FicWad

Again, thank you to Roaming Fool for beta-ing this chapter!

This will be a Royai story eventually. Keep reading!

Chapter 2 - The Bitter Taste of Truth

The little café hummed with conversation and laughter as noon hour patrons came and went, enjoying meals at the small tables or picking up something quick to take to a park. The sunshine did not penetrate directly inside, but the cheerful yellow walls reflected light from the outside patio, brightening the inner room enough that lamps were not needed.

The front wall of the café had been opened to take advantage of the warm day, and the casual atmosphere of the patio had spilled inward, where patrons were more inclined than usual to remove their jackets, roll up their sleeves, and contemplate taking the afternoon off. Waiters in crisp white aprons moved smoothly among the tables with plates, trays, and pitchers, choreographed like an obscure ballet performed to the chiming music of cutlery tinkling against dishes. So expert were the staff that they automatically ducked even the tendrils of the plants in baskets hanging at regular intervals from the ceiling beams.

White plates and cups punctuated the bright green tablecloths, while cool water cascaded in little waterfalls from pitchers into clear glasses, as waiters paused to make laughing comments to the patrons, or check that all the diners' needs had been met. Occasionally, as one of the waiters passed by with a tray or a couple of loaded plates, heads would turn to follow the mouth-watering aromas that breezed past in their wake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air.

The clientele of the café was varied, from young couples holding hands across their tables, to business people and professors enjoying a cup of coffee as they read the morning paper, to military personnel from Central Headquarters two blocks away.

It was the military uniforms that drew Winry's attention as she stepped into the doorway behind Lieutenant Hawkeye. Even before the girl's vision had fully adjusted from being out in the bright sun, her eyes began to dart from table to table, searching among the army personnel for the person she had come to meet.

She couldn't find him, and her heart lifted. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe there was still time to change hers.

"You're sure you can't tell me why he wanted to see me?" Winry asked.

Hawkeye glanced over her shoulder. "It's a complicated problem, I'm afraid. Better that he should explain it himself." The woman paused, her gaze softening, and added gently, "If you'd rather leave, Winry, please feel free. We know this is very uncomfortable for you."

Winry noted the "we," and inwardly sighed. Certain things had obviously not changed in two years. Yet they'd given her a choice rather than trying to coerce her, which was a new element in her complex relationship with the two of them. She should probably listen, at least at first. She just wished Hawkeye would stay and act as a buffer.

Again she surveyed the busy café. "I don't think he's here anyway."

"He's here," came the firm reply, and the lieutenant proceeded further in, weaving her way among the tables and leaving Winry little option but to follow.

The farthest corner of the room, opposite the patio area, was not actually a corner at all, its walls opening up and curving to form a rounded alcove with a window looking onto the tiny park next door. A wide, bending wooden trellis, twined with greenery from several ceramic pots in front of it, served as an inside "wall" that screened the alcove from the rest of the café.

As soon as Hawkeye began to walk in that direction, Winry knew who waited behind the screen. Her stomach tightened reflexively, and she wiped suddenly clammy hands against the folds of her skirt. Well, she thought, he did say they would talk privately. With this arrangement, they could do that, but he could also watch in case someone got too close and tried to eavesdrop. As they drew closer, she could see his outline through the leaves, and could tell that he sat with his back to the window, facing the trellis.

She wondered what he could possibly want to talk about, that would require this sort of watchfulness. Why hadn't he proposed a meeting in a truly private place, away from all these people?

Maybe because he knew she wouldn't come under those circumstances?

She wished, for a quick, desperate moment, that she hadn't come under these circumstances either. And then Hawkeye came to the opening and stepped aside, ushering the girl in, and there was General Mustang, imposing as ever in his military uniform, rising to his feet to greet her.

Winry stifled a gasp at the sight of the black patch scything across his face. It was the first time she'd seen him since his injury, and she couldn't imagine the kind of pain he must have endured. Yet her first twinge of sympathy swiftly subsided beneath a sudden impression of danger. That thing made him look downright sinister. If he tried to shake her hand, she thought she might be sick.

But he made no move toward her. Indeed, for an instant she could see the same unease on his face that he must see on hers. "Miss Rockbell," he said at last. "Thank you for coming. I appreciate it." He nodded at Hawkeye. "Thank you, lieutenant. I'll see you back at headquarters later."

Hawkeye didn't move, instead asking quietly, "Do you need me to stay, Winry?"

Mustang glanced sharply at his subordinate, opening his mouth as though to object, but almost immediately he smiled and seemed to relax, waiting.

So. He was willing to let Hawkeye stay if Winry wanted her to, even though he hadn't planned on extra company. For some reason, the girl found that reassuring. "It's all right," she found herself answering. "I think I'll be okay."

"Very well. Good day, then." Hawkeye turned briefly toward Mustang. "Shall I just return to the office?"

Their gaze held and the man smiled again. "Yes. And thank you. For everything."

Winry watched him watch the lieutenant leave, and wondered if he realized how his expression had softened as he looked at the woman. Suddenly the patch didn't look nearly as forbidding.

Involuntarily she remembered the last time she'd seen him, in her own home in Risemboul, when he and his soldiers had pursued Ed and Al all the way from Lior. He'd had both eyes then, but had refused to allow them to meet the hostility in hers, instead maintaining a stony silence. She had thought him arrogant and ambitious and uncaring. Until his facade had broken and at last, voice trembling, he had made the confession she had waited for. Yet even then, he'd had his back to her. She couldn't remember, now, if she'd ever actually looked directly into his two eyes.

Now, one-eyed, he turned warily back to her, and her unease returned.

"Please sit. I took the liberty of ordering wine." Mustang seated himself and waited politely for her to pull out her own chair and sit down. As he briskly straightened the cuffs of his uniform, it occurred to Winry that she'd never seen him wearing anything else. Today it made her feel as though she was about to face an interrogation.

He picked up the wine bottle, pouring her a glass, and she saw that the wine was red. She had always preferred red to white. Did he know this? Ed had always called the man a manipulator.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye said you needed to talk to me about something important." She decided to avoid small talk and come right to the point. Maybe she could get this over with quickly. She slipped her shoulder purse down her arm and onto the table, weaving the strap in and out through her fingers. "Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing that you need to worry about, Miss Rockbell," Mustang said. "I'm hoping you might have some information that can help me."

"What information could I have? Is it about Ed or Al?" she asked. "Or something to do with automail...?" She stole another quick glance at him, then looked quickly down at her hands, still twisting and twisting the purse strap. The patch on his face perverted his expression, a shadow cast over everything he said. She didn't know where to look.

He paused, finally assuring her quietly, "It's okay to look at it. At first I spent hours myself, staring at it in the mirror. I don't know that I'll ever quite be used to it."

"I - I'm sorry," she faltered, mortified. Still she couldn't look. "I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you. I don't mean to, I - "

"Miss Rockbell." He was astonishingly gentle. "You aren't embarrassing or offending me. But maybe I'm asking too much of you. If you feel you should leave, you have every right, and I'll understand completely. It has to be hard, meeting me at all, being who I am. And then to have to look at me like this - "

"No!" Winry exclaimed. Without even realizing it, she stared him full in the face. "It isn't how you look. Well, not entirely. It's just hard to get used to, and I don't want to stare. And then there's...the other thing..."

"Yes. The 'other thing'. Your parents. There is always that." This time it seemed to be he who couldn't lift his gaze. He stared at the wine in his own glass, his mouth tightening as he spoke of the terrible thing that had always lain like a chasm between them.

It flooded over her, as always, in a tumble of emotional images: the crumpled letter in her grandmother's hand, sunlight slanting across the kitchen floor as the woman told her granddaughter as gently as possible that her parents were dead; the bloody dream images that had haunted her for years as her mind explored all the possible things the enemy Ishbalans could have done to her father and mother; the children kneeling beside her in the refugee camp, as she learned in a flash of anguish that it wasn't an enemy who had killed them at all, but one of her own countrymen, someone she had met and respected - a soldier - an alchemist, who could make flames --

Then a man standing on rocky ground beside a river near her home, shoulders slumping, his voice weary and resigned. "I shot two doctors once, in Ishbal..."

Winry wrenched her reeling mind free of the images. That was all behind them, and he'd tried with everything he had to atone for what he'd done. He had almost died trying, in fact. She had to be content with that, and leave it in the past. She swallowed, and tried to speak with conviction. "I...I don't hate you any more, for what you did. I thought you knew that. I forgave you, two years ago."

"Thank you. But I still have no right to ask anything of you."

"Just tell me what this is about. And if I can help somehow, I will."

The tight mouth relaxed very slightly. "Thank you," Mustang repeated. He folded his hands on the table before him. "As I said, I'm hoping you might have some information I can use, but it's not directly about Edward or Alphonse. I need to know what your friend Rose told you about the - " He glanced over her shoulder and suddenly broke off, sitting back in his chair as a waiter stepped into the alcove, bearing two menus.

So many of the listed items were exotic and new to Winry that Mustang needed to describe them to her. "You might like to try this scallops and foie gras dish," he recommended, leaning toward her across the table, angling the menu so she could see it. "Pastry surrounded by a thread of wine and butter sauce. Cut into the pastry and, mmm," he breathed deeply, "the aroma of truffles, the rush of foie gras into the sauce. And see, they recommend this wine. It combines pepperiness and honey, to cut through the richness of the dish, but enhance it at the same time."

He smiled at the menu as though reading a pleasant letter from a friend. For a brief moment, the tense undercurrents in their conversation seemed to vanish beneath his enjoyment. He scanned further down. "Ah. And this. The barbecued ribs or the marinated skewered chicken. Everything here is really quite good. It's been a while since I've been here, but I checked: they still have the same chef they had two years ago. So you won't go wrong, no matter what you choose."

When the waiter returned shortly afterward, Winry ordered the marinated chicken, while Mustang asked for the scallops and foie gras. He collected both menus and handed them back to the waiter, then picked up his glass. Smiling, he turned back toward Winry -

-- and seemed to remember, with a jolt, exactly where he was and who he was with. He set the glass back down and once again folded his hands on the table, gaze lowered.

"Now." His manner once again was all business. "As I was starting to say, I need to know whatever your friend Rose might have told you about the underground city, and how it was made, if in fact she knew anything. I understand she was there, when Ed disappeared and Al was brought back. If she didn't tell you anything, I will of course go to Lior to talk to her. But I thought I'd ask you first, since you're still in Central."

He would go to Lior? He'd pursue Rose, like he had followed Ed and Al all over the country for the sake of the military? What was going on here? "Whatever you think," Winry blurted, "Rose didn't do anything. Whatever happened down there, to Ed or to Al, it wasn't her fault."

His startled glance flew to her face. "I don't think it - "

"It wasn't," she insisted, her voice rising. "She didn't do anything to anybody. She was as much a victim as anybody else - "

"Miss Rockbell, please," Mustang interjected. "Rose is not in trouble."

"Then why are you asking this? Why would you go all the way to Lior just to talk to her, if she's not in trouble?"

The man flattened his hands on the tablecloth and answered quietly, "I'm asking because this information is more important than anyone can imagine."

"Important for what?" she demanded. "Some big military operation? Are you still trying to find ways to destroy people, after everything that's happened?"

His flinched as though she had struck him, then sat very still, eye closed and hands remaining as they were, pressed on the table. Winry caught her breath at the pallor of his face beneath the black eye patch and the fall of his black hair.

"I - I'm sorry," she faltered. "Maybe that was unfair..."

"On the contrary, Miss Rockbell," he breathed, opening his eye and fixing it on her face. "You have every reason to suspect me. But this time...this time I can promise you. Rose is not in trouble, and I am not looking for a way to hurt anyone. I am looking for a way to save the world from another invading force like the one that we just drove back."

Winry regarded him, chewing on her lip. "I see," she said. "Then I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. And Rose did tell me a few things," she added, "but she couldn't always remember clearly, so I don't know how helpful they will be."

"Just let me decide that. Please tell me what she said."

"It wasn't much. There was a woman named Dante, who was an alchemist who lived 400 years ago. And she was still alive. She was the one controlling the ho - homun - "

"Homunculi," Roy murmured. "I always wondered who it was who controlled them. I knew Ed had defeated their master, but I never knew who it was. Did Rose know how she'd accomplished her longevity?"

"She said that Dante lived by jumping her spirit from body to body. That's why she had Rose with her, you see, because she was getting ready to jump into Rose's body. She couldn't do it without the philosopher's stone, though. But somehow - Rose didn't understand this at all - somehow, Al himself was turned into the philosopher's stone. That's why they captured him and took him down into the city."

"Al...the stone...it must have happened in Lior. That's what Scar was up to. So much that went on, right in front of me, and I never saw it." The man stared blankly into his wine. "If I'd known then...could I have done something? Changed things? Why didn't I see it?" He caught himself, and came back to the present with an obvious effort. "Sorry," he said. "It's hard not to feel as though I should have known what had happened."

"The boys always kept things to themselves," Winry reminded him. "If they wanted to keep a secret, none of us could pry it out of them."

"Least of all me. But they had good reason; I kept enough secrets from them, in my turn. Back to Dante, though. She wanted to use Al to help her jump bodies again. But obviously, the boys defeated her, and then Ed used the stone himself, to bring Al back in his human body. And Ed was pushed through the Gate to the other world."

"That's what Rose said, yes. Or at least - we knew about Al. We never knew what had happened to Ed, till the attack from the other world just lately."

Mustang paused to sip his drink, and contemplated the dark liquid swirling gently in the glass. "Miss Rockbell..."

"What?"

"Did Rose know anything about...how Dante gained this ability in the first place? The ability to jump bodies?"

"She wasn't sure," Winry said. "All she could remember was that Dante somehow needed the help of all the people in the city, back when it was above the ground and was a living place. But when it was over, the people had all left the city."

"'Left the city'," he repeated. He set the glass down abruptly, and watched the wine slop out onto the back of his hand. It gleamed on his skin, in dark red, quivering beads, before sliding slowly down onto the table. "Is that what she told Rose? I suppose she had to tell her that's all it was," he said tautly. "I don't know how she lived with herself after what she'd done. One city - several cities -- I should know, after all -- "

"General Mustang. What are you talking about? What happened down there?" His sudden intensity unnerved her.

He took a deep breath. "I...don't think I can tell you. I'm sorry. Military matters."

"'Military matters'," she repeated incredulously. "Something that involved Ed and Al - and still involves Rose - and you've decided that I don't get to hear it? Even though I've uncovered secret 'military matters' before, and found things that helped all of you fight those creatures?" She couldn't help how her voice rose. She went on in sudden fury. "And now you're just going to use me to get information and then shoo me outside and slam the door in my face when you're done with me? Don't you think you owe me something, here?"

His head jerked back, a spasm of pain twisting his face. "Miss Rockbell - I - " He bowed his head. hands clenching together in front of him, and took a long, shaking breath.

Winry frowned, puzzled, until she suddenly realized how her outburst had sounded. "Oh!" she gasped. "No - I'm sorry. I didn't mean because of my - because of that. I only meant - I meant that I came here and told you what I knew. I just...thought that maybe you could bend the rules a little, because I tried to help. That's all." Again she found her fingers twisting and twisting the shoulder strap. With a grimace she shoved the purse aside. "I've been involved in this from the start, General Mustang. It's not like I'm some random person walking down the street."

The man relaxed, a visible act of will, forcing his hands to unclench. His lips curved into a faint smile and he murmured, "I see why you could keep Ed under control so well. And why Hughes liked you so much."

"Edward thought I was an awful nag."

Her forlorn remark elicited a rueful chuckle. "Yes. He would think that, wouldn't he? Very well, Miss Rockbell, I'll follow his example and give in. I'll tell you what happened 400 years ago. The people who lived there didn't 'leave the city'. To make a philosopher's stone requires human lives - thousands of them. It feeds from them - the more violent the deaths, the better. Dante murdered the people of that city, to pour their souls into her philosopher's stone."

Winry's heart thudded into her throat, until she though she might choke. "But that - that's not possible!" she gasped. "It couldn't have happened that way. Because she didn't make the stone alone. Rose told me. They did it together - Dante and - and - "

"Hohenheim," Mustang supplied heavily. "Ed's and Al's father. I knew it. I knew it."

She couldn't let herself believe it. "He could never have done something like that, he just couldn't. He was their father - their mother loved him. He's a good person. You know that, you met him yourself."

"And 'good people' never do such things, do they? They never murder thousands of people - never destroy entire cities - for evil reasons. Do they? /Do they/?"

The glare of that single dark eye impaled her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't bear it - yet couldn't look away.

"My god - what am I doing?" He broke the stare almost immediately. "Miss Rockbell, I'm sorry. I'm unleashing my own demons on you, and that's unforgivable. I'm so sorry."

"I - I think I understand. Really. But...it's just so hard to believe. It's terrible."

"It is."

"But you say you already knew, somehow?"

"I had guessed. In fact, I think Hohenheim even warned me, the one time we met. He told me never to trust anyone who had lived for a very long time, and I had the feeling he was warning me against himself. I think he suspected I'd have to clean up after him one day."

She asked the logical question: "If you already knew, why did you want to talk to me, or to Rose?"

The man's bitter smile was almost painful to see. "I was hoping you could tell me I was wrong."

After that exchange, Mustang seemed to feel he had grilled Winry long enough on difficult subjects, and he steered the conversation into less fraught areas, if such things could really exist considering their history. Over their lunch (which was as delicious as he'd promised), he politely inquired about her automail work back in Risemboul, her friendships with Sciezka and Rose, and what she planned for her future. She noticed that he never once mentioned her grandmother Pinako.

They also talked, a little, about Edward and Alphonse, but by unspoken agreement they gradually changed the subject. It still hurt Winry to talk about the brothers they had now lost, possibly for good. She hadn't expected to hear the same regret in this man's voice when he spoke of them.

When lunch was over and they came out onto the street, Mustang inquired, "Where are you staying? Shall I call a car for you?"

"Oh, no, thanks. I thought I'd go see Sciezka, and see what she's doing after work."

"Then you're going to headquarters too. Would you be uncomfortable if I walked there with you?"

"No. It's fine."

For an uneasy instant she thought he might offer his arm, but he turned and began to walk, arms at his sides. Winry slung her purse over her shoulder and walked with him, positioning herself on the right, so as not to walk on his blind side. He set a relaxed pace. And far from being uncomfortable, she found herself fascinated, as he explained some of the history of the neighbourhood. He showed her the stages of building it had gone through, as it changed from an area of farmer's markets and food stalls into streets lined with houses and trees, and eventually into a mixture of homes and buildings that were mostly connected to, and supported, the people who worked at Central Headquarters.

He seemed to have done a lot of study. He pointed out several buildings of significance along the way, showing her how to tell which had been built during an older time period, and narrating the occasional story he might have heard about them.

Winry would never have gotten the impression, from her previous knowledge of him, that Roy Mustang would have any interest in this sort of thing. But he seemed really to enjoy knowing this history, as though Central were almost a living being whose growth he was watching.

He had smiled with the same delight, she suddenly recalled, while reading the menu back at the café.

By the time they reached headquarters, she was so engrossed in the history that she almost regretted the end of their walk together. As they climbed the steps to the wide portico at the building's entrance, they paused awkwardly, not quite sure how to end the occasion. If he wanted to shake hands now, she mused, she might actually be able to stomach the contact.

Instead, Mustang stuck a hand in one pocket, gazing past the stairs into the huge central parade square in front of the building. "I appreciate your meeting with me, Miss Rockbell, difficult though it was. You've been a big help. And I've been wondering...is there any chance you'll still be here, in a few weeks?"

"I could be," she answered. "Depending on why you're asking."

"My subordinates are going to have a lot of work ahead of them for the next little while, and I think I'll give them a dinner party at the end of the job, to show my appreciation. I was going to invite Gracia and Sciezka as well. And you, if you think you might enjoy it."

"I might," she said. "Let me talk to Sciezka about it, and we'll let you know." She really wasn't sure; much of her experience with Mustang's people had been rather unpleasant. But on the other hand, it might be fun to stay a little longer and spend more time with Sciezka and Gracia. And as long as she had them with her at the party, she might not feel too uncomfortable.

He hesitated, and added slowly, frowning, "I think there's one more thing I should tell you, though, so you can make your decision with full knowledge." Again he paused. "I think...you of all people have a right to know this, but..."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He surveyed the activity in the central square: people hurrying toward the various entrances of the building, returning from lunch, bustling to meetings, carrying briefcases or folders; others strolling in a more leisurely way, jackets hanging open, enjoying the sunshine and the soft warm breeze. Mustang lowered his voice. "You have a right to know this," he repeated, "but please keep it confidential. The reason I needed to know as much as possible about the underground city is that we are going to destroy the transmutation circle at its centre, to prevent another invasion like the one we've just had. And unfortunately...that means..."

It hit her like a punch in the stomach. She could hardly breathe. "Edward - Al - there won't be any chance then. They'll never be able to come back. Will they?"

"No."

Winry hugged her arms across her chest. She'd known, really. She'd already thought they were probably gone forever. But she couldn't believe how much it hurt, to hear it made final, hear it put into irrevocable words. Especially words spoken by this man.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," he whispered, gaze still fixed in the distance, "to do this to you again."

She blinked several times, trying to keep the tears from coming. It was futile, of course. She moved to stand beside him, watching the people in the square. "And I suppose if I begged you not to do this...if wouldn't matter."

He took a short, sharp breath, as though she had stabbed him in the heart. "Is that...what you want me to do?" he whispered.

For a single reeling moment, she wanted to cry, "Yes! That's what I want!" Would he do as she wished? Did he believe he owed her that much of a debt? Did she have that much power over him?

It didn't matter. Because of his debt, he'd stretched the rules as much as he could, just to talk to her about these things today. But this situation wasn't about their personal history any longer. She wiped the back of a hand across her eyes. "No," she sighed. "Because the flying machines could come back, and the whole world could be in danger. And you can't put the whole world in danger just in case Ed and Al might try to return some day."

Mustang dug a handkerchief from a pocket and passed it over without looking at her. He murmured, "And so you see how we in the military always manage to have a good reason for every destructive thing we do."

Winry took the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes for a moment. Then she swallowed around the grief in her throat, and said briskly, "Except that this time, it's the right thing to do. Because this time, you're trying to save everybody. And no one will die. Right?"

He turned to face her, and again she saw his face soften, in much the same way as when he'd watched Lieutenant Hawkeye leave the café. He answered solemnly, "I swear to you that no one - whether on the other side of the Gate or walking on the face of this world - no one will die this time."

"Then you have to do it," Winry nodded. "And you know Edward and Alphonse would agree."

"Thank you for understanding. It means...more to me than you can imagine." The man lifted his head and squared his shoulders. Again his gaze swept across the expanse of the parade square, and he allowed himself another smile. "The world is a contentious place, and we could all do much better. But it really is worth preserving, with all its flaws. Even if, sometimes, the cost turns out to be steep."

"I...guess I understand that. I suppose that's what Ed's life showed me. And mister Hughes."

"Yes. Edward and Maes are the best examples we could possibly follow. But now, Miss Rockbell," his lips curved slightly, "I think Sciezka is waiting for you. And Lieutenant Hawkeye will be needing assurances from me that we've both survived our lunch together."

Despite herself, Winry smiled a little in response. "I'm glad I could help. I really am. Thank you for lunch. And...good luck, General Mustang."

"Thank you. Give my greetings to Sciezka. Good-bye, Miss Rockbell." Mustang bowed, then turned on his heel and strode away.

When she reached Sciezka's office, Winry found Vato Falman there. He had, apparently, just been passing by and stopped in to say hello, and although he lingered for a few minutes, he finally seemed to recognize that she wanted to speak to Sciezka alone. Even as he took his leave and slipped out the door, Winry was turning to her friend, ready to recount the story of her lunch with General Mustang.

But, "What's that in your hand?" Sciezka interrupted, almost before she began.

"Oh no, I forgot to give it back to him." Winry set Mustang's handkerchief on Sziezka's desk and smoothed it out. Monogrammed and everything: R.M.

"Winry. Did he make you cry?" Sciezka demanded. "Because general or not, if he made you cry, I'll march over to his office and give him a piece of my mind. I've done it before, and I'm not afraid to do it again - "

"It's okay, don't worry about it," Winry assured her, hands up, laughing at her friend's staunch support. "He did, but it was about something I agreed with. So I'm okay. And I guess I'll give this back to him at the dinner party. If I go. Which I might not..."

"Party?" her friend exclaimed. "What are you talking about? Why would you be going to a party, of all things, with General Mustang? And you still aren't telling me why you were crying."

Winry hesitated. She had agreed to keep all the information confidential, but...this was Sciezka. And the general surely knew that if he told Winry, Sciezka would eventually find out. She'd probably find out even if Winry kept her mouth shut. If she thought about it, she actually didn't think he'd mind. Sziezka had been as deeply involved as she had.

"All right," she said, plopping herself into the chair across the desk from her friend. "Here's what happened. When Lieutenant Hawkeye came to pick me up..."

**

Falman found Havoc later, waylaying him in a hallway. After hearing the report of everything the man had learned while eavesdropping through the not-quite-closed office door, Havoc mused on the information in silence for a long time, twirling his cigarette in and out between his fingers. "You know," he said at last, "I think we should keep this between us for the time being. If Mustang isn't telling us yet, about what happened to the dead city, there's probably a good reason. Let's wait and see what he's up to, before we let on that we know."

"What should I tell the others, then?"

"I don't know, think of something. You can say they spent the whole lunch talking about Ed and Al. Tell them he gave her a history lesson about the buildings in Central. They'll go crazy trying to figure out why he wanted to meet Miss Rockbell, just to tell her that. But Falman - "

"Yes sir?"

"Don't tell them he made her cry. Neither of them needs that sort of thing made public. Got it?"

Havoc headed back to his desk, musing over what he'd learned. Mustang might be more open about some things, but he obviously hadn't stopped keeping certain secrets. They knew it was important to destroy the transmutation circle on this side as well as the other side of the Gate, but none of them had a clue about these other details, except probably Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong.

How soon would the two men let the rest of them know what had really happened to all the people in the buried city? Or was this going to be another dirty little secret the alchemists kept to themselves? Alchemy had been at the root of most of the sorrows in the country, the last few years. Would the ramifications ever come to an end?

And that whole business about the general's past with Winry Rockbell. Havoc knew they'd dealt with some of it two years ago, in Risemboul, but it sounded like they'd hashed it out a little more today. He wondered if Mustang could ever really make peace with the girl, and what it might take to do it.

He noticed that he was still fiddling with the cigarette, and grimaced, jamming it into his mouth. One of these days he'd have to quit these things. But not today.