would happen—but maybe this was what could happen, if things were different. It made him forget the ache in his stumps, and his heart, for a few minutes. And as long as Roy talked about the Alphonse that was stuck in a suit of armor, Ed could almost hear his voice again.

Ed sat facing Roy on his bed, swinging his right leg absently over the side of the bed. He leaned forward as Roy lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"He looked up, only to see that Lust was materializing around the red stone in his hand. It didn't matter that he'd ripped it right from her chest. The Philosopher's Stone was her core, so as long as it remained intact, she could still regenerate. Before Mustang could react, two sharp fingers sliced into his gut and he fell to the ground beside Havoc."

"No!" Ed cried, grabbing a fistful of blankets. Tears stung his eyes, but he didn't care. He grabbed Roy's knee and shook it. "He's not dead, right? He can't be dead!"

"Blood gushed out of his wound," Roy said relentlessly. "He tried to hold it closed, but it was too deep. He knew it was only a matter of time. Lust ripped his gloves to shreds, and left him there to bleed out."

"No!" Ed wailed, slamming his fist onto Roy's thigh and ignoring the man's oof! of surprise. "It's not fair! You keep killing them—first it was Nina, then Hughes, and now you're killing Havoc and Mustang too?! It's not fair!" Angrily, he tried to wipe his tears away, but they only fell faster than ever.

Roy shifted a little, scratching the back of his head. "Um...don't worry, okay? They survive."

Ed froze in the act of scrubbing his hand across his face again. "They do?"

Roy hesitated a little too long before he said, "Yeah. Sure."

Wiping the last of his tears away, Ed scootched closer. "How'd he survive? Did someone come to save him?"

"Well, in the meantime Alphonse and Hawkeye had followed Barry to a large white chamber, where Lust caught up to them." He put a hand to his head. "And I can't remember what happens next."

"What?" Ed's eyes widened in horror. "You can't just stop there!"

Roy sighed, though there was something almost...careful about the way he did it. "I've been having trouble sleeping, and I can't remember the story very well."

"Well...then make something up!" In that moment, there was nothing more horrifying than the prospect of never finding out what happened to Mustang and the others.

"I can't just make something up!" Roy cried, as if scandalized. "This story has a very intricate plot, and it won't reach a satisfying conclusion unless I can tie all the loose ends together. I need something to help me sleep, or I won't be able to finish."

"Have you asked the nurse?" Ed suggested. "That's what they're here for, ya know."

Roy immediately frowned. "Don't you get it? She's the one who stopped giving it to me." He hesitated, then licked his lips and said, "You know where they keep the medicine, right?"

"Yeah," Ed said promptly. "It's on the first floor, down the hall from the kitchen."

"I need morphine," Roy said slowly. "I keep getting these horrible headaches. They're what's keeping me awake at night."

Ed knew about morphine. That was what they'd given him when he first came here, when they amputated his arm and leg and his stumps throbbed with unbearable pain. If Roy was hurting so much he needed morphine, it must be pretty bad. Ed wondered how he'd managed to stay so cheerful all this time, if they weren't giving him morphine.

"Don't worry, Roy," he said with determination. "I'll get you some, as soon as I can."

Roy's smile was small. He must still be hurting. "Hey, I think I remember a little more of the story," he said, rubbing his head again.

Ed started swinging his leg again as Roy continued his tale. He listened breathlessly as Lust informed Hawkeye that her superior was dead, and she went completely berserk—then lost all hope. By the time Roy described Mustang's dramatic appearance, with a cauterized wound and a circle sketched into the back of his hand, Ed was crying again. This time, his tears were full of relief and gratitude that Mustang still lived.

He didn't notice the wistful tone of Roy's voice.

Ed planned his mission out as carefully as the other Edward had sneaked into Lab 5. It was simple, when it came down to it. All he had to do was sit outside behind the building and watch the trucks like he always did. Because he did this every day, no one bothered him even though it was still broad daylight and most of the trucks came in the evening. But he was determined to wait out here as long as it took, even if he had to keep coming back every day, because he knew he couldn't return to Roy until he had those pills.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait longer than an hour or two before he heard the sound of sirens. As the ambulance screeched into the parking lot, blue lights flashing in every direction, Ed supposed he probably shouldn't be so happy to see it. It meant that someone was really sick, or had been in some horrific accident. They might even die. But despite all that, Ed couldn't feel very sorry for them. They offered the perfect opportunity.

People dressed in the blue scrubs of this hospital rushed out of the building to help the staff inside the ambulance. Ed watched quietly from his spot out of the way as they opened the back doors and pulled out a stretcher to lay on the waiting gurney. As they rushed past him through the big doors, Ed caught sight of a man wearing an oxygen mask, the dark skin of his face reddened with blood. Ed happened to glance down at the arm lying on top of the blanket, and his insides squirmed as they saw the raw, reddened flesh. He knew exactly what caused those marks.

Fire.

After the crowd of people rushed through the doors and the driver of the ambulance pulled the vehicle into its spot, Ed snapped out of his reverie. Now was his chance, while everyone nearby was focused on getting that man to the emergency room so they could save his life.

Carefully, trying his hardest not to squeak, Ed wheeled himself back into the hospital. Just to be safe, he checked up and down the hall, but no one was in sight. He hurried down the hall to the door marked Dispensary. It occurred to him that he had no idea what to do if the door was locked—after all, he couldn't exactly transmute a hole in the door like the other Edward—but thankfully, it opened at his touch.

Through this door was a little room with no windows, lined with shelves full of boxes and bottles. A long table was filled with various bottles and bowls containing strangely colored liquids and powders. Ed knew he didn't have much time, so he set off down the rows, scanning the titles on the containers as quickly as he could. There were a lot of fancy-sounding names that he didn't understand. Finally he spotted a familiar-sounding title, which he recognized as the little round pills he took to manage his pain now.

And sure enough, farther down the row was a little brown bottle stamped with the word MORPHINE. But it was up on the highest shelf, far above his head. Way too high to reach.

For a moment, Ed slumped in his chair, sure he was defeated. If he'd had all four of his limbs, maybe he could have climbed up the shelves like a ladder, but he'd never make it with just two. Why had he even bothered?

What would the Full Metal Alchemist do? The thought suddenly popped into his head, and he imagined the other Edward in his position. He never let physical limitations get in the way of what he wanted. He would use his brain and his skill to figure something out.

Ed looked around the room. He didn't have alchemy, but he still had his brain. Finally, he saw what he needed. He wheeled himself over to a chair, where one of the pharmacists seemed to have left his bag and coat while filling prescriptions. Hanging from the back of the chair was a long black umbrella with a curved handle.

Feeling proud of his ingenuity, Ed grabbed the umbrella and brought it back to the shelf with the morphine. If he knelt carefully on his one knee and raised the umbrella as high as he could, he could barely reach far enough to hook the handle around the bottle he needed. Carefully...ever so carefully...

Smash.

Ed froze, cringing at the loud sound of the glass bottle shattering on the floor. If anyone was near the room, they were bound to hear it and come to investigate. When the door didn't open immediately, Ed quickly returned the umbrella to its place and went back for the morphine. He stared in dismay at the broken bottle lying on the floor in the middle of a mountain of white pills. Some of them were crushed to bits, and many had skidded under the surrounding shelves.

But there was no time to waste cleaning up his mess. He reached down, grabbed a handful of pills, and shoved them into his pocket. Then he left the room as fast as he could. He didn't notice the dusty tracks his wheels made halfway down the hall, making white zigzags that showed up starkly against the blue tiles of the floor.