Chapter Three: Gossip
And though they walked along pretending not to care
I knew behind my back they'd point and laugh and stare
Bread, Dismal Day
Winry slipped into the back door of the house, having come back from the cemetery in the most round-about way possible. There were still too many people in the front yard, celebrating her grandmother's life. She didn't want to see them, not with everything Mr. Hohenheim had told her. Even so, as she crept into the kitchen, she froze, hearing voices.
"…happened, it's the fault of alchemists. That one, the Hero of Ishbal, he started it all! Tried to overthrow Fuhrer Bradley!"
Winry recognized Mrs. Culbertson's voice. She and her husband ran the general store in town. Ducking down, she peered around the corner of the cabinet, spotting two women standing in the hallway, glasses in hand.
Miss Weyerbacher, who worked with the Culbertsons, usually handling the mail, asked, "Do you think Ed and Al had anything to do with it?"
"Those boys?" There was a pause, as Mrs. Culbertson rallied her thoughts. "I don't know. They've been gone so long. Who knows what they've seen? What changes they've gone through? They were always good boys, well, little troublemakers, but what young boys aren't at that age?" She tucked a strand of greying hair back into the bun at the back of her head. "They're still friends with Winry," she said, as if that made any bit of difference.
"But they didn't come to the funeral," Miss Weyerbacher pointed out.
"No," Mrs. Culbertson said, turning away from the kitchen and heading toward the front of the house, "and it's a sad thing. Pinako raised those boys like they were her own, after their mother passed."
Whatever Miss Weyerbacher said in reply was swallowed up in the screeching sounds of the screen door opening and slamming closed.
Winry let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. A spurt of rage shuddered through her, and she nearly followed the women outside to give them a piece of her mind. But Mr. Hohenheim's urgency, and the sense of something being wrong that had been haunting her since the day of the eclipse kept her inside. She slipped through the house, avoiding the squeaking boards, setting her foot on the riser of the staircase.
"Winry!" She whirled around, spotting Paninya. "I was starting to get worried. Where did you come fro – oof!" Paninya tried to peel Winry's hand from her mouth.
"Hush!" Winry hissed in her ear. "I…come upstairs, but be quiet!" She hurried up to her room, Paninya following behind her. At any other time, Winry might've considered how lightly her friend moved, her automail legs not pounding on the risers like Edward's would've. Ducking into her bedroom, Winry waited for Paninya to follow her inside before pushing the door to. "Be quiet," she reminded, holding up a finger, and pointing at the bed.
Paninya obediently folded herself onto the bed, lacing her fingers together and waiting expectantly.
Grabbing a small suitcase out of the closet, Winry set it on the mattress next to Paninya. She turned to her dresser, pulling out some underwear, throwing it into the case. Next went some shirts and pants, as well as a dress. "I just had word from someone that something's going on with the alchemists. They're being blamed for everything that's happened on the Promised Day. Ed and Al are alive, they're in Central City, and I've got to go to them."
"Now?" Paninya yipped, and hunched her shoulders at Winry's glare.
"Right now. I was told not to wait." She snapped the case closed, thinking. "Ed's arm was destroyed…I should take another one with me. And my toolkit."
"Winry, are you listening to yourself? Who told you all this? Why should you believe them?"
Grabbing her traveling toolkit, Winry considered Paninya's questions. "Because Mr. Hohenheim may be a lot of things, but he's not a liar. Now, are you going to help me or not?"
"Help you? I'm going with you." Paninya grinned. "Just let me get my bag, and I'll meet you downstairs."
"No, you can't." Shaking her head hard enough that her hair flew around her face, Winry didn't even want to think about that idea. "You'll have to tell Mr. Garfiel why I'm going." She didn't really care what anyone else thought about it.
"You'll never get away." Paninya patted her shoulder, more confident at planning an escape than offering comfort. "How good are you at climbing?"
"I'm not going out the window with a toolkit and a suitcase! Everyone in four counties will hear that!"
"All right, all right." Paninya held up her hands in apology.
"Besides, the arm's downstairs." Pinching her chin, Winry considered her options. "There are too many people around for me to just get out of here and not get stopped."
A huge smile brightened Paninya's face. "I can cause a distraction."
Winry cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "You were a thief. You had to be subtle before."
"Not now." Paninya patted her knee. "How far away do you think that stand of trees is, out back? I think I can hit it with my mortar. It's dry enough out there, I could start a fire, and with that storm brewing, it won't get too far."
"It's not right! What if you miscalculate? What if some of the embers get caught up in the wind and set someone else's place on fire?" Winry shook her head. "You can't do that."
"You're the one who can't tell everyone you're leaving." Paninya fixed her with a look.
"I know." She sighed, looking at the wallet, the vial and the box, all wrapped up in Mr. Hohenheim's handkerchief, then shoved them deep into the pocket of her jacket. "I guess I'll just sneak out back again. Maybe you can tell Mr. Garfiel to mail me that arm."
"Nuh, uh, I'm going with you." Stubbornly, Paninya folded her arms and tilted her chin up. "Someone's got to make sure you're safe."
"I'll be safe." But Winry couldn't be sure of it, not really. What if someone still wanted to make her a hostage to keep Edward under their thumb? "I will!" she added, when Paninya scowled at her. "It's going to be." She stopped, abruptly. She didn't know it was going to be fine, no matter what Mr. Hohenheim said. But she needed to get to Edward and Alphonse. There was no waiting for them to come home to her, not this time.
"Then I'll just come along to make sure everything is fine." Paninya grinned. "I'll figure out something. You just be ready to leave."
Winry hummed her annoyance, thinking there really wasn't any other way around it. "Don't blow up anything."
"No promises. But if I do, I won't destroy it completely." Paninya winked and ran out of the room, leaving Winry staring at the open door blankly for a few seconds.
She shook herself hard. She couldn't wait any longer. Slinging the toolkit over her shoulder, she grabbed her bag, heading downstairs quietly.
No one seemed to be in the house, from all the noise filtering in from outside. Winry sneaked through the downstairs, a ghost in her own home, wincing at every small creak and moan. She wondered if she'd ever come back here now, or if her house would wind up like some of the others in the area, abandoned to wind and weather. Trying not to think about it, Winry hesitated, spotting something she couldn't – wouldn't – leave behind.
The pictures on the wall were the history of her life, her parents', and her grandmother's. Pictures of the Elric boys as kids; a photo of Mr. Hohenheim and her grandmother, when Granny was so young. Her own mom and dad on their wedding day. Winry quickly released them from the pins holding them in place, sliding them into a small pocket inside her suitcase. The photo albums were too bulky to carry, she knew; though she mourned their loss. Maybe Mr. Garfiel would gather them up for her, and keep them safe until she could collect them again. But now, there wasn't any time to be thinking of them, nor of Den, buried in the ground behind the house, nor the chickens that needed tending.
A boom outside, like fireworks, or a bomb going off, made the windows rattle. Winry knew it had to be Paninya, and hoped her friend had made good on her word. She risked a glance out the window, seeing childhood friends and their parents, running toward something she couldn't spy in the back of the house. Winry swallowed hard, and ran to grab a final item – a new arm for Edward, shoved haphazardly into a carrying case – before she rushed out the front.
Mr. Garfiel held out his hands to her as she came down the steps. "Oh, girl, Paninya told me. Run. Run to those boys, and you take care."
"Photo albums," Winry gasped. "Chickens."
"I'll take care of everything, dear. You go." He gave her a quick hug, nearly smothering her with the scent of his perfume, before thrusting her back. "And let Paninya take one of those bags!"
Someone – Paninya - grabbed the automail case from Winry's hand. "Come on," she said, "what I did won't keep them busy long." And she took hold of Winry's wrist and began hauling her along, their feet pounding on the packed earth driveway as they ran toward the road, the train station, and Edward and Alphonse.
X X X
The sweet smell of soap tickled Alphonse's nostrils, making him smile. Or maybe that was the warm water, sluicing through his hair. He sighed, softly, contentedly, at the sensations taking place on the top of his head.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Alphonse?" Nurse Harrigan's smile warmed her voice as her fingers trailed through his hair.
"Mmm." He felt a faint twitch, down between his legs, and marveled at it. Involuntary movement meant he was healing, right? Realizing Nurse Harrigan was asking a question, he forced his attention back to her words, rather than her hands, running over his scalp.
"And you want your hair cut afterward? But it's such a lovely color." She gently massaged the soap through the strands, working it down to his scalp with the pads of her fingers.
"Too long. It's getting in my eyes." He opened them to peer at Nurse Harrigan, leaning over him, upside-down from being behind him. "You understand, right?"
She had short hair, after all; reddish-brown, with just a slight fringe of bangs, and the rest of her hair was clipped short, only about a half a finger's length all over her head, tapering to even shorter at the nape of her neck and above her cheeks. It didn't disguise how sweet her smile was. "If you want short hair, Al, I'll be happy to help you out."
"Thanks." Alphonse beamed up at her, wondering why she caught her breath. "Is something wrong?" He noticed the quick furrow of her brow and that she tried to hide it with another smile.
"No, Al, everything's fine. Now close your eyes, so I can rinse the soap out of your hair." Picking up a pitcher, Nurse Harrigan poured the warm water over his forehead and scalp, gently squeezing the liquid and soap out as she worked. After she'd rinsed the soap from his hair, she wrapped the wet strands in a towel, and squeezed it a few times, "To get most of the water out," she told him.
A little while later, Nurse Harrigan had him sitting up in a chair, rather than on the bed, with a hospital gown wrapped around his shoulders. "That's to keep the hair from getting down under your clothes," she said, picking up a comb and a pair of scissors. "You want it all gone, right?"
"Mm! A cut like yours."
"I won't be able to do that without clippers, but I'll do what I can to make it short and neat." She hesitated, giving him a wry grin. "Besides, you might not look too good with a woman's hair cut."
Alphonse grinned back. "I'd take my chances."
Nurse Harrigan laughed, beginning to comb through the end strands of his hair. "You and you brother, you both have such amazing coloring."
"Dad's the same way." Alphonse suddenly realized he hadn't seen their father since the ambulance had taken him away from Central Headquarters. Where had he gone? Was he still in Central City, or somewhere else? Would he ever see his Dad again?
"Really? I'd bet he's very handsome."
Alphonse wasn't sure about that. Dad had a long face, and it was mostly hidden by that beard and moustache. Ling kind of had an attractive face, or maybe Colonel Mustang. "I guess," he shrugged slightly.
Nurse Harrigan combed his bangs, holding them straight out away from his face, and began trimming them. "I'm sure he is. It's hard for kids to see how attractive their parents are."
"Mom was beautiful," Alphonse said.
Grinning, Nurse Harrigan combed another strand of hair out from his face and neatly scissored through it. "You and your brother are handsome young men. I'm sure your parents are very attractive."
Alphonse huffed. "I'm nothing but skin and bones! I'm not attractive."
"You will be," Nurse Harrigan assured him, but he caught a hint of that weird melancholy again. "You'll see. Girls will be flocking all around you, wanting to be your girlfriend."
Sighing, Alphonse allowed himself the quick fantasy of a girl, kissing his cheek, holding his hand between her warm fingers. "That'd be nice," he said dreamily, and fell silent as Nurse Harrigan continued to work on shortening his hair.
It was another fifteen minutes before she stepped away, ruffling his still-damp hair with her fingers. "There," she said, "that's as good as I can do with the tools I have available." Nurse Harrigan snipped the scissors together in emphasis. "But that should hold you until you can get a real barber in here." Setting the scissors down, she picked up a mirror, holding it out in front of Alphonse. "I hope it's okay."
Alphonse couldn't hold the mirror – who knew glass was so heavy? – so Nurse Harrigan helped him with it. He turned his head from side to side, admiring her handiwork. It wasn't as neatly-trimmed as he'd like, but at least he had bangs now, not stringy locks hanging everywhere. "This is great, Nurse Harrigan! Thank you so much." He beamed his delight at her.
"You're welcome, Al." She smiled back, and carefully took the gown off of his shoulders, trying to keep as much of the hair from falling onto the floor as she could. "I'll get a broom and sweep this up."
The door opened, and Edward stepped through. "Don't bother." He waved at her, giving the floor a glance. "I'll take care of it." The corner of his mouth quirked down. "I see you went through with it, Al."
"There only needs to be one long-haired Elric brother, Ed, and that's you."
Edward snorted but turned to Nurse Harrigan. "Seriously, I'll clean it up."
She looked him up and down. "With only one arm?"
His teeth showed, not nearly a grin. "Yeah, I can do it, believe me."
"He can," Alphonse said.
"You ought to be back in bed," Edward told him.
"I like sitting up." Alphonse locked his skeletal fingers around the arm rests of his chair.
Edward rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, Al."
Nurse Harrigan ruffled Alphonse's hair again, and he leaned into her caress. "You probably should get back into bed, Al."
Humming in pleasure at her touch, Alphonse was almost too relaxed to protest. "But I've been in my bed for ten days now. I want out of it for a little while, before I get bed sores." He batted his eyes at her, wondering again at the sorrow in hers.
"Well, just for a little while." Pointing at Edward, Nurse Harrigan said, "When he gets tired, you can call someone and we'll put him back to bed."
Edward waved her off, not really paying any attention to her. "Yeah, yeah," he agreed. "Tired, go to bed. Got it." He raised his eyebrows. "Are we done?"
"Ed," Alphonse grumbled as Nurse Harrigan sniffed.
"I suppose we are. I'll make sure the janitor finds you a broom and dustpan, Major Elric," she said with an awful hauteur. Gathering up the mirror and scissors, she swept out of the room, the door swinging behind her.
"You were so rude!" Alphonse scolded.
"Uh huh."
Edward followed Nurse Harrigan to the door, peering out of it.
"Ed?" When he didn't even turn around, Alphonse cleared his throat. "Brother!"
"What?" Somewhat distracted, Edward pulled his head back through the door.
"Why does Nurse Harrigan look at me like she thinks I'm going to disappear any minute now?"
Letting out a long, slow breath of air, Edward came back into the room, wrapping his hand around the bed rail. "Because they think you're terminal."
"What?" Alphonse gaped up at him. "Why?"
"I don't know. That's why they keep wanting to run more tests." Edward grumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "They seem to think you've got a cancer, or something, and that's why you're so thin." He mumbled, almost to himself, "Couldn't tell them what really happened." Abruptly, he shook himself all over, like Den when she got wet. One of his scary smiles split his face as he disappeared through the door, coming back through it a few seconds later with a wheelchair. "How do you feel about getting out of this room?"
Eyes feeling like they nearly swallowed his face from being so wide, all Alphonse could do was nod wordlessly. He let Edward help him from the chair and into the wheelchair, saying nothing as Edward draped him with a blanket that hid his body completely. Alphonse waited with bated breath as his brother peeked out into the hall again before grabbing the handles and pushing him through the door. "Where are we going?"
"To pay a visit," Edward told him mysteriously, using his belly as much as his hand to keep the wheelchair moving in a straight line. "I had to wait until they took you off that I.V. to move you around." Alphonse could hear the distaste in Edward's words.
"We're paying a visit, or someone's paying a visit to us?" Alphonse craned his neck so he could look back.
"You'll see." Edward grinned hugely, and Alphonse decided to let his brother push him wherever they were going, and find out when they got there. When Edward guided the chair into an elevator, and hit the button to take them to the fourth floor, Alphonse twisted his hands together. If they were going up in the elevator, it meant they were seeing someone in the hospital.
He wasn't all that surprised when Edward rolled him up to a door guarded by Second Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Brosch. "Back for a visit, huh, Boss?" Breda said, pushing the door open for them.
"I thought Al might want to see the bastard. I'm just providing the transportation."
The door opened to a private room, with only one bed, though there were a few chairs scattered around the room, and more flowers here than Alphonse had seen since, well, ever. Colonel Mustang sat on the bed, his back perfectly straight. "I'm surprised you can push a chair in a straight line, Fullmetal," he said in his droll voice.
"Colonel!" Alphonse beamed, delighted to see him.
"Ah, Alphonse. I'm glad your brother brought you up to talk with me." He turned a sightless gaze toward Alphonse, his face a quarter of the way past meeting his eyes.
"You insisted," Edward growled.
"That's very kind of you, sir," Alphonse said, wishing he could get up and go to the older man. "How are you feeling?"
"Aside from not being able to see anything, I am fine, and ready to leave the hospital." His bandaged hands told another story, though. "How are you doing?"
"I got my hair cut today."
Mustang's mouth curled up slightly. "That's the floral smell. I knew it couldn't be your brother."
Edward tsked. "Hey, I'm clean."
"Brother, stop," Alphonse chided him. "I got Nurse Harrigan to cut my hair. I think she did a good job. She said she really needed clippers to finish it off, though."
"I'm sure your hair is fine, Alphonse."
"Next you're gonna be talking about hair pomades and the best shampoos." Edward rolled his eyes as he dragged a chair over to the wheelchair. Turning a serious face to Alphonse, he said, "The bastard wants to talk to you about using the Philosopher's Stone."
"Oh." Alphonse dry-washed his hands absently. "I don't know, sir."
Mustang folded his arms. "I understand your reasoning behind not wanting to be healed that way, Alphonse, but I am sure you know that the current opinion on alchemists is not to our benefit."
"I've read the papers, sir." Hearing Edward grunt in annoyance, Alphonse tried to keep himself from reacting. Edward always thought he couldn't handle things. "Do you really think it's going to be that bad?"
"Edward, can you please get those blue papers from the table there?"
Edward snarled wordlessly, but got out of his chair with a great deal of noise. "What are these?" he asked, then, went completely still. Alphonse twisted in his wheelchair to try to figure out what'd silenced his brother. His face was fixed in a rictus of rage. "The hell?"
"I'm sure you can read them." Mustang hesitated, and added, "Hawkeye was forced to read them to me, though. In case you are too dumbfounded to actually look them over, they are the papers ordering me to appear in court regarding the atrocities in Ishbal, and my leading the coup on Central City H.Q." Mustang said it like it was nothing, though Alphonse noticed the faint tremor in the colonel's hands. "I have no doubt the death penalty will be given."
"But that's not fair!"
Mustang's mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly. "No, Alphonse, it isn't, but it is the way of the world."
Alphonse clenched his hands into fists. "You can't let them just kill you! You're stronger than that – there has to be a better way!"
"The people want someone to blame. Alchemists have always been scapegoats of the military, hated by those they serve with; hated by citizens for their power. I would rather take the bullet myself than allow others to be killed."
"But they've already tried and convicted Dr. Marcoh," Alphonse argued. "That ought to be enough."
"They didn't get an actual death," Mustang said. "No blood was shed, therefore, no sin was assuaged."
"It's still not right," Edward broke in.
"Right is a matter of opinion, and now, our opinions don't matter. What does matter is that you boys remain safe."
Alphonse lifted his chin to meet those sightless grey eyes. "We're not children, Colonel. This was our war, too."
Mustang barked out a sharp laugh. "Alphonse, there are things you know, and things you do not know. You two may've seen battle, but neither of you have seen a real war, and I hope you never will." His eyes narrowed and drifted to the left. "You don't know what it's like, being ordered to kill, and not being able to choose to not murder people. It destroyed Alex Louis Armstrong's career, as he could not understand why we were ordered to kill women and children, and he argued against it until he was sent back to Amestris in disgrace." His expression cleared. "It is possible the death penalty will not be handed down to him."
"You were just following orders!" Edward snapped. "Like soldiers are supposed to do – if they want to blame someone, blame your superior officers during the war!"
"Many of them are already in custody, Edward, from their attempts to turn this country into a Philosopher's Stone. They will be tried in their own way, though probably not as publicly as my trial will be." Mustang shifted his weight, making the mattress and the waterproof fabric under the sheet squeak. "I understand what they're doing. Someone needs to be the scapegoat."
"It doesn't have to be you!"
"Alphonse, it does. I may not be…agreeable to it, but I am resigned to it." Mustang ran a hand over his hair, the frustration he had to feel evident in that gesture.
"Maybe you are," Edward said, "it doesn't mean the fuck we are." He jammed his thumb into his chest, then pointed at Mustang. "Since when are you into giving up, anyway?"
"Since I was promised a deal if I agreed to be made the scapegoat. My men will go free, without any blemishes on their records."
"Sir, what makes you think they won't try to follow you, anyway?" Alphonse asked. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye was ready to let Lust kill her when she thought you were dead."
"You don't deserve her loyalty," Edward sneered.
"And have you bothered contacting your mechanic yet, Edward?" Mustang countered darkly.
"That's different!" Edward slashed his hand through the air. "She wouldn't kill herself because I died! She'd – she'd keep walking forward, like she told me to do." Agony choked his words for a few seconds, but he shook it off. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye cares about you, why, I have no idea, since you're such a bastard. But if you just roll over and let them kill you, do you think she'll try to live, or just follow you into the grave?"
Mustang's face went troubled for a few seconds, then smoothed out. "Arrangements have been made for those under my command. For everyone except for you, Edward, unless Alphonse," his face tilted toward Alphonse, "agrees to being healed by the Philosopher's Stone."
"What happens if I don't, sir?"
"I'm afraid you boys would be on your own. With both of you being alchemists, and Edward being under my command, there is a possibility those in charge would come after you."
"So, we go into hiding," Edward spat out, "for how long? When would we be able to take back our lives?"
"It is a possibility you might never regain your lives, Edward." How he said it without a hint of apology, without squirming, Alphonse couldn't imagine. How strong-willed was the colonel, anyway? "It has been a possibility since you signed up for the military. Everyone who joins the corps knows this."
"Not fucking like this – not living a lie!"
"At least you will live, Edward, and that's the important thing, isn't it? You, and your brother, back in his body. It is far more important than a name, and what may or may not happen to me."
"Damn it, it is important, you bastard!" Edward lunged out of his chair, grabbing the front of Mustang's hospital shirt and giving him a shake. "You can't just bare your throat for them, you have to fight! Or what else is living good for? You can't be so willing to give up, can you? If not for yourself, think about Hughes! He would've slugged you for this!" Letting go of Mustang, he shoved him back for good measure. Mustang rocked slightly, but remained upright, his face expressionless. "I can't believe you," Edward growled.
"Concern yourself with Alphonse and your own lives, Edward, and let me be the judge of whether I'm giving up or not." His eyebrow twitched. "Now, I am exhausted with having to listen to you. Please leave me."
"Gladly," Edward growled. He grabbed hold of Alphonse's chair, spinning it around so fast, Alphonse though his head would snap off his neck. "Let's go, Al."
"Sir," Alphonse said, grabbing for the tires, stopping the chair. He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you for everything, but I'm not sure I can accept the offer, after everything we've been through."
"As you wish, Alphonse," Mustang said tiredly.
Alphonse released the tires. Edward shoved him out of Colonel Mustang's room, grumbling all the way.
X X X