Ed hadn't had his hair braided since his first week in the basement. His hair tie had broken, and then his arm was taken, and then after he had gotten out of the hospital, it felt safer to have it around his face and neck as just one more layer of security, something to hide behind.
It wasn't exactly braided now, but he had pulled it back into a low tail at the base of his neck. He felt exposed and vulnerable, but he felt all the stronger for it.
Because he was going to give this stupid report if it killed him, and anything that helped him do it would be welcomed.
He shuffled slowly down the hall, one arm outstretched and the other securing his blanket around his shoulders. His whole body ached, and his shoulder more than anything, but that wasn't going to stop him. He had to get through this. He simply had to.
He could hear Mustang slowly following behind him, practically shadowing him like he was afraid Ed would break just walking to the next room. "Edward . . ." he began.
Ed ignored him. He had just found the door, anyway. He could make out sounds of shifting paper and pencils rolling across a desk and could both hear and feel the footsteps vibrating through the floor underneath his bare feet. He fumbled to find the handle, then pushed it open before he lost his nerve.
All movement inside slowly came to a halt.
He could feel their eyes on him, burning him like a hot iron. He almost backed away.
But Mustang was behind him, and he couldn't leave. Not with Mustang watching him. He had to do this.
So he cleared his throat and tried to remember what glaring felt like on his face. "What are you staring at?" he demanded, before a thrill of fear closed his throat.
Demands meant pain. They would hit him for that for sure.
He took a slow, tentative step back.
He backed right into Mustang. The older man put an arm on his shoulder and didn't move. Ed let his earth-and-mesquite scent and strong presence take some of the edge off of his terror. He took a deep breath.
Of course they wouldn't hit him. This wasn't that kind of interrogation.
"Hey, Chief," Havoc's voice piped up, more gentle than Ed had ever heard it before. "You're looking good."
"Liar," Ed said, struggling to keep his scowl in place and his voice from shaking. He could do this. He could pretend to be himself. Who else could play the part better?
"Who's here?" He hated having to ask, calling attention to his disability like that. He hated not knowing.
"I'm here," Havoc said from probably the other side of the room.
"Hawkeye," the First Lieutenasnt announced not too far in front of him.
"Jim!" Silas chirped from his left.
Mustang shifted behind him and the movement made him realize he was leaning back more than he had thought, as if his body were trying to escape without his permission. He took another hesitant step into the room, but then he found he couldn't take another. He didn't even know where the chair was, anyway.
Yeah, that was as good an excuse as any.
"Where?" he asked, latching on to Mustang's sleeve. The familiar fabric and the man's body heat helped calm the fear he felt twisting in his gut, steadying him and focusing his erratic mind.
But as thankful as he was for Mustang, he wished it was Alphonse standing beside him.
Mustang wordlessly led him forward a few steps. Then Ed's flesh knee buckled and he would have fallen if not for the older man gripping his arm and holding him upright.
Someone inhaled sharply on the other side of the room, and there was a sudden shift, like someone jumping up to help.
Ed felt his face blush furiously as Mustang righted him. He was so pathetically terrified he couldn't even walk straight. He tried to keep going, but his body just wouldn't have it and he stood still.
"Ed?" Mustang asked, just a whisper in his ear. "We can stop this right now. You just have to ask."
He swallowed back a frustrated groan. "No," he said. "I'm doing this. Just get me to a stupid chair."
Ed was ashamed to admit that he was mostly dragged across the room, Mustang hauling him across the carpet like a balking mule until finally sitting him down in a chair. He hesitantly felt in front of him, hands grazing a smooth tabletop and brushing against some stray papers obviously not meant for him. He knew from where Havoc had spoken that he was across the table from him. He could hear him breathing and smell the lingering smell of smoke.
He tried not to recoil from a fire he knew didn't exist.
Hawkeye was beside Mustang on his left, her lavender scent strangely comforting, something to focus on instead of smoke and fire and pain. Silas was sitting right next to Ed on his other side, well within arms' reach, but that was fine for Ed. He didn't mind Silas, for the most part. It almost seemed like the man went out of his way to make enough noise for Ed to always know where exactly he was, and Ed always appreciated it. Even now, Ed could hear him scribbling something, his pen scratching against the paper and a finger softly drumming a steady beat on the tabletop. They were sounds he could hone in on when his mind started to race, something to keep him from going completely over the edge.
Mustang sat down beside him, so close that Ed's flesh shoulder and automail knee pressed against him. Almost without his permission, his body moved closer to the older man, curling against his side like he often did with Alphonse. He could feel the colonel's heartbeat thumping against his side and breathed easier for it. Ed's cheeks burned in embarrassment, but his heart stopped its frantic racing, calming to a pulse that struggled to match Mustang's.
Almost hesitantly, Mustang put a paternal arm around his shoulders. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Ed wanted to tell him no. He wanted, more than anything, for Mustang to take him out of there, away from the staring eyes with their horrible implications and the memories lurking in the peripherals of his mind. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to face his friends, and he certainly wasn't ready to face his nightmares.
He nodded and fought for his next breath.
"Okay, Chief, here's how it'll work," Havoc's voice explained gently. "All I need you to do is start from the beginning. The First Lieutenant and I will just ask you questions as you go to fill in the blanks. Think you can handle that?"
Ed's hand tightened around Mustang's sleeve. "Yeah, sure." His voice shook.
"Okay," Hawkeye said, her own voice soft and strong at the same time. "Tell us what happened the day you got to North City."
Ed swallowed thickly, his heart racing.
No, the first part was easy. He could tell them the first part.
"I met Corporal Landon at the station. He took me out to the warehouses, where I was left to my investigation. At approximately seventeen-hundred hours, I was ambushed."
XxXxXxX
Ed gritted his teeth and clutched his bleeding leg, trying hard to staunch both the crimson flow from his upper thigh and his pained gasps.
Out in the warehouse behind him, he could hear his pursuers searching for him. He had taken refuge between a stack of crates and the wall, worming himself between them and out of sight. He knew good and well he couldn't stay hidden forever, and it was only a matter of time before they stumbled across him, but he just really needed a minute to catch his breath.
Just a routine smash and grab, Mustang had said. Piece of cake, he had said.
Well, Ed was going to smash something when he got back, that was for sure.
He had been out inspecting the warehouses all day long, examining the crime scenes, looking for hints as to where someone could have broken in, possible escape routes, and any other relevant evidence he could find. He had braved the cold, his automail aching enough to make him wish for the hot deserts of Liore, and after wading through feet of snow and with the sky darkening into a shadowy gray, Ed was just about to call it a day and return to the outpost when he was ambushed.
Ambushed by a pack of thugs with automatics. Automatics.
As a member of the military, Ed had seen automatics, but he had never had the pleasure of running from them until today.
And run he did. Because stopping to throw together a transmutation was simply out of the question. The only time he stopped was when a round went straight through his thigh, and by then he didn't have a much of a choice.
He had ducked and rolled into an open warehouse door, then half stumbled, half dragged himself to the nearest cover he could find, and now he was trying to staunch the bleeding and consider his options.
As best he could tell, there were at least five of them. Five of them, and only one of him. The commander at the outpost knew where he was, but Ed wasn't due back for another hour, and they wouldn't start looking until hours after that. In other words, he was on his own.
In other words, he was so screwed.
He tried to take deep, controlled breaths as spots danced before his eyes. Adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, and it didn't hurt all that much yet, but that didn't mean blood loss wasn't starting to making things a bit fuzzy around the edges. He shivered, teeth chattering as shock started to settle in.
Okay, his options were fight, hide, or run. Running was off the table, considering he now had all the speed and prowess of a paraplegic gazelle.
He could stay and make a fight of it, but with all the blood slowly pooling around his legs and his head spinning the way it was, he doubted he'd last very long.
So, his best bet was to find a better place to hide. Any sort of transmutation would draw them on him like moths to flame, but maybe if he gave them something more pressing to deal with . . .
With no small amount of effort, Ed dragged himself down the wall and carefully peered around the corner of a crate.
And right into the gaze of a Drachman soldier.
XxXxXxX
It was almost easy to tell them, if he didn't think about it. Just like Teacher taught him about holding two separate thoughts in his head at the same time. He could explain what happened, and think about home at the same time.
"They caught me, put a bag over my head, and took me to the shack. When we got there, they treated my injury, but when I tried to get away, they figured out how my alchemy worked and yanked my arm out. Then they dumped me in the basement."
"Can you describe the men that took you?" Hawkeye asked.
The interruption stopped Ed's story like missing tracks stopped a train. Description?
He remembered the ones that hurt him.
He remembered hurting.
He could feel his pulse hammering in his ribcage, hear them moving, looking for something else to torture him with. The tools scraped across the table. His toenails had just started to grow back in . . . would they take them again? He tried to curl in on himself, to protect himself in any way possible.
"Ed," Mustang said, voice solid and close. He felt the man next to him, his hand tightening on his shoulder. "Focus, Ed. What did they look like?"
He could tell them that. That was easy. They were the last thing he saw . . .
No, don't think about that. Think about home.
He rattled off what he remembered of their faces. "That's all I remember."
"Then . . . the basement?" Havoc asked.
Ed couldn't quite suppress the shiver that wracked his spine. "The basement."
He thought about his mother.
XxXxXxX
Everything hurt.
Even his hair hurt, and he couldn't help but marvel at the novelty of it.
The door at the top of the stairs slammed closed, and even though his captors were gone, Ed wasn't quite ready to move yet.
It hadn't been very long since they had taken his arm, then stripped him of his clothes before they dumped him down in the basement, an iron collar around his neck and a chain connecting him to the wall like a dog.
In fact, the leader's exact words had been, "Chain him up like the dog he is." Ed hadn't exactly handled the experience well, and now a few of them were sporting his teeth marks in their forearms.
Of course, he was probably nursing a fractured jaw and some seriously bruised ribs, but in his mind, it had been totally worth it.
The basement was cold, and without any clothes or so much as a sheet, he could feel it seeping into his bones. The wound in his leg ached something terrible, but if the cold was good for anything, it helped to numb the sting of it. He still felt lightheaded from losing so much blood, and having his arm ripped off certainly hadn't helped. The Drachmans had sterilized his wound and stopped the bleeding, but for the life of him, Ed couldn't understand why. Obviously they needed him alive for something and figured septic shock would hamper their plans, but what could they possibly want from him?
All he could see in the dimness around him were the stone walls, a couple of wooden support beams and the stone steps ahead of him that lead up to the house. The floor had plenty of bloodstains on it, letting him know what he was probably in for, and reinforcing his drive to escape.
And as if he needed any more encouragement, he felt a heavy stare on his back.
He slowly picked up his head and turned to stare into a pair of silver eyes.
Ed immediately threw himself back against the wall and struggled to his feet. "Get back!" he snarled, kicking out at the gray wolf that had appeared just out of his reach. He almost overbalanced and clung to the wall behind him to keep from tipping over, his leg throbbing and his head spinning.
The creature watched him impassively, not at all fazed by his kicking and shouting. He noticed her pale gray pelt was thin, stretched taught over a gaunt rib cage, with sunken eyes and a hungry look that Ed decided was probably something permanent.
Maybe it was some kind of pet? "What do you want?" Ed demanded, not quite ready to trust something that so closely resembled a starving wild animal.
The wolf just continued to stare, as if Ed hadn't moved at all. It was unnerving, and Ed felt his heartbeat quicken a pace or two. "Well? You just going to sit there and stare?" he demanded irritably. It had not been his kind of day. This stupid mutt harassing him was the last thing he needed.
Then, like wraiths from the shadow, two more wolves appeared from underneath the staircase.
The first one to approach was clearly in charge. It was the biggest female, a dark gray with yellow eyes. The other female slinking close behind her had a coat the same color as ink, a crooked jaw, and dark amber eyes. Neither one of them was as thin as the first, but to say they looked to be starving would have been an understatement.
The biggest one shouldered her way past the tiny one, planted herself firmly between them and stared.
The black one eased to the big one's side and stopped to stare, too.
The skinny one just kept on staring.
Ed felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand on end. What kind of a sick place was this? Chaining him up like an animal in a room full of ravenous wolves?! "Don't get any ideas, flea bags," Ed warned, his voice trembling just the slightest. He had read books on animals like this before. You were supposed to make yourself look as big and intimidating as possible, but stripped of his arm and clothes and with a hole in his leg, he probably resembled dinner more than some sort of threat.
Nevertheless, he straightened as much as he could and forced his hand to let go of his aching leg. "Buzz off!" he shouted, taking a stumbling step forward.
That set them off. The big one's ears perked forward and its lips pulled back as it released a warning growl. The other two soon joined in, filling the small basement with their low rumbling.
Ed really wished he had his arm.
The big one charged forward with a snarl, spreading her jaws and aiming for Ed's thigh.
Leaning against the wall for balance, Ed kicked out his automail foot, connecting solidly with the animal's shoulder and sending it sprawling with a pained yelp. It quickly got out of his reach, then slinked off back under the staircase, the other two following close behind.
Shaking with spent adrenaline, Ed collapsed against the wall, heart racing and mind reeling.
XxXxXxX
"Okay, Ed," Hawkeye said gently. "Then what happened?"
Ed felt himself shaking all over. He tried to hold a picture of his mother in his mind's eye, but the sound of other's breathing reminded him too much of those animals . . . he could feel the stares on him, and they made him want to curl up and disappear.
He tightened his blanket around his shoulders and moved even closer to Mustang. Any nearer and he'd be in the man's lap, but Ed didn't have the ability to be self-conscious right then. He would be far more embarrassed about losing his mind than about losing face.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He inhaled deeply, calming his mind. He struggled for his other thought, something to keep his mind occupied while he spoke.
Ed thought of Winry.
"They took me up out of the basement a couple of days later. They asked me a lot of questions. Most of them were about North Command and Fort Briggs. About security and procedures . . . a lot of stuff I didn't know. They also kept asking me about some mission. Operation Firefight."
XxXxXxX
A heavy boot to his stomach had him dry heaving over the side of the chair. It had been three days since he'd eaten—three days trapped in that rat hole—and his stomach had nothing to throw up.
Really, three days was only his best estimate. There were no windows in the basement, and at first he had counted the hours by how hungry he was. And then he was starving, so he decided to count by how many times he slept. And then he was attacked by one of those dogs, so he didn't sleep.
So really, it could have been three days or a week, he wasn't sure.
They had finally dragged him out of there, only to strap him to a wooden chair with leather belts and ask him stupid questions that he wouldn't have answered if he could.
He finally regained himself and sat up as best he could, wiping his mouth across his shoulder and giving the one that had kicked him his best glare. "You hit like a girl."
Instead of getting mad, the big man grinned wolfishly. He wasn't nearly as big as Armstrong, but he had enough muscle to deal some damage, and a crooked nose to suggest he had sustained some himself. His eyes were the color of frozen lakes and held just about as much warmth. "You whimper like one," he sneered in his thick accent.
"I don't think you'll find us so easy to bait," the Interrogator said from his seat at the table near Ed's side. As far as Ed could tell, this man was the leader. He had a broad face, pocked by weather and time underneath a thick black beard. His eyes were small and vaguely reminded Ed of a weasel's, shining with a sociopathic sort of cruelty. Of the five Drachmans he'd met, this one probably had the thinnest accent. It was almost difficult to believe he wasn't Amestrian. "We're not asking difficult questions here, boy."
"And I'm not giving difficult answers, idiot," Ed snapped back. "I already told you my rank. That's all you get."
With a thin smile, the Interrogator made a gesture to Muscles, and Muscles proceeded to drive his fist into Ed's gut. Again.
Ed was pretty sure something cracked that time. A new, sharper pain blossomed from his lower chest and his stomach heaved again. His vision darkened just a bit around the edges and blood sang in his ears as his body tried to remember how to breathe.
"You see, boy, we can do things the easy way, or the hard way," the Interrogator said, glibly adjusting a tool of some sort on the table in front of him. "As entertaining as the hard way is, I'm afraid my time is not unlimited. If we don't get this over with soon, I'll have to bring in my second-hand, and though his methods are a bit . . . unconventional, you can't argue with his results."
Ed had never been tortured before, but he had read about interrogation tactics. It was in one of those informational pamphlets Mustang had shoved at him and demanded he read before he joined the military. He knew that once they got their information, the interrogation would be over, for more reasons than one.
He had to buy his time until he either figured out a way to escape, or he was rescued, because anything short of that would be his death sentence.
"Let's try something else, then," the Interrogator suggested, getting to his feet in one graceful motion. He rounded the table slowly, like a tiger rounds its prey, eyes glancing over a colorful assortment of tools that made Ed's stomach twist. He didn't know what all of them did, but he had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to find out soon enough. "I am very interested in a particular mission," he said, picking up a small knife and weighing it in his hands. "Operation Firefight. What is it?"
Ed was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from the glinting steel to meet the man's predatory gaze. If he told the man he didn't know, then he might be deemed useless and disposed of. He had to at least pretend he had information worth keeping him alive for.
He forcibly tore his gaze from the knife and gave the Interrogator an unimpressed look only tinged by his discomfort. Then he politely suggested that the Interrogator do something physically impossible to himself.
Another smile stretched the Interrogator's lips. He stepped closer, sliding the small knife neatly under his jaw to rest against his neck, the cold steel making goose bumps break out across Ed's bare flesh and his breathing halt. Ed pressed himself against the chair, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure.
"If I didn't need you to talk, I would cut out that tongue of yours," the man purred, slowly dragging the knife across Ed's throat. He felt the blade's kiss, sharp and hot against his skin, leaving a wet trail of warm blood behind. Ed gasped, his bound hand clenching the chair's arm, but he had nowhere else to retreat, and any sudden move might drive the knife deep enough to kill him, so he remained as still as he could while his hand shook.
"Maybe I should anyway," the man said thoughtfully. He brought the knife up his jaw, stopping to scrape it over Ed's stony lips.
Ed managed a ragged breath as he fought back a sickening wave of terror. He had to stay calm! This guy wanted him to lose his cool. He was bluffing, he had to be.
After what seemed like an eternity, the man's smile faded and he pulled away, taking the knife with him. "It's too bad I need information. You would be much more entertaining whimpering tongue-less, but I guess I'll just have to settle for good old-fashioned screaming."
Then he drove the knife into Ed's side.
XxXxXxX
"Edward!"
Ed flinched violently, scrambling away from the voice, but a firm grip stopped him. His side was on fire and he was bleeding everywhere. His hands were slick with the fluid and he couldn't get away.
He flailed, trying everything in his power to get away, but the straps were too tight. Panicked whimpers shook from his lips, but he didn't have the sense of self to be ashamed of it.
Voices rang all around him, but he couldn't make out anything they were saying. He just wanted to get away, anything to get away.
"Fullmetal."
Ed froze.
"M . . . Mustang?"
"That's right," Mustang promised, voice low and near. "I've got you, you can let go now."
Ed only then realized his hands were wrapped around something. He released them hurriedly, and a masculine voice grunted in pain as he did. "Havoc?" Ed dared to ask.
"It's okay, Chief," Havoc said lightly, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him. Ed had hurt him somehow. "Just my wrists. That automail's got quite the grip, doesn't it?"
Ed felt his body begin to shake anew. He had lost it . . . he'd hurt Havoc, and maybe someone else in the process. Bile rose in his throat, and even without sight, it felt like the room was spinning around him. His heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer and he couldn't breathe.
He felt Mustang's grip on his shoulder tighten, but instead of recoiling from it, Ed pressed closer, burying his face into the man's shoulder. It felt safer there. "Get me out of here," he gasped. "Please get me out of here."
"Okay, okay we're going," Mustang promised, moving. Ed tried to get to his feet, but his flesh leg wouldn't support him and he fell into the older man's side. Mustang held him up with one hand and wrapped the blanket tighter around him with the other before scooping him up in his strong arms. Ed was careful to hide his face from their stares the whole time until Mustang left the room.
"You did well, Ed," Mustang said softly above him as they moved down the hall, his steps thumping on the carpet at a fast clip.
Away from the oppressive stares and unrealistic expectations, Ed felt his chest loosen just a bit—just enough to breathe a little easier. He wrapped his hands in Mustang's shirt. "I . . . I hurt Havoc."
"He'll be fine. He just got in the way when he shouldn't have."
"Doesn't make it okay, Mustang."
Mustang changed direction and the air changed around them and Ed knew they were in his room. "Maybe not," Mustang agreed, "but it makes it understandable."
That didn't satisfy Ed, but he didn't say anything about it as Mustang set him on the bed. As soon as he was released, he curled in on himself, shivering with the sudden loss of the colonel's warmth. "Did I . . . did you get what you needed?"
He felt the bed dip beside his head as the older man sat down. The silence was answer enough, but Mustang finally spoke. "We were with you until you told us about . . . about the first time they hurt you," he said, voice brittle. "Then you started repeating 'stop' over and over again and we had a hard time getting you to snap out of it."
Ed felt dread coiling in his gut like a live snake, the thought alone enough to sicken him. "So we'll have to do it again."
"No, Ed, you don't have to," Mustang said firmly. "You don't have to, we'll find some other way."
Ed wanted to throw up, and probably the only thing that saved him from it was skipping lunch and dinner. "We'll finish it tomorrow."
"Ed—"
"Tomorrow." His voice trembled, and his hands shook enough to make the automail rattle. He wrapped them to his chest and cleared his throat. "Tomorrow."
So much hype about this chapter . . . I hope it's meeting expectations :'D
Ed's doing so well, though! Be proud ;v;
So his interrogation has to be divided up for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, I don't think Ed's physically capable of getting through all that at once. It's exhausting and the poor kid is at his wit's end :c
Secondly, I wanted to update before I go out of town for over a week, and the whole thing could get ridiculously long xD
As mentioned, after this week, I'm going out of town, so the next update is going to be a while :/ To tide you over, I'm hoping to release a one-shot between now and before I leave, so maybe that'll help? :'D
LAST WEEK OF SCHOOOOOOOL! *flails*
I think I'm forgetting something, but I can't think of it right now . . . oh well xD
Drop a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next chappy! C:
God Bless,
-RainFlame
