I hesitated before stepping out of the gate, and felt a push to get me on my way. I toppled forwards none too gracefully, hitting the ground roughly, getting the breath knocked out of me. But that wasn't what had me curling up in pain, clutching my chest. I had barely even hit the dirt when there were several small explosions from my coat, and one larger, leaving burns all along my legs and chest. Even that wasn't what caused me to whimper and fight back tears.
It was gone.
An entire sense I had been cultivating for more than a year.
Imagine, feeling all the energy in the world, of all the people, all around you, all the birds, the trees, the Earth itself. And then have it ripped away from you. Imagine. It's like seeing with the eyes of an artist and then going blind, like being a musician and then going deaf, being a chef and losing your sense of taste. The scenery, the music, the food, it's all still there even after the masters can no longer perceive them. Now I'm an alchemist who's lost the pulse. Alchemy was gone. I could feel the loss, stinging acutely in every line of my body, my fingers ached and I snapped them once, receiving no answering feed of information from the atmosphere. I had only just gotten the understanding of transmuting without a circle, and now the ability to transmute at all was gone.
Gone. Absent. Departed. Not there.
I didn't even realize I was shaking until my head knocked against the ground. I pulled myself together, I had to see where I was, make sure I wasn't anywhere dangerous, now without alchemy, I would be vulnerable, at least I had a gun-
My coat was in tatters and the only answer for it that I could come up with was that all of my arrays had simultaneously failed, unable to stay active because alchemy was impossible here. My sonic screwdriver was in the most violently destroyed pocket, little pieces of mangled metal were all that was left of it, along with the opal, now slightly crispy, that had been the jewel on the end. Now it looked like a child's marble that had survived a house fire, rather than part of a weapon/tool/friend that had been used in numerous military operations. Most of what had been the expanded pockets were destroyed or just plain dust.
I pulled out the State Alchemists' pocket watch, grateful it was still the same heavy silver. If both it or the glove had turned into crappy cosplay quality I would have lost what little remained of my mind. As it was they could simply be expensive cosplay props, what proof did I have that all of that was even real? What proof did I have that I lived as I did, a military official in a fictional country on the brink of war?
I pulled up the sleeves of my jacket and shirt violently, for the first time in my life letting out a sigh of relief at seeing the silvery scars. Usually, I prayed that the dreams weren't real, that I hadn't been held and hurt as I remembered. Now I was grateful for the permanent markings. They were my proof, my validation. I pulled the sleeves down with jerky motions, putting the broken pieces of the sonic back into my one still intact pocket, still breathing hard, pretty positive I was going into shock. I dragged my limp limbs over to the side of the brick alley I was in, pulling myself up to lean against the wall so I could catch my breath and get a better look at everything. This angle caused my dog tags to dig into my neck and I sighed a little in relief, more proof.
The scene caused my breath to catch and my mind to still before going into overdrive. I knew this alley, I knew it very well because it was in this alley that I had made a decision that changed my life irreversibly. I followed the cracks in the brick up the wall, unrealistically expecting the same posters and fliers. I shouldn't have been surprised by the change. Anyone would have been surprised by what the new poster was. It was no longer a flier about the new Mexican place opening down the street. No, it was a picture with my face plastered in the middle, taken with the flush of victory from winning a marching contest during the school year before I left.
'Have you seen me?'
I was back. This was the dimension where I had disappeared. This is where I was from. My Aunt, my brother, they were only a few blocks away. I didn't really think, I was on my feet and staggering out of the alley before my brain caught up with what I was doing. I shoved the glove and the watch deeper into one of the inner pockets, setting what was active of my frazzled brain to walking as normally as possible. It was surreal, seeing the familiar sights pass me by, somewhat changed from how I had last seen them. The Winters had repainted their house, it was a soft green now, Mrs. Porter from the homeowners association must be dead then, she never would have allowed that. She was rumored to be in her eighties when I left, but no one would ever confirm it.
I passed dead grass and lush gardens, comparing the size of the dogs in the yards to what I remembered. Aunt Liz's house looked different as well, the paint peeling and most of the flowers dead. The only ones left were the lilies. They weren't even properly flowers when I left. They were sprouts that I had planted because of the Harry Potter reference. Now they had taken over most of the yard and it looked like no one had made even the slightest effort to tame them.
I proceeded up the steps, something in the back of my mind registering that Taylor's car was in the driveway, unusual for midday. I rang the bell, aware that my keys were gone, and belated realized that I would probably be grounded for losing my phone, not like I could explain I sacrificed it to a being that believed it was god in order to save some strangers life. Then again, losing my phone was hardly going to compare to the whole 'gone for about two years' thing…
I rang the bell again, as it was my custom to ring annoyingly until it was answered, and heard Liz yelling from what must have been the living room.
"Just a second, jeez."
I smiled slightly, something in me jumping to hear her voice after so long.
The door swung open and I took in her pale face, blonde hair pulled up into a bun. I watched her face go from annoyed to disbelieving in an inhuman amount of time. I waved halfheartedly, knowing I was covered in dirt and looked more than a little rough, skinnier than when I had left and something in my eyes looking just a little foreboding. The scorch marks on my coat probably didn't help.
"Liz." The relief in my voice, or maybe just the sound of it, broke her out of her trance. She surged forward and the victim, or maybe it was the soldier, in me was wary of being attacked. Long experience and ingrained trust of my aunt was the only thing that kept me from dodging or lashing out. I was pulled into a bone crunching hug that was definitely weaker than any of Armstrong's, but in other ways more crushing.
She whispered into my ear, sounding thoroughly out of breath.
"You're home. Stephanie, you're home."
Home? Yes, I am home. For real this time. I really am, well and truly...home. But did all of me return? I left something important behind, something irreplaceable. Perhaps it was my innocence, left in a dark room in a warehouse in the South of Amestris. Then again, it could have been my heart, left with the idiots who I had cared for so much. It might be my humanity, left with a whimpering shell of the man who had gifted me into the hands of terrorists.
Either way, I was home...mostly. So I clutched Liz tighter, barely hearing when she started yelling for Taylor, only really noticing when I was traded over to a taller form, stronger arms holding me close. Home.
Three Months Later
I was sketching out yet another array, shaking right hand pressing into the paper. Nothing. Always there was nothing. I slid the paper forcefully off the desk, not bothering to watch it land on top of the others layered on my bedroom floor. I threw the pen violently, ignoring the solid noise it made hitting the wall. I glanced at the windows, seeing sunlight flowing inside. If I were in Amestris and had this much time on my hands I would be watching television with Jean, reading a book somewhere, or working my tail off doing research. That last one had failed, obviously. And the first one was impossible as well. Watching television alone was depressing, and watching it with Taylor or Liz was worse. They weren't the same. I hadn't even realized I had come to prefer Jeans company to my flesh and blood family. Reading a book wasn't an option either. Mainly because I wanted to read a real book. Obviously, I had been banned from going to the library after what had happened the last time I'd tried to go there. I had to go with the both of them as an escort if I wanted to go at all, and even then I was watched closely and taken home if someone so much as looked at me in a way their suspicious minds deemed sketch.
I was home, but I was a prisoner. I couldn't go outside like I wanted to, I had to visit a hospital regularly, and a therapist as well. The police had given up finding out what happened only weeks after I got back. I wasn't talking about it, and they were resigned to knowing that I was certain it was over. They had been inclined to believe I was a runaway right up until I had gotten a full physical. Apparently, the scarring on my arms in places I couldn't humanly reach were enough evidence that I hadn't been gone willingly. At first, Liz and Taylor were happy knowing that I was back and alive, but gradually it wore off. Liz didn't understand why I couldn't just talk to her about it, why I couldn't explain why sometimes I woke up screaming or crying, and not knowing where I was. Taylor was a fully fledged doctor now. He had heard the horror stories from those that had treated victims of kidnappings and soldiers with PTSD. He was understanding of my silence for a while. But he broke too, also demanding answers and getting annoyed and hurt when I still refused to give any.
But I had music, and old books, the new season(s) of Doctor Who, Supernatural, and surprisingly a new one of Sherlock.
Who am I kidding, I miss those idiots. And I always will. I made it home, I made it back like I had always assumed I wouldn't. I'm sure things will improve.
One Year Later
Turns out, my birthday that happened in Amestris still counted in America. That was a duh once I actually thought about it. Just because I didn't have a traditional party with Liz and Taylor present doesn't mean that it didn't actually happen. I was a legal adult. They had no right to keep me locked up. For the months after I realized this I didn't have the heart to cruelly point out that 'you aren't the boss of me'. I cracked after a while, eventually bringing to light in an awkward conversation that not letting me leave the house reminded me of captivity.
Freedom was granted in small doses and when I proved that I wasn't going to disappear I got a job. Liz threw a fit because of my 'condition', Taylor because of where I had gotten the job. Apparently being an assistant/secretary at a budding private investigation company wasn't 'respectable'. Before Amestris I wouldn't have been able to argue with them. I would have protested for about a day and then called in to quit. But I'm not the same. I have ordered soldiers into battle, I have marched into that battle myself, and I have fought creatures that would haunt the nightmares of the bravest of men. I'm not going to fear my family.
I took my experience from working in Investigations and reorganized the filing system of the agency I was a part of, I made sure to offhandedly point out things I knew they wouldn't notice for day's, and made casual 'guesses' that lead to the right places. I was patient. I would move up the ranks, I would have as close to my old job as possible. I would use the 'experience' to get a government job doing the same thing, because let's be honest, this is me now. This is what I do. I solve crimes, with no one to blog about it. I will move on. There really is no other option.
It's honestly better this way, I know how to survive without alchemy, I'd done it for most of my life. Edward had gone without it for a few minutes at a time on only a few occasions and practically lost his mind each time. And I had no idea what went through his head when he lost it for a week. Well, I did. He joined the Nazi's, not his finest moment. No, this way was better, I'm sure. I was never meant to be apart of that story in any case. Besides, I got out of this better than they did. They had what, the photo for my file and three measly group pictures with me in them? I had two different anime series, several movies, and a manga. I could see them anytime I wished, hear their voices. But I'm not so much of a masochist that I do that often.
I'm not going to live in the past. I have two good legs, I'll keep moving forward.
"You'll have to decide for yourself. Walk on your own. Move forward. You've got a strong pair of legs, Rose. You should get up and use them."
I've got strong legs, too, I suppose. I just need to use them.
The End.
(Unless you'd rather this weren't the end, in that case there's more.)
