Linguistic notes! I love writing the Gate but it is a weird thing.
(ااو)* is the 3rd person singular pronoun in literary Persian, transliterated as 'u'. τεκνωματα means 'children' in Ancient Greek – the more common translation is 'τεκνον'/'τεκνα' but τεκνωμα/τεκνωματα is a more metaphorical version. Transliterated, it's 'teknōmata'. 'o' is the Turkish third person pronoun, and あの人 is 'anohito', Japanese, formal-ish version of third person singular pronoun. Αυτο is – you guessed it – third person neutral pronoun! 'fragmen' means fragment, 'mundus' means world, and κοσμος means universe, although they're being used in specific ways here that will be talked about more later. Also, I think this is my record for the most languages used at once. Whoof.
*Elliott, why is the Persian in brackets? Because Persian is written right to left and personally hates me and keeps trying to destroy my formatting, that's why. Just. Just go with it.
While the TWs as usual include this, I am going to make clear that 'transvestite' in particular is very much an Out Of Date word. Don't use this on anybody unless they've specifically indicated they're fine with it! The reason it's used here is because, as I've said a few times, the term 'transgender' genuinely doesn't exist yet – and I'm enjoying writing a clear trans narrative without using it, actually – but transvestite predates it and was used more for drag queens and such. Even Marsha P. Johnson identified herself as a transvestite at first, despite famously being a trans woman.
TW: homophobia and transphobia discussed (incl. homophobic murder), manipulation, parental abandonment, fat joke (very much a cheerful one, but still), sanism+ transmisogyny Special Combo, media bullshit
~46~
Counting down the minutes 'til my heartbeat stops
Fooling myself is a full-time job
-Pop Culture
SEVERIN: Thank you so much for coming in for this interview, even anonymously. Do you feel comfortable sharing a little about yourself?
"DUCHESS": Absolutely. I mean, good luck findin' me. I'm a sex worker and transvestite, and I'm in my mid-20s.
SEVERIN: Can you define those for our readers?
"DUCHESS": *laughs* I mean, sure. I screw people for money, and I'm a boy who likes wearing dresses. Ain't complicated.
SEVERIN: Oh goodness. And do you identify as a homosexual?
"DUCHESS": Well aye, sure, but that's the thing, Clara, duckie. That's a word you use. Upper class twits – er, not you, sorry. But it's all fancy-shmancy and tryin' to prove how much better you are. I mean, how'd you like it if I asked if you identified as a heterosexual?
SEVERIN: Point taken. What do you call yourself, then?
"DUCHESS": Beyond transvestite? Mostly just queer, y'know. It's a nice all-purpose word. And it sounds nicer than bent.
SEVERIN: What about gay?
"DUCHESS": That works too, la, but it gets a little ambiguous. Twenty years ago it meant happy. I mean, I'm that too, but sometimes I'm tryin' to be clear.
SEVERIN: I see, I see. And what about the crossdressing?
"DUCHESS": Mostly it's just fun. Why do gals get all the fun? Have you seen how awful men's fashion is?
SEVERIN: That's… that's a good point. I guess I just never thought of it that way. Many people say it's a sign of moral decay – queerness and crossdressing. Never mind sex work.
"DUCHESS": Tell you f- what. If a single one of those meffs can actually 'splain me how I'm harmin' the fabric of society by lookin' better in a dress than their gals, I'll hang it up overnight. But they'd have to stop ogling my arse first.
SEVERIN: My, you are spirited!
"DUCHESS": Serious answer, though. Since you'll be wanting one. Everybody wants to point the finger at somebody or other, don't they? I mean, lookit this trial. Isn't it awfully loud? Meanwhile, ain't nobody talking about what's happening in Forcett, or at the Cretan border.
SEVERIN: …What do you mean?
"DUCHESS": Exactly my point. Even the newslady don't know, because they've got ye coverin' this tripe. [Sections of this interview have been removed by the head editor.]
SEVERIN: So you don't think Valjean did it.
"DUCHESS": Didn't say that.
SEVERIN: Really?
"DUCHESS": Well, here's the thing nobody's sayin'. Sure, this whole trial's trying to prove he's too good to have killed this upstanding family man. But upstanding family men kill us all the time. I don't know if he did it. But if he did, I'll bet real money the gun was pulled on him first.
SEVERIN: That's a sobering thought. It seems so unlikely.
"DUCHESS": If you're learning anything from covering this trial, Clara love, it should be how much people hate us.
He wasn't always sure who he was. It wasn't always a bad thing; sometimes the ability to switch faces and names was a good thing. Most of the time.
If he'd been a worse person.
Edward raised his hand to knock at the locked door, then decided against it for the third time. Instead, he slid his hands back into his pockets, and tried to decide who he was going to be today. Not Dr. Holland – he'd left the trial after hearing about Havoc, unable to put up with any more of Mustang's smug smiles, and he couldn't stand dealing with Will today either. So he'd kicked around in the library, and then come down here, only to find that Greed had wrecked things this morning and not bothered to tell him. To be fair, it wasn't like he didn't have plenty on his mind. That was probably why Envy and Sloth hadn't grabbed him. The last thing he needed to do was get into a shouting match with his mother that was going to end badly for everyone.
"I don't think you're who he wants to see right now," Al mumbled, sitting on the ground.
"Oh, and he's going to be any happier with you?"
"He's not."
Ed bit his tongue. He should have known that from the look on Al's face. Al did a great job of convincing everybody else he was practically emotionless, nearly as sadistic as Sloth. But Ed knew him better than that. It was obvious, if you bothered to pay attention. He was curled up against the wall, face somber, looking a little like he'd been the one getting kicked around. Actually, knowing Mustang, that wasn't an impossibility, either. "What happened?"
"Hughes broke out." Al couldn't keep the accusatory note out of his voice. "Greed showed up in time to stop him, but Alex saw the whole thing. He freaked out pretty bad, so Dante locked him in here. No idea what she said."
"Was she alone with him-?"
"No, Sloth stayed in there."
Ed exhaled in relief. There was that, at least. Although at this point, it seemed like a small mercy. "…So I guess the game's up."
"It was up a while ago, Ed. And now getting him to do anything is going to be impossible."
"There are ways-" He cut himself off at Al's reproachful look. "What, I'm supposed to be nicer to him than the rest of us?"
"We need him, Ed. We need him on our side."
They did. And – god. Neither of them were going to say it, not out loud, but the lie weighed on them. It certainly weighed on him, at least. He hadn't actually thought Alex was going to believe it for so long, not so entirely, but he'd forgotten just how fucking persuasive Dante was, and how young Alex was. It'd been a long time since he was fourteen.
"I see you've showed up to clean up your mess finally."
"Oh, great. You too?"
Hawkeye strode up to him in the hallway. No punch this time. That was almost worse. "For somebody with a lot of great words about standards, Pride, you're quite the hypocrite," she said lowly.
"So now you care?"
"He's our family now. Do you need a reminder about who is and isn't your family? Edward?"
"Watch your mouth, Wrath," he snapped. "It's not like he was happy before-"
"And he's happy now? You told him we were toppling the military. I know you hate Mustang, but this is insane."
"I never explicitly…" he tried weakly. "A little help, Envy?"
"Oh, don't worry, you're both in trouble."
Edward sighed, giving up. It didn't seem worth the trouble at this point that – well, okay. He'd said the initial lie. And he had been feeling petty at the time. He hadn't expected Dante to run with it. "I don't see why everybody's so fussed about lying to people when it's Alex."
"Because when it's somebody we're trying to kill, we don't have to live with them, you fucking idiot."
Ah. Yeah. That was a fair point. Also, when Hawkeye called him a fucking idiot, that said plenty. "Just let me talk to him. Please?"
"…I will be waiting. Out here. In case I have to step in."
Al opened his mouth – and Hawkeye shot him a fierce look. "You have done plenty."
"I –"
"Leave."
It was all the worse, he sighed, that he really didn't have an answer to Hawkeye for this one. He'd been lashing out at Mustang, and he didn't have much of an excuse beyond that. He could have picked something a little less targeted, or less hard to keep up. But no, he had to get Alex all morally fired up.
He knocked on the door, then opened it. The bedroom that Alex had been given – and locked into – was one of the ones he was less familiar with, but a lot of the ones in the underground mansion looked much alike anyway. Canopy bed in the corner, bookshelf on the wall, carpet dusty with age, and a lamp hanging that mostly only worked because Dante kept updating the lighting system every time she got bored.
…And no Alex. Shit.
"Uh, kid?" No response. "Alex?" He stepped further into the room, heart suddenly pulsing in his throat. No way had they lost him. He could smell him, that weird mix of the usual homunculus-smell with the blood seal that was still somewhere on his body. So he was still here –
The door swung shut behind him, and two feet slammed into the small of his back, alchemic sparks flying and plaster falling off of Alex's body. Ed managed to spin it into a somersault, but Alex's hands found his throat anyway, and he managed to tear them off, yelping a little at the sight of his teeth which had not been that sharp the last time he'd seen him. "Motherfucker-"
"Take me home!"
"Jesus christ would you-"
"No! I'm not listening to anything else you say!" Sharp fingers raked over his face then dug into his exposed midriff. It healed quickly, but it hurt. "I want to go home!"
"I can't be worse than W-"
"Yes you fucking are!"
Oh boy. Wasn't sure how to take that one. He was too startled to get angry. "You're not a doll anymore!"
"Nope!" Then Alex slammed his hands together – and onto Pride's chest.
-"Dad! Dad, look what I can do!"
"Oh goodness gracious. Did you make that all on your own? But I haven't taught you anything but the basics for alchemy…"
"I figured it out!"
Laughter, and his father spinning him around, ruffling his hair. "Wait til I tell your mother. You are so talented! I should have guessed.-
-"YOU AREN'T MY SON"-
-come back, come back, I'm sorry-
A gun fired, and the hands left his chest, breaking the transmutation. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to throw up.
Hawkeye was standing over the two of them, holding a handful of Alex's hair. "Pride, I suggest you make yourself scarce before Alex tries that again."
"I…" No, actually. She had the right idea. "Yeah. Yeah, good idea."
"Let go of me!"
"I will in a moment. After you promise to not try that again."
"Why not?"
"Because," Edward managed to gasp out, "you'll level half the city."
Alex stopped fighting for a moment. Then he glared at him. "Why should I believe you?"
"Exactly why I was telling him to leave, and perhaps you and I can have a chat."
"I don't believe you any more than him!"
"I know, dear. But let's see what we can do." Slowly, Hawkeye released Alex's hair. Ed got to his feet, trying to hide how much he was shaking – and tried not to slam the door when he left.
Do you need a reminder of who is and isn't family?
I'm not worse than Will.
This had been a bad idea. From beginning to end, it had been a bad fucking idea.
Served him right.
After a short recess, the most hotly awaited trial in Central reconvened, just in time for the next round of testimonies. Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda takes the stand, and stands his ground against fierce questioning from both the prosecution and defense.
BREDA: I've worked with Valjean for many years, sir.
ARCHER: How long, exactly?
BREDA: At least five years, I believe.
ARCHER: During that time, did he ever make any inappropriate comments to you?
BREDA: He made a joke about me being fat once, sir.
ARCHER: What was your response?
BREDA: I stole his sandwich.
The courtroom fills with laughter. This isn't the first time one of Jareth Valjean's coworkers has made Archer look like a fool, and it's not likely to be the last.
ARMSTRONG: Have you ever known the defendant to be inappropriate with anybody?
FUERY: No, ma'am.
ARMSTRONG: What about his friendship with Maes Hughes?
FUERY: They were really close. Like brothers, really. They were always teasing each other about one thing or another.
ARMSTRONG: Do you have an example?
FUERY: Um, Hughes really liked showing off pictures of his kid. It really got on Valjean's nerves. Not – not in the bad way. But man, Hughes had so many photos. So many. So many.
…
ARCHER: Would you say the defendant seemed overly bothered by the photos of Hughes's daughter, Sergeant?
FUERY: No? I mean I don't – no, I don't think so?
ARCHER: You seem conflicted. Did it seem like the photographs bothered him?
FUERY: No more than anybody else. I mean, it was a joke.
ARCHER: I'm asking if it was perhaps not a joke for the defendant.
FUERY: I'm pretty sure it was. I mean, Jareth loves Elysia.
ARCHER: Has the defendant visited Elysia Hughes since her father's death?
FUERY: How should I know?
A strike in Archer's favour, and discomfort in the courtroom as the jury exchanges glances.
I remember this one.
I remember all of the souls who come and stand before me, bold and fearful, determined to tear knowledge from the hands of my (τεκνωματα) and become demigods in their own right. Or, sometimes, only to restore something broken. They do not understand, usually, that 'broken' is a natural state. Not all broken things are to be fixed.
Some.
Not all.
This one sits down in front of me. (ااو) is different than last time, but not in ways that I am built to comprehend. Desire. Heartache. Misery. Confusion. I see it written in the lines of (あの人) face, in the legs that tremble on the ground, the arms that aren't quite holding the weight upon them.
"What now?" the stray one sighs. "I'm busy."
I do not have a mouth of my own. It is not my duty to reply. Instead, it is my (FRAGMEN) who speaks. WHAT DO YOU WANT?
"This again? I told you. I have no fucking idea. To be dead? That sounds great. So if you're going to eat me, why don't you get it over with?"
IT IS NOT CONSUMPTION.
"Whatever it is. Just – stop fucking with my head."
I do not name things. That is not my duty. I identify humans only by the fact of their intrusion. Their emotions leave bruises on the world. This one is made of jealousy that is unspoken, unacknowledged. Jealousy and spite and fury, and a passionate undertow of love, just as hidden, just as feared.
My (τεκνωμα) hears me. HUMAN EMOTIONS ARE FOREIGN TO US.
"Yeah, I hadn't noticed," (αυτο) grumbles.
OVER TIME, THEY ARE CONTAGIOUS. THEY ARE A DISEASE TO OUR KIND.
"Your kind?" The stray one looks up at me. I am not the one speaking. It does not matter. Then (o) turns around, scrambling to bare feet and looking over at where the empty vessel sits.
It is not me who suffers from human emotion. Not all broken things are in need of fixing. Fragments leave us. They decay and become incompatible with the (ΚΟΣΜΟΣ). And my (FRAGMEN) has not been afflicted. It is with silence we stare at the body that belonged to the stray one's brother, the body that should have another Child in it.
The stray one stares at it, like (あの人) did before. And my Child steps out of my doors (one of the two sets; I am everywhere, I am nowhere, I am the void that surrounds them, I am the air that is not air, I am the cold beneath their feet), the flesh arm and leg still bolted to their emptiness. It is then that the stray one understands.
"There's supposed to be another one. Isn't there? There's more than one of you. That's what you meant by 'your kind'." (あの人) approaches the second set of doors, hand stroking over the doors that belong to another. There is intimacy in it. Another foreign emotion. "Where is – er, he, I guess? I don't know if you do gender."
WE DO NOT. BUT ANY DETERMINATION WILL SUFFICE.
"Cool. Where's the other Gatekeeper? If Alex's body is here…"
HE WAS TAKEN.
"By who?"
AN OLD ENEMY. MANY OF US HAVE BEEN TAKEN. WHEN WE ARE IN THE WORLD TOO LONG, THE DISEASE TAKES US. WE CANNOT RETURN. OFTEN, WE FORGET.
There is another emotion on the stray one's face. I cannot identify it at first. Sympathy. Fear. Some sort of knowing – or suspicion. "You're people."
NO. WE ARE NOT PEOPLE. WE ARE…
And my (FRAGMENS) pauses. It waits for me to tell it what to say. There is no word that a human mind will comprehend fully, and the stray one is already closer to understanding than most.
WE ARE OTHERWISE.
"…Yeah, uh, that doesn't really make sense. But close enough." (ااو) reaches out to touch the empty body, then hesitates. "Why tell me this?"
AN EMPTY VESSEL WILL DIE.
"…Shit. So Alex's current body is going to reject him, and he might not have anything to go back to."
CORRECT.
"What – what do I do if that happens? Just keep moving him from body to body and hope it sticks?"
THAT WOULD WORK FOR SOME TIME. IT DECAYS THE SOUL. AND YOU WOULD HAVE TO PAY A TERRIBLE PRICE FOR EVERY NEW VESSEL.
"I-" Then the stray one goes very suddenly, terribly silent. "Oh. Oh god. That's what Dante does, isn't it?"
We do not respond.
"How long? How long has she been staying alive like that?"
It takes time, for me to understand the request. Our enemy changes names as easily as she changes faces. IT HAS BEEN FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS SINCE OUR ENEMY FIRST TORE ONE OF US FROM OUR REALM.
"Four-" There is a thud as the stray one sits down. "Well. How long do I have? Before his body dies for good?"
IT IS UNCLEAR. THE MISSING ONE RETURNS FROM TIME TO TIME. THIS IS UNUSUAL. BUT IT KEEPS THE BODY FROM DECAYING.
"Unclear. Okay. That's, uh. Not super useful, but… alright." Then (ااو) is silent for a while. "Why?"
YOU MUST CLARIFY.
"Why did you punish us? We just – we just wanted to see her smile again."
More emotions. Complicated ones, that tangle like thorn vines over the hands of my (FRAGMENS).
IT WAS NOT A PUNISHMENT. IT WAS A PRICE.
"A harsh one."
IT WAS NOT A PUNISHMENT. IT WAS A PRICE.
"For what?"
KNOWLEDGE.
"Knowledge of what? That I fucking failed?"
THAT IS STILL KNOWLEDGE.
And so the stray one considers that. Perhaps in time (αυτο) will understand. Above all else, there must be balance. The (MUNDUM) and the (ΚΟΣΜΟΣ). What is and what will be and what has passed. The ocean and the moon.
Not all broken things are to be fixed.
But some.
My Child is feeling something strange. The start of a disease. Negligible, still – and curious to watch. My (FRAGMENS) is hoping that the stray one is successful. It is hoping for the other to come home.
Contagious, indeed.
Tomorrow, the trial will feature one of the most hotly anticipated witnesses yet – the infamous William Elric, better known as the Fullmetal Alchemist. Courting infamy wherever he goes, it's been a source of much gossip whether or not he will actually appear at Valjean's court martial, but it was confirmed by an inside source this morning that he is actually set to testify.
The youngest State Alchemist in Amestris's military history, Elric was recently detained after an unknown incident on the Aerugoan border. While the newspaper could not reach any medical officials for comment, rumours claim that Elric had a psychotic break and killed several soldiers. What could this young madman have to say on the stand, and will it make or break Valjean's case? It's hard to say.
"Elric is… a talented young alchemist, and we're very lucky to have had him on our side," Mustang said when reached for a statement. "I can't comment on his mental or physical state, but there's no shame in needing psychiatric help, and I'm deeply saddened at the stigma it still carries." When asked if this was him confirming the rumours, Mustang refused to clarify.
Other soldiers were less confident. "He's a fun kid, but… he's always been a little off," an anonymous source admitted. "Sometimes you don't want to cross somebody because you're not sure if they'll hit you or put your head on a stake. You know?"
Of course, no article about William Elric could be complete without acknowledging the just-as-frequent rumours about the young man's sexuality. It's well known that the famed alchemist goes for midriff-baring shirts and skirts that would make most young women blush…
Alex tore his hair out of Hawkeye's grip, tensed and ready for her to attack him or something similar. Whatever happened next, there was no way it was going to be good. He'd figured out that much.
But Hawkeye didn't move towards him. Instead, she sat down on the four-poster bed, carefully taking apart her gun and cleaning it. He didn't doubt that she had plenty of other ways of hurting him if she wanted to, but it was still a – he didn't want to say nice gesture. Interesting. It was interesting. "That was an interesting trick with the wall. How did you do that?"
"I had the door closed. How'd you see that?"
"You first," she said with a small smile.
…Fair enough. He crossed his arms, but found himself relaxing, just a little bit. "It, uh – I'm not entirely sure why, but I can apparently transmute parts of this body, just like the other one. The only part I can't is the bit on my foot with the tattoo." He tried not to feel the little sting at that. He hadn't noticed it right away. How often did you really look at the bottom of your foot? But there it was – the same blood seal as before. It was a tattoo instead of a seal, to match the others… but it was the same design. Some things, he supposed, he couldn't get away from. "So I just fused myself with the wall."
"Oh, that is interesting. Will you show me?"
"I thought you saw it."
"More or less, but I'd love a better view."
He supposed it couldn't hurt. He clapped his hands, and drew one over his arm, turning it into carbon much like Greed's shield. Hawkeye looked more impressed than he'd thought she would be – and covered her mouth in a small laugh.
"Oh, you are going to make some enemies with that."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Both Greed and Pride are very, uh… hm. What is the best word…" she mused. "Vain? I believe you'll stir up some feelings about the fact that you can probably outstrip both of them."
"Really? But it's just alchemy."
"Perhaps, but you're the only one of us who can do alchemy, and I doubt the master planned on you being able to transmute your own body like that." Her eyes twinkled a little at that.
Alex crossed his arms, trying not to flush. He didn't want to like Hawkeye. He didn't want to like anybody here. Certainly not now. "…Okay, you promised."
"I did, didn't I?" She took off her glasses, and Alex blinked in surprise, before leaning in for a closer look. Her eyes didn't have pupils. Instead, there were Ourobouros symbols inside of her eyes.
"But I would have…" He looked down at the glasses. The red hue cancelled out the tattoos… and got darker in the middle. "Oh. Oh, that's neat."
"I can see almost everything," she said, sounding nearly embarrassed. "I can see through things, and heat signatures, and even trails sometimes."
"Wh-what do I look like?"
"Hm. Like a very stubborn teenager."
He felt his blush deepen. "I'm not- well – I – stop it."
She smiled, glancing down at his chest. "I suppose you'd be interested to know why you can do alchemy."
Alex's heart skipped a beat. "I – yeah, actually. I was… wondering."
"The doll you inhabited before is inside your chest. Your central Stone is within that, and then the flow of Red Water extends beyond it." She put her glasses back on. "I'm no alchemist, so I don't know the details. But I imagine the alchemy itself is coming from there."
"O-oh." He wasn't sure why he was disappointed. Maybe because his body suddenly felt like a – a shell, instead of a body. Don't be silly. It's fine.
"On that topic, however. Why don't you sit down?"
"No, thanks. I'm good."
"You are stubborn. Please don't attempt to transmute Pride again."
"Is it really that dangerous?" he asked, feeling more sheepish than he wanted to. He wanted to claim he'd had a plan, but really, he'd just been angry. He still was. Just… it was a little bit less overwhelming now that it wasn't Pride he was glaring at.
"Oh, yes. Most of us have to be careful around activated arrays, even. We're essentially unfinished Stones."
That was scary to think about, when he thought about the fact that he could use alchemy. He kept that to himself, though. "He lied to me. Him and Envy."
Hawkeye sighed, putting her reassembled gun aside. "They did. I'm not sure why. Or at least why they would go to such lengths."
"They probably lied about Will, too." That didn't seem quite right, but he couldn't make his brain hold onto it. Everything felt slippery and out of reach when he thought about Will, events cluttering into orders that didn't make sense, words twisting and changing the more he tried to hold onto them.
Hawkeye paused, clearly thinking over her words. "…I've known Pride for a long time. Envy, too. But Pride and I were the first. Everybody else came later."
Oh. He had not thought Hawkeye was that old. "Y-you don't look four hundred…"
She shook her head, smiling. "I'm about… three hundred and fifty? Eighty? Somewhere around that. My body is twenty-two and always will be. Pride is older by years, but his body is sixteen or so. Sometimes it shows."
Alex slowly moved over to the bed, sitting down next to Hawkeye. She didn't say anything, although she did look pleased.
"Pride isn't a good liar, is the thing. It's why I'm so surprised. Oh, he'll lie about who he is and do what's necessary. But usually he tells the truth, just… from his perspective."
"So he really does think Will is abusive."
Hawkeye shrugged. "Something of the sort, at least. I know he has his own reasons to dislike your brother, but I think it's probably also true that he hasn't actually lied about how Will treats you."
Alex chewed on the inside of his cheek. He hadn't. He'd already been mad at Will. Envy cornering him at Lab 5 had mostly been stuff he'd already suspected. Otherwise it wouldn't have worked. "Is Envy a bad liar too?"
"Hmm… He's better at it. I'm going to venture a wild guess and say that the 'working against the military' thing came from Pride originally."
"Good guess," he grumbled. She did know Pride well. Then he thought about what Greed had said about Pride being a liar. It didn't quite fit what Hawkeye was telling him. "Er – Greed and Pride don't like each other much, do they?"
Hawkeye paused, then dropped her hands into her lap with a sigh. "That would be an understatement."
"So Pride was, what, trying to pit me against Greed?"
"Probably not purposefully. But yes. Probably a practical joke in the making or something equally ill-considered." Her voice had gone frosty.
"Why do they hate each other? Everybody kept telling me the homunculi were like a family."
Hawkeye took a deep breath, and exhaled, looking very tired. "We are. That doesn't mean it's a functional one."
"Oh."
"I'm hesitant to actually say it's my fault. But certainly I seem to be a point of friction." She looked nervous, shifting on the bed. "Or, at the very least, an excuse."
"An excuse?"
"Pride insists that Mustang doesn't treat me right. In turn, Mustang goes after Pride for being jealous or possessive, Pride hits back at him, and it just goes on from there. Certainly my opinion doesn't seem to factor in."
"Well, that's shitty."
Hawkeye gave him an almost thankful look. He hadn't thought that would be an unusual opinion, but he supposed if she'd been stuck between two arrogant, big-headed idiots for… oh god, how long had it been? "They are both perfectly lovely men as long as you can avoid the topic of the other."
Alex grumbled a little to himself. Mustang hadn't exactly struck him as nice. But clearly Hawkeye knew a part of him that he didn't. Besides… well, clearly she and Mustang weren't just friends.
She's trying to trick you into getting comfortable again, warned part of him. But he couldn't quite make himself act on that. Hawkeye was the first person so far who actually didn't seem to be pressuring him into anything or wanting anything from him. There wasn't the feeling of being pushed towards something, or goaded into a reaction. Just… a comfortable truce.
"I can't stay here," he murmured, aware of how his voice had dropped but unable to raise it. "I won't work for her. I can't."
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice."
"She can hurt me all she wants."
Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "Alex, you say that now, but there are limits to what anybody can take. And perhaps you're looking at this the wrong way."
"How? She told me she was working against the military. Except Greed runs the damn thing!"
"Yes. And access to power is a good thing."
"Not like this," he seethed.
"How would you prefer it then?" Hawkeye asked. "Clean? Bloodless? All of the power to change things and none of the pain of acquiring it?"
"I don't have any power, though."
"You have more power than you did. Not as much as you wanted. That much is certainly true. But are you willing to give up the freedom that you do have for the satisfaction of refusing?"
Alex wanted to respond to that – but he couldn't come up with anything. She had a point. "…Dante's going to make me do things, isn't she?"
"Very possibly. She's a cruel master, but not an entirely unreasonable one. She's working towards a power of her own, and part of the promise she gives us is that it'll be our power as well."
"That's very vague."
"Deliberately so. I don't know all the details, and the details I do know, you don't need at the moment."
Alex couldn't help rolling his eyes. "More secrets."
"Yes, but at least you know they exist this time. It's about the compromises we make, for what we really want."
…Point. Still, though. "What do you know about compromises?"
At first, he thought she might get mad. Instead, though, she just gave him an inscrutable look. "…A long time ago," Hawkeye said, sounding very far away, "I was trapped between one unthinkable option and another. I didn't want to die, but the only route I had in life was no more appealing."
"What was it?"
"Oh, these details fade with time," she said, and Alex knew she was lying, but he decided not to pry. "But it was Pride who first found me. He offered me power – not just for the sake of power, as people get so worried about. But the power to change my fate."
"And you took it?"
"Of course I did. I took the Stone and swallowed it, and once I had become something else, something… otherwise, I returned home. I returned to the people who had trapped me in a cage, and I killed every last one of them."
A horrid chill went down Alex's back. He'd misjudged. He'd misjudged, and he had to get out of here now.
But Hawkeye didn't look any more like a monster than she had a minute ago. He couldn't wrap his head around it.
Solaris's done worse. Armstrong's done worse. You know that.
"You don't… You must have been so angry."
"Oh, I was. I always am. But that's the thing about anger, Alex. It's a weapon. Your little outburst at Pride – you must have noticed how much stronger it made you."
"It made me sloppy," Alex said doubtfully.
"That's why you practice. You hold it in your chest, and you wait. You sharpen it, and you don't let go of it. And then when you need it, it's there."
Slowly, Alex nodded. "What about Dante?"
"Mm." Hawkeye didn't smile, or anything so obvious. "She's very fond of building her cages. Do with that what you will."
The people who had trapped me in a cage-
Oh.
He could work with that.
