He didn't want to talk.
Not with an audience. Not with Mustang there.
But they needed another report by tomorrow…
Winry had scooted over next to him on the couch and had taken his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. Her small, comforting smile eased the unbearable tension in his chest.
He had no choice.
He needed to talk again. To tell them what happened.
To tell them about his failure.
Edward sat idly as the train rattled onward, watching as the landscape slowly transitioned from one filled with green, lush trees to a barren and sandy one. He could already feel his automail beginning to warm up. The blisters that would soon follow from the constant metal-on-skin contact were inevitable. And, of course, the region was currently in a state of drought, with temperatures reported near 115 degrees Fahrenheit the past few weeks, and there were no signs of it decreasing anytime soon.
He could feel his mood souring by the second.
Why did he even need to go in the first place? It's not like he was important to the rebuilding of Ishval.
For the past two months, Colonel Bastard – oh wait, General Bastard – had been nagging for him to go out there. Something about diplomatic relations or whatever. Finally Edward gave in to his constant haranguing. The sooner he could get the trip over with, the sooner he could go home to Alphonse and Winry and Granny. And the sooner he could leave Mustang and the military behind.
He patted his pocket, confirming for the eleventh time that the papers were still there.
His letters of resignation.
In a few short days, he would no longer be a dog of the military. He'd finally be free to live his life without worrying about being called to duty again.
Underneath it all, however, Edward knew his ulterior motive for leaving the military.
After he had caught wind that Mustang had used a Philosopher's Stone to regain his sight, he was livid. What right did he have to use all of those souls, all of those lives, for his gain? Apparently Dr. Marcoh had offered it to him on the condition that Mustang help rebuild Ishval.
Deep down Edward knew that what was done was done. Mustang used a Philosopher's Stone to regain his sight. He could see again. He was in Ishval now. What was done was done.
Still, Edward couldn't help but feel bitter. He and Al had spent years trying to find ways to restore their bodies… and they hadn't even used a Philosopher's Stone to do so. Sure, he had been forced, but there had to be another way. Using the Philosopher's Stone without even spending an iota of time searching for other options was what really pushed him over the edge.
Edward pushed the thoughts out of his head. He didn't want to think about it anymore.
Just endure two days there and he could go home.
All Edward knew was that his leg was beginning to hurt. He did not want to leave Al. He did not want to go to Ishval.
And more than anything, he did NOT want to see Mustang.
As soon as Edward stepped off the train, he heard his name shouted out. Turning toward the source of the noise, he saw Mustang, a slight smirk on his face, and Hawkeye standing just a few hundred meters away.
Both of them were there. Just like Mustang had said they would be.
As Edward neared them, a small voice in the back of his head encouraged him to tell Mustang to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face, but he quickly pushed it away.
Just two days and it'd be over.
After the three had exchanged pleasantries they began making their way through the small town of Turlorn. As they walked, Edward realized that there really wasn't too much to the town. It had maybe one thousand people tops. A far cry from the populous Central City.
Mustang would occasionally point out a landmark or building and explain its significance or excitedly mention what their plans were for it. So far, there were plans to renovate a glassmaking factory, revitalize the suffering wheat growing industry, and rebuild countless temples that were destroyed during the Ishvalan war.
A few other plans were mentioned as they continued to walk, but Edward soon found himself not paying any attention to the older man. Instead, his focus was on his aching leg; he had realized that he was limping.
The ever observant Hawk's Eye noticed as well. He could feel her concerned eyes on him.
Not feeling overly explanatory today, Edward kept his eyes focused forward and slightly downturned, staring at the ground ahead of him. Just two more days…
Once they had reached Mustang's modest, and extremely stuffy, office Edward slumped into the closest chair he could find, stretching his legs out as far as he could. If he didn't move from that spot for the next forty-eight hours, he'd be happy.
At that moment, it was just Mustang and him in the room. Hawkeye had run downstairs to pick up something the bastard had requested. Like always.
He scanned the office, noticing that there were only four desks instead of the usual six that Mustang always had. He had forgotten that Breda was still in the West while Falman was still stationed in the North. Two of the desks, at that time empty, most likely belonged to Fuery and the recently reinstated Havoc.
He secretly hoped that he would see them the next day. Unlike Mustang, he admittedly, and ever so slightly, missed them.
Edward was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard his name. Looking up, he saw that Mustang's dark eyes were on him.
"Did you hear me?" the General asked, a tinge of irritation in his voice.
"Sorry," Edward mumbled, "I missed it."
"I asked that you accompany Lieutenant Hawkeye for a mail drop."
Edward remembered passing the post office a few minutes before they had arrived at the military headquarters. That meant going back out into that blazing heat. Damn…
Why did he even need to go? Hawkeye always did mail drops alone in Central. What was the big deal? And why couldn't the bastard just go?
As if Mustang had read his mind, the man gestured to the stack of papers in front of him and continued, "I have to get these papers in by five and I can't go."
Just as Edward opened his mouth to ask why he going was even necessary, Mustang bluntly answered his question, his eyes now focused on the paper in his hand, "It's required that all military personnel remain in pairs of two or more for security reasons."
Security? Yeah, like Hawkeye even needed a bodyguard. But whatever…
"And afterwards," Mustang looked up again at the boy, "I thought it'd be nice if we grabbed some dinner. There's a small restaurant around the corner."
Edward shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he replied halfheartedly.
"And while we're there, I would like to discuss your future endeavors regarding your military status."
Edward felt a pang of annoyance, but said nothing. No matter what Mustang would say, he wouldn't change his mind. He was going to leave the military behind and that was final. But hell, he'll humor the bastard for a couple of days.
Seeming to (finally) notice the boy's lack of enthusiasm, Mustang lowered his voice, his tone serious, "I mean it Edward. You are to remain with Lieutenant Hawkeye at all times. That's an order."
Oh! So now he was ordering him around again. Edward could feel his agitation bubbling toward the surface, threatening to spill over the edge. He resisted the urge to make a snarky comment back, instead opting to shrug again, "Yeah, yeah; I know. Simple orders."
Just as Mustang opened his mouth to reply, Hawkeye reappeared in the doorframe, carrying a small package and a couple of letters in her hands.
Edward quickly jumped off of the couch and made his way over to her, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he went, grasping the folded up papers in one of his hands.
She flashed a small smile toward the boy before looking past him at Mustang. "Anything else, sir?"
"No," the General shook his head before letting his eyes wander to and meet Edward's. "Just simple orders."
As Edward and Hawkeye made their way to the post office, Edward couldn't help but notice the variety of people that greeted them. Some people smiled and saluted. Others gave them a small wave or a friendly 'hello.' And each time Hawkeye would respond with a small nod, a light wave, or a 'hello' back to them.
Yeah. Safety was a real issue here. Mustang was just paranoid.
After a few more moments of walking in silence, Edward noticed that Hawkeye had begun to slow her pace, matching her stride with his.
When the pair was walking side by side, Hawkeye shot him a look of concern. "Are you alright, Edward?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied shortly. In reality, he wasn't. The hot pain on his thigh had become almost unbearable. He could feel his skin developing fever blisters. He just wanted to get this mail drop over with so they could go back.
She nodded, probably deciding that it was best to not probe the young boy further.
Soon, though, she broke the silence again. Keeping her eyes forward, she continued, "Edward, I know you aren't happy about the General's decision regarding the Stone, but please understandwhy he did it."
He felt a sharp jab of annoyance. She was just trying to justify that bastard's actions. Couldn't she just think for herself for once?
"Please understand that-"
"Yeah, I get it," he replied sharply as another burst of pain shot through his left leg. "I really don't want to talk about it."
If she showed any signs of hurt or surprise, it passed too quickly for Edward to notice. On one hand, he was relieved. Maybe he hadn't been too harsh? On the other hand, however, he felt slightly agitated. Could she for once show on her face what she's thinking or feeling?
They continued walking for a few more minutes, each step becoming more agitating and painfully reminding Edward of the large hunk of metal mounted on his leg. When the hell were they going to get there?
As if his thoughts were answered, Hawkeye suddenly stopped under a canopy they had been walking under. The temperature underneath it was at least ten degrees cooler, just slightly alleviating the pain in Edward's left leg.
Hawkeye gestured to the storefront they stood in front of. "Well, here we are," she noted as she began to reach for the door handle. However, upon realizing Edward was not following, she turned and eyed the boy.
"I think I'm just going to stick around out here," he said, replying to her gaze.
"Edward-"
"I'm fine, Hawkeye," he replied bluntly.
Upon seeing her concern, he quickly changed his tone, trying his best to cover any hint of pain or annoyance. "My leg's just acting up and I really need to sit down." That was partially the truth.
Edward leaned against the wall and slowly slid down it until he was seated on the ground. Looking back up at her, he said, "I'll just be right here." He didn't waiver; holding firm in his decision.
She sighed before turning back toward the door. "Alright. Please remain here."
Hah. Easy enough.
He nodded in reply as she entered the post office and went to stand in line.
After a few minutes passed, Edward peered in through the windows, noticing that Hawkeye had only advanced two places in the line. This was taking forever.
Edward slumped against the wall, raising his left leg slightly, and easing the pain he was beginning to feel again.
Suddenly, Edward heard a loud pop followed by screaming and cheering. He turned toward a nearby alleyway and saw a large crowd that had gathered at the end of it.
Rotating back to the storefront, he noticed that no one, not even Hawkeye, had paid any heed to the noise.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, Edward advanced down the narrow alleyway, deciding to briefly investigate. It would just take one minute.
After all, one minute wouldn't kill her.
Upon exiting the alleyway, Edward found himself immersed in a crowd of excited, cheering Ishvalans. He slowly made his way through the crowd until he made it to the front. A steady stream of colorfully decorated Isvhalans were dancing past, waving lanterns and setting off poppers.
Most likely seeing Edward's perplexed expression, the man next to him turned and smiled, speaking loudly over the noise, "It's our festival to celebrate the rebirth of Ishval!"
Edward nodded and turned back to the parade, a feeling of awe swelling inside of him. Despite everything that had happened to them, the Ishvalan people were still so hopeful and full of life. It was incredible…
Suddenly, a young girl, no older than eight or nine years old, separated herself from the parade and danced over to Edward, taking his hand in hers and pulling him into the stream of people. Once they had made it to the center of the road, she grabbed his other hand in hers and began dancing in a circle and smiling. He shot her a grin back and followed her lead, spinning along with her. He could hear the crowd hooting and cheering around them as they made their way down the road.
After spinning for another one hundred feet or so, the young girl navigated them back to the side of the road and near the crowd. She let go and excitedly thanked him, pulling one of the beaded necklaces from around her neck and offering it to him. He took it from her and nodded appreciatively, flashing her a small smile. She grinned back before skipping a few rows down and pulling another young girl from the crowd and repeating the process.
He watched after them for a few moments. Yeah… the Ishvalan people were incredible.
He quickly snapped back from his thoughts, however, when he realized that he needed to be back at the post office. Pushing his way through the crowd, Edward found the alleyway and darted down it, ignoring the pain in his automail leg.
Edward hurriedly made his way back to the post office, only to find that Hawkeye was no longer there.
Great. She's probably halfway to the military headquarters by now. Mustang was going to have a fit.
Still, as he sauntered back toward the headquarters, making sure to take his time, he glanced around into shop windows and small alleyways, hoping to catch sight of the blonde Lieutenant. It shouldn't be too hard; the streets were empty now that the festival was in full swing just a few streets over.
Up ahead of him, he saw a flash of navy blue disappear into one of the narrower alleys.
Hoping to catch up to it, Edward sprinted to and dashed around the corner, only to be knocked to the ground after slamming into something large and hard.
As he mumbled an apology, Edward raised his eyes to see who, or what, he had run into. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
A mountain of a man stood in front of him, his massive arms crossed over his chest. An assortment of scars crisscrossed his face and bald head, but two of them stood out to Edward immediately: Two battered, ugly scars ran from the corners of his mouth to his ears, giving his lips a Cheshire grin.*
A strong urge to run pulsed through Edward, but his limbs had suddenly felt as if they had turned to jelly.
Something was off.
This man was dangerous.
No doubt sensing Edward's fear, the goliath narrowed his small, black eyes and sneered. "What the hell are you looking at?" he gnarled.
"Sorry," Edward replied apologetically. "I'm just looking for someone and I saw your navy shirt, so I thought that-"
The man grimaced, "Looking for an Amestrian dog," he spat, referring to the navy uniforms members of the military wore. "Well, you're shit out of luck, 'cause there ain't any here."
Edward quickly scrambled to his feet and backed a few steps away, "Okay, thanks," he replied quickly.
The man took a step threateningly toward Edward before stopping and turning to look down the alleyway behind him, hearing the slam of a car door nearby. The goliath grunted and turned back to Edward, the sneer returning to his face. "Best you run along now, runt. Wouldn't want to miss your little girl friend, now would ya?"
"Right…" Edward took another step back, sizing up the man. That was definitely one fight he couldn't win. Luckily, it appeared that the man was more interested in what was going on behind him. So he'd take his advice and go. "Thanks…"
Turning away from the behemoth, Edward dashed out of the alleyway, leaving the now cackling man behind.
As he sprinted down the street, he frantically looked through every window and down every side street he ran past.
Nothing.
No blonde hair. No navy uniform.
Nothing.
He slowed as he came upon the military headquarters. He'd report the man he saw to Mustang and Hawkeye once he saw them inside… because they'd both be inside.
As he reached the door and extended his arm to grasp the handle, he stopped, feeling the blood drain from his face upon realizing something that he had dismissed before.
He hadn't mentioned to the man that he person he was looking for was a woman.
Edward raced down the hallway toward Mustang's office, his pace quickening with each step. She'd be there.
She'd be there at her desk and Mustang would be at his. With that stupid look of disapproval on his face. But they'd be there together, nonetheless; like they always were.
When he turned the corner into Mustang's office, however, she was not there.
Mustang looked up from his paperwork upon hearing Edward enter, glanced at the clock on the wall, and then eyed Edward curiously. "You two are back early. Are you ready to-"
"Is Hawkeye here," Edward cut him off.
Mustang shot him a confused look, "What do you-"
"Look, we got separated at the post office and when I got back she wasn't there. So I looked around for a bit and came back here, since she'd be here and-"
"No." It was Mustang's turn to interrupt him. The Flame Alchemist narrowed his eyes and stated bluntly, "She's not here."
Edward didn't have to describe what happened after that. Because Mustang already knew.
They had gone up to her room and knocked on the door; but, of course, there was no reply.
Mustang had even fished a solidary key from his pocket and used that to open the door.
Nothing. No one was there, save for Black Hayate.
Gone.
Just like that.
Edward didn't need to look up to know that Mustang's midnight eyes were on him. He could feel his cold, ruthless stare boring holes in him, threatening to tear through him at any instant. That icy stare had never once left him when he told his tale.
He was waiting for Mustang to lose it. Yell at him, scream; disintegrate him in a waterfall of flame.
Instead, much to his surprise and everyone else's, the Flame Alchemist simply rose and shot the former alchemist one last, chilly look before turning away and exiting the apartment, slamming the door behind him.