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Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 16
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: July 6, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: None this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Endless thanks to SageSK and Kayca for the last minute betas on this chapter as scenes got added and cut and tweaked and I generally ran in circles. Also, to my artists, the opening flashback here is new.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 16: You’re in My Way
July, 1884
The air was thick and heavy with the smell of rot. Blood was dripping into one eye from a gash in his head. And, the short, bald homunculus was eyeing him as though he were a fresh cut of meat. But, those were minor concerns compared to the horror unfolding with Lyra’s words.
“What… What do you mean?” Ed asked, watching the dark-haired woman advance on him.
His head was throbbing. He must have heard her wrong.
“I mean,” she answered, “that that was my array you were destroying out there. And, I need it intact to create my Stone.”
“Y—Your array?”
She couldn’t be saying this. It made no sense.
But, nothing made sense.
Reality had become a steadily deepening nightmare. Liore, encircled with the array to create a Philosopher’s Stone. The rebels, angry and desperate. Rose, silent and hollow-eyed. Homunculi exploding from the sand as he tried, frantically, to disable the array that threatened to end it all.
And, now, he was trapped in a surreal tableau. He hung, alchemically bound to the wall, while Lyra watched him with a small, knowing smile. Lyra, who had somehow performed a circleless transmutation, clapping her hands just like he did. Behind her, Rose sat mute in a simple wooden chair, a baby cradled in her arms. At the wall, the voluptuous homunculus they called Lust lounged against the room’s single window. An open smirk curled her full, red lips as she rested a hand on her shorter companion’s head.
“And, they call him a genius,” she said.
The bald homunculus, Gluttony, giggled under her hand.
Ed felt confusion wash away in a surge of fury. They thought this was funny. Just like they had thought it was funny in the Fifth Laboratory.
“Oh, my. It seems my finger slipped. Now what will you do?”
“Shut up!” he snarled at Lust, at the memory.
“I suppose you’ve got no choice now. Do you, little boy?”
“Yes, my array,” said Lyra, breaking him from the ugly, aching memories.
And, that was okay. He had salvaged that nightmare, bought time. Now, he had to do the same here.
“Why?” Ed demanded.
“Because Lyra’s body is no longer sufficient,” Lyra answered simply.
“What do you mean? ‘Lyra’s body’?” Ed struggled for words. His head was still throbbing, and she wasn’t making sense. “You’re—”
“Lady Dante,” the woman finished for him. “My old body was becoming quite useless. I thought this one would suffice, but,” she sighed, “it seems I need a new Philosopher’s Stone to complete the transmutation properly.”
She couldn’t be saying this.
“Where’s Lyra?”
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Who knows?”
Ed bit down bile. To transfer a soul, to claim a body, equivalent exchange would demand its due.
“Why?” he growled. His eyes flicked to the homunculi. “And, why are they—?”
“Because I found them,” said Lyra – no, Dante. “I nurtured them, helped them achieve human form. You know what a dreadful mess they are in the beginning.”
Twisted bones and exposed organs pulsing desperately to live against the odds. He knew.
“And, once we have the Stone, we’ll get new bodies as well,” said Lust. “Human bodies.”
“Human,” Gluttony parroted, a gobbet of drool sliding from his wide mouth.
“So,” Dante stepped closer, and the heavy perfume she was wearing washed over him, “you’ve been searching for the Stone yourself, correct?”
The scent of her perfume was a cloying sweetness undercut with something thick and fetid.
Dante studied him with dark eyes. Stolen eyes. “The military will overrun the city soon.”
He realized, in a flash of memory, that he had smelled this scent before. In old books and scribbled notes. In the musty air of the small study where he and Al began teaching themselves alchemy.
“As soon as they’re inside, the array will be activated. Think of it.” Dante spread her arms wide. “A Philosopher’s Stone forged from over ten thousand lives!” Her eyes were bright with an unholy delight.
Lingering, years later, in the cluttered laboratory where he and Al attempted the impossible and committed the unforgivable.
“All the possibilities of alchemy will be open to whoever possesses it.” Dante was in his face now, the thick stench of his father’s cologne choking him with every breath. “Think of it, Edward Elric.”
She reached out a hand, and he drew back so sharply his head cracked into the wall. Unable to go further, he swore as she caressed his face with her stolen hand.
“This hair.” Fingers tugged at this chin-length bangs. “He always favored blonds,” she purred. “And, those eyes like fire.”
“Don’t touch me!” Ed snarled.
She ignored him, running fingers along his cheekbone. “So like him, Hohenheim of Light.”
Ed jerked involuntarily. No one knew his father’s name. He had never told a soul outside Resembool.
Seeing his face, Dante’s smile widened. “Oh, I knew the first time I saw you. You see, your father, Hohenheim, and I knew each other long ago. When he was young and boundlessly curious about all that alchemy could accomplish.” She stepped back and spun herself in a circle. “Those were wonderful days,” Dante breathed. “So many secrets revealed themselves to us. Including the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Ed felt his stomach lurch. “You’re lying.”
She couldn’t be saying this.
“You know I’m not,” said Dante. “Besides,” her tone became that of one explaining to a slow child, “that first stone was an act of mercy, utilizing the hundreds just waiting to die of plague. Leaving their broken, wasted shells to become pure, boundless energy was a sweet release.” She moved to the window as Lust and Gluttony obligingly stepped aside. “This is no different,” said Dante, looking down on the rubble strewn street below. “Liore will die soon; it’s only a matter of how. Its people are broken and desperate. They know they can’t be saved.” She turned to look at Rose. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Rose remained silent, staring down at the baby sleeping against her. Not even her eyelids fluttered in acknowledgement of Dante’s words.
“You see?” Dante waved a hand at Rose. “They’re all like that inside. Some just fill the emptiness with anger rather than despair.”
“They’re living people!” Ed shouted. “You’re talking about murdering ten thousand people!” His eyes fell on Rose. “Rose! Wake up!” He strained against the altered stone encasing him. His right arm had been pulled out from his body, twisted up at an angle and trapped separately. Each tug brought the whine of strained motors to his ears. His automail wasn’t strong enough to break free. Edward snarled in frustration. “I know you’re in there, Rose! Look at me!”
Rose didn’t move.
Dante shook her head. “Such a silly, stubborn boy. Well,” she motioned toward the door to Ed’s right, “let’s give him some time to think about it. Pride should be sending an advance force of soldiers soon. Probably on the pretense of retrieving this boy. I trust you two can make sure they die messily at the Liorans’ hands?”
Lust smirked as she stalked out the door. “Easily. You only need one to deliver the message?”
“Of course.”
They swept past Ed, all dark clothes and darker smiles.
“Lust, can I eat the others?” Gluttony’s voice echoed back. “Can I?”
“Maybe one or two,” she answered.
Footsteps reverberated up the narrow stairway, and they were gone.
Ed hung limp in his prison, trying to process all he had been told. His father. Dante. Lyra. The homunculi. The Philosopher’s Stone. All bound in a web of intrigue and ugly, ugly secrets.
Lyra could be lying. She had told him nothing that could be proven. She knew his father’s name, but his creation could have told her.
But, that scent… so like his father’s.
Ed swore. “Who cares what the old man did?” he roared.
The baby in Rose’s arms woke and began to cry into the sudden silence. The plaintive sound cut through the fog of thoughts, and Ed felt his resolve solidify.
Hohenheim was gone. Vanished with half his mother’s heart a decade ago. Liore, its people, Rose, the baby – they were here now.
Ed renewed his struggle.
“Rose!”
He had twisted in those last instants of Dante’s transmutation, shielding his left hand with his body. Now, fingers wiggled, testing his range of movement.
“Rose, I can get out of here if you help me,” he said.
Rose’s eyes never left her baby as she began to gently bounce him in her arms.
“Rose, please! You’re going to die!” His fingers could touch the wall. If he only had some way to scratch a transmutation circle... “Everyone is going to die!”
In her own world, Rose never answered.
Ed’s fingernails clawed uselessly at the solid stone wall.
“Are you just going to give up then?” he snarled. Silence. “Fine! I’m not giving up. If I have to chew my way out of this thing, I’ll find a way.” Ed could feel his fingertips burning as he continued to dig at the wall. Good. A little more and they would bleed. Then, he could draw a circle. “I’m going to save Liore. I’m going to save Al. You just watch!”
Rose’s head shifted. Her lips formed words without sound.
“Al…” A whisper of breath escaped her. “Ed… and Al…”
Ed was scraping reddened fingers across rough stone when he felt a soft hand wrap around his own, pressing something into his palm. Startled, he looked up to find Rose looking at him. Her mouth was pulled down into a frown, but there was something in her eyes now.
A light. A determination. A sliver of hope.
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Present
The people of Liore had not really known how to hold an alchemist, and Dante had been over-confident. The Amestrian military, on the other hand, had no such problem. Bare cells with the simple bed and basic toilet fused to hard stone walls by alchemy challenged even the most determined attempts at creating a circle. As did ruthless, frequent strip searches.
But, the worst part of imprisonment was compensating for the loss of his arm. It threw off his balance to walk without it. And, taking his leg as well wasn’t a real solution.
Edward huffed and reached to scratch his itching nose. The shock of cold steel on his face surprised him.
“My automail?”
He rolled onto his side and flexed the metal digits, squinting in the dim light. Yes, that was his automail hand. Had the guards gotten sloppy?
No, no. His automail was in place because this was a different cell. Because it was 19-something-or-other, and rather than an unguarded upstairs room in Liore or the heart of a maximum security prison, he was being kept in a small holding cell within the Investigations department.
Huddled on his narrow bunk, Edward scowled at the gray wall backing it.
Archer. Archer was the one who had imprisoned him here. Oh, he didn’t call it that. It was all for Edward’s own protection, of course. The alchemist was merely being kept safe until Investigations had tracked down Scar.
There was a rattle and creak from the door. Edward quickly cleared the scowl from his face and sat up. Turning, he blinked at the light streaming in through the open door. His eyes trained on a dark shape that must be Archer.
“Ah, good morning, Fullmetal,” said Archer. “I trust you slept well?”
He had slept dreaming of the frantic, nightmarish hours leading up to Liore’s destruction. “Well” did not even come into the equation. But, he only answered simply, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good, good.” Archer extended a small garment bag. “Here’s your uniform. Get dressed, and we can be on our way.”
Ah, the uniform. Presumably, it was to keep him safely anonymous around the office. It was devoid of any insignia as he technically wasn’t a commissioned officer. Not particularly inconspicuous, but there was no help for that if propriety was to be maintained. And, of course, Archer wouldn’t want anyone to remember that they were equals.
He was going to burn the military uniform one of these days. Burn it and dance in the ashes while singing his own version of the Amestrian military march. A version so scandalous it would court immediate execution, make men blush and set dogs to howling.
For the time being, he wordlessly accepted the bag and began changing as Archer stepped outside. He had to be quiet and obedient for now. Archer was several degrees smarter than General Gran had ever been. And, that was a problem.
Ever since Archer had laid claim to him, Edward had had to guard every word he said. Which was hard when he wasn’t always certain what he was saying or thinking. The past and present still flowed through his mind in a shifting tangle of images. He was fifteen. He was forty-five. He was Ed. He was Mr. Elric. What he wasn’t was the military’s poor creature, Fullmetal.
Unfortunately, Fullmetal, who had been both his prison and his shield, was who he needed to be in the face of Archer’s sharp eyes and sharper intellect. So, with effort, Edward drew the tattered shreds of the broken false personality around himself. Nothing to see here. Just Gran’s discarded puppet, still acting on his orders even after his death.
It seemed to be working so far. He had folded into compliant obedience as soon as Archer had begun carefully feeding him lines about serving the State and carrying on the general’s efforts. Thus far, the man seemed to have accepted the act.
“Are you ready?” Archer asked as Edward gave his uniform a few final tugs.
“Yes, Sir.”
He followed Archer to his office, where Archer produced what was truly keeping him here when no amount of concrete or steel ever could. The notebook.
“I’ll let you resume where you left off,” said Archer, handing him the battered notebook. “Someone should be along from the mess with our breakfast shortly.”
Edward just nodded and moved to sit at the desk he had been assigned. Carefully, he opened the notebook and stared blankly at the pages. There was no longer any decoding to be done. Even with the past and present an inseparable mess in his mind, Edward understood his own notes.
And, he would not give them to Archer, or to anyone. Instead, he had spent the last week dutifully scratching out pages of equations and arrays. Most were just basic formulas doctored to look more complex, but a few were bits and pieces of his own plans.
He had completed the construction formula for a self-destroying array yesterday. Careful questions about another copy of his notes he had seen while working in the library had Archer’s agents, whoever they might be, searching for the printed copies. And, he was fairly confident he knew how to disable that red-eyed lunatic’s arm. He was poised to remove all evidence of the Philosopher’s Stone, hopefully forever. Now, he just needed an escape plan that wouldn’t reveal his secrets.
Ideas turning in his mind, Edward idly scribbled on the paper before him. There had to be a way.
Breakfast did not bring any ideas with it, but it at least quieted his stomach. And, it prompted Archer to become conversational. In his own way.
“Oh, Fullmetal,” he began, setting his fork down for a moment. “My sources have a lead on those other notes you mentioned.”
Edward looked up from his own breakfast. With effort, he forced aside the nearly automatic, “What? Where?” and instead said, “Sir?”
“They believe the Brigadier General kept those copies somewhere in the library,” Archer continued. “Do you have any idea where that might be?”
Research notes. Library. The image of a handwritten text, innocuously nestled amid a series of cookbooks flashed across Edward’s mind.
Hoping his face wasn't betraying him, Edward shook his head. “No, Sir,” he said, looking down at his plate. From the sound of it, Gran might have used the same method as Dr. Marcoh. Or he might not. Either way, Archer didn’t need to know.
“Hmm,” said Archer, watching Edward consideringly. “Well, we'll keep looking.”
With that, the conversation was over.
For now. Finishing breakfast and resuming his “work,” Edward could only hope that Archer believed him. Or at least wouldn't act on any disbelief until he had a workable escape plan. For now, Archer semed content to merely watch him periodically from the corner of his eye. Of course, for all his watchfulness, Archer didn’t seem to have noticed yet that the awkward scribbles he was making were a game of X’s and O’s rather than notes. And, he had better not notice any time soon either because Edward and the soul of a grizzled old carpenter were about to go into a tie-breaking fifteenth round. A soft knock at the door interrupted a serious debate on the merits of the middle versus the upper right corner.
Edward glanced up as Archer called for the knocker to enter. His eyes widened at the sight of Colonel Smug standing in the doorway.
“Good morning, Major,” Mustang began. “I was wondering if you—” His eyes fell on Edward and took in the blue uniform in one sweeping glance. “Dressing up today, Elric?” A grin tugged at his lips as he continued. “You’re just the man I was looking for.” He reached to pull something from a pocket on the front of his jacket. “You forgot to pick these up after one of our research sessions.”
Edward stared in surprise as Mustang offered him a slender pair of glasses. Why would he need glasses? No, wait. That was right. He wore glasses now. Huh, that would explain why he had spent the last three days practically facedown in the notebook.
“Er… thanks,” he managed, taking the glasses.
“Most considerate of you,” said Archer. “Was there anything else you needed, Colonel?”
Mustang looked at him briefly. “I just wanted to thank Elric here.” He focused on Edward again. “I understand you were the one to find Lieutenant Colonel Hughes after he was attacked?”
Uncertain where this was going and wary of Archer’s watching eyes, Edward simply nodded.
“Then, you have my thanks for taking care of him,” said Mustang. “The lieutenant colonel is a good friend of mine.” There was a curious soberness to his gaze.
“Oh…” Edward floundered. He had never seen the self-possessed colonel so sincere. “I only… I was there…”
Mustang just nodded an acknowledgement. “Well, I’m glad you were.” He turned as though to leave, body blocking Edward’s view of Archer. “Knowing what Kimblee can do, it’s good that Hughes was seen by an alchemist quickly.”
“Oh…” Alchemist? The hospital wouldn’t have even known to have Hughes examined by an alchemist until he woke up. “You’re welcome,” Edward managed, mind whirling.
Mustang smiled. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” With another nod for Archer, he was gone.
“Hmm,” said Archer in the following silence. “Colonel Mustang is quite thoughtful, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Edward, slowly unfolding the glasses. “I guess he is.” He slid the glasses on carefully.
Yes, Mustang was thoughtful, and just as clever as Archer. Maybe more so. But, he wasn’t sure if that cleverness would be to his benefit or just another obstacle.
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Roy Mustang tried not to whistle as he made his way back to his office, he really did. It tended to scare his subordinates, after all, and not just because he was tone deaf. But, it was hard to hide his good mood. Because there was nothing quite so satisfying as being right.
The look that had flashed across Elric’s face when he mentioned an alchemist treating Hughes had confirmed all his suspicions. Now, came the question of his next step.
He couldn’t leave Elric in Archer’s hands. That much was obvious. Getting him out, however, would take planning.
Lost in thought, Mustang rounded the last corner to his office. 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye was waiting by the door with a rare bemused expression. She sobered upon spotting Mustang.
“Sir, 2nd Lieutenant Breda and Major Armstrong are back,” she said, offering a quick salute. “Given their… circumstances, I let them into your private office.”
“Circumstances?” Mustang frowned. Why hadn’t either of them called? It was unusual for both of them. And, was that a smile tugging at Hawkeye’s lips?
“Yes, Sir. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
Shooting his uncharacteristically enigmatic lieutenant a curious look, Mustang stepped inside and made his way to his office with Hawkeye following. It was probably Armstrong’s doing. For all he could be the soul of propriety, the major was more than slightly eccentric.
He opened the door.
“Slightly eccentric” could not explain the sight before him. Or the smell.
Both men were filthy, reeking of something Mustang prayed had not been tracked in, and they were so liberally covered in – was that flour? – that it looked like someone had attempted to batter them. Between the two men – in fact, handcuffed to both of them – was an attractive, middle-aged blonde woman. She smiled brightly at the sight of Mustang. Breda scowled. Armstrong offered a somber salute.
It took an act of will not to go back out the door, shut it and come back when he was sober. Because he must have had a drink he had forgotten somewhere between Investigations and his office. Maybe several. It was against his personal policies, but it was the only sane explanation.
Unfortunately, the ever-efficient Hawkeye was already closing off his escape route and positioning herself beside it. Ostensibly, to head off anyone attempting to enter the office.
Escape no longer an option, Mustang addressed the two men. “I’m guessing there’s a long story behind this,” he started.
“I can simplify it, Sir,” said Breda. “This woman,” he thumbed to the blonde, “is your conman. I just didn’t put it together until she hijacked the train.”
Armstrong’s moustache drooped, unleashing a small puff of flour. “I must admit that I still wasn’t convinced until the incident with the second train and the sheep.”
Breda shrugged. “It’s alright, Major. At least we were on the same page by the dining car.”
“Nonetheless, I should have anticipated the combustible potential of flour.”
Mustang felt a headache coming on. “I’m just going to assume it was difficult to capture her?”
“That would be an understatement,” said Breda. “Clara here accompanied us to Liore after using a sob story about her family dying there. While she was there, she picked up this.” With his free hand he pulled a round object from his pocket and held it up. “And then, she used it to commandeer a train, claiming to be a State Alchemist.”
Mustang stared at the Amestrian seal, worn smooth with age, emblazoned across the cover of a tarnished, silver pocket watch.
“A State Alchemist’s watch?” he managed.
“From Liore, she says.” Breda dropped the watch into Mustang’s hands. “It was buried in the sand.”
“And, you meant to use this to impersonate a State Alchemist?” Mustang asked Clara.
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “The military’s far too serious about that sort of thing for me to use it for anything less than an emergency.” She smiled winningly. “Being an alchemist myself, I thought it might be interesting to try some transmutations with the aid of a real State Alchemist’s watch.”
Mustang hadn’t considered that. The watch would be invaluable to gain access and authority all over the countryside, at least for a short time. And, being made primarily of silver, it was valuable for its metal content alone. But, to an alchemist, both were nothing beside the fact that it was a stable alchemic amplifier.
“I’m assuming you got in some ‘practical application’ on the train?” he asked.
“Unfortunately not.” Clara shrugged. “It’s completely inert.”
Mustang looked down at the battered watch in his hand. No amplifier lasted forever, and it was certainly old. He reached to thumb the latch that would open the cover. His fingers only slid over smooth metal. There was no latch. A closer inspection revealed that the watch had been alchemically sealed.
“Did you seal this?”
Clara shook her head again. “No, I didn’t quite find the time.” She winked at Breda, whose scowl deepened.
Wary, Mustang carried the watch to his desk and, grabbing the first sheet of paper to come to hand, drew a careful transmutation circle. He settled the watch in the center of it and touched one hand to the edge of the array. There was a brief blue glow as he felt the silver rearrange itself at his direction. Then, mindful of traps, Mustang cautiously flipped the cover open.
There were no surprises. The clock face inside, frozen on 4:15, looked to be in good condition. Probably protected from the desert sands by the alchemy that had sealed it.
Mustang picked the watch up again for a closer look. That was when he noticed the one anomaly. Scratched crudely into the back of the cover was a message: “Don’t forget. 3.Oct.79.”
He couldn’t stop the sudden intake of breath.
“You say this was in Liore?” he asked quietly, turning back to his waiting audience.
“Yes, in the sand.” Clara looked curious now.
“Is there something unusual about the watch, Colonel?” Armstrong asked for everyone.
“Just some sort of personal message scratched inside,” Mustang answered.
That much was obvious. The date had no relation to Liore’s destruction. However, it was the same year in which Edward Elric became a State Alchemist. Mustang decided he really needed to have a long talk with Elric. But, first, he needed Elric.
Mind turning over possibilities, he looked up and was once more assaulted by the nose-searing stench radiating from the two men before him. Not to mention what they were threatening to drip on his floor.
His eyes shifted to the unrepentant woman sandwiched between them. And, he made a snap decision.
“Why don’t you two visit the showers?” Mustang suggested as he slid the watch into a pocket. “I’m sure the lieutenant and I can watch Miss Clara for the time being.”
He tried not to be too insulted that Breda’s first reaction was to look toward Hawkeye for confirmation. His lieutenant was a terribly competent officer, after all. One who was far too professional to smirk as she nodded dutifully.
Armstrong wasn’t so easily placated. “Colonel, please exercise caution. This woman is terribly clever as well as a skilled alchemist. She—”
Mustang waved a hand. “We’re in the middle of Central Command, Major. And, I happen to be an alchemist myself. It will be fine.”
Armstrong frowned, but said no more.
Ten minutes later, with the opening of a window, the worst of the smell was starting to clear away. Clara was sitting quietly, hands now trapped in cuffs alchemized to be like those used to restrain rogue alchemists. Mustang had returned to his desk where he was distractedly flipping through some paperwork, mind turning over idea after idea. Hawkeye remained by the door, sharp eyes flicking from Mustang to Clara. After a bit, she shifted subtly, and Mustang glanced up.
“Did you need something, Lieutenant?”
“Sir,” she began, “I was just about to deliver some paperwork to Lieutenant Colonel Bristol when you met me in the hall.”
“Then, attend to it.” Mustang looked down to re-read the same requisition form for the third time.
“Sir?” Hawkeye cut her eyes toward Clara.
“It will be fine, Lieutenant.”
Hawkeye nodded and took her leave.
Mustang attempted to finish the requisition form, but gave up on his fourth re-reading and instead pulled the battered watch back out and turned it over in his hands. The metal was oddly pitted. Regularly so.
He frowned and turned his chair to face the window, holding the watch up to the light. As he had thought, the pitting evenly covered both sides. It was almost as though something had been removed from the surface of the metal.
Something in the air shifted. Papers rustled.
Calculating quickly, Mustang held up a gloved hand as he swung around. The rapidly building tornado of papers died as his own transmutation claimed control of the air currents. He was instants too late.
Through a swirl of paper, he watched Clara blow him a kiss, hands still shackled. Then, she was gone, somersaulting backward out the open window.
Mustang raced to the window to look down.
Clara lighted nimbly on a flagpole ten feet below the window before dropping the remaining distance to the ground where she landed in a graceful crouch. It paid to stay in practice. Eyes tracking the escape route she had planned from her seat in the office, she smiled to herself. Central Command, eh? It hadn’t been much of a challenge thus far. She rose to her feet.
And, froze at the sensation of cold metal on her temple.
“That’s far enough,” said Hawkeye coolly.
Clara rolled her eyes back toward the blonde woman and then looked up.
Colonel Mustang stood at the window she had just vacated, a smile playing across his lips.
The smile was still there when Hawkeye escorted Clara back to the office, gun down at the small of her back so as to be less conspicuous.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Mustang as Hawkeye shut the door. Then, he addressed Clara. “Sorry for letting you go to all that trouble for nothing.” He positioned himself in front of the open window. “Now then, as I recall, you were the one who told 2nd Lieutenant Breda about the Fullmetal Alchemist’s escapades in Aquroya, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Clara answered slowly, wary now.
“Hmm.” Mustang clasped his hands behind his back and turned to look out the window. “And, you have quite an interesting skill set. Given your recent escapades,” he half-turned, smiling faintly, “I’m assuming you were the infamous Psiren, were you not?”
Clara bit her lip.
Mustang sobered as he faced her once more. “Psiren or not, I can prove that you impersonated a State Alchemist, stole a train – or two from the sounds of it - and attempted to escape arrest. By rights, I should turn you over to the MP’s.”
Wide blue eyes met his own.
“However,” Mustang continued, “I could use those skills of yours at the moment.” He smiled. “What do you say? I think I could be persuaded to forget about all this if you help me with a little problem. There’s a little something I need you to… retrieve for me.”
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Mustang was up to something. Major Frank Archer exited the Investigations building, mentally reviewing the scene in his office as he had for the last several hours. There was still no other conclusion. It was just a matter of determining what the man was up to.
Most likely, he wanted to continue Gran’s project. Restoring prestige to the State Alchemists would be in his best interests. The man was a colonel at twenty-nine, and it was his role as a State Alchemist as much as his reputation as a war hero that had propelled him through the ranks so quickly. He wouldn’t want to give up such a position.
Mustang had also spent the better part of a month with Fullmetal already. He had to have realized at least part of the truth about Fullmetal’s condition. And, as a colonel, he had far more authority to command the alchemist.
Archer frowned as he strode along the darkened streets. He could move Fullmetal. Or he could give up Gran’s project altogether. It had been a gamble in the first place. With the damages Scar had already caused around Central, his capture might be a far more impressive achievement. And, Fullmetal would make such tempting bait.
Weighing his options, Archer paid only peripheral attention to the woman approaching from the opposite direction. Until she abruptly collided with him.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “So sorry!” Her hands twisted in front of her, fumbling for a bag that had fallen to the sidewalk. “I didn’t see you there! I was in such a hurry!”
Archer controlled his irritation at the interruption with a mask of civility. It was only a momentary delay.
“It’s alright, Madam,” he said. “No harm done.” He reached to grab the straps of the bag she had dropped and offer it to her. It was a large doctor’s bag. The woman, he saw now, was a nurse, her square cap nestled amid a mass of curly, red hair.
“Oh, thank you!” she gushed, taking the bag. “I’m so sorry! I just—Oh!” She looked up and past him as though searching for a clock. “I’m going to be late! I—Excuse me!”
Then, she was gone, clutching her bag and hurrying away down the street.
Archer shook his head at such foolishness and then turned back toward his own destination. It seemed he had some calls to make.
It was three blocks to the nearest phone booth. Stopping just outside, Archer felt his breast pocket for the black notebook he had slipped inside as he left the office. Even without Fullmetal, it might be useful.
His hand froze in its search. The bulky weight of the book was gone.
“That woman!” Archer swung around. His eyes narrowed. “Mustang!”
----------------------------------------------------------
No matter how many times he replayed the brief conversation with Mustang in his head, Edward still wasn’t sure how to classify the man. He was either genuinely sincere in his gratitude or a magnificent actor.
Either way, sincere or not, he was plotting something. He had deliberately positioned himself in front of Archer when watching for Edward’s response to his parting comment. Which meant he didn’t want Archer to know what he knew.
Edward scowled and turned over on his narrow cot. Just another chessmaster probably. He was so tired of being everyone’s pawn. And, the worst part of it was that he didn’t have to be. He didn’t have to play this game and pretend these walls could hold him. As he was now, he didn’t even need to clap his hands. He had only to form the proper equation in his mind and release the roiling energy inside him.
It was terrifying. The power he could command. He could cleave walls or armies. He could clap his hands and have the one thing, one person he wanted most in the world beside him in an instant.
But, he wouldn’t. He knew the terrible price of such power. If the military saw such a display, they would never stop seeking it. And, Liore would happen all over again. And, again and again.
Besides, the power wasn’t his to use, not even for Al’s sake.
So, for now, he just had to play along and wait. His chance would come.
“Ma’am, are you lost?”
Edward started out of his musings as he heard the guard outside stand from his usual seat.
“No.” A woman’s voice. “At least, I don’t think so. But, all these corridors do get one so turned around.” Her voice drew closer. “I’m here to treat a Mr. Elric. Major Archer sent me.”
There was a rustle and clink. A bag?
“Treat?” The guard sounded as confused as Edward felt.
“Yes, he said Mr. Elric is due for some routine shots and asked that I stop by after my shift.”
“Shots? I don’t— I’d need to hear it from—”
More clinking. The whirr of a zipper.
“Ma’am! Please put that away!”
“It’s only a little needle. See?”
A step, fumbling.
“Oh, don’t be so silly, Lieutenant. This isn’t for you.” The woman’s voice was teasing now.
“Ma’am, please. I said—”
“Oh, fine, fine.”
There was a rustle, a rattle and then a sudden, sharp crack. A dull thump followed.
By this time, Edward was on his feet. A cold draft chilled his skin through the thin shirt and pants he slept in and the smooth concrete floor was cold against his stockinged feet, but he ignored the discomfort. Warily, he raised his hands as, with a rattle of keys, the door swung open.
A woman stood just outside, light from the hall outlining the simple dress and square cap of a nurse. A curly tangle of red hair fell around her shoulders. At her feet lay the sprawled form of the guard and a discarded medical bag.
“Who are you?” Edward demanded. He thought a minute. “And, don’t even think about giving me a shot.”
The woman stepped into the cell, her face breaking into a brilliant smile. “It is you!” She reached up and pulled the mass of red hair away in one smooth motion. In its place, straight, blonde hair drifted free. Quickly, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Wha—?” Edward felt his face heat as she reached the third button. “What are you doing?” he shrieked, turning his head away. Then, realizing that might have been her plan, he looked back.
The dress was gone. In its place was a form-fitting black outfit that could have escaped from a bawdy theater production.
And, it sparked his memory.
“You!” Edward gasped. “With… With the outfit and the playing cards!” More memories flooded his mind. “That idiot arrested me because of you!”
“You do remember!” The woman beamed. “This should be easy then.” She pulled a jester’s mask from the belt around her waist and tugged it over her head.
Edward’s splutter died. “Huh?”
Blue eyes dancing with amusement the woman – Psiren, he remembered – took a step closer, bending slightly with her hands on her thighs to look him in the eye. Just as she had done back in Aquroya. When he was fifteen, and shouldn’t he be taller now?
“I told you once that, if you ever found that stone you were searching for, I’d steal it for you,” Psiren said. A wink. “It’s not your stone, but, this time, I’m here to steal you.”
Edward stared at her. Then, a short laugh escaped his lips. She had offered to steal a Philosopher’s Stone for him, hadn’t she?
“You have no—”
An alarm abruptly split the evening quiet, drowning his words.
Psiren looked around and swore. “He must have noticed.”
“Noticed?” Edward managed.
She shrugged and held up a full hand of cards. “No help for it now.”
“But, what’re you—?”
In a flash of light, the cards became a sword at his throat.
“I told you,” said Psiren, “I’m stealing you.”
Edward gulped but made a reflexive grab for his glasses and opted to play along.
As Psiren maneuvered him out into the hall over the guard’s unconscious form, he debated the chances that it was all a particularly lucid memory. But, he was fairly certain that he had never been kidnapped in Aquroya. And, as the thunder of booted feet on tiled floors echoed down the corridor, he found that he didn’t remember anything more threatening than a single, crazed policeman either. Certainly not a unit of armed soldiers.
“Halt where you are!”
At least eight pistols came to bear on them. But, Psiren’s impromptu sword never wavered.
“My, my,” she said, “it’s been a while since I performed for such a crowd.”
“Performed?” Edward choked.
The words stuck in his throat as he felt a rush of movement behind his back. He rolled his head back to catch sight of a stream of water, shot through with blue light, as it arced above him. Edward’s eyes widened in realization as the water exploded in a cloud of steam.
But, there was no time to comment as Psiren spun him around and propelled him down the hallway opposite the shouting soldiers. A turn, and he was abruptly shoved into a small, dark room. His face crashed against something rough and ropey, smelling thickly of ammonia. A mop? Snorting at the stench, he twisted around in time to see the last thin sparks of alchemy as Psiren sealed the door.
“How are you doing that?” he demanded. “You’ve only got one—”
A finger fell over his lips. “Trade secret,” Psiren breathed. “Now, you can make us a back door, can’t you?”
“What?” Feeling his cheeks heat again, Edward ducked under the finger. He turned back toward the mop as the sound of a human stampede clamored past the sealed door. “Since when did I start helping steal myself?” he muttered, bringing his hands together.
It took a force of will he hadn’t anticipated to keep the simple transmutation from pulling at the incredible well of energy inside him. By the time the wall had obediently reformed into an opening, he was covered in sweat. Dazed, he wished his ears would stop ringing. No, not ringing; it was a scream. Dumbly, Edward stared at the auburn-haired woman standing in the center of the office he had just inadvertently invaded.
He felt pressure on his arm, and Psiren was pulling him along again.
“Sorry to intrude!” she called cheerily as she dragged Edward through the office, past the wide-eyed woman and out the door.
Out into another hallway, and, this time, there was a window. A playing card appeared in Psiren’s hand, and, before Edward could quite process what was going on, he was being shoved through a large, neat hole in the glass and onto a narrow ledge. Startled, he swore, scrambling for a handhold on the smooth concrete wall.
“It’s only the second floor,” Psiren assured him. “Now, jump!”
“Are you cra—?” She caught his shoulder, and he was falling before he could complete the sentence.
Edward started to orient himself, aiming to take the impact on his automail leg. Light flashed beneath him, and he let out a startled cry as white filled his vision. He swept past – no, through it. Tearing through onto another and then another, he realized that he was plummeting through a stack of alchemized playing cards. Then, the ground was there, hard and unyielding. The shock of the landing echoed up his automail, sending stabs of pain radiating from the port through his thigh.
Psiren landed beside him, disgustingly graceful. “Just so no one gets the wrong idea…” She swung toward him with another hand of cards - a royal straight flush, he noted idly before the cards wrapped themselves around his hands.
“Hey, what’s th—?” Edward sputtered.
“You’re just an innocent victim, yes?”
She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him along as she broke into a run, following the line of the building down a narrow alleyway. Stumbling beside her, Edward found himself agreeing with that much; he was definitely an innocent victim in this insanity. A freezing one. Warmer temperatures had melted last week’s snow, but the ground was still ice under his nearly bare feet.
They rounded a corner and plunged into the thin stream of traffic flowing down the busy road in front of the building. A cacophony of horns and squealing brakes split the night as Psiren blithely dodged the first car and stepped confidently in front of a slower second.
“Wha— You— Car!” Staggering after her, Edward felt his heart lurch into his throat as the vehicle screeched to a halt so close the fender was brushing his knees. Unbalanced, he flopped against the hood.
Psiren just waved merrily to the driver before dragging Edward with her back to the door. As the window started to slowly roll down, she put on a winning smile.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” her arm slipped over the windowsill, “but, we’re in a terrible hurry, and I wonder if I could ask a favor?”
The man at the wheel stared. “Ma’am, what—”
“Oh, good!” The door was unlocked and opened before the dazed man could react. “Thank you so much for loaning us your car!” Still smiling, Psiren waved a hand. Another card sword flashed into being, and she rested it against the man’s shirt collar. “If you would be so kind.”
With a strangled yelp, he tumbled from the car and scrambled away. Brandishing the sword, Psiren waved Edward into the vehicle.
As he was clambering across the seat, a shout rang out.
“Sir! There they are!”
“Time to go!” Psiren gave Edward a quick shove and dove into the car herself, grabbing for the steering wheel and clutch.
Tossing a look over his shoulder, Edward caught a glimpse of Archer himself at the head of a group of soldiers rushing into the road. But, Psiren was already gunning the engine. The car roared away, and Archer was left with nothing but a cloud of exhaust.
Staring after the vanished car, Archer clenched a fist at his side. Slowly, he released it as he ordered the soldiers with him to put out an alert. For all the good that would do.
Mustang had won this one. But, he still had a hand of his own to play.
It was a wild series of sudden turns and terrifyingly narrow alleys later before Psiren finally stopped the car. Edward had long ago torn his way free of the binding cards to brace himself. Hands locked around the passenger’s side door handle and a fistful of upholstery, he finally felt his heart rate begin to slow as Psiren cut the engine.
Turning to look at him, Psiren’s smile morphed into a smirk.
“Well, here we are,” she said. “It’s been fun, but this is where we part.”
“Here?” Edward looked out the window to see that they were parked in the shadow of an old warehouse, probably near the outskirts of the city. “Why here? What is this place?”
Psiren tapped her chin in thought. “About two blocks from where I was supposed to turn you over to that young colonel.”
Colonel Smug. As he had guessed.
“But, he wasn’t terribly specific,” Psiren continued with a shrug. “So, it’s hardly my fault if you disappear before he makes his way over here.”
Edward looked at her curiously. “Why are you doing this?”
“I got into a tiny bit of trouble,” she held up a hand, squeezing her thumb and pointer together for emphasis, “and that Mustang fellow offered to forget about it if I ‘retrieved’ you for him.” She winked. “Of course, I’m not sure how far I can trust that, so I’d best be going.” She extended her hand toward Edward. “Would you like to come?”
For a moment, he considered it. He would probably be hauled up a fire escape and coerced across half the Central skyline before making some daring final escape atop a train. Like old times. And, he would be free to carry out his plans.
But, he didn’t have the notes.
Edward swore.
“What is it?” asked Psiren.
“The notes!” Edward struggled to explain. “There’s a notebook with Archer. I need—”
“This notebook?” Psiren reached down the front of her top and tugged out a familiar, battered book.
“You—? Where—?” Half-formed sentences were still tumbling from his lips as the notebook was pressed into his hands. They faded as he flipped it open to familiar pages.
“I ‘bumped into’ Mr. Archer earlier.” Psiren’s smile radiated smug self-satisfaction.
“You’re amazing.” Edward laid the open book on his lap and solemnly brought his hands together. He took a deep breath and reined in the power inside. He needed only the smallest amount for this task. A touch and the notebook crumbled away in a flash of blue light. Edward brushed the dusty remnants off his pants.
“Why did you do that?” Psiren’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“Because those notes aren’t something anyone should use.” Edward shook out his shirttail. “Besides, I’m really tired of looking at them.” He grinned.
Psiren stared at him for a long moment. Then, she laughed. “I had heard you were crazy these days.”
Edward’s grin widened. “Mostly just on Tuesdays. What day is it?”
“Saturday.” Psiren smiled back. “So,” she opened the driver’s side door, “are you coming?”
Edward thought a second and shook his head. “No, there are still some other things I need to do.”
He still had to find the copies of his notes. They were incomplete without his handwriting cues, but any hints toward the Philosopher’s Stone were a risk he couldn’t take.
Psiren’s smile faded into something softer. “I see. Well then…”
“Why are you really doing this?” Edward asked suddenly. “You could have run from the beginning.”
Psiren hesitated. “Well, I heard about you from one of the Colonel’s men who was snooping around out east, and I was curious. But, mostly,” she shrugged, smiling sheepishly, “it sounded like a challenge.”
Edward smiled back softly. “Alchemists are those who seek the truth,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
“Eh?” Psiren looked at him in surprised confusion. “That’s not—”
“You are an alchemist, right?” Edward looked her in the eye.
For just a second, Psiren looked away. Then, she was suddenly far too close for comfort, her hands gently cupping his face.
“You really are still the same silly little boy, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. She leaned closer.
“Wha—? What’re you—?” Edward tried to draw away but froze when he felt a soft, warm pressure on his right cheek. Conscious thought screeched to a halt. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could have sworn he heard more than a few catcalls.
When the shock had faded, Psiren was already standing outside the car, smiling at him.
“It’s been fun, little boy,” she said. She blew him a kiss and was gone, lost in the night’s shadows.
Edward fought to find words. “That— What was that about? Don’t just—!” He clambered to the open door, pawing at his cheek where she had kissed him. “Don’t do stuff like that!” he screeched into the empty night, blushing furiously.
“I can’t imagine what I’ve done, but I’ll try not to repeat it if you insist.”
Edward started at the voice.
Colonel Mustang appeared at the corner of the warehouse, faintly illuminated by moonlight. He stepped toward the car and took in Edward’s position. The small man was half out of the car with one hand clamped against his cheek, his face as red as a beet.
“So,” Mustang ventured, “how does the infamous Psiren kiss?”
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No Ed/Psiren pairing is intended or meant to be implied in even the vaguest sense. She's just like that.
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: July 6, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: None this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Endless thanks to SageSK and Kayca for the last minute betas on this chapter as scenes got added and cut and tweaked and I generally ran in circles. Also, to my artists, the opening flashback here is new.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 16: You’re in My Way
July, 1884
The air was thick and heavy with the smell of rot. Blood was dripping into one eye from a gash in his head. And, the short, bald homunculus was eyeing him as though he were a fresh cut of meat. But, those were minor concerns compared to the horror unfolding with Lyra’s words.
“What… What do you mean?” Ed asked, watching the dark-haired woman advance on him.
His head was throbbing. He must have heard her wrong.
“I mean,” she answered, “that that was my array you were destroying out there. And, I need it intact to create my Stone.”
“Y—Your array?”
She couldn’t be saying this. It made no sense.
But, nothing made sense.
Reality had become a steadily deepening nightmare. Liore, encircled with the array to create a Philosopher’s Stone. The rebels, angry and desperate. Rose, silent and hollow-eyed. Homunculi exploding from the sand as he tried, frantically, to disable the array that threatened to end it all.
And, now, he was trapped in a surreal tableau. He hung, alchemically bound to the wall, while Lyra watched him with a small, knowing smile. Lyra, who had somehow performed a circleless transmutation, clapping her hands just like he did. Behind her, Rose sat mute in a simple wooden chair, a baby cradled in her arms. At the wall, the voluptuous homunculus they called Lust lounged against the room’s single window. An open smirk curled her full, red lips as she rested a hand on her shorter companion’s head.
“And, they call him a genius,” she said.
The bald homunculus, Gluttony, giggled under her hand.
Ed felt confusion wash away in a surge of fury. They thought this was funny. Just like they had thought it was funny in the Fifth Laboratory.
“Oh, my. It seems my finger slipped. Now what will you do?”
“Shut up!” he snarled at Lust, at the memory.
“I suppose you’ve got no choice now. Do you, little boy?”
“Yes, my array,” said Lyra, breaking him from the ugly, aching memories.
And, that was okay. He had salvaged that nightmare, bought time. Now, he had to do the same here.
“Why?” Ed demanded.
“Because Lyra’s body is no longer sufficient,” Lyra answered simply.
“What do you mean? ‘Lyra’s body’?” Ed struggled for words. His head was still throbbing, and she wasn’t making sense. “You’re—”
“Lady Dante,” the woman finished for him. “My old body was becoming quite useless. I thought this one would suffice, but,” she sighed, “it seems I need a new Philosopher’s Stone to complete the transmutation properly.”
She couldn’t be saying this.
“Where’s Lyra?”
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Who knows?”
Ed bit down bile. To transfer a soul, to claim a body, equivalent exchange would demand its due.
“Why?” he growled. His eyes flicked to the homunculi. “And, why are they—?”
“Because I found them,” said Lyra – no, Dante. “I nurtured them, helped them achieve human form. You know what a dreadful mess they are in the beginning.”
Twisted bones and exposed organs pulsing desperately to live against the odds. He knew.
“And, once we have the Stone, we’ll get new bodies as well,” said Lust. “Human bodies.”
“Human,” Gluttony parroted, a gobbet of drool sliding from his wide mouth.
“So,” Dante stepped closer, and the heavy perfume she was wearing washed over him, “you’ve been searching for the Stone yourself, correct?”
The scent of her perfume was a cloying sweetness undercut with something thick and fetid.
Dante studied him with dark eyes. Stolen eyes. “The military will overrun the city soon.”
He realized, in a flash of memory, that he had smelled this scent before. In old books and scribbled notes. In the musty air of the small study where he and Al began teaching themselves alchemy.
“As soon as they’re inside, the array will be activated. Think of it.” Dante spread her arms wide. “A Philosopher’s Stone forged from over ten thousand lives!” Her eyes were bright with an unholy delight.
Lingering, years later, in the cluttered laboratory where he and Al attempted the impossible and committed the unforgivable.
“All the possibilities of alchemy will be open to whoever possesses it.” Dante was in his face now, the thick stench of his father’s cologne choking him with every breath. “Think of it, Edward Elric.”
She reached out a hand, and he drew back so sharply his head cracked into the wall. Unable to go further, he swore as she caressed his face with her stolen hand.
“This hair.” Fingers tugged at this chin-length bangs. “He always favored blonds,” she purred. “And, those eyes like fire.”
“Don’t touch me!” Ed snarled.
She ignored him, running fingers along his cheekbone. “So like him, Hohenheim of Light.”
Ed jerked involuntarily. No one knew his father’s name. He had never told a soul outside Resembool.
Seeing his face, Dante’s smile widened. “Oh, I knew the first time I saw you. You see, your father, Hohenheim, and I knew each other long ago. When he was young and boundlessly curious about all that alchemy could accomplish.” She stepped back and spun herself in a circle. “Those were wonderful days,” Dante breathed. “So many secrets revealed themselves to us. Including the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Ed felt his stomach lurch. “You’re lying.”
She couldn’t be saying this.
“You know I’m not,” said Dante. “Besides,” her tone became that of one explaining to a slow child, “that first stone was an act of mercy, utilizing the hundreds just waiting to die of plague. Leaving their broken, wasted shells to become pure, boundless energy was a sweet release.” She moved to the window as Lust and Gluttony obligingly stepped aside. “This is no different,” said Dante, looking down on the rubble strewn street below. “Liore will die soon; it’s only a matter of how. Its people are broken and desperate. They know they can’t be saved.” She turned to look at Rose. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Rose remained silent, staring down at the baby sleeping against her. Not even her eyelids fluttered in acknowledgement of Dante’s words.
“You see?” Dante waved a hand at Rose. “They’re all like that inside. Some just fill the emptiness with anger rather than despair.”
“They’re living people!” Ed shouted. “You’re talking about murdering ten thousand people!” His eyes fell on Rose. “Rose! Wake up!” He strained against the altered stone encasing him. His right arm had been pulled out from his body, twisted up at an angle and trapped separately. Each tug brought the whine of strained motors to his ears. His automail wasn’t strong enough to break free. Edward snarled in frustration. “I know you’re in there, Rose! Look at me!”
Rose didn’t move.
Dante shook her head. “Such a silly, stubborn boy. Well,” she motioned toward the door to Ed’s right, “let’s give him some time to think about it. Pride should be sending an advance force of soldiers soon. Probably on the pretense of retrieving this boy. I trust you two can make sure they die messily at the Liorans’ hands?”
Lust smirked as she stalked out the door. “Easily. You only need one to deliver the message?”
“Of course.”
They swept past Ed, all dark clothes and darker smiles.
“Lust, can I eat the others?” Gluttony’s voice echoed back. “Can I?”
“Maybe one or two,” she answered.
Footsteps reverberated up the narrow stairway, and they were gone.
Ed hung limp in his prison, trying to process all he had been told. His father. Dante. Lyra. The homunculi. The Philosopher’s Stone. All bound in a web of intrigue and ugly, ugly secrets.
Lyra could be lying. She had told him nothing that could be proven. She knew his father’s name, but his creation could have told her.
But, that scent… so like his father’s.
Ed swore. “Who cares what the old man did?” he roared.
The baby in Rose’s arms woke and began to cry into the sudden silence. The plaintive sound cut through the fog of thoughts, and Ed felt his resolve solidify.
Hohenheim was gone. Vanished with half his mother’s heart a decade ago. Liore, its people, Rose, the baby – they were here now.
Ed renewed his struggle.
“Rose!”
He had twisted in those last instants of Dante’s transmutation, shielding his left hand with his body. Now, fingers wiggled, testing his range of movement.
“Rose, I can get out of here if you help me,” he said.
Rose’s eyes never left her baby as she began to gently bounce him in her arms.
“Rose, please! You’re going to die!” His fingers could touch the wall. If he only had some way to scratch a transmutation circle... “Everyone is going to die!”
In her own world, Rose never answered.
Ed’s fingernails clawed uselessly at the solid stone wall.
“Are you just going to give up then?” he snarled. Silence. “Fine! I’m not giving up. If I have to chew my way out of this thing, I’ll find a way.” Ed could feel his fingertips burning as he continued to dig at the wall. Good. A little more and they would bleed. Then, he could draw a circle. “I’m going to save Liore. I’m going to save Al. You just watch!”
Rose’s head shifted. Her lips formed words without sound.
“Al…” A whisper of breath escaped her. “Ed… and Al…”
Ed was scraping reddened fingers across rough stone when he felt a soft hand wrap around his own, pressing something into his palm. Startled, he looked up to find Rose looking at him. Her mouth was pulled down into a frown, but there was something in her eyes now.
A light. A determination. A sliver of hope.
----------------------------------------------------------
Present
The people of Liore had not really known how to hold an alchemist, and Dante had been over-confident. The Amestrian military, on the other hand, had no such problem. Bare cells with the simple bed and basic toilet fused to hard stone walls by alchemy challenged even the most determined attempts at creating a circle. As did ruthless, frequent strip searches.
But, the worst part of imprisonment was compensating for the loss of his arm. It threw off his balance to walk without it. And, taking his leg as well wasn’t a real solution.
Edward huffed and reached to scratch his itching nose. The shock of cold steel on his face surprised him.
“My automail?”
He rolled onto his side and flexed the metal digits, squinting in the dim light. Yes, that was his automail hand. Had the guards gotten sloppy?
No, no. His automail was in place because this was a different cell. Because it was 19-something-or-other, and rather than an unguarded upstairs room in Liore or the heart of a maximum security prison, he was being kept in a small holding cell within the Investigations department.
Huddled on his narrow bunk, Edward scowled at the gray wall backing it.
Archer. Archer was the one who had imprisoned him here. Oh, he didn’t call it that. It was all for Edward’s own protection, of course. The alchemist was merely being kept safe until Investigations had tracked down Scar.
There was a rattle and creak from the door. Edward quickly cleared the scowl from his face and sat up. Turning, he blinked at the light streaming in through the open door. His eyes trained on a dark shape that must be Archer.
“Ah, good morning, Fullmetal,” said Archer. “I trust you slept well?”
He had slept dreaming of the frantic, nightmarish hours leading up to Liore’s destruction. “Well” did not even come into the equation. But, he only answered simply, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good, good.” Archer extended a small garment bag. “Here’s your uniform. Get dressed, and we can be on our way.”
Ah, the uniform. Presumably, it was to keep him safely anonymous around the office. It was devoid of any insignia as he technically wasn’t a commissioned officer. Not particularly inconspicuous, but there was no help for that if propriety was to be maintained. And, of course, Archer wouldn’t want anyone to remember that they were equals.
He was going to burn the military uniform one of these days. Burn it and dance in the ashes while singing his own version of the Amestrian military march. A version so scandalous it would court immediate execution, make men blush and set dogs to howling.
For the time being, he wordlessly accepted the bag and began changing as Archer stepped outside. He had to be quiet and obedient for now. Archer was several degrees smarter than General Gran had ever been. And, that was a problem.
Ever since Archer had laid claim to him, Edward had had to guard every word he said. Which was hard when he wasn’t always certain what he was saying or thinking. The past and present still flowed through his mind in a shifting tangle of images. He was fifteen. He was forty-five. He was Ed. He was Mr. Elric. What he wasn’t was the military’s poor creature, Fullmetal.
Unfortunately, Fullmetal, who had been both his prison and his shield, was who he needed to be in the face of Archer’s sharp eyes and sharper intellect. So, with effort, Edward drew the tattered shreds of the broken false personality around himself. Nothing to see here. Just Gran’s discarded puppet, still acting on his orders even after his death.
It seemed to be working so far. He had folded into compliant obedience as soon as Archer had begun carefully feeding him lines about serving the State and carrying on the general’s efforts. Thus far, the man seemed to have accepted the act.
“Are you ready?” Archer asked as Edward gave his uniform a few final tugs.
“Yes, Sir.”
He followed Archer to his office, where Archer produced what was truly keeping him here when no amount of concrete or steel ever could. The notebook.
“I’ll let you resume where you left off,” said Archer, handing him the battered notebook. “Someone should be along from the mess with our breakfast shortly.”
Edward just nodded and moved to sit at the desk he had been assigned. Carefully, he opened the notebook and stared blankly at the pages. There was no longer any decoding to be done. Even with the past and present an inseparable mess in his mind, Edward understood his own notes.
And, he would not give them to Archer, or to anyone. Instead, he had spent the last week dutifully scratching out pages of equations and arrays. Most were just basic formulas doctored to look more complex, but a few were bits and pieces of his own plans.
He had completed the construction formula for a self-destroying array yesterday. Careful questions about another copy of his notes he had seen while working in the library had Archer’s agents, whoever they might be, searching for the printed copies. And, he was fairly confident he knew how to disable that red-eyed lunatic’s arm. He was poised to remove all evidence of the Philosopher’s Stone, hopefully forever. Now, he just needed an escape plan that wouldn’t reveal his secrets.
Ideas turning in his mind, Edward idly scribbled on the paper before him. There had to be a way.
Breakfast did not bring any ideas with it, but it at least quieted his stomach. And, it prompted Archer to become conversational. In his own way.
“Oh, Fullmetal,” he began, setting his fork down for a moment. “My sources have a lead on those other notes you mentioned.”
Edward looked up from his own breakfast. With effort, he forced aside the nearly automatic, “What? Where?” and instead said, “Sir?”
“They believe the Brigadier General kept those copies somewhere in the library,” Archer continued. “Do you have any idea where that might be?”
Research notes. Library. The image of a handwritten text, innocuously nestled amid a series of cookbooks flashed across Edward’s mind.
Hoping his face wasn't betraying him, Edward shook his head. “No, Sir,” he said, looking down at his plate. From the sound of it, Gran might have used the same method as Dr. Marcoh. Or he might not. Either way, Archer didn’t need to know.
“Hmm,” said Archer, watching Edward consideringly. “Well, we'll keep looking.”
With that, the conversation was over.
For now. Finishing breakfast and resuming his “work,” Edward could only hope that Archer believed him. Or at least wouldn't act on any disbelief until he had a workable escape plan. For now, Archer semed content to merely watch him periodically from the corner of his eye. Of course, for all his watchfulness, Archer didn’t seem to have noticed yet that the awkward scribbles he was making were a game of X’s and O’s rather than notes. And, he had better not notice any time soon either because Edward and the soul of a grizzled old carpenter were about to go into a tie-breaking fifteenth round. A soft knock at the door interrupted a serious debate on the merits of the middle versus the upper right corner.
Edward glanced up as Archer called for the knocker to enter. His eyes widened at the sight of Colonel Smug standing in the doorway.
“Good morning, Major,” Mustang began. “I was wondering if you—” His eyes fell on Edward and took in the blue uniform in one sweeping glance. “Dressing up today, Elric?” A grin tugged at his lips as he continued. “You’re just the man I was looking for.” He reached to pull something from a pocket on the front of his jacket. “You forgot to pick these up after one of our research sessions.”
Edward stared in surprise as Mustang offered him a slender pair of glasses. Why would he need glasses? No, wait. That was right. He wore glasses now. Huh, that would explain why he had spent the last three days practically facedown in the notebook.
“Er… thanks,” he managed, taking the glasses.
“Most considerate of you,” said Archer. “Was there anything else you needed, Colonel?”
Mustang looked at him briefly. “I just wanted to thank Elric here.” He focused on Edward again. “I understand you were the one to find Lieutenant Colonel Hughes after he was attacked?”
Uncertain where this was going and wary of Archer’s watching eyes, Edward simply nodded.
“Then, you have my thanks for taking care of him,” said Mustang. “The lieutenant colonel is a good friend of mine.” There was a curious soberness to his gaze.
“Oh…” Edward floundered. He had never seen the self-possessed colonel so sincere. “I only… I was there…”
Mustang just nodded an acknowledgement. “Well, I’m glad you were.” He turned as though to leave, body blocking Edward’s view of Archer. “Knowing what Kimblee can do, it’s good that Hughes was seen by an alchemist quickly.”
“Oh…” Alchemist? The hospital wouldn’t have even known to have Hughes examined by an alchemist until he woke up. “You’re welcome,” Edward managed, mind whirling.
Mustang smiled. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” With another nod for Archer, he was gone.
“Hmm,” said Archer in the following silence. “Colonel Mustang is quite thoughtful, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Edward, slowly unfolding the glasses. “I guess he is.” He slid the glasses on carefully.
Yes, Mustang was thoughtful, and just as clever as Archer. Maybe more so. But, he wasn’t sure if that cleverness would be to his benefit or just another obstacle.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang tried not to whistle as he made his way back to his office, he really did. It tended to scare his subordinates, after all, and not just because he was tone deaf. But, it was hard to hide his good mood. Because there was nothing quite so satisfying as being right.
The look that had flashed across Elric’s face when he mentioned an alchemist treating Hughes had confirmed all his suspicions. Now, came the question of his next step.
He couldn’t leave Elric in Archer’s hands. That much was obvious. Getting him out, however, would take planning.
Lost in thought, Mustang rounded the last corner to his office. 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye was waiting by the door with a rare bemused expression. She sobered upon spotting Mustang.
“Sir, 2nd Lieutenant Breda and Major Armstrong are back,” she said, offering a quick salute. “Given their… circumstances, I let them into your private office.”
“Circumstances?” Mustang frowned. Why hadn’t either of them called? It was unusual for both of them. And, was that a smile tugging at Hawkeye’s lips?
“Yes, Sir. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
Shooting his uncharacteristically enigmatic lieutenant a curious look, Mustang stepped inside and made his way to his office with Hawkeye following. It was probably Armstrong’s doing. For all he could be the soul of propriety, the major was more than slightly eccentric.
He opened the door.
“Slightly eccentric” could not explain the sight before him. Or the smell.
Both men were filthy, reeking of something Mustang prayed had not been tracked in, and they were so liberally covered in – was that flour? – that it looked like someone had attempted to batter them. Between the two men – in fact, handcuffed to both of them – was an attractive, middle-aged blonde woman. She smiled brightly at the sight of Mustang. Breda scowled. Armstrong offered a somber salute.
It took an act of will not to go back out the door, shut it and come back when he was sober. Because he must have had a drink he had forgotten somewhere between Investigations and his office. Maybe several. It was against his personal policies, but it was the only sane explanation.
Unfortunately, the ever-efficient Hawkeye was already closing off his escape route and positioning herself beside it. Ostensibly, to head off anyone attempting to enter the office.
Escape no longer an option, Mustang addressed the two men. “I’m guessing there’s a long story behind this,” he started.
“I can simplify it, Sir,” said Breda. “This woman,” he thumbed to the blonde, “is your conman. I just didn’t put it together until she hijacked the train.”
Armstrong’s moustache drooped, unleashing a small puff of flour. “I must admit that I still wasn’t convinced until the incident with the second train and the sheep.”
Breda shrugged. “It’s alright, Major. At least we were on the same page by the dining car.”
“Nonetheless, I should have anticipated the combustible potential of flour.”
Mustang felt a headache coming on. “I’m just going to assume it was difficult to capture her?”
“That would be an understatement,” said Breda. “Clara here accompanied us to Liore after using a sob story about her family dying there. While she was there, she picked up this.” With his free hand he pulled a round object from his pocket and held it up. “And then, she used it to commandeer a train, claiming to be a State Alchemist.”
Mustang stared at the Amestrian seal, worn smooth with age, emblazoned across the cover of a tarnished, silver pocket watch.
“A State Alchemist’s watch?” he managed.
“From Liore, she says.” Breda dropped the watch into Mustang’s hands. “It was buried in the sand.”
“And, you meant to use this to impersonate a State Alchemist?” Mustang asked Clara.
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “The military’s far too serious about that sort of thing for me to use it for anything less than an emergency.” She smiled winningly. “Being an alchemist myself, I thought it might be interesting to try some transmutations with the aid of a real State Alchemist’s watch.”
Mustang hadn’t considered that. The watch would be invaluable to gain access and authority all over the countryside, at least for a short time. And, being made primarily of silver, it was valuable for its metal content alone. But, to an alchemist, both were nothing beside the fact that it was a stable alchemic amplifier.
“I’m assuming you got in some ‘practical application’ on the train?” he asked.
“Unfortunately not.” Clara shrugged. “It’s completely inert.”
Mustang looked down at the battered watch in his hand. No amplifier lasted forever, and it was certainly old. He reached to thumb the latch that would open the cover. His fingers only slid over smooth metal. There was no latch. A closer inspection revealed that the watch had been alchemically sealed.
“Did you seal this?”
Clara shook her head again. “No, I didn’t quite find the time.” She winked at Breda, whose scowl deepened.
Wary, Mustang carried the watch to his desk and, grabbing the first sheet of paper to come to hand, drew a careful transmutation circle. He settled the watch in the center of it and touched one hand to the edge of the array. There was a brief blue glow as he felt the silver rearrange itself at his direction. Then, mindful of traps, Mustang cautiously flipped the cover open.
There were no surprises. The clock face inside, frozen on 4:15, looked to be in good condition. Probably protected from the desert sands by the alchemy that had sealed it.
Mustang picked the watch up again for a closer look. That was when he noticed the one anomaly. Scratched crudely into the back of the cover was a message: “Don’t forget. 3.Oct.79.”
He couldn’t stop the sudden intake of breath.
“You say this was in Liore?” he asked quietly, turning back to his waiting audience.
“Yes, in the sand.” Clara looked curious now.
“Is there something unusual about the watch, Colonel?” Armstrong asked for everyone.
“Just some sort of personal message scratched inside,” Mustang answered.
That much was obvious. The date had no relation to Liore’s destruction. However, it was the same year in which Edward Elric became a State Alchemist. Mustang decided he really needed to have a long talk with Elric. But, first, he needed Elric.
Mind turning over possibilities, he looked up and was once more assaulted by the nose-searing stench radiating from the two men before him. Not to mention what they were threatening to drip on his floor.
His eyes shifted to the unrepentant woman sandwiched between them. And, he made a snap decision.
“Why don’t you two visit the showers?” Mustang suggested as he slid the watch into a pocket. “I’m sure the lieutenant and I can watch Miss Clara for the time being.”
He tried not to be too insulted that Breda’s first reaction was to look toward Hawkeye for confirmation. His lieutenant was a terribly competent officer, after all. One who was far too professional to smirk as she nodded dutifully.
Armstrong wasn’t so easily placated. “Colonel, please exercise caution. This woman is terribly clever as well as a skilled alchemist. She—”
Mustang waved a hand. “We’re in the middle of Central Command, Major. And, I happen to be an alchemist myself. It will be fine.”
Armstrong frowned, but said no more.
Ten minutes later, with the opening of a window, the worst of the smell was starting to clear away. Clara was sitting quietly, hands now trapped in cuffs alchemized to be like those used to restrain rogue alchemists. Mustang had returned to his desk where he was distractedly flipping through some paperwork, mind turning over idea after idea. Hawkeye remained by the door, sharp eyes flicking from Mustang to Clara. After a bit, she shifted subtly, and Mustang glanced up.
“Did you need something, Lieutenant?”
“Sir,” she began, “I was just about to deliver some paperwork to Lieutenant Colonel Bristol when you met me in the hall.”
“Then, attend to it.” Mustang looked down to re-read the same requisition form for the third time.
“Sir?” Hawkeye cut her eyes toward Clara.
“It will be fine, Lieutenant.”
Hawkeye nodded and took her leave.
Mustang attempted to finish the requisition form, but gave up on his fourth re-reading and instead pulled the battered watch back out and turned it over in his hands. The metal was oddly pitted. Regularly so.
He frowned and turned his chair to face the window, holding the watch up to the light. As he had thought, the pitting evenly covered both sides. It was almost as though something had been removed from the surface of the metal.
Something in the air shifted. Papers rustled.
Calculating quickly, Mustang held up a gloved hand as he swung around. The rapidly building tornado of papers died as his own transmutation claimed control of the air currents. He was instants too late.
Through a swirl of paper, he watched Clara blow him a kiss, hands still shackled. Then, she was gone, somersaulting backward out the open window.
Mustang raced to the window to look down.
Clara lighted nimbly on a flagpole ten feet below the window before dropping the remaining distance to the ground where she landed in a graceful crouch. It paid to stay in practice. Eyes tracking the escape route she had planned from her seat in the office, she smiled to herself. Central Command, eh? It hadn’t been much of a challenge thus far. She rose to her feet.
And, froze at the sensation of cold metal on her temple.
“That’s far enough,” said Hawkeye coolly.
Clara rolled her eyes back toward the blonde woman and then looked up.
Colonel Mustang stood at the window she had just vacated, a smile playing across his lips.
The smile was still there when Hawkeye escorted Clara back to the office, gun down at the small of her back so as to be less conspicuous.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Mustang as Hawkeye shut the door. Then, he addressed Clara. “Sorry for letting you go to all that trouble for nothing.” He positioned himself in front of the open window. “Now then, as I recall, you were the one who told 2nd Lieutenant Breda about the Fullmetal Alchemist’s escapades in Aquroya, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Clara answered slowly, wary now.
“Hmm.” Mustang clasped his hands behind his back and turned to look out the window. “And, you have quite an interesting skill set. Given your recent escapades,” he half-turned, smiling faintly, “I’m assuming you were the infamous Psiren, were you not?”
Clara bit her lip.
Mustang sobered as he faced her once more. “Psiren or not, I can prove that you impersonated a State Alchemist, stole a train – or two from the sounds of it - and attempted to escape arrest. By rights, I should turn you over to the MP’s.”
Wide blue eyes met his own.
“However,” Mustang continued, “I could use those skills of yours at the moment.” He smiled. “What do you say? I think I could be persuaded to forget about all this if you help me with a little problem. There’s a little something I need you to… retrieve for me.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang was up to something. Major Frank Archer exited the Investigations building, mentally reviewing the scene in his office as he had for the last several hours. There was still no other conclusion. It was just a matter of determining what the man was up to.
Most likely, he wanted to continue Gran’s project. Restoring prestige to the State Alchemists would be in his best interests. The man was a colonel at twenty-nine, and it was his role as a State Alchemist as much as his reputation as a war hero that had propelled him through the ranks so quickly. He wouldn’t want to give up such a position.
Mustang had also spent the better part of a month with Fullmetal already. He had to have realized at least part of the truth about Fullmetal’s condition. And, as a colonel, he had far more authority to command the alchemist.
Archer frowned as he strode along the darkened streets. He could move Fullmetal. Or he could give up Gran’s project altogether. It had been a gamble in the first place. With the damages Scar had already caused around Central, his capture might be a far more impressive achievement. And, Fullmetal would make such tempting bait.
Weighing his options, Archer paid only peripheral attention to the woman approaching from the opposite direction. Until she abruptly collided with him.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “So sorry!” Her hands twisted in front of her, fumbling for a bag that had fallen to the sidewalk. “I didn’t see you there! I was in such a hurry!”
Archer controlled his irritation at the interruption with a mask of civility. It was only a momentary delay.
“It’s alright, Madam,” he said. “No harm done.” He reached to grab the straps of the bag she had dropped and offer it to her. It was a large doctor’s bag. The woman, he saw now, was a nurse, her square cap nestled amid a mass of curly, red hair.
“Oh, thank you!” she gushed, taking the bag. “I’m so sorry! I just—Oh!” She looked up and past him as though searching for a clock. “I’m going to be late! I—Excuse me!”
Then, she was gone, clutching her bag and hurrying away down the street.
Archer shook his head at such foolishness and then turned back toward his own destination. It seemed he had some calls to make.
It was three blocks to the nearest phone booth. Stopping just outside, Archer felt his breast pocket for the black notebook he had slipped inside as he left the office. Even without Fullmetal, it might be useful.
His hand froze in its search. The bulky weight of the book was gone.
“That woman!” Archer swung around. His eyes narrowed. “Mustang!”
----------------------------------------------------------
No matter how many times he replayed the brief conversation with Mustang in his head, Edward still wasn’t sure how to classify the man. He was either genuinely sincere in his gratitude or a magnificent actor.
Either way, sincere or not, he was plotting something. He had deliberately positioned himself in front of Archer when watching for Edward’s response to his parting comment. Which meant he didn’t want Archer to know what he knew.
Edward scowled and turned over on his narrow cot. Just another chessmaster probably. He was so tired of being everyone’s pawn. And, the worst part of it was that he didn’t have to be. He didn’t have to play this game and pretend these walls could hold him. As he was now, he didn’t even need to clap his hands. He had only to form the proper equation in his mind and release the roiling energy inside him.
It was terrifying. The power he could command. He could cleave walls or armies. He could clap his hands and have the one thing, one person he wanted most in the world beside him in an instant.
But, he wouldn’t. He knew the terrible price of such power. If the military saw such a display, they would never stop seeking it. And, Liore would happen all over again. And, again and again.
Besides, the power wasn’t his to use, not even for Al’s sake.
So, for now, he just had to play along and wait. His chance would come.
“Ma’am, are you lost?”
Edward started out of his musings as he heard the guard outside stand from his usual seat.
“No.” A woman’s voice. “At least, I don’t think so. But, all these corridors do get one so turned around.” Her voice drew closer. “I’m here to treat a Mr. Elric. Major Archer sent me.”
There was a rustle and clink. A bag?
“Treat?” The guard sounded as confused as Edward felt.
“Yes, he said Mr. Elric is due for some routine shots and asked that I stop by after my shift.”
“Shots? I don’t— I’d need to hear it from—”
More clinking. The whirr of a zipper.
“Ma’am! Please put that away!”
“It’s only a little needle. See?”
A step, fumbling.
“Oh, don’t be so silly, Lieutenant. This isn’t for you.” The woman’s voice was teasing now.
“Ma’am, please. I said—”
“Oh, fine, fine.”
There was a rustle, a rattle and then a sudden, sharp crack. A dull thump followed.
By this time, Edward was on his feet. A cold draft chilled his skin through the thin shirt and pants he slept in and the smooth concrete floor was cold against his stockinged feet, but he ignored the discomfort. Warily, he raised his hands as, with a rattle of keys, the door swung open.
A woman stood just outside, light from the hall outlining the simple dress and square cap of a nurse. A curly tangle of red hair fell around her shoulders. At her feet lay the sprawled form of the guard and a discarded medical bag.
“Who are you?” Edward demanded. He thought a minute. “And, don’t even think about giving me a shot.”
The woman stepped into the cell, her face breaking into a brilliant smile. “It is you!” She reached up and pulled the mass of red hair away in one smooth motion. In its place, straight, blonde hair drifted free. Quickly, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Wha—?” Edward felt his face heat as she reached the third button. “What are you doing?” he shrieked, turning his head away. Then, realizing that might have been her plan, he looked back.
The dress was gone. In its place was a form-fitting black outfit that could have escaped from a bawdy theater production.
And, it sparked his memory.
“You!” Edward gasped. “With… With the outfit and the playing cards!” More memories flooded his mind. “That idiot arrested me because of you!”
“You do remember!” The woman beamed. “This should be easy then.” She pulled a jester’s mask from the belt around her waist and tugged it over her head.
Edward’s splutter died. “Huh?”
Blue eyes dancing with amusement the woman – Psiren, he remembered – took a step closer, bending slightly with her hands on her thighs to look him in the eye. Just as she had done back in Aquroya. When he was fifteen, and shouldn’t he be taller now?
“I told you once that, if you ever found that stone you were searching for, I’d steal it for you,” Psiren said. A wink. “It’s not your stone, but, this time, I’m here to steal you.”
Edward stared at her. Then, a short laugh escaped his lips. She had offered to steal a Philosopher’s Stone for him, hadn’t she?
“You have no—”
An alarm abruptly split the evening quiet, drowning his words.
Psiren looked around and swore. “He must have noticed.”
“Noticed?” Edward managed.
She shrugged and held up a full hand of cards. “No help for it now.”
“But, what’re you—?”
In a flash of light, the cards became a sword at his throat.
“I told you,” said Psiren, “I’m stealing you.”
Edward gulped but made a reflexive grab for his glasses and opted to play along.
As Psiren maneuvered him out into the hall over the guard’s unconscious form, he debated the chances that it was all a particularly lucid memory. But, he was fairly certain that he had never been kidnapped in Aquroya. And, as the thunder of booted feet on tiled floors echoed down the corridor, he found that he didn’t remember anything more threatening than a single, crazed policeman either. Certainly not a unit of armed soldiers.
“Halt where you are!”
At least eight pistols came to bear on them. But, Psiren’s impromptu sword never wavered.
“My, my,” she said, “it’s been a while since I performed for such a crowd.”
“Performed?” Edward choked.
The words stuck in his throat as he felt a rush of movement behind his back. He rolled his head back to catch sight of a stream of water, shot through with blue light, as it arced above him. Edward’s eyes widened in realization as the water exploded in a cloud of steam.
But, there was no time to comment as Psiren spun him around and propelled him down the hallway opposite the shouting soldiers. A turn, and he was abruptly shoved into a small, dark room. His face crashed against something rough and ropey, smelling thickly of ammonia. A mop? Snorting at the stench, he twisted around in time to see the last thin sparks of alchemy as Psiren sealed the door.
“How are you doing that?” he demanded. “You’ve only got one—”
A finger fell over his lips. “Trade secret,” Psiren breathed. “Now, you can make us a back door, can’t you?”
“What?” Feeling his cheeks heat again, Edward ducked under the finger. He turned back toward the mop as the sound of a human stampede clamored past the sealed door. “Since when did I start helping steal myself?” he muttered, bringing his hands together.
It took a force of will he hadn’t anticipated to keep the simple transmutation from pulling at the incredible well of energy inside him. By the time the wall had obediently reformed into an opening, he was covered in sweat. Dazed, he wished his ears would stop ringing. No, not ringing; it was a scream. Dumbly, Edward stared at the auburn-haired woman standing in the center of the office he had just inadvertently invaded.
He felt pressure on his arm, and Psiren was pulling him along again.
“Sorry to intrude!” she called cheerily as she dragged Edward through the office, past the wide-eyed woman and out the door.
Out into another hallway, and, this time, there was a window. A playing card appeared in Psiren’s hand, and, before Edward could quite process what was going on, he was being shoved through a large, neat hole in the glass and onto a narrow ledge. Startled, he swore, scrambling for a handhold on the smooth concrete wall.
“It’s only the second floor,” Psiren assured him. “Now, jump!”
“Are you cra—?” She caught his shoulder, and he was falling before he could complete the sentence.
Edward started to orient himself, aiming to take the impact on his automail leg. Light flashed beneath him, and he let out a startled cry as white filled his vision. He swept past – no, through it. Tearing through onto another and then another, he realized that he was plummeting through a stack of alchemized playing cards. Then, the ground was there, hard and unyielding. The shock of the landing echoed up his automail, sending stabs of pain radiating from the port through his thigh.
Psiren landed beside him, disgustingly graceful. “Just so no one gets the wrong idea…” She swung toward him with another hand of cards - a royal straight flush, he noted idly before the cards wrapped themselves around his hands.
“Hey, what’s th—?” Edward sputtered.
“You’re just an innocent victim, yes?”
She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him along as she broke into a run, following the line of the building down a narrow alleyway. Stumbling beside her, Edward found himself agreeing with that much; he was definitely an innocent victim in this insanity. A freezing one. Warmer temperatures had melted last week’s snow, but the ground was still ice under his nearly bare feet.
They rounded a corner and plunged into the thin stream of traffic flowing down the busy road in front of the building. A cacophony of horns and squealing brakes split the night as Psiren blithely dodged the first car and stepped confidently in front of a slower second.
“Wha— You— Car!” Staggering after her, Edward felt his heart lurch into his throat as the vehicle screeched to a halt so close the fender was brushing his knees. Unbalanced, he flopped against the hood.
Psiren just waved merrily to the driver before dragging Edward with her back to the door. As the window started to slowly roll down, she put on a winning smile.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” her arm slipped over the windowsill, “but, we’re in a terrible hurry, and I wonder if I could ask a favor?”
The man at the wheel stared. “Ma’am, what—”
“Oh, good!” The door was unlocked and opened before the dazed man could react. “Thank you so much for loaning us your car!” Still smiling, Psiren waved a hand. Another card sword flashed into being, and she rested it against the man’s shirt collar. “If you would be so kind.”
With a strangled yelp, he tumbled from the car and scrambled away. Brandishing the sword, Psiren waved Edward into the vehicle.
As he was clambering across the seat, a shout rang out.
“Sir! There they are!”
“Time to go!” Psiren gave Edward a quick shove and dove into the car herself, grabbing for the steering wheel and clutch.
Tossing a look over his shoulder, Edward caught a glimpse of Archer himself at the head of a group of soldiers rushing into the road. But, Psiren was already gunning the engine. The car roared away, and Archer was left with nothing but a cloud of exhaust.
Staring after the vanished car, Archer clenched a fist at his side. Slowly, he released it as he ordered the soldiers with him to put out an alert. For all the good that would do.
Mustang had won this one. But, he still had a hand of his own to play.
It was a wild series of sudden turns and terrifyingly narrow alleys later before Psiren finally stopped the car. Edward had long ago torn his way free of the binding cards to brace himself. Hands locked around the passenger’s side door handle and a fistful of upholstery, he finally felt his heart rate begin to slow as Psiren cut the engine.
Turning to look at him, Psiren’s smile morphed into a smirk.
“Well, here we are,” she said. “It’s been fun, but this is where we part.”
“Here?” Edward looked out the window to see that they were parked in the shadow of an old warehouse, probably near the outskirts of the city. “Why here? What is this place?”
Psiren tapped her chin in thought. “About two blocks from where I was supposed to turn you over to that young colonel.”
Colonel Smug. As he had guessed.
“But, he wasn’t terribly specific,” Psiren continued with a shrug. “So, it’s hardly my fault if you disappear before he makes his way over here.”
Edward looked at her curiously. “Why are you doing this?”
“I got into a tiny bit of trouble,” she held up a hand, squeezing her thumb and pointer together for emphasis, “and that Mustang fellow offered to forget about it if I ‘retrieved’ you for him.” She winked. “Of course, I’m not sure how far I can trust that, so I’d best be going.” She extended her hand toward Edward. “Would you like to come?”
For a moment, he considered it. He would probably be hauled up a fire escape and coerced across half the Central skyline before making some daring final escape atop a train. Like old times. And, he would be free to carry out his plans.
But, he didn’t have the notes.
Edward swore.
“What is it?” asked Psiren.
“The notes!” Edward struggled to explain. “There’s a notebook with Archer. I need—”
“This notebook?” Psiren reached down the front of her top and tugged out a familiar, battered book.
“You—? Where—?” Half-formed sentences were still tumbling from his lips as the notebook was pressed into his hands. They faded as he flipped it open to familiar pages.
“I ‘bumped into’ Mr. Archer earlier.” Psiren’s smile radiated smug self-satisfaction.
“You’re amazing.” Edward laid the open book on his lap and solemnly brought his hands together. He took a deep breath and reined in the power inside. He needed only the smallest amount for this task. A touch and the notebook crumbled away in a flash of blue light. Edward brushed the dusty remnants off his pants.
“Why did you do that?” Psiren’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“Because those notes aren’t something anyone should use.” Edward shook out his shirttail. “Besides, I’m really tired of looking at them.” He grinned.
Psiren stared at him for a long moment. Then, she laughed. “I had heard you were crazy these days.”
Edward’s grin widened. “Mostly just on Tuesdays. What day is it?”
“Saturday.” Psiren smiled back. “So,” she opened the driver’s side door, “are you coming?”
Edward thought a second and shook his head. “No, there are still some other things I need to do.”
He still had to find the copies of his notes. They were incomplete without his handwriting cues, but any hints toward the Philosopher’s Stone were a risk he couldn’t take.
Psiren’s smile faded into something softer. “I see. Well then…”
“Why are you really doing this?” Edward asked suddenly. “You could have run from the beginning.”
Psiren hesitated. “Well, I heard about you from one of the Colonel’s men who was snooping around out east, and I was curious. But, mostly,” she shrugged, smiling sheepishly, “it sounded like a challenge.”
Edward smiled back softly. “Alchemists are those who seek the truth,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
“Eh?” Psiren looked at him in surprised confusion. “That’s not—”
“You are an alchemist, right?” Edward looked her in the eye.
For just a second, Psiren looked away. Then, she was suddenly far too close for comfort, her hands gently cupping his face.
“You really are still the same silly little boy, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. She leaned closer.
“Wha—? What’re you—?” Edward tried to draw away but froze when he felt a soft, warm pressure on his right cheek. Conscious thought screeched to a halt. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could have sworn he heard more than a few catcalls.
When the shock had faded, Psiren was already standing outside the car, smiling at him.
“It’s been fun, little boy,” she said. She blew him a kiss and was gone, lost in the night’s shadows.
Edward fought to find words. “That— What was that about? Don’t just—!” He clambered to the open door, pawing at his cheek where she had kissed him. “Don’t do stuff like that!” he screeched into the empty night, blushing furiously.
“I can’t imagine what I’ve done, but I’ll try not to repeat it if you insist.”
Edward started at the voice.
Colonel Mustang appeared at the corner of the warehouse, faintly illuminated by moonlight. He stepped toward the car and took in Edward’s position. The small man was half out of the car with one hand clamped against his cheek, his face as red as a beet.
“So,” Mustang ventured, “how does the infamous Psiren kiss?”
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No Ed/Psiren pairing is intended or meant to be implied in even the vaguest sense. She's just like that.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
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I really like the flashback there. Oh gawds, creepy Dante is creepy. D: It's great though that at the end there Rose had a bit of hope in her.
LOL poor Mustang having to deal with Armstrong and Breda looking like a mess. Oh, Psiren, how I love you so. XD Great that you included the first anime verse reference in which the watches can be used as alchemic amplifiers. I always thought that was interesting when watching the original anime. Also, I was worried there when Psiren made her escape, but glad Hawkeye caught her. :P
The part with Psiren and Ed running away was a very fun read. Ed's reactions to when Prisen got close to him were priceless. Also, love Mustang's question at the end. XD
Overall, great chapter here! Can't wait for the next chapter and finally reading some new material!
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--Oh gawds, creepy Dante is creepy.--
Eh heh... Everyone keeps commenting on her creepiness. I hope I didn't overdo it. But, she always struck me as more than a little creepy.
--Great that you included the first anime verse reference in which the watches can be used as alchemic amplifiers. I always thought that was interesting when watching the original anime.--
That was one of the few "small" details I didn't have to re-watch the first anime to get in my head. Though it's kind of a shame we never got to see Ed use his watch as an amplifier in any capacity. (And, fic!Ed hardly needs such a thing, considering.)
--Also, I was worried there when Psiren made her escape, but glad Hawkeye caught her.--
Nothing and no one escapes Hawkeye. And, she was giving me a terribly menacing flat stare for not having given her anything much to do lately.
--The part with Psiren and Ed running away was a very fun read. Ed's reactions to when Prisen got close to him were priceless.--
Those parts were fun to write too. And, yes, Psiren isn't good at staying out of Ed's personal bubble.
Glad you enjoyed this, and thanks for commenting! The next chapter should be up as soon as Kayca gives back my revisions with her awesome grammar corrections.
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The pocketwatch in the sand. *wibbles* Is it necessarily a bad thing that I wibbled at the thought that Ed's battered old watch had been found? Or that he might soon be reunited with it? The date threw me a bit. I had to get out a calculator and figure that one out! ^_^; The past you've given Ed is much more dark than the canon one. Maybe it's because he's basically all alone in it - no Al, no backing (however subtle) from Mustang. I don't know. It makes me sympathize with Ed that much more and makes me wanna hug Ed that much harder! :) Can't wait to read more!!
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--That escape scene was so very reminiscent of the anime episode right down to Mustang teasing Ed about Psiren! Ah memories! :) --
Glad you enjoyed it! As soon as I remembered that Psiren did, indeed, promise to steal a Philosopher's Stone for Ed if he ever found it, I knew this scene absolutely had to happen.
--Is it necessarily a bad thing that I wibbled at the thought that Ed's battered old watch had been found? Or that he might soon be reunited with it?--
Not at all! And, as you saw, he and his watch were reunited sooner rather than later. Though I suspect Ed was even happier to see his coat. It, after all, comes in red ;)
--Maybe it's because he's basically all alone in it - no Al, no backing (however subtle) from Mustang.--
Well, Al was with him up until the Fifth Lab. (I tried to hint at that some in the opening flashback.) I really am getting to the explanation of all that soon! But, yeah... I've been mean to poor Ed. Maybe the end of chapter 17 started to make up for it?
Thanks for reading!
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Love what you did with Clara, and Ed playing boredom games with the people inside his...are they technically inside his mind, soul, body or all? ;) (Probably all, but for sanity's sake, let's say his 'imaginary friends'.) Oh, and the catcalls. Nice touch. And Mustang being epic, but only because Riza has his back. Dante - extra points there. So...authentic. And you just threw all the symphathy Lust has gathered over the years out the window with a one-liner. So subtle, colour me impressed all over again. ^__^
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--I'm pretty incoherent with glee and all but cheering. This chapter rocked!--
*squee* Thank you!
--...and Ed playing boredom games with the people inside his...are they technically inside his mind, soul, body or all? ;) (Probably all, but for sanity's sake, let's say his 'imaginary friends'.) Oh, and the catcalls.--
*laughs! "imaginary friends"* My beta,
--Dante - extra points there. So...authentic.--
Soooo hard to write for. So, it's great if I got her right!
--And you just threw all the symphathy Lust has gathered over the years out the window with a one-liner.
*dances that someone noticed that!*