Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flowers of antimony

Antimony trioxide, a product of the sublimation of antimony.

Torrefaction

The roasting of ores in the hope of removing impurities.

Two years have passed since the Promised Day. Two. For the Elric brothers, they have slid past in an almost-completely happy blur of apple pies and mountain mornings, courtesy calls and train whistles, hellos and goodbyes and hellos again.

Al has gone east, to Xing. Ed has gone west. They are apart for the first time in their lives, but the promise of that future hello again can sustain them both.

Al chose to go east, the farther path, because his ties to home, though strong and permanent, are more malleable than Ed's endless bond to Winry. The connection between Al and Resembool bends, but does not break, and he has less to tie him there than Ed does. Not much less, but just enough to make his leaving a bit more allowable.

He travels to Xing, accompanied by the chimera Jerso and Zampano . He expects that, once he arrives, he will devote a period of some weeks to studying and training with May Chang, learning secrets of alkahestry, and that he will then move on to the exploration of other countries. He forgets, until he gets there, how much two years may do to a person, and the young princess who welcomes him into her half-brother's royal court as an honored guest is rather altered from the little girl he once concealed inside his armor. His stay in Xing goes on much longer than he planned, to the amusement of his traveling companions.

Jerso and Zampano do not mind. Xing is full of pretty women and exotic scenery. There is plenty to do and see, even while they quest to regain their natural forms, and Al's tenancy in the palace (and therefore, their own) is really rather convenient for these purposes. There are foods to sample, sights to see, and a young friend to tease about his growing attachment to the country.

Ling, of course, is now Emperor. Ed, in his letters, can hardly resist the chance to mock him, and Al has the phrase "Ling the King of Xing" stuck in his mind for days. Ling welcomes Al like a brother, however, and seems perfectly willing to house him indefinitely.

Lan Fan also greets Al with an old sort of cordiality. Conspiratorially, May tells Al that the lady warrior has thus far turned down Ling's offer of marriage no less than three times. It is her duty to guard the Emperor, she says, and that is something that she cannot do as Empress. Duty before love.

Al is reminded strongly of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye.

Lan Fan has, however, consented to a different sort of proposal, and allowed Ling to use his Philosopher's Stone to restore her flesh arm. Instead of automail, she has learned a few tricks from Ling's time with Greed, and beneath her robes she is clad in a lightweight suit of carbon armor. She spends some time with Al discussing this, allowing him to examine the mail and suggest modifications that he is, of course, well equipped to make. He recognizes the trust she is placing in him with this, and he is appreciative.

Al (as May can hardly help noticing, though he himself is cheerfully oblivious) has matured most attractively. He hasn't quite the same sort of arresting beauty that Ed possesses; Ed is Hohenheim to the core, while Al has something more of Trisha to him. He is gentler by far than his brash older brother, a fact which displays itself in a sort of earnest puppyishness in his features. His smile is sweeter than Ed's, less confident, more eager to please. He is a good-looking young man, tall and handsome, and his Xerxesian coloring earns him more than his fair share of curiosity.

So he studies with May, and dines with Ling, and ventures out into the strange and exciting new country that beckons to him. He reads the Xingese legend of the Western Sage with a secret kind of smile. He makes his own alchemic code; while Ed documents his findings as a travelogue, and it takes Al three days to decipher even a paragraph of his heavily encrypted letters, Al returns the favor by sending messages disguised as children's nursery rhymes.

There are other letters too, of course. Al is a far more diligent correspondent than Ed ever was, now that he's restored to a body that's capable of holding a pencil, and he writes enthusiastic letters to Winry and Granny Pinako. He buys a supply of Xingese post-cards, bits of artistry rendered onto shimmering sheets of metallic paper and specially prepared to be mailed, and these he doles out among his distant friends. There is one for Major Armstrong, and one for Paninya; Denny Brosh, and Maria Ross, and Sheska, and Gracia Hughes, and another for Elysia, and of course Izumi and Sig can't be forgotten. He gets down to the last card when he realizes that he hasn't sent one to either General Mustang or Colonel Hawkeye, and it's with a very Edwardian surge of mischief that he decides they'll just have to share.

The months melt away.

Then comes the letter he's expected for a long time. No codes, no clues, no puzzles. He reads it, and reads it again, and there's such a burst of joy in his heart that he isn't sure if he should laugh or cry to best express it. So he does both, clutching the paper to his chest and tipping his head back and laughing until the tears roll down his cheeks. He dries them quickly, and reads the letter one more time just for the sheer delight of doing so. He has wanted this, waited for it, known it was coming; and yet now that it finally has, now that the event he has anticipated for at least eight years is coming to pass, there is something strange and wonderful about it. He is surprised, and the fact that he is surprised is a surprise in itself because he knows he should not be.

Al runs to the throne room, and by now the guards are so accustomed to the golden-haired foreigner that his boisterous arrival barely makes them blink. He bows to Ling, breathlessly, even though Ling has told him a dozen times that it isn't necessary. When he straightens, his eyes are dancing.

"I have to go home soon," he declares.

"So suddenly? Out with it, Al, you look like the cat that ate the canary." Ling's expression is the tiniest bit reminiscent of Greed, but not in a bad way. "What's so urgent?"

Al's face splits into the widest grin Ling's ever seen. "Brother and Winry are getting married!"

Chapter Text

Sublimation

A property possessed by some substances which enables them to go directly from the solid to the gaseous state without passing through the liquid phase.

Ed is decidedly less than pleased by the summons. He is still technically regarded as a state alchemist, despite the inability to actually perform alchemy, so refusal isn't really an option. And he doesn't dislike General Hothead as much as he once did, nor anywhere near as much as he likes to pretend he does. Still, it's not exactly a convenient time to be invited (he uses the word loosely) to Ishval, and Winry makes a point of letting him know it. She's half toying with plans for an automail wedding dress, a concept that amuses and exasperates him on levels he can't even begin to describe, and with a shake of his head he kisses her goodbye and dutifully boards an express bound for Ishval.

Sixteen hours of solitude in a train car, and his automail leg is not thanking him for the experience. He forgets the pain, however, as he drinks in the sight of all the reconstruction. Under General Jerkwad's leadership, Amestrians and Ishvalans are laboring jointly to rebuild the devastated land. He wouldn't really say that there's an atmosphere of peace in the air, but there is far less tension than there must have once been.

"Edward Elric!"

Uh-oh. There's no hiding from that voice.

Before Ed can even offer a weak greeting, he's being crushed in the embrace of a familiar mustachioed strongman, and his shirt is being saturated by an outpouring of happy tears.

"Hello - Major - Armstrong," he grunts brokenly through gritted teeth.

"Oh, my dear boy, how magnificent to see you again! And just look at how much you have grown!" Armstrong wails, at which Ed decides to forgive him for the cracked ribs.

"It's good to see you," he says once the giant releases him. "But what are you doing here? I thought you were in Briggs or Xing or something."

"I've been to both since last we met. But I had to come and see General Mustang - my sister had a message for him, and one for Miles as well, which I delivered for her. She has never been one to trust the post if she can help it. Since I was in the vicinity already, the General asked if I would escort you from the station to his headquarters."

"Oh." Ed supposes this makes sense, so he picks up his suitcase and falls in step beside the Major. "Looks like he's been keeping busy, anyway."

"Indeed, young Edward." Armstrong begins to describe all the changes that are underway in Ishval, starting with the wary return of citizens, still shell-shocked after almost a full generation in exile, to their ruined homes. Tent cities have been erected to house the work force; there is the matter of constructing schools and hospitals, and reinstating old trade routes and relationships. Fuhrer Grumman has been liberal with the distribution of labor and aid, and public proclamation has been made of the military's wrongdoing in the Ishvalan matter. Amestrians from all quarters are urged to remember that the Ishvalans are their brethren, and the response to the call for able-bodied assistance has been slowly growing more enthusiastic. Bradley's guilt in the the regional conflict has been minimized, a whitewashing of history that those who knew what he really was both universally despise and universally recognize as necessary.

Ed listens only half-heartedly, his mind wandering over the details even as his gaze wanders over his surroundings. Something asserts itself in his consciousness, however, and he realizes he needs a question answered.

"Major? Has the Fuhrer made any sort of decision about the people who served in the Ishvalan war?"

"You refer to official reprisals against the state alchemists and other personnel, I presume."

"Yeah." Specifically, he thinks of a conversation he once had with Riza Hawkeye, sitting at her kitchen table drinking tea and watching her clean a bloodied pistol. She had entrusted him with the explanation of General Skirtchaser's ambitions, which to him had sounded like planned suicide.

"An extensive military tribunal was conducted. It was determined that the bulk of the guilt lies with the high-ranking officers who gave the directives. Most of those have already been arrested for their collaboration with the Homunculi, and their power had been lifted before the tribunal even began. Fuhrer Grumman is very selective about the people he trusts. There were some dishonorable discharges for the ethically unreliable, and some prison sentences."

"What about the rest?"

"General Mustang was cleared of charges, if that's what you're asking. He wasn't too pleased, to be perfectly honest, but he has accepted the pardon."

"And Colonel Hawkeye?"

"Also cleared. Between ourselves, I suspect this is the only reason that the General acquiesced to his own pardon." Armstrong looks faintly amused. "Conversely, I believe the fact that he was cleared was the only reason she accepted hers. A fine partnership."

"How about you?"

"As you see, I remain at liberty."

"Right. So what did I get called here for, anyway? General Fancypants didn't give me any details."

Armstrong hesitates. "You are an object of some concern at present," he says carefully. "That's really all I can tell you."

"How much concern can I be raising?" Ed objects. "I can't even do alchemy anymore!"

The older alchemist shrugs. They reach the headquarters building and make their way to Mustang's office. Ed can hear Hawkeye's voice just before the door opens, lecturing her superior about something or other, and he smiles involuntarily. It's good, he thinks, to know that some things really never change.

As he follows Armstrong across the threshold of the office, Mustang looks up. Ed admits, privately, that he's glad the Flame Alchemist got his sight back. A slightly comical expression crosses the General's face, and he gives a snort that is half agitation, half welcome.

"Fullmetal, you're the only guy I know who can turn getting married into an international incident."

Chapter Text

Tritorium

A vessel used for the separation of immiscible liquids.

Riza Hawkeye, for all her natural stoicism, has difficulty suppressing a smile. Edward's expression, as he and the General eye one another across the desk, is one of pure bewilderment. He's even too startled to seem very angry, which - considering Fullmetal's legendary temper - is a feat in itself.

"The hell are you talking about, Col-General?" he sputters. "International incident?" He shakes his head, ponytail rustling. "How did you even know about the wedding? We haven't sent out invitations yet or anything - not that I would have sent you one," he adds challengingly.

"Of course." General Mustang's eyes glitter. He is amused, rather than annoyed, though not everyone would be able to detect the subtle difference. Riza, of course, can.

"General, I think you've overlooked something," she says mildly. "There's something else to be said before you start calling Edward on the carpet." She moves away from the desk toward the new arrival, one hand outstretched, and her smile is soft. "Congratulations."

He looks slightly surprised, but then relaxes his features into the boyish grin she remembers so well, taking her hand and pressing it warmly. "Thanks, Lieu-er, Colonel. I guess you were right, weren't you? Even if I didn't want to admit it."

"Right?" she repeats, casting about in her mind for what he might mean.

"Remember? It was just after Bradley transferred you to his direct command, and I brought back the gun you had loaned to Al and me." Ed's expression is a funny thing, bright and faraway all at once. "You said point-blank that of course I wanted to protect Winry because I loved her."

"Oh, yes." Riza's lips twitch with mirth at the memory. "And you spat your tea all over Black Hayate."

"Yeah. I...protested too much, I guess."

"Just a bit. I remember thinking that you were remarkably vulnerable to a direct hit."

The General and the Major are silent, listening to them reminisce. Mustang in particular seems reluctant to interrupt; on the contrary, he's sort of hanging on every word, as though it's incredibly important. She doesn't see why. He knows they had the conversation - much later, after they had been reunited, he had mentioned Fullmetal's knowledge of his ambitions, though he hadn't objected to her decision to bring the boy into the loop. For all their bluster and quarrel, the two men respect each other.

"Especially that direct hit," Ed agrees now, shaking his head. "But hearing it from you wasn't so bad. Like I said, you were right. You and Al." He grins again, and Riza swallows a fond chuckle, because this is as close as she's ever seen him come to looking lovesick.

"Well, the Colonel is right. I'm remiss in not congratulating you," the General interjects, bringing both Edward and Riza's attention back to the here and now.

"As am I!" Armstrong declares, and Riza utters a silent prayer of gratitude when he doesn't rip off his clothes in a display of his brimming emotions. "Oh, young Edward, I didn't realize that was the reason for your summons - the General didn't tell me! This is the most wonderful thing I can think of! Miss Rockbell is such a charming young woman. I wish you both very happy!"

"Thanks, Major," Ed says weakly. "You too, General," he adds in a more normal tone. "But what do you mean, my wedding's an international incident?"

"Yes, that in particular. You said you haven't sent out the invitations?"

"No. Winry keeps thinking of people to add to the guest list - old clients from Rush Valley, that sort of thing."

"Where's Alphonse at present?"

"He's been in Xing for the past year, studying alkahestry with Princess May Chang."

"I'm assuming you told him, of course?"

"Of course! He's my brother! He was the first person I told!"

"That accounts for it." Mustang laces his gloved fingers together and rests his chin on his hands, looking contemplative. Riza knows where his thoughts are leading him, but says nothing.

"Accounts for what?"

"The Emperor of Xing is planning to attend your wedding."

"Ling is doing what now?" Ed blinks. "I - not that I don't want to see him - but I didn't think I should invite him. You know. He's got a country to run and everything."

"Hence my saying that this has turned into an international incident. You see..." The General is smirking a bit, eyes narrowed, and Riza can see just how much he's enjoying himself. "The Emperor of Xing, friend to Amestris though he is, can't very well just purchase a train ticket and cross the border. He's got to come with an entourage - bodyguards, servants, all sorts of things. And in order to do something that grandiose, he has to declare his intentions to the leader of Amestris. Which he's done. Which has resulted in my receiving a message from Fuhrer Grumman, who wants to know why you've invited the leader of a foreign power to your wedding but not the head of your own military, of which you are yourself a member!"

Edward looks positively dumbstruck; Riza pities him. "Fuhrer Grumman wants to come to my wedding?" he asks finally in disbelief. "I've never even met the man!"

"I'm as surprised as you are." Mustang smiles again. "The Fuhrer has a quirky sense of humor, however. I doubt he's half so disgruntled about the situation as he's pretending to be. In all seriousness, though, Fullmetal, I don't think there's really a good way out of this. If you want Ling to attend your wedding, then you have to be prepared to invite the Fuhrer too."

"I...I guess that's all right," Ed begins warily, but the General cuts him off.

"Which means inviting a lot of other high-ranking military officers and state alchemists."

"It does?"

"Well, if the Xingese Emperor is bringing an entourage, you can't expect the Fuhrer of Amestris to do any less, can you?"

"I would be happy," Armstrong interjects cheerfully, "to volunteer my services for the purpose. I'm sure Maria Ross and Denny Brosh would be only too pleased to do likewise. After all, we were already on the guest list!" He pauses. "Weren't we?"

"Well, yeah! Yeah, of course!" Ed says hastily. In her mind's eye, Riza can see the young man more or less drowning in the situation. "That'd be a big help..." He clearly sees that he's defeated. "And, y'know...General...you can come too. I guess. And you too, Colonel, of course." The invitation for her is a bit more genuine than the one for Mustang. There's a flash of something slightly evil in his eyes as he adds, "I'd expect you to show up together anyway."

"Fine." The General doesn't actually laugh, but it's clear from his tone that he's tempted. "I'll get you a list of who else would need to be included. The ceremony's to be held in Resembool, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah. Don't get any ideas about making us move it to Central." Ed pauses, and pales. "And we are not inviting Scar. I'm sorry. I know he's an ally now and everything, but it doesn't change the fact that he killed Winry's parents. I won't do that to her."

"Of course not, Edward." It's Riza who speaks, before either of the men can. "It's her wedding day. We want her to be happy. Besides, we'll need Scar to stay here in Ishval and continue helping to oversee the reconstruction, especially if the General and I are going to be gone for several days."

"Right, yeah." Some color comes back into the young man's face. Then he groans, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Man. Winry's gonna kill me when I tell her all of this!"

Riza exchanges an amused glance with the General.

Colonel Hawkeye escorts Ed to the phones, where he gets an outside line and lets Winry know that he's arrived safely in Ishval. It makes her smile; he has learned a few points of courtesy in the last few years.

Once he finishes his call, she shows him to the residential section of the headquarters building. "Resembool's too far for you to rush back right away," she tells him. "Besides, it's been so long since we've seen you. Take some rest, and once you've had breakfast tomorrow, we'll give you a tour of what's being done."

"Thanks, Colonel." He sets the old suitcase on the bed and sits beside it. "It feels weird to call you that, no offense."

"None taken. It took me a while to get used to it - in my mind, 'Colonel' still means General Mustang."

"Yeah, I bet." He tilts his head, studying her for a second. "Oh, that's what's different!"

"Different?"

"Your hair - you didn't cut it! It's still long!"

Riza smiles, puzzled. "You thought I cut my hair?"

"Yeah, Mrs. Hughes sent us a picture of you and General Showoff at some parade in Central - the Fuhrer's inauguration, I guess. The angle made it look like your hair was cut short."

She thinks for a minute. "Oh, now I remember. I was wearing it braided down my back for the occasion. Sort of the way you used to wear yours, actually."

Ed nods. "Your hair is sort of like Winry's, you should keep it long."

She knows a compliment when she hears one. "Thanks, Edward."

He grins, and stretches out on the bed. "Ah, military cots. Didn't miss them. Well, not to be rude, Colonel, but after sixteen hours on a train and another two being grilled by the walking cigarette lighter about my wedding plans, I'm about due for a nap."

"Of course. Call if you need anything. Sleep well, Fullmetal."

She returns to the General's office. Armstrong has retired; Mustang is alone. He faces away from her, his hands folded behind his back as he gazes out of the window. The setting sun bathes the Flame Alchemist in an entirely appropriate reddish glow.

"Fullmetal all settled in?"

"Yes, sir."

He chuckles, and shakes his head. "That hothead is getting married. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I hoped we all would, sir. He's been in love with that girl for a long time."

"Yes, about that, Colonel..."

"Sir?" For some reason, Riza's heart is suddenly in her throat.

"The conversation to which he was alluding, where you first pointed out his feelings to him, sounded very interesting."

"You know that Fuhrer King Bradley was using Winry as the incentive with which to control the Elric brothers, Edward in particular. He would have done anything to protect her. The conclusion was, I felt, fairly obvious."

"I see."

And he doesn't say anything else for a moment and Riza almost panics, because she suddenly realizes that she's said far, far too much. At length he half turns, not quite looking at her.

"You equate protection with love, Colonel?"

She doesn't know what the right answer is, because to lie goes against everything she's ever stood for but to tell the truth is entirely too honest for them. She tries, therefore, for something in the middle.

"When the protection extends as far as Edward is willing to protect Winry, sir - with all of his being, to shield her from every conceivable harm to her person and her heart and her soul - then yes, I would venture to say they are the same."

He nods, as though this is exactly what he expected her to say.

Chapter Text

Deflagration

To cause a substance to burn rapidly, with flame.

"That's right, sir. He hasn't actually sent out formal invitations - it was a case of the Xingese Emperor jumping the gun, so to speak."

The line crackles with Fuhrer Grumman's amusement, and Roy can't help smiling to himself. Admittedly, it's a pretty ludicrous situation. He glances at Hawkeye, sitting at her desk nearby, but her head is bent and she's engrossed in her work as usual, so she can't share the moment with him.

"Ah, the boy probably thinks I'm an interfering old codger with a few screws loose, doesn't he? Between you and me, General, I'm looking forward to the trip to Resembool," the Fuhrer admits. "It's going to feel like a vacation."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll have my secretary work on the accomodations; it's a remote area and they probably don't have enough inns for everyone. We may have to establish a temporary encampment," Grumman muses, and Roy tries not to facepalm. He can only imagine Fullmetal's reaction to that bit of scenery. "More work. I expect you'll be in attendance yourself, General? You recruited the boy, you've worked closely together."

"Yes, sir. I believe I was on the guest list from the beginning." Despite what Fullmetal had said, Roy has few doubts on that score.

"Good. I think I'll order military personnel who are regular wedding guests to not wear their uniforms." The Fuhrer is chuckling, and for all his usual sweetness, there's a faint malevolence behind it. "At least that way I can pretend you're taking my granddaughter on a date."

Roy's elbow slips off of the desk, causing him to look ridiculous and, unsurprisingly, causing Hawkeye to glance up at him in some alarm. "Sir..."

"I'm not getting any younger, Mustang! Step on it!"

"Sir..."

"I want to know that she's settled before I go. She's all I have."

"Yes, sir, but..."

"No buts! And get me that status report I asked you for."

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Well, see you soon, my boy." The Fuhrer cackles again as the line disconnects.

Roy stares at the receiver in his hand for a few seconds before putting it back in the cradle. Hawkeye looks at him, her mahogany eyes asking questions her lips do not form, and he offers a weak smile. "Your grandfather sends his love."

Fuhrer Grumman has been campaigning for Roy to marry his granddaughter almost for as long as the two gentlemen have been acquainted. Roy can't even remember anymore how it first came up. The old man, who is far sharper than most people believe at first glance, didn't take long in divining Roy's long-term ambitions, nor has he ever discouraged them. He fully supports the Flame Alchemist's intention to become Fuhrer down the road; he just wants to see his granddaughter installed as First Lady when the time comes.

The fact that the granddaughter in question also happens to be the only woman Roy has ever wanted to marry is strangely convenient.

She has accepted the revelation of her mother's parentage as stoically as Hawkeye ever accepts anything (or at least, anything that doesn't constitute a danger to Roy). It had always felt strange to Roy that he knew who her grandfather was when she didn't, so to have them both finally aware of it is something of a relief. Grumman kept the secret until he became Fuhrer, so that no one could accuse her of using the family tie to accelerate her rise through the ranks; by the time she was made Colonel, nobody was inclined to question her diligence.

She does not, however, know that her grandfather has spent the last several years quietly urging her superior officer to break protocol and marry her. He's fairly certain that if she did know that, it would not end well for either himself or the Fuhrer.

As it is, they spend more time together than most married couples do, a condition that has only worsened since the move to Ishval. They live in the same building where they work, meaning that technically they live together, so they are almost never apart. And ever since the Promised Day, when they literally held each other up and she was his eyes and he almost surrendered his soul for her, their peculiar intimacy has deepened. It started when they were teenagers, and grew stronger through her father's death and the hellish war and the working relationship that followed, but now it has reached a point where, if Roy is honest with himself, they might as well be married.

They move with a rhythm as though they are perpetually dancing, perfectly in step. Separately they exist, but it's because of each other that they actually live. He can't stand the idea of sharing this sort of intimacy with anyone else, and he's fairly certain she can't either.

She breathes out, he breathes in. She breathes in, he breathes out.

So the thing that is drumming in his mind, several minutes after he has finished speaking with the 'interfering old codger,' is the question of what exactly is preventing him from taking that final step. Anti-fraternization laws aside, most of the reasons have been stripped away. They've been pardoned, so he's not shackling her to the walking dead, and he's grown to be largely all right with the pardon because - as Armstrong correctly surmised - it means she is safe. They have the tacit approval of her only living relative. Most of their closest friends not only approve of the idea, they seem to consider it an inevitability that doesn't even bear mentioning because it's so obvious.

He supposes it is, at that. Certainly it was obvious enough that Bradley knew just how to keep him in line. He still doesn't know how he remained so calm when he was told that his closest supporters were being stripped from his command, that his redoubtable Lieutenant was essentially a hostage. And what came later...his hands shake, even now, at the memory of how he almost lost her. The gold-toothed bastard had called her his precious woman, and laughed at Roy's evident terror.

It's hard to disguise how much you love someone when they're dying in front of you, and all you can do is scream for them to answer you.

"General?" His awareness jerks back to the present. Hawkeye has noticed his shaking hands. "General, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Colonel."

She knows he's lying, of course. She knows him better than he knows himself. "Your hands are trembling."

"I got lost in a memory."

This makes sense to her, and she doesn't press it farther. They both have a host of memories that could induce trembling or worse. "It's nearly lunchtime, sir. Armstrong should be bringing Fullmetal back from his tour of the city soon. Shall we join them in the mess hall?"

"All right."

They walk through the corridors. She keeps trying to drop back half a pace to walk behind him, but he doesn't allow her to do that when it's just the two of them; he wants her where he can see her, even if it's only out of the corner of his eye, because he remembers the days when he thought he might never see her again.

"The Fuhrer is full of plans for this wedding," Roy comments idly, stealing glances. "All military personnel who are on the regular guest list are going to wear civilian attire; only those who are actively serving as protection will be in uniform."

"I suppose I had better have your tuxedo cleaned for you, then." How this became one of her duties, neither one of them really knows. She oversees so many of his personal details that they don't even think about it much.

"And you'll need a dress."

"I have dresses."

"I think this warrants something new." His tone is light; his words are heavy. "Shall I buy you a new gown for the wedding?"

"It's really not necessary," she begins, but he interrupts.

"Mr. Mustang still enjoys buying gifts for his special ladies, Miss Elizabeth. And he hasn't gotten to do that in a long time." He speaks playfully, as though they're still speaking on the telephone while she watches over the building housing Falman and Barry the Chopper. He misses that particular mission sometimes; for all their encoded dialogue, for all the subterfuge and secrecy, it was the closest they have ever come to saying what they really mean.

She's rolling her eyes, he can almost see it, but there's a smile there somewhere too. "Why do I think I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, Roy?" she asks, adopting the Elizabeth voice.

He stops walking and turns to look at her properly, first glancing around to verify that they are indeed alone. "Because you're not," he says, and it's his own voice. "I want to do this. All right? You pick it out, but let me buy it for you."

"Why?" Hawkeye's eyes are on his face, and the only thing he's sure of in the question is her astonishment. They're lingering too long in this moment, Roy knows, but he's having a difficult time caring.

"Just say yes." He ponders making it an order, but she doesn't put him in that position. They both know the answer to the question anyway, and it doesn't need to be said.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

As they start walking again, he lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Chapter Text

Deliquescence

The property some crystalline substances have of dissolving spontaneously in liquid absorbed from the air.

"Rockbell Automail, Winry speaking...oh, hi Ed! When are you coming home?"

Winry hops up to sit on her workbench, crossing her legs at the knee and playing absently with the telephone cord. Den, who has been half dozing in the corner, lifts his head at the sound of Ed's name but lowers it again when the blond alchemist doesn't materialize.

"...what do you mean, the Fuhrer is coming to our wedding? ...what? The Emperor of Xing? Oh, wait, he's your friend, right? Al's been staying with him?" She listens some more, her blue eyes growing so wide that Pinako, who is watching her granddaughter from the far end of the room, half expects them to fall out of her head.

"I can't believe this," Winry groans, touching her forehead as if to stave off a tension headache. "And there's no way out of it? None at all? Oh...uh-huh...uh-huh...not your fault, huh? I don't know if I believe that." She catches her grandmother's eye and, in spite of her mixed feelings, gives her a little grin. "All right, if you're sure. Get home, we still have a lot of preparations to make. The wedding is only three months away! Yes...okay...uh-huh...all right. Tell them hello back. Yes. See you tomorrow, then." A pink tinge creeps into her cheeks. "Yeah. I love you too. Bye."

"He's coming home tomorrow, then?" Pinako asks as Winry hangs up the phone.

"Yeah. Grandma, what am I gonna do?"

"You said something about the Fuhrer? Why in the world is the Fuhrer coming to the wedding?"

"I'm not sure I've got all this straight myself, so we might need him to explain when he gets in tomorrow. But here's what I understand..." Winry launches into a not-entirely-coherent repetition of everything Ed has just told her. As she speaks, she grows more and more bewildered by the words that are coming out of her own mouth. Is this really happening? Yes, he's the hero of Amestris, but...

Pinako hears it all without so much as twitching an eyebrow.

"Well," she says in her practical way, "we'll manage."

"We'll manage? Grandma, how can we possibly?"

"Child, you're getting married in three months to a man who has walked through hell at least twice, lost and regained both his own body and that of his brother, and defeated the most powerful evil ever to roam the planet. Compared to all of that, I really don't think a grand-scale wedding is going to be that much of a challenge, do you?"

"Well...when you put it that way...I suppose not."

"I think the biggest concerns are going to be matters of logistics. What are we going to feed all these people? And where are they going to sleep?"

"Ed said General Mustang will have some information on that soon. Something about the Fuhrer establishing a - a tent city or something like that. The food, though, I don't begin to know where we'll find enough food." Winry laughs helplessly; the situation is so downright bizarre to her that she really can't react in any other way. "This is crazy. Now I'm imagining a wedding cake as tall as Major Armstrong."

Pinako chuckles as well. "Well, let's see to what details we can manage on our own, and we'll charge by the head for admission if that's what it takes. Did you decide whether you're incorporating automail into your dress?"

"Oh, no, I decided not - though I might carry my wrench as my 'something old,' maybe hide it in my flowers."

"Just be careful when the time comes to throw the bouquet, dearie."

Ed comes home the following day, as promised, and she goes to the train station to welcome him back.

Separations of less than a week don't really faze Winry anymore, not after living without him for months at a stretch. At the same time, however, they've been apart so much that she hates to allow him out of her sight. He gets off the train with a bit of a sigh - she can tell his leg is bothering him - but he smiles when he sees her and extends an arm to hug her.

"Missed you," he admits quietly.

"Missed you too, dummy. Ed, what are we going to do about all this?"

"I guess we could elope."

"I am not eloping."

"Please? We wouldn't have to wait three months..."

She smacks his arm good-naturedly as they start walking away from the station. "No. Grandma said we'll figure it out, and we will, but it's a lot to sort out and not much time in which to do it. What did General Mustang say?"

"Oh, it gets better." Ed grimaces, although this doesn't fool her. "General Hothead and his loyal Colonel are going to come out here a week before the wedding with a couple of soldiers to supervise setting up enough tents to house the Fuhrer, his guards, Ling, his guards, and whoever the hell else is going to invite themselves."

"Well, I guess they could be set up on the back meadow," Winry muses. "Nobody farms it anymore. If we get someone to cut down the weeds, it would probably serve the purpose."

"They're not getting my room, that's all I know."

Winry laughs. "All right, that should take care of most of the housing. But what about the food?"

"I'm still a state alchemist. We'll take it out of my yearly research grant."

"On the grounds that you're researching...what, exactly?"

Ed falls silent for a few minutes, thinking. She loves to watch him think. Sometimes it's as if his mind itself is made of automail, little whirling gears and pumping pistons, working together in perfect cohesiveness to produce exactly the answer he needs. A triumphant grin crosses his features. "A new kind of chimera!"

"A...what?"

"A chimera," he explains, "is what you get when you take two life forms and more or less merge them into one being."

"That sounds revolting."

For an instant, as she looks at him, Ed's eyes are shadowed; his expression is almost haunted. She wonders what he's remembering. "It can be," he admits, shaking off the recollection. "But if you think about it, isn't that what we're doing?"

"I don't follow."

He reaches over to take her left hand. Winry wouldn't allow him to buy her an engagement ring, saying that it would just get in the way while she worked, but he rubs the ring finger all the same. "We're taking a you," he says, "and merging it with a me, and the result is going to be an us. And the us will be better and more complete than the you and the me were by ourselves. A chimera."

Not for the first time, Winry remembers why she loves this man.

Outwardly, though, she shakes her head and laughs. "Alchemists," she says.

A month slips past almost without Winry noticing it. She's got too much on her plate - wedding dress fittings are just the tip of the iceberg, and nigh impossible to arrange without Ed nosing into the proceedings. He just doesn't get that it's bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the actual wedding. "I don't believe in luck," he argues.

"Well, it's tradition. Now shoo!"

On top of all wedding-related details, she's sidetracked by a large order for automail. Mr. Garfiel still has clients who insist that only Winry Rockbell is able to supply them with what they need, so he essentially subcontracts to her. As the six-weeks-until-the-wedding benchmark arrives, Garfiel himself arrives in Resembool to collect the finished automail and offer his flamboyant expertise on the nuptial preparations.

"Darling," he says, "I can't believe the military is going to crash your special day. But don't you worry because you will look fabulous and all of those uptight soldiers will be crying themselves to sleep because they can't have you. You've been reserved for that gorgeous alchemist since the day you were born, the way you talk."

"Pretty much," she admits. Ed can be heard chuckling from the next room, where he isn't supposed to be eavesdropping.

"Your perky little maid of honor says to tell you that she's got her dress," Garfiel continues, referring to Paninya. "Oh, and the LeCoultes want very much to come, but Dominic is going to stay behind in Rush Valley. He claims there's too much work to do, but I think he just wants to avoid a certain Pantheress of Resembool. What's his beef with your grandmother, anyway?"

"He refuses to tell me. Knowing Grandma? I'm probably better off."

"So when do the Xingese muckety-mucks arrive?"

"Ed got a letter from Al, who will be coming back with them, and Al says that they're already on the move. It'll take them a little while to cross the desert with all those bodyguards and things. Apparently they're going to Central, where Ling - the Emperor - will meet the Fuhrer, and they'll all come here together from there." Winry looks a little lost. "Mr. Garfiel, how did I get myself into this?"

"You agreed to marry the Fullmetal Alchemist, sweetness. Not your fault the boy next door saved the world."

She nods, chewing her lip. Finally, brightening, she asks, "Do you want to see my dress?"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

"Hey!" Ed pokes his head through the doorway. "How come he gets to see it?"

"Because he's not the bridegroom, you dope! Now quit eavesdropping!" Winry grabs her wrench and wields it threateningly. "Go into town and get me some apple pie ingredients."

Sensing that it's a fight he can't win, Ed disappears. "He's hopeless," she says affectionately, lowering the tool. "He's absolutely determined to see me in that gown."

"He's probably more determined to see you out of the gown, darling."

"Mr. Garfiel!"

"He's a man, angel! All their minds work the same way! Now, let's see how you look. I brought tissues because I just know I'm going to cry."

Chapter Text

Phlogiston

A hypothetical substance originally used to account for the property of inflammability.

"Falman!"

Jean Havoc's grin is lazy and warm. He's on the steps of the restored Central Command, waving at the new arrival. The older soldier, fresh off a train from the north country, returns the greeting and moves to shake hands with his old friend. The four men who once served in General Mustang's private miniature army have long since given up saluting one another.

"Havoc, it's been entirely too long."

"It's only been a few months," Havoc protests.

"Not that." Vato Falman laughs. "It's been entirely too long since I've been this warm!"

"That's the price you pay for marrying a northern girl! And having a kid to boot." Havoc chuckles. It's become something of a recurring joke.

"I like it there." It's all the response or explanation Falman ever offers, and the corners of his mouth quirk gently upward.

"I'm impressed General Armstrong extended your leash this far."

"Fuhrer's orders." Falman shrugs lightly. "Truthfully, I don't quite know why he wants me in the entourage. I wasn't given much in the way of details."

"Same reason we're all in it," says a new voice, and Falman smiles again as he turns to clasp hands with Heymans Breda. "It's a Team Mustang reunion, and that's the truth! I have it from the General himself."

"A Team Mustang reunion?" the 'bishop' repeats. "How did he pull that off?"

"I guess the Fuhrer asked him to 'recommend' a few soldiers to serve in the escort party." Breda smirks. "Something tells me the 'recommendations' didn't take Grumman much by surprise. The whole job's pretty much a wink and a nod anyway - I mean, all this fuss for Fullmetal's wedding? I think the Fuhrer's just having some fun."

"Nothing wrong with fun!" says Havoc.

"I assume our young friend Fuery will be one of the party as well, then?" asks Falman.

"Us, Fuery, Armstrong, Ross, Brosh, and Catalina," Breda confirms. "Mustang's loyalists, minus one. Though Catalina probably sneaked in more because she's Havoc's girlfriend than anything."

"Hey," Havoc objects, but falls short of having anything witty with which to back it up.

"Be reasonable, Havoc. Mustang probably didn't want you within fifty miles of a wedding without a date." Breda sees Havoc on a far more regular basis than any of the others, and he seems to feel that this gives him particular taunting rights. "Otherwise you'd drive us all mental with your complaining."

"In any case," says Falman, attempting to head off a possible argument, "it will be good to see everyone again. Has the Xingese party arrived yet?"

"They crossed the eastern border two days ago and should be here tomorrow afternoon. Our first task will be to secure the parade route."

"Parade route?"

"Yeah, Grumman's really having the time of his life." Havoc chuckles. "It's like watching an overgrown five-year-old plan the biggest birthday party ever. Come on, let's go get Fuery - he got in last night. We'll grab some lunch and bring you both up to speed. We've got about a week or so in Central, and then it's off to Resembool to rendezvous with the King and Queen."

"I wondered why they weren't here..."

Two hours later, four of General Mustang's five hand-picked subordinates are collected around an outdoor cafe table. Having covered all the salient points of the Xingese visit and wedding duty, they are now reduced to picking mercilessly at one another (except for Fuery, who takes it but never dishes, he still doesn't quite dare). Drinks and sandwiches have somehow paved the way for a raucous game of 'remember when,' and to Havoc's mind, the whole afternoon takes on a nostalgic, sepia-toned glow.

"Remember the time Breda put the rubber snake in Mustang's desk?"

"Wasn't me."

"You mean he never proved it was you. We all knew it was."

"Remember when Havoc was on sick leave and the rumor got around that he eloped?"

"Yeah, my girlfriend dumped me over that. Thanks a lot, guys."

"What makes you think we did it?"

"Remember when I found Black Hayate in the rain?"

"Remember the gossip that Mustang was trying to get a law passed requiring female officers to wear miniskirts?"

"Remember how Hawkeye reacted? 'I'll wear a miniskirt to work the same day you do, sir.' That woman is unflappable."

"Remember the betting pool afterward, and how many people put down money that he actually would?"

"How could I forget? I lost a whole paycheck on that one!"

"How could anyone forget? It was Hawkeye who won the pot!"

Havoc roars good-naturedly, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drag from his cigarette. Damn, he misses those days. Life's good, but there's something about the era of Team Mustang that makes him wish, now and again, that things were still the way they had been. Secret missions and clandestine operations, coded messages and private jokes, all in the company of a small band of brothers (and one sister, of course) whose loyalty was beyond question.

He would have died for any one of them. He still would, even now.

"Tell me about that," Becky says later at dinner.

He has been filling her in on the details of the Team Mustang reunion. Somewhat uncharacteristically, he's gotten a little misty-eyed. Maybe it's the wine.

"Tell you what?"

"What it was like. What they were like. Riza never says much about it."

He rubs his chin. Occasionally he forgets that Becky also happens to be Hawkeye's closest girl friend. "She missed a lot of it, to be honest," he says. "A lot of the time it was the four of us in a joke or a scheme. She and Mustang were sort of removed. They'd have done anything for us - we'd have done anything for them - but it was different."

"Mommy and Daddy to four rowdy little boys?" she teases.

"Not all the time. Maybe once in a while." He smirks, but gently. "There's a shared history there that the rest of us weren't a part of, and we knew it. Apparently they grew up together. It wasn't awkward or anything; they didn't shut us out exactly. We were still a team. It was just different."

"No, I know what you mean. Riza's funny about Mustang; he's probably the same way about her. I don't even know how to describe it, but I get what you're saying. So what are the other guys like, then?"

"Fuery's just a kid. He's like the tagalong little brother I never had and didn't realize I always wanted." Havoc grins. "Very excitable. Falman's sort of the opposite - he's very wise, and calm, kind of a big brother. And you know Breda well enough yourself."

"Yeah. Good guys, huh? Good times?"

"And it only gets better as we go," he assures her, not wanting her to feel left out somehow. "How's it feel to be considered part of Team Mustang?"

"Weird." She laughs. "But I think I like it."

"Good. Stick around."

"Planning on it."

The Xingese contingent is approaching Central City's main gate.

People have been lining the streets since daybreak, eager to catch a glimpse of the foreigners. The plan is to have them travel around the perimeter of the spiderweb-shaped city before following one of the direct lines that leads to the steps of Central Command, where Fuhrer Grumman is waiting. Havoc and most of his friends have been assigned to the Fuhrer's personal detail for the moment; the lone exception is Fuery, who is posted at the city entrance with his communications equipment. It is his job to report back to the others about what he is seeing; Grumman wants to time the welcome just so. Havoc thinks it's all pretty ridiculous, but he gets the cushy deal of standing in formation with his friends and he's really not complaining.

"Emperor Ling knows how to put on a show," Fuery comments over the line. "The first members of his entourage are approaching the gate now." The seven officers are flanked around Grumman, who stands in the center of the group holding the intercom through which they can all hear their young friend.

"Hard to believe he's the same skinny kid who helped Fullmetal win the battle, isn't it?" Breda mutters to Havoc, who nods and fights back a smirk.

"I'm seeing a camel...with two large guys walking on either side." Fuery sounds puzzled. "And - hey, it's Alphonse! Hi Al! Al, up here! Hi! Al's riding a camel, you guys! He's leading the parade! Looks like he's got our chimera friends with him!"

None of the officers can keep a straight face at Fuery's enthusiasm. Luckily, neither can the Fuhrer, who laughs heartily. "I like this boy! Wish I had a younger granddaughter I could introduce him to!"

"I see the little princess - May, was it? The one who saved Hawkeye's life." Fuery audibly swallows, and Havoc understands why. Being reminded of how they almost lost the 'queen' is uncomfortable for all of them. "Yeah, it's her. She's in a palanquin right behind Al. Still has that weird little cat, too. Next some guards, and - wow, that's really cool..."

"What is, Fuery?" asks Breda.

"Sorry. It's some kind of decorative costume - has to be at least six men holding this thing up! It looks like a big phoenix."

"The hell's that for?" Havoc mutters, frowning.

"I believe the phoenix is the emblem of the house of Yao," says Falman. "I remember seeing a phoenix image on the back of the young lord's shirt, during his recovery time here in Amestris."

"Oh, that makes sense," Fuery responds over the line. "Let's see...I count six more guards, and here comes the Emperor. He's got Lan Fan with him - at least, I think that's who it is, I never met her."

"How is the Emperor traveling?"

"Another palanquin, this one supported by a pair of camels. Princess May's was carried by people."

"What's behind the Emperor, Sergeant?" the Fuhrer wants to know.

"More guards. And...wait."

"Wait? What do you mean, wait?"

There is no answer.

"Master Sergeant Fuery! Report!"

There is still no answer.

"Fuhrer Grumman, permission to investigate?" Havoc already has a hand on his gun. Before the Fuhrer can respond, however, the line crackles with Fuery's frantic voice.

"Guys! Guys, something's -"

The line goes dead.

Chapter Text

Vital Air

Oxygen.

"Teacher!"

Ed grimaces, and laughs, as first Izumi and then Sig pull him into bear hugs. The wedding is just sixteen days off (not that Ed is counting) and they have come early, even arriving ahead of Mustang, and the first half hour or so is spent in introduction and noisy congratulation. It is so good to see them both again, at a time when nobody has been kidnapped and the world does not need saving.

The plans are coming down to the wire. Somehow they've worked out a menu with food enough to feed around 300 guests, which is more than they are actually expecting but Al has warned Ed about Jerso and Zampano's appetites. Ed is impatient for their arrival, having not seen his little brother in more than a year now. Mr. Garfiel has returned to Rush Valley, to distribute Winry's automail to his demanding clientele, but should be returning in a few days with Paninya and the LeCoultes.

"Colonel Mustang is on his way, then?" asks Izumi, having settled down with a cup of coffee and a slice of Winry's pie. She loves Winry already, Ed can see that in the way the two women interact, and it makes him really happy. Of course, the idea of anybody not loving Winry - or Teacher, for that matter - is incomprehensible to him.

"General Mustang," he corrects her, smirking. "Yeah, should be here any time now, with Colonel Hawkeye in tow."

"And Al's in Central?"

"Should be soon, if he's not already. Apparently they're having some big fancy welcoming party for Ling." Ed shrugs. "Y'know, I know he's the Emperor, and I know he was a prince when I first met him, but he's Ling. I can't get used to thinking of him any other way."

Granny Pinako has Sig breaking up firewood; she's promised to make stew for supper. "Going to be enough mouths to feed, that's certain, what with four extra in the house tonight," she says. "Stew goes a long way. And food always tastes better with company."

Mustang has decided to come a little earlier than planned. Ed supposes there are reasons. Come to think of it, Mustang might even have explained what those reasons were when he called to tell Ed when they will reach Resembool. Ed just didn't pay close enough attention to remember what they are. He grasps the salient point, which is that Mustang and Hawkeye will arrive almost a full week sooner than he originally expected them, and he figures that's all that matters.

Izumi is a help to Granny in the kitchen, despite almost universal insistence that she is a guest and should be relaxing. "I'm a housewife," she reminds them, as if they can forget. So while Granny makes the stew (and tells Izumi that it's still the only way Ed will ingest milk), Izumi busies herself with teaching Winry how to make her own mother's sweet roll recipe.

The women thus occupied, Ed and Sig head down to the train station to welcome the arriving military personnel. For Ed, this begins with a crash to the ground. Black Hayate has accompanied his mistress to Resembool, and is not shy about expressing his delight at meeting Edward again.

"Bad dog," says Hawkeye mildly, and he immediately backs off. Ed just chuckles, and Sig picks him up and dusts him off.

"So remind me why you decided to come early?" he asks. "Not that it matters, I'm just wondering why I have to look at you longer than you first said."

"The soldiers who are going to be erecting the encampment will be arriving in a few days, like we had initially planned," Mustang says. "But the tents themselves are being sent a little ahead of schedule."

"Which is to say...what, exactly?" Ed looks to Hawkeye for clarification.

"A clerical error caused the tents to be requisitioned sooner than expected. They'll be arriving tomorrow and we have to be here to receive them," she translates.

"Clerical error, huh? Sure, sure, I get it." Ed is laughing quietly. "Fine. Winry's grandma is making stew; I guess you're staying in the house tonight."

"Hey, clerical errors happen!" Mustang protests.

"To other people - not to Colonel Hawkeye! C'mon, Hayate, let's go introduce you to Den." The dog barks affirmatively, and Ed falls in step beside Sig, letting the two officers trail behind them. He acts as though he can't hear the muttering, but he and Sig keep glancing at each other and trying not to snicker.

"I told you that story would sound ridiculous."

"Hey, this is the closest thing either one of us has had to a vacation in years. Can you blame me for tacking on a few extra days?"

"No, sir, but wouldn't it have been better to request the leave officially?"

"We're on official business. That makes it official. And I officially plan to sleep in at least once before the rest of the crew arrives."

"General..."

"What?"

"Never mind."

After supper, Winry shows the guests around the house. Ed tries, and fails spectacularly, to sneak along when she lets Izumi and Hawkeye look at her wedding dress. He's saved from a wrench to the head, however, by indignance from another source. Mustang, who is not even attempting to see the gown, is instead perusing the collage of photographs Winry has posted on the old board in the hallway, and his shout of annoyance can be heard throughout the entire house.

"Who drew this ridiculous-looking mustache on my picture!"

Ed, whose snickering gives him away, decides that the combined ire of commanding officer and wife-to-be is a force too formidable to be reckoned with. He therefore escapes through the window, hiding up on the roof and amusing himself by listening to everyone else soothe the animosity.

"He's just excited, Winry."

"I know he is, but how many times do I have to tell him no?"

"Really, sir, it's not that awful."

"You're lying, Colonel."

"Only because I care, sir."

Ed laughs, and sighs, and stretches out on the rooftop with his arms folded behind his head. The stars are out in full force, and he maps out constellations with his eyes. For some reason, they make him think of his parents.

You're getting a real kick out of all this, aren't you? he muses with a smile. I'll just bet you are, old man. I hope that...wherever you two are...you're together. You deserve that much, at least.

"How long do you think you can hide up here?"

Ed sits up, startled, but relaxes when he sees Sig. "Hopefully long enough for them to stop wanting to hurt me. I'm really pretty allergic to wrenches and fire."

Sig chuckles, and hauls himself up onto the roof. Ed is slightly fearful that it might not hold them both, but nothing worse than a few creaks happen. "Beautiful view up here."

"Yeah." Ed grins. "Al and I were up here the day we decided to go our separate ways. We were saying that you could just about see forever, and we both agreed that we wanted to know what was out there."

"Did you expect to be back so soon?"

"Well..." Ed feels like a sap for admitting this; on the other hand, he's never known any man more in love with a woman than Sig. "The world out there is fascinating, don't get me wrong. And I do want to see more of it and study more. But the truth is...the world under this roof is a pretty good place to be too."

"Home is always good. And you were away from home for a long time on your quest," Sig points out sagely. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to put down some roots."

"Sometimes I feel like I've got roots all over the place," the younger man confesses. "Like everywhere I've gone, I've left part of myself behind."

"You did. But you also brought something back." Sig grins. "Take Dublith, for instance. You boys left part of yourselves there, and you took part of us with you when you went away. Isn't that what you alchemists call equivalent exchange?"

"Huh." Ed stares up into the sky, musing. "Well...when you put it that way...it doesn't sound too bad."

Chapter Text

Alexipharmic

A remedy or preservative against poison.

Ling Yao, the Emperor of Xing, is blessed - or cursed, depending on your point of view - to have forty-nine half-brothers and sisters.

Following his father's death and his own subsequent coronation, his first act was to undertake the support of his half-siblings and their clans. He had promised May, the Princess of Chang, that he would do as much.

His second act was to enact a decree that henceforth, the Xingese Emperor would be restricted to only one wife. He does not want his own heirs to be faced with the succession crisis that his father's fifty children had to endure. He has the Philosopher's Stone, so it's possible that this will never become an issue; however, one must make allowances for the possibility of circumstances depriving him of his immortality, or the possibility of his simply growing bored of it. He wants no quarrelling among his children - although this is also assuming that he's going to sire a few.

Given that his third act, to make an offer of marriage to his devoted vassal Lan Fan, ended in rejection, the arrival of an heir to the throne is by no means imminent.

So his fourth act, which surprised some of his people almost as much as the second, was to invite May Chang to the Imperial Palace. He does not particularly like the majority of his half-siblings; she is the exception. It is partly due to the Amestrian conflict, in which they ended up allied to the same faction and she proved herself inherently worthy. Just twelve years old, though tiny for her age, she fought with skill and courage that would not have disgraced a woman twice her age, and he had come to respect her. It is also partly due to the Princess's own disposition, which as a general rule is sweet. By the time of his coronation, he had grown to like her; so, since he had no certainty as to when he might father a child, he named her heiress presumptive.

In the few short years since, he has grown to genuinely love her. The Imperial Jewel, the people call her. At fifteen she has grown lovely and proud, and sincerely attached to himself. He's been quietly watching her blossoming relationship with Al, and approves. He can't bear the thought of anything ever happening to her.

Which is why, as soon as things in Central City begin to go terribly awry, his first thought is that he needs to know she is safe.

"Lan Fan!"

She is there, of course, always within arm's reach when he needs her. He catches her hand as she tries to shield him from what's happening, and squeezes. "Don't worry about me," he says. "I have the Stone; they can't hurt me. Find my sister!"

He knows she dislikes the order, but she nods, and is gone from his sight almost before he can blink.

With his most immediate concern more or less under control, Ling evacuates the palanquin, putting distance between himself and the spooked camels. Dodging frightened Amestrians who are rushing for cover, he darts into an alley and divests himself of the imperial robes that are making it almost impossible for him to move freely. Underneath the formal garments, he's wearing an outfit almost identical to the one he wore on his first visit to this country; it feels like a second skin, and now he's certain he can do whatever he will need to do.

Returning to the main street, he is almost instantly accosted by a man of unidentifiable ancestry, who apparently does not recognize the Emperor of Xing. It's just as well; it makes it that much easier to punch his weird-looking face without remorse. The guards who had been part of the imperial procession are fighting for all they're worth, and he hurries past them in search of the faces he needs to find. All around him is absolute chaos - people are screaming, pushing, rushing, and worse, shooting. There is a sea of strangers battling their way through the crowds of people who don't understand what's happening; Ling himself isn't entirely sure.

"Alphonse!"

His golden-eyed friend is working his alchemy, raising chunks of asphalt to block in their attackers and shield the Amestrians from gunfire. "Al! Where's May?"

"Lan Fan took her to Central Command," Al calls back. Ling manages to reach his side, though he has to knock two heads together in order to do it. "We've got to get you there as well," the alchemist adds, clapping his hands and summoning yet another wall of street.

"Are you insane? You need me in this fight!"

"Your people need you in one piece!"

"They can't hurt me - I have a Philosopher's Stone, remember?"

"I know that, but these guys don't! And I don't think it's a good idea for them to find out, do you?"

He has a point, Ling must admit. "All right, then what should we do?"

"Come with me!" The alchemy forms a sort of tunnel leading to yet another side street - the city is absolutely full of them, Ling remembers - and Al drags him by his wrist. They run for their lives, trying to reach Central Command without further incident.

It would seem that Central Command has, up to this point, been somewhat removed from the situation. Ling recognizes Mustang's men guarding the Fuhrer, though the Flame Alchemist himself is not in evidence. The one he vaguely remembers as being called Breda is barking orders at some of the others; to Ling's profound relief, Lan Fan is already there, hovering defensively over May Chang.

"Ross! Brosh! Take His Excellency and the Princess downstairs to the Crisis Room," Breda is saying as Al and Ling approach. "Don't let anyone in there until you hear from us!"

"Him too!" yells Al, more or less thrusting Ling forward. "Take the Emperor!"

"I'm coming as well," says Lan Fan. "I am the imperial bodyguard; the safety of my Emperor and his sister is my personal responsibility."

Breda doesn't argue with this, although Ling sort of wishes he would. He can see that May isn't happy about the situation either, but she seems resigned; mistress of alkahestry as she is, she knows that her best strength lies in healing the injured after the fact, rather than being in the thick of battle. She contents herself, or tries to, with catching Al's hand and urging him to be careful.

"Falman," says Breda, "you and Armstrong try to secure the main streets. Havoc, what are you doing?"

"I'm heading over to where Fuery was stationed to see if I can find out what happened to him. Does anybody have a clue what is happening?"

"Your city is under attack," says Ling, flatly.

"By who?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Well," says the Fuhrer of Amestris, "this isn't quite what I had planned for your formal reception."

They are seated around a table in what Breda had termed the Crisis Room, fidding idly with cups of tea brought to them by the female officer called Ross. She and the one called Brosh are standing on either side of the only door, which is very firmly sealed. Overall it's not a bad place; the chairs are comfortable and there is a restroom and a small kitchen and it would be altogether fine if it weren't about twenty feet below a city which is currently under attack by some unknown adversary.

"I'm not blaming you, Your Excellency. I just wish we knew what was going on."

"What can you tell me about what you saw? There may be a clue in there somewhere."

Ling had initially presumed the Fuhrer to be a slightly doddering old man, but now he looks across the table and sees shrewdness in the steely gaze. It would seem that Grumman doesn't show all his cards at once. Ling can certainly respect that. "I entered the city as part of the procession, followed by some of my personal guards. I didn't bring as many as maybe I should have - I was trying not to be too showy, it's just not my style. But just as the last soldier crossed into the city proper, we were swarmed from behind by another group of soldiers. I've never seen anything quite like them."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, they're definitely not Amestrians. I've met enough of you to know an Amestrian when I see one, and these were totally unfamiliar to me."

"Fair enough. What did they look like? They didn't happen to wear a lot of fur garments, did they?"

"Drachmans, you mean? No. Setting aside the fact that they'd have died of heat exhaustion before the attack started, the uniforms were very different." Ling drums his fingers on the table restlessly. "Your Excellency, how are Amestrian relations with your other neighbors?"

"We've been intermittently at war with both Aerugo and Creta for several years," Grumman admits, "because we were trying to assimilate them. Of course, everyone in this room was part of the fight against the Homunculi; we all know what was really happening under Fuhrer King Bradley's reign. Likely the assimilation was intended to increase power to the nationwide transmutation circle."

"Makes sense," Ling muses. May doesn't speak, but she nods, her dark eyes cold and angry. Beside him, Lan Fan is also wrestling with her emotions, and he holds her hand under the table as he continues. "And since the government has changed hands, how have things been?"

"Improved, but shaky. Prince Claudio of Aerugo has been very eager to pursue a peace treaty with us, however, which has been very helpful. Fullmetal was also of some assistance to us in that vein, actually; I'm given to understand that he spent some time in both countries after my inauguration, studying alchemy and making friends with natives. Bit of a goodwill ambassador, you might say."

"Ed, a goodwill ambassador?" It sounds a little ridiculous - and yet, Ling has to admit, the Elric brothers are almost single-handedly responsible for his own country's growing relationship with Amestris. It somehow makes sense.

"Well, in any case, the situation has calmed at least somewhat. So I'd be very perplexed to find that either nation was responsible for the present skirmish." Grumman frowns into his teacup. "On the other hand, if it isn't them, who would it be? Mustang's doing too good a job with the Ishvalans for them to rise up."

"Where is Mustang, anyway? I fully expected to see him with his men outside the building."

"He and my granddaughter are in Resembool, with Fullmetal. We were to meet them there - they're overseeing the erection of an encampment to house all the extra wedding guests, ourselves included."

"Your granddaughter?" May speaks for the first time, blinking her round eyes. For the first time, Ling notices Shao May perched on her shoulder, blinking in perfect unison with her mistress.

"Colonel Hawkeye." Grumman seems to remember something, and he turns to look at her. "Wait a moment, Princess. Wasn't I told that you were the one who saved her life?"

"Yes." She's pink. Her brother watches her, amused and proud.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I...thank you." The old man doesn't have words for a moment.

Chapter Text

Sympathetic Ink

Any solution that is colorless but becomes dark (and thus visible) by heating or adding other chemicals.

Riza is rapidly coming to the conclusion that, given the option, she could probably live the rest of her life very happily in Resembool.

The Hawkeye property, her childhood home, was somewhat like her present surroundings. But it was isolated, cut off from the rest of the world as much as possible; her father as a general rule disliked socializing with anyone, including her, and spent most of his time shut away in his study. She never did quite know what induced him to take on an apprentice in the first place, but the years that Roy - the General - lived with them are the only years that she cares to remember. Everything in her childhood was black and white, and he was color.

The Rockbell-Elric household, by comparison, is all color all of the time. She knows she'll never have this, but the secret parts of her heart long for it desperately. So many people - all warm, all noisy and cheerful and welcoming. She feels rested, for the first time in a very long time, and she observes tension lifting from the General's shoulders too.

The tents arrive as they have been 'erroneously' scheduled to do, and at Madam Pinako's suggestion they are stored in an old barn toward the back of the property. The soldiers are not due to arrive until a week before the wedding, to put up the encampment, and their hosts will not hear of herself or the General sleeping anywhere but the house until they do. It's a little crowded, but in a good way. The air agrees with them both.

Black Hayate is driving Den crazy. There's an age disparity between the dogs of at least ten years, and Hayate is not much more than a pup; he wants to play, and Den does not. So to give the older dog some space, and because she finds the walk so invigorating, she takes Hayate out in the afternoons on the country roads, and lets him chase squirrels or roll around in the grass.

On the third afternoon of their stay in Resembool, when she starts off on her walk with Hayate, the General comes with them. His decision to do so pleases her. This is partly because it's easier to watch his back when it's in the same vicinity as herself, of course, but there isn't much presenting danger out here. No, it's mostly because it's what he used to do, back when he was the only source of color, and it makes her happy that he remembers. She would steal away for hours at a time as a girl, having no better options to entertain herself, and if his studies were reasonably concluded (or sometimes not so reasonably) he would come with her and see that she returned safely home.

His thoughts are evidently running in the same direction. "It's been a long time since we went on a walk like this."

"It has."

"You seem different here."

"Do I?"

"Happier."

"So do you." The conversation is awkward, but somehow not awkward at the same time. It would be inherently awkward if it were anybody else. But it's the General - Roy - and that makes it okay.

"Yeah, I think I am." Their hands brush, and Riza curses herself for the subtle electric shock this sends through her.

"I almost wish we could stay," she admits. "Sir? I'm... actually very glad that you messed up the requisition order."

"Me too."

There is sunlight in her hair, and Roy realizes that he's almost forgotten how that looks.

Only two and a half days in Resembool, and she already seems healthier. It's too bright here for shadows to plague them.

"So you got the dress for the wedding, then?" he asks. He knows she did; she surrendered the invoice to him with an air of comical but appreciative resignation.

"I did. Thank you again. And your tuxedo is cleaned and pressed, it's in your trunk." She packed his trunk for him, he remembers, because he was too busy to do it himself.

"What would I do without you?" he asks lightly. No, really, what would I do?

"Don't worry, sir. You'll never have to find out."

Her smile borders on a smirk as she eyes him sidelong, and it's all he can do to stop himself from kissing her senseless.

Over supper, and for reasons Riza doesn't quite understand, the conversation comes around to the subject of first meetings.

Ed and Winry are exempted from providing their history because they quite literally don't remember their first meeting. They were toddlers, if not infants, and there has simply never been a day when their lives were not tangled up in each other's.

Madam Pinako has them all roaring with the story of how she met her husband, Winry's grandfather. Apparently she won his heart by drinking him under the table. The tiny spitfire was once much taller, according to a few old photographs in Winry's hallway collage, and quite beautiful.

Sig and Izumi's story couldn't be more different. "I loved her on sight," he says. "She was so small and pretty and delicate."

"So to win my heart, he started sending me gifts of beef and pork." This makes more sense once Riza understands that Sig is a butcher, but it's laughable all the same. Especially when Izumi adds that "The tenderloin got him a first date. I accepted his marriage proposal when it came with steaks."

Once the laughter dies down again, there's a demand to know how General and Colonel met. He evidently sees the color flare in her face and decides to make it easy on her. "Colonel Hawkeye's father was an alchemy master, and I was his apprentice for several years. We've known each other since I was fourteen."

"That explains a lot," says Ed.

"Like what?"

"Like how she puts up with you - she's been practicing all her life!"

That night, Roy dreams of Maes Hughes. Less of a dream than a memory, but he's seeing the scene from his friend's perspective rather than his own.

"I got another letter from Gracia!"

"That's great." Roy's remark is toneless. Maes ignores it.

"It's enough. It'll get me through today by reminding me that I have tomorrow waiting. What about you, Roy? Haven't you got a sweetheart back home? I bet I could set you up with someone if you don't, Gracia has some very nice friends."

"No. Well - no."

"That sounded more like a yes."

"It's not like that. She's...not."

Maes doesn't quite know how to answer that. But a day or so later, as he and Roy are standing together again, they are approached by one of the snipers. The hood is slowly pulled back, revealing the shooter as female, and she addresses herself to Roy calmly.

"It's been a long time, Major Mustang. Do you remember me?"

Roy's face contorts in a way that Maes has never seen, and he knows. Roy doesn't have a sweetheart back home... because she's here, and the discovery that she's here is absolutely killing him. For the rest of his life, Maes doesn't offer to set Roy up with anyone; he just continually teases him that he ought to get himself a wife, without specifying the candidate.

"Sir!"

Riza feels guilty when her sleeping superior wakes with a start. "C-Colonel?" he asks; his voice is husky and drenched with dreams, and he looks at her with half-lidded eyes that do something terrible to her heart. She has to set aside any inconvenient feelings, however, because there's a serious problem.

"Sir, there's a call...it's Central."

"What time is it?"

"Very early. I'm sorry to wake you, sir, but it's urgent."

He rubs his eyes and looks at her properly, and she knows she must look pale and frightened. She is. Falman's voice on the line has left her shaking, even though she doesn't understand half of what he said. However her face appears, it's enough to wake him up completely, and he pulls on a shirt as he follows her to the phone.

"Falman?" He listens. "What? When?... Where is the Fuhrer?... I see... I see... yes. Thank you, Captain. We'll be on the next train."

"What's happened?" she asks. Everyone else is clustered as nearby as they dare, clad in dressing gowns and looking both annoyed and worried.

"Insurgents." The General sounds shocked. "An unknown group attacked the imperial procession just after it entered the city. The place is a war zone."

"What?"

"Your grandfather and Ling are in the Crisis Room, they're all right. Fuery's... unaccounted for." Riza's stomach lurches.

"What about Al?" asks Ed.

"He's there - Falman says he's using his alchemy to try to block off the attackers, but reinforcements are arriving. We have to go."

"I'll get dressed at once," Riza says.

"Me too," says Ed.

"Are you crazy?" Winry asks, and Riza half expects her to start brandishing the wrench. "You can't go! You can't even do alchemy anymore, what do you think you're going to do?"

"It's my brother! I have to go!" He bites back some clear irritation and puts his hands on her shoulders. "I need to know that he's okay. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes - but -" He's already gone, automail leg clanking down the hall.

"Izumi, give me a hand, will you?" says Madam Pinako. "We'll put together a lunch basket for them. They'll need to eat on the train." Sig follows them downstairs.

Winry is fighting tears, Riza can see it, and she impulsively moves to the younger woman's side. "Winry...do you remember when we first met?"

"What?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Riza sees that the General, who was on his way to dress, has paused to listen too. "When we first met - after Ed and Al's mishap. Do you remember what you asked me?"

Perplexed, Winry shakes her head. Riza continues. "You asked me why I was a soldier. I told you that it's because there's someone I need to protect, and you seemed to understand that. Well, starting right now, I have two people I need to protect." Obeying some maternal instinct, she brushes hair out of Winry's eyes. "I will bring him back safely. All right?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"You can trust her, Winry," the General interjects. Meeting Riza's gaze, he adds, "She's never let me down."

They board the train at the Resembool station, and Madam Pinako hands the picnic basket through the window. "You three be careful," she says. "Ed, don't do anything stupid."

"What are you telling me that for?"

"Because I know you."

Winry leans through the window to kiss him one more time. Roy feels like a voyeur, somehow. "Like Grandma said, don't do anything stupid. Or I'll be waiting with a wrench." To Riza, she adds, "Thank you."

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Roy tells them. "Hopefully the wedding won't be too delayed. Maybe the worst of it's already over." He isn't sure he believes that - why would Falman have called for them if it weren't serious? - but he wants to make Winry feel better.

The whistle blows, and everyone backs up reluctantly. As the train pulls away, Ed watches them intently until they're out of sight. "It'll be okay," he says, talking more to himself than to Roy or Riza. Then he chuckles. "We've already been through hell - this should be a breeze."

"Let's hope so."

Chapter Text

Xylenol Blue

An acid-based indicator that changes from red to yellow and then blue as the pH level rises.

They travel to New Optain, because to go directly into Central itself would be difficult at best. Mustang thinks that if they can get to New Optain without any real trouble, they can probably gain some intelligence about just what the hell is going on inside the main city.

Ed is pissy. He can't get comfortable, he can't stop thinking, he can't stop worrying. It's not just Al, although of course it's mostly Al. But he's concerned for Ling too, and May, and he doesn't doubt that Lan Fan's there, and then there's all his friends in the military, and Mrs. Hughes and Elysia, and, well, everybody who lives there. Who's still alive, who's...?

"Edward."

He looks up. Hawkeye is watching him like, well, a hawk, and her big brown eyes are concerned. "You should try to sleep. We all should. We're going to need our strength."

"Can you honestly tell me that you feel the least bit tired, Colonel?"

She sighs, and he knows that she can't. He's trying not to be snappish with her, because it's not her fault, not at all. It's not even General Birdbrain's fault, although this won't necessarily stop Ed from losing his temper with him. He's not sleeping either, but he looks like he wants to be.

"This just doesn't make any damned sense," Ed rages, more to the open air than to either of them. "How can the city be invaded without the rest of the country knowing what's going on? How the hell did they get to Central without being noticed? And how can we not know who's doing it?"

"Perhaps they've got alchemists," Hawkeye suggests. "They could have tunneled under the desert, or something."

"There's at least half a dozen possibilities for how they got there," says Mustang. "Damn it, what does this mean?" His fingers twitch irritably, like he wants to set something on fire. Ed can't blame him.

"It can't be the Homunculi, right?" asks Ed. "I mean, they're all dead. Aren't they?"

"They have to be, after what we went through."

"Maybe it's an assassination attempt? Either on Ling or the Fuhrer?"

"Maybe. It's not common knowledge that Ling has a Stone."

"How long is it gonna take to get there, anyway? It took me sixteen hours to get to Ishval."

"Ishval isn't on what you'd call a direct route," Hawkeye points out. "The plan is that eventually it will be. New Optain is more of a straight shot; it should only take about eight hours."

They talk themselves into a stupor; Ed's not sure how long it is before he falls into a fitful doze. He wakes at one point when he senses something warm; blinking, he finds a blanket has been spread over him. Mustang is asleep, sprawled across the opposite bench, and Hawkeye is engaged in covering him with a second blanket. He vaguely wonders where she got them, but isn't really coherent enough to care.

"Colonel?" he yawns. "What're..."

"It's a bit chilly this afternoon," she says. He supposes that's true. It's spring, but now and then the temperatures dip back down into the cooler numbers.

"Hmm." He blinks again. "Where'll you sleep?"

"I'll keep watch until one of you wakes up. Go back to sleep, Fullmetal."

Hawkeye, he thinks drowsily, would probably make a pretty good mom. The concept barely registers before he sinks again into unconsciousness. He prefers that anyway; Winry's there with him.

The sun, which had not even risen when they left Resembool, has already passed its apex and is on its way back down again by the time they reach New Optain. Hawkeye has finally gotten a little rest herself, but she's evidently a light sleeper as a rule, to judge by how rapidly she springs to life when Mustang just touches her shoulder when their destination is within sight. They share the contents of Granny's basket in silence, none of them particularly hungry but knowing they need to eat while they can, just as they needed to sleep while they could.

News, Ed thinks ruefully, needs to learn to travel faster through Amestris. It seems as though the majority of the people they come across are blissfully unaware of the situation in the capital, much as they were in complete ignorance of everything that happened on the Promised Day. The only person who seems to know anything is a railway conductor, to whom they speak about getting a train to Central.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," he says, "although to be honest I'm not entirely certain why. I've been informed that the Central railway station is inaccessible; we're having to completely reroute several trains as it is. I heard something about a building collapse blocking off the track, but with as many alchemists as the military has, you'd think they could clear that up in hardly any time at all."

"You'd think," Mustang agrees sardonically. "Is there another mode of transport available? It's really urgent that we get to Central."

"Want to see the Xingese Emperor, huh?" The conductor chuckles. "Yeah, you're not the first. Had quite a few people head out that way in the last couple days - you missed the grand arrival though!"

"You said a mouthful," Ed mutters so that only Hawkeye can hear him.

The best option, it seems, is to borrow a car and drive to Central. Of course, in this unfamiliar city, finding someone who is willing to lend a car to three complete strangers - even military strangers - is a hopeless prospect. In the end, Ed and Mustang are forced to pool their resources and buy a car.

"I'm driving," says Hawkeye flatly. Ed starts to protest, but Mustang cuts him short with a look.

"Let her," he says. "We'll get there faster."

Hawkeye, as it turns out, has a lead foot, and they're on their way in short order. "We need to determine three things as soon as possible," Mustang says, half turning in the front seat in order to address his remarks to Ed in the back. "Who's attacking, what they want, and where the pieces stand on the board."

"Is this another of your goofy chess analogies?"

Mustang ignores him. "My pawn is missing in action, but he's more resourceful than people tend to realize," he says. "He may have simply moved en passant."

"Pawn?" says Ed. "You call Fuery your pawn?"

"Fuery's the pawn, Breda's the rook, Havoc's the knight and Falman is the bishop. They each have their own set of moves, and they're very methodical in their own way."

"I hate that stupid game, did I ever tell you that?"

"I'm not surprised."

Hawkeye is diligently ignoring both of them while they bicker, eyes focused on the road. Ed has to admire the way she's able to block them out. "So - let me see if I remember right - all those are the subordinate pieces. Guess that makes you the king, huh?"

"And I haven't been checkmated yet."

Abruptly, Ed smirks; Mustang has just handed him some shiny new components for his favorite teasing mechanism. "Okay. I see how it is. You're the king - the lazy piece that hangs around on the board while everyone else does all the work."

A tiny snort suggests that Hawkeye is not ignoring them quite as skillfully as it appears. Then again, if the analogy extends to Mustang's entire group, her own role is an easy one to guess - and Ed can't help thinking that Mustang has to know how it looks. Still smirking, he adds, "Especially the queen, who if I remember correctly is the most powerful piece. Am I right?"

Mustang's lips twitch. He wants to laugh, Ed suspects, even though he's clearly annoyed. "You're not... entirely wrong," he acknowledges crossly.

"Enough already," says Hawkeye. "What strategy are you proposing, chessmaster?"

"I wish there was a way we could locate Alphonse. He'd probably be in the best situation to help us get into the city."

This is true enough. Since Al can still do alchemy without transmutation circles, he would be able to open a wall or something equally useful to smuggle them inside. Mustang can also still do alchemy without transmutation circles, but Ed hopes there's not going to be a need for a lot of fire.

Hawkeye slows the car as they get nearer to Central. Even from a distance, it's very obvious that things are quite odd. Every visible way to enter the city proper is blocked, literally blocked, with rubble and stone. What appear to be armed guards are standing nearby, presumably to drive off any attempts to enter.

"This isn't good."

"Thank you, General Obvious."

"Shut up, Fullmetal."

They park in one of the suburban outlying areas. "There's got to be another way in there," says Hawkeye.

"Yeah, but how...underground would presumably work, but I can't do that anymore," says Ed. He's thinking hard.

"Underground or overhead," Mustang muses.

Ed lifts his head and looks at him. "Overhead..."

"Through the sky..."

"We've got an available source of hot air..."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Fullmetal?"

"Much as it pains me to admit it, yes."

Hawkeye looks from one to the other, catching on but unable to get excited. "Uh... sir? Ed? Can I just point out one thing?"

"What?"

"None of us knows how to make a hot-air balloon."

They visibly deflate. Ed, however, doesn't stay down for long. "We need a phone!"

"A phone?"

"We don't know how to make a hot-air balloon...but I bet I know someone who does!"

Chapter Text

Revivification

The restoration of a metal to the metallic state.

Al is exhausted.

He's been working steadily for hours, hardly daring to rest. The unknown assailants seem to be everywhere, and he could swear that every time he turns around there are more of them. He can't figure out where they're coming from or what they want; it's all he can do to throw up impromptu walls shielding Amestrian citizens and soldiers from the onslaught. He knows he can't save them all, but he's got to try.

Everything had been going so well. The caravan that crossed from Xing to Amestris had been so much fun; Ling had even made a point of taking the party past the ruins of Xerxes, to allow Al the chance to view his own ancestral homeland. The arrival in Central City was cheerfully cacophonous, with so many people evidently trying to get a look at them all.

He had waved to Fuery, and was laughing amiably with Jerso and Zampano while his camel led the imperial procession slowly toward the Central Command building. Then there was a rush of noise behind him, and screaming, and a lot of confusion. He'd jumped out of the saddle and, while the chimera virtually disappeared into the fray, rushed for the palanquin carrying May Chang.

"May! Jump!"

She'd jumped and he'd caught her and the look in her eyes had been positively dazzling; so much so that he'd almost forgotten where he was and what was happening. Then Lan Fan, obeying Ling, had reached them, and he'd reluctantly handed off the princess to the bodyguard. "I'll find you later, May! I promise!"

He'd rolled up his sleeves and gotten to work. Now, several hours later, he's so tired he can barely stand. He leans against a wall, grateful that things are at least quieter. Most of the citizens have cleared the streets, but no one can leave the city; the enemy clearly has alchemists among their ranks, and they've blocked every possible escape route. The railroad is impassable. No one can enter; no one can leave. Night has fallen, for which he is grateful, because it brings about something of a cease-fire.

Lieutenant Havoc finds him, and half carries him to Central Command. He's pushed gently into a chair and a tray is placed in front of him, but he's so tired he almost can't eat. Dully, he stares up into the faces of Breda and Falman.

"Who are they? What do they want?" he croaks.

"We still don't know. What's happening out there?"

While he forces down bits of his dinner, Al and the soldiers trade information on everything that's happened since last he saw them, when he dragged the protesting Emperor of Xing to be placed under their protective custody. The casualty count is thankfully low, but the streets are being patrolled. He doubts anyone dares to leave whatever shelter they've managed to find. The chimera are missing in action; so is Sergeant Fuery. The Fuhrer, the Emperor, and the Princess remain in the Crisis Room, which they explain to Al is the most secure portion of Central Command.

At Falman's request, Al writes down the number of the house in Resembool. The grey-haired soldier excuses himself, and returns a short while later with the only remotely encouraging information they've received in hours - he's contacted General Mustang, and he and Colonel Hawkeye will make their way northwest immediately. "I don't know exactly what he might be able to do," Falman admits, sitting down and rubbing tired eyes. "But his presence may be a morale boost for the rest of us, if nothing else."

"But how can they even get in here?" asks Al. He describes the wreckage and armed guards that have closed off every entrance to the city proper. "If I could meet them somewhere, maybe I could help..."

"They'd shoot you on sight, Al," says Havoc, not unkindly. "No offense, but you stick out a little bit, especially when you do alchemy without drawing a circle. We don't dare send Armstrong out to deal with it either, for similar reasons."

"Speaking of which..." Breda happens to have glanced into the corridor, and immediately jumps clear of the door before it gets slammed open by the hulking, sparkling alchemist.

"Alphonse Elric! Oh, I'm so relieved to find that you are safe and well." What prevents Armstrong from picking him up and sobbing into his shirtfront, Al isn't entirely sure, but he's grateful to whatever it is. "Too many of our allies are scattered or lost already."

"How are things in the Crisis Room?" asks Falman. "Someone needs to relieve Brosh and Ross soon."

"Yes, Second Lieutenant Catalina has already taken Second Lieutenant Ross's station," Armstrong replies. "His Excellency and the Xingese royals have been persuaded to take some rest; it looks to me like young Alphonse should do likewise."

"Everyone needs to sleep," says Havoc, "but we'll have to do it in shifts. Including you, Major."

"Don't worry about me! The ability to go without sleep has been passed down through the Armstrong line for generations!"

"Falman got in touch with Mustang; he and Hawkeye are on their way," Breda says, delicately ignoring the catchphrase. "We'll need to find some way to get them into the city."

"Could the sewers be of any use?" Armstrong suggests. Al forgets, sometimes, that the Major is smarter than he looks. "I know that you made great use of them during the events leading up to the Promised Day. Perhaps they could be smuggled in by the same means."

"Unfortunately, the enemy might have already had the same thought," Falman says grimly. "Fuhrer Grumman ordered all sewer entrances sealed as quickly as possible so they couldn't use them to get inside Central Command."

"For now, I think our best plan is to try to maintain the status quo, and meanwhile see if we can work out just who it is we're dealing with here." Breda scrubs tiredly at his face. "They've pulled back in terms of the offensive, which is just weird."

"Yeah, why are they content with just blocking off the city? What good's that going to do?" asks Havoc.

Al has been staring down into his plate, just listening. It probably appears that he's dozing. Now he lifts his head, brows furrowed, and looks at them all. "I read something about this once," he says softly. "It was a tactic employed by Drachman soldiers in medieval times. They would conquer regions by attacking major cities and closing them off, so nobody could enter or leave. This meant that they couldn't get food or supplies in to the citizens. Everyone was trapped unless they surrendered. They haven't used the tactic in a long time, but..."

"But maybe they've decided to revive it?" Armstrong looks concerned. "That's unsettling."

"Why attack Central, though? Wouldn't North City be the more logical place for them to start?" asks Breda.

"Would you risk trying to pass the Northern Wall of Briggs in order to conquer North City?" Falman returns. "You've never met the woman. Trust me, she's enough on her own to keep Drachma out of the north."

"Besides, think about what could be gained by attacking Central right now," Al points out. "Both Ling and May are here - the Emperor of Xing and his personally selected heir. They've got Xing at their mercy."

"Damn." It's apparently the only thing Havoc can think to say.

The sun rises on a very unsettled Central City. Al, having slept for a few hours, is allowed to enter the Crisis Room; this is not normally permitted for civilians, but it was a particular request of Princess May Chang and Fuhrer Grumman can see no reason to refuse. So he joins the dignitaries and Lan Fan, who are now being guarded by Major Armstrong and Captain Falman, and they partake of an uneasy breakfast.

Al shares his previous night's concerns with those at the table, explaining the historical significance of the starvation tactic and why this points to Drachman involvement. Ling frowns. "I saw some of the attackers," he says, "and they didn't look Drachman to me. I never saw people like this - they had dark, swarthy features."

"Like Aerugonians?"

"People from Aerugo? I've never met one."

"But I saw some of them too," Al continues. "The ones I saw had lighter complexions. Almost like Amestrians, but not quite."

"Most of the ones I saw wore hoods," says Lan Fan, speaking for what might be the first time since entering the Crisis Room the night before, "but I did see one with red hair."

Fuhrer Grumman is frowning deeply. "It sounds like our adversaries might well be mixed."

"A joint attack on Amestris by all of our old enemies?" ventures Armstrong from his post by the door. "Aerugo, Creta, Drachma - they could all be working together. We provided them with plenty of reason under Fuhrer King Bradley's reign."

"I can't think Prince Claudio would so willingly violate our peace terms, though," Grumman says. "Have there been any demands made as yet?"

"Not yet, but it's still quite early in the first full day of occupation."

"So all we can do is wait? What about the rest of Amestris?"

"No news has come in as yet, Your Excellency. Except that some help is on the way," adds Falman. "I was able to contact General Mustang before they made any attempt to knock out our outside communications."

"That is news," Grumman agrees. "Let's just hope it's good news."

May, seated beside Al, leans over to speak to him in a low tone. "You're really all right? I think my alkahestry would work down here. If you're cut, or anything..."

"No, I'm okay, I promise." He pats her hand, and realizes that it's very cold, so he takes it in both of his own for a moment to try to warm it. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"I'm scared. But yes."

"Me too."

Chapter Text

Spirit of Hartshorn

A strong solution of ammonia produced by the distillation of hartshorn.

Master Sergeant Kain Fuery never thought he would say this, but in a way, he's actually grateful to Fuhrer King Bradley for sending him to the southern front.

He had realized very quickly that his line to Central Command had been disconnected in one way or another just as the horde of motley soldiers started pouring into the city. The survival instincts he had acquired in the south came in handy as he dove for some kind of cover, and tried to watch the situation to get an idea of what was happening. He was unarmed, so attempting to help the people was not much of an option, but at the same time it didn't seem to him that the attackers were altogether keen on killing anyone. Hurting, maybe, and scaring, definitely, but he deduced that mass murder was not on their to-do list because the carnage was nowhere near as serious as he would have expected. The chaos, on the other hand, was overwhelming.

Being the youngest and smallest of Mustang's hand-selected elite has never been an asset, to Fuery's way of thinking. But he's very intelligent, and as the second night of occupation is closing in with the approaching dusk, he's still working on the plan he set for himself more than a day ago: get to Central Command, preferably without being shot, and learn as much as possible about the situation along the way.

His first effort, though tactically good, ended in failure. Using a garbage bin for cover, he had pried up a manhole and climbed down into the sewer. A decent sense of direction had brought him beneath Central Command after a few hours of walking, but he had been thwarted there by tight seals - possibly alchemical in origin, though he couldn't be sure. Exhausted, he managed to ignore the stench and fall asleep for a little while.

He awoke after nightfall, and returned to the surface in time to overhear a conversation between two of the insurgents. Again, he's grateful for his transfer; the strangers were speaking Aerugonian, and although he's not fluent by a long shot, he picked up a working knowledge of the language during his time at the front. Listening from the shadows, he pieced together enough of their conversation to understand that all lines of communication out of Central City have been cut.

Throughout the ensuing day, Central took on the appearance of a ghost town. No one dared to leave their homes, or offices, or stores, or wherever they found to hide themselves from the strange enemy. Fuery kept to the shadows as much as possible, trying to remember every trick of secrecy he'd ever managed to learn from Hawkeye and Havoc.

Now, as the sun dips low to the horizon, he's exhausted and dizzy with hunger. He needs to connect the communication lines, or they have no hope of getting any sort of outside help, but to do that he really needs to get inside Central Command. And he can see, from his vantage point, that he's not about to just walk up to the front door. Not with that many guards standing in front.

There is, however, another way in. It's just secret enough, just small enough, that the guards might have overlooked it. Very few people in the Amestrian military would be able to make use of it; the only people Fuery's ever been sure could make use of it are himself and Fullmetal, and since Fullmetal's growth spurt he thinks he might be the only one. If he can just get to it, he's got a chance.

Central Command no longer uses coal for heat, not since the advent of electricity. But years ago, back when his grandfather was a corporal, one of his duties was to arrange for monthly coal deliveries. When Kain was a boy, Grandpa Fuery took him around the building and showed him, among other things, the funny flap door through which it would be dumped into the basement.

It's a long shot at best, but it's time for a Fuery to schedule one more delivery.

It's a difficult crawl.

He's got to stay low to the ground, hide in the shadows created by the twilight that's beginning to dust the sky. Slow movements, don't catch their eyes. His shirt is torn and the ground and cobblestone and whatever else he's crawling over rubs painfully against his torso. He undulates, snakelike, through no man's land.

He can see the coal hole. He waits, watching. The guards move in a sort of formation, and he starts counting off their paces. There comes a gap of exactly nineteen seconds when no one is on the same side of the building as the opening. It's so low to the ground, and so small, that they don't appear to have given it any thought. Fuery gulps, because it's smaller than he remembers and he's not sure now that he's going to fit.

He has to try. He's only a pawn, but even pawns can become something fierce if they have the guts to cross the board.

Shadows are lengthening, and he creeps closer. The patrolmen map out their steps, staccato, precise. The nineteen seconds come and give him the chance to dart closer still. He flattens himself when the nineteen are up and waits.

Step. Step. He half wonders if there's significance to the rhythm.

They're reaching the ends of the building.

They're turning.

Now.

He bolts, gunning for the hole for all he's worth (fifteen seconds) and shoving open the old worn flap (ten seconds) and wiggling wiggling he's got to get inside (four seconds) and then a rush of air and a thump and ow and a scattering of old stones.

He's in.

Fuery sits in the dark basement for several minutes, regaining his breath and calming his thudding heart and enjoying being alive. What's better, now that he is inside, he can relax. As far as he can tell, the enemy has not penetrated Central Command, so he can quit skulking around like some kind of deranged fugitive.

He climbs the basement stairs and, cautiously, pushes open the door.

Immediately he's looking down the barrels of no less than six rifles. He gulps, and raises his hands.

"I'm unarmed..."

"Who the hell-"

But the unfamiliar voice is summarily cut off by one he knows all too well, and he almost faints from relief when one of the men pulls off a mask. "Fuery? Where the hell have you been, kid? We've been going nuts!"

"Hi, Havoc."

"At ease, men, he's one of ours." With a measured clack the guns are retracted. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

Fuery explains, briefly. He adds the intel he's collected (such as it is) about the communications being severed. "I think I can fix it, or at least I can try."

"You're the best chance we've got," Havoc agrees, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "But first things first - let's go let the others know you're all right. Damn, you're filthy."

"Think I could get a fresh shirt? And maybe some bandages for my stomach?"

The reunion with Falman and Breda is brief, but it makes them all feel better.

"You said they were speaking Aerugonian?" Falman asks. Ross is there and she's cleaning Fuery's crawl-induced wounds, and he's blushing horribly at being shirtless around the older woman but he does have the presence of mind to nod.

"That fits with the account Emperor Ling gave of at least some of them looking Aerugonian," Breda confirms. "I'll go let the Fuhrer know; you see what you can do about the phone lines, okay?"

"Aye, sir."

"Oh, please."

It's actually not too hard for Fuery to figure out how to repair the situation, although it does require some fresh cable and a bit of crawling around in uncomfortable places. After almost an hour's work, he's got one single phone line established for the entire building.

Oddly, almost as soon as it's connected, the phone starts to ring. They all stare at it, as though they've forgotten what they're supposed to do, and then Fuery recollects himself and answers it. "C-Central Command?"

Everyone around him is listening intently, watching him. He listens to the voice on the other end, brow furrowed in some consternation. "I can barely hear you. Hang on." He tightens a few things, wiggles a few connections. "That's a little better. This is Master Sergeant Kain Fuery; who is this?" He listens again, and his face takes on an almost comical expression of wonder. "Fullmetal?"

Havoc apparently can't suppress a laugh at that. "Kid's got a hell of a piece of timing, doesn't he?"

"What?" Fuery is asking. "Who?... Sheska?" He pulls the phone away from his mouth and turns to the others. "He wants to talk to somebody named Sheska. Says she was Brigadier General Hughes' assistant."

"Sure, I remember her," says Falman. "She has a rare gift for perfect recall of anything she's ever read. I'll go get her."

"Falman's gone to get her," Fuery reports. "What?... How long?... Yeah, sorry about that, the phone lines were all severed. It's been a stroke of luck that we could even reconnect this one... What?... Oh, I don't know, hang on." He looks at Havoc. "He says he's been trying to get through for at least an hour. You don't know where Alphonse is, do you?"

"Last I checked, he was in the Crisis Room with the Fuhrer. Tell Edward he's okay."

Fuery relays the information, and can only imagine the relief that must be flooding through Ed when he hears it. "Okay, here comes Fal...man. Uh. Right." He's never seen Sheska until this moment, and well, she's young and awfully pretty, so it's a bit dimly and awkwardly that he hands the receiver over to her.

She looks puzzled at having been summoned, but accepts the phone with a thank you and listens to the voice on the other end. "Hi, Edward... Hm? A hot air balloon? Let me think... Yes, I do remember reading about them! You...what? What for?... Oh, really? All right. You'll need a basket - something lightweight but sturdy. Wicker is what they usually use. And you'll need some material to form the envelope, like sheets of nylon. They have to be big and strong enough to hold the basket..." She continues describing, in meticulous detail, the exact process needed to make a hot air balloon. Fuery can't help feeling very impressed at her wealth of knowledge on the subject, and idly wonders what else she knows.

"Okay, you're welcome. Be careful, all right?" Sheska hands the receiver back to Fuery, but Ed's already hung up so he places it back in the cradle. "He wanted to know how to make a hot air balloon."

"...why?"

"I don't really know. He wasn't making much sense. Something about 'flying with a hawk,' and when I mentioned the heat source a balloon requires, he said I shouldn't worry about that because it's about time the lazy bum started pulling his own weight on the board."

To Sheska's evident alarm, all three of the men burst out laughing. "Does...does that mean something to you?" she asks hesitantly.

"Oh, yes," says Fuery.

"It means help is on the way," Falman explains.

Havoc grins, and rubs the back of his neck. "Anybody want to run outside and tell those losers that they might as well give up now?"

Chapter Text

Anodyne

A medicine or drug which alleviates pain.

Around three in the morning, the formal demand is finally delivered.

Havoc is tasked with bringing the notice to Fuhrer Grumman, who looks tired and cranky. He supposes it's hard to blame the guy, all things considered. "So what do they want, Lieutenant?"

"The unconditional surrender of the Emperor of Xing and Princess May Chang. If you don't give up the royals, they'll come in and take them by force." Havoc knows the situation is grim; it's been hours since Fuery's conversation with Fullmetal, and there's been no sign that he, Mustang, or Hawkeye are within the city limits. "They've got Central Command totally surrounded, and with the city streets still blockaded, no backup units can get in to help us."

"I'm not giving them up." Grumman's voice is like iron. "If we have to fight, we have to fight. Get every available man to help barricade the entrances; I'll be part of the fight myself if need be."

Havoc hesitates, wondering if he should mention the possibility of assistance coming. Then he remembers what he so often forgets, what none of them knew for so long - that Hawkeye is the Fuhrer's granddaughter. The old man probably won't appreciate knowing that his only living relative may or may not be jumping into the thick of things. "We'll defend Central to the last man if that's what it takes, Your Excellency," he says instead. Let the Fuhrer think Hawkeye is safe in Resembool. Havoc almost wishes she were.

The bathroom door opens slowly. "So it's us they want?"

Havoc and the Fuhrer both turn to look at the Emperor. He is oddly calm. "I'm afraid so, Your Majesty."

"I don't want your men to all be killed over this, Fuhrer Grumman. That wouldn't be right." Ling steps more fully into the room, and glances at the far corner where his sister is still asleep on the little cot. "I will surrender myself."

"No, my lord!" It's Lan Fan who speaks, a hushed outburst, and she's across the room in the blink of an eye. "Xing needs you, you must not!"

"And Amestris needs to be left in peace. This is not their fight!" He pauses, and looks at Havoc. "Who is it?" he wants to know. "Did the person behind all of this identify themselves?"

Havoc squints at the message. "Not exactly," he says. "They just claim to be 'the rightful Emperor.'"

Ling groans, and pales a little. "I was beginning to have my suspicions," he admits. Lan Fan tries to usher him into a chair, but he waves her aside.

"Who is it, then?" asks the Fuhrer.

"His name is Dong Bao," Ling replies gravely, "and he is my eldest half-brother."

"It's Ling's brother?" Falman repeats in disbelief, when Havoc relates the conversation to him, Fuery and Breda.

"That's what he says. Apparently Ling was the twelfth son - the Emperor had fifty kids, and when he was dying there was an all-out brawl for the throne. Ling won because he got the Philosopher's Stone." Havoc can't imagine having five children, let alone fifty. "May was the seventeenth daughter, she was even lower in the pecking order than Ling. So this Dong Bao was pissed because he assumed he'd inherit the throne, being the oldest. Instead, not only did he not get it automatically, but he wasn't even named Ling's heir."

"I guess that'd make me a little resentful too," Breda acknowledges, "but not enough to invade a neighboring country."

"Ling says he made the Princess his heir because she was the only one out of the whole family that he likes at all," Havoc continues. "But he's been financially supporting the other forty-eight ever since he was crowned. He's never trusted most of them, but he says he never expected any of them to go this far."

"What about the people we've seen out there? The ones who seem to be of different nationalities?" asks Fuery.

"Not sure yet. Maybe they're hired guns."

"We can't let the Emperor give himself up," Fuery insists. "That's just - wrong!"

"We won't, kid, don't worry. Right now we've got to get every available soldier on the steps," says Havoc. "Leave a few to guard the Crisis Room, get the rest outside and ready to fight."

"What about the General? Anything?" asks Falman.

"Haven't heard a peep. Maybe the balloon didn't pan out and they couldn't get into the city. We can't wait for them. Let's just...let's do what he'd expect us to do. Fight."

"Just remember, we're still under orders," says Breda.

"We are?"

"You weren't there." The 'rook' gives his comrade a half-smile. "When we convened in the sewers, Fuery and Hawkeye and me - Mustang gave us just one order. Don't die."

"I see. Yes, that order applies to all of you."

"You too, Havoc," says Fuery.

The collective Amestrian military fans out in formation on the stairs leading into Central Command. The city is abnormally silent, and one might choke on the sheer tension polluting the air. They stare out at the strange sea of faces, and no one is entirely sure what is about to happen, but their spines are rigid with the strain of knowing that something is most surely imminent.

A man steps forward from the approximate center of the line of intruders. "I have given your Fuhrer an hour to decide," he calls out. "Will he surrender the Xingese usurper?"

"Our Fuhrer has considered your request," Havoc calls back, "and I believe his exact words for you were 'Go to hell.'"

"I shall take you all with me!" Dong Bao shouts.

To a man, the Amestrians pull their rifles. "You'll have to go through every last one of us first," Breda growls, probably too low to be heard by their enemy.

"Attack!"

But as the motley army starts to advance on the building, a burst of flame erupts from a side street. The instant it dies down, Zampano appears, causing a few murmurs of surprise; he has not been seen since the parade was disrupted. His gait is strange, as though his leg is injured, but he shifts quickly into his hulking boarlike form and fires a round of spiny quills at the strangers. They start to retaliate at once, only to be diverted by a second flame burst from a different side street - and there is Jerso, froglike and spewing slime, as soon as the flames die down.

Before anyone can react to the appearance of a second chimera, the screech of rubber on asphalt echoes through the empty streets as a military-issue vehicle tears toward the building. It shows no sign of stopping even as it nears the chaos, but at the last second the driver jerks the wheel hard to the left, causing it to spin violently into the group, which scatters in self-defense. Only then does anyone realize that a person is clinging to the side of the truck with one arm, brandishing a gun with the other, and the newcomer fires off several shots before the truck even stops moving. Riza Hawkye jumps to the ground, tucking and rolling, and there is what can only be described as a sort of elegance to her fluidity. While Edward Elric exits the vehicle and runs to join her, she gets to her feet and proceeds to belt the nearest insurgent.

Havoc, watching her, is peculiarly reminded of two things at once - first, exactly why it is that every member of Team Mustang has always, always adored their 'queen'; and second, exactly why it is a very bad idea to piss her off. The third thought, barely half a step behind the first two, is that if Hawkeye is on the scene, then Mustang must be very close by. This third conclusion is rapidly reached by those around him, and a strangled cheer rises. Just as Falman had predicted, Mustang's arrival has a salutary effect on the Amestrians' morale. They rush down the steps, meeting the enemy head on, but try not to kill - since the events of the Promised Day there has been an unspoken oath, at least among certain officers, never to kill if it can be helped.

Fullmetal alone does not have a gun, and Havoc wonders at it - the kid is putting himself in harm's way without a weapon and without alchemy to defend himself. He realizes, in between his own skirmishes, that Hawkeye has put her back against Edward's to protect him as much as possible, and Fullmetal is no slouch in the hand-to-hand combat department; he disarms and disables two insurgents before Havoc can reach his side.

As he does, a veritable wall of fire rises up behind them all, blocking the enemy's potential escape.

Havoc grins around his cigarette. "Hail to the king, baby."

The scene promptly descends into utter chaos. Although Dong Bao's forces do indeed have alchemists in their midst, they're no match for the Flame Alchemist, and his reputation is just horrible enough that a few of them surrender without a struggle. These are disarmed and taken into custody and herded into the building.

The others take a bit more convincing. Somehow, both Lan Fan and Alphonse manage to 'escape' from Central Command and join the fray. Between Al's walls, Mustang's flames, Hawkeye's bullets, Lan Fan's weird but effective ass-kicking style, Ed's fists, Zampano's quills and Jerso's gross ability, Havoc feels like he should have just bought tickets to this melee and watched it from the grandstands. Still, there's plenty of action to go around, so he's hardly what you might call bored.

Somewhere around dawn, the dignitaries move from the Crisis Room to the Situation Room, where they are brought face to face with a subdued Dong Bao. With one of Amestris's best alchemists standing to his left, its finest former alchemist standing to his right, and its prettiest sniper holding a gun to his back, the dejected royal starts to talk. It seems he's been using Ling's financial support all along to purchase the loyalty of disgruntled citizens in Drachma, Creta, and Aerugo, building something of a mercenary army and waiting for the right time to strike. As Al had theorized, with both the Emperor and the Princess in Central City, it looked like a plum opportunity to take what he saw as rightfully his.

"You have no concept, none at all," he tells his younger brother and sister, "of how much I detest you both. I have never hated anyone or anything this much. It eats me alive."

Fuhrer Grumman allows Ling to call the shots in the interview; after all, it was his life, and that of his favorite sister, which were being demanded as ransom for the city. May is silent, and pale with shock and grief. She stands to one side, Al's arm securely folded around her shoulders for comfort. Ling asks question after question, wanting particulars of transactions and details of who was involved. He is almost unnaturally calm, not demanding, his questions very nearly soft-spoken. Lan Fan stands behind his chair; she reminds Havoc of a snake, poised to strike if Dong does anything that even remotely implies he's going to attack.

The interview concludes, and Ling looks at his older brother with harsh contempt. "You are no longer considered a son of the Emperor, Dong Bao," he says. "You and your clan will be exiled from Xing, and your name will be stricken from the imperial records. Fuhrer Grumman, if you will be so good as get this traitor out of my sight?" He turns his back on the table and moves to embrace May for a moment; it's as if the treachery of one sibling has only served to highlight his affections for another.

As several soldiers escort the prisoner out of the room, Ling sighs, and looks over at Ed. He's smiling again. "Admit it, having me here has made your wedding preparations lots more interesting!"

"Yeah." Fullmetal cracks a grin. "You'd better have brought me one hell of a wedding present, Ling."

"What? My presence isn't present enough?"

Chapter Text

Balneum Mariae

The water bath used for heating more delicate materials such as animal and vegetable matter.

Winry was glad to see him, of course, but she's always been an emotional girl. Ed has learned to take it in stride. In the absence of Hawkeye, they take Black Hayate on a walk through the fields, and while he darts off chasing butterflies, Ed laces his fingers with Winry's and tells her everything that's happened.

It's five days until the wedding, now, and he's just grateful that the entire kerfuffle in Central hasn't forced her to put off the event she's been planning for months. They're young, but at the same time, he feels like they've waited long enough. No, to be more accurate, he feels like he's kept her waiting long enough.

They're at a distance from the encampment, which has been set up without the General and Colonel's supervision. Someone waves to them; they're too far away for him to see who it is, but he waves back regardless. Almost everyone is there who is supposed to be there. He returned to Resembool on the train, partly in order to travel with Al but mostly because to travel in the car (which is half his and General Lee Annoying had better bring it in one piece) would have taken much longer.

"And I really just wanted to get back here to you," he admits.

"I missed you."

"Me too. Could have been much worse though."

"I can't believe it was Ling's brother the whole time, that's awful." Winry looks thoughtful. "I guess...you and Al are really the only brothers I've ever known. So I guess I tend to expect brothers to treat each other the way you guys do."

"Al and I are best friends, though," Ed reminds her. "We're not typical brothers. We had to depend on each other for survival. Ling and his brothers and sisters were pretty much set up to be rivals from the start."

"It sure sounds like it. I'm glad he at least gets along with May."

"Yeah, he kind of dotes on her from what Al says. Of course, Al's not exactly objective..."

Winry laughs. "No, that he's not. So tell me about how you got into the city."

"Well, once Fuery reconnected the phone line, I managed to talk to Sheska. She can remember everything she's ever read in her life, so I was hoping she might have read something sometime about hot air balloons. Sure enough, she told me exactly what we needed to do. It took us a couple hours to find everything we needed and put it all together the right way, but it worked." Ed chuckles. "It was actually pretty cool. We sneaked in sometime after midnight, and since it was so dark, they never saw us coming. Once we were inside, we found Jerso and Zampano - Zampano took a bullet to the leg, and Jerso had found him and gotten him off the street, they were hiding in the ruins of Mustang's old favorite bar. Hawkeye patched him up as best she could, and by that time they were starting to surround Central Command so we worked out the plan. I'll give it to Mustang, he comes up with some pretty clever stuff sometimes; most of what we did next was his idea." He describes the flames, the shooting, his own crazy driving.

"You idiot." Her tone is fond. "You could have been killed."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Apparently Hawkeye made you a promise that she'd get me home safely, though, and she said she always keeps her promises so she wasn't going to let that happen."

"Why didn't they come back with you, anyway?"

"You know, I'm a little fuzzy on that." Ed laughs. "I know part of it is because they had to drive the car we bought, since we couldn't very well bring it on the train. But I think there's more to it than that."

"Well, it's not like they're getting alone time," Winry says dryly. "I'm really surprised the Fuhrer wanted to come in the car rather than on the train."

"I know. I guess he just wanted to spend the time with his granddaughter - you know, after she risked her neck and all."

"When are they going to arrive?"

"Probably around suppertime, if not sooner. Hawkeye drives pretty damn fast." He shakes his head, and leans back against the low stone wall they're passing. "The way I see it, they're doing us a favor anyway."

"How do you mean?"

"We get to walk the dog."

"So...?"

He grins, and pulls her into his arms. "Means we get to be alone for a little while. I haven't been alone with you since Sig and Izumi arrived."

She laughs, and hugs him. "Okay, yeah, it's been kind of crazy," she admits. "But we're going to have a lot of time to ourselves after the wedding, so it'll balance out."

"Don't care," he says cheerfully. His face is buried in her hair, so the words are slightly muffled. "Having alone time now." He tilts her chin up so he can kiss her properly, something that goes on for a little while. One thing Ed knows is that if he weren't absolutely certain he's the only man Winry's ever kissed, he would go out and hunt down the bastard who taught her how to do these things. He's relieved that she's only learned them by practicing with him, although he's amazed at just how wellshe's learned how to make him melt.

A bit later, after he's recovered his breath, he adds, "Being alone with you is totally underrated. But I'm happy to report that everybody else is occupied. Al's off with May and Ling's...hm, I guess he's making attempt number four."

"Attempt number four?"

"Al said Lan Fan's turned him down three times so far to become Empress, but I think after what just happened with his brother, he wants to try it again. Maybe he'll wear her down this time."

As it turns out, Ed is correct. Ling himself doesn't really say much, but he's wearing a very smirky smile; it's Al who clarifies the situation for Ed, having gotten the details from May, who wormed them out of Lan Fan.

"He told her that if she's truly serious about protecting him, then she needs to be his Empress because how else is she supposed to protect his heart against being broken," Al says. "And she admitted she hadn't thought about that, and she also knows how much what Dong Bao did hurt him, so she couldn't bear to add to that and she agreed." The younger Elric shrugs good-naturedly. "Besides, she loves him."

"That takes care of that, then. Good! I'll start planning to crash the imperial wedding," Ed says. "Least I'm entitled to, after everything we've been through in the last couple weeks. What about you, brother?"

"Me? Well, May says that she's expecting me to be there because she needs a formal escort."

"Uh-huh." Ed just raises one very knowing eyebrow.

Fuhrer Grumman arrives about an hour before dinner. Hawkeye puts the car in park and immediately moves to greet Black Hayate, but first must field a warm embrace from Winry. As Ed watches, his bride-to-be throws her arms around the older woman. "I'm so glad to see you," she says; Hawkeye looks startled in the extreme, but understanding crosses her features when Winry adds, "Thank you for keeping your promise."

"Edward's a brother in arms," Hawkeye replies good-naturedly, patting Winry on the back. "We look out for our own."

They get the Fuhrer settled in the encampment, and Mustang hands the car keys to Ed. "Colonel Hawkeye and I decided that it's pretty inconvenient to take back to Ishval," he says, "so we thought we'd give it to you and Winry as your wedding present."

"You're giving me a car that I half own in the first place? That's generous." Ed grins.

"Give me a break. We were too busy saving Central for me to have time to go shopping," Mustang replies with a smirk. They walk through the encampment, where everyone from Major Armstrong to Ross and Brosh to Havoc and Catalina are engaged in the very serious business of relaxing and getting ready to enjoy themselves.

"Hey, Chief!" Havoc calls. He's been talking with Mrs. Hughes, who also arrived with them on the train, and after giving Elysia a pat on the head he comes over to where Ed and Mustang are standing. "Listen, now that we're all here, we've got to make sure Fullmetal has his bachelor party!"

Flame and Fullmetal exchange glances. Their thoughts are clearly running along the same lines: this could be brilliant or it could be a disaster. Or possibly both. "Let's make it the day before the wedding," Mustang says slowly. "Give everyone time to settle in."

It's a very big bachelor party, and the answer to the question is that it is a brilliant disaster.

Mr. Garfiel declines to join them, but he's the only one. Every other man currently on the Rockbell property is in the camp, with the females taking refuge in the house, and the party is in full swing. There is liquor, there is music (Ed's not really clear on where it's coming from, but there is definitely music), and there is an awful lot of laughter.

Fuhrer Grumman is only too cheerfully involved in the festivities, and appears to have started drinking early. He laughs at everything that anyone says or does, and every time he requests another whiskey, he makes another decree.

"I have decided," he announces, "that...the Fullmetal Alchemist...is here!"

"Very astute, sir," says Mustang dryly.

Given the dignity of having the Fuhrer there, no unsavory activities have been planned for the party. Instead, the men break down into groups of six or seven and start playing cards with ridiculous stakes. Ed quickly figures out that nothing that's happening here is serious when Fuery becomes the governor of Eastern Amestris after winning one hand. Everyone who loses another hand is assigned to wash dishes after the wedding banquet.

"I have decided that everyone must dance at the wedding!"

"I fold," says Breda.

"That means you are no longer the Mayor of Central City."

"Whoever wins the next hand is the new king of the desert."

"Ed, you want another drink?"

"I have decided that there will be a new law and all cars will drive on the right side of the road!"

"They already do, sir."

"On the left, then!"

Havoc throws down a hand in disgust. "I think this game is rigged."

"You're just mad that you have to wear a dress to the wedding."

"Is Fuery asleep over there?"

"Kid can't hold his liquor."

"Somebody get me a marker, let's give him a goatee."

"Hit me with another card."

"If you insist..."

"Ow! I didn't mean literally!"

"I have decided to design a new flag for Amestris! Our emblem will now be a poodle!"

"Hey, Fullmetal, winner gets your new car."

"Hell no!"

He doesn't remember ever laughing this much in his life. There's something very warm about the whole scene, and for the first time, he has a pretty good appreciation for the whole 'brothers in arms' idea. He kind of loves these guys. Of course, he's also had three pints so far, so that might be contributing to the warmth. Yeah, he must be tipsy, because he's even feeling a little bit fond of Mustang right about now.

"Whoever wins the next hand gets my sister's hand in marriage," offers Ling.

"So whoever wins the next hand gets his ass kicked by Alphonse? I fold!"

"I have decided to rename the four seasons! Instead of fall, winter, spring and summer, we will have Frank, Ed, Joe, and Bob!"

Mustang, next to Ed, twitches slightly and beckons to the Fuhrer's attendant. "How many has His Excellency had, exactly? He might be overdoing it."

"Not to worry, General Mustang," the valet assures him. "I'm keeping an eye on it." Mustang doesn't look convinced, so the man lowers his voice. "He's been drinking water almost the entire time. He's just pretending it's whiskey."

"Really?"

"Merely joining in the spirit of the occasion... and trying to look like he can still drink everyone else under the table." Ed cracks up laughing, and after a moment, so does Mustang. The games continue.

"Anybody who loses in the next hand has to dance in a kickline at the wedding."

"Wearing a miniskirt!" There's a collective groan.

Ed glances around and catches sight of Al, who is pink and grinning; he meets Ed's gaze and lifts his glass toward him. Ed lifts his in return, as though long-distance clinking, and polishes off what's left of his drink. Once refilled, he stands up (a bit wobbily) and announces, "I... am drinking... a toast! To all of you! Because you're... here!"

"Here's to Fullmetal!"

"Here's to Winry! God bless the girl, she's gonna need it!"

"Here's to all of us!"

"Here's to you and here's to me! The best of friends we'll always be!"

"Cheers!"

"I have decided that weddings are good for the soul! We must have at least one a month!"

"How do you propose to arrange that, Your Excellency?" Ed's not sure who asked the question, but there's a lot of chuckling.

"By... hm... ah! I know!" And the old man's face suddenly adopts a very crafty expression. "I have decided to do away with the anti-fraternization law! Eh? How's that? That should help, yes?"

The encampment goes absolutely silent. Even the non-military men at the party, like Sig and Al, realize that what the Fuhrer has just said is incredibly important. Ed glances around; nearly everyone is staring at their table. What he's uncertain of is whether they're staring at the Fuhrer or at Mustang, who he realizes has gone very still and almost white from shock. His black eyes are glued to the Fuhrer.

"Wait... Your Excellency," says someone from another group. "Are you serious?"

"Why not? It's a silly law!" Grumman lifts his glass, smirks, and downs the contents. "I am very serious and I will draw up the papers as soon as I get back to Central. How else are we going to have a wedding each month?"

And then Ed remembers... Grumman isn't drunk. He glances over at Mustang's cards, then nudges the General, who turns slowly to look at him.

"I think you just won the game," he says slyly.

Chapter Text

Fulminating Gold

Made by adding Ammonia to the Auric Hydroxide formed by precipitation by potash from metallic Gold dissolved in Aqua Regia. Highly explosive when dry.

The morning of Fullmetal's wedding dawns bright, clear, and cool. Good conditions for an outdoor ceremony.

Roy walks up to the house, dressed in his tuxedo but with his tie in his pocket. He never can understand how to tie the damn thing. A necktie is easy, but bow ties confuse him. His mind is still on the events of last night, and the Fuhrer's shocking (and completely sober) declaration that he's going to repeal the anti-fraternization law. There's an air of celebration among many of the men, because they're finally able to pursue whatever female officers they've wanted to date but were previously off limits. For Roy, it's a little different.

The very last hurdle has been cleared. After the Fuhrer made his stunning pronouncement, Roy made a point of not drinking anything else so he could be sure of keeping his wits about him. He went to Grumman directly when the party broke up, to verify that he really meant what he'd said, and in retrospect he probably deserved the 'are you stupid' sort of look the old man had given him.

He enters the house slowly, and hears giggling overhead. An involuntary smile touches his face; Winry's getting ready for her big day. She's a sweet girl, really, and she knows how to handle Fullmetal. He wishes her the best.

"Oh, it's you, General." Madam Pinako has come down the stairs, Den probably having alerted her to someone opening the door. "Wait here, I'll get her." She whisks back out of sight before he can even open his mouth, and a moment later, a very different pair of legs comes down into view.

The dress he bought Riza reaches just to her knees, a fact that he (being a leg man) appreciates. The skirt is full, slightly bell-like, and flows gracefully from where the fabric hugs her hips. He tries not to wonder if she's wearing her thigh holsters under there. The sleeves are short; the collar is high, carefully concealing the scar on her throat, and the color is the same soft pink as the sweater she sometimes wears around her shoulders. Her hair is loose, her expression surprised. "Good morning, General."

"Good morning." He holds up the tie. "Sorry to interrupt the girl time, but can you give me a hand?"

"Oh." She half-smiles, coming to his aid; she has to stand on her toes to reach properly around his neck, and he can't quite figure out what the scent is but she's wearing some kind of perfume. "One of these days I need to teach you to do this yourself."

"Hmm." He smiles.

"It sounded quite noisy out there last night," she says briskly. "Please tell me you didn't get drunk enough to fill your car with flowers again?"

"To do what?"

She laughs, and reminds him of that phone call during Bradley's reign of terror. "I wanted to tell you what was going on, but I was afraid you'd be in danger. So I lied about not owning a vase."

"That's all right. I lied about the flowers."

"What do you mean?"

He sighs. "I wasn't drunk, and I didn't buy any flowers. I just...wanted to see you, and I made that up." Her eyes widen, but she doesn't say anything. She's still very slowly working on the tie, and having her this close is driving him crazy. "Colonel, there's...something I need to tell you. Quickly, while we're alone."

"What?"

Roy sucks in a breath. "Your grandfather has decided to turn over the rule against fraternization."

Her hands grow still; he's reminded of his own reaction. She stares at him. "He...what?"

"He announced it last night. And no, he wasn't drinking."

"I see."

"Yeah. So...that being the case...w-"

He's interrupted by a click, and they both turn their heads to see the wedding photographer. He's got a box camera in his hands, and he smiles when he's caught. "Sorry. Just getting some pre-ceremony candid shots. I need to get up and take some of the bride and her grandmother."

"Of course." Riza finishes his tie and beckons the photographer to follow her. To Roy she adds, over her shoulder, "We'll talk later."

Well, at least it isn't a no.

Fullmetal is pacing in the yard. The wedding is due to start in just ten minutes, and he's muttering to himself about getting on with it already. Alphonse, by contrast, watches him placidly; he of course is the best man. The officiant, whom Roy suspects may possibly have known them all their lives, looks merely amused.

The chairs which have been arranged on the enormous lawn are almost completely full. Fuhrer Grumman is among the last to arrive, walking arm in arm with his granddaughter, and they take the seats to Roy's right, Riza between the two men. Those soldiers forming the actual guard of honor stand crisply around the edge of the assemblage, and the photographer is going to run out of film before the ceremony begins if he keeps taking pictures of the guests.

The hired musicians strike up the traditional Amestrian wedding prelude, and Elysia comes into view. She's absolutely precious - almost seven years old now, and dressed in pale green like a spring morning. Roy gets a lump in his throat, thinking of how her father would have relished this moment. She's followed by Paninya, Winry's friend, and once they reach the place where Fullmetal waits impatiently, everyone stands as Winry herself appears. Sig is giving her away in lieu of her deceased father, and there's a collective murmur of admiration as she walks arm in arm with him; she is beautiful, radiant with happiness. Roy glances at Fullmetal, whose jaw has dropped, but he quickly rearranges his expression into one of those absurdly beaming grins.

"I think now he understands why he wasn't allowed to see the dress," Riza murmurs.

They sit down again, and the marriage ritual begins. Roy's been to weddings before - he was best man when Maes married Gracia, after all, and he's attended a few others, usually in some sort of official capacity. He's really not paying very much attention; he keeps looking at Riza out of the corner of his eye. She's apparently doing the same thing intermittently, because at one point they catch each other in the act.

The rings are exchanged and suddenly, finally, Winry is Mrs. Edward Elric, and Fullmetal kisses her with so much force and joy and just a hint of possessiveness and everyone applauds and for the first time, the only time, Roy is jealous of Edward. He fumbles awkwardly, trying to both take Riza's hand and not take it, unsure of which is the right course of action as if he's still sixteen years old and living under her father's roof, and she solves the dilemma for him by putting her hand on his arm. The jealousy vanishes, replaced by hope.

The reception is noisy and happy, with music and food and dancing and laughing. Roy notices that some of the soldiers aren't losing any time taking advantage of the ban being lifted; Denny Brosh is quick to ask Maria Ross for a dance. Major Armstrong very gallantly invites Gracia and Elysia to both dance with him at the same time, a move which requires everyone to give them a lot of room but more than a few sniffles are heard. Roy dances with the bride, and with Elysia, and Riza dances with the groom and with Al and her grandfather and Havoc. She moves expertly; he'd forgotten that she could dance so well, and finally, he gets around to asking her himself.

Typically, they're interrupted before they get anywhere, because there are some posed shots that the photographer needs to take, and their presence is required for a few. Apparently, they're being regarded as members of a sort of extended bridal party, which Roy finds oddly touching considering his combative almost-friendship with Fullmetal. There's a group shot of Team Mustang, too, for good measure, and a few others.

As he watches Gracia and Elysia get their picture taken, Roy overhears the newlyweds.

"Ed, are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?"

"Ohh yeah."

"But what if I hurt somebody?" Puzzled, Roy listens more closely, because that's an odd thing for a bride to say.

"You never worried much about that when you chucked your wrench at my head!"

"That was different. I was trying to knock some sense into you."

"Very funny. Look, don't worry. You wanted to do something nice for Hawkeye, right?"

"Yes..."

"Well, this is probably the biggest favor you can ever do for her."

"All right. But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

"I'm pretty sure that's what wives do."

Roy has no idea what they were discussing, but that name does not get used lightly in his presence, and he goes in search of her. Sidling up to her, hands in his pockets, he says, "Fullmetal is up to something."

"What?"

"I don't know. But your name got dropped."

"My name?"

He shrugs. "It just sounded strange, that's all."

Riza starts to respond, but is interrupted by the announcement that it's time for Winry to throw the bouquet. They both turn, and sure enough, the bride and groom are on the balcony. Most of the other single women are already clustering beneath her - Paninya, May, Maria Ross, Rebecca, Sheska (Roy didn't even realize she was here), and one or two others that he knows by sight but not by name, as well as some of the Resembool girls. "Aren't you going?" he asks.

"No...I'm pretty sure Becky will kill for that bouquet at this point, I'm not getting in her way."

"Listen," he says, "about earlier...what we were saying..."

"Ready?" Winry shouts. Riza isn't looking at her, or at him either; her arms are folded and she's studying a something or a nothing in the middle distance. Roy watches, however, and there's something very odd about Winry's stance. She's not preparing to drop the bouquet at all.

"I hope Winry remembered to take the wrench out of her bouquet before she throws it," Riza comments idly. "She carried it as her 'something old.' Someone's going to get hurt if she didn't."

But what if I hurt someone?

Suddenly, Roy has a pretty good idea of what Fullmetal might be plotting. As he watches, unable to complete his sentence, Winry arcs her arm back, adding power to her throw, and launches the bouquet skyward. It has considerably more heft than a bunch of flowers should, suggesting that the wrench is still there. Her aim is good and her strength is evident, and he realizes too late that she has aimed it directly at his head.

"General!"

Riza has glanced up in the nick of time, and while she doesn't necessarily know what's flying toward them, she knows that he's in its direct path. Her small hands press into his chest, pushing him out of range, and she takes the impact herself. The flowers slam into her stomach, knocking her backwards to the ground; there's a general murmur of pure astonishment. She sits there, wincing and rubbing her tailbone, and then her eyes widen almost comedically as she sees exactly what it is she's captured. Up on the balcony, Fullmetal punches the air as if this is exactly what he wanted.

The first shock over, most everyone begins to respond with laughter and even some applause. Roy, however, sees that Riza's in distress, and moves to help her. "Are you all right?" He takes her free hand, putting his other arm around her waist and easing her to her feet.

"I hate being laughed at," she mutters. Her cheeks are dangerously close to matching her dress.

"You probably just saved me from a wicked concussion, if it's any consolation. Thank you." His hand is still on her waist, and he doesn't make any effort to remove it since she's not objecting.

The Fuhrer approaches them, at which the laughter quiets. In an unusual display, he catches Riza's cheeks in his hands and kisses her forehead. "I'm glad this is finally settled," he says cheerfully.

"W-what?"

The old man smiles, ignoring (or perhaps enjoying) his granddaughter's confusion, and looks at Roy. "You'd better take good care of her."

Roy blinks. The weight of at least a hundred stares is on them, and he hardly knows what to say. "Uh...yes. Yes, of course."

"Good." Grumman turns, clasping his hands behind his back, and starts to walk away. "Just call my secretary when you set the date. You should wait until the law is officially repealed, though."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"What just happened?" Riza asks weakly. For the first time in all the years he's known her, Roy's afraid she might faint. Everyone is still staring, and for a moment, he sort of hates them for making her so uncomfortable. He needs to put an end to this, now.

"We'll discuss it later, Colonel," he says, businesslike, and the use of that tone seems to ease her discomfort.

"Yes, sir."

"Best go return Winry's wrench. She'll need it to keep Fullmetal in line, after all."

"Right away, sir."

They're still staring, so Roy decides that this calls for something drastic. He lets Riza get about five paces away and adds, casually but loudly, "And when you have a chance, confer with His Excellency's secretary about a suitable date. I think sooner would be preferable to later."

She wheels on the spot, staring at him; the excess color has drained out of her face. For a moment, he wonders if he's gone too far. Then she snaps into military posture, salutes him sharply, and declares, "Yes, sir. I completely agree."

Roy doesn't let either his relief or his happiness prevent him from noticing Breda and Havoc's expressions as they each hand Falman a small wad of bills. "I'd better be getting a cut of that," he calls over to them.

Chapter Text

Aqua Regia

Literally, "Water of the King." A composition capable of dissolving gold.

May Chang did not always get along with the woman who is to be her sister-in-law. They are members of opposing clans; they once had a fight in the residence of a very agitated doctor. There was a not-wholly-spoken mutual understanding there - kill on sight.

This is all in the past, however. Today she is the favored sister of the Emperor of Xing, the chief bridal attendant in the imperial wedding, and all in all, very happy.

After everything that happened in Amestris - the second everything, that is - May was, for a time, a little subdued. It's one thing to know, abstractly, that you have forty-eight half-siblings who probably wish you were dead so they could take your place in the succession; after all, it's been that way her entire life, and the only difference is that the number used to be forty-nine. (But that was before Ling became the Emperor, before the first everything in Amestris. He loves her, now, and she loves him - an actual brother she can love and respect. One out of forty-nine isn't much, but it's more than she expected and she's content with it.) It's something else entirely to know that one of them has been actively working to bring about that exact scenario, and that they attacked some of your most precious friends and allies in order to do it. It has been hard for her to accept, even with the Bao clan's banishment.

Alphonse, however, has a vast deal of experience with accepting what might be termed unacceptable. So at his invitation, May has leaned on Al in the months since they returned to Xing, and his sunny smile and the warmth in his golden eyes have been a balm to her wounded spirit such as nothing else could possibly have been. She's only sixteen, but she knows a few things, and if she didn't love him before this then she definitely loves him now.

Lan Fan, though, in her own way, has been soothing too. May has more sisters than she cares to remember, but Lan Fan has none, and May will be her first. So they have been trying to feel like sisters to each other, partly for Ling's sake and partly for their own, and to their surprise it's working. They have moved from being stiffly polite to being more genial to sometimes outright teasing one another. And now May will stand at Lan Fan's side while she is crowned Empress of Xing.

The ceremony is in an hour, and Lan Fan is currently throwing up.

May is trying to help. She's holding the older woman's head, keeping her hair carefully pulled back from her face. "It's going to be fine," she says gently. She takes a cold cloth from an attendant and, once the retching subsides, tenderly mops Lan Fan's face. "You're not sick, right? This is just nerves?"

"I think so. I don't...I don't want to...disgrace the Emperor."

"And you won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because my brother loves you." May smiles. "Let's face it, Lan Fan, you have to be the Empress. He won't hear of marrying anybody else - the council has suggested other names and he refuses to even discuss it. He'll have you or he'll have no one."

"But I don't know anything about being an Empress."

"What's to know? You make nice with visiting dignitaries - you know how to do that, look how perfectly you got on with the Fuhrer of Amestris. You wear pretty clothes - you're a pretty woman, so that won't be hard. And you do what you've always done when it comes to protecting my brother's life, and maybe give him a couple of kids while you're doing it. This isn't going to be difficult. And I'll help you, as much as I can."

Finally, Lan Fan relaxes. "Thank you, May."

"Good. Now, if you're done with this," May continues, adopting a brisker tone, "let's get you dressed for your wedding!"

Royal Xingese brides wear cloth of gold, accented with sacred symbols in crimson and sapphire. Lan Fan's hair is washed and combed through with a fragrant oil to make it shine like black glass, then dried and allowed to hang loose; against her pale skin, the contrast is beautifully striking. Her lips and eyes are painted carefully, and May thinks she resembles a doll that she once received as a gift from her father when she was a small child. Her head is left unadorned, ready to receive the imperial consort's crown. She has ceased to be ill, but she does tremble.

May, as bridal attendant, is garbed in a similar costume, made of cloth of silver and bearing fewer accents. Her braids are undone, her hair uncoiled and given the same treatment as the bride's, but her face is unpainted. She wears a coronet that Ling had made specially for her; it's not meant to identify her as the heir to the throne, but simply as the Emperor's most beloved sister. She treasures it more that way anyway, because while she doubts she will remain heiress presumptive for too many more months, nothing will change how she relates to her brother.

She gives Lan Fan an encouraging smile and then leads the way to the great hall, where all of the Xingese nobility has assembled to witness the proceedings. Alphonse is also there; he's not exactly the best man, but he has the honor of serving as her own formal escort, and Ling has had him seated near the front of the room. Most people think he is an official ambassador from Amestris, which is close enough to the truth. A gong is struck as she crosses the threshold, and with slow, measured paces, she makes her way across the marble floor. Every fifth step, the gong rings again. She reaches Ling and drops to her knees, inclining her head; when she rises and looks at him, he is smiling. Like Lan Fan, he is garbed in cloth of gold, and his hair is pulled back into a braid much like the one Edward Elric used to wear. She shifts to the side and keeps her eyes on his face, wanting to see his reaction when he beholds the bride.

Lan Fan enters, and the smile vanishes from Ling's countenance. His eyes grow wide and round, and May thinks he might have stopped breathing, though his mouth is open slightly. He lifts a hand and pulls at the collar of the imperial bridegroom's costume. May smirks, and turns to meet Al's eyes, which are already on her; to her amusement, his expression is not very different from Ling's.

When Lan Fan reaches Ling, she echoes May's actions - drops to her knees with her head inclined. She doesn't rise immediately, but looks up at him, and there are mingled emotions on her face. She's happy, she loves him, she's nervous, she hopes she's what he needs. His response is unprecedented, as far as the princess is aware; he bends down and takes her hands, and helps her to stand. And he doesn't let go of her hands, not once, throughout the ceremony that follows. Even when she has to kneel so the bishop can crown her the Empress of Xing, he kneels with her rather than release her. Then he breaks another precedent, and as soon as it could be considered proper to do so, he kisses her. Her face is in his hands, and the crowns wobble on both their heads from the intensity before they break apart.

"It's an Amestrian custom," May explains later to a number of nobles who are shocked by the Emperor's behavior. "You know we attended a wedding there last year. My brother was charmed by the practice, he's been determined to adopt it in his own wedding." She makes it sound as though she knew all along he would do that, though the truth is that she was as surprised as anyone. She walks outside, arm in arm with Alphonse, eager to get away from the noise of the feast.

"You don't dance at Xingese wedding celebrations?" he asks her as they wander in the garden.

"No - we sit and eat, and watch professional dancers. I think I like your country's way of celebrating better."

He nods. "I have a letter from my brother," he adds, "and Winry is doing well. Not too much longer!"

"Are you going to go home for a visit when the time comes?"

"Probably not right away. But I'm definitely going later this year, maybe at midwinter. Will you come with me?"

"I would like that very much."

"I should speak to your brother first, though, I guess. Right?" He rubs the back of his neck.

"Well..." Does he mean what she thinks he might mean? "It would be appropriate."

"Okay." Al chuckles. "I'll wait a little while, though. I think he's got other things on his mind just now!" He points upward, and May realizes that Ling and Lan Fan are also outdoors, on the balcony overlooking the gardens. The Emperor has his arms wrapped around his bride, who is nestled against his chest, and both are gazing out at the horizon. They take no notice of the observers below them.

"They're not saying much, are they?" May remarks to Al. "They're just...being."

He nods, smiling. "Just being."

Chapter Text

Fixity

The degree of solidity of a substance as measured by the ability of that substance to resist the action of fire.

Roy Mustang has never been Rebecca Catalina's favorite person. She'll admit that up front. She respects him, particularly since the Promised Day, but they don't always get along well. However, she's dating a guy who looks up to him like a big brother, and her best friend full-stop adores him, so she's been making a concerted effort to increase her tolerance.

Her biggest beef with him, if she's honest, is the fact that she always suspected him of totally overlooking Riza. She's Riza's only close girl friend, really, and somewhere along the line she became aware of just how much the blonde is in love with the guy. Not that Riza ever explicitly said so, of course; even when Becky stole her diary and scoured its contents, it didn't give anything up. But Becky's gotten really good at hearing what Riza doesn't say. It's been a serious test of her personal restraint to keep herself from smacking him upside the head.

The fact that they came out of Ed Elric's wedding reception engaged to be married, therefore, has greatly improved her attitude toward the General. The proposal left something to be desired - namely, an actual proposal - but Riza's never looked so happy. Mustang's awfully cheerful too. And the Fuhrer, who enabled the whole thing by repealing the anti-fraternization law, is gleeful over the prospect of great-grandchildren. Pretty much everyone else is just smiling and shaking their heads and saying that it's about damn time. Because it is.

Becky has just one concern, which she wants cleared up immediately. "I am going to be the maid of honor, right?"

"Obviously."

"Okay then."

The majority of the military takes the train back to Central City a few days after the wedding. Major Armstrong and his unit escort the Xingese travelers to the border, just in case. He pleads with the General not to hold the wedding until after he gets back, to which Mustang concedes. (Really, who denies Armstrong anything?)

On the train, a confederacy of goodwill emerges among the officers, and they conspire to leave Mustang and Hawkeye alone together as much as possible. Becky finds Havoc, Fuery and Breda huddled in the corner of a car, and Jean beckons for her to join them.

"We left a bug in there with them."

"I wish I could say I'm surprised..."

Over the wire, they hear Mustang ask, "Are you planning to do paperwork the whole time, Colonel?"

"Just trying to get as much out of the way now as I can, sir."

He sounds fondly exasperated as he says, "We're alone and we're engaged, Riza, you can use my name."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to force you into a marriage dictated by my sneaky grandfather and an equally sneaky bouquet toss."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that."

"Of course I want to do it."

"You're certain?"

"Let's see. I've been in love with you since I was sixteen, the number one reason I let Dr. Marcoh restore my vision was so that I could see your face again, and I bought the ring as soon as I was discharged from the hospital just in case some bizarre series of circumstances ever allowed me to give it to you. Yes, I think I'm fairly confident about this."

Fuery squeaks. Becky thinks she may have something in her eye.

"That's all I wanted to know." Riza sounds composed, but to their trained ears, it's also the closest she's ever come to sounding besotted. There's a noise that sounds suspiciously like he's kissing her, and she adds, "My answer is yes, by the way, in case that wasn't clear."

"Good. I lo-Hayate? What is it?"

"Uh-oh," says Breda, "I forgot about the dog." Jean is facepalming. Fuery is pale.

"Is that a listening device? Those goons!"

"Stand aside, Colonel, there's going to be a fire..."

"Not in here, you idiot!"

"May I suggest we make ourselves scarce?" says Breda.

Unforeseen complications arise. It takes longer than the Fuhrer planned for the paperwork to be processed to formally repeal the anti-fraternization law, and poor Riza doesn't even dare to wear her engagement ring in public. It also takes longer than expected for Armstrong and his unit to return from Xing; rather than leave them at the border of Amestris, he decided that they needed to escort the imperial party all the way back to their own country, and crossing the desert takes time. After a few days in Central, Roy and Riza decide to go back to Ishval until they're able to arrange the ceremony, because they don't want to be away from their important work any longer.

Weeks drag into months. The law is repealed and Armstrong returns, but no wedding date is set. Typically, the General and the Colonel are tied up with work; Becky never really appreciated before just how complicated it is to revitalize a devastated region. Riza's as regular as ever with writing letters, but each one sounds exhausted and more than a little despondent. She also sounds increasingly worried about Roy, who she thinks is overdoing it.

She's right, as it turns out. He's ill for weeks, burning up with fever. Riza's letters become short and frantic, scribbled at odd moments when she's not nursing him. Becky shares the intel with Jean and Breda, but they try not to worry the others too much.

"The Homunculi couldn't stop Roy Mustang. He's not gonna let a fever keep him from making Fuhrer," Breda says.

"Screw making Fuhrer. He's not gonna let a fever take him away from Hawkeye," Jean replies.

Becky knows they're telling themselves this, telling each other this, because they need it to be true. She does too. More than ever, she understands now that for a lot of her friends, the world without Mustang is an idea too terrifying to be borne.

At long last, the message arrives that they've been waiting to get.

He needs to rest a little longer but he's expected to make a full recovery. We'll be back in Central as soon as he's well enough to travel. Find yourself a suitable dress and tell the boys to get their suits cleaned.

The General walks a little slower than he used to, but with the same strength and confidence as ever. "This tuxedo's gotten more use in the past two years than I would have thought," he remarks.

"So who did you get to tie your tie, since you can't see the bride yet?" Becky teases him. The Fuhrer has co-opted Central Command's nicest conference room for his granddaughter's wedding, and Becky, Roy, and the four groomsmen are milling around in the hallway outside.

"My mother." He laughs. Madam Christmas is already in the room, attended by at least four of her 'daughters.' "She says it's about time I became an honest man."

"Are we waiting on anybody else? Besides His Excellency and Hawkeye, I mean," Falman clarifies.

"I don't think so." Roy opens the door and peers inside. "Let's see...Armstrong, Brosh, Ross, Gracia and Elysia, Madam Christmas and the girls...we're all out here...the Elrics couldn't make it...I think that's it. Wait, is that Sheska?"

"She's my date," Fuery clarifies. They all look at him. He looks as though he expects them to laugh, but no one does.

"Nice one, kid," says Jean, socking him gently in the arm.

Breda looks at his watch. "Guess we'd better get in there. It's about that time."

"Last chance to bail, Roy," says Becky.

"Nope, not allowed," says Jean. "That's why we're here." He gestures to himself, Falman, Breda and Fuery. "As Colonel Hawkeye's brothers in arms, it is our sworn duty to uphold our beloved sister's honor and make sure that this wild mustang is well and truly saddled."

Everyone stares at him like he's lost his mind. Then, as if at some prearranged signal, they all burst out laughing.

Everyone snaps to attention and salutes as Riza and the Fuhrer enter the room. Grumman is beaming, crusty and twinkly-eyed; he looks exactly the way a proud and secretly doting grandfather ought to look on the day of his precious grandchild's marriage.

Riza's wedding dress is simple - white muslin, with three-quarter sleeves and the high collar they've all come to expect on her clothes. (They all know the scar is there, but if she wants to pretend then they'll pretend right along with her.) She wears no veil and little jewelry, just her engagement ring and the silver earrings she wears every day; Becky only recently learned that they were a gift from Roy, "long ago, when things weren't so complicated." Her countenance is serene but her eyes are bright.

Becky looks at Roy, but he's not displaying any particular shock or awe at the sight of his bride; there's merely a softness in his gaze that she suspects he's had to work very hard to conceal in the last several years. It doesn't abate as the ceremony gets underway, either. If anything, it becomes more pronounced as he, and then she, finally say the vows that they've been keeping unspoken for so long.

If there's a single best thing about this whole wedding, Becky thinks, it's the fact that they get to stop fighting their endless, fruitless, completely unsuccessful battle to keep the rest of the world from noticing that they love each other. Amnesty, sealed with a kiss.

Chapter Text

Epilogue: Quintessence

"Pure essence," also called ether, of which alchemists believed heavenly bodies were composed. It was regarded as the fifth element and said to permeate all things. Its extraction was one of the chief goals of alchemy.

Ed has now been wearing the thick wedding band on his left hand for over a year.

He and Winry get letters from their faraway friends; the mailman comes to their house at least once or twice a week with envelopes from all over Amestris and beyond, and Ed's gotten better about answering them punctually. Truthfully, some of them are better correspondents than he would have expected. Sometimes there are photographs to add to Winry's collage.

Havoc and Breda have been reassigned to the Fuhrer's personal detail. Havoc likes it because there's less paperwork. Breda likes it because state lunches have fantastic leftovers. Havoc and Rebecca are still a thing, to use his terminology, and it's possibly getting serious. At least, as serious as Havoc gets.

Fuery has managed to transfer back to Central. He and Sheska are dating - well, Ed supposes it counts as dating. They talk about books a lot, especially books about communications equipment. Then again, Ed's not really in a position to criticize someone else's dating style, all things considered. If it works for them, that's all that matters.

Falman has returned to the north, and to the wife and son who waited for him there. He is expecting his second child in the fall. General Armstrong has apparently 'volunteered' to be the new baby's godmother, and Falman is honestly not sure whether he should be flattered, proud, or disturbed. Ed votes for all three.

Her brother, meanwhile, has transferred his unit to the Aerugosian border. Ever since the five-country incident, both Aerugo and Creta have expressed a renewed interest in furthering the peace talks with Amestris; their governments were quick to denounce the actions of their countrymen in the skirmish, and even Drachma seems more amenable to proper peace talks. So Major Armstrong is there, doing what he can to help, because "the art of diplomacy has been handed down through the Armstrong line for generations!" Maria Ross and Denny Brosh are still with him. There's some hint of them being or becoming more than friends, and Ed has to concede he finds it unnervingly easy to picture. Well, they're both nice people.

Every time a letter arrives bearing an Ishvalan return address, he congratulates himself yet again for what he calls "the wrench gambit." He figures that name is appropriate for the trap that caught General Chess Fiend. Mustang and Hawkeye's wedding was delayed by one setback after another, but it's finally taken place and he's kind of sorry he missed it; they did send a nice picture though, and he didn't draw on this one. They're back in Ishval now, still trying to atone for sins that aren't entirely their own, and Ed admits - privately - that it's about time they allow themselves to be happy while they do it. They've earned that much at least. And everybody who's ever looked at them knows that the only way either one of them can ever be happy is if they're together. It's a condition he understands pretty well, really.

The clan of Ling and May's traitorous half-brother has been banished from Xing. The imperial wedding took place just a few weeks ago, and Ed wonders what Fu would think of his granddaughter being crowned Empress. He really wanted to crash the party, to pay Ling back for crashing his, but he missed it for the same reason he missed Mustang and Hawkeye's - he didn't want to leave Winry and she's in no condition to travel. So he settles for reading Al's account of the whole thing. He was there, naturally, as the formal escort of sixteen-year-old Princess May Chang, and there's a rumor going around Xing that their betrothal will probably be announced soon. Al downplays this in his letters, of course, preferring to focus on the alkahestry work they're doing together and how close they are to finding a way to reverse the chimera condition for Jerso and Zampano.

For his own part, Ed is writing a book, or maybe a series of books, to help regular people understand alchemy better. Having been both an alchemist and not an alchemist, he thinks he may be uniquely qualified to put the study into terms most anyone can grasp. And, as Winry says, it gives him something to do while he waits around for his son to be born. (The baby is a boy, Granny Pinako is sure of it.)

Quintessence, he writes, is the purest form of any substance. It may be regarded as the soul of matter, and its extraction is among alchemy's most fundamental goals. It is the root of the word 'quintessential,' referring to that which is found at the very heart of something.

It's not just an alchemical term, either, he thinks. As he stands in the hall and looks at the photo collage, he remembers what he said to the Truth - that even without alchemy, he will always be okay because he has these people around him. That is why the Truth said he had the right answer. Alchemists want to extract the quintessence from things? He did just the opposite - when he added all these people to his life, he added quintessence.

He has a fullmetal heart.

Quintessence is what makes it beat.

-Fin-