AN: Because I like to tease: Shower scene with Roy! And also a few jabs at his expense. I imagine his childhood was rather... colorful to say the least.

Lightly crunching footsteps and drawn-out yawns were swallowed by a thick blanket of snow and ice. Clouds of frosted air puffed steadily into the still atmosphere, leaving a trail of crystallized breath that lingered for just a moment before breaking apart, shattered by the rough woolen fabric of a surprisingly warm winter coat.

This particular coat wasn't remarkable in any way. Its worn, brown material was tightly woven, but chafed exposed skin. It was neither fashionable nor comfortable, but it was certainly just as serviceable. At first glance, the person wearing this coat was just as ordinary, if a bit shorter than average. But if one watched closely enough, one would begin to notice that there was something...different about the bulky, ragged figure.

Perhaps it was the way she moved, stepping confidently on ice, never losing her balance. Maybe it was the paradox of meticulously manicured nails clutching an old, greasy paper bag. But then again, maybe it was the grimy hat, tilted forward to hide as much of her face as possible. Or it could be the faint ping of metal against metal, so quiet that one couldn't be sure it was really there.

But of course, the only way one could notice such things about someone else was if one was present. And naturally, no one was. So the stranger walked on unobserved and unquestioned until she reached a snowbound neighborhood of painfully identical houses. There she paused and looked around before continuing on, silently counting off each dwelling until she reached the fourth house on the left, just two lots away from the end of the street.

She glanced around once more before boldly crossing the ice encrusted lawn. After coming to a stop in front of the frosted door, she twisted the brass doorknob and seemed unsurprised when it proved to be locked. Thrusting a small hand into the depths of her woolen coat, she withdrew a gently clinking roll of cloth and knelt in front of the door. The greasy bag was set aside with a muffled thump as the bolt of fabric was placed squarely in front of the crouching woman.

With a flick of a wrist, the cloth unfurled to reveal a gleaming set of lock picks. Deft fingers skimmed across smooth steel, scarcely pausing as they slipped torsion wrench and hook pick from their respective pockets. The thin blade of the wrench slid into the battered lock, twisting ever so slightly as practiced hands angled the crook-necked pick into the entrance and probed gently, counting each pin that pushed against the metal tool. Three...four...five. More exploratory prodding...a steady increase of pressure from the pin...and the pressure disappeared as the key pin settled into place with a soft click. The fifth pin was set.

The fourth, third, and second pins were easily set, taking no more than twenty seconds each. The first pin was a bit more difficult, but at the forty second mark it gave way with a satisfying click. She turned the torsion wrench until the plug of the lock revolved completely around and opened the door just a crack.

A hand slipped behind the door and a knee was planted firmly against its front, ensuring that it was secure in its position. Her other hand freed the blade of the wrench, and after recovering the hook pick from the tight space between door and right palm, slid each tool back into its pouch.

That same hand retreated into the bulky overcoat to withdraw two tiny glass vials filled with a dark honey colored substance. She brought the tubes to her mouth and bit down gently on the cork stopper shoved into the first vial. A few twists, a careful pull, and the cork popped out of its delicate container. Liquid sloshed up the sides of the glass, but a steady hand kept the fluid contained as it made the short journey to hover over a grungy hinge. The vial tipped and thin oil darkened banded metal, washing away flecks of rust and dirt as it worked into the cracks of the tightly joined mechanism. The slender tube was brought back to her mouth and the cork stopper was maneuvered back into place using teeth and tongue. Her hand fell away and with great concentration, she shifted into a crouch.

With carefully controlled movements and cautious maneuvering, she managed to shift into a standing position without moving the door. Her left hand, still holding both vials, rose to her lips once more and the second vial was unsealed. A short arm stretched to the top corner of the door, vial firmly in her grasp as fluid threatened to spill over its sides, but the hinge was just out of her reach. It took unerring balance and pain-staking effort, but with the added height of standing on the balls of her feet, she managed to dump the tube's contents over the remaining filthy hinge while keeping the door perfectly still.

She lowered herself, shifting to the flats of her feet. She slipped her right hand out from behind the door and took a small step away from it, heaving a soft sigh of relief. She spat the cork stopper into her newly freed right hand and firmly resealed the second cylinder. The empty tubes were tucked away once more and the woman knelt to straighten her lock pick set. Once every gleaming steel tool was adjusted just so, she wound the pocket lined cloth back into a tight roll and stuffed it into a spacious pouch just inside the itchy coat. Work done, tools neatly away, and greasy bag back in hand, she pushed the door open all the way, wincing at the momentary squeak of metal, and entered the house with brazen attitude.

The house was furnished well, but was obviously lacking a feminine touch. The hardwood floors were scuffed and the walls were an ordinary eggshell white. A small bookcase was filled with folders and ragged paperbacks. A large pair of boots were tossed carelessly in a corner, sitting in a puddle of water. A low coffee table covered with loose papers, maps, and half-finished notes rested atop a maroon rug, beside of which there was a near-empty bottle of alcohol. The furniture was large and comfortable, overstuffed chairs and a long, plush leather couch took up most of the room. And on the couch was the final confirmation that this was indeed a bachelor's place of residence- a raucously snoring slab of half-clothed man.

She stalked over to the coffee table and set the greasy bag down with a muffled thump, scattering papers everywhere. She then circled the table and came to a stop by the handle of the sofa, right beside the dark-haired man's head. She bent down and whispered softly into his ear.

"Good morning, Roy-boy."

The bulky figure turned on her heel and clambered on top of the handle with grace not expected from a person of her apparent girth. She flexed her knees and jumped high into the air, squealing just before she landed.

"Time to wake up!"

A screech and the simultaneous impact of two thick-soled boots into Roy's soft, unprotected middle threw him into overdrive. As the air whooshed out of his lungs, his eyes flew open and his body jerked upright, reacting on instinct coupled with years of training. His attacker was catapulted into the air from the force of his violent movement, grimy hat falling away to reveal a mess of bronze hair. Her back hit the wall with a muffled thud and she slid headfirst to the floor, swearing breathlessly all the while. Roy vaulted over the handle of the couch, pulling oxygen in as quickly and calmly as possible into his emptied lungs, orders memorized long ago echoing in his mind.

Female assassin. Get in close, use your greater weight and height against her. Shut out all noise. Don't let her distract you. Have no mercy, you will receive none. Subdue and question assassin if possible. Survive at all costs.

His eyes were cold and the world was silent as he withdrew further into himself. He held the woman's shoulder down with one hand and pulled back a fist, wanting to end the fight before it began. Slender legs wrapped around his upper torso and hips twisted sideways, throwing him roughly to the floor, knocking away his breath once again.

The smaller form released its awkward hold and scrabbled against the wooden floor, desperate to regain her footing and put distance between the two of them. His arm shot out and caught her by the ankle. He pulled hard, sending her back to the ground in a clatter as he launched himself across the room.

He landed atop her struggling form and forced her to turn over. Her mouth was moving and he was dimly aware of noise pounding against his mental barriers. She squirmed beneath him, twisting and writhing, forcing him to constantly adjust his hold on the quicker, more agile form.

She managed to get a knee past his guard. His grasp loosened for a moment, allowing her to roll away from him, only to hit the coffee table with a thump.

Roy grabbed her leg once more and began hauling her towards him. She reached desperately, seeking anything to use as a weapon. Her hand clamped around the thin neck of a bottle. She contorted, folding herself in half and turning at the hips to face him, taking advantage of the extra momentum he'd unwittingly allowed her. Her arm snapped forward and the bottle smashed into his skull, covering him in stinging alcohol, blood trickling down the side of his face as he collapsed.

She tore her legs out of his pitifully weak hold and jumped onto his unguarded back. Arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Legs forced their way around him, locking into place as he tried to regain his bearings and rid himself of his adversary at the same time.

His thoughts were unfocused, his concentration shattered. He became aware that his attacker was screaming into his ear.

"Roy, you idiot! What is wrong with you? Stop struggling!"

These words were interspersed by several rather creative curses. He was pretty sure most of them were physically impossible. One in particular featuring a basket of figs, several mice, and a bullfrog caught his attention and allowed him to finally identify his opponent.

He gaped for a moment, face turning an interesting shade of red. He stopped moving and sputtered, refusing to believe that she was actually there. In his house. On top of him. On top of him, inside his locked house while he'd been trying his best to kill her. Or at least subdue her in an extremely brutal fashion. He swore impressively and renewed his attempts to escape her tight hold.

"Vanessa? What are you doing here? Get off!"

Roy pitched himself to the ground again, noting with satisfaction that his passenger had been flung from his back in a graceless tumble. He propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the pouting female sprawled on the floor in front of him.

"Finally, he comes to his senses! What was that all about? Going off like that, just because I woke you up!"

"What was-! What do you think that was about! You pounce on me in the middle of the night and expect me to just lie there and take it? You should know better! I'm in the military, and a war vet besides. We don't take kindly to being attacked in our sleep. You're lucky I didn't kill you."

"Hmph. As if- you could barely keep up with me. Need I remind you who was on top of whom?"

"I- you- that doesn't matter! Just...just drop it. This is getting us nowhere. First things first. How did you get in without waking me up? Why are you even here? And...what are you wearing?"

Vanessa huffed and pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her backside before offering Roy a helping hand.

"Curious as always, Roy-boy. Guess you haven't changed much after all. Come on, I'll fill you in while we get cleaned up. Move it. You're dripping on the floor."

She pulled him into the kitchen and shoved him into a chair. She grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and filled it with ice before pushing it into his hands. He held it against his head gingerly, watching with bemusement as she stalked towards the bathroom. She returned a few moments later with an armful of gauze and ointment. Still ignoring his questioning gaze, she dropped her burden onto a nearby counter with an exasperated sigh.

"I guess we might as well get it over with. Besides, this coat is so itchy."

She began to unbutton the bulky garment, easily tuning out Roy's curious murmurs. When the last button was undone, she let the heavy coat slide off her arms and fall to the floor with a smug smile.

Dark purple cloth accented by the occasional dull black band seized his attention, hugging each of her curves in a most becoming way. The material gave easily and the dress had a slit on each side that reached up to the middle of her thigh, allowing more mobility than one would expect. The neckline was ridiculously low, presenting a scandalous view of contoured flesh that had captivated many an unfortunate male. The sleeves were attached to the rest of the dress with the barest strip of cloth, baring skin stretched tight over lean muscle and gracefully sloping bone. They clung to her shapely arms until they flared slightly at the wrist, drawing eyes to a delicately pampered hand, one that suggested the softest of touches. A dress designed to ensnare a man while still affording freedom of movement. A dress that broadcast her occupation to anyone the least bit familiar with the shadier side of Amestris.

But if Vanessa's dress promised pleasure, the discreet leather straps stretching across her torso hid an array of tools that indicated something very different. The complicated array of black bands formed an intricate harness that curved under her breasts, around her waist, and just below the thickest part of each rounded hip, further emphasizing her curves to draw attention away from hidden sheaths and concealed pockets. Simple throwing knives lay flat against her waistband, hilts pointed towards the center of her body for easy access. A slightly larger knife was strapped to the outside of her hip, thin blade and cloth-wrapped hilt barely visible against darker leather. An assortment of tiny bottles in protective leather casing and little burlap bundles, all filled with substances known only to Vanessa and her employer, rested against the strap wrapping underneath her breasts.

Harness, dress, the alluring figure of a woman in full bloom. They painted an intimidating picture. That of a predatory creature that drew in its prey with a sweet promise and a passionate gaze, only to take what it wanted and move on to its next unsuspecting victim. It was an enticing paradox; pleasure and pain bound into a feminine package that begged to be opened with roaming eyes, grasping hands, and lust-filled words. A paradox that Roy was intimately familiar with.

He appraised her with raised eyebrows, noting each detail with care. He took the time to find each of her hidden weapons and plan a thousand different ways to use them, a hundred ways they could be used against her, and several better ways to arrange them all. He thought briefly about showing her one or two of them, but let out a barking laugh instead. He leaned back in his chair, pressing his towel against the sluggishly bleeding head wound, mentally berating himself for spending his time in such a frivolous manner. There were much more important things to think about than how to defeat an ally. His charcoal eyes flicked up to Vanessa's irritated blue.

"So. You're Mamma's new favorite. Guess I should have seen that one coming. You're being careful, I hope?"

"Of course. Why else would I bother with the disguise?"

"Well, that explains the clothes, I suppose. And if you really are her favorite, you probably just walked in through the door. ...You didn't mess with the hinges, did you?"

"I oiled them up a bit. Why?"

Roy swore.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to tune those things? I had them calibrated for the precise pitch and decibel level needed to be heard from anywhere within three blocks! It took me months. Months, Vanessa!"

"I'm sure your neighbors will be thrilled."

"Burn it all, Vanessa! This isn't funny! How am I supposed to know if someone's breaking in? I'm a State Alchemist. Worse, I'm the Hero of Ishval. I'm not exactly the most popular guy around. There are people who would give anything to get their hands on me!"

"Uh-huh. And a squeaky door with a pathetic excuse for a lock was supposed to stop them?"

"Yes! ...No. Look, it was better than nothing."

"If you're that worried about it, I'll have one of the girls rig something up for you. It'll take us a day at the most, so don't worry about it. I doubt you can get yourself into trouble that quickly."

"Normally I'd agree with you, but with circumstances as they are I can't afford to take that chance."

"Something happen that I should know about?"

"...I think I just found a job for you and the girls. I'll give you the details later. For now, let's just focus on getting cleaned up."

"Fine. Put that towel down. I need to see what I'm working with. Mm. Could be worse. At least you won't need stitches. You'll need to get all that blood out of your hair before I can bandage it, though. But first let's get those clothes off. I need to make sure your head is the only thing I have to take care of. Besides, I don't feel like smelling alcohol I can't drink."

Roy gave her a stoic look and thrust the makeshift ice pack into her outstretched hand. He stood, peeling his threadbare, tattered undershirt away from the skin it clung to, hissing quietly when he brought his arms over his head. He threw the damp shirt into Vanessa's face, smirking as pale blue eyes betrayed amusement despite loud protests. She too stood, shaking off the discarded clothing and tossing it down the nearby hall before coming back to face him. She took a long considering look at his body before motioning him to turn for her. A few prods and mumbles later, she shook her head in dissatisfaction.

"I can't tell too much right now. You'll have to test your body out for yourself. Let me know if anything feels like it needs to be kept still. Go ahead and take a shower. I'll patch your head up when you get out."

Roy grunted an agreement and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He opened the closet door and pulled out a fresh uniform, draping it over his arm. He also grabbed a clean black shirt with a fresh pair of boxers from a shelf just inside the door. He walked back down the hall and set his clothes down in the bathroom. Leaning over to shut the door, he seemed to remember something.

"Vanessa?"

"What?"

"There are some clothes that should fit you in the guest room. Feel free to change out of that contraption and into something more comfortable. There should be a few dresses somewhere in there."

"...Roy? You don't play dress-up anymore, right?"

"Wha-? Of course not! Mamma sent those over in case any of you needed to lay low for a while."

"Oh. That's a relief. For a minute there, I thought we'd scarred you for life."

Roy snorted and shut the door with a click. He turned the faucets in the shower on, letting the water get nice and hot while he surveyed himself in the mirror. The gash on his head looked garish, but that was mostly because it was crusted over with blood. It wasn't nearly as bad as it looked. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he had a massive headache. He'd have to take some aspirin before too long.

Twisting from side to side, he tested his range of motion while trying to get a glimpse at his back. He winced at the sight of a spreading bruise on his lower back. That was going to be sore in a few hours. Aspirin was sounding like a better idea all the time. He moved his arms around, gauging how far he could move them before the pain kicked in. Ah. No higher than straight out in front of him. He'd probably hurt one of his shoulder muscles during a fall. That wasn't so bad. Thankfully, he didn't need to lift them up that high very often. Good thing he was taller than Fullmetal.

The flippant thought caught him off guard, immediately souring his mood. Fullmetal was missing, more than likely in need of serious help, and here he was complaining about a few bumps and bruises. Unacceptable. He was a commanding officer, and one of his troops had disappeared on his watch. He didn't have time for this. Fullmetal didn't have time for this.

Roy yanked his boxers off, clenching his teeth and refusing to acknowledge the twinge of pain that accompanied his brusque actions. Snatching a washcloth from the towel rack, he stomped into the steaming shower. He ground a yellowed cake of soap into the fabric and began washing the sticky mixture of blood and alcohol off of his body. He scrubbed his skin harshly, ignoring the bone-deep ache of pressure against bruised flesh. Skin already pinked from scalding water reddened further, darkening to a mottled crimson, interrupted by the occasional patch of blackening flesh. His body cleansed to his satisfaction, he tossed aside the soapy rag and ran stiff fingers through his dripping hair.

Most of the blood had been washed out by the blistering spray, but other clumps stuck stubbornly to the strands, melding them to the jagged cut. Roy firmed his jaw, closing his eyes for but a moment before ripping the knotted hair away. His breath caught as the wound reopened and began to drip blood down his face once more, blending with raw skin. He kneaded the shock of crust-covered strands until he felt the last of the dried material crumble away. He ran his fingers through his ebony locks again, tilting his head back slightly to keep equally dark blood out of his freshly cleaned hair. When he was certain each strand was completely freed of blood, he plastered them all against his skull, careful to keep the area around the gash free of hair. He rinsed blood from his body once more and stepped out of the shower, immediately knotting a towel tightly around his head to staunch the flow of crimson and keep his hands free.

Skin already rubbed raw was irritated further with hurried swipes of cloth though the flush of his skin was already paling. The towel was tossed aside and softer cloth that clung wetly to chafed skin was forced on. The thicker, more durable uniform jacket soon followed, and within moments was buttoned properly and straightened with a sharp jerk. The bathroom door was flung outwards and a hazy cloud crept into the hall, thick tendrils heavy with moisture groping after the straight backed figure marching sternly away.

Roy moved quickly, but mechanically. Bare feet smacked across wooden planks, obeying the compulsion of ingrained habit as his mind worked furiously at the problem of a certain pint-sized midget who just happened to have the worst luck of anyone he'd ever met. His legs took him into the kitchen and his arm reached out for the cup of coffee that should be waiting for him on the nearest counter. Instead, his fingers met tubes and gauze. An expression of irritated confusion spread across his face and he looked around, only half paying attention to his surroundings. A fresh cup of coffee steaming on the opposite side of the room caught his gaze. He retrieved the mug and exited the room, letting his body go on autopilot once more, never truly registering the slim figure that had skittered backwards when she'd first caught a glimpse of his forbidding expression.

He took a long drink from the heavy mug, frowning slightly at the bitter taste and the scalding liquid skimming across his taste buds. He found himself standing in front of his coffee table, smoking mug in hand, papers scattered across the floor, and a greasy bag in the center of the only map he actually needed. He set the pungent drink down and pushed the oily bag aside, revealing a perfectly circular spot of translucent blankness spreading across his map, erasing entire streets and countless careful notations from existence. He sank to his knees in front of the ruined map, cursing quietly to himself as he ruffled through the piles of paper surrounding him, searching for the extra copy he knew was hidden somewhere in the mass of reports and calculations.

Several minutes passed before he finally found the tracing of the streets around Central's military base. This particular copy wasn't up to date with the current guard postings or shift changes. It did, however, show several plotted escape routes, sewer entrances, and lesser known passages throughout the city. He'd have to remember to thank Mamma and his 'sisters' for the extra work they'd put into this particular drawing. It could prove extremely helpful during his search for Fullmetal.

Roy found a pencil amidst the disorganized spread and began jotting coded notes along the margins of the map, pausing occasionally to check his notes against duty rosters, personnel files, and calculations he'd done the night before. He wrote rapidly, losing himself in the calming tangle of runes, crowding the edges of the faded paper with names, locations, formations, and multiple observations. It wasn't long before every inch of space was filled with hasty symbols and words, forcing him to stop and consider his work thus far. His eyes darted across the page, rereading each notation before grunting in satisfaction and laying the map on top of one of the more organized piles of paper burdening his coffee table.

He hauled himself to his feet, grimacing and placing a fist against his aching lower back. He stretched with a groan and began massaging his hand gently. He hadn't done that much writing in such a short amount of time in quite a while. Riza would have been impressed.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. He spun around, hands twitching apart and falling easily into a loose guard stance as he faced his possible adversary. His blank expression quickly changed to one of deepening confusion as the woman before him took a cautious step towards him.

"Roy? You okay?"

He didn't respond. He only looked even more mystified. She lifted her chosen weapon, both hands gripping the stout handle tightly, ready to attack at his slightest move.

"...Vanessa? Are you threatening me with a frying pan?"

Vanessa heaved a sigh of relief and let the thick skillet fall to her side.

"Don't scare me like that! I thought you were going psycho again. And yes, I was threatening you with a frying pan. Would you have preferred one of my knives? I'd be more than happy to use one of those next time."

Roy thought for a moment before answering, incredulity still stamped across his features.

"I'll pass on the knives, but a frying pan? You really couldn't come up with anything...better to attack me with?"

"You'd be surprised what you can do with one of these. Care for a demonstration, Roy-boy?"

"I don't think so. Somehow, I don't think I'd survive."

She shrugged.

"Your loss. I've got everything ready to fix that thick skull of yours. And we should probably get a move on. Sun's almost up."

He sighed, gazing at one of the few windows in his home. Sure enough, the sky was streaked with pink and gold, warning the world below that the sun would soon ascend. But the sunrise, no matter how beautiful was nothing to celebrate. It was just another reminder that this was the third day since Fullmetal's disappearance. Every day, every hour increased the possibility that Fullmetal- that Edward was beyond their reach forever. Each second that slipped away threatened to drag him into the past, back to the darkest of times. And they whispered as they swirled into oblivion that maybe, just maybe, Edward too was a ghost of the past, existing only in his memory, fragile as it was. Just another military casualty, not even worthy of a mention in the paper.

But he refused to believe that. It was, simply put, an impossibility. The very idea of Edward's demise was absurd. No one so full of hope, of promise and dedication could be brought low so easily. Edward would survive. More importantly, he would continue to live. His brother was still waiting after all. As were Winry and so many others. And he was waiting too. Waiting for a steel foot to break down his door, for a petulant voice to interrupt his own, for a wandering child to return to the family he'd never known was his.

"Roy! Snap out of it already. What's with you today?"

"Hm? It's nothing. I was just...thinking. I've been doing that a lot lately."

Vanessa rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the kitchen, scooping up the grease stained paper bag as she followed behind him. Roy let himself be steered into a chair and meekly followed her instructions, tilting his head back and un-knotting the towel that had been tied snugly around his skull. He let the ends of the towel hang, not willing to part cotton fibers and congealed blood until absolutely necessary. A muffled thump and a few murderous expletives later, Vanessa's scowling face came into view.

"Don't move. I swear I'll knock you out if I have to."

Roy glared coldly up at her.

"That won't be necessary. I've had far worse than this."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Vanessa ripped the towel away from his skin without further comment, causing Roy to jerk in his chair and hiss a few choice words between clenched teeth. She lay the bloodied towel on a nearby counter and forced his head back with an irritated snort. She grabbed an open container of dark red powder and poured a heap of it into the bleeding cut, packing it in with firm strokes. Gritting her own teeth as she attempted to ignore Roy's extremely loud protests, she let the powder set for a minute or two, only wiping it away with a dampened cloth when she was sure that it had completely stopped the bleeding. Then she seized a tube filled with ointment, squirted a generous amount onto her palm and began mixing in some of the rust colored powder. The compound coagulated into a thick paste which she smothered over the gash with none too gentle fingers. Still ignoring Roy's continuous stream of unflattering insinuations, she pressed a patch of dense gauze over the wound and taped it down tightly. Roy jerked his head away and lightly fingered the bandage, glaring at his disastrous nurse all the while.

She sniffed and flounced across the room, the skirt of her borrowed dress fluttering wildly around her legs. She grabbed the greasy bag from a small table shoved against the wall and opened it with a huff. She peered into it, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She reached in the sack and pulled out a pale sausage thicker than two of her fingers. She waggled the wurst in the air and threw it to Roy, smirking when he nearly missed the first part of his breakfast. While he was still juggling his sausage from hand to hand, she fished two crusty rolls topped with caraway seeds out and tossed them one after the other in Roy's direction. He grabbed at the rolls without success, only succeeding in bouncing the bread back and forth between his hands. He finally managed to gain possession of both buns and sausage roll and quirked an eyebrow at the increasingly foul-tempered female, coal eyes dancing with restored good humor.

"Is it past your bedtime, dear Vanessa? Perhaps I should put you down for a nap."

"Shut it. You stay up all night and then have your coffee stolen by an ungrateful bastard who doesn't even have the decency to say thanks. Let's see how peppy you are after that."

Roy laughed quietly.

"I may be a bastard, but so are you and half of our other 'sisters.' Well, in any case, I suppose I should thank you. It was good coffee. Nice and strong, just the way it should be."

Vanessa sniffed again and retrieved another roll from the worn paper sack. She demolished it in seconds and washed it down with her own sausage, not bothering to wipe her mouth as oil dripped from the corners of her lips. Roy began eating his own breakfast, a mouthful of bread followed by a bite of wurst, careful to keep his uniform clean. In between swallows, he began to tell her of the job he had for his adopted family.

"I don't have time to tell you everything. I copied most of the details onto a report over there on the coffee table, but they're encrypted. Mamma is the only one who knows that particular code, so you'll have to take it to her before you can get started. This is Code Amber information-it's imperative that the wrong people don't find out about this. Be very careful with your inquiries, but don't be overly cautious. This is a time-sensitive mission. It's extremely important that you find out as much as you can as soon as you can. I'll meet you this afternoon to exchange information. Thirteen hundred hours at the bar on Feldweg. There should be no contact between us until then. If you have information that can't wait, call the office and tell Fuery that you need to speak to me about Elle. Hang up, go straight to the bistro and I'll meet you there as soon as I can. Do not, under any circumstances, pass information over the phone. Do you understand?"

She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips, and yawned loudly before giving him a grumpy look.

"Sure. Class 'A' super secret mission. Could get us all killed. Restraunt at the end of the universe. And Elle is a lucky whore. Did I miss anything?"

Roy's face twisted with distaste.

"I think you've got the gist of it. You might need to take it easy and get some sleep though. Let the other girls handle this one. The way you're acting right now you'd probably scare off all your informants."

"Sleep? Now? Couldn't possibly. Too much caffeine from my coffee earlier. Oh, nevermind. I've just remembered. You drank it all."

Roy cleared his throat uncomfortably and hoisted himself out of his chair. He muttered something about getting ready for work and hurried out of the kitchen. A mouth cleaning, a few pills, and one pointless search for drier boots later, Roy scooped up the papers and maps he needed from the coffee table and surrounding floor and was on his way to Central Headquarters.

Icy wind knifed through his thick uniform, stealing away his warmth and urging him faster down the snow-slicked streets. It was a constant struggle to stay upright and keep his papers in order, but he walked forward with confidence in the early morning light. He had a plan for every conceivable situation. There were more trustworthy personnel at his disposal than he'd first thought. The weather was cold and windy, but the skies were clear. And Fullmetal was no doubt driving his captors absolutely insane.

Right about now, he would be screaming his lungs out, waking everyone within five miles of his location, probably with one of his infamous 'short' rants. But then again, a smattering of insults between some of the best swearing they'd heard in a while was equally as likely. Come to think of it, the runt was probably having the most fun he'd had all winter. He'd probably missed the dangerous mixture of fights, accidents, and crime that followed every state alchemist unlucky enough to find himself in Central. Such lively events never happened in Resembool. In fact, since the train station sabotage back in the Ishval war, the most notable thing to happen in Resembool was probably the boys' ill-fated attempt at human transmutation. Of course, such an event was no reason to celebrate, and since the majority of the population had no idea that such a dangerous taboo had been committed, it probably couldn't really be considered 'notable' at all.

Roy exhaled heavily and quickened his pace as much as possible. He couldn't tolerate such sober thoughts this morning. His team was still recovering from the shock of Fullmetal's dissappearance. He had to be calm and in control. He had to remind them that there was no reason to worry. This was Fullmetal, after all. He could handle any two-bit criminal without breaking a sweat. And even if Fullmetal had bitten off more than he could chew, it would end up all right. Because Roy had a plan. Actually, he had several. And not one of them involved Fullmetal dying before Roy got a chance to kill him.

An hour later, Roy walked through the door of his team's assigned office. He glanced around the room and was pleased to see that he wasn't alone. Hawkeye was perched at her desk, diligently filling out the day's paperwork, pausing after every finished report to look at the clock and check that mysterious schedule of hers. Fuery was sitting on the edge of his seat, fiddling absently with his switchboard and fighting to keep his eyes open. Breda was leaning against Falman's desk, looking through a pile of records and munching away at a pastry stuffed with some sort of jelly. Havoc and Falman hadn't arrived yet.

Roy crossed the room and entered his own office, pretending not to notice the way his subordinates followed every move he made with apprehensive eyes, lingering on the bandage taped across his temple. He set his stack of papers on top of his desk and began sorting them into different piles. He raised his voice, keeping it carefully emotionless.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, a moment, if you please."

There was an instant of silence followed by the muffled scrape of a chair over thin carpet. Crinkling paper covered the sound of her soft footsteps and his back was facing the door, but he knew the precise moment she entered- as he always did.

"Sir?"

She too kept her voice devoid of emotion.

"Notify the outer office that we will have a mission briefing as soon as Officers Havoc and Falman arrive. And instruct Sergeant Major Fuery to take messages from anyone wishing to speak to me. I'm not accepting calls today, but I would like to be notified immediately about any messages concerning 'Elle.' Dismissed."

Her heels clicked together, and he could picture her salute, a proud show of courage and acceptance-a pledge to do her duty above all else. A promise and apology, all in one. His mouth quirked into the tiniest of smiles as he heard her exit the room.

Roy finished sorting the reports into their proper stacks and collapsed into his chair. He relaxed for a moment before sighing and glancing at the tiny clock he kept on his desk. Seven minutes past nine. Havoc and Falman should be arriving soon.

He wondered if he should start filling out paperwork or if he should wait a while longer. He needed to keep his hands busy and his mind engaged while he was waiting for his plans to unfold. Writing up reports fulfilled both needs. But if any of his subordinates saw him working, they might see through the facade of normalcy he and Hawkeye were struggling to maintain. That facade was the only thing keeping the team together, a constant in the uncertainty of recent times. And after yesterday's troubling events, it was already wearing away. They couldn't take the chance that the team would be able to pull through such a crisis without some sort of grounding element, a factor to balance out the volatile equation. The mundane mask he'd crafted so carefully up to this point served this purpose beautifully. It must be preserved. As much as it galled him, he'd have to find something less useful to occupy his mind.

His eyes drifted around the room, lighting on the many personal belongings that were scattered around his office, evaluating the merits of each possible activity as it occurred to him. Perhaps he should practice alchemy while he waited. But no, that was too much like work. He couldn't call anyone either. It might draw unwanted attention if he made outgoing calls, but refused to accept those that were incoming. Maybe he could organize his office. Riza had been after him for weeks to sift through the cardboard boxes still lining the walls of the room. But he wouldn't know where anything was if he actually unpacked everything. Playing chess could be an acceptable pastime. Then again, he usually played chess when he was making plans. That might lead his team to believe that he was still trying to decide the best course of action. An incorrect assumption that could undermine the work he'd done thus far.

Roy sighed heavily, his expression settling into brooding indecision. Give him a life or death situation and he could come up with multiple plans and choose the one with the most desirable results in seconds. Give him a much smaller problem-like how to pass the time without upsetting his subordinates-and he could never decide the best course of action. He stared down at the scratched surface of his desk, brow furrowing as he tried to determine what he should do.

Hawkeye's timely entrance saved him from further counterproductive thoughts.

"Sir, Second Lieutenant Havoc and Warrant Officer Falman have arrived. All squad members are ready for briefing."

"Bring them in."

"Yes, sir."

She stepped out of his view and waved the waiting soldiers into his office. They filed into the room and nervously took their customary places. Roy inspected them as they settled in, noting the uneasy tics each soldier displayed.

Fuery lit on the edge of his seat, tired eyes darting around the room as his leg jittered uneasily. Breda claimed the chair nearest the chessboard, fingering a pawn absent-mindedly and wetting his lips. Falman took the last chair and sat stiffly, jaw tightening every so often, eyes boring a hole through the floor. Havoc propped himself beside the door, eyes half-closed with a hand resting casually on the small-caliber pistol he had tucked next to the waistband of his uniform, sliding it out of its holster and letting it slip back with easy familiarity. Hawkeye followed the group in, shutting the door firmly behind her and taking her usual position just behind her commanding officer, close enough to touch, but never taking the liberty of doing so.

Roy waited until they each met his level gaze before speaking.

"I'm sure you're all aware of this by now, but for propriety's sake I'll start at the beginning. On December 19th, between 1400 and 1800 hours, Major Edward Elric was captured by a currently unidentified couple. We have no way of knowing whether this was an isolated event or if it is evidence of a larger attack on the military itself. Due to our lack of intelligence on this matter, a two man team was dispatched to examine the suspected abduction site. The evidence found indicates that Major Elric was ambushed and drugged. This evidence is solid enough to warrant a thorough search by the Investigations Department. However, due to the...unique situations of Major Elric and his brother, the involvement of the Investigations Department will be kept to a minimum. As such, each of you will be required to take a part in the investigation. Information is to be given out sparingly. All civilians-including Alphonse Elric-are to be kept ignorant of the progression of this case. Extreme caution and combat readiness is suggested."

Here he paused and began handing small stacks of paper out to his subordinates.

"You will be split into three two-men teams. Officers Havoc and Hawkeye will be working in the field. Officers Falman and Fuery will be in charge of research and communications. Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant Breda and myself will be running interference and distributing new intelligence as needed.

"These reports contain all the information you will need to complete your personal duties. Contacts, buzz words, suspects, suspicious activity from the past few days-it's all there. Use it wisely.

"You are to report your progress to Second Lieutenant Breda every hour. Information should be traded at that time. The only exception is if the discovered information is time-sensitive or life-threatening to any member of the team-including Major Elric."

He turned and glared at the frost encrusted window, faint silhouettes of knobby trees swaying across the icy pane of glass.

"You know what to do. Dismissed."

The muted scuffle of chairs and feet was followed by a breath of silence quickly broken by the creak of an opening door and quick steps. A resolute click, and Roy was alone in his office once more. He sighed heavily and brought his hand up to his head, cradling the gently throbbing mass. His eyes shut tightly and swayed on his feet, throwing his free hand out to catch himself against the window. He reopened his eyes, blinking away the dim lights that flashed behind his eyelids. He had work to do.

He pushed himself away from the cold window and entered the outer office. Weary eyes surveyed the empty room as his legs brought him to the desk furthest from his own. He gathered the papers scattered across the worn surface with mechanical efficiency and moved on to the next. He worked his way back to his office, leaving every desk but his own free of paper. He dropped the heavy stack of forms and referrals onto his work surface and stared grimly at the immense pile of tedious documents. He began sorting through the mess, glancing at the handwritten codes in the upper corner of each report before placing it in its designated place.

He worked slowly at first, still shaking off his earlier dizzy spell, but as the minutes passed he fell into an easy rhythm. Grab, glance, reach, place. Grab, glance, reach, place. Naturally, soon after he got his rhythm, he was interrupted by a loud exclamation.

Roy sighed and headed towards the outer office. He pushed the door open and leaned against the frame with crossed arms.

"Problem, Sergeant Major?"

Fuery started and spun around, already saluting.

"Colonel Mustang, sir! The documents on our desks-"

"Have been reassigned to someone with more time and less important duties than the mission you have been given. They will be properly completed and filed by the end of the day."

"Yes, sir. But sir, there were some acquisition requests and-"

"I'm sure they will be handled satisfactorily. Now, unless there's something else, it seems Warrant Officer Falman requires assistance going through those records."

"Y-yes, sir. I'll be sure to assist him."

Roy returned to his office and pulled the door shut behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, listening to muffled voices, the soft beeping of electronics, and the occasional thump of paper against wood. He sighed and returned to his own work.

Things were going well so far. The search for Edward Elric had finally begun and with luck, they would find him before day's end. Roy smirked, rehearsing the blistering speech he'd prepared for the young alchemist. It wouldn't be one the little blond would forget anytime soon. Roy lost himself in the tedious shuffle of documents and the refining of a scathing monologue, not noticing the passing minutes stretching into hours.

A fist pounded against the door of his office, sending his hand streaking across the page of a particularly lengthy security report and scattering the growing stack of completed forms across the carpeted floor. He growled and shoved himself away from the desk, marching across the room to fling open the door, flooring Sergeant Major Fuery in the process.

The excitable man bounced up, wringing his hands, glasses hanging askew, and babbling all the while.

"Sir! We've finally found something on Edison Curtis! Maybe even his family! Youreallyneedtohearthissir!"

Found. Curtis. Really. Roy's expression shifted from annoyed incomprehension to intense anticipation, the barest thread of hope hiding behind dark eyes.

"Show me."

Fuery bounded across the room, dodging boxes of files, chairs strewn across the room, and desks piled high with old newspapers. He snatched a folder from Falman's limp hands and met Roy in the center of the office. He presented the report with pride, happy to finally be able to report real progress with his mission. Never mind that it had been Falman who'd actually read the file. Progress was progress, and progress was meant to be celebrated.

Roy took the battered folder with the beginnings of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth. Fuery's enthusiasm was a promising indicator of what was concealed between the yellowing pages. He flipped open the report and skimmed across the page, eagerly searching for any mention of the Curtis family.

And the slender thread of hope was cut.

AN: Vanessa is from Chapter 62 of the manga and Episode 31 of Brotherhood. She does exist in canon, but she is what I refer to as a 'blow-up' character. We know so little about her and she appears for such a brief period of time that you can fill in any characteristics or whatever back story you want. Vanessa still belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, though- not me.