Edward was pretty sure he'd fallen unconscious again. One moment he'd been in the center of the circle, glaring at Tucker, the next, blinking open blurry eyes as he lay on the floor, Tucker nowhere to be found. Well, he wasn't dead and he still felt all there mentally. That was a plus. He went to push himself up into a sitting position, but froze as he caught sight of his hand.

Or rather, his paw.

He stared dumbly at the yellow and white limb in front of him, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He should've known that he wouldn't have gotten out of this unscathed.

He felt himself growing lightheaded. Oh. He was hyperventilating. He tried to steady his breathing, but to no avail. Granny Pinako had taught him something to help when he was panicking, didn't she? What was it?

That's right. Okay, what are five things I can see? He glanced around the room and named objects, deliberately avoiding things that could make him panic more, like the circle he was standing or the chimeras. He kept going through the list - four things he could feel, three he could hear - until he reached the end, breath slowly steadying until he managed to clear his head completely.

Okay. He needed a way out. He could see from where he was that the basement was locked, and he had no opposable thumbs to unlock it with. He shakily pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore the shock of having four limbs again. He seemed to be the size of a normal cat; maybe the extra mass from his body made up his new limbs?

He shook his head as if to physically dispel the thought. No, he couldn't think about things like that right now. He didn't want to panic again.

His immediate thought was to try clawing an alchemy circle, to transmute the door's material into something else entirely so he could easily walk out. That plan was quickly shot down when he noticed his lack of claws. Of course Tucker was the kind of shitty person to declaw a cat. He really shouldn't have been so surprised at that fact.

Okay. He'd have to find another way out, then. But how?

He caught sight of Tucker's chalk sitting on the table out of the corner of his eye. Perfect. He could still make a circle with that.

He was thankful that out of any animal he could've been transmuted with, it was a cat, at least. He was easily able to make the jump up to the table any other animal would likely struggle with, making his way over to the chalk.

Goddamn it. He still didn't have thumbs. This was gonna suck. Grimacing, Ed picked up the chalk between his teeth and fought the urge to immediately spit it back out. Gross.

Standing on his hind legs (and what a weird thing to say, his hind legs), he began drawing a simple transmutation circle on the door - not an easy feat using his mouth alone, all while trying not to gag at the taste.

He practically spat the chalk out once he was done, distantly wondering if he'd ever be free of the taste. Then, placing his paws on the circle, he watched as it began to glow.

Before he knew it, a hole was formed in the door and he let himself through. Perfect. Now he just needed to find Al. They could figure out what to do together. That's how they got everything done, after all - together.

He rushed up the stairs as fast as he could. He had to get to Al as soon as possible. The sooner they could figure out how to reverse this, the better.

He ran through the basement door, racing to the living room but freezing as he reached the entrance. There was Tucker, looking right at him. Fuck. He'd been caught.

There was no time to lose. Without thinking, he turned tail and ran. Tucker was not far behind him. Who knows what he'd be subjected to if the man caught him? He couldn't risk it.

Turning the corner to the kitchen, he noticed an open window. Risking a glance behind him, he saw Tucker fast approaching. There was no other option. Sorry, Al. We'll have to figure things out later.

He jumped out the window, racing as fast as he could into the cool evening air.

Mustang was tired. So very tired. All he'd wanted was to drink himself half to death again, in the hopes of drowning out memories of Ishval.

Hughes wouldn't be happy about that, though. And he'd know. He always found out somehow. He worked in intelligence for a reason, he supposed. He didn't feel like dealing with the man's inevitable chastising tomorrow - and with it, Hawkeye's. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

He decided to take Hughes' advice instead. A nice evening walk, to clear his head. "It won't fix it, but moving around and getting some sun and fresh air will help," the man had told him. Happy now, Hughes?

The walk actually was helping, but no way in hell was Mustang going to admit that to him. He'd be all smug about it for sure. He could practically hear the "I told you so" in his voice now.

He stumbled, nearly falling over as something crashed into him. He reached for a gun he didn't have on hand out of instinct, body preparing to fight before his mind could catch up to the present.

…It was a cat. Just a cat. He relaxed, sighing in relief and letting his tense shoulders fall limp. He felt a bit stupid for freaking out over something like that.

The cat hissed at Mustang, as if he was the run into it and not the other way around. He raised an eyebrow at it. "What, you're blaming me for this?" he questioned, feeling more than a little dumb for talking to a cat like it'd understand. "You and I both know it was your fault." If he didn't know better, he would've sworn the cat glared at him.

Is it a stray? he wondered. It looked tired and kind of dirty. There weren't any nearby residential areas he knew of, either. Probably didn't have an owner, then.

He could almost hear Hughes' voice encouraging him to help the animal out. "You wouldn't leave the poor thing out here to starve, would you?" he could imagine the man saying. He sighed, resigning himself to taking the thing home.

He knelt down in front of it, holding a hand for it to sniff. That's what you did with dogs, he knew thanks to Hawkeye; surely cats weren't that different? It did not bother to sniff him, though, so perhaps he was wrong. "You've got nowhere to go, yeah? Why don't you come with me?" he asked in a tone he hoped the cat would find soothing. He really wasn't sure how to interact with cats at all. He reached a hand out to stroke its head. It seemed to glare again, but made no move to bite or scratch. Emboldened by this, he scooped the cat into his arms. It seemed unhappy, but allowed it.

If nothing else, Hughes would probably take it. He loved animals, and had even been talking about getting a pet for his daughter. When Mustang pointed out that she was only a couple months old, he simply waved him off, insisting it'd be good for her to grow up alongside one.

…Oh, who was he kidding? The cat was an asshole, but he found himself getting attached to it already. He wasn't sure he'd be able to give it up. Looks like he'd have to do some research into taking care of cats, he mused as he began walking home.

He really was getting soft.