WHOLE LIVES, CHAPTER 36: "AN ICON FROZEN IN TIME"
BY THE BINARY ALCHEMIST 2012
Edward snatched the phone off its cradle. His shoulders sagged.
Alphonse paled. "Brother?"
"Okay!" he shouted to the friends who surrounded him. "They're okay, all of them." He turned back to the receiver. "Start from the top," he commanded to the voice on the other end. His friends respectfully withdrew to the dining table, hugging one another with relief while Alexi darted outside to tell the press and to hurry to the nearest phone to inform a very worried Tsar and Tsarina before they would hear it on the radio.
Ten minutes later, he hung up. Elbows on knees, he covered his face with his hands.
Something nudged his shoulder.
It was a bottle of hundred year old Aerugoan Nebbiolo Rossofrom the Sun King's private stock.
Ed blinked in surprise. A bottle of Nebbiolo Rossohad been formally presented to Roy by the court for the presidential wine cellar. Exactly how in the hell a fully mature bottle of Aerugo's rarest and had been smuggled out of Claudio's personal collection and into the shabby parlor of a tumbledown old dacha in Drachma was not something Edward would have wanted to inquire too closed about. No doubt it had been intended for the Tsar's table—or perhaps the former castellan had light-fingered it out of spite before being sent away.
He rubbed the wetness of his cheeks and cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the Aerugoan.
"What—no corkscrew?"
As soon as Lobachevsky examined the bottle he reacted with the same excessive caution of a soldier who has just been handed a live grenade with a jiggly pin. "Call Pyotir in from the garden," he whispered reverently, "and we should wait, da- let the wine breathe for half an hour—and save a swallow for Alexi. Maxim? Draw the curtains if you will…"
"Screw the glasses," Ed declared once Pyotir and Alexi had joined them. He took a deep pull straight from the bottle, and passed it to Alphonse. He was so exhausted he was the only person in the room who didn't oooh or ahhhh in delight over the sublime vintage.
"Might as well be kvass the notice he gives this," Pyotir chuckled after a blissful swallow. "So your Roy is unhurt? And the little girl too?"
"Yeah. That was Havoc" Ed's smile faded. "Lemme tell you what happened…."
###
"Get rid of them," Roy hissed between clenched teeth. They were swarming all over him and for once his studied cool was about to desert him. The muscles in his forearm twitched. Force of will alone kept him from snapping his fingers and clearing the street.
There was blood all over his uniform. It wasn't his, but the photographers didn't care. The image of Roy Mustang—Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, hero of the hour—in a blood soaked uniform, clutching a wounded little boy in his arms, kneeling in a grimy alleyway, would make the wire services all over the known world. It would become an iconic image, even more so than the triumphal photo of him at his inaugural, the elegant young Fuhrer lifting his hand in salute to the crowd as they roared their approval by the light of a thousand flashbulbs.
That iconic image would be frozen in time, printed and reprinted in history books, reenacted on screen and brought to light in future generations when the Mustang presidency was discussed and argued or sighed for as humans are wont to do when recollecting Better Times.
Roy Mustang, hero of the people once again, comforting the little boy who had been shot while watching in the alley, a bruised Elycia Hughes sobbing in the arms of the handsome Major Havoc, who appeared to be speaking softly to the child and wiping away her tears with gentle hand.
"Mustang cares."
The image said it all, and in the barrooms and coffee shops and around the kitchen tables and board rooms the men and women of Amestris all whispered and nodded and sighed in relief.
"He cares about us…rich or poor…we aren't just faces in the crowd. He risked his life for children…" Glasses were raised, toasts were offered and an ever-fickle public shrugged off the ugliness that that poor Gracia—that lady from Midday Amestris, the one who did the crafts features—was forced to read.
A fine man, they told one another. A damn fine man indeed.
In Ishbal there were many who nodded and said, "We were right to forgive him."
In Aerugo, Prince Claudio stared at the photograph that had set Alex Louis Armstrong sobbing into his morning coffee. "An astute press, making full use of the moment. Still…." A telegram was fired off to Central City, offering support and suggesting that perhaps in the days to come Aerugo's position regarding it's participation in the Collegium of Alexandra might be renegotiated to everyone's mutual benefit.
In Rush Valley, Winry snatched the paper out of Garfiel's hands, read, reread and reread again, then she called Dublith Meat Shop. "I'm getting my babies out of there!" Mason told her Izumi and Sig were already at the station, tickets in hand.
And in hiding, cowardly men who had disgraced their uniforms with treachery for the sake of eternal life realized that one of their own had betrayed them. Had Edison shot himself before Mustang captured him, the Old Guard would have continued—slowly and cautiously—to attempt to infiltrate positions of advantage. But no—the old man had to hare off on his own, using a reporter of dubious loyalty as his personal cat's-paw. The few who remained—fifteen in all now—realized that Edison's gaffe had produced precisely the opposite of what they had hoped for. With the image of the maligned Mustang saving the lives of children—and emphatically not killing or even seriously wounding his enemy- and stating public ally that Edison would be subjected to a public trial "on the grounds that he had already been stripped of military rank by Former Fuhrer President Grumman"…all of this had put the remnants of the Old Guard in serious jeopardy. "He'll sing," the message circulated. "He'll betray us all to prevent being hanged for treason against the state. Someone on the inside will have to take care of him."
###
Once the ambulance had taken Elycia, Pockets—now identified as twelve year old Jake Leeson, and ten year old Davy Collins—wounded in the hip saving the life of Maes Elric—straight to the military hospital with Havoc looking after Gracia Hughes, Roy Mustang shouldered his way past the crowd, ducking into the delivery room at Madame Christmas'. "Maes," he panted. "Nina—are they-?"
"Right where they're 'sposed to be, although you gotta teach that boy of yours to stay put or he's gonna get his head blown off some day," Chris Mustang growled. "Listen, I gotta get to the hospital. My fault Pockets and Beak got shot. They—"
"Later," Roy told her wearily. The sight of the door to Room Five, now splintered and ventilated with bullet holes, made him sick at his stomach.
He called out loudly "Don't shoot, Colonel—it's me," before drawing the key from his pocket and letting himself in, locking it firmly behind him. "Where are they?" he barked, perhaps more sharply than he intended.
"In here, Sir-" Hawkeye's demeanor began to waver. Mustang saw that helpless, guilt-ridden look in her eyes. He'd seen it before and it had made him angry and right now he didn't have time for it. This is when she gets careless—when she thinks I'm in danger. I thought she'd gotten past that. That boy got shot and Maes nearly….he gritted his teeth. He would discuss this with her later, when he wasn't pumped-up full of adrenalin and fury and fear for his children.
"WROY!"
"UNKAROY!"
They shot out of the rotgut room, grinning and flung themselves at him. Judging from the mustard on Maes' chin he'd been helping himself to the sandwich hamper Aunt Chris had stashed in there as soon as she knew there was trouble. "Hide and seek!" he yelled exuberantly. "Hidenskeek!" Nina echoed.
Bloody, sweaty, reeking of smoke, Roy Mustang fell to his knees and yanked both children tightly into his arms, swallowing hard against the tightness In his throat.
Because of me…because of me…Ed almost lost you…
He would not risk them a second time.
###
Chris Mustang nodded as her nephew closed the door of the children's ward behind him. "You found their parents?"
The old woman nodded. "Pocket's ma was working the street but I tracked her down. That one's in a bad way. I should know."
Roy nodded. "And Davy?"
"Dad was a veteran. He's in a bad way too. Wanted to come see the boy. I'll bring him up tomorrow." She reached for a cigarette then remembered that she couldn't very well light up in the children's ward. "Lucky shot, Knox says. Should be up in no time."
Roy glared at her. "He shouldn't have been in danger in the first place."
A dark brow lifted above a keen green eye. "Same for old man Faust, or those people in the bakery. We had a mad dog loose in the street, an old mad dog who needed to be put down-"
Roy's face flushed with anger as he turned on his aunt."-and what would that have proven? That the Fuhrer…the President….is above the law?" His voice dropped into a whisper as heads began to turn in their direction. "You think I didn't want to burn him to ashes for what he did? It was all I could do…all I could do, Ma'am….not to boil out the fluids in his eyes and listen to him scream before roasting him slowly inside his own uniform. And I can do that. I've done it. And you know what? It didn't make me sleep any better." He nodded in the direction of the children's ward. "Helping Davy and Jake and their families will."
###
When he knelt beside Elycia's hospital bed bed, she turned her face to the wall and her small shoulders began to tremble. He reached out to gently stroke her hair but stopped himself before making matters worse.
He closed the door behind him. "She saw me burn him…Edison." There was no emotion in his voice. "I'm a monster, apparently."
Gracia Hughes slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed Roy Mustang warmly on the cheek.
"Not to me," she whispered gratefully as she hugged her husband's old lover with all her strength. "Not to me."
###
The statement to the press was brief.
'General Edison has been taken into custody. He has been treated for superficial burns and will stand trial before a parliamentary grand jury on two counts of murder, assault, kidnapping, and conspiracy tantamount to treason. Miss Hughes is resting comfortably in good condition. Davy Collins and Jake Leeson are resting comfortably and are both expected to make a full recovery. President Mustang offers his support to the Collins and Leeson families and his condolences to the family and friends of Signor Faust of Il Gattina. The whereabouts of the family of Charles K. Foster are not known at this time."
###
There was a letter from the publisher 'below the fold' on the editorial page of the Central Times. It was dwarfed between a large ad that blared "SUFFERING FROM CONSTIPATION? FEEN-A-PHYSIK LAXATIVE CAN HELP! Available at Central Pharmacy, open all night for your convience" and a mildly provocative ad for the Rialto Cinema which was showing " SHE DONE HER WRONG" starring screen siren Gladys Turlough and Gloria Keen-Jones, along with two newsreels and a cartoon, all for ten cenz.
"To Our Faithful Readers:
"It has been brought to our attention that former newsman Charles K. Foster has been named as a co-conspirator in the upcoming trial of former General Edison. The Central Times wants to assure its readers that at no point did Management or the Editorial Staff have any knowledge of Mr. Foster's involvement with the so-called "Old Guard" terrorist organization. Central Times has offered its full cooperation with City Guard and the Mustang Administration to get to the truth of the matter. In view of the suspect nature of the articles printed under Mr. Foster's by-line, the Central Times regrets any inaccuracies.
"Winchell R. Murrow, Publisher, Central Times"
###
"Live coverage?"
Donal Samuelson shook his head. "Got the call from Breda. Says that Edison's trial is now gonna be a military tribunal."
"That was fast," Frank Archer told him from the other side of the visitation glass. "They want to keep him shut up. They don't want the real truth about what happened in Bradley's regime to come out. People will be shitting their pants. What they don't know won't keep them up nights screaming in their sleep and will keep them from executing every goddamned alchemist in this country, starting with the Flamer himself."
"Yeah, well…." Samuelson sighed. "Would have been one hell of a story."
Archer glanced at his former colleague. "Maybe you should write it? Not like the truth will ever come out , unless Mustang or Fullmetal write their memoirs."
Outside the prison, Donal Samuelson nursed a cup of coffee at the lunch counter in Central Pharmacy. "Mustang's memoirs….now there's an idea…."
###
He let her have it. It hurt nearly as much as it had that time in the hospital when she had been summoned to his bedside after the battle with Lust.
"I failed him again."
All he had asked her to do was protect Edward's children. Instead, Nina had nearly escaped her, Maes had gotten loose, nearly been shot and now an innocent boy was recovering from surgery—and she should have been protecting him too.
"Colonel, if you are not able to follow my orders you should consider reassignment. If need be I will reassign you myself."
He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it and she knew he didn't mean it and, moreover he knew SHE knew he didn't mean it.
Jean rubbed Riza's shoulders, digging his fingers deep where she carried the tension that never showed on her face. "Chief's right, y'know. Look, I know you've been sweet on him for years—hey, I can live with that. But the whole time you were watchin' the kids all you wanted to do was be at his side, guns blazing, tryin' to save the ass of the man you're hung up on." He kissed her softly on the back of her neck, right were the tattoo had been partially burned away. "Some point you gotta ask yourself, Riza—who are you livin' for? For your own happiness or for a man who's never gonna be what you wanted him to be for you. 'Cause we ain't getting any younger. You're what—33 now? And how much of that time have you been livin' for Roy Mustang? One of these days, he's gonna retire or step down…he's gonna want a life with Ed and the kids. And where are you gonna be? Sitting on his doorstep, polishin' your rifle and waiting for him to suddenly dump his man and family and decide to fall in love with you? Even if you got him, he's not what you need and you know it."
"Shut up, Havoc!"
He sighed and dropped another kiss on the old scars. "Yes, Ma'am, Colonel Hawkeye…."
###
"Ed?" Alphonse slipped into the darkened room without flipping on the light. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."
"Fuck off."
'The hell I will. Move over."
Ed didn't budge, so Al gave him a shove and crawled under the covers. Ed was curled up in a ball in the dark, slightly drunk on outrageously expensive wine and the last thing on his mind was the history-making flight earlier that morning.
After a very long silence, Ed finally spoke. "We need to find a place when we get back to Central. I can fix up some living space in the dorm at the Institute, but maybe you might wanna get some place in town."
Alphonse sighed. Typical. Ed blaming himself and baling out at the first sign of trouble. He'd seen it a million times. "Don't be stupid, Brother—you and Roy—"
"He told me to leave. When we spoke." His brother's voice sounded thick with emotion, and Alphonse realized that the pillow under his head was damp. "Said Maes almost got shot. That Collins kid took a bullet for my son-and it was all his fault. Said he didn't…want…"
The words broke off and Alphonse hugged his brother tightly. "He doesn't mean it, Ed! You know better than that."
"Well, he sure as fuck believes it."
Alphonse socked him hard on the shoulder. "And you buying this bullshit?"
"Owww—FUCK!" Ed jerked back angrily. "Damnit, Al, that's the one with metal in it! Fuck, that hurt!"
"Good. Here's another!" Al socked him again. "Now listen to me, Brother. I am going to cut the red tape. I'm going to get us out of here, get us back to the Xerxes and back to Central…and then I'm going to go right to the President's office and I'm going to talk some everloving sense into him and tie the two of you together and you two are either going to make up and be a family or so help me I'll beat the crap out of both of you!"
Ed reached over and switched on the light. Al could see he had the Owner's Manual clutched tightly to his face. His face was wet but his eyes were now blazing.
"Not if I beat his ass first…"
….To Be Concluded….