Fullmetal Alchemist: New Experience

Well, this was an old fan fiction of mine I started when I was about thirteen, when I first began to love Fullmetal Alchemist. It died on the penultimate chapter, as life caught up to me (and the file with the last chapter got deleted at one point, and muse to rewrite it never came along >_>). Anyway, I started it back over fairly recently in an effort to improve my writing. So yaaay~

I thought I might as well put it up here, chapter by chapter as I finish them. Feel free to leave a comment anywhere; I don't care if you break the story flow. XD

You can also follow at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5259097/1/New_Experience

Some notes:

-This is, was, and always will be, an author-insert. I know that tends to turn some people off, but I beg that you give it a little chance. Even way back when people gave praise for doing a good job with it, and I do hope that I did. In any case, I do put a lot of effort to avoid the stereotypical Mary Sue author-insert bit, so . . . yeah.

-It's about Fullmetal Alchemist. Clearly.

-I don't mind criticism. Just be gentle, and please understand how freakin' difficult it can be to make a story based on someone else's rules.

So.

Chapter one!


------

Chapter One: Bad Day

Jordan bit back a well-deserved groan as she rested her head on her desk. Her arms moved up to cover her head, hiding her in the sleeves of her favorite black coat. As much as she loved chemistry, the teacher, and even the classroom, the final period of the day was dragging on far too slowly for her liking.

“Why won't today go faster?” she complained, her voice muffled by the desk.

Her friend and classmate, Evalyn, looked over at Jordan and couldn't help a small laugh. “Because time doesn't work like that?” she suggested in amusement.

“It should. I don't care if chemistry's taught me laws of the world that can't be bent or broken, it should work like that,” Jordan insisted stubbornly.

Evalyn laughed again and straightened some papers on her own desk, then brushed some of her straight brown hair away from her eyes. “Unfortunately, it doesn't,” she said. “Too bad, though. This class does go by way slower than any of my other ones. Even math.”

“Too bad we don't learn alchemy in here,” Jordan randomly thought, lifting her head from her desk. “I mean, I know alchemy's the original premise for chemistry and everything, but it would be awesome. But it'd have to be alchemy like in Fullmetal Alchemist or it wouldn't be awesome. Then it would just be a mixture of chemistry and religion and stuff that won't work, and then it wouldn't be fun.”

Again, Evalyn giggled at her friend's rambling. “Yeah, that's a shame,” she agreed. “That would make this even more interesting.”

“Oh well. At least I already like chemistry, except for the math parts.”

“Hey!” The snap of the teacher in the front of the classroom made both of the girls jump. “Keep it down back there, will ya?”

Jordan shrunk down in her chair sheepishly. “Sorry,” she apologized, aware of the stares she was receiving from her classmates. She sighed and pulled her sketchbook from to corner of her desk to the middle and retrieved a pencil from her bag. “Damn, of all the times I feel like talking I get busted. The world is a messed-up place sometimes.”

Evalyn dropped the volume of her voice so that they could continue speaking. “Well, at least Mr. Noll's not too mean about it,” she said with a little shrug.

“True, true. Having an awesome teacher does make it a little better.” Jordan tapped her pencil against the edge of her sketchbook, then sighed. “Dang. Talking about FMA made me want to draw it now.” She placed the tip of the pencil lead against the paper, drew a short line, then frowned and erased it immediately afterward. “Dang again, I suck at drawing.”

“Nah, you don't.”

“Yes, I do, now let me beat myself up about it.”

Evalyn smiled and was about to say something else when a melodic tone tolled over the intercom. Immediately students began packing up their belongings, cramming heavy chemistry books into backpacks, stacking chairs on top of desks, and trying to organize entire piles of class notes into binders, folders, or even in too-small backpack pockets. Jordan simply closed her sketchbook, slipped it in her bag, and tucked her textbook in beside it. She slipped the strap to the messenger-style backpack over her shoulder and patted the supplies by her hip.

“Well then, I guess I'll see you-” Jordan was cut short when a rushing student slammed into her. Not expecting the “attack,” Jordan was thrown to the floor, hitting the desk and bruising her ribs before collapsing on the worn carpet.

She scowled and quickly pushed herself up onto her arms and knees, glaring after the offending student. “Thanks a lot, jackass!” she yelled at him. He didn't even glance back, instead catching up to another friend and chuckling about the experience.

“Oh man, are you okay?” Evalyn asked quickly, kneeling down beside her fallen friend.

“Fine . . . Hurt, but fine,” Jordan muttered. She sat up on her knees and looked to the side. The contents of her backpack were now strewn across the floor—most notably, her sketchbook, the cover to which had been torn away from the rest of the pad. “God damn it!”

“Oh, geez . . . I'm sorry,” said Evalyn apologetically. “That really sucks . . .”

Jordan heaved a deep sigh to calm herself, picked up her things, and began setting them neatly back in her bag. “It's fine. Not your fault,” she said, suppressed anger thick in her voice. “Just a sketchbook cover. Not the end of the world.”

Evalyn frowned, but said nothing else as Jordan stood and dusted herself off. “Anyway,” she huffed as she straightened her coat and dark shirt, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her oversized jeans, “I think I'm good, if a little banged up.”

As they headed out of the classroom, facing more jostling by yet more students in more of a rush than was necessary, Jordan rubbed the back of her head. “Egh . . . now I have a headache,” she complained.

“Sorry, again,” Evalyn said with a little shrug, making a gesture down another hall. “But, my mom's waiting for me on the other side of the school. I gotta go.”

“Alright. See ya.” Jordan gave a wave of indifference as they parted ways and headed through the side doors to wait outside.

Outside, the flow of students was drastically reduced. Jordan gave a happy sigh after inhaling a deep breath of the cold winter air. Snowflakes, normally rare even for the season, fell in a heavy blanket, covering the ground and the heads of unfortunate students in a layer of white. Jordan just smiled. Winter was her favorite season, no matter how cold it was. She looked up at the cloudy gray sky as she walked toward her bus, never minding the flakes that fell to rest on her glasses.

As she boarded the bus, though, and looked around at all the other high school students, her smile immediately fell. It was no secret that she despised most people, and most of those people used that to their advantage.

Her good mood stolen, she dropped herself into an empty seat, positioned her bag beside her to ward off anyone who wanted to share the seat, and brushed some snowflakes out of her dark hair. Once settled, she dug a book out of her bag and resigned herself to reading for the trip home.

She was interrupted immediately afterward.

“Hey, what's that?” one boy asked, leaning over the back of Jordan's seat and hovering over her shoulder. “Is that one of those . . . mango . . . things?”

“Manga,” Jordan corrected blankly, turning a page. “Go away.”

“So it's that Japanese stuff, right?”

“Yeah. Go away.”

“Well, what's it called?”

“Fullmetal Alchemist. Go away.”

“Aww, I'm just curious~”

“You're not interested, you're just attempting to piss me off. Do you not understand what 'go away' means?”

He smirked and tried to lean in closer; Jordan snapped the book closed and whipped it back into the boy's face before he could move more than an inch and a half. He swore and fell back, hissing in pain.

“Idiot,” Jordan muttered under her breath as she turned back to her page and continued reading.

The rest of her bus ride, a full half hour, was completed in relative silence. Although the other students on the bus were no quieter than they were at the beginning, the rest refrained from attempting to annoy Jordan further. She, on the other hand, was able to ignore them until she disembarked at the end of the road leading to her home. It was the same as any other day of school. She couldn't begin to fathom why she was such a fun target when she only tried to keep to herself.

She walked down the gravel road to her home (slipping and falling both of the times that she attempted to slide down a patch of ice). Upon walking through the front door, her look of indifference turned into a scowl. The house was empty.

“Which means, of course, that I'm stuck at home to watch the kids while my mom does something stupid and I don't even know what,” she sighed, trudging through the house and expertly sidestepping around the three dogs that insisted on getting in her way—only one of them was actually vying for her attention. “Which also means that I hope she's looking for a job . . .” She paused by the computer to see if her mother had left a note; there was nothing.

Groaning as she thought about the rest of her day, Jordan slogged through the rest of the house and to her room, where she collapsed on her bed.

“Today suuucks,” she whined as she buried her face in her pillow. “Even though I don't have that much to complain about, it still suuucks.” She lifted her head to take off her glasses, then once again dropped face-down into the pillow. “Didn't see Jazzy all day, couldn't get a ride to or from school, sketchbook's ruined, ribs hurt, head hurts, didn't get any sleep, math was confusing, found one of my fish dead this morning, cat scratched me, felt sick almost all day, people are stupid, Anime Club was canceled . . .” She stopped rambling when she ran out of things that hadn't gone quite her way that day, frowning at the wall in thought.

She gave up shortly after. “Nngh. I can't even complain, because everyone in the world will get angry for daring to think a day of my life sucks,” she mumbled, shifting to lay on her side.

She stared across the room at the opposite wall, where a poster of a blond-haired boy and a suit of armor in the background consumed several square feet of space. She couldn't help smiling a little. “Yeah, their lives suck more,” she said to herself. “Being fiction, I guess that's just what happens. Still, it'd be cool to live like that for a day.” She yawned and let her eyes close. “I'm such a nerd for thinking that . . .”

-----

When Jordan opened her eyes again, it was dark. She sat up quickly in alarm, then immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness assaulted her. She held her head in her hand while her tired brain tried to sort out her surroundings.

“Okay . . . how long was I asleep?” she mumbled, slowly turning her gaze toward the digital clock on her bookshelf. The glowing red numbers announced the time was 2:34. Jordan blinked once; that wasn't possible, because she didn't even get home until three . . .

“Oh, are you kidding? It's the middle of the night? Nobody woke me up for dinner! How the hell did I even-” She quickly cut herself off as her stomach gave a violent and sickening lurch. Bile rose in her throat, and she clasped her hand over her mouth to hold back the urge to be sick. Swearing in her mind, not trusting herself to open her mouth, Jordan quickly pushed herself to her feet and made a move for the bedroom door.

She barely had a hand on the doorknob when she blinked, and found her hand grasping nothing at all.

Her bedroom was gone, replaced by an empty void of white. She blinked again, and then stood an incredibly vivid image of a gigantic, dark archway, sealed shut by immense doors etched with eyes and unfamiliar runes.

The doors swung open, making not the slightest creak of sound. Behind them, hundreds of eyes stared hungrily back at her, unblinking. From the depths of the void crept small, shadowed hands, which quickly made their way toward the human girl.

Something nagged in the back of her mind that this was all painfully familiar, that she should be running and trying to resist. Yet, in a state of delirium, Jordan couldn't fight back as the shadowed hands wrapped around her limbs and ushered her through the opening, and the doors slammed shut behind her.

-----

“Okay . . . why is it that all the dreams I remember are always insanely weird?” Jordan wondered groggily as she sat up in bed.

When she fully opened her eyes, she realized something was wrong.

This wasn't her bed. Or, for that matter, her room.

The room she was in was plainly decorated; white walls, clean wooden floor, and bland furnishings consisting of a small bedside table, a corner desk, and the bed on which she currently sat. It in no way resembled her bedroom, or anywhere that she had visited in her life.

“Ooohh my god,” she breathed, scooting back on her bed and into the wall as if that would somehow help her. “Oh my god. What the hell happened and where am I?” She felt the color drain from her face as the severity of the situation quickly sank in: she didn't know where she was, or why.

Before she could dive into a full panic, knocking at the door interrupted her. A modestly-dressed woman bearing a broom invited herself into the room.

“Excuse me, miss, is there anything . . . I can . . . do . . .” The woman trailed off as she looked over the girl on the bed.

“Um, no,” Jordan said quickly, swallowing to hold down her panic. Instinct told her not to give anyone around her reason to be suspicious. “Is, ah, something wrong?”

The woman's expression changed from one of surprise to one of anger. “You're a state alchemist?” she demanded.

“I'm a state alchemist?” Jordan repeated, dumbfounded. She looked down at herself, and her eyes widened. In her panic, she hadn't noticed that even her clothing had changed, from the school clothing she remembered falling asleep in to the silver-trimmed, navy pants and jacket of a state alchemist.

She didn't have much time to reflect. What she knew next was being tossed out into the dusty street by a gruff man easily twice her size. A small suitcase that presumably contained all of her belongings flew out by her head.

“We don't serve dogs of the military here!” the man yelled before slamming the door.

“Nice way to treat a fifteen-year-old girl,” Jordan muttered as she forced herself to sit upright.

Something silver caught her eye, drawing her gaze back to the ground. A pocket watch, emblazoned with a strange creature resembling a lion on the cover rested on the ground, slightly dirtied from the fall. A chain led back up and hooked on the belt loop of Jordan's pants.

“Okay . . . there's no way, right?” Jordan said, laughing a little bit as she picked up the watch, then clicked open the cover. “There's no freaking way in hell that I'm here, right? It's some stupid joke. I'm still dreaming. I am definitely still dreaming.” She rolled up the sleeve of her new uniform and pinched her arm several times. Her mirth quickly died when she had gained a stinging red welt on her skin, but her surroundings and everything she held remained unchanged.

She stared back down at the watch she had dropped. “There is seriously no way in hell,” she breathed again, her voice cracking with stress as she was forced to accept her reality.

“This is the worst freaking day of my life.”

Chapter Two: Impersonation

“Oh man. Oohhh man, oh man, oh man,” Jordan breathed as she walked down the dusty street. She ran her hands back through her bangs in distress, letting the hair flop back in her face. “This is screwed up. This is beyond screwed up. How the hell am I supposed to be a state alchemist? I don't know the first thing about alchemy—well, okay, I do, that's equivalent exchange, but that is not enough to pull this off and not enough to explain what's going on!”

As she stopped muttering to herself for the first time in the several-minute walk away from the inn, she became abruptly away of the talk going on around her. The townspeople were unashamed to admit their distaste for anybody of the military, spitting curses and shooting glares at the “officer” as she passed. One was brave enough to yell out “Go home, you military dog!” Others were braver, and more creative with their choices of more vulgar insults.

“Geez, wonder what the military did to screw these guys all over,” Jordan mumbled, dropping her gaze to the ground. She pulled up the collar of her jacket as high as it would go, trying to escape the angry looks and mutters. “This is the last thing that I need right now . . .”

When somebody threw a rock that whizzed by her head, barely missing, she decided she'd had enough. She ducked into an alleyway between a couple of shops and sat down against the brick wall, hiding behind a stack of boxes.

“Today sucks,” she muttered as she quickly shrugged off her jacket. With only the uniform pants and a black shirt, she hoped she would be a little less conspicuous in the town. It wasn't likely, but she hoped, and it was a little more comfortable. She folded up the jacket, then took the watch from her pocket and hid it inside the jacket.

She rested her head back against the wall and sighed deeply, trying to keep herself calm. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she wondered. “I don't know how I got here, I don't know how to get home, I don't even know where I am in this place, and everybody hates me for apparently being a state alchemist. Great.”

Jordan opened her eyes and glanced downward toward the flat, rectangular suitcase that had been thrown out with her from the inn. Curious as to the contents and wondering if anything could give her a clue as to what was going on, she pulled it into her lap and unlatched the silver clasps keeping it shut.

What was inside was disappointing.

“Oh boy. Clothes,” she said unenthusiastically, moving aside a pair of denim pants and a plain white t-shirt. “Well, at least I know I have that if I need it, because apparently, they're mine.”

Under the clothes, though, were two alchemy books, a notebook, and several sheets of paper. Jordan set aside the books, knowing she wouldn't understand a word of them, and gathered up the papers and notebook.

Flipping through the loose pages revealed very little. Apparently, though, she was supposed to be an alchemist, if the alchemy notes and doodles of transmutation circles were anything to go by. When the papers provided no information, Jordan moved on to the notebook. Like the papers, it held nothing of particular interest—until Jordan reached the back page, which was taken up by a couple paragraphs of text. The handwriting was difficult to read, scrawled in a hasty cursive, so she had to bring the page within an inch of her face to make any sense of it at all. Even then, some words refused to be translated at all, leading Jordan to scan over anything that couldn't be immediately read.

Okay, I have to do . . . transmutation soon. Think I . . . everything I need. This whole bit of being a state alchemist . . . helped a lot. All the research I need and nobody even looked at me. Stupid arrays won't work, though, nothing properly . . . with the Gate.

Jordan had to raise an eyebrow at this more than at the lack of coherent writing. Maybe this was a lead. Although the handwriting hurt to read, she plowed on.

Sacrifices don't . . . always fail. It's a wonder I'm not dead, from that or from the military. Waiting for them to catch on that I'm not . . . Can't do it more than a few more days. But I think I might be close to a breakthrough. If this theory doesn't work, the next one has to. I'm going to prove its existence somehow.

The rest of the page dissolved into more confusing alchemy notes, and at the bottom was a large, detailed transmutation circle. Jordan set her head back on the wall.

“Yay, science jargon,” she cheered sarcastically. She looked back at the pages again, scanning through them. “Alright . . . so . . . I guess this just means I'm myself? Just on the other side of the Gate? That's a scary concept . . . but . . . I'm not sure.”

She skimmed the pages a third time, trying to analyze every bit of data. I can get this, she told herself. I have the advantage of knowledge from third-person perspective.

It was fifteen minutes before she came up with a proper theory.

“Alright then,” she said, continuing her trend of thinking aloud. Verbalizing her thoughts made it easier to piece them together. “By the sound of it, I-slash-she-slash-whoever screwed around with transmutations, messed up, or maybe succeeded, because she sounds psychotic enough to be happy about it, and apparently performed that entire soul-switching-in-parallel-universes thing . . . well, crap. I'm not even sure how that's possible, but that's my guess, because I have nothing else.” She groaned loudly and slumped farther down the wall she still leaned on. “That doesn't even make any sense. Last time I checked, early two thousand and nine did not correspond to the year nineteen-fourteen . . . There is something wrong here, besides the obvious.

“Great. I'm lost, confused, and on the verge of a panic attack, but apparently now I'm also an alchemy genius and psychotic enough to screw with forces I wasn't aware existed before. Thank you, other-me-who-now-exists-apparently.” Jordan's dry giggle at her own attempt at humor quickly died. Circular logic only brought her back to one thing: no matter what she should know, she didn't. She still could not get back home based on this knowledge. “God, this is all just wonderfully convenient. Like a badly-written story by someone who really hates people being happy.”

She sighed deeply, feeling an onslaught of homesickness-inspired depression. Before she could sink too far, though, something caught her eye on the pages she held.

It's a wonder I'm not dead, from that or the military. Waiting for them to catch on that I'm not . . .

“. . . not part of the military,” Jordan finished in a sudden realization. “Meaning she—er, I, haven't been caught yet and killed. What the hell?! I'm impersonating the military?! I have a death wish in Amestris!”

Something clattered down in the alleyway, making Jordan jump. She looked back, but didn't see anything. Dismissing it as a figment of her imagination, even though invisible things making noise would be as logical as anything else at that moment, Jordan turned her attention to packing up “her” suitcase again. She found a pen in the bottom of the case, which she chose to shove in her pocket instead.

“Planning on leaving, state alchemist?”

The cold, yet painfully familiar voice stopped her as she stood up, suitcase in one hand and uniform tucked under her arm. She slowly turned around to look at the speaker; he was a tall, muscular man, dark-skinned and clad in tan clothing. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but the most noticeable feature about him was the pale, X-shaped scar that cut across his forehead.

“I-I'm, um, not actually a state alchemist,” she said feebly, stepping back as Scar advanced toward her. As if to prove her wrong, the chain of her pocket watch slithered out of her folded uniform, and its weight pulled the watch itself out. The watch clattered to the ground at her feet.

Scar knelt down to pick it up as Jordan jumped back away. “Not a state alchemist?” he repeated doubtfully. “I think not.” He tossed the watch back at Jordan, who barely managed to catch it and tuck it back under her arm, then took another menacing step toward her.

Jordan did the only logical thing she, as a weaponless, fifteen-year-old girl could do: she bolted past Scar before he could get grab her, running into the twisting alleyways and knocking over every trash can and cardboard box she could. She could hear the thudding footsteps as Scar came after her, and she couldn't help but wonder how she was going to get out of this.

Scar caught up to her not far from where they started, undeterred by the meager obstacles. He reached out to try to grab the fleeing girl. Jordan whipped around and swung her suitcase at him, hoping that it would do something.

Instead, he caught it in his right hand.

His expression seemed indifferent as the intricate tattooed runes on his arms began to glow a brilliant red. Jordan swore and dropped the case entirely as she darted away again. She dared to glance back over her shoulder just in time to see the suitcase, and all of its contents, reduced to chunks of leather and shreds of cloth and paper as Scar's destructive transmutation blew it to pieces.

She couldn't help a curse at this as she fled for her life.

-----

As he passed by the opening to an alleyway, a man heard the sounds of a commotion. He paused and glanced around. Nobody else seemed to be taking an interest in the noises.

Somebody in the tangle of alleys yelped. He looked on as a small shadow flickered past his vision, quickly followed by a not-so-small figure. He frowned, then heaved a sigh; even though he was off-duty, he was obligated as a state alchemist to investigate.

Moral obligations played a part somewhere, too.

He jogged into the alley, following the sounds of the pursuit. He heard a girl yell, then something clattering, and increased his pace. He took a few different turns and alleys, following the sounds and trying to catch up.

When he turned down one alley that led back out to the street, he cursed and turned back around. At that moment, a girl came running down the narrow alley, clutching a bundle of blue to her chest. She pushed past him without a word of apology and continued her flight into the street.

He looked back and saw another man going in the exact same direction, at the very end of the alley. With hardly a thought, he produced a small piece of chalk from his pocket, sketched a rough transmutation circle on the brick wall, and pressed his hand against hid. Several tendrils of red brick reached out and pinned the larger man against the opposite wall, allowing the alchemist to turn and run after the girl to see if she was alright.

When he caught up to her in the street, he noticed how she tried to peer around him, as if checking to see if her pursuer was behind him. “Did . . . did you stop him?” she asked breathlessly, looking back up at her savior.

“Yeah, he shouldn't be bothering you anymore,” he replied. He eyed the blue bundle she was clutching to her chest. An unguarded state pocket watch peeked out from the folds of the bundle, and she was wearing what looked like the lower half of a uniform. But she was far too young to be a state alchemist, as far as he knew, unless she simply looked younger than her age . . .

“Oh, thank you,” she sighed happily, slumping her shoulders in relief. “You saved my life. I don't know why he was after me, I haven't done a thing to him, but I'm so glad to be out of there.”

He just smiled in a friendly manner, although he was suspicious about this girl. “It's nothing,” he said. “Just try to be more careful next time and don't get into any more trouble.” With this, he walked away.

He had a report to make.

-----

“What is it, Major Rowe?” Mustang asked irritably. He had an entire pile of papers on his desk that he needed to procrastinate doing.

The man who had saved Jordan stood at a small outdoor bar, using a public phone. He cast a meaningful look at the person running the stand, who quickly tried to pretend he was doing something else.

“Sir, um, have we recruited any newer, younger alchemists?” Rowe asked, feeling foolish at asking the question.

Colonel Mustang raised a dark eyebrow at this. “Rowe, you know full well that the only alchemist we have under twenty is Edward Elric,” he said bluntly, leaning back in his chair.

Rowe glanced at the other patrons of the stand, then cupped his hand around the mouthpiece of the phone. “Well, yes, but I just helped a girl, who couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen, and she was carrying around a watch and uniform!”

Mustang snapped his chair back onto all four legs, almost (but not quite) startling First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye at his side. “Go on,” he said.

Rowe quickly recounted his story of the girl being chased in the alleys, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting any attention. “. . . and she didn't use any alchemy or anything to try to save herself,” he finished. “And I don't think I've ever seen her before, either.”

Mustang was silent for a long moment. Eventually, he asked, “Rowe, are you still in the same town as the girl you found?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Find the girl again and bring her back to Eastern H.Q. for questioning.” Satisfied with his command, the colonel hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair again.

This might be the end of a problem that had been bothering him for a few weeks.

-----

Rowe hung up his end of the line, unable to believe the command he had just been given. The town he was in was small enough, but how was he expected to find the girl again after an hour?

Not to mention he didn't like this town. They weren't very friendly with anyone of the military.

“Just a glass of water for now, thanks.” Rowe looked toward the source of the female's voice. Conveniently, there sat the girl he was looking for, a few stools down at the outside bar.

Jordan sorted through the assorted bills and coins that she had produced from the wallet found in her pocket. The native currency turned out to be a little more confusing than she had expected.

“Will this cover it?” she asked, offering one of the slips of paper to the man running the stand. He nodded and set down a glass of ice water, taking the bill. Jordan downed half of the water in a couple swallows, then produced her pen from her pocket. Lacking anything better to do at the moment and trying to take her mind off her situation, she began doodling on the back of her left hand.

Just as she was finishing the last couple of details to a poorly-replicated transmutation circle, she was approached by Rowe. She glanced up from the corner of her eye, then turned her full attention to him again. “Oh, hey, it's you again,” she said lightly. “Didn't expect to see you again so soon. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, actually,” Rowe said, putting his hands in his pockets. His tone was nowhere near as friendly. “You can come back with me to headquarters. The colonel apparently has a few questions for you.”

Jordan's slight smile faded. “Wait . . . what?”

“You're coming with me,” Rowe repeated, producing his watch from his pocket, “because you're under arrest.”

-----

The train ride out of the small town and to East City was uncomfortably silent. It was made more uncomfortable for Jordan by the tight bonds keeping her hands behind her back so she couldn't use alchemy. Not, she thought wryly, that she could anyway, but Rowe had explained that it was protocol.

She had never actually ridden a train before. Jordan stared wistfully out the window, thinking about how she had always wanted to travel cross-country by train just for the experience. However, it was difficult to enjoy the experience under arrest. With a sigh, she leaned back against the leathery seat, trying not to think of what would happen in East City.

Being led out of the train station at the city became difficult. It was an odd sight to see a handcuffed fifteen-year-old being led around by a state alchemist carrying an extra watch and uniform. Jordan kept her head high, but scowled at anybody who looked at her.

Outside Colonel Mustang's office in the headquarters building, Rowe knocked twice on the wooden door. Hawkeye opened the door and led the two inside, casting a quick glance between Jordan and Mustang in confusion.

“Major Rowe, you've returned,” Mustang acknowledged, looking up from his papers. Rowe nodded. “Is this the girl?”

“Yes, sir,” Rowe answered promptly.

“Good.” Mustang stood up from his desk and stared down at Jordan. She met his gaze evenly, refusing to look away even as her stomach knotted itself with fear. She thought she might be sick.

“So, would you care to explain why you've been running around with a state alchemist and watch, miss?” he inquired, almost conversationally.

“Well . . .” Jordan looked off from the corner of her eye. “I . . . don't really know.”

“Uh . . . huh.” Mustang moved around to the front of his desk. “You've been causing me a bit of trouble,” he remarked.

“I have?”

“There have been rumors of someone pretending to be a state alchemist in East City for a couple of weeks. However, we could never figure out who it was, because she apparently blended in quite well and never stuck around very long.” He lifted an eyebrow delicately. “It's a little embarrassing, to be honest. Luckily we were able to contain the rumors, so barely anyone knows about it, but . . .”

“I can't even do alchemy!” Jordan protested. “Look, I really don't know what's going on here. I'm being framed, or something. I remember being at home, and suddenly all of this today . . .”

“And where do you live?”

“Well, it's a place called America,” Jordan said, looking back at Mustang. “You probably haven't heard of it. It's . . . a really obscure country.”

“I see . . .” Mustang was skeptical, but dismissed her claims. He knew he had found who he was looking for. “Rowe, take the bonds off.”

Rowe did as ordered, stepping forward to remove the painful cuffs from Jordan's wrists. She couldn't help a tiny sigh of relief at the new freedom. She brought her hands in front of her, flexing her fingers and rubbing her wrists. In her movement, she clapped her hands together.

Everyone in the room started, thinking she was about to perform alchemy. Jordan stepped back from the advancing officers.

“Wait a minute, I'm not doing anything, I swear!” she quickly exclaimed. Unfortunately, she stumbled as she stepped back, and fell to the floor, her hands splayed out behind her to catch her. As soon as her hands touched the floor, a brilliant blue light surrounded her, and before she could figure out what she had done, the light faded and showed that her boots had been fused into the carpet floor.

She stared, mouth agape, unsure of how she had done that.

Mustang gave her a long, hard look. “Lieutenant Hawkeye, take her down to the holding cells. It might take awhile to deal with her. Impersonation of a state alchemist is very serious, after all.”

“But I didn't do anything!” Jordan protested. She tried to stand up, but fell backward again, and looked down at her feet. “Could . . . someone help me out of this? Please?”

Rowe obliged, sketching a quick transmutation circle on the floor around her and pressing his hands to the chalk lines. Another blue light, and Jordan's shoes were freed from their fuzzy carpet prison. She stood and was led out of the room by a doubtful Hawkeye.

“She said she couldn't do alchemy,” Rowe remarked dryly once the other two were gone. “But that was alchemy right there. And she didn't even use a circle.”

“It looked like she had one on her hand,” Mustang said, moving to sit back down at his desk. “I doubt she's telling the truth about her skills.”

Rowe shook his head. “That circle was incomplete,” he said. “I got a good look at it. Not only is it incomplete, but none of it is correct. It shouldn't have done anything at all.”

Mustang propped his elbows on his desk, interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin on top. “Is that so,” he mused quietly. “So maybe there was no circle after all . . .” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This was an interesting development.

“You're dismissed,” he said blankly to Rowe. The lieutenant respectfully saluted, then left, wondering what was on the colonel's mind.

Once alone, Mustang leaned back in his chair again. There were other possibilities, such as hidden transmutation circles, but if that girl could transmute without a circle, she had the potential to be very useful to the state. He could even take credit, if she were to become state-recognized with his recommendations. However, there was still the matter of her impersonation of military staff. He would have to do something about that . . .

For the second time that day, the phone on his desk began to ring. Mustang sat up and briefly thought about the day. Oh, yes. Edward was due to report in today.

The colonel couldn't help a sly smile as he picked up the phone, an idea forming in his head.

Chapter Three: Playing Teacher

“You want me to what?! But Colonel, we just got a lead on the Philosopher's Stone! And besides, that train's going to leave any minute!”

“Then I highly suggest you quit complaining about my orders, Fullmetal, and get going.” Mustang hung up the phone.

Edward, hearing the line go dead, scowled and slammed the phone back onto the receiver, nearly breaking the machine in the progress. He cast a glance around for his younger brother and picked up his bag. “Al, come on! Mustang's given us a change of plans!” he shouted as he turned to run for an entirely different train than either of them had originally intended.

Clunking metallic footsteps announced Alphonse's coming before Ed saw him. “Brother, where are we going?” Al asked.

“I'll explain in a minute, but first we have to catch that train!” Indeed, the train in question was already beginning to slowly pull away from the platform. Ed and Al had to pick up the pace until they were running alongside the train, carriage door just beyond reach. A hazardous leap each brought them up into the carriage, and they found some empty seats in a corner. Once made comfortable, Al repeated his question.

“We're going back to East City,” Ed replied, slouching in his seat.

“Why would we go back there? Did the colonel want something?”

Ed sighed. “Apparently he just arrested some girl who was pretending to be a state alchemist,” he said, looking out the window at the darkening evening sky. “I dunno why he needs me there.”

“What? They actually arrested her?” Al said in disbelief.

“Yeah. She's only fifteen or something like that, he said, which makes even less sense. And apparently she says that she's from some place called 'America' or something.”

“I've never heard of that.”

“Neither have I. Probably lying.” Edward frowned a little bit. “The biggest thing that bugs me, though, is that Mustang said it looked like she knew how to transmute without using a circle.”

Al looked from the window back at his brother. “But I thought only you and Teacher could do that!” he exclaimed.

Ed nodded. “He wasn't completely sure,” he explained. “He said she might have been using a hidden circle or something, but he didn't see anything like one glowing. He seemed pretty desperate to stick to his theory. But then again, she says she doesn't know anything about alchemy. Who knows anymore. She just sounds crazy to me.” Ed slumped down more in his seat, making himself comfortable. The train ride was going to be several hours long, and it was getting dark, so he might as well catch some sleep before dealing with his least favorite person in the world.

-----

“There has to be some way out of this,” Jordan told herself calmly. Of the few holding cells in the back of the East City Headquarters building, hers was the only one occupied. She was alone, except for her own voice echoing back at her from the empty hallway.

“Oh, who am I kidding? I'm totally screwed!” She slammed her hands, bound in a plank of wood to again keep her from performing alchemy, against the cell wall. “Damn it! How am I going to convince the military to let me go?! Plead on a case of insanity?! Yeah, because that's totally going to work!”

She slid down to the floor, leaning against the wall. Once on her knees, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. It did little, but it helped to release just the tiniest bit of tension. Eventually she turned around and leaned her back against the wall, sitting cross-legged and staring at the opposite end of the cell. The plain gray brick was in itself a calming, if not almost depressing, sight.

“Okay. So . . . Colonel Mustang didn't say I'd be in here forever,” she mumbled to herself when she thought she had her racing thoughts under a little more control. “Just until he knew what to do with me. Granted, I don't know what he's going to do, but I still can't be in here for more than a couple days. I don't know how home is doing. With any luck, Other Me is figuring things out faster than I am and not making my friends and family think I'm insane. Either way, I can't worry about it, because there's nothing I can do. I just have to focus on getting out of here, and then getting home. That's my biggest priority right now.”

Jordan let her gaze trail down to her hands. The transmutation circle on her left hand was still there, if not a little distracting. She tried to rub it out on her knee, smudging the ink lines into unserviceable blurs. That array was probably what had made that transmutation in the first place, and she didn't need it causing any more trouble by accident.

“I hate my life,” she muttered. She looked back up at the ceiling. “God, you are an evil bastard if you exist, you know that? You really don't like people who don't believe in you. What the hell happened to 'loving all your children' or whatever that was? You don't like me being happy. Period. You are not making a good impression on me.”

She groaned then. “Great, now I'm going insane, even though I've only been in here for a few hours at most,” she sighed. “How wonderful. Next the ceiling is going to be talking back to me.”

She stared silently at the ceiling for several more minutes, sinking into another deep trance of thought. She was snapped out of it soon by clicking footsteps and the jingling of keys from down the hall. She stood and went to the bars of her cell to see Hawkeye returning.

Jordan stepped back as Hawkeye unlocked the cell door and let herself in. The lieutenant gave a tiny attempt at a reassuring smile and set down a small metal tray—holding what was presumably Jordan's nighttime meal—on the floor near the cot that served as a sleeping space.

Jordan watched this in silence, then sighed and looked back up at the woman. “So has the colonel said anything about what he's going to do with me yet?” she asked.

Hawkeye shook her head. “Not to me,” she replied. “Whatever he's doing, he insists on keeping it to himself.”

“Great.” Jordan dropped herself on the cot and cast a look down at the food tray. A bowl of stew and a couple slices of bread beside it made up her dinner. Jordan made a face. Not only were the portions meager, but stew had never been her food of choice.

“But,” Hawkeye continued after a few seconds of silence, “I do apologize for the mess you've been put into.” Jordan looked up, confused by the sympathy. “I don't know whether you're innocent or not, but protocol is protocol regardless of the circumstances. With any luck, we'll have this sorted out within the next few days.”

Jordan shrugged a little. “It's not your fault,” she said. “I still maintain that I have no idea what's going on, but you're right. Rules are rules and whatnot, so . . .”

Hawkeye was a little bit surprised by the way the girl seemed to be more maturely handling the situation than most her age would. She kept the thought private. “I suggest you get some sleep,” she instead added.

“I’ll make an effort.”

After listening to the lieutenant’s footsteps disappear down the empty hallway, Jordan looked back down at her meal. After studying the contents for a moment, she came to a conclusion: she had no idea how to function a spoon, let alone do so in a dignified manner, with her hands bound as they were.

“Well. Isn’t that nice,” she remarked dryly as she sat down on the floor to reach her food. “Oh well. At least they feed me, even if I’m too picky to like the food.” She picked up a piece of the bread and dipped it into the bowl of stew, deciding that, in her situation, she couldn’t afford to be choosy about her food.

Once finished, and for the most part satisfied, Jordan climbed awkwardly onto the cot, made herself as comfortable as she could with her hands bound as they were, and attempted to sleep. It turned out sleeping was even more difficult to accomplish than she had predicted; she spent several hours drifting in and out of a light doze, never quite falling all the way asleep.

When she had finally gotten to sleep, she only had twenty minutes before the first lieutenant returned. Jordan groaned when she was awoken again by the jingling keys and the squeal of hinges as the door swung open. She rolled over onto her other side to look blankly at the blond woman in the doorway.

“The colonel wants to see you now,” Hawkeye said, making a gesture back out into the hallway.

“Alright . . .” Dismayed and still exhausted, Jordan awkwardly swung her legs over the edge of her cot and stood, fighting momentarily for balance. Hawkeye removed the plank of wood binding the girl’s hands and led her out of the cell.

-----

Why the hell have I been dragged here? Ed wondered again. Sitting with his arms and legs crossed, his brow furrowed in agitation, it was clear he was not happy to be in Colonel Mustang’s office. He wisely kept his thoughts to himself, knowing to say anything would only serve to irritate the colonel at his desk.

Which, in itself, may not have been a bad idea.

A brisk knock at the door interrupted any further thoughts. Mustang, expecting the visit, coolly set down the pen he had been using to fill out his near-overdue papers and looked to the door.

Hawkeye opened the door and ushered in a teenage girl ahead of her. Ed raised an eyebrow at the girl as he cast a brief look over her, blankly noting her messy ponytail, slightly askew glasses, tired expression, and the lower half of a military uniform. Perhaps it was due to his lack of desire to be there, but Ed failed to see anything truly significant about this person at all. She certainly didn’t look the part of an alchemist of any level.

“So,” Mustang began as he stood up and paced around to the front of his desk, “you never told me your name yesterday.”

“Jordan,” the girl answered slowly, her eyes locked on the colonel.

“Well then, Jordan,” said the colonel smoothly, “I think I have a way to let this, ah, incident slip without any trouble and pretend it never happened. So few people know about it that it shouldn’t matter.”

Ed sat up in his seat, surprised. Since when did Mustang ever offer a deal?

Jordan seemed to think along the same lines, her expression changing to something wary, although she was ready to leap at almost any opportunity to leave. “Okay . . . So what do I have to do?”

“First, another question,” Mustang said lightly. “First, how much do you know about alchemy?”

“Very little.”

“Did you use a transmutation circle yesterday for that transmutation?”

“I . . . really don’t know.” Jordan was growing suspicious as to what these questions had to do with her freedom, but she had no choice but to answer. “I don’t know how I did that transmutation yesterday, I really don’t. I guess it had to do with that little one I drew on the back of my hand, but I really don’t know.” Jordan looked down at the smudged array on her hand.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Mustang’s mouth. He had his own suspicions. “Now, onto my proposition,” he said, straightening his pose a little. “In one month, Central will be hosting the next state alchemist’s exam. I want you to take the exam, and pass.” He watched in amusement as the eyes of both teenagers in the room widened comically.

Jordan felt her stomach drop. “But . . . Colonel Mustang,” she said, “I don’t even know anything about alchemy. How am I supposed to take the exam, let alone pass it?”

He seemed not to hear her question, continuing on. “If you pass, you’ll become a full-fledged state alchemist, meaning that any accusations of pretending to be will be pointless. However, if you fail . . .” He paused, gauging her reaction. “I’ll have no choice but to follow through with standard procedure and press charges for your impersonation. That means you would be in prison for, at the very least, three years.”

“What?!” both Ed and Jordan exclaimed, the former jumping to his feet. Jordan, hearing another voice, looked to her side at Ed. This was the first time that she realized he was even in the room.

Well. This would be so much more amazing if I weren’t in so much trouble, she couldn’t help thinking. She quickly shook off the thought, returning to more pressing matters. “Colonel, I can’t take the exam! I don’t know the first thing about alchemy and I don’t even have anybody to teach me! Besides, one month can’t be enough to-”

“Calm down, both of you,” Mustang said calmly. “It turns out that I already have that planned out for you.”

“You . . . do?” Jordan asked, taken aback.

Mustang nodded, then looked over at Ed. He couldn’t help a little smile as he gestured toward Jordan and said, very seriously, “Edward, meet your student.”

Ed waited a second as the information sunk in. When it did, he snapped.

“You want me to do what?!” he yelled. “Damn it, Colonel, you can’t drag me away from a lead on the Philosopher’s Stone for crap like this! You really expect me to play teacher to some girl that I’ve never met before in my li-”

“That’s an order, Fullmetal!” Mustang barked, silencing Ed mid-sentence. “You don’t have much of a choice in this matter. You’ll teach her everything you can in the next month. It’s an assignment and you’ll complete it like you would anything else.”

Ed wasn’t convinced. “Why should I?” he demanded. “Why are you so interested in this girl, anyway? You know that it’s nearly impossible to pass the test as it is, especially if you’re young!”

“You did it,” Mustang remarked blandly. “And now I expect you to help her. I have my reasons, Edward, and I expect that you stop questioning me and worry about your orders.”

Ed cast a look over at Jordan as though she were the direct source of his problems; she noticed this and awkwardly cleared her throat, looking up at an interesting ceiling tile.

Finally, Ed heaved a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fine, whatever. Obviously I don’t have a choice,” he muttered.

“Good. Then you’re dismissed.” Mustang smiled again and added, “Have fun.”

Ed scowled and turned to leave. Jordan looked between the two and hesitantly followed Edward out the door and into the hallway.

Jordan felt increasingly uneasy as they walked down the hall. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and fixed it twice, adjusted her glasses, later cleaned her glasses on her shirt to appear busy, and struggled to think of a way to open any sort of line of communication, all the while hoping she didn’t look too anxious.

“Look, I’m really sorry about this,” she finally said, looking back at Ed. He lifted his gaze from his boots to make eye contact. “I know you’ve probably got a million other things right now that you could be doing, but I barely have any idea what’s going on or how I got myself into this mess. Just . . . totally lost and everything, so . . . Sorry.”

Ed let out a heavy breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, don’t be,” he said with a brief shake of his head. “That bastard’s always trying to piss me off however he can, and I guess this is just another way to do it. He could have picked anyone else in his little pack of dogs to do it, but I’m his favorite.”

“Yeah . . .” Jordan coughed to once again clear her throat out of nervous reflex. “So anyway, uh, my name’s Jordan, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” she said, offering a hand in polite greeting.

“I’m Edward,” the blond replied. He grasped her hand in his for a quick shake; Jordan could feel the weight of the automail she knew was hidden under the white glove. “And I hope you’re ready for this. Alchemy’s a lot of hard work, and it’s going to be even harder for you because you only have a month. Most alchemists train for years before doing something like this.”

Jordan smirked and gave a shrug. “That’s okay,” she said, even though her mind raced with thoughts about her problem. “I like challenges.”