Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs solely to the genius who created it, not to me.
Author's note: This idea that occurred to me looks to be a very looooong story so hopefully I will be able to carry it off sufficiently, since I've never written such a long piece before. Please endure through it folks, and drop a review for complaints, so I can make the later chapters better for you guys. Thanks!
Book One: Burial of the Dead
Chapter one:
Brigadier General and Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang fought back a yawn as he strode briskly down the corridor of Central's military headquarters towards his office. The late afternoon sun, streaming in comfortably through the open windows, enticed him to curl up in a warm beam like a languid kitten, worn out as he was by the meeting he had just emerged from.
Normally, even after a long day, it would have been characteristic of Roy to saunter lazily down the hallway, wearing a look of utter indolence on his smirking, confident face, not allowing any trace of weakness to show, but today was different.
Running a careless hand through his soft black hair, Roy frowned, recalling the worrying issue that Generalissimo Farrell had raised during the meeting.
Another State Alchemist. Dead. No, murdered. In the same ritualistic manner as the rest.
A cold shiver rattled Roy's spine up and down. He had seen one of the bodies, and had no wish to ever encounter such a dreadful sight ever again. The poor man had been neatly and dispassionately dissected, like an anatomical diagram. Slit from throat to crotch, the organs, still attached to the body by major blood vessels and other organic pipes, had been laid around the body, extending outwards like the petals of a gruesome flower.
Worst of all, each of the four State Alchemists had his skull carefully divested of its top half, and the brains had been removed. Stolen. Autopsy revealed another grisly detail: the men had still been alive when these atrocities had been performed on them.
Blood. So much of it.
Normally a man of cool poise and unshakeable composure, an attitude that worked with his pale-featured good looks to incense women to fight amongst themselves for the honour of throwing themselves at his feet, the unflappable Flame Alchemist had almost regurgitated his lunch there and then.
Even remembering it, Roy had to glance at his reflection in one of the windows, expecting to see his own face degenerate mysteriously into a macabre skull.
Only sharp black eyes, set in a smooth, fine-featured face framed by floppy dark hair, stared back at him. He did not need to glance downwards to know that his dark blue military uniform was in perfect condition, the collar stiff and straight, the loops of the gold braid impeccable arches against his coat.
He had to thank his lucky stars that the Generalissimo had not deigned to assign him the investigation of these murders; if he had, Roy was not sure how long his stomach and his sanity could hold out for. What he had just been briefed on, however, was just as important. Roy had a long mission ahead of him.
With a fatigued sigh, Roy pushed open his office door to reveal a figure silhouetted against the sky that his office window opened to, contemplating the parade grounds below. The figure was the owner of a pair of powerful shoulders, neatly bisected by a gleaming golden braid that fell partway down the figure's back, resting on the black leather of the coat that it wore. A dark hood lay pushed back, flopping open to reveal silky red lining.
Beneath it, only partly obstructed by golden strands and the long white fur trim of the hood, was a symbol of a snake twined around a cross, tooled in glowing crimson: the distinct icon of the Elric brothers.
"Fullmetal," Roy said, closing the door behind him.
At the sound of his voice, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, turned his head so that it was in three-quarter profile to the Brigadier General, allowing the sun's rays to illuminate the planes and hollows of a face that had grown even more finely chiseled by maturity, yet still carried that determination and daring that the Fullmetal was so famous for.
The beam of light fell directly across Edward's eyes, throwing shadows on the upper halves of the tawny irises, and irradiating the other halves, leaving two gleaming crescents in the Elric's face that had taken on the quality of amber glass lit up from within.
Those eyes, so wide in earlier years, were still large, but had narrowed with all that the youth had seen and everything he had sought to forget. Even there, slouched and relaxed and at ease, Ed still carried that indelible aura of pain and loss, an aura that only those who had seen far too much could possess. Until he had met Edward, Roy had found that melancholic quality only in men who had been to war and been caught in the worst of it. And Edward radiated it so strongly.
As always, Roy kept the compassion out of his face. Not seeing the boy -no, the young man, now- for almost two years, his sudden appearance had nearly caught him off-guard. Yet…it was still easy to tread those old, worn paths of hiding from the Elric, protecting him with cold silence. The mask slid down and set his features in perfect arrangement once again.
"Sir," Edward said, turning to face his superior fully, seemingly simultaneously comfortable in a familiar setting, and terse in the presence of the bane of his life, Roy Mustang. This gave Roy the opportunity to observe the other changes that had occurred in the Fullmetal's appearance during the two years he had been away.
Other than the coat, the rest of Ed's garments had altered only slightly. The Fullmetal's taste had definitely become more refined; the silver piping on the black undercoat had narrowed to a slender ribbon, whilst the brazen metal clasp that used to grace the Fullmetal's throat had been replaced by another of a more delicate and intricate design.
Besides that, however, the black tank, black leather pants and wide belt still stood out as sharply and familiarly as before against the scarlet interior of Ed's coat. The body it concealed had changed slightly too, now leaner than before, though it was still slight, and was still fitted with an automail arm and leg, souvenirs of the sin that the boy had committed seven years before.
Pristine white gloves flashed as Edward jerked his hands in an appropriate salute, his eyes still guarded and his manner as curt as Roy remembered. Like his clothes, the Fullmetal had developed, but essentially not changed.
Roy raised an elegant eyebrow at the youth.
"What brings you to Central with such speed? Solsa is a full day's journey away," he inquired, moving to settle in his chair behind his desk.
"The train ride doesn't take as long as you think," Ed replied innocently, apparently occupied with a crack in the ceiling. Roy allowed a moment of silence between them.
"Yes," he finally said, as if he had been deep in thought, "Constancia certainly is a nice place for a short holiday."
Ed reddened visibly. "Never heard of the place, sir," he replied with a futile attempt at lofty dignity.
"Pity. I don't suppose you would have any idea about the overnight evaporation of an entire forest there?" Roy allowed a trickle of cool sarcasm to tinge his voice.
"At least it revealed the illegal slave trade routes and hideouts," Ed grumbled sullenly, flopping down onto the office sofa that sat in front of Roy's desk. Roy suppressed a grin: yes, the Fullmetal had not changed.
Edward turned to glare at Roy once again.
"What was the big idea, anyway? Dumping me in one place for two whole years to sift through alchemical garbage…how could you ever expect anyone to stay still?!" he burst out.
Oh, I never expected you to stay still. You never could.
Roy examined his fingernails with a negligent air as he spoke. "You were meant to be researching their alchemical properties, and supervise their extraction, in case you failed to realize. Well, at least you pretended to follow orders for about three months before embarking on your exploration of the rest of the North. How is Alphonse, by the way?"
The Fullmetal scowled and brushed back blond strands from his face.
"He's fine, been helping around with Aunt Pinako and Winry in the workshop. Automail production sure is faster with the help of alchemy. I was only there for a couple of weeks anyway." Ed's voice softened. "Rizenbul was always the perfect place for him."
At eighteen years of age, when most older brothers were trying to put millions of miles between themselves and their younger siblings, Edward instead spoke about his little brother with ill-concealed concern and affection, their past experiences imbuing their brotherly love with a potency that had engulfed their personal dreams and spanned two worlds.
It reminded Roy painfully of his old friend. A man who knew how to love. A man who truly treasured his family, and unlike others was never afraid to show it. A man who took the young Elric brothers under his wing and guided them with subtle gestures. A man who held friendship so dear he would have given his life for it.
Had given his life for it.
Roy's fingers twitched, as if to turn the framed photograph on his desk onto its face. Why do I see you, Maes, in this boy?
Raising his eyes from his old friend's face, Roy glanced at the Fullmetal Alchemist, whose eyes had darkened contemplatively as he fiddled with his State Alchemist watch, flicking the lid up and snapping it shut again repetitively, striking up a steady rendition of rhythmic clicks. Then, Ed shook himself out of his reverie and his eyes snapped into focus again.
"So, Brigadier General Bastard, what am I doing back here again after so long? Has your charm dwindled so much that you need mine to rub off on you so that you can start attracting the ladies again?"
"Hardly, Fullmetal. Besides, your charm only extends as far as your height, in which case you could only hope to enchant from six inches off the ground," Roy replied dryly, only the faintest hint of a smirk flirting with the corners of his mouth. Five minutes in the office after two years of abstinence, and they were already falling back into the old pattern of playing their usual game.
"I am NOT a microscopic bacteria crawling about on the damn floor!" Ed snarled, hands angrily gripping the sofa arm and back. Jibes regarding his height (or rather his lack of it) were never taken lightly, and of all who knew him well, only the Flame Alchemist dared tease him about it.
"No, I never implied that you were as insignificant as that. A bean, Fullmetal, would be more apt," Roy continued nonchalantly, shuffling through the papers that lay before him. Finally, entertainment for the evening. Judging by what was pending, he would need plenty of such distractions.
A white gloved hand landed smack in the middle of the report Roy was pretending to scan through, and he looked up indifferently into the fuming face of the Fullmetal Alchemist.
Suddenly, Roy realized that Ed had grown in height, slightly; he was now about the same height as Captain Riza Hawkeye, an estimation drawn from the angle at which he was bent over the table (said observation made possible by the number of times Riza had leaned over to shove a sheaf of reports under his nose).
"DON'T CALL ME SHORT!!!" Ed yelled, "I didn't drag my damn ass all the way to bloody Central just to be insulted by an asshole who's still chasing skirts like a hormonal adolescent!"
"If I recall correctly, Fullmetal, skirts chase me. As for hormonal adolescents, is that not the role you fill? Oh, my apologies, you evidently haven't hit your growth spurt yet," Roy continued, ignoring the fury on Ed's face, "and if you will excuse me, I have work to do."
"Work," Ed growled, "is exactly why I'm here. If you care to stop admiring your reflection in the table gloss, you might want to let me know about the 'important mission' mentioned in your wire."
In all honesty, Roy hadn't had any idea what the mission entailed when he had telegraphed Ed the previous day. Generalissimo Farrell had just requested that the Fullmetal specifically be brought along for this particular assignment. Now, however, Roy was aware of the details, and he realized Ed would be dead bored during the mission.
Oh well.
Roy cocked an eyebrow at the young man, who had visibly calmed since the conversation had turned to work.
"Forgive me Fullmetal, but I never knew you were such a workaholic. You eagerness to return was hardly expected."
Ed slumped back onto the sofa and stretched lazily, the same quick, feline gesture that Roy had been so tempted to imitate earlier. "I'm bored, General. I needed entertainment after being stuck in that dull place for so long. I have learned to value the adventure that assignments bring," he added mischievously.
Roy only shrugged indolently. "You simply have to wait till tomorrow, when the details are all hashed out and in print. Is it too much to ask of you to lay low for a day? Lower than you already are, I mean."
"General, I'm warning you. I was handling fire in the North, so if you want to spar, you might be biting off more than you can chew."
"What, such a small mouthful?"
"Winry had to fit me with larger automail parts. I'm not minuscule anymore."
"Still short. A bean is a bean, whether it is a larger bean or a smaller one."
"Be careful sir, your foundation is starting to oxidize and discolor…"
Roy snorted.
"It's all because of your foul presence, Fullmetal. Your departure would set all aright again."
"Don't tell me that the wonderful Flame Alchemist doesn't know something."
"I am well aware of the details of our assignment, Fullmetal. Patience is a virtue, if you realize. Go bunk with Gracia if you're so afraid of getting raped in the barracks."
Ed laid a hand on his automail arm.
"I'd like to see someone try."
"Well then, see how it goes tonight, and return tomorrow."
Ed sighed audibly, and rose from the sofa.
"I'm only letting you off for one night, okay? No slacking tomorrow," Ed said lightly.
"Me, slack? That's something new," Roy returned, leaning back in his chair, "Don't be late, Fullmetal. There's a meeting at nine thirty, and if you really are as eager as you appear to be, you won't want to miss it."
Edward dipped his head in a formal bow, saluted, and left, closing the door softly behind him.
The General hadn't changed one bit; everything was familiar, right down to their friendly repartee. As he headed towards the office where Havoc, Hawkeye, Fury, Breda and Farman were, Edward thought about how good it felt to be back home.
-------------------------------------------------
The twilight sky was darkening swiftly as Roy finally managed to fully rouse himself, and when he sat up, he had to pluck away the document that had somehow gotten itself stuck to his forehead. Definitely not a great day.
"Finally, General," Hawkeye muttered from beside him, where she had been standing to shake him awake. Roy yawned and reached up to scratch his head; sleep was such a luxury these days. Now that the Fullmetal was back again, he knew he would probably be getting less of it. And no surprise. That boy could never keep his butt rooted in one place for very long.
"Is Havoc still in?" Roy asked, once he had discreetly divested himself of the crusted saliva on his chin.
"He left at six. As did almost everyone else. I think the men have all gone to dinner together with the Fullmetal to catch up on two years' worth of news. I'm afraid you will actually have to get some exercise tonight, General," Hawkeye replied with a hint of amusement.
Roy groaned inwardly; he was too used to being driven around by Havoc.
Well, a bit of activity wouldn't hurt. Might actually help.
"Thank you Hawkeye. You are dismissed," Roy murmured, pulling the military coat he had earlier abandoned for comfort's sake over his white shirt, "why didn't you go with them, anyway?"
"Well, if I had, you would have been here all night, I'm sure. Besides, why would I intrude on a men's night out?" Hawkeye's voice was dry; the woman was as much a part of the guys as Edward. It was just that she was just like Hughes, one of those who was forever playing mother hen to Roy.
Roy raised his eyes to meet hers, and caught their flicker of concern, which evaporated faster than it had appeared
For a moment, Roy was tempted to reach out and tenderly tuck Riza's soft blonde fringe behind her ear. The familiar gesture that would be their undoing.
"I'll lock up, Captain. It's all right, I'll take a while to get my things in order. You may go first." Roy said, turning away and scraping together the papers that lay on his desk.
Hawkeye didn't leave immediately, but Roy resolutely refused to turn back, to talk to her some more. He wanted to tell her, I'm hurting as much as you are, I wish it had been different, but that would only open the Pandora's Box within him.
A minute of silence passed, then he heard the door close behind Riza.
After consolidating all the material he needed to examine back home, Roy lightly touched the photograph on his table as a way of saying goodnight, and lingered for a minute, enjoying the faint glow of warmth he felt, as if Hughes was actually there with him again, 'meddling' in Roy's business once more.
Wish you were here, old friend.
With that final thought floating through the air, Roy flicked off the office lights and strode out of the room.
The streets were bathed in darkness by the time he emerged from the plush white building that housed the headquarters, lit only by streetlamps and the lights that streamed out of the windows of the headquarters. It being a Friday night, Roy was certain that no taxi would be empty for him, so he took to trudging resolutely down the street, jingling his silver watch in his pocket as he walked.
For a moment he considered joining the other men for dinner and maybe some drinks. They always ate at the same place, the little corner restaurant just a few blocks down. Roy had many memories of that place, not least of all because he and Hughes used to frequent it, always settling at the wall end of the bar for their drinks whenever they wanted to catch up. It was a cozy little place, and Roy was sick of emptiness.
However, when Roy came to the turning there, he found that an invisible force seemed to be holding him back from that particular lane. He had not been there for three years, and still could not bear to. He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to hole up in his apartment and never emerge ever again. Everyone around him…they only reminded him that no one else was Hughes.
"We can make a real decent man out of that kid."
That's what Hughes had told him about Ed; Roy had agreed immediately. The Fullmetal's suffering had not made him impervious to it, like it did to so many others, but rather sharpened his sensitivity towards others'. He would champion a hero's cause, and stick steadfastly to it.
When Ed had come to them, he had already been half that sort of man. Now, he quite possibly fully was. Hughes' ambition had been fully realized. In that respect.
I didn't fulfill my end, no matter how hard he pushed to clear the way for me to.
Roy had to admit to himself that the drive to work hard at scaling the military ladder was only a constant, painful reminder of Hughes and his sacrifice. It was a worthy cause that they, as idealistic young men, had dreamed up, and Hughes had believed in it enough to endanger himself. Yet, Roy could see no point in it any longer.
Furthermore, with the Parliament now holding power over the military, achieving that goal was an impossibility, and rendered redundant anyhow. Bitterly, Roy thought about the fact that he had not gotten a promotion in three years.
Unable to stand at the entrance to that street for a moment longer, Roy turned down a different lane, cutting through a narrow alley to get to the next street.
Hughes, in all your perceptiveness, would you ever have predicted this? Edward, turning out exactly as we wished to mold him, but you dying, and me, ending up tired, bitter, and so jaded?
There was nothing left to live for after that, really. My life work was done: bringing better governance to the people of this country, taking care of the Elric brothers, and avenging you. And now, the thing with Riza…
I've lost steam, old friend. No fuel left to burn.
Roy rounded a bend, staring serenely up at the star-splattered sky. A terrible sense of emptiness engulfed him, strangely contradicting the furious boil of emotion behind his ribcage, and Roy felt the little tentacles of madness brush him, threatening to take over.
He could not let his self control slip, he reminded himself, and he forced himself to quell the rising conflict in him.
It was then that he felt a sharp prickle on the back of his neck.
Instinct.
Something was not quite right. Immediately, he became more alert, throwing off his cloak of sadness and sharpening his every sense to pinpoint any source of danger within the alley.
Damn. Too many years in the office, and I'm losing my edge. Get sharp Roy.
Without missing a beat, he continued on his way down the alley, then abruptly stopped and turned around.
Nothing.
He still could not shake the feeling of being followed. Squinting into the darkness, he swept his eyes over the shadows of the metal bins and garbage bags dispersed through out the alleyway behind him, trying to gauge if any was large enough to be human. Fruitlessly.
Still, from experience, Roy knew enough not to ignore his instincts. There was something amiss here. The image of the murdered alchemist popped into his mind's eye.
The shadows grew longer, crawling maliciously up the walls as if to mock him, and Roy began to silently berate himself.
He was too distracted, too caught up in the past to pay enough attention to the present. Three years ago, he would have been keener and sharper, would not have allowed himself to make such a mistake. Entering a dark alleyway that curved out of sight of people on the streets, without waiting to see if his gut told him anything.
Damn. Damn it all.
Roy scanned the alley one more time, then began to turn back to face forward again. Best to get out of here as soon as possible.
The only warning was a soft scuff of a foot against the ground.
Something hard and heavy struck his shoulders from behind. Roy fell to the ground, the impact jolting his hands and knees and traveling painfully up to his spine. He threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding the second downswing of the heavy weapon.
Fool! He was not behind you, he was in front!!
The heavy club slammed into the ground just next to Roy's torso, allowing Roy a second to take in his attacker's appearance. Tall, bulky, very muscular, features concealed by the hooded cloak that he wore, which was patterned with strange symbols.
Roy brought up his hand to snap, preparing to incinerate the poor bastard. The minute he felt the smooth material between his fingers, however, Roy realized that he was not wearing his ignition gloves.
A spurt of fear chilled him. He rolled quickly out of range and leapt nimbly to his feet…and nearly bumped into another figure looming behind him.
From the newcomer's demeanor, Roy knew that he was no kindly rescuer. The man swiftly reached out and tugged away Roy's silver watch, snapping the chain as easily as if it were made of string, then raised a fist to knock Roy down.
Roy dodged the blow, now feeling a thread of panic force itself into his skull. A quick glance around revealed that he was surrounded, all five of his attackers identically dressed.
Where the fuck did all of them come from?! Were they all hiding around the corner??
There was no time to reach into his pocket and pull out his ignition gloves. In the split second that he did so, three of the thugs could pulverize him. And to take all of them on in hand-to-hand combat would be suicide.
"Come quietly, blasphemer, or we shall have to take you by force," one of the men said in a deep baritone voice that was thick with a strange accent, hefting his club menacingly.
Not a chance.
Swiftly, Roy snatched up and flung one of the trash can lids at an attacker. While the man was distracted by the flimsy projectile, Roy rushed forward to kick out at his feet.
His foot connected with a solid column of flesh, and the man fell over with a heavy grunt. Before the attacker hit the concrete, Roy pushed off from the ground and drove his fist into the man's face, changing his momentum.
Quickly, Roy spun on one foot to drive his elbow into another attacker's face. However, he had no time to fend off the third attacker who was already leaping at him.
A heavy punch caught him on the side of his head, and Roy's world exploded with stars. His body followed his head in an uncontrollable whirl, and Roy stumbled back, colliding painfully with the wall.
A warm trickle of blood ran down his jaw, and he could taste its metallic juice on his tongue. Without his gloves, Roy knew he would never be able to handle all of them at once.
Bracing himself against the cold, hard bricks, Roy grimly prepared to resume his futile attempt at defending himself.
