Chapter 3 – Saying Goodbye

I feel like people must keep thinking, "Oh no, another chapter of 'Let's bawl our eyes out over Ed -- again'!" But I really didn't feel I could or should bypass the proceedings in Risembool. However, now we're not going to be so constantly bawling (I think), even though in the last two chapters we're going to find out more about Ed and, you know, those books and things. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, as much as one "enjoys" a chapter about a funeral. Heh.

xXxXxXx

Chapter 3 – Saying Goodbye

Roy put a steadying hand on Al's shoulder as two of Pinako's neighbours removed their suit jackets in the late afternoon sun, bent with their shovels, and began to toss dirt into the grave. The first shovel full landed with a moist clatter as clods of earth scattered and bounced along the top of the coffin, and immediately the men turned to the low mound behind them for another load. Al stood straight and rigid under Roy's hand, wide grey eyes fixed on the men's movements, each time following the arc of the soil as it flew into the air, his body jolting a little when it landed on the wood below.

To the left, following the gentle decline of the land, other headstones seemed to meander casually down the grassy slope toward a low grey stone wall that marked the boundary of the cemetery. Small stands of trees dotted the graveyard in several places, some sheltering benches where mourners could sit, and others leaning over older graves as though to give them shade and protect them from the weather. Roy could detect the faint, sweet smell of clover.

Al had stood in silence throughout the entire graveside ceremony, the bright red hooded coat he wore over his black suit glaring against the backdrop of everyone else's more sombre clothing. Roy, hovering at his side, had foregone the military uniform he'd worn for the State funeral, opting instead for his own simple black suit. Winry and Pinako, too, had dressed soberly, Winry in a sleeveless navy dress, and Pinako in black. But he was sure that everyone understood why Al was dressed as he was.

It surprised him, how many neighbours had shown up today; he'd expected just Al, the Rockbells, and himself to be here for this final farewell, since Ed had left this area so many years ago. But the people of Risembool and the surrounding farms hadn't forgotten the boys who had once lived and played in their midst: neither the bright, fearless Edward nor the happy, gentle Alphonse. They had always been proud of the Fullmetal Alchemist as they'd learned of his and his brother's exploits, never forgetting that the Elric boys had belonged first to them, whatever else the two had gone on to do.

And so they had gathered this afternoon at the hillside cemetery, a large crowd of them behind Alphonse and the three others who now constituted his family, to remember and honour their hometown boy who had finally returned home to stay. The tall, lean Mayor of Risembool had said a few words, peering at the gathering over his glasses, and two women and another man from the community had also spoken, recounting memories they had of Edward, Alphonse, and their mother. Pinako had briefly mentioned how much she and her granddaughter were going to miss Ed, remarked how he would have loved being the centre of attention today (a comment that elicited more than a few knowing chuckles), and had thanked everyone for coming, for Al's sake as well as Ed's.

And with that, the ceremony was over. Several sturdy men from neighbouring farms had stepped up to the sealed coffin of polished blond wood, emblazoned with the dragon symbol of a State Alchemist, and taking a firm grip on the ropes underneath it, had carefully lowered it into the grave. Now it was slowly disappearing beneath the earth of Risembool.

They were burying Edward beside Trisha his mother; in fact, the men with the shovels stood right at the edge of her grave, and the temporary mound of dark, loose dirt drifted partway across its foot. Roy gazed at the headstone marking her resting place, and despite the warmth of his suit in the bright sun, shivered at an involuntarily memory: standing in a cold rain on a high hill six years ago, looking across a low valley at the distant lights of a house. From whose windows a blazing glow suddenly spilled, and from which erupted a prolonged, unearthly scream that had made his hair stand on end, and sent him running down the hill to follow the trail of a hulking metal figure making its way to a neighbouring house, carrying a slight form, mutilated and bleeding, in its arms.

The tragedies and adventures that had stemmed from a single woman's death, and the refusal of her sons to accept it…

Now that hulking metal figure stood beside him, a fragile human boy who seemed frozen in a sort of dazed agony, as though the heart had been torn from his body but it hadn't yet collapsed. Al didn't move a muscle, but his sunken, unblinking eyes ran with rivers of slow tears as he watched the dark soil gradually obscure the dragon symbol and cover the box in which his brother was encased.

All that bright, brilliant life cut off and buried in the ground. How could they possibly go on without him? Roy pressed his free hand over his eyes, trying to stop his own tears. Surely he had wept enough, the last three weeks.

Even with the hand on Al's shoulder, Roy barely had warning before the boy pulled free and stepped to the edge of the grave, dropping to his knees. Al did nothing more than that at first, just watched silently as the dirt kept falling, hands pressed to the ground in front of his knees, fingers curling over the edge of the hole. The tears flowing and flowing, almost unnoticed, down his face.

A hollow thump, as another shovel full landed. A deep, loamy smell wafted up from the dark depths of the grave.

Roy went to one knee beside the boy, and set a hand on his back. "Alphonse?" he murmured. "How can I help?"

He sensed that Al had begun to shiver, despite how warm he must be in his suit, inside the coat. A light sweat dotted the boy's forehead as his eyes moved slowly to Roy's face, their focus so vague that Roy wondered if the kid even recognized him. "So – he – so lonely," Al faltered. "So lonely – inside all by himself – so alone."

The desolation in his voice lacerated Roy's heart. "Al. I think you've had enough. Let me take you back to the house."

"His soul – trapped in the box – what if it can't get out – sealed into the box – sealed so it can't get out – "

As Al had been sealed…

"Alphonse, please." Roy fought to keep his voice steady. Behind him he heard a murmur of pitying voices from several people close to the front of the crowd. "Ed wouldn't be upset if you had to leave before they were finished – "

"No." The word was harsh, uncompromising, and the youngster averted his face, jaw set. That damned Elric stubbornness, even at a moment like this.

Al watched another spreading arc of dirt flying through the air above the coffin. His hand darted out to catch a clump of it, and he held it out before him, moving his fingers slowly back and forth to break it up. He turned his hand over, fingers splayed, eyes following the fragments as they cascaded downward.

One of the shovelling men hesitated, but the other tossed another arc of dirt, and Al made a second grab. He gazed raptly at the cool, dark soil as his fingers worked it apart. Slowly he raised his hand and began to rub the dirt on his face, gently, almost lovingly.

"Al, don't!" Winry cried, hands over her mouth, frightened eyes pleading for Roy to do something. He heard several people gasp behind him.

He clutched the boy's wrist, pulling the hand away from the damp, muddy cheek. "Al, stop. I'm taking you back now."

"No." Again the uncompromising refusal. And again a hand darted out – the other hand this time – to grab a clump of dirt. "We share," Al whispered. "Brothers – share everything." And he held the hand above his head, and began to sprinkle the dirt on his hair.

With a groan, Roy pulled him to his feet, then swept the boy up into his arms. "I'm sorry, Alphonse. We have to go back now."

"No – please." Al protested and pushed his hands against Roy's chest. But all the strength had drained out of him, and his heavy head dropped against the man's shoulder and he wept plaintively as Roy strode through the parting crowd. Several people cast sympathetic glances at the two of them, but Roy saw others shaking their heads grimly, as though they had witnessed another death.

A few of the community women had stayed behind in Pinako's large, airy kitchen, setting out a cold luncheon for the mourners when they returned from the cemetery. One of the women came forward as Roy pushed the door open, pushing a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear and then wiping her hands on a tea towel. She murmured, "Oh, the poor boy. He'll need to get to bed right away, I think. And oh my, what happened to his face?"

"He fell," Roy lied, though he was sure she'd soon hear the real truth. "Do you think you could bring up a wet cloth so I can get him clean?"

"I'll do that," she nodded.

He carefully climbed the stairs and carried his burden into the bedroom they shared. Laying the boy on his bed, Roy began to open the red coat, preparing to pull the arms out of the sleeves, but Al clenched his fists in the fabric and pulled it tightly closed, rolling over onto his side, curling into himself. Roy decided to leave him as he was for the time being, despite the warmth in the room.

Maybe he could cool it down a little instead, he decided. He skirted the end of Al's bed, walking past a large armoire to the window in the wall on the other side of his own bed. (Ed's bed, in past times.) He pushed the window open, to keep the air flowing, but drew the curtains to keep the sunlight from heating up the bedroom even more. Then he returned to Al's side, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, gently rubbing the boy's back as he cried.

The train trip to Risembool had taken more out of Alphonse than they'd expected, even though they had set up a cot for him in a private compartment. He'd seemed glad enough to be going home, but had grown quiet and weary, more quickly each day, until he'd spent most of the third day sleeping. Roy had begun to worry, wondering why a train ride, which didn't require Al to exert himself very much, should drain his stamina so drastically. But Pinako had reminded him, as the two of them and Winry had conversed quietly in the next compartment, "Ed's coffin is in the car right behind us, and he's not likely to forget that."

Roy had recognized immediately that she was right. This was the last journey Edward and Alphonse would ever take together.

Sitting beside the boy on the bed now, he realized how many "last things" Al had had to endure in the three weeks since Ed's death and his own transformation. Never mind the adjustments he needed to make, just becoming accustomed to his body again, which would necessarily occupy most of his attention and could take all his energy on its own account. But on top of that, he'd had his brother's death thrust before him over and over, for a solid three weeks, as he'd had to anticipate and participate in two funerals, clear out Ed's things, make a long trip home, and make new living arrangements.

No wonder he was exhausted.

By the time the woman came upstairs, to set a small basin of warm water and a cloth on the nightstand beside the bed, Al was deeply asleep. So deeply, in fact, that he barely stirred as Roy gently washed the mud off his face and lifted his shoulders so he could be undressed. He held Al's sleeping form against his chest as he helped the woman pull off both the coat and the suit jacket from behind, and tugged the covers back. Then, laying the boy back down on the sheets, Roy loosened and removed his tie, while his companion took off Al's shoes.

Slipping the covers over him, Roy hesitated at the bedside, gazing down at the boy. Al's lashes fringed darkly against his pale skin, his golden brown hair tousled as he turned one cheek into the pillow. He breathed slowly and evenly, but the blotches on his cheeks, from crying, were slow to fade.

The woman touched Roy's arm. "He's not going to wake up for hours, sir, if that's what you're wondering. If you'd like to come down and have something to eat, it should be safe to leave him a while. But I'll be glad to bring something up to you instead if you're not comfortable."

Roy smiled warmly at her. "You're very kind. Thanks for your help; I'm not sure I'd have managed without it. I think I'll come down for a while, and bring some supper up for Al later." He made as though to leave but then, turning back and picking up the red coat from where it had been laid on a chair by the armoire, he spread it on top of the covers, over the boy's curled form.

His companion led the way downstairs, smiling over her shoulder at him as she returned to her tasks in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway at the base of the stairwell, and now realized just how long they'd been upstairs. The crowd at the graveside had migrated here, filling the house with people. Some sat at the kitchen table with small plates of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit, while others stood talking quietly in small groups along the windows, through which he could see more people gathered on the porch at the front of the house. Meanwhile, the sound of murmured conversation crept into the stairwell from its other exit into the living room.

Looking across the kitchen toward the windows, he spotted Winry right away – or rather, she spotted him, and began to plow a course in his direction, through the crowd. She stopped in the doorway, using both hands to push her bright, loose hair back from her own face as she examined his. "How is he?" she demanded anxiously. "Granny wouldn't let me go upstairs to see."

"He'll be fine, Winry," Roy assured her. "It's been a long three weeks of saying goodbye, but he's going to get through this. It may sound callous, but probably the best thing for Alphonse will be to have all of this over and done with, so he can start looking ahead instead of back."

"I don't know if it's callous or not," the girl nodded wearily, "but I'm starting to feel the same way. I…I almost feel like Ed's been dying over and over for a month, and it would just be kinder if it was finished. And then I feel like…like that means I want him dead, and I really don't, I…I really just want it never to have happened."

As he saw her tears welling up, Roy put a hand on her shoulder and drew her into the relative privacy of the stairwell landing. The sound of surrounding conversation was immediately muted. "I understand completely," he murmured. "It feels like a nightmare you can't wake up from."

"That's it exactly. And then…I don't want to wake up, because if I do, then he'll finally be gone. And I always thought…," Winry pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, unable to speak, her blue eyes shining with the unshed tears. She forced herself to go on, "I always thought he'd come home to me some day, you know. I loved him so much…I thought we'd be together some day…" She bowed her head, hugging her arms tightly across her chest, the tears finally overflowing.

"Winry," Roy whispered, "he would have come to you eventually, I'm sure of it. He'd been settling down, the last year, taking more responsibility, not needing to wander nearly so much. He was growing up."

'I'm going to tell you something that will make you gloat…I've been a completely self-centred, irresponsible twit…but maybe I can fix some of that now…'

Roy went on, ignoring the twist of pain in his gut, trying not to remember the uplifted chin, the half-defensive, half-defiant bravado in the bright gold eyes, glaring at him across the desk. "I know he loved you. I really believe he'd have come for you one day soon, if this…"

"…if only this hadn't happened," she finished, managing a twisted smile. "And there's that nightmare again. But I'm glad you said that anyway, General Mustang. It does feel good to hear it, even if…even if it will never happen now." Winry wiped her eyes, glancing over her shoulder into the milling crowd in the kitchen. "I suppose I should go talk to more people, especially since Al can't do it. But thanks for helping." She turned to go, but then stopped and looked back. "How are you doing?" she asked suddenly. "I know you cared about Ed too, and now you're taking care of Al…this has to be very hard for you."

It was so rare for anyone to think to ask that question that Roy's eyes stung and he had to swallow the tightness in his throat before he could answer. "Thank you for being so kind, Winry. Yes, it's pretty hard. But it helps, to have Alphonse to care for. It forces me to be strong, for his sake. I'd hate to let either of them down."

She smiled. "You're a lot like them, you know," she said, and walked away, into the crowd.

xXxXxXx

Pinako found him a little later, head bowed and hands leaning heavily on the wooden rail of the front porch where he had stumbled, half-blind with tears, after Winry's comment. He'd been distantly aware of people coming and going, and vaguely knew that he had managed to respond adequately to the condolences of some who had occasionally approached him, but for the most part, his mind had cocooned him into a separate space for a while. Hidden safely away, a dispassionate part of him reflected that he hadn't felt so battered and emptied since the massacres in Ishbal.

"It's been a tough day for everyone," Pinako commented, grabbing a chair and plopping herself into it, crossing her ankles and resting her feet on a lower rung of the rail. She surveyed the wide, grassy yard in front of the house, where a few people still stood talking. The shadows of the trees on the western edge of the yard were already beginning to lengthen eastward as suppertime approached. "How are you holding up? Winry said she thought you were in a bad way."

"I've been better," Roy agreed, not looking up. His fingers moved slightly over the smooth wood of the rail. "I'll bounce back in a while. I still need to take something up for Al to eat."

"It may be better if you just let him sleep," the woman said. "I think he needs that more than anything else."

"You're probably right. I still want to check on him, though. It really scared me, watching him pouring graveyard dirt on himself."

"I admit, that threw me, too," she nodded. "I think you need to get him away from here, Roy. Even if he wants to stay. He needs to get started on a normal life soon, or he may never manage it."

'Brothers – share everything.'

Roy shuddered. "Will he be willing to leave Ed behind, though?" he wondered. He turned around, sitting against the edge of the rail, soberly regarding the diminutive woman. "Pinako, I…"

"Got something else on your mind?" Her steady, piercing eyes seemed ready to bore straight into his skull.

"I don't know." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I remember when Maes died, how I kept thinking, at first, that I could have prevented it. Even though now I realize I was wrong, and it wasn't my fault. But this time…" He jammed his hands into his pockets and stared glumly at his shoes. "You know that Ed died in my arms, I assume?"

"Yes, I'd heard that." The woman watched him suspiciously, before suddenly exclaiming, "Roy Mustang, don't tell me you've found some way to make Ed's death all your fault!"

He cast her a sideways glance and answered defensively, "Well…not really…except…"

"Except what?"

"Except I might have been able to cauterize the wound long enough to get him to a hospital."

"But…?"

"But he grabbed my arm in a spasm of pain, and before I could pull it free to snap my fingers, Al started to change." Roy thought back with a shudder, remembering. The kid had screamed and screamed as the armour seemed to unravel, as though someone had pulled a thread and its constituent elements simply fell apart. The whirlwind of alchemy all around the three of them had been so powerful, he'd felt as though the very atoms of his own body were about to be torn apart. "It was…pretty horrifying," Roy muttered. "I haven't heard anyone scream like that since Ishbal. Al doesn't remember any of it, thank goodness."

"So you couldn't snap your fingers while the change was happening, and now you think you're the reason Ed died."

Roy sighed. "I know, Pinako…it's irrational. It all happened so quickly, I probably couldn't have managed it no matter what I did. I just keep feeling as though…"

With astonishing speed for a woman her age – and size – Pinako reached up and grabbed his necktie, yanking his head down into glaring distance. "Mustang, you are to stop that train of thought right now. I don't think I've ever met anyone so bent on blaming himself for everything bad that ever happens."

"Well…I'm right, a lot of the time, aren't I?" he defended himself. But he couldn't help answering her oh-so-accurate accusation with a wry smile. "But you're right all the time, especially now. I know I'm just feeling guilty because Al's having such a hard time. And I really wish there was something I could do to make this easier for him."

"Get him away from here," the woman repeated, releasing him so he could straighten up again. "Get Alphonse back to Central and he'll be a lot better."

"Yes, ma'am," Roy answered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

xXxXxXx

He wasn't sure what had awakened him at first. But hearing the rustling of covers on the other bed, Roy rolled over and peered across, squinting into the dark. He could just make out a dim, upright shape against the headboard, and realized that Al had finally woken up.

"Alphonse?" he ventured quietly. "Are you all right?" He felt a lift of cool air at his back, as the curtain stirred.

"I'm fine," the boy's voice returned. "I'm sorry if I woke you." He actually did sound fine, or at least a lot better than he had at the graveside. The ragged despair seemed to have dissipated, and although his words still dragged with weariness, their tone was calm.

But Roy decided to make sure. "Watch your eyes," he murmured, reaching for his glove on the nightstand. Snapping quickly, to light the candles on his nightstand and Al's, he sat up. He saw that Al had propped his pillows against the headboard behind him, so he could lean against them, cross-legged. At first he just continued staring into the distance, his face still drawn and drained, but finally his eyes moved to Roy's face. And they were alert and clear. Even his skin looked healthier, less pale. The sleep had obviously done him a lot of good.

"You slept through supper," the man said. "Would you like me to get you something?"

"Thanks, but I'm fine. I'll have a big breakfast in the morning. No matter who says I shouldn't," the boy added with a cock of an eyebrow.

Now, that little smile was encouraging, and Roy allowed himself a light chuckle. "Kid, I'll grill you the steak myself, if that's what you want."

"I was thinking ham and eggs, actually." Al sobered quickly, his eyes sliding away as he muttered, "By the way, I'm sorry about…before." He brushed light fingers across his cheek, adding, "And thanks for cleaning me up."

Roy could feel the silence of the house, a palpable thing, settled around them like a soft blanket of privacy. "Don't worry about it. You've been through a lot lately, and it's hard to handle sometimes."

"But I'm getting kind of sick of always having that excuse."

"I know. Though it does get better eventually, even if that doesn't really help right now."

"It does help. I need to keep reminding myself." Al sighed wearily and leaned further back into the pillows. He pulled up a knee and laid an arm across it. "You know what the hardest thing is, though…?"

Roy arranged himself more comfortably, sitting cross-legged as he faced the boy, pulling the blankets across his lap. "Tell me," he prompted gently.

"I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to him. One minute I was in the armour, trying to get him to hold on till help could come, and then everything blacked out, and suddenly I was in my body and Ed was already gone. He died, and it was like I…wasn't even there. And I never said goodbye."

"Dying never happens according to a script, Alphonse," Roy reminded him. "If I'd had my way, I'd have been with Maes too, and the last thing he heard would have been my voice, telling him I loved him. And I'm sure his own preference would have been dying in Gracia's arms, hearing her telling him the same thing. Instead, he was completely alone. That's how it happens sometimes, and we can't fix that."

"At least you were holding Ed. I know that was a comfort to him. And it's always going to be a comfort to me. But there's one thing that I'm going to regret, for the rest of my life."

Such sad words, Roy thought with a pang of grief, to be coming from the mouth of a teenager. "What is that?"

The boy's brows drew together. "Ed died without knowing that it finally happened – that I got my body back. It's what he lived for and worked for, all those years, and when it finally, actually happened, he was dead."

"But Al," Roy protested, leaning forward, "that's not true. I thought you knew."

Al's eyes flew to his face. "What do you mean?"

"Ed saw – he knew. We both watched it happening – he saw you change."

"Are – are you sure? D-did he really?" It sounded as though all the breath had been cut off in Al's throat.

"I swear, I'm telling you the truth. He saw it all. He was alive right till the end, he saw that you were back, and he was very happy, Alphonse."

"He saw me. He was…happy," Al repeated, as though in a daze. His head dropped back against the headboard as he buried the fingers of both hands in his tousled hair. He whispered, "So…he died happy?"

"Yes he did. He got to see the greatest wish of his life come true."

Al closed his eyes, an almost blissful smile suffusing his face. "So Ed knew…and he was happy…oh good. Oh good, Ed."

"And that's the same thing he said when he saw you, Al."

Roy had had no idea how heavily the thought had weighed on the boy's mind, that their years-long goal had finally been attained, and Ed had never even known it. But Al looked as though the unbearable weight had suddenly rolled off his shoulders, leaving him almost buoyant. Even his breathing seemed to come more easily, and from the vantage point of the neighbouring bed, Roy could almost swear there was more colour in his face.

"Thank you, Roy," Al breathed, eyes shining. "That means everything to me."

"If I'd known you didn't know that, I'd have told you weeks ago. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. At least I know now. And now…I think I can go back to Central and everything will be okay. Ed knew…" Al paused again, just to absorb the thought afresh. But after a moment, he turned back toward Roy, with a twinkle in his eyes that Roy had never seen there before – indeed, had only previously seen in the eyes of his brother. "You know what?" Al said. "I think I'm hungry after all. In fact, I'm starving. Let's sneak downstairs and raid the pantry. Pinako will kill us."

xXxXxXx

They caught the train back to Central two days later. But that morning, just before they left, Al and Roy made one final visit to Edward's grave, where the fresh mound had been smoothed over and grass had already been seeded. Al had picked some flowers from Pinako's garden, that he now laid with care against his mother's headstone while Roy stood back a respectful distance, hands in his pockets, to allow the youngster some privacy.

Then the boy turned to the new grave, with its own brand new headstone, and went to one knee at its edge, the red coat pooling on the grass beside him and the rising sun striking gold glints from his hair. He closed his solemn grey eyes, took a deep breath, and clapped his hands together.

Roy drew a sharp breath as Al dropped his hands to the ground. The unmistakable blinding glow of alchemical power burst from the grass all around the grave, and the man lurched forward in sudden irrational fear. Al couldn't be – not after the consequences last time – surely he wasn't –

But he wasn't. As the bright glow faded and Roy, shading his eyes, blinked his vision back to some kind of normalcy, he saw Al lean back on his heels and inspect his handiwork with a satisfied smile. All around the new grave, blooming in riotous golds and oranges and reds, he had created a lush border of marigolds.

The colour of Ed's hair. The colour of his eyes.

"Goodbye, big brother," Al murmured, and stood up.