Day Three Part II – Edward Elric

"The Thrill of the Chase"

Ed tried to find Al at the prison, but Al had been permitted by Major Miles' proxy to go see Winry in the automail workshops before the day's manhunt, where Ed finally found Al and told him and Winry of what had happened earlier.

"So he just collapsed? Is he okay?" Winry's concerned voice was the first to speak.

"I think so. Kimbley denied doing anything, but I'm taking that with a grain of salt. He's evil." The last part slipped out before he could stop himself. Al sighed, then quickly –

"Brother! Is Kimbley still with the Colonel?"

"I think so, why?"

"Because he might decide to go back to searching for Scar now!" Al's logic made Ed's heart freeze. He sat down heavily on the nearest bench, brushing off some errant automail tools before placing himself in the seat.

"If he keeps searching, eventually those two madmen will meet, and who knows…" Ed trailed off. He glumly looked his knees for a while, then glanced up. The first thing he saw upon this upward glance was Winry. In that one crystal moment, Ed's toughness cracked. The strain of trying to appease Kimbley enough to save Winry, and now this new shock of a stricken comrade, added up. The sight of Winry's ever-patient face was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Winry! I am so sorry! For everything! Forgive me! Forgive me!" Ed was in a tightly controlled hysteria. Tears coursed down the bridge of his nose as Al looked on and Winry hugged his shaking shoulders.

"I have nothing to forgive you for. I came North myself! I will be fine here, so will you. You can stave off Kimbley, you can. If you don't want him and Scar to fight, that's fine. That's fine. Listen to me, Ed." Her voice took on rhythmic, maternal overtones, and Ed pulled himself together almost as quickly as he had fallen apart. The only signs to belie the quick storm that had passed were redder than usual eyes.

"Yes, yes. If he returns for us, I will simply do what I had planned to do – keep him on the prowl as long as he can stand it."

"Brother – speak of the Devil," Al commented as one of Kimbley's guards came to collect them. Al's prediction was right. They were to set out again. Kimbley had tired of his incapacitated charge. Ed stood up quickly, pretending to be very interested in the edge of his jacket's sleeve. He and Al urgently persuaded Winry to stay behind where it was less dangerous, and finally won the argument. Ed was happy about this for many reasons – the methods he was going to use to keep Kimbley focused would shock her, he was sure of it. Ed thought back to what Riza had told him about Ishbal. Kimbley takes pride in his work, and thinks others do as well, even when the work is hateful, or even evil. Perfect. People with predictable responses to things are wonderful, aren't they, thought Ed as he and Al followed their guard back to where the cars were waiting with a grimly attendant Kimbley. He felt like a lawyer – never ask a question you don't know the answer to, try and find people you can play like harps. If someone uses a certain strategy on others, they will likely be susceptible to it themselves.

Kimbley and Ed rode in the same car out to the location that was determined to be close to where Scar was hiding. The ride over was short, but Ed was determined to make the most of it. Here goes nothing, he thought. After a deep breath meant to look like a sign of pure adrenaline, he dove in –

"Another search. A purer form of skill demonstration I don't think exists." Kimbley raised an eyebrow at this. Ed seized on his incredulity. "Really don't believe me?" Ed leaned in for the kill – "Where else do you have the thrill of the chase, a target that is as smart as you, and such satisfaction at every turn? What else affords that? Straight target practice can't be as good, because you're not dealing with a target cognizant of your approach. Here, a true fight, yields most fulfillment. Most – intensity. Even on a day where no confrontation takes place, the thrill of the hunt pervades every instant, every moment. The danger is more than enough to create an edge, even when no sparks fly. And what fun are the sparks without the sense of accomplishment that went into setting up the perfect moment? The setup, the manhunt. You know I'm right."

Kimbley looked shocked. He was silent the rest of the way, but Ed noticed that Kimbley's gloved hands were locked onto each other with what looked like a deathgrip. As the two alchemists stepped out of the car, Kimbley spoke for the first time.

"I didn't realize you had such mettle. Who thought you'd help me realize the joys of my job – I usually help others realize the deeper joy in things. I was so obsessed with the big picture, I forgot about my own needs. How could I ever have tried to rush this job – no. It must be done perfectly." Ed closed his eyes and stifled his sigh of relief that his ruse had worked so well. Just keep rubbing it in the whole day, Ed, he told himself. Let him know that he's doing what he was born to do. And keep him from realizing that he's getting nothing done.

Ed was more successful than he knew. Kimbley actually started getting more lax in his surveillance of Ed, and became more reckless, leaving his guards behind and throwing himself into the chase with such vigor as he hadn't mustered in quite some time. After a little over an hour, Ed managed to slip away again (perhaps his size wasn't as bad as he made it out to be), and moved in the direction of the large white building on the outskirts of the headquarters area. The hospital was in between the dwindling residential areas and the military base, and thus served both worlds, civilian and military. Ed reached the building at half past eleven. He found his way to the emergency room, and asked for where Mustang had been taken. After a long bureaucratic interlude that involved signing things (with a fake name so Kimbley would not be able to use this to prove that he was running out on the job) and being taken through pretty much every hallway in the place, Ed found the room.

He knocked awkwardly, then entered to find a still-unconscious Mustang and a very harried Falman in a chair. Falman's eyes were wide open, but his jaw was slack, and his face was a perfect blend of shock and boredom. He nodded to Ed deferentially, and said nothing. Ed had never really had a sense of how devoted Mustang's crew was to him. He vaguely thought that Falman's dejected expression must be similar to the expression he wore when his mother lay ill and he couldn't do anything. In a situation like this, Ed knew what Falman needed – someone to blame. Ed remembered that blaming his father had been quite therapeutic during the times when a scapegoat was needed in his life. So he decided to open with this –

"Second Lieutenant, I asked Kimbley if he had anything to do with this. He claims, of course, that he didn't, but I think foul play may have been involved here. Everything just seems off." While Ed was trying to give Falman a psychic boost, this was no lie. This did seem fishy – someone had manipulated events. People don't just start a new, dangerous mission loaded with ulterior motives on all sides and then collapse for no reason. But if Central or their cronies wanted Mustang out of the way, couldn't they have waited for a battle, where no suspicion would crop up? Ed felt vaguely unpleasant at the thought that he now could think like the murderers in Central, but continued thinking. After all, knowledge is power, right?

Falman sighed and turned to Ed. "Shouldn't you be out with Kimbley?"

"Yes. But I slipped away."

With a thin-lipped smile – "Because you're so tiny I'm sure that was easy for you."

"WHAT THE HELL!"

Falman managed to shush Ed gently so as not to disturb Mustang, and Ed sputtered quietly without yelling for a good three minutes before being able to move past Falman's jab.

The two sat quietly for a few minutes. Ed hoped that Mustang would awake, but also equally hoped that he wouldn't notice any bruise on his face where he had been slapped. Ed nervously played with his watch, looking at the time every minute or so, then placing it back in his pocket. He could only stay until a little past noon, and then he had to rendez-vous for the midday report. By the time Mustang did come around, he had only a few minutes he could remain, so he affected a casual tone, mentioned his debt simply because it was the first thing that came to mind, and left the room.

Ed leaned heavily against the wall, lost in thought. Sure, the Colonel had always annoyed the daylights out of him. Everyone knew that! But there had always been this idea in his head that his superior was somehow inviolate. But now – now. If he had been independent before, he sure as hell was now. No longer would he trust Mustang as a parental figure in his life, annoying or not. There are only so many times trusted adult figures can disappoint you! His mother, his father, Winry's parents, Hughes – now Mustang? For his lousy job, he couldn't even stay strong so Ed could superficially hate him properly?

No. Ed wouldn't allow himself this train of thought anymore. He was an adult – almost sixteen. This was it. He prepared to continue his long slog with Kimbley as he pushed himself to a full standing position and marched out of the hospital.