Fullmetal Alchemist 1. Discovery

**This fic takes place 15 months after the Promised Day, manga/brotherhood verse.**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own FMA, though that would be one HECK of a birthday present...**

**Enjoy.**

**~.~.~.~**

It just wasn't fair. It's not like he could do anything, after all.

Dark gold eyes stared at him sullenly, the face surrounding the bronze orbs in a definite pout. Arms were folded across the chest below. All in all, the prime picture of a pouting teenager.

"Al, I _don't know_ where your brother is," Mustang said exasperatedly. "We've gone over this."

"You have to have _some _lead," Al protested. "It's been almost a year. How can there be no trace at all?"

Colonel Roy Mustang rubbed his forehead. This conversation was becoming an almost daily occurrence; Edward Elric had disappeared off the face of the earth nearly a full year before, barely three months after saving the country on the Promised Day. Ed had given up pretty much everything he could in favor of bringing his brother home, and now something had happened to the alchemist—only, they didn't know what, and there didn't seem to be any chance of figuring out anytime soon.

"Okay, so let's see," Mustang sighed, leaning forward to place his elbows on his desk and steeple his fingers. "I've searched any files that might possibly give a clue to where your brother might be. You've searched the entire country. No trace. I don't know what to think, you don't know what to think. Sadly, that's the end of the story. We've got nowhere left to turn."

"You're saying he's dead?" Al demanded tremulously.

Mustang gave up the cool front and kneaded his forehead with the heel of one hand. Why had this happened? He was supposed to be able to _protect_ his subordinates, and here Ed had run off with no tracks to follow. "I'm saying he's either dead or out of the country," he hedged, knowing that the second one was not much of a likelihood at all.

"Out of the country?" was the thoughtful reply. "I never even thought of that!" Al looked excited, suddenly all for the idea of searching the world to find his brother.

"You're seriously going to comb every country in hopes of finding him?" Mustang asked with raised eyebrows, unable to keep the skepticism out. He caught Hawkeye's glare at him; _right, be kind to the traumatized kid with an AWOL brother, sure_. But he didn't play that way.

Apparently Al wanted him to, though. "Yes, I will. If that's what it takes. I'm _going_ to find Ed."

And before Mustang could say another word to contradict the stubborn kid, said stubborn kid stomped right out of the office. Roy face palmed with a groan.

"If you mean what you say, you gotta be more firm, sir," Breda said, watching in amusement from his work station.

"Shut up," Mustang snapped. Hawkeye stood coolly to the side, watching events play out with a detached kind of amusement; the amusement of the other subordinates in the room wasn't so detached, however.

"Really, I wonder where the chief's gotten to," Havoc mused, his mood brought down a bit at the thought of the missing Fullmetal Alchemist.

"There's not exactly much of a chance of ever finding out," Mustang growled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

That shut them up. When Roy Mustang ran from a conversation by going to _work_, you knew it was time to keep your trap closed. All of them knew the nature of Mustang's apparently sudden ire; they'd seen his loyalty to Havoc even after he'd been crippled and knew it was killing him that he'd lost Ed, another of his subordinates.

"Thank you, sir," Hawkeye said, moving a pile of unfinished work right in front of him. "This should have been done yesterday. I'd start with that."

And Mustang, at as loss at his retreat from the conversation, sighed and started on the first bit of paperwork.

~.~.~.~

_Two Weeks Later_

Overtime was awful, Mustang had decided. Downright terrible. Especially when you had no hope for escape with a cold-blooded sniper breathing down your neck. Not that he was saying Hawkeye was cold-blooded or anything, no, not to a poor defenseless men with chronic procrastination syndrome… Of course not…

"Sir, stop staring at the wall. I'd like to get out of here before midnight," Riza sighed. Roy jerked his eyes and mind away from his pointlessly blank stare at the wall and hastily began to scribble away again. The pile was slowly decreasing, seeming to be going down with the sun seen in the window behind him. Sunset came and went; Mustang was _finally almost done_, thanks much.

The phone rang, and he automatically reached toward it, but Hawkeye got there first.

"Riza Hawkeye speaking." Mustang delayed his work, choosing instead to watch Hawkeye as she listened to the other end with rapt attention. After a moment, she took the phone away from her ear. "Sir, it's for you. Jordan Fluegal."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Fluegal? What does he want?"

Jordan Fluegal was a retired State Alchemist. In the havoc after the Promised Day and with the complete chaos most of the military was in, he'd almost been called back in, but he'd resisted the leash around his neck; he'd given up being a dog of the military. However, that didn't stop him from giving what he could to the effort to pull the country back together. As an alchemist, he'd gone to the research side of it when several underground illegal laboratories were discovered, with chimeras of mixed animals or—the true horror—humans. Mustang had heard a few things about the research to figure out a possible way to reverse the transmutation, but things weren't going well. Despite having rescued the chimeras from the labs they had found and putting them in more hospitable locations then ill-fitted cages, not a single chimera melded with a human would speak.

After what Mustang knew about Tucker and his daughter, Nina, coupled with the chimeras that the Elrics had recruited on their journey, he knew that was strange. Maybe something had gone wrong with the vocal chords during the transmutation…

Mustang took the phone from Hawkeye and placed it against his face.

"Roy Mustang speaking."

"Ah, good. I rather figured you'd be working overtime; due dates coming up and that terrible procrastination habit of yours…"

Definitely Fleugal. Mustang's eyebrow ticked at the 'habit' comment, but Fluegal was fairly easygoing, so long as it didn't pertain to his research. The sudden firmness of his next sentence declared that's exactly what he'd called about.

"I have a favor—not exactly a favor, more a request for the good of the research—anyway, something to ask of you. You are aware of the many chimeras we've found in illegal facilities all around central?"

"Of course."

"Are you aware that we found another illegal facility—in tip top shape, I might add, still in use, we've got to find the people doing this—less than a week ago?"

"No. I admit I don't watch your program with eyes peeled," Mustang added drily. _Could the man just get to the point?_

"Well, no one does, I suppose. Anyway. One of the chimeras escaped my facility, mere minutes ago, in fact. Frankly, we're shorthanded as it is, and we've got no chance catching it with our staff. I was wondering if you could do that for me."

"You want me to catch a chimera wandering around Central at night?" Mustang said skeptically. "Those are pretty broad outlines."

"I'll narrow them up for you, then. See, this chimera is a human hybrid. It was crossed with a bird, golden winged. Once you get sight of it, you probably won't lose it; most of these chimeras aren't used to large places, having been in cages, of course. It won't go too far, but it'll still be a little tricky to catch. Rooftops and such—and once you get up there, it'll just fly away. I need you to catch it by dawn, or else it'll be visible to the whole city, and heaven knows we don't need that kind of pandemonium right now. But please don't harm it! If you can't get it completely unscathed by dawn, I want that girl of yours—Hawkeye—to shoot its wing. When it's close to a rooftop, that is, so it won't injure itself in the fall. I want that chimera back as healthy as possible. Thanks for doing this for me, Mustang, I really appreciate it, and I'm sure the chimera will too, once we find the answer in this research."

All at once, the line went dead. Fluegal had hung up.

It occurred to Mustang that he hadn't even actually agreed to this.

So he could go out and catch a flighty little birdie, or he could stay here and finish up the paperwork.

Mustang stood up and shrugged on his coat. Hawkeye's eyebrows shot up, and she appeared ready to protest for the sake of the unfinished paperwork. He rolled his eyes and gestured her towards the door.

"I don't exactly have much of a choice," he said; a half-truth, but Fluegal hadn't exactly given him a chance to say anything. "We've got a chimera to catch."

~.~.~.~

Central at night was not always the friendliest place. All kinds prowled about in dark alleys and dilapidated houses. Luckily, that was mostly in the southeast district, and their search was mostly centered around the new facility for rescued chimeras, near the center of the city and a little to the north.

Of course, Mustang would have felt perfectly safe anyway, with his gloves and his alchemy, and with Hawkeye at his back.

It felt more like a midnight walk than an intense search, as they hadn't spotted the chimera yet. Mustang strolled along, ostensibly nonchalant, but with sharp eyes on the night sky. The streetlights felt revealing, and Mustang was almost certain that if the chimera were anywhere near, it would have spotted them and taken flight long before.

Yet another scan of the sky in vain for any sign of the chimera. Golden feathers. Flying. Nope, nothing visible in the velvet stretch of sky above…

"Sir. There."

Hawkeye's voice cut through his concentration; Mustang followed her pointed finger and saw something—he was barely sure what—off on a chimney on the roof of a building nearly two blocks away. The distant figure jumped off, then fluttered; wings caught the light of a streetlamp and threw it back golden.

"Good," Mustang murmured, eyes on the chimera. "We found it."

They moved to the sidewalk and started toward it with quick, silent steps. With absent observance, Mustang noted that Hawkeye's hand was on the gun at her hip—just in case the chimera wasn't as harmless as Fluegal had made it out to be, no doubt.

The chimera seemed uncertain. Mustang wasn't quite sure if it had seen them or not; it flapped, hovering, in the same spot like it hadn't decided if it wanted to move on or stay by the street light. The light it hovered under gave Mustang a view of the creature as its ever-moving wings constantly shifted the shadows on its body.

It was easily seen that, despite feathered wings and tail feathers and—was that a beak?—it was not fully a bird. For one, it was too large to be any bird Mustang had ever seen before. For another, the shape of the body was wrong, as was the angle. The legs weren't visible; that is, if there were any at all. There was hair on its head that glinted the same color as its wings for the split second Mustang saw it uninterrupted, and then the chimera made up its mind and fluttered up to rest on another rooftop.

"Hawkeye. Can you get onto that roof?" Mustang asked his subordinate quietly.

"Yes, sir. But it will have flown away by the time I get close."

"Probably," Mustang admitted, "but there's no harm in trying."

Hawkeye sighed softly and ran silently to the fire escape of the building the chimera had landed on. Mustang watched from below; it was hard to see everything that was going on with the darkness of night, but he caught the general idea by simple outlines.

The chimera was roosted on the edge of the roof near the street. Hawkeye came up on the opposite edge. She walked toward it slowly as its back was still to her, but as careful as she appeared to be, the chimera glanced back at her when she was barely halfway across. In a quick reaction, Riza held out her hands in a peaceable gesture, as though to keep it calm, and took another step toward the chimera. The chimera jumped off the roof and fluttered over to the top of the next building.

Much of the next three hours passed this way; either Mustang or Hawkeye would climb onto the roof of whatever building the chimera happened to have chosen and attempt to get close enough to grab it. Alchemy was out after Mustang's second botched attempt; the first time, he'd tried to transmute a cage right over the bird, but it had flown out with a deafening _kree_ of alarm before the cage could close over it. The second time he'd managed to get it inside, but it had broken the cage within five seconds and had flown in circles with distressed choruses of _kree kee _for several minutes before lighting atop a building again.

After the second fail, the two military persons regrouped for a short planning session.

"Maybe it doesn't respond so well to alchemy after what it did to the poor thing the first time," Hawkeye noted, a little sarcastically.

"If I were a chimera, I wouldn't like alchemy much either," Mustang admitted lowly. "But this is still getting frustrating."

"If _I_ were a chimera," Hawkeye said drily, "a couple of soldiers climbing about like monkeys and trying to sneak up behind me wouldn't exactly do the job of recapturing. What does Fluegal want us to do if we can't catch it by sunrise?"

"You're to shoot its wing. But that's supposed to be a last resort; he wants it back uninjured."

Hawkeye sighed, slightly frustrated. "Can't I shoot its wing now and you just turn it in at sunrise?"

"Tempting," Mustang admitted, "with the way this is turning out. However, I admit I don't like the idea of shooting it and then giving the cooing little birdie six hours to guilt trip me for letting it get hurt when we're just too clumsy to catch it."

Hawkeye rolled her eyes. "So much for getting to bed before midnight," she muttered. Mustang was fairly certain he hadn't been meant to hear that. He concentrated on trying to figure out any possible way to catch it. He definitely couldn't flame it, considering that it was supposed to be unharmed—

Wait. "I've got it," Mustang said, and quickly told Hawkeye his idea.

~.~.~.~

Hawkeyes thighs weren't very pleased at the moment, judging by the way they were aching as she climbed the—what was it—sixteenth fire escape that night, up all five stories. She peeked up over the top; there was the chimera, golden and fluttering, across the roof and approximately four feet from the edge. Glancing to her right, she saw Mustang on the neighboring rooftop, standing and staring at the chimera.

He clapped his hands together.

Alchemy of his sort wasn't usually visible until he lit the fuse, Hawkeye knew, so she wasn't surprised when it seemed that nothing had happened. But she knew that around the chimera, the oxygen was gone, now replaced by carbon dioxide. Riza waited fifteen seconds, then rose to her feet, climbed onto the roof, and started toward the chimera. She saw the moment it noticed her, the way its body straightened and the wings flared up. With a powerful downward stroke, it would rise into the air as it always did; but this time, the downward stroke had no power.

Its wings fluttered weakly before falling limply at its sides. It swayed, chest heaving for want of oxygen. Hawkeye stopped with caution, sprinting toward it and catching it as it crumpled, raising her hand in a signal to Mustang that he could let up on the oxygen deprivation. He disappeared from the rooftop; Hawkeye knew he was coming here for the chimera. She didn't envy his climb of the five stories on the fire escape.

She and the chimera were too close to the edge for her liking, so she scooted over a good ten feet and knelt down, stroking the head of the downed chimera. No longer deprived of oxygen, it was already getting back its strength. One powerful swing of its wing almost knocked Riza over, and she quickly repositioned herself to avoid that fate. She stroked its shoulder and attempted to calm it, hushing it softly. The wing fluttered and lay against the chimera's side once more as it made that desolate-sounding _kee_ once more. On a whim, Riza tried whistling, just a little.

A pause, then a returning whistle. There was no more resistance from the chimera.

"Speaking bird, are we now?" Mustang said, slightly out of breath, right behind her.

"Yes," she said softly, then whistled again as the chimera stirred restlessly at the sound of a human voice. It whistled back, then let out another soft _kee_.

"Poor little thing," Mustang said softly, regretfully. "Why anyone would do this to a human—or to an animal, for that matter…" he discontinued his sentence and walked around to crouch in front of the calmed chimera, examining its golden feathers. "Quiet little thing, once you've actually got it," he noted, brushing his hand along its wing. The wing fluttered a bit, and the chimera whistled at him. Mustang raised an eyebrow and looked over at the chimera's face.

His expression froze, then melted into one of horror.

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked worriedly.

"Its face," he whispered. "_Look at its face._"

She expected some hideous deformation, some abomination that could shock her even after all she'd seen.

It was much worse.

She sucked in a breath and pressed her lips together, unsure whether she wanted to cry out or simply cry. The chimera, its—his—head resting on her lap, gave a soft _kee_ at her distress.

She rested a hand on his forehead and couldn't stop a tear from escaping her eyes and falling onto his lashes; he blinked and opened his painfully familiar golden eyes again.

"Well, at least we found you," she whispered to him.

The chimera was _Ed._

**~.~.~.~**

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**-Rydd Rider**


	2. Sent Reeling

**Aaaaand the second installment. Thank you so much to all you wonderful readers who reviewed!**

**Thanks to my beta, N****ightTrain12, for proofing this chapter... and helping with the whole dang plot... ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I wish. 'Nuff said.**

**Enjoy!**

**~.~.~.~**

The world seemed to have frozen. Crouched on the lonely roof in the middle of Central, Roy Mustang saw Riza Hawkeye's utter horror and knew it mirrored his own. So strong, she was always so strong… and now her hand was pressed to her mouth in her attempt to prevent any further tears than the ones she'd shed already.

Mustang wasn't as stone-hard unshakable as she was. No way—but he wasn't crying, and she was. It didn't make sense, unless it was the screaming in his ears distracting him from any kind of external reaction. Chimeras had always nauseated him. Even just when they'd always been _animals_, the sight of the fusion, the abnormality of it almost made him want to be sick. He'd learned to suppress it and unobtrusively steer clear of contact the things, but the intensity of the nausea head been increased ten-fold with that unavoidable case with Shou Tucker; maybe it was just his conscious knowledge of the origination of the thing, or maybe his stomach could _sense_ the sin itself…

Whatever it was, the sight of Ed's disfigured body—_beak, feathers, wings_—had Mustang's stomach writhing far harder than it had when he'd first seen it from a distance. He set his jaw and gently set a hand on the golden hair, seeing the confusion in Ed's gaze as he blinked.

"What the heck are you doing, you jerk?" Ed should say, but he didn't. Mustang was waiting for that, waiting for him to suddenly morph back to his old self and snap at him irritably. But the body stayed malformed and mutated, and Ed didn't say a word, instead letting out a soft, confused chirping whistle that was decidedly birdlike, inhuman.

The screaming in his ears increased and it was so, so hard not to give in, close his eyes, be sick and forget he'd ever seen this. His jaw tightened and he didn't dare blink or open his mouth until he'd banished the screaming that wasn't there. Not that he made a habit of hearing voices—but _someone_ should be screaming, and if he couldn't open his mouth with throwing up, then his ears would create the illusion for him.

Mustang's ears were ringing in the utter silence when Ed shifted a little, probably uncomfortable in his position lying on the cold roof. The chimera let out a soft _kee_ as if to remind the two motionless adults that he was still there, perhaps not realizing that it—he—already had their strict attention. Almost subconsciously, Mustang stroked the golden hair his hand was already resting on. Ed blinked again, eyes showing confusion, yet the gesture seemed to bring him more calm. Not exactly familiar emotions to the Fullmetal Alchemist, and they only served to make his face appear even more alien. The beak was already too much—his nose seemed to have been taken and stretched down like putty to meet his lower lip before they both came out to taper to a slight point. It was… well, orange, and hard, and definitely not human in shape, texture, or color. The thing marred Ed's face, leaving his eyes the only recognizable feature, and with the unfamiliar emotion even the golden orbs—

Everything was wrong. Everything screamed _not Ed._ And yet… it was. As much as Mustang wanted to throw up right now, he could see Ed underneath the… _beak_. He recognized him, if only because this was the kid he'd been shouting at and making fun of and swearing at—_and supporting and protecting _(too late)—for years now. And he knew Ed recognized him too.

But his brain stalled when he tried thinking of anything beyond that.

"Sir…" Hawkeye finally spoke, and two sets of eyes, one gold and one black, turned to her, the action almost comically simultaneous. "What now?" It was rare that she asked so out rightly for direction, usually waiting for him to say it himself or taking charge herself when he couldn't. But now was so different than what they'd dealt with before.

Mustang… didn't know the answer. What did they do now? Fluegal had sent him to catch the flying chimera—check—and bring it back to the facility where the other chimeras were housed.

"No," he said aloud; Hawkeye's expression became slightly confused and Mustang clarified. "We're not taking him back to Fluegal's facility."

Hawkeye nodded, showing her agreement. A short silence—

"Then what do we do with him?"

And that was the question, wasn't it. Right here, on the rooftop, Mustang was sure that he couldn't let go, but facing reality…

"My house is big enough," Roy said abruptly. The decision was instant and solid; he didn't want to think for more than a moment of the consequences, an abnormal sentiment for him. But he was moving through this as fast as he could, maybe with the half-formed fantasy that this was all a dream (nightmare) and he'd just wake up soon (already awake) and have to go to work.

_Just move fast, Roy, it can be over soon_—a lie, but he was used to lying to himself. He stood up, looking down on his two subordinates, and told himself he was in control. The rising nausea at Ed's mutated form, however, argued the point.

"Come on, let's go. Ed, can you walk?" Kind of a stupid question; if he could fly, of course he could walk, but Mustang just wanted to hear the answer—_Duh, you stupid jerk, I'm not an invalid—_but it didn't come.

The chimera blinked blankly up at him and whistled again. Hawkeye's hand shuddered suddenly and gripped his… wrist? Near the edge of the wing convulsively.

"Ed, come on. Tell him." Ed's blank golden eyes switched vacantly to her face, and this time he didn't whistle. Mustang could feel his knees weakening, even though he'd seen friends die around him, even though he'd murdered in Ishbal, even though he was unshakable… He was going to murder whoever had done this to Ed…

He dropped down again onto his knees and reached out to stroke the boy's head again. "Please say something," he rasped. "Ed. Fullmetal. Say something."

If it was a good sign, well, at least he whistled. But Mustang's heart nearly stuttered to a halt when he realized that firebrand little Edward Elric could not speak. Mute. Mute and _freaking feathery._

"I'm carrying him," Mustang said, barely registering that the words were coming out of his mouth, but they did, and he accepted them. Yes, he could carry him. The kid couldn't be too heavy. He reached down and—how to pick it up? He wedged one arm under the back, trying to avoid mussing up the feathers on the wings and scooped up his legs in a similar fashion. An unfamiliar sensation—rough, strange—made him glance sharply towards those legs. The left one was, of course automail, the blessedly stubborn automail still resembling a human shape. Not as much could be said for the other: rough, leathery, so skinny Mustang was sure he'd break it on accident if he even twitched, and ending in a bird's claws.

Mustang's stomach twisted violently, but he steeled himself against it and picked Ed up. He nearly staggered; the kid was so _light_—only maybe eighty pounds, if that. Not good…

"He's as light as air," Mustang told Hawkeye. "Seriously… I'll make it carrying him."

Hawkeye nodded mutely and joined him on her feet. She was taking this so much calmer, already able to put the disgust away and watching out for both of them now… Mustang very much wished he had her brand of strength.

Ed's right wing hung awkwardly down, the tips of a few golden feathers brushing the ground. It seemed to take a little effort for Ed to pull the wing up and tuck it in the fold of his body and allow the other wing to drape across his torso and dangle down into the air for a short distance. He even had a feather tail that Mustang really hadn't registered before now—the boy was carried bridal style with a bridal train to match. The irony almost forced a distorted chuckle out of his mouth but he choked it back and started walking almost mechanically to the fire escape with Hawkeye at his heels.

The walk back to Mustang's home was strange, quiet, unnatural. While the jaunt about Central at night for a wayward chimera had seemed almost fun, this was a funeral procession, and Mustang was carrying the corpse.

As if sensing the thought, Ed shivered. Unsurprising, considering chilly night and the thin hospital gown, modified somewhat for the accommodations of the wings and tail. The chimera let out a despondent whistle and cuddled—_cuddled?_—yes, cuddled—against Mustangs chest. He nearly stopped walking, certainly skipped the steady beat of their march while he glanced down at the huddled feather figure in surprise. Ed's chest rose and fell rapidly, though he seemed perfectly calm. His head was leaned against Mustang's chest and he looked up at his face with those incriminatingly empty golden eyes. At Mustang's look of utter confusion, the chimera made that soft _kee_ again, nuzzling against the front of the blue military uniform and closing the golden eyes for a short nap mid-journey.

Why was Mustang's head spinning? Why did he want to throw up so badly?

Feathers + Cuddle = NOT Ed

NOT Ed = Throw up + Upset

Right. _That_ was why. Simple formula, like alchemy, like—

_Like what had created Ed into this thing._

Finally—he didn't know how he'd held it back for so long—Mustang threw up, the sudden stumble and jarring fall to his knees jolting Ed awake again with a distressed frantic whistle. He heard Hawkeye call out to him, felt her hand on his shoulder, and he threw up every ounce of food he'd had in his stomach onto the pavement. He held Ed close to him, to shield the boy from the sudden barrage of vomit, and Ed's _kee_ was muffled somewhat by his beak being nestled into the soft crook of Mustang's shoulder.

The heaving stopped before long, and Hawkeye came up with a handkerchief from who knew where, bless her heart, which she used to gently wipe his mouth for him. Mustang returned to his feet, still feeling queasy but figuring it wouldn't come up again, and walked on to his house without a word of explanation. Ed's soft whistles were slower to recover, and it was a while before they quieted.

They came to the door that Mustang stared at his door like it was something utterly foreign. Hawkeye turned the doorknob for him, thankfully noting that Mustang's hands were full. But the door didn't open.

"It's locked," Hawkeye told him flatly, eyeing him as though he were going to throw up again. He brushed off her concern and told her the key was under the mat. After what seemed like an age, the door opened and finally allowed them to step inside.

Midnight. It was past midnight. None of the lights were on; Hawkeye fixed that with a quick flip of the switch on the wall near the front door. Mustang came into the living room, almost staggering, and made his way to the couch to sit down heavily, Ed a little bundle in his lap. Hadn't the boy gotten taller? Apparently not. He seemed so small…

"Ed," he said, simply asking for a reaction before remembering that he couldn't speak. Ed blinked up at him and whistled, a hopeful little sound. Certainly a reaction, but not the one Mustang had been asking for. He looked to Hawkeye.

"Now what?" he questioned, a little frazzled by the sudden turn of events.

Hawkeye pursed her lips and shrugged, walking over to Ed and stroking his golden hair. Generally the gesture would have brought a smack and a rant, but Ed just closed his eyes and sighed softly. "He looks a little tired. I'd guess you wouldn't have a spare room for him…" Hawkeye said slowly.

"Actually, yes," Mustang said, collecting himself a little more now that he was on familiar turf. "I've got a bed set up in another room… Some distant relative"—second cousin twice removed, or something—"visited a while back and she was downright livid that I didn't have a guest room."

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.

"She's terrifying," Mustang defended. "And I don't much like sleeping on the couch."

"Alright," she murmured. "Well, that's one less thing to have to worry about, I suppose. Let's get him up there."

Mustang sighed softly and stood again, shifting Ed's weight as he did so. Ed squirmed a little and gave a soft _kee_.

The older man looked down at the chimera. "What is it?" he asked, wondering why he bothered saying anything when he wouldn't get a reply. Ed wriggled again and seemed to be trying to free himself of Mustang's grip. Gently, Mustang complied and set his feet on the floor. The chimera stood bolt upright and looked around, his head moving almost spastically—just like a bird's would, as a matter of fact. His wings hung limply at his sides and brushed the ground.

Looking at him, Mustang got a full view of the absurdity of it all for the first time.

The hospital gown had been quite changed from one that he might normally have seen, and he could perfectly see why. It looked like someone had decided to cut off the sleeves and got carried away. The material wrapping around at the neck was the only material holding up the front part of the hospital gown, as the entire back of the garment had been cut away to make room for the wings. The wings had apparently once been Ed's arms: he could see the elbow point, the skin tone before it went onto golden feathers, and even the fingers near the tip before they faded into feathers more than two feet long. His shoulders appeared to have been popped out of their sockets and rotated back slightly, probably to better support the body in flight.

The material of the gown came back together just below the edge of where the wings attached, near the small of his back, and went uninterrupted for barely three inches before a wide slit allowed the tail feathers peek out, originating from his lower back and the beginnings of the feathers visible at the bottom of the hole for the wings. The gown ended a little above Ed's automail knee—Mustang wasn't even sure the bird leg _had _a knee, and then Ed shifted a little nervously under his scrutiny to reveal that it _did_, but the joint folded the wrong way.

Mustang opened his mouth, closed it, then finally managed to say, "Come on, Ed." He started toward the stairs. "There's a room for you upstairs." Mustang went first, Ed followed, and Hawkeye brought up the rear. The uneven footsteps of Ed on the wooden flooring—_click, thump, click, thump_—was almost cringe worthy and was only helped marginally by the change to the carpeted stairs. Mustang turned right in small hallway on the top of the stairs and opened the door to the spare room.

It was mostly empty, only a bed and a lamp on a bedside table. Mustang knew there was a dresser behind the closet door, but it was closed and the room looked woefully inadequate. But it was enough.

Ed stopped momentarily in the doorway, eyeing Mustang blankly, but moved on when Mustang ushered him in with a small hand gesture. He limped when he walked, the mismatched legs obviously causing some trouble, but he made it into the room and just stood in the middle of it, staring up at the slowly turning fan in apparent wonder. He turned a little unsteadily and blinked slowly at Mustang, seeming surprisingly content for his condition. The wings came up and wrapped around his body, the bird leg rose and tucked itself under the wings, and Mustang and Hawkeye were left staring at a figure much like the flamingos they saw in the Central Zoo. The feathered wings formed almost a skirt around him as he balanced on his one automail leg and his blank golden eyes peeked out over the top of his wings that hid the beak. His tail trailed down and ended a few inches above the automail ankle.

"If it weren't so absurd, this would almost be cute," Hawkeye muttered.

Mustang glanced sharply at her and looked away just as quickly when he saw the honestly kind expression on her face. She didn't have that same gut feeling about chimeras… the unnatural blend, too crudely done to be natural, didn't make her want to give up every meal she'd eaten in the past week… Mustang swallowed back the pang in his stomach at Ed's antics and walked slowly into the room. Ed's eyes followed him sharply, ignoring Hawkeye even as she moved in even closer.

"Edward," he said softly. _Why do I keep trying? There won't be a response._ "Ed. Do you understand me? I know you can't talk. Nod if you understand me."

Mustang held his breath for a moment, hoping, but Ed just blinked at him. "Ed, please," he said. "Blink twice if you can understand what I'm saying."

Ed cocked his head to the side, beak still hidden under his wing, and whistled at him, the sound muffled by the feathers.

After a short, despairing moment, Mustang glanced over and shared a look with Hawkeye. "He's got no idea what we're saying," he whispered with a raw voice. Hawkeye bit her lip, her eyes sorrowful.

"Edward," she whispered sadly, stroking his hair. His gaze switched to look at her, but it was only the sound of the voice and the touch that drew his attention. Mustang's knees felt weak—Ed didn't even know what they were saying—so he made his way to the bed and sat down, covering his mouth with his hand as it frowned harshly.

They sat like that for nearly ten minutes, the silence broken only by Hawkeye's attempts at comforting whistles and Ed's returning bird calls.

"I need some coffee," Mustang announced decidedly, randomly. Hawkeye and Ed looked at him, Ed with a slow blink and Hawkeye with raised eyebrows. "I'll bring some up for you, too. I don't think we're going to get much sleep tonight," Mustang told her as he stood and walked out the door without glancing back at Ed.

_I need some time._

~.~.~.~

As Mustang waited for the coffee, he tried to gather his thoughts. Not easy, when they seemed to be everywhere at once. He'd already taken his opportunity alone to throw up again into the trashcan and had wiped his mouth on a napkin. There was a chimera upstairs in his guest bedroom. _Ed_ was upstairs in his guest bedroom. And the poor kid couldn't understand a word he was saying.

Okay. Mind off the kid, for now, Fluegal. How was he supposed to explain this to Fluegal? _Oh, yeah, I found the chimera, can I keep it? No, not as a pet, he used to be my subordinate. Uh huh, I hate chimeras with a passion. Don't worry, he doesn't even seem to really recognize me…_

Mustang took a deep breath and knew the tension was only going to get worse if he postponed it. This was something he couldn't procrastinate on—so he steeled himself and stood, walking resolutely to stand by the telephone.

Fluegal had better be awake. If he wasn't, too bad.

The phone rang twice before someone on the other end picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Fluegal. This is Mustang."

"Ah, Mustang. Pleasure to hear from you." The voice was entirely too cheery for this situation and for this time of night. "I trust you've caught my chimera for me, haven't you?"

Mustang's throat was suddenly clogged with the lingering nausea—_Don't hesitate, don't hesitate_—"Yes."

"Perfect. You can bring it around now, if you feel that might be a good idea—"

"I don't."

A pause.

"Then what would you suggest?" The chipper tone had faded slightly, baring a more wary one underneath.

"I'd like to transfer to your project and keep the chimera for study. You're looking to find how to undo the transmutation, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Though I must admit, I've always had the impression that you didn't much like my field of research… What brings this on, Mustang?"

_Come on, come on, don't hesitate. _"The chimera you asked me to catch."

Another pause. "I'm not sure I understand." Then, with an entirely too enlightened tone of voice—"Unless—oh dear. You don't _know _the poor thing, do you? Who it was before?"

Mustang would have snapped, had he been in the same room as the man, singed him a bit because he did _not_ want that pity in Fluegal's voice, that pity belonged solely to Ed, the victim who hadn't done anything to deserve this… "Yes. I believe that he could provide information vital to this research—he's the Fullmetal Alchemist, the child prodigy. If anyone can solve it, he can."

There was a quiet expletive on the other end of the line and Fluegal took a moment to collect his thoughts. "You are aware," he said slowly, "that none of the chimeras in my care can… well, can speak or understand?"

Mustang's throat clogged again. "I am aware."

Another pause. "Well, I don't see why not… A few calls will need to be made, I believe, for you to switch to my project, I'll leave that to you. I'll give you mostly free rein with that chimera, I trust you'll do the best you can. I'll get all the information I have on that chimera and send it to your desk—you'll pick it up, won't you?"

"Yes," Mustang replied automatically.

"Then I don't see why not. I'd be careful that he doesn't fly away from you, though. "

And Fluegal hung up without so much as a goodbye. Unsurprising, really. He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before hanging up himself, retrieving two cups of coffee, and going back up the stairs.

The door was still open, and Hawkeye was still standing where she had been when he'd left, still stroking Ed's hair.

"Your coffee," he said softly, offering her a cup which she took with a nod of thanks. He sipped a little from his own cup and sat back down on the bed.

Ed seemed to take a certain degree of interest in the coffee as well. His beak abandoned the cover of his wing and he stretched toward Hawkeye's cup as if he wanted to smell it.

"You want some?" Hawkeye asked gently, tipping it toward the chimera for easier access. Immediately, Ed shied and tucked his beak back under his wing with another small _kee_, seeming embarrassed. Hawkeye smiled slightly, but Mustang turned away, that sick feeling continuing to twist in his stomach.

He was in for a long night, he figured, both of them were. If they got any sleep at all in light of this new development, it would practically be a miracle.

They didn't.

~.~.~.~

_The Next Day_

Havoc was the first one in the office, shouldering the door open as he casually glanced in. Then he froze, his cigarette dropping to the floor as his jaw dropped just about as far.

Mustang was there. Havoc freely admitted he wasn't exactly expecting his usually lazy superior to be here _early _(especially after overtime yesterday), actually looking _busy_ (not that Havoc had a clue what he was doing; something messing around with the papers in his desk), and without any apparent incentive like Hawkeye breathing down his neck with her hand on the gun at her hip.

"Uh… sir?" he asked oh-so intelligently.

Mustang looked up at him, eyes slightly distant, expression somewhat disturbed. He blinked and seemed to focus in on his subordinate; his face cleared and he straightened from his task, whatever that might be.

"Havoc." Mustang spoke without averting his gaze from the papers. "Didn't think you'd be here so early."

It took Havoc a moment to find his voice. Then: "Well, it's about time for work." He adopted a somewhat silly grin. "Most of us lower ranks actually get here on time," he added, purposefully poking a little fun at his superior. "What are _you_ doing here already?" He jabbed a suspicious finger toward Mustang.

"Hawkeye's been telling me that I'm going to need to finish up my paperwork if I actually want that transfer…" he sounded absent, not really thinking of what he was saying or who he was talking to. "So I'd better get the paperwork from my desk, at least."

Havoc strolled to his desk. "Alright then, I'll get to wor—" He did a double take, and jerked over to slam his hands down on Mustang's desk. "Wait a minute, sir. What was that about a transfer?" he nearly stammered.

"Well, it's more that I'm taking a leave." Mustang considered it for a moment before seeming to decide it didn't matter. "Anyway, I'm moving to a research project for a time. I might come in, but mostly it'll be Hawkeye in here…"

Mustang finished stacking his papers and tucked them under his arm, sparing the stunned Havoc another glance. "Kindly take your hands off my desk. Hawkeye will have my hide if you crumple the papers."

"Yeah, Havoc," came Breda's voice from behind him. "Quit lollygagging. Get to work."

Havoc turned his head to look back at the doorway, but Breda wasn't the only one who came through.

"Sir?" Feury said in surprise, seeing Mustang. "You're here early."

Mustang nodded absently. "Is Falman out there? I've got a little to explain, but I only want to say this once."

In answer Falman stepped into the doorway. "Say what once, sir?"

Roy Mustang drew himself up slightly and looked at his subordinates solidly. "I'm not going to be here for a while. I'm transferring to a research project as a State Alchemist."

Dead silence.

Then Feury: "What? Why?"

Mustang sighed and leaned on his desk with one hand, kneading his forehead with the other. "Well, good news and bad news. Good news: we found Ed."

Maybe it was a good thing he'd already dropped his cigarette, Havoc reflected, because then he would have dropped it now if he hadn't. "Chief's been found?" he echoed in shock.

Mustang sighed again, looking frustrated and almost sickened. "Bad news: he's a chimera."

A pin could have dropped and clanged like an iron bar in the horrified silence that followed.

"Um, with all due respect, sir," Havoc commented, "this newfound sense of humor you've got could use a little work…" After all, there was no way _Ed…_

Mustang threw a baleful glance at Havoc, the message clear: _This was no joke. _"I'm transferring to the chimera project," Mustang clarified. "I don't know how long. However long it takes to find a way to reverse the chimera transmutation. Hawkeye will be in later today—she'll be filling in until I come back."

"Where is she now?" Havoc asked.

"With Ed, making sure he won't fly away or something," Mustang said without a hint of humor.

"Fly away?" Breda questioned. "What is he, a bird?"

Mustang smirked, a harsh expression with a boatload of bitterness behind it. "Considering the feathers and the beak, I'd venture to guess so."

All four subordinates got a rather disturbing mental image from _that_ description.

Mustang's voice went quiet, but no less intense; he seemed to say the next words mostly to himself, though they were clearly heard. "When I find the people that did this, I'm going to kill them," he promised, and brushed past the four men by the doorway, moving on without looking back.

~.~.~.~

Mustang sighed as he turned the doorknob to enter his house. Why did everything happen to _his_ subordinates? Couldn't he protect them at all?

He'd expected an empty living room; this prediction was belied by the blond woman sitting casually on the couch, legs crossed and reading a novel. Even when apparently taking a break, Hawkeye looked sharp and alert—her expression was level, her back straight, as though she'd be ready to jump up and start firing that gun of hers in one point four seconds flat.

Riza glanced up as he walked into the room. "How did it go over?"

"Well, they're… more than a little shocked," Mustang admitted. "I don't think any of us could have predicted this. So where's Ed?"

"He hasn't slept since we got him on the roof," Riza explained calmly. "I figured it was because we were always watching him. He's in his room at the moment. He hasn't flown away or anything—the door hasn't opened and you alchemized the window shut, remember?"

"Oh, right." Mustang ran a hand through his hair distractedly in the short silence that followed. Riza wasn't one for small talk, he'd found; a comfortable quiet was much better suited to her.

"Um—well, I'm going to go check on him," Mustang said, somewhat awkwardly. He walked to the staircase, rolling his eyes at himself: so much for his usual suave. But then, there wasn't anything about taking care of some bird-boy in the job description for State Alchemists.

He heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and figured that Hawkeye had put down her novel in favor of following him to Ed's room.

He turned the doorknob to the chimera's room and opened it wide, planning to just peek in at where he expected Ed to be lying docilely on the bed taking a nap.

Instead, he froze in shock.

Carnage. Scattered across the floor, ripped, mangled, torn… Mustang didn't know what to make his frazzled mind think.

Hawkeye shouldered past him where he was standing, stunned, and ventured into the room, kneeling and reaching out to touch the evidence…

…and raised an eyebrow as she held up a ravaged pillow carcass. Mustang stumbled in, wondering what on earth the _pillows_ had done to _Ed_.

"He—my pillows!" True, they weren't the _best_ pillows, and he didn't even _use_ them often, but still. Only _Ed_ would go demolishing his pillows… His gaze traveled over to the bed, but Ed wasn't there; the blanket wasn't either, as a matter of fact, leaving a bare, but thankfully intact mattress.

"Where's Ed?" he said sharply, suddenly much more concerned about the whereabouts of a chimera with wings in broad daylight. Hawkeye stood quickly and looked to the bed, her expression turning to one of disquiet when Ed wasn't there.

"There's no way he could have left. Has the window been opened?" Hawkeye asked.

Mustang checked the window carefully, but the alchemic seals were still in place. There was no way they could have been broken and put back into place by Ed, seeing as he couldn't use alchemy anymore. He was still in the house. Hawkeye checked under the bed—though Mustang didn't think he'd be quite that immature, even as a bird—and then checked the slightly ajar closet.

She made a sound like a gag or a choke. "Oh dear…" Her voice betrayed suppressed laughter.

Roy made his way quickly across the room to look into the closet over her shoulder. He raised his eyebrows at the sight.

Status of the Mystery of the Bedclothes: solved. Ed was curled up on what appeared to be a haphazard nest, created of blanket strips and feathers from the pillows. The sight was nearly comical; the golden-feathered chimera actually looked almost completely like a bird with his legs folded under him and his head tucked under a wing.

"Ah…" Mustang didn't have anything to say. Ed seemed to be deep in sleep, despite their intrusion, his back rising and falling slightly with his breath. Roy looked sideways to Riza, perhaps for a cue, as he was not quite positive how to react other than the twisting in his stomach that accompanied the sight. A small smile was on her face, as though she found the sight funny; Roy couldn't relate. This picture here… it was wrong.

Ed was not a bird. Or at least, he shouldn't be.

Mustang scooted away, out the door, and it was several seconds before Hawkeye seemed to notice. As she closed the door to Ed's room behind her, she raised an eyebrow at her superior. "Something wrong?"

Curse her uncanny ability to read his expression, even when it was utterly flat. But that didn't mean he had to admit it. "No. Don't you have to leave for work now?" he prodded.

She sighed softly, staring at the ceiling like it was the offending party. "Yes. I'll get going." Suddenly, she was a sniper again, with narrowed eyes glaring at him and an accusing finger in his face. "You. _Do your paperwork._ Babysitting one person in this house is _enough_, understood?"

Her left hand was resting incriminatingly on her gun.

Mustang raised his hands in immediate surrender. "Yes ma'am."

**~.~.~.~**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews are much loved...**

**-Rydd Rider**


	3. Sit N' Stew

**Thanks so much to those who reviewed! It probably would have taken longer otherwise to psych myself up to writing this - this chapter was really hard to write for some reason... But I'm reasonably happy with the way it turned out, and I hope you will be too!**

**Thanks much to my beta, NightTrain12, without whom conversations would be statues...**

**Enjoy!**

**~.~.~.~**

Paperwork was the bane of his existence. Really—one of these days, it was going to kill him, and then Hawkeye would be sorry…

Mustang sighed his disbelief at the thought. Who was he kidding? More than likely she'd just clobber him over the head with the butt of her gun and drag him out of his coffin to get back to work.

He sipped at his mug of coffee, his third so far today, and set it down on the table. The kitchen around him was clean and quiet, something that would normally put his mind well at rest but now didn't do much at all for him. It was hard to distract himself from what had happened last night, and so he turned—surprisingly—to his paperwork to provide the diversion. Lunch was approaching soon… another half hour and Hawkeye would check in, and she'd made it very clear that he'd better have something to show for his time. Perhaps his product would still leave something to be desired, but this would be far above his usual caliber, especially considering Hawkeye wasn't there to breathe down his neck.

Another wonderful swallow of coffee, trying to keep himself going after no sleep last night—

An unearthly shriek sounded through the house, startling Mustang so badly that the coffee, both from the mug and from his mouth, drenched his paperwork. That screech was bird-like, and coupled with the banging coming from upstairs, it had to be Ed.

Mustang was out of the kitchen in less than three point two seconds and took the stairs two at a time. When he burst into the room, there was no sign of Ed but the closet door rattling in its frame, due to an apparently brutal assault from the other side. Mustang wondered if it was locked as he rushed toward the closet, but no, it couldn't be; he confirmed the thought with a quick twist of the handle and threw the closet door open.

Ed tumbled out in a frantic heap, chest heaving, eyes huge with terror, panicked calls of _kee_ not reducing in volume after his release. His wings were everywhere, flapping in a haphazard flurry, and with a face-full of golden feathers Mustang reeled back and noted mentally that he really could have gone a lifetime not knowing what an unplucked chicken tasted like. The chance of Ed hurting himself in his panic was becoming a very real possibility and Mustang knew he had to calm him down somehow.

A flailing wing clipped Mustang on the side of his head and he cursed as he fell on the smooth wood floor. He clambered to his feet and the next moment he wrapped his arms around Ed in a bear hug, pinning the boy's wings to his side with his arms and pulling him close against his chest. Ed was shaking badly, but his frightened shrieks quieted so he was only letting out a small distressed keening sound.

"Calm down," Mustang soothed, talking down to the mop of golden blond hair tucked under his chin. "You're okay now."

There was no immediate change, though Mustang chose to take it as a good sign that Ed had yet to pull away. Taking a chance, Mustang began to stroke his hair, fingers petting the blond locks into a more manageable arrangement than the panic-induced tangle. The shaking slowly subsided and Ed relaxed into his arms, now quieted, but Mustang could still feel the frantic, speedy beating of his heart. And yet he seemed perfectly calm…

Remembering Hawkeye last night, Mustang gave a short whistle—single toned, as he'd never been the most adept at that particular skill, but Ed responded anyway with a light, chirrupy sound.

"Are you okay now?" Mustang asked quietly, slowly relinquishing Ed from his hold. "No more freaking out?"

Ed didn't move away, just stared up at him with blank golden eyes, allowing his wings to hang limply at his sides.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mustang said slowly. "So why did you panic like that?"

No answer. Not that he'd expected one.

"You could have just opened—" Mustang stopped, realizing. Moving slowly, as to avoid alarming Ed, he reached forward and grasped the wrist (could it still be called that?) of his left wing. Something flashed across those golden eyes, and the wing twitched, but whatever it was disappeared just as quickly and there was no resistance. The wing was… well, if it had been a sculpture Mustang would have called it a work of art, but fused to his subordinate's body he was more biased and inclined to call it an abomination. Human elements could still be seen in the framework and the fleshy parts showing of the wing, and the elbow joint was evident, as was the shoulder, stretched as the latter was. The wrist tapered thinner than the arm and curved into the thumb's joint, but the fingers never had the chance to fully form—every one of the fingers melded into two-foot long feathers that lay over another layer of feathers of similar length, providing a formidable wingspan necessary to support Ed's body in flight. But his sudden epiphany had nothing to do with the beauty (or lack of) evident in his wing.

Ed no longer had opposable thumbs. He couldn't open the door. Thinking back, Mustang recalled that the closet door had been slightly ajar when Hawkeye had found him, but neither of them had thought enough of it to ensure it was the same when they left. They'd just… closed it. As they normally would, if Ed were normal. But Ed had instead been locked inside, and Mustang didn't think that was very good for him with the state his mind was in.

"I'll leave the door a little bit open for you from now one, okay?" Mustang released the delicate wrist and stepped away; again, Mustang had no idea why he was saying this aloud, but Ed blinked—and was that the tiny beginnings of a nod there? No, he was imagining cues of understanding where there were none.

Mustang sighed and patted Ed on the head twice, Ed's head bobbing slightly and golden eyes blinking with each contact. The mess from the closet—feathers and cloth strips, torn from their former nest—would have to be cleaned up later. "I have to go back downstairs now," Mustang said softly. _To finish paperwork._ And then his stomach dropped when he remembered the forms' cruel death by coffee. Hawkeye was going to shoot him for that. He meandered reluctantly back down to the kitchen, making sure to leave the door to the bedroom slightly ajar.

He was still staring at the sodden mess when she knocked and let herself in. The moment her gaze landed on the saturated forms, her eyes narrowed and she glared accusingly at Mustang.

"_What_—"

"I didn't mean to," Mustang said automatically as he raised his hands in innocence; he saw her blatantly skeptical expression and reiterated, "I didn't! Ed woke up a bit ago, the closet was closed and he freaked out because he couldn't get out—doesn't have opposable thumbs to turn the knob with," he explained hastily, taking a defensive step back as she closed the distance between them. Her glare was harsh—some distant part of his mind wondered if she even needed a gun to snipe with a glare like that. "The first shriek startled me," he admitted.

Her eyes narrowed a bit more, she glared at him just long enough to make him start fidgeting—"Fine," she said abruptly. "But I'm bringing copies tomorrow and you better not wreck those."

She handed him a manila folder that had previously been tucked under her arm and Mustang took it from her with an eyebrow raised in query.

"This is the information on Edward that you requested from Fluegal—it was on your desk. I can't stay long, it'll take fifteen minutes to get back to the office, but I figured I'd drop that off for you."

Mustang nodded absently to show he was listening, if only partially. He'd already opened the folder and his eyes were flicking back and forth, reading the files inside.

**Subject 79 Basic Information  
>Sex: <strong>male**  
>Age:<strong>approximately 16**  
>Height: <strong>5'5''  
><strong>Weight:<strong> 83 lbs. (note: a good portion of this seems to be subject's automail)

Mustang noted with amusement that Ed had been mistaken for two years younger, and the height really didn't surprise him a bit—the weight, however, hit him like a ton of bricks. That… was _dangerously _underweight, especially if the automail leg was contributing too much of that. Ed hadn't looked that malnourished, his cheekbones hadn't been particularly more prominent than before, though that might simply be his memory's trouble—not to mention the beak would have thrown him off a bit.

"He hasn't eaten anything since we picked him up last night," Mustang realized somewhat guiltily. Hawkeye tipped her head to the side and nodded like she'd only just realized the same. She was only remotely more at ease here than in the office, and Mustang had to fight the urge to tell his subordinate to loosen up, but she wouldn't take kindly to that, so he wisely saved his breath.

Mustang closed the folder and set it on the edge of the table where it wouldn't be soiled by the puddle of coffee lethargically trickling onto the floor drip by drip. Speaking of which—

"I'll clean this up," he sighed, giving into the sniper's glare leveled onto the back of his neck.

~.~.~.~

Half an hour later, Hawkeye was gone, the coffee-sodden papers were cleaned up, and stew was simmering on the stove for lunch. He would have rather gone out to eat, rather than warming up the canned soup, but he couldn't leave Ed in his current state. As the soup cooked, he snatched Fluegal's file from the table where he'd set it down and sat down at the kitchen table before opening it and beginning to read.

A frown was etched onto his face as he skimmed the different sections of information. In _Accommodations_, it was suggested that Subject 79 be put in a large cage or small room and provided with nesting materials for creating a nest—it grated on him that they'd treated him like an animal, and he tried to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his mind pointing out that Ed _had_ made a nest for himself, whether materials had been intentionally supplied or not.

The paragraph on _Flight_ was actually quite interesting, as much as Mustang was loathe to admit it. It didn't actually have much information, as apparently Ed hadn't flown much in the facility, but Ed apparently needed no running start and could simply leap into the air and take off, though while he was flying it was noted that the automail leg slowed him down and threw him somewhat off balance.

_Dietary Suggestions_ was the section that tipped his opinion on the file, however. After reading through it, Mustang let out a wordless snarl and threw the folder across the room before slumping back in his seat and folding his arms tight in a temper.

…_assorted grains, appropriate for avian anatomy…_ "Birdseed," Mustang muttered as he massaged his tired eyes. "They want me to feed him _birdseed," _he said again, louder, slamming the table as he did so. As if. Ed would eat human food, whatever Mustang ate. For lunch, that would be stew.

And then that little voice in his head asked what he would do if Ed couldn't digest human food.

He told the little voice in his head to shut up and decided he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He'd test this idea first.

When the stew was done warming up, Mustang scooped out two bowls and set them on the table before trekking up the stairs to get Ed. The door was still slightly opened, as to not make the chimera panic any more than it would have to, but hadn't been opened any further; Ed would still be inside. At first glance inside the room, Ed wasn't visible, but when Mustang stepped fully inside he could see Ed nestled inside the open closet, his nest remade. He wasn't sleeping this time, as evidenced by his open golden eyes.

"Edward?" Mustang said aloud. The chimera looked up at him at the sound of his voice. Mustang made a 'get-up' gesture and hoped he got the point—he did, and his feathers rustled against each other as he rose from his little nest and limped out of the closet, his automail nearly dragging.

"We're going to go eat lunch now," Mustang said, more for filling the silence than anything. He walked out of the bedroom, glancing back to make sure Ed was following him. The chimera was limping along with his uneven gate, staring at Mustang's own feet as if to ensure he followed exactly in those footsteps.

When they made it to the kitchen, Mustang sat down at his place before he could think to try to show Ed that he was to sit down. But the direction surprisingly wasn't necessary, and Ed settled himself into the chair on his own, his tail feathers sticking out between the horizontal slats on the back.

Without even seeming to think, Ed reached up to grasp the spoon, but the feathers on his wing slid harshly against the table and his hand—not even a hand anymore, he was sure, though Mustang didn't know much about avian anatomy—bumped uselessly against the metal utensil. The chimera stared at its wing as if it couldn't understand what on earth it was doing there, then almost regretfully let the appendage drop to his side and stared morosely at the bowl.

Mustang had yet to touch his soup, watching Ed has he puzzled over his bowl of soup. It hadn't escaped Mustang's notice that Ed had—as a first instinct—sat down and reached instantly for the spoon, only stopped by his wings. A small flutter of hope ignited in his chest that he didn't have the heart to extinguish: did Ed still retain some of his humanity?

The chimera seemed bothered by the food being so close and yet unreachable. Completely ignoring Mustang's conspicuous gaze, he dipped his head and snagged a chunk of potato within the stew with his beak. Tipping his head back, he managed to get the potato into his mouth and made a motion similar to chewing. As Ed's beak was half-open, Mustang could see that he was mashing the potato against the roof of his beak with his tongue so he could swallow it.

Surprised at the chimera's quick adaptation, Mustang finally took a bite of his own stew—potato, broth, and beef—and watched with interest as Ed attacked another chunk of potato, then attempted the same with a lump of beef.

That didn't work as well. Mustang shot out of his chair and over to Ed as he began to choke on the half-smashed piece of beef lodged in his throat. He pounded once on Ed's back and the boy nearly flew forward into the table; Mustang corrected himself, having forgotten how light the boy was now, and got behind him to perform the Heimlich maneuver. The messy lump of beef found itself spewed onto the table and Mustang grimaced in disgust before getting a napkin to clean it up.

When he returned to the table after throwing the napkin away and rinsing his hands in the sink, Ed was already onto another chunk of potato, and all the remaining pieces of beef in the soup had been neatly set on the table next to his bowl. Mustang stopped and stared before sitting down, and as if noticing his disquieted confusion, Ed looked up at him.

The golden eyes were bright and intelligent, blinking up at him contentedly. Mustang could _see_ Ed inside him…

Suddenly, the chimera's eyes dulled, and his entire body seemed to slump as energy bled away. Something clenched painfully at Mustang's heart as he watched Ed turn back to his food and listlessly continue his odd way of eating the stew, but much slower. Whatever life had been inside him so briefly had drained while Mustang stood by, and the worst part was that he had no idea what had brought it on.

"Ed, are you still in there?" he whispered, reaching forward to stroke the golden hair before he stopped himself and withdrew his hand. The chimera made no motion to indicate he had heard; scooped up a potato, tilted his head back, smashed the potato against his beak and gulped it down like a baby bird. Slowly, Mustang sat and watched, the methodical, alien eating habit drawing his eyes irresistibly. Finally, he brought his eyes down to his own stew and ate.

He blew on his spoonful of hot soup and brought it to his mouth. _He'd better still be in there._ But his hopes, so far, seemed unfounded. Maybe the animal just hadn't completely taken over yet…

But did that mean there was any way to bring him back?

~.~.~.~

_Four hours Later_

Dr. Knox took another drag on his cigar and stared out the window. His family had come by again for lunch; though he wasn't quite ready to forgive himself for what he'd done in Ishbal or for what he'd done to them, he'd taken to having coffee with them occasionally, and now he had meals with them at least four times a week.

There wasn't anything particularly interesting outside the window—dark trees around the dark little house that his family had tried to get him to give up—but he wasn't really concentrating on the view anyway. A large falcon flew by, high in the sky, and Dr. Knox trapped it in his gaze until it flew over his house and out of sight from his angle sitting at the window.

The phone rang suddenly and Dr. Knox almost jumped, turning and glaring at the offending device. Ignoring the ferocious gaze trained on it, the phone jangled again, and he rose grumbling to his feet and lumbered over to answer the phone.

"Hello?" He turned himself to look back out the window.

"Dr. Knox," and _that_ phrase with _that_ inflection was all too familiar.

Dr. Knox paused at the sound of his voice, the one that brought back memories of charcoal and unfathomable guilt, the crimes he'd committed… "Mustang."

"I was wondering if you… could do me a… favor." The State Alchemist was struggling with the words, and Dr. Knox was instantly on his guard. Mustang did not _stumble over words_. He was a manipulative military man with high and mighty ideals and a silver tongue to sell them with.

"A favor, huh? And what might this entail? I'm not doing any autopsies for you, you got lucky with me on that Ross case…"

Mustang sighed, and the sound didn't relieve Dr. Knox's anxieties in the slightest. "I can't explain over the phone. I… need information that I supposedly already have, but I'm not sure I trust the source. You'll be working with a veterinarian if you accept this task, and I doubt I need to inform you that your work will be classified. Though the subject is a living, breathing body, I'm happy to say." He didn't sound happy to say anything, and heavy irony weighed his tone.

Dr. Knox grunted doubtfully. "A vet? You know I'm a human doctor, not for animals…"

Mustang was silent on the other end of the line.

"What exactly is going on? Why should I do this for you?"

"I can't explain over the phone," Mustang repeated. "And you're not just doing this for me. Consider this a favor to the Elric brothers."

Dr. Knox's eyebrows nearly cleared his forehead. "The Elrics, eh? No wonder this thing is so confusing…" he grumbled a bit and turned his back to the window, but in the end, his decision had already been made. He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, where do you want to be and when?"

"My house. In two days." A pause. "Thank you for your help."

And while he would usually have assumed those last words to be cold and clinical, he could hear the quiet relief in the voice.

After the call was terminated and the dial tone was the only sound, Dr. Knox stared at the phone and wondered what on earth he'd just agreed to.

**~.~.~.~**

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are kindness and motivation! Constructive criticism will help me get better at writing.**

**Out of curiosity, I've heard of quite a few other chimera stories. I find the topic interesting - any suggestions for some good reading?**

**-Rydd Rider**


	4. Somewhere Inside

**Oh, by the way, folks, I forgot to mention something: This is Royai. It's not the main focus of this fic, but it's there. Nothing even vaguely explicit, I promise, but they are said to be dating and such.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**~.~.~.~**

At six o'clock, Riza Hawkeye came by again to drop off a second copy of the devastated paperwork from earlier that day. He invited her to stay for dinner—though initially somewhat wary of him sugaring her up to escape the ever-present torture of paperwork, she agreed to stay.

"How is Edward doing?" Hawkeye asked curiously, taking a seat in the kitchen. Her eyes slid around the kitchen and she raised an eyebrow, adding thoughtfully, "Where is the folder I brought you?"

"He's as well as can be expected and it's in the trash," Roy responded firmly as he pulled up a seat of his own.

A second eyebrow joined the first in the upper regions of Hawkeye's forehead. "Would that be because of some complete and utter hatred for all paperwork there ever was or because of a more founded reason?"

Mustang looked away and leaned on the table, his gaze boring a hole into the wall of the kitchen. "A more founded reason, I'd hope. I don't trust Fluegal enough to take his word for Ed's condition and I believe I've already proved a portion of it false."

"And how did you manage that?" Hawkeye probed, her eyes sharp.

Mustang gestured to the bowls in the sink. "He ate soup for lunch. Didn't throw it up. Fluegal's file claimed he could only eat birdseed."

Hawkeye gave him a flat glare just long enough to make Mustang think he'd seriously screwed up before she sighed heavily and shook her head, looking exasperated. "Did it occur to you that on the off chance that Fluegal was _right_, you could have made Edward seriously ill?"

The only response Mustang had was to blink and open and close his mouth guiltily.

Hawkeye sighed again and stood, her expression giving the distinct impression of a mother dealing with a troublesome child. "Please, sir, think things through. The closer things get to your heart, the more you need to keep control of your emotions. It's not just you with issues here." Mustang winced at the critical words delivered in a tone only slightly less formal than Hawkeye's usual to soften the blow.

"My apologies. Logic before emotion, of course." Really, he _should _have listened to more reason… But chimeras were never the best thing to have around to keep his wits about him.

"I'm checking on Ed," Hawkeye established, and set off toward the upstairs; Mustang rose from his seat and followed her up the steps to Ed's room.

The door was open, as before. Through the gap between the door and its frame, Mustang could only see a sliver of the wooden flooring. Hawkeye pushed the door further open and he saw that for once, Ed wasn't curled up in the closet: he was sitting on the bare bed, wings lying limply at his sides with the feathers splayed almost elegantly across the mattress. Ed was facing away from them, staring at who knew what out the window.

"Ed," Mustang said, speaking by force of habit and some helpless hope, "dinner will be in about an hour."

Ed didn't turn around at the sound of his voice, and a small but visible nod was all Mustang got for his trouble. The military man put his hand to his face and rubbed across his eyes before glaring at the bedpost as if it were the thing at fault. Ed just wouldn't quite understand, wouldn't respond—

"Did he just… nod?" Hawkeye breathed in disbelief, and Mustang's downward spiraling train of thought slammed on the brakes. At Hawkeye's incredulous observation, Ed stiffened across the room and looked over his shoulder at them. His eyes were wide and some base fear hid in the depths, but there was no doubt that his reaction had been directly correlated to the words and the messages, not just the tone of voice.

"Ed?" Mustang asked hesitantly, stepping forward and reaching out. "You… you _can_ understand?"

Ed cringed away from his approaching hand and scrambled to the other side of the bed, his beak clacking in distress. He was making those sounds again—_kee, kee_ and whistling like a demented tea kettle. Golden orbs were wide with fright and Mustang cringed with the realization that the chimera was scared of him. He slowed his advancement and locked his gaze with Ed's, trying to communicate nonverbally that he was no threat.

"It's me, Ed, come on, you have to recognize me. Please." Mustang was no longer sure what exactly he was doing, but approaching Ed like an animal in need of calming, though against the grain of his vision of Ed, seemed to be the best approach.

Several successive blinks were Ed's response, each a full squeeze of his eyelids before looking again, as if he thought that if he could only _blink_ hard enough than the poor chimera's worry and confusion could go away. His beak was still clacking open and closed, but his distressed keening had halted. His chest rose and fell almost frantically in quick, frightened breaths and his wings and back were pressed against the headboard of the bed by the window.

Mustang carefully set his hands on the chimera's shoulders—or what was left of them, after the wing's rotation along to his back—and looked him straight in the eye, locking onto the golden irises as wide as dinner plates.

"Edward, you are safe now. Nod if you understand me."

Ed's beak opened one more time, and then his head went down in a show of defeat.

And then, almost torturously slowly, it came back up in a definite nod.

The relief that slammed into Mustang at that moment was beyond anything he'd felt since realizing that Riza Hawkeye would survive the battle under Central; he couldn't honestly believe that there was any god watching them from above, but he threw thanks up to whatever _was_ up there for allowing Ed to return to them, even in a state such as this.

"We've missed you, Ed," Mustang whispered, and pretended that there was no wetness on his cheek, pretended he didn't see the confusion and utterly dumbfounded expression the former alchemist had at seeing Mustang's moist eyes.

Roy Mustang didn't cry. After all, he was useless when wet.

Well, maybe just this once.

~.~.~.~

After a breakthrough such as the one Mustang had so recently experienced with Ed, he couldn't bear to leave the room just yet. Hawkeye had cautiously come forward, her movement locked in Ed's equally cautious gaze, to sit on the bed near him and now the chimera was leaning almost contentedly—Ed never seemed _quite_ comfortable while under scrutiny—against her shoulder. His eyes were still wide and fixed on Mustang as if just daring him to come closer, but his breathing was no longer the hyperventilation it had been before and he seemed almost relaxed.

Mustang tried asking questions, and at first, Ed had seemed to respond. The most common one, "do you understand me?" was now mostly just a reassurance, and every time Ed nodded in response he seemed a little more certain. Other questions were simple as well: "Are you in pain?" was meant with a thoughtful expression and then as slight shaking of his head; "Are you hungry?" was met with a definite nod enthusiastic enough to make Hawkeye smile and smother a chuckle. Mustang repeated the fact that dinner would be done in about an hour and attempted on with his questioning.

However, once he hit the question, "Do you know what happened to you?" Ed immediately clammed up, his eyes flashing in abject terror as he snuggled closer to Hawkeye and tried to hide his face from his interrogator. A shared glance between the two soldiers in the room, complete with raised eyebrows, led them to the mutual consensus that Ed indeed did know but was terrified enough by the fact that he didn't want to establish as much. And as the questions proceeded into less certain bounds, the chimera reverted back to his nearly catatonic state. Mustang slumped down to sit against the wall.

"Ed?" Mustang said, for the fourth time in thirty seconds, but the chimera simply stared off at something two inched to the left of his face. "Edward, can you understand me?" Mustang enunciated clearly, and that finally seemed to do the trick.

Ed turned back to face him and blinked owlishly; slowly he nodded, but his earlier certainty was gone and now the action seemed to be more of a jerk than a smooth assurance.

"Why won't you speak?" Mustang whispered, musing the question practically to himself, but the comment was audible to all three occupants of the room. Ed flinched noticeably and cringed away from him, wings hunching over his body more as he turned his face to Hawkeye again. She reached an arm around and patted him tenderly on the shoulder, offering maternal comfort to the quaking chimera.

Finally, Mustang let out a nearly inaudible sigh and stared accusingly at the ceiling. This session of whatever interrogation he'd managed to arrange was over—as cooperative as Ed had suddenly seemed to be, one too many prying questions would make him retreat to where they couldn't bring him back to them. Whether he was fighting against the bird he'd been transmuted with or against some other thing they didn't understand, they couldn't bring him to what he was before in a single night.

Roy shoved a hand in his pocket to fiddle pointlessly with the chain on his pocket watch before rising from the floor. "I should go start dinner. Any preferences?" he asked the room at large, only expecting an answer from one of the blonds in the vicinity.

He was correct. Ed didn't appear to have heard, though he easily could be faking that sentiment, while Hawkeye tilted her head to the side in a show of consideration. "Not particularly," she replied. "Are you making it yourself or getting takeout?"

"Takeout," Mustang said decisively from his position in the doorway. "Xingese." He raised an eyebrow at the small tug of a smile on her mouth as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Reminiscing our first date, are we?" she teased, and Mustang put on his most obviously innocent face as he turned around—not to fool her, as she knew him far too well, but to continue the tease.

"Why would I need to reminisce?" He leaned against the doorframe with a cocky smirk. "It's not as if it was our last."

A full-fledged smile was threatening to break out on Hawkeye's face, and she shook her head at Mustang and shooed him toward the door with a flippant hand gesture. Ed had resurfaced from his momentary panic and was now blinking curiously at Mustang as he grinned for the first time in what seemed like a week before he slipped out the door. Hawkeye shared a look with the somewhat confused chimera that clearly exchanged the hopelessness for a man like that as she continued to calmingly stroke the golden feathers.

"He better be quick about it," Hawkeye said aloud, and although there was another mostly-fine-well-then-_partly_ human in the room, she felt like she'd spoken to air with the only person to hear being herself.

~.~.~.~

Mustang was fairly quick about it, as a matter of fact, and within half an hour he had the still-steaming boxes of thin cardboard on the table, opened to expose the rice and meat inside. Hawkeye had made her way out of the guest room with a rather clingy Edward at her side. The wings were wrapped around her stomach so it rather looked like she had a feathered golden skirt around her person. The chimera's head was still nestled against her upper arm.

When the impromptu pair entered the kitchen, Mustang raised an eyebrow at them, apparently amused at the strange embrace. Then he crossed his arms and fixed Ed with a mock-stern glare.

"Are you trying to make me jealous or something?"

Ed blinked at him with wide eyes, looking almost like he was going to hyperventilate, while Hawkeye scoffed at the older man's antics. Thanks to Hawkeye—and it certainly seemed that any action was due to her perseverance only, inside the office or out—they did get settled down to eat.

Mustang set about wrestling his chopsticks into submission (_why_ he'd gotten Xingese, even if it was Riza's favorite, was currently beyond his reasoning) as Hawkeye elegantly began to eat her own meal, suppressing a grin at Mustang's ineptitude with this particular brand of etiquette. The atmosphere had changed drastically within the past hour; where there had been a hint of desperation and nearly abandoned hope, Ed's retained mental faculties had brought a new light to the situation that Hawkeye was quite glad of, for the sake of everyone involved.

The chimera was picking at his food with his beak, to which Hawkeye glanced at Mustang, saw his lack of reaction, assumed this was to be expected, and continued one with her own meal. Ed seemed particularly interested in the meat, worrying at it insistently before settling away from it with a slight huff, moving on snitch up the rice in his bowl.

Mustang ferociously impaled a piece of teriyaki chicken, almost smirked triumphantly, and frowned with a glare as it slid off the wooden stick. He paused in his ongoing battle with his chopsticks and glanced up at Ed, cocking an eyebrow before rising from his seat to retrieve a fork from a drawer on the other side of the kitchen before returning.

"Giving up?" Hawkeye queried, her tone quite formal but her eyes glittering in amusement. Mustang sniffed at the disparaging assessment of his chopstick skills.

"As if," he established. "Ed had trouble with the beef in the stew earlier, but I think maybe if I…" He trailed off, acting on his epiphany rather than explaining it, and shredded one of the chunks of teriyaki beef in Ed's bowl of Xingese food. "Can you eat that now, Ed?" he asked slowly.

Ed considered the newly arranged meat for all of two seconds before his head darted forward and he'd gulped the shredded beef down.

Mustang nodded with a barely suppressed grateful sigh. He wasn't sure about avian anatomy, but humans needed protein, and he'd rather not have to go hunting for a vegetarian diet that would provide such. If Ed could digest a human diet with only a few alterations needed in the preparation of the meal itself, that would be one more load off of their shoulders.

"You certainly are hungry, aren't you," Hawkeye said softly, her voice kind. Ed looked at her, and his blink and quiet whistle were almost imploringly thankful. Mustang was inwardly slightly miffed: he has the idea and she gets the thanks? But honestly, he couldn't bring himself to care quite that much if it meant that things were looking up. And so soon, too—

Had it really only been the night before that they'd found Edward Elric at last? It seemed like an eternity.

They finished their meal in silence, but it was no longer the funeral quiet it had been. Hawkeye flashed Mustang a grin as Ed swiveled his head to look between the two, blinking in confusion with his eyes giving the distinct impression that he was missing some key point of information. Which he was; the anti-fraternization law had been abolished after Ed had disappeared, so he hadn't been present when Mustang and his ever-loyal subordinate had become a public couple.

"Edward," Hawkeye said softly, looking to him with a gentle expression. Ed seemed to respond well to the mildness of her approach and cocked his head to her amiably. "You've been gone for a while. Alphonse has been looking for you."

The chimera's feathery body straightened abruptly at the name, not so much with fear as some anticipation that was utterly different. His beak opened and closed slowly, and though there was no sound, Mustang could have sworn up and down that if it had been vocalized, the word heard would have been _Al._

"Alphonse left Amestris when we couldn't find you—he seemed intent on searching the world until you showed up one way or another. We can't contact him now, we don't know where he is, but he'll be back soon enough. And he'll be ecstatic to know that you're alright."

Mustang hid a slight grin into his palm at Ed's relaxed figure and set his chopsticks down across his empty bowl. Causally, he glanced back up with a shadow of a smirk on his face, only for it to disappear abruptly. Hawkeye's smile had frozen in place, and Ed…

He was a chimera, wasn't he?

Then where had the feathers gone?

Indeed, in a split second Ed was suddenly the boy they'd last seen a year ago. Shoulders where they should be, no feathers to be seen, his mouth (mercifully human, no beak marring his face any longer) was lifted into a smile at the prospect of his brother. The modified hospital gown hung oddly on his human frame—

Ed's smile slipped from his face as his eyes widened and his muscles tensed. He glanced edgily from Hawkeye to Mustang and back, then down at himself, as if just realizing what had just happened. Rather than looking pleased, however, he looked downright terrified.

He launched himself from his seat with a flurry of feathers that Mustang could have _sworn_ sprouted right out of his arms, and he'd thrown his shoulders back, no, they'd just twisted around… As quickly as Ed had appeared human, he'd reverted to his chimera form and let out a ear-piercing, definitely avian, screech.

The two soldiers were left frozen in the kitchen as Ed careened backwards, upending his chair and colliding into the counter so hard it must have been painful. The chimera staggered to the side, body trembling, and then it must have been too much—the golden eyes rolled back in his head and Ed collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. Silence reigned for several moments before either of the two left conscious could get their voices to work again.

"Did he just…" Mustang didn't finish his sentence, debating the notion that he'd just hallucinated what he'd wanted to believe.

"Yes," Hawkeye murmured. Mustang finally recovered—somewhat—from his shock and scrambled from his seat to where Ed's prone form lay on the tile flooring. He scooped the chimera up, Ed's head lolling to the side as the golden hair spilled over his wing in a bright cascade.

The chicken slipped from its position pinched between Hawkeye's chopsticks as comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, of course…" she murmured. "I'd forgotten." She sounded almost nostalgic, and Mustang glanced at her sharply from his position kneeling on the kitchen floor.

"Forgotten what?"

"Heinkel. Darius. Do those names ring a bell?" Hawkeye's carmine eyes were staring at Mustang as he propped Ed up into a position he could be lifted in, then looked over to meet her gaze.

"The chimeras that saved you under Central." And then it clicked into place. "They could shift from looking human to their adapted animal forms. You're saying Ed is like them?"

"It would certainly seem so," Hawkeye said thoughtfully, "which would mean that Ed can speak, even if he doesn't. And…" Her eyes darkened. "Not every corrupted person with military connections was killed or caught on the Promised Day. Whoever created those chimeras is still doing so." Her eyes locked onto the table and her brow furrowed slightly in frustration and sorrow.

Mustang closed his eyes and took a deep breath to expunge the torrent of ugly emotions the words brought, shifted Ed into a remotely more comfortable holding position, and made his way to the door. "We should get him to his room."

Hawkeye nodded her agreement and rose to follow him. "Was this shifting in Fluegal's file?"

After a brief moment recalling the words within the folder, Roy had to shake his head. "Nothing."

"Then Ed must not have shifted at all while in his facility," Hawkeye reasoned, holding open the door to Ed's room for Mustang to walk through.

The response was a frown. "Or Fluegal was hiding that bit of information," he challenged.

Hawkeye brushed a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear and sighed. "You said he thought Ed couldn't speak or understand? That's what we thought. Maybe simply because we know him it allows Ed to show something more."

"Then what about the other chimeras?" Mustang argued, setting Ed carefully on his bed. "Fluegal's experiments have always been dubious at best, although it's true I've never heard of him using humans in them. But none of the chimeras can speak or understand, according to him, yet we have evidence already that contradicts this."

"I see where you're coming from," Hawkeye surrendered at length, "but I think we need to figure out why Ed won't speak before we can continue making assumptions. And that means we're going to have to wait for him to wake up."

~.~.~.~

They sat in the living area while waiting for Ed to wake again, checking every five minutes for any change. After twenty-five minutes, they were rewarded.

Ed wasn't sitting still when Mustang pushed open the door to his room. The chimera was by the window looking out over the back of the house and was pecking and scratching at it insistently with a quiet, keening whistle. Mustang and Hawkeye exchanged a glance and by unspoken agreement it was Mustang who entered first, slowly and stopping a few feet from the door. Ed heard him coming and spun around, overbalancing on his mismatched legs and tumbling to the floor in a golden feather heap faster than Mustang could catch him.

Wetting his lips, Mustang whistled softly, remembering how Hawkeye had calmed him on the roof. Slowly he continued his approach with his arm partially extended, crouching a few feet away, not close enough to reach out a hand and touch him but close enough to command the chimera's attention. He whistled again, and Ed blinked at him and whistled back. It would have felt nice—communicating in any way with Ed, who seemed just beyond their grasp—except for the fact that Mustang had no idea what they'd just said, if they had said anything to each other at all.

"I can't understand you, Ed," Mustang said softly, "but you can understand me. Why did you run?"

Ed was breathing too quickly to be as calm as his stillness suggested, and his eyes were glazed with fear. He didn't respond.

"Edward, can you understand me?" Mustang asked gently. Seconds ticked by, and then Ed nodded jerkily and relaxed slightly. Cautiously, Mustang scooted forward and wrapped the unresisting chimera into a hug, stroking the long golden tresses on his head. "You're safe, Edward."

At the innocuous statement, Ed gave a soft _kee_ that held a kind of hurt Mustang couldn't quite comprehend. The chimera wriggled closer into his arms, and Mustang could feel the rapid heartbeat against his own.

He had no illusions that he had any idea what was going on inside Ed's head. But anything he could give Ed—simple comfort of a hug, a place he could be safe—to help him along, he would.

Ed leaned his head against Mustang's shoulder. An oddly trusting gesture that he would have scoffed at from the Ed he'd once known, but whatever had happened had completely changed that.

He rested a hand on Ed's head as the chimera fell into an exhausted sleep.

**~.~.~.~**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Rydd Rider**


	5. Check Up

**Sorry it's been a month since I last updated... But here's the fifth chapter, so I hope that makes up for it! XD**

**Disclaimer: I wish... :(**

**~.~.~.~**

Dr. Knox wasn't particularly gentle when he pounded a loosely curled fist on the door twice. He never was very careful around Mustang; he was a cursed man, he knew it, and he knew that Mustang knew it. And that man could keep his lofty goals to himself—Knox just didn't care much anymore.

The door opened, revealing a rather haggard-looking Mustang. This was the tiredness that had brought about the stumbling of speech over the phone, although there was an air of pig-headed determination about him that Knox thought he liked—Mustang, with that look on him, would wrestle the devil himself into submission if he had to.

Dr. Knox stepped inside without bothering to wait for an invitation. Mustang stood to the side and let him enter without bothering to give one. The jaded doctor stopped after a few steps and took a drag on the cigar pinched between his teeth, then snuffed it out, tossing it away. In his experience, if he was being called as a doctor for something other than an autopsy, the residual smoke from his unfortunate habit was generally not appreciated.

"So what am I here for, Mustang? Other than a favor," he added sardonically, raising an eyebrow as he echoed Mustang's phrasing over the phone.

"I'll need to explain this to both of you," Mustang stated. "Come through here." He gestured absently to a short hallway to their left and led the way into a small living room with only one couch. There was a woman sitting there with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a medical bag by her feet, by which Knox identified her as a veterinarian.

"Dr. Knox, this Dr. Mercan," Mustang introduced politely. The veterinarian stood and held her hand out to Knox, who stared for a moment at the extended appendage and left her hanging there. She withdrew her hand as it became apparent that Dr. Knox wasn't going to shake it.

"Just call me Julia," she requested, and Knox grunted.

"I'm still Dr. Knox to you," he grumbled uncharitably. To her credit, Julia didn't flinch. Both doctors turned to Mustang for an explanation as to their presence.

"I'll start off by saying this is classified," Mustang began. "That's not to say this is strictly a military endeavor. Dr. Knox, you are familiar with the Elric brothers, are you not?"

The question must have been entirely for Julia's benefit, but Knox nodded anyway.

"This has more to do with Edward than with Alphonse, but the brothers being who they are…" Mustang let the sentence hang.

"Where one goes, the other follows," Knox agreed instinctively reaching up for his discarded cigar and then letting the hand fall back to his side when it only encountered air. "But I thought I heard something about the Fullmetal kid disappearing."

"We found him," Mustang said, putting both hands into his pocket as his shoulders lifted slightly in either a small shrug or a sigh. Knox noted that the comment was rather lackluster coming from an officer that would, and had, put himself in the line of fire for the sake of his subordinates. He turned back to Julia.

"You were on the chimera project for a short time, weren't you?"

Julia nodded. "Got kicked out soon enough," she said with a trace of sour resentment, "but yes."

Knox knew that Mustang had already known as much. He wouldn't ask a question like that if it would have had an answer he wasn't expecting. Indeed, he didn't look the least bit surprised, instead beckoning them both to the stairs.

"If you'll follow me."

The doctors both did. Knox was beginning to be quite curious of where this was going—Mustang paused in the hall just outside of a certain doorway, his hand on the doorknob, and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing seemed to be willing to come out. A glimmer of uncertainty showed briefly in Mustang's eyes, and then he was smoothly opening the door for Dr. Knox and Julia.

The veterinarian entered the room first, almost bouncing with energy and anticipation, but she froze just a few steps into the room.

"Oh dear," Julia breathed.

The sound was small and sad, and Julia's shoulders slumped noticeably. Knox leaned to the side to see around her head, but didn't miss the sorrowful look on Mustang's face, a haunted expression of regret. It became immediately clear to Knox why that was.

After all the things the Elrics had gotten themselves into—just the things he knew of, even, which probably wasn't even the half of them—Knox was inclined to say that they were the hardiest human beings he'd ever met. But this brought the horrors in their lives to a whole new level.

Classified? It had to be. Human doctor? Probably necessary. Veterinarian who'd worked on the chimera project? Quite the resource.

Mustang brushed past the two dumbstruck doctors and made his way to the golden bird boy staring at them with wide eyes. The man moved carefully, gingerly, as if the wings and beak implied this boy was ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.

"Edward," he said quietly, kneeling in front of the chimera and locking eyes with him. "Can you understand me?"

For a moment there was no response, and then a deliberate nod. Julia gave a quick gasp that Knox didn't quite understand, though he caught that there was definitely some underlying meaning to the statement, judging by the gravity Mustang said it with. Slowly, Julia crept forward to where Mustang was kneeling and crouched in front of Edward as Mustang sidled away to make room for her.

"Hey, buddy—Edward, was it?" Julia paused, waiting for a reaction, but didn't seem particularly disappointed when she didn't get one. "I bet you're having a hard time there, aren'tcha?" Still the golden head was still, eyes almost disturbingly blank. "Does anything hurt?" This time she really waited for an answer, but if anything the chimera withdrew more. His wings hunched slightly and his severely mismatched legs stirred restlessly at the edge of the bed.

"Ed, do you understand her?" Roy asked softly, but firmly. Ed hesitated and nodded timidly.

Julia tried again. "Does anything hurt?" She tilted her head slightly to the side and gave the chimera a friendly smile.

Ed slowly shook his head.

"That's good," Julia supplied.

Knox stared at the odd little scene and couldn't hold back the expletive that came from his lips. "What the… that you, Ed?"

The chimera looked over him and Dr. Knox was treated to straight-on view of those eyes, terribly empty. Knox's stomach dropped and he swallowed thickly. "Hey, kid, you in there? Anyone home?"

"Edward," Mustang said softly. "You've met Dr. Knox. Do you remember him?"

Ed stared at Knox, cocked his head to the side, and stared some more. Finally, a tiny jerk of a nod. Roy looked surprisingly satisfied at the tiny acknowledgement.

"That's good." Mustang looked over to Knox and beckoned him over; the older doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and obligingly walked over to Ed, who was following him curiously with his eyes.

"He understands, but he won't speak," Mustang told them. His voice was somewhat strained, and Knox had to wonder how much pain that man was trying to hide. Julia, on the other hand, looked delighted.

"I _told_ them!" She exclaimed quietly. The veterinarian made a little flailing gesture towards Mustang, like she wanted to throw her hands up in the air in either exasperation or excitement or maybe a mixture of both. "I mean, I wasn't positive, but just the little cues—they don't really respond most of the time, but it you're looking you can see when they _do_. It's like they're trying to pretend they don't understand, but slip up sometimes."

Ed blinked at her and clacked his beak, looking somewhat upset. Mustang tensed, ready for the chaos that look always seemed to follow that look, but his eyes held a strange recognition for Julia that appeared to be keeping the panic at bay.

"Oh, you're fine, little buddy," Julia promised. She ruffled his hair fondly, a gesture that Ed seemed to appreciate. She paused and scrutinized the chimera for a moment, and then her back straightened abruptly. She swiveled to face Mustang.

"This is 79, isn't it? I gave him a checkup once." She made a face. "Of course, Fluegal's personal assistant always thinks he knows best, the idiot."

Ed grew even more still, frozen in place, and Mustang gave Julia a curious glance. "What do you mean by that?"

"I _mean_," Julia emphasized with her hands splayed in front of her—she did seem to talk with her hands quite a bit—"that he tampers with the information! I'm sure that if you have Ed here you've also gotten Fluegal's file folder. Please tell me you didn't feed him birdseed," Julia begged.

"Definitely not," Mustang said wryly. "It's nice to see I didn't put my mistrust in the wrong place. The reason you two are here is to tell me his condition. I don't trust Fluegal's files to do that."

"Oh, that'll be easy," Julia dismissed. "I did his first cursory checkup just before they kicked me out for railing on Fluegal's assistant for messing with the information." She rose up and sat on the bed next to the chimera, flashing him a quick grin that the bird-boy only blinked at. "So, your name is Edward. Since I already know about you, we don't have to use any of the instruments, since I know you hate those." She smiled at the chimera and ruffled the golden locks again.

Ed seemed to slump a little in relief and leaned into the hand; Julia half turned to Knox and Mustang and, by way of explanation, said, "All the chimeras start to freak out whenever we try using any kind of medical tool. I guess that tells us a bit about what they must have gone through."

"You say you were able to get accurate information?" Roy queried. Julia nodded, raising an eyebrow at the repeated question. "Have you ever seen anything of the chimeras… shifting, as it were, from one form to another?"

Julia blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Mustang looked carefully over to Ed, who had stilled. The chimera's wings hunched, his breath seem to come quicker, and he seemed to be trembling. Mustang moved forward, heedless of the watching eyes, and set a comforting hand on his wing; golden eyes swiveled around to stare at him and the shaking subsided.

"You don't want me to tell her?" Mustang said softly, and Ed blinked anxiously at him, slumping further into a defensive hunch. "Why not?"

The chimera let out a plaintive _kee_ that made Knox jump and swear softly. Ed flinched and huddled away from the doctor, toward Mustang. Julia didn't twitch; no doubt she'd heard the sound before. The veterinarian scooted forward, whistling quietly but brightly. Mustang was forcibly reminded of his and Hawkeye's own attempts at soothing him the same way—apparently they weren't the only ones with that particular idea. Ed retreated somewhat from his huddled little heap pressed against Mustangs side and let her approach. Julia sat on the bed and put a tentative hand on the joint of Ed's wing where it connected to his back.

"You're okay, buddy," she assured. "I know this is freaking you out—but we're just here to help, okay?" She glanced to Mustang. "Do you have any beginning idea of how to reverse this?"

Mustang shook his head regretfully. "Without seeing the transmutation circle, that's impossible. My hope is that we can get him to interact with us again enough for him to be able to figure out the inverse transmutation circle."

Julia raised an eyebrow. "You expect him to remember the transmutation circle exactly?"

"This is the Fullmetal Alchemist," Mustang said, somewhat sharply—why was he being so sensitive here? It must be the fact that Ed wasn't here to defend himself. Here, but not _here_. Julia blinked in surprise at both his words and tone and nodded.

"Then that might make a lot of sense." She looked back down to Ed, who was beginning to grow nervous again, it seemed, and her expression turned playful. "State Alchemist, huh? Bet you're a right genius kid."

Ed shifted, ruffling his feathers, but it didn't seem so much nervous as almost preening. Mustang was glad that of all people who'd initially been on the chimera project, he'd chosen Julia, someone who would talk to Ed like a person even if he wouldn't speak back the same way. It could only do him good, he figured—and absently, he wondered why Fluegal had kicked out so many staff members if he was as shorthanded as he claimed.

"Well, Dr. Knox, you know the kid, get over here," Julia ordered cheerfully. Still a little dumbstruck at the exhibition of this turn of events, Knox shuffled closer a bit warily. The feeling slowly faded as he saw Ed's golden eyes up close. The kid really was the same: bright, intelligent, strong, but these eyes were also nervous of him. That, if nothing else, made Knox drop the uptight persona. He was a gruff doctor, for sure, but when a patient was in shock as Ed appeared to be (probably a lingering thing, Knox thought, after what had happened to him) the best idea was to approach gently.

He reached carefully for a wing, trying to grasp the wrist (if it _was_ still a wrist, Knox had no idea), but Ed jerked away nervously, letting out another _kree_ for the benefit of getting the message of his displeasure across. Knox winced and drew his hand back obligingly, locking eyes with the now flighty Ed. They held the staring contest for a moment, and then Knox frowned stubbornly.

"Look, kid, things are a bit different now. You're freaked out by me and I'm a bit freaked out by you. But we're still the same people, aren't we?"

Ed blinked twice in quick succession and dipped his beak slowly in a nod. Moving his head in a nod of his own, Knox gave a small smile of approval.

"Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, I'm going to do a quick checkup, as best I can. You know how checkups go, so don't go panicking on me know, hear me?" he queried, raising his eyebrows in a mock-serious expression.

Ed relaxed as the tension drained out of him and offered his wing to Knox, who took it gently. He had to marvel at how the two living creatures were melded; he traced a finger briefly over the nearly seamless line where skin gave way to feathers and then moved to place his fingers on the pulse on the inside of the arm. Wing. Whatever. He stared at his watch on the other hand, waiting, feeling… his eyebrows crept up his forehead…

"Julia. I'm guessing his heartbeat isn't exactly normal by human standards."

She shook her head. "His heartbeat goes at a considerably faster pace in order to support his body during flight. You'll find he's also much lighter than he should be. Some of the other avian chimeras—"

"There were others?" Mustang muttered incredulously, and swore.

"—were as little as fifty or sixty pounds. He's more, most of which is due to the automail leg."

"The file said he was 83 pounds," Mustang supplied. "Does that bit sound right, at least?"

Julia nodded.

Knox looked back at Ed, who was looking around at the three of them with wide eyes. Not confused, Knox noted, simply wary. The doctor fixed his gaze with Ed's again. "Have you been eating well?"

"He eats what I eat," Mustang answered, as Ed nodded uncertainly. "Normal portions." But Julia was frowning.

"Has he flown at all since he's come here?" she questioned, to which Mustang shook his head. "That would do it, then. Flying burns and incredible amount of calories in a chimera's body. He'd be eating probably twice of what he does now; but also, he needs that exercise." She looked apologetically to Mustang. "I think what you're doing here is a hundred times better than whatever care he got at Fluegal's facility, but I'd still suggest letting him out to fly at night. That sound good, buddy?" she asked, turning playful again as she looked to Ed.

The chimera sat up straight, looking excited—such a rare sight, and Mustang felt remotely guilty that he hadn't thought of giving Ed that particular freedom. "That should be fine. Would just opening the window let him get out?" Julia nodded, and he added, "There was something in the file about his automail causing him to list to one side. Is that true? Will it cause problems?"

"Yes, it's true, but I don't think it'll be _too_ problematic for him. Of course, it'd be better if his mechanic could come here and fit him with a lighter alloy, but that would rather depend on whether his mechanic could work with this… I'm pretty sure the main problem with his automail now is that the nerve endings shifted, so it's still attached but is missing most of its usual mobility. Buddy, can you move your leg for us?" Ed obediently moved both his legs, and indeed, the automail seemed to have a hard time twitching even a few inches.

They chatted quietly for a few more minutes, Mustang cross-referencing several other facts from the file Fluegal had given him with Julia's more supported knowledge. Finally, it was time to wrap up. Knox leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, and looked Ed in the eye.

"There's going to be a lot of people very glad you're alive, Ed," he said gruffly. "So you better stick around. And for heaven's sake, speak up a bit, will you?"

Ed blinked up at him and turned his head slightly to look at Julia as she set a hand on his automail knee.

"You'll be fine, buddy, I know it. Just hang in there. I think Mustang here has the whole thing under control."

Mustang put his own hand around Ed's shoulders and smiled softly. He thanked his lucky stars he'd named this classified—hopefully that would keep his reputation together as a fearless officer rather than a mushy surrogate father or something.

Ed nudged his body closer to the dark-haired man and smiled back.

But he couldn't do that with the chimera's beak on his face.

Once again, the blond boy seemed to have shifted faster than the eye could catch, and he was a slightly-too-scrawny human boy in a loosely fitting altered hospital gown. Much as the last time, Ed didn't seem to notice the change, and Mustang didn't let on, drinking in the rare sight of the boy's actual face instead of the beak fused to his features.

Knox stared, face suddenly pale, and gripped Ed's wrist to check his pulse again. Julia's mouth dropped open slightly.

"Nice to see you again, Ed," Mustang said amiably. With a start, Ed glanced down at himself and gave a birdlike shriek of fear. He shoved himself backwards off the bed, feathers seeming to burst from nowhere. He cracked his head against the wall in what had to be a painful motion and gave another squawk of distress. Mustang swung his legs over the bed and crouched next to Ed, but the chimera's wings snapped out powerfully and hit him into the edge of the bed.

"Ed!" Mustang barked, lunging forward and only just managing to get his arms around the shaking chimera's form. He managed to pin the flailing wings to Ed's side and pulled him into a close hug half-crouched on the floor. "You're okay, Ed, it's okay, I promise." After several minutes of hushed murmurs of comfort, Ed calmed down enough for both Knox and Julia to approach; he seemed more jumpy about the veterinarian's presence than the doctor's, which Mustang attributed to Julia's stint at Fluegal's facility and hence the connection in Ed's mind to her and what had been done to him.

Julia scooted over to sit cross-legged next to where Ed was slumped as a small heap of feathers in a hospital gown. She place her hand on his wing in a position that would have let her hold his hand if he'd actually had a human one.

"You're okay, you know, buddy," she told him calmly. "No need to freak out about shifting, it's good you can do that." Ed stared at her skeptically, but it didn't take much more convincing to have him relax. He nestled back against Roy and in the movement seemed to shed his feathers once more; Julia laced her fingers into his and gave him a comforting bump to the shoulder. He opened his eyes warily, but when he was met with no animosity, he let himself drift off to sleep. Mustang set him gently on the bed and led the two doctors out of the room.

"Thank you," he told them both. "I remind you that what you saw here is classified. Is there anything you think you should add?"

"I never saw any of the chimeras in the facility do that," Julia supplied. "I'm not sure what that might mean, but there you have it."

"His heartbeat was still abnormally fast," Knox put in, fishing a cigar out of his pocket now that he'd completed his duty. "Whatever this shifting was, it didn't change him back completely human. It only changed his outward appearance to something more readily acceptable as what he had been. And why wasn't he saying anything?"

Mustang shrugged helplessly, looking as tired as he must have felt. "I'm not sure why he's silent. For a while we didn't think he could understand, but I'm quite glad at having been proven wrong. I guess all there is to do is to hold out hope for the same thing happening with his speech."

Julia nodded slowly. "I wish you luck."

Knox grunted as Mustang snapped to light his cigar for him. "Same here. I think you're going to need it."

And with that ominous parting comment, the doctors left Mustang alone in the house with a not-so-hopeless chimera.

**~.~.~.~**

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**

**-Rydd Rider**


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Fullmetal Alchemist, Family, Hurt-Comfort