Jade lives! And brings ficcage!

Merry Christmas, all of you. Originally I was planning for this to be short and sweet... eh heh, it kind of grew bigger than I had anticipated. So big that it's too large for one post; I'll be forced to split it up into two parts. Be that as it may... I hope that you enjoy it!

Author: Jade Pen
Title: Home for the Holidays
For: The Russell x Edward Christmas Contest.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Best Drama
Part 2: Right here.
-----

"Where is he, you bastard!?" Edward Elric slammed the door behind him as he tore into the office of Brigadier General Roy Mustang, his golden eyes flashing fire as he stormed right up to his superior officer's desk.

"Calm down and have a seat, Fullmetal." Roy motioned at one of the chairs, scooping up a file from his desk and cracking it open. "As you know, Red Water was sent on a sabotage mission to-"

"I don't want your fucking exposition! And his name is Russell Tringham!" He glared at the older man, refusing to take a seat and spitting out, "All I want to know is where he is!"

That glare was met by a completely blank expression from the older man, Roy biding his time and waiting for the other to calm down before he proceeded. "Assigned to a Drachman sabotage mission. Missing in action for-"

"Two months." Edward now ran a hand through his hair, pacing from one end of the room to the other. "We didn't have any idea what happened to him, we didn't even know if he was alive. But you do. So where is he, and how did you find out when Headquarters doesn't have a fucking clue?"

"I've got the location right here, and I'll tell you everything once Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and I have gone over the information." He indicated the folder in his hands, a worried look crossing his face. It was even starting to eclipse his usual 'I know all' smirk.

"How many times do I have to tell you?” Edward strode up to his superior officer’s desk, and urgently spoke, “Just tell me now, and I'll get him myself!"

In response, Roy thoughtfully tapped the manila folder against his desk. "That would be a bad idea for a number of reasons. But, as I highly doubt you'll listen to reason for your own sake, I'll give the most compelling reason. Red Water isn't being held in a military prison, but in one of the maximum-security penitentiaries." Edward made no signs of understanding the significance of this revelation, so Roy explained, "He's not being considered a prisoner of war. Rather, he's been classified as an internal traitor."

"And why should I give a damn who’s holding him, again?” He stormed off to the side of the room, glowering at the map of Amestris hanging there, “Just fucking tell me where he is, and I’ll-"

"Fullmetal, Drachma is not Amestris!" With a sigh, he stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out at Central Headquarters’ main plaza and the gigantic flag placed in front of Parliament's building. "Here, prisoners are treated with a modicum of respect. There are such things as 'due process,' 'rights of the accused,' and so on. On the other hand, prisoners of war are generally treated as hostiles, but are still, usually, acknowledged as having basic human dignities. After King Bradley was deposed, Parliament made sure to distance themselves from his former policies; while some of the higher-ups still complain about not being able to use torture to get information, by and large the military's agreed that Bradley's methods weren't always successful."

"I didn't ask for a history lesson." Edward crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, "I just want to know why the fuck I should care, and why you aren't telling me what I need to know."

The Brigadier General didn't say anything for a while, considering his words carefully. Then, softly, he continued, "When word got out that we had changed our policies, most of the other nations surrounding us adopted similar stances on prisoners of war. Basic human dignities assured, no torture, so forth and so on. If Red Water was considered a prisoner of war, then we could rest easy knowing that, while he wouldn't be well off, he'd at least be somewhat healthy. But since he's a 'criminal,' there's an entirely different set of rules in play." After another pause, he asked, "...have you ever heard of the term 'gulag'?"

"'Gulag'?" Edward blinked in confusion, then shook his head. "Can't say that I have. Is it important?"

"It's the Drachman term for their prison system; the way I understand it, they started out as forced-labor camps. But, unfortunately, the meaning changed with their newest administration." He bitterly chuckled, utterly mirthless as his one good eye gazed to the north. In his blinded left eye, he could almost see what the Drachmans would do with a prisoner of Russell Tringham's stature; a State Alchemist, possibly with classified information, but young enough that he'd be easy to crack... In the Drachman mind, the perfect subject to further refine their well-honed skill as torturers. If he concentrated, he could almost envision the young man's broken and bloody body; could almost hear his weak, plaintive pleas for mercy as method after horrific method was employed; blue eyes sliding shut as he was pushed beyond his endurance, never to open again...

Edward's voice, worried and soft now, broke through Roy's musings. The younger man had straightened up again, his eyes focusing on Roy’s face. "Oy... what's happening to him, do you think?"

"...I can't hazard a guess," Roy smoothly lied, the better to try to spare Edward's concern, "but the Drachman system of 'justice' is built on the idea that the guilty have no rights. They could, legally, do whatever they want with him. That's one of the reasons I want you to wait for the Lieutenant Colonel and I to come up with a plan."

For a long moment, Edward just stared at the older man. Then, his voice low and filled with danger, he venomously whispered, “I’ve got a better idea. I’m going to take this file,” he stormed up to the desk and swiped the file before the older man could even turn around, much less stop him, “I’m going to copy it, and then I’m going to take Al and I’m going to rescue Russell. You can sit on your damn ass and think of all the plans you want to while I’m gone!”

Before Edward could even think about leaving, however, Roy barked, “Stop right there, Fullmetal!” He half-turned to Edward, his eye narrowing at the younger man. "Exactly what condition do you think he’s in? It's possible that Red Water is unable to move, or even mentally shattered, and if so, it would be impossible for you to carry him to safety. And if you are unsuccessful the first time..."

"...they'll move him to someplace even more secure, or just not risk it and kill him then and there, right? I can’t let that happen!"

“Nor can I.” Roy gestured at the chair in front of his desk, taking his own and gazing at his subordinate. “I know how much you care about him, but you have to believe me when I say that I, too, have his best interests in mind. Nobody will be happy if he winds up dead or out of our reach.”

Edward slumped against his chair, running a hand through his long hair. "He never should have been sent on that mission. He never should have gone to Drachma, shouldn't be in this situation... he should be home, getting ready for Christmas and singing carols."

Roy blinked in surprise. “Red Water can sing?”

A short laugh. “He only does it when we’re alone: he can’t sing a note on-key, so he does it to annoy me, I swear… but if I had known this was going to happen, I’d have asked him to keep going. At least for another song or two…”

Silence fell as both men stopped to think about that. Edward was lost in his memories of Russell Tringham: the way that the younger boy would stand and walk, the confident poses he'd adopt, the cool and dauntless demeanor he always put forward, the lilt to his voice... Then there were the more private memories, the ones that only Edward would ever possess. Such things as the way that Russell's soft skin felt under his fingers, or how that lean body would writhe and squirm when Edward touched it just so, or how those hardened lips would part ever-so-slightly as those delicious sounds escaped from his throat...

Roy was lost in memories of Russell Tringham as well, but his were of a fundamentally different nature. He remembered when the cocky alchemist had stood before his desk, face set in a mask of determination. He remembered the demand that the younger man had made, the ever-polite yet inflexible way he spoke as he insisted on being assigned to the mission, as well as the adamant refusal for aid or backup. "I can complete the mission by myself," the Red Water Alchemist had claimed, "more people will just make it easier for me to be detected." And, of course, Roy remembered seeing the younger man out, watching until the combination of blue and blond and silver disappeared.

"...yes, that's where he should be. He should be with his little brother, setting up decorations and winning that little competition the two of you have every year," Roy softly admitted, "but where he should be is of no help to us now. The best we can do is to bring him back."

"I know." Edward stood up and offered a reluctant smile, putting both of his hands in his pockets. "No point in complaining about the past now, right? We'll just have to move forward and make up for it." After a moment's thought, he added, "You two had better not take too long with those plans. And for taking so long with it, you'd better have a fucking brilliant plan when we get there."

In response, Roy chuckled softly. "I won't disappoint you, Fullmetal. I know how frustrated you must be without Red Water looking after you."

No matter how often it happened, Edward still gaped at Roy Mustang's double entendres. "I didn't say anything like that, you... you..."

"'Asshole' would be the term you're looking for." Despite himself, the older man let a smirk appear as he waved the objection aside. "You didn't need to say anything like that; it was written on your face. However, what I said still remains true. If there's any way to get him back quickly and safely, rest assured that I'll use whatever means necessary to do so."

"It's a promise, then." Edward spun on his heel and walked to the door.

The Brigadier General watched on as another subordinate walked out of his office, red and gold and black disappearing all too quickly. With a soft sigh, he cracked open the file and scanned the contents with his one good eye. “This would be far easier for everyone concerned if you wouldn’t let your personal feelings get in the way, Fullmetal…”

---

The Tringham residence was brightly lit with Christmas lights, an island of color and warmth in the middle of the snowy night. Edward Elric couldn't help but let a smile cross his face as he walked through the front yard; Fletcher had outdone himself in the effort to make his house look inviting and full of Christmas spirit; all of the many evergreens in the yard were covered in snow, making the colored lights glitter through the crystals.

Of course, the Elric reminded himself, he wasn't the only one who's worked to make the place look spectacular. His boots crunched a path through the newly-fallen snow, and even though the chill cut through his automail and his red coat like a knife, he didn't feel quite as cold as he should have. No point in having a house-decorating contest for Christmas if Russell’s not there to compete in it, but I think he’ll still appreciate the effort we put into making his home ready for him.

He rapped on the door, and after only a moment's pause, Alphonse opened the door. Instantly, a bright smile appeared on his face, and he quickly stepped aside. The younger Elric was dressed in sturdy brown pants and a warm knit turtleneck; much better-dressed for the cold than his brother. "Come in! You've got to be freezing, right?" He took off Edward's coat, hanging it up on the coat rack and brushing out the clumps of snow that had accumulated on the fabric. For a moment, he went to clear out the snow that had gathered in his brother’s hair… but decided against it, and instead said, "Didn't even wear your hood... it's snowing outside, you should take better care of yourself!"

Despite the scolding, Edward's smile didn't diminish in the least. As he kicked off his soaked shoes, he answered, "I know, Al, but it really isn't that cold outside! Besides, there's more important things to talk about than the weather, too. Where's Fletcher?"

"Boiling water; he thought you might like some hot cocoa when you came back." Alphonse motioned his older brother to the living room, where both of them sat down on the couch. After a moment, he softly asked, "What's this about 'more important things,' Brother?"

"I'll tell you when Fletcher comes back. It's something you should both hear." He tried to keep his smile confident and reassuring, but ended up letting his eyes sweep across the room. Just like the outside, the entire space was brilliantly illuminated, the light reflecting off of the tinsel festooning the doorways and windows, making a wonderful contrast to the greens and reds of holly. A still-potted and, because of Fletcher's tender care, strong and lush, fir stood at the window; decorated with all the skill and flair that Alphonse and Edward could muster. Edward had even gone so far as to transmute a fireplace in the wall, and at Fletcher's insistence, four stockings hung over the front. No fire was lit, however; the house was warm enough by itself.

And yet, for all of that, Edward's gaze was arrested more by the pictures on the walls and end tables. While the times and circumstances captured in each frame were different, one thing never changed. Russell was in every single shot, yet another confirmation that Fletcher was primarily responsible for the interior decorating. After a moment, Edward picked up a picture taken immediately after Russell was confirmed as a State Alchemist: the older Tringham looking dignified and smug in his uniform, the silver watch proudly displayed at his hip; the younger with an expression of absolute happiness and pride on his soft face.

A twinge of regret passed through Edward’s heart as he traced his fingers over the glass. He knew the deeper reason for why Fletcher kept so many mementos of Russell on hand, because his own brother did the exact same thing. When they first started seeing each other, he and Russell had decided to live together; both so that they could share expenses, and for the simple fact that they wanted to be together. But, as their little brothers had pointed out, such an act would make them guilty of ‘fraternization,’ and they reluctantly decided to continue living apart.

But, to compensate, they spent as much time together as they could: extending their time on missions, going out together, anything that they could do to get a few extra minutes here, an hour or so there… and as a result, they weren’t home nearly as often as Fletcher and Alphonse would wish. Thus, the mementos; if Fletcher couldn’t have his brother’s presence, then he’d take what he could.

Those thoughts were what prompted Edward to ask, "Hey Al... you sure that you don't want to stay here and keep Fletcher company? He's going to be lonely while we're gone."

"I know, but it's more important to make sure his brother gets back safely." A sad smile appeared on the younger Elric's face as he leaned over to look at the picture as well. On the night Russell got his certification, Alphonse had walked home all alone… "Until Russell returns, nothing's going to seem right for him, no matter what I do... and I think he'll feel better knowing that I'm going to be looking after you."

"And what's that supposed to mean? You think I can't take care of myself, Al? I've taken care of worse things than a bunch of Drachmans, you know that!"

Despite himself, Alphonse chuckled softly. "That's not it, Brother. It's just… I think... he feels a little guilty, more than anything. He's told me that he wishes he had talked Russell out of accepting the mission, or at least forced him to let someone come along. So he kind of blames himself for that, and he'd feel even worse if he made the situation worse. That's why he wants me to go with you; he doesn't want what happened to Russell happen to you. I don't want that, either. I don’t want you to disappear…"

"I won’t. Still… It's not good for him to be alone, especially not when he’s used to having people around... hey, think Gracia would mind coming down to keep him company while we're gone? I bet Elysia would be happy to-"

"Brother!" Alphonse shook his head, his ponytail of dark blond hair waving with the motion. Exasperatedly, he explained, "He can make his own decisions! If he's lonely, then he knows how to handle it. And he knows that Miss Gracia is always happy to have guests, remember? We took both of them to see her awhile back, and he knows that she meant it when she invited him to come back any time."

"...I guess you're right. I just worry about him when Russell's not around; imagine what you'd be like if I wasn't here, Al!"

More gently, the younger brother answered, "I can; it's... a very scary thought, but I know that nothing would make me feel better until you came back."

"'Until he comes back'? Is Edward going away?" Fletcher walked into the room, a soft smile on his face as he balanced three mugs of hot chocolate on a tray.

"Actually... yeah, I am. Me and Al both." Edward leaned forward, sitting up and becoming serious. "You may want to sit down for this."

The younger Tringham quickly knelt down at the table, putting the tray there so he wouldn't accidentally drop it. "...is... something bad happening?"

"No, it's nothing like that. Really, it's... kind of good news, in a way." The oldest blond offered a reassuring smile before he continued. "Mustang's come up with a plan; he wants to move out by tomorrow morning, and he wants Al and me to go with him and his unit."

Instantly, the worried expression on Fletcher's face vanished. "Really? So... Brother's going to be coming back soon?"

"...yeah, he is." Edward kept that smile on his face. "I’m not going to stop until he’s back; it won’t take more than a week, I promise."

"So that’s only a few days? So he'll be back in time for Christmas!" Fletcher beamed at that thought, and though he didn't say anything more about it, his thoughts were easily discernible as he hopefully gazed at the many pictures of his brother.

Fletcher's happiness was contagious; at his expression, Alphonse couldn't help but smile as well, and he quickly agreed, "With Brother and Mr. Roy and I working together, he'll be back soon. So don't worry about us while we're gone, all right?"

"I won't," the youngest blond promised, "and I'll get presents while you're gone! That way I'll be ready when Brother gets back! And the two of you need to stop by, too!"

"We will. Won't we, Brother?" Alphonse's smile widened as he looked to his older brother... then it slowly faded when he saw the look on Edward's face. "Is something wrong?"

For a moment, Edward didn't say anything in response, pondering whether it was worthwhile to dampen the younger brothers' enthusiasm. But, in the end, Edward found that the truth was preferable to a comforting deception. "Fletcher... I want to tell you this now, so you aren't surprised later, all right?"

"...okay, I'm listening." The young Tringham scooted closer to the other two, concern evident once more.

"I just want you to know that Russell may not be able to enjoy Christmas." Edward ran a gloved hand through his hair, considering what he wanted to say... but in the end, he bluntly stated, "We don't know what kind of condition he's going to be in. Even with Al and I and everyone else... he may end up spending weeks or more in the hospital. I hope that's not what happens, but... there's always that chance. I just want you to be ready for it if it happens."

Alphonse seemed stunned by his brother's admittance, and even more because Edward had said it so bluntly... normally he was happy with his brother being so direct and to the point, but for something like that-!

Fletcher, on the other hand, fell into thought at that. He was quiet for so long, and his soft features were scrunched into such a look of concentration, that in the end Edward had to gently prompt, "Fletcher?"

"I'm okay." Fletcher looked up at Edward, and before both brothers' eyes, a grateful expression appeared on his face. "Thank you, Edward. I know that Brother might be hurt really badly... and he may not even be able to open presents, or even know what day it is..."

"Fletcher..." Alphonse made a motion to stand up and walk over to the younger man, but a slight gesture from Fletcher informed him that it wasn't necessary.

"But even with that knowledge... I'm still going to get those presents, and I'm still going to believe that Brother's all right. If he can't be awake for Christmas, then I'll hold the presents until he can enjoy them. And if he's hurt, even if he's hurt badly... then you have to let me take care of him, too."

Nothing was said for a long time. Then, slowly, Edward grinned. "That's what I was hoping to hear. If you're going to help me take care of him, then there's nothing to worry about."

Fletcher glanced from one Elric to the other, that look of determination not leaving his face for a moment. "Taking care of Brother's going to be a challenge, knowing him... and I know that he’ll… he’ll be happy to see you, Edward."

"We'll see how much help he needs when we get back," the younger Elric gently interrupted, "he might not be that bad off; if not, then I think that you'll do just fine. And if he's too badly hurt... then it might not be a good idea to have too many people running around."

Edward glanced at his little brother, and for just a moment, he could see a spark of resentment in those bronze eyes. "...we'll decide when we get back. All right?"

Fletcher's blue eyes swept from one brother to the other before offering, "U-um... maybe... we should drink our chocolate before it becomes 'lukewarm chocolate'...?" He offered a nervous laugh as he picked up his mug.

But, of course, both Elrics took that as a sign that they were going too far, and they both picked up their mugs. "Right," Alphonse agreed after his first sip, "and another good idea would be for us to decide on what we're getting him. Any ideas?"

"I've got some. How about..."

The lighter topic of conversation lasted well into the evening, two more rounds of cocoa, and several good ideas. Still, in the end, the Elrics had to depart to pack and get everything ready for their mission. They gathered their coats and shoes, bundling up against the bracing winter chill and offering one last farewell before heading out. Fletcher, of course, wished them both success and safety; the words 'Don't let anything bad happen' and 'I'm trusting you to bring my brother back to me' going unspoken but not unheeded.

When Fletcher closed the door behind the Elrics, he was struck by just how empty the house was. It was warm and inviting, a perfect haven away from the snow... yet it seemed so barren somehow, and terribly quiet. Despite his brave words, Fletcher was feeling lonely and vulnerable already... and he knew that it would only get worse until Russell returned to him.

So he did all that he could do. He curled up on the couch with one of the photo albums, and he made plans for what to do with his brother once they were reunited. He gazed at the stars, softly whispering “Brother, I miss you so much. Please, come back to me...” to himself until he fell asleep.

---

"I don't want to know how the fuck you know this, do I?" Edward shivered in the bitter Drachman cold, even though he had accepted Alphonse's prompting and had put on much warmer- though still black and red clothes. He was staring down in disbelief from the upper observation deck of one of the guard towers of the very prison they had set out to capture, and not a shot had yet been fired. Nor had he or his brother even been in danger; that much, however, he knew was going to change.

"Possibly not, Fullmetal," Roy lightly agreed, his uniform covered with a thick fur coat to ward off the chill. His one good eye was sweeping across the prison complex, contemplating his next move. "Lieutenant," he called after a moment, "has the primary target come into view?"

"No, sir," First Lieutenant Havoc whispered, gazing through the scope of his rifle, "all I see are the prisoners in the yard. Wouldn't want to be in their place, sir."

"That rather goes without saying, Lieutenant. Considering the weather and how little they're wearing, it's a surprise that they aren't dropping dead as we speak."

Silence fell for a moment as all of them regarded the prisoners and their inevitable fate. Finally, Alphonse softly asked, "Mr. Mustang... are they going to be all right, after we rescue Russell?" The young Elric was dressed far more warmly than the others, having bundled up to keep out the harsh chill.

"...don't worry about it," Roy offered, "they won't be any worse off than before."

"You aren't going to free them?" Alphonse shocked voice pried further, "Why not? I mean, if we're already here, and they're hurting because of what's being done to them, then... shouldn't we free them, too? They all have families waiting for them too, don't they?"

The older man said nothing in response, the only betrayal of his emotions being how his lips tightened and his eye narrowed, just a little bit. In the end, Edward sighed softly and moved over to his brother, draping his real arm over Alphonse's shoulders. "Al... if we could do it, we would. But all of those people are Drachman criminals."

"But what does that matter?" Bronze eyes gazed at the elder Elric, and Alphonse pleaded, "Russell's considered a 'Drachman criminal' too, but we're freeing him anyway! So... couldn't we at least offer some way out for them? Like leave a hole in the wall for them, or something?"

Despite the moment of indecision, Edward stood firm. "Al... think about what would happen if we did. Right now, we're just rescuing one of our people from a situation that he can't, legally, be in. If the Drachmans complain, we've got all of the justification on our side; but if we let all of the prisoners go... Is their freedom worth another war with Drachma?"

"...no," he finally admitted, "it's not worth a war. But... I still wish there was another way."

"I know, so do I. But there's not, really; we're just going to have to deal with it as best we can. Just don't feel too bad about it, all right?"

"There he is," Havoc abruptly announced, bringing both brothers back to their present situation, "looks like he's got a light guard, too... I'm counting three, but there's a tree in the yard that's blocking my view."

"Understood. Wait a moment…" The black-haired man walked up to the tower’s windows, his good eye narrowing as he peered downward. “Which one is he? We can’t afford to make a mistake when everyone’s dressed the same.”

“Everybody’s wearing fur, sir, but they’re not dressed the same. Courtyard, left-hand side; he’s the one everyone’s looking at, and I think that fur of his is worth more than three months’ salary.”

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Roy assented. “Either it’s the Warden, or it’s some other VIP; either way, he’ll have what we need to know. Sharp thinking, Lieutenant.” The Brigadier walked to their mobile radio set, putting on a set of headphones and softly speaking, "Sergeant Major, what’s the situation on your end?"

No response for a moment, then Sergeant Major Fury's soft voice answered. "Lieutenant Hawkeye just spotted the Warden, sir. She counts four guards with him, and it looks like they're armed with clubs and pistols."

"Good, they're not expecting much." The Brigadier couldn't help but let a smirk cross his face as he glanced to the tower on an adjacent corner of the prison; it, too, had been taken without any difficulties, and with both of them commanding a view of nearly the entire prison complex, the advantage was all his. "Is Lieutenant Breda in position?"

"Yes, sir," Fury quickly answered, "he said that he's ready whenever you are, and that the charges are set exactly how you wanted them."

The smirk widened at that news. "Excellent; he's to explode the charges when we have the Warden in our possession. Remind Lieutenant Hawkeye that she's to fire only if the plan goes awry."

"I'll tell her right now. And... you just want me to look after the radio, right?"

The older man laughed. "Correct; make sure that both Lieutenants Hawkeye and Havoc remain in constant contact. I assume that there's been no word from Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?"

"No, sir." Fury's voice fell as he added, "I haven’t heard from Warrant Officer Farman either. Maybe they're still underground?"

"We'll have to proceed with that assumption. Keep them apprised of our situation when they report in." After hearing Fury's affirmation, Roy took off the headset and glanced at the two Elrics. "It's almost time. Are you two ready?"

"Yeah," Edward nodded, "we're ready."

"As we'll ever be, anyway," Alphonse softly added.

"Good. Remember, after we capture the Warden, the two of you-"

"We'll cover the northern cells, yes we know." Edward clenched his automail fist, ready and eager to get started. "You've told us this a hundred times, we've got it! Just tell us when to go."

For a moment, Roy considered countering his subordinate's words with another quip, but when he saw the determined look on both of their faces, the way that both of them were preparing themselves for the ordeal ahead... he decided against it. "We should get ready now, the Warden's almost at the proper point. Lieutenant, make sure to cover us." He walked over to Havoc's prone form, and lightly put the headphones on him.

"I will." Havoc's eyes narrowed as he softly spoke into the microphone, making sure that it worked. Then he nodded to his superior. "Looks like he's not paying attention. With the three of you doing your thing, I'll probably be able to take it easy. Not much action with three alchemists running around, right?"

"That's only if everything goes according to plan. Sadly, it’s unrealistic to expect this to proceed smooth-"

Right as those words left his mouth, there was a flash of blue light from the middle of the prison, and a massive series of stone spikes erupted from the ground. Almost immediately, the clatter of gunfire could be heard, also from the middle of the prison. Roy could only watch on as the Warden turned to jog in the direction of the disturbance, compromising the plan’s original intent.

So, the Brigadier had to improvise. “Lieutenant Havoc! Tell Lieutenant Breda to act now, the Elrics and I will proceed to the target. If he doesn’t take the bait, you and Lieutenant Hawkeye are to keep him pinned down by any means necessary, understood?”

“Yes sir, I’ll get right on it.”

Roy didn’t stay to confirm Havoc relaying his orders to the other members of his squad; he immediately strode to the staircase leading down into the prison proper, both Edward and Alphonse following after him without a single word. The three of them quickly descended flight after flight of stairs, and soon they left the tower, Roy and Alphonse both putting on the gloves that enabled their alchemy.

The instant after the door slid shut behind them, another explosion rocked the prison complex, this time at one of the outer walls. A cloud of dust and snow arose from that point, but as the three were far enough away, they weren’t blinded by it. Soon the sounds of falling rubble and debris filled the air, mixed with the surprised and disappointed cries of the prisoners. The explosion had blown out part of the wall, but far away from the exercise areas; there wasn’t any way for them to escape.

However, the concern that there might be a breakout was enough to arrest the Warden’s attention. The three intruders could see him just as he dashed to investigate; coming to a stop right in front of the blasted remnants of what had once been an imposing barrier. For the moment, he seemed not to notice Roy or the others, despite the fact that there was a clean line of sight between them; he was far too focused on checking the sheer extent of the damage.

Roy waited a moment longer, until the guards caught up with the Warden himself. After quickly assessing the situation, he whispered, “Fullmetal, take the one on the left; Alphonse, can you handle the other one?”

“Yes, sir!” The younger Elric nodded instantly, unconsciously jumping to attention just from the tone of command in Roy’s voice.

“All right… now!” Breaking into an all-out run, Roy raised his fingers and prepared to use his alchemy to blast the guards, and the Warden if necessary, into submission. However, despite the length of his strides and the remarkably fast pace he set, both Elrics far out-paced him. He could only watch on in amazement and approval as both of them dashed so far ahead that, even though they were on his blind side, his other good eye could still focus on them.

In unison, the two brothers clapped their hands together and pressed them against the ground; in perfect synchronization, huge fists made of the cement floor erupted and slammed into the guards, sending both flying against the walls and pinning them there. As one, they turned to face the Warden, again clapping their hands and set to use alchemy at a moment’s notice. All of that happened in the blink of an eye.

Roy had to stifle a laugh as he advanced towards the Warden with a confident smirk on his face and one hand poised to snap. The Drachman was staring in shock and disbelief at his now-disabled guards. In an instant, he had gone from warden to prisoner, from the one in charge to the one in custody; filled with rage, yet utterly unable to act.

“Warden,” the Brigadier called, his voice calm yet commanding, loud enough to be heard over the still-continued gunfire. “We are taking control of your prison for the time being. If you cooperate, then we will be on our way shortly with no further harm caused to you or your facilities. Understood?”

For a long moment, the Drachman’s face contorted with rage, furious at being so addressed… but eventually, he bowed to the inevitable, and spat, “I do understand. The government shall punish you for this, Amestrian!”

“Brigadier…” Edward was fidgeting, barely restraining himself from doing something rash. “Get to the damn point!”

As smoothly as if he hadn’t been spoken to, Roy addressed the Warden. “We’re looking for an Amestris citizen by the name of Russell Tringham. About my height, blue eyes, blond hair; is there anyone matching that description in your prison?”

“There is no Amestris person in my prison. There are only Drachman criminals. There is no one matching that description.”

“He’s a fucking liar! Give me five seconds, and I’ll-“

“Brother, that isn’t helping,” Alphonse whispered, low enough that it was heard only by his brother but scolding nevertheless.

Smoothly, as though Edward had said nothing, Mustang continued, “If that is true, then you won’t mind my subordinates searching for him among the prisoners. I suggest that you order your guards to allow them through; for their safety, you understand. I’d rather spare you the messy paperwork of dealing with a workplace casualty.”

As soon as the Brigadier had raised the possibility of searching the prison, the Warden screeched in protest. “No, no! There shall be no searches! None, nyet, I do not allow it!”

“Ah, then there is something hidden here.” Roy smirked, and that motion quelled the Warden’s anger thoroughly.

Unfortunately, it finally ignited Edward’s temper. He dashed forward and grabbed the Warden by the collar of his expensive fur coat, shouting, “Where the hell is he!? Where is Russell Tringham!?”

“There… is… no…”

“Don’t fucking try to lie to me, you bastard!” Even though Edward had to strain in order to reach the Warden’s throat, he managed it well enough; his automail fingers not giving the much taller man any room to escape. “Russell Tringham, ‘Red Water Alchemist,’ his serial number’s-“

“Brother!” Alphonse grabbed his brother’s wrists and tried to pull him away from the Warden. “He can’t say anything if you’re choking him!”

For a moment longer, Edward maintained his grip; his golden eyes glaring at the Warden, infuriated that the man was trying to string them along… then he released the taller man. A thoughtful look slowly crossed Edward’s face, and after a moment, he asked, “…is there an ‘Edward Elric’ in this prison? Also named the ‘Fullmetal Alchemist’?”

The Warden gaped in disbelief, and in that moment, Edward guessed exactly what had happened. “That bastard,” he softly whispered, “he had to do it again, didn’t he? He’ll never learn… Where is he?”

By that time, however, the Warden had finally recovered enough of his composure that he shot back, “Why should I tell you?”

“You can guess what will happen to you,” Roy smoothly replied as he walked over to the Warden, overriding Edward’s response, “if you try to obstruct our efforts. As the situation goes, your health is solely dependent on what we decide to do. Therefore, it is in your best interests to get us on our way as quickly as you can.”

In response, the Warden laughed. A deep, long, triumphant laugh that echoed across the prison complex, louder than the lessening reports of gunfire. “Shall I tell you where he is now, or shall I tell you where you can find him in a few moments of time?”

All three of the intruders gave a variation of the question, “What do you mean?”

“’Fullmetal Alchemist’,” the Warden answered, “shall be executed in a few moments of time. I sent order when you attacked my prison!”

Again, the Warden laughed long and loud, but this time his laugh was cut short by automail fingers again closing around his throat. Edward hissed, “Tell me where he is, or I’ll send you straight to hell myself!”

“Brother…” Alphonse frowned, but didn’t move to stop Edward; caught between not wanting another person to be hurt, and needing to know where Russell was so he could be saved.

Nor was help forthcoming from Roy; he had already turned his back to the whole situation, a gesture which only emphasized his apparent lack of concern for the Warden’s safety.

So, in the end, the Warden choked out, “I-in central building… block C… solitary cells…”

As soon as those words were spoken, Edward dashed off in the direction indicated, his little brother right behind him. Their superior tried to call after them, but he had to keep his eye on the Warden so that he didn’t escape and organize a resistance force. With a sigh, Roy moved the Warden to Lieutenant Hawkeye’s position: to a hill outside of the prison, overlooking the now-destroyed portion of the wall. Lieutenant Breda would be more than willing to secure their prisoner.

Meanwhile, Edward ran past the exercise areas of the prisoners, not paying attention to their cries for freedom nor their jeers when he passed them over. He was focused on only one goal; to get to his lover before the guards could murder him. Everything else, even his brother’s half-hearted complaints, were secondary.

He stopped at the door of the central building, his golden eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Hey, Al? Does something seem… I don’t know… strange, to you?”

“Strange?” The younger brother blinked, not winded in the least by his sudden exertion. “No, not really; it’s kind of quiet inside, but I don’t think I could hear anything over those men… why do you ask?”

“Because of that quiet. Come on, Al, there was an explosion right outside, there should be guards swarming all over the place, or at least people asking what’s going on. So why isn’t there?”

“I… don’t know, Brother. Um… maybe we should worry about that later, though? After we’ve rescued Russell?”

“Right.” A grim smile crossed Edward’s face as he strode into the building. “I’m going to free him, and I’ll beat anyone that tries to get in my way. You with me, Al?”

“Mm. You save Russell, I’ll keep you safe, Brother.” The younger Elric softly smiled as he followed Edward, his bronze eyes sweeping across the empty reception room. “But now that I think about it… is there anyone to keep you safe from? Like you said, if there was going to be anyone trying to stop us, they’d have tried it by now…”

“Doesn’t matter now; just means that we can get there faster!” Edward quickly jogged past the front desk and used his automail to wrench open the security door; Alphonse was forced to redouble his pace in order to keep up with his older brother as the elder Elric let neither the labyrinthine layout nor the numerous but empty security checkpoints slow him down.

“Brother, I just thought of something! Shouldn’t Mr. Armstrong be somewhere around here? I thought that he was supposed to tunnel underneath and appear in the middle, just in case Russell was here…”

Edward barely slowed his pace, just enough so that he could keep talking. One of the signs had a large ‘C’ and an arrow, enough of a clue that Edward went after it like a hunting dog. “Yeah, he did; that was his alchemy awhile back.”

“So maybe he’s already taken care of everyone here? And Russell’s going to be safe?” The younger was hoping desperately that there was that wider margin of error. It was very relieving to think that Alex Louis Armstrong was already defending Russell; behind the Strong Arm Alchemist was one of the safest places in all of Amestris, after all.

“Or he’s gotten himself killed. Knowing Russell, he’s been thrown into maximum security; it’ll take the best in order to get him out of there.” The corollary, that Edward was going to be the only person to save Russell, went unspoken.

Alphonse had no response to that; he didn’t want to think of either man dying, or suffering, or… anything like that. So the two of them simply continued running, and running, and running… and it was only after they passed the same hallway for the third time that Alphonse had to ask, “Brother, where are the solitary cells? I, um, can’t read Drachman…”

“…Neither can I.” Edward’s fists clenched at that admission. “We’ll just have to keep looking until we find them.”

“But by that time…” The younger brother’s voice trailed off at a single glare from Edward, and he mutely followed his older sibling’s lead.

So they ran again, Edward getting steadily more frustrated as he couldn’t find the proper way. “Damn it!” He stomped his mechanical foot, glaring at the same help desk they had passed by numerous times before. Unfortunately, there weren’t any printed maps or any other pictorial aid; everything was written in Drachman, which helped neither of them. “How the hell is anyone supposed to find anything in this maze!?”

“…maybe they just ask other people when they get lost, Brother?” Alphonse offered a soft smile, trying to placate Edward’s temper.

“That would be great, if there were any people to ask!”

With a sigh, the younger brother walked over to the help desk, futilely searching once more for any clues. But no; everything was incomprehensible, an undeciphered code, and they didn’t have time to try decoding it. “Well… mm… maybe we should split up? If we can’t find it together, maybe we can cover more ground this way? And it’ll be safe, too; I haven’t seen or even heard anyone since we arrived, so…”

“…yeah, that might be a good idea.” Edward nodded, reluctantly. “Just take care of yourself, all right? Signal me somehow if you find anything, and make sure you don’t get into trouble. Russell’s done enough of that.”

Despite the situation, Alphonse had to smile at his brother’s concern. “The same applies for you too, Brother. You stay safe and out of danger, don’t rush into anything by yourself.”

With a nod, the two brothers went to opposite ends of the area, preparing to split up… but before they had gotten far, a single gunshot rang out throughout the complex. The sudden horrible realization that they had run out of time hit both Edward and Alphonse, and as one, they ran towards the source of that sound. The rhythmic motion of putting one foot in front of the other postponed the painful task of thinking about the full scope of what had just happened.

And yet, the mad dash only took a few moments. The two brothers found a large security door tucked away in one of the more obscure, out-of-the-way hallways, and when Edward slowly opened it, they were greeted with the sight of a virtual war zone. Men with automatic weapons, Drachmans by their fur-lined uniforms and the model of their firearms, were scattered across the hallway as though a tornado had blown through; some slammed into the wall, others crumpled and sprawled against the floor. A few had large stone spikes sticking through them, most of the others were covered with massive bruises, though a few had been apparently shot. The ground itself was twisted and pitted as well; both with perfect hemispheres that had apparently been transmuted out of the stone and with chipped sections that had been knocked out by tremendous amounts of force.

“Brother…” Alphonse’s eyes widened as he surveyed the carnage, his tanned skin turning pale as he saw blood splattered against the walls, clinging to his boots; the coppery, sickening stench of fresh blood tainted the very air he breathed… “what… happened?”

“Looks like the Lieutenant Colonel’s work. I’m guessing he and Warrant Officer Farman must have come by this way.” Edward carefully picked his way through the hall, making sure not to slip or step on the bodies. “So that means that they were the ones we heard earlier. And that means…”

Neither of them could finish that thought, not aloud. Instead, they continued on their way, awed and a bit frightened by the sheer scope of the damage. The carnage lessened as they walked down the hall, but scattered groups of decimated Drachmans could still be found. The trail of bodies and shattered stone led them unerringly through the twists and turns, and soon they found the cells getting both more secure and, when they glanced through the small slits, smaller as well.

“We have to be getting close,” Edward whispered to himself, “these have to be the solitary confinement cells. So now we just need to find the one that Russell’s in… Hey, Al-“ The elder brother turned around, then stopped. Alphonse had turned even paler as time had passed, and now he looked nauseated, too. Edward gently asked, briefly giving a reassuring squeeze to his brother’s shoulder, “You holding up okay, Al? If you want, you can go get Brigadier Mustang and lead him here; that’ll get you out of the smell, at least.”

In response, Alphonse shook his head and put on a brave expression. “No… no, I’m fine. I’ll stay with you; you might need me for something.”

“…right.” Edward let go and turned back to the hallway. “I might need you to help me move a body or three… I’m sorry Al, I didn’t mean for you to see all of this.”

Again the two of them fell silent as they kept following the trail that had been set out for them. But before they could proceed too far, another burst of gunfire and shouting ricocheted off the stone walls, closer than ever. They glanced at each other, and with a silent agreement, they raced to the sounds. Their pace only doubled when they saw a flash of blue light and heard the crash of rock upon stone.

The two rounded the corner, hands clapped and prepared for anything, when they saw the last thing they could possibly have expected. Namely, the sight of Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong, bleeding from wounds in his bare side but still fighting on, using his alchemy to incapacitate the remaining few Drachmans still in the hallway. “Come here,” he roared, “if you wish passage to the Red Water Alchemist, you’ll find the toll to be exacting! Do you truly find it so difficult to harm someone when they have the will and capacity to defend themselves?”

“Mr. Armstrong!” Alphonse ran forward to the much taller man, wonder on his face as he beamed up. “Thank goodness! We were so worried!”

“Alphonse?” Alex glanced down at the young man, and he seemed to sparkle with happiness. “Ah, I swore that the Drachmans would only touch Russell Tringham over my dead body, but thankfully no one has laid a hand on him since I took up this position.”

“He’s alive?” Edward was only a step behind his brother, glancing at the cell door behind the Strong Arm Alchemist. “Is he in there, still?”

“He is indeed. Warrant Officer Farman ran out of ammunition some time ago, so I sent him to examine Russell and prepare him for evacuation. I trust that we’ll be extricating ourselves shortly, now that you have arrived?”

The elder brother absently nodded in response. He was already advancing to the door, no longer paying attention to much of anything, not with the hope that Russell was still alive rekindled. “Yeah, as soon as we get Russell ready, we’re heading out. Brigadier Mustang should have gotten our escape route ready by now.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Ah, Edward!” One of Alex’s massive arms interposed itself between Edward and the cell door, the older man’s voice becoming gentle yet warning. “You may want to wait a moment for Warrant Officer Farman to complete his examination. What little I saw of Russell was most unset-“

“I don’t care! I’ve waited two fucking months for this moment, I’m not going to wait another second!” Edward ducked underneath the warding arm, then shot back, “Stay here, Al; make sure that the Lieutenant Colonel doesn’t get himself killed.”

“But Brother!” Alphonse tried to follow his older brother into the cell, but Armstrong held him back. “I’m worried about him, too! Please, let me-“

Despite his struggling, Alphonse couldn’t get the Lieutenant Colonel to release him. The older man softly chided, “Your brother has a good reason to keep you from seeing it, Alphonse Elric. Trust his judgment; he has only your welfare in mind.”

“…but…” Alphonse’s slight frame slumped as the door to the cell closed, and he softly asked, “…can’t I be worried about him, too?”

At that, the hand that had been pushing Alphonse away now came to rest on one of his shoulders. “You can, and you should. But that does not mean that you’ll necessarily need to know about his condition right away. Consider his brother, waiting in Central and not even knowing if Russell is alive or not.”

The young man had no response to that; his gaze fell to the ground and his body sagged a bit, but nothing more. So Armstrong added, “The best thing for you to do right now is to aid me in safeguarding him. Your brother can handle Russell; but only you and I can make sure that he leaves this place safely.”

“…you’re right. Thank you, Mr. Armstrong.” Alphonse nodded slightly as he turned back to the hallway, resolute and determined once more. “I’ll do my best!”

“That’s all that anyone could ask for.” Despite himself, Armstrong smiled as he turned to the other side of the hallway; with Alphonse by his side, he knew that nothing the Drachmans could utilize would be enough to break through.
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