![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 11
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: June 1, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Some unpleasantness in the aftermath.
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![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seekersks , the pyromaniac, for helping me with some technical details. I don't know if I did his suggestion justice, but I tried.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 11: I’m Not Where I’m Supposed to Be
“Stop!”
He froze at the sudden, angry voice. Familiarity flickered within him, and he debated his options for a moment.
No. He wouldn’t let it stop him.
Ignoring the voice, he turned again toward his goal.
He was so close now. It was just ahead of him, that curious red glow. It was warm and pulsing with the overwhelming presence of so many others.
“Edward, stop!”
“Stop!”
“Stop!”
Other voices joined in, echoing the same command. No. It was more like a plea.
And, the desperation in it made him hesitate.
“Why stop?” he called. “Want to go! No more alone!”
For a minute, there was silence.
Then, a quiet murmur began.
“Been so long…”
“Forgotten so much.”
“Not possible anymore.”
“But, he promised.”
Promised?
“Edward.” The familiar voice was back, sounding infinitely sad. “Do you even realize what joining us means? Do you not remember who you are?”
“Ed,” he responded petulantly. It was what the voices called him. It felt right.
“Yes, Ed,” said the voice patiently. “Do you remember why you’re here? Do you remember what you’re waiting for?”
Remember, remember, remember! He was tired of being asked to remember!
“No. Don’t want to remember!”
“Ed.” A new voice, soft and hesitant. “Are you going to give up?”
Give up? He wasn’t giving up. Leaving this dark prison wasn’t giving up. It was escape. It was freedom.
“No. It’s forgetting. Please, Ed, don’t forget.”
Forget? What was there to forget? There had never been anything else. Had there?
“Oh, Ed.” The second voice was sad. Why was she sad?
He didn’t understand.
“Edward,” the first voice was back now, quieter, chiding. “Do you remember your promise?”
Promise? That word again. A promise was… important.
“Promise?” he repeated.
“Remember.”
“Remember, please.”
He tried, tried just once more to remember. Because promises were meant to be kept. And, the voices were sad. The voices were his only company, his friends. He didn’t want them to be sad. He didn’t want to disappoint them.
So, he reached, deeper and deeper. Grasping after shreds of memory. And, he found them.
A horrible, hungry red light that consumed everything in its path. Faces instantly frozen forever in a look of shocked confusion. A bubble of blue light shielding him, wavering, collapsing as crimson consumed the world.
Death and blood. All of it was so much death.
And, all his fault.
He didn’t understand it. But, he knew it was true. And, a strangled scream tore its way out of him at the horror of it.
Was this memory?
“No!”
He didn’t want them, these memories.
Pain and blood and people dying all around him.
But…
“My fault?” he asked the voices.
Did they want him to remember what he had done? What he had caused?
“No!”
The word echoed with the power of so many voices it hurt.
“No, their fault!”
“Ed tried to stop!”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“Ed fought!”
“Hate them!”
“Chose to help.”
“Please help.”
It was too much. Too many voices. Too many words. Too many feelings.
Comfort. Anger. Pain. Sadness. Despair. Hope.
He couldn’t take it in. It was as though he was suddenly filled with thousands of people, all screaming to be heard.
“Please…”
Too much. It was too much.
“Please… Please!”
Slowly, the cacophony abated as the voices sensed his distress. Out of the sudden silence came a sense of determination. Chaos resolved into a singular intent.
“Past gone.”
“Ed can help now.”
“It hurts. I know.” The second voice. Quiet. Gentle. “But, remember, Ed. Remember what you told me. Stand up. Move forward.”
For a space of endless moments, he fought to collect himself. To understand.
Whatever he had done, it was done. The voices did not blame him. But, they needed his help.
He owed them. He had promised.
He reached again for the thin threads of memory. More images came to him, scattered and confused. Determined, he tried to make sense of it all.
“Edward.” The usual voice again. “I’m afraid there may not be time to do this the easier or safer way.”
He paused, confused.
“And, I know there are memories you meant to hide even from yourself. But…” The voice sounded tired. “Edward, forgive me.”
Forgive him? Forgive him for what?
“Edward, do you remember Alphonse?”
Alphonse. Al. Little brother.
A rush of thought, of memory swept through him. A little boy with dirty blond hair. A grave. A promise. A chalked circle that glowed an angry red. Screams. Blood.
Al disappearing under his hand.
The other memories had been mistake upon mistake, but nothing compared to the agony of this first failure. This first sin.
“Al!”
Fire roared around him.
And, screaming, he brought his hands together.
----------------------------------------------------------
Coughing, Roy Mustang forced himself up into a sitting position. And, immediately barked out a curse as pain lanced through his palms. Glass, he realized, shaking his hands. Every window in a half mile radius was probably shattered. Careful now, he squinted into the smoky haze to survey the damage.
The car was a smoldering hulk of twisted metal. Pieces of it littered the street, warped beyond recognition. But, the heavier debris was at least largely confined to the street. At his feet was a wide swath of clear ground. Clean of debris but equally scorched, it spread out before him, widest where he sat and narrowing as it reached the charred car frame.
It had been a last minute decision. Creating his own explosion to repel Kimblee’s blast. He had transmuted an “arrow” of oxygen, pulling as much as he dared from the surrounding air and directing it straight at the car before igniting it. The resultant collision had driven most of the concussive force skyward, shattering windows and probably raining debris for a block or more.
Mustang ignored the property destruction and, instead, searched for signs of life. There was a choked cough to his left, and he turned – rising cautiously into a crouch because he had already ground enough glass into his hands – to find Fullmetal’s bodyguards stirring. Both were alive then. Everyone had been to the left of his hasty deflection. Not within the safest range to avoid the blast or the fallout.
And, Hughes and Fullmetal had been the furthest away.
Dark eyes swept over the guards and across the sidewalk. Small fires burned intermittently. Glass glittered amid unidentifiable fragments. And, a dark shape was lying right where Hughes and Fullmetal had been sitting.
With a wordless shout, Mustang leapt up. If a piece of the car that size had fallen on them—
But, no. There! A flash of blue caught his eye.
Hughes.
Huddled behind what wasn’t metal or other debris at all. Instead, it was a curving wall of concrete, rising from the sidewalk and bending back over his body.
A shield. With the unmistakable rectangular marks of a hasty transmutation all over it.
“Hughes!”
Mustang bent to look into the makeshift shelter.
And, nearly collided with a head of dark hair.
“Ah! I thought I was going to die!” Sucking in a deep breath, Hughes coughed on the acrid smoke still hovering over the street. Then, his watery hazel eyes rolled toward Mustang, squinting behind cracked lenses. “Traveling with you is dangerous.”
“As I recall,” said Mustang, eyes searching for signs of injury,” this little excursion was your idea.”
“I didn’t realize there were more alchemists involved.” Hughes began gingerly extricating himself, mindful of the rubble littering the sidewalk. “When you get alchemists into it, everything goes crazy.”
“Present company excepted, I trust.”
“Ha! You’re the worst.” Crouched, Hughes turned back to the concrete shield.
Mustang tensed. “Fullmetal, is he—?”
Before Hughes could answer, a hoarse voice cut in.
“You’re loud.”
Fullmetal’s yellow eyes were bright against his pale face as he stared up at Mustang. His glasses were absent, and it seemed to take him a minute to identify the other man. Then, with a grunt, he clambered out of the narrow space under the alchemized wall.
“So,” Mustang kept his voice casual, “I trust Kimblee was lying then?”
Standing with Hughes’ help, Fullmetal turned to stare at him blankly. “Kimblee?” His voice was nothing but a croak.
“The man who was trying to kidnap you,” Mustang elaborated.
More blank staring.
“Do you remember the past… month at all?” It was a last second word swap, but he suddenly had the feeling that it was important.
“I…” Something in Fullmetal’s eyes was still hazy. “Study. No, library. We were at the library,” he rasped.
Mustang started to question the older alchemist further when Hughes stopped him.
“He needs a doctor, Roy. Just in case,” he said.
Realizing his friend was right, Mustang nodded his agreement.
“Now, how to—?” Hughes cocked his head and rubbed at one ear. “Are my ears still ringing or did someone finally notice you lunatics blowing up the city?”
Mustang scowled, but listened. Sure enough, there was a steady wail growing in the distance.
“No, it sounds like at least a fire brigade is on the way.”
And, military police, possibly even soldiers, had no doubt been dispatched as well. Mustang’s eyes drifted to the alchemically created shield. There was no way Fullmetal had had time to draw a circle. Looking at Hughes, Mustang cut his eyes back to the shield. Hughes arched a brow but obligingly turned his attention to Fullmetal.
“C’mon, Elric. Sounds like help will be here in a minute.” Hughes steered the unsteady alchemist to the nearest building. Once Fullmetal was safely propped against a wall, he followed the sound of muttered cursing toward the alchemist’s bodyguards.
“So, everybody alive over here?” he called. “What’s that? Speak up! I think my eardrums were blown out in that blast.”
Mustang was already kneeling under Fullmetal’s shield. With a piece of blackened metal from the sidewalk, he began to scratch a small circle at the base of the unmarred concrete beneath. Completing the basic transmutation circle, he shot a quick look to see that Hughes had the guards turned away, still babbling nonsense. Good. He reached a hand down to activate the circle. As a stutter of blue light engulfed the concrete, there was a small cry behind him.
Ignoring it, Mustang kept his attention on the transmutation. Under his direction, the small wall shifted and slowly melded back into the sidewalk. In seconds, it was as though the shield had never been, save for a small patch of clear ground behind it. A few kicks at the scattered ash and debris solved that problem. Then, Mustang turned to Fullmetal.
The gray-haired alchemist’s eyes were wide and unfocused. “It took him,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “And, I couldn’t— My fault. All my fault.” His left, flesh hand clutched at his metal arm. “I tried.” His legs were shaking. “Offered anything it wanted.” Fingers dug through cloth into unfeeling, unyielding steel.
Mustang waited, uncertain. For the first time in days, Fullmetal was talking like a human being. A broken, fragile human being possibly on the edge of sliding into shock, but at least he wasn’t a life-sized doll anymore.
Fullmetal didn’t say anything further, just stared ahead, lost in his own nightmares. Mustang could only wonder if they involved Drachma or Liore. Or both. Whatever the case, he might be able to ask later, if Fullmetal didn’t start seizing again. That in mind, he quickly crossed the distance between them and took Fullmetal by his living shoulder to give him a light shake.
“Elric!”
Fullmetal’s whole body jerked. Then, his eyes focused on Mustang, blinking. Slowly, the wide-eyed horror slipped off his face. In its place something else flitted by. A flash of something like fear, a grimace. Then, it was all gone as expression bled away, and Mustang found himself looking down at the too-familiar human doll.
Mustang barely choked back the curse bubbling in his throat.
“Roy! Give me a hand here!”
Turning, he saw the two large guards standing wearily amid the destruction and Hughes several feet away crouched by a blackened lump of something. No, someone.
Calling the guards to watch Fullmetal, Mustang gave the small alchemist a nudge toward the wall before hurrying over to survey what was left of Kimblee’s accomplice. Astoundingly, the man was still alive, breathing shallowly. However, Mustang mused as he inspected the damage with a practiced eye, he didn’t expect the man to survive long enough to provide any answers. There was good reason Hughes hadn’t even attempted to move the man. The third degree burns were only the most obvious injuries. And, those alone were likely fatal. The man would probably never wake up, and be better off for it.
“Well, it’s something,” Mustang allowed after a minute.
Hughes shrugged.
Both men looked up at a screech of tires from the opposite end of the street.
“Ah,” Hughes sounded far too cheerful, “is that General Grand?”
Mustang’s scowl deepened before vanishing entirely as he turned to meet the general.
Grand was out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop.
“Mustang, what is going on here?”
“Sir,” Mustang snapped off a salute, “it’s imperative that the Fullmetal Alchemist be taken to a hospital immediately. Kimblee, the former Crimson Alchemist, was here and claimed to have used alchemy to transmute the chemicals in Fullmetal’s body. We have not been able to confirm or deny this.”
An instant’s shock flitted over Grand’s face, but he recovered admirably. Looking past Mustang, his eyes landed on Fullmetal now flanked by his two slightly singed bodyguards. “Heinkel! Darius!” the general bellowed. “Get Fullmetal in the car immediately!” As the pair hurried to do so, he swung back to Mustang. “Meet me at Central Hospital. I’ll expect a full report.” Dark eyes flicked toward Hughes and narrowed. “I want to speak to you as well, Lieutenant Colonel.”
Sensing Grand was an instant from leaving, Mustang quickly added. “This man,” a wave toward the charred body, “was Kimblee’s accomplice. Though I’m doubtful he’ll survive to tell us anything.”
Grand gave the body a quick, narrow look. “Inform the medics when they arrive.”
Then, he stormed back to the car where Fullmetal had been guided into the back seat. Ignoring Heinkel and Darius, he threw himself inside, yelling, “Central Hospital! Go!”
The car roared away with a fresh squeal from the abused tires.
“Well,” Hughes watched as the car narrowly avoided a small convoy of approaching fire and military vehicles as it rounded the nearest corner and sped out of sight, “he certainly gets to the point.”
Mustang didn’t answer. “Hughes,” his voice was quiet, “Fullmetal didn’t draw a transmutation circle, did he?”
“Didn’t see one,” said Hughes. “Just him slapping his hands together. I assumed it was on his automail or something.” He arched an eyebrow curiously.
“Mmmm… We really need to have that talk.”
“Good. Because, more than that, I want to know who Al is.”
Mustang raised an eyebrow. “Al?”
“That’s what I think he said.” Hughes dug a finger into his left ear. “Or rather screamed. Right about the time everything blew up.”
“I really wish I had that file,” Mustang groused to no one in particular.
----------------------------------------------------------
An hour later, Maes Hughes found himself studying the slow progression of an aneurysm. Thankfully, not his own.
After commandeering a small suite of offices, General Grand had sat them down in the largest and then proceeded to listen to Roy’s account of the morning’s events with a stony face. A stony face that had developed a worrisome tick that made his narrow moustache twitch. Then, just as the moustache was starting to appear as though it wanted to jump from the general’s face and attack someone, Grand had stormed off to place some calls. When he returned, the tick was gone, but his face was instead a faintly mottled red.
“The prison is saying they received word of a sudden transfer for Kimblee,” he said. “He disappeared in transit.”
Wisely, neither Hughes nor Mustang chose to comment on this rather egregious error.
“Thus far, the doctors haven’t found anything wrong with Fullmetal,” Grand continued, “so that much was likely a bluff.” As Roy had already guessed. “However, it’s become clear that someone has taken an unhealthy interest in him.” Dark eyes pinned Mustang with a grim stare.
Roy’s face was unreadable. “It would seem so, Sir,” he said.
Hughes found himself watching a vein in Grand’s forehead with great interest. The pulsing was sort of an erratic one-two beat, like a fast march.
Grand’s eyes held Roy for a long minute before flicking to Hughes. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, I believe Major Archer is in your department?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Has he spoken with you recently?”
“No, Sir.” Idly, Hughes wondered if his poker face was as good as Roy’s. It wasn’t much good against Roy. Certainly not at poker. But, he thought it was fairly effective against normal people. Granted, given the general looked like he might combust at any minute, he probably didn’t qualify as “normal”. “Major Archer and I have only occasionally worked on the same cases.”
Grand hummed. Or growled maybe. It was hard to say.
“Well, it’s not important,” he said at last. “I’ll speak with the major later. You’re dismissed.”
“Sir.” Shooting the clearly not dismissed Roy a discreet look of sympathy, Hughes made his escape.
Well, that had been interesting. And, not just the part where he was imagining placing bets with Roy on how long it would be before the general keeled over. Roy was really caught up in something crazy this time. Secret projects, confused amnesiacs, escaped maniacs. And, where exactly did Major Archer fit?
He and Roy were going to have a lot to talk through. And, maybe it would help that he had remembered one more place to check for that illusive file.
Because the whole mess had him curious now.
Once Hughes had left, the full force of Grand’s ire came down on Mustang.
Rising from his chair, he paced to the office’s door and then back to the desk, looming over Mustang. “I expect you know better than to divulge classified details, Colonel,” he hissed.
“Of course, Sir,” said Mustang levelly. He also knew exactly when and where and how many details to divulge when it became necessary. It had been necessary ever since this bizarre project had sent his fellow researcher into a coma. It had become imperative now that Kimblee was on the loose. “If you’re suggesting I was somehow involved with that madman…” Mustang let the faintest thread of anger slip through his careful facade.
Grand snarled and slashed a hand through the air. “I expect you to be smarter than that, Mustang. Everyone who served in Ishval knows Kimblee’s a maniac who can’t be trusted not to kill his own side.” He leaned forward. “No, I mean your friend in Investigations.”
More perceptive than Mustang had expected of Grand. But, easily deflected with enough of the truth.
“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is an old friend from the Academy,” said Mustang. “I’ve been quite busy lately, and he came by to catch me for an early breakfast.” He didn’t need to say what had kept him so busy. “As he works in Investigations, Hughes and I generally avoid military talk beyond the latest gossip.” Gossip did so neatly hide a myriad of more serious topics. “He’d much rather talk about his family anyway,” Mustang added with a small, genuine smile.
Grand treated him to another prolonged glower as though searching for some sign of deception. Really, it was no wonder Hughes had kept staring at that vein in the man’s forehead. It was becoming rather prominent.
Mustang kept his face bland.
After a minute, Grand relented, huffing out an angry breath and stalking back to his seat. “Security will have to be doubled. I’m moving Fullmetal into the barracks nearest the library. Should Kimblee target you— Well, I trust you can defend yourself.”
“Of course.” Now, Mustang allowed a dark smile to curl his lips. He had no intention of letting Kimblee take him by surprise again.
----------------------------------------------------------
Several rooms away, surrounded by a bevy of doctors, Fullmetal sat numbly amid the flurry of activity. Stripped to his underwear, the cold air and even colder instruments had turned every inch of bare skin to gooseflesh. He was prodded and probed and passed from one brusque professional to another.
He ignored it all, mechanically obeying commands out of habit. Only the flash of a needle as a blood sample was taken made him flinch momentarily.
Inside, his mind was caught in its own chaotic flurry.
Something had happened. Something monumental.
But, it was gone now.
And, though the voices were completely silent, he couldn’t seem to bring it back.
All that remained was the vague sense that somewhere someone was waiting for him.
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: June 1, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Some unpleasantness in the aftermath.
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
seekersks , the pyromaniac, for helping me with some technical details. I don't know if I did his suggestion justice, but I tried.Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 11: I’m Not Where I’m Supposed to Be
“Stop!”
He froze at the sudden, angry voice. Familiarity flickered within him, and he debated his options for a moment.
No. He wouldn’t let it stop him.
Ignoring the voice, he turned again toward his goal.
He was so close now. It was just ahead of him, that curious red glow. It was warm and pulsing with the overwhelming presence of so many others.
“Edward, stop!”
“Stop!”
“Stop!”
Other voices joined in, echoing the same command. No. It was more like a plea.
And, the desperation in it made him hesitate.
“Why stop?” he called. “Want to go! No more alone!”
For a minute, there was silence.
Then, a quiet murmur began.
“Been so long…”
“Forgotten so much.”
“Not possible anymore.”
“But, he promised.”
Promised?
“Edward.” The familiar voice was back, sounding infinitely sad. “Do you even realize what joining us means? Do you not remember who you are?”
“Ed,” he responded petulantly. It was what the voices called him. It felt right.
“Yes, Ed,” said the voice patiently. “Do you remember why you’re here? Do you remember what you’re waiting for?”
Remember, remember, remember! He was tired of being asked to remember!
“No. Don’t want to remember!”
“Ed.” A new voice, soft and hesitant. “Are you going to give up?”
Give up? He wasn’t giving up. Leaving this dark prison wasn’t giving up. It was escape. It was freedom.
“No. It’s forgetting. Please, Ed, don’t forget.”
Forget? What was there to forget? There had never been anything else. Had there?
“Oh, Ed.” The second voice was sad. Why was she sad?
He didn’t understand.
“Edward,” the first voice was back now, quieter, chiding. “Do you remember your promise?”
Promise? That word again. A promise was… important.
“Promise?” he repeated.
“Remember.”
“Remember, please.”
He tried, tried just once more to remember. Because promises were meant to be kept. And, the voices were sad. The voices were his only company, his friends. He didn’t want them to be sad. He didn’t want to disappoint them.
So, he reached, deeper and deeper. Grasping after shreds of memory. And, he found them.
A horrible, hungry red light that consumed everything in its path. Faces instantly frozen forever in a look of shocked confusion. A bubble of blue light shielding him, wavering, collapsing as crimson consumed the world.
Death and blood. All of it was so much death.
And, all his fault.
He didn’t understand it. But, he knew it was true. And, a strangled scream tore its way out of him at the horror of it.
Was this memory?
“No!”
He didn’t want them, these memories.
Pain and blood and people dying all around him.
But…
“My fault?” he asked the voices.
Did they want him to remember what he had done? What he had caused?
“No!”
The word echoed with the power of so many voices it hurt.
“No, their fault!”
“Ed tried to stop!”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“Ed fought!”
“Hate them!”
“Chose to help.”
“Please help.”
It was too much. Too many voices. Too many words. Too many feelings.
Comfort. Anger. Pain. Sadness. Despair. Hope.
He couldn’t take it in. It was as though he was suddenly filled with thousands of people, all screaming to be heard.
“Please…”
Too much. It was too much.
“Please… Please!”
Slowly, the cacophony abated as the voices sensed his distress. Out of the sudden silence came a sense of determination. Chaos resolved into a singular intent.
“Past gone.”
“Ed can help now.”
“It hurts. I know.” The second voice. Quiet. Gentle. “But, remember, Ed. Remember what you told me. Stand up. Move forward.”
For a space of endless moments, he fought to collect himself. To understand.
Whatever he had done, it was done. The voices did not blame him. But, they needed his help.
He owed them. He had promised.
He reached again for the thin threads of memory. More images came to him, scattered and confused. Determined, he tried to make sense of it all.
“Edward.” The usual voice again. “I’m afraid there may not be time to do this the easier or safer way.”
He paused, confused.
“And, I know there are memories you meant to hide even from yourself. But…” The voice sounded tired. “Edward, forgive me.”
Forgive him? Forgive him for what?
“Edward, do you remember Alphonse?”
Alphonse. Al. Little brother.
A rush of thought, of memory swept through him. A little boy with dirty blond hair. A grave. A promise. A chalked circle that glowed an angry red. Screams. Blood.
Al disappearing under his hand.
The other memories had been mistake upon mistake, but nothing compared to the agony of this first failure. This first sin.
“Al!”
Fire roared around him.
And, screaming, he brought his hands together.
----------------------------------------------------------
Coughing, Roy Mustang forced himself up into a sitting position. And, immediately barked out a curse as pain lanced through his palms. Glass, he realized, shaking his hands. Every window in a half mile radius was probably shattered. Careful now, he squinted into the smoky haze to survey the damage.
The car was a smoldering hulk of twisted metal. Pieces of it littered the street, warped beyond recognition. But, the heavier debris was at least largely confined to the street. At his feet was a wide swath of clear ground. Clean of debris but equally scorched, it spread out before him, widest where he sat and narrowing as it reached the charred car frame.
It had been a last minute decision. Creating his own explosion to repel Kimblee’s blast. He had transmuted an “arrow” of oxygen, pulling as much as he dared from the surrounding air and directing it straight at the car before igniting it. The resultant collision had driven most of the concussive force skyward, shattering windows and probably raining debris for a block or more.
Mustang ignored the property destruction and, instead, searched for signs of life. There was a choked cough to his left, and he turned – rising cautiously into a crouch because he had already ground enough glass into his hands – to find Fullmetal’s bodyguards stirring. Both were alive then. Everyone had been to the left of his hasty deflection. Not within the safest range to avoid the blast or the fallout.
And, Hughes and Fullmetal had been the furthest away.
Dark eyes swept over the guards and across the sidewalk. Small fires burned intermittently. Glass glittered amid unidentifiable fragments. And, a dark shape was lying right where Hughes and Fullmetal had been sitting.
With a wordless shout, Mustang leapt up. If a piece of the car that size had fallen on them—
But, no. There! A flash of blue caught his eye.
Hughes.
Huddled behind what wasn’t metal or other debris at all. Instead, it was a curving wall of concrete, rising from the sidewalk and bending back over his body.
A shield. With the unmistakable rectangular marks of a hasty transmutation all over it.
“Hughes!”
Mustang bent to look into the makeshift shelter.
And, nearly collided with a head of dark hair.
“Ah! I thought I was going to die!” Sucking in a deep breath, Hughes coughed on the acrid smoke still hovering over the street. Then, his watery hazel eyes rolled toward Mustang, squinting behind cracked lenses. “Traveling with you is dangerous.”
“As I recall,” said Mustang, eyes searching for signs of injury,” this little excursion was your idea.”
“I didn’t realize there were more alchemists involved.” Hughes began gingerly extricating himself, mindful of the rubble littering the sidewalk. “When you get alchemists into it, everything goes crazy.”
“Present company excepted, I trust.”
“Ha! You’re the worst.” Crouched, Hughes turned back to the concrete shield.
Mustang tensed. “Fullmetal, is he—?”
Before Hughes could answer, a hoarse voice cut in.
“You’re loud.”
Fullmetal’s yellow eyes were bright against his pale face as he stared up at Mustang. His glasses were absent, and it seemed to take him a minute to identify the other man. Then, with a grunt, he clambered out of the narrow space under the alchemized wall.
“So,” Mustang kept his voice casual, “I trust Kimblee was lying then?”
Standing with Hughes’ help, Fullmetal turned to stare at him blankly. “Kimblee?” His voice was nothing but a croak.
“The man who was trying to kidnap you,” Mustang elaborated.
More blank staring.
“Do you remember the past… month at all?” It was a last second word swap, but he suddenly had the feeling that it was important.
“I…” Something in Fullmetal’s eyes was still hazy. “Study. No, library. We were at the library,” he rasped.
Mustang started to question the older alchemist further when Hughes stopped him.
“He needs a doctor, Roy. Just in case,” he said.
Realizing his friend was right, Mustang nodded his agreement.
“Now, how to—?” Hughes cocked his head and rubbed at one ear. “Are my ears still ringing or did someone finally notice you lunatics blowing up the city?”
Mustang scowled, but listened. Sure enough, there was a steady wail growing in the distance.
“No, it sounds like at least a fire brigade is on the way.”
And, military police, possibly even soldiers, had no doubt been dispatched as well. Mustang’s eyes drifted to the alchemically created shield. There was no way Fullmetal had had time to draw a circle. Looking at Hughes, Mustang cut his eyes back to the shield. Hughes arched a brow but obligingly turned his attention to Fullmetal.
“C’mon, Elric. Sounds like help will be here in a minute.” Hughes steered the unsteady alchemist to the nearest building. Once Fullmetal was safely propped against a wall, he followed the sound of muttered cursing toward the alchemist’s bodyguards.
“So, everybody alive over here?” he called. “What’s that? Speak up! I think my eardrums were blown out in that blast.”
Mustang was already kneeling under Fullmetal’s shield. With a piece of blackened metal from the sidewalk, he began to scratch a small circle at the base of the unmarred concrete beneath. Completing the basic transmutation circle, he shot a quick look to see that Hughes had the guards turned away, still babbling nonsense. Good. He reached a hand down to activate the circle. As a stutter of blue light engulfed the concrete, there was a small cry behind him.
Ignoring it, Mustang kept his attention on the transmutation. Under his direction, the small wall shifted and slowly melded back into the sidewalk. In seconds, it was as though the shield had never been, save for a small patch of clear ground behind it. A few kicks at the scattered ash and debris solved that problem. Then, Mustang turned to Fullmetal.
The gray-haired alchemist’s eyes were wide and unfocused. “It took him,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “And, I couldn’t— My fault. All my fault.” His left, flesh hand clutched at his metal arm. “I tried.” His legs were shaking. “Offered anything it wanted.” Fingers dug through cloth into unfeeling, unyielding steel.
Mustang waited, uncertain. For the first time in days, Fullmetal was talking like a human being. A broken, fragile human being possibly on the edge of sliding into shock, but at least he wasn’t a life-sized doll anymore.
Fullmetal didn’t say anything further, just stared ahead, lost in his own nightmares. Mustang could only wonder if they involved Drachma or Liore. Or both. Whatever the case, he might be able to ask later, if Fullmetal didn’t start seizing again. That in mind, he quickly crossed the distance between them and took Fullmetal by his living shoulder to give him a light shake.
“Elric!”
Fullmetal’s whole body jerked. Then, his eyes focused on Mustang, blinking. Slowly, the wide-eyed horror slipped off his face. In its place something else flitted by. A flash of something like fear, a grimace. Then, it was all gone as expression bled away, and Mustang found himself looking down at the too-familiar human doll.
Mustang barely choked back the curse bubbling in his throat.
“Roy! Give me a hand here!”
Turning, he saw the two large guards standing wearily amid the destruction and Hughes several feet away crouched by a blackened lump of something. No, someone.
Calling the guards to watch Fullmetal, Mustang gave the small alchemist a nudge toward the wall before hurrying over to survey what was left of Kimblee’s accomplice. Astoundingly, the man was still alive, breathing shallowly. However, Mustang mused as he inspected the damage with a practiced eye, he didn’t expect the man to survive long enough to provide any answers. There was good reason Hughes hadn’t even attempted to move the man. The third degree burns were only the most obvious injuries. And, those alone were likely fatal. The man would probably never wake up, and be better off for it.
“Well, it’s something,” Mustang allowed after a minute.
Hughes shrugged.
Both men looked up at a screech of tires from the opposite end of the street.
“Ah,” Hughes sounded far too cheerful, “is that General Grand?”
Mustang’s scowl deepened before vanishing entirely as he turned to meet the general.
Grand was out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop.
“Mustang, what is going on here?”
“Sir,” Mustang snapped off a salute, “it’s imperative that the Fullmetal Alchemist be taken to a hospital immediately. Kimblee, the former Crimson Alchemist, was here and claimed to have used alchemy to transmute the chemicals in Fullmetal’s body. We have not been able to confirm or deny this.”
An instant’s shock flitted over Grand’s face, but he recovered admirably. Looking past Mustang, his eyes landed on Fullmetal now flanked by his two slightly singed bodyguards. “Heinkel! Darius!” the general bellowed. “Get Fullmetal in the car immediately!” As the pair hurried to do so, he swung back to Mustang. “Meet me at Central Hospital. I’ll expect a full report.” Dark eyes flicked toward Hughes and narrowed. “I want to speak to you as well, Lieutenant Colonel.”
Sensing Grand was an instant from leaving, Mustang quickly added. “This man,” a wave toward the charred body, “was Kimblee’s accomplice. Though I’m doubtful he’ll survive to tell us anything.”
Grand gave the body a quick, narrow look. “Inform the medics when they arrive.”
Then, he stormed back to the car where Fullmetal had been guided into the back seat. Ignoring Heinkel and Darius, he threw himself inside, yelling, “Central Hospital! Go!”
The car roared away with a fresh squeal from the abused tires.
“Well,” Hughes watched as the car narrowly avoided a small convoy of approaching fire and military vehicles as it rounded the nearest corner and sped out of sight, “he certainly gets to the point.”
Mustang didn’t answer. “Hughes,” his voice was quiet, “Fullmetal didn’t draw a transmutation circle, did he?”
“Didn’t see one,” said Hughes. “Just him slapping his hands together. I assumed it was on his automail or something.” He arched an eyebrow curiously.
“Mmmm… We really need to have that talk.”
“Good. Because, more than that, I want to know who Al is.”
Mustang raised an eyebrow. “Al?”
“That’s what I think he said.” Hughes dug a finger into his left ear. “Or rather screamed. Right about the time everything blew up.”
“I really wish I had that file,” Mustang groused to no one in particular.
----------------------------------------------------------
An hour later, Maes Hughes found himself studying the slow progression of an aneurysm. Thankfully, not his own.
After commandeering a small suite of offices, General Grand had sat them down in the largest and then proceeded to listen to Roy’s account of the morning’s events with a stony face. A stony face that had developed a worrisome tick that made his narrow moustache twitch. Then, just as the moustache was starting to appear as though it wanted to jump from the general’s face and attack someone, Grand had stormed off to place some calls. When he returned, the tick was gone, but his face was instead a faintly mottled red.
“The prison is saying they received word of a sudden transfer for Kimblee,” he said. “He disappeared in transit.”
Wisely, neither Hughes nor Mustang chose to comment on this rather egregious error.
“Thus far, the doctors haven’t found anything wrong with Fullmetal,” Grand continued, “so that much was likely a bluff.” As Roy had already guessed. “However, it’s become clear that someone has taken an unhealthy interest in him.” Dark eyes pinned Mustang with a grim stare.
Roy’s face was unreadable. “It would seem so, Sir,” he said.
Hughes found himself watching a vein in Grand’s forehead with great interest. The pulsing was sort of an erratic one-two beat, like a fast march.
Grand’s eyes held Roy for a long minute before flicking to Hughes. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, I believe Major Archer is in your department?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Has he spoken with you recently?”
“No, Sir.” Idly, Hughes wondered if his poker face was as good as Roy’s. It wasn’t much good against Roy. Certainly not at poker. But, he thought it was fairly effective against normal people. Granted, given the general looked like he might combust at any minute, he probably didn’t qualify as “normal”. “Major Archer and I have only occasionally worked on the same cases.”
Grand hummed. Or growled maybe. It was hard to say.
“Well, it’s not important,” he said at last. “I’ll speak with the major later. You’re dismissed.”
“Sir.” Shooting the clearly not dismissed Roy a discreet look of sympathy, Hughes made his escape.
Well, that had been interesting. And, not just the part where he was imagining placing bets with Roy on how long it would be before the general keeled over. Roy was really caught up in something crazy this time. Secret projects, confused amnesiacs, escaped maniacs. And, where exactly did Major Archer fit?
He and Roy were going to have a lot to talk through. And, maybe it would help that he had remembered one more place to check for that illusive file.
Because the whole mess had him curious now.
Once Hughes had left, the full force of Grand’s ire came down on Mustang.
Rising from his chair, he paced to the office’s door and then back to the desk, looming over Mustang. “I expect you know better than to divulge classified details, Colonel,” he hissed.
“Of course, Sir,” said Mustang levelly. He also knew exactly when and where and how many details to divulge when it became necessary. It had been necessary ever since this bizarre project had sent his fellow researcher into a coma. It had become imperative now that Kimblee was on the loose. “If you’re suggesting I was somehow involved with that madman…” Mustang let the faintest thread of anger slip through his careful facade.
Grand snarled and slashed a hand through the air. “I expect you to be smarter than that, Mustang. Everyone who served in Ishval knows Kimblee’s a maniac who can’t be trusted not to kill his own side.” He leaned forward. “No, I mean your friend in Investigations.”
More perceptive than Mustang had expected of Grand. But, easily deflected with enough of the truth.
“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is an old friend from the Academy,” said Mustang. “I’ve been quite busy lately, and he came by to catch me for an early breakfast.” He didn’t need to say what had kept him so busy. “As he works in Investigations, Hughes and I generally avoid military talk beyond the latest gossip.” Gossip did so neatly hide a myriad of more serious topics. “He’d much rather talk about his family anyway,” Mustang added with a small, genuine smile.
Grand treated him to another prolonged glower as though searching for some sign of deception. Really, it was no wonder Hughes had kept staring at that vein in the man’s forehead. It was becoming rather prominent.
Mustang kept his face bland.
After a minute, Grand relented, huffing out an angry breath and stalking back to his seat. “Security will have to be doubled. I’m moving Fullmetal into the barracks nearest the library. Should Kimblee target you— Well, I trust you can defend yourself.”
“Of course.” Now, Mustang allowed a dark smile to curl his lips. He had no intention of letting Kimblee take him by surprise again.
----------------------------------------------------------
Several rooms away, surrounded by a bevy of doctors, Fullmetal sat numbly amid the flurry of activity. Stripped to his underwear, the cold air and even colder instruments had turned every inch of bare skin to gooseflesh. He was prodded and probed and passed from one brusque professional to another.
He ignored it all, mechanically obeying commands out of habit. Only the flash of a needle as a blood sample was taken made him flinch momentarily.
Inside, his mind was caught in its own chaotic flurry.
Something had happened. Something monumental.
But, it was gone now.
And, though the voices were completely silent, he couldn’t seem to bring it back.
All that remained was the vague sense that somewhere someone was waiting for him.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
no subject
And that someone is...AL! :D Yay for Ed starting to remember! :) But, oh Ed. What have you done this time to lose Al like this? :( It's been so long. I wonder if Al still remembers Ed or if he's stuggling like Ed is. Will they recognize one another when (not if!) they see each other again? :(
I'm pretty sure one of those voice was Rose. That line, "But, remember, Ed. Remember what you told me. Stand up. Move forward", sounds just like her. I also can't shake the feeling that since Ed has all these voices inside him, not to mention that "curious red glow" within him, that maybe somehow Ed has become a living Philosopher's Stone just like Hohenheim was. Hohenheim had all the souls of Xerxes. Ed has the souls of Liore. A dizzying concept to be sure! No wonder Ed has fits and suffers amnesia!
More fic soon please! :D
no subject
I can't imagine that the Elric brothers could ever forget one another completely. Not even if the whole world was against them. Their brotherly bond is just awesome like that.
--I'm pretty sure one of those voice was Rose. That line, "But, remember, Ed. Remember what you told me. Stand up. Move forward", sounds just like her.--
Yes! I was hoping someone would get that reference. (Well, others may have, but they didn't tell me so.)
And, more will be coming next week with what should be a double length chapter. Thanks for reading!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject