"[A]fter all, what are ghosts? Memories that write themselves indelibly into flesh, perhaps, like pain from an amputated limb." ― Philip Holden, Heaven Has Eyes
~x~
Roy was almost relieved to find that the caller of the next morning was just Ed.
Almost.
"Morning, bastard," Ed called. Despite having saved his life just yesterday, the boy clearly still had no respect or regard for his elders.
None at all.
"Good morning to you too," Roy answered drily over a mouthful of a day-old sandwich he'd found in his fridge that was strangely redolent of wet cardboard. "Are you coming over anytime soon?"
"Soon. I'm going to... run some errands first, and then head over to your mess of an apartment."
Mustang snorted. His apartment was actually pretty neat, and not just because of Riza's ability to keep everything spotless and inhumanely organised. (Cooking was something he might've not been… all that great at, but cleaning was at least a manageable chore. It was also far preferable to paperwork.)
"You'll be surprised. But sure. See you in a bit," and he was about to hang up when he heard a nervous stutter from the other end. "What?"
Ed paused. The only sound that was audible to his groggy ears was the incessant (and frankly irritating) tapping of Ed's fingers against the receiver.
"U-uh..." he stammered, belligerence and typical brashness all gone.
"Out with it, Fullmetal. I haven't got all day," Mustang scoffed, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. Suppose something happened to Ed in the short amount of time that he'd been kept away from his supervision? Whatever. It shouldn't matter. Ed wasn't his responsibility — not technically anymore, anyway. And he was a sixteen (or seventeen?) year old who was well capable of handling himself and staying out of trouble.
Well.
Maybe not the latter.
"Should I get something for the Lieutenant?"
In the interests of self-preservation, Mustang withheld his laughter. "Anything's fine."
"You sure? Does the Lieutenant like sweets?" Ed asked worriedly, sounding like he was already making a mental checklist of places that he could check out later.
"Yeah," Mustang smiled at the secret knowledge of her sweet tooth, before sighing at Ed's strange proclivities for formalities when it came to Riza. Why she had to be the only one amongst the bunch of rascals under him capable of earning Ed's respect, Mustang didn't know. "And Fullmetal?"
"What?"
Mustang rubbed at his temples tiredly. "Try not to call the Lieutenant by rank."
"Huh? Why?"
"For someone who's hailed a genius, you can be awfully slow."
Mustang could almost hear the gears shifting anxiously in Ed's brain from the other line; an automatic response to sarcasm. And then, it clicked. Ed's tone turned contentious, angry. "You mean to tell me she doesn't know ?"
"... Yeah."
"How did - you - I'm - what the hell!" Since when did Ed become so inept at the art of communication? "How did you… how did you even manage to keep it from her?"
The same way I kept Hughes' death from you for months, Roy thought, almost bitterly. The phone line coiled around his bandaged wrist like a snake, tighter and tighter until Ed's voice started breaking, as if he were still a twelve-year-old experiencing puberty's vicious curse.
"Well?" The phone line crackled again. Mustang tapped his foot pensively.
"It's a long story," he offered, though there really wasn't much to it. The essence of it was that he'd lied. He'd suppressed the truth, and in doing so he'd perpetuated a lie. That was it.
The cold, hard truth of everything that had transpired since Riza met Truth.
"I highly doubt so -"
"Maybe later," Mustang interrupted, uncurling the phone line as he let out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. "I'll see you in a bit," and he hung up as the sounds of paws scratching at his door interrupted Ed's indignant shrieking.
"Hi," Riza greeted as she entered.
Gently, she scooped Hayate up into her arms as one would a toddler to stroke his fur, damp from the light spring rain outside.
Roy smiled at the sight. "Hey. Did you get caught in the rain?"
"Just slightly. There was a small drizzle," Riza shrugged. "Are you feeling better?"
"Me?" Roy echoed dumbly. Then he remembered the wounds on his arms; her careful gentleness last night. "Oh, right. I'm all good," he reassured. "Thank you. For last night, I mean."
"You would've done the same," Riza said nonchalantly.
And Roy would have done so in a heartbeat, it was true. But he wasn't sure whether it was meant to be a compliment or an indication of something else. Had she done it only because she'd felt obliged to? Or was she genuinely beginning to see him as something more than a mere acquaintance?
Either way, it didn't matter. He'd take whatever scraps of affection he could get at this point. Kind of like a stray puppy left alone in the rain — like Hayate all those years ago. Maybe it was a little pathetic, the way he gathered her little demonstrations of concern in his arms as if it were gold. But Roy felt he couldn't really be faulted for doing so. It was hard. He missed her dearly; the old Riza who would nag at him till his ears bled, make him laugh inwardly with the jokes that she'd crack at his expense.
Part of him wanted her back more than anything.
But Roy convinced himself that he had to preserve the lie; the blissfully ignorant illusion that wrapped itself around their world with its pretty, glittering light. It was a necessary evil. Perhaps even an act of selflessness, he reasoned.
"I would," Roy said, offering her a small smile before he quickly changed the subject. Anything to get away from the dangerous train of thought. "By the way, about lunch…"
"Sure. I'll get lunch started," Riza shrugged, then headed towards the kitchen once she'd gotten her shoes off. She laid Hayate down on his designated resting spot; a small, fluffy crib by the windowsill that ensured the pup a generous dose of sunlight and fresh air.
Roy frowned. Though she'd readily obliged when he asked whether she would be alright with having Ed over earlier (he had a nagging suspicion, however, that this was something motivated by the fact that she deemed this apartment to be his house), their prospective visitor clearly unsettled her. This much was obvious from her jittery need to be constantly preoccupied. In the past she would've sought comfort from the act of cleaning her pistols, oiling them to the point that they'd be gleaming even in the darkest of tunnels.
Now, however. Now Riza busied herself with various household chores, from rinsing the already-sparkling ceramic plates to rearranging the flowers and potted plants such that they were obsessively neat; scouring each corner of the kitchen counter until it reeked of lemon-detergent and glistened like diamonds in the morning sun. And when Roy saw those things, he thought perhaps Riza hadn't changed all that much after all. (Not to mention the words she'd uttered to him last night — the exact same words she'd said to him when they were still children who'd thought death a rarity.)
But she'd changed. Clearly she had. Intimate divulgences were no longer something they shared, no matter how much he tried.
No matter how much he pried.
"Are you okay?" Roy asked, coming to her side as she got out a pot from the cabinet.
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
You seem a little unnerved, Roy wanted to say, but decided against it. Instead he offered to help out with preparing lunch. "Nothing. I was just asking. Mind if I help?"
It was Riza's turn to frown. "You should be resting, though."
"I'm alright. I got a lot of sleep last night," which was a lie. He hadn't slept well. Not after he was left alone to mull over her words, and especially not when he'd heard her gasping and heaving from the other side.
The dark circles lining her anxious eyes were proof she hadn't slept well, either.
"... If you're sure," she relented, eyeing him carefully as he turned the radio on, then withdrew a knife from the drawer. "I'll do the cutting. I don't think you should be anywhere near a knife."
Roy nearly chuckled at the distant memory of a bossy, much younger version of Riza. (You can't even peel carrots to save your life, she used to say. To prove himself, Roy would carry on the task of peeling them with greater bravado, only to end up with sliced, bleeding fingers and a terribly bruised ego that no ointment could heal.)
"Okay. I'll do the rest, then."
"You can do the stirring or something later, perhaps," Riza instructed, then set about to work.
Wordlessly, Riza began to chop the carrots and potatoes up, seeming to enter a world of her own as she did so. Yet she was anything but relaxed. Her shoulders were tense, as if weighed down by some unspeakable worry; lips tightly pursed such that it was clear she was not in the mood for small talk or mindless prattling.
Feeling somewhat helpless - and god forbid, useless - Roy began to set up the dining table instead, the unintelligible murmurs of a nonsensical radio programme the only thing weighing on the silence between them.
~x~
Ed was surprisingly courteous when he arrived. Mustang had been expecting a kick to its door, perhaps its demolition, but the only thing that came was apprehensive knocking.
"I'll get it," he said, stating the obvious.
Riza nodded and went back to stirring the beefy stew, bubbling like orange lava in the pot.
"Hello, Lieu - oh." Ed's face fell. Mustang glared at him, as if to remind him of their earlier conversation. "It's you."
"Of course it's me. This is my house."
Ed looked right past him, as if Mustang weren't standing at the doorstep to obstruct his line of vision. He clutched on to a suspicious-looking, box-shaped paper bag in one hand as if it were gold. "And therefore your rules?"
"It's not a rule," Mustang sighed. Forced into a bit of a corner, Mustang decided to do the one thing he never would, were Ed still under his charge: plead. Half-beg. Request for a favour politely. "Just… I know what I'm doing. Listen to me for once, will you?"
Ed snorted, cocked his chin up and gave Mustang a glare that made him feel as if he were the greatest living scumbag around. "Fine. But you better give me a damn good explanation as to what's going on, bastard."
Roy Mustang was, as far as possible, a man of his word. And so he made no promises. Instead he shrugged, and said, "Come in."
"I still can't believe you invited me to your place, of all things," Ed said, shucking his gaudy red coat and tacky boots off to reveal his metal foot in all its shiny glory.
"Me neither."
Mustang heard Ed hum approvingly under his breath, presumably at the surprising neatness. He led the blonde towards the kitchen.
The dining room table was set nicely for three: a checkered tablecloth, porcelain dinnerware and some of his finest china teacups. Most of them were gifts from balding sycophants in the military, who scrutinised women's bodily proportions as keenly as they did any promotions and potential downfalls of his. Generally repulsive beings, but Mustang thought they at least had good taste, if nothing else. All of these made for rather lovely aesthetics in the end.
Aesthetics that Edward Elric, an uncultured swine with an incomprehensible adoration for gargoyles and skulls, was unable to appreciate.
"Smells good," Ed said as he laid the box down beside the teacups. Then he walked right past the decorations, not bothering to spare even a single glance at Mustang's labour, and was promptly attacked by Hayate's slobbery tongue.
A wave of dread came over Roy as Riza turned around to face them. He hadn't been there much when Catalina came around for her reunion with Riza. In a way, therefore, she had been the one to do all the 'dirty' work, so to speak. But now Roy felt like a mediator between two strangers - though it wasn't as simple as that, either. He had to be mindful of Ed's feelings, but also make sure that the tactless child would not unwittingly leak out sensitive information. (Hughes. Hughes would've been great at this. Or his Lieutenant.)
And how strange it must've been to Ed, that what was supposed to be a long-awaited reunion was now an introduction!
"Hello," Riza greeted. She dried her hands on a towel and turned off the stove. "You must be Edward."
"Y-yeah," Ed stuttered, eyes widening just slightly as he gave an awkward, almost reverent wave. "Hi, lieu - er, hi, ma'am?"
"Get it together," Mustang whispered, nudging Ed with an elbow.
"... Just Riza is fine," Riza said, raising an eyebrow as if to question the nature of their relationship. Still, she seemed content enough to excuse his strange behaviour. Gesturing to the table, she asked amicably, "Shall we?"
"S-sure!"
Torn between amusement and frustration, Mustang rubbed his temples as if it could dispel his imminent headache. On one hand he felt bad for Ed; he knew just how stupefying the entire predicament was. Yet even he had to admit that Ed's sudden shift in demeanour shyness was somewhat endearing. Maybe even funny. After all, it was rare to see the normally impetuous brat get reduced into a flustered, stammering mess, tripping over his words like a child afraid of stepping on his mother's toes.
It was also a recipe for disaster.
"Better watch it," Mustang muttered darkly under his breath.
Ed gave an imperceptible nod and sat down without complaint, for once.
Sighing, Mustang turned and was about to bring the pot of stew over when a hand stopped him.
"I'll do it. Go sit," Riza ordered, eyeing his bandaged wrist.
Mustang chuckled sheepishly. He did as he was told and settled down beside Ed.
"Seems like she hasn't changed all that much," Ed whispered, a brittle hope in his voice that Mustang hadn't the heart to trample on.
"... Yeah."
Had she? It did seem as if traces of her past self were starting to subconsciously manifest themselves, but he couldn't be sure if that was the case. Perhaps it was because those habits were so deeply ingrained in her as to be unforgettable. What else did she remember, then? Had any of her old memories returned to her? Was she starting to get more comfortable with him because of time, or the sentimental prompt of memory? Roy didn't dare ask.
And he didn't dare get his hopes up.
Riza's hands trembled ever so slightly as she laid the pot down on a blue placemat - from nerves, or from her old wounds, Roy wasn't sure.
"Thank you," Roy said, suddenly wishing he wasn't so…
So useless.
"Thanks! This looks great," Ed enthused, already fiddling with a silver spoon as clouds of steam rose from the pot to blur the afternoon sun in its wake.
"Thank you." Riza smiled as she undid her apron. She served them first, scooping out generous portions of fresh, hot stew before doing the same for herself. Like her old self, Riza always put the needs of others before her own, but she was tentative; not quite at ease. Distant. "Please, go ahead."
"This is great!" Ed praised.
For once they were in agreement about something. Roy gave Riza a grateful nod when the first spoonful of stew went past his lips.
"Thanks," Riza said, a small smile playing on her lips as she toyed with her bowl.
A strange, teeming hush descended upon them. Seconds, then minutes passed. Metal clinked against porcelain as they ate wordlessly. A small, gentle fire crackled in the background. Occasionally, Hayate would sniff curiously at the air, tense with the weight of silence, while Ed would slurp at his stew as he fidgeted like a nervous, restless child before offering another heartfelt compliment.
Roy did the same, but he felt terribly out of his element. He was always a little less glib-tongued than he liked to be whenever it came to affairs of the heart. Politics and alchemy he could handle, but affairs of the heart were a bit like speaking a foreign language.
Roy speared a potato none too gently and brought it up to his mouth. As he chewed, he glanced at Ed expectantly, not quite used to his quietness or sudden emergence of table manners. (Or manners, in general.)
Ed spoke up at last after another spoonful of stew.
And like every great conversationalist, he began by talking about the weather.
"Sure is nice here. The - um, the weather, I mean," Ed said. "Spring is a lot colder out in the countryside."
Riza looked up from her bowl, curiosity piqued. "The countryside? Where are you from?"
"I'm from Resembool," he started. Mustang noted the contentment and pride in his eyes, and smiled to himself. Surely Ed was glad to be back home after all that had transpired. After getting Alphonse's body back at last. "It's colder there. Winters can get pretty chilly, but definitely not as bad as Briggs. I thought I was gonna freeze to death there," Ed laughed weakly, like he was reminiscing an inside joke.
Mustang couldn't help but laugh along. According to the reports he'd received, Ed was indeed on the verge of death while he was at Briggs, though for various reasons. The unforgiving cold was one. Another reason was the General who guarded the fort: apparently she hadn't been too fond of the squirt at first, even if he'd been dispatched there by her brother.
Suffice to say, Ed was lucky to have gotten away without any mortal wounds. Very, very lucky.
"I'm sure it is. You sound very well-travelled for your age," Riza remarked.
"Uh, n-not really," Ed stuttered. He glanced at Mustang from the corner of his eyes, nervous and unsure.
"What brings you to Central, all the way from the countryside, then?"
Ed nearly choked on his stew.
Mustang hoped for the best.
"I… well, I was actually working for this je-" Mustang kicked his good foot from beneath the table. It was futile. Ed, dense as a rock, did not get the message. He amended his earlier words, and continued, "Uh, this man here, I mean."
Clearing his throat, Ed reached out for a cup of chamomile tea. Across him, Riza's expression was pensive, like she was trying to piece two and two together. (More show)
"Aren't you… aren't you a little young for that?" Riza pointed out, ironically.
The sudden urge to strangle Ed was overwhelming.
Mustang was about to interject, when Ed nudged his foot and straightened in his seat.
"It's nothing like that, Miss Riza. He… he's a good boss," Ed said, looking like he was about to spontaneously combust and project bile at his lunch companions anytime. Involuntarily, Roy's mind conjured, in rather vivid detail, the memory of dragging a ten-year-old boy out of his wheelchair by his shirt. Even when he'd lost an arm and a leg and his will to live. "Very… well, he treated my brother and I very well."
Roy pretended to be abashed by the compliment, and chimed in with his own niceties. Some of them were falsehoods. Others were not. "Yeah. He was pretty easy to work with. Nice kids. His brother, especially."
Riza nodded acknowledgement and turned back to Ed. And she waited, prompting him in her own quiet way.
Ed was a surprisingly generous supplier of information. Maybe because he was flustered by the whole situation, or perhaps he'd sensed the impending silence that would reign, tense and awkward if he stopped.
Either way, Ed soldiered on.
"Anyway… He recruited me awhile back, and after giving it some thought I decided to become a State Alchemist."
"You're an alchemist, too?" Riza's tone was not disparaging, only intrigued.
"I - well, I was. I can't use alchemy anymore because… well, because things happened," Ed prevaricated. He shot Mustang another furtive, beseeching glance, as if he was seeking approval on whether he was being sufficiently vague. "But I mean, it's alright. My brother and I managed to get -"
Mustang saw what was coming from a mile away.
He stepped on Ed's good leg. Hard.
For good measure.
Ed yelped, expletives written all over his face.
"Are you alright?" Riza asked, a little concerned by the sudden change in demeanour.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ed choked. "Probably an insect bit my toe, or something."
"Oh," Riza said, thoroughly unconvinced.
"Anyway, yeah. That's about it. And then… Er, he, " Ed thrust a thumb in Roy's direction, still a little pale from choking earlier, "Introduced us to each other along the way."
"I see." Her stew had almost congealed by now, in the crisp cool air that drew loose strands out of Ed's unruly braid. Roy heard her sharp intake of breath, before Riza turned to gaze at Ed, forlorn and sombre. "I'm very sorry, Edward. I don't… well, I don't remember much at the moment. I didn't mean to pry, or make you uncomfortable. It's probably none of my business."
"No, no! It's nothing like that," Ed half-exclaimed. "It's nothing you already knew - I mean, it's okay. It's not your fault. Not at all."
"That's… well, that's very kind of you to say."
"It's true, Riza," Roy urged. His breath hitched in his throat when he looked into Riza's eyes, fraught with self-reproach and gentle contrition. How could she blame herself for something that was not even her fault to begin with? Something that was his fault? (It was the same with Ishval. It'd been his fault that he'd abused her trust, misused flame alchemy for murder and destruction instead of prosperity. Instead of the people's good.) "Don't blame yourself."
"That's right," Ed chimed in. His eyes scanned the table anxiously, scrambling for a diversion. "Dessert?"
"Sure. Thank you, Edward. You didn't have to."
"Not at all. Thank you for lunch," Ed said, who'd demolished his entire bowl of stew long ago. When he opened the box to slice the fruit cake up as neatly as he could, Riza thanked him again. Ed blushed.
Mustang chuckled sadly as he watched the exchange between them. Riza was genuinely grateful, he could tell. But her thank-yous were so unfailing, so courteous as to be almost impersonal, as if she felt she did not deserve a single ounce of kindness.
"Thank you," Riza said again, when the plate was served in front of her. Then she smiled, a fleeting ghost of a smile that disappeared with the first bite.
And Riza did not say a word as she had her cake and ate it.
~x~
Mustang wanted to be upset with Ed.
He really did. He was frustrated. Pissed. A punch to Ed's face or two would've made for a brilliant, cathartic release.
But he also saw the crushing look pass Ed's features every time he thought either adult wasn't looking, and couldn't help but feel a wee bit sympathetic.
So he made Ed do the dishes with him instead.
(Riza had retired to her room immediately after lunch, and he really didn't mind an extra pair of helping hands. It wasn't motivated by revenge, of course. He wasn't that childish. Just pure convenience; Roy didn't quite fancy the idea of getting his bandages thoroughly soaked.)
"The lack of complaint from you is… surprising," Mustang commented.
Beside him, Ed sulked as he rubbed aggressively at a particularly stubborn stain.
"Don't push your luck. I'm doing this for the Lieutenant. Not you," Ed growled, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Mustang.
Mustang shook his head as he patted another plate dry.
Amongst the three of them whom Riza had gotten reacquainted with - him, Rebecca and Edward - Mustang liked to think that he was the most adept at hiding his feelings. Years of politicking had certainly taught him how to keep his enemies close and his cards closer. Rebecca was naturally expressive, but she was also military, so she came a close second. But Edward… where did he even begin? The kid was exactly the kind of moron who'd go around proclaiming that he didn't give a rat's ass about anything or anyone, and then proceed to wear his entire heart on his sleeve. (Mustang sincerely hoped that becoming a professional poker player wasn't in his list of alternative career options. He'd go bankrupt in a day.)
And Riza, ever perceptive, clearly hadn't missed the haunted look in his wide, golden eyes.
"You're a terrible liar, you know."
"And you're a big, fat liar," Ed retorted, still deeply focused in his fight against the deep orange splotch.
"Touche," Mustang shrugged. Drying the rim of a teacup, he asked, "Need a hand with that?"
"No," Ed grunted instantly, as if the offer had been a personal affront to his ego. The offer of assistance seemed to work, however, as Ed scrubbed at the spot with even greater gusto until it finally came off with the running water. Ed smirked proudly. "All done."
"Great. Thanks."
Ed muttered something derisive under his breath that sounded like a cross between slave driver and you're welcome.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Ed grumbled, fingers clenched around the edge of the kitchen sink. Like an immovable statue, he remained firmly rooted to the exact same spot, even after Mustang had placed all the crockery back to where they belonged. Then, so softly that Mustang might have missed it, he asked, "Is she alright?"
"Who?"
"Who else?" Ed half-screeched. A bird who looked like it had half a mind to find respite on Mustang's windowsill flew off, perhaps frightened by Ed's violent reaction.
"... She will be."
Ed inhaled sharply. Mustang waited in silence, as one might when waiting for a skittish squirrel to approach. He busied himself with watering the plants by the window, admiring the way in which Riza had rearranged them in her own meticulous, attentive way.
"I messed up, didn't I?"
"Well, to be fair, I think we both did."
Ed whirled around to glare at him. Ire flashed in his eyes, but even then Mustang could see the same knowing reflected back at him, and couldn't help but wonder if Ed had ever struggled with hiding the truth.
"Are you… are you ever going to tell her?"
Mustang grimaced, turning so that he could lean back against the counter top for support. He crossed his arms and looked sideways, the soap residue suddenly becoming a subject of immense fascination. "I don't know."
Ed did not retort with violent anger like he usually would have, confirming Mustang's suspicions. His eyes were downcast, like he was reflecting upon a memory that was none too distant.
"How's she going to get her memory back, then?"
"I figured you'd know better," Mustang shrugged. "First hand experience, and all."
Ed unclenched his fingers and opened his palms as if he were unfurling a secret. "Truth always has all kinds of stupid riddles that may or may not make sense. Fed me some bite-sized sermon about humility and not playing God - stuff which I already knew - so I gave up alchemy to get Al's body back."
Mustang nearly laughed at how easy Ed made it sound. "You make it sound like you solved a riddle and got a prize for it."
"In a way, it was," Ed said almost indignantly, turning such that they were both now facing the empty kitchen table. "That stupid thing is always talking in circles, like some socially defunct alien even though he claims to be me. You. The universe."
"Pot, kettle."
"Do you want my help or not?"
Mustang waved a hand dismissively. (Sometimes it was just too easy to rile the kid up, it was almost impossible to resist doing so.) "Carry on."
"So… I don't know. Maybe there's a way the Lieutenant can give up something to get back her memories?"
"Like what?"
"Her…" Ed fumbled for a moment. "Her alchemy, maybe? Not that I've seen her perform it before, but she must've known a little bit of… of something to open the Gate, right?"
Roy mulled over Ed's theory, craning his neck skywards. "The thing is," he began, "I don't know what she knows, or doesn't know. I don't even know if she still knows alchemy, to be honest."
"How'd she know in the first place?"
"I taught her."
"You did?" Mustang nodded evasively. (It was a good thing Ed knew nothing about the tattoo on her back; knowing his brash impulse he'd probably jump to the conclusion that he was the one responsible for it.) "When?"
"It was a long time ago. Wasn't much, though," Mustang sighed, rubbing a palm over his face as if to wipe away the memory of a young, precocious blonde; begging him with those sad, imploring eyes of hers to teach him just a little bit of alchemy so that she could be of some use around the house. So that she could earn a smidgen of her father's attention. Please, Mister Mustang. I won't take up much of your time, I promise. In the end, he'd acquiesced to her pleas, only because the utter despair and determination in his eyes was enough to pulverize whatever resolve he had to abide by his master's unspoken rules.
Damn it, Mustang thought remorsefully. Maybe they wouldn't have gotten into this mess if he'd just listened and not taught her in the first place.
"She a childhood friend, or something?"
"Why, did it remind you of yours?" Mustang shot him a knowing look, watching as embarrassment broke out across his features like hives.
"No. Just… unexpected information," Ed retorted. Then he cleared his throat and went back to business. "Seems like the Lieutenant knows more about alchemy than you think she does, though."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like I said - I've never seen her use alchemy before, so I wouldn't know. But those loonies were always muttering about suitable candidates and whatnot. It was… it was supposed to be you, wasn't it?"
Mustang flinched, doing his level best to keep his demeanour casual despite the gut-wrenching guilt. His mind inched towards the visceral image of Riza being pinned down, forced to open the Gate, in his stead.
(It should've been him.)
"Yeah."
"So, I don't know," Ed shrugged, crossing his arms like he was trying to protect himself from the very same memory. "Either way, it's not exactly equivalent if Truth took both her memories and alchemy away."
"So you think she'd still be able to perform alchemy?"
"Probably. If… If she opened the Gate…"
This time, Mustang actually blanched. He ran a thumb across his injured palm, recalling Riza's previously bandaged one. "Now's probably not the best time."
Ed nodded sagely, vehemently. Mustang heard the tremor in his voice as he mumbled, "It's not fun visiting Truth, I can tell you that much."
"What's it like, actually?" Catching sight of Ed's stricken expression, he quickly added, "Never mind. Forget I asked."
"It's just… hard to describe. The first… the first time it happened -" Mustang listened closely, suddenly feeling like a callous bastard for the way he'd manhandled a traumatised, helpless child. "Well, just imagine hands grabbing at you from all over, like when you're stuck in a crowded haunted house. Kinda like a shitty carnival, if you ask me," Ed laughed weakly.
Mustang did not.
"Not funny, Fullmetal."
"Heh, I tried," Ed swallowed, rubbing at his right arm as if to reassure himself that it was real. His fingers trembled as he persisted.
Mustang encouraged him with silence once more. Ed inhaled deeply, as if summoning courage from deep within, shoulders rising and falling before he continued.
"But yeah. The hands were creepy. Afterwards, I just remember having a whole barrel of information shoved into my brain forcibly. Everything I ever wanted -" his voice cracked slightly, and Ed made another miserable attempt at levity - "wanted to know about the world, I guess. Stuffed into my brain like turkey stuffing."
"Sounds like hell," Mustang offered blithely, making sure to keep any ounce of sympathy - Ed's greatest nemesis - out of his voice. Almost involuntarily his mind drifted towards Riza at the mention of hell again.
Hell, a place reserved for sinners of the worst kind, like him.
Not her.
Guilt gnawed at his insides; a pestilent rat who reminded him of all her afflictions, past and present. Now that he was thinking about it, it all made sense why she'd been so averse to touch. His touch, specifically. At first he'd chalked it up to her natural disdain of strangers, but now… now it was finally starting to click. Her encounter with the Truth must've been so deeply traumatic, so incredibly terrifying as to leave an indelible mark in her mind, even without her memories. And what about the faded scratch on her cheek? He'd never gotten the chance to ask her about it. Perhaps it was related, somehow?
"Yeah. Told ya. But we're good, now," Ed said, standing up a little straighter, a little prouder.
"I'm glad you and Al got your bodies back, at least." Mustang smiled, the way a father would seeing his child all grown up. "Speaking of, how's the better brother doing? I'm surprised he didn't tag along."
Ed snorted, rolling his eyes skyward. "Yeah, yeah. He's… alright. Still recuperating."
"Recuperating?"
"From having his body starved and malnourished and his muscles atrophied after five years, yeah," Ed said sardonically.
"Oh," was Mustang's ingenious response.
"Oh, yeah," Ed mirrored snarkily. Sarcasm aside, though, Mustang could almost feel the worry rolling off in waves. It dawned upon him then that Ed probably couldn't wait to get out of here and return home.
To Resembool, and to Alphonse.
"You should probably get going soon, then."
"Are you kicking me out of your house now, Mustang?"
"Something like that," he shrugged, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "Alphonse must be waiting for you, I'm sure."
"He's alright. He's got Granny and Win."
"What's that now? Pet names? Why, I never pegged you for the romantic sort —"
"Shut up ," Ed snarled, baring his teeth like a feral dog.
Mustang smirked. "I'm just toying with you. Can I trust you to not blow anything up on your way back to Resembool?"
"No guarantees, bastard. Maybe I'll blow up a train or two to get back at you."
"That would be greatly appreciated, thank you very much," Mustang said dryly as he straightened, cocking his head at the door. "Come on. You should get going before the last train departs."
"Yeah, yeah. Got it, you naggy old man." Ed stretched luxuriously and began walking towards the door, Mustang trailing behind with his keys in tow. "What're you planning to do about last night?"
Mustang groaned. Couldn't a man catch a break every now and then, too? Or was the universe simply conspiring to pit against all of them at once?
"You kept the note with you, right?"
"Yeah," Ed said. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is this the part where you shirk your responsibilities by throwing them to me again?"
"A good leader knows when to delegate tasks to his subordinates," Mustang answered sagaciously as he ushered Ed towards the door and out of his house. "Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do than just laze around in the countryside with nothing but green pastures and tranquility."
Ed grunted like he'd been called out. "You're just lazy, admit it."
"I'm busy, too. Not everyone gets to retire at the age of sixteen," Mustang said, unlocking the door. "I'm counting on you, Fullmetal."
"Yeah, yeah." Ed waved a hand flippantly as he stepped out. "I'll update you if I come across anything useful. In the meantime, I'm counting on you to pay me well."
"Tough luck. You still owe me money."
"And you still owe me a promise." Whirling around to face him for the last time, Ed thrust a finger in Mustang's face. "Better take care of the Lieutenant, jerkface."
Mustang chuckled at his antics and shook his head. "You don't need to tell me that." Then, softening a little, he added, "Thanks, Edward."
And like the gauche teenager that he was, Ed simply grunted and stormed off wordlessly with his head hung high.
~x~
The house was strangely - almost oppressively - quiet after Ed left. There was nothing more Roy wanted than to check on Riza. His heart ached at the thought of her getting consumed by her own inner turmoil, by the pangs of self-reproach that she was so often susceptible to. In a bid to respect her privacy, however, Roy forced himself to step away from her door and instead went to his room. He began to do his paperwork.
He tried, and he failed.
His mind soon grew a mind of its own. Despite being its sole owner, Roy quickly learnt that he was having trouble bending it to his will. Every now and then, his mind would leap towards the other occupant in the house of its own accord just as he was nearly on the verge of signing on a dotted line.
Roy groaned and tossed his pen on the table, watching it bounce and skid to a halt. He longed for the burn of alcohol to quell the turbulent storm raging within. It was an old, wartime friend that he'd frequently sought comfort in. A constant companion through death and tragedy. Maybe just one drink, he told himself. Sometimes just one drink would be enough for the liquor to rush through his veins like oil rigging a machine, sending it off to productivity's exclusive little corner - a corner reserved for the diligent and the tipsy.
But Roy looked down at his injured palm and sighed. He could do without. Maybe a short walk, then. Some stretching and movement would be good for his troubled heart.
Uncrossing his legs, Roy rose and left his desk, meandering around the house aimlessly as he made a conscious effort to not pace outside Riza's door like a restless ghost. Moments later, he walked towards his bookshelf and extracted an old, leather journal from there, flipping open the yellowed pages that housed his memories of the countryside so delicately— as if he were afraid of damaging them.
Then he removed a faded photograph and thumbed it gently.
Again his mind wandered, this time to the countryside — first to Tobha, where he'd first met Riza, then to Resembool, where he'd first met Edward. It dawned upon him, then, that the similarities between them and their broken childhoods were almost uncanny. Absent fathers, both geniuses in their own rights; forsaken and neglected in the name of alchemy, a premature encounter with death that left them to fend for themselves… All of it had hit too close to home for Riza.
Roy remembered how severely she'd reprimanded him after his first meeting with the Elrics. His anger had been borne from fear, but even then Riza had been adamant that it was no justification to treat a child - a broken, helpless child - like that. It was an indefensible thing to her. And Roy had gotten defensive, at first. He'd never quite liked being on the receiving end of anger - her anger, in particular. But realisation soon struck when he saw the poignance in her eyes.
Riza had seen herself in their shoes.
Death still stung raw, even with the passing of time. This much was obvious from the way her gaze had lingered on the disarray of sepulchres scattered across the vast expanse of green pastures like dust, damp from the evening mist and human grief.
(The orphans that they'd created and cremated in the badlands only worsened it.)
Roy had left it at that, then. Riza was understandably devastated by the memory of her mother, and he had nothing to offer other than platitudes and apologies that, even to him, sounded hollow. (Roy himself couldn't really empathise, as he hadn't known either of his parents at all. It was probably worse to know and love a mother and watch her die, than to not even remember her enough to miss her.) Guilty as charged, he'd left her to dwell in solemn quietude and wisely refrained from rubbing salt on her wounds, thinking that was all there was to it.
Until —
I think I know why my father - your master - got so ill, all of a sudden.
And then, it finally clicked.
It wasn't Riza's first time seeing it.
He hadn't probed, but he had the necessary shreds of information to deduce that she'd been the one to bear witness to his master's crime and punishment. Alchemy's greatest taboo. Perhaps she'd even been the one to bury the distorted remains of her mother, in the darkened woods shrouded from the world's scrutiny. (Roy hoped not, but knowing the extent of her father's - if he could even be called one - negligence, it was not an improbable theory.)
And now she'd seen it all: the grave aftermath of meeting Truth, and Truth itself.
Purgatory. Hell. A place reserved for the worst of sinners, the most unforgivable and depraved beings, like him —
It should've been him.
Roy clenched the picture in his hands until it began to crease. He inhaled deeply, sharply, feeling the hopelessness, the bitter anger rise in his chest until it buried itself in his bones. An aching chill wrapped itself around him like a shroud, leading him towards his cabinet of wines and spirits.
Roy poured himself a drink. Liquid courage. God, he needed that! His earlier resolve melted with the ice. He brought the cup up to his lips, heart pounding in his ears the more he drank.
(Hawkeye would've killed him for this, he thought. She'd made him swear solemnly that he'd abstained from anything with a tendency to burn one's throat and lower one's inhibitions after the fight with Lust. Knowing that he would not last in a tussle against his Lieutenant - especially if it turned physical - Roy had kept his word, and obediently refused his mother's offer of a burning concoction or two.)
Quickly, almost urgently, Roy finished his drink and returned to his room, working through the warm haze of alcohol. An hour passed like that, then two. Unaccustomed to working without his closest aide by his side, Roy only managed to finish less than a quarter of the stack that had amassed itself on his desk, but he felt it was at least something. Decent progress.
Back stiff and heart heavy with worry, Roy left his room again and stood outside Riza's. An anxious weariness came over him. He longed for nothing more than to be the recipient of her innermost thoughts, to soothe her worries and hold her in his arms — as if his arms could bridge whatever distance, whatever chasm separated them.
He doubted she'd react well to his touch, however.
Roy gripped his elbows and paced back and forth, glancing at the clock. It was nearing dinner-time, which meant he had a plausible excuse, at least. And if Riza didn't want to talk, then he'd simply leave her be. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like him to pussyfoot around her.
So much for honesty!
Roy walked back and knocked on her door lightly.
"Riza?"
~x~
Riza jerked upright, snapping out of her reverie when she heard Roy's voice.
Gently, Riza closed the book - his book - she was perusing and began to collect herself, like she was piecing little fragments together into a workable thing. Her nerves were frayed, her back sore from the afternoon's tension that had left her muscles coiled into a string of tight, stubborn knots.
Inhaling sharply, Riza rolled her shoulders and winced at the movement after having spent so long hunched over. Then she put her face in her hands and sighed.
"I'll be out in a minute."
Breathe, Riza reminded herself. It wouldn't do well to dissolve into another bout of irrational panic over nothing. Roy probably had enough to deal with, too. He was a busy man. A member of the military with priorities and responsibilities, superiors to answer to and subordinates to look after. He had his own injuries and battles to deal with. Enough of his own to worry about.
Yet here she was, only adding to his worries.
Perhaps a part of her was envious of Roy, too. The younger boy as well. They both had their own stories to tell and a place where they really, truly belonged. Roy, for one, was at least gainfully employed in the military. Sure he might've been bogged down by unending piles of paperwork and other more troubling incidents; sleep-deprived and excessively reliant on caffeine, but even then she could tell that he genuinely cared for the subordinates under him. Take Edward, for example. And the passion - the unmistakable passion in his eyes - that translated into an overwhelming desire to serve. It was as if he was constantly thinking of some greater good. Something bigger than himself. A community.
Edward, on the other hand, seemed to find his footing in the countryside. He hadn't spoken of his brother much, but it was plainly obvious just how much he loved him. The adoration in his voice spoke volumes; carrying with it the unspoken promise that he would sacrifice everything and do anything for him. And his face had positively glowed when he talked about Resembool. It was a place dear to his heart, Riza could tell. A venerated treasure chest that held wonderful memories for him.
Memories that she was sorely lacking in.
Perhaps she was just a sorry impersonation of who she once was. A fraud. Riza had nothing to call her own; nothing meaningful to contribute to the world apart from grief and pain, miseries that should've been her own instead of others'.
A burden.
Whatever had she done to deserve Roy's kindness? Their kindness? Riza thought again of Edward. He'd been so kind and considerate even in the face of his own disappointment, graciously accepting every apology and every word of thanks that did nothing to alleviate his own suffering.
How cruel of her to hurt a child!
Hayate pawed at her feet softly. Riza looked down at him. His beady eyes were affectionate and wide, anxious. Cocking his head inquisitively, he let out a small whimper and nestled around her feet. Are you alright? he seemed to be asking.
Not just a child. She'd hurt a dog, too.
Cruelty at its finest.
Riza nodded, offering the pup a small, gentle smile.
"It's nothing," she reassured, fingers trembling against the sheets.
Riza scanned the room for a distraction. The rug was blurry against the polished wooden tiles, swirls and squares merging together into unrecognisable patterns. Riza blinked. Her eyes felt damp, somehow. Maybe her room was dusty? Time to vacuum it again, then. How odd. She'd just done so earlier that morning.
"Riza?" Roy called again, after what must've been an eternity of rigid silence for him. "Is everything alright?"
Riza kept her answers sharp, deliberately short so that her vulnerabilities would not seep through.
"I'm fine."
"... Are you sure?" Roy's voice was tentative, and as far as she could tell, genuinely concerned.
Riza willed her voice to not crack.
"Yes."
She could hear his feet tapping outside, like he was contemplating whether to come in. From the little habits and quirks of his she had observed and catalogued in the short time they'd spent together, Riza imagined he would have been raking a hand through his hair with one hand, with the other resting on his hip. (Roy had a tendency to do that whenever he was brooding, or trying to suppress his frustrations. Especially when work was involved.)
Riza inhaled deeply. She steeled herself. Her fingers curled around the edges of her shirt, soft and redolent of the lavender soap that they both used to do the laundry.
She got up and opened the door at last, leaving Hayate behind under the bed.
"Sorry. I just… I guess I just felt a little tired."
The apology weighed heavy on her tongue, bitter and acidic like blood.
"Not at all," Roy smiled, though his eyes were still dark with worry. It reminded her of how he looked at the hospital when she'd first awoken to the real world; her very first memory of him. Riza remembered the way he'd fussed over her, reassuring her with his gentle murmurs and even gentler touches even as she behaved in a manner that was terribly unbecoming of an adult. He had been so patient, so tirelessly attentive of her every need even when it so obviously tired him out.
Even when it brought him nothing but anguish.
"Is… something the matter?" Riza prompted, keeping her tone carefully neutral.
"I just wanted to make sure everything's alright. Are you hungry yet? I can get dinner for us, if you'd like."
I don't deserve your kindness, Riza wanted to say. Instead she deflected his question with a question. (Perhaps somewhere, deep down, she felt like it was a way she could make herself useful. A little less burdensome.)
"I'm not. Are you hungry, though? I could get dinner started for us, if you'd like."
"No, I'm not," Roy shook his head, offering her another gentle smile. "Riza…"
Riza felt her insides stir with some inexplicable emotion at the tentativeness in his voice. She collected herself with a sharp, steady inhale. "What's wrong?"
"Can we talk for a minute?" Roy said at last. His smile turned pinched, tight; an imploring look in his eyes as if he'd anticipated that her instinctive response would have been to shy away. And Riza had wanted to do just that: to return to the safety of isolation and withdraw back, further and further until she disappeared into the shadows.
But she hadn't the heart to turn him down.
"Sure. What about?"
"Let's sit down first," Roy said. Unsettling as it was, Riza was about to invite him into her room, until he led her towards the small bench on his balcony.
The evening air was crisp, chilly. Roy brought out a linen blanket, laying it across their lap as he sat beside her with an unreadable expression on his face. The close propinquity unnerved Riza. She felt like she was being laid bare, exposed like the loose threads decorating the blanket's worn edges.
Keeping her head down, Riza began to pluck at them nervously, as if they weren't already on the verge of falling apart. Then she heard the sound of water meeting glass, a small, gentle trickling. Riza looked up.
The smell of sweet, boiled chrysanthemums filled the air.
"Tea?"
Riza inspected Roy's bandaged wrists as he held the steaming mug out to her. She accepted it gratefully. "Thank you." Riza took a sip, chafing her hands against the warm porcelain. Then she asked again, in an attempt to delay the inevitable: "How are your wounds?"
"Much better," Roy said. Smoothing an imaginary crease in the blanket, he leaned back against the bench and gazed skywards to admire the final vestiges of sunlight.
Riza did the same. The sky was painted a sweet, pastel lilac; tendrils of white drifting towards the unknown to retire for the night. In the tender stillness of the light, even Roy looked a little younger, a little less tired than he probably was.
"It's a lovely evening."
"It is," Roy hummed in agreement. Then his features seized up again. With a plaintive sigh, he turned back to face her. "I wanted to apologise for this afternoon, Riza."
"What for?" Riza asked, genuinely confused.
"I know lunch wasn't the most… amenable of events," Roy began levelly. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up along with the sudden breeze that brought along with it a sad, sombre tune from across. "Sorry if it - if I made you uncomfortable -"
"You didn't," Riza interjected, gentle but insistent. "You did nothing wrong. Edward's a very sweet boy. It was nice meeting him." And it was true. It was her fault, and hers alone. She'd ruined it for everyone and cast a gray cloud over what was supposed to be a simple reunion.
(Maybe if she'd been a little better at concealing her emotions. Maybe if she'd been better at keeping up, at remembering .)
"I'd say that's questionable," Roy laughed. "He can be a real pain to deal with, when he wants to be. A complete nightmare. Gives me a massive headache every now and then."
"I wouldn't have been able to tell," Riza smiled weakly. Her words rang hollow, a dirge to an absent memory.
"He was really happy to see you today, though."
Was he really? Riza's insides writhed, turning into ice. She felt like she'd pulverized whatever joy the boy must have felt. In her mind, the image of his radiant smile quickly vanished into anger and sorrow and frustration.
"Me, too."
Roy's concern was equally insistent. He shuffled in a little, not close enough for them to be touching, but close enough that she could feel the anxious warmth radiating off him like a shivering, jittery rabbit searching for its companion in the bushes.
"Is there something else bothering you, then?"
"... Not really."
Rising quietly, she stepped towards the edge of the balcony. Riza heard Roy following behind, then beside her, settling his elbows against the weathered, peeling balustrade.
He did not prod further.
Riza sighed, equal parts relieved and sorry. She turned to watch the flurry of activity going on in the apartments opposite. A slovenly-looking, middle-aged woman was trying to control a couple of rambunctious kids flailing their arms wildly in the air, like monkeys in a menagerie on display. Perhaps she was trying to get them ready for dinner? Riza imagined the affection that must have battled exasperation underneath her dishevelled appearance, and the constant struggle to reign in the latter to avoid upsetting her children. Or charges, whatever it was.
Maybe that was what Roy meant when he said Edward could be, in his words, "a real pain".
Wrapping her arms around herself, Riza turned to observe the unit beside. A man and a woman were having dinner together, laughing raucously together as if they were the only ones in their own little island.
Her grip tightened, as if she were trying to hold herself together. Would there ever be a time where she could be in a position like that, she wondered? Where people could be that comfortable around her, and she, too?
Riza turned to peer at Roy cautiously through her damp lashes. He stood still, pensively quiet as he slouched over the edge casually to observe the darkening horizon.
"I…" Riza trailed off. An aching twist rose in her throat. I feel like I've done something wrong, she wanted to say. I hurt a child. There were so many other things leaping around in her mind, begging to be admitted like a secret at its wit's ends. I'm sorry for troubling you. For forgetting you. I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
"You can tell me anything, you know," Roy said, sincere and beseeching. It was almost enough to coax the words, the agonising truth out of her.
Riza saw the silent plea in his eyes and very nearly caved.
"I know."
Then she bit her lip and closed up like a pocket watch.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk," Roy soothed, still with the same earnest patience in his voice. Would there ever be a limit to it? Surely it had to come to an end, eventually. Even his patience couldn't be infinite. "But I'm always here if you need anything, Riza. Always."
Riza offered him a miserable ghost of a smile. "Thank you. You, too."
Then she inhaled deeply, as if collecting herself, and smelt the bittersweet scent of impending rain.
A light drizzle soon started. It began, slow and graceful as it encountered the swaying branches, then gradually grew heavier until it bent the budding leaves to its will.
Riza wondered if Edward was alright. She hoped he wasn't caught in the rain, wherever he was. It wouldn't do him any good — especially with his metal leg. (She'd noticed it earlier, heard the dissonance between metal and wood, but hadn't asked for fear she would offend him somehow.)
From the corner of her eye, she saw Roy's hand tremble against the cold metal of the balustrade. Maybe he was bothered by something, too. Was the rain associated with something unkind for him? A part of her wish she knew. Perhaps then she might've been able to bring some comfort, be of some utility to him.
But she didn't.
Ignoring the dull ache blooming in her back, Riza let her fingers drift a little closer to Roy's.
"I hope Edward's alright."
"I'm sure he is. The kid's a strong one," Roy remarked. Gently, so gently she might've missed it if she weren't paying attention, Roy grazed the side of his hand against hers and leaned in closer.
Riza returned the gesture. Seeing the way his expression softened with relief, Riza allowed herself to lean in slightly, relishing in the strange comfort that his touch brought — almost like it was a sensation begging to be remembered.
Yet, even in the warmth of his palm, the boy's golden eyes — bright like the sun but dimmed by deep sorrow — still plagued her mind.
~x~
Ed ran into the train, heaving and panting as he glared at the oblivious conductor who'd pretended like he hadn't existed. How could he not have seen him, with his bright red coat that screamed bloody murder and his flailing arms and rage-filled expletives.
"Thanks," Ed called angrily as the doors closed shut.
The train conductor ignored him once more.
Huffing exasperatedly, Ed trudged down the aisle and plonked himself down on a seat by the window. No one dared sit beside or in front of him, which he was tremendously grateful for. He just wanted - no, needed - some time to stew alone with his anger and frustration and self-reproach.
A sharp squeal resounded; the familiar sound of a locomotive coming to life. Wheels screeched against freshly-oiled tracks as the carriage shook with the force of being dragged from its slumber. Children scrambled to look out the window — some in fear, others in awe as a conductor yelled for people to stay seated.
Ed smirked to himself, amused by their flagrant defiance and feeling oddly vindicated that the conductors were now on the receiving end of ignorance.
With one last quaking shudder, the train began to depart the city, leaving in its wake a thick, dense trail of steam and smoke.
Ed exhaled and reclined on the seat, leaning against the window as he watched immobile fixtures flit past in a blur. He stretched a hand out and flexed his tan, callused fingers almost experimentally — the way he'd test them for functionality whenever he got a new automail arm.
Then his fingers curled into a fist, nails biting angrily into human flesh.
Why was it that others always got the shorter end of the stick, while he got away? Ed thought of Al, his beloved brother, who'd lost his body and was still struggling with rehab and nightmares even after getting it back — even though it'd been his ingenious idea, his foolish initiation to bring their mother back to life. He thought of his teacher, whose missing womb left her barren and childless; something that couldn't be fixed with steel and nails. Then there was Lieutenant Hawkeye — who, in many ways, reminded him of his mother; what with her ability to see right through all his carefully constructed facades, his disguised anger at the world. Now she'd lost her memory and had no idea who he was. Ed reckoned it was like losing one's mind. Probably something worse. He recalled that one time where Al questioned his entire existence; whether he was a fraud, a phony, because he wasn't sure if his memories were real or make-believe.
Ed couldn't imagine what it must've been like for her. And as much as he wanted to blame Mustang, he was equally culpable, too. The Lieutenant would've never gotten into this mess if he'd acted faster. If he'd just… just done something down there.
But he hadn't. All he'd done was stare blankly at her unconscious form like a complete idiot.
Some genius he was.
"Can I get you anything, boy? Tea, or something?"
Ed started, staring dumbly at the middle-aged, matronly server who had somehow materialised beside him in the intervening time.
"Well?"
"U-uh," he stuttered, struggling to articulate a coherent thought. "Just tea will be fine, thank you."
Normally he would've been ravaging a stale, only half-warm sandwich on a train like this as Al sat across him over a stack of cards, but he hadn't the appetite to even think about, much less devour food at the moment.
The server nodded cheerfully. "Got it," and she returned as quickly as she'd left, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. "Here you go, young man. Enjoy."
"Thanks," he said, offering a strained smile.
The lady nodded acknowledgment and left him alone with his thoughts.
Ed leaned forward and blew gently at the steam, watching as it rippled like waves in a tiny, contained ocean before sipping at it. A bitterness rounded his tongue like vomit. His fingers — now meaty flesh, warm against porcelain — trembled against the handle, worried and remorseful.
Ed sighed and looked out of the window, searching for something to anchor himself to so his thoughts wouldn't run off into the wild. He observed the changing landscapes, noting the new additions and subtractions. Inadvertently his mind began to draw comparisons and conclusions again.
Things were changing, and rapidly. Industrialisation, the great harbinger of change, was coming; bringing along with it its attendant promises of construction and destruction. One building, one valley at a time. Cars would take the place of horses, pristine black wheels instead of mud-caked hooves. Even now, as the buildings got — dare he say the dreaded words — smaller and shorter, the view was polluted with undeniable stretches of orange-and-white bands; monstrous cranes and excavated plains. A lone, big tree, standing in the middle of a flat plain like an oversized broccoli, was barricaded by a fence: a sure sign that it would soon be uprooted.
Soon there might be nothing left even of the countryside, Ed thought.
Ed had no idea what the military was up to this time, now that he no longer had his silver pocket watch to access internal documents. One could only hope that Mustang would do a good job of things and eventually achieve his goal of building a democracy. How, Ed wasn't sure; he was a scientist, not a politician. Such things were not within his purview or expertise. But after being with Mustang and the rest of the team for so long, he, too, dreamed of a country where liberties could be protected, where people could be free —
Where the people can put us on trial for our crimes.
Ed blanched. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he sipped at his tea once more, chafing his fingers against the curved surface.
He thought of the last time he had tea with the Lieutenant. In a moment of unbridled honesty and unexpected vulnerability, she'd shared their goals with him, voice deadly calm as she cleaned a blood-clotted pistol. As if she hadn't minded in the least that she was practically headed to the gallows. Ed had remonstrated, then, but eventually came to accept the gravity of the situation. (Besides, a trial was not the same as a conviction... Or so he hoped.) What he had thought was mere self-sacrifice and injustice was tainted by his own inexperienced beliefs. Ed could not even begin to comprehend the enormity of war, even after meeting Scar, and the Lieutenant had made it clear that it was ultimately her penance to pay. Her choice to make.
And now, she was left bereft of both.
Ed removed his coat and rolled it up into a makeshift pillow, suddenly feeling very warm as rage coursed through him like fire. He stuffed it behind his neck and leaned back as the conclusion of his earlier musings came crashing down on him.
One, he hadn't lost that much. His suffering paled in comparison to what the rest had to endure, and it simply wasn't fair. Al had been unduly influenced by him, and the Lieutenant hadn't even opened the Gate of her own choice.
And two, he'd failed miserably.
Again.
What a letdown he was.
Ed sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling so hopeless that he might've been inclined to pray. His mind continued to dwell in failure for the rest of the train ride, until he fell into a fitful slumber.
In his dreams, he saw his mother waiting for him at the Gate, a kind and gentle smile on her pale, delicate features, until it began to distort into the Lieutenant's - no, it wasn't her. It couldn't be. Blood-drenched hair covered its indistinguishable features. Not her. Almond-shaped nails, growing and twisting and curling into something cruel, something blade-like, until the thing crawled up from the muddy earth with its purplish, glowing eyes to pierce his chest —
Ed woke with a start, gasping for breath. His forehead was clammy with sweat, eyes blinking furiously as if trying to shake off the lingering shock. His right arm strayed to the old, star-shaped scar draped across his torso, resting innocuously under layers of leather and cloth.
Ed heaved again. Just a dream. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd had plenty of this, before. Just guilt flaring up like an old ailment again.
Well, nothing new.
"Resembool!"
Ed blinked. Draping his coat over his shoulder, he gathered his things and rushed towards the exit, forcing himself to breathe.
Steadily, now. In, out. Just a dream.
Nothing he couldn't handle.
"Resembool!" the same conductor yelled, eyeing him almost haughtily.
Ed shoved the same irritating conductor out of his way, hopped off, and caught his breath before stretching almost triumphantly. He looked around him, taking in the sights one by one. This was real. The bucolic plains, the rough hills and valleys spotted with daisies and lavender and tall blades of grass, dancing in the wind before birds and strays trampled on their short-lived joy.
Ed blinked and turned to the waiting area. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Al was already there, waiting on the weather-beaten bench with a smile glimmering as brightly as the afternoon sun. His shoes shone with a sparkle such that it was sure he'd just polished it before leaving the house — a habit he hadn't quite kicked from having to clean his armour of a body for five years. A brown coat hung limply off his still emaciated figure.
"Brother!" Al called. He got up and hobbled over on a wooden crutch, corduroy trousers fluttering in the wind as his body shook with the tremendous effort it took to plough itself over the gravelly terrain.
Ed picked up his pace so that Al would not need to strain his atrophied muscles, offering a half-hearted smile.
"I'm back, Al. Where's Win?"
"She had to tend to a customer. Said it was urgent, so I thought I'd come around to pick you up myself."
Not that he needed any picking up, of course. Ed knew that Al was just excited to hear about how everyone was doing. It had been with extreme reluctance that he'd accepted that he could not possibly tag along — the strain on his aching, healing body would be far too great. Even the walk from their house to the train station had seemed to drain all the life out of Al, his complexion pale and stark amidst the billowing clouds of train smoke.
"Al," he chided. "You shouldn't have walked here by yourself —"
"I know, I know," he interjected. Ed swore he could've heard Al's heaving from a hundred miles away. "You would have done the same, though. Broken automail leg and all."
And Ed would have, so he didn't argue further.
"Well, let's get going, then. I'm starving."
Ed began to lead the way back home, limbs as heavy as his heart.
"How's everyone?" Al asked cheerily, though there was a wistful sadness in his eyes as he limped along beside the sprouting daisies, mindful not to kill them with his small, petite frame.
Ed swallowed uncomfortably. "Not too bad. Colonel Bastard's still as annoying as ever."
"What'd he call you for?"
Ed's smile faded into a thin, hard line. Some crap related to bio-alchemy. Nina. Then stuff blew up. "It's… a long story."
"... Something about the Lieutenant?"
Not really , Ed wanted to say, but he figured that was Al's greatest concern at the moment.
Ed nodded, slowing his pace a little as the bitterness resurfaced. His nails pressed deep into his palm.
"And… how is she?" Al probed. His footsteps were slow and deliberate against the green stubbles, laced with worry and apprehension. Ed knew that this was Al's true question. They'd both been equally concerned about the Lieutenant since… since everything.
Since everything went to shambles, Ed thought.
To think he'd dared to believe they had made decent progress since setting out on their journey. How naive. The memory of Nina still stung when he thought of Tucker in the ruined lab, like acid poured out on an open wound. The sheer injustice of everything that had happened to the Lieutenant only worsened it.
(It was like going back to square one. Tragedy, all over again.)
"Not good, Al."
Special thanks to RainFlame for being the best beta I could ever ask for. This chapter could not have been possible without your help, and without your constant reassurance while I was on the verge of chickening out and not posting altogether. I LOVE YOU, and you are incredible 💕
Thank you so, so much to everyone who's been reading and following and commenting on this story thus far. It means the world to me that someone else is enjoying this little story (well, maybe not so little, considering it was supposed to just be ten chapters long at first lmao) of mine as much as I'm enjoying the entire writing process. Your comments have been incredibly helpful in writing and planning the subsequent chapters, so thank YOU
Please leave a comment if you have the time, I'd love to hear what you thought! Feedback and concrit are always welcome :) Or come say hi on Tumblr if you're there - I'm firewoodfigs :)
I'd also like to apologise for the long wait - I hope the slightly longer chapter made up for the inordinate delay? :') So sorry to keep you all hanging like that :( I finished the bar exam about a month ago, had to sleep for a week, and December kept me unexpectedly with books left unread on my shelf, along with some very lovely friends who I had the pleasure of catching up with. And suddenly it's already 2021, like what... Where did all that time go? On a side note, I hope 2021 has been off to a good start for all of you so far! May the new year be kinder to us all 💖
A few notes about this chapter:
(1) A slight break from all the action here - a lot of things are going on at home, now, but next chapter we're going to get out of the house (literally) and things are going to get more... interesting ;) I won't reveal too much, but I've updated the tags a little to hint at what's going to happen next :)
(2) I hope the disparity in Roy's voice when he's talking to Ed versus when he's interacting to Riza wasn't too jarring! I deliberately wrote him that way because I feel like he's oftentimes a lot more childish around Ed, because he's just an unwitting parent who's still living in denial after all these years. There, I said it xD (Just shut up and adopt him already Roy we know you care for the kid) In contrast, I think he tends to be a lot more serious where Riza is involved because of their intricate, complex history and the guilt that's been weighing down on him.
(3) Riza's reflections after the lunch with Ed was personally the toughest part of this chapter for me. It was a challenge to think of what someone with memory loss would struggle with and yearn for. In Riza's case, considering her tendency for self-reproach I think she'd most likely be frustrated with the fact that she's burdening all those around her and hurting them, even if unintentionally. While she tends to come off somewhat aloof - at least on the outside - I think Riza is also someone who longs for companionship and a sense of belonging, especially as someone who's spent most of her childhood alone in the countryside. This comes up in her subconscious without her realising, and I hope I managed to convey it in this chapter!
(4) Ed's observations about industrialisation is a hint as to what's to come in the next chapter :) his guilt complex was very interesting to navigate as well. It was a bit of a gamble for me, deciding whether to write the last bit from Ed's POV, but I wanted to draw out the parallels between him and Riza further. Just, yknow, a boy and one of his many adoptive mothers lolol :')
(5) About Al's cameo - I think I might've mentioned in an a/n somewhere that while this is predominantly a fic about royai, each character will have their own unique role to play as well. Al is no exception to this rule, though we'll probably only know some time down the road ;)
I can't quite remember all that I wanted to say in this a/n LOLOL but I think I've rambled for enough, and I'm off to bed now so that I can prepare for my official first day of adulthood... (yes I'm starting work tomorrow *screams into the void*) but I promise I will find the time to continue this fic and keep writing - it's one of my top resolutions for 2021 :)
Please leave a comment if you have the time! I'll see you in the next chapter, hopefully sooner rather than later. Till then, take care and stay safe, everyone! ️💜