Warnings: crime scenes and crime scene adjacent thoughts (violence, etc)

I was shaken awake after what seemed like only moments. I glared blearily up at Hughes, who was wearing an unusually somber expression.

"We're almost there, gather your gear."

I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and standing to give a cat-like stretch. My back gave several sickening pops, followed soon after by the joints of my ankles, knees, elbows, and shoulders. I was just cracking my neck when Hughes walked back into the compartment.

"Getting your game on already?"

I scowled lightly, but didn't comment. He had long since picked up on the fact that I wasn't taking a situation seriously until I went through my little routine of loosening all of my joints like that. Some old discrepancy in calcium intake when I was a child ended with the frequent popping and catching. If I cracked them ahead of time they'd move easier. Because of that I had taken to cracking all of them before seriously tackling a case. The more flexibility stretches I did, the less it was necessary. Needless to say, I hadn't had the time for those lately. No doubt a few more years of hard cases and I wouldn't even need this.

Hughes thought it was just a way to switch frames of mind, but in reality it was to keep my limbs from seizing up and not moving at an important (or embarrassing) time. I was already full of illness and weakness, and there was no reason to give him another. It was already a miracle I'd passed the physical anyway. Speaking of that, mental note to get some fucking vitamins. I was doing beyond well lately, no need to let that slip.

By the time we had reached the city our debriefing was complete. Five of us were there from Central's investigative department to complete the investigation. All of us were reluctant to see the 'evidence.' A young girl, his own daughter.

While I had known it was coming that didn't mean that I still wasn't shocked. Some part of me had stupidly hoped that my Intel was wrong, that maybe the anime had been slightly inaccurate in some areas. The guiltier part, the part I'm ashamed to have, was glad that it was right. It meant that my other information was right as well. I quickly shoved that part down, punching her in the face, shoving her in a disused closet somewhere in my mind, locking the door, and putting the imaginary key into my imaginary blender.

Our arrival at the crime scene showed it already cordoned off; with sheets covering two lumps on the ground that smelled sickeningly like burned human flesh [it smells like pork, doncha know-]. I was familiar with the smell from my last encounter with it, a week-long investigation into an arson case that turned out to be an electrical fire. Accident or no accident, the woman was still roasted. At that thought I zoned out a little, staring at the plastic, when had I gotten so morbid? I wasn't exactly all sunshine, daisies, and kittens before, but this was ridiculous. Maybe that was the screwed-up military mindset of this weird-ass made-up country. I'd been infected.

I shivered at the thought and went to pull up the yellow tape to walk through but found it already held high over my head. My eyes followed it to the pale hand holding it in place and found Colonel Mustang looking at me, a slightly concerned expression on his face.

"Are you alright Sergeant Arcaro?"

Confusion reigned for a second before I remembered that I had just been standing in front of a crime scene, staring at the cadavers, and I had only just joined this shitshow recently. He thought I was getting all squeamish like a rookie. Sadly, I had acclimated a while ago.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it; a superior officer (and main freakin' character, for all that matters when this shit is apparently real-) was waiting patiently for my answer. "Yes, I'm fine, just got lost in my thoughts. Sorry sir; won't let it happen again." I panicked for a second as I realized I hadn't done the whole saluting dog and pony show before I realized that I was technically at the crime scene. That counted as 'in the field', where saluting was actually forbidden (Apparently, snipers had learned to look for salutes in the field to find the people in charge, smart on them).

He examined me for a long moment while I was having my mental freak out before nodding and motioning me ahead with his free hand, but I noticed he didn't seem too convinced. I strode forward, carefully avoiding the pools of blood, per my CSI training (yes they have that here, no I don't mean the show), and made my way to where I had seen Hughes disappear. I was just stepping into the room when I felt a large hand close on the upper part of my left arm, attempting to pull me back before I stepped through. They weren't quick enough, because I caught sight of the gruesome mess on the floor that used to be Nina and Alexander. I wasn't supposed to know that however, so I played dumb, turning to Mustang, who had attempted to spare me the mangled spectacle.

"What happened here? I thought we were here to investigate illegal alchemy, not several brutal murders!"

Mustang looked over my shoulder for a second and made a motion with his hand, then turned me around and led the way into the room. The body of Ni-the Chimera (if I think of it as a child one more time I'm going to faint or puke or find someone to murder-) was now covered with a plastic sheet like the bodies outside. Mustang made his way over to Hughes and I followed. Hughes looked up, and asked the same thing I did.

"What happened here?"

Mustang didn't remove his eyes from the tarp at his feet.

"They were attacked. The guards outside, Tucker, and his daughter, all combusted from the inside." Hughes' eyes widened.

"You mean like the Alchemist killers MO?"

Mustang nodded, not moving. When a second passed in silence I decided to get the plot moving, hoping to save a certain blonde a few broken limbs.

"Where are the Elrics?"

They both turned to look at me, uncomprehending. I rolled my eyes, allowing a small bit of urgency to coat my tone.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist? Running around alone with his little brother when a dangerous serial killer known for targeting state alchemists might well be in town?"

The color visibly drained from the already pale Colonel, and Hughes understood a half-second later, his own face following suit. Mustang practically ran out of the room, barking out orders. Hughes and I followed behind, jumping into the vehicle we had arrived in, and setting out to help search for the brothers. It didn't take long for us to find them; frankly, we just followed the sound of explosions. Any hope I held for us arriving earlier than in the anime due to my intervention was crushed. They were well into their confrontation already. As we screeched to a stop Mustang was already set up to fire upon Scar. Hawkeye swept his feet out from under him as we approached, and I drew my weapon. I saw Armstrong from the corner of my eye and wondered how I had missed him before. He came here from Central, meaning we should have been somewhere on the same train. I dismissed the thought for later, instead focusing on the serial killer in front of us.

I didn't bother attempting a shot; I knew that if Hawkeye could barely graze him after a lifetime of sharpshooting I wouldn't stand a chance, I had never so much as finished off my first box of bullets in the field yet. It was thrilling, yet terrifying, with all of the alchemy flying around. I hesitantly stepped up next to the other soldiers, raising my weapon, preparing to back up Armstrong, at least holding the weapon at the ready so I didn't feel as useless as I actually was. Before I could even complete the action Hughes pulled me back with him, hiding slightly behind the car.

I gave him a sour look but stayed where I was. It proceeded exactly as it was supposed to, but it was much more exciting (read as terrifying) in person. I made yet another mental note to create some sort of jewelry with an alchemic array of some sort so that I wouldn't get caught completely off guard and unarmed by someone as dangerous as these people. I wasn't the best at alchemy, but even something was better than nothing.

Hughes popped up as normal, going on about not joining a fight of mutants. I rolled my eyes, looking over to where Edward was getting patched up so he could make it to the hospital for a formal checkup. I then looked at the hole in the ground where Scar had disappeared. I hadn't noticed that my gun was still in my hand, hanging at my side with my hands still trembling slightly from what I assumed was after-adrenaline weakness, until glove-covered hands softly relieved me of the weapon. I looked up, finally tuning into the conversation, to notice the two officers were looking at me with something akin to worry. I blinked slowly, "I'm sorry did you say something?"

Mustang sighed, still holding my gun, "I asked if you were alright. When was the last time you ate? You're still looking as thin as when I last saw you."

I grimaced, "Am not."

He looked me in the eye and raised an eyebrow. "You didn't answer my question, when did you last eat?"

I looked to Hughes for help, but he was as stern as Mustang. I tried to appeal to him anyway as I frantically tracked the days [when did I last eat…]. "What does it matter when I last ate, there are more important things going on."

Hughes grabbed my shoulders, looking into my eyes, "It matters because you're trembling, and you don't get frightened from this kind of violence, just look at your day job. You're tiny, but with nerves of steel, and it's our job to worry about our subordinates, so excuse us for worrying about your health. When did you eat?"

I glanced at the grey sky, thinking back still, "Err, I had lunch on Wednesday."

Hughes deadpanned, "it's Saturday."

I shrugged, "I was planning to eat dinner when I got home, but Stevens handed off the requisition forms to me, so I was still there when you came in and said to get on the train."

"You didn't go home?"

"It happens."

Hughes groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"Come on then, I'll take you with the Elrics and get you something at the hospital while I take their statements. You need to take better care of yourself, the military can be extremely hard on the body, and you have to be ready for the strain of something like this."

I nearly rolled my eyes but copied him as he saluted Mustang and we were dismissed. As we were walking away I heard Mustang make one last parting remark, "No skirt, Arcaro?"

I rolled my eyes for real this time as Hughes snickered, glancing back over my shoulder to give him a halfhearted glare, his deep laugh floating behind us as we made our way to the car.

It was a lighthearted moment, I didn't feel like ruining it by explaining that it wasn't about taking care of myself, or even about that past 'illness'. Now sometimes I wanted to eat, wasn't even stopped by those old feelings of nausea. But now I was in a foreign country impossibly far from home in a culture that sometimes made zero sense. The food had an off quality to it, sometimes things just aren't the same here. But Hughes doesn't need to know that, doesn't need to know this isn't absentmindedness, but rather homesickness. Let him think this is something he can fix.

~TimeLordOfPie