Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Not making any money from this. Love the idea of Ed and Roy. Please leave me a review if you like the story.
Author's Note:
For all the reviewers who asked, Japan was absolutely lovely, I highly recommend a visit. Keeping notes short because my time is very limited at the moment, and I'm sure most of you would prefer I spend what time I do have focused on getting the next chapter out! I know the review function has been acting up lately, and I really appreciate the efforts made to leave me a review, especially when you let me know what you liked about the chapter, whether it's plot, character, description, or just a favourite line. Some of you have told me that you reread previous chapters because you enjoyed them so much or to trace allusions in later chapters back to the source, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me! I thank you, and Auric thanks you.
And now, on with our story. Extra-long chapter, could be heavy going, needed to be told. You have been warned.
For an explanation of the Section Titles, please see the end of the story.
Chapter 27: Choices
I. Litharge
The warrant officer with the pale eyes looked scornfully up at his interrogator as the man glowered down menacingly at him. Typical of the weaklings that would follow a man like Mustang. So they had figured it out somehow, gotten the coward spirited away from his rooms in time. And now they expected him to give up his own leader, the way they would in a similar predicament, no doubt. Well, they would soon find out that the men of General Hakuro weren't so easily cowed. He continued to stare up mutinously at the hulking alchemist with the walrus-like moustache and tight curl in the middle of his forehead. Nothing would make him talk. No sir-ree. Not even any fancy alchemy tricks. Although how this meathead could be a state alchemist was beyond him. Perhaps it was the stress, but he could almost see pink sparkles coming off the man's rippling musculature, which was on full display given that he had shredded his shirt not five minutes into the session, which had induced some slight unease. But the warrant officer had been trained better than that, and apart from a tic that had formed under his left eye, remained stoically silent.
The empty syringe he had been carrying was slammed to the table before his nose and he jumped in surprise, the handcuffs that bound his wrists under the seat of his chair rattling dully before he was pulled back into the chair bolted to the floor by his own arms protesting painfully. He had to admit, the guy knew what he was doing in terms of making him very uncomfortable. He was forced to lean forward at an awkward angle in order to relieve the strain on his shoulders, his face almost planted into the edge of the table, and so his eyes were mere inches from the glittering object as it rolled gently back and forth.
"The weapon of a coward," rumbled his interrogator. "Intended to be used on a sleeping victim. A tiny pin-prick, a small bubble of air introduced into the bloodstream, to travel to the heart, to stop it from beating, a sudden, peaceful death with virtually no evidence of foul play." The man hissed contemptuously between his teeth. "A murder, in other words." He shook his corrugated face sorrowfully from side to side in mock dismay. "What could make a distinguished, decorated veteran like yourself stoop to such petty actions, Warrant Officer? To stab your victim in the back in his rooms instead of facing him on the battlefield and giving him the opportunity to defend himself like a man would? I simply cannot conceive it, that you could be the sole instigator of such a mean thing."
Don't say anything, thought the warrant officer, he's just trying to rile you, trick you into giving something up. Don't say anything…but his jaw hardened and he knew with a certainty that those deceptively mild blue eyes were noting his reaction to being goaded. The man leaned closer, and the pink sparkles seemed to intensify. "At least salvage your honour, Warrant Officer. Help us find the true perpetrators behind this treason."
From behind the one-way glass, two blonde heads intently watched Armstrong interrogate the assassin, one pale flaxen and the other spun gold. They were almost of a level, although the way the male of the two held himself made him seem a little taller. Edward Elric shook his head tiredly and turned away from the glass. "That's all wrong. He simultaneously goads the man's honour and then asks him to betray it by giving up his comrades – his leader. That might work on a stupider man, but this Warrant Officer – Hendricks, was it? – isn't such a person, not from his personnel file. You'd almost have to admire his loyalty, were it not so misplaced." He had opted to watch the interrogation instead of participating, though he was starting to regret that decision as he itched to be doing something.
Riza Hawkeye made a sound of disdain, her lips tight as she continued to glare through the glass as though her eyes might bore a hole through which she could reach into the room and strangle the Warrant Officer. Her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists at her side. "Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong is a senior interrogator, he's generally been successful. And if not, well, we still have enough evidence to convict this man and his accomplices in the guards. Summary judgement, even."
"Not the point," her companion sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and dropped into a rickety folding chair. It was now, what, past three in the morning? The stone of the building had achieved that bone-chilling cooled sweat feel and he wrapped his cloak around him a little more securely. Al might be fine with wearing a uniform, but Ed certainly wasn't – it reminded him of the reason he had joined in the first place, and that wasn't something he enjoyed dwelling on particularly. Although he had agreed to wear that dress uniform for the inauguration in a moment of weakness – damn Maes and his damned photo albums, he thought grumpily, carefully ignoring the little voice in his head that was slyly suggesting other motivations for it. He dragged his mind back from his wool-gathering and looked up at Hawkeye, who had turned towards him, puzzled. "This man is just a pawn, and in life, as in chess, we play for the king. Think about it - I could take out Hakuro without breaking a sweat, but that would raise questions – we have to discredit Hakuro so that we can purge the military of him and his powerbase while having Mustang appear above it all, as well as send a clear message to other potential claimants to the position of Fuhrer. And I'd rather not have to stoop to planting evidence – confessions are so much cleaner if you can get them. Although if it comes to that…." He shrugged, the barest up-and-down movement of his shoulders as a bleak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Needs must where the devil drives, Major."
She gaped at the young man, her throat dry, and he raised a curious brow at her. Finally, she croaked out, "That sounds like something the General would say…sir."
"Does not," he said defensively, childishly even. He winced at her formality, knowing they were remembering the same night eight years ago. "It's just…it's practical. It's politics." But in her sad, knowing eyes, he saw himself reflected and knew her statement to be true, and an unreasonable resentment rose up like bile in his throat.
"You're no longer a child, Edward."
"I said it about Auric, and I'll say it again about Ed - he's no longer a child, Roy." The Brigadier General took advantage of the pause in activity occasioned by the exit of one group of officers from Roy's study and the entry of the next to move a little closer to his friend and continue the hushed argument they had been having in the car on the way over. Through the window overlooking the front of the house, he could see Havoc eyeing a nervous looking major with a jaundiced eye before waving him in – he was taking his security responsibilities very seriously after the scare they had all received barely three hours ago. Maes Hughes had to admit that the few minutes he had waited in his living room for Roy and Ed to turn up had been among the longest of his life, coming as they had on the heels of Alphonse's strained phone-call, a mere jumble of words in his memory now. Crickets. Ed. Assassins. Guards. Roy. And thank goodness for the instincts of a Gatekeeper. He ran a hand through his hair and took his glasses off to clean them, a nervous habit Gracia had never been able to break him of.
Roy rubbed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and settled back into his chair, grateful to be back in the familiar surroundings of his own house, even if the constant coming and going of boots on his carpets was leaving stains and scuffs that would likely give his cleaning lady a fit when she came in next Tuesday. Oh well, perhaps he could talk Alphonse Elric into using a bit of alchemy on the more stubborn tracks – the young man would doubtless be more obliging about it than his older brother. Much easier than chalking up the carpet himself. "I thought we had already ascertained that I was fully aware of that, Brigadier. Generally, when one is past the age of eighteen…."
"You're being facetious again, Roy. And you only do that when you know I'm right." Maes Hughes shook his head wearily as he carefully settled his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "When are you going to let him make his own choices?" For his sake, and for yours, he wanted to add, but held back, knowing that the wrong words would likely strain Roy's patience to the breaking point.
Eyes ringed by shadows opened to rest coolly on him, the hard glint in their fathomless depths a warning. "As with all my men, Brigadier, I've never let him make anything but." And Maes was forced to turn away from that implacable gaze, knowing the truth of it, seeing the pain that flickered behind the flat obsidian stare in the pale face gone grey with fatigue. "If you love something, set it free; if it comes back to you, it's yours…"
"…if not, it was never meant to be?" Maes finished softly. "Have faith in him, Roy."
"I wouldn't dare not," his friend sighed. "He'd kick my ass if I didn't." And a faint glint of humour lightened his dark eyes.
II. Ablution
"You still insist that you and you alone planned the assassination of Fuhrer-elect Mustang?"
"Yes!"
"Even though your accomplices among the guards have already confessed that it was someone else who planned it, who gave the order for you to act?"
"Yes! And if they'd confessed, you wouldn't be this desperate for a name, would you, State Alchemist?" The words were hissed venomously up at Armstrong, the pale eyes now alight with the flame of a true believer. The interrogation had been going on for hours now, and Ed had to admit, as he watched through the glass, that he was impressed Armstrong had been able to get this far with Warrant Officer Hendricks. At least the man was talking now, if only to mock them. Perhaps the delirium-inducing pink sparkles served a purpose of sorts, he thought wryly, and then shook his head bemusedly - he obviously needed more coffee if he was actually thinking that. Good thing Hawkeye had already left to get some. With difficulty, he dragged his mind back to the scene playing out in the room beyond him, lightly resting his hand against the cold glass as he watched the hapless prisoner gather himself and spit in Armstrong's face. "You'll never get anything out of me. You foolish, soft-minded pawns of that immoral, lily-livered womanizing alchemic freak!"
If his right arm hadn't been flesh, Ed would undoubtedly have punched his fist through the plate glass, although really, when you thought about it, the Warrant Officer's insults weren't any worse than some of the things he'd hurled at Roy over the years. Ironic. Instead he dug his nails into his palm and watched with an odd mix of rage and a strange detachment as Armstrong slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out an immaculately folded and monogrammed white handkerchief. With the same deliberate sort of motion, the Strong-arm Alchemist reached up and wiped his face, his expression changing not one whit. He moved back to the other side of the table and pulled out the chair there, sitting down ponderously, the flimsy standard issue chair creaking worriedly under his weight. Hendricks watched with half-frightened eyes as Armstrong tucked his handkerchief away and folded his hands before him on the table. And when he finally spoke, it was with a cold contempt that Ed had never known the sentimental alchemist capable of.
"Whatever else the General is…he is Amestris's best hope for peace and a future. And at least we who follow him choose to do so with our eyes open to the truth. Which is more than I can say for you."
Hendrick's face twisted. And on the other side of the glass, Ed's face did the same as he sank to his knees, understanding hitting him in a dizzying wave, that nauseating sensation of the ground falling away from beneath his feet returning in full force.
Choice. A choice. That was what the bastard had been giving him - had always given him. And he'd been too dense to understand.
Images of his last conversation with the man unspooled disjointedly across his mind's eye like the jerky frames of a film reel. He had finished telling Mustang what he had told Al earlier. Had shown him the scar. Had admitted – and it had been hard – that he felt lost, confused, vulnerable - useless. And that the contract gave him a purpose. A duty that had to be fulfilled. A goal to head towards. That as much as he griped about it, he needed that structure, something to cling to in an intransigent world. And after all that, he'd looked up at the dark-haired man, hoping for something – anything – to hold on to…hell, he would even have settled for one of those infamously snide remarks to rage at. But Roy had remained stubbornly silent.
"Well?"
"Well what, Fullmetal?" Roy had steepled his fingers before his face and closed his eyes while listening to Ed's story. As he spoke, he opened his eyes, but Ed had not been able to read the emotion that lurked in their dark depths.
"Damn it, bastard, don't jerk me around like one of your puppets," he had snarled, lashing out for lack of anything else to do, using the man as a punching bag the way he always had, ignoring the voice in his head that pointed out he was being irrational and childish - a voice made doubly annoying by the fact that it sounded remarkably like his own.
Roy had examined his nails in an elaborate display of unconcern. "Contrary to popular belief, I do not derive amusement from jerking people around, Fullmetal. Well, perhaps just you, every now and then." And then in response to a wordless snarl from Ed, he had raised a slender brow in a seemingly momentary flare of irritation. "Come on, Ed, you think I've got the whole world on strings?"
Golden eyes had sparked in surprise then, Mustang's studiously offhand remark ringing a bell in distant memory, shocking his mind into a higher state of awareness, bringing up remembered frustration, anger, blame…blame which had been misdirected, he realized with the benefit of years of hindsight. With the typically selfish worldview of a child, he had wanted the man to give him what he wanted, when he wanted it, without thought as to what it might cost Mustang, and standing there in Maes's living room, he had felt a slow burn rise in his cheeks as he looked back upon all that he had demanded of the man back then, and all that he had been given in spite of himself. Roy's dark eyes had rested thoughtfully on his face, watching him carefully as if searching for something, and then a satisfied look had crossed his face as he rose to his feet gracefully. "This has been most enlightening, Fullmetal, but I think I hear a car outside, which means it is time to take my leave. You have my sincerest thanks for your…services tonight," and the infuriating smirk that twisted the man's lips as he allowed his mocking tone to tease and insinuate had lent a bizarre veneer of normalcy to the situation. Looking back at it now though, the blonde alchemist could see that what he had taken to be the man's usual arrogance had really been a front to hide a deeper vein of pain.
"Wait a minute!" Ed had snapped, shooting to his own feet as he glared belligerently at the older alchemist. "Quid pro quo, asshole. I told you my reasons, now you tell me yours. We had an agreement."
Roy had shrugged. "My reasons are obvious, if you will only take the time to think about it. Now that you're no longer a child, you might want to try using your head before resorting to violence, Fullmetal, you'll find it a refreshing change, I'm sure." And with that, the man had headed for the door, leaving Ed gaping, caught between disbelief and blind rage.
"Whatever it takes, I'm sure Mustang'll guide us through it." Ed had quoted bitterly at the older alchemist's back, remembering a young Lieutenant Colonel who had sought him out in Risembool eight years ago and his words to Al at that time. That man's older counterpart had paused in the doorway, but had not turned around. "Ha. My ass."
"I will still guide you, Ed, if you so choose," and Ed had started at the use of his name and the gentle but emphatic tone with which the General spoke. "But I never could hold you. Not even as a child, and never as a man. Auric understood that when he chose to enter into the contract." With that, Roy had left, Havoc's security detail swarming about him, guns bristling, as they had hurriedly bundled him into a huge black car that purred off into the night, Maes sparing the blonde alchemist a worried backward glance as he had followed in the chase car. And Ed had teleported himself back to Central in a state of extreme confusion, a state that had not lifted in the hours since. Until now. Damn the man. When Ed got hold of him, the first thing he was going to teach the bastard was how to speak plainly and not in code. Alchemist or not, there had to be some limits.
The slender blonde alchemist wrapped his arms around his knees as he sat up with his back against the wall and rocked himself gently back and forth, deep in thought. "My reasons are obvious…I will still guide you, Ed, if you so choose…." Roy's words echoed around his aching head. Shit. How could he have been so blind? He'd been so caught up in his own problems that he failed to remember the old Gatekeeper saw: There are two sides to every gate. That is, the easiest way to understand a situation was always to look at it from the other's point of view.Roy had dissolved the contract because Ed had made it seem as though he was honouring it under duress, and Roy's damned code of honour would not allow him bind his men to him through fear, or coercion, or anything but a choice made out of their own free will. He would willingly assume the burden of leading them, but only if they were willing to acknowledge that it had been their choice to follow and to live with the consequences of that choice. Hawkeye, Havoc, Fury, Hughes and Armstrong – all of them had made the choice to follow the man with their eyes wide open. And now he was giving Ed the opportunity to do the same.
Ed scowled to himself. That was what Mustang had meant when he said that Auric had understood. The Gatekeeper had been the one to seal the contract, an implicit acknowledgement that he was making the choice of his own free will, that he alone was accountable for his choices – that he was an adult, free and independent. An equal, in other words, and Mustang had treated him as such. But Ed had not chosen to enter the contract, and Mustang would not hold him to a promise made by another – more than that, would not allow him to use the contract as a crutch to avoid having to make choices that he would now be solely responsible for as an adult. If he chose to stay by Mustang's side, that would be entirely his decision – as it would be if he chose to leave. A reluctant smile crept across his face as he heard his own voice telling Al, "He pushes everyone to the limits of their potential – and beyond." Bastard, he inserted automatically. What would you do if I just walked away?
Let you go, was the nonchalant answer. He could almost see the man standing in front of him, regarding him with that infuriating smirk and those mocking eyes. But it would be a pity – I gave Auric the same choice, remember? And he chose to stay and face his fears, find his purpose. But then we can't expect the same courage from a pipsqueak, can we?
Don't call me short! And I am not afraid, he snapped testily. And I can't believe I'm arguing with you in my head. Manipulative sneaky lazy shithead….
Language, Fullmetal. You're old enough to know better. And technically, since I'm in your head, as you so clearly put it, I do believe that you just called yourself sho….
Don't condescend to me, you son-of-a-bitch.
An amused snicker. Déjà vu. Don't make me.
The Fullmetal Alchemist groaned and banged his head against the wall. Choices. Always with the damned choices. The only time he could remember ever having been free of this constant struggle was when mama had been alive and he had been a child…he froze and ran that last thought over again. He hadn't been a child ever since he made that first choice to try and bring his mother back. And that first choice had led to so many others. Sacrificing his arm to bind Al's soul to the armour. Choosing to live and accept the automail. And then remembering the offer made by that young officer with the dark hair…his eyes went wide and unseeing as another mini-epiphany dawned.
That velvet voice spoke up in his mind again. So you begin to see. You've always made your own choices. And Roy's voice was just too damnably kind and understanding, and Ed found himself having to fight back the lump in his throat. All I could do for you back then was to help you, open up more options for you to choose from. The military and its resources. The State Alchemist examinations. The missions – and the 'unauthorized' side trips. Ed's mind swam as he suddenly saw his entire life through another set of eyes.
But Roy had done more than simply provide choices. He had allowed Ed to maintain some semblance of normalcy by making himself a shield and a scapegoat – and not just for the countless buildings that Ed had damaged during his missions, either. Allowing Ed to take his rage - and fear, and misery at being thrust so quickly into adulthood – out on him meant that Ed could avoid having to accept that his actions generally had consequences. He was already struggling with the greatest of them, reminded of it every time he looked at his brother trapped in the ponderous suit of armour - Roy could at least protect him for a while from the rest of it. And so he had, allowing Ed to pursue his goals unhindered. Had let him fall. Had given of himself – and had let Ed go anyway, and had accepted the pain and loneliness that was the consequence of that choice. Had honoured him by never stooping to something as mean as pity. And so now, four years on, they had reached a crossroads. If being a child meant living without care for the consequences of choices, being an adult meant learning to accept those consequences. And if Ed wanted to be regarded as an adult…an equal…a partner, and his traitorous mind lingered longer than it should have on that word, remembering the feel of bare skin and deft hands and silken lips….
Choices. Live or die. Stay or go. Rise or fall. Give up…or press on. He knew what his choice was. He'd even lectured the Gate about it, and he'd be damned if he let it make a hypocrite out of him now. And just like that, he suddenly felt a sense of purpose coalesce in his chest and settle in with equanimity. Time to get up and get on with living. So he didn't know exactly what he was supposed to do now – he'd wing it the way he always had, it wasn't so different from waking up on the other side of the Gate with no memories, after all. Al might not need him anymore, but that smirking bastard could certainly use the help. His fate lay before him, even if he couldn't yet see it clearly, and he would just have to deal with it one choice at a time, and he could swear he heard Alp sigh in relief that his thickheaded Gatekeeper partner had finally remembered the unofficial motto of their Guild. Funny, that duality of thought and feeling that he had been grappling with was gone, in its place a centred certainty, and the thought crossed his mind that a crown also symbolized the perfection of a metal, oddly appropriate in light of his official title as a State Alchemist. And in a sudden release of tension, he began to laugh, clutching at his stomach, tears running down his face as he giggled and fell over onto his side, curling up as he gave himself over to a mild case of hysterics. Fullmetal indeed.
He was still laughing when the door opened to reveal Hawkeye standing there with a coffeepot in one hand and a couple of mugs in the other, looking surprised at finding the Fullmetal Alchemist giggling in the middle of the floor as though he'd lost his mind. "Sir…Edward, are you all right?"
The young man struggled manfully to tame his hysteria, burying his face in his hands, from behind which strangled snickers could be heard. Finally, he looked up at her, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. "Everything's fine, Major. Just…growing pains." He didn't elaborate, and she didn't pursue it, but sometimes Riza Hawkeye wondered if it was some kind of State Alchemist requirement that they all speak in code whenever possible to drive others around them crazy. And the Fullmetal was becoming just as bad as the Flame for particularly obscure doubletalk. "Being an adult really sucks, sometimes, you know that?"
Well, that last bit, at least, had been quite clear. Riza spun a mental wheel in her mind, selecting from the four answers all soldiers were taught would cover any eventuality: No, sir; Aye, aye, sir; No excuse, sir; and oh, the one she was looking for…"Yes, sir." And they shared a moment of perfect mutual understanding as their eyes met. She hefted the chipped blue coffeepot a little higher. "I think this will help though - I added a slug of the whiskey the General hides in his desk drawer. The good stuff."
Ed raised a sardonic brow at her, looking remarkably like the Flame Alchemist as he drawled, "Hawkeye…you stole Mustang's whiskey?"
"Temporarily liberated, sir," she corrected. He smirked, and she added defensively, "I put it back. And anyway…he steals my favourite pen all the time and thinks I don't notice!" She glowered back defiantly, looking remarkably like a certain very blonde alchemist in his younger days.
"Oh believe me, I'm not complaining," Ed sighed as he reached up for the mug of coffee that she held out. The first sip scalded his tongue, but it felt good going down, and he luxuriated in the warm glow that slowly suffused his body as he rolled his head gently from side to side, trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders.
"Has Colonel Armstrong had any further success with the prisoner?"
Ed made a face as he stood up and stretched carefully. He could feel the tightness of his muscles from his earlier workout – what he wouldn't give for a good massage. Mmm. He wondered idly if Mustang's hands had quite healed yet. "Don't think so. Ah well. Guess it's time for Plan B." All right, bastard, I'm choosing to do this. For you. Because I want to. Happy? A silent smirk was his only answer, and he shook his head at himself. He needed to go find the real Mustang and have it out with him…but first things first, he had to secure the man's safety, and there was only one way to do that. Ah, the joys of political intrigue. For all his ambivalence about it, it had been widely known among the Gatekeeper community that the one among them called Auric displayed a particular finesse for manipulating exceptionally complex situations, and the Guild had been only too happy to make use of that currency. It was time he spent some of it on affairs of his own.
Hawkeye eyed her nominally superior officer suspiciously, because the young man had sounded entirely too blasé about the situation. A certain General tended to adopt that tone whenever he was about to do something he knew she wouldn't agree with entirely – perhaps he was rubbing off on Edward. "What's Plan B?"
A sudden flash of fang made her step back involuntarily. "That would be me and Hendricks alone in the room and you two waiting outside, please. What you don't see, you won't have to know anything about."
Hawkeye paled. "Sir…you know military regulations prohibit physical torture of any kind. And you are an officer, whether or not you choose to wear the uniform…."
He turned mock-sorrowful eyes on her. "Major Hawkeye, I'm hurt! Don't you trust me? Besides, the key here is…I don't wear a uniform. Despite that, you know and I know that I'm…subject to military regulations. But does he? Fear can be a useful lever – Gatekeeper axiom when acting as…influencers." He clapped his hands together abruptly, a sharp crack like a gun going off, and she jumped, instinctively reaching for her own weapon as her eyes darted about searching for the telltale cracklings of alchemic energy. Ed held his hands up in a gesture of peace even as a glittering smile spread over his face. "See?"
"Is there any role Gatekeepers won't take on?" she asked grumpily as she took in a deep breath, trying to slow her racing pulse. "And respectfully, Lieutenant Colonel Elric, sir, if you ever do that again, I will shoot you."
The golden gaze turned archly mocking. "Noted, Major. And almost everything has a price. Although I do try to avoid doing the dishes. And windows, they're a pain. I can cook and make beds, though."
"I'm sure the General will be most appreciative, sir," she said, straight-faced - and was rewarded with a genuine laugh.
The litharge (or letharge) is the leftover scum, spume, or ashes of a metallic operation.
Ablution is the process of washing a solid with a liquid, usually in water. Spiritually and psychologically, it is facing one's emotions and letting feelings flow, so that innocence and purity can be restored.
