I had hoped it would never come to this.
Edward's automail is badly damaged. Badly enough that it no longer functions. Without his automail arm, he cannot transmute without a circle. Without his automail leg, he cannot walk. Poor guy had to be carried back to headquarters; must've have damaged his pride a lot.
Alphonse can't stop worrying. I think he'd be crying by now if he could. But Ed can't hear his brother's calls for him: his damaged automail shorted in the rain, and gave him an electric shock; he was already injured, the shock just knocked him out. He's the Fullmetal Alchemist, but he's still Ed. He's just a kid and so is his brother. Fifteen-year-olds aren't supposed to be part of the military. But Ed is. Fullmetal Alchemist, his official state title. And because of it, the poor kid's hurt.
And I'm the one who encouraged him. I'm the one who came to their hometown and found them after they failed to resurrect their mother. I'm the one who told them to look me up in Central. I was the one who told Ed to take that train, so he could get the publicity he would need to be able to take that test as a minor. And because of me, Edward can't even walk right now.
The only one who can help him right now is that Rockbell girl. She designed his automail, and she can fix it. But it's raining outside. And there is thunder and lightning. The storm's knocked out the telephone poles here in Central, so we can't just call her and her grandmother from here and ask them to come. The trains have shut down for the night because of the storm as well. The post office is closed and the workers have gone home, and a letter would take too long to arrive anyway. So someone has to go in person and ask the Rockbell girl to come out here to Central.
That person has to be me. I could send someone like Hawkeye or Havoc or Breda out there, but I'm Ed's superior. I have to take responsibility. Sending my subordinates to Risembool would be a cop-out. Edward is under my command. If something happens to him, it is my responsibility to deal with it.
...I don't want to go to Risembool. I don't want to see the Rockbell girl whom I robbed of her parents. I don't want to see her grandmother, the woman whose daughter and son-in-law's lives I stole. I don't want to have to go and swallow my pride and beg her to come to Central for Ed's sake when I have no right to ask anything of her. I don't want to have to explain my actions in Ishbal that have no legitimate explanation, and relive those painful experiences forever engraved in my memory.
And when I meet her justified fury at that door of her childhood home which she shared with the Elric brothers many a time, how can I say that "I was only following orders" when I had full control of that trigger, and it was my decision to obey those orders and pull it? How can I justify taking the lives of those who were saving lives on a daily basis, perhaps even those of my friends back in Ishbal? How can I tell her that it was because they were saving the lives of those with dark skin as well as those of us, with pale skin? How can I, an alchemist devoted to the principles of Equivalent Exchange, justify even my involvement in a "war" in which after months and months of pushing and goading the Ishbalan people, they took their equivalent right to fight back, and we annihilated them with weapons they could not match because of their religious beliefs on alchemy?
I am afraid of going to Risembool to visit the Rockbells. It's ironic, because I was not afraid of risking my life as a soldier in Ishbal. I was not afraid of killing or dying. I was afraid to take my own life, but not afraid of someone else killing me during the 'war'. And not as afraid as I am now...of visiting a teenage girl and her grandmother in a rural town to ask for assistance. I am afraid of the hate I know I deserve.
--
"You know, you don't have to do this, Colonel," the lieutenant tells him as she drives him through the muddy roads towards Risembool. He gulps and shakes his head.
"No. I--I...should. It's only right..." His voice cracks slightly, the nervousness clear in his tone and on his face. He blinks a few times and his head nods; he hasn't slept in two days. Since he set out with Hawkeye for Risembool two days ago, he hasn't given himself a wink of sleep, too preoccupied with what he had to do upon arrival.
The car has stopped for a few hours both days--Hawkeye needs her sleep to drive safely even if he won't sleep--but otherwise, they've driven practically all night for two days. They're only five minutes away now. Four, three, two, one...
"Are you sure?" she asks him gently as she pulls up about fifteen feet from the Rockbell house. He doesn't answer at first. He wants desperately to say no. No he isn't sure. He doesn't want to go there. He doesn't want to face that girl. The Rockbell girl who by all rights must hate him to the core. Finally though, he nods slowly, clenching his fists and taking a deep breath. He doesn't want to do this, but he will. He has to. He slowly opens the door of the car, and even more sluggishly steps out into the rain. He gets a few feet forward and then he pauses, hesitant. Very quickly, the rain plasters his raven hair to his forehead and soaks his uniform through. He didn't bring his umbrella.
Riza quickly gets out of the car too, and walks up to him. To make sure he's all right, she tells herself. Her hair is down instead of in its usual bun. The rain makes her hair frizzy, so she keeps it down so the rain at least won't tangle it. Within seconds, her golden locks are also plastered to her forehead and the back of her uniform. It'll frizz like crazy when she gets dry. The usually stern expression on her face softens when she sees his face. The strong, stoic face of her colonel she is used to isn't there. She sees a face full of uncertainty, full of fear. There's an almost childlike trepidation in those onyx eyes she trusts and respects.
Almost instinctively, she reaches out a hand to touch the dark bags that have begun to form under his eyes. They'll go away in a day or two, after he gets some proper rest. But they seem so out of place with the colonel she knows. They make him look so much...older. So tired. So sad. He is slightly surprised by the touch, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't draw back. A wan smile crawls onto his features. He looks even more tired now... In turn, he reaches out one of his own gloved hands, now soaked from the rain, and runs it through her wet hair. Then he pulls her close to him, as if he's afraid he'll never see her again. The faintest trace of a blush forms on her cheeks, and then she gasps slightly when he puts his face right by her ear and whispers, "I'm all right now, Lieutenant. Don't worry." And then he lets go and starts to walk away. It's a few seconds before she can turn around again to face him.
He gets all the way to the door this time without hesitating, but he pauses as he lifts his hand to knock. A slight tremor of panic goes through him, but in a moment, he clenches his fist, and forces himself to knock.
...The ten seconds before the door opens are agonizing for him. Will they let him in? Will they yell at him? Will he, after all this, end up having to go back to Central empty-handed? His questions are put on hold as finally, he hears the creak of the door hinge as the door is opened. A young woman, blonde, with bright blue eyes meets him at the door. Winry Rockbell. His heart leaps into his throat, but he has to gather his courage. Ed needs him. Ed needs Winry.
"Colonel Mustang? What...what are you doing here?"
His mind and heart are racing; his throat is dry. Everything is telling him to turn back and go home. But he can't. He fiddles with his wet gloves for a moment, trying to delay the inevitable. Trying to postpone doing what he came here to do. Winry watches him for a moment, wondering what he is so afraid of and feeling guilty that he is soaking outside in the rain but she isn't offering to let him inside. She feels somehow he wants to ask it himself. She doesn't know. Pinako never told her. Her grandmother never told her it was the man standing before her that killed her parents.
It's slightly ironic; he's never this awkward. He's been known for being the smoothest man in Central--god did Havoc resent that fact sometimes--and he can't get his head on straight in front of this one girl. Eventually, though, he manages to collect his nerve. He clears his throat and looks the girl straight in the eye, thinking it to be the best way not to get unnerved.
"I..." his voice is still hesitant, his face still anxious, "I came...about a favor. That I--that I need...for Edward. May I come in?"
From his tone, she instantly gets a sense of the severity of the situation. Her own blue eyes widen with fear and concern for her childhood friend as she slowly nods. He reciprocates the gesture and steps inside, soaked military jacket dripping on the floor, and the door starts to shut with a low, creaky noise.