DISCLAIMER: I don't own FMA. Only my own OCs and this fic. Don't profit. I am my own non-profit organization.
Thirty-Six
Delilah's brows furrowed. "…What?"
"You have to come with us," Marcoh said. He looked more tired than Delilah had ever seen him.
"I…" She struggled to think straight. Her head felt foggy, and for a moment she had been sure that she hadn't heard him right. But his expression sagged, his eyes falling to the floor, and fear sunk into her heart.
"Um…Delilah?" May scooted toward her and reached for her hand. "Please don't cry."
"I-I—" A sob broke through her speech, and she wiped at her eyes. Her hands were clumsy with fatigue. "Y-you're lying. I-I just…I just got back to them and…"
"I'm sorry, Delilah," Marcoh said. "But—"
"I just got back to them!"
Silence stretched between them. Now Delilah's throat hurt along with the throbbing in her head. She did her best to move so that she was leaning her side against the steel wall and not her back, so that she wouldn't have to look at either May or Marcoh, but she only made it halfway before a fierce trembling of exhaustion prevented her from progressing.
May moved closer to her and touched her arm. "You…you need to rest."
Delilah stared at the floor and shook her head.
"Please? Shao May will sleep with you." May plucked the panda from her shoulder and held the rather reluctantly concerned animal out to Delilah.
Delilah suddenly looked up and turned her head around, but ignored May and the panda. "Let me go back to Central. Please."
Marcoh shook his head. He looked guilty. "I can't. You're injured and we don't have the time to take you there."
"I can ride a train by myself. I know you healed me that well."
"Even if I let you go, we don't have any money."
"I can call Edward and he'll buy me a ticket! Or I can wait somewhere and they'll come get me!"
"You saw those Homunculi. I'm not leaving you alone anywhere. They could be after us for all we know."
"But—!"
"I'm not losing you again, Delilah!" Marcoh snapped.
She drew back in surprise, unnerved by his harsh tone. She looked down and wiped at her eyes.
"The Homunculi kept me in the dark about everything going on outside," the old man went on, still somewhat harsh, but quieter. "But Envy would tell me about how he was going to kill you. The only way I knew he hadn't, was because he didn't gloat. But he threatened you and the village, and whenever he left I had no idea whether he'd come back later with your corpse or their corpses or both."
Another pause settled among them.
"…That's why I want to go back," Delilah said finally. She rested her head against the wall and looked away. "I'm worried about them. A-and I don't feel safe here without them."
She thought about Ed's playful tones and Al's sincere gestures. About their kind, supporting words, their jokes, and their laughter. About how somewhere along the way, Ed had become the older brother she'd never had and Al had become special to her. She wanted to be back with them, even though they attracted danger like it was a good thing.
Marcoh shifted. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you—"
She whipped her head back around. "I'd rather take my chances going to them than be here with someone who destroyed human lives!"
He recoiled.
"I…" She felt flooded with guilt, paralyzed. "I-I didn't mean that."
He shook his head. "…No. You have a point." He stood, steadying himself by placing a hand on the crates, and shuffled toward the opposite end of the compartment, near the open door.
"I'm sorry!" Her tears began to stream down her face more quickly than before. "I didn't mean it!"
"…Get some rest," was all he said before he settled down by the door.
"I—"
She didn't know what to say, so she broke herself off. She leaned her head back against the wall. She hated how it was too cold, how it rattled and jarred against her aching head. She wished everything would stop. She wished the wall were Alphonse's arm, or his chest. She wished she were with him, somewhere far away.
"…Um, Delilah?"
Delilah looked up and looked to see that May still sat in the same spot next to her. A look of concern rested on her face, and Shao May, perched on her master's shoulder, peered curiously at Delilah.
"…What?" the older girl asked.
May's brow furrowed. "Do you care about Alphonse a lot?"
The question confused Delilah. She thought she'd heard the girl wrong. "What?"
"Well…it's obvious that he cares about you," she said. "Do you feel the same?"
If Delilah were a different sort of person, she would have gotten angry at May for simply trying to talk to her when she had just argued with Marcoh, when she was this upset. Still, Delilah stared at the girl for a long moment before nodding slowly.
May smiled. "Then I'm sure you'll see each other again."
"…What do you mean?"
"There's a story in my country. My mom liked to tell it to me when I was younger." The girl held out both of her hands, extending her pointer fingers upwards. "All marriages are preordained by a god named Yue Xia Lao. These people are connected by a red string of fate from the moment they're born. The string can get twisted and stretched," she said, moving her fingers apart to illustrate her point, "but it always leads the lovers back to each other, whether they've met yet or not. It means that people are destined to meet, or to meet again." She moved her fingers back together and linked them. "It also means that they're always connected somehow."
Delilah stared at May for a moment in silence. "I'll…I'll see him again?"
May nodded. She looked down, appearing a little shy and quiet. "It can also apply to family. It makes me a little happy, thinking that I'll be home someday once I find what I'm looking for."
"…Then I'm sure you'll get home," Delilah said.
May smiled. "I know. But, um," she went on, "I think for now you need to rest. You look really tired."
Delilah nodded. Her head may have been full, but it was also fuzzy with fatigue and dreariness. "Thank you, May," she said, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.
"You're welcome," the girl replied brightly.
Delilah could only slip into a light doze, but when she dreamed, she dreamed of red string.
()()()()()
Delilah, her dress and body now clean due to alchemy, carefully lowered herself from the train car while Shao May kept a watchful eye at the darkness from the top of May's head. The older girl was the last to descend from the compartment, and once her feet touched the ground, the trio of alchemists scurried through the train yard; Marcoh led the way.
Delilah glanced at the old man. She hadn't spoken to him since their argument. Her relief upon finally seeing him again had dissolved into doubt and worry. For one, she had no idea how to act around him now that she knew what Philosopher's Stones were made out of, and secondly, she had no idea what to say to him about what had happened to her, what she had discovered. He deserved to know, but she feared how he would react.
She also found it a little hard to forgive him for forcing her along with them, even if he was in the right.
She thought once again about how Edward and Alphonse had stood up to the Homunculi so that they could escape. Her eyes watered, and she wished she weren't so useless and unable to know what had happened. She wished she weren't so weak.
May hurried ahead and held out her arm, stopping the tiny group. The few lamplights in the area allowed for Delilah to make out the slight shake of the head that the alkahestrist made. Delilah stayed quiet, struggling to listen, and after a moment she picked up the sound of footsteps.
A guard.
May signaled with her hand, and the trio tiptoed forward until they came to a break between cars. The young girl led them through the gap, but paused to watch for the guard. Light emitted from an area down the line of cars, revealing a man's silhouette. May studied him for a moment, then signaled once more, this time moving more quickly. Delilah and Marcoh followed her to the next line of cars; they kept repeating the actions until they came to a tall chain link fence that separated them from someone's backyard. No light shone from the windows.
Marcoh made a face. "We can't climb this. And the light from the transmutation might give us away," he whispered.
"But we have to," May said quietly. "A small one, at least, just to get through."
"I can do it," Delilah whispered. She knelt down and put her gloved hand to the fence, and she visualized the iron in her mind. The fence sparked as her alchemy took effect, and soon a round hole had been made.
The trio stilled for a moment, listening for the guard, but there was no noise.
Delilah slipped through the hole first, then May, then Marcoh, and Delilah closed the break, being careful to make the final product look as natural as possible.
May peered at the house as Delilah worked. "…I don't think anyone's inside. I don't feel any chi."
"Chi?" Marcoh echoed.
May put a hand to her lips and led the way to the back door of the house. She tried the handle and looked unsurprised to find it locked. She motioned to Delilah, since the girl wouldn't leave any chalk traces with her alchemy. Delilah hesitated, nervous about breaking in and trespassing, but put her hand to the handle and used her alchemy. A small click could be heard as the lock shifted. Delilah slowly opened the door and led the way inside.
The hallway they came into was cramped and slightly dusty. A worn carpet lined the floor, and a few doorways led off to other places, presumably to the kitchen and living room, and maybe a stairwell to the second floor. Midnight moonlight streamed in from the curtain-covered window in the front door at the end of the hall.
"Are you sure no one's here?" Marcoh asked.
May nodded, but remained quiet as she traversed the hallway. "The chi feels stale. I guess they're on vacation?"
Marcoh frowned but closed and locked the door. Delilah felt skeptical as well, but didn't question May. There were no sounds of life anywhere, anyways. Still, she felt wrong standing in someone else's house without permission. She knew they needed a place to rest to get their bearings, though, so she didn't complain.
May disappeared into one of the rooms, and Marcoh and Delilah, not wanting to lose sight of her, hurried after. The little girl poked her nose all over the kitchen, stirring up bits of dust so that the motes caught in the light streaming in from the window. Whenever May found a morsel of food, such as an aging apple or a box of crackers, she would bring it to the table.
The sight of food—as meager as it looked—caused Delilah to realize how hungry she felt. "…Are we eating that?" she asked, unnerved about eating someone else's food even though she felt starved.
Marcoh sighed as if he shared her sentiment, but approached the pile. "We have to. May and I already knew this. We hardly have any money, and I assume you're the same."
She actually had no money at all, but she didn't say anything.
The doctor grabbed a small box of crackers and frowned. "I'm still nervous about this place. Let's check it out. If there isn't anyone, we'll get some blankets and sleep together in the living room."
The girls quickly agreed, and together they searched the house, both the lower and upper floors. There weren't any sounds or signs of life anywhere, aside from the scuttle of a mouse or two. The pictures on the walls depicted a small family—a rather thin man, a plump woman, and a petit girl that appeared to be their daughter. All of the rooms were clean and free of clutter, and if it weren't for the pictures on the walls and the clothes in the closets, Delilah would have wondered if the house was for sale.
After finding nothing threatening, the group gathered extra blankets from one of the closets and food from the kitchen. They all convened in the living room and ate a tiny meal in silence.
"We should take turns keeping watch, to make sure they don't surprise us if they come home," Marcoh suggested from where he sat in the only armchair. "In the morning we'll get some things from here and figure out where we are."
"I'll stay up," Delilah said.
The man sobered even further. "No medicine…?"
She didn't respond.
May shook her head. "No, you should sleep." She was sitting on the couch next to Delilah; with her words, the young girl shifted a little closer to the other. "You're still healing."
"I think I slept as much as I could on the train," Delilah said. "I can't sleep unless I'm exhausted or have my medicine. My thoughts keep me awake."
The alkahestrist frowned. "Well…try."
Delilah was still too tired and confused by the whole situation to smile, but she appreciated May's concern. "Thank you."
Throughout the night, May had been the perfect picture of awareness, but she betrayed herself with a yawn. She tried to pretend nothing had happened. "I'll take first—"
A stern look from Marcoh silenced her, and the man then sighed. "Delilah can take first watch."
An uneasy quiet fell over the group, and then May finally leaned back against the couch, letting her exhaustion show. "Goodnight," she wished. Shao May nestled on her shoulder, and the girl closed her eyes. Delilah couldn't help feeling envious at how swiftly the alkahestrist fell asleep.
Marcoh shifted, and the effects of the dim lighting on his now-grotesque face unnerved Delilah. It was as if reality was once again reminding her of how he wasn't the person she'd believed him to be.
"I'm sorry to drag you into all this," he said after a long pause. "I never thought things would turn out this way."
His words were stiff and half-broken, and she knew they were no better than strangers to each other now.
"…Would you still have sent me with them?" she asked. "If you had known we would get pulled into this?"
"If I had known…" Marcoh contemplated for a moment. "Part of me would have wanted to run away as Mauro, with or without you," he admitted finally. "But I wouldn't have done it. You…I wouldn't have abandoned you. And I won't." He let out a tired, gruff laugh. "And try as I might, I'm too old to run anymore."
"…I'm sorry about what I said." Delilah twisted her blanket in her hands. "I shouldn't have said that."
"But it reflects what you think, doesn't it?" he asked.
"…I was so worried about you that I didn't think about everything you lied to me about," she admitted. "So I don't know what to do or think."
He nodded slowly. "…I understand."
"…I know you're important to me, though," she said after a moment. "Otherwise I wouldn't have worried so much. I…I said once that I thought of you like you were my father, but right now, I…"
"It's okay." A sad smile spread across his face. "A lot has happened. We both need some time to get used to things."
Delilah almost laughed bitterly at the understatement. "Too much has happened, you mean."
Marcoh frowned at her tone. "What did happen?"
She grimaced. "Can…can we talk about that another time? When we're travelling or something? It…it's late."
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "But don't wait too long to tell me, okay? Keeping secrets isn't good for anyone, sometimes."
She remembered how guilty she had felt when she had refused to tell Alphonse what had happened to her. He had been concerned and frightened for her, but she had been too scared to open up. Neither of them had had a pleasant experience then, to say the least.
Marcoh settled back into his chair; she saw how fatigued and close to sleep he was. "I am glad I sent you with those boys, though."
The words pulled her out of her memories. "Because I was safe?"
"Because it's easy to see how much you all care for each other."
a/n: So! Um. Short chapter, but don't worry, I have a nice omake for you. And guess what. Guess.
I freaking wrote smut. AlxDel smut. Delphonse smut. A lemon.
...Yup. Posted it, too.
anYWAY um, sorry for the bit of a wait. I had a bunch of things I had to do for Latin club because nobody else would do it even though we have like 40 people. I ended up with a bunch of spray paint on my hands. And my feet. Somehow it didn't get on my clothes. And it all worked out because we won a bunch of awards at our convention 8D God I love winning things. Except I got a tick while we were on that field trip. *shudders*
Enjoy the omake! Sorry to make y'all way for me, again.
omake/the adventures of Lustling pt. III
Delilah blinked in confusion and looked around. Very suddenly, she wasn't on the train anymore—instead, she sat at a table in a festive cafe. Most of the other tables were occupied, and pleasant topics of conversation filled the air. A cold drink with an umbrella in it sat on the table in front of her.
"Where are we?"
She turned to see Alphonse sitting next to her. He looked around, confusion in his red eyes.
"Alphonse?"
He turned to her, then suddenly seemed to realize that she was okay. "Delilah!"
The two embraced, laughing with joy. Their happiness was so great that for a few moments they couldn't even form sentences. However, the emotion was palpable enough to break. And this was how it was broken:
"You two are going to have such cute babies."
Alphonse and Delilah paused and looked to see Lustling sitting across from them at the table. The Homunculus leaned his face on his hands, looking at them with—as Edward would put it—"that idiotic prince's closed-eyes smile of Xingese 'bastardliness.'" If it weren't for the Ouroboros tattoo on his collarbone, they would have thought that he was just Ling.
"God, I hope the author lets you have kids," he gushed.
The objects of his obsession were still frozen in a half-embrace. "What?" Al asked.
"Author?" Delilah echoed.
"Surely the author should let you have kids," Lustling went on, oblivious to their questions. "She did write a lemon."
Al sighed in exasperation. "What are you talking about, Ling?"
"It's Lustling." The Homunculus slapped his hand on the table for emphasis. He then frowned. "You don't know what a lemon is?"
"You mean…the fruit?" Delilah guessed.
Lustling blinked. "'Smut' ring any bells? The author likes that word better."
They stared at him.
"…I'm guessing that's a no."
"…I don't think I want to know what that is," Al said.
"Me neither," Delilah agreed.
Lustling grinned. "I think you do."
"I think I don't," Al said.
"Here." Lustling suddenly pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Alphonse, who reluctantly moved away from Delilah to take it. "Take a look. Be careful—the author signed it for me. It's a limited edition copy."
Alphonse sent the Homunculus a skeptical look before opening the folder and taking a look at the paper. Only several seconds in, his eyes widened.
Delilah tried to peer over his shoulder to get a look, but he was too tall. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. He scanned the rest of the page, then flipped to the next one. His steel face actually became red with embarrassment. No joke.
Lustling smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Like what you see?"
Al's hands started shaking. "Who wrote this?" His voice was dark, if somewhat high-pitched.
"I told you," Lustling said. "The author."
Al flipped through the rest of the pages, reading just a couple of lines, then came to the last page. "'To one of my greatest creations, Lustling. Love, Rose,'" he read aloud. He looked up at the Homunculus. "Rose? That woman we helped in Liore?"
Lustling suddenly burst out laughing. "That girl? No, no! The author doesn't just walk around in broad daylight like that. She's everywhere. She's watching us right now, listening to us. To everyone."
"You mean like…God?" Delilah asked.
"You could call me that," a voice echoed through the cafe. Only Delilah and Alphonse reacted to the sound; they both stiffened and looked around. Lustling just laughed.
"What was that?!" Al asked.
Lustling leaned on one hand. "The author. She's not really supposed to do that. Good thing this is an omake and not the story."
Al's eyes widened. "Are you…high or something?!"
Lustling ignored the question. He pointed to the folder that Alphonse still held. "So? You like it?"
"L-like it?!" Al sputtered.
Delilah furrowed her brow and stood, trying to peer over his shoulder. "What is it?"
"N-nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Alphonse twisted his body to put himself between her and the paper. "Nothing at all!"
She frowned, a little hurt. "What's going on?"
Lustling grinned. "You should show her, Al. You're both in it, anyway. Well," he went on, "one of you is a little more in it."
No joke—Alphonse's steel face blushed crimson again. He shook his head vehemently. "N-no, no!" He looked at the papers again, and in a split-second decision, hurriedly ripped them, folder and all, to pieces.
Lustling's jaw dropped. He stared at the spectacle, unable to move. For a moment, Delilah thought he was having a heart attack.
"My…my limited edition…" He slumped forward onto the table and started to drag himself slowly toward Alphonse. "My…m-my smut…"
"Alphonse!"
The boy, with the strips of paper wadded up in his hands, turned to Delilah. "W-what?"
She had never looked so livid. "How could you? That wasn't yours!"
"B-but…" He searched uselessly for words. A small slip of paper fell out of his hands, and before he could retrieve it, Delilah snatched it up.
"'We did it,'" she read aloud. She looked up in confusion. "Did what?"
Lustling started bawling.