October 14th, 1996

The colors of dawn broke over Central in a clear sky. It was odd, Rosa Mustang noted, that something could be so beautiful over a scene of so much destruction.

Rescue and emergency clean-up had continued across the city all through the night, and she hadn't been off duty yet. While there had been no fire at the location to which her team had been sent, they had spent hours sifting through rubble and checking the destroyed parts of the building for casualties.

Rubble that had nearly killed her grandfather, who was still in critical condition, if stable, in the hospital. Her father was also in the hospital and had almost died yesterday. Her other grandfather had died.

There would be time for mourning later. Rosa had a job to do, and it was comforting, in a way, to focus on saving lives and bringing order to the chaos. She was grateful the building that had been partially destroyed was a business building full of offices that were mostly closed on a weekend. The only bodies they had found were the dead from the battle itself. Still, it was gruesome; the gristliest sight Rosa had faced so far in her career.

How do soldiers deal with this? Her parents, grandparents, cousins… so many family members had been in battle. Rosa had seen the husks of burned buildings, rescued injured from wrecked cars, and she had seen the bodies of those who hadn't been saved, but never like this.

She was grateful that the military took point on hauling away the corpses. This morning they were gone, and all that remained was the signs of destruction, and the emergency crews cleaning up what was left.

The building would need to come down, but that would be a controlled implosion by demolitions.

"Hey, Mustang!" her crew chief waved her over. "Chow time!"

Finally, a break. Rosa made her way through the rubble to where a tent had been erected, and volunteers had set up what appeared to be an impromptu breakfast kitchen. She pulled off her helmet and gloves and removed her jacket, setting it aside, enjoying the fresh air on her skin as she stood there in her black under-shirt and pants and boots. The light breeze started drying the sweat on her short hair almost immediately. Which was, of course, one of the reasons she kept it trimmed. That, and it never tangled or got caught in her gear.

As she got into the line, Rosa realized that the tent looked familiar. Then she saw the monogrammed A on it, and knew where. It belonged to the Armstrong family.

The scents of food made it clear this was not low-end fare either even if it was simple, hearty food. There was oatmeal filled with nuts and fruit, scrambled eggs with herbs, peppered bacon, and carafes of orange juice, water, and coffee that smelled like it might be gourmet. At least compared to the sludge at the station, which was basically military grade.

Rosa filled her plate shamelessly with some of everything. She hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and she had been using her alchemy as much as other skills to search the building and keep it safe for the rescue teams.

"Are you Rosa Mustang?" a musical voice asked from off to her left as she poured coffee.

Looking up, Rosa found herself looking at the two most beautiful people she had ever seen. She identified them in moments however. Shimmering blondes that seemed to radiate charisma, in military uniforms and with pocket watches. Paired with the tent, they must be the Flex and Mithril Alchemists that her parents had talked about. They'd handled one of the incursion points yesterday.

You'd never know it to look at them, pristine and calm, and without a scratch. They both had a very direct gaze and met her eyes. They could have been models, but they were far more than that.

"That's me," Rosa replied with a nod. "And you're Mira and Philip Armstrong. Nice work yesterday."

Mira—who was the one who had spoken—looked momentarily surprised, though it barely touched her eyes. Then she smiled and it was a dazzling and much less distant expression. "Thank you. They were foolish to try and attack on home ground. They weren't much of a threat to be honest."

Rosa wasn't sure if it was modesty or arrogance on Mira's part, if not a mix of both, but given how quickly that site had been dealt with, she supposed a little pride was excusable. The Armstrongs were all known for being supremely confident, and from her parents' comments, these two were no different.

"It is we who should be thanking you." Philip startled her by bowing over her hand—and plate. "You and your crew are the ones doing the dirty work. It's commendable. The meal is the least we could do."

"Well, it's very much appreciated." Rosa managed not to blush. She was not in the habit of having men bow to her. A handshake would have been much less weird. "This spread is incredible."

"We have one set up for each incursion site clean-up," Mira added. "I hope you enjoy it."

"Oh, I definitely will," Rosa assured her, grinning back. From the smell, she was highly suspicious that the coffee was a high end Aerugean dark roast that was also her father's favorite, and had quickly become hers. It was potent stuff. She didn't worry about sugar this morning, she just picked up her cup and moved on. It wasn't fair to hold up the line. "See you around."

Tore was grateful he'd had the smart idea to have them bring a television into his office. It meant he could keep apprised of what was and wasn't being said in the media while he worked on keeping up with all of the other moving parts of being President of the Military. He had slept last night, though he hadn't gone home. Still, he'd been surprised when he woke up that morning to find he had gotten almost five hours on the sofa in his office. His only part of the morning schedule he had skipped in the name of getting other work done was he hadn't worried about hitting the gym first. Yesterday had been more than enough workout.

Instead, he took the first part of the morning to catch up on regular necessary paperwork, before looking over the newest reports in more detail and signing off on approval for various expenses and manpower requests, and orders.

Sitting at his desk was not as arduous as usual. He was almost as tired as he had been after the poisoning several months ago, and he ate everything that appeared in front of him on a breakfast tray without complaint, stopping only when his stomach warned him that it was about three bites away from too-full. He knew he would burn it all off fast enough, regaining the energy he had expended yesterday, but he didn't have time to suffer through a bellyache.

The news coverage told him a lot. In particular, how the public was viewing yesterday's events in the immediate aftermath, and how the media was spinning it. To his relief, the majority of broadcasters seemed to be focused on the heroic actions of the military and civilian rescue and emergency services, in protecting Central's citizens from yesterday's attack. Maes and Clarina's sacrifices were a focal point because Tore had specifically mentioned them in his remarks last night. Though there was apparently much more than he had expected to have said about his and Ted's part in taking down Vera. Her identity was somehow not at all a secret, though her homunculus nature was remarkably not mentioned. At least, not yet. Her identification as the powerful alchemist that had been behind the destruction of both trains, Resembool, and yesterday's massive destruction, was more than enough. The villain was caught, and while it was not necessarily the end of Arsenic, there was definitely a positive sentiment regarding how they had handled it. The majority of casualties had been military and the enemy.

Tore had mixed feelings about the comparisons putting him on the same level as the Flame Alchemist—and now Firebrand—in terms of power and capability, but he supposed it was better than the alternatives. Maybe now enemies would think twice about messing with his family, or the State Alchemists.

Once paperwork was done, there was no reason to continue sitting in his office. Despite it being a Sunday morning, everyone in the military was on duty today in some capacity. They could not assume that the situation was fully under control. They hadn't declared martial law; Tore and the Chairman of the Assembly had agreed that was foolishness, but having extra security out in the areas that had been attacked, or might be seen as potential additional targets, added a sense of security.

Though even the first morning's reports from the interrogations of members of Arsenic were promising. Those officers who had turned themselves over willingly at all locations—and the members of the Assembly—had been willing to provide names to rat out many of their remaining colleagues. Not that Tore believed all of them. He was certain some of them were lies to cast suspicion on others, but some of them would prove true. Investigations would get to the bottom of all of them. The civil courts would handle the civilian accomplices, as they had so far. It would take tons of time for them to get through all of the hearings, and sentencing, but at least they were finally making visible forward progress.

Tore didn't want to think about how things would end for Vera. It would have been simpler, and legal, for him to execute her right there in the zoo, but it wouldn't have been right. Besides, they needed her confession and her information. Then, well, the courts might still find her guilty of treason and murder enough to justify an execution.

Not that it would be that simple. There were already official requests on his desk from both the G.R.I.D. and the Cretan governments wanting some hand in those cases for Vera's part in blowing up trains belonging to both countries, and killing many of their diplomatic personnel as well as civilians.

If others were found equally culpable, how many cases would need to be tried in multiple countries? Tore was already having Caroline Flynn look into precedent for previous international courts, but so far there didn't seem to be anything. They hadn't been allies with anyone long enough to have ever had codified international courts.

Tore had a feeling it would be simplest if they had a phone call first, between the heads of the countries, to discuss the matter directly. If they could cut the bureaucracy, himself and the Head Chairman of the Assembly, with the four Drachman G.R.I.D. presidents, and Thrakos from Creta, they should be able to come to a reasoned agreement fairly efficiently. Tore had no problem with an international tribunal if rules could be agreed upon. It would be better for all concerned and in help demonstrating how the new Continental Accord alliance was working.

"You're very efficient at this," Flynn complimented as she took the pile of finished, signed documents from his desk. "I've got your press conference for this afternoon scheduled for two. General Tringham would like a few minutes of your time before the end of the day, but the next four hours are essentially open."

Shocking, really. And they would fill with meetings if he sat still for another two minutes. Tore stood. "Great. If anyone needs me, I'm taking another trip over to the hospital. There are a lot of people who risked their lives yesterday who deserve to know they're appreciated."

And his visit last night had been generally unproductive as it had been late enough by the time he physically made it there that nearly everyone he wanted to speak with was asleep, or had gone home. Mostly, they were asleep. Though he had spoken with Edward, Alphonse, Winry, and Elicia long enough to confirm that he would be revealing the Elric Brothers' survival on tonight's news. Then, tomorrow, they would be allowed to leave the hospital. Edward had been itching to get out for weeks. Alphonse had been, thankfully, more patient, but then he had needed the time to fully heal. They hadn't said how long they would be staying in Central, but Tore suspected they were eager to get back to their lives.

He had thanked Edward for not breaking out of the hospital to go lend a hand.

Edward had laughed.

Today, Tore hoped to have a chance to speak with more of them. It hurt not being able to be at the hospital with everyone else, but this was the duty he had chosen, and had somehow turned out to be good at. At least so far.

He would also spend a lot of time visiting the other patients. His presence boosted spirits and helped show that everything was under control. Or at least, that was how such actions were interpreted, whether or not they were true. It did show that he cared. There were plenty of other members of government who did the same.

Tore left the office at a brisk pace. He would have to be back soon enough for other responsibilities. He would start with the State Alchemist's office. Hopefully whatever Tringham wanted, it was good news.

Hrafn Elric could not say he felt forgotten, exactly, but he did feel like his presence was of minimal importance. He'd been in the hospital in Central for most of a month, despite the original plan. If not for the political situation he would probably have been moved out, or sent home, a couple of weeks ago. As it was, he was stuck in the same hallway as his great-grandfather and uncle Alphonse. He was Hrafn's great…possibly two greats, uncle, but everyone just called him Uncle Alphonse on his side of the family. It was simpler.

At least, that had been the case until last night. He'd at least had the novelty of a television in his hospital room—a small one—to keep him entertained, and it was a relief to watch as President Closson announced the survival of The Elric Brothers was confirmed after their disappearance after the explosion in Resembool.

No mention of Hrafn. Of course, who except his family cared? And they all knew he was alive. Still, it would have been nice to get more visits. Great-grandma Winry had stopped in twice over night, which was kind of her, but he was beginning to feel extraneous. Did his friends miss him? Did they care?

Hrafn knew his family cared. They had been given the direct phone number to his hallway, and they called every single day even though the conversations weren't long. Mostly his siblings told him things they thought he might like to know. The fairgrounds had already been cleared, and the town was talking about plans to rebuild them bigger, and with infrastructure designed to handle the larger crowds they got now. His friends were out of the hospital. School was back in session full time. Did he want them to mail him his classwork?

School. Hrafn hadn't even really thought about lessons. He had missed weeks that he would need to make up if he wanted to keep up with his class. But somehow, that didn't feel very important.

His mother was full of reassurances and grateful that he was doing well and healing. She sounded hopeful, and sure that his spending time in Central would be good for him. She supported his choice.

Words with his father were…strained…awkward. Hrafn got a strong sense that his father still felt responsible for Hrafn's injury. It was stupid, but then since when were emotions logical, or smart? His father had carried him from the fire. What else could he have done?

The phantom pains in his non-existent hand drove him to distraction, though they weren't as bad as they had been. He had been on some incredibly powerful painkillers the first weeks, but the doses were lower now. Uncle Coran had told him that once he got out of the hospital, he'd be able to get his auto-mail surgery soon. His stump was healing well. Hrafn wasn't looking forward to more pain, but he desperately wanted his hand back. He felt lost, crippled, like he had lost a part of himself. He couldn't play music like this. Not that he felt like that either, not when thinking about music reminded him of being on stage with his friends, then the explosion, pain, screaming… loss.

A knock on his door startled Hrafn out of his dark reverie. "Come in." It had to be a visitor. The hospital staff rarely knocked.

The door opened, and Uncle Coran entered looking exhausted. From what news Hrafn had gotten, a lot of their family was in the hospital right now. "Hey, there."

"Hi. What are you doing here?" Hrafn realized too late that probably sounded incredibly rude.

If it was, his uncle didn't seem to mind. He smiled. "I thought you might like to get out of here. I've got permission to check you out and take you home. That is, if you'd finally like to see your room and something other than these walls."

"Yes!" He didn't mean to shout, but it was definitely the best news Hrafn had heard in weeks. "Get me the hell out of here… please."

Coran chuckled. "I've already filled out the paperwork and the car's downstairs. Do you want to see anyone before we leave?"

Hrafn hesitated. He knew Uncle Ted was in the hospital, and a lot of other extended family, but he wasn't sure he could handle seeing more people in pain. "Not… not today. If that's okay."

"I get it." Coran's expression was sympathetic. "It's a lot. Come on then. Your parents sent up a box of your things from home."

Hrafn stood up from where he'd been sitting on the bed. He had been permitted to wear his own clothes in the hospital, though he had only come to Central with a few changes, and he was definitely getting tired of wearing the same things. "Great. I can't wait to get out of here." He reached down carefully with his good hand, for the shoes that someone had bought him. He wasn't sure which member of his family had the idea, but he appreciated the slip-on shoes. They weren't bedroom slippers, and they looked almost like regular sneakers, just without laces. He had been practicing putting them on and taking them off with one hand. He managed to get them on without embarrassing himself. "Let's go."

Coran kept up a steady flow of easy conversation as he drove Hrafn home. Not that Hrafn said much, but he wanted things to feel as normal as possible. At least as they could be given the situation. He didn't tell Hrafn that the hospital might have kept him a little longer if it hadn't been overflowing with emergency patients. Though there was no real reason to do so. Both he and Gale were more than qualified to take care of Hrafn up until, and after, his auto-mail surgery.

Hrafn was too old to buy any everything's fine crap, or little white lies, and Coran wouldn't do that to him. He remembered being that age. He remembered what it felt like to feel older than his years. Hrafn was only weeks out from a traumatic life event, and it would take him time to work through everything. He had been assigned a counselor while he was in the hospital, and they had talked three times a week. While Coran didn't know the details of their sessions, he would have been blind to miss the difficult time his nephew was having with the trauma.

So, if Hrafn asked a question, of which he had only a few, he answered them honestly. At least with as much as he knew. Out of all of their family, miraculously, no one had died yesterday. Though it had been a near thing for many. Ted would be in the hospital a few days. So would Roy. Franz…well that would depend on several factors. Uncle Ethan had made it clear that as less critical patients were released to home care and their regular physicians, there would be more available alkahestry care for the more severe patients. Which meant, to Coran, that Ethan and Ren would both be working on Franz every time they had time and energy available. At least his chances seemed to have improved every time Coran talked to a family member.

Hrafn came to life more as they reached the apartment and went up the stairs. He had been to the apartment before, but only once, and only when he was several years younger. Coran was glad they had the room for him. Hopefully the distance would help him heal. He certainly seemed enthusiastic enough as Gale hugged him and welcomed him to the house. He high-fived Damian with his good hand. Damian was only three years older than Hrafn, and expressed legitimate enthusiasm for having him at the house. Of course, they had always gotten along well when Coran's family went back to Resembool to visit.

Dinner was waiting for them, though it was Xingese take-out. No one had had the time to cook today. After yesterday's attacks, the whole family had been wrapped up dealing with auto-mail repairs for soldiers who had sustained damage in the fighting. Consultations for new patients would come later, if any were needed. So far, they hadn't received any calls concerning new amputees. It would be several days of work, on top of the regular load, before they were able to make repairs or full replacements for all of their clients.

Then, maybe, things could start to settle down and get back to normal.

Hrafn appreciated his family, even if he didn't feel quite up to the level of enthusiasm that he felt like he ought to have. No one pressed him about his feelings over dinner, or treated him any differently than usual. No one offered assistance unless he expressed a need for it. Of course, they all worked with amputees and auto-mail patients all the time. Maybe, to them, he was still just a normal teenager.

He wished he still felt like a normal teenager.

After dinner, he excused himself to go to his room, ostensibly to spend some time settling in. Well, that wasn't entirely untrue. He did want to unpack some and make it feel more like his own space.

But really, despite how lonely he'd been in the hospital, he found himself wanting to spend a little time by himself. The room had been sort of a haven from the horrible reality of the world outside. Stepping back out into it, especially with the chaos of the day before, and the damage they had seen on the drive back to Coran and Gale's apartment above Rockbell Auto-mail, had proven to be surprisingly overwhelming.

He had realized that he did not feel safe. Was any place safe anymore? Resembool had been attacked. Central had been attacked. The enemy had lost and supposedly the major heads of the conspiracy were in custody. But did that mean the horror was over?

Hrafn tried to distract himself by opening the box his parents had sent from home, and unpacking the clothes they had sent. It was notable that they had not sent anything with complicated closures. He supposed he wouldn't be able to wear them for a while anyway. He might even outgrow them by the time he could use the new hand they were going to give him. He still had a couple of years to grow.

Some of his books and his music collection were there as well. There was no guitar, but it occurred to him that it was probable that his instrument had not survived the fire. That, or his parents had simply assumed that since he wouldn't be able to use it he might not want it with him right now.

Not his instrument… and not Kevin. Kevin had been his best friend since they were still in diapers. He didn't have any memories that pre-dated hanging out with, and often getting into trouble with, Kevin on endless childhood adventures. They had always been in the same class at school. They'd had the idea to create the band together, and invited their friends to join. Kevin had written half the lyrics to their songs.

Kevin would never do any of that again.

Hrafn's first clue there were tears coming from his eyes was the dark spots appearing on the blue comforter on the bed. There, alone in this room… he let them fall.

Time had lost all meaning. Every moment was an eternity, and yet whenever Sara looked up at the clock, more time had passed than she expected as she sat in Franz's hospital room, waiting for him to awaken at last. He had been out of surgery for nearly twenty-four hours, and while the physicians insisted that he was stable, she knew that could change at a moment's notice. Only alkahestry had saved him from likely fatal wounds. He had not been crushed, but there had been several broken bones, bruised organs, and minor internal bleeding they found as they worked. His battlefield experience had saved her life, but at what cost?

There had been a moment yesterday, in the middle of battle, where Sara had felt almost satisfied, connected, proud… of fighting alongside Franz again as they hadn't in years. Not in active combat. They had always made an excellent team; had each other's backs. People often forgot, despite his being a General, that Franz had plenty of real combat experience. He didn't just sit behind desks making tactical decisions or organizing paperwork.

Maybe it was that many senior generals were also Old Men. And women. Sara had retired, but yesterday, when she had been needed, that meant nothing. She would always be a State Alchemist. It was in her. Just as it was in Franz to protect the people of his country, and his family. She had been so incredibly proud of him yesterday.

Now, the world threatened to tear them apart again. There was no equivalency in it that Sara could find. Her parents had come by several times to check on them both, bring her food and drink, and to offer comfort and support.

Sara ate what they brought, even though she had little appetite. Her body needed the energy after yesterday, to rebuild her reserves and also to heal from her own injuries. While they were relatively minor, she got quickly tired of her brother insisting on checking on her every few hours as well.

Sara would rest when she had spoken with Franz, and not before. You'd better wake up, desk jockey. I'm not done with you yet.

"I see you're still awake," Ethan commented from the doorway.

"I see you're back to pester me some more," Sara retorted half-heartedly.

Ethan's sympathetic smile was almost worse than more banter. "Actually, I'm here to give Franz his next alkahestry treatment. Though I did bring this, if you want it." He held up a steaming cup of what smelled like a Xingese herbal tea blend.

"Is the entire hospital out of coffee?" Sara quipped as she accepted the cup. It smelled good, and a sip proved it was also sweetened with honey.

"Honestly, just about. This is better energy for you anyway. I keep some here for long nights. Same energy, less jitters, and a need for fewer bathroom breaks."

"Sounds like magic to me." Sara moved out of the way so Ethan could sit down and treat Franz.

Ethan chuckled, before focusing on Franz. Sara went quiet, and sipped the tea while she watched her brother work. As always, she couldn't help but be impressed with the finesse of his alchemy. While she knew he was using vast amounts of alchemical energy, pulled through himself but from the earth's energy, to avoid draining too much from Franz himself, it was barely noticeable even to someone attenuated to transmutation energy. There wasn't even an outward glow. Nothing wasted.

With his eyes closed, his focus inward, it was also starkly obvious to Sara how hard her brother had been working. Not just today, but for months. He had expended huge amounts of his own energies in Resembool, saving Uncle Alphonse and many others. Given the number of critically wounded yesterday, she wondered if, despite his admonitions, he had slept, or eaten, or hydrated. If at all, certainly not adequately.

He looked thin, more than the natural leanness he had inherited from their father and usually had. There were other signs that he was pushing himself to his limits. Ethan, for all his experience, seemed to take the loss of patients very personally. Sara wondered how many had died despite his efforts. She also wondered absently if he ever thought about retirement. Somehow, she realized, she had never asked him. But seeing as he and Urey had just started their new venture together that summer, she doubted it. Ethan lived his work.

Under her brother's hands, Franz shifted slightly, and thoughts of Ethan fled her mind.

Sara had to refrain from shoving him out of the way. Instead, she stood as close as she could get.

Her brother said nothing, but after several seconds he opened his eyes. "He's doing much better." Ethan spoke softly, and he sounded relieved. "I'm not going to try and wake him. He's just in a deep sleep, but it's good for him right now."

Sara was not going to cry. She was not… though she could feel drops of emotion welling in the corners of her eyes. "So… he'll heal."

"With more time and a few more sessions." Ethan nodded, removing his hand from Franz and standing to go. Someone who didn't know him well might not have caught it, but Sara noticed that Ethan seemed momentarily unsteady.

"And what about you?" she asked him more pointedly, meeting his eyes as he turned to face her. "Have you slept, eaten, or had anything besides tea in the past twenty-four hours?"

Ethan gave her a very direct look that only her brothers would dare. "Four hours broken into catnaps, a bagel, and water."

At least he was self-aware. "Shouldn't you be off shift by now?"

"When I'm convinced all of my patients are stable and will make it through the night."

"Do you have to be in any more surgeries?"

"Still to be determined." There was something in him that dared her to try and talk him out of it.

Sara sighed. "If you don't go get something to eat right now, I'm calling Lia and ratting you out. And I mean something substantial, not a break room snack. You're pushing too hard, Ethan."

"I'm all right." Her brother disagreed, taking a quick look at his wristwatch. "But I do have a couple of minutes so I'll humor you. You're such a nag, Sara."

She couldn't help smiling. "That's what big sisters do."