He Who Searches For Himself
Leaving the wives and remaining children behind, Hohenheim picked up the son that followed him out the shop door and placed him where the little imp had claimed to be his rightful spot: atop dad's shoulders. The warmth of the midday sun wrapped the life below in a blanket only suitable for lounging around during such a peaceful day. And as his father walked the path through town, the little son kept his eyes open as he slouched over his father's head, cheek loosening the tightened ponytail as he buried his face into the downy blonde hair. Hohenheim paid no mind; he was used to it, even if his wife would nag that the boy should walk on his own two feet, he did not mind the presence on his shoulders.
"Daddy," like a kitten kneading a blanket, Ed's fingers played in his father's hair; his wide eyes embedded on a lazy body that examined the activity in the town, "where are we going now?"
Though unable to see, Hohenheim glanced up at his son regardless, "Remember, daddy needed to go to the post office. I had a phone call last night telling me that there was a box with my name on it."
"Really?" Ed curled his lips in amusement at the thought of what could be in the box, "maybe someone sent you chocolate."
Entertained by how his son's mind was still wrapped up with the candy store, he did his best not to laugh, "Perhaps someone did send me chocolate. But I'm going to guess it's a book."
"You have lots of those already," Ed's nose twisted, "Mommy said that she's going to burry them in the field if you get more."
"Did she really?" Hohenheim's brow rose at the statement, "well, we'll have to have a talk with Mommy and tell her that my books make poor fertilizer."
Though restrained by his father's hands, Ed still made the attempt to swing his legs as his voice sang, "I already told her you'd say that!"
"I'm sure you did," Hohenheim laughed.
Chapter 65 - Flow of Changeover
"Ed?" stifling the concern within her voice, Winry lifted her eyes from the mess of paper thrown across the kitchen table and stretching out on the floor.
"Ed?" she pushed back her chair, careful to not disturb the organized disaster that had been amassing over a string of days. Perching upon the highest points on her toes, Winry stepped through the chaos as she held several key pages in hand.
It was a pile… a mountain of research Ed had amassed in colour-coded folders. If she thought about it hard enough, it would make her sick to realize just how much effort Ed had put into so much only to obtain so little in the end. The pile organized within the blue folders had been all his work for the AutoMail. The far larger pile organized within the white had been the work he'd done to approach getting home.
The one thing Ed could be reliable for was deep paperwork when it came to something he deemed to be of great importance; everything was numbered, dated, tabbed, sorted… though only in an order he himself understood. Winry thought it was nice that he at least kept an aura of organization about himself.
She'd asked again a week ago when it was that Ed had arrived in London; it had been in September of 1916. Her eyes would constantly refocus on the dates of the documents; the first date in the AutoMail folder was over half a year later in May of 1917, the first date in the collection of white folders that would get Ed home was for December 1917.
She struggled to believe that Ed had put off his quest to return home for over a year.
Without hesitation, Ed had eagerly spent days going over every bit of the ink he'd scrawled on the papers. The work that they both knew were her main interest was his AutoMail designs. The more he spoke, the more she itched to get her hands dirty. What a formidable challenge: starting from absolute scratch. Ed promised to take her to the science and medical wings of the university when opportunity would allow for them to dig around the institution in peace.
But it was the philosophy that made her head spin; the quest to get home and the childish delight Ed carried as he chattered on about all he had learned about alchemy; things he'd never dreamed he could understand. Ed asked her if she remembered how he'd mentioned that he could see all the information he desired beyond the Gate, but could not reach it. It was suddenly there for him to touch, to read, to dissect, to interpret and then understand. The months Ed had spent on an adventure to Greece and the mountain of paperwork he tried to explain to her were mind-boggling. Not only was he talking in this foreign alchemy language she kept a mild interest in, but he was also toiling in mythology, and that seemed far more complex than alchemy could ever have been. It had only carried her casual interest until Ed began explaining how Amestris alchemy intertwined with the ancients of Greece. Yet, with all the intricate details and the amount of delight Ed revelled in, she struggled through the idea that as they were now, the information was useless to him. He must have been aware of it; there was no way that he couldn't be, so he must be ignoring it. From the ancient Greeks to the Thule hall floor and back over to the Munich university where Ed toiled in mechanical science; she wondered how hard it had been for him to accept that every path he took lead to something so far beyond his reach that he had to surrender to the impossibility of it. The more time she spent with Ed, the more Winry wondered how it had affected him; she was afraid to look too hard into his eyes, afraid of what she'd find.
And now, stalled in her tracks as she stared down at the contents of this open folder fanned out on the floor, Winry bent down. With the tip of her index finger, she slid the unsettling evidence that never left her mind out from the alchemy arrays and tucked it into the pile of papers she was going to base her own conclusions on.
"Dammit Ed! What the hell are you doing?" flying out of the kitchen to avoid displacing any of the precariously placed works, Winry stormed through the house. Cutting into the living room, she could hear sounds from beyond the patio door. Pushing the curtains aside and jerking at the stubborn door handle until it opened, Winry poked her head out into the yard.
"Ed! Wher… what are you doing?"
"I'm raking the leaves," he swung the rake over his left shoulder as he cast a casual look her way.
Leaning up against the doorframe, her slippered foot propping the door open, Winry narrowed her gaze suspiciously as she adjusted the oversized night shirt, "That's nice of you."
Ed scoffed at the comment, "Better than waiting for him to tell me to do it," with the twist of his wrist, the rake landed into the layers of crunchy leaves, "every year Dad goes 'Edward, can you rake the leaves in the yard?' like he can't do it himself. Then he nags, I tell him to screw off and he nags more; it's annoying. I'll do it before I have to listen to his nagging again."
Winry's posture slouched as she thought over his declaration. She considered telling him that the entire point of disobedience was to not do as his father was asking, but it seemed more amusing to let him think that he was somehow obtaining the upper hand in the situation this way. Winry giggled to herself, wondering how Hohenheim managed to train him so well.
"Now what?" Ed's shoulders fell as he watched her giggle.
"Do you want me to get those two fingers moving again?" a bemused grin ran across her face while changing topics, " I think I figured out an interim fix without having to re-do the internal mechanism."
"Yeah, whatever you think will work. You're the expert," propping the rake up against the tree that was giving him something to do, Ed dusted his bare hand off and made his way towards her, "have the notes been helping at all?"
"This place is so primitive, I can't believe you got that much movement out of your arm. I need so much equipment from back home, you don't even have 0.1 pinchers and clasps for nerve endings, nothing here even comes close," rolling her eyes at the thought, Winry sighed, "and those schematics for your arm are a headache, you're a disgrace to AutoMail makers everywhere."
A little vein pinched on Ed's forehead, "Gee thanks."
"But…" she'd not gone in search of Ed to discuss the issue of his AutoMail, "I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything you collected in Greece, it's kind of interesting," she watched his expression change with surprise at her interest in the topic, "can I ask you something about your notes?"
In simultaneous motions, the pair came to sit on the steps of the porch, "Yeah, sure."
"That symbol that was on both Roze's baby and baby Diana…" from the few AutoMail papers she had taken with her, Winry produced the transmutation circle that haunted her, "you said this links to the gate. Then you started talking about how the Greeks thought that there was a 'God-figure' who looked after the gate but there wasn't actually anyone there. What was that God's name again?"
"Um… Hermes. It wasn't so much that he babysat the gate, more like he helped guide people across the gate or boundary or whatever to the 'other world'. There's a syncretistic alchemy term called 'Hermes Trismegistus' that is derived from that. It's sort of convoluted… why do you want to know?"
Winry laced her fingers, "What were his kid's names again and what was wrong with them?"
"Why…?" his puzzled face stretched long as his voice cautiously slipped out.
"Just answer the question!"
Tapping his feet in the crunch of leaves, Ed racked his brain for her, "Um… Pan, Abderus, Hermaphroditus and-"
"Yeah that one!" Winry interrupted him, "What did you say was wrong with him?"
Ed's bare hands slapped over his kneecaps, "Dammit Winry, weren't you just in the kitchen? Why didn't you look it up?"
"Oh I am so sorry, I guess you weren't the one who said 'do not mess up the notes'; I guess I will just go tear all of the papers apart until I find this information somewhere," the words snapped off her tongue before Ed's hand came up to cover his face.
"He was fused into a hermaphrodite because of some love story with a fairie… something like that…"
"Okay, that's what I thought but I wasn't sure. Now…" the brimming amusement at his compliance masked the unsettled feeling in her stomach, "what's a hermaphrodite?"
"It's like a man and a woman fused together."
"Can you do this with alchemy?"
Ed's eyes watched as Winry reached out and plucked a newly fallen leaf from his hair, "… Why would you want to?"
Tossing the crusty piece of nature into the trampled brown grass, her hands clasped in her lap under the aura of innocence; Winry simply shrugged.
"I… guess…" Ed's nose wrinkled at the thought, "though I wouldn't want to try…"
"And what if someone did?" she would not let the issue drift away.
Responding flatly, Ed wondered if the answer could have been any more obvious, "… Then they'd have a hermaphrodite…?"
Despite the sarcasm, she needed to know; the words of a frightening voice still haunted her thoughts when she closed her eyes, "Is that something special?"
"I dunno," Ed blinked, scratching his head feverishly as he wondered about the bizarre line of questions, "it's like some messed up combination using the principals of chimera and human transmutation. It maybe special, I don't know, I've never read anything about it."
"Oh…"
"Do you have everything?"
Al glanced up to the Brigadier General, "I think so," he shifted the backpack on his shoulders before returning to searching the crowds.
The bells at Central Station began to sound; ten minutes until departure. The steam from the locomotive let off a deafening whistle. Al wiggled a finger in his ear as he again watched the send off party converse with each other.
With a flick of his wrist, Mustang slid a card into Havoc's shirt pocket, "Where we can be reached."
"You betcha," Havoc patted the spot securely.
"Sir, are you certain that you and Major Hawkeye do not require additional escorts for your journey?" Armstrong's concerned expression fell down upon the smirking officer.
"I'm still considered off duty until I receive medical clearance," Roy's hands slid into his pockets, "How would it look if I took military personnel beyond my direct subordinate with me on a personal venture? There would be too much suspicion."
Folding his arms across his chest, Havoc rolled his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other; his voice toiling with trouble, "it looks 'suspicious' enough that you're taking only your direct subordinate away with you on a personal venture."
Both Lt. Ross and Lt. Breda found themselves biting their cheeks as they quickly turned away in search of something else to do.
Havoc merely shrugged, holding his poker face as he spun the cigarette, allowing the vicious gazes of the two officers in question to pass right by him, "I'm just saying… because the Major is not on leave anymore."
"I'm using my holiday time," Riza replied flatly.
"Ohh… okay, holiday time."
If looks could kill, or if Roy's gloved hand would have not made a scene, Havoc would have died a long time ago, and he knew it.
"Lt. Colonel," Mustang redirected the conversation to Armstrong, "we are perfectly capable of accompanying Alphonse on this trip. I don't think Mrs. Hughes would have allowed him to leave the house otherwise."
Al started to giggle nervously, remembering how strongly Gracia had objected when he had insisted on going with Roy and Riza to the laboratory where Shou Tucker had began his studies almost ten years ago.
It had been almost a week since he'd divulged his intentions to Roy, and three days since Mr. Mitchell had reluctantly turned Alphonse over to Mrs. Hughes after the young boy's relentless requests. He'd challenged Mr. Mitchell almost relentlessly to allow him to stay at the Hughes' residence, though he could certainly tell that the man was disheartened by the requests, Al knew that he needed to be away from the confines of that house and in an environment where he could move forward. It was a little unsettling, but Alphonse was unnerved by how little both Nina and the nurse had to say about the issue; it felt as though they were glad to see him go. Brigitte picked up that Al was leaving and promptly unpacked his bags the night he was to leave; much to everyone's dismay. She was escorted into the depths of the house somewhere in the midst of a frantic fit; it was the last time Al had seen her.
"I would request that you and Lt. Ross continue our investigation into Mrs. Curtis' disappearance, try and locate where that damned stubborn officer was relocated to and clear up his statements about her disappearance," snapping open his briefcase, Roy produced the envelope containing the case report and interviews.
His eyes widening, Armstrong took the report into his hand, "… Isn't this… what Lt. Havoc misplaced?"
Rolling his eyes, Havoc began to shake his head, "I knew you'd taken that… or you wouldn't have gotten me out of all that shit I wound up in."
"Keep a close eye on it for me," again smirking, Roy turned the grin upon Havoc, "make yourself a little more useful to me and see what you can find about the older child the Mitchell family adopted."
"Oh hey, speaking of that," Havoc took the cigarette from his mouth, "I still have that black bag with that photo equipment the runner from Communications left in the office. I know you said it wasn't yours, so I caught up with him asked why he thought it belonged to you. Apparently the girl you and Alphonse were with that day had been carrying it around on the floor, he thought she was your niece or daughter or something. But didn't you say that girl is staying with the Mitchell's?"
Al's eyes widened, "That's Brigitte's!" he turned up to Roy, "it's full of camera equipment. She lost it the day she ran into you."
"Oh, is that it?" Roy raised an eyebrow.
Havoc popped the cigarette between his teeth, "I don't know why she'd want to drag that around everywhere, it's like a lead weight."
Folding his arms curiously, Mustang glanced down to Alphonse, "Just photo equipment?"
"Mostly photo equipment. The Mitchell's nurse tore the bag apart in the family room the day she arrived; she dumped the equipment all over the floor then left in a huff after manhandling it. I think she might have broken some of it because Brigitte got really upset," Al looked off in thought as he tried to recall what had been inside, "there was a small white paper bag with some old 1800's photographs that the nurse went through. Um… there was a bunch of papers with someone's math problems on it, I don't know who's those were… a couple black boxes that held equipment pieces… um… a bag of powder that made everyone sneeze…"
Again the train bells sounded and the whistle from the train's front car drowned out all other noises.
Riza's hand came to Alphonse's shoulder as she motioned to the train steps, "We should take a seat."
"Havoc," Mustang narrowed his expression as he recalled the child from a week ago, "see if you can't use that bag as leverage somehow."
"I'll do my best to be sly and conniving like you, Chief," Havoc saluted.
Stepping up the stairs into the car, Al glanced back over his shoulder at the officers who'd remained to see him off. Taking his fast pace, Al finally ran into the train and spun into the private cabin Mustang had arranged, dumping his jacket and travel bag into the corner. Bouncing himself up onto the soft seat, Al put an elbow on the windowsill as he looked out onto the platform. His eyes continued to scan the platform while Roy and Riza sat down in their seats; he searched among the families, military officers and passengers preparing for the arrival of the next train but could not find who he'd hoped to spot.
"Why didn't Mrs. Hughes come to see us off?" Al glanced to the two officers; ill prepared to respond to the uneasy reactions he received.
Riza answered slowly, watching as Roy distanced himself from the question; snapping open the day's paper, "Superstition, I would guess."
Al again looked between the two before returning his attention out the window, wondering why it felt like a question he should not have asked.
"AH! Edward, thank you so much for letting me dress Winry up," Tilly's grin ran from ear to ear as she hung over the back of the couch in Edward's living room; her smile shifting between him and her husband, "some of my clothes look better on her than they do on me!"
"I'm afraid to see what you did with her," Ed narrowed an eye at the flamboyant woman while she clapped her hands.
"I don't understand why she wouldn't let me cut her hair; I don't know any girl who has her hair past her shoulders. She looked so strange with her hair down, so I pinned it up on the back of her head; she looked far better that way."
Ed glanced over to his father sitting on the chair at the corner of the room; peering over his paper, the old man adorned the same concerned expression as his son carried.
"Let me show you!" like a giddy child, Tilly spun on her toes and darted out of the room.
"I claim no responsibility for the things my wife does with your friend," Oberth said flatly, folding his arms.
"Yeah, well, I'm holding you responsible if I go to bed with a black eye tonight," Ed's hand came to his cheek at the thought. Rising to his knees upon the couch, Ed peered over the back as he heard the pairs of footsteps descending down the stairs.
"Don't look yet!" Tilly's voice screamed.
Ed ducked back down into his couch. Folding his arms he waited, he could hear them standing behind him and they were no longer moving because the footsteps had stopped.
"Okay!"
The two men at the couch, and the one pretending he was engrossed in the newspaper peered over to Winry. With a decorative hat on her head, Winry's hair had been curled and pinned to the back of her head. Her body stood draped in a pale green, sleeveless, straight-line dress with straps that pinched at the shoulders and a length that stretched long past her knees. Not even around her waist, but wrapped at her hips was a wide ribbon belt that was tied in a bow at the back. Her legs were concealed by stockings and on her feet were a pair of silver, pointy-toed shoes with heels.
Ed blinked, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah, Winry does pull off your clothes better than you."
Hohenheim suddenly choked back a laugh, "Edward… if you're brave enough to say that in English, better say it in German so Tilly can understand you."
"What? I'm just saying it looks nice," he protested, momentarily switching to German for the other companions, "it looks good on her, Tilly."
The woman grinned, as though she had never had any doubt of that.
"It looks very nice, Winry," Hohenheim nodded, though he gave a cautious look when he caught the twitch in her eyebrow.
"Yeah, I've seen lots of girls wear those over the summer, it looks pretty good on you," Ed folded his arms over the back of the couch as he looked up at her.
"E-Ed…" carrying her sweetest sounding voice most graceful disposition, Winry's grin grew wide as she wobbled in the shoes, "it's hideous."
Edward tilted his head, frowning, "No, it looks alright."
"Ed," Winry fought to keep her voice as pleasant sounding as she could, "it has no waist line, there's a big bow on my backside, this tie feels like it's going to fall off my hips at any moment, it hangs off me like a rag; it is the most unflattering and hideous piece of cloth I have ever put on."
"Then change," Ed sunk back down in the couch, "I'm not going to stop you if you don't like it, but it looks fine."
"How can you sit there and say that! This isn't attractive at all; I won't believe you for a minute if you say this looks fine," glancing to Tilly quickly, Winry shuffled her way behind where Ed sat and crouched down; her chin resting on the back of the couch, "All the dresses look terrible like this. That woman was showing me pictures in the magazines when she was curling my hair; the things they wear are so uncomfortable and make them look years older. It's bad enough I didn't get a seventeenth birthday, now I look like I've skipped all the way up to twenty-five!"
"I can't do anything about that," he grumbled in frustration at Winry's displeasure, "I can't change what people want to wear. That's just the way it is, you're going to have to get use to it," it was becoming a phrase he'd use several times a day.
Her fingers digging into the back of the couch in frustration, Winry scowled down at him, "Since when were you such a pacifist? I just want a skirt like my old one. These are all itchy… they make me want to scratch my legs…"
"You won't be able wear anything like what you wore back home, Winry," Hohenheim's paper came down into his lap; he would end the complaining and snap the tension with a decisive blow, "fact of the matter is, you cannot wear a skirt that short in public. A woman's skirt doesn't come up above her knees. And there are far too many men who would take the wrong impression and try to take advantage of you if you did."
Turning his petrified eyes quickly away, Ed gave thanks that it was his dad who'd said that and not him.
"Gah…" turning her downtrodden expression away from Hohenheim, Winry poked Ed to regain his attention, "Okay, so if I'm going to be forced to wear this uncomfortable getup, could… you ask your friend… if she can help fix… the top half of the dress?"
"What's wrong with the top half of the dress?" Ed titled his head in confusion of the question.
"It's uncomfortable," Winry's fingers ran over her shoulders.
"You need to tell me where it's uncomfortable, so I can tell Tilly how to tailor the dress."
"Please don't tell me you're that stupid! Couldn't you tell when I was standing there?"
"Winry," frowning sharply in frustration, Ed rose up to challenge her, "I do not know what is wrong with your dress!"
"It needs a bra, Ed."
With the flick of his wrists, Hohenheim brought the newspaper back up in front of himself and continued reading.
Ed found himself sunk into the cushions of the couch, staring forward into the unlit fireplace. A wrench upside his head would have done less damage than her statement did. He hoped he hadn't turned any shade of red and quickly touched the back of his hand to his face to make sure. This was becoming a conversation he'd never wanted to carry on with her.
"Ed…" Winry whined as she sunk to the floor, leaning up against the back of the couch, "please just ask her for me. I don't know how to ask, she's not wearing one, and I don't think anyone in the magazines had one on. I can't even point it out to her if I wanted to."
"Why didn't you need one before now?" the monotone question dropped from his mouth.
"I was hiding in your shirts and sweaters," her voice hoarsely whispered, "it's not like anyone was going to see me in public! Those Thule-whatever people took everything I was wearing before I got into that white thing."
Ed's hand slowly peeled over his face; his intuition was right, having Tilly over to dress Winry up was a bad idea, "Why did I have to know this Winry?"
"Who else did you want me to discuss this with? I'm not going to ask your dad."
"He's sitting in the room," Ed quickly side glanced over to his father who held the paper high in front of his face, "I'm sure he can hear you."
"Ed…"
Giving a reluctant sigh, Ed shook his head and took a deep breath as he looked over to the very concerned looking Tilly who'd come to sit on the arm of the couch next to her husband, "Winry wants to know if you have a bra for her."
"A what?" Tilly folded her arms as she frowned at the question, "what's that for?"
His expression collapsing, Ed wondered how he wound up in a conversation like this, "Um…"
"A brassier, Tilly," Hohenheim put the newspaper back down in his lap; Ed's uncomfortable eye twitched at the faint sound of annoyance he picked up in the man's voice.
"Oh…" she blinked at the enlightenment; "I don't think you can get those here. I saw some in a fashion magazine, but I haven't seen them for sale anywhere."
Nodding slowly, Hohenheim glanced over towards his narrow eyed son and Winry hidden behind the back of the couch, "I didn't think she would be so lucky."
"Perhaps she should have a corset though… she's pretty well endowed, it'd probably be more comfortable than having everything bounce around," Tilly tapped her chin in thought, "but for that she won't fit into anything I have. I can take her out another day to find something if she'd like?"
Ed paled as he shifted in the couch cushions, "I don't want to tell her that."
"Winry," Hohenheim's voice rose to draw her back to her feet, "I'm afraid you're not going to find something like that here."
Her cheek twitched a little as she looked on at Hohenheim; it was even more uncomfortable discussing this with an 'old man' than it was with Ed, "Why not…? Aren't there stores that sell them?"
"It's not something that's common place and is more of a fashion trend; Germany is a very poor country right now, I don't expect you'd find anything. Besides which, I've heard that they don't work very well, are somewhat uncomfortable, and will be nothing like what you're use to. If you're insecure about it, you can either tie yourself down or try out a corset like a lot of other women wear."
"Why do you know stuff like this?" Ed's voice squeaked, unable to disguise the discomfort he was having with his father's involvement in the conversation; his eye continued to twitch every time the man spoke up. Edward's question of his father was a welcome intrusion for Winry who remained silent and horrified at what she'd just been told and by who'd uttered it.
Hohenheim stood up from his chair and approached the couches around his coffee table, somewhat unimpressed; he was a little more worldly than his son was giving him credit for. Tossing the newspaper down, Hohenheim carried an expression conveying his general displeasure at Edward's lack of maturity in the last ten minutes, "There are some women in the University, Edward. When an American or British magazine shows up in the department I usually get the honour of translating it."
"Oh…"
"Besides which, you forget how old I am and how many years I was together with your mother…" Hohenheim narrowed his eyes, courting a slightly wicked thought for his uncomfortable son, "…buying clothes with your mother, doing laundry with your mother, sleeping in the same bed as your mother, doing 'adult things' with your mother. If you think that I don't know what Trisha wore under–"
It took Ed's mind a moment to crash before the blood-curdling scream tore out; the moment the sound emerged, Winry shrieked with laughter.
Both of Ed's hands suddenly shot out in front of his body, "That's enough, no more, I don't want to know ANYTHING about you and mom, EVER."
"Edward…"
"I don't even want to THINK about it…" Ed quickly flung himself to his feet and made his way around the couch, "this conversation is never coming up again."
"Ed!" Winry's voice perked as she hopped onto the back of the couch, "how old are you? Adults actually do discuss these sorts of things."
Ed's arms again flung into the air, "Yes, Winry, I know they do… but this is entirely different."
"How's that?" her lips curled up in amusement.
Turning an eye back to her, it twitched as he pushed the words out from between his teeth, "Because it involves my parents, and I . do . not . want . to . know ." Edward vanished from the room before Winry was able to take a deep enough breath to reply.
Tilly and Hermann exchanged glances before looking around the room uncertain of what just happened.
Hopping down from the back of the couch, Winry folded her arms as she frowned, "How does Ed think he was born?"
Snatching up the newspaper again, Hohenheim leaned back in the chair as he flipped through to find the page he'd left off at, "He better not think the stork brought him; he won't be too happy when I tell him how it actually happened."
It took a moment of silence to pass before Winry burst into a fit of giggles brought on by the old man's statement and scampered out of the room after Ed.
"Still holding?"
Havoc's forehead came down onto the desk, the phone pressed to his ear, "I'm still holding…"
Breda laughed, patting the top of the zippered black bag, "You're a lost and found service now."
"This sucks," Havoc whined, "I have a thousand other things to do than sit on hold waiting for the Prime Minister's call's to clear up."
"It'll be the same tomorrow and the day after too. You need a direct line like Hakuro," smirking at the thought, Breda hooked his index finger through the loop on the zipper and opened the bag, "did you even bother to look through all of it?"
"Most of it," Havoc sat up, watching as his friend peered inside, "looks like the camera my grandmother used."
Lifting the heart of the equipment out from the bag, Breda whistled, "Cripes, why would some little girl tote this around?"
"Beats me," Havoc returned to twirling the telephone receiver around by its cord, "someone should buy her a new one, I don't even think that thing takes pictures in colour."
Breda's arm reached into the bag; one by one, the Lieutenant began pulling out more of the pieces to be assembled into Brigitte's tripod, flash stand, and camera set up. A little white paper bag lay amongst the chaos. Setting a few square black boxes down, Breda opened each one to find much of the smaller pieces to be embedded into cloth-filled velvet-lined cases.
"She certainly took care of some of it," he admired as he shuffled the boxes on the desk.
Examining a heavier piece from one of the velvet-lined cases, Havoc's brow rose when he attempted to return the part only to find the cloth bed had a hard spot. Poking at it, Havoc lifted the velvet layer away to see what was mixed into the soft bed. Between his thumb and index finger, Havoc pulled out a child sized hide wallet.
"Interesting," Breda snatched away the brown and dusty wallet "I wonder what girls keep in their wallets now-a-days."
"Breda…" Havoc rolled his eyes.
"What? My sister use to write love notes and keep them there, they were priceless," a malicious smile grew across his face as the officer started to investigate the contents, "if she's got the wallet stored away like that, then I bet there's something good inside."
"Mustang said that the girl doesn't even speak normally, how do you expect… her…" Havoc's voice trailed off as he caught the receiver in his hand, "what?"
Placing the wallet down, Breda slid a scrap piece of paper towards his companion, "What the hell does that say?" he pointed to the hand written note that caused Havoc to straighten in his chair.
Taking the paper in his hand, Havoc leaned back in the chair as he tried to decipher the mostly English looking letters into some coherent form, "… Well, they did say she made up her own language… maybe she writes that way too?"
Removing the paper from Havoc's fingers, Breda opened a card that had been folded in half and placed it into the Lieutenant's hands, "Yeah, and this one is typed."
"'The hell…?" Havoc's eyes scanned the document, repeatedly, while Breda continued pulling out untranslatable objects: train ticket stubs, store receipts, hand written notes, postage stamps, German bills and coins…
"Looks like this is an information card of some sort," Havoc placed the document down, "that's the top line has the girl's name in it. How the heck do you pronounce this? Shmittenhelm?"
Setting the wallet down, Breda dumped the coins in his hand onto the table, "I've been stationed in some pretty remote places but I've never seen coins like this."
Havoc's finger came to rest at a date on the card, "That 1908 date had better not be her birthday… she's a hell of a lot older than that."
"What the hell is that warped looking B?" Breda's eyes narrowed as he spun the card around.
The moment Havoc lost possession of the card, he stood up from the desk and began to clear the remaining contents from the bag, balancing the phone receiver on his shoulder as he did so, "Breda, see if you can't find a manufacturer's label on some of this stuff."
"Woah, Havoc," from within the wallet, Breda snapped out a folded sheet of white paper. Havoc watched wide eyed as his companion placed a sheet littered with hand-drawn alchemical circles down on the table, "… Did Alphonse make this for her?"
His eyes examining the creased piece of paper, Havoc slowly shook his head with uncertainty, "You'd have to ask him…"
Setting the paper aside, Breda began transferring the equipment off the desk as he examined each piece for some indication of its origin. In turn, Havoc's hands dove into the bag, patting down the inside before opening a zipper and pulling out paperwork. He dumped the papers across the table, most of which resembled unfinished math homework.
"… This is making no sense," Havoc sank back into the chair as he scanned the confusion laid out before him. Taking the paper bag from the table, the Lieutenant shook the contents out into his hand and unwound the elastic surrounding the bundle. Photographs, nothing but black and white photographs. Black and white photographs of countryside scenery, structures that seemed hundreds of years old, people in clothing that people in his grandmother's generation had worn… Havoc wondered how old the images were.
"Good Afternoon, Prime Minister Mitchell's office, are you still holding?"
The sudden voice startled Havoc and he fumbled the contents onto the floor; he scrambled to attach the phone to his ear while bending down to pick up the images, "Yes, I'm still holding." To add insult to injury, the small paper bag tipped off the edge of the desk and tumbled off Havoc's head to the mess.
"Were you holding for Prime Minister Mitchell or General Hakuro?" the sweet little voice piped.
Pulling the paper bag open with the intention of putting everything away, Havoc wrapped the cord around his arm so the receiver would stop slipping, "I didn't realize this was a dual line."
"The Prime Minister and the General have been in conference all day…"
Curiously, Havoc squinted an eye into the paper bag.
"… calls for both men have been redirected to this line."
Havoc flicked the paper bag, "There's something stuck in there."
"Pardon me?"
Reaching his finger in, he pulled the photograph off the inside of the bag; the image side stuck to bag by the thumbprints that had handled the snapshot on the day peanut butter and strawberry jam had been served for lunch at school.
"Sorry, I said that explains why I waited so long for the Prime Minister."
"I can put you directly through to the Minister now if you wish?"
Havoc shook the single photograph out from the bag, "That would be l-"
Breda turned his attention away from his task, perplexed by the sudden silence Havoc had entered.
"Sir, what was that?"
Gazing over the desk, Breda looked down to the officer upon his knees, "Havoc?"
"I'll call back," Havoc's hand blindly slammed the phone down.
Narrowing his eyes at the sudden disconnection, Breda questioned the Lieutenant as he rose to his feet, "You were on hold for nearly an hour… what was that for?"
Straightening the mess of photographs now in his hand, Havoc nonsensical tone had vanished, "Do you suppose they've passed through Xenotime yet?"
Glancing to the clock, Breda raised a single eyebrow, "We just missed them."
"Shit, I'll have to leave a message at the hotel," Havoc's expression dawned a grave seriousness as his hand darted into his pocket, "they have to get on the next train back to Central."
"What? Why?"
With the flick of his thumb, Havoc set the solitary photograph down on top of the entire menagerie.
"What is she doing?" Albrecht scratched the back of his head, sorting through the growing confusion around why Winry, still dressed in her long brown coat, black high-heeled boots, and bucket hat was sitting on the table, rather than in the chair.
"Winry!" Ed's English called to her, "get off the table and sit like a lady."
The slits of Winry's eyes glared over to Ed, "What did you just say?"
"Girls don't sit on the tables, they sit in chairs. You have to act…" Ed scratched his cheek at the statement he was making, "dainty around people."
"Dainty?" the word disgusted her; not that she didn't believe girls could act dainty at times, but just the idea that it was Ed of all people telling her this, "I'm in an engineering workshop, I should be in overalls, not fancy pointy boots."
It was supposed to be a secluded venture; Ed taking Winry into the engineering lab during the 7:30am to noon lecture blocks. He'd literally snuck her in, uncertain how the dean, program chair, or any of the other higher level teachers and executives would react to his attempt to bring a woman into the engineering labs. He'd taken the keys from his father, who'd reluctantly borrowed the keys from an associate; the labs were never used during lecture hours.
Just before 9am, the locked door to the lab had opened. Nearly killing Ed with fear, he'd been momentarily relieved to see that his guests were Albrecht Haushofer and Rudolf Hess… escorted by his father. Ed came to learn that Hess had been late for class and spotted them. He'd approached Hohenheim in Karl Haushofer's office after class had let out, and though Karl himself had a lecture, Hohenheim found himself with little choice but to take the other two men to visit.
The moment the men had entered the room, Winry put her long and wrapping light brown jacket back on, refusing to let anyone stare her in the hideous dress. She promptly returned to sitting on the table, where she had been while stripping the wire's she'd use to thread into Ed's somewhat broken hand, continually examining the AutoMail documentation.
Ed's hand came over his forehead at her behaviour; the two men laughed at the scenario that had gone on in a language they could not understand.
"She seems brave and has character. You know what Ed," Albrecht grinned, "you should let me take Winry-Goddess out to dinner."
Hess laughed at the way Albrecht phrased her name.
"… No," Edward replied flatly.
"Oh come on," Albrecht coaxed, "I'm studying English, it would give me a chance to have someone to practice with. Besides, not too many guys get to walk around town with a girl who looks that nice."
Ed cleared his throat, "No."
"I think Edward is being a bit over protective," Hess smirked, his voice playing with devilish undertones, "either that or he's selfish and doesn't want to share the wealth."
"You're disgusting Rudolf," Edward's flat response only made his company laugh more. Ed shot a vicious glare over to his father who deliberately paid no attention to the scenario.
Albrecht's hand came to rest on Ed's shoulder, a sly grin on his face, "You keep saying it: she's not your girlfriend, so you have no reason to object to me taking her out for dinner."
"Albrecht…" Ed's eyes narrowed.
Hess laughed, "I think you're making him mad, Albrecht, he didn't call you 'Hoffie'."
"… last time I checked you had a girlfriend."
Albrecht's lips curled up in amusement as the hand that once rested on the shoulder now wrapped around Ed's neck with a deliberately devious laugh, "… So?"
Ed let loose a disgruntled sigh, shoving the arm away, "Yeah, well unfortunately Winry's going back home soon, so you'd better not get too attached to her," he continued to re-draw the line between the German men and Winry.
"That's right," Hohenheim braced himself as he stepped into the conversation, "Edward and Winry are heading back to England right away."
"I'm what?" Ed blinked over to his father.
The two men turned, raising their eyebrows at the statement, "Really? How soon?"
Nodding affirmatively, Hohenheim advanced the conversation around the dumbfounded son he'd created, "Winry needs to visit her parents and Edward offered to take her on the trip. I don't think she'll be traveling alone after what's happened."
"… I did what? I'm what?" Ed's flat tongue switched to English, picking up Winry's attention.
"That's such a shame," Hess' expression fell sharply, "we're organizing a get together to celebrate Adolf's release soon. I'd hoped the both of you would be in attendance. When is everyone departing?"
Sitting back upon her knees, Winry's hand came to her chin as she glared down at the pieces of paper before her.
Frowning, Hohenheim acted out his finest disappointment with a sigh, "If I remember right, they depart a few days before Adolf's release."
"What the hell…" Ed's words fell slowly, bitterly and meticulously off his lips, again snagging up the unimpressed gaze Winry held.
"That's disappointing. For all the trouble that there was, Adolf told me he owed Edward a tall glass of 'Marianna's Finest' red wine."
"… do you think…"
It was an unexpected swell of alarming concern that took over Hohenheim's voice, "He what…?"
"… YOU ARE DOING?" Ed's fist came crashing down onto the counter.
"Shut up, Ed!" Winry barked as she traced her fingers over the schematics again.
Exchanging a concerned glance with Albrecht, Hess stumbled through his sentence while his eyes darted from the sudden outburst from Winry, louder English outburst from Ed and the sudden concern from Hohenheim, "He wanted to treat Edward to some drinks as an apology."
Hohenheim's hand came up into Edward's face before the younger could continue his ranting, "No, that's not what I'm asking, I-"
Ed slapped his father's hand away, "I am NOT taking Winry to London."
"Ohhh… dear," Winry's fist came to her mouth, her eyebrows knotting together as she sat on her knees upon the table mulling over what she'd suddenly come to realize within Ed's AutoMail documentation.
"I didn't think you were stupid enough to think I'd been KIDDING when I said there was no way in HELL I'd-"
The room of men gave a collective yelp; in the blink of an eye Ed was down on his knees, forehead to the ground and hands clasped over his head. No one had seen what struck Edward in the side of the head, but wary male eyes turned horrified expressions over to the cross look Winry carried.
"What the hell is wrong with you Winry?" Ed screeched, never having any doubt who rattled a screwdriver off his skull.
"Stop yelling at your dad like a banshee!" she screamed back; with the exception of Edward, the men within the room paled at her vicious sounding retort. Winry's finger shot to the chair while her expression threatened ferocious repercussions if he didn't, "sit yourself down in this chair and shut up."
Bitterly tossing the screwdriver across the floor, Ed got to his feet. Much to the surprise of everyone, mostly Hohenheim, his son scowled his way over to the indicated seat.
"You're screaming over London again like some spoiled brat. What would you do if I wanted you to take me to London?" Winry turned her nose to the air as she slid off the table, the two entering into their own little world to be watched by observant eyes.
"Has that stupid old man been talking to you about London?" Ed bit back as he sat down sharply.
"Yes," the palm of Winry's hand came down between Ed's shoulder blades as she thrust him violently against the table's edge, "and don't talk about your sweet old dad that way," sitting down on the table top again, Winry took the pins and stripped wires she'd been toying with and began to thread his fingers like a master seamstress, "and he said that they speak English in London, so I don't know why we're still here when we could be there."
"And the Thule hall and transmutation circle are here."
"And just like you said, the hall and circle are not going anywhere or doing anything," a malicious curl came across her lips as she spoke through a toothy grin, "I think that you, your dad, and I should go to London."
"Then the two of you can go, I don't care what you do," he scowled back to challenge her deliberate attempt to piss him off further.
Sliding off the table, Winry slammed his hand down and issued her bitter instructions, "Unbutton your shirt, I need your shoulder."
Oblivious to the silent observation the horrified men placed her under; Winry unlatched the jacket at her hip and dropped it in a heap on the floor. Popping the pins that kept her hip-band from falling off, she discarded the oversized belt and bow that annoyed her so much, kicking it into the jacket when it fell easily from her body. Snatching up scissors from the countertop, Winry unwound a double-arm length of red wire and snipped it from the wooden roll. Firmly tying the wire around her waist, she pulled the dress up above her knees before crouching down to unlace the boots. Kicking the uncomfortable high-heeled pin-pegs she's been balancing on into the pile of clothing, Winry swept up the triangle tool key from the shelf and notched the flathead corner between her index and middle fingers. Storming over to Edward, Winry whipped a chair around next to where he sat and promptly came to stand on the seat.
"You know what Ed," he choked when her kneecap unexpectedly came down between his shoulder blades. Holding him against the table as she shifted a great deal of weight to pin him down, Winry's bitter smirk curled, "I was looking over your AutoMail notes a couple of minutes ago and I realized that I had missed something when I was thinking about getting your fingers going," her left hand gripping Ed where his flesh became metal, she locked the driver head into the main notch at the back of his mechanical shoulder, "it's easy, now that the wires are replaced, all I have to do is reestablish the current flow in your hand, then your fingers will regain their movement," with the sharp twist of her wrist, Winry spun the notch counter clockwise. Eyebrows rose as Ed's head suddenly perked at her actions, but shivers tore down the spines of the observant men moments after. Re-gripping the key, she wrenched the notch around in a full clockwise circle. Winry's hand moved to press Ed's forehead into the table as he ripped out an excruciating scream at a merciless feeling he had not been prepared for.
Detaching, and then tossing the tool down onto the desk next to Edward's head, Winry hopped down from her perch and dusted her hands off before slapping them down on her hips. Turning a narrowed gaze towards the two German men who stood mortified at her behaviour, Winry simply scowled back at them before marching around the table to peer down at the limp body of Edward; entangled in his own sweat and heavy breathing as he fought through the shock.
"But I didn't realize that I had to disconnect and reconnect the entire nervous system flow of your whole arm to do that."
"You…" his voice shaky, a pained and unsteady eye opened to look up at her.
Lacing her fingers together, Winry tucked her hands under her chin as she smiled sweetly down at his horrid discomfort.
"It's fixed now."
It was a dual set of watchful eyes that remained peering down the platform, and though when one would sigh in displeasure and return to looking off into the wilderness beyond the train tracks, the other continued vigilance.
Roy's hand slapped over his face while his head rolled uncomfortably over the back of the bench, "Major, how long has it been?"
"Ten minutes since the last time you asked, Sir."
"Dammit…"
Riza's watchful eye held observation over Alphonse down the platform while he picked and chose from the family cookery, "Should we join young Alphonse, Sir?" her eyebrow rose in thought, "we haven't eaten since this morning and it's almost dinner hour."
"When I see smoke rising from that engine car," Roy's melancholy voice droned out, "then I'll be hungry."
They'd sat there for hours. The train into Xenotime had gotten them there with time to spare, but the connecting train out on track two was yet to receive clearance for departure. The next station, six hours away, had yet to relay an okay. Twenty minutes after the initial denial of clearance due to weather, the phone lines into the city and station had been severed.
Roy's nose curled in displeasure, he could see it in the east, the towering storm clouds that billowed up into the far reaches of the sky, stretching from one end of the distant horizon to the other. If any of the valleys that surrounded the town had washed out, not only were the phone lines inoperative, but the train would not be able to pass.
Despite her cranky superior's doldrums, Riza rose to her feet, brushed her beige skirt smooth, and wandered in Alphonse's direction without another word to draw along the man's misery.
"The cinnamon buns are really good!" Al piped; his arms folded over the edge of the counter, his chin resting in them while he sat in a chair at the elder baker's stand.
"I have fresh soup buns that'll be ready in about five minutes," the old man brimmed with amusement at Alphonse's continued appetite for his baking, "did you want some soup and buns after the cinnamon rolls?"
Al gave a vigorous nod as he popped the remainder of the cinnamon bun into his mouth.
"It's good I take it?" Al had this magic touch on her that even Roy could not explain; though he did not disapprove of it. It had shown up on the train ride, the sudden absence of her military tone that she used even with her dog. But this, she used it in conversation with Alphonse and found that he was much more receptive to that type of behaviour. It was as though Al's will would easily bend to a warm female voice.
Swallowing his last bite with a nod, Al grinned his childish smile up to her as Riza pulled a chair up.
"So what are we eating?" her voice mused over Al's enjoyment.
"Mister," Al picked his head up from the lazy position he'd held, "what kind of soup is it?"
"Cream chicken is alright young man?" the elder voice called out from within the kitchen.
Al's eyes turned over to Riza, "Is that alright?"
"Its fine, Sir, thank you," she called out, clasping her hands over the handbag resting in her lap.
Turning over the back of his chair, Al gazed down the platform scattered with tired, waiting and generally impatient travelers, his eyes caught Mustang lounging with disgust on the wooden bench.
"Is the General going to join us?"
Turning her gaze in the same direction, Riza simply rolled her eyes at the stubborn man, "Brigadier General," she wasn't used to having correct Al's recognition of ranks, "and no, I doubt he is. He's sulking."
Al knew why, the cranky officer had been grumbling about it for hours; and though Al had finally gone off to entertain himself elsewhere, he was still curious, "Ma'am, are we ever going to get to leave? I'll end up using all of my money on cinnamon rolls if we don't go soon," he wiped his fingers off in a napkin.
"You can call me Riza, Alphonse, I don't mind. You're not military personnel."
Al gave an uncomfortable shrug at the suggestion, "Winry always called you Miss. Hawkeye or Lieutenant Hawkeye or something like that. Everyone in Central calls you 'Ma'am' or 'Sir' or 'Major'. It sounds funny any other way."
Raising her eyebrows in recognition of the problem, she added to the thought, "You know, I told Winry to call me Riza, and she didn't take to it well either. It sounds too formal hearing people younger than myself who do not have to address me as 'Ma'am' say it. It makes me feel old."
The question was innocent enough, "How old are you?"
"Alphonse," the military tone smacked him over the head, "it's rude to ask a woman her age," and as quickly as the voice had blindsided him into retracting the statement, Riza's casual tone added, "not old enough for you to call me 'Ma'am'."
"Excuse me?"
The interruption was not directed at anyone per say, but the timid call from the little boy's voice received not only the attention of the elder baker, but Alphonse and Riza as well.
"I'm sorry," the boy fiddled with his fingers, "I'm wondering if you can tell me if a gentleman has stopped by your stand?"
"Of course," the elder baker placed his tray of newly baked buns on the ledge.
"I'm looking for a man with an eye patch…"
Riza's disposition dropped away as her suspicion and curiosity took over; she tried to glance down the platform but the crowd of people looking to board the next train back to Central had become too dense. She turned her attention over to Alphonse who kept his curious eyes on the boy.
"… he's got short black hair, average height. He's traveling with a blonde woman and a boy a bit taller than me."
The baker slowly shook his head, "I'm sorry young man, I can't say that I've served anyone with an eye patch."
"Why are you searching for a man with an eye patch?" Riza tried to keep her inquisition from sounding too powerful.
Giving a sigh, the boy looked back over his shoulder, "I have a very important message I'm supposed to relay. And I need to find them before the train to Central leaves."
"Why the Central train?" Al joined in the curious train of thought the pair stewed in.
"Woah…" the sudden wide-eyed look Al was given stalled their conversation. The boy slowly turned his full attention over to Alphonse while Riza began to rise up from her seat with uncertain alarm for the reaction.
"You're…" the boy's voice sounded lost in wonder, "Is that what she meant?"
"At ease, Major."
Roy's voice took hold of everyone present. Attentions spun around to the stern expression on the officer's face as the young man standing tall next to him approached the trio.
"You found him!" the little boy's voice squeaked in delight.
"Sure did," without loosing pace, the elder came to crouch next to Alphonse's seat, his whimsical look of curiosity examined the Elric boy, "you know, Mugear told us that both Elric brothers had gold eyes. Guess the old fool never did know what he was talking about."
Al leaned away in his seat, caught surprised and off guard by the sudden revelation that this person recognized who he was.
"She was right," the young man exhaled a laugh, looking into Alphonse's obviously unnerved reaction "you don't look anything like Ed. You're sitting down and you still look taller than he ever was."
The younger of the two boys folded his childish arms, "You're going to get in trouble if you keep that up."
"Sir?" Riza had come to her feet, a startled aura of concern wrapped around the situation.
Roy simply waved a dismissive hand, his voice much calmer than the looks carried by his other two traveling companions, "It's alright Major."
For Riza, this was not okay; even if she completely trusted her superior's words, the situation was too serious for her not to know, "Who are these boys?"
With the growth of a charismatic smirk, and the presentation of a strong hand for her to shake, the elder of the two boys introduced himself, "Russell Tringham, Miss. Major."
"Tringham…?" her eyes shot over to Mustang whose visual reaction never wavered at the mention of the name. Not since she'd first begun to serve under Mustang's command had she heard that surname.
"That's my little brother," realizing the major would not take his hand; he clenched his fist and with the flick of his thumb, motioned to the younger boy who beamed proudly, "Fletcher."
Glancing between the hardened and serious look Mustang carried and the gravely concerned look his subordinate carried, Al's voice barely found its way out, "I don't… know the name."
"We were told to expect that, and you know what, that's good!" Russell's amused smirk never vanished as he looked on, entertained by Alphonse's confusion, "we've pulled some stupid stunts with you and your brother, everyone's better off if we forget it ever happened."
The tense aura was blown away by the steam whistle of the train Mustang and his companions did not realize they were waiting for.
With the snap of his fingers, Russell pointed to the boarding party line up, "That's your train, and you better get on it."
The seriousness in Mustang's expression lifted at the incorrect statement, "No, we're heading east."
"No you're not," the overconfident attitude Russell carried rubbed Mustang the wrong way until the boy's playful demeanour swept away without warning, "I told you, we have a message to relay. From Lieutenant Jean Havoc, VIA Lieutenant Maria Ross, and relayed by us: you three need to get back to Central City. Now."
To Be Continued...
Author's Notes
You all want to see what Winry looks like, ya? Here's some art to help you visualize what you're reading! (don't forget to put that URL together without spaces!) www . livejournal users / yuuki / 72669 . html
I think Russell and Fletcher will be fun to write too... XD poor Mustang...
Mugear is how the name is spelt on the Aniplex site.
'Why didn't Gracia see Al off?' Think about what happened the last time Gracia saw someone off at a train station.
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