- Laura -

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Diabolical Clockwork

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As it turns out, the place I've found myself in is a house. A rather large house, by the looks of things, with at least three stories and a sprawling floor plan. Aside from the four adults I've already met, Molly's husband lives there, along with a "Remus Lupin" and five teenagers. It seems like more of a hotel to me, but I'm given no time to voice my opinion. Molly comes back downstairs with a t-shirt and shorts—must be summer here...odd, it was autumn back home—and holds them out to me.

But...there is the matter of my automail. I usually don't mind too much when people know of it, but with these Englanders (or whatever they're called)...who knows what they'll say?

"Do you have pants and a long-sleeved shirt?"

Molly looks very surprised. "It's practically boiling outside! Why would you—"

"Please?" If I walk around with automail exposed in the heat, I could fry an egg on it. And as delicious as that sounds...

She gives me a strange look but retreats back upstairs. "If I may ask, Edward," Dumbledore begins slowly, "What happened before you arrived here? That is an extraordinary amount of blood..."

My stomach twists unpleasantly. I. Don't. Know. But then...oh my God."We were...in a fight." I can barely choke the words out; all I can see is Al lying, lifeless, in that back alley. So much blood—so much blood—I had no choice but to—

"We?"

"Me...and my brother..." Dammit, why did I have to be so far away now? Who knows if my transmutation worked? I meant it to be similar to a soul bound, not a true human transmutation, but I have not lost any more limbs... I can't handle this; Al is lying, maybe dead, in some alley back home... I choke back another sob as I ask, desperate for a miracle—"He didn't show up with me, did he?" It is an empty hope, I know, even before the words are fully formed. Surely, they would have mentioned him if he had.

"I'm afraid not." The twinkling in the old man's eyes has dimmed a bit. "That is his blood on your uniform? You seem unharmed..."

I nod jerkily, not trusting myself to speak, even as I make the strange realization that there had definitely been a bullet in my gut ten minutes ago. But that doesn't matter now...nothing matters...nothing except Alphonse and what I've done to him. If I hadn't been such a stupid, arrogant ass, none of this would have happened. Al and I would be home by now, arguing over who would have to cook dinner, perhaps phoning Winry and assuring her that yes, we're fine—

But we aren't fine. Nothing is fine anymore.

I can't stop thinking of home, no matter how hard I try.

"Here you are, dear," Molly calls me back from my thoughts abruptly. "They might be a bit long—Ron's taller than you. If you get too warm, I'd be happy to get you something—"

"No, this is fine," I interject, trying desperately to keep my mind occupied. "When do I have to start teaching?"

"Term starts September first," Dumbledore says. "You should probably get lesson plans started soon, though it'll be easier for you. Every year will be at the same level, so you should only have to make up one for the whole term."

Fantastic. Of course that made me feel better. Even though our deal was logical, made on good terms, and beneficial to both parties, I didn't necessarily have to like it. And how will this help Al? "How far away is that?"

His eyebrows rise ever so slightly. "In just over three weeks' time. Today is August sixth."

"Huh. Okay." Last I checked, it's already halfway through September, but in the grand scheme of things, it's a stupid thing to argue about. "So...where am I staying?" Quite honestly, I hope it's somewhere nearby; I'm totally caked in blood, constantly reminding me of what was missing. (AlphonseAlphonseAlphonse—) "Is there a shower somewhere?"

"Upstairs. Here, I'll show you..." Molly seems to consider handing over the new clothes, but there is far too much blood on me to keep them clean for long. She leads me upstairs, past a group of gaping teenagers and toward a door halfway down the hall. "Just yell if you need anything else. Dinner will be ready soon, so come down whenever you're done. You're so thin..."

I shoot her an odd look; I haven't been called scrawny in years, since before me and Al started lessons with Teacher. Maybe it's the culture in this part of the world; I'll have to look it up in the library later. I'll need a map, too. Find out how far away Amestris is so I can get back.

"Thanks," is all I say in reply. She smiles brightly, lays the clothes on the counter, and leaves me alone. I strip off the blood-soaked uniform quickly and reach out without really thinking to turn the water on. (Can't stand this much longer—Al's life is all over me—) The cold metal jolts against my skin as I turn the handle.

Wait...

Cold?

The hell? I used my right hand! I look down in disbelief at my right arm to see pale flesh attached to my shoulder. How have I not noticed that before? I move it up and down, mesmerized by the sight. My gaze slides to my left leg; that has returned, too! Did Truth return them? But why? I had gone to give more up, to revive—

No. Stop thinking about that.

I stand, mesmerized, in front of the mirror, inspecting my newly-restored arm and leg. It strikes me as odd that there are no scars where the ports were attached; surely, after all the bolting and grafting that happens during automail surgery, there would be something irregular about my shoulder and thigh. Why is Truth in such a giving mood...?

But there is no time to think on that, and it isn't as if I'm complaining. I step into the shower and scrub myself clean for probably twenty minutes, determined to get rid of every scrap of evidence of the fact that my brother had been dead in that alley. I do my best to grab everything with my right hand...this must have been what Al felt like when he was restored, only it was his whole body. The sensation is nearly overwhelming to me, and it is only in two limbs. No wonder he had been so touchy-feely... Even now, six months after the Promised Day, he still loved (loves) to hold things (especially kittens, I laugh hollowly to myself), and doesn't seem to mind whether the room is zero or a hundred degrees, as long as he can feel it.

Dammit! My thoughts always seem to wander back to Al, no matter how hard I try not to worry. Surely, something has gone right. I'm not back in the alley, minus a few body parts, which is what seems to happen in a rebound. I was in a foreign country, plus a few limbs. Maybe Truth's decided to cut us some slack and has healed Al, or at least kept him from dying long enough. The alley is not that far away from Headquarters; surely, someone else walking by will notice him. They'll bring him to a hospital, and he'll be fine, because it was only a cut, not a huge gash slicing halfway through his chest—

Fuck.

I turn off the water sharply, ignoring the unsettled feeling in my stomach. I just need to find a map and ask someone where the train station is. Surely, I can't be too far away. It will take a few days—a week, tops—to get back to Al, and once he's healed (but I'm fine...he must be, too!) we can go back to our lives in Central. Never again will I doubt Al's instincts. Despite what everyone says, I am no genius; it is Al, always Al, who is right. I wish I would have listened to someone else for once in my life; then, maybe, we wouldn't be in this mess at all.

I pull on the borrowed clothes after toweling myself dry, remembering with a bit of a grin that I'll be able to ask Molly for some summer clothes after all. It's been years since I've been able to run around in a t-shirt and shorts, not worrying about who would question the automail. Wringing out my hair into the shower one more time and tying it into a low ponytail, I consider the bloody lump of uniform laying carefully on the floor. I had tried to fold it so that the least bloody part was touching the floor, but it was difficult when the whole thing was soaked. I don't remember there being quite that much blood...my stomach turns just looking at it.

Stop it!

I decide to ask Molly later what should be done with it, and leave the bathroom, retracing my steps back downstairs to the kitchen. Everyone in the house, it seems, is seated around the large table, and they all look up when I step inside. "Oh, Ed!" Molly says immediately, hurrying over and ushering me to a nearby chair. "Help yourself to whatever you'd like, there's plenty of everything..."

I sit down gratefully between Sirius Black and a red-haired girl. "You look much better, now that you're not all bloody," Sirius says casually, reaching across me to grab a bowl of mashed potatoes. "You're sure you're not hurt? That was a hell of a lot of—"

"It wasn't mine," I say shortly, not wishing to continue the conversation as the queasiness in my stomach hits an all-time high. Sure, some of it was mine, but apparently I've been miraculously healed. No need to worry. "I'm fine."

"Whose was it?" the girl asks, her eyebrows raised. "It looked like you just got out of a bloody war!"

I feel my body stiffen. Sure, it might be a valid question, but I sure as hell don't want to answer. Luckily, Molly takes this opportunity to pile some more corn onto the girl's plate.

"Ginny, dear, you need to eat more..."

Huh. "Ginny" isn't particularly thin either. Maybe Molly's conviction that I'm skinny isn't so unique; apparently every teenager she comes across "needs to eat more." I almost laugh. Good thing she didn't see Al right after we got him back...she surely would have an aneurysm trying to get him enough food.

Anyway. This provides a suitable distraction from our conversation, and I'm immensely relieved as I piled huge amounts of steak, potatoes, and carrots on my plate...and that was just for starters. I dig in, relishing in the delicious taste of the meat, and listen more than participate in the conversations going on around me.

Al would really like this, I think glumly. He's always been more of a "people" person than me, and all of my new housemates seem very friendly. They'd get along great. And all this food... He still eats absolutely anything put in front of him, just to try the taste.

"So you're teaching alchemy at Hogwarts this year?" the girl sitting across from me—the only teenager without red hair—asks me curiously, snapping me out of my thoughts. "I didn't think it was still around...what can it do?"

"Stuff." I really don't feel like explaining it as I reach for some applesauce. The nausea in my stomach hasn't gone away, but I'm still quite hungry. "You'll learn in class, if you take it."

"I plan to," she says brightly. "Dumbledore said there are prerequisite classes, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, so the classes will be small. But apparently we'd be lost without that background..."

"Mm. Hopefully you all aren't total idiots. I'll have to kick you out if you are," I say, grinning a bit at her. Distract. Forget how much he and Al would get along, just focus on getting yourself home...

Ginny snorts fantastically from my left. "Hermione, an idiot? She's the smartest person in school! I bet she'll be just as good as you in a few months..."

It's my turn to snort. "I've been studying this since I was three. Once you have fourteen years of experience—"

I never get the chance to finish my sentence. The nausea suddenly hits a new high, and I stand up quickly, intending to bolt for the bathroom upstairs. But I don't make it that far; it comes up my throat faster than I can move. Before I can react, it is all over the the table, dinner, and Hermione. It takes me a moment to realize what is wrong: the sick doesn't look like half-digested steak and stomach bile. Instead, it is a bright, sickening red.

I can only stare for a moment; my mind refuses to process what I am seeing. I just puked blood. I just puked blood. The only person I've ever known to do that was Teacher, and she—

Oh, shit.

Maybe the Gate did take something, after all.

The kitchen is eerily silent. Hermione seems frozen in place, looking down at the blood covering her shirt in a sort of horrified shock. (It's on her face and in her hair, too, though I think it best not to mention it to her.) I collapse back into my chair; the world is spinning; nothing is making sense; my guts are gone...?

The movement seems to shock everyone else into motion; Tonks dashes to Hermione, swishing her wand and making the blood vanish. Sirius is standing over me in a second, followed quickly by Molly; they'r both shouting something that I can't understand. My vision swims dangerously, but I try to lift my hand to wave them away, to tell them I am fine. My hand doesn't seem to want to respond. The two are yelling louder, but their voices are fading away. My vision is going black, too, and only one thought crosses my mind before I pass out—

This'll make everything a hell of a lot harder.

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[Eleven hours, eighteen minutes.]

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