Author's note: Hello everybody and thank you all for waiting! There's something screwed up about my computer and it's been refusing to upload my stories. But anyway, it's decided to be nice this time, so here's the second chapter of Book One. Hope you guys enjoy it!
Chapter two:
"Oh really? Man, Havoc, you could never hang on to a girl!" Ed chuckled, leaning back in his seat as Havoc grinned sheepishly over his glass of whiskey, blushing slightly. Was it the alcohol, or was it the story that was making him turn red?
Probably both, Ed thought with a grin.
"Hey, hey!" Havoc protested, "I'm not that bad!"
"But not that great either, that's for sure!" Farman guffawed, mussing up Havoc's ash blond hair with a careless hand.
"What do you know, you gray-haired bat!" Havoc retorted playfully, lightly shoving Farman away from him. Farman smirked and flicked Havoc neatly between the eyebrows.
"More than you, Junior," he laughed.
"At least Havoc fares better than I do," Fury ventured thoughtfully, if a little softly, slightly awkward as always in a social situation.
Breda turned to Ed, his round face flushed by the alcohol in his gin and tonic. "How about you, eh Ed? You're the one in the prime of his youth," he asked, nudging the Fullmetal with his meaty elbow mischievously.
Ed held up his hands in front of him.
"Oh nothing, nothing! Honest! I really haven't had a girl yet," he denied frantically, almost knocking over his own drink in his desperation.
Farman pretended to be deep in thought.
"Wasn't there a little blond beauty from Rizenbul?"
Ed raised an eyebrow at Farman before replying, "Hey, you've got it all wrong, my good sir. Winry, she's just like a sister, that's all!"
"I'm sure there's someone, Boss. You tell us, so we can keep the lady killing General far away from her for you," Havoc said conspiratorially, leaning over the table towards Ed with his finger at his lips, a ridiculous parody of absolute secrecy. Edward clicked his tongue in a mock-disapproving manner.
"You guys…you're like women gossiping at the meat market!" he complained, "And geez, how am I supposed to say anything anyway, since I've never been with a girl!"
Farman threw his head back and laughed almost raucously.
"Not a girl…? Did I really hear that! Never knew you were bent that way, Ed. Rest of us gotta watch our asses now…"
Breda hopped up and pretended to be trying to crawl away from Ed, crying, "Help! Don't rape me, sir!" This particular antic earned him a sharp rap of steel on the back of his head.
"Watch it Farman. Or I just might have to acquaint you with the wall over there," Ed shot back at Farman, throwing the older man a mock-dangerous look.
"Awww…you're no fun," Havoc grumbled as he took another sip of his whiskey.
"I don't believe you, anyway," Farman said suspiciously, "good-looking kid like you, and no girl? Bullshit."
"Believe it," was all Ed said, tossing back the last of his rum. He had almost forgotten how funny the guys could be. All their good-natured jibes and teasing were comfortably familiar to him, and his fears that something would change and leave him lying in the dust fell away from him like an empty shell.
With a satisfied sigh, he slammed the glass lightly onto the table again. "Let's call it a night, shall we? The General hinted that it might be a pretty long day tomorrow."
They finished their drinks and paid for their dinner, swinging out the door in a bubble of laughter into the cool night.
"Not in the barracks tonight, Mr. Alchemist?" they teased.
"Naw, I'm staying with Gracia. So sorry about abandoning you for tonight, my darlings," Ed teased back, heading down the other side of the street, "Bye, see ya in the morning!"
Slinging his battered suitcase over his shoulder, Ed turned and started off down the street, hoping for an empty cab to come driving by. However, the street was small enough that few cars ever entered it, being one of those little side streets that were mainly for pedestrians' use.
It'll be easier to get a cab from the main street near the Central HQ.
With that thought in mind, Ed turned the corner and crossed the street, heading directly for the little alleyway that he remembered to be a shortcut to the other side.
Alicia should be about six now, I think. Wonder whether she actually remembers me, she was so small. Thank goodness they didn't change their telephone number, otherwise I might never have gotten Gracia…
Ed suddenly stopped short before entering the alleyway.
Something's going on in here.
Despite forever being told that he was too much of a little busybody, the Fullmetal Alchemist could never let any sleeping dog he stumbled across lie, provided it was a dog that was almost certainly a threat to others. And here he was, sensing potential danger.
Ignoring it was the last thing he would ever do.
The fingers of his flesh arm twitched in anticipation and tension, and Edward stepped softly into the alleyway with all the lethal cool and keen alertness of a mountain lion.
-
Roy fell back, his head ringing from another blow from one of the attackers, the strength ebbing from his arms and legs, the pains a constant obstacle to movement.
Focus.
With iron control, Roy tried to push the burning sensations out of his mind, as he had done so often with emotion.
But then, the same trick that worked on his feelings could not work with pain. Whereas with emotions, he could shut down that part of him and operate as a separate contraption, here he had to force his body to ignore its injuries, all the while trying to make it perform correctly.
He tried to roll away, but a sharp pain originating from his side seized his entire body, almost forcing him to curl up on his side. He knew that he could not last much longer.
You've survived much worse than this before. You can handle these men. They are mere humans, whose injuries affect them as much as they affect you.
Bullshit.
He had to find a way to fight back.
One of the burly men grabbed Roy and shoved him facedown to the ground, pinning his left arm painfully behind him so that Roy had to bite back a sharp cry. With all his strength, Roy reared back, using the back of his head to smack the other man flat on the nose, causing the man to weaken his hold slightly. However, the man did not release him entirely, still hanging on tightly enough that Roy could not break free.
"Knock him out, quick!" he heard someone say.
Damn it!
Roy began to wriggle like a trapped snake, using his movement as a form of distraction from what his left hand was doing, which was to inch its way into his right pocket from its position across his back.
Almost…
Roy's fingers could barely reach inside, but their tips brushed lightly against a thin but rough cloth. His ignition gloves.
Almost…
The Flame Alchemist strained even harder, feeling the excruciating pull on his muscles
Too late. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy watched as the bulkiest of the men raised the club, and braced himself for the blow that would surely follow.
It never came.
At first, Roy mistook the brilliant blue flash for the effect of the impact of the club on his skull, but he was still conscious. And his head had not hurt one bit. In addition, he was still perfectly lucid.
One more thing. The man astride him and the one with the club were both knocked aside by a sudden and violent swelling of the wall by which he lay.
"Huh. You really haven't lost your charm, General; if anything, it's increased, now that you're actually attracting men. Somehow I doubt it really works to your advantage," Edward snorted contemptuously from where he stood, his coat swirling impressively around him, a sarcastic angel come to save Roy.
Roy had to draw several labored breaths before he could speak.
"Why, jealous, Fullmetal?"
"If it gets you into scrapes like this? Not at all."
One of the attackers began belting out rapid instructions in a strange tongue, and the men quickly scrambled to their feet and spread out to face the two alchemists.
With a smile, Roy discarded his ordinary gloves and extracted the ones from his pocket, the red arrays almost glowing on them. It felt good to finally pull them on again.
"You done, General? Then we're all good to go," Ed said, clapping his hands together. Azure light filled the alleyway, and Ed stood with an elegant blade gleaming on his right arm. As part of his arm.
The men shifted uncomfortably, as though realizing that this was too much for them to handle. Roy and Ed, however, were too fast.
Roy snapped his fingers, causing a lance of fire to streak its way towards the attackers. It was enough to stun, but not to kill. Never to kill.
The men threw themselves to the ground and rolled away, and in the midst of the confusion, Ed leapt forward, blade flashing through the air. One attacker, however, had his wits still about him. With a swift arm, he swung a trash can lid at Ed, which threw the Fullmetal Alchemist off course.
The leader barked off a sharp command, and reaching into his cloak he flung a small blue sphere at the two alchemists, which exploded in a profusion of thick smoke, blinding the two men and causing their eyes to water.
"Bloody hell, smoke bomb," Roy muttered, dropping to the ground and quickly adjusting the composition of the air to clear the smoke.
Slowly, the smoke thinned and dispersed to merge seamlessly with the cool night air. However, the men were already gone.
Together, Roy and Edward raced out the other end of the alleyway, bursting out onto a largely empty street. The men were gone.
"Damn it. They had one last card to play," Ed snarled, turning to race up one part of the street.
"They're probably hiding out in one of these buildings. They couldn't have run off so quickly," Roy called out, running his hands over the door of the building by which he stood. Locked.
Those men…they were the ones who've been murdering State Alchemists. I am sure of it.
One of them…he'd called Roy a 'blasphemer'.
Reminds me of Scar, with his arrayed arm and Ishvarian ideals. Except that Scar is gone, his life given up to the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, along with countless others. And his murders were rough decompositions of the victims through crude alchemy.
These murders were different. Totally different.
Now that the adrenaline was receding from his system, the damage that Roy had sustained began to make itself felt. The Flame Alchemist gasped and clutched his side, and when Ed whirled to stare at him, Roy thought he could see real concern in his eyes.
"Sir…" Ed breathed.
Roy frowned and tried to brush him off. "I'm fine, Fullmetal. I just need to get home."
"The hospital is where you are going. Not home just yet," Ed said firmly.
It was a serious blow to Roy's pride to have to be dragged into the hospital on the arm of his underling, the famous Fullmetal Alchemist, as if he were an incompetent casualty off some battlefield somewhere. That was already bad enough, yet the Fullmetal was also ignoring Roy's commands to contact Generalissimo Farrell.
"Call him. Immediately!" he snapped at Ed even whilst the doctor was checking him for broken ribs and swabbing his wounds with antiseptic.
"Relax, General. I will, it's just that you need to take care of yourself first," Ed drawled back at him, lounging comfortably against the hospital room window, with all the arrogance of confident youth.
The doctor nodded. "I agree with that young man, sir. You shouldn't aggravate your condition." The Fullmetal flashed him a triumphant, all-knowing smirk. Roy returned it with a glare meant to melt steel. Their gazes clashed above the doctor's bald-egg head, but Roy soon found himself too fatigued to continue the staring match.
"Hmph," he conceded, wincing only slightly as hydrogen peroxide was swirled across the torn skin of his back.
Remember the pain, Roy. You always overestimate your capacity to withstand pain. Remember the agony now, so you can think again next time.
"Are you done? Can I go now?" Roy asked the doctor when he was neatly bandaged, and the nurse was disposing of the blood-soaked cotton pads. His head was ringing loudly and he simply wanted to clear up things with the Generalissimo and go to bed. To his amazement, the doctor shook his head: no.
"You've hit your head real bad, and we can't be sure that there was no real damage to the skull. We'd like to keep you here for a night. It's best for us to monitor you till tomorrow morning," the doctor said firmly.
Roy gritted his teeth angrily.
"What the hell? I have something important I have to do, and -"
"Chill, General. Why're you so tense? Relax," Ed said quietly, appearing at Roy's side, looking slightly disconcerted at Roy's uncharacteristic loss of composure. Roy had known the Fullmetal long enough to infer that particular expression simply from the note of puzzlement that graced his voice, and did not have to turn around to be granted that revelation.
If the Fullmetal was beginning to worry about him, the stress must be showing real badly.
Recognizing that he was severely shaken by the attack, Roy fought to quell his rising frustration, shaking his head to clear it. The throbbing pain only intensified.
Oh fuck it.
Taking a deep breath, Roy calmed himself. Reached for blue skies and cool waters that were, in reality, beyond his reach. It was no use getting all worked up over nothing; it was nothing, really.
"Fullmetal," he said in a quieter, less heated voice, "please call the Generalissimo and tell him I have to speak to him. Immediately."
The calmness seemed to work. Edward gave a small salute, nodded, and left the room to make the call.
Meanwhile, Roy was negotiated into a set of loose hospital pajamas and ushered into one of the wards by the young nurse who had gone all puppy-eyed since being in close proximity to him.
"Oh General, please be careful next time. It would be a pity to lose such a military figure as yourself," she simpered, fussing with the sheets of his bed , even insisting on tucking him in like a small child.
Roy ground his teeth and tried not to appear too sullen. Normally, he would have smirked at her foolishness and basked in the flattery of her attentions, but Roy was ultimately pissed off. At her, at the attackers, at Edward, at himself. Definitely a bad day.
Just as the nurse's over-zealous ministrations were coming dangerously close to setting a spark to the kindling of his temper, Edward entered, the Generalissimo trailing close behind him.
"Sir," Roy quickly saluted in the most dignified way possible while sitting propped up on fluffy pillows in thin white pajamas.
Farrell signaled to Roy to drop his hand, and Roy obeyed.
"My apologies, Brigadier General. I have to say that even in your current condition, you still have to carry out the assignment I have entrusted you with. It is of great importance, and I can think of no better man to do it."
"Yes sir. I will be reporting as usual tomorrow."
The Generalissimo nodded. "Be careful not to overstrain yourself. You are of utmost importance, and the Parliament needs you to be at your sharpest."
"I owe it to my men," Roy replied, vaguely aware of the Fullmetal Alchemist attempting to melt into the surroundings so that he could soak up every drop of information possible from the conversation.
Farrell examined Roy keenly for a second, a look of satisfaction and approval on his face, before nodding again.
"Now, Mustang, a low-down of what just happened."
Briefly, Roy related an account of the attack, quickly bringing up the details that he felt were of some significance: the cloaks, the accents, the fact that they had actually relieved him of his silver watch as soon as possible.
"I believe that we are encountering a group that is not really against the military, as suggested in the meeting earlier, but one that is operating on a principle that greatly resembles the Ishvarian beliefs, that alchemy is an evil practice, but who are not Ishvarian. Their accents were different, and besides, the Ishvarians would hardly make such a bold move, since they are still under such close military surveillance after Scar's activities in the past.
"In addition, the murders were committed randomly, with no real connections between the alchemists, but the way in which they were found points towards an almost ceremonial form of execution. The group's objective is the practice of alchemy itself, not the alchemists," Roy finished, voicing his own thoughts on the events that had passed.
Farrell began to carefully stroke his moustache, the characteristic gesture which indicated that he was deep in thought.
"So…" he finally began, "we rule out religious fundamentalism, since there are no existing religions that are against alchemy other than that of the Ishvarian people. And we rule out political opposition because it isn't an attack aimed at weakening military power, otherwise the attackers would have tried to take out the most powerful of alchemists already. That doesn't leave us with many options, General Mustang."
"All the better, is it not?" Roy replied with an arched eyebrow.
"It eliminates the two most likely reasons for these attacks that General Harvey and myself could come up with. Now all the threads that we have been following have to be dropped.
"The information is confusing, too. The method of killing was like a religious ritual, what with the body parts arranged in such a way. Yet…" Farrell scratched his head confusedly, "I shall have to explore this further with General Harvey. General Mustang, do not worry yourself over this matter; you have your own assignment to worry about next."
Roy inclined his head in agreement. "Yes sir."
The Generalissimo nodded, and swept out of the hospital ward.
With an exhausted hiss, Roy finally allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow. It had been a long, bad day for him.
My God. I nearly died, for fuck's sake.
Death and dying, even when he no longer had a reason to truly live, evidently did not appeal to him.
We humans are such sick, cowardly creatures, Roy thought bitterly, allowing his lashes to slide down over his eyes to filter out the harsh overhead lights. He was so disturbed that it took him a moment to remember Edward, perched on the edge of the adjacent bed. Even then, it was the intensity of the Fullmetal's stare that roused him to the youth's presence.
"Fullmetal. It's been a long night. Go to bed, wherever that may be," Roy commanded, not bothering to open his eyes.
Ed didn't answer for a moment, simply sitting in the same spot, his unwavering gaze trained directly on Roy. The silence ticked by uncomfortably, but Roy forced himself to remain still. If he was ignored enough, maybe the Fullmetal would disappear.
"You getting old, General? That wasn't quite the performance I would have expected from you, Mr. Flame Alchemist," Ed finally said, apparently totally unperturbed at being ignored. As usual, the Fullmetal had adopted his typical bantering tone, yet it was clear to Roy that the question behind it was very real.
'What the hell's wrong with you?'
"Well, it seems that apart from you, some people actually do grow," Roy managed, hoping to deflect any further probing. The sooner Edward left, the sooner Roy could get round to trying to forget.
Edward snorted.
"Sure, Grandpa, let me get your dentures for you."
It was evident that Edward didn't believe Roy, and Roy noted that even the attempt to distract Edward from the issue (with the usual tactic of referring to his lack of horizontal stature) had not fully diverted Ed from his question.
'You're an emotional vacuum, you bastard. The only stuff you're extruding now, is bullshit.'
Roy almost smiled as he quietly imagined Edward's actual thought behind that jibe; the boy could be so transparent at times.
A creaking sound caused him to open his eyes and turn towards the Fullmetal Alchemist, who was languorously settling back onto the hospital sheets, still watching Roy.
"So, exactly how many teeth have you lost? Want me to count your gray hairs? If your incontinence is that bad I can get you a bed pan. I'll even wipe your ass for you," Ed continued, still trying to tweak the General's pride enough to extract a decent answer from him.
You're too young, you would never understand, Roy thought, you haven't experienced the true emptiness of human life. Your life is so full of meaning and promise, you can't see that despair.
In answer, Roy simply raised an eyebrow at Edward.
Ed sighed. Mustang, as usual, was being cold as a rock, refusing to let his vulnerabilities emerge into the light of day.
It wouldn't hurt for the guy to act like he was actually human.
Not that Ed really cared, anyway. Mustang hadn't ever been his friend, it was no surprise that he still didn't really treat him like one. It wasn't that Ed hated Roy or was totally indifferent to him, but just that despite everything, the General had never been his friend the way Winry was or even Hughes had been. The relationship was just…different.
Ed decided to drop it, and move on.
"What was that murder thing you and Farrell were discussing, anyway? I haven't heard of any anti-alchemy movements lately, had no idea anything like that was happening in Central," he asked, now growing serious.
Roy was silent for a moment. Then, in a heavy, weary-sounding voice, he replied, "Murders, Fullmetal. Someone or some organization's been dissecting State Alchemists for fun. Appears rather random, that each alchemist was caught perfectly off-guard, since there were no reports of any scuffles. As you know, battles aren't exactly quiet. The more drawn-out the fight, the more chance that they would be noticed. But there were no reports of any lights caused by transmutation reactions, no complaints about street fights.
"None of the bodies were found in the same location, and it seems that the alchemists were taken from very different locales as well. They weren't known to have frequented the same places, you see. Neither were they killed where they were attacked or where they were found."
"So," Ed said, "there must be some slaughterhouse somewhere where these people carry out the murders."
" That's what has been figured so far. Right now, the military is pretty much lost in terms of dealing with these murders, since there is very little evidence to draw on. We have absolutely no reliable leads, and nothing but speculation."
The Elric leaned forward to rest his chin in his palm. "Until tonight."
Mustang nodded.
At that, the Fullmetal Alchemist sat in silence, a gentle frown creasing his forehead.
"How many?" he finally said softly.
"Four."
The youth sucked in breath sharply. Recognizing the look in Ed's eye, Roy quickly said, "Do not meddle in this case, Fullmetal, we have our own assignment to worry about. General Harvey does not appreciate outside help either."
"I wasn't about to offer. But then…"
Ed looked up thoughtfully.
"Those men…they seemed strange. Their cloaks…" Ed's voice trailed off.
With a nonchalant shrug, Ed launched himself off the hard mattress, boots landing heavily on the white tiles, and stretched, the tension easing itself out of his body.
"Well, I'll be off now, sir, so you can snooze in peace. See ya in the morning," Ed called, strolling leisurely out the door.
A steaming bath and a warm bed…that would be perfect right now. Add hot chocolate, and you get heaven, Ed thought dreamily.
Roy watched as the ward door closed behind the youth, and only then did he collapse back into the sheets, scrubbing his face with his hand, preparing to face the night alone once more.
There was definitely something wrong with the General. Sure, he tried to behave as he normally had before when interacting with Ed, but back then…
Edward sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. There was something there that he couldn't quite put a finger on. The General had just looked so tired, and Ed now realized that their repartee that morning had been a farce, in part. Mustang's spirit had not really been in it.
And Ed had thought that everything was the same between them after two years.
The torque between him and the General had shifted, imperceptibly. The two of them were simply trying to dance along to their old tune, play the old game. It disturbed Ed that he had not sensed it before. The rules were due for a change; it was just that both of them were waiting to see who would venture to initiate the upgrade.
Of course. It changed the minute I became an adult.
Edward sighed inwardly, kicking up brilliant swirls of orange and brown autumn leaves.
I hope Gracia's still up. Wouldn't want to bother her if she's already asleep.
He strode briskly down the street, battered suitcase slung casually over his shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the Hughes' house streamed light from its downstairs windows. Flicking his braid back, Ed raised his white-gloved hand and tapped on the ever-so familiar door.
After a moment, the door was answered by a slender woman in her late twenties, short brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Dusty blue-green eyes regarded him for a moment, and then Gracia broke into a warm, welcoming smile.
"Edward! You're back! Oh, it's so nice to see you!"
With that, Gracia swept him into a warm embrace, much to Ed's embarrassment. Even worse, however, Ed found himself hugging her back.
"Good to see you too, Ms. Gracia," he muttered back a little awkwardly.
Gracia finally stepped back to examine him.
"My, you've grown! Looking so handsome now. Come in, dear, you must be exhausted," she said, drawing him into the house. As she so often had before, she ushered him into the living room, and in a minute he was comfortably seated on the settee, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of freshly made hot chocolate and a slice of apple pie balanced precariously on his knee.
"Your apple pie," he said around a mouthful of it, "is absolutely the best. Everyone in the office in Solsa recommended this bakery's apple pie to me, but when I finally got to try it, I told them I knew someone who could trash them in that arena."
A mother's loving touch, that's what bakeries don't have.
Gracia simply laughed.
"Why, thank you. Would you like to learn?"
"I'm hopeless in the kitchen, Ms. Gracia!" Ed guffawed, "The last time I tried baking a cake for Al, Winry came after me with a wrench for making the kitchen look like a disaster area!"
Disaster area…
He abruptly stopped laughing, and looked down at his plate.
Instead of smooth white china, Ed's mind registered an image from long ago, that of General Mustang seated in the midst of the debris of the parade grounds, hands resting on a spade shoved into the ground before him.
Ed now knew what Mustang had been speaking of at that time, and of what had been haunting him.
That image now gave way to one of Roy, seated in the hospital bed, eyes closed as he told Ed to go to bed. Mustang's face had been exactly the same then as just now, under the setting sun that cast its rays over Central's broken parade grounds.
Gracia looked at him. "Ed? What's wrong?"
For moment, Ed didn't speak.
"Nothing," he finally replied, and picked up his mug again, and brushed the thought away.