Maes is not sure at all how he feels about this world, how he feels about the fact he's alive when he very distinctly remembers dying, about the fact that he's apparently missed ten years of life with his wife and daughter. He has a lot of feelings, but they sit in his chest, jumbled up like someone has taken multiple jigsaw puzzles and dumped all their pieces in one box, and he has no idea which piece belongs to which puzzle anymore.
Being unsure or insecure are not feelings Maes is particularly familiar with, and not ones he's enjoying much. Self-doubt and insecurity have always been Roy's domain, not his.
They're back at the police office, back with the evidence, because, really, where else would they go?
Penelope Garcia—a woman with bright blue, cat-eye glasses, and blonde hair pulled up in a fun, if slightly childish, style—is on the screen. She seems like she's the type to usually be bubbly, but the stress of the current situation is leaving its mark on her. The fact that she's somewhere else and that she can see and hear them in real-time, just like on a telephone, is still mindblowing to Maes, even though he's used to having his understanding of reality warped by certain alchemists.
"So, my lovely, brilliant people… and Ed's people…" she concedes. If she could focus on them, Maes thinks she'd be glaring, as if all of this is their fault.
It's not, for the record. He feels like he deserves the right to point out that this kind of shit seems to be the natural consequence of associating with certain Elrics, but he doesn't think that this group will laugh and commiserate.
"Tell me you found something, Penelope," Prentiss, the woman who is the team lead says.
"Oh, my fearless leader lady, I found more than something . I found lots of somethings, and can I just say, the amount of… stuff that seems to fall between the cracks of our military, either by negligence or design, is mildly infuriating."
"The military is its own monster," Rossi says, soothing. He's leaning against a desk, hands in his pockets as if he's relaxed, but he's not. There's a tightness in his jaw, the veins in his neck standing out just a little too much, bags under his eyes a little darker than yesterday despite what should have been a good night of sleep.
"Yeah, well, this seems to be a case of CYA like holy snap, because, my darling ladies and gents, Kimberly Zolf was not a nice man. And you were right—he was in the military at the same time that Hugh Maes was, and I even found them both doing basic training at the same bases," she says.
"So they knew each other?" Prentiss confirms.
"Yeah, and they did not get along. I found multiple write-ups for altercations between them. Zolf seems to have brushed them off, but Maes definitely had a bee in his bonnet about Zolf."
Roy looks over at him, looking like he slept surprisingly well. "It seems your reflection was like you. If Zolf is at all like our Kimblee, he'd have had reason to be suspicious."
"Yeah, well, it ends with Zolf getting a dishonorable discharge for conduct unbecoming, which, as you all know very well, covers a multitude of sins. In this case, it looks like Zolf was stealing explosives."
Reid, the gangly one, frowns. "They just discharged him instead of arresting him? They weren't at all concerned about homegrown terrorism? I would think that anyone in the military appropriating explosives covertly would be under immediate suspicion given the current climate."
"Apparently they either found all of the explosives or found everything they weren't able to confirm he had actually used. Taking a look at his file, there's no sign of sympathy for other causes or similar red flags. His psych eval says he's just a complete sociopath."
"That tracks with what we know of our Kimblee," Roy says. "For him, the explosion and destruction themselves were beautiful. It's completely independent of and disconnected from any greater cause or ideology. He just… loves the chaos and the destruction. He doesn't care who he hurts or how he hurts them."
"Your Kimblee?" Penelope asks, getting visibly distressed. "What do you mean?"
The agents in the room tense up, and Prentiss says, "Penelope—"
"No, Emily, don't 'Penelope' me. What's going on? Where are Derek and JJ and Ed? Why is Mustang there instead of here ? There's something you're not telling me, and I'm not going to have it anymore. What are you hiding? Why is there a dead man with you and where did he come from and—"
The pain shows on the agents' faces. They haven't talked about this, about what to tell her, and Maes can sympathize with having difficult, unbelievable conversations.
Roy speaks up before the agents can decide. "Ed told me once that you saw his eyes, Ms. Garcia. Is that true?"
Startled, she shifts her attention to Roy. "His eyes—yes, but he asked me not to say anything about them."
"Ed's eyes are yellow. They're like nothing you've ever seen in this world, am I right?"
She hesitates as if unsure she wants to concede to his point. It's a good one though—even in their world, Ed's eyes are remarkable. If this world has nothing like it, they would be beyond stunning.
"No," she says after a moment, short and sharp, and almost daring Roy. "No, I've never seen anything like them."
Roy nods. "Ed and I are from another world."
She holds his gaze for a long moment before she says, "That's insane," very calmly, rationally, like she's talking to someone who maybe isn't playing with a full deck.
"Think about it, Ms. Garcia. I know you looked into our histories. Nothing exists before eight years ago. We don't exist before eight years ago. Ed's eyes. His automail."
"No," she says, slow and like she's trying to remain calm. "Ed grew up in a cult."
"And were you able to ever find evidence of that?" Roy asks softly.
Even through the screen, the reflection of the tears filling her eyes shows, and her chin trembles. "It's not possible."
"We didn't exist here . Ed lost an arm and a leg, but there's no medical records for him getting those prostheses? The prosthetics are like nothing you've ever seen. His eyes are gold . He does impossible things. He knows things he shouldn't. You should be able to find history on me, but you can't. People can't hide from you, Ms. Garcia. We are not from your world."
She blinks rapidly, trying to keep from crying and says, "Okay. Okay, no one else is saying you're crazy, so let's pretend I believe you. Let's… pretend this makes sense. Where are Ed and Derek and JJ?"
"We think they're back in our world, which is good news, Ms. Garcia. If they're in our world, they have resources and options that we don't have here. Ed will figure this out. He will get people back where they belong," Roy says, in control, soothing, exuding every bit of command and charisma Maes knows he's capable of. This is Roy at his best, the man who will one day become Fuhrer. "You are familiar with the concept of parallel universes—"
"Yes, yes!" she interrupts, reaching under her glasses and wiping under her eyes. "I'm a god damn geek, of course I know about the multiverse."
Nodding, Roy continues as if she hadn't interrupted him. "We think we're from a near parallel. Near enough that people who exist in our world also exist in this world. People like—"
"People like Hugh Maes, Tucker Maes, and Kimberly Zolf?" she asks, pursing her lips unhappily, looking away while she takes it in.
"Yes," Roy says simply. "And we knew a man named Kimblee Solf in our world. He was not a good man. He was dangerous and unpredictable, and we strongly suspect that your Kimberly Zolf is very much cut from the same cloth."
Penelope takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says. "No one is yelling. No one is contradicting you or telling me not to listen to the crazy guy, so… I guess… I have to believe you." She swallows and takes another few slow, deep breaths. "Emily?" she asks, and though she has her poker face on, her voice trembles and sounds fragile. Maes's heart goes out to her.
"It's true, Penelope," Prentiss says. "We've seen… things we can't— I can't explain. But I believe them. I…" she pauses, shaking her head as if searching for words. "I hate it, because the world we live in is already so complicated, so complex, so messed up, I don't want this new dimension of fucked up—but, God help me, I believe them. We all do."
There's a pause, then Penelope gives a single, firm nod. "Okay," she says, as much to herself as to them. "Okay, so this is real. I'm the one who is most likely to believe in this stuff anyway, so, if you say it's real… it actually makes a lot of things I couldn't explain make a lot of sense, and I believe you." She turns to look at Roy. "You are you going to get our people home safe."
"I will—"
"No, you don't understand. You're not going to try, you're going to do it. Capice? I expect my people back in one piece."
Roy inclines his head in acknowledgment. "Of course," he says. Maes doesn't doubt he means it.
How quickly she pulls herself together is admirable. "All right… with that out of the way, what do you need from me?"
Rossi picks up where he left off. "Mustang, you told us that your Kimblee was a chaotic psychopath, someone who thinks he's an artist. We still had to verify that our Zolf is operating on the same wavelength. Now that we do, the information you've given us about him can be of more help," he says, placating. Something about the way he's keeping Roy in check seems… off. Personal, maybe? At some point, they're probably going to have to talk about their feelings about one another, probably sooner than later if they don't want them to interfere with figuring out how to do this and how to find Kimblee. Kimberly. Whatever. If they don't get the feelings out in the open and talked about soon, they're going to explode when they least can afford them.
"Even better, Zolf was originally from the D.C. area, so he's not actually that far from where you are," Penelope continues.
"Would he have known where Maes lived?"
"If this Maes is like ours, he would have talked about his home and his family constantly. It wouldn't have been hard for Zolf to figure out if he wanted to," Roy says. "And if he bragged, he would also likely talk about his brother, and Zolf would have known about Tucker, and probably would have been able to recognize that he would have been vulnerable."
He rubs his fingers together in a small stress habit. It's odd, to see him wearing his gloves but not his uniform. Maes doesn't like it, doesn't like what it says about the current situation. He wishes that they had more of a chance to talk to one another in private, but it's not happening with this team.
Penelope lets out a huff. "Yeah, well, after his discharge, Zolf was picked up twice on minor charges, one for breaking and entering, one for petty theft. In both cases, he paid a fine and the charges were dropped. Then he was identified as a suspect in the hitchhiker murder, so he was wanted, but never caught before the car and Jasmine Ardour's body were found. Official file says he died with Ardour, which means case closed." She doesn't sound pleased about it.
"Ms. Garcia, did you find anything about the woman Zolf was with?"
"I did look into Jasmine Ardour. Things I found include where she was born—Chicago, Illinois, if you were curious—where she went to school, that she was never in the military, though her father is an Army vet. It looks like the unfortunate classic of an ex-military parent with PTSD abusing his wife and daughter. Jasmine got out when she was seventeen—she graduated high school early. She flits from minimum wage job to minimum wage job for a while before falling off the grid, only to pop back up for solicitation on three different occasions."
"That's probably how she met Zolf," Rossi says.
"That would make sense," Reid says. "Her father was too far removed from the military for that to be the connection if she's from Chicago, and Maes is from Pennsylvania and Zolf from the D.C. area."
"But why make her way to D.C.?" Prentiss asks, and Maes really wishes all these place names meant anything to him. "Most kids trying to 'make a life' don't head to D.C. They head to LA or New York."
Reid tilts his head, considering. "Who says she was trying to make a life? Was she involved in theatre in high school? Any creative arts?"
Penelope's eyes shift away from them, and she must be looking at another screen. "Uh, nope and nope. She was a straight-A student, but no advanced classes, and it looks like she graduated early because she's a summer baby-her birthday was right on the line, so she must have in."
"No college applications? Did she even apply?"
Shaking her head, Penelope says, "Not as far as I can see."
Prentiss frowns. "That's odd. These days, I think most kids at least apply , even if they don't get in. And a straight-A student, she must have had some options, otherwise you'd think she'd have been trying to 'make it' and that was her plan."
"Some kids really just don't have plans," Roy says. "Some fall through the cracks."
"You'd know a lot about the kids who fall through the cracks, working at your ritzy private school," Rossi says with a borderline sneer.
Roy gives him a cool glance out of the corner of his eye, the one that says, You're so insignificant, it's not even worth glaring at you. "In any case," he says smoothly, as if Rossi hadn't just needled him, "I think we can put down Ms. Ardour's situation down to tragedy, unfortunate as it is. She hooked up with Zolf somewhere along the line. Given what we know of our version, I think it's likely she encouraged his chaotic nature and reveled in the destruction as much as Zolf did. A match made in hell, if you will."
On the screen, Penelope frowns. "There's nothing in her history to indicate that kind of behavior."
"She didn't have any siblings, cousins?" Roy asks.
Penelope shakes her head. "Only child. Just her, mom, and dad," she confirms.
"What are you thinking?" Rossi asks.
"That she's a reflection, but she's not important, not here. In our world, Kimblee answered to the power that… Ardour answered to. Her siblings, for lack of a better word, were the ones who gave Kimblee his marching orders," Roy explains.
"Her siblings?" Reid asks. "Not her?"
"No," Roy says, and his voice drops into a cold, rage-flavored tone that Maes is not sure he's ever heard from him before. "Not her."
Maes is not the only one who hears the anger in that tone, the fury, in Roy's voice. He sees the agents exchange looks.
Prentiss is the one to ask, "What happened to her?"
Maes doesn't have to ask; he's seen that cold, implacable mask before. He hasn't seen it since Ishval, and he doesn't like seeing it now.
"What did you do to her, Mustang?" Prentiss demands.
His eye flick toward her, and Maes's heart rate starts climbing. He reaches for a gun that he's not wearing, but Roy puts his hands in his pockets. It's not exactly the same as standing down, but for the moment, he's lowering his threat level. Maes knows exactly how fast he can be, but even the fraction of a second required to get his hands out of his pockets matter.
"I killed her," he says in a tone that all but dares Prentiss to make a big deal about it.
"You… killed her?"
"No, you didn't," Maes interrupts. "I did."
"No," Roy corrects. "You didn't."
"I'm almost certain I buried a blade in her head ."
"Yes, and that wasn't enough to kill her."
She hadn't been human—Maes remembers—but surely a knife to the brain killed her?
As if he can read Maes's thoughts, Roy sighs, pulls his left hand out of his pocket, then lifts his shirt up on the left side, showing a massive swath of scarred, twisted, and discolored skin. Burn scars. "At the time she was making a rather enthusiastic effort to kill me, so yes, I killed her." He drops the shirt back down.
That's not all there is to it, Maes knows. He knows Roy, and someone merely trying to kill him isn't enough to induce the kind of anger, the kind of rage he's seen. She didn't kill Maes, but she tried to, and Maes has no doubt that when Roy killed her, he did so with great prejudice.
"She burned you?" Seaver's voice surprises Maes. She's been so quiet, obviously a junior agent in comparison to the more seasoned veterans that make up Ed's team. "Because you're the Flame Alchemist?"
"No," Roy says, and his voice is still flat, still contains that quiet rush of fury in it, like the hush that happens when a firestorm steals the oxygen in a room. "She impaled me. I cauterized the wound."
"Impaled?" Prentiss asks, and she sounds skeptical.
"As impalements go, it was rather minor," he says, dismissive, obviously done talking about it. He wanted to kill the woman who had a hand in killing Maes, but he also had a legitimate argument for self-defense.
"Those fingers of hers?" Maes asks, hoping to diffuse the tension in the room. He remembers those fingers, the way they reached out like spears of darkness. He remembers the blood pounding in his ears as he fled her. He had buried a knife in her head, but he hadn't believed she was dead, at least, hadn't believed it enough to risk sticking around.
"I was lucky that she didn't hit anything vital," Roy says.
"Are you seriously saying you stabbed a woman in the head, and she came back to attack you?" Prentiss asks.
"I told you before, she wasn't human," Roy says shortly. "She was a homunculus. You could shoot or stab her or even explode a bomb in her chest, and she'd regenerate."
Reid's eyes narrow and—far too perceptive—he asks, "So what did you do? Incinerate her?"
"Until she stopped regenerating," Roy replies, unapologetic.
"You burned a woman alive?" Rossi asks as if it doesn't compute. "Over and over until—"
"Until she didn't regenerate anymore," Roy confirms, meeting Rossi's eyes as if daring him to say anything more.
Of course he does. "Does Ed know?"
"Ed was there."
Maes struggles to read the complex emotions that flash across Rossi's face at that, but he gets the distinct impression of disappointment, whether for Roy or Ed, he's not entirely sure.
"She was part of a conspiracy intending to murder over fifty million people," he says. "When you have had to battle a near-immortal monster deadset on sacrificing your entire nation to a megalomaniacal monster's narcissism, you can complain about my methods. Until then, if I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."