Ed- Unfortunately, Bandit has returned completely healthy. (grumbles) I guess we don't answer any more reviews…
Bandit- (turns red) WHAT? YOU GUYS ANSWERED THE REVIEWS? (reads them and shrieks)
Roy- (inches away) I'll be signing stuff. Bye! (runs off)
Ed- (cowers) Um, I have to find stones and… yeah! (takes off)
Disclaimer- ...(breaks down and cries)
(AN)- (grins) I'm so happy everyone loved the lemon! (cackles) It was my first one, so it was a major ego boost to know mostly everyone approved.
On the other hand, I do have an announcement. It's nothing terrible, but in order to update faster, I'll be making chapters shorter. School is sucking away my life, so I hardly get time to get on the computer. And worrying about writing mammoth chapters stresses me out. So for me and my readers' benefit, the chapters will be shorter so you don't have to wait a month to find out what happens next, and I don't have to stare at the screen in terror. ;p If it upsets you, think of it this way; the story will probably seem longer with more chapters! (cackles and points to the fic) READ I SAY!
She stared out the window from her bedside, watching the glow of the sun fade into the more mellow colors of dusk as night fast approached. Her mind was blank for the first time that day, just allowing the calm to settle over her body while the day died out. It was times like these she thanked the Goddess of the Moon; nothing could quite soothe her like the silent promise of the night and stars.
But even that couldn't stop her mind from straying to more ominous thoughts. She felt completely drained from the day's activities. Today was the day she'd returned to her village, coming back from her studies at the temples far to the East. She never expected this type of welcome…
The sickness struck with fearsome swiftness, unlike anything the Ishbalians had faced; already six had died before she could get to them (not counting those dead from yesterday), and even those she did reach would be forced to suffer the long road to recovery. 'So many… gone.' It hurt. No one blamed her for their lost lives, but the disappointing ache in her heart more than made up for it. If only she'd been here earlier…
A polite knock broke her out of the reverie, and she called out to allow entry. She needn't have bothered, since only one other person was in the house.
"You're needed in the village again." A tall dark haired woman with severe red eyes strode in; face blank as ever.
The young Ishbalan woman sighed, but a smile accompanied her face to show she really didn't mind. "Of course, mother. Duty calls, yes?"
Rhamara almost laughed at the comment, her red eyes actually twinkling with something other than contempt. "Yes it does. I pray you don't mind?"
Kayamna stood up and straightened her white dress as she walked toward the door. "There's no need to pray," she teased softly, though her voice sounded a tad strained. "I'll always do what's best for Ishbala's people."
"For your people," Rhamara corrected, and she followed her daughter out the door and down the spiraling stairs. "You're a part of this village as well." The younger woman hummed in reluctant agreement.
A crisp wind hit them head on as they started off, a nice reprieve from the usual heat of the desert. Their house was near the center of the village, so the walk was brief and uneventful. They met almost no one along the way, but the few people still out immediately bowed and murmured words of praise to both women: the powerful warrior sent from Sun God Ishbala, and the miracle doctor sent from the sacred Moon Goddess Kayamna.
The white haired woman nodded back at anyone who bowed, half of her wishing they'd stop. She didn't deserve any of it. Illness had stuck while she was away studying, and because of that many in the village were gone. Her mother had told her of the friends she'd never get to see again, of the familiar faces that would no long be in the town… She was to blame, and the shame made her nauseated.
"You're thinking too much," Rhamara chided roughly. She'd been watching her daughter's facial expressions carefully. "Don't blame them for their actions. You should feel honored our people have so much faith in you."
"I am, but…" Kayamna let the sentence drift off as they continued to walk. "The sickness… it's spreading too fast. I wasn't here early enough. What if--"
"Child, don't be naïve. Our faith, Ishbala's will, and your powers will not fail us. Have faith, daughter."
The woman lowered her head in small disgrace; of course her mother was right. Ishbala would never abandon his own children. Now was not the time for doubts.
Night usually forced most Ishbalians inside their homes around this time, but not today. Only a few had been outside to begin with, the sickness effectively scaring most from leaving their houses. It was an odd contrast from the usual scene of mothers shouting for the children to return indoors, or the men coming back from the temples after praying. There was stillness everywhere except for Kayamna and her mother, and the glow from the departing sun that made shadows stretch and dance along the ground like children and the sand burn with an invisible fire. It brought a smile to Kayamna's pale, worried face; fire reminded her of life, and she swore she could hear the shadows giggling with glee.
Not for the first time did she wonder about her sanity.
"We are here." It was a small house, much smaller than Rhamara's, with a white mark drawn on the side of the wall for everyone to see. The young woman recognized the glaring sign at once.
"Why did you not tell me?" She whispered, angered but not able to show it. "If they've already passed on, then why…"
Rhamara drew herself up, and spoke in low tones. "There are others in this house who are ill. Only one died today." She stopped then, hesitating. "Kayamna…"
The woman started, surprised. Her mother rarely spoke her name. To say the Goddess of the Moon's name meant dishonor to Ishbala and rudeness to the Moon Goddess herself. Only those who wanted the wrath of both deities spoke her name without reserve, so hearing her mother say it spoke volumes for the situation. "Mother? What is it?"
"He… Suppi. I'm afraid he was the one."
Rhamara waited nervously for a reaction. The two had been close since childhood, even after Kayamna left to train with the priests in order to better hone her skills. Not telling her before they came here was a low blow indeed, but Suppi had been beyond help. If anything, his death would've slowed her down. "Daughter, you may grieve later. There are people who need you in this house. Suppi's mother and his brother are both ill. Save them…" The last sentence came out more as a plea than a demand.
Kayamna still had yet to make a sound or reaction. She just stared blankly at the door as if expecting the piece of wood to disappear if she lost sight of it. Before Rhamara could reprimand her for the odd behavior and remind the orange-eyed woman of the duty she must fulfill, her daughter walked forward and knocked twice.
Right after, the shuffling of feet could be heard and the door opened. A tall, elderly man with wrinkled skin stared at the pair, blinked twice, and then lowered his head respectfully.
"You've come," he spoke simply, his body already shifting out of the way. "Please, this way."
Rhamara allowed her daughter to enter first, keeping her sharp red eyes on the woman's back. The lack of emotion was unexpected, but not uncommon. Grieving did different things to people, and if it numbed Kayamna of pain, all the better. She could allow herself to mourn the loss at a more appropriate time. 'It's for the best.'
They entered the dimly lit home, walking straight until they reached the bedrooms where two people lay. The stench of sickness and death assaulted the three newcomers' noses; the incense and candle on the table did nothing to cover it. Only the older man didn't make a face. He was used to the smell. Kayamna and Rhamara were forced to breathe discreetly through their mouths.
A stout, fat form on the first bed rolled onto its side, moaning softly in pain. Blotches of illness, almost blue in color, decorated all visible limbs and the rest of the skin seemed much too pale for the typical Ishbalan. The muscle from the arms and legs looked ready to peel off in chucks, as if staying attached to the bone required energy no longer found in the body. The prone figure coughed loudly, causing the entire body to tremble in a disgusting fashion. Kayamna felt herself twinge in sympathy. No one deserved this much agony.
"Ikuzi caught the sickness an hour ago, and Seno fainted recently," the elder explained. "Their only hope of escaping death is the child of the Moon Goddess." He looked at Kayamna with sad eyes, bowing again for good measure. "Please, heal my daughter and grandchild."
Kayamna nodded silently and walked over to Ikuzi first, a woman who'd been like another mother to the albino. Just looking at her brought up a swarm of emotions Kayamna would rather not focus on. 'She fell sick first, so I need to heal her quickly,' she thought slowly, without much feeling. It hurt too much to feel anything. 'Just concentrate.'
She sat on the small bed, breathing deep through her mouth and hoping to blank out her thoughts, just the way the priests had told her. 'Just breathe.'
It was easier thought than done; the calm she felt before had left her the moment she learned about Suppi. Everything now felt… too wrong. The walls of the tiny house pushed up against her sides and left a constricted sensation in the pit of her stomach. The pressure of her mother's hawk like eyes weighed on her shoulders with more proud expectancy than Kayamna was used to. The darkness that had been a comfort only ten minutes ago now sneered and crammed the room as if to snub the candle's light out with its finger. Everything hissed and demanded something different, and the woman suppressed a shiver.
'No! I must concentrate… They're counting on me…'
Orange eyes finally slid shut, only the light from the candle seeping through her eyelids. 'Concentrate.' All she needed to do was concentrate and bring her mind to the blissful calm of her power. 'The candle… visualize the candle.' She could picture it in her mind: the flame dancing in the air, flickering in all directions as it grinned and mesmerized the watcher; the gray trail of smoke that smelled of dried flowers and drifted up to occupy the ceiling in a wide spiral; the shadows… Yes, the inky black shadows that shifted across the room, creeping up close to her ear, whispering words of encouragement as they seeped into her mind and yelled at her naivety and stupidity and told her what fire really meant and smirked at her and--
"Daughter, is something wrong?" Rhamara asked worriedly.
She released the breath she'd held in a hurry, eyes snapping wide. A tiny sweat droplet slid down her cheek, and the horrid stench in the air reminded her what she should be doing.
The shadows retreated and the smirk died away, along with the fire in her mind's eye.
"Yes," she replied, her voice solid. "I'm fine." She felt more than saw her mother's red eyes narrow.
As steadily as possible, Kayamna placed her hands on the sick Ikuzi and began to let the magic seep through. White light filled her eyes, filled Ikuzi, filled the room. The power pulsed gently as it healed the prone woman's bruises, the light beaming out until the sickness was wiped away clean from her body.
And through all this Kayamna shivered in fear, because at the far corner of the light was nothing but shadows, all smirking at her with bared teeth and the promise of a fire she didn't want to see.
Hawkeye didn't bother with knocking; she flung open the door and marched in, scowl in place but worry shining in her eyes. "Havoc? Havoc!"
To her amusement, it was Fury who stepped into the living room, looking more embarrassed than usual. "Hawkeye," he addressed her, a bright blush on his cheeks. "Ha-- Jean's in the guestroom right now." He waved her over shyly, then bolted for said room. If not for the direness of the situation, Hawkeye would have allowed herself a chuckle. Fury's skittishness never failed to amuse her.
She followed close after Fury, and soon they entered a room with little furnishings; only a bed and dresser occupied it. On the bed lay an unconscious Edward surrounded by the little medical machinery Mustang's group had managed to scrounge up.
Immediately Hawkeye could see subtle changes from the last time she'd checked on the boy. First and foremost, his skin had turned a pasty white, one usually found accompanying sickness. Also, his breathing seemed labored and shallow as if he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. His hands repeatedly curled and uncurled into tight balls, the knuckles going white each time.
"What's wrong with him?" she asked quietly. Havoc turned his head sharply at the sound of her voice and got up from the bed.
"We have no idea. I found him like this when I got home from HQ." Havoc ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. "He was groaning and moving. If I didn't know where his mind was, I'd swear he's having a nightmare."
Fury nodded in agreement. "We tried waking him up on the off-chance that… but he just kept thrashing around." He looked helplessly at the prone teen. "We didn't know what it meant, so we called you." He glanced out of the corner of his eye, directly at Hawkeye. "We… umm…"
"We kinda hoped you'd have some idea as what to do…" Havoc supplied.
Her eyes narrowed slightly at the looks sent her way. "Are you saying you want me to decide whether or not to--"
"Not exactly," Havoc cut in. "But we need to figure something out… maybe one of us should use an array…" He promptly shut up when the woman's stance stiffened up like steel.
"No. We are not sending anymore people in the realm," she stated harshly. The unit had lost enough people already.
Even Fury looked upset with Jean's idea. "Havoc, just think of how long everyone else has been gone! I--We can't chance losing you, too." The smaller man blushed darkly at his slip up.
"Hey, I never said I'd go into the realm," Havoc chuckled. "I'm just throwing out alternatives. I mean, what else can we do? Stanford's getting impatient, and it's only a matter of time until this whole thing blows up in our faces. We really need a solution." The moment he said this, both men forced themselves not to look at Riza, but she still caught the hidden question in the air.
"You want me to give you an order," she guessed knowingly. "So any blame falls on me." That wasn't the reason, this she was fairly sure of, but it still stung to know the people she considered friends might leave her to face this predicament alone.
Fury shook his head hastily. "No! That's not it! No matter what, we all share the blame!" Havoc looked ready to argue, but he thought better of it and kept his silence. "You're stronger than us, Hawkeye," Fury admitted. "You can get things done. You can actually act on a decision, whereas me and Havoc…"
"Yeah, we stand around 'til held at gunpoint," Havoc joked to lighten the mood. "It's like at work; you keep everyone in line, including that bastard Colonel of ours. So I guess it's natural to want to put all the weight on you."
Hawkeye stared at them quietly, letting their words sink in. Then she closed her eyes and folded her arms. "As much as I appreciate your vote of confidence in my decision-making abilities, I don't know what to do either." She heard Havoc make a grunting noise that sounded far from surprised. "If we kill them, that's the end. They can't come back. Our only conciliation is that the world will be safe. On the other hand, if we keep waiting another week or so, anything can happen. It's more a matter of if we can live with ourselves knowing we caused millions of people to die because of our selfish desire to keep Ed alive."
Fury and Havoc exchanged distressed glances after she finished. Hawkeye's straightforwardness made it sound like a crime to want Ed living. "So you think it's better to kill Ed and not chance it?" Havoc asked bluntly.
In response, Hawkeye opened her eyes and frowned at him. "I never said that, Havoc. Do you think it's better to damn the rest of the world for Ed and the others?"
The tension in the air thickened to the point Fury swore he could taste it. "Jean, Hawkeye… please…" He waved his hands as if trying to cool their tempers. "Now's not the time to fight."
Another moment passed as Hawkeye and Havoc attempted to stare each other down. In the end, it was Havoc who smiled ruefully and let his hostility drop first. "No, it's fine Cain. We need to come to some sort of decision now, so better we have everything out in the open." Hawkeye's icy glare melted a bit at the words while she nodded her agreement. "I don't know about you guys, but I already know I wanna wait." He looked to see if anyone would disagree, but was met with silence. "What about you, Cain? What do you want?"
"Me?" Fury paled and stared at the ground, not wanting to go against either Jean or Hawkeye. "I…"
"Fury. We need you to tell us. This is an order."
Despite her words, the smaller man's tongue appeared to have fled down his throat. He kept his eyes downcast, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.
Hawkeye sighed to herself and reached for her gun.
Fury 'eeped' and began talking at once. "I want to wait, too," he confessed. "I… I remember when Stanford got angry with Shayla for saving Hughes instead of going after the Dream Alchemist. She said…" He trailed off and took a deep breath, "She said that she could never live with herself knowing she didn't try to save someone important to her…"
Havoc smiled at the memory while Hawkeye stood there indifferently.
Fury felt his cheeks grow hot from being the center of attention, but he continued. "I feel the same way as her. I know it's them against the world, but, I can't kill them regardless." Reluctantly, he brought his eyes up and stared at Ed. "The Colonel and the others all have done the impossible before, and I'm sure he'll do it now."
Something that resembled a smile crossed Hawkeye's face. "They do have the luck of the devil, don't they?"
The way she said that… Havoc's glance rounded back on her. "Why, it sounds as if you're agreeing with him…"
The woman cast him a slightly annoyed look. "I never said that." Fury's face fell. "But I didn't say I was against you either, Fury. I want them to come home as well." For a moment, her face aged a few years as she let her passive mask drop, and both men could clearly see the strain etched in her expression. They only got a glimpse of it; she must've realized what they saw, for she quickly schooled her features and it was the same 'no funny business' Hawkeye it had always been. "But we can't turn our backs on the world, whether we're willing to or not."
Once again silence reigned, each stuck in their own thoughts. It was like a never-ending circle; no matter how they looked at the problem, they couldn't assure both the world's safety and their friends lives. There was only one option that they knew the outcome…
"One week. No more than that." Hawkeye stated quietly, looking directly at Ed's pale face. "That's the best we can hope for." Havoc and Fury nodded sadly.
"One week," they both agreed.
"Mother, can I please be alone?"
Rhamara stared at the woman who looked more like a child than an adult right then. Her already pale skin now appeared gaunt in the moonlight, and those orange eyes glowed with something that could only be sorrow. Even her body was visibly trembling. The mother felt a momentary sting of guilt for causing some of this, no matter how it had been needed.
"He'd be proud that you saved his family," the Ishbalian said as a farewell, letting her feet carry her to the mansion. Her daughter obviously needed time alone to grieve.
Kayamna waited patiently for her mother to disappear from sight, trying not to stare too hard at the silhouette that seemed so wrong and twisted in the darkness. Then she turned and sprinted away from the village, toward her secret place.
Her lungs burned with the effort, feet pressing up against the sand for friction, hair whipping violently in her eyes, every hurt a welcome distraction from the pain inside her. The dunes weren't far, but she needed to run, needed this, needed to feel something other than the glaring emptiness in her mind that demanded attention. Just thinking about his name brought a sharp ache in her heart that was neither anger nor sorrow. No, it was something more sinister that she didn't want to face yet.
They came into view, tall hills of red that reflected the moonlight in every particle of sand. Kayamna now halted to a stop, her breath coming out in wheezes. She leaned down to catch her breath until she gave up and slid down to the ground with a thud, almost ready to collapse.
From behind the dunes, the shadows laughed.
'It's in my head! It's in my head!' Her breath continued to come out in ragged gasps. 'None of it's real!'
Kayamna wanted to believe it. She really did. But there was that missing piece chewing on her brain, trying to get her to remember something important that she didn't want to know; something she had to know. It had been driving her mad since she'd seen the candle and the shadows…
'But did you really see them? Can you tell yourself that's what you saw?' The woman argued with herself. This had never happened before. For all she knew, this was a strange symptom of the sickness affecting her, or an entirely different aliment.
'One where you're the only afflicted person?' Kayamna crushed the lone thought quickly, lest it bring about a new tirade of questions in her head. She was confused enough as it was. 'It's not important. None of it's real. It's all in your head,' her mind soothed. Nothing more than a lie. Just a lie.
'I don't need to worry about it…' Slowly, she began to believe the rant in her head. The unnamable feeling ebbed back toward a corner of her mind while the calm of night settled on her back, and the unshed moisture shined in her eyes. The woman wanted to do something; to cry her heart out, to scream for comfort, to place the blame on anyone available; anything would be fine. But nothing came. She just sat there in her secret spot, waiting for the day's events to drain from her.
At last, Kayamna could feel her body releasing its tight hold on the tension and stress. It left her in a rush, leaving her boneless and oddly hollow. A brisk wind dried the last remains of tears in her orange eyes, and then all was still except her slow breathing. 'Just in my mind…' Of course. She was just being stupid, letting her imagination get the best of her. 'There were no laughing shadows.' Now she could hardly remember the shadows. 'No strange candles…' The candle had been completely normal. The light had bended oddly, that's it. And her nerves from the long day… Yes, that was what it had been. If she could remember that, everything would be fine. It would all be fine.
Kayamna smiled softly and closed her eyes. She felt better; it had been the stress messing with her. 'Letting my imagination run wild… Really.'
Nothing is real.
Her eyes snapped open; she couldn't breathe for a second, then two, then three. The shadows behind the dunes slithered and giggled at her fear. "No… it's not real."
It's not real. This isn't real. And you know it.
The same fire from before ignited behind her eyes and seared almost enough to cause actual pain. "No! This isn't real!"
Did Suppi's death scare you?
"Leave me alone!" She couldn't see anything but the bright glow of red and yellows. "Stop!"
Or did the fact you don't care about it scare you more?
Golden eyes grew out of the fire, wild ribbons of blonde whipped at her, and all the while dark, slanted eyes 'tsked' and smirked at the obvious denial.
You hate him. You wanted him to die. And you didn't want to save his bitch of a mother, either.
Kayamna gave up shouting, instead whimpering pathetically on the ground, clutching her head in her hands. More shapes appeared in the fire; a shine of metal, a white stick with smoke trailing off the end, the flash of glasses, pictures of a girl she'd never seen. The kept bombarding her brain at breakneck speed.
Didn't you wonder why things seemed so wrong? Didn't you?
Beyond her view of the fire, a streak of blackness stood and began to walk towards her. Its movements were slow and calculated, as if wondering how much more she could take. Kayamna backed away inside her mind.
"No… leave me alone."
It's all wrong. You know it's true, so why are you afraid?
The quick flashes died. The fire grew and pulsed until it spread out of control, the screams of people she knew flaring up inside the wall of red. She heard gunshots erupt. She heard her mother laughing, a wild cackle of insanity.
Don't be a lie. Remember what's true.
Through the fire, the lone shadow continued toward her, the blackness standing out against the colors. The truth standing out against all the lies. It moved faster toward her, sensing the breaking point. And around it, the fire died down to show more shadows hidden from sight.
I know you remember everyone.
Shadows stood up and the darkness melted away; a short man with the golden eyes and metal limbs, a tall man with glasses and a cheerful grin, the man who smoked and waved lazily at her, the man who meekly gave her a salute, the woman with a stern gaze and sterner gun, the smirking bastard who commanded fire and all of them…
The first shadow was now in front of her, and Kayamna stared up, too tired to resist. Instead of the fire, she saw only the night by the dunes, and the one shadow that followed her out of the village. She looked at the thing she'd tried to hide from. She looked at her last piece to the puzzle, the one thing she'd forgotten. "You're…"
It kneeled and looked her in the eyes, a mirror of orange with red flecks. Brown hair fell over its shoulders, and a cheerful smile took residence on the pale face. "Duh. I'm the truth."
All the rest of her allusions and lies burned away, leaving only the shadows she'd always known were there.
'Damn, it's going to rain.' Roy hated rain with a passion, and it wasn't because he was the Flame Alchemist. Some of his worst days had happened when the skies were cloudy, brimming with precipitation, and the vibes this day gave off were far from pleasant. He just had a feeling… Well, and the fact there were storm clouds gathering from the west…
He needed to get this over with quick so he could get to work and beg Hawkeye for mercy.
Rows of stone stood neatly next to each other, the green grass was neatly clipped and all flowers were newly plucked to stand beside their appropriate gravestone. Some small animals scurried away to watch him carefully from the trees, but Roy ignored them, too used to the staring anyway. The graveyard was not an uncommon sight for Roy. In fact, he knew it all too well. This truth almost saddened him more than the reason he'd come here for.
It didn't take very long to find that one gravestone, despite them all looking the same. Somehow, it just stood out from the rest. 'She wouldn't have liked it,' he thought ruefully. Grey wasn't her color; she would've insisted on something brighter. He snorted. As if they made headstones any other color.
Roy bent down to place the twelve fresh roses on the grave, reading the words inscribed there.
Colonel Shayla, The Angel Alchemist
A Wonderful Alchemist And A Loving Friend
Roy raised an eyebrow. Colonel? It seemed to be a pastime of the military to raise ranks when the person was no longer there to appreciate it. She would've scowled at that.
And the eulogy? Simple. Elegant. Not her at all. The woman would've hated it with a passion. This was nothing at all like her.
He chuckled at grave in forced amusement; it turned sour and hollow so quickly that he let it die out. No point in lying to himself right then.
"So, you really died…" he said, his tone barely above a whisper. He half-expected for her to come bursting out of the trees with Ed in tow, laughing at the joke they'd played on him. And he would smirk and deny it all, saying he knew it couldn't be true. Of course she was alive. They had all survived; they wouldn't leave one of their own in that place. Mustang's unit looked out for their own. Of course…
A light breeze was his real answer. Roy let out a sigh, feeling empty of emotion more than anything else. It still seemed too hard to conceive. When he headed over to HQ, she wouldn't be there nagging him about his health, or cooing over how cute Caleb was, or how he and Ed made a beautiful couple… because she was dead.
And he had forgotten.
"You were always horrible at following orders," he chided gruffly. "I told you not to die." He'd honestly thought he'd be used to death by now; that maybe… this wouldn't effect him any longer. Now it looked like there were some things he'd never learn to get used to.
He stood up and brushed off his uniform, black eyes avoiding the stone. That wasn't his friend. It didn't even remind him of Shayla in any way. No, she was buried underneath in a cold casket to rot away while this piece of rock took her place on the surface, a poor imitation of her true self and personality.
The air around her grave felt frozen and numbed his skin to the bone, as if trying to freeze time because there was still something left to be done. What that was Roy didn't know. There was nothing to be said. What could he say, besides that he was sorry for forgetting she'd died seven years ago. Or that he never knew he had ended up abandoning her in the realm. Saying sorry wouldn't cut it now. To say anything now would be a cheap excuse at covering his guilt.
Roy finally took one last look at the grave, memorizing it. He doubted he'd ever come back here. It was in the past, and there was no need to dwell in it. He was sure Shayla would've agreed with him. So forcing himself to straighten up, Roy gave his dear friend a quick salute before leaving the place behind. 'Rest in peace, my friend.'
"Roy? Roy!"
The coldness in Roy's mind intensified, causing him to falter in his steps. He… must've been imagining things. There's no way he could've heard…
"Don't you dare leave! Turn around!"
Roy shook his head and frowned. First he'd forgotten who his son was, then he'd forgotten the death of a friend, and now he was hearing voices in his head. 'This is ludicrous.' His day kept getting better every minute.
"Roy please, this is Shayla."
He couldn't help it; he was only human, after all. Curiosity ensnared him at times, too. But he never expected to actually see something when he turned around besides air. 'Maybe a trick of the sunlight…' Nope, couldn't use that excuse. It just glared at him.
"I've officially lost my sanity," he told the apparition conversationally. "Thank you for helping me realize it."
The ghost, almost transparent in the sunlight, put her hands on her hips and growled. If Roy had any doubts who this specter was, he sure didn't have any now. "Please tell me you recognize me, or I'll kick your ass once we get to the realm."
"You're dead," Roy stated blandly. "And you're a ghost. Probably hated your eulogy." The woman frowned at him and took a look at the ground. Astonishment zipped through her facial expression, followed closely by pure rage.
"HE KILLED ME? HAVEN'T I DIED ENOUGH?" Shayla stamped a foot on her grave, trying to knock it down. Her foot went straight through it. "Damn, this isn't good! I'm not completely here. He wasn't so stupid after all."
Roy watched her mumble menacingly with an ill sort of fascination. This was the first time he'd been able to see what stress could do to a person, and he wanted to take note of everything so he'd have a story to tell his shrink. "And who's he?"
Shayla glanced up at him, frowning darkly. "Deception, dumbass. He made it so I could barely enter this fantasy of yours. The only reason you can see me is because I'm close to the portal." She pointed behind her to show Roy a shimmering piece of air he'd yet to see. "But I can explain the details later. Get inside."
The man appeared to do as she commanded, but instead of walking through, he merely examined the air in front of him. Cautiously, he stuck a hand in and watched it disappear. "Amazing," he commented, a strange smile on his face. "My hallucination is impressive." Even when being a lunatic, Roy was the best.
"Hallu-- What?" Shayla stared at him before it clicked. "Roy, what happened to me? Tell me how I died."
Roy turned his head to look at her. "You can't even remember how you died?" He raised an eyebrow. "Did you lose your memories of your life?" When she didn't answer, Roy decided it wouldn't hurt to entertain his dead friend for a while longer. He was going straight to Central after this and pretend it never happened, or otherwise he'd be calling his psychiatrist. "We couldn't find you in the realm, and we had to escape…" Saying it out loud almost made Roy twitch in shame. "I don't remember most of it myself, but…" He cleared his throat uneasily and waited for the ghost to say something. "Shayla, you died."
The woman continued to stare, her orange eyes having the most heartbroken expression Roy had ever seen. His guilt multiplied, but he refused to let it show on his face.
"I really hoped you of all people wouldn't fall for it," she said quietly, looking at Roy with a reproving gaze. "Roy, none of this is real."
The man said nothing.
Shayla tried again. "Deception stuck you in a fantasy you yourself created! All this," she gestured to the graveyard, the direction of Central, to the sky, "is fake. The people, the animals, the buildings… You made it up, and Deception stuck you in here so he could get Ed. Roy, we have to find him. Just…" Shayla sighed desperately, willing Roy to understand. "Please, come with me. We can get back into the realm and find Hughes. Then we can save Ed before that bastard hurts him!"
"… Really?"
Shayla was taken aback by the scorn in his voice, not expecting this type of reaction. "Roy…?"
"I hope you don't mind if I don't believe a word you say."
The Ishbalian was shocked into complete silence.
Roy smirked at her expression. "Why do you look so surprised? After all, you're a figment of my imagination. The real Shayla died in the realm along with Deception. That's over and done with." The Fuhrer shook his head. "I'm not going to be fooled for a second time. You're not real, so…" He shrugged, pretending not to care anymore. "Go back to heaven or hell or limbo or wherever the dead rest."
"I can't believe this," Shayla whispered incredulously. "You really are a fool. Come on, Roy! You must've noticed something's wrong with this place! Like some things don't add up?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Roy lied through his teeth. As if called to the surface by her accusation, the rebellious voice in his mind cornered his thoughts.
Then why did you forget Caleb's name? Why did you think Shayla was still alive?
'Because the Dream Alchemist tortured me in the realm!' Roy told himself firmly. 'He messed with my mind, and this… is the result.'
The voice snickered. So tell yourself, what's the result of Deception's torture? It's not Shayla.
"Shut up," Roy whispered, whether to Shayla or himself he wasn't sure. "I know what's real and what isn't." He fixed the woman with a hard glare. "You're the only thing that doesn't add up, and I'll rectify that situation soon enough."
"Roy please!" Shayla snapped, near tears by now. "Would you just stop and think? If you don't come with me, Ed, the real Ed, will die!"
"Ed is at Central HQ, probably wondering where the hell I am," Roy corrected stonily. "Whatever Ed your talking about is probably as real as you are."
"YES! He is real! The one you're talking about is FAKE! You made him up!"
He'd heard enough. Just trying to conceive that fact that this entire world could be fake was too much for the raven-haired man. With one last glare, he began to brush past Shayla and out the cemetery. "Whether you are the ghost of Shayla or a figment of my imagination, I hope you rest in peace." He was never coming to this place ever again.
Shayla wasn't ready to let him go. In a last ditch effort, she reached for his arm. "Roy STOP!"
Roy was electrified on the spot. Now something was wrong. Ghost or fake, they couldn't actually touch you. Maybe you felt a chill, but never an actual touch. And that's all it was; a chilling sensation that tickled his forearm, and for that moment he could feel Shayla grabbing onto his arm, clutching it with her small hand, tightening her grip so he couldn't leave.
And then it was gone.
In shock, the Fuhrer whirled around to face her, not bothering to mask his expression. "You can't touch me," he hissed. "An illusion can't touch me."
Shayla stared at her hand and then back at him with sad eyes before replying, "I know." They locked gazes, and the woman saw something pass through Roy's eyes, too fast to be identified.
"Ed's waiting for me," Roy said in a low voice, staring at her and through her at the same time.
"I know." Which Ed he was referring to she didn't know, or was afraid to know.
"So is my son."
Her breath got stuck in her throat, hindering her voice. There were droplets in her eyes, waiting to fall spill on her cheeks but she blinked them back. When she regained to power to speak, she asked, "You have a son?"
"His name's Caleb. He's four."
Shayla waited for Roy to meet her eyes, already seeing the answer to her next question. "You won't come with me, will you?"
Roy closed his eyes, hiding any expression they might give away. "Shayla…" He turned away and started walking. "Goodbye."
She watched him go without calling out this time.
(Dead tired) Yeah, this is finally out, and I know some of you want my blood for such a short chapter, but updates shall be faster:3 Not much to say about this, just don't kill Roy. I still need the bastard. :p No shout outs now, 'cause I'm tired from Rping Sanji and I need to sleep. (falls on the floor) REVIEW! (snores)