Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 10

[kristensk]

Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: May 25, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Some violence.
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: And, another big thanks to everyone who has commented!


Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist

Chapter 10: What’s This Holding Me?


“Remember.”

Again. They said they weren’t angry with him, but whenever the voices actually deigned to address him, they always had that same demand. Remember, remember, remember!

What was he supposed to remember? Memory was nothing but scattered points of light in the darkness. Fragments of a world and a life that were foreign to him. His world was a void. There was nothing. It had always been nothing. It would always be nothing.

“Remember.”

But, it was a constricting nothing. It was small for all its emptiness and somehow suffocating. Like the bottom of a deep pit. He was trapped. And, alone.

“Remember.”

And, yet, there was something…. He thought he could leave this world. Leave and go to where the voices were.

“Remember.”

Because they were with him and not. There and not there. Heard but not seen.

He wanted to change that, to join them.

“Remember.”

He thought he knew the way now. There was something like a light in the distance. A warm, beckoning red glow. He just had to reach it.

----------------------------------------------------------

The orders were normal enough. Even routine now. They had spent most of their careers guarding either officers needing some accompanying muscle or officers under investigation. It was a job for which they were well-suited. It was just the subject of their latest assignment that made it unusual.

“You knock.”

The blond, bespectacled Heinkel regarded his partner with narrowed eyes. “Why me?”

“I’ll deal with him if he pulls something cute again,” the dark-haired Darius answered. “You knock. He gives me the creeps.”

Heinkel debated his options, but decided the deal was fair and turned to knock on the simple, unassuming door. Truth be told, their charge gave him the creeps too. And, had ever since that first morning General Grand had ordered them to start escorting the man.

It was an irrational fear. He was only a washed up State Alchemist who stood barely half their height.

But, that was the thing. He was a State Alchemist. Washed up or not and whatever their stature, State Alchemists were all weird and potentially dangerous. They were the military’s famed “human weapons”, after all, they and their inhuman abilities. This one, however… It was different. There was something wrong with the Fullmetal Alchemist. 

The door opened after the second knock, and Heinkel looked down to regard his charge.

Empty yellow eyes set in a pale face devoid of expression looked back.

“I’m ready,” Fullmetal said without preamble.

Heinkel had drawn away involuntarily, and the smaller man used the space to step out and turn to lock his door. Heinkel watched in silence, shooting a look back to his partner. Darius’ face, naturally prone to scowls, was pulled down into an especially ferocious one. Likely thinking the same thing he was. 

Fullmetal looked like the walking dead. Whoever had let him out of the hospital in this condition was a quack. Or acting under orders. As were they.

Fullmetal turned to face them again. He said nothing, just waited expectantly.

No help for it then.

Heinkel cut his partner a second look. It was obvious that nothing “cute” was going to happen today. But, they had a deal.

With a huff, Darius stepped up to address Fullmetal.

“Come on then, Elric,” he said. “Time to get you to the library.”

Fullmetal just nodded.

----------------------------------------------------------

“What does it all mean?”

Roy Mustang had had a bad night. With what he had learned, sleep had not come easily. His head had been too busy spinning in circles. He had left the Central Tribune building with a whole new set of puzzle pieces that clearly matched the picture he was assembling but just as clearly didn’t quite fit. 

Liore might have been destroyed by alchemy around the time Fullmetal went MIA. The Philosopher’s Stone or an amplifier of sufficient power could potentially fuel such destruction. Grand believed Fullmetal was the key to creating a Philosopher’s Stone. Which meant he also believed the Philosopher’s Stone was more than just a myth. And, he believed it so fiercely there must be some solid evidence to support that belief. Like the destruction of Liore.

“But, there’s no evidence Fullmetal was anywhere near Liore when it happened.”

Mustang hissed as the hasty snarl made him nick his cheek with the razor. Well, verbalizing his thoughts was doubly unwise then. Still, it was true. Fullmetal had left Liore months before its destruction. But, it was also true that he was the alchemist to report Cornello’s amplifier. An amplifier that had been interesting enough to catch the eye of specialist Ulrich Parker.

Assuming Parker was real, of course. But, he was fairly sure that Grand hadn’t created Parker, just mixed his work with Fullmetal’s to preserve the illusion.

So, was Fullmetal merely the last person to examine an amplifier Cornello might have later reproduced? Or was the account that the amplifier was destroyed a lie? And, if the latter, why? 

Mustang’s eyes narrowed as he set the razor down and turned on the tap. Based on what he had read, anti-military sentiment had been rampant in Liore. Before the end, the conflict had had all the signs of blossoming into a true revolt. Like Ishval.

The military had resorted to terrible measures to “pacify” Ishval.

It was hard to imagine that the broken Fullmetal Alchemist could have been involved in such a thing. Or maybe it was all too easy.

Because there were still nights when he found himself back in that makeshift clinic in Ishval. When the report of his service revolver firing two, distinct shots still echoed in his head. When he could still feel the warmth of the revolver's muzzle pressed under his chin.

Orders were orders. And, the “Hero of Ishval” was in no position to cast stones.

“Roy! Roooooy!”

Mustang paused, shaving cream still coating one cheek, and cut off the tap to better hear the incessant knocking at his door. Hmm… It was doing the rhythm to the Amestrian national anthem now. Badly.

“Hughes,” Mustang muttered. Then, he raised his voice to call, “In a minute!”

As he resumed cleaning off the shaving cream, Mustang wondered what had brought Hughes to his apartment. Visits before work meant leaving early, which was time spent away from his family. Hughes did not choose time away from family lightly.

Mustang reached for his towel. “Which means it’s either the Scar case or—”

“My, this place does need a woman’s touch, doesn’t it?”

The towel flopped to the floor.

“Hughes!” Mustang glared at his shamelessly grinning friend as the taller man propped himself against the bathroom doorframe.

“Yo!” Hughes flipped up a hand in greeting.

“What part of, ‘in a minute,’ translates to, ‘Please pick my lock and come on in’?” growled Mustang, grabbing for his towel.

“Best friend privilege,” said Hughes. “Oh, and it’s Option 2. I’m here about your little mystery, not mine.”

Mustang’s eyes sharpened immediately. “What did you find?”

“So far as the file goes, absolutely nothing,” answered Hughes with a grand sweeping gesture. He grinned wryly and adjusted his glasses. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

Mustang frowned as he retrieved his towel and dried his face. “That sort of ‘nothing’, huh?”

“Exactly!” said Hughes. “I went to Sunderland and, after gracing him with the lovely image of Elicia in her sundress – you’ve seen the sundress, haven’t you?” Hughes’ right hand was reaching for his pocket as he spoke.

“Yes,” Mustang answered quickly. 

Hughes’ hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. And, why hadn’t he noticed before that Hughes was blocking the only exit?

“It’s blue – sort of a green shade – with a matching hat,” Mustang added as he contemplated how to get past the taller man and escape the bathroom.

But, that seemed to pacify Hughes, who stepped back and away, letting Mustang past.

“So, I talk with Sunderland some and ask him about Fullmetal’s file,” he continued. “Sure enough, it has an entry in the filing system. We pull it, and it’s a file on a Joseph Rutherford, the Splitting Alchemist.”

“What about where this Rutherford’s file should have been?” asked Mustang as he tucked in his shirt.

“Already thought of that – there was another copy there.”

For a minute, there was a silence.

“It’s deliberate,” said Mustang, reaching for his uniform jacket. There was finality in his voice.

It might just be Grand protecting his pet project, but…

Liore.

“I have a hypothetical situation for you, Hughes.”

Hughes’ eyes were shadows behind his glasses.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your mother,” he said.

“Bring the sundress picture – she’ll love it.”

“I’ll bring the album,” said Hughes. His smile returned. “We can trade again!”

Mustang, who had been adjusting the collar of his uniform, froze. “No.”

“Oh, yes.” Hughes beamed. “I wonder what she’d take for the one with the lipstick.”

Mustang gave him a long stare of horror. “I was four.”

“And, adorable with your face all made up.”

With a wordless snarl, Mustang abandoned the conversation in favor of finding his boots.

Grinning, Hughes turned to look out the window, lapsing into thought. There was little to see on the street below but the steady buzz of morning traffic. Aside from the car skewed at a nearly ninety degree angle across one lane with steam rising from the point where a fire hydrant was buried in the radiator.

Well, that was going to tie up traffic.

As he watched, two burly men in uniform got out of the car to survey the damage. The first, with hair as dark as his partner’s was fair, stomped across the sidewalk and looked, not at the car, but down an alleyway adjacent. Even at a distance, his deep scowl was obvious as he turned back to his partner. The other man walked around the car to join him, and they both looked toward the alley’s entrance. From the looks of it, someone had run in front of the car and then on down the alley. 

Then, Hughes’ sharp eyes caught movement back by the car. Another large man had approached the car from behind and was reaching inside to pull someone out. A small figure, the size of a child, who only offered a confused, awkward resistance that would never be enough.

Hughes was in motion before he really gave the action thought.

“Roy! Trouble!” he called as he hit the door at a run, slamming it open and careening into the hall. 

He didn’t wait to see if Mustang was following him. He didn’t need to wait. Years of friendship both in and out of the military assured that Roy would back him up without question.

Sure enough, by the time he hit the second landing on the stairs, there was a thunder of booted feet behind him. Saving his breath, Hughes offered only the bare minimum of explanations.

“Car accident. Military vehicle,” he snapped out. “Probably set up. Someone grabbed a kid from the back. Looked to be heading back north up Main.”

A direction their kidnapper would probably only follow until he hit the first alley. Unless he bolted across traffic. 

Too many possibilities. Not nearly enough time.

Several more flights fell away under running feet, and they burst out onto the street. Hughes swept his eyes over the wrecked car to orient himself and turned in the direction the kidnapper had fled. He just caught the last flash of blue as a uniformed figure swept into an alley a block away.

“That way!” he called, breaking into a run again. 

Good. It looked like the soldiers he had seen earlier were already in pursuit. He just hoped they were going the right way.

Charging into the alley, it was only half-remembered reflexes and a timely slip on some trash that saved Hughes getting his head taken off. As it was, he felt the rush of air through his hair as he skidded under the swing of a meaty fist. Tucking and rolling, he came up with a small knife between his fingers, eyes searching the alley.

A great, hulking figure stood just beyond the entrance. A great, hulking figure in a blue uniform. A 2nd lieutenant by his insignia.

“Don’t move!”

Ah, there was Roy. With his sidearm aimed squarely at the huge figure’s head. 

What they had here, if his hunch was correct – and his hunches usually were – was a communication failure. Time to clear that up before the real bad guys got away.

“Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes,” he said quickly. Then, he waved a hand at Roy. “Colonel Roy Mustang. We saw someone grabbed out of your car.”

The big man – the fair-haired one he had seen from Roy’s window - lowered his arm.

“Sorry, Sir,” he grunted. “We thought—”

Roy cut him off. “It’s fine,” he said, holstering his weapon. “Do you know which way they went?”

The man nodded and turned to lead the way at a run. Mustang raced after him, and, re-sheathing his knife, Hughes fell in behind. 

Fortunately, they didn’t have to go far. A left turn out of the alleyway, and they were on the narrow street backing Main. And, just ahead, the other soldier was grappling with an equally large man beside an idling car. A second, slimmer man with a long ponytail was trying to shove the small figure Hughes had seen from the window into the car. With only limited success.

The child wasn’t fighting so much as he was simply not moving. Legs locked, one hand braced against the doorframe, the boy – judging by the short hair and body shape – was just barely holding himself in place.

Hughes wasted no more time than the instants it took to size up the situation. As the second man half-turned, raising a hand to clout the boy in the head, he let fly with one of his knives. 

There was a howl of pain as the small, sharp knife embedded itself in the man’s raised palm. Ignoring it, Hughes swept forward to pull the boy away from the car, swinging him around and behind his own body. The child was startlingly heavy for his size. But, it was an instant’s observation quickly filed away for later. All Hughes’ attention was focused on the attacker and keeping himself between the man and the child now behind him. With his free hand, he reached for his own sidearm.

“How about you behave yourself, eh?”

Ripping the knife from his hand, the man glared at Hughes. Then, his face pulled into a smirk. It was Hughes’ only warning.

In an instant, the man had hurled the knife for his head. Just as quickly, he was lunging after it with an outstretched, tattooed palm and a feral grin. 

Hughes was already in motion. The knife whistled past his ear as he gave up on the gun and dove to the side, pulling the child with him. But, the knife was nothing. It was the man he had to worry about. Years in Investigations had taught him many things. And, one of the most important was to never let an attacking alchemist get his hands on you.

“That’s far enough!”

The crack of a revolver froze the man before he could pursue them further. Roy. Thank goodness. Hughes took the opportunity to roll himself and the still shell-shocked kid out of the line of fire. Coming up against a wall, he twisted to give the child a reassuring smile.

Only it wasn’t a child he was holding.

Small, yes, but no child had the face of a fifty year old man. And, that was ignoring the gray hair. 

Well.

Hughes smiled anyway.

His only response was a confused stare.

“My, this is an interesting reunion,” said Mustang as he stepped forward. His voice was light, but Hughes heard the underlying tension in it. And, it immediately erased the smile.

Reunion? This was bad then. Worse than bad if Roy was tense. Roy didn’t get tense. 

“Mustang,” said the ponytailed man. “Haven’t seen you since Ishval.”

Hughes gave his companion a nudge. They should move. Now. Unfortunately, the smaller man only gave him a blank stare.

“Probably because you’ve been in prison,” said Mustang. “How did you get out, Kimblee?”

Kimblee. Hughes felt the worry that had been growing solidify and crawl down his throat to settle in his stomach. The Crimson Alchemist. He had studied the man’s files in conjunction with the Scar case due to the similarities in their victims’ injuries. And, learned more than he ever wanted to know about how alchemy could make the human body explode. Thank goodness he hadn’t let the man touch him.

“Now, that,” Kimblee answered, “would be telling.” He smiled, a sudden sharp line across his narrow face.

“I’m sure the military will find someone you’d be willing to tell,” said Mustang coldly.

“Mmm, but I don’t plan on speaking with them again any time soon.” Kimblee let his eyes drift toward where Hughes was still shielding his charge. “Because unless one of you is skilled in medical alchemy, I’d advise you give me the Fullmetal Alchemist there and let me be on my way.”

Mustang didn’t dare glance away from Kimblee. “Hughes?” 

So, this was Fullmetal? No time to think about it. Hughes shook the small man’s shoulder.

“Hey, Elric, you okay?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Did that guy use any kind of alchemy on you?”

“I…”

Fullmetal faltered, still trying to process a world that was moving far too fast. He had been going to the library, as ordered, when everything had suddenly become loud and chaotic with far too many strangers pulling and tugging on him. It was outside of his routine, outside of his orders. 

And, even the world he understood was distant this morning. He felt disconnected, moving through the motions of his familiar routine on force of habit alone. Trying to actually think was hard. Almost impossible when the world insisted on plunging into a chaos so far removed from everything he knew. But, a superior officer was asking questions, and that meant he would answer.

Think.

Remember.

The long-haired man had been trying to get him into the car. There had been something… a hand, a push. 

“Remember.”

“He did…. something behind me.”

He should say more. Explain. But, the world was falling away around him. It was all he could do to keep his vision steady.

“Remember.”

“What did you do?” Mustang demanded of Kimblee, his voice dropping to a growl.

“Just a simple, slow-acting transmutation.” Kimblee looked thoughtful. “Well, the sequence of chemical reactions it set off is slow-acting. But, in another ten minutes or so, the inorganic phosphate in his body will be so far along the way to becoming white phosphorus that it would be pointless to interrupt the process.” Kimblee shrugged negligently as a deeper smile overtook his face. “Shame the end result won’t be especially impressive.”

“Phosphorus?” Mustang’s eyes widened. White phosphorus was volatile, unstable. Directly transmuting the body’s natural phosphate into its more dangerous relative wouldn’t create one of Kimblee’s trademark explosions – assuming Kimblee hadn’t done more – but it would kill. Mustang bit off a curse, pushing down the visceral disgust and reaching instead for logic.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Roy!”

He ignored Hughes, schooling his face back into an impassive mask.

“Oh?” Kimblee arched a brow.

“You were taking Fullmetal somewhere, weren’t you? Which means you – or someone else – wants him alive.” Mustang rolled his shoulders. “You would have killed him from the start if that was your intention.”

“So confident,” drawled Kimblee. “But, taking Fullmetal alive is just Option 1. Option 2 is simply removing him from the equation. Either works.”

Hughes watched his friend fight to keep the disgust off his face as his own mind raced through the possibilities. Kimblee might be telling the truth; Fullmetal seemed to be too confused to say for sure. And, they were out of time. Kimblee wouldn’t reverse the transmutation here. So, if he weren’t lying, Fullmetal’s life was hanging on a window of minutes.

“So, what will it be?” Kimblee asked.

Mustang lowered his weapon a fraction. “Hughes.”

Hughes looked toward him, praying to find some signal that there was another solution. But, Mustang’s eyes were locked on Kimblee. If he had a plan, he wasn’t sharing it yet. Behind him, the dark-haired soldier had Kimblee's accomplice pinned against the vehicle with one hand, watching the situation play out with a scowl. His blond partner was beside him, looking uncertain. No help there.

Well, whether Roy had a plan or not, he needed Elric on his feet.

“Elric,” said Hughes, giving the smaller man a light shake, “can you stand?” He forced a grin as Fullmetal’s unfocused gaze swung towards him. “Of course, you can! Come on.” Slipping a hand around the alchemist’s slight frame and under his right arm – ah, automail, that would explain all that weight – he pulled Fullmetal to his feet.

“I’m not—” Fullmetal began, but Hughes was looking over him, watching Mustang.

“It’ll be okay, Elric,” said Hughes as he supported the smaller man and took a shuffling step toward Kimblee. He hated himself with each word. It might not be okay at all.

“Is this a change of orders?” Fullmetal asked, looking up with yellow eyes that were half-lidded. 

Kimblee snorted quietly. “Really, he’s not worth the trouble. Maybe you two should stall a little longer?”

Fullmetal let his weight rest more against the dark-haired man at his side. He felt weak. And, so confused. 

He had orders. That should help. His orders always told him what to do. 

“Remember.”

It was no use. The people around him, the solid ground under his feet and even his orders were all fading away as darkness crept over him. Everything was becoming so much meaningless nonsense. He struggled for a moment. He had orders. He had to go to the library, had to decode the notes. 

Why?

He had orders.

Yes. But, did they matter?

He had orders.

But, he no longer had the will to obey them. 

And, with that realization, there was a sudden, sharp wrench in his chest. Then, there was nothing.

Hughes was not prepared for Fullmetal to collapse. As it was, he was just fast enough to keep the suddenly boneless alchemist from crashing face first to the sidewalk.

“Hughes, is he—?” Mustang started, darting a quick glance at his friend before flicking his eyes back to Kimblee. The words froze in his throat as he watched the briefest flash of surprise cross Kimblee’s face. Then, it was gone as Kimblee abruptly lunged, not toward Fullmetal, but toward Mustang himself.

He should have fired. But, in those fractions of a second, the instinct to first dodge the bloody hand reaching for his face won out. He twisted aside, trying to bring his arm around to aim again. 

Wait – bloody! Kimblee’s outstretched palm was bisected by a bloody line. A bloody line cutting across the tattooed transmutation circle. The circle was broken. It couldn’t—

But, Kimblee’s other hand was already closing around the barrel of his sidearm, crackling with blue light, deforming the metal under his fingers.

Mustang dropped the ruined weapon and threw himself back. But, there was no explosion. The gun clattered harmlessly to the sidewalk as Kimblee swept in with a kick aimed at Mustang’s chest. Stumbling away, Mustang avoided the worst of it, but caught enough of a blow to send him staggering. With a growl, he fumbled for his right pocket.

“Pathetic,” Kimblee sneered as he followed the kick with a punch.

No, not a punch. 

“Hey!” Still grappling with Fullmetal’s dead weight, Hughes grabbed for a weapon.

And, both of Fullmetal’s burly bodyguards were moving in. 

But, it was all far, far too late because Kimblee’s injured hand had closed around the glove Mustang was trying so desperately to free.

Two hands, two tattoos, Mustang’s dazed brain reminded him. Working in tandem. Opposites that together formed a whole. Providing Kimblee with the ability to transmute any substance. One bearing a circle with the elemental symbols for earth and water. The other bearing a now-useless, broken circle with the elemental symbols for air and fire. Just like his own, undamaged gloves.

Which would make such a nice substitute for the madman.

“Not my gloves, you—!”

Even with Kimblee ripping it from his grasp, it took only an instant to activate the second, hidden circle woven white on white into the fabric. Mustang almost smirked as the demented glee on Kimblee’s face widened into shock when the glove ignited in his hand. But, he didn’t. Because it was much more satisfying to take that moment to slam his fist into Kimblee’s face.

Kimblee fell back, reflexively flinging away the burning remnants of the glove. A bullet grazed his side as Fullmetal’s bodyguards opened fire once he was clear of Mustang.

Feeling the hot flash of fresh pain, Kimblee snarled. Time for a retreat. What a waste. Years spent rotting in a cell and, when things were finally getting interesting, he had to run. That knife-wielding nuisance would pay for crippling his alchemy. 

Moving with his momentum, Kimblee let himself tumble back against the hood of the car that should have been his getaway vehicle. His temporary partner was slumped against the tire, collapsed where the dark-haired soldier had dropped him. Ducking, Kimblee grabbed the man’s collar and hoisted him up as an impromptu human shield as he rolled himself around the front of the car. Then, tossing the dead weight aside, he brought his injured hand to his mouth to tear the knife wound further with his teeth. It was so hard to create a proper reaction with only half the equation, after all. Blood dripping from his savaged palm, he began to draw a crude circle on the side of the car.

Mustang yanked on his remaining glove and looked up in time to see Kimblee dive for cover. To his left, Fullmetal’s bodyguards started to advance on the idling car.

Car. Metal. Gasoline.

“Wait!” He threw out his gloved hand, transmutation circle glowing.

And, the world up-ended as the car exploded.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B