The crowd happened to be just as intense as the heat that day. The Colonel was glad, as he listened intently, that he wouldn't be in the midst of that mass of people. Becoming Fuhrer had been tough, but it finally seemed like things were going his way. The people loved him. They wanted him. And he'd fought his way through the damn brass to get there. In ten minutes, he would saunter onto that balcony. In ten minutes, he would win the hearts of millions. In ten minutes, whether or not he lived until his inauguration ceremony, he would have accomplished everything he'd wanted to since he entered the military.
With all these thoughts on his mind, Roy Mustang was not nervous. He simply lay on the sofa, fanning himself. The sweat on his brow slid down his nose. He hadn't bothered getting into the military get-up. No. According to Hughes, it would be much more productive to break that image. Yes, Roy was very much in formal attire. No uniform, though. His sleeves rolled up, as if he were getting ready to work. That was the image he wanted the nation to see: a hard-working man.
With the sweat still rolling down his face, Roy spent those ten minutes repeating in his head what he wanted to say to the people. It was well thought out, and very carefully put together. He knew, though, that whether or not that was what he was going to say, he would say the right thing. His certainty would reach millions. His certainty was rare. His certainty was also unwarranted.
The sunlight shone through the window, and he watched the dust motes float in the sunbeams. A knock on his door told him it was time. He looked down at his watch. So it was. He grunted, and deftly rolled to his feet in one swift motion. He was young. Handsome. If only the audience had seen that graceful movement.
He stepped out onto the balcony. The sun shone brightly in his eyes, and for a moment he had to squint. The crowd, dense as it was loud, did not intimidate Roy. People packed into the street between buildings, stopping traffic. Roy reached the railing on the balcony. He looked out and saw a sea of hundreds of faces of people who wanted something.
Roy started with something inconsequential so people had time to quiet and listen. "It's not every day I get to look out at so many faces, and be able to connect with every single one of the people I see." Somehow, the streets became silent in those few moments. Every word rolled off his tongue easily - some of them practiced, some of them not so much. "The people of this nation want their families home. Women want husbands back. Children miss their fathers. We are fighting other nations. This fighting can so easily be..." He looked down and rested his hands on the railing. "This fighting is unnecessary. The fighting could have easily been avoided."
He took a deep breath and looked out again. "This will be the shortest speech I've ever given. I see in every face at this rally a desire for change; there are many things people can complain about. But we adjourn here today for the sole purpose of granting peace to our country. There cannot be contentment without peace. To counteract the violence, we meet in peace. We protest. We'll fight without violence. We'll fight in a civil manner. We fight against violence." He nodded. The crowd cheered, and applauded. A piercing whistle soared through the air. The day screamed triumph.
"There's more," he said. He waited patiently with a practiced smile for the audience to quiet. It took much longer than the last time. Projecting his voice over the last few claps, he continued, "This is why we've come together today. Peace. We all want it. It's necessary for our nation to become happy." His gaze met a few eyes in the crowd. "It is my personal philosophy that we can all take care of each other. I am a General. I hope to be Fuhrer. If I care for and look out for my subordinates, they will do the same with those below them. Like dominos, we can all look out for each other. These are my parting words today; look out for each other. Peace will never come otherwise." He turned, but he heard no cheering. Even though every person in that crowd shouted at the top of their lungs, slapped their hands together in an unmatched enthusiasm, he heard nothing. His heart was racing, and the roar was much louder than the crowd.
Roy walked back inside, smiling a little to himself. He'd done it.
He hardly acknowledged the soft, firm pressure on his ankle and shoulder before the world spun. The ground left him for just that moment, and the room sped by. His head smashed hard against the floor. A knee in his back sent the sharp signal of pain up to his already throbbing head. Then a hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back sharply. He knew what was coming next: the knife to his throat. So he jerked his head away, and rolled onto his back - the person was surprisingly light - and swiftly got back to his feet in one smooth motion.
His eyes widened at the sight before him. It only lasted a split second. There, on the ground, a young kid, no more than thirteen years old, pushed himself up. Roy would have believed this child had not been his assailant, except for the knife in the clutches of the poor boy's hand. Silver melancholy eyes stared at him silently as the child pushed himself up and charged again at Roy.
One graceful movement with Roy's hands later, and he was not only gloved, but positioned to fry the young child at any second. So the boy stopped abruptly, his muscles tense. His expression didn't change. The boy just looked... sad, almost. Definitely serious. Roy couldn't make himself kill this kid. But he couldn't just let him get away... Nor did he want to ruin this child's chances at a bright future.
"I don't want to hurt you or hand you into the authorities," Roy told the boy lowly, "Let's not end this in bloodshed. The purpose of this day is peace. Please. Put down the knife and we'll have a talk." He watched the boy's chest heave with the weight of the decision he had to make. Roy could almost imagine the blood rushing through his ears. He remembered the same feeling from when he had to kill someone for the first time. "You don't have to make a decision. Just do what I tell you. Put the knife down."
The boy's knuckles whitened. Roy grimaced. "I have every advantage over you, boy. Put it down or I'll have to demonstrate those advantages." The knife clattered on the ground. Roy relaxed and grabbed the knife while the boy's fighting stance dropped and he bowed his head while his shoulders slumped.
Roy suggested, "Come sit with me on the couch. Tell me what you're doing here." He easily sauntered to the couch and sat down with his feet up on the table. The boy didn't move. "Come sit," Roy tried again. The boy didn't respond. "Can you tell me why you're here?" Still no answer. Roy sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Can you at least tell me your name?" He honestly didn't expect anything, but he was hopeful.
"Alphonse," the assassin boy answered. He inhaled deeply, but did not exhale immediately. He held it for a long moment. Roy watched with keen interest in his eyes; he didn't want to push the boy too much. Then, Alphonse continued, "My mission was to kill General Roy Mustang without the use of alchemy." Al looked up at Roy, his expression still strangely serene and melancholy at the same time. Roy narrowed his eyes.
"Your mission? Who gives you these missions?" he asked sharply. The boy didn't flinch at the tone, as Roy had been afraid of earlier. Instead, their eyes met evenly and Al's eyes saddened more. He didn't answer, but he took the General's offer and sat on the sofa. Still, his shoulders slumped and he didn't really raise his head except to meet Roy's gaze.
"I won't tell you," Al answered softly. Roy opened his mouth to speak, but Al interrupted. "Don't try to frighten me into it. None of your attempts will yield helpful information." Roy snorted. He didn't believe the little bugger, but he didn't say so out loud.
Instead, he asked, "Alright. What will you tell me?" Al looked up sharply, and his hair jostled as much as it could. Roy spotted shadows of a smirk on the kid's face, defiant and just as keen as those eyes that still held so much sorrow. For a minute, Roy honestly believed he would get no information out of this kid.
Al answered quietly, "I'll tell you that it's useless to interrogate, torture, or hold me captive. I'll only tell you that your only option is to kill me right here and right now." Roy found himself shocked at the severity there, in those silver eyes. "Trust me, you won't get another chance," Al whispered almost threateningly. Roy wondered how the boy could be so sure.
Gruffly, he replied despite himself, "Don't get ahead of yourself. What do you know about torture and killing? You don't know what you're talking about." The doubt he'd buried about his statement resurfaced quickly at the sight of Alphonse's expression. The shadow of the defiant smirk was gone. Even that melancholy had left. Only severity remained.
Al responded with deadly honesty, "I have seen and dealt death in a manner you would never understand, General." And Roy, for some reason, could not argue against it. It was simply a fact. "You had the heat of battle, and comrades, and the pride of a nation." He paused. "Have you ever killed someone in cold blood, General? And had to dispose of every trace of their body, so they were unrecognizable, or never seen again? Have you had to kill children because they had merely seen you?"
Mouth dry, Roy found himself answering, "You are a child." Al turned back and looked down at his hands. Small and delicate and white. They would never look bronze, strong, and callous. He'd always been protected. But no one could protect him from the world.
"I guess that's one way to look at it," Al murmured. Silence fell in the room and settled. The stale heat intensified the pregnant atmosphere. Roy shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "What will you do with me now, sir?" Al asked quietly. "It seems you won't take my advice and kill me." Roy hummed in agreement. Al bit his lip, and Roy watched uncertainty grow with the melancholy that had returned.
"Assuming it's physically impossible to kill you, what do you suggest I do with you?"
Ed stood outside the window, his heart even and quiet. His eyes flickered up and down the wall. It hadn't been easy getting there, on the side of a government building without being seen. If it had been easy, his brother probably wouldn't be there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of the torture Al might have gone through, and again he didn't care that he wasn't supposed to be there. He tightened his ponytail and braced himself. He had to get Al.
He grabbed the window. It was locked. Simple enough. Scrabbling at the wall, he managed to slap his hands together and transmute the glass. With the shaded glass gone, he could clearly see Al sitting in the middle of the room, tied up. Blood splattered the ground. His heart skipped a beat again and he swiftly slid through the window. He landed deftly on his feet.
"Al," he hissed as he cautiously approached his brother. Al was gagged. Ed ripped the gag off, and his shoulders dropped. Al looked unharmed, but sad all the same. "Did they hurt you?" Ed asked seriously, while he worked on the ropes at Al's feet. Al denied being hurt very quietly. A soft click made Ed freeze.
"Don't move a muscle," Roy Mustang ordered the blond firmly. "You're surrounded." Ed looked up at Al and watched the apology spread all over that pale face. Ed took a deep breath. Whether or not Al had any willing hand in this, he wasn't angry at him. No. Ed was really pissed at the General behind him. "Turn around," Roy ordered. Ed obeyed with his teeth gritted. He got to his feet and turned to face the dark haired pale man. Roy was in uniform, his gloves on, with his assistant beside him, a gun pointed straight at him. Ed immediately thought of an escape plan, but Al nudged his foot. Meanwhile, Roy noted that Ed was at least a couple years older than Al. Maybe he was even sixteen.
"Don't." It was a simple syllable. It was gentle. Soft. Quiet. It was, most importantly, powerful. Ed ground his teeth harder. He knew for sure that Al lent a hefty hand in this, most likely very willingly, but that had nothing to do with Ed's anger. Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy. The man was tall. Immediately, Ed disliked him.
"I don't want to keep you at gunpoint," Roy said, "so if you would, please drop any weapons you have, and allow Alphonse to keep you in line." Ed snorted. He didn't know what that meant, but he would do it... for now. He stood there, waiting for a long moment. Roy repeated himself, "Please drop your weapons."
"I don't have any," Ed growled through a clenched jaw. Roy narrowed his eyes.
"That's gutsy," he responded slowly. "Follow me. Alphonse." He nodded, and Al stood up, and nudged Ed's back. Ed glanced at Al and their eyes locked. Roy watched the exchange and wondered about their relationship. They were close, at least. And those eyes were incredibly unique. Hawkeye walked in and escorted them out the door. Roy glanced around the room one last time and his eyes landed on the transmuted window. How had that kid done that so quickly?
~Office
"Take a seat, please." Roy's offer was pleasant enough. Ed wrinkled his nose in distaste and had been reluctant to walk into the room itself. Al, however, walked in easily and sat on the sofa, right at home. He kept his eyes on Ed most of the time, but generally looked at ease. This both comforted and disturbed Ed. So Ed sat on the leather sofa next to Al and looked around suspiciously. The window's shades had been pulled. There was a desk, and then the sofa, a fireplace, and all walls were lined with books.
Roy sat behind the desk, and Hawkeye stood faithfully and silently at attention behind him. Once comfortable in his seat, Roy asked, "So what's your name, kid?" Ed whipped his head to face Roy - he'd been inspecting a series of books - and immediately smirked at the General. His very expression was challenging, let alone his body language. Square shoulders, tense muscles. There were finer, more subtle points, but Roy couldn't name them.
"What if I didn't tell you who I was?" Ed easily retorted, "You'll kill me? Not an option if you want answers. And I promise any other persuasive techniques will be rendered ineffective, because I don't give a fucking shit about anything you throw my way." Roy leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands together. He smirked, too. It pissed Ed off.
"What are you going to do, if you aren't going to tell me anything? Sit here and do nothing? I have plenty of quiet things to do while I wait for your answers. What will you do?" Roy asked. Ed scowled. He'd been thinking interrogation or torture. No. Roy was threatening him with stir-craziness and boredom. Ed narrowed his eyes. This guy was good. Another nudge with the foot. Ed scowled and turned a nasty glare on Al, who just smiled sadly back.
"My fucking name is Edward," he snapped irritably at Roy, whipping his head around again to glare directly at the man. Roy continued to smirk. Whatever Al was doing, it was working well. "It isn't important what my goddamn name is anyway," Ed grumbled. Al smiled at him, and Ed caught the look. He just huffed.
"I'm glad we're getting somewhere," Roy said. He leaned forward and reinforced his smirk. "Would you mind telling me why you came by today? Most people knock, you know. Or in extremely normal situations, they use a door." Ed rolled his eyes, but otherwise blatantly ignored the question. Even Al's foot gently pushing his own didn't sway him. He wasn't going to talk to this bastard. Roy frowned at the silence and glanced at Alphonse, who looked absolutely furious for some reason.
Suddenly, Al shouted, "Edward Elric!" Ed's head snapped around and he shrank back a little as Al continued, "I did not lure you here today so you could sit in the General's office and mock him or ignore him! Answer his questions," here, Al's voice lowered not only several octaves, but also turned a menacing volume, "or you will regret ever having looked upon this building." Their eyes locked.
Despite the fact Ed had shrunk back, he met Al's gaze quite evenly and replied firmly. "No, Al. You don't know what you're doing. And I'll get you out of here, whether or not I have to use force." Their gazes still locked, the atmosphere tensed. Their wills pitted against each other for several brief moments.
"I'm not backing down," Al said at last.
"Neither am I." Ed's words seemed to make it final. Al broke the stare-down and looked at the floor. Ed grabbed his hand, and shortly after clapped his hands together and slammed them against the floor. Roy watched with wide eyes as the floor transmuted. He got ahold of his wits quickly - that is, when he realized they were escaping.
"Catch them, Hawkeye," he ordered her. She grunted an affirmative and ran around the short wall Ed had put up quickly so he could run. Roy also stood and followed close behind her. The boys were already gone from behind the newly erected wall.
They burst out of the office, and Hawkeye spotted them first, running down the hall. She aimed quickly. The bullet got Ed's thigh. He stopped and clapped his hands together, looking straight at the window. She could see where this was going. Al wasn't helping or getting in the way, so she didn't pay him much mind, although she kept tabs on him. She aimed again. Then fired. Ed gasped and shouted curses loudly. He collapsed against the wall. Hawkeye and Roy approached quickly.
"Allow me to dress it," Hawkeye offered, kneeling beside Ed. She didn't trust him, but they were far from the infirmary, and they did need information out of him. She reached for his shirt, but he snatched it away from her.
"No way, you just fucking shot me!" Ed snarled. He huffed irritably, despite the pain from the sparks in his leg, and the throb of the wound in his stomach. Sweat shone on his forehead. He pulled off his shirt, and Hawkeye and Roy examined the boy with professional gazes. Roy couldn't help a strange fascination that surfaced at the sight of the automail and the thick scars across the kid's body.
Ed examined the wound with a seemingly permanent grimace. He clapped his hands, slapped the floor, and came up with hefty tweezers. Minutes later, with many soft grunts, he pulled a round bullet out of his belly. He flung it weakly at Hawkeye, who let it hit her uniform with a soft thud. Then Ed clapped his hands together and muttered, "Let's hope I've done this enough times to do it right."
"I can do it, brother," Al offered. Roy looked sharply up at the kid, finally understanding their relationship.
"I've got it, Al," Ed reassured him with a forced smile, "I have more practice."
"I'm still better than you," Al argued. "The Doctor told me so."
"Well the Doctor's a shithead, and therefore his opinion doesn't count," Ed snapped at the mention of someone he clearly did not like. And then he transmuted his own skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, and a few more grunts and gasps escaped his lips. His arms fell limp. After a few moments of silence, Ed looked up at Al and said, "I don't know why you did this, Al, but let's hope you're right and I'm wrong because otherwise we're screwed. Looks like I'm backing down."
"Can't argue with a face like mine," Al responded, almost fondly. Ed rolled his eyes, but smiled wanly anyway. And then he closed his eyes and very clearly was no longer conscious. Al sat down next to him with his legs crossed. And Roy was entirely intrigued to find that Al had been unmoved and unperturbed by any of the events that had transpired since Roy had first met the kid.
~The Infirmary
"I don't care if he's in the infirmary," Roy snapped, albeit quietly, "If I'm going to ever become Fuhrer, I need to stop people from trying to assassinate me, and I need information out of him. The sooner the better. He folded when he was in pain earlier. We can use it again. Besides, he's had ample time to recover." Hawkeye responded with a stern gaze. He nearly recoiled, but he didn't. He just sighed. "So what are we doing here?" He gestured to the white hallways and the infirmary sign.
"Getting to know the boys," Hawkeye answered curtly, and also very quietly, "They're children. They wouldn't kill of their own volition. We need to get close to them." She lifted her hand with the fruit basket. "Alphonse informed me that Edward enjoys food and bright colors."
"I can see that," Roy muttered, thinking of the bright red jacket that Ed had demanded they retrieve for him. He took the basket of arranged fruit and gave it a firm glare. He wasn't opposed to getting to know the boys. It was more than fine, really. What he really opposed was spending money on enemies - or pawns, whichever the boys proved to be. Hawkeye had made him pay for the damn basket. He sighed again and turned to the door they stood in front of. "Let's go," he suggested and pushed the door open.
The room was bright, as expected. Al sat on the seat beside the bed, while Ed sat up in the bed. They were utterly silent. Ed's face was entirely blank as he stared out the window. Al seemed more melancholy than ever. Roy feared for a moment that they had heard his conversation with Hawkeye. But then Ed blinked, and turned his gaze to Roy, and then Hawkeye.
"What are you doing here, bastard? We were having a moment!" he shouted, and chucked a pen straight for Roy's forehead. Roy ducked and it sailed clean over his head. He felt the heat of anger rise, but Hawkeye cleared her throat and he kept himself in check.
"Sorry to interrupt," he apologized with a smile, "but we come bearing gifts!" He lifted the basket and Ed's eyes flickered. Satisfied with himself, Roy plopped the basket right on the night table next to the bed. Al looked hopefully at Ed, but sighed knowingly when Ed crossed his arms and turned back to the window. Al shrugged at Roy.
"I came to sincerely apologize for shooting you," Hawkeye announced, "I had no choice; you were running away."
Ed grumbled, "It's fine, Riza. It's just business." Roy looked at Hawkeye with a perplexed raised eyebrow. They're on first name basis? Hawkeye met his gaze, but revealed nothing in the look. She faced forward again and clasped her hands behind her back.
She said, "I've asked you not to call me that, Edward. Please stop trying to peeve me."
"Sure thing, Riza."
She glanced at Roy. He smiled to let her know he understood. She looked away.
"Here, you guys can sit down," Al offered, pulling out another chair and vacating his own. Hawkeye and Roy both opened their mouths to decline, but Al continued, "Don't worry about me. I've been here all day and I need to stretch my legs anyway." Roy thanked Al and sat down. Hawkeye reluctantly followed suit and sat in Al's seat. For some reason, Ed looked even more grumpy once they'd been seated. "Why don't you try your fruit, brother?" Al suggested, standing at the foot of the bed.
"It has milk in it," Ed snapped. Al rolled his eyes.
"No it doesn't. It's fruit."
"Then it's poisoned."
"Mr. Mustang will have one, too, to show you it isn't. Won't you, Mr. Mustang?" Al gave him pleading eyes. Roy agreed happily, and reached for a strawberry. Ed watched with distrust and suspicion as Roy popped the strawberry in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, and did not writhe in pain on the floor. "Besides," Al added thoughtfully, "it would be counterproductive if he killed you. And you're in a hospital. You'd be treated for poison before you felt the effects."
Ed huffed irritably. "That's a hyperbole, Al. They wouldn't know I was poisoned until I felt the effects." Al sighed in resignation, and leaned against the window. "And depending on the type of poison, there might not be a treatment in this hospital, and who knows if I might die before I could be treated." Al shook his head and crossed his own arms, looking out at the sunlit garden. Ed grew silent.
Roy, who had been watching with great intrigue, finally spoke. "What was that about milk?"
Al answered with one of his sad smiles, "Brother hates milk." Ed made a gagging noise.
Silence fell.
"Are you recovering well, Edward?" Hawkeye asked earnestly concerned. Ed shifted uncomfortably. He looked conflicted for a moment, and he dropped his hands to his knees. His face went blank for a moment, and Roy couldn't help but notice Al's smile, sad as it had been, also dropped. He looked back at Ed, intrigued yet again.
Finally, Ed answered, "I won't be able to get out of bed for a while."
Something occurred to Hawkeye. "Didn't I also get your leg?"
"No," Ed snapped, and drew the blankets closer. He glared openly at her.
"But she did," Roy replied, remembering the image vividly. There hadn't been any blood to draw attention to it when Ed had been mending his wound in his belly, so no one noticed... "Your leg doesn't happen to be automail as well, does it?" Ed grimaced and crossed his arms again. "I can contact a mechanic," Roy offered, knowing full well that he was right.
"I have one," Ed mumbled, "and she won't be happy to hear from me."
~Later
Al sighed heavily, his eyebrows pulled together and furrowed. He closed the door behind him. He not only looked sad, but troubled as well. Roy and Hawkeye looked up at him expectantly. Ed didn't. He knew what Al would say. He'd managed to piss Roy off visibly, but then Al had come in and ruined all of his fun. Not that this was a time for fun.
Al announced, "Winry's coming. She's taking the first train. I'll have to buy you a helmet."
~Later
Roy and Hawkeye didn't need to enter the room. They had considered meeting this mechanic of Ed's, but five steps from the door was good enough for the moment. Inside, Winry's face was red and her screams would make her voice hoarse. "HOW DARE YOU CALL ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT..." and so on.
She lectured Ed on many things, from how he never kept in contact with her except when his automail broke, to how he was cowardly for making Al make the call, to the trouble he'd gotten himself in with the military, to how horribly he treated his automail. She had a hefty list, and she was terribly unhappy with him. Of course, Ed had his reasons and would not stand for needlessly being yelled at.
So while Winry had a million and one things to yell at Ed for, she also had to yell over his shouts of outrage and defense. As Roy and Hawkeye stood in the hallway, a medley of screams assaulted their ears. "I DIDN'T CALL YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! AL DID!"
"AND YOU'RE A COWARD FOR MAKING HIM DO IT!"
"HE OFFERED TO DO IT SINCE I CAN'T GET OUT OF BED!"
"WHICH IS YOUR FAULT BECAUSE YOU GOT YOURSELF SHOT!"
"I DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE! HAWKEYE SHOT ME! SHE DID IT!"
"BECAUSE YOU WERE PROBABLY DOING SOMETHING STUPID!"
They heard Al interject, "He was going to jump out a window and break his automail anyway."
"AL!"
"SEE! NOW YOU'RE SUICIDAL! WE CAN'T LEAVE YOU ALONE OR YOU'LL KILL YOURSELF! YOU'RE SUCH A NUISANCE!" At this point, the two military personnel in the hall decided to back away slowly. They could meet Winry another time. A few nurses tried to decide whether or not it was worth it to get them to quiet down. Instead, they put a sign in the hallway that would later be written in stone and implanted in the wall. The basic jist of the sign was: NO SHOUTING.
~Later
Roy walked in slowly, ready to run if someone started to shout. Hawkeye pushed him inside. the hospital room didn't look too different. Tools scattered across the room, from the nightstand to the floor at the foot of the bed. Ed was not out cold as Roy had expected. He assumed he would have heard the screams of pain or anger from his office otherwise. Winry was also very pretty. Not something he expected.
Winry saw him out of the corner of her eye and stood up from her crouched position on the floor. "Hello," she said, and wiped her greasy hands on her overalls. "I suppose you're here to visit Ed. I'm cleaning up, please don't mind me." She smiled. Her eyes flickered between Hawkeye and Roy, taking in the details.
"On the contrary, Miss Rockbell," Roy addressed her with a smirk, "we've come to meet you. I'm Roy Mustang, and this is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Edward is currently our charge. I thought it would be nice to meet you. And when you have some time, we have a few questions to ask you." Winry blinked and looked back at Ed. He still sat up with his arms stubbornly crossed. She growled under her breath.
"Fine!" she hissed. "Let's go." Ed humphed. Al entered and sighed worriedly over the atmosphere.
"While we're away, I'm going to have Hughes look after you two," Roy announced. Ed opened his mouth to argue or protest or give Roy a hard time, but Roy and Hawkeye and Winry were already gone. It was just Al. Then the door swung open, and a man in glasses with a goofy grin in a uniform entered and immediately shoved a handful of pictures in Ed's face.
"Isn't she just adorable?!"
~Later
Roy was just a little frustrated. Winry had given them practically nothing to go on... concerning whoever was behind the assassination attempt, but he knew plenty about Edward's and Al's childhood. Plenty meaning practically nothing important - but one thing stuck out in Roy's mind that he had refused to ask Winry.
He'd have to ask Edward. Or Alphonse.
So he was not frustrated because of lack of information. No, he was frustrated because the nurse insisted that Ed shouldn't have anymore visitors. Why? Why? He'd been in there before when Ed was feeling much worse. Roy was a high ranking military officer. There was no reason he couldn't see Edward. What had been the nurse's excuse? He causes too much of a ruckus around others, and disturbs the other patients. And Roy was trying to find the leader of an organized crime syndicate. Who cared if the old guy in the next room woke up from a nap? Especially if it meant a lower crime rate.
Roy tried to let it go as he walked away from the nurse, but he couldn't. So maybe he was a little more than frustrated. Just as he could finally talk to Edward and get some answers, someone stopped his progress. Hawkeye should have just let him interrogate the little brat when he woke up from the painful transmutation of his skin.
These were essentially Roy's thoughts as he sat at his desk and worked. Hawkeye was away temporarily for a project or something, and she had no doubts that Roy would get his work done. He was simply too angry to do anything else, and too smart to let his anger make him do something stupid. The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver before the first half of the ring.
"Roy Mustang," he rumbled roughly into the phone.
"General Mustang! Edward Elric has escaped!" The person on the other end sounded frantic. Roy stood up and slammed his pen on the desk.
"Where's his brother, Alphonse?" he inquired sharply.
"Missing!" the person breathlessly exclaimed.
"Where was Edward last seen?" Roy asked, pulling on his gloves.
"In his room," the person replied.
"Inform First Lieutenant Hawkeye of these developments. I'm going out to look for Ed."
~Later
Edward perked up at the sounds of footsteps running outside his door. He cocked his head to the side and leaned forward. What's going on? He was about to swing his legs over the side of the bed and jump up to investigate, but the door swung open and Al burst into the room. The distress, concern, and sweat on his face definitely indicated something was wrong. Ed hopped out of the bed that had started to feel stale twenty minutes after waking up from his "surgery."
"Brother!" Alphonse exclaimed, gasping profusely, "General Mustang is missing!"
Ed rocked back on his heels, his own mounting anxiety abated for a moment. "How long has he been gone?"
Face red, Al answered, "A few hours, but he was last seen frantic and angry, and Hawkeye had a list of reasons for concern and a very thorough search." He looked to his brother with a pleading expression. He was nearly frantic himself.
"Why should I care?" Ed asked. He crossed his arms while Al watched him incredulously for a long moment. A few people rushed by the door hushedly with a patient between them who couldn't breathe. Ed continued, "We want him dead. He kidnapped you, held you prisoner, used you to capture me. This is our chance to escape if anything, Al. And we don't even know if there's really cause to look for him at all."
Al threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "You don't get it, brother! We don't want him dead! You've told me time after time we should think for ourselves! Well this is our chance!" Al pointed straight at the open door. "There it is, brother. Help find an innocent man. Help find murderers, rapists. The ones we know about." He gestured to the door again.
Mouth numb, Ed answered, "The government would control us just as much."
"And I'm sure if we help save Mister Mustang, he can do something about that," Al retorted, "Now let's go!" Ed snarled a curse under his breath and looked down at himself in the hospital gown. There was no way he was leaving like that. He glanced around and a pair of pants hit him smack in the face. Ed glared at Al. "I was making you go, whether or not I had to use force," Al said with a shrug. "I wasn't going to make you go nearly naked, though."
And just a few minutes later the two of them ran out the door and past an orderly who shouted a flabbergasted, "Hey! You shouldn't run!" Ed paid him no mind, but Al shouted back an apology. Whether or not the orderly was talking about Ed's recent injuries or disturbing the halls, neither of them could tell, but they didn't care.
Ed charged right out of the infirmary into the street. Al asked, "Where are we looking first, brother?" He squirmed past a couple who hadn't seen him coming and hurried to keep up with Ed. Are we even looking for him? Al had to wonder. They weren't stopping for anything. What could Ed be in such a hurry for?
"Think, Al!" Ed shouted back, "Mustang is a young guy who's practically leading a revolution! He wouldn't just disappear of his own volition!" He ducked a ball being thrown in the streets between two boys. Al skirted around them, but Ed was gaining distance on him. "We know the only people who hate him and are powerful enough to make him disappear!" He halted to a stop of the end of the curb, and a car flew by. Al stopped, gasping for breath. "But where would they take him?" Ed murmured.
"We don't know it's them," Al gasped. Ed raised an eyebrow and met his younger brother's gaze. Al shrugged. "We don't. It could be anyone, or anything. Anyway, some people in the hall had heard him shout something about finding a blond brat. I don't know who that could be, but you were right where you were supposed to be." Their gazes met. Behind Ed's sharp eyes, he wracked his brain for anything that would help.
"Don't be silly, Al," he muttered, "You were the one who implied it was them from the very beginning." He started to pace, drawing attention to himself, but he ignored it while he tried to put the few pieces he had together. "He was looking for me... Where would he look...? Would they take him anywhere...? Would there be a struggle...?" Al's eyebrows furrowed as he listened to Ed murmur to himself. They simply didn't have enough information to go on. Suddenly, Ed's head snapped up. "Where's Hawkeye right now?"
Reluctantly, Al answered, "At the General's house, looking for clues. Why?"
"Because Mustang isn't anywhere she's going to look first."
~Meanwhile
Roy stood in front of the empty warehouse. He wasn't stalling; he wasn't bracing himself. He was simply admiring the graffitti. Names, curses, bold statements. He was actually surprised he'd never paid it much mind before. He could easily imagine that all of Ed's handwriting looked like graffitti. Much of it was difficult to make out and very colorful - in every definition of the word.
He stepped forward as rain began to fall. He didn't know when the clouds had shown up. He didn't think about it and opened the back door. Inside the warehouse, it was dry. It smelled slightly of mold and metal. He stepped inside, and peered into the dark. It seemed entirely empty, except for mountains of barrels and boxes lying around. Cautiously, he leaned in close to a box and read its label. He ran a hand through his hair. If all of this was gunpowder, his gloves were useless while he stood inside.
"I'm looking for Edward Elric," he called out. "I don't know if anyone is here. Will someone answer me?" He stepped further into the room. The only lights were dim. Why aren't the windows letting in light? Had they looked black from the outside? He didn't know, so he proceeded slowly - not so much cautiously.
From the shadows, a man appeared and swung a shovel at Roy's face. Roy ducked, and came face-to-face with a sharp-toothed grin. Maybe if it hadn't been seven on one with Roy trying his hardest not to use fire alchemy, Ed hadn't had to burst into the warehouse to see Roy losing. Out of breath, the sound of rain pounding on the tin roof, dripping wet with rivulets of water trailing down Ed's face, he stared. Everyone in the room froze when his presence became apparent.
Roy gritted his teeth, on his knees, with a pale hand gripping his hair. He couldn't see any of his assailants very well, but Ed could easily identify each one. The tall lanky one with the shovel. The short, balding, fat one. The handsome, rugged one. The sneering, smelly guy with a gun trained at the base of Roy's skull. The shivering, scared newbie teen.
"Eddie!" the lizard chimera man greeted him with a chilling smile. "I thought you'd never come back. I miss my chess partner."
"And your punching bag," Ed managed to retort quietly, albeit firmly.
"Come give this sucker a good punch in the gut," the balding man offered, "He's done you no good. Who knows what he mighta done to our little Alphonse? It'd be mighty righteous if you'd sock him good right in the-."
"Shut it, hick," the smelly man sneered, "Give the boy some time to talk." Ed looked around at the faces he'd known most of his life, thought of the beatings, the hunger. Then he thought of the shelter from the rain, the roughly comforting pat on the back. Lastly, he thought of his first kill. There had been so much blood...
"How is Alphonse, Fullmetal?" It was the pale man with his hand buried in Roy's dark curls. He wasn't any imposing height. He was not extraordinary in any way. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium build, not particularly muscular, or chimera-mixed like some of the others. He was only notable in how he carried himself - confidently, and charmingly. Ed liked him the least.
"My name is Edward," Ed snapped irritably, "I don't want a goddamn street name like one of your worthless goons, Hofstadter." He watched that man smile with those thin lips and remarkably normal teeth - not perfectly white, not sharp, a bit crooked, but still... nice somehow. He was amused, and the smirk displayed the emotion quite well.
"My apologies, but old habits are hard to break, aren't they?" the man bantered lightly. "I suppose you wouldn't know, so easily dropping the habit of addressing me as 'sir.' I'm not quite as strong-willed as you resilient youth." Ed glanced around. None of them had moved. They were incredibly still. How could they be so obedient? He met Roy's gaze. Bloody nose, black eye, who knew what other injuries, but nothing seemed bad enough to send him to a hospital immediately.
Ed took a step forward and replied to Hofstadter, "You aren't much older than fatty hick over there. He insists he's young."
"Forgotten your friends' names, have you, Fullmetal? Ah, I meant Edward," Hofstadter corrected himself and sent Edward a perfectly timed apologetic smile. It was too well put together. Everything was so planned around this man. "We've invited you to join us. Won't you at least take a good look at our handiwork?" He thrust Roy's head forward, closer to Edward. Ed didn't see anything he hadn't already noted.
Eyes still hesitantly on Roy, he replied, "I didn't come here to hurt him."
Hofstadter's smile faltered for a moment. Still, it was deliberate. "No one wants to hurt people. Sometimes it just happens to be necessary." Ed's eyes flew up to the manipulative brown ones and hardened. Still, Hofstadter seemed to expect this. "I know how you hate hurting people, Edward, but, everyone has someone they'd love to disembody - your father, for instance. Doesn't Roy remind you of him?" He pulled Roy up until he stood. Roy grimaced. "The broad shoulders? The arrogance? Leaving your mother like that - how could he? This is your chance for retribution." Ed's lips pulled into a snarl, his eyes locking with Roy's. Roy's heart skipped, and he thought: Edward will tear me limb from limb because he's an animal. It didn't entirely make sense, but he'd been hit on the head several times already.
"You know, you're right," Ed admitted quietly. Hofstadter carefully hid his surprised pleasure, but Ed caught the fringes of it. "I really do want to kill some people. But do you know who would be a better example than even my father, Hofstadter?" He looked from Roy to the man he addressed and retorted, "You."
The planned pretenses fell. "I can still send you to jail, have you executed, tortured, Fullmetal." It wasn't a growl or snarl. It wasn't angry or vehement. It was a statement - a fact. "I can give you over to the government. You know what they'll do with you once they know what you did to your mother?" Ed flinched, and his eyes narrowed.
He didn't wait for the man to continue. He answered the question. "I'm sure they'd love to hear anything about you. Making children commit murder? The drugs you've had us smuggle?" Ed raised his chin defiantly, and smirked that same way he had when he'd entered Roy's office - except this time Roy saw the fear that it had been created to mask.
Hofstadter grinned. "We don't have to send you to the government either, Fullmetal. There are other ways, other people who would love to hurt you for what you did. What would your father do to you, I wonder?" Ed's smirk fell. The mask was gone, but there wasn't a need for it anymore. The fear was gone - and Roy would later describe Ed as having "a conniption."
Pure fury dripped from Ed's words as he said, "I don't hate you, Hofstadter. But you know what I hate most about you?" He turned his eyes to Roy, speaking directly at the General. Roy swallowed and evenly met Ed's gaze. He wasn't quite sure what to think, but he kept his confidence. Somehow he'd get through this. Hofstadter grinned openly. "You're manipulative, arrogant, and baselessly confident. You're delusional, too. You think you're making a difference, changing the world. You're not. You're making things worse." While he spoke, Ed walked closer and slowly approached them all. The tall lanky guy moved to protect Hofstadter, but was stilled by a gentle hand on his forearm.
Finally, Ed only stood two feet from Roy, rage boiling close to his skin. "I don't hate you, Hofstadter," he repeated ever so quietly. Slyly, he pulled his spare knife out of his jacket sleeves. One swift fling of the arm, and the knife lodged itself in Hofstadter's neck. The man fell backwards, choking, and bleeding to death. For a moment, the entire room was silent. Roy was free. Hofstadter was dead. Ed met the short man's gaze.
Several things happened simultaneously. The short balding man shouted for the rest of them to kill Roy and Edward. The six of them moved to obey the order almost before it had been given. Edward registered all these things immediately (also having expected it to happen), and grabbed Roy's hand. They began to run, fumbling at first. A gunshot went off, and several people lunged for them, but Ed clapped his hands together and smacked the ground. A wall grew, and they were safe for only a moment.
"Roy!" Ed shouted urgently, "Set the place on fire!"
"But the powder-!"
"I know!" Ed demanded. That was all the time they had for argument. Snake-chimera man ran around the corner of the wall, and Roy decided to trust Ed's judgement. He snapped his fingers. Ed clapped his hands together at the same time. There was a flash of blue light that signified alchemy was at work. Darkness overwhelmed them. Muffled screams reached their ears. Very quickly, it became extremely hot.
Roy whispered, "What just happened?"
Ed responded, "You exploded the warehouse and we were protected from the blast by a thick shell of hardened rock. Next on the agenda is a square dance, followed by suffocation. Between the limited supply of oxygen, the fire outside draining the oxygen, and the slow response to fires that Central is notorious for, I'd say we don't have a lot of time." The idea sunk in very slowly.
"Well," Roy replied even slower, "we have a few options. We can wait to die, and have a long meaningful talk about whatever, or we can brave the fire." He waited a moment, and when Ed didn't say anything, he said, "Alright, I don't particularly like either option, but I am very curious about some things I've glimpsed at from your life, so let's have a short talk and then brave the flames?"
"I'm not telling you anything unless I'm one hundred percent sure I'm about to die, bastard," Ed snapped, "and even then I wouldn't want to spend the last few minutes of my life reliving the hell I've gone through, so no thank you. You aren't getting anything from me." He looked over to where Roy's voice came from and frowned. He didn't like that. "Light something on fire so I can see you," Ed demanded. Silence followed, and then a snap and a flickering light illuminated Roy's face, and his seated position. He wasn't pretty, but it was nice to see a face at all. He was leaning his head against the stone shell protecting them.
"What if I told you whatever you wanted to know about me?" Roy tried to bargain at last.
"Nope," Ed answered quickly, earning an unsatisfied grunt from his companion.
The General turned to face Ed and gave him a smile. "What if I promise not to tell anyone?"
Ed stubbornly crossed him arms. "No."
Roy stood and said, "Fine, then. Let's go out and die in a burning glory."
Ed scoffed and replied, "Look, if I thought we were actually going to die, I'd have at least considered telling you my deepest, darkest secrets. I know you hit your head, but come on, Mustang, get a grip. There are a million and one ways out of this." He stood as well and brushed off his legs. Roy met his gaze doubtfully. "I just wanted to see how gullible you are when half your brain has been knocked onto the ground," Ed told him with a smirk. The fear was gone. "I was also curious to see how you'd rather die," he went on, "I guess you're a little like myself."
"Well if you're the man with the plan right now, get us out of here safe and sound," Roy suggested, and gestured forward as if there was a door they would leave through. Ed snorted and clapped his hands together. Roy watched with curiosity as the alchemy was successful once again. Suddenly, flames surrounded them. The heat intensified, and smoke filled the air. Ed clapped his hands yet again and slapped the ground. A long bridge grew in front of them, and ended at the top of a nearby building. It burst through the tin roof, but Ed paid that no mind.
"Let's go!" Ed called cheerfully over the roaring fire and together they trekked up the bridge as fast as they could without further injuring Roy. Fire rescue crews arrived. Ed and Roy could spot both Hawkeye and Al on the ground below, watching them back. And Roy could only wonder about Ed's strange, swift ability to transmute anything.
"Hey, Ed," Roy said suddenly, "I'm building a team of specialists. You could join, if you want."
~Later
Ed wrinkled his nose at his pocketwatch. Al walked beside him with a spring in his step, whistling. They didn't say anything to each other. They didn't really need to. They passed strangers in uniform, most of whom ignored them. Ed was a State Alchemist. Roy had to be a bastard when giving Ed a title and had dubbed Ed the "Fullmetal Alchemist" simply because he'd "thought it was catchy."
"He definitely did it to piss me off," Ed grumbled unhappily. But deep down, he was content.
"Stop brooding about it," Al chided him lightly, "We have a steady income now." Ed scoffed, but said no more. He watched the plain walls go by, and put his pocketwatch away with a rough movement. He could get used to this place. The two of them stopped in front of an office door. Ed thought of the first time he'd seen this door. He'd been forced to enter. He grinned and pushed the door open with a loud bang before he even thought of knocking. Roy looked up from his paperwork and raised a lone eyebrow.
"I know you don't knock when you enter through a window, but it would be polite and conventional to knock on my office door before entering," he greeted the duo. Ed rolled his eyes and sauntered in and plopped on the couch. Roy nodded at Al, and Al closed the door before seating himself beside Ed, smiling widely all the while.
"So what did you want, bastard?" Ed asked, crossing his arms.
"I understand if you don't like or respect me, Fullmetal, but I do except some civility," Roy replied. Ed scoffed, but didn't argue further. Roy sent him a firm glare and explained, "I called you to my office this morning because you are my subordinate, and I... have learned something disturbing." Ed instantly became suspicious, and his back straightened.
"A few years ago, you burned down your house," Roy announced, reading off a paper on his desk. This was when Ed noticed Roy's ruffled hair and the dark circles under his eyes - the black eye sort of detracted Ed's attention from the rest of his image. Something was really bothering him. "Winry told me," he said slowly, looking up from the paper and meeting Ed's eyes, "that you boys committed some kind of alchemical crime. She didn't know the details, but there are only a few things you could have been doing. Since I have this eye witness account, I can't simply let you off the hook. I need to know the details."
Ed and Al exchanged a look, and they both looked down at their hands. Alphonse spoke first. "Our dad left us. Then our mom died." Ed gritted his teeth in seething anger, something that Roy couldn't quite notice, but he could guess at Ed's distress. Al whispered, "We missed her a lot. We thought, if alchemy could fix a broken swing..." He trailed off. Silence fell. Roy watched them grieve for a minute, and noted Ed's hands clenched in fists.
"It was my idea," Ed said suddenly, and quite loudly. Since Al had just broken immediately, he might as well finish what was started. "The ingredients for the average human adult body are easy to get. It isn't anything special. Bringing her back seemed like the best option. It wasn't possible, though. Took Al, and my arm." His flesh hand flew up to his opposite shoulder. "I tied Al's soul to a suit of armor. It took my leg." His hand dropped and he grew silent again.
"Al is right here," Roy pointed out, "Not as a suit of armor."
"Hofstadter brought me back," Al whispered. "We don't know how but we owed him."
"Al turned out a bit young somehow, but I didn't care," Ed murmured. "I have my brother." Roy leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. He turned and looked out the window with unseeing eyes, his arms crossed against his chest. He let it sink in slowly. Then he turned back around and faced the boys in front of him.
"Consider your criminal record cleared. Come meet the team."