Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or the word definitions.
This is the end.
Enjoy!
Consummation: the ultimate end: finish
Fey: fated to die
Ed had a theory. Something was stopping Truth from completing a trade, and it had something to do with something Ed hadn't noticed the first day. That was the extent of his theory. Holes or not, he took it and ran. After all, what did he have to lose at this point?
He started by reliving everything as exactly to the first day as he could. By doing so he could account for the variables by watching for the similarities.
"His door was locked when I got there, but I got in pretty easy," Ed rambled, watching Mustang for clues. "He was in the basement activating a human transmutation array."
No wait, he hadn't told Mustang that the first time.
"Err," Ed awkwardly tried to remember what was supposed to come next. Mustang raised an eyebrow.
"Anyway…he refused to stop so I tackled him. Kicked his butt pretty good," Ed smirked with a little bit of pride.
Mustang's other eyebrow joined the first.
Yup, he definitely didn't say that the first time.
"I told him to give up or I'd throw him in a cell myself, but he refused and activated the array again."
Wait…
Again.
Again.
"And how did you respond?" Mustang prompted.
"…I stopped it…"
Lies. He was missing something. The truth lay within reach, and he felt his mind grinding overused gears to reveal the final missing piece.
"And what about the Philosopher Stone?"
Truth's words clicked in place.
Ed swore.
"Fullmetal?"
How had he missed it? He was so stupid! What time did the return train pull out of the station? If he ran he might make it.
"Fullmetal?"
Ed wasted no time bursting out of the office and booking it down Central's streets straight toward the Rejo boarding platform.
What if there had been a Philosopher Stone, and he'd missed it? What if Truth had taken the alchemist and the Philosopher Stone but hadn't been able to give anything back to equalize the exchange?
But what if it had?
… … … …
The array filled the room. The first time Ed had burst into the basement, he was forced to shout his threats and "wisdom" to the grieving man from one corner of the room. The area overflowed with rubble now. Ed wasn't idiotic enough to use alchemy to clear the beams and splinters of wood and plaster. He worked by hand to carefully clear the array of wreckage.
An hour and a half later, he stood by the edge of what might be the source of his problems. As expected, he didn't find a deformed pile of flesh and bones. The array was simply empty of anything that might have been given in return for the alchemist's life…and possibly more.
Ed's ribs hurt from the pounding of his heart. If he was wrong this would be his third suicide in as many days and he might not have another chance. But if he went back without testing his theory, nothing would change and he would end up dead. Again.
To break a cycle of repetition, something had to change.
CLAP!
Shwing!
Ed trained his mind on the center of the eye as the shadow hands reached to deconstruct him.
In seconds, his world flushed with white.
… … … …
"Good to see you again."
Ed slowly opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them. Ahead of him stood Truth, the final fragment of the Philosopher's Stone in its hand. "Sorry I can't say the same."
"Looks like there is enough for one more use." Truth turned it over.
"You knew the whole time," Ed accused, jabbing a finger at Truth.
Truth didn't deny it. "The alchemist had lost all hope thanks to what you said about the circle running in one direction. It was a clearly unfortunate suicide. And this," Truth closed formless fingers over the stone, "became an impressive cache of second chances for you."
Ed felt sick. He had been riding on the lives of others to give him extra chances not to mess up? "Then what happens now?"
"That's up to you," Truth stepped forward on Ed's flesh leg, "And what you want."
Ed's breath caught in his throat. No way was Truth offering to fix him.
Truth grinned.
No way was Ed going to let him. Not before Al.
There was no hesitation. "Just send me back."
Ed thought he heard a bit of derision in Truth's encompassing voice as it laughed. "Alright, Mr. Al-che-mist."
The Gate swung open wider than before, and the piece of Stone in Truth's grasp dissolved into red dust and disappeared into the air. Black tendrils like hands reached forward to deposit Ed into the world of the living.
"Goodbye."
"I'll be back," Ed promised as the shadow hands dragged him out. "But next time it'll be different."
"We shall see," Truth conceded.
The Gate slammed shut.
… … … …
Ed scuffed up the array. No, scuffed was the wrong word. He ruined the array – erasing nearly the whole of it – and then, for added peace of mind, re-covered the basement floor with the rubble. He collapsed at the edge of the mess, but what he really wanted was to melt into the ground. It was done; it was over.
He seriously considered paying for a hotel room in town to crash. There probably wasn't another train going back to Central till tomorrow anyway. But Al would worry, and Ed's heart ached to think of all the time he's missed spending with him all because Truth couldn't shut his front door without help.
Besides, the way he had been going, he wouldn't be able to sleep without Al around anyway. If he could make it back to bed in safety then all this really would be over.
Grumbling and cursing and mentally strung out enough to start laughing at his situation instead, Ed got to his feet and started the long walk back to Central.
… … … …
Ed woke up with his nose clogged with the scent of blood and scorched wires. His automail arm was screeching in protest as he struggled to move. All around him was quiet. And the last thing he remembered was running as fast as he could from the alchemist and his accomplice in the dark alleys of Central.
Ed's eyes shot open.
His right arm lay flat and fused to the wall with his flesh hand cuffed at the ground. The cold rushed to hug him with its familiar chill, and in the middle of the room stood the instigator of it all.
No. Nonononono. This couldn't be happening. Ed just fixed everything. This couldn't be how it all ended.
While the alchemist paced, Ed panicked. Mustang would come for him, and he would die. And this time there was no going back.
There wasn't much time. There never was. Ed decided then that he'd rather have eternity on his shoulders than just a few minutes and no second chances. As much as he loathed to admit it, there was a certain comfort in knowing he could always try again.
But he had lost his chances.
"Hey, peanut face!" Ed called. It was just like normal: if he changed nothing, then nothing changed. So he had to change something. "Where'd you learn to fight like a drowning cat? I've never seen such pathetic alchemy."
The blood from Ed's head wound seeped into the corner of his eye, but through it he thought he saw the alchemist frown.
"Normally people stupid enough to kidnap a state alchemist actually have the brains to do it right, but you can't even throw a real punch."
The alchemist crouched low in front of him just like the first time, and Ed could smell sour milk in his breath. "Then tell me, how do you explain that nasty head-smashing I gave you?"
Ed drew in a breath to retort, but his head suddenly drooped and blackness crawled around the edges of his vision. "You didn't do anything," Ed tried to sneer. His lungs felt heavy as though they had to push against walls of iron to provide air. He fought against the impending blackout. "You can't fight without help," he threw in.
"Hmm," the alchemist leaned close. "Speaking of that idiot partner of mine. I think he's a little late, don't you?" The gun slid into sight, and with great deliberation, the alchemist placed the end of the barrel between Ed's eyes. "Seems like that Colonel of yours doesn't care for you after all. I guess I get to do the job for him."
Al…I'm sorry.
Mustang burst through the door.
"STOP!" Ed bellowed and ducked his head low.
The warning shattered the air, and Mustang fumbled to react appropriately. But it was too late.
The bullet only veered to the side... and bounced harmlessly off Ed's mangled automail shoulder. It ricocheted right into the alchemist's arm.
"AAAGGH!" the alchemist screamed, and Hawkeye was on him in seconds, subduing him with a warning shot to the shoulder.
Mustang rushed to help Ed. "Fullmetal?" He tipped Ed's head up where it had stayed tight against his chest. "Ed, look at me. Where are you hurt?"
Ed stared at the alchemist writhing on the floor. "No more. I'm done. It's over." He sat paralyzed by the revelation.
"Ed?"
"It's over," Ed blinked, and a tear slipped out of his shock-wide eyes. The relief washed over him in a cleansing release, and his body sagged into the emotion. Until this moment, he hadn't noticed the tide of anxiety and tension building within him more and more every day. It was a relief to be done, a relief to embrace the exhaustion, and a relief not to die again.
His eyes traced his mangled automail. His nerves were silent as he absorbed the result of his reaction. Because he warned Mustang, the bullet had missed stealing his life and instead bounced harmlessly off his shoulder port. Bounced. It was kind of funny now that he thought about it. After all his attempts to circumvent the kidnapping and its disastrous end and after allowing his mind to spiral in endless panic for hours, the bullet simply bounced off his arm. Harmlessly.
"Edward?" Ed bowed his head into Mustang's chest, unable to stop laughing and crying, and not really caring that the trauma was finally sinking in and seizing control of his ability to function. The relief mingled with exhaustion-produced hilarity.
If he was being honest, he probably looked over dramatically hysterical. He had suffered worse in the eyes of his commander, but he felt the past few weeks (or perhaps months) had bestowed him enough trauma for his release to be understandable, rational even. No one would remember the day Hawkeye died nor the time Ed tried lighting Mustang on fire as a preemptive and rather ironic act of revenge for his own death. Armstrong had already forgotten the arm wrestling competition – in which Ed lost, and not because his arms were too short to reach. Winry wouldn't remember Ed's drunk-dial confession of affection after drinking half a cabinet of Mustang's finest liquor.
Alone, Ed had to face the remembrance of despair-filled hours when he thought he might never escape this catastrophe. He was stuck remembering the burn of a bullet and Al's premature…well, that still never happened.
Bewildered, Mustang tried to understand the reason for Ed's meltdown, prying the damaged automail off in case it was the source. Ed sobbed pathetically, glad to get it out while Al wasn't around.
It was over, and no one knew but him.
And now he had to go on living while everyone remained oblivious to his past months of torture.
Ed curled in on himself as Mustang yanked his ruined shoulder from the wreckage. He'd figure it out later if he got through the rest of this evening without getting killed again.
For now he just wanted some sleep.
Ed closed his eyes and the world went dark.
Funfacts: I originally got this idea after watching three time-loop movies in a row just a year ago. Two weeks before Christmas I was asked to write a giftfic, and I liked this idea enough to settle down for eleven days to write it all. I thought it would be long, but I didn't think it'd be long enough to be considered a novella. I was right. I ended up being about 1,500 words short. Sadness...If I wrote just a little bit more than I could tell you that I accidentally wrote a novella. Haha!
Also, this is the most words I've written on a story in such a short period of time. Aren't you proud of me? ;)
After all your comments I began to wonder if I should write Mustang's side of the story because, believe it or not, his POV is not him living the same day over and over - well, sort of. It doesn't change the main story-line found here, so it would be like a bonus set of chapters (or a one-shot). I'd also be willing to write in a few of the days that Ed lived but were only mentioned. Let me know if you are interested. I won't promise anything, but if you'd like to read more from this, I'll seriously consider it.
-Dante Morose