Indiana…Elric?

A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfiction

By: Shadow Mage Evelyn

A profound yawn erupted from the very depths of Agent Denny Brosh's being.

Accompanying this rejuvenation of his brain was a long, luxurious stretch that extended from his fingertips to his toes, granting a reprieve to stiff muscles. Once he was finished, he wiped the tears out of his eyes and checked his wrist watch. Not trusting the device, he looked across the large room to the huge mahogany grandfather clock suspended on the front wall of Berlin's National Library. Its brass hands were positioned across its ivory face in a way that confirmed the time on his wristwatch: 2 a.m. As he continued to stare at the clock face, his eyes drifted to the brass pendulum that swung back and forth, back and forth in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Agent Brosh sighed heavily and tore his gaze away.

"I know what time it is, Agent. I promise I'll only be a few more minutes."

Brosh grinned boyishly in silent response to the voice of his latest charge. He knew—as he was sure the chief knew—that they would be here at least another hour. The chief had a tough time tearing himself away from the books. The library was like his temple, the books his Bibles, and himself the worshipper. Yup, it would be a very long time. Brosh crossed his arms and settled back for the wait. He could hear the furious scribbling of his charge's pen, escorted by the young man's quiet musings.

"A highly unstable substance…ha! I could have told you that…it can cause radiation sickness…that's not good. I'll have to warn the guys…okay, atomic structure."

Here Brosh perceived the hurried flipping of pages.

"Where'd they put the atomic structure? Atomic structure? …no… come on, guys, I just need the atomic structure…atomic structure…no…atomic…aha! Here it is!"

The voice, Brosh noted idly as his eyelids slowly drooped, while talking fluently in English, held a strange accent that was only detectable on a few words. It was one that Brosh had never heard before, but it could be from some remote part of Germany…not that Brosh knew off the top of his head whether there were any remote parts of Germany or not, but that was the only conceivable explanation that would come to his slightly sleep deprived mind. Eventually, the mutterings dropped to an inaudible level and Brosh's mind started to wander again.

Another half an hour passed before he was startled from his half awake state by the definitive snap of a book being shut.

"Hey, Brosh? Can you come help me put these away?"

"Sure, chief," Brosh replied, eagerly getting out of his chair and coming around the shelves. His charge smiled at him as he came into view.

"Thanks. Here, take this pile. I'm going to get up on the ladder and you can just hand them to me."

"Sure thing."

As Brosh handed the books up, he took a moment to take a glance up at the young man whom he was in charge of guarding. Long, golden blonde hair was held back on his head by a ponytail holder, minus the locks that hung down in front to frame his slender face. Golden eyes, usually sharp and alert, held a faraway look to them, and Brosh could almost see the numbers he was still crunching in his head reflected in those eyes. Dark brown pants and a matching dark brown vest covered a slim frame, and a loose white shirt with long sleeves was worn under the vest. On his hands were white gloves, a strange quirk of this young man's. He almost always wore those gloves, no matter what. In fact, Brosh was pretty sure he'd never seen him without them on, or with his sleeves rolled up, even on warm days. As he stood pondering that, the youth suddenly noticed Brosh's gaze. He looked down in a slightly confused way.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No…its nothing. Sorry."

He still looked confused, but he didn't press the issue, choosing to climb down the ladder instead, going over to the table and gathering up his pile of papers. These he placed in a briefcase that he promptly closed and locked, pocketing the key. Finally, he put on his long, dark reddish-brown trenchcoat.

"Okay, let's go," he told Brosh, and the agent nodded.

They made their way over to the left part of the library where there were dozens and dozens of steel lockers. They walked past about twenty before the young man stopped. He turned the combination lock easily, the number long memorized, and the lock popped open with a click. He opened the locker, slid the briefcase inside, and then shut the door again, putting the lock back in place and snapping it shut. He spun the little combination dial so that the tumblers would be sufficiently scrambled, and nodded, satisfied. No reason to take chances. He started towards the outer doors. Behind him, Brosh ran through his mind the identity of this young man, trying to remind himself that no matter how he might appear, this young man was one of the most intellectually adept minds in the world of science.

Though he didn't know it, the name Edward Elric was well known all over the United States of America and throughout most of Europe. He was a new, up-and-coming chemist and mathematician, and was known simply for his brilliance. After all, it wasn't every day that an eighteen year old kid could formulate complicated chemical structures in his head in mere seconds! Currently, he'd been sent as an ambassador of the US to Germany to do research on uranium, a recent discovery in the field of chemistry. However, Germany was currently in such a state of turmoil that the US government had feared allowing such a brilliant mind to go unprotected and alone, so they had assigned him his own bodyguard from the American Federal Bureau of Investigation, which is where Brosh came into the picture. Brosh smirked to himself. Edward had proved time and again, though, that he was fully capable of taking care of himself, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Goodnight, Miss Cailburg," Edward called, waving to the pretty brunette behind the librarian's desk.

"Have a safe trip home, Mr. Elric!" she chirped back cheerily, smiling even at this ungodly time of night. Edward smiled at her and continued out, never noticing the dreamy stare, the slight blush, and the appreciative sigh that followed in his wake. But Brosh saw it, and only grinned. That's how it always worked. Edward was completely and utterly oblivious to the effect he had on every member of the female race he came across. Brosh could only shake his head, recalling that no matter how beautiful the woman, Edward never seemed to take more than a passing interest. That got Brosh to wondering as to which side of the fence Edward's tastes were aligned. Sure, he never took much interest in women…but Brosh didn't recall him taking any interest in a guy either. Looking at Edward's back, Brosh realized there was actually quite a lot he didn't know about his charge, despite having spent almost every waking moment with the young man for two months. Shrugging, Brosh figured that Edward had his reasons for secrecy.

"Aw, great," Edward said grumpily as they walked outside. Rain was coming down by the gallons, and probably had been for sometime. Little waterfalls were flowing down the steps, and tiny rivers swirled down around the curbs of the streets. What few people were around at this unorthodox hour ran hurriedly from place to place, huddled close under umbrellas in a futile effort to stay as dry as possible in this weather.

"Have you ever wondered why I left Germany, Brosh?" Edward spoke up as he watched one such couple race through the mini Rhine rivers that rushed past the sidewalks, flooding the drain grates.

"Sometimes, chief," Brosh replied idly, his eyes looking around at the people, searching for any indication that any wished Edward harm.

"This is why."

Brosh laughed at that one.

"I swear to you, Germany is the weather toilet bowl of the world!" Edward insisted.

"What…you mean they have shitty weather?"

It was Edward's turn to laugh.

"Yeah…that's it in a nutshell."

Brosh smirked.

"Well, we aren't going to get home any faster if we don't move, right?"

Edward nodded.

"Let's go."

They started down the steps, side by side, their heads ducked to ward off the rain in their faces. Edward grimaced as he felt a few of the cold drops slip under his collar and run down his back. Stupid winter rainstorms…

He pulled up short as a man approached him, coming up right in front of him on the stairs. Brosh put his hand on his gun, immediately on alert.

"Mr. Elric?" the man asked, his voice carrying a very thick German accent. Edward's hands balled into fists.

"Yes?" he answered cautiously, on guard.

"If you would be so kind, my employer wishes to speak with you."

Something about the man, either the way he spoke, the tone in his voice, or his stance—like a hunting cat ready to pounce—grated on Edward's every nerve. He shook his head.

"No. Sorry, but I'm very busy right now, and I can't afford the time. Please convey my apologies to your employer."

As Edward started down the steps again, the man moved into his path again.

"Mr. Elric, I must insist."

"I am very sorry, but I really must be on my way."

Everything about this situation screamed as wrong to the young man. He made to move past the man, but the other grabbed him by the elbow. Reacting instinctively, Edward grabbed his arm, and in one smooth motion, flipped the man over his body onto the ground. As the man landed on his back, he let out a startled grunt, all the breath in his body leaving in an audible whoosh! Edward released his hold, and looked down at the man.

"I'm sorry, but I really cannot go with you. Goodnight, sir."

He turned and nodded to Brosh, who had his gun out and down at his side. The two started away again.

Dusting himself off, the man got to one knee and drew his gun.

"I'm sorry, also, Mr. Elric," he said, causing both men to turn around. Edward's mind registered the gun a second too late before the man fired, the bullet soaring straight for him.

"Get down!!" Brosh yelled, and he threw his body in the way, knocking Edward to the ground in the same motion. Edward cried out instinctively as he crashed to the pavement, feeling the impact bruise his body as he slid down a few extra steps. He looked up, his gaze turning fast to horror and his blood running cold as he watched the red stain grow on the front of Brosh's shirt.

"Chief," Brosh choked out, falling to one knee. "Get…out of…h-here…"

He turned to face the German, his gun coming up as he shakily took aim.

"No!" Edward protested, too late. Two more gunshots ripped the air, and two more bullets tore hotly through Brosh's chest, blood spatters joining the rain on the stairs. With what seemed like a deliberate slowness that took an eternity to pass, Edward watched the man collapse onto the concrete stairs and lay very, very still.

"Brosh!" Edward cried, rising to rush over to the man's side. Before he got there, an audible click sounded next to his left ear, and he stiffened in surprise. He felt the emanating cold of steel against his temple, and he could smell the pungent odor of gunpowder wafting through the damp air. Slowly, eyes wide in horror, Edward turned to look straight into the business end of a Browning hand pistol.

"Mr. Elric," the man said, his tone eerily calm. He sounded as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary, as if he did this every day of his life.

"I must insist."

Edward swallowed hard; his golden eyes focused completely on the barrel held mere centimeters from his forehead.

"Let's go," the voice commanded, and the pistol gestured up and left. Edward rose obediently to his feet and started down the stairs, the barrel pressed tightly against his backbone.

"What's going on??" a familiar female voice called from the front doors of the library. Edward's eyes widened in terror, and his heart skipped a beat in panic. He wheeled about and looked up at the young librarian huddled just beyond the wooden barriers.

"Miss Cailburg, go back inside," he told her, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

"But—!" she went to protest, but Edward cut her off.

"Please go back inside!" he begged. The urgency in his voice caught her attention, and she knew something was terribly wrong. That's when she caught sight of Brosh face down on the stairs, his lifeblood darkening the usually stark white stone. Without another word, she ducked quickly into the library, running as fast as she could on trembling legs to the back room and more importantly, to the phone.

The German, meanwhile, grabbed Edward roughly by the arm and forcibly led him down the steps, the Browning digging into Edward's ribs, a painful reminder to behave. He followed meekly, biding his time. Quickly, they walked down the street and turned a corner, coming onto a side street where the man took him into the nearest alleyway. Edward knew he was very deeply in trouble as he caught sight of the black limousine parked there, the engine idling with a low, reverberating rumble, and the windshield wipers swishing back and forth in a motion reminiscent to a poised cat's tail. As the two approached, two more men climbed out of the limo, one from the driver seat, one from the passenger side. Edward knew it was now or never. With a swift, smooth motion, he grabbed his escort's arms and flipped him to the ground, knocking the Browning from his grasp. The man gasped, totally unprepared for the move, and Edward let go, breaking into a dead run, going back the way he had come. Before he could get very far down the street, though, one of the other men grabbed him from behind. Undeterred, Edward elbowed the man sharply in his stomach, and his opponent released him. Without losing momentum, Edward spun around and kicked the man in the chest, knocking him to the ground. As the other man approached, Edward jumped to meet him, swinging with his left fist, which was promptly caught by the wrist. Edward simply turned his back to the man and flipped him over his shoulder, but before he could recover his center of balance, he got tackled from behind by the man he had met on the stairs, who roughly pulled Edward's arms behind his back. Edward struggled, crying out, but the man's grip only readjusted and tightened, and he brought a leather gloved hand up to cover the young chemist's mouth. Edward bit down on the hand reflexively, but with no result, and he continued to kick and squirm, trying to break the hold.

By this time, the other two men had recovered and risen to their feet, following as the first man dragged Edward over to the limousine. Once within range of the vehicle, the second man ran over to the passenger side of the limo, reaching in and pulling out an unmarked bottle full of clear liquid. He also produced a rag from somewhere, and Edward knew exactly what that meant. His efforts for freedom only renewed tenfold, but without the desired result. He could only watch in growing fear as the man popped the cork out of the bottle, and tipped a small portion of its contents into the cloth, partially soaking the rag. Once that was done, he replaced the cork and nodded. The other two men held Edward firmly between them, despite his continued struggles. The hand over his mouth vanished, only to be replaced by the soaked rag an instant later, shutting the young scientist up too quickly so that he could not attempt to call out for help again. Edward continued to fight, though, trying to break the holds on his arms, all the while trying not to inhale, but the sickly sweet smell of the chloroform on the rag still somehow worked its way into his nose, quickly dulling his senses. He gave a few more muffled protests before his body gave in, growing limp in his captors' arms as the strength in his legs failed him. Edward's world slowly tightened into a hazy tunnel that grew darker with every passing second, and the men, sensing that they had won, opened the back door of the limo and threw their captive onto the seat inside. One climbed into the back beside him while the others slid into their seats up front, and Edward dimly heard the engine of the vehicle rumble to life. He fought to stay awake and alert as the limousine lurched into motion, but his senses were slowly weakening and he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he lost complete consciousness.

"Ah, Mr. Edward Elric," said an unfamiliar voice in a thick French accent. Edward's gaze drifted lethargically to the right to locate the speaker, who turned out to be an unimposing man with neatly trimmed dark hair sitting across the way, his legs crossed and smoke floating lazily from a cigarette held between his slender fingers. A triumphant smirk graced his beardless face.

"So kind of you to join us," he finished, placing the cigarette in his mouth and pulling in a draw, letting it out a second later with a content sigh. Edward's attention was suddenly caught by the bright red strip of cloth on the man's left arm, a white circle on its side with a black swastika emblazoned proudly. Before Edward could question him, though, his fuzzy world reeled with frightening suddenness, and everything faded quickly to black.

The man watched as his captive's body slumped limply onto the seat, his golden blonde hair slipping over his left arm while the other arm slipped over the seat to dangle down and almost touch the floor of the car. The man smiled, knowing full well that Edward was out cold and would be for several hours. His left hand clenched on the seat beside him in silent victory, his goal now within reach.