Revisited the 24th of May 2020

Chapter 3: I'm never gonna know you now, but I'm gonna love you anyhow

Curious faces turned towards the two as they entered the office area in front of Roy's own office. Havoc reached his hand up in a wave, greeting Edward sheepishly as they walked by. To Roy's surprise, Ed signaled back, to the extent he could as his only hand was cuffed to the armrest of the wheelchair. Hawkeye gave Roy a venomous glare of disapproval, so Roy defiantly closed the door to his office while keeping unrelenting eye contact with Hawkeye.

He parked the chair across his desk and sat down, folding his hands on the counter in front of him.

"What are you doing in Central?" he asked, straight to the point.

"Am I being interrogated?" Edward asked with a scowl.

"No, just... making conversation," Roy said, trying to sound mundane.

"Well, it's none of your business, Major Buttwhipe."

"It's Colonel!"

"Sorry. Colonel Buttwhipe."

"But for the love of..."

Roy took a deep breath to calm himself down. "My name is Colonel Roy Mustang."

Ed thought about it for a bit.

"Nah, I prefer Colonel Buttwhipe."

Roy made a mental note to never come close to feel humanity towards another person ever again.

"Fine, pipsqueak."

Ed's face turned red, clearly readying a rant about how his size was completely irrelevant and perfectly normal. Roy grinned back.

"Listen, I realize now that there was no reason to take you in, so I... am sorry about that."

Roy paused to give room for a retort. When he didn't get an answer, he continued, "I assume you're in Central to look for your father."

Ed's golden eyes widened, but gathered himself and turned his head away with a sneer.

"I'm not..."

Ed stopped himself.

"Edward..."

"I'm not looking for Hohenheim!"

"Your father is dead."

"And stop calling him my father, he left us-"

It seemed like the air went out of the boy as the news hit him.

"I'm sorry."

Ed was still processing. Finally, he spoke.

"No."

He shook his head.

"I don't care. I wasn't looking for him. Central was just... someplace to go," he muttered silently.

Roy looked at him, crossing his arms.

"Where are you gonna go?" he asked calmly.

Ed shrugged his shoulders.

"Does it matter?" he answered.

"Yeah, I think it does. It's freezing outside."

"What do you care?"

"I don't."

"So why'd you ask?"

They both went silent for a moment. Roy couldn't help but blame himself a little, for not handling the situation more carefully. Ed was the one who finally broke the silence.

"Then why don't you just let me go?"

Roy sighed through his nose.

"I will. But first I'm going to call our medical team and get you a new crutch. Maybe a blanket."

Ed's face softened a bit, as he turned to face his lap.

"Thanks, but that's... You don't need to do that."

Roy raised an eyebrow, and couldn't help but to ask, "...then how are you going to get around?".

Ed didn't look up, but suddenly let out a silent scoff.

"I can handle myself."

Roy buried his face in his hands.

"I am not letting you go until I can get you a new crutch and a blanket. And that's the end of that."

Ed decided to ignore the older man as he reached for the phone placed on his desk.

Roy looked intently towards his cuffed guest when he noticed that Ed's foot was shaking restlessly. Hesitating a minute, he wondered if he should ask if the kid was okay, but decided against it. He wasn't in the mood for any more rejection from the brat. He dialed the number to their medical team, and told them to bring the crutch and blanket. When asked what size he needed the crutch, he answered fun-sized, finally getting somewhat of a reaction from Edward.

Ed glared at him with fire in his eyes, while Roy confirmed the medics size suggestion. He thanked them and hung up the phone.

"They'll be right up."

Equipped with his new crutch and the blanked added to his slouchy backpack, Ed hobbled out of the office as fast as he could, ignoring the curious and concerned stares that were following him through the offices.

He followed the hallway, and tried to get oriented, not sure which way was outside. Sweating profusely, he steadied his armless side to the rail down a wide staircase, leading down to a large room, assuming it might be some sort of reception. He was right. Struggling down the steps and through the reception, he had one goal in mind. Getting the hell out of there.

After all his years in Drachma, he'd grown anxious of confined spaces, and being caged and then cuffed to a wheelchair certainly didn't help. He'd held it in as well as he could, but now, all he wanted was fresh air and to scream, or maybe even fight someone. Just some outlet.

Finally outside, he cherished the chill breeze across his face.

Shit, more stairs, he thought, feeling the ground under him, cold and slippery.

Instead of pushing his luck, he decided to jump over the wide stone railings, embroidering the front of the large building, leading to a large patch of grass. It couldn't be that high.

He leaned over to look over the railing and estimated that there was about a 6'5 foot drop. No problem.

He threw his crutch over, and then sat down on the railing, giving himself a push with his arm.

The ground was covered in snow, with grass underneath. The landing wasn't as smooth as he had planned. Trying to land on his foot, he slipped and instead landed on his back.

He coughed, having had the wind knocked out of him.

After catching his breath, he looked around. It didn't seem that anyone had noticed his less than graceful landing. He should get going he thought but decided to stay seated as he realized his foot didn't want to hold his weight anymore. He'd probably twisted it a little.

He felt paralyzed, as once again it dawned upon him.

Hoenheim was dead.

It wasn't like he actually wanted to see him. It wasn't like he had expected to arrive at Central, tracking him down, and have some sort of happy family reunion.

Central was the only place he had thought to go when he finally was able to get out of that dreadful place. The only thing that had kept him going the twelve years being a prisoner in that place, was the thought of someday getting out.

He clutched his ankle and recalled a couple of days ago when the day finally had arrived.

He hadn't slept all night. At 6 o'clock, he gathered up the few items he owned.

Two shirts, two pairs of underwear, one extra change of socks, one pair of pants, one pair of woolen socks and two books. That was it.

When the guards, not social workers, not nurses, not caretakers, guards, went their morning round about half an hour later, they told him that it was time to leave.

After all these years he had never seen anyone protest, but still, they apparently felt the need to grab his shoulders, guiding him outside and locking the gate behind him. Leaving him there just like that.

No breakfast, no happy birthday, no good luck and no goodbyes.

To be honest, he didn't feel the need to say goodbye to anyone anyway. Breakfast would have been nice, though. Even if it was just a slice of dried-up bread.

This was his first time on the other side of those gates in twelve years. It was in the middle of nowhere, and the snow was deep, as it usually was in Drachma.

Except for the tire tracks in the road, the snow reached him above the knee. He decided to follow the tire tracks, hoping it would lead him towards somewhere he'd be able to get to a train station from.

He didn't know for how long he had hobbled around in the snow, but it just didn't seem to lead anywhere.

His fingers felt stiff and numb with a tingling sensation. Looking at his hand, he realized his hand had gotten very pale. His armpit was sore from where the crutch was pressing, and his leg felt shaky. The long sleeves on his knitted sweater already covered his hand by the length of it, but he tried to swirl it around his hand, making it a bit more compact so the wind wouldn't blow through it so easily.

Having to settle with that, he continued on his way.

After another while, he stopped. What is that sound?

He turned around, spotting a dark pickup truck, driving up behind him. Drachma was filled with criminals, and he knew he should be extremely careful if traveling by himself.

The dark vehicle slowed down, stopping behind him. The snow had been falling continuously ever since he started to walk, the wind increasing, and he knew that he wasn't far from frostbite. If he continued like this, he'd risked hypothermia.

An older, but somewhat familiar man opened the door and stepped out of the truck.

"Hey, you're from that institution, right?" he asked, shielding his face from the snow with his sleeve.

Ed nodded warily, trying to place the man.

"My name is Ivan Pomosh," the elderly man told him. "I used to deliver food to you guys," he told him before pausing. "I retired a couple of years ago, but I remember you."

"You delivered food to us?" Ed asked suspiciously.

"Yeah," Ivan answered.

"...what'd you do to the food?"

Ivan gave him a crooked smile.

"Yeah, I know. It wasn't much, and of poor quality. I'm sorry. There wasn't anything I could do about that."

Ivan rubbed his arms as a frigid gust hit them, tearing at loose clothes.

"I still drive these roads every day. I always keep an eye out for kids like you, coming from the orphanage. I assume it's your 16th birthday?"

Ed responded with a slight nod. Ivan smiled warmly.

"Then let me give you a ride into town. You know where you're going?"

Ed hesitated. Most kids learned not to trust strangers, but Ed had learned to trust no one. Actually, considering the people he had met to this point in his life, he would rather take his chances with a stranger.

"How far to the train station?" Ed asked eventually.

"I thought as much," Ivan smiled. "About an hour's drive from here."

Ed decided that he didn't really have a choice anyway. There was nothing to lose. In this weather, and at his pace, he'd freeze to death before he could get there anyway.

"Okay," he finally answered. "Would you be able to take me?"

"Of course. I was already heading that way."

Ed got in the car and sunk down in the front seat. His leg was aching from the exertion, and probable frostbite to his toes and fingers as well. And now, feeling his pulse slowing down, he could also feel how much his stumps hurt. They had always been sensitive to the weather, especially rain and snow.

"All right, here we go. Happy birthday kiddo," Ivan said cheerily and started the truck. Ed was too exhausted to respond, even though the old man had called him a kid twice. He'd note it down for later he thought, as he felt his eyes getting heavier. He fell asleep within minutes.

Waking up, he realized that he was curled up in the seat, and had been covered with a thin woolen blanket. It itched, but he didn't feel as cold anymore. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawning.

"Have you slept well?" Ivan asked. Ed startled a bit.

"Yeah," he smiled tiredly.

"I didn't wanna wake you. This weather is escalating to a blizzard," Ivan explained, waving his hand towards the window.

Ed looked outside. It had gotten dark, and the snow was hitting the windshield at high speed, and the cracks in the doors were howling from the wind.

"So, it's going to take a little longer than expected to get to town. But we'll get there eventually."

Sitting back up, Ed covered himself tightly in the blanket.

"Thank you," he answered, feeling grateful that Ivan had driven by when he did. An hour later and he'd be buried in the snow.

"So," Ivan started, looking to Ed, smiling. "What's your name?"

Ed thought about lying but decided against it.

"Edward," he answered. Ivan nodded affirmatively.

"Edward. Nice to meet you."

Finally arriving at the train station, Ed thanked Ivan whole-heatedly for the ride. After falling asleep he had forgotten all about the worries he initially had about getting in the car. He had actually had a pleasant time, listening to Ivan telling him about his wife, children and grandchildren, and stories about his youth in a war-ridden Drachma.

As Ed opened the car door, the old man reached out, holding on to his shoulder. Ed felt his body tense, even though the touch was gentle. His instinct was not that a hand on his shoulder was supposed to be gentle. The man didn't let go until Ed turned to face him.

"I don't know what it is. You don't talk much, but I have a good feeling about you. Where are you heading to?"

"Central," Ed answered without hesitation.

"Central? Well, okay. Everybody's got to pave their own path I guess," he said with a snicker. "I don't usually do this, but..." He reached into his pocket and brought out a brown, worn leather wallet. There were a couple of bills in it, and he reached them out towards Ed. When he didn't express any motion of accepting the money, Ivan gave him a sad smile.

"C'mon, kid. Take it. At least it will be enough to buy you a one-way ticket, and my mind will be a little at ease."

Ed looked at Ivan's hand, hesitantly accepting the money.

"Thanks," he said quietly and curled the money into his pocket.

"Take care, son," Ivan said.

"Yeah, you too," Ed replied, finally giving a faint but genuine smile. He was about to slam the car door shut, as he stopped his motion.

"Oh, and by the way," Ed exhaled sharply. "

I'm not a kid!"