A Shadow from the Sky

by artistfingers

Summary:

Pandora: a gem the size of a marble with a roiling liquid center. It’s anything but harmless; beyond attracting the eyes of trigger-happy criminals, its other inherent danger is that it’s not from the world Kaito knows.

Thrust suddenly into Amestris, Kaito must navigate a web of lies that quickly spins out of his control as he uncovers Pandora’s past and tries to find a way home—all while keeping track of that damn rock that seems to have a mind of its own. And because Kaito’s life can always get more complicated, there are multiple Amestrian threats poised to kill him at a moment’s notice for learning too much.

Meanwhile, spurred on by the disappearance of her best friend, Aoko becomes something of a detective in her own right, determined to leave no stone unturned. But being a detective means accepting the truth, no matter what.

Unfortunately, these things are easier said than done.

Chapter 1: The Heist

Notes:

I have to give credit where credit is due; I’m not the first one to use “Pandora is more than meets the eye” as an excuse to do a DCMK/FMA:B crossover. Specifically, I read “That Blasted Red Stone” by Icka M. Chif on FF.N, and wanted more. MUCH MORE. So much more that I’m writing what’s shaping up to be an extremely long fic about it!! (In fact, I've now dropped a more full-fledge inspiration list down in the end note, so check 'em out!)

I have a few people to thank as well: my partner, for suffering through entire nights of me talking about this crossover, and going over FMA plot details with me, AND helping me get the basics of this story off the ground; CureIcy, for her beta work, brainstorming, and endless enthusiasm; Ninthfeather for helping me wrangle the many timelines of this story; and Mirror for further beta and outline help!!

The rating is for language and FMA-levels of violence.

1/3/21: Updated spoiler warnings:

There will be spoilers for all of the Brotherhood anime, and therefore all of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga. I've also taken some inspiration from '03/CoS for alchemy logic and dimensional bullshittery, but there shouldn't be any direct spoilers or knowledge of '03 or CoS needed ;p

For DCMK, expect spoilers through chapter 1025. Topics relating to Haibara's past, Ano Kata's identity, Vermouth, and so on. For Magic Kaito, there will be references to all of the Magic Kaito manga and the 2014 anime. I'm not considering the DC movies canon, so Kaito doesn't know Conan is Shinichi, and in fact... Kudou Shinichi who?

---

 

“You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky.”  — Amelia Earhart

 

---

 

Spring was coming to Ekoda—moody weather, cherry blossoms, White Day, and all. As the days spooled out, the school year neared its close, pushing Kaito ever closer to his final year of high school. 

 

But none of these things were particularly weighing on his mind. Like most days, Kaito felt rather carefree.

 

He was walking home with Aoko after school, hands thrown behind his head and his school bag dangling behind him, enjoying the weather as it remained cool for these last few weeks before humidity began to encroach on the daytime. It was these walks he’d miss before too long; hell, he was already missing them. As the school year turned over, Kaito would mark his one-year anniversary as Kaitou Kid, and with it, the one-year anniversary of distance growing between himself and Aoko. This was the one thought—of everything that spring entailed—that rained on his parade.

 

He peered at her from the corner of his eyes. Aoko was unusually drawn and somber, preoccupied by something their teacher had brought up before dismissing them for the day. 

 

“I can’t believe exams will be so soon,” she counted down the days on her fingers and sighed without getting further than five. “I’ve barely studied!”

 

“Who needs to study?” Kaito asked with a laugh, a playful swipe at her distress, like a cat batting at a ball just because it rolled into his reach. 

 

“I do, idiot ,” she stuck her tongue out at him. “Especially for Japanese history! Geeze. I just can’t remember the dates…”

 

“Seriously, why’re you getting so wound up?” Kaito asked, more genuine than before. “You’ve never cared that much about exams before. Plus, you’re practically a genius!” Aoko blushed, smiling a little at the praise, until Kaito tacked on, “I mean, not as much as me , of course, but still, you’re pretty sharp.”

 

She was on him in a second, whapping him in the back of the head with her school bag. Kaito yelped. Shit , she was still too swift for him to avoid sometimes, especially when his guard was down. He glared at her as he rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. Honestly, sometimes he wondered where all her agility came from; she could give him a run for his money, and he practiced to be that nimble.

 

“If you’re such a genius you should protect your precious brain better,” she taunted. “ And if you were so smart, you’d know why I care about these exams.”

 

He pouted harder. She stared him down but broke first, rolling her eyes.

 

“It’s because of university admissions, Bakaito .”

 

“Oh, those,” he replied, drawing his hand around to his chin as he thought a moment, and then tossed both arms out. “But we’ve got plenty of time! At least a few more months!!” 

 

“Not really! We’ve only got a year left in high school!” Her face creased with anxiety, and she swung her bag at him again. This time, Kaito anticipated the swing and danced away with a giggle. “Seriously, how are you so relaxed about it? Do you even know where you want to go for university?”

 

“Eh, somewhere in Japan, I guess.”

 

“That doesn’t narrow it down at all!”

 

“Sure it does! On second thought, I could study abroad. That might be fun. My English is pretty good, so maybe England or America.” He hesitated, mulling that over, and then shuddered. “On second thought, England’s gonna have Hakuba, and America’s got my mom, so sticking with Japan is probably safest.”

 

“Geeze, you must only have half a brain, because you make decisions on a whim,” Aoko complained as they came to a stop at a red pedestrian light. 

 

“Well, do you know where you want to go?”

 

Aoko stuck her tongue out at him. Kaito laughed; it was answer enough for him. 

 

“Fine, know-it-all,” she said, turning her face away as the signal changed and they stepped off the sidewalk. “Since you’re so unbothered by the future, maybe you care more about the past. So come over tomorrow and help me study Japanese history.”

 

“What? Tomorrow? Why?”

 

“Because exams start next week !”

 

“There’s a Kid heist tomorrow,” Kaito complained. “I wanted to go!”

 

“Magic otaku,” she huffed, not looking at him. “I shoulda known.” She sounded upset, but somewhat subdued.

 

Lately, her opinions on Kid had seemed more complicated, even though he could never call her a fan. She’d softened towards him after he’d prevented the demolition of the Clock Tower, and he’d even heard a few charitable words after he’d cracked the Iron Tanuki for Suzuki and his dog, something he was pretty sure she’d only heard about thanks to her old man.

 

“Aw, I guess I can come study with you beforehand,” he relented, feeling a little guilty. It was the same every time Kid came up, even if her reactions were mellowing. “The heist prolly isn’t gonna be til ten thirty, anyway….”

 

“Really?” She lit up entirely, a smile on her face that told Kaito that changing his plans a little bit was worth it.

 

“Yeah, I mean, the note wasn’t exact, but I was talking to Hakuba…” he trailed off with a shrug. He’d have less time on location before the heist began, but he could text Jii; he’d already laced the floor above the target’s display gallery with traps, so what was missing a few hours?

 

Aoko clapped her hands. “Yay! Let’s go into the store—I need a few things for dinner, plus we can get some snacks for tomorrow!”

 

He grinned lazily as he followed her off the street and into the grocery store, hands locked behind his head once more. 

 

As they browsed the fresh meat selection, Aoko spoke up, taking Kaito by surprise. “So what’s the Kid heist this time? Why’s everyone so excited about it?”

 

“What, your dad didn’t tell you?” Kaito asked, somewhat surprised that Aoko cared to know.

 

“Well, he sort of did,” she replied, concentrating on two packets of beef and their prices. “But he got really angry and started yelling about the whole thing, so I hit him with a throw pillow and told him to get some sleep. He hasn’t been sleeping well.” She chose one of the two packs and they moved on to the next area.

 

“Hm. Sounds about right for that hack inspector.” He hadn’t realized Nakamori was in a bad way over this. But that guilt would have to be shoved away—if he was better at his job, maybe he’d be less stressed, but then Kaito’d be under a whole lot more pressure than he already was on a regular basis. 

 

“He’s not a hack!”

 

“He is when you put him next to Kid,” Kaito sang, and then immediately ducked out of the way of Aoko’s school bag. Surfacing, he returned to the original question. “Well, the name of the gem Kid’s after roughly translates to Eclipse Tear . Nobody can really trace its history that far back, but it seems like it originated somewhere in Germany, maybe a hundred years ago. Anyway, the current owner has really hyped up the idea that it’s got some kinda magical property, which is probably why it caught Kid’s eye. It’s being displayed all over the world. This is the third country it’s come to.” Laying out the scant facts known to the public was easy, almost offhand, as he passed Aoko some vegetables from the highest produce shelf. 

 

“That’s it?” Aoko sounded unimpressed as she tucked the produce into the basket hooked over her arm.

 

“Well, mostly.” What Kaito knew went deeper: there was something off about this one. Its history was shoddy, marred with murders and disappearances. The thing had never been photographed, either. Plus, there was a certain quirk associated with the gem’s display. That was what made Kaito excited, and it wasn’t something he’d needed to dig to find out about, either. He couldn’t keep that grin from showing as he went on. “You wanna know the weirdest thing, though?”

 

Despite herself, she looked intrigued by Kaito’s leading question. “What?”

 

“The owner refuses to display it in natural lighting.”

 

Aoko’s face scrunched. “Does that protect it from damage or something?”

 

“Nobody really knows,” Kaito said. “But personally, I think it’s got something to do with magic.”

 

“You just want everything to do with magic.”

 

“Hey, not everything ! ...just most things.”

 

He thought he heard a mutter of otaku , but ignored her. 

 

“I don’t mean stage magic, though,” he said. “I bet there’s a supernatural reason it can’t touch the sunlight, or the moonlight.”

 

“Yeah, right, Kaito,” Aoko sniffed. “I thought you didn’t believe in any of that.”

 

It was kind of hard not to believe in it when he’d met Akako and lived through her voodoo, among other nefarious things, but all he did was shrug. “It’s a wide world,” he said. “Why wouldn’t magic rocks be out there?”

 

“Eh, so do you believe in yokai and werewolves now, too?”

 

Kaito scoffed. “No way!”

 

Aoko stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re so inconsistent, Bakaito!”

 

“Ah, so I should be more like you?”

 

She paused as they turned down a new aisle. “Like me?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaito nodded seriously. “I’ve never seen you wear any undies that weren’t pastel!”

 

She launched a loaf of bread at him and he caught it, cackling, and she chased him until they found the snacks where they calmed down and selected some chips and popcorn for their study date (though Aoko turned bright red when Kaito called it that). Then they paid and left the store. 

 

Aoko was now carrying a bag of groceries along with her school bag, and Kaito eyed them with a healthy dose of suspicion—she had twice the number of weapons now. He decided it’d be best to leave behind the topics of Kaitou Kid and underies for now; he could only push his luck so far before things wouldn’t end well for him.

 

They reached their street and said their goodbyes, Kaito promising not to forget their study session tomorrow before unlocking their separate front doors.

 

Inside, Kaito kicked his shoes off and called out that he was home to the empty rooms. In his bedroom, he dropped off his bag and plopped into his desk chair, swiveling around to look at the portrait of his father that smiled serenely down at him.

 

“D’ya think this one’s it, oyaji?” he asked. “Pandora?”

 

The portrait’s smile remained unchanged.

 

“It fits, you know. They don’t even have photographs in the paper, just an artist's interpretation of how it might look. So, if it is Pandora, it’s almost too good to be true. Especially the fact that it’s come to Japan now.” He reclined, kicking his legs out. “I can’t exactly travel the world like you did, oyaji. Best I can do is wait for gems and full moons both.”

 

He studied the portrait, a sober feeling settling hard on his heart.

 

“You don’t happen to have a bulletproof vest tucked away down there, do you?”

Kaito stretched his arms high up in the air and immediately overbalanced. As he tumbled onto his back with a fantastic scattering of pillows and study supplies, Aoko laughed.

 

“Idiot,” she said, but Kaito could hear the affection in her voice.

 

“ You idiot,” he retorted immediately, picking himself up and glaring at the books and papers strewn over the low table they were seated at in Aoko’s room. “I’ve been sitting still too long. It’s unnatural for me!”

 

She checked her watch. “Wow! I didn’t realize the time. It’s already evening,” she said. “Maybe we should get ready to go.”

 

Kaito eyed her suspiciously. “ We ?”

 

She crossed her arms. “You expect me to stay home by myself again ? At least the Kid heist will be…”

 

When she hesitated, Kaito broke out the grin. “It’ll be...what? It’ll be fun? C’mon, say it. Admit it’ll be fun!”

 

Aoko huffed. “It won’t be lonely .”

 

“Aww, Aoko,” Kaito laid on the sugar to tease her, and he was rewarded with a pillow thrown at his face. He didn’t try to dodge this time, and rolled with the force and fell back to the ground, where for a moment he just lay with the pillow covering half of his face, moaning dramatically.

 

If she tagged along tonight, he’d have to ditch her at some point, and sooner rather than later, too. There were no two ways around it. Mannequins could only get a guy so far. Maybe he’d orchestrate an accidental separation amid a confused crowd… it would be easy, but it would feel… well, put plainly, it would feel just as bad as it had the first time. Even though he could get swept away in the adrenaline and the danger, Aoko was his best friend, and letting her down, leaving her alone—he hated it, because he knew how much she hated it.

 

And, the danger this heist posed. Oh yeah, that .

 

He sat up, pulling the pillow off his face. Aoko was already up, searching through her dresser drawer for something warmer to wear as the night got colder. 

 

“Aoko,” he said.

 

“What, Bakaito?”

 

“Seriously,” he said, his tone lower than before. “You hate Kid heists. You’ll just get upset there, too. Why don’t you stay home and watch it on TV?”

 

She didn’t even glance at him. “I’ll watch it on TV if you stay and watch it with me.”

 

“That’s a bad deal!”

 

“And I don’t want to be alone!” Her tone took a higher pitch, and Kaito shrank back, hearing that she meant it. His stomach sank when she turned to him and he saw that her eyes were shiny, wet.

 

“You could call Keiko,” he suggested lamely.

 

Aoko rubbed her eyes roughly. “I’m going to the Kid heist! You and Hakuba-kun will be there, and I want to bring otou-san a bento, too.”

 

There’d be no talking her out of it. “Okay, okay, sorry,” he muttered. “Just… let’s stay out of the way, okay? Sometimes it gets...messy at these things.”

 

“I know that,” she huffed. “Otou-san always tells me important stuff about the Kid heists.”

 

Kaito could only wonder how much he really told her, and if gunmen ranked.

 

Aoko selected a sweater and they went downstairs for dinner. Afterwards, as Aoko wrapped the leftovers for her dad, Kaito slipped next door to assemble his tools for the night’s heist.

 

The first thing he did was strap on the bullet proof vest he’d called Jii for the night before. He’d found one in his dad’s so-called ‘study’, but it had been ten years old and pretty big on him—Kaito had nearly drowned in it when he’d tried it on. The one Jii had dropped off that morning was still clunky and thick, but fit Kaito much better. Wearing this one also didn’t come with the oppressive knowledge that he was wearing something meant to save lives, but had done nothing to prevent his father’s murder.

 

He knew he wouldn’t be as quick and agile tonight as he usually was, but better slow than dead. Getting shot at was a bit more than nerve wracking—he’d had the experience a half a dozen times, and he wasn’t a fan—so the precaution was worthwhile. 

 

Then, he tucked away his tools and tricks. Anything he couldn’t hide on his person would be planted at the scene of the heist by Jii. Backup plans for backup plans—it was how Kaito made it through his life, least of all each heist.

 

Now if only he could get Aoko into a bulletproof vest, too, since she was so insistent on being at the heist… well, hey, that idea wasn’t totally outside the realm of possibilities. He’d hold onto that.

 

He tucked his monocle into a hidden pocket sewn into his blue silk shirt, the shirt itself then hidden beneath the clothes he’d been wearing earlier. His cardgun was next. With the rest of his Kid gear tucked away in similarly hidden pockets, Kaito tossed on an oversized hoodie. It was the last piece he needed to conceal all the extra bulk tonight. Thank goodness for fashion trends.

 

Tonight’s heist would not be an easy one. It was going to test his magic, his wits, and most of all, most ominously, his survival skills. 

 

With that knowledge weighing on his mind, he went through one last routine check of his gear and headed out to meet Aoko on the street between their houses. She was waiting with a bento hanging from one hand and the other placed on her hip.

 

“Took you long enough just to grab a jacket,” she complained, and began walking as soon as Kaito reached her. He has to lengthen his strides to keep up. “We’re going to miss the train, thanks to you!” She stuck out her tongue at him.

 

“There’ll be another train, don’t blow a gasket.” Kaito put his hands in his pockets and tried to rid himself of every creeping, dark feeling that was haunting him with a good, vigorous, full-body shake. The heist lay ahead, as did a gem with too many similarities to Pandora to be ignored— but right now, in the cool evening, he was walking alongside his childhood friend. That was worth focusing on.

 

“What are you, a dog?” Aoko laughed at him.

 

“I don’t bark, how could I be a dog?” Kaito complained, then took a swipe at Aoko’s skirt to make her squeal. “Race you to the train station!”

 

He took off, Aoko close on his heels. Almost immediately, she hit him square in the back of the head with her dad’s bento, forcing Kaito to stumble to regain his footing. Aoko was landing more and more blows these days, even when Kaito wasn’t trying to let them land. Laughing as he ran, Kaito decided he’d have to start mixing up his moves.

 

Overhead, the full moon was rising.

 

---

 

The gem was being shown on the fifth floor of a towering multipurpose Tokyo skyscraper, aptly named the Midtown Tower. The fifth floor consisted almost entirely of gallery space, the Tokyo Midtown Design Hub. From what Kaito had gleaned—through both legal and illegal news sources—the Eclipse Tear would be displayed there strictly at night, with all windows blocked to prevent even a sliver of natural light from leaking in. Otherwise, the gem would be under lock-and-key in the basement storage facility. He had a working knowledge of both setups, alongside an educated guess of when the gem would be moved and how—namely, just in time for the gallery’s opening.

 

The building itself he’d cased several times over the past few weeks, first disguised as an older businessman, the kind who fit in perfectly amid the building’s many offices, hotel floors, and the Design Hub. He’d changed into nurses’ scrubs to visit the medical facility directly above the gallery, noting each hallway, vent, closet, what windows opened, and the location of the fire exit doors; and finally, he’d examined the top floor in the guise of a maintenance worker.

 

The top floor of the Midtown Tower was like a playground designed specifically for Kaitou Kid’s pleasure. While smaller in square footage than the ones below, floor fifty-four had a higher ceiling than the rest. It was an open-concept arena, a maze of building components and maintenance facilities. The space was filled to the brim with hot-running water tanks, electric breakers, and more, with multiple access points to the roof. The walls were practically made out of windows, as was the rest of the building.

 

Just the thought of the chase Midtown Tower offered sent a thrill of adrenaline through Kaito, one that couldn’t quite be quelled by the knowledge of the danger this heist posed.

 

As he and Aoko approached Midtown Tower, it dwarfing the buildings flanking it. Set against the dark blue sky, the building practically glowed, reflecting every light around it.

 

“Pretty!” Aoko exclaimed. “It’s like there’s little stars everywhere!”

 

“It is.” Kaito sent a look up the side of a smaller building. His unfriendly sniper could be concealed anywhere, and though most of the heist would occur on the lower levels, aiming upwards would become more and more uncertain the higher Kaito ascended. The slight breeze alone would make sure of that.

 

Even as he reassured himself that he had Lady Luck, well-laid plans, and a year of experience on his side, the bulletproof vest felt heavy on his shoulders, tight around him chest. His father had had all of that, give or take a few decades of experience and the bulletproof vest. But they’d still gotten him—out of costume, too.

 

The underground parking garage was roped off and guarded, and beyond that, the main entrance was the same. Kaito imagined the same could be said for the other entrances around the other sides of the building; Nakamori’d probably had the foresight to even position officers at the maintenance doors.

 

There was a thick crowd gathering in the streets, thicker near the barriers and sure to only become more rowdy the closer it came to the time of the heist and the gallery opening. The crowd was already chanting for Kaitou Kid.

 

As they squeezed through the cheering fans being kept outside, passing under an open glass pedestrian walkway, Kaito couldn’t keep a wide grin from forming on his own face. The audience only spurred the nerves and adrenaline thrumming through him. For Kaito, the heist had started the moment he’d stepped into his dad’s secret room an hour ago.

 

“Looks like they’re checking everyone’s faces,” Aoko told him, as if he couldn’t surmise that himself.

 

They broke from the crowd, and an officer immediately held up a hand. “Sorry, we aren’t letting anyone past this point without prior authorization,” he said.

 

“I’m Nakamori Aoko,” Aoko pointed to herself, voice bright. “And this is my friend, Kuroba Kaito. We’re bringing my dad some dinner.”

 

The guard shared a look with the one at the building’s door, and gestured them forward, where their faces were thoroughly pinched and pulled. Kaito rubbed his cheek with a pout, as though he weren’t used to it. Then, they were allowed inside for a pat-down.

 

Kaito’s face was carefully neutral as he held his arms out and allowed yet another officer pat down his sides. Over the man’s head, he studied the building’s lobby: high-ceilings, ornate. The building was less than a decade old, and there hadn’t been time for it to start showing signs of wear.

 

The officer pulled a pack of cards from the pocket of Kaito’s hoodie. “What’s this?” He asked, suspicious.

 

“Playing cards,” Kaito replied cheerfully. “Do they look like something else?”

 

“We’ll need to check them out.”

 

“Afraid I’m gonna cheat at poker?”

 

“We’re taking extreme caution for tonight’s heist,” the officer replied, even-toned. “I’ll be opening this now.”

 

Kaito just barely resisted rolling his eyes as the cards were emptied into the officer’s gloved hand. Next, the officer found two flowers in his sleeve, and while those were looked at, Kaito gave Aoko a cheery wave. She was watching a few feet away, having passed through the checkpoint with only the briefest amount of attention. 

 

“This might take a minute!” He said.

 

Aoko stuck out her tongue. “Why do you need playing cards and roses at a heist?”

 

“You never know when you’ll need a rose,” he replied, upbeat. “Like at the clocktower heist!”

 

“Well, if you give me one tonight, I won’t be surprised, ‘cause I know you have them.”

 

“The fun isn’t in the what , it’s the when! The how !”

 

Aoko grinned, face pink, but quickly hid her delight by sticking her tongue out a second time. Kaito laughed.

 

The officer looked over a few more items from Kaito’s pockets—a wallet containing only a few yen and a train card, his cellphone, a pair of earbuds, his house key, some dice, a multicolored ribbon—then returned them to Kaito and finally waved him through the checkpoint. As everything vanished back into Kaito’s pockets, he spared a moment to be thankful for the very concept of red herrings.

 

They moved towards the bank of elevators and pressed the button to take them to the gallery. Once they were there, the guards directed them to the gallery’s surveillance room where Nakamori and his team had set up their camp for the night. 

 

Compared to the airy gallery they’d just passed through, the surveillance room was more like a broom closet. It was dark and crowded, with screens lining up one wall, and about six people crammed around them. Kaito easily spotted the back of Nakamori-keibu’s head as he and Aoko leaned into the doorway. He was also quick to pick out the Sleeping Detective, Mouri Kogoro.

 

“Otou-san!” Aoko called to her father. “Me and Kaito brought you dinner!”

 

Nakamori spun around, and Kaito had the distinct pleasure of watching his face turn from infuriated concentration (Kaito’s favorite expression to see on the inspector during a heist) to pleasant surprise; his response to Aoko, and to dinner (also not a bad one). 

 

“How did you know exactly what I needed?” He asked, struggling free of the others crowded around the monitors.

 

“Just a hunch,” Aoko said.

 

“That’s blatantly untrue,” Kaito teased. “You just wanted to get in on the fun!”

 

Aoko elbowed Kaito in the ribs, and Kaito blinked at how little he felt the impact. He covered by letting out an exaggerated yelp, but Aoko was more focused on her father, handing over the bento.

 

“It’s not all fun and games,” Nakamori was saying as he waved to his men and the currently-awake Sleeping Detective. “Kid has a strict anti-violence policy, but the same can’t be said for the shady guys who like to take potshots at him, and they’ve been more active than usual these past few months.” He sighed as they found a sleek bench set against an empty wall, and sat down heavily.

 

“Those guys are terrible,” Aoko said, sitting next to her father and dropping her chin into her hand. “I mean, Kid’s awful too, but not so awful that he should die!”

 

“I’d rather cuff him alive,” Nakamori agreed, unwrapping his dinner and pulling the set of utensils from the top of the wrap. “Oooh! Curry!”

 

Kaito stood nearby, hands in his pockets, gazing around the gallery. The wall at Nakamori’s back wasn’t the only empty spot. “So, keibu, where’s all the art? Isn’t this place opening in two or three hours? You’d think there’d be more set up going on.”

 

“Apparently, the gem’s the only thing on show tonight,” Nakamori replied, mouth full.

 

“Won’t that get boring for the people who come to the opening?”

 

“You’d think so, but apparently it’s a very elite crowd. From the sounds of it, these are the kinds of people who could spend hours just looking at one rock and gossiping about it, so I think they’ll be fine.”

 

“Huh,” Kaito said. He’d known it would be a small, select crowd, but the removal of all other artworks was an interesting detail he hadn’t come across before. It would make the planting of equipment in the gallery harder, but Kaito had faced larger issues before; he’d be snagging the gem before it made it up here, but the escape was another thing entirely. He began to wander away, projecting an air of idle boredom. 

 

“Hey, dad,” Aoko piped up, “have you seen Hakuba-kun tonight? He said he’d be here.”

 

“Oh, your classmate? Yeah, he came by earlier.” He paused to wipe some curry from his moustache. “But not too long ago, he got dragged away by the even smaller detective brat to go check out the upper floors.”

 

“Oh, Conan-kun came!” Aoko brightened. “I hope he can catch Kid this time! I want to be there when he does!”

 

Kaito snorted. “Kid-sama always gets away,” he said, scuffing his shoe on the floor’s smooth tile, a casual examination of its material. “Anyway, Conan-kun is like, what, six? You have too much faith in him.”

 

“Well, you haven’t seen him in action,” Nakamori said. “Sometimes, you forget he’s so little, with the way he talks.”

 

Don’t have to tell me twice , Kaito thought. Tantei-kun had thrown enough wrenches into Kaito’s heists that he’d had to pull out backup plans on the backup plans’ backup. And that wasn’t even counting the soccer balls that sometimes literally had his name on them.

 

As if summoned by the name of his free-loading assistant, Mouri Kogoro wandered over from the surveillance room, apparently bored by the footage of absolutely nothing happening. “I agree with this kid. You give that brat too much credit, Nakamori-keibu,” he proclaimed. “He just notices things because he’s close to the ground.” Then, he squinted as Kaito for just a moment longer than most, before huffing and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you’re a ‘teen detective’ , too?” 

 

Kaito placed a scandalized hand to his chest. “I’d never dream of it! I’m a magician!”

 

“Good. There’s way too many kid detectives wandering around, if you ask me.”

 

Kaito heard Nakamori mutter something to a similar effect into his bento, and had to repress a grin of pure amusement; the critics made everyones’ lives harder, but they knew how to make a heist fun, too. 

 

“Anyway, Nakamori-keibu,” Mouri started, “I think the security video system’s a bust. Isn’t Kid just going to waltz in with a disguise?”

 

This time, Kaito couldn’t prevent a grin and had to turn away, instead moving to inspect the covered windows. Man, they were pretty serious about sealing those things up, weren’t they?

 

As Nakamori grumbled a reply to Mouri, the elevator pinged open, and Kaito glanced over to see Mouri Ran arriving at the gallery with her light-haired friend, the avid Kid fan, Suzuki Sonoko. Both girls were well-dressed, presumably for the gallery opening rather than the heist. 

 

Kaito recognized them both, of course, having used Ran’s face multiple times at prior heists. And Sonoko made good on her proclamation of being Kid’s biggest fan; he’d seen her at most of his heists, least of all the challenges sent out by her uncle. Plus, Kaito wasn’t above a little bit of self-indulgent trawling of fan forums. 

 

He did not, however, expect them to recognize him out of uniform.

 

Sonoko reacted to him first, yelping loudly and pointing at him, her voice high enough that Kaito nearly leapt out of his skin despite having seen every moment of her reaction. Instantly, all eyes were on them, and had Kaito not already been halfway into show-mode, his flight instincts might have kicked in, thanks to Sonoko’s sheer intensity.

 

“You!” she shrieked, going red and pointly wildly until Ran grabbed her arm with both hands. “ Kudou-kun! What are you doing here? Without a single word to Ran, even? Huh? You no good — !! ”

 

“Me?” Kaito pointed a finger to himself, a bit helplessly. 

 

“Yes, YOU!! ” Sonoko yelled. Ran finally wrangled her flailing arms into a somewhat calmer position.

 

Kudou-kun , huh? He’d seen the guy in the papers, but not since he’d started moonlighting, and he’d already known there was a connection there with the Mouri family, especially to Ran-chan. But he didn’t really look that similar to the Detective of the East, did he? Especially not in a baggy hoodie and jeans and his hair even curlier than normal due to the springtime humidity.

 

“Sonoko!” Ran was exclaiming. “He’s not Shinichi!” She glanced over to Kaito, suddenly a little more shy. “Right?”

 

“Right,” Kaito said. “Who?”

 

Sonoko was squinting at him, finally calm enough to accept that they were different people, and then crossed her arms and turned up her nose. “Ran’s no-good absentee boyfriend ,” she said. “This is just the kind of thing he’d turn up at without a word!”

 

“What, a Kid heist?” Kaito asked, glancing at Aoko as she walked over curiously, leaving her dad and Mouri to resume their conversation after the teenage drama interruption. “Is he a fan of Kid-sama too?”

 

“I think he’s been to one, but it was a while ago,” Ran replied. Kaito noticed that, although she had still instantly told him apart from her boyfriend, she was still watching him with a bit of caution and curiosity.

 

Sonoko, however, had already switched gears, crossing the floor to Kaito with gleaming eyes. She clasped her hands together. “So you’re also a fan of Kid-sama! I can tell just by the way you say his name!”

 

Kaito snickered, just a little bit. He couldn’t help it. Beside him, Aoko groaned.

 

“Don’t get him started,” she complained, grabbing Kaito’s cheek before he could dodge her hand, and tugging, hard . “This magic otaku says he’s the biggest Kid fan in the world, even though he’s a criminal. ” Her glare upped in wattage about ten times.

 

“ Aoko, leggo! ” he complained awkwardly, bent down to her height until she finally released him. Sonoko took the chance to start lecturing Aoko on Kid-sama’s dashingly debonair methods, and though it was always nice to have a pretty girl stroke his ego, Aoko was growing steadily less amused with Sonoko as the seconds went by.

 

Thankfully, Ran was observant and cut her friend off, addressing Aoko. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced before. I’m Mouri Ran! My father is Mouri Kogoro, also known as Sleeping Kogoro.” She gestured across the room to where their fathers were still talking; Nakamori had already polished off his bento and stood. The discussion looked like it was getting heated.

 

Aoko brightened. “Oh! Nice to meet you, Mouri-chan. I’m Nakamori Aoko.”

 

“Are you related to Nakamori-keibu?” Ran asked curiously.

 

“Yes! He’s my dad. He’s working hard to catch Kid tonight!” She flexed an arm to prove her point.

 

“Good luck to him! Nice to meet you, Nakamori-san!”

 

“You as well, Mouri-chan!”

 

Sonoko introduced herself next, and explained that her mother was a sponsor of the night’s exhibit, and that she and her family would be attending the opening in a few hours. “I came early to try to get a look at Kid-sama,” she confessed, not bashful in the least. “He always shows up in disguise ahead of the announced time.” Leaning in, she lowered her voice for dramatic effect. “In fact, he could be here right now !”

 

“No!” Kaito gasped, then leaned in and lowered his voice to match her. “Really, you think so?”

 

Sonoko nodded. “I’m confident,” she replied, holding a finger up. “I have a Kid-sama sense!”

 

“Aoko, your old man could use one of those,” Kaito said, turning to her, and immediately earned fist on the top of his head for his troubles. As he stood, rubbing his head and pouting, Ran turned her attention to him, so he took his cue to introduce himself. “Ah, I’m Kuroba Kaito, magician.” He snapped his fingers and two roses appeared in his hand—their petals white, unlike the ones that had been unearthed at the checkpoint downstairs—and offered them to Ran and Sonoko, who took them with varying levels of amazement. “Nice to meet you!”

 

Mouri called his daughter then, and both Ran and Sonoko nodded to Kaito and Aoko and moved over to speak with him and Nakamori. Aoko turned to follow, but paused and instead pinned a look on Kaito. 

 

“There go your two roses for the night,” she said. 

 

“Don’t be so sure,” he sang.

 

She rolled her eyes and joined the party by the benches.

 

As the group discussed the night, Kaito wandered away from the sealed windows and instead towards the deserted pedestal that would soon hold the Eclipse Tear . Though it was in plain sight of several guards—not to mention multiple detectives and young women—its emptiness afforded him more freedom than if anything had been placed on it currently. But it wasn’t much; as soon as he reached a hand towards the pedestal and brushed his fingers against the decorative plaque, he felt the sharp gaze of a guard on him.

 

The Eclipse Tear , the sign read. Origins: Uncertain, approx. AD 1900. 

 

Well, that was unhelpful. He drew back until the guard’s gaze passed on.

 

Without any photographs of the gem, Kaito and Jii had been unable to produce a forgery of good quality before this heist. He had several fakes tucked away on his person based on the artists' renditions, yes, but none would be good enough to fool anybody familiar with the gem for more than a glance. It was the best he could aim for tonight, though; if his plans were successful, he’d only need a few seconds to vanish.

 

When he walked back towards Aoko, she was bidding goodbye to her dad, so Kaito waved him off too. As their fathers made their way back to the cramped security closet, the girls traded cell numbers and then parted ways as well.

 

“I just texted Hakuba-kun,” Aoko said as they headed back to the elevators. “He and Conan-kun are on the next floor, and he’s invited us to come say hi!”

 

“Do I have to?” Kaito sighed. “I don’t feel like seeing Hakuba’s smarmy face just yet.”

 

Aoko sent him a look. “It won’t hurt to say hello,” she said.

 

“Aoko, it will, in fact, hurt to say hello.”

 

The elevator doors opened and Aoko dragged him inside by the arm, cutting off his potential escape. Kaito crossed his arms. 

 

Hakuba was a nuisance, that was for sure, but it was Tantei-kun that Kaito didn’t want to run into. He’d never spoken to the boy outside of his Kid persona, even though Aoko had crossed paths with him at enough heists. But ditching Aoko too soon would only make her more suspicious later down the line; he didn’t need a repeat of Aoko handcuffing them together to confirm that he wasn’t Kid, either. Especially not tonight.

 

So they rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, where Kaito already knew a medical center laid in wait. The doors opened to an empty reception area, and as they stepped out, Aoko checked her phone and pointed down a hallway.

 

“He said they’re down this way, looking at a conference room,” she said. When Kaito dragged his feet, she grabbed his arm again, even when he moaned in protest.

 

The scene in the conference room was interesting. Hakuba had dragged a chair over to the far wall, lined with windows, and was standing on it with Conan perched on his shoulders. They were removing the grate from a vent, which, Kaito noted sadly, he’d purposefully loosened for easier access a few days ago. Looked like the medical facilities wouldn’t be very useful to him after all. Time to move onto a more boring backup plan.

 

“Hakuba-kun!” Aoko called. “What are you doing?”

 

“Aoko-san,” he replied, voice muffled into the wall. “We’ll be with you shortly.”

 

Despite the slight disappointment that anything he’d done on this floor would go to waste, Kaito allowed himself a snicker at the undignified sight Hakuba was at the moment, and the fact that Tantei-kun was doing all the actual work inspecting the vent. “Looks like you’ve become a glorified step-stool, Hakuba,” he commented.

 

Hakuba sighed, long and put-upon. “Kuroba-kun,” he said, his voice still muffled by the wall. “I should have known you’d be here too.”

 

“Yes, I wouldn’t miss a Kid heist so close to home!”

 

“Rather, it seems you couldn’t miss a Kid heist, even if you tried.”

 

“He’s almost a bigger Kid otaku than he is a magic otaku,” Aoko complained to Hakuba, like Kaito wasn’t standing next to her.

 

“Well, I can’t deny either of those things,” Kaito replied, brightly.

 

“Hakuba-niisan, I think that’s everything,” Conan said.

 

As Hakuba carefully descended back to the ground, Kaito snickered again; Hakuba had the air of someone doing something undignified while attempting to project an air of composure. Once Conan was on his own two feet, though, Kaito’s snickers faded as Conan sized him up, just for a moment. 

 

Kaito had to wonder what he saw, this too-sharp child with dangerous hobbies. Did he see what Kaito intended him to? A normal, if eccentric, magic-geek? Or did he see what, quite literally, lay beneath? Maybe the bulletproof vest wasn’t as well-concealed as he’d thought...

 

But the moment passed, and Conan looked at Aoko. “Hi, Aoko-neechan!” He said, all big eyes and big grin, like the instant he’d studied Kaito hadn’t happened at all. Kaito nearly shivered. “It’s been a long time since I saw you at a heist!”

 

“Yeah, school has been really busy,” she groaned. “Otherwise, I’d be here to cheer you and my dad on! Enjoy grade school while you can, Conan-kun. I wish I could go back!”

 

“You don’t, actually,” Conan said, his voice almost wry for a moment, but he perked back up. “You’d get super bored, right?”

 

“That’s right,” Aoko agreed, “but I still might prefer boredom to stress…”

 

To stay silent was like delaying his own doom. So Kaito stepped over to Conan and leaned down to study him right back, causing Conan to startle back a step as Kaito suddenly leaned into his personal space.

 

“So you’re him, eh?” Kaito asked. “The little guy they call the Kid Killer?”

 

“Ah, I—I guess,” Conan stammered. “I can’t say I like the insinuation of murder, though…”

 

“Maybe you should be called the Kid Who Can’t Catch Kid, then.” He couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle up Conan’s hair, which earned him a death glare in turn. Whoops. Kaito grinned larger than life, regardless.

 

“I’ve come closer to catching him than anybody else has,” Conan muttered petulantly as he fixed his hair.

 

“So they say,” Kaito sang. “I’d like to see it.”

 

“Haven’t you already?” Hakuba commented.

 

“Well, sure, I’ve been to plenty of heists,” Kaito vollied back at Hakuba. “But I’ve never been up close, yanno?”

 

Hakuba’s dry expression left none of his thoughts to the imagination. 

 

Kaito winked. Hakuba scoffed.

 

“Say, niisan,” Conan spoke up again, “who are you, anyway?”

 

Kaito took the opportunity to reappear one of the roses Aoko had complained about him carrying earlier—this one was yellow. He held it out under Conan’s nose with a light whiff of smoke. “Kuroba Kaito, magician!” He said, cheerfully, and waggled the rose. “For you, Tantei-kun!”

 

“Thanks…” Conan took it and studied Kaito’s face for a moment too long. Then his eyes widened, went almost comically round. “Wait, Kuroba? Are you related to Kuroba Touichi?” 

 

It was so unexpected of a question to come from Tantei-kun that Kaito’s poker face nearly spilled off and tumbled to the floor with his jaw. As it was, he managed to restrain himself to a blink. “Ah, yeah. My dad. You a fan?”

 

“My… mom is,” Conan said, only a moments’ hesitation and guardedness in his words, so short that Kaito wasn’t sure someone else would pick it up unless they were as adept at reading others’ speech and body language as he was.

 

“A woman with an excellent eye then, I’m sure,” Kaito replied. “I wonder if she’d be disappointed that you try to unravel Kaitou Kid-sama’s performances.”

 

Tantei-kun frowned at that. “Kid’s performances are illegal, and they almost always involve theft and property damage.”

 

“Ah, but they’re still magic shows! And such excellent ones at that!”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Aoko cut in, grabbing Kaito by the arm and finally pulling him out of Conan’s space. Geeze, she was hands-on today. “He’s too blinded by idol-worship to think about silly things like laws .” 

 

Tantei-kun laughed at that, and all Kaito could do was pout. Hakuba cleared his throat.

 

“It’s been lovely to see you, Aoko-san,” he said. He gave Kaito a lukewarm glance. “And… interesting as always, Kuroba-kun. But Conan-kun and I need to cover the rest of this floor before it becomes too hectic.”

 

“Ah, alright! We’ll probably go find someplace to watch from.” Aoko replied, hugging Kaito’s arm, which she still hadn’t relinquished. Kaito willed himself not to blush.

 

“Yeah, I was thinking about the open pedestrian bridge,” he said. “It looks like it’s connected to the fourth floor, so we should be able to get a good view of the gallery.”

 

“Oh, good idea! Do you think it’ll be crowded?”

 

“Maybe, but the street will be worse.”

 

“Why don’t you stick around the gallery?” Hakuba asked.

 

“We’d stick out a bit in a party like that, don’t you think?” Kaito replied. “It sounded like something we’d get kicked out of for not having an invite.” Both Hakuba and Tantei-kun were dressed for the event, in suits and ties. Tantei-kun, of course, had his trademark bowtie in place, and being a child, was getting away with pairing sneakers with his suit. Kaito knew he’d never be so lucky to be able to do that.

 

“That’s true enough, but I’m sure Nakamori-keibu could pull some strings, at least for Aoko-san,” Hakuba said, an eyebrow raised. 

 

Kaito wasn’t sure what Hakuba was playing at, but tried to brush him off yet again, waving his hand. “Nah, we won’t get underfoot. We’ll watch from outside. I’m sure it’ll be a good show from anywhere. And besides, when Kid shows up in a gallery, it’s usually only a few seconds, right?”

 

“I suppose,” Hakuba relented. “Well, Aoko-san, please text me if you’d like to gain re-entry to the gallery floor before the heist begins. I’m sure I can help arrange it.”

 

“Thanks, Hakuba-kun,” Aoko said, bright as ever. Kaito shot Hakuba a dark glare that went ignored, and the four headed back to the elevators. Aoko and Hakuba chatted about past heists they’d both attended, with Conan occasionally chiming in, and the two detectives headed in a new direction when the elevator arrived.

 

On the fourth floor, Kaito and Aoko wandered around until they found the doors that lead to the bridge. They were locked from the inside to prevent people from sneaking into the Midtown Tower, but Kaito distracted Aoko with some sparkles and made quick work of the lock. Soon, they were outside again in the crisp nighttime air.

 

The bridge was crowded, but as Kaito had guessed earlier, it wasn’t as packed as the street, because access to the bridge was limited by having to go through another building, up four flights, and then finding the right door.

 

He and Aoko jostled elbows with the crowd before finding a spot where they could lean against the railing. With half his body over the railing, Kaito pointed up a floor. “Look, there’s the gallery.”

 

“Wow, it’s totally blocked from the outside,” Aoko said.

 

Though the floors above and below were illuminated from within, the fifth floor windows were turned into dark, reflective mirrors by the partitions that kept out natural light.

 

“I guess they’re serious about not letting any natural light in,” Kaito commented, feeling giddy.

 

“Geeze, we probably won’t actually see Kid at all,” Aoko said. Kaito noted that she didn’t actually sound disappointed.

 

“Well, he’s a showman,” Kaito said. “He’ll probably show up someplace just for the crowd.”

 

“That’s true,” Aoko said. She dropped her chin into her hands, elbows propped up on the railing, and then turned her eyes on Kaito. “Well, I’m not here for Kid, anyway. I want to hang out with Bakaito.”

 

Though the comment was a double-edged sword, Kaito grinned, feeling the back of his neck burn warm. “Yeah, I know.” He’d have to leave—and soon, at that—but quietly, internally, he promised her he would be back.

 

Kaito was aware of every minute that ticked by. The air grew colder as they waited, conversation meandering from Kid to school to TV. Hanging out with Aoko was fun, but only occupied a small portion of his brain as he waited for the opportunity to slip away, the perfect timing that would give him plausible deniability, while leaving enough time for all the last-minute changes his plans would require. Besides, who knew what Hakuba and Tantei-kun were up to?

 

Checking his watch, he found he had less than an hour until the scheduled heist time. He really had to go. And as was the way with many heists, he had to devise his own chaos. He sent a message to Jii with his cellphone concealed from Aoko in his pocket, and turned to Aoko with a flourish, leaning in close.

 

Her sentence cut off and she looked at him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

 

“There’s something in your hair,” he said, reaching over. 

 

“What?”

 

He produced his remaining rose with a flick of the wrist and tucked it behind her ear, brushing her hair back. This—his actual last rose—was red. “Whoops, my bad,” he said, winking.

 

A cry rang out from the crowd below in the street. “Look, look! It’s got to be Kid!” someone was shouting.

 

“Eh?” Aoko turned, but she wasn’t the only one. As the cry from below was joined by a chorus of other voices rising to a steady cacophony, the people around them began surging, buffeting them in all directions.

 

“The smoke, it’s him!”

 

“It’s Kid, it’s Kid!” 

 

“No way, he’s early!” 

 

“Hey! What’s going on?”

 

It was nothing short of chaos and confusion, reaching a fever pitch in the span of thirty seconds—exactly what Kaito needed. He stepped back from Aoko, who was wincing and shoving as a stranger stumbled into her. A body moved between them. 

 

Kaito should have taken the opportunity to vanish, but kept his gaze on Aoko just a moment too long. She looked up, and their eyes caught over the shoulder of the person between them just as another pushed in.

 

“Kaito!” She called, reaching out between the crush of bodies. She was being pulled along the railing, away from the Midtown Tower. She could have reached him if Kaito had reached out too. But he didn’t. He instead moved away, a subtle motion disguised by the waves of people.

 

“Ah, Aoko!” He called back, hoisting an arm in the air to wave. “Don’t worry! If you fight the crowd, you’ll get trampled. I’ll find you when everything calms down!”

 

“Bakaito!” She yelled back. Kaito glimpsed her face turning red, creasing with disappointment, or maybe worry, or anger, or all three.

 

Instead of hesitating again, he ducked his head and melted into the crowd. Gone in an instant—Kaitou Kid’s specialty. 

 

---

 

The Eclipse Tear , a gem no larger than a thumbprint, was to be moved to the gallery at precisely ten PM inside a small locked box. Once in the gallery, it would be placed on the display pedestal, encased in glass, monitored closely by guards and cameras. The gem’s lockbox was his biggest barrier. He couldn’t know the box’s exact size or mechanisms until he laid eyes on it himself, so it was impossible to switch the entire case. Thus, he would have to replace the gem itself with a replica, even if that replica was subpar.

 

That said, Kaito would have only a few seconds to make the switch.

 

Kaito whisked away the gem’s key transport guard, left him sleeping peacefully in a cleaning closet, and took his place, heading downstairs. 

 

The basement was several degrees colder than the rest of the building, but brighter than day. The high ceilings were lit with long fluorescent tubes, and Kaito’s footsteps echoed as he approached the two other guards awaiting him, either side of the crate that contained the gem’s box.

 

“Ito-san,” one greeted him cheerfully. “Welcome to the graveyard shift.”

 

“Hello, Tanaka-san,” Kaito nodded back, matching his voice to that of the guard he’d put to sleep. He cast his eyes over the crate. “So this is it, huh?”

 

“Yup,” the last guard replied— Yamamoto-san, Kaito reminded himself. “The silly little gem that’s causing this fuss.”

 

“I’m not sure I’d call it silly,” Kaito replied, voice dry. He leaned over the crate and removed its lid; inside, sitting snugly in a large amount of padding, was the lockbox, no larger than a ring box. “But little seems accurate.”

 

The crate was light, but the three of them worked together to load it onto a dolly nevertheless and began wheeling it towards the freight elevator.

 

“Ah, the wheel is stuck,” Kaito muttered, struggling with the dolly’s handles as Tanaka and Yamamoto watched. “Let’s change it out. Will you grab a new one?” He gestured towards the nearby supply closet.

 

“Sure,” Tanaka replied easily and walked away. Yamamoto, however, stayed nearby.

 

“Why don’t you call upstairs and let them know about the delay?” Kaito asked him, crouching near the dolly, looking busy checking out the stuck wheel. “This might take a minute.”

 

“Don’t you remember yesterday’s briefing?” Yamamoto asked, suspicious. Shit.

 

“Of course I do,” Kaito snapped, no idea what yesterday’s briefing contained. “But don’t you think a delay will anger them more?”

 

This logic seemed to subdue Yamamoto enough. “I suppose,” he muttered, and finally reached for his radio. In the moment that no eyes were on him, Kaito slipped a small electric device inside the crate and attached it to the lockbox.

 

Tanaka returned and they put the crate on the new dolly and wheeled it into the freight elevator. The doors slid closed.

 

The ride to the fifth floor gallery was only a few seconds. Kaito spent those moments tapping against the rigged dolly’s handle, sending subtle electric signals to the device he had attached to the lockbox, detecting its mechanisms. By the time the doors slid open on the gallery floor, he was suppressing a smug grin; he knew exactly how to pop the box open.

 

The three approached the gem’s display podium. Around the room, Nakamori and his men had their backs to the wall, watching them carefully. Tantei-kun was nowhere to be seen, but Hakuba stood near the covered windows, pocket watch in hand.

 

Yamamoto and Tanaka lifted the crate’s lid. Kaito’s window of opportunity opened.

 

He lifted the small box from its padding. With deft fingers, he hid his device and as he turned from the crate to the podium, slid a tiny lockpick into the box. He had palmed the Eclipse Tear and slid a fake in its place before the box touched the podium. It was locked again before he withdrew his hands. And the window of opportunity slipped shut, unnoticed by its many observers.

 

Kaito’s face remained impassive. The gem, hidden in his glove, was warm, warmer than could be expected from a rock stored in a cold basement.

 

Too warm. Something whispered in Kaito’s mind that it felt alive.

 

Yamamoto and Tanaka closed the crate. Kaito adjusted his uniform and slid the Eclipse Tear into a hidden pocket sewn into the side of his dress shirt. The three moved as a unit back to the freight elevator.

 

Kaito had not even glimpsed the Eclipse Tear during the switch, but he’d registered three things while holding it. One: the small stone had an immense weight, larger than its size implied. Two: it was perfectly round, like a polished marble, just as the artistic renditions had shown. And three: its warmth was uncanny, with an inexplicable undercurrent of movement.

 

And now, he felt its pulses of energy through his layers of clothing; it soaked right through the bulletproof vest beneath, to his ribcage. In only a few seconds of being so close to his torso, it was in sync with his heartbeat—fast, steady, electric . It was a sensation so bizzare, so magic, so wrong , that he knew: there was nothing else this gem could be but Pandora, and he, Kaitou Kid—beneath tonight’s full moon—would destroy it.

 

“Ten twenty-three and fourteen point eight zero six seconds,” Hakuba’s voice rang out in the otherwise silent gallery. “You’re early, Kaitou Kid. How unlike a gentleman you are.”

 

“Eh?” Nakamori bellowed, whirling on Hakuba. “ What ?” 

 

Kaito grinned as every eye in the gallery locked onto him. He didn’t see Sonoko, but he heard her squeal his name, presumably attempting to deduce which face was his.

 

“Among the guards,” Hakuba said, projecting every ounce of confidence (and competence) Kaito knew he was only pretending to have. “The one who placed the Eclipse Tear on the podium.”

 

He had to admit, the detectives were very nearly on their game tonight. But they were still too late. He pinched his masked face into a glare. “Me?”

 

“You’re the only one who’s touched the Eclipse Tear’s box,” Hakuba said, clicking his stopwatch shut.

 

“What about Tanaka-san and Yamamoto-san?” Kaito pointed out. “They were alone with the crate.”

 

“Ah, but, Ito-san,” Hakuba said, grinning. “Were you aware that the guards were briefed on protocol not yesterday, but the day prior?”

 

Kaito dropped Ito’s voice, shifting to his Kid register instead. “Oh, is that so? What a small detail I’ve missed. Really, my bad,” he said. With a twitch of his fingers, he readied a pellet and his cardgun.

 

“Get him!” Nakamori shouted. Guards sprang into action. Amid the instant chaos, Sonoko squealed again.

 

Kaito launched a smoke bomb into the ground with far more force than was usually necessary. His grin was manic as he clicked infrared goggles over his eyes and a mask over his nose and mouth. 

 

In a moment, the room was filled with potent smoke, causing guards to cough and stumble, unable to see anything further than a foot beyond their noses. Amidst the coughing, Kaito heard Nakamori continuing to shout at his men to tackle him, who did their very best.

 

Kaito dodged the dogpile nimbly. “Now, keibu,” he called aloud, projecting his voice to the other side of the wide gallery, “the definition of insanity is repeating an action and expecting different results.” He clicked his tongue. “I expected more from you!”

 

“Kid!” Nakamori roared. He followed the name with a truly impressive string of explicatives.

 

Kaito dodged towards the emergency stairs, his laugh resounding around the room. “Better luck next time! After this, it will all be fun and games!” 

 

He danced around blinded, angry officers, pocketing their handcuffs and shooting a few cards into the confusion. Hakuba made a grab for him, but Kaito cackled, popping up behind him and cuffing him to an officer, and then those two to a third. Shouts of confusion were beginning to overtake the coughing as the smoke began to clear—someone might have turned on a fan.

 

“It’s always been fun to play with you all,” he said, voice bouncing from wall to wall; he was pleased to see the guards he passed whipping their heads from side to side in confusion, unable to pinpoint his location. “I look forward to playing again next time. Adieu! ”

 

He slipped through the emergency exit door and tore up the stairs. He could no longer depend on the medical facility on the sixth floor, after Hakuba and Tantei-kun’s meddling, so it was straight to the top maintenance level for him.

 

He ascended several flights quickly before changing into the likeness of a hotel patron from several floors above who had been watching the heist from the lobby, a disguise which he used to easily blend into the excited crowd, before slipping into the maintenance elevator in his old maintenance worker costume, and riding the rest of the way up.

 

A voice crackled in his ear as the elevator shot up, up, up. “Young master?”

 

Kaito tapped the discrete responder in his ear. “Yo, Jii!” He said, cheerfully. “What’s up?”

 

“How is the heist progressing?”

 

“You never have time to chat,” Kaito complained light-heartedly. The truth was, he could still feel Pandora concealed at his side, beating with his heart. Shit, that was weird, and it was actually starting to make him feel a little bit light-headed. “It’s going well. I’ve secured the gem and I’m headed to the top floor, although not with the planned route.”

 

“Alright. Please be careful, Kaito.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Jii, I always am,” Kaito dismissed, and tapped the responder again to silence it. When the elevator doors chimed open on the top floor, he had already changed into his Kid regalia.

 

It was a relief to be in white and silk again, to have his monocle secured on his face. It meant that he’d been able to shed his burdensome disguises; best of all, it meant this night was nearly done. He wasn’t trying to count his chickens, but he had what was almost certainly Pandora, and he could nearly taste the freedom of gliding away. 

 

He’d no more than stepped outside of the elevator when a soccer ball came screaming towards his face. With a yelp, Kaito ducked, and then clicked his tongue when the soccer ball took his tophat with it beyond the closing doors of the elevator.

 

“I just put that on, Tantei-kun,” he complained. He slipped his hands into his pockets and strolled forwards, into the maze of water tanks, pipes, and equipment. The floor was dark, but after a moment, Kaito caught the shine of Tantei-kun’s glasses, and pivoted to face him. 

 

Tantei-kun stepped forward into a sliver of moonlight. The crosshairs of his tranquilizer watch were trained on Kaito, on his forehead. From Kaito’s experience, the kid usually aimed at exposed skin, and luckily for Kaito, he had a habit of exposing very little skin during heists, which meant he could easily predict Tantei-kun’s aim and dodge.

 

“This has been fun, Kid,” Tantei-kun said. As always, when it was just the two of them, his voice was lower, his expression more mature. “But less showy than your normal heists. You haven’t even covered anybody with glitter. Why is that?”

 

Tantei-kun wouldn’t put him to sleep without getting his answers; that’s how their games worked. Secure in that knowledge, Kaito gave Tantei-kun a large grin and moved over towards the windows, subtly moving the gem into his palm.

 

“Because, Tantei-kun,” he said, “this is the last heist I’ll need to perform. I had to take it seriously, you know?”

 

“The last…?” Tantei-kun’s voice was laced with suspicion. 

 

Kaito grinned and flicked Pandora between his thumb and forefinger. It pulsed hot in his fingertips as he held it up to the moonlight.

 

Pandora was the most vivid red Kaito had ever seen from a gem, and shining brightly even in the dark. He tilted it slightly, and couldn’t keep himself from letting out a low whistle of appreciation as he realized that the interior of the gem was a slow-moving liquid. 

 

“It’s pretty,” he said softly, not to Tantei-kun, but to himself.

 

“It’s… not a normal gemstone,” Tantei-kun said, slowly. Kaito heard him approaching, but couldn’t take his eyes off the strange gem that thrummed in his fingers, that alighted hatred in his chest.

 

“Quite true,” Kaito told him.

 

“Its history is a mess of burned records, mistranslations, and murder,” Tantei-kun went on, “and it’s never been photographed, nor categorized.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Is that why you want it? Its mystery? Have you been after it this whole time?”

 

Kaito laughed. “The only one after mysteries here is you, Tantei-kun. I’ve been looking for this Pandora for a long time—for another reason.” He quirked an eyebrow over at the small boy. “In fact, longer than you’ve been alive, Tantei-kun. Did you know that this stone is rumored to grant immortality under the right conditions?”

 

“You...” Tantei-kun’s face moved quickly to shock, his pupil shrinking to pinpricks; so much fear filled that expression that Kaito felt bad, not sure what triggered it. 

 

“No, no. I’m not after eternal life,” he said. “I’m after revenge.” 

 

He closed his hand around the gem, staring at his gloved fist. The stone was putting off more and more heat every second; it would burn him soon. Could Tantei-kun feel the heat emanating from it? 

 

“I’m going to destroy it.”

 

Tantei-kun yelped. 

 

“No, you’re not,” a gruff voice that was distinctly not Tantei-kun said. 

 

Kaito turned, setting his teeth. A cloaked man had shoved Tantei-kun under his arm, his tranquilizer watch pinned between them. He had a gun trained at Kaito’s chest. That, at least, Kaito was prepared for, as opposed to a hostage. Shit.

 

His head was burning hot.

 

“Snake,” Kaito said, icily. His heart was pounding, and Pandora’s energy was making his head pound too. Heat and electricity were pulsing through him, sickeningly strong. “I figured you’d come for this.” He flashed Pandora into view, then slipped it back into his hidden pocket. 

 

Snake’s trigger finger tightened. “Hand it over,” Snake said with a grin, ignoring Tantei-kun’s struggle. “Or don’t. I’ll have the pleasure of killing you a second time, either way.”

 

“I’m surprised you came alone,” Kaito said mildly.

 

“Oh, I didn’t,” Snake replied. “If you think that, you’re sorely mistaken.”

 

Kaito didn’t dare take his eyes off the two in front of him, but as far as he could sense, they were the only ones on the floor. But then again, he’d been too preoccupied with Pandora to notice Snake’s approach, so more wasn’t impossible. He did, however, spot a water tank not far behind Snake.

 

“Be that as it may, I must ask you to release my young critic there,” Kaito said mildly. “Perhaps I’ll consider cooperating afterward.”

 

“I think not,” Snake said. His grip on the struggling Tantei-kun tightened.

 

Well, it was time to improvise. 

 

Kaito hoisted his card gun and took aim at the water pipes just over Snake’s head, and shot. Snake’s response was instantaneous—a squeeze of the trigger finger—and Kaito didn’t have time to dodge. As his card slit the pipe and steam hissed into the room with ferocious speed, Kaito took the full brunt of the silenced bullet in the ribs.

 

He fell backwards against the window with the force of it, wheezing. Shit, shit , that definitely cracked a few bones, and his vision was going spotty from the immediate pain of the impact. He’d thank Lady Luck for the bulletproof vest, but it wasn’t luck that he was wearing it tonight.

 

“ Kid! ” Tantei-kun yelled. Kaito could hear him struggling against Snake, even if he couldn’t see it.

 

Another shot came, this time hitting the window behind Kaito, tearing the decorative attachment that joined his cape to his suit jacket, and shattering the glass. And a third shot—Kaito felt it graze his leg, but only distantly, the pain not overtaking the impact of the first bullet on his body.

 

He heard the distinctive whirring of Tantei-kun’s scary super-powered sneakers. Squinting into the steam, he steadied his cardgun, and waited just a breath. There: the light from the sneakers. That must mean… yes, there . A dark shape in the steam resolved itself into the cloaked Snake.

 

Three things happened at once: Kaito shot a card directly for Snake’s head; Tantei-kun kicked one of his magically-appearing soccer balls with extreme force into the man’s torso; and the man squeezed out a fourth silenced bullet.

 

It hit Kaito in the chest. The force sent him backwards—but there was no glass to catch him. For an instant, vertigo gripped him. Then he toppled outside.

 

The bullets’ silence had seemed surreal, even more so as the hissing of steam was replaced with the rushing of air. He could hear the crowd, so far below, shouting for him. He struggled to breathe and found it impossible.

 

He scrambled for his glider. He had to make it work—maybe it hadn’t been fully severed by the second shot—and he managed to deploy it. As the glider snapped into place and he transitioned from falling to gliding, the force of it made him wheeze. He really couldn’t breathe; the spots in his vision were taking over. But if he could just land somewhere…

 

He lifted a hand and tapped his earpiece with shaking hands. Almost immediately, Jii was in his ear, but somehow, Kaito couldn’t make out the words.

 

“Jii,” he gasped, trying to say something to him, but it was next to impossible. 

 

Another gunshot cracked through the night—loud, clear as day. It sliced cleanly through the metal support of his hang glider.

 

Screams lifted from the crowd, the tone desperate and afraid now.

 

Ah, Kaito thought dimly as gravity reclaimed him. I think I’m done for .

 

He tumbled and toppled. It was ungraceful. Not pretty at all, no show here. His murder would be bloodier than his father’s, wouldn’t it? What a shame. What a pity.

 

As his vision swam closer to full black, Kaito reeled at that thought. No. He couldn’t go out like this. He couldn’t leave his mother alone to mourn again. He couldn’t leave Aoko alone again—to find out his identity like this. He hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t destroyed Pandora.

 

He clutched at the gem, still secured in the hidden pocket. He drew a feeble, shaky breath. The curve of the earth was rushing towards him. The wind was howling. His monocle was gone. His glider was gone. All he had was Lady Luck.

 

“I can’t die here,” he managed through grit teeth. “I won’t .”

 

A spark like static turned up to a thousand shocked his hand and chest as red light spotted into his vision. A white void yawned, edged with vivid crimson. Blindingly bright.

 

For a moment, everything stopped. 

 

For just an instant, he was able to draw a deep, full breath.

 

Then there was concrete rushing up at a harsh angle. 

 

It was only instinct and hours upon hours practice that allowed him to roll into the landing, but it was rough and painful on his shoulder—shit, what else had he broken?—and he tumbled head-over-heels, ungainly, trying to protect his neck with an arm. Distantly, he registered that people were still screaming around him. Well, of course they were.

 

Then, the side of his temple cracked into hard stone and Kaito’s mind went completely offline.

 

---

 

Notes:

Fun fact, Midtown Tower is a real place! I changed around a few details but it’s mostly based on the actual thing. If you want some fun further visuals around it for this fic, I recommend dropping yourself into google street view and walking around the Midtown Tower. Then, imagine a giant Kid-crazed crowd…

Also, while I don’t have a concrete update schedule for this fic, but I’ve already written 60k+ as I post this chapter, so rest assured… there’s a lot more coming ;D

1/3/21: I wanted to include a better list of fics that inspired me before and during the writing process for ASFTS! Those inspirations take a variety of forms—from characterizations, to the humor of the writing, to overall plot structures, to, I dunno. Just fuckin’ around with time travel and dimensional shenanigans.

(It’s a bit of a grab bag, and I could probably talk until I’m blue in the face about how I love all of these, and what they inspired and why, but that would definitely be long-winded, so maybe I’ll save that for tumblr sometime, hahah.)

That Blasted Red Stone by Icka M. Chif [MK/FMA]

Doppelgänger by CureIcy [DCMK]

Underneath the Floorboards by AChairWithAPandaOnIt [DCMK]

Trust Me, I'm an Alchemist by metisket [FMA/YOI]

maestoso by novalotypo [FMA]

he's a killer queen, sunflower, guillotine by hoye [FMA/HP]

Known Associates by halfpenny jones [DC]

When Pandora’s Box is Opened by Mangaluva [DCMK]

To the Night Sky by Ranowa [FMA]

Chapter 2: The Hospital

 

---

 

The first thing that Kaito became aware of as he regained consciousness was the pain. There wasn’t a single part of his body that wasn’t throbbing. It made thinking extremely hard. Beyond it, he realized that he was in a bed—a hospital, based on the antiseptic smell. 

 

Wonderful , he managed to think, no trace of sarcasm. At least they didn’t ship me off straight to jail with three broken ribs.

 

He passed out again before he could even attempt to open his eyes.

 

The second time he woke, he was in the same place. The pain had dulled—maybe they’d given him some medicine?—and his head felt clearer than before. He slowly took stock of his situation.

 

He was indeed in a bed, covered by thin sheets, a fluffy pillow behind his head. His legs were warmer than the rest of him, maybe currently bathed in sunlight? His throat was dry, and his eyes felt crusty, too. He’d probably been here a while. People don’t tend to wake quickly after making friends with the pavement head-on, do they?

 

Shifting, he felt the tug of bandages wrapped liberally around his torso, one on his thigh. Right, that’s where one of Snake’s bullets had grazed him. There was one around his head too. He gave his fingers a twitch and found, yes, of course, his right wrist was handcuffed to the bed’s railing.

 

I’m surprised they’ve not taken further precautions with me, he thought, giving a larger, more experimental tug on his wrist. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like a normal handcuff. His left hand was still free, too. Well, maybe they’ve figured I won’t be going anywhere any time soon …

 

The tug also revealed the presence of an IV need installed with tape in the crook of his right arm. How wonderful: probably pain meds and hydration. He’d have to deal with that if he wanted to get up.

 

He blinked his eyes open and immediately squeezed them shut against the extreme brightness of the room. Or, no; it was only extreme compared to the darkness he’d been in before. He raised his free arm to rub at his eyes, grimacing when the motion tugged on his bruised, cracked ribs, and used his hand to provide shade as he forced his eyes back open into a squint, finally getting a look at his hospital room.

 

The walls were a light cream color, with warm wooden wainscoting contrasting against it. When Kaito turned his head, he saw that the doors were warm wood, too. Plus, a wooden side table, with a cup and pitcher of water, and a wooden visitor’s chair. Then, to the other side: a window, with the curtains partially drawn. The sunlight slanting in was falling across the floor and over his legs, warm. The sunlight would have nearly been comforting, if not for how disconcerting the rest of the situation was. Beyond the IV stand, there was an empty bed, pristinely made. The dividing curtain was hooked at the wall, so that the room was open.

 

Weird hospital. Lacking a lot of equipment , Kaito noted. There wasn’t even a heart monitor. The lack of consistent beeping made the place eerily quiet. Maybe they thought he’d tamper with it. The brightness of the room was making his head pound, though, so he pressed his forearm over his eyes as he shut them again.

As he lay and tried to breathe deeply, though it made his lungs and ribs ache and protest, his mind swam in muddy circles.

 

He was dressed in a hospital gown; that meant whoever had brought him to this strange hospital—was it outside of Tokyo? It must be, he’d been inside a standard Tokyo hospital room more than a few times and this wasn’t one of them—had also taken it upon themselves to liberate him of all his possessions, including Pandora. He took a few bitter moments to pray to Lady Luck that the blasted gem had shattered when he’d hit the ground. But he couldn’t get locked away without confirming one way or the other; that was something he’d have to figure out a plan for, and soon.

 

They must also have realized that this was his true face. Had Nakamori seen him? Bundled him into the back of a screaming ambulance? It was very, very likely. And even if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t be super hard for Nakamori to identify them. And he could just imagine the news stories now: Kaitou Kid’s Real Face! The reporters were probably having a field day right now. Maybe they’d removed the TV from this hospital room because of that. And… shit . Aoko was never going to speak to him again.

 

Kaito wasn’t sure what was his biggest problem right now. All of his problems were, to put it gently, extremely fucking huge.

 

Maybe he should pick the handcuff’s lock and vanish. Not just as Kaitou Kid, but as Kuroba Kaito, too. At least for a while, until things died down… he’d steal Pandora again, no advance notice this time, no magic show. He’d destroy it without hesitation. Luring out Snake was done, and had even worked too well, if Kaito was honest with himself. Well, Snake was in Tantei-kun’s hands, now. And Kaito knew that Tantei-kun could handle a bad guy or two, even one of Snake’s calibre. If nothing else, the Bell Tree Express debacle had shown Kaito that.

 

Then again, he couldn’t take a full lungful of air without a pathetic wheeze and painful grimace, so that idea was little more than a pipedream at the moment. Besides, who knew where his lockpicking tools were now. All he needed was a wire, but Nakamori had probably informed the hospital of that; Kaito would bet good money that’s why the room had been stripped to the bare essentials.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, feeling the sunlight move up his body, slowly, inch by inch, feeling a fuzzy numbness tinged at the edges with panic. But the click of the doorknob turning brought him to high alert in an instant.

 

He heard only one set of footsteps. The fact he’d moved his arm to his face was a dead giveaway that he’d woken up, so it was time to face the music. He pulled his arm off his face, dropping it to his side with a grimace, and turned his head towards the door. 

 

The first thing he registered was that the nurse wasn’t Japanese; her blonde hair looked natural, as did her light brown eyes and tanned skin. It was confirmed when she smiled at him and spoke in a language he couldn’t understand nor immediately identify. 

 

He shook his head at her, regretting it when a sharp pain rushed in from his injured temple. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Do you speak Japanese?”

 

She shook her head. Something about her expression told Kaito this language barrier wasn’t unprecedented. She asked a question—one word? Maybe a language?

 

“Japanese?” Kaito repeated.

 

Her eyebrows creased, and she shook her head again as she moved towards the IV stand to replace the bag. Once the switch was done, he reached out to stop her from going, and she stayed, watching him carefully from his bedside. He pointed to the glass and pitcher on the side table, then touched his throat.

 

She put down the empty IV bag. Instead of immediately picking up the glass, she leaned over and adjusted the bed, tilting the head upwards until Kaito was sitting. She helped him adjust the pillow and folded down his blankets, then finally poured a glass of water and offered it to him.

 

“Thank you,” Kaito rasped, reaching for the glass. 

 

There were so many questions Kaito wanted to ask: what happened, where am I, who are you, how long was I unconscious, when are they gonna read me my rights? But he didn’t attempt any of it. He just took a slow sip of water and realized that there was literally nothing better in the world than water. (When it was in a glass, and clean, and contained absolutely no trace of… finny things.)

 

The nurse watched him drink with her arms crossed and a thoughtful look on her face, before speaking. Kaito could only shake his head at her, not understanding. Then, she huffed out a sigh and held up one finger, the universal signal for wait , and left the room.

 

“Like training a dog,” Kaito complained. “What the hell’s up with this place?”

 

Maybe this was Jii’s work, somehow. He had friends in high places. Maybe they’d managed to airlift his bloody smear off the pavement and delivered him to some hospital outside of Japan’s jurisdiction.

 

Wouldn’t that be nice.

 

Even if he was out in international waters or something, surely they’d have a nurse who spoke Japanese, or at least English, to tell him what was going on and what was expected from him. It was a little far-fetched. The more likely scenario was that he was still in Tokyo. 

 

But that posed the odd question; would a Tokyo hospital employ a nurse who spoke no Japanese at all? Would they assign that nurse to Kaitou Kid ?

 

Well. International waters, huh. The idea that Kaito could’ve been picked up and dropped off somewhere weird while he was unconscious was beyond unsettling. Even if it was at Jii’s doing. It probably wasn’t, Kaito thought; Jii would be here himself, right? Or would have at least ensured there was some form of communication...

 

“Am I Dorothy, or Toto?” he muttered to himself, staring down into his glass. “Hmm. Probably Toto. Though I could pull off the sparkly red heels.”

 

If he wasn’t in Japan anymore, he couldn’t assume that the hospital knew or even cared that he was Kaitou Kid. He was an internationally wanted criminal, but Kid hadn’t been active outside of the country since his dad’s days. He didn’t have a good idea of who still actively cared to arrest him outside of Nakamori’s task force. And Hakuba. But those two hardly counted. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced Tantei-kun wanted to arrest him. The kid seemed happy to just chase him, foil his plans, and then call in ridiculous favors. Like the Bell Tree Express. 

 

Then, back to the language itself; he didn’t know what the nurse had been speaking. At the very least, it hadn’t sounded even remotely related to Japanese, but the consonants had reminded him vaguely of English. He was fluent in both, and had passing familiarities with Mandarin, French, and Spanish, and a minor vocabulary in a few others, but none of that had helped him parse even one of the nurse’s words. 

 

There was also the thing that had happened when he fell—the red electricity, the moment of blinding whiteness… 

 

It was possible he’d passed out momentarily from the pain; that could account for the white space. As for the electricity, he’d felt something similar from Pandora only moments before. Its intense heat, its violent reaction to the moonlight,... 

 

Maybe this was Pandora’s fabled immortality.

 

Kaito huffed out a tiny, weak laugh. 

 

No way. The gem was supposed to cry to grant immortality, and for all its weirdness, it hadn’t done that .

 

But none of that answered the central questions: where the hell was he, and what the fuck was going to happen to him next? 

 

He was in deep shit. He drummed the fingers of his right hand against the bed railing it was cuffed to. Deep shit, yes, but maybe this was all something he could work with. He was Kaitou Kid.

 

Well, he was Kaitou Kid with a concussion, probably. All the thinking was making his head pound.

 

The door creaked and Kaito looked up as the nurse returned. She was grinning triumphantly, carrying two clipboards with blank paper, and two pens.

 

“Ah, excellent!” Kaito exclaimed. Now, this would be fun, or at least a good distraction. He could probably even ignore the headache.

 

She pulled over the chair and gave Kaito one of the clipboards and pens, before holding up her own. She’d already written several characters on it, which she pointed to with her pen, and then to herself. 

 

Kaito’s eyes widened as he recognized the English alphabet. “ Sarah ?” He read just as she opened her mouth to speak. “Your name is Sarah?”

 

Her grin doubled in size and she nodded quickly, speaking again, too fast for Kaito to catch even a fragment. Whatever language she was speaking, it was Indio-European, which helped Kaito a great deal. He already had a few things from that branch under his belt.

 

“Do you speak English?” He tried. “ Français ? Español ?”

 

Sarah pursed her lips and shrugged. 

 

“Worth a shot,” Kaito said. He uncapped the pen with his teeth and twisted awkwardly, thinking about writing with his right hand, but quickly decided that it wasn’t worth it for his ribs. He drew up his knees to prop up the clipboard on, and began writing with his left hand. It wouldn’t be as pretty, but he was just about ambidextrous, so the difference was marginal. In English, he wrote the word ‘ Kaitou’ . 

 

He turned the clipboard to her and copied her earlier gesture, moving his pen from the word to himself. “I’m Kaitou,” he said.

 

“ Kaitou! ” She exclaimed, clapping her hands. 

 

“Yup,” Kaito grinned back. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” From her reaction, he assumed that the word didn’t immediately translate to internationally wanted jewel thief in her mind. Wherever he was, it was seeming less likely that it was… overtly hostile to him.

 

“ You are Kaitou ,” she said, pointing to him. Then, to herself, “ I am Sarah. ”

 

The sentences were already beginning to gain meaning to Kaito’s ears. It was a faster turnaround than any other language Kaito had studied. But he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “ You are Sarah! ” he replied, excited, pointing at her, and then at himself. “ I am Kaitou! ”

 

Sarah looked shocked for a moment, her mouth falling slack and her eyes widening, and then she laughed. 

 

Okay. So maybe he could learn a new language in an afternoon. Well, he was Kaitou Kid.

 

They traded words back and forth for a while, filling their clipboards with carefully printed lists. When they came across a letter that Kaito couldn’t sound out, Kaito pointed to it, and Sarah repeated the sound until Kaito could mimic it perfectly, which only took a few tries.

 

Kaito picked up the words for water, bed, IV drip, shirt, and window , and along the way tried stringing together sentences. Already, as the minutes raced by, first and second pronouns were becoming clear, and before too long, Kaito was recognizing what words were verbs and nouns, even if he didn’t yet know what they referred to. 

 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Sarah was called away by another nurse; probably less than an hour, but Kaito was exhausted. Sarah waved as she left, and Kaito stopped her with one last call, unfamiliar words stumbling out of his mouth. “ Thank you, Sarah! ”

 

She grinned back, no longer quite so surprised at the speed Kaito had been absorbing her language. “ You’re welcome, Kaitou! ”

 

The room was quiet again after the door shut behind her, and Kaito slumped into the pillows, wincing. His head was pounding. Plus, breathing still wasn’t any easier than before. Part of him wanted to nap, but instead he found he was too wired, mind whirling back over the same things he’d already been fixated on: where he was, why , where Pandora could be..

 

He barely had a chance to try relaxing when the door opened again, this time emitting a man in a white lab coat and a folder in one arm. He greeted Kaito with a smile, and Kaito nodded back, too tired to conjure anything beyond mild interest.

 

As the doctor spoke, Kaito only managed to catch a few words, mostly “you” here and there. When the doctor pulled a diagram out of the folder and showed it to Kaito, he understood more of what was being told to him.

 

“Ouch,” Kaito said. The paper was an annotated diagram of a person overlaid with a skeleton, and it didn’t take a genius to connect the red pen marks with his own injuries: the flesh wound on his left thigh, three marked ribs (two on the left, one on the right), the right shoulder, the right side of the head. It seemed that minor injuries were left off; Kaito knew he had a lot more bruises than the paper implied. After scanning the page, he spotted ‘ Kaitou ’ at the bottom in a different pen color. Added recently, by Sarah. Kaito recognized her handwriting.

 

The doctor kept talking and all Kaito could do was look at him and sink back into the pillows. Had he not gotten the memo that Kaito couldn’t understand him? 

 

Evidently not. It only became more clear as he continued to ask Kaito questions and wait for responses with increasingly irritated looks on his face. Finally, his tone became sharper and Kaito huffed out a tired laugh.

 

“Sorry, doc,” he said. “I learn quickly, but not that quickly.”

 

The doctor raised his voice and Kaito squinted at him. What, getting mad at Kaito for speaking a different language? Harsh.

 

The door flew open and Kaito glimpsed Sarah, looking distressed. She raised her voice at the doctor, who argued, and after a bit of back and forth, stormed off with Sarah glaring at his back. She looked apologetic when she turned back to Kaito, but he waved her off.

 

“Some people are just dicks,” he told her. “That’s my sage wisdom. You should really write it down. Or maybe stick my IV with some new pain meds. I’m good with either.”

 

Sadly, she did neither. Instead, she moved over and began lowering Kaito’s bed back to a reclined position.

 

“Wait, wait!”

 

She paused at his flailing hands.

 

“I have a question!”

 

Sarah shook her head and reached for the handle again, but Kaito stopped her. “ Hey . Where’s my stuff? My, uh…” He frowned, wishing his vocabulary in her language was bigger. Instead, he plucked at the hospital gown over his chest. “My clothing?”

 

“Ah,” Sarah said. She pointed at the bedside table, as if to say here , and pulled open a drawer. 

 

Kaito leaned slightly, straining to see inside, and gasped in delight. “My stuff!” He exclaimed, and reached out. So it had been here all along!

 

Sarah clicked her tongue and pushed him back into the bed, pointing at him like he was a dog being told to stay yet again. But Kaito didn’t have long to pout; she took the items out one by one and showed them off, as if asking Kaito what exactly he was looking for.

 

As it turned out, a scant few things had been left for him to keep. There was a pack of playing cards, his dice, his house key, the multicolored ribbon, and his cellphone. That one he reached for as soon as she held it up. He tried to turn it on. 

 

The screen flickered, and for one hopeful moment, Kaito thought it would work. But it didn’t; all he saw was his own lined face reflecting back at him in the black, spiderwebbed screen. He flipped it over pried the case off as best he could with one hand chained to the side of the bed. Sure enough, the cracks went all the way through. He sighed.

 

Sarah had opened the other drawer in the side table while he was distracted with the phone, and inside, Kaito spotted his white suit jacket, folded, sporting two bullet holes singed around the edges. It was dirty. When he reached out, she passed it to him, and thus the rest of his clothing was revealed: white pants, with a bloody tear on one leg, also dirty. Pink tie, somehow completely intact, that was nice. Two gloves, barely white at this point. And, yes, yes! —His blue silk dress shirt. 

 

He lunged for the shirt despite the protest of his—well, entire body. The shirt had two bullet holes, which lined up perfectly with the holes in his coat. The chest pocket had been emptied, but the weight of the shirt told Kaito that whoever had undressed him had missed something crucial: the concealed pockets. 

 

Apparently, they hadn’t emptied the ones they hadn’t been able to find. But under his deft, trained fingers, despite the thick material, he easily located the shape of a marble—Pandora.

 

It was a relief like no other. He sent his silent thanks to Lady Luck. If Pandora hadn’t been shattered, at least he still had it, thanks to the ten thousand tricks his Kid regalia provided him with. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he draped the shirt over his shoulders. The shirt—and inside it, Pandora—weren’t going to leave his sight again if he could help it.

 

“Thank you so much,” he told the nurse, earnest. He leaned forward, a small bow, but grimaced and fell back against the bed quickly. That had been a little much on the movement front just now.

 

“You’re welcome,” she replied. This time when she tried to lower the bed, he let her. Then she pulled the curtains shut, dimming the room, put away his belongings and left.

 

He closed his eyes, his free hand  wrapped protectively in the fabric of his shirt, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

---

 

He woke, groggy, in the dark. Shit, what time was it? Dark enough he could probably go back to sleep before he had to get up for school…. Was his alarm clock even working? He couldn’t see the glowing red numbers—

 

The events of the last twenty-four hours came back to him suddenly. Had it even been twenty-four hours? More? Less? He winced, swallowing roughly, and reached for the water on his bedside table as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He hadn’t exactly figured out how long he’d been unconscious after his… crash landing . 

 

He drank his water, careful of his aching ribs, and found that he still had his dress shirt draped over his shoulders, like it was trying to take the place of the white cape he’d barely gotten to wear during the heist. Ironic. He dragged it into his lap, frowning in annoyance at the handcuff still binding his right wrist to the railing of his hospital bed. He was gonna have to get rid of that soon, if only for his own convenience. 

 

Kaito flipped his dress shirt inside out and carefully felt for the numerous hidden pockets, a more thorough examination than he’d been able to do with Sarah in the room a few hours ago. Beyond the pocket that still concealed Pandora, there were several others that weren’t accessible from the outside, hidden carefully in the lining. It seemed that most hadn’t been compromised; he still had several wires, a few tiny metal rings, smoke pellets, and swathes of fabric tucked away in the shirt. 

 

“This’ll do,” he commented to himself, extracting the thin wire from the shirt’s hem. 

 

Even in the low lighting and with his reduced mobility, he was able to make quick work of the handcuff. He grinned when it fell onto the bed, and rubbed his wrist and put the wire back where he’d gotten it. Then, he swung his legs out of bed and stood, but immediately fell back onto the mattress when his head swam. Oh, right. The concussion.

 

He sat for a few minutes, head down in his hands and trying to breath around his painful ribs. When he looked up, he noticed something on the bedside table he hadn’t seen a moment ago in the darkness, and reached for it.

 

It was a book—a translation dictionary, to be precise. Its heft would have told Kaito that if the cover hadn’t. It had English characters printed neatly across the cover, and below those, smaller, Kaito could just about make out Chinese characters.

 

He dropped it back on the side table. Maybe Sarah had dropped it off while he’d slept; he’d have to flip through it in the morning. He did know a little Mandarin, so… how hard could it be?

 

Kaito slipped his arms back into the sleeves of his shirt, over the bandages and hospital gown. It smelled like gunpowder, or maybe that was his imagination, or the concussion. He couldn’t be sure. But he felt better with it on, and gathered enough strength to get up a second time.

 

Pain shot through his injured leg and he stumbled on his way to the window. Though it was only a few steps away, he was sweating by the time he made it, and slumped against the wall, tsk’ing. He wasn’t going to get very far like this. 

 

The drapes slid easily when Kaito pulled at them. Peering outside, he saw that he was on the second floor of the building. His room faced a courtyard composed of two big lawns, bisected by a wide walking path, lined with lamps. There was another hospital wing across from him. Staring out, Kaito couldn’t match it up with any hospital he was familiar with in Tokyo, let alone in Japan—but the interior design had already told him that much.

 

He cast his eyes upwards, pressing against the glass to get a better view of the sky. There were so many stars, more than Kaito had ever seen in the city. The moon hung high above.

 

I’m sorry to say, but I’m always going to have mixed feelings about you from here on out, Ms. Full Moon , Kaito thought. Their relationship had been complicated over the last year, to say the least. Then the rest of his brain caught up to what his well-trained eyes were seeing, and he squinted.

 

The full moon? It had been at least a day since the heist, if not more. The moon should be waning.

 

He fumbled Pandora out of his shirt. The moment his bare fingers touched the gem’s unsettlingly warm surface, it shocked him, and he bit his tongue, drawing back. The sharp motion sent pain through his ribs and he wheezed against the window pane for a moment, his breath condensing on its surface.

 

He felt utterly pathetic. With his pointer finger, he drew an angry face on the glass. Then gave it fangs. And a bowtie.

 

Feeling marginally better, he tried again, and nearly dropped the blasted thing on the ground the moment his skin made contact. It was like Pandora was trying to electrocute him, or maybe leap out of his hand; the liquid in its center was roiling. It looked like it was boiling, and Kaito would’ve been inclined to think that it was , if it had been heat that was coursing through him and not some kind of faux-electric heartbeat.

Holding the thing with his bare hands made him feel sick to his stomach.

 

Quickly, he hoisted it into the moonlight, and it glowed, center first, a crimson light that radiated out from its liquid core and made Kaito squint. He drew a deep breath, ignoring the pain, and brought it closer to his face.

 

Its energy was coursing through his arm, syncing up with his racing heartbeat once more. A soft sound caused Kaito to whip around, concealing Pandora in his fist; unsteady on his own two feet, he stumbled sideways as he looked around, searching frantically for the source—had someone seen him, seen Pandora ? 

 

No, no. The room was empty. Everything was dark.

 

Using one arm, Kaito steadied himself against the wall, and unfurled his fingers. With his back to the moon, Pandora in his shadow, it looked like nothing more than a red marble. Until it whispered again, a soft rustle of voice at the back of his head.

 

“Nope,” Kaito said, shoving it back into his pocket and moving his hand over his pounding heart, “nope, nope nope nope, no way, not going to deal with that creepy freaky bullshit when I’ve been shot and I have a concussion. Nope.”

 

Red light crackled from his hand, which felt numb, staticky. When he pulled it away, he saw that the two bullet holes in the fabric of his dress shirt were gone, sealed up like they’d never been there at all. 

 

He definitely needed more sleep.

 

With the wall to prop him up, he made his way back to bed, where he finished off a glass of water to help his heart rate return to normal. There, he remembered his smashed cell phone, and sent a glance towards the doors. Maybe they had guest phones at the nurses’ station? Surely, Kaito could charm one into letting him make a call, even if it was late. Especially if it was Sarah.

 

When he peeked out, the hallway was brighter than his room, but not by much. To his left, there were more hospital rooms, and then the hallway ended with a bay window. To his right, more rooms, and the hallway turned right.

 

Okay, research first. He made his way slowly to the bay windows, still relying on the wall, and peered outside.

 

Like the view from his room, it was dark, but from this angle he could see a street beyond the hospital grounds, illuminated by lamps. Even from this distance, Kaito could see that the lamps were old-fashioned, somewhat short. The shapes of buildings and trees beyond were vague.

 

Why the old-fashioned lamps? Shit, he really needed to figure out where this hospital was located. He really needed to figure out who knew what about him, too. 

 

A car moved quietly across the street, and Kaito tracked it, barely breathing. It was old-fashioned like the lamps, like the kind you would’ve seen a hundred years ago. European, which tracked with the language family Sarah had spoken.  

 

Okay , Kaito thought, feeling queasy. Maybe I’ve gone back in time. And to a different country. Or maybe this city is just really into period dramas. No big deal . 

 

With that, he turned his back on the bay windows and made his way steadily down the hallway, taking note of his room number on the way past. Where the hallway turned, he flattened himself against a wall to peek around, and saw yet another deserted hallway, complete with benches set beside dark, boxy phones.

 

Bingo! Kaito thought, and scooted over to the phone.

 

He’d seen ones like it before, with a round dial to key in the numbers set into a large rectangular casing, a handset hanging from the side. He picked up the receiver and was relieved to hear a low tone that signaled the phone worked; even if he’d been thrown back in time, at least there was electricity. 

 

He used a finger to dial Aoko’s cell number and held his breath while the phone rang twice, three times. It seemed to connect, and Kaito’s mind whirled as he thought of what he could even say , when instead of Aoko’s sleep-groggy voice, a prim woman began speaking to him in the same language he recognized from earlier in the day. Her words were measured and her sentence practiced.

 

Kaito’s brows knitted together as he listened, and then all at once, he caught a few words. 

 

“...connect you?” the woman was saying.

 

“Ah,” Kaito said. “ Thank you? ”

 

“ Sorry, I didn’t understand you. Is this an external call or an internal call? ”

 

“ It’s okay, ” Kaito managed, the words coming out clumsy. “ Thank you .”

 

He hung up before the operator could speak again. His brain felt fuzzy, unsettled. Looked like calling home wasn’t on the table.

 

He really ought to get some more sleep. 

 

---

 

Kaito did not sleep after that. Instead, the moment that the room was light enough, he began reading the translation dictionary that had appeared on his bedside table.

 

It was slow going, through the constant low-level pain and the pounding of his head, but Kaito found the more pages he studied, the more words and phrases clicked into place. It was a three step process, moving from the near-Mandarin words to Japanese cognates, to sounding out the alphabet letters and comparing them to English words, and what he knew of Mandarin. It was like whittling away at a tough stick and beginning to understand the shape of what he was carving.

 

By the time it was truly morning, Kaito was absorbed in the dictionary, each new line uncovering some new word and its meaning. A knock at the door announced that he wasn’t alone.

 

“Come in!” He called, trying out the foreign words. The door opened and revealed Sarah, in a fresh uniform, pushing a bedside tray with a plate of food on top.

 

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “You’re learning fast.”

 

“Yes!” Kaito replied. “Thank you for this!” He held up the dictionary. “Very useful!”

 

She came over and set up the tray for Kaito, moving to position it over the bed. “You must be some kind of genius,” she commented. “Nobody can learn Amestrian overnight. I’m glad we can understand each other better now, though.”

 

Kaito inhaled the delicious scent of food, immediately reaching for the fork. He hadn’t eaten since before the heist—Aoko’s curry—and who knew how long ago that was. “I like language,” he told her honestly, though to be truthful, the ease with which he’d managed to understand this new language was somewhat beyond his own comprehension. “This language is Amestrian, eh?”

 

“Yep,” Sarah confirmed. 

 

“So this is…. Amestria?”

 

“Amestris,” she said, giving him a strange look. “Where did you think you were?”

 

“Not Amestris,” Kaito replied, dry.

 

“Well, that’s no good,” she said, a bit worried.

 

“I know.”

 

“We may need to ensure you haven’t lost any memory.”

 

“No,” Kaito replied with his mouth full. “I can memory.”

 

“Remember,” Sarah corrected, then looked a bit abashed, as though the reaction was automatic.

 

“I can remember,” Kaito corrected himself, and reached for the bottle of milk that had come with his meal. “I was home, and then I was here.”

 

“Sounds a little too magic for me,” Sarah replied.

 

“And me as well,” Kaito agreed.

 

“So what exactly happened?”

 

“I think I should like to know first how long I was unconscious.”

 

“About a day.”

 

Shit . “Shit.”

 

Sarah laughed. “Was that in the dictionary?”

 

Kaito brushed her off, leaning forward, a serious tilt to his head. “How did I become to be here?”

 

“Well, you were brought here by an ambulance from the scene of the accident,” Sarah told him, finally deciding to pull over the visitor’s chair she’d sat in yesterday. “This is Central Military Hospital, by the way.”

 

“Why a military hospital?” Kaito asked. “Was it close?”

 

“Yes, but this is also the larger of the two hospitals in Central,” she told him, then hesitated. Kaito waited her out, polishing off the oatmeal in his bowl and moving back to the eggs on his plate. Eventually, Sarah spoke back up. “Also, you probably already know this, but the.... Accident you were involved in was alchemical in nature, but it was strange—they think it was alkahestry. So,” she lowered her voice, “you didn’t hear this from me, but now that you’ve woken up, there’s some officers who want to ask you about it.”

 

“About alkahestry,” Kaito murmured.

 

“Right.”

 

“And if I know nothing of alkahestry?”

 

Sarah raised her eyebrows at him. Clearly, she didn’t believe he was ignorant on the topic. “They’ll likely hold you here a while,” she said, and then her eyes skipped down to his two unbound hands, the loose cuff still laying on the mattress beside him. “Or… try to, anyway.”

 

Kaito cracked a grin. “Try, yes.” Before she could comment, he set down his utensils on his empty plate. “Thank you for the food. Do you have a… current events page?”

 

“A newspaper,” Sarah told him. “Yeah, I can get you one.” She stood and gathered his tray, pushing the wheeled table against the wall. “But first, I need to change some of your bandages.”

 

“Alright.”

 

She decided to start with his leg and pulled away the covers to look at it while Kaito painfully pulled his arms out of his dress shirt, which he hadn’t taken off.

 

The wound on his thigh was healing well, Sarah told him. “It was really just a surface wound that bled a lot,” she said, securing the new bandage. “Didn’t even need stitches.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

She undid his dressing gown next, and Kaito shivered as it pooled around his waist, along with his shirt.

 

It was the first good look he’d gotten at himself since getting shot. The bruises were angry red and purple, painful as Sarah peeled away the old bandages. She was businesslike as she checked him over, noting that all the small places his skin had ruptured were healing well, and having him breath in as deeply as possible as she checked his ribs.

 

“Two broken,” she told him, wrapping him back up and making him wince. “And a third one is cracked, but they’re all healing well. You’ll need to move carefully.”

 

“I didn’t know,” Kaito said dryly. Sarah gave him a sharp look.

 

“How did this happen, anyway?” she asked. “Clearly, these are not from the fall.”

 

“I was shot a few times,” Kaito replied, projecting all the cheer he didn’t feel about it.

 

“Liar,” she mumbled. “You get shot in the chest like that and you die. I would know. I’ve seen it.” She moved to his shoulder next. “This was dislocated when you were checked in, and we set it. Nothing is broken, but lots of bruising. You better be careful with this arm.”

 

“Yes, sensei ,” Kaito said, cheekily.

 

“Now, your head injury.” She pulled a small flashlight from her apron pocket. “Shockingly enough, you got away from all that mess with only a concussion.” She grabbed Kaito’s chin. “Hold still.”

 

Kaito did his best not to wince as she examined the dilation of his pupils, and then followed her instructions to lean forward as she unwrapped the bandage around his head. The injury was at his forehead and temple primarily, and Kaito was relieved to know his head hadn’t been shaved while he was unconscious, though some of the side had been cut unevenly in order for the doctors to put a few stitches in. 

 

Sarah was satisfied with the healing on that injury too, and secured some fresh padding and gauze back on and instead set to bombarding with questions about headaches, vision, and nausea. This conversation required some references to the dictionary, but Sarah seemed satisfied with him nonetheless. 

 

“Alright,” she finally relented. “You’ve already been reading with only minor headaches, so I’ll bring you a newspaper. But no more intense language studying, alright?”

 

“Yes, sensei! ” Kaito chirped again.

 

“What’s sensei ? You said it earlier, too.”

 

“Ah, it means teacher,” Kaito replied. “Because you are knowledge.”

 

“Knowledgeable.”

 

“See!” Kaito leveled an accusing finger at her. “You are teaching me!”

 

Sarah cracked a grin. “Guess so,” she said. She helped him back into his dressing gown and shirt over top, and then slipped out of the room with the empty breakfast tray. When she came back, she handed Kaito a newspaper and told him she would be back later in the morning.

 

He shook the paper out and immediately checked the date printed at the top. July 9th, 1914 .

 

“ Fuck ,” Kaito said, lowly. That date was certainly worthy of the f-bomb.

 

Now that he had a year to put to his experiences, he had to admit that it lined up with the technology he’d seen around the hospital thus far. But he had a pretty solid understanding of world history, and one thing was certain: he’d never heard of any places called Amestris or Central.

 

He set into the newspaper with a furious concentration, searching for even the slightest reference to something he was familiar with: a country, the name of a political leader, anything. But nothing in the articles were relevant.

 

Before he knew it, he had flipped to the last page of the paper. Frantically, he began again from the start. There had to be something here, something to ground him, some kind of key; Kaito found himself wishing, just a little bit, that one of his damned critics were here. Tantei-kun and his freakishly huge brain would know what to do. Even Hakuba, with his superior knowledge of Europe, would be helpful, even if infuriating.

 

The door opened and Kaito looked up from his newspaper. Sarah was holding the door open to admit two people, who Kaito immediately clocked as military personnel, based first on their dark blue uniforms, and secondarily on the serious, disciplined air the man projected.

 

He caught Sarah’s eye. She mimed locking her lips, and then shut the door behind the two officers.

 

The first had a rectangular face with close-cropped facial hair and green eyes, concealed by silver frames.Though his hands were held casually behind his back, his stance was otherwise solid, feet and shoulders squared.

 

The woman with him, on the other hand, was small and clearly frazzled. Though she wore a similar blue uniform to the man, her stance betrayed her lack of military training, as did her mussed brown hair. She clutched a stack of books and was attempting to balance them and adjust her glasses at the same time. 

 

“Hello, Kaitou,” the man said. “I am Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes, and this is my assistant, Sheska.” He gestured to the woman beside him, who smiled shakily. “You may have some questions about your current situation, and in turn, I have a few questions about you.”

 

He gave Sheska a look, and she cleared her throat. “ This is Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes, ” she began shakily in the language Kaito quickly recognized from the translation dictionary he’d finished reading that morning—Xingan. “ And I am his assistant, Sheska —”

 

Kaito quickly waved his hand to quiet her. “Ah, you do not have to translate, I can understand most of what he says.”

 

“Ooh, is that so?” the Lt. Colonel said, interest flashing across his face, alongside the barest hint of a grin. “I was told yesterday that you didn’t speak a word of Amestrian.”

 

“Eh, it is similar to other languages I know,” Kaito brushed the comment away, “and I study quite fast.”

 

“How old did you say you are?”

 

Kaito considered that question for a moment. “Sixteen, I believe.”

 

In reality, the answer was probably zero, seeing as it was fucking 1914 . On top of that, he’d been launched into mid-summer, which meant he’d missed the 1914 version of his seventeenth birthday on a technicality, so really, who knew how old he was?

 

“You’re not sure?”

 

“Hey, I have had a few very bad days until now.”

 

Lt. Colonel Hughes chuckled. Kaito took the moment to fold up his newspaper, and glanced up when Hughes stopped laughing.

 

“Who unlocked your handcuff?” Hughes asked.

 

“I did,” Kaito replied easily. “It was annoying.”

 

Hughes raised an eyebrow. Sheska’s eyes went round and she glanced nervously at her commanding officer. 

 

“You were handcuffed to the bed for a reason,” Hughes said.

 

“I assumed as much.”

 

“Why do you think that was?”

 

Kaito considered for a moment, tapping a finger to his chin. “Property damage?”

 

Hughes’ smile was wry. “Among other things,” Hughes said. “What do you remember of the...incident you were involved in?”

 

“Not much after hitting the ground,” Kaito said truthfully. “Which, ow .”

 

“Do you remember anything before that?”

 

“Falling.”

 

“Let me phrase this another way,” Hughes said. “We understand some kind of alchemical incident occurred, which resulted in your rather spectacular landing and quite a lot of property damage. I would like to know what, exactly, transpired.”

 

Kaito crossed his arms, nearly wincing, but remembering his poker face at the last moment. He could feel Pandora humming away against his ribcage—Pandora, the Red Stone that had brought him here, that people were willing to murder to get their hands on. He would bet his own ass that there was some kind of connection to the alchemy—and alkahestry?—that had been mentioned several times this morning. “It is as you say,” he said. “I was doing alchemy, and there was an accident.”

 

Kaito watched as Lt. Colonel Hughes adopted his own version of a poker face. It was scarily neutral. “Where exactly were you performing this alchemy experiment?”

 

“Xing,” Kaito answered curtly. One rule of lying: keep it simple.

 

This response cracked the Lt. Colonel’s expression. He and Sheska shared a look, Sheska still wide-eyed.

 

“But Xing is— Xing —that’s not possible, is it?” She exclaimed. “Alchemy can’t just take a person from one country and drop them in another, it’s not...can alkahestry do that?”

 

Kaito shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Say,” Hughes pulled over the visitors’ chair and plopped down, “show me some alkahestry!”

 

“No.” Another rule of lying: don’t explain what you don’t have to.

 

Hughes pouted— pouted , this fully grown military man! Kaito was starting to like him, as much as he liked any authority figure. He did have a soft spot for anybody with a dramatic streak—they were rather kindred souls with that.

 

“Aw,” Hughes sighed. “I’m not an alchemist myself, but my best friend is the Flame Alchemist, so I’ve picked some things up, here and there. Have you heard of him in Xing?”

 

“No.” Another short answer, this time edging on honesty.

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get to meet him soon enough,” Hughes said casually, and turned to Sheska. “Why don’t you return to the office? I’ll call if I need anything, since it looks like we can speak without you.”

 

“Y-yes, sir!” Sheska stuttered. She left in a flurry, sending backwards glances at the two of them as she went.

 

Without his subordinate around, Hughes relaxed even more than he already had upon throwing himself in the visitor’s chair. “Well, Kaitou,” he said, “I’ll tell it to you straight, since you seem to be an intelligent kid. The higher-ups want a few more answers out of you than it looks like you’re willing to give, so we’ll be keeping you under supervision before we find a way to get you back to Xing.”

 

“Is that the nice way to say you will interrogate me?” Kaito asked, cheerfully.

 

“Maybe!” Hughes replied, matching Kaito’s cheer and upping it a few watts, just for good measure. “But I have my own agenda, too.”

 

Doesn’t everyone , Kaito thought. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

 

Hughes leveled him with a stare, serious once more. “What do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?”

 

“The Stone of Many Names ,” Kaito replied in Japanese, the pace of his heart quickening. It might have been his imagination, but he could feel Pandora syncing its beat with him once more. 

 

Shit . Why did everybody want the damned red rock? He’d been shot at enough over it to last him a lifetime, thank you very much. He’d be relieved the day the thing was in pieces—even if a fifty-four story drop couldn’t do it, something would have to.

 

He hesitated, unsure of what to say.

 

Hughes waited, watching him.

 

“I’ve heard plenty, but it is a myth, Lt. Colonel Hughes,” Kaito finally managed. 

 

“I wonder,” Hughes replied, slowly, “if the Xingan myths about the Stone are the same as the Amestrian ones.”

 

“What are the Amestrian myths?”

 

“That it’s a powerful alchemical amplifier,” Hughes replied, peering at Kaito through the shining lenses of his glasses. Kaito was reminded, uncomfortably, of Tantei-kun. “That it negates the cost of human transmutation.”

 

Kaito was a master of rolling with the punches, and staying as true as possible to whatever character he was playing, no matter what unforeseens were thrown at him. As it was, he barely knew the role he’d been thrust into here in Amestris. And though he heard the words clearly and understood them on a surface level, what stood behind the dark implications of Hughes’ statement was less obvious.

 

“What are these words?” Kaito asked. “Human transmutation?”

 

Hughes hummed for a moment, then pulled open Kaito’s translation dictionary. After a moment, he read the words aloud in Xingan, with what seemed to Kaito like clear, practiced pronunciation.

 

Human transmutation : the alteration of a human body, on a chemical level, a molecular level. Kaito’s stomach twisted.

 

Hughes closed the book sharply. “It’s a dangerous branch of alchemy,” he said. “Few who attempt it survive. All who try pay dearly.”

 

“In Xing,” he said, low, “the idea is that the Stone grants immortality, although only under the correct conditions. Rare conditions. I have seen first-hand the lengths people will go to for this.”

 

Hughes’ face was neutral, calculating. “What lengths?”

 

“Murder,” Kaito replied.

 

“Typical,” Hughes responded without pausing. Then, he grinned. “Perhaps, Kaitou, I can offer you something that will benefit both of us.”

 

“....which is?”

 

“My boss wants you under supervision. On the other hand, I want my good friend, the Flame Alchemist, to study your long-range transportation alkahestry. My other good friend, the Fullmetal Alchemist, is, as we speak, frantically decoding another alchemists’ notes regarding the Stone, and is our resident expert on human transmutation, which your transportation alkahestry is quite obviously related to, seeing as it moved your human body from Xing to Amestris. And you would like to find a Stone.”

 

Kaito couldn’t help himself from blinking, his mouth falling open slightly. He tightened his arms, still crossed in front of his chest. “Why do you think I want a Stone?”

 

“I know what a thirst for revenge looks like,” Hughes said, all too cheerful for the shiver that raced down Kaito’s spine. “So let’s call it a logical leap, which you just did me the favor of confirming. What do you say, Kaitou ?” He pronounced the name with a distinctly Xingan tilt and a shine in his eyes as his grin grew wider. “Think we can help each other out here?

 

Kaito turned the offer over for a moment. He didn’t have as much to offer as the Lt. Colonel thought he did; but if someone was researching Pandora here, Kaito was definitely interested in speaking to them. If he could play his part well enough, he could get some information on the truth of Pandora, and more importantly—the first clue to getting Pandora to take him home.

 

So Kaito grinned right back, his heart thrilling in his chest, Pandora humming along. “Well. I don’t suppose I have any other options, do I?”

 

---

 

Notes:

This chapter is chock-full with some of the very first scenes I imagined for this fic! It was super exciting to write.

Chapter 3: The Disappearance

Notes:

When I started posting ASFTS last week, I told myself I'd post a new chapter every time I finished writing a chapter. i'm hoping to follow through on that! so thusly: chapter three!!

---

 

 

After Kid fell from the top floor of the Midtown Tower, the crowd Aoko was engulfed in exploded into utter chaos. Some people were screaming. Others were sobbing. Some people ran towards the site of the fall; some fled, fearing the worst, unable to stomach it.

 

Aoko just froze, buffeted on all sides by frantic people. She shivered, violently, and pulled her sweater tight around herself. Then, she dialed Kaito, and was sent straight to voicemail.

 

“Kaito?” She said, hating that she sounded so soft and small amid the chaos surrounding her. “Where are you? I’m still at the pedestrian bridge.” She paused, swallowed thickly. “I don’t know if you saw, but something’s happened to Kid. It didn’t look…right.”

 

She’d glimpsed the white figure falling. Everyone had. It’d helped that everyone’s eyes were already glued to the sky when the thief bailed out of a window and—instead of gliding away like everyone expected, graceful, victorious—plummeted like a rock.

 

She’d been on edge, expecting his white wings to snap out and carry him away; she’d been waiting for him to escape, so that she could lean into the indignation and anger she always felt towards the arrogant thief. There’d been one instant where he had, and she’d felt a strange mix of relief and fury.

 

Then, the gunshot that changed the tone of the crowds’ screams; and Kid—he’d just… fallen. Then, with a brilliant, almost violent, red light, he’d vanished.

 

“Call me back,” she whispered into her phone, and hung up.

 

The next call she made was to her dad. He picked up on the second ring. “Aoko,” he said. His voice was rough.

 

“Otou-san?” she asked. “What’s going on? Did Kid just—”

 

“I don’t know,” he cut her off. “Get somewhere safe. Away from Midtown Tower. I’ll call you back.”

 

The line went dead.

 

The breeze picked up sharply. The voices around her reached a crescendo. 

 

“Where’d he go?” someone in the crowd before her was yelling. “Where’d he go?”

 

Aoko shivered.

 

---

 

Lacking another plan, she texted Hakuba.

 

Aoko: Hakuba-kun, do you know what’s going on?

 

His response was surprisingly fast.

 

Hakuba: No, but I know it’s dangerous.

Hakuba: Please get somewhere safe, Aoko-san.

 

Aoko: First my dad, now you! Alright, I’m going.

 

She pushed her way through the crowd. Because the pedestrian bridge was connected to the fourth floor, she had to go through the adjacent building to reach the ground level. By that time, the crowd had begun to thin, thanks to the response of the police. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave completely, deciding instead to walk a distance down the road and lean against a lamppost.

 

Earlier, the huge shape of Midtown Tower had been like something out of a fairytale, dwarfing its neighbors, shining. It had stood proud, like a dream, a night with Kaito.

 

She flicked on her phone and tried calling him again. It rang out. “Bakaito,” she snapped at the voicemail. “Call me back, or text me. There was a gunshot, you know? I want to know you’re safe!”

 

She hit the end call button with more force than necessary just as her phone buzzed with a new text. 

 

Hakuba: Good. Is Kuroba-kun with you?

 

Her heart sank.

 

Aoko: No, I haven’t seen him since before the scheduled heist time.

Aoko: Have you?

 

Hakuba: No.

 

Aoko: Why? Do you think something happened to him?

 

Hakuba: I cannot theorize without proper evidence.

Hakuba: I will call him.

 

Aoko: I’ve only been getting his voicemail…

 

There wasn’t an immediate response so Aoko put her phone in her pocket. People were still streaming past her, further away from the tower. She could only hear the crowd and the pounding of her heart.

 

Hakuba: I was sent to voicemail as well .

 

Even knowing it was futile, she dialed Kaito again. Her third voicemail was even angrier than the second. The minutes dragged by, slowly. She jumped when her phone began buzzing in her hand, with a call from her dad. She answered, sitting on the curb under the lamp post, watching the police set up yellow tape around the base of the tower.

 

“Hi, otou-san.”

 

“We’ve arrested the guy who’s been shooting at Kid,” he told her shortly. “We’re in the process of searching nearby buildings for a second shooter. But Kid’s gone. I’m sticking around to help the search party, so you should go home and get some rest.”

 

“Is he…” Aoko’s voice wavered, and she curled her free arm around her knees, tucking them under her chin. “...hurt?”

 

“He’s definitely hurt,” her dad replied. “From what Conan-kun saw—”

 

Aoko gasped. “Conan-kun was there?”

 

Her dad sighed, the line going staticy. “He hid out on the top floor. Predicted Kid would flee there. So, yes. He saw what happened.”

 

“So what happened?” Aoko demanded, the fear and uncertainty churning in her stomach resolving into anger.

 

“Short story is, he was shot in the chest twice—he had a bulletproof vest though, we think. Once in the leg. Fourth bullet through the window, which is where Kid fell.” Her dad sighed again. “The final shot came from a different location.”

 

“And Kid? He got away?” Aoko demanded.

 

“We don’t know. No reports of a body,” her dad replied through grit teeth. “Anyway, Aoko, please go home. It’s late, and this is police business.”

 

“But what if—”

 

“Aoko, please.”

 

She drew a deep breath. “I have to wait for Kaito,” she said.

 

There was a beat. “He’s not with you?”

 

“No,” she replied, voice on edge. “We got seperated in the crowd before the heist started.”

 

There was another pause, and then her dad said, “Kaito will understand. Go home.”

 

Aoko closed her eyes, squeezed them tight. She was tired, overwhelmed by the noise, the high pounding of her heart that had barely subsided since Kid fell.

 

“Okay,” she whispered.

 

---

 

On Sunday afternoon, Aoko wandered downstairs and found her dad sitting at the kitchen table. He was in a rumpled suit—the same one as last night, Aoko realized—and his face was lined, with prominent bags under his eyes. He was resting his face in a hand.

 

“Otou-san…?” she asked, cautiously, afraid to startle him.

 

He startled anyway, sitting up straight and whipping his head around until he saw her and relaxed. “Oh, Aoko,” he said. “How are you doing?”

 

“How are you doing?” she shot back. “Did you just get home?”

 

Unable to lie, he just nodded. Aoko huffed.

 

“I’ll make you some lunch,” she said, putting her hands on her hips to let him know there would be no room for argument. “And then you’re marching straight to bed!”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied quietly.

 

In the kitchen, Aoko slipped an apron on and pulled the fridge open. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel like cooking, but she wanted to do something for her dad; he looked so much more exhausted than usual. And honestly, Aoko couldn’t blame him. Even though she’d come home in the middle of the night and stayed in bed late, she’d barely slept herself. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Kid falling, on a black backdrop spotted with stars. But in her mind’s eye, she saw the blood, too—streaming out of his body—and she heard the wet, meaty smack of a body meeting the ground. The violence of it.

 

She shivered and shook herself, hard, and grabbed a package of uncooked chicken from the fridge.

 

Her dad remained at the table while she cooked, and they were both quiet. He only spoke up once the kitchen was filled with the scent of chicken and vegetables sizzling on the stovetop.

 

“We arrested the second gunman,” he said.

 

“That’s good,” Aoko replied. Something inside her chest that had still been knotted loosened.

 

“Looks like these bastards after Kid have a pretty big crew,” Nakamori grunted. “This is only the start.”

 

“Wow… really?” She looked over to him, the worry clear on her face. “But… they don’t fall in your division, right? If they’re violent criminals?”

 

“Technically, yeah.”

 

She squinted at him, and pointed at him with her spatula. “Only technically?”

 

Nakamori held up his hands to placate her. “I’ll still be involved in the Kid parts,” he said quickly. “But my team’s not the one tracking down the rest of these bastards. That’ll be Criminal Affairs.”

 

Aoko lowered her spatula. “That’s good.” She turned to the stove, looking down at the sizzling chicken, still not hungry. “It sounds dangerous.”

 

“It is dangerous,” her dad agreed darkly.

 

“Do you think…” She bit her lip, glad that her back was to her dad. “Do you think Kid is dead?”

 

“We couldn’t find a body anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking,” her dad replied. “He bled a lot from the gunshot that Conan-kun said grazed his leg, but not enough for Homicide to think he’d bled out.” He clicked his tongue. “He’s badly injured, but he’s probably alive. That slippery bastard! He’s not allowed to die until I arrest him!” He slammed a fist down on the kitchen table.

 

“Otou-san!” Aoko spun around. “Don’t hit things in the house!”

 

He winced and drew his hands away from the table. Aoko huffed and wondered about the red light she’d seen when Kid fell, which had probably been some kind of trick. He was a magician, and a wild one at that. He had to be alive.

 

Lunch was quiet after that, contemplative and tired. Her dad insisted on washing the dishes, but halfway through, she finally badgered him to bed, so he went off, feet dragging up the steps. 

 

The rest of the day, Aoko was listless. She sent Kaito a few texts that didn’t deliver, which only served to heighten her anxiety over the fact she hadn’t heard a peep from him since before the heist began. And really, it was just like him to vanish on her; he’d been getting really bad about doing that over the last year, even though his track record had been pretty good until then. Now, he always had an excuse handy; hanging out with him all day on Saturday had actually been something pretty rare. Maybe he had a secret girlfriend somewhere… or he’d gotten involved in something shady...

 

She distracted herself with TV. The news was buzzing with conversation about Kaitou Kid and the previous night’s heist, so she quickly turned that off and instead tried to study for her upcoming exams, but she couldn’t force any of the words in her textbook to stick. She picked up her phone. She put it back down. She picked it back up. Then, she threw it across the room, where it bounced on her bed.

 

Yelling with frustration, Aoko chased her phone across the room and flopped down on her bed, unlocking it. She didn’t even need to navigate to her text history with Kaito; it was already open. She scrolled up—all her messages from last night on still undelivered. Before that, the last Kaito had texted her was on Saturday morning. 

 

BAKAITO: on my way over!! ~(=^‥^)ノ☆

 

Aoko clicked on his name, which pulled up his contact information. She hesitated a second, and then hit call . Unlike last night, when she was sent to voicemail, this time, it didn’t even ring. It just immediately disconnected.

 

Well, that was really weird. Aoko frowned.

She sat up and dialed his home phone, and waited while it rang. When it went to voicemail, she left a short message. “ Bakaito , did you get home, or did you get distracted by something stupid? You better be asleep or something, otherwise I’ll kick your ass for not answering any of my calls! Or texts!” She huffed. “Call me back.”

 

It did nothing to reduce the anxiety wrapping itself heavily around her like a weighted blanket.

 

She texted Hakuba instead. Maybe that would be a sufficient distraction. Thankfully it was, because he responded quickly.

 

Aoko: Did you get home safe, Hakuba-kun?

 

Hakuba: Yes, I did. Thank you for asking. I trust you found your way home safely as well, Aoko-san?

 

Aoko: Yup.

 

She bit her lip after sending that message, phone held aloft over her head. Should she ask him about last night? Had he been present for the arrests? Did he know anything about the shooters? Why had he been concerned about where Kaito was?

 

Well. It was no secret that Hakuba liked to claim Kaito was Kid, but she’d thought it was just the way the two of them liked to tease each other. She’d confirmed for herself that Kaito wasn’t Kid all those months ago at Tropical Land. Nobody could be in two places at once.

 

Right?

 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Hakuba about it... 

 

No, no, that would be a terrible distraction. Instead she rolled over and thought of a question about exams. Maybe he could help her practice for English…

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon texting Hakuba on-and-off about exams and even managed to wrangle a few pictures of his hawk. (Though, no matter how much she pestered him, he never sent a selfie.)

 

The next morning, after another restless night filled with impressions of the worst—of falling white-clad men, of Kaito in the dark, alone, gone —Aoko got up early for school and checked her phone. Her stomach dropped. No new texts, no missed calls. She decided to skip breakfast.

 

Though it was early, her dad had already gone to the HQ; there was a note on the kitchen table for her, explaining that they needed him present. They’d be taking statements from heist attendees all day. 

 

“I hope you took a bento, otou-san,” she muttered after reading the note.

 

It was chilly when she stepped outside, even though it had started getting warmer lately. Not wanting to dawdle, she hurried next door to Kaito’s house. If she was lucky, he’d already be waiting for her, complaining about her blowing up his phone and proclaiming she worried too much. But she couldn’t help it! This much radio silence from Kaito was—well, it was beyond weird; it was downright concerning. Not to mention there had been multiple gunmen on the loose at the heist, and Kaito had been god-knows-where, and…

 

She pressed the doorbell, more forcefully than necessary.

 

Several minutes wore on as she waited at the Kurobas’ front door. Trying to peer inside was no use, either; it was dark beyond the glass. Impatiently, she rang the doorbell a second time.  

 

She stood there, ringing the doorbell every few minutes, until she was on the verge of tardiness and had to run the entire way to school, only to fall into her seat seconds before the bell rang.

 

She took notes on autopilot during first period. She knew Hakuba-kun was trying to catch her attention; he wasn’t exactly subtle with how he was leaning around into her field of view, raising his eyebrows at her, trying to get their gazes to connect. He was making what Aoko assumed he thought were meaningful gestures and glances towards Kaito’s empty desk.

 

She ignored him for the most part and instead kept her eyes on the doorway. Kaito’s seat was empty, but he could waltz in any minute. In fact, he could even make his entrance from the window; she wouldn’t put that past him, especially since he’d proven himself bold enough to climb in and out of second-story windows a few times. She added routine window checks to her rotation. 

 

But he didn’t show. At the end of first period, their teacher seemed dazed as she left for break, muttering about how strange it was to have an uninterrupted class period. Aoko sympathized with her. It was downright… unnerving.

 

A shadow fell across her desk. Looking up, Aoko found Hakuba approaching.

 

“Hi, Hakuba-kun,” she said. 

 

He pulled over a chair that a classmate had recently vacated. “Aoko-san,” he said. “Are you alright?”

 

The question alone made her stifle a yawn. “Just tired,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well after… Saturday night.”

 

“Indeed, I myself have not slept well since then,” Hakuba replied. “Related to this topic, have you heard from Kuroba-kun? We didn’t speak about it over text yesterday, but I am somewhat concerned.”

 

Aoko silently shook her head, watching as Hakuba’s carefully neutral expression pinched tightly.

 

“That is quite worrisome,” he said. “I will try contacting him again myself.”

 

Aoko pulled her phone out from her school bag, checking it for a message she hadn’t received. “You can try,” she said, “but that idiot’s phone has died, or something like that. Plus, none of my texts are going through.” 

 

“Is there any sort of error message? Such as one stating that your message has failed to send?”

 

“No,” Aoko sighed. “They’re just...pending. Oh, and it won’t even let me through to his voicemail any more, either.” She frowned at the phone, still dark in her hand. “But I managed to leave a voicemail on Saturday night, so I don’t know what’s up with that.”

 

“Strange indeed,” Hakuba murmured, standing as the classmate who’s seat he’d taken returned. He checked his pocket watch, then closed it with a metallic click, looking back at Aoko. “Well, it seems that the break is nearly over, Aoko-san. I hope you rest better tonight.”

 

“Thanks, Hakuba-kun. You too.”

 

“If it helps, I am beginning an investigation,” he said, sliding his watch back into his pocket. “Specifically, of the events that transpired on Saturday night. This will include the disappearance of Kuroba-kun. We will most definitely locate him. But…” He grinned a little, the first smile Aoko had seen on his face today. “Knowing Kuroba-kun, he’ll likely turn up by himself before we know it.”

 

Aoko huffed a small laugh in return. “That sounds like Kaito,” she agreed, waving to Hakuba as he returned to his seat, only for Akako to immediately sit on his desk like it was hers. Aoko dropped her hand as the two started arguing, and then quieted into low, secretive tones, their conversation continuing through the second period bell. When the teacher scolded the two of them, Akako flowed off Hakuba’s desk like a cat. She had the air that the teacher’s reprimands didn’t impact her at all, while Hakuba had turned pink.

 

Aoko turned her attention back to the front of the room, but her mind kept slipping back to Hakuba’s announcement. 

 

An investigation, huh? Maybe she should follow his lead.

 

---

 

There was a reason Aoko didn’t spend much time at the Tokyo Police HQ: the place was a zoo. Whenever she stepped a foot inside, she almost instantly felt overwhelmed by the shouting, and the people running back and forth, clutching files and paper cups of black coffee like their lives depended on them.

 

Her dad’s cell went to voicemail, so she approached the front desk. “Hi,” she said to the receptionist. “I’m Nakamori Aoko. I’m looking for my dad, Nakamori Ginzo?”

 

“Ah, in Division Two, right?” the young man asked, already reaching for his desk phone.

 

“Right.”

 

“Let me see where he’s at.” He dialed what Aoko presumed was an internal number, and after a short conversation, turned to Aoko. “He’s currently taking statements in room C,” he told her. “You could hang out in the waiting room down the hall until he’s out.”

 

“Okay, thank you!” Aoko replied, and the receptionist pointed out the way to her. The statement and waiting rooms were on the bottom floor, so Aoko was grateful that she at least didn’t need to navigate the upper levels of the zoo.

 

No sooner than Aoko opened the door to the waiting room and spotted an empty seat did she hear someone calling to her.

 

“Nakamori-san!” 

 

When she looked around the small room, filled with chairs and couches and people— - guards and guests from the heist, she supposed—she spotted Mouri Ran. Though they’d only met the once, she recognized the daughter of the Sleeping Kogoro. She was waving at Aoko, smiling.

 

Aoko was relieved to see a familiar face, and headed over. “Hi, Mouri-chan. Are you giving a statement about the heist?”

 

“Yes, Conan-kun and I both came,” she said. “I didn’t have much to say, but everyone who was at the gallery when the gem was stolen had to come in. Conan-kun, on the other hand, has been talking to the officers for almost half an hour now.” 

 

“I guess he saw more than anybody else,” Aoko said. “I mean… other than Kid, and the guy with the gun, I guess.”

 

Ran looked down, her face creased. “I hope Kid is alright. Conan-kun said he was shot.”

 

Aoko sat beside Ran on a small couch, pushed against the side wall of the waiting room. “Yeah, that’s what my dad said too. But he was wearing a bulletproof vest, right?”

 

“Right. Conan-kun saw that he was shot in the chest, but that he didn’t bleed, just got knocked back.”

 

They fell quiet. Looking at Ran, Aoko thought these were the kinds of silences the girl must be used to; her forehead was creased and her head bowed, but her eyes were clear and strong. Even her hands, resting in her lap, projected power, curled into capable fists. Aoko, on the other hand, was… soft. Strong, yes; and she had one hell of a swing, sure, but untrained, lacking discipline the way Ran projected.

 

She found herself speaking, quietly, as her thoughts continued. She didn’t mean to start, but once she began, she found that she needed to untangle her heart aloud.  “I’m no stranger to people dying,” she said. “My mom died when I was really little, and the dad of my childhood friend died a few years later, but… it was different.” 

 

From the corner of her vision, she saw Ran turn her head to give her her full attention, but Aoko couldn’t bring herself to tell this story to Ran’s face, so she kept her gaze down.

 

“My mom was sick, so we knew our time together was limited, and a few years later, Kaito’s dad died in an accident. It was sudden, but it was an accident.” She swallowed thickly. “I just…. I just can’t even stomach the thought that somebody tried to murder Kid, you know?” Her voice wavered on the last few words and she took a deep breath.

 

She was surprised when Ran reached into her field of view and gripped one of Aoko’s hands with both of hers, surprised enough that she met Ran’s eyes. They were watery, like Aoko’s, and that comforted Aoko greatly as she blinked rapidly at Ran.

 

Ran spoke softly. “I know what you mean.”

 

“Yeah?” Aoko asked.

 

“I’ve seen my fair share of murders,” Ran said. “Murder victims, and would-be murder victims, and would-be murders.” She was completely serious as she said it; Aoko had no doubt it was the truth. “And I still can’t stomach it.” She squeezed Aoko’s hand.

 

“It’s not dumb, is it?” Aoko asked with her still wobbly-voice. “Even though Kid is a criminal, that I don’t want him to… d-die?”

 

“Even murderers don’t deserve it,” Ran replied, her voice like steel. “Be it suicide or murder, they’re still human, and so is Kid. No human deserves a death like that.”

 

“You’re right,” Aoko said, and finally moved her hand to squeeze Ran’s back, the action making them both smile. Then, Aoko shook her head and pulled her hand away to scrub at her teary eyes. “Augh! What are you doing, Aoko?” To Ran, she said, “We’ve just met, I’m so sorry, I just unloaded a bunch of stuff on you with no warning!”

 

Ran laughed, a soft, kind laugh. “It’s okay, Nakamori-san,” she said. “Sometimes you need to talk. To be honest, I might need to talk, too.” Her next laugh was shakier than the first. “One of these days, I’m going to be completely over all the crime in my life!”

 

“It sounds like too much already,” Aoko commiserated. 

 

“Sometimes, I feel like there’s a new case happening around me every week, and usually that means somebody’s died,” Ran groaned, slumping back against the wall behind them. “I guess that’s good, since my dad needs the work and all, but seriously, why am I always involved?” She caught Aoko’s eye. “Tokyo dispatch knows me by my first name!”

 

Aoko gasped. “What?”

 

“ Yes ! Almost every dispatch officer. I’ll say, there’s been a murder at such-and-such location , and then say, thank you, Ran-san, we’ll send someone right away .” 

 

She laughed again, and Aoko was glad to hear that it’s more upbeat again. Aoko joined her, but not for very long.

 

“How do… how do you handle it, Mouri-chan?” She asked, tentative. “Seeing crime scenes? I…” Her voice faltered on her, but Ran just waited patiently, until Aoko managed to swallow and continue on. “I saw Kid falling. I was outside in the crowd during the heist, and I watched him fall until he vanished. And I… I can’t get it out of my head, you know? Even though I didn’t see anything much….”

 

“It is something much,” Ran refuted her immediately. “That’s awful, Nakamori-san. I’m sorry.”

 

Her face was genuinely concerned, upset. Aoko opened her mouth to say it’s okay , but the fact that it really wasn’t, at all, stopped her. So she just shrugged and rubbed at her eyes again, because they’d started to prickle again.

 

Ran thought for a moment, tapping a finger to her chin, before she answered Aoko’s actual question. “I talk about it,” she said eventually. “Talking with friends, you know, sometimes a therapist. It helps me process… well, the horrible things people do to each other. So you’ve got a good start.”

 

“You make it sound easy,” Aoko muttered, feeling a little bit reproachful. As if a conversation could scrub her mental replay clean and stop her imagination in its tracks—no matter how nice it was to know that Ran understood her.

 

“It’s not,” Ran replied, her tone dipping low. “But I’ve had years of practice now. It gets easier. And I won’t lie… the sheer amount of dangerous situations I’ve been in helps numb the grief a little. Like, at a certain point, some of my responses get shut off, at least for a while. So I can do what I have to in any given situation. Until later, of course, when I think about it all.”

 

“Now you make it sound like it doesn’t get any better!” Aoko complained, raising a hand to hit Ran’s shoulder, but stopping halfway, remembering that this wasn’t Kaito. Ran wasn’t somebody she could bat around like a cat with a toy. She pulled her hand back, abashed, and dipped her head. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Ran reassured her. “It does get better, but… to be fully honest… it also doesn’t. I’m sorry, that’s not very encouraging…”

 

Aoko sighed and slumped against the back of the couch like Ran. The two of them could be ice cream, melting in the sun. “No, no. I like when people tell it how it is. At least I’m prepared now, right?”

 

“Right,” Ran nodded. “And, one final thing—don’t be afraid to cry, okay? I always feel a lot better after I cry. Even though some thick-headed men think that it doesn’t help, it does.”

 

Now curious, Aoko asked another question. “And how does your dad handle it? He surely sees even more crime scenes than you do…”

 

“With willful ignorance, I guess,” Ran mused. Then, her face darkened. “That and alcohol.”

 

Aoko winced in sympathy at that one, but Ran went on before she could think of a reply that wasn’t too blunt or disparaging of her new friend’s father.

 

“But, Conan-kun… he doesn’t seem impacted by crime scenes, hardly ever. Not even the goriest ones.”

 

“What?” Aoko found herself gasping again. “He’s so young! How could he be used to it?” Another thought crossed her mind, and her face scrunched. “Hey, why does he see gory crime scenes? That’s not right!”

 

“I know!” Ran’s voice was full of passion in an instant, and she sat up ramrod straight as she spoke with her hands. “But he’s so uncontrollable and so slippery! I guess that’s what makes him good at Kid’s heists, but at a crime scene, you think you have your eye on him, but then he pops up right beside the officers, and...!” She trailed off in frustration, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “I swear, it’s like trying to hold onto water!”

 

A mental image suddenly struck Aoko: tiny Conan, with Kid’s tophat on, far too large, falling into his face as he frowned. She giggled. “You’re making him sound like a mini-Kid!”

 

“Oh no!” Ran’s hands covered her face. “That’s awful!”

 

Aoko’s face colored. “I didn’t mean—”

 

“He’d be way too good at it!” Ran exclaimed. “He’s small enough to get into vents or escape people’s notice because he’s so little! And, he always manages to see through Kid’s tricks, so if he was coming up with them—” Her face quickly transitioned to a look of horror, and suddenly she was looking at Aoko very seriously. “Nakamori-san, we can never let that happen!”

 

The girls caught eyes and fell into helpless giggles for a long minute. Once they’d calmed—and Ran was wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes—Aoko struggled to catch her breath. God, it felt good to laugh like that: fully, without restraint.

 

“Thank god Conan-kun’s got his mind set on being a detective,” Ran said, calming down, too. “Honestly, he looks up to Shinichi too much, but in this case, it’s probably the best we could hope for.” At Aoko’s questioning look, Ran provided the context. “Kudou Shinichi, my childhood friend. He’s a detective, but more like a detective obsessed geek, really. Sonoko thought your friend Kuroba-kun looks like him?”

 

“Ah!” The memory hit Aoko. “Wait, can I see a picture? I want to compare!”

 

They pulled out their phones and each found a picture of their respective friend. Holding the pictures side by side, Aoko saw the resemblance; though Kaito’s hair was curlier and messier and his face rounder than Kudou-kun, at first glance it wouldn’t be hard for somebody less familiar than either one to mistake them.

 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Aoko exclaimed. “They could be brothers!”

 

“Really?” Ran asked. “I mean, I see some resemblance, but… their eyes are totally different colors! Their jaw lines aren’t the same at all!”

 

“Yeah, but at first glance, you know? What if they stood next to each other? They could definitely be twins!”

 

“With Conan-kun as their little brother,” Ran mused, minimizing the picture of Kudou-kun and pulling up a recent one of her hugging a red-faced Conan. “See? If he wore contacts, he’d basically be a mini-Shinichi.”

 

“Or a mini-Kaito, you’re right!” Aoko giggled. “I bet Conan-kun is gonna look just like their third twin in ten years.”

 

“I don’t think the world can handle a second Shinichi,” Ran replied.

 

“...or a second Kaito, in fact,” Aoko agreed. 

 

“Right? One is enough!”

 

Aoko found that the topic of Kaito, while fun momentarily, only reminded her that she hadn’t heard from him in… what, nearly forty-eight hours now? Actually, had she ever gotten radio silence from Kaito for that long before?

 

She swiped to open her text history with him. It was the same as before: nothing had been delivered. Anxiety settled over her, but with such a steady force that she realized it had never left her in the first place; she’d only managed to distract herself from it for a while.

 

“Just one Kaito is enough, too,” she mumbled. “But right now, I’d take one over zero. Geeze, that magic otaku. He disappeared during the heist, you know? I haven’t heard from him since.”

 

Ran’s face creased, back to the look of concern she’d worn at the start of their conversation. “That’s not good,” she said.

 

“Yeah… I’m gonna talk to my dad about it whenever he gets a break tonight,” she sighed, and went on. “It’s just not like him. And my texts won’t go through. Maybe he broke his phone?” The excuse was weak even to her ears, but she could hope. “And then got a cold and stayed out from school today…”

 

“This sounds eerily like my own life,” Ran muttered.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, well…” Ran winced. “Something similar happened with Shinichi, umm… about eight months ago? Nine? He just… vanished. I had this awful feeling I’d never see him again.” Noticing the look of horror dawning on Aoko’s face, Ran stumbled to go on, “But it wasn’t true! Turned out he got stuck on a really tough case. For Kuroba-kun, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, too.”

 

Aoko nodded. Maybe Kaito had slipped inside the Midtown Tower to witness Kid’s magic firsthand, or… got caught up in one of those traps Kid always set for the task force, or…. Aoko bit her lip.

 

“For some reason, I just can’t think of an explanation that doesn’t go back to Kid,” she said. “It was a Kid heist, I mean… you know? And that Bakaito is too interested in magic for his own good.”

 

Ran was quiet for a long moment, and Aoko was as well. “Let me know what happens,” Ran said, finally. “You still have my number, right?”

 

“Right,” Aoko mumbled, fiddling with her phone to check as another wave of embarrassment washed over her. Ran had said it was fine to talk like this, and it did make her feel better, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being a bit… much. And not in the fun, lovable way that Kaito always managed to be a bit much. Just… a bit much.

 

With her eyes on her phone, she heard Ran exclaim, “Conan-kun!” 

 

The young boy was standing in front of them when she glanced up, with a drawn, serious expression that his childish face was far too young for.

 

“How long have you been here?” Ran wondered, standing and brushing off her jeans. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, I’m sorry!”

 

“It’s okay,” Conan replied softly. “I just finished talking to the inspectors.” He looked at Aoko, his gaze… absolutely unreadable to Aoko, in fact. “Kaito-niisan is missing?” he asked.

 

“Y...yeah,” Aoko replied, “more or less… Well, he’s probably just playing some big prank, that jerk.” She scowled. “I bet he’s laughing at how worried I am right now!”

 

“We’ll find him,” Conan said. His voice was insistent, serious. “We’ll find Kaito-niisan, so don’t worry, okay?”

 

At loss for how to respond to the young boy’s note of resolve - so unlike the sharp grin and bright laughter she’d seen from him at the heists where they’d met—Aoko just nodded. “Thanks, Conan-kun,” she said.

 

The boy brightened. “You’re welcome, Aoko-neechan!” He grabbed Ran’s hand. “C’mon, Ran-neechan, let’s go home and make dinner!”

 

“Nakamori-san, call me any time,” Ran said to Aoko, even as Conan tugged impatiently at her hand. “It doesn’t have to be about serious stuff, okay? Let’s hang out and have a girl’s night!” 

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Aoko said. “Thanks, Mouri-chan.”

 

Without a moment’s consideration, Ran pulled away from Conan’s hand and leaned down to hug Aoko.

 

Though surprised, Aoko wrapped her arms around Ran and hugged her back, squeezing her eyes tightly. The girl’s arms were strong and thick, and even though the hug was brief, Aoko found herself feeling immensely protected by her strength—the fact she could probably punch a guy’s lights out, yeah, but her internal strength as well. The way she’d spoken about the things she’d gone through, and how she dealt with them, and the fact that she came out so kind on the other end—Aoko admired it. As Ran pulled away, Aoko’s eyes were watering again.

 

They said their goodbyes and as Ran and Conan left, Aoko rubbed her eyes, a few tears escaping and rolling down her cheeks. This time, she found she wasn’t frustrated at herself for crying, but instead felt sated, marginally better. Maybe crying did help, like Ran had said earlier, like releasing some of the air pressure before it became too much. Ruptured a hole in her.

 

But she didn’t have long to ruminate on that, as her dad found her within the next few moments, as he stepped into the waiting room. He looked exhausted, with dark lines under his eyes and his movements slow. She leapt up and caught him before he could do anything beyond sweeping his gaze through the numerous people milling around the room.

 

“Aoko?” he asked, squinting at her. “What are you doing here?”

 

“What are you doing here?” She fired back, frustration suddenly lighting inside her. “You’ve been here all day , you should be coming home and going to bed! Have you even had anything to eat today?”

 

As her voice raised, a few heads turned in their direction, and her dad looked properly chastised. “The day’s almost done,” he replied, gruffly. “And I guess… I could use a break…”

 

“Good,” Aoko replied, and dragged him out of the waiting room. Once outside, she wasn’t sure where to go, so with a tired sigh, her father led them to the officer’s lounge, where he fixed them both tea in styrofoam cups and they sat at a rickety table.

 

She took her first sip of tea, taking a moment to gather herself, and her thoughts. 

 

“What’s wrong, Aoko?” her dad asked, sitting across from her. Well, sitting was one word, and slumping was another. “You don’t normally come by the HQ.”

 

She sipped her tea for lack of anything else to do. “Otou-san,” she said. “I’m worried about Kaito.”

 

“About Kaito-kun?”

 

She nodded. “I haven’t been able to get in contact with him since before the heist on Saturday night,” she said, and she couldn’t keep the misery out of her voice, not in front of her dad.

 

“ Shit ,” her dad cussed. His voice was low, but Aoko still heard it.

 

“Otou-san, language!” She snapped, more out of habit than anything else; her dad’s reflexive apology was much the same. Instead of dwelling, though, she was spurred on by some cocktail of encouragement from Ran’s words, from Hakuba’s determination to investigate. “It’s gotta be related to what happened to Kid. I can’t see any other way around it.”

 

Her dad frowned, scrubbing a hand over his jaw roughly. He needed a shave, approximately yesterday. “I don’t think we can determine that yet, but… it’s not impossible, but we’ve still got officers interrogating the shooters. So far, none of them seem to care about anything other than Kid, and the gem he stole—the Eclipse Tear . Apparently, both parties have been searching for that damned thing for years.”

 

“What’s so special about it?”

 

“Dunno yet. They’re pretty close-lipped.”

 

Aoko chewed nervously on the edge of her styrofoam cup. “What if Kaito saw something he shouldn’t have?” she wondered. “We got separated in the crowd before the heist even started. What if he went inside?”

 

“He wasn’t in the gallery. I would know.”

 

“What about the rest of the building?”

 

Her dad clicked his tongue. “We had guards at every ground floor and underground entrance, even if it was locked,” he said.

 

“But we weren’t in the crowd on the ground,” Aoko said, her voice pitching up. “We were out on the fourth floor bridge. What about those doors? Did they have guards?”

 

Her dad’s answer is slower than before. “...No, I don’t think they did.”

 

“So he could’ve gotten back inside!” She stood, leveling a finger at her dad. “Have somebody search the building again! What if he went in, where did he go? What if he’s still there? What if—”

 

“Aoko, Aoko,” her dad cut her off, “calm down. I’ll send a team to comb the building for anything we missed, but in the meantime…” 

 

His expression was drawn and heavy. Looking at him, Aoko took a deep breath and sat back down.

 

“What, otou-san?”

 

“I think we need to file a missing person’s report.”

 

---

 

Chapter 4: The Enigma

---

 

“Please hold while I put you through.”

 

There was a click, and then silence. Maes waited, leaning against the partition that separated each of the military phones along the wall. He’d just pulled out a photo of Elicia to coo over when Roy picked up.

 

“Colonel Roy Mustang speaking,” he said primly.

 

“Yo, Roy!” Maes replied. “Don’t be so formal, it’s just me!”

 

“This is a military line, Lt. Colonel Hughes,” Roy said. 

 

Maes laughed. He could imagine Roy was grinding his teeth. “Does that mean I can’t tell you about Elicia’s birthday? It’s in a week, you know! She’ll be three! Can you believe it? It feels like just yesterday she was—”

 

“I’m at work. I don’t have time to listen to you brag about your daughter.”

 

Maes sighed, exaggeratedly, and set the photo of Elicia against the phone, leaning on the partition board. She grinned back at him, arms spread wide, inviting a hug. “You never want to hear about my beautiful daughter! You wound me!”

 

“I never want to listen on the military line , Maes,” Roy said. “It’s for work calls.”

 

“But it fills the empty black hole of your heart, doesn’t it? You need some company! Why don’t you come up to Central for Elicia’s birthday? There will be cake!”

 

“I’m hanging up on you,” Roy threatened.

 

“Alright, spoil-sport,” Maes said. “But I’m serious—you should come to Central.”

 

“I can’t take time off work whenever I feel like it,” Roy muttered. 

 

Maes got the distinct feeling that Lt. Hawkeye was watching over Roy like her namesake as they talked, and with a grin, he relented and changed the topic.

 

“I heard there was another Scar incident near Eastern Command.”

 

“Yes, an explosion at Marl River. We found his yellow jacket, but haven’t been able to confirm him as one of the dead. Seeing as the explosion was in the sewers, an unfortunate number of homeless people were caught in the blast. The corpses have decomposed too much to identify.”

 

“Hm, is that so?”

 

“Yes, but there haven’t been any further sightings. He’s either dead, badly injured, or long gone from the East.”

 

“We’ll have to stay alert, then. You know, we’ve had our share of strange incidents here in Central as well.”

 

“Really,” Roy said. Maes heard the shuffling of paper on the other end of the line. “I haven’t had the spare time to read the Central papers this week.”

 

“I think this will interest you,” Maes said. “It hasn’t been greatly publicized. Two days ago, there was an alchemy incident on a main road, late at night.”

 

“I suppose that’s when they typically happen,” Roy replied, dryly. “Get to the point.”

 

“This particular incident,” Maes said, the drawing the sentence out with a grin, much like dangling a piece of meat just outside the reach of a dog, “was caused by a young Xingan man.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“He claims that he was in Xing when this incident occurred.”

 

“Why have you insisted on calling me about someone who seems to be a chronic liar?” Roy sighed.

 

“Because I don’t think he’s lying,” Maes said. “It appears he was involved in some sort of Xingan transportation alchemy, based on the eyewitness accounts. Empty street one minute, young man crashing out of the sky the next.”

 

“Maes, please get to the point,” Roy said. He sounded a bit like a man drowning, and Maes laughed, before changing his tone in an instant, sobering.

 

“There’s a few other strange things about him. For instance, when he woke up, the nurses and doctors claimed he didn’t speak a word of Amestrian. But when I spoke with him this morning, he was nearly fluent. He was even reading the morning newspaper. On top of that, there were clear bullet holes in his shirt and jacket when he was admitted, but the holes have since vanished from the shirt—my wager is on simple alchemy, but he refused to demonstrate even a basic transmutation for me.”

 

“Interesting,” Roy muttered, scribbling away on a paper; Maes could hear the pen. He could also hear that Roy was intrigued, even if he was trying to conceal it with his tone. “So, he’s been treated for gunshot wounds?”

 

“Nope!” Maes amped up the cheer. “Well, aside from a graze on his leg, he’s being treated primarily for head injury and blunt force trauma to his chest.”

 

There was silence on Roy’s end. “So what about the bullet holes in his shirt?”

 

“He was wearing some kind of protective gear beneath it—something strong enough to prevent a bullet from passing into his chest.”

 

“What kind of material could do that without completely negating his mobility?” Roy wondered, the question more hypothetical than anything.

 

“We’re wondering the same thing, which is why it’s currently being examined by a small team, as are several other strange possessions he had on him at the time of the incident,” Maes replied. “As for the boy himself, I’ve taken it upon myself to supervise him further.”

 

“You think he made the bullet-resistant material?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Maes said. He paused, teasing out the information one last time, knowing he would have to savor Roy’s reaction. “But he does know something about the Philosopher's Stone, and I’d like to find out what.”

 

Maes could practically hear the wicked grin that spread across Roy’s face. “Well. Things have gotten interesting, haven’t they?”

 

“Indeed,” Maes replied, cheerful once more. “The boy calls himself Kaitou , by the way. He seems to speak a rare Xingan dialect, so you may have better luck with this than myself, but I think the name means something along the lines of ‘spectre’. If nothing else, it’s certainly poetic.”

 

“It more closely translates to ‘phantom’,” Roy replied after pausing to think. “If I’m right, it’s not a name, but a title that also has implications of thievery. I don’t think it’s a given name of any kind, but I could be wrong. More likely, he chose it.”

 

Maes laughed. “So he’s landed in Central and declared his intent to rob us dry?”

 

“Quite bold, if so,” Roy said. “I think he’d get along well with Fullmetal.”

 

“Oh, I agree! That’s why I’m going to be putting him up with Ed and Al for a bit!”

 

“Wait, what? Fullmetal is currently under threat from a serial killer , Maes. I don’t think we should add a Xingan with potentially sticky fingers to that situation.”

 

“He’s being escorted by Major Armstrong’s men, they’re very capable, don’t worry!” Maes flapped a hand to dispel Roy’s frustration, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, Kaitou might open up to Ed. They’re around the same age!”

 

Roy grit his teeth again. “I’ve just about had it with genius teenage alchemists,” he muttered. “A genius teenage alkahestrist doesn’t sound any better…”

 

“So,” Maes chirped, picking up Elicia’s photo from where it leaned against the phone. “What do you say about coming to Elicia’s birthday party this weekend?”

 

“I… suppose I can make the time,” Roy said slowly. “After all, it’s possible Scar has returned to Central, and Kaitou seems worth investigating as well.”

 

“Hooray!” Maes cheered, slipping the photo of Elicia back into his pocket. “Elicia will be so excited to see her Uncle Roy again!”

 

“Yeah,” Roy said. “I guess it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

“Say, what do you know about Xingan alchemy?”

 

Roy spoke for a while about what he knew, but it wasn’t much; it was focused on different uses, and utilized a different source, but beyond that, Maes didn’t have the alchemical knowledge, and Roy didn’t have the time to delve deeper, as they spoke until Riza became a true threat to Roy’s livelihood, at which point he hung up on Maes rather abruptly.

 

Maes whistled as he strolled towards his office, hands in his pockets. It felt good to work things out the way you wanted them. But speaking of which, he’d yet to speak to Ed and Al; last he’d seen them, they’d just set into Marcoh’s notes, searching for the truth within: the secret to the Philosopher's Stone.

 

Without any further consideration, he turned away from his office door and headed instead to where the boys were studying elsewhere in Central Command. With a nod to 2nd Lt. Ross and Sgt. Brosh outside, he swung the door open and greeted the boys with a bright wave. 

 

“Yo, Ed, Al! I’m back!”

 

Ed and Al barely looked up when Maes barged into their study room. Ed was practically laying on his notes and open books, while Al sat beside him, squinting—as well a suit of armor could—at a particularly thick tome. He turned a page, looking almost listless.

 

“Hey, Lt. Colonel Hughes,” Ed greeted in a monotone.

 

“Good afternoon,” Al said, sounding only marginally more alive.

 

“What’s with the doom and gloom?” Maes asked, dropping into the empty chair across from the brothers. “You were much more cheerful a few days ago!”

 

“We’ve hit a bit of a wall since then,” Ed groaned, sitting up and rubbing a hand vigorously through his hair.

 

“That bad, huh?” Maes observed. It certainly seemed that way; even the floor was littered with loose and crumbled pages. Ed’s face was lined, betraying a serious lack of sleep. “I think what you boys need is a break.”

 

“A break?” Ed practically yelped, grabbing his head with both hands now. “But we’re so close, damn it! We can’t take a break!”

 

“...a break might be nice, actually,” Al said, tentatively.

 

Maes nodded very seriously. “Right, right! Besides, you can’t do any problem solving on an empty stomach. I’ll treat you boys to lunch.”

 

As if on cue, Ed’s stomach rumbled, and he scowled deeply, even as Al laughed. 

 

“Alright, that settles it!” Maes hopped to his feet. “Up you get, both of you. Sgt. Brosh will make sure nobody disturbs your work,” nevermind the fact the room was already looking like a tornado had passed through, “and Lt. Ross will come with us to lunch. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

 

Ed moaned a bit more, but Al marked his place and closed his book. Maes was pleased to note that Ed didn’t actually drag his feet once he was up, swinging his red coat over his shoulders and sticking his hands in his pockets with all the energy of a teenager promised free food. Well, Hughes supposed the road to a teen’s heart was always through the stomach. Especially when an adult was footing the bill.

 

The Elrics’ escorts saluted as he came back out of the room, but Maes waved them off and informed them of the plan for lunch. “Don’t worry, Sgt. Brosh! I’ll treat you to lunch next time.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that, sir,” Brosh replied, and Maes gave him a casual two-finger wave as the rest of them peeled off. 

 

They decided on a small restaurant a few minutes’ walk from the base, and set out. Hughes, Ed and Al walked in a loose knot with Lt. Ross several steps behind, her gaze on a slow swivel which picked up as they hit the street. Maes kept up a steady stream of commentary about Elicia and her upcoming birthday, complete with photographs, which Ed and Al made all the appropriate (and very genuine) smiles and aww sounds about. Roy could stand to take a few notes from them, in fact, and Maes told the boys as much.

 

“He never appreciates my beautiful daughter,” he lamented. “And when will he have one of his own, huh? Elicia will be too old for them to play together, since he’s taking his slow sweet time!”

 

“I’d actually rather he didn’t,” Ed commented dryly. “A mini-Mustang…” Ed shuddered dramatically.

 

“I thought you might like the idea, Brother,” Al said, a trace of laughter in his voice. “At least it would take his attention off of nagging you all the time.”

 

“I guess you have a point there, Al...” Ed thought for a moment. “But still! I don’t think it would be worth it. Not just for me, Al, but for the world ! Think of everyone else!”

 

The restaurant they’d chosen was a cozy one, right off the street. It was lit by large windows and decorated with green plants. Best of all, it was a place safe from prying ears; like the seedy bars in Central’s underbelly, everyone at an airy restaurant was far too absorbed in their own personal matters to keep an ear—or eye—on anyone else’s, especially when those wore the blue military uniform that signaled they could take care of anybody who overstepped.

 

Lt. Ross opted to keep watch near the front, and Maes promised they’d order her a sandwich to take back to base; after all, he’d invited her to eat, too. Once that matter was settled, Maes, Ed, and Al were seated along a wall and each given a menu.

 

Ed had barely glanced at his, before ordering enough food to feed a man about three times his size. Maes went much more conservative, and ordered a light summer soup. Al declined to order anything, much to the surprise of their waitress. 

 

Once she had gone, Ed reclined in his chair to the point that its front two legs lifted off the floor (pointedly ignoring Al’s scolding that sitting that way wasn’t polite), he called Maes out. “While I appreciate the lunch, why did you really drag us away from the Command Center?”

 

“Must I always have an ulterior motive to spend time with you, Ed?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You wound me!”

 

“You don’t have to,” Al soothed. “It’s just that… you usually seem to.”

 

Maes lifted a hand to his heart and feigned pain. “So harsh!” But he quickly dropped the act in favor of propping both elbows on the table and resting his chin on the backs of his hands. “But quite astute. There is something I wanted to bring to your attention. Have you heard of the alchemy incident that occured last weekend?”

 

“Ah, I saw something about it,” Ed said. “Not much, though. One person injured, did a lot of property damage.” He and Al shared a glance, and Ed dropped all four chair legs to the floor to lean in, lowering his voice. “You don’t think it’s related to Scar, do you?”

 

“Probably not,” Maes replied, “but it’s still strange. Have you ever heard of transportation alchemy?”

 

Ed considered the question, a thoughtful look of concentration resting on his face, a common expression he had when turning over a complex alchemy problem. “I don’t think so,” he said.

 

“Transportation of what specifically?” Al asked. “And if we’re just talking about theory, I’m sure it could be done with non-organic components, such as wood or stone.”

 

Ed nodded. “Yeah, you’d probably need two matrixes, likely on the same surface, say, along the same wall. It’s already possible to send transmutic reactions through a surface—you know, like sending up spikes four meters away, stuff like that, but—”

 

“In this case,” Maes said, cutting off the conversation before it could become a landslide, “I mean the transportation of a person.”

 

Ed’s expression darkened and he crossed his arms. “That would have to be human transmutation,” he said. “To deconstruct a person at a molecular level and transport those elements elsewhere and reconstruct them… not impossible, sure, but dangerous. Stupid. Especially when you consider the soul...”

 

“It would be extremely risky,” Al said. “Whoever did it would likely shorten their life, if not pay a physical toll of some kind.”

 

Like we did . The rest went unsaid.

 

“Yeah,” Ed said. “Bad shit. I wouldn’t mess with it.”

 

Maes nodded, thoughtful. Kaitou had seemed to be in one piece, relatively speaking; sure, he’d cracked a few ribs and split his head open, but there had been nothing about his injuries that his doctor hadn’t been able to explain with the kid’s extremely rough crash-and-roll into a Central City avenue. Well, the bullet wounds were another story, but not one of alchemy, that much Maes was certain.

 

“How is that related to the accident last weekend?” Al asked.

 

“It may be the root cause,” Maes said. “At least, according to the boy who’s at the center of it.”

 

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Ed muttered.

 

Al, however, picked up on something else. His glowing eyes shifted from his brother to Maes. “A boy?”

 

“Yup,” Maes popped the word cheerfully. “Not much older than you two, apparently. And aside from a few impact injuries, he doesn’t seem to be missing any vital parts.”

 

“Really? He’s got two hands? Two feet?” Ed asked. “A head?”

 

“As far as I could tell, everything’s there,” Maes said.

 

“How?” Al asked softly. “Did he use a Philosopher’s Stone, or is Xingan alchemy just that different?”

 

“I’ve no idea, but he seems to know a thing or two about the Philosopher’s stone. All he’s told me so far are Xingan myths, but he does appear to have a personal connection.” When Ed pushed further on the question of myths, Hughes told him what he knew from Kaitou as Al took notes—rumours of immortality under rare conditions. 

 

“What, that’s it?” Ed asked. “Bullshit, I could have assumed as much since the Stones prevent rebounds in human transmutation. You could do practically anything..”

 

“I wonder what conditions he was referring to, though,” Al said, tapping the end of his pen on his open notebook.

 

“Didn’t say,” Hughes shrugged. “I did try to get it out of him after a while, but he decided to clam up.”

 

Their conversation paused as their plates were delivered, Al politely declining when the waitress asked a second time if he’d like to order. Ed immediately stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. 

 

“Personally, I think he knows a lot more than he’s letting on,” Hughes said.

 

“What if he knows something about the Philosopher’s Stones that Marcoh didn’t?” Al asked.

 

“Marcoh spent years researching the Stone specifically,” Ed refuted him immediately. “What could some kid from Xing know that he doesn’t?”

 

Maes could see that Ed was trying to convince himself as much as he was Al, but to smooth the way, he said, “If nothing else, he knows about Xingan alchemy. Apparently it’s different from the alchemy here in Amestris—Roy says it’s normally focused on healing and medicine, but if this kid is managing to transport himself between countries, it seems like there might be more than meets the eye.” 

 

“Huh,” Ed said through another mouthful of food. “I can tell you’re trying to sell us on something here, Lt. Colonel.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Maes admitted.

 

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Ed pressed, his serious question and mood dampened by the way his cheeks were full of food.

 

“It’s always safer to assume so,” Maes said, stirring some pepper into his soup before testing a sip. “But at the moment, there’s too many factors to say for sure. At the very least, he’s lost a lot of mobility due to his injuries. 

 

“So probably not a huge threat right now,” Ed said. “But still. I wonder what he knows…” Ed shook his head. “What’s this bastard’s name, anyway?” 

 

“That,” Maes replied with a tight grin, “is an excellent question. He calls himself Kaitou . I doubt that’s his real name. It seems to be a Xingan word, something like ‘spectre of thievery’.”

 

“Maybe it’s a chosen name, or a title,” Al said, “like the State Alchemists have here. Maybe Xingan alchemists get something similar?”

 

Maes shook his head slightly. “I don’t know of any system like that, though I suppose it’s not impossible. We don’t have as extensive a knowledge of Xing, compared to the countries that border us.”

 

“I guess that big ass desert is to thank for that,” Ed observed dryly.

 

“Indeed,” Maes agreed. “I’ve done some research on Xing in my spare time, but there are fifty distinct clans in Xing, and possibly other regions or groups on the fringes of their society—too much to research everything quickly. Even his chosen name merits some more research. I’m also not sure what region his dialect fits into...”

 

“Cut to the chase,” Ed broke in. “What’re you sellin’ us, specifically?”

 

Maes tapped his spoon on his bowl, considering the two boys in front of them, then broke into a grin. “How’d you like to make a new friend? He’s being discharged in the next day or two.”

 

“I’m not gonna play nice with some reckless, self-absorbed bastard just because you asked us to,” Ed immediately started. “You just admitted it yourself that you don’t know whether he’s dangerous or not!”

 

“Here I thought you could handle a dangerous person or two,” Maes replied.

 

Ed scowled. “Yeah, but—”

 

“Brother,” Al interrupted, “what if he knows something about the Philosopher's Stone?”

“We already have Marcoh’s notes. We’re so close to deciphering them, Al! We don’t need this Kaitou bastard.”

 

“And what if we can’t figure out Marcoh’s notes?”

 

“We can ! We’re just one or two steps away from the sun symbol’s implications—”

 

“Sure, the timing isn’t ideal, but we could still learn something from him,”

 

“ Geeze , Al, don’t we have enough on our plates already?”

 

Maes couldn’t help but crack a grin as the brothers went back and forth. He wasn’t worried that they would refuse, in the end; after all, they were nothing if not curious.

 

He could relate to the two of them that way. Curiosity had brought Maes to his job in Intelligence; that bone-deep need for knowledge and information was required of someone in his position. But the Elrics’ determination was certainly unmatched by anybody Maes knew—excluding Roy, of course, that smug outlier—and that combined with their quick-witted ribbing of one another (which their argument quickly deteriorated into) made for an entertaining show over lunch.

 

Their plates were nearly empty by the time Ed threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “Alright, alright! We’ll meet with him, but just once, and he can’t get in the way of our work, either. Happy?” He shot Maes a glare that was more bark than bite. 

 

“Very!” Maes replied, and flagged down the waitress to pay. “I think you’ll be fast friends!”

 

“Yeah,” Ed snorted, pushing his chair back from the table. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

 

---

 

Much to the annoyance of his team, Maes spent the next day and a half before Kaitou’s discharge attempting to deepen his knowledge of Xing, instead of assisting with the re-sorting and use of Sheska’s copies of criminal records that were lost in the fire at the First Branch Library’s.

 

Unfortunately, the burning of the First Branch hadn’t just taken Marcoh’s coded notes and the criminal records, but a huge cache of history books as well. Though Sheska had read and remembered everything, there was only so much overtime Maes could give her before she crashed. While Maes wished he could divert her attention to Xingan history for at least a few hours, he did have a job, and a team, and therefore, a need to prioritize the records.

 

So he lacked resources, but beyond that, researching Xing was a frustrating process simply because of the fact that if Amestris wasn’t at war with any given country, information about them was scarce, and what was available was blatant propaganda.

 

Amestris certainly had clear priorities.

 

The Xingan history books he unearthed in the Second Library were so scant on information that Hughes already knew more than them, thanks to Roy. Kaitou had been notably close-lipped about his origins; combined with the lackluster history books, Maes had to put aside the hope of figuring out what region he was from, at least for the time being.

 

His next leads—Xingan myths and mythology—was just as infuriating to research; maybe Roy’s aunt would be helpful on that front. After all, she’d spent her childhood in Xing alongside Roy’s father. Maybe she’d grown up with some stories. 

 

He made a mental note to contact her and moved on to his last area of interest. He’d heard that morning that Kaitou was being discharged in the early afternoon, and didn’t want to come out on the other side of three days of research with nothing to show for his efforts. So it was with a single-minded focus that he searched for information on the Xingan branch of alchemy known as alkahestry.

 

Just before he was due to head to the hospital for Kaitou’s discharge, Maes finally found his goldmine: a tiny book that seemed to be handbound. It had been tucked behind several other books, hidden in a corner of the Second Library, all but forgotten. Its cover was titled with embossed lettering: Understanding Alkahestry .

 

He flipped a few pages. The book was promising, even sporting hand-written notes on the margins of some pages. He could only hope that the information within would be useful to him; but if it wasn’t, Roy would be in town very soon.

 

So it was with the small book tucked under his arm and a grin on his face that he left the library and headed to his office.

 

Sheska was at her desk when he arrived, diligently penning out a record. Maes could swear he’d never seen a pen move so fast; even Roy’s furious scribbling seemed like a snail’s pace by comparison. She glanced up when he entered, her pace faltering as she tried to sit up straight. “Lt. Colonel Hughes!” she said.

 

Maes waved her off. “No need to stop what you’re doing,” he said. “I’m just stopping by before that Kaitou kid gets discharged.”

 

“Oh, I see,” she said. She didn’t bend back over her desk, however; instead she said, “Mrs. Hughes came while you were at the Second Library.”

 

“Oh!” Maes perked at the idea, cupping his face in his hands. “So you’ve met my lovely Gracia, haven’t you? She’s beautiful isn’t she? And our daughter Elicia looks just like her!”

 

Sheska blushed. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “She’s very beautiful! A-anyway, she dropped off that bag.” She pointed to Maes’ desk.

 

“Ah, thank you, Sheska!” Maes moved over to the bag and found that it contained exactly what he’d anticipated: a fresh set of clothing and a new pair of shoes for the mysterious Kaitou. After checking its contents, he locked the alkahestry book into a drawer and tossed the bag over his shoulder.

 

He waved enthusiastically to Sheska on his way out. “Next time, I’ll show you some pictures of Elicia!”

 

He reached the hospital only a few minutes after leaving his office; it was a only a brisk walk away from his building, a fact he’d already exploited multiple times over the years of being stationed in Central. At the hospital, the nurses waved him on to Kaitou’s room, and once upstairs, he barely paused after knocking.

 

“Yo!” he called out, his traditional, cheerful greeting. “Kaitou!”

 

The kid in question was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, stretching his arms. He looked marginally better than the last time Maes had seen him; the bruises on his face and arms were fading, and he looked like he’d rested more, even if not completely. Presumably, the boy had also showered; his hair looked clean, though he hadn’t attempted to fix his bedhead. Maes noted that he still wore his blue button-down over the hospital gown, but two mint-green hospital slippers had been added to the ensemble, implying that the kid had gained some degree of mobility over the last few days.

 

“Hey, Hughes-san!” Kaitou replied, matching Maes’ cheer. “Long time no see!”

 

He didn’t seem too surprised to see him, Maes noted; he spared a moment to wonder if that nurse who’d been friendly with him had tipped him off to his arrival as she had last time, but brushed the matter aside. “I come bearing presents!”

 

“Oh, presents!” Kaitou clapped. “What’ve you got for me?”

 

“See for yourself,” Maes replied. In one deft movement, he’d slipped the shoulder bag from Gracia off and tossed it to the kid, who caught it with more ease than Maes anticipated, based on the extensive chest injuries he’d sustained. 

 

Kaitou clicked the bags’ clasps open, then pulled out a pair of black pants. “Oooh,” he said, then pulled out a lightweight jacket next. “These are very nice!” Next, he pulled out a pair of underwear, and Maes laughed at the obvious look of relief that poured over the kid’s face. “Oh, thank god!”

 

“You’ve my wife Gracia to thank, not god,” Maes replied. The visitor’s chair was already near the bed, so he sat down without having to pull it over from the opposite wall. “She made an emergency shopping trip, just for you.”

 

“Tell your wife she is like a goddess to me,” Kaitou said, fervently, clutching the underwear to his chest. “I highly dislike military-issue hospital underwear.”

 

“I haven’t enjoyed it, either,” Maes agreed, laughing again.

 

Kaitou pulled out and examined a pair of socks and the set of black, practical shoes as well which he leaned over to try on, wincing as he did so. Maes imagined that the strain on his ribs wasn’t making the movement easy, but wasn’t sure an offer to help would be appreciated.

 

“She had to guess on your shoe size,” Maes said. “We can exchange them later today if they don’t fit.”

 

“These are okay,” Kaitou replied, straightening up and turning his foot a bit, side to side. “A little big, but not worth exchanging. Better than slippers for going outside.”

 

“You can keep the bag, too,” Maes said. “Better than something hospital-issue for your belongings.”

 

A thoughtful look crossed Kaitou’s face, and he pointed at the drawer in his bedside table. “Speaking of belongings,” he said, “I was not given back everything I had before.”

 

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid a few things have been… confiscated.”

 

“Why?” Kaitou demanded.

 

“Because you had a gun , Kaitou,” Maes replied, plainly.

 

“It doesn’t shoot bullets!” Kaitou threw his hands in the air. “It is a card gun!”

 

“And what does a card gun do?”

 

“It shoots cards,” Kaitou replied. He brought his hands back down, pouting now. “It isn’t deadly. That is exactly why I like it.”

 

“And why should we let a sixteen year old keep any sort of gun in the hospital?” Maes asked. Despite his leading and serious questions, their banter felt jovial; Maes was grinning, and Kaitou’s pout was just on the right side of exaggerated. 

 

“Because it’s not a real gun,” Kaitou insisted. “It doesn’t even use gunpowder.”

 

“A gun is a gun, and even though we allowed you to keep the handcuff off, you’re still under military supervision,” Maes replied. “Same goes for your discharge today; I’m placing you under the supervision of a State Alchemist.”

 

“I remember,” Kaitou sulked, shoulders drawn in. “When will I get my items back?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Maes replied, honestly. Then, feeling a bit bad for the kid, he went on. “I’ll see what I can do about your other things, but the gun and the vest likely won’t be returned for a while, if ever, to be honest.”

Kaitou sighed. “Alright. Thanks.”

 

“No problem. I’ll go talk to someone about it now, so you can get ready to go.”

 

In the hall, Maes tracked down Kaitou’s nurse—Sarah, that was her name. He’d spoken to her about Kaitou before, before he’d first spoken to the kid himself, but he had a few more questions for her. As it happened, she was at the nurses’ station on the center of the floor, filling in some of Kaitou’s discharge paperwork. She noticed him as he approached.

 

“Hi, Lt. Colonel,” she said. “Here to see Kaitou, I assume?”

 

“You assume correctly,” Maes agreed, easily. “I just spoke to him, in fact. He’s gotten very good at Amestrian, hasn’t he?”

 

Sarah shook her head. “It’s totally astounding,” she said. “Not even babies absorb language like that.”

 

Maes scrubbed a hand over his chin, thinking. “I suppose it isn’t impossible for adults,” he said. “I’ve got someone with a photographic memory on my team, after all. And I think Fullmetal and his little brother speak for themselves in terms of child geniuses.” 

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard plenty about those two,” Sarah agreed. “But talking to Kaitou now makes it seem silly we were ever communicating with clipboards and pantomiming.”

 

“Is that so? You spelled words out for him, is that right?”

 

“Yeah, it seemed like he could already read Amestrian.” She tapped her pencap against her lips, thinking. “Or at the very least, he knew what sounds the letters made, for the most part. He sounded out my name without any issue.”

 

“Interesting,” Maes said. “He did say he knows a similar language.”

 

Sarah nodded and looked down at her papers, then back up at Maes. “What are you doing with him now?” she asked.

 

“Well, he’ll be under Fullmetal’s supervision for a while, and after that, I’m not sure,” Maes told her. “To be completely honest with you, I think it depends on what we can turn up on our end about whatever alchemy he’s been playing with. It’s pretty dangerous stuff.”

“Yeah, it broke three of his ribs and nearly cracked his head open,” Sarah said, voice dry. “I’d consider that risky at least.”

 

Maes barked a laugh at how deadpan she was about the injuries. “Well, call me if you remember anything else about Kaitou that seems odd,” he said. “I know you’ve become friends with him, but he’s more enigma than anything else at the moment. I need all the information I can get.”

 

“You got it, Lt. Colonel.”

 

“Oh, and where’s his stuff being kept? I can’t give him back the gun or the vest, but I think he’d appreciate getting the rest back.”

 

Sarah pointed him to the storage room in the back and waved him on to check it out himself, so Maes headed off. Kaitou’s belongings were being kept in a box labeled with his name—just the one, of course—and his room number. After checking its contents and confirming that the gun and vest had been removed by military personnel, Maes took the whole thing, nodding to Sarah on his way out. 

 

Kaitou was changed by the time Maes returned. He’d opted to keep his blue shirt on, rather than the new gray one Gracia had provided, and he was folding his dirty white jacket.

 

“No clean shirt for Kaitou?” Maes asked, dropping the box on the bed. 

 

Kaitou immediately reached for it. “I need a pop of color in my life,” he said, opening the box. 

 

Maes watched with amusement as the many items began disappearing all over Kaitou’s person: trick cards, coins, even a feather boa. However, he didn’t miss the pinched look that crossed his expression as he reached the bottom of the box, but he didn’t have to wonder about it for long.

 

“My lock picking tools are gone,” Kaitou complained. “And the smoke bombs… Those were hand-made!”

 

Maes shrugged, opening his hands. “Sorry, but don’t shoot the messenger.”

 

“Well, it can’t be helped,” Kaitou sighed. “I’ll make new ones.” From the very bottom of the box, he pulled a small card, and frowned at it. Maes got a glimpse of Xingan writing before the card vanished into Kaitou’s new coat.

 

Kaitou turned back to his nightstand and produced a pink tie, which he knotted with much more ease than Maes anticipated.

 

“That’s a rather Western style,” Maes commented.

 

“People wear ties in Xing,” Kaitou replied. He shot Maes a sideways glance. “It’s a multicultural world.”

 

“Indeed it is.” 

 

Kaitou completed his new look with two gloves—offwhite, though likely due to the circumstances of his crash landing—and pulled his new bag onto what Maes could only assume was his good shoulder.

 

“Alright,” Kaitou said, turning to him. “I’m ready.”

 

He definitely looked the part, too; his bruises were mostly covered now that he’d shed the hospital gown. The discoloration on his forehead and temple was mostly hidden by his dark, messy bangs as well, though peeking through near his eyebrow. His hair also hid the stitches now that the larger bandages had been removed. And after enough rest, his eyes were bright and alert. Despite the dirty shirt, he’d transformed him into a well put together young man, who projected the air of someone who knew what he was doing. 

 

“Looking sharp!” He flashed Kaitou a thumbs-up, much to the kid’s amusement. “Let’s go get you introduced to the Fullmetal Alchemist!”

 

Though Maes was gunning to ferry Kaitou to the Elrics quickly, the hospital had other ideas; namely, it required some paperwork. Sarah caught them at the nurses’ station and forced Kaitou into a chair with a clipboard and a pen. She even had a nice glare for Maes, just for good measure, thanks to his attempt to dodge the deskwork portion of the day. They loitered there for ten minutes before Kaitou proclaimed he’d filled out as much as he could. Based on Sarah’s pinched expression, it wasn’t much. Then, finally, they were off.

 

Though Kaitou hid it well, Maes’ eyes were well-trained and it was obvious to him that the stairs gave him some trouble, so he slowed his strides as they stepped outside.

 

The air was fresh and warm; most of the summertime humidity had burned off as the morning wore on. There was even a nice breeze that made long sleeves comfortable. Kaitou filled his lungs deeply, carefully hiding what must have been quite the twinge from his impact injuries. Maes could say with full honesty that he didn’t envy the boy for having to heal up three ribs simultaneously. 

 

“I missed going outside,” Kaitou confessed as they crossed the grounds. “Three days stuck in a hospital bed is way too much.”

 

“Technically, it was four if you count the day you slept through,” Maes pointed out. 

 

Kaitou just groaned. “Don’t remind me,” he said.

 

They hit the street, and though Kaitou’s expression didn’t change much, Maes noted that he was carefully observing the details of his surroundings. He watched as the kid’s eyes catalogued everything from the cars and lamppost, to the women crossing the street.

 

“Pretty different from Xing?” Maes asked.

 

“There are some similarities.”

 

“Like what?” Then, at Kaitou’s hesitance to talk freely, Maes just laughed. “Can’t you humor a man’s simple curiosity? I’ve never been to Xing!”

 

“People like you never have simple curiosity,” Kaitou proclaimed. “Excuse me for not exactly trusting a military man with an obvious agenda.”

 

“I’m not that obvious!”

 

Kaitou’s flat stare argued otherwise. “Your means for convincing me to cooperate with you and the Amestrian government might say otherwise.”

 

“We didn’t even keep you in handcuffs!”

 

“I’d been badly injured! You didn’t need to handcuff me in the first place!”

 

“Some might disagree. I don’t think I need to remind you of how you picked the lock we did put on you.”

 

“If you don’t want your locks to get picked, you should make them better,” Kaitou sniffed.

 

“I’ll have to pass that along, then.”

 

They fell quiet as they passed through the park. Even with the apparent freedoms Maes was affording Kaitou, the kid was essentially a prisoner of the Amestrian military. From the tense lines of his footfalls, it seemed Kaitou had picked up on that long ago. Their pleasant stroll between the hospital and the Command Center was only a cell transfer, with Kaitou’s own injuries and personal interests serving to keep him from breaking away. 

 

Kaitou was still studying his surroundings, gaze sticking on the phone booths. Maes was struck, then, by how young Kaitou was—only a year older than Ed, two years older than Al. He was just about the same height as Maes himself, and could easily have lied about his age, claimed to be eighteen, even nineteen, yet hadn’t. It’s not like Maes, or anyone else, would have been able to dispute his claim. They hadn’t found any form of ID on the kid, anyway.

 

Maes slowed his pace, almost to a complete halt, as they passed the next phone booth, and nodded towards it. “You got anybody to call?” he asked. “Let them know you’re safe? I’ve got some change.”

 

Kaitou secured his hands more deeply in his pockets, and then shook his head. “It’s too long distance,” he said. “I doubt you’ve got enough change.”

 

“Are you calling me poor, kid?”

 

“Maybe,” Kaitou snorted, and began walking again, so Maes matched his pace. “Anyways, I tried calling home from the hospital. It didn’t go through.”

 

“How about we send a letter, then?” Maes offered. “I could even get it mailed out off the military’s radar.”

 

“Thanks.” Kaitou’s expression was unreadable. “I’ll let you know about that.”

 

Maes let their conversation drop off again, and before long they arrived on the grounds of Central Command. Kaitou whistled low as they approached.

 

Inside, Maes nodded to other officers that they passed, weaving them through a set of complicated hallways and—much to Kaitou’s disappointment, based on his dramatic groan—up a flight of stairs. Finally, they approached the study where Ed and Al were working on Marcoh’s notes, two military escorts perched outside, who stood as Maes and Kaitou approached.

 

In the hallway, Maes introduced Kaitou to Lt. Ross and Sgt. Brosh. “They’re Major Armstrong’s men, currently escorting the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother, due to a rather… precarious ongoing investigation,” he said by way of explanation, skirting around the topic of Scar. 

 

Kaitou bobbed his head in acknowledgement, which both Ross and Brosh returned. “Pleased to meet you,” Kaitou said. “I’m Kaitou, but you probably have been informed of that.” He grinned. His earlier pensive mood had evaporated in the blink of an eye. “I know how word can get around, after all.”

 

“Ah, well, the mess hall is full of gossip,” Brosh admitted, a bit sheepish, ruffling a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “But I’ve gotta say, you’re not exactly what I expected.”

 

Kaitou raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

 

“Maybe that you’d be somewhat… shorter?”

 

Kaitou laughed. The sound was genuine. “Shorter? Why?”

 

Sgt. Brosh shared a glance with Lt. Ross. “There’s been a few comparisons between yourself and the Fullmetal Alchemist going around,” she explained. “And since we couldn’t assume you’d be blonde, since you’re from Xing… well…”

 

“We thought maybe you’d be short, too,” Brosh concluded.

 

“And some kind of alchemy prodigy,” Ross agreed. “A lot of people are saying one is enough.”

 

“This Fullmetal guy sounds like an interesting character,” Kaitou commented cheerfully.

 

“Oh, he is!” Maes didn’t give the two escorts long to regret their candid conversation, and instead stepped forward, pushing the study doors open.

 

Inside was a scene of chaos. The mess had only grown since Maes’ last visit; it had gotten to the point where the floor was invisible under the thickly scattered papers and books. Ed was laying face-down beside the bookshelf. Al was sitting on the floor below the window, head bent, resting in his hands.

 

“Uh…” said Kaitou, eloquently. His gaze was on Ed.

 

Maes glanced to Lt. Ross and Sgt. Brosh, standing either side of him in the doorway, quirking his eyebrow in lieu of asking for a status update.

 

“They’ve been like this for a while now,” Ross told him, a worried crease forming between her eyebrows.

 

Maes stepped over an open book and crouched beside Edward, checking his pulse. “Well, he’s alive,” he announced. “Barely.”

 

Kaitou mumbled something in Xingan, too low for Maes to catch, but he noticed the kid looked relieved. Ed swiped Maes’ hand away from his neck.

 

“I’m fine, Hughes,” he grumbled. “Don’t mother hen me.”

 

Al looked up, heaving a metallic sigh. “Be nice, Brother. You’re being quite dramatic.”

 

“Is this the impression you want to give your new guest?” Maes asked Ed. Al, on the other hand, was already getting up and crossing the room to greet Kaitou. The two shook hands and introduced themselves.

 

“ Why do we have to deal with him now ,” Ed groaned, low.

 

“Because I’ve placed him under your supervision as a State Alchemist for the rest of the day, Fullmetal!”

 

“Supervision?” Ed bit out, pushing himself up into a seated position to glare fully at Maes, who was still crouched beside him. “I agreed to meet him, not supervise him!”

 

“Meet, supervise, same thing,” Maes brushed him off. “It’s just one day. Or maybe two. Nevermind. Up you get, Ed! Say hello!”

 

Still grumbling, Ed pushed himself to his feet and strode over to Kaitou with his arms crossed. Before he could even open his mouth, Kaitou spoke up.

 

“Amazing!” Kaitou gasped. “You’re even shorter than they said!”

 

Ed was instantly on the defensive, his entire body tensing with potential energy. He dropped his arms, ready at his sides to swing. “Who’re you callin’ short, huh?”

 

“You! I thought that was clear. Or is my Amestrian wrong?”

 

“Bastard,” Ed ground out. “Call me short again, and you’ll see stars, how about that?”

 

Kaitou smirked and said something in Xingan in a slow drawl.

 

“ What did you just say?! ” Ed demanded, voice going shrill as his fist curled, as though the Xingan words were something he could put to bed with a chin strike. Or perhaps it was the Xingan himself he wanted to punch.

 

“Nothing,” Kaitou blinked innocently.

 

Maes could practically hear Ed grinding his teeth, but couldn’t step in soon enough before Ed took the swing. He nearly shouted at him to back down, because hey, as annoying as Kaitou was being, he was also kind of an important prisoner at the moment , but the situation resolved within the seconds—not with Kaitou hitting the floor, but with an easy backwards dodge that took him out into the hallway. His movements were lithe.

 

“Brother!” Al yelped. 

 

Ed took a second swing. Maes watched the two in amused contemplation as Kaitou danced away again, like he wasn’t sporting three broken ribs. The two were opposites: if Ed was brute force and big swings, Kaitou was a ballerina on an elegant defence.

 

“You’ve got a lot of power in that arm, I can tell!” Kaitou commented, completely oblivious to the panic on the faces of Brosh, Ross, and even Al. “But you telegraph your movements too clearly. I can see every move!”

 

Ed rolled his shoulder, displaying a grin full of teeth—less a smile, more a threat. “You’re flighty,” he replied. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you insult me in a language I don’t know.”

 

“Ed, please refrain from fighting your new guest,” Maes finally stepped in. “He’s currently healing a few ribs.”

 

Ed whirled around to Maes now. “I’m not going to babysit him!” he exclaimed. “I said we’d meet him! Meet ! And not today !”

 

“It was either this or locking him in a cell,” Maes replied, already beginning his exit from the study, “and I got the feeling he’d get out of a cell too easily.”

 

“Hey! Oiii!” Ed yelled after him. “What’re we supposed to do with him? You’re coming back, right? Hughes !!”

 

Maes just waved over his shoulder at Ed, who stood fuming in the middle of the hallway. He didn’t turn around, because Ed would’ve seen his shit-eating grin and realized he was taking a little too much pleasure in his frustration.

 

“Don’t despair,” he heard Kaitou say, “I respect you! And I already have a healthy fear of small people, so you mustn’t worry!”

 

It was really too bad that Maes couldn’t stay, he reflected as Ed’s shouts rose back up to their maximum volume and Kaitou laughed. Those two were already getting on like a house on fire.

 

---

 

Notes:

I was worried this chapter was really talk-heavy, but when I went to revise it, I really liked it X”D

Chapter 5: The Composition

Notes:

friendship ended with being an undergrad. now being unemployed is my best friend

...aka: I’m done with college!! here’s this chapter early because i love it :”3

---

 

The wooden doors of the study swung shut with a heavy, ominous thud.

 

Well , Kaito thought, taking in the seething Fullmetal Alchemist, and his comparatively stoic brother dressed in armor, at least I’m not trapped in here with Tantei-kun . But this might be one of the stranger situations I’ve been in without having set it up myself .

 

Fullmetal leveled him with a dangerous glare and a pointing finger. “You,” he said.

 

“Me!” Kaito replied cheerfully, just to see him grind his teeth.

 

“ You ,” Fullmetal continued, “are going to sit at that table, quietly , for a few hours, while Al and I finish our work. Got it?”

 

“This is work?” Kaito asked, already stepping over books and strewn papers to drop his bag on the back of a chair.

 

“It’s important research ,” Fullmetal stressed.

 

“Oh, is that why you were laying face-down on the ground earlier?”

 

Al—the giant boy in armor, wow , Kaito was still gonna have to get used to his height—grabbed his brother’s shoulder before he could leap at Kaito.

 

“No more fighting!” Al said.

 

Kaito was actually quite grateful for that. He’d pulled off a few dodges earlier, but his ribs weren’t exactly enjoying it. Plopping into the chair was a relief.

 

Fullmetal huffed and spun away from his brother, back to the shelf, and pulled down a new book. It was actually somewhat surprising there were any books left on the shelves at all, what with the majority of the room’s contents being on the floor.

 

“I’m sorry,” Al apologized to Kaito for his brother, his voice coming out echoey from beneath his helmet. “This wasn’t the greatest time. It’s not your fault, but…”

 

“It’s okay, we can blame Hughes-san,” Kaito replied, cheerfully. He picked up a book from the table in front of him and flipped a few pages. It was definitely something about all this alchemy he’d been hearing about lately, so he flipped it open to the beginning. “He more or less threatened me into this, too.”

 

“What did he do?” Al asked.

 

Kaito shrugged a shoulder and began reading the book’s introduction with half his attention. “It was either pal around with you two for a while, or answer to his superiors about… well, a few things I can’t answer to anybody about,” he said, working to sound nonchalant. He decided not to bring up the fact that Hughes wanted some horse-named alchemist to study whatever long-range teleportation alkahestry he didn’t actually have. “Well, I’m interested in your research, so it works out well for me.”

 

Al didn’t reply immediately, and Kaito looked up to find the two brothers sharing a glance. Despite his alchemist title, Ed’s face was anything but rigid metal; it was creased with anger and concern. Interesting.

Al turned back to Kaito. “What did he tell you about our research?”

 

“Not much.” Kaito flipped a page and found a table of contents. Oh, good, the first chapter covered The Basics of Transmutation . He thumbed a few pages until he found the start of that section. There, he paused to tap his chin and think. “Hmm, how did he say it? Oh, right!” He cleared his throat and pitched his voice low to match the Lt. Colonel’s. “The Fullmetal Alchemist is researching the Philosopher’s Stone, and is our resident expert on human transmutation.”

 

Ed dropped heavily into the chair across from Kaito, arms crossed and jaw set. Al loomed behind him. Kaito took them both in, eyebrows raised.

 

“Wow—you sounded just like Colonel Hughes!” Al exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

 

“It’s a skill,” Kaito flashed a grin. “Can’t let it go rusty, can I?”

 

“Do me!” Al prompted.

 

“ How’s this? Do I sound like you? ” Kaito asked, pitching his voice upwards to match Al’s as closely as possible. He couldn’t mimic the metallic tilt, and it would have been nice to observe the way Al moved his mouth, but Kaito was nothing if not pretty sharp on the uptake.

 

“Enough with that,” Ed snapped suddenly. “Speak normally. What else did Hughes tell you?”

 

Kaito dropped back into himself and shrugged. “Eh, that was about it. So, was it all true? ‘Cause I want to know what you know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

 

“We’re working on that,” Ed muttered. “You’re stalling us. And from what I’ve heard, you’re no stranger to the Stone yourself.” He glared across the table.

 

“I can tell you what I told Hughes-san,” Kaito said, “which are only myths. I’m not sure that’s what you’re after.”

 

“Just spit it out already!”

 

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?” Kaito leaned forward, dropping an elbow on the table and propping up his chin, even with his ribs protesting; the pain had dulled over the last few days—including the headaches—leaving his entire body at a constant low-level pain.

 

“I’m gonna pry it outta you,” Ed said, gripping the edge of the table and leaning forward. The space between their noses was short, and Kaito noticed absently that Ed’s eyes were dark gold rather than brown, as he’d first thought. He wondered if Al’s eyes were the same color; he’d have to take note if he intended to pass off as one of them at any point.

 

Kaito raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Al. “Do you always let him talk this way to strangers?”

 

“I don’t let him do anything,” Al sighed. 

 

Kaito snorted, and started talking before Ed could get to ranting. “Alright, alright. The myth is this: with the Philosopher’s stone, you can gain immortality. It cries beneath a rare comet and glows in the full moon.” 

 

“It cries?” Al murmured.

 

“What do you mean by that?” Ed asked. He was still leaning across the table. Trying to be intimidating, maybe?

 

“Eh, you know, cries. Tears?” Kaito pointed to his cheek. “Is that the right word in Amestrian?”

 

“You’re saying it’s a liquid?” Ed shot back.

 

“Yes, or that it might become a liquid at times.”

 

Ed narrowed his eyes at Kaito, then shared a glance with his brother, who nodded. Sitting back and hiking up one knee, Ed grinned across the table, notably less aggressive but with a hungry glint in his eyes. “What else?”

 

It was quite the attitude shift; he seemed more willing to take Kaito seriously now. The liquid form of Pandora must have held its own weight for Ed and Al. Kaito wasn’t sure why that stood out above the rest of the myth—the rest of the true story?—but it would be easier to work with them like this. 

 

“Where I am from,” he said, “it is known as Pandora, and is said to be a doublet—a gem inside a gem.”

 

“A doublet,” Al said, straightening up and placing a hand on the chin of his helmet as he thought. “Why would it need to be a doublet? If it’s something you can create...”

 

“I don’t know,” Kaito said. He had an idea, though.

 

If Pandora itself were nothing more than a liquid—as the gem weighing heavy in its hidden pocket suggested—then the outer gem was nothing more than a convenient casing, something that the volatile liquid couldn’t burn through. A liquid gem inside a gem container. It was odd, but from what he’d observed, alone at night, it made sense. What else could you put that thing in safely?

 

Ed was leaning across the table. “What else?” he asked again.

 

“That’s it,” Kaito said. He dropped his eyes back to his book.

 

“What?” Ed seethed. He scrambled up from his chair and slammed his hands on the table instead of his faux-intimidating lean. Papers went flying beneath his white gloves. His willingness to humor Kaito had evaporated faster than mist under the morning sun. “That’s it ? That’s bullshit! We already knew it could take a liquid form.” He spun away from the table, scrubbing his hands into his hair. “Damnit , when I agreed to meet you, I thought maybe there’d be something worthwhile you could tell us...”

 

Kaito snorted. “Sorry, but I didn’t promise to be useful.”

 

“This is wasting our time,” Ed grumbled. “Al! Let’s get back to the notes.”

 

“Ah, right!” Al scrambled to get back to work.

 

Ed’s energy seemed renewed as he set back into his notes and books with a fountain pen. Kaito watched as the two brothers quickly settled into a rhythm of discussion and cross-referencing texts, all the while scribbling down shorthand. Though Ed had proclaimed Kaito’s information useless, he heard them theorizing about the gem being a doublet.

 

He idly pulled up a loose paper from beneath the book he’d started reading, and laughed. It was a recipe, but quite clearly a code, too. That much Kaito could tell just by looking at it, but judging from the number of other papers that appeared to be recipes scattered around didn’t hurt. This must be the stuff Hughes had mentioned, about Fullmetal decoding alchemy notes. How fun; Kaito was a sucker for wordplay and puzzles. 

 

“So there’s something about the Stone in these recipes, huh?” He asked idly, flipping one page over. It was double-sided, handwritten.

 

“Yeah,” Al was the one who answered. “If we can figure them out, we’ll know how Philosopher’s Stones are made.”

 

Kaito reached for another recipe, realizing they were all handwritten and double sided. He spotted a cover page on a stack of papers pinned together. “Who’s Tim Marcoh?”

 

“Retired State Alchemist,” Ed grunted.

 

“Apparently, he was one of the Alchemists who studied Philosopher’s stones during the Ishvalan War,” Al continued when Ed didn’t. “He even manufactured one.” At Kaito’s tilted head, Al asked, “Have you heard of it?”

 

“The Ishvalan War? Nope,” Kaito replied cheerfully, but his churning stomach suggested anything but cheer. No matter where he turned, Pandora and its kin were soaked with bloodshed: first murder, now war. It made him sick to think about. “Why’d they need Stones for it?”

 

“Unlike in Xing, the rumour here is that the Stone is an amplifier,” Ed muttered, seeming unable to pull away from the conversation completely, despite having stuck his nose back into his notes. “I think they wanted to use it to secure victory. It was… a long war.”

 

“Hmm,” Kaito replied, unable to keep up the cheerful exterior. However, it seemed like the topic of war hadn’t been a pleasant one for the brothers, either. He wondered how long ago this war was, how close it had come to these two; there was history there, based on the tense line of Ed’s shoulders.

 

But it wasn’t history that he needed to know.

 

What he did need to know lay in front of him: the basics of alchemy. Everyone seemed to expect it from him, or at least something like it, thanks to his disastrous crash landing. If he was going to uphold that illusion, some studying was in order.

 

He pushed aside a few more recipe pages and read quickly. 

 

He found himself understanding the basic concepts well. They shared a base in chemistry, and Kaito was no slouch when it came to chemicals. A brief consultation with a periodic table of elements—which was made slightly longer by a couple phases of translation—confirmed that the elemental makeup of this world was the same as his own, accounting for the fact that the table was missing the thirty-one elements that had been discovered after 1914.

 

However, that’s not where the similarities with his first-hand experiences ended. The diagrams of basic transmutation circles reminded him of Akako’s magic circles, if much more simplified.

 

He shuddered and flipped through the next few pages. He didn’t need to be reminded of that nightmare of full-body possession, the inability to move of his own free will... 

 

There were some key differences. The magic circle that had taken control of his limbs and crippled him with pain had been glowing of its own accord, and while he’d yet to see a transmutation circle in action here, nothing in the book implied that they glowed constantly. And Akako’s circle had featured a high level or repetition along its outer edges; two symbols had danced over and over, while the inner circle had been composed of several different inscriptions. Ultimately, it seemed to direct energy in a different way than the ones Kaito was studying now.

 

Another thing was that Akako’s red magic didn’t always require a circle, and ignored one of the first rules of this world’s alchemy: equivalent exchange. What could she have traded to control him? To drag him through the sky? It didn’t make sense. It was possible the similarities were purely visual, or that the magic she wielded was its own beast entirely.

 

Or... perhaps they shared a common ancestry; his reading quickly taught him that the circle allowed for the circulation of power. He could theorize that some other magical source had formed two different branches, both circulating power through various runes… but a deeper connection like that was impossible to confirm.

 

He shook his head and refocused. Akako’s magic wasn’t important here; it wouldn’t help him keep his head above water in Amestris, and it certainly wouldn’t get him home.

 

The rule of equivalent exchange, at its core—that to create something, something of equal value must be destroyed—was straightforward enough, but only in the realm of theory. Who decided what was equivalent as something else? And not only did Akako’s magic defy the idea, but so did Kaito’s very existence in Amestris. After all, if it had been alchemy, and Pandora, of course, that had dropped him here, well… what had he given up?

 

If he were to stay here, the answer would be easy: his home, his life, his language. The people he loved.

 

But that possibility was too big, too ominous, that he swallowed it down and barrelled on. Magic and alchemy operated on seperate rules in their separate worlds. He might be dealing with a mixture of both, here. Plus, he’d already seen that every rule ever written can and will be broken. (Hey, rulebreaker was practically his middle name.)

 

Then, the three steps of alchemy: comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction. Kaito could appreciate that it followed its own internal logic. He was beginning to understand transmutation as little more than a surface transformation, a bit like stage magic. It was the ability to reach into an object and rearrange its chemical makeup, to shape it, or shift it. 

 

Not a boundless power, but it was infinitely complex, it seemed. Kaito flipped the last page of his book and blinked in surprise. He looked up. It was still bright; sunlight was streaming in through the window. On the floor, Ed and Al had barely moved, still locked in alternate conversation and notetaking.

 

Well. He’d need another book. He’d barely scratched the surface—this book had hardly touched on the matrices and symbols which guided transmutations, each with their own meaning and purpose.

 

He pushed the book aside and leaned across the table to grab another, when one of the numerous recipes scattered around the room caught his attention.

 

Wait a second…

 

Kaito was no Tantei-kun, but he knew how to write a good riddle. That meant he knew how to tear a riddle apart from the inside out, too. He dragged the stack of recipes back over to himself, then in a flurry, collected as many others as he could off the table, and started laying them out in a grid, alchemy book held open in one hand. He clicked his tongue a moment later, because of course the book of extremely basic concepts wasn’t that useful. He discarded it and began searching for something better.

 

Al had caught on to his search, and stood, leaving Ed laying on his back, chewing on his pen with his notebook held over his head. 

 

“Kaitou, what are you looking for?” he asked.

 

“Do you have something with a better index of matrix symbols?” Kaito asked. “I just noticed something in these recipes and I want to look into it.”

 

That caught Ed’s attention, and he sat up while Al helped Kaito locate a useful book. “What did you notice?”

 

“This.” Kaito grabbed a few papers and pointed to the ingredients’ list. “Unless it’s just some weird Amestrian thing to use this much fat in cooking, it might be a hint.”

 

Ed squinted up at the papers from the floor, and Al reached out to study them, trading Kaito a reference book. As Kaito began flipping through it, Al looked over the recipes before handing them to Ed and crouching to grab a new stack.

 

“We already talked about the recipes with squab referencing the Philosopher’s Month,” Ed mumbled. “And lard is a reference to half-moon…”

 

“Ah!” Kaito landed on the page as Ed mused about the connected symbol, and quickly read aloud. “The southern-facing waning moon symbol denotes the saponification of an element…” Kaito humming, mulling over the translation for a moment, before pinning his eyes on Al again. “Do you have a book of astronomy? Celestial events, that sort of thing?”

 

“We should,” Al said, standing. “Hold on.”

 

As Al moved across the room, Kaito felt Ed staring at him, so he looked over and caught his gaze. Neither budged for a long moment. Finally, Ed said, “Al and I already figured out that the connection between the lard and the southern-facing half-moon.”

 

“Aw, so I’m not allowed to get in on the fun?” Kaito pouted. “I’m pretty good with riddles.”

 

“Maybe in Xingan,” Ed snapped. “But these notes are extremely important, not to mention they were pretty damn hard to get, so they’re not for you to go sticking your nose into.”

 

“Not even if I can help?” Kaito wheedled.

 

“ No ,” Ed replied vehemently, at the same time as Al said, “We could probably use some help.”

 

Ed’s expression was that of someone who’d just been viciously stabbed in the back. It made Kaito snicker, but that only darkened Ed’s mood. “Al, we don’t need his help,” he snapped.

 

“Maybe not,” Al said, “but we’ve been at this for ten days. Maybe a new perspective would help?”

 

“I doubt he can figure out ten day’s worth of work within a matter of hours, even with whatever alchemy it is they do in Xing,” Ed said.

 

“Brother,” Al complained. 

 

From across the room, with the table and Kaito between them, the brothers stared one another down, and Kaito found himself glancing with amusement between them. Even if Kaito couldn’t get a solid read on Al, it seemed that Ed could, through the armor that his brother wore—and after a few moments, Ed rolled his eyes and groaned, dropping his notes over his face.

 

“Fine, have it your way, Al,” he said, “but if it turns out this kid ain’t trustworthy, that’s on you .”

 

“Alright, Brother,” Al said, amused. He placed an astronomy catalog on the table in front of Kaito, who grabbed it with a wide grin. 

 

“Thanks!” he said. “I guess it’s a race now, isn’t it?”

 

“Whatever,” muttered Ed.

 

“How about this?” Al said. “We’ll go until closing time. If you’ve figured out something we haven’t, we’ll work together starting tomorrow morning. Otherwise, we’ll have to ask Lt. Colonel Hughes to find someone else to, uh… supervise you. At least until we’re done with Marcoh’s notes.”

 

As if Kaito were going to play fair with those kinds of stakes. He had a winning poker face and a few tricks up his sleeve for a reason, after all.

 

“You’re on,” he said.

 

In his earlier rummaging, he’d noticed some of the recipes had been annotated in two distinct handwriting styles. Presumably, one belonged to Ed, and the other to Al. And the fact that the brothers had left scraps sandwiched between the pages of books and scrawled overtop of some of the recipes—well, Kaito could thank Lady Luck for that. While the brothers were busy in their whirlwind, Kaito would take a few underhanded measures to catch up. 

 

This would be a breeze.

 

An hour later, Kaito nearly wanted to bash his head into the wall. 

 

He’d vastly underestimated the tendency for Marcoh’s code to double back on itself and make internal references that led only to dead ends, at least for Kaito’s lackluster alchemical knowledge. He found himself constantly tearing through the symbol index and astronomy chart that Al had given him, and still coming up with nothing useful. It had Kaito gritting his teeth.

 

“Getting frustrated?” Ed sounded smug. Kaito’s head whipped up and he met Ed’s grin with a glare.

 

“Not at all,” he snapped, and doubled back down.

 

He was determined to crack something about Marcoh’s notes—he had his ego as a riddle master to maintain, for one thing. And for another, Ed and Al clearly didn’t trust him, despite the hopeful moment revolving around Pandora’s liquid form. If they withheld key information about Pandora from him, it would be bad, to say the least. And if they got Hughes to shuffle him around like so much dead weight, then his chances of weaseling even the tiniest amount of information out of them would drop from slim to nothing.

 

Ed, Al and these research notes on the creation of Pandora were the reason Kaito had agreed to Hughes’ so-called deal. To be cut off from this source would jeopardize not only their deal, but Kaito’s chances of sussing out a way home, too. Without the deal, Kaito could even land a spot as a wanted man of the Amestrian military-government. Under his real face, too.

 

Another torturous hour slipped away as Kaito added a third, and then a fourth, reference book to his messy workspace. As the shadows began lengthening across the room, he found his mind drifting, wondering if Tantei-kun would be having as tough a time with this convoluted code as he was.

 

He shook his head. What was he thinking? Tantei-kun would definitely be throwing the same kind of dramatic tantrum Ed had been earlier, laying face-down on the floor. He was six .

 

It was with Tantei-kun in mind that he dropped his chin onto the book he had open, squinting at some of the recipes laying on the table. They had several circles drawn in pen; the neatness suggested it was Al’s work. Lazily, he flipped the papers over and found a drawing of a lion, nothing more than the idle doodle of a teenager (even if that teenager was an iron-clad giant). But it reminded Kaito of something he’d seen in the symbol index, and with a squint, he sat back and located it.

 

Realizing quickly that he was onto something, he marked the page with Al’s doodle and began scouring the room for other references amid the scattered recipes. Though he noted Al watching him, Ed was staunchly ignoring him, right up until Kaito yanked a clipped stack of recipes from under his leg.

 

“Hey!” Ed yelped, knocked off-balance. He caught himself with a hand on the ground. “What gives?”

 

“I’ve got something,” Kaito replied, dropping to his knees and flipping rapidly through the recipes. His face lit up when he found something. “ Aha!”

 

“What is it?” Al loomed over Kaito’s shoulder. 

 

Wordlessly, Kaito laid out several pages, snatched Ed’s pen from his fingers (ignoring another shout, because Kaito’s own pen was halfway across the room, okay ) and drew stars and brackets beside various ingredients and instructions, before connecting them across the pages with harsh strokes. He tossed the pen back to Ed, who caught it one-handed in front of his face, and then retrieved the book of symbols and placed that among his work, too, open.

 

“The lion, and the southern-facing waning moon,” he said. “They’re connected. I don’t know exactly what it means, but they’re always paired together.” 

 

The brothers studied Kaito’s messy work. Ed looked up at him with a suspicious squint.

 

Kaito crossed his arms. “Find any recipe and prove me wrong.”

 

“Fine, maybe I will,” Ed huffed. He hopped up nimbly and gathered some papers, marking them as he sped through him. His expression drew more and more pinched the more pages he went through, and Kaito grinned widely when Ed stopped with yet another huff.

 

“See?” Kaito said.

 

“Yeah, alright,” Ed said grudgingly. “I hadn’t noticed that yet.” But he didn’t let Kaito celebrate his victory too long, immediately raising his voice, “Well, you won your stupid game, so let’s get to work! And no more delays, Kaitou. We’re seeing this through today .”

 

“Yes, sir!” Kaito chirped.

 

Despite his eagerness to get Marcoh’s code completely cracked open, Kaito soon found that he simply wasn’t cut out to keep up with Ed and Al. Despite their notes giving him an edge, Kaito was lacking both cultural and specialized knowledge to an extreme degree. He was loath to leave the puzzle to the brothers, but after another hour of playing catch-up, he retreated to the table to do his own reading while keeping an eye (and an ear) on the rapid-paced conversation vollying back and forth between the brothers.

 

Eventually, the two fell into a more serious pattern and the air was filled only with the scratching of pens and the occasional murmur. Kaito, for his part, sat at the table, reading bits and pieces out of various books he’d found lying around, continuing to build his mental map of alchemy and Marcoh’s research.

 

When the light was getting low, shadows stretching from one end of the room to the other, the whole place bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, Ed sucked in a sharp breath. The noise was sudden, breaking the relative calm that preceded it. Kaito lifted his head.

 

“Is this… it?” Al asked. His voice was small.

 

“Double check this,” Ed demanded, slapping a book into Al’s hands and flipping one open himself.

The two flipped pages, checked notes.

 

“What did you find?” Kaito asked. Neither answered him.

 

“We didn’t make any mistakes,” Al said eventually, his voice uneven.

 

“Damnit,” Ed snapped. “Damnit, damnit!”

 

Kaito stood slowly and walked over. He leaned carefully, his healing ribs sending a sharp ring of pain throughout his body regardless. As Al hung his head, and Ed ground his teeth, nearly snapping his fountain pen in two, Kaito tried to decipher their conclusion from the papers on the ground before them. His stomach was turning uneasily.

 

“What?” he asked again. “What is it?” 

 

“We figured it out,” Al replied, his voice now a hollow monotone. He didn’t react when Kaito’s eyes snapped to him. “What Dr. Marcoh’s notes say, about the ingredients for a Stone.”

 

“And?”

 

“The ingredients are live humans,” Ed said. “And worse, one Stone requires the sacrifice of multiple people.” He covered his face with his hands and screamed wordlessly into them for a moment, before pulling them from his face and slaming both fists on the ground. “It uses human souls as an energy source. That’s why they’re so powerful and hard to find. Damnit , damnit it all to fucking hell!”

 

Kaito straightened like he’d been electrocuted. At his side, concealed and dormant all day, Pandora seemed suddenly the heaviest load Kaito had ever carried, pulsing hot. His throat closed.

 

“That… that can’t be right,” he said, unable to keep his own voice from sounding strangled. Even as he denied it, the Stone seemed to confirm it, energy zapping through him sickeningly. His voice caught in his throat. “Pandora, it—that can’t be…”

 

“But these are Dr. Marcoh’s notes,” Al said, the words coming slow as he mulled them over. “He had one, but—we met him. He’s so kind…”

 

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Ed asked, and then laughed, no mirth anywhere to be found. “Why he disappeared, why he became a doctor, was so determined to save lives. Like he had something to make up for, more so than any other State Alchemist who was in the war. Why he was so reluctant to tell us where his research materials were hidden.” He covered his face with a gloved hand, his voice dipping lower, muffled. “If you’re sure you won’t regret learning the truth , he said. Damnit!”

 

It was this final yell that brought Ross and Brosh storming into the room. Kaito stood dazedly rooted to his spot for a long, long moment. The only animated thing in the room was Ed, yet again slamming his fists into the floor from his cross-legged position. This was true anger, nothing held back—vastly different from the near-playful aggravation Kaito had been on the receiving end of since that morning.

 

“It’s the devil’s research,” Ed bit out, words harsh. Kaito got the impression he was still quoting Marcoh. His next words were more rough, the tone of someone who’s life work has just been set ablaze. “No one should pursue it.”

 

“Well then,” Kaito said, his own voice sounding thin and far away in his own ears. “Please excuse me.”

 

He ducked out of the room and dashed down the hallway, noting that one of the escorts —Brosh?—was hurrying after him, both of their pounding footsteps echoing loudly.

 

Thankfully, the bathroom was easy to locate, and Kaito ducked inside before he lost his lunch somewhere unseemly. When the retching subsided, he slumped bonelessly against the side of the stall and closed his eyes, grateful that Brosh’s footsteps had come to a halt just outside the door. Hopefully, he hadn’t had to hear that.

 

If what they’d uncovered was true, if Pandora was just a couple people shoved in a blender and solidified into a rock… well, the implications of that were far-reaching, dwelling in a depth too deep for Kaito to fully understand. 

 

But what he did know, with utmost certainty, was that death, murder, sacrifice—it was a never-ending cycle. Even the hatred and need for revenge that burned in his own heart, wrangling with the fact of his father’s murder, scared him. 

 

It had been festering for a year; if left alone longer, if given the opportunity… would his thirst for revenge grow? If given the chance, would he aim something deadlier than a card gun at Snake’s head? 

 

He hated to say it, but he wasn’t sure what the answer was. 

 

And that wasn’t the least of it; if Pandora was made from people, and had immense power—and a will of its own, to activate whatever alchemy it did to land Kaito here in Amestris—then those people still had agency. Or if not, they at least had energy, that energy that thrummed in time with Katio’s heartbeat even now, that throbbed dizzyingly through his head. That was someone. If Pandora had agency over its powers, could he really destroy it?

 

It was too much. It was all too much. He put his head in his hands and tried to breathe, but the air only passed thinly, shakily, in and out of his mouth.

 

He’d answer these questions in Tokyo, with Jii at his side. Jii would know about this. Jii had to know something.

 

Pandora had brought him here, and he wasn’t certain there was another way back.

 

A tentative knock pulled Kaito from his whirlwind, too-big thoughts. 

 

“Kaitou?” Brosh called. The bathroom door creaked open.

 

He pulled himself to his feet, willing his legs to be steady. He flushed the toilet, and strolled out, trying to look like he hadn’t just had a panic attack. From the bathroom’s doorway, Brosh was looking at him with his face drawn and pale.

 

“You okay, kid?”

 

Kaito cracked a grin. He was anything but okay. “Peachy,” he replied.

 

As he turned to wash his hands, he caught sight of himself: three shades more pale than Brosh, sweat making his face gleam, his bangs damp with it, too. The yellow bruise on his temple and forehead was plainly visible where he’d pushed his hair out of his face earlier. To put it simply: Kaito looked like shit, and nobody was going to buy the lie that he didn’t feel like shit, too.

 

Mercifully, Brosh didn’t comment. They were both silent as the water ran. As Kaito dried his hands, Brosh cleared his throat.

“The Elric brothers are heading back to their hotel,” he said. “I think you should come with us.”

Have to , Brosh didn’t say, but Kaito nodded and followed him back to the study with slow, heavy footsteps.

 

---

 

They took a military car back to the hotel in silence. Not even Ross or Brosh tried to speak to them until they’d filed in and Ross hesitated near the front desk.

 

“Ah,” she said, looking at the three teens, and then towards the receptionist. “I’ll go arrange a room for Kaitou—”

 

To Kaito’s surprise, Ed’s arm shot out, and five fingers locked hard around his forearm. “Actually,” Ed said through grit teeth, “I think Kaitou should stay with us.”

 

Ross and Brosh shared a glance of confusion that Kaito desperately wished he were included in. Instead, he uselessly tried to tug his arm away from Ed. Nope, the guy had a grip like a steel bar.

 

“Why?” Kaito asked when shaking him off became a clear and utter failure. “I thought you wanted me out of your sight.”

 

“We’ve got a few things to talk about,” Ed replied, his voice nearly a growl.

 

Kaito threw a glance to Al, but the red eyes shining through his helmet were unreadable. Kaito sighed. 

 

“Alright, fine,” he said. “But I hope you’re not gonna make the guy with three broken ribs sleep on the couch-bed.”

 

“You can take Al’s,” Ed responded shortly.

 

Ross spoke up. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble to get a room for Kaitou under Major Armstrong’s name.”

 

“We’re sure,” Ed replied, and began dragging— dragging! —Kaito towards the staircase. 

 

Al called a polite, “Goodnight Lt. Ross, goodnight Sgt. Brosch,” as he followed them towards the stairs. Kaito just made do with a helpless wave as he stumbled over his feet to keep up with Ed. Shit, Kaito hadn’t been kidding when he’d complimented Ed’s strong swing that morning; he must have had some intense muscles under that black-and-red getup.

 

The two escorts raised their hands in response, still looking befuddled. 

 

Kaito winced his way up the stairs to the second floor, and was quietly relieved when Ed didn’t drag him up another flight. Al was the one who extracted a room key from a pouch on his leg, and soon they were all inside the dark room.

 

Kaito had no more than a second to observe the room—two beds, a window, two couches around a table—before Ed was practically throwing him onto a couch. Kaito wasn’t dignified enough to hold back a yelp as he hit the piece of furniture, nor did he withhold the whine that followed. “Ow! Jerk , that hurt.”

 

“Deal with it,” Ed snapped.

 

While Al was yet again admonishing his brother, Kaito resigned himself to staying there and kicked off his shoes, dropping his shoulder bag beside them on the ground. He thought about shrugging out of his coat, too, but the fact that he was the only one getting comfortable stopped him. Al hadn’t made a single gesture towards removing his armor, despite how bulky it was, and Ed was still standing in front of him, boots and red coat and all, arms folded, staring him down.

 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to interrogate me…?” Kaito asked.

 

Ed didn’t beat around the bush. “Why are you interested in the Philosopher’s Stone?”

 

Al turned on the light and Kaito squinted against the brightness. He’d already told Hughes that he’d witnessed, first-hand, the willingness of others to murder to get their hands on Pandora. And from that, Hughes had inferred Kaito’s desire for revenge. Had the Lt. Colonel already told the brothers that detail? 

 

Kaito had no way of knowing.

 

As the silence stretched, Ed tapped his foot in an unhappy, staccato rhythm. It was the most patience Kaito had seen out of him all day.

 

“How about we both answer that?” Kaito suggested instead of replying directly. “I’d quite like to know what inspired such intense research. Ten days of decoding, you said?”

 

“You first,” Ed replied, voice too serious to argue with. Even the feral edge had been dropped.

 

It wasn’t a direct confirmation of the deal, but Kaito supposed it was enough; the two seemed trustworthy for now, judging on their despair at the answer they found today. With the weight of the situation, Kaito figured that a small amount of honesty was in order.

 

Might as well get comfortable after all. He pulled his legs up onto the couch and crossed them before he began.

 

“Where I’m from,” he said, “there are people who want the Stone, known as Pandora, ‘cause they got wind of those rumours about immortality. When I was a kid, they asked my father to find it and to steal it for them. He said no, and… they murdered him.”

 

Ed sucked in a sharp breath between grit teeth. Al seemed taken aback as well.

 

“I already ensured the arrest of the men who were behind it,” Kaito went on, slightly cheered, before he hesitated. “Or, well, I drew them out with a lot of taunting. And by… dressing up like my dad, sort of. I have enough faith in Tantei-kun that they’re behind bars now… well, anyway, I’m sure that’s all taken care of. But the Stone itself—I want… or, I wanted to destroy it, so those bastards couldn’t get their hands on it after everything.” 

The room was silent for a moment. Before the brothers could comment, Kaito leveled a finger at the brothers. 

 

“Your turn. Spill.”

 

Al dragged the coffee table further from the couch and sat down on it. For a moment, Kaito was sure the wood would splinter under his weight, but it held. Sitting, Al was much closer to Ed’s height than he’d been before, and with Kaito cross-legged on the couch, their eyelines were near even.

 

“Our reason is a bit more selfish,” Al admitted. 

 

Ed’s face went from a drawn, processing look, to one more stony. “We’re just trying to fix our mistakes,” he said. Looking down at his crossed arms, he held out his right hand and made a fist. “The short story, Kaitou, is that I—” he glanced to his brother, faltering. Al’s gaze held steady, strong, and Ed resumed. “ We attempted human transmutation.”

 

He looked to Kaito, awaiting a response. Hughes’ careful Xingan translation of the term, back during his first day in the hospital, came to his mind: the molecular alteration of a human body.

 

“No wonder you’re the so-called resident expert on it,” Kaito said.

 

“That’s hardly accurate,” Ed grumbled. The way he was watching Kaito told him it hadn’t been the response he’d anticipated.

 

“But… why?” Kaito asked. “It seems… deeply wrong , to say the least.”

 

“We wanted to bring our mother back to life,” Al spoke up. “We wanted to see her smile again. But all it did was tear our bodies apart. Brother lost his right arm and left leg, and I… well, maybe it’s easier if I show you.”

 

Kaito felt faintly like he was being expected to dodge bullets much faster than before. Ed lost two limbs? Talk about traumatic , but also straight up confusing. 

 

Kaito had the not-so-little (and quite-useful) habit of careful observation. Body language was something he’d had to be well versed in for disguise and survival. And Ed had no obvious indicators of being an amputee. Okay, a fake leg could be hidden pretty well, but he’d seen Ed using both his hands, and using them both well; he’d also noted that Ed was pretty ambidextrous, but so was Kaito, so it was nothing more than an interesting tidbit; in fact, it made the idea that he’d lost an arm even more strange than before, because what kind of prosthetic could do that? He’d come across his fair share of advanced robotics, but this was a completely different field—

 

Kaito’s thoughts were derailed as Al pulled off his helmet and instead of revealing a head and a face, he came up with empty air.

 

Kaito startled to his feet, but the sudden movement wasn’t kind to his pounding head, and he was forced to immediately sit back down, heavily. Ed was watching him guardedly, body tense, like he was ready to start swinging again. The shining red of Al’s eyes had vanished from his helmet but Kaito felt him watching, too.

 

Okay, time to back up a little bit. Advanced robotics. Kaito had seen that. Hell, he’d once been an advanced robot. In a roundabout way, sort of. Okay, no, not at all. But the point still stood: he was certainly seeing it again, but better . Because Al had a clear understanding of being a human, much more than Robot Kaito ever had.

 

“That’s interesting,” Kaito said mildly, buying a moment to steady himself and let the swimming pain in his skull fade. 

 

He studied Al: visible at the interior of his neck was a dark rune. He couldn’t connect it to any of the alchemical symbols he’d seen today, beyond the fact it was encapsulated in a circle, it was completely foreign to him. But the biggest point of confusion: he couldn’t see even a whisper of a wire connected to Al.

 

“And that’s an underreaction if I’ve ever seen one,” Ed muttered.

 

Kaito hoisted himself back to his feet, more slowly this time, and crossed the space between the couch and the coffee table in two steps. Despite Al beginning to speak up, Kaito grabbed the lip of his chestplate and yanked Al’s suit forward slightly, peering downwards.

 

“Looks empty,” he commented, and then immediately reached his arm inside to investigate more thoroughly.

 

Al yelped, and Kaito pulled back. The voice still had a metallic echo to it, and seemed to emanate from inside the suit. 

 

“Where’s that coming from?” Kaito asked, squinting inside the suit and feeling around. All he could touch was smooth metal.

 

Was it a hidden speaker? Speaking of which, did technology even get small enough for that in 1914? For all intents and purposes, the technology that enabled Robot Kaito to exist wouldn’t be invented for another hundred years, at least not in Kaito’s world. But Al had an acute awareness of his surroundings, including the words and actions of those around him; if he were talking through a speaker, he’d need a way to get input, a microphone definitely, and a camera most likely. Shit, he didn’t think cameras got that small a hundred years ago. Also, where was any of his consciousness or mind stored? Al was looking less and less mechanical by the second, but alchemy occupied the realm between science and magic here, so really, did he have a good sense of what was possible and what wasn’t?

 

His investigation was cut off; Ed grabbed him by the back of his coat and yanked him backwards. “Just because he doesn’t have a body doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want,” Ed snapped. “He’s still a person.”

 

“And while curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back,” Kaito replied tartly. “I just wanted to know the trick here.”

 

“I’m not a trick!” Al cried, fitting his helmet back on. Kaito watched as his red eyes began to glow through the visor again. “I’m a person . Brother bonded my soul to this armor after the human transmutation rebounded.”

 

“Huh,” Kaito said. “Didn’t know that was possible.”

 

He hadn’t finished unpacking the whole thing about people and souls and Stones, and now he’d apparently spent the day hanging out with a guy who was nothing but a soul. He didn’t have the brainwidth to process that further right now. But Ed still had a steel grip on the back of his coat, and that promised to be a little more straightforward.

 

Kaito quickly slipped out of the coat and ducked, leaving Ed to frustratedly hoist an empty jacket into the air. He popped up on the other side of Ed’s outstretched arm and snatched his forearm. 

 

Not only was the guy’s grip like steel, but his arm felt like steel, too. On some level, it made sense if the arm was prosthetic, but even in 1914, prosthetics weren’t made from metal, were they? And surely they weren’t as articulated as Ed had casually proved his right arm was countless times over the day. Kaito had just spent several minutes disproving that Al had anything to do with robotics, so did Ed’s steel arm have to do with alchemy, too?

 

Ed reacted before Kaito could yank up his sleeve to find out. In two seconds flat, Ed had twisted his arm out of Kaito’s grip and caught both of his wrists. He was an instant away from twisting Kaito’s arms behind his back, that much could be seen from his glare.

 

“Ah,” Kaito said. Okay, he couldn’t exactly deal with this guy like Tantei-kun, or Hakuba, or even Aoko. Duly noted. “Sorry?”

 

A knock at the door halted them in their tracks, and then the door was thrown open. 

 

“Yo!” 

 

Lt. Colonel Hughes stood grinning in the doorway. Behind him towered a truly huge, thickly muscled man, sporting a blonde mustache and a single curl atop his head. Kaito twitched. What did they feed people in Amestris?

 

“Are you fighting?” Hughes asked, bringing a hand up to his chin. “Or maybe this is posturing?”

 

“We are not posturing!” Ed yelled, flinging Kaito back onto the couch, which Kaito hit with a wheeze.

 

He melted into the cushions. Shit, why could this kid throw him around so easily? It was probably the three previously broken ribs, fading concussion, and back-of-the-mind Pandora buzzing that was throwing Kaito off his game. And the shoulder that had been dislocated and still ached occasionally. Maybe also the guy’s metal arm.

 

Right, definitely, those things.

 

When he opened his eyes, the huge man was leaning over him. Behind him, Hughes and Ed were bickering, with Al hovering. Rather, Ed was bickering, and Hughes was holding back laughter.

 

“Are you alright, young man?” the muscleman asked.

 

“Just great,” Kaito wheezed.

 

The man offered him a hand. Kaito regarded it suspiciously, then took it gingerly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped right Kaito on the couch.

 

“I am Major Armstrong,” he introduced himself, dropping onto the couch beside Kaito. “A friend of the Elrics and Lt. Colonel Hughes. Additionally, Second Lt. Ross and Sergeant Brosh are under my command.”

 

“Pleasure,” Kaito replied, nodding his head. “I’m Kaitou.” 

 

Now that Armstrong had mentioned the two escorts, Kaito noticed them hovering in the hallway, beyond the open door, and gave them a jaunty wave. Armstrong motioned them inside the room, and when the door shut behind them, Ed turned his rant at Hughes towards the room at large.

 

“ Why are all of you here?”

 

“Well, I came to pick up Kaitou, but since you’re getting along so well, I think this has turned into a social visit!” Hughes replied, ever-cheerful. “Oooh, should we order room service?”

 

“ No way! ”

 

Armstrong nodded towards Ross and Brosh. “I came for an update from my men on you Elric brothers,” he replied. Abruptly, his eyes began to water and he clasped his hands together. “Imagine my shock at what I found out!”

 

Ed sent a spear-like glare towards the paling Ross and Brosh. “You told him?”

 

“It was hard not to…” Brosh admitted, wincing.

 

“To think such a terrible secret was being concealed by the Philosopher’s Stone!” The Major continued in a warbling voice. Kaito edged away from him as subtly as possible, somewhat afraid he’d start making grand gestures with his threatening arms.

 

It was the right decision; the Major’s displays of despair only got more extravagant, to the point that he ended his little speech standing with one foot on the coffee table. “Imagine the military conducting something as despicable as that! Truly, the truth can be a cruel thing...”

 

“We were both in Ishval,” Hughes told Armstrong as his emotional display subsided. “We both know what cruelty this military is capable of, Major Armstrong. I’d say this is rather in line with previous orders.”

 

“Yes, but this does not even have the veneer of national interest,” Armstrong replied, wiping his face and heaving a weighty sigh. “This is pure, unadulterated brutality for the sake of unnecessary power.”

 

It was then that Ed stepped in, eyes gleaming. “There’s more to Marcoh’s notes,” he said. “Do any of you have a map of Central on hand?”

 

Brosh was nominated to retrieve one, and as he hurried away, Hughes peered at Ed. “What do you need a map of Central for?”

 

“The truth within the truth,” Ed said.

 

“Well, that’s not cryptic at all,” Kaito commented.

 

“It’s something Dr. Marcoh said when he gave us the location of his research,” Ed replied, “a reminder that what you see on the surface is only a portion of the truth.”

 

Kaito thought, unwittingly, of Tantei-kun—Kaito would eat his own hat if that kid wasn’t something more than met the eye. He thought of himself next, only doling out small portions of the truth when he had to. Self-preservation , he thought. He supposed it could be the same with Marcoh’s notes.

 

Brosh returned with a map of the country and they unrolled it across the coffee table, arranging themselves around it.

 

A glance at the map told Kaito that Central was a circular city. The very middle fit completely inside an octagon, with an avenue bisecting each edge of that octagon. Several rings circled outside it, radiating outwards until the very edges of the city collapsed their curves against a river. It was the strangest layout for a city he’d ever seen, being more accustomed to tidy grids or old, sprawling towns. 

 

While the rest of the team discussed various military buildings, Kaito committed a few key locations to memory, starting with Central Command—where they’d conducted their research today—then moving on to the military hospital and the hotel. Next, he memorized the main roads and their names, clockwise, starting from the north. The details would have to come later; it was too crowded around the map for now.

 

Kaito stood and moved over towards Brosh, who was watching the proceedings from the side. “Do you have a map of Amestris?”

 

“Yeah, hold on.” He turned towards the folder he’d brought, and flicked through the files within, before offering one to Kaito. It was much smaller than the map of Central covering the coffee table.

 

Opening it, Kaito found that, like Central, Amestris was round. It immediately struck him as odd; while a city could be made that intentional, countries’ shapes were usually a mess of natural borders and territories gained or lost in conflict. The shape of this country looked just as designed as the city did.

 

“Where’s Central on this map?” he asked Brosh, who grinned and tapped his finger directly in the center of Amestris. Indeed, just there was a tiny label: Central City .  “Ah. The very middle, of course.”

 

He took a moment to memorize the names of the regions within Amestris, as well as the names of the bordering countries. Much like memorizing a blueprint of a building for a heist, having a mental map of the country and city he was in gave him multiple escape routes, should the need arise. When he looked back up at the group, they were discussing a laboratory.

 

“...directly next to a prison,” Ed was saying. “It’s suspicious.”

 

“Why’s that?” Brosh asked, having tuned in a few moments before Kaito.

 

“Think about it—what were the ingredients for Philosopher's Stones?”

 

“Wasn’t it… live humans?” Brosh asked, tentative.

 

Hughes, leaning forward from the couch opposite Ed, hummed. “That is suspicious,” he said. “Use the souls of condemned prisoners to manufacture the Stones, and nobody will miss them. On paper, they’ve been executed.” He grinned, but it was a sharp, calculating look on him. Kaito even saw a trace of nerves in the set of his jaw. “Seems like more than one level of the government is involved in this scheme.”

 

Kaito stepped over beside Brosh and looked down at the map from over the back of the couch.  The building everyone was focused on had been drawn over with a red X, as if marking a pirate’s buried treasure.

 

“This could become a highly political issue,” Armstrong said. He rolled up the map over Ed’s protests and despite Kaito’s personal disappointment, tucking it under his arm as he stood. “Lt. Colonel Hughes, I believe we should continue this discussion in private. Second Lt. Ross, Sergeant Brosh, speak of this to no one. And you ,” he turned his gaze to Ed and Al, “behave yourselves. You’re not to investigate the Fifth Laboratory or anything else on your own. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir!” the Elric brothers replied. Kaito bit his lip to withhold a laugh; they were overdoing the enthusiasm somewhat, but nevertheless, Armstrong seemed to believe them, and accepted their cooperation with a nod.

 

“And Kaitou…” Armstrong turned his eyes on him and Kaito attempted to compose himself and look somewhat innocent. “You behave yourself as well. I’ve heard tell of your little... lockpicking habit.”

 

“Hey, I did that once !” At least as far as Amestrian officials knew.

 

Hughes laughed and stood, stretching his arms. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, it’s already been a long day for you boys. Get some rest.”

 

Kaito hoisted a hand into the air. “Wait, where am I supposed to rest?”

 

Hughes grinned at him. “I was told that you declined the offer of a private room,” he said. “So, here, if I’m not mistaken. Also, don’t forget that you’re under supervision.”

“I know, I know.” Kaito took a glance at Ed, who looked just this side of too content , and Al, hard to read as ever, and he wondered who would wind up supervising who tonight.

 

---

 

Chapter 6: The Laboratory

---

 

After the military personnel left, the hotel room was quiet for a grand total of ten seconds—Kaito counted. The two brothers shared a glance and immediately set into motion: Ed shed his red coat, and Al pulled a piece of chalk from his leg pouch (which Kaito was sure was only the 1914 equivalent of a fanny pack, or a fanny pack if they were made for seven-foot tall suits of armor and also strapped at the thigh. For fashion). 

 

Kaito watched curiously as Al drew a transmutation circle on the floor only moments before Ed dumped a bundle of bed sheets onto it. With a flash of light, the sheets had transformed into sturdy brown rope. Ed snatched up a length of it and threw the window open.

 

“Now, that’s innovating on convention,” Kaito said.

 

Ed glanced over his shoulder, face sour. “Aw, shit, Al, we gotta do something about him.”

 

“Uhhh…” Al looked down at the remaining rope in front of him. “Hmm...”

 

“You’re going to check out that laboratory, right?” Kaito took a wild guess, and the way that Al’s red gaze snapped to him told him he was right on the money. “Why don’t you take me with you?” 

 

“No way,” Ed said, turning his attention to securing one end of the rope and sliding the rest out the window. “Al, tie him up or something.”

 

“What?” Al cried. “I don’t want to do that.”

 

“Don’t forget you’re supervising me,” Kaito said. “You can’t supervise me if you leave me here. How’ll you know if I get out of the ropes? What if I get in trouble? I’m pretty sure they’ll blame you, Fullmetal-san.”

 

“Al, tie it extra tight,” Ed said.

 

“Brother, we can’t just tie him up! That’s incredibly rude!”

 

“Fine, I’ll do it if you won’t.” Ed spun around, scooped up the rope, and advanced on Kaito. His grin bordered on wicked.

 

“Hey, there’s no need for that,” Kaito slid a few steps away, eyeing Ed unhappily. He knew he couldn’t take Ed in a fair fight, not with the guy’s scarily heavy swing, and especially not with Kaito’s own numerous injuries. As if remembering them was just as bad as straining them, the dull ache in his ribs flared up. They’d probably seen a lot more strain today than they had any right to on the same day as being discharged from the hospital.

 

“Yeah, right. I don’t even trust you as far as I could throw you,” Ed said.

 

Kaito didn’t bother to correct his use of the saying, because yeah, despite the height difference, the Fullmetal Alchemist probably could throw him pretty far. Were Kaito in one uninjured piece, he’d have considered taunting him just to test it. 

 

“Didn’t Hughes tell you I picked the handcuff lock they put on me?” Kaito pointed out, sidestepping Ed as he lunged with the rope clenched in his fists. “I think I could make pretty quick work of some ropes.”

 

“Lucky for you, you’ll get to find out,” Ed ground out. “Hold still!” He grabbed for Kaito again, but Kaito neatly lifted his arms away from Ed’s reach, which elicited a sound like a frustrated growl from Ed.

 

“Brother,” Al said, approaching their little  dance, “maybe there’s a better way than tying him up like a criminal—”

 

“Yes, what he said!” Kaito pointed at Al. “Plus, if you leave me here, I’m gonna have to tell your two fancy-pants military escorts where you went.”

 

“Why would you do that?” Ed asked, but he hesitated, glare wavering.

 

“Maybe just ‘cause I’ll be pissed you didn’t let me go explore the creepy abandoned laboratory with you,” Kaito replied. He paused, just long enough to tap his chin with a finger. “Actually, yanno, that sounds pretty dangerous, huh? You haven’t even studied building blueprints or cased the place by daylight. Maybe I should go tell your escorts now , before you can head out for something so ill-advised.” He added a very serious nod for extra effect. “Yeah, that seems like the smartest move.”

 

He made a speedy dart for the door, but Ed was closer and flattened himself against it, one arm out so Kaito couldn’t reach the knob. 

 

“You won’t,” Ed hissed.

 

“I will,” Kaito said.

 

“You’re an asshole ,” Ed said.

 

“I know!” Kaito replied cheerfully.

 

Ed slowly began to lower his arm. “And if we let you come…?”

 

“I’ll be extremely helpful! Breaking and entering just happens to be something I know a few things about.” Nevermind that ‘a few’ was an understatement.

 

“I don’t like this,” Ed replied in a flat, monotone voice. “We don’t have any reason to trust you.”

 

“What, are my innate charm and dashing good looks not enough?” Kaito batted his eyes. Hey, it worked sometimes. 

 

When Ed only squinted at him and put his arm back up to bar the door, Kaito decided that talking was the long way around. And if he knew one thing about himself, it was that he was short on patience. Today was no exception. It had not been the kind of week that primed one to be patient.

 

He lunged towards the door again, leveraging surprise to hip-check Ed away and turn the knob. In an instant he was out in the hall. He’d only taken one step towards the stairs—which was hardly the dash he’d intended to make—when Ed yanked him back into the room and slammed the door shut with the force of an ox.

 

“ Alright ,” Ed seethed. “Fine! You win. You can come with. But I’m still tying you up.”

 

“Oh, just for fun, then?” Kaito winked.

 

“Because I don’t trust you! ” Ed fumed.

 

This time, when Ed grabbed him, Kaito didn’t resist. While Ed made quick work of the rope around Kaito’s wrists, Kaito quipped. “What, you never get a little risqué? You sure seem adept with your hands—”

Ed drove a fist into Kaito’s stomach, cutting him off. Kaito wheezed in breathless pain. Worth it .

---

 

Though Kaito had only managed to get a basic idea of Central’s layout, Ed and Al were familiar with the city. They took dark, empty roads and cramped alleyways from the hotel to the laboratory in near silence, moving in a line: Ed paced a meter ahead of Kaito, and Al kept an eye on him from behind.

 

Kaito had mostly ignored the weight of Pandora throughout the day, until Marcoh’s code had reached its breaking point. Ever since that tension had broken, and even now, Pandora refused to be forgotten, with a low-level niggling of energy through his system that buoyed him both in stomach-turning anxiety and energy. His footsteps were tense and short.

 

The Fifth Laboratory loomed ahead of them. Ed made a sharp gesture and flattened himself against a wall to peer around the corner; Al and Kaito quickly joined him. 

 

“Guarded,” Ed murmured softly.

 

“It’s definitely not as abandoned as they say,” Al said.

 

“Probably means there’s something of value inside,” Kaito said. “But there’s only one gaurd, so they’re not too worried about it.”

 

Ed nodded, and then looked up the perimeter wall. Following his gaze, Kaito spotted razor wire along the top, sinister loops silhouetted against the night sky. 

 

“They’ll see the light if we transmute our way in,” Ed said, then caught Al’s eye. “Up ‘n over?”

 

“Up and over,” Al agreed.

 

Up and over was a pretty clear route if Kaito said so himself, but not without the proper scaling tools. Last time he checked, none of them had any, but after watching the brothers turn bed sheets into ropes, Kaito suspected alchemists traveled light because anything they pleased could be made to work for them. “Oooh, are you gonna make a grappling hook, or—”

 

His question was cut off, answered by action: Al knelt down, hands linked to create a foothold that Ed stepped into, and Al launched him into the air. Kaito watched him easily grab the edge of the wall—the thing was more than twice Al’s height, what the hell —and dropped a length of wire down.

 

“Is he just grabbing that wire?” Kaito asked. “Shit. I’m kinda impressed. Wait, that’s probably the metal arm, isn’t? Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Yeah, he’s using his right hand—wait, what are you doing?”

 

Kaito had already wiggled out of his rope by the time Al noticed, and was shoving it into his jacket. Half his mind was running through the modifications this jacket was going to need if he was keeping it for the foreseeable future. His white suit coat was still riddled with bullet holes, and was flashier than he needed on a daily basis (even if Ed’s long red coat implied that flashiness wouldn’t make anybody bat an eye around here). Nevertheless, he’d need to get his hands on some fabric, and a sewing kit, but he knew where the pockets would go, how deep they’d be, where he’d tear out and re-sew the lining…

 

But the present matter was overcoming the wall. Even with his hands free, going straight up was a challenge his poor ribcage wasn’t up to tonight. He brushed his hands together.

 

“You really could have gotten out of that any time, huh?” Al asked with a soft, nervous laugh. He was holding the wire rope two-handed.

 

“Yup,” Kaito replied. “You ever give piggyback rides?”

 

“Not since I had a body,” Al said.

 

“Well, get ready to remember your childhood,” Kaito said. 

 

He’d been observing Al all day, so it wasn’t hard to scale him: a foothold on the hip to push himself up enough to grab onto his shoulder, and from there it was more or less a pull-up. That final step was made harder by his aching ribs—and ah, yes, that injured shoulder wasn’t too happy with the move either. But he ignored both to perch on Al’s shoulder. “Onwards!”

 

“...right,” Al said.

 

Ed had already disappeared from the top of the wall by the time Al and Kaito scaled it, and while Al moved their wire rope to the other side, Kaito spotted Ed casing the outer wall of the laboratory. When they joined him a minute later—Kaito declining Ed’s hissed order to get down from there —Ed pointed out an air vent.

 

“Here’s our entrypoint,” he said. “It’s pretty small, but it should work for me. Al, you definitely won’t fit. And Kaitou… just, no.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t ask to get this big,” Al murmured, dejected. 

 

“What? I’m pretty good at shimmying through vents,” Kaito said. He threw in a wink. “I’ve got plenty of practice with tight spots, you know.” 

 

“No.” Ed hardly acknowledged the rest of Kaito’s boasting, and Kaito deflated. “Sorry, Al. You two stay out here and keep watch, and I’ll see what I can find inside.” 

 

Al hoisted Ed up, and in he went. Soon, Ed was submersed in the darkness. Kaito couldn’t ignore the nervous twist in his guts, Pandora-induced or not.

 

“I don’t like this,” he murmured. He was still sitting beside Al’s helmet with his legs crossed at the ankles, but now dropped his elbow atop Al’s head and propped his cheek up on his fist. “He’s gonna get completely blindsided by whatever they’re protecting in there. At this point, it could be literally anything.”

 

“Brother will be fine,” Al said. “But… maybe… if he’s in there more than half an hour, we’ll go after him.”

 

“Hm. Alright.”

 

Several long minutes passed. There was no sound from the vent, and nothing from the guard out front, either. Cicadas sung from the trees in the streets. He was so far from Japan, but the cicadas still signified it as a warm summer night. It made Kaito feel homesick; here he was, atop a suit of armor, not even really playing guard duty, just being kept out from underfoot while someone else did all the fun, adrenaline-inducing, heart-pumping heisting. 

 

The quiet was giving him time to think and reflect. To miss Aoko, to think about the heists he’d more than likely never hold again—either because Pandora was destroyed, or because Kaitou Kid didn’t exist in this world.

 

No good. If he kept still too long, there was no telling what kind of despair he’d fall into.

 

“Well, this is boring,” Kaito complained, slouching over Al’s helmet. “Are your adventures always this dull?”

 

“Our adventures… vary. Brother tricked a corrupted military official into giving ownership of a town and its mines to the citizens, though,” Al said.

 

“Oh, cool,” Kaito said, and began drumming the fingers of his free hand against the top of Al’s helmet, making up a little song pattern.

 

Al’s head twitched away from his hand. “Stop that,” he said. “It echoes.”

 

“How do you hear anything, anyway?” Kaito asked. “Microphones and speakers don’t get small enough to hide on your person, right?”

 

“No, and anyway, I told you I’m not a trick,” Al complained, sending Kaito a sideways glare.

 

“Okay, okay. But humor me. How do your senses work?”

 

Al sighed. “I can hear through the seal, I guess. It gives me access to this body; if any part gets disconnected from it, I lose control over it.” He lifted a hand and flexed it. “Like if you took off my helmet, I wouldn’t be able to turn my head or anything.”

 

“Can you still see when you take it off?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Let me guess: from the seal?” Kaito said.

 

“I guess so,” Al said.

 

“And that’s because… that’s where your soul is?” Kaito asked.

 

“Well... my soul is in my armor. It’s like my body, for now. So all the contiguous parts contain my soul, in a way,” Al said.

 

“What would happen if someone chopped off your arm? Does it chop off part of your soul? Does  it hurt?”

 

Al laughed slightly, like that had happened before—or worse. Kaito had to wonder what was going unsaid. 

 

“No, no. It doesn’t hurt,” Al  said.  “It’s just not part of my body any more. My seal is the important thing, what binds me to the armor and keeps me here.”

 

“You never really told me what happened to your body,” Kaito pointed out.

 

“It was taken by Truth,” Al said. “My toll for committing the taboo.”

 

“Human transmutation,” Kaito murmured. “Quite a price. Why didn’t you just break the rules?”

 

Al turned to him again, eyes burning. “We tried,” he said, softly. “Even just attempting to transmute a person—from the dead back to the living—is to break the rules of alchemy.”

 

“So what’s different between bringing a person back from the dead and tying a soul to a suit of armor?” Kaito wondered aloud. “Why did one work and not the other?”

 

Al hesitated a moment, gaze dropping from Kaito. “I… I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I think we’d have to ask Brother, since he’s the one who did it.”

 

Kaito hummed. If he’d had even half the alchemy knowledge of the Elric brothers when his father died, would he have used it? Would he have tried to revive his father?

 

Maybe. Not a day went by when he didn’t miss him. That ache had only grown deeper the more he’d learned.

 

Kaito thought of Pandora, tucked against his side. Its presence was insistent. Inside its liquid center were the power of countless human souls. The gem was born from blood, had a history of blood too; the research had borne that out, as did Kaito’s first-hand experience.

 

Everything was so… tangled. With his father, Pandora, alchemy. But beyond that—mind, body, self, identity, all tangled together to form one individual, too.

 

He hummed again, tunelessly. Now that he actually wanted to figure something out, it was too hard to think when he was sitting still, like sinking into quicksand. He slid from Al’s shoulder and landed on the ground in a crouch. When he straightened, he began to meander back and forth with large showman’s steps, one hand cradling his chin.

 

“Kaitou…?” Al said.

 

“Let me think aloud for a moment here,” Kaito  said. “A person’s not just a body, yeah? A person is a body and a mind, or a soul, if you will, for the sake of this hypothetical. All together, you get an individual with certain personality traits and so on. When the body fails, the soul departs, and that person is dead. But a soul must have a physical presence, which is why it can be bound to something like your armor.” 

 

He paused here, feet together, gazing at Al, whose red eyes burned back at him. “Yes,” Al finally said. “If not on this plane, maybe the next.”

 

“Sure. I don’t suppose a soul, or a mind, can depart from a living body first,” Kaito said. “Even a person who’s brain-dead, or another who’s memories and personality have decayed with age—the soul is still there, right?”

 

“I’d think so,” Al said. “The soul is the essence of a person, what makes them who they are. Personality and memories are part of that, but it goes deeper.”

 

“Right, right.” Kaito pointed at Al, then resumed his showy pacing. “So even if their brain’s offline, they’re still who they are. And you, Al, your soul’s still here. You’re clearly not dead, and you’re clearly you. You’ve got a mind, a personality, maybe coming in through the soul, here or the next plane, or whatever. But that’s gotta mean your body’s alive too, eh?”

 

Al nodded at that, the red glow of his eyes round behind his visor. “Yeah, that it’s out there somewhere, that it’s not dead.”

 

“Yeah, because if it was, you’d be dead. Your soul couldn’t be here alone.” Kaito stopped again, dropping both his hands and shoving them into his pockets. “But like any good scientists, we’ll have to test it somehow, right?”

 

A fast-moving blur came down heavy from above, cutting off Al’s opportunity to reply and forcing them both to leap backwards. Kaito’s heart rate picked up instantly, and with each beat, he was conscious of Pandora, quickly setting out to match its pace. Unlike last time, this time he could envision the souls trapped inside the roiling liquid, shoved together, no peace, no space, no room for individual identity, reaching up, surging...

 

A cold shiver sparked down his spine.

 

The thing that had fallen between them pulled itself up to its full height, revealing itself to be an armored guard. A meat cleaver sunk three inches into the ground, and the guard pulled it up with a measure of force in one hand. His eyes roved between Al and Kaito, and Kaito saw that the front of his helmet was a mask of bone, the back covered with a pelt.

 

“Aren’t ya fast,” he said to Kaito. His voice held a metallic tint, like Al’s, who he turned to next. “And you move well, for being so big.” He hoisted the cleaver up, showing off its immense weight by testing his swing and cackled out a laugh. “You’ll be fun prey!”

 

“Who are you?” Al asked, as if it were a completely appropriate time to wonder about things like that.

 

“Who cares who he is!” Kaito yelped, pointing frantically. “He’s got a giant meat cleaver and he wants to kill us!”

 

“This guy’s got a point!” Their attacker crowed, already spinning towards Kaito and rearing up his weapon.  “I wanna take you apart!”

 

Kaito dove for the ground as the cleaver came down; he rolled away from the blade at the last second, shoulder flaring hotly. He grunted. He could feel his heart in his throat, and Pandora burning against his ribcage.

 

He’d gotten pretty accustomed to dangerous situations and people who wanted to kill him over the last year. But as the cleaver came down a second time and Kaito made an even narrower dodge than before, he thought, with only a touch of hysteria, that he’d rather have Snake aiming a gun at him again than some psycho trying to chop him up for—what, just for fun ? At least he’d known what Snake wanted from him!

 

The sound of metal on metal overhead drew Kaito’s attention, and when he looked up, their attacker was sliding backwards. He hit the wall with a hollow clang . Al stood opposite, hands up, knees bent in a fighting stance.

 

“Not bad!” Their attacker laughed. “I’ll introduce myself, since you asked so nicely. I’m called 66 around here, but maybe you’ve heard about who I was before—Barry the Chopper, notorious Central City serial killer! That’s the one who stands before you!”

 

Kaito scooted behind Al. If this guy claimed to be a mass murderer, he’d be happy to let Al take the lead.

 

“Sorry,” Al said. “Never heard of you. I’m from a rural town in the east, so…”

 

“ Eh ?” Barry exclaimed. “My reign of terror shoulda’ spread way out there too, yanno!”

 

“Sorry...” Al said again.

 

Barry charged at Al, and Kaito briefly considered the fact that maybe hiding behind one of the two giant armored fighters wasn’t that smart after all, but Al sent Barry flying away with an effortless throw.

 

This time, Barry left a skid mark in the dirt where he tumbled. He got up and made another charge. Al sent him back again. Kaito watched the whole song and dance repeat, eyes round, and started to relax. Maybe this would be fine…?

 

Or, not. Barry, yelling in frustration at Al’s hand-to-hand combat skills, locked his glowing white eyes on Kaito instead. In an instant, Barry’s second, smaller knife, came flying at Kaito’s head. 

 

Kaito’s very short life passed before his eyes as he launched himself into the ground, hitting hard enough to knock some of the air from his lungs. The knife buried itself solidly in the perimeter wall several meters away. 

 

Maybe he should start keeping a tally of attempts on his life he’d experienced at age sixteen. There’d be at least two counts from just the last week: Snake and his sniper friend, now Barry. Wait, should he count each time Snake fired at him? Or would that be artificial inflation?

 

“Hey!” Al cried, but he was put back on the defensive by Barry’s next charge. Al put up his forearm to brace against Barry’s cleaver, then landed a flat-footed kick. Barry clattered against the laboratory’s wall with another frustrated yell.

 

Kaito did an extremely painful push up and hauled himself to his feet. His ribs protested and he clutched at them with a hand. Shit, if only he had his full range of mobility, he could—

 

Pandora burned, a short warning against his skin. There was only a thin layer between it and his chest, but his hand was insulated from it by the shirt, jacket, and glove. ‘ If only’ had barely formed in Kaito’s mind before a crackle of red light shocked out between his fingers, drawing Al’s glance.

 

The fires of pain had...subsided. No, they’d blinked out completely. They’d been extinguished.

 

Kaito straightened his back experimentally, and took a deep breath, his lungs expanding to full capacity. His ribs felt... fine . Better than fine. He hadn’t been able to breathe this deeply without pain since he was shot. He rolled his shoulders. Okay, the one he’d pulled badly still ached, but that was manageable; he’d heisted with similar injuries, thanks to Tantei-kun and his vicious soccer balls.

 

He’d examine how this happened—and potentially thank Pandora? Or the people who’d become Pandora?—when he had more than three seconds to think. For now, he couldn’t keep a grin off his face.

 

Kaitou Kid was back. 

 

“Kaitou, run! I’ll take care of Barry—” Al started, but Kaito had already taken off. Al’s frantic, “Wait! Not this way! ” only served to make Kaito laugh.

 

With a leap and one foothold for support, he perched back on Al’s shoulder. “Barry the Chopper, huh?” he asked as Barry approached them with narrowed eyes.

 

“And you’re what, this guy’s parrot?” Barry asked, gesturing with his cleaver to Al.

 

“Never!” Kaito gasped, a dramatic hand over his heart. “I’m my own parrot, thank you very much.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna take you apart nice and neat!”

 

“You can try, but I think I’ve warmed up  now.”

 

Barry took another wide swing at Al; while Al leapt back, Kaito launched forwards, grabbing both horns protruding from the forehead of Barry’s helmet, and took it with him as he rolled to the ground several feet away.

 

“AHHH!! My head!” Barry yelped, spinning. “Bastard! Oh, well. At least I’m scarier like this now, eh?”

 

Kaito stood and tossed the helmet away. Like he’d thought, based on the metallic quality of his voice and the hollow sound Barry made when hitting the wall over and over, he was little more than a soul in a suit of armor. The same as Al, only more sinister.

 

“You seemed like an air-head, anyway,” Kaito commented.

 

“Huh,” Al said.

 

“Eh, neither of you are shocked? Grossed out? Scared?” Barry asked, arms lifted in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be all, ‘ YAAAH!!’ Or ask, ‘ what happened to your body?!?’ ”

 

“Well, I’m like that too, so…” Al pointed to himself, then lifted his own helmet. 

 

Barry shrieked. “ YAAAH!! Gross!! What happened to your body?!?”

“That hurts,” Al mumbled, placing his head back on, red eyes blinking behind the visor again.

 

“Ohh, wait, I see. You’re a condemned criminal too,” Barry said. He relaxed, as if their fight had been put completely on hold. “You should’ve said so. What’d you do? Who’d you kill?”

 

“Wh—I haven’t killed anyone!” Al cried. “And I’m not a criminal! My brother bound me to this armor when I lost my body!”

 

“Oh, your brother, eh?” Barry seemed thoughtful, putting his hands on his hips. It wasn’t exactly comforting to Kaito, as the giant meat cleaver was now pointed directly at him. He edged away, mentally calculating the smoothest way he could get the cleaver away from him. Barry went on, “You mean that blonde pipsqueak who crawled inside earlier?”

 

Al narrowed his eyes at Barry and resumed his fighting stance. “...yeah,” he said.

 

“Hopefully he won’t miss you,” Barry laughed, before turning on Kaito with his cleaver. “Alright, you rat, gimme my head back!”

 

It became a dance, a messy one characterized by Barry’s wide swings and Kaito’s easier-than-ever ducks and dodges. With adrenaline and Pandora’s electricity charging through his system, Kaito almost felt like he was back at a heist, taunting the task force. Invincible, the center of attention and envy. And then Bary’s blade got a little too close to Kaito’s nose and he imagined, quite vividly, what it would be like to get his nose sliced off. Not very pretty.

 

“You’re so easy to read!” Kaito taunted, covering up for the close call. “With that huge leadup and unbalanced stance, you’ve got no skill at all. An angry girl with a mop knows more about combat than you do!”

 

“Or an angry girl with a wrench,” Al commented with a touch of fear. He intersected Kaito and Barry’s back and forth with a solid fist that toppled Barry’s headless body.

 

“Now there’s somebody I don’t want to meet,” Kaito said, eyeing Barry, who wasn’t trying to get up. “Why do all these angry girls have access to blunt weapons? It isn’t fair!”

 

Barry was flat on his back, complaining. “What the hell! You two’re no fun at all! I just want to chop someone up! It’s been so long! Nobody ever comes here, so I never get to cut anybody!”

 

Al set a foot on Barry’s chest cavity to ensure he’d stay down. “What are you protecting?” Al asked. “What’s in this lab?”

 

Kaito took the chance to slip around the other side and kick Barry’s cleaver very, very far away. 

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Barry replied with a laugh, even as Kaito grabbed his hands and bound his wrists with the rope that had held him earlier. “Too bad my buddy is slicin’ up your brother inside, otherwise he might’a been able to tell you something!”  

 

“He’s an alchemist, and besides that, he’s… Brother,” Al said. “I’m sure he can deal with your buddy.”

 

Despite Al’s strong claim, Kaito could hear the note of worry in his voice. He glanced over to the grate Ed had slipped into about half an hour ago, made an executive decision, and shoved the tail-end of the rope into Al’s hands.

 

“I think you can handle him without me,” Kaito said, brushing off his gloves on his pants. How did Ed keep his gloves white if he was always fighting? Kaito’s spotlessness usually came from being utterly untouchable, but that strategy wasn’t working here. “I’ll go check on Fullmetal-san.”

 

“I don’t know…” Al said, hesitant.

 

Kaito held his glowing gaze with a grin. Without three broken ribs dogging his every move, he felt back on his game. “Didn’t I tell you earlier?” he asked. “Sneaking is my specialty.”

 

On the ground, Barry cackled. “Sneaking won’t help you one bit against 48! He was called Slicer in life, you know. He’s sharp, and he’s quick.”

 

“Can’t slice what you can’t see,” Kaito said, brushing off Barry’s words. “And I’ve got a personal rule: nobody gets hurt. I’d feel responsible if Fullmetal-san got injured while I stood by.”

 

Al’s gaze resolved and he nodded. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Or I’ll transmute a door to come kick both of your butts.” With a glance to Barry, he added, “And 48’s butt, too.”

 

“Got it!” Kaito chirped. With a running start, he leapt up the wall, got a handle on the open vent grate, and vanished within.

 

---

 

It wasn’t hard to follow Ed’s path inside. He’d kicked a grate out around what Kaito approximated was the middle of the laboratory, so Kaito dropped out of the same spot into an industrial hallway, full of cobwebs and dust.

 

Despite the obvious signs of disuse, yellow floor lights glow up and down the hall. In the dust were clear footprints which began below the kicked-out grate. Kaito took care to step only where Ed had already left prints, and walked lightly.

 

If Kaito had to make a wager, he’d say that Ed had been dead-on when he’d guessed that this lab was being used to make Philosopher's Stones; the evidence was stacking up. Barry had inadvertently proved Ed’s hypothesis about prisoners being used at the Fifth Lab, even if shoving their souls into armor wasn’t the same as melting them down to power rocks. Or… was it?

 

Kaito had a hypothesis for that, too: Pandora was made out of souls...maybe those souls had an awareness. What if they were like Al and Barry—still individuals, but instead of bound to one metal body each, all crammed into one of stone? 

 

It was an unsettling thought, but it made sense. Pandora had activated a total of three times for him: the first time, falling from the fifty-fourth floor of the Midtown Tower; the second time, when he’d examined it at night in the hospital; and just now, outside the Fifth Lab.

 

He could identify a strong desire preceding the first and last incidents. When he’d fallen, his overwhelming desire had been for survival. Tonight, he’d craved healing. Mobility. It seemed Pandora had responded both times.

 

But what of the second time? The absence of bullet holes or burns in his blue shirt proved that it hadn’t been his imagination. Had it been him, that time? But... he wasn’t an alchemist. He didn’t have a drop of power for Pandora to amplify. It would only make sense if Pandora had acted first then too, even without Kaito’s desire.

 

He hesitated in the middle of a darkened hallway when he heard something coming from a vast doorway up ahead: the sounds of a fight, scraping, screeching metal on metal and the sharp voices.

 

Kaito peered in. The room was huge, perhaps the size of a school gym. The high ceiling was held up by thick rectangular pillars on all sides, where lamps hung and illuminated everything in the center of the room with yellow, while leaving the edges in deep shadow.

 

There was a large circular drawing on the ground. Kaito realized it was a transmutation circle, and a heavy-duty one at that, too complex to make a quick visual scan. Though he couldn’t immediately discern its purpose, context stated it had to be involved with something nasty. 

 

And there, at the far end of the room was the tiny figure of Ed battling a headless, armored man with a sword—Slicer. Half of Ed’s face was covered in blood; Kaito could see that from across the room, could smell the sharp metallic tang that accompanied spilt blood. 

 

His throat tightened.

 

With ghostly steps, he crept into the room and kept to the dark edges to move to the other side. Ed and Slicer clashed again. Kaito saw that Ed’s weapon was a blade protruding from his forearm; under it was a nimble metal hand, curled into a tight fist, the prosthetic Kaito had tried to see less than an hour ago, but now, there was no satisfaction at the reveal of that particular mystery. Ed’s breaths were labored, and there was a gash in his shoulder, hindering his fighting and strengthening the sharp scent of blood in the room. 

 

Shit , what Kaito wouldn’t give to have one of his smoke pellets or flash bombs right now. He hadn’t found a chance to try to manufacture any new ones to replace the confiscated ones. He’d have to come up with a different distraction, and fast. Preferably not one that made him a target; if Ed was losing this battle, Kaito would surely fare worse. Maybe he could make use of one of those wall sconces? His ribs were healed, so maybe they could run and hide until Slicer gave up? He could probably support Ed’s weight, since he was so small—

 

He was less than halfway into formulating an escape plan when Ed was sent flying backwards. Kaito winced at the sound of his back hitting a stone pillar. Slicer charged, sword drawn, and Kaito frantically abandoned his cover and half-made plans.

 

“ Hey! ” he yelped. “Stop!”

 

Slicer didn’t waver, but Kaito saw the dread and fear on Ed’s face wiped away by shock, just for an instant. Then, a flicker of his golden eyes, before his expression was covered once again by determination with a flash of white teeth, grit tight.

 

It happened quickly: Ed brought his hands together. The sound of flesh hitting metal rang clearly. He lunged up. His palms met the chest of his opponent. Bright blue lightning danced over his hands, and across the surface of Slicer’s chest, just for one heartbeat. Then the chestplate exploded. 

 

A few sharp pieces of metal hit Kaito as he came to a sudden stop. The empty armor clattered to the ground. Ed slumped onto his knees, his breathing loud and desperate.

 

“Shit,” Ed gasped. “Shit.  Bastard. Fuck.”

 

“Uh, you okay?” Kaito asked, crouching beside him. He wasn’t sure if he was the bastard or if Slicer was, but he supposed either was fine.

 

“Fine,” Ed muttered, his eyes locked on the immobile armor. “Fight’s over.”

 

“What the fuck was that just now?” Kaito said

 

“Stopping at deconstruction,” Ed replied, falling back onto his ass and tentatively nudging Slicer’s foot with his own. The disembodied arms thrashed and howled. Ed and Kaito both flinched.

 

“You’re not about to tell me there were three brothers, are you?” Ed snapped, giving the legs a more thorough kick.

 

“No,” Slicer said. 

 

Kaito tracked the source of his voice to the disembodied helmet gazing at them a couple meters away. Okay, one or two souls bound to armor, Kaito could handle with only a minor crisis, but adding two more was really starting to push it. 

 

“Hurry up and destroy us, kid,” Slicer’s helmet continued. “They don’t look kindly on those who fail.”

 

Ed slumped back against the wall. The clearest foe was now Ed’s injuries and exhaustion, so Kaito pulled an extra piece of fabric from inside his jacket and pressed it to Ed’s forehead, even when Ed winced and turned away with a scowl. He was less sure what he could do about the gash in Ed’s shoulder and side, but Ed was already putting pressure on the latter with his hand so Kaito could only hope he wasn’t about to bleed out.

 

“Don’t ask me to become a murderer,” Ed said to Slicer. “Even with only souls and armor, you’re people.”

 

The brother-soul in the chest armor gave a hollow laugh. “And to think, in these bodies, we’d be treated more human than when we had living ones.”

 

“Fullmetal-san, as absolutely fascinating as this is, I think we should, yanno, get the fuck out of here,” Kaito spoke up, pulling the fabric away from Ed’s head. His wound was still bleeding sluggishly, so he pressed it back, but Ed smacked his hand away and surged to his feet, stepping over Slicer’s arm and picking up his helmet by the decorative hair piece.

 

“Not yet,” Ed says. “This guy’s gonna give us some information about what’s going on here.”

 

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, figure that out later? Like… deduce it from all the clues or something?” Kaito asked anxiously, but his voice was lost under Slicer’s laugh. “We already know about the Stones, and—”

 

“Alright,” Slicer’s helmet said, agreeing to Ed’s demands over Kaito’s pleas. “I’ll tell you. The ones who made the Philosophers’ Stones, and ordered us to protect this place, are not huma—”

 

Two thin, dark tendrils shot out from the dark edge of the room and pierced the metal at the back of Slicer’s helmet. His words cut off with a strangled sound, and when the tendrils retreated, the helmet tore out of Ed’s grip. 

 

“Brother! ” the armor on the ground screamed.

 

Following the tendrils, Kaito could make out the shape of a person at the edge of the room. When she stepped into the light, she had Slicer’s helmet impaled on two impossibly sharp fingers. Dark curls framed her face and a dark red tattoo stood out starkly on her pale chest.

 

“Sorry, but we can’t have you speaking out of turn, 48,” she said. Her voice was low, a bit sultry; with a shiver, Kaito remembered Akako. But while their attitudes were a match, Kaito knew in his gut that this woman was ten thousand times more dangerous than Akako with her magic circles and exaggerated laugh.

 

As if to prove him correct, the woman cracked the helmet as it began to scream, right down the middle of the blood seal, and the churning in Kaito’s stomach turned sick, then bottomed out completely. He’d just watched someone die. 

 

It was different from the Nightmare heist. The sound of Slicer’s helmet cracking was the impersonal screech of metal, not the intimate, sickening thud of a body—bone and blood and organs—hitting ground. Impact, and then unnatural stillness. 

 

She tossed the helmet aside as the soul-brother on the floor moaned. Another figure leaned out from around the woman—shorter, but with long dark hair and a crop top. Kaito eyed them warily. Standing in front of Kaito, Ed was shaking, a full-body tremble, down to his clenched metal fist. 

 

“My, what’s the Fullmetal pipsqueak doing here?” they asked. “And the strange Xingan alchemist, too? What a weird team-up.”

 

Kaito slowly drew himself to his feet. “Do you know them, Fullmetal-san?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Whether or not Ed knew them, they knew who both of them were, and that was more than Kaito was comfortable with.

 

Ed didn’t reply. Instead, he growled at the woman. “You killed him!”

 

“He was about to kill one of our precious sacrifices. Not to mention his loose lips did not bode well for the plan.” She considered Ed with hungry eyes. “Well. I’m more curious about how you found this place. What a trying boy you are.”

 

“Why, you —” Ed ground out, shoulders tense. “What do you mean, sacrifice ? Who are you?”

 

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” the woman replied.

 

One foot slid backwards as Ed tried to resume a fighting stance, but it was sloppy; the part of Kaito that was preoccupied with their imminent survival was blaring the escape siren and slamming the get lost!! buttons; neither of them could fight these people. If Ed kept swinging, this would be a deathmatch. He took a few subtle steps toward Ed. 

 

Impatient with the continued backdrop of screaming, the shorter of the two intruders clicked their tongue and scooped up Slicer’s sword. Though Kaito snapped his focus to them, and leapt forward to snatch their arm, he was still too slow; the tip of the sword stabbed into the blood seal of the second soul-brother, felling him to silence.

 

“Good riddance, you noisy bastard,” the intruder said, then narrowed their dark purple eyes at Kaito.

                            

Kaito tightened his grip on their arm, teeth clenched tight. 

 

The stranger just grinned. It was a sadistic look on their face. “You know, it’s too bad that you’re too interesting to kill,” they said.

 

The sound of Ed’s clap was the only warning Kaito had to yank himself away before vicious stone spikes shot out of the ground towards the intruder. They deftly hopped away, Slicer’s sword over their shoulder.

 

“Hey! I don’t like fighting. It hurts too much,” they complained. “Why don’t you fight Lust instead?” They thrust a thumb at the woman, whose crossed arms and raised eyebrows clearly communicated she wasn’t amused by their antics.

 

“You’re the one who picked this fight,” Ed growled, pulling himself out of a crouch. “And I’m going to finish it with you! ”

 

“Fullmetal-san, we should go,” Kaito said, one last desperate attempt to retreat under the watchful stares.

 

“Why don’t you listen to him, pipsqueak?” the stranger laughed. “You look like death walking.”

 

Ed ignored Kaito’s plea and charged. The tussle was sloppy: Ed’s feet were unsteady, his swings wide and heavy. Kaito threw a wary glance to the woman—Lust, and boy , that was a codename if Kaito had ever heard one—who stood watching with vague amusement. She showed no signs of joining the fray, but Kaito didn’t trust her.

 

Okay. Well, resolving this and keeping them in one piece was up to him, then.

 

The best he could do, short his usual supply of knock-out gas, was to whisk Ed the hell out of this damn place before he could self-destruct out of sheer stubbornness. Though the pair didn’t seem intent on killing them, Kaito didn’t want to stick around to confirm that.

 

He slipped around the fight and lunged for their foe’s legs, which managed to bring them down, but they kicked him in the stomach before he could get any kind of restraints going. When his grip faltered, they jumped up, somehow still holding onto Slicer’s sword, and made a run at Ed, grinning like mad.

 

Shit , okay, shit, he really couldn’t let Ed get stabbed, and Ed was only just processing the abrupt shift in tactic. So Kaito did the only thing he could at the moment: he put himself between Ed and the sword. Literally.

 

Getting stabbed in the abdomen was pretty awful. If Kaito had to choose a few words to describe it, he might choose holyfuckingshitohmygod.

 

“Oh?” Their foe sounded delighted. “Aren’t you noble?” They twisted the sword and the pain brought a gasp from Kaito.

 

Did this count for his murder-attempt tally? Probably not, if they didn’t want him dead. Shit, it sure felt like they wanted him dead. Fuck it. The week’s tally was seven, and yes, he was counting each and every bullet shot at him during the heist, god damn it.

 

“Envy, don’t drag this out,” Lust spoke up. “And don’t kill him.” She had the gall to sound bored.

 

“I know ,” Envy complained, twisting the sword again as they glared at Kaito. “Man, you’re annoying , you know?”

 

Kaito gasped again. Shit, trying to think fast wasn’t working very well—but what had Ed done earlier? Clapped, and then... stopped at deconstruction . And if Pandora listened to him, maybe it was possible for Kaito, too. Quickly, he brought his palms together and then grabbed the hilt of the sword. Pandora , he thought, scrambling, at the risk of looking like a complete fool, I’d really like to blast them away .

 

The Stone burned hot against his ribcage. Red light crackled beneath his palms, and the hilt of the sword splintered apart—but, to Kaito’s horror, so did Envy’s hands. The blade clattered to the ground as Envy reeled back, howling. 

 

Their hands were a mess of fractured bone, torn muscle, and blood. There was blood on Kaito’s gloves.

 

A lot of blood.

 

He couldn’t smell anything else but tinny blood.

 

“ BASTARD!! ” Envy screeched. “That hurts!! ”

 

Lust raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. Behind him, Ed exhaled, shakily. It was a sound that Kaito didn’t know what to make of, not while trying to keep his dinner down.

 

“I—” Kaito gaped at Envy, then down his hands. What the FUCK, Pandora. “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Envy panted. Electricity crackled again; their hands, dripping blood, were growing fresh muscle and bone, and swiftly being covered with new layers of skin, layers and cells creeping and stretching and crawling. Both of their hands glowed red with the same light that Pandora produced.

 

Okay , this is something to unpack later, Kaito decided frantically. There was still a goddamn stab wound in his abdomen. He covered the wound with his hand to staunch the blood as much as possible. He didn’t even dare direct a thought towards Pandora, not after what it had just done— for him? Through him?

 

When Envy charged back at Kaito, though, it was Ed who rushed up to meet him, stumbling through a swing that didn’t connect. Envy reached at him with two brand-new hands. Though Kaito managed to drag Ed backwards at the last second, Ed was heavier than Kaito expected, and they hit the ground in a bloody pile.

 

“How cute,” Envy sneered down at them. “You’re like a circus act.”

 

Ed struggled to his feet, bringing his hands together. “I’m ending this,” he growled. 

 

As Kaito regained his footing as well, Ed reformed his arm into a blade. His fingers tightened over his stomach. He didn’t look, but he knew his gloves would be irreparably red after this, Envy’s blood drenched in his own. “Fullmetal-san, this is a bad idea,” he said. “We need to—” 

 

“Shut up!” Ed yelled back, not sparing Kaito a glance before he charged at Envy again, slashing once, twice, as Envy ducked and dodged. As he wound back to attempt a third swing, there was a sudden clank, and his arm dropped, dead weight at his side.

 

The room was silent for a moment.

 

“ Shit ,” Kaito said. This night just got better and better, didn’t it? “I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”

 

“Like hell —” Ed roared, but Envy, laughing, took the defenseless moment to drive his knee into Ed’s stomach. 

 

Ed went down hard, gasping for breath, and stayed down. Kaito crouched beside him and did his best to help him up with one arm, but as he did, Ed slumped into unconsciousness all at once. His dead weight brought Kaito to his knees.

 

Envy and Lust only watched.

 

“Okay, we’re going now!” Kaito said, projecting as much cheer as he possibly could over the heart-pounding panic he was feeling. “I think we’ve fought enough, don’t you?”

 

Neither Envy nor Lust refuted him. Envy was frowning, their victory over Ed short-lived, but Lust looked thoughtful. One of her dark gloved hands cupped her face. As Kaito heaved Ed onto his back, trying to ignore the pain from his friendly neighborhood stab wound, he noticed her eyes were red. Nearly glowing.

 

Like Pandora , Kaito thought, only somewhat hysterically. The electricity when Envy’s hands healed was the same, too, wasn’t it? Did they have a second Pandora? Shit, that could pose some issues. But those weren’t issues for right now, if he could just get himself and Ed out of here.

 

“I do suppose enough is enough,” she said. “We need that boy alive, and since you’re quite the enigma…”

 

“Great!” Kaito cut her off. “Wonderful. We’ll go, then. Thank you so much.”

 

“I think we’ll burn this place down,” Lust told him. “I’d say you have less than a minute before we begin.”

 

Kaito didn’t need to be told a second time. Finally caving to every self-preservation instinct he possessed, he sprinted out of the room as fast as he could with Ed’s dead weight on his back.

 

It would be impossible to get Ed out the same way they’d come in, but Kaito also knew the front door would be a bust. He had few other options. This was exactly why he studied blueprints and cased a place first-hand, too. 

 

Okay, maybe not this exact reason. This situation was rather... unique.

 

He followed the vent lines through the twisting hallways until he found the outer wall. By then, several minor explosions had already echoed throughout the labs. He stood at the wall, each breath rasping and painful, and wondered if he’d have to use Pandora again. He’d hoped Al had transmuted a wall open like he’d promised to, but it wasn’t looking likely. 

 

Shit, he didn’t want to use Pandora. Pandora gave him a scarily big hit of energy and power, sure, but it was also beyond unpredictable, and probably used soul-people. Plus, it seemed dependent on his hands, and right now, he didn’t have a single one of those to spare.

 

Nor does Ed , Kaito thought, and laughed at his own morbid joke. Ah, it was good to have a sense of humor in trying times like these.

 

Another explosion shuddered the air, close this time, and Kaito headed towards it instead of away. Nobody had ever called him particularly street-smart, but this would definitely be a fair test. But explosions probably meant walls coming down, and that meant escape.

 

The risk paid off; after stumbling over rubble and coughing on smoke, he smelled clean air, saw a corner of the night sky through a caved portion of the wall.

 

He stumbled outside, wheezing and listing badly to the right, where Ed’s metal arm hung heavily. Through the haze, he saw Al. Good ol’ Al. Instantly recognizable Al.

 

“Brother!”

 

That was about when Kaito’s legs gave out. Oh, yeah. The stab wound. Blood loss. Smoke inhalation. Right .

 

“Al,” Kaito said, voice rasping as Al’s heavy footsteps came close. “I think... we might need to go to the hospital.” As if to prove the point, Ed began sliding off Kaito’s back, following the weight of his useless arm under the force of gravity.

 

Al yelped again and caught Ed gently, lifting him from Kaito’s back. Now relieved of the responsibility, pitched forward and landed face-down into the grass. 

 

Well, this is really shitty , Kaito thought. At least the grass was cool.

 

There were multiple voices yelling, but Kaito couldn’t parse the words before his consciousness slipped away.

 

---

 

Notes:

can you tell I love ending chapters with Kaito passing out? because i definitely, definitely do

Chapter 7: The Investigation

---

 

Conan was shuttled home from the heist around one thirty in the morning. He’d protested, of course, acting every part the petulant child he looked, but his small body lacked stamina, and ultimately, that won out. The second he was spotted nodding off (by Hakuba no less, the traitor ), he was bundled into a patrol car and delivered to the Mouri agency, where Ran was still awake, ready to scold him right up until the moment she saw his unusually serious—albeit sleepy—mood. She’d sent him to bed with only her mouth pressed into a tight line. He’d barely felt the indignity of it all.

 

Conan had seen a lot of shit.

 

He’d seen people fall from buildings. He’d seen people shot, poisoned, bludgeoned. He’d seen blood splattered on floors and walls, staining skin, filling mouths. He’d stared down gun barrels. He’d been kidnapped, tied, thrown into ice-cold rivers. Hell, he’d survived his own attempted murder via untraceable poison.

 

But he’d never seen Kaitou Kid like that; so human, vulnerable, eyes flashing wide in the moment before he was sent backwards into thin, unfriendly air.

 

It was—wrong.

 

Maybe it was Kid’s untouchable veneer being broken. Maybe it was the mid-air disappearance. Maybe it was the unnatural heat from the tiny red gem sparkling in the moonlight. Maybe it was Snake, a man searching for immortality, cloaked in black… maybe it was all of it. 

 

Laying on his futon, listening to Kogoro-chain-saw snoring, Conan’s chest tight with the need to understand, the desperate drive to connect the pieces, to line everything up into a logical narrative, to find the true core of events. What happened to Kaitou Kid at Midtown Tower? Was Snake part of the Black Org? 

 

What in the world was Pandora, really?

 

He was missing so much.

 

The clock neared five. He reached for his phone and squinted at the bright screen. It would only be mid-afternoon in New York—good. He had a few questions for his mother.

 

He took his phone and slipped out of bed. He hesitated in the hallway to make sure Ran was asleep, and then moved quietly down the stairs to the agency. Once he was cross-legged on the client couch, he dialed his mom. 

 

She picked up after only two rings. “Hi, Shin-chan!” she exclaimed, so loudly that Conan scowled and wished she could see. With her voice away from the phone, Yukiko said, “Yusaku, it’s Shin-chan! Shin-chan, your father says hi!”

 

“Hi,” Conan replied.

 

“What are you doing up so early?” Yukiko asked. She quickly turned pouty. “Is something wrong? Geeze, Shin-chan, you only call us when something is wrong!”

 

Conan winced, opening his mouth, but she had a point. After a moment, he said, “Well, nothing is wrong with me. I’m fine. But… has there been any news about Kaitou Kid in America recently? Like, as of today?”

 

“I haven’t seen anything like that,” she said, still pouting. “Should I have?”

 

“Well, if there’s nothing yet, I’m sure there’ll be something soon,” he said.

 

“Shin-chan, what happened?”

 

Instead of telling her the story, he pivoted. “Kaa-san, do you know who Kuroba Kaito is?”

 

“Kaito-kun…?” She was more confused than upset, now. “Yeah, he was Kuroba Toichi-san’s son. I met him not long before Toichi-san died. He’s your age, but I haven’t even thought about him in years. Why? How do you know him?”

 

“I met him by chance,” Conan replied. “At last night’s Kid heist.” 

 

Yukiko hesitated. “Did something happen to Kaito-kun?” There was a pause, long enough that Conan could guess his parents were sharing a look. “Or… to Kaitou Kid?”

 

He shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said. “Was Kuroba-kun’s father the original Kaitou Kid?” It had only been a hypothesis before the Eclipse Tear heist, and while he still had no solid evidence of the matter, he had met the son of Kuroba Toichi.

 

It was the name that had tipped off Conan’s suspicions, nevermind that Kuroba bore a striking resemblance to him, pre-APTX; that part was just… an unsettling coincidence. No, it was the name, ringing half-forgotten memories of his mother’s mentor, who she’d studied under alongside Sharon Vineyard. Kuroba Toichi, a master of disguise, whose masks were unrivaled. 

 

It was just his luck that the world could be that small. It had only taken a cursory google search to connect the man’s name with the famous stage magician whose untimely death was spoken about only in rumor and conspiracy theory—nothing solid at all.

 

Also, Kuroba had cheerfully called him Tantei-kun . 

 

Not subtle, that one. Kuroba was practically admitting his second identity to Conan with a line like that. With a wink.

 

Yukiko laughed, a high, nervous sound. For all of her acting and disguise prowess, she was never good at lying, at least not to her son. “How would I know something like that, Shin-chan?” she asked.

 

“Humor me, kaa-san,” he said dryly. “This is important.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Shin-chan?” She sighed. “Toichi-san was my instructor, but I don’t know what he did with the rest of his time.”

 

“How about tou-san, then? I know he and Kaitou Kid used to have some kind of rivalry,” Conan said.

 

“That’s true, but what does it have to do with Toichi-san?” Yukiko asked.

 

“Yes, what could it ever have to do with Kuroba Toichi, famous magician, master of disguise?” Conan asked dryly.

 

“Shin-chan, don’t do this to me!” Yukiko complained.

 

“I’m just trying to get a groundwork here,” Conan insisted. “I can’t confirm anything like this elsewhere.”

 

“What happened , Shin-chan?” Yukiko pressed. “Did something happen to Kaito-kun?”

 

“Something happened to Kaitou Kid. Does that mean something happened to Kuroba-kun, kaa-san?” Conan said.

 

She groaned. There was a shuffling on the other end of the line, and Conan heard the low rumble of his father’s voice, though the words weren’t distinct. Finally, Yukiko spoke into the receiver. “I can’t say for sure, Shin-chan,” she said. “But Yusaku and I would have to assume so. Now tell us! What happened?”

 

It was as good as he was going to get, right now, so he reported back with a practiced, even tone. “He was shot twice in the chest and propelled out of the fifty-fourth floor of a building,” he said. At his mother’s gasp, he hurried to add, “I think he’s alive, though. He vanished before hitting the ground.”

 

“Well, this is an issue,” he heard his dad’s voice. Yukiko must have put him on speakerphone.

 

“Understatement of the year,” Yukiko said. “Oh my god!”

 

“I need everything you know about Kaitou Kid, past and present,” Conan said, sliding off the couch and instead hopping up to Kogoro’s desk chair. From the messy surface, he pulled a pad of paper and a pen. “And that goes for both Kuroba Toichi and Kuroba Kaito, too.”

 

“What do you already know, Shinichi?” Yusaku asked. “No point in rehashing what you’ve already deduced.”

 

As Conan jotted down first what he already knew, he narrated to his parents. Names, approximate ages, skill sets, a guesstimate of when Toichi was killed based on his memories of the time and what he’d found on google about his final performances. His mind flew back to the Ryoma treasure heist (case? It had been a bit of both). That had been when Conan first revised his mental estimate of the current Kid’s age, based on the fact that Kid had implied the Phantom Lady was his mother. It had lowered his estimate significantly.

 

He’d first assumed that the original Kid had mentored the current one, which was still a possibility, but factoring in the ages of all three thieves in question had brought up the question; if the Phantom Lady was the current Kid’s mother, who was his father? The deduction hadn’t been hard, as reluctant to confirm it as his parents were.

 

A family of phantom thieves. How quaint.

 

He also went briefly over what he knew of the current Kid’s personality from the many times they’d faced off—arrogant, overconfident, thrill-seeking, yet unfailingly good-hearted, with undeniable gift in areas of disguise, acting, subtlety, acrobatics…

 

“He could honestly steal whatever his heart desired, and nobody would ever realize anything had even been taken,” Conan said. “Yet, he sends out heist notices and returns what he steals. Even before we’d ever spoken, it was obvious he had an agenda. He even mentioned once or twice that he was returning something because it wasn’t what he was looking for.”

 

He tapped the pen cap against the page a few times. The question of what he’d been looking for and why had been explained by now; it was Snake that now held the most unknowns.

 

“That’s what I have the least information about,” he said. “Snake clearly wanted whatever gem the Eclipse Tear turned out to be, and since Kid stated he wanted to destroy it for revenge, it’s a logical leap that it could be connected to his father’s death. Especially after Snake’s comment that he’d enjoy killing Kid twice. And while Kid told me the rumours about Pandora, everything about who Snake is—and the other gunmen, for that fact—is still a mystery. Though he was dressed in black, I’ve learned the hard way that a color can only tell you so much, and...”

 

His scribbling slowed to a halt as his parents remained silent on the other end of the line.

 

“Kaa-san? Tou-san? How exactly did Toichi-san die?”

 

“Toichi-san was a stage magician,” his father replied. At first, Conan thought it was a diversion, because that was something he already knew. But before he could complain, his father concluded, “He died in a stage accident when a trick went wrong. It was highly unusual. His shows were previously extremely safe and thoroughly checked.”

 

“Reeks of foul play,” Conan agreed. “I haven’t had much time to look into it, but nothing I read about his death was credible.”

 

“Indeed. When I investigated eight years ago, I couldn’t uncover any evidence of tampering around the stage or the relevant equipment. Eventually I had to let it go.”

 

He’d never known his father to give up on a case—even the death kanji “murder” he’d long assumed had stumped his father hadn’t actually caused him to give up. Knowing that, it surely wasn’t a simple lack of evidence or drive that made his father ‘let it go’ . Conan frowned.

 

“Let it go?” he repeated.

 

“Yes,” Yusaku replied evenly.

 

“Must’ve been something big,” Conan said, unable to keep the fact that he didn’t believe his father out of his voice.

 

“It was a favor to Chikage-san,” Yusaku said. “Toichi-san’s wife.”

 

Likely the Phantom Lady, then. “Weird favor,” Conan muttered. “She wanted you to stop investigating?”

 

“Publicly, at least,” Yusaku replied.

 

Ah. There it was: the real meaning behind letting it go: a convenient show. “So what did you really find?” Conan asked insistently. “Do you think—”

 

“Yes, even without evidence of tampering, I’m certain it was a setup,” Yusaku replied. “I’d reasonably assume that it was set up by Snake, though I wouldn’t have called him that eight years ago.”

 

Not new information, but Conan jotted it down regardless. 

 

“Should I give her a call?” Yukiko asked, voice distant enough that she was probably asking Yusaku and not Conan.

 

“Yeah,” Conan replied anyway. “See what she remembers from back then.”

 

It was too bad he’d not been privy to the case eight years ago; he had none of his own memories to draw upon when it came to Toichi’s murder and would have to rely primarily on second-hand accounts. 

 

In fact, he’d never seen the man do any magic, in or out of his Kid costume. “Say, did Toichi-san ever do any magic that involved red light?” he asked.

 

“He definitely utilized light and darkness on different occasions, but I don’t remember red light specifically. You’d probably be able to find old videos of some of his shows on YouTube, though,” Yusaku replied.

 

Conan made a note. “I’ll look into it. From what I was able to see, Kid’s midair disappearance involved what looked like red lightning. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the result of some visual effect… if he wanted to vanish...”

 

He thought back to Kid’s so-called ‘teleportation magic’ a few months ago. With the help of an accomplice, it hadn’t been magic at all, but a trick that played off the spectator’s expectation for Kaitou Kid to always wear bright, eye-catching white. 

 

“A simple black cloak could have done the trick,” he concluded aloud. “I don’t know why the red light was necessary. It only drew more attention to him. Not that he was going unnoticed when he was falling, but still.”

 

His father suggested flash bombs, a Kaitou Kid staple, but Conan pointed out there’d been nothing for them to make contact with in mid-air. They spoke for a moment about how light refracts and tossed around ideas involving lasers, until Yukiko spoke up.

 

“What if it was magic?” she said. “Don’t look at me like that, Yusaku! I mean real magic, the unexplainable kind!”

 

Conan snorted. “Everything can be explained,” he said.

 

“And what if the explanation is there is no explanation?” she asked stubbornly.

 

“I’ll believe it if that’s what the evidence points to,” Conan allowed. “We’ve hardly looked into anything yet. Also, Midtown Tower is over fifty floors; there’s a ton of room for devices or accomplices to be hidden. Not to mention the surrounding buildings… I just hope someone got his disappearance on video.”

 

“I’ll let you know if anything turns up on our end,” Yusaku replied. “And Yukiko will give Chikage-san a call.”

 

“Thanks, otou-san.”

 

“Shin-chan, let us know if we can help with anything else!” Yukiko added. “Kaito-kun probably doesn’t remember me, but I can’t sit by if those nasty men who targeted Toichi-san are after him, too.” Then, she hesitated. “Do you think they could be connected to Sharon’s organization, Shin-chan?...Yusaku?” 

 

“Maybe,” Conan said after a tense moment of waiting for his father to reply. “He was dressed in black, but there was something sloppier about his actions than I’ve come to expect with Them. And his codename, Snake, doesn’t seem to fit the pattern of the rest.”

 

“Habushu,” Yusaku murmured.

 

“What?” Conan said.

 

“Okinawan snake wine,” Yusaku said. “It’s made from awamori—island sake—and the body of a habu snake.”

 

Something clicked for Conan. “Wait, isn’t the habu snake extremely poisonous?”

 

“It is,” Yusaku said. “The alcohol dissolves its venom until it’s non-poisonous, after which the habushu is safe to drink.”

 

“You think Snake’s codename is a reference to habushu?” Conan asked, throat constricting. 

 

“It could be,” Yusaku replied, voice infuriatingly neutral. “It’s the first thing that came to mind when discussing snakes and alcohol, after all.”

 

“Shit.” It was a solid theory but it needed some backing, so he’d have to talk to Haibara. Nevertheless, his heartbeat quickened. This could be the break he needed, but it also meant that the potential danger increased ten-fold. “I’m going to have to be more careful…”

 

“Shin-chan!” Yukiko exclaimed. “Don’t swear with your cute little voice!”

“Oi, don’t call me cute!” Conan snapped.

 

“Awww, but you are ! I can scoop you up! And it’s way too weird to hear you swear as a little kid!” Yukiko went on.

 

“I’m not a kid, kaa-san! Stop treating me like one!” Even as he retorted, he had to wince at the high tone he was taking on. Maybe the Detective Boys were rubbing off on him more than he’d thought…

 

A soft laugh caused him to jerk to attention. Ran was standing in the doorway in her pajamas, looking sleepy, with messy hair and a faint grin.

 

“R-Ran-neechan!” Frantically, Conan scrambled to hang up on his parents, even as his mom continued her end of the argument without him. “How long have you been there?”

 

“Only a moment,” she said. “So, you’re not a kid, huh?”

 

Conan resisted the urge to swallow nervously and instead retorted as quickly as possible, “No! I’m almost seven!”

 

It seemed to work, as Ran giggled again. Even if he was only squeaking out of this by the bare skin of his teeth—as was the way all-too-often with Ran, as she was more observant than he used to give her credit for back when their heights matched—he was still always glad to hear her laugh, and cracked a smile.

 

“Even if that’s true,” she said, “it’s way too early for either of us to be up.”

 

Conan snuck a glance at the window behind him. Weak sunlight was filtering in around the decals that spelled the agency’s name; he must have been on the phone for over an hour.

 

“Sorry,” he said, and gave the truth as an excuse. “I wanted to call my mom, and with the time difference…”

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to bed for an hour, and then I’ll make breakfast? It’s Sunday, so we can relax!”

 

“Okay,” he said. He quickly folded his notes, grateful he’d been writing them in shorthand that was nearly indecipherable to anybody but himself, and pocketed the pages along with his phone at the front of his PJ shirt. As he scurried past Ran, though, she stopped him. 

 

“Conan-kun?”

 

He hesitated on the stairs up to the apartment. “...yeah, Ran-neechan?”

 

She peered at him, framed in the agency’s doorway, light spilling in all around her. In her silence, Conan’s heartbeat stuttered, and he wondered if she’d heard more of his phone call than she’d said. Finally, she shook her head.

 

“I don’t know where you learned any swear words,” she said. “But I wouldn’t put it past my otou-san. Don’t repeat them again, okay?”

 

“Okay!” he replied. “I won’t, Ran-neechan!” And before she could say anything else, he ran up the remaining stairs. Her footsteps followed more slowly.

 

Kogoro was still snoring like a chainsaw when he slipped back into the bedroom and fell onto his futon. Instead of trying to sleep, he pulled up a search engine on his phone.

 

Videos of Kid, past and present, would be easy to come by; it was the videos of Kuroba Toichi’s performances more than eight years ago that would be harder to turn up, and more  than that, the details of his death: where had he been performing? What tricks had been scheduled for the night? What had he pulled off before the accident? 

Conan couldn’t keep from grinning as he scrolled through his search results and found an archived, fan-made memorial page dedicated to one Japanese magician, Kuroba Toichi. It was sparse on the kinds of details he needed, but it was a start. 

 

And if Conan loved anything, it was a challenge.

 

---

 

First grade was a slog on a good day. This Monday, it was practically torture. Conan just couldn’t bring himself to care about kanji stroke order (he knew he wrote some of them wrong, but he couldn’t help it, he’d written the characters that way since he was six the first time). And to Kobayashi-sensei, and just about every other person in the classroom, he was probably a spot-on picture of an antsy kid, too full of energy for his own good.

 

But the sidelong stare Haibara kept giving him told him she wasn’t fooled for an instant. So when the bell rang for the end of the day and the Detective Boys scattered ahead of them on their way to the Professor’s, Conan wasn’t surprised when Haibara didn’t hold back.

 

“Something is on your mind,” she said, folding her hands behind her back as Conan shoved on his sneakers and shut his shoe locker.

 

“Wow, how’d you know,” he replied, rolling his eyes as he swung his backpack on. “C’mon, let’s catch up to the others. I only have an hour before I’m supposed to give my heist statement.”

 

They trailed out of the building and followed Ayumi, Mitsuhiko and Genta off school grounds. Ayumi called at them to hurry up, but Haibara waved off her worry, so she and Conan fell into step a few meters behind the group.

 

Conan ducked his head and lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard of the codename Snake ? Or maybe Habushu ?”

 

“I should have known that you would be thinking about Them,” Haibara said tartly. “No, those names aren’t familiar to me.”

 

“Damn…” He cupped his chin, eyes narrowed on the ground. It was possible there was a second black-dressed codenamed organization slinking around, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Coincidences existed, but they were a lot more rare than people generally anticipated.

 

“But,” Haibara said.

 

Conan perked back up almost immediately. “But?”

 

Haibara rolled her eyes before continuing. Conan thought the expression made her look the age she appeared to be, but withheld a comment. “I didn’t know everyone in the Organization. I worked in a very specific division and primarily kept to myself, after all,” she said.

 

Conan pressed on. “You never heard about someone like that in conversation, or saw the name on paper?”

 

Haibara gave him a small shrug. “I don’t know what I don’t know,” she said. “It’s possible. I’d anticipate the name Habushu being used before Snake , though. The latter is too vague.”

 

“That’s what’s troubling me,” Conan admitted. “The guy after kid called himself Snake, but it doesn’t fit with the pattern we’ve already seen across the members of the Org.”

 

“Are you certain he was affiliated with Them?” Haibara asked.

 

“It would be too coincidental if he wasn’t,” Conan replied.

 

“Conversely, it would be quite coincidental if he were,” Haibara said.

 

“You don’t think it could be a nickname of a codename?” Conan asked.

 

She shrugged again. “It’s possible,” she said. “But I can’t confirm anything for you. Why do you think he’s one of Them?”

 

Conan sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as Ayumi and Genta raised their voices, arguing over Mitsuhiko about something that Conan was sure was trivial. “He was dressed in black and seems to have had a lot of accomplices over the years. He’s also been pursuing Kid for over eight years, having killed the current one’s predecessor over a certain gem.”

 

“So?” Haibara asked. “Seems entirely unrelated to me. The Org doesn’t own the color black, after all.”

 

“I know,” he muttered. “But I’m sure he was working for someone. And whoever they are, they want Kid dead, and they want the Pandora gem.”

 

Haibara shot him a sideways questioning look. She didn’t even need to complain that he was intentionally obscuring information for him to understand her annoyance, so he continued.

“I don’t know the exact legend, but apparently, the gem is said to grant immortality,” he said. “I don’t know how, but based on Kid’s patterns in the past, it has to do with moonlight, possibly a full moon specifically. And he hasn’t made a secret of the fact he was searching for something specific in the past—he’s said as much when returning gems before, and… Haibara?”

 

He drew to a halt, having noticed that she’d stopped walking. Her face was drawn and serious, tilted to the ground. As Ayumi, Genta, and Mitsuhiko paused at the crosswalk ahead of them, Conan backtracked and grabbed Haibara by the shoulders.

“Haibara? What’s wrong? Did you think of something?” he asked.

 

“I’ve heard that rumor before,” she said, head jerking up to meet his eyes. “It was often quoted by the one who ordered my continuation of the apotoxin.”

 

Conan couldn’t help himself; his fingers tightened on her shoulders, small and thin beneath his hands. “And, what? What’s the rumor?”

 

“A gem that weeps with sorrow beneath the round moon,” Haibara said softly. Her eyes were glazed, focused on the middle distance. “Fabricated from human souls, the Red Stone. It would grant the power of transformation to those who possessed it—the power to attain immortality. I assumed he was speaking in metaphors, or about fairytales.”

 

“Do you think that could be it?” Conan asked, his voice quick and low. “The Pandora Stone? It matches what Kid said about immortality, and when he held it up to the moonlight it emitted a tremendous amount of heat—” 

 

“Ai-chan?” Ayumi called. “Conan-kun? The walk signal is on!”

 

“They’re whispering again,” Genta complained loudly.

 

Conan swallowed back the rest of his frantic words, though his heart still hammered high in his throat. Haibara blinked from her fog and winced, drawing back from him. Conan let her go.

 

“I don’t know,” Haibara said as she brushed past him. 

 

Conan hurried to keep pace, dodging around people on the crowded sidewalk as their group turned off the city street and into the neighborhood. “Why did he talk about Pandora? Do you know? Was it related to someone’s research? Who was it ordering your research, anyway? Had he ever come across Pandora in person, or—”

 

“It was an ideal,” Haibara cut him off.

 

“An ideal?” Conan repeated.

 

“That is to say, it was a goal,” she said. “My parent’s goal. To iterate upon that unattainable legend.”

 

Conan steps faltered, but he recovered. “You said once you didn’t intend to manufacture a poison,” he said. “If you were continuing their work, does that mean—?”

 

“It was meant to halt aging, or at the very least, reduce it to insignificance,” Haibara said. “Immortality is a fairytale, but slowing and preventing the degeneration of cells is not.” She glanced down, and then over Conan. “We’re living proof of that.” 

 

“Rare proof,” Conan pointed out. “Proof that probably shouldn’t be living.”

 

She shook her head sharply as the professor’s house came into view. “Let’s resume this conversation later. In private.”

 

Conan couldn’t argue with the note of warning in her tone, but groaned nonetheless. “Fine,” he said. “What’s a few more hours of waiting?”

 

“Precisely,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.

 

Though their moods were subdued as they greeted the professor, the children weren’t; soon, Haibara and Conan were being dragged into the yard for a game of soccer. Haibara quickly bowed out, but Conan wasn’t able to decline, as much as he’d have preferred to.

 

As it was, he turned it over while a smaller portion of his mind focused on the physical activity. It wasn’t surprising to learn that APTX 4869 had been developed to prevent aging; the signs were all there, from the unintended side effects that he and Haibara had endured, to Haibara’s own claim that it was never intended to be a poison. Vermouth as well, as shifty as she was, had not aged as a normal person. Hell, she’d assumed the identity of her own daughter and staged her previous identity’s death as a testament to that, and it wasn’t makeup that was helping her appear youthful. He’d been close enough to check. Several times.

 

But if she’d prevented herself from aging, why had Haibara—and her parents—been enlisted to develop a drug that prevented it? Seemingly, Vermouth had achieved that goal long before the apotoxin had begun development seventeen years ago.

 

Seventeen years ago. When had the first Kaitou Kid become active? Conan traced that thread through his memory as he dribbled the soccer ball and kicked it into the kid’s makeshift goal, easily slipping past Ayumi’s defense and hardly noticing her complaint. He made the goal; Genta fell on his face; and they traded sides. Now, Conan was defending the goal against the three others.

 

The first Kid had been active before Shinichi had been born, meaning he’d begun at least sixteen years ago, if not longer. He’d have to do a little research to pin down Kid’s first appearance, since he didn’t know it offhand, or maybe he’d ask the professor to look into it for him; but it was entirely possible that Kid had been a thief before he’d been Kaitou Kid. And how long had he been looking for Pandora? All Conan knew was that he’d been killed for refusing to collaborate with Snake and whatever organization was behind him eight years ago; the relationship—even if it was an antagonistic one—could have gone all the way back to the beginning. But if so, why had it taken them so long to kill Toichi for his lack of cooperation?

 

How was Conan to know? Maybe he should try to get on the phone with Chikage-san himself. Surely, as the Phantom Lady, she’d have a few answers. But if she wasn’t willing to speak to Yukiko, would she tell Conan anything?

Well, he could only hope his mother’s call would go well. He’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

 

It was too bad he couldn’t discuss anything with the current Kid, as locating him was part of the current dilemma. It would be impossible to identify or contact any of his assistants, too; Conan didn’t even know how many he had or how much they knew about Kid, present or past. Unless Chikage-san would know? No, he couldn’t count on that. Though she’d asked her son to take care of the Ryoma treasure, there was no other evidence that she was closely involved in any of her son’s previous year of work.

 

That left… Hakuba. He went to school with Kuroba-kun, and had implied on several occasions that he suspected Kuroba to be Kid.

 

Well. It wasn’t much, but all he needed was a foothold.

 

Something poked him in the arm. Conan scowled and swiped away what turned out to be Mitsuhiko’s finger. “What?”

 

“Ran-neechan is here,” he said. “She’s been calling you for like two minutes.”

 

“Huh?” Conan spun around and saw that Ran was, indeed, standing at the open gate, hands on her hips. She’d changed out of her school uniform and her hair was up in a casual ponytail, a look she often reserved for karate practice. “Ran-neechan?”

 

“Geeze,” she sighed. “You’re late for your scheduled statement at the HQ. They even called the agency!”

 

Checking his phone, Conan found he had several missed calls, both from Ran and the HQ. The time backed up the fact he should have been giving his statement fifteen minutes ago. “Oops… I totally lost track of time...”

 

“I’m surrounded by detectives and soccer geeks, aren’t I?” Ran complained, but her slight smile betrayed some amusement. “Well, I already told them you’d be there soon, so we should get going.”

 

“Eh, you’re coming too?” Conan blinked.

 

She gave him a flat look. “Someone has to make sure you get there at all, airhead-kun.”

 

“Eheh,” he rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, okay. Let me say goodbye to the professor!”

 

He rushed inside with waves and apologies to Ayumi, Mitsuhiko, and Genta, who were already discussing what to do with three players. Inside, he found Agasa-hakase and quickly listed out the things he’d like him to look into, who took notes.

 

“And where’s Haibara?” Conan asked.

 

“In the basement lab,” Agasa replied. “She seemed upset. Perhaps you shouldn’t bother her.”

“Argh, okay,” Conan complained. “I’ll come by again tomorrow after school. Maybe she’ll be ready to talk then. Hakase, text me what you can find out about Kid’s origins! I gotta go.”

 

“Alright, Shinichi-kun. Be careful,” he said.

 

Conan hid his rolling eyes by turning his back to grab his backpack before heading out. Everyone was telling him to be careful, but he was always careful. Usually.

 

---

 

It wasn’t unusual for Conan to give the police a statement about a crime, be it a theft, a murder, or an attempted murder. It also wasn’t unusual for Conan to give the police a statement about a Kid heist; although technically the same as giving a statement about a theft, Kid still deserved his own category. It was only during heist statements that Conan found himself reining back enthusiasm for Kid’s tricks, after all. That had been especially inappropriate after the Kirin’s Horn heist, because everyone had been pretty (understandably) on edge about Kid tasing him. 

 

(Not that Conan had been happy about it, either, but he’d had his revenge by the time any official statements were taken, so he figured fair was fair, and that he was allowed to appreciate the way Kid thought.)

 

However, what was unusual was giving a statement that was simultaneously about Kid and about attempted murder.

 

As with everything that involved Kid, Nakamori-keibu was present for the statement, though this time he sat alongside an inspector from the violent crimes unit—Hamasaki-keibu, less familiar to Conan than Megure-keibu as she didn’t often work murder cases, but no stranger.

 

The two inspectors sat across the metal table from Conan and assistant—Kato-san, who Conan had only met in passing—stood by, taking notes in his pocket-sized journal with a furious speed that implied the use of a personal, well-practiced shorthand, the convenience of which Conan could definitely appreciate. A recording device sat inert in the middle of the table as Conan recited his experiences with deliberate sentences and an even tone.

 

He’d considered leaving out his conversation with Kid; somehow, it had felt private, something that Kid had disclosed to him as Kid’s so-called ‘favorite critic’. Had Kid not subsequently vanished in such a life-threatening manner—and with the Eclipse Tear in hand—he very well might have kept the discussions of immortality to himself. As it was, it was important information, and would likely be wrangled out of Snake, anyway. So in the same practical tone he’d used to dictate everything leading up to the time of the heist, he also laid out what Kid had told him about the gem.

 

“He called the gem Pandora ,” he was saying. “I don’t know if it’s a name that he gave it, or if someone else did, but it might be a reference to the story of Pandora’s Box. He said he’d been looking for it, for revenge.”

 

“Revenge?” Nakamori-keibu murmured. “What does he mean, revenge ?”

Conan could only shake his head. “He didn’t say. He talked about how Pandora had rumours of immortality attached to it, but that he didn’t care about those; he said he wanted to destroy it. After that, Snake showed himself and told Kid he wouldn’t let him destroy it, but that he’d enjoy killing him a second time.”

 

Nakamori-keibu was watching him closely, but for all the intense focus the inspector was giving him, Conan could see the exhaustion on his face, betrayed by the set of his mouth and the shade of his skin, not to mention the bags under his eyes and the fact that Conan could smell the coffee on his exhale from across the table. 

 

It was obvious that he had been sitting through statements all day, bone-tired but unable to pull himself away. Conan wouldn’t be surprised if he was the first person that said anything interesting or useful, but even then, he couldn’t provide a single solid theory on how Kid had vanished, the ultimate question of the heist and ongoing statements.

 

Nakamori-keibu clearly cared about Kid. More than just the man who continually escaped his capture, but as a rival, too, if Conan had to put a name on it. He deserved to know what Conan did, if only the most relevant parts.

 

“It made me think,” Conan said, after what barely registered as a pause to the others, “that it might explain Kid’s long hiatus. If Snake murdered the first Kaitou Kid eight years ago, that would make the current Kid the first one’s successor. It’s sufficient motive for revenge.”

 

“Huh,” Nakamori grunted. “You’re not the first one to guess at that.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. When Hakuba-kun first showed up, he was convinced that Kid couldn’t be older than sixteen.” Nakamori hesitated, glancing at Hamasaki-keibu as if asking approval for the diversion, but she only shrugged. 

 

It made sense to Conan; Hakuba was pretty sharp, and Conan had already clocked his suspicions of Kuroba. He remained quiet, curious, waiting for Nakamori to go on.

 

“I didn’t believe it back then,” Nakamori said. “But in the past year that he’s been back, Kid’s been pretty different than when I first chased him around, so Hakuba-kun’s theory has been on my mind..”

 

Conan had never attended a heist during his first— real —childhood, nor had he met Toichi-san in person, so he couldn’t help his detective’s curiosity from spilling over, despite the diversion from the primary topic. “What specific differences have you noticed?”

 

“He’s more wild now,” Nakamori said, thinking as he spoke, one hand rubbing over the stubble on his jaw. It made his words slow, mulled. “Careless, sometimes. He’s good , of course, that’s why we’ve never actually caught him, but everything about his heists is a little… showier, just for the sake of the spectacle. He’s always been a damn adrenaline junkie, but he used to be more suave, you know?”

 

Interesting . That certainly backed up some of Conan’s theories about how the Eclipse Tear heist had come to be. He swung his legs, hoping that the inspector would continue.

 

Hamasaki coughed. Nakamori scowled. 

 

“Let’s return to the heist,” Hamasaki said.

 

Conan nodded and picked up where he’d left off—Snake’s abrupt appearance, the shot’s he’d fired at Kid, Kid’s return-fire that had ruptured a hot water pipe, which had released enough steam to obscure his vision. It’d even fogged up his glasses, which had been pretty damn annoying, too. 

 

“The next shot missed Kid entirely and shattered the window. The third shot was aimed significantly lower; the angle of the bullet hole in the wall and the blood implies that the second shot  grazed Kid’s upper left leg, though forensics certainly catalogued that already,” Conan went on, knowing that at the very least, Nakamori was already used to his practiced crime-scene demeanour. “The fourth shot hit him in the chest again, and the force must have pushed him out the window.”

 

The room was silent. The air was heavy. Conan stilled the swinging of his legs.

 

“Snake dropped me,” he said. “Kid fired one last shot from his card gun, and Snake passed out. It was only a second later that I heard a gunshot from outside.” 

 

“The sniper,” Nakamori grunted.

 

“I believe so,” Conan said.

 

Kato-san continued to scribble wildly.

 

“So, I went over to the window.” Well, the fact was that he’d run to the window, still screaming after Kid, not that either of those things had done any good. “I thought Kid would be gliding away, but I just saw him falling for an instant before there was a flash of red light, and he vanished. I scanned the surrounding buildings for any sign of an accomplice or a trick, but there was nothing around, not even a news helicopter. Not much else happened until Nakamori-keibu and the others came upstairs, but I did zip-tie the criminal’s hands behind his back. I don’t think I need to go through the rest.”

 

Nakamori nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got plenty of other reports. We’ll call you if we have any other questions about what happened with Kid,” he said gruffly. “Hamasaki-keibu?”

 

“You’re free to go,” she confirmed, reaching over and stopping the recording. “Thanks for being thorough, as always, Conan-kun.”

 

“No problem!” He said, pushing his voice into the chirpy range and only dying a little inside for it. He pushed his chair back and hopped to the floor.

 

“Nakamori-keibu, will you bring in the next person?” Hamasaki asked.

 

Nakamori stood. “Sure.”

 

Conan sped out of the room ahead of him, waving to Hamasaki and her assistant, and then bounced on his toes in the hall. When Nakamori trudged out a moment later, Conan intercepted his path. “Nakamori-keibu, can I ask you something?”

 

Nakamori blinked at him tiredly. “What?” he asked.

 

“Have you interviewed Snake yet?”

 

If Nakamori was surprised by this question, he did a good job of hiding it. “Not personally, though I did observe some of the questioning from a different room.”

 

“What did you think of him?” Conan asked.

 

“Snake?” Nakamori huffed. “He’s a lunatic with a vendetta.”

 

“Did he talk about why he wanted Kid? Or Pandora?” Conan pressed.

 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Nakamori said. “His lips have been sealed so far. Even without a clear motive, we have enough going to keep him under lock and key for a while.” Then, blinking, he looked at Conan more clearly, and his face mouldered into a glare. “That’s all I can tell you, kid! You’re a witness, not a detective, got it?”

 

Conan’s face fell; it wasn’t even an act. He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. “I know, but… I’m worried about Kid-san. His heists are fun, and nobody ever gets hurt.”

 

“...except for Kid himself, apparently,” Nakamori muttered. “I know. I’m worried about him too. But we’ll figure this out just fine, alright? No need for you to stick your neck out, boy.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Conan said. 

 

Despite how bone-weary Nakamori was, he was alert enough to keep high-risk information to himself. Even if that was a good thing from an objective perspective, it was nothing more than a thorn in his side. 

 

Maybe Nakamori would be more receptive to Hakuba; surely, Hakuba would be willing to ask Nakamori for the records if Conan asked. So Conan pulled on a smile and waved before scampering back to the waiting room where Ran was. “Thanks, Nakamori-keibu!”

 

He slipped into the room and dodged around people and tables as he approached Ran, his footsteps slowing as he found that she wasn’t alone, but having a conversation with Nakamori Aoko. When neither of them noticed him, he saw no reason to interrupt.

 

“...I haven’t heard from him since,” Aoko was saying softly. It only took Conan only a moment to make the connection: Kuroba Kaito, the most likely (and all but confirmed) suspect for Kid’s civilian persona, was surely missing, too. Of course Aoko would be worried; even if Conan didn’t know much about their relationship, the way they’d interacted before the heist was enough to tell him that they were close.

 

He had to resist the guilty tug in his stomach when Ran compared Kuroba’s disappearance to his own, but there wasn’t long for the feeling to simmer as Ran noticed him. Though he was often called upon to flip modes at a moment’s notice, the childish persona was hard just then, and he failed to put on his mask.

 

“Kaito-niisan is missing?” he asked Aoko, serious and subdued.

 

“Yeah...” she replied, blinking wet eyes. “Well, he’s probably just playing some big prank, that jerk.” She scowled. “I bet he’s laughing at how worried I am right now!”

 

“We’ll find him,” Conan said. After all, he’d already been investigating Kid; that included who he was in the daylight. And, sue him. He saw his fair share of people whose lives were torn by a missing loved one, and he was sick and tired of it.

 

Aoko’s smile was still wobbly.

 

“We’ll find Kaito-niisan, so don’t worry, okay?” he insisted. If not for the childish way he was referring to Kuroba-kun, he could almost have been himself, comforting her with all the authority of someone who was collaborating legitimately with the police to bring her friend home.

 

But he wasn’t.

 

Well, that hadn’t stopped him before.

 

“Thanks, Conan-kun,” Aoko said.

 

He put on a big smile. “You’re welcome, Aoko-neechan!”

 

When he tried to pull Ran away, she instead hugged Aoko tightly, before letting Conan drag her away, humoring his impatience. But Ran was smiling, which eased Conan’s guilty conscience just marginally.

 

“You sounded so cool back there, Conan-kun,” Ran commented. “Like a real detective.”

 

He dropped her hand and shoved his hands in his pockets; he didn’t have to pretend with the scowl that came over his face. “I am a real detective.” Shit, he’d had enough of people underestimating him when he really was six. He didn’t need it a second time, even if Ran was saying it to be kind.

 

“Like an adult, then,” Ran corrected. Then, her voice teasing, she added, “After all, you’re nearly seven.”

 

Her joke settled uncomfortably in his chest. “I’m just tired of…” He started, then railed off, glancing up at Ran, who was watching him with a faint smile. “I’m tired of people being sad,” he finished lamely. 

 

He felt like he was constantly slipping, a few wrong words away from her finding him out; he’d had more than one heart attack about it recently. As the months had gone by, he’d found a middleground for his acting as Conan and not losing himself entirely, but he’d also been acutely aware of Ran watching him. It was likely she was filing away all his tiny inconsistencies, the incongruous moments, the slip ups. Or maybe that was just the paranoia. 

 

“You have a good heart,” Ran said softly.

 

Conan couldn’t help a self-deprecating laugh from slipping out, but quickly covered it with a more childish one. “Not as much as you, Ran-neechan!”

 

They stepped outside into the evening. It was getting darker, but the air was still warm with the heat of the day. Ran inhaled deeply, chin tilted up, and Conan followed her gaze; the sky was purple against the gray outlines of the buildings, the faintly green silhouette of the trees.

 

For once, Bieka was peaceful.

“It’s not a contest,” Ran said.

 

And maybe, just for the night, he could let it be: peaceful, not a race. In the morning he had several phone calls to make, but not tonight—or at least, not for a few hours.

 

---

 

Notes:

This chapter gave me all kinds of trouble, and I’m not really sure why. Maybe because there’s so much that goes on in Conan’s head, just… all the time...

Chapter 8: The Rerun

Notes:

Originally, chapters 8 + 9 were going to be one chapter, but I decided to split them up as soon as I thought of the chapter title “The Rerun”. I don’t know why it cracked me up like it did, but it did.

(as it is, this chapter is already pushing the max length I’ve set for myself per chapter…)

---

 

Kaito was getting really tired of waking up in the hospital.

 

At the very least, surfacing this time was less painful than the last, and he wasn’t handcuffed to anything. For another thing, he could breathe easier, and his head wasn’t pounding half as badly, though the trade-off was an ache in his abdomen. Ah, yes. Right. That. He’d been stabbed.

 

He quickly realized he wasn’t alone. He recognized Al’s voice, metallic echo and all, nearby. He did his best to keep his breathing slow and steady, mimicking the pattern of sleep, and listened.

 

“...happened in the Fifth Lab,” Al was saying quietly.

 

A sigh, the shuffle of cloth against cloth. “I should’ve known you’d go snooping despite our warnings,” Hughes replied. “But I can’t punish you or Ed in any official capacity. Kaitou, however, I’ll need to keep under a stricter watch.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Al said. He sounded genuinely miserable. 

 

“The good news is that Ed is stable, even if he’s still out,” Hughes said. “And they’ve determined the issue with his arm is purely mechanical.”

 

Al sighed. “Winry just rebuilt his arm after we fought Scar, like two weeks ago. I don’t think she’ll be happy, but…” He trailed off.

 

There was another shuffle of fabric, and the hollow sound of a palm meeting metal. “Al? I hope you and Ed will come to me next time. Trust in us adults, alright? Even if our methods are slower, they’re the way they are to keep everyone safe. Especially you and Ed. You’re kids . It’s not your job to fix everything.”

“I know,” Al said. “We just—nevermind. Thanks, Mr. Hughes.” He still sounded miserable. With a start, Kaito wondered how old Al was , and found he didn’t know. Fullmetal was a teenager, Kaito knew that much, and wasn’t Al his little brother? 

 

He couldn’t prevent a twitch in one of his eyebrows. Al couldn’t be younger than Tantei-kun, not with the way he was treated and the pitch of his voice, but put beside Ed—he still had to be young. He sounded young, now, genuinely young, in a way that Kaito had never seen from Tantei-kun. But then again, Tantei-kun had proved himself time and again to be a very special case.

 

“Now, back to the Lab,” Hughes said. “What did you find out?... hey, I still don’t condone your freelance mission! But if you found anything...”

 

Al laughed, keeping it soft. Trying not to wake Kaito? No, there was more to it. Kaito pinpointed the soft sound of another person’s inhale, exhale. Maybe it was Ed, occupying the room’s second bed. He could only assume it was until he was able to check, but it would further explain why Al and Hughes were here. (Aside from… supervising him.)

 

“...didn’t find out much, personally,” Al was saying, “since I stayed outside the whole time. We’ll have to talk to Ed when he wakes up, and Kaitou, I guess… but the person who fought Kaitou and myself confirmed that the lab was using criminals on death row for something. At the very least, he was like me—a soul bound to armour, without an organic body. He called himself Barry the Chopper.”

“Really,” Hughes murmured. “I know that name. He was a serial killer executed here in Central not that long ago.”

 

“Yeah, he said that, but I’d never heard of him,” Al admitted. “There was also a military guard stationed out front, but Lt. Ross spoke to him, and he wasn’t told why he was stationed there.”

 

“Hm.” A pen scratched on paper. “Did you get the guard’s name and rank?”

 

Al rattled it off, and Hughes wrote it down. Then, he said, “Until it collapsed, I think the Fifth Lab might’ve still been in use. Why else would there have been a guard?”

 

“I can think of a few possibilities, and secret usage is one of them,” Hughes said. “I’m beginning to feel like someone is behind these building disasters, too. First, the First Branch burned, and now the Fifth Lab has collapsed.” His voice took on an ironic quality. “If I’ve learned anything from my time in Intelligence, it’s that these kinds of things are rarely coincidences.”

 

The two were silent for a moment and Kaito pictured Hughes with a hand to his chin, a move seemingly trademarked by many a detective, including the miniature Tantei-kun.

 

While the two thought, Kaito listened to Ed breathing, steadily, not far away. It still creeped him out that a hospital room could be this quiet; it was unsettling without beeping heart monitors or the whirring mechanics of any other machine. 

 

The thought reminded him of Pandora, which had been so steadily syncing to his heartbeat each time it roared to life. Shit , what if they’d found it and confiscated it this time? During his first stay, he hadn’t been in any shape to locate a storage room, and in the end, he hadn’t needed to. He’d probably be able to do it this time, but if someone was able to identify Pandora as a Philosopher's Stone, it was more than likely it wouldn’t be left on the hospital’s premises at all.

 

There was a lot of shit going on, and Kaito had more than one thing to deal with in the (very) immediate future, but—not for the first time in Kaito’s life—Pandora would have to take center stage.

 

“I can think of two links between the Fifth Lab and the First Branch that might have led to their destruction,” Al said, filtering through the spike of panic Kaito was trying to breathe steadily through. “The first is the Philosopher’s Stones. Marcoh’s notes were at the First Branch, and the Fifth Lab was putting that research to use. The second link is me and Ed following that trail.”

 

“It would mean there was someone one step ahead of you, since the First Branch burned before you even got back to Central,” Hughes said, thinking aloud, his tone turning dark. “According to Sheska, those notes were hidden, filed away in the wrong section. Indiscriminate burning is definitely one way to ensure they’d be destroyed, if it couldn’t be found.” He clicked his tongue. “We suspected it when we realized the Fifth Lab might be involved, but someone in the military is definitely behind this; not to mention whoever ordered a guard be posted...”

 

“Are you going to tell me to trust adults again, Mr. Hughes?” Al asked, cheeky. 

 

Hughes laughed, but his reply dropped into a dry, serious tone. “Maybe stick with myself, Major Armstrong, and Colonel Mustang for now.”

 

“We can do that. We already trust you.” There was the soft sound of metal against metal as Al stood. Kaito listened to his clunking footsteps as he moved across the room until his body dampened the sound of Ed’s breathing. “Well, whatever happened in there, whoever was behind it… looks like Brother fought all out.”

 

“He seems to do that a lot,” Hughes said. “That fight with Scar was something nasty.”

 

“I know….”

 

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

 

“Do you think Scar will come after Brother again?”

 

“Hard to say,” Hughes replied. “At the very least, I doubt he’s hanging around Central any more. He was last seen in East City, but Roy isn’t certain he’s dead, since they couldn’t identify a body.”

 

“That’s not very reassuring, Mr. Hughes.”

 

“Better informed than reassured,” Hughes replied, a bit darkly. “Though he hasn’t killed any more State Alchemists. We might be able to reduce your escort detail— if you two behave.”

 

“You mean if Brother behaves,” Al said. “But… you’re right.” He sat heavily on a chair between the beds. 

 

The angle of his voice implied Hughes was sitting along the opposite wall. The room was warm, and bright behind the backs of his eyelids, but Kaito had no idea what time of day it was, though he thought his bed was closer to the window this time. That meant that between him and the door was the other bed, with Ed, Al between them, and Hughes potentially blocking the walkway, which would make a speedy exit...difficult, if it came to that.

 

Though he wasn’t handcuffed this time, Kaito felt much more cornered. Without any tricks up his sleeve and no idea of Pandora’s location, he felt all too vulnerable.

 

“We’ll see what happens with Scar,” Hughes said. “Roy’s coming to town to continue the search.”

 

“Colonel Mustang is?” Al replied. “Brother won’t be too happy to see him.”

 

“He’s happy to see very few people,” Hughes laughed.

 

“He’ll be happy to see Winry, even if all she does is chew him out,” Al replied, a bit sly. Kaito imagined he’d have a sneaking smile on his face. If he had a face. But his next words pivoted. “Mr. Hughes, do you think Kaitou has any connection to Scar?”

 

Kaito repressed another twitch. Connected to Scar? Wasn’t that guy a serial killer? Seemed like this country had a lot of serial killers, now that Kaito thought about it...

 

“Why, has he tried to kill Ed?” Hughes asked.

 

“I don’t think so,” Al said. “He did carry him out of the Fifth Lab, but… I don’t know. I have no idea what happened inside there. I wanted to go in, but...” His voice warped around a knot of guilt.

 

There was a moment of silence; Hughes waited. Al eventually picked up his thoughts.

 

“I’m just not sure we can trust Kaitou. He seems like he’s been honest with us, but the timing with Scar is so close. Like you said, things are rarely coincidences, right?” There was another pause. “He said he breaks into buildings like it was a hobby. He knows how to pick locks and on top of that, everything with that ‘Pandora’ he talks about…Do you trust him, Mr. Hughes?”

 

“Of course not,” Hughes said, making it sound like a statement of fact rather than a dismissal out of hand. “He practically dropped out of the sky reeking of taboo alchemy, and learned Amestrian in less than a day. With a head injury.” Hughes shifted, perhaps leaning towards Al. “But that does mean he can be very useful to us, which means keeping him around. His stated goals aren’t that dissimilar from your own, as I understand it.”

 

“Yeah. Well…we’re both looking for the Stone, at least. He said he wants to destroy it,” Al said.

 

“Oh? Did he tell you anything else?”

 

“Only that there’s a group of people in Xing willing to kill for it. They killed his father when he wouldn’t find the Stone for them. So he impersonated his dad, and when he thought he’d been successful, he wound up here in Central.”

 

“Hmm,” Hughes made a low, thoughtful noise.

 

“That’s all I’ve got,” Al said. “He didn’t give us any details on what kind of transmutation he did…”

 

“That’s a lot more than he said to me,” Hughes said. “Keep your ears open. Let me know if anything else comes up.”

 

“I mean, it might, but Brother practically had to drag it out of him after we learned that humans were being used to fabricate Stones,” Al said, voice serious. “But I still didn’t feel like that was the whole truth.”

“Even if it’s only part of the truth, it’s concerning,” Hughes agreed. “And since we don’t have any corroborating sources, we’ll just have to accept what Kaitou says with a grain of salt.”

 

Kaito listened as Hughes made a few more notes. Pen on paper: if you multiplied the sound by about twenty, Kaito could almost imagine he was dozing in class. Any second now, Aoko would poke him in the arm with her pencil, Hakuba would check the time with a metallic snap open and then a short snap shut...

 

“If Kaitou did find a Stone…” Al murmured, voice starting tentative, and growing more solid as he spoke.  “Maybe he used it. The Stone can bypass the cost of human transmutation, which is the whole reason Brother and I were searching for one. Until we know more about the branch of alchemy that can do transportation, especially at such a long-range, I can only assume it’s related to human transmutation, or other branches of organic transmutation. And—maybe that’s why he didn’t want to tell us about how he got here.” 

 

Kaito repressed a shiver. Al was getting scarily close to the truth, though Kaito’s motivations had been less that he’d come in contact with Pandora (and used it, yes, albeit unwittingly, several times over...); it had been more than he’d still had the thing at that point, and hadn’t relished the idea of being murdered before he could destroy it or figure out a way back to Ekoda. Now that Pandora had vanished again, no easier to hold onto than mist evaporating in the sun, he wondered if it would be to his advantage to admit to Al’s theory, if only to keep him from theorizing further.

 

He had to bite back frustration. It had taken him so long to find Pandora. And who knew how long Ed and Al had been searching for it here? They lost their bodies, as Al had put it, when they were kids. They’d been searching for a long time, potentially for years. If he had to start from square one just to get back to a familiar world, he had no idea how long it would take him to locate Pandora a second time.

 

Lady Luck, he thought fervently, please keep me in your good graces just a little bit longer.

 

Hughes hummed softly. “When I first met Kaitou, the way he spoke reminded me of Roy.”

 

“What? Colonel Mustang? Why?”

 

“They’re both someone with a mission that they’re utterly committed to,” Hughes replied. “They layer humour thickly over top to make you underestimate them. That’s the recipe for a very dangerous individual.” 

 

Al didn’t respond immediately, and Hughes laughed.

 

“What, you don’t believe me about Mustang?”

 

“What kind of mission could Colonel Mustang be on…?” Al wondered. “To infuriate Brother?”

 

“They seem to antagonize each other, don’t they?”

 

Al laughed. “Yeah, they do.”

 

“I’m not at liberty to talk about Roy’s plans, but I can tell you that everything he does is a means to an end. And if you’re having a hard time believing that, it’s because that’s what he wants.”

 

“I know Brother calls him a ‘scheming bastard’, but to hear you say he really is scheming something is… scary.”

 

“Oh, isn’t it just?” Hughes laughed.

 

“I think I can see the comparison, though,” Al said after a moment. Kaito’s skin prickled and he wondered if Al’s eyes were on him. “Kaitou pretty much has ‘scheme’ written all over him. Did you know he can mimic voices?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. It’s… scarily accurate.” Al thought for a moment. “There’s that, and how he spoke about breaking into buildings. He was scandalized that Brother and I hadn’t even gotten ahold of the Fifth Lab’s blueprints.”

 

That comment startled yet another laugh out of Hughes. “This guy’s upfront! But he wasn’t wrong—if you’re gonna do some breaking and entering, you gotta do it right. Maybe some of this mess could’ve been avoided with a little more... espionage , as it were.”

 

“Are you endorsing crime, Mr. Hughes?”

 

“I’m endorsing forward thinking.”

 

“Don’t let Brother hear you say that. Give an inch and he’ll take a mile.”

 

Too antsy to lay still any longer, Kaito shifted, making a show of waking. He grimaced, blinked a bit, squinted, and then, completely unbidden and not part of the act, yawned largely. His jaw popped.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Hughes said when Kaito peered at him.

 

“Hey,” Kaito replied, roughly. He pushed himself up on his elbows and saw a familiar pitcher of water on his side table. Beyond it, Al sat between his bed and Ed’s, pretty much what Kaito’s mental map had suggested. 

 

As Kaito reached for a glass, Al intercepted, and then helped adjust the bed so Kaito could sit up without trouble, even when Kaito tried to wave him off. (The stab wound wasn’t that bad! This was a piece of cake compared to doing literally anything with three broken ribs.)

 

“How are you feeling?” Hughes asked once Kaito had drank some water.

 

“Better than the last time I woke up here,” Kaito told him truthfully. “But at this point, I think someone at this hospital just likes taking my shirt off!”

 

“Yes, I’m sure that has nothing to do with the numerous wounds you’ve been receiving to your torso,” Hughes replied.

 

Kaito sniffed.

 

“I did hear something interesting, though,” Hughes said, standing and approaching the foot of Kaito’s bed. Kaito watched him wearily. “Seems your broken ribs have been repaired.”

 

“Ah, yeah, that,” Kaito said, quite unconvincingly.

 

“Odd, don’t you think? You were still healing when you were discharged only twenty-four hours ago.”

 

“Right,” Kaito said, pulling together as much confidence as he could and projecting an air of competence that normally came quite naturally to him, but lately had been faltering. “They were annoying, so I healed them.”

 

Hughes and Al shared a glance. Kaito felt sweat sticking his hospital gown to his back. 

 

“With alchemy…?” Al asked.

 

“Yep.” That was what Pandora was doing, so technically it wasn’t a lie. “While you were fighting with that armor guy outside the lab, I figured I’d be pretty useless if I couldn’t move freely, so, yanno.” He wiggled his fingers around. “Fixed ‘em up!”

 

“Oh, was that when you jumped on my head?” Al asked, one hand coming up as if to protect his cranium. 

 

“Yep.”

 

“I didn’t even see you draw a matrix or anything,” Al said. His red eyes were intent on Kaito. 

 

“You had your back to me,” Kaito pointed out. “Also, you were preoccupied.”

 

“What matrix did you use?” Al pressed.

 

“It’s pretty specialized,” Kaito said, not at all answering the question.

 

“Why not heal yourself in the first place?” Hughes asked, tilting his head. “You weren’t very happy with spending four days in the hospital, if I recall correctly.” The light reflected off his glasses and Kaito shivered; things like that really needed to stop reminding him of Tantei-kun, but then again, he didn’t really know anybody else who wore glasses, unless you wanted to count his mother’s ridiculously large Parisian sunglasses, which he didn’t.

 

Not that it was only the glasses, but, you know. Superficial resemblances could go pretty far for the hind-brain that had been kicked by a scary, tiny detective more than once.

 

“It takes a lot outta me,” he said instead, defensive. “You can’t just walk around healing bones and fighting crazy people with hand regeneration powers and not pass out for twelve hours afterwards!”

 

Hughes raised one thin eyebrow.

 

“Wait, what regeneration powers?” Al said.

 

Thank fuck that distraction had worked. Kaito was all too aware of the literal and figurative corner he was in right now. He barrelled onwards, not letting Al nor Hughes dwell on the conundrum of alchemizing your own ribs back together and how it probably wasn’t supposed to have worked, like, at all, because that seemed dangerously close to human transmutation, at least how Kaito understood it.

 

“Yeah, regeneration powers,” he said. “One of the people we fought had ‘em. Strong enough to regrow a pair of hands, with like… the skin and muscle all messed up. Ever heard of anything like that?”

 

“And it wasn’t alchemy…?” Al asked, tentative.

 

“It sure didn’t look like it. They didn’t do anything to make it happen. Just bzzt!” He jazzed out his fingers. “Fresh set of hands!”

 

Hughes crossed his arms. “I think you should start from the beginning, Kaitou.”

 

Kaito dropped his hands and pushed his thumb around the rim of his water glass. “You should be more specific. I can think of like, a dozen different beginnings here.”

 

“How far back are you willing to go?”

 

“...admittedly, not that far back,” Kaito said. 

 

Hughes grinned, all teeth. Kaito was not looking forward to finding out what methods Hughes would use to dig into his past. But currently, Hughes only inclined his head. “Let’s just rewind on the Fifth Lab, then.”

 

The full story didn’t exactly give Kaito any convenient excuses about what alchemy he could or couldn’t actually do, but hopefully Hughes and Al would stay distracted by the idea of gruesome hand regeneration; Kaito himself was a bit stuck on it, what with the vivid images of it that his mind’s eye conjured up as he thought back. He gave them a basic rundown of what happened after he’d followed Ed into the vents, including the fight he’d found Ed in with the two-souls-in-one-suit guy and coming up to the regenerating hands, and finally, the appearance of Lust and Envy, and their cold-hearted murders of the Slicer brothers.

 

Hughes, who’d been standing as still as a statue while he listened, moved only just enough to say, “Tell us more about these people.”

“I think Slicer was trying to tell us they weren’t human, before Lust killed him,” Kaito said. “I mean, uh, the lady had crazy spear fingers that extended all the way across the room, so, yeah, make of that what you will. The other guy called her ‘Lust’, which is definitely a super shady codename. And, she had a tattoo on her chest, like… here.” He touched his sternum. “It was like a snake with wings, I think? Maybe it was a dragon? I didn’t get a good look. But she called the other guy ‘Envy’. So Envy, well… they tried to stab Ed, and I was like, hey, guy’s already bleeding out of three different wounds, that’s probably bad. So I stepped in. Got stabbed instead. That’s when I destroyed the sword’s handle to make Envy stop stabbing me, but, uh, accidentally… got their hands in the blast, too.” 

 

Kaito was a non-violent phantom thief. Nobody gets hurt was the code he lived by. Hell, he’d announced it to Al not ten minutes before hacking up some dude’s hands. But it was an intentional decision, one that he committed to each time he put on Kid’s suit and voice. But lately, he hadn’t been living up.

 

He wanted to blame Pandora. But at the same time… Pandora didn’t act on its own. 

 

Kaito had even known that much even before the fight: when Pandora acted, Kaito was part of the equation. He still didn’t know what capacity it was in; as a conduit? As an active, equal partner? Whatever the quantity, he’d asked Pandora to help him at the Fifth Lab, and it had responded to him as easily as breathing. Too easy.

 

Had it hurt Envy because Kaito’s thought hadn’t been precise enough? Or had it uncovered something deeper down? What if it was responding to something in his subconscious—a desire to hurt those who hurt him, and those around him… had Pandora seen how sick and tired Kaito was of murder? Had it thought he wanted to end the cycle… like that?

 

A cold shiver passed down his spine. The possibility scared him. He knew himself as someone bent on revenge and destruction, but only within a very narrow definition. If he stepped outside it, he wasn’t a gentlemanly phantom thief, but on par with Snake.

 

Pain wasn’t something he liked to see in others, not after having carried so much of it on his own shoulders. But he’d hurt someone last night, and hurt them badly. Even if Kaito had been stabbed, even if the guy’s hands were back to normal within a few seconds, it had still happened. He could still almost smell the sharp copper scent of blood, an itch in his palms that he wanted to scrub.

 

Instead, he clung to his half-full water cup and cleared his throat.

 

“Big mess. Blood everywhere. But they weren’t that concerned, just pissed off, I think, since after a few seconds their hands healed up. There was light, red light, but no matrix, no clapping, no nothing. Anyway, uh, they fought with Ed some more, Ed’s arm broke, and then the Lust lady kinda just let us go.”

 

“They let you escape? Why…?” Al asked.

 

“That’s an excellent question,” Kaito replied, raising his eyebrows. “Usually shady people are trying to kill me, not let me live.”

 

“You mean the people that killed your dad?” Al asked.

 

“Well, yeah, mostly.”

 

“If they’re after the Philosopher’s Stone in Xing, do you think these people could be connected to them?” Hughes asked. He’d been taking notes the entire time, pen speeding across the pages in what Kaito was sure had to be a well-practiced shorthand. “Can you think of any other shared traits?”

 

“I don’t think they’re the same,” Kaito replied, shaking his head. Even if their worlds were really one, as Hughes and Al assumed, a few things were too far off the mark from Snake and his gang. “These creeps seemed like they were involved in making a Stone, but the people who killed my old man and tried to off me were doing it just to get their hands on one. Nobody ever talked about boiling us down into rocks. Also, these guys actively let us live. The lady that speared Slicer said she did it because he was about to kill one of their ‘ precious sacrifices ’, referring to Ed.”

 

“What does that mean?” Al asked.

 

“Hell if I know,” Kaito replied dryly. “Maybe they really do want to boil him down into rocks.”

 

Al shuddered.

“What makes Ed special?” Hughes asked, rubbing a hand over his chin as his eyes wandered to Ed’s bed, where he still slept quietly beneath the light blue blankets. Kaito’s eyes slid to Ed, too. He was pale. The blue sheets didn’t bring out a healthy color. “They killed the two in the armor without hesitation.”

 

Kaito shrugged stiffly.

 

“I thought Philosopher’s Stones could be made as long as the numerical requirements were met,” Hughes said.

 

“Brother is skilled, and he’s the youngest state alchemist,” Al said. “But Marcoh’s notes didn’t say being an alchemist had anything to do with being... sacrificed.”

 

He hadn’t seen all the notes, but he believed Al. He wished he knew of another person dubbed a ‘sacrifice’—having two people to compare and contrast would surely help bring about a pattern much more quickly than one. Then, something occurred to him, and he snapped his eyes to Hughes. “Hey, Hughes-san,” he said. “Who knows about me?”

 

Hughes didn’t miss a beat. “The public is aware of your existence, as far as the disturbance you caused, but details have been kept within the military, primarily only within the networks of relevant individuals.”

 

“Who might call me a ‘strange Xingan alchemist’?” Kaito said. “The Envy one called me that.”

 

Hughes’ gaze sharpened. “Someone within the Amestrian military who’s been briefed about your case,” he said.

 

Kaito let out a slow whistle. “Shit.”

 

Hughes stood, tearing a page from the back of his notebook, then strode over and gave it to Kaito. “I want you to draw both Lust and Envy, and the tattoo you saw on Lust’s chest,” he said, offering Kaito his pen, which Kaito exchanged his glass for.

 

Kaito braced the paper against his thigh and doodled Envy and Lust’s faces, aiming to imbue as much accuracy as he could. Both were clear in his mind. The tattoo was more vague, and his drawing wound up mostly a winged snake with a triangle in the middle with a note below it that it was only a rough approximation. Hughes and Al both watched him draw, and when he deemed it done, Hughes’ eyes scanned the page deftly before he tucked it into the back of his notebook.

 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Kaitou,” he said. He looked like he wanted to continue, but a knock on the door prevented him.

 

When it opened, Brosh poked his head in. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Lt. Colonel Hughes, there’s a call for you downstairs.”

 

Hughes nodded. “Thanks, Sergeant Brosh. Al, Kaitou, I’ll be back shortly, and we’ll discuss the upcoming changes to Kaitou’s supervision.” Then, with a wave and a grin too cheerful for Kaito’s mood, he left.

 

Brosh hesitated in the doorway; his eyes passed over Kaito, before landing on the other bed. “How’s Ed doing?” he asked Al.

 

“Same as last night,” Al said.

 

Brosh exhaled a huff of air with enough force that his fringe fluttered. “Call us when he’s up,” he said. “We’ve got to give him a piece of our minds.” He rubbed at one of his hands, which Kaito noticed was pink—bruising, maybe. “Or… try…”

 

“We’ll let you know,” Al agreed, and when Brosh had vanished from the doorway, Kaito raised an eyebrow at Al. He scrubbed abashedly at the back of his helmet. “Ah, he scolded me as well, but…” He banged a fist against his chest, demonstrating the thickness of the metal.

 

“Ahh,” Kaito said. “A lovetap, huh.”

 

“But more importantly,” Al said, leaning closer towards Kaito, voice lowering. “You said those people in the Lab weren’t normal?”

 

Kaito nodded. “Unless people in Amestris can do bodily modification on a whim, yeah.”

 

Al hesitated. “Was there anything animalistic about them?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“No animal qualities at all…?”

 

Kaito gave the idea a moment to percolate. “Some lizards can regrow their tails,” he said, failing to think of an animal analogy for Lust’s stretchy fingers. “You think Envy’s hands were like that?”

 

“Maybe,” Al said. His eyes flickered over to his brother, and then dropped down. “Kaitou, do you know anything about chimeras?”

 

The unfamiliar word failed to translate cleanly into Japanese for Kaito, and he tilted his head sideways.

 

“Animal hybrids,” Al explained, stilted. There was a slant to his glowing eyes and hunch in his broad shoulders that told Kaito this was not a happy topic. “Sometimes… human-animal hybrids.”

 

“Never encountered one.”

 

“You don’t want to,” Al said quietly. “It’s horrible. They can only suffer.”

 

Kaito repressed a snort. “Envy and Lust seemed more sadistic than masochistic to me,” he said.

 

“It was just a thought,” Al said, uncomfortable, his leather-and-metal fingers twisting together. “I mean, if they weren’t totally human.”

 

“You sure they couldn’t have been demons?” Kaito suggested.

 

“Demons don’t exist,” Al replied.

 

“I dunno, one of my classmates is always going on about talking to demons,” Kaito said. He spotted his shoulder bag, leaning against his side table. Abruptly, hope flared; maybe Pandora was inside, somehow? He pointed at it. “Hey, can you pass me that?”

 

Al handed it over and Kaito dug through with gusto, judging objects by their shape and texture. The bag was disappointingly empty; every article of clothing was missing. The bottom of the bag was lined with a few random objects like his defunct cell phone, heist night train ticket, and one of his packs of playing cards.

 

The best scenario was that his bloodied, torn clothing had been sent to the hospital’s laundry room. Worst case scenario, the many secret pockets had been found, and the clothing had been confiscated, along with all the useful tools and important gems stored within.

 

Frustrated, he leaned back against his pillows and crossed his arms with a huff. Apparently, it was enough to get Al to glance up from his notebook, which he’d pulled out after Kaito side-tracked their conversation.

 

“I’m not built to stay in a hospital bed all week,” Kaito stated, flashing Al a wide grin. “Wanna play a game?”

 

“What kind of game…?” Al asked, voice cautious. Even his glowing eyes narrowed.

 

“A game of catch!”

 

“I don’t think we should throw anything around in here.”

“Nah, nah, not like with a ball or anything boring like that. More like… cops and robbers!” He tossed aside his bedsheets and swung his legs out. The floor was cold compared to the mattress and sheets, but Kaito stood anyway, stretching slightly, testing out his mobility around the stab wound. It hurt, but all things considered, it wasn’t as bad as three broken ribs.

 

“ Oh no,” Al said, putting away his book and standing. “No, you’re not.” 

“Nahhh, I think I am,” Kaito replied, rotating one ankle back and forth, and rolling his head side to side, loosening up and quickly planning out his route. “If you catch me before Hughes-san comes back, I’ll stay put for a while, okay?”

 

“Kaitou, this is a bad idea,” Al said, like Kaito would let him talk reason into him. “You got stabbed in the stomach last night!”

 

“Yeah,” Kaito said. “Don’t worry about it!”

 

Al’s size was an advantage in a fight, but right now, Kaito could use his slightly slower movement speed to his own advantage. So, without giving Al another moment to protest, he cinched his hospital gown a little tighter in the back and vaulted over Ed’s hospital bed.

He was out the door and past the escorts in a matter of seconds, off down the hall like a shot. His gait was awkward and lopsided as he tried to avoid pulling at his fresh stitches too much, but what needed to be done needed to be done. And currently, that was locating Pandora, or failing that, a clue to where it had been taken.

 

He had a working mental map of the hospital from the few walks (...shuffles) he’d been permitted to take during his first stay, and soon, he’d slipped into a nurse’s changing room. He changed and combed his hair, then did a quick survey of the changing room and showers. He pocketed a few hair pins, a handkerchief, an ID badge, grabbed a clipboard, and slipped on someone’s spare glasses, before pacing back into the hallway.

 

As far as disguises went, it was rather bare-bones, so he adjusted his body language as well, and moulded his expression into something more serious. It would do for a while. He kept his face angled down and headed for the first floor nurses’ station.

 

He just barely repressed a smirk when Al charged past him in the wrong direction, followed shortly by a very distressed-looking Brosh, who nearly ran into a doctor and then paused to apologize profusely before hurrying on. Kaito shared a small shrug with the very confused doctor.

 

“No such thing as a normal day around here, huh?” Kaito said.

 

“You can say that again,” the doctor muttered, shaking his head.

 

Kaito moved down the stairwell, depending on the handrail more than he’d have liked, and paused to gather some breath before emerging on the ground floor. Like the ones above, the walls were cream-colored and the floor was light brown tile. Unlike the upper floors, however, the ground floor also held several operating rooms and a morgue, none of which Kaito had explored, but probably still weren’t useful. He passed them with only a glance, turning twice before reaching the nurse’s station, where he was relieved to see no familiar faces. That made it much easier to slip behind the counter and down the private hallway where the storage room was clearly labeled, albeit locked.

 

“Bingo,” Kaito grinned.

 

The lock proved to be nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and after a moment, Kaito closed the door quietly behind himself, eyes raking over the rows of shelves lined with boxes and marked with pen—patient names, ranks, room numbers. Finding his own was quick, as the area with patient belongings was small, almost an afterthought shoved in among medical equipment stored on identical metal shelving.

 

He pulled his box down. It was light. Too light. Popping the lid wiped the grin off his face entirely; it was empty. 

 

“Shit,” he said.

 

They hadn’t washed his Kid suit after his crash landing, but then again, he’d also been a highly suspicious stranger at that point, and only mildly bloodied, unlike this time. He could only imagine himself, how he must have looked, bleeding from the stomach, his gloves a dark red, blood splattered down his front from when Envy’s hands had—

 

He shook the image away and pushed the box back into its spot, wiped away his fingerprints on both the box and doorknob, and began walking again. The hospital certainly had a laundry facility, if only for bedsheets and hospital gowns. Maybe he’d find his clothing there. Not a big deal, right? Pandora could survive a tumble-dry, if it had survived passing back and forth between worlds and blowing up people’s hands.

 

His steps faltered as he passed a bank of telephones, supervised by a military official in steam-pressed blue. He could hear Hughes’ voice and see part of his body, blocked by a partition between phones. He quickly turned down a different hallway. 

 

What would he do when he had Pandora back? (Because if he thought if instead of when, he wouldn’t make it very far). Certainly, he would make sure he didn’t pass out and wind up in the hospital a third damn time, because Lady Luck was only so generous. But as the days in Amestris wore on, it was becoming increasingly clear to Kaito: he couldn’t just destroy the thing, as much as he still wanted to. It had to get him home in one piece, the way he’d gotten here.

 

He’d figured out he could ask Pandora to do stuff, and it would respond to him. Why didn’t he just ask it to take him home, back the way it’d come?

 

It couldn’t be that easy. 

 

Could it?

 

His heartbeat quickened, pumping adrenaline through his system, enough to cloak the strain on his stitches as he pushed onward, scanning the hallways and doors. Nothing was ever that easy, but he’d be remiss if he didn’t try. He had to get Pandora back.

 

He’d thought that maybe Lust and Envy had access to a second Pandora, when he’d seen the red light that regenerated Envy’s hands; it would make sense, right? If they were boiling people up in that shady laboratory, why wouldn’t the creeps in it have a Stone, and know how to use it in a controlled manner? 

 

Kaito had no illusions that what use he’d gotten out of Pandora had been anything close to controlled. If he’d been able to control the damn thing, not splattering face-first on the pavement outside Midtown Tower would have been as easy as a gentle, but concealed, landing. Not an Amestrian cannonball. 

 

Using that power meant using... people. And surely, that wasn’t an infinite source. His stomach twisted sickly at the thought, and he set his jaw hard, picking up his pace. 

 

Was using a soul for alchemy akin to murder? His mind went immediately to Slicer: killed in cold blood by the pair who’d let him and Ed live, and he decided, yeah. It was the same thing. And worse: he’d already done it, more than once.

 

Fuck. Fuck . Triple-scooped fuck sundae with a cherry on top. Or several. He had to find a contingency plan for getting home, or maybe five.

 

There, to his left: a room marked ‘laundry’ . He shook off his tangled, sickened thoughts and centered himself on the task at hand, and pushed the door open. Within, there was a row of washing machines against one wall, made of metal and looking a bit too advanced for Kaito’s knowledge of normal 1914. Two staff members were unloading some of the machines, while a third was hanging hospital gowns on a line just out back, beyond a propped-open door that led to a small internal courtyard. The two people unloading machines glanced up at Kaito, and he put on a smile.

 

“Hey,” he said. “Have any patients’ clothes been washed today? I was sent to retrieve some for room 204.”

 

“Oh, yeah, actually, they just finished up,” one said, nodding towards a basket on a table opposite the machines. “Haven’t been folded yet, though.”

 

“No problem, I can fold a few shirts,” Kaito replied cheerfully. In the basket, he found not only the clothing he’d been wearing last night, but his Kid jacket and pants, stark-white as when he’d last put them on. Digging through, he found his blue shirt, whole aside from where he’d been stabbed. As he folded it, he catalogued what remained in the hidden pockets—wire, bent out of shape, extra fabric, and, yes, fuck yes , Pandora. It burned hot when he brushed over it.

 

His acute relief was brief, tapered off by the thoughts of souls. He swallowed it down and folded the shirt into a neat rectangle. Buried beneath his clothing, he found Ed’s, completely black, torn in multiple places. Maybe Kaito would offer to sew them up, if he could find a needle and thread anywhere.

 

At the bottom of the basket, beneath their respective underthings, were two sets of gloves—both his and Ed’s, which were smaller and wider than his own. He flipped his gloves over. The palms were slightly discolored. While it didn’t impede their functionality, the constant reminder of the literal—and metaphorical—blood he had on his hands was… uncomfortable.

 

He bundled up everything into a neat stack, thanked the workers, and headed back to his room, where he found Ross still standing a stiff guard out front. He nodded to her and she to him as he slipped back in and as the door shut quietly. Were people really so easy to slip past around here, if you wore the correct uniform, combed your hair, and put on a pair of glasses?

 

He deposited Ed’s clothing on his bedside table and paused to study the boy, still fast asleep. He was wrapped in bandages and a hospital gown. His metal arm lay heavy and inert at his side. There were dark lines under his eyes.

 

Well, at least he was getting some rest, though Kaito could sympathize with the disconcerting feeling of waking up with a day or two missing. He resisted the temptation to study Ed’s metal arm and instead put away his own clothing and back into his blue shirt and dark pants. 

 

Maybe he was imagining it, but Pandora felt… wiggly .

 

No sooner had he fallen back into bed—because ow, his fucking stab wound—did the door fly open. Framed perfectly in the doorway were a very frazzled Al and Brosh, alongside a wide-eyed Ross.

 

“I win,” Kaito declared lazily.

 

“ Kaitou ,” Al said, clenching his fists, “I’ve lost any reservations I previously had about tying you to your bed.”

 

“Kinky,” Kaito said.

 

Al strode over, seized one of Kaito’s wrists, and drew a small matrix on the metal bed railing. It glowed when he activated it; the energy discharge fizzled for a moment, and then the metal leapt up and cuffed his wrist.  

 

“That’s disappointingly vanilla,” Kaito said. Al turned away from him with a sharp huff.

 

The room was filled with frosty silence. The door stayed open, and Kaito could feel Brosh and Ross ogling him and whispering in turns. They snapped to attention when Hughes returned and announced that Kaito’s supervision would take the form of himself, Major Armstrong, and the Flame Alchemist, in turn.

 

“I do have a family and a team, so for the night, I trust Al will be a suitable sentry,” Hughes said, with a note of warning in his voice, quite clearly directed at Kaito. He had clearly clocked Kaito’s change of clothes and the alchemized cuff.

 

“ Hai, hai, ” Kaito waved him off. “It’s the same story as last time, anyway—I’m not terribly mobile.”

 

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Hughes said cheerfully. “Al, don’t be afraid to use some more alchemy. I’ll be checking back in the evening, but otherwise, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

Then, it was only Kaito, Al, and the ever-snoozing Ed. Kaito rattled the industrial-grade cuff that Al had alchemized to him. It was, in fact, so industrial-grade that it didn’t even have a lock, and didn’t actually rattle at all. 

 

“ Alchemy is cheating,” Kaito muttered to himself in Japanese. “If Nakamori ever figured this out, I’d be a goner.”  

 

“That’s Xingan, right?” Al asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you really learn Amestrian in a day?”

 

Kaito shrugged and settled more deeply against his pillows. “More or less. A day and a night, really.”

 

“That’s amazing,” Al said.

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” What it really was was weird; Kaito knew he was smart, and fluent in English—the closest cognate of Amestrian that he had in his repertoire—but how Amestrian had made sense to him so quickly was still beyond him. It probably wasn’t Pandora’s doing, because the pattern didn’t match, but he wasn’t sure what else it could be.

 

“Will you teach me some Xingan?” Al asked.

 

“Eh, why not,” Kaito replied. Might as well make a habit of practicing languages in hospital beds. “If you bring me a pen and paper, I’ll show you how to write your name. Ah, but I speak a pretty rare dialect. Not a lot of people know it, so I don’t know if it’ll be very useful to you.”

 

“That’s okay,” Al said, giving Kaito his pen and a page torn carefully from the back of his pocket notebook. “I’m just curious.”

 

“Is Al Elric your full name?”

 

“No, it’s Alphonse Elric.”

 

Kaito decided to use katakana and after a moment of thinking, he began writing it down. He sounded out each character aloud for Al as he wrote it. Then, as another example, he did Ed’s name, too.

 

“How do you write your name?”

 

“Like this.” He wrote it out in kanji. “Since it’s in Xingan, I don’t have to use katakana, you know? That’s mostly for sounding stuff out or writing foreign words.”

 

“And is that your full name?” Al asked.

 

Kaito lifted a haughty eyebrow. “What do you think?”

 

“Worth a shot,” Al laughed. He took the paper from Kaito and studied the katakana for a moment. “It’s so different from Amestrian,” he said. “I can’t imagine learning to understand a whole language in just a couple days when the characters are so different.”

 

“Eh, I already knew your alphabet,” Kaito shrugged. “Lots of languages use it. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

 

Al tucked the paper into the back of his notebook, just in time for the two of them to be startled by the door flying open a third time in the course of the day.

 

“Sarah-sensei!” Kaito exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face that wasn’t actively trying to chain him to a bed.

 

She didn’t look happy to see him , though. She looked downright furious. “ Kaitou ,” she seethed. “Please tell me why I clocked in and was immediately sent to see you?”

 

Kaito’s face fell. “You didn’t miss me?”

 

“I didn’t have time to even think about missing you! You were discharged less than twenty-four hours ago !”

 

Kaito turned to Al, putting on a very sad expression, pulling out all the stops. “She didn’t miss me,” he whined.

 

Sarah made a frustrated sound, pulling a hand down her face. “For the love of—” she muttered. “Fine. Fine! If you like it here so much, you can stay. As in, stay in bed .” She eyed the cuff that Al had alchemized, and then nodded approvingly.

 

Kaito huffed. “Has no one here heard about the positive benefits of physical activity?”

 

“You can benefit from physical activity when you’re well enough,” Sarah sniffed. She walked over and grabbed Kaito’s chart from the foot of his bed, eyes immediately going round. “You got stabbed?”

 

Kaito laughed. “Yeah, funny story…”

 

From the murderous glare Sarah leveled on Kaito, it was clear that—to her—it would not, in fact, be a funny story.

 

---

 

Saturday passed without incident, if Kaito considered ‘without incident’ the same as ‘being wrangled back into a hospital gown and left to rot away, bored out of his skull and still alchemized to a hospital bed, unless he was being escorted to and from the toilet’. Which he didn’t, actually. That was definitely an incident. Hell, his whole life was an incident.

 

Sunday was shaping up to be more of the same. Mid-morning, he’d just started singing a recent J-pop hit (he wasn’t trying to get on Al’s nerves, it was just a side effect of how he was wasting away from the boredom of not being allowed to move. Really ) when Ed stirred in the other bed, and then without even opening his eyes, muttered a rough, “Hey, shut the fuck up.”

 

“Oh, did I wake you?” Kaito asked, no trace of guilt to be found, as Al leapt to his feet.

 

“Yeah, you did,” Ed grumbled, then for good measure added, “Bastard.”

 

Kaito cackled. Al frantically began helping Ed sit up.

 

“Hey, little brother,” Ed said. His voice was still scratchy, but his smile was genuine as Al helped him up. Ed’s metal fingers twitched, arm still limp, and he gave the whole thing a uniquely offended look. Then, he squinted around the hospital room before finally looking at Kaito, who waved his unchained hand jauntily. Ed sighed and dropped his head back on his pillow. “Shit.”

 

“Language, Brother,” Al said, but even Kaito could hear that his heart wasn’t in it.

 

“I’ll ‘language, Brother’ your ass,” Ed muttered, but he was smiling faintly.

 

“I’ll call the nurse and doctor,” Al said. “Stay still.”

 

“Not much of a choice, is there?” Ed said.

 

“Now you know how I feel!” Kaito exclaimed.

 

Al hurried out, leaving the door open. Ross and Brosh crowded inside immediately to greet Ed; then the doctor and a nurse arrived in a flurry, and Kaito was ignored as Ed’s injuries were re-assessed and his awareness and vision tested. The IV was removed from his flesh arm and his non-functional metal one fitted with a sling. Through the whole thing, he looked rather like a wet kitten. He had a nasty glare to match, one that he aimed at Kaito when Kaito started up with the J-pop again. 

 

Kaito lowered his volume only when the doctor sent him a sharp look, too, and that was around when Ed yelped, “Two days?”

 

“Yes,” the doctor said, trying to modulate her voice to something soothing. “You were brought in late at night on Thursday, July 12th. Currently, it’s Sunday, the 15th.”

 

“No fuckin’ way,” Ed groaned.

 

“Yes, way,” the doctor, whose name tag proclaimed her as Patricia Toller , replied. “We believe the initial cause was a combination of severe dehydration and low blood pressure, resulting from acute blood loss. Loss of more than 15% of blood volume creates low arterial pressure, and the onset of unconsciousness was likely instigated by a further pressure drop when your body was moved to a vertical position from lying or sitting.”

 

Ed glared around the doctor at Kaito, who winced. 

 

Dr. Toller continued. “You were given a blood transfusion upon admittance, and about a dozen stitches in both your shoulder and side, and six in your forehead. You’ll need to be careful to avoid pulling any of them, especially on your head; the skin is thin…”

 

As she went on, Kaito reached for the stress ball Sarah had all but thrown at his nose yesterday, and began tossing it one-handed. He’d gotten a similar lecture about stitches from Sarah—twice, because after his laundry-room adventure, she’d had to redo two of his. That definitely wasn’t doing any favors for Ed.

 

Eventually, a nurse brought meals for Ed and Kaito, and Dr. Toller left Ed with a warning that she would be contacting his commanding officer. 

 

Even with only one hand, Ed ate like a starving man. Kaito picked at his food more slowly, splitting his concentration between the fork in his right hand, and the stress ball he was still bouncing in his locked-up left hand.

 

“Wha’ happen’ at the Lab?” Ed asked through a mouthful of potatoes. “After I passed ou’?”

 

“Well… you’re not gonna like this, but…” Al hesitated, so Kaito jumped in.

 

“That Lust lady blew the place up,” he said, tossing the stress ball up again. “It’s probably all rubble now.”

 

Al nodded, even as Ed’s expression turned disbelieving. “Kaitou carried you out,” Al said. “There’s nothing left of the Lab.”

 

Ed dropped his fork to scrub in frustration at his ponytail. “There’s nothing left?” he repeated. “Nothing at all?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Damn!” Ed grit out. “I was so close to getting a hold of the truth, too!”

 

“What happened?” Al asked, leaning in as Ed grabbed his fork and began stabbing his potatoes again. His red gaze flicked to Kaito, then back to his brother. “Kaitou said you were fighting another person in armor.”

 

“Yeah, that reminds me,” Ed said, “That Slicer guy said there was another guy in armor outside?”

 

“Mm-hmm. He attacked me and Kaitou, but I beat him, and Kaitou tied his hands up,” Al said, then pointed at Ed. “Hey, don’t dodge the question!”

 

“Geeze,” Ed huffed. “Fine. I went in and the place was pretty empty. The room where Slicer attacked me had a huge array on the ground—four layers, pentagon in the middle, raised pillar in the center of that. I can draw it.” He swallowed, golden eyes flicking up to lock with Al’s. “It was for transmuting Philosopher’s Stones.”

 

A chill chased itself from the back of Kaito’s neck down to his tailbone.

 

“So they really were—” Al said.

 

“Yeah,” Ed cut him off, probably not wanting to hear where that sentence ended. Everyone in the room knew. He launched into a recount of his fight with Slicer and accepted a pen and notebook from Al, taking a break from chewing to scribble as he talked.

 

“...that’s when Kaitou jumped out,” Ed snorted. “Dunno what you thought you were gonna fuckin’ do, but anyway… I remembered fighting Scar.” He paused. “I deconstructed Slicer’s midsection to cut off his mobility. Then, these two… people showed up.” He slid the notebook back to Al.

 

“Kaitou’s drawings were better,” Al said after a moment, flicking the page back to study the array too.

 

“Oi, I’m working left-handed here!” Ed protested.

 

“Can we go back for a second?” Kaito piped up. “I keep hearing about some scar. What’s up with that?”

 

“He’s an Ishvalan serial killer,” Ed said curtly. “He’s called Scar, since we don’t know his real name. He targets State Alchemists. Naturally, I’m on his list.”

 

Kaito whistled low. Toss, catch, toss. “Hey, listen, I can speak from experience—that sucks.”

 

“That’s putting it lightly,” Al murmured. “Brother almost died.”

 

Been there, done that, Kaito thought, but politely refrained from saying it aloud. “Why’s this guy after State Alchemists?”

 

“Do you remember when we talked about the Ishvalan War?” Al asked, voice still soft, but not the gentle-soft of kittens and velvet blankets; the soft of horror, of throat-closing sadness. “How the Amestrian military used the Philosopher’s Stones?”

 

Kaito nodded.

 

“He’s after revenge on the State Alchemists who ended the war,” Ed said, “and he uses pseudo-religious bullshit to justify his means.”

 

“...oh,” Kaito said, mind spinning back to the day he spent decoding Marcoh’s notes with Ed and Al (nevermind the fact that he hardly did any of the decoding himself). “They—your military—did your military turn Ishvalan people into Stones?” 

 

He failed to catch his stress ball; it hit the metal railing of the bed and rolled slowly toward the window. The room was silent; Ed gave Kaito a half-shrug, face still turned down as he ate, more subdued now. 

 

Kaito’s voice cracked as he asked a new question. “Did they turn Ishvalan people into Stones and then murder them more with the Stones?”

 

“We can’t say for sure,” Ed looked up sharply. “But we can make an educated guess.”

 

“That’s messed up,” Kaito said, voice rising. “That’s messed up.”

 

“Keep your voice down,” Al hissed, armor clanking as he leaned forward and held up a finger in the universal gesture for silence. “We have to be careful when we talk about this.” He turned his head to the door. For a moment, everyone held their breath; the door was ajar; Ross and Brosh stood just on the other side. Nothing moved.

 

Kaito remembered Al and Hughes’ hushed conversation about who they could trust, and who they couldn’t—namely, almost everyone. Kaito squinted at Al for a moment. “Then…why are you telling me anything? I don’t think I have to remind you what a wildcard I am.”

 

“Because you’re in this with us now,” Al said, voice somber and eyes blazing. “For better or worse, you were in the Lab with Brother, and you saw Dr. Marcoh’s notes.”

 

“Not that we’da let you see ‘em if we’d known what they’d say,” Ed muttered, tearing into a chunk of bread with his teeth. “And you’ve seen Al kick ass, right?” He chewed and gave Kaito a hard look. “He’ll hand you your ass if you try anything funny. And then I’ll alchemize your fingers together.”

 

Kaito didn’t doubt it, so he only nodded again.

 

“We could ask you the same question, Kaitou,” Al said. “You told us about your dad, and why you wanted a Stone. Why?”

 

“Al-san, I don’t know if you remember, but Fullmetal-san was gonna tear my throat out,” Kaito replied, but then paused, looking down at his plate. It was still half-full.

 

Abruptly, he missed Aoko’s home cooking, as terrible as it was; she’d been getting better lately, staying up and watching cooking videos at night, glowing with a smile any time Kaito gave her the barest compliment about her cooking. The homesickness hit him like another sword through the gut and he had to hastily blink away visions of Aoko’s face. 

 

“And, I want to go home,” he said. “I can’t do that until I’ve got Pandora, and some answers.”

 

Ed grunted. “We want answers, too,” he said. “So let’s be honest with each other here, aight?” His gaze lingered on Al, then caught Kaito’s and stayed, burning hot. “We’ll figure shit out faster that way, so it’s in everyone’s best interest.”

 

“I’ll be as honest as I can,” Kaito said, holding Ed’s stare.

 

“That’s not good enough,” Ed said insistently. “We need full honesty.”

 

Full honesty just wasn’t going to be possible. Kaito pursed his lips, still holding Ed’s stare, and then finally relented. He could pull off faux-full honesty. “Okay.”

 

“Test time!” Al said brightly. “What’s your full name?”

 

Kaito ran his tongue against the back of his teeth and couldn’t prevent himself from grimacing. “You… won’t tell Hughes-san, or anybody?”

 

“It’ll stay between us,” Ed said.

 

“You’ll still call me Kaitou,” Kaito said, laying it out like a demand.

 

“Yep,” Ed said. Al nodded.

 

Kaito huffed. “Kaito Kuroba,” he said, feeling like he was peeling off his topmost layer of skin.

 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ed leered.

 

Kaito glared, and then turned his head away. “You should feel special. Not many people know my name,” he said. He could have lied, but Kaito Kuroba didn’t exist here, not really, and neither did Kaitou Kid. His name was a small price to pay for Ed and Al’s trust.

 

“It sounds very Xingan,” Al said. “So, Kaitou is really your first name?”

 

Kaito squinted at the stress ball. It had rolled to a stop at the baseboard below the window, far out of his reach. “No, it’s Kaito,” he said. “It’s pronounced and written differently.”

 

Ed pushed away his empty tray. “Alright, now that we’ve covered that,” he said, “the Lab.”

 

Al nodded and flipped his notebook around; Kaito got a glimpse of Ed’s drawings and couldn’t help but splutter a laugh. Oh, that was pure gold. Ed and Al ignored him.

 

“Brother, what did you make of these people?” Al asked.

 

“Creepy,” Ed said. “Oh, hey, give that back—they both had these ouroboros tattoos, wings on top, six triangles in the middle, forming a star.” He showed Al, and then turned it to Kaito. “You saw ‘em too, right?”

 

“Only on the lady’s chest,” Kaito said.

 

“Hm,” Ed said. “Envy had it on the left thigh.”

 

 “And it means…?” Kaito asked, a leading question.

 

“Who knows,” Ed said. “But if there’s more people in their gang, they might have the same tattoos.”

 

“The names do imply a group of seven,” Al said, thoughtful

 

“Fullmetal-san, do you think they weren’t fully human?” Kaito cut in. “On Friday, Al-san and I talked about chimeras. Plus, Slicer implied the Fifth Lab was run by non-humans.”

 

Ed’s head jerked around, eyes fixing on Kaito. His fingers were clenched in the bedsheet; even his metal ones were twitching in the sling.

 

“What?” Kaito asked.

 

“There weren’t chimeras,” Ed said sharply, but he’d turned to Al.

 

Al’s leather fingers squeaked over the side of his helmet. “It was just a thought,” he said quietly. “They don’t sound like any chimeras we’ve seen before, but, in theory, if a human-animal chimera was perfectly created…”

 

“No,” Ed snapped. “That can’t be done.”

 

“Just think about it,” Al said. “What else could they be?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ed snapped, body still stiff with tension.

 

“And,” Al went on, “maybe it could be done, with a Philosopher’s Stone.”

 

“I don’t like it, Al,” Ed declared darkly.

 

“Me neither, Brother,” Al said.

 

But  Ed’s expression had already transfixed itself into the middle distance, thumbing over his jaw. “Could a perfect chimera use alchemy?—that’s a hypothetical. But the red light when Envy’s hands healed…oi, Kaitou, it looked like your alkahestry, when you copied Scar.”

 

Kaito resisted a nervous swallow, and also decided it wasn’t worth pointing out that he’d been copying Ed copying Scar. “It did,” he said.

 

Ed eyed him. “Know anything about that?”

 

“No,” Kaito said. At least that was the truth, even if he had...suspicions.

 

“It looked like Father Cornello’s false alchemy, too,” Ed said suddenly. “Remember that, Al?”

 

“Yeah,” Al said.

 

Both brothers fell silent. Kaito got the nervous feeling that they were communicating without words, but it cut off when Ed said, “We should pay Teacher a visit.”

 

“Yeah,” Al agreed. “She is the most skilled alchemist we know, and she’s traveled a lot.” He looked to Kaito. “She doesn’t even need a matrix to transmute. Nor does Brother, actually.”

 

“Or Kaitou.” Ed’s tone was pointed, and his glance was sharp. 

 

Kaitou just grinned back, but the other side of his poker face was notably less calm. Was it that rare? Shit . He’d only managed to read up on alchemical basics; he’d assumed it was just an advanced trick once he’d seen Ed do it, and Pandora’s previous help hadn’t done anything to disprove the idea, either. He should’ve known that copying Ed ‘Resident Expert on Human Transmutation’ Fullmetal Alchemist would throw a red flag, but then again, he’d had little by way of options with a literal sword sticking out of his gut. 

 

“So, Dublith?” Al said.

 

“Dublith,” Ed confirmed gravely. “We need to learn more and get stronger.” But he’d gone a bit pale.

 

Al clutched at his chest. “It was nice knowing you, Brother,” he said, voice quaking. 

 

Ed sank down, practically falling out of his bed. “Our lives sure were short, huh, Al?”

 

“I would have at least liked to have had a girlfriend,” Al said miserably.

 

“Your teacher must be really scary,” Kaito commented.

 

“She doesn’t even know we’re like this,” Ed replied, voice muffled as he continued to slide into a sad puddle on the ground. “I think she’s going to skin us before killing us.” Then he groaned and hefted himself to his feet, wincing and clutching at his side with a hand. His metal fingers were twitching again. “But first, I need to get fixed up…”

 

“I already called,” Al said. “Granny said to call back when you woke up, and that you should talk to Winry directly...”

 

“Oi, leaving all scary shit to me,” Ed grumbled. “That’s not fair!”

 

“You’re the one who broke your arm again so soon,” Al replied. “There’s no way I was gonna tell her that!”

 

“Heeeyy,” Kaitou called, rattling around his chained hand. “Stop ignoring me! I don’t wanna be outta the loop!”

 

Ed sighed heavily and then sat back on the edge of his bed as Al left to get a wheelchair. “Winry is my mechanic,” he said.

 

“For that metal arm, right?” 

 

Ed scowled. “It’s not just metal, it’s automail.”

 

“Don’t know a single thing about it,” Kaito replied cheerfully.

 

“No? I guess they might not have it in Xing.”

“At least not where I’m from,” Kaito said. That couldn’t be verified too easily, right? Either way, he’d been curious about Ed’s arm before, and even more so now; it was a prosthetic limb, but it had moved just like the real thing, right until it had become dead weight hanging off Ed’s shoulder. “How does it work?”

 

“Just wait until Winry gets here,” Ed said as Al returned with the wheelchair. “You’ll get to learn more than you ever wanted.”

 

The two left, and for a blissful moment, Kaito thought he’d been left to his own devices—he could get out of the cuff, alchemized or not, as long as nobody was watching. Not that there was anything particular he wanted to do this time. One more day in a hospital bed and he was legitimately going to waste away from boredom. 

 

He’d only just leaned over to pull open the drawer when the door opened smoothly, admitting a widely grinning Hughes. He was in a purple dress shirt and dark slacks, for once not in military blues. So instead of grabbing his tools, Kaito pulled out his playing cards, and flung one at Hughes’ face. Served him right for always being scarily like an adult version of Tantei-kun.

 

Much to Kaito’s disappointment, Hughes dodged the non-lethal projectile with a laugh, and it instead flew into the face of the startled man just behind him. 

 

The man frowned as he caught the card and flipped it over. “Ace of spades,” the stranger observed. Then he looked up, and Kaito was caught in the crosshairs of his dark gaze. “ Good morning, Kaitou. I am Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist .”

 

“Eh?” Kaitou blinked back. He understood the words to be Xingan; they were strikingly similar to Japanese, which he hadn’t heard spoken in any voice but his own in a week, but different enough that he wasn’t confident he’d understood every word. The name, though, he recognized with certainty. It had been thrown around in his vicinity more than a few times. “I can speak Amestrain, you know. And if you want to speak in Xingan, we can try, but I don’t know if you know this dialect.”

 

“It does appear as though we’re not quite on the same page,” Mustang replied. He tossed Kaito’s card back, and Kaito lifted his unchained hand to grab it out of the air. “Well, Kaitou. Let’s talk, you and I.”

 

Kaito tucked the ace of spades back into his deck and sighed. “Could I at least change out of the hospital gown? I’m pretty tired of having important conversations dressed like this.”

 

---

 

Notes:

Please accept my shoddy medical googling once more… first the cracked ribs, now attempting to explain a two-day black out...

Chapter 9: The Colonel

---

 

On Saturday night, Maes arrived at the station ten minutes before Roy’s train was scheduled to arrive. While it wasn’t the last train of the day, it was close to it, and the sun had gone down an hour ago. That meant the station itself was fairly empty, and the passengers who filed out of the train were few. Maes spotted Roy, a dark head and dark coat amid a crowd of fairer colors. When he waved, Roy headed in his direction.

 

“Maes,” Roy started neutrally, but Maes wasn’t having any of that; he pulled Roy into a bear hug, effectively cutting him off. Though Roy had attempted formality, he laughed and hugged Maes back. When they pulled apart, Roy was grinning. 

 

“Long time no see,” Maes joked as they exited the station. In reality, they’d seen each other a few weeks ago, when Maes had been in East City—but that had been all work, chasing Scar after Tucker, to Ed, to Roy. No, this visit was a work-heavy social visit, and the semantics made an important difference. Namely, this visit would include Maes having three of his favorite people in his home: his wife, his daughter, and his best friend. Simultaneously.

 

“I’ve missed you dearly,” Roy said dryly.

 

“Any girlfriend yet?” Maes asked, voice as bright as his bouncing steps.

 

“Alas, only Scar comes close remotely to qualifying,” Roy sighed. “He demands a lot of attention.”

 

Meas snorted as they crossed the street to the parking lot. “Alright, point taken,” he said. “You’re too busy to have a social life, I know.”

 

“Hey! That’s not what I meant,” Roy said.

 

“Ah, but it is what you said!” Maes said.

 

“Why must everyone so thoroughly enjoy twisting my words?” Roy complained.

 

“You make it fun,” Maes said.

 

“I promise that I have a social life, Maes. You’re in it,” Roy said.

 

“And who else?”

 

“Lt. Hawkeye.”

 

“I’m sure she’d disagree with you about two people constituting a social life,” Maes said. As they approached the car, he dug the keys from the depths of his pocket.

 

Roy slung his suitcase in the back before climbing in the passenger seat, sighing dramatically all the way. “I sat on a train for hours to come visit you and all I get as thanks is your insults, Maes, really. And you think I should come to Central more often.”

 

“If you did, I wouldn’t have to tease you half as much,” Maes declared, turning the keys in the ignition. Both knew that was a very dishonest statement; teasing everyone, most of all Roy, was one of Maes’ favorite pastimes, and it wasn’t one he would give up easily. “Really, you should take this as an incentive!”

 

Roy only snorted. “Some incentive,” he said. “Hawkeye drives a harder bargain than you do.”

 

“How is she, by the way?” Maes said.

 

“She’s well. Strict as ever,” Roy said.

 

“And the rest of your team?”

 

“Havoc hasn’t been too pleased with the river cleanup. He’d rather see more exciting action,” Roy said. “He refuses to accept that the river cleanup is the more exciting action, at least compared to the paperwork the explosion has generated.”

 

“Let’s hope none of us see anything more exciting than that in the next few days,” Maes replied, with no shortage of feeling. “I doubt you’ve heard yet, but we’ve had our fair share here, what with the Fifth Lab collapsing on Thursday night.”

 

“That old thing?” Roy asked, disinterested. “It was sure to be demolished at any rate.”

 

“It wouldn’t have been a huge deal if it hadn’t fallen on top of Ed and Kaitou,” Maes said.

 

“What?” Roy actually sounded startled. It was too bad Maes had to focus on driving; he would’ve liked to savor that expression on his often unflappable friend. “Central Hospital notified me that Ed had been admitted, but—what?”

 

“Yeah,” Maes grimaced. He quickly recapped what had led them to the not-so-abandoned lab, then recounted Kaitou’s version of events inside. “I thought the three of them would get on well, but that was giving them too much credit,” he concluded. “Kaitou especially; that boy is something of a wildcard. And we’re still waiting on Ed to wake up. That’s when we’ll be able to confirm Kaitou’s story.”

 

Roy scrubbed a hand down his face with a groan. “Maes,” he said, “why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

 

“I was a little busy,” Maes said.

 

“I called you on Friday. We spoke for like twenty minutes!”

 

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

 

“Maes,” Roy said in a way that actually said ‘ I know you’re lying to me’.

 

“I didn’t want to discuss any sensitive information over the phone,” Maes said. On the wheel, his knuckles were tight, skin stretched thin, and he made a conscious effort to relax. “Especially not on military lines. There’s military involvement behind the Lab’s collapse, the burning of the First Branch. Somehow, everything is connected to the Philosopher’s Stones that Ed and Al have been after.”

 

“You’re sure about this?” Roy asked.

 

“Very,” Maes said grimly. “There was a guard on duty at the Fifth Lab on Thursday night—First Private Lucas Wiler. I spoke to him briefly on Friday afternoon.”

 

“Whose command is Private Wiler under?”

 

“Colonel Rowe in the Security Department, who I spoke to as well. Rowe claims he never assigned a rotation on the Fifth Lab and doesn’t know Wiler was there. Yet Rowe’s signature is on the orders.”

 

“Someone’s covering this up,” Roy murmured.

 

Maes nodded. “It gets worse,” he said. “Private Wiler didn’t report to work this morning.”

 

Roy’s hands curled into fists; he knew where this was going. “Body?” he asked.

 

“No,” Maes replied, “but plenty of blood in his dorm.”

 

“Shit,” Roy muttered. “Alright. What happened to the armored man who attacked Al and Kaitou?”

 

“He’s in the custody of the military police,” Maes replied.

 

“Think he’ll last long?” Roy asked.

 

Maes couldn’t withhold a grimace. “We can hope,” he said. “I’ve already spoken with him briefly. He wasn’t very forthcoming. We already knew who he was and what he was assigned to do, since he told Al. I think the only new information we got out of him was that he’d been bound to the armor at Fifth Lab, which confirmed a few things. But he wouldn’t say a word about who did it to him.”

 

“What has Fullmetal gotten himself into?” Roy said, voice low. “I swear, he’s going to age me ten years...”

 

“At least your competitors will take you more seriously without the baby-face,” Maes said.

 

“Are you kidding? I need the baby-face,” Roy said. When Maes glanced at him, he’d curled a hand protectively around his cheek. Roy sighed. “So, Fullmetal’s still unconscious? Why?”

 

“Blood loss is the prime factor,” Maes said. “There’s no immediately discernible head trauma, beyond a cut that accounted for a portion of his bleeding. Doctor says his vitals are good, and thinks he should be up soon.” He set his eyes back on the road spanning ahead of them, the buildings flowing by on either side, dark shapes in the night.

 

“Small mercies,” Roy muttered. 

 

“Do you know anything about healing alchemy, Roy?”

 

“Xingan alkahestry has a medical component, if that’s what you’re asking about,” Roy replied. “I’ve heard that it’s useful for closing flesh wounds and staunching a patient’s bleeding.”

 

“Ever seen it in action?” Maes asked.

 

“No,” Roy replied, a trace of wry amusement in his tone. “I’ve only ever lived in Amestris. Where would I have met an alkahestrist?”

 

Maes flapped a hand at him. “Hush,” he said. “Do you think it could heal bones?”

 

“I don’t know, Maes,” Roy sighed. “If Fullmetal broke something, he will just need to wait for it to heal naturally.”

“No, I’m not talking about Ed,” Maes said. “I’m talking about our resident Xingan enigma.” He flicked on a turn signal and brought the car to a stop at an intersection. “His crash-landing last week left him with a few cracked ribs, which had been healed before his re-admittance to the hospital. He said he used alkahestry to seal them up to improve his mobility during the fights he was involved in at the Fifth Laboratory.”

 

“Huh. That’s a useful trick.”

 

“There’s something fishy about it,” Maes said. “He had plenty of opportunities to heal himself before now. He claimed it takes too much energy to do regularly, but if that’s the case, mid-battle should be the last place to perform a transmutation like that.”

 

“It sounds ill-advised,” Roy agreed. “And he did this at the beginning of the battle?”

 

“I’d say closer to half-way through,” Maes said. He gave Roy the detailed rundown of the fights with Barry, Envy, and Lust, noting that Kaito had failed to heal himself a second time, and that his new wound had required stitches. At the end, he added, “If Ed doesn’t wake up soon, we’ll want to look for another way to confirm Kaitou’s story. As for the healing alchemy…”

 

“It could just be a case of bad sense,” Roy shook his head. “Goodness knows Fullmetal makes enough rash decisions.”

 

“I unearthed a book about alkahestry that I’d like you to look at,” Maes said. “I’ve read it, but it’s a bit technical—Dragon’s Pulse this, anchor point that…”

 

“I’ll take a look at it,” Roy said. “This isn’t going to be much of a vacation, is it?”

 

“Nope!” Maes replied. “Aren’t you excited?”

 

“Hardly. You can’t pay me enough to deal with three reckless teenagers. One is enough,” Roy groaned. 

 

“Oh, come on. It’s more like two and a half,” Maes said. “Al is slightly more responsible than the others.”

 

“Fair enough. I have reason to suspect he’s written more of Fullmetal’s reports than Fullmetal has,” Roy muttered. “It’s rather obvious when they’re missing Fullmetal’s unique scrawl.”

 

“Well, this report you can get directly from Ed the moment he’s up. How about it? Glad you came to town yet?” 

 

Maes’ tone was light, but the question was serious; after all, Maes was glad Roy was here to help him face the tide of hungry eyes in pressed blue uniforms that were growing increasingly sinister. The more they uncovered, the more the corruption in the ranks of the military implicated higher and higher officials. But Roy and Maes had history. Confidence. Trust. Roy’s presence meant that Maes could relax incrementally. It meant that they could work in tandem, a well-oiled machine.

 

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Roy admitted. He was a dark outline against the muted scene out the window; Maes could only see the shape of his jaw moving. “But I dread the deskwork Hawkeye will certainly have in store for me the moment I set foot back in East City.”

 

Maes chuckled. “Your office wouldn’t function without her,” he said.

 

“I can readily admit that’s true,” Roy sighed, sounding defeated. When Maes snuck another look, he found Roy illuminated orange by a passing street lamp, smiling faintly. But that smile turned into a suspicious squint out the front windshield at the busy street, the lit signs. “Maes…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We’re not at your apartment.”

 

“Nope,” Maes said. He saw a free spot on the curb and guided the car into it. “It’s Saturday night! Let’s have a few drinks before we commit to all the research and subterfuge and so on.” He threw the car into park and flung his door open, emerging into the summer evening. He filled his lungs with fresh air, the chatter of civilians, the faint scent of booze on the wind.

 

Roy exited the car more slowly and with a put-upon sigh. Maes knew he’d recognized the area, and knew where they were headed. “You scheming asshole,” he said. 

 

Maes circled the car and hooked an arm around Roy’s shoulders. “Wanna lead the way?”

 

---

 

Maes had been to Madame Christmas’ bar before, but few enough times that he could count the experiences on one hand.

 

The bar was set on a side street with enough foot-traffic to make decent numbers, but it was relatively quiet all the same; aside from a glowing sign above the cherry-red door, the brothel-slash-bar-slash-intel-resource could have been any small, family-owned restaurant.

 

Early evening on a Saturday night in a normally comfortably subdued bar made for a relaxing scene when the bell announced Maes and Roy’s arrival. Only half the tables had patrons, and the bar along the back wall was attended only by the working girls. They chose a couple of stools, and immediately, one of the workers recognized Roy with a delighted gasp.

 

“Roy!” She exclaimed, abandoning her rag and moving over. “Is that really you?”

 

“In the flesh,” Roy replied warmly. Nobody would have guessed he’d been dragging his feet when they’d gotten out of the car. “It’s good to see you, Vanessa.”

 

“Let me guess, you’re here for Aunt Chris?” Vanessa vollied back, voice and expression wryly amused.

 

“Are we that transparent?” Roy asked.

 

“What else do you ever come here for?” Vanessa tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll let her know you’re here, Roy. Sit tight. And afterwards, we are going to catch up.”

 

As she left, Maes leaned sideways towards Roy. “How did she manage to make that sound like a threat?”

 

“Because knowing her, it is a threat,” Roy said.

 

“Ahh. Women are quite scary when they want to be,” Maes said.

 

“I daresay they want me to visit Central just as often as you do,” Roy said. “Anything less results in consequences such as, and I quote, ‘catching up’.”

 

The backroom door swung open and Madame Christmas stepped into the bar proper. Her lined face split into a wide grin when her eyes landed on Roy and Maes. “Well, Vanessa ain’t telling tall tales, now is she,” she said. 

 

The Madame was someone Maes had met here before; her information network surpassed Maes’ so handily that it wasn’t even a competition. Her girls produced information that Maes could only dream of getting on his own. She and her girls had their extremely effective ways. Needless to say, he held a healthy respect for her and her ability to get what she wanted, when she wanted it, not only because of the power she held, but because of the brain behind that power too; if she’d wielded it with any less precision, the results would be far from what they were, which was—for her—stellar. 

 

“Aunt Chris,” Roy said. “How are you?”

 

“I’m fine, Roy-boy,” she said in a rumbling voice, slotting herself across the countertop from them. “It’s good to see you. Not just a work call, I hope?”

 

“I’m in town for Elicia’s birthday as well,” Roy replied smoothly with a nod to Maes. “And to see you, of course.”

 

She snorted like she didn’t believe him. “You boys look like you want some drinks.” She turned her eyes on Maes instead. “What’ll you have, hon?”

 

“Just a beer for me, thanks,” he said.

 

“You’ll have to get more specific than that,” she said.

 

“What’ve you got?”

 

She listed several and Maes picked one: then, Roy ordered something quite a bit stronger than Maes’ beer. After sliding their drinks over, the Madame set her chin on her hand and regarded them both with a thoughtful gaze.

 

“What kind of information are you looking for, and on what schedule?” she asked. “I’ll have you know the girls are booked up for the night.”

 

“It’s actually you we’re looking to speak to,” Roy said.

 

“Me?” the Madame laughed roughly. “How novel.”

 

“You spent your childhood in Xing, right, Madame?” Maes asked. 

 

“I did.”

 

“I’ve found Amestrian resources about Xing are lacking. It’s frustrating, you see. I’d like to be on the same page as my current Xingan guest,” Maes said.

 

The Madame’s eyes sparkled. “Ahh, that Kaitou boy, isn’t it?”

 

“Got it in one.” Maes didn’t bother to ask where she’d gotten the boy’s name; she had eyes everywhere, after all. Effective, beautiful, deceptively innocent eyes.

 

“That boy sounds like a cheeky bastard,” Madame said.

 

“He’s a bit like Roy in that way,” Maes replied cheerfully.

 

“Hmm. Dabbles in dangerous alchemy too, does he?” Her glance at Roy was none too subtle, and Roy frowned, fingers tightening around his whiskey. He wasn’t wearing his gloves tonight, but they were certainly somewhere on his person. Just like Maes’ knives.

 

“So it seems!” Maes said.

 

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Roy grumbled, slouching over his glass.

 

“Of course we do,” Madame said. She crossed her arms on the bartop. “You know, my information isn’t all too recent, son.”

 

“It’s fortunate that we’re not after current events,” Roy said. “We want to verify some of the myths Kaitou has been talking about.”

Maes loved Roy, he truly did; Maes hadn’t even needed to brief him on why they were visiting his aunt.

 

“Again, I’ll need you to be a bit more specific,” Madame said, her voice an amused rumble.

 

“Let’s start with the big ticket item: immortality,” Maes said.

 

If the Madame was surprised by Maes’ request, she didn’t display it. “Immortality,” she repeated. “That pesky thing people always want, but has only ever been attained in legends. Xing and its people are no exception, you know. There’s talk that alkahestry has its roots in the search for longevity.” She snorted. “Though longevity by itself poses no concerns.” 

 

She paused to think for a moment, fingernails clinking against the counter.

 

“If it’s immortality myths you’re after, I think you want to look into Xerxes,” she said. “Origin point for many a Xingan myth. It’s said that the search for immortality is what destroyed the Xerxian royal court, and their whole damn civilization.”

 

“A warning to not repeat history, huh?” Roy said.

 

“Was it ever said how destruction and immortality went together?” Maes asked. He’d heard a few stories about Xerxes; everyone had. Tales had come to Amestrisis, and there were travelers who’d brought back descriptions of the ruins as recently as last year.

 

The Madame regarded both of them for a moment with her mouth in a flat line. “You boys ever heard of the Philosopher of the West?”

 

Roy shook his head, but Maes thought a moment.

 

“Yes, actually,” he said. “The only resource I found on Xing was a small handbound book titled Understanding Alkahestry . It briefly talked about the Philosopher of the West influencing the Xingan branch of alkahestry. It credited him for its modern form. But the details were scarce.” As was the way with too many sources about Xing.

 

“That’s the story,” the Madame confirmed, a bit of a grin sparking at her painted lips. “Ask any alkahestrist.” She stepped away from the bar to pull out a long, thin pipe, and bit it between her teeth to free her hands for striking a match.

 

“Would if I could,” Maes said.

 

“Well, there were a lot of stories about that guy. Fairy tales, really. Called him a man made of gold.” She pulled the lit pipe from her mouth and blew a casual stream of smoke down the bartop. “You know, all kinds of things about being moulded from sunbeams or snow so pure it shone too bright for you to look at directly.” She rolled her eyes. “One of the more down-to-earth ideas was that he’d escaped the destruction of Xerxes and attained some’a that ‘longevity’ bullcrap.”

 

“That’s fair,” Maes said, thinking of Ed’s coloring, and presumably, Al’s too. “Golden hair and golden eyes—Xerxian traits.”

 

“When was the Philosopher of the West active in Xing?” Roy asked.

 

The Madame shrugged broadly. “This was still far before my time,” she said. “Apparently he traveled the entire country on foot for decades, and scholars could recognize him because his appearance never changed from the drawings sent ahead.”

 

“...so he didn’t scar, didn’t tan?” Roy asked. “Didn’t age?”

 

“That or he was formed directly from sunlight,” the Madame replied ironically. “Or perhaps it was a mask, or a title passed down from father to son, or maybe he never existed at all and it was just told to fan the flames that desired eternal life.” She blew another thin stream of smoke away from her pipe. “We’re speaking of myths, after all. People even theorized he was a shapeshifter—growing older in every way aside from an intentionally curated appearance.”

 

Maes sipped his beer. It was cold, bitter. The bottle left a wet ring on the counter and he wiped it with the small square of a napkin.

 

“Well, what about rumors of the Philosopher’s Stone in Xing?” Roy asked.

 

“That’s right,” Maes said. “Kaitou had a more specific story about that.”

 

“Did you hear anything as a child?” Roy pressed his aunt. She looked back at him with an eyebrow arched high.

 

“There was the idea that it wasn’t attainable with alkahestry alone, if it were possible at all,” she said. “What stories has Kaitou brought with him to Central?”

 

“He said the Philosopher’s Stone is a gem that weeps immortal tears under a passing comet,” Maes said. “I seriously have no idea what level of poetry is involved here, by the way. He could have meant it completely literally, or not literally at all.”

 

“How rusty is your Xingan, Roy-boy?” the Madame shot at him as he was sipping his liquor. With the rim of his glass to his lips, Roy replied in Xingan. “Not terrible,” the Madame surmised.

 

Taking his cue, Roy put down his glass and translated Kaitou’s phrase. Maes wondered what words he chose in this four-step game of telephone: Kaitou’s Xingan to Amestrian, rendered inexact by Maes, then back into Roy’s Xingan,

 

“Never heard anything like that,” the Madame said.

 

“Of course, we can’t be certain of the actual words he would have used to describe the stone in his mother tongue,” Roy said. “Perhaps I’ll speak to him in Xingan and get back to you, Madame; then we might have a better idea of how much of a lyricist he is.”

 

“Sure,” the Madame replied, lowering her pipe from her mouth and blowing away a small amount of ash. “Good luck with that. I’ve the feeling this Kaitou is a slippery one.”

 

“What tipped you off?” Maes laughed. “Was it the name?”

 

“Only someone with utmost confidence in their abilities is bold enough to call themselves a phantom thief,” she replied, “let alone claim it as their only name.”

 

“Hmm. What can you tell us about the term?” Maes asked. “Roy’s already said it means something like ‘phantom’ and has connotations of thievery.”

 

“It’d best translate plainly as ‘phantom thief’,” the Madame said. “But the implications go further. There’s a few phantom thieves anywhere you go, but with our government having such a strong hand, I don’t think I’ve seen one stick around long here in Amestris. They fancy themselves gentlemen with a strong moral code. Steal for good, sometimes. Leave a calling card or a thank-you.”

 

“How kind,” Maes said.

 

“They’re burglars of a thousand faces,” the Madame said plainly. “They think theft is a game, and they made a damn good play at it.”

 

Maes had to admit the description fit Kaitou rather well, especially what Al had told him about Kaitou’s snippy critiques about the brothers’ lack of preparation for breaking into the Fifth Lab. Maes had also clocked the kid’s ability to make objects vanish onto his person; that one Maes had seen first-hand when he’d originally reunited Kaitou with his belongings. Those belongings were another story altogether—the strange vest that had been taken off the boy was the biggest question mark, as its composition had yet to be identified by the military personnel assigned to it. 

 

But aside from the vest had been a gun that Kaitou claimed shot cards, and a set of lockpicking tools. Those, Maes had checked out himself and even taken into his own care, because they weren’t just lockpicking tools—they were extremely advanced and specialized lockpicking tools. Maes didn’t even know what some of the things were meant to do. One or two of the devices seemed electronic.

 

Needless to say, his tools were as advanced as they were mysterious. Actually, that was an apt description for Kaitou on the whole.

 

“Basically,” the Madame said, “keep an eye on any priceless artifacts you might have lying around. Though phantom thieves usually have a specific goal, so maybe you’re in the clear.”

 

“A specific goal, huh?” Maes echoed softly. “You know, that makes sense with what he told Al and Ed—he told them a bit more about himself than I managed to get.”

 

“There’s a surprise,” Roy said. “Are you losing your touch, Maes?”

 

“I think they’ve got an advantage over me by not holding as much authority,” Maes said. “I had to play bad cop and lay down the law! It wasn’t my choice! Do you know how difficult that was for me?” He was overdoing the defensive tone and even clutching at his heart.

 

“I can imagine,” Roy said. “Though Edward does hold rank equivalent to a Major.” He swirled his glass. The ice clinked together musically beneath the murmur of the bar patrons.

 

“But does he act like it?” Maes said.

 

Roy’s pinched, pained expression told Maes exactly what he thought: no. No, he did not. 

 

“Kaitou probably doesn’t even know that little fun fact,” Maes laughed. 

 

“So he had a very specific archetype in mind when he chose his name,” Roy said, bringing the conversation back on track.

 

“The name affords him a layer of protection, doesn’t it?” Maes said, thinking aloud. “It’s a bit like a pseudonym and a challenge all in one.”

 

“Indeed,” Roy said. “I believe his family name could clue us in to which clan he belongs to, and thus what region he’s from. The more we could find out about him, the better—for us, of course.”

 

Across the bar from them, the Madame drew back, putting away her pipe. “Good luck getting him to volunteer any of that information,” she said wryly. “I’ve a hunch as to why he’s searching for immortality.”

 

Maes’ interest piqued. “Well, we already got one version of events from him,” he said, and quickly recapped Kaitou’s story about a shady group murdering his father, and the kid’s quest for revenge, all the while impersonating his father. “Ultimately, he said he only wants to destroy the Philosopher’s Stone that led to his father’s death.”

 

“And you buy that?” the Madame asked; from her tone, it was very clear that she was heavily skeptical, if nothing else.

 

“As much as I’ve bought anything else that’s come out of his mouth,” Maes admitted. “Which is to say, I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, and believe there’s at least a kernel of truth in the things he’s said. But with no way to verify his claims, I can’t fully believe much from him.”

 

The Madame clicked her tongue. “Here’s my theory. I think he wants the Stone to gain favor for his clan.”

 

“That rings a few bells,” Roy said, the words slow and thoughtful. “I know the clans of Xing are constantly vying with one another to win the Emperor's good graces and ensure their survival. It’s logical that something as powerful and coveted as the Philosopher’s Stone, no matter the reason, would do the trick.”

 

Maes propped his elbows on the bartop, dropping his chin onto his laced fingers. “Interesting,” he agreed, before locking his eyes on the stoic Madame. “Well. I think a bit more of a history lesson is in order. If you don’t mind, Madame?”

 

Her answering grin told Maes that she was willing to divulge more information, but that if he were in the company of anyone other than the nephew she raised, he’d be paying a steep price.

 

---

 

Though the book Understanding Alkahestry was short and Maes had already gone through it several times, he wasn’t an alchemist. He passed it off to Roy when they got back to the apartment, in hopes that the Flame Alchemist would have better luck with the concepts within than he did. Roy buried his nose in the book as soon as Maes handed it to him, and barely looked up from it on Sunday morning during breakfast.

 

Maes thought it best to leave him to it, so he took Elicia to the park for the remainder of Sunday morning. On their walk home, they swung by a bakery, where he let her choose a pastry in honor of her birthday. Nevermind the fact that her birthday was tomorrow, or that Gracia would scold him for letting Elicia eat a strawberry danish right before lunch. To soften that particular blow, he brought home danishes for everyone. The gift made Gracia smile, but Roy ate his on auto-pilot, still glued to the book.

 

It was sometime after that, when Maes and Elicia were sprawled out on the living room floor with a variety of blocks and dolls (and an increasingly complicated storyline, much to Maes’ delight) that the phone rang. Gracia answered, but she called Maes only a moment later.

 

“It’s the hospital,” she said. “Someone named Dr. Toller?”

 

An uneasy knot formed in Maes’ stomach as he pushed himself off the ground and received the phone from Gracia. When the hospital called, it was usually either with the best possible news, or the last thing you wanted to hear.

 

“Lt. Colonel Hughes speaking,” he said.

 

“Lt. Colonel, this is Dr. Toller at Central Military Hospital, working Edward Elric’s case. You’re currently overseeing him, is that right?” the doctor asked. 

 

“That’s right,” he said.

 

“I’d like to inform you that he woke up late this morning and is in good health,” she continued. “The issue with his arm is mechanical, as we surmised before. Both his memories and mental facilities also appear to be fully intact.”

 

Best possible outcome, then. “Wonderful!” he cheered.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get a hold of his C.O., do you? We called to Eastern Command, but it seems he’s left town, or something…” Dr. Toller said. She sounded distinctly annoyed.

 

“I have his personal line, in fact,” Maes replied. So personal that Roy was sitting at his kitchen table. (Had that man even moved since breakfast?) “I’ll let him know that Fullmetal’s alright.”

 

“We’d appreciate that.” Toller gave Maes a few details about Ed’s condition to jot down, with a reminder to “make sure Fullmetal’s C.O. signs off on the incident report form,” before they said their goodbyes and hung up.

 

“Ed’s alright?” Gracia asked, looking relieved.

 

“Back to his normal, stubborn self,” Maes confirmed. “I think his skull’s too thick to harm, anyway. But that’s the cue for me and Roy to head out. You and Elicia will be alright for the afternoon?”

 

Gracia tilted her head at him. “We’ll be fine,” she said, indulgent, and stepped forward to wrap Maes in a hug that he absolutely reveled in. “Go gather your intel.”

 

Maes kissed her sweetly before heading to the kitchen, where Roy had finally demagnetized himself from the book, sometime between Elicia’s doll drama and Dr. Toller’s phone call. He was writing neat lines in his travel-sized notebook, which Maes knew were coded without even attempting to read a single thing. 

 

“You get anything more out of that book than I did?” Maes asked, gesturing to the now-closed volume of Understanding Alchemy sitting at Roy’s elbow.

 

“I believe so,” Roy replied. “I should be able to confirm a few things after meeting Kaitou.”

 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Maes said. “Seems Ed’s back up and at ‘em, and Kaitou’s been getting antsy. Dr. Toller said he’s getting a little too fond of singing. So, we’ve got the perfect excuse to go see them both!”

 

Roy nodded, the ghost of a grin just forming, a flash of teeth. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

 

Though they were in plainclothes, the hospital staff recognized Maes when he and Roy arrived. Maes was well-known to begin with, and it helped that he’d spent the better part of the last week coming and going from Central Hospital. He practically felt like a celebrity when the staff at the front desk waved the two of them through with barely a glance.

 

Up the stairs they went, and then Maes swung open the door to Ed and Kaitou’s room with a wide grin, not bothering to knock. He just barely caught Kaitou’s eyes narrowing on him before something came flying at his face. He dodged sideways, but Roy had no such warning; the playing card hit him squarely between the eyes.

 

He took it in stride, despite Maes’ laughter. “Ace of spades,” Roy read, before lifting his eyes to Kaitou. The two exchanged a few sentences in Xingan; then Roy tossed the card back to the boy. Maes noticed that Ed’s bed was conspicuously empty, sheets rumpled and tossed aside.

 

“Could I at least change out of the hospital gown?” Kaitou frowned down at himself, shuffling his stack of cards deftly. “I’m pretty tired of having important conversations dressed like this.”

 

“Sure,” Maes said. “But where are your minders?”

 

“You mean my minders other than Armstrong-san and you?” Kaitou said.

 

“Yes, the back-up minders, if you will. I can’t mind you all the time,” Maes said.

 

“You just missed them. Fullmetal-san and Al-san  went to make a call.”

 

Maes turned to Roy. “Let’s go say hello!” he said, before turning back to the kid who was now fiddling with his alchemically sealed cuff. “Kaitou, I expect you’ll be ready when we’re back.”

 

Kaitou responded with a wink. “Of course, Hughes-san.”

 

Maes pulled Roy back out of the room. To Roy’s raised eyebrow, Maes said, “Oh, I have no doubt he’ll get out of the cuff just fine.”

 

“I suppose we’d be remiss to not put that name of his to the test,” Roy said.

 

They nodded to Ross, who was sitting guard. They found the Elrics around the corner at the phones, where Ed was talking with his back to the hall, shoulders hunched, head down, perhaps in an attempt to gain some privacy. Al and Srgt. Brosh stood nearby, talking idly, an empty wheelchair at their side. Maes gave them a jaunty wave, but before either could speak, Maes held a finger to his lips.

 

“See you soon,” Ed was saying into the phone. “Yeah. Uh-huh. You too. Bye.” He sighed as he hung up  the receiver, head sinking low.

 

“To think you have time for social calls, but not for reports,” Roy commented dryly as Maes slung an arm around Edward’s shoulders. God, the kid was small, even if he could pack a punch like nobody’s business. “I can’t say anything for the order your priorities are in,” Roy went on.

 

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun around, and then struggled one-armed with Maes; Maes ruffled his hair and let him go. Ed was glaring at both of them. “When the fuck did you get here?” 

 

“I hardly think the timing of my arrival is important,” Roy said. “However, I’m rather disheartened by the paperwork you’ve decided to generate for me.”

 

Ed glowered at him. “Here I thought you’d be worried about my wellbeing,” he said. “I was out for like forty-eight hours.”

 

“Ah, I was concerned. And then I realized it was only part of your innate dramatic flair,” Roy said. “I felt rather taken in by your sick act, you know. Shame.”

 

Ed grit his teeth. “It wasn’t an act!”

 

“When’s your girlfriend going to be here?” Maes cut in before the two could escalate much further, then sent Al a wink. “That’s who you called, right?”

 

It did the trick; Ed’s face flushed deep red for reasons entirely unrelated to how much he and Roy got on each other’s nerves. “She’s my mechanic!” he yelped, flinging out his arm to put even more space between himself and Maes, as if that would lend credibility to his red-faced denial.

 

“Ah, that’s right, Al did say you’d seduced your mechanic,” Maes nodded sagely.

 

Ed spun again. “ Al! ”

 

“I didn’t say that at all!” Al squeaked. Beside him, Brosh attempted to conceal a laugh. He was not doing a good job.

 

Ed grit his teeth. “Winry’s not my anything!” He wheeled around on Brosh with a pointing finger. “Oi , stop laughing!”

 

“We know, we know!” Al said, hands out in an attempt to soothe Ed’s bristling… everything. Perhaps his words, or second to that, his tense, cactus-like posture. “Mr. Hughes is, uh, teasing you? I think?”

 

“Lovingly,” Maes confirmed. “This is fatherly teasing.”

 

“Is this what that’s like?” Al asked.

 

“Yes,” Maes said. “Every father must tease their children about their girlfriends or boyfriends. It’s practically law. It’s the code I’m bound to.”

 

“I’m not your child!” Ed burst out, arm swinging angrily and pointlessly. Maes was almost worried he’d pull a stitch like that, but the injuries didn’t seem to be weighing Ed down at all. “And stop calling Winry my girlfriend, it’s not like that!”

 

“Aw, but your reactions are adorable,” Maes said, pressing his hands to his cheeks like he did when he cooed over Elicia. “You’re blushing!”

 

“Ah, excuse me,” a nervous voice cut in. 

 

Maes turned and found a nurse behind them, eyes downcast behind his dark fringe and dark glasses. He had a clipboard in front of him, and was biting his lip like he’d drawn the short straw on delivering bad news, but really, really , hated confrontation, and perhaps had been shot for being the messenger once or twice already.

 

Maes couldn’t help a squint.

 

“...yes?” Brosh prompted when silence hung over the group for a long moment.

 

“So, uh,” he continued. “It seems that room 204 is empty…? And the window is open? I’m not sure it should be, but maybe you should go check it out...”

 

“Oh, shit,” Ed said, previous outrage about semantics and female friends all but forgotten. He glanced quickly at Roy, expression creasing, and then shutting down into something stony. “If Kaitou jumped out the second story window, we’re gonna have to track him down, aren’t we.”

 

Maes folded his arms. “Nice try, Kaitou. Where’d you get that uniform? I hope you didn’t strip anybody down or do anything unseemly.”

 

“What?” Ed said.

 

“W-what?” the nurse also stuttered, face going pink, expression alarmed. “I’m not Kaitou, and I certainly didn’t strip anybody—!”

 

“Those frames don’t have any lenses,” Maes said dryly, pointing. “Also, do you think we couldn’t recognize your face just because you tamed your hair, pitched your voice, and put on a pair of fake glasses?”

 

“I didn’t do any of that,” the nurse protested. “Room 204—”

 

“I literally gave you those shoes three days ago,” Maes cut him off.

 

Kaitou dropped the act, immediately pouting. “Most people don’t look that close when there’s an emergency,” he complained, then followed up with something in Xingan that made Roy laugh while Ed said ‘what the fuck?’ with feeling.

 

Kaitou eyed Roy sideways. “I hate to tell you, but we’re quite practiced with emergencies,” Roy said. “I doubt we’re cut from the same cloth as your aforementioned taskforce.”

 

Kaitou ran a hand through his hair, returning it to an unruly state that rivaled his earlier bedhead. “Well, it was a half-baked disguise by my own standards, but I’m working with limited resources here,” he said, “No thanks to someone.”

 

Maes shrugged. Hey, he wasn’t in charge of Kaitou’s previous possessions. Aside from the lockpicking tools, but Kaitou didn’t need to know that. 

 

“Either way, your eye is good, Hughes-san,” Kaitou said.

 

“They do screen those of us in Intelligence somewhat,” Maes said.

 

“Wait,” Al said, sounding half-resigned and half-despairing, “I alchemized you to the bedrail.”

 

“And I,” Kaitou declared grandly, pulling the glasses from his face and sweeping his arms out and grinning like he was on a stage, “am a magician.” As if to prove his point, the glasses vanished from his hand, no indication of where they might have gone.

 

“More like an escape artist,” Ed muttered sourly. 

 

“Not that he’s doing a particularly good job of it,” Roy commented.

 

“Hmph! If I was actually trying to escape, I’d be long gone before you even realized,” Kaitou said. With a flick of his hand and arm, the nurse scrubs vanished, leaving him in his blue button-down and dark slacks. Maes blinked, trying not to show that the quick change had actually impressed him. Ed narrowed his eyes unhappily.

 

“Before that,” Roy said, “I believe I’m owed a conversation, now that you’ve changed out of your hospital gown.”

 

Kaitou pulled a face. “Yeah, I know. What do you want, anyway? I’ve already told your lot everything I can about Pandora and the Fifth Lab.”

 

“I was rather hoping we could have a lengthy and enlightening discussion about the finer points of distinction between alchemy and alkahestry,” Roy said.

 

“Actually, I want in on that too,” Ed cut in. “I’ve got some questions for you about alkahestry.”

 

Kaitou’s mouth twitched, displeased, but it was smoothed over a moment later. “Lay it on me, then.”

 

“Do you really want to have this conversation in the hall?” Roy asked, amused. Slowly, as if to prove his point, his eyes roved over the bank of phones, the benches, the windows, and the doorways to patients’ rooms.

 

“A magician never turns down an audience,” Kaitou announced. Even an ambient audience of medical personnel and patients, apparently. “What do you want to know?”

 

“A simple comparison will do, to start,” Roy said. “You’ve done some reading on alchemy, yes?”

 

“A day’s worth, sure,” Kaitou replied. “Don’t expect me to be on the same level as Fullmetal-san or yourself.” He paused to think, propping his hands on his hips.

 

“Of course not,” Roy said smoothly. “If you will?”

 

“Well, both have a basis in chemistry and the manipulation of natural elements,” Kaitou said, eyes dancing as he looked at the ceiling. “They both make these changes with circles and runes to direct the flow of power. The circles can be pretty big and complex for alkahestry—you could park a few cars in one, depending on the intent. One girl I know—a witch? Is that rude to say? She calls herself a witch—she’s fond of stuff like that, and also, drama. A lot of drama. Anyway, I can’t speak for all of Xing, but where I’m from, it’s not a particularly common art. Those who use it are regarded with awe, or fear, or…uh… male admiration? No, maybe that’s just her...” 

 

Kaitou trailed off, grimacing. Maes grinned and filed that away, in case he ever had the chance to tease Kaitou the way he’d been ribbing at Ed earlier.

 

Roy was listening with his hands in his pockets, a pose that Maes knew was intentionally curated to look casual. “Fascinating,” he said. “What kind of uses does alkahestry have in Xing?”

 

“Oh, all sorts,” Kaitou replied. “Akako-san uses it just to show off or get her way, and I’ve often used it just for pranks, or to help people out of sticky situations.” 

 

“Does it have medical uses?” Roy asked.

 

“Well, yeah,” Kaitou replied, like it was obvious, to the point of being extremely boring, though Maes supposed if he were so accustomed to the art that he used it primarily to annoy people, he might find the practical stuff boring, too.

 

“Like what?” Roy pressed.

 

“You can fix up bones, cuts, stuff like that,” Kaitou said, “but it takes a huge amount of energy, so I wouldn’t call it common. Also, it’s not magic . You can’t cure illnesses with it. Bones and skin and organs are composed of elements you can influence with the right matrix, but that’s about it.”

 

“How does that not rebound?” Ed asked, voice taut and suspicious.

 

Kaitou pulled his hands from his hips to shrug luxuriously. “It’s repair, not transformation,” he said. “I do think the main cost is the toll it takes on your energy. I mean, just an example, but I passed out for twelve hours after fixing up some cracked ribs, so just imagine anything worse, yanno? That wasn’t even life-saving or anything like that.”

 

“Why don’t you demonstrate some alkahestry for us?” Roy asked. “Anything you like. We could take the discussion to the courtyard if need be.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Kaitou said. “I don’t use alkahestry lightly.”

 

“Why is that?” Roy said.

 

“Personal preference? Preservation of energy? Zero desire to show my hand to you, a complete stranger? Take your pick,” Kaitou said expansively.

 

“Equivalent exchange,” Ed said.

 

Kaitou pinned a look on him—intrigued, but guarded. “Of what, Fullmetal-san?”

 

“Showing hands,” Ed replied. He wiggled his automail fingers. “Didn’t you want to learn about my automail?”

 

“I have a professional curiosity,” Kaitou agreed. “But, no. You already said I could speak to your mechanic. That was freely given. You can’t just change the rules now!”

 

Ed’s face pinched so quickly that Maes almost wanted to laugh. “You change the rules every chance you get,” Ed said.

 

“Within reason,” Kaitou said. “It’s important they be there in the first place. Otherwise, I couldn’t break them, and life would never be any fun.”

 

Roy cleared his throat pointedly. “Kaitou, please. Let us stick to the topics of alkahestry and alchemy.”

 

Kaitou rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna do any alkahestry. Is there anything else?”

 

They’d only just scratched the surface, Maes knew; whether or not alkahestry adhered to equivalent exchange the same way alchemy did, what techniques Kaitou used to heal, and how he’d done it so quickly on the battlefield, without Al even noticing a matrix; what other practices alkahestry branched out into that alchemy did; not to mention, the mystery of how Kaitou had come to Amestris in the first place.

 

“What can you tell us about the Dragon’s Pulse?” Roy asked instead.

 

“It’s red,” Kaitou answered.

 

“...and what does that mean?” Roy asked slowly.

 

“Lifeforce,” Kaitou said. Then, looking a bit pained, he rocked back on his heels, tucking his hands behind himself. “Let me backtrack. It’s the earth’s inherent source that you draw on to do alkahestry, often visualized as the red, living pulse, or aura, of a dragon. I mean, really, it’s all a bit theory-heavy. When you get down to it, it’s more like science and magic getting a little weird together.”

 

“Some other source, as opposed to using the movement of tectonic plates, then?” Ed murmured thoughtfully. 

 

“Yep! Dragon’s Pulse,” Kaitou replied cheerfully, steel rocking on his heels. “Great stuff. Not sure how you know anything about the Xingan theories over here if you’re surprised that alkahestry can be used for healing, but, whatever.”

 

“My family has passed down a few pieces of information over the years,” Roy said. “Well, beyond healing and the concept of the Dragon’s Pulse, what currently has my attention is the method of transport which brought you here. We’ve very little information on it, though it spans an impressive distance and appeared to involve a transmutic reaction—”

 

“I can tell you with complete honesty that I don’t know how that happened,” Kaitou said, bringing up his hands, palm-forward. His expression backed up his earnestness, his eyes round and a crease forming between his eyebrows.

 

“You don’t know?” Ed cut in, tone somewhere caught between outraged and disbelieving. “That’s bullshit.”

 

“Yup, don’t know,” Kaitou said.

 

“You did a complex transmutation that you didn’t understand? What about the rebound?” Ed advanced a few steps on Kaitou, but Al approached worriedly with the wheelchair.

 

“Brother, you can not throw punches in the hospital,” Al said. “Please sit down.”

 

“Bullshit,” Ed muttered again, and lowered himself into the chair with a huff, still eyeing Kaitou like he was worried he’d bolt. “How the hell are you even in one piece?”

 

Kaitou shrugged. “Still wondering that myself,” he said. “The whole thing was an accident.”

 

“Alchemy doesn’t just happen , and especially not by accident,” Ed said, moving to stand up again and only stopping as Al put a hand on his shoulder. “Someone had to have drawn up the array—whatever weird kinda array it was.”

 

“Hmm, maybe we should ask the guys who were using me for target practice if they saw any runes drawn anywhere,” Kaitou replied, faking a thoughtful tone and expression. Maes knew the technique well. “I’m sure they’ll know something about it. I, however, was too focused on not kicking the bucket.” 

 

There was a beat, in which Kaitou stood and took in his audience.

 

“You know what,” Maes said, “I’d appreciate the full story. It’s been entertaining to fit the puzzle pieces together, but…”

 

“I’d like to hear it as well,” Roy chipped in.

 

“You want the whole story?” Kaitou said. “I really don’t have it. Honest.”

 

Maes didn’t have to look at Roy to know that the Flame Alchemist didn’t believe that claim for a second. Even Ed snorted and mumbled under his breath. But Kaitou went on before either of them could speak.

 

“What I do have is half a story, so I’ll tell you that, and you’ll have to be satisfied with it.” 

 

“Please,” Roy said in his silky-smooth tone. “Go ahead with your half-a-story, then. I’m sure we’ll live a little longer without the complete image.”

 

Kaitou’s face did something funny, like he was holding back a laugh or maybe a really intense wince, but the strange twitch resolved itself into a grin, an expression that was comfortable on him. Maes, however, still saw something taut in the lines of his jaw, the tendons of his neck: a trace of anxiety. 

 

Apparently, if it was a story they wanted, it was a story Kaitou would deliver.

 

“Last Saturday night,” Kaitou said, “I went to a place called Middotaun Tawā . I was chasing a rumor Pandora might be there. Or, rather, I was chasing a tip that there’d be a stone that fit the bill.”

 

It didn’t take long for the tension Maes had seen to manifest further. Kaitou began pacing the short width of the hallway.

 

“So I show up, grab what I think is the Stone, and head up to the top floor for a little privacy. Big windows in that place, and it was a full moon, too. I held the Stone out to the moonlight.” 

 

Without a pause in his step, Kaitou hoisted a hand into the air, two gloved fingers together. After a moment, it fell slowly back to his side.

 

“What do you know—something inside glows. Just like all the rumours said. And the energy it gave off… it can’t be anything but Pandora. Honestly, I knew from the moment I grabbed it, but that confirmed it.”

 

His feet snapped together and his eyes burned into Ed, who was leaning forward in his wheelchair, expression intent, knuckles white on the arm of his chair. Maes tracked Kaitou’s gaze as it flickered up to Al, whose grip on the handles of the chair was tight.

 

“I was about to get the hell outta there with it, but I got a little too caught up in talking to my favorite little Tantei-kun. He’s scary sharp for a literal child.” Kaitou huffed a small laugh and resumed pacing. “Then, just my luck, one of the guys who’s after Pandora and my life popped up, too. He fired off a few rounds at me, you know, standard fare...except one sent me out the window. Next thing I know, I’m falling, and it’s a long way down. And I mean a long way down, a few hundred meters at least. I was pretty sure I was going to become a Kaitou pancake, and I really— really didn’t want that. I finally had Pandora, and my—well, I was just thinking about not going splat , when I felt the Dragon’s Pulse, the red lightning sparked up, and—then I whited out. Next thing I know I’m flying at the ground at a degree that doesn’t mean death. Hit my head pretty hard, and then woke up here.” He spread his arms again. “Central Military Hospital.” 

 

This time, when Kaitou paused, Roy spoke up. “What do you mean, you felt the Dragon’s Pulse?”

 

“Like, here, and here,” Kaitou replied absently, eyes focused in the middle distance as his hand hovered over his stomach, then drifted up over his chest before he pointed to his head. “Here too. Worst migraine of my life.”

 

“Is that common for alkahestrists?” Roy asked.

 

“Don’t know,” Kaitou replied. “It was actually kind of… overwhelming.”

 

“It’s never happened before?” Roy pressed.

 

Kaitou shook his head. “No, I’d felt it before, that power. But not like that.”

 

“Where’s the Stone now?” Ed asked, voice tight, taut, like a band ready to snap. The angle of his body leaning forward was just as sharp.

 

Kaitou’s eyes focused abruptly on Ed. “Wish I knew,” he said, and Maes could hear the force behind it: the desperation tinging the edges of his words, the anger behind them. “I kinda hoped it’d shattered on impact, but…no clue.”

 

“There were no gemstones recovered with your belongings, nor from the site of your crash landing,” Maes said. Mentally, he drew a map with four points that marked every location Kaitou had ever set foot in in Central. All but the avenue he’d crashed in had been affiliated with the Amestrian military, and there hadn’t been a trace of the Stone in any of them.

 

Maes remembered, with a slow, creeping sensation, everything that indicated military involvement in the fabrication of Stones from human souls and the lengths gone to cover it up—buildings burnt and imploded, teenagers stabbed. No gem had been reported, not officially. But that hardly meant a thing in light of the Fifth Lab.

 

“Maybe it took itself back to Xing,” Kaitou suggested, his jovial tone not matching the rigidity of his grin.

 

Roy cleared his throat sharply. “I believe we’ve kept Ed from his recovery a sufficient amount of  time,” he said. “Al?”

 

Al nodded and began guiding his brother’s wheelchair back to the room, though Ed immediately began protesting. “Hey! What the hell, Colonel Bastard? You can’t kick me out of  this conversation—!”

 

“Who said anything about that?” Roy asked smoothly, following after them as Brosh hurried to do the same. Roy caught Maes’ eye as they went. “The conversation has merely concluded.”

 

“Oh?” Kaitou said. “I thought for sure you’d interrogate me some more. You two were loving every second.”

 

“On the contrary, you should also be getting back to your room,” Maes said cheerfully, gesturing for Kaitou to follow the group. “You still have a stab wound.”

 

“A healing stab wound,” Kaitou corrected. “A stab wound that’s healing well.”

 

“If that’s true, maybe they’ll discharge you early for good behaviour,” Maes said.

 

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Kaitou replied. “I’d like it on the record that I’m willingly going back to the room so that you’ll relax your supervision.”

 

“Noted,” Maes replied. “I’ll take that into consideration when I decide whether or not to extend you an invitation to my daughter’s birthday party tomorrow night.”

 

Kaitou’s eyes lit up. “Will there be cake?”

 

“Of course!” Maes clapped his hands together. He could practically hear Roy rolling his eyes, but then again, what did Roy know? “Only the best cake for my little Elicia! We’re baking a three layer strawberry-vanilla cake! She loves strawberries!”

 

“Oooh,” Kaitou paused outside the hospital room. Ross gave him a slightly panicked, very concerned look, and then peered inside the room, startling badly upon finding it empty. But Kaitou was focused on fixing Maes with his best puppy-dog eyes. “You better be serious about inviting me, Hughes-san. I’ll even offer my services as a magician in exchange for a slice of cake!”

 

“I’m serious about considering it,” Maes replied. “Now, off to bed!”

 

---

 

Notes:

I love following up on things I mentioned in passing uh *checks outline* 5 chapters ago

Also, I’ve been collecting some of my sketches for this fic on tumblr! I’ll probably be uploading more, too, so if you’re interested in that kinda thing, you can find ‘em here: https://artistfingers.tumblr.com/tagged/asfts

Chapter 10: The Red Witch

---

 

After the bell rang on Tuesday afternoon, Aoko launched herself out of her desk and slammed her hands down on the surface of Hakuba’s desk. He startled, looking up at her sharply.

 

“I want to help you investigate Kid’s heist,” Aoko said.

 

“Ah.” Hakuba’s expression was open, caught off-guard; Aoko felt bad for a moment, but his face smoothed over, and he said, “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Aoko repeated, unable to prevent a thread of suspicion in her voice. 

 

“Okay,” Hakuba said again, and it really was that easy, wasn’t it? Hakuba went on, “Of all people, you know Kuroba-kun the best. It is possible you may be able to shed some light on his… involvement with this case.”

 

“Good!” Aoko said, crossing her arms. “Because I was going to help either way!”

 

Hakuba smiled; though it was thin, it was genuine. “Let us proceed, then,” he said, shuffling his notebook and papers and sliding them neatly into his bag.

 

“Now?” Aoko asked. She hadn’t anticipated immediate action.

 

“Of course.” Hakuba stood. “I have done enough preliminary research on the topic of Kid’s target to conclude that it must have a major significance in this case. Our next goals are to speak with Edogawa-kun, who was at the scene when Kid was attacked, and to re-examine the heist location, now that police surveillance has subsided.”

 

Hakuba headed to the door. Aoko grabbed her bag and jogged to catch up with him at the doorway. 

 

“Don’t you work with the police? Why wait until they’re gone?” Aoko asked as they headed to the stairwell.

 

“Indeed, I do, at least in regards to Kid,” Hakuba confirmed. “I’ve been granted clearance on this case as well, of course; but oftentimes, small clues can be missed amid such a hectic scene. It worries me that there were no traces of Kid’s disappearing trick found at the Midtown Tower.”

 

“What do you think that means?” Aoko asked. She could think of a few things, and none of them were particularly pleasant, and she hesitated before blurting her next question. “Do you think he’s alive?”

 

“It is difficult to speculate just yet,” Hakuba said. “But if I know him, which I believe I do, then he is certainly alive.”

 

Good, Aoko thought. Kid had to be arrested and put in jail. He couldn’t be dead. But Hakuba’s confident word was only worth so much; they needed the proof. For once, she thought she could understand him, and all the other detectives that chased after Kid like bloodhounds on the scent of a rabbit. That gut-deep sense of I won’t believe it until you prove it that kept detectives up at night.

 

But Kid being alive was only half of the problem.

 

“I think Kaito was inside,” Aoko said, eyes on her shoes and the squeaky linoleum as they reached the ground floor. “I think that’s why he’s been missing.”

 

Hakuba stopped short and Aoko had to turn around. He was studying her with an intensity usually reserved for Kid himself. 

 

“Why do you think that?” he said.

 

Aoko swallowed, wondering if he was expecting a deduction on-level with his own. “There weren’t guards at the pedestrian bridge entrance,” she said. “We got separated in the crowd and I think Kaito was pulled towards the building. He probably wanted to get a closer look at Kid’s magic and went inside.” She clutched her school bag to her chest. “He’s always saying he could beat Kid, yanno?”

 

Hakuba winced, slightly. “Yes,” he said. “I goad him into those arguments occasionally.”

 

“He could beat Kid at any magic contest,” Aoko felt the need to remind Hakuba. “Kid loses points for being a criminal.”

 

“Was that laid out in the terms of the competition?” Hakuba asked.

 

“If I’m the judge, then yes!” Aoko exclaimed. “And Kaito was taught by his dad, who was a magician prodigy, you know! He won first place at FISM and toured all over the world!”

 

“I’ve no doubt in Kuroba-kun’s abilities,” Hakuba said, hands out placatingly. “But how would he have evaded the task force, let alone myself, Edogawa-kun, and Kaitou Kid, if he’d gone into the Tower?”

 

“I don’t know,” Aoko huffed, upset that Hakuba had taken her theory and immediately begun poking holes in it. Stupid detective. “But I would’ve seen him if he’d gone the other way. I would have.”

 

“Memories are often faulty,” Hakuba said. “Was there any proof that Kuroba-kun entered the building?”

 

He was challenging her, Aoko recognized. Was this a test of her abilities as a detective? Would she be kicked off the case before she could start, if she couldn’t prove herself? Her eyes burned. “The… the door to the bridge was unlocked after the heist,” she said. “It was supposed to be locked.” 

 

Her dad had called her at lunch; he’d had his team sweep the building again this morning, after she’d spoken to him last night at the police HQ. After they’d filed a missing person’s report for Kaito. After they’d called his mom. 

 

But her dad’s taskforce had personally checked all the exit doors before the heist. Sometime before she and Kaito had exited onto the bridge, that door had gotten unlocked. And since they’d come out—it would be a piece of cake for him to get back in.

 

“Was there security footage?” Hakuba asked.

 

Aoko puffed up her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she finally said, sounding more defensive than she intended.

 

Hakuba nodded sharply. “That’s quite alright, Aoko-san,” he said. “Thank you for this information.”

 

He began walking again, and Aoko hesitated where she was. Had she passed the test? By the time she shook herself out of it, Hakuba had disappeared from the stairwell.

 

She found him again, putting on his shoes in front of his locker. She quickly toed off her indoor shoes and pulled on her sneakers. She was afraid that Hakuba had changed his mind about needing her help, but when she hurried to the door, Hakuba was holding it open, waiting for her.

 

“If you don’t mind, I need to make a few phone calls as we walk,” Hakuba said, sliding his phone out of his pocket.

 

“Sure,” Aoko said. 

 

Hakuba held his phone to his ear, and to Aoko’s surprise, greeted her dad.

 

“Nakamori-keibu,” he said smoothly. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry to pull you away from your work, but has your team prioritized looking through the security footage from—ah, of course. Yes, I’m aware.” 

 

Hakuba paused. Aoko couldn’t help but watch him in profile until he spoke again. He was squinting at the reflective pavement beneath their feet.

 

“I would appreciate that. Thank you, Nakamori-keibu,” Hakuba said. “Have a good day.”

 

“What did he say?” Aoko asked eagerly.

 

“They’ve spent the afternoon examining ground-level security footage as well as from the basement, stairwells, and gallery,” Hakuba said, tapping at his phone as he spoke. “Unsurprisingly, there is a lot of footage to comb through. He will text us the results of the fourth floor’s footage soon.”

 

Hakuba dialed again; this time, Aoko could hear the ringtone faintly as it took longer for someone to pick up. With a glance at Aoko, Hakuba switched to speakerphone and Aoko grinned.

 

“Mouri Detective Agency,” a gruff voice answered after a moment—Mouri Kogoro. “How can I help you?”

 

“Mouri-san, this is Hakuba Saguru,” Hakuba said smoothly. “Is Edogawa-kun in?”

 

Mouri grunted. “No,” he said. “Went over to that eccentric professor’s place after school.”

 

“How might I contact him?” Hakuba asked.

 

“Why’ve you gotta contact the brat?” Mouri asked

 

“I’d like to discuss Saturday’s Kid heist with him.”

 

“Ehh, figures,” Mouri grunted. “I can call you when he’s back, but that’s it.”

 

“That would be greatly appreciated, Mouri-san,” Hakuba said. “Thank you.”

 

“Whatever,” Mouri said. “Now quit hogging the phone lines! What if a real client calls, huh?”

 

“My apologies,” Hakuba said. “Thank you again.” The call was cut off by Mouri before he could finish. Aoko caught just the hint of an eye roll from Hakuba and repressed a small laugh. So even Hakuba could roll his eyes.

 

“So what now?” Aoko asked.

 

“Let’s head to Tokyo,” Hakuba said. “We can visit Midtown Tower first, unless we hear back from Mouri-san or Nakamori-keibu.”

 

They walked quietly for a while, speaking idly about class and exams and the upcoming break and subsequent new school year, but neither of them were particularly engaged. They fell silent at the train station, where they swiped their passes and waited on the crowded platform. Hakuba seemed to have fallen deep in thought. 

 

The train appeared down the tracks, slowing as it approached the platform. A woman’s voice announced that the train was arriving and asked that everyone mind the edge of the platform. Aoko had been here only yesterday, alone, teeth set, determined to speak to her dad at the police HQ...

 

“Oh!” Aoko exclaimed, grabbing Hakuba’s arm and shaking it. “Hakuba-kun, I have an idea!” She realized that she wasn’t just shaking Hakuba’s arm, but shaking all of him. Reluctantly, she stopped, and he rattled back to a semi-normal standing position. “...sorry.”

 

“...quite alright,” he said. “Yes?”

 

“I was just thinking, what if I text Mouri Ran-chan?” Aoko said. “She gave me her number at the heist! Maybe she could call Conan-kun directly?”

 

“Ah—yes, that would be useful,” Hakuba said.

 

A few paces away, the train doors swept open; people flooded out, and Aoko dragged Hakuba onboard. Once they were seated, Aoko pulled out her phone to compose a text Ran, but instead found a message waiting from Keiko.

 

♡Keiko♡: have you seen this video? http://youtube.com/watch?=hdJHf6k

♡Keiko♡: people are already trying to figure out how Kid vanished on saturday.

♡Keiko♡: you and kaito were there right??

♡Keiko♡: did Kaito have any theories? he always has crazy ideas about kid’s magic!!

♡Keiko♡: actually, where is that idiot, anyway?

 

Aoko frowned and tapped the link, nudging Hakuba with her elbow to get his attention. With their heads bent together, they watched.

 

The video started with several slides of text, white on black: On Saturday, March 6th, 2015, 10:34 PM, Kaitou Kid’s Midtown Tower heist ended with a gunshot aimed at Kid, who had fallen from the 54th floor. After the shot, he vanished in a red flash.

 

Sounds like typical Kid-sama theatrics, but it wasn’t.

 

What really happened?

 

It cut to a surprisingly steady video filmed on someone’s cell phone. The angle was different from what Aoko had seen in person; this was taken from one of the buildings adjacent to the Tower, several floors up. Though Aoko knew how it would end, it still turned her stomach to watch the white shape of Kid plummet, falter, continue plummeting, until—

There, that red flash. Kid was gone. The cameraman pointed the phone down at the crowd, already stirring, roaring, then pointed it up to the dark, empty sky.

 

“What the hell?” said the person filming, looking left and right. “Did we really just see that? He’s totally gone!”

 

The white-on-black slides reappeared. Let’s watch that again and slow it down.

 

The clip cut back, moving slowly and halting at the first moment of red. White text and arrows appeared on the screen, like stream-of-consciousness notes. No hat. No monocle? Probably wearing a mask.

 

The video was low-quality and far enough away that Kid’s face was only a pale smudge with dark hair that bled into the dark sky. Aoko squinted, but there were no details. Only pixels.

 

Hand over chest. Something on leg, blood?

 

The text wiped; the frame changed. 

 

Red light originates in the chest area.  

 

The frame changed again. The picture was still fuzzy, pixelated, but it was possible to see the red light spreading in distinct arcs over Kid’s white jacket. Follows Lichtenberg patterns. A photo of lightning popped on the side of the screen to illustrate, followed by a note. Probably electricity, not a flash bomb. (Here, an annotation popped up for a video called “KID ANALYSIS #34! FLASH BOMBS: HOW DO THEY WORK?”. Aoko frowned and dismissed it.)

 

When the next frame of Kid popped up, most of the image was obscured by the intensity of the light; even the sky in the background was overexposed. Kid himself was nothing more than a white blur. The text was black now: Several frames look like this. Impossible to make out much.

 

Then, the next frame. And he’s gone.

 

The video resumed normal speed, showing the crowd, the sky. Vacant space. The black slides resumed.

 

Based on this brief analysis, I think Kid used an electric device to make a bigger, brighter flash than his normal flash bombs, and used it to obscure his disappearance.

 

It’s possible he had an accomplice and used this moment to return to the inside of Midtown Tower (the closest structure). He has been known to use misdirection like this before to get onto roofs, blend into crowds, etc.

 

But the question is, why?

 

The police do not, and did not, shoot at Kid. So who did, and for what reason? For attention? For fun? To kill Kid-sama?!?!?

 

WE DEMAND ANSWERS! And we will be the ones to find them if we have to!

 

If you know anything, or have HQ heist videos, send me an email: [email protected]

 

The video ended there. Aoko sat back, feeling a little bit like someone had hollowed out her lungs with a chilled ice cream scoop. “Huh,” she said.

 

“Hmm,” Hakuba said.

 

“It’s dark magic,” Akako said.

 

Aoko startled, nearly dropping her phone as her head shot up. Akako stood over them, gorgeous in her school uniform as always. Her face was molded into a regal expression: serious, but like she was trying to make sure no unseemly lines appeared on her forehead.

 

“Akako-chan!” Aoko exclaimed. “When did you get here? Is this your way home?”

 

Akako flicked her long red hair over her shoulder. “No,” she said. “I have spoken to Hakuba-kun about assisting with the Kaitou Kid investigation already, though it seems he’s conveniently forgotten.” She sent him a sharp glare.

 

Hakuba sighed. “I wasn’t sure you were serious, Koizumi-san.”

 

“I was deadly serious, and I still am!” Akako exclaimed. “Nobody is allowed to seduce or kill Kid until I have!”

 

One of Hakuba’s eyebrows twitched. 

 

“And,” Akako continued, either ignoring or not noticing Hakuba, “my skill set will be invaluable to you. That video clearly demonstrated that dark magic is at hand—”

 

“You watched it upside-down?” Aoko asked.

 

Akako ignored her too. “—and as a witch experienced in the scarlet arts, I believe I am the only one equipped to investigate who has dared used dark and ancient magic to fell Kaitou Kid—”

 

She was cut off as the train jerked and her balance was abruptly upset. Aoko grabbed her arm to steady her, and was brushed off angrily, though Aoko thought Akako’s cheeks had turned pink. 

 

“Would you like to sit down?” Aoko offered the empty seat to her right.

 

Akako huffed and sat with her arms crossed. “Anyway,” she said. “I am joining your little detective game.”

 

Hakuba looked like he wanted to sigh, maybe protest that this wasn’t a game (hell, Aoko wanted to protest that it wasn’t a game, no matter how many people thought Kid was a fun gentleman. Fun!) but Hakuba only said, “Alright, Koizumi-san. Please notify us if there are any traces of...magic at the scene of the heist.”

 

Akako sniffed delicately. “That was my intention,” she said. “Not that you could do anything to combat dark magic, but it will be relevant to your apprehension of the true criminals.”

 

“Um,” Aoko said. “They arrested both people who shot at Kid, though.”

 

“And you believe them to be the true masterminds with access to depraved magics?” Akako lifted one well-manicured eyebrow.

 

“...yes?” Aoko ventured.

 

“Hah!” Akako said. It wasn’t a laugh. “You shall see, Nakamori-chan. They are merely pawns in a shadowy game.” Her face pinched, mouth pulling taut and small. “I normally ask Lucifer for insight on the occurrence of Kid heists beforehand,” she said. “But I was not able to divine any information before Saturday’s heist. It was as if there was some kind of interference which made many of my readings unintelligible, but did not alert me that there was danger in this. In hindsight, it was clearly the sign of a larger hand at play.”

 

The news sunk into Aoko and Hakuba in silence. Aoko wondered if the shooters were even aware of this ominous puppeteer that Aoko was speaking of.

 

Hakuba cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Aoko-san, you were going to text Mouri-chan?”

 

“Ah!” She’d nearly forgotten, and dashed off a quick message. To her surprise, Ran replied quickly, so Aoko texted while Hakuba and Akako talked across her.

 

Aoko: Hi Mouri-chan! It’s Nakamori Aoko. My friends and I are on our way to Tokyo right now. We wanted to talk to Conan-kun about the heist but when Hakuba-kun called the Mouri Agency, your dad said he was out. Would it be possible for you to text him for us or something, maybe? Sorry for the short notice!! I hope you’re doing well!! 

 

Mouri Ran: Hi Nakamori-chan! I’m good. Yes, Conan-kun went to a family friend’s house. I will call him for you!

Mouri Ran: How are you doing?

 

Aoko: I’m doing OK. I hope we get a lead today!

Aoko: Hakuba-kun is a great detective so I’m sure we will!

 

Mouri Ran: You have the right idea to speak with Conan-kun. He’s a great detective, too!

Mouri Ran: Somehow, I know too many of those…

 

Aoko: What, detectives?

 

Mouri Ran: YES! My dad, Shinichi, Conan-kun, Sera-san, Hattori-kun... Even Sonoko likes to be a detective sometimes. And there’s the waiter at the nearby cafe, and that one sushi chef, and the professor’s new neighbor... 

Mouri Ran: I feel like I’m the only non-detective around.

 

Aoko glanced up at Hakuba and Akako, arguing now about the best way to trace a days-old spell that had occurred in mid-air, and she grinned.

 

Aoko: Me, too.  

 

The train was rolling into the next station when Ran texted again.

 

Mouri Ran: Conan-kun said he’d like to meet up with you and your friends. I can show you the way to the Professor’s house! What station are you going to?

 

---

 

Ran met them at the Tokyo station, and the group, having officially doubled in size since leaving Ekoda High, set off through the city, towards the suburbs. 

 

“Thank you for meeting us, Mouri-san,” Hakuba said politely after introductions were made. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for that.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Ran said. “Karate practice ended last week so that everyone could study for finals. Not that anyone is doing much studying…”

 

“Do you have finals at the end of the week, too?” Aoko asked. When Ran nodded, Aoko commiserated. “It was all I was worried about last week, but now I can’t concentrate on it at all!”

 

Ran sighed. “Sonoko was complaining so much about having to study last weekend. She almost convinced the group who displayed the Eclipse Tear to postpone it so that she could enjoy the heist after finals, but they didn’t go for it.”

 

“How does she have that much sway?” Hakuba asked.

 

“I guess it comes with being a daughter of the Suzuki group,” Ran said. “I think she’s a little stressed because Shinichi isn’t around to study for exit exams with us for the first time this year.”

 

Aoko remembered their discussion about Kudou-kun and his big case from only yesterday. “He can’t even take the time off for finals?” How was he going to pass any of his classes?

 

“Apparently not,” Ran said. “When I called him last week, he said his parents had arranged for him to do them by mail.”

 

“Are you talking about Kudou Shinichi?” Hakuba asked. When Ran nodded, he hummed. “Must be quite the case he’s working on,” he said. “The papers used to call him a modern Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“They still do, sometimes, when they’re speculating about him being dead,” Ran said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve read way too many journalists theorize about what Shinichi’s Reichenbach Falls is.”

 

“I must admit, I was beginning to believe the rumors,” Hakuba said. “I’ve been in Japan for a year now, and I was under the impression that meeting Kudou Shinichi was inevitable when you frequent crime scenes in Tokyo.”

 

“Well, he mostly solves murders,” Ran said. “I don’t know if you’d find him on a theft case or anything like that.”

 

“Is that so?” Akako spoke up for the first time since giving Ran a slightly judgmental once-over. “He has no interest in Kaitou Kid?”

 

“Not really,” Ran said.

 

Their group rounded a corner. The city streets transitioned into quiet one-way lanes with all the suddenness of a forest becoming a meadow. As they continued down the road, the houses grew grander. When she caught Aoko goggling at the size, Ran explained.

 

“Agasa-hakase lives next door to Shinichi,” she said. “That’s how we all know him. He makes and sells a lot of silly inventions.”

 

“Like what?” Aoko asked.

 

“Um, he made a building detonator called the Tropical Rainbow,” she said, thinking with a finger poised at her chin. “More recently, he made some products for a bath house, and a hearing aid… lots of things like that. Oh, and he made Conan-kun a solar powered skateboard, but it’s a little over-powered to give to a child.” She sighed. “And I can never get him to wear a helmet…”

 

So, this guy was eccentric, probably rich, and willing to give gadgets to little kids. He sounded like somebody Kaito would love. Aoko could practically imagine him bouncing with excitement ahead of them, but shook her head to ground herself. Then, she noticed that Akako was falling behind. 

 

Glancing back, she saw that Akako had tucked her hands behind her back and was gazing pensively down the road.

 

“Akako-chan?” she called.

 

Akako’s eyes meandered over, then moved on to Ran. “Mouri-san, you said Kudou-kun lives here?”

 

Ran paused and blinked. “Yeah,” she said. “Why?”

 

Akako’s eyes sharpened into slits. “His energy is strong, even at this distance,” she said. “He has the cunning of a demon and keen eyes that can penetrate a person’s heart. A clear, strong energy—yes, I’ve come across this aura before, more than once.”

 

Ran’s face moved into the territory of gentle confusion. “Oh?” she said.

 

“One year ago,” Akako said, as if that cleared up everything.

 

Hakuba turned to Ran. “Koizumi-san is a witch,” he said. “She will be helping us with any supernatural elements of the investigation, or so she says.”

 

“I am a witch of the scarlet arts,” Akako said. “Please get it right, Hakuba-kun.”

 

“Ah, my apologies,” he replied dryly.

Ran, meanwhile, had gone round-eyed, her mouth slightly ajar. “Mouri-chan…?” Aoko said, tentatively. She wasn’t sure if Ran was shocked, or afraid, or what.

 

“You’re a real witch?” Ran asked.

 

“As opposed to what, a fake witch?” Akako asked, crossing her arms and doing that trust me, I’m regal thing with her eyebrows and the tilt of her chin again. “Of course I’m a real witch.”

 

“Does that mean werewolves and vampires and yokai are real, too…?” Ran asked.

 

“Of course not,” Akako huffed, flipping her hair in front of one shoulder. “Don’t be plebeian. Only demons, Lucifer, and old gods exist in our world.”

 

“...oh,” Ran said again, in a different tone than before.

 

Akako raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Well,” Ran said. “We’re almost to the professor’s.” She pointed to a house several away, with a rounded front and a tall gate.

 

“Let’s not waste any more daylight,” Hakuba said.

 

The gate opened easily and they trooped up to the front door. Hakuba pressed the doorbell with a precise finger. They only waited for a moment as the chime echoed, before a muffled voice came from inside. Aoko recognized it as Conan’s.

 

“I’ll get it!”

 

A moment later, the door was pulled open and Conan blinked up at them behind his large, thick glasses. They were so big that they made him a bit bug-eyed.

 

He smiled brightly. “Come in!”

 

“Thanks, Conan-kun!” Aoko said.

 

He held the door as Ran and Aoko came in and began to take off their shoes. Hakuba shook Conan’s hand, which Aoko thought was adorable, partially because Conan looked smugly satisfied at being treated like an adult. Akako, however, stayed on the porch. Her eyes were narrowed elegantly on Conan, who looked at her when Hakuba stepped in and slipped out of his shoes.

 

“Hello, Aoko-neechan’s friend,” he said, bright as ever.

 

“How odd,” Akako said after a pause, stepping inside daintily. “You’re quite a lot smaller than I anticipated.”

 

Conan’s face immediately soured, like he’d bitten into a lemon, but hadn’t been warned about the acidity. “I’m not that small,” he muttered.

 

Ran giggled. “Koizumi-san, Conan-kun isn’t a child. He’s almost seven. Right, Conan-kun?”

 

“Yeah,” Conan said, but he was still clearly pouting.

 

Adorable , Aoko couldn’t help but think again.

 

“I’m not sure what you anticipated, Koizumi-san,” Hakuba said. “However, this is Edogawa Conan, who often puts the Kid task force to shame.”

 

She shrugged. “No matter, no matter,” she said. “One’s energy and power are not determined by trivial things such as size.”

 

There was a slight pause. “...thank you?” Conan said.

 

Aoko glanced around the professor’s house; the entryway opened immediately into a wide front room, an open concept with a kitchen to one side that was set behind a tall counter. Behind it, an older man with a balding head and a bushy moustache was setting up a tea tray with numerous mismatched teacups. He smiled at her and she waved back, assuming this was the professor.

 

“Welcome, everyone,” he called. “Would you like to sit?” 

 

“Where’s Ai-chan?” Ran asked, drifting over towards a set of couches.

 

“She’s in the lab,” the professor replied. “You know, with how shy she is…” He laughed a bit.

 

“Who’s Ai-chan?” Aoko asked, sitting beside Ran.

 

“She’s a little girl in Conan’s class, and she lives here,” Ran said.

 

Akako sat across from them, sweeping invisible dirt from her skirt. “She has a very strong aura as well,” she proclaimed. “There are traces of it all over this home.”

 

“That does sound like Ai-kun,” the professor said, sounding a bit confused, as he placed the tray on the coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind black tea.”

 

“Black tea is wonderful, thank you,” Ran said, picking up a mug. Akako took a red cup with some hesitance. Aoko chose a pink one decorated with sakura petals.

 

Conan and Hakuba approached, having ended whatever conversation had held them up near the door. “Ran-neechan, don’t you have to go to karate practice?”

 

“Not today,” she said.

 

“Oh. Uh, so you want to stay?”

 

“Can’t I be an honorary detective?” Ran asked. “Maybe an honorary member of the Detective Boys?”

 

“Umm…” Conan stalled.

Aoko wondered if Conan was embarrassed to have his older sister tagging along.

 

“You’re always having so much fun,” Ran said. “It reminds me of running around investigating things with Shinichi when we were little!”

 

Conan huffed a small laugh and climbed up on the couch, between Akako and the professor. “Okay… if you really wanna stay, Ran-neechan.” He turned to Hakuba. “I guess Hakuba-niisan wanted to talk about the Eclipse Tear heist?” 

 

Hakuba nodded. 

 

“Good,” Conan said, swinging his legs. “I actually wanted to talk to you about it, too.”

 

Hakuba sat down on the other side of Aoko. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to propose that we collaborate on this case.”

 

A brief flicker of surprise crossed Conan’s face, but it was quickly replaced with a sharp grin. “Sure,” he said, pulling out a tiny notebook from his pocket and opening it halfway through. “We should probably trade notes. And do you have access to interrogation files? Nobody will let me see them.”

 

Hakuba extracted a notebook of his own. “I do. I’ve already read your statement as well. But we’ll come to that when it’s time. Let’s start at the beginning.”

 

Conan snorted. “Which one?” he asked.

 

Hakuba’s grin sharpened. Aoko felt like she was watching a tennis match: back, forth, back, forth. “The very beginning,” he said.

 

“I asked Agasa-hakase to look into Kid’s early work,” Conan said, glancing at the professor, who stood and bustled away; he came back with a laptop as Conan continued, and showed the group several old photos of Kid, clearly from the late ‘90s. “We found that Kid’s first white-costume heist was in France, in 1996. He was photographed gliding away from the Eiffel tower after an explosion—the only thing stolen was a replica of a diamond-studded motorcycle that had been on display. Police reports stated that, actually, it wasn’t even stolen, it was dropped out of the tower. Its fuel was the cause of the explosion.”

 

There were pictures of that, too; the one that stood out to Aoko was the Eiffel tower, lit orange, smoke billowing up in front of it. Hanging in the sky was a familiar white triangle.

 

“Coincidentally, the Phantom Lady had vanished two years earlier, in 1994, but guards reported she was present at the 1996 heist with Kid,” Conan said. 

 

Agasa clicked his mouse; a photo of the Phantom Lady showed up next. The top half of her face was obscured by wrapped bandages, even her eyes. To Aoko, she looked more like a mummy than a thief.

 

“So, Kaitou Kid’s first heist was likely a collaborative effort with the Phantom Lady. She hasn’t had another heist since then; effectively, she’s retired,” Conan continued. “After France, Kid worked internationally, but after 1998, he started popping up periodically in Japan.”

 

“It makes sense,” Aoko said. “My dad started chasing Kid around when I was born.”

 

She’d heard stories from her dad, how he’d become fascinated by Kaitou Kid’s early appearances all over Europe and Asia, many of them aired on television. That had been around the time he and Aoko’s mom had married. When Kid started popping up in Japan when Aoko was a baby, her dad had jumped at the chance to cuff Kid himself.

 

Conan sketched out Kid’s early locations and notable heists, and Hakuba nodded along. He was probably familiar with all this information too, Aoko thought. He’d come up with some pretty wild but in-depth theories about Kid when he’d first come to Ekoda, so he’d probably done his research along the way. Not to mention the fact that some of Kid’s early heists had taken him through England.

 

“It’s possible that the first Kaitou Kid trained with the Phantom Lady, and took over when she retired,” Conan went on. “It’s hard to say whether or not Kid was active before 1996 in secret, though—we couldn’t find anything about the Phantom Lady working with any partners before then. So, without access to, like, international databases, we can’t really track down any crimes before 1996 that fit down Kid’s style, at least not with any accuracy.” He frowned seriously. It was beyond cute on his round face. “Anyway, we all know the first Kid disappeared in 2006—”

 

“Wait,” Ran spoke up. “You keep mentioning that he was the first Kid. You don’t think the Kid who’s been around for the last year is the same one?”

 

“Nope! I’ve met this Kid,” Conan said. “He’s about your age, Ran-neechan.”

 

“I can confirm this as well,” Hakuba said mildly, glancing over to Ran, but his eyes lingered on Aoko. “He can be no older than the age of eighteen.”

 

“So you think that Phantom Lady mentored the first Kid, and then he mentored the current one?” Aoko asked. When Conan and Hakuba both nodded, she frowned slightly. “But where was Kid from 2006 to 2014? And why wouldn’t the new Kid have a new identity, like what happened between the Phantom Lady and… the first Kid?”

 

“Maybe he wanted to capitalize on the fame, or reputation?” Ran suggested thoughtfully. 

 

“As for the disappearance, let us assume that the current Kid is eighteen,” Hakuba said. “How old would he have been in 2006, Aoko-san?”

 

“Umm…nine? Maybe ten?” Aoko said.

 

“Correct,” Hakuba nodded. “Can you imagine a ten year old picking up the Kid hat and cape?”

 

Aoko glanced at Ran, and when their eyes caught they both giggled; Aoko could only remember the mental image they’d conjured yesterday at the HQ, of Conan in Kid’s costume. But when she saw Akako arching an eyebrow, Aoko stifled her laugh and cleared her throat. Right. Maturity. This was a serious conversation. No time for giggling!

 

“No,” she said. “Unless he was as smart as Conan-kun, he’d have been arrested immediately, right?”

 

“Right,” Conan said dryly. “No to mention the fact that having Kid suddenly become a child would have shattered the illusion that the first and second ones were the same person.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ran cut in. “I’m sure some people would believe it—maybe he was shrunk.”

 

Conan laughed, high and tight. “How would that be possible, Ran-neechan? Nobody would ever actually think it was true!”

 

“Maybe Koizumi-san has an idea!” Ran said brightly. “You know about all kinds of magic, right? Could magic shrink somebody?”

 

Akako looked surprised to have all eyes on her, but she recovered quickly. She was at home in the spotlight, after all, practically preening within seconds. “It’s likely,” Akako said smoothly, setting down her teacup and lacing her fingers on her crossed knees. “The scarlet arts have many uses, from the ancient voodoo and divination, prophecy, and supernatural knowledge, to the practices of bodily alteration and morph—”

 

“We’re getting off topic!” Conan exclaimed, voice a bit shrill as he cut off Akako. “We’re talking about Kaitou Kid. Because he didn’t shrink. He’s an entirely, completely different person, and he had to wait until he was old enough to pass as the same person before becoming the new Kaitou Kid. Right, Hakuba-niisan?”

 

“Right,” Hakuba said. He looked a bit strained as Aoko glanced at him; he was still looking at her, with a thin smile. 

 

Aoko felt a crease forming between her eyebrows as she frowned back at him and leaned over. “Stop looking at me like that,” she hissed. “You know Kaito’s not Kid, so you don’t have to stare at me.”

 

“My apologies, Aoko-san,” he said, looking away.

 

“No, you know what,” Aoko said hotly, face starting to burn. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so sure Kaito is Kid, huh? You don’t have any proof. Aren’t you all about proof? You’re a detective, right?”

 

“...while that may be true, I believe we were trying to refocus the conversation,” Hakuba said.

 

“No, Hakuba-kun, I’m serious,” she pushed on regardless. “You’re always bothering him about it but it’s ridiculous to think—”

 

“He fit the profile I constructed, more than perfectly,” Hakuba said awkwardly.

 

“I’m sure hundreds of people do,” Aoko snapped. “Why Kaito? Is it because he’s a magician?” Her mind flashed to all the theories about a previous Kid. “Or because his dad was a magician?”

 

“He fits,” Hakuba repeated himself, looking uncomfortable. “And have you ever seen Kuroba-kun and Kid at the same time?”

 

“He was with me for an entire heist once,” Aoko shot back, unable to keep her voice from raising. “That’s enough for me!”

 

“There you go, then,” Hakuba said, still looking quite awkward. “And I have been unable to confirm Kid’s identity. Currently, I’m merely concerned by the fact that they both just so happen to have gone missing during Saturday’s heist.”

 

Across the coffee table, Conan was looking at her with his head tilted and Akako was a moment away from laughing. The professor looked slightly stressed.

 

Porcelain clinked as Aoko angrily put her mug down so she could cross her arms. Kaito couldn’t even get a break from Hakuba’s accusations when he wasn’t there—it wasn’t fair.

 

“Anyway,” Conan said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention back. “Kid told me himself that he’s not the original Kid. The original Kid was murdered, so at least we know that much.”

 

“Do you know who murdered him, and how?” Akako asked. “Was it the same people targeting him now, perhaps with dark magic?”

 

“Well, it’s, uh…” Conan stuttered, looking uncertain for the first time since they’d sat down. But everyone was watching him expectantly, so he swallowed. “I can’t say anything about magic, but… yeah. It was a group of people looking for immortality. That’s what Kid and the shooter were saying.”

 

“A group,” Hakuba mused. “Yes, that would be consistent with the Blue Birthday heist. Nakamori-keibu tracked the gem to a large, abandoned base; it certainly implied that a larger operation was underway, one that Kid himself does not have.”

 

Conan soaked up that information and scribbled in his little notebook. If Aoko’s heart rate hadn’t angrily doubled in the last minute, she might have spared a thought for how cute it was that the mini-detective had a miniature case notebook to match. As it was she just focused on unclenching her fists in increments.

 

“Kid said he wants revenge,” Conan said. “Nakamori-keibu arrested Snake and the other shooter this weekend, but there’s a much larger organization behind them, so I don’t know that Kid would consider his goals fulfilled. He’s got to know the size of the organization, because he’s been dealing with them ever since he reappeared last year.” 

 

“And he’s only eighteen, dealing with that?” Ran asked, a wavering note to her voice, eyes pinned on Conan.

 

“Well, we don’t know his age exactly,” Agasa spoke up. “But if this organization killed his fa—predecessor, they may think that they’ve got unfinished business with him, and intend to silence him once and for all, no matter how young he is.”

 

“They’ve already proved themselves deadly,” Conan said darkly. “Though maybe somewhat incompetent, seeing as they’ve failed to kill Kid.”

 

Aoko took a deep breath, trying to force a lid over her frustration. “So you don’t think the new Kid is dead either,” she said.

 

“No, I mean. There’s no body, right? We can’t assume he’s dead until there’s evidence. Kaitou Kid always has a trick up his sleeve,” Conan said.

Aoko finally forced open her fists; her fingernails, though short and practical, had made crescent-shaped indents in both palms. They were red. “He does,” she agreed warily. “There’s even a video on YouTube of his flashy disappearance...”

 

“Can you show us?” Conan asked quickly.

 

Aoko nodded and pulled up the video on her phone. Agasa volunteered his computer, so Aoko read out the URL while he pecked it into the address bar. They watched the video in silence. Conan took notes the entire time. 

 

“This is definitely dark magic,” Akako murmured again during the slow-motion replay. “But it was used by Kid after all. Why would he use dark magic? He’s never employed anything but false trickery before. Though he does resist my charms, so perhaps he has an innate affinity for the arts…but of this level, it would require a conduit...”

 

Conan’s head snapped up. “A conduit?” he said. “What do you mean?”

 

“Many things can act as conduits,” she replied. “They focus raw energy into a purpose. Runes and magic circles are the most common, though with Kid, I wouldn’t underestimate the possibility of a gemstone. Dark arts such as these are often employed by nefarious individuals; perhaps the organization after Kid set up a trap for him.”

 

Conan’s face creased suddenly, lines appearing at the sides of his mouth and between his eyebrows. Aoko thought of origami paper, of someone running their fingernail over a fold to make a crisp edge.

 

Conan flipped quickly through his notebook. “The whole revenge scheme circled around a particular jewel,” he said. “Apparently, it was what the first Kid was murdered for, and what the second one was searching for, to lure out those guys in black. Koizumi-neechan, do you think it could’ve been...a dark magic conduit, or something?”

 

“Almost certainly,” Akoko replied. “But to confirm, I will need to examine the energy traces of the area.” She tapped a red fingernail against her chin. “Ideally, I would be able to examine the gem itself.”

 

“That’s probably not possible,” Hakuba said. “Perhaps we could get access to the gallery space, though.”

 

Ran spoke up as Hakuba trailed off in thought. “I thought you didn’t believe in the supernatural, Conan-kun?”

 

He shrugged halfheartedly, looking a bit pained. “Honestly, I’m still not convinced,” he said. “But until we can prove that Kid didn’t use his regular sleight-of-hand to vanish, real magic is… a possibility, right?”

 

Geeze. Not many people would look so upset to think magic might be real. Aoko herself still believed in fairies, at least a little bit, and accepted Akako’s magic and charms without question. (Hey, she’d give anything a shot at least once, like the adult charm that she, Akako, and Kaito had all wound up trying out. Not that Aoko felt particularly more mature afterwards, but…)

 

“When you’ve eliminated the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” Hakuba quoted, breaking Aoko out of her thoughts about who was and wasn’t childish. (She was pretty certain Conan was actually less childish than Kaito by at least half, so.)

 

Conan was still looking at Akako, who was looking back at him with a secretive little smile, one that Aoko had seen her use on Kaito a number of times. 

 

“Had you ever heard of the Eclipse Tear before?” he asked her.

 

“No,” she said.

 

“Kid called it Pandora. It produced heat and apparently has a legend attached to it, about crying immortal tears,” Conan went on. He pinched his fingers together. “Maybe this big?”

 

“It glowed?” Akako murmured.

 

Conan nodded. “Bright red. It gave off heat, too.”

 

Akako chewed on her bottom lip. With a start, Aoko realized she’d never seen Akako look nervous before, but she was pretty sure she was seeing it now.

 

“It sounds like it may have been a Philosopher's Stone,” she said eventually. 

 

“Somehow, I doubt the shooters wanted to turn lead into gold,” Hakuba said.

 

“That’s only the conventional myth,” Akako said dismissively with a wave of her hand. “It can be used to change the state of many things, not just lead into gold. Theoretically. My readings have been limited on the subject, as it doesn’t pertain directly to my practice.”

 

“It’s a lead, though,” Conan said. “Can you do some more research?”

 

“Certainly,” Akako replied.

 

Conan leaned over and showed her several pages in his notebook. Agasa stood and offered tea refills. Nobody had finished their first cup, but he wandered to the kitchen anyway.

 

Aoko couldn’t help but stare down at her hands. Her heart felt like a heavy weight tugging on her lungs. Was this how slow detective work always moved? What about the people who were in danger, like Kaitou Kid and Kaito? Didn’t they care?

 

“Nakamori-san, is that your phone ringing?” Ran asked her quietly. With a start, Aoko realized it was.

 

“Oh, it’s my dad,” she said, swiping to answer it. “Hi, otou-san.”

 

“Aoko,” her dad said. “Are you with Hakuba-kun?”

 

She glanced over to Hakuba who was sipping his tea like a gentleman, pinky out. “Yeah?” she said.

 

“Good. Put me on speaker phone. You both need to hear this,” her dad said.

 

Aoko’s stomach immediately tied itself in two dozen knots, and she wordlessly put her phone on speaker. Conan and Akako fell quiet.

 

“Hear what, otou-san?” she asked, trying not to sound shaky.

 

“We’ve confirmed that Kaito entered the building before the heist,” her dad said gruffly.

 

Aoko clenched her jaw. There was no satisfaction in confirming what she’d already known, deep down; only fear. 

 

Sickening, acidic fear.

 

“There were several security cameras on the bridge and one inside Midtown Tower on the fourth floor,” he said, voice crackling through the phone lines. “There’s footage of you and Kaito exiting onto the bridge. We think Kaito unlocked it himself, though it’s hard to tell. Some time later, he slipped back inside the same way. After that, the trail’s cold. Kid or his accomplice caused a momentary disruption to the camera system, and after they went back online, we couldn’t pick up Kaito’s trail again.”

 

Her dad fell silent. Ran touched Aoko’s arm, and she tried to force her fingers to stop trying to strangle the life out of her phone.

 

“Oh,” she managed.

“Nakamori-keibu, were you able to pick up Kid’s movement after that?” Hakuba asked. “What about beforehand?”

 

“No movement beforehand, though he may have been disguised. We’ve identified the moment he switched out with one of the guards, though. It was about two minutes after Kaito entered the building.”

 

“I see,” Hakuba said. His voice was steady, but his knuckles were white around his teacup. “Thank you, inspector. By the way, can you please email me the interrogation transcripts for Snake and the other shooter?”

 

“Sure, it’ll be encrypted,” Nakamori said gruffly. “But I’ll send it over.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“And, Aoko?” Nakamori said.

She swallowed roughly. “Yeah?”

 

“Don’t do anything rash,” he said. “We’ll find Kaito.”

 

“I’ll… I won’t,” she said, unable to sound as certain as she wanted to. “Love you, otou-san.”

 

“Love you too, Aoko,” her dad replied, and she ended the call. 

 

Hakuba cleared his throat. “This is good information,” he said. “We should investigate on the fourth floor when we visit the tower.”

 

“What can we do? How do we get the two of them back?” Aoko asked forcefully, pinning Hakuba with a sharp look, and then turning to Ran, whose sympathetic eyes now only incited hot-blooded anger. “We can’t just keep sitting here, talking. Something happened to both of them, and they’re probably in danger!”

 

“That’s what we want to figure out,” Conan said, hopping off the couch. “But, like Nakamori-keibu said, we can’t be rash. Professor, can you drive us to Midtown Tower?”

 

---

 

The professor’s yellow beetle was too small for everyone to get their own seat, so Conan wound up in Ran’s lap in the front, his face bright red, while Aoko sandwiched between Akako and Hakuba in the back.

 

In the fading sunlight, Midtown Tower was a completely different building. When she and Kaito had walked there on Saturday night, it had been a magical, glittering spire, the stars and streetlights bouncing off in shimmering pinpricks. Now, it was a windowed monstrosity that reflected so much sun that she had to squint.

 

The professor parked his car near the canal, and the group walked towards the tower. Conan and Hakuba led the charge; from the way Hakuba’s head was bent, it was clear that they were deep in conversation, but even when Aoko quickened her steps, she couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about. Their voices were too low.

 

There was police tape sealing off one of the tower’s back doors, fluttering in the warm breeze. Hakuba ducked under the tape, tried the door, and shook his head, so they circled towards the front of the building.

 

Ran walked with Aoko as they tread the pavement. “I’ve never really gone along with Conan-kun on anything like this before,” she said conversationally. “I mean, I’ve seen him at crime scenes with my dad, or sometimes the rest of his little friends, but this is different.”

 

“How so?” Aoko asked.

 

Ran looked pensive, watching the back of Conan’s head. “This is more like police work,” she said eventually. “Like my dad used to do, before he left the force. This is the kind of case people don’t just solve in a day. A lot of groundwork, you know?”

 

Aoko nodded. “My dad used to do this kind of thing too, before he started working solely on Kid cases,” she said. “Even that’s a pretty new development. For a long time, he worked on Kid’s stuff, and regular theft too.”

 

“I bet regular theft is pretty dull by comparison,” Ran said.

 

Akako, who had joined them, snorted, somehow making it elegant. “It is not even the same playing field,” she said. 

 

Aoko stuck out her bottom lip. It was a little too close to a compliment of Kid for her to agree outright, but at the same time, Akako wasn’t wrong.

 

“The funny thing about Conan-kun,” Ran said, “is he gets the same laser-focus that Shinichi does, especially at Kid’s heists.”

 

“Are they related?” Aoko asked dubiously.

 

“They’re distant cousins,” Ran said. “Conan-kun’s family is also somehow related to the professor’s. I don’t really get how, but…” she shrugged slightly, before tilting her head. Aoko followed her eyes to the back of Conan’s head again. “You know, I’m not sure where Conan-kun fits into the Kudou family tree? Neither of Shinichi’s parents have siblings.”

 

“Weird,” Aoko said.

 

“Most things about Conan-kun are,” Ran admitted.

 

“It surprises me that he has doubts about the existence of magic,” Akako said. “He has one of the most affected auras that I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?” Ran asked.

“It’s neutral, by itself,” Akako replied. “It is how one responds to the magical touch that can be a positive or negative thing. But he’s obviously in close contact with the supernatural on a regular basis. It seems to emanate from within.”

 

Ran got a suspicious look on her face, thoughtful. Careful. “That... makes sense,” she said.

 

Aoko leaned in. “Do you mean he’s like a werewolf or something?” Vampire was out. They were all walking in the sun right now.

 

“No, no,” Ran was suddenly in motion waving her off before Akako could reply. “No way! It’s just… well, it feels really silly… but I find myself wondering a lot if he’s…”

 

Aoko blinked at her, waiting. Akako placed one manicured fingernail to her chin.

 

“If he’s...Shinichi?” Ran finished, sounding uncertain. “They’ve got the same blood type and everything, so…”

 

Akako nodded, grinning with satisfaction. “Your instincts are good, Mouri-san,” she said. “You would make an excellent witch. Should you ever desire to rid yourself of your soul in the pursuit of power, please let me know.”

 

“I think I’m okay,” Ran said, weary through her politeness. 

 

Akako fluffed out her hair. “Shame,” she said.

 

“Um, but… do you think I’m right about Conan?” Ran ventured.

 

“One’s energy does not lie,” Akako said. “I have never met your Kudou-kun directly, so it is possible I’m mistaken.” She grinned, her smile sharp and white. “But it is a very, very slim possibility.”

 

Ran’s eyes flickered back to the boy ahead of them, who, along with Hakuba and the professor, was now speaking to one of the police officers stationed in front of the tower’s main entrance. Aoko wondered what she was thinking behind those deep eyes.

 

But the idea of a teenager turning into a little kid was just as fantastical as scanning a building for dark magic that could transport an adult man someplace else, mid-air. Thinking about it in that context made age regression seem trivial.

 

“Akako-chan, do you see magic everywhere you look?” Aoko wondered aloud. When she nodded, Aoko asked, “What does it look like?”

 

“It’s a bit hazy, and oftentimes presents itself as a colored light,” she said. “The strength varies from person to person. Much of my perception has nothing to do with visuals, though, and instead with the feeling of an individual’s energy, which I sense through the meeting of my energy and theirs.”

 

Aoko wasn’t about to question how that happened. “What does my energy feel like?” she asked.

 

“Rather childish,” Akako announced without even glancing at Aoko.

 

Aoko pouted. “Akako-chan, that’s mean! I bet Kaito’s is more childish than mine!”

 

“Oh, certainly,” she said. “His energy is at its most immature when he is around you. Perhaps you rub off on him in that way.”

 

Before Aoko could complain, the professor came up to them at a light jog, pink in the face. “Hakuba-kun and Conan-kun are asking for you,” he said. “I’ll be staying out here. Conan-kun can call if you need anything.” Aoko noticed he was holding a cellphone in one hand.

 

They headed towards the waiting detectives.

 

“I don’t rub off on Kaito,” Aoko muttered. “Bakaito. He’s always been like that.”

 

“Anything yet?” Hakuba asked Akako, gesturing the group inside.

 

“There are minor traces of magic everywhere,” Akako said haughtily. “But nothing stands out immediately.”

 

The same apparently applied to the fourth floor and the pedestrian bridge, though Akako proclaimed that there was no doubt Kaito had been there. Aoko thought it was a moot point, seeing as she and her dad had already proven that with the security cameras. They moved on to the fifth floor next, where Hakuba produced a key for the gallery.

 

Inside, it was dim and chilly; the windows were still boarded, the walls bare. Aoko rubbed a hand up her arms as the group fanned out, ostensibly looking for clues, but Akako froze in the center of the room, drawing Hakuba’s attention.

 

“Koizumi-san?” he prompted.

 

Akako muttered something unintelligible. 

 

Aoko stepped closer, then hesitated when a wind rushed past her, whispering white noise into her ears. The air swirled around Akako, tugging at her skirt and long hair. When her eyes slid open, Aoko noticed the long, thin shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks, before realizing with a frightening stab that the shadows were so prominent because there was light coming from inside Akako’s eyes. It was the same reddish-brown as her irises. There was something glowing on the ground, too, a symbol that Aoko couldn’t make out. 

 

“What was that?” Ran asked, voice small. Conan grabbed her sleeve, preventing either of them from moving. 

 

The light from the ground curled into the air, dancing and sparking higher, like fire. Aoko held her breath as it arced harmlessly into Akako’s palm. For a moment, nothing happened; then the light crackled, loud and bright. Aoko flinched, covering her face with her arms to protect it from the heat—

 

The heat that didn’t come.

 

When she peeked, the light in Akako’s hand was smaller. A trail was hanging in the air, coming in faintly from the gallery door, before becoming strong and bright. It danced and weaved throughout the room, and then vanished into the stairwell door.

 

“This is… Kid’s path during the heist,” Conan said slowly. It wasn’t a question.

 

“It is the path of the gem,” Akako replied.

 

One tendril of light hovered a few feet from Aoko. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and reached out a hand. It passed through the light as if it were mist, but she felt her flesh buzzing under the surface, a drawn-out static shock.

 

The clatter of footsteps drew Aoko from her trance; everyone but Ran had rushed into the stairwell.

 

“Like dogs after a rabbit,” Ran said faintly, echoing a thought Aoko had had about detectives earlier in the day. Then, Ran turned a harsh look on Aoko. “Let’s go!”

 

“Y-yes!” Aoko stuttered.

 

They ran up several flights of stairs, burst out on another floor, and dashed down a few hallways (startling a few people along the way). The trail was more faint in the sunlight, but if Aoko concentrated, she could feel the buzz any time she moved through it. It mixed dizzyingly with the adrenaline and the burning ache in her lungs.

 

The trail doubled back and hit an elevator. Aoko leaned over and caught her breath, trying to rub away the stitch in her side while they waited for the elevator to arrive. When they were inside, Akako pressed the button for the top floor. 

 

Will there be blood up there? Aoko wondered, watching the numbers tick upwards towards 54. Will there be bullet holes?

 

The doors opened smoothly, silently. Conan dashed out of the elevator first, followed by Ran, then Hakuba and Akako. Aoko brought up the rear.

 

The floor was a maze in the half-light. Pipes, metal barrel-shaped heaters, boxes, wires. Aoko was slowed by watching her feet, afraid she’d trip and eat concrete. They emerged near a window.

 

“Here,” was all Conan said, low.

 

The window was covered in cardboard. Sunlight leaked in around the edges. White tape marked out a bullet hole in the wall below it: a sinister dark indent. Spinning in a slow circle, Aoko spotted more white tape above them, on a broken pipe, on the ground making empty polygons…

 

Akako’s face was pale, stark against the red of her hair as she stood before the window. The faint trail of magic was red and visible again, contrasting the boarded window. As Akako stood in it, Aoko had to squint.

 

“The power here, it—it expands,” Akako said faintly. “...no, no, it explodes.”

 

She lunged at the window, digging her fingers into the edges of the cardboard, scrabbling to pry it away. Aoko rushed after her. She’d never seen Akako lose her composure like this; the normally unshakable, poised Akako seemed… desperate.

 

Conan ripped tape from the bottom edge; Ran peeled off an adjacent piece of cardboard as Akako heaved off the biggest one and dropped it to the floor, then leaned half of her torso out.

 

Aoko shrieked and grabbed the back of Akako’s uniform with both hands, registering Ran doing the same, but Akako was gripping the ledge, staring at something. Conan had hoisted himself up, too, and as the rest crowded around, Aoko saw what Akako was focused on.

 

The trail hovered outside, shooting down at a stomach-dropping angle. It culminated in an angry tangle, with jagged edges that bled from white and translucent towards a vivid, bloody red at the center.

 

“This is no mere dark magic, but an ancient, dangerous one,” Akako whispered. “Powers older than I have ever touched before. Powers that should never be unleashed. They are a bridge between legend and reality…”

 

Aoko pulled shakily on the back of Akako’s shirt, but Akako’s body was solid, strong, determined to stay. When Aoko tugged again, Akako relented and stepped back from the window. Aoko wrapped her arms around her, but Akako stood like a statue, and felt like ice. They watched in silence as Ran scooped Conan away from the window, too. Hakuba stood with a piece of cardboard dangling from his fingers.

The scene was cloyingly ominous. Fear skittered up the back of Aoko’s neck like spider legs.

 

“Kaitou Kid is no longer in the world that we know,” Akako whispered.

 

---

 

Notes:

Putting real years on DCMK events feels weird. Like, in my timeline, Kaito was born in 1998.... haha, what?

Edit, 9/18/20: caught and fixed some errors in this chapter, including a missing line of dialogue @_@;

Chapter 11: The Mechanic

Notes:

Before we dive in, there's a few things I forgot to make note of sooner!!

- Please look at this Hughes meme (all thanks to crownclown for the idea, and Sanna for the edit ... it makes me SUPREMELY HAPPY.)

- tag changes! Nothing major, but I've been fiddling with them (for example, I've replaced some minor character tags with "Ensemble Cast" so as to not clog it up). Please let me know if there's anything you think would be a good addition to the tags; sometimes it's hard to figure that out from within. (Especially since this is a WIP? I don't know how people do it.)

Ok, I think that's it for the top of the chapter!

---

 

Kaito did not appreciate being sent off to bed, especially not in the middle of the afternoon. And double-especially not in the company of the Extremely-Suspicious-Of-Him Brothers Elric, because boy, did that spell trouble. Kaito only liked trouble when he devised it.

 

Thankfully, they weren’t left completely alone. Mustang stuck around for a while to badger Ed about ‘reports’, or ‘fees incurred by hospital visitations’, or something like that. Hughes stayed as well, speaking with Ross and Brosh, probably about supervision duties. Maybe warning them about Kaitou’s disguise attempts. More’s the pity. 

 

Though his disguise had been lackluster, he routinely used less on Nakamori. The guy was surprisingly trusting of anybody in the right uniform, but maybe that was just Nakamori; Kaito hadn’t anticipated just how quickly Hughes would call him out. But making them underestimate him wasn’t a bad thing; he’d used the same principle to get his hands on the Legendary Cue for Jii.

 

Kaito also supposed that ‘not being left alone with the Elrics’ was also a by-product of ‘being supervised more closely’. Joy. He’d still take this over getting alchemized to the bed again. (He’d had to bend his thumb uncomfortably far back to get out of the cuff, and he wasn’t in a rush to do it again.)

 

So, for a few hours, Kaito flitted around the room, doing his best to strike the right balance of attention: not drawing so much as to put him back on the spot, but also not drawing too little, which would’ve been suspicious in its own right. He shuffled his cards with fancy flairs, juggled, rolled coins around his knuckles, and practiced some flicks and disappear-reappear routines with anything small enough. It was harmless behavior that allowed people to watch him from the corners of his eyes with curiosity, but didn’t encourage closer investigation. Especially not when he’d been doing it for two hours straight. 

 

While it worked to keep Ed’s burning-hot stare and Mustang’s cold observation at bay, Hughes was another story; he watched Kaito without hindrance. Just for him, Kaito juggled a few sharper objects around, but that didn’t even make Hughes flinch.

 

Of course, the whole plan fell apart the moment Sarah entered the room. She took in the scene: one patient with a sling, looking vastly unhappy with the company; a set of metal armor entertaining Hughes; Mustang looking far too happy to be here, despite Ed’s glare; and finally, Kaito himself, juggling random bits of medical equipment a little too close to the window.

 

She sighed long and hard.

 

“Kaitou,” she said, “am I gonna have to stick you with something to make you behave?”

 

“No, sensei!” he said, and with a flourish and a bit of a spin, changed back into the hospital gown and button-down combo he’d sported during his initial stay. “I’m behaving!”

 

“Good,” she said, despite how blatantly untrue that was. She pointed to his conspicuously empty bed. “Sit. I need to check your bandages. And then stay there.”

 

Maybe he should commend her for her restrained reaction. Instead, he still rolled his eyes as he sat down. After looking him over, she gave him a clean bill of health and refuted his request for an early discharge. 

 

“I could get you a coloring book,” she said. “How’s that?”

 

“Ooh, make it one with princesses, and we’ll have a deal!”

 

“I’ll do my best,” she said, but was hiding a laugh. She turned and shooed everyone else away from Ed’s bedside so she could check his wounds, too. “Non-relatives should pack up,” she said pointedly to Hughes and Mustang. “Visiting hours are ending soon.”

 

Sitting cross-legged on his bed and watching Sarah change the bandage on Ed’s side, Kaito’s mind wandered back to Ed’s mechanical arm. There’d been many more immediate things to worry about since he’d first tried to examine it, but now was the perfect time to theorize.

 

The closest thing Kaito had seen to an artificial limb as articulated and well-controlled as Ed’s was the time he’d been robot-cloned. Robot-ified? Robot… replaced? Either way. The Robo-Kaito had moved so smoothly that it had fooled Aoko. 

 

There were a few problems with seeing that technology here. The first and most obvious one was that it was 1914 in Amestris. The Robo-Clone had been underground fringe science when it happened to Kaito in 2015 in Ekoda, which left a pretty tidy hundred-year gap in the kind of technology that was available. 

 

The second issue was that Ed’s arm was interfacing with his organic, human body. As far as Kaito knew when it came to Robo-Clone, there hadn’t been anything organic involved. Just a whole lot of machinery, and really creepy head-opening mechanisms that sprouted arms from the neck… The image made him shiver.

 

Finally, Kaito wasn’t sure what he was supposed to know about Ed’s mechanical arm. He’d called it automail, and hadn’t been too surprised when Kaito admitted he knew nothing about it. Was it safe to assume alkahestry had nothing to do with it? Even though Kaito had been proclaiming that alkahestry had medical uses, and this was a pretty likely contender for the meeting of science and magic? 

 

He’d already dug this deep. The second he tried to climb out of this hole, the dirt was going to crumble under his fingertips and cause a cave-in, and bury him alive….

 

“What’re you staring at?” Ed grumbled.

 

“Eh?” Kaito startled, realizing the room had emptied out except for the three of them and Ross. “Nothing. Certainly not at your extremely interesting and unique steel arm. Definitely not that.”

 

Ed snorted.

 

“You’ve really never seen automail before?” Al asked, curious. “It’s pretty common here.”

 

“It’s new to me,” Kaito confirmed.

 

“Granted, this one’s pretty special,” Ed said. “I doubt anybody else makes it like this.” He wiggled his metal fingers. Kaito marveled at the fact they moved silently. “Even when the rest is busted, I still have some motion.”

 

“How does any of it move?” Kaito asked.

 

Ed tapped on his metal shoulder. “It’s all connected to my nerves,” he said. “You’ll have to ask Winry for the rest tomorrow.”

 

He was pretty sure Ross wouldn’t stop him from walking around, so he hopped up and approached Ed’s bedside. Ross watched with pinched lips, but didn’t immediately tell him to sit down like Sarah had, so Kaito took that as a win.

 

Ed eyed Kaito. He had no such hesitance to tell Kaito off.  “I’m not some sideshow for you to ogle,” he said. “Go away.”

 

Kaito held up his hands, palms forward, and pivoted tactics. “I know, I know,” he said. “Listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot. It’s been all interrogation this, interrogation that, ever since we got saddled together. Since I don’t plan on skipping town any time soon, why don’t we start over?”

 

Ed glanced over to Al, and the two both shrugged. 

 

“Fine. I’m Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist,” Ed said.

 

“And I’m his younger brother, Alphonse,” Al said. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

“Wait, younger?” Kaito asked, because he couldn’t help himself. He’d figured as much through osmosis, but… “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, we’re sure,” Ed snapped. “I’m the older brother. Got that? Older.” He jutted his thumb into his own chest.

 

“Hold on, hold on. Nobody actually ever told me your ages. I’m just surprised because Al is so much more mature and reasonable than you are.” They were clearly teenagers, what with Hughes’ speeches about trusting adults and acting like a dad to them, but thinking back, he’d never gotten any numbers.

 

Ed continued to grit his teeth, but  Al laughed. Kaito pictured a cheeky grin behind the armor, if he had a real face. He’d probably look like Ed, but more long-suffering. “I’m fourteen,” he said. “But I’ve always been more polite than Brother. Brother is fifteen.”

 

“Oi, you’re nice to a fault,” Ed grumbled. “You’re too nice.”

 

“What!” Kaito yelped. “Fourteen? Fifteen?”

 

“So?” Ed asked shortly.

 

Kaito couldn’t help breaking out into a wide grin. “So, I really am older than you!”

 

“Yeah, whatever, Hughes already told us that,” Ed said.

 

It was Al who asked Kaito for a specific number. Instead of dwelling on the pesky questions of birthdays and time travel, Kaito opted for the answer he’d given Hughes to begin with. “Sixteen!”

 

“Sixteen?” Ed echoed, angrily scrambling out of bed and to his feet. “Oi, sixteen? How the hell did you get that tall at sixteen?”

 

Kaito propped his hands on his hips and tilted his head at Ed. “Beautiful, beautiful genetics,” he said in a sing-song. “Aww, are you disappointed that I’m nearly a foot taller than you? Especially when I’ve only got one extra year of growth?”

 

Ed let out a noise of pure rage and lunged, one-armed, for Kaito’s dress shirt.

 

Kaito laughed and leaped away. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not feeling sorry in the least. “OK!” he clapped. “Allow me to introduce myself properly.” He flicked out two cards from his sleeves and offered them, one each, to the brothers. “Kaitou, at your service. I’m a magician, and I’ll soon be a third year at Ekoda High School.” 

 

Al took a card readily, but Ed looked more like he hoped that Kaito and the card would spontaneously combust if he stared hard enough.

 

“I normally do roses, but these will have to work in a pinch,” Kaito said. He flipped around Ed’s card, revealing a king of hearts that had been modified to portray Ed: metal arm, blonde braid, and a scowl. “Ta-daah!”

 

Ed squinted at the card, while Al gasped in delight.

 

“I have no idea when you found the time to do this,” Ed said.

 

“Tricks of the trade!” Kaito proclaimed, and then bowed deeply (making sure that the wince was hidden, because bowing wasn't recommended when you had stitches in your stomach). 

 

“Brother, look!” Al had flipped his card over. It was similar to Ed’s, being a modified king of hearts, but Al’s was a portrait of himself in armor, eyes glowing red.

 

“...it’s nice,” Ed replied, grudgingly. 

“Fullmetal-san, what’s in your hair?” Kaito asked innocently. 

 

Ed touched his ponytail, and pulled out his card. He scowled at it, then at Kaito. “Don’t touch my hair,” he grumbled.

 

“Hey, Kaitou,” Al said, tucking his card into the back of his notebook, “what’s high school like?”

 

“Boring,” Kaito replied flippantly. “You’re just stuck inside all day. It’s only worthwhile so I can hang out with my friend Aoko—we grew up together.”

 

“Brother and I haven’t been to school since we were children,” Al said, despite Ed’s unhappy hiss to stop talking about it. Al just shrugged him off. “What? I don’t think studying alchemy is really the same.”

 

“I doubt it,” Kaito agreed.

 

Ed sent Kaito a look. “How do you go to school, lure out murders, find a Philosopher’s Stone, do your sleight-of-hand stage magic, and study alkahestry?” he asked.

 

“I like to keep busy,” Kaito replied cheerfully. “And, to be honest, the real answer is that I don’t get much sleep.”

 

“Brother sleeps a lot,” Al said.

 

“Wish that were me,” Kaito said. “Anyways, I learned a lot of magic and alkahestry stuff from my dad before he died, and in the last year I found he’d left me a lot of notes and lessons, too. It’s not like school is hard, so I have plenty of free time.” 

 

“Hey, speaking of that,” Ed said, “I have an alkahestry question for you.”

 

“Oh, what might that be?” Kaito kept his tone light, but internally he was scrambling.

 

He’d been using Akako’s red magic as his point of reference for Xingan alkahestry, which had actually been working, as far as Kaito could see. But his knowledge of her magic was surface-level and dwindling fast. He’d been working fast-and-loose with it and his first-hand experiences with Pandora, but he knew that he was missing huge chunks of the picture.

 

If Kaito was an icecream cone, Ed was the sun, and Kaito was melting fast. Hell, Mustang’s pop quiz had already come close to cutting through Kaito’s poker face. He’d never even heard of the damn Dragon’s Pulse before.

 

It made him nervous, more nervous than he was used to being about his disguises. When he donned a persona, he was thorough. He did the research. He studied his persona’s body language, vocal quirks, and the relevant interests. Here, in Amestris, he was just playing as himself plus a dash of unknown science-magic.

 

“Envy’s hands,” Ed said, morose. “Was that alkahestry?”

 

Ah. That was something Kaito could talk about without too much trouble, at least. But something in the single-focus intensity of Ed’s stare told Kaito there was more going on inside that brain than Kaito could unknot.

 

“It looked similar to alkahestry,” Kaito said. “But I don’t think it was the same. Alkahestric healing doesn’t exactly...work like that.”

 

“You said it takes a lot of energy,” Ed said. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means what it sounds like,” Kaito said. “It’s really tiring. Like sprinting. Or ice skating.”

 

“Ice skating?” Al asked. “What’s hard about—”

 

“Nothing,” Kaito brushed over that, and tried to look like he knew exactly what he was talking about. “Alkahestric healing just wipes you out. Trying to rebuild that much muscle and skin should’ve at the very least made them pass out, or worse.”

 

Then, Kaito hesitated. He didn’t want any suspicion cast upon himself, but it felt important to point out the similarities he’d observed in Envy’s healing to the light that Pandora produced. So he barreled on. “But what if it was alchemy?” 

 

“Like localized human transmutation?” Al asked dubiously.

“It… would only be possible with a Stone,” Ed said slowly. 

 

“You think they’ve got one?” Kaito asked. He desperately hoped that this wouldn’t turn into a conversation of, hey Kaitou, wouldn’t that mean your healing alkahestry requires a Stone, too? 

 

“It’d make sense if they had one, with everything we’ve figured out so far,” Al said. “They had an array for making one, and… I’d expect they’ve tested it out.”

 

“Yeah,” Ed muttered. His eyes had a faraway look as he gazed at the floor. “But I don’t like it.”

 

---

 

Kaito very much lamented the fact he hadn’t even gotten even one night’s sleep in a hotel room after his initial discharge, because hospital beds were weirdly uncomfortable—who needed to be comfortable when they had a stab wound, right? 

 

Also, the general atmosphere of the hospital was anything but soothing. The Central Military Hospital, in particular, was unsettling. It lacked too many sounds. There was no beeping, no whirring, nothing. Just footsteps up and down the hallway, Ross shifting quietly outside with the door, a murmur of conversation when she traded off with Brosh, Ed’s steady sleep-breathing, and Kaito’s own heartbeat.

 

He still had his buttondown on, and concealed within, Pandora. It loved to act up when Kaito most wanted to ignore it; now, it was wiggling at the edge of his consciousness, pressed like a hot fireplace poker against his ribs. He’d have loved to tuck it into a drawer and get some peace and quiet, but he wasn’t quite trusting enough to do that.

 

He rolled over onto his side, but that didn’t last long; it put too much pressure on his wound. Instead, he sat up and threw his legs out of bed.

 

“Going somewhere?”

 

Al’s voice was quiet but startled Kaito nonetheless. He tried to cover it up with a smooth question. “Can’t sleep either, Al-san?”

 

The edges of Al’s armor glinted in the moonlight where he sat statue-still against the far wall. Kaito had assumed he’d fallen asleep sitting up, as he hadn’t moved in an hour, not so much as a twitch.

 

“No,” Al said. There was something in his tone, something regretful. But he just looked out the window to the waxing moon.

 

Kaito stood and stretched. “Pretty, isn’t it?” he said. “Where I’m from, the moon is called ‘tsuki’ .”

 

“That’s a nice word,” Al said. He drew his notebook from his pouch, thumbing through the worn pages with his leather hand, and wrote the word down.

 

Kaito noticed that Al kept scrap papers in his notebook, catching a glimpse of one that seemed to be a train ticket. It piqued a small voice at the back of his head, so he picked up his shoulder bag and rummaged around. Eventually, he unearthed the train ticket from the night of the Midtown Tower heist: a round trip between Ekoda and Tokyo, used once, now expired.

 

Maybe he ought to get a notebook of his own. Or even just a wallet, that would do. Speaking of which, he still needed to modify the jacket Hughes had given him…

 

“Al-san,” he said. “Think we can find a needle and some thread?”

 

---

 

Kaito had not been promised a showdown, but a showdown was delivered when Ed’s mechanic turned up on Monday morning.

 

The three-person event featured Ed’s mechanic, her giant wrench, said giant wrench meeting the top of Ed’s head, and was complete with shouting, scolding, but also, said way bigger and more threatening than necessary giant wrench. It was the kind of thing Kaito was going to have nightmares about. Wrenches probably hit harder than brooms. He shuddered and was glad she didn’t seem to care about his meagre existence on the far side of the room.

 

Terrifying girls with blunt weapons, of course, made Kaito think of Aoko, and thinking about Aoko was currently one of the most depressing things Kaito could inflict upon himself, so he used the next hour to mope while the others squabbled. 

 

He’d already modified his new jacket six ways to Sunday, which had meant a sad farewell to his hole-riddled Kid coat. While it had been great for keeping his hands busy last night and hiding the modifications from the eyes of his most annoying minders, it left him with precious few productive tasks to distract himself with now. So he set his sights on a game of solitaire, which he’d started at some point yesterday and subsequently abandoned. But it wasn’t quite enough.

 

He’d been gone from Japan for a week now. At least, a week had passed in Amestris. Had it been the same number of days in Japan? The fact that it was 1914 in Amestris alone suggested that the flow of time wasn’t the same for both places.

 

He didn’t want to imagine what he was putting Aoko through by vanishing, let alone the kind of reaction her old man might be having. Plus, the last person he’d tried to speak to was Jii. This officially made Kaito the second Kid that Jii had lost. Now there was a depressing thought. Wait, no, Kaito wasn’t dead. Jii hadn’t lost him, per se, just… lost track of him? Sure, yeah.

 

The cherry on top of the whole heist was Tantei-kun; he’d witnessed the whole sordid affair. Would he be blaming himself for not being faster, or bigger, or stronger? And what was Hakuba thinking? Surely he didn’t want Kaitou Kid to vanish off the map without getting a solid chance to cuff him… And, oh, his doves, his poor doves. They would be getting lonely without a human companion. And did his mom even know he was missing? Hopefully Nakamori had called her...

 

Three solid clunks brought him out of his sullen thoughts. Winry was opening the hardshell case that was nearly as tall as she was. Kaito caught sight of the myriad of mechanical pieces and tools inside, organized neatly in fitted sections. Eager for a better distraction than solitaire, and a few answers about Ed’s arm, he crossed the room and peeked into the toolkit. 

 

Not only was it well-organized, but it was extremely well-stocked as well. He could almost cry: bolts, screws, and wires had never made him feel so… so… normal .

 

Winry glanced up at him. “Um… hello,” she said.

 

“Sorry,” Kaito replied, blinking several times. “I’m having a moment. I missed screws.”

 

“Right,” Winry said. “Take your time.”

 

He plucked a tiny screw from the case. “Oh my god, it’s so little. It’s so precious.” Seriously, it was smaller than the screws he used for the delicate entrails of his cardgun.

 

“The E-973s are very elegant,” Winry agreed. “They’re useful for finger pieces, especially pinkies.”

 

“Ohh, spring-loaded hinges!” He dropped to his knees beside Winry and reached to examine one.

 

“Sorry, but… who are you?” Winry finally asked. When Kaito looked at her, she seemed pleasantly confused by him, at least judging by the slight smile and creased eyebrows.

 

“Ah, sorry!” Kaito exclaimed. “I’m Kaitou. And you’re Fullmetal-san’s mechanic, right?”

 

“Yes,” she said. “I’m Winry Rockbell.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Rockbell-san,” Kaito replied. He offered a hand to shake, which Winry took readily enough.

 

Al glanced up from where he was helping Ed out of his (surprisingly difficult) sling. “I don’t think we got to mention it yet, but we’re, uh, supervising him?” he said by way of an explanation.

 

“Why?” Winry asked.

 

“Because you can’t hold onto me any better than you can hold onto water,” Kaitou said. “In other words, your ever-present military wants my each and every footstep monitored. Sorry, Ross-san.” He directed the last part to Lt. Ross, who’d been in the room to ‘supervise’ them this morning, but had instead been roped into setting up half the hospital room for Winry to work on Ed’s arm.

 

“Just part of the job,” Ross said mildly. 

 

“By why was Ed assigned to watch you?” Winry asked.

 

“Ask Hughes,” Ed grunted, finally free of the sling.

 

Ross spread a clean towel over the low table she’d rustled up and set to the side of Ed’s bed. “Is this everything you need, Winry?” she asked.

 

“Looks great!” Winry said. “Okay, Ed, you know the drill. Lie down.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Ed mumbled.

 

Winry collected an assortment of screws and several sizes of screwdrivers. When she moved to Ed’s bedside, Kaito followed her. She glanced at him as she sat down, still looking confused. “Um, can I help you?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Kaito replied. “Fullmetal-san promised you’d tell me about automail, specifically about his arm.”

 

Her eyes lit up, confusion washing away to be replaced by a bright grin. “Oh! I’d love to! Any chance to talk about my work!”

 

Kaito clapped his hands. “Great! Now, what is automail?”

 

Winry faltered, almost dropping her screwdriver on Ed, but recovering just in time. “You...don’t know?”

 

“Nope!” he said.

 

“Then let’s start with the basics,” Winry said, a gleam in her eyes. She dropped onto the stool and began dismantling Ed’s arm as she launched into her lesson. “Automail limbs are prosthetics that attach to the nervous system and allow the wearer full use of the lost limb. It gives them complete autonomy, fine motor control, or can be outfitted with weapons or other protective measures! Ah, automail is amazing!” Here, she paused to press her screwdriver to her cheek with a starry look. “The way all the pieces move in tandem, at the smallest command of the wearer…!”

 

“What are the limits?” Kaito cut in. “You couldn’t create, say, an automail heart, or anything like that, could you…?”

 

He couldn’t keep a note of nerves out of his voice. Though he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Robo-Kaito, he did haunt Kaito somewhat. While it barely ranked in the grand scheme of things, it still made his stomach curl uncomfortably. 

 

“No,” Winry said, breaking Kaito from his disastrous brain, shaking her own head. “Even if you could give someone an automail heart without them dying in the process, automail works explicitly with the nervous system. Involving the circulatory system…well, it wouldn’t even be automail any more,” she said. She drew back and snapped a tie from her wrist to tie up her long hair before returning her attention back to Ed’s arm. “I guess it’s not impossible, at least in theory.”

 

“Right.” That was a relief, somewhat. 

 

Winry pulled a curved plate off Ed’s shoulder and set it aside. As Kaito watched, the mechanisms inside were slowly revealed.

 

“What was your process for this arm?” he asked.

 

Winry explained that she’d made the original design, based off one of her Granny’s. Her initial considerations had been about reducing the arm’s weight without impacting its functions, because she and her Granny had been worried about stunting Ed’s growth or creating exaggerated differences in his muscular development.

 

“But he’s got the leg, too, so he’s never going to be even, and we just had to accept that,” she said as she worked. “This is actually the first piece of automail that I made by myself! I’ve updated it a lot over the years, especially considering that Ed likes to use it for fighting.” She narrowed her eyes at Ed, who’d turned his face away from them. “At first, that just meant replacing broken fingers and pistons here and there, but I made this brand new model a couple weeks ago, because someone went and got his entire arm disintegrated.”

 

She roughly unplugged a wire from Ed’s elbow. Ed pulled a face. “I said sorry,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t any happier about it than you were…”

 

Winry went on brightly as if Ed hadn’t spoken. “But all’s well that ends well, because it gave me the chance to make overall upgrades! For example, I increased the amount of chrome in the steel, which I couldn’t have done without replacing the entire thing anyway, so…”

 

“Ah, that prevents rusting, doesn’t it? Because of the chromium oxide,” Kaito said. “Smart move, especially if Fullmetal-san doesn’t take very good care of his arm.” 

 

“Yes, exactly!” Winry said.

 

It would be a good idea to incorporate into his cardgun, actually; he wouldn’t have to worry about water as much, and it would help alleviate some of the extra weight and bulk, too. Not that his cardguns were historically made of steel, but it had durable qualities that were worth looking into.

 

He was beginning to think he’d have to cobble together a new one soon; he felt rather naked and defenseless without a cardgun, and he didn’t want to rely on Pandora to get him out of any more tight spots. He needed defenses he was comfortable and practiced with. Retrieving his old cardgun was a lost cause.

 

The issue was pieces. Maybe he could filch a few things from Winry’s case and put together a passable prototype. Otherwise, he’d have to actually leg it out a window in the middle of the night. He hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed his wound was healing well; he should be able to make an exit (and re-entry) through a window without issue, as long as he didn’t get caught before he even made it out. Well, there was also the fact he was in a completely unfamiliar city, and had scant few opportunities to get the lay of the land…. damn.

 

“I’m surprised you know that,” Winry went on. “Automail is traditionally made primarily of steel, both for the internal skeletal framework, and the outer casing. Since it has its roots in armor, there’s a huge emphasis on exterior strength, but now most automail pieces have been adapted for civilian use and the exterior is more commonly fitted to protect the mechanisms inside that work in tandem with the skeleton. I wouldn’t say excessive rusting is something most civilians worry about...”

 

Kaito nodded along, fascinated as she talked. It didn’t escape his notice that Ed wasn’t even pretending to listen, despite the fact the two of them were leaning over his arm. Winry paused in her lesson to squint at Ed’s arm, which was now missing multiple exterior panels, exposing the skeleton she’d described. A bundle of multicolored wires ran between the shoulder and elbow, reminding Kaito of something more organic. Winry tugged on a blue wire, then leaned over for a tiny pair of scissors that she used to snip it in the middle and quickly went about attaching a new, thinner wire in its place.

 

“As I said, this model has a larger percentage of chrome,” she refocused, “though it’s still mostly steel. There’s super recent advances with carbon fibre, fibreglass, and some alloys, like aluminum alloy… nothing is quite as durable as steel, though.” She sighed. “I haven’t got to try out anything with fibreglass or anything yet. Rockbell Automail is already known for certain things… and Ed’s too rough on his automail for me to even think about using him as a guinea pig.”

 

“I’ll be more careful,” Ed muttered.

 

“No, no,” Winry said. Her open face crumbled, closing off from the concentration and excitement she’d previously been showing. “This—this is my fault. I didn’t service your automail properly, and because of that, you got injured… badly injured…”

 

Her hands tightened into fists, braced on the table, shaking slightly. Kaito took a glance at Ed, who was pale and stricken, watching her. 

 

“What?” Ed said. “Fuck that, Winry, you work is perfect! It’s always perfect! This was my fault. You just said I’m rough on it, right? Well, that’s ‘cause I am . You could even say things turned out okay like this!”

 

“It’s true,” Kaito added. “Fullmetal-san was just being stubborn. He didn’t stop fighting until his arm broke, which is when they let us go, so it was really a blessing in disguise. If he’d kept going, things would’ve gotten a lot worse.”

 

“You dummy,” Winry said. She pulled off one of her gloves and wiped at her wet cheek with the heel of her hand. “Why are you always getting in these dangerous fights, huh? You don’t have to!”

 

Ed reached across his chest to grab Winry’s hand, but didn’t say anything. The moment stretched a little too long. Kaito really wasn’t here for whatever silent conversation they were having, so he piped back up.

 

“Tell me, Winry-san, how does automail have such fine motor control? I’ve never seen anything like it in Xing.”

 

Ed withdrew his hand so Winry could put her glove back on. “I already told you it’s hooked up to my nerves,” he said.

 

“To be more specific, it uses the electrical pulses from his nervous system that’d normally be directed to his muscles, from large to minute,” Winry said, pulling her glove back on and shaking her head. 

 

“Yeah,” Ed said. “Just, instead of muscles, they’re now powering all the little mechanical motors and pistons and… shit like that.” He twitched his fingers. “Normally it’s a little more impressive than that, but… yeah.”

 

“It’s amazing,” Kaito said, honest and enthusiastic. “The combination of engineering and medicine—I’ve never seen anything like it. And trust me, I’ve seen some wild things.” Like, immortality gems made out of human souls, red magic, android-clones, and six-year-old children with the intellect of an adult.

 

“Isn’t it?” Winry said, already brightening from her brief spell. 

 

He pulled over a chair and watched Winry work for a while. Ed went back to ignoring them; Kaito wagered it had to do with the number of questions Kaito was stopping Winry with every ten seconds. She didn’t seem to mind, as every question he asked received a detailed and enthusiastic answer. Eventually, they circled back around to the combination of steel and chrome that Winry had used on this model of Ed’s automail.

 

“I might try using a percentage of chrome on my next cardgun,” Kaito said. “It would be good protection against the elements.” He paused, and then directed his next comment to Al, who seemed most likely to report back on that. “Ah, don’t mention this to Hughes-san. They confiscated my old one.”

 

“I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about,” Al replied dryly.

 

Winry, however, looked like she really wanted to know what Kaito was talking about. She’d all but stopped working on Ed’s arm and was instead clutching the world’s tiniest screwdriver to her chest. “Oh, you’re an engineer, too? I should’ve realized!”

 

“I dabble,” Kaito flapped a hand. “I haven’t worked on anything new in a few months. It’s mostly been maintenance.” Hey, his focus had been elsewhere. “But this is the perfect chance to update my cardgun. I mean, as soon as I get some parts.”

 

“What are you looking for?” Winry asked.

 

“Let’s see,” he said, and conjured up a mental image of the blueprints for his original cardgun, which he’d memorized pretty much by accident after several prototypes had failed spectacularly. He’d had to rebuild it from scratch and fix a thousand card jams in the early days. Then he halted, lacking the Amestrian words for the intricate parts that gave the gun its power and enabled its multiple functions. “...I’ll need a dictionary. I’ll be right back.”

 

Winry tinkered on Ed’s arm while Kaito retrieved the Xingan-to-Amestrian dictionary from his bag and flipped through. When he returned a few minutes later with his vocabulary bolstered, Winry was beginning to reassemble Ed’s shoulder, asking him to try rotating his arm, which he did with a grin.

 

Kaito rattled off the name of several parts, and concluded the list with, “Plus I’ll need to put together a grip, so some kind of rubber would be ideal for that part. Also, a deck of playing cards. What are the playing cards like here, generally? I hope they’re not too different, composition-wise….” If they were, it’d make them a whole hell of a lot harder to modify. Normal cards didn’t just stick into walls like throwing knives. That took a little bit of Kaitou Kid-brand magic. 

 

Winry fixed Kaito with a stare, then broke out into a grin, the kind of grin Kaito was used to seeing on Aoko when she had an idea that she thought was brilliant, and Kaito didn’t.

 

“We should go shopping!” she said.

 

---

 

Somehow, the trip was arranged. While Kaito would’ve loved to credit his “good behavior” and “mostly-healed stab wound” (and “successfully annoying both Ed and Al”), he had to admit that the credit was Winry’s. It was thanks to her negotiating power (okay, and maybe a good word from Hughes) that his discharge paperwork was processed yet again, and he was allowed to walk out of Central Military Hospital. 

 

He wasn’t alone, of course; Winry was bounding ahead, already excited by the prospect of the automail shops that were on the agenda, and the two of them were further accompanied by reinforcements. Burly, tearful reinforcements by the name of Major Alex Armstrong, noted Central City pillar of a man and State Alchemist, who Winry chatted to with friendly familiarity.

 

“Thanks for driving us around, Major Armstrong,” she was saying as they crossed the hospital grounds’ vividly green grass and blue-uniformed officials. Kaito couldn’t help but remember walking the same path with Hughes only a few days ago, and the absolute shitstorm (Take Two) he’d encountered because of it.

 

Maybe this time would be better.

 

“Of course, Miss Rockbell,” Armstrong replied. “It is my pleasure to accompany two bright young minds such as yourselves around Central.”

 

Kaito hid a snort behind a gloved hand, and then pulled on an innocent look when Armstrong and Winry glanced at him. A pleasure, huh? That was a pretty way to say that Armstrong had drawn the short straw on ‘Attempt To Keep Kaitou In Check’ duty.

 

At the curb, Armstrong ushered them into a waiting car. It started up and sounded about the same as any other old car Kaito had encountered, even though no car he’d ever gotten an in-depth look at was a hundred years old. Maybe the oldest he’d seen had been from the ‘60s or ‘70s, but that was discounting the Caterham that he’d once driven out of a window with Aoko in tow. That had been a replica of the Lotus Seven, and a replica wasn’t the same as the genuine article, even if it’d been an impressive and fully functional one. Plus, it was still a handful of decades more modern than the car he was in now.

 

At least there were seatbelts.

 

Their first stop was at a bank, where Armstrong sent Winry in alone while the car idled outside.

 

Kaito leaned up between the two front seats, elbows propped up. “Were you worried I was gonna con a bank teller out of some money if you let me go in?” he asked. “Because I’ll tell you now, that’s not the kind of ship I run.”

 

“What kind of ship do you run?” Armstrong asked.

 

“A very polite ship,” Kaito said. “One that doesn’t play for keeps, unless we’re talking about Pandora, which I don’t think we were. All bets are off if we’re talking about Pandora. That’s when the ship becomes a pirate ship. It’s still a polite pirate ship, mind you. Much more pleasant than your run-of-the-mill pirate ship.”

 

Armstrong’s moustache twitched in what might have been a suppressed laugh. “We must watch our backs where Stone is concerned, then,” he said.

 

“It’s a polite pirate ship,” Kaito reminded him.

 

“But the fact that it is a pirate ship at all is quite worrying.”

 

“Pirates were actually really cool, you know,” Kaito protested. “Like, democratic, but in a way that wasn’t fucked up at all. They had to be, when there’s that much treasure and bloodlust involved! You could lose a hand! Or an eye! You’d riot if you didn’t get a vote!”

 

“So by extension, you are also a democracy without flaws? Or are you a pirate with one eye and one hand?” Armstrong asked, moustache twitching again as he smiled.

 

“Obviously both,” Kaito said.

 

“I see,” Armstrong said.

 

Winry knocked on the car window, and Kaito leaned over to open it for her. “That was quick,” he said.

 

As Winry slid in, she grinned and flashed something silver at him—a pocket watch with a dragon emblazoned on the front. “Expedited service,” she said. “Plus, now we’ve got basically an unlimited budget!”

 

“What’s the big deal with that?” Kaito reached out for the watch, but Winry pulled it away and quickly hid it from view. It reminded Kaito of Hakuba’s pocket watch, maybe just because it was a pocketwatch and Kaito was a little bit lonely and homesick. Or maybe Winry was about to start announcing the time down to the millisecond, and he’d remember exactly why he and Hakuba were always at each other’s throats like a pair of barely-trained dogs.

 

“It’s Ed’s State Alchemist watch,” she said, breaking Kaito out of what was sure to be an amusing mental image of Hakuba as a snarling chihuahua.

 

He sat back as Armstrong started the car. “And?”

 

“He gave it to me to withdraw payment for his tune-up, and for the rush fee, of course,” she said, now rummaging around in her purse. She produced a shopping list which she began running a fingertip down. “Oooh! Let’s get tungsten bolts! What kind do you want for your cardgun? What’s that supposed to do, anyway?”

 

“Just what it says on the tin: shoot cards,” Kaito said, easily switching tracks with her. “Reinforced playing cards, at any rate. For a basic model, I shouldn’t need anything more special than miniature tension rods and pistons. In the past, I’ve made versions that are multi-purpose, which takes a lot more parts.”

 

“Multi-purpose?” Winry asked. Her eyes slid sideways at him, a bit suspicious. “What, like shooting cards and shooting bullets?”

 

“No, that’s just a gun that you strapped a card deck to,” Kaito says, flapping a hand dismissively. “Boring. Also, dangerous. Think bigger! Think fun.”

 

She thumbed over her chin, moving from suspicion to mental blue-printing. Kaito could just about see the lines and calculations moving behind her eyes. “We’re not getting into wiring or circuitry here, are we?” 

 

Kaito shook his head. “Nope.”

 

Winry crossed her arms. “Well, that limits the possibilities a lot,” she said. “Give it a battery—even a small one—and you could create an electromagnetic field and disrupt small electronics, turning on and off pulses, things like that. Now there’s a multipurpose tool.”

 

“I like the way you think, Winry-san,” Kaito said, genuine. Disrupting electronics with his cardgun? Now that would have Nakamori red-faced and stomping within minutes, because technology like that on the move could short out a dozen radios in turn, not to mention lights, even cellphones if he got close enough….

 

But Winry wasn’t done. “Let’s see. Unless you’re adding an entirely new function, it should still be a projectile-based addition, to preserve agility, decrease weight, and prevent a loss of force,” she was saying, “though depending on your system, you might be able to lessen force without consequence. I haven’t seen your blueprints, so let’s assume that’s a bad call for now. There are similar principles in automail; combat models tend to have parts that swap out, and while swapping takes time, it also allows for a wider usage range. So, tackling this as something Ed might use as combat gear, you’d want it to be extremely versatile as well as light and suitably long-ranged.”

 

Kaito had to wonder if she’d heard his earlier praise at all. She was completely caught up in the flow of ideas now.

 

“The most elegant addition would probably be a pellet system,” she went on. “A second chamber adjacent to the card chamber that could be loaded with any type of projectile you want, allowing that its dimensions are similar enough to work with the propulsion tubes and fit through the track-switcher. Call it a paintball, for example. I bet you could alchemize a dozen of those out of dirt, so you could replenish on the go, or use something that sparks—ooh, there’s your electrical interference! Oh, you have to show me your blueprints!”

 

Her eyes snapped over to Kaito, who was now grinning like a cat. “You,” he said. “I like you. Can I take you back to Xing with me?”

 

Her cheeks went pink but she squinted into a half-hearted glare. “Not unless there’s an automail industry,” she said. “Which you said there wasn’t.”

 

“You could start one,” Kaito countered.

 

She seemed to file that away for later. “Why do you need a multipurpose cardgun, anyway? Aren’t you an alchemist?”

 

“Yeah, but it allows me to cause that much more chaos,” Kaito said. “Why else?”

 

Winry snorted. “Why did they let you meet Ed? This is gonna be terrible , the second they discharge him. I hope you two don’t try to spar any time soon. Or if you do, do it in a field. A huge, empty one. Maybe in Resembool...”

 

“Nah, I’m into nonviolence,” Kaito said. “Nonviolence is my middle name.”

 

“Yeah, nonviolence is definitely how you landed in the hospital right alongside Ed,” she said with a huff. “They told me you got stabbed.”

 

“Yeah, got stabbed! As in, like, passively. It was done to me. I didn’t want any part of that fight!”

 

Winry gave him another squinty look, eyes flickering over him a bit more thoroughly than before. “Hm,” she said. “If Ed damages his arm again, I’ll charge you for repairs.”

 

“Wait, why’s that my responsibility?” Kaito complained. “Is it because I don’t want to fight him? Plus, I don’t have any Amestrian money. And didn’t you imply that Fullmetal-san’s loaded?”

 

“You were the only other person around when his arm broke,” Winry said, pinning him with a Look, more than deserving of the capital L, before nonchalantly smoothing her shopping list against her thigh. “I’m grateful that you got him out before the situation got any worse.”

Kaito started to smile. “Aw, you’re welco—”

 

“But how do I know you two aren’t gonna run off without Al again?” she cut him off. “Nonviolence for a middle name or not, you’ve just admitted to being an agent of chaos. So if you do that, somebody’s gotta be the responsible one, and I know it won’t be Ed.”

 

Kaito’s smile dropped. “I think you’re trusting the wrong person with this job,” he said. “I’ve got big pranking plans, you know. Fullmetal-san’s gonna make the best faces. Just you wait, it’s gonna be fun!”

 

“It’s gonna be something alright,” Winry said, voice wry. “Remember the maintenance fees. They aren’t cheap.” Her eyes glinted. “If you can’t pay with money, I’ll find another way to make you pay.”

 

Kaito shuddered. He wasn’t sure what level of sinister he should take away from that threat, but it would be best to err on the side of A Lot.

 

“We’re here,” Armstrong announced.

 

Winry leapt out of the car with a squeal. Kaito scrambled to follow, but when he tried to dart ahead, Armstrong’s huge hand landed on his shoulder, and tightened when Kaito tried to wiggle away.

 

“Do not try anything funny, Mr. Democratic Pirate,” Armstrong said. 

 

“...wouldn’t dream of it,” Kaito replied, mind respooling the conversation he’d just been having with Winry, before he snapped back to the present moment: Armstrong and his huge, beefy hand poised to crush Kaito’s shoulder blade to dust, who knew he wanted to build a hand-held chaos device for ambiguous reasons. “Definitely not.”

 

Armstrong held his gaze for a long moment, and then he nodded and patted Kaito’s shoulder. After a slight squeak, Kaito made a break for it, dodged the second pat, and ducked through the doorway that Winry had vanished into.

 

Inside was an engineer’s heaven. Neatly filled shelves extended to the back of the space, stacked with shallow bins overflowing with bolts of all varieties: short, long, U-shaped, butterfly, anchor-bend. There were nuts of all sizes and compositions; there were copper and steel wires in tens of thicknesses. And not to mention the screws, nails, and gears. Oh god, the gears. There was an entire wall filled with gears! Screw gears, spur gears, helical gears, miter gears, bevel gears...

 

Winry poked him in the shoulder. “You’re drooling,” she laughed.

 

“No, I’m not, you’re drooling,” Kaito said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Damn it, he was drooling.

Winry didn’t try to deny the accusation, immediately slipping back to the starry-eyed grin that Kaito was quickly becoming familiar with. “This really beats ordering from a catalogue,” she said wistfully, picking up a miter gear and holding it up for close examination. “There’s only one shop that sells automail parts in Resembool, and honestly, we still have to special order some stuff. I think me and Granny keep them in business.”

 

Kaito ran through his mental cardgun blueprint and started breaking down how many of each piece he needed. They’d already migrated over to the gears, so he started collecting pieces alongside Winry. “Resembool?” he asked. “You mentioned it earlier, too.”

 

“Yeah, that’s where Ed, Al, and I grew up,” Winry said. She nodded in satisfaction with the pieces she’d chosen and slid them into a paper bag, which she labeled with the product number, before offering the pen to Kaito. “It’s in the countryside, out east.”

 

“Ah, Al mentioned that.” Kind of. They’d been a little preoccupied fighting Barry, but the tidbit had stuck with Kaito, because filing away information on the people around him was a hard habit to kick. “What’s it like?”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Winry said, running her fingers through another box. The metal pieces clicked against each other, a sound reminiscent of running water. “Resembool is really quiet and peaceful. Everything is green, for miles and miles. All the people are wonderful, too! It’s the kind of town where everyone knows everyone else. There’s ten times as many animals than people, though.”

 

“I grew up in a city that was nothing like that,” Kaito told her. He plucked up some tiny gears smaller than his pinky nail, which would be great for the catch-and-release mechanism inside his cardgun. “It’s kind of a subset of a larger city, tons of people, a couple schools, stuff like that. The only animals are housepets.”

 

“Do you have any pets?”

 

“I have birds.” Damn, he hoped Aoko was feeding them.

 

“What kind?”

 

“Doves. Eight, actually. Sunny-chan is the leader.”

 

“Is your city anything like Central?” Winry asked, then paused for a moment. She went on, bashful. “Sorry. I haven’t really been to many cities. Just East City. I don’t have much to compare it to.”

 

“Eh? But Ed and Al seem well-traveled,” Kaito said. He decided not to ask if there was a city named after every cardinal direction in Amestris, because it seemed likely. Hell, they were standing in Central City , named for being in the middle of the country.

 

Winry’s face pinched. “I guess they are,” she said. “They never come home.”

 

“They travel, what… for work?”

 

She shrugged a bit, the movement somewhat sad. “I guess so. They don’t really tell me. I know Colonel Mustang sends them on missions sometimes, but mostly around the eastern region.”

 

“Interesting,” Kaito said. “Well, to answer your question… Ekoda is like Central in some ways, but not like it in other ways.” He grabbed a tiny screwdriver hanging from a rack as they passed, adding it to the basket, and wondered how much he should give away.

 

“What’s the same?”

 

“You know, close-together buildings, cars, shops like this.” He gestured around, then hesitated, seeing an automail arm displayed on a well. “Minus stuff like that.” He pointed, and Winry giggled.

 

He’d been reluctant to tell Hughes anything about Japan when he first arrived a week ago, and the reasons still stood; they thought he was from Xing, and Kaito was sorely lacking information about Xing. His cover story was flimsy at best, and swiss cheese at worst. He’d already proclaimed himself to be from an obscure Xingan region, whatever that meant in the minds of Amestrians, but that could only go so far. 

 

But Kaito wanted to talk to Winry. He wanted to feel normal. Part of him said, what’s one more half-truth? It’s not like Winry would have a chance to pass along anything he said to Mustang or Hughes, right? 

 

The other part of him was rightfully paranoid. That Mustang guy knows Xingan, so you’d better watch yourself, it said. That part of him was also hyper-aware of Armstrong’s eyes on the back of his skull, from where he was trailing behind them around the shop.

 

So, instead of letting Winry’s curiosity about Xing deepen any further, he asked her a new question. “Why don’t you travel much, Winry-san?”

 

“Because of the shop, mostly,” she told him, stopping short to examine a set of wire cutters. “There’s always parts to build, package, ship, repair…”

 

“At Rockbell Automail?”

“Yep! We do custom-fit pieces, sell designs, make prototypes, stuff like that.” She grinned at him.

 

Kaito grinned back and lobbed her another question. “If you could go to any city in Amestris, where would you go?”

 

“Rush Valley,” Winry said automatically. “Talk about an automail engineer’s paradise!”

 

They circled further into the shop, Winry telling Kaito about all the wonders that could be credited to Rush Valley engineers, technicians, and customers. Kaito picked out two pieces of rubber for his cardgun’s grip, a few tools for cutting sheets of metal into the right shapes, and a miniature soldering gun kit for on-the-go repairs.

 

“It’s a hotbed of innovation,” she sighed, rounding out her description. “I’d love to go, I really would. There’s so much I could learn!”

 

“Why not, then?” Kaito asked. “I bet your Granny could hold down the fort for a while.”

 

“She probably could,” Winry said. She was becoming more enthusiastic and enthralled by the idea as the conversation went on, needing very little persuasion. “Hmm, hopefully she wouldn’t worry about me traveling alone. Usually, I’m traveling to meet up with Ed and Al somewhere, or I’m going with Granny…” She shook her head, and then looked down at the basket they were sharing, as if suddenly realizing how heavy it’d gotten with small brown bags, new tools, and sheets of metal. “Should we pay?”

 

Kaito hesitated. “Ah, I still don’t… actually have any money,” he said. She’d implied earlier that they were sharing in the spoils of the rush order fee, but then again, she hadn’t explicitly said so, and Kaito hadn’t done any of the work. Well, he could just pretend to put away his stuff and squirrel it away into his newly modified jacket. He’d just need to get out of Armstrong’s eyeline for a minute. “I’ll just put my things back.”

 

Winry waved him off. “It’s on Ed, so don’t worry about it,” she said. Then, she leaned in. “Plus, I wanna see you put together your cardgun!”

 

---

 

Notes:

could I have asked my friend with a major in electrical engineering for some help with the technical talk? yes.

did i? no.

ONE LAST LINK! I spent an absurd amount of time making a fake anime screenshot for this chapter. Kaito and Winry is one of my favorite teamups in this fic, so I kind of HAD to. On Tumblr / On Twitter

Chapter 12: The Party

Notes:

WELCOME TO 100K WORDS, HAHA, HOLY SHIT. oh my god this isn’t even halfway through yet what am i doing

For real, I couldn’t have gotten to the 100k point without every kudos, bookmark, and comment. Y'all inspire me so much, and I appreciate all of you!!!

I also wanna send out another thank you to my friend & beta, Icy. This fic has benefited tremendously from her help. I also may not have accurately conveyed how long it was going to be at the start X"D

---

 

Kaito was taken aback by how… normal the Hughes’ family apartment was. 

 

He hadn’t expected a mansion or anything, and it made sense that it wasn’t. Central was a city, a big city. Nobody smack-dab in the middle of Tokyo had mansions. But the comfortable, high-ceiling apartment was just… a little too… modern . Or maybe he didn’t have a good grasp of 1914 decor and furniture. Whatever it was, the place made Kaito feel like he’d opened a door and strolled right into the middle of the Uncanny Valley.

 

They’d arrived well before Elicia’s birthday party, after making a quick stop at the hospital to check in with Ed and Al. Winry had grabbed her giant automail repair case and returned Ed’s watch; Kaito had picked up his shoulder bag and tossed a few jabs at the brothers for missing out on cake; and then Armstrong dropped them off at the apartment, just in time for Hughes to rope them into decorating.

 

So Kaito watched the eerily modern apartment transform into a three-year-old’s birthday extravaganza. With so many streamers. Streamers galore . Kaito was under no social obligations to not to pocket a few of them. So he did. Multiple times. 

 

He was standing on a chair, tacking large, lazy arcs of pink and yellow to the ceiling when Winry approached him and lowered her voice. For a moment, Kaito feared he’d been caught stowing away prime prank material, but all she did was ask, “...did you know about all this?” with a gesture to the streamers, the long table covered with food, and the wall where Hughes was humming as he set up a table for presents.

 

“Yep!” Kaito said, hopping down. He was pleased to note that it only aggravated his stab wound a little bit. “I was promised cake for good behaviour!”

 

Winry snorted, but then rubbed at her ear. “Ed only said that Mr. Hughes was insisting I not pay for a hotel,” she said softly. “Honestly, I feel like I’m intruding…”

 

“Just do what I do,” Kaito said. “Pretend that everybody loves you, and then they will! Or be a nuisance until they chase you out. And snag some cake on the way out anyway.”

 

She fought away the traces of a smile, but Kaito could see she was still struggling to not laugh. “Does that really work?”

 

“Like a charm,” Kaito promised.

 

The doorbell rang and Hughes called a cheery, “I’ll get it!”

 

Kaito took the distraction to hide the rest of the streamers he’d been holding. Winry raised her eyebrows at him, mouth poised to say something. He clasped his hands together in front of her.

 

“Three!” he said. 

 

Winry closed her mouth and watched.

 

Kaito bounced his hands up and down with each count: “Two! One!” before opening them to present her with a pink origami rose folded from streamer tape, complete with a twisted yellow stem. “Ta-dah!”

 

“Aah!” a small voice from beside them cried out. A tiny girl in a fluffy dress had just run up to them and was pointing at the rose with round eyes. “It’s magic!” she exclaimed.

 

This could be none other than the birthday girl, so Kaito knelt down and offered the paper rose to her; he could make a new one for Winry, after all. “Yes, it’s a magic flower, just for you, Elicia-chan!”

 

She gaped at him. “You know my name,” she whispered.

 

“It’s because I’m a magician,” Kaito said. “I know everything!” With a pop, he opened his other hand, with a second origami rose already cradled in his palm. As Elicia clapped, he affixed one to each of her pigtails. “There! Now you look like a real birthday girl!”

 

Elicia giggled. “Thank you, Mr. Magician!” Then, she squealed as Hughes scooped her up.

 

“You little rascal!” He said, rubbing his scruffy chin against her cheek. “You ran inside without saying hello to your papa!”

 

“Nooo! I’m sorry!” Elicia squealed in delight, not looking sorry in the least.

 

Kaito couldn’t help grinning as he stood up, watching the two of them continue on. What could he say? He had a soft spot for kids and their slack-jaw delight over magic. 

 

He turned away and offered a new rose to Winry. “Sorry I gave your first one away,” he said. 

 

“It’s okay,” she said, plucking it from his hand and pushing its stem into her hair tie, before angling her head to show it off. “How do I look?”

 

“Good!” Kaito said.

 

“We match!” Elicia cheered, reaching over to Winry from Hughes’ arms, before squirming back towards Kaito and pointing to Hughes’ wife, who was approaching from the doorway. “Make one for mama, too!”

 

“Okay, ojou-sama,” Kaito said with a flourish and a bow. “Your wish is my command!” 

 

This time, instead of one rose at a time, he counted down and presented Elicia with three roses. “There! One for your mama, one for your papa, and,” he paused to stick one behind his ear, “one for me!”

 

Hughes and his wife took their roses with grins. Hughes tucked his rose behind his ear, and it immediately fell. Elicia caught it and secured its stem beneath the leg of his glasses, and then patted his face.

 

Kaito handed off Gracia’s with a bow and an introduction as well. “Thanks for having me,” he said.

 

“Thank you,” she said, putting the rose behind her own ear. “And it’s no problem. You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when Maes said there’d be a magician tonight.”

 

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Kaito said. Even if his tricks were short on the pink smokescreen—he really needed to re-up his smokebomb store—performing for little kids was a delight, and a cakewalk. Hopefully one that would end with real cake, too.

 

“Is there one for me as well?”

 

Kaito’s grin stiffened as he recognized the voice coming from the entryway: it was Roy Mustang, or as Ed had called him more than once during their joint hospital stint, Colonel Bastard. It was a name Kaito had to agree with. He could feel the thinly-veiled suspicion in Mustang’s gaze from a mile away, and it hadn’t let up once since their first conversation in the hospital hallway, either.

 

But his poker face had held up against suspicion before, so he just turned his gaze over to Mustang and held steady. “Of course,” he said.

 

He strode over and held out a pink rose to Mustang with a flick of his wrist, wishing he’d had the resources to hide a listening device in it. If Mustang was here, he and Hughes were bound to gossip about their theories on him or the Fifth Lab or the Stones at some point. And while Hughes might notice a listening device, maybe he could slip one by Mustang…

 

Damn. He was going to have to assemble everything he’d bought this afternoon the second his watch dogs gave him more than three seconds of breathing room. He wished he could build a miniature microphone from scratch, too, but… come on, he wasn’t magic.

 

Mustang took the rose from Kaito and tucked its twisted stem into his shirt pocket. Just for a moment, his dark eyes caught Kaito’s gaze, and even though part of Kaito wanted to skitter away, he stared back, then quirked a grin with an extra flash of teeth.

 

“Thank you,” Mustang said, eyes flickering down to Kaito’s hands. “You’re quite dextrous.” 

 

“Magicians have to be,” Kaito replied. 

 

“Quite true,” Mustang said. Kaito wanted to cringe at how sauve he was trying to be, but kept up his smile. Mustang went on, “I’ve noticed your gloves as well. Do they limit your mobility?”

 

“Nope,” Kaito said, not wanting to have this conversation.

 

“What are they made of?” Mustang asked.

 

“Silk,” Kaito said, really not wanting to have this conversation.

 

“Ah, an excellent choice,” Mustang said. “Is the discoloring on the palms an intentional choice?”

 

The asshole probably already knew it wasn’t. Kaito scowled. “Uh-huh,” he said.

 

The colonel leaned in. “If not, I recommend bleach,” he said. “I know where Maes keeps the heavy-duty stain remover, and I would be more than happy to help you with that after the party.”

 

Kaito just looked blankly at him. Was this guy suddenly trying to be his friend?

 

Mustang smiled, and yeah, nope, that was not a smile Kaito trusted. That was someone trying to get on his good side.

 

“No thanks,” Kaito said blankly. “They’re fine the way they are.”

 

“Very well,” Mustang said, leaning back to a normal standing position. His eyes slid sideways and his smile went softer, a little more natural. “Ah, hello, Miss Rockbell. Lovely to see you tonight.”

 

Kaito twitched. He hadn’t heard Winry approach, so focused on trying to untangle what lay below the surface with Mustang, but she was standing right beside him. “It’s great to be here!” she replied. “Even if I didn’t expect a party when I caught the train this morning!”

 

“Yes, Maes can be like that,” Mustang laughed. 

 

It might have been the first genuine emotion Kaito had seen from the guy, without the sheen of suspicion his face usually had. Whatever it was, it was a great distraction. He took the opportunity to slip away under the guise of hanging up the last of the streamers. It meant leaving Winry alone with Mustang, but...

 

She was smart. He could only hope she’d be careful with the things he’d told her while they were shopping. And if she wasn’t… well, he’d done damage control before, and in front of Tantei-kun, too. Hopefully he could manage with Mustang. Even if the stakes were much, much higher now.

 

The party filled up with parents and children. Elicia blew out the candles on her giant strawberry-topped cake and slices were distributed (much to Kaito’s delight). He inhaled his, liberated the party of a second one, and then ingratiated himself to a group of children with some magic: card tricks supplemented by appearing origami roses, cranes, and lanterns. The lanterns got to glow and float briefly with the lighter he’d filched after Elicia blew out the candles. 

 

Surrounding himself with children was not only the most fun option, but it also limited the time Hughes and Mustang could get with him. He wouldn’t have minded hanging out more with Winry and picking her brains on some fun engineering problems, but she seemed content to spend time with the people Kaito actively didn’t want to talk to. Case in point: she was currently sitting against a wall talking to Hughes, cuddling up with Elicia.

 

He’d just improvised a now-it’s-here, now-it’s-there trick with a party poppers; the set of little kids that had been rapt startled when it went off in Kaito’s face, and then ran off giggling, leaving Kaito to shake confetti out of his hair and reposition his rose.

 

For the first time since the party began, he was alone.

 

And he was going to steadfastly ignore the urge to start moping. Bad brain. 

 

When he looked up, he found Gracia smiling at him. She had a few empty cups stacked in one hand and the spent popper in the other.

 

“Was that intentional?” she asked, gesturing with the popper. There was a genuine smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

 

“A magician never reveals his secrets!” Kaito proclaimed, finally giving into his primal urge to shake himself like a wet dog. It didn’t eliminate all the confetti from his hair, but it was better than combing with his fingers.

 

“Let’s assume it was, then,” she laughed. “It looks like the party is winding down. Would you like to spend the night? We’ve already invited Winry.”

 

Kaito sent a sideways glance over to Hughes and Winry, who was no longer holding Elicia. “Not to be rude or anything, but I kinda assumed I had to. I’ve been bouncing around like a hot potato, but it seems like Hughes-san has freakin’ oven mitts or something.”

 

Gracia winced slightly, in a way that said yes, she knew that, but also that she was trying to be polite. “We’ve already made up the guest room for you,” she said. “It’s no problem.”

 

“Well, thank you, Gracia-san,” Kaito said. “I appreciate it. It’ll be way better than a hospital bed.”

 

She sighed. “True Amestrian hospitality,” she said. “I know you’ve been injured, but those hospital beds are not meant for long stays.”

 

“You can say that again,” Kaito said. “I’ve slept better in a classroom!”

 

She was looking at him with something soft in her eyes, the kind of look that made Kaito’s stomach go a little cold; there was something sad there. And sad was the last thing Kaito wanted people to look at him and feel, holy shit.

 

“You’re a long ways from home,” she said softly.

 

“What gave it away?” Kaito asked lightly.

 

“Even if it wasn’t your first choice, I want you to know you’re welcome in our home,” she said decisively. Something steely backed up the soft look in her eyes, a shift in the tilt of her eyebrows highlighting it. “I don’t care about whatever rumors are going around about you, Kaitou. You’re a minor, and you’re safe here.”

 

Kaito smiled awkwardly at her.

 

“Nobody with malicious intent is that kind to little kids,” she explained, nodding. “Nor that joyful.”

 

“You know what, Gracia-san, I think you might be my favorite adult in Amestris.” Well, Sarah was an adult, but she’d lost a few points for all of her ‘ you have to stay in bed so your wounds can heal’ rhetoric.

 

“I try,” she said, winking. “If you want some snacks, there’s still plenty in the kitchen.”

 

Gracia swanned off, and Kaito realized that the party was thinning out, as she’d said. Several toddlers were napping in their parents’ arms, and most of the food had been cleared. He wandered around and gave out a few more pieces of origami. He’d used up most of the streamers he’d pocketed earlier, so as guests trickled out, he collected more from around the living room, picking up empty plates and cups and discarded gift wrapping as well, before heading towards the kitchen. Gracia had mentioned snacks and it wasn’t Kaito’s job to reject them.

 

His steps slowed as he heard low voices emanating from the kitchen, beneath running water and clattering plates. It was Hughes and Mustang. Kaito halted just out of sight, beyond the open door, and did his best to look busy with the things in his arms. He could just barely make out words, sentences.

 

“...their teacher, down south in Dublith,” Hughes was saying. Kaito wished they’d turn off the water; it was a waste, and it was making it hard to pick up much of anything useful. “...transferred Kaitou… my supervision, but… knows something about the Lab…”

 

“...extended stay,” Mustang replied, voice low. Shit, he was harder to hear than Hughes was. “...still, with Scar.”

 

“Yes, and… research incidents…all...the country,” Hughes replied.

 

A murmur from Mustang, “...report on the…” A clatter.

 

“Don’t forget those… who they fought at the Lab… one bit.”

 

“Of course not. Shall I request…”

 

“...careful,” Hughes’ tone was low. “Don’t want the attention… best to ask Sheska.”

 

Utensils clattered against each other, or maybe the counter. The sink turned off, and for one blissful moment Kaito thought he’d be able to make out a clear sentence. But the men were silent. Then, the sink turned back on.

 

Shit. It was really too bad microphones didn’t get small enough for bugs in his world. Mustang was even still wearing his origami flower; Elicia might’ve rioted if he—or anybody else—had taken them off. Kaito wasn’t going to come across another opportunity so perfect any time soon.

 

Well, he could always make like Tantei-kun and craft his own opportunities for spy work. He’d seen those tracking stickers in action. Not exactly subtle, but effective. Very effective. Maybe he should try the gum-under-the-shoe thing...

 

“Kaitou?”

 

Kaito fumbled absolutely every single thing he was holding and scrambled not to let a single piece of dishware hit the floor. It turned out a bit like a mad jig that was also half-juggle, but hey, it was rude to throw plates on the ground at somebody else’s house. Especially dirty plates.

 

Winry had a pinched about-to-sneeze look that implied she was probably holding back a laugh. Kaito primly ignored it as he straightened up. “Yes?”

 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 

“Judging the aerodynamics of various tableware items,” he told her. He flicked a cup up in the air; it toppled end over end a few times before he caught it neatly and pinned his eyes back on her. “What are you doing?”

 

“Elicia and I are putting away her new toys,” Winry nodded to Elicia, who was already down the hall with an armful of goodies. Winry herself was holding onto a teddy bear that was probably bigger than Elicia herself, and a handful of small wind-up cars. “Everyone’s gone home.”

 

“Great,” Kaito said.

 

She hesitated for a moment. “You had that look on your face,” she said, and then paused.

 

“What look?” Kaito couldn’t help but ask.

 

“The one Ed and Al get when they’re gonna cause some trouble,” she snorted, turning away to follow Elicia down the hall.

 

Kaito wiggled his jaw around and worked his eyebrows up and down a bit. Poker face: reset. He’d have to keep an eye on Winry, though. Like Aoko, she seemed to have a sixth sense for teenagers causing… trouble.

 

With that, he waltzed into the kitchen, dumped the balled wrapping paper and unusable streamer bits into the trash, and then heaped the tableware onto the counter where Hughes and Mustang were. “Special delivery,” he quipped, then turned around. It probably wouldn’t be worth trying to eavesdrop again; their conversation seemed to have reached a natural end, and now they’d be more aware of those around them again, too.

 

“Hold on, Kaitou,” Hughes said, sticking out a wet hand. Kaito just barely avoided a watery handprint from landing on his forearm. “You’re coming to the office with me tomorrow. Be ready to leave at six thirty.”

 

“Six thirty?” Kaito squawked back immediately. “I don’t even get up that early for school!”

 

“Well, we’re going in early,” Hughes said. “If you’re not awake, I’ll get you up in increasingly fun and creative ways!”

 

“He’ll make good on that threat,” Mustang added, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “I speak from experience.”

 

“Ew,” Kaito pulled a face. “I’m not a morning person.”

 

“The military forces you to be a morning person,” Mustang said.

 

“Ew,” Kaito repeated, with more force this time, and beat his hasty retreat from the kitchen. Only psychopaths and heliotropic plants woke up that early.

 

---

 

Kaito would have to revise his earlier statement; it wasn’t just sleeping in hospitals that was a tall order, but sleeping period.

 

Somehow, the Hughes’ apartment was even more quiet than the hospital had been, especially after the high-energy party. A flock of three-year-olds can’t be beat on that front, as long as they’ve had their proper naps beforehand. Or would the proper terminology be a pack of three-year-olds? An ensemble? Conglomeration? No, might be a miscellany, or an assemblage...

 

Case in point: all there was to listen to here was his own sleep-deprived brain chasing its tail in circles.

 

Also, he was wearing a pair of Hughes’ pajamas pants and an old t-shirt. The pants were a little too wide, a bit too short, and much too warm for the summer. Wearing new clothing provided by the Hughes family was one thing; wearing their old ones was another story. It was a little too odd for complete comfort.

 

Winry was sharing a room with Elicia for the night, and Mustang had moved to the couch. Apparently the guest room had been his the previous night, and had volunteered for the couch tonight, but nobody had been subtle about the fact that he was actually guarding Kaito from the front door. Or perhaps guarding the front door from Kaito.

 

And, okay, Kaito had gotten some fitful sleep when he’d first hit the hay. He’d been running on fumes for a matter of days now, and some part of his body knew when to call it quits, but then his brain had decided it would rather not be reasonable.

 

Aside from being a stress-induced insomniac, night was Kaito’s time to shine. It was his stage, one he’d been growing into since long before his year as Kid; honestly, it started with those evenings spent at his dad’s shows, stretched longer with post-performance poker, advice dispensed in small doses, the air heavy with laughter and cigarette smoke… He could almost feel it stinging his eyes now, a phantom sensation.

 

No, wait, that was real. He ground his knuckles into his eyes, then scrubbed at his face vigorously before levering himself up. Moping. Moping was bad. Beyond bad. It was absolutely counter-productive. He had a cardgun to assemble.

 

He grabbed his bag and peeked out of the guest room, straining his ears; the living room was silent. A few steps closer, and he could hear shallow, steady breathing from Mustang. Asleep, though not deeply. He nudged open the door to Elicia’s room. The little girl was a snoring bundle, and on the cot on the floor was Winry, who stirred when he whispered her name. She sat up sleepily and blinked at him. Her hair was down, but so messy that parts of it seemed to be nearly standing on end, highlighted in moonlight. 

 

“Wanna build some cool shit with me?” Kaito whispered. 

 

That got Winry from half-asleep to fully-awake in about half a blink. “Yes,” she replied, also whispering.

 

Kaito slipped inside and shut the door, then plopped down and began unloading parts from his bag. Winry struggled first with shedding her blankets, and second, wrangling her long hair back into a ponytail. When it was out of her face, Kaito was already holding up screws and bolts to the moonlight to sort them. It was good the window in here was big, curtains pulled back to let in a cool night breeze.

 

“Do you need some light?” Winry whispered, already reaching for the parts Kaito had strewn about.

 

“Nah, I don’t wanna wake Elicia-chan,” Kaito whispered back.

 

They quietly organized their workspace on the floor, only whispering a few times to place things, and once for Kaito to ask Winry to open her automail case.

 

Cutting the outer casings to the right shape needed to wait until the exact dimensions of the interior were settled, since this cardgun would be a new iteration, but that worked well for Kaito anyway; cutting metal would be a bit noisy. So he set to fitting together the launching mechanisms as Winry watched.

 

“...don’t you have a blueprint?” she asked, with a bit of a squint from watching his fingers work deftly in the dim lighting.

 

“Yeah,” Kaito replied idly, tapping his temple. “In here.”

 

She raised an eyebrow sceptically. “That can’t be accurate enough,” she said.

 

“Eh,” Kaito shrugged and reached for the tiny screwdriver he’d picked out at the store. “I’ve built this thing about ten million times by now. I think I know it.” He stuck his tongue out; tiny screws were hard to work on in the dark. “I modify it every time, anyway.”

 

“I don’t know if you’re a genius or an idiot,” Winry said.

 

“Maybe both,” Kaito said.

 

“Both,” Winry agreed.

 

Kaito finished with the screw and picked up the tiny pistons. Winry, apparently over just sitting and watching, grabbed for a set of gears and a tiny latch. It was only once the propulsion system was done that Kaito took a good look at what she was doing.

 

“Wait,” he whispered, “are you actually building a secondary projectile system?”

 

“Yeah,” she replied. “I mean, it might not fit perfectly since I don’t know your blueprints, but I’m not just gonna sit here like a wallflower.”

 

“Nice,” Kaito said. “Also, don’t worry about the size. We can adjust the casing dimensions in the morning.”

 

Winry flicked a glance at him; Kaito caught her cool blue eyes for just a moment before she resumed her concentration. “Do you do that with alchemy?”

 

“What, make the casing? Nah,” he replied. “Ruins the fun.”

 

“Thank god,” Winry murmured. “Finally, somebody who respects a piece of engineering! Ed alchemizes his arm’s casing all the time. I think he does it just to spite me.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Kaito whispered back sadly. 

 

They worked quietly for a while, until Kaito was ready to create the card chamber, and the new adjacent pellet chamber. He wasn’t sure of the details of Winry’s off-the-cuff design, but he thought he could adapt his previous multi-projectile designs to work with whatever she made.

 

“Can I use your mini spot welder?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Winry replied. She plugged it in, unspooled the wire, and handed it to Kaito along with her thick work gloves, which were a little small on Kaito, but fit well enough to work with for the night.

 

“It’s been a while since I did this,” Kaito whispered conversationally as he sealed the first seam. “Jii-chan and his inventor friend’ve been making my gadgets for a while. More industry-grade.” 

 

It was exciting to roll into the Blue Parrot and get new pieces of tech; it was like his birthday, except not, because it happened almost every other week, and usually led to criminal activity. Without the help of Jii’s inventor friend, he wouldn’t have been able to crack the box Pandora had been stored in back at Midtown Tower. Kaito was good, but he wasn’t that good, especially not when it came to electricity. Circuits liked to zap Kaito. Remind him who was the boss when it came to currents.

 

But there was something satisfying about building his own things, to start with a hundred small pieces and end with something solid, powerful. The cardgun specifically was his baby. It pre-dated his life as Kid by quite a bit. 

 

“Jii-chan?” Winry repeated.

 

“Ah. Uh, I think it translates to like, ‘gramps’,” Kaito said.

 

“Is he your grandpa?” Winry asked.

 

“Not by blood, but… yeah, when it comes down to it. He’s my grandpa,” Kaito said. He’d never had much of a relationship with his real grandpas, and they were all long dead now, anyway; calling Jii-chan his grandpa twisted a happy, warm knot in his stomach and he smiled as he flipped over the card chamber to weld the other side.

 

“Do you miss him?”

 

Winry’s question quashed that warmth thoroughly. 

 

“...yeah,” he said, a sober mumble. Jii-chan was the last person he’d spoken to in Japan. “He might think I’m dead by now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Winry whispered.

 

Kaito shrugged stiffly and hunched down over his work. “I’ll just have to get home soon, so he doesn’t get too depressed.”

 

“I can’t imagine what that’d be like if it were me and Granny,” Winry said.

 

“I’m sure you’d both get by,” Kaito said. “I am. More or less. And Jii-chan kept on after my old man was killed, so.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Oh, right. He was losing track of how many times he’d told the story. “Ah. Some douchebags wanted the Philosopher’s Stone, and since my dad wouldn’t help, they killed him.” He resisted the urge to shrug stiffly again and instead forced his shoulders to relax.

 

“My parents were killed, too,” Winry said. Kaito became acutely aware of the fact that they were both conversing directly to their work, but found he was okay with that. “In Ishval. They were doctors. They went to the front lines of the war to help people.”

 

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Wanna form a club?”

 

Winry stifled a snort into her shoulder. “What, you, me, Ed and Al?”

 

“Yeah. Why not? We could be the Dead Parents Society.” Kaito flipped off the mini welder and pulled a deck of cards from his bag, flicking one out of the pack. It fit inside the chamber perfectly. Hell yeah. He flipped it over, turned the welder on again, and began to join the final side. 

 

Winry snorted a laugh again, not muffled as well as the first. “The Orphan Operation,” she said.

 

“The Outrageously Talented Orphan Team,” Kaito said.

 

“The OTOT?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“That sounds like you just touched a melting furnace,” Winry whispered with a giggle.

 

“We could totally embrace that look,” Kaito said.

 

“What do we do in our club, anyway? Ed and Al only care about alchemy,” Winry rolled her eyes.

 

“Easy,” Kaito said. “We fuck shit up.”

 

“So, kicking ass and taking names?” Winry said.

 

“Or kicking names and taking ass!” Kaito said.

 

“You can’t have it both ways,” Winry said.

 

“I hate rules like that,” Kaito said, “and I elect to ignore them.”

 

“What is it with boys and ignoring the laws of nature?” Winry complained with a huff, passing over the mechanism she’d crafted. “Here. I’m gonna make the trigger next.”

 

“Oooh,” Kaito said, sufficiently distracted by the beautiful work Winry handed him. “It’s so smooth!”

 

“Where are the trigger pieces?”

 

“Still in the bag,” Kaito replied. He deemed his card chamber sufficiently welded and leaned over to feel around. A few things slipped out and hit the floor as he searched, including his sad, cracked cell phone, which he slipped into his pocket before handing Winry the parts she’d wanted.

 

But her eyes were sharp, or at least well-adjusted to the moonlight. “What was that?”

 

“Nothing at all,” Kaito said.

 

Winry sniffed, not believing him, but refocused on the parts she had. They resumed their silent work. Winry snagged the mini welder at some point and Kaito grabbed it back to attach the pellet storage to the card chamber, and then to mount the launcher.

 

He couldn’t shake thoughts of Jii as he worked. The earpiece he’d had at the heist was long gone; Kaito didn’t know if it had even made the dimension-bending trip to Amestris. If it had, it had probably been dislodged and crushed in the crash-and-roll portion of that night, since there’d been no mention of it in relation to his confiscated belongings. 

 

The earpiece was a direct line to Jii, but it wouldn’t work here even if he had it. His cell didn’t work—from the fall? or from the wormhole trip?—and it didn’t seem like 1914 Amestrian telephones could make a call so long distance it jumped universes. He sighed. Shit, he’d love to hear Jii’s nervous voice, even if only to pull on his own false confidence a bit more securely to reassure Jii that Kaito had it all handled.

 

When he glanced up, he found Winry looking at him. “You okay?” she asked.

 

“I am not moping,” Kaito proclaimed, then made a snap-second decision to pull out his phone and show it to Winry. “It’s broken.”

 

She flipped it over a few times. The black screen flashed in the moonlight. “What does it do?”

 

“It’s a communication device,” Kaito said.

 

“Like a radio?” Winry asked. She dug her nails into a seam at the edge: no give.

 

“Maybe more like a walkie-talkie, but… compact.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Okay, it’s more like if you took a phone and made the whole thing one little box.”

 

That was the wrong thing to say. There was a glint in Winry’s eye. She reached for a screwdriver. Kaito snatched his phone back, watching her warily.

 

“Hey,” Winry whisper-complained. “I didn’t even get a good look!”

 

“You’re not opening it up,” Kaito replied. “What if you break it further?”

 

“I can put it back exactly the way I found it,” Winry insisted. “Please?”

 

“Nah, they make them as tamper-proof as possible,” Kaito replied, because no way in hell was he gonna let her see the inside bits of technology from a hundred years in the future. That would guarantee some fucky timelines, and Kaito didn’t want to find himself in a bad sci-fi time travel flick on top of… everything.

 

Winry huffed and let the issue go. “Hand me the wrench,” she said, and they resumed, listening to Elicia’s even, steady snoring.

 

---

 

Kaito woke up with a fuzzy mouth and a dead arm. He rolled onto his back, wiggling the fingers he couldn’t feel until they were all pins and needles.

 

The room wasn’t bright, but it was brighter. When he sat up, a gear fell from where it had been pressed into his cheek. He found a second one when he touched his face, and two perfect little gear indents.

 

Pieces were spread out on the floor all around him. Ah, he’d fallen asleep in Elicia’s room. Winry was asleep on the cot nearby, and Elicia was still on her bed, though she’d kicked her blanket on the floor at some point.

 

Kaito stood quietly and stretched his fingers to the ceiling, making his back pop. He rolled his shoulders, then touched his toes. The burst of excitement at the Lab was not enough to work out the bone-deep stiffness that came from a week of lethargic hospital stays. Kaito was surprised he hadn’t lost more body mass from his constant bed rest, but then again, the focus he’d had on his body thus far was more about whether or not it was in working order.

 

He gathered up the scattered parts and tools, packed Winry’s automail case, and tucked his new mostly-assembled card gun into the waistband of his pajamas. Then, he slipped back into the guest room and tried—and failed—to get another hour of sleep. When he gave up, he decided to put the finishing touches on his cardgun. 

 

Eventually, he heard someone moving around in the kitchen and wandered out. Disappointingly, it was Mustang, making some toast. He was bleary-eyed and his hair was messy.

 

“Hey, make me some too,” Kaito said, satisfied that he’d startled Mustang somewhat.

 

But Mustang didn’t give Kaito anything else to be smug about, just asked, “One piece or two?”

 

“Three,” Kaito answered. He pulled open the fridge and located a carton of juice.

 

“Sleep well?” Mustang asked, placing a glass on the table for Kaito.

 

“Eh,” Kaito replied. He almost wanted to drink straight from the carton, but thinking of Gracia made him reluctantly accept the cup. “Better than in the hospital, I guess.”

 

“Have you ever had an extended hospital stay before?” Mustang asked mildly, as though he wasn’t fishing for information on Kaito’s personal history again.

 

“Nah,” Kaito said. He’d had plenty of injuries and yeah, okay, with a lot of them maybe he should have gone to the hospital. But he hadn’t. To be quite honest, he’d had enough of hospitals when Aoko’s mom was sick to last him a lifetime. Now, he was probably good for two lifetimes. 

 

“I have more experience with field hospitals, myself,” Mustang said. “That’s all we had in Ishval.”

 

Kaito sipped his orange juice and didn’t reply. If Mustang had been in the Ishvalan Civil War, maybe he’d known something about the military’s crimes against humanity there. Hughes had told Al that they could trust Mustang, but that didn’t mean Kaito could.

 

“What did you do there?” he asked.

 

“Nothing good,” Mustang said darkly.

 

“There’s a range of things that could mean,” Kaito said.

 

Mustang sighed. “As a State Alchemist, I was sent to the front lines as a human weapon,” he said. “Let’s just say there are actions I will never be fully forgiven for, by others or myself. Any further detail will ruin your appetite.” He dropped a plate in front of Kaito.

 

Kaito slathered his three slices of toast in butter and jam and took a large bite. “‘Fanks,” he said with his mouth full, understanding that the conversation about war was unequivocally over.

 

Mustang inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

 

Kaito made a point to scarf down his toast so he wouldn’t have to sit across from Mustang long. He was polishing off the last piece when Hughes came in, far too cheery for the time of day, and exclaimed in delight over seeing Kaito awake. “I thought you weren’t a morning person!”

 

“Who said I just woke up?” Kaito asked.

 

“Be ready to go in half an hour!” Hughes brushed over Kaito’s comment, pulling on a pink apron and grabbing a spatula to point at Mustang. “You too, Roy. If I don’t make sure you get to your meeting on time, Riza will have my ass!”

 

“I live in fear even when I am multiple hours and many kilometers away from her,” Mustang said, standing. “Would you like help with breakfast for the girls?”

 

“Yes! We’re having pancakes! Get the flour and sugar, and if there aren’t any strawberries, find the chocolate chips.” Hughes directed, still swinging his spatula, then squinting at a cabinet. “I’ve got a secret stash at the top of one of these cupboards.”

 

“Yessir,” Mustang replied with a mock salute.

 

Kaito slipped out and claimed the bathroom. His first proper non-hospital shower in a week—it was heaven. He took as much time as he could luxuriating in the hot water and letting the conditioner sit in his hair (not that he thought that would tame it, but it did make it criminally soft, and that alone brightened his mood significantly). 

 

When he padded back to the guest room, he realized he’d left his bag in Elicia’s room. It sounded like everyone had woken up and was in the kitchen, so he pushed open the door without knocking, and made a beeline for where his bag was laying by Winry’s cot, and took it back to the guest room, which he was not allowed to think of as his room, because that would be a little bit too permanent, no matter how kind Gracia’s offer had been.

 

Dark pants, blue shirt, gray coat, gloves: it was an outfit that was increasingly becoming his signature here. He missed his trusty white, but he found he missed the casual comfort and familiarity of his school uniform just as much. He moved his new card gun from his waistband to the inside of his jacket.

 

There, that was better.

 

Wait. Something was still missing.

 

He patted all (twelve) of his pockets, then searched through his bag. Pandora was accounted for, having never left the hidden pocket of his shirt, thank fuck, but, something else… He dumped everything on the bed and combed through it twice. He even peeled off his socks to make sure they weren’t concealing anything.

 

Okay, okay. No big deal. It was probably still in Elicia’s room. Right?

 

No, it wasn’t.

 

He peeked into the kitchen; everyone was eating pancakes. Winry was closest to the door, pouring syrup on hers. Kaito snagged her arm, removed the syrup bottle, and dragged her into the hallway before she could do more than exclaim, “What?”

 

He didn’t release her arm, even as she tried to twist away. “Where’s my cell phone?” he asked, low, aware of the fact everyone in the kitchen had hushed.

 

She looked at him warily. “Cell phone?”

 

“The thing I let you look at last night,” he said. “Where is it?”

 

She grimaced and shoved a hand into the pocket of her sleep shorts. “I have it.”

 

Kaito snatched it away from her, flipped it over. It… looked the same as before. “Did you do anything to it?” he asked. That was a stupid question. “What did you do?”

 

“I opened it up,” Winry said, at least sounding embarrassed. “I was so curious—everything inside is so small. The electricity that—”

 

Kaito groaned, putting his head back and then scrubbing a hand through his damp hair. “You nosey idiot, you’re gonna screw up the timelines! God is gonna paradox our asses back into the twenty-first century or something,” he muttered in Japanese. “Should just let Her do that, actually, it’d be better than this—”  He pressed the power button experimentally, and the screen lit up. “Woah, fuck! Oh, shit!”

 

Winry crossed her arms. “I got it working,” she said.

 

“You got it working?” Kaito yelped. His lock screen shone up at him, even with the crack distorting the surface: a picture of himself and Aoko pulling stupid faces. He yanked off a glove and frantically keyed in his passcode. “How the fuck did you get it working? Wait, no, I don’t want to know.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t log in or anything,” she said. “But I managed to recharge the battery enough to get it to turn on. The screen responds to touch, right? Possibly to heat? I’ve never seen anything—”

 

“Shhh,” Kaito hissed, squinting at his phone. Then, his eyes went round as he watched the service indicator turn from No Service to having one very, very weak bar. Immediately, his phone began buzzing like crazy. “Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

 

He knew he was being loud but couldn’t find it within himself to care, even as footsteps approached from the kitchen. Messages from Aoko, Hakuba, Jii-chan, his mom, and even Nakamori were flooding his phone, too fast to get more than sentence fragments.

 

ahoko: Where are you? Did you get my voicemails? text—

 

hakuba: This is no time for games, Kuroba-kun. I wish to ascertain—

 

ahoko: i’m getting really worried, BAKAITO!!!

 

kaa-san: Kaito, I’ve gotten several calls from Ginzo now, and—

kaa-san: They’re filing a missing persons report for you. I’m worried—

 

jii-chan: Botchama, I will leave the back door of the Blue Parrot—

jii-chan: Please contact me promptly.

 

ahoko: CALL ME BACK!!

 

He turned his back on Winry and strode into the living room, dialing Aoko as messages continued to pour in. There was a long stretch of fuzzy silence, then a click, the faint sound of a dial tone. Kaito bit his fingernails and paced, listening to the messy feedback from the line until there was a beep, followed by a distorted approximation of Aoko’s voice.

 

“You’ve reached Nakamori Aoko. I’m busy, so leave a message, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can! Bye-bye!”

 

“Aoko, thank fuck,” Kaito breathed, speaking fast. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry I vanished, but I’m alive, everything’s okay, I had to— my, my mom had an emergency, I’m in America, don’t freak out, okay? Everything’s fine. I’ll be home soon—”

 

His phone crackled loudly and whined, a high-pitched screech. Kaito winced and pulled it away from his ear in time to see his phone go dark, and then just stared at it.

 

“...it didn’t do that before,” Winry said cautiously. She’d appeared beside him and was reaching for his phone. Kaito pulled it away, resisting the urge to clutch it to his chest.

 

“Everything okay?” Hughes asked. 

 

Kaito pasted on a smile for Hughes and turned around. “Everything is great,” he said, despite knowing nobody would believe that. “Winry-san, a moment? In private?”

 

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the adults arrayed behind her. Kaito grabbed her arm again, shouldered past Hughes and Mustang, and slammed the guest room door behind them.

 

His heartbeat was in the back of his mouth. He didn’t know why his phone had connected, but if he could reverse-engineer what Winry had done, he could use whatever principles had carried cell services between worlds to carry himself back, and maybe he could do it without Pandora—

 

“Kaitou?” Winry said, snapping him out of the daze of spiraling thoughts.

 

“What did you do to it?” he asked, holding out his phone. “It shouldn’t work here. There aren’t any cell towers, let alone wi-fi, or… or anything. It just shouldn’t be possible here.”

 

Winry tugged on the end of her ponytail. “Are you sure you didn’t do anything?” she asked. “When I turned it on last night it only lit up and I couldn’t get by the passcode screen. It seemed like it was responding to you just now.”

 

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” Kaito said. “Cross my heart. What. Did. You. Do.”

 

“I only reconnected a few things on the inside,” Winry said slowly. “There was a part that had come out of place and I soldered it back in, and wired the battery up to charge. It might be too damaged to hold a full charge, though. And...that’s all.” She paused. “Was all the buzzing what it’s supposed to do?”

 

“Yes, but not like that,” Kaito said, squinting at her. Maybe she didn’t know how she’d gotten the connection, but she’d gotten it running in the first place, and that was a start. “Hey. Think you can charge it up again?”

 

“I can do one better,” she said, grinning and confident again. “I can show you how I did it.”

 

---

 

Notes:

multiple people enjoyed the jokes about polite pirates last chapter, which made me remember the portion about pirates was directly inspired by these two CGP Grey videos.

finally, please look at this beautiful FMAB style Kaito by blakquills. I'm in LOOOVEEEE

Chapter 13: The Array

---

 

“Hughes-san, your job is boring.”

 

Kaitou had spent the first few hours cooped up in the Intelligence offices fiddling around with his little metal device, the one that had caused a commotion during breakfast, and that he’d subsequently refused to educate anybody about. Ten minutes ago, he’d given up on that and taken up loud proclamations that Maes’ job didn’t meet his standards instead.

 

Maes had to admit that, to Kaitou, it probably did seem as dull as a doorknob. Nobody loved paperwork. Nobody loved watching other people do paper work, especially not genius teenage alchemists, that was for sure.

 

“You don’t have to participate,” Maes told him mildly. “Would you like a book?”

 

Kaitou sighed dramatically and sunk lower in the chair that he was occupying, which Maes was ready to take as a no, but Kaitou extracted his Xingan-to-Amestrian dictionary and began paging through it and began murmuring curse words. It seemed like he was practicing his pronunciation in both languages, which forced Maes to cover a laugh before he could refocus on his work.

 

On Friday, Maes had asked Sheska to prioritize criminal records and incident reports that had ended in imprisonment at the Central City Military Detention Center. By Monday, she’d transcribed quite a stack, but now he was coming to the end of it, having found precious little information that he thought was relevant. Even the case files of Barry the Chopper and the Slicer brothers were despairingly… cut-and-dry.

 

Thinking of those two, Maes couldn’t help but sigh. He’d spoken to Barry personally, after he’d been taken in to military custody, but not long after, he’d vanished. Maes was inclined to think he was dead, possibly killed much the way the Slicer duo had been. If only there were evidence; but, no. These were the kind of people who razed buildings when they thought it necessary. Disposing of some once-sentient metal wouldn’t be a tall task.

 

He shook his head, like clearing cobwebs. “Sheska?” he called.

 

On the other side of the room, her head popped up and she adjusted her round glasses. “Yes?”

 

“Let’s expand our radius,” he said. “See if you can recall any other locations that fit the same criteria as the Fifth Lab, or maybe…” He chewed on it for a moment. “Large groups of people disappearing?”

 

Sheska bobbed a hesitant nod. “Does it count if the people died?” she asked. “That would probably double the number of documents. Or triple.”

 

Maes rubbed his jaw, thinking about the way Philosopher’s Stones were made, the possible involvement of Ishval.... “It does,” he decided. “You’re right there’ll be a lot of those. Can you start compiling a list?”

 

“I’ll have one by this afternoon,” Sheska said.

 

“Thanks,” Maes said, refocusing on his papers just in time to hear Kaitou groan and drop his dictionary. “Kaitou, my offer of a new book still stands.” He could probably dig up something appropriate for an easily bored, fidgety teenager.

 

“I don’t want to read,” Kaitou complained, then he perked up. “Hey, can Winry-san come over?”

 

Maes quirked a grin. If Kaitou was interested in Winry, Ed might have to wise up soon. “You’re welcome to invite her, but she’s spending the day with Ed and Al.”

 

Kaitou melted sideways. “Boring,” he muttered. “Fullmetal-san is still in the hospital.”

 

“I imagine that’s why she wants to see him,” Maes said, pushing the phone on his desk closer to the edge. “Why don’t you give them a call?”

 

Kaitou slunk out of his chair and picked up the receiver, dialing the hospital with a few short strokes, conjuring the number from hell knew where. When someone on the other line picked up, Kaitou spoke with Maes’ voice.

 

“This is Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes,” he said in a near-perfect Amestrian accent that he didn’t normally have; it was like someone had taken an eraser to the most prominent Xingan tilts of his words. “Please connect me with the Fullmetal Alchemist in room 204.”

 

He caught Maes watching and grinned. Maes raised an eyebrow. 

 

He’d heard about this trick from Al, but it was strange to see. Also, maybe it was bad that the hospital staff had become so accustomed to Maes at this point; Kaitou wasn’t the only person around who could impersonate another, though it was probable he was one of the few who could do it so easily. He made a mental note that he might need to have a keyword with Ed and Al. It could thwart whatever other impersonations Kaitou cooked up, or prevent something worse on the more sinister end. There was a large government conspiracy underway as far as Maes could tell, and an abundance of caution never hurt anyone.

 

“You know, that voice changing trick is creepy,” Maes said. 

 

“Thank you,” Kaitou said cheerfully, his voice normal. Maes heard Ed faintly through the phone, and Kaitou refocused. “Ah, Fullmetal-san? Nah, it’s just me. Put Winry-san on!... Because I want to talk to her, that’s why. I’m bored, and she’s smart. Yeah, well, you can’t give me engineering tips, can you?... Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

 

Maes thought he heard Ed grumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘gear-head number two’ , but it was hard to be sure.

 

Kaitou took the phone to the middle of the room, which was as far as the cord reached. He seemed content to plop down on the floor, and soon he’d procured a pen and paper and was chattering away with Winry about electrical charges and batteries.

 

Maes signed off on another report; and then, since information about the Fifth Lab wouldn’t be ready for a bit, he dove back into Scar’s file.

 

Over the last week, Kaitou had been the nucleus of an intense distraction from the Scar case. It helped that there hadn’t been a peep from Scar since the Marl River explosion, but ultimately, the silence stressed Maes out; not knowing where Scar was and what he was up to and who he might be targeting next, that is. Not having the information he needed was one of the worst parts of working in Intelligence, but then again, not knowing was part of life, too. 

 

He looked up some time later when Kaitou plopped the phone back on his desk. There was a glint in his eyes that Maes sometimes saw in the mirror when he had a scheme afoot.

 

“Having fun now?” Maes asked.

 

“Definitely,” Kaitou said. “Can I go to the store? I need a few new pieces.”

 

“Nope,” Maes replied cheerfully. “But if you write out a list, I can ask someone to make a trip.”

 

Kaitou pouted but handed Maes a pre-written list. Maes scanned it; Kaitou was asking for a new deck of playing cards, an assortment of electrical components and metal pieces, a couple hand-held tools, powdered chemicals, and…

 

“I’m not allowing you to make a bomb in my office, Kaitou,” Maes said, projecting as much Disapproving Dad energy into his tone as he physically could.

 

“What?” Kaitou squawked. “I’m not making bombs!” When Maes raised his eyebrow, Kaitou pouted. “They only… flash a little. I swear. They’ll be like this big.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate.

 

“I’ll certainly be impressed if you can make a flash bomb that small,” Maes said.

 

Maes scribbled over some of the item quantities on the list to make everything a little less lethal. The boy was an alchemist, he could figure it out if he set his mind to it. 

 

“Don’t doubt me, I have plenty of practice,” Kaitou said mulishly.

 

Maes waved over a member of his team and passed off the list with instructions to keep the purpose behind the trip on the down low. Kaitou tried to slink back to his spot in the middle of the office, but Maes called him back.

 

“How about a little competition before lunch?” he offered, setting aside his pen and propping up his chin. On the other side of the room, Sheska eyed the both of them warily, perhaps anticipating a new stack of work from Maes so that he, himself, could goof off with Kaitou. Oh, ye of little faith! Maes was going to goof off with Kaitou first.  

 

“What kind of competition?” Kaitou asked, taking the bait like a particularly gullible fish.

 

Kaitou was a magician with quick fingers, but there was one thing Maes would have an upper hand in. Maybe he’d regret this, but there was something he wanted to gauge. “How’s knife throwing?”

 

“You’re on,” Kaitou grinned.

 

Sheska sighed very, very softly.

 

They pushed aside a few desks and Maes cleared a spot on the wall, before pulling out the knife strapped to the small of his back and nicking a small X into the wall. He spun around to lay out the rules.

 

“We’ll each get three tosses,” he said. “Whoever has the smaller average distance from the X picks lunch. Sheska, grab a measuring tape!”

 

He let Kaitou go first, handing off his blade. Kaitou tested the weight, seized up the distance to the target, and then in one fluid movement, sent the knife flying. It stuck into the wall an inch left of the target; the next two were even better.

 

The kid’s aim could rival Hawkeye’s or his own, with a little more practice. That was slightly terrifying, but also good, if he wanted to make microscopic bombs. At least they’d go where the kid intended. Plus, it might be fun to pit Kaitou and Hakweye against each other, if the opportunity ever arose; she liked Ed and Al, so maybe she’d take an interest in Kaitou—the rest of them had, anyway.

 

Despite Kaitou’s evident skill, Maes had the upper hand when it came to knives; he’d thrown hatchets at trees and barn walls as a kid before graduating to throwing knives, and had honed the skill throughout bootcamp, then Ishval. Now, it was his main line of defense in Intelligence, where carrying a gun would be too large a tip-off that he was dangerous. All three of his throws hit dead-center. Kaitou whistled.

 

“I’d hate to have you chasing me,” Kaitou said. “Good thing the keibu can’t throw like that.”

 

Maes pocketed his knife and hid the marks in the wall under a photo frame. “One of those words was in Xingan, you know.”

 

“Oh, habit,” Kaitou brushed it off but didn’t translate. “So, Hughes-san, you’ve won the lunch pick. Not that I’ve got any cash, but…”

 

“Just means I get to save a little, since we’re going to the mess hall!” Maes replied cheerfully, and waved to Sheska. “If the shopping gets back before we do, put it behind my desk. And don’t forget about those reports I asked for!”

 

“Yes, sir,” Sheska replied meekly.

 

Maes gave her a small salute before pulling Kaitou into the hall. “Now, if anybody asks, you’re a family friend,” Maes said softly, slinging an arm around Kaitou’s shoulders so that he could speak low. “Try to keep up that Amestrian accent.”

 

“Does this sound any better, Mr. Hughes?” Kaitou asked.

 

“Harder R on the ‘mister’, and you should be fine,” Maes said.

 

“Sorry,” Kaitou said, the sound more accurate, and Maes nodded in satisfaction. Neither Roy nor his aunt had ever had Xingan accents, and while Kaitou’s had softened the longer he’d been in Amestris, his R and L sounds often blended together. Plus, he’d never dropped the Xingan form of address, not until now.

 

“Why’ve you kept up with the Xingan suffixes?” he asked. “Nobody around here will really get their significance.”

 

“I’m a gentleman, it’s just polite,” Kaitou replied. “And it’s a hard thing to shake when you’ve grown up with it. We also use a family-name first format, but I know other languages that do it your way, so I’ve adapted to that one. Anyway, why the cover? Don’t people know who I am here?”

 

“Some do,” Maes allowed, “but as for the rest, I’d rather not advertise you more than necessary. Ah, here we are! Ready for some military-issue grub?”

 

“Oh, definitely,” Kaitou said, pulling away from Maes and wandering towards the line. Maes walked with him, noting how Kaitou had changed his body language in an instant: his hands slipped into his pockets, his shoulders lost their broad confidence, and his head tilted slightly. He’d become the picture of a reluctant but curious teen, maybe someone who was interested in a military job but not yet willing to show that much enthusiasm about it.

 

They piled some food on their trays, and Maes paid for Kaitou’s food as a guest meal. They chose a spot at the end of a half-empty table, and Maes struck up some small talk that Kaitou improvised his way through admirably, about how he liked Central so far and how the weather was back East. It was a good thing, too, as a few officers whom Maes was friendly with invited themselves to join their table halfway through the meal.

 

“Hughes!” One of them slapped him on the back—Lt. Colonel Cara Grant, from Security, Maes recognized. The other officers were from her team, and they’d worked with Maes’ people a few times recently. “Who’s your guest?”

 

“Friend of the family,” Maes replied, ready to go on, but Kaitou spoke up easily.

 

“Marcus Filler,” Kaitou said. Maes almost snorted; it was like he was intentionally showing off how well he could do his mock-Amestrian accent. “Mrs. Hughes used to babysit me, and Mr. Hughes offered to show me around in Intelligence today.”

 

“Interested in the military, are you?” Grant asked, dropping into the seat beside Maes. Kaitou nodded. “Well, don’t waste your time in Intelligence, kiddo. You’ll never get to see any action! Hey, you might like Security. Are you interested in radio surveillance?”

 

“Actually, I like research,” Kaitou said, nothing but earnestness showing through in his blue eyes. “But what’s radio surveillance like?”

 

Grant talked for a while about how her team did signal interception and wiretapping, and Kaitou slowly dialed back how much interest he was showing, a great impression of a teen overwhelmed by jargon if Maes had ever seen one. Eventually, Grant and her team fell into a different topic, and Maes excused Kaitou and himself.  

 

After lunch, Kaitou snapped up the shopping bags and was content to fiddle with his new toys and notes for the rest of the afternoon. Every time Maes got close enough to check up on what Kaitou was making, things were swiftly hidden god-knows-where; but watching subtly from his desk, he saw that Kaitou was creating small capsules.

 

They seemed to be designed to break apart with a certain amount of force, if Maes could judge from the fact that Kaitou would periodically pause all else and start dropping little things from various heights over his desk. Eventually, he started filling them with various ratios of powder. The aforementioned flash bombs, huh? Maes wanted to see one in action.

 

Maes was grateful he wasn’t drawing up arrays and experimenting with those. At least Kaitou’s flash bombs didn’t involve gunpowder—Maes would’ve smelled that a mile away, and definitely would’ve crossed it off Kaitou’s shopping list—so surely it was less dangerous than unrefined alchemy.

 

For his part, Maes read Sheska’s new documents as she completed them. Her work never failed to amaze him; the reports she wrote up even emulated the original handwriting and signatures. Honestly, he planned to keep her on his team for as long as humanly possible.

 

He was so deeply absorbed in them that he didn’t look up until Roy called his name. When he finally lifted his head, Roy had his arms crossed and an amused half-smile on his face.

 

“Didn’t hear me knock?” Roy asked.

 

“Nope,” Maes said.

 

“You’ve got a focus for paperwork that I’ll never understand,” Roy sighed. “Anyway, I’ve come to pick up Kaitou.”

 

They both glanced to the desk the boy was working at. He also hadn’t noticed Roy’s entry, and was glued to his work. He’d moved on from capsules to electronics now. Maes checked his watch.

 

“Ah, shit, I’m gonna be late for my meeting in Research,” Maes muttered. He gathered his reports into a file, shoved them in a drawer, and then moved over to shake Kaitou by the shoulder, which Kaitou only reacted to with a mutter in Xingan.

 

“Kaitou, I’ve got a meeting, so Colonel Mustang’s going to be watching you,” he said. Kaitou ignored him. Maes shook his shoulder again. “Kaitou?”

 

Kaitou finally blinked, shook his head, and looked up. “What?”

 

“I’ve got a meeting, so you’re going to stick around with Colonel Mustang,” Maes repeated. “We’ll meet before dinner to go back to the apartment.”

 

Kaitou narrowed his eyes and then glanced at Roy. Maes knew he wasn’t Roy’s biggest fan, but maybe they could bond over Roy’s Xingan heritage or something.

 

“Fine,” Kaitou said eventually to Maes, then to Roy, said, “I’m going to need like twenty minutes to finish this up.”

 

“Take your time,” Roy said, settling into Maes’ chair. “I’ll take a catnap.”

 

Maes headed to the door, but he didn’t believe Roy would be napping for an instant. “Sheska, don’t let them burn down the office!”

 

---

 

The Amestrian military Research department was a thick-trunked, ancient tree; its roots stretched back to the country’s founding, and now, it had nearly too many branches to count. Maes’ years in Intelligence gave plenty of experience with the biggest ones, but also uniquely positioned him to know just how unknowable much of Research was.

 

Partially, its size and variability was due to the fact that most military-employed alchemists worked in Research, if they weren’t active state alchemists like Roy and Armstrong. Maes could easily imagine Ed in the Research scene, had he not gotten his license under such unusual circumstances. Then again, who could make Ed sit still in a lab? Perish the thought…!

 

But, the number of state alchemists over the years and their highly distinct specialities meant that Research contained literally hundreds of units, whose sizes changed as often as research-based state alchemists could file the paperwork and allocate the funding to shuffle people around. It really was a nightmare of a system that gave Maes a headache every time he thought about it, and it constantly made him glad that none of his friends dedicated their time to creating-transmuting-destroying miniature, highly specialized department teams.

 

Maes was not complaining about the structure (or lack thereof) today, as it meant that he knew exactly who he was meeting with: waiting for him was in a small lab room was Edgar Schmidt, the Sculpting Alchemist, and two scientists he’d procured for the bulletproof vest project. They introduced themselves as Audia Vance—a chemist—and Hallie Ibbs, a defense engineer. Vance was intimidatingly tall, taller than Maes himself, while Ibbs reminded him slightly of Sheska, with her large glasses and wide eyes.

 

After introductions were made and hands were shaken, the Sculpting Alchemist pulled Kaitou’s bulletproof vest from a locked cabinet and laid it on a lab table. The four of them crowded around.

 

“We’re lucky they didn’t cut it off of Kaitou when he was brought into the hospital,” Maes commented.

 

“Don’t think they coulda,” Sculpting said, giving the vest a yank in opposite directions; the fabric was undoubtedly tough. He handed it off to Maes. “Check it out.”

 

The vest was dark grayish-green and heavy. It had straps that went over the shoulders and sides, made of the same fabric as the rest, secured by thick metal locks. Both sides had sets of wide pockets, and the front was marred by three deep scorch marks. There was little give under Maes’ fingers. 

 

Ibbs briefly explained the vest’s pockets by procuring several metal plates and sliding them in. “They add protection to vital areas, such as the heart and lungs,” she said. “Sculpting had to make new ones, ‘cause, well… the state it was in when we got it—it had clearly done its job.” She showed Maes several deformed metal plates. Bullets had clearly been extracted from them. 

“Holy shit,” Maes whistled. “It’s one thing to know it, but it’s another thing to see it.”

 

“The bullets are another story entirely,” Ibbs added. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person scratching her head over those things.”

 

“A bullet’s a bullet,” Sculpting said. “But, the fabric isn't like anything we’ve seen before.” He crossed his arms and he leaned his hip on the table. He was a slight man with a thin brown beard, and if his delicate name didn’t give it away, his utterly civilian demeanour did; he’d never had battle training and never seen a field. Despite being old enough, Maes knew that Sculpting had never been sent to the front lines of Ishval. His interest in technology like Kaitou’s vest felt somewhat ironic.

 

“How so?” Maes asked.

 

“It’s like a strong fiber, but it isn’t cotton, wool, or anything else organic,” Vance jumped in. Her eyes were gleaming; clearly, she was in her element. “It’s probably synthetic. I’ve been trying to recreate it. No success yet, but this vest proves it can be done. Once we understand the components, we could mass produce it with Sculpting’s help.”

 

Maes lifted the vest, imagined wearing it; it wouldn’t be any worse than the kind of gear they’d carried in Ishval. Lighter, in fact, by a long shot. “It’s surprising technology like this is so… portable,” he said. 

 

“How compact it is doesn’t impede on the soundness of theory,” Ibbs said. “A bullet works by concentrating a large amount of energy into a small area, yeah? Whatever this material is, it disperses the energy from the bullet’s momentum across a wider area, which, in turn, reduces fatality.” Her fingers brushed across the chest of the vest. “Especially because the bullet will deform upon impact; it can’t force its way through the barrier anymore. It never even meets flesh!”

 

“So, it’s absorbent in the way a brick wall or a human body isn’t,” Maes commented.

 

“Whoever designed this is a genius,” agreed Vance fervently. “What I wouldn’t give to meet them…”

 

“Care for a trip to Xing?” the Sculpting alchemist asked, laughing.

 

Vance’s face pinched. “On second thought, the desert… can they invent a vest that regulates your body temperature?”

 

“I hope they don’t,” said Ibbs darkly. “I’d rather not think about what a war with Xing would look like if they could nullify the harshness of the desert.”

 

Probably like Ishval, Maes thought, and then shook the images of hot sand and blaring sun away. “Let’s test this vest a little further,” Maes said. “I’m interested in what other kind of forces it can absorb.”

 

“Like what?” asked Sculpting.

 

“To start, I want to know how if it’s got any resistance to slashing or stabbing, since they didn’t cut it off Kaitou when he was admitted…” Maes said, thinking aloud.

 

While Sculpting transmuted a dummy and secured the vest on it, the researchers helped Maes clear the floor—the second time he’d done that today. Maes grinned. Take that, Kaitou; it was fun to work in Intelligence.

 

For the next hour, they ran tests with Maes’ throwing knives against various types of metal plates, different densities, and different placements across the chest; they also tried other fabrics and synthetic materials that Vance and Sculpting had cooked up for comparison to the still-unnamed fibre Kaitou’s vest was made of, none of which fared nearly as well as the original. Ibbs lamented the fact that they couldn’t shoot at the vest in the lab, and they shelved ammunition testing for another day.

 

It was dark by the time their testing wound down, and Maes had worked up a sweat. As Vance and Sculpting cleaned up, Maes got a cup of water.

 

“You’ve been supervising Kaitou since he arrived,” Ibbs said, appearing to grab some water too. “Do you think he synthesized that material himself?”

 

Maes hummed softly. “I’ve yet to see him do any alkahestry,” he admitted. “But from my research, it seems alkahestry has a strong focus on medicine.”

 

“So, they probably went the old fashioned way,” Ibbs said. “Shit, well. I wonder what else they’ve got going on over there. Think Kaitou would open up about it? We could piggyback off more than the vest, you know. Save a lot of lives with their innovations.”

 

Maes couldn’t help but laugh. “That kid won’t even tell me his family name,” he said. “I doubt he’d get into the details of Xing’s military defense tactics with you.”

 

Ibbs clicked her tongue. “It was worth a shot,” she said.

 

“Wanna grab a few drinks with us?” Vance asked as she and Sculpting approached, ready to head out. “We’re going to the bar.”

 

“No thanks,” Maes said. “I’ll be heading home to my beautiful wife, and I don’t think she’ll want to kiss me if I smell like beer.”

 

“Alright, next time,” Sculpting said, and the three left. Maes waved them on before downing his water and tossing the cup in the lab sink—probably bad protocol, but Maes wasn’t a scientist. He walked over to the cabinet.

 

Maes had a bad feeling about everything going on lately—Scar, the Fifth Lab, Kaitou. The team had determined that the vest on hand wasn’t inherently dangerous, and, well… it wasn’t doing anybody any good, just sitting here in the First Lab. And Maes had to admit: it didn’t sit right with him, seeing people who amounted to civilians getting worked up about waging war. The research team hadn’t been in Ishval. They might have never touched conflict outside of the workplace. The way that they spoke about the advancements the vest could bring…

 

Well. It was fortunate that Kaitou’s extra-fancy lockpicks were burning a hole in Maes’ pocket.

 

---

 

Maes walked slowly back towards Central Command. The summer humidity was just beginning to fade. He’d put his thick jacket back on when he left the First Lab, and was regretting it somewhat; then again, he’d had all summer to regret the weight of the uniform jackets. They trapped heat and sweat like it was their sole purpose.

 

He’d told Gracia he’d be home right after the meeting with the Research Team, and he’d told Mustang he’d pick up him and Kaito from the Command Center. As he walked onto the grounds, though, something else was scratching at the back of his mind: the files Sheska had written, piled in one of his desk drawers.

 

It hadn’t stopped bugging him all day, but the number of border skirmishes and insurgencies in these last few years was high, too high. Surely, Amestris was unique in that regard. It was getting worse in recent years. Hell, having the Ishvalan Civil War during one lifetime should’ve been plenty of bloodshed, but recently there had been the Liore uprising, too. He’d been reading about it in the morning’s newspaper; the eastern region had nearly seen another civil war.

 

It was disquieting, the idea that Amestris had come so close to that. The Ishvalan War had been long, and everyone had fought dirty. Summers reminded him of those days in the desert, sometimes, but Central’s saving grace was its relative humidity. The desert had nothing but dry heat. Heat that cracked your lips and knuckles, that burned even in the shade, that made you curse every drop of sweat that fell from your brow.

 

He shuddered away thoughts of Ishval, but all he found in their place were images of the Fifth Lab: dark blue and gray rubble, with black-red stains of blood splashed and dried on sharp corners; that, he knew he was imagining, but it was Ed’s, it was Kaitou’s, it was the dried lifeforce of prisoners who hadn’t deserved the cruel ends they’d met. 

 

Somewhere in their government, someone had approved that use of force. Someone had agreed to the deception of the public. Someone had signed off on murder, on human experimentation.

 

Someone had signed off on doing the exact same things in Ishval, though at least with Ishval, the orders could be traced back to the Führer. Though Dr. Marcoh’s words had come through Armstrong and the Elrics, but they were undeniable: history was repeating itself.

 

He grit his teeth and shouldered through the door to his office. Sheska looked up at him.

 

“You’re still here?” Maes couldn’t help but ask.

 

Sheska bobbed a nod. “Yes, sir, Colonel Mustang gave me—”

 

Maes waved her off; he knew what Mustang had asked of her. They’d come up with the idea together, after all, a contingency plan for a contingency plan, one that could become worryingly relevant if things broke bad. “Ah, yes, of course. Very well.”

 

She watched him move to his desk. He began pulling out reports. “Shouldn’t you be heading home, sir?” she asked. “It’s nearly dinnertime.”

“I know,” Maes told her. “I’ve got something to look into first. There’s always more reading to do!”

 

She smiled slightly. “I thought I was the bookworm,” she said.

 

“Never said you weren’t,” Maes replied, tucking his files under his arm. “Good night!”

 

“Night, sir!”

 

He passed a few people on his way to the archive room, and paid them little mind, smiling and nodding absently. Once he was there, he spread out a map of the country and laid out Sheska’s reports; several others, he pulled down from the shelves, paging through them with an anxious focus. He circled cities of interest as he went: Ishval, first, then Liore. 

 

Liore was an odd case. Eastern troops had been deployed initially, and as far as Maes had heard, it had been relatively peaceful. There’d been a few arguments between military personnel and civilians, but only the kind that involved shouting and spitting. When the conflict had turned gruesome and bloody, Central forces had replaced Eastern ones—but what was the true pattern of cause and effect there? What had provoked the sudden violence? 

 

Maybe it had still been peaceful when Central troops had taken over. Maybe the first bloody conflicts hadn’t occurred until the after control had changed hands. 

 

He flipped over the file and continued transferring locations to the map; Fafaus, Dameno… the marks built up quickly.

 

There’d been a lot of uprisings. There’d been a lot of military response. It had all been awful, bloody . Hundreds of people had died. Between Ishval, Liore, live prisoners being used to create Philosopher’s Stones—

 

Maes was not an alchemist, but even he could recognize an array as it formed beneath the tip of his pen, spread across Amestris as if the map were a scrap of paper intended for the absent doodlings of someone like Ed, prone to coming up with new arrays just because he had ten spare minutes. What he looked down on now was deceptively simple: there were no complicated symbols, nothing like the salamander on Roy’s ignition gloves. But he recognized it.

 

“Hey, now,” he muttered low, pulse quickening, even as his stomach clenched. “Who was it that came up with this?”

 

It was an array the size of a country, a country full of live humans, who were apparently the perfect fuel—the final ingredient—for a Philosopher’s Stone. An array that Ed had seen carved into the floor of the Fifth Lab.

 

What would a Stone the size of Amestris look like?

 

Maes did not want to find out.

 

He folded the map sharply and pushed it into his pocket, wishing he hadn’t marked it in pen; it felt too damning. He flipped back to the records. Liore’s file at the top, the most recent incident on his radar. If Liore was part of an array, the blood was intentional.

 

Sheska’s approximation of a signature burned the page of the Liore files: the Führer had signed off when Central troops had been sent east, of course.

 

Maes’ stomach twisted tighter.

 

Bradley had signed off on Order #3066, the Ishvalan Extermination Act. It was common knowledge. People agreed he’d done what he’d had to do, passing the act; but, no, not just that, he’d written the damn thing himself and pushed it through the same day. He’d signed for use of excessive force to quell tensions in Fafaus in the west, and in Dameno in the south-west before that. And just a few weeks ago, who had made a speech about the potential fighting that could occur on the Drachman border at Fort Briggs?

 

None other than Führer King Bradely.

 

“Fuck,” Maes murmured. He needed to burn the reports Sheska had written, and order her to stop writing new ones immediately; his map needed to be reduced to ashes. He needed to erase any trace he’d ever even thought about the bloody battles that had founded Amestris in any light other than positive or even just neutral—

 

A soft footstep caused Maes’ head to jerk up as the door shut softly. A woman with long, loose hair and a low-cut dress stood smiling thinly at him. Her neckline was low enough to reveal a stark red tattoo, but even without it, he’d have recognized her instantly.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lt. Colonel Hughes,” she said. “But perhaps I should say farewell?”

 

Maes’s fingers twitched to the knife at the small of his back. “Cute tattoo you’ve got there, Lust,” he said. His mouth felt like sawdust.

 

She grinned dangerously. “Isn’t it?” she replied, tracing a finger around the orobouros’ edges. “Goes on and on, the snake eating its own tail, a neverending cycle. It’s a bit on-the-nose as a metaphor for my own life, though.” 

 

“Care to explain that a little further?” Maes asked roughly.

 

Lust flexed her hand, fingers unsheathing into dangerous daggers. The sound sent a shiver down the back of Maes’ neck. It was a horrible sound, like metal and bone.

 

“You’ve learned too much, Lt. Colonel Hughes. It’s a pity,” Lust said, not bothering to look sad. The only thing in her eyes was hunger. “In another life, we might’ve been able to use you, too.”

 

Only the fact that he knew to expect her attack let him dodge. One of her razor-sharp fingers sliced into his shoulder regardless, hot blood and pain exploding from the point of impact. But his knife hit true, burying itself deep in her forehead. Her face a mask of surprise, she fell, against the side of a bookcase and didn’t move.

 

Maes swept up his files, stumbled against the doorframe, caught himself, his breath, and then he ran.

 

It had been over quickly, too quickly; she hadn’t played with him like she’d played with Ed and Kaitou. Tonighht, she’d meant business. She’d meant to kill him. And if she meant to kill him, no matter how confident she was in her fingers and her reflexes, she’d have backup, probably the same backup she’d had at the Fifth Lab: Envy, the one with regenerative abilities.

 

Maes’ blood ran cold. The snake eating its own tail, on and on, forever... Could they both regenerate? The woman had never shown any signs, but he’d be a fool to assume she didn’t have another trick up her sleeve, at least until he was certain. 

 

He couldn’t turn back. If she could recover from a brain wound the way Envy could regrow a pair of mangled hands, the last thing he wanted to do was stick around.

 

“Damn,” he rasped, “damn it!”

 

His feet thudded hard on the glossy floor. An officer he didn’t recognize called out to him and he ignored them, pushing on.

 

He couldn’t go to his office; he’d be endangering his team. Sheska was no fighter. Even if she was gone, he’d be leaving them a mess to find in the morning. Calling home would bring Gracia and Elicia into the line of fire, but he didn’t have another way to contact Roy—not that Roy would be there now. 

 

Shit, he needed Roy. If they were against regenerative powers, Roy’s fire could burn long and hot enough to—well, to roast a human alive. He checked his watch: Roy would be on campus, somewhere. They were supposed to have met already, but Maes couldn’t lead the enemy he was certain would appear to Intelligence, let alone to the front doorstep of Central Command. Not when Führer King Bradley had signed off on every gruesome event that decorated that sick array.

 

His mind was whirling. The hospital, maybe?—they’d spared Ed’s life before—but no, he couldn’t count on them sparing Ed again, let alone sparing Maes, just because he was around Ed. That’s not why they’d spared Kaitou; they’d called Kaitou interesting in his own right. But clearly, Maes was nothing, not interesting, not a precious sacrifice, only a nuisance who knew too much.

 

The best thing I can do right now is vanish, Maes thought desperately as he shouldered his way out of the back of the building and pounded down a dark path. Any blue-clad officer could report him to the enemy.

 

A flicker at the edge of his vision caught his attention and he whirled around, sending a knife out. The blade buried itself in a tree trunk, and quavered. For a split second Maes allowed himself to stand still and study the situation.

 

The world was silent.

 

Shit. Maybe he was getting paranoid. Maybe there was no second enemy tonight; maybe he really was that little of a threat to these people. Maybe he’d already gotten away, and he should be worrying about the corpse in the main records room. 

 

He paced up to the tree and yanked his knife out of the bark and kept it between his fingers at the ready. He let his eyes wander up the tree trunk, into the branches, a mass of dark wood and leaves. There, crouching high above him, was Kaitou. There was only a sliver of his blue shirt and a slice of his pale face visible. Minutely, Kaitou’s eyes darted back at the building.

 

Maes grinned. It was a sharp, dangerous thing.

 

If Kaitou was here, Roy wouldn’t be far behind, and Maes needn’t worry about how to contact him. A plan began to form in Maes’ mind as he took off running again. He could play bait, draw them out—somewhere empty, somewhere that wouldn’t be likely to have military surveillance, and maybe, maybe, they could gain the upper hand.

 

His system was pumped with enough adrenaline that even though his shoulder throbbed with each hard heartbeat, it didn’t hurt. His feet slammed into the pavement, over and over. He felt hot blood running down his back, sticky and uncomfortable between his skin and the layers of fabric.

 

He dodged down a side street, took a few turns, doubled back on a different street, and then skidded across a wide, empty road into Central Park. No cars, no lovers on late night strolls.

 

He and Kaitou had walked here less than a week ago. Now, each shade of green was a dark grey blob, spottily illuminated by a few lamps along the main thoroughfare.

 

He slowed his pace and steadied his breathing long enough to confirm that Kaitou had scaled a new tree, the dark shape of his body nearly invisible as he settled silently onto a branch. Had Maes not known what to expect, the boy would’ve been as invisible as a black cat.

 

Not another soul in sight, not that Maes could see. He exhaled slowly. He’d have to do something else to draw out the second guest, something like… He repressed a grin and turned sharply to the nearest phone booth, throwing the door open roughly. They’d want him to let his guard down before they approached. So he stepped inside and dialed a number as familiar to him as his home’s.

 

“Eastern Command Center,” answered a woman on the other end of the line.

 

“Connect me to First Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Maes said, voice ragged.

 

“We have a rule against connecting outside lines,” said the woman. “Do you have a code?”

 

“A code,” he repeated. “Yes.” He began laying it out from memory as he reached into his pocket, readying his knife in his palm.

 

A handgun clicked behind him.

 

“Lt. Colonel Hughes, I don’t think you want to do that,” said Maria Ross.

 

Maes’ blood ran cold. “Lt. Ross?”

 

It was not a voice he’d expected to hear, nowhere near the top of the list. She should be at the hospital with Ed, unless…was she involved in this? They’d trusted her; she’d had a hand in saving Ed and Al’s lives at the Fifth Lab; she was earnest, honest, a good soldier, one of Armstrong’s, when had they gotten to her? Or had she been acting this entire time?

 

“I’m asking you to put down the receiver,” Ross said, voice harsh. “Sir.” The addition was almost mocking.

 

Maes lowered the phone but didn’t hang up as he looked over his shoulder. Ross’s eyes were peering at him over the barrel of a handgun, but Maes almost wanted to laugh. The woman behind him sounded like Ross, a perfect imitation. She even looked like Ross. Almost.

 

“No,” he said, feeling his grin go manic. “I don’t think I will. You’re not Lt. Ross. Who are you?”

 

“I’m Second Lt. Maria Ross,” she said, tilting her head. Her hand, her gun, her aim, did not waver. “Have you already forgotten?”

 

This might not be the real Ross, but that was certainly a real handgun. Maes laughed anyway, unable to hold it down. It was like a bad dream, a very bad dream. “No, you’re not.”

 

“Hello?” crackled the East Command switch operator. “Hello?”

 

“I am,” Ross said calmly. “Hang up the phone.”

 

“Maria Ross,” Maes said, “has a mole under her left eye.”

 

The woman stared at him, a look akin to shock. Then, a smile tugged at one side of her mouth. It was humorless. “Oh, is that right?” she said, voice dripping with irony. “How careless of me. I only saw her in passing, you know.” She tapped two fingers under her left eye. Red static crackled and a mole appeared where it should have been all along, growing out of the flesh beneath her fingers. “Better?”

 

These people they were fighting against weren’t human. He’d known it before, but he’d seen it now, twice in one night. He went for their throat.

 

Not-Ross staggered back, squeezing the handgun trigger in the same instant. The shot sent Maes’ ears ringing as pain bloomed in his chest and he gasped, ragged. The horizontal slit in Not-Ross’ throat gushed hot blood over Maes’ forearm and chest before they collapsed.

 

Maes followed them to his knees, struggling to breathe through the sea of pain that was drowning him. He was pretty sure he’d just been shot.

 

This happened to Kaitou, back then? He coughed harshly, gasped to regain some oxygen. Three times? Holy shit, I need to give that kid a hug. His hands felt far away, but his dominant fingers tightened on his slippery knife. His left hand, he realized, was unresponsive. 

 

Red light crackled at the throat of Not-Ross, who groaned, then pushed themself up on their elbows. The expression they wore was distinctly unlike the woman they were impersonating; it was twisted with rage.

 

“That hurt, you bitch!” they shrieked, and before Maes could even try to stand, they hoisted their handgun and unloaded two more rounds that hit Maes like a truck. The pain was blunt and the shots indistinct from each other. He hardly noticed that he’d fallen back into the phone booth until his head cracked against metal and his vision went spotty. 

 

He just barely saw something shiny and dart-quick collide with Not-Ross’ hand. Their gun skittered to the ground. In Maes’ ear, someone was screaming, tinny and far away—oh, the switchboard operator. Poor woman; he hoped the gunshots hadn’t blown out her eardrums.

 

Not-Ross struggled to their feet, reaching for their gun. Maes gathered the adrenaline coursing through his system and took the brief opportunity to send his bloodied knife into their forehead. He saw their eyes go dull just before they stumbled backwards, lost their footing, and hit the ground anew.

 

Even half-conscious, Maes’ aim was good. He knew that. He struggled to get up, but he could barely breathe; it felt an insurmountable task.

 

The stranger crackled with bright light, roaring to life a second time. They yanked Maes’ knife out of their head with a vicious jerk, and tossed it away like litter. “That’s too much,” they hissed, red light dancing down their body as they transformed into someone smaller, more lithe, hair longer, but their face still twisted in rage. Ah. Envy. So they’d come with Lust after all.

 

The gun was back in their hands. “Why won’t you fucking die?” 

 

This time, Envy aimed between Maes’ eyes. Maes saw their finger tighten on the trigger, braced for an explosion of pain, for burning heat and blackness, for the nothingness of a death he’d fought to the end to avoid. But the round went wide as something—no, some one , Maes realized—tackled them gracelessly. Glass rained on Mae’s face and shoulders, seeming as harmless as water. 

 

Kaitou needs to run, Maes thought hazily, but didn’t manage more than a rough cough. Kaitou was interesting to Lust and Envy, but that wouldn’t be enough this time; those creatures were pissed off now. Maes had killed Lust once, and Envy twice—

 

He heard Roy’s voice, words unintelligible just before heat washed over him, intense and burning. All Maes felt was rushing, unrelenting security that took the edge off his ragged, painful chest, the ringing in his ears. Good timing, Roy.

 

There was a pair of hands on him, a voice overhead that sounded like Kaitou; he was being hauled to his feet, but even staying conscious was a struggle and he blinked. When he forced his eyes open next, he was aware of dirt and grass, the smell of fresh cuttings, the stench of burning flesh. 

 

His own? No, no, that pain was different. Blunt and consuming. His ears were like drumbeats. The heat of Roy’s flames was abruptly replaced with something cool. Was it shade? Shelter? Water? He didn’t know. His lungs felt full of liquid. He tried to gasp, then tried again, eyes slipping shut. The pain was unrelenting, unmitigated.

 

“You’re not allowed to die,” Kaitou hissed over him, though Maes could barely make it out. “Nobody gets hurt. Nobody gets hurt.”

Maes managed to wrench his eyes open. Dark patches wavered in his vision, and Kaitou was blurry, out of focus, undefined, his eyes were far away. There was a new pressure on his chest, but it was just pressure, just pressure nearly lost amid the pain, and he gasped, coughed, tried to get some air in his lungs as orange and red fire screamed to life behind Kaitou, casting him in black, but it wasn’t enough; he hadn’t been able to draw a full breath in a minute or more; he was slipping, he couldn’t, but he was—

 

---

 

Notes:

I can never, ever resist cutting on a good blackout. To everyone who’s been worried about Hughes, I’m very sorry.

(Who am I kidding? I’m not sorry)

This week on Art Bullshits About Science... it's not all bullshit! Most of my info on bulletproof vests came from this video. Kaito’s vest is a fabric kevlar vest with some steel plating, added custom in case of long-range shots, so it easily protected Kaito from Snake's handgun. While the added the steel plates offer some protection from a snipers, it probably wouldn’t save anybody’s life from Hawkeye, especially if you handed her a rifle from 2015. But, it is on the lighter side and more easily concealed!

Chapter 14: The Inferno

Notes:

This chapter is just shy of 10k. Does that make up for last week's cliffhanger? ...no?

---

 

There was a certain indignity in being passed off between babysitters like a troublesome, unwanted toddler. It especially rankled as Kaito was really feeling the wrong-footed unpleasantness of being yanked unceremoniously out of the Zone. Now, Mustang was in Hughes’ place, and it made the office air taut; Kaito couldn’t shake Mustang’s watching eyes from the edge of his awareness.

 

Taking a catnap my ass, Kaito thought bitterly as he hooked up a few more wires. 

 

After putting together as many flash bombs and smoke pellets as he could manage with limited supplies, he’d been angling to make an external battery pack for his phone, as he and Winry had confirmed that the battery itself was no longer capable of holding much charge. Whatever witchcraft she’d done before breakfast had barely lasted two minutes, and they hadn’t even been able to replicate that yet; and getting the phone to stay on was the first step towards understanding the circumstances that had given Kaito a cell signal. 

 

Plus he’d love to, you know, maybe read some of his messages or have a conversation with Jii about how the hell he was going to get back to Japan…

 

But he couldn’t do any of that while Mustang was around. Aggravated, he stood and pushed his mess of electronics into his bag.

 

“Done so soon?” Mustang asked. He even yawned. “I’ve barely rested my eyes.”

 

“Yeah, I doubt you can get much rest while you’re watching my every move,” Kaito said.

 

“You make me sound creepy,” Mustang said, sounding disappointed.

 

“It’s because you are,” Kaito replied evenly.

 

“And here I thought you’d cut me some slack for making you breakfast this morning.”

 

“You only made toast,” Kaito said. He hadn’t even gotten any of Hughes’ pancakes, but that had been his fault, really, first with the shower, and then with the phone… but blaming Mustang was more convenient.

 

“Kaitou, what have I done to make you dislike me so strongly?” Mustang asked, sounding bewildered.

 

Kaito forced himself to take a few breaths as he concealed his new pellets in various pockets, his back to Mustang. “It’s less about what you’ve done, and more about the fact that you’re only here to dig into my life.”

 

“Officially, I’m in town because of a serial killer,” Mustang said.

 

“Yeah, Scar or whatever, I know,” Kaito muttered, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He winced as it caused his wound to stretch; damn, he’d been pretty good about not bothering it for most of the day. “I guess I’m just your pet project, then?”

 

“In a way,” Mustang said.

 

“Hmph.”

 

Locking eyes with Mustang wasn’t fun, but it had to be done unless Kaito wanted to look intimidated, so he stood steady against Mustang’s dark, searching eyes. 

 

Mustang was the one who broke the staring contest by standing. “No matter. A walk would be better for my energy levels, anyway.” He yawned widely a second time.

 

Kaito eyed him and doubted every word.

 

Mustang meandered toward the door and paused near Sheska’s desk. “Sheska, may I ask something of you?”

 

The woman looked stressed. Actually, she’d looked progressively more frazzled as the day had gone by. Kaito felt kind of bad for her; Hughes didn’t seem like an easy boss.

But all she said to Mustang was, “Of course, sir.”

 

He handed her a folded paper. “Please prepare the documents listed here for tomorrow,” he said. “It’s a sensitive matter.”

 

Sheska opened the paper and her eyes scanned the contents; a crease immediately formed between her eyebrows. “Colonel Mustang, sir—”

 

“I’ll pay a rush order fee, of course,” Mustang spoke over her. “Thank you, Private.”

 

“Technically, I’m an Intelligence Specialist,” Sheska said, but Mustang was already out the door. She sighed.

 

Kaito dragged his feet across the room. “For what it’s worth,” Kaito said, “I hate him, too.”

 

Sheska looked stricken. “O-oh, I don’t hate him,” she spluttered. “I...I just—I’m not so used to the military work environment, after all, working at the First Branch wasn’t the same…”

 

“You can’t go wrong with being more certain when you correct people on your title, at least,” Kaito shrugged.

 

She cracked a smile and Kaito finally ducked out into the hallway. Mustang was already halfway down the hall. For a moment, Kaito considered the fact that he could easily slip away from him right now; he wasn’t even trying to keep Kaito in his line of sight. But sticking with Mustang meant sticking with Hughes, which guaranteed a place to sleep tonight. And Gracia would be cooking dinner…

 

On the other hand, Ed and Al were going to meet up with their teacher soon, someone who was said to know the apparently advanced technique of clap-alchemy and was well-traveled. If Kaito were to judge the teacher by the students, well—their teacher was definitely someone he wanted to meet. She could have leads.

 

Mustang glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Kaito trudged over.

 

“Hey,” he said before Mustang could open his mouth. “When is Fullmetal-san being discharged?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Mustang said. “They were willing to release him today, but I ensured an extra twenty-four hours were added to his stay for thorough observation.”

 

Kaito snorted. “Just to torture him, then.”

 

“Why, Kaitou, I’m disappointed in your lack of foresight,” Mustang said dryly, settling his hands in his pockets as he strolled, strides long. “You’ve already acknowledged that there is an ongoing serial killer investigation, and surely you know that Fullmetal was targeted previously. Am I such a monster for wishing that he’s in top form before he exits our supervision?”

 

It made sense, but Mustang’s tone of voice made Kaito want to mock him. “Yes, actually, it does, Monster-san.”

 

Mustang shook his head. “Teenagers never think very far ahead, do they?”

 

Kaito huffed. Give him a few days and a target to steal, and he’d show Mustang thinking ahead. At least this gave Kaito a little bit of time to figure out the best way to tag along with Ed and Al to see their scary teacher.

 

But, for now… “Where are we going?”

 

“Just for a walk,” Mustang said.

 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Kaito muttered, falling into step with Mustang regardless. Nothing was ever ‘just’ anything.

 

“You don’t have to,” Mustang said, happy as could be.

 

“Is this what you do for fun? Act like a bastard?” Kaito asked.

 

“Oh, no,” Mustang said. “That’s what I’m paid for. What I do for fun is act like an imbecile.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Kaito, which he covered with a cough. Okay. Best to walk in silence, then.

 

“I’ve been stuck in bone-dry meetings since six thirty this morning,” Mustang went on conversationally, not noticing Kaito’s new vow of silence. “Nobody has concrete evidence of Scar’s whereabouts, and very few could agree on a plan of action. Every time I blinked was a struggle to stay awake!”

 

Mustang continued to complain as he led Kaito across a field (the parade grounds, Mustang explained briefly) and out a side gate, where he waved casually to a couple guards. Then, they were out on the pavement, in a business district that Kaito had never seen before. Boring place for a walk, Kaito thought; the buildings were tall stone-front offices, for the most part, and there was little greenery.

 

“Did you know I grew up here?” Mustang said. “In Central City, I mean.”

 

Kaito eyed him, uncertain of when he’d transitioned from his monologue of complaints to thinking Kaito would be interested in his personal history. Unfortunately, Kaito kind of was interested. “How do you speak Xingan, then?”

 

“My father and aunt were born in Xing, but immigrated to Amestris before I was born,” Mustang said. “Clan struggles, apparently.”

 

“Ah,” Kaito said, noncommittal.

 

“Indeed. How has your clan fared in recent years?”

Kaito gave a shrug. “Fine,” he said, because there was no other answer he could reasonably give.

 

“Remind me which clan you belong to,” Mustang said.

 

Kaito rolled his eyes. “No thanks.”

 

His blunt denial of information rolled off Mustang like water off a duck’s back. “We get very little current news of Xing here,” he said.

 

Kaito doubted that Xing got much word of Amestris, either. Without the internet, information had to rely on the old-fashioned passageways: word of mouth, letters, books, so on...actually, were there telegrams in this world? When were telegrams invented, anyway? He hummed vaguely at Mustang as he tried to distractedly began scouring his history knowledge for where telegraph technology fit.

 

Mustang didn’t care about the things Kaito wanted to think about. “What is the academia surrounding alkahestry like these days?”

 

Kaito couldn’t resist sighing. Telegraphs were infinitely more interesting. “Depends on who you ask.”

 

“Well, I’m asking you,” Mustang said.

 

“I don’t really do academic alkahestry,” Kaito said, grudgingly accepting he couldn’t avoid this conversation completely. “I learned what I know from my old man.”

 

“And your friend—the witch?” Mustang asked.

 

Kaito resisted the urge to wince, and wished he hadn’t mentioned Akako at all in his scramble to sound well-versed in alkahestry. “I don’t know how Akako-san lives her life,” he said, “and I don’t intend to. We’re not friends.”

 

“And why is that?” Mustang raised one eyebrow.

 

“I don’t know, maybe because she tried to kill me a handful of times, and then tried to seduce me, and then decided she was better off just constantly giving me cryptic messages?” Kaito grumbled. “She’s weird.”

 

Mustang laughed softly. “She might like you.”

 

“That’s the problem!” Kaito exclaimed.

 

They paused at a busy intersection, crossed when the road was clear, and turned left. Kaito sensed that something was off before he saw the stalled traffic, but soon after, he spotted soldiers in bright blue uniforms standing tersely amid a crowd. It was when he saw the building behind them that he realized he’d been here before: it was the bank that he, Winry, and Armstrong had stopped at yesterday. 

 

“Oh, my,” Mustang said, not sounding surprised. “It seems there’s something going on.”

 

Kaito hadn’t gotten a good look at the bank yesterday, but today he saw that the side facing the street had a small porch with stone steps leading up from the street level, and was decorated with some way-too-fancy pillars and a couple elegant windows. They were the kind he’d have loved to use as a backdrop for a little “Kiss Your Gems Goodbye, You Filthy Capitalists (But Only If It Wasn’t Your Gem, Really)” speech. Beyond the pillars, a set of double doors was thrown open wide. Indistinct shouting echoed from inside, muffled by stone and distance.

 

On the sidewalk, the blue-clad military members were pushing away nervous civilians. Mustang was already approaching the nearest one, and Kaito stayed on his heels, curious.

 

“Colonel Mustang!” the private saluted, evidently recognizing Mustang from somewhere. His posture was stiff even as he lowered his hand. “W-were you sent to assist with the ongoing situation?”

 

“No,” Mustang said. “I just happened to be passing by. What’s going on?”

The private nervously surveyed the civilians arrayed around the sidewalk, and gestured Mustang to the side. Kaito followed; when the private looked at him uncertainly, Mustang prompted him again.

 

“The situation, Private?”

 

“Ah, yes, right,” he said, visibly gathering himself. “An armed group has held the bank employees and customers hostage for the better part of an hour now.”

 

“What are their numbers and weapons?”

 

“We’ve counted four masked individuals, each with a gun,” the private said, before delving into what types of firearms each person had, and outlining the number of hostages as well: at least fifteen.

 

In the past, Kaito had gotten himself involved in a handful of Tantei-kun’s little murder mysteries, most notably the magic lover’s gathering. Though that case had been solved by the Suzuki girl—Sonoko? That’s right, she’d been at Midtown Tower, too—it had been different. The cases he’d been involved in had usually been for the sake of protecting the good name of Kaitou Kid. And heists were where his comfort with police situations both began and ended.

 

That said, he wasn’t interested in getting his hands dirty in a foreign country’s ongoing stick-up, not bald-faced and when the authority figures already had some semblance of control over the situation. Part of being a Phantom Thief was knowing when to retreat. (In fact, one might argue that was most of the job: recognizing when he was in over his head and making his getaway.)

 

But apparently Mustang figured it was his business, which was fair as a military officer. But that didn’t mean Kaito had to like it. Mustang had already passed the private and was now walking confidently towards the open doors of the bank. At least that meant Kaito could melt back into the crowd until the whole thing was over.

 

Just Kaito’s luck that Mustang was not on the same page. He stopped and gestured for Kaito to follow him.

 

“Uh,” Kaito said. “No thanks, Mustang-san. It seems safer out here.”

 

Mustang peered at him. “Are you afraid of a little danger, Kaitou?”

 

“Yeah, when it’s not of my design,” Kaito replied, crossing his arms.

 

“Think of it as a chance to shine,” Mustang said. “Perhaps your monitor will be lighter if you’ve proven yourself to be an asset.” He was standing so infuriatingly casually, hands in his pockets, his back now fully turned to the bank.

 

Kaito rolled his eyes. “Why should I trust you?”

 

“You seem to trust Fullmetal and his friends,” Mustang said, like he was being reasonable. “And they trust me.”

 

“They’ve proven themselves to be intelligent and trustworthy,” Kaito said. “You have done no such things.”

 

A gunshot echoed out of the bank before Mustang could respond, tailed closely by the shrieks of hostages. Around Kaito, civilians flinched and began pelting away. Kaito’s heart started racing as his mind went back to Snake, being held at gunpoint, the bullet’s impact into his aching chest… his cardgun was in his hand before he knew it.

 

Mustang took the appearance of a weapon as an agreement to fight. With his eyebrows raised, he turned back to the bank. Kaito followed three steps, and then thought, What the fuck is a cardgun gonna do against four handguns?

He didn’t have to wonder long, because the cries from inside died down as four hostages, hands bound and trembling, were forced outside by two gunmen at their backs. Their weapons were drawn.

 

“Now, gentlemen, let’s talk this over,” Mustang raised his voice. There was a steely note backing it, the word gentlemen practically dripped with a slimy politician’s neutral tones. It earned Mustang the attention of both armed men, one of which hoisted their gun and took aim at Mustang’s head.

 

“I know you,” the gunman laughed. “Hero of Ishval, aren’tcha? They’ve called in the Big Bad Bastard himself, just for us!”

 

His friend shifted nervously, eyes skittering between his antagonistic partner and Mustang, who slipped one hand out of his pocket and held it up, palm forward. 

 

Kaito didn’t like guns pointed in his general direction. Snake flashed to his mind, grinning in the dark, his pistol held casually, like it was a natural extension of his arm. He pulled his mind back to the moment and realized he had a trajectory that would clear the top of the hostage’s head. He fired off two cards in quick succession without a further thought. The first stuck solidly in the barrel of the gun; the other hit the man square in the forehead, causing him to stumble back with a yelp.

 

For a second, Kaito thought he’d go down; but it wasn’t enough—he regained his footing, now looking angry and confused over nervous. As for the gun on them, well, his cards were sharp, but unless he could get a shot that would jam something, they wouldn’t stop bullets. As if to prove this point, the first gunman yanked the first card out of his gun. 

 

“Well, that’s cute,” he said.

 

And now he was aiming at Kaito, and the second gunman was aiming at Mustang.

 

Well, shit. Not one of Kaito’s finest moments.

 

“Would you really like to do it this way?” Mustang asked, as mildly as if he were confirming a friend’s takeout order. 

 

“Listen up,” the talkative gunman said, “We’re sick and tired of your regime; you think we don’t know that the mess in Ishval ain’t gonna stay in Ishval forever—?”

 

“Very well,” Mustang said. “Have it your way.” And he snapped twice.

 

Twin jets of flame erupted in both gunmen’s grips; at roughly the same time, their weapons hit the floor, the hostages scattered, and several other blue-uniformed military officers circled in with weapons drawn.

 

Kaito could only gape, his entire body so tense that something could snap. Mustang, meanwhile, put his hands back into his pockets and watched placidly as the men outside were arrested, and the two still inside surrendered with minimal threats.

 

“...I think you’ve made Nakamori-keibu look like even more of a joke than usual,” Kaito said faintly. Of course, he wouldn’t have Nakamori any other way.

 

Mustang only heard this as a compliment, and chuckled. 

 

Their conversation was waylaid by a short parade of officers who wanted to speak to Mustang; after he’d made several promises about submitting paperwork, and waved off several teary thank-yous from the ex-hostages (during which Kaito thought he looked a little too smug), they headed back in the direction they’d come from.

 

Not more than ten minutes could have passed since they arrived at the bank; the incident itself hadn’t even taken half that time. Kaito almost wanted to laugh: crimes were as easily solved in Amestris as they were in Tokyo. 

 

“You know, you could have used your alkahestry back there,” Mustang said, once the two of them had broken fully away from the ongoing commotion.

 

“Didn’t feel like it,” Kaito said. “Besides, it seemed like you had it covered, what with that fire.”

 

“Fullmetal would have encased all four of those men in stone in the blink of an eye,” Mustang said. “There wouldn’t even have been a situation.”

 

“Well, I’m not Fullmetal-san,” Kaito said. “I have my own way of dealing with things.”

 

“Yes, I see that now,” Mustang said. The way he was looking at Kaito gave Kaito the uncomfortable feeling that Mustang was trying to catalogue how many cardgun-like devices Kaito had concealed on himself, so he turned his face away and picked up his pace.

 

“Also, I’m a civilian,” he said.

 

“Indeed,” was Mustang’s infuriatingly neutral response.

 

The walk back to Central command was more of a trudge. The sun was sinking low, causing the buildings to cast long shadows over the street. Mustang did not try to talk to Kaito, and Kaito did not offer any conversation, either. When they made it back, they found a bench in the front hallway and sat down. Kaito wished they’d gone straight back to Hughes’ place, but alas, he was not in control of his own movements today. He made up for it with a healthy scowl.

 

“Maes should have come by now,” Mustang said eventually, clicking his pocketwatch shut. “We’ll be late for dinner, and he hates making Gracia wait.” He shot a glance at Kaito. “What was he working on today?”

 

“He was just reading boring files all day,” Kaito said. “Stuff about the Fifth Lab, or...other incidents throughout the country? He had Sheska-san writing them.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

 

“He might’ve been looking to establish a pattern,” Mustang said slowly. “If he did—” He stood abruptly. “Let’s go.”

 

Kaito groaned. His stab wound was reminding him that he still had a few stitches in after their little walk. Getting up and going somewhere in search of Hughes was the last thing he wanted to do right now, even if Hughes’ company was preferable to Mustang’s. “Can’t I wait here?”

 

“You wouldn’t stay here even if I commanded it, would you?” Mustang asked dryly.

 

“Not at all,” Kaito sighed at both the truth in Mustang’s question and his inability to get two seconds alone. He just had to get through to tomorrow before he could skip town with Ed, Al, and Winry. Winry would probably know their travel plans and she’d be trusting enough to tell them to him if he asked, so really, all he had to do was get back to the Hughes’ apartment tonight and talk to her in private, maybe under the guise of working on his phone more. Which he also wanted to do, actually. Quite badly.

 

As he schemed, he followed Mustang. At the Intelligence department, they took the stairs, where Mustang knocked on the door to Hughes’ office. Sheska called for them to come in. 

 

Sheska was scribbling away furiously at a stack of papers. Kaito’s glimpse told him these were nicer cardstock than he’d seen her using before. She seemed confused when she looked up and saw Mustang in the doorway with Kaito hovering behind.

 

“Have you seen Lt. Hughes this evening?” Mustang asked, straight to the point.

 

“Yeah, actually,” Sheska said. “He was here not too long ago for some of the day’s files.”

 

“Did he say where he was going?”

 

Sheska shook her head. “Just that he had to look into something. I figured he’d be going home, really.”

 

Mustang frowned. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s getting late. You should head home yourself.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, Lt. Colonel Hughes is paying well for overtime,” Sheska protested. “And your proje—”

 

“I’ll rephrase; please leave the Command Center,” Mustang said. There was a note in his voice that reminded Kaito this guy was a pretty high-up military official, who probably won a lot of the arguments he got himself into. “This is for your own safety.”

 

Sheska began to look nervous all over again. “A—alright,” she said. “I’ll pack up.”

 

“Good, see that you do, and pass along the message to anyone else you see on the way out,” Mustang said, then turned sharply. “Kaitou, come along.”

 

Kaito paced quickly after him. “You’re not gonna send me home, too?”

 

“No,” Mustang said shortly, but didn’t elaborate.

 

It was fair enough, though Kaito would’ve preferred to stick to the shadows. Mustang’s paranoia was mixing with a twitching of Pandora’s energy, wavering at the edges of his mind. Or, it could’ve been the fact he’d already had guns pointed at his head once this afternoon.

 

Mustang’s strides were long and Kaito had to consciously broaden his own steps to keep up. Hughes wasn’t at the Intelligence wing’s smaller file storage room, and the woman at the phone bank hadn’t seen him pass by, either. As they headed for their third stop, Mustang pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. Kaito saw a flash of red on the back and recognized them from the incident at the bank. Whatever those arrays did, exactly, had ended the hostage situation in a matter of minutes.

 

Kaito swallowed, fingers twitching to his cardgun, and really fucking wished he knew what was going on.

 

“The archive room on the ground floor is likely to have the information Maes was looking for,” he said to Kaito, voice low, “and trust me when I say I hope I’m overreacting, but stay alert.”

 

“For?” Kaito asked. He palmed his cardgun and discreetly adjusted the way his shirt hung so that Pandora wouldn’t be pressing so hot and insistent against his side.

 

“Anything,” Mustang said.

 

The hallway was empty of people, but Mustang’s eyes caught on an open door and narrowed. A moment later, Kaito saw it too: there was a thick smear of blood on the wooden doorframe.

 

Mustang drew himself closer to the wall and gestured Kaito back, but Kaito had already pressed against it. He could feel his heartbeat where his shoulder blades skimmed the wall. When they reached the doorway, Mustang spun inside without hesitation, one hand stretched out ahead of him—ready for what, Kaito couldn’t imagine.

 

There was a woman standing in the middle of the room, flicking through some books that had been left on the table. She glanced up when Mustang stepped in, and Kaito—peering carefully around the doorframe—recognized her with a sick start. It was Lust, and her forehead was smeared with blood. Some had dripped to her chest and decorated her ouroboros tattoo. One of Maes’ knives hung from her hand, casually by her side. 

 

“Oh, hello,” she said. “Colonel Mustang, is it?” She glanced at Kaito. “And the Xingan boy? My, I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon.”

 

Pandora’s energy stuttered in thick time with Kaito’s wild heartbeat.

 

“Where is Maes?” Mustang demanded.

 

“How should I know?” Lust asked. When she grinned, smudges of blood were obvious above her mouth. “He left.”

 

She lashed out. Kaito hit the floor to avoid the knife, moving on instinct and adrenaline, but Mustang grunted. He’d taken her sharp finger spears in one forearm and was straining against her, protecting his chest.

 

Then, he snapped, and Lust exploded into flames.

 

Kaito threw his arms over his head. Lust was shrieking, and below that he could hear the fire crackling, popping. He could smell her hair and flesh burning.

 

The part of Kaito that wasn’t freaking out wondered how the fuck Mustang had caused this, and then he remembered the man’s title: the Flame Alchemist. The meaning behind it was clear now. The little bursts at the bank had only been a tiny, tiny fraction.

 

The heat and noise died almost as suddenly as it began. Kaito looked up, feeling clammy and sick, but kept his gaze close, on Mustang’s heels and the spots of blood landing quietly around them. Kaito pushed himself to his feet.

“What the fuck, Mustang-san,” he croaked. Lust had been scary at the Fifth Lab, and she’d killed a guy there, sure, but nobody should die via alchemical barbeque. Nobody.

 

Mustang didn’t reply. He was crouching over the woman’s charred body. Kaito couldn’t see his face, but he seemed focused on what used to be the woman’s head, so it was Kaito who saw the red lightning spark up from her chest cavity.

 

His own heart leaped into the back of his throat. “Mustan—”

 

But he was too slow; one of Lust’s hands had already regenerated enough to slash out, catching Mustang in the side. He was sent back with a grunt and hit the table; books rained down. 

 

Kaito aimed his cardgun at Lust with a shaking arm, but even as he did, he knew it would be useless. What could a card do against someone who could survive a fire like that? Even a razor-sharp card?

 

Mustang’s eyes flickered up as Lust’s almost-corpse drew itself to its feet, blackened skin and charcoal sloughing off and disintegrating almost before it touched the floor. Kaito followed her chest with his unsteady aim, willing his hands into stillness. Red light crackled over her face, regenerating it enough for Kaito to make out an expression of distaste before she sighed.

 

“What a pity,” she said. “You’re not meant to die tonight.”

 

Mustang let out a half-laugh. His eyes were hard. “The only one who’ll be dying tonight is you, Lust. Where is Maes?”

 

She clicked her tongue. “When did everyone learn my name? How annoying.”

 

“Tell me where Maes is,” Mustang repeated, the force behind his words clear.

 

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Lust replied smoothly. She flexed one hand and her fingers sharpened into claws once again. Kaito switched his aim quickly and fired off several cards as she reared her hand back. They ripped at the skin of her fingers but did little else beyond drawing her attention to him. 

 

When her Pandora-red eyes pinned him, Kaito felt cold, the kind of cold that cut off feeling in extremities, that went hand-in-hand with a panic attack. Her mouth curled into a horrible little smile and then her lips parted to say something, and—

 

She was up in flames again, this time more blue than orange. Kaito winced away from the sudden heat; the bridge of his nose blistered from the proximity, and his fingers would’ve been worse if not for his gloves. He dove for shelter behind the wal.

 

There was an instant when the flames died down, just enough time for the crackle of Lust’s regeneration to start up, before heat exploded out of the room again for several long moments.

 

Kaito didn’t want to look inside. He forced himself to look anyway.

 

More than Lust was charred; the floor and ceiling were blackened. Books were smouldering. The man who stood over Lust’s alchemy-riddled body was a man carved of stone, face and eyes hard even as his arm continued to drip hot blood onto his shoes, onto the soot-thick ground.

 

He glanced up to Kaito, and Kaito held his gaze as best as he could, staring down this ruthless murderer who may have just saved one or both of their lives.

 

Red light danced out of the corpse’s heart.

 

“Find Maes,” Mustang said.

 

Kaito didn’t need to be told twice. His shaking feet took him back the way they’d come as another round of fire lit the doorway: blue. Lust’s fresh howls followed him up the stairs. 

 

He didn’t know Hughes well enough to predict his movements, but instinct told him to go up: up would give him visuals. Up would help him form a plan. Up would keep him alive.

 

He’d have liked to get onto the roof, but he had no idea how. Instead he found himself back in Hughes’ office, blissfully empty and dark. Deceptively peaceful. He threw open a window and strained his eyes against the dark trees, the dark walkways, beyond that, the street in yellow and black, hardly knowing what to look for.

 

There. A dark, wavering blur of blue, moving fast. Hughes. Kaito tracked out the trajectory and realized he was probably aiming for the park. Drawing something out? No, not something, probably someone, probably Envy.

 

“I’d give a year’s worth of pranks to have my hanglider right now,” Kaito said, planting a foot on the windowsill. He scaled down the outside of the building, using window ledges for handholds, and then pelted towards the park, and prayed to Lady Luck that he’d read this correctly.

 

He wasn’t as fast on foot as he would’ve been in the air, but the urgency of the situation pumped as much adrenaline into his system as any heist did. Pandora’s insistence at the edge of his mind only made his heart pound harder. He slid through the trees, trying to regulate his breathing and his footsteps, darted across a road with his head down, and finally made it to the park. His messenger bag he stowed in a bush.

 

He readied his cardgun, so nearly a toy, but his closest cognate to a weapon, and crept onwards, footsteps soft beneath the buzzing of cicadas. Just as he drew close to the wide avenue that bisected the park, a gunshot split the air and scared Kaito out of his skin.

 

He’d hit the ground before processing that the bullet hadn’t been aimed at him. Hot on the heels of that realization was the knowledge that it had probably been aimed at Hughes. Staying so close to the ground that his heart may as well have shaken hands with the worms, he pulled himself towards the walkway to see what was happening.

 

Hughes was on his knees in front of a phone booth, shoulder stained a dark mess. In front of him, launching themselves to their feet was a stranger. They wore Ross’s face, but shrieked with Envy’s voice, and that transported Kaito’s hindbrain back to the Fifth Lab, a sword in his stomach, an evil smile hovering in front of him—

Two more gunshots caused Kaito to recoil like he’d been the one holding the gun. He sent a frantic burst of cards at Envy and pushed down the relief that threatened to flood him when one of them managed to disarm them.

 

His legs were shaking as he lifted himself to his feet. He had to get Hughes and get away, if Hughes wasn’t already dead from those bullets—but first he’d have to get Envy away. His mind was spinning. Maybe he could lure them away; he’d just given away his presence with the cards. Maybe—

 

Hughes flung a knife into their forehead. Kaito exhaled hollow air and darted forward. Okay. Hughes was fine, then. And Envy wasn’t, if only for a moment, but that was enough, right?

 

Nope. Envy was bouncing back like a spring, transforming back into the person Kaito had faced several days ago. “That’s too much,” they snarled. “Why won’t you die?”

 

The gun was aimed at Hughes’ head. That was bad. That was very, very bad. That was not survivable.

 

Kaito had tackled them before he’d even realized he’d gotten close enough. He and Envy tumbled to the ground, and rolled in a rather undignified way for a few feet. Envy fired their gun again, the bullet rocketing skyward; the sound was so close that Kaito’s ears shorted out with a high whine.

 

Envy was dense and slippery, not someone Kaito could pin down. They laughed as he scrambled for their gun and refused to relinquish it even when Kaito twisted their wrist. Instead, they squeezed the trigger again and sent another bullet into the air. Kaito’s entire body rattled. He hit their wrist with his cardgun.

 

“How cute,” Envy crooned, faraway in Kaito’s ringing ears. “But pretty pathetic compared to last time, if you ask me. Where’re your explosions?”

 

Kaito grit his teeth and brought his cardgun down on their wrist again. They grunted this time and kneed him in the stomach, painfully close to where they’d stabbed him, then wiggled away, pulling themself onto their knees. Kaito kept his grip on their wrist and headbutted them in the chest. It was like slamming into a brick wall and Kaito immediately regretted it, eyes watering.

 

“This is the worst fight I’ve ever been in,” Envy complained, locking sharp fingers around Kaito’s arm and yanking his hand off their other wrist with enough force to toss Kaito onto the ground. They leveled their gun towards the phone booth again. “It would be a lot easier if I could shoot you and get over with—”

 

Kaito wasn’t about to let them shoot at Hughes again. Desperate, he scrambled up, lifted both hands for leverage, and slammed the butt of his cardgun into their temple. Envy growled out an inhuman sound, barely flinching.

 

“Wanna try that again?” they snarled, their head transforming with a crackle of red light into the perfect replica of Hughes’: squared jaw, stubble, glasses and all. 

 

“Doesn’t really work when I saw you transform,” Kaito said hollowly. Instead of deterring him, Envy’s impersonation heightened the rushing of blood in his ears. He swung his cardgun at them again to no avail. He just had to keep their eyes off Hughes, who may-or-may-not-be-dying, wait, no, don’t think about that now—

 

“Kaitou, I’m disappointed,” Envy-as-Hughes said, their voice a perfect copy of his, but their smirk still alien. “I can’t believe I let a violent criminal such as yourself do party tricks for my precious daughter.”

 

“Not gonna work,” Kaito said, making a grab for their gun-wielding arm again. It wasn’t Hughes’ arm; it was too slim, too dense, like a steel wire. Wrong, so wrong, their hand still impossible to unwrap from the gun. Poker face, poker face.  

 

“Such a troublesome child,” Envy went on, their smirk not wavering as they jerked their arm away from Kaito’s hold again.

There: just in that moment, Envy was focused on Kaito’s right hand. And with the left, with his card gun, if he could just hit the right spot on their temple, they’d go crumple and go down; he’d seen it done before—but above his head, his arm trembled and refused to move.

 

Envy’s face crawled with a wide grin. “So violent.”

 

Then, Envy’s hand combusted into bright hot flame, intense enough that Kaito flinched away. Envy shrieked. When the gun clattered to the ground, Kaito kicked it, channeling as much of Tantei-kun’s scary soccer abilities as he could muster. It skittered off into the dark underbush.

 

The flame snapped Kaito out of his tenuous fight-mode and launched him directly into flight-mode, a much more familiar feeling. The pressure was still on, creeping up the back of his neck line and threatening to snap it at a moments’ notice.

 

That burst of concentrated fire meant Mustang had arrived—had the gunshots given away their location? Or did he know Hughes well enough to accurately predict his movements? Kaito couldn’t say. But he knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing he could do about Envy. Their short scuffle had proved that; he hadn’t even been able to disarm them. 

 

Now, Mustang would do to Envy whatever he’d done to Lust, and Kaito couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it, a realization that wormed sickeningly into the cartilage of his joints.

 

He didn’t care what happened to Envy. He just didn’t want Hughes to die.

 

There, at least, was something Kaito could do. He had Pandora, and the damn thing was practically screaming for him to use it. If that rock spent human souls to do alchemy, the least Kaito could do was use it to save someone’s life. Right?

 

Hughes was still slumped in the phone booth. The only blood Kaito could find was soaking through his shoulder, which made him pause. Hadn’t Envy shot him in the chest? Was the bleeding internal?

 

Heat licked at his back and Envy’s new shriek peeled into inhuman territory. Okay, the blood didn’t matter. If Hughes wasn’t bleeding from the chest, it was probably safe to move him. Pushing away the fact that it actually probably wasn’t, he heaved Hughes’ weight onto his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him behind the phone booth, into the bushes, and laid him down on his back. 

 

His fingers found the weak pulse in Hughes’ jaw. When he felt it, his fingers trembled with relief, with the realization that Hughes’ heart was still pumping, really. He’d welcome that tremble over the desperate shake in his arms a few moments ago.

 

Hughes’ eyes flickered.

 

“Nobody dies,” Kaito promised him feverishly, laying a hand over his sternum. The mantra would be as true as he could make it. “Nobody dies.”

 

There wasn’t time to fumble Pandora out of the concealed side-pocket of his shirt, but that hadn’t mattered last time. Below his fingers, he felt the weak, stuttering expansion of Hughes’ ribs. There was probably internal bleeding, broken ribs, god, hopefully not a punctured lung; shit, this was easier when he knew exactly what he was trying to fix. But then again, he’d been vague before, not even knowing Pandora’s power and it had worked once, to seal the cracks in Kaito’s ribs. But it had backfired the second time, on Envy—

 

He didn’t have a choice. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut. Instead of black, he saw blue and orange tongues of flaming licking up.

 

Pandora, he thought, nobody gets hurt, and nobody dies. Please. Even the approximation of his own voice that his mind could conjure was desperate. Nobody gets hurt, and nobody dies.

 

And Pandora, like before, met him halfway.

 

Energy emanated out from the gem, a wriggling heat that slithered and wriggled its way between between his bones and muscles, into his veins, rushed to his heart; from there it chased itself through his arteries all at once, crashed over him like a wave that left him dizzy-headed. He braced through his shoulders to keep his hands locked on Hughes’ chest, which was awash in crackling red when Kaito peered out between his eyelashes, before everything blanked into fuzzy whiteness.

 

It was disorienting; his kinesthetic senses were yanked away from him, leaving him floaty, like the bounce of new sneakers underfoot, on a trampoline floor, like he’d just entered zero gravity.

 

He lifted his eyes. Before him was a dark, vague shape, so out of focus that he could only guess at what it might be; a rectangle?

 

A shiver clawed itself into Kaito’s mind, and he knew, with absolute certainty that he was being watched. He tried to turn, tried to focus his eyes, tried to blink, but his body was unresponsive, if he even had one any more.

 

Wrong, every fibre of his being screamed.

 

Then, as quickly as he had exited reality, he was back. He drew in a sharp breath, the heat and oxygen searing the soft flesh of his throat. All of his weight was on Hughes, braced through the armpits and chest. Thank god for muscle memory, preventing him from faceplanting into Hughes’ blood-covered shoulder.

 

Pandora’s energy leached out of him, leaving only a residual humming in his hands, and a buzzing in the front of his skull. He fumbled a numb hand to take Hughes’ pulse again: it was steady, stronger than before, but Kaito didn’t move until he saw a faint flutter of breath. 

 

Kaito half-fell onto the grass and caught himself on a hand, arm trembling. He managed to lower himself to his elbow without eating dirt. Okay. He hadn’t— Pandora hadn’t killed Hughes. That was a start. That was good. But blood was still oozing sluggishly from Hughes’ shoulder, and the front of his uniform was still burned with three black holes, terrible little cavities that were otherwise clean of gore. 

 

Kaito hadn’t gotten a good look before, but—it was still odd, that there wasn’t blood on his chest. He forced himself up again and tore away Hughes’ jacket, which had way too many fucking buttons. The white button shirt beneath tested his patience by having even more buttons, so Kaito just ripped the fabric in half.

 

Beneath it, he found something gray-ish green, with a thick texture that was incredibly familiar. Then, it clicked: Hughes was wearing Kaito’s bulletproof vest. The very thing that had saved him from Snake’s bullets at the top of Midtown Tower had protected Hughes from Envy’s.

 

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Kaito’s mouth. No wonder there wasn’t blood! Internal bleeding, his ass. The bullets hadn’t even touched Hughes’ skin.

 

Like a dam had broken, the final traces of adrenaline seeped out of Kaito’s system, taking with it the last of his energy to keep pushing. Everything that had kept him moving until now, past Lust, past Envy, to Hughes, was gone, and he was left slumped over with the remnants of Pandora’s power dancing on his tingling fingertips. 

 

Mustang crouched beside him, and wow, Kaito was really tunnel-visioning if he hadn’t even heard him approach. But Kaito couldn’t force his heavy head up; his neck felt too small, a string attaching his skull to his shoulders.

“How is he?” Mustang asked.

 

“Alive,” Kaito answered. His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t know why.

 

Mustang nodded, verifying for himself. “He needs a doctor,” he said, then glanced to his arm. It was dripping. “And frankly, so do I.”

 

Kaito managed to look at him. His eyes were probably hollow. They felt hollow. His skull felt hollow. Someone must have come at him with an ice cream scoop. A bladed one, that had been held over a forge...

 

Mustang looked stiffly back at him. “Not the hospital,” Mustang clarified. “I’ve got a call to make.”

 

He stood up and vanished from view. Kaito’s gaze fell back to his hands, too unfeeling to do anything but lay limply in his lap.

 

---

 

Had anyone asked Kaito how they’d gotten to the doctor’s house, Kaito wouldn’t have been able to tell them. Surely, there had been a car, or a walk, or something. But none of it had registered; he looked up from his useless hands and saw the messy living room, littered with tea cups and books and blankets.

 

“What,” said the man who Kaito had to assume was the doctor, “the fuck, Mustang.”

 

“Dr. Knox,” said Mustang. “If you’d be so kind, I’d like to have that conversation in approximately one hour.”

 

“Of course you would,” muttered Knox, chewing on a cigarette that Kaito distantly noted was unlit. Other than that, the man was only a scowl and a pair of glasses. “Of course you would. Take him to my bedroom, lay him down.” He nodded to Hughes, propped up against Mustang. Was he awake? Kaito had no idea. “Med kit’s in the closet.”

 

Mustang vanished, Hughes with him.

 

The doctor’s eyes swiveled to Kaito, and Kaito stared back. Whoever had hollowed him out had filled him with sand.

 

Knox sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “And you,” he said. “Whoever the fuck you are, you’re probably in shock. Sit down.”

 

“I’ve never been in shock before,” Kaito protested. He’d been shot at more than a dozen times, and that had never put him in shock.

 

“Fogginess?” Knox demanded.

It took Kaito a second to register it as a question; when it landed, he nodded.

 

“Adrenaline?” Knox continued. “Jitters? Feel like you’re going to vomit? Tight chest? Feeling disconnected from what’s happening?”

 

Kaito nodded to each like a broken doll.

 

“You’re in shock,” Knox said decisively.

 

“Oh,” Kaito said vaguely. “I guess that makes sense.”

 

“Sit,” Knox said.

 

This time, Kaito did, and found that the couch was just as cluttered as the rest of the living room. Oh, he was clutching his bag. That was nice. He didn’t have many possessions, and it wouldn’t do well to lose them.

 

Knox was in front of him with a tiny flashlight. “What’s your name?”

 

“Kaito,” Kaito answered, then belatedly corrected himself and hoped that the doctor wouldn’t hear the slight difference in pronunciation. “Kaitou.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Sixteen.”

“What year is it?” 

 

There was a very, very bright, concentrated light aimed at Kaito’s right eye. “Twe—nineteen,” Kaito said haltingly. “Fourteen. It’s nineteen-fourteen.”

 

“Who’s the Führer?”

 

Kaito shrugged. The light snapped to his left eye for a moment before switching off completely. Kaito blinked owlishly. Had he been checking for a concussion? Kaito hadn’t hit his head. Aside from into Envy, but...

 

“He’s from Xing. He probably wouldn’t know the Führer from bread pudding in the first place,” Mustang cut in, appearing in the hallway. “Knox, please. Let’s make sure Maes is stable first.”

 

Knox stood with a grunt, hands braced on his knees. “Stay here, kid,” he told Kaito.

 

But Kaito, remembering the task at hand, launched to his feet. “No,” he said. “Wait. Let me help with Hughes-san.”

 

Knox looked him up and down. “No offense, but what do you think you can do?” he asked.

 

“Anything,” Kaito said, knowing he probably looked and sounded as desperate as he felt. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I can’t just sit here.”

 

The doctor hesitated. 

 

“Knox, please,” Mustang said, voice straining. “Maes?”

 

“Fine,” Knox tossed his hands in the air. “Fine! Kaitou, go wash your hands, then meet us in the bedroom.”

 

When he entered their impromptu medbay, Hughes was laid out on a bed that had been stripped of all but a fitted sheet. There was a towel under his shoulder, which was still oozing. The towel was turning a muddy red. Knox examined Hughes’ breathing and eyes while Mustang was sterilizing the shoulder wound. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and one forearm was as much a mess of blood as Hughes’ shoulder.

 

As soon as Knox spotted Kaito, he grabbed the bloody gauze from Mustang and dumped it in his hands. “Toss that and bring the antibacterial ointment,” he said, and Kaito did, finding the large medical bag open at the foot of the bed.

 

He was sent back and forth several times, and even though it was work Knox didn’t need him for, Kaito was glad to be kept busy: the more he moved, the less he had to think. The sting of the disinfectant must have roused Hughes, or maybe the penlight in his eyes, because he began shifting away from Knox’s hand before long, face twisting. 

 

Mustang looked relieved. “You alright?” he asked.

 

“Feel like I got hit by a truck,” Maes responded roughly. “My arm is...” he winced. “On fire.”

 

“Don’t talk,” Mustang ordered.

 

“Asshole,” Hughes muttered.

 

There was a shuffle: Knox had a needle. He braced a hand against Hughes’ chest and pushed the needle in to bridge the bloody wound in his shoulder. Maes grunted and twitched. Knox worked to quickly tie off the first stitch.

 

“You’ve got a minor concussion, and the bleeding’s under control, but you’ve lost a chunk of your trapezius muscle,” Knox said as he worked. “Looks like the weapon missed your collarbone, though. You said your arm tingles?”

 

“Yeah,” Hughes said, his face still contorted with pain. He didn’t seem to notice when Mustang inserted a syringe into the crook of his uninjured arm and pushed the plunger. Knox cursed under his breath.

 

“You might have nerve damage,” Knox informed him. “Can’t tell just yet.”

 

“What happened?” Hughes asked, the question directed to Mustang.

 

“The most important thing is that both Lust and Envy are dead,” Mustang said. He pulled the needle out of Hughes’ arm and gestured for Kaito to take it to the trash.

 

“How—” Maes started, but something must have passed unspoken between the two of them, as Maes’ eyes flickered down to Mustang’s hands before he said, “Ah.”

 

Knox tied off a second stitch. Kaito took the syringe away. When he came back, Hughes’ eyes found his. Kaito ducked his head and rummaged uselessly through the medical kit. It didn’t do anything to distract Kaito from the soft wiggle of Pandora’s energy that had stayed on the fringes of his consciousness. 

 

“Kaitou—” Hughes said softly.

 

Kaito grit his teeth and averted his eyes, something inside his chest twisting into tight, uncomfortable knots. Hughes fell silent.

 

When the stitches were done, Mustang helped Hughes sit up. While Mustang and Knox applied fresh bandages, Kaito was sent to replace the towel, but there was nothing to be done about the stain that had spread to the bedsheets. When Kaito returned, he saw that some of the color had returned to Hughes’ face. He was even trying out a grin.

 

“You know, I feel surprisingly okay for having been shot a few times,” Hughes said conversationally, though his bandages were already turning pink and would need to be changed in a few hours. “Arm’s not even bothering me now. Woof, those are strong painkillers, Roy.” 

 

“You’re not getting much more,” Knox grunted. “I won’t have you becoming dependent.”

 

Hughes, however, was looking down at his chest, decorated with deep red and purple bruising. He looked like somebody had taken garish paint to a pale canvas. Violently. “Gracia won’t like this.”

 

“You’re lucky that’s the worst of it,” Mustang said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The springs squeaked. “You’ve Kaitou’s alkahestry to thank.”

 

Hughes laughed. “There wouldn’t have been anything left of me to do the thanking if not for that vest he brought to town,” he said, but then pinned Kaito with an earnest expression. “Thank you, Kaitou.”

 

Kaito’s mouth was dry; he resisted the urge to swallow. “You’re welcome,” he said.

 

Knox began hounding Hughes with questions about his chest (did it hurt to breathe?) so Kaito slunk against the back wall and watched Mustang clean dried blood from his arm. On the top of a dresser, he found Hughes’ bloody jacket, and the vest that Jii had given him. They were bundled together in a heavy heap.

 

It felt like years ago, when Jii had handed him the vest and all but begged him to come home safe.

 

Knox probed at Hughes’ ribs, told him to breathe deeply a few times, and then sat back, looking suspicious. “I don’t think they’re broken,” he said, a bit disgruntled. “Hell’s all the bruising from, then…?” At Hughes’ and Mustang’s shared glance, Knox shook his head disapprovingly. “Assholes. Make a fist with your left hand.”

 

Hughes curled his fingers weakly with a fresh wince. Apparently the painkillers could only do so much, especially when Knox had him try to lift his arm, bend at the elbow, and rotate his wrist.

 

Knox clicked his tongue. “That will take further observation,” he said. “Alright, Mustang. Your turn.”

 

He sealed Mustang’s puncture wounds with two small stitches. When the arm was bandaged, he tested the movement in Mustang’s fingers and didn’t seem very pleased with the results there, either, and then got Mustang to wrestle himself out of his shirt so he could attend to several other wounds that Kaito hadn’t even noticed. When he got sick of Kaito alternately holding medical supplies and standing around like a mannequin, he sent Kaito to the kitchen for a bottle of minor pain killers for himself and Mustang.

 

“I don’t need anything,” Kaito said.

 

Knox didn’t believe him. “Sure,” he said. “Tell that to whatever massive headache you get when you come back down to earth.”

 

Kaito took his time hunting down a couple glasses and filling them with water. Knox’s house was depressing; it wasn’t that it was some ungodly hour of the night and that the only sound was the murmur of voices from the bedroom-turned-medbay, but the mess. It was more than the clutter of a lived-in home. Things were scattered in a careless way that conveyed an apathy for one’s living space and conversely made Kaito think achingly of the dusty corners in his own home. His mom wasn’t in Japan much, and he often forgot to vacuum in her room, but it was never like this. His house still felt like a home. This place felt like somewhere a doctor just happened to sleep, maybe eat.

 

Mustang took two painkillers dry and chased them with the water; Hughes, who’d already gotten his medicine straight in the bloodstream, sipped his glass and watched the room through tired eyes. Knox had already packed away most of the medical kit. As he stood, he said, “Mustang, you can take the spare room. Kid, you can have the couch.”

 

“What about you?” Hughes asked.

Knox shrugged. “I’ll throw some blankets on the floor.”

 

“You can have the couch,” Kaito said. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep.

Knox looked at him critically. “You need it more than I do,” he said. 

 

Kaito was too drained to argue, so he just shrugged.

 

“May I use your phone before we settle in?” Mustang asked.

 

“Sure. Front room,” Knox grunted, turning away. “Now, you’ve kept me up long enough with your government conspiracies and bloody wounds. I’ve got a shift in the morning.”

 

Kaito loitered in the bedroom as it emptied. He thought about tailing Mustang to eavesdrop, or laying on the couch and pretending to sleep, but he really, really didn’t want to be around that pyromaniac. Instead, he slumped into a wooden chair in the corner and watched Hughes fall asleep despite the fact that the room was still bright and he was still leaning against the headboard. 

 

After a bit, Hughes shook himself. He blinked blearily at Kaito. “Should you be letting me sleep with a concussion?” 

 

Kaito shrugged. “Is sleeping any worse than passing out?”

 

Hughes chuckled tiredly. “Got me there.” He shuffled until he was laying on his back. In the quiet and calm, he’d soon fallen asleep for real. 

 

Kaito was too tired to push away the furious buzzing of thoughts that were pinging around his skull, so after a while, he closed his eyes too, and finally let them consume him.

 

He’d used Pandora again. He hadn’t even hesitated, once he’d realized that Hughes had been shot. And—he didn’t regret it.

 

He’d expected it to be different, using Pandora knowingly. Knowing that it was human lives that powered the rock, somehow, but it wasn’t, really.

 

Was it like potential energy? Like placing a ball at the top of a hill and then harnessing what happened when it careened down? All the firing of synapses and electrical pulses through muscles that those people could have spent, years and years down the line, instead solidified, ready to be parceled out for his use?

 

For better or worse, Pandora existed. Unless he could figure out how to destroy it—and somehow he didn’t think it would crack like an egg if he dropped it off a building—then somebody would kill for it. Somebody would use its crackling, wiggling red energy. Was it… was it so bad that he’d used it to save someone’s life?

Maybe that was the only ethical thing he could do with it.

 

But that was reckless, too. Pandora’s energy manifested like alchemy, or amplified alchemy. Whatever it was really doing, Kaito didn’t really understand, and probably wouldn’t unless he got a real grasp on how alchemy worked, more than the baby-basics he’d learned while Ed and Al had cracked Dr. Marcoh’s code.

 

There was a thought. If Kaito could use Pandora, what could somebody like Ed do?

Somebody like Mustang?

 

He clumsily rubbed his hands over his face, then levered himself out of the chair to turn off the light. The room swathed in darkness, Kaito listened to Hughes’ shallow breathing until his eyes adjusted enough for him to collapse back into his chair.

 

Mustang. Mustang had killed Envy and Lust. Repeatedly. Until it stuck. And Kaito had let it happen, hadn’t had a choice; they’d have killed Mustang; they’d have killed Hughes. 

 

Kaito’s inaction made him into an accomplice. It was self defense, he told himself. Borne out of a desperate need to survive.

 

God, what would Tantei-kun say to him? Those huge eyes that could see through him like a piece of gauze floating on the wind. What would he think if he knew the thief he stood toe-to-toe with had watched two murders, and done nothing?

 

He’d be disappointed in Kaito, that’s what. Kaito would fail his standards. And god, he’d already failed Aoko’s standards ten thousand times over, and there was no going back from this one. The final nail in his coffin, if she ever found out.

 

No matter how bad Envy and Lust had been, had they deserved to die? He could tell himself they did. They’d proved it—

 

But, no. No. He had to rebel against that idea. Nobody deserved to die. Nobody deserved to be hurt. He thought of Snake, the organization, his father’s murder, and—no, they didn’t deserve death either. They deserved a life behind bars.

 

Kaito could feel himself slipping. Whoever he’d been before was seeping out of his ears, between his fingers. He couldn’t catch it. He couldn’t hold on.

 

Inexplicably, an image of Envy came to his mind. Envy had used something akin to Pandora’s alchemy to heal themself, so similar that Kaito had originally thought they’d used a second Pandora to do it. Maybe that wasn’t the truth; maybe they’d drunk Pandora’s tears of immortality. Maybe that was how they’d survived so much of Mustang’s fire. Some immortality that turned out to be. 

 

But maybe that was what came from pursuing Pandora. From using Pandora. If that was true—

 

Kaito didn’t want to entertain the possibility, but it came unbidden to him, and was too loud to be ignored: the idea that maybe he’d glimpsed his own future in Envy’s smirking face.

 

---

 

Notes:

Sometimes I love writing dialogue. Sometimes I hate it. I think this chapter has excellent examples of both XD

Chapter 15: The Convocation

Notes:

I flip-flopped on the order of chapters 15 & 16 a few times, but this is the order I landed on (...yesterday) SO one more til we return to the DCMK world :"D

---

 

Kaito woke up with an awful crick in his neck from sleeping in the wooden chair. Gracia was knocking gently on the open door of the doctor’s room. There was a bundle of thick blue fabric in one of her arms, and she smiled at him when he unfolded himself from his stiff position. 

 

“Sorry to wake you,” Gracia said, stepping in. “I had to bring fresh uniforms for the boys.”

 

Kaito rubbed the crust from his eyes and wished, deep down in his soul, that he’d brushed his teeth last night. “S’fine,” he mumbled. “Why’re they going in to work?” Surely, last night merited calling in sick. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t question it; if today were to be like yesterday, it would be full of boredom and babysitting. The thought of spending several hours alone with Mustang again made Kaito’s skin crawl. At least with Hughes’ injuries, Kaito would have a few excuses to stick around with him instead...

 

Gracia sighed as her husband stirred. “Roy said there’s damage control to be done,” she said. “Heaven knows what that really means.”

 

Kaito could only imagine, but decided the rest of his energy was better spent staggering to his feet and hunting down a toothbrush, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck as he went. 

 

In the front room, he saw and subsequently ignored Mustang. There, the doctor grabbed him and badgered him into allowing him to check on the stitches in his stab wound that had been neglected in the chaos the previous night; he probably hadn’t even known about them. Luckily, the stitches didn’t need replacing, but Knox scolded him anyway as he applied new bandages.

 

“You can’t be so reckless while you’re healing,” he grunted. “You won’t be so lucky next time. Oh, and here’s some cream for your face.” He gave Kaito a squat container with instructions to apply a second coat later in the day. Then, he slapped a toothbrush into Kaito’s hand and left him alone. 

 

Kaito touched the bridge of his nose and winced, then checked his face in the mirror. His cheeks and nose were red and blistered; the back of his neck, too, when he prodded around with his fingertips. Honestly, he hadn’t noticed, but the relief the burn cream brought was immediate.

 

By the time Kaito returned to the bedroom, Hughes was dressed and Gracia was doing up the many buttons of his coat. They were speaking in low voices.

 

“I’m fine,” Hughes was saying softly, head ducked to catch Gracia’s gaze. “Really.” It didn’t seem like Gracia fully believed him.

 

Kaito hovered in the doorway until they noticed him. When Hughes looked over, he was pale and tired, but whole, and he smiled. He held his left arm stiff and still, the hand loosely curled. Kaito tried not to picture blood dripping from the cuff of his sleeve to the floor, but the image came to him anyway.

 

“Morning,” Hughes said. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“I slept, so that’s something,” Kaito said, pulling his gaze to Hughes’ face. 

 

“Better than nothing,” Hughes agreed. “We’ve decided that it’s best if you stay here today; try to lie low. Gracia’s going to stick around, too.” He gave his wife a tight smile.

 

“Oh, okay,” Kaito said. She’d probably be easier to slip away from, but he’d feel worse about it. “Where’s Elicia-chan?”

 

“She’s with the neighbors for the day,” Gracia said. 

 

There was a slam from the front of the house, which made Kaito twitch; presumably, the doctor had just left for work. Mustang’s voice rang out next, and as Hughes moved past Kaito to speak with him, he paused, looking at Kaito.

 

“What?” Kaito said.

 

Hughes’ good hand landed warm and broad on Kaito’s shoulder, and squeezed. Kaito did his best to unknot all the muscles that had suddenly tensed in his back. “I’ll be back,” Hughes said, already lifted his hand and moved on to the front room.

 

Kaito scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at Gracia. She was smoothing a new blanket over the bed now and smiled when she caught his gaze.

 

“You should get some more sleep,” she said with a nod to the mattress. “In a real bed this time.”

 

“The bed won’t make a difference,” Kaito said, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Hey, this is a long shot, but do you know when Fullmetal-san’s train is? Did Winry-san mention it?”

 

“It won’t be until this afternoon,” Gracia said, crossing her arms. “They’ll be over for lunch, so until then, you should rest.” She bobbed her head toward the bed again. “Go on.”

 

“I’m alright, Gracia-san.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him. Her stare alone made his jaw itch to yawn.

 

“Alright,” he relented after another moment. “I’ll try to sleep.”

 

“Good,” Gracia said brightly. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

 

She left him alone then, flicking the light off as she left. Sun trickled in through the blinds regardless, and Kaito gave into the urge to yawn, wide and long. He scrubbed his eyes again for good measure, too, and slapped his cheeks, which stung more than he expected. Oh, right, the burns. He still felt marginally more human after that.

 

He flopped onto the bed, listening to the adults' voices muffled through the walls for a few minutes. Then, he pushed himself into action. Last night had been—a lot, but it was clear that Mustang and Hughes were already reacting to what had happened. Kaito couldn’t allow himself to get left behind. His chances to get home—even his life—could depend on his ability to stay in the loop. 

 

The hallway was empty, so Kaito easily sidled up near the front room. Hiding just outside the doorway gave him a sense of deja-vu. He’d been doing a lot of hiding around doorways lately.

 

“...made some calls last night,” Mustang was saying as Kaito settled in. “Hawkeye is aware of the situation now, for the most part. Why did you try calling her, anyway?”

 

“If I’d actually managed to reach her, there’d be nobody better to listen in on the attack and make notes,” Hughes replied. “The phone booth was also the easiest way to lure out Envy; they were reluctant to approach while I was fully alert. I also thought it would give Kaitou an opportunity to react—”

 

“Kaitou?” Mustang echoed.

 

“Yeah; he was following me. I assumed he’d given you the slip somewhere.”

 

“He only arrived at the park a few minutes before I did.”

 

“No, I saw him when I—” There was a sharp intake of breath. “Shit. Probably wasn’t him, was it?”

 

“Mmm. The shapeshifter?” Mustang said.

 

“Likely. Damnit, I let them fool me into leading them to a remote area…” Hughes muttered.

“We didn’t know they could do that until it was too late,” Mustang said. Despite the attempt at reassurance, his voice was tight. “What matters is that it worked out alright.”

 

“You’re right,” Hughes replied. “The three of us made it through. We just need to keep it up.”

 

“About that, I’ve a few ideas…” Mustang’s voice was lost for a moment as he moved throughout the room; Kaito scowled and shifted closer to the doorway. “...take the blame for the incident, since we can’t pretend that nothing happened at all,” Mustang was saying.

“Not a bad idea, but it’ll be seen through easily unless we...” There was a shuffling of papers. “...and, these are the documents I took from the record room.”

 

There was a long moment of quiet, enough that Kaito picked up on the clanking of dishes from the kitchen. Was Gracia cleaning? That was too nice of her. Then again, Knox had taken in the three of them with only minor complaints... 

 

“Fuck,” Mustang said, air hissing out between his teeth. “All the way to the top, huh?”

 

“Corruption at its finest,” Hughes replied. “Whatever official story we tell will only get so far.”

 

“The cover we’ve got is as good as we’ll have, currently,” Mustang said. “If nothing else, it’ll pacify those of a lower rank and buy us some time. We can’t know the extent of Bradley’s involvement until we’ve taken a few risks…”

 

Silence; not even the clinking of glassware. It was broken by footsteps. Kaito tensed before realizing that they were coming from the kitchen, which fed directly into the living room. Must be Gracia.

 

“What will you tell Ed?” she asked. Apparently, she’d been eavesdropping as well. She probably knew who they were talking about in reference to Bradley, too; Kaito was having trouble fitting the name to any face he’d come across in Amestris so far. It couldn’t imply anything good, if knowledge about their non-human combatants went ‘all the way to the top’.

 

“What can’t we tell Ed?” Hughes mused in response, not sparing any time to be surprised that his wife had been listening. “He’s had the most contact with these people to date; he’ll be in danger if we don’t warn—”

 

“No,” Mustang cut him off. “He and his friends are leaving town this afternoon. That will be enough.”

 

“Will it?” Hughes challenged. “They need to be aware of the situation; if they’re flying blind, they won’t have any reason to watch their backs.”

 

“Maes, what did they do the last time they had a piece of sensitive information? One they were asked to refrain from acting upon?” Mustang snapped. Hughes was silent. Then, Mustang sighed. “They’re rash teenagers, Maes. And Al is a civilian when push comes to shove. The safest thing is for them to leave town and stay out.”

 

“They’re already involved,” Maes said, voice tight. “Everything is connected to the Philosopher’s Stone. If you allow them to continue traveling in search of it themselves, they’re not going to get further from the issue.”

 

“Those creatures have no interest in killing Ed; there’s something about him that’s offering him protection—”

 

“There are a hundred other things they could do to him without killing him, Roy. What if they captured him to use him for his skills with human transmutation?” Hughes shot back.

 

“How is that situation made better if he knows their plan? Lust attacked you because you knew too much; you said so yourself,” Mustang replied. Hughes sighed. Mustang talked over it. “And if he knows what we’re planning—”

 

“Oh, so you’re worried Ed could give away any plans we make when he’s being tortured?” Hughes cut him off sharply, which shut up Mustang quickly. “The two who spared Ed and Kaitou are dead now. Whoever’s left might not have the same reservations. Excuse me if I’m a little more worried about lives than kidnappings. I was shot in the chest three times, Roy. And, honestly? So was Kaitou, a couple weeks ago. The only reason either of us are alive is because he knew the dangers he was facing. That vest wouldn’t be around otherwise.”

 

“We need to gather more information before we tell Ed anything; he’s too unpredictable,” Mustang said.

 

“While that may be, Edward is a State Alchemist,” Hughes replied, voice rising. “He’s a major, and by all means, he’s got security clearance.”

 

“I’m his commanding officer!” Mustang matched his volume. 

 

Silence blazed out from the living room. Kaito risked a short glance inside and found that Mustang and Hughes had turned away from each other, Gracia stepping between them with her arms crossed. Kaito sank back again. 

 

“Boys,” Gracia said disapprovingly, “this is no time to fight. Think about it like this: the worst thing you can do right now is lose the trust of Edward and his brother. Keeping them completely in the dark will do just that.”

 

Mustang huffed softly.

 

“And,” Gracia went on, “you both have valid points. But those boys are smart. Moving forward, they need enough information to understand the gravity of this situation and act accordingly. So find a compromise.”

 

There was a sigh, and shuffling as the two sat down again. Finally, Mustang said, “You’re right, Gracia. My apologies.”

 

“You had a long, stressful night,” she said fairly.

 

Another beat of silence before Roy spoke a second time. “Maes, I’m sorry.”

 

Hughes sighed. “It’s alright. We’ll have to tell them who attacked us last night and why, at least the direct causation.” Papers rustled. “Here.”

 

Mustang sucked in a sharp breath. “This is—” he cut himself off with a swear.

 

“Think Ed’ll recognize it?” Hughes asked dryly.

 

“Whether he does or not, it’ll only raise more questions than answers,” Mustang said. “Maes, no. This is the worst thing we could hand him right now. We’ll explain as to who attacked us and why, but we can’t show him this.”

 

“But think about it; what if Ed can answer some of the questions here? He’s the only one who got a good look inside the Fifth Lab, and... ” 

 

His voice dipped low as he continued and Kaito grit his teeth at the level of secrecy. He almost wanted to sneak inside the living room. He couldn’t imagine what they were looking at, aside from the fact that it seemed related to alchemy, if it was connected to both Edward and the Fifth Lab. He only needed a glimpse...

 

He didn’t get long to consider the logistics when the telltale sounds of movement began again; a mutter of the time, a mention of coffee, then Hughes: “I’m going to say goodbye to Kaitou.”

 

It was enough to send him scurrying back to the bedroom. He’d only just pulled the blanket over himself when the door cracked open.

 

“Kaitou?” Hughes asked. “Can I come in?”

 

Kaito sat up. Pretending to sleep would be useless; he was too restless to feign it well. “Yeah.”

 

Hughes stepped in and flicked on the lights that Gracia had turned off minutes ago. Kaito squinted to sell the effect that he’d been in darkness for a while, and Hughes sat on the edge of the bed.

 

“...how’s the arm?” Kaito asked.

 

“I’m not going to be lifting weights any time soon,” Hughes said, then frowned. “When did you get burned?”

 

Kaito shrugged listlessly. “Does it really matter?”

 

“Yes. It does.”

 

Hughes’ eyes were quite intense. Kaito hunched over a bit to avoid his stare, unsuccessfully. “I was a bit too close to Mustang-san’s fire a few times,” he said.

 

“You should put some burn cream—”

 

“Knox-san already gave me some.”

 

“Ah, good.”

 

Why was Hughes still here? As glad that Kaito was for the man being alive and everything, he kind of wanted to be alone, or failing that, get some useful information. “Don’t you have to go to the office?”

 

“I’ve got a few minutes,” Hughes said. “Honestly, Kaitou, why are you acting like an armadillo? I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

 

Kaito opened his mouth to say that hey, he hadn’t been stabbed last night, but Hughes cut him off.

 

“Mentally, if not physically,” he said. “Knox said you were in shock last night.”

 

Well, couldn’t deny that. Kaito pulled a face.

 

“All things considered, I think the three of us got off pretty light,” Hughes said cheerfully. “Most serious thing is my arm, but it’s not life-threatening.”

 

“Well, you know,” Kaito said breezily, “perks of having someone like me around.”

 

Hughes huffed a little. “I’ve never punctured a lung before, but if I had to take a stab at it, I’d imagine that’s what happened last night.”

 

“Oh, damn,” Kaito said, not even acknowledging the pun in favor of feeling immensely glad that Pandora didn’t need specific commands from him. Somehow, he didn’t think that the trial-and-error route would’ve worked well.

 

Hughes only smiled at him. He seemed content to do most of the talking, which was good, because Kaito was drifting somewhere between ‘intense frustration’ and ‘having morals and empathy’. 

 

“Roy told me you’ve got a new cardgun,” Hughes said.

 

That was, without a doubt, a leading question. Kaito decided to lean into it, partially because he was too worn to do much denying and improvising. “Made a new cardgun,” he corrected.

 

He could practically see Hughes doing the ‘when did Kaitou have enough time for this engineering’ mental gymnastics behind his glasses, before he cracked a grin. “Came in handy, didn’t it?”

 

For approximately two seconds, yeah. He hadn’t even had a chance to test out the flash bombs. “Now you know why I was so eager to get my original one back,” Kaito said. 

 

“Sorry, I still don’t think I can get a hold of it. Either way, I’m glad you’ve got something you can use for self defense. But I’d also feel better if you had this.”

 

He held out one of his throwing knives in his good hand. Kaito eyed it, remembering the gruesome image of the same blade slashing Envy’s neck open. Granted, Hughes had a number of identical knives, so it might not have been this one, but… “I think you need it more than I do,” he said, pointing to Hughes’ limp arm. 

 

“I’ve got plenty,” Hughes said. “And there’s no reason I can’t procure a pistol for myself as well. Please take it.”

 

“I…” Kaito’s eyebrows scrunched. “Thanks, Hughes-san, but knives really aren’t my thing.”

 

“Why not? You’re pretty good with ‘em.”

 

“I just prefer my weapons of the nonlethal variety.”

 

Hughes tilted his head at Kaito, his grin and eyes unbearably soft. “Ah,” he said. “That’s right. ‘Nobody gets hurt’, huh?”

 

“Nobody gets hurt,” Kaito confirmed, then felt the need to explain himself. “It’s… back home, I put on… shows. That’s what I was doing before I got dropped here in Amestris.”

 

Hughes nodded; he remembered the story.

 

Kaito tugged the blanket around himself, just for something to do with his hands. “Sometimes people like Snake show up, but everything that’s within my control is never going to hurt anybody. It’s just… wrong. I put on my shows for fun. To push my own limits, go higher. To make people smile.” He paused. “Except for Snake and his gang, obviously.”

 

“That’s admirable,” Hughes said, his voice warm. “Really, Kaitou. Not a lot of people take these things so seriously.”

 

Kaito ducked his head to conceal his bashful grin, unable to mask it with his usual poker face. It was nice to be recognized for the things he did right and knew he did right, especially after being a bystander to murder less than twelve hours ago. That reminder quickly stiffened his grin.

 

“But,” Hughes said, further wiping away Kaito’s brief rush, “it’s not realistic.”

 

Kaito’s gaze jerked up to Hughes. He had the gall to look apologetic and pensive, and he was still holding his throwing knife like Kaito might yet take up his offer. Something about the picture he painted snapped what small amount of thread was keeping Kaito in the realm of social niceties. “Oh, it is realistic to have rocks running on soulpower, empty suits of armor, let alone alchemy in the first place, but it isn’t realistic to think situations can be resolved without murder?”

 

Hughes blinked at him. “...while that’s not exactly what I said, I appreciate what you mean,” Hughes said.

 

“So tell me,” Kaito demanded, “what do you mean, when you’re asking me to consider slashing people’s throats?”

 

Hughes blinked again, looking taken aback. “Kaitou—no, I don’t want you to slash anybody’s throat,” he said. “I want you to be able to defend yourself if you get attacked again.”

 

“I have my own way of doing things,” he bit out. “You know—disguise, camouflage. Subtlety. And I’d be a lot more prepared if I wasn’t working with one and a half sets of clothing and no latex.”

 

Hughes looked like he was warring between his surprise and amusement. Kaito glared harder, sending as many ‘ you laughing at me is not appreciated and may end somewhere unpleasant for you’ vibes as he possibly could. It worked against Hakuba on the rare occasion the situation arose. (And when it did arise, it was usually because Hakuba thought he’d cornered Kaito on the whole Being Kid thing.)

 

“How about you hold onto the knife until we can get you some supplies?” Hughes said. “Is that fair?”

 

Kaito wanted to say no. He really did. He didn’t even think that Hughes would be getting him any supplies if he had any say in the matter of where he’d be going next, because he didn’t plan to hang around with Hughes much longer. But saying as much would tip Hughes off entirely too soon.

 

The fight abruptly left Kaito and he closed his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered. “But I sure as hell won’t use it against anybody.”

 

“I don’t even want you to,” Hughes said, but Kaito could hear the relief clear in his voice as he eased the knife into a sheath. “Alright. I’ll put it with your bag.”

 

Kaito stayed huddled in his blanket as Hughes did that, then waited for him to leave. But he didn’t. He hovered instead. Kaito raised an eyebrow at him.

 

Hughes grinned back. “Can I give you a hug?”

 

It was now Kaito’s turn to blink in surprise. After a moment, all he managed was, “Why?”

 

“I think we could both use one,” Hughes said. When Kaito only continued to stare at him doubtfully, Hughes egged him on. “C’mon, it’ll be an awkward side hug. You can’t tell me you don’t want an awkward side hug.”

 

And Kaito…

 

Kind of did, to be fully honest. He didn’t think he’d experienced any honest, no-strings-attached affection in weeks; certainly not since he’d landed here, but even before that, the way that things were with Aoko, there was always an undercurrent of tension and guilt over the secrets he kept from her...

 

He huffed as he got up and leaned into Hughes’ side, wrapping his arms carefully around the man’s middle as Hughes’ right arm settled around his shoulders.

 

Hughes wasn’t that much taller than him, and his new jacket smelled like laundry soap; when Kaito closed his eyes, he tried to focus on that. It was nice. A bit like vanilla. He wondered if Gracia had chosen it.

 

When Kaito pulled away, Hughes kept him close with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile.

 

“Thanks, Kaitou,” he said.

 

“Any time,” Kaito replied. He wasn’t sure if Hughes meant the hug, or the healing, or all of it, but he offered back a small, genuine smile regardless.

 

Kaito listened to Hughes’ footsteps retreat down the hallway. The house was quiet, then, for long enough that Kaito began hoping Mustang and Hughes were talking again; maybe he’d be able to get some more info as soon as he could safely sneak back into the hall—

 

Evidently, they had to be at work on time because, as Kaito bade his time the front door slammed.

 

Frustration burned abruptly through Kaito’s chest, chasing away the good fuzzies. Okay, fine. They had damage control to do. And they wanted to keep secrets? Well, whatever. Kaito didn’t care about government conspiracies. He only cared about finding a way home, and Ed had already been ten thousand times more helpful in that regard. For now, he’d do what he did best: fill his pockets with useful stuff.

 

Shoved beneath the sink in the master bathroom, he found a cloth pouch packed with everything from foundation to eyeliner. The powder didn’t match his skin tone in the least, especially not blistered and burned like it was now, but it was something. The eyeliner, when he tested it, was dark brown, and a bit dry. With a little effort, Kaito had managed to make his eyes look a bit larger and more feminine. Then, for fun, he added swoopy wings, and had to admit he felt a little bit better about things.

 

He added some hairpins to the makeup kit, then squirreled away some plasters and disinfectant, along with the toothbrush Knox gave him earlier. He wondered if the partner who’d left the makeup here was still alive, but decided not to dwell on those morbid ideas.

 

Then, the spare bedroom. It had clearly once belonged to a kid, if the wooden airplanes hanging from the ceiling were any indication. He turned up a couple black undershirts and pulled one on. Next, he located some new (old) undergarments and scored a pack of playing cards, because those were the kind of things you could never have too many of.

 

Near the front room, he hesitated. Gracia had turned on the radio, and he could hear her humming, so he turned away and jimmied the side door instead, which let him out into a small yard that wrapped around the back of the house. It was pretty dreary, with scraggly, dry grass turning brown and yellow. 

 

He scaled the house with the help of a tree. He was more winded than he’d have liked by the time he flopped onto the angled roof. It forced him to confront the state of his body: legs and chest aching, his wound stinging, his blistered skin itching, his head still fuzzy. It felt like there was a soft layer of cotton between his brain and his skull, and insulating his eardrums, too.

 

He could relax here, at least a little bit; nobody could sneak up on him, or look in on him. It wasn’t perfect solitude, but it was close, and he let himself fall into a doze in the sunlight.

 

The snatches of dreams that drifted to-and-fro in his half-awareness were… unsettling. There was that looming door, with black bleeding out the edges; there was Pandora’s energy rattling through his body, passing through like an abrupt gust of wind, leaving in its wake an unnerving feeling like worms in his stomach…

 

He wrenched his eyes open with a gasp. So much for napping.

 

Gracia must have opened a window, because once his breathing settled, he could hear the radio filtering out, something leisurely, maybe piano. Listening to it, he could have been in Ekoda, on the roof of his own home. The radio was from next door, where Aoko had the sliding door open. She’d start singing along any minute now, and he’d yell down to her that she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket; she’d throw something at him but miss because of the steep angle, and he’d offer to take her out to a karaoke bar to practice, but it’d just be an excuse to goof off together until the next gem came along and sucked his time into the vortex of being Kid... 

 

Gracia changed the station and muffled Amestrian words replaced the music. It broke Kaito from his daydreams and he blinked at the hazy sky. The sun was high; it must almost be noon. He sat up, still feeling stiff and sore.

 

Central City sprawled in front of him. It was too bad the doctor’s house was only two stories; it didn’t give him any leverage over the houses around him in this residential district. There were only roofs and treetops, though when he looked to the left, he saw a billow of smoke lazily curling into the sky, its source moving laterally. Probably a coal-burning train, either pulling into the station or departing. Everywhere, people moved on streets and in windows.

 

People were dead, and yet the world was still turning. The city was still humming with life. It wasn’t that people didn’t care for those who’d screamed as their skin melted, but that they didn’t know. 

 

Kaito rubbed his palms up his arms. It was warm out, and he was sweating with the sun overhead now, but he still felt cold inside. Unsettled.

 

His eyes were drawn to the street corner by the faint echoing of metallic footsteps, where he spotted a familiar trio: Ed, Al, and Winry. A little ways behind them trailed two people in blue uniforms. Brosh and Ross. Did those two ever get a break?

 

Kaito watched them approach, one cheek propped on his hand. Ed was in the black getup he’d worn when they first met, though his bright red coat slung over one shoulder. He was walking well, and from the roof, Kaito only spotted a bandage on his forehead. Between Ed’s suitcase and Winry’s automail kit, this was probably their last stop before the station.

 

They hadn’t noticed him by the time they drew near, and Kaito considered letting them pass, but at the last minute changed his mind. Leaning over the ledge, he cupped one hand to his mouth and called, “Fullmetal-san, up here!”

 

The group paused. Ed lifted a hand in greeting, and Winry waved enthusiastically. Ross checked a piece of paper and nodded.

 

“Kaitou!” Winry shouted, grinning. “I didn’t realize you’d be here!”

 

“Eh?” Kaito shouted back. “Where else would I be?”

 

“I don’t know, but you never came back to the Hughes’ apartment!” she replied, her grin suddenly usurped by a scowl. “You didn’t even call!”

 

“I thought Mustang-san called?” Kaito said. “Hm, I guess it was late...”

 

“You plan on coming down at any point?” Ed yelled.

 

“Only when there’s food!” Kaito replied.

 

Ed shrugged, said something to Ross and Brosh, then slapped his hands together. He slammed both palms against the house, alchemizing regularly spaced handholds up to the roof. He gestured for Winry to go up first. 

 

Winry left her suitcase below and climbed quickly, grinning at Kaito as she surfaced and settled beside him. On the ground, Al knocked politely on the front door. Kaito could hear the cadence of Gracia’s voice, the clatter and banging of feet and bags.

 

“I like your makeup,” Winry said.

 

“Thanks,” Kaito said. “Sometimes you just need an eyeliner day.”

 

“Whose house is this, anyway?” Winry asked, tucking her skirt beneath her. “And why are you here, of all places?”

 

“It’s some doctor’s place,” Kaito said, edging around the other question. 

 

When it became clear he wasn’t going to explain, Winry sighed. “We were worried about all of you last night,” she said. Then, lower, she said, “Nobody’s explained anything, either. First, you don’t come back for dinner, then our train tickets get changed at the last minute…”

 

“Sorry about that...” Kaito picked at a loose thread on his pants and let the apology hang.

 

“It did give me some extra time today,” she said eventually, looking at him sideways. “I put together a little battery pack that might work better for your phone.”

 

“Oh, really?” Kaito perked up. “I didn’t get to finish my version yesterday.”

 

“I wonder why,” Winry said. Her sideways look shifted into a glare.

 

Kaito held up his hands. “It wasn’t my fault, Winry-san, I promise.”

 

“Then why’re you being so cagey?” she demanded. “Why’s everyone being cagey?”

 

“Uhh, well, Hughes-san kiiiind of got attacked yesterday, so...”

 

“What?” Winry yelped.

 

“Attacked?” echoed Ed, materializing at the top of his makeshift ladder as if summoned. He hoisted his upper body over the ledge. “Hang on, what the hell?”

 

Al joined them quickly and Kaito scooted higher to make more room as the group grew. At least having everyone present was efficient. “Hughes-san was attacked,” he said again. “Mustang-san and I were there, kind of, then we came to this doctor’s place instead of going back to the hospital, I guess because...secrecy?”

 

“Who attacked him? Why?” Al asked, sounding distressed.

 

Kaito eyed him; he was closer to the edge than Kaito liked, but then again, Al would probably suffer the least damage if he fell two stories. “It was the same people from the Fifth Lab,” he said. “I don’t fully know why.”

 

“Wasn’t Barry arrested…?” Al said. “Did he escape?”

 

“No, no, I don’t know where he is,” Kaito said, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to care. “It was the ones who weren’t… human.” He swallowed roughly.

 

“Lust and Envy?” Ed asked, eyes intense. His hands were in tight fists. “Why?”

 

“Like I said, I don’t really know,” Kaito replied, unable to keep a hard edge out of his voice. “I tried listening in on Hughes-san and Mustang-san this morning, but they were just looking at a bunch of papers. I don’t know what was on them. Mostly they were arguing about what to tell you… don’t be surprised if it isn’t a lot.”

 

Ed visibly began grinding his teeth. “That Colonel Bastard—”

 

“I’m sure they have a good reason,” Winry spoke up. When Kaito glanced over, she was hugging her knees, watching the three of them with wide eyes. “They probably don’t want you tracking down those dangerous people alone, Ed.”

 

“We wouldn’t—” Ed started, surly. 

 

“Can’t track ‘em down if they’re dead,” Kaito cut him off coldly, now unable to look directly at any of them. “Oh, yeah, might wanna ask your Flame Colonel about that little detail. He wasn’t exactly merciful.” 

 

He braced himself for them to ask why he hadn’t stopped him, but nobody did. Ed and Al shared an unreadable look as an uncomfortable atmosphere blanketed the group. Winry looked conflicted—there was something like relief around her eyes, but her mouth was tight.

 

Kaito cast his eyes out towards where he thought the train station was. There was no smoke now, only a haze of summertime humidity hanging low, making the world waver slightly at the edges. Unbidden, an image of Lust’s corpse came to him, and he shook his head sharply.

 

“Listen,” Kaito said. “They’re keeping me out of it too, which I get, because they don’t trust me. But none of us can work with only half the information, so let’s make a deal; for my end, I’ll get my hands on their papers. You’ll probably have to cause a distraction at lunch, though.”

 

He was looking at Ed when he said it, but covered Al and Winry with a glance, just for good measure. Though Ed had proved himself to cause the most chaos so far, Al and Winry weren’t far behind. 

 

“I don’t want to prevent them from getting their work done…” Winry said tentatively. Her eyebrows crinkled, an adorable show of concern, while Al faced Kaito down stoically. Ed was thoughtful.

 

“I’ll put them back after we get a good look,” Kaito said. He gave things back all the time, anyway. “Honestly, what I can get depends on what they’ll still have on them at lunch.”

 

“You think they’d leave important documents at headquarters?” Al asked.

 

“If they were normal documents, probably. No, with this, I think it’s more likely they’d memorize and destroy them,” Kaito sighed. “Seemed like delicate info, since it got Hughes-san attacked. The papers being gone would be really, really annoying, if you ask me. But with any luck, they’ll hold on to just enough for us to reconstruct something. We know more than your average Joe, anyway.” 

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Ed reasoned.

 

“And we’ll only have to try it if they’re not telling us anything,” Al said.

 

“They had something they thought Fullmetal-san would recognize,” Kaito added. “They talked about it in regards to the Fifth Lab. Does that ring any bells?”

 

Ed’s eyes darkened. “It might,” he said.

 

“Right,” Kaito said. “Guess we’ll find out. For your end of the deal—I wanna skip town with you.”

 

“Aren’t you under military supervision?” Winry asked. “Wouldn’t it be obvious if you left with us?”

 

Kaito shrugged. “I’ve put up with it long enough and it’s not really helpful for me at this point. I want to meet their alchemy teacher and then go home. That’s it.” Kaito ruffled a hand through his hair absently, still trying to banish images of smoke and flame. “Plus, I don’t like hanging around your Flame Colonel much.”

 

“You and me both,” Ed groaned, tossing himself onto his back and crossing his arms. “Did you know he changed our train tickets without telling us? He’s so entitled. He just showed up this morning, signed my discharge papers, and ripped up our old tickets. Ripped them in half! Then he gave us new ones and told us to come to this random-ass address before one o’clock, and then fucked off like a smug cat or something.”

 

“So,” Kaito said brightly, brushing past the rant, “I can meet your teacher?”

 

Ed kicked his heels against the roof tiles. Al rubbed a leather hand against the side of his metal head, a very humanizing gesture. 

 

“We can... think about it,” Al said. 

 

“I don’t like babysitting him!” Ed immediately protested.

 

“It’s just traveling together,” Kaito said. “It’ll be mutually beneficial!”

 

“Would it, though…? Like Winry said, the military police will know where to look for you,” Al said. “I think we’ll be the first suspects if you vanish, and we already told Mr. Hughes that we’re going to Dublith.”

 

“And Rush Valley,” Winry added. “Ooh, but you’d love Rush Valley, Kaitou!”

 

Kaito nodded eagerly. “Yes! I want to go there too! But more importantly, Al-san, I wouldn’t be traveling as myself. It wouldn’t be too hard to create an adequate disguise.”

 

Ed laughed, loud and brash. “Sorry, Kaito, but I don’t think that would be good enough. Hughes saw right through you before.” He propped himself up on an elbow and gave Kaito a once-over. “I could probably alchemize a semi-permanent blonde hair dye for you, though.”

 

“Oh, that would be great, actually,” Kaito said, then paused. “Though it might look funny with my skin tone. Light brown? Maybe like Gracia-san?”

 

“Easy,” Ed said.

 

“Done deal!” Kaito grinned. “And don’t worry about the rest. I’ve gotten a hold of a little makeup, and that’ll do wonders. If you three could help me out with a few other components, I’ll be a different person completely.”

 

Ed had already pulled out his notebook and was taking notes on ingredients, Al hovering over his shoulder and pointing something out. Winry was watching them too, but then turned to Kaito, pillowing her cheek on one of her knees. 

 

“Seems like a lot of work to go through,” she said. “Would it be worth it? Mr. Hughes is really nice. I’m sure he understands that you want to get home.”

 

“Oh, this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg,” Kaito told her. “And I don’t know if I’m really on the same page as him and Mustang-san anymore.”

 

“It is a lot of work just for the promise of some information you might not be able to get,” Al said; when Kaito looked over, his glowing red eyes were burning into him. “There’s also the chance that Mr. Hughes and Colonel Mustang will tell us everything, and you won’t need to steal anything.”

 

“You don’t have to commit until the papers are in your hands, if that’s how you want it,” Kaito said. Even without Ed and Al’s permission or help, he could still tail them. It would make his life a little harder, and would create a lot more risk (what the fuck would he do if he got separated from them?). But it wouldn’t be impossible, especially not compared to the unknowns ahead of him.

 

Ed hummed low, eyeing Kaito from beneath his lashes. Not a good enough offer, then.

 

What more could Kaito give? Obviously they’d want to learn about alkahestry, but that was off the table. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could teach Winry about engineering, either; and, she’d already taken his cellphone apart and that was pretty much his only piece of future tech to offer. Plus, she had him beat when it came to electronics and biology. The three of them didn’t seem the type to be interested in sleight-of-hand, either…

 

So Kaito sighed. “I’ll give you each a free question,” he said. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.” As much as he could, anyway; as long as nobody asked him something like, hey, have you got Pandora hidden in a secret pocket of that button-down you never take off, or what? then he’d find a way to keep the pertinent information to himself.

 

Ed snorted. “Didn’t we already agree to honesty?”

 

“Sure, but that was more general,” Kaito said. “This is like the golden ticket. You could invoke it any time.”

 

“It could be handy,” Al murmured to Ed. “I mean…”

 

Ed snapped his notebook shut. “We’ll think about it,” he said again. “You worry about getting Hughes’ papers.”

 

“That,” Kaito said brightly, “I can do.”

 

“For now,” Ed said, leaning forward. “Give us all the details about last night.”

 

“Oooh, pulling in your first question already?”

 

“No, this one is just part of honesty,” Ed scowled, pointing at Kaito with his pen. “Start talking.”

 

Kaito’s grin faltered somewhat and he resisted the urge to rub his face; it would mess up his eyeliner. So he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment, and then said, “Fine. You need to know this stuff.”

 

He launched into the story. His little audience of three all sucked in sharp breaths when he found Hughes, Envy pointing a gun at his chest. Winry had gone pale. Kaito winced a little bit before continuing.

 

“Important note here, Envy can shape-shift, so they really just looked like Ross-san for most of this, which was...uh, unsettling.” 

 

“Shapeshifting?” Al cried.

 

“Shapeshifting,” Kaito said. “Saw it with my own eyes. Ask Hughes if you don’t believe me.” When they seemed to accept that, he finished the rest of the night, concluding with Knox patching them up.

 

“So Hughes was the target from the beginning,” Ed muttered. “You and Mustang just… interfered.”

 

“They didn’t just attack him,” Winry said, eyeing Kaito like she wanted to skewer him for his earlier understatement. “It sounds like they were trying to kill him!”

 

Kaito nodded with all the weight of having been the victim of several attempted murders himself. “Yeah… but they didn’t want to kill me, or Fullmetal-san. I don’t know why.”

 

“And why go after Mr. Hughes?” Al pressed. “We trespassed right into their secret laboratory; that’s one thing. But Mr. Hughes was at work!”

 

“It must’ve been whatever he was reading in the records room,” Ed said. “It could’ve been related to Philosopher’s Stones, like why they destroyed the Fifth Lab.”

 

“And Dr. Marcoh’s notes,” Al added. “...probably.”

 

Ed nodded. “But the Fifth Lab was hidden and guarded. And Marcoh’s notes were hidden and coded, too. What the hell was in the main fuckin’ records room, for anybody to see?”

 

“I guess that’s what you need to see the papers for, right?” Winry said. Her eyes narrowed on Kaito. Ed made a grunt somewhere between frustration and acknowledgement; Al huffed a small laugh.

 

“Leave it to me,” Kaito grinned.

 

---

 

Near one, Gracia called them down from the roof and then scolded Kaito for climbing up without telling her in the first place while Ed alchemized away the makeshift ladder. Then, they were sent to wash their hands.

 

When they returned to the living room, it was to the delicious smell of takeout. Kaito’s stomach rumbled low, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in about twenty-four hours, and that he was, in fact, ravenous. But disappointingly, the arrival of food also meant the arrival of Mustang and the news that Hughes was tied up at the office.

 

“So it’s just me, unfortunately,” Mustang sighed.

 

Unfortunate is right, Kaito thought, brushing past and grabbing a plate to load up with meat and bread rolls. When it was full, he plopped down on the couch; soon, everyone else was arrayed around the room. Only Al and Mustang weren’t eating.

 

“Thank you for joining us for this impromptu mission briefing,” Mustang said once everyone was settled, clasping his hands below his chin. Kaito eyed him, noting that his gloves were off. A previously unnoticed ball of tension in Kaito’s stomach eased slightly. “Though, perhaps I should call it a strategy meeting. Regardless, let’s begin by getting everyone on the same page.”

 

He recounted the events of the previous night. Kaito watched Ed as Mustang talked: Ed’s expression was tight and serious, darkening when Mustang detailed the amount of (literal) firepower it had taken to bring down first Lust, and then Envy, for good. Then, Mustang moved onto damage control. “Obviously, the story that two military officers and one civilian were attacked after-hours by a set of nonhuman entities with extreme regenerative abilities is a tad… unbelievable,” he said. 

 

“No kidding,” Ed snorted. Al quietly admonished him. 

 

“We do not want to cause undue panic, but it’s impossible to move on as though nothing occurred,” Mustang said as if Ed hadn’t spoken. “Several people witnessed Hughes leaving the building bloodied, and I admit that I destroyed a portion of the archive room.” He had the decency to look a bit regretful. “As such, the cover story is that Hughes, myself, and Kaitou were involved in an attack instigated by Scar. There weren’t any witnesses to the actual fighting, nor does anything remain of Envy and Lust’s bodies, so this should be sufficient for the public and the majority of officers. Further, it’s not a stretch to say that I’m one of Scar’s targets, and heading the current investigation into his whereabouts, and he’s proven himself willing to involve bystanders if they interfere. Thus, Hughes’ and Kaitou’s involvement fits quite nicely.”

 

Kaito caught Ross and Brosh sharing a nervous glance where they stood against a wall with half-empty plates. They’d been assigned to Ed because of Scar’s initial attack. For them, it wasn’t a convenient excuse; it might reflect badly that Scar had turned up, right under their noses, to attack a different person.

 

“Does this mean I’ve still got to have guards?” Ed griped. 

 

“No,” Mustang sighed. “We simply want you to leave Central and not draw any further attention to yourself. Until we know more about the operation Lust and Envy were part of, it’s best to not rouse suspicion.”

 

“Whatever,” Ed grunted, looking displeased with Mustang’s cop-out answer. 

 

“At this point in time, we’re assuming that they ruthlessly pursue potential information leaks,” Mustang said stiffly. “We do not want them to know we have any further information on them.”

 

“Was Mr. Hughes targeted because we told him about what happened at the Fifth Lab?” Al asked softly.

 

“If that’s true, then why wasn’t Mustang attacked, or Armstrong? Why just Hughes?” Ed shot back. It was a genuine question, even if it came out rough. “Or even Ross, or Brosh, or Kaitou?” He pointed to each person in turn, then slapped the hand to his chest. “Why’d they let me go? I got the best look at their sick circle!”

 

Images of blood hovered in the air for Kaito, the scent of metal swimming into his nose. He had to shut his eyes. “...Hughes-san was the biggest threat,” he said softly. When he pried his eyes open, he found everyone looking at him. Ed’s suspicious glare was particularly potent.

 

But it made sense. He already knew the kind of anxiety and pressure one felt, trying to keep a secret. If he were someone with nothing to lose… if he decided he’d go to any lengths to protect what he was hiding—say he had never committed himself to pacifism, for example—then it was a sharp mind he’d fear most.

 

Mustang had a lot of firepower (pun intended), but he’d soon leave town and was preoccupied with a pretty gnarly serial killer. He didn’t seem to care for much more than what was directly in front of him. Meanwhile, Ross and Brosh were low-ranking, non-alchemists; they could only do real damage if they had something to aim a gun at, and somehow, Kaito doubted aiming a gun at Lust or Envy would do much good, anyway. Armstrong was a decent threat, but honestly, Kaito didn’t have the best read on the guy besides ‘sparkly muscles’.

 

Accounting for the fact that Ed and Kaito were off the table for murder as ‘sacrifices’, and that Al hadn’t seen much at the Lab, then it was easy to single out Hughes. He worked in Intelligence, and had a mind to match . His job gave him the resources and know-how to dig up anything he could dream of. He was dangerous because he could find the pieces, and worse, he could put them together.

 

Kaito didn’t even have to step that far out of his Kid-mindset to reason it out. He’d tased Tantei-kun to get his hands on the Kirin’s Horn, and that hadn’t even been the first time that he’d taken deliberate measures to keep the bespeckled kid from ruining his plans (because given the chance, Tantei-kun had proven that he not only could ruin Kaito’s plans, but that he would, and he’d do it with glee).

 

To those waiting for his reasoning, Kaito shrugged. “Hughes-san is smart and he’s got resources,” he summed up. “Anyway, we’ve got no way to know if Hughes-san was the only target, or just the first.” Though he hoped nobody would try to pick up where Lust and Envy had left off. 

 

Mustang was nodding along with Kaito’s reasoning approvingly. Kaito turned a cheek sharply. 

 

“So,” Kaito said, more loudly than before. “We’re pretending it’s business as usual, are we? Then why wasn’t I sent to sit around at Hughes-san’s office today?”

 

“You, Kaitou, have the potential to be our trump card,” Mustang said smoothly. “As such, we’d like you to disappear from the watchful eyes here in Central.”

 

“....meaning what, exactly?”

 

“You vanished during the fight with Scar,” Mustang said. “You’ll be moving to East City this afternoon, where you’ll be in the care of my team.”

 

Kaito challenged Mustang with two raised eyebrows and nothing else.

 

“The more people we have working with us whose actions cannot be surveilled by untrustworthy Central officers, the better,” Mustang said, before turning his eyes to Fullmetal. “That goes for you as well, Fullmetal. There’s very few people we can trust here.” He stood from the armchair he’d chosen before lunch and crossed the room.

 

Kaito steeled himself as Mustang approached, but the man only pulled a small leather booklet from a coat pocket and held it. 

 

“What’s this?” Kaito asked.

 

“A new identity,” Mustang replied.

 

Though it lit a confused anger in his chest to accept gifts from a known murderer, Kaito was compelled by both the audience and his own curiosity (that traitor). The booklet, when he opened it, contained a small, thick card. There was no photograph, but it identified him as Marcus Filler, age sixteen—the cover he’d used at lunch with Hughes yesterday. Apparently, he’d been born in the fall of 1897. He couldn’t help but snort.

 

“With more time, we can procure other documents,” Mustang was saying as Kaito flipped the card over and tested its durability with a flick. “As it is, this will suffice for any routine identification checks that may come up in the course of travel. Of course, you’ll be escorted by a trusted individual until you meet with my lieutenant.”

 

“Thanks, I guess,” Kaito said, putting the ID away. There was still something else in the leather bifold—a train ticket, destination East City. He was supposed to depart in a couple hours.

 

Mustang’s jaw tightened, and Kaito wondered, for just a moment, if he and Hughes thought that Kaito would be safer in East City, or thought it’d be easier to keep him under control, cut off from Ed, Al, and Winry. Well, sucked to be them if they thought he’d passively let that happen. All he needed to take care of a guard was to swipe an anesthetic from one of Knox’s medical kits on the way out. 

 

“Hang on,” Ed said loudly, cutting into the miniature staring contest that had just ignited between Kaito and Mustang. “I’ve still got questions about the attack, you know. I find it kind of hard to believe that they went after Hughes unprovoked, just because he was a threat in theory.”

 

Mustang pivoted towards Ed, who was perched on a chair near the kitchen, a fork still hanging in his left hand. He looked like a bird poised to take flight. 

 

“I don’t have any more insight into the minds of Lust and Envy than you do, Fullmetal,” Mustang said.

 

“They attacked him in the records room,” Ed pressed. “He found something there, didn’t he?”

 

“They could have attacked him anywhere,” Mustang said. “He just happened to be in the record room.”

 

“Bullshit,” Ed fired back.

 

“As I said—” Mustang started.

 

“No,” Ed cut him off loudly, shoving his empty plate and dirty fork aside as he stood. “I want some real answers, Mustang. How did they even find out that Hughes knew anything about the Fifth Lab?” There was exactly one heartbeat of silence in which Mustang did not reply. Ed went on. “What did he find, Mustang?”

 

“I’ve given you the information that I have, Fullmetal,” Mustang said sharply. “Sit down.”

 

“Fat chance,” Ed snapped. “Don’t treat me like a child, Bastard!”

 

If Ed was faking the red-hot anger that was turning his face pink, he was a damn good actor who could have a steady career in film; but Kaito doubted that this was just for show, even though Kaito had requested a lunch-time distraction.

 

“Edward—” Gracia spoke up for the first time, half an attempt to pacify him, perhaps half a guilty conscience for her part in this morning’s conversation. Ed’s face shuttered and he ducked his head and stormed out, shoulders stiff and tight. 

 

Kaito jumped up and followed Ed, brushing past Mustang to catch the side door before it slammed shut. In the dry, yellow yard, there was no trace of Ed until Kaito looked up and caught the last fizzle of a transmutic reaction.

 

He scaled the fence, hopped into the tree, and then hauled himself onto the roof. Ed was sitting with his legs crossed, waiting. “Did you get anything?”

 

“One or two things,” Kaito said, settling onto his knees and holding up his hands, which he then twisted to show off what he’d pickpocketed from Mustang on the way out: a notebook and two folded papers.

 

“Bring ‘em,” Ed grunted, jerking his head.

 

Kaito scampered over and gave Ed the notebook. The papers, he unfolded and scanned quickly; they probably didn’t have a lot of time up here alone. 

 

“Of course, damn thing’s coded,” Ed grumbled. When Kaito glanced over, he was already copying the latest page into his own notebook to examine later. “That or the bastard goes on an obscene amount of dates…”

 

One of Kaito’s papers was a newspaper clipping, while the other looked like it might’ve come from the records room after all. The paper said “LIORE INCIDENT REPORT” across the top in blocky capitals, and was signed at the bottom by the Fuhrer; the newspaper was a different perspective of the same events. After reading through both, Kaito wasn’t any closer to seeing what might’ve made Hughes a target, though he did realize that Amestris was pretty messed up. As if the intertwinement of the military and the central government wasn’t already a red flag...

 

Kaito flipped the papers. The back of the newspaper had a grainy photograph of a tattered city street, while the incident report was blank on the other side. Ed stuck a hand between Kaito’s face and his reading material, so Kaito rolled his eyes and traded. 

 

Mustang’s notebook turned out to be a daily planner. The contents were a mix of professional and personal appointments, handwritten in pen. Scattered throughout were notes about his dates: which girl liked what kind of flowers from what shop, who preferred which day of the week for dinner. There were no hints about how to break the code, but nevertheless, Kaito committed the first and last pages to memory as accurately as he could before snapping the planner shut.

 

“We should get back down there before Mustang-san realizes these are gone,” Kaito said. Ed didn’t reply. “Fullmetal-san?”

 

Ed was still reading the incident report, his eyes jumping quickly back and forth. He was slightly pale.

 

“Hello?” Kaito called.

 

Ed shook his head sharply. “Bastard didn’t tell me about this, either,” he said. “Fuckin’ smug-ass, shit-eating fucker thinks he knows everything, thinks he’s all high and mighty, knows what’s right, but he doesn’t know shit! Treating me like a fucking child!”

 

“What?” Kaito said.

 

Ed refolded the papers angrily. When he met Kaito’s eyes, his eyes were like molten gold. Kaito was reminded of videos of glass coming out of a kiln, mesmerizing; the kind of thing you wanted to touch but would be desperately punished for.

 

“Liore,” Ed said. “I helped them. I—” He faltered, mouth pulling taut. “I thought I helped them.”

 

“...at least it’s been resolved now?” Kaito tried to offer, half-hearted. The incident report hadn’t listed the death toll, but it hadn’t read like the town was still intact, either, and the photograph hadn’t inspired much hope. Kaito winced. “Well… as resolved as it can be, with that much blood spilled.”

 

“Like a small-scale Ishval,” Ed muttered. Then, before Kaito could dig into the implications of that dark thought, Ed’s melted-glass eyes caught him again. “Fuck Colonel Bastard, and to hell with East City,” he said. “You’re coming to Dublith. Think you can sneak onto a train without a ticket?”

 

Kaito scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

 

---

 

Notes:

Sometimes I write for 7k without a scene break, and that just happened to be this time.

Chapter 16: The Rabbit Hole

Notes:

Me, writing this chapter: oh shit, Kaito’s doves

Aoko, in this chapter: oh shit, Kaito’s doves

---

 

It was dark when Aoko got home; she knew before she walked in the door that her dad wasn’t there. She called out a greeting anyway, to at least feel a semblance of normalcy, nevermind the fact that normal was a pipe dream at this point.

 

Running through Midtown Tower had left her exhausted; her calves ached and she could still feel the phantom stitch in her side. Mentally, she was worn, too. Seeing Akako so shaken was like a shock to the system, a second realization of how real Kid’s disappearance was. Not to mention how real sorcery was, too. Aoko couldn’t deny she’d felt the traces of some external energy buzzing at her skin like ethereal electricity. 

 

She left her shoes in a heap by the door and tossed her keys on the table, hesitating for a moment as she pulled out her phone. She’d never texted Keiko back. She typed out a halfhearted reply, thanking her for sending the Kid video and making vague excuses for Kaito’s absence, and then tabbed over to her message history with Kaito. But looking at the same screen as before—littered with little red undelivered notices—made her throat close, hot and scratchy, so she tossed her phone on the table, too.

 

The very thought of making dinner left her weary. She contemplated the review packet for the second year exit exams, and couldn’t find the will to even pull them out of her backpack, either. Instead, she sat on the couch and picked at some lint on her skirt.

 

She didn’t want to believe Hakuba’s theory that Kaito was Kid. That’s what it came down to, really; Kid had been shot on Saturday night. And if Kaito was Kid, that would mean Kaito had been shot on Saturday night.

 

That just couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. 

 

She’d confirmed for herself after the Sun Halo heist, squeezing her arms tight around Kaito on the back of his bike; he hadn’t winced or given any sign that he’d been injured the way Kid had from the vicious shards of casing glass. And he’d been by her side at Tropical Land for the entirety of the Angel’s Crown heist. So, she already knew it: Kaito wasn’t Kid.

 

Even if some of the pieces fit. Even if seeing Kid up close had all her senses screaming Kaito, down to the way he smelled...

 

She tugged on a strand of hair and chewed on it. Okay, a lot of pieces fit here if Kaito were Kid, really. First, Kaito was a decent actor, and he could probably hide an injury, especially if Aoko couldn’t see his face. And she couldn’t deny that some of Kaito and Kid’s tricks were similar, like their penchant for pink smoke bombs and their cardguns. Even if she’d accounted for Kaito’s whereabouts during the Angel’s Crown heist, and the one on Christmas, Kid had accomplices. And there were like hundreds of others where he’d been ‘sick’ or ‘busy’.

 

Then, she could believe that the current Kid was a new one; she couldn’t confirm it first hand, but she believed Conan. And there was the whole theory about the new Kid being young, eighteen at most, and the fact the first Kid had disappeared eight years ago. She and Kaito had been eight when Toichi-ojisan’s accident had happened…

 

Well, that was a sticking point. Toichi-ojisan hadn’t been murdered, and everyone had been talking about how the original Kid had been killed and become the new one’s whole… thing. She couldn’t picture Kaito being vengeful like that.

 

...could she?

 

“Arrgh!” She moaned, scrubbing her hands through her hair. It was too much. “Stupid Aoko, stupid!” 

 

She moved upstairs, tying her hair into a ponytail, and pulled on a set of soft pajamas. Kaito’s bedroom window was across from hers, dark, reflecting the light from hers. Her body carved a shadowy silhouette against the rectangle of light. She turned away sharply and threw herself into her desk chair.

 

On a piece of lined paper, she scribbled Kaito = Kid? with two columns below it. If she was going to be a detective like her dad and Hakuba, she had to approach this situation logically. She couldn’t avoid it. She had to look at the facts. 

 

Beneath the Not Kid column, she wrote: 

 

• Toichi-ojisan wasn’t murdered. who else would be 1st Kid if Kaito is 2nd Kid?

• Tropical Land date & christmas star heists (Kaito was with me)

• Kid wants revenge? Kaito too forgiving?

• Many of Kid’s heist tricks have required accomplice(s) (like walking in the air)...who??

• Kaito is too dumb to d

 

She frowned without completing that bullet point, and crossed it out. Kaito was dumb, but he was… people-dumb, and Aoko wasn’t entirely sure if that was an act or not, half the time, especially when he goaded her into fights or shouted his own name in the middle of class without prompting.  When it came to academics and intricate birthday-and-fireworks-oriented magic tricks, he was anything but dumb, and that kind of spectacle did lend itself to Kid’s theatrics...

 

She tapped the end of her pen on the desk and failed to come up with any other concrete things to place in the Not Kid column. Reluctantly, she moved on to the Is Kid column, and found that it grew dishearteningly long.

 

• Kid is a magician and a prankster but doesn’t hurt anybody, Kaito too

• New Kid ~18, Kaito almost 17

• New Kid trained by 1st Kid (Kaito trained in magic by Toichi-ojisan)

• Kaito disappeared before heist started @ Midtown Tower, went into Tower (w/ vid evidence)

• Kid & Kaito can both mimic voices

• Kaito does parkour/gymnastics, Kid is very nimble too

• Both are dramatic/attention-seeking

• Ambidextrous? I have no idea if Kid is ambidextrous

• Bad at ice skating (Kaito is, and Hakuba-kun said Kid is…)

• Kaito has been more busy & tired this year, & 2nd Kid began heists ~a year ago. He has less time to hang out with me.

• Didn’t see Kaito during clocktower heist, only after…

• Sometimes Kaito comes to school with random injuries or misses school entirely. (Getting sick more often this year? or injured at heists?)

• Both use card guns…? does any other magician have a card gun? It’s a pretty unique tool, isn’t it?

• Both use pink smoke, but maybe it’s a magician standard

• Kaito has like 8 white doves. Has Kid ever used doves??...yeah, probably

• OH MY GOD HIS DOVES

 

“The doves!” Aoko yelped, jolting away from her desk. If Kaito hadn’t been home since Saturday, nobody had fed the doves. And if Kaito got home and Aoko had let his doves die, he—well, he wouldn’t strangle her (he wasn’t Aoko, after all) but he would never look at her without a trace of sadness and betrayal on his face, and Aoko would be morally obligated to bend to his every whim—

 

She abandoned her list and threw open a desk drawer to grab the spare key that Chikage-san had given her years ago. She snapped up her keys and phone and then ran next door in her slippers.

 

Kaito’s doves lived in a room at the back of the house, not just in a cage. They had a whole room, complete with a Kaito-made jury-rigged system that allowed the birds to fly around outside without going too far, in what Kaito called the ‘All Access Five Star Bird Porch’. Aoko called it an eyesore.

 

She slid through Kaito’s house in the dark, and threw open the dove room’s door a little harder than necessary. When she hit the light, she immediately counted birds, and breathed a sigh of relief to find all eight present and healthy-looking, even if the room was a bit smelly. The doves even seemed to be unhappy to have been awoken so suddenly, all ruffling feathers and soft cooing.

 

“You silly birds,” she muttered. “Geeze! I can’t believe Bakaito didn’t even think about you. Just up and disappeared! That jerk...he should be charged for neglect...”

 

She changed their water dishes, refilled their food, and cleaned up their droppings, muttering insults of Kaito’s character the whole time. She only stopped when one of the doves perched on her shoulder and refused to leave, nibbling at her ear every time she called Kaito an idiot.

 

“Okay, okay, I get it, you love him,” she relented, reaching up to pet the bird, who she recognized as Sunny-chan. “He’s got a pretty good track record, so I guess we can let this one slide…”

 

Sunny-chan cooed and fluttered her wings.

 

Aoko sighed. Once the panic over potential bird death subsided, and the doves’ room was clean, she walked back towards the front room, turning on the lights so that the place wouldn’t feel so spooky. She was grateful that Sunny-chan stuck around, and that she could hear the rest of the birds faintly even with the door shut.

 

The house was like a diorama; it was a perfect picture of the living quarters of someone who’d locked up and expected to be back. There were dirty glasses in the sink, and a pack of cookies left open on the counter. They were stale when she took one. The kitchen table was covered in newspapers.

 

Looking closer, Aoko realized the papers were from Saturday morning, with a few from the preceding week mixed in. It looked like Kaito had extracted all of the articles about the heist and exhibition at Midtown Tower. There was even a torn-out magazine page with a glossy photo of Kid, white cape fluttering out towards the camera. 

 

“Otaku,” Aoko muttered, and moved on. She knew she should put away Sunny-chan, turn the lights back off, and go home. Wait for her dad. But instead, her feet carried her upstairs.

 

It felt deeply wrong to open Kaito’s bedroom door without him there, so she pushed it open slowly with just her fingertips. It swung without resistance, and she stepped in, turned on the light. Sunny-chan cooed in her ear as she stood in the doorway.

 

Kaito’s bed was unmade; there was laundry spilling out of his laundry basket; his slippers were in a heap by his desk beside his school bag. His computer was on, but asleep. It had a little green light that blinked at regular intervals.

 

He should have come home on Saturday night. Aoko swallowed when a sudden welling of tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. 

 

She tentatively sat on his bed and untangled the blankets, where she found his old stuffed cat. He’d had it since they were little, but she didn’t remember who’d given it to Kaito or where he’d gotten it, just that he’d brought it to every sleepover they’d had when either of their parents were working late, and that they’d spent hours dressing up their combined assortment of plushies in Aoko’s doll’s clothes. She hugged the cat to her chest and peeked out Kaito’s window to her own, glowing yellow, then turned away.

“Aoko, you dummy,” she mumbled. “Why are you here? What good is it gonna do?”

 

She blinked a few times, sniffled hard, and gave in to crying, her tears beading on the head of Kaito’s stuffed cat. She rubbed them away with her thumb. Sunny-chan fluttered off her shoulder, and then flapped her wings; the wind currents reminded Aoko of when Akako’s magic had pulled all the air in the gallery room, just for a moment. When she looked up, Sunny-chan was nestled on the top ledge of Kaito’s tall portrait of Toichi-ojisan.

 

“Sunny-chan, get down from there,” Aoko sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and standing up, holding her hands out. “Come here. That’s not a perch.”

Sunny-chan ruffled her wings and cocked her head sideways. Aoko sniffled again and stepped over. Even standing against the portrait, she wasn’t tall enough to reach Sunny-chan at the top. Even on her tiptoes.

 

“Geeze,” she complained, giving up and leaning into the portrait. It was smooth and glossy, with a glass panel to protect it from the elements. The poster itself was from one of Toichi-ojisan’s magic shows, one of his most famous performances. It might’ve hung in a theater’s lobby. 

 

“The doves on this thing aren’t real, you know, Sunny-chan,”  she murmured. “It’s just a picture.” She pressed her cheek to the cool glass and closed her eyes.

 

Something clicked. The glass beneath her cheek gave away with a sudden force. Aoko shrieked, flailed, and fell face-first into darkness, Sunny-chan startling into the air, left on the other side. 

 

She tumbled to the ground, smacking her elbow on something hard, and scrambled onto her butt. Had she just fallen through the wall? Well, wherever she’d wound up was pitch-black; there was no light spilling in the way she’d come. As she scrambled to her feet, an overhead lamp flickered to life, and Aoko couldn’t withhold a gasp.

 

She’d thought, for a moment, that she’d stumbled into some kind of crawl space, a dusty, cramped room full of insulation and mouse droppings. But instead, she was standing in a large… well, she couldn’t describe it as anything but a magician’s playroom. As she scanned the room, she saw a record player, a model airplane, a coat rack with half a dozen hats in various styles, a spiral staircase, shelves lining multiple walls, a messy work bench, and—was that a car?

 

She spun around and found Toichi-ojisan’s poster smiling benignly down at her, then spun again, twice, until she was dizzy. She could hear Sunny-chan cooing from the other side of the poster, but the seams around the frame were so miniscule that she couldn’t even get her fingernails in.

 

Had this room always been here? She and Kaito had been neighbors for almost as long as they’d been friends, and they’d spread their lives across both houses; they still did, in fact, though Kaito was at her house a lot more often than she was at his now, ever since his mom went overseas. How had she never known about the existence of an entire room?

 

She took a breath, trying to regain her composure. Okay. A secret room. Not what she expected, but… but something she could deal with.

 

Below the record player was a shelf of records; she crouched and ran her fingers along the spines of the covers. No dust. That meant this place was actively in use, right? Not something that Toichi-ojisan had hidden away, and that Kaito himself didn’t know about.

 

She paced along the edge of the room, taking in the contents of the shelves and the labels on the storage boxes. A glint of metal caught her eye, attached to a black rubber handle—was that a grappling hook? Why would Kaito have a grappling hook in here? Then, she thought of his boisterous school-day pranks and conceded that maybe a grappling hook wasn’t that weird. 

 

She turned and found herself eye-level with a bin labeled ‘Moulds’ in printed type. After only a moment’s hesitation, she hauled it down.

 

The bin was deceptively heavy, and filled to the brim with neatly sorted… well, moulds. They were white and gray blocks in various volumes, though most looked like they could fit in two hands. She chose a small one from the front of the bin and worked it open, the material hard and unyielding until she found the right spot along the seam. Inside was the negative space of a faceted oval, which she traced her finger through. 

 

“It’s like a… gem?” she murmured aloud. 

 

Okay, they were getting into really incriminating hobbies here, but arts and crafts wasn’t a crime, and probably the rest were normal things. Figurines, or stage props, or… something. Cracking a second mould revealed a more traditional gem-shape, one with a faceted top and a pointed underside. She flung the halves aside and cracked a new one, thinking discordantly of splitting oranges. When there were no whole blocks left in the bin, she huffed angrily. Every single one had been some kind of obnoxiously large jewel.

 

The shelf she’d pulled the bin off was packed with other things. When she stood back up, she found it was like being in a miniature chemistry lab, with neat rows of jars and bottles, their labels printed with tightly-packed jargon.

 

On another shelf she found things like scar wax and liquid latex. There were pieces of foam padding, blocks of modeling clay, squat tubs of setting powder, alongside a case of makeup big enough to make any theater kid swoon. Aoko thought of Keiko, who was on the theater tech crew at school; she loved everything from lighting to costumes, pretty much anything that didn’t force her onto the stage herself. If she saw the kinds of things Kaito had stowed away in this room, she’d… well, she’d probably cry first, and demand access to it all second.

Aoko stood there, toying with her ponytail. She’d endured enough of Keiko’s lunchtime rants about play production, and knew enough about stage magic, to realize that she was staring at an extensive—and probably expensive—disguise kit. 

 

She hated to admit it to herself, but with the scope of it, it did seem like something Kaitou Kid would be more likely to own than Kaito.

 

With that uncomfortable thought in her mind, she spun around and got her hands on the next thing she found: a large wooden wardrobe. For a moment, she blinked confusedly into empty space. Only when her eyes wandered upwards did she see something damning on the top shelves: two picture-perfect replica Kid hats. She pulled one down by the brim and found it was heavier than it looked, the silken material that covered the whole thing soft and buttery. She pushed her thumb at the edge of the blue ribbon and found it didn’t budge; it was sewed on. 

“Explains why it never falls off…” she said, and then startled at her own words and shoved the hat back into the wardrobe, slamming it shut. “Cosplaying otaku!” 

 

It was a shaky excuse but she stalked onwards to the work bench. It was covered in random playing cards, coins, coils of wire, springs, gears, papers… Aoko’s eyes glazed over trying to pick out all the components. To Kaito, it probably looked perfectly organized. 

 

Spread in the middle of the table was a blueprint. Aoko unfurled one corner, frowning as she smoothed it down. She hadn’t thought that blueprints were actually printed on blue paper, but this one was: dark blue paper overlaid with hundreds of intricate white lines. It looked like a building—a skyscraper, even. The bottom corner was labeled Midtown Tower Blueprints, levels 0 - 19, March 2015. Notations were scrawled over the rest of the sheet. Aoko recognized Kaito’s handwriting. One of them pointed out the gallery, noted that the windows would be inaccessible. Elevators were circled and stairwells were boxed in. Vents were marked in red.

 

The fourth floor caught her eye. Uncovered Pedestrian Bridge entrance, said Kaito’s writing. Ojisan is not positioning guards here.

 

The bottom of Aoko’s stomach opened up like a trapdoor.

 

“Now, this is taking otaku a little too far,” she whispered, but her voice wavered. With a note like that, there was no way Kaito was just an otaku.

 

She wrenched the blueprint up, and found scattered papers beneath it: drawings of a red, round gemstone. One, laying near her hand, was labeled Eclipse Tear, artist rendition in 3D software, late 2014. 

 

She jerked away like the papers were on fire, still clutching the blueprint; realizing she was holding onto it caused her to stifle a new shriek and throw it down. The papers fluttered. Some slid to the ground.

 

“Okay,” she said, her voice high and shaky. “Okay, okay. Okay.” 

 

So Kaito had some… incriminating papers. So what, right?

 

...so it was the Kaitou Kid icing on top of a Kaitou Kid cake, that included a Kaitou Kid hat and jewel moulds and a mountain of disguise makeup.

 

She had to get out of here. That’s all she could think; she had to get out of here, whatever here was. She flung herself back at the portrait, and scrabbled at the edges until she remembered how it had turned with pressure against the glass. She rammed it with her shoulder until she found the spot that sent her tumbling back into Kaito’s room, where she fell onto her knees, the portrait clicking silently back into place behind her.

 

Sunny-chan fluttered onto her shoulder, but Aoko couldn’t bring herself to respond. She’d only been in that room for a few minutes, but she felt like she’d aged years, or run a marathon, or maybe just found out beyond a shadow of a doubt that her childhood best friend was an internationally wanted jewel thief who may or may not currently be dead and shot in the chest or maybe in another dimension oh my god—

 

The world swam sideways. She sucked in a shallow breath between gritted teeth, and then another, and then another. It didn’t really help, but at least she felt a little less dizzy.

 

Sunny-chan cooed in her ear. Aoko shook her off and staggered to her feet. Sunny-chan fluttered to her other shoulder. 

 

And then Aoko did something she did only when the situation really, really called for it. She swore.

 

“Fuck.”

 

---

 

She was laying on the kitchen floor when she heard her father’s key jangle in the lock. Sunny-chan had followed her home and was currently settled in atop the fridge. Aoko was studying the ceiling with a fascination she had never held for ceilings before. Had the plaster always been that swirly?

 

“Aoko, what are you doing down there…?” Her dad asked when he stumbled to a stop, and then spotted Sunny-chan. “Is that one of Kaito-kun’s doves?”

 

“Yeah,” was the only answer Aoko gave.

 

“....okay,” her dad said. “I’m heading to bed. Will you be alright?”

 

“Who knows,” Aoko said absently. So many emotions had flooded her body that they’d all turned off about ten minutes ago, approximately the time she’d laid down on the kitchen floor. It was actually kind of scary. Nothing like this had happened when her mom died, or Toichi-ojisan. “Probably not,” she admitted.

 

She hadn’t even punched anything yet. She knew she was too shell-shocked to really feel afraid, and that was bad. Really bad. On the other hand, maybe she should save up all of her punches until she saw Kaito again, and then give him the absolute worst black eye he’d ever had the pleasure of sporting. Maybe she’d give him two. Now, there was a thought. He’d look like a racoon.

 

Ginzo sat on the kitchen floor with a wince—long day, bad knee, maybe both. “...want to talk about it?” he offered awkwardly.

 

Aoko squinted at him, then up at the ceiling, tracing a spiral with her eyes. “Otou-san… what would you do if you found out someone was lying to you? Someone really important, hiding something really important?”

 

“About something important…” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his scruffy face, which was only getting scruffier by the day. “I’d be hurt. Angry. But… I’d want to know why they kept that shit from me, too.” He huffed. “Though maybe the reason wouldn’t matter, if they broke my trust that badly.”

 

Aoko levered herself up, careful of the elbow she’d banged earlier, which was definitely bruising. Her dad was watching her with a creased look and she frowned back. “Even if it was…” she hesitated, thinking of the long conversation around mismatched tea mugs at the old professor’s house. “Life or death?”

 

“That’s… well,” Ginzo muttered. “Broken trust is still an issue. I just—Aoko, it’s hard to make blanket statements about this. What happened?”

 

“I…” she faltered.

 

Her dad knew a lot of things about Kid. He fumbled a lot, but he was still the only guy around who’d been chasing Kid since day one. But…did he know that Kid was actually two people? Did he know that the first Kid had probably been his best friend, Toichi-ojisan? What if he did?

 

Worse, what if he didn’t?

 

She felt suddenly, dizzyingly sick. This was so much bigger than her, bigger than Kaito. It was big enough to encompass Toichi-ojisan’s death (murder?), and sinister, underground crime syndicates, and six-year-old detectives, and...

 

Her dad put a heavy, broad hand on her shoulder. “Need a hug?” he asked.

 

She nodded weakly and leaned in to him. His jacket smelled of stale coffee and cigarettes when she buried her face into his chest. She might have recoiled and complained another day, but tonight she just breathed in deeply.

 

“I just... need some time,” she said, muffled.

 

She felt her dad nod. “You can talk to me when you’re ready.”

 

---

 

The next morning, Aoko slipped out of the house early to take Sunny-chan home, but also to avoid her dad and his concerned looks and awkward attempts to get her talking about who’d lied to her and about what. He’d made several further attempts last night, until Aoko had paused the situation by going to bed and finally punching a pillow or ten.

 

She underestimated how little Sunny-chan wanted to go home, and wound up wrestling with the bird to get her to stay at Kaito’s house. She’d put Sunny-chan on a perch or a nest; the bird would root to her shoulder; Aoko would pull her off; the bird would flap her wings until Aoko’s grip loosened, and perch on her head; and so on, for almost fifteen minutes, until Aoko managed to shut the door to the dove room with Sunny-chan on the inside and Aoko on the outside. Her hair was a wreck, and her uniform was wrinkled. 

 

She pulled a feather from her hair and scowled at it. “Bakaito,” she mumbled as she stalked to the kitchen and threw out the feather. “Stupid idiot jerk, kleptomaniac asshole jerkass idiot Bakaito!” She kicked a cabinet, and dang, that hurt. She hopped on one foot for a moment, face hot. “Stupid idiot, goddamn fool Bakaito! Gem stealing, law-breaking rat bastard shithead kleptomaniac! Biggest clown in the circus laughed out of town asshole motherfucking BAKAITO! Rrrghh, I hate him so much!!” She spun around the kitchen and found the half-empty cookie packet on the counter where Kaito had left it, and swiped it to the floor, then stomped on it for good measure, sending crumbs flying. She knocked all the newspapers off the table next, but they were too light to have any satisfying give. “Why does he have so many fucked up secrets?” she ranted. “Why did he decide to fuck around and become a wanted criminal?! Is he dead?! Is he on the run?! Bitch has such a visceral affect on me, not even in the room, haven’t seen the boy’s face in days and I just know he has the world’s shittiest smirk right now, ARGH!! Get away from me!”

She kicked the cabinet again, and as fast as the anger had come, it fizzled again. She had to tell her dad. Kaito was in danger right now, and her dad had the resources—

 

Then what? He’d arrest Kaito?

 

Picturing Kid in handcuffs with his head bowed used to bring her vindictive pleasure. It was payback for all the nights she’d spent alone, for all her dad’s insomnia, for the hundreds of thousands of yen in property damage and stolen goods and breaking and entering. Now, she superimposed Kaito’s face on the image and felt like retching.

 

Last night in bed, she’d pulled up the video analysis of Kid’s disappearance and watched it over and over and over, trying to pick Kaito’s features out from the blurry frames. All she could ever see was pale skin and dark hair, maybe the sharp point of his nose, no matter how much she zoomed in and tried to force her eyes to pick out distinct, recognizable features.

 

There was a part of her that still wanted to explain everything away; Kaito was an otaku, Kid was a magician, and the world made sense that way. What didn’t make sense was that Kaito had kept this from her for a year.

 

She crouched to rub her toes and scowled at the newspaper articles that now decorated the floor. Maybe Kaito had actually kept this from her for more than a year. Kid had reappeared then, but what if Kaito had known about his dad’s night job from the beginning, since he was a child?

 

What if he had never trusted her like she trusted him?

 

She scrubbed a hand over her face, then sighed and moved to the sink to wash her hands, and her face too, since she’d just been touching Sunny-chan. Her hair was a lost cause so she gathered it into a messy ponytail. She leaned over the sink and braced her non-bruised elbow on the edge.

 

How did Hakuba do it? How did he approach the world with cold, hard facts, and use logic in the face of humanity’s horribleness? How did he—well. He hadn’t been betrayed by his best friend, had he? 

 

Aoko wondered if Hakuba had a best friend. As far as she knew, the only people he talked to were his housekeeper, herself, Akako, and Kaito.

 

And he knew about Kaito. He did, he had to; he’d said it from day one, hadn’t he? He’d said there was—

 

DNA evidence.

 

Back when Hakuba had first transferred, and before his jabs about Kaito being Kid had toned down and become more like mutual teasing (which Aoko had thought meant those two hard-headed boys were becoming friends), he’d claimed that he once picked up a strand of Kid’s hair at a heist and had it tested at his grandfather’s lab, leading to a compiled list of people who fit the profile of DNA evidence and his own observations: fifteen to seventeen years old, blood type B, five foot seven-or-eight-or-so with a high IQ and incredible physical abilities in many areas. Aside from ice skating.

 

Last year, Aoko had laughed. What an overzealous, eager detective Hakuba was! He must have picked up some random strand of hair from a museum floor and had figured it was Kid’s, because none of that information had made sense, especially not the age…

 

Now, it wasn’t funny. It was concrete, undeniable evidence. It would give her a fool-proof way to explain this to her dad, without having to jump through all the hoops of denial that she was still trying to crawl out of herself. And Aoko had access to something that was a certifiably non-random DNA sample: Kaito’s hairbrush.

 

She took the stairs two at a time, threw open Kaito’s bedroom, and then tore apart his bathroom. Surely, that idiot had a hairbrush, even if he only combed his hair once in a blue moon.

“Aha!” she cried, finally uncovering it beneath the sink. “Success!”

 

The serotonin was fleeting and Aoko wilted, looking at the plain brown brush. 

 

Maybe she should just… burn it?

 

What? No. No way, that would make her an accomplice to a crime. An accomplice to hundreds of crimes. She set her teeth and grabbed a plastic bag in the kitchen and put some of Kaito’s hair in it before she lost her nerve. Laws existed for a reason, and she’d always stood firmly on the side of right her entire life. (Nevermind that she’d cheered for Kid a handful of times…)

 

She stalked back home and shook her dad awake roughly.

 

“Huh?” Ginzo said sleepily, feeling around the comforter and side table for the alarm clock. “Whuzzat—Aoko?”

 

“Your team got Kaitou Kid’s top hat, right?” she demanded, covering for nerves with intensity.

 

He blinked fuzzily at her. “Yeah?”

 

“Was there hair in it?” she demanded.

 

“Yeah,” her dad said, looking more awake by the second. He sat up and Aoko stepped back.

 

“I need you to run a test on it,” she said. 

 

“It’s already been sent to the lab,” Ginzo said. “But without a comparison sample—”

 

Aoko pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, gathering her nerves. “I have one,” she said, and shoved the bag of Kaito’s hair in her dad’s face.

 

He took it from her, squinting. “Who’s is this?” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

 

“I’ll tell you when the results come back,” Aoko said, crossing her arms tightly and trying not to shake. Her legs betrayed her, but her dad was too focused on what she’d given him to notice. “Just trust me, otou-san, and get it compared to Kid’s hair. I want to know if it matches.”

 

She watched his face harden before his eyes met hers. “I trust you, Aoko,” he said. “I’ll put a rush order in as soon as I get to the office.”

 

“Good!” she said, and left his room without another word, then left the house entirely. It was still too early for school, the sunlight weak behind the clouds and low, near the horizon, the air chilly and damp, but she couldn’t stay. She just couldn’t.

 

---

 

At lunchtime, Aoko dragged Hakuba to the roof. He went without complaint, which surprised Aoko, but she didn’t dwell on it. There were more important things to think about. Say, just for example, how right now, Kaito’s hair was under a microscope in a pristine white lab, and how it would inevitably prove Kaito’s night-time... hobby.

 

The wind was blowing when they reached the top of the building. Aoko pointed to a bench near the edge of the building. “Wait there,” she demanded.

 

“Alright,” Hakuba complied.

 

She swept the perimeter for other students; while she didn’t find any, she still felt nervous when she dropped onto the bench beside Hakuba. “So,” she said. “Kaitou Kid.”

“What about him?” Hakuba said.

 

“He’s…” she started, and faltered. The words weren’t coming. “You know—” Kaito, she couldn’t say, because that was too casual, too... true. She crossed her arms with a huff as hot anger built steadily beneath her sternum and settled on saying, “You study him.”

 

“I do,” Hakuba said. Right, there was no way that was news.

 

“And you study Kaito,” she said, voice rising.

 

Hakuba was looking at her full on, his brown eyes a bit confused, like she’d just spoken to him in fluent, perfectly British-accented English: he understood her, but it was still new. His windswept hair only added to the image of befuddlement. “...sort of. Kuroba-kun is interesting,” Hakuba admitted.

 

“Because Kaito is Kid, isn’t he?” Aoko challenged. Spitting out the words like that was easier than preparing, easier than thinking them. But then, Aoko had always had an impulsive streak.

 

Hakuba’s face danced; his eyes went round, then his expression crumpled into hesitance and uncertainty, before solidifying all at once into determination.

 

“Yes,” Hakuba said, his voice even.

 

And Aoko—

 

Aoko saw red.

 

Because she knew, now, but it had taken a year of lies and avoidance; it had taken almost half a dozen gunshots straight to the fragile, human rib cage that belong to her life-long friend; it had taken a less-than-morally-pure traipse into a hidden room, and two DNA hair tests. She had been grappling to keep her cool for days, literally days, to the point where she’d felt scarily, floatily distant from the whole situation for one extremely long night. 

 

She knew, she’d known for several hours now, what Kaito had been hiding from her.

 

And here was Hakuba, who’d been sending her pitying looks and watching her reactions carefully since Kid’s disappearance, who had known since the beginning and never done anything to be taken seriously, had quickly laid off of anything but light-hearted jokes jabbed at Kaito for a long time now, who had never convinced her father despite working with him, and for what? So he could be the one to handcuff Kaito and ship him off the jail? So that he could have the glory? So that he could laugh with Kaito behind her back at her childish naivety, and smirk every single time she’d told Kaito that her dad was taking Kid down and that Kid was a lawless criminal who didn’t deserve respect nor to be glorified by the media or teenage fanatics like Kaito himself—

 

Hakuba had known, and he’d done nothing to prevent the heist that had sent Kaito to another goddamn dimension.

 

“Did he tell you?” she seethed, shooting to her feet and grabbing the front of Hakuba’s uniform. He flailed, caught off-guard by the breaking dam of her anger, and eventually one of his hands settled on Aoko’s forearm. She twitched and grit her teeth.

 

“Not—no, not really,” Hakuba fumbled for words as Aoko’s fingers tightened. She could see in the roundness of his eyes that he was panicking, could feel it in the way his breathing had sped up. Good. “At a certain point, we came to a mutual understanding, and I’ve provided him with information—”

 

“Who else knows?” Aoko hissed, not wanting to hear more.

 

“I… I believe Koizumi-san does,” Hakuba said, looking shaken as the wind skittered violently between them for an instant.

 

“How?”

 

“She seems to have her own unique… methods,” Hakuba said. “Aoko-san, please release me, and we can speak about this like adults.”

 

“Like adults? Oh, that’s rich, Hakuba-kun,” she said, voice pitching into a growl. “Yeah, that’s real rich.”

 

The last thing she needed was for Hakuba to imply she wasn’t mature enough to know about any of this, what Kaito had gotten in over his head with. She knew she was a kid; she had only just turned seventeen, and the fact had been hanging over her head for a long time that at eighteen, at the end of high school, she’d be forced into the world of maturity. 

 

Hakuba didn’t know her, not really. He didn’t know about the people she’d loved and lost all before the age of eight, and how that had changed her. How that had stripped away the innocence she’d had for a long time, how she’d worked to love her life and appreciate every day, and to laugh. Hakuba didn’t know how Kaito had been right beside her, learning to laugh again with her, bringing vibrancy and cheer and unexpected pranks and playful tussles and everything Kaito.

 

Hakuba didn’t know how she struggled to fill the empty silhouette of her mother at home. He didn’t know how she knew she could never be everything Kaito needed, because what he needed was a father and a mentor and a jokester, and how she’d had to accept that and just be herself with him because that was the best thing she could do for either of them.

 

She and Kaito had shared almost everything for a decade. And they should have shared this, this burden, this curse, this burning need for vigilante justice.

 

“I have been acting like the most mature version of myself that I possibly could since Saturday,” she said through gritted teeth, getting into Hakuba’s face. “I have tried to be logical, rational, and calm. I’ve tried to think like a detective. And you know what, Hakuba-kun? You know what?”

 

She rattled him by the shirt. Mutely, he shook his head no.

 

“I am done,” she shouted. “I am absolutely fucking done acting calmly, because Kaito was shot. Do you realize that? He was shot in the chest, and he fell out of a building, and now he might be in an alternate fucking dimension if he’s not dead, and you knew, and you did fucking NOTHING!”

 

Her voice cracked and she blinked away hot, angry tears. Hakuba had his hands up, palms forward. She shoved him backwards into the fencing and released him; the chainlinks clattered. 

 

“Kaito broke my trust,” she said, trying to wrangle her voice low again, because who knew how far their voices could carry on the wind? “And so have you, Hakuba-kun, and you know what? So has Akako-chan. And you’re all gonna fix it. But we’re starting with you, because Kaito isn’t here.” 

 

She jabbed a finger into his chest. He flinched. Satisfaction bloomed in her lungs as she drew a deep breath.

 

“Maybe you have a good reason for not telling me anything,” she said, “but I don’t care. You’re gonna tell me now. And you’re not gonna exclude me from anything else that happens, no matter what. You’re gonna make this up to me by bringing Kaito home, and bringing him home alive, so that I can kick his ass into that new dimension and back until we’re even, which is probably never gonna happen.”

 

“I—I understand, Aoko-san,” Hakuba replied, voice shaking. He cleared his throat and then patted at his hair fruitlessly; the wind was still blowing. “I understand completely. Perhaps, this afternoon, you might like to go over my notes? And, ah, join me and Edogawa-kun for the next stage of our investigation?”

 

That’s not enough, Aoko’s heart told her. It would never be enough. But looking at Hakuba’s earnest eyes and the set of his shoulders, she thought, but it might have to do for now. 

 

“Fine,” she said. “And Akako-chan. We’ll need her for all the...dimension stuff.” Speaking of which… “Have you seen her today?”

 

Hakuba shook his head faintly. “She said she would be researching today,” he said. “I will call her.”

 

“Fine. So what’s your plan for today?” Aoko demanded, then corrected herself, hard. “Our plan.”

 

“Ah… Agasa-hakase knows someone who has been involved with creating Kid’s gear,” he said tentatively. “He contacted him yesterday. Edogawa-kun and I plan to interview him this evening.”

 

Aoko swallowed down a dizzy feeling; Kid had accomplices, so of course Kaito had accomplices. Hadn’t she wondered who they were? This was her chance to find out. “Where?”

 

“It’s a pool bar in downtown Ekoda,” Hakuba said, pulling a notebook from his pocket and writing down the address. “It’s called the Blue Parrot.”

 

Well, then. Aoko never thought she’d see the day she’d want to punch an old man, but apparently, this week was full of surprises.

 

---

 

The meeting was set for six, but Aoko was impatient on a good day, and today was not a good day. She turned up half an hour early, and found a sign on the front door which proclaimed that the pool hall had closed early for the day. No reason was given.

 

She set her teeth and knocked, loud. 

 

Jii-san wasn’t someone she knew well, but she did know him. He’d been at every single one of Toichi-ojisan’s magic shows (at least, all the ones she’d been to) as his assistant. He was kind and old even then, and had resurfaced in her and Kaito’s lives about a year ago, inviting them to reconnect and hang out at the Blue Parrot. And with them, he’d been involved in a few minor misadventures, most notably that one time Kaito had sleight-of-hand-pool-sharked Jii-san’s prized pool cue back from some nasty guys at another bar.

 

Come to think of it, it was around the time they’d started hanging out with Jii-san that Kaitou Kid had started doing heists again.

 

She ground her teeth and knocked again, even louder, and hollered, “Jii-san, open up! It’s Aoko! I know you’re there!”

 

She did not, in fact, know if he was there. As the minutes dragged on she debated whether or not to start kicking the door, and was rearing back to start when the locked deadbolt thunked in its tumbler and the door flew open, revealing a rather stressed Jii-san. The top of his bald head was shiny with sweat.

 

“Aoko-san,” he said, “my apologies, I was in the back. What can I do for you?”

 

Aoko crossed her arms. “You can tell me everything you know about Kaito’s night job,” she declared.

 

Jii paled visibly. “Ah,” he said faintly. “Yes, yes, of course, Aoko-san. Please come in.”

 

She followed him into the bar. In the past, she’d been here after hours, but always with Kaito, who made the place feel lively and full no matter how few patrons were in. Now, it was stale and quiet, the pool tables cloaked and the stools empty. Jii poured her a glass of juice, and with a nervous glance at the clock, sat across from her at one of the high-top tables.

 

Jii cleared his throat. “What has Kaito-botchama told you, Aoko-san?”

 

She huffed angrily. “That Bakaito kleptomaniac didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “I had to figure it all out myself. No thanks to people like you.” She shot him a nasty glare and didn’t even feel bad when he flinched.

 

But then, he bowed his head low, a move that startled Aoko out of her acidic thoughts. 

 

“Aoko-san, if you have it in your heart to forgive Kaito-botchama, I will be forever in your debt,” he said, low and wavering.

 

“Huh?” Aoko said.

 

“It is my fault that he picked up the Master’s cape,” Jii said. “I let slip the secret that I promised Master Toichi I would take to my grave.” He looked up and met Aoko’s eyes. “It was my foolishness— my wish to draw out Master Toichi’s killers—that brought Kaito-botchama into this world of danger.”

 

A hot flame of anger licked at the base of Aoko’s ribs, burning hot and bright as Jii explained how he had begun dressing as Kid and stealing; how Kaito had confronted him on a rooftop, and how Jii had mistaken him for his father, still alive. How Kaito had immediately decided to take up the task himself, and wouldn’t let Jii talk him out of it. By the time the story wound up, Aoko’s fingers were white around her glass. The story hung in the air between them like an ominous fog.

 

“So Toichi-ojisan was really… murdered,” she said, finally.

 

Jii nodded.

 

“How?” Aoko pressed.

 

“His accident was set up,” Jii said, eyes on his laced fingers. “The investigation was never allowed to progress very far.”

 

“Allowed?” Aoko repeated.

 

“Ah, there was reluctance from the police to continue digging,” Jii said nervously. “I believe they were aware that a larger syndicate was at work, and afraid to get on their bad side. Chikage-san also requested that investigation be halted publicly. I think she feared for the safety of the family.”

 

“Chikage-san knew about Toichi-ojisan being Kid…?” Aoko walked out the words slowly, carefully. 

 

Jii nodded. “It was how they met,” he said.

 

“She—no, that’s…” Aoko grit her teeth, pushing back hard on her instinct to deny. “Okay. So she met Toichi-ojisan as Kid, or what?”

 

Jii watched her with careful, anxious eyes. “More than that, she inspired him to become Kaitou Kid.”

Aoko thought back to yesterday, sitting at the professor’s house and listening to Conan’s lecture on the origins of Kaitou Kid, his mentor being the Phantom Lady. “Oh,” she said sourly. “So Chikage-san was a thief, too.”

 

Jii bowed his head. “Perhaps present tense would be more accurate,” he said.

 

Aoko groaned and sank down in her seat, scowling. “Great! Just great. So she probably knows about Kaito too, huh?”

 

Jii nodded.

 

“Great,” Aoko repeated unhappily. “I guess I’m just the last to know.”

 

“I’m sure that Kaito-botchama considered telling you,” Jii said carefully, like each word was a brick placed in cement.

 

Aoko kicked the table’s central pillar, making Jii jump and her glass rattle, the juice nearly sloshing out. It was immature, but she didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter if he thought about it, he never did it,” she said. “And neither did Chikage-san!”

 

Jii was quiet for a long moment. When Aoko looked up, Jii was holding very still. “Aoko-san,” he said, “what do you plan to do with this information?”

 

“I—well, find Kaito, of course,” she replied hotly. “After that, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”

 

“And after that…?” Jii asked, a leading question.

 

Aoko huffed. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Will you tell your father?”

 

Aoko bit the inside of her cheek. “He deserves to know. Not just about Kaito, but about Toichi-ojisan, too.”

 

“And would Nakamori-keibu arrest Kaito-botchama?”

 

Aoko squeezed her eyes shut tight, her whole body wound so tense that her eardrums rumbled lowly. She could admit now that she hoped not, not when it was Kaito, but catching Kid was her dad’s whole career. “I don’t know,” she finally said.

 

“Nobody would blame him if he tried to,” Jii said. “It’s his life’s work. But…” The old man before her closed his eyes. With alarm, Aoko saw he was tired, bone-tired. “Supporting Master Toichi and Kaito-botchama is my life’s work. I would not be able to stand by while Kaito-botchama was put on trial.”

 

Aoko found herself cowed into silence. “I… I don’t want Kaito to go to jail,” she said roughly after a minute. “I want Kid to go to jail, but not…”

 

“Aoko-san,” Jii murmured. “They’re the same—”

 

“I know,” Aoko cut him off. “I know!”

 

She’d already given her dad half the information: Kaito’s hair in a plastic bag, the demand to have it tested against Kid’s. The promise to tell him everything when the test came back. 

 

The chance that the match would come back negative was—miniscule. No, it was below zero, now. It would match. Her dad would demand to know how she’d gotten a hold of Kid’s hair, and where. He’d demand to know who Kid was. Who had lied to Aoko. And she’d have to tell the truth, because her dad was even more involved with Kid than she was, both times around. 

 

She couldn’t lie to her dad. It would be wrong not to tell him. But on the other hand, Kaito deserved a full life, a university education, a chance at the big stage—right? She’d always thought that. It felt hollow now, but it was still true. Kaito was talented enough to deserve the world. Aoko stirred her juice with the straw, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass.

 

Jii seemed to be waiting for an answer that she couldn’t quite give him. Instead, without looking up, she asked, “Kaito was looking for something, right? The gem that those people were after?”

 

Jii nodded. “Pandora,” he said.

 

“And he found it,” Aoko said. “That’s what happened on Saturday, according to Conan-kun. So what’s… when Kaito is back,” (because it had to be when , not if, it had to be) “what’s the point of Kid?”

 

“There won’t be a point any more,” Jii said.

 

Aoko finally drank some of her juice. It hit her scratchy throat, refreshing and cold, and thought about what it would mean if the Eclipse Tear was the last jewel Kid ever stole. If he never put on that white get-up again, could they leave it behind them? Let it be a one-year blemish, insignificant in the face of a lifetime?

 

There wouldn’t be closure, Aoko thought. Not really. Could I live without proper closure?

 

Jii’s cell phone buzzed; when he checked the message, he stood, apologizing to Aoko. “The others are here,” he said. “Please excuse me while I let them in.” He vanished into the back of the bar.

 

Aoko scrubbed at her eyes. If Kaito were alive, if he were home, she could probably live with anything. As it was, her world had already changed irreversibly.

 

Jii returned with Hakuba, Conan, and Agasa. Apparently, none of them were surprised to see Aoko. Conan grinned at her and she tried to look a little less miserable for his sake. He was just a kid. God, he was just a kid, and he was involved in this mess, too.

 

Hakuba introduced himself and Conan to Jii. After pouring several more glasses of juice for the new guests, Jii gathered them around a table where Hakuba caught Aoko’s eye and offered her a weak smile. She turned away, not quite ready to accept his friendship again.

 

Conan wasted no time with his questions, immediately jumping in and asking Jii what he already knew about the men who’d shot at Kid over the weekend. Jii nodded nervously and retold part of the story he’d already told Aoko, with more detail.

 

“After a few years, Master Toichi was approached by a group who offered him a large sum of money to search for a certain gem,” Jii said as Conan and Hakuba took notes. “That was when we first heard of Pandora, and its supposed properties of immortality. When he turned down their offer, they moved onto threats and violence, and so Master Toichi worked for them briefly, before vowing to find and destroy Pandora before they did. For years he learned their patterns and outsmarted them, until they struck outside of his heists. Left alone, I eventually decided that I would impersonate Master Toichi to draw out these murderous criminals, as they’re utterly impossible to track down with any other means. I’d only conducted one heist before Kaito-botchama approached me…” 

 

Jii went on to recount the events of the last year. Some of the details, Aoko had already heard from Hakuba’s perspective, such as the tracking device that had led the Kid taskforce to an abandoned base, once. Jii explained that was where Kaito had overheard more details about Pandora from Snake and another organization member, and they’d begun aiming guns at Kaito in earnest. The story made Aoko’s lungs tight and small.

 

Eventually, Jii brought the story to the current day, explaining first the research that he and Kaito had done on the Eclipse Tear. 

 

“It fit the description of Pandora more closely than any other jewel we checked,” Jii said. As he’d laid out the story for them, he had found a steady ground, but his eyes had avoided Aoko the entire time. “It was concealed from the public eye to the point that no photographs of it exist, and stored without natural light, which fit the rumour that its glow was activated by moonlight.” He sighed shakily. “It was almost too good to be true, that it traveled here to be displayed.”

 

“We haven’t been able to contact the gem’s owner,” Hakuba noted, speaking up for the first time. “It’s actually quite suspicious. I believe the owner was absent from the heist as well.”

 

“How was the gallery display arranged, then?” Conan asked.

 

“Primarily through e-mail and translators,” Hakuba said, flicking through his notebook. “Ah, here we go; it seems that the Suzuki group was instrumental in securing the right to display the gem, having made an offer…”

 

Aoko’s phone buzzed against her leg, distracting her as Conan, Hakuba, and Jii discussed the heist’s details. Sliding it out, she wondered if it might be her dad. Did he have the DNA results already? That wasn’t a conversation she could have over text; she wasn’t even sure what she would tell him yet.

 

1 Missed Call from BAKAITO , her phone said.

 

“Huh?” she exhaled, a shiver crawling its way down her arms and leaving goosebumps in its wake. As she stared down at her lock screen, her phone buzzed again.

 

1 New Voicemail from BAKAITO.

 

“Is that from Kuroba-kun?” Hakuba’s incredulous voice filtered into her ears, and she realized with a start that he was leaning over her shoulder. She pulled away and mustered a scowl.

 

“It didn’t even ring,” she said, unlocking her phone. “It just buzzed. It probably glitched.” 

She hit play on the voicemail and held it up to her ear, wincing at the harsh sound that played instead of a message. Catching Jii’s open, hopeful face and Conan’s intense stare, she reluctantly switched her phone to speaker mode and held it in the middle of the table. It still only played noise.

 

“It’s just a glitch,” Aoko said, as much as she wished it wasn’t. “Bakaito’s phone is probably broken, and anyway, Akako-chan said—”

 

“Aoko, thank fuck.”

 

Through the harsh static came Kaito’s voice, breathy, almost desperate. Aoko’s heart rate spiked and she shut her mouth so quickly that her teeth clacked. Jii looked like he was about to cry with relief. Conan had a laser-focus on his face as if her phone and the message were the only things that existed.

 

“Holy shit,” Kaito continued in the same tone as before, rushing over himself like he was trying to build a bridge as he ran across it. “I’m so sorry I vanished, but I’m alive, everything’s okay, I had to— my, my mom had an emergency, I’m in America, don’t freak out, okay? Everything’s fine. I’ll be home soon—”

 

The message cut off.

 

“Call him back,” Conan said immediately. “Call him back right now!” Then, he turned to Agasa. “We need to record and track the signal— hurry!”

 

Aoko wordlessly fumbled with her phone. Still on speaker mode, it rang out, the tone interrupted by bursts of static and stretches of silence. It sat suspended in her hand over the table, but Aoko almost couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears, the jack-rabbit fast pounding in her chest. The phone clicked, a loud, harsh sound, and the static buzzed up to a crescendo. Had it connected?

 

“Kaito?” Aoko demanded. “Kaito, are you there?”

 

The static crackled like electricity. She hadn’t been paying attention to the flurry of activity around her, but now Conan was climbing onto a chair and plugging her phone into a laptop, that he and Agasa then leaned over intently, fingers flying.

 

The interface of her phone really was glitching now; she couldn’t tell if the call had really gone through or not. Kaito’s contact picture was distorted and flickering, which sent an ominous shock of fear to her heart.

 

“Bakaito, if you’re there, you better reply, or I’m gonna break your teeth with a mop handle,” she threatened. “Every single damn one! You’ll need dentures before the age of twenty, you massive ASSHOLE!”

 

The static cut out for a moment. 

 

Then there was a yelp from the other end, and it was sound that Aoko would know anywhere: in the pitch-black night, on a crowded city street, and now, coming through a bad connection. It momentarily doused the anger burning at her core, just long enough for her to grin wildly, because that was unmistakably, undeniably Kaito on the other end of the line. 

 

He was alive, dimension travel or not.

 

His voice came through next, high and loud and excited. “Aoko?!”

 

---

 

Notes:

Aoko’s awesome Leitner rant at Kaito in the morning is 100% Icy’s work. When she dropped that tirade as a comment during beta’ing, it was way too perfect and in-character to pass up XD I just edited it for the context a lil.

For all the flip-flopping I did on the order of this chapter and the last one, would you believe me if I told you I originally wrote half of this chapter as part of chapter 10, “The Red Witch”? The fact that both The Red Witch and The Rabbit Hole are each almost 10k should tell you everything you need to know about why this fic is probably gonna wind up around 270k when all is said and done.

Another note; I think I'm going to be trading out weekly updates for... approximately every-other-week updates? ish? My buffer has been slowly whittling down as I've been posting slightly faster than writing :"D also I spent a bunch of time trying to mold the putty of the last arc into shape for, like, a third time. I really think I've got it now, but I said that last time, too.

On top of that, I scored my first post-grad job!!! friendship ended with unemployment!! part-time job is my new best friend!! (lol no it's not. fanfic is my first and forever best friend.)

I'll see y'all soon with chapter 17, which I have to say, is one of my favorites so far ;D

Chapter 17: The Emperor's Son

Notes:

*tosses hands in the air* i’m always trying to keep my chapters away from the 10k mark, but it Just Happens Anyway. I hope y’all like long chapters, but also short chapters, because the next batch is definitely not 10k apiece.

Okay, that said, I love this chapter a lot, and I think y’all will too ;D off we go to the land of EVEN MORE canon divergence~!

---

 

Central City’s train station was crowded, and not too unlike other train stations Kaito had been to, if you replaced their infrastructure with stone and steel and swapped the bullet trains for coal-burning ones. 

 

Okay, mostly, it was the sounds that were familiar: the hollering of people, the steady hurrying of feet, suitcase wheels squeaking over grout. Kaito had always been safe in crowds, especially as Kid. There was nothing like the thrill of switching out his eye-catching white for something plain and having the taskforce’s eyes slide right past him. It was only second to the safety of being somewhere high-up and otherwise inaccessible, but much easier to come by.

 

Having a proper cover didn’t hurt, either. With his hair a few shades lighter than normal and combed down, standing beside Brosh in his plainclothes, they could be taken at a glance for relatives. Cousins, if not brothers. 

 

Kaito nudged at his glasses for probably the tenth time in as many minutes. The burn across the bridge of his nose made them pretty irritating to wear.

 

“I don’t really get why you need those,” Brosh said, noticing Kaito fidget. “Isn’t the hair dye enough?”

 

“It’s all about the first impression,” Kaito said. “There’s no point in giving anybody a reason to look twice.”

 

“And constantly touching them will help how?” Brosh asked wryly. 

 

Kaito scowled at his display of logic and Brosh surrendered, hands up, grinning. They were distracted by the sharp, high whistle of a new train approaching the station.

 

“That’s us,” Brosh said with a nod. 

 

Hughes emerged from the crowd as they approached the crush of people exchanging places. “Not so fast,” he called with a crooked grin. “Planning on skipping the goodbye?”

 

“Hughes-san,” Kaito said. He hadn’t anticipated him appearing here. He quickly catalogued how Hughes looked: there was a slight tremor in his left hand, the entire arm immobile at his side. He was in his uniform pants and white button-down, his conspicuous jacket missing and his grin was stiff at the corners, eyes tired.

 

“You better not swan off to Xing without seeing me and Gracia one more time,” Hughes said.

 

“I’ve got something to return before then, don’t I?” Kaito asked, thinking of the throwing knife in his bag.

 

Hughes waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “Elicia will be really sad if she doesn’t get to say goodbye, you know!”

 

“Coulda brought her with you today,” Kaito said.

 

Hughes laughed, soft and genuine. “Because that would have been very covert, of course,” he said, then turned to Brosh. “I expect you’ll take good care of him for us?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Brosh replied promptly. Hughes just barely kept Brosh from saluting him, and Brosh went red apologizing for the slip up. Kaito cracked a smile.

 

“We’ll see you back here tomorrow,” Hughes said. He shook hands with Brosh, then offered the same hand to Kaito. It was only after they’d shaken and Brosh had turned to board the train for real that Hughes hastily pulled Kaito into a hug; much more brief than the one from the morning, and still one-armed, but tight all the same. Kaito barely managed to pat his back once before Hughes pulled away.

 

“Give us a call from East City,” he said.

 

“Sure,” Kaito said, wondering if this would be the last time he saw Hughes. He liked the man, despite how much of a pain in Kaito’s side he could be with those sharp, critical eyes. Maybe Kaito was doomed to like every intelligent person who tried to capture him. (Well, maybe not every one. The thought of Akako comforted him, because the fact that they didn’t get along meant he wasn’t a complete masochist). “And… uh. Keep that vest handy, okay?”

 

“You got it,” Hughes said. “Now, catch your train!”

 

Kaito ducked onboard with a small wave. It was nice; the interior was lined with wood paneling and rows of wooden seats in facing pairs. As he found Brosh at a seat, Kaito could still see Hughes on the platform with the cluster of Resembool teens, each saying their own goodbyes.

 

“This is kind of exciting,” Brosh admitted, dropping into his seat across from Kaito now that his overnight bag was stowed beneath. “I’ve never been on an undercover mission before.”

 

Pity it’ll be such a short one, Kaito thought. Outwardly, he only smiled, while internally, he was reviewing the day’s plan. “Should be fun.”

 

Before he and Ed had climbed down from Knox’s roof, they’d compared train tickets and found that Kaito’s train would leave sooner. That, Kaito pointed out, would make it harder for him to sneak onto a different train without being noticed. 

 

“If we want to extend the amount of time we’ve got before Mustang-san realizes what’s up, we need them to think I’m on the train until it arrives in East City,” Kaito had said.

 

Ed had nodded and drawn him a crude map of the train lines. “You’ve got an express train, so your only chance to get off before East City will be in Kippax. From there, it’s a couple hours’ ride.” His diagram looked like a lopsided capital A with ‘Central City’ at the top, ‘Rush Valley’ bottom left, and ‘East City’ at the bottom right. A horizontal bar connected two intermediary cities, and he traced the path between them with a finger. “You can get a westbound train from Kippax to Xefkaum, but then you'll have to transfer to the southern line to get to Rush Valley.” Ed squinted at the diagram, then at Kaito, and then sighed. “I guess you’ll need some cash, huh?”

 

“Don’t underestimate me,” Kaito waved him off, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his knees. “Just leave a message at the Rush Valley train station for me on where to meet, and I’ll see you there.” He gave Ed a wink (which caused Ed to splutter and turn an adorable shade of pink) before hopping off the roof.

 

After that, as Ed had promised, he’d whipped up a batch of hair dye for Kaito. Kaito wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but the dye successfully lightened his hair a handful of shades without bleach, and was supposedly only semi-permanent. Kaito had also taken some time to outfit his empty frames with fake lenses, after which Mustang came over to discuss the details of meeting his team in East City. Kaito hadn’t listened much, but he’d been able to subtly return his notebook and papers while Mustang monologued, so there was that. 

 

He’d completed his disguise with a little makeup: contouring that made his jaw appear rounder and concealer to reshape and thin his eyebrows. He’d even folded his button-down into his bag after finding a new spot to hide Pandora (or rather, by sewing one into his new black t-shirt). A pair of contacts would’ve helped complete the look in ideal circumstances, but overall, it was a step up from his slap-dash nurse persona.

 

The ride from Central to Kippax was a few hours, so he made idle small talk with Brosh until their tickets were checked, though Kaito wasn’t even asked for identification, which was a bit of a letdown. After that, Brosh buried his head in some work and Kaito entertained himself by watching the world pass by.

 

It was the most he’d seen of Amestris, so far. The streets of Central were one thing: all cobblestone and brick. But it was entirely different once they exited the city proper. The outskirts seemed to be a warehouse district which ended after the train passed over a river. From that point on, there was greenery: fields and trees that occasionally gave way to small tangles of buildings and streets. 

 

About half an hour from their stop, Kaito turned back to Brosh. “Hey, you got anything to drink?”

 

“Oh, sure.” Brosh pulled a water bottle from his bag and tossed it over to Kaito, who faked a sip while depositing a couple sleeping tablets inside. Brosh took the bottle back without even glancing up from his papers.

 

Kaito settled back to wait with a small smile.

 

---

 

At Kippax, he left Brosh drooling against the train window and suitably poorer on the cash front. 

 

He watched the eastbound train start up and leave, then traded some of Brosh’s cash for a ticket on the next train heading west. By the time he’d departed for Rush Valley, the sunset was looming and the world was turning from orange to red. 

 

Approaching the aptly named valley, greenery was falling away for dusty brown rock and tall wheat-colored grasses, and the heat from the day was refusing to dissipate; the train was only a few degrees cooler than it was outside. Even when the sun set fully and he stepped out at his destination, the day’s heat clung persistently in the air.

 

The information desk had a letter for him under his fake-ID name, which he had to produce to claim. He flipped it over as he strolled into the street, lit orange by street lamps; the front only said Marcus Filler , and the back gave him the name of an atelier and an address that didn’t mean much to him as of yet. The handwriting was nice. He’d wager it was Al’s, based on what he’d seen of Al’s notes. He pocketed the card, looked up, and stopped dead in his tracks.

 

“What the hell happened here?” he said.

 

Beyond the large archway that welcomed travelers to Rush Valley, the city’s main road was a mess. There was rubble and chunks of stone strewn about, uprooted from fissures in the ground. A few walls had crumpled. Down the way, there was an outdoor cafe where two employees were just staring dumbfounded at a chair that had been alchemized into some kind of twisted metal sculpture; beside it, a table had been turned into a make-shift wall and melded to the ground. Across the road, a woman was sweeping up broken glass.

 

“A fight,” said someone behind Kaito. He turned around again to find a dark-skinned girl in overalls grinning at him, hands in her pockets. “What else?”

 

“Is that normal around here?” Kaito asked.

 

“Only if you count the arm wrestling contests that go on in the main square every day,” the girl said. 

 

“Somehow, I don’t think arm wrestling would do this,” Kaito said, nodding to the wreckage. “Hey, do you live around here?”

 

“Born and raised in the Valley,” she confirmed. “But I wouldn’t say I’m so much an automail nut as most people who live here.”

 

Judging from the storefronts he could see just on the mainstreet alone, Winry was probably never going to leave. “Can you tell me where to find Atelier Garfiel?” he asked.

 

“For a price,” the girl responded immediately.

 

Kaito dug out his wallet and counted Brosh’s remaining cash, then shrugged and offered it all. Hey, Ed was loaded, he could mooch a little longer. “This enough?”

 

The girl eyed the money suspiciously.

 

“What?” Kaito asked.

 

“Didn’t expect that to work,” she said, snagging the money. It vanished into the front pocket of her overalls and she beckoned him to follow her with a curled finger and a bouncing turn. “Come on! I’m Paninya, nice ta meet’cha.”

 

“Marcus,” Kaito replied.

 

Paninya ducked off the main road. They passed more destruction, but everything was back to normal after about a block. Paninya explained that two of the guys who got in the fight had been going around fixing things up as an apology for destroying stuff in the first place, though only one of them seemed remorseful. (Kaito was beginning to suspect he knew who was who in this scenario.)

 

“Anyway,” Paninya said, without giving Kaito a chance to comment on the ongoing narrative, “What brings you to Rush Valley, Marcus? Are you an engineer, or a customer?”

 

“Neither, really,” Kaito said. “I only started learning about automail a few days ago. I’m actually just here to meet up with some friends.”

 

“At Garfiel’s?” Paninya asked. “Why Garfiel’s?”

 

Kaito shrugged. “I dunno, I’m just going where I’m told,” he said. “What’s Garfiel’s?”

 

“He’s a guy,” Paninya said by way of explanation. “He runs a really good workshop and he’s got a lot of customers. But nobody’s better than Mr. Dominic, who made my legs!”

 

Kaito blinked. “Both of them?”

 

Paninya bent over and hiked up the cuffs of her pants. “Both of them!”

 

Kaito squatted down and flicked one of her metal shins. She pulled her pant leg up further to show off the knee joint, and twisted her foot side to side to display the smooth mechanisms in her ankle. “Both legs are pretty unique from one another,” she said, and went on to list out the components and the composition of the metals; a majority of the details went over Kaito’s head, even after Winry’s thorough crash-course.

 

“Neat,” Kaito said, because it was, even if it still dredged up Robo-Kaito from the dark recesses of his mind. “Does automail usually come in pairs?”

 

“Nah,” Paninya said, dropping her cuff as Kaito stood. “It’s actually really uncommon to have more than one automail limb, yanno. Some people don’t even get one if they don’t have to. The surgery’s intense. I don’t even remember most of mine.” 

 

“Automail’s hooked up to the nervous system, right? That’s how you can move it so smoothly?” When Paninya nodded, Kaito went on. “So, is it a two-way street? Like, can automail send nerve signals back?”

 

“Nah, you can’t feel anything in your automail,” Paninya replied. “Like, when you flicked my leg, I didn’t feel it in my leg. The vibration went up to the port though, so there was some feedback, but it’s not the same as if you flicked my arm or something.” She shrugged. “It can be a bit of a pain in the ass.” Her eyes drifted to a metal ladder propped up in an alleyway. “Hey, you like climbing?”

 

“I love climbing,” Kaito replied enthusiastically.

 

“Awesome,” Paninya said. “I’m bored of walking.”

 

It was the only warning he got before she was scaling the ladder and swinging herself onto a roof. Kaito, grinning, followed.

 

Though Paninya had a head start, it wasn’t too hard to keep up. Running and leaping across rooftops was a piece of cake compared to the mad flat-out sprint he’d made after Hughes the previous night, and it was nothing like clinging to the side of a skyscraper, which Kaito had also done a few dozen times. Not to mention it was a lot more fun; nobody’s life was on the line. And it wasn’t often that Kaito had the chance to chase rather than be chased. It was a completely different experience, but thrilling all the same. From Paninya’s wide grin, she was enjoying having a partner too, though Kaito did get the feeling she was going easy on him.

 

They darted around chimneys, used balconies as stepping-stones and drainpipes as fireman's poles. The final stretch was a block of buildings that were all relatively the same height, almost a cool-down, aside from one mad scramble up a forty-five degree angled roof with unstable shingles.

 

Paninya pulled them to a stop on the flat roof of a squat building, and they both caught their breath for a moment. Kaito peeled his hands out of his gloves, now damp with sweat, and flapped them around in a bad attempt to dry them.

 

“We’re here,” Paninya said, punching Kaito in the shoulder, actually a bit rough. “Thanks for the free-run!”

 

“Any time,” Kaito said, subtly massaging his side. The wound wasn’t doing too bad, but Knox had scolded him just that morning for running around… oh, well. Too late. “Wanna do this again tomorrow morning? You could meet my mechanic friend. She’d like your legs.”

 

“Sure!” This time, she slapped his shoulder before turning to make the leap to a different rooftop. “See you then!”

 

Kaito waved her off and found a ledge that would let him down easily into the small road beside the shop, then circled to the front. Atelier Garfiel was recognizable in the dusk from its broad, rose-covered sign, which Kaito liked instantly. The workspace was open to the street, past raised shutters. Though it was open, there wasn’t business going on at this hour.

 

“Winry-san!” he called as he approached, waving as she turned from her conversation with a burly man.

 

“Kaitou, you made it!” she said, bouncing to her feet.

 

Kaito ducked inside the shop and looked around. There was a counter, plenty of automail parts, and a couple workbenches near the back. One side of the room was filled with shelves and boxes of supplies, while the other had a large window that overlooked the road opposite where he’d dropped down. At the center was a little table set with tea where the two had been talking. 

 

“I was a little worried about you finding us,” Winry admitted. “Ed said it wouldn’t be an issue, but…”

 

“I’m all in one piece,” he reassured her. “And hopefully Brosh-san won’t be too mad about the sleeping pills.”

 

“I’ll pretend I don’t know about that,” Winry muttered darkly. “Anyway, let me introduce you to Mr. Garfiel! He’s letting us stay tonight, and we’ve been talking about the carbon fibre innovations…”

 

Kaito shook hands with Mr. Garfiel. He was suitably impressed both with his bicep muscles and his long eyelashes and said as much.

 

“Oh, my, thank you!” Garfiel replied. “You’re quite sweet, though not as darling as Miss Winry! You’re welcome to spend the night as well, as long as you don’t mind a cot.”

 

“A cot’s fine,” Kaito agreed. As Garfiel moved away to clear up the tea, Kaito turned to Winry again. “Say, where are Ed-san and Al-san?” He figured he might as well drop Ed’s nickname at this point, if he was undercover; in fact, he should probably work out the honorifics too, and keep working on his Amestrian accent. Not the hardest habit he’d had to break, but it would take some conscious effort at first.

 

Winry’s face immediately darkened with mention of the Elric brothers. Near murderous, if Kaito had to pick a colorful adjective. “Those two…” she muttered.

 

“...I guess they really did have something to do with all that rubble in the middle of town,” Kaito said wryly.

 

Winry groaned. “They thought it’d be so smart to get into a fight with this guy and his friends,” she said. “Right after dinner, too!” Winry sent a nervous glance to Garfiel, and lowered her voice. “I mean, he was pretty insistent on asking about the Philosopher’s Stone and stuff, so I get it, but really, they’re too reckless.”

 

Kaito’s nerves immediately shuddered out of place. Oh, yikes. Maybe Rush Valley wasn’t the place to be. “Who was he?”

 

Winry shook her head. “I dunno,” she said. “But he’s from Xing. He said his name’s Ling, I think.”

 

From Xing? Double that yikes, and top it with a ‘you’re fucked’ cherry. Or three. “Where are they all now?” Kaito asked, hoping the answer would be something like ‘far, far away’.

 

“He and his friends disappeared when they figured they were beat, so who knows,” Winry huffed, crossing her arms. “Ed and Al are still out fixing all the stuff they wrecked.”

 

There were about a million things Kaito needed to get information on, but he could only ask one question at a time. So, the most important stuff first. “These guys from Xing,” Kaito said carefully, “were they alkahestrists?” 

 

In other words, how many of Kaito’s lies had already been cracked open while he wasn’t looking?

 

“Ling said he wasn’t,” Winry said. “As for the other two, I only saw them do martial arts and use blades, but I was only there at the start. The only ones doing alchemy were Ed and Al… mostly Ed.” She scrunched up her nose, because they all had a pretty good idea of the amount of property destruction he’d done with said alchemy.

 

Okay, he’d have to wait until Ed got here to know for sure how screwed he was. “What else do you know about this guy, Winry-san? Even if it seems insignificant, I need to know.”

 

“Guy?” exclaimed an all-too-cheerful voice. “I have a name, you know!”

 

Kaito could admit when he was beat, and he did have to admit: he jumped badly. So badly that he wound up clutching at his chest like some kind of Victorian-era European maiden. Because some guy in a loose yellow shirt and a ponytail had just popped up in the open window like an excited puppy. Kaito could practically see a wagging tail—or maybe that was just the pounding of his heart made manifest by his traitorous optic nerves.

 

Winry, who wasn’t halfway to having a heart attack, just blinked and said, “Huh? Why are you here?”

 

Ling (whose name they did, in fact, know) propped his elbows on the windowsill, and perched his chin primly on his knuckles. “I came to thank you for your generosity at dinner, of course! And to continue our enlightening conversation about your country’s alkahestry!”

 

Winry cast a glance at Kaito as if he could help her with this, which he really couldn’t, so he shook his head. Apparently, neither he nor this guy were from Amestris, but at least in Japan people had manners—even if Kaito took trespassing and property laws as suggestions rather than rules, he still gave advance notice of when he was going to be somewhere. And failing that, he knew how to knock. Most of the time.

 

Winry settled on, “You’re welcome,” as she looked back at Ling. “But, I’m not an alchemist. If you wanted to talk to Ed and Al, they’re not really back yet...”

 

“I’ll enjoy some hospitality, then,” Ling changed courses agreeably. “I don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight.”

 

Winry blinked at him again. Kaito wondered if this dude was for real, like, really for real, or if he was doing this out of some misguided attempt at humor.

 

“You can ask Mr. Garfiel if he has another spot to rent?” Winry suggested, pointing at the doorway in the back where he’d taken the tea set.

 

“Excellent!” The guy wasted no time vaulting through the window and walking into the kitchen, then paused to turn on Kaito. “I don’t believe we were introduced at dinner,” he said. “My name is Ling Yao. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

 

Any hope that Ling wouldn’t be particularly interested in Kaito—what with his lightened hair, makeup, and fake glasses doing their best to obscure his more easily identifiable ‘Xingan’ traits—died like a beached fish making a final, floppy gasp. He smiled with his teeth. “Marcus Filler,” he said. “The pleasure is mine.”

 

It really, really wasn’t.

 

Ling peeked at him from one eye and said nothing for a long moment, before clapping his hands, startling Kaito again. “Wonderful!” he said. “I shall return shortly!” Then, he vanished into the back room, calling for Mr. Garfiel.

 

Kaito took the moment to grab desperately onto Winry’s arm and whisper a very desperate, “What the fuck?”

 

She only shook her head. “Marcus?” she asked.

 

“That’s what my ID says,” he muttered tersely. “And I don’t trust this guy. We don’t know what he’s about. You said he’s interested in the Philosopher’s Stone!”

 

“That’s fair,” Winry agreed. They hesitated in the workshop a little longer, listening to Ling and Garfiel’s voices carry indistinctly from the back; eventually, Winry showed Kaito upstairs to the room that she and the Elrics had rented for the night, explaining more of their meeting with Ling on the way. 

 

After securing a room for the night, they’d dropped off Kaito’s note at the train station, and on their way back, they’d found Ling collapsed in an alley. Of course, born and raised with small-town hospitality drilled into their bones, they’d invited Ling to join them for dinner. Or, rather, Al and Winry had invited him, and Ed had pulled a number of unhappy faces. Turned out they should have taken their social cues from Ed for once, because Ling had brought up immortality and the Philosopher’s Stones and then his friends had leapt off some rooftops to pick a fight with Ed and Al.

 

Kaito dropped his bag on the unclaimed cot, subconsciously checking that Pandora was still in place in the hem of his black t-shirt. “What do they already know about the Stones?” he asked.

 

“Just that they’re all mixed up with immortality,” Winry said, watching the doorway warily as if Ling might pop in again at any moment. “He said he’s looking for one.”

 

“Great,” Kaito muttered. “Just what we need.”

 

“Yeah…” Winry said. “Ed hasn’t told me everything, but it seems like it’s bad news. I mean, it landed you guys in the hospital.” She hesitated. “Ed was unconscious for two days.”

 

“Yeah, bad news is an understatement,” Kaito replied darkly. “Let’s just say that Hughes-san is lucky he made it out alive when it comes to people being shady because of the Stone.”

 

Winry fidgeted. “You’re… you’re referring to your dad, right?”

 

Kaito closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the conversation they’d had while building his cardgun. He’d given that piece of information to Winry himself. “Yeah. I mean my old man.”

 

She steeled herself. “Well, it’s not going to happen again.”

 

Kaito wanted to believe her. He really did. But thinking of the hard look on Mustang’s face as he’d held out his gloved hand, the stark-red array standing out on the back, he felt utterly pessimistic. Kaito didn’t even think he had the right to claim he’d be preventing any deaths, not after he’d done nothing to help Lust or Envy.

 

Human or not, they’d died, and they’d suffered horribly in the process. 

 

Winry seemed to understand the something implied by his silence. She pushed on, voice still strong. “Ed and Al aren’t like… they aren’t like Colonel Mustang. Colonel Mustang… well. I didn’t like him much when I met him, and I can’t say I’ve warmed up much. And Ed’s in the military, but he’s not… really, you know? He and Al want to get their bodies back to normal and help people. Not hurt people.”

 

Kaito gave Winry a crooked smile. “Yeah, me too,” he said. Close enough, anyway. He sighed. “Alright, let’s go see what trouble Ling-san is stirring up.”

 

Downstairs in the workshop, it turned out that Ling wasn’t stirring up an overt amount of trouble. He was sprawled at the tea table, eating some cookies, looking all too content.

 

“Where’s Mr. Garfiel?” Winry asked.

 

“He went to get some new linens and things, I believe,” Ling replied. “Want a cookie? They’ve got chocolate on the bottom!”

 

Winry took one. “So you’re renting a room, too?”

 

“Less a room, more a rooftop,” Ling said, see-sawing his hand in the semi-universal gesture for ‘somewhat’. “It’s so warm here, being inside is hardly necessary, don’t you think? Please, sit!”

 

Winry sat across from Ling as if they weren’t both guests here, but Kaito hovered, preferring to stay on his feet. He did, however, snag a cookie for himself. Hey, he was the only one who hadn’t eaten dinner; the paper-wrapped train station sandwich hardly counted. He listened with half an ear as Winry made smalltalk about the summer heat.

 

“Where I grew up, you could sleep outside all summer,” she was saying. “Sometimes you didn’t even need a sleeping bag. But we didn’t get dry heat like this. I don’t think I like dry heat very much.” She wrinkled her nose adorably.

 

“You’d hate the desert,” Ling said. “It doesn’t even cool off at night during the summer. We spent three weeks crossing it, but the ruins of Xerxes weren’t about to move themselves at our request!” He laughed. “Can you imagine doing that trip without horses?”

 

“Are horses suited for that?” Winry asked. “I thought there were camels in the desert.”

 

“Well, it’s much harder to hire a guide with camels,” Ling said. “When you’re traveling discreetly, horses are the way to go; at any rate, there are breeds that are well equipped for the sand.”

 

Winry asked about the ruins next, and Kaito took the opportunity to study Ling as he talked about the historical value of rubble. He didn’t really look Japanese, but Kaito supposed that, to an untrained eye, he and Ling could be related, at least with their hair colors and skin tones. Their heights were similar as well, and Kaito could recognize that the Amestrian Ling spoke was accented similarly to his own.

 

Then, there was the fact of Ling’s name; it was definitively not a Japanese name, and was in fact much more reminiscent of a Chinese name. Kaito had known, of course, that he’d been relying on Amestrian ignorance of Xing to fake his way through his little charade. Ling would not have handy Amestrian ignorance. Giving away too much could fell everything as easily as plucking away a structural card from the fragile house Kaito was building with them. 

 

And, from what he’d seen earlier, Ling was also light on his feet, definitely trained in either fighting or dancing, or both. The sword strapped to his back strongly implied the former.

 

A sensation that Kaito could only call impending doom washed over him. He really didn’t want to be stabbed again.

“So, Marcus,” Ling said, turning to Kaito with a wide grin. Apparently, he’d grown bored with small talk. “What brings you to Amestris?”

 

“What do you mean?” Kaito asked. “I live here.”

 

“Oh, is that so!” Ling gushed. “Because of your accent and use of suffixes, I thought you must be Xingan as well!”

 

How long had Ling eavesdropped on them below the window before announcing himself? Was it worth it to try denying one or both of those accusations? Probably not.

 

“Originally,” Kaito said, feeling Winry’s eyes burn into the side of his face as he lied. “But my family immigrated a few years ago.” He shoved his entire cookie in his mouth. The tacky chocolate coated his tongue.

 

“Ooooh,” Ling said. “That makes so much sense! But why change your name and dye your hair?” Ling asked. He had to be feigning that innocent curiosity that was painted all over his face. “Certainly Marcus isn’t your given name.”

 

“I did it to fit in,” Kaito rolled his eyes, unable to refute the fact that he’d done both of those things, and very recently to boot. The kicker was that this particular answer wasn’t even a lie. “Why else?”

 

“Surely, you don’t intend full disloyalty to your clan,” Ling said, looking very indulgent, like a cat playing lazily with a trapped mouse before going in for the kill. “What was your family name, before? What clan did you belong to?”

 

When you can’t answer something, distract. Kaito shoved a new cookie into his mouth. “Why does it matter to you, Yellow Shirt-san? It’s ancient history.”

 

“Inter-clan politics are extremely important to any emperor’s son,” Ling declared. “Of course, I’m no exception.”

 

Kaito choked on chocolate and shortbread. Lady Luck, you’ve thrown me to the wolves, haven’t you? What have I done to deserve this?

 

Ling’s serene smile sharpened slightly.

 

If I die like this, Kaito thought, my old man will never let me hear the end of it.

 

“Are you okay?” Winry asked, startled. Kaito waved her off frantically. She considered him with pursed lips, and then tilted her head at Ling. “You’re really… the emperor’s son?”

 

“Aww, don’t sound so surprised!” Ling laughed, as if he weren’t watching Kaito die a very slow, horrible, chocolaty death right in front of them. “Is it that hard to believe I’m royalty?”

 

Kaito wheezed and slunk into the back room. Ling watched him go. Kaito filled a cup from the tap and gulped it down. He needed his poker face back on yesterday.

 

“If you’re a prince shouldn’t you have, like… bodyguards, or something?” he heard Winry ask.

 

“Oh, I do!” Ling replied. “You met them earlier. The girl’s name is Lan Fan, and the old man is Fu. They’ve served my family for generations, and they’re quite loyal.”

 

“Ah… yes, they do seem… loyal,” Winry said. From the twitch at the corner of her mouth that Kaito spotted as he slipped back into the workshop, he surmised those were the two who’d brawled with Ed and Al. “Sorry,” she amended. “I just didn’t expect they’d let a prince pass out in an alleyway.”

 

Ling laughed again, loudly. “I do have a pesky little habit of sneaking off on my own,” he said. 

 

Kaito huffed. Why did this asshole get professional guards who let him starve to death, and Kaito got Hughes? 

 

...then again, he’d also gotten Brosh, and Brosh hadn’t even blinked when Kaito had dissolved a set of sleeping pills into his drink.

 

“Alright, maybe I’m not that special,” Ling admitted after a stretch of silence. “The emperor has forty-three children. I’m twelfth.”

 

“So why are you in Amestris?” Kaito cut in. “Why aren’t you doing prince things back home?” 

 

“Ah, yes, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Ling said with an air of mystery that made Kaito want to grit his teeth. “You see, the emperor’s been in poor health these days. And with so many children, nearly one from each clan…” He trailed off meaningfully.

 

“...inter-clan politics,” Winry summed up. “What does Amestris have to do with that?”

 

“Amestris is my golden ticket,” Ling said. “You have such an interesting country here! Surely, I can secure my position as the emperor’s successor.” He began counting on his fingers. “There’s metal limbs, combat alkahestry… not to mention the Philosopher’s Stone!”

 

“How’d you know any of that was here?” Kaito asked.

 

“Let’s call it a hunch,” Ling said infuriatingly.

 

“You want to take automail to Xing?” Winry asked.

 

“Sure,” Ling said. “Plenty of Xingans would benefit from your Amestrian technology! But I don’t believe the emperor would have a personal interest in automail, so it’s only a backup plan to the secret of immortality.”

 

Kaito’s fingers itched and he crossed his arms. Against his hip, Pandora wriggled insistently; or perhaps it had been doing that all along, and Kaito only ever noticed when the topic was relevant. “That’s why you want the Stone,” he surmised. “It just boils down to politics, and getting a leg up.”

 

“Politics, and the lives of five hundred thousand Yao clansmen,” Ling corrected. 

 

“If you offer the emperor immortality, then he’ll stick around forever, and you’ll never get the crown,” Kaito snorted.

 

“I never said I’d make him immortal,” Ling said. “Anyway, it surprises me you’ve heard of the Philosopher’s Stone, Marcus!”

 

“There’s plenty of legends if you know where to look,” Kaito said tersely.

 

It was then that Ed and Al returned, announcing their arrival with a shriek (Ed) and a surprised, but less shrill, exclamation (Al). 

 

“Why are you here?” Ed demanded, pointing wildly. 

 

Ling darted across the room and smothered him in a bearhug. “Because we’re friends!” he exclaimed. 

 

“We’re not friends!” Ed said, muffled.

 

“Aww, that’s no way to treat your friends,” Ling said, nuzzling Ed’s head with his cheek.

 

Ed fought out of his grip and spotted Kaito. There was no greeting, no niceties. He went directly to demands: “Do you know this guy?”

 

“I met him ten minutes ago,” Kaito said, defensive. “I don’t even like him!”

 

Ed huffed, like that response didn’t give him much to go on. Al, meanwhile, picked up the conversation with Ling.

“Are your… guards here, too?” he asked. 

 

“Of course!” Ling said brightly. He did not elaborate on where they might be, exactly.

 

“Well, I don’t care,” Ed said. “Take them and get lost, asshole.”

 

“Ed!” Winry said, grabbing his arm and leaning down to whisper furtively. “Don’t call him an asshole, apparently he’s a prince!”

 

“A prince?” Ed looked blankly from Winry to Ling. Then, he burst into laughter. Al joined him quickly and before long, both brothers were practically rolling on the floor. 

 

What innocent, naive souls, Kaito thought enviously. To be so carefree…

 

“Kaitou, who the hell is running your country?” Ed wheezed, wiping his eyes. “They let this bastard be royalty?”

 

Kaito winced badly. Okay, so much for having some kind of cover story from Ling. He didn’t even feel bad when one of the concealed bodyguards nearly speared Ed with a dagger a second later.

 

Ling pulled the knife out of the wood and pocketed it, turning to Kaito. “You’re a kaitou, huh?” he said.

 

This wasn’t Kaito’s day. It wasn’t his week. And, god, did he wish it wasn’t his life. He gave Ling a tired grin. “One of many, I’m sure,” he said.

 

“Yet you claim no interest in the Philosopher’s Stone? You’d turn down a prize like that? How… unusual,” Ling said idly, tucking his hands behind his back.

 

“I only said I didn’t come to Amestris looking for one,” Kaito corrected. Ling with his hands behind his back couldn’t be trusted. That’s where his sword was.

 

“Hmmm,” Ling said. “And who told you about the Stone, let alone hinted it might be in Amestris?”

 

“The Stone is something of a family legend,” Kaito said warily. “Originally, Amestris didn’t have anything to do with it.”

 

“And yet, you’re here now,” Ling said.

 

“So it seems,” Kaito said.

 

“Well,” Ling said, “it’s fortunate you didn’t come in search of the Philosopher’s Stone. If you had the intent of winning the emperor’s favor for your clan, that would make you my enemy!” He set into laughing again, loud and raucous.

 

Kaito’s jaw tightened. Winry whispered something else to Ed and Al, causing Al to hum lowly and Ed to snort. “We’re not getting involved in your politics,” he said, raising his voice to get Ling’s attention. “Even if we were, the Stone isn’t some tool for personal gain.”

 

“Eh?” Ling said, tossing his arms around Ed’s shoulders again, already back in buddy-buddy mode. “But the fate of my clansmen depends on it! Okay? So give me some info!” 

 

“No way!” Ed grunted, stepping on Ling’s toes. Ling yelped and slunk back. Lan Fan—the one who’d thrown the dagger earlier—peeked into the window with a vicious glare. Ed glared right back. Kaito kind of wanted to flee the scene.

 

Al stepped in. “We’re sorry, but we can’t tell you anything about the Philosopher’s Stone,” he said evenly. “You’ll need to respect that.”

 

“I’ll just have to tag along with you until something crops up, then!” Ling said, perking up and clapping. “Ne, Kaitou-san?”

 

“I refute anything and everything you’re implying,” Kaito said.

 

Ling responded in happy, rapid-fire Xingan. Despite his calm, placid smile, the handful of words that Kaito registered were enough to recognize that Ling had just threatened him without a hint of such in his body language.

 

Kaito clenched his jaw so tight that he swore his molars squeaked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tightly, sticking to his accented Amestrian.

 

Ling raised an eyebrow, and asked a question in Xingan. Then, another. Kaito held his ground silently. Whatever he was saying—about alkahestry, Kaito thought? More politics, too—was using vocabulary that Kaito had no hope of grasping. That, and while the similarities between Japanese and Xingan had carried him through a few short phrases with Mustang, none of that had prepared him for the silky-smooth, river-fast sentences of a native speaker. 

 

On top of that, he wasn’t entirely sure the speed he’d gotten through several phases of translation had been fully under his own power. He knew himself, and he’d never learned a language in a matter of days through sheer desperation the way he had with Amestrian. The words had filtered into his ears and clicked with an unsettling ease. At some point, he’d have to examine that whole conundrum a little closer, but thus far, he’d been a bit… busy.

 

In hindsight, it had been a massive mistake to not spend more time working on his understanding of Xingan; the fact that he didn’t understand the majority of the language was a giant, glaring hole in his cover story, especially when it came to complicated politics, alkahestry, and threats.  

 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Ling asked.

 

“Nothing,” Kaito hissed back with careful pronunciation.

 

Ed, Al, and Winry were watching the two of them with eyes sliding back and forth, like spectators at a tennis match waiting for the ball to hit the ground.

 

Ling tilted his head back and laughed, breaking the tension. “You,” he said, “are an interesting one!”

 

This is the beginning of the end, isn’t it? Kaito thought.

 

---

 

Several hours later, dragged into the shuttered, darkened workshop of Atelier Garfiel by a suspicious, glowering Ed, Kaito thought that perhaps he should switch careers. Clearly, his true calling was as a psychic.

 

“Alright,” Kaito said, trying and failing to wriggle out of Ed’s iron grip, and then giving up completely and going slack, like a cat that didn’t want to be held. “What now?”

 

“Fess up,” Ed said.

 

“About what?” Kaito said.

 

That almost stumped Ed, but he recovered enough, and made up for the rest with his natural abrasiveness. “About—everything! All those Xingan politics that brought that Ling bastard here, why he’s a prince who’s after immortality. What if he’s in cahoots with the bastards who murdered your dad?” He squinted suddenly. “Are you actually here for political gain?” 

 

Against such a barrage of questions, Kaito could only blink. “I can’t see the future,” he said. “Also, I really don’t care about Xingan politics. I can’t stress that enough.”

 

“You think I’m gonna buy that?” Ed asked, going serious. “You’re a genius. You coulda, I don’t know, thought critically.”

 

“I don’t know how to convince you that I’m really, really not involved in politics,” Kaito said. “In fact, I’m kind of a criminal.”

 

“Have you really been honest with us?” Ed asked, his tone surprisingly controlled for all the glaring his face was doing.

 

“Define ‘us’,” Kaito said.

 

“Me, Al, and Winry,” Ed said. “I’m not stupid; I know you haven’t been telling Mustang and Hughes everything.”

 

“Give the boy a prize,” Kaito muttered.

 

“Who’re you calling a tiny little kid who can’t even see over the counter to pay for his dinner?” Ed snapped.

 

“Not you, certainly,” Kaito replied, then groaned. “Ughhh. Is this because I couldn’t speak to his royal Ling-ness in Xingan?”

 

Ed’s eyes narrowed sharply. There was a beat of silence. “Couldn’t, huh?”

Kaito sighed. Loudly. “Oh, great. So I guess I just gave you that one for free.” Ed tightened his grip on Kaito’s arm—enough to make Kaito wince—so Kaito hurried to continue. “Alright, alright! Lady Luck help me —I’m gonna tell you everything, Ed-san, but I’m gonna count it as your free-pass question.”

 

“Fine. Get talking.”

 

“I’m not from Xing, and I can’t speak Xingan. I’m from Japan, and I speak Japanese.”

 

“Sounds made-up,” Ed said.

 

“Yeah, and so do Xingan and Amestrian, and English, and German, and Chinese,” Kaito said. “You’re cutting off my circulation.”

 

“Live with it,” Ed said, but his fingers still eased up a bit. He gave Kaito a short once-over. “You’re not from Xing?”

 

Kaito wracked his memories and came up with two handfuls of nothing. “Did I ever actually say that I was, or did everyone just assume it?”

 

Ed gaped. It was kind of funny, the speed at which his entire face went red. “I can’t fucking believe you. We made a deal. About honesty. I can’t believe I trusted you.”

 

Kaito winced. “This whole assumption about where I come from predates that,” he said. “I didn’t think it applied retroactively?”

 

“Of course it applied retroactively!” Ed said. “Where the fuck is Japan? I’ve never seen a country like that on any damn map!”

 

“I don’t see why that really matters, you know,” Kaito said. “I’m here now, so—”

 

“Isn’t your whole thing about getting back?” Ed cut him off. “I’d say it’s important to know where the hell we’re shipping you off to with information about advanced, dangerous alchemy.”

 

“Well, to be completely honest with you,” Kaito said slowly, “I don’t think Japan technically exists.”

 

Ed looked at Kaito like Kaito was a dog who’d just shit on the carpet, right in front of him, and looked him in the eyes the whole time, too. “You’re off your rocker,” he said faintly.

 

“A little bit,” Kaito agreed, but Ed’s mood refused to lighten, so Kaito barrelled on. “Listen, Japan is an island country off the east coast of Asia, in the North Pacific Ocean. Which is, I’m pretty sure, on another planet. Oh, and it’s like, a hundred years in the future, too. I’m a regular ol’ alien around here.”

 

Ed finally released Kaito’s arm entirely, and Kaito began to work the feeling back into his fingers as Ed buried his face into his hands and moaned, “Why am I even bothering with you? You’re crazy. That’s all there is to it.”

 

It wasn’t like Kaito could prove anything to Ed. What was the worst that could happen if he didn’t? 

 

...probably a lot, actually. Kaito swiftly compiled a mental list as Ed began to pace and mutter unhappily.

 

1. Ed and Al wouldn’t trust him, and they wouldn’t share any of their know-how on human transmutation, which had the potential to be his ticket home
2. He’d lose access to their Teacher’s advanced alchemical knowledge, which could also be his ticket home
3. Altogether, that was a huge setback on learning anything about Pandora and if it was safe to destroy or what
4. Winry would shun him and he wouldn’t be able to get his phone back online probably for a year
5. Any semblance of having people like Hughes on his side could evaporate, since they’d trust Ed’s word over his own (especially since his own word was already veritable swiss cheese)
6. Nobody would draw terrible diagrams of train lines for him

 

In conclusion: he had to get Ed’s trust, and preferably make Ed think he was sane. 

 

Both of those things were pretty tall orders.

Talking was out. Talking had gotten him into this mess. Anything he could tell Ed about his world would either rip holes in the fabric of spacetime, or be discounted as imaginative blathering. He needed something concrete—Ed was an academic, right? He’d accept evidence the way Tantei-kun or Hakuba would.

 

He thought quickly about his possessions; the vest that had helped save Hughes’ life was advanced technology, and it might have fascinated Ed were he allowed to examine the never-before-developed-in-1914 kevlar, but he’d left it with Hughes, and Ed might not even know it existed. The small assortment of prank items he had were sadly generic; his train ticket would be illegible. The only thing was his phone.

 

“Ed-san,” he said, halting Ed with an outstretched hand, “what if I can prove it to you?”

 

Ed snorted derisively. “You gonna show me a spaceship or something?”

 

“Well, it is future technology, but it’s hardly a ship,” Kaito said. “It’s a personal, portable phone.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ed said, in a tone that conveyed he wasn’t going to be easy to impress. “Fine, show me your tiny phone or whatever.”

 

Kaito had kept the phone close ever since Winry had stolen it in the first place (which, honestly, he might’ve been more impressed with at the time, if it hadn’t been his phone), so now he slipped it out of his back pocket and tossed it to Ed.

 

“It’s not really working right now,” he said as Ed turned it over a few times and pressed the volume buttons on the side. “Battery issues, I think. Winry-san and I have been working on a device to charge it, but it’s not complete.”

 

“Huh,” Ed said flatly. Definitely not impressed. 

 

Kaito sighed. “Stay here, I’ll get the charger.” And Winry, if she was up, probably.

 

Ed did not, in fact, stay in the workshop. He tailed Kaito closely, and instead of trying to not wake Winry as Kaito grabbed his bag, Ed flipped on the light and invited a sleepy Winry and wide-awake Al downstairs with them.

 

(Actually, it begged the question of whether or not a soul bound to armor could sleep at all, but the more time Kaito spent around the Elrics at night, the answer seemed increasingly to be no.)

 

“Why did you bring us down here in the middle of the night?” Winry asked blearily, rubbing her eyes as Kaito cleared one of Garfiel’s workbenches and dumped out his bag. “Ed?”

 

“Kaito’s not from Xing,” Ed announced. “And apparently, he’s going to prove it.”

 

“Huh?” Al said, at the same time Winry said, “Oh, the phone?”

 

Kaito nodded, sorting out the pieces he needed. “Let’s see if we can get the battery working.”

 

Winry wandered over and soon the two of them were making fresh progress, with Ed glaring daggers into the top of Kaito’s head from the other side of the bench. 

 

Al hovered behind him. “Brother, what do you mean Kaito’s not from Xing?”

 

“Says he’s from someplace called Japan,” Ed grunted, eyes never leaving Kaito, even as he reached for a wire cutter that Garfiel had left out. “Apparently, it’s a hundred years in the future.”

 

“A hundred years ahead in an alternate future,” Kaito said. “I think.”

 

“An… alternate universe?” Al asked. “I’ve only read the theory. Did you come over intentionally?”

 

Kaito’s eyes flicked up to Al. How had he accepted this so quickly? Even Winry looked a bit squinty, thinking about parallel worlds, and she’d already seen his future tech in action. But, staring up at Al, he supposed he’d be open to the infinite possibilities of the universe if he was a disembodied soul bound to a metal casing, too.

 

“No,” he finally answered. “It happened pretty much the way I told you.”

 

“So getting home will be a lot harder than finding someone to take you across the desert,” Al surmised.

 

No kidding. “Trust me, if I’d already figured out how to get back, I’d already be long gone.”

 

“So…” Winry started, and continued when Kaito looked at her. “Where you’re from… Ekoda?” Kaito nodded. “You said it’s kind of like Central?”

 

“More or less,” Kaito said. “Cars are different and some of the buildings are a lot taller, but… I mean, a city is a city, right?” At Ed’s little huff, Kaito went on. “Aside from modern technology, I think our worlds have a lot in common. Well, different countries and customs and languages, sure. But there’s still alchemy, or alkahestry, or red magic, or whatever you want to call it, and humans are still humans, right? If we’ve got different sets of organs, I’d be pretty shocked.” 

 

Winry held her hand out to Ed, who passed Kaito’s phone over. She plugged it into their makeshift device, and after a moment, it lit up with the ‘low battery’ screen.

 

“Ah!” Kaito grinned, excited despite himself. “We should be able to turn it on in a minute. I don’t know if I’ll get any signal, though.” He wished he had a hint about how to do that; there were no outside circumstances to replicate, as far as he knew. All he’d done was hold his phone and turn it on.

 

“So, it’s a… telephone,” Ed said doubtfully.

 

“A cell phone,” Kaito said. “Cell stands for ‘cellular’, which… Hm. Well, the point is, it’s portable, and you can call people. You can also send text messages and e-mails and browse the internet.” At the Japanese word, Kaito got blank stares. He could only shrug. “I don’t think there’s an Amestrian translation for that one. Sorry.”

 

“It doesn’t have enough buttons,” Al said. “How do you dial?”

 

“It’s got some kind of sensitive display screen,” Winry said. “It responds to touch!”

Kaito’s lock screen popped up, and he tapped in his password, then slid it across the table to Ed, watching him like a hawk. “Don’t unplug it, and don’t try anything funny with it,” he said. “I can’t exactly replace it.”

 

Ed tapped at the screen, unimpressed. “It’s not doing anything.”

 

“You have to click something specific,” Kaito said. “Those bubbles are applications. Try clicking on, uh… that one.” He pointed to the messaging app.

 

Ed frowned and poked it again.

 

“Switch hands,” Winry said. “I don’t think it’s gonna respond to automail.”

 

He did, and raised his eyebrow when the display changed. “How do I go back?”

 

“Home button, there.”

 

Ed spent a few minutes opening and closing various apps. Kaito tilted his head to read the screen sideways, and was disappointed to find it still had no signal, even as he let Ed poke at the keyboard in the notes app for a while, even instructing him on how to change it to English so that he could more-or-less peck out something in Amestrian.

 

“This is neat,” Ed said after writing out a few words, sounding reluctantly impressed. “There’s definitely nothing like it here.”

 

“It’s like a tiny typewriter, but without paper,” Al said as Ed gave the phone back to Winry’s excited, grabbing hands. “And it can call people?”

“Well, in theory,” Kaito said. “If there's a signal.”

 

“Which is…?”

 

“A lot of things,” Kaito admitted. “Basically, companies build these towers that send out waves of… um, energy? Then everyone’s phones can pick it up.”

“From the air?” Al asked. “The air in your world is that conducive?”

 

Kaito shrugged. “Electronics aren’t really my area of expertise,” he admitted. “I leave that to Jii-chan and his inventor friend. Even if I knew the details, I think too much would get lost in translation.”

 

Winry looked up. “But you called someone the other day.”

 

“Yeah, no idea how,” Kaito said. “See that little symbol at the top? Right now it says there’s no signal—no network to use—which doesn’t surprise me, here.” He sighed.

 

Winry squinted at him, then at the phone, then back at Kaito. “Hold this,” she said.

 

“Huh?”

 

Winry lumped the phone and charger-pack into his hands and waited.

 

“What’s supposed to happen, Winry?” Al asked.

 

She rubbed her cheek. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he was holding it last time, when it—”

 

Kaito’s phone began buzzing. 

 

“—did that!” Winry finished excitedly. “I knew it, it’s reacting to you specifically!”

 

“It’s not supposed to do that,” Kaito replied hollowly. Incoming Call from ahoko , his phone said. It glitched for a moment and then resumed. Incoming Call from ahoko. He was too stunned to react for a long moment, then swiped the answer button, almost not believing it was happening. 

 

Fuzzy, crackling electricity filtered out of the speakers. Kaito held his breath. 

 

“What’s it doing?” Al asked and Ed gave an unimpressed huff.

 

“Bakaito,” Aoko said, sounding far-away and indistinct, “...reply, or I’m gonna break your teeth with a mop handle! Every single damn one! You’ll need dentures before the age of twenty, you massive ASSHOLE!”

 

Ed narrowed his eyes and made a swipe for the phone.

 

“Wait!” Kaito yelped, lunging over the bench to grapple it back. “Give it— Aoko!”

 

Ed gave the phone up easily, but stayed bent over the bench, squinting at the screen. “What did she say?” he asked. “Who is it?”

 

“Shhh!” Winry hissed at them both.

 

“Kaito!” Aoko yelled on the other end of the line. “You jerk, you asshole! Kaito, you shitty, no-good, kleptomaniac BITCH—”

 

Kaito laughed. Or maybe it was a desperate wheeze of relief and happiness all tied into one inexplicable emotion. “You’ve picked up your old man’s vocabulary pretty fast, Ahoko,” he said, affecting a casual air. 

 

“I’ll kick your ass into next week!” Aoko shrieked. Ed and Al shared a look. “I’ll turn you into a pretzel! I’m gonna give you two black eyes and then pound you into the ground like a tentpole! BAKAITO!”

 

“She’s threatening me with bodily harm,” Kaito translated cheerfully. “Everyone, say hi to Aoko! Say ‘ kon'nichiwa’!”

 

Ed, Al, and Winry stuttered through the greeting. Kaito laughed at their pronunciation, and then again when their politeness halted Aoko’s rant, and she replied, “H-hello…? Kaito, who’s there?”

 

“Some new friends of mine,” Kaito replied. “Did you get my message? I’m in America; my mom—”

 

“Bullshit,” Aoko cut him off. “I know you’re not, and your mom knows you're not. We ALL know you’re not.”

 

“Ah, uh. Where else would I be?”

 

“Some other dimension, I guess!” Aoko was back to shrieking. “Do you know how badly I was freaking out, until Akako-chan looked at all the magical traces or whatever left at Midtown Tower? I thought you’d died! DO YOU REALIZE YOU GOT FUCKING SHOT? With goddamn BULLETS, BAKAITO? Well, we sure didn’t fucking know that! We put in a missing person’s report for you!” 

 

Kaito winced and swiveled his stool away from all the watching eyes and curious ears. That deluge was… a lot. How did she know he’d been shot? “What magic traces at Midtown Tower? You’ve been watching too much TV, Ahoko.” 

 

“The ones from your precious Pandora. Yes, I know all about it, Kaitou Kid-san,” Aoko said hotly. “And real-life magic, but I’m sure that’s no surprise to you. Now, where the HELL are you? And when the GODDAMN HELL are you getting back?”

 

Kaito blinked.

 

Aoko knew?

 

Aoko knew about his night job, and she’d still called him Bakaito? She’d still been worried about him?

She still wanted him to come home?

 

He wasn’t sure if he was feeling shock or joy for a long, undefinable moment. Eventually, an incredible relief crashed over him and he had to scrub a hand at his eyes to prevent any tears from spilling out over the simple realization that Aoko had found him out, and didn’t hate him. 

 

“Kaito? KAITO?! TELL ME WHERE THE HELL YOU ARE, YOU JERKASS THIEVING CAPE-WEARING SON OF A—”

 

Okay, he’d have time to feel warm and fuzzy later. Aoko was still actively threatening him, so maybe he should hold off on celebrating too soon.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, spinning back around to face the others, their expressions ranging from immense intrigue (Winry) to intense frustration (Ed). “Business mode. I’m Business Kaito.” He cracked a private grin at that, because no way did Business Kaito really exist. “Okay. I’m in a country called Amestris, a city called Rush Valley, but soon I’ll be in Dublith. It’s 1914 here. Hey, guys, do you call this place Earth or what?” He got a few blank nods, and relayed the info to Aoko. “So yeah, some kind of parallel universe, I think. Fair warning, my phone’s probably gonna die again soon, we’ve got it kinda MacGyver'd up right now. But I’m doing everything I can to get home.”

 

“You better be, Bakaito,” Aoko said. “You’re not allowed to die until I kill you myself. And Hakuba-kun is definitely going to arrest you!”

 

“No, he won’t,” Kaito said. “He’s a softie like that. Anyway, he can’t arrest a corpse, dummy.”

 

“HE DAMN WILL ARREST A CORPSE IF I TELL HIM TO! SO WILL MY DAD, YOU KNOW!”

 

Kaito chewed on a grin, despite the fact those threats were...worringly real. That was the thought that brought him down a bit. “Hey, how’s your dad taking things? You said… everyone knows? Who exactly is everyone?”

 

Aoko was silent for a moment; the only sound was the staticky, unstable signal that connected. “I haven’t told him about the Kid part yet,” she finally said. “Other than Jii-san and your mom, the people who know now are me, Hakuba-kun, Akako-chan… and Conan-kun and his professor friend.”

 

“...Tantei-kun?” Kaito couldn’t keep the surprise and reluctance out of his voice, and couldn’t resist pulling a bit of a face. “Wow. Uh. Great.”

 

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic,” Aoko said, defensive. “He’s very smart and he’s done a lot of research.”

 

“That’s why it’s so great that he knows exactly who I am,” Kaito said, working himself into the drama of it, even swinging an arm over his eyes. “This is gonna cause a lot of issues down the line! Think of the heists!”

 

“What’s going on?” Ed asked impatiently.

 

“Nothing,” Kaito said immediately.

 

“Bullshit,” Ed grumbled.

 

“There aren’t gonna be any more hesits,” Aoko all but shouted. “Bakaito!” 

 

… well, he did technically find Pandora, so. But the thought of never holding a heist again twisted an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, so he changed the topic to something else that had been on his mind. “Hey, Aoko, how long have I been gone?”

 

“...four days,” Aoko said, not missing his left-hand swerve.

 

Kaito whistled. “Four days,” he said to Ed, who was practically champing at the bit with frustration by now. “Four days on her end. Huh. It’s been about a week and a half here.”

 

Aoko was quiet again, and when she spoke her voice was softer, one of her rarer moments of vulnerability. “And you’re okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” Kaito reassured her. Stab wound notwithstanding. “Are you, Aoko?”

 

“I’ll be better when you’re home,” she mumbled.

 

“Me, too,” Kaito replied honestly.

 

“Because that’s when I’ll be able to kick you in the DICK,” Aoko clarified, and Kaito laughed, petering off as his phone froze, the ambient background noise cutting off abruptly. 

 

He realized, then, that the cobbled-together charger was growing hot, way too hot, and he only had a second to yank it away from his phone before it sparked and started smoking. As if responding to the commotion, the ever-concealed Pandora wriggled burning-hot against him, still in the lining of his t-shirt. His phone, meanwhile, died.

 

“Shit,” he said. “Well, that was nice while it lasted.”

 

Kaito dropped the overheated mess of wires and metal onto the workbench and shook out his hand, trying to ignore Pandora; he had no idea how long it’d been doing that, and he kind of didn’t want to know, when it came down to it. Horrible rock. It was almost worse to think he was getting used to its presence enough to tune it out most of the time.

 

“That was your friend…?” Al asked softly. “Aoko?”

 

“Yeah,” Kaito said. “She said hello, by the way.” 

 

“She sounds fun,” Winry said.

 

Kaito huffed. “Fun is one word,” he said. He scrubbed his hands over his face, up through his hair, then down again. There was a lot to process: time dilating at different speeds and Aoko finding out Kaitou Kid’s top-secret civilian identity as Kuroba Kaito, just to name a few, but… there was nothing he could do about any of those things right now. For better or for worse, Aoko was on her own, and Kaito had a different set of priorities standing across a workbench from him. 

 

“Do you believe me now, Ed-san?” he asked. “That I’m from an alternate future world? And that I have no interest in Xingan politics, or Amestrian politics, or anything like that?”

 

“...either that,” Ed said, “or you’re the best damn ventriloquist I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Actually, I do know how to throw my voice. I could show you,” Kaito offered.

 

“Nope,” Ed said, cutting that off at the pass and tossing his hands in the air. “No way. I’ve had enough for one night. I’m going to bed, and in the morning, we’re going straight to Dublith.”

 

“I don’t know if Teacher will know anything about parallel universes, Brother,” Al said.

 

“Well, I sure as hell don’t know anything about them, either! Who knows if this bullshit is even alchemy; it breaks all the damn laws...” Ed’s voice left Kaito’s earshot as he stomped up the stairs. Al followed, his hollow, clanking footsteps echoing.

 

Winry watched them go, and then sighed at the smoking lump of metal on the table in front of them. “I guess we’re gonna have to start over with this charger,” she said, then cracked a wide yawn. “...tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Kaito agreed. 

 

She pushed back her stool and gave Kaito a grin. “Thus concludes the first official meeting of the Outrageously Talented Orphan Team,” she said.

 

Kaito laughed. “Fucking shit up since day one,” he said. “Should we tell Ed-san and Al-san they’re in a club?”

 

“Is it bad I kind of want them to figure it out themselves?” Winry asked.

 

“Nah. That’s the exact kind of energy we need in this organization,” Kaito said.

 

They were both giggling as they followed the Elrics upstairs. As Kaito flicked off the workroom’s lights, he marveled at how light he felt, just then.

 

---

 

Notes:

I adore Ling, but it’s extremely hard to write his dialogue without succumbing to the temptation to end every single one of his sentences with an exclamation point.

Also, I want to give a little shout out to qmzr, who called Kaito being a walking wifi hotspot as soon as I posted chapter 12, “The Party”. It cracked me up because THIS is the chapter I’d just finished writing before putting up chapter 12. UNDIGNIFIED SNICKERING OCCURRED. good on ya for calling that detail early ;D

Chapter 18: The Führer

Notes:

You may be able to tell, but any and all update schedule for this fic has gone out the window, at least for the time being. Thanks for your patience, y’all. Slow ‘n steady wins the race, right? :P

Before we dive in: a thank-you to my friend Mirror, for helping me catch and fix a ton of little errors throughout the first 17 chapters!

Also, you may notice that I've finally given the fic a final chapter count. Honestly, it's probably still going to change; my outline has had anything from 30 to 34 chapters, depending on the version, but has settled at 32 for a while now. So, I wanted to give y'all an idea of where we're at: something like just past the halfway point!

---

 

It had been nearly thirty-six hours since Maes had been home. That in itself was practically spitting in the face of nature, as far as he was concerned. Coming to his own front door was like reaching an oasis in the desert.

 

The second his key left the lock, Elicia was tackling his kneecaps like she’d had field training. “Papa!”

 

He dropped to his knees and pulled her in tight with his right arm. Just holding her little frame brought him to tears and he peppered the top of her head with kisses, every ounce of physical pain emenating from his injuries and the fading painkillers now forgotten—until one of her tiny hands grabbed his left shoulder. He hissed involuntarily and Elicia startled away, looking uncertain.

 

“Is Papa hurt?” she asked, all big, serious eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Maes admitted, kissing the top of her head again and then tucking her beneath his chin, where she cuddled gratefully, instead clinging to the collar of his white shirt. “I won’t be able to pick you up for a while, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Elicia agreed. “Mama can kiss you better. Maybe she can pick you up for once! Nobody ever carries you, papa!”

 

Maes laughed. “You’re right! What’s up with that?”

 

“I dunno, but it’s mean,” Elicia said. “Everybody’s gotta be carried sometimes.”

 

“You don’t know how right you are, sweetheart.”

 

Gracia scooped Elicia out of his arm, gave him a kiss, and then pointedly told their daughter that Papa needed to lay down. But neither Elicia nor Maes were ones to be deprived of family time, so the group consensus instead turned to a bedtime story, though Maes only made it as far as the couch. He listened, half-asleep, to Elicia read from a storybook about a child with a crayon. He didn’t remember nodding off, but when he blinked awake, Elicia had been put to bed and Gracia was looking ready to command her own squadron of soldiers.

 

“Sit up and have some soup,” she ordered, immediately saddling Maes with a steaming bowl.

 

“I’m not sick,” he protested half-heartedly.

 

“Tough,” Gracia said, now pressing a spoon into his right hand, “because that’s what I told the neighbors, and they wouldn’t let me pick Elicia up until I accepted a gallon of the stuff.”

 

Maes leaned over his bowl and took in the rich scent. It seemed to be some kind of borscht, which he confirmed with his first bite. Gracia settled beside him with her own serving and some bred.

 

“How are you doing?” he asked her, studying her face. It was held carefully, intentionally; but when he asked, it softened and she sighed, showing her true weariness. 

 

“Honestly, Maes? Not great. I thought my days fearing phone calls like that ended when Ishval did,” she said softly.

 

Maes grimaced. “What exactly did Roy say, last night?”

 

“Oh, he was very encouraging,” Gracia rolled her eyes. She pitched her voice, imitating Roy. “Maes is hurt but don’t worry about it, he’s safe now, can you bring us fresh uniforms first thing in the morning?” She shook her head. “That man has no tact.”

 

“He plays when he works, and works when he plays,” Maes said lightly, but sobered slightly. “I’m really sorry he worried you like that—I’m sorry I worried you like that.” After a hesitant moment, he added, “I was in no shape to call.”

 

Gracia raised a single eyebrow at him. “I’m aware.”

 

Apparently, she’d wrangled the missing details out of Roy after the lunchtime rendezvous at Knox’s improvised urgent-care-slash-conference-room. As it turned out, Roy had felt so guilty for scaring her the previous night, and then subsequently arguing with Maes in the morning, that he’d submitted to her questions willingly.

 

It was just as well, because Gracia wielded her anger like a precision tool. Maes was only being spared the worst of it because of his injuries and the somewhat special status he held as her partner. Roy, had he not given her the information she wanted, would not have fared so well.

 

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I love you?” he tried.

 

“You’re lucky I had today off,” Gracia muttered.

 

“Have I told you today that I love you?” Maes tried again.

 

“I could stand to hear it more,” Gracia grinned, then swatted him gently. “Eat, you goof.”

 

The intoxicating and heady mix of good food and a fresh dose of medicine began working their magic around them. Maes relaxed marginally as he and Gracia ate and talked of light distractions. Not that Maes would’ve said it aloud, and especially not near the ears of his precious daughter, but his entire body—bar maybe his toes?—had hurt like hell, all day.

 

The worst offender had been not just his sliced shoulder but his entire left arm. Every twitch flared red-hot; what Maes wouldn’t have given for a sling, dear god. He’d never been so acutely aware of how interconnected each and every nerve, muscle, and tendon were. (It gave him a newfound respect for Ed, in all honesty. This was only a fraction of what he certainly endured.)

 

The concussion headache had really just been the cherry on top.

 

But he’d done what he’d had to: swallowed as many painkillers as Knox allowed, limited the use of his left arm as much as humanly possible, and gotten through the day of lies and paperwork and more lies with a brave face and the constant reminder that this wasn’t Ishval: at the end of the day, he’d be going home to his family.

 

He’d skipped the debrief at Knox’s place due to an ill-timed order: report the previous night’s incident. A second time. To a completely different group of officers. Who were completely useless. Case in point: this round included a bout of frantic discussion on Scar’s whereabouts that went absolutely nowhere for absolutely way too many hours.

 

Small mercies; Maes had escaped in time to see the kids off at the train station. 

 

Their expressions ranged from a curated neutral on Kaitou’s face to Ed’s barely-contained frustration (and what a treat it was, to witness the full spectrum of emotion that lived inside Ed, now as much as ever—ah, to be young and experience every moment so vividly). Winry had mostly seemed excited about Rush Valley, but Maes suspected it was partially a front. She was gnawing on her bottom lip every time Ed and Al’s eyes were turned. Al, meanwhile, was never as stoic as his armor seemed at first glance. His concerned stare had burrowed steadily at the back of Maes’ head while he said goodbye to Brosh and Kaitou. 

 

When it came time for the Elrics and Winry to board their train, Ed had stepped into Maes’ offered one-arm hug and clung surprisingly tightly.

 

“Take care,” Ed said, muffled. His fingers curled into the back of Maes’ shirt, and Maes could not honestly tell the flesh ones from the metal. “This is no time to get shunted back into the hospital.” 

 

Before Maes could be too taken in with the moment of vulnerability or the irony in Ed’s statement, Ed added, “If you do, I’ll be first in line to kick your ass.”

 

This got a chuckle from Maes, which he couldn’t manage to regret despite the ache it rummaged up. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Ed.”

 

“We’ll call from Teacher’s place in a couple days,” Al said.

 

Maes knew Al meant he’d call for them both, because Roy had complained more times than Maes could count about how Fullmetal didn’t seem to know telephones existed during missions. Graciously, Maes didn’t say any of that. “I’ll be waiting to hear that you’re safe and sound. And about how Winry took Rush Valley by storm, of course.” 

 

She grinned, bashful, and stepped up to give him a hug as well, just as careful and genuine as Ed’s. Al wavered after like he wanted to hug Maes as well, but went for a handshake on his good side instead, ever a thoughtful kid.

 

“Train’s here,” Ed said.

 

And with that, the gaggle of teens left Central. Watching the train pick up speed, Maes let out a breath he’d been all too aware of holding. 

 

He couldn’t help but mimic it now, and watched it billow out the steam wafting from his bowl.

 

Gracia eyeid him like Maes had seen a confident horse size up an inexperienced rider. “You know, Maes, we’ll need a plan, going forward.”

 

“We do.” It was impossible to miss that she’d included herself in the statement. But they’d have a better idea of what that plan should be when Roy returned for the evening, and he said as much to Gracia. 

 

As if summoned by the thought, the lock on the front door clicked softly as Roy let himself in with the spare key.

 

The day was written all over Roy. His coat was rumpled and his forearm and side were clearly still giving him problems. The bandage on his jaw was curling at the corners, needing replacement. There were bruises forming below his eyes, which themselves held a barely-contained rage. Maes only got a glimpse as Roy peeled off his coat, but that glimpse told a lot.

 

Their argument that morning hadn’t just been about what to tell the kids. It was a conflict between swift action and stealth. And for all that Roy could do both, he was also… reactionary in ways that were not always useful. Maes was grateful that stealth had won out for the time being, as swift action required those involved to be capable of swiftness and action.

 

It had taken until they’d left Knox’s house for Maes to really drive it home to Roy: the Führer had signed off on every point of that array. Hell, if there was a better reason for them to proceed with caution, Maes would eat the fancy gold braiding off his own jacket. They needed backup.  

 

But for now, all he said was, “There’s soup.” He waited until Roy had collected a bowl and slouched onto the couch to ask, “How’s the Madame?”

 

Roy downed two painkillers and chased them with a slurp of broth. “She’s not thrilled, all things considered.”

 

“And your sisters?” Gracia asked.

 

“Happy for the income.” Roy snorted faintly. “At least somebody is getting something good out of this.”

 

Roy’s all-but-blood sisters’ ears heard everything that transpired from Central’s backstreet alleys to the mansions of Upper Command, and that was where, Roy told them, they had gathered the most worrisome information as of yet: whispered of a cannibal with a tattooed tongue preying on homeless victims. Not a trace left behind, barely a survivor to eke out the tale.

 

Gracia shuddered and Roy’s description petered out.

 

“Might be the same kind of creature as Lust and Envy,” Maes said.

 

Roy exhaled, not quite a sigh, but close. “It worries me that Envy could shapeshift; we can’t predict what other abilities they might have, beyond regeneration.” He frowned tiredly. 

 

“But we do know how to kill them,” Maes pointed out. “That’s a lot more than we had going for us before.”

 

“I’d prefer to not be the only effective individual here, Maes.”

 

“Think you’re the only one who can whip up a Molotov cocktail?”

 

“Maes,” Gracia said, a note of disappointment in her voice. “You promised you wouldn’t do Molotov cocktails again.”

 

“They’ve only blown up in my face once!”

 

“And you’ve still got the scar under your chin to show for it,” Gracia said. She’d know, too; she’d been the one who stitched it up, though that had been years ago, back in the academy days when he and Gracia hadn’t even known each other’s names. (He’d been besotted enough to promise her a number of things back then anyway. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, despite how she still held them over his head.)

 

“Alright,” he surrendered, closing his eyes and battling away the crushing thought that he was a liability; knives and Molotovs were only good with enough force and precision, so what good could he do with his mobility cut down by half? He’d requisition a pistol, but all the same… “Maybe enough bullets would do the trick.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“They’ve got limits. At some point, they stay dead. And the element of surprise will help.” Maes managed a half-grin for Gracia, though he could tell she wasn’t very impressed.

 

“It’s a start,” Roy said, unhelpful and unhappy, and moved on to the next piece of information: talk of incomplete human-animal hybrids creeping out from Dublith.

 

That was worrying. Aside from the fact that the Elrics were heading to Dublith, he and Roy both had vivid memories of Nina’s… passing. The image of vicious blood and viscera splatted from her small, inhuman body was seared into his memory beside the twisted corpses of Ishvalan children. The idea that more were suffering Nina’s fate was unsettling. But it was something to shelve for later. 

 

“Any way to know if it’s related?”

 

“Uncertain,” Roy grunted. “I’d ask Fullmetal to look into it while he’s there, if it was physically capable of keeping a low profile.” 

 

The group lapsed into silence as Roy left the other reasons unsaid, working at his soup with automatic movements; Gracia drew small circles on her knee. Maes attempted to not feel his entire left arm being mildly on fire.

 

“Chat among Central’s upper circles is different,” Roy said eventually. “Rumours of doomsday and immortality for a select few, that kind of thing. Madame said it’s come up before, but that kind of thing’s usually chalked up to religious fervor. Now… not so much.”

 

“When’s this doomsday supposed to be?” Gracia asked softly, like she didn’t want to know.

 

“Within the year, by their wager.”

 

“My question is,” Maes said with a strained grin, “how anybody’s supposed to be immortal after whoever-the-hell turns Amestries into a glorified battery.”

 

“Want to bet immortality will be the reward just for the guy running the show?” Roy asked dryly.

 

“I’d lose a lot of money. Gracia would be upset.” 

 

Gracia, for her part, laughed, which was plenty of confirmation, though Maes got the feeling that she’d be torn between more laughter at his expense and strict disapproval.

 

“Live a little,” Roy complained. “Who else can I bet with?”

 

“But if I don’t bet, you’re guaranteed to win.”

“And be brought in for rigging?” Roy feigned a gasp. “I could never!”

 

“It’d be more fun if we bet on who’s running the show. My money’s on Bradley.”

 

Roy huffed. “Sure.”

 

“Really. A large portion of the array’s been formed under Bradley’s rule. He signed off on Ishval. He’s got to be benefiting from it.”

 

“To Roy’s point, the country has been circular for centuries before Bradley came into power,” Gracia said.

 

“You wanna pin this on Amestris’s founders?” Maes asked. “They’re dead already, as far as the history books are concerned. Some immortality that would be.” He paused, considering the kind of longevity that Lust and Envy had enjoyed until very recently. “... shit.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Roy commiserated. He looked—and sounded—like he’d rather be drinking something much harder than borscht.

 

“Aw, you like the sound of my voice that much?” Maes asked. 

 

“Huh? No.”

 

“You’re sappy,” Maes informed him.

 

“You’re sappy!” Roy snapped.

 

“You’re both sappy,” Gracia proclaimed.

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Maes said happily.

 

“Anyway,” Roy said, trying to sound more cross with them than he was. “I’ve asked the Madame to pull some info on Bradley and his family, and any previous Führers of note. Hopefully, we’ll start finding connections. As for the circle, I looked into Liore a bit. Fullmetal was involved with it a while back. They’ve since begun rebuilding, but what I’m more interested in is how that fake priest got ahold of a Stone, legitimate or not.”

 

“And how’s that?”

 

“The people of Liore don’t know; Cornello wasn’t from there, nor was he an alchemist. There’s no way he could have made it; it must have been given to him, and it was powerful enough to permit him a wide variety of transmutations, without prior experience.”

 

“That almost puts us back to square one,” Maes said, unable to resist the urge to sink lower into the couch—his comfortable, soft, warm, couch. God, he wanted to go back to sleep; he could feel the pounding of his head at the back of his eyeballs. “Well, Alex agreed to head up to Briggs and forewarn Olivier, so there’s that.”

 

One of the first things they’d seen in Maes’ map was the fact that Briggs stood on what was clearly the missing link of the outer ring. It made it easy to pinpoint the area that might see action next, but implied uncomfortable things for their timeline.

 

One, final link. Less than six months until some otherwise unknown doomsday.

This situation might make a pessimist of Maes yet.

 

Roy winced. “I’m sure Alex will handle it, in a suitably… Armstrong... fashion.”

 

“I mean, you know Olivier. Alex is still our best bet on bringing her over to our side.”

 

Roy only shook his head. “It just had to be Briggs, of all places…”

 

“You’re just mad you don’t get to go,” Maes teased, leaning just enough to poke Roy in the cheek. “Imagine! All that snow you could melt!”

 

Roy batted his hand away. “I really don’t want to go.”

 

“Roy Mustang, the Snowmelt Alchemist,” Maes crowed. “Call him anytime you need a road cleared!”

 

“Now that’s just demeaning.”

 

“Roy Mustang, the Slushy Alchemist? Call him for a tasty summertime treat?”

 

Roy laughed despite himself. “That’s not how anything works.”

 

“The Furnace Alchemist. He’ll keep your toes warm!”

 

Roy groaned good-naturedly. “Hawkeye reminds me I’m useless often enough. I don’t need it from you too, Maes!”

 

Maes dissolved into laughter, with a slightly pained wheezing as the movement rattled his left arm and shoulder. 

 

“That last one’s a respectable occupation, though,” Gracia said. “You could keep people’s apartments warm in the winter.”

 

“So you think I’m on the same level as a maintenance man?” Roy asked. “You want me to just go around turning boilers on?”

Gracia blinked innocently. “I’m sure you’d be paid well.”

 

Roy sighed dramatically. Gracia giggled and stood to gather their bowls, taking a moment to nudge the spare bread towards Roy. “Alright, boys. I’m letting you off easy because I didn’t actually cook tonight, and you’re both injured, but you’ll be on dish duty before long. And when I’m back, I better hear a plan, alright?” She brandished a dirty spoon at them. “And I reserve all rights to tell you if it’s an awful plan.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” Roy gave her a weary salute.

 

“Good,” Gracia said, ignoring Maes’ soppy, lopsided grin.

 

The next hour or so blurred together, a continuous smear of discussing, discarding, and green-lighting potential plans; how to keep Gracia and Elicia out of harm’s way? How to coordinate with Roy’s team without tipping off the enemy? With Ed, Al? Kaitou? They made some progress, but by the time they wound down, Maes could only rub at his temples below the arms of his glasses, beginning to throb the way they did after twelve hours of continuous wear.

 

“Nothing short of shooting the puppeteer will make a real change,” he said. “Which will be hard to do without identifying them first.”

 

“Is taking down the puppeteer really so different from what we originally wanted to do?” Roy mused.

 

Maes huffed. “You mean what you want to do.” 

 

“So I’m not allowed to be coy about it, am I?”

 

“You couldn’t be coy to save your life.”

“I can do coy!”

 

Maes snorted. “Sure you can. Well, speaking of long-term situations, we’ll need one for Kaitou.”

 

“Send him home. Get him out of our damn hair.”

 

“A mid-term solution, then, smartass. You know sending Kaitou to East City will buy us a week, tops.” A week if they were lucky.

 

“...no, I don’t suppose the Leituenant will appreciate the gift overly much,” Roy said.

 

“Did the Madame have any info on Kaitou?”

 

“Well, he’s undocumented.”

 

“Wow. I never would have guessed, Roy.”

 

“Shut it. No recent immigrants match his description, legal or illegal, not that my sisters could find. More tellingly, there’s no match for the dialect he speaks.” Roy looked, increasingly, like his soup had actually been lemon puree. “They also have not located anyone with first-hand alkehstry knowledge to verify Kaitou’s skills.”

 

Maes hummed. “And the city Winry mentioned? Ekoda?”

“Doesn’t seem to exist, though one individual had a good laugh when Andrea mentioned there being a lot of cars in Kaitou’s city.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Apparently, they’re extremely rare in Xing.”

 

“It’s almost like he came from an alternate version of Xing, where everything is just slightly off,” Maes wiggled his fingers, too tired to give the idea a more appropriately dramatic gesture. “Have you ever read fiction like that?” At Roy’s slight glare, Maes grinned. “Oh, right, I almost forgot. You don’t have any time for leisure reading.”

 

“I read plenty,” Roy said, though there wasn’t much heat in his rebuttal.

 

“Yeah, boring stuff,” Maes dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Well, give me your personal observations of the kid.” 

 

“It’s rare to see someone so averse to violence so familiar with high-intensity situations. I walked him right up to an active hostage situation at Central Bank—” (here, Roy steadfastly ignored Maes’ squawk of surprise) “—and then in the confrontations with Lust and Envy, he showed remarkably little hesitation to act when your life was on the line. All together, a rather immobile moral stance. And I murdered two individuals in front of him. It’s a wonder he’s even speaking to me.”

 

“...skipping over this bank thing for a minute,” Maes said, “do you trust him?”

 

“I do think he’s trustworthy,” Roy confirmed, then hesitated. “Or, he can be. To those he chooses.”

 

“I trust him,” Maes declared.

 

Roy scowled. “Yes, but you’re compromised.”

 

“How, exactly, am I compromised?”

 

Roy gave him an unimpressed look. “You want to adopt him.”

“I—”

 

“You can’t adopt him, Maes.”

 

“Why not?” Maes asked, giving Roy an exaggerated pout and grabbing the front of his shirt. “He doesn’t have a dad! He needs a dad!”

 

“You can’t adopt him,” Roy repeated, peeling Maes’ hand off his chest. “And you can’t be his dad, you idiot, he’s got ‘ulterior motives’ written all over him!”

 

“Children are children, ulterior motives or not,” Maes said, allowing Roy to ease him back against the cushions. “Just look at Ed.”

 

“One Fullmetal is enough for me.”

 

“Yes, but you’re compromised. You want to adopt him. And Al!”

 

“I do not!”

 

“You do!”

 

“I deal with them enough at the office!”

 

“Well, the comparison stands. Anyway, it’s obvious that Kaitou trusts them and Winry.” Maes shrugged one shoulder, then winced as the movement pulled at the bad one despite his best efforts. Perhaps emoting with his upper body was out for the time being. “They’re around his age, match his intelligence, and are going through some of the same shitty, dangerous stuff that he is.” His peers, in other words.

 

“If only Fullmetal would be a little more open with us,” Roy grumbled.

 

Before Maes could more than brush past a thought about two-way streets and hypocrisy, the phone rang. Gracia picked it up, then poked her head into the room a moment later. “It’s Riza,” she said, nodding to Roy, who stood and took the receiver from Gracia. 

 

“Hel—”

 

He fell silent. Maes watched him slowly close his mouth, his expression pinched unhappily. He made as if to touch his face with his left hand but stopped, wincing, and then sighed with his entire body like a wilting flower.

 

“What’s going on?” Maes asked, catching his attention.

 

“Seems that the little gift we sent to East City never made it,” Roy said, then turned back to the phone. “Pack an overnight bag at once, Lieutenant.”

 

---

 

The next morning, a shiny Thursday, Maes was intercepted before he’d even set food in the Investigations office. The man, Maes recognized as the Führer’s secretary. He told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had a meeting with the country’s head. Immediately. 

Maes managed a glance at Sheska, hovering just outside the office, eyes round, both hands wrapped around a ceramic military-issue mug, a scatter of fulters haphazard under her arm. 

 

He thought longingly of the coffee he hadn’t even managed to drink, and then turned to the secretary, the perfect picture of perplexion. “Why does the Führer want to see me?”

 

The man’s expression was cold and stiff. He did not smile. “I believe you know.”

 

“Sir…?” Sheska piped up. “Do you need anything?”

 

The secretary did not give him time to answer. “After me, Lieutenant.”

 

With every clicking footstep toward the Führer’s office, Maes’ heart fought its way into his throat, bleating with the certainty that Bradley knew everything. 

 

The Führer’s office was large, with tall ceilings and wide windows overlooking the grounds; below, people marched over grass and concrete appearing to be nothing more than blue-black ants. Steady colony workers. A column of swords framed the expansive window, aligned to perfection, a statement of the Führer’s taste in interior design and battlefield accomplishments all in one.

 

As Maes saluted the man behind the desk, the back of his neck was damp and prickling, but otherwise, he portrayed himself as steady and unflinching as possible. Only the slight tremor in his left arm, reverberating down to his fingers, betrayed him.

 

“At ease,” Bradley said with a genial smile. “Please sit with me, Lt. Colonel Hughes.”

 

Maes did as he was told.

 

What did he know?

 

Bradley gave nothing away.

 

“News of the attack has spread quickly. How are you doing?” Bradley leaned back in his plush chair. 

 

“I’m as well as can be expected, sir.”

 

“Quite unsettling, isn’t it?” Bradley asked. “To think such a violent killer as Scar could appear on our grounds without anybody noticing.”

 

“It is, sir.”

 

“He’s a formidable opponent, from my understanding.”

 

“You’ve understood correctly.”

 

“Well, would you like some tea?”

 

“No thank you, sir.”

 

The Führer stood, and poured himself a cup from a nearby stand. There were three cups in total. “Are you sure?” He gestured to one of the untouched cups. “It’s imported from Creta. Delicious stuff.”

 

“I’m alright, thank you.”

 

Bradley sipped his tea, watching Maes from over the rim with his singular eye. Maes’ fingers started to curl into tense fists, but the spike of pain that shot through his left arm reminded him to stay calm, at least outwardly. He forced his hands to relax on his next exhale and tried to offer Bradley a smile.

 

There was a knock; Bradley settled backt. “Ah, here is your companion now. Please enter.” 

 

Roy was escorted inside. Their eyes connected briefly, just one moment, before Roy saluted the Führer.

 

A dizzying moment of double-vision hit Maes; he thought of Ishval, of crisply saluting corrupt men. Bradley’s signature a sinister red on the face of dozens of damning documents. 

 

The fact that Roy had been summoned as well was not a comfort.

 

“Sir,” Roy said. His voice was calm, so remarkably steady that had Maes not known him so well, he wouldn’t have caught the note of strain in the syllable.

 

“At ease,” Bradley said, gesturing to the empty chair at Maes’ left. When Roy sat, he was close enough that Maes could see his individual eyelashes, casting feathery shadows over his cheekbones. Close enough to brush the cuff of their sleeves together, if Maes wanted.

 

And—okay, maybe his presence was a comfort. Knowing that neither of them were alone in this godawful mess; well. It was something.

 

“I’d like to request that this meeting is kept timely,” Roy asked, feigning impatience as he checked the time on his state-issue watch, before snapping it shut with a pointed click . “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

 

“I’m sure the meeting will go on even if you are late,” the Führer said.

 

“With all due respect, I’m set to lead it,” Roy said, head tilting minutely. “So I should hope it won’t go on without me.”

 

Bradley laughed. “Alright, we’ll keep this short, then,” he said. “It should come as no surprise that I wish to discuss Tuesday night’s incident with Scar.”

 

“We’ve already filed the paperwork with the Department of Inc—” Maes began.

 

He was cut off by Bradley’s waving hand. “I’d like to hear it first hand.” 

 

Of course he did. 

 

“If you will?”

 

Maes gave his falsified account: Scar had confronted him in search of Mustang, after hearing the Flame Alchemist was in Central. He had not responded well when Maes was unwilling to give him any pointers. Roy corroborated the story.

 

“It’s so curious,” Bradley said, sipping lightly at his tea, “that none of Scar’s usual destruction was present; only ash.”

 

“Naturally. I did not go lightly on him, with the number of State Alchemists he’s already killed,” Roy said. “His encounter with Fullmetal also made things more… personal.”

 

“I see.” Bradley was smiling without teeth. “Now, gentlemen. Who really attacked you?”

 

Maes unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “It was Scar, sir.”

 

“There’s no evidence of that,” the Führer said dismissively. “If it weren’t for the destruction in the archives and the park, and the multiple statements regarding your injury,” he nodded to Maes, “I would be reluctant to believe any attack had happened at all.”

 

Roy laughed; Maes marveled at how he was able to. Maes, himself, felt that every time he opened his mouth he drove himself deeper and deeper into a bed of spikes.

 

“Are you implying we did this to ourselves?” Roy asked, gesturing to a bandage on his jaw.

 

“My, no! But forgive my curiosity; the only State Alchemist to survive Scar before now was Fullmetal, and that boy is quite unique.” Bradley raised his eyebrows. “Lt. Colonel Hughes isn’t even a State Alchemist, or an alchemist at all.”

 

“I was lucky, sir. That’s all.”

 

“You had help, did you not, Colonel?” Bradley asked, now flipping open a folder and skimming its contents. “That curious Xingan child was with you just before the attack.”

 

“Kaitou, yes,” Roy confirmed. Maes knew him well enough to hear that he’d been hoping, quite badly, to not have the kid brought up; he hoped it was only audible to him from his years of experience with Roy and the extent to which he shared the sentiment. 

 

He’d have felt a lot better if Kaitou were with Roy’s team right now.

 

“Speaking of which, I’ve also heard that your assistance at the bank was quite admirable,” Bradley said. “You have my regards for resolving the situation swiftly.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“So where is the boy now?” Bradley asked. “He was with you at the bank just beforehand. Was Scar interested in him?”

 

“No, only in myself, and those who stood between us,” Roy said, nodding at Maes. 

 

When Bradley only waited for him to answer the other question, Maes spoke up. “We’ve been unable to locate Kaitou since the fight, sir.”

 

“A pity,” Bradley said, sounding more like this was an annoyance than a shame. “That boy shouldn’t be running free. Have you mobilized a team to find him?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Part of yesterday’s damage control had included the proper report about Kaitou’s disappearance, and a hefty amount of wrongful speculation to lead the personnel on a wild goose chase. He detailed as much for the Führer—barring the last part, of cours—and was grimly pleased with the even, business-like tone he managed. 

 

“Very well. I have one last question.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What were you doing in the archive room prior to Scar’s attack?” 

 

The Führer’s smile was wide and genuine, his one visible eye nearly shut with how broad the grin was. It unnerved Maes something terrible.

 

“I needed to cross-reference something that came up during the day,” Maes said. “An error in Sheska’s transcriptions. I’ve since corrected it.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

There was a moment of heavy silence. Maes felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck and stop only when it was absorbed by his shirt collar.

 

“I don’t believe that for one moment, Lt. Colonel Hughes.”

 

Maes managed a grin and a laugh. “Well, there were a number of spelling errors as well, though no fault of Sheska’s, but the sources’. Would you like them denoted in writing?”

 

The Führer sighed softly, disappointed. “Please be honest with me. Several important documents have gone missing. Of course, documents are not as irreplaceable as human lives, but I find this discrepancy an… unpleasant one.”

 

“Missing documents? I didn’t notice,” Maes said, resisting the urge to fist his hands once more.

 

“Ah. Perhaps Colonel Mustang will know?” Bradley leaned over his cup of tea, steam still wafting off its surface. “A number of things were burned.”

 

“As you’re well aware from my recent state renewal, I have pinpoint accuracy. Perhaps these documents were destroyed by Scar? He is not known for pinpoint accuracy,” Roy said stiffly. 

 

“As of now, many lives depend on your full honesty,” Bradley said, lilting.

 

“We have been fully honest.”

 

A dark shadow flickered over the Führer’s face. “Don’t tell me feeble lies,” he said, his upbeat and well-meaning pretense crumbling swiftly in favor of something with a much more sinister promise. “Is it that difficult to answer a simple question?”

 

“If I may ask you a question of my own,” Roy said, forcing a grin, “was such a use of force necessary in Liore?”

 

“Harsh as the orders may have been, it was for the good of the people,” Bradley replied evenly. The fact that he’d erased his scowl so quickly was almost worse than the scowl itself had been. “We must prevent a repeat of Ishval at any cost.”

 

“And what of the southern border?” Roy asked. “And the western front? I can only imagine that something might happen at the Drachman border next. How tidy; all the cardinal directions account for.”

 

Silence simmered in the room, tangible like the summer heat magnifying into the space through the broad window behind the Führer, who tilted his head back, and laughed.

 

“So you’ve charted out the map, have you?” the Führer asked, peeking at Maes with his singular, vivid blue eye.

 

And every molecule of air evaporated from Maes’ lungs.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maes bluffed, the corners of his mouth stiff. 

 

“I’m merely asking a few pointed questions,” Roy said.

 

Amusement dropped quickly off the Führer’s face; in its place slid an angry stone mask.

 

Maes kind of wanted to kick Roy. Even if it was the impulse of a school child, it was nothing less than Roy deserved for his big, unsubtle mouth. But the Führer’s cold look told him that it didn’t matter, and it never had. Just as Maes had feared: this conversation had been doomed before it began.

 

“Let us drop all unnecessary pretenses.” The Führer stood and folded his hands behind his back, the hilt of the sword strapped to him in clear view—no coincidence. “The two of you are a massive thorn in my side, but trying to have you killed a second time will only cause more problems. So, I will make myself clear: you will behave yourselves. I do not wish to use force to achieve this, but I will if I must.”

 

There was nothing else like sitting in a quiet, too-warm room, being threatened by the man who ran your country, Maes thought. The very man who’d signed off on the war that had tortured you, who had nothing but bloodshed in mind when he looked over the citizens of Amestris—who had just admitted to having ordered you dead in a dark room lined with shelves of books and records two nights ago.

 

“Behave ourselves?” Roy echoed beside him. “I was under the impression we’ve been quite well behaved until now.”

 

The Führer sneered. “You two and Fullmetal have been anything but behaved,” he said unpleasantly. “Put your heads down, forget what you’ve figured out, and you will be allowed to live a little longer. Failing that, an injured human or two is no challenge for my eye.”

 

Roy jolted, minutely, bare fingers stiffening on the armrest of his seat. Maes, meanwhile, felt the heat drain from his core. The Führer had just implied he was not human; perhaps even the same as Lust and Envy—whatever type of creature they were. Unkillable.

 

Dimly, Maes realized that he was not actually surprised.

 

“But, as long as you are a good dog, Mustang, nothing will happen,” the Führer said. “Though, there’s a number of others who are pathetically easy targets, if you’d like an incentive.”

He slid something out of the open file on his desk, small and rectangular. All Maes could see was the white backing as the Führer studied it.

 

“Sweet girls, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, and turned it around.

 

It had clearly come from Maes’ desk, the middle drawer where he kept a number of his favorite photographs. Now, Gracia’s green-eyed face beamed at him from Central Park, Elicia cuddled sleepily in her arms. Both squinted against the sunshine. Peaceful. It was a photo he’d taken only a few weeks ago.

 

Maes couldn’t help a hot, hissed, “What?” as his heart was wrenched bodily out of his chest.

 

“Do you understand?” the Führer asked coldly.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Roy asked, voice loud and hot in Maes’ already pounding ears. Maes gripped his arm with a painful, trembling hand, and knew it was the only thing that kept Roy in his seat rather than on his feet as his voice continued to raise with a challenge. “The array, letting us go? Why not kill both of us, right here, right now, Bradley? We’re unarmed.”

 

“You must understand your position, Colonel Mustang,” the Führer said, his stare as hard as if it had been carved into marble. “You are a precious resource to me, as are the Elric boys and that Xingan alchemist. We have little time to play.”

 

“Sacrifices,” Maes said, the memory hitting him and wrenching the word out in one blow.

 

“Ahh. Too clever for your own good,” Bradley said derisively. “This is exactly why Lust was tailing you.”

 

“But what does that mean? Sacrifice for what?” Maes asked, desperate for a foothold, for even the smallest win that could be extracted.

 

“Your brain is what has landed you in my office. Surely it’s capable of working out the gaps.”

 

Maes could hear the muscles in his ears trembling with the force of it, like a low-level earthquake that refused to stop.

 

“I see we’ve reached an understanding,” Bradley said. “Dismissed.”

 

Maes forced himself to his feet, his fingers still tangled in Roy’s sleeve, pulling him upright, too. Neither saluted. 

 

The Führer remained still behind his desk, the hilt of his weapon gleaming in the sunshine. He stopped them as they reached the door. “Oh, and remember…” 

 

He grinned brightly when Maes and Roy both turned. 

 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

 

The heavy door shut behind them. Maes and Roy were alone.

 

Maes closed his eyes, trying to steady his hands. His traitorous left disobeyed, pain sparking raw down his nerves. His chest was tight and panicky; not an unfamiliar sensation, but new in its depths. He struggled to contain it all in his ribcage. “Roy—” he said, his voice failing him as he thought of his beautiful girls, the danger they were in, the ghostly images of someone pointing a gun at their chests, no vest in sight. He looked up, knowing Roy would be able to read everything on his face.

 

Roy shook his head sharply. Not here. His eyes darted sidelong down the hall. Not safe.

 

Maes knew, he knew, but… 

 

This wasn’t Ishval. They’d had their lives and sanity on the line there, but not their families. It had been one of his biggest comforts, in the unforgiving desert, the haze of days—weeks— months of war: that Gracia’s life, while not always sunshine and butterflies, had never been that blistering warzone. She had never complied with slaughter, or disassociated through one day to the next in order to dream of a better future. 

 

Her life would never be, not if Maes could help it. 

 

He’d fought that war and survived it, for Gracia. (And for Roy, but Gracia had been the one he’d been going home to with a ring.) He was moving forward and supporting Roy for Elicia and the dream of a future where war only existed in her history books, and never peered over her shoulder, hungering for her blood. 

 

But perhaps he could not help it, now.

 

He followed Roy silently. Roy’s strides were harsh, and he was gripping a white envelope that Maes had not seen him receive. He was wrinkling the paper. The red seal that denoted that it was an official letter was starting to crumble by the time the two of them stepped into a private room. 

 

Roy locked the door. “Breathe,” he told Maes, a note of command in his voice.

 

It was all Maes could do to obey. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Exhaled. 

 

God, he wished that Gracia had been more open to the idea of taking Elicia and leaving, last night. She’d not completely refuted the idea, but she’d said, “What about you, Maes? With your arm?” and she’d said, “There’s no need to go tonight. Let’s see if there’s another option.”

 

But—look at them now. If Gracia and Elicia vanished overnight, Bradley would notice.

 

“Steady?” Roy asked.

 

“No,” Maes answered hoarsely.

 

“Try again,” Roy said.

 

Maes drew in one more breath. Let it out. Another. A third.  “Steady.”

 

“We’ll take them to Aunt Chris,” Roy said, booking no room for argument. “We can weather the consequences.”

Maes nodded sharply. “Alright.”

 

Roy studied him a moment before working his thumbnail through the wax on his letter. He skimmed the contents quickly. Then, wordlessly, he handed it to Maes, mouth pressed into a flat line.

The top of the page was bordered with diamonds; in the middle stood the military’s crest. Below, in neat cursive, it said Transfer Order. It was dated that morning: Thursday, July 19, 1914. And below that: Starting tomorrow, Col. Roy Mustang is assigned to the Central Command Center on the team directly under Führer King Bradley’s supervision…

 

“That’s a tight leash.” The words fell flat and silence hung in the stale air between them for a long moment.

 

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been doing it so often recently that Maes marveled he didn’t yet have a permanent red mark between his eyes.

 

“You’re welcome to the guest room as long as you need it,” Maes said softly—hell knew that apartment was going to be getting drafty.

 

“Thank you.” After a moment, Roy groaned. “They need alchemists, and they need us alive. Me, the Elrics, Kaitou— skilled alchemists, and it probably has to do with their fucking circle. I… Maes, it’s my fault that—”

 

“Oh, no. We are not about to play the blame game,” Maes cut him off, mustering up a weak smile. “We’d go on for hours.”

 

The little muscles in Roy’s temple jumped. “They need one more alchemist,” he said. “Five points on the array. Five alchemists—it must be.”

 

Maes nodded, picturing the pentagram that spanned the circle; the same design Ed had seen carved into the floor of the Fifth Lab, splattered with blood, unlocked by Marcoh’s research—

 

His eyes flashed up to meet Roy’s again. 

 

“We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

 

---

 

Notes:

I had so much trouble writing Bradley… that scene was swiss cheese for at least a week. Yet, it turned out to be my favorite part of this chapter? Funny how things go.

Chapter 19: The Wormwood

Notes:

It did take like 12 chapters, but we’re finally circling back around to Shinichi’s end of things :”D I like to call ASFTS a “slow burn plot” at times like these hahaha.

PLEASE NOTE: I’m updating this fic’s spoiler warnings!!

for Detective Conan, it will now contain spoilers through manga ch.1025 at least, possibly through 1066+. I’ve caught up to date during the course of writing ASFTS, and decided to incorporate some more canon stuff. Specific topics in the end note, though they’re not necessarily in this chapter.

For FMA, I’ve decided to take some alchemy logic inspiration from the ‘03 anime. There shouldn’t be any direct spoilers from that show, but I do think if you continue to expect firm Brotherhood alchemy logic in this fic, it won’t quite be there XD

---

 

“Haibara. Talk to me.”

 

The locked door did not respond.

 

It didn’t budge under his fist. It didn’t even glance at him as he raised his voice. It was impassive even as he resorted to dropping his forehead against it. Repeatedly.

 

“Give her space, Shinichi-kun,” Agasa said, not unkindly, from where he and his laptop sat at the kitchen counter.

 

“How much space can she need?” Conan grumbled. “I’ve been giving her space all week.”

 

“This case doesn’t have as much urgency as you’re acting like it does,” Agasa said with a low hum. “I think you can afford for Ai-kun to speak to you on her own terms.”

 

Conan peeled himself off the door and instead tossed himself face-first onto the sofa, groaning. He steadfastly ignored the professor’s chuckle as he returned to peck-typing away at his keyboard.

 

He knew that Haibara needed space; dredging up her traumatic past with the Organization wasn’t exactly fun. He counted himself lucky that he’d already gotten one further conversation from her since their initial one, the Sunday after the heist. And the professor was right that the urgency was low, especially now that they’d confirmed Kuroba was okay, more or less. 

 

In fact, confirmation that Kuroba was alive was pretty much the only good to come out of that call at the Blue Parrot; the tracking data was less useful than a heap of scrambled eggs. To say it was anything besides random noise was too generous. 

 

He’d known after Koizumi’s pronunciation—and Kuroba’s confirmation—that Kaitou Kid had left the damn dimension (because who in the universe had decided dimension travel was the next thing he needed on his plate?) that tracking the signal had been a long shot, anyway. 

 

But scrambled data or not, emperical evidence was emperical evidence, and it made the chances of something like mass delusions increasingly slim. Honestly, Conan wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, at this point.

 

During the call, Jii and Hakuba made a lot of frantic gestures for Aoko to quit yelling and question Kuroba more thoroughly, and she’d gone along eventually, at least until the call dropped. That’s when she’d set everyone around the table in the crosshairs of her anger. She hadn’t quit yelling until she was as red as a firetruck.

 

(It had kind of reminded him of Ran, in a scared-but-affectionate way, actually.)

 

So Kuroba was alive, and Haibara needed space. It didn’t mean he had to like the fact the investigation had slowed to an utter crawl over the backhalf of the week.

 

He rolled over and pillowed his cheek on his arm. “Have you and Jii-san found anything?”

 

“A few things. I’ll forward them to you, Shinichi-kun.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They’d settled on the method of divide and conquer. It was the only way to prevent the ever-growing number of people on the case from stepping on each others’ toes. Agasa and Jii had been sent down the rabbit hole of gem research, while Hakuba and Aoko went to wrangle some new information out of Koizumi. Conan had turned his attention to Snake’s interrogation transcripts and the possibilities of Their involvement. 

 

And then there was Ran.

 

Despite how she’d skillfully appealed to Conan’s guilt and nostalgia (knowingly or not) in order to tag along to Midtown Tower on Tuesday, Conan was not about to bring this investigation back to the forefront of her mind.

 

Honestly, the fact she’d insisted on being involved in the first place was odd; she rarely cared about cases to the point of wanting to investigate, and he hadn’t thought she was a huge fan of Kid, either, after he’d impersonated not only Ran herself , but then Sera, and then Sonoko, on different occasions.

 

So something had changed, and Conan didn’t think it really had to do with Kid. No, that paranoid hindbrain of his said maybe she’d heard more of his phone call with his parents than she’d let on, and heard him talking to them in a very un- Conan-like way.

 

She’d been suspicious of him before. Ran was sharp, and Conan wasn’t an amazing actor, even though he’d been getting better as time wore on and he accepted that he was in this for the long haul. The issue was that every spin around this particular merry-go-round ended with Conan trying to pull out bigger and better tricks to convince Ran that he wasn’t Shinichi. And lately, he’d gotten the feeling that each successive attempt was less convincing than the last. Like, what was the whole ‘maybe Kaitou Kid shrunk’ business that Ran had been on about, if not a cheerful jab at him?

 

Not for the first time this year, Conan really wished he could just throw the towel in on the whole charade. He’d depended on Ran practically since the day they’d met, and being Conan—working against Them —was hands-down the hardest thing he’d done in his short life. It was selfish, but he missed her support in the face of the case where he needed it most.

Knowing that there was a distinct possibility of their relationship not surviving his time as Conan was just the depressing cherry on top of a shit pie.

 

And despite everything, he wasn’t entirely sure that Ran didn’t know he was Shinichi. They’d never discussed how she’d known Conan’s blood type after he’d been shot; and just recently, the way she’d grabbed his shoulders and asked, “Conan-kun, right?” after the bloody “death” kanji case…

 

Yeah. Throwing the towel in was very tempting.

 

But if Kid’s— Kuroba’s —case was nothing else, it was a stark reminder of the very real, unpredictable consequences of facing off against Them. Even if his relationship with Ran fractured over his identity, he knew, logically, they could both walk away from that and be alright, in the end. Alive. Whole. But if one of them were dead or banished to another dimension— well.

 

It wasn’t like there was a good time for Ran to suss out Conan’s identity, but in the midst of a case that reeked of Their involvement, or something close enough… The timing couldn’t have gotten worse.

 

Sitting here stressing about Ran’s suspicions and their relationship wasn’t exactly productive, but it didn’t help that he’d all but memorized the useless words in Snake’s interrogation transcript. He flipped through it idly anyway. 

 

It had been so obviously censored that it was maddening. It’d been rendered absolutely useless. As it continued to bear absolutely nothing about Snake’s group or the Black Organization, let alone proving a link between them, he decided to return to what he did best: pestering Haibara.

Or trying to.

 

Just as he dragged himself to his feet to mope in front of her lab instead of on the couch, his phone dinged: a new email. It was the information the professor had promised to forward. He sat down again, knowing that the professor was watching him from the corner of his eye. He’d probably timed this intentionally.

 

Agasa and Jii had gotten a hold of a few new newspaper article translations. Apparently, they related to the Eclipse Tear’s first documented appearances. But his attention was first drawn to several links that Agasa had included on cold cases.

 

The singular conversation Conan had had with Haibara since Sunday had revolved around the person who’d headed her project. Codename: Arrack. An individual regarded highly by Ano Kata. 

 

Haibara had only met him twice; once, when she officially joined her deceased parents’ research at the age of thirteen, and again only weeks before she’d taken the apotoxin herself. Prior to that, he’d been conspicuously missing.

 

Conan had had about a dozen questions for Haibara right off the bat; who was Arrack? Why had Ano Kata entrusted him with the Silver Bullet project? Where had he lived, where had he kept his files? Where had his version of the Pandora myth come from? Had he inherited her parents’ project from someone even before them? If not, why wait until seventeen years ago to develop a synthetic version of a centuries-old myth?—or one even older, if Jii-san’s retelling stood true. But why even believe said myth was attainable? Why chase it so far, to invest billions of yen in research, chasing gems, and who knew what else?

 

Haibara had been quick to shut him down: cold, decisive. “Any answers he may have held, he took to his grave, Kudou-kun. Leave it alone.”

 

“He’s dead? What, when? How?”

 

“At least a year and a half ago now, I believe.”

 

“What? But, you said he visited the lab before you left, and—” The math didn’t add up.

 

“Funny, isn’t it?” Haibara’s smile was thin and unlaughing. “I’m sure the other researchers were just as surprised to learn he’d been dead for months.”

 

Conan had blinked at her, coming up short. “Was it Vermouth? It had to be, if the disguise was thorough. What’s the point of that?”

 

“Perhaps she took an interest in the apotoxin.”

 

“Great. Why?”

 

“Why does she do anything?

 

Nobody but Vermouth knew. Conan dragged a hand down his face, dislodging his glasses.

 

“She has a tendency to pet projects, I think. She likes you, after all.”

 

He’d resisted the urge to pull on his hair or do anything else that would discourage Haibara from giving him information. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

 

“It didn’t seem particularly pertinent.”

 

“If it’s about the apotoxin, of course it’s important!”

 

Haibara watched him, impassive, her lips drawn in a tight line. 

 

“I just…” he sighed. “I can’t figure out how it’s all connected. It’s there, a common thread, between the Eclipse Tear and apotoxin, between Snake’s group and Them—it has to be there, but I can’t find it. There’s no proof. And… if they wanted to make the apotoxin for longevity, why use the Pandora myth as an ideal?” He shook his head, still stuck on the wording Haibara had used to describe Arrack’s goals in the first place. “There’s too many versions, and they’re too inconsistent, with absolutely no indication that it could work.” 

 

No indiciation that they’d been able to find, anyway; not until Kaitou Kid had held the Eclipse Tear aloft before the moon.

 

“Chasing the fantastic is human nature,” Haibara mused.

 

He gave a wry laugh. “How poetic.”

 

“Solely an observation,” she contradicted him immediately.

 

“And you’re sure you don’t know anything that could connect Snake back to Them?” Conan had been pressing his luck, he knew, and pressed Snake’s transcript into her hands. “Arrack never talked about gems when he talked about his myth? Habushu still doesn’t ring any bells?”

 

“You’ll be the first to know if it does, Kudou-kun,” she said, dropping the transcript on the counter like a hot potato. “But whoever they answer to, Snake and his gunman are sitting ducks, and not for long.”

 

“You didn’t even look at it!”

 

“I don’t like wasting my time. You couldn’t find anything in the ink because there isn’t anything, and that’s how They want it.”

 

And that was where she’d ended the conversation. And now Conan was stuck talking to her door. 

 

He shot it a momentary glare, but nothing changed.

 

Arrack’s death, not particularly pertinent his ass. Conan wouldn’t put it past Them to use brute force to cover their tracks, especially if the apotoxin was related to Pandora in some way. Yet instead, his death had been hidden for months. If that wasn’t an intriguing, if slightly tangential, mystery, then Conan’s name wasn’t Kudou Shinichi.

 

He frowned. Okay, maybe the name thing was a bad metaphor, considering his name couldn’t exactly be Kudou Shinichi right now, but… well, it was the thought that counted. 

 

Agasa’s research was a compilation of reported deaths with potential to be Arrack’s, accounting for when and where he’d died, flagged for a few other details he’d managed to suss out from Haibara about his appearance, age, and so on. He easily discarded the first few, but the rest were inconclusive.

 

As he delved deeper into the reports, Conan’s thoughts turned again to Arrack's version of the myth; most interestingly, it focused on transformation over immortality, and made no mention of the moon. Kuroba’s, meanwhile, placed the moon front and center and featured the interesting idea of a gem’s tears; Jii’s telling added a comet with a ten thousand year cycle. 

 

It was the kind of distortion and degradation a story acquired over centuries of retellings. If the comet had any bearing, then iterations of the myth had sprung up before the written word.

 

Then, there was the real Stone itself; with the age of the myths that swirled around it, its history was surely longer than the recorded century’s worth. Who could say how long it had been unaccounted for? Who knew what tales had been attached to that gem and subsequently lost?

 

It was times like this when Conan wondered if he should consider a career as a historian or an archaeologist. He’d certainly have a little more grounding for solving centuries-old mysteries if that were the cse.

 

With a gusty sigh, he flicked back to the articles in Agasa’s email. He skimmed the first few unenthusiastically before something novel caught his eye.

 

Mysterious Discovery Outside Town of Lychen

5 January, 1869

 

The discovery of a large crater in the previously unexplored woodlands outside the town of Lychen has sparked interest with many geologists, astrobiologists, and geochemists around the world. However, it’s not just the crater itself that has drawn eyes from around the world, but the meteorite that created it.

 

What do you imagine when you visualize such an extraterrestrial stone? Something rocky and jagged, sure. Certainly, you do not imagine a perfectly spherical construction that is more like a polished gemstone than an unknown entity from beyond our planet’s reaches. But if you were to gaze upon this meteorite, that is exactly what you would see.

 

The stone is no larger than an inch in diameter and holds a vivid red hue. The children who first encountered it and its creator claim that they were able to locate it due to the way it glowed beneath the full moon.

 

There is some speculation that its perfectly rounded appearance had to be the doing of an intelligent life form; perhaps evidence of creatures like ourselves living on different planets.

 

While it may sound like something out of a fictional column, this stone is quite a real deal. No geologist thus far has been able to identify its composition, and further, many have claimed to experience a thrall while exposed to the strange stone, an intense burbling of magic like no other.

 

“We may be contending with a real-life Philosopher’s Stone,” said Lorenz Müller, head geochemist on the meteorite project. “Though ideas of such a stone are tied up in the ancient practices of alchemy, why wouldn’t such an art—or science—be available in the outer reaches of our universe?”

 

“Even if it is not a Philosopher’s Stone,” commented colleague Hans Graf, a prominent professor of astrobiology, “its makeup is unfamiliar to us, and whatever components comprise it may account for the strange impact it has on those who handle it. If these compounds can be examined and isolated, we might unlock new layers to how the human body interacts with the universe at large.”

 

“Hakase,” Conan called across the room. “What’s this one about Lychen?”

 

“Ah, Jii-san and I think that may be the first real record of Pandora, before its official history began around 1900.”

 

“And people thought it came from space?” His eyes flickered back to his phone. “Seriously, aliens?”

 

“Why not?” Agasa laughed. “We’re learning new things about the universe every day, Shinichi-kun!”

 

Shinichi could only answer with a glare. Kuroba’s little dimensional trip was certainly proving frustrating when it came to things like aliens.

 

“But it does gel with the comet myth,” Agasa said. “The Lychen discovery implies that Pandora itself was a comet. We’re still looking into records of comets or meteors that fit.”

 

“The time frame is wrong,” Conan muttered, pinching the screen to zoom on the artist’s rendition of Lychen’s mysterious meteor. It looked like the Eclipse Tear, that much was true, but then again, the Eclipse Tear looked more or less like a marble. “But with a hundred and fifty years, give or take… different stories could get conflated, ascribed where they don’t belong.”

 

Agasa hummed in agreement, and they fell back into a companionable silence for a while. Conan stared at the articles until he felt like pounding his head against the door (again), which was about when he realized he should be getting back to the Agency. With one final glance towards Haibara’s sealed door, he shoved his feet into his sneakers. “See you tomorrow, professor.”

 

Agasa waved him off. Outside, the sun was sinking low against the horizon, washing the world in glowing oranges and reds. The spring temperatures were turning cool as the last vestiges of sunlight faded.

 

It was peaceful, but it would’ve been more so if he’d been able to leave his thoughts about Kuroba’s case behind when he left the professor’s house. Instead, they clung to him like stubborn, sticky, under-worked mochi dough.

 

Nothing else in the preceding week could distract him, either; it had been aggravatingly mundane without new leads and no willing participation from Haibara. He’d spent most of the time alternately occupied with the mind-numbing first grade exit exams and feeling like a trapped bug under Ran’s watchful gaze.

 

Which, yeah. That was a whole other matter that he didn’t exactly want to address.

 

His cell chimed; a call from Hakuba.

 

“Hello, Hakuba-niisan?”

 

“Good evening, Edogawa-kun. Is this a good time to speak?”

 

“Yes, I’m just walking home.” He was aware that his steps had slowed, though. “What’s going on? Do you have an update from Koizumi-san?”

 

“Yes, Aoko-san and I have just been to see her. She was… not inclined to entertain us for long.”

 

Conan huffed a small laugh, turning a corner onto a busier road. “Ah, she kicked you out.”

 

“She recommended rather strongly that she would work more efficiently without us nosing around.”

 

“Nosing around. Did she say that?”

 

“Yes, those were her words.” Hakuba went on to describe, in brief, their visit with Koizumi—her description of Pandora as ‘dark soul magic’, the likes of which she must discuss in detail with her patron.

 

“Who?”

 

“You won’t like the answer, Edogawa-kun. I believe she’s in direct contact with Lucifer.” 

 

Conan sighed. Perhaps magic would not go quite as easily hand-in-hand with science and reason as he’d tentatively hoped. “O kay. Did she describe what exactly that means?”

 

“She did not.”

 

“Does she know anything about Pandora’s origins? Ideally, something that’s not a myth?”

 

“If you hadn’t guessed, it’s not of this world.” Hakuba’s voice was dry. “Though she was able to confirm it originates from the plane that Kuroba was drawn into, though said she can’t be certain as to why that’s where he was taken without speaking to Kuroba about the moment the so-called ‘transmutation’ occured.” 

 

There was a shuffling of voices down the line and Conan resisted the urge to sigh again, and wondered if he’d have any better or worse luck than Hakuba and Aoko in getting a straight answer from Koizumi. They had the advantage of being her friends, though, and honestly, the way she’d looked at Conan like a venomous snake poised to strike hadn’t made him eager to see her again. Maybe he should hand off the cellphone tracking data to Koizumi? Though, she didn’t give off the impression of someone who’d patiently analyze a spreadsheet.

 

When Hakuba returned, he said, “She was quite distraught to learn she missed our brief opportunity to contact him.”

 

“Kaito’s phone is working,” Aoko said loudly, suddenly close to the microphone. Conan concealed a laugh, imagining Hakuba’s pinched wince. “I’ve been calling him every hour, that idiot, so I’ll know as soon as it’s on again!” She moved away, muttering something about ‘Bakaito’ and ‘irresponsible idiot’ and ‘glue a phone charger to his asscheek’.

 

“I bet he’ll love that,” Hakuba said. Conan wasn’t sure which part he meant, but supposed it was all the same, in the end.

 

“Well, he has been there for… weeks,” Conan said, trying not to question why he was defending Kaitou Kid against bad phone-charging habits. “And I don’t think electrical outlets were very common a hundred years ago.”

 

He heard Aoko, faint but clear enough to be harsh. “He can damn well figure something out faster!”

 

“I don’t even want to know what kinds of things he’s messing up in 1914,” Hakuba muttered darkly. Aoko’s voice filtered indistinctly through his end of the line, still clipped and angry; Hakuba replied to her before turning back to the phone. “My apologies, I must go now, Edogawa-kun.”

 

Conan promised to send over Agasa’s additional research on the gem, and they said their goodbyes. Hopefully, Hakuba’s nineteenth century European history knowledge was more robust than his own, and they could eke out something new between the lines of the Lychen article.

 

---

 

Later in the evening found Conan trailing Ran at the supermarket around the corner, a last-minute run for fresh meat and, apparently, a case of sparkling water. Ran narrowed her eyes at it for about two seconds before hefting it up decisively.

 

“Occhan’s still going to find beer somewhere,” Conan commented.

 

“I’ll pour it down the drain and stick one of these in his hand,” Ran replied. “If Dad knows what’s good for him, he won’t complain.”

 

“You’re putting a lot of trust in occhan, you know.”

 

“He won’t even notice if Yoko-chan’s on the TV.”

 

Conan shook his head at the truth of it. Either Kogoro was predictable or Ran had learned more than a few sly tricks, or both.

 

He busied himself with the newspaper headlines while Ran selected a packet of beef, unable to keep himself from searching out reports about last weekend’s heist. The media circus hadn’t let go of Kid’s vanishing act, but most reporters didn’t seem to think it was anything more than a particularly impressive trick, though they were surprised that the infamous Kid Killer had witnessed it without cracking its methods.

 

One article caught his eyes enough for him to pull the paper down and unfold it. Here, the reporter speculated about whether or not this flashy disappearance would signal a second hiatus for the Moonlight Magician.

 

Conan had to wince. They didn’t even know how close to the core of it they were.

 

Ran plucked the paper from his hands and ignored his squawk of protest, but dropped it on the counter with the meat and sparkling water. “You know, articles like that are really distasteful when you know why Kid vanished the first time.” 

 

She opened her coin purse with a click to give the cashier exact change, and Conan collected the case of water, muttering his agreement darkly. 

 

Ran was chewing on the inside of her lip as they exited the store, clearly thinking something over. Conan counted only up to six before she glanced around surreptitiously in a way that made Conan nervous all on its own and leaned down.

 

She lowered her voice as if to say something conspiratorial. “Aoko-san called me to talk about a few things. Her friend is Kaitou Kid—the one we all met before the heist. Kuroba Kaito.”

 

“E-eh? Wow...” 

 

Aoko had told her that? Hadn’t they only met a week ago? Aoko sure made friends fast. But, if she’d told Ran about Kuroba, what else had she told her about the investigation? 

 

…hopefully not enough for Ran to realize Conan was trying to leave her out of it.

 

“Kuroba-kun confirmed it,” Ran said, nodding. “But she was thinking about his dad—he died in an accident around the same time the first Kaitou Kid disappeared.”

 

Not that Conan had suspected something else, but… “That’s sad. He lost his mentor and his father, then.”

 

Ran nodded, crinkling and smoothing the plastic handles of the grocery bag in turn, thinking. Finally, she sighed. “Aoko-san thought Kuroba-kun was Kid a few times, but he kept convincing her otherwise,” she said. “One time she even handcuffed them together, and he got out, and then back in without her ever realizing until now! I mean, that sounds just like Kaitou Kid in retrospect, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“There was another recent heist too, when she was stuck with Kid for a while, and he was hurt…” Ran trailed off, pursing her lips. “Well, anyway, this went on for a year. The whole time Kid’s been back.”

 

“Well… he had a good reason for not telling her, don’t you think?” Conan offered, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. “I mean. The people after Pandora murdered his dad.”

 

He had no illusions that this conversation was only about Aoko and Kuroba. 

 

“You think that Aoko-san shouldn’t have known that?”

 

“Well, I mean… if she’d already mourned…”

 

“She’d have still wanted to know,” Ran insisted, the intensity that flashed in her eyes definitely not only on her new friend’s behalf. “She would have supported him. At the end of the day, they’re best friends. That’s not a bond easily broken.” 

 

Conan swallowed. “But, uh, Ran-neechan, isn’t her dad always trying to arrest Kid?” He laughed, and shit, it definitely came out high-pitched and off-kilter. This was why he hated acting; when it got personal, or if he wasn’t thinking hard enough, or if he was thinking too hard, he failed to be convincing at all. “Seems like telling her would’ve been a bad idea.”

 

“Her dad is a good man. He’ll understand they have a common enemy,” Ran declared. “But this isn’t about their parents, it’s about them.”

 

“But it involves both families, right? 

 

A small muscle in Ran’s jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth. “So tell me this, then. Why hasn’t Aoko-san told her dad anything about Kuroba-kun’s identity yet?”

 

“I—I don’t know.”

 

“Because it’s not about that. It’s about her and Kuroba-kun.”

 

“I… I really think that’s an oversimplification—”

 

“It is that simple,” Ran cut him off. “This conversation is about them.”

 

Oh, did Conan ever wish that were true.

 

“There was no reason Aoko-san should’ve been kept in the dark,” Ran said, nodding to herself. “Especially not when Hakuba-kun and Koizumi-san already knew everything.” Her eyes flashed towards Conan.

 

“I… I didn’t know you were so close to Aoko-neechan,” Conan said, a weak distraction.

 

Ran huffed. “She called me because she needed someone who wasn’t involved in keeping secrets from her,” she said. “Secrets that never should’ve been kept from her, at that.”

 

“But what if it put her in danger?” Conan burst out. “What if he was trying to protect her?”

 

“Bullshit,” Ran said, sharply. “Aoko-san knows how to protect herself.”

 

“From a gunman?” Conan’s voice squeaked in an undignified way, but he barreled on. “Kid couldn’t even protect himself from a gunman!” And Kuroba had a full-sized body, and acrobatic skills to spare, unlike himself with his one-use dart gun and his electric shoes—he’d never exactly felt inadequate next to Kid before, but damn if he wasn’t feeling it now, a sinking pit in the middle of his diaphragm.

 

“Aoko-san and her dad could’ve prevented that man from being there if they’d known!”

 

“They had the whole building locked down without knowing, but Snake still got in! What more should they have done?”

 

“They could’ve figured something out!”

 

His heart was pounding to the point that his stomach felt sour. He closed his eyes, trying to stave off panic, but failed, and pulled them open again anyways. “What if they couldn’t?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“What if nothing they ever could’ve done would be good enough, whether they knew or not?”

 

“Then, it’s better to know,” Ran said, sounding certain.

 

“Kuroba-san didn’t want her to live in fear,” Conan said, voice straining with the effort to stay at a conversational volume. “If Aoko-san knew who killed his dad, who was after him, then she’d never live a normal life again, not until They were gone. Every single day would be tinged with the paranoia that every black car could spell the end for them all, and that’s the kind of fear that only gets worse at night.” He wasn’t able to look at Ran, not wanting to know what face she was making as he finished softly. “Nobody should live like that, and Kuroba-san knows that all too well.” 

 

Too late, he realized how telling his speech was, that he’d left niisan off Kuroba’s name. He closed his eyes again, rooted to the spot. Waited without attempting to backtrack.

 

He felt rather like he was standing before a judge, awaiting a verdict.

 

“You’re right,” Ran said, much closer to him than before; she was kneeling. “Nobody should weather that alone.”

 

“Right,” Conan said, drawing a quick breath, and pasting on an unconvincing smile as he finally looked at Ran. “Poor Kaito-niisan, right? At least Aoko-neechan knows now.”

 

Ran took a steadying breath, but Conan wasn’t sure it did its job; her knuckles were thin and white, like the handles of the bag she was practically strangling. 

 

“Kuroba-kun is in over his head and has been over his head for a long time, but Aoko-san didn’t know until now. When it was too late to help. Because he pushed her away. He hid something very important from her.”

 

After a long, tense moment of Ran staring intently at him and Conan avoiding her eyes, he said, “Kaito-niisan had a lot of reasons—”

 

“And they were all bullshit,” Ran bit out, something finally breaking. “Fear, anxiety? It would’ve lessened if they’d shared that burden. Was he afraid Aoko-san would hate him? Guess what, she doesn’t! But you know what she does hate?”

 

Here, Ran came to an abrupt halt, and Conan blinked at her, unsure of if she wanted a real response or not; nothing in her strained expression could tell him what he was supposed to do, with his heart racing like a hummingbird’s wings. Eventually, he shook his head mutely.

 

It was all Ran needed to continue. “She hates being lied to. Not being trusted by the person she trusts most.” 

 

“Ah,” Conan whispered. “Yeah.”

 

“She hates,” Ran went on, voice hiking up a decibel, “that she was ignorant until it was too late. And after all that, you know what? He’s still her best friend, and she forgives him.”

 

They were practically at the Agency’s steps; Conan edged anxiously towards the stairs, where occhan’s presence would shield him from this confrontation. “Ran-neechan—”

 

“Don’t you Ran-neechan me!” she snapped, the last string of her patience finally giving way like the last unstable leg of a worn chair. 

 

Of course, Conan thought with a wince. Ran wasn’t one to quietly simmer or play pretend, even if she’d been making the effort thus far; she’d always been the kind to punch first and ask questions later. Karate had only made that particular instinct of Ran’s all the more deadly.

 

“Ran-nee…” he tried again, weakly, then swallowed something thick and uncomfortable. His tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. “Ran.”

 

She stared at him, waiting. Her jaw was set tight and her eyes were wet, brow tense.

 

“This is…”

 

Wasn’t this what he wanted? A chance, a free pass, to tell her everything? She’d just told him she would support him, forgive him. This was her olive branch offering, a plea: don’t wait until it’s too late, Shinichi.

 

But he couldn’t, not now, not until They were gone. They weren’t as bold and obvious as Snake and his lackey; they wouldn’t give Ran the courtesy of pointing a gun in her face and having a little gloating monologue. No, they’d poison her in a dark maintenance alley. They’d coerce her into something underhanded, and then hang her to dry.

 

They’d use him against her. They’d use her against him. Karate wouldn’t save her. All they had left was a thin veneer of plausible deniability.

 

He’d never felt more clearly that he was digging his own grave when he opened his mouth again. “Maybe you should… call Shinichi-niichan about all this?”

 

It was the wrong thing to say; he knew that before the words left his mouth. He knew it, even more clearly once he’d said it, too, from the way Ran’s face went full-on red, the way her hard stare went taut. 

 

He tensed, readying himself to face her anger. Whatever she dished out, he’d take it, if they could just keep this game of pretend up long enough to keep both of them alive.

 

Something must have shown on his face. He honestly didn’t know what, but whatever Ran saw there made her falter.

 

“Shinichi,” she said, voice close to cracking painfully, hurt and angry and forceful. “What happened to you?”

 

“I—I, we—we should go inside,” he stammered. “Occhan’s waiting on dinner. He’s probably drinking, we should go pour out his beer, right?”

 

He didn’t wait around to see how Ran responded to that. Instead, he darted upstairs, coward that he was.

 

---

 

Haibara was standing out front with her arms crossed when he arrived at the professor’s house the next morning. Agasa’s beetle was parked at the curb, all three of the Detective Boys piled in the back, their faces pressed to the window as they kept an eye out for Conan. They began clamoring impatiently when they saw him and he gave them a cursory nod, handing off his bag to the professor to pack into the trunk.

 

Agasa had promised the kids a beachside getaway in the Kanto prefecture to celebrate the end of the school term. Conan hoped, desperately, that it would provide a bit of levity to an otherwise stressful ongoing existence. Though he had far too many years—and cases—under his belt to anticipate a peaceful vacation between school terms, that didn’t stop him wishing for one. 

 

“Did you plan to keep us waiting all day, Edogawa-kun?” Haibara asked acerbically.

 

“I’m on time,” Conan muttered defensively.

 

She just tossed her hair over her shoulder as she turned to climb into the car as the professor started the engine. Conan grabbed her arm.

 

“Wait, Haibara, can we talk?”

 

“No.” She tugged her arm back.

 

“It’s important,” he insisted, holding on. “I’m not just pestering you this time.”

 

“Whatever it is, it can wait until after vacation,” Haibara said, extracting her arm and then slamming the passenger door in his face. 

 

Conan couldn’t help but wince. Okay, maybe he deserved that, but what was he supposed to do when it came to Ran? In the past, he’d only managed to get through her suspicions with Haibara’s help. Well, and his parents, and Hattori, and the professor, and...

 

Conan muttered a few unkind words at himself. He’d even basically outed his identity to Sera recently, hadn’t he? 

 

Why was he so bad at this? Why couldn’t he just tell Ran everything?

 

A shout from Mitsuhiko had Conan resigning himself to squeezing into the back seat with the kids who, after greeting him, turned back to whatever busy conversation they’d been at before he arrived; he only had to listen for a few moments to realize they were talking about the Kid disappearance again. He made a few failed attempts to catch Haibara’s attention, and finally stuck in his earbuds. When the kids realized he was in a bad mood, they eventually left him alone to watch Beika’s roads give way to the highway. He stared out, valiantly resisting the urge to do anything that might doom himself further. 

 

Shinichi’s phone felt like a lead weight against his chest, damningly silent.

 

---

 

“Let’s explore,” Genta said in a loud whisper, not for the first time since Agasa had turned his back to check into their hotel rooms.

 

Mitsuhiko hoisted one curious eyebrow at him. “What do you propose we do with our luggage?”

 

“Just leave it! The professor will get it.”

 

“Aren’t you worried somebody will take it?”

 

“Who’d want our toiletries?” Genta guffawed.

 

“I’m with Genta on this one,” Ayumi said excitedly, doing a much better job at keeping her voice down than anybody else. “Ai-chan, don’t you agree? It’ll be an adventure!”

 

Haibara yawned and crossed her legs from where she was perched in a lobby armchair. “I’m alright,” she said. “The rest of you go. I’ll watch the bags.” She glanced over to where Agasa was still fumbling at the front desk. “And the professor.”

 

“Great!” Genta exclaimed, at the same time Mitsuhiko said, “If you don’t want to go, we should all stay.”

 

Haibara leaned over and plucked a magazine off a side table, already beginning to flick through it as she said, “No, go ahead.”

 

“I’ll stay, too—” Conan started, maybe too eager.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Haiabra interrupted, looking at Genta. “Go before the professor sees.”

 

—and Conan had forgotten that the Detective Boys were a force to be reckoned with, and that he was all too portable for the likes of Genta. Genta proved this by hauling Conan after him as the group took off for the front doors.

 

“Wait!” Conan yelped, trying to dig his feet in and failing in doing much more beyond scrabbling. He did, however, get Agasa to turn around with a befuddled look on his face. That caused Ayumi to shriek (and giggle) and for Genta to shout, “Go go go!” and for Mitsuhiko to yell something unintentionally ironic about stealth.

 

After all that, the only thing Conan could do was struggle out of Genta’s grasp with the indignant protest of, “Oi, I can walk for myself!” 

 

Genta released him just as unceremoniously as he’d grabbed him once they’d put good distance between themselves and the hotel. “Sorry, Conan.”

 

He clearly wasn’t, but Conan settled for grumbling and glaring half-heartedly as he dusted himself off.

 

They’d arrived at a row of shops and the beachfront, the one their hotel had boasted close proximity too, apparently without a trace of sarcasm. Just ahead was a stand with a cute sign propped out front, proclaiming it a purveyor of sweet treats, complete with a blue umbrella overhead and a smiling worker in a matching hat. 

 

“What exactly are we exploring?” he asked, annoyed. “And why did I have to come?”

 

The kids ignored him, now pooling their coins for ice cream and debating the merits of cones versus popsicles. 

 

“Guys?”

 

Ayumi sent him a glance this time. “Doesn’t exploring always cheer you up, Conan-kun?”

 

“Only if we find a case,” Genta said.

 

“That won’t be a problem,” Mitsuhiko said. “Cases always happen when Conan-kun’s around.”

 

Conan withheld a groan and tried to push away the mass of sticky anxiety that was clinging to the walls of his chest. He felt, suddenly, the creeping sensation that someone was watching them, but even as the kids begam clamoring to order their double scoop chocolate cones (Genta) and strawberry popsicles (Ayumi). 

 

Conan gave his order on autopilot, then pulled out his wallet when Mitsuhiko claimed Conan could pay for his own, but the prickling sensation didn’t recede. He halted somewhere between paying and receiving his popsicle to survey the area, but nothing seemed out of place; the bin behind the stand, the overgrown plants in the sidewalk planter, the tourists goggling over tchotchkes in the store windows… 

 

“Conan-kun?” Ayumi was looking at him with clear concern.

 

“Oh, nothing, just…” he trailed off without a real explanation and instead took the popsicle Ayumi was holding for him. “Thanks.”

 

They made their way down the street, the kids darting from window to window like busy bees, Conan bringing up the rear. He licked his popsicle occasionally to prevent it from melting onto his hand, but otherwise was preoccupied with trying to either pinpoint the source of his paranoia or quash it completely.

 

They reached the beachfront, separated from the pavement by a set of steps and a stone retentional wall. Despite the fact it was too early in the year for swimming, it was crowded, the product of a beautiful spring day coalescing with the school break and weekend. Towels and umbrellas dotted the sand in both directions, with people sunbathing, relaxing, and occasionally wading into the water. All of them, under Conan’s critical sweep, looked painfully normal. 

 

“We should go snorkeling!” Ayumi suggested as they made their way to the shore. The skin around her mouth was stained pink. “I bet there’s lots of beautiful fish here.”

 

“The water’s too cold for snorkeling,” Conan said distractedly, taking a step back from the seam where wet sand met dry. 

 

“How’s fishing?” Genta said. “We could catch some eels, and fry ‘em up!”

 

“No, no, we should spend tomorrow at the Tsukuba Space Center,” Mitsuhiko said, holding his ice cream one-handed and digging out his notebook with the other. “It’s the main operational facility of JAXA! They train astronauts there!”

 

He went on to extoll the virtues of the Space Center as Genta polished off his ice cream and immediately became distracted by the idea of looking for sand crabs. Ayumi complained that her sundress would get dirty, but as soon as Genta found one, all concern was lost. Mitsuhiko, meanwhile, turned to Conan to continue his tirade about the Space Center, but Conan wasn’t listening either, still surveying their surroundings.

 

There was nothing immediately suspicious in their vicinity, just a couple college-age kids building an elaborate sandcastle, a group of women having what seemed to be an uproariously funny picnic, and a man getting sunburned as he slept on his stomach. The fact there was no recognizable threat put him on edge worse than if he’d actually been able to spot whoever had eyes on him.

 

He shivered, a renewed prickle chattering up his spine and settling at the nape of his neck moments before he heard someone squeal.

 

“Oh my god! It’s the Kid Killer!”

 

A woman bounded towards them, young and tan, with a head of bouncing curls trapped beneath a wide sunhat. She pulled off large plastic sunglasses to reveal a look of pure excitement, and tucked them into the neckline of her beachwrap.

 

Conan pasted on a blank smile. “Hi?”

 

The woman clasped her hands together. “I’m such a big fan, Kid Killer-kun! I’ve read every article about you in The Japan Times!” Her Japanese was lightly accented; a native speaker, but possibly a bilingual, or a second language, Conan thought. 

 

“Um, thank you,” Conan said.

 

“There’s articles about Conan?” Genta asked.

 

“I thought they were mostly about Kid,” Mitsuhiko said.

 

“When Conan saves the day, they’re about Conan,” Ayumi said decisively.

 

“Can we take a picture?” The woman all but begged, brandishing her phone and a rather impressive set of puppy eyes.

 

“Um, I’d rather not…” Conan began, edging away. While she could be a perfectly normal human being, she also might have followed them all the way down the street and onto the beach, and Conan was not in the mood for dealing with that, today of all days.

 

“That’s no way to treat a fan!” Mitsuhiko admonished him, then turned to the woman. “Of course he’ll take a picture. Would you like me to take it?”

 

The phone changed hands and then the woman threw her arms around Conan, going so far as to smush their cheeks together . The brim of her sunhat tickled the top of his head. She was so close that her breath puffed against his skin when she whispered, “Miss me, Silver Bullet-kun?”

 

Conan’s shoulders locked up, his throat squeezing. Vermouth. He just barely kept the word behind his teeth as his stiff smile shifted to a wary grimace, tight at the edges.

 

“Geeze, Conan, you don’t look happy at all,” Mitsuhiko complained, unamused over the top of Vermouth’s prop phone. “Can’t you try a little harder?”

 

“Yeah, smile for real!” Genta added, helpfully. “You’re famous, so you should look like it!”

 

“Sorry,” Conan managed, feeling conversely like he was made of wood and flesh all at once as his blood raced just below the surface of his skin. Vermouth didn’t scare him as much as the rest of Them, but where she went, bad news followed. Was anybody else from the Organization here? Were the kids in danger? Was Haibara?

 

“Relax,” Vermouth whispered to him. “I’m here as a fan.”

 

He tried an uneven smile for the camera.

 

“That’s fine,” Mitsuhiko said, clearly unimpressed with Conan’s ability to smile on command. Nevertheless, he snapped several pictures. “Okay! What do you think, onee-san?” 

 

Conan stepped back, eyeing Vermouth as she gushed over the pictures. Experimentally, he touched his pocket: she’d slid him something small and rectangular. 

 

“Thank you so much, bouya!” she said to Mitsuhiko, before turning a wink on Conan. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Kid Killer-kun.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Conan said.

 

“You better catch Kaitou Kid next time,” she said. “You can’t waste your gift, you hear?”

 

“Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked, ignoring Ayumi’s hissed, “Conan-kun, that’s so rude!”

 

“You really want to know?” Vermouth asked, leaning in with her hands planted on her hips. 

 

Conan held his ground. “Well, most people are Kid’s fans, not mine.”

 

“I just think you’re cool, for going up against a guy like Kid,” Vermouth said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

 

“Of course not,” Ayumi gushed, hugging Conan’s arm before he could reply. “Conan-kun is like a superhero!”

 

“Isn’t that right?” Vermouth laughed, then, with a wink and a wave, she melted back into the crowd of beachgoers.

 

Conan wriggled away from Ayumi and shoved his hands into his pockets. Vermouth’s gift was small, cold, metal. Once the Detective Boys’ backs were turned, he pulled it out. It was a flashdrive.

 

It felt more like a ticking time bomb.

 

---

 

Notes:

Future DC topic spoilers: Ano Kata’s identity and Haibara’s family history.

This chapter is titled for the fact that wikipedia told me “Vermouth” is derived from “Wormwood” (German). Meanwhile, Lychen, where Pandora crash-landed in the DCMK world, is a small German town that I turned up on wikipedia. It’s where the thumbtack was created!

Chapter 20: The Teacher

Notes:

A wild Ed POV appears!

I wasn’t sure about introducing a new character POV so deep in, but there’s a few conversations I need Ed for, not just here but later as well. Also, I love Ed, he’s fun to write ;P

I briefly thought about writing a Ling chapter down the line, but that’s not happening simply for the sake of my own sanity. Though, since then I’ve also since iterated on the last third of the outline like, twice? So I guess anything could happen…

---

 

By the time Kaito reappeared from his morning ‘free run’, Ed was in a bad mood. Kaito took it in stride, immediately turning to Al and saying, “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

 

Al sighed wearily. Ed scowled with enthusiasm.

 

“Brother’s had his arm on display for the last hour,” Al said by way of an explanation.

 

“And my leg!” Ed sunk against the wall in despair. True to the ordeal he’d been enduring, he was bootless. Only five minutes ago had he been permitted the very special privilege of wearing pants. “That gearhead treats me like a walking, talking portfolio, I swear…”

 

There was no shame like being pounced on before breakfast by your childhood friend demanding you strip down, and not even in the way that Ed maybe-kinda-sorta on very rare occasions pictured in the deepest, most private corners of his brain (and then promptly buried under several truckloads of Feelings Are For Adults). Hell, Ling had been there, which had added an entirely new layer to Ed’s mortification. Kaito had already vanished, though—small mercies. Then again, Kaito’s cheerful note had been its own source of aggravation. (The grinning doodle did not lend it any credibility).

 

Ed shot a furtive glance towards Winry. She’d been drawn outside to meet Kaito’s new friend of previously questionable existence. Well, she sure did exist, and had proved it by leaping off Garfiel’s roof in tandem with Kaito, both laughing uproariously. 

 

Now, as he watched, Paninya hiked up both pant legs to reveal her automail to the audience. Winry gasped audibly and Garfiel began asking questions. Ling, also outside, gave an appreciative oooh.

 

“I think you’ve been upstaged, Brother.”

 

“Rush Valley,” Ed muttered, just about turning the name into a curse. “What ever. I hate being prodded at anyway. And being stared at in the street.”

 

“People do that everywhere.” Al’s amused tone accused him: liar.

 

“Yeah, well, usually they’re a little more subtle than these automail freaks!” 

 

“You could cover up the arm a little more.” Kaito flicked his fingers at the shiny metal exposed by Ed’s tank top. Kaito, Ed noted, had worn a fancy button-down to a rooftop run; what the hell? Even with the sleeves pushed up and the blue silk halfway undone, he looked like he was trying (and failing) to uphold some kind of nonexistent reputation.

 

“It’s hot, sue me!” Ed exclaimed.

 

“I don’t have any lawyer friends,” Kaito waved him off. “I’m going upstairs for a shower. When’s the train?”

 

Al gave Kaito the itinerary and Ed let gravity pull him down the wall until he hit the floor. Kaito’s cheer was rubbing him the wrong way; his mood had made a total one-eighty after the phone call, like toasting the device he and Winry had been working on was a non-issue. Gone was the sluggish, wary person he’d been the whole day before—and Kaito may have pretended not to be brooding, but hell, that’s what he’d been doing up on Knox’s roof. Even if Kaito covered well, Ed knew brooding, and Kaito had been brooding. (Ed would deny any accusations as to why he was so familiar with brooding and what it entailed, but that was neither here nor there.)

 

“Good riddance,” Ed said when Kaito vanished upstairs. Before Al could sigh at him, he said, “How’s he so happy, huh? We’re less than twelve hours out from the realization getting him home is an uphill battle.”

 

“He seems to be what some might call an optimist.”

 

“Disgusting.”

 

“I don’t know, Brother, you’re an optimist yourself.”

 

“How dare you. I’m nothing like that.”

 

“No, you’re much more…” Al trailed off.

 

“Ugh.” Trust Al to insult him without actually articulating the insult. “Come sit with me.” Al settled beside him; Ed propped his cheek against his knuckles. “Listen, we deal with all kinds of shit, but… aliens? Really?”

 

Al laughed softly. “He’s not an alien.”

 

“He’s not from this planet,” Ed said skeptically, though they were both right in their ways. Ed would’ve paid good money to see the hospital staff kick Kaito out on the grounds that they didn’t treat extraterrestrial entities, though. “At least whatever Lust and Envy fell within the bounds of alchemy. Wild, twisted alchemy, yeah. But Kaito doesn’t. Not any of that.” 

 

“He does to some extent,” Al said. “His home has alchemy, even if it’s called something else. And for all he’s lied to us about stuff…” He dropped his voice and hunched toward Ed, aware of Ling still just out of earshot on the street. “He knows things about the Stone that aren’t exactly common knowledge.”

 

They’d first started buying into Kaito’s outlandish stories when he mentioned that the Stones, or ‘Pandora’ as Kaito called it, existed in variable states of matter. They’d never found that detail referenced in their years of research; they’d had to learn it first hand, sitting across from Marcoh at a wooden table, with his real, if imperfect, liquid Stone.

 

And Ed had seen Kaito’s alchemy first hand, despite the hoops the guy was jumping through to not perform it unless somebody was being stabbed or shot. It hadn’t seemed too far off from what he himself did, pressing his palms together to form the matrix. Kaito’s transmutations had given off a different spectrum of light during the discharge, though—red. Bit on the nose, Ed thought, if Kaito’s world had seen red alchemical light and decided to name it ‘red magic.’

But still… “Okay, but time travel? Come on.”

 

“Winry believes all his future engineering stuff.”

 

Ed sighed, surrendering the point. Damnit. He did have to defer to Win’s judgment on that one. “Can’t believe she got her hands on future tech before we got future alchemy.”

 

Al went thoughtful, gaze casting around the workshop. “Didn’t Kaito say he’d never seen automail before? Shouldn’t automail be old-school in a hundred years?”

 

“He could’ve been lying.”

 

“What’s to gain in lying about automail?”

 

“Beats me.” Ed shrugged one shoulder before dropping his chin into his palm again. He was still preoccupied with Kaito’s alchemy. “What were they calling it when Kaito showed up? Human transportation alchemy or something?”

 

“It’s an accurate description.”

 

“Except the part where he’s been transported across dimensions, not continents.”

 

“Maybe that’s common with his alchemy?”

 

“If it was common, why’s he so shocked about everything?”

 

“Maybe he’s not a very good alchemist,” Al said, wry.

 

“He sure doesn’t practice much,” Ed snorted. “Or… actually, if the bounds of alchemy in our worlds are that different… why does his alchemy work here?”

 

“As long as his alchemy draws on tectonic shifts the way ours does, it shouldn’t matter what planet he’s on, as long as there’s energy to draw on,” Al reasoned. “Right? Alchemy is intrinsic to our world—our universe. So why not beyond?”

 

“What if he’s not using our alchemy, though? But if he is...”  

 

A scramble of unsettling images surfaced to the forefront of his mind: black and white wiggling arms, tearing him apart one square centimeter at a time… his stomach flipped. Dealing with the Gate always had a catch. You had to be specific, intentional; you had to know that you probably weren’t going to win, even when you lived.

 

Kaito was physically intact, but surely he’d given something up. Maybe something abstract; maybe the right to go home...

 

“If he is using our alchemy,” Ed repeated himself slowly, “then I bet he had to pass through the Gate to get here, assuming his alchemy and ours didn’t interfere with each other on the way. I wonder what he paid.”

 

“Hm?” Al didn’t glance up from his notebook, where he’d taken to poking at Mustang’s code during Ed’s silence. They’d pored over it on the train between Central and Rush Valley, but it had proved infuriatingly water-tight so far. Without the whole notebook, the endeavor was all but futile, though neither of them had given up quite yet.

 

Ed shook his head. “You know. The Gate.” They’d never talked about it before, but Al, like him, must have figured that the less said about that thing, the better. “What do you think? Maybe his alchemy doesn’t use it, but since he’s here, I don’t think he could’ve avoided it.”

 

“What gate?” Al asked, half-distracted by Mustang’s code. He was writing out a list of flowers; a few had meanings denoted nearby. “Somewhere in Central?”

 

“No,” Ed squinted. “I mean… we don’t have to call it the Gate.” Not like it had an official name, the way that Truth had half a dozen. “The Doorway. Is that better?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Al finally looked over, perplexed.

 

“...you don’t know?” Ed suddenly feelt numb, like his flesh fingers were metal, too. “Wh—when we tried to transmute mom. That… white space?”

 

Al shook his head.

 

“Shit,” Ed said. Maybe Al had never been? But what did that mean? They’d both activated that array. “I thought you just never wanted to talk about it.”

“About what, Brother?” Al pressed, sounding slightly annoyed, which Ed probably deserved for side-stepping the topic for multiple years.

 

“The thing that calls itself Truth,” Ed finally said, “and the Gate that it… guards? There’s all kinds of shit in there. Might as well call it the gate of knowledge, but Truth would probably choose something pretentious. Um, that’s where I learned to…” He pressed his palms together, demonstrating a transmutation circle. “Like Teacher does.”

 

Al scrubbed leather fingers over the jutting jaw of his helmet. Ed had no idea what he was thinking, and he regretted for the n-th time that his brother’s expressive face was locked away.

 

“It’s where I made the deal to get you back. I guess I’ve been twice,” Ed said awkwardly. “It’s pretty weird and horrible in there, so I don’t think about it a lot, but we both should’ve been through it, since we both did the, well, you know, and… I mean… I really… I just figured you didn’t want to talk about it,” he finished lamely.

 

“Brother,” Al said slowly, his tone alone conveying that he thought Ed was more stupid than a rabbit willingly trotting into a trap, “are you telling me you’ve literally been to another dimension?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it that.” 

 

Al spoke over him. “And you still were reluctant to believe Kaito’s from somewhere else?”

 

“I’m a scientist!” Ed defended himself hotly. His automail fist hit Al’s arm with a hollow clang. “And there’s a little thing called evidence!”

 

“Brother,” Al said again, but he might as well have said ‘ you idiot’.

 

“The real question,” Ed declared, intent on distraction, “is how come you haven’t been there? I’ve been there twice, Kaito’s probably been there, hell, Teacher’s probably been there too. But not you? Your entire body got taken! How does any of that make sense?”

 

“Maybe you fed more energy into the array?”

 

“No way, we were fifty-fifty on powering up that shithole. By all accounts, you oughta be on a first-name basis with Truth, too.”

 

Al coughed and pointedly glanced at Ed’s automail leg, so he squirmed enough to kick Al with it until Al batted him away and sighed. “Sorry, Brother. I don’t remember anything like that.”

 

Ed stopped short. “What do you remember, exactly?”

 

Al scribbled absently at his notebook; not words, just shapes and lines. “After the reaction started, the air felt… wrong. Charged,” Al said. “This inescapably awful pain started up, all-encompassing. When it ended, I opened my eyes and I saw you. There was blood everywhere and I tried to reach out—then, I opened my eyes again, and I was in the armor.” 

 

Ed must have gone pale, because he sure felt it. 

 

Al’s voice went worried. “Ed?”

 

Ed shook his head. “I—Al, I’m sorry. I…”

 

“What are you sorry for?” A challenge. 

 

“For—”

“For nothing,” Al cut him off. “We made our mistakes together.”

 

Ed swallowed bitter guilt, and didn’t quite manage a smile. Al accepted his lack of protest as good enough, and Ed decided that getting the conversation back on track needed to happen approximately three minutes ago. “Anyway,” he said, “Whatever happened to Kaito, whatever it’s called by anybody else, whatever his stupid version of alchemy is—my bet is that it was just human transmutation, plain and simple. It accounts for the clap alchemy. And I don’t know any regular human that can learn a whole new language in two days. I mean, we’re geniuses, and that’s stretching it even for us, so I gotta call Gate bullshittery on that one, too.”

 

“That kind of language acquisition could be normal in a hundred years.”

 

“Or maybe the language center of Kaito’s brain never matured past infancy.”

 

Al giggled. Ed felt slightly better, hearing that. “Maybe we should ask Kaito about it?”

 

“Be my guest, if you wanna pull teeth.”

“There’s plenty of time at night,” Al said, as if that didn’t imply potential violence.

 

Winry’s voice drifted in from the street, fast-paced and high-pitched. She was excited about something; two guesses as to what. Ed’s heart lifted a little further and landed someplace a little closer to normal.

 

“While we’re talking about this, there’s something else I’ve been thinking about,” Al said. “Lust and Envy. Remember when we were kids, and we read all of dad’s books? We read about homunculi once. I know it’s not supposed to be possible, but I think by now, the definition of reality is… bendy.”

 

“Bendy? Negative points for word choice, Al.”

 

“Shush! This group has made a semi-successful Stone. Shouldn’t that be enough for a homunculus?”

 

“Bendy aside…” Ed muttered. “Yeah. We’ve seen a human chimera, soul-bound prisoners, and we’ve befriended an alien. At this point it’d be weird to not throw homunculi on the list.”

 

Al sighed. “It’s just a name, though. I wish I could remember if that book said anything much about their abilities.”

 

“There’s power in names. I don’t think they’d make such a fuss over State titles otherwise.”

 

“Oh? So people make a fuss over you, Fullmetal?” 

 

“Shut up,” Ed retorted, eloquent as always. “I’m talking about, like, you know. Have you heard how people say the Bastard’s tile? Like he’s so special.”

 

“I’ve heard how you refuse to call him by his title or his name.”

 

“I call him Mustang! Sometimes!” He cast around for a weapon and thusly tugged the hairtie from his braid to flick at Al, who caught it more easily than Ed would’ve liked. He scowled and shook his hair out to rebraid, keep his hands busy. “Anyway, names are important, like. Fairy rules and all that shit, but in the way people give stuff extra meaning. Which, speaking of, is why it’s kind of weird Truth called itself Truth. Well, it called itself a lot of things.” It was a list he’d never forget, burned into the folds of his memory like the chemical components of an adult human woman. “The World, the Universe, God, Truth, All, One… ‘and I am also You’.”

 

“It’s You? Oh.” Al echoed, confused for only a moment before he quickly flipped to a fresh notebook page and began taking notes. “It’s like ‘All is One, One is All’. It’s the world and World, and it’s You—as if Truth is the very personification of alchemy.”

 

“Fancy proclamation from an asshole with nothing but teeth,” Ed said. 

 

Al’s pen hesitated. “Only teeth?”

 

“Yep. Only teeth.”

 

Al shuddered. Ed was not too proud to admit that he shuddered too, then finished off his briad and flicked Al in the arm until he gave back Ed’s hair tie, half-preoccupied with his notes about Truth. He peppered Ed with a few more questions, to which Ed provided stilted answers, and eventually, Al shut his notes and they re-centered their conversation on the homunculi; they were working for someone, but they didn’t get very far guessing who. Ed spoke with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the wall, allowing the theater of his mind to dance in vivid flashes against the backs of his eyelids.

 

“I wonder if Mr. Hughes really burned all the papers they thought you’d recognize.”

 

“Hm. I think I know what it was, to some extent.” Ed dropped his head from the wall to peer at Al. If it was something they thought only Ed might recognize from the Fifth lab, well. “It’s gotta be that array for making a Stone.”

 

Al’s eyes flashed bright in understanding before narrowing tightly. “At Central Command…? It must’ve been coded.”

 

“Yeah. Until Hughes cracked it.”

 

“That’s why they attacked him,” Al murmured. “Kaito was right: out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

 

“I think we’ve been in the fire longer than that,” Ed said. “The military has been involved every single place the Stone’s cropped up. Ishval, obviously. And it was Central troops that were sent to Liore. And Central is where Kaito showed up.”

 

“What does Liore…?” Al trailed off in uncertainty.

 

“One of the papers Kaito pocketed from Mustang was about Liore.” Ed steadied himself with a slow breath, explaining the violence that had exploded in the city unbeknownst to either of them. He had to frantically shush Al when he yelped, distressed, wondering if Rose was alright, and wound up with both his hands over the mouth of Al’s helmet, useless though that was.

 

“I don’t know,” Ed hissed, “but it was clearly intentional violence. I—I don’t know if we made it better or worse, but Mustang is paying attention. If it’s important enough to get that lazy bastard doing something…”

 

“It might be something,” Al agreed, prying Ed’s hands off his helmet and shoving him back out of his personal space. Ed had to all but sit on his hands to be patient enough to give Al his thinking space.

 

“They were able to cover up the fact they were making Stones in Ishval, because too many people were dying to keep track of everyone,” Al said eventually. “Maybe… What if they orchestrated Liore, so they could make a new Stone?”

 

What else could it be? Ed closed his eyes again. “Why make a new Stone now?”

 

“Well, the ones Marcoh and Cornello had were incomplete, so… maybe they still want a full one.” Al sighed, a rushing like water against metal. 

 

Something sparked at the back of Ed’s brain. “I bet Ishval wasn’t the first. These are large-scale events, and if that’s what it takes to make a Stone, there will be records.”

 

“What if it’s not just Amestris?” Al’s voice picked up a layer of urgency. “Think about it—a lot of the stories about Philosopher’s Stones can be sourced to Xing, but not just Xing. To Xerxes.”

 

“Xerxes…” Ed unleashed a groan, full of frustration. “Where the hell are we gonna find a book on Xerxian history? In Amestrian? Scratch that, where are we gonna find a book on Xerxian history at all, let alone its demise? Nobody knows anything concrete about Xerxes!”

 

“Maybe Teacher…”

 

“Right. Because that’s going to go great.”

 

Winry burst into the workshop then, face shining brightly enough to chase away the brothers’ dour mood in an instant. “Ed! Al!”

 

Ed scrambled to his feet. “What’s on fire?”

 

“Me!” Winry squealed.

 

She didn’t smell like burnt hair or anything. “Uh, no you’re not.”

 

Al laughed. Winry did not look any less pleased for Ed’s lack of humor, and was, in fact, wearing a face-splitting grin that was only getting more face-splitting. “Mr. Garfiel just offered me an automail apprenticeship!”

 

“Oh my gosh, Winry, that’s great!” Al exclaimed.

 

“I know!” she gushed. “He was so impressed with my work on Ed, and he said he liked the way I approached another engineer’s work when we were looking at Paninya’s legs! They’re so cool guys, ohmygosh, she said she’d introduce me to her honorary grandfather, that’s who made them, but the shock absorption on them is totally innovative, I don’t even know how he designed the suspension syst—”

 

“So, you’re gonna do it, right?” Ed asked before she could launch into unintelligible technobabble.

 

“Of course I’m gonna do it!” Winry exclaimed, throwing her arms around Ed and squeezing him so hard that he squeaked. She gave Al the same treatment before spinning away. “Oh my god, I have to call Granny!”

 

The workshop was thrown into a flurry as Winry raced around to dial home. Ling and his entourage, meanwhile, were nowhere to be seen. Good riddance to them, Ed thought. He muttered to Al that they ought to get to the train station while the prince was out; otherwise, he’d probably make good on his promise to tail them.

 

Al went upstairs to retrieve Kaito and their belongings, but Ed hesitated in the studio. Winry, finished squealing to Pinako, pounced on his idleness as an opportunity to remind him to oil his joints and dry them thoroughly after showering and so on. Finally, he’d uttered “I know,” enough times to satisfy her, and she changed course.

 

“Don’t forget to stop by on your way out of Dublith,” she said. “I’m gonna be working on Kaito’s charger. If you call before you leave, I should have it ready for you to pick up.”

 

“Sure, sure.” Not like there was a train out of Dublith that avoided Rush Valley. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

 

Winry blinked at him. “You just did.”

 

“Smartass.”

 

“Blockhead.”

 

Ed squinted but gave her the win. “I wanted to know, how are you taking this all in stride?” He lowered his voice, aware of Garfiel and Paninya, no matter how absorbed they were in their conversation about metal-or-whatever. “You know, like… technology from the future… alchemists from different dimensions… and Kaito’s...” He gestured vaguely to mean ‘everything’.

 

“Honestly?” Winry asked, leaning her hip on the workbench. “Growing up with you and Al? I’ve adapted.”

 

Ed remembered her pale, stricken expression on the night that Al had carried him to the Rockbell’s, two limbs and an unhealthy amount of blood down. Also the fact that just this week, he’d called her with a nonfunctional arm after a two-day coma, and that was right after he’d shown up with his arm in approximately ten thousand pieces thanks to Scar.

 

“You know what,” he said. “That’s fair.”

 

---

 

The Curtis’ two for one butcher-shop-and-home looked almost the same as when Ed and Al had graduated from it three years ago. While that was comforting somewhere deep and warm in Ed’s chest, it was also a little spooky. Things were supposed to change over time. Stasis was actively weirder. Or passively weirder. Whatever.

 

“Brother, you’re stalling,” Al whispered.

 

“Shut up, you’re stalling too,” Ed snapped.

 

“I’m not!” Kaito announced cheerfully. He slipped between them to knock smartly on the door, the rap of his knuckles against the wood loud and clear.

 

Ed kind of wanted to sink into the ground, and kind of wanted to hightail it back to the street. The doorknob twisted; Kaito concealed himself behind Al; then Sig stood in the doorway, looking at them in unrestrained surprise. 

 

“H-hey, Sig,” Ed spluttered. “Long time no see…”

 

Kaito leaned around Al, boggling with a whisper that might have been, “Why are people so big here?”

 

Sig’s expression shifted slightly leftwards: from surprised to pleased. his broad hand landed on top of Ed’s head and, with no small amount of force, began rubbing. Ed stumbled to stay upright.

 

“Edward,” he said. His voice was pleased and rough. “You’ve grown.”

 

The compliment momentarily chased away Ed’s fear and he grinned.

 

“Um, Sig…” Al leaned in to reintroduce himself awkwardly. “It’s me, Alphonse.”

 

Sig transferred his hand to Al’s head. “You’ve grown,” he repeated. Al all but glowed under the praise. Then, Sig’s eyes landed on Kaito, who had stopped hiding behind Al about two seconds ago, when Sig proved nonthreatening.

 

“Oh, this is our friend, Kaito,” Al said. “He’s an alchemist, too.”

 

“Welcome,” Sig said.

 

Kaito grinned and stuck out a gloved hand. Sig shook it generously, the force enough that Kaito stumbled even after Sig released him. (Ed did not restrain himself from feeling vindicated.)

 

Ed forced himself to ask the most important question, before his confidence could tank completely. “Is Teacher around?”

 

“She’s lying down. I’ll get her.”

 

Ed shared a nervous glance with Al. Kaito tilted his head sideways. Ed’s flesh knee was twitching in that jumpy anxiety way, like his kneecap had decided it’d rather not be a functional bone, thanks.

 

“You never said why you’re so scared of her,” Kaito whispered, glancing at the attached butchery, then squinting past Sig into the house. “Is she some kind of knife-wielding maniac, or…?” 

 

Al’s armor was trembling ever-so-slightly. “You shouldn’t call her that!”

 

Ed bared his teeth. “If we don’t make it out, tell Winry we’re sorry.”

 

Coincidentally, those were his last words before the bottom of Izumi’s foot connected squarely with his face. He tumbled into a heap on the road after colliding with the opposite structure; he was lucky it had broken his fall, really. Or at least, he was until a brick hit him on the top of the head.

 

“You stupid pupil!” Teacher yelled, heedless of the public nature of their greeting. “I heard you became a dog of the military, you worthless runt!”

 

Ed let out a quiet “eep” and decided he was safest buried in rubble and dirt. Moments later, a loud clatter had him squinting back at the house to find that Teacher had flipped Al on his back, and then noticed Kaito, flattened against the wall and watching the proceedings with round eyes.

 

“Who’s this?” Teacher demanded.

 

“They brought a friend,” Sig said. 

 

On the ground, Al moaned softly. Kaito glanced nervously at Ed, who was hauling himself to his feet and shaking dirt from his clothes, one hip aching where he’d crashed into unrelenting stone. 

 

“My name is Kaito, ma’am,” he said, bending at the waist in a bow. He must be wary of her hands, Ed thought—a smart call. Her danger level with those things was pretty much off the charts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“You aren’t from the military, are you?” Izumi did not disguise her distaste.

 

“I’m not even from Amestris,” Kaito said.

 

Ed crept back into the yard and offered Al a hand up.

 

“Good,” Izumi nodded. “Would you like to come in for dinner?”

 

Kaito’s eyes darted back over to the brothers. “...all of us?”

 

Izumi’s deadly eyes were on the Elrics again in a split-second; both of them froze. “I don’t make a habit of feeding military dogs,” she growled.

 

Ed gulped.

 

“But I’ve always been a pushover for you two,” she concluded sharply, no softness in sight. She turned on her heel. “You’re doing the dishes!”

 

“Yes, Teacher!” Ed and Al both squeaked, only allowing themselves to relax when Sig headed inside, too. Kaito wound up holding the door, looking at them with raised eyebrows.

 

“Are you okay, Brother?” Al asked Ed.

 

His hip was twinging and he’d probably have a headache before long, but he’d endured worse. “That was almost gentle, by her standards. You?”

 

“Rattled,” Al admitted. “...literally.”

 

“If you want to ask how I am,” Kaito said, “the answer is ‘hungry’.”

 

“Good to know,” Ed muttered.

 

Kaito blithely ignored Ed’s sarcasm. 

 

Inside, Teacher set them to work in the kitchen; when she’d said ‘doing the dishes’, she’d apparently meant cooking them as well as cleaning them. Amidst the kitchen-based chaos, Sig procured an extra chair, and by the time the sun sank over Dublith, the five of them were settling down for dinner.

 

Izumi wasted no time with her pointed questions as she helped herself to meat and vegetables. “What brings you two lazy students to my doorstep after so many years?”

 

“We wanted to see how you’re doing!” Al said hurriedly. 

 

Izumi snorted. “Hah! You didn’t even call for my birthday; now a well-being visit out of the blue?”

 

Al would’ve gulped if he’d had a body, Ed thought. He certainly gulped. But as the older brother, it was also his duty to take over in the line of fire, even if Kaito was watching the conversation play out like it had been put on stage for his entertainment.

 

“Actually, there’s a few things we wanted to ask you about.”

 

“Must be important,” Izumi said dryly, passing him the serving platter of beef.

 

Ed heaped his plate and passed it to Kaito. Beating around the bush never worked with Teacher; it was best to be blunt. “What do you know about the Philosopher’s Stone?”

 

Izumi cut into her meat, eyeing Ed. In the silence, Kaito handed the serving plate to Al, who put it back in the middle of the table.

 

“Not hungry?” Sig asked. 

 

“Ah, I—I ate on the train,” Al protested.

 

“Teacher, the Stone?” Ed prompted quickly.

 

“Why do you want to know?”

 

Ed cleared his throat, unable to lift his eyes from his plate. “Well, um, it’s in my area of research… as a State Alchemist.”

 

Izumi’s knuckles tightened around the handle of her knife. “Is that so.” 

 

Ed nodded mutely and snuck a glance at her face. To his surprise, her expression was a mix of the predictable anger, and a more insidious twist of worry.  “And what have you found so far?”

 

“...nothing good,” Al admitted.

 

Ed tugged out a wince. “Our first real lead was in Liore, and since then, it’s been… complicated. Have you heard anything about what happened there?”

 

Izumi squinted at him, but she and Sig both nodded. Of course; it had been in the news. If Ed had any sort of habit for paying attention to current events rather than ancient alchemical ones, he might’ve known about the riots, too. Or known sooner, anyway, before Kaito showed him the paper’s filched straight from Mustang’s secret-keeping pockets.

 

Bastard.

 

“Well, it turned out the Stone there was a fake. We weren’t around for the rest, but… uh, anyway, after that, we met an ex-military doctor who was an alchemist, too. He’d been ordered to manufacture Stones in Ishval, and he still had one, but it was incomplete.” He skirted around the Scar-related details before summing up what they’d learned from Marcoh’s notes. He made light of their breaking-and-entering at the Fifth Lab, until Lust and Envy entered the picture. “They nearly killed Lt. Hughes just a few days ago. They might’ve been successful if not for Mustang and Kaito. And who knows how many more of them there are.”

Izumi’s face was tight and unhappy. The food on her plate was going cold; Sig and Kaito had barely touched theirs either, for that matter. Silence hung heavy over the table. Ed pushed around a piece of broccoli before sighing.

 

“At this point, it’s a race,” he said. “We know how the Stones are made, we know the military’s involved, and we know that we’re not supposed to know. But the more we learn, the better we can protect ourselves—and everyone else. And that’s why we’re here, Teacher.” He summoned his best, most confident grin for his teacher. “Be thou for the people, right?”

 

The phrase lingered uncomfortably beneath Izumi’s dark, disapproving look. She didn’t have to verbalize her opinion: being a military dog was the opposite of being thou for the people.

 

“At this point, we might not have a choice, Teacher,” Al said softly. “They know who we are.”

 

“They spared Ed-san and I once, but we don’t really know why,” Kaito added, speaking up for the first time since they’d sat. “They could change their minds at any time. So, uh. Knowledge is power?”

 

Izumi shook her head. “You idiot child,” she said, sounding sad enough that Ed’s heart rate kicked up a few notches. “What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” She finally took a bite of her dinner and chewed unenthusiastically; Ed followed her example, though he barely felt hungry, even after two days of travel that usually would’ve left him ravenous.

 

When Izumi spoke again, she said, “I don’t know anything about the Stones, but I once met someone who did.”

 

Ed and Al both perked up; Kaito’s eyes locked onto Izumi more subtly.

 

“Who?” Al asked eagerly.

 

“Where?” Ed added.

 

“When?” Kaito asked, looking like he couldn’t help himself.

 

“It was about a year ago, in Central.” Sig leaned back, running a hand over his bearded jaw. “What was his name?”

 

“Something really old-sounding,” Izumi commented, thinking too. “Like the name of some old philosopher out of a textbook.” Her face shifted. “Ah! That’s it. Hohenheim.”

 

The food in Ed’s mouth suddenly felt—and tasted—like sand. He swallowed roughly and barked out an unhappy laugh. “So that bastard’s alive, then,” he said hollowly. “Who knew.”

 

“Someone you know?” Sig asked.

When Ed was unwilling to answer, Al did. “Our father.”

 

“The one who ran out on you,” Izumi surmised darkly. “Well, then.”

 

Kaito whistled, low, a nervous response to the tension that was rolling tangibly off of Ed’s stiff shoulders.

 

Sig reached into the middle of the table and lifted the plate of bread, offering it silently to the room at large. An olive branch. Ed took a slice and used it to mop up some of the sauce from his beef, just for the sake of something to do. 

 

Al was the one who kept the conversation going; Ed wanted to blame the fact that he didn’t remember Hohenheim as much as he did. “Do you know how to contact him?”

 

“I can make a few calls.” She glanced at Ed, suspicion lacing her gaze. “You sure you want that?”

 

No way in hell, Ed wanted to say. But if that bastard had information they needed, he’d have to suck it up. He forced himself to swallow a mouthful of bread. 

 

Inexplicably, Al glanced at Kaito, making Izumi look at him too.

 

Kaito grinned in the face of the attention, but it was strained, and he vollied the conversation away. “Ed-san?”

 

Ed closed his eyes and tried not to imagine being wrenched away from Amestris, everyone he loved, Al.

 

They didn’t have the luxury of turning down any leads right now. This was bigger than him. This was about saving lives; it was about finding a way to bring Al’s body back; it was about patching the leaky Kaito-shaped dimension hole sitting to his right.

 

“Yeah, fine. Call the bastard up, what do I care?”

 

Izumi could easily have told him how much he cared, but tactfully didn’t. “Tomorrow, then,” she said decisively.

 

Dinner continued, subdued. The general ebb and flow of conversation passed Ed by; distantly, he registered Al and Kaito telling the Curtises about Rush Valley and Winry’s new apprenticeship.

 

There were so many things he’d left out in the explanation of why they were here, and he didn’t know how to bring them up without winding up impaled for the taboo he and Al had committed, or worse. Even if Teacher had seen the Gate, been to that monochrome void, asking her point blank might as well be like digging his own grave.

 

But he’d have to, if they were ever going to get the full picture.

 

“Teacher,” he said, cutting off an anecdote from Al, “do you remember ‘One is All, All is One’?”

 

“Are you admitting that you think I’m some forgetful old woman, brat?” Izumi snapped.

 

“Everything in the universe is connected,” Ed pressed. “If the universe encompasses multiple universes within itself, the same thing’s got to apply to all of them, right?”

 

“When did this dinner become a philosophy lecture?” Izumi grumbled, but went with Ed down the train of thought when he kept looking at her expectantly. “That phrase describes systems. It should hold true wherever the system scales.”

 

“So,” Ed said. “Dimensional alchemy.”

 

“Ed…” Kaito mumbled, the suffix conspicuously missing. When Ed glanced over, Kaito looked stressed, tight around the eyes. Shifty.

 

“Listen,” Ed said, feeling an abrupt rush of frustration towards Kaito, “if we’re gonna trust you at all, you’re gonna trust us, and that means trusting Teacher. Got it?”

 

Kaito studied Ed’s face for a long moment. It felt like being peeled away, his careful scrutiny; suddenly, Ed was reminded that Kaito was dangerous enough that people like Hughes took him seriously. Then Kaito pressed a grin on to his features, not as bright as the ones he usually wore. It didn’t quite conceal the threat thrumming away beneath. “Got it, Fullmetal-san.”

 

Ed exhaled. Slowly. Told himself it was not worth it to jump down Kaito’s throat for using his title in front of Teacher. “So, multiple universes, all part of one greater system. There’s some kind of barrier between worlds that prevents dimensional bleed, or else a lot more weird shit would happen all the time.” He staunchly ignored Al’s little huff at the idea of the Elrics living normal lives, and continued. “Teacher, what would you say if those barriers could be broken?”

 

“I’d tell you the rebound would kill you.” Izumi was still giving Ed the same suspicious look as before. Or was it a new suspicious look? They only varied by a few degrees, in his experience. 

 

“Well, we’ve got living proof of it right here,” Ed said, jerking his thumb towards Kaito. Kaito’s grin lost some of its already-questionable steadiness when Izumi squinted at him.

 

“Explain,” Teacher demanded of Kaito.

 

“I already said I’m not from Amestris.” Kaito’s gaze darted between Izumi and Sig. He still looked flighty, like he was preparing to get kicked out without dessert. “But honestly, I’m not from anywhere in this world.”

 

“Uh- huh,” Izumi said unenthusiastically.

 

Kaito shrugged. “That’s the most sane description I can give you. I’m a product of… what did you say?... dimensional bleed.”

 

Ed bit the inside of his cheek, watching the crease furrowing between Izumi’s eyebrows. She didn’t seem to think Kaito was crazy, but she wasn’t exactly taking his words at face value, either, even with Ed’s theory. They needed proof; so he took a gamble, and yanked the conversation back towards the real core of the issue.

 

So much for not talking about certain taboos.

 

“Kaito can do alchemy without a matrix.” She’d understand the implications. “Like you do, Teacher.”

 

Like I do, he didn’t say. 

 

She probably read it clear as day in his eyes anyway.

 

The ensuing staredown was probably some of the most terrifying of Ed’s time on this mortal plane or otherwise, but it was still only second to the unforgettable contest with Truth’s blank imitation of a face.

 

(Alright, maybe it came third, because he wasn’t even sure Truth could beat having to face the monstrosity he and Al had twisted together in the hopes of resurrecting their mother. How it had reached out to him, struggling to breathe…)

 

Of course, he hadn’t yet experienced the next ten seconds. The only warning he got was the slam of Izumi’s palms meeting. In the singular motion that followed, she leapt to her feet and transmuted her chair into a spear. Ed just barely managed to hit the ground to avoid getting struck in the face. 

 

Izumi didn’t relent, even with Ed at a disadvantage; he scrambled away, dodged several more attacks by the skin of his teeth, no time to get to his feet. He blocked a blow with his automail forearm and Teacher drew back; in the resultant pause he caught his breath and registered that Al and Kaito were both on their feet. 

 

He saw that Al had one of Kaito’s arms in his gauntlet—keeping him back?—before Ed was forced to roll away from another attack. This time, he slammed his own hands together and transmuted his usual blade from his right arm and met Izumi’s spear head-on. The tip of her improvised weapon hit the floor and clattered across the room.

 

For a long moment, the only thing Ed heared was his own panting. This wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to show Izumi his automail or alchemy; hell, he’d only resigned to telling her about either a moment ago.

 

Izumi stared him down, her face unreadable. Ed drew himself back onto his feet. In the silence, he transmuted his arm back to normal. 

 

“So you have seen it,” Izumi said, voice like ice and steel. “That explains the arm and the leg.” She whipped around, pointing her half-spear. “And why Alphonse is an empty suit of armor!”

 

Ed couldn’t help but gape at her. “How did you—?”

 

“I could tell as much from sparring,” Izumi cut him off, snatching up the head of her spear and clapping to put her chair back together with a crackle of alchemy so sharp that it was almost white. She dropped into the seat with her arms crossed.

 

Ed returned to the table more tentatively. There were a few new dents in the floor, but he wasn’t sure this was the time to fix them. 

 

“I…” Ed said.

 

Izumi didn’t look at him.

 

He struggled against the gravity that wanted to push his head down. “A lot of things have happened, Teacher. Al and I, we’re trying to fix our mistakes. But we need to understand these different planes, and how to move through them without ripping ourselves to shreds. And without using the Philosopher’s Stone.”

 

“There isn’t another way,” Izumi said sharply. Her posture was taut, like the lines of her body would snap if bent the wrong way. Sig wrapped an arm around her and Ed swallowed on a dry throat. “Foolish humans who go through the Gate pay the price. Even me.”

 

Ed summoned a laugh he didn’t know he had in him. “Good thing we’re not foolish,” he said. He was met with silence.

 

“Hardly anyone survives one attempt,” Izumi said, finally looking at Ed. “No one survives a second.”

 

“Well,” Ed started, but anything he could’ve said died in his mouth.

 

Izumi had turned to Kaito, who was standing, tense and wary, beside his mismatched chair. Her voice was sad. “You better get used to Amestris, kid.”

 

“With all due respect, I’d rather not,” Kaito said tightly.

 

Izumi only pushed her fingers into her braids for a moment, fixed her ponytail, and then sat back. Her face was a stony mask as she finally looked between the Elrics. “Edward. Alphonse. We need to talk.”

 

Sig pushed his chair back. The sound of the feet scraping against the floor was impossibly loud in the quiet room, and Ed’s heart wrenched with it, thinking of the peace they’d shattered. The Curtis' house was his and Al’s second home—second to the Rockbell’s, which itself was second to nothing, now. Here, they were welcomed with open arms. Izumi had made a point to remind them, when they’d left. Loudly.

 

He and Al hadn’t talked about their reasons for not visiting sooner, not aloud, but they’d both known that this—this moment—was why. They’d let Teacher down by tearing themselves to pieces. They’d only delayed the inevitable by staying. 

 

Now they had to face her disappointment head-on.

 

“Kaito,” Sig said. “Let me get you settled in the guest room.”

 

Kaito didn’t hesitate to follow him upstairs. He didn’t glance back at the mostly-untouched meal, or at Al with his head hanging, or at Ed, standing with his eyes closed and his fists clenched and his heart somewhere deep at the bottom of the ocean.

 

---

 

Ed was dead on his feet when he and Al finally climbed the stairs, but it wasn’t exactly what he’d been dreading it to be. 

 

Emotionally, he felt like a dish towel that had been wrung out one too many times, but it had been cathartic and relieving in a way he hadn’t known he’d needed—to share with Izumi what they’d been through, to hear her story. To know she still loved them.

 

That, indeed, was the biggest relief of the night. She may not have said the words, but she’d held them, the way she had when they’d first left Dublith, like she was theirs. If she’d kicked them out, Ed wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. But needless to say, he couldn’t lose the only other mother figure he had. No, he couldn’t go through that again.

 

He and Al hesitated outside the door to the room that had been theirs as students. Ed knew that his brother was wrung out, too; he didn’t even have the luxury of letting it out by crying. Ed shuddered out a sigh, wanting to say something about that, and knowing Al wouldn’t allow him to apologize.

 

“What if I never remember?” Al asked softly, surprising Ed from his contemplation.

 

Their conversation with Izumi had eventually wound its way through the topic of the Gate, and the fact that Al’s memories had vanished when his body did. Ed’s stomach had flipped when Al recounted the night for the second time in one day. The fact that the last thing that Al had seen with his real eyes—somehow—had been Ed, bloody, his own toll paid.

 

Al had already been gone when Ed had opened his eyes to that world of pain. The only thing there’d been was the blackened, mangled body of—

 

Well. Al’s memories would hold part of the answer to that niggling question. Ed felt the other half was in Resembool. And Al’s memories of the Gate had the potential to be even more in depth than his own or Teacher’s; maybe therein would be a clue to Kaito’s travels or the key to returning Al’s body.

 

But…

 

“Do you really want to remember?” Ed asked the shining doorknob.

 

“Yes,” Al said without hesitation. “It sounds awful, but… I do want to remember.” His gauntlets curled into tight fists. “I don’t want you to carry it alone, Brother. Not when we both did that transmutation.” He reached for Ed, turned him with a hand on his shoulder, until Ed met his glowing red eyes, the manifestation of his soul’s presence. “We agreed. We both did the research. We both drew up the array. We both powered it. You shouldn’t have to carry those memories alone.”

 

Ed blinked away a sudden, hot wetness from his eyes and rubbed at his nose. Sometimes, he was reminded what a good person his brother was, and he was overwhelmed with love for him. Not to mention disbelief. He couldn’t be related to someone so good, could he?

 

His grin was bright as he blinked a few times. “Thanks, Al. That—means a lot, you know?”

 

Al huffed lightly. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if it didn’t, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

When he opened the door to their room, Kaito was sitting cross-legged on the bed by the window. His hands were busy with a deck of cards. He grinned at them, lopsided but still slightly guarded. “Good chat?”

 

Too tired to deal with him, Ed just kicked off his boots by his suitcase and stretched out on the free bed. Al settled at the little desk in the corner and told Kaito that there’d been a lot to talk about, to which Kaito snorted and said, “Yeah, I could tell.”

For a while after that, the room was quiet. With his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling, Ed tried to sort through the mass of information from tonight, but it only caused a headache to spring up behind one of his eyebrows. Nothing compared to the experience of having his skull opened and Gate knowledge poured in from a sieve, but still; today’s emotional turmoil didn’t help. Eventually he gave up and got ready for bed.

 

“Ed-san,” Kaito said softly.

 

“What?” Ed grunted, wrist-deep in his suitcase as he searched for his pajama pants.

 

“What did the Gate look like, for you?”

 

Ed drew back and peered at Kaito, silhouetted by the faint yellow street lights illuminating Dublith and trickling in through the window.

 

“It was huge,” Ed said tiredly, eyes slipping shut as he walked back to that white void in his mind’s eye, not for the first time that day. “Dark grey stone. Covered in a carving like a tree with roots at the bottom, sunbeams out the top. There were inscriptions in countless languages.” He shook his head; he’d not had time to read them. In his memory, the words were indistinct. 

 

“Al-san?” Kaito asked softly. “Is it the same for you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Al admitted. “We’re actually looking into recovering my memories from it.”

 

Kaito hummed softly. “I—” he paused. When Kaito found his voice again, he said, “All I’ve got is this fuzzy image of white space, and a dark shape suspended there. I thought it was an obelisk, but I only saw it for a moment.” He paused again. “You don’t think it was a different place, do you?”

 

“...did you speak to something that called itself Truth?” Ed asked, pushing himself to sit fully.

 

Kaito shook his head. “If I had, I would’ve asked a few pointed questions.”

 

“So you don’t remember it either?” Al asked in surprise.

 

“Nah.”

 

“But you saw something,” Ed pressed.

 

“Yeah. Something.” Kaito ruffled his hair, gaze far away. Ed caught a glimpse of the now-pale yellow bruise that decorated part of his temple and forehead; it had been a lot more purple when Kaito had first crashed their study session two weeks ago, but Ed had stopped noticing it entirely after some point. Now, it was faint, almost gone, but it twisted an uncertain knot in Ed’s gut nevertheless.

 

“Great, do we have to recover your memories too?” Ed muttered, turning away and finally excavating his pajamas from his suitcase.

 

“I’m not sure there’s anything for me to remember,” Kaito said hesitantly.

 

“If you passed through the Gate, you met Truth, whether you remember it or not,” Ed said. He rubbed at his eyebrow with the heel of his left palm, but it did nothing to soothe the growing headache. “Listen, we’ll talk about Truth with… Hohenheim,” he said the name without as much venom as he’d like, for Al’s sake. “Whenever we get a hold of him. I don’t want to see him, either of them, but maybe we’ll finally get some answers out of that bastard. For everyone.”

 

With that, he headed to the bathroom, not bothering to clarify whether Hohenheim or Truth was the bastard he’d meant, because honestly, he meant both.

 

---

 

Notes:

Here is an absolute top tier meme for Izumi’s entrance scene from Icy, my fantastic beta. I laughed SO hard, please enjoy: https://i.imgflip.com/4x3385.jpg

Chapter 21: The Flow

Notes:

On March 28, 2020, I scribbled out the first draft of this fic’s plot in my notebook. Since I’m posting this chapter on March 28, 2021, that means I’ve been working on this story exactly one year to the date. In that time, I’ve completed drafts of 25 chapters and started 7 more, totaling 225k words. At this point, there’s only 5 chapters I haven’t started... assuming this iteration of the outline holds steady, that is. And those stats aren’t even counting the scrapped scenes and outlines, which alone adds about 30k.

Suffice to say, I have literally never before had a more productive 365 days of writing than this.

Thank you, all of you, who’ve read, kudos’d, commented, re-reread, encouraged me, critiqued me, pointed out errors large and small, and just generally enjoyed this beast of a thing, especially as updates get a little more spread out, though hopefully of higher quality.

---

 

Kaito didn’t expect Ling to let himself into the Curtis’ guest room through the window, but he also didn’t not expect it. Despite that, he still went “gah!” in an undignified way, so it was a zero-sum game.

 

“Sorry for startling you,” Ling said, not sorry in the least.

 

“I’m doomed,” Kaito told him through his fingers. “Thanks for that.”

 

“You’re welcome!”

 

Aside from them, the room was empty; Sig had already retreated back downstairs for whatever emotional family drama he’d escorted Kaito out of. It was a safe bet that nobody would be coming back any time soon, but… it was better to not take the risk. Kaito locked the door and rounded on Ling. “What do you want?”

 

“I could really go for some dumplings right now,” Ling said.

 

Honestly, so could Kaito. “What do you want from me?”

 

“Dumplings?” Ling looked hopeful.

 

“I can’t promise dumplings, but you can sneak into the kitchen when everyone’s done crying or whatever.”

 

“Oh, excellent! I will.”

 

Kaito raised an eyebrow. Ling put on a pout and tilted his head sideways. Kaito squinted and crossed his arms. Ling leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands.

 

“And,” Kaito drawled, “what else do you require of me, Yao-sama?”

 

“Company?” Ling shifted from a pout to a set of pretty convincing puppy-dog eyes. “I’ve been traveling with only Lan Fan and Fu for months now! And they nag!”

 

If Kaito were to judge Ling by his own standards, Ling wasn’t going to leave until he was good and ready. With a sigh, Kaito flicked out a pack of cards and climbed onto the bed near the window with enough room between them for a game board. “Let’s play some cards, then. Do you know poker?”

 

“Nope!” Ling said. “How do you play?”

 

Kaito explained the rules of head-to-head poker as he shuffled. For the chips, he produced a couple handfuls of wrapped candies, pocketed while cooking dinner. They posted their small and big blinds, and then Kaito laid out the flop, not playing for keeps in the first round. By the time they’d started trading real bets, Ling asked, “Where did you learn this game?”

 

“My old man taught me. He and his friends played a lot.”

 

“How interesting,” Ling said. “This game is quite different from dou dizhu.”

 

Kaito didn’t bother asking, not caring to be goaded into giving away his utter lack of knowledge about Xing any more than his mere existence already did. “Ready for the showdown?”

 

“Oh! Yes!”

 

Ling cheerfully counted them down in Xingan, and they both displayed their hands. Kaito’s was four of a kind, and beat Ling’s easily, so he swept up the candies from the middle of their improvised play space—same as he had the last three times. He’d already won most of the candies, but that was just as much a testament to his skill as it was to Ling’s unfamiliarity with the hands.

 

Ling’s pout returned in full force. “You must be cheating. Do you ever get a bad hand?” 

 

“All the time. Both literally and figuratively.” More figuratively, lately.

 

“But you’re always grinning!” Ling accused, flapping his hands towards Kaito’s face. “How am I supposed to tell?”

 

“That, my dear, innocent friend, is the very point of a poker face.”

 

Ling’s fingers moved through the cards as he shuffled them, but his gaze was still on Kaito, deceptively sharp beneath his dark lashes. “Is that what you’re doing with your qi, too, Kaitou?”

 

“My what?”

 

“Qi.” Ling smiled. Clearly, Kaito was supposed to know this already.

 

Bastard.

 

He turned the word over for a moment: qi. He was pretty sure he’d heard it before, but the translation wasn’t landing. But, he was about 86% sure Ling had figured him out for a fraud already, and if he hadn’t he probably would soon, with or without Kaito’s help. No point in digging his hole deeper over a word that wasn’t making the rounds from Xingan to Amestrian to Japanese in one piece. “I’m not doing anything to my qi.”

 

“Ah, but it’s so… tangled.” Ling flexed his fingers in a way that might, if Kaito was being generous, demonstrate tangling. “There’s nothing normal about it at all!”

 

Kaito shrugged. “Deal the cards.”

 

Ling did. “That armored friend of yours must be quite a master, to suppress his qi completely.”

 

Outwardly, Kaito blinked once. Qi, qi, qi— so his was tangled and Al’s was nonexistent. Since Al was a soul in metal plating, did that mean that the qi was connected to something physical? What was wrong with Kaito physically that his might be tangled?

 

“I didn’t realize that qi was so easily manipulated in Amestris,” Ling went on, oblivious to the mental gymnastics Kaito was trying to do. “Since as you know, in Xing, we only ever go so far as to sense it.”

 

“You should talk to Al-san.”

 

“Perhaps I will,” Ling said, now studying his remaining candies. He pushed them all into the middle, and they began another round. This time, Ling’s face was unreadable; he kept up a happy little smile, and by the time they showed hands, Kaito had to wonder if the game Ling had mentioned earlier had an equivalent of a poker face. When they laid their cards down, Ling had a royal flush.

 

Kaito hoisted his eyebrows and surrendered Ling the candy he was owed. “That’s the best hand in the game.”

 

“Yes, I figured,” Ling said, pleased as he unwrapped one of his newly acquired candies and popped it in his mouth. His face morphed in a mixture of pain and delight. “Oh! This is sour!”

 

Kaito laughed. “Another round?”

 

“Yes! I’ll beat you again this time,” Ling said, pronouncing his Xingan words carefully around the lemon sucker in his mouth.

Kaito just barely resisted the immediate urge to squint at him and busied his hands with a swift Mongean shuffle. It was odd; Ling had switched to simple vocabulary and a pace that Kaito could follow, unlike last night, when he’d been speaking with fluid rapidity and complex vocabulary that Kaito hadn’t had a chance in hell of following, even with whatever unsettling magic had reached into the back of his brain and flipped a switch labeled ‘Understanding Amestrian’ a couple weeks ago.

 

Actually, now that he was thinking about the way the Amestrian language had shifted so unsettlingly into focus that first night at Central Hospital, he wondered: would the same thing happen for Xingan, the more he was exposed to it?

 

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as Hakuba might say. (Kaito could practically hear the phrase in his smarmy British English.) He replied to Ling in Japanese, matching his careful pacing. “You can try, but I’ve been playing much longer than you have.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Ling said, taking the first two cards Kaito dealt. “I believe in beginner’s luck.”

 

“Ah, you’re a shark, are you?”

 

“Eh?”

 

“You pretend to be bad, when really you’re an expert.” Or, when it came to Kaito and billiards, a magician. But that was neither here nor there. “And you wipe the floor with your opponent.”

 

Ling eyed the gamespace as Kaito rapidly laid the three face-up cards that comprised the round’s flop. “You do not speak Xingan often, do you?”

 

A paranoid voice at the back of Kaito’s head wondered if Ling or his guards had heard any part of the OTOT meeting last night, and desperately hoped not; the whole ‘I’m technically an alien’ was not for just anybody’s ears. But, of course, maybe Ling had his own private reasons to be suspicious of Kaito. Like, for example, maybe, the whole involvement of Pandora. 

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“You have a very strange dialect.”

 

“Hmm. I suppose I do.”

 

“What region are you from?”

 

“That is none of your business.”

 

“I ask as a friend!”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

Ling sighed gustily. “I am the Yao prince, need I remind you?”

 

“Not really. Also, just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean I will listen to you.”  

 

“Such a spoil-sport, Kaitou.”

 

“Au contraire, I’m playing by the book.” Case in point: he wasn’t even counting cards.

 

“Yes, but I doubt that will last.”

 

Kaito raised a hand to his heart in mock-offense. “On what could you possibly base that judgement?”

 

“There is no such thing as ‘playing by the book’ in politics.”

 

“This is poker, not politics!”

 

“And this,” Ling spread his arms, “is friendship!”

 

“But, let me guess: still politics?”

 

Ling laughed. “Of course. It is all politics.”

 

“More like subterfuge,” Kaito muttered.

 

“I hide none of my intentions.”

 

That was true, and more than could be said of some people he’d dealt with around here. With a sigh, Kaito took a gamble. “Have you ever been on an island, Ling-san?”

 

“Just once—a minor settlement, though large enough to export goods such as fish to the mainland.” Ling raised an eyebrow at Kaito, glanced at his cards, and placed his next bet. “I am afraid to say I do not like boats.”

 

“Me neither.” Though probably for different reasons. “Well, Ling-sama, if you must learn about me, I will tell you one or two things. I am from an island.”

 

“Ahh. And yet you dislike boats?”

 

“There are other ways to travel.” Instead of explaining how crazy people sometimes shot metal tubes thousands of miles into the air, they showed hands; Kaito regained a few of his lost candies, and around they went once more. 

 

“So this game is common on your island?” Ling asked, not as content with only one morsel of information as Kaito had hoped he might be.

 

“Fairly so.”

 

“Did you really learn from your father?”

 

Kaito paused. “Yes? I mean, I have no reason to lie about that.”

 

“Well. I’m not entirely convinced we don’t share a parent,” Ling said.

 

Right, that. It felt like the conversation about Xingan politics had occurred in a vastly different time, but Rush Valley had all been yesterday. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m an only child.”

 

“Are you certain?”

 

“Pretty certain.” As irresponsible as Chikage could be, Kaito was sure she’d have told him if there was another kid in the mix.

 

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you,” Ling said, with undue confidence. “But the fact you’ve learned about the Philosopher’s Stone from a family legend doesn’t sit right with me. Are you sure you don’t have information to share?”

 

Kaito shrugged.

 

“Pity. The Yao clan is quite strong, I’ll have you know. We are not ones you’d like to make an enemy of.”

 

“My,” Kaito said, pitching his voice somewhere between affronted and sarcastic. “Are you threatening me?”

 

“Threatening you, threatening your clan, same difference.”

 

“I’m flattered.”

 

“But not afraid.”

 

“You’re not that scary, trust me. I’ve met scary, and it doesn’t sit around playing betting lemon candies.”

 

Ling laughed. “Why can’t scary do both?”

 

“To be fair, it’s not that scary can’t; it’s just that scary generally doesn’t.”

 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Ling said, hefting a pointer finger so close to Kaito’s face that Kaito had to lean back. “It happens that I am no fan of killing people.”

 

“Speaking from experience, are you?”

 

“What do you think?” Ling grinned, following his finger into Kaito’s personal space. “C’mon, tell me! Do I give off the air of a murderer?”

 

Kaito sniffed. “No comment.”

 

Ling, satisfied, retreated. Kaito tried to tell himself he only felt a little relieved. “Rather than threatening you, I’d like to offer you a deal, Kaitou.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Indeed. The strength of the Yao clan could work in your favor. I’d even throw in a measure of protection for the Elric brothers, if the three of you were to share your leads.”

 

“That’s a surprisingly kind offer,” Kaito said.

 

“Don’t misunderstand me. It is for purely selfish gain.”

 

“I can see that.” Kaito leaned against the footboard, cards splayed against his chest. “While the offer is nice, I won’t be taking you up on it, because you’d be wasting your resources. The Elrics and I don’t have any information for you. Sorry.”

 

“You’re not doing a very good job at lying about this,” Ling said.

 

Kaito sighed and fanned himself with his cards. “I blame exhaustion.” 

 

He deserved a little slack after twelve straight days straight of this kind of bullshit, in his own opinion. There was also the little fact that, the longer this cross-language conversation went on, the more conscious effort he had to put into ignoring the heat-sick feeling of Pandora syncing to his heartbeat. If he’d had any doubts about its influence on his crazy language acquisition before, they were all but washed away now, to the point that he was beginning to intermix real Xingan words into his Japanese sentences, hardly realizing until after, which was thoroughly unsettling, to say the least.

 

But Ling only tutted at him. “You’ll need to do better than that. Not everyone who searches for the Stone is as generous as I am. And you’re in luck; I’m even more kind to my friends!”

 

“I’ve been lucky enough so far.” And not just recently, in terms of who he’d met here in Amestris—Ed and Al were kind of like a golden needle in a multiverse of hay needles, in all honesty—but long before that, too. Snake was mostly incompetent. Until recently, he’d been more a nuisance than a real threat. Though, a nuisance with a gun and a huge ego. Maybe his worst bit of luck of all had been that Pandora’s powers weren’t quite what they’d been rumored to be.

 

“So, since we’re friends, why don’t you tell me what clan you’re from?”

 

…or maybe his worst bit of luck was not jumping to disavow Ling of the notion that the two of them had suddenly bonded. Kaito groaned. “Not this again. Just think about what clans live on islands.”

 

“There’s too many. Hey, if you’re admitting you do have a clan, why don’t you admit you’re a prince after the Stone, too?” 

 

“Because I’m really, really not a prince.”

 

“And the Stone?”

 

“Couldn’t care less.”

 

“Well! That all might explain why I’ve never once seen you at the palace.”

 

Kaito narrowed his eyes. Ling just wanted to give him a hard time, huh? Well, for that, Kaito flicked a card into Ling’s face. Ling counterattacked with a card that clipped off the bridge of Kaito’s nose. Kaito allowed himself a split-second grin. Any more might have warned Ling to the incoming brute force: half a deck directly to the eyes.

 

Cards and candies alike scattered as Ling retaliated with a full-bodied lunge. The two tumbled to the ground in an undignified tangle—what Ling seemed to think was more play than fight, until Kaito managed to pull off a particularly good eel-like wriggle for the sake of his freedom.

 

“What was that for?” Kaito asked, indignant, hands at the ready to bat away any further wrangling attempts.

 

“You started it,” Ling pointed out.

 

“You started it with your mind games,” Kaito replied.

 

“You started it with your card games!”

 

At the sound of footsteps—two distinctive sets, Ed and Al—Kaito all but dumped Ling out the window. It was an unceremonious ending to their battle of wills and politics. Ling resisted, as ridiculous as that was with his ass in the air and his chest dangling outside. “I want to say hello!”

 

“You’ll give them a heart attack!” Kaito hissed. “Come back later!”

 

Ling pouted, but as the doorknob jiggled, he hauled himself out of view. His disembodied voice called, “Fiiiine. See you tomorrow!”

 

Kaito had just barely settled into a casual-looking position when Ed and Al opened the door. They’d provided him the small mercy of having a private conversation beforehand, enough time for Kaito to frantically snag every playing card and lemon candy from its far-flung hiding spots. He gave them a wide grin that sufficiently covered the mini-heart attack he’d just been having. “Good chat?”

 

Al gave an unenlightening response, and the room lapsed into silence. Kaito reclined, moving his fingers through little tricks on autopilot. Eventually, he closed his eyes and eased his head back against the wall, trying to quell the motion-sickness that he was coming to associate with Pandora acting up.

 

Tallying up Pandora’s abilities was starting to get tedious. Dimension travel was one thing; healing zaps were another. Freaky language acquisition wasn’t new, but it was a hell of a lot weirder with Xingan than Amestrian, as he could feel it happening in real time and knew what to look for. It was like someone was reaching a couple dozen tiny hands into his skull to massage his brain.

 

When he peeled his eyes open again, he watched his own fingers, dancing through the motions. It was soothing, on some level. He hadn’t been wearing his gloves as much, these last few days; initially, he’d kept them on—a safety blanket, even after the danger of somebody getting ahold of Kaitou Kid’s fingerprints passed. And while he was rather attached to those gloves, he knew there was a fresh pair waiting for him as soon as he could get home. Ones that weren’t dully stained with a constant reminder of blood.

 

Ones that didn’t invoke the visceral memory of staticky red magic buzzing in his fingertips as he braced his palms on Hughes’ shallowly moving chest.

 

He thought of the strange white space he’d found himself in, then, elbows locked over Hughes. His memories of his crash landing were fuzzy, but he’d seen white then, too? No looming shapes beyond the rushing concrete, but… after hearing Ed talk about dimensions over dinner and especially after his conversation with Aoko bearing out the relativity of time, it was hard to hold onto the slippery idea that the white space and door within had only been a trick of the mind.

 

He tried to bounce the topic with the Elrics, but Ed wasn’t interested in a sustained conversation, leaving Kaito and Al alone after a few minutes. Kaito sighed and spun a card around his thumb and took the time to regret every minute back home he hadn’t spent reading up on multiverse theory. 

 

While he was at it, might as well hate the universe just a little bit for sending him somewhere where the internet wouldn’t exist for another, what, eighty years? What he wouldn’t give to google some things right about now… 

 

“I wonder why the two of us don’t remember anything,” Al said, breaking Kaito out of his thoughts. “The shock of losing my body seems to have been the reason for me. But what about you?”

 

“I’m still not convinced I’ve even met this Truth guy,” Kaito said. “But… you paid with like, your entire physical being, right? Maybe I paid with my entire physical world. Which is pretty damn big. Too much for the ol’ noggin?” He knocked his knuckles against his forehead.

 

“...or maybe you didn’t pay a toll,” Al said slowly, looking back with blazing red eyes. “It doesn’t seem like the Gate’s style to leave you physically whole. Just look at me; look at Brother, even Teacher.”

 

“Yeah…?” Apprehension curled uncomfortably in Kaito’s gut like a precarious surface tension.

 

“Maybe it was because you had a Stone.”

 

The surface tension spilled over into a zip of fear. It suddenly made crystal-clear sense to Kaito that, if the method of losing your bodies was supposed to be a one-way street that alchemists rarely lived through, then of course the way back would be the cheat code known as a Philosopher’s Stone. And Al was about to figure him out—that Kaito still had Pandora. And then he was going to—what? Demand it from him? Take it by force? For the sake of restoring his and his brother’s bodies? Kaito couldn’t beat Al in a fight. The guy had sheer size over him, not to mention real alchemy.

 

But, no. He wouldn’t. Right? Al, like his brother, didn’t want to trade lives for personal gain. 

 

But if he knew Pandora was right there, a few feet away, would the temptation be too strong? Kaito had been shot at a couple dozen times because people were desperate to get their hands on the rock. His dad had been literally blown up for it.

 

Granted, those guys in black were Bad Guys, and Al was decidedly not a Bad Guy, but Bad Guys had just been Guys at some point or another. As it stood, Kaito didn’t know Al well enough over the course of twelve days—even after going through one or two harrowing things together—to predict what Al would do for Pandora, if anything at all. Not when it really came down to it.

 

That was far scarier than being able to make an educated guess.

 

But Al was oblivious to the alarm bells shrieking behind Kaito’s poker face. “Maybe the Stone itself was your toll,” he continued without missing more than a moment to a thoughtful pause. “And that’s why you’re whole, and here, and the Stone didn’t come over with you. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

 

Oh.

 

Well, okay, maybe Kaito had panicked too soon. 

 

He took a steadying breath. “Good theory.” Except for the giant, glaring issue that Pandora was still around.

 

“I just wish we knew more about the logic behind the Gate. Brother and Teacher are both reluctant to talk about it. They just said it was like this.” Al wiggled his arms. Kaito was impressed at how well a suit of armor could wiggle, actually. 

 

“What, it did a jig?”

 

“No, in their words, awful. They don’t think we necessarily should remember. Ed said it was… wiggly.”

 

“Wiggly…” Kaito murmured, crossing his arms securely, hiding the way he was gripping at the secret pocket Pandora was hidden in. It was probably just coincidence that that was the word they’d chosen to describe it when that was exactly the way he’d describe the way Pandora felt. “Well, what about the guy who gave you all the notes? If he made a Stone, shouldn’t he know about the Gate?”

 

“I don’t know. His notes were only about how to make one, not about using one—and certainly not about using one for human transmutation, and that’s when the Gate shows up.”

 

“Can’t you ask him for some more info?”

 

“It’s not like we have his telephone number.”

 

Oh, how Kaito disliked these days without cellphones, internet, or email. “Send him a letter?”

 

“It’s pretty delicate stuff to just put in a letter.”

 

“A smoke signal, then!”

 

Al laughed a little bit, but it didn’t last. “I don’t think we should bother Dr. Marcoh any further. It was generous and dangerous enough for him to give us his notes.”

 

Kaito kicked at the blankets folded at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at Marcoh’s notes, even though he’d arguably helped Ed and Al decode them; it had been way too technical for Kaito’s limited understanding of both Amestrian and alchemy at the time. “Say Pandora did get spent to send me here,” he said. “How many… souls do you think that would take? Did Marcoh-san’s notes say anything?”

“Well, he talked about the power of the Stone being dependent on how many souls are in it, but…”

 

“Is there a minimum?”

 

Al shook his head. “I guess one?”

 

“And a maximum?”

 

“It didn’t say. In theory, probably not.”

 

“And in reality?”

 

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

 

The door flew open, admitting Ed, who looked unhappy but ready for bed, which put another unceremonious end to one of Kaito’s conversations this evening, so Kaito slipped out of the guest room and into the vacated bathroom. 

 

Pandora was the last secret he had from the Elrics. Hell, not knowing what Al would do with the knowledge went double for Ed; Mustang and Hughes ranked somewhere in there, too. Even if they didn’t have a personal reason to go after the Stone, they were both military, fingers on the hand that had created the things. Whether or not Mustang and Hughes had been aware of that fact at the time, Kaito couldn’t discount the idea they might be more loyal to their country than anything else.

 

He really wanted to believe in the good of people, but it was really hard to, when it came to Pandora.

 

It’s like an omen of death, Kaito thought as he shut off the sink, the handle squeaking generously. Or at least bodily harm. He spat foaming toothpaste into the sink and rinsed it down, watching it swirl away.

 

He’d been buoyed pretty high by his conversation with Aoko the previous night, and it had kept coming back to him throughout the day, making him giddy. Just because Aoko wanted him home. And gods, did Kaito want to be home, getting his teeth knocked in by the business end of her mop. He’d be whistling through broken enamel at the dentists’ office as he forked over some ludicrous amount of cash.

 

If he’d had the courage, he could have bathed Pandora in moonlight and asked it to take him home. Hell, he probably didn’t even need moonlight to do it.

 

At first, he hadn’t tried, mostly out of sheer confusion. Whose knee-jerk reaction to waking up injured in a whole different world would be to take out the pretty pebble he didn’t even know to blame yet and ask nicely?  

 

As things unfolded, that confusion had quickly morphed into apprehension. Fear. Because Pandora was unwieldy. It did what Kaito wanted, but only kind of, and only sometimes. And here he was, brute-forcing his way around the thing anyways. You didn’t have to be on Ed and Al’s level of alchemical genius to know that was a recipe for disaster, on borrowed time until it backfired.

 

He sighed, still staring into the sink. So, he had a what, and he had a why: Pandora, and creepy soul magic, respectively. What he didn’t have was any answers to the plethora of hows— just a series of tentative theories.

 

How had it brought him here without exhausting itself to dust in the process? Soulpower, maybe. But how much? And for that matter, how much soulpower had it begun with? How was Kaito going to get the rock to take him home without incinerating an unknown number of human souls in the process? He wasn’t exactly prepared to sacrifice two limbs, because he was pretty sure Amestrian prosthetic technology was like three hundred years ahead of modern day Japan’s.

 

He shut off the tap, then turned it back on with a squeak of metal to splash his face, trying to ward off a brand new question, a nasty what if: what if Pandora didn’t have enough soul juice left to take him home?

 

What if this was all in vain?

 

Kaito shook off the cold water and groped blindly for a towel. Finding answers bred new questions, a recursive process falling forever with no discernable end state. But he had to hit ground eventually. Coming here had been way too easy. Getting back had to be the same. Just dig into some dimensional theory, pick up a little more alchemy, ask pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top, Oh Pandora Won’t You Cooperate? Then, whistle himself straight to the dentist.

Yeah. Now there was a plan.

 

---

 

Kaito’s dreams were plagued by white expanses, looming doors, the tingling phantom sensations of his fingers being tugged slowly and painfully out of their joints. Of burning, of explosions, heatheatheat, of the scream of sirens and the crackle of fire, of the headlines, the voice lost to time but the contents clear: your father is —

 

Every time he fought his way to wakefulness, Ed’s heavy sleep-breathing—not quite snoring—and the slow but steady scratching of Al’s pen kept Kaito half-aware, his brain free-associating uncomfortable imagery and sensation into a soup of Not Getting Any Rest. Through it all, he was aware of Pandora, because at this point, he kept the damn Stone on him even when he slept. At first, he’d done it by balling up his blue button-down beneath his pillow or just sleeping in it, but by now he’d had the time and materials to modify discrete pockets Pandora-sized pockets into every article of clothing he owned. 

 

(Yes, even his socks.)

 

(Double yes, even his underwear. He wasn’t taking any chances). 

 

Tonight, it was hidden in the left-hand armpit of the sleepshirt Hughes had insisted he keep, meaning that Pandora was all too close to his heart. And it felt wrong. Always at the periphery of his senses, always wiggling, even when he tuned it out. When it snapped into focus, it never failed to bring up imagery that was associated with snakes or worms, or, god forbid, fish.

 

All told, the ‘set it and forget it’ strategy wasn’t working very well.

 

He rolled over and kicked the thin blanket away. He was damp and uncomfortable. The summer heat was no help.

 

What was the opposite of tuning Pandora out? Talking to it more? Maybe there'd be fewer… misunderstandings, if they had an open line of communication. Less risk of wanting to go home and instead being dumped in another, newer, alternate universe. Just for example. 

 

(He was just going to hand-wave the fact that he’d long since started thinking of Pandora as something imbued with a will of its own, because that was another conversation entirely.) 

 

Though there was a logic to the idea, it put an anxious spike in his heart rate. Every time he’d spoken to Pandora, it had reacted, and not always well. He was situated in a perfect catch-22; it would respond unpredictably if he talked to it, but he’d never get better at talking to it without talking to it 

 

This, of course, led him to what he already knew: he’d have to meet Pandora halfway, and the way to do that was alchemy. Which, much to Kaito’s displeasure at ass-o-clock AM, was far easier said than done. People like Ed and Al had started as literal toddlers, and who knew how much time somebody like Mustang had put into the art. Either way, the Elric brothers had about as much experience with alchemy as Kaito did with stage magic, and Kaito didn’t have the luxury of that kind of time here. He was stuck with Pandora twenty-four seven; that made him a ticking bomb, liable to go off in a fantastically unpredictable way as soon as a situation got hairy enough.

 

“Kaito?” Al whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“I can practically hear you thinking.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s…” Al paused. “Are you alright?”

 

The first shafts of watery light were starting to illuminate the room, in all its unfamiliar homeiness; the dark green walls, the oak headboards of the two twin beds that had once housed the child versions of the brothers Elric. Against the wall, Al all but glowed, an imposing figure of armor.

 

“Not really, Al-san.”

 

Al nodded, a slow movement that clanked nonetheless. “Bad dreams?”

 

Kaito scrubbed at his eyes, sighing slowly. “How’d you figure?”

 

“Brother gets them too.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“Yes shit.” Al laughed softly, though not at anyone’s expense.

 

“You don’t sleep, do you, Al-san?” Kaito asked, despite the fact his morbid curiosity could get him in trouble here. But Al just nodded. “Would you say that’s better or worse than having the nightmares?”

 

Al’s leather fingers were folded over his lap, politely. “I’d prefer the nightmares. The nights are lonely.”

 

Kaito could imagine, having spent—god, nearly two weeks here in Amestris. The cities here went dormant at night in a way that Tokyo never did. Kaito rather thought he could accredit that to the prominence of electric lights. “I’m a bit of a night owl myself,” he said anyway.

 

“I was, too,” Al admitted. “Not as much as Brother. But neither of us really saw the point in sleeping when we could be studying.”

 

Kaito whistled low.

 

Al’s response was wry, laced with good humor. “Shut up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“But you wanted to.”

 

“...when did you get to know me so well, Al-san?”

 

Al laughed softly again, and Kaito smiled into the darkness, just a little. It was easy to forget how young Al was; true, it was only a couple years between them—not a lot in the grand scheme of things, and Al wasn’t as young as, say, Tantei-kun— but all the same. Maybe it was these introspective nights that had aged Al this way.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Your nightmare,” Al said. “Brother never does, but… I usually wanted to.”

 

“Ah.” Kaito teased the idea around his mouth. So much of his nightmare had been about Pandora, his waking thoughts laced so heavily with it too, preoccupied with the potential costs to get home. Then, there’d been… “I was trying to save Hughes-san, but instead… it was… when my old man died, I… the smoke…”

 

His story went offline. Uncertainty paced in his gut like a cat in restless circles. Al waited, patient and solid beside Ed’s bed, where Ed’s now-familiar breathing pattern was a steady presence.

 

Finally, Kaito shook his head. “Sorry. It wasn’t very clear.”

 

“Were you there?”

 

Kaito didn’t need Al to clarify. “Yeah. I went to all his shows back then.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“They called it an accident.” Kaito closed his eyes tight enough that lightning sparks danced against in the pitch black. “Faulty breaker. Boom.”

 

“Our mom got sick,” Al said. “It was slow.”

 

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

 

Al inclined his head, slightly. “Brother thinks… he thinks we killed her twice, trying to bring her back.”

 

It was a blow that hadn’t pulled its punches. Kaito was at loss for an appropriate response. Al sighed, slow and rolling; if he’d had lungs, it would have been an exhale from the depths.

 

“Whether we did or not…” Al said. He didn’t finish the thought.

 

“Bearing witness,” Kaito whispered, a fragment of an idea that he didn’t want to fully form. After a few minutes, it came, unbidden. “Bearing witness is a burden enough.”

 

“It’s the flow of life,” Al said. “I think it’s more beautiful, seeing it in its entirety. For every death, there’s something beautiful, too. Like the color pink, for bawling newborn babies and thin flocks of clouds gathered at the horizon.”

 

“Are you a poet, Al-san?” Kaito asked, not bothering to repress the teasing lilt.

 

“Only occasionally.”

 

“Pretty sure it’s a full-time job.”

 

“Too bad I spent so much time on alchemy and research, then.”

 

“You’re such a nerd, Al-san.”

 

“There it is.” Al unfolded his hands from their position twined in his lap and smoothed a hand instead over the tuft of decorative hair that sprouted jauntily from high on his helmet. “I’ll be a better poet when I have my body back,” he said, gaze straying out the window, Kaito’s following. “I want to be able to write with all my senses.” Then, without much preamble, he looked back at Kaito. “Why don’t you write poetry? You’re a very physical person.”

 

“Eh, I’ll leave it to people with the appropriate attention span,” Kaito dismissed. But he couldn’t really brush off the meat of Al’s comment; he did live an extremely physical life, tethered so directly to his body and how it interfaced with the world around it—from his trained dexterity and athleticism to his reliance on instinctual observations for the speed of his reflexes. He suddenly found a new depth to his sympathy for Al; to be only a soul, with only a shell of physicality, must have meant that Al had to completely relearn how to be. Kaito knew he’d sure have had to.

 

Ed grunted; for a moment Kaito thought they’d woken him, but his breathing resumed its cadence a moment later. Kaito took this as his cue to toss away the last dredges of sleep. He saluted Al, who gave a small nod, before ghosting out of the room. He stopped by the bathroom, brushed his teeth, slathered a fresh coat of burn cream to his face and neck, and then slid downstairs on silent feet. 

 

While he wasn’t hungry, he’d regret it if he didn’t make himself eat something; he needed the fuel. Not for the first time in his life, he desperately wished that coffee didn’t do absolutely fuck all beside making his stomach hurt. There was a reason he always ordered cocoa at coffee shops, no matter how much Aoko took pleasure in poking fun at (and exaggerating) his sweet tooth.

 

He loitered in the hallway a moment, rubbing his jaw. His mental picture of Aoko really had it out for his teeth, didn’t she…? Maybe he should reconsider the amount of cheer he took with him to the dentist.

 

He ate some cold meat on a piece of bread in the middle of the kitchen and felt kind of like an animal, but then decided he didn’t really care. He did absently note that Ling had taken his advice and snuck down here for a meal of his own, based on the hearty portion that had been enthusiastically carved out of the mashed potato container. Hell, he was kind of surprised there was anything left at all.

 

Last night’s dinner conversation had been tumultuous, and not in the fun way that a tumultuous dinner conversation was at the Nakamori household. Ed had steered the conversation with all the finesse of using a red flag to guide a bull through a china shop. At least it had given Kaito some information: Izumi didn’t think he could get home without either mangling himself or using Pandora. Not that Pandora was a particularly safe or ethical option, or even surefire.

 

While it was interesting to hear from her, it wasn’t groundbreaking. Kaito was more preoccupied with Ed’s conviction Kaito had paid a toll to the thing called Truth, despite all evidence to the contrary. Unless he’d traded away something he hadn’t even noticed was gone? It was a sinister thought.

 

It’d be ironic if I traded my soul or something, Kaito thought morosely, opening and closing cabinets until he found a cup. Make me the opposite of Al, just a shell with nothing inside. I guess just shove Pandora in there instead, right? Souls for days.

 

He drank some water and then drew a finger through the film of water at the bottom of the sink, frowning. From what he’d learned so far, the Gate seemed like some kind of dimensional stop-gap. It was a bit on the nose that the place was dominated by a doorway and called a ‘gate’ in the first place, because it seemed to Kaito like it served just as that: a passageway from dimension to dimension.

 

His diagram took shape, somewhat like a starburst with one circle in the middle to represent the Gate and a cluster of other dots around it, all connected to the central one. An unknown number of universes, all linked up with the Gate—or at least a white space—in the middle.

 

“This thing’s a glorified bus stop,” Kaito muttered. It was only missing the benches, and the maps, and… the busses. Okay, so it was nothing like a bus stop.

 

But, if his diagram was any kind of accurate, then Kaito had to count himself lucky that he’d been thrown into Amestris rather than, say, deep space. Or an active volcano. Or a planet with an atmosphere that didn’t have the right ratio of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon monoxide. The fact that Central City’s pavement hadn’t killed him on impact was a small mercy.

 

Footsteps drew Kaito out of his thoughts. Enter Izumi, looking far too awake than was polite for the hour. She gave him a tidy once over. “I didn’t take you to be a morning person.”

 

“Who said I’m a morning person?”

 

Izumi swiped a kettle off a shelf. “Coffee?”

 

“Is there cocoa, actually?”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Cocoa in the summer?”

 

Kaito crossed his arms. “You’re literally boiling water for hot drinks. You don’t have room to talk.”

 

She barked a laugh. “Fair enough,” she said, sparking the stove. She pulled down a few dry ingredients and dropped two solid-color mugs on the counter as well. “So, Kaito. You’re an alchemist.”

 

“I wouldn’t say so. Not technically.”

 

“Either you are or you aren’t.”

 

“It’s called something different where I’m from.”

 

“Alchemy is alchemy, kid,” she said brusquely. “You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“You didn’t phrase it as a question.”

 

Izumi speared him with a very sharp, very effective glare. “Fine, brat. What do you call it in your world?”

 

“...red magic?”

 

Izumi snorted disbelievingly. “Call it magic is admitting you don’t understand the fundamental rules.”

 

While that was a fair assessment of Kaito’s grasp of red magic and alchemy, he had a reputation to uphold. “I’m going to blame the multiple layers of translation for that connotation,” he said. “Anyway, what’s the fun of life without a little mystery?”

 

“In alchemy, mystery is a death sentence.” Izumi laid this fact down sharply, a true teacher beneath the porcupine exterior.

 

Kaito scratched uncomfortably at the peeling skin on his nose under Izumi’s dark gaze, thinking of Ed and Al, and how they’d just barely squeaked out of death’s clutches. “I suppose my world’s version of alchemy might not work the same as yours,” Kaito said eventually. If Akako was the measuring stick, well. “Red magic basically thrives on mystery. But I haven’t had time to do more than read up on the basics here.”

 

“You’ll need to do a lot more than reading to understand the basics.” The kettle whistles. Izumi stirred up their drinks.

 

Kaito joined her at the table, blowing on his cocoa. Izumi seemed disinclined to continue their conversation, but there was only so long Kaito could sit across from someone like her without trying to pick her brains at least a little bit. 

 

“What does it take?”

 

“My teacher left me to fend for myself in the Briggs mountain for an entire winter,” Izumi declared, thunking her mug on the table and leaning towards him with no small measure of intensity. “I killed a bear to survive!”

 

Kaito winced back. “Did you make Ed-san and Al-san do that?”

 

“No.” She narrowed her eyes, mouth pulling taut like the honest answer disappointed her. “They spent thirty days on an island. Generous and cushy, if you ask me; no predators, an abundance of plants and animals to eat… it was child’s play.”

 

Kaito did the mental math. “How old were they?”

 

“Ten and eleven.”

 

“Oh. Child’s play.” It was all he could say. “Well, I’m not doing that.”

 

“Do I look like your teacher?” Izumi snapped.

 

“Nope, not at all,” Kaito replied quickly. “Nothing like him.” He quickly hid behind his mug of cocoa.

 

“Good.” She somehow made her next sip of coffee look extremely threatening.

 

It was no wonder Ed and Al had seemed so frightened when they’d first brought up their teacher, days ago, holed up in the hospital. Kaito had spoken to her for all of five minutes and he was losing ground, fast. “Sooooo. I heard you’re the best alchemist Ed-san and Al-san know.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“Is teaching like… your job?” He could picture her churning out students like Ed and Al every few years, but it was an intimidating image.

 

“No. I’m just a housewife.”

 

Just a housewife. Kaito didn’t believe that for one second. 

 

“And I run Curtis Meats with Sig,” she added, as if that completely answered everything.

 

“And Ed-san said you travel?”

 

“Yes,” she said, and offered no other information, and then proceeded to eye him over another sip of her coffee. “That’s how I met Hohenheim.”

 

“D’you really think he’d know about how I can go home without trading a limb or, like, a hundred human souls?”

 

Her mug hit the table with an audible thunk, sounding heavier than it had a right to when it had been halfway drained. “Why did you come to Amestris in the first place?”

 

Kaito scowled at her, unable to resist the rising frustration, but managed to redirect it at his cocoa instead when it only earned him a glare. “I just didn’t want to die.”

 

“So you decided to traipse to a new dimension.”

 

“No! I didn’t even mean to do alchemy. I had Pandora, I was getting shot at, thinking, well, this would be a really shit time and place to die, and zap, I’m here, comin’ in hot.” He mimed the angle of his crash with his hand. “Have you ever heard of a Philosopher’s Stone acting on its own like that?”

 

“Hm. No, can’t say I have.”

 

“Well, that’s what happened,” Kaito said.

 

When Izumi raised a doubtful eyebrow, he described the events in further detail. As she listened, she visibly shifted from her bristly, impersonal mode to a more thoughtful one. “There was no transmutation circle,” she noted, eyes drifting upward. “I guess that’s the power of a Stone, if nothing else. You’d never done alchemy without a circle before that?”

 

Try never done alchemy before, period, Kaito thought. “Never.”

 

“But you didn’t pass through the Gate.”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

A furrow appeared between Izumi’s brows. “Perhaps alchemy really does work differently in your world.”

 

“Wait, what are you thinking?”

 

Izumi’s gaze snapped down on Kaito. “Spar with me.”

 

Kaito wilted. “That’s not an invitation, is it? It’s an order?”

 

“If you can talk and spar at the same time, then we can continue this conversation.”

 

Kaito took a mental stock of his injuries; the only thing still limiting his mobility was the stab wound, and he’d run on it a few times already without yanking a stitch out or keeling over from the pain, so he was probably safe to do a little more. Then again, Kaito wasn’t a fighter, but a flight-er. “What kind of sparring?”

 

“Hand to hand.”

 

Great. “I’m not trained in hand to hand.”

 

“Then you’re a bad alchemist.”

 

“I’m not an alchemist,” Kaito complained, tossing his hands in the air. “And I thought it was a science?”

 

“To train the mind, you must first train the body.”

 

Kaito groaned. “Fine! I’ll spar with you, but don’t get upset if you can’t land a blow on me.”

 

Izumi snorted. She definitely didn’t believe him. The thing was, Kaito didn’t believe himself, either. 

 

“You’re on, kid,” she said.

 

Kaito changed into his grey pants and black undershirt, shoved on his shoes, and met Izumi in the front yard where she’d flipped Ed and Al around like sacks of flour upon arrival. She was still in the slippers, loose pants, and t-shirt she’d wandered into the kitchen with, arms crossed and stance wide. The only difference was that she’d gathered her loose braids into a high ponytail. 

 

Kaito stood at the ready a few feet away, balanced on his toes; as he drew in a fortifying breath, he fired up those instinctual cylinders, the ones that ran full-power in his subconscious and gut to allow him to eel around a hundred officers a night.

 

“You call that a fighting stance?” Izumi asked.

 

“I thought you weren’t my teacher.”

 

“You look ready to leap in the air.” Izumi smiled, teeth concealed behind her tightly pressed lips as she transitioned wordlessly into what Kaito recognized as a martial arts stance, right foot forward. She beckoned Kaito on with a hand. 

 

Kaito didn’t move, cataloguing her position, distance from the house, and the possible handholds on the wall of the butchery that bordered the yard, should he need to climb it. Though his attention was away from her only a moment, that was the opportunity she took to charge him when he failed to make the first move.

 

He just barely avoided her fist, and only his experience as Kid kept him from yelping in surprise. He quickly positioned himself behind her, just before she spun to face him again, forcing him to dodge a swift roundhouse kick.

 

She re-centered her stance for only a second before attacking again; this time, she got a hold of Kaito’s elbow when he didn’t move fast enough. Kaito managed to twist away before she sent him into a wall; as it was, he still stumbled heavily into it before catching himself. Kaito shook his arm out and watched Izumi warily as they circled each other.

 

“Are you going to dance around me all day?” Izumi asked, amused.

 

“I’m fine on defense,” Kaito said.

 

“Have it your way.” Izumi swept for his ankles. Kaito leapt, circled behind her again. The next several moments were a blur of dodging and near-misses, so it wasn’t until Kaito had scrambled several paces away and to get a breather that he was able to bring back the conversation they’d been having before.

 

“So,” he panted. “You agree red magic isn’t alchemy.”

 

“Might be more different than I’d thought.”

 

“And what’s up with the Gate?”

 

“It’s not the Gate so much as it’s your Gate.” Izumi brushed her hands together and surveyed Kaito’s wary position near the fencepost. She wasn’t out of breath. She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “It’s your point of access to the flow of power that you must tap to perform alchemy.” 

 

So, useless for me, Kaito surmised, reaching behind himself one-handed to lever himself up. “Not a dimensional hub, then?” He paced down the fence like a balance beam.

 

“The only two dimensions I know of are this one and the Gate.” Izumi leapt onto the fence after him like a—like some kind of animal that lived on a mountain. Kaito was too busy bailing out with a frontflip-turned-safety roll to think of an appropriate comparison.

 

Surfacing from the combination felt like a lightswitch being flipped: adrenaline rushed through Kaito’s body, and for the first time in several weeks, it was a good adrenaline. Better than running across rooftops with Paninya, though not quite as good as when his phone turned on the first time. 

 

This adrenaline held a special place in his heart, reserved for when his body was in motion. These were the kind of moves he hadn’t been able to do, cooped up in the hospital. They were so well integrated into his heists as Kaitou Kid and his pranks as Kuroba Kaito that he was stunned he hadn’t thought to try bringing them out sooner.

 

A physical existence he led, indeed.

 

Grinning wide, he took off. He dodged Izumi’s attacks with an entirely renewed vigor, with everything from back handsprings and cartwheels to a notable two-step wallflip, pushing himself until the only things he was aware of were the regulation of his own breathing, the incoming attacks, and the satisfying ache of dormant muscles waking.

 

He couldn’t say how long the flow state lasted, but it wasn’t infinite; Kaito was a natural multitasker, and as such, activity always helped him think rather than the other way around. And, so: the Gate was inside him?

 

Or, rather, there was one inside everyone, at least, anyone who could do alchemy. And while Kaito wasn’t sure if he could do real alchemy, he could use Pandora, which implied that he had a Gate. The fact he’d briefly visited a white space when healing Hughes, that may or may not have contained a Gate, also implied as much, though Kaito still wasn’t sure what to make of that, entirely.

 

That moment was a conundrum of its own; no other instance of Pandora’s alchemy had taken him there, not fully—only healing Hughes. While it was still possible that he could be missing memories, he really, really didn’t think he was. His memory was excellent, to the point of being near-eidetic, and he’d know if he was missing any more time than the days he’d spent in the hospital.

 

But here was a new question: if Pandora was made out of souls, and Pandora did alchemy, what did that mean for regular, non-Pandora-induced alchemy? And if the Gate was one’s access point to alchemy, or the flow that gave rise to alchemy, as Izumi had explained it, did that mean that the Gate was actually a doorway to one’s own soul?

 

And if it was a gate, like, in the normal sense of the word, that implied things passed through it. As Ed’s hypothesis went, Kaito had passed through it. Hell, Ed claimed he himself had passed through it once or twice.

 

But if Kaito was right, and the Gate led to one’s soul, and was also a dimensional bus stop, did that mean that Tokyo was sitting on the other side of Kaito’s personal Gate? Like, inside him? Inside his soul? 

 

And if a person could pass through the Gate, what else could?

 

Actually, he already knew— energy could pass through. Everything, at its core, was energy. A person was energy and then some. But a cellphone signal—something that was just energy—what was keeping it from just… swimming along?

 

“Oh my god,” Kaito said, landing a cartwheel and coming to a complete halt in the middle of the yard. The answer, he saw now, was nothing. Nothing was preventing pure energy from passing through the Gate. Maybe it just never stopped, and you’d never know unless you had something around that could gauge that energy. Alchemy tapped into that motion; everyone talked about a flow, right? And with his Gate, specifically— “Holy shit, I’m a walking wi-fi hotspot.”

 

This was, of course, the only opportunity Izumi needed to flip him onto his back.

 

His shoulders hit the ground and all the air was knocked viciously from his lungs. He was lucky she’d thrown him onto the grass, because even the relatively soft earth rattled his skull, an unkind reminder of the failed roll that had knocked him out after the Pandora heist. He wheezed, trying to get his air back, then scrambled away in a messy crab-walk when Izumi’s shadow fell over him.

 

A faint snicker came from above, halting Izumi. Kaito, still struggling to inhale, spotted Ed and Al at the guest room window.

 

“If you have time to laugh, you have time to spar!” Izumi bellowed. The color drained from both brothers. “Get down here now!”

 

---

 

Notes:

I can’t believe it took me this long to look up parkour videos and teach myself the safety roll.

I’ve played poker exactly once in my life. It was on a train and the chips were peanut M&Ms. I had a really good hand at the beginning, got overconfident, and subsequently lost completely everything, because I had no concept of what a good hand was. So: I have no idea how to play poker. I didn’t even know if you could play with just two people until I asked my partner, and was quite relieved when the answer was yes, because I REALLY wanted Ling and Kaito to play poker XD Also, the card game Ling mentioned is a real Chinese card game which I pulled from wikipedia and tossed in there to give Xing some specificity.

Chapter 22: The Devil's Nest

---

 

After the Elrics—and by extension, Kaito—had the tar beaten out of them by Izumi, there was lunch, which was a rather fend-for-yourself affair in the face of Ed’s appetite. Kaito spent most of the meal eagerly pestering the Elrics about when they could go back to Rush Valley and check on Winry’s progress with the phone charger, but all he got was an exasperated, “We just got to Dublith!” from Ed, and from Al, an amused, “Didn’t you want to come here with us?” 

 

It was sometime after that, while Kaito was staring in a mirror contemplating his hair color (currently in the no-man’s land between his normal near-black and Gracia’s dusty chestnut) that the Curtis home erupted into chaos.

 

“What do you mean you can’t find Al?” Ed shrieked from somewhere downstairs. 

 

Kaito stuck his head out a window. In the yard, Ed was standing with his teacher, who was holding a broom. Both of them looked perplexed and agitated as Izumi called a worker from the butcher shop and sent him into town. 

 

Kaito hooked his hands onto the upper lip of the window and pulled himself onto the roof, and found Ling, also watching the commotion with his legs crossed and chin resting on one hand. “D’ya know what this is about?” Kaito asked.

 

“Nope,” Ling replied.

 

The two gazed down at the yard for a while as Ed stalked inside, then outside again, calling for his brother, like a bad game of hide-and-seek. Really bad.

 

“You said Al-san can mask his qi, right?” Kaito asked, as Ed glared up a tree (did he think Al had climbed it?). “Could you track that? Like, the negative space?”

 

Ling tapped a finger against his nose. “Hmm. Probably not.”

 

“Damn.” Between last night and this afternoon, there hadn’t been much time to dedicate brain power to the problem that was Ling—and by extension, qi. Kaito still wasn’t certain he understood what Ling was referencing when he talked about qi, other than a vague notion of energies that had to do with physical bodies. A demonstration of sorts would have helped.

 

“This city, much like this country, is filled with strange qi,” Ling mused.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“My, Kaitou,” Ling faked a gasp, “can’t you sense it?”

 

“Not everyone is trained by royal senseis or whatever.”

 

Ling’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment. “An alkahestrist who can’t sense qi,” he said. “Very strange.” But he moved on with a shrug. “Well, in Xing, qi flows freely, naturally, through every person and animal, but most of all through the land and air. It’s dulled here, and moves in…” He approximated something popping with his hands. “Bursts.” 

 

“...except for me and Al-san?”

 

“It’s almost as if Al-san has no qi at all. Like he’s dead.”

 

“That’s unsettling. Thanks. And me?”

 

“You have entirely too much qi.”

 

“Suits me, doesn’t it?”

 

“Hmm mmm.” Ling drew out the sound so far that Kaito’s mouth was practically buzzing in sympathy. “Let me rephrase. You do have a normal qi, but it’s buried deep beneath exponential layers.” Then, helpful and bright, he added, “Tangled. Remember?”

 

“I remember.” Kaito located a bit of burnt skin to peel off his cheek. “Have you ever met anybody else with a qi like mine?”

 

“Nope! Not once.”

 

Kaito gazed out over the rooftops that sprawled ahead of them. And, all at once, two magnets snapped together in the back of his mind: qi… chi. It had been so itchingly familiar because the same concept existed back home—a circulating life force. Hell, even the words were irritatingly similar. Why hadn’t he made the connection last night?

 

In Mandarin, chi translated to ‘air’, or ‘breath’—which now conjured the unsettling image of every soul inside Pandora inhaling in tandem as Kaito filled his lungs. Based on that mental image alone, Kaito wouldn’t discount the idea that Pandora was the very thing ‘tangling’ his qi. Anyway, it wasn’t a very roundabout trip from ‘life energy’ to ‘soul essence’, and Pandora was not in short supply of the latter.

 

But if a soul was one’s life force, how was Al, being only a soul, devoid of qi? Especially when the writhing souls inside a rock provided an abundance of it? Maybe it wasn’t that Al’s qi was nonexistent, but instead weak or hidden. After all, Ling had first described Al’s qi as ‘masked’. If one soul, isolated and alone, was too weak to sense definitively, how many would it take jammed together to create the kind of sensation Ling described getting from Kaito?

 

…he didn’t want to know.

 

“Well,” Ling said, “maybe once.”

 

Kaito had lost the thread of conversation completely. “Whuzzat?”

 

“There’s another one like you, right here in this city.”

 

Kaito scrambled messily to his feet. “What?” Did that mean someone else had a Stone? Here? So close, after… everything the whole lot of them had gone through?

 

“Yes,” Ling said, happily oblivious to Kaito’s suddenly stuttering heartbeat, standing with a laid-back elegance. “They have a strong presence, so much so that I can feel them faintly even now.”

 

“Maybe we should go check it out,” Kaito said, projecting as much casual air as he could, and knowing that he was failing, based on the fact he’d leapt a half foot in the air only about three seconds ago. “It could have something to do with Al-san vanishing!”

 

“Indeed,” Ling didn’t stop to check if Kaito would—or could—follow; just leapt deftly from the roof of the Curtis’ home to their shop. “Let’s go!”

 

Their route zigged onto ledges and zagged over balconies. Every so often, Ling paused to tilt his head at the city below, ponytail swinging; he was never stationary long enough for it to still completely. It was a good thing; had Kaito stopped to think, he’d probably have been obligated to talk himself out of this little adventure. After all, if whoever they were approaching did have a Stone, Kaito wasn’t eager to fight them. And if he had to—hopefully they’d be a bit less trigger-happy than Envy.

 

…maybe he should just operate on the assumption that they were headed towards a fresh Envy situation. In which case he was a little bit screwed in more than one way. But it was too late for regrets; Ling emerged from a low landing crouch in a cobblestone alley, brightly announcing, “We’re here!”

 

Their destination was a nondescript establishment, sandwiched so closely between its neighboring buildings that they shared the dividing walls. The archway was adorned with a green sign dubbing it “The Devil’s Nest”, and the door was set far enough back to be swathed in shadows. 

 

“And where’s here, exactly?” Kaito wondered.

 

Here proved to be a bar, one that wasn’t locked or even unpopulated, despite it being mid-morning on a Saturday. There was exactly one person lounging at the bartop, who startled when they walked in. “Hey, who’re—”

 

Kaito pulled his cargun. “Cover your eyes, Ling-san.”

 

Ling tucked his face into his elbow as Kaito fired a flash bomb at the ground. The bartender yelped, and while he was blinded, Kaito hauled Ling through the back door. They emerged in a hallway with green walls and concrete floors that echoed their footsteps back to them like a cave. They chose a turn, seemingly at random. 

 

“Um, how precise is your qi-sensor?” Kaito asked.

 

“This signature is impossible to miss,” Ling replied. Then, he stopped to cup his chin thoughtfully, ignoring Kaito’s antsy momentum. “Actually… There's another strange qi signature here. More than one.” 

 

He did an abrupt about-face. Kaito had no choice but to follow Ling’s altered course. “Wanna bet that’s where Al-san will be?”

 

“Oh, no. I am not going to gamble with you again. I only have one candy!” 

 

The tenor of voices carried into the hall from a room not ten feet away, and Kaito bit back a response as he recognized Al. As they moved closer the voices resolved into easy intelligibility. 

 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Al was saying.

“Really?” a stranger asked.

 

“Mhmm. My friends and I have met a few others like you.”

 

“I’m surprised they were interested in the secret of your body, too.”

 

“I don’t think they were, actually… In fact, one of them killed a couple of others like me.”

 

Hiding around doorways again, Kaito thought sadly. This had to make, what… three times in as many days? Four? This is getting depressingly amateurish. I oughta look into getting Ed-san and Winry-san to help me whip up some listening devices…

 

“Lust, I think?” Al was still talking. “I don’t think she was the one who put the Slicer brothers in the armor, but she wasn’t surprised about it.”

 

“...so you don’t need a demonstration that I’m a homunculus?” The stranger sounded almost disappointed.

 

“Not really. Thanks, though. So, if their names were Lust and Envy, what does that make you? ...Gluttony?”

 

“No way!” Enter indignance. “I’m Greed. Got it? Greed. I want money, women, status, and glory! Everything the world has to offer, especially the secret to soul transmutation. And you’re gonna tell me all about it, kid! How does it feel, to have a body that will never die?”

 

“Pretty bad,” Al said morosely. Kaito almost snorted. “You know I can still die, right?”

 

“But your body will never fail you,” the newly identified Greed enthused. “It’ll never deteriorate, get tired or hungry—”

 

“Yeah, and it sucks,” Al interjected. “I also can’t feel. Does that sound like a walk in the park to you? Just because this body can’t die the same way a human body can doesn’t mean it can’t die at all— hey! No way am I telling you how to kill me!”

 

“I don’t want to kill you. You’re a child!” Greed sounded offended, like he couldn’t fathom somebody who would want to murder a child. At least he drew a line somewhere. “Why’d you put your soul in that body if you didn’t want it?”

“I didn’t do the transmutation,” Al said. “And I don’t even remember it, so there’s nothing I can tell you.”

 

“Awe, c’mon. I told you my secret!”

 

“It wasn’t that secret.”

 

Feet pounded down the hall behind Kaito and Ling. Bartender Guy had gathered a (very small) brigade, who was now charging them with weapons drawn—Kaito spotted two blades and a mallet as Bartender Guy shouted, “There’s the sods!” before the miniature mob was on them and swinging.

 

Kaito disarmed one brute with a few well-placed cards as Ling parried and blocked another, before slamming the hilt of his weapon beneath his chin and sending him down like a sack of potatoes. Within seconds, Ling had taken Bartender Guy down too, leaving only Kaito’s opponent standing albeit weaponless. He looked ready to take this into fist-fight territory. Sure enough, he roared, “Assholes! I’ll take you both!”

 

“Do we have to?” Kaito asked, wincing at the two downed guys. They weren’t exactly the same level of threat he’d anticipated, remembering Envy and a gun held point-blank. Instead, he tried to picture the downed mini-mob members in Kid Task Force uniforms, which made him feel a little better, but also slightly worse in a different way that he didn’t care to examine closely. 

 

“Yes!” shouted Mr. Fist-Fight, and lunged.

 

Kaito readied one of the few gas pellets he’d made at Hughes’ office. It would be risky to use without gas masks for himself or Ling, but if he maneuvered well, he could get it to spread into the room Al was being held in, and Al wouldn’t be at risk, so it would easily cut down the time necessary to—

 

Ling moved like liquid to tussle with Mr. Fist-Fight, easily avoiding a few heavy swings and quickly ending it with a neat blow to the temple. When Ling straightened up, he was smiling placidly once more.

 

Maybe Kaito shouldn’t grift Ling too hard next time they played poker. “Thanks.”

 

The interrogation room exploded open. “What the hell is going on out here?” 

 

The new arrival wore a modified karate gi and sword sheath—the sword drawn. He was too small to fully obscure the doorway, and behind him Kaito spotted Al trussed up against the far wall, an unamused tall dude standing over him. How anybody could be so unhappy in such a gaudy outfit—the fur-lined vest and round specs were only the start—Kaito didn’t know. Two other shapes flitted at the periphery of the room.

 

“Relax, it’s just a little party. You know how it is; some people just can’t handle their liquor,” Kaito said.

 

“Kaito?” Al said, surprised. “Listen! This guy is—” Then, incredulously, “Ling?”

 

“No way that dude’s Ling,” Kaito said, pointing at Fur Vest with his card gun.

 

“Hiiii!” Ling said, wiggling his fingers. “Long time no see!”

 

“We left you in Rush Valley!” Al exclaimed.

“No, you didn’t,” Ling said. 

Al sighed so hard that his helmet bowed. Gi Guy shoved his sword into Kaito’s face. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?”

 

Kaito eyed the very sharp thing that was very close to his nose, going slightly cross-eyed. “We just came to find Al-san. Mind putting that away?”

 

Gi Guy shot a doubtful sidelong glance at Ling, whose shorter, more curved sword was also still drawn.

 

“Both of you can put those away,” Kaito clarified. “Please?”

 

Neither budged. Kaito supposed that was only fair, since his cardgun was still in hand, too. Well, at least it wasn’t Envy-and-a-pistol-to-the-heart.

 

“Friends of yours? Very cute,” Fur Vest drawled. Greed, Kaito recognized from the voice.

 

“So, yeah, real shindig this is, but let’s get outta here, Al-san.” Kaito slid sideways of Gi Guy’s sword, which followed him. 

 

“No can do,” Gi Guy growled.

 

“Greed is a homunculus!” Al burst out, exasperated. 

 

Kaito squinted, trying the mental gymnastics of translating a new word several times and not quite sticking the landing. Great, this was ‘qi’ all over again. “...gesundheit?”

 

“Oi!” Greed planted a palm on Al’s helmet. “You can’t give it away right off the bat!”

 

“We basically already knew,” Al said.

 

“Don’t you have any respect for narrative tension?”

 

“No, in fact, I’m sick of it!”

 

Kaito rubbed at the side of his nose, studying the tattoo on Greed’s hand. It was easy to recognize as the twin of Lust’s. So they finally had a term for these… people. He just had to grasp the full weight behind the name Al had given.

 

Al shook off Greed’s hand with a sigh. “Where’s Brother? He should be here for this.”

 

“He’ll probably be along soon.” Kaito turned fresh eyes on Al’s restraints. “Wait, Al-san, did you get… kidnapped? How? You’re like seven feet tall!”

 

“You try getting your helmet kicked off so somebody can crawl inside your armor,” Al muttered, sounding for once like a petulant fourteen-year-old.

 

“Ew,” Ling sympathized, draping himself over Kaito’s shoulders, supposedly just to be annoying.

 

Greed groaned noisily. Kaito respected that, one drama queen to another. “Dolcetto, let them in,” he said, screwing up his eyes and rubbing two knuckles against his temple like the whole situation (and the amount of cross-talk) was giving him a headache. “We just need some information from the kid here, and then you can all just…” He made a shooing motion. “Scamper off.”

 

Gi Guy stepped aside with a sniff.

 

Ling bounced past, using Kaito as a prop. “Yes! Let’s talk about soul transmutation, Al-san,” he enthused, like he hadn’t just knocked three goons unconscious in the hallway—let’s be honest—entirely by himself. “I’d like to know it too!”

 

Kaito took the chance to get a more thorough look at the room. It seemed to be a storage room, with crates stacked by one wall and pipes lining the ceiling. Not a bad location for an interrogation, if it weren’t for the painfully thin walls. Exit count returned two: the door behind them, and another not far from Al.

 

Greed generously gave Al the floor with a grand sweep of his arms. “Speak!”

 

“No. If I knew anything, I still wouldn’t tell you. Either of you! And if you ask Brother, he’ll bite your heads off.”

 

“Even if I tell you how to make a homunculus?” Greed asked. “That way, you get a human body, I get a damn near immortal one, and we’re all happy.”

 

“I don’t want a homunculus body, I want my body,” Al said.

 

“C’mon, it’s still a human body, just tougher.” Greed gave himself a self-congratulatory chest pat. “I should know; this one’s been kickin’ for almost two hundred years.”

 

“I don’t want to live for two hundred years.”

 

That was about when Kaito’s brain managed to figure out how to do the correct translation tumble for the second time that day: Greed and the other sin-named evildoers were artificial humans. Regeneration, special abilities and all, identifiable by that (frankly, somewhat silly) tattoo, like members of a gang in a made-for-tv American movie. 

 

Maybe Kaito didn’t know a lot about alchemy, but he did know a thing or two about immortality-obsessed villains, and the whole situation reeked of a furious grab for immortality—the very same thing that had ultimately landed Pandora in his palm. The knowledge that Greed was after soul transmutation, the very thing that swirled away beneath Pandora’s shiny exterior, rang like an unpleasant tolling in Kaito’s mind.

 

Aaaand the prince looked a little too intrigued by Greed’s claims. Great, just what this hostage(?) situation needed: someone new digging a little too deep and a little too dangerously on legends that were a little too real.

 

Greed sniffed, still focused on Al. “Well, I’m not letting you go until we learn something.”

 

“And I said neither Brother nor I are going to tell you anything.”

 

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with—”

 

“How many times do we have to go over this?” Al asked, exasperated.

 

“Say, why don’t we bring Ed-san here? No harm in trying,” Ling suggested, ever the helpful one. “Kaitou, go fetch Ed-san.”

 

“What? No,” Kaito said. “I’m not leaving without Al-san.”

 

“Well, I’ve just volunteered you to fetch Ed-san. Chop-chop!”

 

“I’m not going. You’re not the boss of me.”

 

“Ah, but I am your prince.”

 

“You’re not my prince! You can’t just absorb me into the Yao clan! I never agreed to that!” Let alone the fact Ling pretty much knew Kaito wasn’t even Xingan to begin with.

 

“Ah, pity, I was going to say we could play poker with Lan Fan next time.”

 

“She has knives—s he almost turned Ed-san into a kebab yesterday!”

 

“Yes, isn’t it great?” Ling’s voice was getting into sappy territory. Gross.

 

“It’s scary,” Kaito said heartily. “Actually, shouldn’t she be here right now? Flinging knives at this guy?” He swung a finger towards Greed.

 

“Children,” Greed muttered, unimpressed. 

 

“Teenagers, actually!” Ling corrected him cheerfully.

 

“Humans,” Greed compromised.

 

“So, immortality,” Ling said.

 

“And soul transmutation?” Kaito added.

 

“Those aren’t the same thing,” Al said. “At all. Please don’t confuse them.”

 

“Either one should work for my purposes, really,” Ling said.

 

Greed loosed an impressive groan, truly more extravagant than the last. “This is dragging on,” he complained, eyes flickering to the burly man with gray hair tied back in a low ponytail who’d been observing the proceedings like a threatening statue. “Roa, take the armor boy away. We’ll just pull him apart and analyze him.”

 

“Wait, what?” Al cried.

 

“Hey, that’s inhumane!” Kaito yelped.

 

“Who’s human?” Greed clicked his fingers at Roa. “Go on.”

 

If they were moving on to threats of bodily harm, then it was high time Kaito put his cardgun to use. The sharpened edges of two cards struck into the chains around Al’s wrists, and Al finished them off with a sharp jerk.

 

Kaito expected Al to move immediately, and granted, it looked like Al tried to reach for the chain around his ankles, but his thick hands had gone trembling and slow in a way that Kaito had never seen before. Alarmed, Kaito wondered if they’d managed to somehow drug Al’s soul, before realizing that whoever’d crawled inside him was probably still messing around in there. 

 

Roa hip-checked Kaito away when he tried to step between him and Al, absorbing Kaito’s third and fourth cards as he hefted Al over one shoulder despite Al’s sharp protests. The shots earned Kaito a shallow, stinging cut on the column of his throat courtesy of Dolcetto’s sword, so he decided to make Dolcetto dance with a fresh batch of cards aimed at his feet. 

 

Meanwhile, Ling pranced away unhindered only to be intercepted by Greed. Kaito registered flashes of their blows—Ling’s bright sword against Greed’s blackened fists and forearms. Ling’s blades glanced off the homunculus, each time with a high, sharp clang. There was even a brief shower of sparks, damn. Kaito might have to pick some tricks up from this guy, if he could deflect a shortsword with minimal effort. ‘Normal human body’ Kaito’s ass.

 

Greed caught Ling’s next swing, fully wrapping his fingers around the blade; there was no blood where his flesh met the cutting edge, only a shiny black sheen. He grinned as he used the halted momentum to toss away Ling’s sword—and by extension, Ling. Both crashed ungainly into a stack of crates. “Roa, get going.”

 

Al renewed his shuddering efforts to resist Roa, who grunted and yanked open Exit Door #2. Kaito tried to give chase, until he was forced back by Gi Guy. And, shit, Gi Guy was worse than Nakamori jacked up on four espressos, but if you handed him a sword and loosened his morals. Kind of like the time Akako had put that cursed amulet on him that made him crave Kid’s blood… was that the first time Kaito had even been shot at? It all blended together now.

 

Roa hunkered through the doorway, a lackey darting from the shadows to tail him. Greed went next with a mocking half-wave and a, “See ya never, kids,” only to be intercepted by a blur of motion. A bright red slash appeared across Greed’s face; there was a half-second of surprise in his expression before the cut began healing, crimson electric sneer overtook it.

 

Ling’s grin and posture were lithe and sharp. “So that body of yours does bleed!”

 

“I’ll show you blood!” Greed snapped.

 

Kaito was frozen, the hair-rising static ignited in the air by Greed’s healing tingling over his skin. He’d recognized it. It was like Lust and Envy’s. Like Pandora’s. The same shit he’d used on himself and on Hughes. 

 

Two hundred years of life is nothing to sneeze at, Kaito thought faintly. Especially in a world as volatile as this one was proving itself to be. Two whole goddamn centuries under Greed’s belt—and what if you had a body like that, and led a pretty cushy life? Like you might in modern day Japan? Functionally, that was an immortal existence. Kaito would bet his bottom dollar that the sin-named brand of near-immortality was exactly what one could hope to get out of Pandora’s ‘tears’: just crack its crystal shell like an egg for breakfast, tilt your head back, and pour that liquid center down. It’d scorch on its way down, molten through and through as your body itself became the new container of uncountable souls, until—

 

Pandora sat lead-heavy against his side.

 

Hadn’t they been tracking a qi signature remarkably similar to Kaito’s? Obviously, this was their guy, and Kaito didn’t need to ask a second time.

 

His gaze skittered to Greed as he scurried out of range of Gi Guy’s next attack. A preoccupation with immortality was less important than keeping Al from being torn limb from limb and potentially traumatized (or at least, more traumatized). He had to focus; Al was fourteen and he’d just been double-kidnapped. 

 

Pandora had waited two weeks. It would survive ten more minutes without his scrutiny. So into the little box went the ‘I heal like a homunculus’ realization, and there it needed to stay .

 

A flash bomb and tidy roll did the rest. He took the stairs two at a time. Based on the damp scent that rose to greet him like the tide, he realized they led to the sewers, which turned out to be more of a tunnel with a water channel through the center than anything else. Echoes of commotion oriented him.

 

In the moments that had elapsed, Al had taken advantage of his free(-ish) hands, and wriggled out of Roa’s grasp, but whoever had crawled inside his armor was preventing him from getting far. As it was, he was kicking bound feet at Roa when Kaito arrived, though not fully impeding his grapple. Kaito nicked Roa’s knuckles with a few cards, which did nothing against him pinning Al down, but did turn his thunderous expression on Kaito. 

 

“I’d appreciate it if you released Al-san.” Kaito still had vague plans that involved knockout gas and Al’s lungs not being present, but he’d have to get closer. Thankfully, audiences and improv were something Kaito was at home with. He kept one wary eye on the last lacky—who was sprouting a lizard tail, of all things, and the way he was scaling the wall could force Kaito to make a quick dodge as he walked casually forward. (Now, if only Kaito could crawl up a ninety degree plane like that. That would be fun at a heist.) “A magician’s show is nothing but a comedy routine without his assistants.”

 

Roa just stared at him impassively.

 

“No? Tough crowd,” Kaito commented.

 

“Any second now, Bido,” Roa grunted.

 

“I got it!” Lizard Guy said.

 

Something rattled. A section of pipe hit the ground. It hadn’t even stopped clattering when Roa grabbed it and bent it like putty around Al’s captured wrists.

 

Kaito tensed, the weight of a spherical capsule hitting his fingers. With just one more step, he’d be able to launch it into the ground beside Al’s helmet, and from there, it should be maybe ten seconds tops until the three adversaries were out. Maybe fifteen, accounting for Roa’s size. And, wait, would it work on Lizard Guy? He’d never tested his knockout gas on a reptile before, which was honestly an oversight, and Kaito had a hunch he wasn’t just a cosplayer—

 

The crack of a gunshot split the air. 

 

It was a sound that Kaito was becoming way too familiar with. Adrenaline-gorged instinct hurtled him to the ground with a flailing attempt to protect his head. The thudding of his heart didn’t cover Roa’s pained grunt or Lizard Guy’s sharp yelp. It was enough for Kaito to force his head up—unless the shooter had an aim that couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, they weren’t on Greed’s team.

 

Roa was bleeding from a dark, circular hole driven into one shoulder. Staring him down from the right side of a pistol’s barrel was a blonde woman, hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She wore a set of square glasses, pressed solidly on the bridge of her nose, and a dark mock-neck shirt and slacks. If Kaito was reading her aim correctly, the next twitch of her fingers would not be a lethal shot.

 

She hadn’t come alone. Backing her up was a tall man in a casual button-down. He was chewing on an unlit cigarette, and aiming his own pistol up, towards the lizard guy clinging to the ceiling.

 

Al made a small, positive noise of surprise. Friends. But Kaito was less certain they should be labeled as such, despite where their chosen targets; two guns was a lot more guns than Kaito was comfortable with, especially considering that if either of them missed their target, Kaito would be the one in the crosshairs. Or if their rounds ricocheted off something, say, Al’s entire armor body. And it wasn’t like Kaito was getting more eager to use Pandora’s healing.

 

“Release the boy,” the woman said, calm and commanding. When Roa made no indication he’d let Al up, the woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Now.”

 

This time, Roa drew to his feet, silent. Al shuddered and struggled to stand too, but was kept down from the inside.

 

“Raise your hands and step away from him.”

 

“And you, get off the damn ceiling,” the Cigarette Guy added. (How many new Guys had Kaito named today? The answer was too many). Clearly, he was fazed to have found him on the goddamn ceiling, but then again, his companion looked like she wouldn’t so much as flinch if Kaito somehow managed to transport the whole lot of them onto the top of a skyscraper, and then tap danced along the outer ledge.

 

But, apparently Cigarette Guy’s reaction time was just a hair too slow; his eyes widened only a split second before Lizard Guy’s entire body collided with his skull. Roa charged the woman at the same moment.

 

Kaito wasn’t about to stick around for the firefight. After a short but ungainly scramble, he yanked off Al’s helmet. Inside was a tattooed woman, extremely cross. “Hey!”

 

“Sorry!” Kaito yelped. “Al-san, we gotta go!”

 

“Kaito—”

 

He chucked his capsule inside Al’s armor and slammed his helmet back into place as it hissed to life. There was a shout followed by a heavy thud as tendrils of gas seeped out from Al’s seams. He sat up gingerly. “What did you do to her?!”

 

Kaito flapped his hands at the dissipating smoke. Not far away, the unmistakable crack of pistols firing only served to hike Kaito’s blood pressure again. “She’s just gonna sleep for, I dunno, ten minutes? Maybe less, I don’t know her life. Don’t ask questions, we gotta go, unless you wanna get used as target practice!”

 

“They’re friends, they won’t shoot us,” Al said, snapping the chain around his ankles.

 

“I’d rather not hang around any shooting.”

 

“We need to check on Martel.”

 

“What’s a—no, I don’t care. Can we at least hide?”

 

Al obligily produced a stub of chalk and raised a short wall to shield them. From their cover, Kaito kept a wary eye on the skirmish as Al opened his chest to remove his intruder. 

 

Cigarette Guy had taken down Lizard Guy, but Roa was putting up a fight worthy of a bull, heedless of his multiple bleeding wounds. As Kaito watched, the woman shifted her aim low. The spray of blood and bone shards that accompanied Roa’s groan made Kaito feel sick, and he couldn’t suppress a gag. He wasn’t squeamish on a daily basis, not unless fish were involved—and on an intimately close level, at that—but he’d seen entirely too much blood in the last two weeks. 

 

When I get home, I’ll never be able to watch action movies the same way again, he thought unhappily. 

 

Cigarette Guy slapped a set of handcuffs on Roa, who was on his knees with pain finally leaking into his expression. The woman surveyed this, flicking the safety on her gun. Al deconstructed their shallow cover as quickly as he’d created it, cinching his chest plate shut.

 

“Lieutenant!”

 

She smiled at him. It looked genuine, and there was warmth in her otherwise business-like tone. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine, Lieutenant. It’s good to see you. How did you find us?”

 

“Wait just a second,” Kaito demanded. Clenching his hands proved he still had his cardgun. Coming out of his crouch proved his legs were a pair of thin, gangly reeds. “Who the hell are you two?”

 

Beneath her dark-framed glasses, the Lieutenant was thoroughly unimpressed with Kaito’s display. “Perhaps you’d know if you’d ever arrived in East City, Kaitou.”

 

Ah. “...you’re Mustang-san’s team, then.”

 

“Yes. I am First Lieutenant Hawkeye, and this is Second Lieutenant Havoc.” She gestured briefly to Cigarette Guy, who gave Kaito a nod as he squeezed past to join Al in checking on Martel. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it isn’t.”

 

Kaito scowled. “Likewise.”

 

The trio of would-be double-kidnappers were treated and hauled against the wall. With Roa in no state to walk—knee tourquinetted and hands tied—and his two friends immobilized in their own ways, there was little else to do with them. Al quickly filled Mustang’s team in about his hectic day, and in turn, they explained their presence in the sewers: after being dispatched to locate Kaito, they’d tailed the group to Dublith and stumbled across Ed not an hour ago. Apparently, several details of Al’s kidnapping had already filtered through down the line like a bad game of telephone. Hence, the guns-blazing arrival.

 

“I don’t think they were actually going to hurt me,” Al said. Of course he was defending violent criminals. He’d been adamant they weren’t violent, not like that, and they’d be receptive to talking if they tried.

 

“Yeah, they seem very academic,” Kaito muttered.

 

“More so than half the people we’ve run across, at least,” Al said.

 

“You guys need some better enemies.” Maybe a Nakamori of their own? A Tantei-kun?

 

“Don’t we all,” sighed Havoc, patting Roa on the turquinette. Roa grunted, displeased, but contributed little else.

 

“We need to move,” Hawkeye announced. “Edward is—”

 

A rather intrusive explosion cut off the rest of her sentence. Kaito whipped around. The staircase he’d come down collapsed in a fantastic spray of concrete and blue lightning.

 

“...doing that, I suppose,” Hawkeye finished, sighing.

 

Greed emerged from the rubble, hardly recognizable through his shielded skin, face set in a scowl. Ed and Ling vaulted after him. Hawkeye and Havoc immediately aimed their weapons. 

 

“Wait!” Kaito yelped, frantically grabbing for Hawkeye's arm and finding it as steady as a planted flagpole. “The ricochet!”

 

He was not faster than a military-trained sniper, nor was he stronger. As such, he missed the next ten-to-twenty seconds of action because he was yet again ducking for cover, willing his racing heart to not make him light headed.

 

This day just kept getting better.

 

When the bullets had stopped flying, Kaito tentatively peeked out. The very landscape of the sewer had changed; Greed was encased in stone so thoroughly that only his head was visible. A sizable crater had been carved into the ground to allow for this new structure. Murky water was slowly spilling into it, sparking against the last remnants of discharged transmutic energy.

 

Ed, looking up from his work, broke out into a huge grin. “Al! You’re okay!” 

 

“Focus, Brother!” Al yelped.

 

Greed strained against his new prison; hairline cracks raced down the block. For a moment, it seemed that his inhuman strength and durability would let him break out and start up the whole shitshow again—but Ed sealed him back up with a clap and a glare.

 

“Quit doing that,” Greed snarled.

 

“I can go all day, old man!”

 

They’d clearly had this conversation already, while the rest of them had been doing the dosey doe in the sewers. And more than once, judging by the ensuing glaring match and Ling’s far, far too amused grin. But that only lasted until Greed noticed the laundry-heap slumped against the wall. “Hey! What did you do to my men?” 

 

“They’ve been subdued,” Hawkeye said.

 

“You knocked ‘em unconscious!”

 

“Subdued,” she reinforced blankly, pacing to confront Greed’s concrete cell block—one that, thanks to Ed, took the term cell block too literally. She looked at Al. “This is Greed?”

 

“That’s him,” Al said.

“Who’s asking?” Greed snapped.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye.”

 

“You’re not dressed like one of them boys in blue.” He didn’t need to sneer to convey his contempt, but must have decided to add it for good measure. “Did dear ol’ daddy send you?” 

 

Hawkeye raised her eyebrows. “Elaborate.”

 

Greed rolled his eyes. Kaito felt inexplicably jealous that a centuries-old non-human got to act stereotypically teenager when Kaito himself spent half of his time feigning more maturity than he’d like to possess in his left pinky finger, and the rest pruning the leaves off his compartmentalizations.

 

“This is just so typical,” Greed huffed. “Daddy-o getting others to do his dirty work. What, he hired you lot to sniff me out? Honestly, I’m flattered he even remembers I exist.”

 

“You sniffed yourself out,” Havoc piped up. “I wouldn’t have known you from Adam if not for...” The thought was wrapped up with a plaintive glance between the Elric brothers.

 

Hawkeye moved to clarify. “You’re irrelevant to our prime objective.” This, coming from anyone else, would have been a blunt blow, but from her it was simple. Matter-of-fact.

 

“Prime objective,” Kaito parroted under his breath. Maybe it would catch on, and he could add yet another unnecessary nickname to his signature. Kaitou Kid, 1412, Prime Objective...

 

“Is that so?” The black coating crawled off Greed’s face like so many caterpillars, just so he could level Hawkeye with a flat look, one that said, if that’s true why am I a concrete popsicle right now? “Great. Care to tell me why my men are the ones who’re handcuffed when we’re irrelevant?”

 

“They tried to kidnap a civilian. What did you anticipate?”

 

“A clean getaway.”

 

“I appreciate your honesty.”

 

“Well, you got your civilian back. Feel like letting us go with a little slap on the wrist?”

 

Kaito glanced at Ed, who raised his eyebrows, so Kaito looked at Al. Al, almost in sync with Havoc, turned to Hawkeye, who said, “No.”

 

“You just called us irrelevant—”

 

“Not in regards to our secondary objective. So, Greed. Tell us about your friends.”

 

“What, my chimeras?”

 

“Lust and Envy. I’d like to know your numbers, abilities, and plans.”

 

“Friends,’ Greed snorted. “I’m not like them.”

 

“Your bad tattoo says otherwise,” Kaito said, doing his best demonstration of the wings and teeth and starry points. Only Ed seemed to appreciate the display. 

 

“There’s also the whole being-a-homunculus thing,” Al added.

 

“We’ve got the same daddy dearest, so what? I’m not in on their con.”

 

“And that con is?”

 

“I don’t see any reason to tell you about it, lady.”

 

“You will cooperate with us, or there will be consequences.”

 

“Yeah, what kind?”

 

Hawkeye hefted her gun. Kaito didn’t need a red dot to track its aim to the spot directly between Greed’s eyes.

 

“Hey, uh, mindful of the ricochet,” Kaito muttered. Sure, Greed wasn’t doing his made-of-metal-or-whatever trick any more, but Kaito didn’t want to see who’d win in a contest of trigger fingers.

 

Hawkeye didn’t acknowledge him. Big change, that. “What is the purpose of the nationwide transmutation circle?”

 

“Nationwide what?” Ed asked. His eyes darted between the soldiers, his brother, and Kaito. “Is that what Hughes—”

 

“Power,” Greed said dismissively. “Next?”

 

“Who planned it?” Hawkeye pressed.

 

“Won’t really matter when it turns on.”

 

“When will that be?”

 

“Days, weeks, months… Who’s to say?”

 

“How many more homunculi are there?”

 

“Don’t wanna figure out the naming pattern for yourself?”

 

Hawkeye’s jaw was beginning to look like someone had taken a welding torch to it. “Were you involved in the experiments conducted at the Fifth Lab?”

 

“Never even heard of the place.”

 

Her finger moved just a hair’s breadth closer to the trigger. “Greed, I am not afraid to make you talk.”

 

“Go ahead and try. Be my guest.” When Greed grinned, his teeth glinted shiny and white, dangerous in the low light.

 

“I’d really listen to her if I were you,” Havoc tossed out his two cents. “She’s the sniper of Ishval.”

 

“Won’t hurt for long,” Greed said flippantly. “Sorry to ruin your perfect kill streak, missy, but—”

 

Hawkeye squeezed.

 

The slowest modern pistol bullets can reach velocities of 700 feet per second, while the fastest can achieve nearly 1,700 feet per second, a voice at the back of Kaito’s mind said. It sounded suspiciously like Tantei-kun. Either way, at this range, Greed’s shield doesn’t stand a chance.

 

Grayish-brown matter splattered. Blood was not far behind. Greed lurched back as if he’d been thrown, as much as his stone encasement allowed. Knowing that the red cackle of discharging energy would follow within seconds, and resurrect Hawkeye’s victim, didn’t stop Kaito’s stomach from cheerfully lodging itself in the back of his mouth.

 

Greed jerked up and spat a sticky glob on the ground. Blood painted his brow, nose, and chin, almost black in the after-thought sewer lights. Even as the viscera began to evaporate from his skin, he was furious. “Bitch!”

 

“She did warn you,” Havoc said lightly.

 

“Tell us everything you know about the nationwide array and the team executing it,” Hawkeye repeated, unfazed.

 

Greed’s grimace was a sharp, nasty thing of blood and bone. “Nothin’ in it for me, is there, missy?”

 

A second bullet lodged itself halfway into his skull, the casing clattering to the ground as the rest was frozen by Greed’s shield. “Maybe it’ll stick next time,” he drawled.

 

For all the evidence that Greed was more than talk, Kaito had witnessed enough to the contrary, too. There would come a point that Greed’s powers would falter and fail. He didn’t want to see it again. 

 

Not to mention, while Lust and Envy had actively been trying to kill people, Greed’s worst offense was a handful of threats and maybe two cases of kidnapping. With that criteria, Kaito was no saint, either. A half-formed thought about cruelty floated to the surface of Kaito’s mind, but the only thing present in his gut was, that could be me next.

 

There was a steely hand around his bicep before he’d more than aimed his cardgun: Havoc. 

 

“Woah, kid. Let the Lieutenant do her job.”

 

“Killing him is her job?” Kaito hissed. “She just said it was a retrieval mission! Not a kill-the-guy -twice mission!”

 

“He didn’t die the second time,” Al said, because that was accurate, and Kaito hadn’t kept his voice down.

 

“She’s murdering him!”

 

Greed laughed. “Not really, but she can keep trying!”

 

Havoc’s eyes were hard and flinty, his words slightly warped around his cigarette. “It’s the military, kid. Get used to it.”

 

Another gunshot split the air. Kaito and his eardrums both flinched.The ricochet vanished after sparking like flint against Greed’s shiny head. Greed only looked disgruntled.

 

“Why isn’t anybody else upset about this?” Kaito yelled, feeling like he was grasping at half-melted plastic straws. “Al-san?”

 

Al held his gaze for a long moment but was silent. Kaito gleaned nothing from his red pinprick eyes and faceplate.

 

Hawkeye, who had apparently decided Kaito was a toddler who needed to exhaust himself through screaming, pressed forward, eating up the short distance between herself and Greed with tidy steps. “Ready to talk?” 

 

“That depends,” Greed said, tossing his gaze in Ed’s direction for lack of anything else to gesture with. “Is he ready to spill ‘bout soul transmutation?” 

 

All eyes swiveled to Ed. He looked strained, mouth and jaw tight even as he held his back ram-road straight. “I…”

 

“That’s not on the table,” Hawkeye said.

 

“Fine,” Greed said. “Then I can do this all day.” He rolled his shoulders. His cell block creaked ominously. Ed siphoned several inches off the ground to raise it over Greed’s chin, to Greed’s displeasure. “Tsk.”

 

It was hard to sugarcoat the sheer levels of violence Kaito had been privy to recently—not just today, since he’d arrived in Amestris. If he was being completely honest with himself, it had started when Snake and his ilk set their eyes on the first Kaitou Kid. He’d had little choice but to stay sidelined while Lust and Envy had crisped, but now, Greed was already restrained, uncooperative though he was. There was no reason to keep shooting him the way Hawkeye was clearly planning to.

 

Decision made, he slammed a heel onto Havoc’s toes and jerked out of his grip (and really, with how often Kaito was getting dragged around by the arm, he should invest in some martial arts training as soon as fucking possible). He fired two cards at Hawkeye’s hand. Her pistol hit the floor and spun off, skidding to a stop dangerously close to the water.

 

For half a second, she looked startled.

 

“There will be no more shooting anyone today,” Kaito announced in his most cordial Kid voice.

 

Greed belted an uproarious laugh. Hawkeye leveled a wholly unimpressed look at Kaito, maintaining eye contact as she pulled open her coat and slid out a second pistol and flicked the safety.

 

“Oh, fuck off!” Kaito said, any gentleman-like air he’d been affecting before now dissipating completely into toddlerism. Behind him, Havoc lunged. Kaito spun cardgun-first, using it to tell the man that he’d be sorry if he got a hold of him again.

 

Havoc kept his distance, warily. “Woah there. Steady, kid.”

 

“Steady?” Kaito asked. “I’m completely stable!”

 

“Says the one waving a toy gun around,” Ed muttered.

 

“Comments from the peanut gallery are not appreciated!” 

 

“Kaito, you’re not helping!”

 

“I’m the only one doing anything here!” He swung the cardgun wide this time, more a talking point than a threat. Ed’s flinch finally guilted Kaito into pointing it at the ground and taking a breath. “Seriously, can’t we talk like civilized people? I’ve had enough of this killing bullshit.”

 

“Infighting is not a good look,” Ling piped up. He was leaning against the wall, looking for all the world like he was enjoying a stage play. The kind of stage play you watched with your sword out, of course. 

 

Kaito had almost forgotten he was here and had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at him. “I don’t care! I’m over the shooting, so the shooting is over!”

 

Either Kaito had miscalculated how seriously Havoc would take his cardgun, or he’d underestimated the guy’s battle-hardiness, but next thing he knew, he’d been painfully disarmed and forced to the ground in an iron-clad hold.

 

“Sorry, kid,” Havoc said, keeping him in place while Kaito tried to eel away. “But you’re interfering with an unofficial official military operation here.”

 

“This was a rescue mission!” Kaito howled.

 

“Not any more,” Havoc sighed.

 

Greed started up laughing again. “You’re fun! I like you.”

 

“I stuck my neck out for you,” Kaito accused the cold concrete before Havoc hauled him back to his feet. He kept Kaito’s arms twisted in an uncomfortable hammer lock. It had been about two seconds, and Kaito was already dreading the painful maneuvers he’d have to use to get out of it.

 

Hawkeye had no more patience for the circus show. “Edward, Alphonse, please take both of your friends and return to the Curtis’ home.”

 

“No,” Ed said immediately. “Colonel Bastard has been leaving us in the dark. We’re not going.”

 

“C’mon, chief,” Havoc said. He grunted when Kaito managed to get another stomp in on his toes, but it didn’t deter the hold. “We can give you the important details when—”

 

“I’m staying,” Ed said, looking like he’d rather be raising his voice or turning heel. Impressively, he did neither.

 

“Me too!” Ling said.

 

“It’s more dangerous for us to be in the dark, Lieutenant,” Al said.

 

“And who said Ling’s our friend?” Ed added, tart.

Ling raised his hand. “I did!”

 

Hawkeye spared a glance over to Ed, then Al. Her eyes barely touched Ling, before lingering on Kaito, standing stiffly with Havoc.

 

“Alright,” Hawkeye said. “Havoc, if you will?”

 

“Sure. Let’s go, kid.”

 

“What—no!” Only the tatters of his poker face were enough to prevent Kaito from blanching. “I’m involved in all this bullshit, you can’t deny that just because you don’t like me!”

 

“I am not doing this because I dislike you,” Hawkeye said evenly. “I’m doing it because you’re disrupting our operation.”

 

“Damn right I am! Your operation is bullshit!”

 

“Be that as it may—”

 

“Does your operation tell you to keep shooting him in the head?”

 

Hawkeye sighed—probably the most Kaito had seen her emote in the last half-hour, her shoulders loosening and everything. “If you won’t go, then please be quiet.”

 

“I don’t think so, you trigger-happy maniac.”

 

“I could shoot you if you prefer.”

 

Kaito frowned at her.

 

She frowned right back.

 

Al shifted, drawing attention with the noise of his armor. “Mr. Greed, I know we don’t really see eye-to-eye, but would you be willing to just talk with us? We might even be able to let you out of… that.”

 

Greed looked thoughtful—or as close to thoughtful as one could without eyebrows to emote with, and two large tusks obscuring the line of his mouth. “What’s in it for me?”

 

“I take it you live up to your name?” Havoc asked before Hawkeye could do more than give Greed a guarded look. The two shared a glance.

 

“Sure do,” Greed said. “I’m the greediest guy around. Money, power, fame—mine for the taking.”

 

“Yeah, power,” Havoc said. “So remember how we’re not working for your…. Dad?”

 

“And?”

 

“We’re not exactly working for the Amestrian government, either,” Havoc said, then sidebarred. “Well, I guess, on a technicality we are, since we’re still employed—and on orders from our C.O.—but, no, my point is, we don’t have any loyalty to Bradley, or your ‘dad’, or anybody but Boss. And I mean it when I say he’s his own boss.”

 

“So you went rogue, is that what you’re saying?” Greed asked.

 

“Yeah, well. More or less.”

 

“Then just say that,” Greed complained.

 

“I did!”

 

“And?”

 

“And, fuck it,” Havoc said, visibly giving up any pretense of politcal wordplay. “We’re staging a coup. You want power, join us.”

 

Ling whistled low.

 

A coup. So that’s what Kaito had fallen into the middle of. Somehow the realization was a bit underwhelming, compared to ‘immortality comes from juicing human souls, have fun with that’.

 

“So that’s your endgame.” Even as Ed and Al were looking increasingly crease-browed and uncertain, Greed seemed to relax. “That kinda declaration could get you thrown in jail.”

 

“We know.”

 

Greed surveyed the rag-tag group a moment longer, then said, “Alright, tell you what. If there’s a spot at the top for me and my chimeras, I might be able to tell you a few things.”

 

“The competition will be stiff,” Hawkeye warned.

 

Greed grinned. “I’ll take it,” he said. “Better than Daddy-o’s offer. I split from those greasy pigs ages ago.”

 

“Over the nationwide circle?”

 

“Among other things,” Greed shrugged (or at the very least, looked like he was trying very hard to, without the mobility of his shoulders). “Daddy dearest wasn’t keen on giving me my fair cut of anything.”

 

“And who’s… Daddy?” Hawkeye asked. 

 

She sure was interested in talking now. Kaito flexed his fingers experimentally, then scowled when Havoc tightened his grip.

 

“Just some ancient fucker,” Greed said flippantly. “The original homunculus, I guess you could say, since we’re all made from part of him.” At Hawkeye’s gesture to continue, Ed’s audible grinding of teeth, and Al’s small gasp, Greed rolled his eyes. “Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Pride, Wrath, Sloth, and, of course, yours truly: Greed. Seven of us.”

 

“Five,” Hawkeye corrected.

 

“D’you think I can’t count?”

 

“No, but Lust and Envy have been neutralized.”

 

A shade of impressed surprised colored Greed’s face.“Really,” he said. “You?”

 

“Colonel Bastard did it,” Ed cut in, “but that doesn’t fuckin’ matter.” Though judging from the flush and dramatic scowl Ed wore, it did matter—a sentiment Kaito agreed with despite its uncomfortable candle-smoke wisp of guilt. “Who’s the original homunculus you mentioned?”

 

“And how does one homunculus come from another?” Ling added.

 

Greed eyed Ed for a long moment, long enough Kaito could just about hear the gears coming unstuck in his skull, before he came out with, “Actually, you might be related to him! Whaddya know, maybe we’re third cousins five times removed.”

 

“What the hell does that mean?” Ed shifted his feet to a readier position, like he could attack the concept of extended family with his fists.

 

“You look like him,” Greed said, “if Daddy-o shed, oh, I don’t know. Four hundred years and had a good shave. Daddy-o could really use a razor to the face.”

 

“What is his real name?” Hawkeye asked, exasperated, before the conversation could derail further.

 

“Please tell me it isn’t actually ‘Daddy’,” Havoc said with a shudder. Kaito gave a token wriggle. The hammer lock did not budge.

 

“Nah. He wants to be called Father, but why the hell would I do that?” Greed snorted. “As for his real name, that might as well be lost to time. Don’t think I ever even knew it.”

 

“The rest of the homunculi—they still work for this ‘Father’?”

 

“Sure, as far as I know.”

 

“Where are they?”

“I haven’t seen those assholes in a century, and that’s the way I like it,” Greed declared. “But I can wager Pride’s not far from Daddy-o, though. He did always stick close, the favored first child. Now, he’s the one you should really keep an eye out for. Nasty little guy, slithering his eyes around Central. Let’s see… the last Wrath got melted, last I saw, and Gluttony trailed Lust around like a puppy… so who knows what he’s up to.”

 

“And ‘Father’?” Hawkeye asked. Kaito eyed her pistol, now angled towards the concrete, and wondered if the safety was on or not, then suddenly realized his cardgun was nowhere to be seen.

 

“I’d be surprised if Daddy Doom has left his control room even once in all this time. He holes up underground, like a mole, and only ever walks around in his tunnels.”

 

“Tunnels?” Al murmured. “Below Central City? You mean… the sewers?”

 

“Nah. His special tunnels. Figured you’d know about ‘em, barging in here, asking about the nationwide array and all that,” Greed said. “They link the whole thing up. Last I knew, Sloth was still digging ‘em out. The ones in Central are way older than I am.”

 

Hawkeye’s gaze flickered to Havoc. Kaito wriggled, trying to locate his cardgun.

“Don’t look at me,” Havoc said, defensive as Kaito did his level best to turn the two of them into a genuine pretzel. “Nobody’s ever said anything about tunnels.”

 

Hawkeye exhaled slowly, giving nothing away beside a faint air of irritation. Kaito was reluctantly impressed with her iteration of a poker face; it was just about air-tight. “Fine. The big question,” she said, “is the exact purpose of the array. We already know it shares similarities to ones used for the Stones, and involves a lot of bloodshed. But, beyond that?”

 

“I mean, that’s the gist of it,” Greed said. “The rest is that he wants to cannibalize the nation.”

 

“...excuse me?”

 

“It’s ‘cause he thinks he can eat god with alchemy,” Greed said, doing his best to tell them in every way but with his words just how idiotic he thought that plan was. “Or whatever perversion of alchemy it is he uses, since it sure as hell isn’t regular alchemy.”

 

“Why doesn’t this plan appeal to you?” Ling asked. “That sounds like the ultimate power grab.”

 

“Because it’s stupid,” Greed drawled. “I don’t care about the high ‘n mighty theological god shit that he’s got going on. I care about the material stuff, the here and now.”

 

Ling was nodding along. At least they were agreeing on something that was somewhat more normal than they could’ve, Kaito thought, but he still hadn’t located his damn cardgun.

 

“Do you care about the Philosopher’s Stone?” Al asked.

 

“Can’t do alchemy,” Greed said. “No homunculus can. It’s just a rock to me.”

 

“Then what’s…” Kaito started, mouth running ahead of his brain. He cut off when he gained Hawkeye’s attention. Well, cats were running out of their bags all over the place. If someone was gonna connect his magical healing dots to the homunculi, then, well. He barrelled on before anyone could interrupt. “What’s with your regeneration?”

 

“Just a byproduct of being a homunculus,” Greed replied. “That’s all the Stone’s good graces will get you.”

 

Kaito didn’t have to stand around looking—and feeling—like he’d been caught with two hands in the cookie jar for long, because he spotted his cardgun in Ed’s hand, and it was around then that Dolcetto swooped in, bloody and swift, backed by a whole bunch of goons that may or may not have been knocked out by Ling earlier.

 

“Hold on, Greed! We got you!” Dolcetto barked, dodging several shots to strike Greed’s cell with his sword. It, predictably, bounced. “Shit!”

The sentiment was soon echoed by Ed as Roa emerged from the rear of the group and swept Hawkeye aside, beelining for Greed with his lackeys in tow.

 

“Took you long enough!” Greed crowed.

 

“Sorry,” Roa said, easily cracking apart the stone enough for Greed to do the rest with his hardened body. “We were occupied.”

 

Havoc’s grip on Kaito vanished; several more gunshots went off, this time coming from two directions. Kaito fumbled his cardgun as Ed shoved it unceremoniously into his chest. There wasn’t much of a fight after that; one of the many lackeys who’d poured in with Dolcetto broke a pipe and the tunnel filled with hot, hissing steam, through which shapes moved like mirages. 

 

For a moment, Greed materialized in front of Hawkeye, unbothered by the full clip she emptied into his chest in pure surprise. “Hold onto that,” he laughed. “I’ll be back to take you up on your offer before you know it, sweetheart.”

 

There was silence as the mist cleared. Hawkeye holstered her now-empty gun. Havoc sighed gustily. Kaito tried to bring his adrenaline back down to manageable levels.

 

Ed ran gloved hands over his face. “Okay, what the hell was all that interrogation about? The fuck is this about a nationwide array?”

 

“It seems to be the root of all our ongoing issues,” Hawkeye replied, with a sharp glance at Kaito, “aside from the ones brought on by this one.”

 

Kaito scowled at her. 

 

“No, actually, I think some guy trying to bastardize alchemy enough to eat god is the problem,” Ed snapped. “And you lot keeping us in the dark is making it worse.”

Hawkeye’s lips were pressed thin. “You’re right, Edward. But let’s save this conversation for a secure location.”

 

Ed conceded unhappily, his teeth clicking as he shut his mouth with no small amount of force. “Fine. Teacher’s place should be safe.”

 

In no small part because Izumi would be there, Kaito was sure. Hawkeye seemed to agree, nodding to Havoc. “After that, we’ll be taking Kaitou here to East City.”

 

“I am not going anywhere with you,” Kaito declared petulantly.

 

“Boss’s orders,” Havoc said, holding up his hands sheepishly. 

 

“I don’t have to follow anybody’s orders,” Kaito argued. “I’m not employed by anybody. I’m not legally bound to do anything.”

 

“Well, we are,” Havoc said. “Sorry about the hammer hold, by the way.”

 

“You will be,” Kaito replied, more irritation than real threat.

 

“Point is, even if the situation is changing, we’ve got to follow through as best we can: ‘Take the Xingan kid back to the rest of the team in East’.” Havoc’s impression of Mustang wasn’t half bad, even as he dropped it with a laugh. “Who knew there’d be two Xingan kids hangin’ around?” 

 

Nobody else laughed. Havoc waited, chewing on the cigarette he’d somehow managed to keep track of. Then, his eyes sharpened on Kaito and then darted over through the tunnel: the rubble that had once held Greed had sludge-colored water lapping at it. 

 

“Speaking of which,” he said slowly, “I hope the other one wasn’t too important, because he’s gone.”

 

---

 

Notes:

this chapter had no right being as difficult as it was

WELL there’s lots of things here I’m not confident I nailed, but either way, have some notebook doodles from when I was in the middle of figuring it all out, and also, another excellent meme from Icy!

Chapter 23: The Homunculus

Notes:

haha, so....... that unintentional 5 month hiatus, huh?

this chapter picks up directly after Chapter 19: The Wormwood. at the end of that chapter, Vermouth approached Conan on the beach while disguised as a fan of the Kid Killer, and slipped a flash drive into his pocket. she then told him “not to waste his gift”.

OH AND HAPPY 200k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

---

 

The coastal humidity was suffocating Conan slowly, like a blanket over the head. Or maybe the thickness in his throat was Vermouth’s flash drive burning a hole in his pocket.

 

He’d managed to corner Haibara into a private conversation as the professor and kids headed to the ground-floor restaurant to eat dinner, but so far, it had evolved into nothing more than a tense cowboy stand-off.

 

“If you have something to say, then spit it out, Kudou-kun,” Haibara said sharply, trying to get around him to the door. “I’d like to eat dinner sometime this century.”

 

“I’m trying,” he groused, shifting into her way like he was defending a goal on the soccer field.

 

Haibara raised her eyebrows.

 

He should be telling her that Vermouth was in Ibaraki, maybe even at this very hotel. It was her right to know. But the shape of the words lived and died in the space below his jaw. Vermouth’s V-ROD could eat up concrete with a top speed of 218.6 km/h; there was a distinct possibility she wasn’t in the prefecture any more; did Haibara really need the panic attack that the knowledge might incur?

 

“I’m waiting.”

 

With a sigh, Conan pulled his overlarge glasses off and scrubbed his fingers against his eyes until nonsensical patterns swirled behind his eyelids. No, he couldn’t tell her about Vermouth until he figured out what that woman was playing at, and if she was a threat to Haibara or focused on whatever her other agenda was. 

 

Besides, there was still something else he needed to talk to her about, something that arguably held equal importance. And he couldn’t say nothing, not now that Haibara was waiting; anything less than a truth would be scrutinized as an excuse within seconds.

 

“Ran knows,” he said, finding himself unable to quite meet Haibara’s eyes as he told her. “She really knows this time, and I wasn’t able to lie to her again. Not after every roughshod attempt that fell apart anyway...”

 

He waited, but the only response Haibara gave him was a far away, “Ah.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I don’t know what else to do but come clean. But at the same time it’s almost… a weight off my shoulders.”

 

Haibara visibly steeled herself. Conan could all but see her working to compartmentalize, to put panic and fear and anger in their respective boxes and shut the lids. Professionalism was pulled on brusquely like a snapping vinyl glove. “When did this happen?”

 

He told her everything; the moments that, since the beginning, had gone unaddressed and unexplained—how she’d known his blood type when he’d been shot in that cave, for one—to hundred countless verbal slip-ups and odd looks, and finally, the way that Ran had been acting throughout the recent Kid case. And now, how Aoko’s realization of her best friend’s secret had played into Ran's suspicions—whether they were reignited, or never fanned out in the first place.

 

By the time he’d finished, Haibara had a pinched expression, like she’d tasted something sour. He couldn’t quite decipher what emotion lay behind it; pain, most likely. Fear, for another. And he hated causing either in his dear friend. “I won’t tell her about you, of course. But the rest—everything about me—it’s now or never. I know you think it’s a bad idea, but I think after all this time, she deserves to know.” He remembered the conversation they’d had, Aoko and Kuroba as their proxies. “She needs to know before it’s too late.”

 

“We’ve had this conversation a hundred times, Kudou-kun,” Haibara said tightly. “Ran-san has already shown a tendency to jump into situations far beyond her if she thinks it’s the right thing to do. Need I remind you how she hid in Jodie-san’s trunk when she thought we’d been kidnapped? Or how she put herself between me and Vermouth’s gun, without even knowing who she was, or why she wanted me dead?”

 

“But that’s exactly what I mean,” Conan protested. “If she knew the full extent of it, she—”

 

“What, she wouldn’t have done that? Do you really know her as well as you think you do?”

 

“She’d have been fully informed about what she was facing,” Conan concluded stubbornly. “If nothing else, she’d be making informed decisions.”

 

“Detective Mouri was nearly assassinated by Them after your tracker wound up on the bottom of that reporter’s shoe,” Haibara pointed out. “He only survived thanks to the idea that it was the FBI’s set up, and that he was completely uninvolved. Would that have been possible if he’d known the truth about you? About Them?”

 

“No,” Conan was able to admit. “But, do you really think we could get away with something like that again? We were lucky. And we can’t rely on luck forever.” Not with Vermouth so close, he didn’t say; not with Vermouth and her inscrutable desires…

 

Haibara closed her eyes, and Conan realized with a start as she laced her fingers together that they were wound so tight that her knuckles were turning white. 

 

“Kudou-kun, let me tell you a story.”

 

Conan swallowed a protest. “I’m listening.” 

 

She turned away from him and moved to the small armchair that stood vigilantly near the hotel room’s wallpapered outer wall, but Conan’s feet were glued to thin carpet guarding the door. “This is the story of my family. How the Organization took everything from me, killed all of my loved ones for the sin of morality, for daring to want better lives. If it weren’t for you, the professor, and the kids, I would have nothing to this day. Not even my life.”

 

“I know,” Conan whispered.

 

“I say this because I don’t want you to share that fate, Kudou-kun.”

 

“But you haven’t been left with nothing,” Conan said, moving closer and pushing away the ache when she refused to look at him. “They may have killed your family, but you’ve found a new family, haven’t you? It’s not all bad.”

 

She sighed, softly. “You have much more to lose, and much further to fall, than I ever did, Kudou-kun. I hardly knew my parents. I only had my sister and my research.”

 

She needed to say her piece, Conan realized; there would be no point in trying to convince her of his side in an argument they weren’t really having. He tugged over a chair from the room’s writing desk and curled his feet under him to listen. Haibara was quiet for a while, thinking, her gaze dropping to her hands.

 

“You know what happened to Akemi,” she said softly. “But everything goes back to the apotoxin itself. That story doesn’t begin with the Miyano family… that’s all tied up with Ano Kata. Before I was born, my father, Miyano Atsushi, was offered multiple times to join an institution which backed his research. The sponsor was the Karasuma group. They wouldn’t settle for anyone else. The Karasuma group wanted Miyano Atsushi, and no other. My father had a reputation. Many people called him a mad scientist for the kinds of things he worked on—outlandish projects with some of the most pseudo-scientific aims you can think of.” 

 

The corner of her mouth quirked up; on anybody else, Conan would’ve called it a smile, but on Haibara it was more strained. Nothing like the rare, soft smiles he’d caught from her in private moments.

 

“Thing was, his projects always yielded results.” Another pause. “Well, sometimes his projects caused minor chemical meltdowns, but all the same. He refused the Karasuma group’s offer many times, but something changed his mind after I was born. He and my mother both accepted their funding, and he was given a pre-existing project. It should come as no surprise to you that this secret project culminated in the apotoxin which shrunk our bodies.”

 

“I thought that work on the apoptoxin began around 1999?”

 

“That’s when it became my parents’ project, but its history stretches back at least another fifty years prior.”

 

That meant the pre-existing project that would eventually evolve into APTX 4869 had been founded around 1965. All tied up with Ano Kata, Haibara had said…. “Do you know anything else about its history?

 

“Only what was carried over in my parents’ research notes when I inherited it,” Haibara said. “But there’s not much there; it was Ano Kata’s private project, very important. Vermouth seems to have been monitoring it, even that far back. Under a different alias, of course. But the drug had a different name then, too; The Elixer of Life. When my parents took the reins, that’s when it became The Silver Bullet.” She drew quiet again. “The research project that spelled their doom.”

 

“They died in a lab fire,” Conan said carefully, attempting to prompt her into going on; it didn’t work. “An accident. It burned the drug’s materials as well, except for what you salvaged—that’s what you told me.”

 

“That’s the official story, told by Them, and filed by the police. But with everything you’ve seen from Them, do you really believe that?”

 

Conan shook his head without hesitation. No, of course not; nothing was accidental when it came to Them, not by a long shot.

 

“My mother’s tapes, the ones she recorded for my birthdays,” Haibara said softly. “She spoke about their research, sometimes. They were hopeful. But their iteration of the apotoxin was almost a better killer than mine.”

 

“I know.” APTX 4869’s direct predecessor had been used in America seventeen years ago; maybe not its first use, but among the first, and certainly one of the most prominent. Haneda Kouji, a famous shogi player, and Amanda Hughes, an American millionaire, had both died of unknown causes at the same hotel. Haneda’s name had been listed only two rows below Kudou Shinichi in the drug trial data; it was the case that had first tipped them off to Asaca, the first domino of clues about Rum.

 

“...well, once they realized, my parents stood up against what they were making. After all, what moral person would want to continue developing a poison? They decided to cut their losses. But what use are drug developers who won’t create your drug?”

 

She let him fill in the gaps himself; he barely needed the pause she gave him.

 

“I used to wonder if our family was cursed,” she murmured. “Not in as many words, of course; I wasn’t quite so romantic when I was younger. Though now I think it’s true. Why else would so much misfortune befall one family? Until only one person is left? Is it because we are despicable people?”

 

“You’re not despicable,” Conan protested, though he could feel the air around them growing heavy. “Haibara, don’t ever—”

 

She cut him off. “In the end, Kudou-kun, it doesn’t matter whether you’re as despicable as myself or as well-intentioned as my sister. They poison everything. And that is the world you want to bring the woman you love into.” Her voice sharpened. “Maybe you’re the despicable one, Kudou-kun.”

 

Conan couldn’t conceal a harsh flinch. That hurt, coming from Haibara, even if Conan understood why. Haibara, in turn, did not close her eyes against the pain slapped across Conan’s too-soft face, and instead held her gaze steady. When Conan swallowed and tried to speak, it was with a tongue made of sandpaper. “She already knows, despite everything I’ve done.” He tried to sound more certain than he felt in the squirming depths of his heart. “There’s nothing more I can do to deny that. And if you think about the other people who know—the professor, Hattori, my parents— why shouldn’t Ran know, too? They’re all in the same amount of danger, but Ran more so. I’m living with her. The only difference is that I haven’t told her myself.”

 

“If they’ll kill her either way, shouldn’t she live in peace while she can?”

 

“Whatever peace she had has already been broken.” He couldn’t help but hear the strained echoes of Ran’s pained voice, all but pleading with him to be honest.

 

Haibara’s sigh this time was much softer, an exhale from the nose. “If you’re truly convinced you should tell her, then… I won’t stop you. But think about it like this, Kudou-kun. If They forced her to take my poison, do you think she would survive?”

 

“I…”

 

“You don’t. Because the fact that we are alive is a stroke of pure mathematical luck. The odds are not in favor of her survival. Though perhaps she would become like Vermouth, seemingly ageless instead.” Haibara tilted her head back, smiling thinly. “What do you think?”

 

Conan faltered. “Do you… really think that’s possible, with the apotoxin in the state it’s in?”

 

“No.” She laughed, though it was humorless. “What we strove for and what we created are two completely different beasts.”

 

Conan scowled at her. The whisper of Vermouth’s voice came, unbidden, to Conan’s mind and he shuddered as it passed over him: don’t waste your gift. He was overcome with the urge to check on it, and slipped his hand into his pocket. It was still there, still solid. Haibara tracked the motion, her mouth pinched, and Conan drew a slow breath, allowing his shoulders to relax, instead of startling like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar.

 

He knew Haibara; he knew that she would panic, knowing how close Vermouth had been. Selfishly, he also knew that she’d use Vermouth’s presence as yet another point against telling Ran any semblance of the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it. He’d made up his mind.

 

He’d look at the flashdrive; he’d figure out what, exactly, Vermouth was playing at and what she knew when it came to Kid, Pandora, and the rest of that mess. With that, he’d be able to formulate a plan; with that, he’d know what to tell—or what not to tell—Haibara.

 

“Is there something else, Kudou-kun?” Haibara asked. Suspicion laced her voice so thickly that the question came out ironic, hardly a question at all.

 

Indirect was the way to go. “Not right now.”

 

She hummed, eyeing him. “So, when?”

 

He didn’t want to lie. “Soon.”

 

It was more than evident by the way she scoffed and shouldered past him to the hall that the answer hadn’t been a good one.

 

---

 

Off one side of the hotel lobby was a public office, populated by exactly two desktop computers. There was free internet and a pay-per-page printer where tourists could print out plane tickets or driving directions to local attractions. There were no hours posted, and the door was unlocked, but Conan still felt the need to be quiet as he slid inside and approached a computer.

 

The only illumination came from the lobby’s dim nighttime lighting, leaking in through the frosted glass on the computer room door. While he waited for the desktop to boot up, he rolled the flash drive through his fingers. It was a plain thing: a black two inch-long body with a rounded cap. There was no design, no label, no engravings, nothing but a small light on the body that turned green when Conan plugged it in and held his breath. There was no telling what it was—valuable information or tracking software, or neither. He wasn’t about to risk plugging it into Agasa’s laptop.

 

But the flash drive didn’t implode; it didn’t immediately fill the computer with obvious malware. The file explorer popped open, deceptively normal. After a moment of deliberation, he cautiously dove in.

 

The drive contained two folders: “Interrogation Files” and “Pattern Matching''. The first contained two .mp4s, and two .txt files, each labeled with a location and date; the text files were further denoted as transcripts. The second folder’s contents followed the same convention, though everything within was an image file or PDF.

 

There was something about not looking a gift horse in the mouth, but bewildered, Conan shook his head. With Vermouth, there was always a catch, a hidden motive; he wasn’t sure she'd know the meaning of the phrase ‘good will’ if it bit her in the ass.

 

The first chronological file was a video recorded just one week ago—last Monday. About a day and a half after the heist’s conclusion. It was grainy security footage, low quality—and recorded unofficially, if Conan had to take a guess. 

 

In it, Snake sat across from an interrogator, hands bound. He looked disheveled, his moustache in need of a washing, the top of his head bald and shiny without his usual hat. His expression was pinched, like the only food he’d been offered since his arrest had been rotten.

 

He opened up the video’s transcript and split the screen between the text and the video. He quickly realized it was the same transcript he’d obtained through Hakuba—but, no. What Vermouth had passed along was a full four pages longer than that. Conan felt his breath hiccup in the back of his throat. This was the uncensored interview with Snake. It would bear every last detail that had been inconspicuously scrubbed from official records.

With that realization, he pressed his notebook on the desk in front of him and hit play.

 

Snake’s black and white pixel eyes tracked back and forth as his questioner paced. Agitated. Conan took  in the extraordinarily tense lines of his body and the one of the earliest lines in the transcript: “After all these years, this is how you’re finally brought in?”

 

Snake bared his teeth. “I’d like to see you last half as long as I did in the field.”

 

“I’d like to see you learn an ounce of subtlety.” The interrogater heaved a sigh, though it wasn’t included in the transcript. “Let’s get this over with, Snake.”

 

“Give me the pleasure of your name, won’t you?”

 

“Don’t think I will.”

 

“Bastard. See if I tell you anything, then.”

 

“You’ll rot either way. Give me something fun, and you’ll rot a little livelier.”

 

It was like watching a pair of territorial dogs bare their teeth, growl, raise their hackles, but never lunge. It ended when the interrogator—who Conan could only realize, with a slow, cold terror, was in all likelihood an Organization operative or someone from Snake’s own gang, an infiltrator, or maybe just a traitor, full stop—pointed out that Snake had nothing left to lose, now. 

 

Might as well spit in the face of everyone who’d led him here on his way out.

 

“My orders were to eliminate Kid.” Though the video was muted, and Conan had no indication of either man’s tone, the pixelated sneer that stretched over Snake’s face next looked smug. If he was going to give away some coveted information, he’d enjoy gloating at the same time as long as he could, it seemed. “And I’ll have ya know I’ve done my shit.”

 

“Those your original orders? What, eight years ago? … No?”

 

“Only ones that’ve mattered.”

 

“So how long’s it taken you to succeed, a decade?”

 

The transcript gave Snake’s reply as a grunt. Prideful. The interrogator waited him out. Eventually, Snake spoke again. “I fulfilled my fuckin’ duties back then, too.”

 

“Yeah, about that. I’ve been wondering. Did you claim somebody else’s kill?” In the grainy frame, Snake jolted back. The interrogator leaned forward, teeth gleaming in spite of the low quality footage. “Bombs aren’t really your style, are they, Snake?”

 

“I’m no one trick pony.” Even without a tone of voice, Conan could see Snake’s discomfort.

 

The interrogator scoffed. “Sure. They trust you, in that gang of yours? That why they sent you after a ghost and turned you into a joke?” He then skated past Snake’s bristling response to say, “Is that why they let you off light?”

 

“Off light for what.”

 

“Claiming someone else’s kill,” was the even reply. “An unrelated kill of an unrelated magician.”

 

“You callin’ that Kuroba’s death unrelated?” Snake snapped. “After that accident, Kid went missing for eight damn years. That’s not unrelated.”

 

“So tell me why you didn’t do the same to this Kid ‘til now.” Silence. “You couldn’t.”

 

“He’s a slippery bastard, alright?”

 

“I’m not denying that. I’m just looking to understand.”

 

Conan’s eyes ping-ponged between the video, the transcript, and his nearly incomprehensible shorthand scrawling across the page of his notebook. The two talked tense side-stepped sentences around each other for long minutes. Finally, a break from Snake, one that instantly set Conan’s teeth on edge. “It was a so-called ‘gift’ from a fan.”

 

“You got a tip about Kuroba to take him down?”

 

“Not the kind of thing you can turn down,” Snake muttered. “You would know.”

 

“Heh. Well, I suppose I would.”

 

“What’s that saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Snake rolled a stiff shoulder. “Kuroba made it clear he thought we were scum, tryin’ to chase that fuckin’ rock. Enemy number one. Then They took an interest in Pandora. Enemy number two. ‘Least for Kuroba, anyway. But They ain’t a friend to anyone.”

 

“I’m wounded.”

 

“Fuckin’ good.”

 

The two matched stares for a while. Finally the interrogator tilted his head to the side. “Did you ever realize you were dancing to her tune?”

 

“What does it matter, in the end? Kid got the damn rock and vanished into thin air.” Here, Snake laughed, looking cheered in some twisted way. “We’ve all lost: the Syndicate, you lot. Her. Even Kid.”

 

Ice snaked down Conan’s spine. The connection between Snake and the Organization was not what he had been theorizing, not at all. The suggestion of a codenamed agent, “Habushu”, had never been anything but overactive imaginations calling a zebra a horse.

 

No, here was one beast with sockpuppet hands and hired guns. Snake himself was nothing but a grunt; a henchman. One who’d been in the game for several decades, sure, but he wasn’t calling any shots himself. (Conan had rather suspected this to begin with, though the very fact he’d allowed himself to be arrested alive and interrogated for real information did confirm as much.) Rather, he was a specialized agent in a group chasing the same rumours Kuroba and his father-mentor had. 

 

And only god knew what had come first: the tantalizing legends of immortal life, or the groups vying for its tangibility?

 

“That rock’s got a thrall. Makes you do crazy shit. You know that?” Snake was saying. “Makes you desperate. Makes you hungry.” True to his word, there was a glint in his eyes as he leaned forward, as much as his cuffed hands and the table he was trapped behind allowed.

 

Thrall. The state of being under one’s great, overwhelming power. That’s how the Lychen article had described it too, and it struck Conan now that Snake used the same word. Those who held Pandora could feel its power. But more than that, they thirsted to possess it. 

 

He thought of its tangled, messy history: the burned documents, the murders. Even Lychen had ended that way, with a short obituary for two scientists tucked into the papers only weeks after the gem’s discovery had been announced outside the small town—the first murders swirling around to the Stone, and far from the last.

 

Conan had been close to the Eclipse Tear, for a few moments—as near as he ever got to Kid with a gem, short of Kid slipping them onto his person when he returned them, really. But even a few feet away, he’d felt the heat that flared from it in the light of the full moon.

 

Thrall, indeed.

 

“Makes you hungry? Makes you sloppy, more like,” the interrogator replied, holding his ground. “Sloppy enough to get brained by a literal child, and arrested.”

 

With nothing left to say, he made his exit and was soon replaced by a real officer; this is where Hakuba’s version of the transcript began. Conan recognized the answers Snake gave now, clammed up, clipped half-sentences. He didn’t need to rehash the cut-and-dried useless words he’d already been studying for days, and turned the video off.

 

The second set of interrogations was with the sniper who’d shot through Kid’s glider. Hakuba hadn’t procured these for Conan earlier, but it was about as useless as Snake’s censored transcript, regardless. The sniper had been hired on a per-case basis and told next to nothing about the group’s ultimate motives beyond Kill That Thief in White.

 

(The sniper wasn’t even good at his job, Conan thought with a grim humor. Shot through Kid’s glider struts, sure; clipped his wings. But from all the video footage Conan had seen, the only bullets to touch Kuroba had been Snake’s.)

 

He almost regretted the fact there were only two videos, but the uncensored information of Snake’s interview was almost more than Conan knew what to do with at the moment; the two had implied that a fan, a woman, had been involved in the elder Kuroba’s death. With who’d given him the information, and how, it was safe to say that the potential that fan had been Vermouth was rather high.

 

But if that were true, it made no sense. Why would she have a direct hand in the elder Kuroba’s death, only to, eight years later, tip Conan off in his attempts to retrieve the younger Kuroba from wherever-the-hell he’d been spirited away to? Had she acted of her own volition the first time? Was she acting of her own volition now?

 

Conan shook away the thoughts; he’d have to examine them in depth later, but Vermouth was always inscrutable. He could only hope that the second folder contained new hints.

 

“Pattern Matching” was much less straightforward than the interrogations folder. Conan was almost relieved to realize that, clicking into it; the day that Vermouth was unquestionably helpful was the day he’d find himself with a knife wedged between his very important vertebrae.  As it was, the fact she was so forthcoming was a bit unsettling. 

 

With the thought of Lychen’s ending fresh in his mind, it was easy for Conan to pick up on the fact that every file in the Pattern Matching folder was related to Pandora, flung far and wide across the world. Murders and betrayals and disappearances that, without this flash drive, would have never had a correlation to each other, let alone the gem, in the first place. He’d known from the start that the gem had a cursed history; owners who met untimely ends, sales documents burned, profits gone up in smoke, ruthless murders—Kuroba Touichi’s first and foremost in his mind. But this...

 

Conan paused, the little thumbnails of newspaper scans going unfocused. Vermouth had told him not to waste this gift. Presumably, she’d once said the same thing to Snake, which had directly resulted in Kid’s murder.

 

Did she really want this Kid brought home, as a fan? Or did she want what he represented—a fist clenched tightly around Pandora?

 

Vermouth had stakes in immortality. Jodie had uncovered Chris Vineyard’s identity as her own so-called mother, Sharon Vineyard; and on top of that, the interest Vermouth had taken in the recent developments in APTX 4849—enough to impersonate Arrack, to relentlessly pursue Sherry, to grow fond of Conan…

 

Enough to give Conan a ticking time-bomb of a gift.

 

But why?

 

Shit. There were too many things crowding each other for space in his head; the tangled history of Pandora, Vermouth’s involvement, the tenuous link between Snake’s Syndicate and the Black Organization, Ran’s crusade against his identity. It was a wonder he could hold more than one coherent idea for more than thirty seconds, at this point. But one thing was certain: he needed to warn Kuroba that the dangers wreathed in black coats and toting guns did not end with Snake.

 

Maybe they were even seething in the shadows of the world Kuroba was in now.

 

It hadn’t been polite, per se, but Conan had saved Kuroba’s number off Aoko’s phone when they’d all been gathered at the Blue Parrot. And holy shit, was he glad that he had, now, hunched in front of the public desktop, his cellphone’s top edge digging into the shell of his ear, caught between his ear and shoulder.

 

“C’mon,” he muttered anxiously to himself, listening to the distorted, staticky ringing. His eyes scanned the documents in front of him listlessly as he waited. “C’mon. Pick up, Kuroba.”

 

He waited on the line for almost ten incomprehensibly long minutes. When it became clear that it was going to ring indefinitely, he hung up. Ten minutes in Japan; how long had Kuroba been out of range in Amestris?

 

At the Blue Parrot, Kuroba had mentioned he’d spent a week and a half in Amestris. Four days had passed in Tokyo at that point. As it was, it seemed that time was passing in Japan at about a third of the speed it was in Amestris. But that was as accurate as Conan could get. When it came down to minutes…

 

He bit back a swear and checked the time, hoping a ten minute wait would make a big enough difference on Kuroba’s end. The second call didn’t connect, either, and a bitter knot settled somewhere at the bottom of his ribs. He had to talk this through with someone, and preferably someone he didn’t need to spend half an hour catching up to speed on the case—

 

“Hey there, Silver Bullet.”

 

Not that someone.

 

“Vermouth.”

 

He didn’t need the light spilling out from the monitor to recognize her when he turned. Her pale hair was loose around her shoulders and her black jumpsuit was cut low enough to make a bystander gawk, had there been any to witness this exchange. She was even wearing her boots, her bike helmet dangling from her fingers; ready to make her exit.

 

Her shrouded eyes darted to the flash drive, protruding from the public computer, a small light on the end blinking an innocuous green. Then, she dropped into the other computer chair, sweeping one leg over the other and watching with undisguised amusement how Conan pivoted, tense, to keep her in the center of his vision.

 

She was armed—but when wasn’t she armed? Yukiko had told Conan more than once, and with more than enough whining, about the tiny pistol Vermouth had waved in her face behind the closed compartment doors of the Belltree Express. Based on the way she moved now, she wasn’t trying to conceal that from Conan. It must have had a silencer if she was carrying it so confidently on the public floors of a hotel, even at this depopulated hour. 

 

“Enjoying your vacation?”

 

“It’s been illuminating,” he replied tersely.

 

“Good,” Vermouth all but cooed.

 

He’d faced Vermouth with half-cocked confidence, once. When he’d had the upper hand, a plan in place, backup, insurance, a disguise and electrocardiogram nodes pressed to his chest. But today, he had nothing. He had the watch on his wrist and the viper’s own ticking time-bomb set between them. And his allies—and his weaknesses—deep asleep, several floors above, none the wiser.

 

Being at a disadvantage against Vermouth was as bad as a death sentence—even for her so-called Silver Bullet.

 

“What’s the catch?”

 

“No catch.” She dropped her chin into her palm, eyes still trained sharply on Conan’s rigid shoulders. “All I ask is that you don’t waste it.”

 

“So you want Kid brought back.”

 

“If that’s what it takes.” Her tone was indulgent.

 

No, of course Kid —Kuroba— wasn’t the point, not for Vermouth. “The Eclipse Tear, then.”

 

Vermouth’s mouth unfolded into a smirk. “Don’t you think that name’s a bit silly?”

 

“Fine. We’ll call it Pandora.”

 

“Now, that one is all too human.” She thought for a moment, then laughed. “A box that contains all the evils in the world, hmm? At least it’s accurate. Opened by Kaitou Kid, of all people.”

 

Conan felt as far as physically possible from joining in on her mirth. The fact that she was leaning forward somewhat concealed the shape of the gun at her side, but he could see a slight jut that must be the handle, regardless. 

 

Her grin was like the glint of a knife’s sharpened blade when she caught him eyeing it. “Oh, relax a little! Kid should be thanking me for organizing everything so nicely for him. A lot of time and money went into that little ‘world tour’, you know. Those things don’t come cheap.” 

 

Those words jammed a half-forgotten puzzle piece into its place, and Conan knew: Vermouth had funded the gem’s country-hopping exhibition. Either she was working with the mysterious owner who hadn’t made so much as a peep at Kid’s heist announcement—or the mysterious owner had never existed in the first place, at least not as the press releases had implied.

 

“You already had Pandora, didn’t you?” Conan said slowly. “At the very least, you had access to it.”

 

She didn’t deny this. “And?”

 

“What was the point of the tour?” Conan felt on edge, like his stomach was about to drop as he topped over a cliffside. “Was it just to taunt Kid and Snake?” 

 

“While that would have been fun… no,” Vermouth said. “Helping Kid out was meant to further a private little goal of mine. As for that idiot Snake, well. I never dreamed he’d toss Kid out a window. Points for creativity, at least!” This time, her laugh was cold and sharp. 

 

“Did you know that Pandora’s powers would… activate?”

 

“I’d hoped it might.”

 

Conan watched her, terse. “And did you know what it would do?”

 

She shrugged, languid. “The possibilities are endless.”

 

“Why back Kid into using it?”

 

Vermouth tapped her darklyly gloved fingers on her jaw, thinking. What to say and what to keep close to the chest, Conan was sure. Finally, she pursed her lips. “That Stone and I… we have been at a stalemate for a long time. We’re incompatible on a fundamental level. If the thing is to ever wear itself out and turn back into the dust it belongs as… let’s just say it needed a human’s touch.”

 

She let the last phrase linger in the air, grinning easily at Conan. It was an unsettling look that didn’t touch her eyes. But Conan couldn’t find it within himself to be surprised that Vermouth was denouncing her own humanity—whether an off-hand joke or a fact of reality. If Vermouth’s agelessness was Pandora’s gift—if that gift of ‘transformation’ was humanity traded like so many poker chips for immortality—and if that very gift brought her to a stalemate with the Stone itself, it was no wonder Vermouth had turned to the use of pawns to act out her will.

 

“What are you, Vermouth?” Conan formed the words carefully between his teeth. “What did Pandora do to you?”

 

“Why don’t you deduce it, Silver Bullet?” Vermouth leaned in until their faces were inches apart, her chin still propped on one hand. “Or do you need another hint about the kinship she and I share?”

 

Conan’s breath caught low in his chest, which made Vermouth smirk and look him over.

 

“A poor imitation, that drug,” she murmured. “A sick drug. I did try to put it out of its misery, you know.” She stood then, sweeping up to her full height in an instant. 

 

Conan’s fingers flexed, curled tight around pen and notebook. Some weapons they were. “Why?”

 

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t a detective,” Vermouth sighed. “You ask that too often.”

 

“Why destroy Pandora? Why stop the apotoxin development?” he pressed. “Why does it matter to you?”

 

Her smile this time was—almost lonely, her gaze wavering. “A secret makes a woman a woman.”

 

A click: metal on metal. And Haibara, colorless, locked in place in the doorway, the door itself shuddering wider from her misstep. Her hair looked pinkish-white in the glow from the monitor, the bathrobe hanging loose over her pajamas and the whites of her eyes the same. 

 

“Well, Sherry. How nice of you to finally join us!” Vermouth’s grin was a cruel slash. The fleeting moment of loneliness vanished like nothing more than smoke from a candlewick. She drew her gun, aimed. Conan had been right. There was a silencer attached to the end, elongating the muzzle dangerously.

 

“Don’t,” Conan managed, scrambling down from the chair and shoving away the instinct to shout at Haibara to run, the same desperate way he’d done that night on the docks, when Jodie was bleeding against the car, and Vermouth’s gun aloft, Haibara arriving with the tracking glasses slipping down her nose from the sweat, the distance she’d run making her legs tremble and threaten to give out.

 

Now, Haibara was a shivering statue. Her gaze flickered between the muzzle of the gun and Conan: wide, terrified eyes.

 

“No hello?” Vermouth taunted. “I missed you yesterday.”

 

Haibara’s mouth would not work.

 

Conan had seen her like this, more than once; Vermouth shook her to her core, brought every trauma and abuse she’d suffered as Sherry roaring back to life, freezing her feet to the floor.

 

“I hate to do this with an audience, but we really should conclude our business from the Bell Tree,” Vermouth said, sparing Conan a glance. “You wouldn’t give us a little space, would you, Silver Bullet? ...no, I didn’t imagine you would.”

 

As soon as her eyes were back on Haibara, Conan slid deft fingers to his watch, and prayed that Haibara would see.

 

“Sherry, I’ve always wondered… don’t you regret following in your parent’s footsteps? Do you blame them for the foolish project they took on, yet?” 

 

Vermouth was still looking to coax a few words from Haibara, though Conan could hear the edge to her tone; she was growing impatient, uncomfortable with Conan’s audience, his position so close beside her but just out of sight. He could read it in the way she was shifting her body towards him, despite the fact that her aim and gaze stayed trained on Haibara. 

 

“It’s a pity, Shiho. If you’d applied your talents to anything else, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

 

Though the noise was tamped to a concussive whisper, the flash of gunpowder was still bright in the dim office: two shots, squeezed out in quick succession. Conan’s dart hit home in just the same moment.

 

He was moving even as his senses throbbed to the phantom drumbeats of Vermouth’s gunshots. Haibara had thrown herself bodily to the ground; Conan hardly registered the bullets impacting the far wall of the lobby before he was hauling Haibara with him by the back of her robe, towing the two of them into the lobby. The sound of Vermouth falling against the desk chair echoed after them, a vicious clatter or two that overlapped one another, metal against wood, flesh against the floor.

 

The lobby floor was polished tile, against which Conan’s slippers lacked proper traction. Haibara’s sock feet were worse, unable to gain proper footing as she stumbled after his flat-out run. “Kudou-kun,” she managed in a strangled voice as Conan shifted his grip to her arm. “What the hell—”

 

“Shh,” he hissed back, bundling them both beneath the unmanned front desk. At this hour—rounding on three AM—the night guard was taking an unauthorized snooze in the break room. It had been a boon when Conan had first slipped downstairs, but now felt more like a curse, and perhaps one orchestrated by Vermouth. But if nothing else, the isolated counter was a place to bunker down and think, if only for a few moments.

 

Haibara’s breath was stuttering. The gaze she skewered Conan with was one of pure anger, enough to momentarily supersede the terror.

 

Conan winced an I’m Sorry.  

 

She glared back a You Fucking Bastard.

 

“I didn’t know she was still here,” Conan murmured, not having a wince for that.

 

You Should Have Told Me, Haibara’s fresh glare said.

 

Conan grimaced. He wondered how long Haibara had stood at the door, listening to his almost nonsensical conversation with Vermouth. Hell, he hadn’t even figured out why Vermouth had stuck around in Ibaraki, which was arguably a dangerous place for her with Conan around, just as much as vice versa. Just to trail him down here and tease him?

 

...unfortuantely, that was pretty likely.

 

Vermouth’s heeled boots thumped, a little too nearby, all too soon. She clicked her tongue, agitated. Haibara’s fingers found Conan’s arm and wrapped it like a vice. Conan grit his teeth. He’d suspected the darts in his watch might not last long against Vermouth, especially hot on the heels of her self-admitted lack of humanity, but he’d really hoped for at least five minutes to figure out a game plan.

 

Vermouth kicked aside a chair, or maybe a coffee table, or even both; they only heard the impact, the fluttering sounds of a dozen magazines hitting the ground. It was only a matter of time before she checked the reception area, and as soon as she did, the two of them were sitting ducks.

 

Haibara’s nails bit into Conan’s skin. They’d leave crescent-moon indents, if not bright pink scratches. It was really Haibara in danger, Vermouth having long since proved her reluctance to harm her affectionately-named Silver Bullet.

 

Think, Conan berated himself harshly. Think.

 

The front doors were automatic, not far. Conan gauged the distance with bated breath. He gave Haibara a tug, a nod, and she looked back like a spooked animal, but that was better than digging her heels in and refusing to move, accepting her death.

 

As soon as Vermouth’s heavy footsteps turned, the two children darted, Conan a half-step ahead, socks and slippers abandoned to reduce the risk of slipping on the tiled floor. Vermouth’s next gunshot was a near miss, the bullet shattering through the half-open automatic door. Conan was aware that he and Haibara were showered with glass but he didn’t feel it: only the pounding of his heart, Haibara’s grip around his wrist, his heart pumping in overtime.

 

The hotel was set away from the road by a small concrete patio and a rounded driveway; when they’d arrived, Conan had noticed the raised concrete planters spaced evenly along the area, tall palm trees sprouting up from each one. Now, he and Haibara were small enough to duck behind one for cover, darting between it and the next just before Vermouth emerged from the lobby. 

 

Shards of glass crunched beneath her boots like bone. Her gun and gaze both swept the area in search of them. “Leave her, Silver Bullet,” Vermouth said, voice like an icepick. “I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

 

Like hell, Conan thought, grasping Haibara’s trembling arm. She was tense, coiled, ready to spring; and while Conan wasn’t about to leave her behind, he wasn’t about to let her take that decision out of his hands, either.

 

Vermouth rounded the row of planters. Conan and Haibara dove around the corner, Haibara hissing between her teeth. The sound that drew Conan’s attention to the smudgy footprints of blood that had led Vermouth to their hiding spot. Shit.

 

The metal click of the bolt closing rang out only a second before the next muted gunshot. He and Haibara hit the ground again, showered with splinters of concrete and dirt. The second shot was the same, a bullet driving deliberately into the planter. Warning shots.

 

This time, Haibara moved first. In their next island of safety, the world went quiet enough that Conan could hear both the cling of a bullet casing hitting the pavement, and Vermouth’s displeased hum of yet another bullet going astray.

 

Crouching on the balls of his feet made them burn insistently, despite the wash of adrenaline in his system. He could only hope it would be dark enough to pull this off. He pried free from their mutually vice-like grip. “Give me your robe.”

 

“Is this really the time for a costume change,” she whispered, hoarse and angry, fingers shaking as she unthreaded the knot at her waist. Now, in only her pajamas, she seemed smaller than usual.

Conan grimaced, but there wasn’t time to talk. “Just stay here.” He pulled the gown on without bothering with the tie, pressed his glasses into Haibara’s hands, and peeked out. Vermouth was pacing steadily up the row of planters, scanning around each one thoroughly, gun in hand. Her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but it was a near thing. Conan hiked the dressing gown over his head.

 

Here goes nothing.

 

He hunched down as he sprinted towards the illuminated corner of the hotel. Gunshots that sounded more like a falsefied recording chased him, concrete exploding at his heels, Vermouth’s feet pounding after him too. He skittered into the wall beneath the light; breath stuttering; this wouldn’t fool her for long, especially not as she drew closer, so he dropped the pretense and spun, still tense, ready to throw himself into a roll in case he needed to make a speedy exit from the line of fire.

 

He wasn’t fool enough to think he could avoid bullets forever, and especially not as the range between the two of them closed. His heart all but stopped as Vermouth squeezed out one last round, eyes widening when she realized who she’d been baited to follow.

 

Her arm jerked at the last second.

 

The bullet drove into the side of the hotel, only a few feet away. The wall—decorative, smooth stones tiled together—shattered around the bullet.

 

She didn’t raise an arm to protect her face; in fact, she hardly flinched as the ricochet hit,  carving stark red lines into her cheeks, chin, and exposed chest. She only twisted her mouth into a snarl and flexed her fingers against the grip of her gun, finger still all too close to the trigger for Conan’s liking.

 

“I almost killed you,” she hissed.

 

A shout arose from the lobby, frantic and high-pitched as the lazy night-shift guard skidded out from the chaos Vermouth had left in her wake.

 

She did not turn around as she flicked the safety on her gun. “Tsk.” Red static sparked at the dripping cuts and crawled quickly up the length of each, leaving clean, unblemished skin in their wake.

 

“Hey!” The night shift guard’s cry was strangled and afraid. “What the hell—”

 

Vermouth veered toward the raod. In a blink, she’d mounted her bike—a heavy black shadow awaiting her. It roared to life. And just like that, she was gone.

 

“What the hell was that?” The night guard asked in a squeaking voice, looking far more awake than Conan had seen him an hour ago in the break room. He took in the two bloodied children, the now-empty road, and the shattered front door of the hotel, like the three might answer him with visuals alone. He spotted a bullet casing and did a doubletake, going green around the edges.

 

Haibara took a half-dozen stuttering steps to Conan’s side, her fingers digging hard into his shoulder—harder than necessary, Conan thought, but he probably deserved it. He gave her an unsteady smile, before turning to the guard. “There was a thief.” He didn’t need to force the tremble in his voice. “But we chased her off, don’t worry!”

 

“A thief?” The guard was going greener by the minute. “With a gun? Shooting at children?” He ran his hands over his face, muttering unkind words, then ushered Conan and Haibara back inside to the now fully-lit lobby, telling them to park their butts on a couch while he called the police and then their guardian, in that order. 

 

As soon as his back was turned, Conan slid back off the couch, wincing as the renewed weight on his feet lit up with the pain of a dozen tiny but deep and vicious cuts. There were probably all kinds of glass and concrete shards embedded in his soles.

 

Haibara came with him, balancing on the outside of her feet, glare still glued in place and claw-like hand once again on his forearm. “She was after something,” Haibara hissed, not a question.

 

“Yeah, she was.” Conan led her towards the public office. Each step drove new, sharper pains up his nerves, and Haibara wasn’t faring any better, judging from the tight line of her mouth. They hobbled to a stop at the doorway; Conan nudged it open with his free elbow and they both propped themselves up on either side of the doorframe. 

 

Small mercies; they didn’t need to go any further to see: the blinking green light on the end of Vermouth’s flash drive was gone. “I guess it was hers to begin with, though.”

 

“That flash drive.”

 

Conan sent her an alarmed glance. “How did you—”

 

“Your situational awareness is awful when you’re focused,” Haibara muttered. “It wasn’t hard to spot. Vermouth was angling to get it the whole time you were talking.”

 

“Ah,” Conan muttered. So that answered the question he’d had earlier; Haibara had seen a lot more of that conversation than he’d hoped. But if Vermouth had only come to retrieve her gift… Conan couldn’t help but grin.

 

“What now?” Haibara asked, sharp.

 

He pulled his own flash drive from the chest pocket of his pajama shirt. “Redundancies,” he said simply.

 

“Hey!” The guard had spotted their absence. The poor guy; he sounded stressed. Honestly, Conan could relate. “Sit back down until the paramedics get here!”

 

“Alriiiight,” Conan called back.

 

Once they were situated, the guard eked out their room number from them and made a call upstairs to Agasa, this time with his eyes trained warily on both Conan and Haibara the whole time. Conan valiantly resisted the urge to start picking at the glass in his feet, knowing he’d probably make it worse.

 

“You’ve been acting like a bigger idiot than usual, lately,” Haibara muttered in his ear. “One of these days it’s going to get someone killed.”

 

Conan grimaced.

He could read between the lines well enough to see the litany of names that someone could be.

 

---

 

Notes:

in a sentence: “it’s Vermouth all the way down”

thank you all so sosososo much for sticking around, reading, commenting, everything ♥ they keep me going! i want to show my gratitude and will be trying to reply to the backlog of lovely comments yall have left. rest assured, i have read and appreciated and adored every single one!╰（‵□′）╯

come say hi on tumblr if you wanna! in november i'll be making nanowrimo progress posts as i chip away at this fic!!

Chapter 24: The Warden

Notes:

*shows up 8.5 months late with two chapters and starbucks* haha hiiiiiiiii

---

 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

 

It hadn’t even been a full day since the Fuhrer had voiced that utterly simplistic, sinister threat, but not a minute had gone by without its echo brushing the back of Maes’ mind. It had darkened his doorstep enough times to fill a lifetime.

 

He’d been able to swallow the bitter pill when it was his own life on the line, and Roy’s. But, this—this was different. This was about his family. And that alone impeded his ability to make objective judgement calls.

 

It had been a relief, that Roy had declared a plan of action in the aftermath of their meeting with the Fuhrer, and though Maes trusted Roy with his life, did he trust Roy with Gracia’s? Elicia’s?

 

He’d have to.

 

He’d not seen Roy again during the day; they had parted at Central Command, and Maes had conducted the rest of his day as an automaton. He’d only begun to come back online that night, when Roy swept in and announced they were moving out.

 

So here they were: dark clothes and hushed steps. Roy, an embroidered glove at the ready; Gracia, a hastily stuffed bag of essentials clutched at her side; and Maes, with Elicia cradled in his good arm.

 

His daughter was, mercifully, fast asleep. Though her weight pulled uncomfortably at the already-strained muscles of his shoulder, and made him aware of all the tender aches that had previously gone unnoted, he was unable to give her up. It was reckless to occupy his only fighting arm, but a sinister, cold feeling told him this could be the last time he ever held his daughter. 

 

Elicia was warm and pliant, barely rousing when he’d pulled her out of bed. Maes wondered what she’d remember, come tomorrow. Come next week.

 

Their route had been circuitous and tense. A cab, a trolly, a witching-hour crowd, a second trolly. Decoy train tickets were both purchased and burned, their names now on a roster en route to the north-western border, and now—the three of them tip-toeing the back alleys of Central’s underbelly. 

 

It was hardly enough to put Maes at ease. He felt horribly watched, and knew from the way that Gracia’s steps were tight and quick, that she sensed it too. Roy was near unreadable, smothering any nerves under an air of quiet confidence.

 

Despite the detours, Maes knew exactly where they were. There could really only be one place Roy would take them.

 

Gracia broke their party’s tense silences. There was an attempt at levity in her voice. “You know, Maes, when you promised to take me out, this wasn’t what I imagined.”

 

“Only the best for my beautiful wife.”

 

“Save your flirting,” Roy muttered. “We’re nearly there.”

 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Maes said,

 

Roy didn’t acknowledge the jab, instead pausing at a thin gap between two stonework buildings. Calling it an alley would’ve been generous; there was hardly three feet between the walls, forcing them single-file. The tall, jagged lines of the old walls ensconced the four of them in shadows in only a few strides. 

 

A prickle crawled up Maes’ spine. Something about the dark unsettled him, and his mind flicked back to the [attack at the park, cornered in the phone booth]. Just ahead, Gracia paused, glancing back; she must have felt something, too. When Maes checked their surroundings, nothing moved. The very air seemed to be holding its breath.

 

The alley really was narrow. No room to maneuver.

 

Maes drew a deep breath and only smelled stale rainwater and car exhaust.

 

Roy knocked a short pattern on a well-concealed door where the alley dead-ended. It was set into the brick exterior almost without seams, like it had been made with stealth and alchemy.

 

A tiny, soundless slit opened in the door’s face, too thin to be a mail flap. “Name?”

 

“Paloma.” Roy offered up a folded slip. It vanished through the slit, which clicked shut behind it. 

 

A moment later, several locks tumbled. The door slid back. Chris, nothing more than a fuzzy-edged silhouette, said, “Get in.”

 

They navigated the slim entry, squeezing past Chris, who sealed the door with a sturdy thunk. It muted the hair-raising prickle of paranoia that had draped itself over the back of Maes’ neck, but didn’t erase it completely. 

 

One of Elicia’s small hands tugged Maes’ collar tight against his throat, and he turned to press a kiss to her head and caught Chris watching.

 

Her creased face betrayed no almost no emotion, only a hardness born of experience. “This bar is no place for children.”

 

“I wasn’t much older when you had me running around here.” Roy hummed. “What was it you called me? Free-range?”

 

“Cheeky asshole is more like it,” Chris corrected, slapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Alright, to the den with you lot.”

 

A small flight of steps took them down. The air cooled a few degrees, like the depth was moving them away from the summer itself. The halls remained cramped, thin enough that Gracia’s wrist and shoulders brushed Maes’ with nearly every step. The sparse lighting was golden, and revealed thin, red-mottled carpeting that absorbed the sounds of their footsteps.

 

While he had never been back here before, Maes knew of it not from his own intelligence network, but from bits and pieces gleaned from his years with Roy. 

 

Though her name didn’t dare grace more than the deed to the bar, Chris functionally owned the entire block that these halls were concealed within. It was handily concealed by the barfront that conveyed an air of high-class frivolity. 

 

The bar was large and open, and made hazy by cigarette smoke and pipe fog; filled with cherry furniture and jewel-colored liquor bottles that somehow conveyed opulence rather than looking gaudy. The neighboring businesses and apartments were similarly above-board to the average visitor.

 

The aptly-named den was inviting and lived-in. The couches, of which there were one too many for the space, were mismatched and scraped, and the room was bathed in flickering light from multicolored bulbs that dangled bare from the ceiling. 

 

The only shiny surface was the gleaming liquor cabinet, which Chris made a beeline for. “Alright, siddown.”

 

Before anyone was able to follow the command, Vanessa—the sister who’d threatened Roy into an extended chat during their last visit—accosted Roy with a squeezing hug, heedless of Roy’s sour face. “You know something is wrong when Roy’s here twice in a week!”

 

“As much as I dislike the implication that I neglect you, I can’t deny that something is wrong,” Roy sighed, pushing her back gently and taking her pouting with grace.

 

Chris dropped a tall, dark bottle onto the coffee table alongside three crystal glasses. She speared Maes and Gracia with a raised eyebrow, one that also pointedly asked why they weren’t yet sitting. “Whiskey?”

 

Gracia left her bag and coat by the door. “Just a finger.”

 

“I think you’ll need two,” Chris warned.

“If auntie says two, you oughta make it three,” Vanessa said, transferring her affections to Gracia. “I’m Vanessa, nice to meet you.”

 

“You as well.” She considered Vanessa, then turned back to Chris. “I’ll split the difference—give me two.”

 

Chris poured, then tilted the bottle questioningly towards Maes. He shook his head. Best not to mix it with whatever [pain] drug cocktail was still in his system. 

 

The drinks were distributed. Vanessa drank enthusiastically. Gracia peered into hers like it might reveal the secrets of the universe if she looked hard enough. while Roy sampled his sedately only once before setting it aside. 

 

Chris merely swirled hers around. Maes watched the amber liquid move, transfixed.

 

She methodically packed her pipe to accompany her liquor. “Got a light, Roy-boy?”

 

Roy obliged with a snap. His aunt’s pipe flared. 

 

Smoke curled towards the ceiling after her first puff. “That apprenticeship was good for something, eh?”

 

Roy clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Why must you stall? We’ve a time sensitive matter on our hands.”

 

Blue and gold glinted off Chris’ bejeweled fingers as she waved a hand. “I thought you’d want to be comfortable for this conversation.”

 

“We are comfortable.”

 

“You’re more tense than a watchspring, Roy-boy.”

 

“Stalling.”

 

Chris rolled her eyes, but the gesture was fond. “I spoiled you as a child, didn’t I? That’s why you’re so impatient.”

 

“Wow, auntie!” Vanessa tittered. “You’re just realizing now? And here I thought you were sharp!” 

 

“Enough of you,” Chris sniped, though not harshly. “You don’t need to remind me of business, Roy-boy.” Her focus had migrated to Gracia, who was sipping slowly at her drink and watching her right back. “Mrs. Hughes?”

 

“Yes, Madame?”

 

“Just Chris,” she corrected.

 

“Then you must call me Gracia.”

 

“Gracia,” Chris corrected with a slight nod—more a shifting of her chin. “You know what you came here to do tonight, don’t you?”

 

Gracia nodded, but feeling the weight of every eye on her—most heavily Maes—she spoke. “To disappear.”

 

“Sure you want to do it? It’s going to put all of you at risk.”

 

“We’re at risk either way,” Gracia said softly. Then, she steeled herself with a grimacing mouthful of whiskey. “With all due respect, I’m not sure there’s another option anymore.”

 

Chris nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with her appraisal of Gracia’s character. “Good. I’m glad you understand the situation you’re in.” A rare half-smile tugged at Chris’s mouth. “But thankfully, it’s not quite as dire as all that.”

 

This was news to Maes. Roy wouldn’t meet his eyes when he tried to catch them, instead keeping his dark gaze fixed on his aunt over his braided fingers.

 

It fell to Gracia to ask, “Really?... how’s that?”

 

“Frankly,” Chris said, “it’s because you won’t be leaving at all.”

 

“What?” Maes twisted his fingers in the back of Elicia’s coat. “That defeats the entire—”

 

Chris clicked her tongue and Maes cut to silence. “To any outside observer, anyway.”

 

Vanessa propped her elbows on her knees, smiling a secretive smile at Chris, who glinted back—eyes, teeth, whiskey, rings, and all. Roy inhaled sharply when he looked at his sister. She pulled her long dark hair back. Winked.

 

A whirlwind mix of relief and apprehension settled over Maes, not quite masking the uncomfortable prickling that was still tickling his spine and shoulders. “Ah. A decoy.”

 

“I prefer the term stand-in,” Vanessa chirped.

 

Gracia brushed her fingers against her own hair—chin length, the color of sugared coffee; nothing like Vanessa’s dark brown, fluffy waves. “But…”

 

“Nothing a little cut and color can’t take care of,” Vanessa said.

 

“You’d do that for us…?”

 

“In our line of work, you learn to take down risks,” Vanessa said. Maes was sure that was true whether she meant being a worker bee spy, or the day job as an escort. “I knew what I was signing up for. And I know who in this world is worth protecting. And we Christmas girls don’t do things by half, you know.”

 

“Still—”

 

“Don’t worry, Gracia,” Vanessa said. “If anyone comes calling, they’ll regret it.”

 

“What if it’s a gunman?” Maes asked, less to doubt her skills, more to gauge them. 

 

It was the wrong question, evidenced by Roy’s muffled snort and Vanessa’s raised eyebrows.

 

“We deal with all sorts here,” was all Vanessa offered by way of explanation, her mouth curving into a wry, secretive smile. “Would you like a demonstration of our tactics, Mr. Hughes?”

 

Maes couldn’t restrain a soft laugh. “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

 

“Good.” Vanessa pursed her lips in satisfaction.

 

“We’ll still need to be thorough,” Chris said. “You got a wedding ring, hon?”

 

Maes tried not to wince as Gracia slid the ring off and showed it to Chris. It was simple, a smooth gold band and single diamond; he’d bought it right after Ishval when the ink on his transfer to Central was still fresh and wet. Chris held it in two fingers and examined it closely, then nodded.

 

“Go find a lookalike in the jewelry box,” she said, passing it to Vanessa. “Doesn’t have to be perfect, but make it close. Roy-boy will do the rest.”

 

“Metal isn’t my area of expertise,” Roy said, resigned. “Nor are diamonds, I’m afraid.”

 

“You’ll do it or I’ll be asking back all that money I spent on your damn education,” Chris said, ignoring the way Roy mimed an offense. “Can’t have a married woman without the right wedding ring, now can we?”

 

“What about Elicia?” Maes asked, the words filled with Elicia’s lavender shampoo. “She’s harder to... find a stand in for.”

 

“A doll will do,” Chris said, shrugging slowly like a tide coming and going. “Keep her home. Say she’s sick.”

 

“I won’t be moving around unnecessarily, anyway,” Vanessa piped up, surfacing from a cupboard with a jewelry box. “Just enough to keep up appearances.”

 

“Will Elica and I be staying here? While Vanessa’s at the apartment?”

 

“While this bar is arguably one of the safest spots in Central… no. There’s too much blue, even ‘round these parts.” Chris lifted her pipe back to her painted lips, the mouthpiece already shining the same deep red. “We’re slipping you two outta town. I’ve got a friend who can take you a ways up north, even over a border or two if they’ve gotta.”

 

“I thought…” Gracia started hesitantly.

 

“No disappearing?” Chris asked, almost apologetic. At Gracia’s nod, Chris sighed out spiced smoked. “Unfortunately that’s only on the surface.”

 

Gracia nodded silently. 

 

Vanessa upturned the jewelry box onto the coffee table, spilling rings and bracelets haphazard over the lacquered surface. She and Chris dismissed a few pieces outright. They selected a few, though they were much too big for Vanessa. Chris pointed out that Roy had yet to earn his keep. “If a bloody decorated State Alchemist can’t resize a ring, I ain’t givin’ them any more tax dollars.”

 

Roy muttered something that may or may not have been about tax evasion. Chris barked at him to shut his trap.

 

When the rings finally made their way across the table to Roy, Maes, and Gracia, Maes found that the selection wasn’t half bad; they all had similarly cut diamonds, even among other stones, and gold of a similar color to Gracia’s. Vanessa dumped a stack of paper and pencils onto Roy’s lap.

 

“Just here for the grunt work,” Roy feigned displeasure as Vanessa mussed his hair.

 

“Think you can do it?” Maes asked, turning just in time to catch Roy’s put-upon scowl. “Or should we call Ed back up from the south?”

 

“I can do it,” Roy snapped, brandishing a blank paper like a shield. “Even a child can transmute metals.”

 

“Yes, which is why Ed—”

 

Gracia came to Roy’s rescue, flicking Maes in the cheek. “I thought transmuting gold was illegal.”

 

“It is.”

 

“Have you ever done it before?”

 

“No comment.” Roy rustled his papers loudly, hunching over to begin sketching.

 

Gracia giggled. “He definitely has,” she whispered to Maes.

 

“Oh, no doubt.”

 

“I can hear you,” Roy muttered.

 

Vanessa returned again with an armful of hair and makeup supplies; the pouches and bottles overflowing, threatening to topple. Gracia stood to help her after downing her remaining whiskey—perhaps ill-advised, but Maes couldn’t blame her when the lot of them were still under the Madame’s watchful gaze, and even he felt the primal need to impress her. 

 

If he felt inadequate by her standards, he could only imagine what Roy felt, not only now but as a young boy. Suddenly, the threads that had led Roy to his current career path were all too clear.

 

Gracia and Vanessa vanished into an adjacent bathroom—or perhaps it was more of a greenroom—and Roy turned to his aunt. “You mentioned there was something else we should hear?”

 

Maes perked up. This was the first he’d heard of it.

 

“Mm. I found a few interesting things while digging further into Xingan myths.”

 

“Ah, so you’ve dusted off the memory vault.”

 

“Shut your trap and listen, Roy-boy.”

 

Roy looked chastised, but only for a moment, before gallantly gesturing for Chris to go on. 

 

She huffed.

 

“What are the stories?” Maes encouraged.

 

“Expansions of the Golden Sage story. This version has him swanning in from Xerxes right after its destruction.” 

 

No surprise there; the Golden Sage, credited with bringing an alchemy-like art to Xing, had an obvious connection to the ruined city, when one considered how widely Xerxes was accepted as the birthplace of the ancient arts. 

 

“The difference is what this story says about the destruction of the city—that it was torn apart by a war over the golden tears of immortality,” Chris said. “Some are sayin’ the Golden Sage is the one who came out on top.”

 

“Sure,” Maes said. “People have been murdering in the name of the Philosopher’s Stone for, what… four hundred years? Not much has changed.”

 

Chris inclined her head slightly. “Second thing is the idea that the population of Xerxes didn’t actually die that night. Don’t ask me how, but according to some versions of the legend, their souls were sucked up by the full moon instead.”

 

“I… what?” Roy asked, perplexed.

 

“Don’t ask me how,” Chris repeated.

 

Roy shook his head. “Right. Of course. A million or so souls, absorbed by the moon.”

 

“Seems feasible if you ask me.” 

 

Maes had seen a lot recently, but it wasn’t a stretch to say that he’d bore witness to herculean feats of alchemy since he’d first met Roy—the both of them underbaked adults in over-starched blues.

 

Roy pulled several folded papers from his coat pocket. He flicked through them before laying them flat for reference.

 

The reports and clippings followed Liore, Ishval, Fafaus, and Dameno, among others: points on the nation-wide array that Maes had uncovered brewing below the surface.

 

“I ask again, because I’m interested in finding out if Xerxes’ downfall followed a similar pattern as what we’re seeing in Amestris now,” Roy said.

 

Maes shifted Elicia to lean over the evidence once again. A similar pattern. The idea made his stomach twist.

 

“Madame, you pointed us to Xerxes in the first place,” Roy went on. “You said it was the origin point for many Xingan myths—especially when it came to immortality. That it lead to the destruction of ther civilization.” 

 

She gazed back at them, eyes dark. Troubled. But her voice rumbled the same as ever when she said, “That’s right.”

 

Roy turned back to Maes. “You asked how their downfall was related to immortality.” He tapped at the papers strewn across the coffee table. “If I’m right—and I certainly hope that I’m not—then you found the answer to your own question, Hughes.”

 

Maes shifted his daughter enough to rub a hand down his face.

 

“The array converts human souls into a lump of amplification crystal,” Roy went on. “In layman’s terms, that should cause an implosion by focusing a wide swath of energy into five very specific points. I think this is what could have happened in Xerxes—the power generated by drawing on an area that size would certainly have been enough to level the civilization.

 

“If it could do that, I don’t want to know what it could do with something the size of Amestris,” Maes muttered darkly.

 

“The true path to Xerxes’ downfall is hard to pin down,” Chris said. “I only know what I know: stories.”

 

Roy clicked his tongue. “Perhaps a primary source would tell us the most.”

 

Maes hummed. “Something buried in the ruins?”

 

“They’ve remained  relatively untouched, due to their inaccessability,” Roy said. “But if we could reach them…”

 

Maes hummed, thinking. Silence blanketed the room; Chris cleaned her pipe; Roy stared into his papers, unseeing.

 

Finally, Maes broke the stalemate with a sigh. “What about Xingan alkahestry? Any luck there?”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Chris shrugged, exhaling fresh smoke. “Short an alkahestrist of our own, all we’ve got are the basics. Has its uses in healing, a focus on the body. Energy drawn from a cosmic, ever-flowing source. So on.”

 

“An alkahestrist of our own,” Maes murmured.

 

It was hard to be sure that Kaitou truly qualified. That boy was full of stories. Stories—and questions.

 

“I know that look,” Roy said. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Kaitou. Follow me for a moment here. Perhaps it’s a cultural difference, but he refuses to transmute anything—even the simplest form of alteration—without a dire situation,” Maes said. “He begs ignorance even of the transmutation that transported him to Central, and besides, his definitions of alkahestry are shoddy and basic. He’s shown himself to be adept at misdirection. Why wouldn’t he use it here?”

 

Across the table, Chris hummed.

 

“We know it’s possible to fake a transmutation,” Maes continued. “Just look at what happened in Liore. It’s possible… that Kaitou is doing the same. It’s clear he’s hiding some things from us; I wouldn’t be surprised if that was part of it.”

 

“Cornello was still doing alchemy, on some level,” Roy said.

 

“Cornello wasn’t an alchemist before he arrived in Liore. The sources have been hushed by now, but people knew him.” Maes jabbed a finger at an article detailing Liore’s recent riot: the story of their Sun God’s miracles proven false. “He used that incomplete Stone without a single ounce of alchemical knowledge.”

 

“Perhaps that’s why his results were so unpredictable…” Roy murmured.

 

“Perhaps,” Maes stressed, “Kaitou is doing something similar and calling it alkahestry.” 

 

He could see he had Roy’s attention.

 

“It’d be a failing on our part to continue on without questioning those assumptions we’ve held about Kaitou from the beginning,” Maes insisted. “It’s time to question everything.”

 

Roy sighed. “You’re right. But there’s nothing to do about it now. He’s off galavanting around with the Elrics, getting into hell knows what kind of trouble, at least until Hawkeye can reign him in. I’ll notify her of this, and she will observe his behavior.”

 

“Let’s speak to Ed as well; maybe he’s earned Kaitou’s trust to speak more candidly.”

 

It had been obvious to Maes within minutes of the topic’s broach that Kaitou had a desperate need of the Stone; it was the drive he saw in Ed, and to no lesser extent, Al. Kaitou would not have given up the Stone easily. Maes’ confidence in that fact had only grown as time wore on. If anyone were to get him talking about either interconnected subject—alkahestry, the Stone—it would likely be Ed.

 

He didn’t have to spell it out, what kind of game-changer it would be to have a fully functional Stone on their side. And not just for the Elric brothers and their piecemeal bodies, but for the increasingly imminent coup they’d be enacting to topple the corrupt Bradley from his seat of power. 

 

No matter that coup was never the way they’d intended to see Roy achieve the position of Fuhrer, but their team was nothing if not adaptable.

 

“As long as mention of the Philosopher’s Stone doesn’t send Ed into a reckless series of rash decisions,” Roy muttered.

 

“It’s Ed. Could we expect any less?”

 

Roy leaned forward with a sigh, spreading his papers further before weaving his fingers below his chin again. “Be that as it may… we have only a few moves available.”

 

“And for now, there’s a task in front of us,” the Madame agreed. “Well, Roy-boy?”

 

Silently, Roy resumed work on his half-abandonded arrays meant to duplicate Gracia’s ring.

 

Maes decided to leave him to it, and tucked Elicia into a blanket, against the arm of the couch. She’d slept through the night’s commotion thus far; she’d likely sleep through a few minor transmutations.

 

A rough chemical scent was lingering in the air of the adjacent restroom, which had been transformed into a miniaturized hair salon. Vanessa and a new girl—Cecily, Maes soon learned—were fussing over Gracia, whose hair had been covered in foil. When it was Vanessa’s turn to sit, Gracia sidled over to Maes. 

 

“I hope Elicia will still recognize me,” she said, touching a piece of foil that rested against her jaw. “The dye was so bright, going on.”

 

“Of course she’ll recognize her beautiful mother.”

 

“Even with red hair?”

 

“You’ll make a stunning ginger.”

 

“We’re cutting it once the dye is done,” Cecily piped up, pinning pieces of Vanessa’s hair in place. “How do you feel about a more boyish style, Gracia?”

 

Gracia perked up. “I’ve always wanted to try something like that.”

 

“Riza had her hair like that, when she was a teenager,” Maes said.

 

“Yes, it was still short when I met her.”

 

It had suited Riza, and emphasized her large eyes. He forgot, sometimes, how young Riza had been in Ishval—then and now, nineteen had seemed like such a tender age. Somehow the size of her eyes hadn’t made it easier to see her age, not through the grime. Not through the dark shadow of war.

 

God. Nineteen. And Ed was fifteen, and Al was fourteen—Kaitou was only sixteen, too. What next? Would they be introduced to a twelve-year-old and be forced to rely on them?

 

He tried to refocus on the conversation at hand. Gracia was reminiscing about the first time they’d gone out with Roy and Riza, so soon after Ishval that they were still shaking sand out of their socks on a daily basis. “And I couldn’t believe she was of legal drinking age! I mean, just barely, but if it weren’t for how she held herself, it would’ve felt like watching a puppy order a rum and coke.”

 

Maes chuckled. “She was ready to shoot the bartender for ID’ing her.”

 

“Are you saying she wouldn’t have?”

 

“No, but it seemed like a near thing.”

 

Vanessa squealed, drawing their attention. Cecily had given her a hand mirror and she was examining her sister’s handwork; Maes was impressed to note how similar the cut was to Gracia’s, feathery layers and all. If not for the color, Maes might have been able to mistake the two women from behind. The foil went on next, a mystifying process; then Cecily shooed Maes out, as it was time to wash Gracia’s hair. 

 

Back in the den, Elicia was half-awake. She’d migrated half a foot, and was leaning sleepily against Roy’s side, thumb still in her mouth and eyes hooded low as Roy revised his arrays.

 

The rest of the night wore on. Elicia fell back asleep; a few girls came and went, dropping off a change of clothing for Gracia, and a new coat for Vanessa. Maes entertained himself with the idea of a costume room hidden deep within the brothel, bursting at the seams with every modern style a woman could desire.

 

Then, all too soon and much too late, Cecily’s makeover was done. Vanessa’s hair was still wet, which made it a few shades darker than Gracia’s, but it was much lighter than it had begun. Backlit with her new haircut and slightly heeled shoes, she and Gracia could have been twins; the illusion was furthered when they pulled on their near-matching coats.

 

And Gracia, with her boyish cut and new red hue, was stunning. Maes wished the sight was less bittersweet.

 

Chris escorted them back the way they’d come. When they stepped into the night, a dark car was idling at the curb, the driver, though draped in shadows, recognizable as one of the girls who’d been flitting around with clothing. Vanessa moved ahead, while Roy and Chris hung back, just on the other side of the bar’s invisible back door, giving Maes and Gracia the privacy to say goodbye before he followed Vanessa to the car, to go back to their half-empty home.

 

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the shadowy alley, watching Vanessa vanish into the waiting vehicle. Elicia slept against Gracia’s shoulder.

 

“Well… this is it,” Gracia said, her voice not much above a whisper.

 

“So it is,” Maes confirmed, just as soft. Speaking loudly felt like a criminal act in this shadowy dark, with its prickle of unease caressing them. The perversion of a lover’s gentle touch.

 

Gracia sighed. “Do you really think this will work?”

 

Maes felt like he’d been caught in an Ishvalan sandstorm; grains bruning in his eyes, his throat, making them hot, scratchy. “It has to.”

 

The alternative was too awful to even consider.

 

“You better stay alive, Maes,” Gracia said. Her voice was steady, steadier than Maes would’ve managed.

 

He swallowed, too much grit and not enough saliva. “You too, Gracia. You and Elicia both. You’re my whole world, you know?”

 

She nodded, catching the fabric of his coat and held on tight enough that the tendons in the back of her hand strained. He covered her fist with his.

 

“I mean it,” she whispered.

 

His throat thick, Maes could only nod. He leaned in to kiss her, a chaste goodbye with Elicia pressed between them. But before their lips could even brush, the shadows they stood in reared to life before them.

For a moment, Maes thought his eyes were deceiving him—even as the shadow, a long sinister tendril, seamed in a dozen places. Stark white eyes opened from them. A new whip-like arm joined the first, peppered with square, blunt teeth set into an unsettlingly wide grin. All around them, thin, sharp-fingered arms crawled open like an unfurling flower.

 

“What a touching goodbye.” The voice came from half a dozen mouths, sickly-sweet. “Too bad it’s all for naught.”

 

“The hell—?” Maes started, but was cut off by Gracia’s pained gasp. He whipped around.

 

Tiny black arms had started winding up Gracia’s legs, winching incrementally with each loop. She squeezed Elicia as the dark arms passed her stomach. Elicia whined, lifted her head; with the last centimeter of motion that Gracia had before her arms became entangled too, she pushed Elicia’s face into her shoulder and shushed her in a way that would have been more comforting had it not been so uneven.

 

Behind her, the shape of Roy in the door lifted his arm, fingers posed. Maes caught his eyes, and Roy hesitated.

 

Maes’ own fingers twitched to unsheath the knife strapped against his forearm. But doubt caused him to stall himself and Roy both. With a creature as unknown as this—would a knife or fire even impact it?

 

With Gracia and Elicia in the crossfire, he couldn’t let them risk it.

 

Tiny black hands, flat as paper, flexed against Gracia’s neck. Thin, pink lines appeared on her skin at its bladed fingertips as she swallowed.

 

Maes felt as though his lungs were filling with water.

 

“Who are you?” he bit out. “What do you want?”

 

Every shadowy mouth peeled back and laughed in tandem. “Isn’t it obvious?” the creature asked. “We said we’d be watching.”

 

“You’re one of them.” 

 

It should have been obvious much sooner. The pressure that emanated from this creature was akin to that he’d felt in the records room. It had scratched at the back of his mind staring into Ross’s face, that only redoubled when he recognized her mole was missing.

 

How could he have failed to heed that same warning again?

 

“Far from just one of them,” it replied in a plethora of voices and twisted mouths, its mass of shadows crouching forward over Gracia and Elicia. “I am the first homunculus.”

 

“The first?” Maes echoed. “How many others are there?”

 

“Are you actually trying to get information out of me?” Now, the homunculus sounded amused.

 

“It’s what I do best.”

 

“Yes… so I’ve heard.”

 

Its unblinking irises were near-purple in the night. They’d be red in daylight, Maes knew. Like Lust’s, staring him down as her spears rendered the flesh of his shoulder. Impaled his forearm. The wounds throbbed now almost in time with his aching heartbeat. “So you’ll answer me, then? Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

 

“Shouldn’t that be obvious?”

 

As much as Maes wished otherwise, it was. Bradley’s threats were all too rash on his mind.

 

They wanted his cooperation. His silence.

 

“Will you kill us?” Gracia’s voice strained to stay steady, a rare peak stress threatening to puncture it. 

 

“You’ve got some nerve to ask me a question like that, considering the circumstances.” A small laugh from the shadows, as they wound their dangerously thin arms tighter, like piano wire. “Kill you… now, there’s an idea.”

 

“You won’t.” Maes project confidence, for Gracia’s sake, and Elicia’s. “Mustang is the only one you need alive. It’s wasteful to kill your hostages. You’d lose your only leverage over him.”

 

“Even… this little one?”

 

Elicia whimpered as shadows caressed her, winding around her torso and the back of her head. Maes saw red long before the tiny fingers—as small and sharp as needles—drew blood from the exposed back of Elicia’s neck, making her shriek and writhe, Gracia helpless to comfort her beyond keeping her firmly planted into her shoulder, unable to see the monster that was taunting them.

 

“Disgusting,” the homunculus said, true contempt in its multitude of voices. “Helpless human creatures. Nobody would miss it.”

 

Maes’ insides churned, hot roiling, furious. “If you hurt her,” he growled, the reverberation of his voice all too close to his stomach, “then you’ll lose your leverage over me. I promise you. ” He let the creature’s plentiful eyes spy his cruel grin. “My life means nothing in the face of hers.”

 

The homunculus hummed, high and long: a taunting sound. Its shadowy hands continued to grab and squeeze. 

 

Elicia began to cry in earnest, stuttering hiccups of fear and confusion. Gracia closed her eyes, only for them to snap back open when the homunculus laughed softly. 

 

“It’s just as well that I don’t take commands from Wrath,” it said. “Anger and vengeance do not exist within me.” To the unasked question that hung in the air, the creatures' dozens of mouths and eyes all smiled, a cruel, hypnotic thing. “I am Pride.”

 

All at once, its countless shadows released Gracia and Elicia, so sudden that Gracia stumbled. Pride rushed between them, a tsunami of black. As it shrunk back, the eyes decorating the back wall of the bar remained wide and watchful.

“Consider this a warning,” it said, clearly amused. “Take your cute little family back inside, and then go home. And if you try something like this again… my threats will not be nearly so empty.”

 

Maes pulled Gracia fully behind him. The eyes on the wall swirled, like a sinkhole had opened up in the center of the vertical plane, before settling momentarily into something that could have resembled a face, if a face had too many blinking eyes and sets of uniform teeth with dimensional greys and whites were only something flat should exit.

 

“Just remember—no matter where you are…” Pride smirked with every mouth, motion still worming at its edges. “I’ll be watching from the shadows.”

 

Even as the homunculus retraced again, swirling and swirling until it evaporated, Elicia’s howls reached a fever pitch.

 

---

 

The book of Thursday, July 19th had opened with Bradley’s threats and closed with Pride’s. 

 

Maes had to forgive himself for the fact that he couldn’t really muster the energy to be surprised when, barely twenty-four hours later, Riza called with a twofold report.

 

Good news: Kaitou had been located. 

 

Bad news: he and the Elrics had decided to confront a homunculus without any plans, backup, or otherwise level-headed thinking.

 

All in all, a fitting ending for a week such as the one they’d had. 

 

In return, he had passed along new information; though they lacked a few key codewords for the finer details, his theories about Kaitou’s fake alchemy—fakechemy, if you will—stayed more or less intact. 

 

(He was determined to take the little pleasures where he could get them, and portmanteaus had the added bonus of making Roy groan like a murdered moose, so there was that).

 

The weekend dragged out like molasses, tense and quiet. Elicia slept in snatches, shaking the walls of the apartment with the screaming nightmares that roused her. 

 

But they were not wasted days; they could not afford wasted days. While Roy made coded calls to his team and penned chess-game letters to General Grumman, Maes met briefly with Dr. Knox for a coffee and a quick but thorough bribe. 

 

Amid it all had been another question: what to do with Kaitou’s vest?

 

Its composition was still a valuable mystery. Maes had joked about calling Ed back from his trip south to examine it, but there was a grain of truth to it; anything less but a widespread alchemical experience as Ed’s would likely just result in disappointment.

 

But, it didn’t mean that the team couldn’t try. The idea of willingly giving up something that had saved his life made Maes a bit anxious, but the potential for net gain—the ability to replicate the vest—was too tantalizing to fully discount.

 

Besides, Maes got the feeling he’d seen the last of regular guns in the hands of these monsters. And it wasn’t as if a vest would do much against Pride or Bradley’s more supernatural abilities. 

 

Its disappearance would also raise eyebrows; it had already been noted, in fact. He’d been ‘borrowing’ it since last Tuesday night, and many people weren’t too happy about that, judging by the growingly frantic messages Vance and Ibbs had been leaving with his team.

 

By Monday, he’d made up his mind that it was worthwhile to surreptitiously return the vest to its so-called ‘proper’ owners, and was, in fact, in the very act of doing just that early on Monday morning, when he found he had company.

 

He schooled his face into something a little less ‘I’ve been caught red-handed’ and turned nonchalantly from the safe he’d just secured the object of everyone’s wildest hopes and dreams.

 

“Dr. Vance, Ms. Ibbs,” he said. “How can I help you?”

 

Both women looked ill at ease, despite the fact that they were in their own lab. As with the last time he’d seen them, he was impressed by Audia Vance’s height; the chemist towered over her partner, Hallie Ibbs, the defense engineer. She looked starkly mouse-like with her large glasses, wide eyes helped the image, and hunched shoulders. 

 

“Lieutenant Colonel, have you gotten any of the messages we’ve left?” Vance asked.

 

Maes couldn’t withhold a wince. Yes, he’d gotten them, loud and clear. “You’ve left messages?”

 

“With your team, yes. Several.”

 

“Ah, sorry, sorry! I did, but my attention has been split recently, what with the incident in the storage room… Kaitou’s disappearance…”

 

“Well, he’s not the only thing that’s gone,” Ibbs said sourly. “The vest is, too.”

 

“It was last seen during our last meeting, on Tuesday,” Vance elaborated, pacing around the lab and looking over the tables and equipment with fresh eyes, like they might reveal some new clue. 

 

“There’s about ten hours in which it cannot be accounted for, after which we unlocked its storage cabinet and found it was gone,” Ibbs added.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” There was an edge of harsh steel to Vance’s question.

 

Maes only shook his head, allowing his expression to seem befuddled. “I only just learned of its disappearance this morning,” he said. “That’s why I stopped by, to see what I can find out. Who has all hour’s access here?”

 

“A number of people. But to this room? That’d just be us, administration, and Scmidt.” 

 

Edgar Schmidt, the Sculpting Alchemist—Maes had met him several times. Schmidt was a resident researcher at the First Lab, and he’d been at the meeting between Maes and the vest team.

 

“Anybody could make copies of the keys if they were determined,” Maes pointed out. 

 

“But we are the only ones with the keys to that lock,” Vance said, nodding towards the safe Maes himself had only just, moments before, finished with. 

 

He sent a silent thanks to Kaitou for his fancy lockpicking set, how slim and concealable the pieces were. True, Maes could feel them in his left sock, but he knew without a glance that they were all but invisible thanks to the thick fold of the cuff of his pants.

 

“In fact…” Ibbs peered at Maes. “How did you get in here this morning?”

 

“I told admin what my business was and they let me up.”

 

Ibbs wasn’t looking too enthusiastic about that reply, so Maes barrelled on with a new distraction. 

 

“Honestly, an alchemist worth their salt could get around that lock like it were nothing,” he said.

 

“I was just thinking much the same thing,” Vance declared suddenly. “An alchemist like Kaitou. The very one who brought the vest in the first place.”

 

Hook, line, and sinker. Maes might have felt bad for letting Kaitou take the fall, but he wasn’t here.

 

“Why would he need the vest back?” Ibbs asked.

 

“Why would he need it in the first place?” Vance retorted.

 

“If only we could find the kid,” Maes said cheerily. “And speaking of, I’ve got to get back to it!”

 

“Let us know if you hear anything,” Ibbs sighed. “We’re not detectives, and there’s other projects to see to.”

 

“Best of luck!” Maes left them with a wave. 

 

He wondered how long it would be until they opened the presumably empty cabinet and found the vest; they had no reason to think it might be returned, so Maes banked on the idea that he had a few days to work on an alibi.

 

It was a good way to occupy time and keep himself busy, if nothing else. 

 

The clock declared that it was nearing eight. The thought of returning to his office, his facade of normalcy, was stifling. A heavy pressure constricting his already-bruised ribcage.

 

He wound his way back to Central command regardless. Once inside, the rush of the day just starting fell away into the sterile hum of business: buzzing lights overhead, shining heels clicking against marble flooring, the double-paned windows dampening the city’s waking hours with expert finesse.

 

Passing the Fuhrer’s offices, he studied each passing face for Roy’s. He’d seen him before he’d left the apartment, sitting like a sagging petunia over a breakfast he’d been disinterested in eating.

 

Roy had only been under the Fuhrer's close watch for two work days—Thursday and Friday—and today was to be his third. In Roy’s words, it had been mind-numbingly dull so far; paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. The kind of thing you might expect when settling into any new chain of command.

 

Only in this one, anyone could be your enemy.

 

More likely, everyone was your enemy.

 

Bradley wasn’t likely to surround himself with disloyalty or ignorance—Maes would put good money in the fact that a large number of senior officers had already been taken into Bradley’s fold.

 

He pushed open the broad double doorway that led to the Fuhrer’s hall, the pristine barrier between the main office and the outside world. A secretary watched him with beady eyes, ignoring the phone ringing at the crook of her elbow. Maes was the more immediate threat.

 

He smiled at her, widely. Calmly as he could. And then he turned and paced his way back toward his own offices. 

 

Let Bradley make of that what he would.

 

---

 

That evening, Maes was fumbling one-handed with his coat buttons when the phone rang. He debated momentarily whether it was a cosmic signal to give up on the buttons—his left hand was still shaky and difficult—and ask Gracia to do them, as she’d done every morning since Lust and Envy’s attack. 

 

Indecision won out, and he picked up the phone.

 

“You’ve reached the Hughes residence.”

 

“Finally,” Knox grunted on the other end. “How difficult can you be to reach?”

 

“I’ve just gotten home from work.”

 

“Bah.” Knox knew it though, surely; his timing was too coincidental.

 

“So, have you caught up with our old friend?”

 

“Actually, that’s what I’m calling about,” Knox said. “You’ve sent me on a fool’s errand, Hughes, you bastard.”

 

Maes’ heart quivered painfully. “How so?”

 

“He’s gone, Hughes. He ain’t here any more.”

 

Marcoh had what— fled? Abandoned the life that—by Ed and Al’s account—he’d worked so hard to build and protect? “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“You’d better believe it even if you don’t want to. Mauro ain’t here. Nobody’s seen him in weeks.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Of course I’m sure. It’s not everyday a well-loved family doctor goes missing.”

 

“Missing,” Maes groaned.

 

“Well, it’s bigger news than ‘town doctor lives peacefully in a quiet town’,” Knox said, darkly amused. “Anyway, I went by his place. The door was unlocked, but the place’s untouched. Wherever he went, he didn’t take any of his research notes or valuables, or even his ID. So…”

 

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. A cold thought hissed at the back of Maes’ mind; Marcoh was an important lead, somebody who could bring the puzzle pieces together… he was a major threat to the homonculi and their five-pointed array plans.

 

But, Maes realized, so was Roy. And they wanted Roy alive badly enough to leave Maes and his family as they were, at least for the time being.

 

“These people—the… homonculi,” Maes said, letting the word hold between them for a moment. When Knox didn’t verbally react, he continued. “They’re all about control, each with their own method. And I’ll bet that the information he gave the Elrics, the notes that led them into the Fifth Lab… they’ll want to control… Mauro after that. But they’ll be keeping him alive.”

 

“You sure about that?” Knox’s voice was laced with dubiety.

 

 “Yes. The only questions now are where, and how.”

 

Maes was amused at the fact Knox was choosing to question their methods rather than their inhuman identity. But then again, Knox had seen the damage they’d done to both himself and Roy, and had listened in on the aftermath; they’d owed him that much after he’d taken them in in the middle of the night with barely a question asked. 

 

“Before you leave town, could you look into where they might have taken him?”

 

“I’m a doctor, not a detective,” Knox grumbled, but Maes could already hear the give in his voice before he sighed. “I’ll ask around, but that’s it, you hear? No more favors after that. Not a one.”

 

“Loud and clear, doc.”

 

“Good.” A shuffle; an awkward pause. “You keeping those wounds clean?”

 

“Gracia’s been invaluable for that.”

 

“Not lifting anything heavy?”

 

“Define heavy.”

 

“Are you trying to delay your recovery? Don’t do it again, you’ll pull something.”

 

“I’ll be the best patient you’ve ever had.”

 

Knox grumbled. “Guess this is what I get for working on live people again.”

 

“What’s that? You love it, don’t you?”

 

“I’m hanging up on you.”

 

“Wait—wait.”

 

“What?”

 

Maes inhaled slowly. He’d been all too aware of every shadow since Pride’s attack, knowing that the homonculus could be anywhere, at any time. But surely he couldn’t be everywhere at once. “A little word of advice. Keep an eye out for any weird shadows.”

 

“The fuck does that mean, Hughes?”

 

“Just what I said,” Maes said, angling to keep his voice light. “You see a weird shadow, get out of there.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Knox shuffled again. “What the hell have you roped me into?”

 

Maes sighed. “I wish I knew.”

 

“One last thing before I go,” Knox said. “Did you know your little Xingan friend’s gotten himself put on a high alert watch-list?”

 

“...what?”

 

“They’re plastering up his posters,” Knox said. “I’m watching them pin one up at the train station right now. That portrait ain’t too accurate, actually. They got the face shape all wrong.”

 

“Who did a portrait—no, sorry. Kaitou? They’re putting up posters of Kaitou?”  

 

“That’s what I just said,” Knox snapped.

 

“Why?”

 

“Maybe because he vanished from military supervision,” Knox replied again.

 

“But—why did they wait? He’s been gone for days, almost a week”

 

“I don’t think they did,” Knox said. “Not from the looks of it, anyway.”

 

Meaning… Kaitou wasn’t safe, even as far from Central as they’d gotten him.

 

Nor was anybody who was with him.

 

“Shit.”

 

---

 

Notes:

Some of Pride’s lines in this chapter come pretty much directly from the scene in FMAB where he confronts Riza for the first time. It was fun to use them in this context. But I have to disclaim I wrote the first draft of this chapter months ago, so I couldn’t tell you which lines are what at this point.

(actually let's go ahead and blame any awkwardness in the plot and writing on the irl time gap)

I have rough drafts up through ch.28, so look forward to those being polished up and posted sometime soon. For now, ch.25 is also up!

Love y’all ♥ as always, thank you for reading.

Chapter 25: The Scrimmage

Notes:

This chapter follows directly after the events of the Devil’s Nest (ch. 22).

This is a double update—don’t miss chapter 24!!

---

 

Ed was running himself through training exercises out back of the Curtis house. The evening air was warm but fresh in his lungs as he worked off the day’s tension that had built during their misadventure at the seedy bar, the Devil’s Nest. 

 

He had paused to gulp some water when Kaito shimmied out a window to join him.

 

“There’s a door,” Ed grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm and tossing his water aside.

 

“Doors are for losers.” 

 

Kaito drew closer, and Ed noticed that he was… jangling. “What’ve you got?”

 

Kaito’s face split into a wide grin. He dipped a hand into a hidden pocket, and showed Ed a handful of loose bullets. 

 

Ed eyed them with a healthy amount of suspicion. “Where’d you get those?”

 

“Hawkeye.”

 

“She gave ‘em to you?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Ed didn’t believe that for a minute. “What do you need to steal bullets for?”

 

“If we’re being honest here, I just felt like it.”

 

“That’s not a reason.”

 

“Do I need one?” The bullets vanished with little fanfare. Kaito was sulking. “I’ve been slacking on my title as a thief lately. I had to step it up.”

 

Insisting that Kaito did need a reason made Ed feel uncomfortably like he was filling Mustang’s shoes: demanding answers and paperwork, if only to cover his own ass with Hawkeye. 

 

Ed was usually an eager proponent of chaos, after all, but it was usually chaos with a cause—not baseless. 

 

He opted for a different truth. “Hawkeye’s not somebody to mess with. You should give them back.”

 

“Even if I did, it’s too late to make Hawkeye-san like me. She’s got a grudge the size of the country over the fact I didn’t show my face in East City.”

 

Ed shoved his hand in Kaito’s face. “Fork ‘em over.” 

 

Kaito crossed his arms. 

 

Ed waggled his fingers to entice cooperation. “It’s not about her liking you. It’s about preventing her from murdering you. This is me saving your ass.”

 

Kaito batted Ed’s hand away. “My ass doesn’t need saving!”

 

“Sources say otherwise.”

 

Kaito’s glare could have poisoned an opossum. “You and what peer review?”

 

“Need me to recount the day for you?” Ed asked. “First, you spent your entire sparring session with Teacher running away. Then you run off with Ling, let Al’s kidnappers escalate the situation, then try to prevent Hawkeye’s interrogation. And then Havoc disarmed you without even blinking. So tell me again how you don’t need any intervention here?”

 

Kaito was looking increasingly shifty. “We all have different strengths. And while I wouldn’t call today a resounding success for me, we did get Al back unscathed. And we learned some things.”

 

“They were going to pull Al apart!” Ed sounded a little like a banshee. But he deserved that catharsis, after learning that his goddamn C.O. was planning a coup, on top of everything. “Not to mention the fact you lost Ling!”

 

“I thought we didn’t want Ling-san.”

 

“We don’t! But that’s not the point!”

 

“Then, please, Ed-san, enlighten me.”

 

“The point is you were a hindrance today, Kaito,” Ed ground out.

 

Hurt flashed across Kaito’s face before it was expertly smothered. The mask that Kaito pulled on was a little too blank. 

 

Ed knew he was being harsh on Kaito, but there was a difference between making mistakes and willfully running interference against Hawkeye. 

 

To anybody else, Ed might have admitted he was angry at himself, too—for not finding Al sooner. For not being there for his little brother when he needed him. No matter how lightly Al was taking the whole situation; that was a battle for another time. 

 

“Why didn’t you use alchemy?”

 

Kaito’s mouth drew into a taut line. “The situation didn’t call for it.”

 

“Oh, sure. Al being attacked by a homunculus didn’t qualify, but when it came to Envy—”

 

“In case you somehow missed it, Envy put a sword in my gut!” Kaito defended himself hotly. “And Greed wasn’t attacking anybody!”

 

“That’s right. He was only kidnapping my little brother.”

 

Kaito stuck out his lower lip, and Ed forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to belabor that point, not when it wasn’t the only issue, and especially when it wasn’t the most effective one to tackle with Kaito right now. 

 

“I just think,” Ed forced the words out slowly, “that we could all do with a little better situational awareness and teamwork.”

 

“Teamwork.”

 

“Infighting will literally get us killed, moving forward.”

 

Kaito folded himself to the ground, plucking restlessly at the grass. “You’re not wrong.” He sounded like he wished Ed was. “But I think I’ve been a decent teammate for you and Al-san so far.”

 

“...so far. Mostly. Yeah.” 

 

Despite the initial misgivings and concealed truths between them, it was true. Kaito had taken a major hit for Ed in the Fifth Lab, and then saved Hughes’ life, and provided Ed with information Mustang was keeping from him. 

 

And that was just the major stuff.

 

Ed sighed, and flopped onto his back beside Kaito, arms splayed. A nonthreatening posture; he felt like a dog, exposing his stomach. He winced away the comparison. He had enough people making those jokes at his expense.

 

But, it worked. Without Ed looking ready to start tossing fists, Kaito’s body language slowly relaxed. Ed waited for him to reach his melting point, expanding his chest with air. 

 

The breeze carried the scent of summer: dust and lingering heat, despite the sinking sun. The sky was turning orange at the horizon, light scattering through a layer of clouds that smeared horizontally overhead.

 

“I’m not really used to working with people,” Kaito said.

 

“I couldn’t tell.”

 

But Kaito was not in a laughing mood. “Looking for Pandora, it’s always just been me and Jii-chan. He’s a great accomplice, but he tends to stay back… I mean, he’s old. He’s kinda fragile these days. He knows that. And with my mom off in Vegas…” Kaito shook his head. “When it came down to Midtown Tower, it was just me.” 

 

Kaito hesitated, and then pressed out a stripped-down grin. “And Tantei-kun. He did try to help. Bless his tiny, tiny soul.”

 

“I used to think it was just me and Al against the world,” Ed said, tucking his left hand behind his head and lifting his right one to juxtapose against the sky—dark grey on dark blue. “But recently, I’ve been realizing that was never the case. I mean, sure… dad left, and mom died, but we were never alone. We had old Granny Pinako. Winry, too. And Mustang and the team—plus Mr. Hughes and Mr. Armstrong… and now you.” 

 

It was an incredible fortune to be surrounded by these people. Ed watched the sun glint orange against his hand, a masterwork of engineering and anatomical sciences. A blessing from a grease monkey. 

 

“Turns out we’ve got more teammates than we know what to do with.”

 

“Did you tell them?”

 

Ed glanced over. “Huh?”

 

Kaito had curled himself more tightly. “About you and Al-san. How you...”

 

“Granny and Winry knew from the start,” Ed said, thinking. “Granny even buried our… transmutation. Then, Mustang and Hawkeye saw our circle before even meeting us. The rest… yeah. They came into the fold over time. Pretty recently, some of them—there was no hiding Al’s body after Scar disintigrated half of it.”

 

When Kaito stayed silent, Ed wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say. But, eventually, Kaito sighed. “Maybe I should have told Aoko.”

 

“About…?”

 

“Pandora,” Kaito said softly. “And my dad. When I first found out that he… well. It’s just that her dad would’ve arrested me. I couldn’t exactly get vengance or whatever from a prison cell.”

 

“She knows now, doesn’t she? After your phone call?”

 

Kaito nodded, eyes still looking far away. 

 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest. “So why are you dwelling on the past then, huh? She knows. Al and I know. Hughes and Mustang, too—you told them the basics back in the hospital, anyway. So you’ve got a team now. No point in thinking about when you didn’t.” He rolled onto his side and jabbed Kaito in the ankle. “So, teamwork. Let’s learn it, ‘ey?” 

 

Kaito sounded petulant when he spoke up again. “You know, I’m not sure how I was supposed to be a good teammate to Hawkeye-san when I’d never seen her before in my life.”

 

“Al introduced you, right?”

 

“Hawkeye-san introduced herself.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

“Not really.”

 

Ed grabbed a handful of loose grass, plucked by Kaito himself, and tossed it at him. “Now you’re just being difficult for the sake of it.”

 

Kaito spluttered. “No, I’m not! Listen, I’ve got pretty good instincts when it comes to people, and they were all telling me not to trust Hawkeye-san when she came in, all guns blazing.”

 

“Well, your instincts were wrong. The Leiutenant’s one of the best people I know.”

 

“So you think she was right to shoot Greed in the head?”

 

“I didn’t say that. Right and wrong is… a framework that breaks down too quickly.” He rolled onto his back again. “It was just… necessary.”

 

“Necessary.”

 

“Look, all things considered, Hawkeye shooting Greed a few times was harmless. We knew it wouldn’t stick.”

 

“Whether it sticks or not isn’t the problem,” Kaito said. “He wasn’t trying to kill any of us, so where’s the need to get so violent with him?”

 

“Do you really believe that?” 

 

“What?”

 

“That nonviolence is always a viable option.”

 

“Killing people—”

 

“I’m not talking about killing people,” Ed cut him off. Hell knew he’d resolved to never do that, and never let Al get within spitting distance of a situation that might even think about asking him to. “I’m just talking about fighting.”

 

Kaito stewed in his sullen silence.

 

Ed forced himself onwards. “It’s admirable you don’t want to fight. Fighting isn’t for everyone. Look at Winry.”

“She’s got a mean left-hook with that wrench.”

 

“That’s different,” Ed said, though the permanent knot on the back of his skull disagreed. “I just mean that there’s different ways she’s fighting this silent war we’ve got going on. Building things. Yanno? And Hughes, in Intelligence… Fuery on the radios. There’s a lot of roles to take up when it comes to battle.”

 

“So why do you want me to get violent so badly?” Kaito muttered. “Why can’t I be the espionage guy?”

 

“Normally, I’d say, yeah, sure. Whatever. But you’re on the front lines here, Kaito. And you’ve been putting yourself there.”

 

That got an indignant splutter. “I have not been putting myself there. You have! You, and Al-san, and Hughes-san!”

 

“You followed us.”

 

“Not like I wanted to.”

 

“Oh, I think you wanted to.” Ed snorted. “Listen. You’ve proven you’ve got what it takes to win in a fight, fair or unfair, whatever. When it’s unavoidable, to protect yourself and others, you really do what you have to.” 

 

When Kaito looked like he wanted to protest, Ed barreled over him. “Sword to the gut, much?”

 

Kaito’s hand moved toward his stomach.

 

Ed propped himself up. “All I’m saying is that you’ll probably be in a few more of these kinda situations before we can get your dimensional fuckery sorted out.”

 

Kaito was squatting, feet flat on the ground and arms wrapped around his knees. He painted an image of a pouting gargoyle, transmuted from dirt to stone to guard the Curtis home. “I know. And… it’s not like I’ve got a perfect track record with non-violence. I’m only human. I’ve been caught up in the moment, before. In the excitement around Pandora. Don’t get me wrong, I still wouldn’t kill for the fucking thing, but…”

 

“But?”

 

“I guess I’ve done some questionable stuff.”

 

Ed barked a laugh. “That’s a given.”

 

“The stealing doesn’t count!”

 

“Then what does?”

 

Kaito tossed his hands up. “Knocking a seven-year-old unconscious?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not really proud of it, okay?”

 

Ed goggled at Kaito a moment longer; he really did look self-conscious, but Ed couldn’t say how much he was embarrassed and how much he regretted whatever he’d done. “A seven-year-old?”

 

“Come on, that kid’s like, my only serious opponent,” Kaito muttered. “Searching for Pandora’s like… this big, dangerous thing, right? Only, it wasn’t, most of the time. Most of the time it was downright boring, just research this, investigate that. Go poke around a museum. Make a few impersonating-a-guy phone calls. That kinda thing.” 

 

“This has to do with a seven-year-old how?”

 

“I’m getting there! Because heists got a lot more fun when Tantei-kun started nosing around. He was playing the game, same as me. Not like Hakuba-kun or Koizumi-san, who have their own agendas, or even Aoko’s old man, who really wants me behind bars. Tantei-kun just wants to match wits, you know? And that made the whole thing fun. I know it wasn’t supposed to be fun, but there came this point where… all I really had going was the Kaitou Kid stuff. It’s not like I really had Aoko much…” 

 

“Hang on, I’m missing something,” Ed said, flapping his hands to get Kaito to slow down. Kaito had really decided it was a sharing day, hadn’t he? “Who’s Tantei-kun?”

 

“Tiny child with huge glasses.” Kaito made hand goggles over his eyes. “He likes to chase me around.”

 

“Right.” Ed was trying to picture how all these things fit together—Kaito’s world sure did seem different from what Ed knew, no matter how much Kaito insisted the similarities were all there, at least until you hit on technology and alchemy. “And?”

 

“And he’s pretty good—okay, scary good—at making my life hard when it comes to heisting. Looking for Pandora, I mean.” 

 

Ed closed his eyes. “You’re making this so complicated. Heists?”

 

“When I found a gem that was a good contender for Pandora, I’d announce when and where I’d take it. Just a common courtesy, you’d think, but sometimes it drew out Snake’s gang, too, and eventually, that was part of the point. It was a good way to measure the likelihood of a candidate.”

 

“Oh, yeah. A really good plan. Oh, hey, weren’t those the guys that shot you in the end?”

 

“Anyway, all I’m saying is, Tantei-kun doesn’t actually want to arrest me because if he did, the games would be over. Hakuba-kun and Koizumi-san, on the other hand—don’t worry about who they are, they’re just people I know—they’ve got agendas.”  

 

What agendas, he did not deign to say. 

 

“But it’s not like they require any drastic action when they just spoil the fun. Whereas Tantei-kun… well, so what if I did knock him out with a taser once, he still pelted me in the end, so—”

 

“Didn’t you say he was a literal child?!”

 

“Not like any literal child you’ve ever met, I’ll tell you what!” Kaito squawked. “I’d like to see you on the receiving end of one of those soccer balls!”

 

“I don’t even know what that is!”

 

“You don’t have soccer here? Maybe you call it football, like Hakuba and his stupid British English—”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a language, but there’s regional—”

 

“I don’t care!” Ed cut him off. “You were okay with knocking a child unconscious for fun but not interrogating a two-hundred year old immortal asshole to save the lives of 50 million people?”

 

“I’m not proud of it,” Kaito stressed. “But it wasn’t a huge leap from the sleeping gas at the time! And I was caught up in the moment!”

 

“So that’s better?”

 

“It’s—” Kaito spluttered, and came up with nothing.

 

“What, it’s different?” Ed challenged.

 

“Yes! I was getting to a point here!” Kaito poked Ed in the chest. 

 

“So get to it!”

 

“The guns!”

 

“And?”

 

“Snake and his gang with all their guns and shit, they weren’t that threatening, most of the time. I mean, sure, he shot me in the end, but at the moment, I was way less worried about him than Pandora. Pandora was the one messing with my head.”

 

“Messing with your head? How?” 

 

Ed had only ever been near a real Stone once—Marcoh’s, an incomplete one. But it had been inert, lifeless on its own. The only thing messing with Ed’s head at the time had been how badly he’d wanted to take the thing for himself and Al, and the fact he couldn’t deprive an entire town of their doctor for it.

 

“Yeah, like… whispery.” Kaito wiggled his fingers. “Warm. I don’t know, it was just fucking weird.” He shook his head. “So Snake’s just got a big head and a loud bark. I’ve been walking circles around him from the start. Resorting to violence with them wouldn’t have been fair, not really.”

 

“You’re worried about fairness when they were trying to murder you?” 

 

Ed couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice, and tactfully didn’t bring up Kaito’s child… enemy?... again, knowing it would likely dead-end their conversation again.

 

Kaito winced. “I know, I know. I just… I guess I’m trying to be someone my dad would be proud of. Kaitou Kid was always a gentleman thief for a reason. I’d like to think I’ve lived up to that… for the most part.”

 

Right. That was a thing normal teenagers wanted to do, wasn’t it? Trying to make their parents proud? 

 

Ed didn’t even know what would make Hohenheim proud. Something about the thought lodged a sticky mess in Ed’s throat, and he worked it away with a thick swallow, because, fuck that; all he needed was to make Al proud, by getting their bodies back.

 

With all the grace of a wet rag, he steered the conversation back around to the start. 

 

“So let me get this straight. This whole flock of dudes with ‘modern’ guns—” here, Ed included the finger quotes, “didn’t scare you, but Hawkeye with one pistol did?”

 

“Um, yeah! Excuse me for being skeeved out by guns after being shot four times if I wasn’t before! And she had two pistols, at point-blank range, against a guy you encased in concrete!” Kaito sulked back into his gargole pose suddenly, like he’d just realized how badly he’d been bristling. “It would’ve been different if they’d been aimed at me.”

 

“If they’d been aimed at you… you’d have kept your head?”

 

“Woulda been familiar, at least,” Kaito muttered.

 

“That’s messed up.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Ed worked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I don’t really like guns either,” he said, finally. “They’re too… final.” 

 

He could have chosen another word; lethal, maybe. Unpredictable, in the wrong hands. 

 

“I had to learn how to shoot them, though. Firearm handling is standard military procedure, even for State Alchemists… even for me.”

 

Kaito was looking at Ed with his eyebrows drawn together, like he couldn’t picture Ed with a gun. To be honest, Ed couldn’t either.

 

“But there’s plenty of other ways to fight. Take any State Alchemist, for example. No two of us have the same style. Couldn’t even if we wanted to, because everyone specializes in something. We’ve all incorporated our strengths with alchemy into how we fight. I mean, that’s practically a cornerstone of the State Alchemist program. But for me and Al, it was something we learned from Teacher, way back.” 

 

He jerked his head to the silently Curtis home, the windows glowing from within, the glass glintig in the still-setting sun. It was like a sentinel at their backs. 

 

“Combat and alchemy are deeply intertwined for her.”

 

“I couldn’t tell,” Kaito muttered sarcastically.

 

“Fighting with alchemy is great practice. You have to be swift and accurate with your transmutations; if you’re wrong, you’ll blow something up in your own face, and wind up doing all your opponent’s work for them.” 

 

As Ed spoke, he wondered if that was the same for alchemy in Kaito’s world. He’d assumed so, based on what little he’d seen Kaito do, but if not, all bets were off. 

 

“What are the basic principles for alchemy in your world? For your ‘red magic’?”

 

“I’m not the one you wanna ask about that kind of thing,” Kaito said dismissively. “Whatever you call it, I’m not good at it. Not like you or Al, or anybody else. I can’t just pull it out in a high-stress situation with any kind of confidence that what I’m doing is gonna work. I mean… you saw what happened with Envy.” 

 

Kaito’s mouth turned sour, his hands squeezing into tight balls. “That was a lot more… extreme than what I wanted.”

 

Ed shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Having all that Gate knowledge shoved into your brain cavity can kinda mess you up.”

 

“I’m not good at fighting, either,” Kaito admitted. “Asking me to do both at once is like asking a lizard to fly. Wait, actually, aren’t flying lizards a thing? Like, gliding lizards? That’s a bad analogy...”

 

It was like once he’d started laying things out for Ed, he didn’t quite know where to stop. 

“You know, none of these things are news to me. Not even flying lizards.”

 

“Shut up!” Kaito went pink, high on his cheekbones. “I can throw a punch, but I never trained. I’m a magician.”

 

“And a thief, apparently.”

 

“A thief definitely.” 

 

Kaito tossed a handful of Hawkeye’s bullets at Ed, who spluttered when two glanced off his chin. The rest pinged off his arm harmlessly. 

 

“So I play to my strengths. What’s wrong with that? I’m not asking you to do card tricks!”

 

Ed scowled and began gathering the scattered bullets for an eventual return to the Lieutenant. 

 

“What’s wrong with it is when we step on each other’s toes,” he said slowly, like he was explaining obscure commands to an animal that didn’t understand human language, let alone Amestrian; like it was a futile thing he was attempting, but was too stubborn to stop halfway. “We have to be on the same page. As a team.”

 

“So why can’t you scoot my way a little? Be a little less violent?”

 

Ed leveled Kaito with a flat look. “You want me to be less violent.”

 

“...I see your point.”

 

“You just need to round out your skills a little bit,” Ed said. “If you learn a little hand-to-hand and get a better grasp on alchemy, they’ll be two more tools in your belt. Or… tricks in your… tophat?”

 

Kaito absently touched his head, like he expected to actually find a tophat there, and looked offended when he didn’t. 

 

Ed laughed, but Kaito only sighed.

 

“Okay, Ed-san,” he said. “Your world, your rules.”

“Don’t sound so dejected. You’ve got a lot of fun ahead of you.”

 

“I doubt that.”

 

Ed couldn’t restrain his grin. He cracked his knuckles, the only warning he was willing to give Kaito before he tackled him. 

 

Kaito had, after all, interrupted his training, and then roped him into a conversation that was nearly an hour long. And then agreed to learn how to fight. And to begin, there was no time like the present.

 

Kaito did not agree. While he was thoroughly taken off-guard, he squirmed out of the roll only moments later and did a show-off somersault to put some distance between them. “What the hell!”

 

Ed hopped up, settling his weight back into a readied stance. “Come at me. No more dodging, asshole.”

 

Kaito looked like he wanted to protest, but instead just groaned.

 

“Throw a punch! You said you know how.” Ed stepped closer, within swinging range, and patted his stomach. “Right here.” 

 

Kaito reluctantly squared off his feet and rolled his shoulders. “You’re sure?”

 

“I get socked in the gut almost every day.”

 

“That’s not as encouraging as you think it is.”

 

“Gimme all you got, asshole!”

 

Kaito made a fist and twisted it, like he was thinking of the best way to enact Ed’s request. 

 

Ed grinned and braced himself, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long; after another moment of thought, Katio’s expression hardened and he dashed in to give his connecting fist an extra helping of force.

 

“Good,” Ed grunted. “Again.”

 

Kaito was decently strong. Not strong enough to budge Ed, who’d had time to prepare himself, but Ed had felt that fist. He was pleasantly surprised that Kaito had known to land the impact across his two inner knuckles.

 

“Again—?”

 

“Again. Put more of your weight into it.”

 

“I just did—”

 

“It wasn’t bad, but you isolated too much. Stand perpendicular to me and pivot your hips.”

 

Ed coached Kaito through a few more attempts, though Kaito remained reticent. 

 

After Ed’s third complaint that Kaito was still using too isolated of a movement, Kaito dropped back with a groan. “I thought you weren’t supposed to put everything into one hit. What about conserving your energy?”

 

“Sure, if you’re running around all over the place,” Ed snorted. “Which I assume you do. But at the same time, you don’t want to pull your punches. If you can wind somebody good enough, they’ll be out of the fight for a few seconds—that buys you time to retreat, double down, regroup, whatever.” 

 

A sinister idea sparked at the back of Ed’s mind.

 

“Need a demonstration?”

 

Kaito didn’t even consider it, eying Ed’s automail fist. “No thanks.”

 

“If you can’t block me, you’re going to get one.”

 

“Oh, fuck—”

 

Ed’s swing missed when Kaito folded into a back handspring, but it didn’t last; Ed had dealt with Teacher’s agility for years. And when it came to larger opponents, Kaito had nothing on Al. 

 

Triumphantly, Ed ducked through Kaito’s guard and his fist landed.

 

Kaito went down with a yelp, one hand flying to his stomach, where his wound was. 

 

Ed eased off, a crease forming on his forehead as his eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry. Shit, sorry, I forgot. Are you—”

 

Kaito grinned and vanished in a puff of bright smoke. 

 

Ed swore loudly, which only made him cough. “Bastard!” He spun around the yard looking for him, but didn’t see hide nor hair of him. “How the hell…?”

 

Upon closer inspection, the dirt where Kaito had disappeared was free of transmutation marks, or even any ragged dents where elements might have been drawn up to create cover. 

 

Then, the smoke had been more than just water vapor (choking on it had told him that much), so Kaito must’ve transmuted something… maybe glycerin? He could have pulled the lipids for that from the grass, but the grass didn’t seem to have been touched, at least, not any further than it had been trodden down by their little game in the first place. 

 

Eventually, Ed gave up and accepted that it was probably something to do with whatever gadrety Kaito had stored away.

 

He’d gotten along with Winry way too well.

 

The one thing scouring the yard had turned up was the suspicious absence of Hawkeye’s bullets. Ed could only hope Kaito had taken his words to heart and decided to return them to Hawkeye rather than squirrel them away for fun, but his hopes weren’t high. Kaito had more than a few screws loose. 

 

Case in point: Kaito had spent most of the afternoon antagonizing some of the best allies they had, who he’d admitted he was scared of, and he’d probably just resumed that activity now.

 

Ed turned back to the house. It was still quiet, but he knew Al was still inside, discussing the situation with Hawkeye and Havoc. 

 

Ed had thought his brain was going to start seeping out of his ears, hearing about nationwide transmutation circles and secret coups for another five hours. That’s why he’d slipped outside to train.

 

After they’d left, the sewers had been swept; Greed, nor his crew, nor Ling, had been shaken out of any dark corners, forgotten dresser drawers, or hidden trap doors. 

 

The bar proper proved to have been emptied more thoroughly than a whiskey bottle in the hands of a drunkard, too. After a relocation to the Curtis’ home, Hawkeye had conducted a considerably more concise meeting than the one Mustang had held at Knox’s house.

 

But apparently, the bad news didn’t stop with “Hey, just so you know, your entire government is untrustworthy and corrupt, have fun being employed here!”

 

— No, it continued on its merry march with the fresh-off-the-presses news that Colonel Mustang had been indefinitely relocated to Central under Führer Bradley’s supervision, the team dispersed, a nasty set of relocation orders would soon be finding their way to Ed.

 

“They—what? Dispersed?” Ed spluttered, not taking the news of the overnight dismemberment of his team in stride. “How’s that possible? That’s not possible.”

 

“It is,” Havoc said ruefully, rubbing at the back of his head. 

 

He’d taken up a post near the living room window, and looked casual-as-could-be despite the fact that Kaito was shooting eye daggers at him from across the room.

 

 “Most of us have taken a leave of absence, though, and we’re still taking orders from the boss. Could cost us our jobs, but our loyalty’s not exactly to Bradley at this point.”

 

And then, the cherry on top: news that Hughes and his family were under direct threat.

 

“Should we be there? Is there anything we can do?” Al asked, distressed.

 

Havoc had shaken his head, looking a bit out of his depth.

 

“Who’s threatening them?”

 

“Let me take a wild guess,” Kaito interjected, still bristling at both Havoc and Hawkeye and all the authority the two of them represented. He took his attention off them long enough to look at Al. “It’s the big bad’ homonculus behind the rest of homonculi, isn’t it?”

 

“Maybe,” Havoc shrugged.

 

“Not to mention your corrupt Bradley’s got something to do with it,” Kaito went on. “Hey, just coming from an outside perspective here—the lack of like, democracy and human rights around here is fucked up to begin with, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re all living in a bad dime-store spy novel.”

 

The knowledge that the team he’d been part of for the last three years, and come to trust, was being dispersed practically overnight sat like a sour pit deep in his stomach. 

 

Worse was what was left unknown. Ed was no stranger to being in danger, to his team being in danger; even the idea that Hughes could be at risk wasn’t totally foriegn.

 

But things he’d taken for granted, like the certainty his teammates were his allies, suddenly seemed fragile.

 

And Mustang was staging a coup. Because Bradley was a curropt bastard and probably backed by the homonculi from which all the other homonculi had spawned.

 

Yeah. He’d needed to sweat some of that out.

 

A yellow rose swam into his vision. Unfortunately, Kaito was attached to it. Ed batted it away.

 

“Aww, what was that for?” Kaito asked, tucking the rose behind Ed’s ear.

 

“What the—” Ed grunted, flicking it away again. Kaito tutted and tugged on Ed’s hair. “Hey—!” 

 

But it was too late; Kaito was weaving the rose stem into the braid. 

 

“Where’d you even get that?”

 

“There’s a cute garden one road over,” Kaito said. Done with his floral offering, he planted his hands and kicked his feet into the air, the backbend becoming an effortless handstand.

 

“Great, so you’ve just decorated me with stolen flowers.”

 

“No, just one.”

 

Ed sighed. “How do you appear and disappear like that?”

 

“Magic,” Kaito said. “And some sneaking. You made it too easy—you were brooding something terrible.”

 

With a great display of willpower, Ed disregarded the comment about brooding. “You’re just trying to prove your point about violence not being necessary.”

 

Kaito winked at him, upsidedown. “Got it in one, Ed-san!”

 

“So you’re well-versed at running away. That’s great. But you can’t always run away.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Kaito kicked out of his handstand and into a backbend instead. It kind of hurt Ed’s spine just to look at. 

 

“I already said I’d let you round out my skill set, didn’t I? Anyway, all my tricks are sleight-of-hand. Kind of goes along with the whole phantom thief thing. If I’m empty-handed, that gets a lot harder.”

 

“Do you stake your whole career on stealing?”

 

“Eh, it’s less a career and more a night job. I was thinking recently, maybe I’ll become a stuntman when school’s out. Be in movies and stuff. Wanna join me? You’d be really good at it!”

 

“Movies?” Ed echoed with a scowl. 

 

He wished Kaito would stop peppering his speech with so much Xingan—or, Japanese? Ed couldn’t tell the difference between the two with any accuracy. But whatever it was made him frustrating to talk to, and from the way Kaito smiled, he knew it, and he took a vast amount of pleasure in it.

 

“Yeah, you know. Films. Moving pictures.”

 

“Now you’re just making shit up.”

 

“So what about your career?”

 

Ed didn’t like where this conversation was going. “What about it?”

 

“You gonna stick with this military stchick your whole life? Even with all the corruption and backstabbing and what-have-you?”

 

Ed snorted. “No fuckin’ way. Soon as we get our bodies back, me and Al are outta here. I’ll retire or take a dishonorable discharge or something.”

 

“You don’t think that Bradley guy would cuff you for turning on him?”

 

“He can try.”

 

“Whatcha gonna do with your early retirement? Obviously, Winry already knows what she’s going to do.”

 

Early retirement. It was a nice idea, getting their bodies sorted before old age. But Ed hadn’t necessarily thought that far. 

 

“If Al wants to go to school or travel, or…”

 

“What about you?”

 

Ed didn’t know, but didn’t want to tell Kaito that. “What about you? Are you gonna make a life as a thief if you get stuck here?”

 

Kaito’s previously open face shuttered quickly. Ed tilted his head to better read the upside-down expression, but Kaito cut that off by dropping his forearms to the ground and performing a rollover, popping up to his feet at the end. 

 

“I won’t get stuck here.”

 

“You sound pretty certain.”

 

“I’m certain about it the same way I’m certain you’ll retire early,” Kaito said dismissively. Then, he squinted at the rooftops. “Is that…?”

 

Ed swept his gaze over them idly, seeing nothing. Still cautious of the way Kaito had dropped into guarded silence, he sat up. “What?”

 

“There—it’s that girl. Emperor-san’s bodyguard.” Kaito brightened. “The one with the knives!” He launched into enthusiastic waving.

 

Ed barely had two seconds to spot the black-clad girl before she had leapt from her concealed location and landed lightly in the yard before him and Kaito. 

 

Ed couldn’t withhold a twitch—the memory of a close call with her knives was entirely too fresh—but Kaito just smiled placidly.

 

The bodyguard girl gave no further preamble, eyes narrowed into slits over the black fabric that covered her nose and mouth, an improvised solution after Ed had shattered her mask in Rush Valley. “Where is the Young Lord?”

 

“No clue,” Ed replied. “He ran off.”

 

“Yeah, he pretty much high-tailed it out of there when all those other guys did,” Kaito said.

 

“What guys?”

 

“Ah,” Kaito said. He launched into a non-Amestrian, rapid-fire explanation of the events, and the girl—Lan Fan, Ed belatedly remembered her name—grew increasingly more distressed.

 

“You let the Young Lord run off with kidnappers?” This was in Amestrian, presumably so that she could blame both of them.

 

“He’s not my Young Lord!” Kaito exclaimed. 

 

Ed noticed his protests were losing heat each time he made them, like he was starting to point it out purely on principle now. 

 

“Can’t you track him by his qi?” Kaito went on.

 

“He’s gone too far,” Lan Fan moaned, gloved hands muffling her masked face. “Grandfather is searching the perimeter of the city.”

 

“Those guys move fast,” Ed muttered.

“Sit,” Kaito said.

 

“I can’t sit!” Lan Fan moaned again. “I have to find the Young Lord! I have to—”

 

“Just sit,” Ed interrupted, sighing. “That guy does what he wants. You shouldn’t let it stress you out so much.”

 

She gave him a look like someone might look at a smushed dung beetle. But she folded herself into a sitting position on the grass with them anyway. 

 

Ed was a little surprised—but then, she was around their age, wasn’t she? It had shocked him, the first time he’d seen her face, how young it was. But that was kind of like raising an eyebrow at his own reflection, so he didn’t comment.

 

“Tell us about yourself,” Kaito said, eager to make conversation.

 

“My family has served Yao royalty for generations,” Lan Fan said morosely.

 

“What else?”

 

“I… I have been training to protect the Young Lord since I was a child.”

 

“And…?”

 

“I like… hakka noodles.”

 

This admission got Kaito very excited. “Noodles!” He turned to Ed. “Here’s someone who knows what’s what.”

 

“Young Lord also loves hakka noodles,” Lan Fan said, just as downtrodden as before.

 

“What’s so great about that guy anyway?” Ed asked. “All he does is stalk people and collapse in alleyways.”

 

That lit a fire in Lan Fan’s eyes again. “How dare you insult the Young Lord in such a way! You don’t understand anything—”

 

“Kaito,” called Al; when the group looked up, he was hunched in the doorway. “Lt. Hawkeye would like to talk to you.”

 

Ed couldn’t resist elbowing him with a shit-eating grin.

 

“I want it on the record that I am not in trouble with her,” Kaito declared, drawing himself up to his feet and hurrying inside. “I put everything back. And now I am going to speak to her of my own free will. I am not being coerced into this because she scares me. No way.”

 

Ed laughed him off and waved at Al, who returned to the group with Kaito.

 

That left Ed with just Lan Fan, now, and she wasn’t even glaring at him or anything. She was looking at the rooftops with a dejected slump to her shoulders.

 

Ed wondered if he was going to have to deal with two moody peers in a row today, and decided he didn’t have the bandwidth for that. He needed to distract her.

 

An idea hit him like a bolt. “Hey, you guys were talking in Xingan earlier, right?”

 

The look she gave him told Ed he’d asked a very stupid question. “Yes.”

 

Kaito had claimed his native language wasn’t Xingan, and while Ed couldn’t tell the difference, he was sure Lan Fan would be able to. But, clearly, if he could talk to Lan Fan in Xingan, he knew some. 

 

“If you’re sticking around a while, d’ya think you could teach me and my brother some?”

 

Lan Fan eyed him, suspicious. “What’s in it for me?”

 

“I’ll owe you a favor?”

 

She debated for a moment, but then nodded slowly, an extension of her neck. “Alright. You have a deal.”

 

As it turned out, patience was one of Lan Fan’s strong suits. Ed wouldn’t have believed it, after seeing the way she stressed over Ling’s carefree attitude and his multitude of disappearances, but when it came to demonstrating Xingan characters with talk and explaining their pronounciation, she was a pro. It might have helped that Ed was a natural when it came to learning.

 

They passed at least an hour that way, if not more; by the time Hawkeye stepped outside, the sun had long since sunk and artificial lighting had taken its place, burning out the windows of the Curtis home and drawing long shadows from Ed and Lan Fan. 

 

As she emerged from the back door, Hawkeye’s shadow fell over them. She and Lan Fan regarded each other for a moment, before the two acknowledged each other.

 

Ed, for his part, greeted Hawkeye with a little salute. “Yo. Kaito give you your ammo back yet?”

 

The corner of her mouth twitched. “He did return it, yes. Do you have a moment to speak privately?”

 

Lan Fan stood, tugging her mask over her nose again, securing it like a safety measure. “I should get going. Grandfather will be waiting.”

 

“Alright.” Edward brushed dirt off his knees. “See ya ‘round, Lan Fan.”

 

She looked back at him, impassive.

 

“Or not,” Ed amended, then watched as she vanished onto the rooftops of Dublith. He turned back to the Lieutenant. “What’s up?”

 

She didn’t beat around the bush. “We’re taking the first train to East City tomorrow morning.”

 

Ed grimaced. but he had more sense than to argue with the Leuitenant about it. “Alright.”

 

“I know you don’t like it,” she said. “But there’s enough suspicion flying around as it is. More importantly, there’s news from Lieutenant Hughes.”

 

Ed jolted to attention. “Is he okay? What about Gracia and Elicia?”

 

Hawkeye gestured Ed over to the fence that lined the outer edge of the property. Ed took the cue to seat himself atop it, but Hawkeye didn’t even lean against it; she held her square stance and told Ed about the Hughes’ family failed evacuation, Pride’s intervention, and shadowy powers.

 

Ed absorbed it with clenched fists and a tight chest, but he didn’t dare open his mouth, instead biting down to trap the indignation and anger inside. It wasn’t fair that the consequences of these situations were seeping outwards, to even Elicia. 

 

But if Ed had learned anything from Tucker, it was that some people didn’t care who they had to drag to the guts of hell to get what they wanted; they’d do it no matter what.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised that the homunculi were the same.

 

“It’s… strange they weren’t killed,” Ed murmured slowly. “Mr. Hughes and his family—isn’t it only the alchemists they need alive?”

 

Hawkeye nodded slowly. “Perhaps there’s something we have yet to learn,” she said. “Or perhaps…” Here, she gave Ed a wan smile. “They are not quite the united front as they’d like us to believe.”

 

“Did you tell Al?” He was already propelling himself forward, to find Al and discuss this with him.

 

Hawkeye halted him simply by shaking her head. 

 

“What? We have to tell him—I think he’s got the most figured out about how homunculi work—”

 

“I’d like to avoid panicking him,” Hawkeye said. “The same goes for Kaito. I know they’re both quite capable, but they are civilians, Edward. And unfortunately, the more times this information is passed hands, the larger the risks are to our group. Until we understand their network and the breadth of their powers, we need to treat the situation with utmost caution.”

 

“What—I can’t keep this from Al. Kaito, I get it, fine. But not Al.” 

 

He shouldn’t need to explain this.

 

Hawkeye looked like she wanted to cave; but she only said, “Please, Edward. Just for a few days, until we’re back in East City.”

 

The team would be there; it would only take only the weekend to return. Enough time for the team in Central to gather further intel. 

 

With a frustrated sigh, Ed acquiesced. “Fine.”

 

---