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Ed leaned back, exhausted with Zhukov's lack of reply. Of course he couldn't find out what was happening, he was just a civilian after all. He sighed and looked down, formulating his next question.

"What's to happen to me now?"

Zhukov mused on the problem, wondering what to do.

"You have the privilege to meet the Premier, and far be it from me to reject this honour on your behalf... so you will be heading to Moscow. My pilot can take you; I have a funny feeling I won't be needing my transport. Polkovnik, you will accompany him."

"As you wish, Marshall, but what of my men?"

"Your unit is being seconded for the assault on the Reichstag, they'll be under Polkovnik Bagraiman's command."

"Oh... I see." The Polkovnik seemed dismayed he couldn't keep a better watch over his men, but accepted it as another decision by command.

The pair headed towards the door, before Ed turned back, one last request in mind.

"Sir... could you try and prevent the rear-guard from..."

"We already have a shoot-on-sight policy enforced, I enacted it earlier. We're doing our best to reign it in, but we can only do it from the top."

Ed nodded, before heading out himself.

Zhukov leaned back in his chair, picking up the accordion and playing an old song he had learnt long years before when the world was still sensible, thinking of the winter of '41 and the desperation to hold Moscow.

An aide knocked on the door.

"Tovarish Marshalla, what of the Reichstag?"

The accordion sang another note, as Zhukov considered.

"Make sure the soldiers raise the flag over it, and wave it high. Make sure the world remembers the day it fell."

**

The two made their way along the never-ending corridor, avoiding one another's gaze. It was all he could do to simply put one foot in front of the other. He accepted the guilt, just as he now did with Ishbal, and let the waves of self-loathing overwhelm those of pity, trying to understand why he had wasted two whole years in the cold.

His thoughts were rudely broken by someone shouting out from down the corridor. Riza threw him flat against the wall, keeping the man covered with her pistol, while Mustang pulled on his gloves. They should have said something, they both realised, as the guard opened fire with a sub-machine gun, spraying down the corridor. Riza ducked as Mustang raised his arm to click, then returned fire as she realised that alchemy obviously didn't work here.

Crap.

In addition to the fact that he had left her for no reason, now he was useless in a fight too. He stayed close to the wall, hoping that her aim with a pistol would be enough to down the guard before reinforcements arrived.

The man crumpled, one of Riza's shots striking him in the lungs. She stood up, keeping her pistol levelled at the turn in the corridor.

"Come on. We need to find out where the hell we are."

She walked on a few steps, before realising he was simply standing in the open, staring at his hands. She took her revolver out of its concealed holster on her leg and gently pushed it into his hands.

"Stay alive."

He looked up, thankful. She always did have the power to break or reform him as she wished.

Gripping the revolver, he pulled back the hammer.

Six shots.

Six shots to redeem himself.

He straightened up, rising to his full height, as they made their way on together, ready for the next target.

**

Sensation slowly returned to him, his brain firing up again. It took a few minutes for him to become aware that he was even alive. Fuery coughed and spluttered, blinking in confusion as the red-eyed woman pulled away from his mouth.

"He's alive."

Was it...?

Another figure wrapped a towel around him, red eyes peering earnestly into his.

"How are you feeling?"

His mind turned in confusion: Lust and Scar must have just recovered him from drowning.

After a few minutes to splutter out "Alive thank you" he gently stood up, looking around him. They were just outside of the city, flames rising to what he assumed was the East as the sewer water flowed past them, stabbing pains in his side from where the carriage had collided with him.

"You looked quite a gonner." She said. "We honestly thought you were dead, but you were murmuring."

Scar nodded. "We thought it best to pull you out."

"W...Where are we?"

"Just outside Berlin. We're heading towards the American lines; We heard they were West of the Elbe, and beyond we can get to France."

"What we heard from Prussia is so awful we decided to get out of the city before the Russians completely encircled it." Scar added.

"I need to get back... the others..."

Lust sadly shook her head. "Look at our home. There is no way anyone could survive going back."

As if to punctuate her point, a shell sent clumps of soil and brick sailing into the air behind them. Fuery sighed, judging that going AWOL was better than getting killed when everyone already probably thought him dead, especially in his condition. They helped him up onto their cart as he yelped in pain, before urging the pony onward to the West.

Exhausted, he lay back on the bed of straw in the back of the cart, exhaling quietly.

"Umm... miss? What's France like?"

She turned to him, smiling.

"It's a pretty country, filled with food, culture and laughter."

"That sounds... nice." Kain fell back, letting sleep overcome him as the cart rattled on, a slight smile on his face.