A/N - if you are interested in reading more about Jean and Amelie's encounter, there is a piece which is rated "M" entitled "Notches". Chapter 5 is entitled "Sun and Moon" and is about their liaison.
The Storm
Pushing her way through a small crowd, Naomi set her eyes on Roderick. Nervous energy coursed through her; her brow furrowed and her palms were sweaty. Waiting for him to dismiss another of their soldiers, she stepped closer. His jaw was clenched; he'd no doubt heard the rumor which she had come to confirm.
"Flame is holding a press conference at the steps of Central Command," she intoned.
"I doubt anything he says could dispute my claims."
"Should we mobilize? In case he makes himself an easy target?" she gave a cocked smiled.
His tight jaw slacked and he smiled, "You know me too well. Let's get the jeeps ready. If we can take him out during that press conference, I doubt we'll have very much more resistance," his eyes sparkled with anticipation and he stood a bit straighter.
"What about the white-haired woman?"
"If you see her, kill her. She's powerful, but not a fighter. Taking her out is the best way to ensure Flame is brought down."
"You don't want her cleansed?"
He shook his head, hands folding at the small of his back, "She's too unpredictable. Flame's weakness was his gloves. Hers is not so obvious."
"It's him. She's come to his rescue twice now. Whatever their relationship, they've shown to be each other's weakness, don't you think?"
A little nod and a wider smile, "Still, taking her out will make sure Flame doesn't heal from his wounds this time. Every gun not aimed at Flame should be aimed at her."
"Done," she smirked and started to walk away. Her name, softly spoken from his lips, made her hesitate. She turned to face him again. He wasn't looking at her, but at his notebook.
"Who do you think she is to him?" he murmured.
She knew the actions. Knew the ramifications of how the white-haired woman had come to Flame's aid. She wasn't a friend. Nor a lover. What she was, though, Naomi didn't wish to vocalize. Her own family had been untouched throughout all of Roderick's plan. She hated to think a sign of weakness would be their undoing. As much as she disagreed with her brother, she couldn't give him up to Roderick. He'd been untouched. She would keep it that way.
"I'm not sure," she averted her eyes a bit.
Roderick chuckled, "Of course you are. You have that same devotion, Naomi."
Her heart felt leaden and sunken. A shiver brushed over her skin and she didn't take her eyes off Roderick. He sauntered closer, hands still at the small of his back, and she stood tall when he was shoulder to shoulder with her. She didn't dare look him in the eye again, only faced forward while the drum of her heart beat loud in her ears.
"You are a loyal soldier. Your devotion to me is...endearing. When we have won, your devotion will not go unrewarded."
The stiff line of her back relaxed and she allowed herself to smile, "Thank you."
He returned the smile and placed a cold hand on her shoulder. Taking her graces, she walked briskly off towards the loading docks where the cans of ammunition were almost finished being loaded onto the jeeps. She tacked her mask in place, hiding the bottom half of her face. Pulling a thick winter coat on and yanking the hood up meant she looked just like any other passerby in this weather. Even for the layers, she was cold. The fear that Roderick had found out about her brother still rang fresh in her mind. She knew the devotion the white-haired woman had because she fought against it every day. Hoping that her brother wasn't in a targeted building. Fearful that he would be the next civilian caught in the crossfire.
Seated next to others with shrouded features, she felt the lurch of the weapon-laden jeep as they took off for Central Command.
Roy stepped out into the bright sun. He'd slicked his hair back and donned his visor cap to speak; his confidence would strengthen the facade of his abilities. Not a moment after the broadcast had been over did he receive a phone call from the Fuehrer. He knew, from that moment on, the charade had to be perfect. If Roderick thought for a moment that his alchemy was gone, the man wouldn't show his hand. He was making himself the bait. Letting his life dangle on the hook while his sister held the reel. Pausing, still behind the stone walls surrounding the plaza, he looked to the half-finished tower across the way. He couldn't see his sister. Couldn't tell her that she was trusted.
Standing next to him, Riza placed her third handgun in a holster on the small of her back, under the thick jacket. Her chocolate eyes scanned the horizon and only when she'd given him a nod, did he continue walking forward while she stayed one stride behind.
Even with the bright sun reflecting off snow, he was blinded by the cameras that went off when he took his place behind the podium on the steps of Central Command. There was a whirr of questions, each melting into the next and becoming nothing more than white noise. Subconsciously rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, he waited until the crowd of reporters had gone silent. Each was holding a wired microphone out towards him, their boxes of receivers on their hips or backs.
"An hour ago, the terrorist organization known as the Republic made a broadcast which claimed to have taken my alchemy. Their lies are part of an elaborate plot to undermine our great military, and to distract the people from the true danger. Our team did make a foray into their ranks in the hopes of uncovering their final goals late yesterday evening and, while a shoot out did occur, I and my team have remained unharmed. The man leading this operation, Roderick, has claimed to have God's blessings which allow him to render alchemists powerless. However, my team discovered last night that Roderick is a scam; he is an alchemist using an advanced form of foreign alchemy to feign power. His ultimate goal is not equality, but a deadly take-over of this country. He will kill any and all citizens who deny his rule. He is not an enemy of alchemists. He is an enemy to the whole country. My team believes that he is trying to activate a dangerous transmutation circle which would result in the deaths of everyone within the city limits, and possibly further. Our citizens are asked, if they spot any suspicious activity, to report it immediately to the nearest Military Police station. For now, our forces will continue to search for him and his associates. At this time, I will take questions."
The flurry of words and eager press pushed forward and it was only the stanchions which held them back. He idly pointed to a reporter at the edge of the crowd. The young man stepped towards him and spoke his question to the microphone: "General Mustang - are you saying your alchemy has not been taken from you?" he then angled the device towards the podium.
Exasperated, Roy nodded, "That is correct."
Without hesitation, the same individual continued, "Can you prove that to us?"
Staring into the eager faces, the silver balls of the microphones, he sighed, "If you wish."
Raising his gloved hand, he held eye contact with the ardent man.
SNAP
Fire surged forward over the heads of the assembled crowd. It was blue at the core, orange and yellow spanning outwards, hotter than the flames he usually created. It soared like an eagle across the street. Dazzling and convincing. It lingered, alive for moments, before retreating backwards and disappearing. The stunned silence and gaping mouths gave way to an overflowing chatter for a moment while the reporters described the scene to the listeners at home. With his most convincing look of utter boredom, Roy sighed again, "Any other questions?"
"General! You say Roderick is an alchemist: what kind of transmutation is he planning?"
"If his circle is activated, it will kill everyone within it by causing their blood to boil while their skin freezes. The results are disturbing. We have reason to believe he has already tried these transmutation circles on his own men rather than allow them to be captured by the military. It also seems he has attempted to use this alchemy on our own soldiers dating back to 1905. He is experienced and remorseless."
"How can our citizens help?"
"Anyone who has knowledge of his schemes and comes forward will be granted clemency. Should any of our citizens see suspicious activity, they are to report it immediately to - "
A gunshot whipped through the air and Roy found himself forced to the steps by his Captain. The reporters scattered for cover and the singular gunshot echoed among the granite and marble. Crouched next to Hawkeye behind the wooden podium, he waited. There was no damage to the stone steps. No damage to the podium. His heart started to beat faster. He could hear engines revving and screams as crowds fled. Sharing a knowing look with his Captain, they both stood. She shot at the oncoming enemy. He snapped.
No flames.
Ducking down behind the podium and grabbing Hawkeye, he pulled her along with him towards the alcove in the wall corner. He couldn't afford time to see if Amelie and Havoc were still alive. But he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his gut that the shot hadn't been meant for him at all, and the lack of following shots meant the first had found its mark.
Looking at the assembled reporters, Jean turned his attention to Amelie. Those coal eyes were trained on her brother. They were both standing, waiting for his movement. They hadn't heard the radio broadcast, but the palpable surge of energy below them had only gotten thicker as the crowd gathered for the press conference. Roy was wearing his formal cap, the visor hiding his eyes. Jean smiled to himself at the man's tactical mind. Eyes hidden, he couldn't give away their position even if he wanted to. The stirring of anxious trepidation and he placed his hand on Amelie's shoulder. She shadowed her hand over his.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You're not alone in this anymore."
Her eyes were fixated on the scene below them, "I believe you. I never thought..."
"What?"
"I never thought this would be how I spent the day after," she offered a mirthful little smile.
He mirrored it, "Not a bad way to, though."
"You have more experience in that than I do. I suppose one of us should be good at it," the bit of blush on her cheeks made him step closer and he took her hand.
"I never said I was good at it. Why?"
She shrugged, "Well, I'd always heard...that the first time...hurt."
He shook his head, "Only if he's not gentle."
"I thank you for that, then."
Feeling a sudden, strong resolve, his gaze left the crowds below to look at her, "I'm not ever going to let you get hurt. Not on my watch."
She looked up at him, a warm smile making her squint ever so slightly. Together, they both turned their attention back to the General. Below, Mustang's shoulders rose and fell. His hand raised. Even so far away, Jean could hear that snap in his mind. Like clockwork, Amelie's attention diverted wholly on her brother. The living flames expanded like feathers of cobalt and copper, burning on oxygen gathered by her mind, before pulling back to the supposed creator. Jean smiled. While the flames were somehow less threatening at her beck and call, he knew that they were more deadly and burned hotter.
"Mission accomplished," he relaxed his tense shoulders.
"Hopefully Roderick will take the bait."
"He will," Jean moved off to the side, kneeling at the small duffle bag of guns he'd brought in the event things went south. As it was, the press conference was void of excitement and their part in it had come to an end. His orders were clear: get Amelie in, let her do her alchemy, and get her out.
"I still don't know how I can fix it," Amelie sighed, staring out the window at her brother.
"You're a genius. You'll figure - " he diverted his eyes to her and saw a small red dot on her back between her shoulders.
He lunged and tackled her to the dusty floor. His ears rang with the whine of a sharp crack. The stone wall had a visible cleft and they both could see a living cloud of dust appear at the chipped window frame. Holding her down, she tried to crawl back towards the window to see her brother.
"Stay down!"
"But Roy..."
"He's got the Captain to look after him; come on, we need to get out of here!" he stayed prone on the floorboards and tried to find an easy way out that wouldn't require putting themselves in the line of a sniper again, "Any ideas?" he asked.
"I can transmute us."
He stared at her for a moment. The sound of heavy vehicles rumbling and roaring towards them pushed away his nagging uncertainty. He nodded, "Then get us down there. We need to get back to the car and get them."
She grabbed his hand and his world went black.
More gunshots ricocheted off the stone walls. The angle kept him and his Captain safe, but also meant reinforcements weren't readily able to come to their aid without putting themselves in the line of fire. The first shot had been the only for a few minutes. Now, it was joined by several small caliber guns. Taking a momentary reprieve, he peered out around the sharp corner of the wall. A shot went shallow, clipping the stone just shy of his face. He jerked back and sighed, looking to Hawkeye.
"They're just trying to keep us pinned here," he reasoned.
"Which means they have reinforcements coming," she concluded, "Sir, we can't assume that Lieutenant Havoc and Amelie are - " she cut herself off when a sudden, heavy barrage of bullets tore into the stonework; shards flew in all directions and Roy wrapped himself around her to shield her from the stone. This gun was bigger, stronger.
Roy could barely make out the whir of another engine and the groan of ground as a huge transmutation sprang up to provide cover. A civilian car came to a screeching halt behind the new barrier and Roy unfurled himself from his Captain to see Havoc and Amelie in the car. Amelie had thrown open the two passenger doors. Without needing the instruction, he and Hawkeye dove into the car. He could feel Amelie pull on him and reach over to close the doors.
"Go!" he yelled over the sibilant whir of bullets.
Havoc slammed his foot down on the pedal and Roy fell backwards into the rear seat next to his sister. He was able to see that she was free from blood, but was covered in dust just like him. Whomever had taken that first shot had been aiming at her after all.
"Where to?" Havoc yelled over his shoulder; both of his hands had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
"Get us out of town. Take the fight away from the civilians."
Looking forward, Roy could see a clear path. If they could get out into the open, they could turn the tables. Heart pounding in his ears, he hadn't thought the fight would be this sudden. The cold thought that Roderick had been planning to assassinate him at the press conference crept into his mind. No other explanation told of how he'd gotten terrorists in place so soon. The only reason that first shot hadn't been for him, was because the shooter had been looking for Amelie.
"Brother?" Amelie tugged on his shoulder lapel, "What is that?"
He followed her gaze. She was on her knees on the back seat, staring out the rear window. A dark, wide vehicle was closing in and he could see the barrels of what appeared to be some kind of gatling gun mounted on the roof. The gunner was standing up through a hole in the top, and Roy could barely make out the new canister of ammunition being loaded through the bouncing and kicked-up snow.
"Shit! Havoc, turn! Get down!" he yelled, pulling Amelie into the footwell of the backseat.
The fast-paced thunderclaps of the automatic gun shattered the glass and dotted the rear of the car as Havoc took a hard left. The back end spun and yet he managed to keep the civilian car moving forward through the alley. The wide stance jeep tried to make the turn but was slowed by parked cars that Havoc had been able to avoid. Their engine sputtered. Roy could smell fuel in the chassis. The car slowed and Havoc cursed.
Amelie looked to the Lieutenant, "Turn us hard - I can make the car a barrier!"
Havoc spun the steering wheel as far as he could, the car careening sideways in the street. They all lurched towards the far side. "Get out!" Amelie pushed him towards the door. He threw himself out, heard Hawkeye and Havoc hunker down next to him, and found that Amelie had put both her hands on the side of the car from the outside; alchemy fluttered through it and the oncoming thunder of bullets didn't pierce it.
Roy cursed as another bullet became a near-hit, ricocheting off the battered car and sailing past to lodge into brickwork. Amelie was tucked up between him and Havoc, and Hawkeye was at his other side trying to defend their tenuous position. A shootout in the midst of Central wasn't in any way ideal, and Roy cursed his lack of alchemy. While he could snap and his sister would control the burst of flame, it wasn't enough to overwhelm the attackers and doing so meant she'd have to stop fortifying their only defense.
Alchemy constantly charged through the vehicle while the barrage of bullets continued, "When will they run out?!" Amelie shrieked; her alchemy was changing the composition, strengthening and rebuilding the framework of the dented vehicle.
"They've been firing non-stop - they have to run out soon," Hawkeye asserted but her eyes didn't convey the same confidence her voice did.
"Even I can't keep this up forever," Amelie admitted, yelping when a bullet pinged the inside of the door close to her face and left a bump in the metal.
"Reinforcements are coming," Hawkeye countered, her own firearm showing an empty core.
"This won't work long enough for them to get here," Havoc crouched down low again when his pistol slide remained open at the end of his supply.
"I can get Roy out of here," Amelie spoke up over the continuous thunder.
Roy shook his head, "Not unless we all can get out of here."
Hawkeye's glare was unmistakable, "Sir, you need to go. Amelie, can you keep him safe?"
His sister nodded fervently and with confident eyes while Roy fumed at being ignored, "If she stops reinforcing the car you two won't have any cover left!" he argued.
"They're not after us; get out of here," Jean pulled a revolver from his back holster.
Amelie offered one hand and Roy knew the moment he took it, he would be forced to abandon his soldiers and she would stop her alchemy. Jaw clenched tight, he turned his eyes on his Captain.
"I'll send word where to regroup."
She nodded and slid another magazine into her pistol before opening fire again. Placing his palm flat against his sister's, he lost sight of everything and his world went black. He could no longer discern up from down, his equilibrium swirled in his ears and made his stomach an angry maelstrom. The blackness was almost tangible and clawed at him. The only constant was his sister's cool skin against his. Finally, Roy's feet found solid ground and he instantly collapsed to all fours and lost his grip on his sister. The sensation of cold water against his palms and his knees took away the heat in his gut and slowly calmed his tumultuous stomach. Opening his eyes, he could make out the storm drain around him and his sister's tiny boots in his field of vision. For all the nausea he was swallowing back, she seemed perfectly fine.
"What was that?" he choked out.
"I transmuted us through the ground. Are you ok? Or is this going to be like the county fair?" she knelt down next to him with a soft smile.
Roy rolled his eyes and clumsily stood hunched and leaning against the rounded wall while she braced him. While he had never admitted to anyone that he was easily nauseated by movement, his sister was quick to remind him of the one and only time he'd lost his lunch from a roller coaster ride they'd shared when she was finally tall enough to ride it.
He looked up to see the filtered light of the drain grate and the distant sound of unmistakable gunfire had subsided. Amelie started walking away and he followed. Their footsteps were the only sound as they splashed and broke the thin layers of ice which had accumulated. She led them to a vertical set of rungs and started to climb. Pushing a grate out of the way, she confidently strolled back up to the street level. The small building next to them wasn't much more than a wooden hovel. Placing her hand flat against a padlock on the door, it fell to the ground open and she pushed her way in without resistance. A motorcycle was leaned against the far wall. Roy watched with impressed amusement while she touched it and brought it to life.
"How did you know this was here?"
"Hop on," she offered him a pair of riding goggles and he stared at them skeptically. She proffered her hand again and he grabbed them reluctantly.
"Can you even drive this thing?"
Letting her goggles snap gently into place with a smile, she looked to him expectantly again and gestured for him to hop on behind her. With a deep inhale, Roy pulled the goggles down over his eyes and didn't miss the smug look his sister cast him. He trod to the bike and straddled it, putting his hands around her waist. As he was about to comment that the wide door was still down, she revved the engine and disassembled the wooden barrier before throwing them both forward into gear. Roy couldn't help but hold on tighter when she took the curve fast, getting them onto the back street. She was perfectly at ease guiding the thundering machine and controlling it like it was a part of her.
"I take it you've driven these things before?" he shouted into her ear over the wind.
"I race them in Aerugo," she admitted proudly.
"You what!?" he raised his voice and her only response was to gun the engine and speed up, effectively cutting off his question amid the roar.
Pacing like a caged animal waiting to be fed, the food tantalizingly near but still undoubtedly out-of-reach, Roderick waited. Naomi had been wise to plan a preemptive strike during the press conference. Her brilliant mind was a boon to their cause. He'd sent her and others out with the plan to end Mustang's life. Avenging his family and destroying the figurehead of the State Alchemist program, all done with one simple act. Having heard Flame's broadcast, his sermon of false hope, and the reporting done by the press gathered, Roderick could only assume that his transmutation had worked, but that the white-haired woman had been stationed to undermine his actions. The slight possibility that his alchemy had failed wasn't as devastating a thought as the one in which that woman was so powerful as to accomplish the ruse.
A swift, panicked knock on his door and he halted his pacing to bark out entry.
A young recruit, blood stained, stood before him. Roderick eyed him up and down for a moment. The teenager had blood on his ragged clothes, but looked to be uninjured himself. His brown eyes were wide and dilated. Breath came in hurried repetition.
"So?" Roderick asked, placing his hands behind his back in an attempt to calm the boy down.
"We had them on the run. They were in a civilian car. We shot at it, but it looked like it was repairing itself, sir. We kept firing. They managed to hit a few of our own while we had to reload."
"And Flame?"
"He vanished. We retreated when more dogs showed up, but he wasn't anywhere to be found."
"Impossible. He must have eluded you during the chase," Roderick looked at an irregularity on the floor with his frustrated eyes rather than the teenager.
"I was driving. He never got out of the car. Never left the cover of it. He was just gone."
Brow furrowed, Roderick eyed the young man again, "What's your name, son?"
"Odane," he said, sweat running down his ebony skin.
"Where's Naomi? Why isn't she reporting to me?"
He swallowed hard, "She went down, sir. We lost sight of her."
"We need to find her."
"A few of us looked for her. She fell from the plaza clock and we couldn't find her body."
Shoulders rising and falling, his breath passing through his nose loudly, he fumed, "We can only hope she made it to the tunnels. As soon as we get a final count of casualties, I was a team to spread out to find her. If she's injured, we need to help her get back."
"I'll take care of it," he answered quickly, still sweating despite the frigid chill.
"Thank you, Odane. I appreciate you coming to me," Roderick allowed, turning back to his desk and ending the conversation. He absently heard the door open and close while he opened his journal. Thumbing through worn pages, he once again turned to the pictures of strangers he should remember. The next page held the grim details of those memories that had set him on this path. Charred bodies on an ashen floor. Dying flames clinging to the last remnants of walls. The roof had partially caved in over the kitchen and fire had consumed a table his grandfather had carved. His wife was prone on the floor, their children nearby. They didn't look like bodies anymore. Didn't look human.
Setting his journal aside, he wished he could feel the emotions he should've carried. As it was, his family felt like nothing more than strangers. He only hoped that, when Flame was killed, he would finally regain the love he'd grieved for. Then his family would be avenged and his memories mended.
Jean Havoc threw his dirtied, damp jacket forcefully against the couch and looked to Fuery. The younger man was tinkering with the radio and trying to find them any news on the whereabouts of the General and, more importantly, Amelie. Mustang said he'd send word but he'd been mum on how. Kain was searching radio channels. Hawkeye was looking through old correspondences in a little box for answers. Breda had hit the streets to see if Madame Christmas knew anything but had returned empty-handed. The Elric brothers had stayed with the Fuehrer at Hawkeye's request should anything more come of the assault. All Jean knew were the feelings of uncertainty and adrenaline coming from Amelie and his own frustration at being so helpless. Pacing back and forth among the others, he barely even registered when Lieutenant-Colonel Armstrong barreled in. He and Hawkeye were quickly in conversation, giving themselves options and timelines.
"If Amelie is with the General, then I doubt he is in need of much more protection than what she can give," Armstrong bellowed, "Her display at the hospital was impressive, to say the least. Her alchemy is beyond anything we've seen. At least in a human," he added.
Jean sighed, "She's the one I'm worried about," he tried to keep the welling paranoia and tainted objectiveness from his voice.
Breda scoffed, looking through the notes she'd given Hawkeye and Fullmetal the night before, "Girl's a damn monster; she ain't the one - "
"She's not a monster," Jean cut him off aggressively, louder than he meant to be and leaning in towards the heavy-set man. Feeling everyone in the room stare at him, he swallowed back the anger which had quickly piqued at Breda's insult. He straightened and met Riza's wide chocolate eyes. He cleared his throat, "Excuse me."
Pushing the door open to the General's empty antechamber and letting it slam decisively behind him, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to feel anything, something, that would confirm that Amelie - and by extension Mustang - was safe. Some emotion beyond panic and determination.
The door unlatched softly and clicked secure just as timidly. He spared one hasty look over his shoulder and saw Riza in his peripheral view. Moving away slowly, he braced his arm on the mantle of the doused fireplace. It was black with soot and ash, and the warm air of the office brushed past him as it reached towards the open flue.
"Are you well, Lieutenant?" she asked formally.
"I'm fine."
"I'm sure Amelie is, too. Even for someone so timid, she can defend herself when she needs to."
"Not when the General is around," he lowered his voice. Riza walked closer, unthreatening and soft; not the strong line of a soldier but the tender poise of a friend. She didn't even say anything and he knew what question she was thinking. He sighed, "When he's around, she only thinks of protecting him. And the General's not exactly clear-headed when it comes to her, either. Apart, they're strong. Together, they won't risk the other."
"Perhaps not. But I believe the General has mended her trust in him. Even if he hasn't, she has one very compelling reason to stay safe."
Jean met her tender eyes and smiled in spite of himself, "Did the General tell you?"
"No. He didn't need to. I'm familiar with the frustration of being helpless. Just remember that no one else can know. Not about the two of you. Not about her and the General. We can't risk putting them, or you, in the crosshairs of the Republic more prominently."
"Understood."
"I'm combing through the letters Amelie sent to Maes through the years. I can't have anyone else read them but you. If you want to help, go through them with me. Maybe we'll find something that tells us where she'd take the General."
The cottage was quaint and relatively isolated compared to the bustle of Central. Atop a gentle hill, the silver city gleamed in the distance and was turning a warm gold in the light of the oncoming winter sunset. Soft flakes of snow had started to fall. And while the cottage seemed abandoned, Roy felt oddly comfortable when his sister stopped their fast escape almost at the threshold of the abode. She pulled her goggles down and let the engine sputter off and die. Her nostalgic smile put Roy at ease.
"A safe house?" he asked.
She nodded, "I've used it a few times. A friend set it up for me," she dismounted and ignored the visible pang of sadness that came over him when he followed her towards the doorway. He knew exactly which friend had been there when he hadn't.
They crossed over the threshold after Amelie had used alchemy to unlock the bolt of the door. A diminutive oil lamp was on a small telephone stand just inside the foyer. Using a match from the box that sat idly by, she lit the red-based lamp and closed the door behind them. It was musty and cold and dank. Long tatters of fabric covered the sparse furniture and protected it from the dust which had accumulated. A stone hearth on the far side of the tiny living room had firewood already in place. A partly veiled door behind the couch revealed a minuscule bedroom. The kitchen off to the left didn't boast much more than a top-hat stove, a pantry, and a covered window over the sink in the counter. No fridge. Not even a table to eat at. A few cabinets showed sparse utensils and flatware behind glass panes.
For all that it lacked, Roy could see why Amelie had brought him here. She'd always been a claustrophile in times of stress. This humble space certainly fit the bill. He watched her light the hearth to warm the space and provide more light. A few crackles and a brief cloud of dust when she opened the throat damper to the flue and the fire began to make the grey canvas of the room turn into warm reds and browns. She rolled the sheet from the couch and put it aside.
"Do you have any way to check in on my men?"
She paused, "They're safe."
"How do you know?"
Her eyes didn't meet his, "I can feel Jean; he's not in pain, not injured. He's…focused," she struggled for the word before folding the crumpled sheet.
Roy's eyes narrowed, "You transmuted him? But how can you still feel him now?"
Her throat visibly shuddered when she swallowed back the answer she didn't give.
He nodded, understanding all too well what she wouldn't vocalize, even if he didn't understand the alchemy behind it, "I knew things would get complicated, but I didn't expect that as a side effect."
She looked at him, a slight blush on her cheeks. She busied herself with the hearth and didn't say anything for a moment. A twinge of guilt hit him hard; looking around, he couldn't help but remember the letters he'd read, the files he'd forced himself to comb through.
Hands in his pockets, Roy sighed, "Maes set this up, didn't he?" he asked although he knew the answer.
Amelie offered a gentle smile and nodded, seemingly grateful for the change in topic, "He said it would always be here for me."
"You came back to Central every year. And every year, Maes knew. He would always ask around my birthday if I'd heard from you. And every year I gave him the same answer. He never brought me here because of it."
Amelie's brow furrowed a bit, "How do you know I came back every year?"
"While you were in the hospital, I was given the letters you sent to Maes. He kept them all. His aide kept them when he... I read them. And every year, you waited here for a few days to see if I would come. When I didn't, you left, and Maes always made sure to have things ready for the next time. What I don't get is why you kept coming back," he admitted.
Amelie's soft face turned to the fledgling fire and he watched her smooth skin wrinkle a bit as she smiled nostalgically, "Maes would always say: 'Just you wait and see. Roy's working to make this country better. He's going to change the way it works. And when he does, he's going to make it safe for you. You'll be a family again.' He believed in you. How could I not?" she asked.
Roy looked down at his own hands and saw nothing but the blood from his past mistakes. He'd made so many of them. For Maes to still believe and for that belief to be ignited in Amelie…
She moved closer to him and held out her hand. A small glinting of silver caught his eye. He straightened and blinked, unsure of what she was offering. Her palm opened to reveal a State Alchemist's silver pocket watch. The middle insignia on the cover had been impacted inwards and the casing jammed eternally closed because of it. His heart got stuck in his throat. The watch had taken a bullet in the Ishbalan War. He'd thought it had been lost. Lost to the sands and the desert and the chaos.
"Maes gave this to me before I left Amestris," she said softly; her voice was barely above a whisper, "He said it was yours. He told me to keep it. 'Keep it, and you'll have whatever luck was with him that day'. So I did. I kept this and I thought about how scared you were in that war. You were always so eager to help people. I felt the hell that it was for you to kill them instead."
He touched the tarnished silver and felt the cracks on the face leading to the crater in the middle. That day, that memory, rang fresh in his mind. Luck? It had been the closest Roy had ever been to believing in divine intervention.
"Why are you showing me this?" he asked, gravel in his voice.
"We're both murderers, Brother. But we're both still here. And I have to believe there's a reason for that."
He stared at her, eye to eye. Such resignation and determination. Mistakes that needed to be absolved. He turned his gaze to the pocket watch in her dainty hand. He gently wrapped his hand around hers and closed her grasp around the tattered silver relic. They stayed that way for a moment, hands surrounding his original pocket watch.
"When this is over, you won't have to rely on luck anymore. I'll make it right."
She nodded, her eyes slowly overflowing with tears. She folded into him, her tiny body pressed against his in a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head. She was softly crying. He closed his eyes and listened to it. To her endless faith being restored.
A small sound and he pulled away. She must have heard it, too. She wiped her eyes and they both looked towards the doorway. It was locked, but rickety at best.
"Someone's outside," he whispered.
She nodded, her throat bobbing.
He disentangled himself from her, "Stay down. If I snap, make good use of it," he lowered his voice so that even she had to listen hard to hear it.
Without so much as a squeaky floorboard, she ducked down behind the thick couch and waited. Roy drew his sidearm. It wasn't as reliable as his flames, but it would still work. The white hair that was barely visible beyond the chunky arm of the couch was the only indication of his sister's whereabouts. He moved to the door and readied to open it. One soft exhale to steel his nerves and he pulled hard on the door. The lock shattered and a heavy thud sounded the arrival of their unwanted visitor onto the wooden floor, face first. The threat in front of him, Roy placed the barrel of the gun to the back of the woman's red-haired skull.
"Move and I shoot," he stated sternly.
"I'm no threat," the woman's voice shook.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Naomi. I want to help you."
