Good lord, this chapter gave me so much trouble. I wasn't going to put all this together at first, but then I figured putting it all in one chapter actually made more sense from a pacing perspective.
Song is by Roger Waters (not the Doors! Different song) and if it feels familiar, it's because it's from the ending credits of The Last Mimzy, one of the more underrated and lovely movies of my childhood.
TW: lack of agency in general, sanism (obviously), queerphobia but particularly the brand of homophobia that is… well-intended but rooted in incredibly dangerous false ideas about homosexuality, captivity, alcohol, and however to tag the paranoia of 'literally cannot trust anybody'.
~40~
Have you heard, it was on the news
Your child can read you like a bedtime story
Like a magazine, like a has-been out to grasp
Like afternoon TV, why is my life going by so fast?
Hello I love you, is there anybody in there?
-Hello (I Love You)
Will had lost track of time. Mostly, he'd lost track of time because by the fourth straight day of travel in the covered truck with bad suspension, he wasn't sure how much of what he was seeing and hearing was real and how much was stress hallucinations, still coming in and out of focus. Trisha hadn't made an appearance, but some of his others had; silhouettes of people with too many arms and legs, too many eyes, glitches in the air around him, spinning lights, and even things like cats or insects that crawled over the legs of the unsuspecting and unaware soldiers.
Truthfully, he was really just starting to get used to it. Although Kimbley had raised an eyebrow at him when he'd been staring at the cat, trying to determine whether or not it had wandered in from outside or if he was seeing things again, and then folded his arms on his lap through the hallucination. "Do you want something, Fullmetal?" he'd said, before Will realized what it looked like if the cat wasn't there.
Being crazy, he decided, was mostly annoying.
But when the truck ground to a halt and the doors swung open to reveal the lights of Central Hospital, he felt panic grip at his throat, and he pushed back against the soldiers' grip. "Wait, I – I –"
"Move," one of the soldiers ordered, and squeezed hard enough to bruise –
"That's enough," Kimbley sighed. Then he took hold of Will's handcuffs. "I will be escorting Fullmetal the rest of the way."
Will wasn't sure if that was better or worse. But at least Kimbley wasn't actively violent with him. "Can…" He swallowed. "Can I see the Colonel? Please?" He sounded so small, and he hated it.
Kimbley seemed to have some meaner response on his lips – then, instead, he shrugged. "We'll see." He led Will away from the soldiers, and Will sighed, letting it happen for a moment – then he stopped, pushing back against Kimbley's grip.
"What now?" the older man sighed, irritation obvious in his voice. Will tried to pretend it didn't bother him. Kimbley being irritated was nothing compared to everything else he'd put Will through. But it sort of stung anyway, being looked down on.
Will swallowed. "We're, uh. Going through the front doors?"
"Where else would we be going?"
He'd known, intellectually, that he wasn't being taken to an asylum like in the old days. Ten years ago, psychiatry hadn't even been considered real medicine – and it was still an uphill battle – and he should have considered himself lucky not to be thrown into something like Bedlam or the Overbrook Lunatic Asylum up north or out west. East still had some, for more severe patients. But here –
It was better, he kept trying to tell himself. Central's asylum was just another wing of the hospital, now. One of Mustang's specially funded projects for the heart of the nation. Or maybe one of his generals – Will couldn't really keep track, he'd barely paid attention. He just knew he didn't want to go in. He'd almost have preferred a separate building with bars on its windows.
Kimbley looked dispassionately down at him. "I see. You don't want people to recognize you. You want to sneak in through some side-door like a thief in the night, is that it?"
His face burned with humiliation. Of course it sounded stupid said like that. And if he didn't get hurt so often, it wouldn't even be an issue – but of course it was him who knew the nursing staff in just about every city from here to Youswell.
"What a shame. You almost had my respect."
Will felt – god, was it disappointment surge up in his chest? It was quickly followed by the same cold rage that had been his constant companion since Forcett. He had no reason to feel disappointed that he didn't have Kimbley's respect. But all the same – why shouldn't he? "What did you say?"
Kimbley raised his eyebrows, scorn mixing with a challenge on his face. "I don't find cowards interesting. Certainly not ones who have proven that they're capable of being interesting."
"I'm not your fucking sideshow."
"Certainly not. You're nobody's sideshow. Isn't that what you're trying to prove, to whoever's watching?" A half-smirk grew on Kimbley's face. "Or is it only strangers you're willing to stand up to others over? Ishvalan mutts and rural innkeeps?"
He couldn't afford to get angry, not on the outside. But god, he couldn't control it, and all he wanted to do was punch Kimbley in the face. Proving him wrong was only half as good. "Whose side are you even on?"
"You're thinking in two dimensions, Will," Kimbley teased, grabbing his handcuffs again and marching him – but a little more gently – towards the front doors. "Sides are for chessboards and city streets. I consider myself a little more refined than that."
That was all very well and good if you were playing chess, Will sighed to himself. Somehow he didn't think refinement had much to do with whether or not you framed somebody for murder, but he was too exhausted to put together much of a counter-argument. And whatever energy he had was going to go somewhere else.
Think. Come on. Then – Oh. He was so fucking stupid. They knew him. And they knew him because they were always bandaging him up after one of his missions, especially the ones that brought him close to Central. They didn't know him as well as the nurses and orderlies out East, but well – he'd deliberately made himself easy to recognize and hard to forget. That had bitten him in the ass often enough.
The problem was, well, being himself wasn't going to work. 'Himself' was a nightmare. He had to borrow someone. He could do that easily enough – he did it all the time. Just… usually not so deliberately.
Kimbley opened the main doors and led him through the lobby, and Will slouched back, giving Kimbley slack on the cuffs that he clearly wasn't expecting. Kimbley glanced down at him, look communicating clear suspicion – and he just shrugged, grinning back.
And, finally, the first good luck of the last few days. He recognized the man at the front desk. He was rummaging through his papers, then looked up – "Oh, good grief. Elric? What have you done to yourself now?" Then he saw the handcuffs and Kimbley's rank insignia. "…uh. Sir."
Even better. They didn't know Kimbley.
Will shrugged and laughed. "The usual. Things went a little south." Then a little wince. "Maybe a little more than usual."
"That's one way to put it," Kimbley shot back. "I'm taking him to Ward One. I want you to have the appropriate papers ready for when I come back."
The receptionist paused, looking between Kimbley and Will. "…Uh. Ward One? Are you sure?"
"Orders from the Fuhrer."
A few others had gathered, in particular an older woman who Will definitely recognized. "Oh for goodness's sake. Ward One is for lunatics. I want to see those papers."
"They're probably still in processing. Like I said, this is on direct order from the Fuhrer."
"Then I want to hear it from the Fuhrer, Mister-?"
Will hid a smile. He was placing her name, now. Nurse Pat had been here for at least four years – he remembered her, at least in passing, from four years ago.
Oh.
Shit.
Which meant she'd been around for his other breakdown.
"Lieutenant-Colonel Zolf Kimbley at your service," Kimbley replied, sounding more than a little irked. He had it coming, frankly. He'd been the one telling Will to be interesting.
"Aw, it's alright, Patty," Will said with a laugh. "I've dealt with mad scientists, I doubt Ward One's much worse. And it'll get cleared up pretty quickly."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're awfully confident, ent' you?"
"It's the thought of your beautiful smile making me feel better- Ow!" Pat had swatted him on the head with the clipboard she was holding.
"None of your backtalk, Elric. I don't care how old you are, you'll always be a pint-sized brat to me."
"Fair enough."
Kimbley definitely looked a little like he'd swallowed something incredibly foul. "What do you suggest?" he replied to Nurse Pat, voice slightly acidic. "That I lock the dangerous lunatic to the fence until the Fuhrer dots his Is and crosses his Ts?"
"That'd be suitable, yes."
"This is insubor-"
"That was a joke, Lieutenant-Colonel," Pat interrupted before Kimbley could lose his temper. "Unless those are illegal now."
Will watched Kimbley carefully, the fate of the soldier in the inn still fresh on his mind. But Kimbley just huffed. "I will leave him in your hands, then. If something happens, it's on your head."
"I think I can live with that," Pat retorted. She waited until Kimbley had stalked out of the building, then sighed, shoulders falling.
There was a snort of laughter from the desk, then the receptionist cleared his throat. "Sorry."
"Any chance you can get these off me?" Will asked hopefully. Long shot, but-
Pat shook her head – then pulled the top page off her clipboard. "The papers came through this morning."
"Really?" He couldn't help the skeptical expression, and she just gave him a look of her own.
"Support staff do talk to each other, you know. I'm well aware of who he is. And afraid I might have to sanitize this whole building now."
He tried not to laugh. The urge passed, though, when she took him by the cuffs, leading him towards the elevator. "Zeb, finish the processing for me, please."
"Are you sure you don't want someone else with you?" he asked.
Will bit down on his tongue trying not to show how much that had hurt. It didn't help when, instead of brushing off Zeb's comment, Pat hesitated, then nodded her head at one of the closer nurses. A new one. One he didn't know.
On cue, the voice he didn't want to hear whispered to him, "You could still take both of them. Even with your hands cuffed."
Will jerked away from the smirking shadow, and felt Pat's hand close like a vice on his arm. Not helping his case. He stayed silent, even as they led him into the elevator and closed the gate behind them.
"…What does that report say?" he asked, trying to stay calm. Meaning, what lies are they telling you?
"It's policy not to show Ward One patients their transfer papers." It was the new nurse who'd spoken. She probably hadn't even read it, except in passing.
"C'mon. Don't tell me you believe it."
"It's not our job, unfortunately," said Pat with a sigh, "to believe or disbelieve the orders we're given."
"Bullshit."
"It isn't prison, W- Major Elric," Pat said, and he couldn't decide whether or not it helped or hurt that she'd almost called him Will. He liked being on first name basis with people. He'd never quite managed it with Pat – well, in her direction, anyway – but almost.
Will closed his eyes, jaw working in fury. "Whatever else you want to think," he said from between clenched teeth, "I'm not fucking stupid."
"Language-"
"I work here, Pat. I know what Ward One is. It's for the criminally insane – people who commit crimes and can't be put on trial for it. I know that because usually I'm on the side arresting people."
Pat subsided into silence. He supposed he should feel guilty, but everything had become a strange miasma of vague emotion at this point, drifting somewhere he couldn't reach. He only had room to feel one thing at once. Fury was good, but fury was going to get him killed. "…It isn't right."
"I told you-"
"It isn't right that they signed you on so young. You're right. I don't believe the report they sent me. But if they discharge you, that's a good thing in my books."
So he could, what, get sent to a foster home? Go home to Rizenbul and never see Alex again? Get sent to a different asylum, this time without even the vague protection of his rank? Will had to wonder what Pat thought him being discharged would look like.
"Can you do me a favour, then?"
"What's that?"
He took a deep breath. "Make sure Colonel Solaris knows I'm here. Please," he added.
"No more quips about my beautiful smile, I see."
"You do have a nice smile."
There was an amused look playing around her mouth, he noticed when he glanced back at her. She clearly couldn't help it. "I'll make sure she knows. And if this is all a misunderstanding, I'm sure it'll be cleared up quickly."
"Hope so. Although let's be honest, this fits right in with my mystique, right? Nobody's gonna bat an eye."
There was a snort of laughter – from, he realized with a grin, the other nurse. He turned his head, looking back at her as she tried to regain a straight face. "Sorry. I apologize," she fumbled.
"Are you kidding? I feel better already." He gave her a half-smile, and she nervously returned it, still looking a little like she thought he would bite her. "Just make sure when this one makes the rounds that someone adds Patty spittin' in Kimbley's face."
"I think not!" Patty said in horror, her coworker descending into helpless giggles. "You keep me out of this!"
"Aw, and you say I do nothing for you."
She rolled her eyes, but the affection was obvious. And Will knew she couldn't let him go – but that wasn't what he was after.
When the doors opened, though –
At first, Will didn't react. He thought he was hallucinating again. But when the doctor looked up, he smiled at all three of them. "I was wondering when he'd show up. Hello, Will."
Don't attack. Don't hurt him. Don't make this worse. Don't. But the boy with no face was whispering to him again, and the Gate echoing beyond that, and –
Will squeezed his hands behind him so tightly that he felt one of his fingernails puncture the skin. He waited until Pat and the other nurse had descended in the elevator again – then he stood there, facing Dr. Holland and feeling his heart break all over again.
"Pride."
Dr. Holland didn't react. He simply tucked the pen he'd been using to sign the paperback back into the pocket of his coat, and returned Will's steely gaze, like nothing had changed.
When Selim and Will had been… oh, King wanted to say maybe four or five? Sometime before Trisha's death at least – he had found them playing house. It hadn't been anything inappropriate, really. The standard children's games you expected with a husband and a wife and strange Child Ideas about how adult life worked. It just so happened that he'd turned the corner when they'd been practicing kissing.
In retrospect, he was glad he hadn't done much. Just told Selim in a slightly strangled voice that dinner was ready, and given Will a steely glare that he… hoped the other didn't remember. And later, almost too nervous to talk to Minna directly, he'd gone up to the Elrics and told Trisha about it.
Trisha had been too sick to walk at that point. He hadn't realized it. She sounded alright, but he had to go up to her bed, and she'd shooed the kids away. And when he'd told her, she'd just nodded, sighing a little. "So that's how it is."
It was such a calm response, compared to the bizarre blend of feelings he was experiencing, even now almost ten years later. "I mean, they're children. They'll grow out of it, I just certainly hope it won't continue."
"Oh, well." And Trisha had smiled and shrugged a little. "I mean, King, even if they don't – there are worse things, you know?"
That was what was on his mind now, sitting out in the sunlight, puffing on his pipe and hoping the ginseng would calm his nerves eventually. He hated it when Trisha was right, especially when she managed it past the grave. (And she'd done that more than once, right along with his wife. He probably should have listened to them more.) There are worse things. He'd started his adult life as a doctor. Not a surgeon – the kind of doctor who treated illnesses and scraped knees. But then he'd lost his first wife to tuberculosis, and plague had lost whatever shine of curiosity it'd had – Still, though. Some things stuck around.
He wasn't a stranger to homosexuality. He'd been in the military, for god's sakes. Wilde Act or no, the policy had always been 'don't ask, don't tell' – don't advertise it too loudly, and the brass wouldn't sniff around or make a fuss. And he'd been propositioned a few times, which he'd found insulting at first and a fact of life later. It was just that… well… both as a doctor and a Major, it'd been easy enough to believe that it was an illness, a condition. Nobody wanted to be a queer. It barred you from a normal life, and even if you hid it, it found a way to wreak havoc regardless, whether through impotence or the sly, years-long seduction that left men in their fifties and sixties disgraced and divorced.
Easy enough to believe that. Easy enough, until you tried to think of how to tell your son that, and found it suddenly bitter on the tongue. There were worse things, indeed. He just had to reassure himself of that – and that it had no connection to whatever was going on with Selim now.
Plus, doubting his perspectives now meant he was questioning a lot of his decisions. He'd let Will and Alex run off on their own. Largely because, admittedly, he wasn't sure now if he'd been happy to let them venture off and keep them away from Selim. Probably not – but part of him had almost believed it was a Solved Problem, hadn't he? That Selim would just come home with a girl one day.
"Look at this way," Pinako had said, in her usual direct way, "at least Will's pretty enough that he might as well be a girl." She'd found that funny. He didn't find it funny at all, because at least other gay men could pass as roommates.
"Dad?"
Well, he was out of time. Selim was awake.
"Oh, good, you're up. It looks like you're feeling better."
Selim nodded, but there were still deep bags under his eyes, and he shook a little as he sat down. "Um, mostly. There's just – a lot on my mind."
"What's wrong?"
"…Do you think Will's a bad person?"
It was neither the question he'd expected, nor far away enough from the topic for him to quite recover in time. "W-well, no, obviously, just-"
"Just what?"
It was a little sharper than he'd expected. "A – a touch degenerate, maybe but-" Wrong thing to say. He knew it even before Selim reacted, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Um. Give me a moment."
"Degenerate? Are you serious?"
"You took me by surprise. Give me a moment-"
"The fact that you even think that is…" Selim rubbed the balls of his hands into his eyes, jaw working behind his cheek.
"I'm sorry."
Selim didn't look at him, the hurt in his eyes obvious. Lovely. He'd already screwed this up.
"I meant in the sense of –" He frowned, trying to use words that wouldn't hurt so much. "Can you imagine him at Lyon Hall?"
Selim didn't laugh like he'd hoped – but there was a touch of a smile there. "Lyon Hall sucks."
He'd suspected as much, although he resolved to ask again when Selim's emotions weren't running so high. It was unusual from him, actually – he was used to Selim being almost preternaturally calm. It was probably why he'd been so taken by surprise. "Whether or not it does, it certainly doesn't mean I think Will is a bad person. Just-" There wasn't really a good way to say it. "I was raised thinking people like him were. That's been an odd perspective shift, getting older."
"People like him. You mean queer."
Ah. So they'd gone ahead and said it out loud. King rocked his head back and forth non-committally, still feeling a little like he'd been cornered. "That, and the – everything else. Loud, disrespectful of authority, rebellious, rule-breaking…"
"I thought you liked him."
"Selim, I love him almost as much as you." There was a double meaning to that, he realized, as Selim's cheeks turned a little pink. "I practically raised him after Trisha died, don't you forget that. Don't think for a moment I don't love him. I just worry about him. Just like I worry about Alex, and I worry about you."
Selim still looked a little sullen, but he nodded, accepting this – at least to a point. "…Do you think he's a bad influence on me?"
"Jury's out on that one," King harrumphed. "According to Pinako, he was fully under the impression that your trip with him was with my knowledge. But I don't know if I believe he would have cared either way."
Selim was giving him a sideways, almost expectant look. One of them was going to have to say it out loud, and King took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was the adult here. Whoever had invented adolescence, he thought grimly, should be shot.
"So," he said after a moment. "He's your boyfriend, hm?"
And, much to his surprise – and endless entertainment – Selim, who had started the conversation so tense and wary, turned a vivid shade of eggplant, hands immediately out in front of him. "N-no! I mean – um – we're not – that's not – it's not, um, official – it's, just, uh – DAD."
"That sounded like a yes."
"I was going to come out first thank you VERY MUCH-"
"I've known since you were four, Selim." And just like that, it felt like something had been lifted from his shoulders. It was strange. He'd thought treating it like a secret was helping. "Not quite as clearly as with Will, mind you."
"Now I know what he feels like all the time," Selim grumbled, still trying to hide the embarrassment. He was also still glancing up at King, worrying at his bottom lip. He was still waiting for the rest of the reaction – just in case.
"I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm a little concerned, but that's…" King made a helpless gesture with his hands, and to his surprise, Selim nodded.
"Pinako… talked to me about that."
"Did she now." Then – "Oh, I suppose this means you won't be trying to glare her into an early grave anymore?"
"A ceasefire has been called," Selim replied archly. Then he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. "You've really known that long?"
"Oh, well, one gets his suspicions." He didn't really… have to know, he knew that much. But he was curious now. "When did you?" He stopped himself before asking why Selim hadn't told him – because of course he hadn't.
"Just kind of… eventually, I guess." Then Selim turned a bit pink again, a little smile creeping onto his face. "I think I knew when I, um – when I went to Central, before going to Lyon Hall. I'd kind of, uh – I got confused whenever people talked about girls being pretty and boys weren't, so I guess I'd started figuring it out already, but…"He paused, obviously embarrassed.
"Will?"
"A-actually, um…" Selim's cheeks were getting darker and darker by the minute, and he muttered to himself, "Never gonna hear the end of this one," before continuing. "You know uh, the lieutenant who works with Will's commanding officer?"
He did – the snarky one with the sunglasses. He was trouble, that one – King had known it the moment he'd looked at him. And-
Oh.
He gave Selim a nonplussed look, and Selim hid his face in his hands. "…I am entirely fine with you being gay, but couldn't you develop some semblance of taste?"
"It's not my fault! Will thinks he's cute too!"
"I certainly am not accounting for Will's sense of aesthetics. Also, Will is fine. Bring home a man that much older than you, and I will not hesitate to shoot him."
Selim really was smiling now, even staring at the floorboards. "I can work with that. And trust me, I'm not stupid enough to get involved with a grown-up."
The stress on the 'I' was making him start to worry all the more about Will. But at least Selim was being smart. Still, though… "What is going on with you and Will, then? Falman insists that you have some way of communicating with him. And you've been… I don't know what this is."
"I don't really know how to explain it," Selim replied, face falling a little. That almost helped. Whatever it was, Selim was just as worried about it as he was. "And I'm… not sure you'd believe me. I sound crazy to myself. But we've – checked it and everything, so it's definitely real."
King leaned back. "Try me."
Selim pulled a face. "Give me a minute?"
The bastard had drugged him. He couldn't remember how – he vaguely remembered being uncuffed and offered a drink, which he'd been too thirsty to think about –
Will blinked blearily at the room he was in. He wasn't asleep. Just… out of it. He'd been kind of wavering between asleep and half-awake for the last while. Getting the pieces of Selim's conversation with King was helping – and he was glad to notice that whatever he'd been given, it wasn't hitting Selim, this time. Maybe it wasn't strong enough.
Then –
Hey, how are you feeling?
He groaned. He'd been following the conversation enough to know where this was going. Not well enough to help with party tricks, Sel.
I know, I know, I'm sorry. I mostly just want –
If you say emotional support, I'm going to hit you. I am sympathetic. I am also in a mental hospital.
Selim had the good grace to feel sheepish. I promise, I – look, I think if I explain this to Dad, I can help.
I'm not sure what you have in mind. A few uncharitable things came to mind, and he felt Selim flinch, but he quickly followed them up with, I trust you. I'm in pain and pissed off, but I do trust you.
Thank you.
If nothing else, I owe you for accidentally getting you high.
…You know, I wasn't going to bring that up, but now that you mention it…
Will laughed weakly. God. The floor was cold, but it was nice on his face. He moved to lever himself up –
Mother fucker. Holland had taken his arm. Not that he could blame him, and it was a nice change from the cuffs. At least he could move his flesh arm just fine. He propped himself up, and immediately wished he hadn't. Wherever Holland had put him, it wasn't a patient room, which boded extremely badly for his survival. There was a chair, sure. That would have been nice if he could reach it. And his leg was cuffed to – he glanced back – that was insulting. A desk leg, that was bolted to the floor. He was in an office.
Well, he couldn't do a whole lot until his head cleared. At least Selim's side of things meant he could distract himself from the headache. He closed his eyes, watching the conversation with Bradley.
"I, um – okay, so since we were kids, I guess Will and I have always known how the other was feeling. To a weird degree."
Good start, he supposed.
"And then recently, it started getting stronger, and-" Selim paused. "I don't think I'm doing a good job. Uh, lemme try again."
Will resisted the urge to facepalm. He knows the word psychic, Selim.
Yeah, and he will IMMEDIATELY tune out.
He's also gonna tune out if you keep babbling on.
"I don't understand what you're getting at," King said, brows furrowing.
Selim sighed. "Uh. Somehow, me and Will, our – our minds are connected? Souls? I don't know."
"I already said I don't mind that-"
"Not – not that."
He couldn't help a little snicker as Selim's embarrassment rose up again. It was probably a little mean how much enjoyment he was getting out of this, but he enjoyed seeing Selim flustered. Good job. You accidentally convinced your dad we're soulmates.
I wanted your help! Not snarky commentary!
Sorry, sorry. He draped an arm over his face. Everything still felt weird. He was just glad he hadn't thrown up. The injuries are concrete. He'll listen to that, first.
…I don't, um – The thought came through anyway, even though Selim was trying to hide it. I don't want him to know that.
He's fuckin' well noticed, Sel. Get over it.
Selim was obviously irritated, but well – he knew he had a point, and besides, there was no non-awkward way to do this. "All of those injuries I keep getting, they're not – they're not mine. They're Will's."
"What?"
"Not – he's not hurting me. But when Will gets hurt, I get hurt. And vice versa. I think."
Now King was listening. Will could tell from the way he'd sat up in his chair, eyes focusing keenly on Selim's face. Most specifically, Will realized, his eyes. It was like King was staring right at him. "…Alchemy?" King asked.
Ooh, quick on the uptake. Although he did have to deal with me and Alex growing up, so I'm not surprised.
"Yeah. At least, that's what Izumi says."
"Izumi? When did you talk to her?"
"Will was visiting her a few weeks ago. She's the first person we really, um, told. He nearly drowned, and I called Sig."
King was still frowning, but he was listening. The only trouble now was – and Will tried not to feel a little hurt by the possibility – that he'd think it was some stupid shit Will had done. King's opinion of him certainly seemed low enough. "And the two of you can… talk to each other like this?"
"Yeah. That part's… new. For a long time it really was just – emotions and stuff."
King sat back in his chair, looking a touch poleaxed. Will tried to tell himself that King's response didn't matter to him – that he was just being 'emotional support' for Selim. Then he took a heavy breath. "And he can hear what you hear. I'm a fool."
"What?"
Will's heart thudded against his ribcage in a jolt of surprise.
"He's listening, isn't he?"
Oh. Oh, he hadn't – he hadn't signed up for this.
"I – yes, but –" Selim was a little lost for words. He'd expected, just like Will, a different response.
"I owe a double apology, then. I should have been watching my mouth anyway, but I see why you got so angry." There was frustration in King's voice – but it wasn't aimed at Selim. It was aimed at himself.
Will wished, suddenly, that he could talk to King to himself. But what on earth would he say? That he'd been called much worse than a degenerate before? That it mattered much more that King had affirmed that he loved him anyway, even not knowing that he was listening?
You can't afford to feel anything right now, he reminded himself. It wasn't safe. Whatever he was feeling, he'd feel it later.
"This isn't normal alchemy, though, is it?" King asked.
Selim shook his head. "It just kind of… happened." Then, to Will's irritation, he added, "Will's worried that you'll think he did it on purpose."
YOU ASSHOLE.
You are! And don't yell at me, I can tell you're kind of glad I said it.
That doesn't mean you – argh. Jerk.
King shook his head insistently. "I've given off a terrible impression. No, good lord, no. Will would never hurt you on purpose. Accidentally, perhaps. But anybody with a set of eyes can see how much he cares about you."
Now they were both flustered. Parents. Sometimes he was glad he didn't have any.
"What was the other night, then? Was…" King paused. "Was that one of Will's, um –"
He's not even supposed to know about that, Will said, feeling more and more vulnerable by the moment.
I mean, this is Dad. I just kind of assume he knows everything.
Except, somehow, that you're queer?
…Shut up.
Hey, you wanted me here.
"Um. Sort of, yeah. That part's new. I don't usually – I think it's been getting stronger. I'm not sure what we're gonna do about that, but…" Then Selim paused.
A split second later, Will realized what he was going to do. "Jesus christ, Selim, don't drag him into th-"
"Will's in trouble. I need your help."
"What kind of trouble?"
SELIM I AM GOING TO KILL YOU-
You have to survive first! And Selim continued on.
"He disobeyed orders, but he had – he was right. He saved a whole camp of people. And – and you would have been really proud of him, Dad. But the military arrested him for it, and now they have him in an asylum and I – I don't know what's going to happen to him."
Will sat up, ignoring how his head span. He was going to kill him. He was – jesus. He was fine. He was – okay, maybe fine was an exaggeration. But he didn't want King knowing about this. Solaris was going to show up, and clear this up, and he was going to be fine.
Will, you were asleep for almost 24 hours. Where is she?
He'd suspected it. He'd suspected, but he still hated Selim for saying it.
He couldn't break the connection, but he looked away. Selim could deal with King for now. He had one arm, was cuffed by the leg to a desk, and in an office instead of a real patient room. Either all Ward One rooms looked like this, or something was seriously wrong.
Alright. Step one. The room itself. It didn't look like a used office, which was… something, he guessed. There were filing cabinets lined against one wall, and the chair itself looked in decent enough condition. The desk he was half-underneath was severely battered, though, and – aha. Will bent himself over, trying to get a close look at the bolt. Sure enough, the bolts were secure, but the desk leg itself was cheap sheet iron, half-rusted and bent.
One window. That was a positive, although admittedly, Will didn't know how high up he was. The Central Hospital was a good seven stories tall, and he wasn't sure he could do a seven-storey jump. But three… maybe.
Alright. So where was his arm? He didn't think Holland would have destroyed it, although he wouldn't put it past some of the other homunculi. No, Holland – Pride, he reminded himself – was more calculating than that. It was a bargaining chip. And he wouldn't put it far away, either. Which of the filing cabinets were unlocked? Whichever ones don't have dusty locks, he resolved. There. The one on the end. Maybe it really did just have files in it – but in a room this clearly abandoned?
The only trouble was, he couldn't hear a thing from outside. Which didn't mean they couldn't hear anything from inside. It just meant he didn't know if anybody was coming.
Well, it was that or sit on the floor and give himself muscle problems for another whole day. He lay flat on his back, lifted his automail leg, and gave the desk leg a sharp, directed kick. It bent but didn't break; with a second kick, though, it snapped clean off from the floor, the cuffs slipping free of the end.
Will staggered to his feet, watching the door carefully as he struggled to regain his balance. It almost felt like a hangover, what he had – not like the usual effects he had from morphine at all. Then he made his way over to the filing cabinet –
Something silver and sharp hissed through the air, and he threw himself back from the cabinets, back slamming against the wall next to the desk. The blade pushed against his chest, and his breath halted in his throat, waiting for the cut – but it was dull, thudding against him with a blunt impact instead of the slice he'd expected.
"Nice try," came the low voice, and Pride stepped out from the piece of the wall next to the window that he'd been camouflaged against.
Son of a bitch. He'd assumed he was alone in the room. Will looked down at the blade. It was a scythe, he realized – the inner edge was sharp, glinting in the light, and Pride was holding the handle with a deceptively loose grip. "A little dramatic, don't you think?"
He shrugged, and then with a wave of his hand, the scythe disappeared into shadow, disappearing back into the tattoos on his arm that shifted and danced in hues of red. It was a neat trick, Will had to admit. "Maybe a bit. But swords are a little too rigid for my liking, and I never got used to firearms."
Will tried to tell himself that he could move, now – that the blade was gone – but before he could get his body to cooperate, Pride had grabbed him by the collar and pushed him down into the chair. Another set of cuffs clicked around his wrist and the chair's arm, and the ones he'd just gotten free of the desk clicked around the chair's looped leg as well. "That should keep you from trying anything else, at least for now."
"Isn't it bad enough that you drugged me?"
Pride looked up at Will in surprise from where he was fastening the leg cuff, then glanced away, hiding a smile. "…I didn't drug you."
"What?"
"Or, well, I suppose it counts."
"What did you give me?"
"A fifth of vodka. You downed it before you realized it was alcohol. Which, by the way, is an accomplishment."
Will opened his mouth to complain, or disagree, or something, then felt his face turn red. It didn't help that Pride looked ready to laugh at him – or that this absolutely felt like something Dr. Holland would do. It was hard, looking at the face of a stranger and still recognizing that really, he and Pride had known each other for a long time.
Pride stood up, dusting off his knees. "If you're asking me why you were asleep for so long, it's because you'd been awake for about three straight days, on a horrifying amount of drugs, and spinning out. You needed the sleep."
"Oh, what, you care now?"
He couldn't interpret the look Pride gave him at that. Instead, the older man crossed his arms and leant back against the filing cabinets. "…Care to tell me what possessed you?"
"Absolutely fucking not."
"Suit yourself."
"Where am I?"
"Central Hospital, Ward One."
"In an abandoned office?"
Pride grimaced a little at that. "…More or less."
"Why?"
"I could lie to you, but why waste everybody's time?"
Will jerked against the cuffs, seething and wondering what would happen if he could get his hands around Pride's throat. "You didn't have a problem before!"
"Things changed."
"You kidnapped my fucking brother-"
"You really are kind of one-note, aren't you?"
"Suck my dick."
Pride looked down, but Will still caught the amused smile on his face. He hated it. He was being laughed at, and he didn't understand why.
Okay. Take a breath. Pride was pushing his buttons – but he was avoiding his questions. He was in the hospital – maybe – but he wasn't in a patient room. And in all this time, Solaris hadn't shown up. Nobody had shown up. No nurses. No officials. Nobody he knew.
"Kimbley works for you, huh?"
"Oh, gross. N- well, sort of, I suppose. But it certainly wasn't my decision."
Well, that was interesting. Until now, Will had assumed that Pride was either in charge or at least fairly high up in whatever cult he was in. He'd certainly given that impression. But he wasn't calling the shots. Which – he mused with a bitter taste in his mouth – posed the terrifying question of who could possibly be ordering him around. "Good to know. But if I'm in here, then I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the military has no idea where I am."
"Great detective work. Do you want a prize?"
"I mean, if you really want me to believe they treat patients like this-"
Pride looked a little pained at that. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but trust me. This is the better option."
"Than what, my CO knowing where I am? And – no, you jackass, I don't trust you! You're the enemy!"
"Yep."
Will scoffed, hanging his head in what probably looked to Pride like defeat. That was the great thing about long hair. It meant they couldn't see your face when you were thinking. Whoever Pride was working for was taking the opportunity to secret him away for reasons unknown. And Kimbley – oh, bloody hell. Kimbley's little jab about sides. He was probably playing them against each other.
The big question, though, was what they actually wanted with him. Will couldn't understand what Pride could possibly do to him in an abandoned office. A torture cell, sure, or an alchemy lab like Lab 5. That he could wrap his head around. But even then… there was nothing he knew that was of worth to Pride, and he certainly wasn't the only alchemist around. The only thing he could think was that he had to be killed for knowing too much. And…
And, he admitted, Pride had had a thousand opportunities to do so. That was what was bugging him. If Pride wanted him dead, really wanted him dead, it would have happened a long time ago.
He looked up at Pride through the curtain of purple hair he'd pulled down over himself. "…Who are you?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm going to give up all the information you w-"
"That's not what I mean." Will narrowed his eyes at Pride. "You have my face."
"It's not yours," came the immediate, snapped reply – and then Pride closed his mouth, teeth gritting behind his lips.
"Is that really what you look like?"
"It was. Long time ago."
Will wasn't sure what that meant in numbers, but he knew enough about the myths around homunculi to know that it could mean a colossal amount of years. Certainly the ease with which Pride slipped between old man and teenager gave away plenty. But it was all the more disturbing that the shape Pride sat in the most comfortably – the one that he almost seemed to default to, when he wasn't playing a role – was maybe a year or two older than him. And Pride was right; it wasn't his face. Will was all angles, always had been. Pride was a little less jagged, a little more muscle instead of tendon and bone. His hair was straight where Will's was wavy, and even the hue of gold was different. But it was enough. Enough to know that, no matter how much Pride spat about it, they were related.
There. He'd acknowledged it. The implications – especially considering his deadbeat father – were a whole other headache.
"What's gonna happen to me?"
"We'll see."
A lump rose in Will's throat again, and he jerked at the cuffs again, straining towards Pride. "Tell me!"
Pride threw himself forward, hand over Will's mouth. "Lower your voice, for god's sake."
Will tried to bite Pride's hand, but he couldn't get any purchase.
"Has it not sunk in, at all, what kind of position you're in? Shut your fucking trap, you imbecile, stay quiet, and behave until the trial's over."
Will managed to jerk himself free. "Trial?"
"The less you know the better."
"What is this about?"
Pride covered his mouth again. "Will," he said again, and he could almost pretend that it was the man he thought he knew, the therapist who'd actually helped him – "do not attract Mustang's attention. Don't. He'll have you raped and killed just to prove a point."
Will let out a horrified breath. He couldn't convince himself Pride wasn't lying to scare him – especially since the Fuhrer was human, and Pride wasn't. But… But Forcett was still heavy on his mind.
"I have to go." Then, to Will's horror, Pride pulled out a rope, and tied it around his mouth. "…Just. Just stay quiet."
Quiet? He was supposed to stay quiet? But with the rope gag in place, he didn't have a choice. He just watched Pride disappear out of the window – and immediately started working on a new escape plan. If Pride thought he was going to believe him just like that, then Will wasn't the only crazy one here.
