Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Not making any money of this. Love the idea of Ed and Roy. Please leave me a review if you like the story.
Author's Comment:
A huge THANK YOU to all the lovely reviewers who keep me going with everything from detailed comments to excited squealing – I draw inspiration from all of you! I'm absolutely amazed (and humbled) by the hit rate in just 5 days, and I'm glad you like the story enough to want to know what happens next. Unfortunately, I juggle studies, a job and writing, so while I do try to be disciplined about updating, I thank you for your understanding if I find it necessary to fall behind at times. Keep on reading and reviewing and I'll keep on writing – equivalent exchange, as our favorite alchemists would say….
Some of you have emailed to ask about where this is going, or whether Auric will ever get his memories back, or whether he'll start practicing alchemy. The answer is…I don't actually know! The characters do their own thing in their own time (Auric especially) and I'm just the scribe. This story is already running much longer than I thought it would - I guess we'll find out together!
For an explaination of the chapter title/section headings, please see the end of the document.
Chapter 6: Tango de Salon(I)
I. Salida
The stunning vision with the prickly demeanor standing before him, Roy Mustang decided dazedly, was undoubtedly another instance of his reputation for always being right returning to bite him in a certain delicate part of his anatomy. Edward Elric really had come back from whatever afterlife he had been occupying to kill him for trying to co-opt his little brother into the military. One half of his brain was advising him to flee with all haste, and dignity be damned, because the wrath of the older Elric knew no bounds when it came to protecting Alphonse. The other half was occupied with cataloging the changes that four years had wrought on the young man currently eyeing him irritably.
Taller, if still a hair's breadth below what would have been average height for anyone else. Broader, especially about the chest and shoulders judging from the way the cloak was hanging, but still trim and built along longer, leaner lines than Alphonse's rugged frame. Hair the same shade of wheat-gold, now streaked lightly from the sun and worn in a long, low ponytail. Thinner of face, making those startling eyes stand out all the more, and as for those eyes…well…Roy wasn't certain what to make of them. They were guarded, with a wariness that betrayed itself in the faint lines that radiated outwards from their corners, and in the distant, measuring look that met his gaze squarely. What had they seen in the four years they had been elsewhere? Well, two could play at that game, and he always had outpaced Edward in the patience sweepstakes. He put on his best inscrutably smiling face – the one Edward had used to call "Colonel Bastard" – and waited for an explanation.
And waited.
And waited some more. Al and Havoc looked back and forth between the pair in some confusion. Havoc finally nudged Al. "I don't think either of them is going to want to back down first," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his half-bitten and long-forgotten cigarette drooping at a cockeyed angle. "The General can be just as stubborn as the boss, you know."
Al rolled his eyes, a habit he had fallen back into quite quickly since Auric's arrival. Stepping forward, he ventured mildly, "Should we….maybe continue this inside? I'm sure Captain Hawkeye is waiting for us."
"Indeed. Excellent idea," agreed Roy, his gaze not wavering. "After you?"
"Oh, no, I insist," came the sardonic reply. "You outrank everyone here, after all." The image of Edward gestured politely with an arm, and Roy stiffened. Forgetting this contest of wills, he reached out and snatched at its right hand, running his fingers over it in wonder. It was callused, and warm, and undeniably flesh, as was the rest of the arm it was attached to. "Do you mind?" snapped the owner of said arm, yanking it away. "It's a little forward, considering we haven't even had a first date yet, don't you think?"
Roy stepped back, stunned. "How?" was the only thing he could think of to ask.
A shrug. "You'd have to ask the alchemist here," and he jerked his thumb over at Al. "I'm no expert at these things."
And that was when it registered. "You aren't Edward. You aren't Fullmetal." He determinedly ignored the ache inside his chest that was swallowing up the little flame of hope he had allowed himself for an instant, but was nearly undone when those golden eyes that flicked up to meet his gaze. They were almost apologetic.
"Not…exactly."
Havoc was starting to think that he should definitely have made Fury take this shift instead.
II. Caminada
"This is…really bad coffee," said Auric, making a face at the mug sitting on his chest as he lay sprawled on the couch in Roy's office, legs dangling off one arm. "Can't the military afford a better brew?" Al gave him a long-suffering look and he sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll be quiet over here, don't mind me. And no, Colonel, I am not going to look at those photos of your daughter again!" That last was successfully preemptive as Maes Hughes sat back in his chair with a huff.
Al turned back to the General, who was rubbing his temples as if to try and erase the memory of what Al had just explained. "So. To recap – Maes, are you getting all this?" The burly Colonel nodded. "It was the anniversary of Fullmetal's disappearance and your return. You found him in the ruins of your childhood home. He has no memory of his life or identity here. You're here with him because Winry wouldn't let you come otherwise."
Al considered. "Yes. Oh, and don't forget the bit about his name being Auric and his abilities as a Gatekeeper."
There was a groan from the depths of the couch. "Al, I trust you, but do you have to lay all my secrets out for the world to know?"
"I trust General Mustang and Colonel Hughes, Auric," said Al softly. "They need to know the entire story in order to help us, especially if it's going to involve concealing parts of the truth. You know that." He looked across the room to his brother-who-was-not-his brother. It did not escape the two officers that Auric's eyes softened momentarily as they met Al's. A silent conversation appeared to take place, and then the golden-haired man finally sat up and set his coffee mug down on a side-table. Staring at his feet, he took a deep breath, and when he looked up again the mocking glint was gone from his eyes and his face had settled into an attitude of keen attention. Ed used to get that look whenever he had committed to a course of action and was determined to see it play out, regardless of the consequences, thought Roy bleakly.
"What else do you need to know?"
Riza Hawkeye knew she should be focusing on the pile of paperwork on her desk. There were schedules and requisition forms to fill out, training exercises to plan, logistical exercises in moving men and supplies, and all the other nitty-gritty of conducting a war contained in the stack of brown folders in her inbox.
Oh, who was she kidding, no one in the office could concentrate. First there had been the news of yet another attempted assassination of the Flame Alchemist. And then said target had come storming into his office, grim-faced and intent, dragging Colonel Hughes, Alphonse Elric and an unidentified figure in a hooded green cloak along in his wake. Alphonse had at least had the good manners to mouth a silent apology in her direction before the General had slammed the door shut with unnecessary force. She had marched over to the door and rapped determinedly, only to have her CO open it and glare at her. "No interruptions, Captain. None. Is that clear?"
"What if it's the Fuhrer, sir?" she had asked, blandly.
"Then give him my sincerest compliments – and take a message." And the door had shut in her face again, but not before she caught a glint of gold hair as the mysterious stranger pushed back his-or-her hood.
A clatter of boot heels scraping against the doorframe broke into her reverie and she looked up to see Jean Havoc stagger in and fall gratefully into his chair. "Crap, that was weird. I really need a cigarette. Make that a whole pack." He scrabbled around in the pockets of the jacket hanging on the back of his chair, then looked up to find himself staring down the barrel of Hawkeye's gun. "Oh, for the love of…come on, Captain, the General specifically ordered me not to say anything!"
She thumbed the hammer back. "Start talking."
"And how do you think you got here again?" asked Roy wearily. He reached blindly for the mug of coffee on his desk, hesitated when he realized it had long since reached room temperature, briefly considered snapping his fingers to heat it up, then decided it wasn't worth the effort and poured it down his throat. Hell, he was only drinking it for the caffeine anyway.
"I already told you, I. Don't. Know." Auric stood and began to pace. "I don't know what I was hoping to achieve by connecting the two ends of the Gate, I just wanted to contain the effects of the backlash…I just wanted to save all those people. So Alp's death would have a purpose. I certainly didn't expect to wind up here, and to stumble across my identity from pre-Aleph."
"What?"
Auric ran a hand through his hair again, making it even more of a mess as random strands pulled loose from his ponytail. Realizing this, he made a frustrated sound in his throat and shook his hair free of the leather tie, allowing the heavy fall of gold to cascade down his back, stifling a sigh of relief at the release of tension. "Pre-Aleph. It's the life a Gatekeeper had before he lost his memories. The day it happens is your Aleph Day. Aleph – the beginning."
Maes frowned. "This Alp, Alphonse's double. You said he had been a Gatekeeper longer than you, right?" Auric nodded tiredly, scrubbing his eye-sockets with the heels of his hands. It all seemed so far away and long ago. How long had it been since his Aleph Day? He had been out for two days, according to Alphonse, and then a day up and about dealing with all the revelations of this new world, and then they had come to Central City…four days? That was it? He stifled a yawn, and rubbed at his chest as a momentary twinge of pain made itself felt. Oh, for a bed and some rest. Oblivion sounded like just the ticket.
"Auric," said Al softly. He realized he had just missed something Maes had asked.
"I'm sorry. Just so damn tired. What was that?"
"How much longer had Alp been a Gatekeeper?" Maes was doodling on his notepad.
"Oh…um…maybe four years?" Auric was starting to feel dizzy. Roy and Maes exchanged significant looks.
"That would have been eight years ago. Coinciding with…."
Al was already following Maes's line of reasoning. "When I lost my body. I died…or at least, I would have if Brother hadn't sacrificed his right arm to bind me to that armor with the blood seal." He frowned. "So there's definitely some kind of connection between Auric's ability to manipulate Gates and the Gate of Truth. But what?"
"Hey, imagine that," slurred Auric dully. For some reason the thought struck him as funny, and he began to giggle, ignoring the looks of alarm on the other men's faces. "Gates everywhere I go…hey, did'ja know, I told Winry I'd give up my right arm to remember Al and everyone…she got all mad at me…don't know why though, I'd done it once before, right?" He giggled again light-headedly, and suddenly doubled over coughing. He could taste blood in his mouth as his legs gave way.
"Auric!" Al rushed towards the huddled mass on the floor, but Roy beat him to it and was already scooping Auric into his arms. The blonde man was surprisingly light for his size, and it became obvious as his cloak fell back that his collarbones were entirely too prominent to be healthy. Auric struggled briefly against Roy's hold in embarrassment, then gave up, turning his head away from Roy towards Al in an attempt to reassure the younger man.
"I'm all right, Al, don't worry. Just tired. Told you that early train would be the death of me."
"Mere fatigue doesn't make you cough up blood," reproved Roy in an acerbic tone of voice, causing Maes to shoot him a sharp look. The dark-haired man deposited Auric neatly onto the couch and flicked a couple of cushions under his head for support. "How long has this been happening?"
Auric glared, but didn't bother to dispute the observation. The General had sharp eyes. The pain in his chest slowly ebbed as he took a couple of deep experimental breaths. "Comes and goes. Since the last Gate. It's nothing though – judging from the color, I'm no longer bleeding, which means this should be the last of it. Occupational hazard." He did his best to sound blasé, but he could see that Al was not yet entirely convinced. "It's a common ailment among Gatekeepers after expending a lot of energy on a Gate, Al. I'll be fine after some rest." Al finally nodded and Auric closed his eyes in relief.
"General," Maes interjected smoothly. "Perhaps we should allow our guest to rest. I'm sure Captain Hawkeye is champing at the bit to get Alphonse Elric processed, after all, as a volunteer, he'll need to take his State Alchemist certifications, and we need to get him his military papers. I really should go and check on Major Armstrong's progress with interrogating the prisoners as well."
"I wouldn't bother with that last bit," mumbled Auric, eyes still firmly shut as he slid further down into the cushions. Maes eyed him thoughtfully.
Roy regarded the supine figure judiciously. "Oh? You doubt Major Armstrong's abilities as an interrogator?"
"Don't know the guy, so I can't say." Auric stifled a yawn. "Sorry. But it's obvious those guys who were after you weren't regular military. And they weren't crazies with a grudge – too well organized. So they're either pros or some kind of paramilitary secret service, and I'm betting on the latter. In which case, they're probably already dead by their own hand, and unless Armstrong specializes in raising the dead – which is, apparently, forbidden and the whole reason I got in trouble pre-Aleph in the first place - you're not getting anything out of them. You've got some powerful enemies, Mustang. But you already knew that, didn't you?" Auric snuggled deeper into the couch, wrapping his cloak around him. "Now if you're done with your little reasoning tests, I'd really like to get some shut-eye."
Maes shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "If you're sticking around, Auric, you might consider coming to work for Investigations in Military Intelligence. You've certainly got the aptitude for it."
"No offense, but MI is an oxymoron," replied Auric without opening his eyes, although the smile playing about his lips removed much of the sting. "You're the one who should consider a change of careers, Maes. You're too perceptive to be a watch dog of the military."
"Ah, but that's an incomplete assessment. Really, Auric, I'm disappointed," teased Maes, although his eyes were serious. "I may be a watch dog, but the correct question is, who is my real master?"
"Maes…" Roy's voice held a note of warning.
"Yes, General." Hughes turned and headed for the door. "Come on, Alphonse, let's see if we can't get you kitted out, eh?"
Al hesitated, looking back at Auric with a troubled expression. "Auric…." Brother, Roy seemed to hear a younger voice echo hollowly.
With an effort, Auric opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at Al. "I'll be here when you're done, Al. I promise. That is, if the great General Mustang doesn't mind me taking up his couch for the next few hours?"
Roy twitched. "Just don't bleed on it. I'd rather send you to the infirmary to be checked out, but it would arouse too many questions. Go with Hughes to see Captain Hawkeye, Alphonse. Tell her I'm assigning you your old quarters and to expedite the paperwork as she sees fit on the rest of your application. Fullm…Auric should stay here until I can work out a cover story for him. But I'll find a way to get him assigned to your bunk ASAP." And I'll keep an eye on him, his look said.
The gratitude in Al's eyes was all the thanks he required. "Yes, sir. Get some rest, Auric, I'll see you later, all right?"
"Mm. Don't forget to call Winry," Auric mumbled as Al closed the door to the office silently. He rolled over and curled up, his hair tumbling over his face as he burrowed his head into the cushions. His breathing evened out as he relaxed, and the last thing his conscious mind registered in faint surprise before he slipped gratefully into blessed darkness was a warm, dry hand that smelled like clean flame gently brushing back his bangs as a gentle kiss was pressed to his temple.
Tango de Salon: A way of dancing tango characterized by slow measured moves, with the emphasis on precision and elegance. The dancing couple remains at a "proper" distance from each other, i.e., their bodies are not in a close embrace.
Though it means "exit," the salida marks the beginning of the dance or movement, and is derived from "Salimos a bailar?" or the invitation, "Shall we (go out to the dance floor and) dance?"
The leader leads the follower in the caminada, or "tango walk" to the cross-step, known as cruzada or trabada.
