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Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 12, Part 1
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: June 8, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Violence, 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: And, a number of things finally come to a head. Also, again, many, many thanks to everyone that's been reading and/or commenting on this. As well as to my betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mintysage and Kayca, and my Big Bang artists, bay115 and dreamer1789 , who were a great encouragement as well.
Which was a mistake. A mistake made worse by his words.
Words he could not take back, spoken to the dark-haired man in the blue uniform.
“Perhaps it’s not so bad.”
The voice again. Sounding hesitant.
Remembering why the voice was hesitant was easy.
“Not bad?” he growled. He had not forgotten the voice’s betrayal. Though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. It wasn’t the first time. “I almost told one of them about Al!”
Them. Blue uniforms with angry faces. Blue uniforms demanding answers he would never give. Blue clad arms raising to strike. Men in blue issuing orders to far more frightening men in white labcoats. The glint of gold in a toothy smile.
The voice’s next words forced the broken images aside.
“I am sorry, Edward. But, I couldn’t let you die. I trusted Alphonse’s memory could reach you when nothing else could.”
Of course it could. Even now, he couldn’t quite bury those memories as far as he should. They were too precious.
“It would’ve been better than—!”
“And, who will save Alphonse if you die?”
For a minute, he snarled impotently. It was true. But, he didn’t have to like it.
“So, now what?” he spat. “He’s one of them. He’ll tell them.”
“You spoke to him once, you know.”
A dim concrete room. The other one trying to answer a question that should never be answered. Dark eyes looking down at him with genuine concern. A voice.
“Do you remember?” the voice persisted. “You trusted him enough to take a chance then. Why?”
A voice. Words.
“I... Because he said my name.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Finally released from the hospital after two days of incessant examinations and more needles than he cared to think about, Fullmetal eyed his new living space. Well, it was smaller, but the narrow room in the barracks was otherwise no better or worse than his apartment. Outside, a gust of winter wind slapped the building and whistled over his single window. Immediately, he felt a rush of icy air against his face.
Fullmetal scowled. Correction then. His apartment wasn’t nearly so drafty. If the room stayed like this, he was going to be miserable. He could feel it in every throb radiating from the stumps of his arm and leg.
He gave the simple bed – nothing more than a metal frame and mattress – a baleful look. In the chaos of moving out the second bed and other excess furniture for a roommate he didn’t have, someone had shoved the remaining bed directly under the lone window. And, he certainly wasn’t sleeping there.
For a few minutes, Fullmetal debated. The last couple days had been a foggy haze of being passed from one uniformed figure to another before being deposited in the hospital so a bevy of doctors could take their turn at him. He wasn’t sure about the days before that. But, today, he felt fine. A little bruised here and there, and cold weather never did anything pleasant to the scar tissue around his automail ports, but his head was clear. And, if his head was clear, there was no physical pain he couldn’t ignore.
Decided, he began the process of re-arranging everything not bolted down. And, once that was done, he would think about a few of the things that were.
It helped that his meager belongings were easily moved aside. Grand’s soldiers had transferred the entire contents of his apartment, minus furniture, and they still filled no more than two suitcases and a medium-sized box. He owned only a basic wardrobe, toiletries, and a handful of research materials. One could only carry the essentials when traveling. Everything else was gone in the fire anyway.
Fullmetal froze in the act of shoving the bed against one of the walls. Fire? He had lived in the same apartment since his release from the hospital almost twenty years ago. There had never been a fire.
The fire must have been before.
Fullmetal immediately shied away from the thread of memory, waiting for the roar of voices to build in his mind. But, it never came. Whispers reached him, mutterings floating up from a great depth, but there was no attack.
Huffing out a sigh of relief, he gave the bed frame a final shove. With a screech, it settled snugly against the wall beside the radiator. Fullmetal grinned and laid his left palm against the wall over the bed. It was blissfully warm from the hot water pipes feeding the radiator. Briefly, he debated digging out a blanket and snuggling up against that warmth until someone came to drag him away.
A fresh blast of frigid air made him decide against it. First things first. The room’s simple desk and chest of drawers should make a suitable windbreak. Shame they hadn’t left the second bed.
But… If the voices were quiet today, if he didn’t pursue memories of fires or his wandering youth, maybe he could do something more permanent with that window. Stretching the wall’s material to fill in the crumbling attempt at insulation was a simple enough transmutation. And, it would spare him worlds of pain.
Of course, there was a tempting alternative. It wasn’t as though all four of the soldiers stationed outside his door were so necessary a couple couldn’t fetch hot water bottles for him.
Maybe he could do both, he thought with a sudden wicked smile.
Still grinning, he moved to the window, one hand digging in his pocket for some chalk. And, froze at the sound of a knock on his door.
“Hey, Fullmetal. We’re here to take you to the library.”
He growled. “Just you wait,” he hissed to the drafty window before hurrying to the door.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang was feeling good about the day ahead. At least as much as he had any day in recent memory. Which is to say he met the morning with only a vague sense of unease.
Grand was growing paranoid, someone had taken a sudden, unpleasant interest in Fullmetal, Kimblee was out of prison, and he felt no closer to solving either Grand’s or his personal mystery. But, there were no soldiers at his door and the sky was clear of any signs of an explosion, so the unease remained a nagging flutter in his stomach. Frustrating, but nothing that would kill him. Yet.
At least he had managed to contact Breda in East City and redirect him. His trip through the Central Tribune archives had led him to revise a few theories. Now it was up to Breda to prove them.
That in mind, Mustang stepped outside and eyed the gray-white sky overhead. The sun was nothing but a patch of painful brightness in the east, and there was a curious hush to the air. It was going to snow. The thought made him tug his long coat closer.
“Looks like snow, doesn’t it?” piped a voice to his right.
Mustang turned to find a stout older woman smiling at him from behind a small street vendor’s cart.
“It does indeed,” he answered politely.
“And, you’re without a hat,” the woman tutted. “Here.” She pulled something from her cart. “At least take an umbrella with you.” She extended a slender black umbrella toward him.
“Oh, no thank you, ma’am.” Mustang quickly waved a hand.
The old woman smiled. “Consider it a gift. Wouldn’t want you wet and useless now, would we?”
Mustang tensed immediately. “And, who might it be a gift from, dear lady?”
“Miss Olivier, of course,” she answered, her smile knowing now.
“Ah.” Mustang relaxed and reached for the umbrella. “In that case it would be a shame to turn down a gift from such a lovely lady.”
“And, unwise as well,” said the old woman. There was a twinkle in her eyes now.
“Indeed.” Taking the umbrella in hand, Mustang made to leave. “My thanks for passing this along.”
The woman merely waved cheerfully, bobbing her gray head. “I’m always doing favors for Miss Olivier and her family.”
Mustang returned her smile and continued on his way. A block away, he finally dared to carefully open the umbrella. Inside, he found a note curled around the main shaft. Its contents were brief.
“No record of State Alchemist captured in Briggs by Drachmans. One record of Briggs soldiers assisting in capture of rogue alchemist near border. Dated July, 1884. No further details. Will expect meal next time in Central. Assuming you’re alive.”
“Charming as always,” Mustang murmured to himself.
But, his mind was far from Olivier Armstrong and her blunt nature.
The Briggs soldiers had helped to capture a rogue alchemist near the Drachman border in July, 1884. The same month and year Fullmetal had been reported missing.
The pieces were finally coming together in his mind and forming a picture. An ugly one.
“But, why?” Mustang hissed.
If an alchemist had destroyed Liore – or had been ordered to destroy Liore - and then tried to escape to Drachma, why wouldn’t he still be in prison? It was obvious why he would be falsely listed as MIA. No need to let the Drachmans, or anyone else, realize that the means to easily destroy an entire city even existed. And, it was obvious why he would be kept alive. At least until his methods were understood and could be duplicated. But, why release him?
Mustang froze abruptly.
“Because he hid it.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Fifteen minutes after leaving his apartment, Fullmetal found himself back in the familiar basement room with an unfamiliar black notebook.
“What’s this?” he asked the older guard who had handed it to him.
“The original copy of the notes. Sir.” The “Sir” was a clear afterthought, and Fullmetal scowled.
But, he made no comment and, instead, took the little book to the table. There, he paused. One of the simple wooden chairs had transformed into a vaguely chair-like sculpture featuring a gaping, fanged mouth for a seat and snakes for a back. It was good work, if odd. Maybe an alchemist had gotten bored.
He didn’t pursue the mystery, opting to take a seat on the sculpture’s tongue and begin flipping through the notebook. The text was handwritten but clearly legible. And, familiar.
“It’s the same as the typed copy,” he said to himself.
He already knew the codes hidden in the words themselves. So, maybe there was something in the handwriting.
For several minutes, he studied the first page. There was something about the slant of the dots above the I’s. And, why did the slant of the letters as a whole change erratically? Holding the notebook back from his face, he waited to see if any patterns would form.
Slowly, a series of curves began to take shape. And, with it, an agitated murmur in his mind.
Fullmetal set the notebook down experimentally. The voices immediately abated.
Scowling at the innocuous notebook, Fullmetal considered. There were transmutation circles hidden in the writing, that much was obvious.
“So, I’ll show them to Colonel Smug and let him figure it out,” he thought at the voices.
“Like he could.”
Fullmetal’s head jerked up.
There was a boy sitting on the opposite side of the table. He had one booted foot balanced against the table, and long, blond hair covered his eyes as he tilted his chair back on two legs. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling.
“How did you—?” Fullmetal started.
“Why do you want to decode the notes anyway?” the boy asked, never looking at him. “Just because that guy gave you orders?”
“It’s my job. I—”
“Your job.” The boy snorted. “Why did you become a State Alchemist?”
Fullmetal faltered. “I... I don't know. I can’t remember—”
“Not good enough.” The front legs of the chair slammed to the floor, and the boy finally looked him in the face. “Tell me. Why did you become a State Alchemist?”
Fullmetal could only stare back into the boy’s golden eyes.
“I....”
“Elric? Elric, are you okay?”
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Fullmetal jumped. Twisting away with a cry, he tumbled into the floor.
“Elric!”
Breathing heavily, he looked up to find Mustang staring down at him in consternation.
“I....”
Grabbing for the edge of the table, he pulled himself up and looked toward the other chair. But, there was no one there.
“Elric?” Mustang asked again, carefully.
He hadn’t seen the boy.
Fullmetal quickly fumbled to regain his seat.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Aside from his voices shifting to some form of visual hallucinations. Wonderful. But, there was no help for it. He had spent too much time in the hospital already. And, the doctors were useless against the voices.
“I just slipped off this weird chair thing,” he added.
Mustang didn’t look like he believed him. But, after a pause, he snorted quietly.
“Well, I hope you didn’t stab yourself on one of those ghastly teeth,” he said.
“I’m fine,” Fullmetal growled. Then, he reached for the little notebook and shoved it at Mustang. “Here. First page. The writing forms a transmutation circle. Or pieces of one anyway.” The voices were oddly quiet now. “You trace it off. I’m… I’m not seeing too well with these new glasses.”
This time, Mustang’s face was unreadable, but he felt the disbelief just the same. Still, the Colonel silently nodded and accepted the book.
The hours that followed were torture. The boy/voice had been right; Colonel Smug was an idiot.
“Are you sure you drew this right?” Fullmetal squinted at the traced curve, a perfect quarter of a circle. Congratulations. Mustang had a steady hand. Bare minimum for being an alchemist. Shame his attempts to transform the strangely written I’s and other letters into the runes that would convey the circle’s purpose were completely worthless.
“I’m sure I can draw a circle, Elric,” said Mustang. “As to the runes, I’m merely making an educated guess.” He extended the notebook toward Fullmetal. “Please feel free to make your own.”
Fullmetal stared at the book. In the back of his mind, he could hear a steady murmur beginning again. He opened his mouth to refuse.
“That’s an order, Fullmetal.”
That was right; the General had given him an order. And, the Colonel was useless. He needed to pick up the slack. Complete the assignment. Do something worthwhile.
He wanted to be useful.
“Is that really what you want?”
The boy was back, standing beside Mustang and giving him an odd, considering look.
For an instant, Fullmetal faltered. What he wanted. There had been something the other day. A name, a desperate need, a duty that came before all others.
Someone was waiting.
“I want—” he started.
“Can you imagine the benefit to our country?”
“You’d be a hero.”
“Amestris would be the safest nation in the world, the most prosperous.”
“I want to be useful, to help,” he thought at the boy.
Then, he reached to take the book from Mustang.
“Idiot,” the boy hissed.
And, the first wave of voices crashed down.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang made his way up from the basement wanting nothing more a quiet evening in his apartment with a bottle of something strong enough to empty his head for a few, blissful hours. The notes were steadily yielding new secrets. Fullmetal was almost back to his old self. Or his pre-seizure self at any rate. And, he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted any of it.
He needed someone who could sift facts from the lies and half-formed theories. Someone with a keen mind for interpreting clues. Put simply, he needed Hughes.
But, he didn’t dare bring Hughes any further into the mess now. Not after the way General Grand had acted at the hospital. He was probably under suspicion himself, but Grand still seemed confident that the Ishval threat would keep him in line. True, so far as it went.
Looking up to navigate the steps down from the National Library, Mustang paused. He had fully anticipated finding Hawkeye waiting for him. After the incident with Kimblee, she was more convinced than ever that he couldn’t be trusted not to find trouble when left to his own devices. It wasn’t true, of course. Hughes had found that trouble, so it was clearly his fault. But, Mustang couldn’t deny that Hawkeye and her exemplary marksmanship would have been a valuable asset in the altercation.
Thus, the sight of her blonde head, hair up neatly in a clip, was not unexpected amid the various library patrons milling around the front steps. The snow that was softly filtering down from the cloud white sky was within the realm of expectation as well. What was unexpected was Hughes standing beside Hawkeye, treating the stern lieutenant to the last twelve hours of his daughter’s life, all meticulously captured on film.
“And then, she ran up to me and gave me a big hug!” Hughes gushed. “Of course, I couldn’t take a picture of that since I was hugging her back, but you can see the grin on her face here from just before.” He pulled out a second photo, his own grin stretching his face.
Hawkeye smiled. “Elicia has a very sweet smile.”
“Doesn’t she?” Hughes was beaming.
Hawkeye looked up then and the soft look in her eyes hardened back into her usual businesslike expression as she saw Mustang.
“Sir.”
For an instant, Mustang envied Elicia Hughes her ability to elicit that vanished smile so freely. But, that kind of thinking was best left unexplored for the foreseeable future.
“Roy!” Hughes’ smile was rather more manic and considerably less heartening. “I’ve been looking for you.” Two long strides had him up the stairs. “Gracia asked me to invite you to dinner. She’s making quiche, and the Lieutenant here tells me your schedule is free now that the library’s closed.” He threw an arm over Mustang’s shoulders. “Which means you can’t refuse. I’ve invited the Lieutenant too.”
“Hughes, this is hardly—”
“She said yes!” Amazingly, Hughes’ grin grew even wider. Then, it abruptly drooped a bit as his eyes settled on something over Mustang’s shoulder.
Compelled, Mustang half-turned.
Fullmetal was coming down the stairs supported by his guards. Well, neither was actually touching him, though their hands were hovering close. Not surprising. He looked only marginally better than he had before six o’clock finally came and he agreed to stop for the day.
Halfway through the afternoon, Fullmetal had gone pale and started clutching his head. Afraid he might have another seizure, Mustang had tried to urge him return to the hospital or at least his quarters, but the older man had stubbornly refused. He had spent the rest of the afternoon rubbing at his temples and hissing obscenities under his breath whenever he thought Mustang wasn’t listening.
“You know,” said Hughes suddenly, “there’s a man who could use a real meal.”
He couldn’t possibly mean… After the way General Grand had acted in the hospital. But, Hughes was already slipping past Mustang and inserting himself in Fullmetal’s path.
“Elric! And, 2nd Lieutenants Heinkel and Darius, right?”
Thank goodness they had met Hughes only a few days before because the two guards’ hands had immediately twitched toward their sidearms when he abruptly bounded into view. Good men, Mustang thought. Given the previous kidnapping attempt, it would be foolhardy to trust just anyone in uniform out of hand.
“You three haven’t had dinner, have you?” asked Hughes.
Heinkel and Darius stared at him in confusion.
Fullmetal, despite his headache, seemed more lucid. “No dinner or breakfast,” he said. His tone was grumpy, but there was a certain plaintive whine in it.
“Well then, come to my place,” said Hughes. “We’ve got plenty, and my wife’s a fantastic cook!”
Heinkel and Darius traded a look.
“We have orders to escort the Fullmetal Alchemist back to the barracks,” said Darius.
“But, he has to eat, doesn’t he?” Hughes pursued.
Fullmetal’s stomach took that moment to unleash a timely growl.
“We can get something from the mess,” Heinkel started.
“Sure, the usual bland, tasteless offerings or maybe the fascinating meatloaf mystery meat.” Hughes was a born salesmen. Although Gracia’s cooking was the real deal. “Gracia’s quiche, on the other hand, is heavenly,” he continued. “What’s more, our house is just a few blocks away, and Roy’s coming to dinner too.” He swept a hand out toward Mustang. “Between all of us, it’s probably safer than the barracks. So, what do you say?”
When Darius’ stomach growled, they all knew Hughes had won.
----------------------------------------------------------
The Hughes’ home was a reflection of its occupants. Outwardly trim and well-kept, inside it was bursting with life. Photos lined the walls and cluttered every surface. Elicia’s toys, while all neatly corralled in assorted toyboxes, were a presence in every room. And, the entire dwelling radiated the scent of fresh-baked apple pie.
Stepping inside, Mustang sniffed appreciatively as he deftly flicked snow from his new umbrella. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea. Gracia’s cooking was better for clearing the head than any stiff drink. Hearing a scuffle behind him, he turned and immediately had to hide a smile. Fullmetal’s burly guards had stopped in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious, stomping their boots and pawing at their hair. The frenzy of activity dislodged a small mountain of snow from their broad shoulders. And, seeing it only doubled the men’s fluster as they moved to frantically shoo it back outside.
“Stop kicking at it like that! You’re just spreading it.”
“It’s going to melt if we don’t—!”
“Well, hello.” Gracia Hughes’ smile was as inviting as the scent of her cooking. “I see Maes found some more guests.”
The two men shuffled sheepishly.
“Ma’am…”
Hughes appeared behind his wife. “This is my wife, Gracia. Gracia, these are 2nd Lieutenants Heinkel and Darius.” He gently spun her to the side. “You know Roy and the Lieutenant Hawkeye.”
Mustang shared an exasperated smile with Gracia.
“And, this is Edward Elric.”
Mustang watched curiously as Fullmetal jerked his head up at the sound of his proper name. He had been ushered in ahead of his guards and now stood in a puddle of melting snow, looking somewhat bewildered. Then, some sort of comprehension seeped into his face.
“Ma’am,” he rasped, inclining his head slightly.
Gracia smiled at him and then turned to include the others as well. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Now,” her gaze swung back to Fullmetal, “you’re soaking. Let me get you a towel.”
Fullmetal could only blink owlishly as he was gently and efficiently steered out of his wet coat and trundled off to the bathroom. Clearly, Gracia Hughes was a good match for her husband. But, her voice was soft and the hand on his arm gentle.
Green eyes. She had green eyes. Like…
“Mom, look what me and Al made!”
Chubby little hands holding up a small, metal horse. A metal horse marked by the faint lines of a recent transmutation.
And, a woman with auburn hair and green eyes, smiling.
“Mr. Elric?”
Starting, Fullmetal realized that Gracia was offering him a towel.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, reaching to accept it and start rubbing awkwardly at his damp hair. It gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.
A memory. Of his mother no less. Not unheard of. Her smile came to him now and then.
But, who had been with him in the memory?
“Al.”
His voice and not his voice. Whispering up from memory.
Towel now on his shoulders in an effort to soak the damp from his shirt, he waited for the voices to descend. But, only a confused whisper answered him.
“Careful, careful.”
“Remember.”
“Careful.”
“Secret.”
That’s right. It was a secret.
Which made no sense, but it was a secret. He could feel it. And, he had no interest in pursuing it even if the voices weren’t attacking. Instead, he focused back on Mrs. Hughes.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s no trouble.” She smiled again. “Are you dry enough?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes drifted over him, pausing at his right hand. “Oh. Automail.”
For an instant, he tensed. Why wasn’t he wearing gloves?
“That must be freezing!” Gracia continued. “I’ll get you a hot water bottle to warm it up.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay.”
But, she was already turning on the hot tap and tugging open a cabinet.
Surprised and grateful, Fullmetal just let her.
“Who’s the boy, Mama?”
Blinking, Fullmetal looked down into an inquisitive pair of eyes that matched Gracia’s. The hair was the same color too, but the wide curiosity in those eyes was all Hughes'.
“This is Mr. Elric, Elicia,” said Gracia as she tested the water. “Your father invited him for dinner.” Judging the water hot enough, she slipped the water bottle under the tap and began filling it.
“Oh.” Elicia regarded Fullmetal for a minute. “You’re very short for a mister,” she finally ventured.
With effort, Fullmetal reminded himself that the child was very young, he was a guest, her father had promised him food and her mother was possibly a saint. It helped a little.
“I’m compact,” he said through gritted teeth.
The little girl considered this. “Maybe you’ll grow some more,” she offered at last.
“I wish,” Fullmetal muttered.
Hiding a smile, Gracia presented the full water bottle. “Here you are. Now, let’s get you something to eat.”
Fullmetal quickly decided that it was the best evening of his life. At least the portion of his life that he could remember. Not even being sandwiched between Heinkel and Darius, a position that inevitably highlighted his size, could dampen his mood.
The hot water bottle perched on his shoulder might have looked foolish, but its warmth gradually pulled all the awful, aching cold out of his automail port. That simple comfort was worth any amount of foolishness. His headache had vanished somewhere along the way. And then, there was the food. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much food. Fresh bread and ham and an amazing array of vegetables. And, the quiche. Which was wonderful, but Colonel Smug and Mr. – Lieutenant Colonel – Hughes were engaged in a silent but heated battle over it while Elicia giggled into her peas and Gracia and the unfamiliar female lieutenant pretended not to notice. So, he left them to it and concentrated on competing with his supposed guards for the ham.
They were fast for men so huge. Only a timely feint with the fork earned him the coveted last piece.
Sitting back with his prize, he smirked at the guards’ disgruntled expressions. Especially Heinkel, who was looking vaguely murderous while nursing his stabbed hand.
Privately, Mustang and Hughes traded their own smirks. This, Mustang thought, was the Fullmetal he had known, however briefly, before that terrible Friday when the small alchemist had his “fit.” He was a terror – though that fork maneuver might be useful against Hughes - but a terror was far better than the empty marionette he had been until the kidnapping.
And, when Gracia went to the kitchen to collect the apple pie, Hughes made his move.
“Say, Roy,” he stood so quickly his chair nearly toppled, “you haven’t seen what we’ve done with the playroom, have you?” He was around the table in an instant. “Of course you haven’t – you never visit. C’mon, let me show you while Gracia cuts the pie.” With that, Hughes suddenly had a deathgrip on Mustang’s arm, hauling him up.
Mustang shot a quick, not entirely feigned, look of pleading toward the kitchen. “But, I wanted pie.”
“There’ll be plenty,” Hughes assured, dragging him from the room.
“I don’t think you were paying attention to the other end of the table.”
But, he let himself be pulled along, and they were soon alone in Elicia’s playroom. It appeared to have been recently painted a pale pink, judging by the smell, and could have passed for a toy store. And, if he hadn’t been distracted with other business, Hughes probably would have crowed over every detail with more excitement than a grown man should show over a pink room overflowing with stuffed animals.
Hughes’ grin, however, was for something else entirely. Beaming, he reached behind an enormous white rabbit to produce a stack of papers. “Tada!” he proclaimed, presenting them to Mustang with a flourish.
“And, this is?” Mustang asked, accepting the document. The top sheet was handwritten in a neat, if hurried, hand.
“You wanted Fullmetal’s file, right?” said Hughes.
“This is not Fullmetal’s file.”
The file had been typed and laid out in the military’s standardized format. This was neither.
“Oh, but it is,” said Hughes. “You see, I remembered that Investigations keeps some of our older case files in the library. Other old military documents are stored there too.”
“Fullmetal’s file was—”
“Gone, of course,” said Hughes. “But! I spoke to this nice, young librarian just to make sure, and she remembered having read it while doing some filing.”
“Read it?” asked Mustang, puzzled.
“That’s the thing, you see.” Hughes’ grin hadn’t dampened in the least. “I caught her just after one of the senior librarians had had some rather harsh words for her about reading on the job.”
“She was reading personnel files… for entertainment,” said Mustang slowly, testing his comprehension.
Military documentation could turn the bloodiest battles into a monotonous litany of times and dates. Only a dedicated professor of history would read them for amusement. Even shelving books would be more exciting.
“She’s very passionate about reading.”
Mustang sighed. “However passionate she might be, I doubt she remembers any more of it than Falman does.”
And, sadly, Falman, with his amazing memory, had only read a portion of the file.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong!” Hughes crowed. “She quoted some of it for me, so I took her aside and tested her with some of the case files. She said she read them at the same time.” Hughes jabbed at the papers Mustang held. “She’s incredible, Roy! Anything she reads she can repeat back, word for word. Perfectly!”
Mustang stared at the pages in his hands. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, but I am!”
“This is, word for word, Fullmetal’s entire personnel file.” It wasn’t quite a question.
“Word for word,” said Hughes, his grin smug now. “I had her do a case file too and compared hers against the library copy. Perfect.”
The man was uncanny. With a bemused smile, Mustang tucked the copied file under the jacket of his uniform.
“I owe you one, Hughes.”
“Ha! You owe me more than that,” his friend laughed. “But, I get the librarian. I mean, a talent like that… and the library clearly didn’t appreciate it.” He shook his head woefully. “She starts in my department tomorrow.”
“Did she have a choice?” asked Mustang.
“Of course!” Hughes looked vaguely wounded.
“Did she walk to the recruitment office under her own power?”
“…..Mostly.”
Mustang shook his head. Then, the mirth slowly slid off his face.
“Hughes, I’d been meaning to tell you.” He debated his words. “This – inviting Fullmetal to dinner, maybe even inviting me to dinner – it’s a bad idea. Did you hear General Grand the other day?”
“When he was interrogating me about Major Archer?” Hughes asked.
“That and, after you left, he had more than a few questions about you, interspersed with impressing upon me the importance of secrecy,” said Mustang. His dark eyes narrowed. “He’s getting paranoid. He was already… rushed.” He couldn’t say more. Not now, not here. “And, with the lengths he’s gone to hide Fullmetal’s file… Did you speak to anyone besides this librarian of yours?”
“Sheska.”
“Sheska then. Did you speak to anyone at the National Library besides her?”
Hughes was shaking his head, serious now. “Only to ask about case files. Which isn’t new.”
“And, Sheska?”
“Really, Roy, I’ve done this before.” A ghost of Hughes’ earlier smile touched his lips. “I told her I’d misplaced it, and, as it was very embarrassing, could she please not mention it to anyone.”
“Good.” Mustang huffed out a sigh. “Sorry to drag you into this mess. I’m probably overreacting, but…”
“Always trust your instincts.” Hughes’ smile was small but sincere now. “And, as to dragging me in... I promised to help you to the top, didn’t I? I’ve been up to my neck in your mess for some time. Now,” he threw an arm over Mustang’s shoulders, “what’s say we see if there’s any pie left, eh?”
There was pie left, but only because of Gracia and Hawkeye. Gracia had neatly cut the pie and served everyone a generous slice. But, given the way Fullmetal’s guards were eyeing the remainder like starved animals, they would have gone at each other’s throats to claim it if not for the women’s presence.
Fullmetal, surprisingly, was otherwise occupied. Somehow, he and Hawkeye had struck up a conversation. About East City, where she had grown up.
“Yes, I remember that clocktower,” the lieutenant was saying. “I was very young when they took it down, but, since they brought in an alchemist to disassemble it, everyone went to watch. It was very memorable.”
Was the man still on about that clocktower?
Over Hawkeye’s head, Fullmetal tossed Mustang a triumphant smirk. Apparently, he was. Mustang ignored him in favor of concentrating on his pie. Because Gracia’s apple pie was too good to be upstaged by juvenile antics.
But, all too soon, the pie was gone, and Fullmetal’s guards were tossing nervous looks toward the door. They were right. It had been fun, but it was time for all of them to go.
Trading a glance with Hawkeye, Mustang pushed his chair back. “Dinner was amazing as always, Gracia,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality. But, the lieutenant and I should probably help escort Full—Mr. Elric here back to the barracks.”
And, run interference with Grand if need be. If he played his cards right, Hughes wouldn’t even be brought into it.
It proved to be a wise decision.
General Grand was waiting outside the barracks, his body a hulking shadow backlit by every available light. Behind him, other shadows milled, stretched long across the snow-covered ground. Grand had brought a small contingent of soldiers. And, while the darkness made it impossible for Mustang to discern if that vein in the general’s temple was throbbing again, it couldn’t quite hide the red of his face.
“Mustang!” The big man stepped forward with several soldiers at his back. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Sir?” Mustang let his eyes travel over the assembled soldiers with a flicker of deliberate surprise. “We were just escorting Elric here back to the barracks,” he said.
“From where?” Grand snarled. “The library closed over an hour ago.”
“Sir. After we completed our work at the library, Elric and his escorts joined the lieutenant and I for dinner,” Mustang explained. “We needed to eat, and I assumed all of us would be sufficient defense.” Concern drifted over his features. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for us.”
Grand studied him for a long minute, red face folding into itself as muscles tightened. His large hands, wrapped in the transmutation gauntlets he used to perform alchemy, twitched.
“I trust you know what you’re doing, Mustang,” he ground out at last.
Mustang took a breath and a gamble. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Elric was looking stressed after our research, and I thought he might need a quieter venue than the mess hall.”
For a fraction of an instant, Grand’s face started to loosen into something more natural.
“And, I was hungry,” Fullmetal abruptly piped up.
Grand swung away from Mustang and toward the diminutive alchemist. “Hungry?” he rumbled.
Almost invisible between his guards’ silent bulk, Fullmetal continued. “I was dragged off to the library without any breakfast,” he said irritably. “Lunch was slop. I was hungry... I….” His voice broke off abruptly. “I… Sir! I meant…” Fullmetal had apparently finally remembered to whom he was speaking.
Even without being able to see it, Mustang was sure that vein was throbbing again because Grand’s entire body stiffened. “Would you care to repeat that, Fullmetal?” he said softly.
“I was hungry, so I joined the Colonel and the others for dinner, Sir,” said Fullmetal. His voice was clipped and oddly shaking.
“I have apparently not made myself clear, Fullmetal.” Grand’s voice was a low rumble. “I gave you an order.” Fullmetal’s entire body jerked, but Grand pressed on, leaning closer with every word. “No more risks,” said Grand. “That’s an order. No more little side trips for anything. That’s an order as well.” His continued advance had driven Heinkel and Darius reluctantly back. “You decipher those notes, and, until you do, you’re to go nowhere but the barracks and the library while under escort. And, that’s an order.” Grand towered over Fullmetal, his face purple in the wan light.
With every order Fullmetal had shrunk farther into himself. Now, he stood, suddenly smaller than ever, dwarfed by the general’s bulk and shaking faintly.
“Do you understand, Fullmetal?” Grand snarled.
A jolt ran through Fullmetal’s body. “I…” He slumped. “Yes, Sir.” His voice was flat, empty.
As he watched Grand pull away, satisfied, Mustang debated the merits of incinerating the man. Hawkeye would back him up. Heinkel and Darius, judging by their stony, averted faces, could probably be convinced to stay quiet. It was only the other soldiers who might be a problem. But, a show of enough force could do wonders for loose lips.
Of course, all murderous intentions were gone from his face by the time Grand turned around.
“I trust you understand as well, Colonel?” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
He was starting to understand far, far too much.
----------------------------------------------------------
Maes Hughes neatly folded the dining room tablecloth into a bundle to be carried to the laundry. Half of it was a pristine white as always, but the other half was sporting some fascinating stains. The spatter pattern from the far end of the table made him wonder how often they fed Elric, or his guards. Frankly, he had seen neater crime scenes. Well, no matter. Gracia was unperturbed, confident she could get the stains out. If Gracia was unperturbed, all was well. And, seeing Elric transform into a normal human being, however poor his table manners were, had been worth the price of a new tablecloth if it came to that.
“Daddy?” a sweet voice asked behind him.
Smiling, Hughes turned to find his daughter dragging a fluffy white rabbit nearly as big as she was by its left foot. With her free hand she was extending a sheet of paper toward him.
“This was with Mr. Snodgrass,” said Elicia.
Mr. Snodgrass. Grass because rabbits ate grass. She was brilliant. And….
Hughes took the sheet of paper. It was covered in neat, handwritten script.
And, he wasn’t nearly as brilliant as he thought he was. Good thing his lovely ladies could make up for his failings.
“Thank you, Sweetie,” he said, stooping to give her a hug. “Daddy seems to have forgotten this.”
Roy had warned him to be careful, so meeting at Command in the next day or so was out. Meeting at Roy’s place was probably unwise too.
Well, Roy had only been gone for about thirty minutes. With any luck, he could catch him near the barracks.
Giving his daughter a warm squeeze, he disentangled himself. “Elicia, tell Mommy that Daddy’s got to run and catch Mr. Roy. He forgot something.”
“Okay.” Elicia looked up at him with earnest eyes. “Will you be back in time to tuck me in?”
“Of course!” Hughes moved toward the hall closet for his coat. “I’ll be fast as the wind. You and Mr. Snodgrass can count on me!”
----------------------------------------------------------
“That’s an order.”
The general, face distended and discolored with fury.
“Ed.”
The gentle, female voice.
“Fullmetal, sit.”
A wide, too white grin.
“Edward.”
That voice.
“Do you understand?”
Uniforms and labcoats and pain.
“Ed, Ed, Ed!”
The voices, loud and insistent.
“You will obey orders; no questions asked.”
The stuttering light of a transmutation reflected on a single gold tooth.
“Brother!”
The frightened eyes of the little boy who reached out to him desperately.
The world around Fullmetal was hazy. Nothing was quite real except for the cacophony of voices and memories roaring in his head.
He wasn’t sure how or when he had gotten back to his new quarters. There had been at least one flight of stairs involved, and he vaguely remembered large hands lifting him when his shaking legs refused to function properly.
Which was absurd because his left leg always functioned properly. Auntie didn’t make substandard automail.
But, no, they’d smashed Auntie’s automail, hadn’t they? After disconnecting and reconnecting it until his nerves burned and his stumps had no feeling left.
He seemed to have a leg now though. But, it buckled, following the lead of its weaker, flesh twin, and he found himself thumping down onto a mattress.
Oh, good. The floor would have probably hurt.
The floor in the cell always had. But, the guards were leaving now, so he was probably safe from that.
He reached to push his hair out of his eyes. It had been a tangled mess for so long.
There was no hair. That was new.
Maybe they had finally shaved it. They certainly commented on the length often enough.
Golden eyes swam into his vision.
A mirror?
No, the boy from this morning. The boy from this morning was crouched in the floor by the bed, watching him with worried eyes.
“I don’t remember any of this,” he said.
“You were asleep,” the voice answered quietly.
“But, he wasn’t,” the boy countered.
“No,” the voice was even quieter.
“Are you talking about me?” Fullmetal asked. He tried to growl the words but wasn’t sure he succeeded. “At least say it to my face.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk. They’re still outside, and they’ll think you’re crazy.”
“I am crazy,” Fullmetal hissed.
The boy scowled at him. “What do I have to do?”
“Go away,” said Fullmetal. “That would fix at least half my crazy problem.”
But, the boy apparently wasn’t asking him. Rude little brat.
“You know what you have to do, Edward,” said the voice. “We had all hoped to avoid it, but there’s no longer another way. You’ve gone too far already.”
The boy shook his head violently, tossing long, blond bangs. He had had hair that long once.
“If he finds out, he’ll tell them!” he yelled. “I can’t—! Al… Everyone else!”
“He is already going to find out, Edward. The process is too far along.”
The boy snarled impotently at empty air. Then, his bright eyes locked on Fullmetal’s.
“If you betray them all, I will kill you,” he hissed. His hands clenched. “Don’t you dare—! There has to something in there that remembers, that understands.” He grabbed the sides of Fullmetal’s face. His touch was echo and memory. Inescapable as it was intangible. “Do you hear me?” the boy screamed into his face. Fullmetal realized for the first time that the boy’s right hand was automail. “You have to protect them!” the boy continued. “You have to protect him! He’s your brother too!”
Brother. Al.
The world went white around the edges.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Continue to Part 2)
bay115 fixed the lovely banner earlier and a couple of icons to go with Fullmetal's flashback to his mother.
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 8, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Violence, 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: And, a number of things finally come to a head. Also, again, many, many thanks to everyone that's been reading and/or commenting on this. As well as to my betas,
mintysage and Kayca, and my Big Bang artists, bay115 and dreamer1789 , who were a great encouragement as well.Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 12: I Gotta Fight Another Fight
“He… I said too much.”
His memory was still fragmented, confused. But, words were easier now. Easier to put emotion into thought, thought into words. And, easier to remember that some words must never be said out there.
But, he had spoken. They had spoken. When that terrible rush of memory had propelled him out of the darkness and he found himself truly back in the light for the first time in so many years. In that handful of minutes in a reality that had become surreal, there had been no distinction between himself and the other. They were one in their confusion. One in mind. One in the halting stutter of words that spilled from their lips as they tried to comprehend the broken memories raging through them.
Which was a mistake. A mistake made worse by his words.
Words he could not take back, spoken to the dark-haired man in the blue uniform.
“Perhaps it’s not so bad.”
The voice again. Sounding hesitant.
Remembering why the voice was hesitant was easy.
“Not bad?” he growled. He had not forgotten the voice’s betrayal. Though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. It wasn’t the first time. “I almost told one of them about Al!”
Them. Blue uniforms with angry faces. Blue uniforms demanding answers he would never give. Blue clad arms raising to strike. Men in blue issuing orders to far more frightening men in white labcoats. The glint of gold in a toothy smile.
The voice’s next words forced the broken images aside.
“I am sorry, Edward. But, I couldn’t let you die. I trusted Alphonse’s memory could reach you when nothing else could.”
Of course it could. Even now, he couldn’t quite bury those memories as far as he should. They were too precious.
“It would’ve been better than—!”
“And, who will save Alphonse if you die?”
For a minute, he snarled impotently. It was true. But, he didn’t have to like it.
“So, now what?” he spat. “He’s one of them. He’ll tell them.”
“You spoke to him once, you know.”
A dim concrete room. The other one trying to answer a question that should never be answered. Dark eyes looking down at him with genuine concern. A voice.
“Do you remember?” the voice persisted. “You trusted him enough to take a chance then. Why?”
A voice. Words.
“I... Because he said my name.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Finally released from the hospital after two days of incessant examinations and more needles than he cared to think about, Fullmetal eyed his new living space. Well, it was smaller, but the narrow room in the barracks was otherwise no better or worse than his apartment. Outside, a gust of winter wind slapped the building and whistled over his single window. Immediately, he felt a rush of icy air against his face.
Fullmetal scowled. Correction then. His apartment wasn’t nearly so drafty. If the room stayed like this, he was going to be miserable. He could feel it in every throb radiating from the stumps of his arm and leg.
He gave the simple bed – nothing more than a metal frame and mattress – a baleful look. In the chaos of moving out the second bed and other excess furniture for a roommate he didn’t have, someone had shoved the remaining bed directly under the lone window. And, he certainly wasn’t sleeping there.
For a few minutes, Fullmetal debated. The last couple days had been a foggy haze of being passed from one uniformed figure to another before being deposited in the hospital so a bevy of doctors could take their turn at him. He wasn’t sure about the days before that. But, today, he felt fine. A little bruised here and there, and cold weather never did anything pleasant to the scar tissue around his automail ports, but his head was clear. And, if his head was clear, there was no physical pain he couldn’t ignore.
Decided, he began the process of re-arranging everything not bolted down. And, once that was done, he would think about a few of the things that were.
It helped that his meager belongings were easily moved aside. Grand’s soldiers had transferred the entire contents of his apartment, minus furniture, and they still filled no more than two suitcases and a medium-sized box. He owned only a basic wardrobe, toiletries, and a handful of research materials. One could only carry the essentials when traveling. Everything else was gone in the fire anyway.
Fullmetal froze in the act of shoving the bed against one of the walls. Fire? He had lived in the same apartment since his release from the hospital almost twenty years ago. There had never been a fire.
The fire must have been before.
Fullmetal immediately shied away from the thread of memory, waiting for the roar of voices to build in his mind. But, it never came. Whispers reached him, mutterings floating up from a great depth, but there was no attack.
Huffing out a sigh of relief, he gave the bed frame a final shove. With a screech, it settled snugly against the wall beside the radiator. Fullmetal grinned and laid his left palm against the wall over the bed. It was blissfully warm from the hot water pipes feeding the radiator. Briefly, he debated digging out a blanket and snuggling up against that warmth until someone came to drag him away.
A fresh blast of frigid air made him decide against it. First things first. The room’s simple desk and chest of drawers should make a suitable windbreak. Shame they hadn’t left the second bed.
But… If the voices were quiet today, if he didn’t pursue memories of fires or his wandering youth, maybe he could do something more permanent with that window. Stretching the wall’s material to fill in the crumbling attempt at insulation was a simple enough transmutation. And, it would spare him worlds of pain.
Of course, there was a tempting alternative. It wasn’t as though all four of the soldiers stationed outside his door were so necessary a couple couldn’t fetch hot water bottles for him.
Maybe he could do both, he thought with a sudden wicked smile.
Still grinning, he moved to the window, one hand digging in his pocket for some chalk. And, froze at the sound of a knock on his door.
“Hey, Fullmetal. We’re here to take you to the library.”
He growled. “Just you wait,” he hissed to the drafty window before hurrying to the door.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang was feeling good about the day ahead. At least as much as he had any day in recent memory. Which is to say he met the morning with only a vague sense of unease.
Grand was growing paranoid, someone had taken a sudden, unpleasant interest in Fullmetal, Kimblee was out of prison, and he felt no closer to solving either Grand’s or his personal mystery. But, there were no soldiers at his door and the sky was clear of any signs of an explosion, so the unease remained a nagging flutter in his stomach. Frustrating, but nothing that would kill him. Yet.
At least he had managed to contact Breda in East City and redirect him. His trip through the Central Tribune archives had led him to revise a few theories. Now it was up to Breda to prove them.
That in mind, Mustang stepped outside and eyed the gray-white sky overhead. The sun was nothing but a patch of painful brightness in the east, and there was a curious hush to the air. It was going to snow. The thought made him tug his long coat closer.
“Looks like snow, doesn’t it?” piped a voice to his right.
Mustang turned to find a stout older woman smiling at him from behind a small street vendor’s cart.
“It does indeed,” he answered politely.
“And, you’re without a hat,” the woman tutted. “Here.” She pulled something from her cart. “At least take an umbrella with you.” She extended a slender black umbrella toward him.
“Oh, no thank you, ma’am.” Mustang quickly waved a hand.
The old woman smiled. “Consider it a gift. Wouldn’t want you wet and useless now, would we?”
Mustang tensed immediately. “And, who might it be a gift from, dear lady?”
“Miss Olivier, of course,” she answered, her smile knowing now.
“Ah.” Mustang relaxed and reached for the umbrella. “In that case it would be a shame to turn down a gift from such a lovely lady.”
“And, unwise as well,” said the old woman. There was a twinkle in her eyes now.
“Indeed.” Taking the umbrella in hand, Mustang made to leave. “My thanks for passing this along.”
The woman merely waved cheerfully, bobbing her gray head. “I’m always doing favors for Miss Olivier and her family.”
Mustang returned her smile and continued on his way. A block away, he finally dared to carefully open the umbrella. Inside, he found a note curled around the main shaft. Its contents were brief.
“No record of State Alchemist captured in Briggs by Drachmans. One record of Briggs soldiers assisting in capture of rogue alchemist near border. Dated July, 1884. No further details. Will expect meal next time in Central. Assuming you’re alive.”
“Charming as always,” Mustang murmured to himself.
But, his mind was far from Olivier Armstrong and her blunt nature.
The Briggs soldiers had helped to capture a rogue alchemist near the Drachman border in July, 1884. The same month and year Fullmetal had been reported missing.
The pieces were finally coming together in his mind and forming a picture. An ugly one.
“But, why?” Mustang hissed.
If an alchemist had destroyed Liore – or had been ordered to destroy Liore - and then tried to escape to Drachma, why wouldn’t he still be in prison? It was obvious why he would be falsely listed as MIA. No need to let the Drachmans, or anyone else, realize that the means to easily destroy an entire city even existed. And, it was obvious why he would be kept alive. At least until his methods were understood and could be duplicated. But, why release him?
Mustang froze abruptly.
“Because he hid it.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Fifteen minutes after leaving his apartment, Fullmetal found himself back in the familiar basement room with an unfamiliar black notebook.
“What’s this?” he asked the older guard who had handed it to him.
“The original copy of the notes. Sir.” The “Sir” was a clear afterthought, and Fullmetal scowled.
But, he made no comment and, instead, took the little book to the table. There, he paused. One of the simple wooden chairs had transformed into a vaguely chair-like sculpture featuring a gaping, fanged mouth for a seat and snakes for a back. It was good work, if odd. Maybe an alchemist had gotten bored.
He didn’t pursue the mystery, opting to take a seat on the sculpture’s tongue and begin flipping through the notebook. The text was handwritten but clearly legible. And, familiar.
“It’s the same as the typed copy,” he said to himself.
He already knew the codes hidden in the words themselves. So, maybe there was something in the handwriting.
For several minutes, he studied the first page. There was something about the slant of the dots above the I’s. And, why did the slant of the letters as a whole change erratically? Holding the notebook back from his face, he waited to see if any patterns would form.
Slowly, a series of curves began to take shape. And, with it, an agitated murmur in his mind.
Fullmetal set the notebook down experimentally. The voices immediately abated.
Scowling at the innocuous notebook, Fullmetal considered. There were transmutation circles hidden in the writing, that much was obvious.
“So, I’ll show them to Colonel Smug and let him figure it out,” he thought at the voices.
“Like he could.”
Fullmetal’s head jerked up.
There was a boy sitting on the opposite side of the table. He had one booted foot balanced against the table, and long, blond hair covered his eyes as he tilted his chair back on two legs. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling.
“How did you—?” Fullmetal started.
“Why do you want to decode the notes anyway?” the boy asked, never looking at him. “Just because that guy gave you orders?”
“It’s my job. I—”
“Your job.” The boy snorted. “Why did you become a State Alchemist?”
Fullmetal faltered. “I... I don't know. I can’t remember—”
“Not good enough.” The front legs of the chair slammed to the floor, and the boy finally looked him in the face. “Tell me. Why did you become a State Alchemist?”
Fullmetal could only stare back into the boy’s golden eyes.
“I....”
“Elric? Elric, are you okay?”
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Fullmetal jumped. Twisting away with a cry, he tumbled into the floor.
“Elric!”
Breathing heavily, he looked up to find Mustang staring down at him in consternation.
“I....”
Grabbing for the edge of the table, he pulled himself up and looked toward the other chair. But, there was no one there.
“Elric?” Mustang asked again, carefully.
He hadn’t seen the boy.
Fullmetal quickly fumbled to regain his seat.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Aside from his voices shifting to some form of visual hallucinations. Wonderful. But, there was no help for it. He had spent too much time in the hospital already. And, the doctors were useless against the voices.
“I just slipped off this weird chair thing,” he added.
Mustang didn’t look like he believed him. But, after a pause, he snorted quietly.
“Well, I hope you didn’t stab yourself on one of those ghastly teeth,” he said.
“I’m fine,” Fullmetal growled. Then, he reached for the little notebook and shoved it at Mustang. “Here. First page. The writing forms a transmutation circle. Or pieces of one anyway.” The voices were oddly quiet now. “You trace it off. I’m… I’m not seeing too well with these new glasses.”
This time, Mustang’s face was unreadable, but he felt the disbelief just the same. Still, the Colonel silently nodded and accepted the book.
The hours that followed were torture. The boy/voice had been right; Colonel Smug was an idiot.
“Are you sure you drew this right?” Fullmetal squinted at the traced curve, a perfect quarter of a circle. Congratulations. Mustang had a steady hand. Bare minimum for being an alchemist. Shame his attempts to transform the strangely written I’s and other letters into the runes that would convey the circle’s purpose were completely worthless.
“I’m sure I can draw a circle, Elric,” said Mustang. “As to the runes, I’m merely making an educated guess.” He extended the notebook toward Fullmetal. “Please feel free to make your own.”
Fullmetal stared at the book. In the back of his mind, he could hear a steady murmur beginning again. He opened his mouth to refuse.
“That’s an order, Fullmetal.”
That was right; the General had given him an order. And, the Colonel was useless. He needed to pick up the slack. Complete the assignment. Do something worthwhile.
He wanted to be useful.
“Is that really what you want?”
The boy was back, standing beside Mustang and giving him an odd, considering look.
For an instant, Fullmetal faltered. What he wanted. There had been something the other day. A name, a desperate need, a duty that came before all others.
Someone was waiting.
“I want—” he started.
“Can you imagine the benefit to our country?”
“You’d be a hero.”
“Amestris would be the safest nation in the world, the most prosperous.”
“I want to be useful, to help,” he thought at the boy.
Then, he reached to take the book from Mustang.
“Idiot,” the boy hissed.
And, the first wave of voices crashed down.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang made his way up from the basement wanting nothing more a quiet evening in his apartment with a bottle of something strong enough to empty his head for a few, blissful hours. The notes were steadily yielding new secrets. Fullmetal was almost back to his old self. Or his pre-seizure self at any rate. And, he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted any of it.
He needed someone who could sift facts from the lies and half-formed theories. Someone with a keen mind for interpreting clues. Put simply, he needed Hughes.
But, he didn’t dare bring Hughes any further into the mess now. Not after the way General Grand had acted at the hospital. He was probably under suspicion himself, but Grand still seemed confident that the Ishval threat would keep him in line. True, so far as it went.
Looking up to navigate the steps down from the National Library, Mustang paused. He had fully anticipated finding Hawkeye waiting for him. After the incident with Kimblee, she was more convinced than ever that he couldn’t be trusted not to find trouble when left to his own devices. It wasn’t true, of course. Hughes had found that trouble, so it was clearly his fault. But, Mustang couldn’t deny that Hawkeye and her exemplary marksmanship would have been a valuable asset in the altercation.
Thus, the sight of her blonde head, hair up neatly in a clip, was not unexpected amid the various library patrons milling around the front steps. The snow that was softly filtering down from the cloud white sky was within the realm of expectation as well. What was unexpected was Hughes standing beside Hawkeye, treating the stern lieutenant to the last twelve hours of his daughter’s life, all meticulously captured on film.
“And then, she ran up to me and gave me a big hug!” Hughes gushed. “Of course, I couldn’t take a picture of that since I was hugging her back, but you can see the grin on her face here from just before.” He pulled out a second photo, his own grin stretching his face.
Hawkeye smiled. “Elicia has a very sweet smile.”
“Doesn’t she?” Hughes was beaming.
Hawkeye looked up then and the soft look in her eyes hardened back into her usual businesslike expression as she saw Mustang.
“Sir.”
For an instant, Mustang envied Elicia Hughes her ability to elicit that vanished smile so freely. But, that kind of thinking was best left unexplored for the foreseeable future.
“Roy!” Hughes’ smile was rather more manic and considerably less heartening. “I’ve been looking for you.” Two long strides had him up the stairs. “Gracia asked me to invite you to dinner. She’s making quiche, and the Lieutenant here tells me your schedule is free now that the library’s closed.” He threw an arm over Mustang’s shoulders. “Which means you can’t refuse. I’ve invited the Lieutenant too.”
“Hughes, this is hardly—”
“She said yes!” Amazingly, Hughes’ grin grew even wider. Then, it abruptly drooped a bit as his eyes settled on something over Mustang’s shoulder.
Compelled, Mustang half-turned.
Fullmetal was coming down the stairs supported by his guards. Well, neither was actually touching him, though their hands were hovering close. Not surprising. He looked only marginally better than he had before six o’clock finally came and he agreed to stop for the day.
Halfway through the afternoon, Fullmetal had gone pale and started clutching his head. Afraid he might have another seizure, Mustang had tried to urge him return to the hospital or at least his quarters, but the older man had stubbornly refused. He had spent the rest of the afternoon rubbing at his temples and hissing obscenities under his breath whenever he thought Mustang wasn’t listening.
“You know,” said Hughes suddenly, “there’s a man who could use a real meal.”
He couldn’t possibly mean… After the way General Grand had acted in the hospital. But, Hughes was already slipping past Mustang and inserting himself in Fullmetal’s path.
“Elric! And, 2nd Lieutenants Heinkel and Darius, right?”
Thank goodness they had met Hughes only a few days before because the two guards’ hands had immediately twitched toward their sidearms when he abruptly bounded into view. Good men, Mustang thought. Given the previous kidnapping attempt, it would be foolhardy to trust just anyone in uniform out of hand.
“You three haven’t had dinner, have you?” asked Hughes.
Heinkel and Darius stared at him in confusion.
Fullmetal, despite his headache, seemed more lucid. “No dinner or breakfast,” he said. His tone was grumpy, but there was a certain plaintive whine in it.
“Well then, come to my place,” said Hughes. “We’ve got plenty, and my wife’s a fantastic cook!”
Heinkel and Darius traded a look.
“We have orders to escort the Fullmetal Alchemist back to the barracks,” said Darius.
“But, he has to eat, doesn’t he?” Hughes pursued.
Fullmetal’s stomach took that moment to unleash a timely growl.
“We can get something from the mess,” Heinkel started.
“Sure, the usual bland, tasteless offerings or maybe the fascinating meatloaf mystery meat.” Hughes was a born salesmen. Although Gracia’s cooking was the real deal. “Gracia’s quiche, on the other hand, is heavenly,” he continued. “What’s more, our house is just a few blocks away, and Roy’s coming to dinner too.” He swept a hand out toward Mustang. “Between all of us, it’s probably safer than the barracks. So, what do you say?”
When Darius’ stomach growled, they all knew Hughes had won.
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The Hughes’ home was a reflection of its occupants. Outwardly trim and well-kept, inside it was bursting with life. Photos lined the walls and cluttered every surface. Elicia’s toys, while all neatly corralled in assorted toyboxes, were a presence in every room. And, the entire dwelling radiated the scent of fresh-baked apple pie.
Stepping inside, Mustang sniffed appreciatively as he deftly flicked snow from his new umbrella. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea. Gracia’s cooking was better for clearing the head than any stiff drink. Hearing a scuffle behind him, he turned and immediately had to hide a smile. Fullmetal’s burly guards had stopped in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious, stomping their boots and pawing at their hair. The frenzy of activity dislodged a small mountain of snow from their broad shoulders. And, seeing it only doubled the men’s fluster as they moved to frantically shoo it back outside.
“Stop kicking at it like that! You’re just spreading it.”
“It’s going to melt if we don’t—!”
“Well, hello.” Gracia Hughes’ smile was as inviting as the scent of her cooking. “I see Maes found some more guests.”
The two men shuffled sheepishly.
“Ma’am…”
Hughes appeared behind his wife. “This is my wife, Gracia. Gracia, these are 2nd Lieutenants Heinkel and Darius.” He gently spun her to the side. “You know Roy and the Lieutenant Hawkeye.”
Mustang shared an exasperated smile with Gracia.
“And, this is Edward Elric.”
Mustang watched curiously as Fullmetal jerked his head up at the sound of his proper name. He had been ushered in ahead of his guards and now stood in a puddle of melting snow, looking somewhat bewildered. Then, some sort of comprehension seeped into his face.
“Ma’am,” he rasped, inclining his head slightly.
Gracia smiled at him and then turned to include the others as well. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Now,” her gaze swung back to Fullmetal, “you’re soaking. Let me get you a towel.”
Fullmetal could only blink owlishly as he was gently and efficiently steered out of his wet coat and trundled off to the bathroom. Clearly, Gracia Hughes was a good match for her husband. But, her voice was soft and the hand on his arm gentle.
Green eyes. She had green eyes. Like…
“Mom, look what me and Al made!”
Chubby little hands holding up a small, metal horse. A metal horse marked by the faint lines of a recent transmutation.
And, a woman with auburn hair and green eyes, smiling.
“Mr. Elric?”
Starting, Fullmetal realized that Gracia was offering him a towel.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, reaching to accept it and start rubbing awkwardly at his damp hair. It gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.
A memory. Of his mother no less. Not unheard of. Her smile came to him now and then.
But, who had been with him in the memory?
“Al.”
His voice and not his voice. Whispering up from memory.
Towel now on his shoulders in an effort to soak the damp from his shirt, he waited for the voices to descend. But, only a confused whisper answered him.
“Careful, careful.”
“Remember.”
“Careful.”
“Secret.”
That’s right. It was a secret.
Which made no sense, but it was a secret. He could feel it. And, he had no interest in pursuing it even if the voices weren’t attacking. Instead, he focused back on Mrs. Hughes.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s no trouble.” She smiled again. “Are you dry enough?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes drifted over him, pausing at his right hand. “Oh. Automail.”
For an instant, he tensed. Why wasn’t he wearing gloves?
“That must be freezing!” Gracia continued. “I’ll get you a hot water bottle to warm it up.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay.”
But, she was already turning on the hot tap and tugging open a cabinet.
Surprised and grateful, Fullmetal just let her.
“Who’s the boy, Mama?”
Blinking, Fullmetal looked down into an inquisitive pair of eyes that matched Gracia’s. The hair was the same color too, but the wide curiosity in those eyes was all Hughes'.
“This is Mr. Elric, Elicia,” said Gracia as she tested the water. “Your father invited him for dinner.” Judging the water hot enough, she slipped the water bottle under the tap and began filling it.
“Oh.” Elicia regarded Fullmetal for a minute. “You’re very short for a mister,” she finally ventured.
With effort, Fullmetal reminded himself that the child was very young, he was a guest, her father had promised him food and her mother was possibly a saint. It helped a little.
“I’m compact,” he said through gritted teeth.
The little girl considered this. “Maybe you’ll grow some more,” she offered at last.
“I wish,” Fullmetal muttered.
Hiding a smile, Gracia presented the full water bottle. “Here you are. Now, let’s get you something to eat.”
Fullmetal quickly decided that it was the best evening of his life. At least the portion of his life that he could remember. Not even being sandwiched between Heinkel and Darius, a position that inevitably highlighted his size, could dampen his mood.
The hot water bottle perched on his shoulder might have looked foolish, but its warmth gradually pulled all the awful, aching cold out of his automail port. That simple comfort was worth any amount of foolishness. His headache had vanished somewhere along the way. And then, there was the food. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much food. Fresh bread and ham and an amazing array of vegetables. And, the quiche. Which was wonderful, but Colonel Smug and Mr. – Lieutenant Colonel – Hughes were engaged in a silent but heated battle over it while Elicia giggled into her peas and Gracia and the unfamiliar female lieutenant pretended not to notice. So, he left them to it and concentrated on competing with his supposed guards for the ham.
They were fast for men so huge. Only a timely feint with the fork earned him the coveted last piece.
Sitting back with his prize, he smirked at the guards’ disgruntled expressions. Especially Heinkel, who was looking vaguely murderous while nursing his stabbed hand.
Privately, Mustang and Hughes traded their own smirks. This, Mustang thought, was the Fullmetal he had known, however briefly, before that terrible Friday when the small alchemist had his “fit.” He was a terror – though that fork maneuver might be useful against Hughes - but a terror was far better than the empty marionette he had been until the kidnapping.
It somewhat mollified the worry he had felt ever since Hughes dragged Fullmetal and his guards along. But, it didn’t improve the situation. After General Grand’s words in the hospital, the farther Hughes was from Fullmetal, the better.
But, Fullmetal’s invitation had been an afterthought. Hughes had sought him out for a reason.
And, when Gracia went to the kitchen to collect the apple pie, Hughes made his move.
“Say, Roy,” he stood so quickly his chair nearly toppled, “you haven’t seen what we’ve done with the playroom, have you?” He was around the table in an instant. “Of course you haven’t – you never visit. C’mon, let me show you while Gracia cuts the pie.” With that, Hughes suddenly had a deathgrip on Mustang’s arm, hauling him up.
Mustang shot a quick, not entirely feigned, look of pleading toward the kitchen. “But, I wanted pie.”
“There’ll be plenty,” Hughes assured, dragging him from the room.
“I don’t think you were paying attention to the other end of the table.”
But, he let himself be pulled along, and they were soon alone in Elicia’s playroom. It appeared to have been recently painted a pale pink, judging by the smell, and could have passed for a toy store. And, if he hadn’t been distracted with other business, Hughes probably would have crowed over every detail with more excitement than a grown man should show over a pink room overflowing with stuffed animals.
Hughes’ grin, however, was for something else entirely. Beaming, he reached behind an enormous white rabbit to produce a stack of papers. “Tada!” he proclaimed, presenting them to Mustang with a flourish.
“And, this is?” Mustang asked, accepting the document. The top sheet was handwritten in a neat, if hurried, hand.
“You wanted Fullmetal’s file, right?” said Hughes.
“This is not Fullmetal’s file.”
The file had been typed and laid out in the military’s standardized format. This was neither.
“Oh, but it is,” said Hughes. “You see, I remembered that Investigations keeps some of our older case files in the library. Other old military documents are stored there too.”
“Fullmetal’s file was—”
“Gone, of course,” said Hughes. “But! I spoke to this nice, young librarian just to make sure, and she remembered having read it while doing some filing.”
“Read it?” asked Mustang, puzzled.
“That’s the thing, you see.” Hughes’ grin hadn’t dampened in the least. “I caught her just after one of the senior librarians had had some rather harsh words for her about reading on the job.”
“She was reading personnel files… for entertainment,” said Mustang slowly, testing his comprehension.
Military documentation could turn the bloodiest battles into a monotonous litany of times and dates. Only a dedicated professor of history would read them for amusement. Even shelving books would be more exciting.
“She’s very passionate about reading.”
Mustang sighed. “However passionate she might be, I doubt she remembers any more of it than Falman does.”
And, sadly, Falman, with his amazing memory, had only read a portion of the file.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong!” Hughes crowed. “She quoted some of it for me, so I took her aside and tested her with some of the case files. She said she read them at the same time.” Hughes jabbed at the papers Mustang held. “She’s incredible, Roy! Anything she reads she can repeat back, word for word. Perfectly!”
Mustang stared at the pages in his hands. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, but I am!”
“This is, word for word, Fullmetal’s entire personnel file.” It wasn’t quite a question.
“Word for word,” said Hughes, his grin smug now. “I had her do a case file too and compared hers against the library copy. Perfect.”
The man was uncanny. With a bemused smile, Mustang tucked the copied file under the jacket of his uniform.
“I owe you one, Hughes.”
“Ha! You owe me more than that,” his friend laughed. “But, I get the librarian. I mean, a talent like that… and the library clearly didn’t appreciate it.” He shook his head woefully. “She starts in my department tomorrow.”
“Did she have a choice?” asked Mustang.
“Of course!” Hughes looked vaguely wounded.
“Did she walk to the recruitment office under her own power?”
“…..Mostly.”
Mustang shook his head. Then, the mirth slowly slid off his face.
“Hughes, I’d been meaning to tell you.” He debated his words. “This – inviting Fullmetal to dinner, maybe even inviting me to dinner – it’s a bad idea. Did you hear General Grand the other day?”
“When he was interrogating me about Major Archer?” Hughes asked.
“That and, after you left, he had more than a few questions about you, interspersed with impressing upon me the importance of secrecy,” said Mustang. His dark eyes narrowed. “He’s getting paranoid. He was already… rushed.” He couldn’t say more. Not now, not here. “And, with the lengths he’s gone to hide Fullmetal’s file… Did you speak to anyone besides this librarian of yours?”
“Sheska.”
“Sheska then. Did you speak to anyone at the National Library besides her?”
Hughes was shaking his head, serious now. “Only to ask about case files. Which isn’t new.”
“And, Sheska?”
“Really, Roy, I’ve done this before.” A ghost of Hughes’ earlier smile touched his lips. “I told her I’d misplaced it, and, as it was very embarrassing, could she please not mention it to anyone.”
“Good.” Mustang huffed out a sigh. “Sorry to drag you into this mess. I’m probably overreacting, but…”
“Always trust your instincts.” Hughes’ smile was small but sincere now. “And, as to dragging me in... I promised to help you to the top, didn’t I? I’ve been up to my neck in your mess for some time. Now,” he threw an arm over Mustang’s shoulders, “what’s say we see if there’s any pie left, eh?”
There was pie left, but only because of Gracia and Hawkeye. Gracia had neatly cut the pie and served everyone a generous slice. But, given the way Fullmetal’s guards were eyeing the remainder like starved animals, they would have gone at each other’s throats to claim it if not for the women’s presence.
Fullmetal, surprisingly, was otherwise occupied. Somehow, he and Hawkeye had struck up a conversation. About East City, where she had grown up.
“Yes, I remember that clocktower,” the lieutenant was saying. “I was very young when they took it down, but, since they brought in an alchemist to disassemble it, everyone went to watch. It was very memorable.”
Was the man still on about that clocktower?
Over Hawkeye’s head, Fullmetal tossed Mustang a triumphant smirk. Apparently, he was. Mustang ignored him in favor of concentrating on his pie. Because Gracia’s apple pie was too good to be upstaged by juvenile antics.
But, all too soon, the pie was gone, and Fullmetal’s guards were tossing nervous looks toward the door. They were right. It had been fun, but it was time for all of them to go.
Trading a glance with Hawkeye, Mustang pushed his chair back. “Dinner was amazing as always, Gracia,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality. But, the lieutenant and I should probably help escort Full—Mr. Elric here back to the barracks.”
And, run interference with Grand if need be. If he played his cards right, Hughes wouldn’t even be brought into it.
It proved to be a wise decision.
General Grand was waiting outside the barracks, his body a hulking shadow backlit by every available light. Behind him, other shadows milled, stretched long across the snow-covered ground. Grand had brought a small contingent of soldiers. And, while the darkness made it impossible for Mustang to discern if that vein in the general’s temple was throbbing again, it couldn’t quite hide the red of his face.
“Mustang!” The big man stepped forward with several soldiers at his back. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Sir?” Mustang let his eyes travel over the assembled soldiers with a flicker of deliberate surprise. “We were just escorting Elric here back to the barracks,” he said.
“From where?” Grand snarled. “The library closed over an hour ago.”
“Sir. After we completed our work at the library, Elric and his escorts joined the lieutenant and I for dinner,” Mustang explained. “We needed to eat, and I assumed all of us would be sufficient defense.” Concern drifted over his features. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for us.”
Grand studied him for a long minute, red face folding into itself as muscles tightened. His large hands, wrapped in the transmutation gauntlets he used to perform alchemy, twitched.
“I trust you know what you’re doing, Mustang,” he ground out at last.
Mustang took a breath and a gamble. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Elric was looking stressed after our research, and I thought he might need a quieter venue than the mess hall.”
For a fraction of an instant, Grand’s face started to loosen into something more natural.
“And, I was hungry,” Fullmetal abruptly piped up.
Grand swung away from Mustang and toward the diminutive alchemist. “Hungry?” he rumbled.
Almost invisible between his guards’ silent bulk, Fullmetal continued. “I was dragged off to the library without any breakfast,” he said irritably. “Lunch was slop. I was hungry... I….” His voice broke off abruptly. “I… Sir! I meant…” Fullmetal had apparently finally remembered to whom he was speaking.
Even without being able to see it, Mustang was sure that vein was throbbing again because Grand’s entire body stiffened. “Would you care to repeat that, Fullmetal?” he said softly.
“I was hungry, so I joined the Colonel and the others for dinner, Sir,” said Fullmetal. His voice was clipped and oddly shaking.
“I have apparently not made myself clear, Fullmetal.” Grand’s voice was a low rumble. “I gave you an order.” Fullmetal’s entire body jerked, but Grand pressed on, leaning closer with every word. “No more risks,” said Grand. “That’s an order. No more little side trips for anything. That’s an order as well.” His continued advance had driven Heinkel and Darius reluctantly back. “You decipher those notes, and, until you do, you’re to go nowhere but the barracks and the library while under escort. And, that’s an order.” Grand towered over Fullmetal, his face purple in the wan light.
With every order Fullmetal had shrunk farther into himself. Now, he stood, suddenly smaller than ever, dwarfed by the general’s bulk and shaking faintly.
“Do you understand, Fullmetal?” Grand snarled.
A jolt ran through Fullmetal’s body. “I…” He slumped. “Yes, Sir.” His voice was flat, empty.
As he watched Grand pull away, satisfied, Mustang debated the merits of incinerating the man. Hawkeye would back him up. Heinkel and Darius, judging by their stony, averted faces, could probably be convinced to stay quiet. It was only the other soldiers who might be a problem. But, a show of enough force could do wonders for loose lips.
Of course, all murderous intentions were gone from his face by the time Grand turned around.
“I trust you understand as well, Colonel?” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
He was starting to understand far, far too much.
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Maes Hughes neatly folded the dining room tablecloth into a bundle to be carried to the laundry. Half of it was a pristine white as always, but the other half was sporting some fascinating stains. The spatter pattern from the far end of the table made him wonder how often they fed Elric, or his guards. Frankly, he had seen neater crime scenes. Well, no matter. Gracia was unperturbed, confident she could get the stains out. If Gracia was unperturbed, all was well. And, seeing Elric transform into a normal human being, however poor his table manners were, had been worth the price of a new tablecloth if it came to that.
“Daddy?” a sweet voice asked behind him.
Smiling, Hughes turned to find his daughter dragging a fluffy white rabbit nearly as big as she was by its left foot. With her free hand she was extending a sheet of paper toward him.
“This was with Mr. Snodgrass,” said Elicia.
Mr. Snodgrass. Grass because rabbits ate grass. She was brilliant. And….
Hughes took the sheet of paper. It was covered in neat, handwritten script.
And, he wasn’t nearly as brilliant as he thought he was. Good thing his lovely ladies could make up for his failings.
“Thank you, Sweetie,” he said, stooping to give her a hug. “Daddy seems to have forgotten this.”
Roy had warned him to be careful, so meeting at Command in the next day or so was out. Meeting at Roy’s place was probably unwise too.
Well, Roy had only been gone for about thirty minutes. With any luck, he could catch him near the barracks.
Giving his daughter a warm squeeze, he disentangled himself. “Elicia, tell Mommy that Daddy’s got to run and catch Mr. Roy. He forgot something.”
“Okay.” Elicia looked up at him with earnest eyes. “Will you be back in time to tuck me in?”
“Of course!” Hughes moved toward the hall closet for his coat. “I’ll be fast as the wind. You and Mr. Snodgrass can count on me!”
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“That’s an order.”
The general, face distended and discolored with fury.
“Ed.”
The gentle, female voice.
“Fullmetal, sit.”
A wide, too white grin.
“Edward.”
That voice.
“Do you understand?”
Uniforms and labcoats and pain.
“Ed, Ed, Ed!”
The voices, loud and insistent.
“You will obey orders; no questions asked.”
The stuttering light of a transmutation reflected on a single gold tooth.
“Brother!”
The frightened eyes of the little boy who reached out to him desperately.
The world around Fullmetal was hazy. Nothing was quite real except for the cacophony of voices and memories roaring in his head.
He wasn’t sure how or when he had gotten back to his new quarters. There had been at least one flight of stairs involved, and he vaguely remembered large hands lifting him when his shaking legs refused to function properly.
Which was absurd because his left leg always functioned properly. Auntie didn’t make substandard automail.
But, no, they’d smashed Auntie’s automail, hadn’t they? After disconnecting and reconnecting it until his nerves burned and his stumps had no feeling left.
He seemed to have a leg now though. But, it buckled, following the lead of its weaker, flesh twin, and he found himself thumping down onto a mattress.
Oh, good. The floor would have probably hurt.
The floor in the cell always had. But, the guards were leaving now, so he was probably safe from that.
He reached to push his hair out of his eyes. It had been a tangled mess for so long.
There was no hair. That was new.
Maybe they had finally shaved it. They certainly commented on the length often enough.
Golden eyes swam into his vision.
A mirror?
No, the boy from this morning. The boy from this morning was crouched in the floor by the bed, watching him with worried eyes.
“I don’t remember any of this,” he said.
“You were asleep,” the voice answered quietly.
“But, he wasn’t,” the boy countered.
“No,” the voice was even quieter.
“Are you talking about me?” Fullmetal asked. He tried to growl the words but wasn’t sure he succeeded. “At least say it to my face.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk. They’re still outside, and they’ll think you’re crazy.”
“I am crazy,” Fullmetal hissed.
The boy scowled at him. “What do I have to do?”
“Go away,” said Fullmetal. “That would fix at least half my crazy problem.”
But, the boy apparently wasn’t asking him. Rude little brat.
“You know what you have to do, Edward,” said the voice. “We had all hoped to avoid it, but there’s no longer another way. You’ve gone too far already.”
The boy shook his head violently, tossing long, blond bangs. He had had hair that long once.
“If he finds out, he’ll tell them!” he yelled. “I can’t—! Al… Everyone else!”
“He is already going to find out, Edward. The process is too far along.”
The boy snarled impotently at empty air. Then, his bright eyes locked on Fullmetal’s.
“If you betray them all, I will kill you,” he hissed. His hands clenched. “Don’t you dare—! There has to something in there that remembers, that understands.” He grabbed the sides of Fullmetal’s face. His touch was echo and memory. Inescapable as it was intangible. “Do you hear me?” the boy screamed into his face. Fullmetal realized for the first time that the boy’s right hand was automail. “You have to protect them!” the boy continued. “You have to protect him! He’s your brother too!”
Brother. Al.
The world went white around the edges.
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(Continue to Part 2)
bay115 fixed the lovely banner earlier and a couple of icons to go with Fullmetal's flashback to his mother.Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B