The Epilogue

Represent

Full Summary: Upon returning to Germany, Edward find himself charged for the murders of Alfons Heidrich and over thirty other Nazis including Dietlinde Eckart. He is quickly moved to the psychiatric ward of the prison upon giving his alibi and finds himself trying to get his doctor, Roy Fischer, to believe him before he is sent to trial and - more than likely - executed.

Warning: Alter!RoyEd, and hints of past HeidEd. Language, and darker themes.

Author's Note: This is an alternate ending in which Edward has come back, like he planned, by himself and is stuck alone on the other side of the Gate without his brother. It picks up a little after he has come back.


"Some struggles are so solitary that they drown in words." - Anonymous


I have never seen someone so convinced by his own mind. He is exceptionally genuine in his ideas about this other world and his innocence of what he has been accused of. Sometimes I find myself falling for it, before realizing later how ridiculous parts of his story sounded. He's already been through drug screening, came back clean. I had hoped he was on something that might explain his convictions because I have to admit that I've never faced someone so …

"Is that a biography?"

My eyes flicked up and I glanced at him, his eyes were unnatural. I had gotten over the shock that they were gold after maybe a few minutes when I had first gotten his file, but when they were actually looking at me and there was no trick of a camera lens I always felt off guard. I tried to come up with a word for it. Tawny, unpolished gold, rich honey, but they were all a little off. Not even topaz, topaz was too dark. It was something I had pondered over and never quite could pin it down.

I shifted, shutting the book and placing the pen down on top of it before I addressed him. I took my time.

"No." I answered shortly, wondering how long he had been awake and I hadn't known it. His face was arranged in something that I could never figure out - which, for me was frustrating. I prided myself in plucking out human emotions at the snap of a finger and my ability to maneuver and manipulate to get my patients 'better'. Or feeling like they were better. He was a different case, because he wasn't unsure of himself. He was absolutely sure that he was innocent, and that he did not have delusions.

He was a pretty big puzzle as it was. He claimed his name was Edward Elric in his statement, that he had been living here in Munich for two years with his father who, like him, didn't exist. At least not in records. He had no ID, no proof of citizenship, and no paperwork at all.

"Well what is it?" He asked after a moment.

"Its my medical journal."

"Oh." He fell silent for a long moment. He looked..

"You look like you haven't been sleeping well." I observed, feeling stupid even as I said it. Of course he wouldn't have been sleeping well. His ankle was chained to the bed and he had been forced in an orange jumpsuit. He was only allowed to shower once every week - which he had complained about loudly to me the first time we had met - and his wrists were handcuffed together. Not to mention all that but he was being accused of killing a multitude of people - and he was probably dead. The court system in Germany was hardly fair and this whole war was making everyone on edge.

He gave me a pointed look, eyes tarnished and strained, despite their intelligence and his face was drawn.

He rubbed his hands together and I made a little tally in the corner of the journal. I had started noticing each time he did that - thinking it must be some sort of nervous tick. He did it at least five times an hour.

"Would you?"

"No." I admitted.

I sighed, leaning forward a bit to get more comfortable in this chair as I pulled out my notes and his file and I glanced through everything for what felt like the upteenth time.

"So, Edward. Have you changed your story yet?" I asked him. He sent me a look of, what I could only call betrayal, and I was unaffected. I didn't know why he looked at me like he did half the time and whenever I questioned him about it he clammed up and threw terrible language and obscenities at me.

"I already told you my story." He sighed, teeth gritting.

"Yes, I mean the actual story."

"You fucker." He hissed, eyes tearing off my face as he rubbed his hands together, not nervous, more upset and.. Trapped. I made a tally mark.

"I'm taking that as a no." I sighed.

He gave a low growl and blew a bit of his hair out of his face. It was down past his upper back. He had a remarkable amount of hair and we couldn't allow hair bands around him. He had already almost incapacitated one of the policemen on his capture. At least, you know, I heard. Edward refused to look at me anymore and his back was stiff like a cornered animal.

"You know the drill." I told him after a long moment and I shuffled the paper for a moment before I glanced back up and saw his lips tight and drawn.

"Edward?" I prompted.

"I don't get why I have to keep doing this." He gritted, "Or why you write it down every time. Are you trying to make me crazy or something in here? Because I swear - this is the craziest I've ever been in my entire life and I'm going to be blowing spit bubbles in a few months at this rate."

I ignored him, he always complained about this.

"Just do it, Edward."

"Why?" A challenge.

I paused, putting my pen down and glancing up at him in surprise. He usually fought me on everything, but never on this. He always had told me his alibi like he was trying to prove himself to me, trying to sell it with every word of his being so that I'd believe him this time, or the next day, or the next day. He had already been in a cell for over three months, it hadn't been until a few weeks ago that they had sent him here. Despite the fact that he didn't get daily beatings in the Ward, he insisted prison smelt better and was better for his sanity.

"Because, Edward. I look for any changes in your story every day to see if I can figure out why you are lying, or why you believe you are right. Perhaps then I can figure out how to start trying to get you better." I sighed.

"I am not sick!" He insisted and I had known that I probably should have refused to tell him because he was suddenly bristling and defensive and angry. So very angry. I had realized already that his natural instincts to frustration was to lash out. "My story never changes because it's true!"

"You know as well as I do how ridiculous you sound."

"Yes! But that doesn't mean I'm wrong!" Edward hissed.

"Yes it does, since it is physically impossible for you to leave one dimension and go into another."

"Do you believe in aliens?"

"No."

"Do you believe in space?"

"Of course." I knew where he was going with this, but decided to let him continue on.

"Well, how can you not believe in aliens if you believe in space?" He asked, "How can you know?"

"My belief in aliens has nothing to do with your claim that you are one." I told him calmly, jotting a few notes. He bared his teeth at me and then looked like he wanted to rip the paper from my hands. He had already told me he hated to be written about and not know what I was saying. I could have said he had a dash of schizophrenia, but I was paranoid as well. This whole country and war made you paranoid that you were going to get slandered. All someone had to do was level a assumption about your lifestyle and I would be in the same boat as him.

"Besides, the prosecution has leveled some pretty strong evidence that you killed those people." I continued.

"Do you think I killed him?"

Who? There were many 'hims'.

"Alfons." He whispered. I was taken off guard for a moment that he had singled one victim out and seemed extremely torn up about being accused of shooting him. To be quite honest the whole thing looked like some sort of satanic ritual gone horribly wrong, and so when there had been reports of flashing lights and loud bangs and the police had shown up - seeing Edward sitting there among the bodies there had been no question it was all his fault.

I wondered why, after being questioned endlessly for months, he always got so upset at the thought of Heidrich's death while he seemed aloof about the others. It wasn't my job to be the investigator, however, but I could tell he was attached in some way to the man. And when his voice whispered like that there was no choice but to believe he was telling the truth.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose for a long moment, giving a sigh.

"No." I told him. I didn't think he killed Alfons Heidrich, "Not intentionally." I added.

He didn't like that, but accepted it for the time being as improvement since the first day we had met I was convinced he had killed everyone out of cold-blood. It was impossible to think that when you saw him like this, slumped and beaten. You got lulled into thinking he was powerless until he gave you a glare that stole your breath away or did something so intelligent and cunning that you were forced to reevaluate him.

He was certainly not docile.

"Well I didn't." He grumped, "And I don't want to tell you my god damn alibi again. It's like you have short term memory or something."

"You have to, Edward. If you don't…" My eyes flicked towards the little video camera in the corner of his room and Edward read what would happen to him if he didn't cooperate. He didn't seem happy about it, but knew that he'd end up either back in the prison or beat up, or worse.

"Fine." He gritted. "This must get boring for you."

"You never bore me." I told him lightly.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Perceptive."

"Fuck you, bastard."

"Continue, Edward." I sighed, hating how he somehow managed for us to talk for hours and never get anywhere. It was a talent or something. He was good at distracting me.

"Fine, old man." There was a certain fondness in there that sounded like he was remembering something, but I was unsure of what and he shifted, getting comfortable before he started again. Almost word for word he recited what he had told me yesterday. Hardly anything had changed.

"I was used by the Thule society." He started, "I didn't know it at the time. Well, I knew it, but I didn't know what they were up to. I'm not from here at all, I'm from a country called Amestris. I'm not sure exactly how this world connects to my home other than maybe through a different dimension. You can't see it or get to it easily. The Thule society was convinced they could get to it and used my father and me to get there." He took a breath, "I've been here for some time, trying to get back home. When the deaths happened I was through the Gate, home, and when I came back they were all dead."

"Why did you come back?" I asked him.

"Because I had something I had to do here. I had to make sure that the two words never connected again." He told me, and he should sound like a nutcase, but he didn't.

"And how were you planning on doing that?" I humored him. It was farther than I had ever questioned him before, because before I must have had a skeptical face because he would always get pissed off and refuse to answer after a while, feeling stupid and childish.

"I had to break the seal."

I tried not to appear calm and collected, but he could read the lines on my face as if he'd known me for years.

"Its not some sort of fucking ritual you asshole." He hissed, and if he could cross his arms he could, instead he rubbed his palms together and I made a small tally mark. "What are you doing?" He snapped.

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed like observant daggers and I tried to regain control of the conversation.

"Alright, Edward. So, if you had to get back from this other world, and come here to break the seal so that the worlds couldn't collide again… Then explain something that's been puzzling me this whole time - how come you survived and the others did not? You keep telling me they died because of the pressure of going through dimensions, but how come you didn't get crushed as well?"

He was silent.

"The Gate.." He mumbled, "Doesn't always make sense why it does things. Perhaps its because I'm from a world where I can withstand it."

"Are you suggesting you're genetically superior?"

"Isn't that what you all are fighting over?" He shot back instantly.

"Touche." I said.

"There isn't anything I can say to make you believe me." He stated and it was more to himself. He sounded suddenly so distraught that I felt for him and my heart tugged a bit as he pulled back on the bed as far as he was allowed and despite the loud orange he looked small and tiny and vulnerable. I reminded myself that he was charged for the murder of over thirty people to keep myself from patting him on the back or something. He could bite my hand off. He wasn't mentally stable. Obviously. He was rambling about some other world.

I watched as his mood plummeted and I tried to figure out a way to get him to talk to me again before he withdrew away from me completely and I would be forced to end the session early.

"Tell me about your world." I said.

His head shot up and he looked like I was trying to trick him. He had never been asked that question while he had been here.

"Why?" He breathed.

I shrugged.

"Medical purposes only." Because I'm sick of watching you suffer like that and I'm a little interested.

He didn't like that answer, but I knew if I told him my true reasoning for getting him to spill he would be even more upset. I watched the arch of his back relax a bit after a moment and I knew I was going to get more out of him this time than before and he opened his lips - they probably had been bright red before the white lights in here had sapped them - and he started to speak.

"Its much more colorful." He started. "You can't even imagine." He tossed his hair a bit, looking at it dully and he frowned. "My hair's a different color." He told me.

His fingers rested on the cold bit of the bed.

I couldn't think of a way to reply to that so I made a noise in the back of my throat for him to continue.

"There are still wars, like here. And there are people there, just like here, and they make mistakes just like people do here.."

I didn't tell him he sounded like he was writing a fantasy novel.

He trailed off after a moment I didn't try to make him talk again, I could tell he was reminiscing on something and it was personal. His eyes grew hazy and he looked at his prosthetic hand and I knew by then he was too far deep in his own thoughts for me to follow. He moved away from the edge of the bed and there was a scraping noise of the plastic on his fake hand running along the steel.

I paused, watching.

"I'll be back in a few days, Edward."

He didn't seem to have heard me.

I sighed a bit and I put my stuff back into my bag. I paused for a moment, watching as his cheek connected with the pillow softly and the torment in his eyes and I reached out with a hand, resting it in the top of his hair, feeling the slightly greasy but soft strands. His eyes flew open again and he was staring at me in shock, but didn't try to move as I comforted him a bit.

"Did you hear me?" I asked him, "I said I'll be back in a few days."

He didn't move.

"I don't think you are heartless." I told him softly and I watched as his face almost crumpled. I smiled at him, not knowing why me smiling made him so distraught. He didn't reply after a few seconds and I knew he wasn't going to reply period, pulling back from him.

I grabbed my things and I put them underneath my arm before I grabbed my heavy coat off of the chair. When I stood close to the door I knocked and the guards started flipping the locks off of the outside. It was only when my hand was on the doorknob that he shifted and I looked back, seeing him leaning on his side and staring at me through clear striking eyes.

"Thank you." He gritted out as if he was cursing me. I wondered if he had ever thanked someone before.

"Don't thank me yet, Elric." I told him dryly, "Just because I don't think you're a psychotic murderer doesn't mean I don't think you're mentally ill, or a murderer."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Edward groused.

"No, they are very different." I told him, and he frowned at me making his nose wrinkle a bit and he mulled that over, flopping on his other side and giving me his very silent back. I moved out of the door and glanced at the guards before going to make my rounds.

The kid himself was interesting. The only bits of information were things that he insisted were true about himself. Having no other name to go off of we had all settled that Edward Elric was his name, and that he was twenty. It was a shame, really. Because there were plenty of people in the country that were killed everyday for crimes a lot pettier than the one he had been accused of. The murder of Eckart was not taken lightly. Not to mention the fact that he had no alibi for the night other than his made up stories about this other world.

And so, I was quite certain he would be executed. He knew that too, I was sure. He would shake sometimes when he thought by himself for too long as if he was realizing, over and over, how he was a dead man. But, usually after this he would resolve himself in a way that I had never seen someone do before and he would become determined. I didn't know what he was determined to do, maybe escape, maybe live. Either way it was humbling to watch.

I glanced at the tally in the corner that had grown by three during that little talk.

I was compelled to help him in a way that was different than any other patient. There was something about him, maybe his spunk and his vivacious spirit that had me wanting to help him - or the open honesty with which he carried himself. I had never been a fan of what this country had been doing and he felt like yet another victim in the grand scheme of things.

There was no question he was remorseful about Alfons Heidrich.

And you couldn't feel that much for someone if you were the cold-hearted killer they accused him of being.

I rubbed my temples a bit. It was a confusing case that was only made more confusing by the fact that he was so god damn easy to talk to and relate to, different from my usual subjects that would mumble nonsense.


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