Disclaimer: I do not own any of the main characters in this story. For the main part, they belong to Arakawa Hiromu, but the Roy look-alike belongs to the many fanfic writers out there who blatantly OOC him. Kindest regards to you all, and thank you for supplying me with a character

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Epilogue: Wandering thoughts, thighs, and shocked Fuhrers

A blue sea swarmed about the mound before them, silent as a sign of respect for the man buried there. Only a small percentage of them actually knew where the man was from – the others only thought that they knew. Flame hadn't seen the need to tell anyone other than those inside the office of his origins.

As the crowd dwindled, those leaving paused by the dead man's look-alike and offered brief condolences before moving on. "We're sorry," was the usual message, but some felt the need to add "your brother was a good man." It was almost enough to make Hawkeye laugh. True, the sound would have been cold and mirthless more than anything else, but it would be laughter, none the less.

When she'd been told that Flame had been killed, she hadn't known what to think. The man might have been an idiot – a flaming imbecile, no pun intended – but he had started to grow on her in the last few weeks. His arrogance had managed to temper itself, and he didn't seem so instantly objectionable as he had been. He was still the most irritating influence on her life, but he had improved from the hideous creature he had at first been.

She stood by Mustang's side, hearing those misplaced condolences and unsure of what to do or say, herself. Mustang didn't seem terribly upset about it, merely quiet and contemplative. After all, Flame had only been masquerading as his brother – he didn't have any brothers at all, to tell the truth. Mustang's reaction toward the situation made it seem as though he hadn't expected it possible, let alone likely, that Flame would die before they found a way to get him back home.

Looking at him curiously, Hawkeye had to wonder just what he was thinking. He'd been through this before with other friends, but they had been more long-standing, somewhat permanent relationships, whereas this one had barely been in existence for more than a few months. "Sir?"

"Mmm?" he grunted.

"What are you thinking?"

A frown formed on his face, as she waited for his response. It took him a moment to reply, but eventually the words came out. "I wonder what's going to happen to his friends. From his world, I mean. I don't think that they would have known that he was just missing for all of this time, and now suddenly he's dead. More likely, whatever they thought before will still be whatever they're thinking now. But before he would have been able to get back and dispel the thoughts they had had about his being . . . dead. And now, he won't be able to do that. They'll have to keep on thinking whatever they had before." Mustang looked down at his shoes. "He spoke so much about getting back that I sort of figured the others on his side would know it too. Somehow."

Hawkeye shifted her feet beneath her. Flame's utter confidence that he would get back had been fine until it seemed as though he wouldn't be able to. Most of them had hoped that the Elrics would come across something in their studies to help him at least start to understand how he might cross back to his own world. The fact that they hadn't seemed to get anything at all had been a sort of sign of the hopelessness there was to the idea.

Maybe he just wasn't supposed to go back home. Hawkeye didn't think that the two 'Colonel Mustangs' could have survived together for a whole lot longer, purely due to the fact that it created an imbalance. They were one too many of the same person in one place, and that couldn't have been good for the equilibriums of the separate worlds – if living with her father had taught her anything as a child, it had been how to think scientifically.

So maybe Flame had to die. What would have happened if he hadn't? Well, she couldn't begin to puzzle that out, but one of her initial thoughts at hearing he was gone was 'at least it wasn't the Colonel.' It had made her feel guilty for a while – she still did lament that idea a little – but she knew that she couldn't have done anything about it, and brushed the thought away. Well, shoved the thought away, really, but all the same it was gone. Mostly.

"If I ever come to understand how I brought him in the first place," Mustang began suddenly, shaking Hawkeye out of her thoughts, "then maybe I can use that to make an adaptation of the array, which will take me over to his world and see what all of the fuss was about."

She grimaced. He had better not get carried away by the idea. If the Colonel disappeared without leaving any word behind, she'd at least know where he was – or where he supposedly was – but the stress of it all would be more than she could imagine.

"Would you come with me, if I knew how to?"

Come with him? To this other world? What to do – break the news to the other counterparts? "Sir, if you knew the way there and back, I would come with you."

He smiled. "Of course. I wouldn't go without finding a way to get back."

They stood by the grave, waiting for the last people to say goodbye and take their leave. Finally, when no one else was left, the two of them headed back to the car. Hawkeye climbed into the driver's seat and waited for Mustang to get into the passenger's seat. When the door clicked shut behind him, she glanced over, noting the thoughtful look still on his face.

"Time to get you home, I think," she told him.

He blinked, before looking up with a devious smile in place on his visage. "And how do you know where I live? My, my, there must be something going on here."

She snorted. "Yes, must be. Or very soon will be."

The shocked look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but soon enough the devious look returned. "Well, we'd best get moving, then. Wouldn't want to wreck my car, now."

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He opened his eyes blearily. A blurred landscape sat before him, shadowy enough to show him he was indoors, bright enough to know it was daytime. All he could really tell for himself was that the floor was green, and the walls were some shade of off-white.

Rubbing his eyes to clear the blur, he ignored the heavy pain in his head. Maybe he'd fallen over onto something and bumped it. That would explain his being somewhere he didn't remember arriving at. Or going to. Or travelling at all. In fact, where was the last place he remembered being? Where was here? Now that he looked around without that gunk in his eyes, he could recognise it easily. He was in one of the corridors of Headquarters.

He briefly massaged his head to get the ache out. What was with that? Maybe he should stand up now, too. Lying on the floor of Headquarters was bound to get him in trouble with someone. Havoc would trip over him, or Hawkeye would snap at him to get up and do something useful. If she was in a bad mood, that was.

Climbing to his feet, he stretched out his legs. They were sore as well, as though he hadn't stretched them in a while. He cautiously moved them about, trying to get them to feel normal.

He had just moved on to stretching his arms when he heard a loud crash behind him. Before he so much as had time to turn around, the woman who had been carrying whatever it was that smashed screamed. Loudly. The sound of pounding footsteps echoed on the floor, and by the time he had turned to face her, something leapt on top of him.

Barely able to keep his balance, he found himself staggering about at the impact, automatically wrapping his arms around his new attachment. But now that he noticed, he did seem to have a very lovely, toned pair of thighs wrapped around his waist. And lightly muscled arms around his shoulders. And two exquisite breasts right in front of his eyes. Wait a second . . . he knew the feeling of those legs . . . and he had definitely seen those breasts somewhere before. . . he looked up into a familiar face.

"Riza!" Flame gasped.

The tears streaming out of her eyes were testimony to the fact itself. At least, he was sure that Hawkeye never cried like that. He hadn't witnessed it, in any case.

"I thought you were dead, Roy," she cried, sobbing into his shoulder. "Where were you? Why didn't you call me?"

"Riza," he repeated, still shocked just to have seen her again. Well, he was also holding her, but rather he hadn't believed he would so much as catch a glimpse of her outside of his dreams again. When was the last time that someone had called him Roy? "Is this a dream?" he asked, dazedly.

"I haven't heard anything from you in so long," she continued, now looking directly at him, smoothing his hair over his head while trying to put a stop to her sniffling – she was failing miserably.

He didn't know how this could be real. It wasn't entirely possible, was it? "I – I've been in another world," he said, still feeling light-headed. "I was dragged away and–"

The sniffles had now stopped. In fact, unless he was mistaken, he was now looking at an extremely avid listener. Her narrowed eyes told him just how avidly she was listening, in fact. He set her down on the ground and nervously looked at the suspicious expression manifesting in her features.

Riza watched him, one hand on the corresponding hip. "Go on, I'm listening," she said acidly.

"Uhh. I just appeared in the middle of this fiery building, and another one of me was on the floor, and he'd brought me there by mistake, and so I took him outside, to where Hawkeye was–"

"Hawkeye?" The frown was definitely not imagined, now. Flame couldn't decide what it showed more of – confusion, or danger.

He paused. "Yes, Hawkeye. She's exactly like you, except more serious."

"Have you been drinking, again?"

Drinking? He laughed. "No, the last time I went drinking was when . . ." He trailed off before he said anymore. The last time he went drinking was when he'd been trying to do Mustang a favour and sort of semi-seduce Hawkeye for him. That wouldn't sound good, no matter how he said it.

However, Riza didn't seem to take his silence well, either. Her eyes widened, and she looked on him with anger. "You have been, haven't you? Is that why you were missing? You drank yourself into a stupor and– and– and–"

Flame gulped. "No, I–" he searched frantically for some fragment of an argument that he might just be able to cling to. Was there anything he could say that wouldn't result in–

Click.

Uh oh.

He looked up to see the pistol pointed right at him. At practically point blank range, there was no chance that she'd actually shoot him, right? Not while it was pointed at his head like that. The colour had all rushed from his face. In one second, she began to lower the gun, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief before he saw that she was only re-aiming. He whimpered.

"I promise you, Riza, I was thinking of you the whole time. No one other image ever crossed my mind! You know I love you . . ."

By the end of his plea, he'd caught her off guard enough that when he swooped in, she didn't have time to push him away. His mouth covered hers, and as much as she protested to begin with, hands pushing him away despite the fact that she was the one who stuck her tongue into the mix in the first place, she soon relaxed and allowed him to kiss her. In fact, they were on the road to a lot more than kissing by the time that there was a shout from the other end of the corridor.

They turned in time to see the Fuhrer approaching. Flame's colour deserted him once again, while Riza's cheeks turned a rosy red of embarrassment.

"Fraternisation in the halls?" the Fuhrer asked, shock invading every corner of his voice. He hadn't expected such a sight, obviously. Flame nervously neatened out his uniform – it had become, er, a little messed up in the confusion. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped," he said amiably, and walked off. "Just don't let it interfere with your military decisions!"

Flame watched the man leave, eyes wide as they could stretch. He looked over to Riza, who mirrored his reaction. It took no more than a second for her shock to melt into something more of a predatory gaze, and Flame almost took a step back, not knowing what she was about to do.

She took only a second to launch herself back at him. It didn't take them much longer to find an empty office.

THE END

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Well, it's been a few months, hasn't it? Six? Seven? Eh, something along the lines of that. In any case, this series was fun to write, and I'd like to thank all of my reviewers, especially those who faithfully reviewed time after time. Your comments, suggestions, praise, and corrections really helped me out, and you've all been utterly fantastic to me! I'd also like to thank those who read but didn't review. Reviews are all good and dandy, and I would have loved for you to let me know what you thought, but that you read it at all is still an honour for me. Thank you!

A few people actually did take wild stabs as to what was going to happen in this chapter, and I was shocked and surprised by how many got it, or came close. I didn't want to say that you had it, because I wanted it to still be a surprise for you, but well done to you :D

Thank you all for everything. Just a quick word of warning – I am considering (considering) writing something of a sequel, but instead of based around the mistakes of how people write characters, the one I've been thinking about is more based around crossovers. The reason for it is that several of my started-but-never-actually-went-anywhere fics were my desperate attempts to mix FMA with something else just because I wanted to write something else, but couldn't step away from my first real fandom :3 So pretty much just because I want an excuse to write one!

If you like the idea, let me know, and I might actually think a whole lot more on it, and do it, and if you don't like the idea, let me know, and depending on how well I convince myself, I might do it anyway. Just let me know what you think, so that I can try to make a decision.

And once again, thank you everyone for your support. I love you all :)

-Dai