Brilliancy
by Lady Norbert
A/N: So you're probably wondering, as Breda was, what the heck happened to Scar? He too gets his own chapter now. Hopefully I did okay with his alkahestry ritual; please let me know if it doesn't make sense.
Thank you for all the hits and feedback. Brilliancy has now surpassed Flowers of Antimony in the number of reviews it has received, and meanwhile FoA has broken 12,000 hits. I feel so loved!
I've decided I am going to lay out the full array of who is which piece in this story... in fact, I think I'll save it for the art project that will be explained at the very end. If you're curious, I will say that I've appointed Ed to be the queen's side bishop.
Also, darn you all, quit making guesses in your reviews! Some of you guys are way too smart for my own good, and if you keep guessing it's going to be impossible to surprise you! ;)
Also also, I have decided that this chapter is dedicated to Velgamidragon, because reading Sikorsky being called "Skewer-face" in a review gave me the best giggle-fit of the day.
Chapter Fourteen: Equalize
Equalize: To create a position where both players have equal chances of winning.
Scar owes them nothing.
Granted, he did once try to kill General Mustang, on account of his being a State Alchemist - in particular, he was that State Alchemist, the one whose name struck more fear into an Ishvalan's heart than almost any other. He had nothing, at first, against the woman except her inexorable connection to this man and her determination to protect him at all costs.
(Later, he found out who she was, and then it was an entirely different story. Her own reputation is not much less diabolical than his.)
However, they needed to work together to stop the machinations of Father and his Homunculi, and Scar had been forced to acknowledge that they were... not entirely deplorable people. By the time the man had almost snapped and the woman had gone so far as to pull a gun on her beloved superior officer, he'd developed enough grudging respect that he lent his voice to talking Mustang down. Just that much, though; not enough that he was willing to accept Hawkeye's gratitude when she later offered it. He did find it interesting that she seemed to understand that.
Once they were healed, once he was healed, he discovered their determination to put things right in Ishval. He spent some long hours in conversation with Major Miles, whom he respects deeply, and he came to better comprehend how young they had been when they were sent in to annihilate his people. He doesn't think that makes it much better, really, but he has a greater sympathy for what little choice they were given in the matter. When the formal pardon was issued, he saw with his own eyes how uncomfortable they were with it.
"I expected the firing squad, to be honest," Hawkeye had said. "It would have been appropriate."
They're a strange pair, Scar thinks. They despise themselves and idolize each other. She would throw herself on a bomb to buy him an extra five seconds to escape from a situation. He would set himself on fire before he'd allow anything to happen to her. His vantage point under the Fifth Laboratory had allowed him to see the torment in Mustang's face as Hawkeye lay dying, to see how close he came to giving up and giving in and endangering the whole world to save one woman.
He has seen just in the last two days how her absence has affected the General. And while it would be an exaggeration to say that he likes them, he can acknowledge that he no longer hates them. He's even willing to admit, privately, that he thinks Mustang might just be able to make the country whole again, if given the chance. But he'll never get that chance alone; he might not even live that long, with his mind ravaged by fever and grief. So Scar has been working as hard as anyone else to find her.
He desires no harm to befall her. This is the extent of his attachment to the woman - a sort of benign indifference. Somehow, he thinks she would understand this, if she knew. She seems to understand many things.
When the traitor soldier reveals the plan to resurrect the war in Ishval, Scar is incensed. He and his compatriots would sacrifice even more innocent lives in a machination designed to play on the lingering guilt of the Amestrian citizens. The time for talking has passed, in Scar's opinion, and as quietly as he can he slips from the room. Let the others continue their interrogation; he knows what he needs to know, which is that Colonel Mustang is somewhere in the desert.
As one of Mustang's men correctly points out, the desert is vast and they have no real idea of where she might be found. But Scar's brother left answers in his notebooks, answers that Scar has not fully deciphered yet, and the clue to her location may be hidden within his writings.
He returns to his small residence, not far from Ishval Command, and pulls out the priceless books in which his brother so carefully inscribed the knowledge he wanted to share with the world. The secret must lie within the chi, and the connection that all life has to the pulse of the world. If he can use alkahestry to tap into the chi that is specific to Colonel Mustang, he can follow the dragon lines that will lead to her.
For a long time he reads, not moving save to turn pages. His gaze traces over the shapes of the letters, drinking in their essence. Brother, my brother, speak to me. These words are all that remain of you, these words and this arm. Help me use them both for the greater good. Someone else has deconstructed - help me to reconstruct. Teach me what I need to know.
The winter sunbeams that stretch through the window grow longer. Some part of his mind can almost feel her life stretching thin. Still he reads, still he puzzles out the meaning. At long last, he thinks he knows what to do.
In any case, he's going to try.
With the notebook in hand, Scar makes his way silently to the edge of the desert. He keeps to shadows, wanting to be spotted by no one - not even Miles, not until he has something to offer. He kneels and draws a transmutation circle in the sand, smoothing over his work many times and redrawing it until it's just right. Still on his knees, he presses his palms into the soft sand.
It is like placing his hands on the heart of the world.
The chi of a thousand life forms is laid open to him like a book. For a moment he despairs, not having the slightest notion of how to pick out the one he seeks. He glances at the notebook pages, reminds himself of what he's read, and starts to sift through the threads. Hers is there, and once he finds it he can block out the others.
Had an arrow been drawn in the sand, the way to find her could not be clearer. He is sorry, honestly sorry, that he did not think to try this sooner. He might have spared everyone at least a few hours of suffering. But the city in which Ishval Command is situated is intensely clogged with bodies, overflowing with chi. It would have been even more difficult to search out her essence there, perhaps impossible, and that's if the idea had crossed his mind earlier.
As Scar knows all too well, there is nothing to be gained by looking back on what you did or didn't do. So he picks up his brother's notes and stands, and returns to Ishval Command.
"I can lead you to her."
Scar supposes he can't blame Mustang and his men for the bewildered stares that answer this statement. He regards them calmly.
"How do you figure?" asks the short redheaded man.
He holds up the notebook. "When the traitor mentioned the desert, it reminded me of something in my brother's notes," he explains. "I was able to perform an alkahestry ritual that connected me to Colonel Mustang's chi. Her life force," he clarifies, realizing that only Mustang and Elric know what he's referencing. "I may need to perform it a few more times on the way, to be sure that I have the direction right and that she isn't being moved, but we can find her."
Silence reigns for a moment. Then the tall one, with the cigarette poking out of his mouth, widens his eyes. "If you connected to her life force," he says, "that means she's definitely alive!"
"Yes." Scar almost smiles. There's something somehow very amusing about that reaction.
"She's alive," Mustang repeats slowly, softly. The very confirmation of this fact seems to put strength back into his ill and weary limbs. He has traded his hospital garments for regular clothes, and it's possible that he's even dragged a comb through his unruly hair sometime in the past several hours.
"I can't guarantee more than that," Scar warns him, not entirely without sympathy. "She's likely to be injured, probably seriously."
"But she's alive. It's enough." Mustang blinks, and for an instant, his emotions are exposed. He blinks again, and they're gone. "Let's not waste any more time. Are the trucks done being converted?"
"Nearly," reports another soldier.
"Converted?"
"Vehicles with wheels don't work too well in the desert - sand gets into the gears after a while and makes them break down," explains the short, bespectacled soldier. "So we've taken belts, kind of like the ones that make tanks move, and converted the trucks so that they'll roll on top of the sand." He scratches his head, looking embarrassed. "I'm not sure how to describe it any better than that, but it'll be a lot faster than hitching up a bunch of camels."
Scar exchanges glances with Major Miles, who just shrugs and smiles slightly. "I see," he says. "I wondered why you hadn't left already. Now it makes sense."
"All right. I'll be in the lead truck; Scar, since you're our navigator, I'd like you to ride with me. Miles too, and Fullmetal, I guess you'd better sit where I can keep an eye on you. Falman, Fuery, Havoc and Breda, you take the second truck. Ross, Brosh, Catalina, Douglas, you're third." Mustang may still be sick, but he's speaking with a force and authority that no one has heard from him in days. "Mason - you, Dorset, and Webber stay here, and report to Major Armstrong in my absence. Keep Mrs. Elric company. If anyone calls, especially the Fuhrer, do not give out any intelligence about where we've gone. Let's go." He whistles, and the little black dog who is normally his wife's shadow falls in step behind him.
As they climb into the lead vehicle, Mustang catches and holds Scar's gaze. "I know you won't accept my thanks," he says quietly, sincerely, "but you have them all the same. You've probably saved both our lives."
Scar considers the matter. He refused Hawkeye's gratitude on the Promised Day, but now... it is fitting. It is, perhaps, part of the healing.
"I will accept your thanks," he says finally, "and you are welcome."