Some more fun with Kimbley here, and back to the Diana and Jareth side of things. I have done… a ridiculous amount of research on court martials, and I'll be fudging a certain amount of it because Amestris is a mash between several countries, but in short, they work the same as a regular trial except that the military are the prosecution.
Song is another of those recorded by like five hundred people, but the version I know and love is by Nightwish.
TW: Structural/legal homophobia, violence, overstimulation, manipulation,
~41~
They marched him to the station house,
he waited till the dawn.
And as they led him to the dock,
he knew that he'd been wronged.
He knew that it would cost him dear,
but yet he dare not say.
Just where he'd been that fateful night,
a secret it must stay
-Over the Hills and Far Away
If it had been any other day, Diana would have kept her cool. It was five o' clock in the morning, she was out of options, and she was staring into the cup of coffee she'd picked up from the sullen cafeteria worker, waiting for the others to show up. She'd done her best to prepare them, but there wasn't much she could do. And still no word on Will…
Any other day. She refused to feel bad.
"Why, Diana, you look –"
She'd been spared actually hearing from him until now. And in silent, determined rage, she put down her mug of coffee, spun on her heel, and drove her fist into Kimbley's stomach. With an audience of – this early in the morning? Maybe ten, twenty people. Still probably too many, but she could not care less.
"Sorry, what was that, Zolf?"
He coughed, trying to catch his breath. "…Never mind, I suppose. I see you're still angry."
"What gave you that impression?" she replied, voice dripping acid.
Kimbley laughed, although it didn't quite hide the wince as he straightened up. "I'm starting to think people around here have long memories."
"Nobody likes traitors."
"Traitor? That's such a strong word, Di-" He'd done one of those ridiculous sweeping hand gestures again, and she grabbed his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers with such force that she was suddenly aware of the fact that she could, if she wanted to. She was a head taller than him. She was stronger. She hadn't been rotting away in a jail cell for half a decade.
"Where's. Will." She asked it so coldly that for a moment, she felt like Spark again, younger, stronger, with a Red Stone burning a hole in her pocket. And Kimbley could feel it too – the little flicker of apprehension in his eyes gave it away. Asshole. Maybe he'd been the big shot in the prison yard. In their unit, he'd been the runt compared to her, Jareth and Isaac. A prettyboy who took care of his hands and didn't like getting dirty. Jareth had mussied him up a bit, but some of that affected nature was still there, still –
His eyes set, fear moving away somewhere she couldn't see. "If you'll unhand me, I'll be happy to regale you with stories of our little trip, but I'm afraid I can't tell you about anything past the Central Hospital doors."
"Classified."
"No, Diana, I left."
"That's Colonel Solaris to you."
"Alright, Colonel. Now if you'd be so kind as to not permanently maim me?"
Diana let go of his hand with a growl. "Don't be dramatic."
He straightened his uniform, clearing his throat. "I would never."
She hated that she almost wanted to laugh at that. There had been a time in her life when she'd nearly missed him; the same way she missed the others. You got used to it, eventually. You put people in the same black hole as the rest of the war. But usually they didn't come back.
She glanced around. The onlookers, smartly, glanced away the moment they saw she was noticing them – all except the lunch ladies, who were glaring at Kimbley with just as much hatred as her. Then, exhaustion catching up to her, she sat down, retrieved her cup of coffee and did her best to think about anything but what was coming.
"…Your protégé is quite something."
She glared at Zolf again, who was standing in front of her – too smart to sit down, too stupid to make himself scarce. Although he had promised to tell her about Will, she supposed. "Mmhm."
"I'll stay quiet on the details of what he's in trouble for – not my place –" (bullshit, Diana thought; Zolf made everything his place, which meant he simply didn't feel like telling her) "-but I will say that he's made quite the impression on me. Also, on my nose," Kimbley added ruefully.
"Your nose?"
"He dislocated it. With his forehead, too. I don't suppose you taught him that."
She hid a smile behind the coffee cup. She would have loved to take credit, but no, she hadn't taught Will a damn thing when it came to combat. "You had it coming."
"Of course you would say that," he grumbled – then took a sudden, careful step back when he returned his gaze to her.
She tried not to laugh, but the grin showed up anyway. A little sadistic, perhaps, but she'd earned it. "I see you've remembered to be scared of me."
"Sometimes fear is a completely reasonable response. For example, minutes after having my fingers nearly crushed. I doubt any true philosopher would call that cowardice, unless they're operating on a playbook that went out of fashion with the cavemen."
…She hated this. She hated that she had missed him. He was such a fucking prick. And here, now, the most vulnerable she'd ever felt, it was so easy to try and pretend that he was still just Lotus, the odd duck who was disconcerting at worst, but really no worse than the rest of them.
Kimbley was watching her, she realized. She couldn't make herself care. Let him read whatever he wanted from her face. "…As far I'm concerned, he'll be quite fine. If he doesn't irritate one of the nurses into shooting him full of opium."
"That's not funny."
"It would be if you'd been in my position."
She didn't respond. So Will had been fine right up to reaching the hospital – if Kimbley was telling the truth. It was only after that he'd disappeared. And it was probably too much to hope that he'd escaped; for one, he'd probably have left a bigger mess. Subtlety wasn't really his strong point.
"I never took you or Jareth for the mentor type."
And there it was. Diana had known it was coming. Seven years out of Ishval, seven since she'd seen Kimbley, and here he was, and she had almost been able to pretend. But the moment he mentioned Jareth-
"Get away from me."
"C-"
"Kimbley," Diana continued before he could get a word in, "if I decided to burn you to a crisp here and now, I am positive that every person currently in this cafeteria would back me up in saying that it was provoked. Leave. Now."
He seemed ready to say something else. But then, he took a deep breath, gave her a lazy salute, and departed. It was a shame. She'd kind of wanted the excuse.
Somebody cleared his throat behind her, and she turned, looking across the table. Seated on the opposite bench was Breda, who gave her a half-hearted smile. "I didn't think interrupting was a good idea."
"Oh, lovely. So I had even more of an audience than I thought."
"If it's any consolation-"
"Don't," she snapped. "I don't want to hear the word consolation right now." Then she caught Breda's face, sighed, and made herself take a deep breath. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I get it."
She leaned her face on her hand, giving up on looking like a proper Colonel for now. There'd be plenty of that during the trial. Breda and the others had already badgered her out of being drunk at work, helped her with paperwork for killing a homunculus, and stayed patient with everything Will had pulled over the years. Now they were getting dragged into this. "…Do I have to worry about any of you?" she asked quietly. She couldn't say it out loud, but she knew Breda would catch the meaning. Who is and isn't queer? Who's vulnerable right now?
Breda chewed thoughtfully on his cheek. "Miraculously, I think most of us at the office are alright. Although I don't know everything, obviously."
"Me neither."
"See, that shocks me."
"Not everything is my business, Breda."
He smirked a little at that – but then the smirk faded a little. "I… will say, uh –"
"What is it?"
"Havoc didn't come in today. I saw him yesterday, and he didn't look good."
"Havoc?" Havoc was as straight as they came. If anything he was probably just anxious about the trial in general. Although –
She stared into the half-drunk cup of coffee. The whole point was to come off as straight. She and Jareth had never been very good at that. And besides, any woman as tough as her was going to get accusations of being a lesbian eventually; there wasn't much point in trying too hard to forestall that. But, well, here they were. There were consequences to that.
"Anybody else?"
"Maria Ross. I think you knew that one."
"…I'd suspected. Thank you."
"Armstrong-"
"Sorry, wait, which one?"
Breda blinked in surprise. "The Major. Why?"
Sander? She bit her tongue to stop from cussing. Her point was just being proven. She wasn't surprised, not really, and there was every chance Jareth had known about him – although she couldn't imagine that coupling having taken place – and just never mentioned it. Although woe betide the poor fool who clued in Phillip Armstrong that almost half of his children were bent. "No reason. Christ, and the Major's serving under Archer now, isn't he?"
"Same as Ross."
"Splendid. This is shaping up brilliantly," she snarled.
Breda just sat quietly, staying calm – for her, she realized. He was good at that. It surprised her, in a way, that he was taking all of this so well. The straight men in the army weren't always the best about realizing who they were surrounded by; it varied depending where you were, but she hoped Breda himself was safe. Hah. 'Safe'. Like being queer was an infectious disease now. Not for the first time, she wondered how much trouble she could save herself with a bullet in her brain –
-but too many people needed her. And there was still that shred of hope that maybe it would all work out.
"I hate to state the obvious, Solaris," Breda said, voice low, "but they are going to find Will eventually. And-"
"Yes, I know," she sighed. "But they can't punish him for anything more than not wearing the uniform, and maybe a smack on the wrist for mild indecency. I checked."
He seemingly couldn't help himself a small smile. "…How long ago did you check?"
"The moment he walked into my office with a skirt on. Do I look stupid to you, Breda?"
"So he hasn't…"
"Not to my knowledge. And in this case, it is my business." Breda nodded, but he didn't look convinced – and Diana felt a prickle crawl up her spine. "Do you know something I don't?"
"I don't think so. But Fuery and I were talking last night, and…" Breda exhaled, glancing around again. The cafeteria was big, and a difficult room to bug as it was; but there was a reason they'd been so careful about what they said out loud. "We've both been noticing."
"Noticing. That's far too vague."
Breda shifted uncomfortably. "The Lieutenant hasn't spent any time with Will, has he?"
It took a moment for Diana to click to the euphemism – then she stared at Breda in horror. "No! He's a child!"
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure, Breda. What-" She started to catch up, and rubbed her forehead. She'd noticed Will's crush on Jareth a little while ago, just before Alex had gone missing. It had probably been developing for a long time, and it was harmless, just… one of those things. But Will had no poker face. None. Breda was asking because Breda needed to know if anything had actually happened. A crush couldn't be litigated. A relationship could.
The problem was, if Will had been that obvious, the second was easy enough to invent. And who didn't love a good story about young boys led astray into depravity?
"The puppy dog eyes, right?" she asked, to be sure. Breda nodded. "Yeah, that's – just one direction. Don't worry."
"That's what I thought, but it's good to check."
"You really thought he would?"
"I mean…" Breda shrugged a little helplessly. "I wouldn't, but he's been a soldier since he was twelve. I don't know how mad I'd be."
That was a fair point. It was just concerning to think about. She'd stubbornly had Will as counterintuitively virginal in her head, and that was probably true given how uncomfortable he got when sex actually came up, but there was every chance it wasn't. And would he have trusted her enough to talk to her about it?
She was giving herself a headache.
"The others will be here soon. I promise. You're not alone in this."
"I know," she shot back dismissively, but she was thankful regardless. Mustang's words kept bouncing around in her head like the echoes of gunshots. His threats against Will. The insistence that Jareth was doomed, no matter what. And the promise, so tempting, so tainted, of power.
Jareth hadn't been there for Kimbley's court martial, but he'd followed it regardless, right up to the bitter end. Four executions, one life imprisonment. As a result, his memory for the procedure was – rather than consigned to the dumpster where so much of his academy training had ended up – rather closer at hand. Even six, seven years hadn't quite banished it.
So he knew how this was supposed to work. He'd get a lawyer assigned to him from the Service Justice System, and they'd defend him in the actual court. His job was to work with his lawyer, keep his trap shut, and hope things worked out in his favour. The Judge Advocate General would be the one presiding – he'd guessed that even before the official paperwork had confirmed it – not just because he was an officer, but also because he was ex-Black Ops and National Defense. He'd have killed to be a regular-ass Sergeant in West City right about now. And it would almost be a comfort that both his defense lawyer and the Judge Advocate General were civilians, if they weren't also appointed by the Fuhrer or his direct cabinet.
Jareth leant back in the chair, tilting it on the back two legs, waiting for the guy to show up. The trial was supposed to start in half an hour. Today would be… fine, probably. It was just the process of declaring the charges and officially beginning the process.
Fine was an exaggeration.
Where was he?
You're not getting one, offered the bleak voice in his head. They're just going to declare you guilty, have you killed, and leave it at that.
Nah. The Fuhrer's credibility depended on at least a kangaroo court.
Settle down. He's probably not even behind this. Archer had pretty much confirmed that this about Lust and the homunculi. Just… he couldn't also help but wonder if anybody else was concerned that anybody who could tell the truth about Ishval was dropping like flies. Martel, Dorochet, Law and Bido had been executed years ago; Zolf had avoided that fate only by throwing the other four under the bus; Isaac had been shot point-blank after a failed attack on behalf of the Eastern Liberation Front. He, Zolf and Diana were the only Black Ops members left.
The door opened. Jareth pulled the chair back down onto all four legs – and stared at his defense lawyer.
"Lieutenant Jareth Valjean?" she asked in a voice slightly deeper than he'd expected, but still lighter than her size would have had you believe. She didn't tower over him – but she was easily an inch or two taller, which was a feat from anybody, let alone a woman. And Jareth was used to tall, skinny women. She was built like a wrestler, square-chinned and bulging.
"Yeah, that's me. Uh. You're an Armstrong, huh?"
She glared at him, then sat down in the chair across from him. "Amue Armstrong, barrister. Stop staring."
"Sorry, ma'am. I'm friends with your brother."
She visibly relaxed a little at that. "Don't think it'll get you special treatment. We've got thirty-two minutes before we're required to appear. How quickly can you get me up to speed?"
"…I'm gonna need more than thirty-two minutes."
"Summarize, then."
"Uh. I mean, I didn't kill Maes Hughes. That's the big one."
"Mmhm. And yet, here you are. Why do you think that is?"
"I fought… something. Below Central. H- it attacked me, first, and was clearly a threat to national security. There's a proper report on it and everything, but my unit's still working on finding more information about it. The timing is interesting. Also, I'm ex-Black Ops, and-" His mouth dried up a little. "Well, that seems like a possible motive, is all."
"Motive for framing you? Is that what you suspect?"
"Yeah."
Amue nodded, taking notes. "Lieutenant Valjean, if you want any chance at proper representation, you'll have to be completely honest with me. So forgive my impoliteness here."
He knew where this was going. Thank god for his glasses.
"Do you identify yourself as homosexual?"
God. He wanted to lie. He glanced around the room, wondering if it was bugged – but it wasn't particularly a secret, was it? The issue wasn't whether it was true, it was proving it.
"If you're looking for wires, by the way, I have it on good authority that they haven't bothered."
"Good authority?" he echoed.
Amue shrugged. "Being an Armstrong has its benefits."
So much for the unbiased civilian, he supposed. But as far as the rich families went, the Armstrongs were pretty decent. Well, either Amue was on his side, or she wasn't. "…Yes. Bisexual, to be specific. I don't have a preference."
"That helps to know. I suspect at least some of the prosecution's plan is discrediting your relationships with women."
He couldn't help the snort at that. He'd seen that play before. "Yeah, that won't work."
"Bisexuality is, unfortunately, still illegal. The Wilde Act's fairly clear in forbidding acts between men, no matter their actual identity."
"Yeah, I figured. Worth a shot."
Amue finished taking her notes. Then she looked them over, face serious. It was hard to imagine her as Sander's older sister – she reminded Jareth more of Olivier, to be honest. At least she looked like Sander, as unfortunate as that had probably been for her marriage prospects. "…I'll get this out of the way now. It's true that the Wilde Act hasn't been enforced. But I did my research. When the Wilde Act has been enforced, it has never successfully been challenged. It's the actual penalties that vary. Usually, the COs in question are happy to just discharge an officer or throw him in jail for a few months – nothing serious. And usually, it's not paired with a murder charge."
"So you're saying I'm in trouble."
"I'm saying cutting a deal might be a good idea."
"I didn't kill him."
"I'm aware of that. But-"
"But nothing," Jareth shot back. "If I take a deal, Maes's actual killer goes free. And everybody I know goes back into the closet, too scared to even talk to each other about it."
That last part clearly took Amue by surprise. She looked away from him for a moment, and Jareth wondered how much she knew about her own family. Both her oldest and her youngest siblings were directly threatened by the Wilde Act – and even civilians were affected by it, with different penalties. You couldn't assume from looks, really, but a big lady like her certainly courted her own assumptions. "You're worried about what it'll do to morale."
"Morale is a dumb word, but sure."
She actually did smile at that one. "To be clear, are you challenging me to take on the Wilde Act itself?"
"If it comes up. I mean, why not, right?"
"I have a very long list of reasons, beginning with the firing squad you're risking."
"…I mean. I've survived worse."
"Than twenty rifle shots to the chest?"
"Maybe not a lot worse."
Amue really was warming up to him now. Maybe he did have a bat's chance in hell. "…Alright. We've got fifteen minutes left. Here's the list of witnesses being called." She pulled out the piece of paper and slid it over to him. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you how many of these people you've had relations with."
Jareth wrestled down the sick feeling in his stomach. He'd known what this was going to turn into the second the words had left Archer's mouth. Just – god. His personal life wasn't anybody's business, and all he wanted was Maes here to tell them off for being fucking nosy sneaks –
-but if Maes was here, there wouldn't be a problem.
Amue was watching him carefully. "I know this is difficult. He was clearly important to you."
"You have no idea."
"Were-"
"No. And you don't get to ask that."
She hesitated, then nodded. She would bring it up again later, he knew – but not now. He looked at the list.
COLONEL D. SOLARIS, NATIONAL DEFENSE
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL Z.J. KIMBLEY, SPECIAL FORCES
MAJOR A.L. ARMSTRONG, INVESTIGATIONS
MAJOR W. P. ELRIC, NATIONAL DEFENSE
SECOND LIEUTENANT H. J. BREDA, NATIONAL DEFENSE
SECOND LIEUTENANT J. HAVOC, NATIONAL DEFENSE
SECOND LIEUTENANT M. ROSS, INFANTRY
SERGEANT ERIK CHAMOND, INFANTRY
CORPORAL J. A. DAVIDSON, INFANTRY
PRIVATE SHESKA THOMAS, ARCHIVE & CIRCULATION SUPPORT STAFF
…And now he was just worried Amue was going to think he was a manwhore. He was, a bit.
"Solaris and Private Thomas," he said finally.
"Those are both women."
"I'm not outing anybody to you until you've proven you're not going to hang me out to dry," he replied.
"…That's fair enough. May I at least get an approximation?"
Fine. "One or two." That was, strictly speaking, accurate. And Kimbley likely didn't give a whit about being outed at this point. It was Havoc he was concerned about. This way he could always keep Havoc out of it, if he had to.
"Good enough." Then she stood up. "Don't speak when we're in the court. Sit up straight, don't slouch. And don't embarrass me."
He thought – he hoped – he could manage that.
Alex had expected Central to be less overwhelming in a real body, but when he stepped off the train and into the station, it was so, so much louder than he'd remembered. Louder, and busier, and people kept knocking into him, passing so close by him –
"Train 3 departing for South City in ten minutes-"
"-did you see what she wore at her debut? Awful-"
"-I dinnae ken a damn thing aboot it and ye'll stop askin'-"
-the train horn cut through it all and he tried to cover his ears, suddenly overwhelmed-
"Get up before she sees," came the hiss in his ear, then an arm pulling him up, He couldn't get his hands off his ears, and so he found himself unceremoniously shoved away from the station until finally, they were in a calmer nook, filled with unclaimed cargo.
Sloth gave him a skeptical look. "What are you doing? I can get my clones to carry the rest of the baggage, but you can't do that in the middle of a train station, you dumbass."
"I… sorry," he mumbled. He'd never felt like that before. He still felt shaky, exhausted – like he'd run a marathon instead of simply getting off a train. And, to his horror, he was on the edge of tears, too.
Sloth looked ready to say something else cutting, then sighed, sitting down on one of the abandoned suitcases and tugging on his shorts to get him to sit down as well. "…It'll pass."
"What?"
"I keep forgetting you're new," she grumbled. "We – we've got better senses than humans do. After a little, we can mess around with the intensity a bit so we don't get overwhelmed like that. But you haven't gotten there yet."
"I'm not the same as you."
"No," she admitted. "You might not be able to change it. That, and I was just some bratty kid. You were cut off from your senses entirely for a while."
So she had been a kid. Alex wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure he'd like the answer. Sloth caught the look on his face, though, and she snorted. "Don't look so concerned. It was still my choice."
"Did… everybody choose it?"
"Um. Mostly? Sort of?" Sloth rubbed the back of her head. "I'll be honest, I don't know. I know Envy's different anyway, and Pride doesn't tell me anything."
"That's because you're a blabbermouth."
"Pride!" Sloth squealed happily, leaping up from the suitcase and jumping into Pride's arms. He rolled his eyes, but gave her a hug anyway, a little smile on his face.
Alex stayed seated, looking at Pride curiously. He was still getting used to seeing things he'd seen before with new eyes. He knew what Pride looked like. But he missed so much as a doll. Pride smelled sweaty, like he'd been running, or fighting; and there was a slight edge to the way he moved. Tension, like a violin string. Plus, there was still the golden hair and eyes. He couldn't pretend he didn't notice.
It took him a moment to realize that Pride was looking at him, too – and he started to attention. "I didn't think you were meeting us here."
"I wasn't, but there's been some developments."
"Developments?" Sloth echoed.
"Uh." Pride pinched the bridge of his nose. "Long and short of it, I'm gonna kill Greed myself one of these days."
"Please don't. She'll be so mad."
"She should thank me. He's a pain in the neck bureaucrat who's making unnecessary trouble because he's glory-seeking."
"Who's Greed?" Alex asked, and Pride stiffened slightly – just confirming that things were worse than he was even saying.
"You haven't met him. Hopefully, you won't for a long time." Pride grabbed Alex by the arm, and shoved both him and Sloth along, then grabbed both of their arms as he practically marched them out of the station. He shifted before they hit the crowds, and Alex found his arm linked with a young tallow-haired soldier. "I like the body, by the way. Design it yourself?"
"Oh. Y-yeah."
"Suits you. The outfit could do with being a little less conspicuous, though."
"Don't look at me!" Sloth complained. "I don't know what modern fashion is."
Pride just rolled his eyes. He still seemed… stressed. The Pride he'd met before had been – if not relaxed, at least able to fake it. Alex kept his eyes open, wondering what could possibly have 'developed'.
Then, suddenly – Pride turned them into a wall. Alex pulled up his arm –
-to no impact. He opened his eyes. Instead of brick, he was staring down a set of stairs, and Pride was pulling the doors closed behind them.
"Al's escorting Dante the rest of the way. Winry, you've got clones with him, right?"
"Yes. Don't call me that."
"Sorry. Slip of the tongue."
…Now that was interesting. He'd thought Pride and Envy were the only one with names for each other. Although the name 'Winry' kept sticking in his memory, like he was supposed to know it. But now they were out of the crowds, and before Pride could march them down the stairs, he stood firm.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," Pride replied breezily, or what would have been breezily if his tattoos weren't coiling angrily on his arms.
Now Sloth was looking at Pride strangely. "Edward," she said dangerously, "what is wrong?"
"I told you. Greed is wrong," he scowled.
"What'd he do?"
"Look, I-" Pride looked more than a little helpless. "I really can't get into it right this second. I only managed to get away because it's the first day."
"First day? Of what?"
"The trial." He tried to gesture them down the stairs –
Alex whirled on him. "Who's on trial, Pride?"
"It isn't your brother, and therefore, you don't have to worry. It's just one of the idiots who killed Lust."
Alex's spine was prickling. "Then why won't you tell me?"
"Because you are the official baby. Please just go."
Sloth rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm going. I miss my bedroom here." She poofed away, clearly preferring to avoid the steps – which did look a little treacherous.
Alex crossed his arms, staring Pride down. He was well aware that Pride probably could hurt him really badly if he wanted to – but he wasn't made of wood anymore. He had a lot less to worry about. "It's one of my friends, isn't it?"
"One of your old friends," Pride sighed, admitting it. He dragged a hand down his face. "Alex, you left these people behind. Loudly. This really isn't the time to suddenly decide you're still loyal to them."
"I – I'm not."
"Good. Because that'd be unfortunate. Got it?"
Pride's voice sounded exhausted – but the words were clearly a threat. Alex tried to make himself let it go, but his stomach still quailed. "…Is it Hughes?"
And Pride's hands stopped dead. He stared at Alex, then let out a barely-restrained curse. "Great. Great. You leave, and everything happens, and I'm stuck dealing with it."
"But –"
Pride took a deep breath. Then he put his hands on Alex's shoulders, in what would have almost been a comforting gesture if he couldn't feel the weight of it. "Lieutenant Jareth Valjean is currently on trial for the murder of Maes Hughes. I am… really, really sorry. And now you understand why you are going underground, and staying there, okay?"
"What? But he wouldn't – I – that's not –"
"Alex." Pride's voice had dropped down low. "Let me handle it."
He was starting to worry about what it looked like when Pride handled things. But there was something intense in Pride's eyes, something that just… reminded him so much of Will. They looked so similar that he couldn't help it. And he'd said something about Greed. "…Okay," he whispered. Then he started down the stairs, nausea building in his stomach. That was one thing he hadn't missed.
You can trust Pride, he told himself.
…He wasn't sure that was enough.
