Chapter Twenty-five
Where the author is too lazy to focus on the actual plot, Edward gets questions answered, and we see the last of Aya for a while.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist
All throughout his teenage years, Edward saw no use for any womanizing skills. He always had something more important to worry about; returning his brother to his body, finding the Philosopher's Stone, saving his country from mass destruction. Now that he was certainly past that stage in his life, being able to talk comfortably with women would be rather nice. It was shocking to him that he spent years working for Mustang, Central's number one ladies' man, and none of that infamous talent had rubbed off on him whatsoever.
He stared at his refection, wishing he was allowed to punch the mirror. Edward scowled at himself, roughly pulling his golden hair into a sloppy ponytail at the back of his head. It looked terrible, but it was the best he could manage since his temper was threatening to rip out every lock of hair if he tried again. He may as well have just let it down. Aiame was going to laugh at him, and then he would not be able to say anything to defend himself. He wanted to sink into a hole. He looked horrible and he was doing something that went against everything he believed in; why was he letting Mustang push him around like that?
"Ed," Aiame's voice drawled through the bathroom door, "let me in."
"No," he snapped. He wanted to be alone, and neither his brother nor the mechanic has granted him that since they arrived at the new apartment.
On the other side of the door, Aiame was hurt. She did not take that as an answer, however. "Please?"
"What makes you think that is going to change my mind?" Edward asked harshly. He folded his arms over his chest for emphasis, despite the fact that she could not see him. His muscles were pulling against the fabric of his dress shirt; the clothing item barely fit him. He wanted very badly to change back into his regular attire – of much more comfortable clothes – and the only thing keeping him from doing so was what he was being asked to do that day. After going nearly eighteen years without it, Edward Elric was going to spend the day in church.
"Why are you being so secretive?" the redhead questioned sharply. "I only want to see how you look. Al said you asked him what would be appropriate formal-wear…"
"Because," he answered, choosing to ignore the last statement of hers.
"Because is not a legitimate answer," Aiame protested.
Edward's mouth fell agape. "You use it all the time!" It was like she could say whatever she wanted, but when he did the same thing… No, he scolded himself, I am just mad at Mustang. No need to take it out on her.
"Aya has taught me the art of fine grammar," she sniffed. It was as if Edward could hear her rolling her eyes. Aiame was using that as an excuse, they both knew it. If she had been talking with anyone other than Edward, they probably would have believed her. "Will you please come out of the bathroom?"
"No."
Aiame groaned. "Stop being difficult!" she spat. "Why not?"
"Because I don't want to leave."
She raised her eyebrows quizzically. "Leave the bathroom or the apartment?" Aiame asked.
"The apartment," Edward replied. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror again. He had only been in a church all of three times that he could remember, and each time he had not been required to wear anything other than his norm. Twice of the times had been kicking-ass in Lior, the third was way back when during Al's baptism. It was one of the few memories he still clung to of his entire family together. "But I am fine if I have to stay in the bathroom."
"Tell me why?" she requested.
"Mustang is an ass."
"Why, yes, he is. We have accomplished that. What does that have to do with anything?" Aiame leaned against the door, the doorknob jut into her forearm.
"He has me going against myself to get the damn Philosopher's Stone."
"What else is new?" the redhead returned. "Isn't that why we spent nearly three weeks in Xing?"
He groaned. "Yes," Ed muttered. He lamely attempted to redo his hair again, pulling it out of its ponytail and retying it. Greasy, golden locks still fell out, framing his face. He glared at himself in frustration.
"Would you like a little help?" Aiame offered, reaching to the counter to grab the brush. "I know a thing or two about doing hair."
"Of course you do, gear head," he grumbled.
She worked her fingers surely to remove the hair-tie without knotting Edward's gorgeous golden hair. Aiame gently stroked the back on his hair with the brush. She had never seen his hair down, and quite frankly, it was amazing. It was silky, despite not being washed in over three days. She became lost in the brushing of his hair; Aiame did not even bother to remember that they both had other things to do. She quickly pulled it up into a ponytail when she caught Ed's golden gaze in the mirror.
"Aiame," he murmured. "I love you."
Her reply was smooth; it sounded as if it had been thought-out when, in fact, the words were passing through her mind at the exact moment they were coming out of her mouth. "I love you, too, Edward."
"I mean it. I love you very, very much," Ed whispered. He spun around to face her. His hands gripped her shoulders, holding her at an arm's length from him. Edward dipped his head forwards, pressing his lips to hers.
She was a tad overwhelmed by the sheer sweet power of his kiss. Aiame pulled away, dazed, her hazel eyes dancing with sparkly pink stars. "Wow," she breathed in amazement.
He bid her goodbye and ducked out of the room. Ed was soon walking out the apartment door, leaving Aiame alone in a large hotel room. Well, Alphonse was sleeping in the bedroom beside her, but she could hardly count that. The fuzzy feeling that lingered from the kiss had slowly begun to wash out of her body. Aiame wandered into the living room, plopping down on the couch. She managed to fall back asleep after about an hour of laying in silence, her dreams filled with Edward.
The rest of Edward's day, however, was not as enjoyable. He attended two church services that morning in the old temple at the edge of town, where Cornello had once preached from. There were no signs of the Philosopher's Stone there at all. He figured that he had just gone against everything he believed in for absolutely nothing. That was, until he came upon a certain pink-and-brunette haired young mother who was less-than-joyous to see him again. Edward, as terrible as it sounds, was glad that Rose had something worth hiding from him. It meant that he was on the right track.
It was confusing, to Aya at least, why Fuhrer Mustang was keeping her with him. At first, she thought it may have been a hostage situation. However, as the week passed, she realized that she was given too many freedoms to be considered a hostage. As long as she did what she was told, Aya was in the clear.
Her mornings, which could barely be considered mornings by the time she woke up, began with tuning her automail. Aya did this before anything else; she did not want to have the scent of nasty oil hanging in the air around her like it did around Edward. She would wander downstairs and make herself breakfast, and always found a note on the table left by Hawkeye when she sat down to eat. The note would be a list informing her of things like when she was expected to meet them in the Fuhrer's office, if she had to dress in uniform or not, and if she had to bring anything specific with her. After she was finished, Aya would take the note back upstairs with her and clean herself up.
It was the end of the week. She had attended to her automail and eaten what could only have been considered brunch; Aya took Hawkeye's note off the table upstairs with her. Even though it was not the reason behind it, Aya appreciated the fact that the major was the one giving her orders and not Mustang – she probably would have disregarded anything that man said since it was not said to her face. Today it was being required that she wear the blue and white military uniform that she had stuffed into the back of her closet. She had tried it on once before, hated it, and called Hawkeye at HQ to see if really was necessary that she wear it. The major was tolerant of her that first day, but Aya hardly thought that conversation would go over well today. She decided to suck it up and suffer through it.
Aya stared at herself in the mirror. It was terrible, everything was wrong! The hem of the pants came over her hips, she had them fastened as tightly as the strip of fabric around her waist managed and they were still threatening to fall off. She tucked her white undershirt in, hoping that would help solve the problem. It barely did anything. Why was it so important that she wear the damn uniform! She was too short to fit into the pants anyway, which was a little bit depressing. She slid the blue jacket over her shoulders. It took her a moment to figure out how to even secure it around her. There were so many overwhelming and unneeded buttons that she fumbled with before finally being able to remove her hands and have the jacket remain on her shoulders. Unlike most of her other clothes – actually all of them, but she would not go and complain about that – it covered up the fact that she had automail fairly well. There were not any signs of the plating jutting from her forearm or awkward bumps along her shoulder where the port was.
She reread the note as she bounded back down the stairs. Hawkeye was conducting inspections of Laboratory 2 today, which meant that she was going to be alone with Mustang until she returned. "DAMNIT!" she swore in Aerugian, stomping her foot on the stairs. Aya continued out the door, glad that she was able to speak two languages. Being bilingual helped when her boss could not see her; if she wanted to say something bad to his face in Aerugian, and since he did not understand her, she could always use the excuse that she was still not used to always speaking in Amestrian.
Aya stumbled out the door, she cursed under her breath. The tails of the military pants caught in the door as she closed it behind her. She sighed in annoyance, pulling it loose.
Walking down the sidewalk, she hated the looks that people were giving her. Aya had a deep rooted feeling that it was because she was wearing the damn uniform. A woman she passed gave her a dirty look; her eyes squinty and sharp, her nose scrunched up to look like that of a pig. There was a man, his skin gently wrinkled with old age, holding the hand of a small boy as they walked down the street, who seemed to pull the child away out of caution. The boy, however, was rather friendly. He beamed brightly as he playfully brushed his hand against the fabric of her pants. It was no secret that the military had a bad reputation.
Thoughts passed through her mind, drifting in and out like they were being carried on a current. She wished that she could focus on something. It was irritating that she could not finish any of her thoughts anymore. There was so much that she had to give her attention to at any given time, leaving no time for any single thought.
First to wash up on shore that was her mind were images of Alphonse. Aya knew that she liked him too much for her own good. Whether that was good or bad, she was unsure. Maybe it was a bad thing that she thought about him so often. Did he even notice her? She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, reminding herself that it was best not to get mad at herself before she met up with Mustang.
She began climbing the steps to Central Command. Rays of sunlight beat down on her cheeks; Aya could feel her skin slowly turning redder. It was sad that she had somehow managed to stay as pale as a ghost. She ducked into the shade of the lobby, a gust of cool air washed over her skin as she let the door close behind her. One of the receptionists behind the front desk smiled at her, only turning to gossip to her partner once Aya walked down the left corridor. Even within the military people were saying things about her. She wanted to spin around and scream at them, although managed to restrain herself.
Aya found the Fuhrer's office in the same place as always, in the far back of the building facing the courtyard. It was a beautiful spot, and a shame that Mustang could not see it. She knew it was not the original office, and wondered if he had it moved before he became blind. Aya was yet to hear that story. Fuhrer Mustang sat behind his desk, his hands propped up in front of his mouth by his elbows. His raven hair had fallen lazily over his grey eyes. It was one of the few times that she had seen him without Hawkeye by his side.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted, using a false coating of peppiness to spice up her tone of voice. "Well, afternoon now, Major Hawkeye said it was alright to show up a little late. She wrote that you did not have much planned for today while she was gone." Aya stood directly before his desk, her arms stiff at her sides as she waited for her first order.
"Good morning, Aya," he mumbled. Not that she was any good at reading his eyes, but she could have sworn she detected depression masking his face. "It is quite amusing that you still have not realized I am the one telling Hawkeye what to write on those little notes you find on the table every morning. Hawkeye, not that she has anything against you, could honestly care less about whatever you do. It was not her idea to keep you around, she was actually against it."
"No offense, sir," Aya sneered, addressing him promptly, "but I will continue to think that Hawkeye is writing them. It is easier to follow their orders when I like the person they are coming from. If I accept that you write them, I am never going to get anything done." She beamed a sugar-coated smile, one that would be sickly sweet, despite him being unable to see it.
He sighed. "Harsh honesty," Fuhrer Mustang mused. "You sound like Edward. I suppose I have to let you get away with it – this time only. I would not be so blithe either if I were in your situation."
"Thank you," the teenager returned. A sense of satisfaction swept through her as she realized she was probably able to get away with whatever she wanted the rest of the day.
"Anyways," he cut in, slicing through the end of her words. "I would like you to drive me to the cemetery today. As soon as possible, actually. I have someone to see."
Aya nodded. She was quick to realize that he was meeting someone deceased. Possibly a parent, possibly an old friend; although, to her, Fuhrer Mustang was too young to know anyone outside of his family that had passed away. Then again, he was in the military…that gives plenty of opportunity for such circumstances. "But, sir," she protested, "I can't drive."
A low chuckle slipped through his slightly parted lips. "A sixteen-year-old that doesn't know how to drive, if the teens in this country heard that one," he smirked, his voice slowly fading away. "I am still the Fuhrer; there are plenty of drivers willing to take us both. It is simply required that you accompany me."
"Of course," said Aya. She hesitated for a moment, trying to recall what Hawkeye did. She did not have to hold Mustang's hand to guide him down the hallways, so Aya was obviously not supposed to do that. The major did, however, bark directions at him as to where to step and such. She bit her lip as she watched the Fuhrer rise from his seat. "Two steps either direction, sir."
"Thank you," he murmured, stepping beside her.
"Um…Just stay close, alright? It's a fairly straight corridor, I don't think that you'll get lost." Aya turned for the door, smoothly ushering him into the hallway. She walked slowly towards the lobby, making sure her footsteps were echoing loudly enough for him to pick up on.
"Ask for a car," Mustang instructed sharply, blankly staring ahead of him.
Aya turned towards the woman behind the desk who had been whispering about her. "Please get a car and driver here for the Fuhrer," she snapped.
"Right away," stuttered the receptionist. She picked up the telephone just to the right of her hand and dialed a number. She mumbled directions into the receiver before hanging up. "The car will be around in a minute."
She stepped back to Mustang's side, watching the curb far below the Command Center's steps for the car to pull around. When one finally arrived, Aya began to instruct him on where to step – growing extremely careful when they were climbing down the cement stairs. She had to open the car door for him as well, before sliding into the backseat herself. Fuhrer Mustang told the driver where to go, Central Memorial Grounds, and they were off.
Aya stared out the window at the passed the streets. Her entire body was set on edge around him, she was nervous to do or say anything. Every so often, she would glance over her shoulder at the Fuhrer. He wore the same, monotonous blank expression that he always did.
"And here I thought that teenage girls weren't able to shut up," Mustang mused. Aya jumped, startled. "You don't want to disappoint, do you?"
She turned her nose to the air. "I see no problem with it," Aya sniffed. "I never have actually gone along with what people expect of me, unless I thought of it myself first." That was a partial lie. While it was true that she did not like to go along with the crowd, her automail arm was the screaming truth that it was not always the case. It had been Aiame's idea to go out sailing that day…
"You do not sound so sure of that," he observed.
"You can't see, I am not going to tell you," she replied.
Fuhrer Mustang turned to her, and she was sure if he could, he would be glaring. "I do not need to hear that from you," he growled. "I have heard that enough to last my lifetime."
"Fine… I have automail. The only reason I have it is because I went along with what a friend told me to do even though I thought it was a bad idea," she explained. "I would never tell her that. She feels bad enough over what happened."
"Bad enough that she would travel to Amestris and learn to become an automail engineer?" he guessed.
"I believe you already know the answer to that."
The car stopped abruptly. They were parked in front of the open iron gates leading the cemetery. Aya slid out of the car and assisted Fuhrer Mustang step out onto the curb. He walked down the path cutting through the middle of the grounds, his coordination showed that he had been there many times before. She followed him quickly.
"Aya!" Mustang called over his shoulder. He had finally stopped in front of a grave. She stepped back in surprise; he had nearly screamed her ear off.
"I'm right here," she sighed.
"OH! Oh," he whispered. He turned to the headstone in front of his feet. "Tell me what the name is."
She glanced down. Her stomach churned as the realization that she was standing over rows of caskets hit her. Aya stuttered as she read the name engraved in the stone.
"Maes Hughes."
There was a pause between them. Mustang's head fell low.
"You are dismissed," he muttered.
Aya turned swiftly on her heels back to the car, slowly walked away from him. She reached the car, her entire body overwhelmed with sadness. As she slid into the backseat, she did not remove her eyes from the Fuhrer. She could have sworn that she saw him crying. Her thoughts were disrupted by the trilling chimes of a telephone ring. Aya jumped again.
"There's a phone in here?" she demanded, her automail hand placed over her heart in shock.
"Yes, of course," the driver – a young, male sergeant with shaggy blind hair – replied. "This is the Fuhrer's car, after all." He picked up the phone off the dashboard and held it to his ear, saluting whoever was on the other end of the line. Aya's Amestrian was still shaky; she did not comprehend what he was saying. "Well, yes, sir, this is the Fuhrer's car." A pause. "No, he is out at the moment. I do not know how long he will be." Another pause. "Yes, his assistant is here." The sergeant turned to look over the seat at Aya. "Are you Eye-ya Ak-uh-mat-soo?"
He sounded like an elementary student trying to sound out her name. "Aya Akamatsu," she corrected politely. "Yes, I am." Aya was handed the phone. She waited until she heard the other person's voice.
"Aya…?" Edward asked slowly.
"Edo!" she exclaimed excitedly. "This means I have connections to the outside world again! Woot!"
"Of course you do," he assured. Ed sounded confused, like this phone call was no big deal.
"Why did you call?" Aya asked.
"I wanted to yell at Mustang for…things," he explained. "But talking to you is even better. I have something to ask you."
Her heart began beating rapidly in her chest. She knew that this would not be any special question; she should not get her hopes up. She told herself that it was nothing. "Yes?" Secretly, Aya was still hoping that he was going to ask if she wanted to go back with him and Alphonse.
"Erm…I need to be a gentleman about this but I don't know her parents so you are the one I have to ask…" he trailed off for a moment. "What would you say…if I wanted to…ask Aiame to marry me?"
Aya froze. Seemingly at once, images of Aiame in a white ball gown and Ed in a suit flashed through her mind. Along with that were pictures of dresses for herself, music, pretty red roses, and even Alphonse in a suit snuck in. "What do you mean 'what would I say'?" she echoed. "I say hell yeah!"
He chuckled. "Great," Ed sighed. "I'm glad I have that off my chest."
Though she remained on the phone, Aya was silent. She was happy for them, that was a given. But she could not honestly say that she was not a little jealous. Why did Aiame's love-life suddenly take an interesting spin? Why was she being noticed? It was not even legal for her to be married yet; she was underage!
"Aya…are you alright?"
"I am fine," she assured. "But, Aiame is not legal to be married yet. At least not in Aerugo, I don't know about here in Amestris. She is only seventeen, you know."
"I know. I was at least going to wait until her birthday."
"That's only a month away," Aya pointed out.
Edward sounded shocked. "I could have sworn that she mentioned it was at least two!"
"Yeah, I was there. And that was a month ago."
"Ah…"
"Yes. So, have fun with the proposal." She assumed that she would still be working for Mustang at that time, so there was no point in saying that she would see him then.
"Thank you. Bye, Aya."
Aya handed the phone back to the driver without uttering another word.
Aiame...and Edward…were going to get married? The thought was still hard to process.
Well…there you have it. I am very sorry that I could not update last weekend, I was out of town with no access to my laptop. You can see that I am obviously not in any mood to be writing about the actual plot, and I apologize for that as well. But this is a story that was supposed to be focusing mainly around romance, so…
OH! And to answer Ed'.Kitten's question, no the rating of this story will not change. That review did get quite a laugh out of me; I think it is safe to say you made my day.
My final note~ spring break is next week so hopefully I can update enough times to finish this story. We only have a few more chapters to go! Until then, please help a girl make it through her week. It's Wednesday and reviews would be very much appreciated.