"The Pattern of a Tangled Web"
Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Four
Balance of Power
Part One
June 5, 2006 -- 8:42am
Rose Hill, Kansas
Maes yawned as he entered the kitchen and walked, a little unsteadily, to the counter where the coffee maker stood. Reilly, already pouring for herself, observed his shaky approach and automatically filled another mug. As she slid it along the counter to him, he glanced significantly back toward the table and murmured, "Something going on I should know about?"
"I'm not sure," she whispered back. "I just got up, and this little conference was in session when I came in."
He yawned again, turning with the mug, to lean back against the counter. The 'little conference' resembled the one he and Tom had participated in last night, or rather -- Maes glanced at the big wall clock above the fridge -- this morning, not quite six hours ago. Except this time it was Ed and Al under sharp scrutiny.
For a tiny woman, Amber Branch had an intensity that rivaled Ed's. She never raised her voice, never made a threat, but the very air around her sent a message that no one wanted to piss her off. Maes had been amused last night to see Tom, the old veteran, answering her questions and giving explanations almost meekly. But once Amber had turned the interrogation to Maes himself, focusing those shrewd eyes on him and demanding answers, he'd understood Tom's deference. Amber obviously would not suffer fools gladly, and had the wherewithal to make them answer for themselves if they aroused suspicion.
This morning, she was as awake and alert as if she hadn't gone to bed a mere five or six hours ago. Calmly seated at one end of the table in the bright, roomy kitchen, she held Ed's automail wrist in her grip and peered at him speculatively. Al stood behind his brother, watching uncertainly and clutching Ducky's tool case in one hand while holding tight to Ed's shoulder with the other. At the far end of the table slouched Tom, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between his hands and looking centuries older than his sixty or so years. Maes hoped the older man had managed to grab a few hours' sleep on the couch or something.
Amber's sharp gaze locked onto Al. "Do you remember me, son?" she asked.
Interesting, Maes thought. Next to him, he felt Reilly perk up and Tom sat straighter in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth between Amber and Al.
Ed shot a shocked glance back at Al, but Maes was impressed that the only sign of Al's nervousness was a barely audible gulp before he answered. "Yes ma'am. You interviewed me because someone thought I might be a terrorist."
"What?!" Ed snapped back around and started to come to his feet, but Al's grip on his shoulder kept him sitting. "Al would never--"
"Brother," Al said, "she didn't believe it."
Amber's voice remained neutral, but Maes noticed a firmness in her shoulders and a tensing of her back, as she said, "No, I didn't. But... you didn't tell me the whole story, did you, Alphonse?"
The younger brother's head drooped a bit, and his voice went very soft. "No ma'am." Then he straightened and looked her in the eyes. "There was a good reason though."
"I'm sure you believed that at the time," Amber said. "But look at it from my point of view. You weren't completely honest with me then, how do I know you're telling me everything now?"
Al's composure started to crack. He stammered, gaze skating desperately over everyone else in the room in an attempt to garner help from someone who could back him up. Maes felt for the boy. He was familiar with what Amber was doing; had used that tactic himself in interrogations -- in another world... before I died. He also knew Tom and Reilly were smart enough to keep quiet right now. Amber wanted to get the story from Ed and Al -- wanted to hear their side of it -- and she didn't need the rest of the group's input contaminating the boys' answers.
Al shook his head and the hand on his brother's shoulder went white-knuckled. Ed was, amazingly, keeping quiet at the moment, but from the clenched fist, the ram-rod straight back and the flexing muscles in his jaw, Maes knew that wouldn't last long. He wanted to step in, to tell Amber to back off a bit, but he didn't dare. Too much depended on the Elrics' uncompromised testimony.
"Please believe us, Mrs. Branch," Al said softly. "We don't have any reason to leave anything out, now."
Amber regarded the younger boy for a long moment, never revealing anything of what she was thinking. Finally she said, "We'll see." Then she focused on Ed. "So let me understand," she said. "This… other dimension, this other world you supposedly come from... there's some sort of nifty little gate connecting it to our world. And you two, your friend Hughes, and Bond, managed to just... fall through it?"
"It's a bit more complicated, but that's as good a description as any," Ed nodded.
She pushed his sleeve further up his arm, revealing more of the automail. "And this alternate dimension is technologically advanced enough to create prosthetics like this, but not advanced enough to use a lighter weight material. And computer chips aren't even so much as a figment of their imaginations? Not to mention they're capable of creating explosive devices that no one in forensics can even begin to identify."
She was just as skeptical last night, Maes recalled. He took a sip from his mug, then set it on the counter.
"We advanced with alchemy," Ed said.
"I did warn you it was hard to believe," Tom reminded her.
"Hard," Amber released the arm and rubbed at her temples. "Or maybe make that impossible."
"If you want," Al began, "we could do a small demonstra-- "
The back door opened at that moment, and almost as one, the five reluctant adventurers swiveled in alarm to face it. Tom and Ed surged to their feet, and Maes tensed, nudging Reilly behind him with one hand while reaching automatically for a throwing knife with the other. His hand was under the edge of his shirt before he remembered, for the hundredth time, that his weapons of choice were an entire world away, buried in an empty coffin.
Whoever he feared might be coming in couldn't have shocked him more than the person who stepped into the kitchen, still wearing scrubs from the night shift at the hospital. Llyn Quennel stopped abruptly, letting his stuffed back-pack drop to the floor with a muffled thump, as he registered the virtual wall of staring strangers. "Mam...?" he ventured uncertainly. "Why do you have so much company, so early?" His dark eyes moved from one face to another, passing over Maes but darting back in a double take. "It's you!" he exclaimed, his shock obviously matching Maes' own.
"Excuse me?" For once, Amber was thoroughly nonplussed, looking from one man to the other. The situation, Maes was certain, was getting more bizarre by the moment for her. "Llyn, do you actually know these people?"
"Well no, not really, just..." Llyn frowned. "Holland, was it? No, that's not right, you're-- "
"Maes Hughes. Good to see you again." Maes glanced at the two brothers, and fought down a sudden urge to burst out laughing. The succession of reactions passing across their faces as they realized who the newcomer reminded them of was almost comical. But he dragged his mind back to the business at hand. "Amber, I seem to have had the pleasure of being stitched up by half your family in the last few days. Got any more doctors hiding in a cupboard somewhere?"
"And just how did you find yourself being stitched up by my son?" she demanded.
"It was the cursed man." Llyn's words were clipped, his face tight. "Don't you remember I phoned you about him, mam? He blew up a car, killed a girl, injured another quite badly. Hol-- Hughes was running from him and I helped him escape."
"He let me hide in his car till my friends here could find me," Maes added.
Amber continued staring at her son, thoughtfully weighing his words against everything else. "You saw something in Bond... and felt you had to save Hughes from him."
"He's a bad man," Llyn stated flatly.
She nodded, as though he'd confirmed something for her. "Well, he proved that to all of us last night."
Again the young man's eyes darted around the room, until they stopped on Maes' face. "What happened? Tell me."
Amber pulled out another chair across the table from Ed's. "We'll give you the details later. But I need a few more answers from these boys first."
Ed and Tom subsided back into their chairs as Llyn took his own seat at the table. Ed was, Maes reflected, putting up with the interrogation with remarkable patience. Maybe he's just too tired to resent it. Or, more likely, Maes amended as he watched Al put his hand back on his brother's shoulder and saw Ed's lips turn up in response, it's the happiness of the reunion that's making him so mellow this morning.
Amber returned briskly to her questions. "Just tell me one thing, Edward, Alphonse. You didn't come here to invade us? These… Gates, or whatever, they're not a security breach that I'm going to have to try and explain to my superiors? Because frankly, if I have to, I'll end up locked away in a nice padded cell."
"Mrs. Branch," Al said, "my brother and I aren't cold-blooded killers!"
"I never said you were, Alphonse."
"What Al is trying to say is it takes a sacrifice -- of sorts -- to open the Gate," Ed explained. "We ended up here by accident. All of us."
"It takes a what??" Amber's eyes darted from one brother to the other, voice and gaze hardening. "I think you'd better explain the 'accident', and how you 'aren't cold-blooded killers' -- or terrorists," this with an added sharp glance at Al, "even though someone apparently died to get you here."
"It was a bomb," Al said quietly. "We were trying to defuse it. We didn't succeed."
"So you were pushed through some kind of Gate into this time period... and everyone else died? Isn't that a little... convenient?"
"Do you think," Ed hissed, "that we're glad they died? They were people we were trying to help! What kind of monsters do you think we are?"
"It's just a coincidence I'm not comfortable with."
"I don't know why they died and we didn't. Maybe it's because we've been through the Gate before. Maybe it's because we're alchemists–- "
"I doubt that," Maes put in. "I came through a Gate and I'm no alchemist." Although, the sudden thought struck him, my coming through was connected to Bond's. People died then, too. And that happened without any input from the Elrics.
Ed glared at him. "You're not helping here. The point is that we're here, not because we killed someone, but because someone died. There's a distinction, you know."
"A very fine one sometimes," Amber replied.
"Mrs. Branch," Al turned his earnest gaze on her, "if we were the type of people who would kill someone just to get us through the Gate, we would have done it long ago. But we could never do such a thing."
And yet, Maes' inner commentary continued, Bond would do exactly that. Has he been trying all this time to repeat what happened before, and get himself back?
"Al's right," Ed went on. "If I could figure out any way of getting back through that Gate without someone dying, or giving--" Ed hesitated and passed a quick glance up at Al, who responded with a gentle squeeze on his brother's shoulder. "--or giving up something important to us, we'd be gone tomorrow. But I won't take that risk."
"From everything I've seen, Amber," Tom interjected quietly, "I believe it's the truth. These are good people."
"For what it's worth, I think so too, mam," came Llyn's unexpected endorsement.
Again Maes glanced at the young man, and found Llyn's disconcerting dark eyes fixed on his face. He lowered his gaze quickly to the floor; the guy's unnerving visage stirred too many roiling emotions to deal with at the moment.
He was saved from that concern when the weird universe he seemed to be caught in threw all of them yet another wild curve. Alden wandered into the kitchen, yawning and making a beeline for the coffee maker, when suddenly he glanced at Al, stopped short, and exclaimed, "Why, it's you, lad!"
And Al, gaping in his turn, burst out, "The red-haired doctor!"
"Oh dear god," Amber groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Not you, too."
"Al?" Ed looked from one to the other incredulously. "You know this guy, too?"
"Not really. Well yes," Al amended, "he did talk to me once at the hospital, but..."
"I was called in special," Alden supplied. "I hardly got a look at ye two boys last night, in all the rush t'find beds for everyone. How's your arm, son? And -- it was you then, was it? Who yon lot," he waved his hand vaguely at the rest of the kitchen, "were breakin' out o' that place."
"Yes, it was me," Al nodded. "It's kind of a long story."
"I'll get me coffee then first, if you don't mind. So, how is your arm?"
"Much better, thanks."
Amber lifted her head, jaw set. Maes felt a rush of sympathy for her. "Is there anyone in this family," she demanded, "who hasn't been privately dabbling in this situation already?"
As though in answer, there was a squealing yell from the stairwell entrance to the kitchen. "Llyn! You're home!" And a small figure burst through the doorway, hurling itself enthusiastically toward him. He barely had time to push back his chair, but he'd obviously encountered this whirlwind numerous times, for his arms were already out and he was already leaning over. In one motion he scooped up the little girl flying at him, sweeping her onto his lap and into his arms with a laugh.
"Well, good morning to you too, Lucy. I was just thinking of crawling into the fridge for my morning nap, and now you've woken me up."
"You were not," she informed him firmly, then fell abruptly silent as she realized they were surrounded by strangers.
Llyn angled his chair so the visitors could see her better. "All of you, this is Lucy, my little sister. Lucy, these are some visitors who've come to see us for a while."
Maes' breath caught, and for a single instant, the entire world dropped out from beneath his feet. A vision interposed itself over the scene: Roy Mustang, popping by the house to pick Maes up for a meeting, responding to an insistent little girl by picking her up in his arms and chatting with her while he sat and waited for her father.
No. Stop. No. This child might have been around the same age as Elysia, but Lucy's hair was reddish blonde rather than light brown, flying loose around her face from just having gotten out of bed. And she was smaller, finer-boned. She looked nothing like Elysia. And this was not Roy.
The girl became suddenly shy, burying her face in her brother's neck. He planted his chin on her hair and grinned at Amber over her head.
The woman reached over and brushed a few fine locks of hair from her daughter's shoulders, smiling fondly. "You look a fright, Lucy. I need to get you cleaned up and get that hair brushed before our visitors think I keep you locked in the shed overnight."
"No," the girl shook her head vehemently, her arms tightening around Llyn's neck. "Want to see Llyn."
He grinned again. "Let her have breakfast with me first. I'll bring her up when I head upstairs for my nap."
Amber pushed her chair back, and stood. "Very well. Meanwhile, I really need to think about all this. In fact... I need to make a few phone calls, if you'll excuse me. Feel free, all of you, to make yourselves some breakfast; we just stocked up yesterday."
"We'll pay for whatever supplies we use," Reilly volunteered.
The other woman waved the suggestion away. "No, no, that's not how we do things around here. Help yourself. Alden can show you where things are. Or Llyn, before he comes upstairs." She turned to leave, but not before leaning over to kiss her son on the cheek, and her daughter on the top of her head. "Have a good sleep," she told Llyn, then impaled Tom with a sharp glance. "You at least I know, Tom. Keep an eye on things till I come back down. Do not make us regret helping you."
When she was gone, Reilly leaned over and muttered in Maes' ear, "So, you ready to get out of here in a hurry if she decides we're not on the up and up?"
"We'd better plan for it," he murmured, nodding. "Maybe get Ducky and Heist woken up and fed first."
Reilly grinned in malicious anticipation. "Ducky is not going to like being got up so early. Maybe I'll send Ed to wake him."
"Well," Llyn remarked, setting Lucy on the floor and shuffling to the fridge, "Our family does seem to have become a bit...involved with all of you, haven't we?"
Reilly stirred at Maes' side, thoughtfully taking another sip of coffee. "This seems to be one of those times when a lot of separate threads are converging at one place. I wonder what the significance is."
Ed retorted, "Oh no you don't. We're not starting with that mumbo jumbo again." But even he, Maes noted, didn't speak with his usual firm certainty.
"There's nothing mystic about it," Tom said, mildly. "It's not like Wichita is a hundred miles away. And Amber works for a branch of the government." He grinned wickedly and added, "I could tell you which one, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Aye," Alden said with a chuckle. "I have privileges at most of the hospitals in t'city and they call me in to give consults on a regular basis." He nodded toward the doorway that his wife had just exited and added, "Amber travels a lot when she's on an investigation, too."
"That can't be easy on your marriage," Maes said and then stifled a laugh as he caught Reilly petulantly sticking her tongue out at Tom from the corner of his eye.
"Remind me t'show ye the garden later, Maes," Alden said with a wicked grin. "It's one of the best marital aides ever thought of... if I do say so m'self."
"So what would you like for breakfast?" asked Llyn, yawning hugely. "I'm sure we've got some of everything. Bacon and eggs? Porridge? Toast? Muffins? I'm sure we've got some of everything."
Alden, eyeing the doorway through which his wife had just exited, sighed in resignation. "I'll join ye for breakfast in a few minutes, but first I think I need to have a chat with Amber. No -- first I need that coffee." He grabbed a mug from the tree on the counter, as Reilly obligingly stepped aside to give him room. After pouring himself a cup, he tipped it back and took a sip, exhaling in deep satisfaction. "Yes. That's better," he proclaimed. He leaned over and gave his son's arm a squeeze, adding, "Good mornin', by the way. Care t'tell me why ye drove three hours to get home right after ye'r shift, rather than get some sleep first?"
Llyn's answer was a silent shrug and a mildly contrite smile.
Alden shook his head and headed out. "Ye needn't follow in my footsteps quite so studiously, son."
Llyn watched him go, and remarked, "What an interesting day it is already. Now, where were we? What do you want, Lucy?"
"I want what you want," the little girl proclaimed, still holding tightly to his hand and warily eyeing the visitors from behind one of his legs.
Reilly joined them, peering into the appliance. "Let's see what you've got. My name's Reilly, by the way, and it's nice to meet both of you; the blond one over there is Ed, and the brown one is his brother Al. We really should pay for everything, you know. You don't know how much Ed eats."
"Hey!" Ed protested. "I don't eat that much."
"You do so, Brother, and you know it," Al grinned, and was rewarded with a good-natured punch on the shoulder. With Ed's flesh hand, naturally.
Maes watched them absently, but his attention returned again and again to the thing that had occurred to him during Amber's questioning. It nagged at him. Even when Ed came over and commented quietly, "Do you see who that guy looks like?" Maes merely nodded absently. He picked up his mug and took another sip, staring with a frown into the dark liquid. He's an alchemist. It happened once, even without the Elrics. If he survives his wounds and keeps trying -- what if Bond manages to get back to Amestris on his own??
o0o0o0o0o
"Brother, just go take your shower," Al said as he caught a black shirt before it hit him in the face. Like everything else that had come flying out of the duffel bag, it was ripe.
Even though the interrogation was over, his brother was still on edge and it showed plainly in his sharp, quick movement as he rifled through his clothes in the guest room they and Maes had been given when they arrived. "I'll see if Mrs. Branch has something clean to wear until we can wash these."
"It's only a couple of things, Al. I do have clean clothes, yanno."
"That would be a first," Al mumbled as he dropped the shirt into the growing pile of malodorous fabric on the floor.
"What was that?" Ed said as he glared up at the younger brother.
The duffel toppled over, spilling out balls of socks, wadded-up jeans and more smelly shirts -- along with a variety of discs, a couple of spiral notebooks and a large, thickly-bound book. With a sigh, Al knelt down to help gather the items back into the bag. The odor was stronger down here, and Al wondered just how Reilly put up with his older brother's frequently atrocious hygiene. She certainly didn't strike him as the type who would allow it. "Brother, don't you know that if you put dirty clothes in with the clean, you'll make the clean ones smell, too?"
"I'll try--" Ed snapped as he jammed a pair of jeans back into the bag "--to remember that--" A shirt was crammed in with the stabbing force of a dagger blow "--next time I have to pack shit--" In went a handful of sock-balls, and Al feared for the stitching at the bottom of the duffel "--in a hurry because someone's--" The discs were scooped together like a stack of cards and stuffed back into the bag "--coming to kill me..." Ed trailed off as he reverently lifted the book and stared at the cover.
Al gently grasped Ed's wrist and said, "Brother, I'm sure Mrs. Branch will find out that we can be trusted."
"Hope so." Ed said, distantly.
Al hadn't really paid any attention to the book when it had tumbled onto the floor. He'd assumed that it probably had something to do with whatever his brother was obsessed with at the moment. Usually physics these days, since alchemy really didn't exist here like it did back home. And finding a book on the subject that wasn't the object of derision and ridicule from him was next to impossible. But the expression of sheer agony on Ed's face alarmed him. "B-brother?"
Ed shook himself and started to stuff the book into the duffel, but Al tightened his grip on his wrist. Strangely, Ed didn't fight when he took the volume from him.
Al wasn't sure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. There was no mistaking the woman in front of the flower shop window, even though she'd gracefully aged a couple of decades in (from his point of view) mere months. Of all the technology and vernacular and tee-vees and computers and everything else he'd experienced that were completely alien to him, nothing hit him quite so hard, and made it quite so obvious that he and Brother were displaced in time, as this faded, black and white photograph. "That's... Noa," he said through tight lungs unable to get enough air.
"There's something I need to tell you," Ed said, as Al continued to gape at the photograph on the cover.
Noa's arm was around the shoulders of a youth who was sullenly glaring back at the camera through long bangs. The skin was noticeably swarthy, even within the limited shades of grey of the old photo, but the eyes that stared back at him were unusually light and terribly, terribly familiar. A thrill of something Al couldn't identify shot painfully through him and he feared the answer to the question he had to ask. "Brother," he whispered, "who is that boy?"
"My... s-son," Ed said, the word 'son' little more than a shamed hiss.
Al's vision tunneled as the impact of those two words slowly sunk in. "Son? But how--?" At a disgusted scowl from Ed, he said, "I mean, I know how. I just--" He gestured helplessly. "I guess I'm wondering... well... are you sure?"
Ed clenched his jaw and stared down at the book in his younger brother's hand, then took it back. As he slid his fingertips reverently over the photograph on the cover, he swallowed and his lips had begun to tremble. After a moment, when he got himself back under control, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."
Al was agog and suddenly saw his brother in a new light. A father! Brother is a father! Wait... Ed? A father?! Isn't this the same person who gets so obsessed he barely notices anyone, let alone girls?! Well, apparently he noticed Noa long enough to-- Al felt himself heat up and shook the imagery away as quickly as he could, replacing it with another revelation that nearly knocked the wind out of him again. "I'm... an uncle!" he blurted out with a grin.
Ed glanced up, eyes wide in shock. Then a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he nodded.
"Maybe we should see if we can find him," Al said, excitedly. "You could try to contact him. Gene told me that computers and the internet are great for--" His voice fled him at Ed's stricken look before he ducked his head. "Brother?"
"He died, Al," Ed said, unable to meet his brother's gaze. "He and Noa and this world's Hughes and Gracia were killed."
"How?"
Ed shoved the book back into the bag to be buried amidst the discs and smelly clothes. "There was a war after we left. They were all sent to concentration camps." He clenched his jaw and his head dropped a little lower.
Tears sprung to Al's eyes and he swallowed. "War?"
"World War Two, Al," Maes said from the doorway of the guest room.
Al started and stared, wondering how long the man had been listening. Maes wasn't looking at Al though; he was watching Ed, a look of concern and compassion softening his green eyes.
"A second World War?" Al whispered. The very sound of that was frighteningly ominous in light of the damage that remained from the first one by the time he'd joined Ed on this side of the Gate.
Maes faced Al and said, "All of Europe was involved. So was Japan, Russia and the U.S. It was the equivalent of Amestris declaring war on every country we'd ever had contact with, all at once."
Ed continued to stare at the floor as he flexed his right hand rhythmically. "We failed, Al. I failed."
"What do you mean?" Al asked.
"That bomb," Ed said. "Even after we destroyed all that data, someone still managed to create one... more, actually. They... they dropped two of them on Japan."
"Ed," Maes said, softly chastising, "Germany didn't drop those bombs. America did. And you couldn't possibly have prevented what happened." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I don't know if it was a good thing or not, to be honest. But I do know that the end result was a damn sight better than what could have happened if you and Al hadn't destroyed the data in Germany. You didn't fail."
Al reached out and lightly smacked Ed in his forehead, and said, "Idiot."
"What the hell was that for?"
"Because you keep feeding your pet GuiltZilla," Al said as he rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.
"My whu--?"
Maes chuckled and waved as he wove around them and headed to the guest bathroom. "I've got dibs on the shower, boys."
Ed returned the wave absently. "'GuiltZilla'? What's that? Some kind of strange language you learned in the hospital?" He suddenly went from confusion to feigned irritation and added, "And what's with the disrespect here? They teach you that too?"
Al covered his mouth in an attempt to hide a giggle and failed spectacularly.
Ed softened at the sound and said, "It doesn't matter. I'm glad they took good care of you... and kept you safe."
There was a light knock on the door and then Amber poked her head in. "You two have showers yet?"
"No, Hughes beat us to it," Ed grumbled.
"Good! I need a small favor from you, if you will."
"Of course, Mrs. Branch," Al piped up. "Brother and I will be happy to help."
o0o0o0o0o
"'Brother and I will be happy to help'," Ed mocked as he stood in the center of the dilapidated barn, hands balled into fists and jammed into his hips. The bright morning sun from the open doors behind him and cutting through spaces between slats of weathered siding all around only illuminated fragments of what looked like an enormous, sleeping beast lurking in the shadow of the loft. Dust-motes and hay-flakes -- awakened after who-knew-how-long by his arrival and now floating lazily in the stale air -- sparked briefly, then faded a moment later as they passed the terminator from striped light into banded darkness. "Al, next time you feel like volunteering us for something... don't."
Next to him, with his arms crossed and studying the same enormous stack of broken furniture and wood scraps, stood Al. Except he didn't seem to be even the tiniest bit irritated at the work ahead of them, nor did he seem ashamed of himself for aiding their conscription into manual labor. "It's not so bad. I bet it won't take us long to move it at all."
"Are you looking at the same pile of junk that I am?" Ed spun on Al and jabbed an accusing finger back at the trash slated for the fire pit. "Small favor my ass! There's nothing small about that."
Al sighed and his shoulders slumped. "The Branches are being nice to us Brother. It wouldn't hurt us to be nice back."
"This isn't 'nice'. It's slavery," Ed complained as he stomped up to the pile, grasped an amputated chair leg and yanked. It came free with less effort than he'd anticipated and he stumbled backwards a few steps, then fell on his ass with a soft whump that kicked up a fresh cloud of dry hay and dust that tickled his nose. The stack wobbled dangerously for a tense, breathless moment, but the tangle of broken furniture quickly stilled and both boys exhaled at the same time--
--Then Ed sneezed, and it all came crashing down with a chorus of clattering snaps and cracks and flying splinters as both boys scrambled to get out of the path of destruction.
A low chuckle drifted along the tail end of the avalanche, then a familiar voice said, "Still letting your emotions override your focus, I see."
Ed sprang to his feet and into a defensive stance as his head darted around. "Where are you, asshole?" he demanded. His gaze landed on his brother, who was calmly looking up.
Al glanced sidelong at him, then back up and silently pointed toward the loft.
Ed let his eyes follow the line from Al's finger to the sagging platform with an annoyed leer. "What the hell are you doing here?"
As a hunched form shifted in the dim space overhead, light bounced off an oval of glass and a halo of wavy, sandy hair, and illuminated half of a face that was crinkled with a wide grin. "I'm not there, I'm here."
"Stop being a smart-ass, Singer. You know what I meant."
"Then you should say what you mean."
Ed ignored the soft snicker from next to him and sneered. "Fine. What are you doing there?" he clarified as he fluttered a hand in the general direction of the hayloft.
"Isn't it obvious?" The light coming through the large, open doors spotlighted Singer as he unfolded himself and took a step to the edge of the loft, bringing him into stark relief. The harshness of the morning sun in contrast to the deep shadow behind him only highlighted the rumpled state of the fatigues over a faded grey t-shirt sporting a dream catcher in the center and worn jeans with fringed holes in the knees. Combined with long sandy hair hanging loose past his shoulders and bits and pieces of old straw sticking out all over him at crazed angles -- along with that insufferable grin -- the wanderer appeared more insane than Ed remembered. "Are you always this slow?"
"Are you always this damned literal?" Ed snapped. "Or do you reserve that honor just for me?"
Singer bent, grabbed the straps of the olive-green duffel next to him, then gracefully leaped down. He landed so close to Ed that the younger man instinctively threw his right arm up and staggered backwards. Ignoring him, Singer faced Al and bowed. "It's good to see that you've gained your freedom, Steppin' Wolf."
"Huh?" Ed said.
Al tilted his head curiously as he examined the man in front of him, then his eyes widened and lit up as dawn struck. "You were in my room that night. Are you the one who left me the flute?"
"Wait a minute--"
Singer nodded. "Your memories were haunting your dreams. I'm surprised you even noticed that I was there."
"Excuse me?" Ed said, more insistently, but was still ignored.
"The music stopped the nightmares," Al said to Singer.
"Good."
Ed had gone from the shock of discovering that Singer had also met his brother, to irritation at being left out of the conversation, to indignation with the suspicion that he could have gotten Al out of that hospital a lot sooner -- had this psycho bothered to help. Protectively, he put himself between his brother and the interloper. "You knew where Al was all along?"
"Of course."
That was just too much. Mere anger sailed right past vexation straight to outrage and was closing fast on fury as he aimed a left hook at Singer's jaw and bellowed, "Why the hell didn't you tell me"
"Brother!"
Singer dodged the fist and caught it in his hand without a flinch or even a shift in his expression. "You didn't ask."
"Argh!" Ed screamed as he jerked his hand free and tangled his fingers in his hair in frustration. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Because you let me."
Throwing his hands up in the air, Ed declared, "I give up."
"That's a good start, Iron Butterfly."
"Stop calling me that!"
Singer shrugged, then faced Al. "Did he get dropped on his head too many times when he was younger?"
Al giggled, then choked it off when Ed shot him an acid glare. To Singer he said, "More like wrenched. Why did you give me that flute, though?"
"It told me to," Singer said as he bent over his duffel, opened it and started to reach inside.
Ed lurched forward and clamped an automail hand over the drawstrings -- effectively blocking Singer from getting his hand inside. "Can I ask you something?"
Singer cocked an amused brow at him. "You just did."
With a groan, Ed let go, straightened and scrubbed his left hand over his face. He was in no mood to talk in circles right now, but he needed answers and Singer appeared to know... something. What, Ed wasn't sure, but he intended to find out. He considered how to phrase the questions he had while Singer waited patiently with his arms crossed over his chest. The younger man quickly went through different versions and discarded them as too easy for the wanderer to twist. Then finally -- when he thought perhaps he'd formed the first one in a way Singer couldn't play games with -- he asked, "Why are you so interested in me and Al?"
"Because you're interesting."
Ed snagged the other man's collar with a flesh hand and yanked him down to his level. "But why are we interesting? What reason do you have for showing up wherever we are and talking in riddles?"
Singer stared, unblinking, into Ed's eyes for a long moment. Then, too fast for the younger man to prepare, he grabbed Ed's hand and pressed his thumb into his palm. Ed's fingers went nerveless and tingly and he lost his grip on Singer's collar. Then the older man deftly bent Ed's wrist back, dropping him to his knees. "I was told to," Singer answered calmly.
Ed refused to give in. Even in his position, he kept a steady, defiant glare on the other man. "Who told you?"
"They did," Singer said as he pointed upwards with his free hand and whirled a finger.
Ed sagged in exasperation and was now convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that Singer was an escapee from an asylum somewhere. "Who is 'They'?" he asked, tiredly.
"They have no name," Singer said as he released his hold on Ed and took a step back. "They are who They are."
"Are they animal, mineral or vegetable?" Al asked as he came up beside Ed.
The older brother stood, rubbing his abused wrist and gave Al a narrow-eyed glare. "Thanks for the help," he grumbled low.
"You didn't look like you were getting your ass kicked... too badly," Al said, just as quietly.
"None... and all. They just are." Singer answered.
Ed suddenly recalled something Singer had said the last time they met. "Are they what Reilly calls the 'Shadows'?"
Al shot a questioning glance at Ed, but said nothing.
Singer nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his expression patronizing. The only thing missing was a pat on the head -- and Ed would have sliced off the offending hand if Singer had even tried. This did nothing to improve his mood any, but getting an actual answer of sorts led to another question. "Are these 'Shadows' from here--" He held up a hand, knowing that he'd just asked the wrong question. "Wait. I mean, are the 'Shadows' from this plane of existence?"
"They exist in all planes and are from none of them."
Ed was suddenly breathless at the possibilities and finally getting some answers. "How do they move from plane to plane?"
Singer's smile burst into a wide grin. "The same way you do."
"The Gates," Al whispered.
"H-how do They use them?" Ed asked, fearful of the answer, but needing to know. "How do They open them?"
Singer's grin disappeared and his voice was solemn. "I can't answer that."
Ed lurched a step closer, fists balled at his sides. "Dammit! Can't or won't, Singer?"
"Can't," Al said softly, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "What can you tell us about the 'Shadows' and the Gates?"
Singer inclined his head in deference to the younger brother and said, "I can tell you much."
"What can you tell us about them, that directly concerns us?" Al rephrased.
"Better question," Singer said as he shouldered his duffel. "You learn faster than your brother does." He shifted the weight of the bag and started to step around them. He paused, glancing down at Ed before focusing on Al, and said, "I can tell you this much: You know--" Singer said as he tapped at his chest "--the answers already. It's a matter of how much you're willing to give up." Then he looked over his shoulder, up toward the loft, and whistled.
Disappointment washed over Ed like a bucket of cold water. None of us wants to pay that price.
From the darkness overhead, the raven appeared and buzzed past Ed with a raspy caw, causing him to flinch and duck. It landed on Singer's shoulder and regarded the blond with a baleful eye and a hiss, to which Ed responded with a sneer and a growl.
Singer chuckled and shook his head. "It takes a great amount of heat to make iron malleable, but eventually it takes the form that was intended for it." Then with a bow, he turned and strolled out of the barn.
With a sigh, Ed faced Al. He was expecting the same disappointment he felt on his younger brother's face, but was surprised -- and disheartened -- to see thoughtfulness and hope. "Forget it, Al," he said sadly. "You'll only make yourself miserable if you keep thinking about it."
Al blinked as he pulled himself out of his musing and said, "Maybe..."
"Don't," Ed said holding his palm up. Then he shrugged, dropped his hand and smiled sadly. "It's not so bad here, when you get used to it." He jerked his head toward the pile of junk and said, "C'mon, let's get this stuff moved. It shouldn't take long."
o0o0o0o0o
Alden gave Maes a light pat on the shoulder to let him know he was through examining his back. "Looks good."
They were in the Branches' master bedroom, where there was at least a modicum of privacy. Maes was sitting on the side of the overstuffed lounge, dressed in only a towel. He felt leagues better after a shower and a bandage change, and whatever the ointment was that the doctor had spread over his shredded back relieved the pain and growing itch. He was actually beginning to feel human again.
Alden came around and gave him a hand up, then helped strap on a flexible shoulder brace that would allow for more movement. "How does that feel?" he asked.
Maes gingerly tested his injured arm and nodded. "Much better."
"Well, I wouldn't suggest doing cartwheels, but I think ye can manage now," Alden said. "That just leaves one last thing to take care of," he added as his eyes trailed down thoughtfully.
"I hate to ask…"
"Aye, the loaning isn't the problem. It's the fit. I can find a shirt that'll work, but ye're a bit long in the leg and wide in the waist to wear my pants."
"An old pair of sweats will be fine, Alden."
"True. Except Amber won't allow them in the house." Alden crossed over to the walk-in closet and disappeared inside. "Says she expects her men to look presentable and not like slobs." Hughes could hear the other man rummaging about inside, and it sounded like he was going deeper. "And if she canna get the blood out of those scrubs, don't expect to see them again, either."
Maes gazed down at the large fluffy towel wrapped about his waist. It covered well, but the idea of being stuck in it for hours wasn't the most pleasant of prospects. It was beginning to look like he was going to be trapped in this room until Reilly could make a run to the local store to find something for him.
"Ah!" Alden exclaimed from deep inside the closet. "Hughes."
"Hmmm?"
Alden poked his head out and a grin split his face. "That's a good old Scottish name."
"Some of my family came from Caledonia. I guess that's my world's Scotland."
Alden whipped out an armful of tartan fabric. "I've a feeling 'Hughes' is a lowland name, and may not have a Scottish -- or Caledonian -- tartan. But it's a Welsh name as well, I remember. Llyn is Welsh; I adopted him when he was a wee bairn, when his parents died. I've a few of his old kilts here; perhaps ye wouldn't mind wearing something a bit more traditional."
So Llyn was adopted. Perhaps that explained the age difference between him and Lucy whom, Maes supposed, was Alden and Amber's biological child. "Well," he chuckled, "I suppose the ancestors won't mind if I wear a pattern that belongs to the country of our distant cousins."
Moments later, Alden was putting the finishing touches on the kilt when a knock came on the door, and then Ed stuck his head in. "Amber wanted me to tell you the scrubs are going into the bonfi--" The kid was a disaster. Grass and splinters stuck out of his hair at odd angles, and his face and clothes were filthy. The only thing recognizably Edward were his enormous gold eyes, which grew wider when he caught sight of Maes. "...why the hell are you wearing a skirt?"
"It's not a skirt," Maes said. "It's called a kilt."
Ed came the rest of the way into the room and scanned the other man from head to toe a second time, a sly smile on his face. "I don't care what you call it, it's still a skirt."
There was another knock and this time Al entered, who was, remarkably, nowhere near as disheveled as his older brother. "Brother, Reilly wanted to know if you wanted to go with her to—" He stared at Maes and then broke out with a wicked grin. "Nice legs, Maes."
"Thanks."
"Does Ms. Reilly ever slow down?" Alden asked.
Both Maes and Ed answered in unison, "No."
"Then tell her that whatever she was going after can wait until morning. Doctor's orders, ye are all going t'relax tonight."
"Are we?" Maes asked, fixing sober eyes on the doctor. "For all we know, we could end up in jail or on the run again by tonight, if your wife doesn't get the answers she's looking for in those phone calls. It's hard to relax with that hanging over our heads."
Alden straightened to face him, but instead of matching Maes' sober expression, he favored him with a kind smile. "Man, ye're not to worry. It's Amber's way, to be thorough and all, but if she were going to call the authorities, ye'd be in custody already. She knows she can trust you."
"That sure wasn't how it sounded when she left us in the kitchen," Ed maintained.
"Are you absolutely positive about this?" Maes asked.
"Aye, as sure as can be. Listen to me. She trusts Tom, so that might've been enough. But ye've got Llyn on your side too, and Amber's not about to disregard the word of that boy when he speaks as he did. He scoffs at it himself, but he can See things sometimes. When he spoke on y'r behalf, that settled it." The man looked at each of them in turn. "Y'hear? Put those worries right away."
"All right," Maes said. "If you're sure. Which means that we have a lot to celebrate tonight."
"There is much to celebrate, t'be sure," Alden said, and Maes caught the look of mischief that flitted across the man's face when he regarded the boys. "In fact, ye should be getting' ready, y'selves."
"He's right," Maes said. "You two are hardly dressed for the occasion."
"Not like we have a lot of choice, Hughes," Ed said. "At least we're not wearing skirts."
"Kilts," Maes and Alden both said.
"Whatever."
"Y'see, that's the problem, boys," Alden said. He disappeared back into the closet, and came out an instant later with more tartan fabric. "Luckily, I still have some of Llyn's from when he was younger."
Ed eyed the fabric suspiciously and said, "There is no way you're getting me in that."
Al, on the other hand, was far more intrigued. "I don't know, Brother. It might be fun to wear a traditional costume for the night."
"That's the spirit," Alden said as he tossed one of the kilts to Al. As the younger brother unfolded it and held it out to inspect it, Alden added, "Of course, if ye wear traditional clothes, it must be in the traditional manner."
Al looked up at Alden, and it was all Maes could do to keep from laughing as the look on the boy's face went from puzzled to a slow dawning, followed by a creeping and brilliant shade of red. "Uh… maybe I'll pass, after all," he said as he handed the kilt back to Alden.
Ed was a beat slower on the uptake than his brother, but when it hit him the shocked expression on his face was even more priceless than Al's embarrassment. "Hughes, please tell me you're not…"
"I am."
Ed shook his head and exited the room. "I really hope it's not windy tonight."
It was Al's turn to become mischievous, as he gave Maes a look that could only be described as lecherous. "I'll bet Reilly wouldn't mind the wind at all."
He made as though to skitter out of the room after his brother, but Maes got to the door before him, clamping it shut and leaning against it, arms folded. "That does it, Alden," the man grinned narrowly, face still flushed at his own embarrassment. "Give him the kilt. He's not getting out of here till he puts it on."
Al's grey eyes widened, and Maes could see him almost visibly registering the fact that he was outnumbered. "C'mon, Maes," he pleaded, "I was just kidding."
"Don't start stalling, Al. I couldn't wrestle you to the ground when you were in that armor, but you've been sick; we're more evenly matched now. And I've got backup, even with my gimpy arm. Plus, you don't want to insult the generosity of our host, do you?"
It was a low blow, he admitted to himself; he didn't think Alden would really mind if the boys didn't wear the kilts. And at the moment, all things considered, the kid would win any wrestling match hands down. But Al's sense of courtesy and honor were Maes' trump card, and would likely override everything else.
He was right. Al turned back to Alden, still wide-eyed, and held out his hand.
