Mirage
Chapter Five – To Learn
Edward, 16; Alphonse, 10
Rizembool 1915
The child did not get up, and this seemed to concern only Alphonse.
"Winry gave you a wooden leg to use for now, don't you want to get out of the house?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
"Aren't you hungry? Don't you need to eat something?" Alphonse pressed.
"Nope. I don't need to eat."
He frowned. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.
"No, I'm not all right!" he whined. "Mommy is ignoring me!"
"Mommy?" Alphonse asked, puzzled.
The child quieted down a bit, nodding towards Izumi, who was visible from the other room. "Isn't she my mommy?"
Slightly stunned, Alphonse didn't know what to say. Could Izumi be this child's mother? It was possible, he guessed, but then, just as he said, why was she ignoring him?
"How come I'm the only one who comes in here to see you?" he asked without thinking.
The child smiled a slow, chilling smile. "Because everyone else is afraid of me," he said, not knowing if that was true, but liking the sound of it. "And you would be too, if you could remember."
A child with only one arm and one leg didn't seem like something to fear, Al thought, but something about him had been bothering him ever since they met. "Why are they afraid of you?" he asked.
The boy turned those odd violet eyes on him, not answering for a moment. "Can't you tell?" he asked mockingly. "They don't like me, because I'm not like them." He lowered his voice to a whisper, and added conspiratorially, "I don't have a soul."
"Everyone has a soul," Alphonse protested, although his certainty wavered.
"Every human has a soul," Wrath corrected him
"Al!" Winry's voice called from somewhere in the house.
"Go ahead," Wrath said, waving him away. "I don't need your company anyway."
He hesitated for a moment, but Winry was calling him again, and finally he turned and hurried through the house after the sound of her voice.
She was smiling brightly, holding up a picnic basket. "Lets go to the river," she said to him when he entered the room. "I packed us some lunch, come on, its beautiful outside."
Al shrugged. "Okay," he agreed. Winry was right, he decided as he walked beside her, swinging the picnic basket at his side, with Den trotting faithfully just behind them. The sun lit the surrounding fields and a light breeze played at his face. It was, of course, a beautiful day. And there had been four years worth of beautiful days in Rizembool that he had forgotten. But if he was a suit of armor, as he had been told, he wouldn't have been able to feel the warmth of the sun or the cool breezes, or smell the scent of freshly dug earth. Edward had given these things back to him.
And Alphonse would trade them all in a minute just to have his brother back.
"Al?" Winry questioned.
He faced her.
"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.
He gave her a smile. "Yes," he answered, although right then, he wasn't sure that he ever would be. Not alone.
His best friend reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm glad." His young eyes stared at her, taking in all the differences since he had remembered her last: she was taller, her hair was longer, her voice was deeper, her body was… here he blushed. Her body was different. And every time she looked at him her eyes held such a mix of delight and sorrow, he couldn't help but know what she was thinking: I'm happy to have Al back. I miss Ed.
He had spent days in discussion with Izumi, fitting together all of the things he had been told. "I'm going to bring him back," he swore to her, but she shook her head fiercely and told him not to think like that, not yet. He went over in his mind everything he knew about human transmutation, and everything Izumi had told him in the past few days. He had spent days in contemplation.
He was surprised when the reached the river so quickly, he must have been deep in thought. Winry dropped to her knees in the soft grass, quietly unpacking the basket, and finally reaching for Alphonse, pulling him gently to the ground. "Just enjoy the day," she said softly. "Try not to think about everything."
"I want to think about everything," he protested, but he obediently settled to a sitting position in the grass and reached for an apple out of the basket. As a suit of armor, he certainly couldn't have eaten anything. Was this really the first apple he had tasted in four years? It didn't feel like it.
"Have you done any alchemy yet?" she asked abruptly., and Alphonse shook his head. Her next question startled him a bit. "Would you do some for me?" she asked. "You and Edward always used to make things for me when we were little, trying to impress me."
Alphonse giggled. "You were so scared that first time we showed you, you couldn't stop crying!" he reminded her.
"I meant after that, silly," she laughed, but Al was still stuck on her previous words, when we were little. He didn't think of himself as little. He and Edward were big boys, going off on their own to receive training from a powerful alchemist. They were able to do things ordinary people, even adults, couldn't do. They were even able to do things even ordinary alchemists couldn't do. He never felt little.
He never felt little until now, when his best friend, who had only been a year older than him, was now nearly a foot taller than he was and looked an awful lot like a grown up. Alphonse sat up on his knees, clearing an open spot in the dirt under the tree. He carefully drew out an array with a stick, dumped handful of leaves in the center, raised his eyebrows once at Winry, winked, and started the transmutation.
The leaves had become bird shaped, and in the blue light of the reaction, they fluttered past each other, spiraling around until the energy dissipated, then settling on the ground in front of him. Winry reached out and picked up one of the leaf-birds, cradling the delicate object in her sturdy hand. "Thank you," she whispered.
London 1915
Hohenheim opened his front door, tiredly shrugging off his coat and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Edward…" he started, uncertain as to what to object to first.
His living room looked like a tornado had blown through it, in the form of his older son. Edward had done that to his home in Rizembool also, he recalled. Trisha had called it something like "the terrible twos."
Edward sat in his father's desk chair, his one foot kicked up on the desktop and a book propped against his leg. The shelves above the desk were now completely empty, and Hohenheim's collection of books was scattered across the room: spread out on the desk, on the floor, on the couch, the coffee table… along with the books, a few apple cores sat on the edge of the desk, next to an empty glass and a burnt out candle.
"What?" his son replied, not looking up from the book he was reading.
"Take your foot off my desk," he began, and Edward gave him a sidelong glare and complied.
"Sorry," he muttered, returning to the book.
Deciding it wasn't worth another possible explosion of temper, his father quietly picked up the glass, apple cores, and candle and disposed of them properly, then began to return some semblance of order to his books. "Did you read all these?" he asked conversationally.
Edward shook his head, still staring at the pages. "Only the interesting ones. I don't have anything else to do." He finally glanced up. "This world sure is weird."
Hohenheim chuckled. "I agree."
"Its like everything operates on a whole different set of rules here," his son complained. "Everywhere I look, things don't make sense, and the more I try to research it, the more I realize just how much of it I don't understand."
"All that and you haven't even left the house yet."
Edward glared up at him but said nothing in response. Finally he sighed, closed the book, and laid it on the desk, leaning back in the chair. "I don't think the information I want is in a chemistry book anyway." He frowned, reconsidering. "Although it is interesting. Its like alchemy, but not."
"And what is this information you want?" Hohenheim asked carefully.
"The gate exists here. Just because alchemy doesn't work doesn't mean there is no gate. There must be a way to open it. There has to be!" Edward said firmly, his hand tightening into a fist.
Hohenheim's eyes widened slightly. "You don't mean… you're trying to go back?" he asked, incredulous. Abandoning his previous attempts to avoid all lines of conversation that might result in a shouting match, he continued, "Edward, you can't. You're here now, you can't go back. The sooner you accept that-"
"I will not accept that!" Edward roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. "I need to go back, I need to know what happened, I need to know what I did! I can't not know!" He was silent for a moment, visibly struggling to control his temper. "Nothing is impossible," he said fiercely. "There are only things that haven't been done yet. That doesn't mean they're impossible, humans just haven't learned how to do them yet."
Hohenheim met his son's blazing golden eyes, choosing not to respond with what he knew to be true: of course some things were impossible. Of course the universe had laws that cannot be broken. Instead he took a deep breath, and took a seat next to Edward. "You should be dead now, for even attempting human transmutation, whether you were successful or not," he began, and Edward looked down at the book in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes. "But you're alive somehow. And I'm alive somehow, in this world we don't belong in-"
"I would rather be dead and know that Al's alive than be stuck here in this world with you," his son interrupted. "You are the last person I ever wanted to see again!" Edward forced himself to stop before the unspoken 'and I hate you' escaped his lips.
Hohenheim's gaze was downcast. "I know that, son, and for that I am deeply regretful. I wish there was a way to prove that to you."
"Well there isn't," came the sullen reply.
The man stood, straightening, and wordlessly began to re-shelve the pile of books he had gathered, reaching over his son's head. Edward sat staring at the pages in front of him, but no longer reading, only waiting for his father to say something else he could object to.
"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," Hohenheim said finally, and Edward gave a curt nod, not looking up.
After a few minutes Edward got up and went to his room, feeling tired although he hadn't moved from the desk all day, and feeling uncomfortable in the silence that stretched between the front room and the kitchen, between him and his father.
He sighed as he collapsed onto his bed, reaching over the nightstand for another book and curling up with it. There have to be answers somewhere, he thought to himself, but he couldn't make his mind concentrate on the words in front of him. The uncomfortable silence had stretched all the way into his bedroom, it seemed.
Rizembool
Izumi sat on the edge of the bed, watching the creature that was her son twitching in a drugged sleep. Neither Winry or Pinako knew how automail surgery would affect his homunculus body, or even if it was possible, but so far he hadn't rejected the metal parts. Perhaps it would even be easier on him, since homunculus could supposedly sustain far more than an ordinary human.
She was waiting for him to wake up, so that he would see her face first, and not be alone, although the child had insisted repeatedly that he did not mind being left alone, and that he preferred not being to close to "real" humans.
Directly above her there was a loud thump on the ceiling, followed by muffled cries. Her eyes snapped up.
"Wait! Brother, this isn't right!" she could hear through the walls. Izumi stood up at once, glancing once more at the sleeping child, and made her way quickly up the stairs. Alphonse was having a nightmare.
He hadn't had any the first few months after he had returned. He maintained that he remembered his and Ed's attempt to transmute their mother, and he had some very vague memories of the few days after he had woken up under central, and even for weeks after he had been restored his memory was not what it should have been. However recently, though his memory was finally sound, the nightmares had started.
It broke her heart to hear Alphonse calling for his brother.
She pushed his door open and moved quickly to the edge of his bed, wrapping her arms around him, keeping him from thrashing about in his dream. "Shhhh," she whispered, "You're dreaming, Alphonse, you're having a nightmare," but he did not wake up. Izumi shook him lightly, trying to shake the dream from him, and eventually his eyes opened.
"Sorry, Sensei," he said in a small voice. "I'm sorry I keep waking you up." In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes looked magnified behind the tears that were pooling.
"Don't be sorry, I wasn't sleeping," she said gently, rocking him back and forth in her arms until his breathing became regular again. When she was certain he was asleep, she tucked the covers around his sleeping form and made her way back down the stairs. She did not hear the front door clicking shut.
As soon as Izumi had left his side, Wrath's eyes had opened. He raised his metal hand above his face, watching the fingers open and close. Just like his, he thought grimly, then tested out the automail leg. It felt odd, as if his limbs had fallen asleep. He could move them but not feel them. This will do, he decided, and before Izumi could return, he slipped out the door, never intending to return to this family who, though wary of him, had offered him everything.
London
That face, the one that looked so much like his own, like his father, like his brother, hell, it was his brother, wasn't it? Ed's eyes widened when he felt the pain in his chest, too shocked this once to have dodged this one. He tried to do something, anything, but he found he couldn't move, he was pinned by the spear that had been driven through his chest. Something wet and warm was pooling around him. You can't be, he tried to say, but realized he had no air, he could not take a breath, and the face in front of him was once more the androgynous being he had fought with before. It was too late. He could feel the life running out of him. He would never see his brother again, never see his home again, but it was all right. Alphonse had the Philosopher's Stone. Al was smart, he would get out of this somehow, and use the stone to bring back his body, and live out his life the way he should have. But the pain…
He was screaming, he realized, struggling between consciousnesses. His father was there, hand on his shoulder, urging to wake up. As the last vestiges of the nightmare left him, he focused his eyes on his father's alarmed expression, pushing his hand away. "What happened?" he father demanded. "What's wrong?"
"A nightmare…" Ed said faintly.
The concern was plain behind his father's eyes. "It's two in the afternoon," he said, betraying the confusion he felt. Hohenheim began to straighten the blankets around his son, and pulled a few books out from the tangle of the bed.
Ed squeezed his eyes shut. "I was tired," he provided. "Why are you home?"
To check on you, was the answer, although Hohenheim thought better of admitting that to his son. After a moment, he said, "I'll bring you some tea," and left for the kitchen.
Edward turned over in the bed, pushing his face into the pillows, nightmares and memories playing against his eyelids. He was so tired, yet every time he tried to sleep, he woke up like this, not always screaming, but always afraid, and never rested. Something hard was pressing into his cheek, and frowning, he sat up and removed the pen from under his pillow, checking to see that it hadn't broken and spilled ink onto the sheets. He tossed the pen and another book onto the nightstand and reached for his crutch, hauling himself upright and hobbling to the one small window in the room.
Leaning his forehead on the glass, he watched his breath make little ovals of fog every time he breathed out, and watched the people in the distance walking past, going about their business. They don't know, he thought to himself. When they die, their souls don't go to heaven. They cross the gate, and become alchemic energy. That is all. There's no good and bad in this world, everyone's soul goes to the same place. They don't know that all their stories about the afterlife are wrong.
Ed jumped a little at his father's voice, but didn't turn around, continuing to lean against the glass. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what?" he mumbled, watching the glass cloud again as he spoke.
"The nightmares. You have them a lot." His father's voice was hesitant, as if he expected his concern to be met with angry objections.
And he had a reason to think that, Ed thought darkly. He slowly turned his head to face his father. "That depends. This one was about you. Do you want to talk about it?"
He watched his father's expression, so innocent, as if he couldn't imagine doing anything that might give anyone nightmares.
Ed turned back to the window. "Never mind," he said tonelessly. "When we die, will our souls go back to Amestris, to fix some alchemist's broken picture frame?"
Surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, Hohenheim gave his best answer. "That's all a soul is, Edward. Take away the body, take away the memories, and it's just energy. That's the only place it can go."
"And everyone at home then? Where to their souls go? Not here. Do they?"
Hohenheim shook his head. "Perhaps. As energy. Perhaps they stay in our world, and become something else," he offered, unsure of where his son was going with this.
"All is one, one is all," Ed said in a faraway voice. "That's what Sensei taught us. We're all part of the same world. Nothing comes, nothing goes, it merely changes. Death happens, birth happens, but the content of the world is always the same. They have a rule like that here, too, don't they? Nothing can be created or destroyed?" He turned away from the window, facing his father with serious eyes.
"Yes," his father conceded. "That is a law of science here."
"But it's not really true, is it? Because we're here. This world now contains two more people than it's supposed to. And the universe hasn't exploded." Edward did not know what kind of response to expect from his father, but it certainly was not the one he got.
"You're not the only one, Edward, to think along those lines. There are scientists in this world as well seeking to disprove the laws of conservation. You may do well to speak to them, you would offer each other unique insights." His father raised his eyebrows at him.
Edward looked down at himself and scoffed. "I can't exactly go anywhere, old man," he said in response.
Hohenheim set the mug of now-cooling tea on the nightstand. "Give it time," he said evenly. "Learn what you can. You'll find the science of this world is fascinating."
Rizembool
Winry pushed her goggles up on her forehead and switched off her drill, sure that beneath the noise she was creating in the workshop she had heard a pounding. Izumi and Al were in the yard sparring, or rather, Izumi was watching Al spar with himself, and Roze had been talking to Granny out on the porch.
Now she could hear her grandmother's voice in low conversation with several men. Who was out there? It couldn't be customers, or they would have come to the workshop. Not bothering to re fasten her jumpsuit, which she had tied immodestly around her waist, Winry hurried through the house to the font door.
Military. A quick glance told her they were no one familiar. They have news about Ed! was her first thought.
"Good afternoon, Miss Rockbell," the taller one said when he saw her in the doorway.
Pinako was scowling at them. "She'll tell you nothing different than I have," she told them. "He isn't here."
They were looking for Ed. She looked at the two men in blue, not saying anything.
"Let her speak for herself," the same one said.
Winry shook her head. "If you're looking for Edward, he's not here," she said bluntly. "I wish he was. And if you see him, tell him to come home immediately." She pounded her wrench into her palm as she spoke. Oh, if only it were that simple! Tell him to come home, and he would appear.
"Winry!" came a voice from inside. "Where are you?"
She turned back towards the house. "I'm out here, Al," she called, and within seconds he was by her side.
The second officer cleared his throat. "There is a major investigation underway on the assassination of the fuhrer," he began. "It is imperative that we locate the Fullmetal Alchemist. We believe that he alone can answer some very pressing questions. This isn't an arrest, by any means. We just need to talk to him. He doesn't even need to accompany us to Central."
"I would also like to speak to him and ask him questions," Al spoke up. "but he isn't here. I'm sorry."
"Who exactly are you?" the officer inquired.
"Alphonse Elric."
The two men exchanged glances. "Wasn't Alphonse the taller one?"
Al giggled. "I used to wear armor," he said, feeling like he was telling a story. "But it, ah, got destroyed."
"I see. Alphonse, tell your brother that every military officer who served under Brigadier General Mustang is ordered to report for questioning concerning the rebellion as well as the Furher's assassination. Make sure he understands that whatever he and his fellow officers may have done, the government understands that they were only acting on orders. No charges are being filed against Mustang's subordinates. We are merely trying to gather the facts."
Alphonse listened carefully, having no idea what the officer was talking about, but knowing perfectly well that neither man believed that Edward was not there. He nodded politely. "If I find him, sir, I will tell him those things," he agreed. When they left, he turned to Winry. "Was I supposed to know them?" he asked. He was slowly getting used to always feeling out of the loop about everything.
She shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.
He looked up at her quizzically. "Do you know what they were talking about?"
"Not really," she admitted. "Roy Mustang was Ed's commanding officer, we told you that, right?"
Al nodded. "He didn't like him," he said.
Winry shrugged. "They had an odd relationship," she corrected. "And you know all the rumors about the rebellion and the assassination and everything. I heard one radio report that said that he was responsible for the fire in the Fuhrer's mansion. I heard another one that he led the rebellion in the North. But Ed wasn't involved in any of that. You and he had your own business to deal with. Don't worry about it, its just military stuff." She opened the front door and went inside. "It doesn't concern us."
"Is it true that the military has a whole library for alchemists, and that there's a whole section about Human Transmutation?"
Winry whirled around. "Who told you that?" she demanded.
"Sensei," he said innocently. "And," he added, "State alchemists can access any of the files they want. And the government has been researching Human Transmutation, even though it's illegal, for years and years, and they must have tons of knowledge by now."
Winry crouched down in front of him and said seriously, "Al, you don't want to be a State Alchemist. You're just a child."
"I'm not a child!" he insisted, stamping his foot in which he realized was a very childish manner. "I'm fifteen years old, even if my body is only ten!"
But how old is your mind? Winry wondered silently.
"Brother was a State Alchemist when he was twelve! No one tried to stop him! What if that library has information that Sensei doesn't know? That she can't teach me? What if the government already knows about the gate and how to take things from it? They've been at this research for a long time!"
Winry stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "We never wanted either of you to get mixed up with the military," she said softly. "But when Ed heard about the privileges State Alchemists had, it gave him something to work towards. It made him think his goal was possible. All he wanted, Al, was to get your body back, and he thought that was the way to do it."
"And all I want is to find Ed and bring him back! That's my goal! I'm not getting any closer to it by staying here!" As soon as he spoke he felt his friend stiffen, and he worked himself out of her grip and turned to face her. She looked like she had been smacked. "Winry?" he asked hesitantly. "What's wrong? What did I say?"
She looked away. "You always leave," she said quietly. "you brothers always leave. It's not that I don't want Ed back, Al. Its that I'm afraid to lose you too."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly for a hug. "You're not going to lose me," he said into her shoulder. "I promise I'll always come back."
She couldn't trust it, his promise that she would never lose him. No one could make a promise like that and know they could keep it.
Yet he made it anyway. And he was the only Elric ever to do so.
London
Ed- I am not coming home tonight. I will return tomorrow. Roze is coming over with a package for you. There are leftovers in the refrigerator. Don't get into any trouble.
-Dad
PS we are joining the neighbors for tea tomorrow afternoon.
Ed tossed the note back onto the counter. Tea next door? Can't wait. A package? Sounds exciting. Leftovers, yum. Don't get into any trouble? Was that his father's attempt at a joke or something? Just how much trouble could he possibly get into without leaving the house? He turned his attention back to the stove and smirked. Maybe it was a warning not to catch his eggs on fire.
It was, just as he had insisted the day before, completely possible to fry an egg one handed. Dumping his eggs onto a plate, he leaned across the room and set the plate on the table, switched on the radio, put the frying pan in the sink, and sat down to eat. His balance, he decided, was finally improving.
The radio was all news about the war, and Edward listened intently to the reports as he munched on his eggs. If he was going to live in this world, he had to understand it. After a few minutes, as promised, there was a knock on the door, and he called, "It's unlocked, Roze."
She entered the apartment hesitantly, finding Ed in the kitchen.
"Eggs?" he offered her.
She laughed brightly, setting the package on the table. "It's the middle of the day, Ed. Isn't it a little late for breakfast?"
He shrugged. "I'm not exactly a master chef. Eggs are hard to mess up," he explained.
"No thanks," she declined, stepping over his crutch and taking a seat across from him at the table. She didn't look exactly like the Roze at home, he decided. Her eyes were brown rather than lavender and her hair was not pink, although he suspected that Roze-at-home's hair was not naturally two toned. But aside from being a different color, her eyes looked more… calm? Content? Edward frowned. It was her expression, he realized. This is what Roze-at-home would look like if she had not been through the horrors in Lior.
"Ed," she said gently, shaking him from his contemplation. "You're staring at me."
He flushed, looking down, "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just, you look so much like someone I know." For a distraction, he reached for the box and awkwardly tore at the wrapping. She had obviously picked it up from the post, because it was stamped and had Hohenheim's address scrawled across it. "What is it?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I'm as curious as you are. I never get mail either."
His eyes widened when he drew out the thick packs of paper. How did the old man get his hands on these? Or more accurately, how did he get them mailed to his house?
"Well?" Roze pressed.
Ed was already flipping through them. "They're scientific reports," he said vaguely. "Some stuff I've been interested in recently."
"Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. "A scientist like your father. I don't know much about science myself," she admitted. "I'm more of a religious type."
Ed set down the papers, a curious glint coming into his gold eyes. "Are you? That's interesting. What religion?"
Roze laughed, trying to dismiss his interest. "Oh come now, I don't want to get into an argument with a scientist," she protested. "I know you don't believe in the spiritual aspects of life. Nothing concrete, nothing provable, nothing for you," she said lightly.
He plopped his chin down on his hand. "Try me," he insisted. "I'm curious, and I don't know much about religion. Plus, I'm bored out of my mind sitting around the house." She still looked skeptical, so he added, "I won't argue with you, even if I think it's all nonsense."
Roze raised her eyebrows at him, her dark eyes sparkling. "Well that makes me feel much better," she said with another laugh. She sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. "Well," she began, "Its not so much a religion, like what you have here, but more a sense of spirituality."
"Here as opposed to where?" Edward interrupted.
"My home," she clarified.
"And where's that," he pressed.
"Far away," she said vaguely. "Not Europe."
Edward nodded in acceptance. "Okay. Do you believe in God?"
She frowned. "Not in the way that you do-"
"I'm a scientist, I'm an atheist," he reminded her.
Roze pressed her lips together, thinking of an easy explanation. "I guess you could say, we could all be gods. We all seek perfection, and purity, and rightness, and when we reach it, we become god like."
Ed smirked. "And does this happen often?"
"Not that I'm aware of," she admitted good naturedly. "Humans are very rarely able to achieve perfection."
"Well so far I have nothing to argue with you about, Roze. I see nothing wrong with striving for perfection. So," he continued, coming to his real question, "in your spiritual religion, what happens when you die?"
"The soul is immortal," she said immediately. "That mysterious element that makes you who you are will never disappear. It merely becomes something else, maybe a new life, a blade of grass, an animal, part of the air. We are all part of the world." Then she laughed. "This must sound ridiculous to you."
Ed shook his head firmly. "No, actually it doesn't," he insisted. "So we're all part of this world, and that little bit of energy called the soul circulates around in different forms until we achieve perfection and become god like," he repeated. "So where are the god like beings? Somewhere in the world?"
Roze frowned. "In the world, yes. Maybe not on the earth. The world is made of many realities." She found his intent gaze slightly unnerving. "This is where it gets into mythology a bit, Ed. I'm sure you can scientifically disprove it in a heartbeat."
"No go ahead."
"Once man gains a perfect understanding of the universe," she began, as if reciting something she had been told many times before, "his soul leaves this plane of existence, and passes into the realm of Shambhala, where the laws of this world don't apply. But they also say that the boundries between the worlds are blurred, and that there is a specific place where the gates of Shambhala exist, although they are impossible to find for anyone who doesn't belong there."
"And what do you have to do to belong there?"
She sighed. "Achieve perfection, I guess."
Images were flashing through his brain faster than he could even process them. Chemical equations, cellular structures, alchemic arrays, a man with a mustache addressing a crowd, a white cloud shaped like a mushroom… "Perfection," he asked slowly, "Or a perfect understanding?"
Roze shrugged. "Is there a difference?"
Rizembool
Roze irritated her. She felt cruel admitting it, but it was true. Everything about the woman rubbed her the wrong way. She was so feminine and correct, in every way that Winry herself was not, that she always felt that she was being looked down on. Of course, Roze had been through terrible things, and deserved everyone's sympathy. And so, when Roze helped Pinako in the kitchen, because her cooking, unlike Winry's, was excellent, Winry was nice. When Roze talked about her dead boyfriend, for whom she named her son, Winry was nice. When Roze talked about how much Edward had meant to her, how much he had taught her, and how much he had done for her, Winry was especially nice. When she had over heard Roze talking to Al, however, she simply walked out the door and onto the porch, because she could not be nice.
Your brother said to me, you have your own legs, stand and walk forward, and so I did. That's what you boys were doing. You never looked back, you were always moving towards your goal. And Edward helped me to realize that I had to keep walking forward, just like he was.
And who gave him that leg to walk forward with? she thought angrily. Only to have him walk away and never come back?
The early evening breeze played at her hair and she stared out at the vast expanse that was Rizembool. What she was feeling wasn't right, she told herself. Edward had helped Roze because he was a good person, just like the stories claimed. The alchemist who helped the people. And Edward had left because he wanted to return his brother's body, to reverse the consequences of his sins. And now Alphonse was going to leave too, to reverse… what? Edward's sacrifice?
Winry shook her head. It was all some kind of alchemical theory that she didn't understand, nor did she really want to. Alchemy had not been good to her. It had taken her parents away when she was just a little girl, and it had destroyed the lives of her two best friends. How she wished she could turn back the clock and change everything, how she wished the three of them could have grown up normally, happily, together.
But, she thought, everyone wished for something like that, everyone wanted to change something, to take something back. It was only the Elric brothers who thought they actually could.
When she daydreamed, she dreamed that she saw him, Edward, making his way up the path that she stared at now. She dreamed of a tearful reunion, of the three of them together again, where they belonged, and doing just what he said, walking forward and leaving the past behind.
"I'm thinking about him too," said a voice, and she jumped.
Catching her bearings, she said, "You startled me, Al."
"Sorry," he said, distracted, staring out from the porch exactly like she had been. How long had he been there? "If brother came back somehow, like those military people think he did," he started, "Would I recognize him?"
"Of course," she said without thinking. "Of course you would, Al. We showed you the pictures, remember?"
He sighed. "I know. But I just cant picture him old like you are." He moved closer to her, leaning against the railing. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
She looked down at his face in the faint light from the house. His large grey eyes looked up at her sincerely. "Hm?"
"Everyone's been telling me stories about things that I've forgotten. There's so many, but I remember them all. I'm trying to put them in order in my head. Don't you get tired of telling me things that already happened?"
"No, of course not."
"Do you remember when we built a fort in my back yard? It was less than a year ago for me."
Winry thought back. "I remember building forts with the picnic blankets in my yard," she offered.
Al shook his head, and smiled. "This was the box fort. Auntie Pinako ordered something really big in the mail, and let us have the box."
"Oh the box!" she exclaimed, remembering. "We used that box all winter for sledding."
Alphonse beamed. "Yep, and all three of us could fit in it. But before it was a sled-"
"It was a fort," she finished triumphantly. "With a red flag"
Alphonse snickered. "But originally, it had been a no-girls-allowed fort. Ed and I ran off with the box as soon as Auntie said we could have it, and we told you we were going to the river, but really we were just in our back yard. And we propped it up on sticks and stuck the flaps out so they were like little roofs over our fort-porch. But then without you, we got really bored, and we just sat around and waited for you to figure out where we were so we could try to keep you out of our fort."
Winry laughed. "That didn't last long."
Al rubbed his head in memory of a good whack with a wrench. "No," he said, laughing. "It didn't."
"I had completely forgotten about the box, Al," Winry admitted.
"I figured you would have. That was a long time ago, wasn't it?" He paused for a minute, then continued, his voice wavering a bit. "We had this idea that since we were in the fort, and it was a secret fort, that no one would be able to find us. And mom played along, walking around the yard pretending to look for us, calling our names, looking in the silliest places until we finally burst out of the box, knocking the whole thing apart."
Winry threw her arm around his shoulders. "That was a good story, Alphonse. Thank you."
The silence of the evening was interrupted by the sound of Roze's son crying from inside the house, and Winry rolled her eyes. Roze couldn't share these stories with them, she thought with satisfaction. And these were the stories Al could remember.
London
It was the first time Edward had been outside his father's apartment since his arrival from the hospital, which he barely remembered. He tugged his vest down and ran a hand through his bangs and down the length of his ponytail, hoping he looked moderately presentable.
A little girl, no older than five or six, answered the door. "Mommy!" she called, "Mommy, they're here!"
A woman appeared behind her, laughing as she said, "Let them come in then, Rachel, don't just stand there in the doorway!" Shooing her daughter out of the way, she motioned for Hohenheim and Edward to come in. Ed saw that the apartment was a mirror of his father's in construction, but furnished much nicer. "Edward, I'm Madeline Wallace, its nice to finally meet you. Your father talks about you all the time," the woman said with a smile.
Edward glanced at his father. "Does he?" was all he said.
"This is my daughter Rachel," she said, indicating the little girl who was now hiding behind her leg.
"How do you do, Rachel," Ed said, trying to peer around her mother to catch the little girl's eyes.
"Hello Edward my name is Rachel and I'm not going to say anything about your arm and your leg!" she said proudly, stepping away from Mrs. Wallace.
"Oh!" her mother said in surprise, glancing at Edward apologetically.
Edward smirked, leaning against his crutch. "That sounds good, I'm not going to say anything either," he told the little girl.
Her mother was visibly relieved. "I just put the kettle on," Mrs. Wallace said to her guests. "Please have a seat, I have a tray set out already."
"Madeline, you didn't have to do all this," Hohenheim protested as he took a seat on the couch. Edward followed after him, settling his crutch on the floor.
"Oh, of course I did," she said from the kitchen. "You've been such a big help, what with the boys away and all, it's the least I could do."
Edward was eyeing the tray of tiny sandwiches and cookies.
"I helped make these," Rachel informed him. She carefully selected a cookie and climbed into the big armchair to nibble on it.
Mrs. Wallace returned with the teapot and filled three cups, turning to her daughter. "Rachel, honey, are you having tea?"
The little girl shook her head. "Yuck!" she said, her attention all on the cookie.
Edward laughed, causing his father to raise his eyebrows. "I didn't like tea when I was little either, remember?" he said.
Hohenheim's brow creased, trying to recall but falling short. He had spent so few years with Ed when he was a child… Ed, however, didn't seem to notice. He watched his son spooning sugar into his tea and stirring the steaming liquid. Edward's mood seemed to have lifted considerably, and he didn't want to say anything that might change that.
Ed looked around the room, taking in the photographs on the wall. Madeline Wallace was in all of them, with two smiling boys and a handsome smiling man. Her husband and sons, he guessed, although there was no sign of them here. Were they all fighting in the war? Was this what was going on at home, too?
Colonel Mustang had been supposedly leading a rebellion, what had ever come of that? Had Roy defeated Pride, was the Homunculus finally exposed to the rest of the government and removed from power, or had Pride defeated Roy? His country had been on the verge of an internal war, after not having really recovered from the previous one. War was everywhere, it seemed. In every world. There really was no escaping it.
"Edward, Edward, Edward, Edward!" The voice brought him back to reality. Rachel was jumping up and down in front of him, calling his name, how could he have spaced out like that?
"Huh?" he said unintelligently.
"Play with me!" she demanded, her round eyes bright in her childish face.
"Rachel," her mother said sternly. "Don't bother Edward, let him finish his tea."
"Ah, its okay," he assured her, looking at his empty tea cup. "What do you want to play?"
"Jacks!" she announced. "I just got new jacks, and a new ball-"
"And jacks is an outside game," Mrs. Wallace reminded her. "I don't want your new ball bouncing all around my living room. Remember what happened last time?"
"Then we'll go outside!" she said brightly, tugging at Edward's hand.
Mrs. Wallace turned to Edward. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him.
Edward was already picking up his crutch. "That's okay, I happen to be very good at jacks," he told Rachel. "So just so you know, I am going to win," he warned.
She giggled, opening the front door. "No you're not, they're my jacks, you can't win with my jacks..."
"Close the door," her mother reminded her. She turned to Hohenheim, who sat with a very bemused expression on his face. He didn't remember his son ever playing jacks as a child. Of course, he probably played with them after he had left them. He did, however, remember on several occasions how Sarah's daughter Winry would accuse Edward of cheating at cards. The corners of his lips began to turn up in a smile.
"Your son seems to be doing quite well," she commented, contradicting all that she had previously been told.
Hohenheim gazed at her over the tops of his glasses. "Its not always like this, believe me."
Edward had never played jacks left handed, but it had also been going on ten years since he played jacks at all and being that he was the older of the two, he figured he still had the advantage. Now, sitting on the front steps with Rachel, he decided he could at least enjoy the fresh air, because the little girl seemed to forget that he was playing too. After failing to catch up the required number of jacks, she had been giving herself second and third chances, he guessed hoping that he wouldn't notice or something. It was very cute.
He looked up and saw Roze walking up the street with a bag of groceries and waved. "Hello, spiritualist," he greeted her seriously.
She nodded in acknowledgement as she made her way up the steps. "Good afternoon, scientist," she answered, equally serious, and then let herself smile.
"Wanna play jacks with us?" he offered.
Roze laughed, shaking her head as she stepped over them to enter the building. "Ed, jacks is a kid's game."
"I'm a kid!" Rachel piped up. "Oh, Ed, I think its your turn," she added, handing him the ball.
He expertly bounced the ball and caught the jack, then turned and looked at Roze through narrow eyes. "Are you saying I'm kid-sized?" he demanded. She laughed again and sat down on the top step, setting her paper bag down next to her.
"That's not what I said at all!" she protested.
Bouncing the ball again, he did not look up from the game. "Doesn't matter," he said intently. "I'm going to win."
"No you're not!" Rachel insisted.
"Oops, your turn again," he said, handing her back the ball and watching her re-scatter the little metal pieces. Suddenly her ball went bouncing into the road.
"I'll get it!" she shrieked, and Ed reached out and grabbed her around the waist.
"Hey, don't just run out into the street like that!" he admonished her.
"Sorry!" she squeaked.
"You gotta look before you do that, okay?" he said sternly.
"O-kay, Ed-o," she said, elaborately looking both ways before running to fetch her rubber ball.
Roze watched her fondly. "I always wanted to have a lot of brothers and sisters," she said dreamily.
"Are you an only child?" Ed asked curiously, and Roze nodded. "Is she?" he asked then, meaning Rachel.
"Her brothers are away fighting," she said, still with a faraway voice.
"Where's her father?"
Roze shrugged. "He left them, I think, before we moved here."
Ed wanted to ask who "we" meant, but before he could say anything, Roze was standing up, telling him good afternoon, and she enjoyed their talk.
"Hey, you don't get another turn," he said to Rachel. "You let the ball get away, that means its my turn."
"Nuh uh," she informed him. "they're my jacks, so we play my way!"
Ed laughed, but agreed to these new rules. "Whatever you say. I'm still going to win."
Rizembool
Winry and Al still leaned side by side on the porch railing, staring out over the darkness that had settled in for the night. Izumi and Pinako and Roze had all gone to bed. Neither had said anything for hours, they merely stood there, side by side, each deep in their own thoughts.
"If you really don't want me to go," Al said finally, "I wont."
Winry glanced down at him. "Do what you need to do to move forward," she said softly, ruffling his hair.
To be continued…
Next week: Chapter Six- Following After
