"No."

Edward opened his mouth to protest but Commissioner Barnes held his hand up to stop him and went on.

"You said so yourself, Fullmetal, this is private property. We can't just go marching in there without any proof and -"

"I'm telling you-"

"-besides, there are proper protocols to follow," he finished, giving the teen a stern look for interrupting. Something told Ed this man was not used to being interrupted.

Ed stood in front of the man's large desk, even after Barnes had told him to have a seat, and frowned. After a long pause he shook his head in mild disgust.

"So you're just going to not do anything," he stated, clarifying the man's position.

Barnes shook his head in a patient and fatherly way. "Of course we are, we'll look into it. Just, not right away. We still have a lot of evidence to go through. Besides that," he looked over Ed's notebook briefly, "your notebook is the only one with this exact make-up of raw materials. It's just not substantial enough proof to go on."

At the nasty look Ed gave the old man, he continued. "Look, Fullmetal, we appreciate your enthusiasm and you have been a valuable asset to the team, but you were hired as an analyst. Let's leave the investigating to the investigations specialists, hm?"

Ed scowled. He knew when he was being patronized. The man's words basically translated to when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you. He was suddenly, and quite un-expectedly, grateful to Mustang for giving him and Al so much freedom to basically do as they please. He could have just as easily ended up under some other Colonel's authority and have to jump through these same bureaucratic hoops every time he wanted to so much as look at a book.

The commissioner was not even trying very hard to listen to what Ed was telling him. He was not being taken seriously. The respect he had for the man from their first meeting dwindled quickly.

"I hope you can understand where I'm coming from." said Barnes in a dismissive way, as if Ed couldn't be gone faster.

Ed crossed his arms. He was starting to understand very well but said nothing.

"Now then," continued Barnes, "was there something else you wanted to discuss with me?"

After a long pause, Ed said "No" through gritted teeth. What he really wanted was to punch this man in the face. How long had they been working on this case? Five months? And here was a solid lead and this idiot would even look into it?

Sean was waiting in the hallway and pushed off from the wall when Ed emerged from the office.

"And?" he asked, but his tone showed that he already knew the answer.

Ed scowled. "Keep your head down, shut up and let the adults take care of things," he announced moodily. "What a load of crap! It's there, I know it!"

The other man shrugged. "Well it was worth a shot, but let's face it. It can't have been that easy."

"We could still at least check it out and know it's not there." Ed was more annoyed with not being listened to than anything else.

Sean watched him quietly for a few seconds. "The Commissioner's right, Ed. It's really not up to us to decide these things."

Ed opened his mouth to protest but the man in question appeared in the doorway of his office and both Sean and Ed looked over.

"Officer Cann," he said, addressing Sean, "will you step into my office for a moment, I'd like to speak with you." He gave Ed an unreadable look before retreating into his office, leaving the door ajar for Sean to follow.

Sean raised his eyebrows in a dramatic way that said: I'm in trouble now but still managed to infuse it with humor. It was probably not that serious.

"See you around, Fullmetal," he said, giving the teen a mock salute because he knew Ed didn't like it, and entered the office shutting the door behind him.

Ed did not loiter in the hallway. He was still seething a little but mostly annoyed. He made his way back to the warehouse and went back to work. Detective Hartley looked up when he sat down with a huff but said nothing and they both worked in silence.

After a while, Ed leaned back in his stool, stretching his back and shoulders. He was used to being more active with his days and the long hours of sitting and writing were taking their toll on him. He looked around at the chaotic mess that was their worktable and his eyes landed on Sean's work space. His notebook still lay opened among the sacks of coins but he had not returned yet.

Ed contemplated the book, with Sean's neat scrawl running across the pages and a few loose papers sticking out the side. Sean used pre-drawn transmutation circles which were efficient but not overly detailed. Actually, he realized, most of the other alchemists did the same. Ed, of course, didn't need to. But the Commissioner had said that his notes were the only ones with that specific make-up of materials. Ed frowned at this. How could that be possible, when they were all taking coins from the same pile?

Sean did not return for the rest of the day and at the end of the afternoon, after he had finished making his own notes legible enough, Ed handed in both his notebook and Sean's and left.

Colonel Mustang watched the Fullmetal Alchemist pace from one side of his office to the other as he listened to the teen explain to him how horrendously terrible the investigation was being handled by the police department.

"How? How can my notes be different from the others? Are they that terrible at alchemy? How can anyone mistake iron for calcium?" Ed finished this statement with a well-aimed kick at the sofa's wooden leg. It was by no means the first dent put there by that metal foot.

Roy did not point out the possibility that Ed's notes were the ones that could be wrong. Ed had complete faith in his alchemy, and he had good reason to be. Roy would never admit it the seething young man standing in front of him, but Edward Elric was one of the best alchemists he's ever seen in action. His versatility was his strength. As much as Ed's notes could be wrong, he very much doubted they were.

In the silence that followed Ed's rant, Roy asked a simply question. "Did you consider that maybe the notes, the evidence or both have been tampered with?"

Ed frowned without taking his eyes away from the abused sofa. "How?" And then after a second thought, "Why? What's there to gain from messing with coins?" he asked looking up at Mustang with a skeptical look.

"There's a lot of money at stake in this case," said the older man, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "The people making the counterfeit obviously want it for a reason. I think that the real question is what do they want the money for? This could be just a tiny bit of what's really out there and people will do terrible things for money."

Ed crossed his arms and bit his lower lip in thought. "If the evidence really was tampered with, it had to have been done by someone on the inside. The warehouse is pretty well guarded."

Roy took out a pencil and started jotting things down. "What about the notebooks? What do you do with them, at the end of the day?"

Ed started pacing again.

Roy really wished he would just sit down and be still.

"We hand them in to the supervisor," answered the teen from the other side of the office. Roy would not be surprised if the carpet in his office was worn down in the pattern Ed was now tracing with his feet and wondered if the young alchemist did this in the library when he was thinking.

"And you?" he asked sardonically knowing Ed rarely listened to instructions.

The teen picked up on the jibe. "I do!" he said indignantly. But his frown softened as something occurred to him. "But I re-write everything and hand in the nice copy," he pulled, from an inside pocket, a worn and well beaten journal, "so my original notes are all still here and that's what I've been looking at."

Mustang held his hand out to see the book and Ed tossed it to him from across the room. The older man made a face at the chicken scratch he was used to looking at and wondered why Ed took the time to carefully re-write everything when he usually took great pleasure in handing in a messy, illegible rat's nest he claimed was a report.

He nodded, flipping through page after page of chaotic alchemical notations. "So if someone was messing with the notes before they get looked over by the investigation team, it would explain why no one's made a connection before." He smirked, snapping the book shut. "I guess you're the first to have such bad handwriting."

"Bastard."

Roy let the insult roll over him as usual. "Did you notice anyone that might seem off to you? Maybe someone who might feel threatened by the presence of a State Alchemist?"

Ed finally stopped pacing and stood directly in front of Roy's desk looking serious. "As a matter of fact, yeah. Ben Hartley. He's a detective and he's been a pain in my ass since I started," he said, watching as Mustang took notes. "He's also an alchemist," he added with a significant look.

Roy nodded just as there was a knock on the office door and Hawkeye's head appeared in the opening. "Sergeant Weiss is here for his appointment, Sir," she said with a significant look at the clock on the wall above the sofa.

"Thank you Lieutenant, you can show him in," he said. She nodded and smiled at Ed before disappearing again.

Roy rose from his seat and walked around his desk, a clear signal for Ed to take his leave. "I'll look into this and let you know what I find," he said, holding the door open and handing the book back as Ed passed him. "In the meantime, try not to do anything stupid," he added which was met with a grin.

Ed shrugged. "Yeah, whatever," he said with a roll of his eyes as he left the office. He was almost to the outer office door when Mustang called out to him.

"Edward!"

Mustang rarely used the young alchemist's name and Ed caught the undertone of concern hidden behind the action. He turned, giving the man his equally rare, full attention.

"I mean it. Just be careful. We don't know who all the players are or what they're capable of. And people will do unspeakable things for money," he said.

Roy knew it made Ed uncomfortable whenever he showed the teen open concern. They both felt more familiar with the usual banter, the insults and the blatant lack of military protocol. Ed was now watching him with an unreadable expression, probably uncomfortably aware that the rest of the team was also watching the exchange.

"Yeah, sure," he said quietly before leaving, closing the door gently behind him.

It was only after Roy had made his way back to his seat behind his desk that it occurred to him. That was probably the first time the Fullmetal Alchemist had left the office without slamming doors behind him.

"Mr. Elric!"

Ed walked right by without looking up from his book.

"Excuse me, Mr. Elric?"

The man touched his shoulder, which made him start a little and he fixed his wide amber eyes on the Concierge who had come around the large marble desk to get his attention.

"My apologies, Mr. Elric," he said, sounding very much sorry for troubling the young man, "you have a phone call."

Edward's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he just stared at the man.

"From a Mr. Alphonse?" the man continued.

"Oh!"

He followed the man behind the reception desk to a small private room where he was handed an expensive looking receiver and left alone.

"Al? Where have you been?" he asked right away without any of the usual formalities.

Al's voice came through the speaker of the telephone high and a bit scratchy but with its usual resonating echo.

"Where have I been? Where have you been! I've been trying to call you for two days!" answered his brother with a touch of exasperation.

Ed realized that Al didn't know about his evening music lessons with Havoc since they had started after Al had left for Central. Ed had decided on a bit of a whim to visit Havoc so the brothers had never discussed it.

"I've been calling your room but you're never there! You're not sleeping in the library again, are you?"

Ed chuckled. He was known for not making it to his bed at night, instead falling asleep while reading. "No. I, uh, I've sorta been helping Havoc with his music stuff," he admitted knowing he couldn't really lie to his little brother.

There was a pause over the line. "Really?" Al sounded astonished. "That's- That's very kind of you," he said sincerely.

Ed shrugged even though his brother could not possible see it. "Whatever. What about you? Are you still in Central?"

"Yeah."

"Is this professor guy that interesting or what?"

It was Al's turn to chuckle. "I wouldn't know," he said with what was probably an accompanying shrug. "I never met the man."

Ed frowned at this.

"It seems," continued Al when Ed said nothing, "that the Colonel got the professor's visiting dates wrong so he was already gone by the time I got here."

Well that's odd, thought Ed, Mustang doesn't usually get this sort of thing wrong.

"Anyway, the Head of the History Department felt so bad that he gave me permission to use the University's library for my research."

Ed smiled at the excitement in his brother's voice. "So since I came here to learn about Xerxes, I decided to do some reading on that," continued the younger Elric.

"And? Did you find out anything interesting?" asked Ed. There was a bit of an ache in his throat and he realized that he missed his little brother's presence. This really was one of the first times that they had spent so long apart and so far away.

"Well," said Al. There was a hesitation in his voice and Ed knew, because he knew his brother so well, that Al was about to bring up something that Ed wouldn't like. "I found the language really fascinating," he went on.

Ed waited for it.

"We've seen it before." Again another pause. "A lot of Dad's books were written in Xerxian."

There it was. Dad. Al knew his brother wanted nothing to do with their father.

Hohenheim.

So the man studied Xerxes, big deal. Ed knew which books Al was referring to. They had never been of any use to them since they were written in a language the boys couldn't understand. He had clear memories of his father sitting at his desk in the study with those very same books around him. Many of them, now that he thought about it, were hand-written. Ed supposed that meant Hohenheim could read and write Xerxian too, but what was the point?

"I think he just did that so that there were less chances of random people reading his notes," he told Al.

"Well maybe," said Al, "but I still think it's impressive to know a dead language like that! Where do you suppose he learned it?"

Ed knew that Al yearned to meet their father but Ed would be just as happy if their paths never crossed.

"I don't really give a damn," replied the elder brother, a little too aggressively. Just thinking about Hohenheim was making him angry. But Al understood and after a hesitating moment, he changed the subject.

"I think I'm going to stay in Central for another couple of days," he said, rather subdued. "I mean, as long as you're busy with the police thing, I don't have access to the military library so I'm being more productive here."

"Have you read anything that might hint towards the stone?" Ed leaned his chair back on two legs and switched the receiver to his other ear. His stomach gave a loud grumble in protest to the delay of dinner.

"No," came the echoing voice over the line, "but I'll keep digging."

Ed nodded, even though Al couldn't see it. "Alright, well let me know if you find anything. I'm starving though, so I'm gonna go eat something." His stomach affirmed this statement by giving another loud grumble.

Al chuckled. "I heard that!"

"I told you! I'm starving! It's grub time!"

"Alright, well I know better than to keep you from food. I'll see you in a couple days. Bye Ed!"

"See ya Al."

They hung up at the same time and Ed let the chair fall back on all fours, replacing the receiver on its cradle carefully.

As he sat in the dining lounge devouring his cottage pie, Ed's mind kept going back to Hohenheim and Xerxes. There was much about the man that Ed didn`t know. Where had he learned such a thing?

And then a memory came to him.

It was a winter night and the whole family, except Hohenheim, was down with the flu. Mom, who usually took care of the boys when they were sick, was sick in bed herself so the responsibility had fallen on their father.

Their father who rarely hugged or kissed them. Their father who always seemed so distant and cold. Ed remembered, albeit fuzzy with fever, the man carrying him to his bed, tucking him in and wiping his sweaty forehead with a cool cloth.

And he remembered the only time he ever heard his father sing. He supposed it was a lullaby of some sort. It was soft and calm and helped lull the boy to sleep. But he remembered the language. It was not in a language Ed knew.

Maybe Hohenheim really did know Xerxian well, if he could speak it too.

There really was a lot about the man Ed didn't know. Too much.

He supposed, picking around the vegetables on his plate, that he never would know.

Didn't want to know.

Not really.

At least that's what he told himself.

"Hold it higher."

Havoc stopped mid note and stared at the young man with a pained expression. It was the fifth time Ed had interrupted him. Between that and the sweltering heat of his apartment, compliments of a broken thermostat, Havoc was ready to give it up for the night out of irritation and frustration.

"It should rest on your collarbone, up here." The young alchemist pointed to his own shoulder in the right spot and held his arm up in imitation of holding a real instrument.

"That's what I was doing!" whined the older man. His sleeveless shirt was soaked and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

Even Edward had removed his red coat and peeled himself out of his long-sleeve black jacket, exposing both his left and automail arm. Having the windows thrown wide open in the cool spring night did nothing.

"No, you were holding it lower, with your back all scrunched up like, here, give me that," the teen reached for the instrument and Havoc relinquished it without protest. Ed placed the butt of the violin against his left breast, near his armpit and bent over it in what Havoc guessed was supposed to be an imitation of his bad playing posture.

"You were playing it like this. I've told you already, you're supposed to keep your back straight and your shoulders relaxed and the stings should be parallel with the floor. You see? Like this," he said, resting the instrument gently on his collarbone and lifting the bow to the strings. For a second, Havoc thought Ed was actually going to play something, but he just mimicked the action without ever making a sound. The teen made it look so easy and natural whereas he felt silly holding the position. But Havoc did not fail to notice how awkwardly Ed held the bow in his metal fingers. He realized at that moment that though he knew Ed carried automail, he rarely saw it. The teen kept the metal hidden beneath red cloth and gloves. "And you're holding it too tightly," continued Ed, oblivious to Havoc's inner thoughts, "it's not like it's going to fly away or anything. At least not if you're holding properly."

Havoc sighed. There was so much to learn! And Edward Elric was a harsh teacher. He reluctantly took the instrument back and practiced the proper posture. He supposed he looked like a professional when he did it right, though the effect was slightly ruined by the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and his sweaty hair flattened against his forehead. Ed guided him by holding his own left arm out with an invisible violin cradled there. And Havoc's attention was now drawn to the teen's other arm. The one people paid less attention to.

He stared.

Edward's forearm, from the crook of his elbow to his wrist and the back of his hand was mottled with scars. They weren't terrible or ugly and they didn't visibly snake their way across his skin the way the scars decorating his right shoulder did. But there were so many he couldn't believe it.

He didn't really mean to stare but he couldn't look away.

Ed noticed what he was looking at and brought his arm down, looking away. If Havoc didn't know him and his circumstances, he would have guessed the teen to be some sort of drug addict. For the scars decorating the young alchemist's arm were from needles.

Lots and lots of needles.

After an uncomfortable silence, Havoc coughed around his cigarette. "Sorry man, I didn't mean to stare. It's just that I've never noticed those before," he offered sheepishly.

Ed said nothing for a long few seconds before sighing himself and shrugging his shoulders. He rubbed at his arm involuntarily and gave a half shudder. "From the surgery," he supplied simply.

The automail surgery, Havoc elaborated in his mind.

He remembered the first time Ed had been admitted to the hospital after returning from an assignment. How could he forget? The Colonel had complained loudly about it to his staff, just as much as Ed had complained loudly about it to the Colonel. It became quickly well known that the Fullmetal Alchemist was a terrible patient.

And it had started with a needle.

The nurse wanted to give him fluids through an IV. Edward refused spectacularly. It took four nurses, two doctors and hospital security to get him under control long enough for someone to sedate him.

Mustang complained about all the paperwork Ed had caused him and threatened to send the teen for a psychological evaluation and anger management workshops. Ed complained that he never needed to go to the hospital in the first place and that everyone would be better off if they just left him the fuck alone, which earned him office cleaning duties for a week from a less than impressed Hawkeye.

The entire time Breda and Havoc laughed at Edward's fear of needles. They teased him about it too which he took with his usual explosive violence.

But Havoc had never noticed the scars before now.

He didn't know much about automail surgery. Only that it was a painful and long process before, during and after the installation of a new limb. And this kid had two of them. He also knew that recovery and rehabilitation was supposed to take something like three to four years and that by all accounts, Ed shouldn't even be here. It was no wonder they still looked so vivid; they were not very old.

Now he just felt like an ass for teasing the kid.

Ed saved him from having to say anything by sitting up straighter on the couch. "Whatever, it's over now. So are you going to play something or what," he asked, brushing his own sweaty bangs from his face as easily as he brushed passed the subject.

Havoc nodded with determination and rested the instrument on his collarbone like he had been shown. At Ed's approving nod, he brought the bow up and started the piece from the beginning.

It was slow going and he didn't miss Ed's winces whenever the strings squeaked but he managed to make it all the way through this time, more or less successfully, in his opinion, and without interruption.

Ed nodded his head with a pained smile. "Well…you've improved, anyway," he offered.

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Havoc loftily, jabbing at Ed with the tip if his bow. Ed dodged it easily, batting it away.

He swiped his good hand through his sticky bangs and let out a huff of exasperation. "Ugh, this place is horrible. It's like a thousand degrees in here!" he whined, fanning himself with the front of his black shirt.

"Yeah, about that," said Havoc, eyeing the opened windows as if that might let more cool air in. "It's not just my place, the whole building is like this. I'm told Maintenance is working on it but," he shrugged, rolling his eyes, "who knows."

"Well I've had just about as much as I can take. I need fresh air." The blond teen swivelled on the couch to see the clock behind him. It was almost midnight, as usual. "I should get going anyway, before your neighbors call in a noise complaint again."

"Hey, it was one time! And I wasn't even being that loud!" protested Havoc, carefully stowing the instrument in its case and slipping his shoes on.

Ed peeled himself off the couch and struggled back into his sticky jacket. He had stopped trying to refuse Havoc's company for the walk back to the hotel and instead just let the older man trail along beside him. This had become part of the routine too. They walked in a comfortable silence since neither one of them was overly chatty.

The walk was refreshing and the streets were quiet save for the few patrons stumbling out of the pubs on Main street. It was nearly midnight and Jean and Ed stood, as usual on the sidewalk across the street from the hotel. Ed had his hands in his pockets, as usual. Havoc stood relaxed with his cigarette handing from his mouth, as usual.

"Well, goodnight Chief," he said, blowing smoke from the other corner of his mouth. He held his fisted hand out in a mimic of Alphonse's usual parting gesture.

Ed seemed a bit surprised by that action, but grinned and returned the goodbye with a gentle bump of his own fist. "See ya," he said, exaggerating his natural accent for the fun of it, which surprised Havoc in turn.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower struck midnight and the quiet night was rocked suddenly by a deafening BOOM! followed by the crash and crunch of glass shattering and debris scattering. The dark street lit briefly by a fiery blast before filling with smoke, dust and screams.

A/N:

1. I think it's really too bad that the boys didn't get to spend much time with their dad at the end of the series. I like to think that Hohenheim would still write in Xerxian. And why wouldn't he sing a lullaby for his kids, maybe one that he remembers from his own childhood? Of course, keep in mind that at his point in the story, the brothers don't know anything about their Xerxes heritage.

2. Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews!