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Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom (s): Frozen Summary: A curse is cast on a wicked, cold-hearted queen. A girl is pulled from the sea. A boy too quickly becomes a man. A child is too long kept locked away. The spirits of the land are seeking vengeance. The Southern Isles is full of mysteries, and tragedies. Characters: Hans Westergaard/Prince Hans, Hans’ brothers, King and Queen of the Southern Isles, multiple OCs Rating: K+ Chapter: Chapter 2: Legekammerat

The young prince peeked through the keyhole of his door, searching for certain bothersome siblings or servants that would impede his plans. In his hands, he held a bundle in a small blanket, the contents of bulging from their close confines. The coast was clear.

He tiptoed down the corridor, passing the dark door that led to the tower, not even the servants were allowed to see. The young prince scurried down the remainder of the hallway, fearful that his mother would emerge from her sanctuary and catch him in the act. So quickly he hurried down the corridor that he bumped into an approaching maid.

"Little Prince!" She exclaimed, grey hair peeking out from beneath her cap. It was Agnes, the nursemaid who was tasked with looking after the boy and his older brothers. "Where are you in such a hurry to get to?"

He shifted uncomfortably, unable to lie to the woman who had protected him from so many torments.

"Emil said I could come down to his study for a little while," The child explained sheepishly, the makeshift bag revealing its contents of battered and scraped toy soldiers. "I thought maybe he would let me play down there," Tears began to form in his fearful eyes. He wasn't supposed to leave his room unless his father or mother beckoned him. Not after a particular incident with a certain pair of older brothers. Agnes smiled warmly, and slowly brought a hand to ruffle the child's russet locks.

"Oh, Hans," She said with a small chuckle,"Don't worry, I won't tell your mother." The older woman glanced down the hall to the dark door. "Run along now, before she comes down,"

"What if she checks for me?" Hans asked, wiping the half-formed tears from his eyes.

"I'll tell her you went to see Johan, she'll leave it at that I'm sure," The boy furrowed his brow, instinctively looking down at the ground as if he could see the distant lab far below castle floors. "Now hurry, quickly," Agnes urged, continuing down the corridor.

Hans broke into a sprint, bare feet treading softly on the carpeted halls. He descended the stone stairs, the cold steps illuminated by torches hung from the walls. Through a labyrinth of hallways he ran, the bag of toys jostling over his shoulder. He slowed as he approached the study, catching his breath. Panting for a few moments, his shallow breathing drew attention from the other side of the door.

"Who's-?" The young man stopped, his rigid face etched with surprise, and concern. "Why Prince Hans-"

"Can Emil play with me? He said he would-"

"Sorry, Hans," A soft voice murmured from behind the tutor. The man moved away, a young boy a little older than Hans standing behind him, violin in hand. "Her Highness asked me to practice my violin, it's horrible." The boy glanced at his brother through a pair of thick glasses. "Sorry again, I didn't have time to have Aggie tell you…" He trailed off, Hans' darkened eyes trained on his bare feet.

"It's okay, wouldn't want to disappoint Mom," Emil winced, knowing the Queen asked her children to use proper titles, even in reference to their own family. Hans' eyes stung with tears, he just wanted someone to play with. "Sorry for interrupting," He murmured as the tutor closed the door, the soft cries of the violin echoing through the castle. It was in perfect tune, and Emil wasn't missing a single note. He never did.

Hans sighed, knowing that if he went back to his room now, he wouldn't leave until supper; and if he stayed until the end of Emil's lesson, he would be caught by a less forgiving maid, or perhaps even his own mother. He walked aimlessly through the halls, the glass windows giving him a view of the grey sky above and green earth below. He turned down another pathway, his feet taking somewhere of their accord. Hans looked up at the pair of doors, light returning to his crestfallen features.

"Dad!" He giggled, throwing the door to the royal library open. At the end of the room the King sat at his desk, paper strewn across the floor and books piled high around him. To his left and right shelves upon shelves of tomes sat, their dark recesses reaching throughout the room so large it could have been its own building.

"Hans!" The King exclaimed, fear and worry claiming his features before the man recognized his son's blissful smile and bag of toys. "What are you doing down here? You know you're not supposed to bother me while I'm working," Hans' smile fell, and he stopped halfway across the carpet that led to the King's desk. The older man's stern expression slowly melted, a joking light in his eyes. "Well, so long as your mother doesn't know and I can take a break too," The Kind finished with a chuckle, carefully maneuvering around the stacks of paperwork as Hans reanimated and sprinted the rest of the way to his father.

He dropped his bag of toys, the wooden soldiers tumbling out of the blanket as he jumped into his father's arms. Laughing the two spun around before falling down, Hans scrambling to the toys as his father recovered from the landing.

The pair set up the soldiers in rows, the paint chipped from the once shiny wooden toys. Some were badly burned, sooty handprints covering the toys, but the father and son took no notice as they prepared a makeshift battlefield of books and inkwells for the soldiers to fight around. As they played, the Kind would recount battle songs and tales for the boy, setting up the battlefield and soldiers to mimic past victories and defeats. Enthralled, Hans would watch with bright eyes, brimming with curiosity and happiness.

The door to the library opened with a thunk, the solid doors ricocheting off the wall as the Queen stormed through. Han's heart jumped to his throat, his lungs constricting. He released the captive breath as a few familiar faces filed into the room. His oldest brother, Kennet, aloof and stately with several books tucked beneath one arm, the other holding a fistful of papers. The other man Hans did not know by name, but his narrow face and beetle eyes were seen in the King's study on most days.

"Dear-!" The Queen started, marveling at how quickly the towers of important novels and documents had been converted into fortresses on either side of the desk. Spilled ink dripped over half-written letters and signed documents. Blotches of ink lay beneath knocked over soldiers, the King's not-so-subtle indication that they were out of the game. The King stood abruptly, dropping the toy soldier in his hand and, miraculously, avoided toppling one of the fortress' tower of novellas.

"I...can explain," He began, holding up a finger in defense as he searched for the words to follow. The Queen rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. Hans, still frozen, began to slowly reach for the dropped soldier, assuming his mother's attention was diverted for the moment. It wasn't.

"Hans," She hissed, her hands on her hips. The boy quickly swiped every soldier from their battlegrounds without a word, hands shaking more with every passing second. He just wanted to disappear. Thankfully, the beady-eyed man's rambling filled the room.

"Why your Highness! This is no way...Oh, what would the ambassadors think? Have you finished that letter to Arendelle? I mean, of course, I'm not telling you to be a bit more productive. But clearly- I mean, you might need to, uh, better manage your time-!" The man's ramblings dulled, Hans timidly creeping past his mother. Perhaps Emil had finished with his lesson-

"Prince Ken, would you show Hans to his quarters? And inform his nursemaid to see me later as to the nature of this… escapade." The Queen spoke softly, but her voice carried an authority neither brother wished to challenge. Silently, the two exited the room, the beetle man still rambling, the King's shoulders sagging as the lecture drew on.

The two brothers walked silently through the carpeted halls, Kennet still holding an armful of books and Hans dragging his bag of now ink-stained toy soldiers. They walked past the wall of windows, rain distorting the outside world to swirls of grey, brown, and green. Every now and then, Hans would glance at his older sibling, hoping for some meaningful eye contact, wishing words of understanding or comfort would spill from his mouth now that they were out of earshot of their mother. The more Hans looked at his brother, the less these connections seemed possible. Already his eyes were dull with exhaustion, no doubt having been concerning himself with learning about his soon-to-be wife. Though the politics of the eldest son's marriage would evade Hans until years later, the boy could still tell his brother was equally apathetic to the upcoming event as he was fearful of not putting on a convincing performance for the dignitaries, kings, and queens that would attend. Hans knew Emil got nervous when asked to play for a visiting ambassador, and he could imagine Kennet's anxiety was much worse.

The door to his room approached, and Hans looked back up at his brother. For a split second, the boy thought those glassy, grey eyes lingered on him with some emotion, but the moment passed. Hans opened the door to his room, listening to Kennet close it and lock it behind him. The boy waited a few seconds, ears trained on the sound of leather boots treading the stone hall. As soon as they faded, he let out a roar of frustration and threw the toys on the ground. In his tantrum he flailed his hands and kicked his feet, cries choked by anger.

A fist still clenched the soldier his father had dropped, the chipped paint cracking and peeling away from the heat, smoke rising from the toy. Taken aback, Hans dropped the soldier and tucked his hands beneath his arms. Memories of the very incident that condemned him to his room surfacing, his breathing speeding up as he panicked.

After a moment, still catching his breath, the heat emanating from his hands dissipating as he calmed. The boy sighed, the still smoldering toy soldier glowing gently on the floor. Hans prompted himself to pick up his mess, such conditions unbecoming for a prince. He set the soldiers on their shelf, in neat little rows. The disfigured, beheaded, maimed, burned, and scratched army trudging away from a battlefield in defeat Hans thought, looking at the display from his bed. The newly singed commander leading the disenchanted, disheveled troops back to the comfort of their homes. The air in the small room now smelled oppressively of smoke.

Hans walked over to the window, the crude wooden blinds barely succeeding in keep out the world beyond, but enough to prevent the room from proper ventilation. He threw them open, the rain now stopping. Immediately, the prince was assaulted by the sounds and smells of the work yard below. While Kennet and his older brothers shared rooms at the front of the palace, overlooking gardens and fields, Hans was subjected to a lonesome tower behind the imperial facade of the castle's swooping steeples and intricate buttresses. However, he didn't mind, the bustle of life below him satisfying. Horses pulled a cart of manure through a puddle, the grooms walking an unruly filly to her stall as the Ferrier rubbed a sore shoulder. On the ill-constructed sheds that housed tools for the servants, maids, and gardeners, hundreds of birds gathered, pecking at the thatch roofing for bugs and observing the life below, much like the young prince.

Hans jumped a little, a small explosion sending smoke and embers flying from the blacksmith's workplace, the stout man coughing as he tried in vain to wave away the black smog. The bird's below scattered, flying by the hundreds into the air like a thousand screeching arrows soaring towards an unprepared army. The boy watched in wonder, their grey and white plumage glittering with raindrops. He set his head down at the edge of the window, watching the flurry of feathers fly past, their wings whispering as they passed.

The moment was interrupted when something flew by his head, the tip of the projectile nicking his ear. It landed with a thud, burying itself and its prey into the wooden floorboards of the room. He froze for a moment, and brought a hand to his ear, a few droplets of blood running down his fingers. The prince looked with horror at the snow-white pigeon, its feathers now decorated with crimson. Cautiously, he looked back out the window, fearing the worst.

An insurgent, a rebellion, a murder attempt, a coup for the throne- or a girl dressed in servant rags with a flimsy wooden bow in her hands, her eyes wide and mouth agape as she stared back at the littlest prince.

[nevada-got-screwed-over]

*yeets this onto you dash* Chapter 4 Babeys!

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Smoke and Mirrors: A Tale of the Southern Isles

Title: Smoke and Mirrors  Fandom (s): Frozen Summary: A curse is cast on a wicked, cold-hearted queen. A girl is pulled from the sea. A boy too quickly becomes a man. A child is too long kept locked away. The spirits of the land are seeking vengeance. The Southern Isles is full of mysteries, and tragedies. Characters: Hans Westergaard/Prince Hans, Hans’ brothers, King and Queen of the Southern Isles, multiple OCs Rating: K+ Chapter: Prologue: Forbandelse af den Sidste Født

The troll glowered from his work station, the cold woman in a white gown overseeing the finishing touches to his creation. Before him a silvery mirror glimmered in its steely trim. In its depths a darkness could be seen that caused the troll to shiver, not out of fear of his creation, but as a result of its purpose. How it froze his insides and tied them in an icy knot, oh the horrors it reflected. He continued fixing the stand to the mirror, the ornate steel matching the trim.

"Stop," The white clad witch said, her voice as cold and foreboding as the mirror. The troll froze and raised his stony hands, fear shooting through his body. Previous disobedience has resulted in the destruction of the mirror, and his consequent extension of contract. How he loathed the contract, sealed at midnight with the blood of a newborn calf and the feather of a griffin. The witch's mother, after sparing the troll a bloody fate at the hands of hunters, and in return requested a single wish be granted. At the time, and faced with being turned over to local religious leaders, it seemed an easy task. Give her daughter the thing she desired most before the girl married. Divined through the witch's methods and his own magic, the troll found this one object rooted at the innermost sanctum of the girl's heart. The mirror.

The woman lifted a slender hand to the trim, and traced the flowery carvings. The troll's heart leapt in his throat. Would she smite it with her magic and force him to begin from scratch with only hours to complete a mirror that had taken the better part of the last decade to perfect? Her nails grazed the face of the mirror, their reflexion dimmed by the mirror's dark core.

"It's perfect," The troll gave a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the contract release him from her power. He quickly escaped the prison he had been confined to, the bride too consumed by the mirror to witness the stocky creature stumble into the open meadow surrounding the tower. The troll breathed the scent of the poppies that grew around the stone spire, their red blossoms lazily swaying in the breeze. How sweet their blooms were! Given time to recover his exhausted magic, revenge on this woman would be nearly as sweet.

Years passed, and the woman and her husband were blessed with a beautiful baby son. Like his father, a crown of russet locks crested his soft head, and, like his mother, he wore a pair of green eyes glazed by an icy grey. The father held the baby in his arms, warm brown eyes gleaming with unbridled joy and pride. Beneath the fluffy auburn mustache, he smiled and whispered promises of happiness and success. His wife looked on, her glittery green eyes distant, her face wrought in a frown. Despite having birthed her son no more than a week ago, the reality of the child felt far away. The boy could never be as beautiful as she. With her husband cooing over the dozing boy, the lady rose up and stalked away from the warm fire, retreating to the deepest reaches of the castle.

Reaching the top of a spire, the woman breathed a sigh of contentment at the sight of the familiar room. Untouched by her married life or child, the spartan room held her most beloved object. In the center of the room, her mirror stood, its silvery trim polished and its face without a blemish. Taking the golden comb from its nearby stand, she began raking it through her chestnut hair, humming a long lost lullaby as she fell in love with the sight of herself in the mirror's shadowy reflection.

She stopped suddenly, seeing the cloak form that stood tall in the corner of the small room. The woman spun around, her eyes piercing through the figure.

"Leave, before I-" She reached for the slender wand that sat on the stand near the comb. Before her fingers could grace the magical weapon, the being spoke, its hypnotic words reverberating throughout her body.

"Thirteen years of serving, thirteen years of strife.

Thee has become a mother and a wife,

Yet still your youth preserving.

That mirror, that mirror,

a curse to all,

reveals to you the coldest of all.

Your heart is frozen,

but your happiness won.

So here I curse your last born son,

your own fate you have chosen.

A flame to melt your icy heart,

a fire to tear your life apart.

A flaming arrow in the dark,

piercing the breast of the turgid meadowlark."

Green light emanated from beneath the figure's cloak, growing steadily throughout the verses until the woman was blinded by its brilliance. With a snap, it dissipated, leaving her alone in the dark room. Turning she cried out in horror, the top of her mirror chipped, a small piece of the smokey glass on the floor. The woman collapsed, and held the fragment of glass in her hands. She seethed, anger boiling through her body and leaking into the sliver of glass, molding it in her heated hands.

She was broken from her stupor as her husband called from her below, the woman unaccustomed to the hint of fearful urgency in his usually confident voice. Entering the study, she saw what had stolen her spouse's gusto. On the floor her firstborn son lay, his hands reaching up to the ceiling above, licked with small green flames that danced through the air above him.

The woman began to cry.

A/N: I needed a break from The Price of a Life, and this has been WIP of mine for a while now. No real warnings...yet

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The Price of a Life - Chapter 13

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

I woke up gasping for air, my lungs taking panicked, hollow breaths that did little to actually pump oxygen into my blood. I was shaking with terror, my body soaked in sweat. My hands were splayed in the dirt as I knelt there shivering, as if some unseen weight was forcing me down and my arms were about to give out. My ears were ringing, and my vision faded in and out. All I could do was breath and hope the feeling of terror would pass.

It had not been a nightmare, I would have been able to remember it if it were, but whatever had terrified me seemed worse than any empty train car or chasing apparition. My breathing slowly returned to normal, the fresh, clean air of the night filling my lungs. The fire burned brightly, and the strange stars danced high above.

'Did I even sleep?' I thought to myself, the sleeping children undisturbed by my alarming outburst. It took longer for my hands to obey me, slowly releasing the fistfuls of sand and my arms folding around my midsection for comfort. A hand rose and touched my choker necklace, the metal of the cross warm to the touch.

"God, am I sick?" I whispered to myself, the breeze chilling me to the bone.

"You are not Ishvalan, child," A familiar, deep voice said softly with a hint of disappointment, startling me. I jumped away from its source, and my bag succeeded in keeping me from from falling on top of one of the slumbering children. I looked up, the Brother sitting calmly by the fire. I felt a wave of relief, as though I expected someone else to be there.

"No," I finally said in agreement as he looked to me in silence. "I didn't mean to deceive anyone, I was just trying to," I paused briefly, not knowing how to word my cowardice of running away from everyone, "Find a home," The old man smiled, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepening.

"You are still welcome here, though I am curious as to why you would want to live in a place such as this," He motioned to the lopsided shacks made out of disused trash. "When you've clearly come from the very heart of Central." The Brother motioned to my attire. Though sweat soaked and dirty, the stiff blouse collar and high boots were distinct from the loose, flowing robes and sandaled feet of the other slum residents.

"I move around a lot. Like I said, I'm just trying to figure out where I fit in," As if I could ever belong in another world. I thought to myself.

"I must say you did work without complaint, which is uncommon of those unaccustomed to manual labor. I presume that's why you thought you could find a place among us?"

"Perhaps. It reminds me of one of my past homes." It was the main reason for my stay, subconsciously though. Yes, the labor was hard and my bones and muscles were so stiff I did not think I would be able to stand, let alone work when the sun rose. However, it was something I knew I could do. Something in this world I understood. Despite the physical discomfort, the work in the fields was a psychological comforter that reminded me of the world I once belonged to, a world to which I might never return.

"I take it you've traveled far," I nodded.

"I'm from Drachma," I said automatically, the name sounding as natural to me as Connecticut.

"Why didn't you stay?" I looked down at my hands. I needed to keep on the good side of as many people as possible, for the sake of not sleeping in a garbage can or in the sewers. Saying I came in search of medical alchemy to save my fictional dying mother would not go over well with the Ishvalans. I hadn't really thought of what my excuse would be in this situation.

"If you haven't noticed already, I don't look particularly Drachman." I said, motioning to my face. A curl of pale blonde hair tickled my ear, and I pushed it back out of my face. A hair cut was desperately needed. "I traveled around, found Amestis, and figured I would settle down for a bit, see how it was."

"You're lucky not to have come to Amestris a few years ago," Brother responded in a lighthearted manner, but I could hear a darker undertone to his deep voice. "I'm sure you've heard of the war," I gave a grim smile, my jaw tightly clenched. I didn't want to talk about war, and violence, and death. Not after the awakening I had.

"People are capable of great evil," I responded, mostly to myself than to the Brother. He smiled, the wrinkles in his face deepened by the flickering shadow of the fire light.

"And they are capable of even greater good," I knit my eyebrows and glanced to the sky.

"That's an optimistic outlook," I noted, watching the bright stars above as intently as though I were reading an enrapturing novel. I had to keep myself from asking aloud how someone who had surely witness the pit of man's evil could possibly believe in infinite good. I believed people were capable of great acts of kindness, but I also felt that people were inclined to act out of selfishness - my own actions the past few weeks proving that point farther.

"Ishvala grants all of us with the ability to transcend our human desires and to experience true peace and goodness with Him," The Brother said in response, his laughing red eyes studying me for a reaction as he continued, "Regardless of our trust in Him or His ways,"

"We have very similar philosophies then," I said with a sigh, the scent of candle smoke at Church back home briefly detected from the flames of the fire.

"Do you believe in a different greater force?" I looked again to the stars.

"Yes, I believe Him to be the one true God, just as you believe Ishvala to be the one true creator of the earth," I stopped, seeing the tail of a shooting star streak just above the horizon. "Maybe we even have the same God, just different names,"

"Perhaps," The Brother sounded thoughtful. "What do you call your deity?" I was enjoying the conversation, and it was interesting to see how curious the Brother was about my religion, regardless of how true and untrue some of my answers were bound to be.

"Well, to us He is the God, so we simply call Him God." I scraped the farthest recesses of my memory to find a name from some years old scripture passage or CCD lesson. "In the old scripts He was called...Yahweh? Yes, Yahweh. I'm not sure if we're supposed to call Him by that name, I'm not as well versed in the Church Catechisms as I should be," I said with a hint of embarrassment.

"You are well educated in your religion, is it common for your holy scripts to be available to all?"

"Well, in the medieval age there was a split in the Church 'cause Luther wanted it to be translated then he realized he was digging a hole for himself, so he just ended up leaving an making his own version; there are other Protestants who are real strict but don't like the Pope, then you've got the Anglicans..." I trailed off, realizing I wasn't answering the question. "Nowadays, yes, just about everything is in the vernacular. I take it Ishvalans don't have their scriptures privy to the common folk?"

The Brother nodded.

"Are there different factions of your religion? I would think it would be hard to keep everyone true to the faith after being scattered by the war." I wondered aloud, curious about the organization of the Ishvalan faith. Brother responded with a soft snort of amusement.

"Change is inevitable in our situation, and I assume not all are as faithful as they were, it wouldn't surprise me if there are many modified versions of the faith." He turned his eyes to the sky, the stars sparkling above. "So long as they preach our message of peace, I do not think I would care for whatever changes they may have made to the old doctrines." My eyes searched the sky one more. I wanted to change the subject, as all this talk of religious factions and doctrines the was getting too formal and too nostalgic for me to bear.

"Do you have names? For the stars?" I asked, the question bugging my since I first noticed the unfamiliar skyscape. The Brother too seemed happy to move on from the otherwise tiresome topic of catechisms.

"Of course," He said, searching the sky for a moment. "The stars are not as clear as they are in the Holy Land, but you can see Archia, the serpent," He pointed to a row of bright stars that sat at the edge of the sky but still shone brightly, "And Ishvala, standing over it," It took a bit more looking to make out the stick figure of dots that was vaguely reminiscent of a man.

"I see it," I said, squinting at the stars. The glare of the fire light had stung my eyes, but now the hot coals burned low, a gentle caress of red on the sandy earth.

"And there," The Brother pointed straight above us, the brightest star in the sky blazing with cold light. If one could see beyond the light, two or three smaller stars flanking the bright one. "That is the crown of Askba, Ishvala's daughter," Brother sighed, a faint smile playing on his dry, chapped lips as he studied the sky with blissful delight. "Back in the Holy Land you could see it much more clearly, I must admit I miss seeing the stars with that sharpness."

"I'm sure you do," I said, finally realizing that Amestris indeed had a Holy Land. 'So that was what Winry was referring to in her Rush Valley exposition...'

"Do you see any constellations that remind you of Drachma?" My eyes drifted back to earth, the rough sand suddenly more interesting than the smooth, silver stars.

"No," I admitted, the pin pricks of white seeming disorganized and alien once more. "I don't think you can see the same constellations this far south,"

"That's a pity, you must miss that familiarity," Brother said softly, head bowed and his grey beard resting on his chest.

I yawned. The first hint of dawn tinged the distant horizon with a few pale ripples, and I internally groaned at the sight. I had barely slept, and I ached all over. I didn't even know if I could stand up, my legs lead weights attached to my body. Unfortunately, or, perhaps, fortunately, Brother noted my agony.

"Don't overwork yourself, you may stay with the children for today, no one will notice." I raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to worry-"

"Of course it's fine, and," He glanced around as one of the children yawned, and rolled over. It was the boy to which I had given my jacket. "The children could use someone to keep an eye on them during the day," I gave a half smile and nodded. In the distance, I would hear the rumble of a old engine as the truck's rickety frame groaned and creaked.

Suddenly, the horde of children perked up, eyes bright and alert. They moved silently but with haste, creeping into the shacks with steps so soft they barely made an imprint in the sandy earth. The girl from the night before allowed her gaze to linger on me before glancing at the Brother, who nodded sagely. She stepped in that soft-footed manner towards me, and extended a hand.

"Before they send you to work," She whispered, her voice soft yet hoarse, as though she rarely spoke above a whisper. I struggled to my feet and let her lead me, each stepping making the pain in my ankles shoot tendrils of agony throughput my body. Every step was anguish, my bones rubbing against each other and audibly creaking with effort. Somehow we made it to the tent, where I ungracefully collapsed back to the ground.

Bodies lined the sides of the shack, flush against the walls in an attempt to become nothing more than a shadow. I gave a suspicious glance around the darkness, but was grateful to see no evidence of Pride's spying eyes.

It was quiet for a while. It was the kind of dark quietness, filled only by the heartbeats and shallow breaths of an invisible crowd. That would make most people claustrophobic. I, personally, was silently grateful for the enclosed space and warmth of nearby bodies. It felt safe, it felt natural and primitive, like being in your mother's womb.

This silence continued until the rumble of a struggling truck filled the air, dust kicked up by its bald tires infiltrating the shack. The breathing of the children slowed, and so I tried to slow my own, quieting every breath to conceal our location. The truck rumbled away, but the children did not move.

It seemed as though hours had passed, and indeed quite a few must have, before a child near the improvised tarp doorway peered outside. We waited for some signal that the coast was clear before filing out of the cramped space and soaking in the rays of late morning sunshine.

I gave a contented sigh as the light warmed my aching bones, the hot dirt beneath my feet relaxing the cramped and tense muscles. The children also seemed to enjoy the warm air, laying down in the sand and tracing figures in the earth. I sat next to the girl who had led me to the shack, her face serene and eyes peaceful as she stared at the passing clouds in calm reverie.

"So," I began, my voice sounding too loud amidst the comfortable silence. "You guys do this all day?"

"Just in the morning," She responded, her voice so soft and brimming with bliss. "We warm up and say our morning prayers, then we go into town for food." I nodded, feeling a smile creep onto my lips at the mention of food.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The girl smiled back at me, stretching once more before settling on her knees.

"Not at all, the Brother wouldn't want you to stay here all by yourself anyway," She stretched her arms forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, a pose I only knew from my mother's yoga obsession as Child's Pose. The other children were also in this position, their arms reaching in the direction of the sun.

I yawned and copied them, feeling the tension in my hips give way in a quiet pop as the joints reconciled. It was relaxing to lay like that, with the sun beating down on my aching spine and my hands feeling the coolness of the layers of dirt beneath them. I knew that this was how they prayed, and stealing a glance around saw the faces of the children contorted with focus. I shot a few short prayers to my own deity, hoping for nothing to change this new setting in which I had found comfort.

After only a few minutes, I was bored by the stretch, and itched to go into town for food. As if on cue, my stomach began it recitation of Oedipus Rex in whale. I tried to press myself deeper into the sandy earth, embarrassment reddening my already sunburnt ears. The younger children gave a few giggles, their own hungry bellies orchestrating whale calls of their own.

The girl, who I have decided to call Sandy due to our matching sand filled pale locks, gave a chuckle of her own as she sat up, the older children who had thus far resisted the urge to relax a little copying her example.

"Okay, okay, we can go now," Sandy managed through her smile. The children stood up, stretching once more as the pleasantly warm morning sunlight became the overbearing heat of midday. The younger children, from toddlers to tweens filed back into the shacks, each accompanied by one slightly older child. This left a small group of about ten of us left. These kids were in their teens, their bodies gangling and disproportionate, probably due to a lack of nutrition.

An inspiring idea flickered in my mind at the thought, and I retrieved my bag from the shack it resided in to rummage for supplies.

Meanwhile, I could hear Sandy issuing orders that pertained to certain parts of the downtown sector. Train stations, restaurants, street corners - it finally clicked that they were debating the best places to either beg for food or find the money to buy it.

Again my heart constricted in pity, and in self-loathing. So many times I had seen these very children on the streets of Central, and not once had I stopped to pay them or give them something. What a selfish, awful, self-centered brat-

"Miss. Irish?" Sandy asked, her voice quavering as though she was still unsure if she was permitted to call me by name. I stopped my frantic rummaging and looked up, eyes wide and attentive. "We're leaving now, you can come with me,"

I looked once more at the satchel I had packed with necessities from my bag. My Certificate wedged at the bottom for emergencies, about a hundred cenz to buy food for as many kids as I could, and the knife from Hughes. Satisfied with the supplies, I nodded to myself, closed the bag and followed.

We had arrived in the more populous region of the slums after a short walk, and I was doing my best to ignore the ache in my stomach and the ache in my feet.

The street we were on was lined with carts and other vendors hoping to make a buck, or in this world, a cenz. Some sold dishes and cups, others sold herbs and remedies, while others still hoped to sell a few homemade trinkets. The scene vaguely reminded me of a boardwalk in Rhode Island where my parents would take us during the summer, but the oppressive heat and smell of sweat and toil rising from the dusty dirt street reminded me this was anything but home.

The other children had taken off by the time I reined in my nostalgia and focused on the present. Sandy pulled me through the crowd by my hand, her stride constantly fluctuating based on the number of shady figures attempting to offer us a job at the local club and stray dogs blocking our path. I instinctively dug my hand into my satchel, gripping the handle of the knife periodically to remind myself it was there.

We arrived at a dilapidated building, the brick foundation crumbling and the off white facade darkened by dirt and time. I stared at the sign for a moment, trying to decipher why we were at 'Auntie Elosa's Bath House', the name of which was no reassurance. Inside of the building, it was dark, the air humid and dank. Only a few candles strung about the ceiling and on counters illuminated the faces of tired old women and the other children.

I wanted to ask why we were here or all places for food when a rotund lady came from a back room, clad only in a dingy towel. Her long white hair was thinning, plastered to her neck and shoulders like a ghostly veil. The wrinkles in her face seemed like deep ravines carved into the landscape by time, wind, and sorrow. Despite this, her bright red eyes gleamed with joy and pride at the sight of us, a smile stretching from ear to ear as she approached.

It might sound strange, but with that smile she seemed to grow younger, more beautiful. They do say happiness looks good on everyone, and for this woman, it looked as though she just found out she was a grandmother.

"Child, you have brought a visitor!" She announced, rushing me with a speed I couldn't fathom for a woman of her age and size. I clutched my satchel close, my hand already wrapped around the knife's handle out of habit. The woman held my shoulders, staring deeply into my own pale pink irises. She never stopped smiling.

"Auntie, this is Miss. Irish, she's staying with us and the Brother." Sandy explained, holding back a giggle as Auntie ran a hand through my hair. I yelped in surprise and pain when her fingers caught a tangle of my thick locks.

"Sorry deary," She turned to the other children, assessing each of them one by one, occasionally pulling up her towel to prevent it slipping down to reveal her generous endowment to us. "Look at all of you, you're a mess!" She exclaimed smudging the dirt on a boy's cheeks. "Ajah, show our guest to the showers, would you darling?"

"Yes Auntie," Sandy - who, I presume is really Ajah, responded.

"And the rest of you! To the showers at once, you're filthy, filthy, filthy! How dare you spend so much time rolling in the dirt to say your prayers, go!" Auntie shouted, ushering the rest of the children after us. Ajah hurriedly led me to the back room, where both walls were lined with stalls. Ajah entered a stall, and I followed in suit. The cramped wooden space hand only a bench and a towel hung on a peg. I assumed this meant I was expected to bathe, not that I was arguing. A refreshing bath could go a long way.

I emerged wrapped in the towel, the rough fabric in stark contrast to the soft, fluffy towels I was used to at the Hughes' residence. My heart caught in my throat at the thought, my mind spinning all of the possibilities of what was going on back in the heart of Central. Had the Elrics returned from Dublith? Did they know about Hughes? Had Ross been 'killed' by Mustang? The timeline was very loose in terms of days and weeks, it was possible they could have even returned to the Fifth Laboratory, and Havoc could be paralyzed-

"Miss. Irish? Are you okay?" I looked up at the owner of the voice, Ajah standing with her towel held over her shoulder. In front of me the other children marched deeper into the building, towels held in their arms or over their shoulders. I blinked a few times, staring at the ground in an attempt to determine why I couldn't see anything despite the dim lights. I shook my head, recalling that my glasses had fogged up upon entering the building, and now resided in my satchel.

"Sorry, I've never gone to a bath house before," I looked down at my towel, and held it tighter around my chest. "Am I not supposed to cover up?" Ajah smiled, her eyes twinkling with impish amusement as she started walking down the corridor.

"We're not of marrying age yet, so we usually bathe together." She explained, glancing at my pale collar bone and legs that contrasted with the dirt covered hands and face. "You can use the showers though, if you'd like,"

We came into a large room that reminded me of an indoor hotel pool, with one small pool, one large, and a shower area. The other children were already in the large bath, a wooden construction that was slightly smaller than a house pool. The small pool appeared to be a hot tub of sorts, three old women overseeing the children as they splashed and washed below.

I walked over to the showers, an area in the corner of the humid bath house that surely was home to a great variety of mold species. The shower was crude, constructed of silvery pipes and a colander like shower head that perpetually dripped. Once more I revisited my fear of lead poisoning. Deadly lead poisoning. Or a refreshing shower. Deadly Poisoning. Refreshing Shower. I decided to take present comfort over future worries, and turned the knob on the pipe to the left.

An unhealthy sounding gurgle and sputter of water later, and I was enjoying the best shower I had taken since I arrived in an alternate reality. Mind you readers, this was the only shower I had taken in Amestris. The water was freezing cold, so much so that I nearly dropped my towel when testing the temperature. After a moment of fiddling with knobs and discovering that the only preference was Antarctic ice floe, I set the towel on a peg on the wall and proceeded to shower.

There was no soap to use, but after a few minutes of shivering self-consciously, I adjusted to the temperature and did my best to rid my hands and feet of the dirt and filth of the past day. I faced away from the shower head, fearful of accidentally ingesting some lead pipe shower water. Not a soul noticed me standing there, naked and bare in the corner of the bath house. I rubbed my legs, acutely aware I hadn't shaved since I arrived, and equally aware of how sickly I had become.

I had always had, what my mother referred to as a 'healthy amount' of chubbiness, what she told me was insurance against a bad snow storm or food shortage. It never really bothered me, and I wasn't obese by any means, but I had lost that safety cushion of fat during my time in Amestris.

Maybe it was the interruption to my strict regimen of breakfast, lunch, dinner, or perhaps it was the stress and anxiety that had overworked my body, but my legs had grown too thin for my liking, and my ribs too prominent.

My skin had a sheen of what I can only call sickliness, that off white, not quite pale but not shaded enough to be any particular color but held a hue of blue-grey-green. I ran my hands through my hair, working through the knot Auntie had found. I promised myself that as soon as I could, I was going to start getting back into a healthy eating habit.

I looked at the children in the pool, realizing that shared the same underfed overworked gauntness, but their bodies churned whatever energy providing food they consumed into coils of wiry muscle, where I became more cadaverous. Still, their eyes were sunken and their ribs could be counted. None of us were a picture of perfect health.

We all need to eat better. I thought, trying to find any other thought to occupy my mind. I eventually found myself humming, something that usually evolved into horrible, awful, terrible song should I stay too long in the shower. I couldn't place the particular lyrics or song name, but I knew the melody was classical. Perhaps from Beethoven.

A little while later, we were all back in the changing stalls. I was still humming the tune to the mystery song as I changed, in a pleasant mood once more. Though, I must admit putting dirty clothes onto a recently showered body was a little bit of a deterrent. I rummaged through my satchel to grab my glasses when I noticed something. My money was gone. The song evaporated and a groan accompanied by the sound of my head hitting the wall managed to reach the ears of my...acquaintance? Friend? Guide?

"Are you okay Miss. Irish?" Ajah asked, knocking on the door. I sighed, thinking about the dull ache in my stomach.

Whoever took the money probably needed it. I assured myself before speaking. "I'm fine, don't leave without me now," Ajah chuckled at my response.

"Don't worry, I won't." I put on my glasses and followed her out, a forced smile hopefully appearing to be anything but.

Outside the sun beat down on the two of us, the streets mostly empty.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, relieved that a cloud blotted out most of the sunlight so that I could see without struggling against the blinding light.

"Eating, don't tell me you're not hungry anymore?" I snorted at Ajah's response.

"I am always hungry," I retorted, though it sounded a lot better in my head. We walked down the street, passing the vendors who enjoyed some afternoon naps and lunch breaks. "So, Ajah," She visibly winced at the sound of her name, alerting me that it was probably best not to refer to her by name. "Sorry, I heard Auntie call you that, and you seemed okay calling me Irish, and I just thought-"

"No, no, it's fine, I'm just not used to hearing my name from any of the others," She gave a sheepish smile. "We're not really supposed to use our names with strangers. Auntie's an old woman, and we respect her. She just isn't as devoted as she used to be before..."

"I understand, people lose faith in times of struggle, it happens everywhere," The gears of my mind were whirring, pondering how many versions of the Ishvalan faith there could be. With no organized religion after the war, it wouldn't be surprising to see people who's faith has warped as much as Auntie's. Or Scar's. A sigh from Ajah drew me back from my thoughts.

"I worry about the little ones, that they won't learn to respect Ishvala and his laws," Her eyes stared at the earth, misting over with deep thought. "Brother is getting older, and there aren't very many monks left to teach us in Ishvala's ways," Her eyes darted up at me, searching for any sign of reproach or annoyance. I watched her with an attentiveness I hoped she could interpret as genuine curiosity. "Look at that! We're here," Ajah announced, clearly glad for the distraction.

It was a little soup shop, brimming with customers. On either side of the door, a bouncer eyed us warily. The band of Ishvalan youths huddled at the counter were just another source of income, and I assumed the owner wouldn't want paying customers to be reported to athorities.

Ajah and I found seats among the group, where we observed one of the boys count out cenz. Most of the money was dingy - crumpled up, muddy, or otherwise appearing as though it had been dug out of a sewer.

One child added a small stack of cenz to the pile, crisp, clean bills. No one seemed to notice as the older boy counted the money out and bargained with the server. I found myself memorizing the child's face with a bubble of ire building in my throat. His head was clean shaven, though a few tufts of silvery hair had been missed. His right ear bore scars, as though a cat had raked its claws across his head. He had a resting sleepy smile, as though he were coming off laughing gas from a trip to the dentist.

Only when the server brought our food was I distracted by my vengeful glowering. It was a lot of food. Too much for us to eat on our own, which explained why the sever was helping the children bag the food. We were bringing it back for the other kids. We were only in the shop for a few minutes, and as quickly as we had settled in, we left with armfuls of soup cans and bread.

I can't say I wasn't still upset with the kid, he had stolen my money after all, but it had been my plan to buy food for all of us anyway, so I decided we were even, for now.

Suddenly there was a dull twang as a stone bounced off a nearby lamppost and ricocheted, knocking down the kid who had stolen my money. He fell without grace, his bags of food spilling their contents into the dirt road. Ajah rushed to his aid, setting her own packages down gently. Another stone was thrown, this one clipping Ajah's shoulder.

I seethed, turning to the direction of the stone's origin. A blonde haired, blue eyed boy no older than eight or nine glared angrily in our direction, picking up another stone. A younger boy watched on with fearful, cautious eyes.

"Go back to your own country!" The blonde yelled, throwing a stone straight at me. It bounced harmlessly off my shoulder, but the words stung more than the pebble.

I can't go back anywhere, and their country is your country you- I stopped, realizing I was stalking across the street towards the pair with my hands and jaw clenched tight. Ajah placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't bother," Her deep red eyes glanced at the two boys, the younger one looking from me to the blonde, tugging at the hem of his shirt in fear. I took a deep breath, feeling the tension leave my body with a heavy sigh.

I set down my bags and helped pick up the salvageable contents of the bag. The boy wasn't hurt, only surprised by the stone. Ajah affirmed she was fine, but the sting of the stone on my shoulder left an ache in my heart.

The two boys probably lived here, in the slums, just like the Ishvalans. I tried to reason their hate, perhaps they had lost their father or an uncle or an older brother to the war, perhaps they had heard of Scar and were afraid. Still, their hate felt so raw and unfiltered, so wrong and unnatural for such young children to feel. It baffled me how they could be so cruel.

We soon exited the slums without anymore interruptions and found our meager home, where children huddled around the glowing fire and the Brother's face was etched with exhaustion and age. As we divied up the food, I finally took the time to relax, unwrapping a piece of bread from its newspaper swaddling. Scar's face stared back at me, a detailed article talking about the recent murder of the Silver Alchemist.

I sighed, no longer hungry despite my earlier affirmations. It seemed both sides of the coin were capable of horrendous cruelty.

A pattern developed as my days with the Ishvalans accumulated. One day I would go with Brother, work in the fields. The next I would spend with Ajah, getting food and taking some of the younger children to the bath house. Once more I settle into routine, the world at a relative quiet before the storm. And believe me, there would be a storm.

I was eating regularly, at least as regularly as I could living in the poorest sector of Central. I never saw the blonde boy again, though I was always a bit jumpy whenever we walked back from town. I never collected a paycheck, but often I would take some produce from the farm back with me, the damaged or imperfect fruits and vegetables that the farm wouldn't be able to sell.

A week or so had passed, and I was working in the fields with the Ishvalans, the sun high and my shoulders red. Another perk of being paler than a ghost - you burn, and burn, and burn. I might have even ended up with a slight tan. The rumble of an engine groaned at the other end of the field. I perked up, some vague hope that we could break early filtering through my conscious thought.

But this wasn't the water truck. This was sleek, black, military vehicle. The Ishvalan workers did not panic, they kept their heads down and worked without missing a beat. Roger - you guys remember him? - was at the end of his row, talking to whoever was in the car. I kept my head down, just like the others, and continued working, though my ears strained to hear the voices above the din of insects and the car's distant engine.

I looked up to see Roger sprinting down the row, bounding with the grace of a dancer over rocks and ditches. He arrived, sweat soaked but not out of breath, red eyes peering up between beads of sweat at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, bunching a handful of carrots and throwing them into my basket.

"Those men, they want to talk to you," Roger said, wiping away the glimmering jewels of sweat that had beaded on his long eyelashes. "They said to tell you it's Havoc asking for you," I tensed, immediately have an internal panic attack. Did they arrest Ross? Was she 'killed'? Did Gracia report me missing? I nervously cracked my knuckles.

"I should go," I murmured, looking to my basket of carrots.

"I've got these, you," He looked at me for a moment, searching for the right words as his eyes searched mine and found the fear in them. "Stay safe," Ha clapped me on the shoulder and tended to the field. I ran down the row my shoes clumsily catching on rocks and sinking into ditches as I tried to hurriedly make my way to the black car.

When I finally stepped onto the crude dirt road, Havoc was standing outside of the vehicle, lighting a cigarette. Somehow, it relieved me to see him standing there, inhaling vaporized cancer. I think I was subconsciously aware it might be only a short time before he was sitting in a wheelchair.

When he saw me, he raised an eyebrow, as if thinking the wrong worker had been sent back.

"Mac, that really you?" Mac. Only Hughes ever called me that. I couldn't believe how happy I was seeing him. So many questions were caught in my throat. How was Elicia and Gracia? And Danny? And was Mustang doing okay?

"Yep, this is really me, lover boy," I managed, smiling in spite of myself. Havoc laughed, and went to ruffle my hair. I caught both of us off guard by rushing to hug him. "Nice to see you again, Havoc. What're you doing all the way out here?" I released him, and he got his chance to ruffle my hair, but he didn't. He just stood there, eyes searching me for some sign, some signal of negative emotion.

"I wish I could say it was for a friendly visit," I looked up at him, head cocked and brow furrowed. "We need you to come back to Central, just for a little bit," Why would Central be looking for me? As if reading my thoughts, Havoc stared me down sternly. "We believe we have Hughes' killer in custody, we need you to I.D. them,"

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 6

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own any Disney films or associated materials mentioned in this or any upcoming chapters. Any opinions of Disney expressed by the characters are their own.

I rested my head against the window the the train, watching the countryside pass by. Did you know how awful it was to get 'Let it Go' stuck in your head, and have no other music to drown it out? Truth, why couldn't you have left me in a strange world with at least an Ipod or my phone or something! I guessed it would have messed up the entire technology gap, but how could I have cared about that with Idina Menzel screaming in my skull?

"What's the matter Mac?" Hughes asked, noting my pained expression. It was just him and me, Denny and Maria has missed the train and were taking a later one, and Armstrong had left with the Elrics to Resembool.

I still had a few episodes to go until the Fifth Laboratory incident, but I needed to be on my guard. Things were progressing on schedule, but the room for error was small in my upcoming scheme.

"Do you ever get that good but overplayed song stuck in your head?" I asked, looking on as we passed some cows. They looked like Brahmans, which was strange considering that breed developed in the West Indies, but hey - Amestris was an entire smattering of countries apparently so why bother questioning anything.

"Can't say that I have…" Hughes said, observing me carefully. "Do they play a lot of music in your village?" I looked up, having not thought of how I'd translate my world into a small village.

"Yeah, all the time. Whenever a new song is written people go crazy about it have it played over and over again by anyone who can sing and use an instrument. Most people have instruments of all sorts in their house and can sing - from farmers to the mayor, everybody knows the same songs by heart." I smiled imagining this in the small village of Ire. "It keeps everybody in touch with new ideas and upcoming events - like a spoken newspaper but with more emotion and less job advertisements."

"Do you not have a publisher in Ire?" I gave a small laugh - this talk was actually getting the damned song out of my head.

"Yeah, but not a lot of people read newspapers. It's much faster and easier to spread news by song." I needed to start replacing any modern technology with song, it'd make this whole technology gap seem a lot smaller. "But that song I have stuck in my head is just a stupid - well, it's not actually that bad, and it conveys a really good message, but people sang it way too often instead of singing any relevant songs, which made it hard to get information around in newer songs. Just annoying."

I sighed, looking out the window. I really did like the song when I first heard it, and I didn't mind that it was so popular, but having it stuck in your head for two hours on a train was one of the worst forms of psychological pain I had endured since coming here.

"You're village sounds fun," I nodded, aware he was subtly interrogating me. It didn't matter. Years of lying to my siblings, and to my parents for those same siblings - not to mention having a sister in the military - coupled with my overactive imagination made it very easy to convince myself that Ire was a real place.

"Yeah, it was fun. I kind of miss it now and then, but it's pretty cool being here in Amestris too." I sighed, happy that the infernal song had been replaced with 'Reflection' from Mulan. Still Disney, but not overly popular Disney.

You know how you think you'd remember all of your favorite songs by your favorite bands if you were dropped somewhere isolated for a while? Nope. I could barely recall a single line of any of my favorite songs - let alone the names of the bands. Only Disney songs and childhood lullabies remained, probably for the best.

"Irish," Wait, he never called me Irish. Hughes, what the hell were you going to ask? "Why did you leave Ire? You must miss your family, and you're too young to be traveling by yourself." Jokes on you Maes Hughes! I had come up with this story during all of those sleepless nights whenever I wasn't working on the future, I had been making up my past.

"Long story, do we have the time?" I asked peering around for a clock. Hughes took out a pocket watch - not a pretty engraved silver one like the one given to State Alchemists. Its hands read 10:10, and judging by the sun peering over the horizon, it was morning. We had only left around 8:00, meaning we wouldn't be back in Central until supper time.

"Well, I left because I heard alchemists here in Amestris were very gifted. I came to find one who specializes in medically based alchemy." I patted my bag, the lists of registered alchemists. "Beyond my plan for organizing Scar's target range, I wanted to see if there were any that met the requirements I was looking for."

"Why were you looking for a bioalchemist who specialized in medicine?" Hughes prodded gently. I could almost see him making a mental note of every word I said.

His suspicion was growing, and rightfully so. I had all but predicted every one of Scar's moves - I wouldn't be surprised if anyone thought I was working with him. I was one of the only people to face him alone and live to tell the tale.

"My mother," I looked down, feeling my cheeks warm in actually distress as I touched the Celtic cross, which had once more jumped over the collar of the blouse I was wearing. "She's very sick, and none of the doctors can explain her illness. It presents itself as a cross between dementia and leprosy, she's forgetting where she is, and her limbs are slowly dying."

I gulped down the lump in my throat, happy those years of drama club were paying off. And, part of it wasn't entirely acting. Back home, my mother had bravely fought off stage three cancer, at the price of her legs. Not all of the tears pricking at my eyes were fake.

"I-I thought, since the alchemists here are some of the best in the world, not to mention you have some of the latest medical technology, I'd be able to find someone who'd have some knowledge on the subject."

"Mac," Hughes said as I wiped the tears from my eyes. No time to have a mental breakdown right here and now - I'd have to save that for when the carnage of the series began. "I'm sorry-"

"No, no," I said, taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry, um, what else do you want to know?" I sniffed, looking down as a man came by with a cart.

"Do you want anything-"

"No, thank you." Hughes said curtly, annoyed with the interruption. As the man moved on, he turned back to me.

"Tell me anything you want to, I'm not forcing you to talk Mac." Maes Hughes was such a sweet guy, it almost made me start crying again.

"Um, well, we had this huge library. My dad never could convince my mother to open it to the public or as book store, and after she got sick he never had to heart to. When I wasn't with my siblings or working at Mr. Solosky's farm, I was in there. Most of the books were nonfiction - science documents, research papers, boring stuff like that.

"But every now and then there'd be a good fiction novel, and I'd read them over and over again to my little brothers. I'd read the science and research papers, but my brother never really bonded with me over those - they're just boys, you know? Nothing satisfies their little minds more than a good bloody war."

I needed to keep talking. If I didn't continue, he's just interrogate me later, and giving the story a personal touch made it more believable. I cracked a tired smile at the man, his eyes both cold and yet pitying. Everyone in this world seemed to be a paradox of how they were generally portrayed. It was strange.

"But, it burned down - just a few days before I left for Amestris, actually. My grandfather took it as a sign from Utka that I wouldn't be able to return if I left, but it was just an accident. During the Festival of Micky, the campfire sparks lit it up like a pile of old tinder." I had to stifle a smile and keep my somber expression. The idea of a group of people worshiping a giant anthropomorphic mouse was amusing.

"A few days later I caught a train south, jumped the border into Creta, spent a little time in Aerugo, and then booked it north through the South Area. I would have just come through the north, but the mountain and Fort Briggs is a pretty good deterrent, besides, I wanted to see a bit of the world - I'd never left Ire for anything more than a hunting trip before then."

"How did you get all the way to Central without getting caught? I mean, you did say you spent a while in Liore." I yawned, looking out the window.

"No offense, but you're border patrol is awful. And once I got to Liore I fit in pretty well. It is - or well, it was a smattering of different cultures and people, so they all ignored the little Drachman immigrant girl who never caused any trouble." I said, running a hand through my hair. "Though, once Letoism moved in, they were pretty quick to judge. At first I thought Father Cornello would be able to help me but his quote and quote 'miracles' had a bad energy to them."

"A 'bad energy'?" Hughes inquired as we headed into a tunnel. The dark of the underground passage only lit by the small, flickering, light bulbs. I shivered, the memory of my nightmare coming back for a moment.

"Yeah, it just didn't feel right. You know, something that puts you on edge and makes your insides turn and your heart feel frozen. That kind of bad energy." I relaxed a little as we exited the dark of the tunnel, natural sunlight streaming through the windows once more.

"So, I hitched a train up north. When I got to Central, I was a little distracted by how impressive - well, how imposing everything was. I...wasn't paying attention and I guess someone stole my belongings. I didn't have any money so I kind of just fell asleep in the park, then those soldiers found me and we went to the jail and bada bing bada boom here I am." Hughes was looking at me strangely, his brow furrowed with confusion. "What?"

"You use a lot of strange words," He noted, as I brought a hand self consciously to my lips. I forgot how out of place my 21st century lingo might seem to them. I smiled, scratching Lucha's head as he crawled out of the bag and onto the table.

"Sorry, I just picked up a lot of expression in my travels." I said with a laugh, once more turning to the window. We passed a small town, the people slow moving blurs in the distance from my train window. "Hey Hughes, why did you become a soldier?" I asked, half aware of what I was asking.

It had been bugging me for a while. He didn't seem like the soldier type - Hughes was more of a businessman or engineer, something that didn't have the prospect of death everyday. He had whole family to think of as well, so what were his motives for staying the job that could, and would if I didn't plan on interfering, end in his death?

"The same reason you risked your life to come all the way to Amestris," I looked up at him, confused.

"For modern medicine…?"

"No, Mac, for family." I looked down at the table, tracing the scratches in its polished finish.

"But Hughes," I asked, doing my best to recall his age and the start of the Ishvalan war. "If you did serve in the war, you must have joined the military academy before you were past twenty one. Was there a draft for normal soldiers as well as alchemists?" He shook is head, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

"There was someone I wanted to protect-"

"Gracia?" He nodded, though I felt a bit embarrassed by my interruption.

"Yes, and Elecia, though I didn't know until after I left for the war." I frowned, still not understanding entirely.

"But wouldn't you want to be with Gracia instead of risking your life? What if you never came back and Elicia never got to meet you?" Hughes shrugged, turning his gaze to the looming mid afternoon sun.

"It didn't cross my mind at the time, I wanted to protect the both of them. And if I needed to join the military then that's what I wanted to do. Knowing I was going to be a father, and having my adorable little angel with Gracia waiting for me only made my resolve to come back in one piece stronger."

My hand was once again drawn to the cross around my neck. My sister Mary had joined the military because she, well, she was very proud to be an American. Not necessarily your typical die hard redneck from the sticks - we grew up in New England after all - but she still had a bit of fire in her that made you wonder how she could possible be related to that quiet family that only ever said a word in her defense.

She had always said she joined the military because she loved her country, but part of me could now see that Mary wasn't just that one crazy aunt I'd keep my kids away from at parties. She really did just want to protect the people most important to her. I sighed, and laid my head down upon my crossed arms.

"You're an idiot Hughes," I closed my eyes briefly before looking up at his amused expression. "But you were an idiot for love, and so long as it doesn't get you killed, I guess I can tolerate it."

The train slowed as it approached its second stop - Geob. It was a pleasant little city, not too buy but not at all rural either. The train screeched to a halt, the crowded platform bustling with waiting passengers and families awaiting the train's arriving passengers. It took almost an hour for the train to leave the station - and today seemed as if it was going to take even longer.

The rain the past few days had delayed and closed trains, and with the new sunny weather of late summer setting in, I wasn't surprised so many people had waited until today to depart. I sighed, watching the passengers slowly get off, like bees lazily leaving the hive after a long winter.

Taking out the files of State Alchemists, I flipped through them for the billionth time when Hughes suddenly sat straight up in his seat, as if he was a meerkat on alert. He opened the window, much to my annoyance as the smell of smog and city air filled the once sterile, recirculated train car air.

"Hey, Jo!" He called out, waving at someone in the crowd. Since it didn't seem whoever he was talking to noticed, Hughes got out of his seat. "Come on, Mac."

'Why must everything be an adventure?' I thought, putting the files and Lucha in my bag before I let Hughes drag me along. His clear hazel eyes focused on something up ahead, something I couldn't see being vertically challenged.

"Where we going this time?" When we finally broke out of the masses of people, the narrow street was full of people going to and fro in between shops. Peering over the crowd - Hughes was really tall by the way, not NBA tall but still up there - the man saw whatever he was looking for and dragged me along. "Hey, Hughes, be careful. I'm not a ragdoll." He never answered my question as we rushed up to a ratty looking apartment building, the front door closing slowly behind someone.

"Hey, Jo don't go running off like that-" He stopped as we entered the building, the reception room crawling with unfriendly characters. Taking back what I said earlier, I held his hand tighter and nervously stood behind him, as if that would hide me from the stares and faces. Hughes was quiet for a moment, before ducking his head slowly and heading towards the receptionist.

She was a shapely woman, her dark hair loose and curled. I had to do a double take to make sure it wasn't Lust. It wasn't, her skin a few shades too pale and her lips more of a rose pink than blood red. The woman was also chewing tobacco - something I couldn't begin to imagine Lust ever doing.

"You need something?" Her name tag read Rebecca.

Hughes was in civilian clothes for the train ride - he complained that the uniform was too stiff to sleep in. That was probably the only reason her first question wasn't about us being cops. Still, he had that...air around him, one that made you aware he meant business and wasn't one to dabble in the illegal. That might have been all it took here.

"Yes, that man who just came in, what's his room number?" Her black eyes looked us up and down, or at least they looked Hughes up and down. I was still hiding behind him.

"You guys are with the military, aren't you?" Oh, there was the cop question. What came next surprised both Rebecca and I. Hughes leaned forward, took her chin in his hand, and gave her peck, not to mention he slid a few cenz over the counter.

"Nope," He responded, pulling back and smirking at the woman's shocked expression. I half expected an enraged boyfriend or partner to kill us then and there. Rebecca's surprised expression morphed into one I could only define as impressed.

"Room 342, though he's never there." She said, blowing a kiss towards Hughes as we nodded and headed up the staircase. He turned to me sternly, glaring down at me as I let loose a giggle.

"Never, tell Gracia about that." I shoved him gently, an easy feat in the narrow stairwell. He gave a groan of worry, running a hand through his hair. I chuckled as we roamed through the quiet and dusty halls.

"Hey, you keep my secrets and I'll keep yours, capice?" He gave me that eyebrow wiggle of amusement that was followed by a short laugh.

"The words you use Mac, the words you use…" Sorry, I had forgotten my highschool Italian was showing. Would he have preferred angry German or unintelligible Irish Gaelic? I continued to argue this point against him in my head until I almost walked into him as he suddenly stopped at a door. The numbers 342 were carved into it, jagged and lopsided. "This is the place," He breathed, looking at the cracked ceiling for a moment.

"Um, Hughes, who are we chasing after? Who's Jo?" I asked, finally having a moment of peace to inquire about our sudden detour. The man lifted a hand to knock, glancing down at me for a moment.

"An old friend," He knocked three consecutive times as he said this. There was dull shuffle from within the room.

"Go away," A muffled voice whined, sounding almost annoyed with the interruption. I rolled my eyes, glancing at the clock. We were going to miss the train if we didn't hurry this up. I took a turn to rap on the door's thin wooden surface.

"Open the door, Jo. Hughes won't tell me who you are and we're going to miss the train-" The door opened, and my fist met the unfortunate face of whoever opened it. I instinctively closed my eyes for a moment, expecting a harsh response. "Sorry!"

When none came, and Hughes moved past me to embrace the person, I opened my eyes. The man looked absolutely disgusted with the hug, but didn't say anything. He was clean shaven, and his apartment looked well taken care of compared to the rest of the building. The man wore a pair of wire rimmed circular glasses, and his black hair was combed back neatly.

"Nice to see you again, Jo!" I looked back and forth between Hughes and the man - Jo I guessed his name was. "Mac, this is Jo - this is Mac, she and Elicia and Gracia get along so well, oh that reminds me, have you seen these new pictures of my little angel-"

"What do you want Hughes?" Jo grumbled angrily, walking inside the apartment. Hughes seemed offended, comically placing a hand over his heart and gasping.

"I just wanted to show you the new dress Elicia is wearing at her birthday party - you will be there won't you?" I was so confused. Who was Jo? Why was Hughes inviting him to the party? What was going on?

"If that's all then leave, I'm not going all the way to Central for the kid's party. I'll send her a card, okay?" Jo sat down on the ancient couch, dust flying up. I sneezed, bringing unwanted attention in my direction. "What's with the kid? She's not military - nevermind, just get out. Nice to see you again, but scram." Hughes ignored the request and sat next to Jo on the couch.

"Rude much," I said under my breath, checking the clock outside in the hallway once more. We were really going to be late. "Hey, Hughes, let's get going -" He and Jo were talking in hushed voices on the couch, Hughes' hazel eyes sharp and cold in the dim light. I hung my head as the minutes ticked away.

Who was Jo anyways? I decided to find out, sitting in a soft armchair and eavesdropping. However, I was rather bad at eavesdropping despite my acting skills, so Hughes immediately brightened up after I sat down.

"Mac, have you ever seen a chimera?" I shook my head, swatting at Lucha's own as he tried to escape the bag - I didn't want him getting lost in this building. "Come on, Jo wants to show you his lab!" I tilted my head to the side, thinking...chimeras...Jo…

"Johann Adlersflügel?" I asked, looking to the two men for an explanation. "What's going on Hughes? Why the secret agent sneaky stalker stuff? Who is Jo in relation to my existence beyond a possible target of a serial killer?" The man just laughed, Jo looking embarrassed for him.

"Jo's my little brother," Hughes finally said, giving Jo a 'noogie' as my brother Matt would give my younger brother Aiden.

"By three minutes."

"Doesn't matter, you're still younger."

It was going to take a while to process this information. I knew my existence would screw things up, but a whole new person introduced to the story? Not to mention Hughes didn't have a twin canonically! Ugh, I really needed to talk with Truth. Something besides these new revelations was bothering me.

"If you two are twins, why is Johann's last name different?" I asked, trying not to let my disbelief bleed into my words. They were nothing alike; except maybe in their build and face, but Johann's eyes were a shade or two lighter and he had less facial hair.

"I'll tell you some other time, but seriously you have to see his lab - Jo's a bit of a nerd," Hughes said, dragging me out of the apartment as Jo followed, a small smile of amusement twitching his lips as I nearly tripped over Hughes going down the narrow staircase.

Rebecca waved as we left the building, blowing another kiss at Hughes who flushed with embarrassment. Johann led us through the streets, not any less busy than they were earlier. We had been walking for only a few blocks when a clock somewhere in town rang twelve times.

"Hughes, we missed the train." I said anxiously, reaching into my bag and hauling out Lucha. He nipped at my fingers, reminding me it was past his lunch time. Having no food to give him, I simply held him in the crook of my arm until he stopped squirming and watched the passing hordes in a silent assessment of his next meal. Not that he could actually eat a person, he just liked to think he could.

"We'll get one tomorrow." I looked at him in horror.

"You expect me to sleep in there? In that crappy hotel?" I asked softly, noticing to my dismay that Johann had overheard me. He didn't say anything, only momentarily glancing at me before purposefully walking faster. Hughes looked down at me, a smile on his face.

"Yep," I groaned, but did not further comment - I didn't want to offend Johann more than I already had.

We finally came to run down storage facility of sorts, the hot afternoon sun beating down on us as Johann fiddled with the key to open the heavy metal doors. Without air conditioning, it was going to be an oven in there. I had realized air conditioning units had not been invented yet at the grocery shop - the beans went bad after only a few days in the excessive heat of the back room.

However, upon stepping into the dark building, i discovered it to be pleasantly cool. The air was moist, bringing my thoughts to mold, but I had no time to dwell on that possibility as Lucha spasmed inside my bag, sneezing up a storm. It seemed to make Johann nervous.

"What kind of cat is that?" He asked with a weak laugh as we trailed through the empty corridors. This place was almost as bad as Command in its labyrinth's complexity.

"The kind that's a ferret." I responded quietly, a stiff smile finding its way to my face.

Why was this so awkward? He was just some guy. Well, a guy who wasn't supposed to be involved in the story. But who knew? Maybe this happened all along and it was just never shown? For the first time since I arrived here, I honestly didn't have a clue to my next move.

I didn't even know if he was a friend or a foe. Sure, Hughes trusted him enough - but Johann was his brother, and it wouldn't be surprising for a betrayal or two to surface. And from the sounds of it Johann and Maes weren't exactly the closest or most in touch brothers.

"A what?" Johann asked, small snort of laughter. I scowled in his general direction as we stopped at a large metal door with a padlock.

"It's a weird fuzzy snake, what's it to you?" I growled back in response as Hughes' brother unlocked the door.

"Keep it in the bag, you don't want one of these guys catching it." The clean shaven man said, flipping a light switch to illuminate the large room. There were fours cages, each big enough for a big dog to live in.

But instead of Irish Wolfhounds and American Staffordshire Bull Terriers there were large, strangely marked cats. Their fur came to hard scale like formations, as if they had been caked in mud. Their eyes too, were strange. They were slitted beyond normal, and sat higher up on the animal's skull. The skull itself was elongated, stretching beyond a normal length as if it had been run over by a steamroller.

"I'm seeing crocodilian and big cat cross - what are they?" I asked, standing a good distance from the cages. Two cages held one of the cat-croc chimeras each. Both paced anxiously back and forth, one giving a gargled growl, snarling and hissing at our arrival. The other two cages separated four smaller chimeras, two in one and two in the other. The smaller chimeras were sleeping, or dead, from the looks of it. The floors of the cages were littered with straw for bedding.

"I made them from - you guessed it - a crocodile and a lynx." Johann said, walking over to a desk and avoiding the large circles of chalk on the floor. Hughes had wandered over to one of the cages, whistling at the sleeping baby chimeras.

"Where did you find a lynx this big?" I asked. The animals were longer than I was tall, and could easily take down a man with their sheer weight and muscle.

"The size is from the crocodiles - there's a river in the desert area between Xing and Amestris that's crawling with them. Longer than cars!" I nodded, not recalling a riving in the desert but deciding to blame it on my lack of extensive study.

It would have been nice if I had at least gotten a warning before being whisked away into a world of hellfire and cold baths.

"So, I'm not expert in alchemy, or biology, but why would you combine a reptile with a mammal? One lays eggs and the other gives birth to live young - not to mention the chromosomal difference that would make the sex cells all mixed up. Wouldn't it have been easier to at least use animals within the same class, or even the same family to make it a bit easier for them to reproduce." I inquired, looking over the chimera before me. It was one of the adults, but it lay still as it watched me with its flickering gold and green eyes. Behind me Johann gave a short chuckle of amusement.

"That would be no fun, besides, if it was possible to do with two entirely different classes, then it is possible to mate pairs within the class." I gave a vague nod, still entranced by the chimera's rainbowed eyes. They really were beautiful.

"Let me get this straight - you risked your life and career to get some crocs, managed to find some lynxes from who knows where, and instead of making hybrids or something to experiment with first, you put all of your resources, time, and effort into an experiment that could have gotten your killed or been a fruitless waste of time." Johann nodded, Hughes cracking a smile in my direction.

"You can see why we aren't quite as, well, in touch as we should be." Hughes said, one of the baby chimeras stumbling over to him and letting out pathetic squeaks and mewls.

"So, what are you doing for this year's assessment?" I asked, feeling queasy at the thought of Mr. Tucker's chimera. Johann flipped through some documents on his overflowing and cluttered desk.

"I plan on breeding one of the lynx-crocodiles with a different chimera. It should be possible, I just need to make the new chimera and test my research." I looked up, the thought of Nina and Alexander resurfacing.

"What kind of chimera?" I asked, careful not to step on the large transmutation circles on the floor. Another thing I never really understood - how the hell could a human being draw such a perfect circle?

"I''m thinking maybe a mammal with an amphibian? Or maybe another reptile, I plan on going to Xing and seeing their frogs - if I could cross one of those with a bear maybe or one of the wolves up north it'd have an interesting result." I looked at the sketches of the possible chimeras Johann had drawn.

Unlike I, the man was one hell of an artist. The animals looked as if they had jumped out of the pages of a fantasy book, with tails and scales and manes and claws, but they were so realistic they almost looked as if they'd bite you for getting too close.

As if on cue with that thought, Hughes shrieked and fell back from the cage, the small chimera hissing and rolling instinctively, but the frightened man managed to snatch his hand out of the beast's death grip.

"You going to make it Maes? Should we buy you a new hand at Walm- I mean at the general store?" I asked sarcastically, though I really was concerned if he was hurt. Judging by the lack of puddling blood and pained screams, it couldn't be that awful.

"My hand will be fine Mac," The older man huffed, holding his injured hand to his chest before feigning a mortal wound. "But your words have injured my heart beyond repair, tell Gracia that I'm sorry, and tell my angel Elicia daddy loves her."

I felt my heart squeeze in my chest and the blood drain from my face. Those were pretty close to his last words. Neither of the brothers seemed to notice my miniature panic attack, Johann rolling his eyes and neatening up his desk as far as it could be neatened and his older brother doubled over from a fake wound and real laughter. These two were going to drive me nuts.

Back at the hotel, I drank whatever milk Johann had in the icebox (I had called it a refrigerator when we first got back and no one seemed to understand what the hell I was talking about). I called the couch, since there was only one bed and I didn't want to force either of them to sleep in the old armchair that looked as if it had a family of rats inside of it.

The couch turned out to be a big mistake. The couch was always shifting under my weight, and the dust from it kept me constantly prepared for an eruption of coughing and hacking. On another note, the walls were thin as paper, and I could hear the neighbor doing someone, which wasn't helping my inability to get any sleep.

Johann was going to be an interesting character if he was going to be involved. He could confuse the homunculi if he decided to show up in Central, but that could put him in danger. Johann and Maes didn't seem to get along well, and from the sounds of it he had cut himself off from the family with his work, which meant he had little to lose beyond his own life if he did get involved.

You see, I really wanted to tell someone about what I knew. It was starting to eat me alive. I would see the characters, now flesh and blood people, and just want to evacuate them all out of the country. Even random strangers I'd want to run up to and tell them to get out while they still could. Having the knowledge to change the future was overwhelming beyond belief.

And now, with people like Johann and Rebecca, I was starting to question why I was only planning to help a few people when I should have been running an underground railroad of sorts to get as many people out of Amestris before the Promised Day. If the guilt of not telling people the horrible fates that would inevitably catch up with them didn't kill me first, the strangers who were so ignorant to the oncoming shit storm might drive me insane.

"Truth, I need to talk to you, now," I whispered into the darkness, the shadows cast by the moon's light moving and twisting into shapes by the help of my imagination. "A sign, anything would be nice." I asked the darkness. Nothing came. No reply, not even Lucha bothered to wake up. He had gorged himself on a few biscuits Johann had in the apartment and passed out in sheer joy.

Disappointed, I laid back down slowly, careful not to stir up any dust that would send me into a spiraling asthma attack. Closing my eyes, I listened to the people making love next door, the argument over kids in the next room, and the quiet murmur of people downstairs as they discussed the upcoming drug sale next week on Hoadly street.

They were all living, breathing human beings. They had the potential to do good, bad, and act on instinct. They all knew more about how to ask for a beer than I knew how to not ask where the nearest Walmart was. And yet I knew more about their world than they ever would. It's a very lonely thing, knowledge. Very cold, very blunt, and very lonesome.

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 1

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

In retrospect, I should have taken this whole 'dream' a little more seriously. I woke up not in my own bed, feeling for a moment that I must have fallen out of it, but soon discovered the grass and concrete beneath me not equal to the soft carpet in my room. Lucha was resting between my shoulder blades once again, because he was a ferret and he did what he felt like. I was almost angry at him for my splitting headache. The sun seemed so bright, as did everything else, causing me to shy away from moving or opening my eyes. However, as footsteps approached, I was prompted to adjust my eyes as best I could to the blinding light.

"Excuse me?" A voice asked, two pairs of boots stopping by my improvised bed on the street. Leave it to me to be out sleepwalking. "Sir, are you alright." I mumbled something along the lines of a being a girl, but the voice connected to the boots took no heed. I squinted up at the man, unable to see much as a street lamp turned on, practically blinding me. Shading my eyes from the lights, I saw to my disbelief his Amestrian uniform. Leave it to me to sleepwalk to a convention.

"Um, not really." I sat up, self conscious that I was still in my pajamas. "Can you tell me where I am?" Lucha whined, asking for me to lie down again. I really couldn't though, despite the now splitting headache, and the fact that my eyes were not adjusting at all. Why was everything is damn bright? I knew I hadn't been drinking, my parents were out for the night, making drinking underage illegal without their supervision, and I had never gotten so drunk I had a hangover this bad.

The man, I assumed, must have been surprise as he struggled to stutter out a response to my relatively simple question.

"Y-you are sleeping in Central Park, sir. Are you really alright?" Central Park? I didn't even live in New York! I mean I was close enough to grab a train but why would I ever….It then occurred to me that I should probably play along. Cosplayers could get really serious sometimes.

"Oh, sorry!" I smiled up at the man, eyes closed against the burning light. "Is there a law here in Amestris against that?"

"Sir," His voice had gotten threateningly serious. "Where are you from?" I resisted the urge to say the webcomic section, as the man's tone actually scared me a little. Let me see, the world of Fullmetal Alchemist…I guessed that would work.

"Drachma, sir." I said as I stood up slowly, very disoriented and dizzy. I stepped on Lucha's tail twice, which he made sure I was aware of with a pounce on my slippered feet. Though still squinting through the light, I made out the cosplayer's relatively commonplace appearance. Brown hair, eyes, a small mustache, you get the gist, all with a clean Amestrian uniform to top it off. Damn good cosplaying, it almost looked as if a professional had made the suit for big bucks. The cosplayer looked over his wire rimmed glasses, a partner of his approaching from behind.

"Your entrance papers?" I kind of just stared at him. It was all a dream, it had to be, right? From the second I hesitated, the man's partner roughly grabbed my hands and cuffed them in front of me.

"You're under arrest for illegal entrance of the country, until your paperwork is verified with court officials, you'll be residing in the state penitentiary." The first man said, stroking his mustache as his partner led me through the nearly empty streets, though every now and then passersby stared, to which the officers replied with curt "nothing to see here" and "illegal alien coming through".

I didn't know where Lucha was until I realized he had found a warm nest around my neck to snuggle up in. It tickled, but at least he was sort of out of sight.

At the station they brought me to, they asked for me to fill out some paperwork. I signed it with a messy cursive signature that was a little more than a cursive scribble. After uncuffing me, they asked some nonsensical questions, to which I had no response, before sending me to a stall to change out of my clothes and into a simple white t-shirt and some baggy brown-black trousers. A guard waited outside the stall as I dressed, still in a bit of cultural shock. The dream was really well constructed, I might as well have been in a coma.

It took me almost the whole time I was undressing to notice the mirror in the room, courtesy of the bright lights literally everywhere in the facility. It took me a few moments to vaguely make out my new features.

My eyes were no longer a bright hazel, and my hair was no longer a thick, curly black mess. My skin had also paled considerably, almost to match my now seemingly bleached hair and pinkish irises.

That asshole Truth had taken my melanin. It was better than what he could have taken, but now I looked like a main character to some anime or shit. I guess that made sense, since I was dreaming about Amestris. A sharp knock at the door woke me from my daze of confusion.

"Sir, are you finished yet? There are other matters we need to deal with tonight." I probably should have told them I was a girl, but I thought they would have figured it out by now with the high voice and, albeit small, chest. I wasn't exactly that convincing of a boy, nor was I trying to pull it off as one but were they really that clueless?

"I'm coming, keep your pants on." I snapped back, trying to get the pants to stay up. Everything was too big, my sports bra's straps showing and I having to practically tie the waist of the pants with a loose string from my nightgown.

They took everything, even my precious slippers. As for Lucha, he handed himself over in hopes of getting a treat. Of course they simply put him in a small cage and left it with the receptionist to watch, but at least he seemed happy.

As for me, I was cuffed once more, given a chain on my right hand that was marked with various numbers and letters, and was led to a lovely cell by a younger officer as the older staff left for an emergency of sorts apparently.

The officer was short, but still taller then I, and kind of dorky looking. With a big nose, thick glasses, and cropped hair, he looked as if he should have been in a library, not a prison. He was struggling to get the door unlocked, the reddish metal bars refusing to move. They weren't rusted, just naturally polished burgundy, probably a copper alloy of sorts. We both jumped at the sound of a short cry a little ways down the hallway. I racked my brain, trying to think about the situation seriously.

'Ok, if I was an episode of FMA, when would I have a prison scene…' It finally clicked; the older officers being put on high alert, the streets being mostly empty, the kind of tense atmosphere - Isaac McDougal was out for blood and on the run. And that meant he was here looking for Kimblee. My escort drew his gun shakily, glancing nervously at me.

"S-stay here…" He said, rigidly making his way down the hallway.

As soon as he turned the corner, I bolted in the direction of the exit only to come to a screeching halt. If it wasn't a dream, which of course it had to be, then I could change something, save some lives, do something terrifying. And if it was a dream, nothing lost memories gained. So of course, being the person with a small sense of dignity and a natural impulsive recklessness, I sprinted back in the direction the young officer had headed in, finding a gut wrenching sight.

Well, it wasn't that bad. One soldier, the one guarding Kimblee's cell, was frozen solid, and in pieces of ice on the floor. The other, the young man who had escorted me, was practically on the verge of tears as McDougal rushed him, grabbing his arm and starting to freeze it solid.

I, so far unnoticed by the duo, decided it would be best to dive into a situation head first with only a vague plan in mind: get McDougal away from the guy he was killing. I gracefully tackled him to the ground, the officer released from a death grip but his arm a block of ice as the Freezing Alchemist and I stumbled a bit farther away. Truth bless my P.E. coach for forcing me to participate in contact American football.

It was kind of awkward for a second, me practically splaying myself onto of him, for a brief moment groping his belt in search of a weapon. Finding a knife, I slid it out of place and tucked it into my own improvised belt, out of sight. I then scrambled to my feet as quickly as possible because he was kind of hot in real life compared to seeing him through a screen. Damn my female hormones.

Getting to my feet I back away from the man as he got back onto his own. The officer had passed out, either of pain, shock, or fear. This left McDougal and I alone, with Kimblee most likely eavesdropping. I held up my chained hands.

"Not looking for any trouble Isaac, just keeping finding it everywhere I think there's an exit." McDougal was not amused, glaring down at me with piercing black eyes.

"Who are you?" I had been asked this question so much in the last few hours, I decided to be creative as I stalled.

"An cultist looking for a new sacrifice to make to the great Beelzebub. I think I just found him too. A philosopher's stone isn't easy to come by, and the souls would greatly please him," Truth would be disappointed in me. I fingered the knife so that it was resting precariously on my left hip, and it seemed as if McDouchebag was too distracted by my cultist facade to notice. "However, I must get the Lord of Damnation to make sure he approves-"

I was already sprinting down another hallway, the Freezing Alchemist racing after me. I barely rounded a corner when he grabbed my hair, surprising me a little because despite its thick, curly locks, it was in all basicness cropped short and left to grow out. Of course that was more an afterthought as McDougal smashed my head into a wall. It was bad enough I already had a headache from the brightness of everything, was that amount of force really necessary?

"How do you know about the stone?" He asked, his free hand prepared to freeze me should I get violent. I felt tears prick at my eyes, my scalp burning and my vision spinning.

"The ferret at the front desk - Lord Beelzebub's host." The man's eyes narrowed at me. I couldn't believe he thought I was serious to begin with, but I might as well have tried to stay in character.

"What else did this...ferret, tell you?" He slowly released his grip on my head, a relief since I was pretty sure he going to make me more bald than when my trichotilomania was at its worst. I rubbed my sore head for a moment, pondering my next choice of words. I instead choose to slam my right foot as hard as I could against his kneecap, resulting in about equal pain for each party.

"You should ask him yourself," I said, ducking under his arm as he lunged at me again with the intent to kill.

Again, I was running down the hallway at top speed, my breathing heavy and my legs sore. Thank Truth for Coach Lawless, I would have never been able to run this long without his constant nagging. Even with those hours of running back in P.E., I still could never applied for the track team, which was proven to be a bad thing when McDougal pinned me against a wall again, this time clasping his hand around my throat. I could barely breath with asthma combined with the run, now he just had to choke me? It was as if he was trying to prey on my every weaknesses. Well, he was an antagonist after all.

He was about to interrogate me some more, although I don't see how that work as I had been unable speak, you know, without air and all. Then there was the blissful click of two safeties on a pair of guns going off, each cocked and loaded. I couldn't really see who it was, the light in part with the lack of oxygen going to my brain making everything a fuzzy blur of white and blue.

"You're under arrest, McDougal." A firm and familiar voice said. It was kind of weird hearing that voice so serious… McDouchbag's other hand was placed over my face, leaving me in the dark as to the soldier's identities.

"Shoot and the boy dies."

It was really starting to piss me off. Could they not see the bra? The obvious hips? Was the over sized prison uniform that concealing?

There was a sharp intake of breath from the two officers at the other end of the hallway, indicating their hesitance. McDougal's grip around my throat loosened, thinking he had the upper hand in the situation. I felt the knife at my waist start to slip down farther, reminding me of its presence.

I let my cuffed hands go limp, in feigned exhaustion as I pulled the small knife into my hand. It wasn't that small, at least the length of my palm, but that didn't negate the damage it could inflict. The second the freezing alchemist pulled away to make a break for it down the hallway, I stabbed the weapon into his lower abdomen and used my body weight to make sure it caused some hurt.

I also happened to fall to the ground like a stone. The running, choking, and terror of it all overwhelming me as the scent of blood and its warm gushing flow over my fingers brought the dream into a new vividness that I had never experienced before. Gunshots rang out as I hit the floor, sending another body, gushing red with multiple wounds, collapsing not far from my own. I wanted to get sick, and allowed the cold grip of unconsciousness to take over instead

It was only a few minutes that I got to enjoy the blank nothingness of sleep. Or as far as I considered it, sleep inception as I was sleeping within a 'dream'. I woke up to a man kneeling over me, his face etched with concern.

"Sir, are you-"

"Why does everyone think I'm a guy? Are the tiny tits throwing you off? I'm a fucking lady now treat me as such you dipshits!" I yelled at the soldier, immediately more angry with myself for making a scene than with the misunderstanding. I tried my best to calm down by observing the man's face. Well, actually, it was kind of hard not to notice everything about the guy. Even without pink sparkles and the realism of his height and build, Major Armstrong was an imposing guy to have kneeling over you. "S-sorry... "

I was suddenly feeling lightheaded, either from the bright lights that I was just starting to get used to, or the embarrassment that was turning my cheeks red. My feet were ridiculously sore, something probably shifting when I kicked McDougal. The thought of him made me swivel my unfocused vision to see a sheet covering a body, bloodstains marring the once clean white floor. My breath hitched in my throat, an asthma attack seeming inevitable. Could I have killed a living human being? The idea was nauseating. The Major apparently noted my nausea.

"Come with me, you can stay in your cell until the details of your release are worked out." Armstrong got up and motion for me to follow. I did, limping along as I favored my right foot.

I probably messed something up, why were the bones in my feet fused together? Because that's just how it was, believe me, having tarsal coalition in both feet makes life beyond a chair a living hell sometimes. You may be wondering why the sudden lecture on my life, but it was simply to help me ignore the pain and anxiety that seemed to exhaust and excite me.

Aware of my slower pace, Armstrong picked me up with one arm and carried me the rest of my way to my cell. It was nice of him, but it was awkward being carried like a little kid. He came to my cell and flung the door open with a gentle push and set me on my bed.

"Do you want me to get a medic to look at your ankle?" It was a little swollen but I would probably be fine.

"N-no." I choked out staring blankly at the grey wall. "Um, sir?" Armstrong looked at me, his features stoic. "Did I kill him?" The tense silence was going to kill me for the milisecond it lasted.

"No, but you gave Lieutenant Colonel Hughes the opening to...neutralize the threat." I looked down at my hands, the dried blood still on them. Walking up to the small sink in the cell, I washed them until the pale skin seemed as white as the walls outside of the cell. Relieved that I wasn't the one who delivered the final blow, I stared in the mirror for a few moments.

A violet bruise around my neck had formed, starkly contrasting with my now white skin. I almost looked unhealthily pale, which was saying something considering how prominent my Irish blood was in the real - my world. Even if this was a dream, the threats were real and I could be hurt.

"What is your name ma'am?" The Major's deep voice startled me from my inspection of my now pink hued eyes and white hair. I had signed the paperwork earlier, but it wasn't surprising they couldn't read my cursive handwriting.

"My...superiors call me Irish. They don't use my first name all that much." In all honestly, only Coach Lawless called me that. I really hated my first name, and my last name was practically unpronounceable unless the person I was speaking to was fluent in Irish Gaelic.

"We need your legal name for your Honorary Citizenship paperwork." Honorary Citizenship? What the hell did I get myself into?

"Huh?" Was my only intelligent response.

"You assisted in the neutralization of an enemy of the State, a man convicted of treason. You are awarded with citizenship for your duty to the country." Okay. Weird, but okay. It made sense, sort of.

"Um, okay. But I can't tell you my name, it's against my religion. I could write it down if that'd be okay." The dark of the cell was so calming compared to the brightly lit hallways. Footsteps of another soldier approached, interrupting Armstrong's response.

"Major Armstrong, sir!" Sagent Brosh and 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross said simultaneously. Maria was holding some clothes, while Denny was in possession of some keys.

"Fuhrer King Bradley has requested a meeting with this girl." Brosh said, unlocking my cuffs and removing the chain from my wrist. Rubbing the sore skin, I accepted the clothes Ross handed me.

"He wants to meet with her as soon as possible, sir." She said, ushering me down a hallway back to the changing stalls I had used earlier. Armstrong and Brosh walked behind me as I nervously limped faster to keep pace with Maria. "You should be honored, ma'am. Or terrified…" She added the last part under her breath, my own breathing quickened with nervous energy. Bradley - the incarnation of Wrath wanted to meet me. How wonderful, all I had to do is make sure he didn't know I knew about literally everything.

The Armstrong Squad forced me into a stall and anxiously asked me to hurry. Apparently, from what they were talking about. Bradley had come here to meet me in person. Not exactly the best place for the ruler of an empire to meet a prisoner/maybe citizen. At least the clothes Brosh and Ross brought me fit. It was just a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of slacks, but at least the shoes were a little more than flats.

I probably should have asked for my slippers back, or at least my inserts. My right foot was already starting to roll to its side and the heel was turning in again after all that running. I felt like crap, probably looked like it too, but at least my clothes looked nice.

I was led to the front desk of the prison office, where Lucha was angrily gnawing at the bars of his cage. He was hungry. I started to wander in his direction, but Armstrong led me by the shoulder through a crowd of soldiers. For a moment I caught a glimpse of Hughes, his glasses, hair, and scruffy beard disappearing as I was confronted by Bradley himself.

Now I knew how Louie Zamperini felt when he shook hands with Hitler. Or at least I presume this was what it felt like. He was wearing his uniform, decorated with awards and medals, his eye patch covering his Ouroboros tattoo. His mustache was kind of Italian looking, like something my godfather would wear. All in all, more intimidating than Truth but less terrifying than the Gate.

"Oh, so here's the lady of the hour. I have to thank you for what you did personally, it was quite a brave thing you did little missy." He sounded so benevolent. Creepy coming from Wrath. I looked down at my feet, flustered. How do you accept a thank you from an authority figure/bad guy/guy who vaguely reminds you of your godfather?

"I-it wasn't all that brave, m-mostly stupid impulsive decisions…" I was so freaking nervous around this guy. Rightfully so I guess.

"Your so called 'stupid' impulsiveness really saved the day!" Maes Hughes himself interjected. I really shouldn't have been surprised by his outspokenness around his superior, but still, some part of me was screaming at him to just go away and let me die a painful embarrassing death alone.

"That it did Lieutenant Colonel. Would you mind taking Miss…?" He wanted my last name. Shit.

"MacDuibhshíth." I noted his moment of struggling in trying to understand how my mouth made that horrendously foreign word. "But please, call me Irish."

"Very well then, Lieutenant Colonel, would you mind taking Miss. Irish back to my office? We need to have a word in private on her current situation." Whether he was speaking of my 'Honorary Citizenship' or was hoping to silence me if he thought I knew more than I should have about McDougal's antics, I knew not. But holy freaking butternut biscuits Maes Hughes was standing right in front of me!

As Bradley left me in the Lieutenant Colonel's supervision and saluted to the soldiers, I could only gravitate slowly around the back of the desk to let Lucha out of his cage. The hungry ferret nibbled on my fingers, squirming in my arms expecting something to eat. He seemed fine, which was a relief considering the cage clearly was made for actual mice, not ferrets named after mice. However wiggly he was, it was good to see a familiar creature.

If this was real, I sure as hell had my work cut out for me.

I eventually ended up in a car with the Armstrong Squad somehow jammed in the vehicle with Hughes driving. They had collected my things in a small bin they used in the lost and found, and Lucha had found an ancient cookie on the car's floor to munch on until he got hungry again. Armstrong sat next to me, and Ross and Brosh sat parallel. Armstrong wasn't even watching me, seemingly entranced by Lucha as the living slinky scurried around the floor in circles with its prized cookie. The ride was mostly silent, the roar of the car's engine drowning out most attempts of conversation leaving me with my thoughts.

Sure, being here could be fun, but it could also get me killed, so I had to be careful. If I changed anything, I had to make sure it kept as true to the original storyline as possible so I wasn't blindsided by some time warping butterfly effect. Everything seemed pretty cohesive so far, McDougal was dead, and I so far wasn't in immediate danger, or at least as long as I was in the car I wasn't.

When the car came to a stop, Hughes told me to leave my things in the car and Lucha with Armstrong. Handing the ferret to the large man, I did my best to assure any of his worries.

"Give him food and he will love you, and don't worry too much about hurting him, there's not much you can do to hurt a ferret. And if he gives you a hard time just hold him like this until he falls asleep." I picked up the furry white slinky by the nape of its neck to show the trio left in charge of my stuff how to subdue the mellow animal.

"Come on Mac, he'll be waiting." Hughes called to me as he ascended the staircase of the building with ease. Mac? I guessed it was better than my real name.

I followed, wishing I had asked for a medic to see my foot, but was greatly aided by my slippers which I had happily obtained from the bin of my things. The inside of the building seemed a lot like I would imagine the White House to be like. People rushing here and there, an open room you entered that diverged into a million hallways. Busy and crowded, just as I hated it.

Keeping up with Hughes in the masses was difficult until we turned down a narrow hallway that opened up into a larger one. At the end of the hallway was a pair of heavy doors, guarded on either side. King Bradley's office. I wished Lucha was there, just having him around was a comforting sense of home. Hughes had to practically drag me to the doors I was so paralyzed with fear and anxiety. The doors swung open to reveal the Fuhrer, sitting at his desk doing some paperwork.

"Ah, good to see you Miss. Irish. Please, take a seat." What started off as an amicable tone turned into a nightmare at the end of the sentence. I gulped and shakily slumped into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Lieutenant Colonel, would you step outside for a moment?" He wanted a private word with me. Alone. In a room. With Wrath. I just couldn't see how this could possibly end in my 'accidental' death in say, a phone booth. Fantastic.

When the doors came to a quiet thumping close, Bradley poured himself some tea from the cart beside his desk.

"Would you like some?" I shook my head. I didn't actually like tea, and drinking tea Wrath poured is out of the question. "No need to be so formal Irish, I just want to ask you some questions." He said with a chuckle, sipping his tea. It kind of made me sad to think he would end up on the opposite team when the Promised Day came.

"What kind of questions?" I asked, my voice shaking. I had finally gotten a chance to take my retainer out at the prison, something I was grateful wasn't creating a speech impediment here.

"Isaac McDougal was a member of the military with access to sensitive information before he defected. I just need to make sure he didn't share anything classified with you." Okay, now this all made a little more sense. But I still wasn't drink any of that tea. "So, please explain how a prisoner such as yourself escaped her cell, confronted and survived a serial killer, and assisted in his eventual demise." Well, I could just copy and paste the story a few pages up, but what fun would that be for me?

"Well, I never actually got into my cell. You see the guy who was taking me, I never got his name, he was kind of nervous after all the older staff were put high alert and the door was stuck shut - hey, speaking of that dude is he going to be okay? The one with the frozen arm?" Bradley looked at me for a moment.

"Mr. Azir? Yes, he'll be fine. Though I can make no promises about his career as a prison guard." I nodded. I needed that confirmation. Good thing Bradley seemed to know about the fate of an irrelevant prison guard. Pride probably told him or something.

"Oh, okay. Anyway, we heard McDouche - McDougal kill one of the guards down the hall so he just sort of told me to stay put when he went to investigate." Bradley was pouring himself another cup of tea. Damn, he downed that stuff like he hadn't had a sip in decades. "So, I initially headed for the front office to get my stuff and get out of there, but I was really curious and kind of worried about the poor guy so I went back to see Isaac beating the crap out of him and starting to freeze his arm.

"I just sort of tackled him and managed to get one of his knives. He then was all mad and I pretty sure what's-his-name passed out around this time and McDougal asked who I was. I kind of said I was some sort of cultist - which I am not - who was worshiping my demon possessed ferret and was going to sacrifice McDougal to him because was all powerful and scary looking." Bradley looked at me as if I was on drugs, that kind of 'sure that happened kiddo, keep thinking that while I call the asylum sweetheart' look.

"I was just making the whole thing up to get him away from whoever was in that big fortified cell. McDougal said his name, Kimee or something like that. I didn't really care so I kind of offered to go get my ferret - his real name's Lucha and he wouldn't hurt a fly - but McDouchbag - McDougal was kind of pissed that I was running away so he went after me. He caught me once but I got away from him only to get caught again. Your soldiers arrived just in time. You can ask them about what happened next, I don't really remember it." Okay so lying to the Fuhrer wasn't the best course of action but it was mostly true! And the only guy they could ask was dead, so there wasn't a big chance of me getting caught in a plot hole. I mean, I guess Kimblee could tell him but who really trusted that guy anyway?

"Thank you, are you sure that is all?" He asked, pouring a third cup of tea. The sun's light peeked through the windows, the early morning brightness making me flinch and squint to see his face. Bradley took a moment to close the curtains as I responded.

"He said something about a rock." I said, knowing that if I played my cards right I would be in the middle of the whole mess but not the focus of it. The rings of the curtains clicked as Bradley closed them slowly, only replying with an interested,

"Oh?"

"Yeah, a Phili-something stone. Philadelphia maybe? I was kind of being choked at that point so I'm not sure what he said. Not enough oxygen going to my brain." Bradley nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer.

"Well, enough of this morbid talk. You five can come in now." Five? To my shock (and glee to a lesser extent) Hughes reentered the room with a blonde boy who wore a red jacket and black pants, a suit of familiar armor, a soldier with spiky black hair, and a woman with her long blonde locks pinned up. I felt a smile immediately come to my face, unable to hide my excitement. Who cared if this was a dream or a terrifying new reality? The Elrics, Roy, and Riza were here with the best dad ever!

"Fuhrer Bradley, sir! Where's the Drachman guy who took down…" Edward's golden gaze fell on me. "...McDougal…"

"Yo." I said, mimicking Hughes' usual greeting. The Elrics looked from me to Riza and Roy then back to me.

"This pipsqueak took down McDougal?" Ed asked Hughes, pointing to me. I felt my cheeks crimson as I abruptly stood.

"Who are you calling pipsqueak you micro shrimp? I'm taller than you!" I knew it would make him fume, but I was only an inch and a half below the average height for girls my age. I was not a 'pipsqueak'.

"Stand down Mac," Roy said calmly, though I saw him smirk at my insult of Ed's height. I looked to Hughes who looked to Bradley. I relaxed a little, recalling I was literally in the presence of Wrath. I was a little irked Mustang was calling me by that nickname. It felt as if Hughes had betrayed me and told it to someone without my permission, but it was far better than my real name. Bradley cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention.

"Fullmetal, whatever you need it can be dealt with later. I have some paperwork to sort out with this young lady." Hughes set the piece of paper on the desk, facing me. It was very formal looking with a fancy border and all. It was a Certificate of Honorary Citizenship I presumed, as I picked up a pen from the pen holder on the Fuhrer's desk. "You do need to put down your real name, ma'am." I glanced up at Bradley, feeling the pressure of having everyone watch me.

"I will write it, but if any of you read it, never say it aloud. It is an offence to my beliefs." I decided to go with the whole religious thing. It worked for Scar in the story, but then again I wasn't an Ishvalan serial killer out for the blood of state alchemists. After getting an unsure nod of affirmation from the people present, I printed my full name on the first line and scribbled its cursive counterpart below. Bradley took the paper and signed his own name, his single eye scanning over my name and a look of interest passed his rather stoic features.

"I see why they just call you Irish, but why Irish?" He asked, preparing a wax seal. I shrugged.

"It's what people are called in the area of Drachma I'm from. When my family moved to the far west everyone just called us that, since we were….different than the western Drachmans." This probably would make zero sense to anyone who was actually from Drachma. Hopefully none of the people in the room had spent an extensive amount of their time there, but with a mountain dividing the two countries, the likelihood of that was pretty low by my calculations. No one batted an eye, confirming that speculation as Bradley stamped the seal of the State onto the paper.

"This is your certification as an Honorary Citizen of Amestris, Miss. Irish. Do not misplace it." He said, his voice grim and congratulatory at the same time. Freaky. I nodded nervously taking the paper with shaking hands. "Mustang, see that she has somewhere to stay. She is now under your jurisdiction. Fullmetal," Fuhrer Bradley turned to the short boy, "Did you need something?" Ed stuttered out a negative response and shuffled out the door as Hughes dragged the two brothers out of the room. Roy placed a hand on my shoulder to lead me out of the room.

"Oh, thank you Mr. Fuhrer Bradley sir!" I called out before the doors closed quietly. Roy and Riza walked in front of me as we presumably headed for his office. "So… who are you people?" I asked. Though I knew the answer, seeming stalkerish isn't the best way to make allies in a world of personified sins.

"I am Colonel Roy Mustang, this is my assistant, 1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye." I nodded, even though I knew they couldn't see me. "And if you don't mind me asking," I rolled up the paper, keeping the side with the seal and writing on the inside. "Why did Hughes call you Mac?" I looked up at him.

"Huh?"

"He referred to you as Irish Mac." Mustang explained opening the door to his office and walking inside. Ed was splayed out on a couch, Al sitting beside him and Hughes across from the two.

"Hughes." I said, looking at the grown man with most serious and stern face I could muster. "Never, call me Mac." He smiles and waved.

"Sure thing, Mac." I grumbled angrily as I distracted myself with Ed and Al. In real life Ed was oddly attractive, though considering I found Envy to be appealing when I originally saw the anime, it wasn't surprising the difference flesh and automail could make.

"Sorry about calling you a micro shrimp earlier, couldn't help myself. So, you're the Fullmetal Alchemist everyone seems to know?" I said, sitting on the couch next to Hughes. I was really tired, not having gotten a wink of sleep in exception of the time I blacked out. I almost fell asleep as soon as I felt the cushioned back of the seat.

"Yes, that's me," Edward said, seeming to take momentary pride in the recognition. "I'm Edward Elric, and this is my little brother, Alphonse."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Irish." Al said, his childish voice echoing inside the suit. It was creepy. How could people not realize the armor was empty?

"Nice to meet you to, Al. But, I am a girl, you know." Ed's eyes widened and he looked me up and down.

"I always thought women from Drachma were supposed to be more…" I guessed Drachma was this world's equivalent to Russia, at least from what I was collecting.

"Sexy? Nah, the ladies here are way more attractive from what I've seen." Ed kind of just nodded, Hughes raising an eyebrow at the comment.

"Um, anyways, how'd you do it?" I looked to Ed in confusion. "How'd you take down McDougal?" I sighed, looking at the ceiling in exasperation.

"Why does everyone think I killed him? I just happened to get him vulnerable enough for the other soldiers to take down." I subconsciously rubbed my thumb into the palm of my hand. A habit from school whenever I got nervous or embarrassed in front of peers. "It really wasn't that impressive…" Hughes clapped me over the head.

"You just saved the day is all, nothing to be proud of Mac."

"Don't call me that." I growled. I looked at his face, hoping to memorize it for my friend, Maria, to draw. She loved making realistic versions of animated characters, and Hughes would be a perfect candidate for one of her paintings. Sharp features, distinct and neatly groomed, he would look better on her canvas than in any photograph. I felt a pang of sadness, knowing how his life would end. As if noticing my suddenly solemn thoughts, Hughes elbowed me.

"So, I hear you three don't have a place to stay, so you're all coming to my house!" I blinked in concern a few times.

"I could-" Mustang was interrupted by a photograph of Elicia Hughes thrust in his face.

"My darling girl would just be so excited to meet Mac! Besides, your apartment is too small for more than one person, that is unless you plan on sharing beds-"

"Fine, Irish can stay with you. But she needs to get a job and a home of her own. Just because she's an Honorary Citizen doesn't mean she can't mooch off the military forever." Mustang finally agreed.

"Are you sure I'm not imposing? Will there really be room for the Elrics and me?" I asked in genuine curiosity.

"Sure there is! And Gracia just love the company, and you can borrow some of her clothes until we can buy you some of your own -"

"You act like she's your kid and you've barely met her." Ed interjected, only to be met with Hughes' enthusiastic showing of his favorite pictures of Elicia. I laughed looking on. This was either going to be really great, or really bad.

"So, what's your plan Fullmetal?" Roy asked, peering over some paperwork. "Did you get those tickets you wanted?" Ed sighed and looked up.

"Yeah, the train for Liore leaves tomorrow. It'll be a while before we're back in Central." I grimaced.

"Liore?" I said, wrinkling my nose. "Watch your back. I liked the people there before Letoism became a thing."

"You've been there?" Alphonse asked, surprise evident in his voice. I nodded,my shoulders falling with my lack of planning.

"Yeah, I've been all around Amestris. But Liore is basically a cult system with the new religion. I hitched a train up here because of all the pressure to convert."

"You haven't happened to see any of the, 'miracles' they say their Father can produce." I looked at Ed, my eyes swimming with my thoughts. I hope this doesn't screw shit up.

"Yes, but even though I am a believer in such things, I do not think the miracles are real. The power they give Father Cornello over the people is very real however, so just be careful."

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 13

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance of modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong.  Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc.  Rating: PG-13

A/N: I, as someone who's beaten their trich, personally don't consider some of the elements in a later scene of this chapter triggering or self-harm oriented, but I know a few may find it that way, so I am giving the warning to anyone sensitive to such topics.

It took a little while for reality to set in, the farmhouse shrinking in the distance behind us as the car rumbled forward. I felt out of place, the dried mud that caked my shoes and legs flaking onto the carpeted floor of the otherwise pristine military vehicle. The forest that separated the farmlands from the city limits faded as we crossed back into the slums, the late morning sun beating down on the ramshackle camps.

"Stop!" I shouted, the realization of my agreement to leave this new home set in. The driver braked, Havoc, following me as I tripped over my own feet to exit the car.

"Where are you going?" He asked, following slowly with his hands on his pockets. I limped away as fast as I could.

"I almost forgot my stuff," I said, walking a few camps down the narrow side road before coming upon a familiar embankment.

I sat down on the edge and slid down, not caring for the new dirt added to my clothes. I was as filthy as I ever was on a workday, a little more dirt wasn't going to make a difference. I waddled to the first shack, peeking inside. An older child, Marcus, held a stone in his hand, arm raised and ready to launch the projectile at a hostile intruder.

"Just me buddy," I said, grabbing the handles of my bag and lifting it to my shoulder.

"What are you doing back here so early? Did something happen?" He asked, red eyes searching the light behind me for any sign of danger. I chuckled a little, I'm not really sure why.

"I've gotta go back to the city for a while, don't know when I'll be back,"

"Why are you leaving? Did you get in trouble?" I heard the shift of gravel behind me as presumably Havoc made his way down the embankment, more careful than I about sullying his uniform.

"Just some grown-up stuff, don't worry. Take good care of yourselves 'til I get back," I rushed, my hushed whisper forcing a smile as I turned to Havoc, who stood a little too close for comfort. "Come on pretty boy, we don't want the boy's back at Central to think you've run away with me,"

"There are kids in there?" Havoc asked quietly, staring down the makeshift tent with a furrowed brow and troubled eyes. I sighed and started climbing the hill to the pathway.

"Come on, it's getting late," I said, listening as he trudged behind me. Anxiety clawed at my throat. Would the Ishvalans here be reported? Killed? The thoughts made me sick to the stomach, the idea that I might be responsible for more carnage yet.

The car was still running, as we hadn't been gone for more than a few minutes. I crawled back into the back seat, my bag on my lap like an uncomfortable pillow. The driver, a younger soldier, kept his mouth shut, not asking a single question as Havoc got back into the car, eyes distant and a newly lit cigarette between his lips.

The car rumbled forward once more, and I rested my head on the window. I could hardly restrain the yawn that escaped my lips, the exhaustion of the past few days overcame me all at once. I closed my eyes, the hum of the car's engine a mechanical lullaby.

I awoke to find the sun still high in the sky, shining down on the quiet noontime streets of Central. I flinched as Jean knocked on the window, bright eyes ringed with anxiety peering down at me. Something felt off.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned, stretching before I limped slowly away from the vehicle. It was impossible to restrain the grimace that befell my features at the sight of the infamous and familiar building before me. I really hated Central Command.

It was such an ugly building. Sure, it was aesthetically pleasing as far as symmetry and sound architecture were concerned, but it lacked character. Plain grey facade, plain grey stairs, plain grey walls, and floors. It was kind of depressing.

Everything ached, and climbing the stairs to the front door wasn't an easy feat. Jean's impatience wasn't helping of course.

"We're in a bit of a hurry, Mac," He reminded me, nearly to the top of the stairs while I struggled past the fourth and fifth steps. I glared up at him, reminding myself he had at least carried my bag for me.

"Every time you call me Mac, the slower I walk. Learn some patience Pretty Boy," I mumbled the half-hearted threat, my legs shaking with effort as I began to catch up to him. Something was definitely bothering the guy.

As I reached the top of the stairs, out of breath, Jean abruptly grabbed my hand and began to lead me through the crowded building.

"Oi- Take it easy!" I squeaked, my bones felt as though they were being rattled about inside me like loose change in the bottom of a purse. For some reason, the cramped room felt more claustrophobic than on my prior visits to dear old Central. I, personally, loved to hide in small spaces as a child and preferred the comfort of the closet to the open yard, but the bustle of the room was overwhelming after days in near isolation from such confines.

Thankfully, the uncomfortable experience came to a swift end as we traveled down a side hall, only a few soldiers walking by quietly. I breathed a sigh of relief, but Jean's vice-like grip on my thin wrist was unrelenting. My skin, burnt from days unprotected from the sun, stung from his hold.

"Ow!" I exclaimed emphatically to grab his attention. He finally let go, eyes wide, as if first realizing he was holding my arm. I rubbed my wrist, searching his face for any indication of what could possibly be so anxiety enduring for someone as easy going as Jean Havoc.

Hands shaking, he fished a pack of cigarettes from his uniform pocket, shakily managing to light it before taking a deep inhalation of the nicotine-laced smoke. I looked down at my arm, a bruise already forming beneath the reddened skin.

I swallowed, my purpose for being here finally settling in its entirety on my shoulders. They must have Maria in custody. They only had loose circumstantial evidence as best planted by Envy. My testimony would likely decide if she walked free or was arrested for the "murder" of Maes Hughes.

Sighing, I released my own wrist and ran a hand through my matted hair, yanking out a few strands in frustration.

"Okay, that's better, lead the way soldier boy," I said with feigned enthusiasm. It probably seemed like I was taking this too well, I going to convict the person deemed responsible for the death of a friend that I was witness too. But, I was dehydrated and didn't really care, and neither did Jean apparently, as he led on without a word.

The room he led me to was small, and unlike the crime shows with blinking machines and recording devices, was almost entirely empty, with the exception of a few familiar soldiers.

"Hello, Miss. Irish, feeling better?"Douglas asked, his voice betraying no congeniality despite the small smile that played on his lips.

"Besides the crippling depression and midlife crisis? I'm fantastic!" I said with a smile, shooting finger guns his way. I chuckled awkwardly as no such amusement came from the soldiers. Guess millennial dark humor hasn't been invented yet here. I rubbed the back of my head, the faint memory of a bruise sobering my enthusiasm. "Nah, I'm okay. My leg's working decently at least. Yourself?"

"It depends on you, actually." He said curtly, Havoc closing the door to the small empty room. It was poorly lit, the red carpet plushy and pristine. The wall opposite of the door was a large pane of glass that faintly mirrored us. "We believe this woman is responsible for the disappearance, and murder, of Brigadier General Maes Hughes." Both he and Havoc turned to me, gauging my reaction as Douglas flipped a switch, turning off the already dim lamp overhead. The one-way mirror revealed the objective of this visit.

I drew a sharp breath, more out of my occasional forgetfulness to breathe than out of recognition of the woman on the other side of the glass. It was odd to see her wearing the simple grey blue jumpsuit of a prisoner instead of her uniform. Releasing the breath slowly, I took a step closer to the mirror, observing the occupants of the brightly lit room tentatively.

Maria, eyes tired but angry, glared back at the mirror, as though she could see us. Focker sat opposite of her, trying to refocus her attention on the pictures and bagged evidence laid out on the metal table. Another soldier sat at the end of the table, bespectacled eyes focused on the book before him. As they spoke, the man scribbled in his book, recording every word. Their voices didn't carry through the glass, but from the venom in Maria's expression and Fockers gentle but exasperated gaze, I could have guessed the topic of their conversation.

Behind me, Douglas picked up a strange device and fiddled with the buttons and lights for a moment before static was replaced by the voices of the interrogation room, with just a slight delay as I watched the two converse with one another.

"...We found this bullet, lodged in the telephone booth frame, at a trajectory that would have gone through Brigadere General Hughes' head. It's a .45 caliber. The killer used only this one bullet. I'd say it was a good shot but it was at point blank range. Close enough that even a poor shot could have done it. Now tell me, what is the caliber of the gun that you carry,"

Focker spoke with a seriousness and aloofness that was uncharacteristic of him. I looked to Douglas, his eyes seemingly focused on the scene.

Ross spoke softly, no malice or rage in her voice, only a slight shiver of fear sneaking into her sentence.

"It's a...a .45, sir." Focker nodded, picking up a piece of paper from the table.

"Here we have a copy of your requisition form for additional ammunition," I could feel myself grinding my teeth, but I couldn't say anything. I could only hope everything played out as it was supposed to. "Does this look correct?"

Maria's eyes hardened to nice more, and she didn't respond.

"It says here you fired one shot, what was that round used for?" She looked down at the piece of paper. My breath was creating a small fog on the glass, my nose grazing the cold mirror.

"It lists the reason right there on the form," She explained, her fingers grazing the chain on her wrist. I felt my hand graze my own wrist where such a bracelet once resided. "I fired my weapon in defense of Edward Elric while in the Fifth Laboratory."

Focker tapped the bullet on the table, the piece of metal and obscure dot from our distance behind the mirror.

"But the Fifth Laboratory is no longer operational. It remains unmanned," Maria's impatience and desperation were beginning to show, at least in her voice which was now saturated by anxiety.

"It was definitely not unmanned,"

"Sure," Focker responded, not at all convinced, "According to your account."

I looked at Douglas, my breath shaking. The interrogation was more intense than what I had been previously subject to.

"Stop," I murmured, looking away. Truth, what if Mustang really did kill her? What if I had changed enough to convince him? I knew I told Envy to be convincing, but this was going to be too much. Mustang wasn't going to be happy until someone died. Hopefully, it wouldn't be Ross.

"Shall I send someone to search for this bullet you say you fired?" Douglas wouldn't look at me. Havoc stared blankly at the mirror.

"There was an unexplained explosion at the site. The Fifth Laboratoryoratory is now a pile of rubble." My chest tightened as drew a sharp breath. She was telling the truth, but she was also driving herself into a corner.

"So the place where you claim to have used your gun was unmanned, and if we looked for the bullet, all that we would be able to find was a pile of rubble. Is that what you're saying?"

The radio crackled, the static silence unnerving. I felt my cheeks flush as Focker mocked the suspicious nature of Ross' explanation.

"But Lieutenant, by witness testimony, you were spotted leaving the scene on the day of the murder at the same time as the shooting," Maria's eyes were now brimming with panic and disbelief. I swallowed, the lump in my throat refusing to shrink. I had told them I had seen her that night.

"That's impossible!" She said, leaning forward in her seat.

"Calm down Lieutenant," Focker commanded sternly, his glasses glinting the cold light of the room. "Fine then, so what were you doing at that time?" Maria took a breath, steadying herself.

"I had the day off," My heart was pounding in my chest, my lungs feeling constricted as I watched the scene unfold. "I was at my parent's house visiting. Please, check with them. They'll tell you." It wasn't a good alibi. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, their origin a mystery even to me. I was just so upset and I couldn't put my finger on why. Focker sat stoically, staring down the Second Luitenant with his hands folded in front of himself.

"All you can offer us is your family's testimony?" He asked, Maria's panicked eyes darting to the glass once more. She knew we were listening. "That is not admissible as an alibi." I could feel Maria's fear, her disbelief, her panic. She knew she didn't kill Hughes, and Denny could corroborate her story about the Fifth Laboratoryoratory. But they wouldn't take it. There was nothing in the world more frustrating than telling the truth and being called a liar.

"Stop it! Please!" I cried, my voice working on its own. My lungs sucked in air and forced it back out, but I still felt lightheaded and my hands were shaking as they grabbed handfuls of my hair, tugging it tightly. My breathing grew shaky, and I noticed Maria, Focker, and the other soldier in the room staring at the glass. They had heard me.

Douglas turned off the radio, and the lights glowed a bit more brightly as I clenched my jaw. I looked at the ground, hands slowly falling away from my ears. Strands of bleached blonde hair, still entwined in my fingers, brushed my lips as I wiped away a few stray tears. Thankfully I had managed to work myself up enough for the tears in my eyes to seem convincing.

"As you can see, we only have circumstantial evidence and your eyewitness testimony," Douglas said, hands folded behind his back. "Could she have been the one who attacked you?"

I looked up slowly, thinking over the story I had told him when I first woke up in the hospital.

"No...but..." I murmured, screwing my eyes shut and rubbing my face with calloused hands. "She-she was definitely...there that night," I said between the hiccups as I calmed myself down.

"Leave us for a moment, Second Lieutenant," Douglas 'asked', the request a clear order from the Colonel. Havoc looked at me for a moment, and I could feel his eyes linger on my face for a second before he stiffly left the room.

"Miss. Irish," Douglas continued, his face set like stone and his eyes cold, despite the sympathy in his voice. "You know that this investigation needs...closure. For everyone involved. Blame must be placed, and punishment delivered without uncertainty. You were there, your testimony is the only truth about that night that we have. I need you, without any second thoughts or hesitation, to answer a simple question. Yes or no, was Maria Ross involved in the murder of Brigadier General Maes Hughes?"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Eye contact would be preferable. He wanted unshakable conviction and certainty. I had to sell this perfectly, whether or not everything would happen as it was supposed to.

"Yes," I said, my voice tight but sure, "Maria Ross was involved in the murder of Mars Hughes." I met his eyes, fighting the urge to look away, to stare blankly at his face to mask my doubt and fear. But I held his gaze, refraining from searching his eyes for his reaction.

Douglas was the first to look away, closing his eyes as he mulled over the result of this meeting. I released the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Thank you, Miss. Irish, you did the right thing." The Colonel said slowly, opening the door to the hallway where Havoc was waiting. "Go home, get some rest - I'm sure you'll sleep well tonight."

I nodded numbly, blindly following the vague outline of Havoc through the halls. Home.

The drive was almost silent. No playful banter, no jokes or gibes, just a quiet exhaustion. The sun was sinking in the late afternoon sky, bathing the buildings and streets along Main Street in a golden orange. The car stopped, and I looked up at a place I once called home.

Havoc followed me up the stairs of the familiar apartment complex, taking my bag from me on the second flight, noticing I was lagging behind.

"Jean?" I asked, my voice softened from my earlier crying. He stopped a few steps ahead of me. Havoc looked back slowly, his eyes tired and expression blank. I didn't know what to say, or ask, or why I even called out in the first place. Looking back, I think I just wanted someone to tell me I did the right thing. That I was doing great, and everything would work out in the end. "I...I don't," I choked on my words, feeling thousands of conflicting emotions and phrases surface in my mind.

"I don't have an answer for you," Havoc said with a sigh, responding to some unsaid question that I was searching for the words to. "I don't know what you told Douglas, and I don't know if what you told him was the truth." He looked down at the stairs, the worn carpet more of a pink than red. "But the investigation, Gracia, all of us - we need a truth to believe in. Maybe not the right truth, and maybe not the honest truth, but something believable, and something...familiar." He used his free hand to rub the back of his head. "I don't know," He murmured, turning back up the stairs, "I don't know what to believe any more than you do,"

I sighed, the answer neither satisfying nor disappointing, simply hard to hear. I followed Havoc up to the door of the apartment, where he set down my bag and began to head for the stairs.

"See you, Mac," I flinched, the old nickname Hughes gave me resurfacing, but this time, I couldn't bring myself to admonish the remark. I stood in front of the door for a few minutes longer, listening to the sounds of the apartment. Water was running in the next room over, and I could hear Jean descend the stairs below me. The Hughes apartment was quiet, the gentle hum of bustle in the kitchen the only indicator of life. I lifted my hand, and I knocked.

I couldn't tell if Gracia was happy to see me, or if she was happy that Elicia was happy to see me. There was hugging and a little laughing criticism of the dried mud I tracked through the apartment, but nothing overly enthusiastic. What unnerved me was that she didn't ask where I had been, not even Elicia asked. It was as though they had known where I was the entire time and they knew exactly what I had been doing.

Apparently (sisters name) had just left the day before yesterday. And earlier today, the Elrics and Winry had visited. At the mention of this, a glassy fog covered Gracia's eyes, but she smiled and said she wished I had been there, and although unspoken, I could see she had needed someone there. The topic was quickly diverted by Elicia's enthusiastic welcome, and we sat for a relatively silent supper.

I sat in the bathroom after supper, the warm soup sitting heavy in my stomach. My dirt-caked clothes sat in a pile by the door, a fresh set of pajamas from my old closet folded on top of the toilet seat. The bath water had long gone cold, but I didn't care. The familiarity of the enclosed and curtained tub was welcome compared to the open showers I had been getting used to at the bathhouse. My hair, finally rid of a sheen of dust it had been carrying, was now back to its near pure white, and my skin, though calloused and burnt, shed a protective layer of dirt.

Shivering, I got out of the tub, the water a disgusting milky slew of the filth that the showers couldn't wash away. I wrapped myself in a fluffy, soft towel, and watched the water drain. Even the gentleness of the towel set my skin alight with pain, the sensitive burns now exposed to the biting air. Quickly, I threw on the nightgown, the billowing, lacey, white dress one I had worn before.

I stared at myself in the mirror, the once foggy glass since cooled. I gingerly ran my hand over the sunburnt skin, the slightest nick of my fingernail causing excruciating pain. Putting on my glasses, I leaned closer to the mirror, observing my eyelashes and eyebrows. Once thin and well groomed, my eyebrows were now a bushy tangle of white, and my eyelashes, long and delicate, seemed to overcrowd my face.

I opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, my hand touching the cold metal of the tweezers as I took them out. Just a little trim wouldn't hurt, I thought to myself, the familiar urge and compulsion from years before overcoming me as I leaned closer still to the mirror. Thankfully, I didn't get very far before, Elicia knocked on the bathroom door, startling me from the trance.

"J-just a sec," I muttered, all but throwing the tweezers back in the cabinet. I turned on the faucet, watching the hairs float briefly on the water before being sucked down the drain. It had been years since I had an episode, but thankfully this one wasn't too bad. Yes, my brows had thinned considerably and had been trimmed a little too far back, but I had stopped in time. They would grow back. I swallowed, turning off the water and gathering my dirty clothes. Thank Truth for Elicia's late night bathroom trips. It felt like only a few minutes, but I had spent two hours in the bathroom. Time flies when you're caught up in a mirror.

I sighed, throwing my filthy clothes into a laundry hamper in my room. Flopping down on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, unable to calm my mind. I cracked my knuckles nervously, the heavy fear of a relapse hanging over me. I couldn't go back after so much progress, I couldn't just snap like that and undo so much work and therapy after so many years of being free from my compulsions. I got up, pacing the floor of my room. It was a familiar action, my arms folded tightly against my chest.

This continued for a few hours until my feet and legs were too tired to carry me back and forth across the room. I laid down on the bed, hands firmly tucked beneath my pillow as I thought over my options, not only considering this recent breakdown but also the story.

I hoped my testimony was enough to convict Maria, but it seemed I was losing even my closest military connections because of it. And if Mustang didn't suspect something else, if he didn't fake her death...he might kill her for real.

I bit my lip, the thought of burning to death an unpleasant one. I knew there were holes in my story to Douglas, and he had to have noticed them, but he seemed absolutely adamant that I confess she was responsible. No...I didn't say she was responsible, I said she was involved. A lie that anyone unacquainted with the case would buy as guilt. The public would eat it up. It would satisfy the masses and calm those seeking a scapegoat.

Except for Mustang. He was probably watching this case very closely, had probably gotten his hands on a copy of my testimony. He would see the plot hole, that I said there were at least two different characters involved in the attack and murder. He would not be satisfied with just Maria, if he even accepted her as guilty. Logically speaking, he would do as he did in the show, and fake her death for her safety. Then, he would come after me.

I buried my face in the pillow, trying to apply enough pressure to numb my burning skin. I drifted off at some point, thankfully with my hands securely away from my head and face. It was early when I woke up, the dreamless sleep a welcome phantom who too quickly left me.

It didn't seem like anyone else was awake, given the silence of the apartment, so I decided to find some bandages to keep myself from any other relapses. A first aid kit probably had some. I opened the mirror medicine cabinet slowly, ignoring the alluring glint of the tweezers. As soon as I saw the universal red cross stamped box, I grabbed it and closed the cabinet with a sigh of relief.

Opening it, I found it did not have the familiar Band-Aid brand bandages I was looking for, but the unmarked, white bandages would achieve the same result. With the help of some medical tape and a few foggy memories of the bandages I received when I burned my hands, I slowly worked on wrapping each finger with a thin layer of the bandages. Not enough to make my movements stiff or clumsy, but enough so that I would have no grip to pull out my hair or use the small pair of tweezers.

It is surprisingly relaxing work, the flickering low oil lamp of the bathroom and the cold tile of the floor soothing as I finished taping the last bandage. I tested my dexterity, gently putting away the first aid kit.

The whole hand bandaged was different than what I usually did, and it restricted my wrist movement a little bit but it was comfortable. And, if I'm being honest, it looked a little badass, like I punched people for a living.

Moving to the living room, I had forgotten the tranquility of the apartment at night. Sure, there were no stars, and the sounds of life throughout the building were amplified by the silence, but it was still oddly beautiful. It was familiar.

I sat on the couch, the gentle warmth of the early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds. Maybe I could go back to normal here. I could find a job nearby, make some money, get back into a routine with the remaining Hughes residence.

It was an unlikely fantasy, to live out the days until the Promised Day in peace with Gracia and Elicia, but it was a pleasant one.

Gracia woke up next, quietly shuffling into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. The apartment was soon filled with morning smells - hot bacon on the stove top, scrambled eggs sizzling nearby, and of course, coffee.

As expected, Elicia soon emerged from her bedroom, bed head curls turning gold in the bright morning light. We are once more in relative silence, a semblance of normalcy from the regular dining situation. Only this time Maes hadn't rushed out the door just before we settled down. I looked up from my meal, glancing at Gracia's tired eyes.

She didn't look upset, in fact, she looked rather contented, no wrinkle of worry marring her gentle features. Elicia seemed equally unperturbed.

Later, after I had gotten dressed, Gracia sled me to grab the newspaper from their mailbox in the lobby. It was strange, walking down to the bustling lobby after such a quiet morning in the apartment. It was peaceful, but the energy of the room seemed to flow, unlike the stagnant but comfortable slow morning of the apartment. A couple chatted with the receptionist, young men had gathered just outside the front door to smoke, and other lively characters made up the morning scene.

The cold metal of the lightweight key in my hand reminded me of my purpose in the animated room, and I quickly retrieved the mail from the Hughes' compartment. Mostly envelopes, likely bills and few straggling sympathy cards, and a rolled up newspaper weren't too much to carry upstairs by myself, though it was a bit of a cumbersome load at first.

Back in the apartment, I set the envelopes on the now cleared kitchen table, Gracia acknowledging my return with a satisfied hum. As she began to sort through the bills and cards, I unrolled the newspaper, a sour feeling settling in my chest at the sight of the front page news article.

"What is it dear?" Gracia asked, noticing my uncomfortable glance in her direction. My eyes replaced their disturbance with guilt as I let her take the article from me, regretting the action immediately. The woman read the headline and set the paper down with a shaking sigh before walking away. It was too early in the morning for her to be dealing with this. I glanced at Maria's picture, her eyes defiant in her pristine military uniform, taken months, maybe years earlier.

"Second Lieutenant Maria Ross charged with first-degree murder of Brigadier General Maes Hughes" it read. I should have been happy, everything was going according to plan, but that sinking pit in my chest made it impossible.

[bluebookbadger-blog]

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom (s): Frozen Summary: A curse is cast on a wicked, cold-hearted queen. A girl is pulled from the sea. A boy too quickly becomes a man. A child is too long kept locked away. The spirits of the land are seeking vengeance. The Southern Isles is full of mysteries, and tragedies. Characters: Hans Westergaard/Prince Hans, Hans’ brothers, King and Queen of the Southern Isles, multiple OCs Rating: K+ Chapter: Chapter 1: Barn Af Bølgerne

No man dared to be caught in stormy seas such as those that night, where waves taller than church steeples crash upon the deck. Yet there they were, the Najaden crew of the Southern Isles battered by the wind and the seas, searching for a missing fleet from Weselton. Lieutenant Holbein peered through the inky night, cold rain soaking through his cloak and running down his back. Goose bumps rose on his arms, the young Lieutenant thinking back to tales of Kraken and Draugen rising from the stormy seas to sink unfortunate ships that too boldly sailed into their seas. He shook himself, raindrops spraying from the brim of his hat as he did so.

“It’s useless,” Captain Anika said from behind him, though, amidst the whipping wind and crashing waves she was forced to shout. “We are barely staying afloat, and our ships are better suited for these seas than the Weaselton’s,” the captain surveyed the battered crew, her lieutenant squinting at her tall form in the darkness, “Men, prepare to turn back-”

“Sail ho!” The cry came from the crow’s nest, and indeed, illuminated by a flash of lightning was the quickly sinking remains of the much smaller and more delicate cargo ship. In an instant the captain’s expression of resignation ignited into one of urgency, eyes flashing to the lieutenant.

“Step to it! Search for survivors, lest they be shark bait,” Her voice was strong and loud above the storm, the ship beginning to cut through the already shredded debris of the vessel.

“Captain,” Holbein called out, gripping the rail of the ship as it turned starboard to avoid crushing anyone who might have survived the sinking, “Should we try to recover the ship? The cargo-”

“It ran aground, we’re close to the Grim Reef,” Anika responded, fighting the current that dared try to wrench the wheel from her iron grip. “Any closer any we’ll share their fate,”

“But should they wash ashore-”

“We can send a dingy when the storm passes to inspect the island, the current is too strong,” Her eyes softened at the lieutenant's pained expression.

“But the island-”

“Ho!” Cried a deckhand below them. Others joined him to see what he had discovered. “Body!” The shouted up, “There’s a body!”

“Captain-” Before Holbein could caution his superior officer, she had fastened a rope to her waist and, having spotted the pale corpse gripping to a shard of the ship’s bow, jumped overboard. The lieutenant luckily secured the rope before Anika was lost to the sea. Her voice, garbled by seawater, called up to the crew.

“Hoist! The nipper’s alive!” With the strength of thirty men behind him, Holbein pulled the two up the side of the ship. The captain was drenched, her hat lost to the crashing waves. Most startling to the rain soak crew was the naked body of a child in her arms. Perhaps stranger still, was the long tail tipped with silvery hairs that extended from the child’s lower back.

The ship docked just as the first rays of sunlight kissed the horizon, the sky bleeding bright pink above the crew that stood to attention before their captain. Not a soul moved about on the docks, and only the breathing of the sailors could be heard as their captain scanned their faces for any sign of disloyalty.

“Not one of you knaves is to speak of this manner unless you are directly contacted by the Queen or King, they want this kept secret. We found the shipwreck by Grim, torn to shreds by the reef. No bodies or survivors were recovered, savvy?” There was a murmur of approval from the crew. “Swear by the mast you swabs!” She hollered at them, her voice rough from yelling commands at high seas the night before.

“Aye, aye captain!” The crew responded heartily, dispersing to tend to their battered ship. The Luietenant looked over his captain’s shoulder, nervous eyes darting among the men.

“This ain’t the  Royal Navy, soldier. They’re a bunch of carousing bilge rats, but my ship isn’t loose in the stays if you know what I mean.” Anika said, glancing the the young sailor from the corner of her eye. “You going ashore with the lass? Not trusting me mateys with ‘er?” Holbein broke from his stupor.

“Uh, yes, aye, I’ll take her to the castle. You sent a bird ahead for me, right?” The captain nodded, thick black curls becoming frizzy in the morning heat.

“You best be going, before the morning rush,” She gave him a small smile, dark eyes meeting his own pale green. “Give my Torry a kiss for me, and tell him to get his arse out of that study of his for a few weeks, enjoy the ocean,” Holbein gave a weak smile at the mention of his older brother.

“Yes, ma’am,” Anika tipped his hat playfully.

“Get, before I tell him I found a new boy to keep my cabin warm,” Holbein smiled and walked down to the captain's quarters, the deck creaking beneath his boots as he stepped inside.

The girl sat quietly with her back to the door, her dark hair stiff from the sea water. The captain had clothed her in simply a blouse, but on the child’s small frame, and with a length of rope round her waist, it could have been a dainty night dress. From the base of her back, the tail, now dried, occasionally twitched. Short white hairs covered the length of the appendage, and around its tip, a switch of long, silky hairs extended. Holbein cleared his throat.

She turned to see him, her pale skin lightly glazed by sea salt. In the dim light of the nearby lantern, her brown eyes appeared black. The child had not spoken since she had arrived, and, according to the captain, she had awoken and sat on the edge of her cot, just as she was now. Holbein stared at her for a few minutes, her ethereal presence hypnotic. She seemed to be softly glowing, wisps of light trailing her as she stepped softly to the door. It was as if she knew why he was there.

Shaking himself from the trance, Holbein took her outstretched hand and led her out of the cabin, across the ship, and down the gangplank. Above seagulls squawked, the girl immediately staring at the birds as they fought over a dead fish on the docks. Holbein chuckled to himself. It was as if the child had never seen them before. Overhead, the whistle of the captains eagle caught the child’s attention. The large, brown bird glided overhead, its crest of white feathers hidden from view as the majestic bird descended upon the ship.

The pair kept walking, Holbein’s horse at the castle stable. The seaside town began to wake up, the shops slowly opening their doors and vendors setting up their carts. A distant rooster crowed, causing the girl to jump in surprise. She didn’t seem afraid of the sights and sounds, not even confused. It was as if she didn’t expect them to be there, but was pleasantly surprised to discover them.

Soon they came upon the castle grounds, the wrought iron fence and gate standing high above them. The child looked up in wonder, the gilded spires of the fence sparkling in the morning light. Holbein took a key from its chain around his neck, and unlocked the gate.

The courtyard was green, in spite of the encroaching golds and reds of autumn. Tall carmine rose bushes lined the wide cobblestone path, with white daisies filling the void beneath the neatly trimmed bushes. Butterflies flitted through the air, their colorful wings causing the child to gape at their beauty.

“You think this is pretty? You haven’t seen the gardens, kid,” Holbein said with a chuckle as the two approached the castle entrance.

“Prince Holbein,” The guards said in unison, the two men lifting their spears slightly. “You’ve brought a...guest?” One of them said, squinting at the child. Her tail twitched beneath her improvised dress.

“Yes, the Queen has been informed,” Holbein informed the two as he and the child passed through into the main hall of the castle. The sloping staircase in the center of the room led the two to the throne room, where the Queen sat in her throne, her crown glittering atop her head.

“My Queen,” Holbein said, kneeling before his mother. The child did not kneel, even as Holbein motioned for her to do so. “Kneel,” He murmured, but the girl looked up at the queen blankly, doe brown eyes fixated on the woman. Holbein stood, seeing that the child would not listen to him. “Mother-”

“You found this child by Grim?” She asked, eyes cold and calculating as the woman stood. Holbein kept his eyes down and nodded stiffly. “What a darling she is!” The queen suddenly exclaimed, stepping quickly down to their level, her train of her crimson gown flowing after her as she rushed to the child.

Holbein jumped away as his mother doted over the girl, the Queen’s sudden outburst unexpected and uncharacteristic.

“Mother, are you feeling well-?” Holbein was cut off as his mother flashed an angry glare in his direction. It was a look he knew well, the expression used prior to his brothers’ many and various punishments for their own strange outbursts. It was a warning message, one Holbein obeyed as he slipped out of the throne room. A weigh settled in his chest as he walked away, but he knew it was too late to argue with the Queen. She had an iron will even the King bowed to.

With her son gone, the queen stood staid, a faux smile still on her crimson lips.

“Would you like to see the garden? I’m sure you’ll love the flowers,” The girl stared at the woman warily, eyebrows knit together in cautious apprehension. The woman’s soft, pale hand wavered, her painted nails twitching as she waited for the child to respond to the gesture. Impatient, the woman grabbed her wrist, and began walking. The weak child followed blindly, tail stilled and eyes glassy.

The two traveled through the maze of thorny bushes clad in pink roses. The dense foliage lined the sides of the twisting, winding path of the garden, which gradually disintegrated into a maze of multicolored flora the deeper they traveled. They walked in silence, and gradually, the Queen’s vice-like grip loosened. The child was too absorbed by the flowers to remember her earlier distrust of the woman. Both were broken from their trance as the child’s stomach growled. The girl blushed, and wrapped her tail around her waist to hold the silver switch of hairs in her hands.

“Wait right here, I’m going to get you some food,” The Queen said sweetly, patting the girl’s unruly black curls. Wringing her tail in her dainty hands, the child anxiously watched the woman step around the corner of the path and disappear into the greenness.

She waited a moment, the gnawing hunger in her stomach consuming her every thought. The sun grew higher in the sky, burning down on the child. Now she was growing thirsty, licking her salt stained lips. The Queen wasn’t coming back.

The girl ran through the maze of roses and sunflowers and orchids. Nothing seemed familiar, the flowers constantly changing and repeating throughout the rows. She was lost.

The girl collapsed, exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger taking over. Tears fell from her eyes, but she did not sob. The tears fell to the ground silently, the child too tired and hungry to care.

A bush behind her rustled, and she stopped crying. Too weak to stand, the child merely turned her head to the source of the sound.  It came from behind rose bush, the red blossoms a perfect camouflage. But she could still see him, most children had an acute awareness of the supernatural, especially evil. There was no point in hiding.

The man stepped out from behind the bush, his red cap slightly disturbed by the thorny branches. Though his beard was white and his face weathered, he stood only slightly taller than the child when drawn up to her full height. He sighed and stepped to the child’s side, and placed his calloused hands at the base of her neck. He would make it quick, painless, and then the Queen would cease tormenting him with ridiculous requests for him to destroy her unruly offspring.

“Hello, Soulis,” The child said without looking at the man as his hands tightened around her neck, her voice husky from lack of use, but still holding a key of a hypnotic tune. The goblin stopped, his own name sounding foreign to him. He raised a bushy eyebrow and released his grip. Something tickled his legs, causing him to look down. The girl’s silvery white tail twitched, and she looked up at the being that stood above her.

“Hulder,” The magical being murmured, taking a step away from the young girl in wary fear. The girl cocked her head to the side, and turned to face him. The girl, like he, was not entirely of this land.

“Hilde?” She asked, having misheard his muttering. She did not understand, and separated from her own kind, she never would. The man extended a hand, smiling to reveal rows of crooked, black teeth.

“I’m Sully, a gardener here. You must’ve gotten a little lost, eh?” The child took his hand tentatively, but was thankful to discover his rough hands clasped her own delicate digits gently. “What’s your name kid?” The girl looked up at him as they walked through the garden, his voice croaky but comforting.

“You called me Hilde,” She whispered softly, so as to not hurt her still delicate voice. The man was confused for a moment.

“Hilde? Hild- Oh! Oh, yes dear. Your name is Hildegard, you live with the servant, remember?” He said, trying to plant false memories in the child’s head. If she stayed nearby, but out of the Queen’s sight perhaps…

“I don’t remember…” The child said with a sniff, the aroma of smoke and stew filling the air as they exited the garden to see the busy work yard that was nestled behind the castle. Horses pulled wagons full of hay and manure back and forth from the stables, and maids ran about with everything from piglets to bread in their arms as they arranged the afternoon meal. The painful hunger of the child returned, and she whimpered as a roast pig on a spit was carried into the kitchen.

“All right, all right, let’s get some food in you,”

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 2

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

By the time we had all gotten into the car, and Armstrong gave Lucha back to me, it was almost dark out again. I was so freaking tired, I practically hadn't slept for two days. I had fallen asleep during the car ride, eventually ignoring the Elrics' questions about Liore's miracles until they got the memo that I wasn't in the mood for any more interrogations. Hughes woke me up when we arrived at his apartment building.

Lucha was sleeping around my neck, and not wanting to wake him, I put him into the bin of my things. I seriously just wanted a soft surface to fall asleep on; carpets, rugs, a sheet, anything would suffice as a bed at that moment. My neck and head were more achy than they had been before my power nap, and my ankle was starting to swell.

As for the light problem, it was considerably easier to see now that night had fallen, but the street lamps and lights from homes still made looking at where I was headed difficult. Thankfully, Al's armor was really loud and easy to follow.

At the door to the building, we met Gracia and Elicia, who had apparently just gotten home from the store. Elicia was so cute. I'm not normally a kid person, like, I'd rather sit through 50 Shades of Gray with my parents than watch a Barney marathon with my little sister for three days straight, but her attitude was absolutely contagious. She may have gotten her sandy hair and green eyes from her mom, but her personality was all Maes. The child looked at the Elrics, and I felt a sleep smile tug at my lips at the next words.

"Big brother," She said, pointing at Al, "Little brother," pointing at Ed. This threw him into a tizzy, angrily pointing out that he was the older of the two, prompting Elicia to respond that older meant bigger. Hughes introduced me to Gracia, who was practically my Aunt Megan of this world. She was reserved but kind, asking me some trivial questions about myself as we headed up the stairs to the Hughes' apartment.

The inside was really neat and tidy, kind of like an apartment you'd see in a magazine. Gracia headed to the kitchen to make dinner, a quiche if I remembered correctly, and Hughes led the Elrics and I to our bedrooms. Well, the only spare bedroom. With two beds.

"Um, I guess I forgot that this room only had two beds..." I shrugged at his words, and started walking back down the hallway. "Hey, Mac-"

"They're only staying the night, and I could sleep on a mat of nails right now, so it's really fine that they have the beds tonight." I said with a yawn, calmly trudging back to the den we had passed by earlier and flopping down on the cushioned seat. Of course, this was a bad idea as it a) made my foot hurt ten times worse and b) woke up Lucha, who made the most horrific sound a ferret would make. Elicia came running, and Hughes wasn't too far behind. I hissed in pain but the soft couch was worth it.

"You don't have to sleep out here! The Elrics-"

"Like I said, are only staying the night. Besides...I just need…. a few minutes…." I mumbled, burying my face into the pillow as the Elrics showed up. The 0.2 seconds of sleep I got were enough to allow me to bolt up and go running when Gracia called everyone for dinner.

Their table was large enough to fit eight people, making it easier to find a seat than it was at my own table back at home with my six siblings. The first few minutes of the meal were kind of awkward, I instinctively going to say grace and stopping myself when I noticed Ed watching. I ended up just being quiet for a minute instead of saying anything aloud. Besides, it'd be weird since I knew Truth was out there somewhere.

On another note, the quiche smelled great, and that was saying something since I was pretty picky about what I ate. If the Hughes' weren't being so kind I probably wouldn't eat the quiche and just eat some raw cheese or something from their fridge. (Did they even have fridges here?) It was really good too, and I was not just saying that because I was basically starving and this was the only real food I had since I arrived in Amestris. They had milk too! I had chugged at least three glasses, which provoked Alphonse to tease Ed, who defended his hatred of milk.

"Come on Al, eat up. Take off that armor and relax." The line of dialogue caught my attention, making me look up from my fourth glass of liquid heaven. For a split second I could almost feel the brief, tense glance Ed shared with his younger brother.

"Oh, I already ate!" Al said with a nervous giggle, Ed continuing with the usual spiel of how the armor was part of his alchemy training. Seriously, how did people not figure Al was just a suit of armor earlier? The rest of the meal was enjoyed with minimum conversation. Elicia was very talkative afterwards when Hughes officially introduced me to her.

"Sweetie this is Mac, she's going to be staying with us for a while!" He squealed, hugging the pig tailed girl tight. She looked up at me with bright green eyes. I glared at him briefly. I guessed the nickname was a little better than my real name.

"Yay! She's going to play with me right? Mac's my new big sister, right?" Elicia asked her dad excitedly. I had a little sister at home about her age. They'd get along so well, being the apple of their father's eye.

"Anything for my little princess!" I smiled as he fawned over her for a few seconds before she asked him,

"Why is she staying with us?" Hughes laughed, leaning back on the couch. It wasn't the one I had claimed, which was now manned by Captain Lucha who hoarded anything shiny he found in the house under the pillows.

"She doesn't have anywhere to stay sweetie." Hughes was calming down a little. If that was at all possible when he was with his darling girl. Elicia seemed to accept that and jumped off the couch to run up to me.

"Can you play with me?" I nodded and let her lead me to her room. It was mostly pink, with toys everywhere (if this was kind of 1900s-ish, did I have to worry about lead poisoning?). We played tea party, or at least I think. It was part pouring tea for her stuffed toys and part fighting a dragon with me as her knight. As much as I missed being allowed to pretend to be fighting the forces of evil with my own little sister, I had better thing to do. Like return Mrs. Hughes' ring before Lucha swallowed it.

It was another hour of tea party until Gracia came in to put Elicia to sleep. I was kind of relieved, it was a lot of work to keep a kid like her entertained. It seemed that the Elrics had gone to sleep already, or at least Ed had. I was so tired I almost didn't notice Hughes sitting on the couch as I sat down next to him. I picked up my bin of things, hoping to change back into my nightgown to feel some semblance of normalcy in my nightly routine. I just needed to find a bathroom.

"Uh, Hughes." He looked up at me, his hazel-green eyes serious and tinged with concern before returning to their normal, smiling selves. "Where's the bathroom?"

"This way," He beckoned, leading me down the hallway to the first door on my left. It was right next to Elicia's bedroom, and across from the Elric's, so I probably wouldn't get lost finding it in the middle of the night.

Thanking him I set my bin down and looked in the mirror. It was a lot cleaner than the prison mirrors, not covered with grime or any other unidentified substance. I hated the way I looked. My eyes looked as if they were bleeding, a combination of lacking pigment and bloodshot exhaustion. My hair, though still really thick and curly, looked like someone had bleached it to look like calcium powder. My skin looked like Truth's almost, only differing in the small imperfections and dark bags under my eyes.

Taking off my turtleneck sweater, I also noted the bruise's new rainbow of colors; greens, browns, violets, and blues had added to the mix, contrasting starkly with my now paper white skin. I felt so ugly. Shaking the self depreciating thoughts from my head, I put my nightgown on, really wishing I had a change of underclothes but was too tired to ask to borrow some of Gracia's (not to mention her bras probably wouldn't fit me…). My foot was looking slightly better, the swelling had gone down now that I was wearing my orthotics, though a few hours of elevating it would do it even more good.

I took two of the three necklaces I always wore out of the bin, leaving the more fragile third inside. Both were religious, so I guess it would make sense to fit the whole 'Don't use my name because my faith is very restrictive' facade. One was a simple brown scapular, the other a choker Celtic cross. The cross would be visible most of the time due to its tendency to get over the collar of my shirt and stay there, but it was fancy enough to be ignored as a cultural medallion of sorts. The third necklace I didn't want to wear to bed out of fear that I would break it (again). It was made from my great grandmother's rosary, my grandmother's earring, and my mother's necklace she had worn to her wedding. All very important to me, and also very delicate.

Leaving the bathroom, I was greeted with darkness. A welcome abyss compared to the bright lights everywhere else. A light came from beneath another doorway down the hall, presumably Mr. and Mrs. Hughes' bedroom. I found the couch with an extra blanket, courtesy of my hosts, and a towel laid out on the ground, which I discovered Lucha had made his own bed after stepping on the poor ferret. I laid down on the couch, comfortably falling asleep for what felt like hours.

I woke up only half an hour later, feeling restless. I just couldn't stay asleep. There was really no reason to stay asleep I presumed, since I clearly felt rested after only half an hour (maybe an hour, the analog clock was hard to read in the dark). Lucha was still asleep, surprisingly, so I took extra care not to step on him (again).

The house was quiet, the people breathing in the apartment, and the movements of those elsewhere in the complex barely audible. It kind of freaked me out to be honest. I wasn't afraid of the dark, I was almost old enough to graduate high school! But...I did't like being alone in the dark.

I guess I wasn't really alone, Al was awake right? But, I wasn't exactly the type to rush in and 'wake' a guy up just because I was bored. Well, not exactly bored. Something was nagging at the back of my mind but I couldn't quite figure out what it was, but whatever it was, it was going to drive me insane. Needing something else to focus on, I determined that I needed a plan to be the Mary-Sue this world didn't need and that the fans didn't want but needed to save the most lives possible.

In the kitchen I could only find cloth napkins, which was kind of annoying since I didn't want to leave evidence of my knowledge lying around where Hughes would find an interesting timeline describing his death. Frustrated but undeterred, I managed to find a pen in one of the drawers. It seemed ancient compared to modern ballpoint pens. It was a fountain pen, a very pretty one, with a metal tip. There seemed to be lots of pens in the drawer, so one missing wouldn't hurt.

Rummaging through more cabinets and drawers as quietly as I could, I couldn't find any paper. Then I had the brilliant idea to write on myself. My skin was paper colored, and no one else would be able to read it if I wrote it on my leg or somewhere like that, but it would wash off when I showered. Truth new I needed one.

Unable to stay focused, I decided to take a shower at...1:00 a.m. the clock read. It wasn't that hard to navigate in the dark, but finding the black clothes I was lent by the prison was a challenge. They were folded up on top of my necklace in my bin, where I had apparently put them.

I took the bin and the fountain pen to the hallway, taking the first door on my left, hesitating a moment to listen for Alphonse in the other room. I didn't want him to barge in when I was showering, even if he was a suit of armor it'd be super embarrassing. Now that I think about it, he had no reason to barge in, but I was being the weird one by showering at dead man's hour.

I undressed, discovering not a shower behind the curtain but a small bathtub. Better than nothing I guessed. Knowing that the hot water supply was probably limited (and used to bathing restrictions from living with 8 other people my whole life) I filled the tub with the hottest water possible. I liked scalding hot baths, though I would have preferred a shower. I slowly got into the tub, bringing the curtain around halfway so I could see the door but still be mostly hidden from view. It was so relaxing.

I slipped under the water for a second, the tops of my knees forced out of the water so I could lay down. I opened my eyes for a split second, not fond of being blind to the world. Everything I saw was red. I was bathing in blood, the water was thick and crimson.

I sat up, gasping for air and restraining a scream. The water wasn't red, there was no blood, I was fine. I got out of the now cold water, drying myself off with the floor towel in my haste to get out of the bathroom. Putting my underclothes back on, I sat for a few minutes on the bathroom floor. The tears had stopped, but my breathing was still hitched and my heart rapid.

I was so scared. I was digging my nails into my palms until they started to bleed, my own blood triggering the memory of the blood that was on my hands a night prior. I had helped kill someone. I was responsible for a human being's death, someone died because of me. I heard my deep, labored breathing, but didn't feel the usual squeeze of an asthma attack, just deep, empty breaths echoing softly on the tile floor and white walls. White walls and white floors, just like the blood splattered walls and floors of the prison. Soaked in the blood of someone I helped kill, someone I made bleed.

It took a me a moment to realize someone was softly knocking on the door. I did my best to collect myself, my eyes puffy and my face red as I picked up my things, threw on my clothes, and turning off the gas lamp, peeked out the door. It was Elicia, thankfully, half asleep and holding a blanket.

"I have to go potty…" She said, yawning and rubbing her eyes as I got out of her way. I didn't even care if I was being rude or weird anymore - I just needed to get away from there. Still having a small panic attack, but able to breath normally again, I laid back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over my head. I waited for sleep, and none came. I heard Elicia leave the bathroom and go back to her bedroom.

What felt like days later, sunlight began to leak through the window shades in the kitchen, and I heard movement in the Elric's room. Hughes was the first up, I could hear him cracking his back and neck as he shuffled to the kitchen. He could use a chiropractor from the sound of it…

The smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, alerting me that I should try to look presentable. I still had the fountain pen in my bin of now dirty pajamas, and I needed a notebook or something like Al's 'list of stuff to eat notebook' and Ed's 'philosopher's stone research' one.

When I came into the kitchen, Hughes was having coffee and reading a newspaper. Literally thought he was my Uncle Matt for a second there, except the mountain climbing gear was missing. I slumped into the seat next to him to read over his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind, or at least he didn't notice.

There was a small article mentioning a certain Yoki who was convicted of stealing government funds, another that announced the upcoming State Alchemist Examination with the upcoming Assessment mentioned on a smaller note. I did see a quick flash of a wanted serial killer with a cross-shaped scar on his face as Hughes turned the page, but wasn't able to read any farther into the article as he seemed to finally notice me sitting there.

"Oh, sorry Mac, haven't finished my coffee yet. You want some?" Somehow, I felt that he was implying that I needed it from his slightly worried expression. I probably still looked like Death incarnate, maybe worse from the crying episode earlier. I shook my head at his question anyways.

"Nah, I'm good." I got a glass from one of the cabinets (I knew my way around the whole den and kitchen after my midnight expedition) and filled it with water from the tap. It tasted weird, as everything here was old and weird, but it was better than coffee. I was not a coffee person, or a tea person for that matter.

"Sleep well?" He asked, flipping a page of the newspaper. I halfheartedly glared up up at him as I laid my head on the table. Did I really look that bad?

"Nope." I sighed, examining the table cloth. It was pretty, and rather clean considering Elicia's table manners. And it was red. Scrunching my face up I turned to look at Hughes again. "Can I ask you something?" He looked up, folding the paper shut slowly as he nodded. I looked away from him, examining the gold embroidery on the edge of the table cloth. "How do you live with-"

"Holy crap we're going to be late!" Edward yelled, rushing out the front door. His hair, from what I could tell, was messily braided, and the boy only had his automail arm in jacket sleeve.

"Thanks for everything Mr. Hughes!" Alphonse noted, keeping Ed from tripping over Lucha.

"Oh, and tell Gracia that quiche was amazing!" With a few more blurted goodbyes and thank yous, the Elrics unceremoniously exited the apartment by slamming the door shut behind them. I snorted in amusement, putting my head back on the table. Who would have of thought those two would be late for anything?

"You were saying?" Maes inquired, tapping my shoulder. Sitting up, I looked back at him, no longer in the mood to discuss how he coped with what he did in Ishval. Thankfully, before I could get a word out, Elicia's sleepy giggle caught both of our attentions.

"Daddy! Are you staying home today?" She asked with a yawn, Gracia slowly emerging from the hallway behind the little girl. Hughes laughed, his serious demeanor disappearing faster than snow in July at the sight of Elicia's bed head and sleepy smile.

"Sorry sweetie! Daddy has to go to work, but I'll try to get home early okay my darling angel?" Elicia giggled as her dad scooped her up and hugged her close. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do to keep the story the same, but save unnecessarily lost lives.

There wasn't much I could do for the people in Liore, the little civil war down there was going to happen whether people fought over Cornello or not, and it was kind of a key to keeping Ed and Al on their little quest that would bring them right back to Central. After "The City of Heresy" episode it would go to...something anguish? I may have a pretty good eidetic memory, but I needed triggers for this stuff to be clear, I couldn't just pull a list of character deaths from my pocket you know. I would need something to write on and set up a timeline so I could plot out my next move.

Breakfast was really nice, by which of course I mean eating something that was not cereal after 4:30 a.m. (a rare occasion in my house back in the waking world). Hughes left in the middle of it, late for a meeting or something to that effect. I had almost forgotten that McDougal used alkahestry, not alchemy, and that Hughes would report this to Mustang. Oops.

Still, this was probably only episode two right? So, basically Ed and Al sitting on a train and backstory time, which meant I had few obligations and concerns for the next day or two. However, on his way out the door after bidding his wife and daughter goodbye, Maes gave me a stern look.

"You do need to try and find some work, I marked off some jobs I thought you'd like in the paper." He said, mock saluting me. "Good luck, Mac!" I scowled but picked up the newspaper. It was from the day before I guessed, since Gracia brought a new paper in soon after Hughes left.

Elicia was excitedly eating her scrambled eggs, talking to Mrs. Hughes with her mouth full and being chided for it. They were such a wonderful family, I really had to find a way to repay them (and not just by hopefully saving Maes' life).

I finally found the classifieds, seeing the jobs Hughes thought I'd be interested in circled with black ink. Work wanted at a local bakery? No. I was an awful cook. I guess I could make, I don't know, pepernoot cookies but even those weren't that great compared to my cousin Rose's baking. She could really bake well. Another job was looking for help managing a little grocery store here on Main street. It was close enough to walk to, so I guessed that would be my destination for the day.

The other jobs Maes picked out were mostly odd jobs; fixing roofs, making deliveries, stuff I couldn't really do with my skill set or resources. There was one farm hand opportunity, but it was on the outskirts of the city, and I didn't want to trouble the Hughes with anything else. My talents as a backyard chicken mother, wasted in a 1910s alternative universe of Germany. At least the grocery job seemed to pay in czens, not eggs or corn (though I would work for food, who on earth wouldn't?).

It was about 9:00 in the morning when I finally left. Gracia and her daughter were going to the park, then stopping by the grocery store to walk me home if I wanted them to. They were so sweet, how was there nothing wrong with a family as perfect as this? Oh yeah, the dad is shot dead by some guy disguised as the wife. Wonderful.

Gracia had let me borrow one of her purses, one big enough to fit the fancy dancy Certificate in, and to fit a small towel and Lucha in. He was sleeping more than usual, which was next to impossible since he already slept all the time when he wasn't hungry. Weird ferret. Cute, but weird. I hoped he wasn't sick.

People kept staring at me on the way there, making me highly self conscious. Some part of me was screaming at them that I wasn't a murderer, another part was making my face turn a red to match my new eyes, while a third was looking for the sign that read "Main Street Grocery".

I kept bumping into people, the sun blinding me every time it reflected off a window or occasional passing car. It seems like it'd be cool to one day wake up and be albino or even leucistic, but it really wasn't. Especially in the whole normal treatment department. And seeing department. And basically almost every aspect of yourself.

When I finally did see the sign, I briefly checked to make sure it matched the address in the ad before ducking inside. It was a quiet little place, very homey and local. There was a bunch of fresh fruits and vegetables on some benches outside, and inside there were various boxed and canned foods. There was a small fridge of sorts in the far right corner, only containing some juices and milk, as well as being right by a whole stand of wine and other alcoholic beverages. At the front desk there was a young guy, not my type, but handsome and sort of sexy. When I asked about the open position he looked a little startled.

"I'm sorry, did you read the fine print?" He asked, his deep voice nervous. I was so confused by this. Taking out the newspaper ad I had clipped out, I showed it to him.

"What fine print?" He ran a hand through his blonde locks anxiously. "Can I speak to your manager, please?" The guy - his name tag read Albert - nodded and went to a back room. There weren't many people at the store, but an old lady was waiting for her money to be taken. I was no expert in czens, but it couldn't be much harder than working in retail, right?

The woman had thick glasses, so she probably wouldn't notice that I wasn't an employee. Standing behind the counter, which had a convenient list of prices, pretty similar to the one I had used during my time at farmer's markets. Those things were so much fun to work at, except for the days when it was really windy. Those tents could kill someone if they went airborne.

She was buying nine apples, a jug of milk, and a loaf of fresh bread. It smelled so good, like, 'grandpa just pulled it out of the oven' good. Each item's individual price was marked down in neat handwriting. It was strange not weighing the apples, but they were marked down for 3 cenz per apple and 6 cenz for every three. I didn't know what the dollar equivalent of that would be, but it seemed pretty reasonable. I rung up the cost of her items and counted out the money. It was pretty similar to most money, though, I did have to sheepishly ask her if one of the coins was worth 10 or 5 cenz. The back room's door opened just as I bid the woman goodbye.

"What do you think you're doing?" A woman's voice asked. I was surprised that she was shorter than me, but the lady was still terrifying. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun, and her blue eyes seethed with irritation. "Albert says you're here to apply? Are you not literate?" I was so confused. What fine print? Why was everyone so huffy about me trying to apply for a job?

"I am entirely literate ma'am, in multiple languages" I said, though I doubt I'd find anyone speaking the FMA equivalent of German, Irish Gaelic, or Latin. Well, maybe not Latin. A 12 year old in a Catholic school can only parrot so many Gregorian chants. With a nod, I quickly moving to the other side of the counter. Damn, she was scary. Everyone in this world was either scary or really sweet, there was no in between.

"Then you should be aware that the ad does say, 'Ishvalans Need Not Apply'." Great, and here I thought we were over treating the minorities and the Irish like shit. I restrained a glare, looking at me feet.

"I am Drachman, not Ishvalan, ma'am." Geez, I mean, the hair and eyes were kind of similar but I looked like Snow White Extreme incarnate. Was it common for Ishvalans to have pale skin suddenly? Had I already screwed something up?

"Oh? Then get out. Immigrants aren't welcome in my store."

"But-"

"Out!" Okay, I get it, there's a bias, no need to be rude about it. I guess I forgot this was set in the early 1900s. In my world that meant segregation, discrimination, and jazz. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like I'd be enjoying any Louie Armstrong or Jelly Roll Morton here. Wait...Louie Armstrong...I wondered if the Major could play a trumpet...

I stood outside the store for a while, envying Albert - it seemed as if he had been just hired that morning instead of me. I should have headed out when the Elrics left. The store manager - a Miss. Reich from what I overheard - was about to usher me down the street with a broom so I headed off. It was best I explored my new surroundings.

Lucha woke up around this time, poking his pink nose out of the satchel to surprise any passing kids. I really wished I had a hat or something, since the starring returned in full force with the early afternoon lunch break setting in. I needed somewhere to occupy my time with. Gracia and Elicia weren't planning on visiting the grocery shop until the evening - I guess they really thought I'd get the job.

Why would Hughes send me somewhere that wasn't accepting immigrant workers? It hit me that I wasn't just an immigrant (or rather, not an immigrant really at all). I was an Honorary Citizen, and whatever that was, Hughes probably thought it'd help me get hired, or maybe he was hoping I'd have to live with him and be Elicia's big sister forever, but I was hoping he wasn't that mean. I basically sprinted back to the shop, which I discovered was a mistake when my ankle rolled and I knocked down a few people on the sidewalk.

"Sorry, sorry…" I murmured as I tried to reorient myself. The light of the sun was really bright now, making everything look like a fiery kaleidoscope. A hand gently tugged at my own and helped me to my feet. "I'm sorry." I said again, knowing full well that I apologized too much. Once my eyes adjusted and Lucha had settled in his nest of fabric, I realized it was Albert who had helped me up.

"What're you doing back here?" He asked, his blue eyes nervously darting to the shop window where he could see Miss. Reich helping a customer at the register while he swept. I rubbed my arm. I had hit the ground hard, but escaped with only a scrape. Lucha seemed fine, peering at Albert for a second before snorting and going back to his nap. He must have been homesick, the ferret never slept this much. I felt around in my bag for a moment before my hand touched the paper.

"I need to talk with Miss. Reich again," As tempting as it was to call her something derogatory to let out my frustration, I needed to get on good terms with her. I wasn't taking a job that was halfway across the city, not even if Hughes lent me his car. I didn't even think it was his, the military probably gave it to him for work related purposes.

I finally convinced Albert to let me talk to Miss. Stick-up-her-but and I showed her the Certificate. She seemed pretty impressed, though still a bit reluctant to let me work for her. It took some sweet talking on my part (she was almost as hard to persuade as a stubborn show heifer) but she eventually conceded to a contract. It seemed I'd still be a little curbed by the whole anti-immigrant policy, but I did have myself a job working in the backroom.

They had a bunch of filing cabinets, as well as extra stock. I was informed by Miss. Reich herself of my duties, which involved coming by at dawn to stock the store with the delivery of fresh eggs and milk, as well as to organize the chronological payment records. It wasn't that much compared to my summer job at the farmer's markets, except I wouldn't have to deal with cranky hippies screaming at me for $5 for every basket of blueberries (if they had such a problem with it they should have picked their own). Still, it'd be work.

Dark was falling when Gracia and Elicia finally swung by, picking up a gallon of whole milk and some apples for a pie that Mrs. Hughes planned on making in a few days. Albert was adorable in his anxiety when Gracia asked if a white haired girl had applied for a job here recently. Miss. Reich had to clear up the misunderstanding that I was, in fact, a girl to Albert as I listen to their conversation as I organized some heads of old cauliflower.

"No, she wrote it on the contract and it was on her Certificate of Honorary Citizenship-"

"He's an Honorary Citizen? So that's why you gave him the job-"

"No, Al, she is a girl. I'm sure of it. Ask her yourself." They rounded a corner that was slightly overflowing with green beans. They'd last a few days, granted I fixed the ventilation problem back here, I was burning up it was so hot. It wasn't summer here was it? It was too cold the other night….

"You need something ma'am?" I asked, though it was pretty easy to hear Elicia through the thin walls.

"You're family is here, I think." Miss. Reich said, leaving an awkward gap of silence between Albert and I. "Anything you want to say to Irish, Albert?" I shrugged and avoided eye contact as the poor guy awkwardly struggled to ask me something.

"Yes, I am a girl." I noted his sudden crestfallen attitude as he walked me back to the front and took my apron. Truth, that was depressing. Damn this overwhelming cultural shock. Gracia smiled when I emerged from the back room, Elicia charging me and clinging to my legs.

"Yay! Big sister's here! Can she play with me later mommy? Can she?" The pig tailed girl was just like my little sister back at home. Such a manipulative sweetheart that could murder someone and be ready for ballet by dinner.

"Sure, just - hey, be careful!" I chided as she nearly knocked me over the fruit stand by the front desk. Gosh little kids were so careless sometimes. "Oh, Miss. Reich!" I called as Elicia was all but dragging me after her mother. "Thank you for the job, I'll repay you someday!" I had no clue how I was going to do that, maybe help with saving most of Amestris from the Promised Day? Probably not, considering I could barely get a job and was practically blinded by light. So this was how vampires felt…

The walk to the apartment was quiet, Gracia asking me to retell how I managed to get a job at the store. Apparently Miss. Reich was notorious for keeping immigrants out of her shop, so hiring me was quite a strange occurrence for Gracia to hear. All my life I'd felt that the stories of close knit communities was all a hoax, and now I was seeing my host talking about some random shop owner as if they were the best of friends.

I was never going to get used to this 1900s life, not without a proper shower. This was so weird. Lucha reminded me he was getting hungry by climbing up my sweater to scratch at the neck. It hurt more than it tickled, the bruised skin still sore. I put him back into the bag and held it closed as us three marched up the stairs to get to the apartment.

Inside, I helped Gracia with some bags she had picked up at some other stores. They were full of clothes. Why did people have to be really nice? I didn't know how to respond to kindness that well, or new clothes. I didn't think I had ever worn anything besides handmedowns. The nightgown I had was my Aunt Mimi's, and the slippers were from my older sister. Elicia seemed contented with playing in her room while Mrs. Hughes and I sorted my situation in the spare room.

We moved the extra bed to the corner of the room, creating a lot of floor space. The hardwood floor was a little dusty, but I wasn't complaining. There was a dresser along the wall of room, which we filled with the new clothes. They were kind of old fashioned, but they were pretty. There were a few dresses that we hung up in the closet by the other bed, but most of the clothes were sweaters, button downs, slacks, and a few skirts that also joined the Gown Battalion of the closet.

"Thank you so much for buying me the clothes, I'll pay you back-"

"What is it with you and having to pay people back? I wanted to buy you those clothes, not to mention Elicia will grow into them. Eventually." Mrs. Gracia said as we changed the sheets on the bed - my bed. I really needed to stay focused, I only had a day or two until the Elrics came back and then I had to figure out what the heck I was going to do about the Nina Alexander chimera problem.

"Mrs. Hughes-" She ruffled my hair gently. Goodness this woman was so likable, I hated having my hair messed with but when she did it I was completely fine with it.

"Call me Gracia." I shrugged, puffing up the pillow one more time. It wasn't the same as Timait, but it would do. Yes, I named my pillow Timait; after developing such a special bond with the very thing that you have dreamed upon for years, a name is in order. Okay that was a lie, but I was really missing my pillow back at home.

"Gracia, do you have a notebook or something I could use? I don't mean to impose any more than I already have, I just-" Opening a small cabinet under the sink, she pulled out a small, leather bound book. How in Amestris had I not found it during my rummaging earlier?

"I'm sure you have your reasons, besides, tax season is always a pain. Will this do?" She asked, handing the empty tome to me. It was almost exactly like the ones the Elrics carried around, except more flexible with a strong but with a malleable spine. Perfect for writing down my plans of world destruction or maybe a copy of the Twilight series.

"Thank you so much!" I said as I rushed back to the spare room - my room. Elicia however, caught me as I almost escape to its sanctuary.

"Mac! Can you please play with me now?" How could I say no to that face?

"No." I said, suddenly irritable. When she made the saddest, most heartbreaking puppy dog face, I rethought my decision. "I'm sorry, just a minute." Putting the empty book on my bed and checking on Lucha's sleeping form for any signs of impending death, I went back to Elicia's room.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the most exciting action packed day of my time here, but I was making progress to building relationships, making contacts, and organizing information that would be pertinent to my near future. All I had to do was play Princess for another hour or two until Maes came home.

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Bonus Chapter 2

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: Takes place some time after chapter 9

Two bodies lay entangled with one another in the darkness, legs entwined and arms wrapped around each other's naked bodies. A lone candle lit on the nearby nightstand cast soft shadows across their forms, turning muscle contours into rocky mountainsides and the supple, sensual concavities of a woman's bare breast into shadowed hills over a violet moor of her ribcage.

As gentle and soft as the shadows, so was the woman's face, her eyes closed and her smile serene as she felt the weight of her husband's arm draped over her shoulders, his hand resting at the small of her back. The man's face was a foil to the woman's countenance, features sharply defined and eyes shifting through the dark sea behind his eyelids. His arm tightened around the woman beside him, his jaw tight and brow furrowed as a dream bled into memories.

An explosion in the distance shook the ground. The rattle of of bullets and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Stronger than the sulfurous gunpowder was the metallic scent of blood and the stench of decaying flesh. Human flesh.

The man woke from the nightmare, the embrace of the woman anchoring him to reality. She hadn't opened her eyes, but her lips moved as she cooed softly, hushing his fears and soothing his mind. He drew a deep breath, releasing it with a sigh as the tension left his body and his muscles relaxed.

He tucked his head just below the crook of the woman's shoulder, listening for her rhythmic heartbeat. There was none. He blinked a few times, scrutinizing her form. She was breathing, still whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He listened again. Nothing. Not even the hollow echo of her breaths. The man tried to pull away, but the woman held him tighter, wrapping a leg over his and pinning him beside her.

"Darling?" She said, her voice unnaturally loud, though her lips twitched no more than they had been. Unable to move, the man had no choice but to look up at her face, her eyes not the comforting shade of lush forests, but a crystalline amethyst. Her face too seemed not quite as soft and gentle, the angles deepening as the candle flickered.

The man flailed his arms, not entirely restrained by the person beside him, but only succeeded in knocking over the candle. The room was devoured by shadows, and the inky blackness seemed to offer release from the nightmare.

However, a pair of burning violet eyes stared back at him from the blackness, the spheres seeming to split and multiply until there were thousands of eyes, covering every inch of the abyss and all staring back at the man, who hung suspended in the void, naked and vulnerable to the searing glares of the eyes. A voice dripping with hatred cut through the silence to pierce the man's heart.

"You seem surprised,"

Maes Hughes woke with a start, the sharp pain in his shoulder prying him from the horrifying dream into an equally painful reality.

The bed beneath him creaked, the thin mattress barely lifted by worn springs. Sunlight trickled through the half closed blinds of the motel room, the dust in the air swirling like a miniature golden galaxy. The only consolation, and paradoxically another cruel reminder of his situation, was the cold morning air that drifted through the drafty room, reminding him that he was completely and utterly alone.

Outside a rooster crowed, the crowded marketplace below already bustling with life and vendors preparing for another dusty day of bartering and trading. As doors were propped open and drapes drawn back, Hughes could hear the slow rhythm of life chime to the grandfather clock in the lobby.

"5 a.m.!" It cried, the sound vibrating through the walls, somehow seeming louder than it had at night. He closed his eyes and listened to the chimes, his head spinning as a migraine overcame him. With a groan and pulled the paper thin sheets of the bed over his head, the dim light of the morning sun only serving to worsen his headache.

The man whimpered, forcing himself out of bed, only making it to the edge of the flimsy mattress before discovering he had no reason to leave the room. He had eaten the night before at the dingy bar across the street, the sink in the bathroom had running water, and the less people that knew who and where he was the better off Irish would be in...what even was she trying to do? Save him? Save Amestris? Save the world?

The burning violet eyes flashed in the edge of his vision, Hughes shaking them away as he rubbed his eyes. The words that the...man, thing, whatever it was, exchanged with Irish came back in barely audible whispers.

Father, Wrath, staged bloodshed, sacrifices, then you can kill him, the Elric brothers, you have my word...snippets of phrases sifted through his memories to his conscious mind, with one plea always ringing clear as day.

Do this for Gracia and Elicia, please.

Do what? Hide away in a motel room for weeks on end? Watch the stolen money dwindle meal after meal? Listen to the families of soldiers curse the Amestrian army and its demonic Fuhrer?

Dear old Fuhrer Wrath.

Wrath. Bradley. The Fuhrer. Hughes knew the plot of turning the country into a giant transmutation circle had its roots in the government, and so it should not have surprised him to discover that the Fuhrer himself was directly involved in these affairs.

Still, Irish's words sat uneasily with him. Hughes had a vague concept of a homunculus, an artificial human created by alchemy, the ultimate taboo. Was Irish implying that Bradley was one of them? There had to be more than one, besides the man who had attempted to kill him.

The memory of that night rushed the man like a tidal waves, crashing upon his shoulders and forcing the air from his lungs. The room felt increasingly small, the walls closing in on him. Hughes stumbled to his feet, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of the room.

After fumbling with the loose glass door knob for a moment, he fell into the hallway of the motel, catching himself on the railing of the landing before collapsing completely. He stood there for a moment, breathing in and out consciously in an effort to regain some control.

"Hey," A breathy voice uttered, unsure of its intrusion. Hughes looked at the woman leaving her room, her gaudily embellished night dress nearly concealed by the bulky coat that was a few sizes too large for her. "You okay?" He nodded weakly, finally catching his breath.

"Fine, just a...rough night," He managed to say between gasps for oxygen, not that much could be found in the musty air of the near vacant hotel.

The woman reached inside the oversized coat to produce a silver flask. She unscrewed the cap and took a long swig before offering it to Hughes. It was widely practiced tradition, here in Aerugo, to drink from a glass before serving it to a guest.

"No, thanks," Hughes mumbled, aware that alcohol would most likely make his problems worse. The woman sighed, a forced smile gracing her face naturally as she shrugged and put the flask back where it had come from.

"You never know," She said quietly, hesitating for a moment before continuing past him and descending down the flight of stairs to the lobby.

Hughes eyes trailed back to the staircase, the spiraling wooden steps that started three stories below seeming like the gaping maw of some exotic fish. He leaned over the rail, observing the slow pace of life on ground floor as the front desk attendant yawned and stretched before walking out of sight towards the from door, presumably to open business for the day. She returned momentarily, a cigarette pinched between her fingers like a delicate sewing needle.

The smell infiltrated every inch of the building, but it was not necessarily unpleasant nor strong. It was a mild scent, that brought back memories of summer barbecues and campfires. Hughes flinched as a memory of a certain campfire past clawed its way from the depths of his mind, the burning corpses giving off much needed warmth in the desert night, but with each passing second the stench grew stronger, somewhat akin to burning pork roasts.

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging viciously at a few stray tufts in an attempt to shake the memory from his thoughts. He ran back to his room, hoping that at least his personal quarters were spared by the horrendous odor. They were not. All thoughts of passive existentialism were banished and replaced with one internal instinct - escape the smell, escape the memories.

Hughes still wore his clothes from the previous day - and the day before that and the day before that. He quickly shuffled into his shoes, fingers shaking as he tried to tie the laces of the boots as quickly as he could without expelling whatever remained in his stomach from the previous day's meal. Hurriedly, Hughes left his room, closing the door but not locking it - whatever valuables he still owned resided within the pockets of his coat.

Down stairs the stench of the smoke was much stronger, and Hughes could barely see the cigarette pinched between the young lady's pink lips as he stumbled toward the door. She seemed to not take notice, such behavior early in the morning probably common for this area of Melampo - the city on the fringe of the Aerugo-Amestris border that Hughes now called home.

He pushed the glass doors aside, the smells of the market place rushing to greet him and replace the suffocating smoke. The sweat of men as they shuffled back and forth through the street, the fruity perfume of some passing women, and the earthy smell of fresh manure assaulted his sense of smell, and all were welcome. It was better than the memory of smoke.

The cafe across the busy street was his goal, the quaint coffee shop his daily stop for the past few weeks. The smells of the outside world faded and were replaced by the easing scents of dark roast coffee overlayed by the gentle tones of herbal teas. The small bell above the door jingled as it closed behind him.

"Ah, I thought you had skipped town, better late then never as they say," The cherry voice of the barista pipped, the near empty cafe housing the two present employees. Behind the counter, a boy finished drying off recently washed glasses while a girl sat cross legged on one of the bar stools, sipping a cup of herbal tea with a contented smile on her face.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of, Antonio," Hughes said, the comforting smells and sights of the bar and tables grounding him, though a torrent of anxiety continued to rush through his veins. The young barista shrugged, his childish face framed by chestnut curls. Though claiming sobriety, the boy always had a rosy tinge to his nose and cheeks, as though he were perpetually flushed from a fever.

He took a cup from beside the coffee machine, the black roast ready in seconds. It seemed Hughes' order was prepared earlier, just in case he stopped by.

"Too bad, I thought Alidora would have driven you off by now-" The boy was cut off as his older sister reach across the bar to pull his ear. "Ow, stop! That hurts," He whined, in spite of the smile that played on his lips at the sight of his sibling's scowl.

"Stai zitto!" She commanded, releasing his ear with one final tug,"I'm surprised you haven't accidentally poisoned him," Alidora glanced at Hughes, her dark eyes searching for any apparent sign of illness as he took a deep swallow from his mug of coffee.

"I thought he did when I first got my coffee here," Hughes said smugly, earning a look of pained shock from Antonio.

"Ahi!"

"It was so bitter I thought my tongue was going to fall off, and that aftertaste! Why I was sure I was going to pass out and die in this cafe," Hughes continued dramatically, feigning disgust at the 'memory'.

"You were pretty bad at this when you started," Alidora added, deflecting her brother's pleading gaze with an accustomed ease.

"And I'm sure you were a natural," Antonio grumbled folding his arms defensively.

"Indeed she was," A new voice joined, the creaky floor boards having indicated his descent down the stairs moments before.

"Ma Babbo," Antonio moaned, realizing he was outnumbered in this fight. "I've gotten better, haven't I?" He turned his plaintive sights on Hughes, who took a long, silent sip from his coffee. "Oh, Signore Ippolito, say something!"

Hughes was at least grateful the stolen ID was from a man of Aerugo descent.

"This is a good coffee, not the best I've had, but good," Hughes finally said, raising the mug in a toast to the boy's skill. The father, a Signore Geppetto Colombo, scoffed at the comment.

"And who has made the best coffee you have ever had?" Hughes gave a lopsided smile. The coffee machine back in his kitchen seeming miles away. Which it was.

"My wife's culinary works trump even the most skilled and experienced of chefs, but my mother's coffee cannot be beat," Geppetto chuckled, stroking his full black beard.

"Don't let Mama hear that kind of talk, she'll demand to meet Signora Ippolito." Alidora cautioned, a forced smile on her face. Hughes raised an eyebrow at the mention of Mrs. Colombo, but said nothing.

"Ciao Papa," Said a young man who descended from the stairs, a dark haired sibling in tow. Geppetto grabbed the two by the collar of their shirts.

"Tch, tch, tch, Where are you two going?" He asked, releasing the two. The taller of the two, auburn hair seemingly set afire by the early morning sunlight sheepishly looked up.

"Marni asked if we could help set up for the matinee today-"

"Marni? You're still seeing that-"

"She is a good woman, Papa! She has a good heart-"

"And a bad liver,"

"Papa! Lucignolo! Basta!" Alidora commanded, glancing back at Hughes, "Scusa Signore, my brothers were just about to leave," Antonio raised a silent finger of quarry, but was ignored. "Lucignolo, Eugenio, take Signore Ippolito to the matinee with you, for ruining his morning,"

"There's no need, I was just going-"

"I insist, Signore," Alidora pleaded, eyes saying more than she spoke. She needed to keep the peace before a war broke out in that small cafe. The dark haired boy, Eugenio, grabbed one of Hughes' arms, and Lucignolo the other.

"It'll be great!" Eugenio affirmed, "Marni is the best singer ever, she's pretty too," He continued as the two all but dragged poor Hughes from the cafe, in a manner similar to how the Colonel would cart away the Elrics or Winry on a whim. The Deja Vu struck hard enough for the two to carry him out the door, leaving a jingling bell in their wake.

Hughes' empty coffee cup sat alone on the counter. The cafe was silent again. Upstairs, weak coughing was muffled by the distance, but it could not be ignored.

"I'll get some soup ready Babbo," Alidora said, slipping behind the counter of the bar. Antonio stared at the door a moment longer, brow furrowed with worry.

"Papa," He asked, looking down into the cup as he carried it slowly to the sink. "This doesn't feel right," Signore Colombo gave his youngest son a soft-eyed stare, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The coughing got louder, the hacking breaths gasping for air.

The next thing Hughes knew he was the farthest into Melampo that he had ever been, the streets bustling with energy as women in elegant gowns swirled on either side of the street, and sharply dressed men tipped their top hats to mothers as they toted children behind them in a line like ducklings. The finely dressed families couldn't obscure the men squatting at street corners or in alleyway entrances wearing the remnants of a suit or uniform of some sort.

The piazza was bustling with life, the sides of the town square flanked by walls of impressive buildings - apparently dedicated to the arts, not the government - with colorful facades and lines of elegantly garbed patrons extending out the front doors.

"This way," Lucignolo directed, pulling Hughes away from the impressive facade of a nearby cathedral. Amestris was a secular country, with the few basilicas and temples of worship having resided in the south, where the war had torn them down or turned them into hospitals or government buildings.

The ginger led the two into a side street, away from the bustle and energy of the main piazza. Eugenio walked closely behind his older brother, eyes shifting from side to side. Hughes could not blame the boy, the group of shabbily dressed men sharing a match to light their cigarettes did not seem to be a friendly party. After traveling down some damper and darker alleys, they finally arrived at the backdoor of one of the impressive buildings they had passed earlier in their trip.

Lucignolo produced a key and unlocked the door, the faded pink star on the inside reading 'Stage Crew Entrance Only'. Lucignolo headed left behind a part in the thick velvet curtain, disappearing into the darkness.

"Luci-" Hughes was cut off as Eugenio squeezed his hand tightly and pulled him in the opposite direction.

"This way, we aren't supposed to be back here," He explained, his soft voice shaking slightly as the two walked quietly behind rows of curtains and racks of outfits. They came out below the stage, rows of empty seats before them as the dim lights of the theater brightened. On the stage directions were being shouted, accompanied by Aerugian curses and slurs.

Eugenio kept to the wall, Hughes in tow. The former soldier felt anxiety creep up his spine as they tread upon the carpeted floor, heads low and eyes peeled for any sign of the enemy. He barely noticed the dark haired boy turn into a stairwell.

"Signore," The whisper breathed on his shoulder, startling Hughes from his trance. Muscles contracted, fists clenched, and he felt prepared to kill the boy for just a split second. Luckily for both of them, Hughes regained his composure at the sight of Eugenio's toothy smile. "Up here,"

The two crept up the stairs, each wooden step creaking and groaning from years of use. The two finally came upon the nosebleed section, the balcony perched high above the auditorium's regular seating, yet far from reaching the building's domed ceiling. Hughes was self conscious at first, his own breathing magnified by the building's acoustics, but it was luckily drowned out by the chatter on stage.

Suddenly the stage hushed, and the people on it scurried behind the curtains, like ants from a magnifying glass. People began to file in, their gowns and suits making them appear to flit like gleeful butterflies from seat to seat before settling on the red velvet recliner of their fancy.

A few people climbed the stairs to their section, not paying the pair of severely under dressed viewers any attention. A woman wearing a deep violet dress with a pale, glittering shawl sat behind them with her escort of two red suited men. A couple, both with faces creased by time, wore complimentary gold and white outfits.

Time went by, and more and more colorful pairs settled below. Hughes was beginning to get restless. Had his morning been going according to plan, he would be alone in his room, by himself. Here he felt overwhelmed, as though the eyes behind the binoculars were all peering up at him, scrutinizing him-

The theater was drenched in darkness, and for a moment the violet eyes from the dream flickered in the corner of his vision. Panic rose in his throat, as did a cry of fear.

"Shh, it's starting," Eugenio whispered as light returned to the room, the stage dimly illuminated by cold blue lights. Hughes was at least glad the boy was blissfully unable to sense his momentary panic. "Here," The boy offered, though Hughes could not see what. He took it in his hands and held it in front of his face. A pair of binoculars.

The stage was white, fake snow falling from above to dust the scenery with a blueish tint. A few trees flanked either side of the stage, with some lumps he could only assume were meant to be boulders. The background, a deep blue diamond studded night sky held no moon, only filled by pinprick stars. A fence ran along the back of the stage, the gnarled wrought iron appearing to be a formidable barrier for the lone actress on the stage.

Her outfit was lined with shining black feathers, trailing behind her and covering her hips, but revealing long slender legs clad in white makeup. The rest of the outfit continued across her breast and up her neck to frame her face, leaving her toned, painted abdomen bare. Her eyes were lined with thick black makeup, and her features were accented such that her nose appeared hooked.

She took a few steps across the stage, the audience silent as she began to sing, her voice resonating at a frequency that Hughes felt in his bones.

"Tanto tempo fa,

Un uccello fatale nome,"*

The sound vibrated through his chest, and an ache became even more apparent. He was beginning to feel sick, he took short, fast breaths.

"Incrocio in volo la freccia di un

Arciere,"*

Hughes leaned back in his seat, setting the binoculars down. He rubbed his temples and looked that the floor boards in front of him. In his peripheral vision, the lady was lifted into the air, still singing in that same sickeningly beautiful tone.

"Per anni, pensando di essere.

Inseguita,

Scappo dalla freccia,"*

His eyelids felt heavy, and a new weight was added to his limbs. The sickness was gone, and it was replaced by a peace he hadn't felt in weeks. Hughes felt as though he could just close his eyes and listen to that voice and not have to worry about what he would do the next day, or the day after that, and so on, so long as he could just listen too that voice.

"Perche non affronti il pericolo?"

The voice faded from his hearing, and he fell asleep. Eugenio listened to the song until it ended, aware of his companion's unconsciousness. The scene began to change, and Eugenio got to work.

The nosebleed section was darker than the seats below, the already insufficient lighting completely disabled by Lucignolo the day before. This made Eugenio's job much easier despite the other 'customers' seated mere feet behind him.

He slipped the wallet from Hughes' pockets with the ease of practice over the years. It wasn't entirely necessary for Antonio to slip his 'secret ingredient' into the man's coffee that morning, but it helped ease Eugenio's nerves. He hated this part of the job.

With the intermission a mere scene away, Eugenio, and the wallets and jewels from the other viewers too immersed in the opera to notice, took his cue to travel quietly down the stairs. He stretched his legs, and walked back to the stage, slipping out the backdoor. Lucignolo was waiting.

"Don't make that face," The older boy said, taking the bracelets from his younger sibling and shoving them into his pockets. Eugenio handed one of the wallets to Lucignolo, and began flipping through "Signore Ippolito's" wallet.

"Just a few liras, they notice if you take more," Lucignolo reminded, pulling a few pieces of currency from the wallet. Eugenio hadn't taken any, and continued to stare at the wallet. "Hurry, before intermission starts," He took the wallet from his younger brother, and pulled out the money, a slip of paper falling out of the wallet. Eugenio caught it, and ran his fingers over the image.

"What is it?" Lucignolo furrowed his brow at the sight of his brother's hesitation. The picture was stained by a few drops of old, rusted blood, but the image was identifiable. A man in a long sleeved black sift stood behind his wife and daughter, smiles plastered across their faces. The child couldn't have been older than five, her chubby hands outstretched toward the camera. The woman held her child, who bore a striking resemblance to her mother. A smiling Signore Ippolito, presumably with his wife and child.

Lucignolo sighed, and handed the picture back to Eugenio. He still took a few liras from the wallet, but his sly hand was easily missed by Eugenio, who was too absorbed by the picture.

"Do you think he's a soldier?" Eugenio asked his brother as they returned to the labyrinth of black curtains behind the stage.

"If he was," Lucignolo responded, handing the wallets back to his little brother, "Why isn't he fighting in the war?"

"Maybe he's on leave, like you and Papa,"

"Why stay in Melampo if he has a family like this?" Lucignolo gave his brother a gentle shove towards the stage exit. Intermission would start, and the viewers would be needing their wallets to purchase refreshments. Terror struck his heart as he watched his brother silently slip into the darkness, and he realized the photo was still clenched between his fingers.

Hughes awoke to find a cold glass of water in his hand, and the theater brightly lit but empty.

"Did you like it?" Eugenio asked, popping into view. Once more Hughes had to restrain himself from strangling the child.

"Yes, it was bellisima," Hughes said with forced enthusiasm, putting his little knowledge of the Aerugian language to good use. Eugenio wrinkled his nose with a smile.

"Too bad you missed most of it," Hughes felt some heat rise to his cheeks at the acknowledgement of his catnap, embarrassment creeping up his throat. "It's okay! The theater is a very relaxing place, I'm glad you took advantage of it," The boy leaned over the railing looking down on the clean up of the stage below. "Maybe you can come later and see the evening performance?"

"Maybe another day, Eugenio," Lucignolo spoke up, emerging from the stair case. "I think we've terrorized Signore Ippolito enough for one day," Hughes smiled in agreement, he couldn't wait to return to his room. "Come on, they're going to notice if we leave any later,"

Once more Hughes found himself being led by the red head through the crowded streets of Melampo, though the energy of the people seemed to have slowed down as the early evening rolled around. The air was pleasantly cool, but warmer than the Amestrian nights he remembered. Already the sky was streaked with violets and oranges, the strips of clouds colored by the setting sun.

They soon arrived on a familiar street, the hanging sign for the cafe in sight.

"I take it you know your way back from here?" Lucignolo asked, his voice teasing as they approached the cafe.

"Yes, thank you," Hughes said, turning to leave. He wanted to thank the two for the distraction, but the words would not articulate.

"Hey, you haven't eaten all day, let Alidora make you something to take home!" Eugenio piped up, interrupting Hughes' focus.

"No, no, no, you've already-"

"Just a soup or something! You could take it home if you'd like," The boy continued, steering Hughes away from his apartment and back to the cafe. His hand traveled to the man's pocket, searching for the cool metal touch of a key. Unfortunately, none could be found, and he was forced to retract himself as Hughes entered the cafe.

Eugenio turned his pleading eyes to Lucignolo, but he was not worried about their predicament. A woman quickly approached the two, dark hair done up in a tight bun. Her oversized coat covered a scantily clad body, the framework of a racy costume the only clothes on her athletic frame. Her pale face was speckled with the remnants of makeup, but freckles peeked from beneath the concealer.

"Luci-" Lucignolo hugged the woman tightly, hand slipping the photograph into her pocket as they shared a quick kiss before the woman hurried toward the apartment building across the street.

"Marni's got it covered," He said, jerking a thumb in the woman's general direction.

"But the door-" Lucignolo wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder and laughed a little bit.

"She's been keeping an eye on him for the past few weeks, he never locks his door and takes everything with him, or hides it pretty damn well," Eugenio was still not comforted.

"What if he notices it's missing? Or knows he didn't drop it or something," The bell jingled as the door to the cafe opened, and the two immediately put on masks of contentment and assumed their usual unworried manner.

"Relax, I'm sure Antonio won't insist on cooking for the poor man after that horrible coffee!" Lucignolo said with laugh as their customer exited the building. "A domani, Signore Ippolito, and buona sera,"

Hughes blinked a few times, piecing together the foreign language.

"Ah, yes, buona sera to you as well," He managed, heading across the street in hopes of avoiding further interaction with anyone else that evening.

"Ciao, ciao Signore!" Eugenio followed up, not seeing the perplexed look that came upon Hughes' face at the odd words. The dark haired sibling looked to Lucignolo as they entered the cafe, the little bell ringing. "He's weird,"

Hughes sighed as he entered his apartment, the building only containing the slightest whiff of smoke. Pulling the key from its place among his dog tags, he locked the door, and slid the bolt lock shut as well. Better safe than sorry, especially after such an adventurous day. He might even get decent sleep that night.

Hughes sat on his bed, greedily eating the lentil soup. It was wholesome and filling, though he yearned for Gracia's cooking. That was something no soup or coffee could fill, there would always be something just slightly off, some difference in spices or brewing time that would not allow Melampo to be just a little like Central. Still, it was good, warm soup, and so he ate it with gusto, savoring every bite.

He set the empty ceramic bowl on the nightstand, the lamp reflecting off the blue coloring to shade the room in an azure hue. With a stretch, Hughes laid down on his bed, and reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He did not want to count how mush he would have to repay the Colombo's the next morning, but instead reached for the piece of home he had taken with him.

It was missing. Panic rose in his chest as he got up and began to search the room. Under the sheets? Just outside the doorway? On the nightstand? The picture was nowhere to be found. His breathing quickened as he frantically searched every inch of the room repeatedly, looking for the image. In his rush, he knocked over the bowl, and the ceramic shattered on the hardwood floor.

Relief came over him like a wave, the photograph hidden beneath the bowl. He held it in his hands as he sank to the ground next to the bed, ignoring the shards of glass that cracked beneath his feet and decorated the floor like large snowflakes. Hughes stared at the image for a moment, running his fingers over it to remind himself it was still there. With another deep sigh, he closed his eyes and held the photo to his head.

He would deal with the mess in the morning. In the room across, the soft singing of the woman from the morning earlier drifted through the thin walls of the apartment, her voice a familiar sweetness.

"Nessun dorma,

Nessun dorma,

o Principessa..."**

*A reference to Repo! The Genetic Opera, and Blind Mag’s song, Chromaggia, was originally sung by Sarah Brightman for the film. 

** A reference to 'Nessun Dorma' written by Giacomo Puccini, Giuseppe Adami, and Renato Simoni. It's the last aria in the lovely opera 'Turnadot' (not related to any other references in this chapter).

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Bonus Chapter 1

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: Takes place during chapter 9

To be blunt, Truth was not fond of crossing through the Gate into the human realm. It was exhausting, painful, and most importantly time consuming. Truth had grown aware of the passage of time during its brief, flickering moments with the creature the girl referred to as 'Lucha'. Time frightened the timeless being, as swaths of its knowledge were hidden even from Truth itself. Truth's knowledge of how time effected it being one of those missing pieces of its intelligence. This was not to say that Truth was not all knowing, for in the Gate there lay a vast wealth of this wisdom was held. It was simply impossible for a being, even one such as Truth that was composed of pure energy, to contain the entirety of that awareness. And this gap in knowledge made Truth afraid.

Despite this, there was a need for it to be present in the girl's life, as a foreign entity such as herself possessed knowledge beyond what Truth had revealed to the humans in its domain. The girl was strange. She had no recollection of how she came into existence in Truth's realm, and in turn, Truth could not probe her mind to see her memories. This unnerved the powerful being, as she imposed a great imbalance of energy between the many universes that lay beyond Truth's own. The child also had an understanding of concepts and theories not yet even comprehensible to the humans on the other side of the Gate, making her knowledge dangerous to the stability of the countries throughout the land. Even more a threat was her knowledge of future events. Truth had spent its entire life constructing a seamless timeline for the humans under its guidance to follow, and much of that timeline was still unknown to Truth itself. Yet the girl foresaw decisions of freewill that the Truth could not predict, and she planned to serve as a different influence on their future decisions, thus radically altering Truth's carefully planned out existence of the world.

In an effort to incorporate the girl into a plane of existence she was familiar with to prevent her from causing a severe imbalance on Truth's side of the Gate, it decided to send her to the human world, where it had hoped she would remain oblivious to the set timeline. However, her actions and planning proved her very much aware of the time line, making her a danger to the existence of the entire universe. In an effort to curtail her meddling, Truth first crossed that Gate to posses her companion, a small, fluffy creature with a very short attention span and little energy to compensate for in the exchange across the Gate. The first attempt was the most difficult for Truth to approach - never in its conscious existence had it ever cross the Gate or interacted with the physical world of the humans. Thus, the first attempt was slow to occur, resulting in Lucha's declined health and eventual possession. This first possession proved fruitless, the girl not understanding Truth's presence. The second was unintentional, as the exit of a human soul from earth during Truth's return to the Gate forced it to posses the creature and allow the soul passage.

Now the girl proved an even greater threat than before, as the time requiring her action approached. The companion animal's energy had simply dissipated from the world, making the vessel invisible to Truth. This meant that there was only one option left - the girl herself. Truth was not completely adverse to the idea - it merely proved another challenge to its knowledge. However, the prospect of using enough energy to force her soul from her body and to possess the vessel without damage to the balance was a daunting task. The transaction took time, and Truth would be unable to communicate with the girl whilst her soul was in the Gate and access to her memories would still be limited.

Nevertheless, it was risk that needed to be taken if the timeline was to be preserved, though Truth for once had no idea how to stop the impossible situation of the girl known as Irish from impacting the lives of the humans under its watchful eye.

For Truth, 'waking' in the body of a human was quite different than possessing an animal. After the ordeal of exchanging a portion of its consciousness for the human's soul, there was the matter of possessing the body, which was normally not too difficult considering Truth took a humanoid form regularly. The action of gaining full control of the body was another story. There were so many nerves and internal functions that had to be taken into account in order to keep the host alive, not to mention the hippocampus was a major problem for some reason. Truth could not understand why the nerves stopped firing when it came into contact with the small organ, and no matter how hard it tried, the nerves stayed still, as if in a stasis. Truth took into review the organ's functions: long term memory, spacial navigation, and a smaller role in emotions. That portion of the brain being in a stasis would not prove a problem, considering the spacial navigation could easily be overcome by Truth's knowledge of the world around it.

Moving on, as it would be quite dull to discuss every little nerve ending Truth had to adjust to in the vessel it was possessing, Truth finally managed to operate the girl's eyes, opening them together then one at a time to test the mechanism. Luckily it seemed involuntary actions such as blinking and breathing were still being regulated by the medulla and brain stem, so Truth wasted little time concerning itself with how the body automatically yawned in response to Truth's possession of it. The task of correcting the girl's posture was not too difficult, though it took Truth a moment to ponder why and how she managed to fall asleep in the chair despite the perfectly good bed nearby. Of course that assumption was made from Truth's observation that humans tended to sleep on mats or squishy things instead of the hard ground. Unable to comprehend that need or longing, Truth ignored the ability of humans to sleep nearly anywhere they could.

Another reason why the girl had not taken to the bed instead of the chair was the other human lying in it. Truth was aware that two humans lying on the same sleeping material together often incited courtship and mating, but it was also aware that unlike most animals, humans seemed to prefer a more emotional connection prior to sharing bedding with another. It was quite strange, the possessiveness humans had of their bedding - was it truly that precious of a commodity? Or was it an inbred greed for comfort? Though curious, Truth ignored those thoughts turning instead to the action of standing. Its first attempt was clumsy and complicated by gravity, which caused the form to nearly crumple to the ground, but was it saved by the chair. This was a problem for Truth, as it never had to compensate for a gravity it did not control. Thankfully, the girl's muscles seemed used to the pressure and strong enough to properly support her weight, allowing Truth to get wobbly to its host's small, slender feet.

Truth stood there and waited to move. And it waited, and waited, and waited, until it realized it had not moved at all. Searching its memory, Truth realized that humans did not have the capability to will themselves into motion, and instead had to constantly struggled against opposite and opposing forces in order to move and simply exist. Truth decided that it would not spend very long possessing the girl, as all of the friction fighting her existence must have been exhausting. Noting the thick layers of muscle along the girl's legs, Truth tested contracting and releasing them, which proved to produce a result similar to the 'walking' it had observed humans doing to fight the crushing gravity. The being set the vessel's foot on the ground in front of it, and then tried to take a step. Truth discovered yet another difficulty - it had forgotten to transfer the girl's weight gradually to the other foot before fighting against the atmospheric pressure. Face down on the hospital floor, Truth realized this was going to be harder than it looked.

Slowly getting back to its feet, Truth finally got the hang of walking just before a female human entered the room. Truth avoided looking at the woman, focusing too much on putting one foot in front of the other without crashing to the floor again.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The nurse asked, watching Truth stumble as if its host was drunk.

"M'fine," It slurred, the complex vocal system difficult to control. The nurse watched with a furrowed brow as the girl walked into the door frame before giving a sigh of laughter. "There's a door 'ere." Truth mental chided itself for sounding so unintelligent - of course there was a door there! The spacial navigation aid the hippocampus provided would have been useful, but it seemed Truth had to get along without it.

Truth soon discovered a stair well that led both downward and upward. Recalling the view from a window it had seen in the hospital room earlier, Truth decided to descend down the stairs in hopes of discovering an exit to the building. The first step was a failure, the host missing it by a few inches and falling few steps before Truth could manipulate her arms to grab hold of the banister. Truth was so done with physics right then, but the sounds of approaching footsteps spurred it to stand up straight instead of leaving the host girl clinging to the railing for dear life. Another woman wearing a white uniform similar to the one the human from earlier donned in the hospital room walked past, giving a concerned glance but said nothing as she continued her decent.

After a few trial and error tests with the new perception with the lack of spacial navigation, Truth somehow managed to get the girl down the stairs and to an exit. It walked by the front desk, where a mousy woman peered over a stack of files.

"Miss, are you alright?" The lady asked, her chair squeaking as she stood to see the girl better. Her head swung from shoulder to shoulder, and her thin legs trembled as if she were about to collapse. The girl staggered a few steps before holding up a shaking finger, her half lidded eyes showing a pale violet laced with red.

"I-" The girl hiccuped, Truth cursing the involuntary action before continuing the statement. "Am fine," The woman at the front desk simply stared as Truth forced its vessel to stumble as quickly as it could out the door.

Truth knew exactly where the girl's dwelling place was, as it was Truth after all. It sluggishly made its way to the little apartment, ignoring the odd stares and occasional murmurs of passing police officers. Truth knew its form was bound to appear odd, but even it was becoming conscious of the way the girl's body stumbled and swayed, the being possessing it unused to the several different functions it was responsible for.

At the door of the apartment, Truth listened to the sounds on the other side. Giggling, laughter, and some rather cult-like chanting. Truth knew humans had odd traditions, but what it saw when it opened the door a crack surprised even it. Gathered around a flaming food item in a dark room, the humans huddled together singing the haunting song.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Elicia, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Elicia!" The group sang in tandem, the younger humans laughing and trying to remain focused despite the obviously envied baked item sitting just feet away from their mouths. It often impressed Truth how well humans could restrain their natural impulses for the sake of their 'humanity'. It was odd, but amusing. A small female human right in front of the cake was doing her best not to lick the icing, but at the end of the song, she drew a deep breath and inefficiently managed to blow out the three flaming candles on the cake. Clapping ensued.

The group of humans dispersed throughout the room slowly, gradually collecting a slice of cake. Truth avoided being handed one of the delicate ceramic plates, as its host was barely able to walk without being crushed by physics.

"Irish!" A happy voice exclaimed, an arm suddenly wrapped around Truth's shoulders. "You finally decided to show up, what took you so long? Oh, it was that boy wasn't it? I'll just have to give him a piece of my mind - hey, you feeling alright Mac?" Truth was flustered by the rush of words from the man. Clearly its host - Irish or Mac? - knew this individual well for such intimacy such as mate choice to be discussed during a casual meeting.

"I am well," Truth stated, the words flowing a bit more cohesively with all of the practice it had put in during its trek to the apartment. "I am...confused. What is all of this?" The man - Truth quickly recalled it was Maes Hughes, its host's target in her scheming - shot a surprised glance in Truth's direction.

"It's Elicia's third birthday! You spent almost the whole week helping Gracia get ready, remember?" The end of that sentence was stated with concern, Truth immediately noting an impending awkward situation.

"Ah, right. Where I am from...birthdays are not celebrated like this." Truth clumsily explained, looking about the crowded room for an escape from the conversation. Maes Hughes furrowed his brow and towered over Truth's host, looking intently into its eyes. Truth had pushed the knowledge of its host's new features into the back of its memory, as keeping her upright and the possession lucid was a difficult task.

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking or somethi-"

"Daddy! Daddy!" The young female human from the table called, rushing up to Maes Hughes and wrapping her arms around his leg. "Mike and Timmy both wanna play with me! But Timmy wants to play trucks and Mike wants to play the lava game..." She pouted, her father immediately scooping her up in his arms before setting her down and walking over to where the two boys had engaged in a heated battle of hand symbols. Truth was relieved for the lack of attention, and used the lacking spotlight to walk around the bustling relatives and slowly made its way to a hallway that seemed to lead to a set of doors. Truth referred to its observations to recall Irish's preferred bedding and sleeping quarters, an easy feat for a nearly omniscient being.

The hallway was nearly within reach, the only obstacle being that Maes Hughes seating in a chair nearby talking with another girl who had his daughter on her lap. Truth managed to sneak behind a cabinet filled with dishes and silverware, when the dialogue between Maes Hughes and the other girl - Winry Rockbell - caught its attention. They spoke of emotions and the opposite sex's perception of the resulting actions and absent words coming from those emotions, such as pain. Truth enjoyed eavesdropping on this conversation, as it gave some depth to the flat and cynical point of view Truth had on the lowly creatures.

The seriousness of the scene ceased, Elicia asking to be set down to play with some young male humans. They began to fight over who got to play with her, as was the case earlier that allowed Truth to escape from its own conversation. Maes Hughes suddenly stood, pistol drawn from his belt and cocked it, though from the hollow sound it most likely was not loaded.

"Alright boys, you try anything with my daughter, and you will answer to me," He growled, though Truth could detect some jest in that statement. Winry Rockbell stood, accusing his actions of speaking too loudly. Truth made a note of Maes' protectiveness of his offspring, and scrutiny of her possible future mates. Human behavior was such a strange and wonderful exposition.

"Big sister Mac," Truth jumped, the innocent voice of the child shocking it from its observation. The boys had been frightened off by her father, the girl instead deciding to seek out another play mate. Of course, that happened to be a possessed Irish.

"Can you play with me? Please?" Despite Truth's clouded judgement of the phrase 'play', it gave an unsure nod before being led away by the hand. Truth had to stoop partially so that the short human could keep her death grip on its host's hand.

Truth'a concept of 'play' was quite different from Elicia's definition. From Truth's perspective, 'play' was usually a physical encounter that prepared the young for future struggles, such as competition for a mate, or attacking prey. Elicia, however, was intent on engaging in a more psychological form of this concept, in which Truth was supposed to imagine impossible scenarios - something the logical entity found quite difficult. But, Elicia was steadfast in her decision to imagine Truth's female host as a knight while the young female child imagined herself as a princess.

"But Elicia Hughes, historically, females in this area did not participate in society as any major political influence, and were never officially knighted-"

"Big sister Mac! Save me from the evil dragons!" The child shrieked, running away from the boys who had not gotten Maes' earlier warning. Truth internally sighed, moving its host so that her arms blocked their path to the small female child.

"Rawr!" They growled, one of them falling to the ground with a hand clutched to his chest. "The knight of Princess Elicia has struck me down! May my brothers succeed where I have failed!" Truth recognized the boy vaguely from its view into the future. He had the makings of a great epic writer in him.

"Present time!" Gracia Hughes called, all of the children becoming alert and standing very still to listen before racing out of Elicia's room to see...whatever it was. Present time? As in their perception of time as it passed relative to their consciousness? Truth could not be sure, and was most certain they did not gather to observe the passage of time. Suddenly reminded of the passage of time, Truth picked up one of the play mirrors the child owned. It wanted to observe if there had been any severe physical repercussions to its host by this passage of time for the both her body and Truth.

The image reflected in the mirror was horrible. Her hair was whitened, and her skin pale as the void itself. Had its host really aged so much? This startling revelation was interrupted by laughter in the kitchen, bringing Truth back to focusing on the 'present time' statement. Truth glanced back at the mirror, and realized it had panicked over nothing. It had ignored their previous exchange by accident, and overlooked the details of the deal. Of course her hair and skin would be pale, the deal had been an exchange of transportation and knowledge for her melanin. The constant flow of knowledge through Truth's consciousness could be quite confusing at times.

The 'present time' situation was more complicated than Truth had anticipated as it pushed its thoughts of creating a more efficient storage of memories for itself. Elicia was tearing through colorful paper wrapped around boxes with ribbons added for what Truth could only assume was aesthetic pleasure. Though however befuddled it was to the mechanism of wrapping...whatever it was only to destroy the wrapping to reveal it. Perhaps some satisfaction came from the 'discovery' of the gift. Truth hung close to the back of the crowd, observing many different items be removed from boxes and colorful paper. Eventually the crowd dispersed, and Truth was left almost alone with the young female child.

"Look! Look! Big sister Mac, look!" Elicia Hughes ran up to Truth's host, a dress held up to the girl's small frame. It was pink, as were most items the girl owned. "Look at this pretty dress mommy gave me, don't you like it?" Truth was confused, more than usual. Present? Gave? Where was the exchange? Did most humans have only a vague grasp of equivalent exchange?

"I...like it," Truth said slowly, looking for an escape to think over the new information. "Why would she give it to you? What have you done for her?" This also confused Elicia.

"Uh, it's my birthday! People give you presents on your birthday, silly!" Truth understood a little bit better. Presents were physical objects given without a return to the giving party. This made little sense to Truth's complex thought process, but it disregarded this gift giving occurrence as human ignorance to universal laws, as per the norm.

"Oh, of course," Truth said, locating the door quickly. "I must leave now, please alert your parental guardian of my exit if you see fit," Elicia stood there, head tilted to the side brow furrowed and eyes concerned as her close friend exited without another word.

Truth was beginning to feel tired, the drag of the ether beginning to catch up with the entity and its host. All but falling down the stairs and through the front door of the complex, the host clumsily navigated the darkening streets. A soldier and her partner approached.

"Sir, are you intoxicated?" She inquired, to which Truth gave no answer. Clearly its host was merely exhausted, not drunken. "Sir-" The woman stopped after forcefully turning Truth's host to face her. Truth had unintentionally brought its host's hands up in defense, but due to its failing perception of space and, in effect, timing, got the position of the hands incorrect. Instead of facing outward, they were placed upon her own breasts.

Though the officer immediately spluttered a mortified apology and quickly sped off, Truth was more interested in the small, swollen mammary glands. They were so squishy and soft. Almost comforting and familiar. After what would be, in hindsight, an embarrassing few moments of groping its host, Truth continued on its way to the hospital. Its host barely in sync with Truth's energy, it quickly abandoned her in the same uncomfortable chair position she was found in.

Truth drifted back to the Gate, content with the information it had gathered and the stimulation it had experienced. Creepy and freaky as always.

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 12

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

The next week sped by in a blur, every little inconvenience bringing tears to my eyes. I literally cried over spilled milk. Twice. But, despite the heavy cloud hanging over my head, I had made some headway in my plans. With Gracia, I visited the bank, and relearned the process of making a withdrawal, the banking system quite similar to the one back in my world.

However, on Friday, when I was officially declared well enough to be without crutches and had my stitches removed, was the day of Miss. Reich's funeral. The wake would be held in a funeral home on the other side of the local cemetery.

I didn't tell Camilla or Gracia where I was going, but from my black dress that the Fuhrer had given me and the thin shawl over my shoulders, they could have easily guessed.

The walk felt much longer than it had previously, the hot sun making the stiff black clothes unbearable. My mind drifted to the idea of the wake. Would there be a priest? Would there be a lot of family there? Would I even be allowed to attend? I thought about the last funeral I had attended in my world.

It had been for the old German spinster who lived across the street from us. Me and my siblings always called her Omama. She was strict and would always yell at us for trampling her tulips or letting the chickens free range on her lawn, but the old woman had a softer side.

We would go over to her houseafter finishing our school work to eat some of her famous spritzkuchen, which were like doughnuts. She would help us with our Latin homework, or at least she tried to, her explanations wandering into German. Omama was single, and was the youngest in her family that came to America. All of her siblings had died, and despite her snappiness and angry grumbles, our family had become hers.

My mother had known her when she was younger, and even then my mother would bring her boyfriend of the month over and eat popcorn and watch a movie. Afterwards Omama would take one last look at the guy, and tell my mom he wasn't the right one. My dad was one of those guys, but I think that was the only time Omama was ever wrong about something. Or at least the only time that I know of.

Her funeral had been about a year before I left my world. It was unexpected, or at least as unexpected as the death of a 104 year old woman living alone could be. Ironically, I wasn't even that sad. All I could think about at the wake was all the New Year's Eves spent huddled around her little tube television with a mouthful of popcorn, and all the times she threatened to cook up one of the chickens for eating her tomato garden.

But this wake was going to be very different, judging by Hughes' funeral. It would most likely be curt, professional, and silent. Though I still blamed myself for what happened, some of those self loathing feelings had ebbed. Perhaps she and Albert were destined to die. Maybe someone else had died, somewhere far away, and maybe their death's were simple coincidence.

Somewhere my subconscious dismissed those thoughts as wishful thinking, but they gave me some relief from the weight on my conscience.

The funeral home was small, with vines growing up the brick and mortar sides. There were a few cars and buggies parked haphazardly on the road in front of it. I was frozen standing at the steps, the questions returning.

Just as I was about to turn away, social anxiety clawing at my insides to go back to the apartment, the door creaked open. A man stepped out, a freshly lit cigar between his lips. He wore a top hat and suit reminiscent of one you would imagine in a Jane Austen novel. He had dark hair, by evidence of his twitching black mustache. His eyes stood out the most: bright, clear, blue eyes. Blue eyes that were staring at me.

The man blew a puff of smoke, motioning with the cigar in his hand.

"Ye can go in y'know," The man said, his accent strange compared to the clear and enunciated speech of most Amestrians to which I had spoken. Now that I thought about it, Amestris had almost no variety of dialects, at least not in Central. I suppressed a smile, recalling my cousin Morgan's conclusion that, 'You Nutmeggers have an accent - the accent of not having a damn accent' the same could be said about Central. No slurred consonants, emphasized vowels, or abbreviated words - they spoke as if they were reading from a dictionary.

"Hey, ye okay lass?" The man's gruff voice stirred me from the brief moment of thought. I nodded numbly, all of my fears and sorrow regarding the wake dissipated. I had attended at least a hundred funerals in my time (related to old age and illness, though I believe there may have been a car crash or two in my extended family at some point). This one would be no different. This would be executed with the same solemn, collected, finality that Hughes' funeral had, and I would be just fine with that.

I stepped inside the quaint building, greeted by the homey, slightly smokey scent of the funeral home. Seeing a guest, book, I approached and read the names.

Reich...Reich...Reich...

All family, except for me. I scribbled my cursive name and followed the faint sounds of voices. Everything was strangely muted, my own breathing and uneven steps muffled by the carpeted floor and atmosphere of the hallway. I soon found a small room filled with people who stood in groups of three or four, mumbling quietly to each other.

Suddenly feeling unwelcome, I turned to leave but found my feet unwilling. I had to go in there.

I took a deep breath, and took a few steps into the room. No one even noticed me.

'Finally,' I thought, maneuvering between groups. 'My wish to become invisible had been granted,' At last I was beside the raised casket, the top portioned opened to reveal the body inside. I swallowed a lump in my throat at the sight of her. She looked so peaceful, as if she were asleep, but her stillness was too unnatural and broke the illusion.

Unlike the wakes I had attended previously, there was no kneeler for me to say a few prayers on, not that I was capable of doing so without rekindling the pain in my side. I stood there quietly for a moment, my hands folded before myself for a few whispered prayers. When I finished, I felt the urge to turn and run, before the crowds noticed my presence.

Stronger than that urge was the habit of tradition. I brought my hands to my neck and undid the clasp of my mother's golden necklace, the attached rosary and earring clinking quietly as I lifted it from my chest and laid it in the coffin beside Mrs. Reich.

It was a tradition of my family to put a small token of oneself in the coffin. Some caskets would be stuffed with books and wine glasses, other bedazzled with jewelry and small statues. I considered Mrs. Reich to be one of the few people I knew as family in this world, so the gift was justified. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I weaved my way back to hallway.

Stepping softly back into the warmth of the city, but the bright sunlight seemed colder now. I was not going to sit through the funeral, however brief it may have been, just to be alone in a crowd.

Back at the apartment, all was quiet. It seemed the Grace, Camila, and Elicia had gone out for the day, leaving me to my schemes. I limped to my bedroom, exhausted by the long walk. Stripping off the dress, I threw on a loose blouse and some comfortable pants before getting to work. I changed the sheets on my bed, neatly folding every corner, before emptying every drawer and packing it into the bag I had been given.

Once satisfied with my choice in attire, I closed the bag and hefted it onto my shoulder and exited the room. I stood in the hallway for a moment, wondering what I was doing before shaking myself from the doubts and heading to the door.

Quickly placing on the table a previously composed note expressing my wishes to leave, I left the apartment. I moved robotically, I can barely remember even leaving the apartment. My thoughts were elsewhere, wandering the expanse of my life that had led to this cowardice.

That's right, I was a coward. I was just running away from these people and this place. And I was just fine with that. I wasn't even supposed to be here, let alone involve myself in the lives of the people here. It wasn't my place to play God and decide who lived and died, and as of late, I no longer had any power in such matters. And that was okay.

I continued walking until I found the bank, keeping my eyes low as I withdrew some money from my account, receiving hostile glares and suspicion from the teller. I then realized I wasn't wearing a hat, and that I must have appeared mightily foreign to the teller. I didn't care. They couldn't get me arrested for taking money from my account. Well, maybe they could call the police, but what harm would that do? I gathered up the cenz and paper money and threw it into my bag before strutting arrogantly from the bank. I didn't care what they thought.

Night was falling as I made my way farther from the center of the city, the dilapidated flats and closed store buildings becoming more sinister as darkness fell. The lights here were not electric, and it seemed only a few had been lit out of necessity. The exhaustion from the day was making me weary, but the dark alleys and the less than pleasant looking residents of the slum were enough to keep me from lying down in a side street to rest. Still, I needed somewhere to sleep for the night, and I wasn't about to risk any of the parasites or diseases that lurked in the apartment buildings.

So I continued walking towards my destination. I was tired, yes, but fear is a damn good motivator. And currently, I was quite afraid. Afraid of the man who has been walking behind me for a few blocks now, afraid of the prospect of sleeping in some alleyway, afraid of sleeping without a weapon - there was plenty to fear on a night like that.

The man following me was my greatest concern in that moment, his dark silhouette barely illuminated by the flickering streetlamps. I had walked around a block a few times to make sure I wasn't being paranoid, but the figure was definitely stalking me.

It was unnerving, especially considering the only weapon I had was probably in a plastic evidence bag somewhere in Central Command. I guess I could have grabbed a kitchen knife, but it would be too awkward to carry around, and butcher's knives didn't have a handle to keep you from cutting yourself if your hand slid forward. I had no other choice except to keep moving. I could sleep when I inevitably died.

The footsteps disappeared into one of the dilapidated buildings, but my anxiety did not let up.

The slums gave way to the outer ring of the city, populated by the tents and shacks of the homeless. A few fires burned here, the only source of light in the dreary landscape. Most of these fires were encircled by cloaked figures, their tired red eyes trained on the flames and their dark lips speaking in hushed whispers. I kept to the path, but avoided these areas. I may have trusted them in the day, but night made it difficult to discern friend from foe. I doubted even my likeness to the Ishvalans would grant me automatic acceptance in these dark outer limits of the city.

The pathway I walked on was raised above the haphazardly constructed shacks, which sat in low ditches carved into the sandy earth. The path would branch into grids that outlined the square ditches. I imagine that it must have looked like some complex computer chip from the air, with the scrap metal rooves reflecting the silver light of the stars and the fires pin pricks of gold.

I continued walking until I came upon an abandoned fire, the red embers still giving off enough light to be seen from my distance. I began walking towards the dim light, the secondary pathway narrow and ill defined from its surrounding ditches. I somehow managed to maneuver through the maze of pathways without falling down the steep incline to the shanties below. The people who huddled around the fires watched me with unblinking eyes. I could not tell if curiosity or wariness was the cause of their stares, so I avoided meeting their crimson gazes.

I kept my own maroon eyes fixated on the nearing embers. This ditch was slightly larger than the surrounding campsites, but the hovels were more numerous and smaller. I cautiously slid down the incline, the gravel and sand scraping my hands as gravity pulled me down. All was quiet, with the exception of the muffled crackle of the embers. The faint glow revealed several sleeping forms, and I had to push away the urge to continue walking. I needed to rest for a little while, and the chill of the autumn air was numbing my hands.

Stepping gingerly over the slumbering beings, I crouched by the embers and tried to warm my hands. Using a nearby charcoaled stick, I stirred them to life, and reveled in the heat they gave off. The flickering lights illuminated the sleeping forms to reveal children, who huddled together for warmth. It pulled at my heart strings, seeing their thin shivering forms wrapped in rags. Some bore pale scars on their dark skin, evidence of the cruelty such small children had already endured.

I counted them, noting that there was no one in the huts. In total, I could make out at least sixteen children. I wondered where their parents where for a moment, before the memory of the war resurfaced and I once more felt intense pity for the children. Homeless orphans, from my best guess. I shrugged off my jacket and laid it over a boy who wore only a pair of tattered shorts.

Using my bag as a pillow, I laid my head down and looked at the stars. I could never properly see them in the city, where the glaring lights obscured them from view. Here, however, they were bright and clear, sharply defined against the inky indigo abyss of space. They were not familiar at all. No Ursa Major or Andromeda were visible, the scattered lights uncoordinated with any familiar constellations. Another reminder of how out of place I was. Another reminder of this alien world.

At some point in the night I had drifted off, but only briefly, as the first grey lights of the morning sun startled me awake. Well, more than the light, the rumble of engines woke me. The children from the night before were gone, their shabby blankets missing and the only evidence of their existence being the footprints in the sand. My eyes followed the prints to find that they led to the shacks. Before I could investigate further, a truck rolled to a stop above me.

"Hey!" A voice called, a young Ishvalan waving to me. "You want work?" I thought for a moment. Did I want to go on that truck to who knows where for possible 'work' which could be less than desirable? Not really. Did I want to stay here and wait to be confronted and forced to go somewhere else? No. Creepy truck it was!

I nodded, and picked up me bag.

"You won't be needin' that," The man said, motioning to my satchel. I looked at the huts and sighed. Hopefully the children would know better than to rifle through my things. I walked to the nearest shack and placed my things just inside the 'door' which was no more than a sheet of ragged fabric. I took a quick inventory of my clothes, the pants and loose shirt concealing anything that might dissuade a job offer that involved intense physical labor. My boots would hopefully have enough support to keep my ankles from giving out if this 'work' involved being on my feet all day. It was harvest season after all, and the only land outside of the city that was not modified Hoovervilles was farmland from the looks of it.

I scrambled up the incline to the road, where the truck was waiting. I hopped up onto the bed of the truck where the Ishvalan man clapped a hand on my back.

"So, you're new 'round here I'm guessing," He said with a chuckle as the vehicle roared to life and began sputtering down the narrow path away from the city.

"Yes," I responded quietly, hoping not to sound foreign to the man. "What kind of work are we doing?" I asked softly as the truck slowed to a stop, more Ishvalans boarding the truck. Most were young men, strong and shirtless, but a few women boarded as well, their silver locks tied up in braids to be kept out of their faces.

"The Meyer Farm, nice folks, nothin' you need to worry about," He said, moving over as more people crowded the truck bed. "The work's hard though, sure you up for it? You look a little pale," I ducked my head, forgetting that I had no hat to hide my features, which must have been quite conspicuous even in the dim morning light.

"I can handle it," I responded firmly, though I did not meet his eyes. Perhaps I could handle it, perhaps I could not. My hip was quite sore from the long walk the other day, but the pain was manageable compared to the pain when I first received the injury.

The truck continued its stop and go until we reached the edge of the shantytown and the dry sandy earth faded into ranch land. The man spoke with the other riders in a language I did not recognize, at least from the series, which made me nervous. Perhaps I should have stayed with Gracia.

The vehicle thundered to a stop, shaking my worried from my mind as the people got off the truck and immediately set to work. We had stopped at a small farm house, the faded blue paint peeling to reveal the half rotted wood beneath. I followed the crowd, realizing more trucks full of people where off loading their cargo. I followed the man who had invited me, his broad shoulders cutting a pathway in the crowd for me to follow behind him.

I avoided meeting the prying eyes of the other workers, and focused on the man in front of me. He was young, in his mid twenties at most. But scars where raked across his left shoulder, a peppering of bullets that could have killed had they been a few inches lower. I swallowed involuntarily, looking away from the scar tissue. I kept forgetting that these people lived through a war.

Tailing the man, I collected several baskets, each about half a meter in diameter and in depth.

"What are we picking?" I finally asked as we boarded another truck.

"So he can speak!" Exclaimed one of other workers above the engine, an older man with a neatly combed ashen beard. I gave a nervous smile as they gave a small laugh of amusement at my meek demeanor. "It's sugar beet season son,"

"It's Harvest Day, the boss expects frost tonight. Wouldn't be surprised if we're picking greens today," The man I had followed responded, I listening intently. I had picked sugar beets when I worked on Mr. Solosky's farm back home, but I preferred picking greens. Parsley, basil, cilantro, dill, watercress - Solosky's was mainly a bean farm, but we had small fields of greens where most of the girls worked, simply because it was not as labor intense as corn and cucumber harvesting.

"Naw, there won't be frost, my knee isn't aching like it would if there be frost on the way," The older man replied, patting a knee that was barely held together with sinew and stringy muscle. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from asking why there was no automail to facilitate his walking, which must have been impeded by the war injury.

I looked over the edge of the truck, avoiding the current debate over the connection of body aches and weather predictions. The neat rows of vegetables and vine plants spanned much farther than I had ever worked. Where I normally picked 100 yard rows of tomatoes, there was at least a mile of squash and gourd plants. The other side of the road was lined with golden wheat fields that shivered in the wind.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I reminiscence my own time on a farm. Sure the days were long, the sun was hot, and tomato plant tar never came out, but it paid well, and it was a pretty good learning experience. I had to manage small ragtag teams of workers that varied day to day and coordinate with the boss on what and where and when tasks could be completed. Working the register at markets was the customer service facet of the job, laced with irrational demands and crying, impatient children.

This work seemed different though. It seemed as if today would be filled with more monotonous, repetitive picking and less human interactions, which I was completely fine with. I still was not quite ready to throw myself back into the lives of complete strangers, not yet at least.

The truck rumbled to a stop, and I lifted my head to see an endless sea of green rows. The man whom I would be tailing for the day, I am going to start calling him...Roger, because I know it would be rude to ask an Ishvalan their name for their religious reason and whatnot, beckoned me to follow him. I eagerly kept pace with him as he led me to a row of plants that had the faintest scent of beeswax and freshly cut grass - watercress.

Roger plucked some from the moist earth, the morning dew not yet evaporated.

"Pick it just like this," He said, demonstrating the roots still clotted with earth. He then threw it into the basket, and met my eyes for a moment. "Can you do that?" I nodded and set to work, using both hands to grab handfuls of the herb at a time. Roger walked away, satisfied with my pace and began on his own row.

I was wrapped in nostalgia as I worked, the rhythm to the labor setting in as time drew on and the sun grew hotter. I was falling behind, and it began to irk me as Roger passed me despite starting long after I had begun. For a little while I drove myself harder, trying to work fast enough to keep up with the others, but quickly gave up and returned to my previous pace. I was going to burn myself out trying to work any faster than I already was.

My mind wandered in the simmering heat, the sun seemingly too hot for the chill I had felt just hours ago. I worried about being paid, but could not really care for the money. So long as the Ishvalans didn't kick me out of the little camp, I could make due with sleeping under the strange stars.

Wiping some sweat from my brow without looking up, I thought about the children I had stumbled upon. A worry gnawed inside me that they had gone through my belongings, ripped up my Certificate of Honorary Whatnot, and had spent what little money I had on candy. I was swift to dismiss the thought. I could have some faith in them. Until they proved me wrong.

The sun was high in the sky when I finally noticed why I was so much slower than the other workers. Where I picked all six independent rows of Watercress, they went down one side of their row, collecting only half so as to get the rest on the return trip. I looked down the row, seeing that a small gathering was taking place with the truck. All of the workers had completed their half a row.

I assumed they were resting, the shade from the many trees that bordered the field. I licked my lips, realizing how thirsty I was, but quickly went back to the task at hand. I could drink when I finished, and it would take too much time to walk all the way down there just to drink. And so I kept working, my hands black with fertile earth and blistering from the rough handles of the basket.

Memories of Mr. Solosky's farm returned as I found my rhythm again and got back to work.

I could feel the weight of my jeans as I weaved my way through patches of weeds taller than I was to find the last few rows of wax beans, heavy with fruit and hidden from man and beast alike. Anya, Mr. Soloksy's daughter, in her ankle length skirt and flattering t-shirt hard at work in the wash station with piles of sweet potatoes in the sinks. Vitaly and Vladimir would always joke about who would win my sister's heart, only to be shocked by Mary's disinterest in men, and marriage in general. I found myself smiling at the memory of my meek, shy older sibling coming to Harvest Day bonfire with her first, and admittedly only ever, girlfriend.

It took some time for Roger's voice to register, the hum of my own heartbeat and breathing lulling my into a trance-like state of dogged work.

"Kid, 'ey, you all right?" I looked up, sweat beading on my eyelashes making it difficult to focus on the identity of the speaker. I rubbed my face with my elbow, the sleeve of the blouse coarse against my skin. I met Roger's worried red eyes and nodded confidently. He gave an unconvinced smile and handed me a canteen that looked as if it had fallen out of a WWII movie. "We all gotta drink, don't over work yourself,"

I took the canteen and drank, the water cold and refreshing. I'm not sure if everyone can relate, but I took those long, deep, gulping mouthfuls of water you take when you're in a hurry or have just eaten a ghost pepper sandwich. Smiling sheepishly, I handed the now empty canteen back to the man. Looking around, I realized that an entire crowd of workers were standing behind him. Some watched the exchange intently, others sat in the green grass and talked amongst themselves. I had finished my row entirely.

It took a great amount of effort to keep from throwing my arms in the air and flopping down in the tall grass and taking a victory nap. Instead, I shuffled the heavy basket onto the grass and carefully lowered myself to the ground, knowing the hypnosis of work would fade away, leaving pain and aches behind. At least Roger seemed amused. He, with one hand, easily hefted the near full basket onto the bed of the truck, which had acquired a few barrels of water since I last saw it.

"Well, take a rest for now, you deserve it kid," I took his words to heart, but merely nodded and watched the other workers.

Men and women mingled, but none were treated with disrespect. If anything, the people seemed to have some sort of reverence for each other. The older one was, the more respect they commanded, the deeper the nods, the longer the conversation. It was pretty darn strange to me for some reason, which made watching them as I relaxed for a few moments even stranger.

Most of them did not sit down, only the elders took such a privilege. Those who stood did not stand still, they shifted their weight from foot to foot, as if they were still in the fields working to the rhythm of some unsung song. Their respect seemed so unnatural compared to what I had seen in my own world, making me feel somewhat guilty for my place in the grass. But I couldn't have gotten up if I wanted to.

My hip throbbed as though a separate heart had been transplanted there, hot blood rushing through my veins. I must affirm that it was not close to as painful as when I first received it, but Lord almighty did it hurt. I took a moment to pray it was not infected before watching the people again.

Suddenly, they began walking back to their half finished rows. Perhaps the sun had shifted a little or the air had cooled a degree or two to notify them that they all should get back to work, but I could not detect it. Roger walked up to me, and offered me a hand.

"Back to work, brother," He said softly, I doing my best to hide my faltering steps from him. "You can help the Brother," Roger pointed at the old man with the crooked knee, who struggled to stand. I had to resist lifting an eyebrow. The Brother made it sound as if...I answered my own question, realizing most of the monks would have been killed in Ishval, and the probability that this man was the only monk who worked here would make sense.

Roger gave a stiff clap on my shoulder, urging me to go help the man. I glanced back to see he had already traveled back to his own half finished row and had resumed work. I walked over and held out a hand to the Brother, who looked up at me with eyes that sparkled with laughter.

"Child, I have not lost myself quite yet," The man shakily stood, and I felt anxious at the sight of his trembling hands. I could almost see him collapsing into a pile of ash, his fragility disclosed as he regained the strength to take a step. However, once he gained some momentum, the Brother and I shuffled along at a brisk pace to the end of the half picked row.

It took me a moment, but I found the task of carrying the basket to be sufficient in aiding our almost agonizingly slow pace. We trailed behind all other workers, not because we were doing twice as much more, but because it took twice as much time for the stiff, shaking hands of the elder to gather up the greens. It was quite annoying to be honest.

I think those few hours, of just wanting to move a little faster for the sake of finshing the task and getting on to the next really tried my patience. I realize that he was old, and frail, and his age was to be respected, but I came from a world of high speed internet and online shopping. I felt a little entitles to immediate reward, in other words, an empty row behind us. But there was nothing I could do but hold the basket and walking behind him, watching the workers become more and more distant.

I held the basket in my arms, its weight growing with every plant the man added, but I could not complain. Clouds had overcome the sky, blocking the sun from sight. They brought with them a cool, dry wind that smelled of distant apple orchards. This was much more comfortable to work in compared to the blazing heat, but that itch of impatience still compelled me to constantly judge the distance between us and the next hill crest that would let me view the end of the row.

The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon as we finished, the other workers patiently loading their baskets onto the cargo wagon and standing quietly by the truck. With the final plant of the row plucked from its dusty niche, I hefted the basket around the man and headed for the cargo wagon, which was drawn by a thin mule behind the truck. I nestled it among the countless others, which were carefully balanced in a neat pyramid.

I trudged back to the truck, where the Brother and the workers had already clambered onto its bed. I yawned as Roger helped me up, his hands covered with dirt and slick with sweat. He chuckled at my sleepiness.

"Long day?" I nodded, my back and feet sore and my still healing wound now aching with pain. He gave a half smile and ruffled my hair, the action gaining him a cross look from myself. That right was still reserved for Gracia, and now my hair was dirty and I had nowhere to shower.

The realization then dawned on me - I had no shower. Roger must have observed my face contort with terror at the thought. I was no germophobe, but I needed to shower at least every other day to keep my tangled mane from becoming a feral mass of matted hair. The idea left a sour feeling in my stomach. Perhaps I couldn't move away from Gracia quite yet.

The truck stopped at the farmhouse, and we all sort of staggered off the vehicle best we could and headed to the following mule drawn cart to offload the greens to the safety of the storage sheds. I somehow managed to drag a basket of what appeared to be Romaine lettuce to the shed, a meager contribution compared to the two or three baskets most of the workers carried at a time.

I could not have cared less at that moment. You probably can related to the bone tiredness of pure exhaustion that had glazed over my eyes and sunk into my bones as I sat there being useless while the other workers gathered around the farmhouse porch. Somewhere in my mind I had an inkling that they were being paid, and that I would not get my share if I didn't crawl over there, but the aching of my joints and the throb in my side kept me still.

I had money, and so long as I was welcome in the Ishvalan slums I would not need to spend any of it anytime soon. Well, if my money was still there when I got back. After what seemed like forever the crowd of people shuffled back to their respective mode of transport, Roger climbing up onto the truck and helping the Brother up before coming to sit beside me.

"You didn't get your money," I nodded, the swirling reds and violets of the sunset mesmerizing. "I would have brought it to you, but Mr. Meyers doesn't even know you work for him, not yet," I nodded again.

"Not all of us rely on money for pleasure, child," The old man spoke up, watching Roger with half lidded eyes, "To be close to Ishvala by working with the earth is all some need to find true happiness," Roger bowed his head, a student corrected by the teacher.

"But all of us need money to buy food," I said quietly, looking at the Brother to see his response. The Ishvalan religion had always intrigued me in its ambiguity. The only points made clear about its teachings were that names were considered sacred, and alchemy was strictly forbidden as it was arrogant and perverse in its nature.

"And should not our brothers provide for us?" The Brother asked in response. I was too tired to process the words then, but in retrospective this question was probably a bit of a test for me after I challenged his words.

"One cannot depend on others to provide for you, you must toil for your wheat, and share the excess it with others, that they may plant fields of their own, until all are satisfied," I said, trying to put together a cohesive sentence from the foggy catacombs of church catechisms and Sunday homilies.

"And why don't you share all of your wheat with others?" I gave him a hard stare. We were all tired, it was getting dark, the truck had only one headlight and he wanted to go all Socratic Method right this second?

"I don't know," I said with a sigh, "Probably 'cause you gotta make some bread to eat so that you don't drop dead," This roused a small laugh in the Brother.

"True, my child, quite true," The truck thundered to a stop, I for the first time realizing I was at the camp where the children sat around the fire. I shakily climbed down off the truck, squinting up at the dark figures still left.

"I'll see you guys, have a good night," I bade with another yawn, skidding down the embankment. The children around the fire parted for me, my unopened bag holding a place for me.

It unnerved me a little, the circle of kids sitting around a fire just waiting for me to get off the truck and join them, like some dark cult awaiting the sacrificial lamb. The small boy who now wore my jacket scooted closer to me, eyes alight with curiosity. One of the older children, a young girl who must have been nearing her teens finally spoke up.

"We didn't go through your things, sir," Her voice trembled slightly, but her red eyed stare met me with unexpected intensity. "But where are you from?" The other children began to speak up, questions rising cacophony.

"Where did you come from?"

"How did you afford this coat?"

"Why are you here?"

"Who are you?" That last question hung in the air a moment longer than the other, the child who spoke it recognizing the taboo of its answer. I could only look out tiredly, sleep calling me. I could not help but answer all of them, the routine of my introduction coming reflexively in my exhausted state.

"I'm from Drachma but I have an honorary citizenship, I had a job in the city that paid well, but I lost it, I'm here to work on the farm, and my name is Irish," I said, laying down in the sandy earth. My bag was under my neck, the support easing my aching spine.

I could hear the new questions arise, but the words escaping me. A deep voice commanded silence, and all fell quiet. As curious as I was to its source, I dared not sit up. My hip felt as though the bones were chafing away at each other, and any movement only worsened the damage.

I stared up at the dark sky, the stars blurring as I fought to look up at the beauty for a few moments longer. For a second I thought I glimpsed a familiar belt of stars, but they disappeared as I drifted into unconsciousness.

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 11

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own Cognac, or at least I hold no ownership of the title or production. 

Warning: This chapter will contain depressive themes and mentions of suicide

I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat; an appropriate response to being confronted by the leader of a nation, who also happened to be the physical incarnation of Wrath. Maybe being shot in telephone booth wasn't off my list of accidental death's that might lead to my untimely demise.

The surprised and nervous physical therapist quickly ducked out of the room, briefly nodding respectfully to the Fuhrer. Bradley was flanked by two guards - they were familiar, perhaps the ones who had been guarding his office the day I first met him.

"Would you please give me a moment with Miss. Irish?" Bradley said in a tone that was entirely nonnegotiable. The reluctant soldiers closed the door behind the Fuhrer, who remained quiet for a moment as if making sure no one was eavesdropping.

I could just imagine Maria and Denny hiding behind a corner watch the room with thoughts of my second official meeting with Amestris' leader running through their heads. The voice of reason and Wrath broke my own thoughts.

"I'd rather have had this conversation in my office, but it seems Mustang wants to keep you as close to him as possible." His voice sounded so inviting and contrary to his grim face.

"I'd rather be in a ditch somewhere with a bottle of Cognac, and maybe a few slices of chocolate cake," I said with a sigh, laying down for a moment.

"That can be arranged," Bradley said, with little humor. I probably should have been amazed that one particular brand of lacohol existed in this universe, but I was more worried about the sincerity of the man's tone. I bolted upright, resisting the urge to glare at him as he gave a small chuckle. One does not simply glare at Wrath.

"So, to what do I owe the honor, sir?" I asked, my voice faltering slightly. I didn't know if I should have addressed him 'Wrath' or 'Fuhrer' or 'Bradley'. The homunculus pulled up a chair next to my bed and sat with his hands clasped under his chin. His eye patch was still on, but I could feel the 'Ultimate' eye searching for something in my frightened features.

"No need to be so formal, Mac," I couldn't hold back a glare at the nickname.

"Don't call me Mac," I growled, enunciating for emphasis before quickly realizing who I was speaking with, "Please," The Fuhrer smiled and gave a goodhearted laugh. Well, as goodhearted as sin could be.

"I admit Irish, you are quite interesting to us," I lowered my eyes to look at my hands. I actually really had to go to the bathroom, and using the bedpan in front of Wrath was not something I wanted to do today. "Even Envy could not get you to budge, and you don't seem to be that afraid of us," I swallowed and clasped my hands together in a weak prayer. Of course I was afraid of them - they were powerful beings of supernatural origin that were difficult to kill, who wouldn't be scared of that? "At least not that you show," He followed up.

"Well, you homunculi are just people, granted artificial in nature - except you - and I see no reason to fear a fellow human," I tried to remember this saying someone said to me about ones enemies and friends and the worst they could do, but it not being forthcoming, I decided not to say anything else.

"You have a very loose definition of human," Wrath remarked, no longer interested in my ethics, "Now, tell me Miss. Irish, what did you give Truth in exchange for such specific knowledge about us 'humans'?"

Hearing the question from Envy was one thing - annoying, frustrating, but easy to lie to - but hearing it from Wrath was more demanding and less avoidable. I opened my mouth to make a snide remark, then shut it for a moment before speaking.

"I was about to ask why I should tell you, but between myself, Hughes, and other miscellaneous strangers in this place, I realized I have a very good reason t-to tell you," I started to stutter, my anxiety going through the roof. I pulled out some hair and dropped the strands off the side of my bed. "Now the only problem is figuring out how. Tell me honestly, Wrath," I paused for a split second to make sure he was aware of the serious tone I was attempting to use, "Would you believe me if I told you the truth?"

He stroked his mustache in a condescending manner for a moment prior to speaking.

"Yes, and I would know if you were telling it too," I still didn't know how to answer and tell the truth - say Fullmetal Alchemist? That would land the Elrics in hot water and mix up the story. Say anime? That'd only confuse the bastard and it would be too vague to count as 'the truth' in my book. An idea struck me, the only fault being the slim chance of someone sharing the name.

"Hiromu Arakawa," I said, watching Wrath closely for any sign of distrust, "She lives on an island to the west of Xing, she told me some of these things," Wrath didn't seem to be wary of the proposition, but he didn't seem to overjoyed with the information either.

"What did she tell you?" He only said this once, his one eye burning a hole through me as I took my dear time to respond.

"Only about the sacrifices and the Promised Day, the rest was Truth's doing," I said, holding my hands tight to prevent any farther hair pulling.

"You still haven't told me what you traded for that information," Wrath noted, apparently satisfied with my story about Hiromu Arakawa. "What would that be?"

"I..." I thought for a moment, about what Truth had told me. "My soul," Wrath actually seemed a little taken aback, probably asking himself if I was allowed to do such a thing in alchemical terms.

"How?" I shrugged.

"I dunno, I just never want to see the Gate again," Wrath shot me a disapproving glare of suspicion. "Okay, maybe I want to ask some more questions, but I don't even know how I got to the Gate, let alone how to get back-" I stopped myself, realizing what I had just said.

"Then how did you ever see the Truth?" Wrath questioned, I shrinking away slightly at his accusatory tone.

"I don't know," He stared at me, I stared at him. My eyes were watering by the time he looked away, almost looking disappointed.

"Well, since you are telling the truth there's no reason to pursue that train of thought any longer," Wrath said, sitting back in his chair a little and glancing at the window for a moment. "So, what exactly do you know about the us, Promised Day, and the sacrifices?"

"Some general stuff," I said, thinking about just how much I knew about the homunculi. "I know about all seven of you, and most of how you came to be - though, I only know that you were the last, chronologically speaking. All but you have surprising powers of regeneration, and you each have a special power or whatnot - Envy's shape shifting, your eye, Lust's spears," I subconsciously rubbed my side, feeling a slight sting of pain from the stitches.

"You were all created by Father, the first homunculus made from the blood Hohenheim who was a slave in Xerxes. Then Father destroyed Xerxes and gained a humanoid form and the two parted ways. As for the Promised Day Father will use Amestris, as one huge transmutation circle as carved underground by Sloth, to make a giant philosopher's stone to become all powerful, take over the world, et cetera. " I tried my best to recall any other information Wrath would like to know, but my knowledge of future events was best left behind a facade of present knowledge.

"I'm a little more iffy on the sacrifices...I know Fullmetal is one, and their teacher that you tried to recruit in Dublith," I thought for a moment, relatively lacking in knowledge of sacrifices. "Maybe the Flame Colonel too, all I know is that they're powerful alchemists. I also know they are key to the Promised Day, and without them the entire plot is in jeopardy," I finished, hoping that fulfilled all of the Fuhrer's questions.

"So, you know quite a lot, little lady," This time I couldn't restrain the glare.

"I am not that little," I said with a grumpy sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. Wrath merely snorted in amusement, his one visible eye smiling. Though confused as to the expression of smiling eyes, I held my glare.

"It seems all the interesting ones have an inferiority complex," He murmured almost inaudibly before his one clear blue eye snapped open. I could almost feel the restrained anger coming off the man in waves. It made sense that he was angry, I would be too if a total stranger had intimate knowledge of my family. "Now, what you do with that knowledge will determine how we deal with you,"

"I don't plan on parading around Amestris with a megaphone and fliers screaming about the impending apocalypse, if that's what you're thinking," I managed to nervously crack a smile at the image of myself being so ridiculous. "I'll keep to myself, keep any sacrifices from dying if I must, unless one of you breaks you end of the deal and bring harm to a certain someone."

This seemed to surprise Bradley. The homunculus furrowed his brow at my words.

"You have no intention of leaving the country?" He asked, and I was surprised to sense a shred of genuine curiosity in the deep voice. I shrugged, having never thought about getting myself to safety before the Promised Day.

"If the world will be conquered by Father anyways, what the point of prolonging death?" I asked, not exactly addressing Wrath. "I want to be there for the end of the world. Maybe snap a few photos for the grand kids, have a drink, watch death and carnage surround me in my last moments," I had meant to make the sentence sound more sarcastic, but I honestly believed in what I said. If the world was going to end for human life, I damn sure wasn't going to miss out on the opening ceremony.

"And, since you will not leave the country, you plan on keeping all of this information to yourself?" I rolled my eyes a little, slowly adjusting to the immense, hateful presence of Wrath.

"Uh, duh, the last thing I'll do is incite mass hysteria and panic. Besides, even if I did, who'd believe the strange immigrant girl?" Wrath's gaze became less curious and more skeptical at those words, to my surprise.

"Speaking of which, you aren't from Drachma, Miss. Irish," I physically felt my stomach do a somersault. The story and image I had been crafting for myself was easily seen through by Wrath, which, though unsurprising, was nerve wracking.

"No," I admitted, my voice trailing off and becoming quite soft.

"Where are you from then?" Reverting back to grade school, I stated the honest answer.

"356 Lockwood Drive, Littleton, Connecticut," I automatically blurted, vaguely aware that the homunculus would have no clue where that was even if I had a giant map with a bright flashing sign pointing right at it. Understandably, he stared at me ludicrously.

"Which is where?" I felt my heart pounding in my chest as if I were standing too close to a pair of loud speakers. Where? Another universe of course!

"Another continent, in the West. We are separated by ocean, and rarely interact with our nearest neighbor, which happens to be a few isolated Drachman islands," Well, thinking about Alaska, and comparing Drachma to Russia, that made some sense.

"Then how and why did you come to Amestris?" I honestly had no answer for that. I didn't want to come to Amestris, at least not consciously. And at my current state I wished more than anything I hadn't come to Amestris.

"I don't know," I said flatly, deciding that honesty was the best policy.

"Irish," Bradley addressed in a demanding tone. "May I remind you that I know if you are lying-"

"I don't have a single damn clue, okay?" I half shouted at the man, barely able to keep my tone inaudible to anyone outside. I took a few deep breathes, clenching and releasing my fists. "I don't know how I got here, and I most certainly don't know why I of all people ended up here,"

The Fuhrer was silent for a few moments, his stoic features not revealing any emotion. He did not shake with rage or show any wrath he was feeling towards my outburst. For the first time since he had sat down at my bedside, I noticed the sword at his waist. I also had no doubt in his abilities with that sword, nor was his ability to cover up my death. If he was going to kill me, I had no clue it was coming.

"Very well," Wrath said amicably, his voice calm and collected. I breathed an internal sigh of relief at his words. If he thought I was lying, there was no way for me to give any proof of my exact origins."Now, how do you suppose we clean up this mess you've made,"

I blinked a few times, trying to understand if I had heard him correctly. Interrogation to problem solving was a pretty bumpy transition, and it didn't feel like Wrath was finished asking me questions about my knowledge or future plans.

"What?" I asked, confused at to what specific part of the whole Hughes Problem they needed my help with.

"Colonel Mustang thinks you may have killed Hughes, which creates a problem for us. If you get arrested - or killed - then your... supposed friend may bring harm to the sacrifices, as you put it. So you either have to shift his attention away from yourself, or tell us who your contact is so we can make sure there are no...mistakes,"

Ah, Fuhrer, did you not know of my wonderful foreknowledge? No, no you did not.

"Pin it on 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross," Wrath actually seemed interested in the idea. "Have some 'witness' aka anyone you can pull some strings with say they saw her leaving the crime scene. It'd make sense, since I've already convinced them the assailant was female, and to be honest, Envy was Ross when he left the park."

"What if she has an alibi?" Wrath didn't look opposed to the idea, and had resumed looking like my Godfather Antonio in a good mood.

"I know she was off duty with her parents, but close family and friends don't count as someone who can confirm an alibi," I remembered her interrogation pretty well from the series, everything from her lunchtime interruption to her jailing was clear, with only a few foggy details regarding who, where, and when. "She used a round at the Fifth Laboratory incident to shoot Barry the Chopper, which means no one will find it under all that rubble, and with the round in Hughes' chest at the bottom of the river, she won't have a shred of hope in the interrogation office."

I knew Barry was...somewhere under Falman's watch under Mustang's order, which only Mustang needed to know. And if all went well, she'd be in the desert and believed dead. Hopefully. I had a nagging fear that I would influence something and get the woman killed, but I had little time to dwell on those thoughts after the words left my lips.

"You seem quite confident in this plan, Irish. Should I know why?" Wrath said after nodding to all of the evidence I presented.

"Because I have no plan to be burned alive in an alleyway?" I said with a glimmer of sarcasm. Wrath laughed, like the kind of laugh he would use with his wife or someone like that.

"I'll take your word for it then," Wrath said, still smiling. I took that as a good sign. "Now I suggest you get dressed, the service will be in an hour or so, I'll send someone to pick you up soon,"

I was clearly confused, but the Fuhrer ignored my open mouth and raised finger of inquiry and walked to the door. One of the soldiers opened it for him, while the other entered the room after he left to place a black bag as well as a pair of crutches at the end of my bed.

After that flurry of commotion, I was left to myself.

"What the hell was that all about?" I said aloud, listening for any explanation on the other side of the door. Hearing none, I decided to see what the bag held. It was a small bag, like a lean and convenient version of a duffle bag without the gym socks smell.

Inside, there was a simple black dress with a matching shawl and a pair of black pump heels, which explained the earlier rush. The funeral was tonight. I drew in a slow breath before laying out the clothes on the bed. It was final. I had convinced the world that Maes Hughes was dead, and the only proof I had of the contrary were two ticket stubs. Deciding to burn them as soon as I could, I slipped them into the card beneath my pillow.

I took the opportunity to limp my way to the bathroom, using the wall for balance. After using the bathroom, I decided it best to change before whoever Wrath was sending came to pick me up.

Getting out of the hospital clothes and into the dress was difficult, my near inability to maneuver the right side of my lower body not helping. I finally managed to wriggle into the tight fitting dress, the chest a little too exposed for my liking and the dress itself too long.

The shoes, for once, were not quite as challenging as the dress. Though the heels would leave me aching, and shoeing my right foot difficult with my lack of flexibility, they were comfortable as far as dress shoes went.

As I dressed, I thought over my conversation with Wrath. Mustang was convinced I had killed Hughes. Though I could see some suspicion, arising from my 'luck' of surviving several murderers since he met me, I couldn't see how he could believe that I would kill Maes. I knew Mustang and I had seen little of each other and had not interacted extensively, but surely Hughes had gushed about me over the phone to the Flame Colonel a few times.

Why would Mustang think I would kill someone who cared so much about me? What evidence did he have to incriminate me, besides being the sole witness?

A knock at the door interrupted my worrisome thoughts. One of the guards that had escorted the Fuhrer entered, his gloved hands folded behind himself. Propping myself up on the crutches and adjusting the shall around my shoulders, I followed him as he led the way through the hospital to the front door.

I had never used the front door, only the emergency exit when visiting the hospital, so the imposing glass double doors where quite a surprise. As for the crutches, and getting down the seemingly endless stairs to the waiting vehicle, it was quite uncomfortable. Though made from metal, it lacked a rubbery handle or stopper at the end, resulting in a slippery and, by modern standards, unsafe trek.

The attending officer had to walk in front of me to prevent me from falling flat on my face. The combination of heels and the slippery polished steps was not helping my lack of balance and incredible pain as we approached a large black vehicle that could have been considered a limousine. The officer opened the door for me, and I, stooping so as to not injure my head farther, entered the limo.

I could do nothing to hide the surprise on my face at the other riders. The Armstrong squad sat at the front of the vehicle, Maria to the Major's left while Denny was on his right. Two guards on either side of the Fuhrer, filling up the rest of the length of the limo. At the back seat, a woman head of blonde hair with hard brown eyes would be all that separated myself from Colonel Mustang.

I stiffly maneuvered the crutches and myself into the last empty seat beside the Lieutenant, painfully aware of the somber atmosphere. Even Bradley's earlier show of dark humor and questioning seemed to be quelled by the oppressive silence. The guard shut the door behind me, and he sound of another creaking shut followed and the limo began to move forward.

And thus, the most awkward car ride of my young life ensured.

The first few moments of the ride were spent in tense silence. I being wholly aware of Mustang's opinions of myself and he keeping his own thoughts to himself as the others in the vehicle were forced to endure the invisible tension that had arisen. The oppressive silence was going to kill me, but I didn't know what to say. We were on our way to a funeral for a living man, the most powerful man in the country who was also an artificial human was mere feet away, and the woman who I had a hand in framing for a death was at the other end of the limo.

What was there to talk about?

"Will there be a wake?" I asked quietly, my eyes trained on the floor. I wasn't asking anyone in particular, but I wasn't really looking for an answer either. Of course there wouldn't be a wake, what body was there to mourn over?

"No," Mustang answered before anyone else could. I unintentionally clenched my teeth, a sudden anxiety overcoming me. His answer wasn't cruel or cold, but it wasn't entirely polite either.

"Oh," I muttered, not looking up from my feet. I felt the urge to follow up and ask why, but thought it wouldn't fit the still dominant funereal atmosphere. "Did you find her?" I blurted out, immediately feeling apprehension rising in my chest at the question.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, and Mustang physically tensed. I could have sworn Bradley was staring at me with his all seeing eye, and that unnerved me more than anything. I didn't know why I asked, it simply was a question I felt any normal person would be curious about if their friend/superior was killed. I held the shawl tightly and adjusted it once more, the slippery fabric slipping from my shoulders.

"No," Riza responded, her eyes trained on the opposite wall, her face stoic. I think Mustang my have murmured something, but I froze up. I wanted to be invisible, I didn't want to be in that limo or anywhere near any of these people. I wanted to be safe, at the apartment, playing with Elicia while Gracia made supper. I wanted Hughes to walk in jut before we started eating and be dramatic about it. I hated this change in the atmosphere, as if the entire universe was silently judging my existence (which was true, if one considered Truth the universe).

The most awkward car ride of my life continued to be awkward, and somewhat depressive. Thankfully, it only lasted a few minutes before the limo rolled to a stop. As soon as the door opened, I limped out of the stressful deathtrap as fast as my one working leg and pair of crutches could carry me.

There was a small gathering of people on the other side of the limo, facing something I could not see. On my side of the limo, simple headstones would outnumber the living people present. Most were soldiers, but I caught a glimpse of some older men and women who vaguely reminded me of Hughes. It was oppressively quiet as I joined the crowd, seeking out Elicia and her mother.

I found them at the front of the group, the girl wearing a dress that reminded me of my private grade school's black and white uniform. Gracia wore a simple black skirt and dress jacket, occasionally pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes. Elicia was trembling as she held her mother's hand, and her worried expression did not change when I approached.

"Big sister Mac," She said, wrapping a chubby fist partway around the crutch nearest to her, "Do you know where daddy is?" I looked down and furrowed my brow, but before I could respond, Gracia interjected.

"Hush, Elicia, the Fuhrer will be speaking soon," The little girl stuck out her lip and narrowed her eyes as she looked down, whimpering quietly as she squeezed the crutch even tighter. I took a moment to observe the freshly dug grave, and the tombstone above it that bore a living man's name.

The somber murmurs of the crowd dispersed as a black casket carried by six soldiers parted them like Moses with the Red Sea. The pallbearers set the empty casket down with ease, though there was no disrespect in doing so. Even without the body, those gathered clearly held some reverence for the hollow box before them. Bradley stepped forward, and placed a hand on the head of the casket, facing the hat that sat atop the flag of Amestris.

"Brigadier General Maes Hughes was one of my most loyal, and trusted officers, and one I considered my friend," I felt some animosity towards Wrath at those words, but merely dipped my head to avoid showing any disrespect.

"His presence in a room alone could put a smile on anyone's face, and he truly and deeply loved his friends and family. Today we honor that life, and his dedication to the State as well as to those close to him. Hughes was an excellent soldier, his service in Ishval unparalleled by his peers, and his work in the Investigative Division of Central has made the sector safer than it has been in years.

"Though a devoted soldier, Maes was an even more devoted father, often using private work lines to share his love of his daughter and wife with colleagues. Though I do not condone the use of private lines for such, and the calls often long and, as some have said, borderline annoying, I find this devotion inspirational. As a father myself, I looked to Maes' example, as we should all.

"Never shall there be any man so devoted to his work and family nor any man more deserving of his title. Today, we have lost a comrade, a friend, a husband and son, but through this loss I hope you all gain the inspiration to be as loving and as caring as Maes Hughes was." That was it. All of it. The hat was removed from the coffin, and the burial began. That was the only eulogy given, after that, the pallbearers lifted the casket once more and gently maneuvered it into the ditch.

The pallbearers, finished with their work, took up their rifles and performed a 21 gun salute to the fallen officer. I couldn't begin to wonder where the salute originated without the influence of theology or at least astronomical importance. Four of the six pallbearers got to work shoveling dirt on top of the coffin, the sad plops of earth pounding at the empty box.

I think I was more appalled than upset. There was no service, no incense, no family eulogy. We did not approach the coffin with flowers in hand to place atop it, we did not sprinkle dust on the top of the casket. For me, this was quite a strange burial. Almost curt and unceremonious. The world was basically saying,

"Yeah, he had a good life, oh well." And then it took off. Now, I knew from the thousands of graves around me a soldier's death wasn't uncommon; but that did not mean it shouldn't have been special. I knew that Hughes was one man in the huge complex web of the world. I knew he wasn't even in the coffin. But the 'service' still unnerved me, as if there was some big hurry to bury the issue of his death with the casket. I was snapped from my grumblings by a tearful whimper.

"But mommy, daddy's not in there!" Elicia whispered, though it came out much louder than so. Tears welled in her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks one by one. "Mommy, where is daddy?" The girl asked again, this time frantic and upset. Mrs. Hughes knelt to the girl's level and held her close, tears blossoming at the corners of the woman's eyes.

"He's gone, sweetie, he's there." Elicia did not accept that answer.

"No! Daddy's not there! Where is he? Daddy has important work to do, he needs to go to work! Where is he? Where's my daddy!" The whimpers became full blown cries of panic as Elicia struggled against her mother's hold.

Armstrong placed a gloved hand to his face, but it did little to hide the fresh tears. The Fuhrer tensely shook, as if too moved by Elicia's cries. I knew better. He was pissed with her for being so loud. I guess I could understand, I was upset with how brusquely the service was carried out.

"Elicia," I said as Gracia stood, a handkerchief not doing much to hid her muffled sobs and streaming tears. The girl looked up at me, her face the same as her mother's.

"Do you know where daddy is, big sister Mac?" I sighed, a heavy weight on my chest. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. I swallowed and managed to crouch to her level, sitting on the grass. My right leg ached in protest as I drew it closer to myself, but I held my arms out to Elicia. She immediately hugged me, seeking any form of comfort. "Where's daddy?" I looked up, the blue sky empty in the exception of a single cloud.

"He's...somewhere warm, and sunny, like the forest. Have you ever seen a forest?" Her whimpering had slowed, and a new light shown in her eyes as I answered her question.

"No, s'it like, like the countryside?" She said with a sniffle, looking up at me with an inquiring gaze. I gave a soft smile in return.

"Yes, but trees everywhere, taller than buildings," Elicia cracked a small smile, "And that's where your daddy is. He's happy, he's safe and sound. he's watching you and your mother and making sure you stay safe and sound too." The girl hugged me tighter before pulling back once more. Gracia had turned her attention to me.

"Can I go visit him?" She asked quietly, looking to her mother with a smile too bright and too happy to understand the allusion I was making. I gave a small huff of amusement.

"No, not for a long time," Elicia looked crestfallen once more.

"Oh," I ruffled her hair, shhing her quietly as she whimpered once more.

"You'll see him again though, when you're a lot older, and you're mom will probably be there too, and you'll all be together again," Elicia rested her head on my shoulder.

"When I'm older - when I'm 10 a-a big girl, then can I go visit daddy?" I shook my head, noticing the crowd was now dispersing.

"No, when you're a lot older than 10, darling," Elicia gave a huff of frustration.

"I wanna grow up real fast!" She declared, standing up and looking to Gracia. I sighed and slowly got to my own feet, a difficult task with my injuries.

"Whatever you say kiddo," I looked at Gracia, who's eyes were still leaking a few stray tears. "How are you doing?" Elicia ran up to another woman, her brown hair matching Gracia's own. They were probably related in the way the woman endearingly held Elicia up, answering the girl's words with 'ohs' and 'ahs'.

"As well as I can be," She responded truthfully, stealing a glance at the woman who nodded and smiled as Elicia retold my story of the forest her dad was waiting in. "Thank you, for calming her down," I nodded, looking at me feet. I slipped out of the heels, the lack of my orthodics making the shoes painful beyond normal circumstances. "She'll learn the truth eventually you know,"

I looked to Gracia, concern causing my brown to wrinkle in thought.

"That was the truth, at least how I imagine it," I said, looking back at the sky. The single cloud had thinned, but it had swirled into veil of white and blue-grey variants. "Heaven, I mean. I don't know about you, but the idea of an afterlife is a comforting one." She nodded, and looked back to Gracia, who was receiving a pinch on her cheeks from the woman who was nearly as enthused as Maes would be over her adorableness.

"I'm not religious, but I do suppose that idea is comforting for those who are," It was my turn to nod, but Gracia quickly changed the subject. "Are you up for the walk home? I can always call a driver if you aren't,"

"No, I can make it. I'm supposed to be strengthening myself anyways," I said, never taking my eyes from the little girl who was now picking a few white dandelions and blowing the seeds into the air. Gracia walked up to the woman, and I followed in suit.

"Camilla, this is Irish, the Drachman girl I told you about," Camilla nodded in my direction, no longer appearing amicable as she had with Elicia. "Irish, this is my sister, Camilla, she's been staying to help around the house since..." Gracia trailed off, tears sprouting at the corners of her eyes.

"It's nice to finally meet the infamous Irish Mac," I cringed a bit as she said the abridged version of my surname, feeling in some possessive way that only Maes should have the privilege to say it. She held out her hand, the other clutching a clipboard. Camilla was dressed quite similar to her sister, a pair of glasses the only deviant.

"Pleasure to meet you, Camilla," I said timidly as I shook her hand, her handshake firm and business-like. "But please, just call me Irish," The woman gave a small nod.

"Will do. Elicia," She beckoned, the small child immediately abandoning her dandelions to come running to her aunt. "We're leaving, do you want some quiche for supper tonight?" I looked to Gracia, her face vacant and her eyes looking at something far away.

"Yes please Auntie Cam!"

The walk was a lot longer than anticipated, but even with me lagging behind we made it back to the apartment complex by sunset. I was once more confronted by m mortal enemy, stairs. I made it to the room with minimal grumbling about escalators and elevators.

"Okay, Elicia, straighten up your dress. Gracia, just take a few moments to yourself, the guests won't be here for another hour or so. Irish," I blinked back and forth between Camilla and her sister, intimidated by the commanding tone the older woman used. "Could you give me hand making the quiche? We won't have to make much, since the guests will be bringing most of the food, but it'd be polite to have something here." I nodded numbly, limping in the direction of the kitchen.

"Just gonna warn you, I managed to burn Elicia's cake and my hands in a matter of a few minutes." Camilla shook her head, already taking out ingredients from the cupboards. I stole a glance at the living room, where Gracia sat quietly on the couch. She wasn't crying, but she wasn't happy either. Elicia had ducked into the bathroom to fix up her dress, despite there being little to fix up.

Camilla laid the ingredients out on the counter, but before we could get started we both noticed the little girl peering around the corner.

"Elicia," I said, the child stepping out and sheepishly looking at her feet.

"Can big sister Mac play with me Auntie Cam?" The woman looked at me, running a hand through her thinning brown locks.

"Very well, go on now, don't hide out in that room for too long," She said as I was dismissed, Elicia excitedly latching onto my crutch as I shuffled out of the kitchen.

"Okay, you gotta let go," I finally said with a laugh, having to drag the child along too difficult. The girl let go and quickly ran to her room, arms out spread and giggling. I looked back at Gracia with concern, she having no reaction to her daughter's behavior. That empty look on her face was all I could take away from her furrowed brow and sorrow glazed eyes.

Elicia and I played for a little less than an hour, the child beckoned by her aunt as guests began to arrive. Soon the apartment was filled with the smell of fruitcake and other baked goods, the sympathy gifts filling the den and spilling over into the dining room as more and more people arrived. I did my best to stick to the background, not wanting to draw too much attention to myself. I still felt guilty about lying to all of them, their occasional tears and bittersweet laughs making something inside me feel crushed.

I retired to my room before Elicia was escorted to the tub by Camilla, the crowd growing too large for my comfort. My room was as I left it, the bed neatly made and an outfit hung on the back of the closet door for the next day. I sighed and sat down on my bed, the dark room a calming haven in comparison to the bustling den and dining room.

Feeling helpless, I laid back and stared at the ceiling. It was white, like the walls. Closing my eyes I thought about Truth and the void it lived in. Did it ever feel this helplessness? The helplessness of knowing so much that could help so many people but not having the means to share it? Perhaps Truth didn't feel empathy and didn't have that problem. I opened my eyes, not really looking at the ceiling anymore.

An old habit came back quickly, and I prayed. I won't bore you with the Hail Marys and Our Fathers or Guardian Angels and Creeds, but I prayed nonetheless. I had never felt so alone and frightened and unimportant before, and the old habit comforted me. In my time in that world I had lost track of days, and Sundays were observed quietly from the back of the Main Street Grocery Store. I wanted to pray more, but in all the turmoil and business, I forgot to make time for doing so, and to be honest, I hadn't really cared.

Truth was a god for this world, how would praying to another help me? Still, it felt natural to do so, even alone in the darkness of my room it was comforting. I finished with my prayers and looked to the window, wondering if the homunculi were watching me. They probably were, but what was it to them who I prayed to? With a sigh I instinctively reached for my scapular, only to recall I hadn't retrieved it from wherever it was being held. A new weight fell on my chest and I rolled to my left side, unable to stand the pain of my right.

I dozed off at some point, waking to bright sunlight streaming through the window and a quiet apartment. Mostly quiet. Down the hall I could hear someone weeping bitterly, their agonized sobs echoing softly within the apartment. I sat up, about to investigate the cries when I realized I wasn't alone in the room. Camilla was sleeping on the spare bed, oblivious to the crying.

Still dressed in the funeral dress, and the high heels traded for bare feet, I used my crutches to quietly exit the room. The sobs were coming from Gracia's room, and before I could head towards the door to see if I could over condolences, Elicia opened her own bedroom door. She seemed to be in a panic, looking down both ends of the hall and ignoring me as she raced to her mother's bedroom.

"Daddy?" She asked quizzically as she flung open the door with abandon, it meeting the wall with a loud thwack. The child's hopeful and worried expression morphed into one of disappointment and sorrow. The crying had stopped.

"Shh, Elicia," Gracia said from within the bedroom. "You'll wake Auntie Cam and Irish," The little girl entered the room, leaving the door ajar. I peered inside, and watched Elicia clamber onto the bed and crawl into her mother's arms. Gracia's face was red and tear stained as she rocked the now tearful child back and forth. "Shh, it's okay, I'm okay," Elicia let loose a choked sob.

"But is daddy okay?" Gracia looked down and buried her face in Elicia's shoulder, and they both cried quietly. I felt my hands making fists, though not sure as to why. I wasn't angry with the homunculi - well, not for 'killing' Hughes, but I was angry about something. With a mental huff I hobbled back to my room, sure not to make too much noise as I entered.

I saw my bag sitting at the foot of my bed, and an idea formed in my mind. Sure not to wake Camilla, I carefully began to pack the bag with clothes - dresses, skirts, button-ups and riding pants made their way into the bag one by one. I suddenly stopped my hurry, realizing what I was planning to do. I had no cash, no where to go, and no plan for the future. I had accomplished my goal, and all I had to do now was wait out and hope the Promised Day passed according to the plot.

I stood, Camilla now beginning to stir from her deep slumber as I dressed. Still unable to move my right leg efficiently, I took to wearing one of the skirts on the top of my bag and the white button-up beneath. Camilla gave a loud yawn and rolled over, startling me as I buttoned the dress shirt. I had been quite jumpy since we had gotten to the apartment, it was as if I were expecting something dreadful to happen.

By the time I finished a glass of milk Gracia and Elicia, with Camilla lagging behind were getting breakfast. It was a cold breakfast, some fruit and bread. The heavy weight in my chest returned, recalling that Gracia usually made a hot breakfast with eggs and bacon. Elicia didn't seem to mind, messily munching on an apple while her mother poured three glasses of milk. No one said a word.

"Do you mind if I go to work today? Just to see if I can help out with anything," I finally said, breaking the silence. Gracia looked up from her apple, but she wasn't looking at me.

"If you're feeling up to it, Irish," She said, turning to Camilla for reassurance before she continued, "I wouldn't want you to stress yourself out or strain yourself," I managed to smile.

"I'm fine, the doc said I'll be on my feet by the end of the week," I replied, finishing another glass of milk before leaving the apartment with a hurried, "Bye!"

Even with the absence of the high heels, me feet were killing me. I had been bear foot for almost 24 hours, and my feet were making it known they were displeased. I hoped I'd get my things back before I left.

I had made up my mind on my way to the Store. If Hughes was gone, I had no reason to stay with the family unless Elicia was desperate for attention. Mustang already suspected me, and his first move would be to remove me from the lives of people he cared about. I wasn't quite sure where that would be, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be nearly as nice than if I felt like I had some control and picked out an apartment on my own.

These confirmations ceased when I saw the sign on the front door of the Store.

"Closed".

The Store had never closed for an entire day, not in the time I had spent there. From 9 to 5 seven days a week it was open. As far as I knew, it was after ten judging by the time I left the apartment. The Store would never close. The food on the shelves was clearly at least a day or two old judging by the wilting lettuce and the gathering clouds of fruit flies.

I immediately started walking away, worried thoughts running through my mind. Albert had said that Miss. Reich - his aunt, was sick. She owned the Store, but wouldn't he inherit it? Wouldn't someone inherit it? And when had she died? It then struck me like a runaway train - one life was equivalent to one life. By saving Hughes, someone had died. I had no way of knowing who, but something told me it was her.

Nearly knocking people over as I limped/ran with my crutches, I had no clue where I was or where I was going until I saw a familiar cemetery, with neatly laid identical headstones. Across the street from it was a more local cemetery, the few headstones not as formal. It just went to show how deadly the Ishvalan war was, the headstones in a military field outnumbering the local cemetery 10 to 1.

But currently, a small service was dispersing, the few individuals quickly leaving the scene with emotionless gazes and heavy sighs. One figure remained high on the hill, clad entirely in black. As I made my way to the figure, I was relieved to see it was Miss. Reich, her dress elegant and a veil obscuring her face.

"Miss. Reich!" I called out, my breathing labored as I hobbled over. "I was so worried when I saw that the Store was closed-" I stopped talking when I caught sight of the tombstone she was quietly staring at as two men filled in the deep hole before her.

'Albert Reich' it read, 'Born July 18th, 1894' my heart jumped to my throat at the next line, 'Died September 8th, 1914'. Albert was dead. I didn't cry, but I wanted to. My heart felt like a stone in my chest, weighing me down and making me want to to fall to the ground and stay there until someone would come by and pick me up.

"I'm..." I felt as if all the air had been sucked from my lungs, but quickly gathered it to finish. "I'm so sorry," Miss. Reich dipped her head, the veil over her face hiding any expression.

"It was quite sudden," She said, her voice steady and bordering annoyed as it always did. "He was just complaining about his arm and side hurting, I thought he had pulled a muscle lifting a box of cucumbers, but," Her voice changed, bitterness seeping into her tone and sadness evident in her shaking shoulders. "He, he fell down during dinner, he couldn't breath, he was in so much pain. By the time we got to the emergency room...there was nothing they could do," I clenched my jaw and stared at the ground, a few teardrops forming at the corners of my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away. "He had always had a weak heart, it isn't surprising it gave so suddenly,"

"Ma'am," I began, a migraine suddenly throbbing in my skull, "I'm sorry for your loss. I-I'm going to miss the guy," I looked at her, the woman shivering despite the early autumn heat. "Do you want me to walk you home?" Miss. Reich laughed her usual laugh, all signs of bitterness and sorrow fading in an instant.

"I'm not that old, Irish. Go home, get some sleep. I'm going to need a lot of help tomorrow, get there bright and early," She commanded, turning away from me slightly. Even though she was wearing a veil, I knew she must have been crying.

"Yes," I said quietly, giving a small smirk before correcting myself, "Yes, ma'am,"

At the apartment, I merely told Gracia that they had closed early because Miss. Reich got sick. I didn't want anyone to worry or grieve more than they already had.

The next morning, I got up before the sun to greet the new day. In all honesty, I hadn't sleep at all. I had tossed and turned the entire night, guilt eating my conscious. I was responsible for Albert's death. An innocent man had died because of my actions. I had killed someone. I was once more directly responsible for the death of a human being, and this person did not deserve death for any reason other than my meddling.

McDougal would have been killed whether or not I had been there, but Albert could have lived out his life. He could of fallen in love, gotten married, had a family, been happy. I took that all away for some selfish fulfillment. I was a despicable human being - now two families were mourning, one a living man and the other a dead man. And it was all my fault.

Now, these thoughts were entirely subconscious. My mind was focused on making sure I got back my orthodics, and making some bacon for Elicia to eat once she woke up. I left the apartment without my crutches, deciding to test my mobility in the quietness of the Store's backroom before trying to walk around Gracia and worry her more than she already was.

Outside, the air was cold but humid, a storm imminent. Thankfully I made it to the store before the clouds broke, however, the front door was still locked tight. I stood for a moment, pondering if I had time before the storm to get back to the apartment. Then I recalled the backroom, and slipped through the narrow alley to the backdoor. I had noticed it cleaning one day, that the lock was broken. Miss. Reich said that she left it there to dissuade robbers, not that it would do much to stop one.

"Miss. Reich?" I called out softly, the stench of rotting eggs and bad milk causing me to hesitate as I opened the door. I shrugged, seeing the lights off and the store devoid of life. Perhaps she hadn't arrived yet, I wouldn't blame her for wanting to sleep in. A yawn escaped my lips as I set to work, throwing away the old and rotting food - all of it, and cleaning the shelves.

By the time I finished it was after noon, the entire store fresh and clean, smelling of fresh oranges courtesy of my breakfast fruit. The newspapers piled on the doorstep were filed into place at the front counter, and the old ones thrown out. A delivery of fresh eggs and milk were carefully place onto shelves, but other deliveries would take the rest of the week to show up. I wanted to return to the apartment and check on Gracia, when the first costumer showed up.

It was a familiar old lady, the one I had helped my first day at the Store. She seemed surprised to see the place open.

"My, have they sold it already?" She inquired, squinting at the empty shelves. This comment concerned me.

"Sold it? Why would Miss. Reich do that?" The woman shuffled towards me, concern evident in her eyes despite her thick eyeglasses.

"You must not have heard, poor woman fell onto the train track last night," I couldn't breath. I had so many questions, but the old woman rambled on, " They think she must have jumped. Such a pity, I've been coming here since Olga first opened it. They always said a woman could never run the business but she did such a good job," The woman's rattlings ceased as she inspected my appearance. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

I was breathing heavy, my heartbeat all that filled my hearing. Without answering I turned and fled to the backroom, slamming the door behind me as I slid to the floor and cried. I didn't care that the Store was unattended, or that the old woman must have notified an officer that some strange girl was operating the closed Grocery Store by herself. None of that seemed to matter as I sat there and cried.

The thoughts that had kept me from the fickle mistress of sleep came crashing in, clear and loud. These events were entirely my fault. All because of me. One life was equal to one life, but other casualties were not taken into account. After calming myself down best I could, I limped back to the apartment, ignoring the flooding rain that soaked my clothes and plastered my pale blonde locks against my neck and shoulders. All my fault. It was all my fault two people were dead.

Ignoring the stares and concerned glances of the lobbyist and other tenants, I trudged up the stairs, the pain in my leg dulled by the ache in my heart. I didn't even bother knocking as I entered the apartment, the kitchen and den quiet.

"Good, Irish, if you could - Are you okay? Do you need anything-"

"I'm fine," I whimpered, ignoring Camilla as she tried to comfort me, a hand reaching for my shoulder. "Don't touch me!" I yelled, turning to face her. She was scared, and worried shined in her green eyes. I could hear Elicia in her room, excited I was home. I all but ran to my room, not wanting the Hughes' to see me as I was. I took several deep breaths, wiping fresh tears from my face. Gathering myself and my nightgown, I made a break for the bathroom, sure that no one had seen me long enough to initiate a conversation.

The freezing bath that followed soothed some of my burning thoughts. Perhaps her death would enable me to save another life - Buccaneer? Old Man Fu maybe? Or perhaps it would let me stop some injuries - Havoc's back, or Mustang's eyes. Immediately a wave of regret followed those thoughts. I was, indirectly and unintentionally, responsible for her death. I was the reason someone took their own life. The thought nauseated me, my stomach turning and twisting the more I thought about the subject.

As I was drying off and trying to think about something irrelevant to the future, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Irish?" Cam called, her voice only tinged with concern, "There's some officers here, they want to have a word with you,"

'Oh no,' I thought, thinking back to the events of earlier this morning, 'The little old lady really did call the cops, and now Gracia's going to be stressing and-'

I emerged hastily dressed in my night gown to see Denny, standing awkwardly at the door. A moment of anxiety gripped me, reminding me that the plot would pick up after Maria's arrest, and that I would have to avoid the homunculi and the military to survive. This moment passed quickly, however, as his partner stepped through the door holding a small basket with one hand a bin in the other.

"Denny, Maria," I addressed them, relief tinging my voice. Camilla appeared tense, but seemed to calm down as she entered the kitchen and began making lunch. "What are you two doing here?" Maria held out the basket.

"The investigation's over, you can have your things back,"

"Oh, thanks," I said, taking the bin from her as she also held out the fruit basket.

"This is for Gracia," Solemness seeped into the atmosphere, I taking the basket slowly and placing it on the nearby dining table.

"How have you been?" Denny piped in, breaking the growing sadness of the conversation. Despite his cheery tone, one could hear what he was trying to ask - 'How have you all been dealing with the grief?' I looked down, shrugging.

"Fine, I guess," I looked to Camilla who glanced at me skeptically. "I'm pretty much walking on my own now, I'm getting the stitches out tomorrow," Maria gave a soft smile

"Don't strain yourself," She stole a glance at the clock, "We best be going."

"Take it easy, Irish," Denny said, giving a small wave before following Ross out, the room falling silent with the exception of the boiling water on the stove.

I went to my bedroom to gather my thoughts and make sure everything had been returned. I started by taking inventory of the basket. My clothes had been washed, hydrogen peroxide and baking soda evident in the scent. Beneath them were my necklaces, which I put on in haste. The comfort of the metal against my skin relaxed me as I continued my inspection of the bin.

My knife had been lost to my dismay, realizing that it was farther evidence for Mustang to suspect me. Another missing item was my book from the library. I realized it must have been left in the Archive Room, but I had little motivation to return there, and it was most likely closed for the investigation.

I soon realized I had left the card from Elicia as well as the ticket stubs in the hospital room, and a new worried overcame me. What if Mustang realized the farce? What if he knew Hughes had survived? What if he tried to track down Hughes? A migraine started, and I groaned as I drew the curtains to block out what little sunshine burned through the hovering rain clouds.

Throwing my cleaned clothes onto the half packed bag at the end of my bed, I laid down and once more stared at the ceiling before the thoughts that had spurred the packing returned. I closed my eyes, and fell into the lull of sleep even though it was still early in the day. I would leave the Hughes' household soon, at least within the next two weeks.

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 10

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

I awoke to a beeping sound that was slow, steady, and repetitive. I must have slept through my alarm for work. I shifted in the bed, a sharp pain shooting up from my hips. I must have been planting yesterday, as my knees too were sore and my back ached.

I yawned and tried to roll onto my uninjured side, the blanket over me wrapping itself tightly around my legs so much that I had to return to the uncomfortable position of my back. I sighed loudly through my nose, my sister's voice ringing out impatiently.

"Irish, Irish," She repeated in tandem with the alarm clock. I thought nothing of it until I tried once more to roll over and the pain in my hip began to burn. Mary never called me Irish, she was the older sibling who always used my full first name when addressing me in annoyance. I opened my eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light.

I expected to see the familiar ceiling of my room, with those glow-in-the-dark stars and dream catchers scattered above my bed, but I was only met with an empty, well lit ceiling. That was even more odd than Mary calling me Irish. I started to push myself up, but my arms gave out under my weight making me fall back to my bed with an elegant plop.

Just when I thought I was going to fall back into an enchanted and pain free sleep, I heard someone arguing nearby. Normally this wouldn't have caught my attention, given that my younger brothers were always arguing over something, but this voice was deep, and angrier.

When Matt, Brian, and Aiden argued, they were never the kind who got upset with each other over their disagreements. Matt, despite being a walking mountain of puberty, still retained his high squeaky voice. So, it couldn't have been them who were arguing. I tried to listen to the words that were muffled by the door, but I could only catch snippets of the conversation.

"She...witness...long enough...wrong-"

"...are...we...can...soon."

The first voice sounded vaguely familiar, and putting the pieces together, I realized this wasn't my room, and the beeping beside me was a heart monitor. With my new revelation, the beeping sped up as anxiety overcame me. The thoughts from the previous night came back in a rush of cold terror, my hands shaking and cold sweat dripping down my forehead as I tried a few feeble breathing exercises to calm down.

Everything was going according to plan more or less, and the only problem at the moment was that I was once more in a hospital. I tried to look around the hospital room to see if there was anyone else there. Seeing no one, I once again picked myself up, my right side and leg hurting so much the world spun for a moment as I adjusted myself so that my back lay against the headboard of the bed. The room was still very blurry, on account of my missing glasses and the disorienting bright lights, but I could make out an IV drip hooked up to my left hand and a few chairs to my right.

The door creaked open and I jumped, even more light pouring in from the hallway making it near impossible for me to see who was making the dark silhouette against the light. A clipboard clattered to the ground as the figure was pushed out of the way by another man who quickly approached me. A softer pair of footsteps followed, a quiet voice murmuring an apology before joining Mustang at my bed side.

"Irish, I need you to tell us what you know about Hughes' disappearance, time is of the essence," The dark eyed man snapped, looking down at me with no hint of sympathy or concern. My eyes widened and I shrank away from him, the suddenness of the inevitable interrogation startling me from my fantasies of sleep.

"Sir, with all do respect she just woke up-" The figure from the door, a doctor perhaps, said nervously.

"Shut up!" Mustang growled, clearly on edge. I didn't know if I could lie to him when he was like that, he simply radiated frustration and pure hate. Riza placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, please calm down," Surprisingly, the Flame Colonel sighed and crossed his arms, allowing Riza to stand closer to me. Her betrayed no emotion, though I knew she must have been feeling the same urgency her superior did. "Irish, I know you've just woken up and are recovering, but if you can tell us anything about the other night it would be appreciated." I stared at her blankly, my hand slowly reaching up to my head to feel a sharp pain at the back of my head where it crashed into the phone booth's door. I looked down, feeling sick as I recalled the events.

I zoned out for so long the doctor soon asked if Hawkeye and Mustang could leave. Riza looked up from me and shook her head at Mustang, who's glare seemed to bore a hole through me before his shoulder's sagged in defeat and he motioned to Riza to leave. I couldn't let them think Hughes was alive. That was the deal.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead," I murmured, Mustang quickly returning to my bedside with Riza in pursuit. I could feel warm tears of stress beginning to well in my eyes, but to the two attending officers, I hoped they seemed to be tears of sorrow.

"That's what you told Private Braun," Riza said softly, though in no way trying to affirm the statement. I whimpered and rubbed my eyes.

"She told me to tell you that," I squeaked, sniffling. I had little to know idea how to convince these people that Hughes had been killed, so I decided to play off the canon story where they believed Ross had killed him. Of course, there would be no names mentioned. Riza said something, but I purposely ignored the question. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead," I repeated.

"Irish, focus. Who is 'she'?" Riza asked, playing the good cop for this interrogation. Truth probably knew that I'd be facing a bad cop sometime in the near future. I shook my head, grabbing fistfuls of my hair in feigned frustration.

"I...I don't know," I sobbed, the heart monitor next to me picking up its pace as my breathing quickened and tears flowed. "I don't know,"

"I believe that's enough for today, you're going to make her condition worse, now please get out, she needs rest." The doctor advised, Riza looking to Mustang for an order. He looked at me coldly before nodding. The two left and the doctor called upon some nurses for aid in replacing my bandages and removing the heart monitor. I felt as if I was going to be sick as I slowly calmed down. It was a difficult feat after how worked up I had gotten myself.

I leaned back against the headboard as nurses seemed to swarm me, checking my pupils for dilation and using stethoscopes to check my breathing. I closed my eyes and started thinking about my plan to convince them that Hughes had been murdered. Of course there came the morbid thought of convincing them that I had murdered Hughes, but none of them would think that, of course.

From what I had collected from the nurses and doctors, I had been there for only two days, thus explaining the lack of a feeding tube when I awoke. The investigation of Hughes' disappearance was ongoing, but it had a pessimistic outlook.

It was being kept quiet, and I wasn't even sure if Gracia had been alerted of her husband's sudden and unscheduled departure. They could have told her he was on urgent call in the East somewhere. I was so worried about her and Elicia, mostly because Hughes could be anywhere and/or dead and they had no way of knowing he was (hopefully) safe from the country's impending doom. But I couldn't tell them. I needed to keep the feelings of hatred and sorrow genuine so that key people would make the correct key decisions.

I had woken up in the middle of the afternoon apparently, the day after the guards found me. After a check up from the doctor and many different nurses, the room was finally empty and I was told to rest. As if I could rest after what I had just been through. My leg and side were killing me, the fresh bandages stinging with alcohol and disinfectants.

I wanted to cry, or get sick, or just fall asleep, but I couldn't. I had put all of my trust in Envy, and the entire plan hinged on him keeping his word. I didn't trust him, but I didn't really have a choice either. It was all Truth's fault that it hadn't gone according to plan. If the entity hadn't pulled me to the Gate to stall, I would have been able to follow through with my original plan. Hopefully it saw that stalling hadn't changed the end goal, at least not too much.

The door opened unexpectedly, causing me to jump with fright. The pain that ensued was enough to sharpen my consciousness for the inevitable interview. Instead of an impatient and angsty Roy Mustang and his ever calm and collected Lieutenant, I was greeted with the stone like faces of Henry Douglas and Captain Focker.

Of course, those names came after a curt introduction. It took me a few moments to recognize Douglas' later connection to Ross' arrest, but Focker was relatively recognizable.

"Good evening, Miss. Irish, I am Colonel Douglas and this is Captain Focker." Douglas said as the two approached my bed side. Focker had a note pad and pen in hand. "We'd like to ask you some questions about the night of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' disappearance. Is that alright?" It humored me that the man even bothered to ask permission to interview me, a key witness to a crime.

I gave a numb nod, allowing myself to stare aimlessly into the distance to enhance the shell shocked look I was hoping to achieve. Douglas opened a folder Focker handed him, and began to read.

"At 19:00 you were observed by Private Müller entering the Investigations Wing of Central Command. Upon your exit, at 03:00 she reported despite your injuries, you ignored her presence, took a moment to see the first telephone stall, before exiting the building to travel just short of 400 meters where Officers Wundt and Lange discovered you. Does this sound correct?" I couldn't believe I had gotten that far away from the building, or the time frame for which I had been with Truth in the Gate, but it seemed accurate nonetheless.

"Yes," I said, my voice still hoarse. Focker made note of this. Douglas closed the folder.

"Can you please begin by telling us what occurred between the hours of 19:00 and 03:00 please?" I looked down at the question, but spoke nonetheless. I had not even considered my alibi, and although I had no doubt in my ability to bullshit the entire story, I was cautious to avoid plot holes.

"I was going to the Archive room. My friend - Reginald Azir - he had been teaching me Amestrian history, and I wanted to continue studying while he was hospitalized. But I got lost. I eventually found the bathroom and figured someone would come by who knew the way - at least to the exit, because I guess I dozed off while I was waiting. 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross found me and directed me to the Archive room," I paused, my eyes blank and my hands shaking as I recalled Lust's face and all of the blood that left small crimson puddles in and around the Archive room. " W-When I got there...there was so much blood...everywhere...so much blood-"

"Did Ross not escort you to the Archive room?" Douglas said, interrupting my self-induced panic. I looked up and shook my head, sure to make eye contact.

"No, she just gave me directions and left, in the exact opposite direction." I said, cracking my knuckles out of nervous habit. Focker copied my exact words.

"Did you not come upon any other officers?" I shook my head, looking down again.

"No, actually. It was as if they had all gone home for the night. The halls were rather deserted." Douglas nodded his head sagely, waiting a moment for Focker to copy down the statement.

"So, you are at the Archive room. Do you enter it? Is there anyone in there?" I felt goosebumps rise on my arms, courtesy of the drafty window, not fear or shock.

"I-I did go in, just a few steps to see if someone in there needed help. But then the door was closed behind me, and someone came at me..." I trailed off,having my hand drift to my right hip as I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. They wanted a story, so I might as well give them one. "The lights were out, and I didn't see who it was. I got out somehow before they could come at me again, but they said...she said, 'Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is dead,' as I ran-"

"Do you know who 'she' might have been?" Douglas asked tentatively, as if he were poking a sleeping bear.

"No...maybe...no? I didn't recognize the voice, but it was definitely female. On the higher end of the spectrum, but kind of throaty." I shuddered at the recollection of Lust's voice. "I just ran. I don't know how I found the front desk, but there was a trail of blood in front of me, and I assumed it must have been Hughes'. I...I don't remember Adele saying anything to me...to be honest I was kind of tunnel visioned at that point, just following the blood trail without thinking really..."

I trailed off, as if recalling that isolated feeling. In reality, I was pondering how the next few scenes would (logically) play out.

"Did you stop at the nearby telephone booth?" Douglas asked, gauging my reaction. I clasped my twitching hands together, and hiccuped as I focused on the pain at my side to force some tears from my eyes.

"Yes," I whispered, thought it was close enough to be classified as a whimper. Focker whispered something to Douglas. They still needed more information from me.

"Miss. Irish, I know this is difficult for you, but what did you see at the telephone booth?" Focker said, his deep voice trying to sooth my soft sobbing. I swallowed and quickly stopped the tears, wiping them with the back of my right hand. It was bandaged, the knuckles sore and raw from the pummeling I had delivered.

"T-There was...someone there, with a gun, standing outside." I hiccuped, folding my hands once again. From the feel of them, the burns had nearly healed, but the stinging alcohol on my knuckles had replaced the tight, red skin. "And there was someone inside; t-they had been s-shot, they were on the ground - like sitting, but as if they were asleep."

I struggled to find an eloquent way to word the image I had formed in my head, but the combination of what they could perceive as a limited Amestrian vocabulary and trauma could easily explain the chunkiness of my sentences.

"Did you see their faces, either the person in the booth or the shooter?" I bit my lip so hard it drew a small drop of blood.

"No, not the shooter...I was blindly following the trail of blood, and they pushed me into the booth's frame after yelling at me," I ran a hand through my hair and felt the sizable bump at the back of my head. "I don't remember what they said, the voice was...feminine, but it sounded different, younger perhaps. I-I fell down and saw who had been shot, they were dead...Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was dead. The person - the shooter - placed the gun to my head," The hand that had been at the back of my head traveled to my left temple. "Here, they told me to tell people that. To tell people that Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead."

I stared ahead at the foot or my bed blankly, allowing my hand to drop back into my other.

"What happened after that?" My shoulders drooped slightly, and my eyes went back to my bruised knuckles.

"The person left...they took Hughes with them. They picked him up like, like, child? No, like bride," I held my arms up to mimic the often cited bridal style. "I almost fell asleep, I was very tired...I lost a lot of blood. I started hitting the ground - I don't know why, I was angry and upset and it kept me awake. It took a little while to get back to my feet, but when I did I tried to follow down the path - the direction they took him. I didn't get very far before those officers found me...I was so tired...and - and frightened," I sniffed, my voice cracking. "I just wanted to...to switch places...I wanted to be the one who had been killed. If...If maybe I stopped and got Adele's help...then maybe we'd have reached him in time..."

Tears ran down my face inconsistently but fueled by emotion. I was internally chastising myself for not being a little faster, to maybe save Hughes some mental and physical trauma.

"You just get some rest ma'am, our investigators will find Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," Dauglas reassured, though he sounded quite grim as Focker copied down the last pieces of my account. I looked down, my breathing labored and hands shaking.

"Good day, Miss. Irish. Thank you so much for your time," Focker added as the Colonel began to exit the room. He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. "Do not speak to anyone about this matter, at least not until we can straighten out what happened."

He quickly followed his superior, notepad of my story under his arm. I yawned, remembering how tired I still was. Although they had taken me off of liquids, I still was hooked up to some type AB negative blood. How on earth did they figure out I was AB, let alone negative?

I laid awake in the early morning hours, nothing but the blood mystery to occupy my thoughts. When I tried to inquire with a nurse, she responded negatively, unsure who had determined which blood to use as a replacement. It was around 11:00 when I remembered AB could be donated to anyone - a universal donor to quote Ms. Shake from freshman year - and I was being paranoid for no reason. Unfortunately, the worry and concern had given me a horrible migraine.

A knock at the door only served to irritate my aching skull.

"You have a visitor,"

"Big sister Mac!" Elicia cried, running to my bed and jumping onto me. I gave a short gasp of pain when she forced me to shift my weight so that my right side couldn't be favored, but I still managed to smile.

"Hey kiddo," I croaked, my voice hoarse and foreign to my ears. Gracia also entered the room, but much more slowly than her daughter. Immediately I felt the sober atmosphere around the woman, her eyes not nearly as bright and a smile only barely visible upon her chapped lips. I also felt a pang of fear at the sight of the woman, who had held a gun to Hughes' head.

"Look! Look! 'member Mike and- and his present? See! It's a horsey!" The girl giggled, oblivious to my condition as she produced the sloppily transmuted brown object that vaguely resembled a donkey. She was also unaware that I hadn't consciously attended the party, but that wasn't for anyone to know. "His arm was hurt, but then he made it for me out of the floor! Isn't that so cool?"

"Yeah, it is," I managed, trying to clear my throat but instead inciting a coughing fit. Gracia lifted her daughter from my bed and placed in her in one of the nearby seats.

"Let's give Irish a little space, okay sweetie?" Gracia said, her voice devoid of its usual peppiness, and her chiding not as motherly but more demanding. I worried about changes the loss of her husband would have on her, if she had even been alerted of his probable death. This change in her could have merely been caused by a lack of information from the military was providing her. Mrs. Hughes sat down in the chair next to her daughter, closer to my head. "How we doing?" She asked quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I noticed her bitten fingernails, and her ever present wedding ring was slightly off-centered.

"I've been better," I said softly, sitting up slowly. This time the world only spun for a few seconds before I could focus on Gracia's sad smile. "And how are you doing?" I asked, searching for any sign of immediate distress.

There was nothing major, just the slight drooping of her eyelids and a momentary frown. It was enough for Elicia to look up at her mother with big, worried green eyes.

"Mommy?" She asked quietly, her voice barely a squeak. "Where's daddy?" I think my heart imploded a little. Gracia, however, immediately brightened up at the comment, ruffling Elicia's hair.

"Why don't you go outside and say hi to Sergeant Brosh? You told me his little sister was at the park with Mike the other day. What was her name...Agnes?" The little girl's worry evaporated. And, it seemed I was saddled with the babysitting duo once again.

"Okay mommy," She said with a laugh. "Aggy said her big brother was the best, just like big sister Mac is the best!" I think my heart melted a little at the cuteness, but more than the adorableness of her exit, was the cold fear of the reason for her dismissal.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked to Gracia, who held her smile until the door closed, muffling Elicia's greeting to the Sergeant. The door closed without hurry, cutting off the warmer lights of the hallway, leaving us in the solemnity of the cold white lights above.

"I haven't been told much, and I doubt you have either but," I felt tears prick at my eyes as the strong, independent mother before me started to fall to pieces. "They think," She paused a again to hiccup and attempt to stem the flowing tide of tears, "They think that he's dead,"

The last part of the sentence was a barely audible gasp of pure sorrow that turned my melted heart into a twisted knot of regret. I let a few tears run freely down my face, not tears of sorrow but those of pity and we wept for a few moments of near silence, before Gracia seemed compelled to collect herself.

"I-I wasn't allowed to see you until they were convinced you had told them everything...They haven't," She took a deep breath, trying to wipe away the tears, "They haven't told me what happened, or what they think happened..."

Remembering what Focker had told me, I looked down, almost ashamed that I had to withhold this information from her.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking not at Gracia but at my battered and bandaged right hand. "I'm so sorry...I-I should have...I wish-" Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. I hadn't realized the tears flowing down my cheeks until now, when I buried my head in Gracia's shoulder.

"Oh, Irish," She said, her tears now stopped and voice holding steady, "I'm just glad one of you is alive, I'd be just as upset if it were you in his place, and wishing it were wouldn't change anything. I love you too," She released me slightly, holding me shoulders as she looked at my face. I ignored the pain from my side the best I could, but a few tears of pain and regret still slipped through. "Now, get some rest, get better, come home. Elicia is getting bored without her knight to help her defend the castle."

I hiccuped, and gave a small chuckle. Gracia stood up, and took a card from her purse. "Feel better, I'll see you tomorrow," She left the room, sounds of Elicia's exuberant retelling of her trip to the park seeping through the cracked door for a brief moment before silence returned, only filled by my own breathing and the hum of the lights.

It was quite simple on the front, simply stating 'Hope you feel better' in a flowing font reminiscent of a Hallmark card. I opened it to quite the surprise. Elicia had drawn her family, and myself, standing in front of the apartment building.

Gracia, made distinct by her light brown curls held Elicia's hand, the smallest human stick figure. Maes, creepily similar to my previous stick figures, held hands with his wife and myself. I was drawn with white crayon, only distinguished by the waxy sheen on the paper and the red dots of my eyes. Over the complex was a sloppy rainbow, and a childish sun smiling down on us. It took me a moment to notice the equally invisible ferret that was at my stick figure-self's feet.

Gracia's clear, cursive handwriting signed her name, along with a curt 'Get well soon,' whereas Elicia had attempted to and partially accomplished to sign her name, most likely with the aid of her mother.

I was moved to cry again, realizing that I had come to love the people around me as much as they loved me. Instead of crying, I smiled, and closed the letter. Holding it close to my chest, I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep.

I woke without any knocking or whispering this time, the quiet of the room allowing me to cling to the last remnants of the dream I had the night before. I had been home, with my family, but there was no gravity - or at least something that made everything and everyone float around like balloons. I'm pretty sure Thomas Hiddleston was there too - or maybe some other famous actor, but the dream faded too fast and with few sticking details.

It was nice to wake up on my own, left to my own thoughts and some temporary privacy. Yawning I placed the card from the Hughes' under my pillow, amazed it had survived the night without a wrinkle or crease. After a few moments of lying there motionless, I began to envy my morning routine back at the Hughes residence.

I'd get up on my own by at the latest 7:00, 4:30 being the norm for both school and work back in my world. I would bathe, dress for the day, eat breakfast with Gracia and Elicia - sometimes Maes if he was running late for work. By 9:00 I would be at the Main Street Grocery Store, the first costumers and morning deliveries groggily arriving. I missed the smell of throwing out bad eggs and bad milk, and other items on the non-refrigerated shelves that had expired.

I rolled over, happily freed of the IV by a nurse a few moments after a quick inspection by a doctor. My leg was feeling better, and by the doctor's assessment, I could be on crutches today, and walking on my own at the end of the week. I didn't know if it was Sunday or Friday, but it didn't sound like too long to bear.

Today I was supposed to start testing my limits - with a nurse present to observe and assess my progress. According to the doctor - I never caught his name - she'd be by sometime after noon. The nurse arrived at 11:00.

I was sitting in my bed, left leg to my chin as I observed the wound. Most of the heavy bandaging had been removed, leaving only the stitches. The scars would be small, at least for the puncture wounds, whereas the longer scratch would leave a fainter but longer scar.

To the nurse, who opened the door without knocking, I must have looked quite strange with the waist of the pants outstretched so I could inspect the wound. It was probably more embarrassing for me, or at least it felt that way. The woman took no note, almost ignoring me entirely to make sure the door was shut tight behind her. Suspicious? Yes.

"Are you the physical therapy person?" I asked tentatively, though the woman's violet eyes turned on me like daggers and answered my question. "Oh, no wonder you're early..." The woman - well, Envy I guessed - crossed her arms and leaned against the door.

"You are incredibly inconvenient," He growled, his voice only a few notched higher and more feminine than normal. I shrugged, though my heart rate and stress had definitely increased in the homunculus' presence.

"So I've been told," I said, my words faltering slightly as the disguised Envy made his way from the door to my bed in few strides. The woman he was impersonating had really long legs.

"I don't know how a pathetic human like yourself knows as much as you do, but you do," Envy stated, gripping the end of my bed. "How?" The question hung in the air for a few moments, almost a moment too long.

"I already told you-"

"The Truth does not give information that liberally, much less specifically. And from the looks of it, the price you paid was a small one, so there is no reason for you to know as much as you do without other means. Tell me how." I was actually surprised how worked up the homunculus was - had I been too aggressive after all? My mind raced for a moment, only able to focus on his mention of my exchange with Truth.

"Prove to me Maes Hughes is safe," I stated as coldly as I could, somehow keeping my voice steady. "And I'll tell you what you want to know,"

"How can I prove-"

"Prove it, or I'll take the liberty of snuffing out a sacrifice," I interrupted, secretly terrified that Envy had gone back on his word. Considering how much freedom he actually had to kill Hughes, I worried the homunculus had known about my bluff all along. The artificial human hesitated.

"The human is safe, the pathetic thing. I have the ticket stub from the train somewhere..." The homunculus changed back into his normal form, sure to see that the blinds were closed before small bolts of crimson lightning danced around the nurse's body to become more masculine and much paler.

"I never took you as the sentimental type, Envy," I hummed, feigning endearment. It disgusted him, which amused me.

"Here," Envy barked with a snort, his voice dripping with revolt at the thought of a human admiring him. Which of course wasn't the case with me, I was just as scared and hateful of the artificial human as when we first met. I snatched the tickets from his hand gingerly, afraid he might have some trick up his sleeve. Not that he was actually wearing sleeves.

The two ticket stubs were for one two way trip and a one way trip to Bumecu. I could only speculate where Envy had gotten the money to pay for the tickets. I raised an eyebrow at him and set the stubs down at the side of my bed.

"Did he get across the border?" I asked, still skeptical of Envy's honesty. The personified sin sat at the end of my bed and sat with his legs crossed.

"Yes," He spat, annoyed by my distrust, "I escorted him to the border myself, we got to Olma, a town a few kilometers from the border where I left him at a hotel and told him to stay. It's not my fault if he didn't," I nodded, unintentionally sighing with relief.

"So, what do you want to know?" I asked, after what was a clearly agonizing few seconds of quiet for the impatient homunculus.

"How do you know-"

"If you're going to say everything, I'm going to stop you right there. I don't know everything, I'm not Truth, how could I know everything? And I already told you, I made a deal with Truth," I said, ignoring Envy's growing irritation.

"Yes but it's not - ugh, you shouldn't know so much for such a small exchange! And you shouldn't know such specifics like what happened in Ishval or Greed-"

"Oh, did he get melted yet?" I asked, once more interrupting Envy. He gave me a look that told me that asking if Greed had been 'melted yet' was impolite at the least. "Sorry, it's just - I've been in the hospital for Truth knows how long, and I just don't know the time frame in which it happened so I'm a little out of the loop as far as time goes,"

Haha, both figuratively and literally.

"Yes, Greed was 'melted' as you put it, inconsiderate human," I rolled my eyes at the insult, I had better things to worry about.

"Okay, did someone see you guys leave the park and stuff? How did you cover your tracks? As of know, he's believed dead. A formal declaration and service should follow soon if the investigation runs dry," I inquired, aware that a messy job by Envy would make my own much more difficult.

"I don't think anyone saw us, no. We kept to the shadows and alleyways until we made it to the river. I dumped his clothes in the river, and then we got to the train station, bought our tickets, waited until 6:00 for the first train, and left, okay?"

"Where did you get him new clothes?" I asked out of curiosity, when I should have been more concerned about who they may have come in contact with at the station.

"I stole them, of course, some drunk guy. He won't remember us when he wakes up in that ditch, that's for sure." Had I really expected a different answer? "And what's it to you? You only asked me to get him out of the country,"

"Well, I assumed it was in our mutual best interest to smuggle him out of the country without attracting the attention of military investigators, nice touch of throwing the clothes in the river by the way," I said, hoping that was what had sealed the deal for the investigators. If only there were some piranhas or other flesh eating creatures in the river to cement the idea of Hughes' death. "Are you sure no one of importance saw him at the train station?"

Envy, ever irate with my questions rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, and if someone did, Wrath would take care of it," I bit the inside of my cheek. Of course the homunculi would underestimate Mustang's persistence. "Now, about what you know-" I clicked my tongue at him.

"If you're going to call my exchange 'unfair' then you clearly are only concerned with what is skin deep," Wow, that actually sounded kind of cool. Envy didn't seem as impressed with my eloquence as I was.

"What did you trade? Some worthless memories, perhaps your pathetic human conscious?" I snorted and crossed my arms.

"Well, considering I have a perfectly good memory and I do feel bad about hitting you the other night, no. Why does it concern you what exchange I worked out with Truth?" I expected Envy to fume about this, but he seemed confused abut something. Had my English eloquence failed?

"You regret that?" He asked, surprising me with the lack of hostility in his voice. Did I regret pummeling Gracia Hughes' gorgeous face into a bloody pulp? Yes. Did I regret hitting Envy? Maybe. I admit it had felt good to vent my anger at him, but in hindsight I felt what I could assume was the normal human response to hurting another human being - guilt.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, you're alive, I'm alive. You're kind of human, I'm human; am I supposed to feel happy about hurting someone?"

"I do," Well, no duh Envy, "You're probably only feeling bad about hurting a wonderful creature such as myself,"

"Oh, yes, I feel awful about harming a face as adorable as your own, you lovely crocodile,"

"Why thank-" He caught the hint of sarcasm in my voice, "You little, miserable brat-" The door opened, revealing a very surprised Reginald. It was a good thing Envy could shape shift so quickly. The nurse giving him a look that would have killed quickly drove him from the room.

"I'll...give you a minute," Reggie said unsurely, closing the door. I gave Envy a smirk of triumph. I was glad not to spend a minute longer with the freak.

"Well, I'll see you later alligator," Envy turned his deadly glare on me.

"We're keeping tabs on you, Miss. Irish," The feminine voice was sickeningly sweet, enunciating my name. I had never told Envy my name, but with the homunculus' resources it mustn't have been too difficult. "Stay away from the Fullmetal Alchemist," Envy took long strides to the door, looking back at me to make sure I got the message.

"If it were up to me, I'd stay as far away as possible from the pipsqueak," I said, remembering Reggie was right outside the door, followed up with a curt, "Thank you ma'am," Envy avoided eye contact with Reggie as he quickly exited the room.

With his exit, came Reggie's entrance. It was nice to be in the presence of a real human for a little bit.

"Did I interrupt something?" I laughed, as did he. Reggie was standing on his own, and wearing street clothes instead of his uniform. His arm was barely noticeable, since he was wearing a jacket over the collared shirt.

"No, she's was pissed at me for messing with my stitches," I said, smiling at him as he sat on the bed next to me. "And how are you? You look fit as a fiddle," Reggie smiled, subconsciously placing a hand on the sleeve where his arm would be.

"I'm doing better, I was discharged from the hospital the day you came in actually - you won't believe the trouble I had getting the Sargent and 2nd Lieutenant to let me visit you," I nodded - they hadn't met Reggie at all, "I actually have tickets to Rush Valley, the train leaves tomorrow morning," I stole a peek at the blinds, the noon sunlight glaring down and not entering the room, "I was hoping you'd come with me, but, in the state you're in-"

"Oh, crap. Did I ever give you the money? I'm not sure how much they'll charge when you get there - remember to look for the perky blonde - her name's Winry Rockbell, she knows me. If I can't get the money to you - or if they won't wait for the money - just be persistent, Winry's a sweetheart but it takes a while to persuade her to do something if money is on the line," I slowed my rant, noting the hint of sadness in Reggie's eyes. "Did you ever finish those codes I gave you?" This seemed to help him lighten up a bit.

"Yes, actually, I've gotten quite far on the 'Four-Score' one. Where'd you ever come up with that by the way? It's actually quite an interesting speech," I shrugged, thinking back to the nonexistent village of Ire.

"It's like the creed of my village back in Drachma," Reggie nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced.

"Your village must be very...open minded," He commented, to which I responded with a huff of feigned annoyance.

"How dare you insult my heritage! May the great Utka damn you to the seventh circle of suffering!" I said dramatically, doing a sign of the cross and bowing my head with clasped hands. Though I was merely joking, Reggie seemed to take it seriously.

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to offend," I gave him a weak shove.

"I was joking, Reggie. I'm not some Bible-thumping grandma," I said, reaching for and not finding any of my necklaces. A moment of internal panic passed with the realization that I would just have to wait. They were probably being held with evidence or something.

"Bible? Is that your scriptures?"

Ah, yes. Back to the good old times of my first year in public school - a radical display of Catholicism! Does your father make you wear dresses? Are you not supposed to talk to boys? Are your brothers and dad sexist? Do you hate gay people? The answer of all of these was no, but I was still the strange religious girl who was ridiculed for saying grace before lunch. Freshman year was quite the learning experience, at least in terms of adapting to fit society's expectations of a lunchroom.

"The Bible? Yes, but don't ask me to parrot it back to you cover to cover. Priests go to school for a decade or more to do that, not me." I said, though it came out more harshly than I intended. "Are you religious?" I asked tentatively, hoping I seemed as innocently curious as I really was.

"Not really, Amestris isn't exactly a theology hub. Most people believe more in science and proven fact - not to offend your religion or anything, it's just the cultural attitude here is a bit different."

"I get it, and to be honest, we have as much faith in science as we do in our religion. We try to strike a balance between the two; to me, science is a byproduct of our divine creation to be curious and inventive. I'm no priest, so I can't say what their view of it would be, but that's what I believe." I rubbed my bandaged hand, having brushed it a little to hard against the bed. "This theology shit is boring, have you decided on the model you want? Personally, I think going for a higher percentage of chrome - Winry said it'd be less resistant to rusting, but the downside is that it's weaker."

"I was thinking about this one," Reggie pulled out the automail advertisement I had given him on the first day after his surgery. The model in question was glorious and sleek in design and color, a dark grey metal with silver fittings. Though, I bet Winry could make the same thing, but better. We talked about the models and the money to pay for them - I hadn't given him the money, so begging or his own money would have to suffice.

"Miss. Irish," A familiar voice called from the door, startling me for a moment. It was the nurse Envy had impersonated, but with bright brown eyes instead of cold purple ones. Reginald had to leave.

"See you, hope you get to Rush Valley safe and sound Reginald!" I said, giving him an enthusiastic wave as if he were boarding the Titanic - but, you know, without the whole sinking and dying part.

"See you, Irish," He called back as he exited the room. I sighed, looking to the nurse who immediately began to run me through the summary of the physical therapy. A nervous Denny interrupted before we even got started with the simple flexion exercises to help me regain full hip movement.

"The Fuhrer wants to speak with you," He glanced behind himself. "Now,"

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 9

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I will be referring to Envy, regardless of his form, as a male, simply to avoid confusion.

After kicking Hughes out and reminding myself to ask him about the knife he had given me when I got the chance, things went on as they had been before his interruption. I spent about four whole hours talking to Albert and helping him with the ciphers I made.

They were pretty easy and he got through the first set of equations pretty quickly and discovered the first line of the letter I had prepared was 'Fourscore and seven years ago...'. I admit it was pretty humorous that he didn't recognize the line, though the Gettysburg Address probably didn't exist in this world. I didn't think I would never forgive Mr. Starks for making us memorize and recite the speech.

Around noon I decided to head over to the Store and see if Miss. Reich had any work for me to do. However, upon arrival, I only found Albert, alone and manning the cash register.

"Good afternoon," I said with a sigh as I threw my bag into the back room, "Where's Miss. Reich?"

"Out sick, you think she'd be more careful after the last time," Albert responded as he handed me a spare apron to put on.

"The last time?" I asked quizzically, tying the apron around my waist. I had to look presentable for the customers, even if the store was completely empty at the moment and I worked in the back.

"Yeah, the illness a few years ago. She wasn't her best for a while, still isn't, I guess," Albert said, wiping down the counter. I furrowed my brow. Did he mean the sickness that killed Tricia Elric?

"That was a while ago, and here I thought you were the new guy here," I said as I rearranged the newspapers so that they were in order from newest to oldest. One of the most recent articles said that it was believed that the serial killer, 'Scar', was dead.

"I am, Miss. Reich is my aunt, I've been living with her since as long as I can remember though," He said, looking everywhere but at my wide eyes that were forced to look away from the back of his head. I wanted to say something...consoling? But it came out more like this:

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," I managed to stutter before slipping into the back room and clutching my nearby broom tightly. I felt embarrassed, especially since I had no idea how to respond to such a statement. Albert had said it so casually, but why did it make me so nervous and anxious? I chocked it up to pure exhaustion.

I worked in the backroom until after dark, leaving just before Albert came in to tell me he was closing the Store. Gracia was so relieved to see me well, reminding me that she hadn't seen me since I asked to leave the night before. I explained the fiasco and that I simply wanted to get in a few hours of work before coming home.

"Miss. Reich is sick," I mentioned, trying to gauge Gracia's reaction. The way she had referenced Miss. Reich made it seem as if the two were, or had been, friends at some point. Alas, she gave no note of recognition.

"Oh, that's too bad. Maybe we can get her some flowers at the store tomorrow?" She said, keeping her voice low as she took the chilled soup out of the ice box and placed it before me. It was well past Elicia's bed time, and Gracia was already wearing a pair of night clothes.

"Why are we going to the store tomorrow again?" I asked in between spoonfuls of cold soup. It may have not been too tasty cold if I wasn't starving from a day devoid of much food. I made a note to restart a regular eating schedule, as some of the clothes Gracia had bought me were starting to get too big. The woman's face lit up like a string of brand new Christmas lights.

"Elicia's party is Sunday night, remember? I just need to pick up some last minute stuff while she's at her friend's house for a play date. You don't have to come if you don't want to-"

"No way! I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, though the enthusiasm was partially forced. I needed to do something besides moping around the house or the hospital all day, and it would give me an opportunity to buy another notebook.

The next morning we headed to the shopping center after walking Elicia to the park to meet with a friend of her's. He was a little older than her, and he shared his mother's bright green eyes. I kept an eye out for Johann, in case he was still in town. I didn't see him anywhere, but we managed to get everything on our rather short list: flowers, streamers, some rosemary and garlic, and one beautiful leather bound notebook for me.

That night I opened it up to write in it, and in my desperation for a writing utensil in my room, I used the one Lucha - or rather, Truth, - had used to communicate with me. I felt a pang of sadness at the memory, the scribbles now sewed shut with Alphonse.

After sitting in the dim room for a moment and feeling something crushingly depressing in my chest, I finally began to continue my journal, copying down what I remembered about 'Ire' and all of the episodes ahead of me. I realized that there were actually three days, not two that Ed technically spent in the hospital from my perception of the flow of time.

I recalled that Winry only arrived after he had spent two days in the hospital, then she spent the night with the Hughes family at Elicia's party. It actually excited me to meet her. I knew a lot of people didn't particularly think she was that awesome of a character in the series, but I always thought she was pretty cool. I mean, I can barely put a pen back together after taking it apart, and she could make those automail miracles from scratch. I wanted to ask her how they figured out how to connect the nerves, it could have been useful when and if I returned to my world.

Despite my excitement in writing down my future plans, my exhaustion from the past sleepless 24 hours forced me to stop and enjoy the empty void of sleep while it lasted.

I got up early that morning to help Gracia and Elicia get ready for the party that night. Even though Gracia and I were up before dawn, it seemed Hughes had left even earlier than us. Did the guy ever sleep? Later we hung streamers, set up other decorations and started to make the cake when I accidentally decided to show Gracia how much cooking and baking hated me.

Upon putting the finished cake batter in the oven, just was we had time to sit down for the first time all morning, smoke began to fill the apartment as if on cue. I, not really thinking properly, opened the stove and took the pan of blackened cake batter out with my bare hands. After a brief moment of panic, I turned on the ice cold faucet and stood there pouting until Gracia had opened all of the windows and fanned out most of the smoke.

"Let me see," She said after distracting Elicia with the task of arranging the party hats the table, which was unsurprisingly difficult for such a small girl. I sheepishly held out my stinging hands, causing Gracia to click her tongue at me. "These are bad, maybe I should take you to the hospital,"

I pulled back my hand and observed the damage. It wasn't that bad considering a stunt like that would probably have given anyone else third degree burns. But, as I was coming to realize, the laws of my world didn't apply to me here. My hands were bright pink, probably a first degree burn at most, and the pain had all but disappeared.

"Weirdness," I mumbled as Elicia shrieked with excitement as she stood on top of the dinning table, drawing Gracia's attention away from my singed hands.

"Elicia, you know better!" The mother chided, taking the girl down from her perch.

"I could go by myself, you have a lot of work to get done still," I said, looking at the pile of ash that may have once been cake batter. "I could drop Elicia off at her friend's house, his name was Mike, correct? You wanted to drop her off earlier, remember? So I could just bring her over on my way to the hospital," Gracia shot me a look of gratitude.

"Thank you," She mouthed as she looked down to her daughter, "Elicia, would you like to go on play date with Mike for a little bit? Then you can come home and we'll have your party," The shining glee in the little girl's eyes said it all.

Mike's house, or rather, Mr. and Mrs. Weber's apartment, was in a complex across the street from the hospital. Which was convenient for them, as Mike always seemed to have broken something. This time a cast resided on his hand and wrist, suggesting he had tried and failed to do a handstand like the ones Elicia had been showing off to Gracia and I whenever we were home with her.

I opened my mouth to apologize to Mrs. Weber, but she gave a smile and a wink of her sharp brown eyes before nodding.

"I figured Gracia would send her over eventually, the poor woman has too many things on her mind," She whispered as Mike and Elicia giggled at nothing, as young children often do. I gave a grin of relief. One less thing to worry about.

"Could you bring her over for the party?" I asked, glancing down, my hands hidden in the pockets of the overcoat I was wearing, "I probably won't be back until late,"

"Mike," Mrs. Weber called sternly as her son attempted to show Elicia a new game he had learned, in which the floor could not be touched and the children had to jump across the pieces of furniture. That was the most relatable moment I ever had with a child from another dimension of space and time. "Yes, it's fine. I was going to bring Mike over anyway, it really isn't any trouble at all."

Nodding my head, I whispered a quick thank you and began to walk down the stairs to the lobby. They were carpeted in an ugly green fabric, reminding me of the stairs in my own home. The banister to my left, the white wallpaper to right, just like the staircase that led from the front hallway of my house to the upstairs. As I approached the bottom, I half expected to find Jimmy lying in the perfect spot to be tripped over.

Jimmy had been the family dog, a part Chow Chow part Labrador part Doberman Pinscher all American mut brought up from Louisiana after a tropical storm left the shelters down there flooded with abandoned and sick dogs. Jimmy had been on death row for his size, nine years old with two dislocated knee-caps, early cataracts, and beginning to go deaf.

But, I was eight years old, had three younger, impressionable siblings at the time, and wanted a dog. After driving an hour to the shelter he had been transferred to, we took him out of the kennel, and immediately knew he was the relaxed, mild tempered dog we wanted.

And he was that dog until he turn fourteen, and died of old age despite the numerous fatty tumors, lack of appetite, and dementia he had developed in his later years. It was heartbreaking for little twelve year old me, who had come to know the dog as the chicken herding, huggable, pet that had been with me for the entirety of my conscious life.

It was then my parents decided to buy my oldest younger brother and I ferrets, resulting in Lucha, Nippers, and Tonka the white and brindled fuzzy slinkies that filled that hole in our lives, though they were awful chicken herders.

I stopped the train of thought as I headed into the cold twilight air, aware of the tears beginning to well in my eyes. The night was warm despite the cool breeze, the hum of insects in the early autumn and the sounds of the bustling city seeping through the buildings to this quiet corner of Central almost led me believe all of this was normal. The government was normal, the town was normal, normal things happened - good and bad - to normal people.

The stillness of that moment passed, and I was on the other side of the street opening the door to the reception area of the hospital. I gingerly opened the hospital door, wincing at the pain as the blisters pressed against the cold metal of the handle. Okay, so maybe it was little more than a first degree burn.

"Good evening," I said to the lady at the reception desk, the same older woman from the other day. She glanced up through thick lenses, "I burned my hand cooking, is there anything you can do for that here?" I asked, feeling that it sounded too formal, but at the same time didn't want to scream 'Fix this! I has a boo-boo!' at the old woman. She called over a nurse who gave a nod at the sight of my blistered hands.

"Yes, just follow Miss. Becker please," I did as I was told, following the nurse to a small room with curtains on either side of a bench. It clearly wasn't the wing that held long term patients.

"Name?" She inquired, writing some notes down on a clipboard. The nurse had curly strawberry blonde hair that framed her pale, freckled face as if she was some actor who just walked out of the makeup booth. In short - she was really pretty.

"Irish, just Irish," The nurse - Miss. Becker - squinted at me suspiciously. I took my Certificate of Honorary Citizenship from my bag with pained, shaking hands.

The woman barely glanced at it before taking it and attaching it to the clipboard and setting it on the tabled near the bench. She then caught a nurse walking by and asked for some supplies as I zoned out, wondering why all of the nurses weren't married. I was aware that most of them were young girls, and working full time took away from courtship or whatever ridiculous practice they had here as a precursor to a marriage.

My wondering was broken by a sting as my hands were placed in lukewarm water, mild soap causing any broken blisters to sting even more than they already did. After drying my hands with a clean gauze, Miss. Becker began to bandage them, first lathering the worst of the burns - my fingers and the tip of my thumb - with what I could only assume was some kind of antibiotic ointment before loosely wrapping a bandage around first my palm then each individual finger.

After this painfully tedious process was completed, she advised me to continue moving my hands as I would if they were not burned, to prevent the skin from healing too tightly.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said as I was dismissed, she murmured a quiet word of welcome before stalking down the hallway back to the reception desk. Left to my own devices, I took my Certificate from the clipboard and decided to find Reggie's room and see if he had gotten any progress on the Gettysburg Address. It wasn't nearly that difficult, the familiar staircase from hell soon looming in front of me. Trekking up it only took a few minutes, but after what felt like hours I finally arrived at his door.

"Reggie," I sighed, plopping myself down in the nearest chair, "You won't believe the luck I've been having..." It was near the end of this statement I realized a confused old man with a feeding tube and an oxygen tank was in the bed, not an amputee soldier. "S-Sorry," I stuttered before exiting and quickly discovering I had gone into the door on the wrong side of the hallway.

"Reggie, you won't believe the luck I've been having..."

We talked for a while, smoothing out the details of his trip to Rush Valley and what I'd be up to if I wasn't going with him. The sinking realization that it depended on the outcome of the my choices in the next 24 hours quieted me so much that Reginald changed the subject without my input and showed me that he had decoded the second line of the cipher, 'our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation'.

I fell asleep at some point, but was pleasantly surprised when I woke up to find not much time had passed according the wall clock, and that Reggie had fallen asleep as well. Soon, a nurse came and told me to leave, as Reggie needed his bandages changed. Recalling that this was olden times back in the horrible ole' 1910s, I decided not to protest and instead see if I could find Ed's room. I asked the nurse, a Miss. Messenger, if she knew where he was, but she wholly ignored my question and simply shooed me out of the room.

After sometime of searching the empty halls of the floor, I discovered a more friendly looking nurse who told me to check with the receptionist. I first headed gaily to the hallway, before realizing that going to the secretary meant confronting my greatest enemy in this world: stairs. I muffled a groan of annoyance but limped down the steps slowly. The boots I wore were starting to seem too tight and chaff at my ankles.

After some time trudging through the maze, I found the front office of the ER and spotted the secretary. Her glasses precariously perched atop her dainty nose as she sat behind the counter, shuffling paperwork.

"Good morning, I was just wondering if I could visit Edward Elric? He checked in not too long ago," Her grey eyes narrowed at me suspiciously before she brightened suddenly, as if a light bulb went off over her head. To my disappointment, it didn't seem that such a thing actually happened in this realistic universe.

"You're that strange girl from yesterday, yes? 2nd Lieutenant Ross told me that if you wanted to see him he'd be in the room just down the hall. 45 B." Strange girl? That was a new one.

"Thank you, ma'am." I rushed as I stepped quickly down the hall. I wasn't necessarily in a hurry to see the Elrics - well, I wasn't in a hurry to be in the same room as Alphonse and his brother after what I had told him. Nevertheless, I made a beeline for the end of the hall, keeping an eye out for the Babysitting Duo.

"Where is he? Has Fuhrer Bradley been through here?" Two soldiers called just a head of me, notifying me of the time of the episode. I followed them until a streamer of blonde hair caught my eye. Turning around, I changed direction to follow the girl.

She was about my height, though possibly slightly taller in her heeled boots. Her hair was quite blonde, a vibrant and shiny gold that even in a pony tail nearly reached her waist. A clean white tang top hugged her frame, and a short blue skirt rustled above her knees. My anxious pace soon caught up to her own, and we walked side by side for a few awkward steps.

"You going to see Ed?" I finally asked, breaking the silence. Winry Rockbell glanced at me, almost in apprehension, or possibly wariness. Her eyes wear a very bright blue, but in this world, they were not unrealistically so. They looked me up and down, from my bag to my reused outfit to my untamed pale locks that were beginning to curl in the afternoon humidity.

"Yes, are you a friend of his?" She asked invitingly, though I could hear a hint of suspicion in her voice. I shrugged, noticing that Denny and Maria had yet to come into our sight.

"I met the Elric brothers a few times, they seem like some good kids. I was here for another friend of mine and figured I'd stop by and see what those two had gotten themselves into again." I said, noting she wasn't carrying around any tools or automail repair parts. It seemed strange considering she was Winry Rockbell. "I'm Irish by the way, just Irish." She gave a small, restrained smirk.

"Nice to meet you 'just Irish'." I rolled my eyes, but gave a small chuckle nonetheless. Dad jokes were the best jokes. "I'm sorry, I never properly introduced myself, I'm Winry, Winry Rockbell. I'm just here to give Ed some tickets he asked for." I nodded, seeing Denny and Maria ahead of us as they guarded a room with two doors instead of the standard one.

I noticed Winry's earrings made from what appeared to be pieces of scrap metal, washers, and other various automail parts. So cool.

"I wouldn't go in there right now," Denny advised as I went to open the door for Winry. "The Fuhrer's in there," I shrugged and flew the doors open with abandon.

"Edward, your knight in automail armor is here to rescue you from your uselessness!" I announced dramatically at the four men staring out the window. Winry followed close behind, unfazed.

"Hey Ed..." She then noticed the gathering that had formed near the window. "What the... What's going on? Did I miss something?" Ed looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Not really, just a tornado passing by." He stated simply, staring at the blonde girl blankly. Unsure how to respond to the sarcasm, Winry awkwardly closed the door behind her.

"Well, I don't think there's anything I can do about that. But I did go and buy those train tickets you asked for," She said, producing the tickets from thin air, or at least it seemed that way to me as her pleated skirt offered no visible pockets. Maybe that was just the physics of this world. Ed seemed to get some color back to his face and returned to normal, his shiny gold eyes blinking with recognition.

"Thanks, just in time," It then occurred to me that Winry had been here before, Ed's arm free of its sling. That meant that Hughes was going to be murdered tonight, so long as I didn't intervene.

"You okay Mac?" Hughes asked, distracting me from my internal conflict. It was nice not to think about death for the past day or so, but now I had a choice to make, an important choice. I realized he was talking about my hands, not my look of sheer and utter terror that had followed my thoughts.

"I'm bad at cooking," I said, holding up the bandaged hands. "I tried to help with the cake...it ended badly for both the cake and I," Hughes shook his head and clapped my shoulder.

"It's okay," He leaned down to whisper, "Believe it or not, when I first married Gracia I'd almost rather eat army rations," My eyes widened.

"No way,"

"Yes way, but, she practiced and look at her now! I wouldn't trade a four course meal from a master chef for that grub." He turned to Winry, having a wider attention than I did, "Where are you headed off to this time?" Winry held up the ticket, allowing Hughes to read it, "What's in Dublith?" Ed smiled, possibly one of the first times I personally had seen him smile in my memory.

"Well, with the way things have gone lately, Al and I decided we should go back and visit our old teacher," Alphonse was shaking at the mention, his armor rattling quietly in fear. To be honest, I'd probably be just as scared of the woman if I didn't admire her so much.

If my life was going as planned, I'd be screaming, 'I'm a housewife!' at anyone who bothered me. But, if it wasn't made obvious by the anime characters, my life was derailed and flipped into a river full of bull sharks and the train of my life was on fire.

"I think I'm too scared brother," The armored spirit said, holding his hands up, "There's no way she's not going to kill us," The brothers joined hands as if in a nervous plea to the God they didn't believe in, it was quite a comical sight.

"L-look, don't you chicken out on me now," Ed responded, shivering in fear, "I'm scared too, okay?" Winry slumped, though no comical sweat dropped appeared on the back of her head.

"What exactly does this person teach?" She asked in concern, though her voice conveyed a sense of jest. Armstrong placed his hand on his chin, glaring at the floor from my point of view.

"It appears you have a rather lengthy journey ahead of you," He noted, Winry turning her serious attention back to the brothers.

"How far is Dublith?" She asked, breaking the boys free from their impending nervous breakdown.

They actually seemed to be genuinely terrified of Izumi, which made my admiration for the teacher falter in doubt of her actual ability to teach - especially since the Elrics were so scared of her. Not to mention they did the one thing they should have never done, especially with her as their mentor.

"Well, let's see," Alphonse said, his childish voice echoing without any eeriness or solemnity for once as he unfurled a map he had hidden somewhere in his armor. Upsides to being a soul in an empty suit of armor: your body is a storage compartment and you never had to worry about pockets. "There it is," He said pointing to the dot on the map of railway lines, "All the way down here," Winry observed the map for a moment and I tensely held my hands over my ears as she gave a screech of delight.

"Wha..What is it?" Ed asked, as if he was afraid to hear what caused the outburst. The blonde girl excitedly pointed to one of the dots with its unreadable name beside it, not that I needed to know what she was so worked up about.

"That! Right there! Right before Dublith!" She stepped away from the map, gazing into space with wide, starry eyes, "It's the Holy Land of automail engineering! It's Rush Valley!" I smiled at her theatrics, when a thought hit me.

"What's the Holy Land here?" I said aloud, though I hadn't meant to and, thankfully, it seemed no one had noticed with Winry's enthusiasm.

"We have to go, we have to go, we have to go, you have to take me!" She exclaimed repeatedly, waving her arms like a child who had seen the ice cream truck and wanted their parents to buy them some sugary cavity makers. Ed was not amused.

"Yeah, whatever, I don't have to take you anywhere-" He was cut short - quite literally as Winry was taller than him - as the blonde girl glared over him.

"Well somebody has to pay for my travel fare," Ed only glared up at her.

"Then why does it have to be me?" He growled, Alphonse stepping in as the peacekeeper he was.

"Come on brother, what's the big deal? It's on our way," Ed crossed his arms and turned away from Winry, admitting defeat.

"Only if you want to Al," This sent Winry into another fit of happiness, as expected.

"Yay!" She squealed, spinning in circles with her arms in the air. Winry was surprisingly easy to please in person. She stopped her spinning and opened the door. "I've got to call and tell grandma," And with that she left the room, the five of us staring after her with a sense of bewilderment and relief. Hughes put a hand on Ed's shoulder.

"She'll make you a fine wife someday," Ed bristled with annoyance.

"Don't start that again," Hughes merely chuckled in response, putting a hand on his head.

"I would rather talk about my wife anyway," Something dreadful then occurred to me, something I hadn't realized until today. The clerk lady said I was the 'strange girl from yesterday'? And since Ed's arm was healed and this was most certainly Episode 10, how had I missed Episode 9 completely?

"Wait, is Elicia's party tonight?" I asked Hughes in my sudden panic, aware of how strange I seemed. He looked at me with nervous eyes.

"No, it was last night Irish, you were there, remember?" No. I didn't remember, I didn't even leave the hospital from what I remembered. I looked around me in fear for the first time in days. How had I forgotten an entire day?

"Sorry, I...I guess I was just a little tired," Armstrong shot me a concerned glance, as we began to leave the room. "I'm fine," No. No I was not.

Instead of seeing off the Elrics and Winry, or heading home to hear Hughes say that one last goodbye to Elicia, I choose to find the library (a branch of the military library meant for public use) and see if there were any books about memory loss. Most of what I found reflected on injury, dementia, or family history but none of those applied to me.

I hadn't hurt my head, unless this really was all a dream which I wasn't ready to reconsider with the events that were going to occur that night. And dementia, considering my past medical records and age, was very unlikely. I had a family history of sleep disorders - Truth knew Matt sleep walked, Mary sleep spoke, and Brian sleep ate of all things! I, on the other hand, had never had a problem with the sleep walking that my siblings were plagued with, it wouldn't explain my complete lapse of memory.

And if I had been asleep, somebody would have noticed.

I laid down on the table I had spread my research over and moaned in surrender. This world couldn't give me a break. Anxious not to fall asleep, I looked out the window of the library to notice the sun starting to set.

Seeing that I hadn't boarded the train with those headed to Dublith, my fate was sealed along with the fate of the chimeras and Greed. Leaving the books as they were, I headed out of the building and walked quickly through the crowds to find the Central Park. The lights began to glow, signaling Hughes' time would end soon.

My heart thumping like car piston, I quickly flashed my all access Certificate of Fanciness to Adele who barely had time to acknowledge me as I sped past on my way to the archive room. Having memorized the path from my notes, I found myself in the comforting confines of the room, the scent of the books and ink calming me as my breathing deepened.

I found the table with the map of Amestris spread out on it and I slipped into the bookshelf just two rows behind it. Far enough away to not be noticed, close enough to grab Hughes before he could leave and get him to safety.

I slumped to the ground and pulled my knees to my chest, listening to the blood pumping through my ears. To say what I was about to do was nerve racking, terrifying, or even crazy was an understatement. It was downright delusional. I wasn't some super powered girl with different colored eyes and natural neon blue hair, I had no extensive training in how to stop a person from killing another, I had little knowledge of how to talk my way out of a difficult situations.

I wasn't a cop or a hero or even a fictional Mary-Sue. I was just a scared girl trying to do the impossible, trying to change a man's fate that was literally written in black and white, ink and paper in books and printed in vibrant colors and animated for an entire planet to see. I couldn't do this.

I knew I was crying loudly, tears creating spots on the floor and my face red with embarrassment. I was so stupid for thinking I was capable of this, I could barely stand to see an animal I wasn't hunting for food die, let alone stop a death or a human being when one was about to occur. My breathing hitched in my throat, and stopped.

In my panic I finally realized I wasn't breathing despite my lungs' attempts to draw some breath back into me. The world began to blur, as did my worries and thoughts. None of it mattered if I died anyway.

But I wasn't dead. The world was black, and I couldn't feel my body. It was as if I had fallen asleep, except the void of darkness was not nearly as empty as I had thought. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't overly warm either, it was just right, like being under a warm blanket during a cold winter. I was no longer curled up against the book shelf but lying down, as if atop small pillars that shifted up and down and left and right. It was almost as if I was floating.

I wanted to open my eyes, but something urged me not to, like the primordial instinct to avert ones eyes from the sun. I, being an arrogant as I was to nature's advice, ignored that advice and opened my eyes. The blackness around me was writing, like a thousand insects. And of course, with that thought in mind, I screamed.

The black hands of the Gate dropped me to the ground of the white void and slithered back to their refuge of the slightly ajar Gate. I sat up slowly, still unnerved by the whole thing. Honestly, who wouldn't be slightly perturbed by waking to being swarmed by those creeps?

I took a deep breath through my nose, the air here clean and fresh. My back was to one Gate, and in front of the other there was a small, white lump, only discernible from the surroundings by the shadows it cast. I looked around for Truth, the entity not present at the moment it seemed.

"Truth!" I called, my voice echoing in the void. "Truth?" I looked back to the object in front of the Gate opposite to me. It stirred, taking the form of a snow white ferret that sat hunched over facing me. Its eyes were like those of the Gate, a pale violet with black rings around a small pupil. The figure sat there, unmoving. "Truth?" I tried again, as it seemed to move when I was calling for the entity.

I looked around again before turning to the ferret, only to discover it was gone.

"You have cheated me, human," An angry hiss of voices seethed from behind me, causing me to turn around and shuffled backwards in surprise. "How are you going to pay for the damages?"

Truth seemed absolutely pissed about something as it stood there, arms crossed and its characteristic smile now a frown filled with sharp teeth. Well, wasn't that just welcoming?

"Huh?" I responded, not really thinking due to the absolute blind panic that had overcome me. What did I do wrong? Was it because I told Alphonse what I knew, or was it because Lucha died?

"The creature you provided as my host was not as strong as it appeared, if you wish to return to your plane of existence intact, you will have to provide another host. Which, judging by your appearance, you have none," The Truth hissed, somehow right in my face. Wasn't it freaky how the Truth caught up to me?

But in all seriousness, I had no idea what it was referring to. I was aware it had possessed Lucha, but what made Truth believe Lucha was in the least bit 'strong'? If it was watching anything down there, it would be pretty clear that Lucha was an accident prone fluff ball that had a habit of doing unintelligent things.

"W-Wait! You never told me anything about this, isn't that unfair?" I stuttered as I scrambled to my feet and made some distance between myself and the humanoid. I didn't understand why it was so angry - it never intervened in the series, so why seek out a host like water in a desert?

The Truth folded its arms sat down cross legged in front of the Gate I had come from. It impatiently tapped its fingers against its porcelain arm.

"It was an unspoken agreement, you should have realized taking your pigmentation from you was a small price to pay, and that other payment had been given." It stated, irritated by my apparent ignorance. "It should have been clear that a host to accompany you was expected," I sighed, ironically happy I wasn't in the archive room panicking, at least for the time being.

"Well, it wasn't," I huffed, crossing my own arms to mirror Truth.

"You still have to pay, your ignorance to a law cannot excuse you of the crime," The Truth growled, seeming to have calmed down a bit despite its clear annoyance with my behavior.

I thought for a moment, considering what it could take from me that wouldn't cause me to bleed out before I reached the hospital. Then a thought struck me, an oddly relevant thought to my concerns about my missing memory.

"Why can't I be a host? Or is having a soul a problem?" I asked, recalling what the Truth told me about its limits to possessing a creature with a soul. A god with limits, now what kind of god was that? The Truth's shoulder's sagged, as if in defeat. It was a curious action for a being that claimed to be so powerful.

"A soul is not a problem. Any sentient creature has a unique amount of energy that one may consider a 'soul'. It is merely energy, and as such the energy cannot be destroyed or created, simply moved. In order to possess a human such as yourself, it would only be a matter of moving your energy and replacing it with my own - granted it does not destroy your body." Truth explained to my surprise. If it was telling me this, what would it require in return? It continued, unfazed by my look of wariness.

"To move your soul to and from the Gates is complicated, as time flows differently here. This was not a problem with the host you provided earlier, as it only had a small amount pf energy to traverse the Gate, and therefore I was only required to compensate that insignificant amount of energy with a small portion of my own. Because of your body's mass and your soul's friction with the ether, it would be too costly for me to expend my own energy..." The Truth trailed off, noticing my glazed over eyes. It was its own fault for turning this into a philosophical physics lesson.

"Perhaps you would rather simply make your payment and return to your realm,"

"No, no, I get what you're talking about," I said, jolted from my daze at the mention of payment. There was no way I was going to let this thing con me. I began pacing in clockwise circles between the two giant stone doors, allowing me to pull from my obscure and limited knowledge about physics. "So, say this version of earth is moving slower relative to the ether than my version of earth, as that would explain the time difference. Like the time traveling twins from that lecture," I was referencing the college lecture my Uncle Thomas had lent me. They made falling asleep on long car rides much easier than it would normally be.

"And the Gate, where we are now, is not moving relative to the ether. Now, if my soul - energy, whatever you call it, is still moving relative to the ether at the speed of my earth, that means I am dragging the ether of time on the other earth with me. Meaning there's a point in time when the speed of the ether I'm dragging and the friction that it creates with the time of the other earth puts me at a standstill relative to the ether in a perspective of time and space.

"This would explain why things don't physically effect me at all sometimes and other times take twice as long to have an impact. So if you can figure out the time when I'm not moving relative to the ether - much like how it is here at the Gate - then the energy you'd normally expend to catch up with time on this earth would be unnecessary, considering no time is passing for either me or you and we're both timeless relative to the ether," The Truth's chuckle distracted me, stopping my rant. I was no physics major, so it made sense if what I was saying had little to no relevance here.

"You are clever, for a human," Truth finally said, its smile back to its normal, creepy self. "I have been recording the times when your time stops for some time now actually, since it creates quite a disturbance here in the Gate. I just didn't know how to take advantage of it until recently-"

"You possessed me at the hospital and took me to Elicia's party?" I asked in shock. Sure, it would explain a lot and made sense considering my deduction about time and space here, but it was still unnerving to think an entity like Truth had control over my being for hours.

"Yes, actually, I did," Its many voices said happily, as if boastful of the accomplishment. "But it was only temporary, and I needed to confer with you the exact mechanisms of the exchange." I narrowed my eyes at the shadowy creature from where I stood at the other Gate.

"So, you are the one who cheated me and you just paid for it with that information. Then why go to the trouble to yell at me and see if I'd make a physical exchange with you instead of a theoretical one?" I asked, thinking there might be a catch to the exchange of information.

"Oh, I just wanted to see if you would accept." The Truth said with a childish giggle before its tone turned deathly serious. "I have no way of knowing what you know unless you tell me yourself, as you are clearly not part of this universe's closed system. And you would discover the information eventually, though gradually, over the course of your time here. If you had not given yourself the time here to explain these concepts to me, I would have no reason to explain your new role as my host in this world."

Screw it all. Why did I even bother asking when I knew the Truth would be an enigmatic asshole? It probably had its reasons - Truth was a 'god' after all.

"So, what is my new role? What was my role before this?" I asked, aware that I might have been asking for more than was possible for the Truth to tell me. Had it really not considered the ether and its role in time when thinking about possessing me? So many questions, not enough limbs.

"Prior to this, you were an outlier. I admit you were an abnormality I was not prepared to place in the world, so I allowed you to do as you wished and interact with the other beings as you wished. I had hoped you would avoid further contact with the Elrics, but I am incapable of revoking your freewill - a pesky perk to being from another universe I suspect - and as such you revealed some knowledge to those around you. When the younger Elric-"

"Alphonse, his name is Alphonse." I interjected, and was ignored by the Truth who merely continued its explanation.

"I was not watching the younger Elric brother when he discovered your written knowledge, and I was unable to call him to the Gate to pass over - it is unfortunate that the seal is so strong - and he gained some insight to the future. I know not how your universe is so knowledgeable about this universe at this point in time, but it made it necessary for me to-"

"We have anime," I said flatly, hoping to explain, "There's a theory that there is a universe for every possibility and choice, meaning worlds of fiction - your universe in mine for example - are real."

"Is that so?" The Truth asked, like a mother after her daughter told her that a unicorn ate her homework, "Well, it is no longer important, as you are here not there. As I was saying, I felt it necessary for me to intervene. Your actions, and the actions of those you have influenced, will have serious repercussions. Using you as a new host will give me an opportunity to correct the timeline the best I can."

"I know," I sighed, thinking back to my mission I had been so scared of completing back in the archive room,

"But this is a new story, a story different than how it's supposed to be. It's different because I'm here, and whether Alphonse or Colonel Mustang or even Father found out what I know, my existence created a whole new branch of events and possible events to your universe's time line, and you can try to change it back, but it won't work. You can't stop me from trying to help and stop some carnage and death, I do have free will and I'm choosing to try to save people instead of sitting back and watching them die."

I felt strangely confident about that statement, as if I might have been brave enough to confront Hughes and save him, to change the story and deal with the consequences. If I died doing it, another me on a different timeline wouldn't, and she'd do different things and save different people.

But somewhere in another universe, if I couldn't save people in this one, there would be a version of me that did save people, and a version of me that didn't. It was my choice to be the one that tried to help this universe, not the time line that stopped with me being a passive observer.

I smiled defiantly at Truth, but my new found purpose faltered. Truth was smiling wider, if that was even possible.

"My dear, I think I have already stopped you," I sucked in a breath of air out of fright when the hands of the Gate behind me pulled me into the blackness, the last thing I saw being Truth's triumphant smile.

I released the breath with a gasp as I woke to a start on the archive room floor. My heart was beating so wildly it hurt, and my vision spun as I tried to hurry to my feet in an effort to reestablish reality. The air of the archive room seemed different. Fresher, sharper.

Truth had said it might have stopped me from saving someone, and from the looks of the archive room, Truth was right. Blood was sprinkled over the carpet and papers littered the floor, notable to the right of the table and the right of the open door. The room was dark, but the light from the hallway illuminated the empty table. The map was gone.

My heart was beating so fast that it once more began to ache, but more than the fear, another emotion overwhelmed me. Rage. I was so close, and Truth thought it could take this one thing away from me? I had lived every second of every day here orchestrating the perfect plan to execute, and Truth had made me miss the deadline?

Not. To-fucking-day. The Promised Day could come and I could die or be murdered, but none of that mattered if I didn't accomplish my sole, self-stated purpose in this universe. To at least save the life of Maes Hughes.

I rushed into the blinding light of the hallway and took a right, ignoring the bloodstains on the wall. There was a gasp of surprise from behind me, forcing me to turn and see who it was. It was a woman, tall and lithe, with long, curling, ebony locks that shrouded a blood stained face. Crimson lips turned into a smile as my charge of anger broke and I froze like a deer in the headlights. Lust.

"I'm surprised I didn't notice you sweetheart, sorry for neglecting you!" She said sweetly at first, growing to a shriek of annoyance as she threw her arm toward me.

The spears were terrifying, contorting her fingers into sharp weapons of destruct longer than I was tall, and heading straight for me. My daze was broken seeing the bloody points. She had stabbed Hughes, and he was going to die if I didn't get to him in time.

I ducked around a corner, almost fast enough to get out without a scrape. But the spears went through the very corner of the wall, burying their tip into my right side and upper thigh and scratching against my hip and pelvis bones. I cried out in pain and nearly collapsed. Now I could say I knew what having a knife dug into your joint felt like.

It hurt more than anything, and the wound didn't burn as if I had spilled acid on a cut or feel as if were ablaze, it just hurt so badly I wanted to get sick.

The spear that I could only assume was her thumb had gone straight through me, creating a hole from the flesh above my pelvic bones to the back. The next one had only grazed the skin, creating a gash of red through the riding pants I had worn for the third day in a row. The next two spears had nestled themselves into my hip, separating the joint only slightly, but still enough to make the simple task of limping away hell. The last one, her pinky finger I assumed, had stabbed itself into my thigh muscle but hadn't gone through the other side.

Though all of the wounds were bleeding heavily, I wasn't losing blood fast enough for any major arteries or veins to have been punctured. As the spears withdrew and the corner of the wall broke into pieces of cement and dry wall, I was faced with a decision. Stay and most likely die at the hands of a deranged, blood lusting homunculus, or try to run away no matter how excruciating the pain was.

And somehow, I was started walking, practically sprinting away. Muscle memory led me straight to the reception desk, where I was sure Lust wouldn't follow. I was limping badly, and it was difficult to discern my blood from the trail of fresh red that had led to the reception desk.

Adele sat at her chair by an old radio or telegram machine of sorts. She looked the same as always, he curly blonde hair pinned out of her face with a blue hair clip, and her pristine royal blue uniform neatly arranged. There was a book at the table, but Adele was not looking at it. Her blue eyes focused worriedly on the door. My breathing had gotten heavy from blood loss and a failing adrenaline rush, catching her attention.

"Oh, my God! I-Irish, are you...?" I went straight for the first telephone booth, noting that the blood on the phone handle was still warm. "Irish, please, wait-!" I needed to get to the park. Now.

Ignoring her weak protests, I picked up my slowing pace. I knew exactly where to go - I had planned this out, and yet I never expected I'd be the one to let this get this far. The anger from the archive room caught up with me again. I was not going to die. I was not going to let Hughes die.

The phone booth was soon in sight, with a fake 2nd Lieutenant Ross pointing a gun at the man inside. I wasn't too late. My leg was soaked with my own blood, and my breathing felt hollow as my legs moved faster. The Lieutenant - Envy, began to crackle with red sparks as he turned into Gracia.

For a moment something told me to stop running, but that anger pushed me forward. I just needed to stop the gun. There was a flash as Hughes turned around with his push dagger in hand, and I was finally within ear reach.

"You look surprised," Envy's voice chuckled, my heart racing as I came up on him. I was only a few meters away.

"What...What the hell are you?" Hughes asked, my breath hitching as I took one last stride forward.

A gun shot rang out. I was on top of Envy just before that dreadful sound reached my ears, and I took the advice of Coach Lawless one more time. When in doubt, tackle. I ignored Hughes and the gun as my rage and pain were directed at the object in front of me - Envy disguised as Gracia.

I didn't remember the impact or when exactly the gun went off after I hit Envy, all I recalled was the look of utter shock on his face when my body slammed into his, bringing both of us to the ground. My nails dug into his arms, and I forced him down with my left knee, my right too slippery with blood to pin him down.

My breathing was deep and my vision blurred, but my resolve to keep the person beneath me away from Hughes overwhelmed my exhaustion and pain. Purple eyes blinked in surprise before glaring at me, despite the smirk upon the disguise's lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A little girl trying to play-" It was very satisfying to feel my fist slam into his face. It was even more satisfying to do it again and again until I heard bones break and felt blood gush down his face. It felt so good to hurt someone. I hated how good it felt, but it was an undeniable relief to bring pain to the person I was hurting. William Golding got it right after all.

"Don't. Fuck. With. My. Plan." I growled as I finally lowered my hand to my side, still using my left to hold his shoulder down. The nails had broken his flesh, and I could feel blood making my hold on him slippery.

My breathing had calmed and the stillness of the moment reminded me how much my wounds now stung as salty sweat from the run mixed with the blood from the wounds. Envy's face as Gracia was still, the eyes staring up at the cloud ridden sky. The lamp post lit up the blood like a river of gold and ruby that ran along his cheekbones and dripped to the cobblestone ground. The gun had fallen in the grass beneath the bushes, out of sight from any passing by soldiers.

I gasped suddenly and looked to the phone booth, a sigh of relief leaving my body at the sight of a shaken and mortified Hughes standing in the copper light of the lamp.

There was a gash along his head, but not deep enough to cause any serious damage. Blood had soaked down his neck, and his shoulder had been pierced through by one of Lust's spears. One of the panes of glass behind him was broken, most likely from the bullet that was supposed to be in his heart at the moment. He was unresponsive to my attempt for eye contact, and he was shaking with shock, but he was alive.

I had accomplished my goal. All of the rage and adrenaline that had gotten me here vanished, and I felt limp kneeling over Envy. My reverie of peace ended suddenly, Envy sitting up and forcing me against the door of the phone booth. I whimpered in pain as my head hit the corner and my world spun, but I quickly regained my wits.

"Who do you think you are human?" He hissed, furious with me. Envy shed his disguise, the red sparks dancing over the bloodied face and faux blonde hair to replace it with clean, perfect pale skin and long black hair. He might not have looked like a palm tree, but I was still going to insult him anyway.

His hands gripped my shoulders, and at his height towered over me. I barely had time to realize that Mustang had picked up the other end of the phone call. I brought my knee up, as if to hit his groin, but brought my leg back down and slammed the heel of my shoe onto his foot. Truth needed to remind me to thank Gracia for her choice of pump heels as I heard the crack of bones.

In that split second of Envy's distraction as he quickly healed the internal damage, I noticed the regular patrol of soldiers coming up this path. I grabbed the booth's door, pushed the disoriented Envy into the booth, and slammed the glass paneled door behind us.

"Why you-"

"Shut up, palm tree, and at least wait for the other soldiers to pass before murdering me," I snarled back at him, feeling faint despite my confident tone. Hopefully I would black out and Truth could intimidate the homunculus for me.

"Wha-" I held a finger to my lips as boot heels clicked by, the soldiers not even hesitating at what I knew to be a trail of Hughes' and my blood. Soon the duo passed, and I needed a plan. My entire scheme of catching Hughes before shit went down was out the window, so I guessed the time old honored tradition of 'winging it' was in favor at this point. "Who are you?" Envy said with a huff, as if offended I stopped him from murdering the one person I swore to keep alive.

I could hear Mustang's worried voice on the phone that now dangled near the floor. I crouched and picked it up, putting the receiver back in place and cancelling the call.

"This may take some time to explain," I said, noting the small space the three of us were confined to. A phone booth from the 1910s was not meant for three. Envy looked at Hughes, most likely contemplating how quickly he could kill the both of us and how much paperwork it would be for Wrath. "If you kill me," I swallowed and looked at Hughes. He was still in a daze, probably from blood loss, but he seemed to be coming out of it, which would be a problem. "I can promise you the Elric sacrifice will die, and your Promised Day will never come,"

Envy's eyes turned their attention on me, like daggers in the dim light.

"How do you know about the sacrifices?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious and absolutely pissed at the same time. I forced down a smile, realizing I had a small advantage over the homunculus - I had information he wanted.

"Truth be told, it was the Truth." To any other alchemist, that would've made little sense as a response, but to Envy, he seemed to vaguely understand. "And I know more, if you'd like to know. I know about Father, the other homunculus, including dear old Fuhrer Wrath and little devil child Pride, the Promised Day, the sacrifices, the philosopher stones, the staged bloodshed, I even know what you really look like under that pretty little disguise you're wearing, hell crocodile," Hughes seemed utterly confused and terrified at the same time, realizing I was saying all of the secret I had been keeping from him. "I even know that Greed is hiding out in Dublith, and Bradley - pardon me, Wrath - will be dragging him back here very soon,"

Envy looked honestly surprised, but the look quickly morphed to one of irritation.

"So? I wasn't supposed to kill you," I rolled my eyes and looked at Hughes. I was so tired, I just wanted to go home and go to sleep.

"No, but if you kill Hughes, I'm going to kill the little Elric twerp myself, and may I remind you that if you do decide to kill me, I have others with a complete record of my knowledge at the ready to execute him." I said, thankful my voice held steady. The pain in my leg was beginning to fade, but I pressed my hand against the wound. The pain kept me from blacking out.

"You're bluffing," Envy snapped at me, taking a step toward me in the cramped space. I looked up at him, my pale pink irises holding steady with his own violet ones.

"Try me," I said with a smirk, "And if I'm not, you will be the one Father blame's for the loss of a sacrifice." Hughes opened his mouth to speak but I shot him a glare. "You want to die tonight or not, family guy?" He shut up and held a hand against his bleeding shoulder to hinder the flow of blood.

"But I can't just let Mr. Hughes walk, now can I?" Envy retorted, folding his arms. "Just what do you suggest I do?" I thought for a moment, hoping not to appear hesitant as I said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'll make sure he's dead, you make sure he gets on a train to Aerugo ASAP," I said, noting Envy's confusion. Whether the acronym confused him or the plan, I would never know. "So long as you get him out of the country and keep him out of the country, I will convince the public that he was murdered and the body was taken and presumably dumped in the river. Then he'll be out of your way, and I'll be satisfied with the compromise." Envy narrowed his eyes at me.

"What if you kill the little shrimp anyways?" I shrugged and met his glare.

"Then you can kill him," Hughes inhaled sharply, realizing he was merely a bargaining chip in a greater scheme. "Listen, so long as Mustang at least is convinced that Lieutenant Colonel - or rather, postmortem Brigadier General Maes Hughes is dead, I can assure you I will not farther intervene with your plans, and the Promised Day can commence as planned."

Envy still didn't seem convinced I wouldn't go back on my word. I really should have worried about him going back on his - murdering Hughes somewhere else or dropping him off in another part of the country. But that thought didn't occur to me in my blood deprived state of exhaustion. I could only notice that he was hesitant to strike a deal with a pathetic, worthless human.

"You have my word, I swear on the bullet you put in that little Ishvalan girl's skull I will not harm Edward Elric unless you cause farther harm to Maes Hughes. Capisce?" He was taken aback, not expecting me to know that irregular detail about the past. That, or he was hung up on what 'capisce' meant. "Do we have a deal?" I held out my hand, hoping not to be murdered within the next few moments.

"Fine," Envy said with a snort of disdain as he shook my hand, "We have a deal." I gave him a slight nod.

"Good," I opened the phone booth door, noting that we were now standing in a small puddle of my blood and Hughes' blood. Judging by the time, the soldiers would come back around within the hour. I looked at Hughes as Envy exited the booth, the homunculus disgusted from having to share the same air with us.

"Please, just trust me," I whispered, picking up the picture of his family from the ground and held it out to him. "I'll keep everyone here safe," His worried hazel eyes seemed gold in the light of the lamp post. "I promise this will be okay in the end, it's just going to take time for the others to figure out what you did, if I tell them, I'll have broken my end of the deal, and your life will be in danger,"

"Human," Envy hissed impatiently, taking the form of Maria Ross once again in a flurry of red, this time making sure the mole under his right eye was present. I looked from Hughes to the homunculus.

I was putting a lot of faith into an artificial human to take care of this matter, but it was the only choice I had of keeping Hughes alive and safe. I hugged him, ignoring the blood from his shoulder that left a red stain on my cheek.

"Do this for Gracia and Elicia, please," I released him from the hug and looked to Envy. Hughes took a shaky step in the disguised homunculus' direction before looking back at me.

"Thank you, Mac," He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. The two uniformed soldiers slipped through the hedges and walked across the dark grass of the park, leaving me bloody and alone in the small spotlight.

I took a deep breath and fell to the ground against the frame of the phone booth, watching their shadows until my eyes couldn't follow the black shapes in the distance anymore. My head felt as if it were going to split in two, and the pain in my leg returned with vengeance. Warm tears began to streak down my face, stress and pain forcing the droplets from my eyes.

I sat there and cried for a few minutes, terrified I had made a huge mistake as I went over every word I had said. Was I too aggressive? Did I give enough reasons for Envy not to cross me? Would he follow through? Would I be able to follow through on the deal? My chest tightened at the thought, and threatened to bring more tears to my eyes.

I finally managed to calm down, realizing I needed to convince the world that Maes Hughes had been murdered. No matter how much I looked in the bushes, I could no longer find the pistol Envy had used to fire the bullet, leaving me to hope that soldiers wouldn't be able to find it either.

The amount of blood sufficient to convince them he had lost too much blood to be in very good shape was not a problem. Between his wounds and mine, at least a few pints had been spread across the crime scene, and I doubted forensics of this time period could tell our DNA apart and have it be viable in a court of law.

Now came the hard part - selling the story. I started at the phone booth, sure to soak the bottoms on my heels in the blood on the ground before sprinting as quickly as I could with my injuries away from the booth. Tears of pain ran from my eyes, making me look as terrified and as injured as I actually was. It wasn't long before I couldn't keep the pace up, and I slowed to a dogged limp.

Just as a bench where I could rest came into sight, a familiar voice called out.

"Sir, it is past curfew!" It was the guard who had arrested me when I first arrived, mustache and all. "Oh, Miss. Irish, I didn't expect you-" I fell down, my leg unintentionally giving out before I made it to the bench. At least it tied into my act. I had collapsed just a few feet from the pool of light a lamp post cast in the dark. But that light was enough for the two soldiers to see the slowly forming puddle of blood beneath me. "Wundt, go get a medic! Ma'am, what happened?" The soldier rolled me onto my back to observe the wounds better. "My God...Miss. Irish what-"

I reached up and grabbed the collar of his uniform and pulled his ear to my mouth.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is dead." I croaked, actual blood loss sending stars into my vision. I would barely make out the look of absolute horror on the man's face before the world faded to black, this time without the comfort of the Gate to welcome me.

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 8

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own The Velveteen Rabbit, which was written by Margery Williams.

Finally, after a hellishly boring 15 days after the Elrics arrived back in Central and first met Sheska, the day that they figured out what made a Philosopher's stone was here.

I guess the wait wasn't as awful as that, I had gotten to meet Sheska over the past week when I visited Hughes at his office with some lunch from Gracia. Sheska, unlike many of the characters here, looked exactly as she appeared in the show most of the time. Her chestnut brown hair always neat, and her large glasses that precariously slipped down her nose whenever she was reading. I didn't talk to her, as she was busy copying down case records for Hughes, but she seemed to be one who preferred not to be interrupted.

I had also started working back at the Main Street Grocery Store, but Miss. Reich insisted I worked no more than six hours a day, so most of my time was spent babysitting Elicia as her mother prepared for the upcoming celebrations.

I was also a giant ball of nerves. I only had a day or two before shit went down, and I had to either put my plans into action or watch people die. That was a lot of pressure. Not to mention the pent up terror of fucking this up and getting myself killed was eating away at my psych as well.

"Mac, could you pass the peas?" Hughes asked, his words muffled through the mouthful of chicken casserole Gracia had made for dinner. I glared at him, though I was slightly grateful for the distraction.

"Don't call me Mac," I said with a sigh, passing him the peas. I picked at my chicken casserole, thinking about all of the 'lasts' Hughes would have if I screwed up.

"So, how was your day Irish?" Gracia asked, the depressing mood around me growing by the minute and making itself apparent to the family.

"Good, Elicia's very excited for her party." I responded, looking to Hughes. "Did the Elrics find what they were looking for?" He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. He was leaving later to put in some overtime, apparently he still needed to sort out the Tucker paperwork.

"Not sure actually, Mustang put the Major in charge of them. You want to go see them later? They were looking into the notes of an alchemist who worked in the bio-alchemical field. Maybe you would find some of his notes useful."

It was then I realized I had nearly forgotten about my dying mother back in the little village of Ire.

"I don't think so, even if I did have the notes, I'm not medical alchemist." I said, noting Gracia's concern. She didn't know about my 'backstory'. "Hey, do you mind if I go out later?" Hughes gave me a playful smirk.

"It depends on the guy you're meeting." He said, Gracia shooting him a surprised look. I ignored the redness of my cheeks, but couldn't help avoiding Hughes' suspicious hazel gaze.

"I-I'm just going to see a friend, it isn't a date." I affirmed, despite my growing embarrassment. I didn't even know what I was embarrassed about. From the sagely nodding, I wasn't sure Hughes believed me.

"Sure…" He drawled, finishing his cup of coffee. "Well, I'll be off to work. Tell me if there are any boys I need to beat up tomorrow!" I sighed and reluctantly finished my own meal.

"So is that a yes, Mrs. Hughes? Can I go out?" I asked as I washed my plate in the sink. Again the itching terror of lead poisoning found its way to my thoughts, but was quickly pushed back by Gracia.

"Of course, it's not like you've asked before. And don't be so formal, call me Gracia." She had been telling me to call her that ever since Hughes dragged me home with him. "And Irish, take this with you." I looked up from the plate I was drying to see one of Hughes' daggers in her delicate hand.

"I'm not going down town or anything, just a walk in the park." She looked at me like my own mother after I told a lie. They were actually freakishly similar in their mannerisms.

"Maes' idea, not mine." She said as she place the handle of the blade in my hand. It was heavy for me, but well balanced. "One of his soldier friends told him that you were snooping around the park and the East wing of Central Command this past week. He's worried for you."

More accurately, he was worried about me. I knew there were holes in my story and I had no physical proof to back up the existence of Ire or my family in this world. But more than worried about how much Hughes had looked into my situation, I was offended and more importantly, confused. If he didn't trust me or my story, then why arm me instead of sending someone to keep tabs on me? I knew that my evening strolls had been prolonged and odd this past week, but I wasn't in the mood to be cooped up in the apartment all day either.

"Uh, thanks. I guess." I finally said, simple dumbfounded by my own thoughts. Maybe Hughes really was just worried that I was hanging out with some undesirables he had some plan for someone to stalk me. But it still didn't make any damn sense why he'd give me a dagger if he was going to have someone following me.

"Mommy, I'm sleepy…" Elicia whined from the table, rubbing her eyes with a pudgy fist. Her cuteness was almost enough to make me forget the questions burning in my skull. Gracia smiled at her daughter.

"It's bath night tonight."

"Aw, but I don't want to…" I listened to the little girl fruitlessly refuse to take a bath as I left the kitchen and nervously entered my room

. Sitting on my bed, I took a moment to examine the knife. It wasn't exactly long enough to be called a dagger, maybe a push knife at best, though it lacked the characteristic handle. The handle was straight and black, from which the short blade extended only the length of my hand. It was vaguely familiar, but I knew I had never seen Hughes with this knife. Or any knife for that matter.

Not wanting to reflect on the odd dagger, I changed out of my night clothes, which I had worn since that morning, and into something more suitable for roaming the streets of Central at night.

The only pants I had that could be considered as close to 'modern' as possible were a pair of tight riding trousers. They were made from some elastic black fabric, but they still didn't hug my small frame too closely. I threw on an overcoat as I headed out of my room, putting the knife into my belt where the over coat would conceal it. I slipped past Gracia and a very sleepy Elicia and made my way to the front door.

"I'll be back soon," I murmured as I exited the apartment and rushed down the stairs to the beauty of Central's evening rush.

The 'friend' I was meeting was Reginald. He had been filling me in on Amestrian history and government structure. I had to admit, I was learning that the government and military were actually quite different from what I could compare to Nazi-Germany. For one, the Fuhrer, despite his power, had to consult with other military officers and advisers and use their input to make decisions. He still had the power to do whatever the hell he wanted to, but recklessness historically led to the Fuhrer being overthrown.

Currently I was more interested in the present state of the government and the true legal reach of the military, but Reggie insisted we go over the history that led to the current state of affairs before focusing on such. Not that I was complaining, he had an engaging way of explaining monotonous coup d'etats and bloody civil wars. History was one of my stronger suits back home.

"Hey Reginald!" I called as I dodged a pair of guards to catch up with him. I was running late, again. He stopped walking and turned back as I slowed to prevent myself from crashing straight into him. "Sorry, supper ran late."

"It's fine," He said with a small laugh. "So, where did we leave off?" I thought for a moment, trying to recall the last date Reggie had mentioned.

"Um, 1835 I think? Aerugo's War." Reggie nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

"Ah, yes. So, did we go over why Amestris attacked Aerugo?"

"No, I don't think so," I responded as we rounded a corner. Darkness was finally falling and I could clearly see the street in front of me. We were going farther into the city than we usually did on our walk and talk sessions, but I didn't mind.

Apparently it was a war of conquest for Amestris, which at the time was seeking to expand its horizons. A key city was Dublith, which had served as a major base of operations once Amestrian soldiers had overrun the city and wiped out Aerugo's forces that had been using Dublith as a stronghold.

It almost reminded me of the Battle of the Bulge from WWII, except Amestris - the country I was equating to Nazi Germany - ended up winning. We were discussing the strategic advantage Aerugo had over Amestris when Reggie suddenly stopped walking, his face contorted in pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worry overcoming me as a thousand scenarios ran through my head. Was he sick? Had he been hurt? He gripped his left arm as if trying to apply pressure to relieve some internal pain. The street was mostly empty, though we probably looked quite strange standing there for a moment of tense silence.

"Nothing, my arm just acts up sometimes," Reggie said curtly as he started walking again. I wasn't convinced. The arm was still in a sling, but it concerned me that he hadn't either gotten it amputated or treated after his encounter with McDougall. We continued my history tutoring, but his obvious distraction concerned me.

"Can I just see your hand? Just to make sure there really is nothing wrong," I suggested, knowing it may have been an awkward question. Reggie shot me a glance over his glasses.

"You're not a doctor," He stated plainly, to which I replied with a shrug.

"Frostbite isn't that uncommon when you live in Drachma, I've cut off too many toes in my day to say I know nothing about frozen limbs." This was only partially true.

My grandfather had to have his foot removed after he spent too long in the cold, wet January snow storm a few years ago. At first we were told just to wait and see, then, in May, gangrenous necrosis set in and he had it amputated. Of course, I was still a kid and I could only barely recall the black, blistered flesh. But Reginald didn't need to know that.

"It's really not that bad-" I gently lifted the hand to my face, and physically felt sick at the sight. It was most definitely gangrenous, the purple-black fingers stiff and cracked. The pain he felt farther up his arm were probably the dead ends of the frozen nerves being recognized.

"When the hell did you last see a doctor for this?" I asked, appalled at his had to back away from me to pull his arm back into its sling. The nerves were clearly dead.

"Not since I was discharged from the hospital-"

"Do you know how to get there from here?" I asked quickly, looking around for any landmarks. There was a small clock tower in the center of the square, but that was all that I could distinguish as the street lamps were lit.

"Yes, but can't this wait until morning? I'm working a shift later." I shook my head.

"Your arm is literally rotting, and if it's infected it could spread to the rest of you. Not to mention how dangerous the necrosis is on its own. The faster your arm comes off, the faster-"

"Who said anything about an amputation?" He asked, as if the proposition was too ludicrous to be considered. I nearly rolled my eyes. Weren't frequently missing limbs the reason for automail to be invented?

"I did. Just now. It's either your arm or your funeral, let's go!"

I sat in the emergency room, flipping through Xerxes' Princess as I nervously awaited some news from the doctor.

At the sight of Reginald's arm, the attending nurse fainted, which, despite how it sounds, was not nearly as funny. The doctor, Dr. Aufbau, agreed with my sentiments that the arm be removed. After a lot of persuasion, and the promise of the best automail on my behalf (though it would most likely end up Winry's problem), Reginald signed the paperwork and was brought into surgery immediately.

The urgency with which Aufbau rushed Reggie into surgery made me worry that the necrosis had spread farther, but he answered none of my questions and told me that I could stay in the waiting room if I wanted. I partially wanted to just go back to the Hughes', but I'd feel bad leaving Reginald here by himself after I was the one who convinced him to come.

The military hospital was vaguely familiar from my own stay. It smelled the same, the lights were the same, and it was deathly quiet in the exception of occasional coughing and clicking heels. The urge to get out of the hellish building returned ten fold. Just as I was getting up, my path to the door was interrupted by the rush of a certain babysitting duo and their charges.

"Out of the way!" Denny exclaimed as he pushed past me with Ed having an unconscious piggyback ride. I waited a while for the four to sort out who was hurt and how banged up Edward was with a nurse before the blonde boy was rushed off to another surgery room. From Maria and Denny, there was a collective sigh.

"What are we going to tell the Major?" Maria asked to no one in particular.

"He won't be too mad, I don't think," I said, trying to console her. Unfortunately, it seemed that I only startled the trio.

"Irish? What are you doing here?" Denny finally asked. I opened my mouth, about to explain Reginald's situation when it occurred to me that I just found that truth awkward.

"What was that all about? Is Eddie okay?" I asked, avoiding the question. I could have just told them that a friend of mine got hurt, but I wanted to focus on the current situation. Judging by the time of day and the condition Ed was in, it could only be the Fifth Laboratory incident.

"Fullmetal got himself into trouble, again," Denny said, taking a seat in one of the waiting room chairs. Maria and I sat on either side of him, aware we were in for a long night.

"That's not surprising, is Alphonse okay?" I asked, concern for the boy increasing as he headed down the hall. Denny and Maria glanced at each other.

"Yes, I think so," Maria said affirmatively, though a hint of doubt could be detected in her tone. I wallowed in the dense silence for a moment before standing up and stretching. I hadn't realized how tense I had been.

"Well, I'm going to go check on him. You should probably call Armstrong and tell him about the situation." I said as I walked down the hallway. I faintly heard a mumble of resignation as the two also got up to find a phone. For a moment I nearly forgot that phones weren't mobile, sending me into a moment of panic that they were going to follow me. Once my unreasonable concern disappeared, I walked quickly, looking down each branching hall for the bulking suit of armor.

It really shouldn't have been too hard to find the kid, but he clearly didn't want to be found. The only thing that gave him away was the faint creak of his joints, which I was able to track down to a dimly lit offshoot of the main hallway. He was sitting on a bench, glaring in front of himself. Or at least I assumed he was, it was hard to tell on a guy without a face. He was so absorbed, he didn't even notice me until I sat next to him.

"You okay?" I asked tentatively, hoping not to greatly alter the future with this conversation. Alphonse turned his head to me, then looked away.

"I'm fine," He said brusquely, his voice more hollow and disembodied than usual. "You should go home Irish, Mrs. Hughes will be worried about you." I sat there for a moment, thinking. I could really tell him anything, and even if I did, he probably wouldn't believe me.

"How old are you Alphonse?" He seemed surprised at my question.

"I'm fourteen," Al said quietly, distracted from his brooding, "Why do you ask?" I gave a shrug, a thought forming into a scheme as the seconds passed.

"There was this story my mother would read to me when I was little, a story about a velveteen rabbit." I looked at him to see if he was listening. From the silent stare the empty armor gave me, I guessed he was.

"When it was new, it wanted nothing more than to be real. The rabbit was told by the Skin Horse, an old toy with its seams torn and only a few tail hairs, that the only way to be real, was to be loved by a child. So, one day, the boy who owned the rabbit found it, and realized that it was one of his favorite toys. The rabbit was taken outside, on adventures, to bed and to dinner. And the boy loved it so much that its fur ran thin and its eyes began to fall out and its seams ripped. And the rabbit believed it was real, even though the real rabbits in the garden teased him and told he was just a toy that could never be real.

"Then the boy got very sick, and once he got better, the rabbit had to burned to keep him from being sick again. So, the rabbit was left with all the other toys the boy had played with to be burned the next morning. A fairy appeared, and told the rabbit that because the boy loved him, and because the rabbit believed it, he was an actual rabbit. And he soon realized this was true, that he had strong hind legs and twitching ears. So the velveteen rabbit left the pile of toys and went into the forest to play with all the other rabbits.

"I think that it didn't matter if the rabbit was real or not, it would be real to the boy who had loved it. I just think that's kind of like life. If you love people, you remind them that they're real, and if you're loved, you realize that you are real too." After finishing my little story, I swallowed anxiously and looked at the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight. "Come on Alphonse, you can come to the Hughes', I'm sure they wouldn't mind." He seemed to be in a stupor, thinking intensely about what I had said."Al?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, uh, I don't want to impose-"

"Of course you're not! Do you really want to spend the night all alone in some creepy hospital?"

"But, brother-"

"We'll head over as soon as we get word that he's awake. Besides, I, uh, really don't want to walk home alone." I grabbed his gloved hand and 'pulled' him to his feet.

"S-So long as it's okay with Mrs. Hughes…"

Of course, I hadn't actually asked Mrs. Hughes if it would be okay to drag one of the Elrics home with me, but I guessed she wouldn't mind. The apartment was dead silent when we finally arrived.

I had gotten us lost a few times, but Alphonse seemed to know how to get there better than I did so it didn't take us more than an hour to walk the whole way back. We had managed to avoid Major Armstrong and the babysitting duo, but I had left a note with the secretary at the hospital to give to them if they came inquiring about our whereabouts.

I didn't turn on any lights as we entered the apartment, as it was easier for me to find my way around in the darkness of the room. Plopping my bag on the couch, I motioned to my room.

"I'm just going to shower quick before bed, you need anything?" I whispered, hearing Maes' gentle snoring down the hallway.

"I'm fine," Alphonse whispered back, the creaking of his armor a lot louder than our voices.

In my room, I quickly grabbed a nightgown and a change of underclothes before slipping into the bathroom where I began to disrobe. I had a miniature heart attack as the dagger I had forgotten about clattered to the floor with my trousers. For a moment I stood very still, listening to my own heartbeat and the sounds of the building before determining I hadn't woken anyone up.

I went to pick it up, I realized where I had seen it before. It was one of McDougall's daggers. The dagger I had attacked him with. When I saw that my hand was shaking, I took a deep breath and bundled the blade up with my dirty clothes. This was just Maes' way of trying to help me get over myself, somehow.

After soaking in the tub for a few moments to wash away the dirt and stress of the day, I got out and dried myself off. Gracia had bought me my own towel, which was very considerate of her. Standing there in the cool air wrapped only in a pristine white towel I noticed how strange I really was.

My hair was more of a pale blonde than pure white it had appeared to be when I first arrived, and the dark bags under my eyes, though slightly less noticeable, were still one of my more prominent features. My eyes were more of a bloodshot pink than red, though they still contrasted greatly with my pale skin. The bruise that had once been a defining feature of my throat was gone, replaced with porcelain skin, making me almost miss the blemish.

These reflective thoughts were soon banished as a yawn overtook me. I was dog tired. With the bundle of clothes under my arm, I exited the bathroom into the hallway. I was about to head straight for my bedroom when I realized the light in the den was on. I rounded the corner, expecting to see Alphonse writing in his own little notebook, but found him reading mine.

"Alphonse!" I whisper yelled, unceremoniously yanking the book from his hands. "You should never read a girl's diary, that's how you get yourself-"

"How do you know?" I quieted at his borderline, dare I say, angry voice. He genuinely scared me. "How do you know about all that stuff, you weren't there and no one could have told you. How do you know about teacher? And what's this about Mr. Hughes dying? Why is there so much about people you don't even know dying?"

I stared at my feet during his barrage of questions, terror and panic arising in my chest. This could severely alter the timeline, and screw shit up so much I wouldn't be able to tell left from right. I needed to tell him, but also keep him from changing anything.

"If I answer your questions," I took a deep breath before continuing as I sat down on the couch opposite to him. "I need you to promise to not tell anyone, and to not do anything."

"Not do anything? People are going to die and you want me to 'not do anything'?" I flinched at his tone. Alphonse was absolutely infuriated, and for good reason. From his point of view, I could be the one orchestrating the murders.

"Please, just hear me out. If I explain, maybe you'll understand-"

"Understand what?"

"That if you do something a hell of a lot more people are going to die."

"How do you know that?" He growled, his voice raising in volume. If he woke someone up, then I'd really be in hot water and have no choice but to try to limit the casualties.

"I've seen the Gate." I offered defensively, curling in on myself with my knees to my chest and my arms over my head. This was really stressful. "It's what Ed saw when you two tried to transmute your mother," Mentioning the Gate seemed to calm Alphonse down a little bit, or at least make him more reasonable.

"You attempted human transmutation?" He asked softly, his shoulders sagging in surprise. I looked up from my fetal position.

"That's the thing - if you believe me, I'm from somewhere that alchemy isn't even possible." Alphonse cocked his head to the side, confused.

"You mentioned that alchemy wasn't practiced in Ire, but you never said it wasn't possible." I gave a short laugh, the stress and exhaustion I was feeling finally setting into reality.

"Ire doesn't exist, Alphonse, I made it up." I took a breath to relax a little bit before continuing. "I'm from the other side of the Gate, I've never even set foot out of Amestris." Alphonse was quiet for a minute.

"I can't believe it…" I snorted at his response.

"You can't? I'm the one who was ripped through space and time and thrown into some alternate dimension where alchemy and affordable, efficient prosthetics are real."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? We could have helped you." I shook my head, my eyes cast downward. It had never really occurred to me that they could help me - I was the one trying to save lives here - but at the same time...I had been avoiding thinking about what would happen to me afterwards.

Would I be pulled back through the Gate one day and wake up back in my world? Or would I never go back? The thought made me nauseous.

"They...you wouldn't understand. My plan wasn't to let anyone know about this and keep it quiet as long as possible. Maybe once this is all over I'll tell the others the truth but now, these next few months are what I'm going to be focusing on. I'm focusing on helping you and your brother get your bodes back to normal."

"So, you didn't try to bring someone back?" He asked, completely unfazed by my ramblings.

"Uh, no? Like I said, alchemy doesn't exist. It's a dead science, hasn't been attempted for like, a hundred years. One minute I was in bed, the next I was in the Gate."

"Than how...how do you know all this stuff? Is it like how brother can do alchemy without a structure?" I thought for a moment before nodding.

"Kind of. There's this...thing at the Gate. It calls itself Truth, and it just kind of stuffs your head with knowledge. But I knew all about this...world of your's before. On my side of the Gate, we have this technology that, I guess, sort of lets us catch glimpses of your world. Except most people just think it's some story, like The Velveteen Rabbit and stuff-"

"But I'm real." He said, I realizing I was explaining this as if he was just some fabrication. I violently nodded, affirming his statement.

"Yes, you are very real. But on my side of the Gate, we just have no idea…" We were quiet for a minute, realizing what had been said.

"So, you know that I'm real, right?" I hadn't meant for this to be brought up when Alphonse was having an existential crisis, but beggars can't be choosers.

"I've gotten to the point where I can't tell if I'm real half the time Al, I'm really not the best person to ask." He still needed to talk things over with Edward, but for now I needed to keep him from wallowing in self pity too long. "And don't worry about the deaths, I have a plan. Sort of."

"Sort of? What you wrote sounds like Hughes doesn't have very long." I opened my notebook and moved to sit next to Alphonse so he could see my plans better.

"He doesn't. He has two days from now when you and Edward leave for Dublith with Winry. When he figures out what's going to happen, he will go to the archive room to double check and that's when he'll first be attacked. My plan is to intercept him before he can double check and get him on a train out of the country. So long as he doesn't contact anyone within Amestris, they'll probably leave him alone."

"What's going to happen? Who are they?" Alphonse inquired, looking over my maps and stick figures. I pulled my notebook out of his sight, holding it close to my chest. Literally the one thing I hoped wouldn't go wrong had, and now someone - Alphonse, a main character - knew that I was a treasure trove of knowledge and foresight. I really just wanted to cry, it was too early in the morning for this.

"If I told you, it would interfere with the future, and then all of my knowledge would be null and I wouldn't be able to help anyone. My very presence here might be enough to change huge events, and then I wouldn't be of use to anyone. And now that you know so much…"

I trailed off, trying to find a way to explain this without bringing interdimensional time travel into this. I had already told him too much - about Hughes, where I was from, Truth...An image of Lucha flashed in my mind. Then the waterworks started, and my cheeks felt hot with embarrassment as tears fell from my eyes. Alphonse seemed startled by my sudden crying fest, reaching out tentatively with his gauntleted hand.

"U-um, I'm sorry. I-I won't do anything, or at least I'll try not to." I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to get the tears to stop.

"Exactly how much did you read?" I asked shakily, my voice cracking as I attempted to regain my composure. I still held the leather bound notebook under my arm as I paced in circles around the couch.

I had finished my writing up until the interlude of episode 27. I had titles written out on pages after that, but I had only filled in my plans up until the Interlude Party. Even though it was merely a flashback, it still seemed like a good place to leave off since my memory of the series faded and then resurfaced with the Elrics meeting Father.

Even though that was barely half the series, it still held a lot of information Alphonse could potentially abuse if he saw fit. And considering lives were on the line, I wouldn't put it past the pure hearted boy.

"I just skimmed it at first, but Hughes' death caught my eye and I mostly read that page and studied your maps…" I wanted to know how much of that statement was true, and what he had 'skimmed', but it was pretty hard to detect a lie when speaking with a suit of armor.

"Okay, so you really don't know all that much, maybe a few details here and there on his murder, but I've told you about the Gate, Truth, where I'm from, etc. You cannot tell a soul about any of this, not your brother, not Mustang, not even a fluffy little stray cat. If the people who want Hughes dead catch wind of me, I'm either dead or captured and used against you. And these people play for keeps, they won't hesitate to come after you too." I explained, mostly to myself though I knew Alphonse was listening.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He finally asked as I wandered to the kitchen in search of milk.

I thought for a moment, thinking if there was anything I needed to do or get before the two days were up. I had amassed enough money to buy a train ticket to Ermutixo, the closest train stop to Aerugo, where Hughes would have to travel the last few kilometers to the southern country.

My plan was to convince Hughes that Johann needed his help with his experiments down there. If he didn't buy that, I'd have to resort to telling him that his life was in danger, though that never seemed to go over well in my head.

"Just keep quiet, and just do what you'd do anyways. If something does change, I'll tell you first." I said after I downed a glass of milk. I looked at my notebook tucked under my arm, an idea striking me. Setting down my glass, I shuffled quietly back to the den where Alphonse observed my curious behavior.

"What are you doing?" He asked, but the question was answered as I found what I was looking for on the mantel beside Gracia's collection of knitting needles and pin cushions. A needle and thread.

"I'm going to give this to you, for safe keeping." I said as I threaded the needle with the white string and began to sew the soft outer edge of my notebook shut. "I trust you, Alphonse. If you trust me, you'll keep it closed and not let anyone tamper with it, okay?" I held out the finished book to him, but he didn't move.

"What's in it for you?" He asked, wary of my intentions.

I really just needed someone - or more specifically, somewhere - to keep my notes thus far hidden. And Alphonse just happened to be a perfect candidate - he never took his armor off, and although people climbed in him (how do I not make that sound weird?) throughout the series, it was often depicted as a cramped space with not a lot of room to move around.

And since the only person who'd do that before the Interlude Party, from my memory, would be the snake chimera girl and maybe Mei (though I think she'd have known better then to be snooping around Alphonse's armor) I didn't think the unfinished notebook would be in danger of revealing too much information to anyone with means to alter it.

"I need you to put this in your leg, or foot, or somewhere no one would look. All I gain from this is some security and a little more trust between us. If I can't trust you," I looked at the notebook, with its edges sewn shut in bright white thread.

"Then I can't trust anyone, I need you to keep this safe, and if something happens to me, just, finish reading it. It doesn't have everything I know, but it has enough. And if you do need to change something, make sure the outcome is as similar to my notes as possible. I can't stress the importance of consistency anymore, if something changes, or deviates from this record, then there's a chance the bad guys will win, and you and Eddie won't have a snowball's chance in hell at getting your bodies back to normal."

Alphonse carefully took the notebook from my outstretched hands, as if expecting it to fall apart at his touch. I sighed, happy about...something. Happy, I guess, that someone else knew what was going on and what I was trying to do. Still, I had a nagging feeling this could only come back to bite me in the but. Deciding not to dwell on the negatives of the situation, I changed the subject.

"Alphonse, I need an opinion." I said, stabbing the needle into the arm of the couch and balancing the spool of thread next to it. "If you had the potential to save, say, five condemned criminals or one good man, who would you save?" The suit swiveled its head to look down on me.

"Are you talking about those people in Dublith? The ones you wrote about?" I nodded, pulling my knees to my chest.

"Yeah," I murmured, the thoughts I had written in the notebook resurfacing. "I could stay behind and save Hughes, which could potentially alter the future greatly depending on certain people's reactions. Or I could go to Dublith with you guys, and see if I could save those guys, with little immediate consequence, though later complications would be encountered."

"That is a hard decision," Alphonse interjected, thinking to aloud to himself. "If you don't go to Dublith, those people you wrote about will die, but if you go, Hughes will die."

"It's just that his death is such a major key to the rest of the story unfolding properly, I'm not sure if…" I trailed off, thinking about how easy it was to abandon Nina and Alexander to their fate. I felt guilty that I considered such a thing easy - she was a little girl, and she died when I could have done something about it.

"If you want to sacrifice the lives of those people in Dublith for something that might not be worth it or even avoidable in the end, and something that might kill even more people." Alphonse finished with such finality I almost believed he read my thoughts. My shoulders sank and I ran a hand through my hair.

"I just need to know - what would you do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. We sat quietly for a second that seemed to stretch on forever. The early morning sunlight was just beginning to warm the horizon and drive away the darkness, and the shadows that haunted the living room's corners turned tail to hide in their crevices and caves.

"I'd do what I think is right," Alphonse finally responded, not satisfying my question in the least.

"And what is that?" He looked away from me, his hands clenching the notebook and digging imprints into the cover.

"I don't know," The boy admitted hollowly, his voice echoing slightly inside the armor. Knowing pushing for a more direct answer would be futile, I took note of the first twitches of morning life. The neighbors were loudly getting plates out for breakfast, someone was rushing down the stairs, clearly late for something, and coffee drifted up through the floors to reach the apartment.

"Come on," I said, stretching as I headed for my room, "I'll change quick then we can go check on Eddie and see if he's in better shape." Alphonse perked up, almost having forgotten his injured sibling.

"Oh, yeah!" He exclaimed, to which I shh-ed him. The boy gave a ringing chuckle. "Sorry," I felt a smile tug at my lips, though it fell once I shut my bedroom door. I leaned against it, my forehead against the cold wooden frame.

Save one or save five. My morals told me to go to Dublith and try to prevent the deaths of the chimeras, but my instinct told me to stay and save Hughes, despite the huge risk to the plot involved. I really wished Truth was here, I could use the fluffy little guy.

We arrived back at the hospital long before morning rush hour, the streets quiet and empty at five in the morning. I had just thrown on my outfit from the night before, as it hadn't seen extensive use beyond my eventful evening. And, from what I could tell, Gracia only did laundry every two weeks, which meant I'd often wear clothes multiple times despite my many outfits.

I was a one pair of jeans for a week girl. It kind of sounded gross, but I guessed I was just used to it. We entered the waiting room, where Maria and Denny were sitting half-asleep in two of the seats. However, their stillness did not last long, Maria quickly prodding her partner awake as they approached Alphonse and I.

"Mornin'," I greeted, nodding to the two.

"Ah! Miss. Irish?" The secretary called to me. I glanced at Alphonse before giving a brief nod in the woman's direction.

"I'll be right back," I said walking over to the woman at the counter. She was an older woman, wearing a pleated skirt that graced the tops of her shoes. "Can I help you with something?" The woman motioned to one of the nurses behind the counter.

"Mr. Azir should be awake by now, if you'd like to see him." I blinked in surprise, recalling my reason for being in hell- I mean the hospital to begin with.

"Oh, shit, I can't believe I nearly forgot! Um, what's his room number?" I asked. The secretary seemed amused by my concern. I certainly wasn't, my anxiety was not funny!

"This is Edith, she'll take you to his room," She explained, the nurse from behind the counter giving a small wave as she walked around to lead me through the labyrinth to Reginald's room. I jumped, along with the other 'normal' onlookers as a loud smack resounded through the air, quickly replaced by Denny's muffled squeals of pain. He actually did slap Alphonse. I gave a snort of laughter at his reddened hand before giving a short wave to catch their attention.

"I've got to bounce, see you!" They watched me leave in befuddlement.

"She has to what?" Maria murmured as I headed down the hallways in pursuit of Edith the Nurse. She walked fast for a lady in heels, and I was not just saying that because I tended to wear heavy steel-toed work boots on a daily basis.

We had to walk up three whole flights of stairs before we started to slow down. Truth, I missed elevators. Hell, even an escalator would be appreciable in this 1910s hospital. Edith's feet had to be killing her if this was what she did all day. After we had come to a dead end hallway and I didn't think I could take another step without collapsing, Edith stopped and held the door to a room open.

"Here we are," She announced cheerily. Too cheerily for someone who had clearly taken the night shift and was probably doped up on fourteen coffees and wearing heels. Why were 1910s women so scary?

"Thanks," I mumbled, though my sore feet sent a strain of profanities and references I could make, none of which applied to the situation but still sounded cool in my head.

"Hey, Irish," A tired voice said with a yawn, a figure shifting in the hospital bed to sit up. Reggie was clearly exhausted, making me feel bad about visiting him right after the anesthesia wore off, but I was here and there was no reason to leave.

"Hey, Reginald. How's it going?" I asked, walking over to the bed to get a better look at him. The arm had been amputated a few inches below the shoulder, meaning the necrosis had spread farther than I initially thought. The remaining stump was bundled in sterile dressings, recently changed. He had an oxygen mask over his face, his lack of glasses throwing me off for a moment.

"Not too bad, as far as having your arm amputated over night goes," Reggie gave a weak laugh before sighing and lying back in bed. "How am I going to get anything done like this? Aren't I going to have to quit the military and get a job doing...something one-armed people do?"

"Don't be so pessimistic, some of the best soldiers I know are amputees. And it's not like you can't get automail - like I told you, I know a guy. I'm sure I can work something out." I huffed in defiance. I mean, I guessed losing a limb was pretty...traumatic, but compared to what the Elrics had been through, he had no right to complain.

"I know, I know, I just feel so...useless." He yawned again, his right hand subconsciously reaching to push his missing glasses up. I sighed, sitting on the bed next to him.

"I know the feeling," I said, silent for a moment before remembering what I had grabbed on my way out of the house. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot, here, I compiled some stuff for you to look over." Taking the separate folder of papers from my bag, I set it down and opened it, displaying the dizzying symbols and notes etched over the paper.

"What…is this?" Reginald asked, skimming through the pages filled with markings and numbers. I pointed at him before dramatically saying,

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," I giggled at his confusion, before deciding to give him a hint. "You told me how much you wanted to work on ciphers and the sort when you advanced through the ranks, so I made you some codes to crack. Mostly silly little things and quotes, but I hope they're still fun to figure out." I pointed to the first line on the page he was examining closely.

"See that note in the left hand corner? It's an equation you can only use to decipher that particular symbol using the Amestrian alphabet, or at least I think that's what you call it here." I said the latter much quieter, not sure if they even called their language 'Amestrian'. Nevertheless, Reggie looked absolutely delighted.

"You came up with all of these on your own?" I shrugged, glancing at the pages.

"My little brothers and I would send secret messages back and forth all the time when we were younger, they aren't that complicated so I didn't give you all of the equations. I'm sure you can figure the rest out, think preteen mathematical skills and toddler artistic abilities." Reginald said nothing, examining the squiggles and dots cryptically before responding with an intelligent 'Hm?' of confusion. I rolled my eyes and shut the folder. "That's to keep you busy while you wait, genius. This is for later."

I set a magazine I had bought from the Main Street Grocery Store (the money subtracted from my paycheck). It contained all of the latest makes and models of automail straight from Rush Valley. I was so excited about getting this guy a new arm, it was almost like shopping for shoes, except more permanent and with less heels.

"Okay, so I did the math, you can start looking at automail models now, I'd say 14 days before you're discharged and can head to Rush Valley to meet up with the guy. All you have to do is say you're a friend of Irish to the perky blonde with him and explain that I'll cover all the costs. Don't you dare say you're paying for this, it is kind of my fault-"

"Why do you keep doing this?" He asked, cutting me off from my ranting. I suddenly felt guilty. It really was my fault for existing that this guy had to deal with a missing arm. Then again, he could be dead. I cocked my head to the side, confused by his question. "Why do you keep forcing these ideas on me? What if I don't want automail?"

I flushed, not knowing why. I had been the one who convinced him to get the arm amputated, even if it was for his own health, and here I was planning out his future. Like a helicopter mom who regiments their child's schedule.

"I'm, I'm sorry, I just...I'm used to things being planned out ahead of time. And when things don't go as planned they just kind of, fall apart for me, I guess." My shoulders sagged and my eyes dropped, my shoes suddenly very interesting. They had cute blue buttons up the sides that glimmered in the light of the hospital room as the morning sun breached the horizon like a burning tree. "You don't have to get the automail if you don't want to - it's not like I have any legal power over you or anything - I just feel like I owe you one, after everything you've done for me." Reggie sighed and shook his head.

"You think too much, Irish." I thought about that for a moment, and realized I was proving his point as I stood there.

"Sorry…"

"Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong!"

"Sorry-"

"Irish!" Reginald exclaimed in good humor, though my cheeks had grown crimson with embarrassment. He liked to tease me too much. "Thanks for the ciphers, and the automail stuff. I really needed this talk-"

"Mac!" An over excited voice cried theatrically from the doorway, startling me. "You didn't tell me your boyfriend was at the hospital! Why'd you beat him up before I could meet him?"

"Hughes! He's not my boyfriend!"

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