HEIR TO THE FLAME
CHAPTER 27: DREAMS- AND J.J.-
"Riza, why do people start wars?" Roy asked from his position on the couch. It was, all in all, a rather awkward position, with one arm and leg hanging over the edge, foot on one armrest, the other arm on top of the back of the couch, and his head leaned on the opposite armrest, but it was the way he had managed to flop himself down in, and there he would stay. Junior was imitating him, or at least trying to since he wasn't big enough to splay himself all over a couch. After realizing that he probably wouldn't have too much luck with his current activity, he whistled to Black Hayate and picked up the phone to dial his uncle Jean's number: he wanted to play with Luna.
Riza stopped for a moment in the middle of washing dishes and shrugged. "I don't know, Roy... because people can't get along, I suppose..."
"And why do stupid people like you and I takepart in wars?"
"Because we're ordered to do it."
"I should have just bailed out... it would have... everything would have been so much better... but I was just too... too...
"Young I suppose, I was too eager to see battle, and when I saw it... when I saw war for what it really was... when I saw what it did to people, how it ripped lives apart, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers... friends... all dying in front of you... or... me, blowing them up!" He held his hand in the air above him and clenched it tightly.
"Was anything really worth those wars? Were the Ishbalans ever going to do something so terrible to us? Something so terrible that it required genocide to finish off? Alchemic Genocide!
"And I know what snipers have done as well, Riza, your lot wasn't all flowers and roses either..." Riza nodded from the kitchen sink, still trying to scrub off some goop that Junior had decided to coat his plate in, then moving on to wash Black Hayate's food bowl.
"Snipers had a hard time too... I was a sniper once, Riza."
She stopped in surprise. "Really?I didn't know that... I thought you were always an alchemist?"
"I was... I was. I became a State Alchemist when I was thirteen... but when the war started my-... I... a superior officer said Iwas too young to participate as a State Alchemist, so my total participation in the war was held off for another couple of years... when that officer died, I was finally allowed to participate as a State Alchemist... in the genocide."
She put the plates away into a cupboard and filled Buraha's bowl with food, then told Junior that Luna could come over to play. "That was... when you were nineteen, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"This superior officer... was he... significant to you?"
"Did I care about him?"
"Yes, that's a better way to say it."
"Yes... yes I did... not in any weird kind of way!" he interrupted quickly, just to get the point across, "But he was... very important to me. He practically raised me," he murmured, turning onto his stomach and resting his chin on the armrest. Or, chinrest now, he supposed.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Roy sighed and buried his head in his arms. "Not now... I don't want to talk about it..."
"Alright..." Sometimes he worried her. He could be so moody and emotional sometimes, so different from his usual self-confidant and suave demeanor. But she supposed that there had been a lot in his life to be moody about, so many where she had had so few. Looking back on things, she realized that she had been very childish, the way she had purposely kept her father away from her for so long when she knew that he would be all on his own, living in an empty house. He had suffered as well... it seemed that all alchemists suffered, and that they never got their 'equivalent exchange'. How could you find equivalence for things that would haunt you for the rest of your life?
The bell rang and Roy heaved himself up off the couch to answer it, while Junior and Buraha scratched and jumped eagerly for the doorknob. He grinned at the two of them and opened the door after checking who was there, satisfied that it was only Jean and Luna. "Morning, Havoc. You sure are cheerful this morning; you've never been a morning person."
"Aw shove it, Keira had another baby!"
"Havoc! What on earth have you done to your poor wife?"
"Hey, she said she wanted another baby..."
"So what is it this time?"
"A boy!" Jean glowed. "But Keira named him Jean Junior... and Luna's already nicknamed him J.J."
"J.J..." Roy mused. "Not bad for a nickname, eh?"
"I suppose... he looks just like me tho', and he's just as smart as Junior was. He can already talk!"
"Havoc, how long has the kid been alive...?"
"Bout a year, actually..."
"Do you like keeping your kids a secret, Jean?"
"Yeah, actually. You'd find that it's very beneficial, Maes doesn't keep trying to sneak into my house to take pictures. What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him..."
"What he knows about me though, does hurt him," Roy laughed and Jean joined him.
"Yeah, Maes is a crazy guy. Keira wanted to ask if you, Riza, and Junior want to come over for dinner or something, you know, just as a get together. She's still debating over whether to invite Maes though, she doesn't want a camera in her face snapping pictures of her and the baby."
"Just break his camera."
"But you know Maes... he's got like five hidden his sleeves."
"Touche."
Luna and Junior had by this time commenced playing with Buraha under Riza's watchful eye; she didn't want them to tease the pup too or get hurt either. Sometimes playing could lead to fights and injuries...
Roy turned back inside. "Riza? Keira wants to know if we can come to dinner. How does that sound to you?"
"Sounds fine to me."
"Alright then, dinner it is."
Jean nodded. "That's good, we'll see you guys at seven then, at our place."
"Seven, got it. Don't forget to invite Maes!"
"Yeah, I won't. I'll come back to pick up Luna around lunch time, about two hours." He bent down and patted Luna's head, and she looked up at him with big blue eyes. "You be good while Daddy's gone, okay, Luna?"
"I will, Daddy!" she said, grabbing his hand and holding onto it. He grinned and hugged her tightly for a minute before letting her go.
"I'll be back in about two hours for lunch."
"'Kay! Bye Daddy!"
"Bye, Luna." He waved good-bye to Luna, Junior, Riza, and Roy, and walked back to his motorcycle to go back home. Luna got up and bounded for the porch, grabbing the porch rail and hanging off of it, waving to Jean. "Tell J.J I said hi!" Jean waved and gave her a thumbs up sign from his motorcycle before starting the engine and driving away. Luna went back inside with her motorcycle helmet to resume playing with Junior, and Junior looked up at her.
"I wish I had a baby brother... Mama!"
"Yes?"
"Can I have a baby brother? Or sister?"
"I don't know, ask your daddy."
"Daddy? Can I have a baby brother or sister?"
"I don't know, kiddo... maybe." he wasn't so sure he wanted to risk having another child just yet; it was hard enough covering up for Junior. Frankly, he was amazed that no one had figured it out yet. He practically sweated bullets every day just wondering whether that day would be the day they would be caught.
"Awwww..." Junior moaned forlornly, going back to play chess with Luna. Or at least, figure out how to play with the pieces of a chessboard. Roy dumped himself on the couch again and was joined a few minutes later by Riza. As soon as she sat down, he took the opportunity to promptly put his head in her lap and she looked down at him, waving her finger. "Now what do you think you're doing?" she asked, surprised, and he looked up at her.
"It's comfy..." he whined playfully, and she blew hair out of her eyes.
"Mm-hmm... why don't you actually work then? You seem to have a lot of 'comfy spots' for being so 'busy'."
"Ah, but working's no fun, and most of my 'comfy spots' are on you," he said grinning up at her. She leaned her head back again and smiled, stroking his hair.
"Oh fine... if you want to play that way..."
Junior and Luna blanched from the floor, picking up their chessboard to play upstairs away from the 'Mommy and Daddy Mushiness', which Luna also had experience with, and Buraha excused himself to drink out of his water bowl.
He looked up at Riza again. "I'd try to work harder, but then people would get suspicious," he joked.
"Well then you won't mind if shoot bullets near your head to keep you working, now will you?" she said frostily, and Roy shivered on her lap.
"N-no, of course not..." he muttered. Just what he needed, more bullets in his wall, or in his head.
They didn't speak for a while; the atmosphere was drowsy and they both started to drift into sleep, slowly, slowly, until Roy was fast asleep and Riza's were only half-open. She didn't know why she was getting so tired nowadays, she just was.
Oh no, I'm dreaming again, aren't I? Roy thought, looking around the landscape. He hated it when he dreamed, things seemed too real, much too real for his liking. He looked down at himself and was surprised at what he saw: He was much younger, and as a result thinner, smaller, and more boyish. In his hands was a heavy rifle with ammo rounds slung in belts across his chest and around his waist, another rifle at his back. His hands immediately dropped the rifle and went to his pockets, looking for his gloves, but they weren't there, and he stood there, stunned, until he gathered his senses and picked up the gun again. He was already not liking this dream. The rifle was so new he could see his face reflected in the steel- it had not been fired off even once- but the gun's newness contrasted with the stark reality around him, this portrait of destruction. There was smoke and sand blowing around him, and he seemed to be standing in the middle of an encampment. He looked into the steel of the gun again. He looked very young, too young, for this sort of thing, for war, but those hadn't been his thoughts back then. He looked around at the tents, most roughshod and hastily erected, they looked like they would fall down again at the least provocation. He looked around, confused: what was he, after all? He was little more than a child, only sixteen years old.
One of the tent flaps opened and a familiar face came out; he was older than Roy, a man while Roy was still a boy, and a State Alchemist at that. Roy felt envy surge in his veins. Why had he been denied to fight as a State Alchemist? Why couldn't he fight too? The man waved to him and came up beside him, and Roy looked up and over his own shoulder at the man, relieved.
"Colonel Ross!" he said, saluting smartly. The man, Ross, sighed and ran his hand through his brown hair, tugging at his red headband vaguely. There were two metal rings on either side of the band, two on each side near his temples. The use for them, even Roy didn't know, though he thought it was more for decorative purposes. His green eyes glimmered with life and his eyebrows shot up. "Now now, you know I told you it's just Ross..."
"But, Sir-"
"Fine, you want to play that way... Major, I order you to only address me as Ross from now on!"
Roy bowed his head in defeat. "But..."
"No buts, we aren't just a couple of soldiers, are we?"
"No Ross, but..."
"Don't worry about it... why are you still toting all those guns around? Come to my tent, come on!" He seized Roy's arm and dragged him to the tent from which he had come, and Roy's eyes fell to his own military uniform. It signified the rank of Major.
Roy lay down on the floor on his elbows, sketching random transmutation circles in the dirt while Ross sat cross-legged on his cot chewing the end of a pen and scribbling something down in a book. Roy looked up from the floor. "Ross?"
"Yeah?"
"Why didn't you let me fight? As an alchemist?"
Ross stopped his writing, his pen poised above the paper, and cursed softly as a heavy drop of ink splattered onto the paper. "You're too young, Roy."
"I am not too young!" Roy argued, getting up onto his knees. "You just won't let me have a chance!"
"You haven't seen war, Roy."
"That's because you won't let me have the chance!"
"And I don't want you to see true war!" Ross said firmly, looking back down at his notebook. "War is a place that-"
"Drains all hope, where wounds are made that never heal, yeah yeah, I know! You've said it a million times!"
"You hear it but you don't understand it."
"Feh, you don't know what you're talking about," Roy grumbled, getting back on his elbows. "It's not fair, Ross. I'm the Flame Alchemist, I should be able to fight too."
"And I'm the Firestorm Alchemist, and I wish I could stop fighting."
"Then trade places with me!"
"That, I will not do."
"But why?"
"Because you are a child, Roy, a child! And I won't let you do something so foolhardy as become an alchemist within the ranks. I was pushing my judgement even letting you on this battlefield; I didn't want to, but you pushed me, so now you're here. Roy, I don't want you to get hurt-"
"I'm not a baby, Ross! I don't need you to look after me, YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER!"
Ross stopped and stared at him, truly at a loss for words, then his eyes clouded over and he looked at the book in his hands again, turning it over and over in his hands. "That's true. I'm not... your father."
"And you can never be my father!"
"...I know."
"So why do you even... why bother Ross, why bother?" Roy yelled at him from the floor.
"Why bother? Simply because I care, because I can't see you hurt.I know you're still hurting over the fact that he died... but seeing you hurt hurts me too."
"Or so you say," Roy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Ross shook his head and stood up as Roy got up to leave and walked over to him.
"Whatever happens, you'll learn. Whether or not you'll learn in time... it's all up to whether you live, or die. That's the basic rule of war. Live to fight and be hurt, or die and be released from pain. Only... death means the end of everything, and after war... it might be a blessing."
He surprised Roy by hugging him tightly, his hand on his head, and Roy jerked before relaxing a bit. "I love you, Roy, I know I haven't said it a lot... but whatever happens, happens, and you've got to keep living. Alchemy... doesn't always exchange for something good." And with that he left Roy standing in the middle of the tent confused and dazed.
The world blurred and Roy found himself on his knees on the ground, his gloved hand supporting the head of the fallen Firestorm Colonel, his other hand trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound on his chest. Ross's brilliant green eyes, ever so full of life, seemed clouded, and tears rolled down Roy's dirt and blood streaked face. Ross grinned at him, trying to make light of the situation.
"Not so deep as a well, not so wide as a church door, but it's enough; it will serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man!" he coughed and he gritted his teeth in pain.
"Ross, don't joke, don't kid around with this!" Roy pleaded and Ross shook his head.
"What would be the point then, to go out without humor? There is nothing better."
"You won't die!"
"I will," Ross said adamantly, "It's useless to try to disillusion yourself; I've seen what wounds can do to people, I know what they do, when they're fatal and when they're not. I wanted to be a doctor once, Roy."
"I know, Ross, I know," Roy sobbed.
"Oh, hey now, don't cry over me, I don't want that! Gotta keep your face unmarked for the ladies, hmm? Speaking of ladies..." Ross struggled mightily and pushed his hand into his pocket, retrieving a box with some difficulty and placing it in Roy's hand. "Give this... to her... to Marta, tell her I'm sorry... and Roy... I'm sorry, I couldn't take care of you," he gasped, and then he was limp. Roy crouched there over the body of his fallen comrade, shivering and shaking with anger and sorrow and he clutched the box tightly against his chest with his gloved hands. Ross had given up holding him back now,he could fight. Ross had given up when he had died, and now Roy was in charge of his decisions. Alone again. It brought a bitter taste into his mouth.
He looked up, tears in his eyes, as a shadow fell across him. A man with an eyepatch, tall, and rather square jawed, if slightly jovial looking, was behind him, with a vicious sword at his belt. "Hmm... I see our Colonel Ross has fallen... and with him goes our Firestorm Alchemist, the military's finest...
"Tell me, Major Mustang... do you wish to fight?" And Roy looked up at Fuhrer King Bradley, a fire-eyed fury taking ahold of him. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I want to fight!"
"Not so deep as a well, not so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough;'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man!"
Well, for my reviewers this chapter, I have a challenge. If anyone can tell me where this quote is from, and who uttered it, I shall reveal the backstory of Colonel Ross in a small sidestory and his relationship with Roy. However you choose to interpret that relationship, however, is up to you.
I'll give you a hint though... Those last words of Colonel Ross were also the last words of another character in a famous Shakespear play.
Can you figure it out?
Hint Number 1: "Not so deep as a well, not so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough;'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man!"
The character who died in this play also happens to be my personal favorite, and I'll tell you another of my favorites. Whether or not if he's from the same play, however, is up to you to decide.
Hint number 2: Another of my favorite characters is Tybalt, from Romeo and Juliet.
Colonel Ross's story is actually quite interesting, and it will explain Roy's ferocity in another conflict later in the story :3
I'm being too evil, I think :3
-T A