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Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 6
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: May 4, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Some blood.
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: Thanks to everyone who's been reading!
Book 1: Analysis
Chapter 6 - Friday
The outside world was right there. He could see hazy impressions, hear muted words. He could feel, taste, smell. It was distant, an echo of real sensation, but he was aware of everything.
He was awake. Awake as he hadn’t been for so long. Not since he had entered this endless, timeless night.
But, awakening was not the joy his sleep-fogged self had thought it would be.
Because now he knew why he had been sleeping. He remembered. He was awake, and he remembered everything. He remembered…
“Brother!”
No. No! He couldn’t let himself go there. Anything he knew, the other one might know. And, anything the other one knew, they could learn.
So, as he had for so long, he held the promises he would not break and those he had promised close to his heart and forced them from his conscious mind. Because it wasn’t yet time to fulfill those precious promises. Not yet. Not now.
Especially not now. There hadn’t been a worse time to choose to wake up in the last twenty years.
But, he hadn’t chosen. The other one had pulled him. Pulled and pulled, dragging him from the darkness inch by inch.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” he called.
“Couldn’t.”
“Tried.”
“Too strong.”
“Hurt you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“The other part of you was pulling too strongly.” Ah, that voice. The familiar one. “The only way to stop him would have been to take you completely under again.”
“So?”
He had spent decades in oblivion. Another year or three made no difference.
“It has been too long. Your soul can only endure so much.”
“Look, I’ll decide if—” And, suddenly, he knew the voice, recognized the presence drifting closer to him. “You!” he roared, filled with a sudden visceral rage as memories long buried tried to surface. “Why? Why are you here?”
“To help you.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job of that!”
“Edward,” the voice was reproachful. “Your body and mind may still exist in the real world, but, if you retreat too far beneath the others for too long, you will lose yourself forever.”
“Lose myself?”
“Like the others.”
To lose himself like the others here. To exist as a tortured echo of himself. To forget who he was and what he had to do.
The thought settled with a sudden cold dread in the core of his being.
“But, I can’t go out,” he said, lost. “Not now. And, if he keeps pulling at me...”
“I know.”
“So, what do you expect me to do?”
“The only thing you can do. Wait.”
----------------------------------------------------------
The very air was tense as the Fullmetal Alchemist greeted the sunny Friday morning with an absent yawn. Or so it felt to him. There was a tingling beneath his skin, an anticipation. He was antsy. Ready to move, ready to run, ready for something. His mind was practically buzzing. There were no voices, and yet, it felt… crowded.
Was this from excitement? He was excited about his recent successes. Success in holding the voices at bay and success at decoding Parker’s notes. Even if he had only ruled out the decoys, he had been able to think. His head was clear and his mind sharp. And, while Parker’s code wasn’t cracked yet, he and Colonel Smug were only a few twists away from unlocking its secrets. He could feel it. If only those two big oafs Grand had saddled him with had let him stay yesterday. He had been so close…
Well, no help for it. It was a new day, and, today, Parker’s notes would offer up their secrets.
Smiling at the thought, Fullmetal began to move through his morning routine. Rotate right arm – check. Rotate left leg – check. Stand, stretch, braid hair…
His hands met empty air as he reached behind his head.
And, Fullmetal froze.
The action had become routine over the course of this very odd week, but never before had he remembered exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to braid his hair. Hair he no longer had. But, he remembered having it. Remembered the long blond hair he had worn in a loose braid down his back.
He felt a flicker of remorse at the long passed loss. His hair had been one of his few vanities. Something to make him stand out. To define him.
But, it was gone, and it wasn’t coming back anytime soon.
Shrugging it off, Fullmetal resumed his morning routine, angling for the shower. As he went, his eyes fell on the open door to his closet.
And, an idea began to form.
----------------------------------------------------------
General Grand kept his face in a scowl as the guards he had placed at the library gave him their latest report.
The younger of the guards, 2nd Lieutenant Boulton, began, “And, then, yesterday.” He hesitated, throwing a glance at his partner, 1st Lieutenant Gloster. The other man avoided his gaze, and Boulton bit his lip. “Yesterday,” he tried again.
“Get on with it!” Grand barked.
“Sir!” Boulton stiffened. “Yesterday, the Fullmetal Alchemist arrived with the guards you assigned and a bag of pastries. He was very insistent that we each take one, which we did to placate him. We did not eat them.” Boulton took a moment to choose his words. It sounded so normal when he said it, not like the bizarre scene it had been. “Fullmetal seemed… different. He was in a much… happier mood than usual. But, the unusual behavior was not problematic. From that point, Fullmetal worked quietly until Colonel Mustang arrived.”
“And then?” Grand prompted.
“They seemed to be working in their usual way until late afternoon when an argument began,” said Boulton. “That’s… not unusual, but this particular argument was quite heated.” Then, he quickly added, “However, there was no violence.” He paused. “Well, some threats were voiced as… as well as some rather crude accusations about the Colonel and Fullmetal’s relatives, but nothing physical.”
Grand swept the commentary aside with an impatient hand. Crude comments from bickering soldiers was not news.
“Was the argument concerning their research?” he growled.
“Yes, Sir,” Boulton stammered. “We entered at six o’clock to inform both alchemists that the library would be closing and to collect their research. We found them arguing at that point.”
There was a subtle shift in his partner’s stance, and Boulton darted a glance at the older man.
Taking the opening, Gloster straightened and addressed the general. “We found the Fullmetal and Flame Alchemists in an argument concerning a pattern they had uncovered in the research notes. Fullmetal was quite adamant that it was another of the research’s apparently many false leads.”
Something in Grand’s eyes sharpened. “False leads?”
Gloster gave a short nod. “Fullmetal indicated that he had already decoded two sets of decoys during his time working alone. Judging by what I overhead, Colonel Mustang doublechecked his work and agreed with his findings.”
A narrow smile curled into existence beneath Grand’s slim moustache. “Excellent work,” he said. “Report to your station as usual. I will be down to review their work later.”
“Sir!” As one, the guards saluted once more and left.
As the door closed behind them, Grand turned his gaze to the copy of Fullmetal’s official file lying on his desk. He had originally meant to give the alchemist until the end of the day at least. But, Archer had been correct. Fuhrer Bader would be addressing the assembly late in the afternoon. There was little doubt that he would be announcing his formal resignation and nominating his successor.
Grand’s eyes narrowed. He needed the secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone now. And, from the sounds of it, Fullmetal was close. In more ways than one.
The General looked to the clock. He would give Fullmetal a half hour. With any luck, by then he would have broken the code. If not, he would order the diminutive alchemist to tell him what he knew. And, Fullmetal would obey. He could do nothing less.
Grand’s thin smile widened. “I knew the information was still in that cracked head of yours, Fullmetal.”
----------------------------------------------------------
“I wonder what I should expect this morning,” Roy Mustang mused as he finished washing away the last traces of shaving cream.
Perhaps today Fullmetal would be waiting for him with a full course meal half-eaten on the table and a stack of notes at his elbow that detailed how to create a Philosopher’s Stone. Or maybe he would be late and come in leading a brass band before sitting down, the band playing all the while, and crafting an actual Philosopher’s Stone from the ether with just a clap of his hands. He didn’t know what to expect from Fullmetal anymore.
Toweling his face dry, Mustang went over the week in his mind. He had begun with a grouchy, taciturn partner who was competent if prone to debilitating headaches. Yesterday, he had found himself with a man who defined the term “eccentric genius”.
And yet, even as he stuffed his face like a starved wolverine and talked with his mouth disgustingly full, there had been a glint in the older alchemist’s eye. Fullmetal knew he was behaving like an idiot. He knew it, and he enjoyed it. And, he could get away with it because he probably hadn’t been so productive in years.
He was going to crack Parker’s code, Mustang could feel it. Whether it was his purported intellect at work or half-remembered knowledge of Parker’s methods, Fullmetal was close to a breakthrough. He probably would have stayed at the library all night to do so if his bodyguards hadn’t forcibly removed him.
And, once the code was cracked, what then?
“What indeed,” Mustang said aloud as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. For a moment, he studied his own reflection. “Fullmetal just wants to be useful. No,” the colonel corrected himself, frowning. “He wants to be the person he was again.” And, he was close, Mustang sensed. “And, me,” dark eyes narrowed, “I just want to keep pressing toward my goal.”
And, if they were successful, this project might yet help them both.
“But, is it that easy?”
His reflection had no answers.
----------------------------------------------------------
As he met them at the door to the basement study room, the guards’ reactions were a study in forced nonchalance.
Good.
“I thought I’d dress up today,” Fullmetal explained.
Oh, nice. This time, the pair weren’t fast enough to stop their eyebrows from making a joint dash up their foreheads. He, however, was somewhat more successful in hiding his grin as he glanced back at his two bodyguards. He managed to catch them rolling their eyes for what must have been the twentieth time.
Personally, he thought the wardrobe he had cobbled together was quite stylish. He wore black pants with a black button-down shirt. Nothing unusual there except he looked like he might be attending a funeral. But, to alleviate that impression, he had topped the ensemble off with a red coat. A brilliantly red coat. The color was a bit brighter than he had been aiming for, true. But, he considered it an accomplishment that his hasty array had evenly dyed the material. And, the bright color was certainly eye-catching. He liked that.
It was also somehow hauntingly familiar. But, even now, with the voices mercifully silent, memory eluded him.
“Well then,” he made a shooing gesture at the two burly bodyguards, “I’ve got work to do.” Ignoring their almost growled responses, he turned and strode for the door. His face twisted up into a toothy smirk as the two sentries before him practically scurried out of the way.
His past was something he could pursue later. Today. Today, he would do it. Today, he would decode Parker’s notes and prove that he was still useful.
Thirty minutes later, he was well on his way.
Tipping his chair back on two legs, Fullmetal grinned. Once he had recollected his train of thought from yesterday evening, it had only taken him a few minutes to finally crack the code hidden in Parker’s pattern of deliberately false information. It was at once complex and strangely simple. And, oddly, familiar.
The thought made him pause.
“Secret. Promised.”
The gray-haired alchemist tensed, nearly losing his precarious balance. But, the whispered words faded away into silence.
Fullmetal’s grin returned as he lowered his chair back to the floor. He was still in control. Shying away from whatever memory had triggered the voices, he focused on the present. He knew the code. Now, to apply it.
He reached for his pencil and paused as his eyes landed on the second chair at the table. By default, the Colonel’s chair.
Slowly, an idea began to form. The work was going so well, after all. He had time. And, it was so much fun to shock Colonel Smug.
Decision made, Fullmetal dug in his coat for the chalk he had pocketed back at his apartment. With the stick of chalk in hand, he stood and walked around to tug the second chair out from the table. Then, he knelt and carefully sketched an array onto the floor around it. He studied his handiwork for a moment before reaching to lay his hands against the circle’s outer edge. Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate.
His mind was clear, and he knew what he wanted to create. Holding the image firm in mind, he began the transmutation. Energy crackled around his hands, flowing into and following the precise lines of his construction formula.
After a moment, it was done. The light beating against his closed lids dimmed. The thrum of eager energy died away.
Fullmetal opened his eyes to survey his handiwork. The chair was there, but different, its form reshaped to match the image in his head. And, it was perfect, down to the last detail exactly as he had planned it.
For a minute, the alchemist thought of claiming it for his own. It was certainly the better chair now. Aesthetically anyway.
But, no, he wanted the Colonel to see the full effect.
Grinning with the thought, Fullmetal pushed the chair back to the table and rubbed away the chalk circle with the toe of his shoe.
Then, he resumed his own seat. Time to get back to work. Stretching out his mismatched hands, he cracked the knuckles of his left and made an impressive attempt at drawing a creak from the automail. Then, he bent over the pages laid out on the table and began to carefully apply the code to the first chapter of the false travelogue.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang breathed a sigh of relief as he strode into the records department. He wasn’t especially early, but there was enough time for a quick look at Fullmetal’s file. That in mind, he strode up to the clerk at the main desk.
“I’d like to look at the Fullmetal Alchemist’s records,” he said. “The proper name is Edward Elric. He’s an active State Alchemist.”
The sergeant at the desk blinked at him owlishly for a moment. “Fullmetal? Elric? Active?” he repeated, succinctly summing up the pertinent information. Then, he was in motion. “Just a minute.”
Startled by the man’s abrupt exit, Mustang watched as the sergeant disappeared into the depths of the records department’s shelves. Well, at that speed and given there were only a limited number of active State Alchemists, it shouldn’t take him long. The Colonel turned his thoughts toward the research waiting for him. Did it really hold the key to creating a Philosopher’s Stone? A way to overcome alchemy’s most basic law? Was such a thing possible? They were so close he would know soon.
The thought was almost frightening.
He shook it off and glanced at the clock. He had been waiting ten minutes.
Another ten passed, and he began to re-assess his earlier estimate.
Finally, the sergeant re-emerged with a disgruntled look on his face. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said, “but Fullmetal’s file doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. I don’t have a record of anyone requesting it, so it’s probably been misplaced.” His scowl was thunderous. “I’ll speak with the new interns. Could you come back this afternoon?” The look on his face indicated that he might be doing more than speaking with the interns.
Mustang found he couldn’t muster up any sympathy for their plight. Instead, he muttered an affirmative and took his leave. He was starting to think that there was a bizarre and far-reaching conspiracy at work with the sole goal of keeping him away from Fullmetal’s file. A conspiracy he would very much like to torch, he thought as he parked his car as close to the library as he could and started down the sidewalk toward the imposing structure.
“Colonel!”
Mustang turned to find 2nd Lieutenant Breda coming up behind him at a brisk walk.
“I was hoping I could catch you before you got to the library,” Breda said, holding out a slim folder. “This is the rest of the research me and Falman compiled on the eastern area.”
Mustang accepted the folder with a short nod. “Good work.” At least something was going right today.
Breda fell in a half-step behind him. He had just made a sound that might have been the start of a question when Mustang remembered a crucial detail. Breda and Falman had both read Fullmetal’s file! The thought brought him to a stop so fast the shorter man nearly plowed into him.
“Breda,” he started, turning, “Do you remember anything about an incident with a conman posing as a priest named Cornello in Fullmetal’s file?”
Recovering, Breda cocked his head. “Yeah,” he allowed after a moment’s thought, “that was the last entry before Fullmetal went MIA.”
“Was there anything about this Cornello using an alchemic amplifier?”
Breda nodded. “There was something about Fullmetal saying it was powerful but unstable. Apparently, it broke after the guy over-used it trying to fight Fullmetal.”
It was as much as Mustang had expected. Hiding his disappointment, he simply inclined his head in acknowledgement. He started to turn.
“I noticed something else in Fullmetal’s file,” Breda said suddenly. “Those places you’ve had us looking up. Interesting how Fullmetal visited all of them.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Fullmetal stared at the pages surrounding him. Slowly, he reached for the farthest sheet of paper and began carefully re-tracing his steps.
“This can’t be it!” he hissed. His automail hand snapped out to snatch up another page of notes. “Right there!” he growled to himself, laying it down and stabbing the paper with a steel pointer. “The distance Parker gives for the country. 763.2 kilometers.” With his left hand he scribbled a quick equation. “The distance is off by 42.1 kilometers. If you figure in the position on the page in relation to his next “error” and calculate that with—”
His words trailed off into incoherent mumbles as he carefully plotted a transmutation circle, following the equation buried in Parker’s writing. After several long minutes, it was done. Fullmetal swore as he laid the finished circle beside the one he had completed earlier.
They were identical.
Fullmetal’s flesh fingers dug into his short hair as he swore again.
“This can’t be it! This is all about transmuting alloys.” Fullmetal yanked his glasses off and massaged his temples. It was quiet, but his head throbbed all the same. “What does any of this have to do with the Philosopher’s Stone?”
Of course, the notes could have been a false lead all along, something whispered in the back of his mind. If so, he had cracked the uncrackable code. He had proven his mind was as sharp as ever. He had completed the task he was assigned. He had been useful even if the notes were not.
A sense of smug accomplishment cooled his frustration.
But, only for an instant.
Then, he was back in General Grand’s office the night this business first disturbed the monotony he had enjoyed for over a decade. That night when, before the Colonel arrived, Grand had looked him straight in the eye and laid down an ultimatum.
“Crack this code, Fullmetal. By the end of the week. Bring me the information on how to make a Philosopher’s Stone. That’s an order.”
Fullmetal could feel himself shaking.
He always followed orders.
Always.
“But, it’s not here,” he whispered to himself. “I can’t—” He sucked in a breath and reached for his glasses. “Maybe in the next chapters. But, I’ll need more time to—”
There was a rattle at the door, and it swung open to reveal General Grand. His eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on the transmuted chair before coming to rest squarely on the gray-haired alchemist.
“Mustang isn’t here yet?” Without waiting for an answer, he shut the door. “Good. We can get on with this.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang spun around to face Breda again so fast the other man took a startled step back. “Wait, what?” he asked.
His mind was turning Breda’s words over and over. Fullmetal… and the places in Parker’s notes… Fullmetal had visited those places. Fullmetal had spent his earliest years as a State Alchemist traveling all over the country. To the places referenced in the travelogue. Places Fullmetal would have known. Thirty years ago.
Breda was watching his commanding officer curiously. “I said, I thought it was interesting how all of the places you’ve had us research were listed in Fullmetal’s file,” he said carefully. “I assumed there must be a connection.”
Mustang groaned as the pieces finally came together. “You’re right. There is a connection. A connection between the places, Fullmetal and his blasted clock tower!”
Ignoring Breda’s confused expression, he spun and resumed his path to the library in quick strides.
“Thank you, 2nd Lieutenant,” Mustang called back. “That was exactly what I needed.”
How could he have missed it? It was suddenly so obvious.
The notes they were decoding hadn’t been written by Ulrich Parker. They had been written by Fullmetal.
----------------------------------------------------------
Fullmetal felt a chill slither down his spine as General Grand strode over to the table where he was seated. And, in that brief moment, he could have sworn he heard a voice – like and not like the voices he knew so well – quietly curse in the back of his mind.
“Well, Fullmetal,” Grand began, eyes cutting across the papers scattered around the smaller alchemist, “have you cracked the code?”
He had done his job. He had followed his orders. The news he had was nothing but the truth. Why did he feel this terrible sense of something cold and hard settling in his stomach?
“Yes, Sir,” he said. His voice sounded dull even to his own ears.
He had cracked the code. Why did he feel like he had failed?
“And?” Grand’s voice was like steel.
“The code relies on patterns hidden in which of the facts throughout the text are correct or incorrect,” Fullmetal explained in a monotone. “We’ve verified which are which for most of the first ‘chapter’ of the research. Using the data we collected, I decoded half of the first chapter.” His voice dropped as he reached to pick up one of the pages before him. “This is the transmutation circle I found. I’ve double-checked it already.”
Grand gave the paper only a cursory glance. “This is?” he asked.
“A very refined array to use in transmuting alloys.”
“Alloys,” Grand repeated.
“Yes, Sir.” Fullmetal never lifted his gaze from the table in front of him, eyes blindly staring at the scattered evidence of his failure. Why had he thought even briefly that he had succeeded? In anything? He was useless.
Useless.
He didn’t want to be useless.
He wanted to do something right.
“Fullmetal.” Grand’s voice was low and close, so close.
Fullmetal looked up to find the General leaning over him.
“This is all you’ve decoded from the notes?”
Fullmetal nodded.
“I ordered you to decode the notes.”
The smaller alchemist felt oddly light-headed. There was a pressure building in the back of his mind. A sound of some sort. “I decoded the notes, Sir. At least, the first part. With more time, maybe—”
“You’ve had the notes. You’ve had time,” Grand bit out. “Now, tell me about the Philosopher’s Stone, Fullmetal. That’s an order.”
The pressure in his head condensed into a sudden pounding.
The Philosopher’s Stone. The General wanted the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. It should be in the notes. But, it wasn’t. He needed to find it. But, he couldn’t. No. No, that was wrong. He just needed to remember it.
“Can’tcan’tcan’tcan’tcan’tcan’t!”
Fullmetal grit his teeth at the onslaught.
“The Philosopher’s Stone—” he began.
“Never, never.”
The dull, red glow of a setting sun, as crimson as the Stone itself, flooding the room where he sat in a floor strewn with papers. A sense of grief and horror.
“Can’tcan’tcan’t.”
The secret of the Philosopher’s Stone buried in words that said one thing and meant another. A week spent sequestered amid dusty texts older than the walls around him.
“Won’t let you.”
Past and present commingled as Fullmetal stared at Grand with empty eyes.
“Can’t let you.”
“It’s just like back then,” he whispered. “I remember it.”
There was a blur of motion, his shirt bit into his neck painfully, and his feet suddenly couldn’t quite find the floor. Far away, there was a crash.
“If you remember, tell me, Fullmetal,” Grand roared in his ears. “That’s an order.”
“But….,” horror crept into the slim alchemist’s golden eyes, “it’s not— The Stone. It’s—”
His tongue froze. It was horrific. The truth of the Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t something that should be spoken.
But, this was the General. And, it was an order.
He always obeyed orders.
“Don’t.”
“Will hurt.”
“Please.”
He didn’t understand. The voices were oddly pleading. Were they scared? It would be okay. It was always okay when he obeyed orders.
“No, that’s when it hurts the most.”
But, that couldn’t be true. He remembered. It only hurt when he disobeyed. He remembered.
“No.”
“Forgotten.”
“Can’t let you.”
“Promised.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone is—” he began again.
“Can’t let you.”
“Promised.”
“Promised Ed.”
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a quiet voice, oddly like his own, echoed clearly in the sudden silence.
“Do it.”
And, the world exploded.
Grand nearly dropped the gray-haired alchemist when the man let out a throat-rending scream that clawed at his eardrums. But, overcoming his surprise, he instead tightened his grip.
“Fullmetal!” he barked, shaking the smaller man like a rag doll. “Fullmetal, listen to me!”
But, there was no recalling Fullmetal now. His eyes were closed tight, and his body had started to spasm violently.
Grand swore and lowered the convulsing alchemist to the floor. For a minute, he watched the body writhe against the cold concrete, feeling his lip curl. What a pathetic waste.
His predecessors had been monumentally sloppy. Had he been in charge of Fullmetal from the beginning— Well, there was nothing to be done now but to salvage what he could. He strode to the door, considering his remaining options. Storming out into the hall, he addressed the guards.
“I need a medic immediately! You!” he threw a hand at Boulton, “see if there are any medical alchemists in the library.” He turned to Gloster. “Call the military hospital and ask for Dr. Dornier. Tell him Fullmetal’s had another fit. Go!”
“Sir!”
As the guards dashed away to carry out his orders, Grand noticed Colonel Mustang and the bodyguards he had assigned to Fullmetal heading down the hall toward him.
“Sir,” Mustang saluted, “is there a problem?”
“It seems Fullmetal’s had another of his fits,” said Grand. He eyed Mustang and the guards in turn before nodding. “Stand watch and escort the Fullmetal Alchemist to the hospital once the medics get here. I’ll join you later.”
With that, he strode down the hall. Fullmetal had been so close. If the doctors could get him conscious again, the situation might yet be salvageable.
Mustang stared after Grand in mute shock. A fit? That horrible, inhuman screech that had echoed up to the main floor was a “fit”? Fullmetal’s bodyguards had their hands on their ears and were looking at him almost pleadingly. In any other situation it would have been comical coming from two such imposing figures. But, in this case, he understood their reluctance. Dreading what he would find, Mustang turned to the door to the study room.
Fullmetal was lying in the floor in a fetal position, his glasses missing. A continuous, thin wail trickled from his lips. As Mustang stepped closer, he saw that the man’s eyes were closed, his mouth clenched.
“Fullmetal.” Mustang crouched beside the older man, struck again by how small he was. Like this, Fullmetal looked even more like a child. A thin, little boy with a too old face.
“Fullmetal!” he tried again.
In response, the gray-haired alchemist released a choked scream and began to convulse, shaking his head from side to side as his body spasmed. The automail arm nearly caught Mustang in the face. Throwing himself out of range, the Colonel landed heavily on his bottom. Then, he watched in horror as Fullmetal’s body further contorted itself. Blood began to trickle out of his mouth.
“Fullmetal! Elric!”
Mustang threw himself on the smaller man, trying to still the thrashing. Straddling Fullmetal’s stomach, he placed his hands to either side of the alchemist’s head.
“Elric!”
Name. Fullmetal had a proper name. If he could just remember… He had known it this morning.
“Edward!”
It was like flipping a switch.
Fullmetal’s convulsions stilled. His screams ebbed away into ragged gasps. His eyes slit open. Muzzy, they stared sightlessly for a moment before flicking up to meet Mustang’s levelly. For an instant, life crept into his gaze, and something almost calculating moved behind his eyes. Then, Fullmetal opened his mouth, weakly spitting blood to the side.
“Tell the General,” he whispered through blood flecked lips. “Tell him.”
Mustang frowned. “Tell him what?”
Fullmetal’s mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “Tell…” His limbs spasmed suddenly, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Tell him,” he repeated, voice growing softer with each word, “… he’s a…..” His voice trailed away, and he soundlessly mouthed the final epithet as his body went suddenly, completely limp.
And, the resulting silence was somehow more chilling than the screams.
----------------------------------------------------------
End Book 1
...I promise he's not dead.
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 4, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Some blood.
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: Thanks to everyone who's been reading!
Book 1: Analysis
Chapter 6 - Friday
The outside world was right there. He could see hazy impressions, hear muted words. He could feel, taste, smell. It was distant, an echo of real sensation, but he was aware of everything.
He was awake. Awake as he hadn’t been for so long. Not since he had entered this endless, timeless night.
But, awakening was not the joy his sleep-fogged self had thought it would be.
Because now he knew why he had been sleeping. He remembered. He was awake, and he remembered everything. He remembered…
“Brother!”
No. No! He couldn’t let himself go there. Anything he knew, the other one might know. And, anything the other one knew, they could learn.
So, as he had for so long, he held the promises he would not break and those he had promised close to his heart and forced them from his conscious mind. Because it wasn’t yet time to fulfill those precious promises. Not yet. Not now.
Especially not now. There hadn’t been a worse time to choose to wake up in the last twenty years.
But, he hadn’t chosen. The other one had pulled him. Pulled and pulled, dragging him from the darkness inch by inch.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” he called.
“Couldn’t.”
“Tried.”
“Too strong.”
“Hurt you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“The other part of you was pulling too strongly.” Ah, that voice. The familiar one. “The only way to stop him would have been to take you completely under again.”
“So?”
He had spent decades in oblivion. Another year or three made no difference.
“It has been too long. Your soul can only endure so much.”
“Look, I’ll decide if—” And, suddenly, he knew the voice, recognized the presence drifting closer to him. “You!” he roared, filled with a sudden visceral rage as memories long buried tried to surface. “Why? Why are you here?”
“To help you.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job of that!”
“Edward,” the voice was reproachful. “Your body and mind may still exist in the real world, but, if you retreat too far beneath the others for too long, you will lose yourself forever.”
“Lose myself?”
“Like the others.”
To lose himself like the others here. To exist as a tortured echo of himself. To forget who he was and what he had to do.
The thought settled with a sudden cold dread in the core of his being.
“But, I can’t go out,” he said, lost. “Not now. And, if he keeps pulling at me...”
“I know.”
“So, what do you expect me to do?”
“The only thing you can do. Wait.”
----------------------------------------------------------
The very air was tense as the Fullmetal Alchemist greeted the sunny Friday morning with an absent yawn. Or so it felt to him. There was a tingling beneath his skin, an anticipation. He was antsy. Ready to move, ready to run, ready for something. His mind was practically buzzing. There were no voices, and yet, it felt… crowded.
Was this from excitement? He was excited about his recent successes. Success in holding the voices at bay and success at decoding Parker’s notes. Even if he had only ruled out the decoys, he had been able to think. His head was clear and his mind sharp. And, while Parker’s code wasn’t cracked yet, he and Colonel Smug were only a few twists away from unlocking its secrets. He could feel it. If only those two big oafs Grand had saddled him with had let him stay yesterday. He had been so close…
Well, no help for it. It was a new day, and, today, Parker’s notes would offer up their secrets.
Smiling at the thought, Fullmetal began to move through his morning routine. Rotate right arm – check. Rotate left leg – check. Stand, stretch, braid hair…
His hands met empty air as he reached behind his head.
And, Fullmetal froze.
The action had become routine over the course of this very odd week, but never before had he remembered exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to braid his hair. Hair he no longer had. But, he remembered having it. Remembered the long blond hair he had worn in a loose braid down his back.
He felt a flicker of remorse at the long passed loss. His hair had been one of his few vanities. Something to make him stand out. To define him.
But, it was gone, and it wasn’t coming back anytime soon.
Shrugging it off, Fullmetal resumed his morning routine, angling for the shower. As he went, his eyes fell on the open door to his closet.
And, an idea began to form.
----------------------------------------------------------
General Grand kept his face in a scowl as the guards he had placed at the library gave him their latest report.
The younger of the guards, 2nd Lieutenant Boulton, began, “And, then, yesterday.” He hesitated, throwing a glance at his partner, 1st Lieutenant Gloster. The other man avoided his gaze, and Boulton bit his lip. “Yesterday,” he tried again.
“Get on with it!” Grand barked.
“Sir!” Boulton stiffened. “Yesterday, the Fullmetal Alchemist arrived with the guards you assigned and a bag of pastries. He was very insistent that we each take one, which we did to placate him. We did not eat them.” Boulton took a moment to choose his words. It sounded so normal when he said it, not like the bizarre scene it had been. “Fullmetal seemed… different. He was in a much… happier mood than usual. But, the unusual behavior was not problematic. From that point, Fullmetal worked quietly until Colonel Mustang arrived.”
“And then?” Grand prompted.
“They seemed to be working in their usual way until late afternoon when an argument began,” said Boulton. “That’s… not unusual, but this particular argument was quite heated.” Then, he quickly added, “However, there was no violence.” He paused. “Well, some threats were voiced as… as well as some rather crude accusations about the Colonel and Fullmetal’s relatives, but nothing physical.”
Grand swept the commentary aside with an impatient hand. Crude comments from bickering soldiers was not news.
“Was the argument concerning their research?” he growled.
“Yes, Sir,” Boulton stammered. “We entered at six o’clock to inform both alchemists that the library would be closing and to collect their research. We found them arguing at that point.”
There was a subtle shift in his partner’s stance, and Boulton darted a glance at the older man.
Taking the opening, Gloster straightened and addressed the general. “We found the Fullmetal and Flame Alchemists in an argument concerning a pattern they had uncovered in the research notes. Fullmetal was quite adamant that it was another of the research’s apparently many false leads.”
Something in Grand’s eyes sharpened. “False leads?”
Gloster gave a short nod. “Fullmetal indicated that he had already decoded two sets of decoys during his time working alone. Judging by what I overhead, Colonel Mustang doublechecked his work and agreed with his findings.”
A narrow smile curled into existence beneath Grand’s slim moustache. “Excellent work,” he said. “Report to your station as usual. I will be down to review their work later.”
“Sir!” As one, the guards saluted once more and left.
As the door closed behind them, Grand turned his gaze to the copy of Fullmetal’s official file lying on his desk. He had originally meant to give the alchemist until the end of the day at least. But, Archer had been correct. Fuhrer Bader would be addressing the assembly late in the afternoon. There was little doubt that he would be announcing his formal resignation and nominating his successor.
Grand’s eyes narrowed. He needed the secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone now. And, from the sounds of it, Fullmetal was close. In more ways than one.
The General looked to the clock. He would give Fullmetal a half hour. With any luck, by then he would have broken the code. If not, he would order the diminutive alchemist to tell him what he knew. And, Fullmetal would obey. He could do nothing less.
Grand’s thin smile widened. “I knew the information was still in that cracked head of yours, Fullmetal.”
----------------------------------------------------------
“I wonder what I should expect this morning,” Roy Mustang mused as he finished washing away the last traces of shaving cream.
Perhaps today Fullmetal would be waiting for him with a full course meal half-eaten on the table and a stack of notes at his elbow that detailed how to create a Philosopher’s Stone. Or maybe he would be late and come in leading a brass band before sitting down, the band playing all the while, and crafting an actual Philosopher’s Stone from the ether with just a clap of his hands. He didn’t know what to expect from Fullmetal anymore.
Toweling his face dry, Mustang went over the week in his mind. He had begun with a grouchy, taciturn partner who was competent if prone to debilitating headaches. Yesterday, he had found himself with a man who defined the term “eccentric genius”.
And yet, even as he stuffed his face like a starved wolverine and talked with his mouth disgustingly full, there had been a glint in the older alchemist’s eye. Fullmetal knew he was behaving like an idiot. He knew it, and he enjoyed it. And, he could get away with it because he probably hadn’t been so productive in years.
He was going to crack Parker’s code, Mustang could feel it. Whether it was his purported intellect at work or half-remembered knowledge of Parker’s methods, Fullmetal was close to a breakthrough. He probably would have stayed at the library all night to do so if his bodyguards hadn’t forcibly removed him.
And, once the code was cracked, what then?
“What indeed,” Mustang said aloud as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. For a moment, he studied his own reflection. “Fullmetal just wants to be useful. No,” the colonel corrected himself, frowning. “He wants to be the person he was again.” And, he was close, Mustang sensed. “And, me,” dark eyes narrowed, “I just want to keep pressing toward my goal.”
And, if they were successful, this project might yet help them both.
“But, is it that easy?”
His reflection had no answers.
----------------------------------------------------------
As he met them at the door to the basement study room, the guards’ reactions were a study in forced nonchalance.
Good.
“I thought I’d dress up today,” Fullmetal explained.
Oh, nice. This time, the pair weren’t fast enough to stop their eyebrows from making a joint dash up their foreheads. He, however, was somewhat more successful in hiding his grin as he glanced back at his two bodyguards. He managed to catch them rolling their eyes for what must have been the twentieth time.
Personally, he thought the wardrobe he had cobbled together was quite stylish. He wore black pants with a black button-down shirt. Nothing unusual there except he looked like he might be attending a funeral. But, to alleviate that impression, he had topped the ensemble off with a red coat. A brilliantly red coat. The color was a bit brighter than he had been aiming for, true. But, he considered it an accomplishment that his hasty array had evenly dyed the material. And, the bright color was certainly eye-catching. He liked that.
It was also somehow hauntingly familiar. But, even now, with the voices mercifully silent, memory eluded him.
“Well then,” he made a shooing gesture at the two burly bodyguards, “I’ve got work to do.” Ignoring their almost growled responses, he turned and strode for the door. His face twisted up into a toothy smirk as the two sentries before him practically scurried out of the way.
His past was something he could pursue later. Today. Today, he would do it. Today, he would decode Parker’s notes and prove that he was still useful.
Thirty minutes later, he was well on his way.
Tipping his chair back on two legs, Fullmetal grinned. Once he had recollected his train of thought from yesterday evening, it had only taken him a few minutes to finally crack the code hidden in Parker’s pattern of deliberately false information. It was at once complex and strangely simple. And, oddly, familiar.
The thought made him pause.
“Secret. Promised.”
The gray-haired alchemist tensed, nearly losing his precarious balance. But, the whispered words faded away into silence.
Fullmetal’s grin returned as he lowered his chair back to the floor. He was still in control. Shying away from whatever memory had triggered the voices, he focused on the present. He knew the code. Now, to apply it.
He reached for his pencil and paused as his eyes landed on the second chair at the table. By default, the Colonel’s chair.
Slowly, an idea began to form. The work was going so well, after all. He had time. And, it was so much fun to shock Colonel Smug.
Decision made, Fullmetal dug in his coat for the chalk he had pocketed back at his apartment. With the stick of chalk in hand, he stood and walked around to tug the second chair out from the table. Then, he knelt and carefully sketched an array onto the floor around it. He studied his handiwork for a moment before reaching to lay his hands against the circle’s outer edge. Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate.
His mind was clear, and he knew what he wanted to create. Holding the image firm in mind, he began the transmutation. Energy crackled around his hands, flowing into and following the precise lines of his construction formula.
After a moment, it was done. The light beating against his closed lids dimmed. The thrum of eager energy died away.
Fullmetal opened his eyes to survey his handiwork. The chair was there, but different, its form reshaped to match the image in his head. And, it was perfect, down to the last detail exactly as he had planned it.
For a minute, the alchemist thought of claiming it for his own. It was certainly the better chair now. Aesthetically anyway.
But, no, he wanted the Colonel to see the full effect.
Grinning with the thought, Fullmetal pushed the chair back to the table and rubbed away the chalk circle with the toe of his shoe.
Then, he resumed his own seat. Time to get back to work. Stretching out his mismatched hands, he cracked the knuckles of his left and made an impressive attempt at drawing a creak from the automail. Then, he bent over the pages laid out on the table and began to carefully apply the code to the first chapter of the false travelogue.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang breathed a sigh of relief as he strode into the records department. He wasn’t especially early, but there was enough time for a quick look at Fullmetal’s file. That in mind, he strode up to the clerk at the main desk.
“I’d like to look at the Fullmetal Alchemist’s records,” he said. “The proper name is Edward Elric. He’s an active State Alchemist.”
The sergeant at the desk blinked at him owlishly for a moment. “Fullmetal? Elric? Active?” he repeated, succinctly summing up the pertinent information. Then, he was in motion. “Just a minute.”
Startled by the man’s abrupt exit, Mustang watched as the sergeant disappeared into the depths of the records department’s shelves. Well, at that speed and given there were only a limited number of active State Alchemists, it shouldn’t take him long. The Colonel turned his thoughts toward the research waiting for him. Did it really hold the key to creating a Philosopher’s Stone? A way to overcome alchemy’s most basic law? Was such a thing possible? They were so close he would know soon.
The thought was almost frightening.
He shook it off and glanced at the clock. He had been waiting ten minutes.
Another ten passed, and he began to re-assess his earlier estimate.
Finally, the sergeant re-emerged with a disgruntled look on his face. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said, “but Fullmetal’s file doesn’t seem to be here at the moment. I don’t have a record of anyone requesting it, so it’s probably been misplaced.” His scowl was thunderous. “I’ll speak with the new interns. Could you come back this afternoon?” The look on his face indicated that he might be doing more than speaking with the interns.
Mustang found he couldn’t muster up any sympathy for their plight. Instead, he muttered an affirmative and took his leave. He was starting to think that there was a bizarre and far-reaching conspiracy at work with the sole goal of keeping him away from Fullmetal’s file. A conspiracy he would very much like to torch, he thought as he parked his car as close to the library as he could and started down the sidewalk toward the imposing structure.
“Colonel!”
Mustang turned to find 2nd Lieutenant Breda coming up behind him at a brisk walk.
“I was hoping I could catch you before you got to the library,” Breda said, holding out a slim folder. “This is the rest of the research me and Falman compiled on the eastern area.”
Mustang accepted the folder with a short nod. “Good work.” At least something was going right today.
Breda fell in a half-step behind him. He had just made a sound that might have been the start of a question when Mustang remembered a crucial detail. Breda and Falman had both read Fullmetal’s file! The thought brought him to a stop so fast the shorter man nearly plowed into him.
“Breda,” he started, turning, “Do you remember anything about an incident with a conman posing as a priest named Cornello in Fullmetal’s file?”
Recovering, Breda cocked his head. “Yeah,” he allowed after a moment’s thought, “that was the last entry before Fullmetal went MIA.”
“Was there anything about this Cornello using an alchemic amplifier?”
Breda nodded. “There was something about Fullmetal saying it was powerful but unstable. Apparently, it broke after the guy over-used it trying to fight Fullmetal.”
It was as much as Mustang had expected. Hiding his disappointment, he simply inclined his head in acknowledgement. He started to turn.
“I noticed something else in Fullmetal’s file,” Breda said suddenly. “Those places you’ve had us looking up. Interesting how Fullmetal visited all of them.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Fullmetal stared at the pages surrounding him. Slowly, he reached for the farthest sheet of paper and began carefully re-tracing his steps.
“This can’t be it!” he hissed. His automail hand snapped out to snatch up another page of notes. “Right there!” he growled to himself, laying it down and stabbing the paper with a steel pointer. “The distance Parker gives for the country. 763.2 kilometers.” With his left hand he scribbled a quick equation. “The distance is off by 42.1 kilometers. If you figure in the position on the page in relation to his next “error” and calculate that with—”
His words trailed off into incoherent mumbles as he carefully plotted a transmutation circle, following the equation buried in Parker’s writing. After several long minutes, it was done. Fullmetal swore as he laid the finished circle beside the one he had completed earlier.
They were identical.
Fullmetal’s flesh fingers dug into his short hair as he swore again.
“This can’t be it! This is all about transmuting alloys.” Fullmetal yanked his glasses off and massaged his temples. It was quiet, but his head throbbed all the same. “What does any of this have to do with the Philosopher’s Stone?”
Of course, the notes could have been a false lead all along, something whispered in the back of his mind. If so, he had cracked the uncrackable code. He had proven his mind was as sharp as ever. He had completed the task he was assigned. He had been useful even if the notes were not.
A sense of smug accomplishment cooled his frustration.
But, only for an instant.
Then, he was back in General Grand’s office the night this business first disturbed the monotony he had enjoyed for over a decade. That night when, before the Colonel arrived, Grand had looked him straight in the eye and laid down an ultimatum.
“Crack this code, Fullmetal. By the end of the week. Bring me the information on how to make a Philosopher’s Stone. That’s an order.”
Fullmetal could feel himself shaking.
He always followed orders.
Always.
“But, it’s not here,” he whispered to himself. “I can’t—” He sucked in a breath and reached for his glasses. “Maybe in the next chapters. But, I’ll need more time to—”
There was a rattle at the door, and it swung open to reveal General Grand. His eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on the transmuted chair before coming to rest squarely on the gray-haired alchemist.
“Mustang isn’t here yet?” Without waiting for an answer, he shut the door. “Good. We can get on with this.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang spun around to face Breda again so fast the other man took a startled step back. “Wait, what?” he asked.
His mind was turning Breda’s words over and over. Fullmetal… and the places in Parker’s notes… Fullmetal had visited those places. Fullmetal had spent his earliest years as a State Alchemist traveling all over the country. To the places referenced in the travelogue. Places Fullmetal would have known. Thirty years ago.
Breda was watching his commanding officer curiously. “I said, I thought it was interesting how all of the places you’ve had us research were listed in Fullmetal’s file,” he said carefully. “I assumed there must be a connection.”
Mustang groaned as the pieces finally came together. “You’re right. There is a connection. A connection between the places, Fullmetal and his blasted clock tower!”
Ignoring Breda’s confused expression, he spun and resumed his path to the library in quick strides.
“Thank you, 2nd Lieutenant,” Mustang called back. “That was exactly what I needed.”
How could he have missed it? It was suddenly so obvious.
The notes they were decoding hadn’t been written by Ulrich Parker. They had been written by Fullmetal.
----------------------------------------------------------
Fullmetal felt a chill slither down his spine as General Grand strode over to the table where he was seated. And, in that brief moment, he could have sworn he heard a voice – like and not like the voices he knew so well – quietly curse in the back of his mind.
“Well, Fullmetal,” Grand began, eyes cutting across the papers scattered around the smaller alchemist, “have you cracked the code?”
He had done his job. He had followed his orders. The news he had was nothing but the truth. Why did he feel this terrible sense of something cold and hard settling in his stomach?
“Yes, Sir,” he said. His voice sounded dull even to his own ears.
He had cracked the code. Why did he feel like he had failed?
“And?” Grand’s voice was like steel.
“The code relies on patterns hidden in which of the facts throughout the text are correct or incorrect,” Fullmetal explained in a monotone. “We’ve verified which are which for most of the first ‘chapter’ of the research. Using the data we collected, I decoded half of the first chapter.” His voice dropped as he reached to pick up one of the pages before him. “This is the transmutation circle I found. I’ve double-checked it already.”
Grand gave the paper only a cursory glance. “This is?” he asked.
“A very refined array to use in transmuting alloys.”
“Alloys,” Grand repeated.
“Yes, Sir.” Fullmetal never lifted his gaze from the table in front of him, eyes blindly staring at the scattered evidence of his failure. Why had he thought even briefly that he had succeeded? In anything? He was useless.
Useless.
He didn’t want to be useless.
He wanted to do something right.
“Fullmetal.” Grand’s voice was low and close, so close.
Fullmetal looked up to find the General leaning over him.
“This is all you’ve decoded from the notes?”
Fullmetal nodded.
“I ordered you to decode the notes.”
The smaller alchemist felt oddly light-headed. There was a pressure building in the back of his mind. A sound of some sort. “I decoded the notes, Sir. At least, the first part. With more time, maybe—”
“You’ve had the notes. You’ve had time,” Grand bit out. “Now, tell me about the Philosopher’s Stone, Fullmetal. That’s an order.”
The pressure in his head condensed into a sudden pounding.
The Philosopher’s Stone. The General wanted the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. It should be in the notes. But, it wasn’t. He needed to find it. But, he couldn’t. No. No, that was wrong. He just needed to remember it.
“Can’tcan’tcan’tcan’tcan’tcan’t!”
Fullmetal grit his teeth at the onslaught.
“The Philosopher’s Stone—” he began.
“Never, never.”
The dull, red glow of a setting sun, as crimson as the Stone itself, flooding the room where he sat in a floor strewn with papers. A sense of grief and horror.
“Can’tcan’tcan’t.”
The secret of the Philosopher’s Stone buried in words that said one thing and meant another. A week spent sequestered amid dusty texts older than the walls around him.
“Won’t let you.”
Past and present commingled as Fullmetal stared at Grand with empty eyes.
“Can’t let you.”
“It’s just like back then,” he whispered. “I remember it.”
There was a blur of motion, his shirt bit into his neck painfully, and his feet suddenly couldn’t quite find the floor. Far away, there was a crash.
“If you remember, tell me, Fullmetal,” Grand roared in his ears. “That’s an order.”
“But….,” horror crept into the slim alchemist’s golden eyes, “it’s not— The Stone. It’s—”
His tongue froze. It was horrific. The truth of the Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t something that should be spoken.
But, this was the General. And, it was an order.
He always obeyed orders.
“Don’t.”
“Will hurt.”
“Please.”
He didn’t understand. The voices were oddly pleading. Were they scared? It would be okay. It was always okay when he obeyed orders.
“No, that’s when it hurts the most.”
But, that couldn’t be true. He remembered. It only hurt when he disobeyed. He remembered.
“No.”
“Forgotten.”
“Can’t let you.”
“Promised.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone is—” he began again.
“Can’t let you.”
“Promised.”
“Promised Ed.”
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a quiet voice, oddly like his own, echoed clearly in the sudden silence.
“Do it.”
And, the world exploded.
Grand nearly dropped the gray-haired alchemist when the man let out a throat-rending scream that clawed at his eardrums. But, overcoming his surprise, he instead tightened his grip.
“Fullmetal!” he barked, shaking the smaller man like a rag doll. “Fullmetal, listen to me!”
But, there was no recalling Fullmetal now. His eyes were closed tight, and his body had started to spasm violently.
Grand swore and lowered the convulsing alchemist to the floor. For a minute, he watched the body writhe against the cold concrete, feeling his lip curl. What a pathetic waste.
His predecessors had been monumentally sloppy. Had he been in charge of Fullmetal from the beginning— Well, there was nothing to be done now but to salvage what he could. He strode to the door, considering his remaining options. Storming out into the hall, he addressed the guards.
“I need a medic immediately! You!” he threw a hand at Boulton, “see if there are any medical alchemists in the library.” He turned to Gloster. “Call the military hospital and ask for Dr. Dornier. Tell him Fullmetal’s had another fit. Go!”
“Sir!”
As the guards dashed away to carry out his orders, Grand noticed Colonel Mustang and the bodyguards he had assigned to Fullmetal heading down the hall toward him.
“Sir,” Mustang saluted, “is there a problem?”
“It seems Fullmetal’s had another of his fits,” said Grand. He eyed Mustang and the guards in turn before nodding. “Stand watch and escort the Fullmetal Alchemist to the hospital once the medics get here. I’ll join you later.”
With that, he strode down the hall. Fullmetal had been so close. If the doctors could get him conscious again, the situation might yet be salvageable.
Mustang stared after Grand in mute shock. A fit? That horrible, inhuman screech that had echoed up to the main floor was a “fit”? Fullmetal’s bodyguards had their hands on their ears and were looking at him almost pleadingly. In any other situation it would have been comical coming from two such imposing figures. But, in this case, he understood their reluctance. Dreading what he would find, Mustang turned to the door to the study room.
Fullmetal was lying in the floor in a fetal position, his glasses missing. A continuous, thin wail trickled from his lips. As Mustang stepped closer, he saw that the man’s eyes were closed, his mouth clenched.
“Fullmetal.” Mustang crouched beside the older man, struck again by how small he was. Like this, Fullmetal looked even more like a child. A thin, little boy with a too old face.
“Fullmetal!” he tried again.
In response, the gray-haired alchemist released a choked scream and began to convulse, shaking his head from side to side as his body spasmed. The automail arm nearly caught Mustang in the face. Throwing himself out of range, the Colonel landed heavily on his bottom. Then, he watched in horror as Fullmetal’s body further contorted itself. Blood began to trickle out of his mouth.
“Fullmetal! Elric!”
Mustang threw himself on the smaller man, trying to still the thrashing. Straddling Fullmetal’s stomach, he placed his hands to either side of the alchemist’s head.
“Elric!”
Name. Fullmetal had a proper name. If he could just remember… He had known it this morning.
“Edward!”
It was like flipping a switch.
Fullmetal’s convulsions stilled. His screams ebbed away into ragged gasps. His eyes slit open. Muzzy, they stared sightlessly for a moment before flicking up to meet Mustang’s levelly. For an instant, life crept into his gaze, and something almost calculating moved behind his eyes. Then, Fullmetal opened his mouth, weakly spitting blood to the side.
“Tell the General,” he whispered through blood flecked lips. “Tell him.”
Mustang frowned. “Tell him what?”
Fullmetal’s mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “Tell…” His limbs spasmed suddenly, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Tell him,” he repeated, voice growing softer with each word, “… he’s a…..” His voice trailed away, and he soundlessly mouthed the final epithet as his body went suddenly, completely limp.
And, the resulting silence was somehow more chilling than the screams.
----------------------------------------------------------
End Book 1
...I promise he's not dead.
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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"Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a quiet voice, oddly like his own, echoed clearly in the sudden silence. Do it." wow. oddly like his own. Man, these voices are freaky. It's almost like Ed's got a split personality or something going on. :( Ed did seem to recognize one of them tho. From the way he reacted to it, you'd think Hohenheim was in his head! :)
Yayz for black outfit, red coat, and transmuted chair! (I just know the chair's got enough gargoyles on it to make it fit for a demon king! ^_^) Wibbles for missing braid. ;_; Yayz for my earlier assumption that Ed was indeed Parker! :D Wibbles for the consequences of Ed being Parker. :(
Need more fic soon!
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--It's almost like Ed's got a split personality or something going on. Ed did seem to recognize one of them tho. From the way he reacted to it, you'd think Hohenheim was in his head! :)--
*coughs and starts whistling*
And, yes! The chair is now either the stuff of nightmares or the coolest thing on earth, depending on if you're Ed or not. And, the braid will come back eventually. My beta,
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Main thoughts on the chapter: love the wardrobe switch! Cookies for Team Mustang. Grand must die, and everyone wants to cuddle poor Ed. ^___^
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This is true, but I thought the last bit might sound a bit grim.
::has to laugh at the summation of thoughts:: That seems to be what most everyone is saying. Which is awesome!
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I guess I'm terribly dense. I apologize if my reactions have been a dissapointment. I just don't get it so far, and that kind of frustrates me at this point.
*feels terrible*
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I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. And, I hope that my weird AU mash-up isn't too confusing.