(Hooray! I got my portfolio done… so now I can post my next chapter! Sorry for the delay :)
Chapter 87 – Social Augmentation
"GET THE HELL OFF OF ME, BOTH OF YOU!"
Hermann's brow creased, teeth clenched, and he threw a number of options out the window before deciding to drain his syringe into Ed's shoulder, stubbornly defiant against the protest of an extremely loud and volatile Elric.
"Give that a few minutes and things will feel a good deal better," Hermann put his tool aside amidst the lethal glare he received after Tilly removed the pillow from the side of Ed's face. "You have got to be the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met… still able to put up a fight with me after all that."
Ed calmed in the dark house. Only a meek fire ran to heat the home; it was the easiest thing on the calamity of a headache Ed had. Tilly tucked the pillow beneath Ed's head and replaced the soft bag of snow wrapped in a hand towel that was being used to quell the swelling on Edward's left cheek – it seemed everyone who'd hit him was right handed. The woman took a glance over to Winry, eyeing her curled up quietly in the rocking chair next to the fireplace, before settling herself back down.
"Edward, I am a scientist. I met you and we were scientists researching advanced theories in flight, rocketry, and engineering. Yet somehow I've turned into your personal doctor." Hermann shook his head at the concept, "how did this happen?"
"That's what you get for learning to be a doctor before turning into a scientist," Ed flinched when Tilly swept an alcohol soaked ball of cotton over his knuckles.
Hermann's hand clamped down on Ed's good eye, pulling it wide for investigation, and instructed the Elric to focus on the motions of his pen, "The last person I ever thought I'd get a call from during dinner hour yesterday was Winry," Hermann glanced over to her in the chair for a moment, "and I'm really impressed that she called, even if she only had four words to go on."
"Yeah…" the reply came out slow, and Ed's eye lost focus on the directorial pen – everything diverted to his thoughts of the prior night. Herman snapped his fingers to reclaim Ed's attention to finish with the assessment.
"You're better now than you were last night though," the pen was slipped into the chest pocket of Hermann's shirt, "I only had to snap my fingers once."
"There you go," Tilly announced, showing Ed his re-bandaged hand that accompanied his wrapped forehead and torso, "fresh bandages all around. Little less red and a bit more white." The woman's eyes widened playfully, giving him a carefully eyeballed head-to-waistband examination, "I don't think I've ever seen you without your shirt on, Edward. It's quite interesting to see a man without an arm," Tilly put her spool of wrapping bandage down on a side table, "it's a shame really, because if you had both those arms and we could wash those bruises off, you'd be something quite exceptional to look at."
Ed reddened at the comment, looking at the woman warily.
"Mathilde!" her husband stared back at her, a little unimpressed.
Tilly rolled her eyes at the two of them, "I am just saying he would be the first thing any and every girl between fifteen and thirty on a French beach would look at. He's blonde, a bit pale, but he's nicely built," the wife huffed at Hermann's blank stare and gave a very sweet smile to Ed, "it would make him fun and games for all the ladies to try and find out if he's just as nicely built from the waist down."
A little dark red vein popped into existence among the bruising on Ed's red and purple face, "I think something's seriously wrong with your wife, Hermann."
Tilly laughed.
The pseudo-doctor laughed as well, rising to his feet and moving out of the room, "She's a troublesome little chick, just 'chirp chirp chirp' all day long." Hermann snapped his fingers, far less distraught over the conversation than Ed was. The older man tidied the mess he'd made of the coffee table with the sorry little first aid kit kept in the house and took himself to the front door, snagging his boots, "I'm going to head home for a bit and grab a couple of things. I wasn't expecting to be here all night, so I'll be back here in about forty-five minutes to an hour," Hermann threw his coat over his shoulders, "I'll put some stitches into your forehead; I should have some thread left from the last time I put your face back together."
"Har har," Ed rolled his eyes… as best he could with the left eye mostly swollen shut. Yet, there was that sudden threat of a needle again and Ed cringed. If he was lucky, he'd be unconscious for that procedure.
"I'll see if I can find anything in this house to make us a late breakfast with," Tilly nodded, standing and taking her leave as well, "can't save people's lives and then let them starve."
Tilly excused herself from the living room and shortly thereafter Hermann vacated the house. Edward listened to the building fall into relative silence once the front door rattled shut. Ed swallowed the groan his body tried to voice as he moved to a more upright position. His head was still pounding, though it was thankfully far more manageable.
"I don't think you're supposed to be getting up…"
Ed blinked over to Winry, "I thought you'd fallen asleep."
Winry snorted, "It's hard to sleep when you're trying to kill people with your voice."
"Sorry…" a sheepish look took over Ed's face; he just didn't like needles!
Winry leaned forwards in the rocker and slipped to her feet, making her way to the couch, "Are you feeling better?"
Not counting his swollen face and a body parts wrapped in bandages, Ed responded, "I'm alright." He shuffled a bit, giving room for Winry at the end of the sofa, "I'm sore as hell though. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Winry nodded, "I'm alright."
"Where did you find Hermann's phone number?" Ed finally had the opportunity to ask.
Winry tucked her knees under herself and sat down, nesting into the cushion, "In the card-files on the desk in your dad's old office," Winry tipped her head into the seat backing and gave a light, embarrassed laugh to herself, "I felt pretty stupid for a bit. I called and didn't realize until Hermann answered that I didn't know how to say what I wanted," her eyes fell away, "you weren't doing good by the time we got home… "
A log in the weakly lit fire place broke from the slow morning burn, shaking out its cinders while it crumbled; Winry's desire to explain herself further crumbled along with it.
Ed figured this was one of those moments where he was supposed to find something reassuring to say, and when he took the deep breath needed for it, an unexpected weight ploughed over Edward's body like an avalanche. As quickly as he felt it hit, it lifted, leaving behind a battered and bruised man that felt like he was floating in water. The knots through his neck, shoulders, and back felt like they'd loosened and Ed allowed the tension to drain. He had no doubt it was the result of whatever Hermann had shot him up with. Ed gave a shake of his head to try and tone the feeling down and he turned to watch Winry where she sat.
"I should have told you," Ed blinked, feeling like every muscle movement he made to speak was exaggerated.
"Told me what?" Winry looked up.
"About Envy," Ed answered, unable to do anything to hide the fight he was putting up against whatever was trying to carry him away, "and Adolf and the meeting during the week."
Winry smiled lightly, "We can talk about it later, I think you need to lay down."
Winry's voice began to compete with the fireplace as the loudest thing in Ed's ears, "We should talk about it now. It's important."
Edward had developed a 'bad' habit in London of falling asleep to the sound of the fireplace; Ed found the destructive element's confined behaviour somewhat relaxing. Fire reminded him a great deal of Mustang, and he had to give the man due credit for harnessing something so wild without walls to confine it. It was strange for Ed to realize how much of a safety net it had been to have Mustang around until he was honestly stranded on his own.
The fire also brought out a couple of nice memories to entertain from childhood with his mom and brother; how they'd snuggle up in the rocker and she'd read to them in front of the fire on cold nights. Or when they'd come into the Rockbell home from outside on a rainy day and dry out in front of Pinako's fireplace. That was worlds ago, and a long time ago; a part of what felt like somebody else's normal life. But Ed still remembered that shadow of a memory clearly enough that he could stand in the middle of a yellow house and look down at three kids he once knew. Little Winry opened her mouth to speak.
"Yeah, well, you're important too sometimes… like right now."
Ed startled. He returned to reality in a fog, on his back upon the couch with Winry's hand sweeping away the hair on his face and setting down the cold bag of snow onto his battered left cheek.
"S'okay Win," Ed mumbled – he had not expected his mouth to be that hard to move.
He heard something that sounded like Winry's laugh, "Hey, come on. You need to be taken care of too once in a while," Ed wondered how annoying it must be for his hair to keep messing up his forehead; Winry kept sweeping it away, "Equivalent exchange, or something."
"Pffff…" the dismissive noise was the last coherent thing Ed managed.
"Okay, seriously," Jean Havoc threw down his cards in a huff, "bleed me dry already. Who the hell invited you to the poker floor?"
"He did," Riza pointed to Roy as she collected her winnings.
"Sir, I respectfully request that we establish a 'no women allowed' set of poker rules," Havoc complained in a hushed voice as he gnawed on his cigarette in the empty, darkened room. The air smelt a little like ash, but mostly of the dank moisture that had been trapped within the building walls undisturbed for days.
"Request denied," Roy answered casually, "I do not promote sexism."
"You promote a lot of other things that have the word sex in them though," Havoc was the only one of the men in the room – Breda, Furey, & Falman – who could get away with that remark, "why exclude this one?"
With the shake of his head, Breda gave an elbow to his financially woeful partner, "You realize that you're complaining about a woman who's sitting right in front of you, with a better shot than you, and all your money."
"Hey," Havoc threw in an excessively dramatic show of hurt, "I'm a damned good rifleman, thank you very much."
Falman gave a snort to the exchange, "I think we should deal before you become target practice, Lieutenant."
Havoc raised his arms to call his surrender, "I'm not only second rate, but I'm also broke. Don't bother dealing me in."
Breda gave a 'tisk' to Havoc's departure from the game, "Never gonna impress the ladies with poker skills like this, man."
"Pft," the blonde officer spat his cigarette out into his fingers, "I could be letting the high-ranking lady win. What kind of a man takes advantage of a female rookie at the table? What kind of man embarrasses his senior officer in front of peers? I have morals."
As Fuery handed out the next deal of poker cards, Riza leaned over and gave a whisper of her concerns to Roy, "You… didn't tell them I knew how to play?"
"Why would I?" Roy grinned, giving her question a shrug, "It's more fun to watch them suffer this humiliation."
"You're cruel, sir," Riza rolled her eyes, "did you tell them that it was my night for the beer run?"
"They don't even know you're in on the beer run," Roy mused at the idea.
One of Riza's eyebrows perked, "That's because I'm not; you asked me if I'd pitch in tonight."
Roy gave a wise pat to his major's shoulder, "And I knew it wouldn't cost you a single cent, because you'd bleed them dry."
Riza's expression went flat, "It was your night to buy, wasn't it?"
"Gentlemen," Roy raised his voice enough to gather only the attention of those in earshot, what lay beyond the darkened confines of this candlelit room needn't know they were there, "last hand before we head out to pick up evening refreshments."
"I can't believe you put us all on the 9-5AM rotation. That's not even a graveyard shift, it's just cruel," Breda grumbled, "that better be some damned good beer."
"You'll be taken care of," Roy smirked at the complaint as he swept up the cards handed to him, "we need to take our hold on the southern ward tonight, and if we do it while the sun is down and people are asleep, we'll avoid as many civilians as possible." There was an ire to Mustang's word's that everyone shared – it wasn't that it wouldn't have been hard to move into the southern ward in the daylight hours, it was that the Central authorities were using the general population as shields to hold them back. It was a disgusting strategy, so they'd move in at midnight instead and establish their presence. The men and women who called this ward home could wake up in the morning and know that the debacle of the clashes between the 'rebels' or 'militants', or whatever the hell the Central authorities were trying to label them, had passed.
Brigadier General Mustang had made it very clear that he had every intention of leaving the general population out of his skirmishes. They were what he was trying to protect, even if Central Headquarters disabled the power grid to the ward, Mustang would still be fortifying his presence. He needed to ensure his strategic footholds were in place first and foremost, before advancing on the heart of Central – like cutting off the limbs of a beast one at a time before finally taking it down.
Roy's good right eye looked up to the game as Riza's coins were placed down for her bet and his comrades followed suit. Havoc moved away from the group, silently latching his rifle into his fingers and sliding up to the open hole in the wall of the structure. Mustang watched his sniper – his preverbal left hand – dressed in his stealth blacks, slip into the darkness with mastered precision and skill; he'd sit, kneel, or crouch there for the duration of his shift if Mustang asked it of him, and he'd do that without complaint. There was a lot of trust to be placed into the man at his left side, covering his blind spot.
"Your bet, sir," Fuery told his commanding officer.
Mustang looked at his cards, shuffled them a little, and placed one down to be exchanged by Fuery, then offering a few coins to the pot. Even at the poker table, Fuery was his coordinator. If X needed to be connected to Z or Y needed to communicate with V, he got it done. If Fuery was ordered to remain up here with a rifle on his back, manning the team's communications through this empty building, he'd keep the operation running and get his jobs done. It was a shame the young officer hadn't a hope or prayer that kind of work ethic would carry him through the ranks – if a man didn't flaunt what he had and partook in the pissing contests needed to get ahead, he'd end up as a diamond in the rough that Mustang would find.
The second pass of the group saw Falman take three new cards, make some kind of displeased sigh at himself for it, and know it was time to bow out. Mustang didn't quite have that skill; he stubbornly ploughed ahead – even with a bad hand sometimes. The Brigadier General kept people like Hawkeye and Falman around because their heads were cool enough to think things through and know when to step back, retreat, regroup, realign, or simply surrender to the situation. It took someone special, with a strong sense of self, to be man enough to accept defeat. Falman was the oldest and one of the calmest officers he kept – never riling up, accepting his tasks, and doing them diligently. Officers like that were as good to have around as dogs, except dogs worked for free… theoretically.
Roy had asked once if Riza would consider having Black Hayate 'trained' for military service work. 'Trained' was a poor choice of words on Mustang's part, since the Major would probably have her dog doing bench presses in a weight room if she desired it. The answer at the end of the conversation was 'yes', but only if the dog was paid the most egregious salary Mustang had ever seen for a service animal. Sadly, Falman – and most of his crew for that matter – was cheaper labour than Hawkeye's mutt. No one needed to know that though.
Left in the three-ring circus were Breda, Hawkeye, and Mustang, and Fuery called for another round of bets. Breda was always a riot to play poker with. Roy was never certain if the officer realized he was so expressive while playing the game, but comparing his playing style to Hawkeye's was like night and day, because Riza sat stone cold like a rock. Breda hummed and hawed, or scowled and frowned, like the decisions he was making with his cards was either slow and painful or a careful science, Mustang could never figure out which. His free personality shone through in his work; it was his best asset. Breda worked hard, kept the office light, entertained with his snark, and could easily be one of the most solid foundation workers Mustang had.
Roy Mustang had a little bit of everything to make up his core group of people. This time they were all going to be together for a siege on Central and they were all going to do this right.
A spark suddenly lit in Breda's grin and his cards were displayed on the floor for all eyes to see, "Take that: full house, eights high."
Havoc's impressed whistle drifted into everyone's ear.
Nothing even flinched in Riza's disposition as she lay down her hand, "Full house, queens high."
"God damn mother fucking…" Breda ripped out a blue tantrum as everyone snickered or stifled their laughs as Riza collected her winnings, "…son of a bitch. I almost had you!"
"That's why she had queens high, pal. The major is actually poker royalty," Havoc snickered.
Riza shook her head, glancing to Roy, who thought the whole escapade was highly amusing. The Brigadier General was the only one who knew she'd won the Central College Rank Poker Championships on the way through the academy in her junior and senior years. Riza still had the plaques stored in a box to prove it.
Mustang drew to his feet, placing his five cards down on the floor face down, dusting his black pants off, and glancing down to the major who never needed a hand to stand up. She stood as his right arm marksman, as she had for so many years. Every quality that Mustang viewed in himself that he didn't have he could see in her; she'd even started to remind him of qualities within himself that he thought he'd lost with Maes. There was no better person to keep at his side than someone as loyal as her hound. She had everything in her repertoire Mustang knew he needed to be complete.
"The major and I will be back by quarter after ten," Roy announced, "I know it's not much time, but drinking stops at eleven, responsible drinking at eleven thirty; I need everyone's focus between midnight and one. The south is going to lose its reliance on Central's command – your shift'll be over when we're set up in the ward."
"Yes, sir," was the chorus in response.
"Alrighty," Lieutenant Havoc called out a little louder than normal, catching Mustang's attention as he adjusted the scope atop his rifle, "Wouldya look at that, I can see the liquor store from up here," he took a look through the scope, "and I can see the store front and clerk. I hope I don't have to shoot any patrons for stealing other people's hard earned money." The lieutenant offered a quick glance to his boss.
The unfortunate thing for Mustang was, when you pick up people who fill into the slots of your most crucial assets, they end up figuring out too much about you. Riza left the room ahead of her superior officer, presumably grinning if the satisfied looks on everyone's faces was any indication.
"Close your eyes!" Winry ordered.
Ed closed his eyes.
"Keep'em closed!" Winry shuffled through the kitchen, rattling a few indiscriminate things, before a glass plate tapped down on the table, "okay open them!"
Ed opened his eyes and laughed.
Eleven iced vanilla cupcakes had been arranged on a plate, each one with two lit candles stuck awkwardly in them. He'd known it was coming; Winry could be the nosiest, most vulgar cook he'd ever met. A crash of pans drew Ed out of bed before eleven that morning. He started to come downstairs, but Winry flew into a rage and ordered him back to bed. Ed was too tired to argue, so he lounged around in bed until noon, when she 'invited' him down again.
"Happy birthday," Winry announced with a smile, hands on her hips.
Ed smirked at the simple celebratory display, "Did you eat the twelfth cupcake?"
Winry rolled her eyes, removing the tie from her hair, "It was a poor, deformed, suffering creature, so I put it out of its misery. Besides, eleven works better since you're twenty two. I had it all planned."
Again Ed laughed, then took a deep breath and blew out the candles.
Winry slid into a chair and snatched up one of the freshly prepared cupcakes in sync with Ed and they gave a collective chomp into their fresh, fluffy pastry.
"Are you feeling any better today?" Winry garbled as she chewed, fiddling with the cupcake in her fingers.
Ed shrugged and swallowed, "I'm still tired," which was a gross understatement. It had taken all his effort just to get out of bed, "I was spent by seven thirty last night. I need to get over this." Ed rubbed his forehead, still littered with marks.
Winry chewed on her second bite, cradling the cupcake in the palms of her hands, "I went to the market this morning while you were asleep and got some things, so don't worry about going out."
"On your own?" his eyes widened.
"I'm a big girl, Ed," Winry nibbled on her treat, "I've watched you enough to know how to grocery shop," she gave a self assuring nod to her own actions, "I picked up butter, eggs, bread, a jam that looked interesting, um… some greens, potatoes, and a thing of ham. I'll figure out how to cook ham."
Ed blinked wordlessly.
Winry chomped down on the last bite of her cupcake, "I did laundry last night after you passed out and strung it up in the living room, then made the fireplace cook to dry it out. It was really cozy in here all night; the house should always be that warm," Winry grinned happily at the idea of warmth, "it should be dry now."
"Um…" Ed sat feeling a little humbled by all of the maintenance she'd done, "Thanks Winry."
She shrugged, standing up from her chair, "I'm going to clean up my disaster in here. Just keep eating cupcakes so I don't gain ten pounds from them."
Ed turned the cupcake around in his hand, saying nothing. The clatter of his father's kitchen materials began to sound throughout the house and again the half eaten treat was turned in Ed's hand.
He had been the most useless person since Saturday, and Winry had done nothing but step up. Ed had never been fond of being cared for, and even if it was reassuring that Winry was able to look after everything, Ed preferred to be doling out the care. He sure as hell did not like feeling so fatigued that he could barely manage his own day, and considering the fight he'd been in, he actually felt physically better than his body was letting him function. Ed had never had to trudge along with such an unquenchable exhaustion before.
Putting the remains of his miniature cake on the table, Ed stood up, "I need to talk to you about what came out of that NSDAP meeting." He'd been putting this off. Ed couldn't even pawn this conversation off on lethargy any longer; he'd really left Winry in the dark on this one. The longer he procrastinated, the worse this would get. It was his birthday, she'd made cupcakes… Ed probably wasn't going to get a better mood between the two of them going for this.
Winry tossed a washed down whisk into the draining board at the sink, "You mentioned that the other day."
But really, how was he supposed to put this? There was no way to coat it. 'Hi Winry, I didn't tell you something really important that you should have known last week' couldn't possibly go over well. Ed felt the sinking feeling in his stomach drop a bit further; he could probably script her reaction. Winry was not going to be impressed with him. Maybe he should just get on with it, "Adolf told me that he'd gotten rid of Envy."
"What?"
Winry's actions suddenly stuttered to a halt and Ed flinched when she spun around on him. Yup, this wasn't going to go over well, "I don't have any reason to doubt him. He trumpets himself too much to gloat about it if it was actually a lie."
"A-are you sure?" the sudden information had clearly side-swiped her.
"Yeah…" Ed felt himself shrink a little.
Winry stared back at him with an astounded reaction that morphed into concern. Her brow quickly knit while the gape in her mouth grew wider and Winry let her hands fall to the wayside, "Wha… Who attacked us then?"
Edward's jaw became firm, "Those were Adolf's men."
"But why?" that answer clearly made no sense to her, "We haven't done anything to him. We don't even know him! Doesn't he realize what Envy is?"
Ed swallowed hard; it was still hard for him to comprehend this world's thought processes and how the people in it came to judge others. He didn't think it would ever make complete sense to him. "Envy told Adolf about us and where we're from, and that's made us targets. We don't have to have done anything, we just have to be something he doesn't approve of." Ed's gaze shifted, "He's blaming me for Envy's invasion of his mind. He called it my plague."
A thunderous silence raged around the room after Ed had spoken, and then Winry's jaw fell open, "You've known about this since last Tuesday. Why wasn't this important enough to share on Tuesday?"
Taking a deep breath, the bridge of Ed's nose creased in frustration, "I'd gone there thinking that when I came back, I'd be able to tell you I knew what we'd do next, and I ended up knowing less about what was going on than I'd started out with," Ed sighed with the shake of his head, "I didn't know what I was supposed to tell you." It was an answer as astoundingly close to the truth as Ed was going to be able to give her. He was a quite pleased with himself for the effort – and that was going to be all the self-gratifying pleasure he'd get out of the conversation.
Winry's hands washed over her face as she huffed in disbelief of the last few minutes. Her foot suddenly thundered down onto the floor and she took the three powerful strides required to centre herself in front of Ed.
"You have to tell me something. I don't care if you don't know what you're going to do about it," Winry's angered voice ordered, "I asked you before you went to tell me what happened after it was over, and you didn't."
Ed opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself – all he had was excuses… really pathetic excuses. Ed hadn't ever considered that not telling Winry was a good idea; he'd just avoided doing it. He didn't want to admit to her how much of a loss he was at. It was foolish, and he knew it, and he let it happen anyways. It wouldn't have changed what happened on the weekend, but it certainly changed Winry's perception of the events.
Winry grunted and shuffled her feet, stepping away with a huff. She moved past Ed, but didn't make it far; Edward's left hand swung out and caught Winry's hand.
"I'm really sorry, Win."
With a grumble, Winry's frown snapped crossly at Ed, "I'm sure you're really sorry. But what if your injuries were worse, what if you were in the hospital, what if I found myself in a situation where I didn't have you around – how am I supposed to know who I can trust and what I should watch out for? I would not be disappointed in you if you told me you didn't know what to do, Ed. I'm disappointed when you don't tell me these things!" there was an immense amount of desperate frustration leaking through Winry's voice, "You keep sheltering me; how do I convince you to stop?"
There was a point being missed somewhere that Ed was trying to convey and he couldn't quite find the handle for it. A tongue lashing from Winry was well warranted, but his rationale was not coming out right. It wasn't that he was concerned Winry would be disappointed in him; he didn't know why he was so sure she wouldn't be disappointed, but that hadn't been his motivation. He wasn't entirely certain it had a lot to do with sheltering her either. If Ed ran a scenario in his mind of what a conversation with Winry Tuesday night may have been like, and looked at how he'd buried himself in alchemy the next day, and then added in the fears realized on Saturday…
The frown Ed had fought off quickly zipped through his brow and he found a sequence of words as close to his logic train as he could coherently verbalize, "I'm disappointed if I don't know what to do to keep you safe. You don't deserve this. You shouldn't have to live in a life where you're afraid of the world or what it might do to you."
The cross look Winry wore lingered for a few moments after Ed's words vanished, and without warning it all drained away. Winry let her stance soften, expression ease, and presence warm. Ed rolled his jaw; he didn't know what to make of the transformation.
A pair of clear blue eyes looked up at him, "You don't deserve this either."
Ed's brow rose at the remark, feeling the tension in his jaw vanish.
"I wish I could rescue you from this world some days and take you home," Winry drew in a breath before Ed could even think of countering her response, "I don't need to go home as much as you do. Getting that new right arm on you doesn't fix a whole lot; I'm just putting a bandage over all the damage," her eyes shuffled to the corners of the kitchen as her thoughts continued to be voiced, "at least you feel like you can find some way to get us home with all that this world, Dante, Envy, and your father have given us. I wouldn't be able to do that, I don't understand it… I wouldn't even know where to look."
Ed opened his mouth to reply, and found that he had nothing to say. He ended up doing nothing more than standing in front of Winry with his jaw slowly closing and an empty head of thoughts– they'd all abandoned him without warning.
"But, you don't deserve this. I know that much."
Winry moved as though she had something more to say, but she was interrupted by a boisterous knock to the front door of the house. They both froze, startled by the noise. Ed glanced in the direction of the front door, not able to see it from where they stood in the kitchen. A second knock rattled off the wood and Winry slipped away to answer it, stranding Edward with his mental chaos of non-thoughts. He could hear Winry undoing the latches on the door, and his eyes fell to the palm of his left hand. He flexed his fingers, opening and closing everything. Ed's tired golden eyes looked up to the table where cupcakes and candles for his birthday sat arranged on a plate. His ears heard Winry open the door and Ed suddenly remembered that he needed to breathe.
Izumi decided that what she was most grateful for about being in the middle of the protests and demonstrations taking over the streets around the security walls of Central headquarters was that the sheer number of people would block the light from any handclap she needed to make. The alchemy teacher that figured this unrest worked to Mustang's advantage.
It wasn't the threat of a mysterious evil-doer or a sinister plot to bring down Central that was inciting the people, it was the appearance of a communiqué that was presented to the public and no one in Central seemed to know who was responsible for bringing it to the surface. The government officials had flown into a tizzy, because the communiqué surfaced in the hands of the Central Times prior to publication early that morning. Within hours of the newspaper's morning run the chief editor was taken into custody, but the man refused to divulge his source.
What was known about the communiqué was that it had originated from Drachma and was regarding Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong's inexcusable show of military alchemy at their last 'engagement'. The entire document was published showing how Drachma accused Central of staging the skirmish to disguise negotiations going on over northern borderlands – a hand-over from Amestris to Drachma. The people of Amestris had fought long and hard to keep this border property and they were not impressed that it would just be negotiated away without any public input or even without public knowledge. The new 'government' couldn't just give portions of their nation away! The communiqué was destined for the upper most echelons of the government as a tongue-lashing laden with threats of redemption. That only added to a compounding number of frustrations with the people that had shown up since the Central Market explosion Izumi had also witnessed some time ago.
Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, in the meantime, was being lauded by many in the city for bringing the vast majority of his battalion home alive with his show of defiance against his orders. If they'd done nothing but hold Drachma off for an undetermined amount of time in order to hide the country's affairs from the public's eye, who knows how many lives would have uselessly been lost.
By noon the city was up in arms and the major's actions had drummed up an astounding amount of support for Mustang's cause. His cause was bolstered when the Armstrong household itself issued an endorsement for the Brigadier General earlier that afternoon.
It was well known that a group of 'militants', as the government had instructed the newspapers to call them, was spearheading the 'unwarranted' upheaval of Central and up until that morning they had only select company for support. The south and southeast wards of the city had their reliance on Central's system of command reduced because of Mustang's footholds. The officer's expansion beyond these two wards of the city was running into heavier resistance against the Central authorities, and when the city turned on its head around noontime, not only did the government disengage from Mustang, but the brigadier general also changed his focus from a northern push through the growing masses of people, to a take-over of the south western ward instead. It was expected that Mustang and his growing number of supporters would commandeer the southern third of Central City by dawn the next day.
Izumi took the long walk around the walls of Central Headquarters. She wanted to get inside and do it in a way that left the masses of people outside, because who knew what would become of Central City if the population stormed in. The woman needed to find a point of the wall closest to a building structure so she could slip in and out with as little detection as possible. Izumi had already made a mess of the Mitchell home that morning and Dante hadn't been there. It was doubtful she would be in the Empty City with all that was going on, so the stout little problem known as Dante had to be in Central somewhere.
The teacher made her way around a bend in the compound and again she was confronted with a curious thing: the influx of security – both police and military for Central headquarters. It was more of a police presence than the military that was being used elsewhere. She'd seen this when she'd walked along the east side – a bulldozer and backhoe had been stopped from working around the Central headquarters wall. The security presence was being used to keep protestors from damaging the equipment. That was strange.
The teacher's nose wrinkled and she continued on, eyeing the south west corner of the western wing. The masses also seemed aware that this was an alluring point in the compound – many men, mostly young men, had gathered at this point and had begun an attempt to scale the wall. Izumi didn't know what they possibly thought they'd accomplish by doing this. The teacher moved with undisturbed prowess through the upset society, eyeing the ground for the layout of the subsurface terrain. There were the gutters in the streets showing the sewer system moving parallel to the road. There were the manhole covers showing cross sections of underground piping running perpendicular to that. The cross sections of piping on the next block should lead to the underbelly of the Western building.
A gunshot rang out into the air and the crowd screamed before falling to a murmur. Izumi looked back to see a soldier standing upon the wall, his rifle raised in the air, ordering the people to back down. It took a moment for the masses to gel in rebellion to the order and the frustrated soldier fired a second, then a third shot into the air, yelling at the people to back down.
Izumi shouldered her way through the droves of moving people – sanity saying move away, group mentality drawing people towards the fires. Izumi shoved through a number of people before she stood at the wall a ways down from the noise. All attention for the area began to centre on this soldier and the rocks being thrown at him and his partners. Izumi's hands sharply clapped together and she put one of her more intriguing alchemical reactions into this south western leg of stone wall. Every pocket of air within the stones and the pastes that held the wall together was extracted from the materials, causing the barrier to give a hefty 'cough' – blowing protestors back and sending the few soldiers standing on the wall into the air. Izumi heard them squawk as they tumbled down onto the grass within the Central compound.
Izumi had transmuted her way through the wall amidst the confusion and slipped to the fire door with enough time to roll her eyes at the armed soldiers picking themselves up off the ground. The teacher gave an eye to her handiwork with the wall; she wondered if any of them would notice that the wall was a little shorter and thinner now.
Izumi slipped into the building; she didn't want to sewer crawl anyways.
The stairwell at the fire doors went at least one floor down and assumedly all the way up to the sixth floor. The teacher heard no sounds of life in stair column and she made her way upwards to the echo of her sandal claps. The sixth floor was a good place to start. Important people place their offices at the top of buildings. It was only a matter of making her way from this wing to wherever in the central portion of the compound the Prime Minister's office was. Izumi slipped out into an empty hall with a long string of south-facing windows. The curtains had been pulled on all of them and Izumi snuck a finger behind the fabric and peered out into the problems plaguing Central City. All these windows were close enough for some crazy child and his well-aimed, oversized slingshot to reach from any one of the nearby trees. Izumi made her way swiftly from the window and marched down the hall and she managed to walk for quite some time without encountering anyone.
"Madam!"
Izumi's feet slid to a stop. Strangely, she found herself more annoyed with how old 'madam' made her feel than how she was finally being intruded upon. Izumi turned back to eye some young, sharply dressed, building security officer.
"Yes, young man?" she answered courtly. If he was going to make her feel old, Izumi would address him like he was too young for the getup.
"I'm sorry, Madam, but the building's been locked down; why are you in here?" the officer said as he approached.
Izumi sighed, not sure of what role she was trying to play, "I just came to have a peek. It's really hard to see this city fall apart so badly. I was just on my way out; sorry I intruded dear."
"Please don't re-enter this wing until the protests simmer down," the young man gave a wave of his hand to encourage Izumi along.
"Don't worry about that, I have some paperwork that I need to get back to anyways," Izumi shrugged, and took up a firm pace.
The officer nodded a bit, "What department are you from?"
"Social Services," Izumi kept her walking pace.
"Where are you work tags, Madam?"
Izumi gave the boy a disgusted 'tisk'. Before he had a chance to do anything, Izumi had clapped her hands and opened up a hole in an interior office wall. With a quick spin on her toes, the unassuming housewife booted the gawking security officer into the room.
"Where's Prime Minister Mitchell?" Izumi barked.
The flailing guard reached for his sidearm, but the blue alchemical spark from Izumi's hand clamped down on the barrel, sealing the tip of the weapon. The terrified young man looked up at a looming, angry presence standing over him.
"Where do I find Prime Minister Mitchell, young man?" Izumi repeated firmly.
"I don't know!" the boy's words quivered slightly as they came out, "and if I did, I wouldn't tell any of you protestors where the Right Honourable Mitchell is!"
Izumi rolled her eyes, "Kiddo, I am not a protestor. I just want to collect a few puzzle pieces and find out what's happened to one of my boys. That's all. I don't give a damn about what's going on in this city."
The young officer stared back blankly at the woman, not sure what he was supposed to say in response.
"So you stay here and keep quiet for a while, okay? Be a good little boy and do as you're told," Izumi marched out of the hole in the wall she'd made and promptly sealed it again, easily stripping the room's actual door of its handle in the process. Without any concern for the engagement, Izumi continued down the hall. The young officer was probably safer locked up in that room anyways.
All things considered, Ed's birthday had started out okay, yet somehow the day ended up with Winry at a piano with Albrecht Haushofer and his younger brother Heinz, and Ed upstairs in the spare room being poked and prodded by the doctor Rudolf Hess had shown up at the Haushofer house with. Ed had just assumed that when the Haushofers found out about his injuries, they would have postponed the idea of a birthday dinner – no such luck. Though it wasn't so much a dinner at this point, it was more like a kidnapping.
Professor Haushofer stood guard on the room, making sure Ed obeyed the instructions of the doctor, and signalling for his wife when Ed was less than cooperative about a physical examination. Ed had no problem arguing with the men in the room, but Mrs. Haushofer would show up with a ladle in hand and Ed's protests would turn to moderate pleas. Mrs. Haushofer seemed quite certain she wouldn't lose an argument to this blonde young man, and sure enough, she never did.
A pen scratched down on a sheet of paper, and the plump old doctor – a former medical instructor from the university – glanced up to eye Ed from above the rims of his glasses. The pen scratched a little more, "What time did you wake up and get out of bed this morning?"
Ed adjusted the neckline of his undershirt after he'd slipped it back on over his head, "Woke up at eight-ish, got up sometime around eleven."
"What time did you go to bed last night?"
"I lay down at about seven thirty," Ed snatched up the red dress shirt given to him at Christmas, "don't know what time I fell asleep."
"And how are you feeling now?" the doctor tapped his pen on his sheet.
"Tired," Ed grumbled. It felt like his mind was trudging through waist deep mud and he'd been doing it all day; the frustration continued to grow.
"Why don't you spend the night, Edward?" Professor Haushofer watched Ed react warily to the suggestion, "my wife'll give you a nice, relaxing evening, the family will entertain Winry, and you can recuperate."
"No," Ed swatted away the 'helpful' hand of the doctor reaching forward to assist Ed with re-buttoning his shirt, "no thank you Professor."
"You really should, Edward," Hess added to the professor's plea.
Ed let the intrigued doctor watch him masterfully finish doing up his own shirt buttons one-handed without a second thought, "No, I'm sorry. Thanks for dinner, but I'd rather stay home."
Hess's arms refolded, his frown worsening and chin dimpling, "Edward, you were lucky to come out of your encounter the way you did."
It took a vast amount of the strength Edward had to refrain from pointing a finger at Hess and accusing his political cohorts of being the ones who'd attacked him.
"If someone is after you and Winry, shouldn't you want to stay somewhere safe?" the professor continued, "After your father, and now this, what if you're attacked in your home while you're so ragged?"
Ed gave a tug to his shirt and stood up. He didn't know which irritated him more, the fear of a home invasion being used to goad him into agreeing to stay with the Haushofers, or the fact that Ed hadn't even considered the possibility that these people would have the balls to attack him in his own home. It suddenly became a real fear, and he really didn't like the incursion of unease.
A disastrous melody of piano key strikes intruded, followed by a loud chorus of giggles and laughter that echoed into the room from the floor below.
Ed's uniquely golden eyes shot back to the doctor, "Can I be excused for a moment?"
The doctor looked back with interest, "I suppose…"
With a lowered brow, Ed made his way wordlessly out of the room uncontested – but it felt as though every eye followed him on his way through the hall and down the stairs.
Ed caught a full view of the open sitting room of the Haushofer house from the stairwell rail. Ed's frown struck, and sharply worsened as he eyed Albrecht and Heinz flanking Winry on the piano stool fronting the oversized instrument. Both boys had saddled up tight, and the hand Albrecht had placed on Winry's back gave Ed's right eyebrow fits.
Ed made his way down the remainder of the stairs and into the core of the house. "What are you giggling at?" a question asked in English, but everyone turned to look at him.
Winry grinned brightly, looking childishly amused, "Albrecht and Heinz are showing me how to play… uh… this!" her finger pointed to the single sheet of music that entertained them.
"Ode to Joy," the younger Heinz shrugged, his English well enough to understand, but not enough to reply, "it's easy enough."
Ed could only shrug as Winry swung back to her playing task; he didn't know how to play. But Elric eyes abruptly narrowed, holding the older Haushofer brother in contempt of his physical involvement with Winry. Ed had expressly forbid such a thing on at least three different occasions, the only exception being the Christmas party because of dancing – when Ed had brought that issue up with his father, Hohenheim had abruptly told his son to grow up. The Christmas party was not, however, a life time exemption. To make matters worse, Albrecht knew Ed was giving him that look for that reason. Albrecht used his own dwelling as a safety net; he smiled quaintly at Ed, snuggled an arm around Winry's back, locked his hand onto her shoulder, and returned to involving himself with Winry's hands to educate her in the piano.
If Ed had any desire to stay at the Haushofer house, it instantly became less.
Ed's hand slipped into his pants pocket, his chin sinking into his shirt collar, and he watched Albrecht guide Winry around on the ivory keys.
Son of a bitch; Ed wanted to pull his own hair out. The Elric could feel his ability to peacefully co-exist with the inhabitants of the entire planet run on empty. Ed felt like a five-year-old in need of throwing a really good tantrum to feel better, except he didn't have the energy to put into it. It was a struggle just to keep his mouth shut… he was a guest in this house after all, he had to keep some dignity about him.
Footsteps were heard coming down the stairs and Ed looked back to see Professor Haushofer making his way down. Hess was already standing on the stairs, three quarters of the way down, eyeing the room.
Drying her hands off with a dishtowel, Mrs. Haushofer made her way into the room. She applauded her husband and the other men from the upper floor for having enough sense to know when to come down. Dinner was almost ready and they should be seated. She smiled at Ed and patted him on his un-bruised cheek. Much to Ed's delight, she also swatted Albrecht's arm off of Winry, telling him to show more respect, and then took him by the ear into the kitchen to set the table. Professor Haushofer gave a pat to Ed's shoulder as he passed, and then took the escort mission – leading Winry into the kitchen. Ed moved to join the procession, but Hess stopped the Elric from following. Ed glanced back.
"I think you should take Karl up on his offer."
Ed took one of his deeper breaths of the day and sighed, scratching his fingers through his face.
Hess's words strengthened, "Look, if you're worried about Winry, don't let jealousy over Albrecht mar that—"
"Woah, who's jealous?" Ed stopped the conversation.
Hess blinked, "You're jealous."
"I am no—" Ed had to lower his voice, "I am not jealous over Albrecht for anything."
Again Hess blinked, his words coming out flat, "Edward, apparently you need to be told you're jealous, so I'm telling you, you are jealous."
"No," an unfathomable amount of frustration circulated through Edward's veins. He was one thin thread away from punching something. Perhaps if he weren't so wound up, Ed might have managed to sound a little more composed, "Why does nobody listen to me? Winry's not one of the social club girls that Albrecht can just pick up and cozy up with whenever it's convenient for him!" Which wasn't exactly what had been going on, but that wasn't the point.
The proclamation managed to break the blank look Hess had worn on his face, and the man began to laugh, "Every young lady needs a knight in shining armour, it seems," a hand fell heavily onto Ed's shoulder, "fine, have it your way, but whatever threat you view Albrecht as, weight that against your ability to take care of her right now. You're out of sorts and you know it."
Ed's hand rubbed over his face. What a mess. Both Karl Haushofer and Rudolf Hess were associated with Adolf, and it was this party's goon squad that had attacked him. Neither of these men knew, and now they were trying to shelter Ed and Winry from his wrath. These people had no idea what insanity was brewing above their heads and Edward wasn't in any position to tell them… and even if he tried, they wouldn't believe him. He'd probably get shot for defaming Adolf Hitler. To make matters worse, Envy was out there somewhere. Ed's motivation to get the measurements from the Thule Hall – like he'd planned to do the night his father had died – and leave town came back to him in a flood.
But Hess was right, and Ed wasn't able to hide it; he was lugging this awful feeling around like a ball and chain and it was exhausting. The Haushofers could keep them for one night.
Izumi acknowledged that she had a similar behavioural problem than Edward Elric did – she had instances where she would act on instinct first and consider the ramifications of her actions at a later point. Or just simply not care about the consequences of her actions… that happened once in a while. But Izumi thought of herself as being someone of good judgement and wisdom, so for this exercise she would display her ability for stealth; a task far harder than going in with alchemy blazing. With Dante around, Izumi didn't want to engage her without knowing more.
So the teacher found an excellent perch for herself in a broken down ventilation shaft overlooking things from the corner of the prime minister's office. She even had a little ledge for the coffee she'd gotten from the tax department's lunch room. Izumi's strategy for finding the room Mitchell, Dante and company had been holed up in was sound – follow the flocks of people. People reported to people, who reported to people, who reported to the top eventually. Here she was – literally at the top of this room.
For the majority of time that Izumi had watched, little Dante sat perched on the centring desk either cross-legged or with feet dangling over the edge. She spent most of her time playing with her little red-gem necklace, and Izumi could guess what that stone was made out of. What a terrifying thought. It made any idea Izumi had of quick-use alchemy null and void. If that was either a Red Stone or a Philosopher's Stone fragment, her alchemy would be disastrous – Izumi could compensate her actions and alchemy if it was a Red Stone, so she could work intuitively against it, but a Philosopher's Stone fragment was beyond what she knew how to handle. Since Izumi had no idea which one it was, it was best not to use alchemy at all.
Beyond the terrifying little demon's shiny toy was the frightening display of control she had over the room with four men in suits and ties, and of the Prime Minister especially. The ancient alchemist didn't do much; in fact she barely involved herself with anyone at all. But she had sleight of hand and suggestive words that changed the course of action for all of them. For the discussion of the Drachma letter, Dante childishly voiced an opinionated comment of 'I think its fake' and every man in the room concurred with each other that yes, it was a fraudulent letter. None of them ever turned to Dante for her opinion, she simply voiced that particular thought and the thought became fact. It looked suspiciously like brainwashing, except that the men in the room with Mitchell behaved incredibly normal. Even the incorporation of Dante's lies seemed to flow smoothly. It was terrifyingly unnerving.
And then there was Aisa. Izumi had never paid much attention to Aisa at any point in the journeying, and the teacher figured she knew why: Aisa didn't do anything. She sat in place, or stood to the side, or did as she was instructed, but otherwise she did nothing. Izumi would have thought someone that potentially bored would have a book, or knitting, or something homey to keep herself occupied. As someone who was apparently designated to look after 'Nina', Aisa didn't do much by way of caretaking either. She simply existed, and did little more than that.
By mid afternoon Izumi had lost track of how many people had come and gone from the office. One of the only things she really kept note of was that there were few men beyond those who seemed highest in rank that appeared affected by Dante's selective wording. She only spoke with any effect when certain people were present. Beyond that, not a single military officer had entered the room all afternoon, which was odd considering the military personnel were predominantly being used to counter Mustang's advancements.
Oh, and she also had a counter going for how often Aisa fetched coffee. This was trip number four. It took Aisa fifteen minutes to go and come back from wherever she needed to go for the drinks, and Izumi would make sure to catch the woman early enough that she would not extend the fifteen minutes – she did not need Dante coming out.
Izumi slipped out of her hideout. Her observational patience had run out ages ago.
Coming down from an overhead panel in a private washroom, Izumi hopped to the floor. She took a peek out into the hall to confirm Aisa was on her way, and then waited behind the door as the nurse's footsteps passed, before she slipped out into the hall behind her.
"Haven't they had enough caffeine by now?" Izumi's low call came out, pulling the woman to a stand still, "a few of them seem a little wired."
Nina Mitchell's nurse turned, "Good afternoon, Izumi."
Izumi replied without a greeting, "Where's Alphonse?"
"Excuse me?" Aisa blinked, "if you wish to speak with Dante, she's just down the hall."
"No," Izumi shook her head, her arms folding crossly, "I'm here to talk to you. Where's Alphonse?"
"He's missing," was the blunt answer.
Izumi's thoughts stumbled over the two simple words, "Missing? How can he be missing?"
"Circumstances occurred that cause the misplacement of Alphonse," Aisa shrugged, her hands clasping in front of her.
"What a load of bull," Izumi snarled. With a flash of rage in her eyes, Izumi's hands flew out – she would get an answer out of this woman.
"Stop!" Aisa raised her hands, holding them out in front of her body cautiously.
Izumi's motion stopped, her shoulders loosening.
"We've never been properly introduced, so unless you're prepared, it's not safe to do that around me," Aisa's hands retreated, "I don't advise clapping your hands."
Well, that was one of the stranger statements Izumi had heard over the last while. Her dark eyes slipped from one side of the hall to the other, "Why not?
It took a few moments for some kind of answer to be brought forth for Izumi's question. Aisa had stood motionless for quite some time, looking as though she'd thought over the question more than once. The seemingly insignificant woman extended an arm, and a hand, for Izumi to take. The teacher looked back at the nurse like she'd lost her mind.
"Go on," Aisa encouraged without a tinge of emotion to her words.
Again, Izumi's gaze shot around the empty hall, before she did take the step forward and gripped down onto Aisa's wrist, watching as the woman let her hand fall limp. Izumi looked at Aisa's complete indifference and then her dark eyes dug into the cool skin of the wrist she held. Izumi felt the heat of her own heartbeat skyrocket. She re-gripped her hand again and again around the wrist and forearm, her fingers digging in or holding gently, until finally Izumi drove forwards, her left hand gripping the cooled flesh of this woman's throat. The alchemy teacher stood silent in the hall, her fingers again shifting and resettling on her skin.
With the thrust of both her arms, Izumi threw herself back from Aisa, taking a few uneasy, wary steps backwards, "What…?"
Aisa's hands re-clasped in front of herself, "The blood in my body was consumed and my veins emptied. I've been embalmed with Red Water and Red Stones to sustain my existence. I have no heartbeat and no pulse."
Izumi shook her head, like she hadn't been able to understand what had been said.
"So I'm asking that you do not perform any rash transmutations around me. There will be consequences if you do."
"What?" Izumi choked; that was absolutely ridiculous, "wha... did Dante do this to you?"
"Dante executed the procedure," Aisa nodded.
"WHY?" Izumi raged much louder than even she'd realized.
"Research," Aisa answered with a shrug to her shoulders, "and necessity. So, if you're not as skilled as Dante and you clap your hands, you could blow a crater in the side of this structure. Please be careful, Izumi."
Being lectured over due diligence and care by… by this woman was not something Izumi would even consider accepting. The teacher's words few out, the rage in her voice hugged by concern, "What makes you so important that Dante would do this to you?"
Aisa remained static, without an answer.
Izumi's teeth clenched, "What about all this makes Wrath so afraid of you?"
"You should calm down, Izumi, before someone hears you," Aisa offered the warning.
Izumi would have none of it. Bursting from her stance with her left shoulder down, Izumi barrelled down on Aisa, running her shoulder into the woman's chest and continuing her charge down the centre of the hall with the woman. The farther Aisa was away from her power structure of Dante, the less danger she posed. The further away Izumi was from Dante and her little red necklace, the safer they would be. If this woman's body – her flesh and bones – were being preserved and sustained by Red Stones, then every action Aisa took, every motion she made, depleted the stones further. And if this woman was truly sustained by Red Stones, she would be able to withstand a massive assault and recover from it, showing no signs of damage, wear, or tear.
The two exploded through the window at the end of the hall, Izumi throwing both herself and this woman off of the sixth floor and into the air. Izumi's hands flew out as the ground shot towards them; if it was Red Stones and Red Water she was contending with, she knew exactly how her alchemy needed to be controlled.
Izumi crashed her palms down for a handclap intended to soften their fall and ensnare Aisa into the earth.
That didn't happen.
The simple act of clapping her hands had rebounded on Izumi with more force than she'd ever felt or known possible – even her own failed human transmutation hadn't backfired like this. The transmutation spark Izumi generated reacted so violently it exploded with a shock wave. Amidst the blinding reaction, Izumi lost her feeling of the world around her. There was no concept of up or down, left or right, depth, width, or height – she should have hit the ground long ago. Izumi thought it was one of the strangest sensations she'd ever experienced. The teacher never saw the surging torrent enter the space she was in, and Izumi felt her entire existence become swallowed by the black, filthy flood with an intolerable crush. The pressure devoured her and the overwhelming sensation pounding her body became unimaginable. She couldn't force herself to scream if she'd needed to.
But for a moment, and only a moment, the alchemy teacher knew everything.
And then it was gone.
"WAKE UP!" Alphonse gripped her shoulders.
Laying flat on her back, Izumi's eyes flew open.
"You're okay!" Alphonse squealed, flopping on top of his teacher and wrapping his arms around her neck.
"What?" Izumi looked around madly, feeling her body become free from the torrential pressure of everything. She sat up slowly in the white space with the young Elric clinging to her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Aisa laying motionless on the sensation-less white surface. Izumi's heart raced with panic, existing within a nightmare she'd never wanted to revisit, the fear alone able to make her sick. The woman who had desperately wanted to be a mother and barely had her chances, wrapped her arms tightly around Alphonse, fingers digging into his hair and shirt. She looked over her shoulder to the black monstrosity of the Gate and its wide open doors, wondering what the hell she could have possibly done to deserve being back here again with another one of her children.
To Be Continued…
A/N:
This chapter hated me… a lot. More than a lot. It was a struggle. AmunRa did a great job trying to fix it. Any errors left are my own.
I do believe the idea to give Ed a concussion was courtesy of Kristina Groves and Sidney Crosby. Get better you awesome people!