Ed's nap was dreamless. Exhaustion had taken its toll on his still-recovering body and pulled him into a darkness that had been the most peace he'd had in days. By the time he awoke, the room was empty, and he was unsure of how long it had been. All he knew was that he was still there, in bed, and he wondered distantly if this was just a fucked up nightmare. The way his body throbbed as he tried to sit up said otherwise.
So, here he was. In a strange room, isolated from any help. There was no Alphonse to lecture him for getting injured, standing tall over him as he yelled about how reckless he was. No Winry to call for repairs. No Mustang to take his frustration out on, to bicker with, and demand some respect from. There were no books to study, no food to eat, nothing to do but to struggle out of bed, and hope that there was something, anything he could use to escape. He felt pathetically lonely.
His eyes caught newly washed clothes that sat folded on the desk nearby. He figured, before anything, he should probably get dressed.
It was only when he had sat up fully that he remembered how much of a pain in the ass getting around with half your limbs missing was. He stood on his right leg. A sharp pain protested through his thigh and chest, forcing him to take strained, shallow breaths. He cursed his stupid ribs for being bruised, his dumb, injured leg for making it so hard to move, and his head for the way his vision swam with fever. No part of his body was trying to work with him, and that was frustrating to no end.
As soon as he was able to stand fully, he nearly buckled and fell to the floor under his own weight. He hopped over to where a desk was, ignoring the pain through gritted teeth and furrowed eyebrows. The hard, wooden chair that was paired with it had quite an ugly design. Three legs with wheels on each, and thin poles of wood meant for back support that dug into your spine in all the wrong ways. He hardly noticed, more relieved at the fact that as he collapsed into it, the brutality of his injuries began to dull.
He sat there with closed eyes, shallow breaths coming to him in between the aches. He shivered. Sweat clung to his back, hot and sticky, and he knew the first thing he was going to do when he saw those motherfuckers is demand to take a shower. Spending an entire month on a deserted island had a special way of making you appreciate proper hygiene. While he had spent many missions sleeping in literal dirt since then, he still didn't appreciate the way his hair was textured with grease, or how he could faintly smell his own body odor.
When his breath finally evened out, he opened his eyes, and stared at the neatly stacked clothes in front of him. Every atom of his body was ready to give up and stop moving, but his mind was searching desperately for something he could control, something he could do, something to make him feel less helpless. He needed to do this. He planted his automail leg on the floor, kicking so he could slide up to the desk. He hit it a little harder than expected, grunting as wood connected to his sore ribs, and trying to stop the nausea that rose.
As he reached to pull the shirt over his head, his eyes caught the shine of metal on his wrist. He squinted, dropping the clothing in his lap, and pulling his arm in for a better view. Symbols were etched into it, and the metal clamped against flesh without room for comfort. The scuffed texture indicated it was sealed alchemically.
He spotted a rune for energy absorption, which sat next to a symbol for deconstruction, and another for.. A reversal of energy? His stomach sank. A shiver raced up his spine and became goosebumps across his body, and he realized what the bracelet was for. Even when he was missing an arm, they were really trying to cover their bases on not letting him perform alchemy. That was the only explanation of why they would put him in something made to deconstruct, absorb, and then rebound any transmutations back onto him.
Fuck. He really might be in over his head here. What was he going to do? He couldn't fight, or use any alchemy, even drawn, and those were practically the only solutions he had in his toolbox. Is there even an investigation for him? What if everyone thinks he's dead and doesn't bother? What if they kill him before anyone can get to him?
No. He couldn't think like that, he wasn't going to let himself despair after only 3 days. He glared down to his shirt like everything was somehow the clothes' fault. He supposed that was easier to stomach than accepting, fully, that he was a dumbass who got himself shot and kidnapped. "Fucking great job," He sighed. The words were soft and a little slurred, but it was easier to talk than it was earlier. "They make an exception and let you join the military at 12 so you can get Al's body back, and your dumbass screws everything up within a year." His stomach churned. He hoped to a god he didn't believe in that they wouldn't consider disobeying Mustangs orders to stay behind insubordination.
"Talking to yourself already?" A voice spoke behind him, and he couldn't suppress the squeak that fell from his lips. The voice chuckled at that. Ed swiveled the chair to see who it was, and against the doorway leaned Martins, seeming to be as bored as ever.
"The fuck do you want?" Ed's voice was higher than he meant it to be. He glared into the man's apathetic gaze, trying to hide how startled he felt. "At least knock, you fucking creep."
"Here," He threw a bundle of black and white cloth at Ed's face. "Clara wants you for dinner in 15, she said to wear that, not your other clothes," He paused. "Guess it's a good thing you only got the shirt on." He gestured to Ed's chest.
"Why does she care what I'm wearing?"
"Just put the damn clothes on and shut up."
"Maybe I'd shut up if you weren't such an asshole about everything." Ed grumbled.
"Maybe I wouldn't be an asshole if you would shut up."
Ed rolled his eyes. He almost missed those two days of coma, at least he didn't have to deal with this shit when he was incoherent.
"Y'know," Martins broke the silence with an amused smile. "Chris was right when he told you to tone down the snark. Clara's gonna kick your ass if you talk to her like that."
"I'll talk however I damn please, and I'll wear what I want too."
"On second thought, don't listen to me. There's nothing more enjoyable than watching a brat get taken down a peg."
Ed glared at him. "Someones going to find me, and I'm gonna get my automail back, and then I'm gonna beat you to a pulp. I hope you know that."
"Good luck. Let me know when they arrive, and I might just let you," He waved his hand dismissively, before something sadistic peaked through his smile. "But I doubt that will happen, because nobody's coming to rescue you. You're going to stay right here until we're done with you."
Ed hoped the man didn't see the goosebumps on his forearms. He swallowed, keeping his glare as steady as possible. He couldn't show any weakness, he couldn't give him that satisfaction. "You don't know that. My superior officer just so happens to be a conniving shit who wouldn't let me go if I was brain-dead, deaf, and blind. I guarantee him and his entire staff are looking as we speak," Assuming the military isn't too pissed about wasting resources to locate him, he's still one of Mustang's assets. And Mustang keeps a death grip on anything he thinks will help him reach his goals. "I'm plenty strong enough to escape on my own, too. It's only a matter of time before I'm back home and you bastards are rotting in prison."
"I'm telling you, it's useless. Being a brat is only going to piss her off, and we've been very careful in how we've hidden you," His smile returned, and he rapped his fingers against the doorframe in a slow rhythm. "But if you're so sure, I could always request that we ship you off to our Drachman friends. They're far more nasty, but I think they could break that attitude rather quickly. Maybe I should ask for tips."
That was useful information, Ed realized. Friends in Drachma meant that Clara had to be well-connected, considering how Amestris has a considerable border control shaped stick up its ass. That, or Martins was bluffing to mess with him, but considering how many people were at the warehouse, he had a feeling that wasn't the case. He scoffed. "You guys couldn't break me if you tried."
"I'll remember you said that," Ed didn't have time to react, or mull over how the glint in the man's eye was creepy as hell, before Martins spoke again. "Hurry up and get changed. I'll be outside. Take too long, and I'll make you regret it." With that, he shut the door, leaving Ed to stew in his thoughts.
"Fuck you too." He huffed.
He unfolded the clothes that Martins had thrown at him, revealing… A suit? Something about it felt familiar, but he was too weirded out to really care. They do realize they took his arm, right? Did someone miss that? Do they have any idea how fucking annoying it is to button a dress-shirt with only one hand? He rolled his eyes. "What the fuck ever," He thought. "This may as well happen."
He slipped into the outfit to the best of his ability. He got a feeling that if he didn't, Martins would probably force him into it himself. While he would love to be a pain in the ass, Ed couldn't be out of stamina when he talked to Clara. (Not to mention the bruises from when Martins had checked his vitals were still fresh. While he was running on daze and adrenaline then, he still felt a tinge of fear when he recalled how his hands covered his mouth and nose, the loose tears that stung his eyes, the fear, and how he couldn't breathe, please, just let him breathe-)
The fabric was heavy and a little itchy against his skin. It reminded him of why he didn't like suits. Well, that, and the fact that anytime he wore one, his resemblance to his pathetic excuse of a father became a little hard to stomach. All he could think about when he saw his reflection is Hohenheim, dressed up with that fucking tie and suitcase, back turned, ready to leave, glaring at him and his brother like it was their fault- Ed swallowed. He was really getting too far into his own head today, huh? He couldn't afford to dwell on any of that, not now. At least there were no mirrors in here to remind him.
After 10 minutes, Martins came back in.
"You look shit even in something so well-made." He said. Ed really couldn't find it in himself to make a snappy comeback. He knew he was a mess, and the dread about the meeting was setting in. He didn't know much about Clara other than that she seemed unhinged.
Martins approached him. If he noticed his silence, he didn't seem to care. "Alright brat. I'm gonna pick you up so we can transfer you, so don't squirm, or your head is going to become real friendly with the floor."
"Fine." Martins picked him up, and he hated how his cheeks flushed with humiliation. He clenched his fist and tried to pretend this wasn't happening. It felt like they were mocking him on purpose, making it so he couldn't move, putting him in this stupid suit get-up. Everything about it felt demeaning.
If nothing else, seeing outside his room might help him figure out the house's layout, and make his escape easier.
There were stairs. That was the first thing he noticed. It was smart, putting him on the second story. He couldn't escape through a window unless he wanted to break something, and it would take forever to move down the stairs by himself. There were a few other doors, but each was closed.
"If nothing else," He thought bitterly. "At least I know I'm in a house. That means neighbors."
Martins carried him down the stairs and into a dining room, and his eyes locked with Clara's electric blue ones. He wasn't able to get a good look at her back in the warehouse, but now he noticed the wrinkles in her face, and the blonde curls that cascaded into a shoulder length haircut. She looked to be in her 50's, if he had to guess, and she was wearing an evening gown.
"Set him down across from me, Martins." She overlooked Ed completely, choosing instead to gesture to a chair where a plate had been set. Martins obliged, and the wave of her hand dismissed him from the room, but not before he threw them one last look with a masked curiosity.
"Good evening, Edward," She smiled at him, and he glared in response. "I hope you rested well."
"As well as I could after getting attacked." His tone was cold, and the way her eyebrows creased meant she caught his animosity. Good. He wanted her to know just how much he hated her guts.
"Yes, recoveries can be difficult at times. I'm sure you, of all people, would understand that," She eyed the place where his arm should be, and a cold rage festered a home in his stomach. "Help yourself to the food, I'm sure you're quite hungry."
Ed eyed the plates near him, his stomach rumbling without his consent. He wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten. That didn't really matter, he supposed, because right now his top priority was just getting something in his stomach. He stockpiled everything from potatoes to chicken to half a loaf of bread, not really making any effort to stop extra gravy or crumbs from getting on the tablecloth. More for them to deal with later was a win for him, after all.
After about 2 minutes of watching him scarf down everything in sight, Clara spoke again. "As Martin's likely told you, we're here to discuss your staying here. Consider yourself an honoured guest with a few extra rules."
"Is that what all this is about?" He rose an eyebrow. "The suit and feast and shit?"
"Yes, Chris picked out your suit himself," She smiled. "I do hope you like it."
Wait, why would he-? Oh. Fuck. That's why he had been at the tailors shop, hadn't it? Ed felt like an idiot. Obviously, Chris didn't have a little brother he was buying a fancy outfit for. He was just running an errand for Clara, to prepare for Ed's arrival. Nausea rushed over him, and he tried to stop the sick, hopeless despair that was eating away at him from the inside out. Had every little thing been planned out like this? Like no matter what, Ed would end up here? Did he even stand a chance in the first place?
"We want to make this as easy as we can for everyone." Clara inturrupted his thoughts, resting her head against her elbow, and staring at him. Her eyes were analytical, he realized, like she was waiting for even the smallest slip, the right moment to strike.
"You know what sounds easy?" He swallowed a large chunk of bread, hoping his emotions weren't showing too much on his face. "Giving me back my limbs and letting me go." What was meant to be rude came out more pathetic than anything.
She let out an annoyed laugh. "I know you're not stupid, child. That's off the table."
"I thought I said to stop calling me that-"
"The first rule," She interrupted, placing a finger up with a composed grin. "Is that here, you don't make the rules. I do. And I'll call you whatever I want, child."
He scowled. "Or what?"
She ignored him. "The second rule," She put up another finger. "Is that we're going to operate on a trust system. Behave, and I'll give you treats, act out, and well…" She trailed off. "I'll let you figure out what happens."
"What kind of treats?" He raised an eyebrow. He doubted she would give him anything he could escape with, but it would be helpful to know.
"Perks. Books you wish to read, a journal to keep your thoughts in, allotted time outside. Whatever you wish," She flashed him a smile. "Maybe even your automail, if you're extra good."
He couldn't help the relief that rose in his chest at her words. He swallowed, before grimacing. She was manipulating him, there's no way they would take a risk like that. "You're bluffing," He tried to read her face for any tells, but her smile kept steady. "You're just trying to get my hopes up so I roll over and do what you want, so cut to the chase and tell me what the hell you're after."
"3rd rule," A third finger shot up. "You don't talk to me like that. Just as I make the rules, you treat me with respect. I am giving you a place to stay and warm meals, after all."
"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna kiss your ass. Just tell me what you want."
"I want you to watch your tone," She seemed to mull something over, as if making an important decision, before smiling. "If you want to see your brother, that is."
Ed's mouth went dry. There's no way they had Al, right? He made him an escape, he told him to leave-
"But Al is stubborn," A voice in the back of his mind told him. "He probably got caught trying to save your sorry ass, and now he's probably hurt, and it's your fault."
The woman spotted his reaction, and latched onto it with a manipulative smile. "That's what I thought."
"Where is he?" Ed couldn't stop how both his voice and body shook. He knew, distantly, that putting his emotions on his sleeve right now was anything but clever, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He needed answers.
"Safe, for now."
"But where?" Ed's voice was rising, and sting in his eyes warned him of incoming tears. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't. Not in front of her. "If you hurt him, I swear to God I'll make you regret it. I'll make your life fucking hell. I'll kill you, I'll-" He bit back an angry sob. She didn't falter.
"He's safe as long as you behave. Now quit your yelling, it's giving me a headache."
He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to stop the way it wobbled, trying to think about anything but how worried he was for his brother right now. He forced the tears in his eyes to recede, taking breaths that didn't seem to give him the oxygen he needed. He stared down at his food below. He no longer felt hungry.
"Rule number 4," She continued. "Under no circumstances may you go down stairs unless someone is with you."
They sat in silence for a moment, and she gave him time to mull her words over.
"Are you done?" He asked, not even bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice. "Because I'd still like to know why the fuck I'm here."
"I'll tell you when the time comes."
"And when is that?"
"You'll know. You concern yourself too much with adult affairs, child."
"I joined the military at 12. I'm not a child, not anymore." He'd stopped being a kid the moment he decided to commit the taboo.
"And that's what's so disgusting, can't you see?" She tisked. "They're evil people, exploiting you for the public's approval and their own whims. Using your age to clear the name of the monsters within their ranks, forcing people to sympathize with them."
"And I'm using them right back. It's equivalent," He narrowed his eyes. "And why do you care anyways? You're the one who assaulted me and dragged me away. At least the military was paying me to be there. Can't sat the same about you."
"I can tell you still don't understand, it's pitiful. And here I'd hoped we could see eye to eye on this."
"And why would that be?" Ed gritted his teeth. She had no business judging him. Al and him did what they could to get their bodies back, and when they weren't doing that, they were helping take down criminals who threatened the public. They never once took a life. What had he done to deserve this?
"Because they're all scum fueling a broken system. Surely you've seen enough to realize that."
"Not all of them," He glared. "Not me."
"Yes," She smiled. "That's the problem," Her long nails tapped against the tablecloth, the rhythm only serving to increase Ed's unease. "You see, I'm conflicted. I hate this military. I want them all dead, and yet, I have a soft spot for children," Her eyes slid to him. "The question is, what to do about that?"
"Go see a therapist and work on your homicidal thoughts," He said dryly. "I'm sure they'd help you, you're clearly off your fucking rocker."
"Remind me of the 3rd rule, Edward."
He glared at her. "Sorry, my short-term memory is little foggy because of the fever," He gritted a faux-innocent smile. "It was just so stupid that I forgot. Don't take it personally," He paused. "Or do."
"I'm guessing we'll have to do this the hard way," She sighed. "Maybe you'll be more rational once I show you the consequences for acting so inpolitely."
She pulled something from her pocket. A remote, of some sorts. He didn't have time to wonder what she was doing before the nerves in his arm seized from the bracelet up.
For a moment, he wondered if somehow he was getting automail connected down his flesh arm. The only times he'd ever felt this kind of pain was then, and when he'd lost his limbs. He bit back a scream, his breath instead coming in short, pained gasps. He tried to claw at where the bracelet met flesh, a part of him realizing, through the pain, that it doubled as some sort of shock device.
"Tell me the third rule, child." She pressed it again, and he let out a sharp groan.
"N-No." He glared at her, seizing his arm, and trying to ignore the pain however he could. "I've-I've felt woe-worse, th-this…" She pressed it again, and he trailed off before he could finish. "Isnothing." He finished in a short breath, barely a whisper, and he couldn't make out any thoughts except for that it hurt, and it was like he was a kid again, his arm missing, his brother a pile of clothes on the floor, and it hurt.
Another jolt brought him back as suddenly as he went. The dark spots in his vision told him he was going to pass out soon, and his fever wasn't helping. The room spun around him. He strained his eyes open, trying to channel all of the the hurt into a glare directed at the woman. He didn't want to pass out; he didn't trust what may happen if sleep claimed him, but as everything developed into a haze, he got the feeling he didn't get a choice. Within 40 agonizing seconds, with not a second of relief between the buttons clicks, everything had gone dark.