I, uh, have largely been writing these new chapters in one or two days, and today I wrote 6k on two separate projects. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? WHAT?
Story-related: This chapter is a really neat blend of canon stuff and stuff that never happened in either canon. Sheska is the same in both canons (I love her so much), but neither canon really pokes at romance, so this is a totally different side of things. And Roy or Riza and Ed never really have this kind of conversation – I'm reminded a little of the part in 03 where Roy finally catches up to Ed on the run just to tell him off for not asking him for help, though. Either way, it's much earlier in this canon than either of the others. Some of that is personal preference, and some of it is that Diana and Will have different things in common with each other than Ed and Roy. Being queer and disabled will make that bond feel very different.
(Also, I keep… forgetting… about Maria and Denny….)
By the way, for AO3 readers: AO3 is no longer counting guest hits. Which explains why it's been feeling like I'm shouting into a void a bit! So if you're a guest reader, please consider leaving a comment or kudos (more than usual) because otherwise, I'll never know you were here at all.
TW: mild hoarding, anxiety discussion, past transmisogyny; discussion of genocide, war crimes, suicide and racism
~41~
But why does it always seem to be
Me looking at you and you looking at me
It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all
truth is, I love you, more than I wanted to
there's no point in trying to pretend
-That's All
Will knocked on the door with more than a little trepidation, shivering even in his black longcoat. For all that he'd caught tidbits here and there about Valjean's librarian girlfriend – mostly the other men on the team teasing him for dating a librarian – he didn't actually know much about her. Librarians were, in his experience, intimidating and a little too likely to start aggressively shushing him.
"Hello?"
No answer. Which was weird, because she'd just kicked Valjean out. Will knocked again. "This is Major William Elric with the Amestris Military. I just want to-" He glanced at Selim, who shook his head. Right. Jurisdiction. "-uh, ask you about… some books?"
"Sir," asked the ever-patient lieutenant behind him with growing confusion, "I don't understand why we're here."
"Oh, now you're listening? We're here because Valjean was here for a reason. Other than making up with his girlfriend. Probably."
Still no answer. Then Will realized two things – one, the door wasn't locked, and two, there was a faint squeal of protest behind the door. He twisted the handle, poking his head in. "That sounded concerni- oh. Oh man."
"Mmph!"
In front of him was an apartment absolutely packed with books. That didn't quite do it justice. The books appeared to be breeding, and have run out of space around three generations ago. They towered almost all the way to the ceiling in surprisingly neat towers, double-stacked on the shelves with scrawled pieces of paper on the ends indicating a fairly loose but consistent organizational system. It was the apartment of somebody who did not know when to stop buying books – so definitely the librarian. The only incongruity was the pile of books a foot or two back from the door… which was both moving and the source of the piteous squeal.
"Dear lord," he heard Lieutenant Ross whisper in the background,
Selim peered over his head. "Where is she?"
"Oh, uh. I'm assuming that's her." He pointed to the pile, and after a second of frozen astonishment, Selim, Brosh and Ross started digging at the books.
"It's books, they've fallen on me before," Will snorted. "Don't overreact."
"You're also made of hardier stuff, Major," Ross replied, and he managed to keep himself from smirking. It appeared one of his somewhat-cowed bodyguards had found her voice.
A few moments later, her disheveled head poked free of the pile, glasses askew on her face and hair sticking up in a thousand places, and she managed to shove a few more aside so she could sit up. Will raised a confused eyebrow. She was… well, Jareth's opposite in about every conceivable way. Jareth stood just shy of six feet; this girl was shorter than he was. Her black turtleneck was about as simple as you could get – not exactly leather-and-fur – and she was. Well. Mousy was a nice phrase for it. Raggedy brown hair, giant horn-rimmed glasses. Maybe they had the wrong person after all.
She scowled into mid-air. "Ja – Lieutenant, if that's you again I will be very cross!"
Will buried a laugh in a cough, and Selim reached forward, adjusting her glasses and using his sleeve to wipe some of the dirt off. "He isn't here, don't worry. We're, uh… friends? Coworkers? Colleagues?"
"He – he isn't?" Now she sounded disappointed.
He mostly wanted to get down to business, but damn it, she was kind of cute, wasn't she? And she looked so crestfallen. "He's off getting you flowers. But we didn't tell you that."
"Flowers? No! I told him to go away!"
"We also told him to work on a better apology," Selim added. "I don't get the impression he's excellent with words."
She blinked. "…You DO know him!"
Okay, Will was starting to see it now. "If we can get on track, please?"
"Oh! Um, yes, hello! Thank you so much for saving me. Usually my towers are so stable! But I was telling Jareth to leave because that's what Mary Wollstonecraft would want me to do, be a strong woman and not take any of his crap, and then I slammed the door and- and-" She looked ready to burst into tears. "And then they all fell on me!"
Ross and Brosh exchanged a look, and Ross cleared her throat, clearly trying to suppress a case of the giggles. Will had no clue what a Wollstonecraft was, but apparently Ross found it hilarious.
"What's your name?" Selim asked, somehow keeping a straight face during all of this. Will thought it was nothing short of heroic, frankly.
"Oh, right, yeah. I'm Sheska Thomas, second assistant libra-" Then her face fell. "Uh, no. Unemployed."
Ouch. "Alright, well, I'm William Elric, this is Selim Bradley. That's Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh there. We're here to ask you about the 1st Branch fire."
"It's so tragic! So many books gone up in smoke!" She really was tearing up this time. "May whoever responsible stub their toe on several doorsteps." At Will's incredulous expression, she quailed slightly. "My – my mother doesn't like violence."
"Reminds me of my nan," Brosh grumbled. "She used to pinch if I so much as took the Lord's name in vain or said darn- ow!" He rubbed at his elbow where Ross had swatted him. "Fine, fine. Quiet, seen, not heard."
Will valiantly ignored them. "Uh huh. So, okay, for whatever reason…" Will stopped and thought about it. "For some reason, the Lieutenant came to you, first thing after finding out about the fire. I trust his judgement – but do you know why? Did he tell you?"
"Well, not really? Sort of? I kind of-" Sheska blushed, hands balling up on her knees and shoulders rising to her ears. "I opened the door and saw him there and I. I panicked."
"Panicked?" Selim leaned forward. Will tried not to roll his eyes.
"He –" Sheska swallowed. "He left without a word," it came out in a murmur. "I didn't – I didn't know he was gone at first until I saw the notice that his CO had gone to East City. And I…" Her shoulders sank. "I didn't think he cared."
The last thing Will needed was to get involved in the romantic lives of his superiors. But he had to say something, especially since Miss "Seen Not Heard" Ross was giving him the stink-eye. "He sure does care," he snorted. "You wanna know why he didn't call?"
"Yes! I – I mean, I don't really care, I'm done with th-" She cut herself off, biting her lip nervously.
"He kept panicking."
"He what?" Selim and Sheska said at the same time. He snickered. Two birds with one stone – get her to stop crying, and embarrass the Lieutenant, all in one fell swoop. "He fuckin' kept standing by the phone and staring at it like a lost puppy. It was honestly kind of horrendous to watch."
"But Jareth doesn't…" She bit her lip again, but this time she was smiling. "I'm not scary."
"Nah. It just means he actually likes you. He's just a dumb fuck."
Selim groaned. "I don't know how you get away with insulting your boss so much. It's so unprofessional."
"Boss?" Then she must have finally processed his name. "Oh my gosh, you're that William?"
"Did the automail not tip you off? Or the hair? Or the skirt?"
She shrugged. "Jareth has a lot of weird friends," she admitted. "I didn't really think about it."
That was a first. He couldn't decide how he felt about not being the weirdest person somebody had met. "Okay, well, do you know anything about the fire?"
"No, I'm sorry. Were you looking for something in particular from the library?"
He grumbled. "It doesn't matter. The catalogues all went up in flames too – and that's assuming it was even catalogued properly."
"Well, I might remember."
Eh, fuck it. It wasn't like he had a lot of options. "Anything by Doctor Marcoh? He was a State Alchemist about six years ago."
She thought for a moment, fingers tapping her chin. "Yes! He had one book in there. I actually remember it not being sorted right – but I was fired before I could fix it," she added, voice falling.
Shit. They were fucked.
"Cool," he growled. "So it was there and now it's gone."
"I mean, I could tell you what was in it."
Will had already gotten half-up from the floor, but Sheska's words made him pause. "Come again?"
"Well, it was one of the last things I read. And I remember everything I read."
He shook his head. "We'd need it word-for-word. I have a good memory, too, but-"
Sheska was scowling at him. Then she got to her feet, snatched a piece of paper and a pen off one of the nearby shelves, pinned it to the wall of a bookshelf and began scribbling. The five of them (Alex was peering over when he could) sat there in silence, the scratch of the pen and the passing of cars outside the only sounds.
Then she handed it to him. Writing covered both sides – scrawled, imperfect – but…
"The first side is the opening of Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of Women. And the other side…"
Will flipped it. "100 Recipes by Tim Marcoh. Holy shit."
"What? It's a cookbook?" Selim looked remarkably defeated, but Will just laughed.
"You can copy the whole thing? Word for word?"
"Word for word."
"You're hired."
"I'm – what?" Sheska suddenly looked a little wobbly.
"I said, you're hired. You've got three days, and I'll write you a blank check. Seriously. Whatever amount you want."
"I don't – I can't –"
"You just said you could."
"I can't pick a number!"
"Alright. Two million cens."
Her jaw dropped. "How do you have- you're joking."
"Not in the slightest. Now come on. We'll get you set up back at Headquarters. Ross, Brosh, you're reassigned to Sheska."
"But I have to… Wash my hair… And do laundry…"
"Later! Come on!" Will practically shoved her out the door, then flashed a grin over his shoulder at Selim, who was staring at him absolutely dumbfounded. They weren't done yet. He wasn't done yet.
One way or another, he was going to find what he was after.
"Fullmetal, sir, you are aware we're supposed to be guarding you?"
He pulled up his hand in a 'talk talk talk' gesture. "Blah blah blah, yes, I know, I'm a danger to everybody around me. Just make sure she doesn't run off on me? Besides, I'm going to the safest place I know for dinner."
She seemed content with that. Although he was getting the impression she was going to break his hand if he didn't put it away.
Hughes had offered them the use of his house whenever they were town, and Will was quite happy to take up that offer when he could, especially since the military barracks hadn't made room for him yet. He wasn't, however, expecting to stumble through Hughes's door to the smell of dinner.
"Aw, sh- shoot," he corrected at the last minute as Hughes appeared with Elysia in his arms. "I didn't mean to interrupt, sorry. We can go somewhere e-"
"Will, shut up," Hughes said with a grin.
"Shut up!" echoed Elysia.
"Oh, I'm gonna pay for that one," he mumbled, then nodded his head towards the dining table. "Go wash your hands and sit down."
Will blinked, even as Selim obediently trotted over to the sink. "…You could have told me I was invited for dinner," he complained lamely.
"I mean, yes, but that would defeat the whole purpose of a surprise." Hughes put Elysia down and ruffled Will's hair, getting a squawk of annoyance in reply. "We actually wanted to do this in two weeks or so, but you're always running around-"
"Oh, no." Will was catching on, and he narrowed his eyes, glaring at Hughes's smug face. "Who told you?"
"Come on, Will, I'm in Investigations. It's in your file. And don't give me that sour face, birthday boy."
Will settled for a loud, long groan to hide the fact that he was actually flattered. He wasn't fond of birthdays for the most part, and he'd managed to let the last two slide by completely unnoticed. Still, though… whatever Gracia was cooking smelled good.
He sat down between Selim and Elysia, and tried not to grin as he saw Alex sitting next to Elysia's plate. "Enjoying the fresh air?"
"Immensely," Alex replied. "Selim, your shirt pocket has absolutely atrocious amounts of lint in it. I know, I counted."
Selim snorted, poking at Alex with the handle of his fork. "You are the only person who cares."
"For good reason!"
Will couldn't stand sitting still. He was too excited, the thrill of their success in finding Sheska invigorating previously-exhausted limbs. So he got up and headed into the kitchen. "Hey, uh, need a hand?"
He expected some awkwardness. The last few times they'd seen each other, Gracia had said some things that hadn't left his mind. But she just smiled at him, and used her head to indicate the pot full of vegetables. "Give those a stir, love."
"Alright, gotcha."
He glanced briefly over his shoulder, through his hair, to look at her reaction. There was no trace of frustration on her face, and although he found himself tugging self-consciously on the hem of his miniskirt a few times, she seemed much more comfortable with him than last time. What's wrong with boy's clothes? she'd asked, like it was something self-evident. He hadn't really had an answer – just that he wore what he liked. That was the worst part. She wasn't the only one who'd asked him that, and she wasn't the only one who'd been left hanging with no answer. But she was somebody he wanted to give an answer to. He just didn't have one.
He tore his eyes away as Gracia came over to check on the vegetables. "Uh, are these done?"
"I think they are! You can strain them and put them on the table – and then sit down. You're a guest." Then she gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You look lovely, by the way. I like the braids."
She turned back to the roast before he could come up with an answer, but that was fine. He could blame the redness in his cheeks on the steam.
Later that night – after an apple pie that had put the gods to shame and both Will and Selim insisting on helping Gracia with dishes until she threw up her hands and gave up on the idea that they were guests – Hughes tapped him on the shoulder and told him he had a visitor.
She was sitting on the bench swing outside, dressed in her usual off-duty black dress and long gloves, looking ready for a night at the opera. Between her inky-black hair, curling on her bare shoulders, and the bright red lipstick like a slash of blood on her face, she cut a distracting figure.
Will flopped down on the swing next to her. "You took your own sweet time getting here."
"I'm not one for family meals, but I wasn't going to miss your birthday dinner. Completely, anyway."
"One, it's not my birthday for two weeks. Two, you don't care that much. You're making sure I haven't thrown everything all cattywampus on you again."
Solaris laughed, sipping at the glass of wine she'd procured from… somewhere. Will imagined Hughes must have given it to her. "I do so love it when your rural Eastern comes out."
"Shut up. I've been hanging out with Selim, that always brings it out."
"Cattywampus. I like that one." Then she gave him a sad smile. "You're still upset with me."
He shrugged. He couldn't decide whether he was or not. It was easy to rant and rave about her when he was travelling, or in the moment. Now, staring at her, he could think of a million reasons that she would have lied about the Red Stones.
"…The stones we found," he said finally. "I've seen something like them before. Not exactly. Not nearly as refined."
She just nodded, as if she'd been expecting him to say that. "In Lior. And, if I understood your mission report right, in Xenotime. You were very clever in what you redacted."
"They don't need more trouble," he mumbled. "But yes. Russell Tringham died in the backlash from one. I figure it's the same thing Cornello used. I thought they were fakes, though."
"Fakes, not exactly. More like…" She swirled the wine in her glass. "Incomplete."
"What are they missing?"
"No one knows. At least, certainly not anybody I talk to."
Will nodded. This was making sense so far – although he didn't like it. What had happened to Russell was… He shuddered. "And you used those…"
"In the war." She closed her eyes briefly, her black eyeshadow smudged at the corners. "Armstrong told me you heard about some of it."
"Some. I was a kid when it happened." He kept the question he really wanted to ask trapped behind his lips, but Solaris was too clever for that. She leaned back, dark eyes searching him.
"Ask," she said finally.
"How do I know you won't lie?"
"I only lie to you when I feel like it'll protect you. There's not much point in protecting you from this – not with how stubborn you are."
Will squeezed his hands into fists on the bench. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you go along with it?"
She exhaled softly. One of those moments was happening again – where Will thought, perhaps, she might one day see him as an equal. It was in these moments that he could grasp, however briefly, that she was not some wizened crone or middle-aged lady; she was fourteen years older than him, which seemed both insurmountable and so, so close. "…We do what we're told."
"Is that you telling me off?"
"No. No, hardly. And it's not an excuse, either." She took another sip of her wine – and then another, almost draining it. "You have to understand, Will, by the time the State Alchemists were brought in in an official capacity, the war had been going on for eight years."
Eight years. It'd started the year Alex was born. This much he knew. "The Eastern border cities in revolt."
"Yes."
"What do you mean by official capacity?"
She laughed, although there was very little humour in it. "I'd been there for much longer. Do you know – has anybody ever told you – who I worked for before National Security?"
"I don't think it's come up."
"Good. It's not really supposed to. I was in Black Ops."
Will felt a breath catch in his chest. He'd heard about Black Ops before, in whispered conversations between adults and hearsay that sounded like a campfire ghost story. They were spies, infiltrators; the dark underbelly of the military.
She waited a few moments for him to process it. "I know what you're thinking. But we were there to stop the war – stop more people from getting hurt."
"Through, what, assassination?"
"Among other things," she replied, and he hadn't really expected her to confirm that, so now he didn't know how to feel. "The logic was that if we took out the leaders – the inciters – people would go home, or calm down, or think about the options on the table. It… didn't work. And we were there for years, trying and trying to de-escalate. Every time we got one piece lined up, the government would do something without telling us and set everything off again."
"So the State Alchemists got sent in."
She nodded. "Order 3066. Before then, State Alchemists weren't permitted on the front lines of battle. I passed my certification after joining Black Ops, and even then, there were a lot of restrictions on when I could and couldn't use my alchemy. Many of which I ignored, in all fairness."
"I can't believe you get mad at me for ignoring military regulations," he grumbled.
Solaris smirked. "No, I get mad that I catch you. You need to be sneakier."
Wow. This was a side of Solaris he'd never seen before. It made perfect sense, somehow – nothing was really different. She was just… more relaxed, even while telling him all these horrible things. Maybe it was the wine. It was probably helping.
Then he realized – she'd been worried. She'd been keeping this from him, not completely deliberately, for three years, all the time wondering what the boy from the East who'd witnessed a station bombing and hordes of soldiers pouring through his village would think of her once he knew. He wasn't sure why it'd taken so long to click; Solaris cared so much about how others saw her, controlling their perception. He wasn't really supposed to know that, either, but maybe some of her spy skills had rubbed off on him.
"Those Stones…" She was finished her wine, and she put the glass down on the little stand next to her. "I asked you not to use them for two reasons. Did you listen to me?"
"Yeah. I'm still half-metal, aren't I?"
She nodded. "Do you know why? I don't know if this came up with Russell Tringham or not."
It hadn't explicitly, but Will thought back to the Xenotime. Russell, coming so close to understanding the cruelty he was enacting, the guilt that would creep up his face, only to be effaced in the red glow of his creation. It had been hard to tell how much of it was the poison he was working with and how much of it was his own ego.
"The fumes from the Red Water were toxic. The Stones are too," he said, wincing at the pain in his chest from the admission. He'd kind of… guessed that. He wished his brain had cooperated from the beginning.
"That's right. And not just if they rebound on you. Holding them, using them – it affects you. And then the backlash…" She paused. "About three thousand Ishvalans died. Some from direct violence, some from illness, some from environmental damage." She was conspicuously avoiding the word killed, as if distancing herself from the terror. "And two-thirds of the State Alchemists assigned to Ishval died, too. Mostly from rebounds, toxic poisoning, that sort of thing. Plenty from suicide."
"How many were killed by Ishvalans?"
"Two."
Solaris's eyes were fixed on him now, her piercing stare still somehow distant. Then she lowered her gaze, the distress on her face visible now. She was hurting herself, telling him this. And all because he'd asked her on the phone.
Are you ever going to stop lying?
Will swallowed. "And Marcoh deserted with the Stones. I can see why."
"I'm sure there's a real Stone out there. His research will give you some answers, although perhaps not the ones you want."
"I don't know which ones I want, so honestly, I'm open to suggestions."
She smiled, the distant look in her eyes still there. It reminded him of the blank mask she'd gained in the fight with him, and even thinking about it brought back a twitch in the few bruises that remained. I want her to be okay, came the stray thought, and he batted it away grumpily. Caring about his superior officer was bad news, especially when her loyalties were as mercurial as her. Still, though. He did. And he didn't like caring about people. It made him feel silly and unfocused.
Still, there wasn't much getting away from it. You didn't care when somebody you hated lied to you, especially if you were used to it. It was when it was somebody who meant something to you.
"Was the Lieutenant with you in Black Ops?"
"Yes. We served together. Signed up for the military together, actually."
"When did you guys meet?"
She seemed to find that particularly amusing. "That's, uh, a long story." Her face spread into an impish grin. "You really want to know?"
Uh oh. That sounded concerning. "That depends," he backtracked. "Will it scar me for life?"
"Hmm…" She sat back, nostalgia in her voice. "He burst through my window in the middle of the night hiding from a gang. I was, unfortunately, awake. So I hit him with a vase."
"You're serious."
"Absolutely."
"Ha ha. Very funny. No way did that actually-" He paused, looking at her face. "Shit. Really?"
Solaris shrugged, mood already clearly lifting. "Maybe."
"Oh, don't fuck with me."
"When am I not fucking with you? At least a little bit."
"Aha! You admit it!"
"I can't help it. You're so innocent sometimes."
Will crossed his arms, trying not to worry about whether he looked petulant or not. They sat quietly, in the kind of companionship they usually didn't have with each other, before he said what he knew would ruin it. "What if I thought it was worth it? Using the Stones?"
"Even if you hadn't lost them? I wouldn't let you."
He would have argued the point that he hadn't lost them, they'd been stolen, but exactly what he'd expected had happened. Solaris was back in her shell, the commanding tone returning to her voice. Whatever softer, kinder Solaris he'd met was gone.
"Fine, fine. One last question before I go back inside."
"What's that?"
"Do you know anything about a State Alchemist called Kimbley?"
Her face didn't change. "Not personally, no. I know he was in Ishval, but that's all."
He got up without a word, waving her a wordless good night. He'd almost found it in himself to trust her… and he did, to a point. He had, until she'd fallen right back into lying, like it was second nature. For a spy, he reasoned, it was. He knew more about her now, enough to feel a twinge of regret that she couldn't trust him.
He wouldn't use it. It was too scary, too unknown, too badly understood, and when it came to restoring Alex's body, he couldn't afford mistakes. But the Red Stone in his pocket, ensconced in its vial, burned a hole into him with every step he took. It was hidden in the stitching, the one he'd been holding when he'd called Solaris, the one that Armstrong had forgotten to account for.
It was just one, anyway, and they were on the right track, so he might not need it at all. It was just the same thing as the needle full of morphine that Solaris had given Armstrong.
An emergency measure.
