Weltschmerz
Durch Hanomaru
Disclaimer: I don't own anything mentioned in this story except perhaps the term "holy alien tentacle porn." And it may not even turn up in the story. But I do not own FMA, its characters or its settings. All that stuff belongs to Arakawa-sensei.
Warnings: SPOILERS, occasional bouts of foul language, yaoi (DLDR), some graphic violence, some gore, horrible writing. That last one is practically guaranteed in all my fics. Most of these warnings won't come into effect for a few chapters, so it's rated T for now.
Author's Notes: Post-Shanbara-ness! This is what happens when Nightwish, Mindless Self Indulgence and an unhealthy obsession with FMA combine in Han-chan's brain, but this Weltschmerz is actually entirely different from what it originally was. Then again, what it originally was was lost to my stupid computer's BSOD two months ago. It was much fluffier and nicer before. Now it's going to be hardcore sex and violence, and not in that order. Humorous subplots will abound!
Anreizen
Ed was back, but no one even noticed until he strode into the Colonel's--no, he had to be a Brigadier General by now--office, four years older physically, but over ten years older emotionally. His gait as he walked through the halls was only similar to the former Ed's strut in that the strides seemed almost impossibly long for his short legs, although they weren't all that short anymore. He dressed the same way he had during the time he was on the other side of the Gate in Munich; the flashy, floor-length red jacket was gone, along with the black-and-white sleeveless shirt and leather pants that he had always worn under them. Now, he wore plain black slacks and a sensible, dark-coloured vest over a long-sleeved white shirt.
Hence, everyone except the Brigadier General and Lieutenant Hawkeye blew a brain bolt when he appeared.
He paused a moment in the doorway to study the various reactions of the Central City HQ staff in the Brigadier General's office. Havoc and Breda were huddled together in a corner in terror, having assumedly jumped there when the door burst open. Fury had a vaguely confused look on his face, Falman was edging towards the window, Riza continued putting unfinished papers on the Brigadier General's desk neutrally, and Roy himself seemed rather bemused.
They all stood, staring at the doorway, when Ed frowned. Havoc moved to watch Ed's next move and Breda steeled himself for the next rant.
"What is this? No 'Hey, Ed, how's it goin', no nothing! C'mon!" Ed's frown disappeared as he walked into the center of the room, towards Roy. He grinned. "Well?"
Everyone went towards Ed to offer congratulations, salutations and the occasional apology. They all told him about the most recent alchemical discoveries and how they applied to Ed's former mission, about who'd been promoted and who'd gotten fired and such, and Havoc told him he had kept count of exactly how many girlfriends he had lost to Mustang's allure since Ed had left. Said count now stood at exactly 25. Ed feigned interest in Havoc's plight and cursed both Mustang and Havoc for creating the issue.
Breda was the one who asked the fateful question: "How's it been with you, Shorty?"
Silence. Even the air tensed for the expected string of loud, abusive ranting. Ed walked over, dramatically leaned on Breda's shoulder with unforeseen ease, and said calmly, "Just fine, my little friend. Absolutely fine." Everyone laughed except Breda. Ed continued sarcastically, "You know, the whole experience was just an everyday thing of running all over half the world, reconstructing the Gate, and getting back over here with Al. Thanks for asking."
"So Al's here, too?" asked Falman.
"Y-- Hey... Anyone seen him?" Ed asked worriedly, then ran out, disappeared for a minute, then pulled him in. Ah, so that was where the infamous red coat had gone. Al was currently using it as a blanket for some small animal. He was still just as concerned for the well-being of all creatures small and cute, and was still a bit taller than Ed, despite their difference in age. His hair was short again. The changes that puberty had wrought upon him held everyone's attention for a few moments while he came in alongside his 'big' brother.
They were mid-discussion as they walked in. "'...leave it outside' is no excuse, Al. Its prospects haven't improved just by bringing it in."
"But it's hurt, Nii-san!"
"No, it's not. See?" He pulled back the jacket to reveal a chirpy little brown bird. It promptly jumped up, chirped indignantly at the two and flew out the window. Al started to call for it, but Ed interrupted him. "Ha."
"It was dragging its wing earlier..."
"Probably some weird courtship display. Now! Al! You remember everybody, right?"
"Of course!"
"...AL!" was the unanimous cry from three separate mouths.
"Um... yes?"
"No. Way. NO way. Aw, crap." Havoc started babbling, having realized that both Elrics were now serious competition. "No. Oh frig. OHHH no."
Discussions ensued, with much catching up, a number of impressed noises from Fury and a few depressed noises from Havoc. Then, Ed and Al decided it was time to get down to business. They went to the Brigadier General and saluted, Ed less enthusiastically than Al.
Mustang asked, "What do you need?"
Ed shifted and grumbled, "We don't 'need' anything, sir. We want to rejoin the military as State Alchemists."
Mustang's eyebrows raised a little. "That should be fairly easy to arrange, shouldn't it? I mean, you both have experience with the military. Hawkeye?"
"Yes, sir. You'll be signing the paperwork, though. Along with everything else on your desk. This should be taking place now, sir." Riza's patented I-know-how-to-make-you-suffer-SO-badly tone came into play there.
Mustang groaned and slouched his way back to his desk, reading through something off the top of the foot-high pile on the corner of his desk. He scanned about three-quarters of it, wrote a little note on the bottom, signed it, and carelessly put it on the other side of his desk. Hawkeye, out of curiosity, started to read the paper. She got to the bottom and turned to glare at Havoc. Havoc winced and moved to run in case she pulled her trusty gun on him. Then, she smiled, almost evilly. She turned back to Mustang and said, "Sir?"
Mustang stopped signing and looked up. "What?"
"You just signed a request for... a certain soldier or two to wear a miniskirt as part of their uniform for a week."
Mustang's head shot up. "Well! Good on her! Very good on her! Wonderful! I knew that! Yes!"
"Sir?"
"What?"
"The soldier is a man."
A long pause, broken up by Ed trying to stifle a laugh every now and then, froze most of the room.
"Give me that," snapped Mustang. Hawkeye calmly handed him the paper, evidently biting her tongue and almost as close to laughing out loud as Ed was.
"To change the uniform... miniskirt... request filed by WHAT THE HELL! ...What is the meaning of this! Hawkeye, don't tell me YOU filed this!"
"No, sir, cross my heart, I didn't. It's the will of the soldier. Besides, you already signed it, sir. No going back now."
"Oh, frig! Anyone have liquid paper? Anyone? Please?"
"None here, sir," Ed said, revelling in the Brigadier General's extreme discomfort.
Havoc started whimpering. If he had been a dog, his tail would be firmly tucked and his ears would be flat against his head.
Ed had a feeling that Hawkeye had indeed filed the offending paper, and that that evil grin was nowhere near misdirected. Hawkeye calmly walked out, followed by Breda, Falman, Fury and Havoc, who was trying to make himself look as small as possible. The only ones left now were Mustang and the Elric brothers.
The Brigadier General looked over at the two, his glance lingering a little longer on Ed. "You've changed," he stated matter-of-factly. "The old Ed would still be screaming up Breda's nose now, and the old Al would have had every right to pick you up and carry you out of Headquarters."
Ed affected a cross expression and crossed his arms. He almost looked like a... well, a sulking teenager. "Whaddaya mean, 'old Ed,' huh? I'm still Ed... I'm still the same Ed."
Al didn't deny that he had changed a fair bit. He considered Mustang's story briefly, then realized that carting his brother around like a very violent sack of flour wasn't really an option any more.
Ed broke the short pause in the conversation. "So, I guess Al and I should let you get on with your paperwork..."
"Well, Al can go ahead. You, Fullmetal, are going to have to stay behind."
"It's okay, I can wait here," piped Al.
"I insist you go to the waiting room. It might be problematic if you stayed."
The big grey-brown eyes that had just seconds ago been bright and eager lowered to point towards a corner of the window. Al muttered a semi-audible "Yes, sir" as he walked out. He knew that if it was for Ed's ears, but not his, it had to be bad.
After the door had closed, Mustang shuffled through the papers on his desk. He scanned the titles of the various reports, complaints and requests before stopping and handing a sheet of paper to Ed. It was not a piece of paper Mustang had to sign, but a letter. "I've been trying to keep in touch with the Rockbells since the incident at the 5th Laboratory," he explained. "I've received a letter every Thursday since then so far, except last week and the week before. Have you been to Risembul since you came back?"
"No. This was the nearest place I kn..." Ed trailed off as he read the letter.
Dear Brigadier General Mustang,
This will likely be the last letter you receive from us. We apologize for the lack of communication in past weeks, but we have had trouble finding customers since Ed left. Do not worry. We have been doing fine financially, but have started to get phone calls from another mechanic telling us that he'll shut us down if any more of his customers come to us.
That said, the business has been the least of our problems. Grandma's been out of the house a lot, taking care of a neighbour who has recently become very ill. I have been worrying due to the fact that she is coming down with the same symptoms as him. She refuses to go see a doctor, and claims that she needs to look after me. I'm just worried.
Signed,
Winry Rockbell
P.S. I can't accept your apology. You should understand.
"Ah..."
"You see that, Ed? You've been gone longer than you think."
Ed's eyes drifted over the letter again. "That... doesn't seem like Pinako."
"Excuse me?"
"Pinako Rockbell. I know she's an automail mechanic and a good person, but if one of our neighbours was that sick, she'd take them to a hospital, not under her wing." He stroked an imaginary beard and raised an eyebrow as he contemplated the situation. "But, even if this letter is fake, you're still right. I should go to Risembul." Ed folded the letter, tucked it into his vest, and started for the door.
"One moment." Mustang's voice was quieter, but somehow more commanding than it had ever been. Ed froze just before opening the door. He turned and listened attentively.
"Your watch," the Brigadier General said, and held up the same silver pocket watch that had been close to Ed in the days when he and Al were still on their quest. Ed returned to the desk, and Mustang handed it to him. The Brigadier General looked like he was yearning to ask some question, but held it to himself. "Congratulations, Fullmetal. You are, once again, a dog of the military." He opened a drawer and pulled out yet another piece of paper. Ed didn't doubt that this day included the most paperwork Mustang had actually looked at since who knows when. "And as such, this is your next assignme--no, wait, sorry." He chucked the sheet at a random spot on his desk and picked up another one. "This is your next assignment."
Ed was wondering just how much more information the Brigadier General had to shove down his throat. He was reading the transcript of a radio broadcast by the present Fuhrer. It included an official declaration of war and details on which headquarters were to assemble as many State Alchemists and soldiers as they could and head to the country they were nearest to and therefore had the responsibility of fighting. Central HQ had been assigned to Drachma.
"Wha... Brigadier General, do you want to know why it took me so long to come back?"
"Don't I already? You had to go over half the world to find the information necessary to reconstruct the Gate, or so you said."
"No. If that was it, I could have been done in a year." Mustang's eyes swung instantly from the grain of the desk to Ed's face.
"There was someone... who had the title of Fuhrer handed to him. By some enormous chance." Ed's eyes lost focus as he looked to an uninteresting spot on the floor to his right.
"No, this guy got it fair and square, parliamentary elections and all."
"On the other side of the Gate, you idiot!" Ed snapped, then his edge dulled again, slowly. He started to recollect again. "He... declared war on the world... and I was nearly killed... his soldiers... nearly killed me because of my eyes..."
A long, stretched silence passed between them as Mustang tried to fill in the blanks.
"Brigadier General, I don't think this Fuhrer is in his right mind."
"Of course he is. All those countries have expressed violent intent towards Amestris at large."
Ed glanced at the page again. "I doubt Creta would. Don't they have fewer people in total than Amestris has members of the army or something?" When Mustang failed to respond, Ed continued. "And Borsof. They're supposed to be these total pacifists, right? Don't even have an army to be violent with." Receiving nothing but silence yet again, Ed got a little impatient. "Look, Mustang, I don't think either of us want to go to Drachma to fight off more pneumonia than enemies, but you can tell me something. I'm not going to rat you out to the higher-ups... if there are any."
He stopped trying to get a response and looked at the man behind the desk. As he looked, it struck Ed that the Colonel, too, had grown older, just as he had.
Ed's expression lost its earnestness. He put his watch in his pocket and headed for the door. "Al, it's okay. We're leaving," he said as a muffled gasp came through the door. He opened it to reveal Al, looking guilty. They left the Brigadier General in silence, alone with his thoughts.
-
Just another boring day, he thought. No paperwork due until tomorrow, and no subordinates to order around. I'd kill just to have Hawkeye in here.
He reached instinctively for the middle drawer on his right. If he had been most other people, the object he pulled out would have been something typical, like a bottle of booze or a journal, but what he pulled out was nothing of the sort. In fact, it was something of which he presently had two. Or, at least, most people thought the two were identical. One was what he was lifting out of the drawer and the other was very near to him at all times.
But this one... this was different to him, somehow. He hadn't studied it extensively; it just calmed him down when he held it in his hand. He rarely looked at it, but he ran his thumb over it while he lounged in front of a small pile of paperwork.
Contrary to what one would expect, he looked forward to the day when he would have to give it away.
-
A/N: I might tell you what "it" is if you haven't already figured it out... or I might not. I know, I'm evil. But if you review like a good little fanthing, I might just feel more compelled...
Semi-Historical-May-Be-Completely-Wrong-Please-Correct-Me-If-That-Is-The-Case Notes:
Point 1: In reference to Ed's bit about the Fuhrer that had his Fuhrership handed to him: Hitler did technically have his title of Chancellor (or, in German, Fuhrer) given to him. He had the most votes ever attained in the German multiparty system (37 of the votes), but turned Chancellorship down. The King-dude of Germany died a bit later and they had to have a Chancellor and Hitler had to be it. Voila.
Point 2: "Ed almost got killed! WTF!": One of the main ideas of the Nazi party, along with the destruction of Jews, was the rule of the Aryans as the supreme race. Aryans were the ones with blue eyes and blond hair. If you've seen the movie, you will recall a part where a foreman looks at his workers and says, "You are all good Aryans." Well, there were probably a few Nazis who were feeling more racist than usual, and they would have seen Ed in the street and basically gone "ZOMG! He hasn't got blue eyes! Let's hate on him!" and perhaps would have beaten him up. Yes, yes, I know it's pretty far-fetched, but dude. It's not like Ed can get much more disturbed.