Chapter 4: Quiet Places
Author's Note : Finally, at long last, long after everyone had given up hope… an update. Thanks once again to Mint Pizza Queen, who read the whole chapter in bits and peices (this is a long one, folks !), and special thanks and dedication toShiruba Neko, the only person who reviewed, and who's stories (Illness and Behind Red Eyes) went a long way towards inspiring this little piece of insanity.
Just for the record, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of its characters. Izabel and Grace are mine, though, and I think the plot is reasonably original. And the song Imandote DOES belong to me.
"You have finally lost your mind, Alphonse."
A woman.
Scar was somewhere with a woman. And Alphonse. Human Alphonse. And he was being jostled. He did not like this, not one bit.
"Look, Scar is in no shape to have done anything in the past month. This is the proof we need."
"And this involves you taking him home… how?"
"He needs help. He's saved me before. He's my friend, Izabel."
"He's awake." Izabel said flatly.
Scar opened his eyes with great reluctance to find two people regarding him intently. The man (Alphonse, the voice of memory reminded him) regarded him with the kind of concern Scar never would have expected from someone wearing that uniform. Scar chose to study him, since that made his head hurt less than moving it did.
A fine boned angular face…. Grey eyes with coppery flecks… hair the color of honey… yes, this man could easily be kin to Edward Elric.
Alphonse leaned forward. "Scar? Are you alright?"
Scar chose not to answer, instead letting his gaze drift to this… Izabel.
It was a shock to his system to see an Ishbalan woman with the State Alchemist watch on a chain around her neck. It was a bit less of a shock to see her bedecked in enough jewelry to pay the bride price of a lord's daughter, marred though it was by those devil cursed arrays. There was something about the pattern of the jewelry that brought to mind long ago lessons. It was important, the functioning bit of his mind said, but he couldn't remember why. It was as if he was thinking through a thick fog
The woman smiled pleasantly, crossed her ankles demurely, and told him in Ishbalan, "If you so much as twitch your right hand, I will break your neck."
Now that cut through the fog.
Alphonse shot the woman a quizzical glance, sitting back. "What did you just say?"
"I was merely offering a traditional greeting, Alphonse." She lied smoothly in the unmusical language of Amestris. She switched back to Ishbalan, the smile locked in place. "Just nod. Don't argue."
Scar nodded slowly, the let out a low groan. His head was going to explode. He needed a drink. A cool hand touched the side of his face. "Scar?" Alphonse said, his tone growing increasingly worried. He put the hand under Scar's chin and looked him square in the face, grey eyes soaking in every detail. "Izabel, watch him. I'll be right back."
And suddenly Scar, sick as a dog, was left alone with someone who had just threatened to break his neck. She watched him as warily as he watched her. There was maybe a foot of space between them—
Scar looked around veeeery slowly.
Yes. He was on a train. And it was lurching in a most alarming way. His right hand was resting in his lap. The woman would be on him before he could raise it to do much of anything. However, at this point, a broken neck was very inviting, anything to be rid of the headache!
His stomach gave a lurch as the carriage jolted, and he put his head in his hand.
"How the mighty have fallen." The woman said in soft Ishbalan. "My father thought you would be our savior."
Scar looked up slowly to meet her gaze. He found only sadness and mild reproach there. "Who are you… to say anything?"
"Someone who learned long ago that the only one who can save me is me. If I don't say something, who will?"
The compartment door banged open, revealing Alphonse and a tray. Balanced on said tray were a variety of cups and glasses, all filled with liquids in shades of browns, reds, oranges, and purples. From one of the mugs near the center of the tray, something was steaming. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got everything," the man explained, suddenly looking far younger than his years. He set the tray gently beside Scar, and then resumed his seat on the opposite bench.
Scar regarded the drinks dubiously. What he really needed was most definitely not here. But he was also very thirsty. His hand hovered over the drinks before he picked up the red one. Tomato juice, the part of his mind not screaming in pain supplied. It went down smooth… and came back up rough.
"Here, let me clean that up."
"So," Alphonse said, "That's the situation. We need your help to stop this man."
"You want me to help State Alchemists." Scar said flatly.
"We're not the enemy, Scar. You put your quest to an end ten years ago." Alphonse tried to duck his head to meet Scar's eyes, which were firmly glued to the floor.
It was a very clean floor, thanks to Alphonse. And it was a floor devoid of Izabel's feet, as she was currently camping in the train's tiny washroom, trying to get clean.
"It's not just us you're helping." Alphonse said seriously. "Since this started, there's been a dramatic rise in Anti-Ishbalan sentiment across the country. Nobody's been killed yet, but it's only a matter of time. I don't want that to happen. And neither do you."
Scar's eyes rose for just a moment, and caught on Alphonse's. 'How can he make them so big?' he wondered. He found himself nodding, anything to make Alphonse stop looking at him as if he'd been caught kicking puppies in the street. 'They're very pretty…' a traitorous bit of his mind whispered.
"You'll have to stay at my flat, of course." Alphonse was saying.
The words simply didn't register.
Two days without a drink.
Scar's hands were shaking, and if anything, he felt worse now than he had when he'd woken up on the train.
All he needed was a drink, and he'd be fine.
Just.
One.
Little.
Drink.
"We're here." Izabel announced unnecessarily as the train screeched to a halt. Alphonse stopped playing with his cigarette and stood up. Scar pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and followed the major's lead. Izabel followed after Scar.
And yet, on the platform, they attracted almost no attention.
Almost.
It started as a low buzz, and then became a definite noise, then "zzzizzzizzzeizzeeizzeeizzee! Izzy Izzy Izzy Izzy IZZY!" Something small and dark rocketed out of the crowd, darting right past Alphonse and Scar, and caught Izabel with a flying tackle that sent the State Alchemist sprawling. The blur resolved itself into a boy in some kind of uniform that Scar could not identify, with curly black hair, dark skin, and the crimson eyes of a fellow Ishbalan.
"Hello Abraham. It's nice to see you too." Al deadpanned. The boy was too busy regaling his sister, still on the floor with him sitting across her legs, with stories of what she had missed while she had been gone to notice the two men.
"I'm sorry, he got away from me!" a dark haired woman called, elbowing her way through the crowd with a blond toddler on her hip. Another black haired boy, much younger than Abraham, darted from under the woman's feet and latched himself onto Al's leg with a jubilant cry of "Uncle Al!"
"It's alright, Rose." Al said, patting his nephew's head. The boy grinned his gap toothed grin up at him before turning large, inquisitive golden eyes on Scar, sticking a thumb into his mouth.
Horror of horrors. The elder Elric was breeding.
"I'm afraid Ed couldn't make it. He just got in, and you know how the Furher is." Rose said, planting a quick peck on Al's cheek before turning her own gaze onto Scar. "I… take it your trip was successful?"
"You could say that." Al took the blond toddler, a little girl, and gave her a hug and a quick kiss. "It's a long story."
The little boy detached himself from Alphonse's leg and promptly latched onto Scar's. "HiI'mKlausareyouafriendofUncleAl'swhat'syournamedoyoulikekittiesUncleAlhaslotsofkittiesbutMommysayswecan'thaveoneuntilHilde'sbiggerI'dratherhaveakitty-"
Dear God, didn't this child need to breath?
"Klaus, don't bother the nice man," Rose said, taking the child by the hand and offering Scar an apologetic smile. Scar managed an expression that was not a scowl.
'Just when,' he wondered, 'did I loose control of my life?'
Alphonse Elric was insane.
Scar had come to this conclusion upon his arrival in the young Alchemist's flat. It was fairly small, with the living room and kitchen combined into a single room and a closet of a bathroom, and a balcony that overlooked a courtyard. It was bare of any kind of personal decoration (unless one counted several bookcases full of books on Alchemy)… and it was infested with cats. They managed to cover every flat surface in the flat, with two nearly tripping Scar as he entered (though the Ishbalan did note that the apartment was free of that 'too many kitties' smell).
"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the couch." Alphonse said, clearing several of the beasts off the aforementioned piece of furniture. It was like a plague. "Have a seat. Would you like something to eat? I'm starved. I'm afraid I can't offer much in the way of entertainment." Alphonse flushed a little and made a small gesture around the flat.
It was clear, upon inspection, that this was the home of someone who didn't often have people over. Probably because of the cats.
Scar sank slowly into the couch. Despite its worn, hairy appearance, it was sinfully comfortable. He could see Alphonse in the kitchen, pulling an odd shaped pan down from a shelf. It was a few moments before Scar registered that the alchemist was still talking. "-usually just me and the kitties. Do you like Xianian food? Gracie—she's a major with Investigations – she's from Xian, and she taught me how to do this."
Scar found himself nodding along. Something about Alphonse's voice was very soothing, like the sounds of rain hitting the roof while you're safely inside with a mug of something hot in your hands. One of the cats, a small grey thing with coppery eyes, began butting Scar's hand in silent appeal. Alphonse was chopping vegetables and dropping them into the pan, still chattering about nothing at all. It was very… peaceful.
And like all good things, it came to an end in blood and pain.
A thousand sharp needles drove themselves into Scar's scalp, causing the man to launch himself off the couch with a startled yelp. The needles dug in deeper as he tried to remove whatever was attacking him, and the Ishbalan could see blood dribbling down his face. Alphonse had abandoned his cooking and was now grabbing Scar's shoulder. "Azazel! Get down!"
The thousand needles of agony dug deep into Scar's scalp before launching off, landing lightly on Alphonse's shoulder. The younger man released Scar and cradled the beast in his arms as one might a baby. Scar's right arm twitched with the urge to destroy it. The beast was a pale gold in color, save for its bloody paws, with long hair and bright yellow eyes. "I'm sorry. Azazel likes to perch." Alphonse said, still cradling the demon. "Don't you boy?" he said in a tender tone, hugging the monster closer. It continued to glare at Scar with those evil yellow eyes. "He's a sweetheart, really, once you get to know him. Oh! You're bleeding!"
Alphonse placed the cat gently on the floor and hurried into the bathroom, uttering apologies on behalf of the clearly unapologetic demon-cat. Scar was sure the beast was laughing at him. He aimed a kick at Azazel, who dodged it easily, fluffy tail waving like a banner.
Alphonse returned with a first aid kit, utterly unaware of the mounting tension between Scar and Azazel. "Have a seat. I want to get a good look." He ushered Scar back to the couch (already reinfested with cats) and got him to sit down. While the blond was tall, he still only just came up to Scar's chin, so the Ishbalan was willing to concede the necessity of sitting down. Alphonse moved behind Scar and pressed gentle fingers to his scalp, parting the hair in search of scratches.
"Your… cat is named after a demon." Scar pointed out with a growl.
"Brother's idea of a joke." Alphonse said, his fingers moving slowly. "Azazel's a real sweetheart. He just likes to pounce."
The demon was staring at Scar, licking its bloody claws with an expression of rapture.
"Right." Scar said darkly. Alphonse didn't seem to notice.
"Doesn't look too bad," The alchemist announced. "Just a few scratches. Heads just like to bleed. This is going to sting."
Scar didn't even notice the sting of the antiseptic Alphonse applied to the gouges in his scalp, but he was incredibly aware of the younger man's hand resting on his shoulder. The hand traveled up, just brushing Scar's neck before catching his chin and turning his head. Alphonse carefully wiped the blood from Scar's face, and then gave him a grin. "See? Not near as bad as it looked." He released Scar's chin. "Now let's see if I can't save dinner." He returned to the kitchen, with Azazel following.
All Scar's poor, frazzled brain would let him do was watch.
Edward Elric was rather content with his life.
His brother was flesh and blood again, he had a wife and children who loved and adored him (even if his son had yet to master the idea of 'quiet'), he was a respected Alchemist, and he had a bastard Furher to make fun of.
Okay, so he still had to deal with the automail and yes, he would like to be a little taller, but all and all, life was good.
"Daddydaddydaddy! UncleAlbroughtanewfriendhomeandhehasafunnymarkonhisheadandhewasallbigandhewouldn'ttalktomeandUncleAldidn'tbringmeanypresentscanwehaveakitty?"
"Not until Hilde is older." Ed said automatically. "Wait. What was that?"
"CanwehaveakittyDaddyplease-"
"Before that." The Fullmetal Alchemist said, his eyes searching out his wife. She had her head bent studiously next to his stepson's, looking over the boy's homework. "Rose…"
"… yes."
"Oh god. He's upgraded from kittens to serial killers."
"What'sacerialkillerdoeshenotlikecerialIlikecerialitsyummycanwegetakitty?"
It was late when the Fullmetal Alchemist arrived at his brother's door. He seriously considered breaking it down, then decided against it. God only knew what kind of havoc would be wrought if Azazel was let loose into the world. Therefore, he knocked. Loudly. The door opened after only a few moments of pounding, and Al looked down at his brother with a finger pressed to his lips. "He's asleep." The younger alchemist whispered.
Edward Elric had a lot of patience when it came to Alphonse. However, tonight it had reached the end.
The Alchemist marched into the flat and carefully scooped one of Al's kittens up from the floor and held it under his brother's nose. "This," he said, shaking the poor creature just a bit, "is a kitten. That," he pointed to the blanket-draped figure of Scar, asleep on the couch, "is a wanted serial killer whose preferred prey is State Alchemists. Which, I might remind you, you are." He continued to shake the kitten under Al's nose, his voice rising with every word. "Scar is not a stray kitten that you can bring home and feed!"
Al gently plucked the kitten from Ed's hand, cradling it in his arms. "I know that, Brother," He let the kitten nibble his fingers a moment before returning it to the floor. "But he needs my help."
"You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you." Ed groused.
Al just smiled. "Of course I have. Would you like something to eat? I've got a little stir fry left."
Scar was only faintly aware of the voice coming from what passed for Alphonse's kitchen. It wasn't his host's. No. It was that woman. A familiar smell, strong and hinting of cool nights surrounded by sand, tickled at his nose. He opened his eyes reluctantly, feeling the pull of skin opened by demonic cats. The demon in question was currently perched on the back of the couch, regarding him with evil yellow eyes.
I will destroy you, those eyes said.
That woman was still singing. He could make out the words now, and they made his blood run cold. The last time he had heard that song, it had come from the lips of an old beggar man. He'd been chased out of the village with stones and curses. Ishbala did not appreciate heretics.
"Imandote stand at the scene of the siege and the slaughter
Where thirty men died for the price of a bottle of water
Teardrops swell his fevered eyes
He stand there on that plain
Where one day thirty young men died
This day one old man call down the rain"
"Cry Imandote, cry Imandote
"Turtle and Real Frank fight for the land
cause it's God's Will
Imandote draw a line in the sand
Where the blood spill
The rain falls on both sides
Wash their bloody sands underground
Turtle and Real Frank's foolish pride
Keep them from the truth they've found
"Cry Imandote, cry Imandote
"Imandote stand at the gates of the Garden of Eden
He like how it grow
But he wait cause he can't take his seed in
Practice all his magic ways
Fill them up with strength and pride
He bring them to the very gates
But each one must find a way inside
"Say Imandote, say Imandote
"Imandote take his son and his daughters to reason
Show them the place for each time and thing and it's season
The rain that fall from winter sky
Go back to the sky one day
The water we drink and the tears we cry
Wind up in the same place
"Say Imandote, say Imandote
"Imandote stand once again at the scene of the slaughter
With his son by the hand
On each shoulder he carry one daughter
Why some men pay the heavy price
Imandote try to explain
Then Imandote's baby daughter cry
"But anyone can make it rain!"
"Say Imandote, say Imandote
"Walk on the land and of slaughter you may see plenty
Men with their hands and their hearts and their bellies all empty
The Earth got plenty to go round
It goes around each day
IF there's no water to be found
It's man and not God's way
"Say Imandote, say Imandote
"Imandote stand at the scene of the siege and the slaughter
Where thirty men died for the price of a bottle of water
The salty teardrops burn his eyes
He stand there on that plain
Where thirty thirsty young men died
Imandote call down the rain
"Cry Imandote, cry Imandote..."
Scar slowly got to his feet, letting the cover slip away, and staggered into the kitchen. Izabel was bent over the tiny stove, stirring something brown and wonderful smelling. "I thought the followers of Imandote were forbidden to fight." Scar said slowly.
Izabel offered him a cheerless smile. "I'm not very good with religion." She lifted the pot carefully off the stove and set it down on the counter. "If you would be so good as to grab a couple of cups..," she said, gesturing towards the cabinets above her head. "It's kava. I thought you might like some, after having to deal with Azazel."
"Where did you get kava around here?" Scar asked suspiciously. It certainly smelled like kava...
"Alphonse has a friend who is very good with plants. He grows it for me because I ask him nicely. The cups, please. I can't reach." She gestured towards the cabinets again with a small scowl.
"Where is Alphonse?"
"Meeting with Our Beloved Leader," Izabel made a face, "keeping things under control so that you aren't shot on sight. Which is what Colonel Elric almost did. Just so you know: You are not a kitten."
Scar stared at the woman for a long, long time before opening the cabinet and retrieving a pair of mugs. "Why is he doing this?"
"Because he still believes in justice, I think." Izabel carefully measured out the kava, and Scar watched the warm brown liquid settle. How long had it been since he'd had kava? He honestly couldn't remember.
It burned going down, forcing total awareness on Scar. Oh yes... this was kava! He eyed Izabel over the rim of the mug. "... thank you." He said, very reluctantly.
"Damn. Now I owe Alphonse money."
"I would think…" the Furher drawled, eyeing Al with his one good eye the way one might an errant child, "that Major Ishtar would have sufficient expertise in all things Ishbalan."
Al cleared his throat, running a hand swiftly through his hair before he answered. "Major Ishtar has quiet a bit of knowledge about her people, but the fact remains that she's had very little to do with them since she was a young child, Furher Mustang. My contact is much more entrenched in the community. He can go places Major Ishtar can't."
"Hn." Roy Mustang leaned forward, dark eye boring into Al as if he could read the younger man's mind. "Did you find Scar?" he asked, too lightly.
"Yes, sir. He is no longer a threat to anyone but himself. There is no conceivable way he could have committed the murders."
"Then he's lost his right arm?"
"No, sir."
"And he still has the tattoo?"
"Yes, sir."
"And he's not dangerous."
"He's more likely to drink himself to death than go hunting Alchemists, sir."
Roy watched Al as if waiting for him to crack. Al just stood there, hands behind his back, his face as still as a statue's. Finally, Roy leaned back. "Dismissed, Major."
"Thank you, sir." Al shot off a salute and left the office. He didn't relax until he was almost back to the Barracks.
Which was when he ran into a wall of blue cloth and muscle.
"Welcome back, Al." Kain Fury said, peering around the wall of muscle. He gave the Alchemist a smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "The cats missed you, and Azazel bit me." He held up the bandaged hand as proof.
"Thanks Kain. I really don't know what's gotten into him. He's such a—"
"Sweetheart." Fury finished for him with a roll of his eyes.
"Mornin'." The wall rumbled.
"Good morning, Grace."
Grace the Living Wall crossed her arms over her impressive chest, looking down at Al. Of course, Grace looked down on everyone. It was a side effect of being built along the same lines as an Armstrong, though Grace was considerably more slender. However, Al found the Strong Arm Alchemist to be better company than Fury's bodyguard. Grace was just mean most of the time… as long as Izabel wasn't concerned. Which only made matters worse.
"Did you find him?" Fury asked, stepping around Grace (who was still doing her very best wall impersonation). Al nodded, ignoring Grace's continued glare. "And?" The Lt. Colonel prompted.
"It wasn't him."
"That's not particularly comforting. It means we have an UNSUB running loose in Central."
"But it's one less suspect, at least."
"Unless it's more than one guy." Grace rumbled. "Couple of copy cats out to make you all pay for being assholes." The Xianian's infamously low opinion struck again.
"I'm still not sure it's even an Ishbalan doing this." Al pointed out as he began walking again. Fury fell into step beside him, and Grace followed. "It's just too… convenient."
"You've said that before, but you never go into detail." Fury pointed out. "Personally, I would very much like to hear more. We could go to—" he trailed off as he saw Al shaking his head with a sad smile.
"We've already tried this… and besides, I've got a guest over."
"Anyone I know?" Fury asked, tilting his head.
"You could say that." Al said, resolutely not looking at Fury.
"Who is it?"
Al walked a little faster. "Just an old friend. And I've left him with Izabel, so I need to hurry before she does something drastic."
Al listened at the door for a long time, checking for sounds of fighting. It was… quiet. Very, very quiet. And for some reason, this disturbed Al more than the idea that Scar and Izabel were having a fantastic row.
Izabel liked having fantastic rows with people. It made her happy for some reason Al had never been able to fathom. The only person she never turned her biting sarcasm on was Abe, who was still in class at this time of day. He opened the door slowly and peered inside.
Two sets of red eyes and a baker's dozen in various shades of yellow and green watched him.
Azazel was on the ceiling fan.
He was missing fur.
"Welcome back, Alphonse. I trust the meeting went well?" Izabel said, sipping from a mug. She was looking particularly pleased with herself. Scar was looking very stony, but there was something in his eyes…
"As well as to be expected. What did you two do to my cat?"
"Do?" Izabel asked innocently. Scar said nothing. "I do not recall doing anything. Besides spending my time talking to Scar." She shrugged her shoulders. "We had kava. We discussed things. If something befell Azazel, it was none of our doing."
Scar looked up at the ceiling fan, and at Azazel, who hissed. Was he grinning?
Well, no. Not with the cat latched on to his face.
"Azazel! DOWN!"
It had been worth it. Scar had known that from the moment the demon had been sent racing up the wall. It had all been worth it. The waiting. The uncomfortable position. The feeding of the vile beast. It had been worth it.
Alphonse was tending the scratches on his face, making sympathetic noises.
Azazel had been banished to the balcony.
Yes, it had most definitely been worth it.
The file hit Al's desk with an ominous thud. It was easily a foot thick, and a few gruesome pictures spilled out. Nina smiled up at him from one of them. The Major looked up, setting his coffee cup down.
Fury was not smiling. But Grace was. Not a good sign.
"So, who's watching your guest today?" The older man in carefully measured tones.
"Rose." Al said.
"Sometimes I just can't believe you, Al. I mean, that chimera was one thing, but this! Can it be that you've actually forgotten what he did? How many lives he destroyed?"
"I haven't." Al said calmly, picking up the picture of Nina. "And I don't think he has, either." He leaned back in his chair. He would have preferred to stay with Scar, but some things (like paperwork) just couldn't be avoided. People would talk if he didn't show up at the office.
Izabel had her head bent over a file of her own. Another case that had been shoved onto the backburner with the attacks on the state alchemists. She was ignoring them, and Fury was ignoring her. This was between him and Al.
"Besides eliminating him as a suspect, has he been any help at all?" Fury asked, hands on his hips.
"He's been going over the file. And he's provided some very useful insight." Al was being defensive and he knew it. However, he wasn't about to back down. Not over this. "Tomorrow I'm taking him into the Ishbalan district. We're going to look at some of the crime scenes."
"I want to see him. Here. As soon as you're done."
He was using his 'boss of me' tone. And Al knew better than to argue. "Yes, sir."