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Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 5
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: May 1, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Nothing this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Just a short chapter. But, it has Fullmetal indulging in his "inner Ed-ness"! As always, thanks to my betas, and thanks to everyone who's been reading this!
Book 1: Analysis
Chapter 5 - Thursday
The world was coming closer to him again. A hazy light was piercing the darkness. Fragmented sensations reached him. He welcomed it all, but at the same time…
“Can’t go out.”
“Stay.”
“Hide.”
“I know.”
He remembered that much. He was hiding here. Sleeping. Waiting.
So, why was something drawing him out?
“He is subconsciously reaching for you.” That voice again.
“He?”
“The other one. The piece you left behind.”
“Piece? He doesn’t… feel like me.”
“No,” the voice sounded sad, “not anymore.”
A flicker of memory came to him then, a realization. It sent a sudden flash of hot fury through him.
“He’s trying to do their dirty work again.”
“He can’t help it,” the voice was mildly reproachful. “He’s merely their puppet.”
“Ha! Their good little dog is more like it.”
Pity filled him then. They were the ones who deserved his anger after all. The other one couldn’t help what they had made him.
“Yes,” the voice agreed, whether with his words or his sentiments he wasn’t sure.
But, the voice didn’t speak again, and he struggled to go back to sleep. To dive down beneath the other voices where his lost and changed – mutilated – piece could not find him.
But, he could still feel that insistent tug.
----------------------------------------------------------
Thursday morning dawned sunny and wonderfully dry. That alone brought a small smile to the Fullmetal Alchemist’s lips as he sat up in bed and stretched. Then, he rotated first his right arm followed by his left leg. His automail responded easily with none of the dull pain that had been plaguing him along the connection sites. Thursday was officially a good day.
Humming an off-key variant of a particularly catchy tune the radio had become fond of lately, he headed for the shower. As he washed, he debated a plan of attack.
Yesterday, he and Colonel Smug had finally finished their notes on the first “chapter” of Parker’s research. Rather than continuing on to the next chapter, they had mutually agreed to focus on the first and try to crack the code before continuing. It was slow going, but the Colonel’s subordinates had already provided them with a binder full of information, alternately verifying and correcting the information on the first several places included in Parker’s account. Whoever the Colonel had researching the eastern part of the country was good.
They had even found his clock tower. Again.
And, a pattern was beginning to emerge in what Parker reported correctly and what he deliberately falsified. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. They were slowly chipping away at Parker’s code.
And, his head had never been clearer. At least not that he could remember.
There was a constant murmur in the back of his mind, but he hadn’t experienced another attack. Yet.
He had experienced more vivid dreams than usual. Dreams that were, for the first time in years, creeping into his waking memory with images of that little blond boy. The one with the wide brown eyes. The one who smiled at him, laughed with him, fought with him, huddled up close to him as a storm raged outside.
The dreams – memories? – were pleasant, but Fullmetal stubbornly set his jaw as he began to towel dry. He couldn’t let himself relax. An attack would come sooner or later. He had had breakthroughs before where moments of clarity were only the calm before the storm. And, this time, he couldn’t let his “condition” or the voices defeat him.
Holding that thought tightly, he reached for his clothes. It was a Thursday, so that meant the gray shirt.
Said shirt was on but unbuttoned, and he had one leg in his pants when there was a sudden thudding at his door. Fullmetal jerked his head up and eyed the door suspiciously. He never got visitors. His hands twitched involuntarily as red eyes and an even redder puddle flashed through his mind.
“Hey!” a voice called from the door, “Elric! General Grand sent us to escort you to the National Library.”
Oh. A piece of his good mood dropped away.
“Just a minute,” he responded automatically, hopping as he hurried to pull on his pants.
It took about three minutes to button his shirt, stuff it into his pants and then find his shoes where he had kicked them off the night before. That done, he grabbed a black jacket and made his way to the door. He threw it open and found himself level with a uniformed chest. Blinking, Fullmetal took a few steps back to better see the hulking man filling his doorway. As he did so, a large mustache, glasses and a head of fair hair came into view topping the solid, broad-shouldered body.
“You Elric?” the man asked. There was an odd expression on his face. Perhaps he had been expecting someone more imposing. Someone taller.
Biting off a growl at the thought, Fullmetal answered. “Yes, I’m Elric.”
“We’re the escorts the General assigned to you.” Fullmetal could see a second, equally large man with dark hair standing behind the first. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” The alchemist pulled on his jacket before turning to close and lock his door. Then, he patted his pockets. Keys, State Alchemist’s pocket watch… That should be everything.
“We’ve got a car waiting,” said the second man, motioning down the hall. He was also eyeing the gray-haired alchemist oddly.
Fullmetal ignored it and started forward. Then, he frowned and stopped suddenly. “Hey, I haven’t had anything to eat yet. And, they sure don’t serve anything in the library.” He looked back at the two men. “I usually stop by a place just down the street.”
The two soldiers exchanged a glance, but the first one nodded after a moment.
“Fine. We’ll walk you there.”
Fullmetal nodded and turned to head for the stairs. So he had to have bodyguards. It wasn’t important. It was an embarrassment he could live with. Just a minor detail really. Because he had bigger fish to fry.
Fifteen minutes later, Fullmetal’s good mood had dampened further. Frowning, he let his eyes flick between the two men positioned to either side of him as they made their way through the bustle of morning foot traffic. Sandwiched between the two hulking soldiers, he felt like a prisoner. He also felt very… small.
A growl worked its way out of his throat. Who was the general saying was a tiny little man who couldn’t protect himself from even a stray cat?
Suddenly seething, the alchemist had to fight not to stomp his feet as he walked. Stomping was all too obvious when one of your legs was steel up to just above the knee. It was also childish. But, maybe he shouldn’t care if people thought he was childish. He was useless and insane, after all. The military’s charity case. He might as well use his status as a cracked POW to indulge in juvenile behavior. At least he could amuse himself.
That in mind, he abruptly stopped. His “bodyguards” actually continued for several strides before noticing his absence. When they did, both spun around faster than he would have giving them credit for. Meaty hands reached for their sidearms as they searched the crowded sidewalk.
Fullmetal ignored their frantic motions and turned to look into the nearest storefront. It was a bakery with some wonderful-looking breakfast pastries on display.
“Elric!”
Oh, they’d finally spotted him.
In an instant, the two burly officers were at his side.
“Hey, Elric,” the bespectacled man began, “did something happen?”
“No.” Fullmetal shook his head. “I found breakfast.” He grinned.
----------------------------------------------------------
The guards flanking the door to the basement room stared as the Fullmetal Alchemist made his entrance. If yesterday’s display of temper had been strange, today’s ear to ear grin was oddly terrifying.
The gray-haired man had some kind of pastry stuffed in his mouth, further stretching his grin, and a smudge of jelly on the end of his crooked nose. In his arms was a brown paper bag. And, towering over him, their faces creased into fearsome scowls, were two hulking men in uniforms. His diminutive size thus highlighted by his companions’ bulk, the alchemist looked like some strange parody of a child.
A parody that stopped in front of them and looked up, contemplating. His yellow-gold eyes scrutinized each guard in turn as his lips twitched with some private joke. Slowly, the pastry in his mouth disappeared.
“Sir?” one of the guards began cautiously.
He started as the alchemist thrust the bag in his hands up at him.
“Danish?” Fullmetal offered.
The guards exchanged a look. Behind Fullmetal, his apparent bodyguards just looked stony.
“Oh, c’mon.” Fullmetal huffed in exasperation at all of them. “I’m sure you’ve all already heard that I’m crazy. Crazy people act weird sometimes. Just be glad I’m being generous weird and take a blasted Danish.”
The guards looked from the now scowling alchemist to the paper bag. Then, they tentatively reached for the bag.
Smiling again, Fullmetal turned his head to look at the two men behind him. “You guys can go now. I’ll be holed up in here for the rest of the day.”
The men eyed him warily.
Fullmetal sighed. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got work to do. I’ll be here until the library closes.”
The men exchanged a long look. Something they had been doing all morning.
Then the dark-haired one spoke up. “Alright. But, we’ll be waiting at the entrance. And, no more little trips,” he added.
His partner nodded. “If you try sneaking out the back or something, we’ll find you.”
Fullmetal shifted the bag he held to free up one hand and waved it negligently. “Yeah, yeah. I got it,” he said. Hearing them start back down the hall, he focused his attention on the sentries. They were eyeing the Danish they had taken as though the innocent pastries might be poisoned. He rolled his eyes and addressed them both. “Hey, is Colonel Smug here?”
“Er…” Obviously, thrown by his nickname for Mustang, the guard to the right stammered an answer. “He’s not here yet, Sir.”
Fullmetal grinned. “Good.”
Then, pulling a fresh pastry from his bag, he strode into the study room.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang had greeted the morning with all the gusto of a man who has gotten too little sleep over the course of far too many days. Which is to say that he had sworn viciously at the light brightening his apartment, rolled over and pretended that his internal clock wasn’t telling him it was time to get up. But, a decade’s worth of ingrained habit couldn’t be defeated so easily. Nor could the thought that, should he not report in, either Grand or Hawkeye would come to find him and verify that he wasn’t Scar’s most recent victim. Both would come armed, Grand with soldiers and Hawkeye with enough guns on her person to equip said soldiers. Waking up to either kicking his door down would not be fun nor would the interrogation to follow. If he was lucky, Grand would find him first. But, that was probably wishful thinking. So, that in mind, Mustang was soon up and on his way to the National Library.
Stopping for coffee along the way was an imperative. Because it had been a long and frustrating night with few rewards for his efforts, and those few were bittersweet at best.
First, he had hit a dead end in his efforts to connect Fullmetal and Parker. While Snow hadn’t been able to give him the details that were no doubt included in Fullmetal’s official report on the Cornello case, it wasn’t hard to assume that whatever “miracles” the false priest had performed had been done with the aid of some form of alchemic amplifier. Not an entirely original idea. All manner of con artists routinely used alchemy for a variety of petty tricks. But, if Parker, who had made amplifiers his field of study, was interested in whatever this Cornello used, it must have been either more powerful than the norm or otherwise unique. Interesting and possibly worth further study for the Philosopher’s Stone project, but it wasn’t much help in solidifying a connection between Parker and Fullmetal.
With a few more errands to run, Mustang had thanked Snow for the information and made arrangements to come back and check the paper’s archives when he had more time. Sadly, he hadn’t left in time to save his pants. Getting the cat hair out of his black dress pants was going to be a chore.
But, it was a bother he had ignored as he headed out into the deepening twilight to find dinner and meet some other old acquaintances. Unfortunately, none of his contacts had had any useful information. Nothing to explain General Grand’s bizarre confidence in this Philosopher’s Stone project at any rate.
Tired of dead ends, he had spent the remainder of the evening and into the night poring over Hughes’ information. It proved to be less frustrating but more disturbing. Because Maes Hughes might not know alchemy per se – though he was clever enough to understand the basics – but he was very good at what he did. And, Hughes was correct. This “Scar” was using alchemy. Exactly what sort of reaction he was creating within his victims’ bodies was debatable. The human body was composed of enough different elements to give an alchemist numerous options, especially when combined with what materials might be present in the surrounding area. Mustang had clear, chilling memories of a State Alchemist named Kimblee who delighted in transmuting human bodies into living bombs.
At least Kimblee was now safely locked away in a military prison for turning his “talents” against his fellow soldiers. Scar was still at large and a danger to any State Alchemist he met. And, it was probably too much to hope that he wouldn’t eventually branch out in his targets, most likely to the military at large but possibly even to civilian alchemists. However, unless Scar met him on the streets, there wasn’t anything he could do about the situation at the moment.
So, tired and frustrated, Mustang found himself grumpily stalking through the library’s corridors. At the top of the stairs leading down to the study room he finally remembered that he had intended to look at Fullmetal’s file just to be certain the Cornello case was a dead end.
“Well, it will have to wait,” he grumbled to himself as he descended the stairs.
Surely this day couldn’t get any worse.
Lost in his personal thundercloud, the colonel traded only a curt nod with the guards at the door. He completely failed to notice the apprehensive glances they threw into the room as he stepped inside. However, there was no missing the Cheshire grin stretching the haggard face of his temporary partner.
“Ahhh, Colonel Smug finally made it,” said Fullmetal.
Well, it was something like that. Given he was talking around a huge mouthful of… pastry by the look of it, the exact words were open to interpretation. Mustang debated some alternate interpretations of the “smug” part, but couldn’t find one that was any more flattering. Instead, he crossed the room slowly, trying to hide the sudden wariness Fullmetal’s grin had prompted.
He had seen the Fullmetal Alchemist when he was pleased with himself. Particularly when he had proved he was right about that blasted clock tower. But, this was not pleased. This was delighted, in that particularly vicious way that usually meant certain doom for whomever it was directed toward.
For the first time, Mustang wondered just how mentally disturbed the other alchemist was.
But, as he sat down at the table, Fullmetal just slid a sheet of paper toward him. “I was right,” he said, finally swallowing his food. “Parker’s alliteration is just a red herring.”
Mustang stared at the gray-haired alchemist a moment before looking down at the paper. From the look of it, Fullmetal had finished cataloguing every instance of alliteration in Parker’s notes. Picking out the letters Parker had repeated and writing them down in order had indeed produced a message. But, it was doubtful that the crude comment it spelled out concerning the now deceased General Hakuro held any deep alchemic secrets.
“This is unlikely to be the only—” Mustang began.
Fullmetal cut him off by leaning forward to dangle another sheet of paper in front of his face. This one was a rough, handwritten copy of a page from the fake travelogue with a series of transmutation circles drawn over the words.
“I know,” the older man said simply. “If you take the fact that the alliteration is always in threes, figure in the number of times Parker uses it and draw lines between the alliterated phrases on any given page…” Fullmetal slapped the page down on the table. “Tycho’s Array. Well,” he corrected himself, “a variation on it.” He yanked the page back to study it a moment. “It’s actually pretty nice, taking into account the feedback from the transmutation and limiting it.” Fullmetal carelessly flung the page toward Mustang. “If we wanted to do some transmutations involving automail, we’d be set.” He clenched his right hand. “But, I’ll pass, thanks.”
To hide his surprise, Mustang bent to study the second page for several minutes. He read and re-read it, taking his time and forcing himself to ignore the other alchemist, whom he was certain was still watching him with that demented glee. After a moment, he looked up to search the table for the binder with the notes. It seemed Fullmetal had anticipated him because the binder was thrust into his face before he could even start. Taking it with a grunt, Mustang bent back to work.
Twenty minutes later, he gave up. No matter how he looked at it, there was no mistake in the other alchemist’s work. Fullmetal was correct; the alliteration could be alternately interpreted to produce a version of one of the arrays that had been a breakthrough in the development of modern automail.
After another moment, Mustang looked up.
“You worked all of this out just this morning?”
Fullmetal shrugged. “I had a hunch.”
“A hunch,” Mustang echoed in a monotone.
The gray-haired man nodded.
Mustang tried not to let his surprise show. Was this why the military kept Fullmetal on? Did he often have flashes of his old brilliance like this? But, this was more than a moment of clarity, he thought as he studied the other man. For the first time since they had met, there was life in Fullmetal’s eyes. Behind the smug grin there was a genuine happiness.
This, the colonel realized, was a glimmer of the Fullmetal Alchemist Snow remembered. The Fullmetal Alchemist whose exploits had made headlines even in Central for being some sort of lovable rogue of a folk hero.
A “lovable” rogue who suddenly reached to pull the research binder back to his side of the table and ask, “So, now that I’ve proved my point, we should focus on Parker’s references to times and places, don’t you think?”
For an instant, Mustang almost wished for the old Fullmetal back. But, forcefully reminding himself that the man had spent ten years in a Drachman prison and deserved what happiness he could find, he quietly reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
-----------------------------------------------------
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: May 1, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Nothing this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Just a short chapter. But, it has Fullmetal indulging in his "inner Ed-ness"! As always, thanks to my betas, and thanks to everyone who's been reading this!
Book 1: Analysis
Chapter 5 - Thursday
The world was coming closer to him again. A hazy light was piercing the darkness. Fragmented sensations reached him. He welcomed it all, but at the same time…
“Can’t go out.”
“Stay.”
“Hide.”
“I know.”
He remembered that much. He was hiding here. Sleeping. Waiting.
So, why was something drawing him out?
“He is subconsciously reaching for you.” That voice again.
“He?”
“The other one. The piece you left behind.”
“Piece? He doesn’t… feel like me.”
“No,” the voice sounded sad, “not anymore.”
A flicker of memory came to him then, a realization. It sent a sudden flash of hot fury through him.
“He’s trying to do their dirty work again.”
“He can’t help it,” the voice was mildly reproachful. “He’s merely their puppet.”
“Ha! Their good little dog is more like it.”
Pity filled him then. They were the ones who deserved his anger after all. The other one couldn’t help what they had made him.
“Yes,” the voice agreed, whether with his words or his sentiments he wasn’t sure.
But, the voice didn’t speak again, and he struggled to go back to sleep. To dive down beneath the other voices where his lost and changed – mutilated – piece could not find him.
But, he could still feel that insistent tug.
----------------------------------------------------------
Thursday morning dawned sunny and wonderfully dry. That alone brought a small smile to the Fullmetal Alchemist’s lips as he sat up in bed and stretched. Then, he rotated first his right arm followed by his left leg. His automail responded easily with none of the dull pain that had been plaguing him along the connection sites. Thursday was officially a good day.
Humming an off-key variant of a particularly catchy tune the radio had become fond of lately, he headed for the shower. As he washed, he debated a plan of attack.
Yesterday, he and Colonel Smug had finally finished their notes on the first “chapter” of Parker’s research. Rather than continuing on to the next chapter, they had mutually agreed to focus on the first and try to crack the code before continuing. It was slow going, but the Colonel’s subordinates had already provided them with a binder full of information, alternately verifying and correcting the information on the first several places included in Parker’s account. Whoever the Colonel had researching the eastern part of the country was good.
They had even found his clock tower. Again.
And, a pattern was beginning to emerge in what Parker reported correctly and what he deliberately falsified. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. They were slowly chipping away at Parker’s code.
And, his head had never been clearer. At least not that he could remember.
There was a constant murmur in the back of his mind, but he hadn’t experienced another attack. Yet.
He had experienced more vivid dreams than usual. Dreams that were, for the first time in years, creeping into his waking memory with images of that little blond boy. The one with the wide brown eyes. The one who smiled at him, laughed with him, fought with him, huddled up close to him as a storm raged outside.
The dreams – memories? – were pleasant, but Fullmetal stubbornly set his jaw as he began to towel dry. He couldn’t let himself relax. An attack would come sooner or later. He had had breakthroughs before where moments of clarity were only the calm before the storm. And, this time, he couldn’t let his “condition” or the voices defeat him.
Holding that thought tightly, he reached for his clothes. It was a Thursday, so that meant the gray shirt.
Said shirt was on but unbuttoned, and he had one leg in his pants when there was a sudden thudding at his door. Fullmetal jerked his head up and eyed the door suspiciously. He never got visitors. His hands twitched involuntarily as red eyes and an even redder puddle flashed through his mind.
“Hey!” a voice called from the door, “Elric! General Grand sent us to escort you to the National Library.”
Oh. A piece of his good mood dropped away.
“Just a minute,” he responded automatically, hopping as he hurried to pull on his pants.
It took about three minutes to button his shirt, stuff it into his pants and then find his shoes where he had kicked them off the night before. That done, he grabbed a black jacket and made his way to the door. He threw it open and found himself level with a uniformed chest. Blinking, Fullmetal took a few steps back to better see the hulking man filling his doorway. As he did so, a large mustache, glasses and a head of fair hair came into view topping the solid, broad-shouldered body.
“You Elric?” the man asked. There was an odd expression on his face. Perhaps he had been expecting someone more imposing. Someone taller.
Biting off a growl at the thought, Fullmetal answered. “Yes, I’m Elric.”
“We’re the escorts the General assigned to you.” Fullmetal could see a second, equally large man with dark hair standing behind the first. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” The alchemist pulled on his jacket before turning to close and lock his door. Then, he patted his pockets. Keys, State Alchemist’s pocket watch… That should be everything.
“We’ve got a car waiting,” said the second man, motioning down the hall. He was also eyeing the gray-haired alchemist oddly.
Fullmetal ignored it and started forward. Then, he frowned and stopped suddenly. “Hey, I haven’t had anything to eat yet. And, they sure don’t serve anything in the library.” He looked back at the two men. “I usually stop by a place just down the street.”
The two soldiers exchanged a glance, but the first one nodded after a moment.
“Fine. We’ll walk you there.”
Fullmetal nodded and turned to head for the stairs. So he had to have bodyguards. It wasn’t important. It was an embarrassment he could live with. Just a minor detail really. Because he had bigger fish to fry.
Fifteen minutes later, Fullmetal’s good mood had dampened further. Frowning, he let his eyes flick between the two men positioned to either side of him as they made their way through the bustle of morning foot traffic. Sandwiched between the two hulking soldiers, he felt like a prisoner. He also felt very… small.
A growl worked its way out of his throat. Who was the general saying was a tiny little man who couldn’t protect himself from even a stray cat?
Suddenly seething, the alchemist had to fight not to stomp his feet as he walked. Stomping was all too obvious when one of your legs was steel up to just above the knee. It was also childish. But, maybe he shouldn’t care if people thought he was childish. He was useless and insane, after all. The military’s charity case. He might as well use his status as a cracked POW to indulge in juvenile behavior. At least he could amuse himself.
That in mind, he abruptly stopped. His “bodyguards” actually continued for several strides before noticing his absence. When they did, both spun around faster than he would have giving them credit for. Meaty hands reached for their sidearms as they searched the crowded sidewalk.
Fullmetal ignored their frantic motions and turned to look into the nearest storefront. It was a bakery with some wonderful-looking breakfast pastries on display.
“Elric!”
Oh, they’d finally spotted him.
In an instant, the two burly officers were at his side.
“Hey, Elric,” the bespectacled man began, “did something happen?”
“No.” Fullmetal shook his head. “I found breakfast.” He grinned.
----------------------------------------------------------
The guards flanking the door to the basement room stared as the Fullmetal Alchemist made his entrance. If yesterday’s display of temper had been strange, today’s ear to ear grin was oddly terrifying.
The gray-haired man had some kind of pastry stuffed in his mouth, further stretching his grin, and a smudge of jelly on the end of his crooked nose. In his arms was a brown paper bag. And, towering over him, their faces creased into fearsome scowls, were two hulking men in uniforms. His diminutive size thus highlighted by his companions’ bulk, the alchemist looked like some strange parody of a child.
A parody that stopped in front of them and looked up, contemplating. His yellow-gold eyes scrutinized each guard in turn as his lips twitched with some private joke. Slowly, the pastry in his mouth disappeared.
“Sir?” one of the guards began cautiously.
He started as the alchemist thrust the bag in his hands up at him.
“Danish?” Fullmetal offered.
The guards exchanged a look. Behind Fullmetal, his apparent bodyguards just looked stony.
“Oh, c’mon.” Fullmetal huffed in exasperation at all of them. “I’m sure you’ve all already heard that I’m crazy. Crazy people act weird sometimes. Just be glad I’m being generous weird and take a blasted Danish.”
The guards looked from the now scowling alchemist to the paper bag. Then, they tentatively reached for the bag.
Smiling again, Fullmetal turned his head to look at the two men behind him. “You guys can go now. I’ll be holed up in here for the rest of the day.”
The men eyed him warily.
Fullmetal sighed. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got work to do. I’ll be here until the library closes.”
The men exchanged a long look. Something they had been doing all morning.
Then the dark-haired one spoke up. “Alright. But, we’ll be waiting at the entrance. And, no more little trips,” he added.
His partner nodded. “If you try sneaking out the back or something, we’ll find you.”
Fullmetal shifted the bag he held to free up one hand and waved it negligently. “Yeah, yeah. I got it,” he said. Hearing them start back down the hall, he focused his attention on the sentries. They were eyeing the Danish they had taken as though the innocent pastries might be poisoned. He rolled his eyes and addressed them both. “Hey, is Colonel Smug here?”
“Er…” Obviously, thrown by his nickname for Mustang, the guard to the right stammered an answer. “He’s not here yet, Sir.”
Fullmetal grinned. “Good.”
Then, pulling a fresh pastry from his bag, he strode into the study room.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang had greeted the morning with all the gusto of a man who has gotten too little sleep over the course of far too many days. Which is to say that he had sworn viciously at the light brightening his apartment, rolled over and pretended that his internal clock wasn’t telling him it was time to get up. But, a decade’s worth of ingrained habit couldn’t be defeated so easily. Nor could the thought that, should he not report in, either Grand or Hawkeye would come to find him and verify that he wasn’t Scar’s most recent victim. Both would come armed, Grand with soldiers and Hawkeye with enough guns on her person to equip said soldiers. Waking up to either kicking his door down would not be fun nor would the interrogation to follow. If he was lucky, Grand would find him first. But, that was probably wishful thinking. So, that in mind, Mustang was soon up and on his way to the National Library.
Stopping for coffee along the way was an imperative. Because it had been a long and frustrating night with few rewards for his efforts, and those few were bittersweet at best.
First, he had hit a dead end in his efforts to connect Fullmetal and Parker. While Snow hadn’t been able to give him the details that were no doubt included in Fullmetal’s official report on the Cornello case, it wasn’t hard to assume that whatever “miracles” the false priest had performed had been done with the aid of some form of alchemic amplifier. Not an entirely original idea. All manner of con artists routinely used alchemy for a variety of petty tricks. But, if Parker, who had made amplifiers his field of study, was interested in whatever this Cornello used, it must have been either more powerful than the norm or otherwise unique. Interesting and possibly worth further study for the Philosopher’s Stone project, but it wasn’t much help in solidifying a connection between Parker and Fullmetal.
With a few more errands to run, Mustang had thanked Snow for the information and made arrangements to come back and check the paper’s archives when he had more time. Sadly, he hadn’t left in time to save his pants. Getting the cat hair out of his black dress pants was going to be a chore.
But, it was a bother he had ignored as he headed out into the deepening twilight to find dinner and meet some other old acquaintances. Unfortunately, none of his contacts had had any useful information. Nothing to explain General Grand’s bizarre confidence in this Philosopher’s Stone project at any rate.
Tired of dead ends, he had spent the remainder of the evening and into the night poring over Hughes’ information. It proved to be less frustrating but more disturbing. Because Maes Hughes might not know alchemy per se – though he was clever enough to understand the basics – but he was very good at what he did. And, Hughes was correct. This “Scar” was using alchemy. Exactly what sort of reaction he was creating within his victims’ bodies was debatable. The human body was composed of enough different elements to give an alchemist numerous options, especially when combined with what materials might be present in the surrounding area. Mustang had clear, chilling memories of a State Alchemist named Kimblee who delighted in transmuting human bodies into living bombs.
At least Kimblee was now safely locked away in a military prison for turning his “talents” against his fellow soldiers. Scar was still at large and a danger to any State Alchemist he met. And, it was probably too much to hope that he wouldn’t eventually branch out in his targets, most likely to the military at large but possibly even to civilian alchemists. However, unless Scar met him on the streets, there wasn’t anything he could do about the situation at the moment.
So, tired and frustrated, Mustang found himself grumpily stalking through the library’s corridors. At the top of the stairs leading down to the study room he finally remembered that he had intended to look at Fullmetal’s file just to be certain the Cornello case was a dead end.
“Well, it will have to wait,” he grumbled to himself as he descended the stairs.
Surely this day couldn’t get any worse.
Lost in his personal thundercloud, the colonel traded only a curt nod with the guards at the door. He completely failed to notice the apprehensive glances they threw into the room as he stepped inside. However, there was no missing the Cheshire grin stretching the haggard face of his temporary partner.
“Ahhh, Colonel Smug finally made it,” said Fullmetal.
Well, it was something like that. Given he was talking around a huge mouthful of… pastry by the look of it, the exact words were open to interpretation. Mustang debated some alternate interpretations of the “smug” part, but couldn’t find one that was any more flattering. Instead, he crossed the room slowly, trying to hide the sudden wariness Fullmetal’s grin had prompted.
He had seen the Fullmetal Alchemist when he was pleased with himself. Particularly when he had proved he was right about that blasted clock tower. But, this was not pleased. This was delighted, in that particularly vicious way that usually meant certain doom for whomever it was directed toward.
For the first time, Mustang wondered just how mentally disturbed the other alchemist was.
But, as he sat down at the table, Fullmetal just slid a sheet of paper toward him. “I was right,” he said, finally swallowing his food. “Parker’s alliteration is just a red herring.”
Mustang stared at the gray-haired alchemist a moment before looking down at the paper. From the look of it, Fullmetal had finished cataloguing every instance of alliteration in Parker’s notes. Picking out the letters Parker had repeated and writing them down in order had indeed produced a message. But, it was doubtful that the crude comment it spelled out concerning the now deceased General Hakuro held any deep alchemic secrets.
“This is unlikely to be the only—” Mustang began.
Fullmetal cut him off by leaning forward to dangle another sheet of paper in front of his face. This one was a rough, handwritten copy of a page from the fake travelogue with a series of transmutation circles drawn over the words.
“I know,” the older man said simply. “If you take the fact that the alliteration is always in threes, figure in the number of times Parker uses it and draw lines between the alliterated phrases on any given page…” Fullmetal slapped the page down on the table. “Tycho’s Array. Well,” he corrected himself, “a variation on it.” He yanked the page back to study it a moment. “It’s actually pretty nice, taking into account the feedback from the transmutation and limiting it.” Fullmetal carelessly flung the page toward Mustang. “If we wanted to do some transmutations involving automail, we’d be set.” He clenched his right hand. “But, I’ll pass, thanks.”
To hide his surprise, Mustang bent to study the second page for several minutes. He read and re-read it, taking his time and forcing himself to ignore the other alchemist, whom he was certain was still watching him with that demented glee. After a moment, he looked up to search the table for the binder with the notes. It seemed Fullmetal had anticipated him because the binder was thrust into his face before he could even start. Taking it with a grunt, Mustang bent back to work.
Twenty minutes later, he gave up. No matter how he looked at it, there was no mistake in the other alchemist’s work. Fullmetal was correct; the alliteration could be alternately interpreted to produce a version of one of the arrays that had been a breakthrough in the development of modern automail.
After another moment, Mustang looked up.
“You worked all of this out just this morning?”
Fullmetal shrugged. “I had a hunch.”
“A hunch,” Mustang echoed in a monotone.
The gray-haired man nodded.
Mustang tried not to let his surprise show. Was this why the military kept Fullmetal on? Did he often have flashes of his old brilliance like this? But, this was more than a moment of clarity, he thought as he studied the other man. For the first time since they had met, there was life in Fullmetal’s eyes. Behind the smug grin there was a genuine happiness.
This, the colonel realized, was a glimmer of the Fullmetal Alchemist Snow remembered. The Fullmetal Alchemist whose exploits had made headlines even in Central for being some sort of lovable rogue of a folk hero.
A “lovable” rogue who suddenly reached to pull the research binder back to his side of the table and ask, “So, now that I’ve proved my point, we should focus on Parker’s references to times and places, don’t you think?”
For an instant, Mustang almost wished for the old Fullmetal back. But, forcefully reminding himself that the man had spent ten years in a Drachman prison and deserved what happiness he could find, he quietly reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
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Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
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*still honestly doesn't know what to make of this story...*
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And, well... the next chapter will be the end of Book 1. Whether it will help explain things further or not, I can't say for sure. (Sage is an awesome beta reader, but not a good judge of these things because she knows how I think too well.)
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Ed is like that ;) And, it occurs to me now that maybe he should have given them charming little nicknames too.
--I can't believe I was cheering over pastries.--
*laughs* I dunno. I could cheer over a good orange Danish. Anyways, it was so much fun to write Fullmetal's, "They want crazy? I'll give them crazy!"
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finallytell us what that's all about!no subject
I'm glad you're enjoying that! It was a lot of fun to write too.
--I'm still fascinated by these voice in Ed's head and can't wait for you to finally tell us what that's all about!--
Hopefully, much of that will clear up in the next chapter. I hope, I hope.
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