Rating Information - Rated "M" overall due to scenes of an explicit or disturbing nature later on. Please check each chapter for individual ratings or warnings.

Warnings: mild language.

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at FMA fanfiction. Feedback is greatly appreciated. I look forward to hearing from you :)

Babylon:

Lit:

1 ) The city of Babylon

2) A place of captivity or exile

3) Derived from the Greek "Bab-Ilani: The Gate of the Gods.

Babylon

Chapter One: Disease

Edward Elric opened his eyes, letting his vision gradually adjust to the gloom of the dorm room. The place was Spartan to say the least. Two rickety bunks were pushed against opposite walls, and scrappy, mismatched chairs were shoved off in one corner along with a wobbly table. A bare light bulb hung ponderously above him, and he stared at the reflected dawn in its curve.

People did not live here; it was not home. It was just a handy room for a dash of privacy and a good night's sleep. At least, it should have been. Instead Ed found himself irritatingly restless. Sleep had come in dribs and drabs, haunted as always by nightmares of the past.

A gentle snore from the bed opposite made Ed raise an eyebrow, and a rare smile tugged at his lips. Stiffly he turned on his side to survey the occupant. His little brother's mop of hair was dishevelled, casting sandy brown strands across his face: his human face. Even now, Ed found himself taking a good look at the features that he had feared he would never see again.

There was so much of their mother there, in the turn of Al's nose and the quirk of his lips. At seventeen his body was broader and, yes, damnit, taller than Ed's own. Still, no one doubted the family resemblance. It was strange that, in contrast, Ed's looks were almost entirely derived from their father.

A familiar welt of bitterness trailed across his heart at the thought of Hohenheim, and he pressed his automail fingers to his chest, letting their coolness mask the painful sensation of his emotions. He would never forgive their father for leaving them, just as he would never forgive himself for putting Al through four years without a body. Retrieving it had been atonement, and one Ed had never meant to survive.

The sharp slice of Envy's blade between his ribs was a burning pain, almost drowning out the subtle trickle of blood from the open wound. Transient darkness was a fleeting respite before the brilliance of the gate cut its way into his conciousness. He stood on the threshold, neither moving forward nor stepping back. He did nothing until Envy and then, to his horror, Al appeared to pass through those waiting doors

Consciousness was a bitter agony. There were no doubts about what he had seen, and no hesitations in his actions. The incantation of equivalent exchange was a mantra in his head as he scrawled arrays over his skin: one on each limb, one on his torso and finally one on the centre of his brow.

A metallic scent filled his nostrils, coating his tongue with its patina as crimson faded to dull brown stains against his skin. It had to be done. All those choices, all those decisions had finally boiled down to this. A life for a life. If that was the price then he would pay it. His last thought was of his brother, of the body he had stolen from Al in his desperate attempts at human transmutation, and how this was the only apology he could make.

The gate was waiting for him, and in voiceless words it seemed to mock him: Back again, Edward Elric?

He did not speak his request. He merely held out his flesh arms in mute surrender, demanding his brother in return. He would not accept a fraction. He expected the trinity of body, mind and soul.

There was been a breathless moment in which both a second and an eternity passed. He lived and died and lived again, caught up in the flux of energy that streamed through the gate. Before his eyes the knowledge of Everything paraded its glory, but he was blind to it.

It was there, on that precipice between one plane and the next, that the decision was made. Blackness leapt, latching itself around his arm and leg, tearing his newly recovered limbs from him and returning them into the abyss. In a clattering cacophony of pain and disorientation he felt the automail reassemble as though it had never been gone. The confusion was horrifying, and the familiar anger returned full force. Was it daring to deny him?

Your brother is yours. In exchange… .

The arrays on his body flared into life, biting into his skin. Sparks of agony snaked along those simple lines, etching themselves deep into his flesh.

A permanent reminder of what you would have given - and what you could have lost.

He wanted to demand how that could be equivalent, how forcing him to remember this could ever be fair payment for the brother he had fought for. How could the gate be so fickle? To demand so much from him as a child but ask so little now, it was unbalanced! His voice stayed mute as his mind screamed the endless questions, demanding answers from the silent darkness and the bright light at its core.

In a heartbeat the gate vanished, and he awoke to reality.

The agony was unsurpassed. It shredded him, destroying his will and making every breath a struggle. The echo of his heels kicking against the floor rasped in his ears as he arched his back, writhing with the need to escape. The floor was still slick with his blood, and he staggered painfully to his feet, slapping his flesh hand to his burning head as the automail leg trembled underneath him.

He was intent on stumbling out of the array, on seeking some solace when free from its confines, but something had brought him up short. Blinking through the haze of pain he saw his brother lying on his back in its centre, his chest rising and falling steadily in slumber. Agony ebbed, forced aside as irrelevant in that moment. His body may have shuddered but his mind was strong as he staggered to Al's side and fell to his knees. Bloody fingers deftly found the steady, throbbing pulse, and a hacking breath of relief escaped Ed's lungs.

Ed blinked the memory aside, letting his gaze take in his brother's face again. In the weeks and months following that day, Al had worked hard to regain his strength, taking joy in the simple tasks of living. His distraction had given Ed the time he had needed to perfect his mask and hide the torment that locked him in its embrace.

In those first weeks he blamed the pain on his automail, but gradually constant discomfort became blinding flashes of torture, and finally it dulled to a few attacks a month. Now the pain only struck when he was exhausted or run down. Still, it was like a disease. It might not be contagious, but it was always there to catch him unawares. He suspected it was not just a reminder of what he had done. It was the gate's way of telling him that he was in debt, and one day it would collect.

'Fuck that,' Ed muttered to himself, moving to sit up. He grimaced as his lungs contracted painfully and tried to smother the cough that tore at his throat. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he grimaced as his chest heaved. The skin on his breast bone flushed hot, and he shut his eyes tight. The noise was too much to hide, and he heard Al roll out of bed.

'Brother, what's wrong?'

Ed shook his head fiercely, forcing himself to get it under control. The cough was a recent development. It had first turned up a few days ago. He did not know if it was a belated gift from the gate, or if it was just a cold, but the crimson that flecked his palm told its own story. 'I'm fine, Al,' he managed to gasp, wiping the blood away quickly so that his brother wouldn't see it. 'Didn't mean to wake you.'

Al said nothing, wordlessly conveying that Ed had no need to apologise. The worry on his face was evident as the first true light of the sun filtered through the east-facing window.

'Don't look at me like that,' he quietly begged. 'I'd tell you if there was something wrong.'

'No, you wouldn't.' Al's voice was resigned, and Ed couldn't hide the wince that twitched across his face. It wasn't the first time that Al had complained of him hiding things. He doubted it would be the last.

With a sigh Ed sat back against the headboard, knowing it was hopeless to try and defend himself against the mild reproof. Even as a child Al had known when his brother was hiding something. Even when he had been returned from the gate he still knew Ed better than he knew himself. 'I'll be better soon,' he finally conceded. 'Besides, you know what the army is like; you're not ill unless you're dead and even then you're just an inconvenience.'

Al frowned, putting a hand gently on Ed's flesh shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. 'Maybe we shouldn't go on this mission.'

'We?' Ed asked dangerously, straightening his shoulders and fixing his brother with a glare. 'No Al, there is no "we". I'm going to see what Mustang wants, and you're staying here. You're not a dog of the military. Officially, they're not even paying you.'

Al opened his mouth to speak, but Ed leapt out of bed, shaking his head furiously. 'Al, we have this argument every time.'

'And I always win,' Al pointed out with a grin.

Ed scowled as he flicked on the light, but kept his lips pursed shut as he grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom. 'You're not coming with me.'

'You can't stop me, Brother.'

From someone else those words would have been a challenge, but from Al they were simply a statement of fact. As difficult as it was for him to acknowledge Al was growing up. Ed found himself in the uncomfortable position of being the only family member left to keep his best interests at heart.

With a flick of his hand Ed slammed the bathroom door, not caring about the dust that shook free from the ceiling or if he woke everyone else in the building. He knew that he had not set the best example for his brother. From the moment they lost their mother his actions had been rash and thoughtless, but through it all Al had been at his side. That was the way it had always been, and, despite his best efforts to protect him, Ed realised it probably wouldn't change.

Stepping out of the boxers he had slept in, Ed flicked on the shower and ducked under the spray. The tension in his muscles slowly unwound as he tipped his head back, letting the water stream through his hair and course over his shoulders.

It hadn't been long after Al got his body back that they'd argued about this for the first time. Ed had suggested that his brother go back to Risembool with Winry. He could still remember the flat, angry look that had come into his brother's eyes. He had seen it once or twice in his mother's face when her they were particularly naughty, but Al's words were not modulated by motherly concern.

'I did not go through four years of hell to get my body back only to leave you behind when we succeeded!'

'Al-'

'No, Ed. I'm not going unless you come with me!'

The words had lodged in his throat and forced their way past his lips. 'I can't do that.'

The same statement still rang in his head, as though the fight had never ceased. It had been then that Ed had realised that, while he despised being on the military's leash, it was the only thing he had left. He could not imagine returning to the idyllic peace of Risembool. How could he? Those four years had been spent stumbling from one near-death experience to the next. Hope and despair had been their constant companion, but through it all they had their purpose.

Suddenly that had gone. Aimlessness was something Ed used to wish for, but in its company he felt lost. At least the missions gave him something to do and new ways to stretch his alchemy. Besides, he had seen too much of the sins of Amestris to go back to a secluded corner of the world. Like a soldier returning from war, there was no way to ignore what he had witnessed. Everyone had their ghosts to lay to rest.

His needs had warred fiercely with his desire for Al's safety. The same disagreement continued even now, but, day-by-day, Al kept to his word. He did not leave his brother's side. Even while Ed worked his way through the same script of an argument, he couldn't keep the gratitude from his heart.

It was only a matter of time before Al took his life into his own hands and validated his presence by taking the state alchemy exams. His alchemical talent was stunning; perhaps it was not quite as extraordinary as Ed's, but there was something gentle and natural about it. Al had elegance while he had flair. It was just another way they complimented each other.

The morning alarm rang out, interrupting Ed's thoughts and making him swear softly. He had to be in Mustang's office in half an hour. Bastard. What kind of man was even awake at that time of day?

An unbidden image of a sleep-rumpled Roy Mustang flashed across his mind, all tousled hair and burning eyes. Ed's mouth went dry and a sharp rush of desire flashed through him to pool low in his stomach. The feeling was nothing new, and Ed groaned quietly as he began to stiffen.

As he had aged the embarrassing adolescent lust had become stronger, turning from shy curiosity to blatant consideration. He had rather hoped that it was the result rampant hormones and would fade away as he approached adulthood. Instead Ed found himself spurning the advances of interested young women and lingering on impossible fantasies.

Shutting the water off he rung out his hair and grabbed a towel, ignoring his aroused state. He didn't have time to deal with that now. Maybe later, when he had more than a few minutes to spare, he could take the matter into hand.

Wrapping the towel around his waist he made sure the heavy material hid his erection before opening the door and motioning Al into the bathroom. 'Don't be long,' he muttered, resisting the urge to pull a face as Al eyed his wet hair pointedly. It was a source of contention between the two of them that Ed took so long to get ready, whereas Al could be presentable after only a handful of minutes.

Rolling his eyes at the sound of Al's off-key singing, Ed picked up his razor from its resting place at the side of the sink and set to work. Meeting the blank stare of his reflection head on, he scowled at the pattern scored into his forehead. The arrays were forever burned into his skin, picked out in scar tissue. Those on his flesh arm and torso were easy enough to hide, but the lines on his brow stood out clearly for all to see. It made him look like a carnival psychic rather than a state alchemist, but there was nothing to be done. He bore it; if not with pride then with confidence. It was a sign of what he had been through and what he had been willing to sacrifice. He learned to put up with the stares just as he learned the bear the pain.

It didn't take him long to remove the dusting of stubble and creamy foam from his chin. A quick hand over his jaw ensured he hadn't missed any stray hairs. With a sigh he clapped his hands together, letting his alchemy work a simple change of state on his wet hair. It had taken him practice and resulted in a few scorched eyebrows over the years, but with a few wisps of steam most of the water had dissipated. His hair fell in a dry cascade to below his shoulders. Cutting it was a rare occurrence. If it started to get in his way or one too many soldiers confused him for a woman he'd hack a handful of length off, but otherwise he let it grow.

He was just putting it up in a clumsy braid when Al emerged, nursing a nick on his jaw. It bled a faint line of crimson, alarmingly bright against Alphonse's skin.

'You all right?'

'Razor slipped,' Al replied, wiping the blood away as he pulled a t-shirt on over his head and ruffled his short, damp hair. 'Do you need a hand with that?'

Ed smiled and tied of the braid in answer. 'Winry's automail is getting better, or maybe I'm just getting used to it.'

'At least you won't have to get it refitted again,' Al replied. 'I think you've probably grown all you're going to.'

'You'd better not be calling me short.' The words were a growl, but there was a playful edge to them. Ed's height had finally topped out and, while he'd never tower over anyone, he wasn't as petite as he had once been. Of course, it didn't stop the long running comments about his stature.

Al hesitated, the faint smile fading away. 'Brother, you know I'm not going to let you go alone today, don't you?'

'We don't even know what Mustang wants, yet,' Ed pointed out. 'Maybe it's an assignment in the city.'

'It doesn't matter. I'm still coming with you.'

Ed sighed and nodded as he tugged the black t-shirt over his head and reached for his coat. 'Fine, have it your way, although you know I can look after myself.'

Al looked like he wanted to dispute that fact, but obviously thought better of it as Ed grabbed his watch and looked at the time. A quick curse escaped his lips, and he slipped the silver time-piece in his pocket before heading for the door. 'Come on.'

The halls of Central Command were bustling with morning activity. Recruits ran this way and that, hampered in their duties by the need to salute the officers who roamed among their ranks. The mess hall was a hive of activity, and Ed took a deep breath of the fried bacon and strong coffee aroma that wafted through the air. His stomach rumbled at the fulfilling scent, and he promised himself that he'd get something on the way back. In fact….

'Al, go and get something to eat. No point in both of us missing breakfast. Grab me some bacon while you're at it.'

'But -'

He pushed Alphonse in the general direction of the food and hurried on, calling over his shoulder, 'Don't worry, I won't leave you behind.'

'If you dare -'

Ed chuckled as his brother left the threat hanging in the air and thought about picking up the pace. With a nonchalant shrug to himself he forced himself to walk more slowly. There was no point in kowtowing to all of Mustang's orders. Besides, he had plenty of people to keep his ego inflated. It was up to Ed to put a dent in it once in a while. Making him wait wouldn't hurt.

Opening the door to the office that contained Mustang's closest staff, he sighed. The room was familiar and, if he was honest with himself, it was the closest thing he had to a home. The air smelled of strong coffee and the pervasive stench of Havoc's cigarettes. The potted plant in the corner thrived on the dregs it was frequently fed, and the constant rustle of paper was a sibilant melody. Even when his life was in turmoil, Ed felt that he could rely on this place to always be the same.

When he was younger he used to wonder if they ever went home. He had been so obsessed with his own path that he had barely had the time or gratitude to notice the dynamic of the group. Initially there had been discomfort and resentment at his presence. They thought he was just a kid, and he thought they were only getting in his way. Mutual respect had been a long time coming, but now he knew that there was nothing that he couldn't ask of them. In return they knew that he could always be relied upon, and he was a powerful alchemist to be reckoned with.

Hawkeye's desk was empty, but judging by the patient canine figure of Black Hayate she was in Mustang's office. The woman might be tough and incorruptible, but there was still a faint sense of maternal pride about her when she looked at the men under her command, and the officer who oversaw them all. Of course, if Ed ever told her that she'd fill him with bullet holes. Her hard reputation was well-earned, and he couldn't fault her. In fact he was pretty sure that it was only her presence that ensured any work got done.

Havoc was slumped across his desk, his head pillowed on his arms. The cigarette in his mouth was unlit and half-crushed against his uniform sleeve as he struggled manfully to keep his eyes open. There was barely a twitch of acknowledgement when Ed reached across and snagged the cigarette, throwing it into the bin.

'Mornin', Boss,' Havoc managed, raising a hand in a feeble salute.

'Late night?' Ed asked as he looked at some of the paperwork strewn across the desk. None of it looked particularly critical. His only reply was a faint grumble of agreement, and he smiled as the man finally gave up his battle and shut his eyes.

The clank of a spoon made Ed turn, and he saw that Fuery was adding copious amounts of sugar to a cup of coffee, as though hoping the cocktail of caffeine and sugar would give him the energy he needed to face the communications issues awaiting his attention.

'Where is everyone?' Ed asked quietly, grabbing the coffee pot and looking at the cooling dregs with suspicion. Grabbing an almost-clean mug he poured it out and took a gulp, grimacing the bitterness clogged his mouth.

'They're not here yet, sir.' Fuery pushed his glasses up his nose, ignoring Ed's sigh of annoyance at the respectful title.

The forbidding mahogany doors to Mustang's office opened, allowing enough room for the slim form of Hawkeye to slip through. She looked impeccable, as always, and Ed noticed her tight-lipped expression. Her dark eyes flashed as she took in the occupants of the room, and her hand automatically descended to the butt of her gun.

'You're late, Edward'. Those three words had a very final sound to them and, despite the fact that he was finally a fraction taller than her, she seemed to tower over him. Her brows were slanted in the faintest of disapproving scowls, and Ed held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture as Havoc and Fuery scrambled to appear busy.

'Only by a few minutes. Give me a break, Hawkeye.'

'Gladly. Where would you like it, sir?'

A faint smile eased the seriousness of her threat, but Ed still edged away, not entirely sure she wouldn't put words into action. With a shake of his head he dodged around her, pushing into Mustang's office and slamming the door behind him.

The room was much the same as it had ever been, bar a few new bullet holes in the plasterwork. It had barely changed since the first time he had marched in here, all false bravado and untamed anger. He had to admit that he'd grown up since then, even if the military still treated him like a child.

Roy was reading his way through a document and had not even bothered to lift his head as his youngest state alchemist made his entrance. The sun slanted through the window, casting striped of shadow and relief across his face. His fingers were curled over his lips as he concentrated, barely twitching an eyebrow as Ed sighed and leant on his desk, invading his personal space.

'You're late, Fullmetal, and I'm short on time.' His voice was soft, but there was no missing the intended emphasis.

Ed suppressed the spike of temper that heated his blood and tightened his jaw. At least the bastard was getting the height jokes out of the way. 'Whatever, Colonel Bastard,' he sneered, letting that one go. 'What's the mission, or did you just call me here to piss me off?'

The Flame Alchemist sighed deeply. 'Perhaps you missed the memo, Fullmetal, but I'm a Brigadier-General these days.' He ignored Ed's last jibe and handed across a plain brown envelope. 'I want this wrapped up by the end of today. No excuses.'

Ed flicked through the briefing, picking out key words from years of practice. 'Grave-robbing?' he finally asked. 'Is that really state alchemist business?'

'It is when they're robbing military graveyards,' Mustang replied grimly. 'The remains could provide ingredients for some alchemical purposes.'

Ed looked carefully, noticing the faint lines of tension in the older man's face. This was going too easily. There had been no shouting, and hardly any exchange of insults. 'What aren't you telling me?'

Mustang looked up sharply, and his dark hair fell across his forehead. For the first time Ed noticed the man's appearance. His normally immaculate uniform was dishevelled, and his pale face was lined with exhaustion. His jaw was stiff and his knuckles were white knots on the paper he held in his hand. There was no smug satisfaction on the bastard's face, and, in a disarmingly young gesture, he swept a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts.

Grimly he pressed his lips together, and Ed felt his back stiffen. For an instant he thought Mustang wasn't going to bother answering, but eventually he managed a strained whisper, letting one brief flicker of emotion breach his distant façade.

'One of the graves robbed belonged to Brigadier-General Hughes.'

End of Chapter One