The man who knew too much
Guess who LIED. Well, I lied to myself even, so is that really a lie? In my defense, I'm not really expanding anything in this story, just adding on to one of the chapters. But, you know what? I made up a really cute and sweet nine year old boy and then put him through something horribly traumatic. Maes Mustang deserves closure and comfort and I am finally here to deliver.
Can this be an epilogue? Maybe it's an epilogue, I don't know. But I'm tying up a few other loose ends here, too ;) I went for the Maes Hughes feels. I have #noregrets. Okay, maybe #someregrets.
000
1933—Central City
"Maes, you need to eat more," Mom says with a sigh, watching sadly as Maes pushes his food around on his plate: the mashed potatoes, the peas so smooshed they're nearly a paste, and the soft meatloaf that has been cut up and torn apart so much it's more crumbles than a loaf.
Baby food. It's practically baby food in this state.
And Maes can't bring himself to hardly touch it.
"I'm not hungry," Maes replies. His stomach growls loudly in contradiction.
"Do you want me to reheat the soup?" Dad asks quietly. Maes looks down at his lap and nods, eyes burning. Dad just pats his hand and stands up, walking to the kitchen.
Maes has to force himself not to follow.
Because it's Dad. It's his dad reheating the soup, the same soup he ate last night, too. It's fine, the soup is fine, will be fine, nothing bad will happen.
Dad won't let anyone else touch his soup.
His mother and sisters continue eating, trying to make light discussion and pretend that none of them are eyeing him worriedly. Dad comes back with the soup eventually, handing Maes a spoon.
The first bite always the hardest. Because even with soup, even with this horribly plain, nearly tasteless soup that's hardly more than a broth with some soft chunks of real food, the first bite always feels like glass attempting to slide down his throat.
Maes makes it through half his soup before asking to be excused.
His parents let him go; it's more than he ate yesterday.
000
Maes goes up to his room and curls under the covers, stomach still growling slightly with hunger. His body is tired, as it seems to always be lately, but right now his mind is not. He slips out of bed and pads quietly down the stairs, intent on getting his novel where he left it in the living room before curling up in bed once again.
Maybe if he falls asleep reading the nightmares will go away.
He grabs the book, ready to go back up to his room when he hears the murmurs down the hall, in the dining room.
Mustang Family Meeting. Sans the youngest Mustang.
Wow, wonder what this is about.
Maes goes to listen at the door, socked feet hiding his footsteps.
"What are we going to do?" Nijah asks, tears in her voice. "He has to eat something, he's just withering away at this point. What do we do?"
Mom sighs, "As long as he's getting some kind of nutrition, he'll be okay physically. The doctors say just keep trying his favorite foods, make sure he's drinking his milk, and let him have the soup if he won't eat anything else. We can't—we can't force him to eat, sweetie, no matter how hard this is to watch. He'll come around in his own time."
"What if he stops eating the soup?" Shireen asks quietly.
Dad lets out a hard breath through his nose. "Take him back to the hospital, I guess."
"God, this is awful," Shireen says, muffled as though she has a hand on her face. "Damn Cook. Damn her to fucking hell-,"
"Shireen-," Mom says a bit reproachfully, but even she doesn't sound like she disagrees.
"Yeah, yeah, watch my language. Sorry."
Silence.
"When's the trial going to be?" Nijah asks hesitantly.
"It's looking like the middle of next month."
"Are you both testifying? Do you need me to?" Shireen questions. Mom and Dad both sigh.
"We don't know, Shireen. I don't really want to think about it right now." Dad answers.
Silence again.
"Nijah, there's something else we need to talk-," Mom begins, but Nijah interrupts immediately.
"No."
"You didn't even let her finish, Nijah," Dad says, sounding exasperated. Maes can nearly see Nijah's firmly shaking head.
"No. I'm not going back to Resembool now. Not now, you can't make me."
"You're behind on your rehabilitation, Nijah. You need Winry-,"
"Then bring her here," Nijah says petulantly.
Mom takes a deep breath. "Winry's workshop, her office, your new leg, it's all in Resembool. And Winry has plenty of other clients besides you. Plus, the kids start school soon, you know they start earlier in the East than here. We can't ask Winry to drop everything just for you, they've done too much for us already."
Nijah takes a shuddering breath, "But, Maes-,"
"It's just a couple weeks, honey. Just two weeks," Dad pleads.
Nijah starts to cry.
"Nijah, you can't let what you went through be for nothing. You can't—don't screw it up now. You've worked so hard, and you went through so much to get this leg, don't let some stupid infection or problem mess it all up now. You know you need to go back." Shireen says, voice firm, "I know you want to be here for Maes, we all do. But you're hurt, too. You're sick, too, and you've been ignoring it because of Maes. You gotta take care of yourself before you can take care of everybody else. You're important, too."
Maes carefully treads back up to his bedroom, guilt settling like a stone in his stomach.
000
Maes does his best to feign surprise when his parents announce that Nijah's headed back to Resembool tomorrow at breakfast the next morning. He is, however, surprised when Shireen says she'll be accompanying their sister.
"I'll just stay overnight in Resembool, make sure Nijah's settled. Then I'll be straight back." Shireen says, gripping his hand. Maes just nods into the bowl of oatmeal Mom set in front of him, overloaded with brown sugar and cinnamon. It's more of a dessert than any balanced breakfast.
Maes forces himself to eat three bites then leaves.
He goes upstairs to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and washes his face. He has to be careful of the little stiches, spreading an inch into his cheek from the right side of his lip. It makes it hurt to smile.
Maes is putting his glasses back on, frowning at the new hollowness of his cheeks and the cut that's sure to scar, carefully fingering the dark stiches when he spies Shireen in the doorway.
"Hey Squirt," she says, reaching and moving his hand away from the stitches, staring at him in the mirror. "Don't mess with those, just let them be."
Maes frowns. "Mom doesn't like them. They make her feel guilty. I wish they were gone." For it was Mom's ring, her engagement ring that had sliced through the side of Maes' mouth as she stuck her fingers down his throat, forcing him to puke up the poisoned cake that fateful night two and a half weeks ago.
Shireen sighs, and puts an arm around his shoulders. "Scars aren't so bad, kiddo," she says, smiling slightly. "And, not that this is ever a contest, but yours is always just gonna be a cute little baby scar next to mine."
Maes doesn't laugh. Shireen continues, "Mom told me once when I was little that scars are just stories in our lives, and only those who matter to us most get to know them. And that's true. But I think—Maes, the best part about our scars is we get to decide the story.
"With mine, well, I could just say I got it in the car crash that killed my parents. That could be my story," Shireen says, fingering the locket around her neck that she always wears. "Or, I could tell the story of how I lived. Of how I pulled my little sister out of that flaming car and saved us both. Of how we survived and eventually met two people with scars just like ours and became a family." Shireen wraps both arms around him from behind and rests her chin on top of his head, still staring at him in the mirror.
"You're allowed to be sad, Maes. You're allowed to be scared and hurt. But someday, when you look back on what happened to you, when you look at that scar, you'll get to decide the story you tell. It could just be the day you got poisoned. Or, well, it could be the day that Mom saved your life. The day that you saved Dad's life and lived to tell the tale. It's up to you, kiddo."
Maes looks at Shireen's scar, long and thin, running from under her left eye to the side of her mouth, then looks at his, a short red jag splitting to the right of his lips. Her white hair falls in waves beside his short black, and the tan hands under his face contrast completely with his now unnaturally pale skin. Her bright red eyes bore into his brown-eyed, bespectacled reflection in the mirror, soft and sad.
Maes Mustang looks nothing like his sisters, never has. If anything, he is their opposite in appearance, a contrast of white and black and light and dark.
But now, as Maes looks at the swoop of her scar, the way it tilts her mouth same as his, he realizes he and Shireen finally match.
000
After a very tearful goodbye, Nijah and Shireen make their way to the train station the next morning.
"Maybe Aunt Winry and Trisha will bake you an apple pie and Shireen can bring it home with her," Nijah says with fake cheerfulness, wiping away her tears before pulling him down to her chair for a hug.
"Oh, um, yeah. Maybe." Maes shrugs.
How messed up is he, that not even Aunt Winry's pie sounds worth it? But then, Maes remembers the last person he shared Aunt Winry's pie with, and figures that any apple pie may taste like ash to him for the rest of his life, no matter how good it is.
That's the worst part of all this, in Maes' opinion. Because, yes, he's still tired and ill and hurt, and food feels like glass in his throat and everyone is sad and his family is treating him like he'll break into a million tiny pieces. Maybe he already is in a million tiny pieces.
But Cook, she was his friend. She had a snack for him every day after school, would sneak him sweets before dinner if she thought he was good. She listened to all his troubles if his family wasn't around, gave him hugs and patted his head. She'd been hired by his parents when he was just a baby, after serving the best dolma and kebabs Shireen said she'd ever had after a party Cook had catered.
Maes can't remember a time without Cook around. And now she is worse than dead to him.
He's never felt so betrayed. He's never felt hate like this before.
He's never felt hate before.
"Let's go outside, honey," Mom says, after Nijah and Shireen have left. Dad's gone into the office for the morning, attempting to make some kind of dent in the work that has piled up in the mess that was the last month.
It seems, despite Dad's best efforts, the country can't completely run itself.
Maes follows Mom out the back door. Mom clicks her fingers, and Little Hayate comes along, trailing behind them. Once they're outside, Mom grabs some balls, a knotted rope, and a disc from a box on the porch, and leads them all out to the yard. Then, she pulls out her gun.
"We've got work to do, don't we, Hayate? We've been much too relaxed with you. Time for obedience class."
A couple hours later, Maes and Hayate are exhausted, Hayate has most certainly been scared straight, and they're laying with Mom on the grass in the backyard, watching the clouds.
Mom's leaned up against one of the big trees, Maes' head in her lap and Little Hayate's curled up against his stomach. Maes is nearly asleep, and Mom's hand is running comfortingly through his hair.
"Mom, have you—have you talked to Cook? Since it happened, I mean," Maes asks softly, suddenly curious. Mom stiffens slightly.
"No," Mom answers, voice just as softly. "No, I haven't." She's silent for a moment, "Dad has, though."
That's certainly interesting. Mom's tone makes it obvious she'll share no more on that topic, however.
"Do you hate her?" Mom bites her lip and continues petting his hair, smoothing down the cowlick in the back.
"Yeah," Mom finally answers. "I do. I hate what she did. I hate what happened. I hate the fact that I almost lost you.
"But I understand her, too. She was avenging her son. And if I lost you, if I lost any of you-," Mom takes a shuddering breath, "I just—I understand. It scares me how well I understand her."
The drop lands in his hair, and at first Maes thinks it must be raining. Then, he remembers it's a beautiful day outside and they're sitting under a tree. So he opens his eyes, sits himself up a bit, and wraps his arms around his mother's waist.
Mom hugs him back so tightly it nearly hurts.
But only nearly. Those are the best kind of hugs, anyway.
"You don't get to leave me, Maes. Not like that. You don't get to go," she whispers in his ear, pulling Maes into her lap and hugging him even closer. The shoulder of her sweater grows damp with his tears.
Dad finds them like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, asking if they're ready for lunch.
Maes eats his whole bowl of soup, and half a sandwich.
Mom smiles.
000
That night, Maes wakes up crying from his dream.
The nightmares have been plaguing him since he woke up in the hospital; horrible, terrifying dreams. At first they'd been about the poisoning; he'd wake up choking and sobbing with his parents' petrified faces burned into in retinas.
But, as the nights go by, the dreams seem to morph, to change. Sometimes he's falling from great heights. Sometimes, he's burning, shrieking in pain that he can't actually feel. One time he's caught in a rockslide before everything fades to black.
In every dream he dies.
The dream tonight, though, it's not terrifying so much as it's unspeakably sad. Maes is laying on a bed, as a parade of young children come through, all kissing his forehead and handing him roses. Telling him goodbye. Most of the children he doesn't recognize, but some he does. Little Shireen and Nijah make appearances, a tiny Elysia, Sammy and Trisha, very young versions of Ed and Al and Winry.
To them all, Maes reaches out an old and withered hand and puts it on their cheeks, telling each of them how much he loves them.
Maes wakes with a gasp, tears in his eyes, and clambers out of bed.
In the beginning, in the hospital and the first few nights home, Mom or Dad sat by his bedside all night long, so they were there to hold him when he cried. The past week, he's been going to Shireen's room after the dreams; Nijah needs her sleep right now.
But now, neither of his sisters are here.
It seems Maes is back to square one.
Maes hasn't actually slept in his parents' bed in a few years, but he knows he won't be turned away, especially not tonight. He treads into the bedroom on tired feet, approaching the side of the bed closest to the door.
"Dad," Maes breathes out, "Dad?"
Dad opens his eyes.
"Maes, are you alright?" he whispers worriedly, starting to sit up.
"I—can I-," Maes begins, feeling suddenly awkward.
Dad just snakes a hand around his waist and pulls him up into the bed.
Normally, Maes would go to the middle of the bed, steal half of each of his parents' pillows and sleep soundly 'til morning.
But it's the middle of the night, and Maes really is so tired, even getting to his parents' room was a chore; he just really didn't want to be alone. Clambering over Dad to get to the middle seems like a whole lot of work right now and—
Dad wraps his arm around his back and pulls Maes into his chest. Maes doesn't even realize he's crying again until he feels the wetness on Dad's shirt.
"Oh, Maes," Dad whispers softly, "It'll be alright, kiddo. It will."
Maes wishes he believed him.
000
The next morning starts with a phone call from Shireen. There's rain in Resembool, and bad flooding as a result. The train to Central has been delayed at least a day. The horrible news is slightly balanced by a visit from Aunt Gracia that afternoon.
"You certainly know how to find trouble, sweetheart," Aunt Gracia says when she arrives, petting the back of his head as she hugs him.
"Aunt Gracia, the trouble always just finds me," Maes says into her stomach. Aunt Gracia hugs him tighter.
"Oh, Maesy," she sighs. Aunt Gracia's the only person besides Nijah and sometimes Mom who calls him Maesy anymore. He's sure Mom and Dad talked to Gracia before they named him Maes, he's sure they tried to be sensitive and ask her permission. And Maes is also sure Aunt Gracia gave it because she is sweet and kind and wonderful, and she appreciated the fact that Mom and Dad wanted to honor her husband.
But, he imagines, it's probably hard for her to call him Maes. It probably makes her sad, and a sad Aunt Gracia is simply unacceptable. She can call him Maesy for the rest of his life if she likes.
He doesn't mind.
He and Aunt Gracia go with his parents to the living room, and Mom calls for tea. They sit for a while and sip on tea, chatting idly about safe things; Elysia's new promotion, a trip Tony and Gracia are planning south, her stepson Marcus' acceptance to Central University. Until—
"Maesy, I made these for you," Aunt Gracia says suddenly, pulling a wrapped bundle out of her bag. "It's alright if you don't want to eat them now, sweetheart, I understand. But they're very soft, I made the recipe without the eggs and baked them halfway, so you don't-,"
Maes carefully takes the bundle from her and pulls out a cookie. The consistency is different than usual, she's right, they're much softer and more malleable than her normal cookies. Obviously, they're still going to be delicious, Aunt Gracia, the woman who taught Winry how to make pie, made them.
Everyone watches silently with bated breath as Maes stares at the cookie. And when he finally takes a bite, everyone smiles.
Then, he tastes the chocolate in the middle and spits it all back up.
He spits, then he pukes on the old and probably very expensive run in the living room, all the while struggling and stuttering for breath.
"NO!" Maes yelps, "NO, nononononono-," And his throat his closing, his heart is positively racing, his hands are tingling, there's nothing left to puke, but he can't breathe, he can't breathe. Chocolate is bad, chocolate kills you, it kills Dad and Maes because Cook wants Dad dead, but Cook was his friend and now she's an almost-murderer and she's going to jail, she might die, they'll kill her for what she did; nobody says it to Maes but he's nine, he understands things. And now everything's going to go gray again, then black and black and black because he ate the stupid chocolate and he'll be dead and gone forever, dead in the ground and they'll cover him with dirt and everyone will cry and he didn't get to say I love you, he didn't tell them, and-
"Maes." Mom is there again. Mom is there, and he's on the ground again, but this time she doesn't look terrified. She just looks indescribably sad.
"Maes," she says again, pulling him into her lap, holding his head to her chest. "Honey, you have to breathe. Breathe with me. In-," and Mom sucks in a long breath, "and out," whooshing all the air out of her lungs.
Eventually he does it. He breathes with his mother, and listens to the beat of her heart against his ear.
He breathes and listens and pretends he can't hear Dad and Aunt Gracia in the kitchen.
He's not supposed to make Aunt Gracia cry.
000
Maes doesn't come down for dinner, tells his parents he's too tired. When they come up with a tray, he feigns sleep, curling up in a ball on his side and ignoring the food completely.
When Dad comes up an hour later to pick up the tray and check on him, Maes feigns sleep again.
Dad just sighs, tucks him better under the quilt, kisses his head and leaves with the tray.
A few hours later, Maes creeps down the stairs, hoping to get some milk from the kitchen. He pauses when he hears murmurs from the bannister.
"Maybe I should just retire, Riza. I know we said in two or three years, once things are ready for the election but, maybe, maybe it's time to be finished."
Mom lets out a hard breath, but doesn't say anything. Dad continues.
"I mean, fuck, Riza, I became Fuhrer when Maes was what, six months old? I've been doing this his whole life, it almost was his whole life-," Dad chokes. "I missed things. I should've been here more and now….he needs us. More than Amestris ever needed me."
"Oh for God's sake, Roy, you don't get to play the martyr here. Don't act like you've been some terrible father. You're a good dad. You're a really good dad. If anything, I'm the one, I should've retired when he was born, hell, when we adopted the girls. I should've been home. It's not like we would've even needed Cook if I was home-," Mom takes a shuddering breath.
"Don't be stupid, Riza. Your career matters, too. You're irreplaceable. We've both—I thought we did it, you know? I thought we were those crazy people who actually found a good balance, figured out family and the job and everything worked out perfectly. And I thought-," Dad chokes again, "I thought we'd managed to keep them safe. Riza, what do we do? How do we help him?"
Maes backtracks up the stairs before he hears Mom's reply.
000
That night is the worst dream yet.
Maes is lying in a…box. A box. It's red and tall and—a phone booth? He's lying at the floor of the phone booth and there's blood everywhere, so so so much blood, just spreading from his body and soaking his pants and shoes and socks. And his glasses are all askew and cracked, as the person before him, the stranger (but not a stranger, never a stranger) with a gun shoots and shoots and shoots. First it's Aunt Gracia, a horrible stretched smile on her face. Then it's Mom, eyes focused with a cruel smirk. Then Trisha and Nijah and Shireen and Elysia and Rebecca and Nina and Winry and then Cook and she shoots and shoots and shoots—
All the while, the phone's hanging by his head, right by his ear, and Dad's screaming at him, begging and pleading with him to pick up the phone, Maes what's wrong, what's going on—
And Maes dies.
000
Later, Maes will not be able to explain, nor remember how he ends up where he does. All he knows, when he wakes up from his dream, is he needs to get out. He needs to get out, to get away and not be Maes Mustang anymore. He needs to escape the box and the ground and be outside and free, free from this horrible terror that has consumed his life.
So Maes creeps out of his room, scrambles down the trellis outside Shireen's window, and runs into the dark of the night.
He's aware enough to keep to the shadows, to avoid being seen. And he just runs. And when he's exhausted, when he can no longer run, he walks. And when his bare feet begin to bleed he crawls.
Eventually he collapses under a tree and finally sleeps without dreams.
000
"Maes," a voice says sharply, lightly slapping his cheek, "Maes, wake up."
Maes opens his eyes to find Elysia Hughes crouching in front on him.
He immediately scrambles back, banging his head painfully on the tree trunk because Elysia killed him. Elysia had a gun and a horrible cruel smile like Aunt Gracia and she shot him dead in the phone booth and—
"Maes, Maes, hush sweetie, it's okay," Elysia says softly, pulling him up into her arms, putting a soft and calloused hand to his forehead and frowning slightly.
"What's—Elysia, what's—where am I?" Maes gasps, breathing fast. He sits up a bit and Elysia grabs his shoulder tight. The sky is pink, the sun just beginning to rise over a hill in the distance. They're under a tree, in a grassy field dotted with poplars and cedars. There's a path nearby, and a bench, and—
"Why are we at the cemetery?" Maes whispers.
Elysia doesn't respond. She just shrugs out of her jacket and puts it around his shoulders.
It's a blue military jacket, like Mom and Dad and Shireen's, with the gold braids and buckles. Elysia must've been on her way to work. There's a bouquet of flowers on the ground beside her.
"If you don't know your why, I'm much more interested in your how. How did you get here, Maes?" Elysia asks quietly, helping him slip his arms through the sleeves of her jacket. He's still in his pajamas. "You didn't steal a car or something, did you?"
"I think—I think I walked." They both look down at his feet and wince. Elysia's green eyes widen, and Maes knows she probably has some choice four-letter words on the tip of her tongue. But Elysia's always had a much better filter than Shireen.
"Alright then," Elysia says, before hefting Maes into her arms like he weighs nothing and settling him on her hip. She picks up the flowers and hands them to him. "Hang on to these, will you?"
Maes wonders when Elysia got so strong. He wonders when she got so tall.
"Where are we goin'?" Maes asks tiredly, resting his head on her shoulder. He clutches the flowers to his chest.
"We need to call your parents. They've probably got the whole city on lockdown by now, but I guarantee nobody's looking for you here."
Maes closes his eyes. "Maybe that's why I came here, then."
He's asleep before he hears Elysia's response.
000
"Yes, the code is Uncle, Sugar, Oliver, Eight, Zero, Zero…..Thank you…Roy…yeah, it's me. Listen, I found Maes…..We're at the cemetery….he says he walked here….I don't know, he's pretty out of it, I think he has a fever. He's sleeping now. His feet are a mess, so I think he really did walk…..No, I don't think he needs hospital. He just needs to go home….hey, no don't be like that, you've had so much happen. I understand, Roy, and you know Dad would, too. Don't feel bad…..Just come get your Maes. We're across from the north gates….yeah, I will….Bye, Roy."
Elysia hangs up the phone, and Maes clenches his eyes shut, his breath wheezing. She's on the phone. They're in a phone booth.
"Maes?" Elysia asks?
"No, I don't want—get out, Elysia, we have to get out, get out of here, no-," Maes gasps. Elysia hitches him up her side and walks out of the phone booth, down the path to sit on a bench. Maes finally opens his eyes.
"Better?" Elysia asks, eyes soft. Maes just nods and bites his lip, finally slipping out of Elysia's arms. She shakes her head disparagingly and wraps an arm around his shoulders, still keeping him close.
"I'm so scared. I'm so scared all the time, and I don't know why. I just—everything was normal, and then I ate that stupid cake and it feels like the world is about to end every minute of every day. I'm so tired of being scared, Elysia." Maes admits tearfully, leaning his head on her shoulder.
Elysia lets her cheek rest on top of his head. "I didn't let my mom out of sight for almost a year after Dad died." She says quietly. "I slept in bed with her every night, I should've been in preschool, but, God, the tantrums I threw. I was horrible.
"But I was just so afraid. Because Dad left for work one day, just like any other, said he'd be back that night, and then—and then he wasn't." Elysia lets out a shuddering breath. "And I was so afraid if I couldn't see Mom, she would disappear, too."
Maes scoffs through his tears, "But you were a baby, Elysia, just a little baby and your Dad died, that—it makes sense. I didn't even die, only almost died, and I'm nine-,"
Elysia grips him tighter. "Yes, Maes. You're only nine. And you went through something horrible, it's normal to be scared. I think—I know you're smart, Maes, you're so smart, and observant. You understand that so many of the people you love have lived very dangerous lives. They've had a lot of bad things happen to them. And I think your worst fear, one you dreaded but were probably prepared for, well, it was one of them dying.
"You didn't expect to be the one to die. You weren't prepared for that. You aren't ready to go, Maes."
Why does Elysia have to be so smart?
Maes turns his head and soaks the shoulder of Elysia's dress shirt with tears as he sobs, rubbing his snot on the sleeve of her jacket. Elysia doesn't complain; she just pulls him into her lap again.
"The world's always going to be scarier than it was before, but you can't—you can't let the fear rule you, kiddo. If you do, you're never going to live, and that would be even worse.
"But—no being stupid, either. No more five mile barefoot pajama runs. No more starving yourself. You hear me?" She says, trying and failing to sound stern. Maes nearly smiles. Elysia rubs comforting circles into his back.
"Mom told me, after Daddy died, that he was up in heaven. He was an angel watching over me. I wasn't sure I liked that, I knew Dad was a good person, but I figured he might get a bit bored as an angel.
"I asked your dad once, where he thought mine was now. He told me Dad was on the other side of the Gate, learning about everything and anything. I like that one a little better, because my dad always liked to learn, he liked to know things. But then, if he was learning so much, how could he be with me still? How could he watch me?
"I asked Shireen a few years later, where she believed her and Nijah's parents were. She told me in Ishval, it's believed that after you die, you become one with everything. You are the trees and the grass and the sky. You are the birds and the rain in the snow. You are one and you are all. That sounded pretty nice to me, but it also meant Dad wasn't really my dad anymore, he was everything and I thought that was a bit weird.
"And then, Ed and Al wrote their book. Have you ever read it?" Maes blushes a little and shakes his head. Elysia gives him a small smile. "Maybe someday you will. But they think, well, they think after you die, you come back. They think that death isn't the end, but a new beginning, and you're a little baby who gets to do it all over again, and again, and again. And we've all lived hundreds, maybe thousands of times, learning and loving and growing.
"I don't know what I believe, Maes. But I do know that my father was a very good, truly kind person, and if Equivalent Exchange really does apply to everything, he should be somewhere wonderful now.
"And maybe he is gone to me, but he's not really, he'll never be gone all the way. He'll always be in my head and in my heart. I'll see him in my pictures and in my smile. And nobody will ever, ever let me forget how much he loved me. Goodness, it's been nineteen years and I have strangers who come up to me at work and know my name, tell me about a time Dad spent an hour showing off his pictures and describing in painful detail how wonderful I was at throwing spaghetti."
Elysia laughs slightly before sniffling. "I'm so, so glad you didn't, but even if you had died, Maes, you wouldn't be gone, not truly. You've left so many pieces of yourself, touched so many people's lives, just like my dad. You're a good person, Maes, you would've gone somewhere good, I know that. And I know not being scared anymore isn't as easy as me telling you. But I think, well, sweetie, as long as you stay good and have love in your heart, death doesn't have to be so scary, when it eventually comes. Maybe it's even a new beginning."
When did Elysia get so wise?
"You're a really good person, too, Elysia," Maes says into her shoulder, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry your dad's gone. But wherever he is, he must be so proud of you. I know it."
Elysia just kisses the top of his head and hugs him tighter.
000
"Thank you so much, Elysia," Dad says softly, pulling Maes out of his doze. He's with Dad now, his head nestled under Dad's chin, with Dad's arms under his shoulders and knees. Maes should be angry, he thinks, because Dad's carrying him like a baby, and Maes isn't a baby he's nine whole years old already and it's about time he started acting like it again. Then he smells Dad's aftershave, and the familiar laundry soap, and that weird hint of bonfire and ozone and Maes just feels safe.
Maybe Elysia's right. Maybe nine isn't so old after all.
000
Maes sleeps during the drive. When they get home, Dad takes him to the bathroom, and Mom meets them there, washing Maes' feet in the tub and bandaging the scratches and cuts. Then they get him in some new clean pajamas and bundle him into bed.
There seems to be some unspoken agreement between Mom and Dad not to discuss Maes'….well, whatever it was that Maes did the night before. They just sit in his room with him; Mom makes tea and Dad pulls in the portable radio. They do their paperwork while Maes naps, and read aloud to him while he's awake.
In the afternoon, Dad convinces Mom to go into the office, when they think Maes is still asleep. "Riza, just go," Dad whispers. "You planned to anyway. He'll be alright, I'm not moving." Eventually, Mom concedes, and Dad keeps his promise, sitting next to Maes on his bed, running his fingers lightly through Maes' hair as he reads the files on his lap.
His parents are acting like he's sick, and maybe, maybe he is. But it's not a normal sick for Maes, like a head cold or the flu. Something inside him, inside his heart is just so….unsettled. Ever since he's gotten home from the hospital, once he was awake longer than a few minutes at a time and had a chance to really comprehend what had happened to him, he's just been so unhappy. So distressed.
So terrified.
But, every other time he's been sick in his life, sneezing and coughing and retching, he eventually gets better. Eventually, the misery passes and the sickness goes away.
Maes has a feeling, no matter how strange and new this sickness is, it can go away, too. Because, just like every other time he's been sick in his life, his family is here to take care of him.
"Dad," Maes finally says softly, opening his eyes. Everything's blurry with his glasses off, but it's easy enough to read the concern on his father's face.
"Yeah, kiddo?" Dad's hand stops brushing, and just rests lightly at the top of his head.
"I just—I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry."
Dad's hand slides down from the top of Maes' head to his cheek. "Oh, Maesy, don't be sorry. Please don't." He lets out a shuddering breath. "I'm the one who owes you an apology. I owe you so many apologies, kiddo. I'm so sorry."
Maes scoots himself over and lets his head rest on Dad's leg.
Dad gave Maes his poisoned cake. Dad hired his once good friend Cook. Dad killed Cook's son.
"I've been so worried—well, I've been worried about you and your sisters ever since you came into our life—but lately, I've just, I was so terrified about Shireen at Briggs, and Shireen getting sick and Nijah's automail surgery. I thought you were the one I didn't have to be scared for. You were right here the whole time, right next to me. Turns out that was the most dangerous place of all. I'm so sorry, Maes."
Dad sounds like he's crying, but Maes can't see it. His face is turned to the files on Dad's lap. He reaches out his hand and traces his fingers on the folder.
"You always make me feel safe, Dad. You keep me safe."
Dad's breath catches, and he brushes his fingers through Maes' hair once again.
And he feels safe.
000
That night, Maes has his most vivid dream yet.
"You do realize my dear, sweet, wonderful Gracia went to very great pains to set you up with her lovely friend, correct?"
Roy just takes a long swing from his glass before slamming it on the bar and eyeing the bartender again.
"What was wrong with this one, Roy?"
Roy shrugs, and watches the bartender refill his cup, avoiding Maes' searching gaze.
"Not your type?"
Roy shrugs again, and takes another swing from his now full glass, emptying half of it in one go.
"Yes, I suppose Vanessa is distinctly lacking blonde hair, brown eyes, and a proclivity for firearms."
Roy slams the glass down so hard Maes is surprised it doesn't shatter.
"We're not talking about this again, Maes."
Maes rolls his eyes. "'Oh we're just friends. She's like my little sister, I love her like family.' I've never heard so much bullshit in all my life. You, Roy Mustang, are truly, madly and deeply in love, and seeing you in denial is positively painful to watch."
Roy huffs out a sigh. "Maes-,"
"Nope, nope, I don't want to hear it anymore, this is ridiculous, you're being ridiculous. You love her, and she obviously loves you. She's not a jewelry person and she wears those earrings you gave her every damn day, for God's sake, Roy."
"How did you know I gave her those?"
Maes smiles like a shark. "I didn't. I guessed."
Roy holds his head in his hands and mumbles something.
"What's that, Roy?"
"I don't deserve her."
Maes rolls his eyes again, then grabs one of Roy's wrists and drags his hand away from his face. "Fine. I don't agree with you, but fine. Do you think Riza deserves to be happy?"
"Of course she does."
"Well, what if the only person who can make her happy is you?"
Roy doesn't have an answer for that.
"Oh my God, please just go tell her how you feel. Go, get married, have babies, the whole shebang. Be happy."
"You know we can't, you idiot. We couldn't work together if we did."
"Then don't tell anybody now." Maes says in a staged whisper. "Forbidden love can be very fun. Makes things interesting. Gracia's mother actually didn't like me much-,"
"MAES."
Maes has a very clever, well-articulated and witty response on the tip of his tongue when the door of the bar opens, and he sees the couple walking down the street in front.
"Oh. Um. Roy, you may want to speed up the whole telling Hawkeye your feelings thing." Maes says, standing up and laying some coins on the bar, dragging Roy hurriedly to the door.
"What? Maes-,"
Maes pushes Roy out to the street.
The rest happens very quickly.
Roy sprints toward Riza and the tall handsome dickwad attempting to drag her into the alley, pulling out his gloves—and why the hell is Roy taking his gloves when he's drinking? The once drunkenly stumbling Riza Hawkeye takes down her attempted assaulter in short order because she's a fucking badass, and honestly if Maes was not incandescently happily married to the most wonderful woman in the world with a baby on the way, Roy would have competition.
Then the dastardly coward runs away, and the terrified coward grabs Hawkeye's hand under the streetlight. Maes can't hear what they're saying.
But he has a feeling they'll be okay. They might even finally be happy.
They better fucking name a kid after him, after what they've put him through.
000
When Maes wakes up, he's in his parents' bedroom, nestled between Mom and Dad. They must've moved him before they went to bed to keep an eye on him. Dad's arm is slung across his stomach, and he's snoring in Maes' ear.
Maes turns over to see his mother's eyes staring at him.
"I'm happy you're my parents," Maes whispers to her softly. "I'm happy I'm yours. I'm so glad I'm here."
Riza's knowing eyes grow wide and wet with tears, and she grabs his hand.
"Seems you're stuck with us, Maes. For better or worse."
000
The next morning, Maes doesn't remember his dream, nor waking up in the middle of the night when Mom asks about it.
But he has bacon and eggs for breakfast. When he asks for seconds, his parents cry.