107 - Worn Fragments
Doing up the buttons of his shirt cuffs and giving them a tug for length, Ed adjusted his tie, fixed his collar, and looked at himself in the window's reflection. He looked sharp and looked more or less professional - he looked like he was going to work.
Except he would have been fired if he'd shown up unshaven like this.
Ed's eyes widened as he dissected his presentation. He hadn't even tried to grow any facial hair in a year and a half, what the heck did it actually look like now? Did that matter? Nah. He didn't have time to deal with it and it wasn't that noticeable with his bangs in his face anyways. Nobody here was going to care, why did he?
Why did he care?
Ed's hands flew into his hair furiously, inexplicably beside himself - he wanted to shave the care away more than the hair on his face.
The damned Europeans had won!
He really didn't want to walk into the building without a clean face. It did matter! It felt egregiously unprofessional. He felt uncomfortable putting on this act and looking unprofessional doing it. How the hell had he ended up like this!? A slave to social normalcies.
Defeated at the hands of another world's grooming habits, Ed dumped his head back and exaggerated his lament with one last immature groan. At his next firm breath, the elder Elric brother stuck his business face on, pulled himself away from the window, and marched up to the front doors of The Amestris High College of Scientific Studies.
Research and scientific endeavours continued on despite the government's continued collapse.
Letting himself through a grand set of double doors, Ed made his way into an older, elaborate building that had been given new life when the college took over. Door frames, pillars, handrails, and all of the accents were carved to match - a hold over from craftsmen centuries passed. Where candles had once been mounted, modern lighting fixtures had been installed to replace them. Furniture and tapestry had been updated, but the marble floor hadn't been touched and Ed's shoes echoed mercilessly with each step.
It was interesting, he thought, how in some ways there were elements of European aesthetic woven into their culture. He hadn't taken the time to look for any similarities when he'd been on the other side, he was content to assume and believe they were entirely different but, as Ed walked the halls, his observations begged to ask the question of what he'd willfully chosen to overlook in his time away. Despite not knowing what Europe of the last five hundred years had to offer, elements of architecture still managed to develop in Amestris on their own.
Turning down a hall that led him into the western side of the building, a sign hung above the department doors welcoming all visitors who chose to enter. Adjusting his gloves, Ed let himself into the faculty office without a sound.
Shutting the door quietly in his wake, Ed gave a nod to the secretary seated at the administration desk watching him intrude before the noonhour, "Good morning, Ma'am."
"Good morning, Sir," it was a greeting spoken like a question.
Straightening his vest, Ed stepped up to her desk, "I'm here to see Professor Anthony Green. I understand he's in his office this morning."
Nosing around with the students the day before had provided Ed with enough information that he was able to put the man's schedule together before showing up.
"Student consultation hours are available later in–"
"I'm a colleague," Ed stopped her, "I'm not a student."
The woman adjusted the glasses pinched low on her nose, gave him a doubtful eyeing, but picked up the telephone receiver on her desk, "Your name, Sir?"
What the woman couldn't see, what Ed couldn't show on his face, was how much of a monumental battle he was waging to not only force his lips to come apart, but to drag the words out of his mouth that were needed to answer the question.
Ed's cheek twitched as his voice choked out, "Hohenheim Elric."
The secretary's finger spun through the dial of the phone and Ed tucked his hands away behind his back as he waited, managing to not visually cringe when the woman introduced him with his father's name.
Standing up as the receiver landed in its cradle, the secretary swept out an arm and gestured for him to follow, "This way, Mr. Elric."
"Thank you."
Ed followed behind as they wove through the administration desks, soon stepping into a modest hall lined with closed doors, all adorned with simple name plates. Without a day of formal education under his belt, Ed couldn't say he was familiar with the Amestris education systems, but he couldn't help but feel that it was a damned shame that the science professors of this college didn't have offices with more finesse - it was one of the highest ranked scientific institutions not just nationally, but internationally. His dad's office, heck any given wing of Munich's university, put this division of the school to shame.
A door a fair ways down the hall popped open and a white-haired man, almost as round as he was tall, popped out.
The woman stopped abruptly and stepped back to introduce their guest, "Professor, Mr. Elric."
The old man lifted the glasses hanging by a chain against his chest up to the centre of his eyes and squinted.
Watching the secretary excuse herself, Ed stepped up and extended his right hand to the older man who had every reason to look as confused as he did, "Good afternoon, Professor Green. My name is Edward Elric, I understand you were once an associate of my father, Hohenheim."
The professor let his glasses drop to the tip of his nose, "My goodness, has it been that long?"
Ed blinked, "Huh?"
The old man gave a hearty laugh and firmly shook the hand offered to him, "I'd heard that Hohenheim had fallen off the map because he'd settled down, I just hadn't realized it was that long ago. Look at you, of course you're his son! Come in and sit down, young man."
"Thanks," Ed forced a smile and followed the teacher into his office.
Slipping into the compact room, Ed's gaze travelled the walls chaotically decorated with charts, graphs, a few foreign posters, and a vibrant periodic table that was actually richer than the one he'd gotten familiar with over the last several years. Inspecting the wooden guest chair offered to him next to the desk buried in papers, Ed chose to stand. Ideally this encounter would be brief.
"I'm hoping I won't take up too much of your time. My dad gave me your name if I needed to seek out any resources in Central City and, considering all that's been going on, I'm not familiar enough with Central right now to find what I need."
"Yes, things have gone to the dogs lately," Professor Green heaved himself into his desk chair, "but I'm glad your father remembered me, hell, thought well enough of me to pass on my name to you!" he sat forwards with a jolly laugh, "How has your father been getting on? I haven't heard from him in decades."
Somewhere in the back of his mind Ed had told himself to be prepared for that question, though he held onto hope that it wouldn't come up. Rolling his jaw, he gave a pre-planned response, "Recently he's been travelling out of the country."
"Of course he has been! Off on some foolhardy adventure I hope," the old man beamed, "Son, some of the stories your father could tell! Why twenty years ago we found ourselves in such-"
One attempt, and then a second, was made to interject on the professor, but ultimately Ed realized he was going to have to just let the man ramble on. He'd worked with enough personable men over sixty to know how this was going to go. Really, it was wishful thinking to believe he could have just waltzed in, dropped his dad's name, asked for information, and left. Maybe if he'd put some more effort into his conversation skills he'd have been able to talk his way through this, but the thought of holding meaningless conversations with people for the hell of it didn't appeal to him. Ed honestly couldn't figure out how people managed to ramble on about some inconsequential things. Both Al and Winry were really good at that somehow. Shit, so was Mustang for that matter. That was probably half the reason–
"HAH!"
The sharp laugh yanked Ed back into the one-sided conversation.
"But, that was a whole other lifetime ago, when the body was spry and the world felt young. What can I do for you today, Son?"
Hanging onto his sigh of relief, Ed cleared his throat, "I need to acquire some raw materials."
Professor Green's white brows danced above his eyes with intrigue, "What sorts?"
"I need to find a location where I can get powdered aluminum, carbon, sulphur, potassium nitrate, and potassium perchlorate," Ed answered.
Whistling at the list, the professor strummed his fingers on the desk, "What are you transmuting?"
"I'm still in the process of establishing my hypothesis, so what I'm working on is only part of a trial phase at the moment," assertive with his voice, Ed dodged the question, "but once I'm confident I can get a working theory going, I'll certainly contact you with the transmutation's details if you're interested in consulting."
The nothing response brought out a raucous laugh from the elder man that left the Elric wondering if he was supposed to say something in response.
Fishing around in his desk drawer, Professor Green pulled out a business card and handed it to Ed, "I'd love to consult. Contact me whenever you need me. Tell your father to ring me as well when he's back next, I haven't heard from him in ages."
"Of course," Ed tucked it away in his vest pocket.
Flipping open a notebook, the professor scribbled out a few details on the top three lines, tore the page out, and handed that over to his visitor, "Show my card to the folks there, tell'em I referred you - no, tell'em you're one of my students and I sent you," the man grinned like he was scheming, "they'll give you a discount on whatever you need."
"I appreciate that," Ed bowed his head a bit, "thank you, Sir."
Linking his fingers together, the professor bounced his hands off of his belly as he nestled comfortably back in his chair, "Think nothing of it!"
Winry began wishing she had actually gone north like everybody had wanted.
"I signed off on Lieutenant Havoc's arrest," his words as hot as his face, Hakuro stood in Winry's doorway, "I reviewed all the evidence prior to his detention."
She didn't want to be up north, but the thought of the mountains and wide stretches of uninhabited greenery dusted in snow had suddenly become tantalizing and alluring. It would have been like a secret escape - just her, Ed, and Al… oh and Izumi too.
"I oversaw the panel that interrogated him about your disappearance."
They could have snowball fights and neither she nor Ed would have to worry about how his AutoMail would make him prone to both hypothermia and frostbite. They could be out all day and then come back at night and hang out around the fireplace until bedtime. Heck, they could just sleep by the fireplace. It was a storybook style dream in her mind that seemed like a lot of carefree fun - a lovely, irrelevant adventure.
"WHERE IN THE ABSOLUTE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!?"
Winry looked past the body of boiling rage to Armstrong and Breda. Why were they standing in her doorway and not doing anything about this angry man yelling in her room?
Everyone flinched when the base of Hakuro's fist slammed into the wall.
Folding her arms defiantly in the face of the raging man ready to tear his hair out at the sight of her, Winry tossed her head over her shoulder and said nothing to him.
"I've run out of patience for this."
Like an ornery bull had been unleashed, Hakuro thundered into the heart of the room. Without a tether or lasso to restrain him, Winry saw him charge and quickly untangled her arms. Wrapping her fingers around the cold, hard body of the wrench tucked away in the sheets at her side, when his hand reached in to grab her, Winry's eyes lit and her arm flew out. He'd run out of patience!? She'd just about had enough of these kinds of boorish, aggressive men for one lifetime.
"SIR!" a chorus of voices filled the room.
Hakuro snared Winry at her wrists so tightly she gasped. The pressure of his grip forced her to release the weapon in her hand. The startling imposition of a man who'd risen in the ranks for his skill in combat suddenly had both of Winry's wrists captured before she'd known what to do. Panic swelling uncontrollably in every vein that pumped blood through her body, Winry tried to dig her feet into the bed to tear herself away.
"LET GO OF ME!"
"General, please calm down!"
"LET GO!"
"SIR!"
"How long have you been playing a part in Mustang's ruse?" tightening the hold he held on her wrists, Hakuro yanked her towards him, "I had resources dedicated to you for a month and a half. I fully expected to find you face down in a ditch, but instead I find you lollygagging around here in the middle of this colossal shitstorm."
"Why aren't you glad to see that I'm not dead!?" Winry yelled back, "LET GO."
"General," Armstrong implored, asserting his presence behind the most senior man in the room, "if you would please take a moment-"
Winry suddenly flopped onto her back when Hakuro released her and spun on Armstrong.
"How long has she been part of this farce? What role has she actually been playing in all this?"
Skirting across the top of the bed and scrambling off the far side, Winry balanced herself on one and a half legs and kept the entire bed width between herself and whatever the hell this asshole thought he was doing. Her eyes narrowing fiercely, Winry replayed the last few moments in her head - Armstrong called this jerk 'General'?
Attempting to keep his voice calm, clear, and unwavering, Armstrong again tried to settle the room, "There is a complicated explanation, however I believe all of us should at least be thankful that Miss. Rockbell is-"
"No," silencing the officer addressing him, the corner of Hakuro's lip curled and he scoffed, "if I'd have found her anywhere else but here, maybe I'd entertain the bullshit cover story."
Quietly, Breda waved away the last of the concerned officers gathering to inspect the commotion, closing the door without allowing the latch to interrupt anyone.
Like the sealed room gave him permission to throw his voice, Hakuro's authority boomed, "Someone in here is going to tell me where this girl has been!"
Her heart and mind racing with confusion, a frustrated scowl crawled into Winry's face. Neither one of the officers standing in the room were volunteering information, so Winry decided keeping her mouth shut would be her gameplan too.
Hakuro's presence exceeded Armstrong's, despite being physically dwarfed by him, and with a rumble in his voice that nearly shook the floor, the general made sure his position was clear.
"I was in possession of credible, investigated, and validated information that Lieutenant Jean Havoc kidnapped this young woman. The initial investigation was opened by Mustang, for what I concluded was an attempt on his part to direct the investigation away from identifying the lieutenant as the culprit. Yet, for no fathomable reason, now she is here and in relatively good health. So, I am telling you, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, that it is in your best interest to start telling me what the hell is going on."
Armstrong cleared his throat and abided by the request, "The information given to you by the municipal police regarding Miss. Rockbell was falsified in order to deflect away from the actual perpetrator and impede the brigadier general's ongoing activities."
"What?" Hakuro barked, "by whom!?"
"The office of the prime minister," Armstrong answered absolutely, "the chief of police is well acquainted with the prime minister and it is our belief that, through the association, they were able to successfully corrupt the office and establish a corroborated fabrication of events."
"Corrupt the office," bitterly laughing as he echoed the words, Hakuro swelled his chest with air and countered, "no, I partook in the fact finding. I confirmed the evidence."
"You are the sort of person they needed to convince, Sir, first and foremost," Armstrong offered humbly, continuing to hold his words firm and unwavering, "because your opinion of the brigadier general is well known. You lobbied against the court's dismissal of charges against him after the disappearance of Fuhrer Bradley. If someone such as yourself were convinced, then so would your alliances, and you would be encouraged to do as you pleased, because all of your actions would work in their favour."
Pinching the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes, Hakuro dug his hand into his face and stepped away. Struggling to even acknowledge that he may indeed have unknowingly been part of something, the man slowly paced the short width of the room.
"You were pushed into occupying the brigadier general's office, were you not?" Armstrong asked, his voice low, "you, the highest ranking officer remaining after reorganization of the Amestris military forces. The military's consultant and advisor to the new government. You were removed from an environment where you might have uncovered other truths and physically placed in a position where you would be constantly reminded of someone they wanted you to focus on."
Hakuro's hands slid off his face and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He turned and continued his slow pace back through the room.
"They wanted you to be frustrated and they wanted you to direct that frustration at the brigadier general, because your tenacity and strength of conviction is reliable."
Drawing to a stop, Hakuro locked his focus on the wall ahead of him, ignoring the two officers to his left and the girl on his right. Tensing his face, tightening his shoulders, and firming his posture, his thoughts clearly churned in his head as he tried to reframe everything he'd come to know over the last few months. Carving an unreadable, hardened expression into his presentation - the one he wore when he had hundreds of men spread out in the commons before him and ready to follow his every order - Hakuro addressed Winry.
"The office of the Prime Minister has an issue with you?" his words trembled the air that gave them life, "Was it the government you pissed off, or Dante?"
Her expression flying wide, Winry frantically looked past Hakuro to Armstrong and Breda, desperate to get some kind of prompt from either of them on how to respond to Dante's name inexplicably being brought up. Dante wasn't public knowledge, or even common knowledge, how did he know? He didn't seem like someone who should know.
To her dismay, neither officer she trusted in the room ever gave her more than the solemn expressions they held.
By the time Winry looked at Hakuro again his face was laden with frustration, fury stirring in his eyes.
"Get her out of here," Hakuro ordered, "the news coming out of the east gets worse every time someone gets a phone line to work. Mitchell and his party are on a train back here and we're going to have to deal with that madness soon, I don't want to have her coming to light for any reason."
Armstrong's chest swelled, "We'd made arrangements with my sister-"
Hakuro barked his laugh, "Ah well, with all that's going on, yes, let's bring that woman into everything," he immediately dismissed Armstrong's intentions, "No, we don't have resources to send anyone up there. Find somewhere in Central City to hide her and find it by sundown," looking pointedly at the towering officer, making sure the larger man didn't think of contesting his decision, Hakuro added, "Or I will."
The most normal thing Brigitte could say she'd done since her adventure began was the babysitting job she'd been tasked with throughout the afternoon.
It wasn't exactly hard, he was a very pleasant and happy baby. He had a couple of teeth that made him look like a bit of a chipmunk. He could wobble around on two legs if she held his hands. He wasn't coordinated enough yet to walk, but he scampered around on all fours quite well. Brigitte wanted to ask for his name again, because she suspected someone had given it to her and she'd missed it amongst too many other English words.
The baby's mother - whose name she was confident was Rose - had been in and out before noon, after which she remained out. The two magical boys had been there in the morning, but vanished after the lunch hour as well, along with the blonde woman who was very skilled with a gun. Her name was either Lisa or Ritza. Brigitte would have to listen a bit closer to figure out which.
Of all the names that came her way, the one universal name that everyone seemed to understand was Edward Elric. There was a light that went on in people's eyes when she spoke his name, a little ironic for a somewhat surly man, but everyone clearly knew who Brigitte was talking about. The communication barrier left her unable to ask if she could speak to Edward again and Brigitte had to wonder if anyone honestly understood what her telephone charades were getting at. If Al were indeed related to him, like their games once implied, then as long as she stood by all these associated people, someday she would have to get back to him.
… Right?
Brigitte decided to bury her collection of worries under the quilt spread out on the floor.
The quiet afternoon spent rolling around with the baby on the quilt was possibly the most carefree thing she'd done in months. Brigitte had enjoyed it. It was simple. And the two men outside in the hall guarding them added some unspoken security. There was an obvious concern for everyone's safety - all the adults were armed and, by this point, Brigitte was okay with that. Authority seemed to have fallen on the Lisa-woman's shoulders, because it had become clear everyone was answering to her.
So, when the suite door cracked open, Brigitte was a little surprised to see the woman organizing everything enter by herself.
Riza came in with a warm smile for the young occupants and a bundle of fabric in her arms. Kneeling down, she laid the contents in her arms out on the floor in front of the teenager.
"Can you get changed for me, Brigitte?"
All Brigitte got out of the request was her name; puzzled, she curiously eyed the offering spread out on the floor. It was an assortment of clothes: trousers, a buttoned shirt, a vest, suspenders, socks, loafers, and a cap. She looked up at Riza confused.
"Ma'am, these are boys' clothes?"
Riza stared at the clothes and tried to think of how to best bridge the communication gap with their foreign guest. Picking up the shirt, she wove her fingers through the line of buttons and opened it up. Flaring it out, she swung the shirt around Brigitte's shoulders and let the fabric settle over her back.
"Can you get changed for me?"
Brigitte blinked, trying to think, "Do you want me to put the boys' clothes on?"
Riza did the top button up beneath the girl's chin.
Wait, she really did!?
What a preposterous and exciting concept. Brigitte didn't have any brothers and she would have been paddled if she'd tried on any of her cousins' clothes. She was already tempting her mother's fury, she hadn't put on a pair of stockings in well over a month and now this woman actually wanted her to dress like a boy? Well.
Well…
It wasn't as though anyone here was measuring her skirt or condoning her bare legs… or anyone else's for that matter. Her parents or aunties weren't around to do anything about this.
A flurry of energy threw Brigitte to her feet. She snagged the baby under his arms, gave him to Riza to watch, collected the outfit from the floor, and vanished into the bedroom.
Out of her clothes faster than she'd known she could discard them, Brigitte had to put the plain brown trousers on twice once she realized she had them on backwards the first time. Made of some kind of stiff fabric - heavy cotton or maybe wool - the trousers were a little big and felt like they were going to slide right off of her, how in the world were they going to stay up if she didn't keep yanking on them? She knocked her knees together and pinned them between her thighs. The white shirt was buttoned up to the top button but, when she went to tuck the shirt in, Brigitte was reminded that her bottoms were desperately trying to fall off. She looked around the remaining wardrobe and picked up the solution to her problem: the suspenders.
No, this wasn't a solution at all.
Brigitte examined all three loop ends and felt a little foolish. How was she supposed to attach them? Weren't they just garters for boys? Where were the clasps? Which way was front? Was she supposed to be able to do this on her own? How did this become complicated?
Poking her head out of the bedroom, Brigitte emerged with one hand holding her trousers up and the other gripping the suspenders, "Um… Lisa? Help, please."
Riza looked over to the forlorn plea of Brigitte's learned vocabulary and tried not to laugh.
Shuffling through the room when the woman waved her over, Brigitte handed the suspenders to her and was turned around. Slowly, a few lights began to go on in her head when she felt the suspender loops get snagged on the buttons at the back of the waistband. The epiphany grew brighter when the shoulder bands were strung over her shoulders and dangled down her chest. Oh.
Riza did one side, Brigitte finished the other and she flew back into the room.
Vest, socks, loafers, and a paper boy's woolen cap were simple finishing touches to the ensemble. Hastily looking for a mirror, all Brigitte had was the one atop the tall dresser and that only let her see everything above her shoulders.
Rushing out of the room, she excitedly ran past Riza, grabbed a wooden chair from the kitchen table, and eagerly hauled it into the room. Up on the seat with her hands proudly on her hips, Brigitte was nearly in stitches laughing at the sight of herself by the time Riza walked in.
"I look like an absolute travesty," she danced herself around on tiptoes to admire all angles of this escapade, "and a little darling somehow, too."
Doing her best to not catch the contagious infection of laughter, Riza secured Rose's son on her hip and stepped into Brigitte's adventures with the mirror, "Don't you look cute like that."
The German girl was utterly delighted to see the bemused look Riza wore as she peeked into the mirror alongside her.
"This'll do for today," she nodded, "come on, we need to go."
Brigitte's puzzled expression returned.
"Go," Riza nodded and tipped her head towards the bedroom door, "Let's go."
"Go?" Brigitte hopped off the kitchen chair, a little concerned, "I've been dressed up to go somewhere? I have to show myself in public like this?"
"Come on," Riza began to back out of the room, "let's go."
It felt a little questionable that she had to be dressed up like this to leave the suite. She honestly felt a little hesitant about leaving for any reason. Brigitte hadn't even looked out the window since she'd arrived, in fact it had been discouraged with all the curtains closed. Now this woman, with Rose's baby nestled in her side, was standing by the front door trying to encourage her to leave.
If she needed to go somewhere, then this boyish getup would certainly be a disguise. But, where were they going? Why were they leaving this safe, guarded location? Brigitte had no one she could ask her questions to and reluctantly accepted it would just be easier to behave and follow along.
Picking up the clothes she'd carelessly left on the floor and folding them, Brigitte gathered them in her arms and made her way to Riza patiently waiting for her at the front door. Taken by the hand, Brigitte was led past her guards and into the hall, quietly down the stairs, then out of the building.
Barely with enough time to look around and take in the daytime surroundings, the short trek in the fresh air ended at a parked car. Riza's opened the passenger side door, took the change of clothes out of Brigitte's arms, and ushered her into the vehicle.
Sliding into the front passenger's seat, Brigitte's eyes wandered the car's fascinating foreign interior, even after Riza had settled Rose's baby in the girl's lap. Wrapping her arms around the squirming infant, and flinching when the car door closed, Brigitte peered out the window, giving herself permission to curiously investigate the city sights as Riza settled into the driver's seat and brought the vehicle to life.
"Missus kicked you out?"
Ed's eyes peeked out from behind his loose curtain of hair and looked at the haggard, dishevelled, sweat-soaked drunkard he'd been able to smell coming his way.
"Nope."
The tart answer did not discourage his visitor.
"Whatcha got in the bag?"
His eyes never disengaging, Ed dug his heel into the stone steps and kept his leg firmly in front of the duffle bag tucked behind his calves, "My things."
"So, the missus did kick you out," the man's voice roared with laughter and he waggled the end of the half emptied bottle locked in his hand at the Elric, "you'd think she'd have picked a better time than when all this hell is going on."
Well, at least he'd been given some sort of peace through the dinner hour. The book in Ed's hand was snapped shut and tucked back into the side pocket of the bag. Secluded away in the evening shadows of the buildings around him, Ed rose to his feet, tossing the bag over his shoulder.
Standing tall on a step above the inebriated man in his way, Ed glanced down at his brown slacks dusted grey by the crumbling stoop he'd been sitting on and chose to ignore the state they were in. His white shirt hung untucked, half buttoned, and rolled up past his elbows in the early August heat. Long, blonde hair stretched down his back, falling over his shoulders and tangling with his bangs to frame the light golden shadow showing on the face. From beyond the shield of his bangs, Ed's pupils shone in the evening, accentuated by the tired, darkened beds of his eyes.
Other than his clothes being decently stitched, he looked a bit like the rest of the riffraff that called the district of Old Central 'home'.
If only they'd just ignore him for a few more hours.
Shaking his hair off his shoulders, Ed scowled down at the wobbly interruption, "Nobody kicked me out. I'm just wandering around until I get where I need to be."
"Wheres'at?" the drunkard mused.
"Elsewhere," Ed marched past him, listening to the man squawk when he tried to turn and follow him, but only managed to topple over, landing in a noisy heap on the ground when he couldn't get one leg around the other.
Everyone was everywhere this evening and Old Central was no different.
The destitute, ignored, and forgotten lives that filled Old Central had been welcomed with open arms by the protesting hoards who had shut the city down by early-evening. Every person with two good legs, and even some with less, rose to join in the disruptive activities, many not even knowing what for or why, but he draw of boisterous and vocal crowds continued to suck people in.
Lingering in the shade of overhangs and building shadows, Ed watched the citizens casually come and go, reluctantly accepting he was going to have to wait for nightfall before he made an attempt at going down to Dante's underground city. He didn't want any of these people poking their noses into his business, let alone giving a passing thought to a passageway into the earth. Ed didn't doubt that Mustang had done something to seal the entrance after he'd gotten them out and he was going to have to find his way through it.
In the meantime, Edward wandered.
Despite the significance it held, Ed had never really spent much time in Old Central City - the city that eventually flourished above the forsaken one. Over the last two hundred years 'Central City' grew old, withered, and became a skeleton of its former grandeur, outshone by the lights, growth, and wealth of the new Central City that absorbed the name. Old Central became a desolate space where people who didn't or couldn't fit into the life of the big city would go.
Ed wasn't sure he would describe this as a slum, but it certainly was tired, worn, and seemingly forgotten.
Finding a spot in the shade of a building that didn't smell entirely foul, Ed took a seat on a rise of brick steps. Putting the bag down behind his calves again, Ed fished through the side pocket containing the book he'd slipped off a library cart on his way out of the college and what he'd spent the last of his money on at a thrift store: a pocket knife and wristwatch.
The wristwatch was never going on his wrist - Ed had put it on earlier and didn't like it. It would stay in his pocket like a discount pocket watch. And the hands of time, if they were accurate, told him it was quarter past seven; another hour or so until sundown.
Ed put the book down on his thigh, placed the watch down on top of it, and flipped the closed knife over in his left hand.
Why now, of all times, did he clearly remember how he'd easily quelled his nerves before he'd sunk the blade into the bed of his finger. He'd been so confident. So ignorant.
He'd been eleven-years-old, half his life ago now.
Components for the soul.
For his soul, yes. But for his mother, it was the impression of her soul - the memory of it, the ghost of it - it was the biological blood link parents have with their children. But his blood, their blood, couldn't reach their mother's soul.
The soul went somewhere else, he knew that now. No matter how much he'd wanted or how hard he'd tried, they would never have gotten his mother's soul back. A homunculus was always what they would have created that day. Even with the Philosopher's Stone, reclaiming their mother's soul was futile - the soul only remained available for a short period until it was gone - lost to whatever world theirs fed into, Ed could only assume. It was why Al had been successful; he'd executed the transmutation quickly after Ed had died, before the soul was sent away for use.
Souls went on to become part of whatever larger circle of life that flowed beyond them. They were an even smaller part of a whole than they realized. All is One, as they'd learnt it, only represented what this world and this lifecycle offered them. But, there was a much bigger 'All' that they were a part of too. A complex 'All' that was best left unquestioned, unhindered, and unknown.
How long did it take, though?
Ed extended his right index finger and stared at it. In the natural, uninterrupted order, how long did it take to get to reach the Gate? What was the window after death?
Components for the soul.
The blade in his hand snapped open.
Ed was curious. Was that window something he could approximate?
The unknown - the possibility of solving the unknown - was delicious and enticing. To be the first one to discover something, to learn something, to know something… even the prospect of it gave him an excited rush. For so many years Edward had known nothing but the frustration that centred on his inability to get home. Fleeting moments of beautiful epiphanies and enlightenments filled his mind while he meandered Europe between London and Munich, looking for bigger, deeper clues in the other world's alchemy, and all of them muted by the ineffective nature of the science. His singular objective led him to dead end after dead end after useless solution after worthless alchemy.
So, the chance to honestly test something made the scientist in him excited. It made his blood pump. It was making his heart race.
The other world had sayings for people who were overly curious, something along the lines of how curiosity killed a cat, and idle boredom would be the curse that allowed the claws of curiosity to scratch him.
This time the sharpened blade, not meant for nor purchased to cut his flesh, sunk into the pad of his right index finger.
This poor right hand, Ed chuckled, disappointed with himself, it had no feeling and he just kept abusing it. After the blade came out and he pinched his finger, Ed instructed himself to actually start taking better care of Al's gift.
Three drops of blood from his finger were quickly absorbed into the dry, dusty ground between his feet. Ed marked the time and he watched the parched earth suck the moisture away, the sediment tainted between his feet, eventually settling to a dry, brown stain. Studiously, Ed watched a single minute elapse. Then the second. And a third.
Even a sixth minute passed and that felt a little long.
Maybe everything was a bit more complicated than he realized. Maybe it was a good thing Edward Elric wasn't a cat.
An eighth minute passed.
Both relieved and disappointed at the sight of nothing, the book on Ed's thigh slipped when he sat back. Catching it before it fell away, the library card escaped the back pages instead. Ed snatched up the stamped slip from the ground and turned it around in his hand.
Occasionally at the university he'd wondered what it would look like to see any kind of alchemical texts coexist respectfully with the other three sciences. On his way out of the college, he actually saw it - the library cart stuffed with physics, biology, chemistry, and alchemy literature. All four sciences together. All four belonged. It was a surprising, welcomed reminder of home.
Then, like a sly pick-pocket, Ed helped himself to one of the books and left. He'd return it later, he told himself.
Edward now knew more than any book in Amestris could possibly tell him and he still wanted the comfort of reading something he already knew. The familiar content of an educated, articulated alchemy book was like a cozy blanket to wrap his mind in. He couldn't remember the last time he'd read a coherent alchemy text. Something not written in code, or in secret, or by his own hand - something he didn't have to hide - alchemy written in plain English for any grade school student to understand, with a cover and an author proudly claiming the work.
Ed flipped the book open and let the pages of a worn, well read book flutter by, until only the inside of the back cover remained with the empty pocket for the library card. Half way into tucking the card away, Ed stopped and eyed the ink-stamped dates decorating each line.
Odd, the book hadn't been checked out since July of…
Oh, right.
Ed shook his head at the disorienting feeling - it was 1916. His head was still in 1921; hell it was 1922 when he'd left. In a month and a half he'd be back at the date he'd woken up at beyond the Gate. He was on the verge of doing days… entire years over again. How the heck was he supposed to feel about that?
Ed tucked the card back into the pocket and shut the book. He wasn't ready to think about that and, like he was trying to set his thoughts aside, Ed reached down for the bag to put the book away.
The blood droplets between his feet were gone.
His eyes flying wide, Ed quickly thrust his legs farther apart and leaned down. The three stains on the earth had vanished. Nothing but pale dust and gravel remained between his feet. Ed swept his fingers through the sediment, never finding any hints of his blood's stain underneath.
Now his heart was racing for all the wrong reasons. Or the right reasons, depending on how he framed things. Either way, he was uncomfortable confirming the result he'd been expecting.
Drawing an uneasy breath in through his nose, Ed checked the watch. Nearly twelve minutes since he'd first marked the time. Should he try again? No, he didn't really want to. It was probably just like a pot that only boiled when the cook wasn't watching anyways.
Comforting himself with that idea, Ed hastily rose to his feet and snatched up the bag again - he didn't want to loiter here any longer. He was going to find somewhere else to sit and read to occupy his mind until nightfall.
Well past sundown Winry had found herself outside in the streets, hidden in a long black trench coat with her hair bundled away in a bowler hat, stubbornly standing without the hindrance of her crutches. Hardly waiting even a minute, Winry looked up and down the street decorated by aged Amestris architecture, accented with familiar lamps, cars, street signs, fire hydrants, and even trash bins.
It was the first time she'd really seen it since she'd returned - the sights and sounds of Central City. This street looked like home.
And then it hit her, like the truck that would be coming to collect the garbage from the curb in the morning: exhaustion ploughed her over.
The moment Winry stepped through the front door of the old house, all her energy drained away. Someone or something took the plug clean away and there was nothing she could do to stop the flow of energy leaking out of every pore. Her calf wasn't too pleased with the stairs she had to climb, but the complaint in her leg was nothing compared to the message of exhaustion her body was pumping through her veins by the time she'd gotten to the top.
At the top of the creaky old stairs, Winry stood in Sheska's doorway watching the woman's hands flutter around her head like she didn't know what she wanted to do.
Peeping and squeaking and dancing herself around in uncertain directions inside her suite, Sheska finally found the one switch that sent her flying into the hall. Wrapping her arms around her, Winry could hear every struggling choke and swallow Sheska made to keep herself from filling the stairwell with her unimaginably high pitched squeal at that time of night. Somewhere deep down, Winry wanted to scream with joy right alongside her, but there wasn't enough energy to draw it out.
Winry only found enough to hang on.
At Fuery's urging, the girls entered the apartment.
Nearly ragdolled through the door, Winry staggered around, trying to reach a solid wall to balance with. Somewhere in the middle of Sheska's chaotic, muffled squeals and frantic inspection to make sure she was entirely real, Winry watched her military escort set her crutches and belongings down on the floor.
"I can't stay parked outside," Fuery reached for the door, "I'll come by in the morning to make sure nothing came up overnight."
Winry smiled meekly, "Thank you."
His departure was overshadowed by Sheska popping Winry's hat off her head and the high pitched gasp the woman let out when her hair tumbled out.
"WINRY," she squealed, "your hair is so long!"
"Is it?" in a suite lit by a couple of dimmed lamps, Winry's eyes wandered the towers of books filling the apartment, "I haven't cut it in a while."
Still dancing around in some chaotic stew of emotions, Sheska flailed her arms at the coat rack, "Take your coat off! I found some big shirts you can lounge around in if you want something to change into."
Winry looked at the coat rack, her attention carrying on past it down an aisle of literature, eyeing the side of her front room window. The suite was warm; soaked in the smell of books, candles, fresh laundry, and oven-cooked chicken. The hotel had been so sterile; it was a hotel and a makeshift military location. Sheska offered a home. Winry's fingers began working their way down the buttons of the borrowed black coat.
"Did you want something to eat? I cooked dinner and got some munchies the other day before all the stores turned into nightmares. Or something to drink? I don't have much, just water and tea. I can make you tea?" Sheska yammered on, "tea is relaxing, did you want some tea and something to eat? Are you hungry or thirsty?"
Hanging her coat off a hook on the rack, Winry turned back to face Sheska, forcing a smile. "Maybe just some water right now."
"Sure," the melancholy response tempered Sheska's excitement. Slowly sitting back on her heels, she tightened her lips and tangled her fingers at her chest, "Are you okay? Did you want to lay down? Is your leg doing okay? Are you tired?"
Winry took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling. Up until the point she'd walked through the door, she'd felt fine. She had been excited when she'd been told she was going to stay with Sheska - she hadn't realized how badly she longed for someone or something that felt more like home and Sheska offered both. In the car, a thousand different conversations had been whimsically crafted in her head. Did she have to keep the adventure secret from Sheska? No, she'd find out eventually, and the realization Winry could talk to her about everything and anything felt like a weight she'd been carrying around had been lifted off of her.
But once she walked through the entry door, it all came to a crashing back down. Winry felt like she could just curl up on the floor right where she stood and go to sleep. She could have done it in the stairwell too.
Winry tried again to smile for the woman doing her best to make her feel comfortable, "I'm sorry, Sheska. I'm just really tired all of a sudden."
Throwing her arms around her, Sheska squeezed her and Winry found some energy to hug her back, "No, I'm sorry. You've been kidnapped and shot and everything, you have to be completely exhausted."
Winry rested her chin on Sheska's shoulder and let a bit of the tension in her shoulders go, "I'm really tired."
How did the boys keep going like they did? Where did the energy come from to keep going on like that day after day, for months and years on end. In the grand scheme of things, Winry figured she actually hadn't done a whole lot, but she felt like she had. The adventure was tiring and she was exhausted from it. She wished she could just reach out and haul everyone back to Resembool without another thought. She still didn't know if the boys were even okay…
"I nearly fainted when they asked me if I'd be willing to hide someone in my apartment, but then when they said it was you, I just… " unwrapping her arms, Sheska stepped back and adjusted her glasses so she could look her lost companion over from head to toe. Chewing on her words, trying to mold her feelings into a coherent voice, Sheska looked at the hand Winry had put on her shoulder to steady her balance, "I'm so glad you're okay. I couldn't find any information and I was starting to worry that you were dead."
"There were…" the last thing Winry wanted to do right now was cry; she'd just gotten into this tiny, pleasant home and was honestly too tired for it. Bowing her head, she pulled a deep breath and tried to keep herself steady, "There were a couple of times I was really afraid I was going to die."
Sheska threw her arms back around her shoulders and squeezed her tight.
The weary look Winry had been wearing on her face softened and she hugged her once more, "I'm glad I'm here, though. It feels like there's some kind of normal being here, with you, and wondering if all these books are going to cause the building to collapse."
Sheska gripped Winry firmly by her shoulders and leaned back, "You mean that's not an irrational fear I've been having?"
Winry wrinkled her nose, "I hope for both our sakes it's completely irrational."
"Me too."
"Mm-hm."
Both young women nodded.
"Come on," tossing her arms out and gesturing to the front room, Sheska ushered Winry out of the hall, "I had time to get the blankets all washed at the laundromat and the sofa's made up for you. Do you need a hand?"
"No, I'll manage."
Shuffling down the hall, Winry quickly realized that there would be no way she could use her crutches anywhere in Sheska's clutter. Time to seriously start working on rehabbing this leg, she figured.
Coming around a makeshift, paperback wall, Winry looked towards the front window on her left before Sheska pulled the curtains. She eyed the table under the window decorated with plants and a radio playing a tune at the end. The tiny living room opened up on her right; a brick fireplace, that was no longer a fireplace, had been filled in and was now just a decorative mantle for a selection of books worthy of being propped up between two bookends. An old armchair was buried in a hodgepodge of things that had probably been picked up from the floor, and the blanket covered sofa flanked a coffee table with a half dozen books neatly stacked on it, plus a few coasters. The quaint little setup took up what little floor space there was left.
"You can lay down and rest. We can chat for a while or talk all night. You can tell me everything that happened and… and let me get you your water and something to eat!"
Winry was in the middle of easing herself into the sofa when Sheska vanished. Sinking into plush cushions of a second-hand sofa, the blankets thrown over it puffed out the welcoming scent of the laundered perfume. What the heck was this detergent called? Granny bought it sometimes, but Winry couldn't remember. It smelt like home though and she wanted to bury herself in nothing but sheets.
The sound of Sheska fumbling with her glassware filtered out into the main room, "I have so much I need to tell you too!"
Winry pulled her feet up onto the sofa when the faucet turned on and the rush of water drowned Sheska's words out. Pushing her hands through the blanket laid over the seat cushions, Winry stretched out on her stomach along the length of what would be her new bed, smothering her face in the fabric until she'd spread out enough that her head was buried in the loaned pillow. Taking a long, deep breath to inhale what it felt like to be home, Winry heard a knife land on a cutting board and she lost the will to get up.
Sheska went on about something while Winry's arm flopped around against the back of the sofa, searching for the blankets folded over the back with the last of the energy she had left. Yanking the bundle down, she pulled the heap of freshly washed, nicely folded bedding down on top of her and surrendered.
"I mean, has anyone had a chance to tell you," eventually scampering around her makeshift walls, two glasses of water precariously balanced in one hand and a plate of warm dinner in the other, Sheska swept back into her living room, "that someone was able to…"
Brought to a halt by the state of things in the heart of her home, Sheska's voice trailed off. Her energy began diffusing as she took in the sight of her new houseguest face down in her sofa, buried in a heap of fresh blankets from the waist up, sound asleep.
"... get Ed back," she mumbled, eyeing the wrapped left leg she'd been told about.
Setting the plate silently down onto the table, the two glasses of water found coasters, and Sheska sat down on the floor. Collecting the top book from the stack on the coffee table and helping herself to a second serving of dinner, Sheska put her back against the front of the sofa Winry slept on and settled into a cozy spot on the floor.
After a sombre evening spent with the familiar dark-haired man who'd literally picked her up off her feet in the terrifying ordeal days ago, and Izumi who still seemed somewhat unwell, Brigitte was back in the car with the baby in her lap and Riza was treating her to the fascinating nighttime scenes of the inner city lights beyond the car windows. No one in her family had a car, they couldn't afford one, so it was an absolute treat to be driven around as much as she had been by everyone here. Rural driving was one thing, but within the city, on paved roads, the vehicle must have reached 30km/h at one point and the experience was thrilling.
The entertainment faded after the car was parked and Brigitte was out in the late-night air of a drab, uninviting neighbourhood. Hand in hand with her escort, Riza kept the baby in one arm and Brigitte in the other as they walked quietly through the night on an unkept stone path. Traversing the walkways between dull, grey, multi-storey buildings, Brigitte looked up in awe at the front faces of dwellings that had nothing unique to differentiate between any of them. Even the porch lights all shared the same weak glow. She wasn't sure if it was meant to be impressive or frightening.
But, then there was the curious sight of the one unit that had been brave enough to not look like all the others by placing a plant in the window. What daring soul lived there?
Turning up a stepstone path at the side of a building, Riza led Brigitte not to a front door, but to an unmarked side door. Her hand was released so Riza could unlock it and, when the door swung open, a narrow stretch of bowed stairs offered entry to the upper floors. Peering in cautiously, Brigitte got a light pat on her back to encourage her inside.
Riza tried her best not to let the door shut too heavily, but the whomp still startled Brigitte enough that she took a white knuckle grip on the handrail.
The stairwell was stuffy, smelled like damp old shoes, and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a century. Narrow steps rose sharply upwards, past the second floor, and didn't offer an exit until reaching the third. Brigitte made the climb and waited at the top while Riza carefully ascended the creaky steps with the infant in her arms. Testing to see if the only door available was open, it swung free and Brigitte held it wide for Riza once the woman had reached the top. Shutting it quietly behind them, she followed cautiously as they walked down an eerily silent, stagnant hall.
Passing doors with nothing more on them other than a knob, a lock, and a number to mark them, a few paces before the hallway ended, Riza stopped and rattled a distinct pattern off a door with her knuckles.
Brigitte quietly tucked herself behind the woman's gun-toting hip as the sound of chain locks being unlatched became clear.
The door cracked open, "You finally made it."
Brigitte perked up - wait a minute.
"Sorry about that. I had some things I needed to discuss with the brigadier general."
Brigitte popped out from behind Riza.
Russell looked around Riza as the officer made her way into the suite and nearly cracked his laugh when he caught sight of Brigitte in her outfit. Ushering her in so he could shut the door, he re-hooked the locks and chains and promptly snatched the hat off Brigitte's head with a laugh.
Reaching for her stolen cap, Russell dropped it on her face as Fletcher came scurrying to the door.
"Brigitte!"
She was surprised by a hug before she'd managed to resettle the hat; the boys here were unusually affectionate.
Fletcher bounced back and laughed as he looked at what she'd gotten into, "You look kind of cute in that!"
Russell slid up next to his brother, a thoughtful hand under his chin, and he examined their guest, "You think she's cute?"
"You don't think she looks cute in it?" Fletcher looked up at his brother innocently.
The corners of Russell's mischievous grin curled, "You think she looks cute?"
"Ye- NO," with a sudden explosion of flying arms, Fletcher turned red, "that's not what I meant at all! I was just compleme-"
"AH-HAH," Russell cackled, "I'm finally getting a picture on what kinds of girls my baby brother likes."
"BROTHER, NO."
"Yes, yes, yes," Russell waved his hand and took his malicious cackles deeper into the suite when his little brother took a swing at him.
Completely bewildered, Brigitte took the cap off her head and slowly stepped out of her shoes.
Despite the exterior, the interior of this suite was rather pleasant. There was life inside that wasn't visible from the outside. The left-over scent of dinner mingled with an odour that reminded her of her grandfather's house - that smell furniture ended up emanating after decades of use, but mixed with pipe smoke and the same cologne that every old man seemed to use.
Slowly wandering into a bubbling suite, Brigitte wrung her hat in her hands, thinking she might not mind it if they all had to stay here now.
Riza startled her when she put a hand on her back.
Looking up, Brigitte watched the woman smile warmly, say nothing, but offer a hand to guide her across the room. Fiddling with the hat in her hand, the short walk took her to a closed door at the opposite corner in the suite where together they stopped. Curiously, Brigitte watched Riza's knuckles tap twice before she stepped back.
"Are you dressed?"
"I am."
Brigitte froze.
Her eyes locked on the doorknob that turned, her heart leapt into her throat when the wood popped free from the hatch, and her wide blue eyes looked up before her thoughts could collect themselves to help her.
Maria smiled at her, "Brigitte!"
Brigitte stared up at Maria Ross and didn't react. Her thoughts abandoned her, her wits betrayed her, and she was left alone with an empty head to try and understand what she was witnessing.
Maria hadn't even been able to focus her eyes the last time she'd seen her and Brigitte didn't know what she was supposed to do with her standing in front of her like nothing had happened. She looked so vibrant - so alive.
How was this possible?
A flood of reactions left her wanting to gasp, needing to scream, feeling dizzy, desperate to run out the door for some reason, frantic to hug her, and feeling torn in a thousand different directions by a litany of responses. Brigitte wanted to move her legs, but they wouldn't take her anywhere. She wanted to throw her arms, but all she could do was strangle her hat. She wanted to scream in relief and joy, but her lungs couldn't find the air. Caught in an overwhelming waterfall of every action and reaction, at a loss for how to handle herself in that moment, Brigitte crumbled into tears.
Maria always seemed to be there. Brigitte hadn't realized it at the time, but Maria had been the one to rescue her from the household of the witch shortly after everything had started - had she always known? It was her car they drove away in. It was her cottage they stayed in. Her lake she swam in. Some of the clothes Brigitte had dressed in came from her. Maria was the first one who'd started to figure out how to understand her. She was the one Brigitte went to when she wanted a normal adult to rely on. And she was the one who'd introduced her to nearly everyone in this room. But, when the curse of the witch's red magic had left Maria as a shadow of herself, there was nothing Brigitte could offer to help her in return. The extent of her helplessness became terrifyingly apparent.
And then, after she'd been separated from Maria, the situation around her crumbled daily until it reached a frantic catastrophe. She was so indescribably happy to see Maria, but there wasn't enough room left in her to express it.
Brigitte didn't realize until it was happening how much she wanted to just cling to someone and cry until she was well into it. Maria was beyond a welcomed presence, but she also wanted her mother more than ever. Brigitte missed her sister and she longed for home. She was growing sick from the need to be able to talk coherently to anyone and she still didn't know where she was or why she had to be here. She was tired - exhausted from the adventure, Brigitte didn't want to cooperate with it anymore. She wanted to go home. She wanted to feel safe.
But, for no reason anyone could explain to her yet, Brigitte wasn't allowed those luxuries. The only solace she was able to find was the safety and relief that came as all her tears flooded out. When she curled up in some foreign chair in this unknown home with Maria, in the arms of the most trustworthy person she'd come to know, and fell asleep there.
To Be Continued...
Author's Note:
Ed is out there giving himself an existential crisis while Winry and Brigitte are just noping out for the day lol.
Many many chapters ago, Mustang told Hakuro about Dante. Clearly and factually - so factually that although Hakuro struggled to accept what he'd been told, he didn't dismiss it. He's still struggling to accept someone like 'Dante' actually exists, but Winry adds another layer to validate Mustang's claims.
Using Hakuro like I have leaves me thinking of the WWII pictures of Stalin with Churchill and Roosevelt. Stalin was obviously the odd one in that group, but they had the common goal of defeating Hitler, so they worked with people they disliked to achieve something greater. Hakuro's relationship with the cast isn't exactly like that historical trio, but he is the odd one out that they've been forced to include.
Me: Crying over the 30km/h speed limit my local road was reduced to last month.
Brigitte: THAT WAS A THRILLING RIDE, CAN WE GO AGAIN?
Historical perspective :')
Every Christmas break I'm like "yeah I should have lots of time to do X, Y, and Z" and every year that never happens LOL. I'll give myself a holiday buffer and put the next chapter for Jan 9!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS 🎉 AND HAPPY NEW YEAR 🎉