An Unnecessarily Long Author's Note: Having recently rediscovered the horrible, horrible amount of wishing I did earlier in FMA that Hughes was actually an alchemist (which somehow lead to me spoiling 25 for myself... freaking internet), and realizing that the Hughes in my other story could never do alchemy, this bit was formed. It gets happy points for not including such a disturbed Roy Mustang. It's also full of alchemy-hypothesizing and pseudo-justification of "plot holes" in the first few episodes of the series. It's more of an experimental bit of writing than anything with an actual plot, but I'm proud of how it's going, so I'm posting it up. Yay! Oh, and there are a few random references to other fics in here... just take it as a small homage, because there have been a lot of great fics through the FMA section lately and I couldn't help a small tribute.
Oh! And importantly,
there are spoilers here for episode 25 of the anime. It diverges from
the anime at that point, pretty much. At least, I'm not sure yet if the
normal things are going to keep happening in the background, because
I'm not exactly sure where this is going to end up. Bear with me
a bit. (-:
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A man stepped out from a dark corner of the alley. Envy stood staring, still in the form of Gracia Hughes. Maes' body lay on the ground not far from the phone booth, still breathing. He hadn't fired a shot. There was a second, almost inaudible clap and Envy was killed for the second time that night, impaled by an icicle and carried off by a monster that remarkably resembled a phone booth. The man adjusted his glasses and, with a surprising amount of strength, managed to hoist Hughes over his shoulder.
Hughes awoke in a small room, still in his uniform
and feeling more than a little dazed. The sun was streaming in the
window, and the sheets on the bed reflected back a glaring whiteness.
Squinting and rubbing his eyes, he vaguely wondered if he'd died, and
if this was the afterlife. As the rest of his senses caught up with his
brain though, he slowly realized that the afterlife would probably be a
tiny bit larger, cleaner, and smell less of cats. The books, he
noticed, were definitely not the type that would be accepted in most
mainstream concepts of the afterlife. They lined every bit of wall
space in the room and covered the tables. If this was the afterlife,
Isbara was certainly sulking in a corner somewhere. It took a bit of
searching to even spot the door - a small break in the shelves off to
the right side of the room. Sitting up, Hughes rubbed his eyes and
tried to get a better grip on the situation. Immediately, he realized
this was pushing the issue a bit too much. It felt like every cell in
his body was just a few millimeters out of place. He felt like if he
moved much more he'd fall apart, like someone had cut through him with
millions of microscopic knives. It was not the most pleasant feeling to
suddenly be hit with in the middle of a strange room. He closed his
eyes and carefully laid back down. As he tried his best to relax, he
searched his mind for the most recent memory.
He'd gone to see
Tim Marcoh, well aware that it was a trap. He'd expected that. He
certainly hadn't expected them to be so powerful, though. Working with
the alchemists in the war had brought him close to some unusual
abilities, but he was certain that whatever powers they had weren't
alchemical in nature. At least not directly. The ability to regenerate
oneself was definitely not within the powers of alchemy. A memory
surfaced, and he shuddered involuntarily, causing another stab of pain.
That thing that had turned itself into Maria Ross. He thought
he'd killed it, and it had gotten back up... turned itself into Gracia
and... that was it. There was a hazy feeling that he'd been knocked to
the side by something, but that was it. And Gracia had just stood
there, pointing her gun at him.
Hughes hit upon the thought with a start... Gracia.
He was shocked that she had taken so long to surface in his mind.
Usually she was the first thing there when he woke up. He shook the
thought from his mind, putting the transgression down to a side-effect
of the haze of pain. It seemed to be getting worse now that he was
fully conscious. Since he had married, this situation had always been
one of his biggest fears. He'd gone out to do his job and disappeared.
He had no idea where he was, or what had happened to him, or what could
still happen to him while he sat in bed wondering about everything. He
forced himself to sit up again, ignoring the pain. It would be best to
get out of here before anyone realized he was awake. Even if they had
rescued him, there was no guarantee they had done it for a good reason.
Most importantly, he had to get back to his family and let them know he
was alright.
Biting his tongue until it bled to keep from
shouting out against the pain he made it all most all the way to the
door before catching his toe on a pile of books and tumbling to the
ground. A small cat ran out from a corner beside the books, pawed at
the man, and ran into the next room.
-----
In the next
room over, the figure lying under his coat on the couch rolled off,
kicked aside a pile of books, and stood. A black cat stared down at him
from one of the shelves while an orange tabby sulked under the coffee
table. He had no doubt the two had been fighting again. A
sandy-coloured cat sauntered out from the bedroom, looking as concerned
as a cat could look. It ran up to the man and rubbed against his legs,
occasionally looking upwards imploringly. Stretching and rubbing the
sleep from his eyes, the man made his way into the adjacent bedroom to
check on his guest. He nearly tripped over him.
The man looked
down and with a sigh rolled Hughes over. There weas no way this man was
going to survive if he kept doing this. His mind seemed to be on some
sort of infinite loop. Wake up, discover he's not dead but possibly
still in danger, try to escape, have some mishap, and pass out again.
It certainly didn't help that his body was still recovering from quite
literally being completely disassembled and then reassembled. It wasn't
something humans were made to be able to endure, and in hindsight it
probably hadn't been the best course of action. His first reaction to a
threat was almost always with alchemy, though. It had been that way
since he first discovered that an array was unnecessary. Without the
encumbrance of chalk and the extra time it took to draw out an array,
alchemy was a far more versatile weapon than anything else you could
carry. The man glanced down at Hughes' wrists, marvelling at how the
man could survive his job relying only on a set of throwing knives.
Clearly they hadn't quite been enough, or he wouldn't have had to save
him like that. Then again, people hadn't invented weapons with the
immortal homunculus in mind.
He'd planned to catch him before
he'd even entered the building. It would have saved him so much time
covering things up... coming up with the body itself had been a major
pain, and had well-near exhausted him. Making a human body was no easy
task, especially if it had to look real inside and out. He half-wished
that Hughes didn't have such an inquisitive mind, then realized that it
was that mind that he needed. There weren't many people in Central he
could rely on to understand everything he had to teach, and there
wasn't much time for him to take it all in, either. It was all nearing
the end, things were about to hit the metaphorical fan, and he was far
too old to take care of this by himself.
Oh well, if desperate
times called for desperate measures... He lifted the man onto the bed,
shooing the sandy-coloured kitten off of the covers. He walked over to
the wall of books, and pulled out a slightly dusty volume with two D's
on the spine. It blended almost perfectly with the other books lining
the walls until it was opened. The pages were much more worn, though
they lacked the scrawled notes in the margins that nearly every other
book in the room had. Some of the books were annotated to the point
that the original text was no longer readable. He was rather proud of
that fact. It was rather obvious that the pages of this book had been
turned many times, but the words themselves had never been read. If
they had, someone would have realized that it looked more like a game
manual than a serious text. In the centre, however, the pages had been
hollowed out to make a hiding place. The idea was so cliché the man
knew that no one would think to look for what was stored there. With a
smirk, he pulled what was left of the philosopher's stone out of its
hiding place. He was tired of waiting for the man to heal, and with
luck he wouldn't need this particular philosopher's stone any longer
anyway. There would be enough for what he needed it for, at least. He
looked it over, and sat it down on the small table next to the bed.
Brushing
his hands together lightly to create a circle, he began gathering an
alchemical charge in his hands. He had learned early on that it was far
more trouble than it was worth to use power directly from any sort of
red stone. Controlling it could be very troublesome, and it was much
easier to use the stone to simply amplify the energy. Eyes half-closed
in concentration, the man reached for the stone. His hand brushed the
table, finding nothing. He broke his concentration, and looked down at
the papers and books. Nothing. He looked over at the bed, and in a
flash his back was pressed against the bookshelves. A knife seemed to
materialize from nowhere and appear at his neck.
"You have
thirty seconds to tell me who you are, and why I'm here." Hughes did
his best to look imposing while trying to keep the pain from showing on
his face. He had awakened a few seconds earlier to see the man standing
by his bed, eyes half-closed and a blue alchemical aura surrounding
him. The shock more than anything had forced him to react. It was crazy
to wake anyone who had been in the wars in Ishbal. A few years with
Elysia had begun to train the instinct out of Hughes, but out of
familiar surroundings it was easy to fall back on instincts. He'd been
awoken a few too many times to odd flashes, and not just the bombs
outside. There had been one time that Roy had almost set his bunk on
fire, though that memory was far from the front of his mind. Strange
flashes were not Hughes' friends.
The man shifted under Hughes'
weight and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he
watched the different mental processes play themselves out behind
Hughes' golden-green eyes. He was amazingly quick at getting his
bearings in an unusual place. Impressive.
"I'm very glad to see
you're awake and functioning again," he looked straight into Hughes'
eyes and let the smile show. "Since you asked nicely, I suppose I
should oblige your question. I think we've gotten off to a bit of a bad
start here." He reached up and, with the small amount of energy he'd
kept in his fingers, alchemized the knife into a spoon, snatching it
away with an almost evil smirk. "I am called the Light Alchemist.
Hohenhime of Light. Most officially though, Hohenhime Elric," he
offered his free hand to the now-stunned man, "It is a pleasure to meet
you, Mr. Hughes, and I feel that this situation could be explained much
better over a cup of tea."