Chapter Four: The Tower
Umm… happy belated holidays and a good, healthy, and happy new year to all my readers—assuming you all are still with me. I do apologize for the excruciating lateness of this chapter. Unfortunately, classes got in the way of writing and so did work—the roommates did, too. Nothing saps creativity like three roommates with polaric temperaments—especially when you're stuck mediating; and/or making them realize their own stupidity. You may blame the extreme tardiness of this chapter on them and the two aforementioned things above.
Disclaimer: If I owned either anime, I wouldn't be writing a fanfic; this story would be included in the overall plot. That said; let's move onto the chapter, shall we?
………
"They weren't any trouble, were they?" Hakuro asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes on the three children that slumbered on the couch in an odd, twisted tangle.
"None at all," Hughes assured him. "As you can see, they wore themselves out. Elysia was extremely happy to have playmates," he continued, smiling. "You should bring your children by more often, sir."
"I just might," Hakuro said, turning back to him. The fire's light glinted off something in Hughes's hair; the general frowned as his gaze settled on the object.
"Something wrong, sir?" Hughes asked, noticing his stare. "Do I have something on my face?" he said, reaching up a hand and gently patting his fingers on his cheeks. "I thought I got all the cookie dough off," he said, still searching for the traces that weren't there.
"Maes," Hakuro said, not really wanting to know about the dough, "you have a barrette in your hair."
"Ah, damn!" As the curse left his mouth, his eyes flew open and swung to the still sleeping children and watched them intently. When they didn't stir or give any signs that they even heard the adults, he breathed a sigh of relief; he would live for the next couple of days, it seemed. He sent a thankful prayer to the heavens. "Another one?" he whispered, patting his head with the hope of locating the rogue hair accessory.
"A little more to the left. Now down," the blond-haired man instructed.
Smiling gratefully, Hughes snapped the metal to release the clump of hair it held prisoner and set the green barrette on the coffee table. "Thank you. Gracia thought she'd gotten them all, but…"
"Why was it there in the first place?"
"Your daughter and mine decided it'd be fun to play hair dresser, and your son, upon hearing this took residence under the couch in the upstairs den and avoided the girls like the plague until the cookies were done."
"And the cookie dough?" Hakuro asked, a sneaking suspicion niggling in the back of his mind.
"Ah, that," Maes said, nervously. He reached up a hand to the back of his head, fiddling with the hair there. It was a nervous gesture that he couldn't seem to help.
The general sighed. "He threw cookie dough at his sister, didn't he?"
Maes lowered his arm. "More like he started a miniature war in the kitchen, seeing as the girls retaliated. Gracia kicked them all out. He's done this before, hasn't he?" Hughes asked, seeing the exasperated look on Hakuro's face.
"Is it that obvious?"
"From one parent to another, yes."
"Who cleaned them up?"
"Gracia cleaned up the girls and washed the clothes. I shoved your son into a bath, and made him clean himself up—the nightgown's still wet from when he landed in the water. No offense intended. It was either that, or leave him covered in dough. And between the two girls, your son didn't fare very well."
Well no wonder the girls looked so radiant and his son looked like a pig had cleaned him. "I did that once; I thought my wife would murder me when she came home and saw him all decked out in dried-up, raw cookie dough," he said in a rare display of camaraderie.
Maes chuckled. "I'm sure mine would have buried me alive if I'd ever done that."
The two men shared tentative grins and stood in companionable silence, watching their children as they slept unaware of the protective eyes looking at them. The quiet was broken when Hakuro voiced a question that had been bothering him since earlier that day.
"Say, Hughes, why exactly did you request the business registration laws and forms for new businesses? Archer said that you were intending to open your own P.I. firm. Is that true?"
Next time Archer, I won't miss, Hughes thought menacingly. My knife will be the very last thing you ever see, you damned, interfering busybody, he thought savagely. "I'm afraid Lieutenant Archer is speculating without facts. Really, though," he said, holding up an index finger the way a teacher would, "as an investigator, he should know better. Nothing's more fatal to a case than jumping to conclusions," he lectured. Actually, he's sticking his nose where it shouldn't be; it's going to suffer a sharp mishap soon. Crossing his arms, he said, "I have no intention of starting a P.I. business; or a business,period, at this point. Now when I retire from active duty, that's another story. Gracia's always contemplated opening a shop of some sort. I think a baking shop would do quite nicely, or maybe a restaurant.
"I asked for the form and its accompanying policies because I'd been off in La-La Land walking home the other night and went too far past my street," he said, returning to the subject at hand. "Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a shop I'd never seen before, so I checked to see if it was listed."
"And it's not."
"No," Hughes said, nodding in agreement.
"Now who's speculating without facts?"
"With all due respect, sir, I've been down that street numerous times; the shop is very new. Our laws state that all businesses must be registered before they open. And seeing how it's still unregistered, I thought I would do the shop proprietor a favor by dropping off the form and corresponding rules."
"Alone?" Hakuro asked, raising his brow in surprise. What was Maes thinking?
"Well, no. I'd planned to ask Hawkeye to accompany me."
"May I remind you that you are an investigator and not military police?"
"Noted, sir," Hughes said, sitting on the arm of the couch.
"Then you can ask someone who is military police to deliver it for you."
"No, sir, I can't."
"Why ever not?" he asked, exasperated.
For a moment, Hughes debated with himself what to tell the other man. It was true that rank-wise, Hakuro was his superior, but Hughes did not report to him directly. Still… after this, Hakuro owed him. He eyed the barrette sitting innocuously on the table; the general had a major debt right now.
"Hughes?"
"Sir?"
"You were saying…" Hakuro prompted.
Maes sighed. "Off the record and confidential," he said.
"We're not in uniform, Hughes."
"With all due respect, sir—you're questioning me as a superior officer," Maes said steadily.
Damn, Hakuro thought. He doesn't miss a trick, he thought ruefully. If Archer were half as good, his cases wouldn't take so long and Military Court would actually be able to proceed instead of prisoners just sitting in jail twiddling their thumbs! Hughes was right, of course, he realized, thinking over their conversation. What had started as an innocent question had turned into a full-fledged discussion with him as the inquisitor. After a quick glance at the kids to make sure they were asleep and another fleeting glance in the direction where their wives had gone, he crossed his arms and grudgingly nodded at Hughes. "Off the record," he repeated, "and confidential."
"How much do you know about Ed and Roy's latest mission?"
………
From: the personal log of Colonel Roy Mustang—
A bad feeling— defined as an inexplicable hunch or instinct that something isn't right; or, the foreboding sense that something will happen and soon… something that isn't good, generally. Foreshadowing doom, according to the dictionary.
Lunacy, nonsense; it's as improbable as magic, I told myself. Scientists don't believe in bad feelings, I mocked. As such, neither do I, because I am a scientist—an alchemist, to be more precise. For me, the world is divided into equations that break down the natural world and explain how it works through numbers and formulas. Bad feelings are not explained by equations, ergo; they cannot be trusted or believed in.
But humans do believe in them. Somehow, over the years, while I sat at a desk as a Colonel or superior officer of some sort and issued orders, I lost sight of the fact that first and foremost, I was human; am human, still.
That bad feeling started in the bar when Hughes first showed me that damned book.
………
Sighing, Roy rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. It was stronger than ever.
What a complete hypocrite I am, he thought. I criticize Edward for believing in magic, but here I am, lying awake because I feel that something terrible is going to happen, he thought, settling a palm over his eyes and sighing again. Turning onto his right side, he stared at the wall for a few minutes. Enough of this, he thought. Nothing's going to happen, he chided, closing eyes.
He dreamed.
He was back at Ishbal.
No, I don't want to be here. Anywhere but here!
But it was no use. The memory continued to play its dreadful recording.
It was the night they'd committed the massacre; the night that had single-handedly put an end to the seven-year war between the military and the Ishballans. He shivered; he wanted to forget—forget his disgusting part in the senseless tragedy that he was hailed as a hero for. All around him, the ground bucked, heaved, and broke apart as explosions rocked it and reduced the buildings to rubble. Shouts and screams of terror from the surprise attack rent the air; he hated it. He clamped his head over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the sounds of terror. He hated being here, he hated dreaming about it. He hated the ghosts that haunted his waking and sleeping memory. Worse, he hated reliving the moments that made him into something lower than a human being; the familiar disgust with himself was beginning to well up.
"If you hate it so much, why do you come here?"
Blinking, he turned and looked at the person who'd spoken, hoping it was Hawkeye. It wasn't his gun-happy Lieutenant, he realized with disappointment. The person who stood adjacent to him wore a lilac-colored dress with an apron tied about her slim waist. She turned and faced him. Mustang felt his mouth drop open. What the hell was the Fuhrer's secretary doing in his dream? And why was she dressed like a housewife? Why couldn't she wear miniskirts…best not to continue that line of thought, he advised himself. This was more than a little disturbing.
He opened his mouth to name her, but stopped. Though they looked eerily similar, there were minute differences. Her hair wasn't as long and it was a lighter shade of brown than Juliet Douglass's and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her eyes were a hazel color that shone with kindness and understanding. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his own coal-colored eyes. He'd seen those eyes before… no, he'd seen her face before—or a likeness of it— beyond her similarity to Ms. Douglass.
And then he remembered. Resembool—before Ed and Al attempted to bring their mother back. He'd seen Hoenheim's sons before they'd tried. Alphonse—that was where he'd seen her face; Alphonse looked like his mother, right down to his eyes—at least, before he'd lost his body. "Mrs. Elric? What are you doing here in my nightmare?"
"I seem to be everywhere these days," she said, waving the question away. "Why do you come here?"
He frowned. "So that even though I want to, I never forget."
"Forget?" she echoed. "There's a difference between tormenting oneself and forgetting. This," she said gesturing to the carnage, "is torment. You need to move on at some point, you know. Let's change the scenery."
The massacre disappeared and was replaced with lush green acres and ripe produce in need of picking. In one of those fields they stood; she was picking apples and placing them in the basket held on her hip with ease.
"They always did neglect helping me with the harvesting," she said fondly, stopping what she was doing and wiping away the fine sheen of sweat on her brow. Putting the half-full basket down, she picked out two ripe apples and handed him one. Taking it, he took the opportunity to look for the boys. Where are they he wondered. He spotted them at the river not far from their house. They were sprawled out haphazardly on their backs in the thick grass with emerald-colored shoots decorating their clothing and hair; they giggled, gasped, and panted contentedly.
She joined his gaze. "Seems they got into a tussle. It always did amaze and irritate me at how my sons managed to disappear whenever work needed to be done."
"I don't think he's changed much. He avoids HQ at all costs."
She gave him a penetrating look. "Is that so?"
"Partially," he replied, watching a sweet-faced girl with short, light blond hair trot over to Ed and Al. Winry Rockbell. The name slid through him along with the unpleasant memory of what he'd done to that poor child. He shuddered involuntarily and tried to ignore the images of the past.
"Stop it," she said sharply.
Her voice brought him back—the surrounding area stopped shifting. Taking a deep breath, he looked over at the three kids again and saw Al and Winry laughing at a pouting Edward. Roy smiled sadly. "I think your son hates me," he confessed to her.
"I think 'hate' is too strong a word for you," she replied.
"Why do you say that?" he asked curiously.
"I think perhaps," she said, "that it's an appropriate word for his father, but not for you. Edward's still a child, if his actions and thoughts are anything to judge by."
That certainly hadn't been the answer he was expecting. "I beg your pardon?" he asked. "I have to disagree with you. Edward isn't a child."
"And how many adults do you know that react the way Edward does when criticized about his height?"
There was no refuting that one, he knew. He didn't know any adults that would act that way.
"I rest my case," she said. "I would say that Edward is perpetually annoyed with you and I'd venture to guess that he doesn't understand."
His brow furrowed. "Understand what?"
"Why you tease him so mercilessly." Her eyes twinkled at his sheepish look. "And why you send him on missions with only the bare minimum of information thereby prolonging the assignment."
Mustang touched his throat gently. "Your son put that beloved blade of his to my throat for that offense," he sulked.
She shrugged. "You were about to turn him into toast. Call it self defense."
"He told me to finish him," he said. "Remind me to thank your husband for Edward's temper—if I ever manage to find him."
Trisha Elric laughed. "Edward didn't get his temper from his father," she chortled. "He got it from me!"
He gaped at her. Her grin only widened. "I'm sorry," he said carefully. "I don't think I heard you properly."
"No, I think you did. I was the one with the temper. One had to push Hoenheim quite a bit to get an angry reaction from him. His head was always in the clouds thinking, or his nose was buried in an alchemy book — at least, when we were a family; I don't know about now. But I do know that Edward got his temper from me."
Great, Roy thought. That's just perfect. He managed an unconvincing smile at the information, sending his odd companion into peals of laughter. He glared at her grumpily. Ha, ha, he thought crossing his arms and pouting childishly. Real funny.
"Don't stop what you're doing," she said, when her laughter subsided. She regarded him with a serious expression.
"What? Glaring at you?"
"No. That you can stop. It makes you look childish. I, at least, understand the motive behind your actions."
"Oh?" he asked.
"Your constant teasing and assigning of cases with little to no information makes him reluctant to return to you and give reports, so he avoids the task as long as possible. Not only does this give Ed the chance to learn, explore, and search, but it keeps him away from the military as much as it can. Pushing people away like that is effective in this case."
It was creepy how well she could read him; she didn't even know him and yet she read him like an open book — quite a feat considering many of his associates couldn't make heads or tails of him. "You're partially correct. I do try to keep Ed away as much as possible for his protection. So yes, I send him on missions without information and I tease him mercilessly. But that's not my only motivation."
"Well then let's hear the other one."
"It's fun," he said, smirking. "I rather like teasing the pipsqueak."
She huffed in annoyance, crossed her arms, and aimed a glare at him; his smirk widened. "You were an only child, weren't you?"
His response was a lazy smile.
"It shows," she said, nodding decisively to herself. "But you'll continue, won't you?" she asked.
"What? Making fun of Edward? Sure," he said, shrugging.
Pain lanced through his scalp like lightning and then receded, settling to throb gently at the back of his head where he'd been hit. Pressing one hand to the smarting area, he glared at Trisha Elric. She lowered her arm back down to her side and matched his glare. Sighing, he closed his eyes, only to see in his mind the beseeching look that Edward had worn not even a day ago. Superimposed over Ed's face was his mother's with the same expression; it was an eerie contrast. Opening his eyes, he smiled gently. "You don't even have to ask," he told her.
"Thank you, Colonel Mustang."
He opened his mouth to ask her a question, but she stiffened suddenly and her eyes widened. A grave, knowing look settled over her features. "You should wake up now."
"What? Why?"
"Time to start keeping your promise to me."
"Wait!" he said. But the dream was fading, dissolving fast, and far off, he could hear a steady, familiar roar. "Wait!" he called to the disappearing image. "What's happening? What's going on?"
"You're the Flame Alchemist," she said. And then, she was gone.
Smoke filled his lungs.
His eyes flew open in sudden realization and he fell from the bed, coughing and wheezing. Quickly, he clamped one hand over his mouth and nose and gazed around wildly. What the… His mind finally registered what was happening. Bastards, he thought viciously. Just wait, if I get my hands on you… He let the threat trail off. There was no doubt what he'd do to them. But first he had to get out of the place alive with Edward and Alphonse in the same condition.
You're the Flame Alchemist.
I am indeed, he thought grimly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two gloves and slipped them on. Snapping his fingers, he decreased the oxygen. The flames went down, but didn't die out. Still, he'd bought some time—for this room at least; he wasn't so sure about himself: it was already getting hard to breathe He began to walk over to the door. Before he could reach it, the door burst open and Alphonse barreled in.
"Colonel!" he cried.
"Alphonse," he replied nodding. "Good. Where's Fullmetal?"
"I don't know!" came the dismayed reply.
I take it back, he thought, that's not good.
………
I'd made a promise to someone who was dead-- while I was dreaming, no less; Edward was MIA, Alphonse had no clue where he was, and oh, the hotel was burning down—albeit more slowly than a building normally does, thanks to me, but still burning all the same. The night just kept getting better and better.
………
He thought fast: they had to get out and get away without being seen. Since they were not expected to make it out alive, that might be easily accomplished; but if they knew about his abilities as an alchemist, then it was safe to say they'd be lying in wait. Mustang hoped beyond hope that they were clueless. But like any good—or rather, seasoned—soldier, he took into account that most likely, hope wasn't going to save them. He tossed a quick glance out the window and allowed a small smirk to surface. Perfect. The smirk died when he heard steel trying to quietly exit the room. Perfect, except for Alphonse trying to leave the room.
"Alphonse Elric!" he called sharply.
The suit of armor stopped suddenly, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Al reluctantly turned and looked at the Colonel. "Yes?" he asked innocently.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To find my brother?" he replied.
"Absolutely not."
"What? But why not?"
If the fire wasn't threatening the wall nearest to him he'd have banged his head. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, and asked whatever god was listening for patience and, more importantly, time. "Because the hotel is burning down?"
"But you stopped the flames!" He looked at the small embers chewing at the wood in the corners. "Mostly," he added.
"You're going out there," he said, gesturing to the dark landscape outside the window with his thumb. "And you're going to hide near enough to the edge of the forest where I can find you."
"What? But why?"
"Why?" he echoed. "What do you mean, why? Because you're the kid and I'm the adult? Because whoever did this might know that I'm an alchemist and expect something like this to happen? Because I'm the superior and I'm ordering you?"
All at once, the dismayed, questioning tone disappeared; Al straightened and stood at full height. His expression went from distressed to solemn in a matter of seconds. "No, I won't. I'm going to find my brother first," he said. "You may be Brother's superior, but you're not mine. In case you've forgotten, Colonel," Al spat, "you made me drop out of the exam!"
His eyes narrowed and sharpened. I don't believe I'm arguing something that should be common sense to him. When we meet next, Mrs. Elric, you and I will be talking about this. "And how would you have explained that blood seal in your armor, Alphonse?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone dangerously pleasant.
"You don't know that they wouldn't have asked me questions like they did Brother!"
This really isn't the time to be arguing with him. I'm wasting precious oxygen. "I do," he said.
"How?" Al asked suspiciously.
"What, you think a seven-foot suit of armor that walks, talks, and takes an alchemy exam is normal? You think Gran didn't start to suspect your secret? Be logical, Alphonse! The minute they saw you they were bound to issue that you take the physical should you pass the written exam."
"But—"
Roy cut him off. "No! No buts! No if's and no and's!" he snarled. Stalking over to the window, he drew an array on the wall. "You're leaving the hotel now," he said, pressing a gloved hand on the outer lines of the circle. It lit up brilliantly, like a shooting star. The wood on the other side of the window flew out and down to the ground, reforming into steps as it went. He looked back at Alphonse and his eyes softened. "Alphonse, as wondrous as your temporary body is, it's still susceptible to high temperatures. Fire melts metal. As one scientist to another, I certainly don't need to tell you that. I also don't need to tell you that if anything happens to your blood seal, you're history," he finished, hating himself for distressing the boy.
He nodded to the newly formed staircase. "Leave the Fullmetal one to me. We'll see you at the bottom."
"Colonel," he said, not quite knowing what to say.
"Go, Alphonse. I'm not going to tell you again. Remember, if anything happens to you, Edward will destroy himself. You're the only thing keeping him going."
That shut him up. Clambering over to the window, he paused only to pick up Mustang's bags. Said man looked back at him as if he'd grown another head. "I've already got Ed's and mine," he told him sheepishly, patting his stomach.
Roy sighed in exasperation. "Yes, yes—that's fine. Now hurry!" he said, pointing to the outside.
"Right!" the boy said, nodding and starting down the newly formed stairs. The Colonel's voice stopped him momentarily.
"Where would Ed have gone?" he asked.
"Somewhere where he could think," he responded automatically.
Mustang nodded. "Move," he said shortly.
Al began his descent once again.
As soon as he was sure that Al was safely on the ground and in the safety of the dark woods—at least, more safe than the hotel at the moment—he began to try and figure out where Edward would have gone. Al said somewhere where he'd be able to think. Knowing Ed, that's probably more like drowning in self-pity and self-hatred. Still, he'd need to be alone for that or Al would question him relentlessly. If I needed to be alone to brood and I were a blond pipsqueak, where would I go, he wondered putting his hand to his chin and rubbing his lower lip absentmindedly. He looked up and titled his head to the side; his eyes narrowed in realization. The roof.
………
While it served to shut Al up temporarily and get him out of the building, I'm almost positive that he didn't believe me when I told him that if anything happened to him, Edward would destroy himself. Unfortunately, it's very true. Maybe it's just one of those things that only adults can see. Or, as a pesky guest in dreams would comment, it's a parental thing. Maes has presented this notion to me before, too, only to go running from my flames. Edward would willingly try human transmutation again to bring Al back; he'd sacrifice whatever he had to. On a darker note, his quest might just come to that. He hasn't exactly gotten results with other methods…
………
Holding one hand aloft, fingers poised to snap, he took a few minutes to survey the hallway. He looked speculatively at the path leading to main stairwell to his left, but found himself leaning to the right and hoping there was a set of stairs there, too. He wasn't sure where the fire had started—inside or outside—but it was likely to assume that if started inside, the wonderful, peace-loving townspeople had torched the main stairwell, just in case the visitors they were trying to kill decided to attempt escaping. People will logically use or try to use the main exit for evacuating first. His mind made up, he turned right and went down the hall. If there's no stairway, I can make one! The same goes for doors!
………
As luck would have it, there was a stairwell. That's also where the odds were against me: they led up to the attic. Perhaps not so unfortunate, after all—the attic was right below where I needed to be, at least; or so I hoped. I was relying on the chance that I knew Edward well enough to predict where he'd go if he wanted to be alone.
………
Edward, he thought grimly, his eyes sweeping around the cramped space that was the attic, you'd feel right at home in this room. It's midget-sized, just like you, he thought, hastily drawing an array with a well-used—in actuality an abused—piece of chalk. The circle complete, he activated it and shoved the new door open. When he saw the sky and a slim view of ground above the doorway, he allowed himself a quick, triumphant smirk that melted into a frown one second later: smoke had begun to slip into the room. On an oath, he hauled himself out and slammed the door shut; it sealed behind him.
Stooping down and keeping low, he gazed around, fervently wishing he wouldn't have to travel far to find the errant blond. Squinting in the flickering light, he thought he saw a spark glinting off metal. Whether it was auto-mail or a weapon of sorts, he didn't know, but he made his way cautiously towards what he hoped was automail. When his eyes encountered a blond braid, he breathed a sigh of relief. His luck had returned momentarily, it seemed. Crouching, he inspected the boy. Edward's breathing was light and rhythmic, his chest went up and down systematically, and his eyelids flickered rapidly, but his face was peaceful, serene even, despite the uncomfortable position he'd sprawled himself into.
Mustang let out a breath and shook his head. It wasn't fair, he decided. He knew that Ed wouldn't suffer more than a few hours from sleeping in that position. If he'd slept like that, he'd feel it for days. Children are so resilient. Ah, the beauty of youth, he thought whimsically. Anyhow. He turned his mind back to the task at hand. Now I just have to get him down. Easier said than done—we can't go back inside, either. The fire's spread too far. Sweeping his eyes over the roof, he frowned and took out the abused chalk he'd gotten from Alphonse and drew another array. It'd be more convenient if you were awake and did this, he thought, glancing at the still-sleeping boy. Unfortunately, I know what you're like when suddenly awoken and should you see that it was me who woke you, not only will I never hear the end of it, but everyone else in hearing distance will know we're not dead. Gently pressing his hand to the transmutation circle, he watched blue light overtake the white lines; the glowing circle began to crackle with electricity as the roof heaved and groaned in response to being broken down and reformed. When the stones remade themselves, he removed his hand and crawled over to Edward.
Now came the risky part. He hoped against hope that no one had seen that feat of alchemy and now had their eyes focused on the roof. He didn't think he had enough energy for running, dashing, and dodging miscellaneous weapons and attacks. Grabbing Ed's arms as gently as he could, he heaved the boy up and over his shoulder. He felt the effects of the automail weighing him down immediately and nearly pitched forward, barely managing to catch himself with one hand. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay upright and slowly began to straighten up, biting his lip as he did so to keep from groaning. Damn it, Fullmetal, you had better find that stone and restore your body soon! You're heavy! How the hell can a pipsqueak like you be so cumbersome?
Once he was standing, he wiped away the sweat that had broken out on his forehead, wrapped one arm around Ed's waist to keep him from falling, and looked around cautiously. So far, so good. Holding his breath, he started down the stairs as quietly and as possible, wincing at every sound. When he finally reached the forest, he breathed again. Turning around, he watched the fire consume the building at a rapid rate—now that he was no longer affecting the oxygen—for a few seconds before turning again and looking for Alphonse; Mustang didn't think they were too far apart, but again, he couldn't be sure. A piece of the roof collapsed in the blaze.
The crashing woke Edward from his slumber. Crinkling his brow, he peered at the ground through sleep-filled eyes. Closing them again, he allowed himself to drift off into a light doze until a pounding in his head woke him up again. He focused on the ground and shook his head gently, trying to clear it. A faint twist of the back he was leaning against brought him fully to reality. Tilting his head a bit, he realized he was looking at someone's backside and judging by his distance from the ground, someone male. Al, he wondered. No, it can't be Al; I can't feel the coldness of his armor. So who's holding me? From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a white-glove encased hand— an angry, red flush spread on his cheekbones—he knew that glove! Bastard Colonel, he thought angrily. What the hell do you think you're doing?
Another crash made him freeze; the scent of smoke caused his insides to turn to jelly and a fine tremor began throughout his slight frame. Please don't let me see what I think I'm going to... they couldn't be that vicious here, could they? Slowly and hoping against hope, he turned his head towards the source of the sound. His stomach churned: the hotel was on fire—and another piece of the roof—the very place where he'd fallen asleep, had just collapsed into the sea of flames. But we're outside, aren't we? We're far away from there, me, the Colonel, and Al. He twisted his head, looking for his little brother. Al, he thought, where's Al? He's out here, isn't he? Where is he? Why can't I see him? Another piece of the roof joined its fallen comrades and he turned reluctantly back to the blaze. A horrible thought came to him. What if Al hadn't made it? What if the Colonel hadn't bothered to try and save him, too? What if Mustang had abandoned him in the fire? In his mind's eye, Ed could see him smirking cruelly at his brother and turning with Ed over his shoulder, abandoning him in the fire he'd probably started…
No, he berated, giving himself a mental slap. Colonel Mustang would never do that! But where was his brother? He should be the one holding him, not the Colonel. And if Al had made it, he'd have been resting with his brother keeping watch over him. The only logical solution to him was that Al simply hadn't made it, and he didn't know why.
"Al," he called weakly. "Al," he said again, stronger this time. "Al, Al, Al!" he cried, struggling vainly to get Mustang to let him go.
"Fullmetal!" he heard distantly. "Edward, stop it! If they're around, you'll bring them right to us!"
He paid no attention to the voice or the man calling his given and military name. All he could focus on was getting down to find the brother he called for repeatedly. "Al!" he cried, beating and struggling against the arm that systematically tightened around his waist. He pounded on the man's lower back. "Let me go! He's my brother! How could you leave him behind! Al! Al, answer me!"
Roy winced and suppressed a pained groan as Edward's fists landed on his spine. Of all the things to happen, he'd least expected this, although, he probably should have. A crashing sound reverberated through the wooded area and Alphonse burst into the small clearing. For the first time since this entire fiasco began, he smiled. Al's timing was perfect.
"Brother!" he cried. "Brother, stop!" he said, catching Edward's raving fists. "I'm right here. Leave the Colonel's back alone."
"Al?" he asked, quieting down immediately. "You're okay?"
Roy heaved an internal sigh of relief that his spine echoed. Al's voice had done the trick.
"Of course I am," Alphonse replied. "Colonel Mustang made me leave the hotel first and then went to find and bring you out."
"I would never willingly leave your brother in danger, Fullmetal. You know that." Mustang's voice held a trace of anger and a lot of exasperation. Crouching down, Roy placed the boy on his feet and stood back up, groaning and rubbing the spots where Edward had hit him, wincing as he did. "Thank you, Fullmetal. As if I haven't gone through enough this evening, I have to add bruises from your fists."
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I just… For some reason…"
"What?" Roy asked absentmindedly, still trying to alleviate the pain screaming in his back.
"I thought you'd left my brother behind," he said in a rush. "Logic flew out the window—I panicked. Sorry, Colonel," he said in a rush
He sighed. "Don't worry about it, Ed. But I thought you knew better than that. Why would I place either of you in danger willingly?" he asked, his voice slightly hurt. Wow, he thought. I am tired. Normally, I'd have more snarky comebacks. Normally, that wouldn't have even fazed me.
"Oh?" Ed replied, crossing his arms; a predatory gleam lit up his amber-gold eyes. With the fire enhancing their color, he looked positively demonic. "And all those assignments where we had to fight our way out of? Lior, for instance?" he asked. "Xenotime, where we had to deal with a corrupt land owner? And how about Youswell?"
"I never ordered you to go to Xenotime," he retorted. "That was strictly your doing on the word of a thief. Whatever mishaps you suffered there were entirely your fault."
Neither of them saw Alphonse roll his eyes and heave an exasperated sigh. Here they go again, he thought. "Uh…guys, perhaps this isn't the place for this? They could be looking for us… the people that started the fire…"
"Not now, Al," Ed said. "And how do you explain the other two places? A fake priest and corrupt government official that made you look good."
"Brother, please," Al tried again, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "This really isn't the time for this. I think I can hear voices coming in this direction…"
"Just a minute, Alphonse," Mustang said, cutting him off. "Were you honestly in danger in Lior? Are you telling me that the Fullmetal Alchemist can't even hold his own against a charlatan masquerading as priest, or a greedy Lieutenant? That's what I thought," he said smirking at a furious Edward.
"Bastard!"
"Pipsqueak."
"What was that? Want to say that to my face?" Ed asked, fist up and ready to leap.
"No, I don't. You're too short. I'd have to bend too far to reach you and my back already hurts, thanks to you."
Alphonse's rarely used temper rose to the surface. Honestly, if he didn't know better, he would have thought they'd turned back into children with the way they were bickering—well, Ed at least. The Colonel was the Colonel—there was no way to explain him. Either way, this wasn't the time or place for this! He really could hear voices, and if this continued, they'd be found for sure. Before either could get another word out, Al smacked them both upside the head and leveled a glare at their surprised faces.
"We don't have time for this," he bit out slowly and precisely. "I really can hear voices coming in the direction of the hotel. If they find us, we really will be in trouble. I don't think any of us are up to fighting right now." He turned to Edward. "Brother, Colonel Mustang's right: we weren't really in trouble in Lior or Youswell. He'd never willingly put us in the kind of danger we couldn't get out of."
Thanks Alphonse. Way to make me look good, Roy thought sardonically, wondering how to reply to what the younger Elric had said. He didn't have time to, however. He heard them too. Tensing, his eyes narrowed—he forgot about his aching back and the small but amusing spat he'd just had with Ed, and clamped a hand over the blond's mouth and made a motion for silence with his other. "Not a word," he said, his voice low.
………
"Honey! Honey, wake up!"
Blinking sleepily, Komura Mishimi looked up at his wife's frightened face in the flickering, orange light. Aww, he thought, his head still fuzzy from sleep, how cute! I'll bet she had a nightmare, the poor dear. "There, there," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "It'll be okay."
"Really?" she asked, staring over his shoulder.
"Of course," he said, nodding decisively, not noticing that his wife's attention was on everything but him.
"You might try telling that to the burning building."
"Burning building? What burning building?" he asked, looking down at her and frowning.
Wordlessly, she continued to stare out the window. Taking her hint, he pivoted and looked out the window; he was out of bed and staring from it half a moment later. Damn them, he thought savagely. Damn them all! How could they? Michi-kun's place! He built it with his own two hands! He flew around the room, tossing on clothes and seething with rage. Is this what we are teaching our children to do every time a stranger comes and asks us questions we don't wish to answer? May the gods have mercy on us! Before leaving, he turned and looked at his wife solemnly, regret showing plainly.
"I'm sorry," he told her.
"Don't be. Shiguna told me that there were kids with that man. If they live, any of them, I'll have a room ready."
His heart swelled. His wife wasn't the most beautiful woman—no Minakaru was their island belle—but she was definitely the wisest and kindest of the women—the perfect compliment to the village leader. "My gut tells me they're not stupid enough to fall for this attempt," he told her, pulling on a jacket. Crossing the room again, he gave her a quick kiss and left without looking back.
Outside, he started to run towards the blaze that had been an inn, hoping that what he'd just told his wife was true.
………
A new person showed up, Roy thought, exasperated. It's a regular jamboree. Hip-hip-hooray. Glancing around, he decided to risk moving further back into the woods while they were all occupied. They'd been extremely fortunate thus far, but the seasoned soldier was aware of how far luck would take him.
The newcomer was vaguely familiar and for a second, Mustang wanted nothing more than to figure out where he'd seen the man—but no, there wasn't time. While the newest latecomer was screaming at the other gathered individuals, they could move into the foliage behind them. "Slowly and quietly make your way into the trees. Be prepared to run if any of them turn, understand?"
They both nodded.
"All right, then. Quickly, now—go!"
As quietly as they were able, they snuck into the woodland behind them.
………
"For your sakes," he said sternly to the chagrined men in front of him, "I certainly hope Arashimichi understands." He crossed his arms and looked at the sea of flames in front of him. Wiping away the gathered sweat, he added, "But I wouldn't bet on it. He built this house as a bridal gift for his late wife and converted it to an inn at her request. It took him five years to complete it and now, just to get rid of some strangers, you've burned it down."
"Mishi-kun, they were asking about the jewel as if they knew about it already!"
"His family grew up in that house," Komura said to himself, outwardly ignoring the gathered group. "What, I wonder," he said fixing the speaker with an icy glare, "will you tell your wife? She grew up there, too. His favorite child, if I recall correctly."
"He's not going to listen," another said. "Don't waste your breath. We know that we did what we had to do."
"You 'did what you had to do'?" he repeated with an air of incredulity. "You went ahead with murder and call it necessity?"
"Yes!" the man said hotly. "We can't let the story of the jewel get out."
"There's no talking to any of you," he said, with disgust.
"And there's no getting points across to you!"
Komura Mishimi snapped at that comment. Crossing over to the man, he grabbed his shirt and dragged him closer until their noses were almost touching. "Kentamaru, you, of all people should know that it doesn't help the jewel become pure if we commit murder in its name!" he snarled. "They were innocent people and on top of that, two of them were children. How could you be so deranged?"
Disgusted and sick, he shoved the man away from him before he could answer and turned his back on the motley group. "Don't come crying to me when Arashimichi doesn't understand and becomes angry with you. You've made your beds, gentlemen; now sleep in them." With that, he walked off. When he was far enough away, he made a detour.
………
He's gone. That's good, Mustang thought. The men who'd gathered were starting to depart. Soon it would be safe for them to move away from the area and find a secluded place—preferably a cave—to rest in until the dawn. Once morning has come, people will be busy here. A perfect time to search for that shrine and get the hell out of here. His dark eyes trailed to his left where Edward and Alphonse were standing and chatting quietly. He knew Ed was about ready to drop even though he stifled his yawns; Al could see it, too. Roy himself was tired, but he could afford to go without sleep for the remainder of the night—it was nothing he hadn't done before. I think we need to move now while they're watching the fire or leaving.
Before he could turn to the two brothers, he stiffened when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Swiftly turning he gasped in surprise. "You!" he exclaimed.
………
"And that's it," Hughes said.
For a few minutes, Major General Hakuro was absolutely floored. There was no possible way. "Tell me I misheard you," he said sharply.
Maes just shook his head.
"Do you understand what you've told me?" he asked.
"Of course I do. To translate it for the normal person, they are not on a sanctioned mission—it's covert. So covert that it doesn't exist on paper. They're on their own."
"Which means the military can't step in and help them if they get in trouble. Hell, Maes, they can't even contact us if they were!"
"The kids, sir."
Hakuro's hand flew to his mouth and he looked at the kids warily. His son shifted, but otherwise seemed asleep—seemed, being the key word. He beckoned to Hughes and moved away from the children. When they were a suitable enough distance away, he resumed.
"Why would Fuhrer Bradley allow such a mission?"
"You find it strange, too?" Hughes asked. "On top of that, this isn't the first time he's supported Ed's hunt for the Philosopher's Stone."
"How long has it been going on, this support?"
"Since they first began searching for it," Maes answered. "Despite the fact that Ed's gotten absolutely nowhere and come back with absolutely nothing concrete, Fuhrer Bradley still dispenses what seem to be hefty funds to their quest."
Major General Hakuro whistled softly. "For a man who flat-out doesn't believe in the existence of the stone, he's certainly very generous."
"Say again?"
"The Fuhrer doesn't believe in the existence of the stone. He's said so to both Gran and me hundreds of times. Yet for some reason… he supports anyone trying to find it. That's why Marcoh was able to conduct the research he did and get as far as he did." He slanted Hughes a look. "I assume you know how we won the rebellion?"
"Yes, sir," Hughes replied blandly, not bothering to add Roy's opinion that it was a massacre.
"And the shop's owner has what to do with all of this?" the Major General asked.
"She's the reason Ed, Al, and Colonel Mustang are on the mission."
"I'm not following you."
Casting a look back at the kids, Maes turned and walked towards the door.
"Ah, Hughes?" Hakuro called, wondering what the detective was up to.
There was no answer, but Hughes turned to the other man and motioned him to follow. Curious, he followed him as he made his way down the dimly lit hall to a locked door. Hakuro looked at Maes questioningly.
"It's my study," he said, pulling an odd-looking key from his pocket. It was the size of the average house key—but the smooth metal of the handle was replaced with a fitted piece, a stone of sorts. No, it wasn't a stone—it was glass: glass that held smoldering reds and burning oranges inside it that twisted and squirmed for dominance over each other. It reminded Hakuro of a fire.
"Gracia doesn't come in here because she knows I work at night sometimes," he told the other man, turning the key. Red light gleamed briefly in the dark hall, eerily illuminating the smiling figure of Maes Hughes; Hakuro heard the tumblers click. "But Elysia… well, she's a child and children are always curious when they're young—not that I have to tell you that," Maes said, grinning, as he stepped into the room. For a moment, Hakuro was convinced that he was about to be showered with pictures of Maes's baby girl. He waited with baited breath for the photos to appear and prayed that he wouldn't be subjected to Elysia's entire life: his sanity just couldn't handle it right then.
When the pictures didn't appear, he was stunned. It was unlike Maes to pass up the opportunity of showing off his daughter. He was further surprised when the usually picture-ready man beckoned for him to join him in the room. Taking a deep breath, and hoping is luck would hold, he followed Maes in—praying the photographs wouldn't shower him from some obscure bucket hanging above the threshold. He closed his eyes and stepped into the room.
There were no pictures floating from the ceiling.
The room itself was sparsely furnished. From the light in the hall, he could see the desk sitting across from a curtained window; it was neatly kept and held a few folders and books in the corners. The heavy fabric draped over the window surprised him—it blocked out all the light and prevented passersbyfrom peeking in. He wondered how many people in the neighborhood were curious about Maes's work. A large rug sat under the couch, coffee table, and desk. With the sparse light, he couldn't make out the color or the design on it. When Maes turned on the light however, he was able to make out the details.
The rug was a buttery yellow and had flowers on it. It was decidedly feminine—Gracia's handiwork, no doubt she'd picked it. His eyes traveled to the bookshelf lining the wall behind the desk. Most of the shelves were full and neatly organized—a few shelves had books leaning against each other: he assumed that the books on the desk were the missing ones from the bookshelf. The one prominent decoration however, was the pictures. At least they didn't contain just Elysia. There were pictures of Maes and Gracia together doing various activities: shopping, the park, Gracia pregnant. A few contained just Hughes and Mustang. And then there were a few with Ed and Al. He moved over to one that sat on the end table next to the couch. It was a younger Edward, Al, a young girl he didn't know, and Hughes; in the picture, Hughes was laughing at a sulking Edward.
"Ed's twelfth birthday," Hughes said, walking over to stand beside him. "The same night my precious daughter was born."
Hakuro looked at him. "I see," he said, looking back down at the picture.
Maes nodded. "The poor boys. Imagine being that age and being stuck with a woman trying to give birth."
"Where were you?"
Maes chuckled. "I went to fetch the doctor during a bad snow storm."
"You left your wife with three children while she was giving birth? And you're still alive?"
"Apparently so."
"Amazing," Hakuro said, shaking his head. He fell silent for a few minutes, simply gazing around at the simplicity of the office—the simplicity that had a key connected to alchemy. "I thought you weren't an alchemist, Hughes."
The investigator just smiled. He wasn't surprised that Hakuro asked. "You know very well I'm not."
"Explain your lock and key, then."
"Is that a challenge?" Hughes asked, his ivy-green eyes amused.
Hakuro narrowed his own in response. "It's not. I'm just curious. Mustang did that for you, didn't he?" he asked, nodding to the pocket where the key was.
"I asked him to," Maes replied, nodding.
"Why?"
For a few moments, Hughes didn't answer. Finally, "Just a precaution," came the light answer.
"Precaution, eh?" Hakuro left it at that. It wasn't his business how Maes secured his home. He sat on the couch. "So let me rehash this. Colonel Mustang and Edward were given permission to go to an unknown chain of islands to search for the Philosopher's Stone. And it's not on paper," he finished.
Maes just watched him steadily, with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach and his expression unreadable.
"Why did Mustang agree to that?"
"For Edward."
Those two words, simplistic though they were, had the Major General staring at his subordinate in shock. "For Edward?" he asked, incredulously. "What do you mean: 'for Edward'? Is there some sort of affair going on—"
"Of course not!" Hughes snapped before he could finish, his face and eyes angry and disgusted; his arms tightened around his stomach like he was trying to keep himself from leaping and strangling the senior officer. "I'm shocked that you of all people would suggest such a thing! Roy's too much of a ladies' man to even notice other men that way! Haven't you ever listened to the other guys complain and bitch about how he's always stealing their girlfriends?"
Now that Maes mentioned it… he had heard that all too often before Mustang had been transferred to the East.
"Besides," Hughes said, "Edward's a child."
There was always that, too. Hakuro looked at Hughes, shame-faced. "Forgetting that I even asked such a question, why would Mustang accept such an odd mission for Edward? And don't tell me you can't say. There's something very odd about that boy. I proctored his exam, I saw what he did, and I've never, ever seen another alchemist able to do the same."
"The same what?" Hughes asked with interest.
"Haven't you ever seen the boy work alchemy?"
"You're talking about him using alchemy without arrays, right?"
Hakuro nodded. "So you do know. I should have suspected as much. And then there's his limbs—the metal ones."
"What about them?"
"I don't believe Colonel Mustang for a minute when he says that they're from an old battle."
"Why not? There was an old battle there right around the time they were younger."
"Just how did that affect them? What parent would let their children near a battle?"
"Perhaps Edward snuck out."
"An alchemist's son sneaking out?"
Well. There wasn't much he could say to that. He sighed. General Hakuro had him there. "I can't tell you," he said finally and raised a hand to forestall the protest he saw building in Hakuro's eyes. "I don't know all of Ed's history. Roy's the only one that does, besides Alphonse and the Rockbells. What I do know is that Mustang watches out for those children. I don't know just why, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he's trying to make amends."
"For what, exactly?"
"The past."
Before the general could continue questioning, he heard Gracia call to her husband.
"In my study, dear!" Maes called, his face changing. This conversation of theirs was now over. Hakuro's own wife couldn't be far behind. It was time to wrap up this discussion for now and continue it at a later date.
Standing the Major General looked at Hughes and said quietly, "Something about this entire situation just doesn't add up. I want you to continue to investigate this. I want to know just why our Fuhrer would send some of our best alchemists on a mission that doesn't exist on paper. You will report your results to no one but me. If the Fuhrer asks, you're simply investigating some of your associates to make certain that they're using their time for military matters. Are we clear?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you willing to do this?" Hakuro asked. "This puts you in a difficult position as an Investigator."
"I am," Hughes responded, his green eyes unwavering and decisive. "I want to know why this mission was created in the first place—especially since Fuhrer Bradley does not believe in the existence of the Philosopher's Stone."
"Good. Then it's settled. I'll have paperwork for you tomorrow. Come by my office."
"Just one thing, sir."
"Yes?"
"Keep Lieutenant Archer away from me, please."
Hakuro couldn't help it. He sniggered at Hughes's request. "You did throw a knife at him, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Major General, sir."
Hakuro grinned knowingly. "All right, have it your way then. I'll keep Archer away from you. Just make sure your knives continue to miss."
………
"Be quiet! Are you trying to draw their attention to you and the kids?" Komura growled at Mustang.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely. He relaxed his arm and readied his fingers to snap if need be.
"Come with me quickly!"
"Eh?" The order snapped Mustang out of soldier-mode. "What do you mean, 'come with you'?" he demanded. "How do I know you're not about to lead us to those people who're hunting for us?"
"You don't," Komura said. "All you can do is trust me."
"Trust you, eh?" Roy was tired, not stupid. "Like we trusted you to be a reasonable soul when we first stopped you to ask a question. What happened then?" he asked, cradling his chin in his fingers and pretending to think hard. "Ah, yes, you slugged a fifteen-year-old kid in the stomach."
"Look, I'll admit I lost my cool. Your question took me by surprise…" he trailed off and looked at them with a contemplative look. "You know what, we don't have time for this. They're still after you. And if they find you, I can't help you." With that, he did something that surprised the Flame Alchemist. Roy thought the man was lunging for him—instead, he shot past Mustang, grabbed Edward around the bicep, and hauled him away from them.
"Brother!" Al cried, trying to snatch him back.
But the man danced away from them, ignoring Ed's thrashing and clawing at his hand, turned back to Al and Roy, and said, "Now let's go!"
Hostage situation. They had no choice now. Roy's eyes narrowed. "That's low."
"Yeah, yeah," came the reply. "You can tell my wife what a bastard I am when we get to my house."
"I'll be sure to," Ed said, still trying to pry the man's hand off him.
"Stop your struggling, Ed." Mustang ordered abruptly.
Surprised, the blond did as told.
Mustang walked over to their uninvited guest. "Why didn't you tell us you were offering us sanctuary?"
"You obviously remember me and don't trust me. Would you have believed me?"
The Flame Alchemist exhaled forcibly. "No, I wouldn't have. Lead the way. Come on, Alphonse."
"But—"
"Do as he says, Al," Ed muttered, looking at the ground.
Nodding, Mishimi turned around and began to walk away, dragging a stumbling, cursing Edward behind him. Roy matched his pace and leaned towards the other man. "If you ever punch my subordinate again, I won't just burn your finger," he said, pleasantly with a polite smile on his lips.
Mishimi blanched. "Understood."
"Just thought you should know," he said, "since we trust one another."
Scary bastard! Mishimi thought.
His wife was waiting for them on the back doorstep and aimed a disapproving look at him. He gave her a sheepish grin and she shook her head at him as he dragged Edward into the house. Al followed instantly and Mustang brought up the rear. He inclined his head respectfully to her and she reciprocated.
"Forgive him," she said in his ear as he passed.
He hesitated for a moment. "Perhaps," he said, looking straight ahead. "But you're asking one person too few for that."
She rested her head against the moldings and sighed. "He always did have a temper." She shut the door and turned to her new guests. "Are any of you injured?"
The two kids looked at Mustang and he smiled. "Just some bruises. They'll fade soon. Please don't worry about me."
She nodded. If that was the way he wanted it, neither she nor her husband would argue. "Komura will show you to your room. I'll be along shortly." She gave her husband a look that told him arguing would be dangerous to his health.
Nodding, he motioned for the three alchemists to follow him and led the way upstairs.
The room was nice, spacious. It had three double beds that were made and looked inviting. Roy was suddenly aware of just how tired he really was. He didn't even bother trying to fight off a large yawn.
"Why did you grab me?" Edward asked their host.
Mustang turned; his eyes, which had been about to droop shut from sheer exhaustion snapped back into focus. He wanted to know why, too.
"Isn't it obvious, kiddo?"
Ed growled shortly. "Don't call me 'kiddo'!" he snapped. "And if it were obvious, I wouldn't be asking!"
Mishimi rolled his eyes, wondering how the kid could be so clueless. Didn't he see whose life meant more in this situation? Apparently not. "Because you're more precious."
"Eh? What the hell do you mean by that?"
Komura rolled his eyes at the blond-haired boy. "You really live up to your hair color, you know that? How can you not see that? If I grabbed him, he'd have told you to run and you two would have. You'd still be out in the woods, making more work for me to find you and increasing your chances of being found by someone much less friendly. So instead of grabbing your guardian here, I grabbed you—because logically, seizing your brother here," he said, gesturing to Al, "was not an option. Any more stupid questions?"
"Che! Like I want to talk to someone who slugged me earlier!" Ed said petulantly.
"Good. Then go to bed. I'm sure you're all exhausted. I know I am."
"Yeah, yeah, goodnight and all that!" Edward said, his nose in the air.
"Brother!" Alphonse scolded.
Mishimi turned around, intent on going back to his warm bed after being reamed by his wife for his crimes against children, when he remembered one more important thing. "By the way," he said, pausing at the door and looking over his shoulder at them. "You'll want to be on your way very early. The shrine you're looking for isn't far from the inn where you were staying. It's about three miles northwest in a small cave at the base of the hill. I wish you the best of luck," he told them. "May the gods keep you safe."
With that, he left the room and returned to his own.
………
In the pre-dawn gray, three figures stealthily hurried towards their destination located three miles northwest of a burned down inn. When they reached the remains of the hotel, one of the figures stopped and stared at the wreck, his golden eyes reflecting sorrow, pain, and above all else, indignation. This wasn't right. It shouldn't have happened. And this time, he was going to correct it.
"Edward! What do you think you're doing? We've got to move!" Mustang barked.
"Just a minute, Colonel; we have a little time before they get up."
"Precious little!"
"There's a storm headed this way." He pointed to the angry thunderhead clouds that were swelling rapidly. "They're not going to do much today anyhow."
"All the better reason for us to move while we have the time, Fullmetal."
The blond still didn't budge. Realizing that nothing would get through to the young alchemist until he'd accomplished what he wanted to do, Mustang sighed and walked over to him.
"This wasn't fair," Edward whispered harshly. Roy could hear him trying to hold back tears. He wondered if he should let him cry this once. "Why did they have to suffer? They didn't do anything except give us a place to stay for a night!"
"A few hours, actually," Mustang quipped.
"And now they have no home," Ed continued, as if he hadn't heard him speak. He stared blindly at what had not twelve hours ago been a lovely inn. "That man's going to come back a happy grandfather and find that his house, the one he built from scratch with his own two hands, is gone. All because some stupid fanatics couldn't handle three people asking questions!" Ed's voice rapidly climbed in volume.
Roy said nothing; he simply stood next to him surveying the damage. He was right: it wasn't fair. And it shouldn't have happened. But the reality was that it did. That didn't make up for it, and it didn't bring back anything lost. A few tears made their way down Ed's cheeks before he hurriedly wiped them away and stifled them before it became anything more.
"Brother," Alphonse said, his tone clearly worried.
"But this time, we can do something about it. I can do something about it. I can make it right." He took a few steps closer.
"Brother, wait."
Roy grabbed Alphonse's wrist and held it. The metal helmet turned and looked back at him. He simply shook his head. "Let him be for a minute, Al. He needs to do this."
"But Colonel, I don't think he's just talking about this incident."
"Probably not," Mustang agreed. "But if this helps ease his conscience, then it's best to let him do it. We're not military men here, Al. He can be human." He turned his face up to the sky. "Besides, they're not going to do much today anyways. What's a small miracle or two?" he asked.
They heard a telltale clap and felt a massive release of energy. They both turned and watched the ruins shift and reshape themselves, the already broken-down components reforming to what they'd been. Roy was familiar with Ed's work, but even this left him slightly stunned. He didn't know of another alchemist who could have managed this—with an array or without. It took three minutes, five at the most, before the inn stood before them, returned to its former glory. Roy smirked. Really, the boy was amazing.
When Ed returned, he looked significantly more calm and at peace with himself. Mustang smiled and released Alphonse. "Feeling better, Fullmetal One?" he asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."
"Good. Then let's get going—we've got ourselves a jewel to find. I'll overlook your mutiny this time, Edward. Don't expect me to be so nice in the future."
"Bite me, Colonel!" he snarled at the older man, balling his automail hand.
That would be a painful punch and Roy couldn't let that happen. "Why Ed, was that an offer?" he asked, pulling on his glove and grinning at the fuming blond. "I'd be more than happy to let you taste my flames."
Clapping, the blond transfigured his arm. "Bring it on, Colonel! I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"
Alphonse glared at both of them. Huffing angrily, he walked up behind them. Twin shouts of pain had the birds taking off into the air, wondering why the morning wasn't quiet like it usually was, and a seven-foot suit of armor stomped away. Mustang and Ed rubbed their heads and stared after him.
"Let's go, children," he called back. "We have something to find."
"Your brother's scary," the Flame Alchemist whispered.
"Yeah, you're not kidding," Ed said, whispering back. "Let's go, before he becomes angrier. I don't want to find out what he's like if that happens!" So saying, the blond scampered off, calling to his brother to wait for him.
Roy dropped his hand back to his side and stood there, watching them walk off, a small smirk on his face. He turned and looked at the restored inn and the smirk became a smile. Really, that boy… he was something else. He was oddly glad they were in his care, rather than their father's. Hoenheim didn't deserve to see this, or see how much they'd both changed, progressed. If he ever met the man who'd abandoned his family, he would absolutely rub it in. With the smile still on his face, he began to follow his two charges.
A/N: So that ends chapter four. It didn't work out quite like I'd planned, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. The tentative post of chapter four at the end of three is being moved to chapter five. In that chapter, Maes will most definitely confront Kagura and Ed, Roy, and Al will make it back to the Feudal Era. Stay tuned!