There was some point in time in my life when I had the distinction of being the 'Dog of the Military' who sided with the people. I visited cities like this when I was younger. It's almost as if this world refuses to let those memories fade away from me.
To remind me...
53 - A Stranger's Face
At the break of dawn, Ed sat on his suitcase and stared past the fresh sliver of morning sun. Unexplained 'track problems' had delayed his train overnight and he hadn't managed to arrive until half past one in the morning. The crest of the road he loitered on swooped down and veered down into the Tarnava Valley, rich with lush forests. Even though it was significantly more overgrown, it still reminded Ed of some of the valleys he's traversed back home, and his mind sunk into the daydream of a lost landscape. What he wouldn't give…
He didn't have much left to give, actually; everything of value was somewhere else.
Edward watched silently as the sun crept up from beyond the forested hills that surrounded the town. Slowly, the weak sunlight breathed some ill resemblance of colour into the tops of the old buildings lining the roadways. The town had to wake up at some point in time, Ed figured while he tried to keep his eyes open. But, at five in the morning, it was still a proper time for anyone with good sense to be in bed.
Which helped Edward very little – he was lost.
He'd gotten the location of an inn as his train rolled in at half past one in the morning, and Ed had thought he'd followed the provided directions. Wandering in the streets during the dead of night, he passed ancient house after ancient house and they all seemed to look the same. His pocket watch egged on time's progression while he drifted through the streets as the only foolish soul awake at that hour. At some point, he realized that this residential neighbourhood really didn't have any place for him to stay and, at this time of night, there was no one for him to intrude on. Who knocks on someone's door in the middle of the night? He was too old and too much of a stranger now for anyone to pass him the sympathy he used to get when he was younger.
So, Ed sat himself down on his suitcase at the corner of a building and drifted in and out of a light sleep for the nighttime hours that remained – an experience which felt more like hallucinations than rest. His left hip with the false leg was sore and his right shoulder with the brutal mechanical arm ached as he slouched over, or leaned back, for as long as he could without tipping over. When the light began to peek out from beyond the hills, Ed picked himself up and staggered down the street, wondering idly when he'd last had a good night's sleep. He stopped at the crest of an embankment within the hilltop town and it presented to him a scope of the town he was going to have to make progress through. At that point, Ed concluded he'd make more progress by sitting tight and waiting for the city to wake. As he waited, hoping to hear the soothing sound of morning birds, or country breeze, or even a damned cowbell, all Edward heard was the pounding of the headache between his ears and the churning of his empty stomach.
"Young man, are you alright?"
A question that didn't make it through the crushing headache.
"Boy?"
A hand landed on his shoulder cautiously.
Edward startled - he snapped his head in the direction of his questioner, trying to stand up. His vision was too groggy to catch up with his movements and the balance he placed over his false knee easily gave out on him. Landing in a heap on the ground, Ed groaned.
"My Lord," to go along with the sound of an elder voice, a hand reached out and grabbed Ed under his right arm. The figure paused at the strange sensation of the false arm, but finally took a firm hold of Edward, straining to help him back to his feet, "I'd have sworn you were drunk, yet you smell like a musty old closet."
"I wasn't drinking," figuring the man actually meant 'sweaty old train car', Edward pulled himself away from any assistance, taking control of his own balance again, and he zeroed his focus in on the man who'd helped him: an elder, upright gentleman with aging hair that was a prominent silver colour, as opposed to dull grey. He stood strong and steadfast in front of Ed, his black overcoat hanging loosely around his rounded figure.
The elder man adjusted his glasses before he leaned down and picked up a black leather bag at his feet, "you're an unhealthy shade of white, young man. You should come with me."
Ed stared at him without a response, simply trying to figure out how this man had appeared out of thin air. Glancing away, Ed looked around and he suddenly realized that he must have nodded off an now life had begun to emerge from the sleeping village. Suddenly, like minutes in his life had vanished without a trace, the next thing Ed knew he was toddling down the cobblestone roadway through the town. The elder man, with no fear of giving orders, led the way for him, and the tired Elric complied.
Though he should have been grateful, Ed's cranky voice showed up, "So, who the hell are you and where are we going?"
"I'm the chief director of the medical centre you're accompanying me to," the man replied matter-of-factly.
Edward stopped in his tracks, abruptly wide awake, "No thanks, I don't need to go to a hospital." He'd had enough of those.
The elder man looked back at him with the stern eyes of a father, "I know everyone from the eastern hills to western rise, so I know you don't live in this town or anywhere outside of it. How long have you been travelling? Are you taking care of that bad leg? Did you even eat yesterday?"
Edward didn't answer, not interested in complaining about any of his aches and pains.
The elder man dropped his shoulder bag to the ground, stepped up to the non-compliant Elric, and slapped Ed's cheek with the back of his hand, "Stupid boy. Your lips are dried out, your eyes have sunken in; you're dehydrated! Your balance is a mess, the same for the focus in your eyes. When was the last time you had a good night's sleep? I could grab you by the chin, give your head a shake and you'd drop like a fly. You haven't taken care of yourself properly on your journey, young man," turning away from Ed's dumbfounded expression, the medical director picked up his bag and glanced over his shoulder, "Of all of the diseases, injuries, mangled bodies, and problems that have wandered through this town in recent years, yours will be something I can enjoy remedying for the sheer simplicity of it. Come along."
Alphonse cautiously pushed open the door to the room he and Clausé found themselves in and peered out into an empty hallway shrouded in a dirty fog.
"Al," Clausé's whisper interrupted their silence, "… it's smoke."
Both of them looked back into the room as the smoke began flowing in from the cavity they'd crawled out of. Clausé put her hand over a series of open wounds on her right cheek, but quickly pulled her fingers away; the scratched and torn flesh on her right side had taken the impact of the earlier explosion and everything suddenly stung. She looked at the mess her knuckles were, looked away from whatever was going on with her shoulder, and wiped the bloody residue coating her hand like a glove off on her hip - not that it did much good, she was filthy from head to toe.
Al took Clausé by the wrist and tugged her into the hallway behind him. Ceiling beams had been snapped from their anchors and dumped in the hallway, hindering the pair wading through broken glass and heavy debris. They made their way somewhat blindly through the darkening building, checking the doors that they passed, unsure which would lead them out. No matter how hard Clausé kicked, or how hard Alphonse threw his body, none of the doors budged. Navigating the mess, they waded further through the complex silently as it swelled with heavy heat and thickening smoke, unable to tell where it was coming from or where they were going.
Coming to a stop, Al kneeled down and placed his hands on the cool cement floor, wishing it were something he could splash over his body. His right cheek stung, his upper arm and shoulder were bleeding from a gash, and his right leg, that he didn't want to look at, didn't feel any better. Coupled with the heat and the smoke that was making him cough, it was exhausting. Alphonse's eyes had started to water, his lungs were heavy as he coughed, and he put his forehead down on the cool floor, "I don't feel so good…"
"No Al! Get up," Clausé snatched him under his arms and began hauling him back to his feet. They couldn't crawl along a floor littered in debris, so they had to stay on their toes, but once Clausé had Al steady on his feet again, she watched silently as he stared into the hand she'd drawn in. The transmutation circle she'd left for him had smudged so badly that it wasn't something they could consider using again.
The girl sighed and smacked Al on the back to usher him forwards, "Let's go."
The two moved forwards again, rubbing their eyes as both sets watered in the smoke, coughing as their lungs protested the air. The obstacle course of broken material made the hallway feel longer than it was, and by the time they reached the end, they'd found no exit to take them out of their suffocating confinements. The pair stood side by side while it felt like their bodies were melting away, and their heavy, watering eyes looked up at the glowing quarter window near the ceiling. Neither one said anything to the other when Al kicked off a shoe and stepped up under the window - Clausé snatched the shoe up and walked up to Al as he laced his hands together, offering a cup-hold to hoist her up with. Kicking off her sandals, Clausé stepped into Alphonse's hand hold as he put his back to the wall and gave her a boost towards the ceiling. Clausé flattened her chest and hands against the wall to keep steady as she awkwardly stepped onto Al's shoulders. The young Elric struggled to hold his ground beneath her weight, clamping his hands around her ankles. Clausé's hands fished up the wall until she finally could feel the window frame and she used it to help her straighten up. Staring into her own foggy reflection, with all the might she had remaining, Clausé slammed the heel of Al's shoe into the window again, and again, and again. The children heard nothing but the dull thump of a rubber sole.
"OPEN!" she shrieked, like it could help them.
Al coughed and shook beneath her, struggling to maintain the body weight. His oxygen deprived muscles trembled in the smoke and Al tried to remain focused on staying balanced. When he took a moment to concentrate on his breathing, Alphonse was reminded of the pain burning in his chest; so strained he almost couldn't breathe.
"Clausé!" Al hollered, like his voice could offer power.
The girl suffocating in smoke and covered in drying sludge hurled the shoe at the window with such force it burst from her hand - its rubber sole bouncing off the glass into the dark cloak of the hallway smoke. Momentarily staring over her shoulder into the darkness that claimed the shoe, Clausé's hands gripped either end of the window frame and she bit her lip, trying not to cry. She turned her attention to the window she could no longer see out of and Al called to her again, his voice choking half way through. Holding onto the window frame as though she could have torn it out of the wall, Clausé screamed back at him in tears and slammed her forehead into the glass.
Al felt her body collapse above him and his legs gave out from the pressure. The two mangled children crashed to the floor in a heap as glass shards rained down around them. Clausé withered up next to Al, pawing at her forehead as she struggled to curl around her knees and make the pain stop. On his back, Al stared up at the oxygen hole that sucked out the endless smoke, and the reborn Elric, with a girl at his side from a page of a life story he couldn't remember, grit his teeth and reached out to his side. Alphonse gripped a fat shard of glass until his hand bled and he borrowed a page from the story that his older brother had written, using the blood in his hand to craft a transmutation circle on the wall. Finally shutting his eyes to stop the burning smoke, Al placed his hands firmly against the circle and forged another hole into the wall of the building.
With no energy to form words and barely able to maintain balance on his hands and knees, Al grabbed the back of Clausé's dress collar and tried to pull her to their exit. Clausé found something left of her own strength and, with Al's direction, the two floundered their way through the opening. Their combined strength was barely enough to crawl out of the building with and they collapsed down on the welcoming ground.
Through bleary eyes, both children learnt that the roofs of the several-storied buildings towering over them were burning. Lying on her back, wheezing and coughing, Clausé stared dazed at the angry orange colours dancing overhead and she realized she couldn't pick herself up; neither of them could. Neither of them called out. Neither of them reached out. Their eyelids were too heavy to keep open and, without a word, both of them drifted away beneath the raging fire above them.
As Clausé faded, a cold pair of fingers on her neck made her flinch before she felt her body leave the ground.
"You're going to make yourself sick," a wary eye accompanied the statement.
"I have an iron stomach!" Ed grinned in response.
"Well, you've had enough stew for tonight. I hope that stomach of yours functions as well as your arm does," the doctor shook his head and sat back down at his desk, desperately wishing he could put less interest in his guest and more into his paperwork. The old man leafed through his documents, sighed when he realized he couldn't, and leaned back in his chair, "Your name sounds familiar."
Edward put down his empty bowl, chewed down on the last heaping mouthful, and abandoned his manners, "A danno wae eh shood."
The doctor tapped the end of his pen on his desk with a frown, "You're keeping me from concentrating on my work young man!"
Edward adjusted himself in his seat at an adjacent table in the clean, white office, "Sorry," he swallowed his final bites, "but, you forced me to stay here."
A decision to keep Ed around had been reached when he'd passed out on the nursing staff while they questioned him. The old man was right, Ed hadn't eaten properly since the night before he'd gotten on his first train, and he hadn't managed to get a decent night's sleep through a combination of station benches, rough tracks, and sweltering heat. The heat led to his dehydration and, after the stresses had taken a toll on his body, the doctor's golden blonde guest was finally woken shortly before dinner hour.
"Thanks for the hospitality, though. But, I should actually get going," Edward scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "you'll probably get your work done if I'm out of your way."
The doctor laughed at him for that, "I highly doubt I could do such a thing right now; you won't leave my head. I mean, my God, look at you. Look at that arm! Who on earth thought up a technology like that? The principles behind it all are astonishing – to combine so much complicated mechanical technology in such microfashion, apply it to limb replacement, and then integrate that into a biological element and have it function ? I've never even heard of such a thing being attempted," the doctor's words flew about, "who out there knows enough about a man's body to dream this up? I can't believe you can even lift that arm to shoulder's height."
Ed laughed at the comment lightly, "Yeah, well, it's got a long way to go before it's any good. I can't really move my fingers."
The old man shook his head at the sentiment, rolling his eyes in a bewildered state, "I simply cannot believe you view this as substandard."
"Well, I've had…" Ed stopped himself, "I guess, my father and I have a vision that's greater than this burden I take around with me."
The doctor rested his elbow on the desk and his eyes lit, "What's your father's name?"
Ed hesitated, but couldn't find a reason not to answer, "Hohenheim Elric."
Snapping his fingers, the doctor flipped his pen onto his desk in amusement, "Ah-hah. That's why your name sounded familiar. Professor Hohenheim Elric; I should have remembered that. Such a respected name in the sciences department at the University of Munich, I'm ashamed to admit I'd forgotten it."
Edward's eyes examined the man curiously; his father had never mentioned having any connections in Rumania or Transylvania, "Why would you know my father's name all the way out here?"
"Oh my daughter-in-law thought very highly of him when she visited the University of Munich with my son last year. She attended one of his lectures with him and she thoroughly enjoyed how he presented information as an educator. She said she'd never been so engaged in a subject she knew so little about before," the doctor laughed at the thought, "she considered writing him once, but my son said that when they return to Munich, he'll see if he can contact anyone to help her slip into another lecture."
Ed laughed a bit and made the task a little easier for his caretaker's daughter-in-law, "I'm sure I can arrange for her to sit in on one of his lectures without a hassle," Edward's characteristic grin broke across his face, "in exchange for the hospitality, I don't see it as a problem."
The doctor grinned back, "Sounds like a fair trade. I hope it's not much of an imposition."
"It's not," Edward shook him off, "what's her name?"
"Tilly Hummel," the man presented her name with pride.
The woman's name gave Ed a bit of relief - he'd finally found out the surname of this old man who'd spent his day taking care of him. Every person who came along addressed the doctor as 'Professor', as if it were some title like 'King' where no surname was required.
"Well, thank you Professor Hummel, you've saved me from wilting in the streets. But, I have to see if I can find the people I came here for, before the sun sets again," Edward rose from his seat.
"Make sure you don't let the heat get to you again," the doctor collected Edward's coat from the rack and handed it to him, "and you're mistaken."
"About?" Ed blinked.
The doctor laughed, realizing he'd caught Edward in an innocently ignorant moment, "Tilly still uses her maiden name. I am not a Hummel."
"… Oh," Ed grit his teeth in embarrassment, "Sorry, guess I should have asked."
"That's fine," the man passed Edward his briefcase, "I didn't introduce myself properly. The name is Oberth."
Edward's expression collapsed, "… Pardon? "
"Oh, careful!"
A violent cough jolted Alphonse from his bed and a set of hands cupped his cheeks to settle him. Through a sensational fog clogging his head, Al felt a damp handcloth touch his face. It was a strange comfort contrasting the horrible feeling of overwhelming exhaustion he'd been fading in and out of.
"You should have something more to drink," the female voice filtered through his ears, "your fever went down, but your cough is persistent," from a corner of a space with very little sound, Al listened to water flow, "come on, sit up a bit more."
It was a gentle, mothering tone of voice that any child would have responded to; un-abrasive, inviting, and warm. Shifting awkwardly in his bed, Al did as he was told for someone he didn't know.
"There we go," she sat down on the bed next to him and rested the cold rim of the glass against his dried out lips. A bit shaky, Al's bandaged hands came up and gripped the glass. The woman's hand helped hold him steady while Alphonse drank it down to the last drop.
"You're a bit more awake this time," her light, whimsical laugh felt as warm as the sunlight that filtered in from around the curtains, "and much better than before. You started to cough it up last time," she stood up, collected the glass from Al's hands, and put it back on the table next to a pitcher. Turning towards his bed again, she addressed him quietly again.
"Your name is Alphonse Elric, correct?"
He nodded slowly, still trying to gain his bearings. As his mind began to untangle, Al looked over and tried to properly see who was taking care of him. The haze in his mind started to clear and Al looked at a woman who stood at the bedside table prim and proper, dressed in a light peach button-up shirt and faded jeans. She was fairly pale, her dark hair was cut shorter than practically every woman he'd seen, and when she smiled at him, Al noticed the prominent mole under her right eye.
"Your friend told one of the doctors what your name was," she swept some hair off her forehead.
Slowly processing the valuable information, Al began placing pieces of their short conversation together. Pushing his white sheets aside, Al tried to get out of the bed, "Is Clausé all right? She got out okay, didn't she? I don't remember when we got away… it just…"
Al's voice trailed off when he looked into the troubled expression the woman caring for him bore, and she stopped him from getting up. The young Elric's body quickly reminded him he was tired, and the urge to crawl back under the covers hit Al, but the mystifying curiosity of the concern and confusion on the woman's face kept him from moving.
Crouching down at the side of the bed, the woman met Al at eye level. The investigative blue eyes she looked at him with absorbed everything about him for just that moment, as if she had attempted to sponge up his entire existence. Those eyes inspected every aspect of his uncombed hair, scab-speckled cheek, baby soft skin, and striking grey eyes.
She reached out, cupped his cheek in her right hand, and she pulled out a smile, "You have lovely eyes."
Al could feel his cheeks flush, but he didn't seem to have the courage to say anything to her in response. He felt cautious about speaking, wondering why he thought she might cry.
The woman eventually stood back up again; though her body language was swift and precise, her tone remained soft, "Clausé is fine; she's sleeping. You should rest more, too. If you talk too much your throat will hurt. I'm going to step out for a bit, okay?"
Al nodded, "Okay."
She pulled in a deep breath through her nose, held her head high, and walked herself out of the room.
On the other side of the closed door, beyond where Al could either hear or see, Maria Ross put her back against the door, and covered her face with her hands. Sharply, she took a deep breath, held it to a count of five, and slowly exhaled, trying to recompose herself.
"Ma'am?"
With her moment interrupted, Lieutenant Ross' arms dropped to her side and she shot her attention down the hall, "What?"
The unintentionally intrusive Sergeant Broche hesitated, but his warm look of concern seemed to ease the moment, "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she pushed herself away from the door, "I'm fine," straightening her shirt, Lt. Ross swept the hair on her forehead aside, "Sergeant, can you relay a message for me please?"
He nodded, "Of course…"
"Can you tell Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong that he needs to place some phone calls? We should have these kids moved from here as soon as possible. And someone needs to head into the city and try to find Ms. Curtis."
The young blonde officer blinked, "Shouldn't that be something you relay to him?"
"You can do it. You're a big boy, aren't you? Besides, that's an order," folding her arms with a huff she turned on her heels, "I'm going for a walk."
"You don't want to go for a walk with me instead?" the sergeant dared to ask with a sly undertone.
Slowly turning a blank stare back at him, an annoyed response emerged, "No. Sergeant, go…"
"Fine, I'm going," he turned away from her playfully and started his trek down the hall.
The out of uniform officer shoved her hands in her pockets and spun on her heels but, before she could take two steps, a young nurse popped out from one of the rooms and into her path.
"Ms. Ross?"
Her posture sagged; she really wanted this walk, "Yes?"
"There's a telephone call for you."
She sighed; she should have known better than to think she'd get to go on a walk with all that was going on now. Giving into the inevitable, the lieutenant let her plans for some fresh air go and she followed the nurse, "Alright, thank you."
"When did they leave!?" the elder doctor gawked in surprise, "I had on my calendar that they were leaving next Thursday."
"No sir, I'm sorry," the housemaid shook her head, "they departed last night."
The professor frowned a bit in dismay, "I can't be getting so old that I'm writing dates down wrong."
Ed sat on the wooden stairs that lead to the front doors of a younger Oberth's home. His left elbow on his knee, chin in the palm of his hand, the right arm propped up on the good leg and a scowl of frustration scribbled across his face. He glared out into the setting sun as it submitted to the night. Edward cursed the flaming ball in the sky and he was certain it merely laughed at him in return.
Herman Oberth, the man he'd set out to find, struggled through days and nights to get to, was not here. To make matters worse, the man had gone to Munich, where Ed had started out many days ago. Turning his foul expression back towards the doctor and the housemaid, he grumbled, "So when does the train depart for Vienna?"
The middle-aged woman employed by the Oberth family, dressed in a very long and formal looking dress with a spotless white apron covering it, gave a displeased look back at him as she responded, "Six in the morning, every day."
The professor grabbed Edward by the shoulder and coaxed him back to his feet, "There's nothing you can do about it, don't spread your mood around to other people. My son used to lash out when he'd get frustrated, I used to slap him upside the head if he got out of line. Don't you give me cause to discipline you, too."
Edward offered an unimpressed glare as he rolled his shoulder away, brushing his jacket off as he did so, "Sir, I don't need to be 'disciplined'. I'm not a kid, thank you."
The elder man scoffed, "In this town, we know who the parents are, and we know whose children are whose. It's a parent's job to keep children in line, to watch over them, and guide them. No matter how old you are, young man, you are still someone's child. As long as there's someone out there old enough to be your parent figure, he or she can take the initiative to make sure someone's inheritance stays in line," the doctor lectured, "don't you think for a moment because you don't belong to this town you can show disrespect to your elders; no one will treat you any differently from our own if you do," the stern father gripped Edward's arm and hauled him inside, "I think it's a good time for tea."
Yet again getting yanked around, a speechless Edward stumbled inside behind the doctor, adorned with a scolded child's scowl.
The housemaid, entertained by the fearless elder, smiled to herself and she shut the door behind the pair. She followed them into the dining room, where the doctor had sat Ed down at a wooden table covered in someone's delicate tapestry. The room was fairly quaint; plain white walls stretched from the ceiling to the baseboards and the stark white colour made all of the decorations hanging pop out - considering the choices and colours, it was obvious that someone with a feminine touch had handled the setup. The walls, the cupboards, the dishes, the tea towels were all fresh and washed. Tiny flower decorations were etched into the corners of the chairs and cupboard doors, each matching, yet all painted a different pastel colour. Multiple sets of sheer white curtains hung over the 4-pane window that allowed the fading evening light to flood the room, and the faint smell of bleach lingered in the air.
Edward wasn't sure if he was meant to feel poor or just back in the hospital again.
The elder doctor picked up his pipe, "What type of business did you want with my son, anyways?"
"Oh," Ed blinked to attention and looked across the table to the professor, "I've been following the works of a few scientists; Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, Robert Goddard, and your son's as well."
The old man relaxed in his chair as he flicked a match, "Ah, that ," he inhaled slowly, "I'd thought as much; I mean with your arm, only another scientist would seek out my son."
Ed sat properly in his chair, feeling the need to match the well-arranged décor, "I've read his works - even his early works. It's impressive that a thirteen-year-old could come up with such complicated gravimetric computations for flight in space. Once I started to seriously look into the theories around space travel, I've found your son's writings to be the most reliable source of information. I wanted to see if he'd be willing to discuss ideas and calculations."
The professor coughed a bit from his polished wooden pipe, "I'm sure he'd be delighted. He gets too much harsh criticism from his peers; I don't think he gets much praise beyond Tilly and Valerie. Most people in the scientific communities treat him like an outcast."
Edward didn't continue the conversation immediately; he sat for a moment trying to decode the faint bitter tone the man's voice had. Unsure if the attitude was directed towards his own son for his line of work, or for the peers who looked down upon him, Ed raised a question cautiously, "You disapprove of what he does?"
Tapping his pipe into an ashtray, he shook his head, "I'm a selfish old man, wanting my son to follow in my footsteps. He went out of his way to please me, he graduated from the University of Munich and became a doctor just like his old man, but I knew his first love was not medical science: it was mechanical science."
Ed paused a moment before finally breaking formation and resting his elbows on the table, "I think the most successful engineers have doctors for parents."
"Perhaps, but Val told me one day that our boy is living out my father's dream, and I use to think that old man was a mad fool for it," leaning back in his seat the professor sighed, "but I'll let my son do as he wishes, I'm sure he'll be successful in whatever he does," the elder Oberth shoved the pipe back into his mouth, "he can always be a doctor again if he chooses."
Too curious not to ask, Ed continued the conversation as the housemaid presented glasses of steaming hot chamomile tea to their table, "Your father's dream?"
"My father's dream," the doctor placed his pipe aside, "the old man embarrassed the whole family by declaring that someday man would stand on that rising moon. I was a child when that happened, but all of Hermannstadt has laughed about it ever since. Now, look at what that old man has gone and done, inspiring kids like Hermann and you."
Ed laughed at the comment, "It's something like that, I guess," he lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a sip of the warm, age-old beverage. Slowly, lowering the cup to its dish, the distant look in his eyes reflected back at him as the drink settled. How come no one, from the heart of London to the middle of Transylvania, made tea that had any flavour?
In a low voice, Major Hawkeye asked, "Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"
"I'm fine," Brigadier General Mustang replied as he adjusted himself at the corner of the wall, "I can wait."
The lumbering Alex Louis Armstrong, the only one in uniform other than Lieutenant Havoc, glanced over his shoulder as if to hush the two whisperers. Not that he had the power to do so, since he was considerably out ranked by one of them. The massive officer turned back to Clausé, who continued to defiantly look out the window.
"Miss. Clausé, would you please-"
"I'm not talking to you!" she snapped at the daunting man. After all she had been through in the last twenty-four hours, his raging muscles and impossible figure did not strike any sort of submissive fear into her heart, "you separated us, you won't tell me how he is, you won't let me go see him, you won't let me see my father, and you won't let me call my father. Does anyone even know where I am? Does he think I'm dead?!" she paused to take a deep breath, "You won't let me leave my room, the military is in my room, and you sit here interrogating me as if I've done something wrong!" Clausé stuck her nose in the air and drilled her gaze out the window.
Havoc rolled his chewed cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other, tossing a 'what do we do?' look to his superiors in the corner.
Armstrong tried again in a deep, pleading voice, "Clausé, we simply-"
"Forget it!" she chirped.
Clausé's saving grace from Armstrong's continued persuasion came as everyone's attention turned to the room door as it slowly opened. Maria Ross pardoned herself and stepped into the room, quietly shutting the door in her wake.
Armstrong looked back to her, "Lieutenant?"
She simply nodded in response to a question the lieutenant colonel did not have to ask. Movement from the corner came as the pair of officers standing there stepped out. Lieutenant Ross stepped aside to allow them to pass by.
"Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, if I could?" Mustang's voice rose.
"Of course," Armstrong stood up, allowing the pair access to the bench that had been brought into the room.
Mustang adjusted the collar of his white dress shirt, straightened his pale grey-blue sweater, and gave a tuck to his black pants before he sat down on the bench at the girl's bedside. Stepping up behind him, on his blind side, Hawkeye adjusted the cuffs on her white blouse, then folded her dark brown jacket over her arm, and put her focus on the girl.
With a stiff breath, Mustang folded his arms to match the stubborn defiance he was getting, "Clausé."
Wrinkling her face more, she adjusted her right arm in the sling it was cradled in, and pressed her nose to the window pane.
"Young lady, I am Brigadier General Roy Mustang. I'd like you to take a moment to consider the level of importance of our questions if someone like myself is in your hospital room," he waited to see if she'd respond, but no response was forthcoming. Mustang decided to move simply to the point of his questioning, "there is a boy in this facility you've identified with the surname 'Elric'."
"I did no such thing!" she snapped back, "What do you even care what his last name is?"
Mustang's brow rose, "I have an invested interest in people with that surname."
"Oh, good for you!" she retorted, "then why don't you talk to him about this? I don't see what this has-"
"He's resting and I'm talking to you," Mustang's words overpowered hers; this girl's snippy behaviour was going to grow weary really fast, "I would simply like to know, from you, why you believe that boy is Alphonse Elric."
"I don't believe that at all!" Clausé continued to stubbornly look away.
The resolution in Mustang's voice grew clear and concise, "I'd like to make sure you understand that I have no intention of playing games with a snitty young lady, who thinks she's being smart by adding little lies each time she repeats her story," hints of annoyance began to mount in his tone, "nobody is leaving this room, least of all you, until I get some answers."
"Fine!" Clausé turned in her bed and with an intolerable tone, not used since she last brazenly spoke back to her father, and the girl's voice shot back at the officer, "I met him on a train, they said they were spending the night in Central City, so we offered them a ride. I don't know where he was staying or where he was going. I asked him what his name was, because I thought his voice sounded familiar. His mom told me his name was Alphonse Curtis."
Mustang's single eye narrowed.
"I thought he sounded like an Alphonse Elric I met once when I was little, that's all. I met him years ago, so it's not even possible, and I said Elric by accident when I got here. I was tired – his last name is actually Curtis and his mom is out there somewhere. Stop bothering me and go find her, I'm sure she can tell you everything," she threw her fists down into the sheets with a huff, "Are you happy NOW? I'm sorry that I mistook his name, Mister Important! Can somebody find my dad?"
Lieutenant Ross slipped out of the room.
Mustang's arms unfolded and he tapped his knee with a finger as he dissected her outburst. There were a lot of minor details to digest and the officer decided his time would be better spent on larger questions, rather than ones she probably didn't know the answers to. Mustang moved onto another heavy question, "What were you two doing in that building?"
Clausé flung herself down onto her pillow, "I don't remember. I remember smoke, I remember gunshots, and I don't remember anything else. I don't even remember when I broke my shoulder. Okay? I'm sorry."
Armstrong rose up behind his superior officer, "You heard gunshots?"
"You'd been in that market?" Roy's tone perked with interest. They hadn't been found in the market crowds, but on the opposite block where they'd escaped the building.
Clausé looked over at the officer interrogating her; the new topic was easier for her to share, "Yeah. We followed someone into an alley, then we looked back and saw a lady out in the street get shot, so we ran," she put her hand to her forehead where a bandage was taped covering the stitches she'd received, "um, the building exploded and we ended up in the other building after that."
Armstrong folded his hefty arms, "Who did you follow into the alley? Did you see who shot the lady?"
Mustang considered adding a question, but held on to it - choosing to keep an eye on Clausé's facial expressions as she responded.
"No," Clausé replied, feeling as though she was letting someone down by not being able to help identify anyone for that old woman, "the alley was dark and it was just something moving in there. A man-shaped shadow, I guess. When the lady just fell to the ground, I think it was the first gunshot before everything went crazy."
"Thank you," Armstrong nodded slowly, asking nothing more of her, and he stepped back towards the door with a nod to Lieutenant Havoc.
Havoc perked up and followed close behind as Armstrong left the room.
Outside the room, Havoc sighed, leaning up against the wall across from where his superiors still remained, "At least that part's consistent with what we've heard so far, isn't it? Gunshots first, then explosions... other people saw the gunmen duck into the alleys too."
"When they were in the alley, they may have prevented someone from setting off the last set of explosives that were found," Armstrong lowered his powerful voice as he thought, "to think those children made it out of that disaster alive the way they did."
"Two saving graces for the government anyways," Havoc sighed and stared up to the ceiling. He chewed the end of his cigarette off in his teeth before spitting it out onto the floor, "didn't these shiny new government bureaucrats again disregard the terrorist threats? This is the third time in the last four months we're cleaning up mass casualties from the streets. We look like a mess, this country isn't being taken seriously as a political state, and the government is acting like this is on par for the course. If they keep doing that-"
"Lieutenant," Armstrong interjected, his sobriety and composure continually on display ended the conversation. He looked down to the floor at the rolling cigarette, "This is a hospital, pick it up."
Once again sitting on his suitcase, Edward stared off into the pale grays and oranges that began to emerge over the lush forest hills – the beginning of sunrise all over again. His thumb hooked through the clasp on his watch as he mindlessly twirled the chain-linked keepsake around at his side.
From the ancient second floor window of the elder Oberth's mediaeval styled home, the professor's voice called out to Edward, "The sun isn't up yet, Vlad may still be out. Watch yourself."
"Huh?" Ed looked blankly over his shoulder and up to the window, catching the watch cleanly in his left hand. In the silence of the morning, he could hear the man descend the staircase inside the house. Ed kept an eye on the door as the man emerged, toting his leather bag of supplies.
"Who?" Ed asked again, straightening his vest as he stood up.
"Don't worry about it," the professor laughed as the two began their early morning walk to the train station, "simply a ghost story told to keep the children from playing in the streets all night long. It's teased about in Sunday School since the devil's house is so close to the church."
Scratching his cheek a little in confusion, Ed looked down at the stone path before them, walking to the beat of his company's footsteps. He said nothing more. There was no way Ed could qualify the statement, he wasn't certain where it would head. His disinterest in religion haunted him wherever he went; it was a part of everyday life on this side no matter what country in Europe he entered. It was something he had never encountered back home. Yes, there were religious groups, but for most people it wasn't part of daily life. Here though, no matter where he traveled to, religion and church were what nearly everyone based their lives off of. He was constantly reminded about people's sensitivity with the issue and always found that people believed that one religion or another was either superior or inferior. For the life of him, Ed could not understand why – they all sounded fundamentally the same to him. Over the last year he'd found his disinterest turned into a blanket of dislike of religious beliefs on a whole, an opinion that was not helped by a speech given by the NSDAP chairman earlier in April that he and his father had to sit through. Ed had learnt quite quickly after arriving in this world that it was simply safer to say nothing at all when a religious subject came up.
The two men walked in silence to the train station from the doctor's old home. Ed was thankful that there was no one out at this hour, because the walk up to the house the night before had been unexpectedly uncomfortable. It was as if the townspeople watched him from every angle and their gaze never let go. An unfamiliar face was quite uncommon and the war had put everyone on an edge to the point where it was hard to feel safe. In a place where everyone seemed to know everyone else, no one knew him, and therefore did not trust nor want his presence. It was somewhat of a relief that he had slept through the daylight hours. To make matters worse, the doctor mentioned to him that he could tell Edward's first language was not German and that became another glowing label slapped on his forehead. He was thankful doctors were un-prejudicial in nature and the man never asked what his first language was.
Rarely encountering any foreign languages in Amestris, there were several European languages that Ed picked up on quite easily, which was fortunate for him because historical alchemy knowledge in this world was the basis for several language scripts, and could be reverse engineered.
Approaching the train station, the doctor stopped suddenly, "You're up so early!" he exclaimed in surprise.
Ed stopped as well, looking ahead to the young girl the doctor had just addressed.
"The cows have been so good in the mornings these last few days. Mother wants us to get everything we can from it," the tiny brown haired, hazel-eyed girl, who could not be more than 10 years old, sat her carton of glass milk bottles down onto the clay path.
"Your brother should be carrying those," the doctor's aggressive fathering tone returned to his voice, "what sort of young man lets a little girl carry things like this?"
She suddenly waved her hands quickly, "No, no, I offered! I'm just taking these over to the store, did you want one?" the girl held out a sealed bottle from the lot, but her attention turned to the doctor's company. She hesitated, but finally offered, "or perhaps one for your friend?"
Ed raised his hands in defense sharply, "Oh no, no, no, no… no, you should sell it at your store. It would be wasteful on me," a guilt pain hit him having just finished lamenting over the unwelcoming nature of the town not long ago.
"The milk is best early in the morning," she smiled sweetly at him.
Ed laughed nervously, "No, no, really, I had breakfast. I'm good for the day."
Folding his arms, the doctor shot a malicious look at Edward, "You should drink your milk – everyone knows that. It's good for your bones and will help you grow str-"
"I don't need to grow ," Ed's eye twitched unnaturally as a maddening look crossed his face, "I did that already! How come this never stops?" the circles under his eyes darkened as his eye twitched again, "Why is no one able to appreciate how getting this tall is the only good thing that has happened since I got here? I'd like one of you to find a bean out there teeters on the cusp of one-eighty."
The small milk girl took her glass jar back and stared at their ranting guest like he had a few marbles loose.
Ed huffed.
The doctor adjusted the bag in his hand and gave a slight bow of his head to their town's guest with an awkward laugh, "Well young man, I do believe this is where we part," the doctor took a sharp step backwards to escort the small milkmaid safely into town, "Have a safe trip, Edward Elric."
Sergeant Broche leaned his chair back against the wall, balancing it on the two hind legs. He folded his arms across his chest and blissfully stared off into space.
"Don't let that slide out from under you," Lieutenant Ross marched up the hall, the heels of her boots echoing with her strides.
Broche raised an eyebrow as he looked in her direction, "I'm a professional chair balancer, don't worry."
Shaking her head with a grin she leaned up against the wall next to him, "Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong called out Brigadier General Mustang."
Broche rocked his chair back to four legs and looked up at his superior officer, "Isn't that what you wanted to happen when I called?"
"It was," her smile was distant as she relaxed a bit, "he needed to know what was going on. He may still be on leave, but not telling him wouldn't have been fair," Ross brushed her hair aside and stepped around the young Sergeant, "is Al asleep?"
Stretching out his shoulders, Broche pulled himself to his feet, "Yeah I think so. I haven't heard a peep from him. Did you have a chance to talk with him much before you left?"
Shaking her head, the lieutenant looked down at the door handle, "No, he seemed out of it - the doctors gave both of them some strong painkillers. He was mainly concerned about the girl."
Broche frowned, "Do you think that could be really him? I mean…"
Without hesitation, Lieutenant Ross nodded firmly, "He is. I'm positive. There's just so much information that's not adding up," she frowned a puzzled look at her partner, "why doesn't he recognize me? Why is he travelling under Izumi's name? Where is she? Why wouldn't anyone contact us if they were coming through Central?" her brow popped, "And where's Ed? Nobody's heard from him in nine months. Since when did those boys not travel together?"
Bringing his hand to his chin in thought, Broche frowned at the possibility, "Do you think Ed was caught in the explosions in the market? That whole mess is still smoldering..."
"No, he's not with him," Ross rested her hand on the doorframe, "the first words out of his mouth would have been 'Where is my brother?' not 'How is Clausé?'. I don't understand."
"I can't answer that one," Broche stretched out one more time and dropped himself back into the chair. From the corner of his eye, he watched Ross mull around and pretend as though she did not want to go back into the room. He grinned to himself, "So why don't you ask him yourself? Al has always been more honest with you than Ed ever was. You don't want him to disappear before you get a chance to chat some more. Right?"
That was all the convincing the woman needed. Relenting easily, she popped the door open, "I suppose you're right."
Cocking his head with a smirk, Broche quipped as she walked into the room, "Of course I-"
"BROCHE!"
The panic in her voice threw him to his feet.
"My dad probably thinks I'm dead," Clausé groaned, cautiously rubbing the bandage on her forehead, "my head hurts still…"
Hawkeye collected the medical clipboard hanging off the end post of the bed, "I don't think they can give you anything else for another hour or two."
"And my shoulder hurts even more…" giving a long and emphatic whine for sympathy, Clausé glanced over to Mustang, hoping her complaining would give him a reason to leave.
The girl's plan was somewhat effective; Hawkeye gave Mustang an 'are we finished here?' glance as she re-attached the clipboard and walked up beside him. Unfortunately, he did not respond to either Hawkeye or Clausé's motivation.
"Sir?" the major prompted him, more formally, "should we inquire into the progress of the Lieutenant Colonel's investigation?"
Mustang gave a reluctant sigh, "It would be prudent." He put his hands over his knees and rose to his feet, rubbing his sore leg as he did, wondering if it was ever going to heal properly at this point. Before he'd reached for his coat, Mustang paused and stepped back towards Clausé's bed. He looked the girl over, then hesitated while he considered his thoughts, but eventually walked back to her bed and eased himself down on the foot. He watched Clausé try to avoid eye contact with him as he looked her over, fidgeting with her sheets to distract herself from him.
"Can you tell me…" he waited for her to look up at him before continuing, "If you ran into the alleys from the market side, can you tell me how you got out from beneath that building and into the one we found you by?"
A knock came at the door and Hawkeye glanced over, but she did nothing for it; she would let the brigadier general finish first.
"I didn't get out from beneath a building…" she sat back slowly, confused by the question.
Mustang frowned, "You had to have done that. You said you were near a building that exploded. That's how you got your wounds," he adjusted himself at the end of the bed, "two of the three structures that exploded filled the alleys with layers of heavy debris, and the floors on those buildings collapsed freely. There would have been no way you could have opened any doors on the building you crawled out of."
Clausé sat back quietly.
"The building Sergeant Broche found you two lying by was an office building that the third structure toppled onto, because one of the charges didn't go off, and that was the place you crawled out of. How did you get safely into that building in the first place?"
Looking down into her lap, Clausé didn't answer.
Sitting back, holding his head a little higher, Mustang offered his last question, "And how did that cavity form that Sergeant Broche said he found you two by? The structure burnt down, so there's no evidence left of it, but the sergeant told us that there was an anomalous, unnatural hole in the building's wall that you two lay next to."
Clausé sat there, her eyes in her lap, replaying the moment Al used both the transmutation circle she'd drawn for him and the one he'd made of his own blood. Her shoulders deflated, "Well... I don't know."
A faint smirk graced Mustang's lips momentarily as he stood up, "I'll let you think a little longer on your answer."
Getting back to his feet, Mustang threw his dark grey trench coat over his shoulders as he reached the door and let himself out of the room without another word. Hawkeye followed closely behind, but both officers quickly stumbled to a halt. Mustang took an abrupt step back into the doorway and glared down at what was deliberately blocking his path.
"Out of the way," he commanded.
Al did no such thing.
He parked his feet squarely beneath the man's eye. His skin was an unhealthy pale colour, his hair still a 'fresh out of bed' mess, and the light circles under his eyes made his cross expression even more emphatic. Dressed in the hospital's washed out grey pants and white shirt, in a similar authoritative tone Alphonse Elric replied, "Clausé is in there and I want to talk to her."
The unmistakable young voice, ringing without the empty hollow echo, emerged from an unfamiliar boy's face. The sound cracked the hard shell of the normally steadfast man and a startled look flooded into Roy Mustang's good eye as it widened.
To Be Continued...
Author's Notes:
Ed's height is 179cm (5'10")
I did not know if Oberth's father went by the surname of Krasser or Oberth, I chose Oberth.
Schässburg (Schäßburg) is the German name for the city. Its Romanian name is Sighişoara.
Hermannstadt is now called Sibiu.
Incase You're Curious
Oberth is an interesting man to research. If you like FMA and want to avoid homework, I suggest it as good reading – it'll probably do you good when the movie comes out.
Schässburg (Schäßburg) is the German name for the city, its Romanian name is Sighişoara.
Hermannstadt is now called Sibiu.
Previous Chapter Feedback
:D I'm really glad people liked it.
Angewandte Chemie - I thought it was a (science?) periodical or magazine of some sort. The European database of periodicals and newspapers I found listed it as a per-volume publication running from 1887 to 1941. Beyond what the handy-dandy PDF told me I would not be any of the wiser :3;;
Weiner Zeitung - Weiner was how the the paper's website had it spelt, er :D;;; I can blame them?
Yay! I like feedback :D
Thank you and enjoy!
Chapter Edited: 2004-11-16, 2010-05-30, 2012-01-20, and 2021-07-03