Sequel to Passing Stranger. Please read that first, unless you enjoy being confused. Have fun, my crazy chickies!
I pick up the pen once more slowly, and painstakingly shift it through my fingers. One, two, three, back, front, back….I stick out my tongue as my hand struggles with the unfamiliar pattern.
I am able to keep concentration on the task for about thirty seconds before my mind wanders once more, eyes drifting aimlessly around the sterile room. There are no monitors here making excessive beeping noises or whirs, for which I'm extremely grateful. Still, you would think a recovery room would be a bit more bright and cheerful, considering how most patients who are forced to stay here could use some cheering up. But no, it's only sterile and white with a boring white bed and a boring beige couch and boring blue wallpaper...you get the idea. I drop the pen once again and curse under my breath as my hand cramps, fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically as the muscles in my forearm bulged uncomfortably. The voice of my physical therapy doctor echoes in my mind with reprimand for pushing myself like this, for hours on end, but I brush it aside. After all, she isn't here at the moment, and I refuse to accept that it will take months or even years to train my left hand to be as dexterous as I need it to be.
Because I have a dream, and I can't let go of it...not yet.
Automatically, I try to bring my right hand to massage my left in an effort to relieve the pain of my aching muscles, but jerk as the nerves in my right shoulder fire off in agony.
"Urgh," I pant, entire body clenching tightly as the phantom limb contorts in my mind. Falling back onto my lessons immediately, I take a deep breath, loosening my jaw forcefully and exhaling in a sharp hiss.
Imagine a mirror, and move your left arm in place of your right….stretch it out...
I do just that for several minutes, and eventually am able to relax once again. With a deep sigh, I bend over and pick up the pen with my sore left hand, avoiding looking down to my right. Instead, I gaze out of the window, where the sun shines into my small room.
White reflects brightly, straining my eyes for a moment before they adjust. Ugh. I will never understand why the military decided that white limestone was the perfect material to use for the mass courtyards of Central Command. It reflects the sun so obnoxiously, I would think that every soldier forced to serve here would lose their sight to snow blindness. Still, it's a fantastic view for someone of my background, who would never have gotten close to this place without extreme circumstances.
And now, the one place in the city I thought I would never see has become the one place I just can't get away from.
Three weeks. Three weeks since I screwed up so royally and endangered one of the last people on this planet I would want to hurt. Three weeks since the deal with the devil to save him, and three weeks since I lost, well...I glance down to my right side and just as swiftly look away, still not able to quite look at myself.
I shake my head. Most importantly, it has been three weeks since I arrived at the military hospital for emergency surgery...and they refuse to let me leave. No matter what anyone says, I do not need to be here for observation any longer. My...shoulder is healed. I clench my teeth. I do not want to hear any more nonsense about complications or physical therapy or emotional therapy…
Of course, I know they are right. I've lost my...I mean...it's gone... I shake my head. And that right there is part of the problem. I can't even say it in my mind.
It's just...this pace makes me uncomfortable. On edge. I'm in Central Command, there are bluecoats everywhere. Why couldn't I be transferred to a regular hospital where my family can visit me every day without having to go through a damn strip search? My eyes narrow in anger at the thought of anyone touching my mum and little sister, as if they could possibly have a weapon or be anything close to dangerous. I scoff at the very idea of my sweet Annalise holding anything more dangerous than a small kitchen knife.
I grumble deep in my chest, slowly bringing my remaining hand up to my neck and answering my own question. I know exactly why they are keeping me here.
An unfamiliar ridge meets the ghosting touch of my finger, still a little paranoid about disturbing it for remembered pain. I close my pale blue eyes, blonde lashes brushing tanned cheeks as I imagine it. A deep trench in the skin around my neck, still dark red after all these weeks, though the doctors say it is completely healed. It is the site where the nefarious device of alchemy to control the will of the state alchemists was embedded, so close to my pulse point that I'm frankly amazed I survived it. There had been creeping red veins along my collarbones and lower jaw, radiating from the forms that had crystallized like a collar around my neck, but they had faded with time. Thank goodness. I'm not a vain man by any means, but the sight of them crawling along my skin had been...horrific.
Despite improvement, however, the remaining scar is still a peculiar sight that I will have to live with for the rest of my life, along with the others who had been inflicted with it. The bottom of the mark has seemed to...harden, almost appearing to be the same material that made up the collar. And that, I think, is one reason the military won't let me leave. If there is any chance that it could still somehow be active….I shudder, not wanting to think of what I could do under that malicious man's control.
But Viktor, disgraced general of Drachma, the one who devised the circle to control alchemists, is dead. My lips twist slightly. I had made sure of that. Flashes of black writhing hands and the general's terrified expression as he was consumed under the darkened sky flickers across my mindscape, and I shake my head, trying to dispel the image. I still haven't been able to talk about what happened that day to anyone, not Edward, and definitely not those damn bluecoats.
A soft knock brings me out of my musings, and my face lights up in delight at who walks through the door.
"Al!" I enthuse with a warm smile as the large child walks through the door, metal boots clanking oddly on the sterile tile. I try to stand to greet him, but in my haste, I lose my rather damaged balance and stumble slightly. I straighten with a self deprecating smile.
"Han, how many times have I told you, you shouldn't get up so quickly." Alphonse Elric's strangely childish voice echoes from the large suit of armor he seems to wear habitually. I never ask about it, but I suspect some kind of accident compels him to hide his body like that. But I've never been one to pry, so I just accept him as he is.
"How can I not be excited," I joke, running my hand through my loose blonde hair. "Your visit is the most exciting thing I have to look forward to these days."
"Your family hasn't come by," he enquires as he takes a seat on the beige couch. I ease myself back onto the windowsill with a deep sigh.
"Not since the first couple of times," I say sadly. "My ma', well, after what happened to my father...And Anna can't come without her, as she is still underaged…"
"Ah," Al says, sympathy thick in his voice. I grimace slightly, as if to say 'what can you do'. "Well, I'm sure they'll release you soon," he says optimistically. "I mean, you're completely healed now, aren't you?"
"Yup," I chirp with a cheer I don't really feel. I gesture to my unbandaged shoulder, covered only with the pinned sleeve of my white button down. "Not even the stitches are left and they say the scars from the gunshot wound should fade within a few years."
"That's great!"
We fall into an uncomfortable silence, both of us knowing full well the real reason I'm still here. I can't help but think it's a bit unfair that I'm still under suspicion, as the collar hadn't worked on me, not in the least. And you know why that is, don't you… I shudder, shaking off the haunting image of that place...
Alphonse clears his throat, breaking the tension. "Edward asked me to check up on you, since he knows how stir crazy you must feel. So I brought a game," he says brightly. He lifts a package that I had not noticed before, and my eyes light up.
"You don't know how much I need a distraction, Ally-boy. Thank you, seriously." I stand, cautiously this time, and drag a plastic chair over to the other side of the coffee table that Al placed the board game on.
"Oh, I understand completely. If you are anything like brother, you must be crawling up the walls. He would have broken out ages ago." He mutters the last part under his breath, and I chuckle.
"I think breaking out would be a little difficult for me at this point. Besides that, I'm not quite as adventurous is Eddie is. I'd probably just fall flat on my face and get hauled back." I grab at the box and begin to open it with one hand. Al helpfully places a hand on the cardboard so I can tug at the opening flap. "Thanks," I mumble, slightly embarrassed.
"No problem." He replies without a trace of pity in his voice, and I smile. That's what I like about Al. He never acts as if I am crippled, or an invalid. I speculate that it must come from being a brother to another amputee, and with as much pride as Edward has, Alphonse must have had a lot of practice being supportive without smothering him.
I pull the box open with a happy exclamation and dump out the blocks, immediately stacking them into a tower. I used to love this game as a kid. It was something I played with my sister on stormy nights, when the thunder frightened me into insomnia. She would always grumble and moan, but my little Annalise never turns down a challenge at Jenga.
"This game should help you with your dexterity."
I smile up at him playfully, before deftly stacking all of the blocks with one hand. "You are looking at the second best Jenga champion of my district. Even my left hand could beat you six ways to Sunday."
"Heh," Al snorted, cracking his fingers. "Is that so. Who's the first?" He starts slowly beginning to push a block out of the stack, and I marvel slightly at his own dexterity with those giant gloves he's wearing.
"Anna, of course. Haven't beaten her even once since she turned twelve."
We both share a chuckle before falling silent, concentrating on the game. After a couple rounds, I ask with as much casualness as I can muster, "So...how's Eddie doing?"
"Heh, I still can't believe he lets you call him that," Al says, amused. Then he becomes slightly solemn. "I'm sorry he hasn't been able to visit you this week. They still have him running experiments with the other alchemists you saved."
I grimace slightly at his wording, but know it's a waste of time to insist that I'm no hero. It just makes it worse, as Al seems determined to convince me otherwise. "Meh," I say, quickly covering up the slight hurt I feel at my friend's continued absence. "I know he's busy. It's not every day that a new dangerous form of alchemy that can potentially destroy all of Amestris comes along."
Al huffs lightly at my sarcasm, but doesn't pursue the issue. Instead, he turns to another matter that makes the half smile fall right off my face. "Have you thought about our offer?"
My hand stumbles slightly and the tower of blocks shifts precariously. I freeze, but the tower settles back into position. I let my hand fall slowly into my lap, eyes following until my loose hair half covers my face. I blow at it, annoyed that I no longer have the ability to tie it back.
"You know I can't do that, Al…"
Edward's offer. I'm no fool. I know that my actions have crippled me. I will never be a craftsman and laborer like my father, as my mother had hoped, and I will never be able to work at the newspaper like she does. And–my useless left hand clenches in my lap–I will never be the artist I thought I would become, no matter how many dexterity exercises I perform. But automail...it's so expensive. It costs more than the rent of my mother's apartment does for three years. I never even expected to make that kind of superfluous money till I was well into middle age, and that's even after careful saving over my whole life. And the initial cost doesn't even cover the cost of maintenance I would have over the years. I come from a family of the lowest class, my prospects were slim to begin with, but now…
Edward and Alphonse have offered to buy it for me; the surgery, the hardware, therapy, upkeep, all of it. But I said no.
They are already paying for my hospital bills, and I...well, I have my pride. It's silly, I know, but I have never been one to accept charity or pity from anyone, much less boys I had only just met, relatively speaking. Both of them have argued with me until their faces were blue that they owed me, that I had saved Edward's life, that they had no use for the money since they had no home to upkeep, no family to give it to. But I just can't do it.
Some part of me rebels at the idea that Edward owes me any debt at all. If I hadn't interfered, none of this would have even happened. I wouldn't have lured him away from his security, his own brother, because of my somewhat irrational distrust of the military, I wouldn't have been there to be a burden to him in the wilderness, and I wouldn't have gotten myself captured so that he was forced to sacrifice himself for me. It's my own stupid fault that I lost my arm. I deserve it.
A soft touch on my shoulder reminds me that I am not alone, and I look up with a rueful smile. "Han," Alphonse says, but I shake him off.
"It's your turn," I say with false cheer, and Al seems to deflate. He drops the subject, for which I am immensely grateful, and begins to shift a block on the now much more unstable tower.
"You know," he begins conversationally, and I tense slightly. I'm thrown, though, by what he says next. "They would probably let you go sooner if you just told them what happened."
"Oh," I huff, frown pulling at the corner of my thin lips. "I'm starting to regret that open invitation I gave you to visit any time if you are going to keep bringing up unpleasant subjects."
"Ah, sorry...I just–"
I wave him off, already taking back the statement. "No, no, I'm kidding. Of course you're welcome." I crinkle my nose slightly, thinking of the parade of officers who have been bugging me incessantly since the minute I woke up. That spectacled man was particularly insistent, though I minded him less than the others for his friendly nature. Still…
"They aren't all bad, you know," Al continues, as if I hadn't interrupted him.
"You know what they did to my family, Al," I mumble, even though I know it is a weak excuse.
"The actions of one soldier–" he began, lecture mode beginning to edge in his voice, and I smile, raising my hand in surrender. This is an argument we've had before, and one I've thoroughly lost. I am well aware that the soldier that accidently shot and killed my father does not condemn the rest of the military. What Alphonse doesn't understand is that the deep seated distrust that was bred into me since birth went way further than that. And certainly, the abuse of the military police in my area did not seem to disprove any of my feelings as false. But still, I am aware that that isn't the real reason I'm having a hard time relating what happened.
It's the nightmares. They still haunt me, no matter how many weeks have passed. And not only were the images of what happened continuing to plague me, but the complete insanity of the actual events. The transmutation scorched into the earth, witnessing someone's will stripped away from them, feeling the power as the circle was activated...not even mentioning that place that I ended up in, the deal I made or the events following. I shiver, goosebumps raising on my flesh.
It's beyond my comprehension. Growing up, I was never in contact with anything remotely as exotic as alchemy, the practice strictly regimented by the military. I have heard stories of alchemists in cities outside of Central, where their control wasn't as absolute, but this close to Central Command, there was never any chance that one such as me would have come in contact with the science, barring extreme circumstances. And so, my brain just isn't wired to comprehend it.
"Han, you're the only one who remembers what happened…"
I purse my lips. And that's the other thing that's stopping me. Edward, nor any of the alchemists that had been experimented on, could remember the short events leading up to the transmutation, nor anything after. That threw into doubt everything that I remember, as well. What if it was just a figment of my imagination? What if I was insane? The things that I think I saw...if I talk about it, will they put me in the loony bin? Declare me crazy and lock me away forever? An echoing laugh filters through my thoughts, the voice of that strange childlike thing still haunting me, and my lip loses all color as I bite it. I told them all about General Viktor, the thugs we saw, the camp and the effect on the alchemists I observed, but no matter how much they pried, I refused to relate what happened in that hellish circle.
Alphonse remains still as I waver, game long forgotten, and though I can't see his face, his countenance makes me think that maybe he knows what I can't say. Maybe he does. But I just can't take that chance.
I let out a long breath and slump into my chair. "I'm sorry, Al, but I'm tired," I whisper, and for a long moment, he remains silent. I avoid his gaze.
Eventually, though, he stands with a clank of metal and a sigh. I hear him pause at the door, but don't move.
"We are here for you, you know that, right?"
A smile tugs at my lips and I finally open my eyes, shoulders relaxing as I regard him. Affection wells up in my tired heart at his compassion, and I grin reassuringly. "I know, Al. Thanks."
"...I'll be sure to send brother, later. He'll bring those pastries you like." And with that, Alphonse exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.
For a moment, I listen to his clanking footsteps retreating down the hall before I slump down as far as the chair will allow, smile sliding off my face. Slowly, I lift my left hand and pull one more block off of the leaning tower. It wavers, but doesn't fall. I can't help but feel a strange camaraderie with the unstable stack; as if someone pulled the wrong block, I would come crashing down. Though I will never be able to bring myself to regret what happened, as least as far as helping Edward and those alchemists goes, the grief, confusion and pressure I'm under makes me feel dangerously unbalanced. I know I'll have to give in eventually if I ever want my situation to change, but there is this lingering fear that this somehow isn't over. Maybe it is just my paranoia talking, but the way some of those bluecoats look at me...as if I'm some kind of animal to be tested on, or that I'm outright dangerous...I stare out the window, feeling distinctly trapped. I can only hope that once I give in, the end result will be my freedom.
I drop my hand. In front of me, the tower wavers then collapses in a shower of blocks, unheeded. I merely pick up the pen I had been playing with before and begin my exercises once more. Soon all of this will be over, and I can go back home. Then...well, then I would just figure it out, like I always have. I close my eyes and think of my sister, my mum and my loft, places I feel most comfortable, and smile. Soon.
–_–_–_–
AN:
Ah, yes, that sets it up nicely, I think. I know, and believe me, I am the last person who expected me to write a sequel so soon, but a simple observation from a reviewer gave me an idea. And you all know how dangerous those are.
Thanks for sending me your love! I'm off to work on the next chapter of Subsoul! lalalalalalaaaaaa~