DA: Well last chapter got some amazing reception. I didn't exactly expect that. I'm glad you all enjoyed though. We're taking a break from Ed again to focus back on Mustang. I'll be switching point of view quite a lot, so start expecting that. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to FMA. As I may have mentioned and you've probably noticed, that's probably a good thing.

DA: Without any further ado, enjoy chapter 5!

Darkness to Dawn

Chapter 5

Mustang decided that he really hated the feel of this white jacket slung across his shoulders. It was heavy and thick, causing him to overheat way too easily. His hatred had nothing to do with the dream that still haunted him day and night. Nope, not at all. Sighing, he ran a hand over his face, feeling the scratchy texture of his glove brushing against the sensitive skin. Heavy bags hung under his eyes, brought on by the press of another watch that weighed him down. His team hung at his back, each as exhausted as the other. They'd all been working nonstop to try and find their missing member, but with no clues to work with, the mission was damn near impossible.

And yet, here they were, invading the Cretan camp in an attempt to weed out the remainder of the retreating army. Funny how the enemy army decided to turn tail and run after spending months fighting off the Amestrian army the moment one alchemist vanishes from the ranks. Already a few of the remaining soldiers had been dealt with, it was just a matter of time before the rest of them fell into their hands as well. The death toll was rising, each Cretan soldier found dealt with swiftly and efficiently.

The sounds of battle hung in the distance, the sharp scent of gunpowder wafting in Mustang's direction. Without a word, he waved in the direction of the nearby fight and changed direction, trusting his men to follow him. It seemed that, despite the retreat, the soldiers left behind still had some fight left in them and weren't going to go down without a fight. The black-haired man was met with the sight of bodies upon turning onto the battlefield, blood spattering the once clean ground. Gunfire speckled the dirt, small holes littering at his feet. With the same dull, uninterested gaze he'd been giving to anyone who spoke with him, he took no hesitation in snapping his fingers, the area lighting instantly with the bright glow of his flames.

All action froze upon this display of power, the Cretans scattering like the bugs they were. Several were flung by the blast, crashing to the ground in painful heaps. The Colonel signaled his group to locate the runaways and they ran off, but not before sending a concerned glance toward him. Only Hawkeye and Havoc fully understood what was running through his mind, whose cry he was straining to hear while out here in the field. Hawkeye remained at his back, blatantly ignoring his orders to search and destroy.

Roy shrugged, sighing slightly, and kept walking, his own eyes watching for movement among the burned bodies. Riza's gun cocked by his ear, the sound comforting amongst the madness of battle and the mess of concern muddling his own thoughts. He wasn't sure what he'd do without her. Probably die in a pool of his own blood. A low moan interrupted his thoughts, snapping his attention back to his surroundings. Riza was no longer in sight, having found her own target, but he barely noticed in his haste to locate the guttural noise.

A man, dressed in typical Cretan attire, lay struggling for breath against a pile of sandbags. Mustang's hand instantly came up, fingers poised to snap. The soldier, a quick inspection of his uniform told him to be a Captain, had shrapnel lodged in his chest and bore a rather deep cut on his thigh, splitting the skin and muscle to the bone. His dark brown eyes widened upon seeing Mustang, the strangled breaths quickening. The crackling of the man's breathing unsettled the Colonel to no end, another's form flashing through his mind. "P-please," the captain rasped, his voice hoarse and heavy with pain. "D-don't k-kill me. I h-have a w-wife and k-kids waiting for me at h-home."

"I'm sorry Cretan," Mustang said, his tone as far from apologetic as possible. "But orders are orders." He averted his eyes from the mutilated form, scowling harshly at nothing in particular.

"P-please. H-have a heart Amestrian. I-I'll do a-anything. Just d-don't kill me." The gloved fingers tensed, sparks flying from the junction between his fingers.

"Begging will get you nowhere. I'd advise you pray to the god of your choice now."

"N-no! I-I'll tell you anything. You're a state a-alchemist right? I-I can tell you w-what happened to t-that other alchemist. The b-blond one." Mustang froze where he was, fingers going lax from their tight position. Blond alchemist? There was only one person who fit that description. Well, aside from Armstrong, but no one really classified him by his hair color. The Cretan smiled, the expression flimsy and weak. "T-that's right. I k-know what's happened to him. A-and I'll tell you e-everything I know if you let me l-live and g-get me the medical attention I need."

"Speak. You have exactly one minute to tell me everything you know about him. Starting now." The man's already bloodless face seemed to pale even further and he coughed, coppery blood spewing from his lips. "55 seconds."

"Ok, ok! This b-blond alchemist comes o-onto our base a f-few days ago, couldn't have b-been more than 13 or 14. T-the higher ups i-instantly throw him into the makeshift p-prison and d-don't allow anyone b-but a certain few to t-talk to him. T-the kid was s-stubborn through a-all the interrogations. H-he didn't say a t-thing about anything. S-sometimes though, w-we could h-hear him s-screaming throughout the compound." Roy's scowl deepened and he lifted his fingers to prove that he was prepared to kill if necessary. Ed was stubborn; he didn't need some desperate soldier telling him that. The remainder of the reveal worried him slightly though. He'd never heard Ed scream before...

"Where is he?" The man cowered back from his fingers, his wide brown eyes absolutely terrified. "I'm warning you Captain. If you don't tell me, the deal is off."

"I-I overheard one of the Brigadier Generals talking. T-they're transporting him to C-Central." Roy stopped breathing for a moment, astonished at the news. But the anger returned quickly, rubbing his fingers together threateningly.

"Where in Central?" How his words sounded so calm was beyond him. His thoughts were barely filtering intelligently through the haze of panicked emotions. The soldier's eyes tightened suddenly, narrowing at Roy.

"I'm not going to tell you. G-get me to a d-doctor and m-maybe I-I'll feel like sharing more." Roy's scowl deepened, his own eyes narrowing dangerously. The smoke rolling off his gloves brushed against his face, darkening it with soot.

"Tell me everything you know or no deal. After all, making a deal with the enemy could get me in trouble. I want to make this worth my while. Where is Ed?" Only now did his voice gain some gravelly hint of anger boiling beneath the surface, enough to come off as threatening. The man's mouth remained stubbornly silent, open only to let his tortured gasps out. "Last chance." Nothing. The silence was only broken by the popping sparks of his rubbing fingers and the haggard breathing of the injured man. The fury on Mustang's face twitched between his eyebrows, his teeth gritting tighter and tighter the longer the silence bore on. The lack of emotions prior to this moment was absent, a blinding rage taking its place.

Snap. A controlled explosion rocked the area, the body of the Cretan at its center. Roy stood in front of the flames, arm outstretched after the snap that had caused the detonation. His face held no regret, no pity for the man he'd just burned to a crisp in the heat of his flames. Instead it was carefully expressionless, watching as the fire slowly died, its fuel gone. The scent of a burnt corpse brushed his nose, bits of flesh caught in the crevices of his face and body. The information he'd just learned flew through his head, his intelligent mind analyzing each bit. But even it could spit out nothing of importance other than the one vital piece of info: Ed's in Central.

Hawkeye found him there, expression blank as he stared at the blackened plumes rising from the charred body. If he noticed her presence, he said nothing, his back pin straight as he kept watching. Finally, Riza cleared her throat, her hand closing in on his shoulder. "Sir?" she asked, voice soft. He still made no motion that he acknowledged her. "Sir, what happened here? I saw you talking with him and then you suddenly snapped." A deep breath, but at least it was a movement.

"Ed's in Central," he murmured, even his voice betraying nothing. And then, he left, legs moving stiffly as he walked from the scene. But it didn't matter that he hadn't given her more than that. She understood now, and he knew that. And now, he needed to get to Central.

FMAFMA

The train creaked and groaned as it made its way down the path made by rickety old tracks. Mustang sat in a seat by a window, Hawkeye sitting loyally beside him while Havoc and Breda bickered quietly across the way. Fuery and Falman sat behind him, Fuery tinkering with some old radio. Each of their expressions carried some haunted exhaustion that was shared with all the soldiers returning from the battle. As the back-up troops, Mustang's group got one of the first tickets back to Central Command, leaving the soldiers that were actually stationed there to clean up shop. The Colonel wasn't going to complain; Central was where he was needed most anyway.

Just thinking about the Cretan Captain made his blood burn, his hand reaching into his pockets for his trusty gloves. He didn't care what side of the war the man was on; what man, a father nonetheless, would sit by and listen to a child scream and not do anything about it? It pissed him off to the core, onyx eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. His lips pressed into a bloodless line, twitching down into a tight frown. To think, he had been so close to finding Ed, only to have him snatched away by the same bastards that took him before. It was so damn infuriating to have all these conflicting emotions swirling around inside him. Heavy guilt sunk like a weighted rock in his stomach, pillowed by the brief excitement at a new clue and then accented by the despair that came with the realization that he'd have nowhere to go when he go to Central. If the Cretans had gone this long without being found, they wouldn't be found easily.

"Whatcha thinking about boss?" Havoc's voice filtered in through his thoughts, bringing his now shocked gaze to the young lieutenant. The man had a cigarette expertly balanced upon his lips, smoke billowing from the gap between his lips. His blue eyes were sparkling with energy, probably because of having won his pointless argument with Breda. Mustang resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, instead painting a smirk on his face. He couldn't let his worry for his youngest subordinate color his feelings regarding his job, so a front it was.

"How much paperwork has probably piled up in my absence. I'm sure Hawkeye's gun is going to be occupied for a while," he responded smoothly, even forcing a small smile onto his lips. Havoc grinned widely, chuckling at the thought. Riza looked a bit miffed, grunting quietly even as her hand closed in on the gun always present on her hip.

"As much as I know that paperwork is in the back of your mind, that's not what you're thinking about, boss," the man commented with knowing smile. Mustang's eyes widened, if only momentarily visible. "Don't worry, Colonel. If he's in Central like you say he is, then we'll find him." Hawkeye smiled at him, the expression warm and comforting, matching Havoc's grin exactly, though his didn't bring the surge of guilt that came when looking at his most trusted subordinate.

"That's not all I'm thinking about," he murmured, ducking his eyes underneath the fringe of his black bangs. He could feel all of their gazes, though did not raise his head to meet each one. That was it. He had to know. Clearing his throat, he raised his eyes to lock with Havoc's curious blue orbs. "Havoc, what might have stopped Ed's abduction? What could I have done differently?" The blond was silent for a moment, eyes darkening in thought. Hawkeye's tawny gaze chilled with understanding when he risked a quick glance at her, his scowl deepening.

"Well, in all honesty, Colonel...," the 2nd lieutenant started slowly, his own face troubled. "The presence of a decent sniper might have changed the whole situation. There was no one watching our backs from above and on the ground, we could only do so much. I'm sorry, Colonel." Roy raised his hand, teeth now clenched behind his tightly pressed lips.

"You don't need to apologize, Havoc. I understand you did all you could. The fault was not yours." Only years of experience at hiding his emotions kept his voice as cool and calm as it normally sounded and not trembling with guilt like the hand in his pocket was doing. He shrugged Riza's hand away, her touch burning him like acid. He couldn't take even looking at her right now. It had been selfish, but he had done it anyway, and Ed was paying the price. Bile splashed at the back of his throat at the thought of what the young teen was going through right now and he swallowed it back down. Only now did he notice that the quiet sounds of clanking metal behind him silenced, each one of his men listening to him with the attention that any soldier would cherish.

Oh, shit. How was he going to explain all this to Alphonse? Bad enough that he had to deal with the disappearance of one Elric, the worried gaze of another was going to kill him, especially in light of the information he just heard. In his lap, his free hand curled into a fist unconsciously. "When we reach Central, gather your things and meet me at the office in one hour."

"And where will you be, sir?" Hawkeye questioned, her voice soft and stern. He inhaled deeply, releasing it in one hefty sigh.

"There's something I need to take care of."

FMAFMA

It should of come to no surprise that Riza followed him all the way to the dorms, where Alphonse was currently staying. She was quite sneaky when she needed to be, especially when those sharp instincts of hers pick up something that she didn't like. Mustang wondered if he honestly was getting that predictable. Sighing, he lifted a hand and knocked on the door to the Elrics' room, trying to ignore the fact that his hand was trembling like a leaf. "Coming!" a high-pitched, echoing voice announced through the door, and the guilt that Roy'd been cultivating since Ed had vanished surged, iron bands clamping around his lungs. Hawkeye finally made her presence known by walking up to stand next to him, her military issue boots clacking on the tile. He supposed he was grateful for her presence, despite the circumstances. The door swung open, a large clanking body standing in the entrance, glowing red eyes staring down at the pair. "Colonel? I thought you were in the west with Ed. What brings you here?" The voice was out of place in such a large and terrifying body, so honest and trusting. It made Roy want to dig a hole and die in it.

"Al, there's something we need to talk to you about," he informed the boy, his face crafted to look professional. Hawkeye stiffened at his side, looking as if she wanted to comfort him in any way she could. Al's head tilted slightly, the side of his head smacking against the edge of his shoulder with a clang.

"Where's Brother?" If it were at all possible, the innocent question made the Colonel want to die even more than before. He swallowed, pulling himself up straighter. The iron bands around his lungs tightened.

"Perhaps we should go inside and discuss this." Al stepped aside to let them in and the pair took no time to walk into the sparse room, listening to the final sounding click of the door closing. Roy wasn't entirely sure how this discussion was going to end, but he had two possibilities in mind: 1) Al was going to beat the shit out of him, 2) Al was going to break and make that choking sobbing sound that nobody could stand, in good conscience, to hear. He much preferred the former to the latter. Al motioned to the couch for them to sit, but Roy waved him off, preferring to stand. A silence fell between them that was soon becoming awkward.

"So what is it you wished to talk to me about Colonel?" Forcing saliva down his tight throat, he took as deep of a breath as was possible through the tightness surrounding his lungs. Could someone just strike him dead now and make his life so much easier? But with the perseverance of a true soldier, he trudged through his own emotions to complete his mission.

"It's about your brother Alphonse." Al gasped, his hand going to his face as if air was actually rushing in through the mouthpiece.

"What about Brother? What's happened?"

"He was taken as a prisoner of Creta." The sudden quietness was strange, the words falling heavily between him and the younger boy. How did one tell a young boy that his brother had been kidnapped by the enemy? As if to make it up to Al, the next words that came tumbling out of his mouth surprised even him. "I'm sorry Al. I tried to keep him safe but-" The armored boy cut him off.

"I'm sure you did everything you could, Colonel Mustang," Al reassured, his voice light and understanding. The slight hint of mild hysteria in his tone could almost be overlooked. And Mustang didn't think that he could feel more like shit than he already did. This was a reaction he hadn't been expecting, for the boy to be calm and soothing. But he really didn't do everything.

"We're doing everything we can to find him, Al. I won't let Ed stay in their hands for longer than the time it takes for me to locate him. I promise you that." A leather gauntlet fell to his shoulder, squeezing tight. "I'm so sorry, Al. I promised you that I would keep him safe and I failed. I'm so sorry." Roy was rambling, but he couldn't stop the words from flowing from his mouth.

"It's ok, Colonel. You're going to find him. I trust you." But you shouldn't. "Let's make another deal. I won't panic if you won't. Okay?" Mustang nodded dumbly. "Good," Al said, his voice finally starting to shake. "Because if you started to panic, then I'd know things were really bad. I won't give up on Brother, and I know you won't either." His throat and chest tight, the Colonel nodded again, his hand closing tightly on the hand on his shoulder.

FMAFMA

Mustang stared at the piece of paper in front of him, understanding the irony of the situation. It all started with a piece of paper after all. They had been back in Central for a full week, and yet he still hadn't completed this specific report. So here he was, holed up in his office cowering from a piece of paper that brought everything into perspective. The missing personnel's report; the Prisoner of War report. There were so many ways to say it, and yet none of them made it easier to bear. He still heard Havoc's words echoing in his head: In all honesty, Colonel, the presence of a decent sniper might have changed the whole situation. He let his head fall into his hands. So it really was all his fault. Somehow he'd been hoping that someone would prove him wrong, tell him that he was just being ridiculous. But Havoc confirmed his guilt.

He lifted the bottle that he'd been nursing for a good half hour and took another swig, the amber liquid burning a pleasant, and yet at the same time unpleasant, path down to his stomach. He'd sent the entirety of his group back home, and they'd done it, with the exception of Hawkeye, who'd hung around as long as she could before he started implying a court martial if she stayed any longer. And yet, that paper was still as it was when she'd placed it on his desk this morning, crisp and white with small printed instructions on the edges of the sheet. His hand shook as he finally gathered enough courage to lift the pen laying on his desk, pressing it firmly into the paper. This was just a report, this was just a report, this was just another fucking report.

With an angry snarl, he threw the pen, not really caring where it fell. Who was he kidding? He couldn't do this. He tipped the bottle into his mouth again, taking the alcohol in large gulps. In his mind's eye, glowing red eyes stared at him, judging him, blaming him. Tears pricked at his eyes as yet another image assaulted him, this one gold and silver stained with a bright, shiny scarlet. It smeared across pale skin, soaked into absorbent cotton, smudged against the dull brown of rock. More amber began trickling down his throat, the bottle practically upside down as he tried to get the remaining dregs of whiskey from the prison-like bottom.

The first line on the paper read only a few words: Describe in detail the events that led up to this case. His onyx gaze stared at that one line, a thousand thoughts and words assaulting his head at once. A decent sniper might have... Did everything you could... Blame me?... You never did... Panic then I know things are bad... Won't give up on Brother... He put his hands to his ears and whimpered, screwing his eyes shut against the dim lighting of the moon reflecting against the bright paper on his desk. The words stopped, but the visions began.

Hand reaching to him, covered in blood... red jacket sprawled on the ground, flapping in the breeze... blood everywhere... scorch marks littering the ground... Hawkeye standing at his back... Golden hair swaying as its master was draped over a shoulder... Silver, black, scarlet, gold, blond, blue, scarlet, white, scarlet, scarlet, scarlet, scarlet! He was covered in it. He couldn't get it off...

He snapped his eyes open, frantically digging through a drawer for another bottle of whiskey that he knew was tucked safely away. It was with great relief that his fingers met the cold touch of glass and he took no time to pop it open and take a large swallow. He'd given up on the glass ages ago, the amount never seeming to be enough. The liquid chased away the visions, but not the feelings they left behind. Tears streamed from his eyes, guilt pressing into his heart in an actual painful manner. The alcohol dulled the pain.

How could he let this happen? The boys had come to him to find something they desperately needed and he leads them off to war, to destruction. Ed was probably cursing his name right now and he deserved it. Only the lowest type of ass holds out one someone he swore to protect because of his own selfish needs. What if Hawkeye found out what he'd done? God, what if Al found out? The guilt surged, Riza's visage swimming before his blurry eyes. He'd had an opportunity to prevent this kidnapping, hell, he'd even received a warning, but he didn't take it. He didn't fucking take it!

Glass shattered against the wall, falling to the ground in wet plops. The mostly full bottle had flung alcohol everywhere, sprinkling the floor with its intoxicating smell and taste. Tears were falling in earnest now, remorse and self-loathing filling his being to the absolute brim. Ed was in the lowest form of hell right now and he was sitting here getting drunk off his ass. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was all his fault. Everything. From dragging the teen into the war to getting him captured. He should rot.

Rubbing at his eyes, he collapsed to the floor by the mess he'd made, knees crunching on broken glass. He was unsure of when he'd stood, but the ground was so much more comfortable. He'd fucked up, big time. But he had to fix it. But he had nothing to go on, absolutely nothing. His last clue pointed him towards Central. But as Havoc would say, Central was a big place and Ed wasn't so big. He was going to fail again, he just knew it. His fingers dunked into the pool of whiskey, palms pressing to the floor. Salt water dripped into the mess, ripples spreading out from the entrance point. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Please don't let me fail again. Not for Ed. He's like my son."

Warm hands pulled him up from his shoulders, strong, familiar, feminine arms encircling him. "It's okay, Roy," she whispered in his ear. "You won't fail again." She yanked him up from the floor, her chestnut eyes moist with tears that she wouldn't let flow. Her blond hair fell down his shoulders, released from its usual clamp. She led him away from his office, practically pushing him out the door.

"But, the report," he slurred, his arm flinging out towards his desk with the coordination of an infant. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, her lips pressing together in worry, but not for the blond boy, but for him.

"Don't worry about it, Roy. I'll do it tomorrow." Guilt still pulsing strong inside his chest, he rested his damp cheek on her shoulder, unsure of when they'd gotten into this position. When did they get outside?

"M'kay..." His eyes drifted shut and he allowed Riza to direct where he went. He trusted her, and despite she was the cause of his failings and her very presence filled him with negative emotions, she was safe, she would always be safe.

DA: And here's a longer chapter than the last! Hehe. I am absolutely in love with this chapter. I feel it's both powerful and effective. I love getting into Mustang's head and prying him apart to find out how he thinks. :D Yes, I'm sick and twisted. And I hope that you enjoy my sick and twistedness.

Alright, that's all I got in me today. I'm just gonna go curl up to relieve some bad cramps. Ugh. But I hope you enjoyed!

May your hearts stay strong,

DarkAngel555