It's Tuesday when he receives the call at the office. Across a line crackling with static, Fullmetal gruffly explains that he and Al are in Riesembul for repairs to his automail. Even with the bad connection his voice sounds clipped and unhappy, and Mustang frowns, remembering an empty room, and a chill where warm flesh had recently lain.

"It would have been nice," he drawls quietly, choosing careful, innocuous words, "to have known where you were going before you disappeared."

There's silence from the receiver, and for a moment he wonders if Edward heard him. But an exasperated sigh hisses in his ear, and the young man's voice is cold as he snaps, "Don't think you own me, bastard." Warning and challenge ring out clear down the line, and the Colonel shakes his head, leaning back in his chair.

"I wouldn't dare to presume," he replies, keeping his own voice mild. "But as your commander, I do have a responsibility to know your whereabouts, should one of the Generals inquire. After all, you are an officer."

"Fucking hell, that's not what... shit! Forget it. I'm here, I'll be back in Central by Friday. Is that good enough?"

"That will be fine, Fullmetal. Give your mechanic my regards."

"The hell I will. Go bother someone else. Bastard." The line goes dead, and Mustang chuckles as he sets the receiver back in its cradle. Edward's familiar, dramatic temper, which has so irritated the more staid military officers, serves only to lighten his spirit. Despite everything, Fullmetal will still face down anyone in his way with vigor and pure spite, and even when that anger is being hurled at him, it makes Mustang smile. It is the clearest signal of normalcy he could wish from the temperamental alchemist, and it gives him hope that the other man's trauma will soon fade.

But contrary to his hopes, when Fullmetal shows up in his office at the end of the week, his face is shadowed and grim He menaces Havoc when the Second Lieutenant tries to rib him over his appearance, and snaps at Fuery when the bespectacled man tries to stand up for him. Only Hawkeye, whom no one will willingly cross, receives grudgingly respectful treatment, which is to say that Edward barely speaks to her.

Even Alphonse seems edgy, although the Colonel can't decide if it's because something has happened, or simply due to his brother's foul temper. It seems easier to chalk it up to the latter, but Al has withstood Edward's moods for years without echoing any resonance from them. Today, instead of chatting with the office staff like he usually does, he hovers near the door shifting from foot to foot, his soft voice barely rising enough for Mustang to make out from his desk. It's worrisome behavior and he is about to address it when Fullmetal stomps into his private office, glancing over his shoulder before kicking the door shut behind him.

Mustang arches an eyebrow his way, watching as the mercurial young man settles with a flump onto the couch. Sullen anger burns in his gold eyes, tension practically pulsing from every line of his body despite the indolent slouch he affects. Heavy black boots drum an uneven tattoo against the floor; restless energy seeking an outlet, as Fullmetal glares through his bangs at the Colonel, but says nothing.

Finally, tired of the silence, Mustang leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he regards his irritable subordinate. "What is it, Fullmetal?" he inquires, letting a bit of impatience creep into his voice.

The thump of boots picks up its pace. "Al and I stopped in Pergova, on the way back. We'd heard a rumor that an alchemist lived there, a specialist in biological alchemy."

The name of the town sounds familiar, but Mustang is unable to remember why. He jots down the name of the town on the back of an envelope. "Did you have any luck locating this alchemist?" Alchemists adept at biological transmutations are rare; too much of the work borders on taboo and frankly illegal practices, but a law-abiding practitioner would be an enormous asset. From the couch Fullmetal makes a disgusted sound, drawing the Colonel's eye back to him; his face is stormy, furious.

"He's dead," Edward snarls, an odd timbre filtering through his voice, as though too many emotions to express are fighting to get free. His face reveals a similar struggle; fury, revulsion, fear, a bone-deep sorrow each surface, dissipate, and whirl in strange combination. When he speaks again, his words are almost too distorted to understand. "We were chasing someone we'd already met."

Disturbed by the depth of the younger man's emotion, the Colonel sits up straight, abandoning his nonchalant attitude. "Who was it?" he demands quietly, but not so forcefully as to draw Fullmetal's ire.

Edward avoids the Colonel's gaze, his head tilted upward. "We asked all over town, but no one knew of any alchemist living there." He grimaces, face contorting, and Mustang bites back a remark that this doesn't answer his question. "It's a small place; everybody knows everybody. I thought we'd found some bullshit lead, like the kind you're always sending us after.

"But an old woman spotted my watchchain, and struck up a conversation with us. Told us about her neighbor from about ten years back." The clomping of boots against the floor is like the patter of a racing heart. Like the rhythm of anxiety, or incipient panic. "He was an alchemist, she said, and supposed he must've been a good one too, because he joined up with the State. She didn't know much about him, but she remembered his wife, and their little daughter."

Thump, thump, thump. Fullmetal's face is twisting until the Colonel is sure it must be painful. His voice grates out his words; sandpaper and acid. "Such a sweet thing, she said. She told us she missed the girl, after the family moved away."

Edward's eyes are bitter and filled with poison as they shift back to meet Mustang's. "She said she hoped I knew him."

A horrible premonition is rising in the Colonel, but he repeats his question all the same. "Who was it?"

Fullmetal's lips curl back into a terrible sneer. "Shou Tucker," he hisses. "She asked me if I knew the nice man who used to live next door to her." Eyes wild, the gold almost swallowed by black. Sitting on the couch, feet still beating a frantic shuffle on the floor to hide the way he's shaking, and for one insane moment Mustang wants to wrap his arms around the young man, to try and shelter him from such harsh realities.

Instead, he moves slowly, speaks carefully. "What did you tell her?" he asks, leaning forward and pitching his voice to the low, soothing tones he'd used on the battlefield to shell-shocked soldiers.

The thump of boots fall silent. Fullmetal lets his head drop against the back of the couch, and stares at the ceiling. The air is thick with tension; minutes tick slowly past, and Mustang doesn't dare to say a word.

"I told her I didn't know that man," Edward finally answers.

Silence reigns for a few minutes, as the Colonel absorbs the weight of Fullmetal's words and the other alchemist continues his study of the ceiling tiles. Five years past, and Tucker's crimes still manage to haunt Edward, despite all the terrible things he's seen since. It hardly seems fair that something so simple as following the breath of a rumor should bring him to face this once more.

But even as Mustang considers this injustice, it dawns upon him that Edward deliberately chose this path. Decided not to shield himself in callous forgetfulness, never switching off like so many soldiers the Colonel has known. Edward faces every new and monstrous offense with the same outrage he'd expressed for Tucker, and that awful courage both shocks and humbles him.

Suddenly, he understands far better Edward's reasons for approaching him as he did. Mustang hangs his head, wordlessly cursing Tucker for destroying both his family, and any illusions Fullmetal might have retained about human decency.

With barely any voice at all, he murmurs, "You did the right thing."

An angry laugh wheezes up from Edward's throat. "What else was I gonna say? 'Oh yeah, your nice neighbor was actually insane. He transmuted that little girl you liked so much into a monster, and then her head was turned inside-out by another madman. Thanks so much for the tea.'" He digs around in his pockets, then thrusts his fist out toward the Colonel. "Here."

Rising, he reaches out and Edward opens his hand. A small ring, topped with a single freshwater pearl drops into his palm, and he looks up at the younger man with a slight frown.

"She wanted me to ask around, see if I could find him. That," a shaking finger points at the bauble in Mustang's hand, "is for Nina. I'd put in on her grave, but your fucking military dragged her body off to some lab, no doubt, and if she's even got a grave, I don't know where. Fuck!" he screeches, and the pain is so evident that the Colonel can't hold back a wince. But Edward doesn't see; his face is in his hands, his shoulders trembling.

"Al's really upset," he mumbles, voice muffled through his hands. "He used to play with her, while I was reading Tucker's library, and... knowing what happened... the old woman... he's really upset," he concludes miserably, and concern overwhelms reason; Mustang lays a comforting hand on the young man's flesh shoulder, squeezing gently. For just a moment Edward relaxes into the grip, but then he stiffens, drawing back.

"Don't." The word is a quiet whisper, falling from numb lips. He lifts his head, eyes no longer angry, but cold, distant. The Colonel withdraws his hand.

Their gazes remain locked for an indefinite time, until Mustang murmurs, "Is there anything I can do?" Let me help you, he begs silently. I don't want to see you broken, not when you should be strong, indomitable...

Edward glances at the door, as though he could see through it. "Al wants to go see Mrs. Hughes," he replies slowly. "Elysia reminds him of Nina, but he says she also makes him feel better, because she's alive and loved. Nothing like...it wouldn't ever happen to her."

He's already moving back to his desk, reaching for the phone. "I'll call Gracia right away. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to have you and Alphonse stay with them for as long as you'd like."

"Not me." A tight frown is firm on his face, reining in the grief and remorse. "I don't... I can't go there tonight."

One hand rests upon the receiver; maps and streets flicker through his mind, a page of train schedules. Without pausing to think, Mustang asks casually, "Have you ever been to Cheswick? It's about as different from Pergova as I can imagine. You might appreciate a visit."

Fullmetal stares at him, half skeptical, half shocked, and a flicker of understanding moves behind his eyes. "Yeah?" he grunts as though uninterested, but one foot is tapping the floor to a different beat than before.

Cradling the phone between his shoulder and cheek, Mustang pauses. "Will Alphonse be all right by himself tonight?" he inquires softly, and watches as indecision shifts across Fullmetal's expressive face. The young man thinks hard, then pushes himself to his feet.

"I'll ask him," he replies just as quietly, moving toward the door. Glances over his shoulder at the Colonel, and he looks almost calm now. "And... thanks for calling Mrs. Hughes."

Mustang gives him a brief, unhappy smile, and dials Gracia's number.

This time he is the one who waits at the station, watching from the platform as trains rumble and steam and passengers sweep on and off of the cars. Wrapped in his black greatcoat, no longer in his military uniform, and still he feels wholly conspicuous, as though every eye in the station is on him, judging him. It's uncomfortable, especially as he has been judging himself since he arrived, and still is unable to reach a conclusion.

He isn't sure whether the other alchemist had come to the office intending to set up such a meeting, but after witnessing the turmoil of Fullmetal's emotions, the offer had been practically a reflex. Indeed, seeing him in such a state, there seemed to be no other reasonable choice for him to make. But it wasn't that he made such an overture that has unsettled Mustang so greatly. Rather, it's that he no longer finds himself reluctant to do so.

He tries not to think about it but, as he waits, watching for a red coat, golden hair, it is inescapable. No matter that it seems wrong, or perverse, his reticence toward this strange relationship he and Edward have developed has disappeared. Even worse, as he eyes the next train pulling up to the platform, he finds even some degree of anticipation making him strain forward, watchful, hopeful.

There is danger in these thoughts. But even as he tries to quash them, they spring up again; determined seedlings taking root in the detritus. He shouldn't have ever agreed to this. He couldn't have refused. Anything it takes to keep Fullmetal intact and furiously alive, he will do without question.

He can't help but wonder again which of them is losing their mind.

But the minutes spin into hours; the sun dips and sets, and the gas lamps flicker to life in the station. Night curls quietly around the platform, and Mustang watches with mounting impatience as the flow of passengers trickles to almost nothing.

The last train from Central finally pulls up, and he sits forward on the bench, stiff and eager to move. A pair of middle aged women carefully step down from their car, a young man assisting them, but he's nearly as tall as the Colonel and topped with a shock of muddy brown hair. A few cars away, a young woman with two small children is departing; she cradles the youngest, sleeping, against her breast while her solemn-looking son toddles along beside her, clutching her skirt. Mustang rises, walks the length of the platform, peering into windows for a glimpse of gold hair, a familiar, scowling face.

But Edward isn't there.

He takes a hotel room, as he'd planned, and sits in silence at the edge of the bed. Tries to relax, but his shoulders are in knots, his mind restless. He considers going out, wonders what kind of nightlife a town of this size might offer, and finds that the notion holds no appeal to him. His mind keeps returning to Edward; he wonders what happened to the young man this evening, whether he read the situation in the office wrong. Could something have prevented Fullmetal from making the train? Were the ghosts of Tucker and his chimera too much for him to handle? Surely Al would have made some effort to reach him were that the case... but no one knows where to reach him this evening.

No one but Edward.

His mind tumbles through the same thoughts over and over, a scratched phonograph hiss that won't leave him alone, and finally after a short, futile argument with himself, he goes downstairs to the public phones. Closes himself in the box, takes a deep breath and dials the number for the Hughes residence.

Gracia, as always, is gracious despite the oddity of the Colonel's call. Yes, both brothers are here, and they're fine. "In fact," she tells him with a warm lilt in her voice, "Alphonse just came downstairs. He was reading to Elysia." Her words are steeped with affection, and Mustang finds himself grateful for her ready care of the young men.

"I'm glad to hear that they're well. I appreciate you taking them in on such short notice."

He can practically feel her smile across the line. "I'm happy to do it anytime, Roy."

There's a pause, and the Colonel finds that he's not sure what else to say. Asking for Edward... no, Fullmetal is in good hands with Gracia; there's no need to speak to him. He's opening his mouth to bid her a goodnight, to return to the empty room awaiting him, but there's a clamor across the line; a raised voice, growing louder. "Is that the bas- the Colonel?" The rasping, grumpy tone of Edward's voice rings clear, even secondhand, and it's almost enough to make him smile foolishly with relief as Gracia excuses herself to hand the phone over to Fullmetal.

"What the hell do you want?" Edward snaps, but he sounds more tired than irritated.

"Just checking on you," Mustang replies mildly. "I thought you didn't want to stay there tonight."

Edward is quiet for a moment, and the Colonel thinks he can hear him pacing. "Yeah, well," the other man mumbles, "Al didn't really want to be left alone. I wasn't going to abandon him, so I stayed." His voice is pitched low by the end, and Mustang has to strain to hear him.

It shouldn't hurt him so, to hear the quiet desperation lacing those words, yet something pangs in his chest as he listens. It's typical, and generally commendable, of Edward to put Alphonse's feelings before his own, but right then he wishes that Fullmetal weren't so devoted. "Are you alright?" Mustang asks with gentle emphasis, and he's clutching the receiver in a grip that's tighter than necessary as he waits for the response.

"I'll be fine." Curt and decisive, forestalling any further discussion. "I don't plan on sleeping, anyway. I'll stay up, keep Al company. He doesn't need to be by himself, thinking about all that shit."

The silence that falls between them is awkward. "Eh, Colonel," Fullmetal finally says hesitantly. "Sorry if you traveled for nothing."

The apology sounds somewhat forced, but he's thankful for it nonetheless. "Don't worry about it," he answers smoothly. "Shall I wait for you tomorrow?"

A dismissive sniff. "Nah. I'll be okay. Just didn't want to think about it tonight."

"If you need anything..."

"I won't." Fullmetal hesitates, then adds with some force, "Don't worry about me."

Mustang sighs. "Considering you asked me to help you..."

There's a growl on the other end of the line. "I mean it. I don't want your concern."

The retort stings, and the Colonel shifts, staring hard at the phone as though he could somehow see through it to Edward's face. "So I should ignore your wellbeing, until the next time you summon me?" he inquires stiffly. "Is that how this works?"

A wordless grumble emanates from the receiver, and then Edward lets out a long breath, as though striving for patience. "Dammit, that's not... just don't start acting stupid, okay? We both know what this is about. Look, I've got to go, Al's waiting for me. I'll talk to you later."

The Colonel hesitates a moment, before answering, "I understand." Cool, crisp, as though being put off means nothing. Resenting the ache that fills him nonetheless. "Goodnight, Fullmetal."

"Hey Mustang..."

He waits, saying nothing, listening to Edward's breathing on the other end of the line. There's another pause, and then Fullmetal says, "Maybe I... I mean... no. Nevermind. Sorry. I'll see you soon."

The Colonel hangs up the phone without another word.

He dreams that night of firestorms and dust devils swirling up into a flat, yellow sky, while a ragged choir of screams ululates from some indefinable point nearby. Wakes choking on terror, one hand reaching out for something to ground himself, some warmth that isn't soaked in desert sun and arterial blood. But he encounters only sweat-soaked sheets, and an empty pillow, and even when he opens his eyes the war is still raging just beyond the edges of the bed. His breath sears as he draws it in, his throat raw and painful, as though the pained cries had been his own, and his lips form shapes he cannot give voice to.

It is a long time until morning.