Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Just playing in the sandbox.


Lessons Learned

Part I: Tending the Fire (cont'd)

The car sat outside the Central Command building in a pool of yellow light cast by a streetlamp. Maes climbed into the driver's seat and pondered, not for the first time, why Roy Mustang, a man who thrived on feeling in control of every situation, had never learned how to drive. Roy's answers to the question had always been vague: no time, no need, why bother when he had others willing to do it for him, or (Maes' personal favorite) that he simply liked to watch the world roll by, something that certainly seemed true whenever they took a trip together by train. Maes decided the truth was most likely a little of each, or maybe riding in a car was one of the few times Roy gave himself permission to relinquish control.

The click of a back door opening drew Maes out of his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Roy getting in the back seat.

The alchemist met his gaze. "Sorry." He climbed out, closed the door, and slid into the passenger seat instead. "Habit."

Maes shrugged. "I'm willing to chauffeur you around if that's what you want."

Roy smiled weakly. "Maybe some other time."

"Got a destination in mind?" Maes asked as he started the car and switched on the headlamps. The beams stabbed parallel lines through the gathering darkness.

"No."

"How about we head over to your place? You can change out of your uniform and get into something more comfortable."

"Sure."

Maes glanced at his friend, concerned by his curt replies, but Roy was looking out the side window, and Maes could see only a hint of his profile against the night. He started to ask if anything was wrong, thinking this might be a good opportunity to try to get Roy talking, but decided against it.

Coward, he admonished himself as he steered the car onto the main road through Central. How many opportunities are you going to let slip by? But it still didn't feel like the right time, and surely a car was not the right place. The miles between headquarters and Roy's apartment passed with only the whir of the engine and the hiss of tires on pavement.

The street in front of Roy's three-story apartment building was too narrow to park on, but Maes slowed the car as they drew near in case Roy wanted to be dropped off.

A group of five men stood in the shadows created by the light over the building's front entrance. One of them glanced at the car as it approached, bright eyes gleaming from an indistinct face. He raised something to his mouth—a flask or bottle, Maes thought—and turned back to his companions.

"You want me to let you out here?" Maes asked Roy, continuing to watch the men. Something about them was plucking at the sixth sense he depended on when working an investigation, suggesting they might be up to no good. "I can park around back and meet you upstairs."

"I told you you're not my chauffeur. I can walk in from the back with you."

"Good, because I don't like the look of those guys. Hopefully, they'll have moved on by the time we get back."

Roy glanced at the men. "They're probably just waiting for someone."

"Maybe." Maes accelerated past the building. "But there's something about them that doesn't feel right." He bit back a scowl. More likely, I'm projecting my own nerves onto innocent bystanders.

Roy cast a half-smile in his direction. "You're not at work, Maes. Hell, you're not even in uniform. Stop investigating my neighbors." He glanced back at the men as Maes turned right at the corner to circle around the apartment building to the parking lot in the back. His expression grew serious, and he met Maes' eyes. "Still... If you really think there's a problem, I can call the cops when we get to my place."

Maes forced a smile. "Don't worry about it. You're probably right. I need to get out of work mode and stop looking for conspiracies." He pulled into the lot and shut off the car and headlights, leaving the spillover from a lone streetlamp as the main source of illumination.

Roy led Maes toward the narrow breezeway—really little more than a glorified alley—that ran along the side of the building. Three dim lights affixed at regular intervals high on the wall lit the passage out to the main street.

"You're quiet tonight," Roy said as they entered the breezeway.

Something rustled behind them, and Maes spun around, left arm tensed, ready to flick his knife into his hand.

"And jumpy," Roy added. "Rough day?"

Maes found nothing of concern and tried to force himself to relax. "Rough week. I..." He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage. "Roy, there's something we need to talk about."

"Sure, Maes. What is it?"

He hesitated again. Maybe it would be better to wait until they were inside. He scowled. Coward!

Roy glanced at him. "Maes?"

"Sorry, I...uh..." Damn. I can't do this, he thought and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm going to ask Gracia to marry me."

"About time," Roy drawled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Maes wanted to kick himself for his cowardice, but at least he'd managed to say something of importance. "I'm not sure congratulations are in order, though. I haven't asked her yet."

"She'll say yes."

"You think so?"

Roy shot him one of his trademark smirks. "Maes, don't be an ass."

"Yeah, Maes, listen to the hero. Don't be an ass," an unfamiliar voice said as the five men Maes had seen in front of the building stepped into the passage before them, blocking their way.

Maes froze and scrutinized the men. They wore loose, nondescript clothing in muted shades of brown, gray, and tan. Three of them had dark complexions that suggested eastern origins, and two of those, including the one who had spoken, looked enough alike to be brothers. None appeared particularly steady on their feet, although the speaker and his brother had enough clarity in their eyes to mark them as the two that deserved the closest attention. One of the lighter-skinned men took a long draught from a metal flask and passed it to the man beside him. Clearly, the group had started their evening revelry early.

Roy halted beside Maes and dipped a hand into his pocket for his glove.

The speaker withdrew a gun from under his stained, baggy shirt and pointed it at the alchemist. "Nice try, Mustang, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. Let's see your hands. Both of them. Nice and slow."

Roy cast a sidelong glance at Maes and held his empty hands out in front of him at chest level, palms forward. "You know," he said to the gunman, his tone conversational and a good deal of his old cockiness evident in his expression, "assaulting a military officer carries quite a stiff penalty."

Maes relaxed minutely. Someone (albeit an intoxicated someone) was holding a gun on Roy, he wasn't wearing his transmutation glove, and yet he was maintaining control. Compared to the alchemist's reaction when Maes picked up the gun in his apartment nearly three weeks earlier, things had certainly improved. Maybe Gracia was wrong about Roy's need to talk things out. He'd certainly been acting more like his old self recently.

Maes switched from worrying about Roy to preparing for a fight. He shifted his weight slightly in case he needed to use one of his knives. Since he was out of uniform, the men might not suspect he was any sort of threat and keep all of their attention on Roy. They'd used the alchemist's name, so they clearly knew who he was, which wasn't surprising considering all of the ceremonies surrounding the return of the State Alchemists as war heroes. The men were probably members of one of the anti-war groups that had been so vocal during the campaign in the east. The military had looked into the organizations and determined that none of them posed a danger. Maes wondered what had changed.

Then again, maybe these five were just drunken rabble-rousers who'd realized Roy Mustang lived here and thought they'd try to prove their bravery to one another by confronting him. Fools.

"You're no officer, Mustang," the gunman said. "You're a murderer, a monster. And for that, the State gave you a promotion, made you a hero. The Flame Alchemist, hero of Ishbal, hero of the people." The man laughed, a harsh sound that echoed sharply in the alley. He waved the gun in what he doubtless thought was a threatening manner, but in truth served only to throw off his aim should he decide to use it. "Murderer of women and children. That's the real truth, isn't it, Mustang? The State points you at a target, and with one simple order, they pull the trigger."

Maes watched Roy out of the corner of his eye, worried about the turn the gunman's accusations had taken.

Roy's hands dropped to his sides, and he stood stiffly in place, his expression blank. The fingers on his right hand twitched.

Don't do anything stupid, Roy, Maes pleaded silently. He studied the gunman's companions, searching for any hint of concealed weapons, but quickly decided that if they had guns, they'd be brandishing them, as well. They were likely just followers, tagging along with the gunman and his brother for a bit of sport. If only they knew what a deadly game they were playing by challenging Roy.

Maes carefully gauged the distance between himself and the gunman.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Flame?" The man spat Roy's second name like a curse and waved the gun again.

Roy flinched, and his hand disappeared into his pocket.

Maes reacted instantly. He flexed his wrist, releasing his knife from the spring-sheath strapped to his forearm, caught the blade, and threw it, all in one smooth motion.

The knife buried itself high on the gunman's side as he pulled the trigger. His shot went wild, and the bullet struck the wall beside Roy, spraying slivers of stone and mortar into the passage. The gunman grasped at the knife in his side, his cry of pain drowned out by the echo of the gunshot in the alley. Face blanched, he stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping. The gun clattered away across the ground.

The gunman's brother cursed. The man holding the flask dropped it with a clash of metal on stone and stumbled back a step. The other two stood frozen, eyes wide, as if shocked by the sudden turn of events.

Maes drew his second knife from its sheath on the back of his belt and glanced at Roy.

The alchemist had pulled his glove on and stood with his thumb and finger pressed tightly together, ready to snap. His eyes held an oddly distant look, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

"Easy, Roy," Maes whispered. "It's under control." He looked at the men, knife held ready. "Back away from the gun," he ordered.

The four standing men shuffled back a step. Roy didn't move.

"No!" the wounded man gasped from the ground. "Get the gun! Stop him!"

His brother glanced at the weapon.

"Back away!" Maes snapped, adjusting his aim.

"He's a weapon of the State!" the wounded man spat, clutching his blood-soaked side. "He killed defenseless people, murdered them in their sleep! Stop him...for them!" He tried to stand, but made it only halfway before collapsing to the ground with a muffled groan.

Roy still hadn't moved. He continued to stare at—through—the men, watching something only he could see, every line of his body stretched tight.

Maes held his free hand out toward his friend but dared not touch him, fearful of how he might react. "Dammit, Mustang, relax," he hissed then glared at the men. "All of you, back off now! Back off or—"

The brother dove for the gun.

Maes snapped his knife-hand forward. "Flame, stand down!" he shouted, praying he got through to Roy before the alchemist fried all five of the men.

The knife struck the brother in the throat as his hand closed around the gun's grip. His mouth gaped silently, and he toppled to the ground to lie twitching in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

The other three men stared at Maes for an instant, then one of them turned and ran into the street. The other two followed. They pushed their way through the small crowd of onlookers the commotion had attracted and disappeared into the night.

Maes dashed forward, cursing. He snatched the gun out of the dying man's grasp and turned it on the other, but one look at his pale, pain-twisted face and the amount of blood staining his shirt assured Maes he wouldn't be causing any more trouble for a while.

The man's eyes flicked briefly toward Maes and then shifted to stare at the body lying a short distance away. He started to speak, but managed only a wet-sounding cough. He groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Try not to move," Maes said. "You—"

Footsteps pounded from the direction of the street, and Maes raised the gun, finger tight on the trigger.

"Whoa!" The young man who'd run up to him held out empty hands to show he wasn't a threat. "I just wanted to let you know the police are on their way."

Maes lowered the gun and gave a curt nod. "Thanks." He looked at the growing crowd. "I'm Major Hughes, Military Investigations. Any of you who saw what happened need to wait here and talk to the police. If you know any of the men involved, I'm going to have to ask you to stay, as well."

"Is that man...dead?" a woman asked from the crowd.

Maes glanced at the body. He hadn't intended his throw to be fatal, but in a life-threatening situation, instinct and training tended to take over. "Please, ma'am just wait out there for the police. They'll take care of everything."

Satisfied he had the situation under control, he turned to check on Roy.

The alchemist was leaning with his back against the wall. He held his gloved right hand before him, palm up, and was staring as if he'd never seen it before. He looked small and vulnerable, much younger than his actual twenty-three years. A thin trickle of blood traced a crimson line down one pale cheek, doubtless caused by a sliver of stone dislodged when the bullet hit the wall.

Maes frowned worriedly and stepped up beside him. "Roy? Are you all right?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut then lowered his hand and pushed himself away from the wall. "I'm...fine," he said, staring across the passageway, eyes unfocused. His voice was flat, toneless, unconvincing.

"Roy—" Maes started, worry clenching an icy fist around his heart.

The sound of multiple car engines roared from either end of the breezeway, and the bright beams of headlamps stabbed the length of the passage. Police officers poured from the vehicles, guns drawn.

Damn. Maes dropped the gun he held and raised his hands. It was going to be a long night.

###

Maes removed his glasses and rubbed his bleary eyes. He started to put them back on then changed his mind. After so many hours, it wasn't as if there was anything in the cramped police interrogation room he hadn't already stared at from every angle. Maybe a slightly blurred view would reveal something new.

He laid his head down on the well-worn wooden table before him and wondered how Roy was doing. He hadn't seen his friend since the police escorted the two of them to separate cars soon after arriving on the scene. Maes didn't blame the cops for separating them; he'd have done the same thing. It wasn't wise to let possible suspects have a chance to get their facts straight. Not that he thought the police believed either he or Roy were the guilty parties in what happened; they were simply following procedure. He just wished he knew what had been going through Roy's head after the police arrived. Maes had caught only a single glimpse of him as he was led away. His expression had been far too similar to the grim-faced mask he'd hidden behind after returning from Ishbal, a mask that had finally cracked the day he told Maes about his plans for the future. Maes had seen glimpses of it since then, but only briefly, and he'd hoped that after the talk they were supposed to have tonight, he'd never see it again.

Still, it might be only temporary, brought on by the gunman's fanatical accusations. Exaggerated as they obviously were, they still would have brought back enough memories of the war to upset Roy. At least with the alchemist in police custody, he wouldn't be able to act on any re-awakened ideas about suicide or taboos. Maes swore to himself that the moment they were released, he would have the promised talk with Roy and wipe all such ideas from his friend's mind.

The door opened suddenly, and Maes glanced up. Someone in a military uniform stepped into the room. Maes put his glasses back on and sat up straight in the hard metal chair. It was Kees Barnes, the slender, balding, blue-eyed colonel in charge of the Investigations night shift.

"Good evening, Colonel," Maes said, starting to stand.

"At ease, Hughes," the colonel said, waving him back into his chair. "And I'm afraid 'good morning' would be more appropriate. It's well after midnight."

Maes smiled weakly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Are you here to take a statement?" This would make it the third...no, fourth time tonight he had to tell the story of what happened in the alley.

"Actually I'm here to tell you that you're free to leave," Barnes said. "My people and the police have gone over your and Mustang's statements, as well as those of the eyewitnesses, and everything checks out. Plus the police managed to track down one of the men who fled from the scene, and he confirmed what everyone else said. You and Lieutenant Colonel Mustang were clearly the victims of an assault."

"What about the two men the police picked up at the scene? Did you find out who they were or who they worked for?"

"Easterners, as you suspected, but not Ishbalan. One of them was DOA. The other's in bad shape, but he might make it. We're doing all we can for him, if for no other reason than to find out who he is. At this point, we're guessing he came in recently from the east, unhappy with what happened out there and looking for someone to blame. We've had checkpoints up at every train station, road, and other egress point into Central, watching for malcontents like him. Apparently he managed to slip past them all. We don't believe he was working for anyone. Someone hiring people to stir up trouble would be smart enough to not send such an ill-equipped crew after someone like Mustang. Odds are they were just a group of hotheads looking for trouble who found far more than they bargained for. We'll be watching for similar incidents, but I honestly don't think we'll see any."

Maes nodded. Barnes' explanation of the incident was pretty close to what he'd figured out on his own. "Sorry to cause all the trouble and drag you and your men down here tonight."

"It wasn't your fault, Major, and it beats sitting at my desk all night doing paperwork."

The corner of Maes' mouth curled in a half-smile. "I suspect this little incident is going to produce plenty of that later."

Barnes laughed good-naturedly. "You're right about that, but at least it got me out of HQ. I'm just glad you and Mustang are all right. Good job there, by the way. Five against two, and Flame never having to use his alchemy."

"Well, sir, as you pointed out, they weren't particularly well-equipped with only the one gun between them and I suspect more than a little alcohol to bolster their courage."

"Good job, nevertheless." Barnes turned toward the door. "I'll let you get going. I'm sure you're more than ready to get out of this place. One of my men will meet you out front to drive you home."

Maes stood. "Thank you, sir. Do you happen to know where Mustang is? I thought maybe we could catch a ride together."

Barnes paused in the doorway and glanced back. "Didn't they tell you? He was released hours ago."

Maes felt his heart skip a beat. Hours ago? An image of Roy's stone-eyed expression in the breezeway slammed into his mind, followed by an almost identical image of the alchemist only days after returning from Ishbal. Again he saw the books and papers littering Roy's apartment, the wild scrawl of alchemic equations and arrays covering the floor, the buckets filled with thick, dark crimson...Roy's handgun, loaded, unholstered, lying in plain view.

"I had it in my mouth, Maes."

Maes met Barnes' gaze, his right hand balled in a tight fist. "They released him?"

"Well, he didn't actually kill anybody, did he?" Barnes said with ill-concealed sarcasm, and Maes realized that the colonel had mistaken his reaction for anger at having been kept so long after Roy was released rather than worry over what the alchemist might have done since then. "Once the police had everyone's statement, they had nothing to hold him on," Barnes continued, stepping out of the room and holding the door open for Maes to follow. "Personally, I think they would have let him go anyway. I mean, seriously, who wants to hold a war hero in custody for defending himself against an unprovoked attack?"

Maes nodded and relaxed his fist. "Do you know where he went after he was released?"

"One of my people took him home."

"Thank you, sir." Maes stepped out of the room beside him. "Sorry I snapped. It's been a really long night."

Barnes nodded and put a hand on Maes' shoulder as he started down the hallway.

"Is everything all right, Major?" Barnes asked, meeting his eyes.

"I certainly hope so, sir."


Continues in Part 1e...