Author's Note:
Apologies for the late update - been up and about traveling this weekend and only got a moment's peace right now. :P
Confession 2#: I suck at writing mystery. I honestly do - it's my worst genre. And now look what this story has come to... (I swear it's slowly becoming one of those CSI episodes, but I guess those long hours of binge watching Criminal Minds finally came in handy).
On the bright side, I had fun playing around with so many new point-of-views this chapter. This fanfic is purely experimental, so please remember to let me know what you think! As always, thank you for your lovely support as well as everyone who hit that follow/favourite button this week!
So now let's move on to what's happening with Team Mustang and the Elric brothers... Cheers and thanks for reading!
Reply to Guest: Apologies for that! Once again, this is pretty experimental so hopefully this chapter would be more interesting?
Reply to emmahoshi: Yup, exactly so. Well, Edward was dealing with his own grief back then, so the colonel was the least of his concerns... Edward does have plenty of opportunities to help him now though (lol?).
Disclaimer: I don't own...anything...here. *yawns and falls asleep*
Chapter 9 – Search
"Winry!"
The best automail mechanic in the world (or as she insisted Edward call her) – the one and only Winry Rockbell, pushed up the heavy welding mask strapped to her forehead.
"What is it?" she yelled back over her shoulder, setting down her soldering iron on the grease-covered workbench. She loved Granny Pinako, really she did, but interrupt her from her masterpiece to take the garbage out one more time…
"Phone call! It's Edward!" Granny Pinako's booming voice drifted up the stairs, and Winry winced at the superior volume despite herself.
Edward?
Winry felt a wide grin begin to stretch across her face before hastily pointing the ends of her lips back down in an annoyed scowl. "Finally! About time!"
Yanking off her welding mask and patting down her untidy strands of flaxen blonde hair, Winry leapt down the staircase two at a time only to screech to a stop on the kitchen tiles.
Granny Pinako held up the receiver to Winry, calmly puffing on her pipe. "Slow down, Winry. The little shrimp isn't going anywhere."
Winry rolled her eyes and snatched up the phone, shoving it in between her shoulder and cheek as she used her teeth to pull off her dirty work gloves.
"E–d?" she called into the receiver, intentionally stretching out the 'E' in his name to further emphasize her displeasure.
"Sheesh, Winry. Do you have to sound so annoyed whenever I call?"
Winry tried, really tried, to suppress the way her face brightened at the sound of his voice. Finally, she gave up and allowed a wide smile to completely take over her once irritated expression. However, her voice remained thoroughly aggravated – it wouldn't do for Ed to relax just because he thought Winry wasn't angry at him.
Sometimes, boys just needed to be kept on their toes.
"Why do you think I'm annoyed? It's been –" Winry paused to count the days on her fingers. "Five days since you left for Central! And four since you told me you and Al were going to Sersa. You promised to call, Ed!"
"I was busy!" protested Edward on the other end of the line.
Winry frowned suspiciously. "You forgot, didn't you?"
"I – I didn't!" stammered Ed hastily. He was still such a bad liar.
"Oh, you so did."
"I – Fine, I'm sorry, okay?" huffed Edward reluctantly. "But I'm here now, aren't I? Eh… Winry, this question may sound a little strange, but just hear me out. Did you call my hotel at around eight last night?"
Winry snorted, hoisting herself onto their dining table and crossing her legs. "Edward, I don't even know which hotel you're staying at, or I would have called a long time ago."
"Ah, crap. I should've thought of that." Edward cursed softly, but Winry could still hear his breathy words over the receiver.
"Ed, what's this about? Wait, I received a really strange call last night after dinner – I thought it was you, but the person on the other end didn't say a thing. There were some weird sounds before the line went dead. I thought it was some sort of prank call but…" Winry narrowed her eyes. "Edward, was it you?"
Guilty silence.
"Edward!"
"It – Um, Alphonse pranked call you?"
In the buzzing background, Winry distinctly heard Al's voice cry out: "Brother! You're always putting the blame on me whenever Winry's involved!"
Winry smiled to herself and shook her head in exasperation as Edward yelled an embarrassed denial back at Alphonse.
Ah, those brothers will never grow up.
"So, Ed." Winry pulled her knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it as she spoke. "How have Riza and Roy been? I hope you haven't been causing too much trouble for them."
The line went eerily still.
Winry blinked, wondering if she had accidentally disconnected the call, but no – she could still hear Edward's heavy breathing on the other end.
"Ed? You still there?"
"Mm? Oh yeah. I must have spaced out." Edward drew in a breath, and the sound of it registered in Winry's ears as a fuzzy burst of static. "Hey, since when were you on first name terms with Hawkeye and the colonel?"
Winry grinned. "I'm friends with all your friends, Edward. Besides, Riza and I get along remarkably well."
"Friends." echoed Edward, his tone contemplating. "Friends with Mustang? No, that's just weird…"
Winry laughed. "Jeez Edward. What else would you two be?"
Edward was mysteriously quiet.
"Hello? Earth to Ed?"
"Yes. What else indeed?" Edward sighed deeply. "Winry, I have to go now. I'll call you as soon as I get the chance, okay?"
"Sure, Edward." Winry frowned thoughtfully, her stomach coiling and twisting into knots. "Ed, are you okay? You sound… Did something happen?"
"Goodbye, Winry." retorted Edward quickly.
There was a click as the Elric hung up.
Winry stared at the receiver in her hand, feeling strangely uneasy.
She could've sworn that Ed had ignored her last question.
It was early, and ridiculously so.
Edward pressed a hand to his face as he leaned against the table – its rickety wooden legs creaked dangerously, protesting the additional body weight.
"Shit." he cursed underneath his breath.
But even if he hadn't been basically sworn to secrecy by Hawkeye, how could he ever announce such news to Winry? Sweet, kind Winry, who was never satisfied just sitting around looking pretty in the midst of a crisis.
Edward removed his hand from his forehead and glared murderously up at the ceiling. "Stupid, selfish bastard."
The whitewashed ceiling remained resolutely silent. Unsurprisingly, cussing to the wall was way less satisfying than cussing to the colonel's face.
Don't tell the Fuhrer.
"But why?" Edward had asked Hawkeye, eyes wide and voice walking the line between fury and barely repressed urgency. "The Fuhrer can help. Or at the very least, he can get people to help us search. And if we still can't find him, then it's still not too late to agree to their terms, right?"
Hawkeye had gazed up at him from her position on the couch. What a bizarre feeling it was, for the older Elric was usually the one looking up. "Edward…" she started slowly. "We can never agree to their terms."
Ed blinked. "But – but it's not unreasonable! I bet the colonel was already considering independency way before any of this ever happened."
"It is not the granting of independence to Ishval that is the problem. But rather the timing of it, and the method these people have utilized in seeking it." explained Hawkeye gravely. The team was silent as they listened to their stoic queen. "If Ishval and its people were set free now, years after the war and before we'd had the chance to make amends and mend relationships… What do you think is the first thing the Ishvalans would do after gathering their forces?"
Edward's face had paled. He dropped his eyes to the ground.
"Sooner or later, they would almost certainly take up arms against Amestris, in the name of their god and the mortal sins we have committed against their people." said Hawkeye, providing the morbid answer to her own question. "War would break out, and unless Ishval managed to obtain external help, Amestris would once again decimate them. Is that what we want, Edward? Another pointless war?"
"But –" Edward moved desperately to protest.
"And what if Fuhrer Grumman knew? His hands would be tied anyway. Terrorized into granting independency to Ishval just because a couple of rebels threatened the life of a colonel – what would Amestris look like to its enemies?" Hawkeye shook her head. "And yet, the paradox of it being: what would Amestris look like to its citizens if it left the Hero of Ishval to die? Cruel and heartless? And yet a necessary act. No, better that we keep this under wraps and deal with it ourselves."
Ed opened his mouth, but not even the inklings of a legitimate argument came to mind.
Ridiculous! He wanted to yell. What a ridiculous world this was.
Hadn't the colonel done enough for this nation? Didn't he deserve at least this? For Amestris to know and acknowledge all the crap he'd gone through just to make his country a better place.
But no, even at the brink of death, this had to be kept a secret.
And yet everyone else was nodding, Falman, Breda, Fuery and Havoc. Agreeing with resigned understanding that once again, they were wholly alone.
Alphonse shot his brother a helpless glance. Edward returned his gaze, feeling strangely helpless despite himself.
Ah, still the child. He should have known by now – this was how the world worked. How it continued to rotate on its axis.
Just like Truth, cold and hard.
Their room was empty now, and the phone sitting on the side table had been reconnected to call Winry. The brothers had insisted on tagging along as Breda and Havoc had conducted their investigation late into the night – examining the small waiting room where Edward was attacked but finding nothing, not even a suspicious shoe print.
They'd regrouped at roughly four in the morning, and Hawkeye had forced all of them to get some sleep, even though she herself would probably be facing an utterly restless night – Edward suspected that no one would have listened if not for the hand laid firmly on her holster.
It was probably seven now, and Ed still felt like a walking zombie.
He clutched his head as a sudden throb of pain made him wince. The after effects of the concussion he'd suffered the night before were finally catching up with him.
Al was at his shoulder, always concerned, always worried. "Brother?"
Edward waved a hand, a vague reassurance more to himself than to Alphonse, as he heard the muffled sound of a door being opened and shut from the adjacent suite.
They were alone, and they needed an actual plan of action.
Ed cast one last glance down at the phone. He hoped that Winry had bought his act.
Damn, compared to him, I'm such a shitty liar.
"Madame!"
The richly garbed proprietress of – perhaps not the most successful, but certainly the most enigmatic – bar in all of Central, strode down the mahogany steps.
"What is it, Rosetta? There's no need to shout." Madame Christmas elegantly lighted the cigarette held in between painted red lips.
The young girl was perched atop the brand new bar, surface gleaming with a layer of freshly applied furniture polish. At the sharp sound of high heels descending the staircase, Rosetta flicked her pretty brown braids out of her eyes and held out the receiver of the phone they kept underneath the bar, a mischievous smirk upon her countenance. "Guess who?"
"You're not being quaint with me, Rosetta." smoothly swiping the phone with one hand, Madame Christmas delivered a well-placed smack on Rosetta's head with her other in the same motion. Rosetta, one of Christmas's youngest 'daughters', yelped and glared.
Madame Christmas leaned against the bartop as she took a slow, leisurely draught of her cigarette. "Chris Mustang speaking."
"Madame, apologies for calling so early."
Christmas merely raised an eyebrow at the familiar female voice, as crisp and no-nonsense as ever. If there ever was a woman Christmas respected as much as her late mother, that woman would be Riza Hawkeye. "Riza, dear. What a pleasant surprise. How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you for asking." Hawkeye's voice crackled across the line.
Christmas tapped her cigarette against the shiny wooden surface of the bar. Hawkeye, or her little Roy-boy for that matter, never called unless it was concerning military business and/or the end of the world. Really, was that all mothers were for? "I'm assuming that you aren't just checking up on how an old lady is doing."
"Regrettably not, Madame." replied Hawkeye evenly.
"Hmph." Christmas grunted and shifted into a more comfortable position. But Hawkeye always did like to keep conversations brief. "What do you need?"
"Information." answered Hawkeye shortly. Christmas smiled to herself – information she could do. "Everything you can get me on a man named Leonardo Blake. B-L-A-K-E."
"I see." hummed Christmas, committing the name to memory. She didn't believe in leaving paper evidence. "Is the name all I have to go on?"
"He apparently works as a doctor in East City, though the validity of this information is unconfirmed. His heritage, however, is at least half-Ishvalan." said Hawkeye, and neither the tone of her voice nor the evenness of her words had changed since Christmas had answered the phone.
Christmas, the master actress of all master actresses, showed no outward distress at learning that an Ishvalan was involved in this mysterious little piece of business. "That's all?" she asked calmly.
"That's all." replied Hawkeye in equal calmness.
Christmas beckoned to Rosetta, silently gesturing her to go wake Ivy – the tall brunette was one of Madame Christmas's best operatives, and the girl had recently returned from a round of general reconnaissance in the east. "How urgent?" she asked, short and sweet.
Hawkeye seemed to waver, but regained her composure just as rapidly. "As soon as possible."
If that wasn't code red for VERY URGENT, Christmas didn't know what was. "I'll have your information by tonight, tomorrow morning at latest. This 'Leonardo Blake' will be an open book by the time I'm through with him."
"Very much appreciated." said Hawkeye rigidly.
Ah Riza, always so formal.
"I know you're busy, Riza dear, but humour me for a moment. How's my Roy-boy been?"
Hawkeye was silent for a full second. "He's…just fine."
Christmas's eyebrow was cocked in a perfect arch with all the dramatic poise of a professional stage performer. "I hope he hasn't been causing you too much trouble."
"No more than usual." answered Hawkeye with full severity. Chris Mustang chuckled appreciatively.
"Ah, Riza. What would he do without you?"
"I'm flattered, Madame, but I'm sure he'll do just fine. Apologies for cutting our conversation short, but –"
"Yes, yes, I know you have work to do. Get Roy-boy to call his poor, lonely mother more often, will you?"
"I'll be sure to let him know. Goodbye, Madame." The line clicked once, and the monotonous toot…toot…toot… of the dialling tone resumed.
Christmas put down the phone and took another draught of her cigarette in contemplation.
Riza was lying.
But why – now that was the big question, wasn't it?
Madame Christmas studied the thick wooden crossbeams traversing the length of the ceiling and came to the conclusion that even if Roy had a tendency to be secretive about most things, she would still have heard something if he was in really deep shit.
Adoptive or not, she was still his mother for crying out loud.
Well, finding out what kind of shit he had gotten himself into this time would just have to wait untill he returned to Central.
Feeling slightly more reassured, Christmas turned her head at the sound of Rosetta's voice calling down the stairs. "Ivy says she'll be down in a minute!"
"Ask her to hurry up." said Christmas. After all, it never hurt to be quick about things. "And pour me a drink while you're at it. That new bottle of bourbon Grumman dropped off last week would be excellent."
Rosetta tossed a yell behind her shoulder, which was responded in turn by an irritated female holler. That done, she skipped down the stairs to comply with Madame's command.
Sliding a whiskey glass across the bar to Christmas, Rosetta leaned over the bartop, emerald eyes wide and earnest as Madame took a leisurely sip of the strong alcohol. "That was Lieutenant Hawkeye, wasn't it? Did you speak to Roy?"
Christmas met those pretty green eyes with a deadened stare. "I didn't talk to him. And before you ask, he's still unavailable."
Rosetta pouted, blushing furiously. "Madame!"
Rosetta, having only being brought in by Christmas roughly five years ago, had been smitten by Roy's easy charm since day one. Christmas sometimes wondered if she'd taught her Roy-boy a little too well.
"Sorry, dear." Christmas laughed softly and patted Rosetta's head with motherly affection. "Better luck next time."
Pushing herself off the bartop and with bourbon in hand, Madame Christmas strolled through the spacious interior of her new bar – a gift from her only son (after he'd sent her last one up in both metaphorical and physical flames), weaving through the round tables neatly swathed in red velvet. Madame was a stickler for details, and it was almost impossible to tell the difference between her old bar and this newly acquired one.
Damn it.
Madame Christmas tipped her glass back, the soothing sensation of high-quality bourbon pouring down her throat sending an immediate burst of warmth through her strangely uneasy mind.
She thought she'd already let go all those years ago, when he'd signed up for the academy and obtained his State Alchemist certification. The baby raven now all grown up, wings fully spread to catch that first gust of wind.
But a mother never truly forgets.
Hawkeye neatly replaced the receiver and sighed soundlessly to herself.
Madame hadn't bought it. At least, not completely.
Despite the circumstances, she allowed herself a small smile. Roy had often remarked that she was too blunt and straightforward for her own good.
He would be proud though. She thought she'd delivered the lie with amazing professionalism.
Even though it is kind of crap, compared to how smoothly he does it.
A soft creak announced the arrival of a (or in this case, two) visitors. Hawkeye didn't have to turn around to know that the Elric brothers were already wide awake and taunt with edgy anticipation.
"Who was that?" asked Edward, pawing at the bandage around his forehead with an irritated scowl on his face. Hawkeye knew from experience that his healing wound was probably itching by today – she would've ordered him to get his bandages changed at the small local hospital, but Ed seemed to be permanently stuck in his default setting of 'seriously annoyed teenager' and she really didn't have the extra energy to threaten him into anything.
"Madame Christmas." answered Hawkeye neutrally.
"Who –" Edward frowned. "Wait…Isn't that –"
"The colonel's mom?" finished Alphonse, his eyes a pair of round golden orbs widened to the size of plates.
"Foster mother." corrected Hawkeye. "She's good with information. And no –" she shot a quick glance at Edward, who had his mouth half-open in preparation to voice a question. "I didn't tell her."
Ed snapped his mouth shut. "Oh. Okay."
Before the weird atmosphere could deteriorate even further, there was another creaking of moving hinges – this one emanating from the main door.
Breda's head appeared next to the doorframe. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Where's Havoc?" asked Hawkeye, getting right down to business even as Breda slipped into the living room, already dressed in full military uniform.
"He left with Falman and Fuery half an hour ago. Apparently Falman's lead about the missing waiter panned out."
Hawkeye raised an unamused eyebrow. "And letting the three of them go off alone together is a good idea, why?"
Breda blinked once. "Ah. I didn't think of that."
Hawkeye shook her head in resigned exasperation. "Never mind. Let's go, the shops should be open by now."
Edward seemed to perform a mental leap to his feet. "Finally, we're doing something! So I've given this some thought, and I was thinking that maybe it'll be faster if we dive right into talking to some automobile repair workshops. Maybe –"
"Edward." Hawkeye moved towards the door, checking the safety on her gun as was her habit every morning while she did so. "You're staying here."
Ed stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"
"We need someone to watch the phone in case the abductors establish contact again." answered Hawkeye, tone short and clipped, leaving no room for any illusions as to the nature of her statement.
This was not a request, but rather – an order.
Edward's face was turning an alarming shade of red. "But –" he started, fighting to keep his voice from rising even as he was failing spectacularly at it.
"I don't want to argue with you, Edward." Hawkeye shifted her head slightly, fixing Ed with a steely amber gaze. Even the Fullmetal Alchemist's infamous temper was almost instantaneously quelled. "It's just for a few hours. We'll be back shortly. Alphonse, stay with him."
Al blinked and raised a finger as if to say: What? Me?
Edward's already scowling face deepened further as he strode up to Hawkeye, still determined to fight for his clearly lost cause. "Hawkeye, you can't just –"
The words withered and disintegrated to dust in his throat when Hawkeye pulled open the door and almost rammed into the tall silhouette standing directly beyond their doorway.
Hawkeye froze in midstride, sherry eyes turning a full shade icier as she regarded their unexpected guest.
He smiled, and Edward stiffened. "A very good morning to you too, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Hawkeye straightened and saluted impassively. "Nowhere in particular, General Rourke."
Well, well – this trip just got a whole lot more interesting.
Brigadier General Matthew Rourke coolly surveyed the scene before him with an easy smirk upon his countenance, pushing his glasses a little further up his nose. Mustang's personal little chaperone, Riza Hawkeye, simply gazed evenly at him, but Rourke didn't miss the hint of uncertainty in her eyes; another one of his loyal dogs – the redhead lieutenant – went absolutely still, staring at Rourke in astonishment.
And of course, how could he forget the infamous Edward Elric, looking none too pleased and not even making an attempt at hiding the sheer hostility painted all over his face.
"A very good morning to you too, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Hawkeye saluted politely, but the tension in the air was all too palpable. The red-haired lieutenant – Second Lieutenant Breda – followed suit. "Nowhere in particular, General Rourke."
Rourke smiled, white teeth flashing like fangs. "Ah, I heard you cancelled our meeting with the Grand Cleric today. For the next several days, in fact. Has Colonel Mustang taken ill?"
Hawkeye's gaze shifted ever so slightly. "It's nothing too serious. We thank you for your concern, general."
Rourke raised one eyebrow. Hawkeye remained firm and unmoving.
He then threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed eerily down the deserted hallways.
"Really now, Lieutenant Hawkeye? Are you really going to waste precious time trying to lie to me?"
Edward Elric narrowed his eyes. Rourke would have been worried about the murderous glare currently being directed in his direction, but that was what Major Gabel – Rourke's nephew and recently appointed Amestrian State Alchemist – was standing just around the corner for. "What the hell is so funny?"
"The fact that the lot of you weren't being all too discreet about your movements the previous night and now suddenly you're trying so desperately to cover it up." Rourke raised himself to his full height, towering almost half a head over Hawkeye as he peered mockingly around at their empty living room. "Besides, you were in an awful rush coming back to the hotel last night, and I haven't seen Mustang since."
Rourke paused to direct an expectant stare at Hawkeye, but when she made no move to respond, he prompted her further: "So, where exactly is Colonel Mustang?"
Hawkeye, for the first time since Rourke had met the cold sniper queen, seemed to waver. "I'm under orders not to reveal any information to outsiders."
"Why, lieutenant, you consider me an 'outsider'? I'm hurt."
"Get to the point, general." spat Edward vehemently. "We have more important things to do than stand around here bullshitting to your face."
"Brother." murmured Alphonse Elric, and Rourke had always found it hard to believe that this was the intimidating suit of armour which had once trailed the Fullmetal Alchemist through the corridors of Central Command. The current Alphonse Elric seemed like a nervous shadow, almost constantly several steps behind his far more confident brother.
But now, even those mellow golden eyes were cold and reproaching, and Rourke decided that perhaps treating Alphonse Elric as the weakest link in the chain wasn't a good idea after all.
"Since you insist," drawled Rourke. "Then on my full authority as a brigadier general, I order you, Lieutenant Hawkeye, to tell me everything you know. No exceptions."
Hawkeye drew in a breath, amber eyes darting warily from side to side but unable to find a way out of this corner Rourke had put her in. "With all due respect, sir –"
"Fine." sighed Rourke dramatically. "Since you seem so adamant on being dishonest with me, I'll just have to take a guess." he smirked. "Tell me how close I am – at roughly 2000 hours last night, Colonel Roy Mustang was seen leaving the hotel in a black Ford Econoline van, no licence plates and tinted windows, with three men of assumed Ishvalan descent, one of which was the driver. And unless the Flame Alchemist is suddenly all snug and cozy with the Ishvalans, that does seem a little suspicious, no?"
The way the Fullmetal Alchemist's eyes went wide was almost comical. "How did you –"
Hawkeye cut him off mid-sentence, amber gaze intense and shimmering. "That is…an oddly specific guess, General Rourke."
Rourke's smirk widened. He beckoned to his nephew stationed a little ways down the corridor, out of general earshot, causing Gabel to start and meekly stride up to stand at his shoulder. "Major Gabel here was fortunate enough to have borne witness to this strange scene the previous night and had sense enough to make his findings known to me. Do I have your attention now, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"
Edward Elric's expression shifted from startled to full on livid. "HOLD ON A SECOND! YOU KNEW SINCE LAST NIGHT AND YOU DIDN'T BOTHER TO TELL US ABOUT THIS!? YOU FUCKING SON-OF-A –"
The Fullmetal Alchemist took a step forwards, automail clanking and whirring menacingly. Rourke, despite himself, cautiously retreated. "Now Fullmetal, all that secrecy is going to be for nothing if you start shouting like that. Besides, I'm here and divulging this information with you all now, aren't I? The least you could do is be thankful for that."
Rourke was expecting a mad lunge, hastily repressed by Second Lieutenant Breda and Alphonse, or an even louder bout of enraged screaming which never failed to amuse him. Instead, Edward Elric simply stiffened at Rourke's words. "Don't call me that."
Rourke arched a disinterested eyebrow, but he really had no idea what the boy was going on about. "Call you what?"
"Fullmetal." growled Edward dangerously. "Don't call me that."
"Fine, if you're so sensitive about it. Well, Lieutenant Hawkeye, don't you have anything to say?"
Hawkeye was silent for a brief moment, and Rourke could feel her eyes searching his face, so very very distrustful, but also so very very desperate. "Forgive my bluntness, General Rourke. But what exactly are you hoping to achieve here?"
Rourke merely grinned, hurricane grey eyes flashing like a coming thunderstorm. "Nothing, lieutenant. Is it so hard to believe that I simply want to help a fellow comrade in danger? After all, it is my responsibility as his academy senior and colleague."
The two military officers and two teenagers standing before him remained resolutely still. Hmph, if he didn't know better, he'd say they weren't buying it.
"Ah well, I suppose a bit of honesty is warranted here." continued Rourke smoothly. "My purpose here is to offer you my support and assistance in your search for the Flame Alchemist. Make no mistake, my aim is straightforward and simple – Mustang would owe me a favour after this, and I simply find that to be rather…ah, useful. So, do we agree to a mutual collaboration?"
Hawkeye tipped her chin up, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. She may try to seem calm, but Rourke could tell – could sense how desperate they all were at this point. While none of them had voiced out loud their purpose in keeping this entire unfortunate event under the radar, Rourke had already formed a pretty good guess.
Ironically, they were being stripped of external military assistance by their very loyalty to the state and the maintenance of its stability. And because of that, they needed every last extra pair of hands they could get.
And that was what made this so very, very entertaining.
"We would…" started Hawkeye slowly. "Certainly appreciate your kind assistance in this matter, General Rourke."
Rourke's grin deepened. "Perfect. Now, shall you brief me on your next plan of action?"
Edward gritted his teeth, and Rourke could tell that he was clearly unconvinced. "Hawkeye." he warned lowly.
"It'll be fine, Edward." she turned around, and her eyes softened when they met his, golden and earnest. "Take this chance to rest up well. It wouldn't do us any good if you were to collapse because of your injuries."
Edward lowered his head, almost shamefaced. He murmured something that sounded like vague acknowledgement.
Hawkeye whirled, the cool and professional second lieutenant once again. "Let's continue this conversation while we walk, general."
"Ah, certainly." agreed Rourke, casting a smugly satisfied look at that young and glowering face just before Hawkeye stepped out and shut the door.
Yes, yes, while Mustang being indebted to him was certainly an enjoyable notion.
Things were just so much more interesting when you were a partaker, instead of a mere observer.
And Rourke had just successfully forced his way into the very thick of it.
The sun was already a sweltering orb of burning flames in the cloudless cobalt sky by the time the three sweaty and absolutely miserable military officers had emerged on the very edge of Sersa's still-inhabited land.
"Who knew summer could be so hot out here?" complained Havoc.
"We're an hour's drive from the desert proper, Havoc. Get used to it." commented Falman, scrubbing a sleeve across his forehead – from the freezing tundra of Fort Briggs to the scorching sands of the far East, the Warrant Officer really had seen it all.
"The desert isn't necessarily alwayshot. In fact, temperatures can drop all the way down to subzero during nightfall." added Fuery enthusiastically.
Havoc and Falman both groaned in unison. "Fuery?"
"What?"
"We don't need a science lesson."
Fuery readjusted his glasses and averted his eyes to the ground as they trudged up the steep incline along a narrow dirt trail. "Sorry."
Havoc instantly felt bad for his teasing – he knew that Fuery tended to babble on more when he was nervous, just as Havoc himself liked to crack casual jokes when he was feeling antsy.
Please, just let this be a stupid nightmare.
But the searing rays of the sun currently beating mercilessly down upon their backs clearly begged to differ.
They'd left their car at the beginning of the narrow road leading out of Sersa and into the surrounding outskirts – it being too large and bulky to traverse the small dirt trail which seemed to have formed solely through many years of countless stampeding feet. At the top of the steep incline, they entered the deep jade shadows of a flourishing forest, the high boughs of the trees shading them from the sun and dousing them in refreshing coolness.
Just beyond the first bend in the dirt road, Havoc's keen eyes spotted a flash of brilliant red paint among the twisting trees as well the back of a uniformed man.
"Hello there!" called Havoc cheerfully.
The policeman turned around sharply at the second lieutenant's voice, hand reflexively falling to rest on his gun.
Havoc raised his hands in a show of goodwill. "At ease. We come in peace."
"Gods, Havoc." muttered Falman, embarrassed over his own colleague's childish antics. "Officer Johnson, thank you for your call this morning. We rushed over as soon as we could."
"Ah, Warrant Officer…Falman, was it?" Officer Johnson removed his hand from his holster and folded his arms across his chest instead. In his clear blue eyes there lingered that hint of suspicion Amestris's rural communities used in regarding anyone wearing the Amestrian military colours. Havoc had never really understood that apprehension, though he guessed that the military certainly had done a number of questionable things over the years and deserved some amount of distrust from its citizens.
"Yes. Let me introduce Second Lieutenant Havoc and Sergeant Major Fuery."
Havoc half-raised his arm to offer a hand in greeting, but the local policeman seemed so thoroughly annoyed at being called into working overtime over the likes of the state military that Havoc let it drop.
"So, Warrant Officer Falman, we may have found the suspect whom you were looking for." Officer Johnson suppressed a yawn even as he muttered those words. "You filed in a police report for a theft conducted by a man of this description last night. If I'm not mistaken, you said that…" the officer glanced down at the shaft of papers clutched in his hands. "Several crucially important military documents had been stolen from your hotel."
Those blue eyes snapped upwards to glance at Falman in mild exasperation, like 'I missed out on my precious sleep for this?'.
Havoc raised an eyebrow and had to muffle a chuckle behind his hand. Important military documents? Yeah right.
Falman was sharper than a tack, Havoc had to give the silver-haired warrant officer that. While they couldn't directlyenlist the police's assistance in locating the colonel, they could very well indirectly borrow some of their manpower to further their investigation.
Officer Johnson beckoned to them, and the three military officers followed him at a slow gait as he shuffled the papers in his hands. "This man was pulled over by myself and my partner while we were conducting vehicle inspections this morning. He was acting in a very suspicious manner, and he matched your description almost perfectly. But when we tried to take him back to the station for questioning, he simply accelerated off the main road, nearly ramming us over in the process, and sped towards the trees. By the time we caught up to him, he'd already skidded off the trail and crashed."
The officer then gestured to the scene which had materialized before them with a graceful flourish, and Havoc merely stared at the half dented car, painted an absolutely horrendous shade of blood red, its bonnet smoking and crushed beneath the fallen boughs of an old oak tree. A second officer had been standing guard at the scene, and Havoc could just make out a vague humanoid silhouette slumped over the steering wheel.
"We don't think he's hurt, but he straight out refused to get out of the car and locked his vehicle when we tried to apprehend him by force." Officer Johnson shrugged. "That's when I called you."
The look in his eyes was a clear expression of his sentiment: I caught your guy, so now any problems that may come with him are all yours, thank you very much.
Havoc and Falman edged closer to the decimated car, Fuery lagging behind uneasily. A young man was sitting in the driver's seat, very much alive and awake, looking bored out of his mind as he drummed fingers over the leather surface of the wheel. He was probably hoping that the police would simply give up and leave him alone at some point.
Havoc drew out the piece of paper on which Edward had hand-sketched a portrait of the mysteriously vanished waiter and held it out in front of him, glancing to the side to compare the two faces. "Huh. They aren't really similar."
Falman resisted the urge to facepalm – the drawing in Havoc's hands was way below the skill of an average kindergartener, the 'face' a disproportionate shape a little too large for the 'neck', consisting of squiggly lines and two egg-shaped circles for the eyes.
Gee, Edward.
Falman then produced a neatly organized notebook, thumbing through to the page where he'd sketched a more visually distinguishable portrait based on Edward's description, and flipping it around to shove it in Havoc's face.
Havoc blinked once, stared at the much more professionally executed sketch, and back up at the young suspect's face.
He nodded solemnly, sky blue eyes suddenly serious. "That's our guy."
Dropping a hand to the gun on his waist, Havoc cautiously approached the undamaged driver's side.
The young man didn't even notice Havoc's presence until the lieutenant had thumped a fist on the metal roof of his car. Havoc leaned down so his face was visible through the window. "Yo, mind answering a few questions for us?"
The man stared at Havoc for a full second, his eyes drifting to rest on the military stripes decorating his shoulders.
What he did next Havoc had not predicted.
Sliding easily into the adjacent passenger seat, he kicked open the car door, dove in between the two startled police officers, and took off at a dead run towards the woods.
"State military! Freeze! You're under arrest!" yelled Havoc at the rapidly retreating back of their primary suspect.
He groaned. "Why do they always run?"
"Did you honestly expect that to work?" asked Falman incredulously.
"Aww, shut up." snapped Havoc, vaulting effortlessly over the car bonnet and sprinting after their suspected perpetrator.
Havoc shoved and forced his way through the thick foliage, barely slowing down even as the sharp ends of broken branches tore at his military jacket and hanging leaves slapped at his cheeks. His handgun was already drawn and cocked, and Havoc used it to bat away a curtain of sticky vines as he struggled to keep the running figure within sight.
Falman, to his surprise, was right on his heels, puffing and panting as he strained to keep up with Havoc's easy leaps and bounds.
The second lieutenant risked a glance behind him to gesture to Falman, motioning for his partner to veer off to the side and cut off their prey.
Falman nodded once and swerved, disappearing from sight in the green underbrush.
The pathway which they'd used to trek up to the forest had long since disappeared, and Havoc couldn't even catch his bearings – were they travelling north, or east, or south? Ah, what the hell.
For a heart wrenching moment, Havoc thought he'd lost sight of the waiter – but he was lucky that the forest floor was littered with bits of rotten branches, and the telltale snap of a twig was all Havoc needed to point him in the right direction.
His breath was coming out in short bursts and gasps now. Havoc knew he needed to pace himself, but still he pushed further, slapping on a new burst of speed as he leapt over a fallen log. The flash of a white T-shirt was visible merely several metres ahead, and Havoc raised his gun, but it was nigh impossible to aim properly when one was engaged in a hot pursuit through a bumpy forest terrain.
A flicker of silver and blue, and Havoc nearly stopped still in astonishment as Falman came charging out of the adjacent trees, slamming his shoulder into the side of their suspect.
He yelped as Falman tackled him to the ground, feet slipping on half-rotten humus and slimy moss.
Havoc pushed himself harder, rapidly closing the distance.
Falman scrabbled for his gun as he struggled to pin the thrashing man down, only to be awarded a painful elbow in the face. Falman fell back, head slamming into the hard bark of an old tree trunk. And just like that, their captured lead had once again escaped, bounding off over twisting roots and creeping ivy like a deer.
"Hey!" Havoc called out as he passed the fallen warrant officer. "You okay?"
Falman waved a hand feebly and croaked out: "Go."
Havoc dashed after the man, every last muscle and nerve in his legs protesting for oxygen and rest.
A dull roar, beyond the undergrowth – the sound approached him, closer and closer, or maybe he was the one approaching its source. Havoc blinked, wondering if his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him.
All of a sudden, he emerged out of the trees and onto the edge of a rocky outcropping, azure eyes widening at the sight spread out before him – a gushing waterfall, its opening several yards beneath the ledge, spewed turquoise water over the lip of a sheer granite face. Hundreds of gallons of pure water crashed into a bubbling stream nearly three stories down, white and frothing like new sea foam.
And standing at the very edge – the missing waiter, their sole lead to this baffling mystery.
Havoc steadily raised his gun and took aim, chest heaving in and out as his lungs embraced the cool forest air. "I've…got you…now. Don't move!"
The young man had been gazing over the edge, staring down at the thunderous waterfall. At Havoc's command, he turned around, green eyes flashing. It was hard to tell in the shadows of his car and throughout the long chase through the dense wood, but Havoc could now say for certain that his hair was a shade of deep russet brown.
"Jeez. You…military types sure are…persistent." he struggled to get the words out as he gasped for breath.
"Come quietly and there won't be any trouble." warned Havoc, voice low as he edged carefully towards his cornered suspect.
The man simply shook his head and chuckled softly. "I wish I'd known what I was getting myself into when I signed up for this. Just a fake phone call, they said! Heh, if only." he cocked his head, arching an eyebrow at Havoc. "Unfortunately, I have absolutely no plans of getting caught – not now, not ever."
Havoc took an urgent step closer, fingers clenching around the sleek metal form of his gun. "Wait, don't –"
But before Havoc could make his move, the man spread his arms like a fallen angel and propelled himself off the cliff-edge.
Plummeting. A flightless bird. Down, down, down.
Havoc watched in horrified awe as the man's slender form disappeared into the white mist and spray below.
Havoc keeled over, slamming his fist into the hard gravel in frustration.
"Darn it."
The waiter, who we shall now know purely by the name of Damien, never really regarded himself as a criminal of any sort.
Sure, he had his bad days milling with the wrong crowd, but a few spray-painted walls and broken windows weren't really going to cause anyone permanent harm. So he'd gotten a decent job as a server at a pretty glamorous-ass hotel – good pay grade, minimal nights, overtime when he needed the cash.
And then along came a spider – or in his case, an Ishvalan man, offering him a neat sum of money in exchange for a simple deed.
You see that boy over there? Yes, the short one with the braided golden hair. His name is Edward Elric, and you are going to tell him that he has a phone call…
Really, he should have seen this coming. Messing with a couple of State Alchemists was literally like taking a shortcut to fast-approaching doom.
But Damien was smart. No way was he letting those military people catch him. He knew better than to stick around and watch the fireworks.
Better to hightail it outta there ASAP.
Damien glided easily through the icy water, sinewy, well-muscled arms stroking forwards and back again, creating resonating ripples which broke the otherwise mirror-smooth surface.
He swerved and made for the shore, fingers and toes grappling on water-worn gravel as he dragged himself out of the serenely winding stream.
Damien groaned and plopped back-first onto drier ground, lying spread-eagled on the pebbly shore as the water continued to lap at the soles of his bare feet.
He shut his eyes and sighed, mourning the loss of his favourite shoes somewhere along the way of his impromptu swim. Damn the Amestrian military.
Click.
Damien opened his eyes.
He raised himself on his elbows, slowly turning his head only to find himself staring down the pitch black barrel of a military-issued handgun.
"Don't…don't move." commanded the young sergeant on its firing end. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the trigger Damien was more concerned that he'd be shot dead by accident rather than on purpose. Nervous black eyes stared down at him through a pair of thick round glasses.
You have got to be kidding me.
Really, what kind of standards does the military set for recruits nowadays? Damien found himself thinking as he continued to stare coolly at the locked and loaded gun. They should be more concerned with quality control.
For this kid, though Damien had a feeling he was older than his almost child-like appearance implied, was obviously one of those office desk types. His fingers, pale and long and slender, tips smooth and un-calloused from the absence of repeatedly pulling the trigger of a handgun or rifle, had probably never delivered death at point-blank range.
Damien climbed to his feet. The sergeant started and took a wary step back, gaze never leaving Damien's drenched figure.
"I told you not to move!" he called out, readjusting his grip on the gun. His hands were trembling – he took a breath, and they steadied.
Damien raised an almost sympathetic eyebrow and shook his head. "You can never fire that gun." he stated a-matter-of-factly.
The sergeant swallowed. "I've fired guns before."
"No, I know your type. Perhaps you may be able to pull that trigger in a life-or-death situation, when your life or another's is under threat." Damien spread out his hands in a mocking manner. "But directly hurt another human being? An unarmed human being? I can see it in your eyes – the thought of being the cause of another person's pain nauseates you, doesn't it?"
The dark haired sergeant didn't reply. He simply gazed straight at Damien, every last bit of mental effort seeming to have been dedicated to keeping his gun steady.
Damien snorted. "Thought so."
He turned around and started walking away.
"Don't move."
Damien didn't look back – just kept walking along the shoreline. He raised a hand in a satirical half-wave. "See you around – not."
The sergeant had fallen silent. The forest was still save for the soft gurgling of running water and the crunch of Damien's feet on loose sand.
There was no warning when it came.
A deafening gunshot split the air, amplified tenfold amongst the crowded trees.
A gasp of surprise tore from Damien's throat as red hot agony tore through his lower right leg. Damien collapsed onto the ground, clutching the bleeding wound in the back of his knee as he stared wide-eyed up at the sergeant with the gun, its muzzle still smoking.
"You –" Damien clenched his teeth from the pain and howled in anguish. "You freaking shot me!"
The sergeant approached him calmly, gun aimed steadily for Damien's forehead. The dark eyes behind his glasses were a pair of cold glass shards.
"I told you." said the sergeant quietly. "Don't move."
Warrant Officer Vato Falman leaned into the backseat of their car and massaged his aching ankle with much despondency.
Havoc's head and body appeared in the open car door. "You should get some ice for that once we reach town."
Falman groaned and tenderly put his foot down. "It's just a sprain."
Havoc sighed, looking not much better off than Falman himself – both military officers were covered in a thick film of sweat and dirt, a combination which left Falman feeling both sticky and absolutely filthy.
Fuery appeared at Havoc's shoulder. "The police are taking our waiter into custody right now. Apparently we are welcome to interrogate him at the police station."
Falman made a small sound akin to that of a dignified snort. "Of course. The police were plenty of help when Havoc and I were chasing him up the damn mountain."
Fuery shrugged meekly. "To be fair, this is our problem, not theirs."
Havoc turned and grinned widely around his cigarette, cheerfully delivering a loud clap on Fuery's unguarded back. The sergeant major yelped and nearly doubled over from the sheer force. "Fuery! The man of the hour!"
"What?" squeaked Fuery in apprehension, replacing his skewed glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose.
"If it weren't for you, who knows where our suspect would be right now?" Havoc shook his head wryly. "Certainly not safely in police custody, that's for sure. More like halfway across the desert and heading towards Xing."
"It was just a lucky guess." said Fuery hastily, already flushing from the praise. "I know the general terrain of the area – and you just happened to be heading in the direction of the waterfall. I didn't really expect to find him at the bottom of it."
Falman smiled gently, offering Fuery an approving nod. "But youcaught him, Fuery. Not Havoc, not myself, not even Hawkeye – but you."
Havoc chuckled and slung an arm around Fuery's shoulders, instantly dwarfing the slender-framed sergeant. Fuery groaned as he nearly collapsed underneath Havoc's full weight.
"We're so proud of you, Fuery." Havoc was still grinning uncontrollably from ear to ear as he ruffled Fuery's hair affectionately. "Our little kid is finally growing up."
Fuery smiled up at Havoc, but the glimmer in his eyes dimmed.
He slipped quietly out of Havoc's grip. Falman's even gaze followed Fuery's every move as the sergeant's fingers picked anxiously at the frayed edges of his uniform. He bit his lip and voiced softly:
"If a crisis is what it takes to grow up, then I'd rather not grow up at all."
It had been too long since he'd gone in there.
Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, sat against the wall and fiddled his thumbs – cold, unfeeling automail brushing warm, living skin. Alphonse Elric was standing opposite his elder brother, so still that one could easily have mistaken him for a decorative suit of armour instead of a soul-bounded one.
It was the height of summer, and the stuffy corridors of East Command seemed to steam and shift like a mirage in the stifling hot air. Edward scowled and tore off his cloak, bundling the tough red fabric up in his lap. As armour didn't generally come equipped with sensory receptors, Al couldn't tell the difference between hot and cold, but he gravely noted his brother's movements and strode over – CLANK CLANK CLANK – to open a window.
A feeble summer breeze rasped against Edward's cheeks. It didn't really make him feel any cooler, but Ed raised his head to offer Al an appreciative smile nonetheless.
The magnificently engraved doors at the end of the hallway creaked open, and a familiar figure in Amestrian blue stepped out, polished shoes clicking crisply against the smooth marble tiling.
Edward shot to his feet, trying not to act like a guilty man awaiting the gallows. Colonel Roy Mustang stopped short at the sudden flash of gold, and the voice which drifted across to Edward was cool and sarcastic. "FullmetaI. I didn't expect you to still be here."
Ed smoothly decided to ignore the jibe and strode haughtily up to him. Stopping directly in front of the colonel, Edward stuck out his chin stubbornly and rose himself up to his full height – which was, compared to Mustang, still shorter by about a head and three-quarters. This, this was one of the reasons why he absolutely despised the colonel – yes, Edward knew that he was naturally tall (Edward blamed genetics) but did he have to rub it in every five seconds?
"So?" demanded Edward sharply.
"So?" repeated Mustang, crossing his arms. "It's settled."
Edward blinked once, brain spluttering to a stop. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me, it's settled." Mustang sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens in exasperation. "But seriously, Fullmetal? Of all the noses in the whole of Amestris that you could smash in, it had to be the one belonging to General Edison's son-in-law."
"Hey!" protested Edward, offended. "I 'smash in' a lot of noses. It's not my fault that they sometimes belong to the relative of some hot shot general. And besides," Ed's voice grew cold. "The guy had it coming. He nearly ran over a little girl on the street and he didn't even bother to apologize!"
"Fullmetal." intoned Mustang patiently. "We've talked about this. If you go around punching the lights out of every asshole you come across you wouldn't even have time leftover to sleep, much less find the Philosopher's Stone."
Damn, no fair.
The colonel always seemed to know exactly what to say to make Edward shut up and calm down. And ninety percent of the time, it had something to do with his responsibility to Alphonse and their search for the Red Stone.
So Edward's mouth snapped close and he dipped his head, glaring a burning hole into the floor as he fumed silently. "You know, I could have handled it myself."
He couldn't see Mustang's face, but the colonel's tone was now unmistakably sardonic. "Sure you could. And you would have ended up thrown into jail for a year and then you'll come running to me crying for help."
"Shut up, Colonel Bastard." snapped Edward heatedly. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need your help for anything."
Mustang merely raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, lips curling into a humorous smirk. "Your height begs to differ. You don't even look your actual age of fourteen."
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE NEEDS A CAR SEAT TO LOOK OUT THE WINDOW?!" raged Edward.
Edward's famous rants have cowed even the hardiest and grittiest criminals in all of Amestris, so the boy couldn't quite comprehend why the colonel remained so firmly unaffected by them.
Alphonse – who had learnt from prior experience that it was generally better to stay far, far away from any conversations between Edward and Mustang, as every one of them had the potential to blow up in the face of an unfortunate bystander – stepped in now. "Brother." he scolded sternly. "The colonel was just trying to help us."
Edward inhaled deeply and blew out an irritated breath, temper successfully reined in, at least for the time being. "How did you do it?"
Mustang cocked his head. "Do what?"
"How did you get General Edison to let me off so easily?" asked Edward, feigning nonchalance even as his blood pounded in his veins.
Not even an apology letter? This reeked of fishiness.
Edward often never noticed how warm Mustang's obsidian eyes were until times like this – when the wall slid up and they grew almost impossibly frigid, glazed over with an impenetrable layer of ice. The man shrugged. "The name of the Flame Alchemist still means something around here. General Edison was happy to…reconsider his punishment for you on account of your inexperience and youth. But as always, he does expect a few favours done in return." Mustang smiled. "Equivalent Exchange, isn't it?"
Edward swallowed and pressed his lips together.
Idiot. Can't you tell when you're being taken advantage of?
But of course – of course he knew.
"Anyway," Mustang waved a dismissive hand – the ice was broken, and the familiar smirk was back. "Leave the adult world to the adults. You don't have to get those hands soiled just yet – that's what I'm here for."
Edward scowled fiercely. "Aren't you going to be mad at me?"
"There's no reason for me to. I know you had Amestris's best intentions at heart, even though your way of showing it may cause me more trouble than you're worth." Mustang shook his head and leaned forward.
What he did next caught Edward wholly off-guard.
Mustang reached out one gloved hand and ruffled the top of Edward's hair, grinning crookedly. "Act a bit more like your age sometimes, will you?"
Edward started back, hands raised protectively over his head. "Try that one more time," he snarled. "And I'll kick your bastardly ass into next Saturday."
Mustang chuckled, and Edward was dismayed that he never took any of his threats seriously. "I would like to see you try, Fullmetal." he walked past the Elrics, nodding once to Alphonse as he did so. "Well, I should be getting back. Don't forget that report you're supposed to hand in tomorrow."
Edward watched his receding back, hands still attached to his head. He dropped them to his sides and clenched his teeth. "C–colonel!"
Mustang stopped and turned so that only half of his face was visible. "What?" he asked idly.
Edward opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Why? Why are those words – two simple syllables – so difficult to say aloud?
He bit his lip, breathed in, and called out: "Don't slack off on your paperwork! It would be such a pain if we had to clean up the bloody mess after Hawkeye's done with you."
"Don't slack off on your research either, Fullmetal. The sooner you find the Stone, the sooner I'll never have to see you again." Mustang returned promptly, turning back around and striding down the corridor even as he raised a hand in vague goodbye.
"I'm looking forward to that day!" Ed cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after him.
I guess I never did manage to say it, in the end.
Edward snapped awake on the colonel's couch.
He blinked, staring up at the sluggishly revolving ceiling fan. He raised his right hand to his face, studying it with dull fascination – no longer metal, but rather skin and bone and flesh.
A memory…then.
Ed let his hand drop over his eyes.
"Damn it." he swore viciously.
Alphonse perked up from where he had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, a book in his lap. "What is it, brother?"
"Damn it, Al. I can't – I can't remember." Ed turned around, staring at Alphonse with something like desperation in his golden eyes. "Please tell me you remember, Al. Tell me you remember at least one time I've actually said 'thank you' to him."
Al met his older brother's gaze. "Brother…" he intoned quietly.
Edward slumped heavily back down onto the cushions. "I can't – What if this is how it ends, Al? Just like Nina. Like Hughes. Walking in that door one day and finding out that they're gone and we couldn't save them." Ed was very close to screaming out his frustration now. "What if –"
Warm fingers clenched firmly around his right arm. Edward stopped in mid-rant to blink at Alphonse, who was crouched down next to the sofa.
Al's expression was electric and alight – a match struck just behind his eyes. "It won't, brother. We won't let it."
Ed clenched his jaw. "How can you be so sure, Al?"
"Because this time, it's different." said Alphonse. "This time, we're here and we can do something."
Edward sat up slowly, pushing his messy golden strands of hair out of his eyes.
We're here and we can do something.
Pulling back the majority of his long hair, Edward's fingers swiftly and nimbly moved to secure it in his trademark braid.
"Okay." said Edward, swinging his legs off the couch and meeting Al's determined gaze. If anything, the nap had certainly done his head injury good – and Edward felt like the world was suddenly a thousand times clearer instead of being submerged underneath a thousand feet of water. "Okay, Al. What can we do?'
Alphonse smiled at his brother and snapped his book shut. "Falman just called with an update on that missing waiter."
Edward widened his eyes. Al nodded with resolve.
"So for starters, we could make our way down to the police station."
These people were obviously amateurs.
Damien wasn't going to be frightened into loosening his tongue after a few almost pitifully horrible good-cop-bad-cop attempts.
The blonde lieutenant – Havoc, he recalled – was scowling aggressively at him. "You know, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can go home to wherever you belong."
Damien rolled his eyes. Good try, but he wasn't falling for it. "I have the right to remain silent." he said robotically – the exact same response he had offered to their every question since the past two hours. "I want my lawyer."
The lieutenant slammed his hands down on the interrogation table. Damien simply gazed at him evenly. "Stop playing games with us, darn it."
"I want my lawyer." repeated Damien.
Falman – the silver-haired and straight-faced warrant officer – stood up from where he'd been observing the interrogation from the side of the table. "We're wasting time here, Havoc."
Havoc gritted his teeth. "I know that."
Damien smiled despite himself. They couldn't do anything to him – not with the police officers outside who could hear his cries for help if they did try something.
He laid his handcuffed hands on the table and leaned forward smugly – but that smugness was instantly shattered when the heavy metal door slammed open and in strode two teenagers, all golden hair and equally golden eyes.
Damien's eyes went wide. He recognized the first one – crap.
Fuery turned around in surprise. "Edward? Alphonse? How did you –"
"The officer outside let me in once he recognized me as the Fullmetal Alchemist." Edward replied easily as he strode up to the middle of the room. "I guess that name still has some weight around these parts."
His molten eyes snapped around then to stare frigidly at Damien.
It took all of Damien's willpower not to start guiltily. The Fullmetal Alchemist – of course he'd heard the stories…
"So, we meet again." Edward Elric hoisted himself casually onto the edge of the table, and those eyes – Damien swore they burned with hellfire.
"I have the right to remain silent." replied Damien uncertainly.
"Of course you do." The Fullmetal Alchemist smiled wickedly.
Oh no.
He was beginning to have a very bad feeling about this.