Title : Whispers of a Nightmare
Genre : Anime/Manga
Category : Full Metal Alchemist
Disclaimer : Nope, this one belongs to someone else as well.
Summary : Takes place after the incident with Nina. Something's wrong with Ed, and Al just can't quite figure out what it is. Serious situations and angst ensue.
Warnings : Angst, mild language, violence, and other issues that shall go unnamed for now. I don't want to give away too much of the plot just yet, now do I? ;)
Rating : T
Chapter 24 : Set Adrift On Memory Bliss
He wanted to open his eyes, but the seemingly simple task was turning into a chore, his eyelids heavy with fear and regret. But the woman's voice was so clear, vibrating through his ears a mile a minute. He had to, just to see.
Pools of finely woven gold slowly gave way to emerald orbs, warm and inviting.
The boy immediately sat up, blonde bangs flying astray. His eyes darted around the room, taking it all in as best he could, the sound of his own heavy breathing resonating through his head. The heartbeat and the rate it was beating—was it real?
"Mom?" he asked again, his frantic gaze finally being guided in the woman's direction, her gentle hand turning his cheek towards her. Sweat dripped down his forehead, silently gliding down the back of his neck and underneath his shirt.
"Edward? Are you alright?" Trisha inquired curiously, worry set deep within her eyes. She held his cheek, feeling his forehead with the back of her other hand. "I think you've got a fever," she stated, her brow creasing with concern.
The only thing the child could do was stare at her, awed by the woman's presence. The blonde's mouth dropped open slightly, his golden eyes shimmering in the faint light creeping through the window.
"Maybe we should go see Dr. Consen. You said you weren't feeling good last night," she recollected, running a hand through his ear-length locks, letting the hair fall gently back into place.
"Wait! How old am I?" Edward blurted out, nearly falling off the bed at the quick movement. He continued to stare into his mother's eyes, something just short of a prayer whispering in the back of his head.
"Edward, what's gotten into you?" Trisha queried, tracing the faint lines of confusion on the child's face.
"Just tell me, please? How old am I, Mom?" He felt foolish for asking the question, but was it possible? Was it really possible that all of that was just a dream?
"Edward, you're ten years old." She paused, pursing her lips together before questioning the boy again. "Alright, what's going on, Ed? Are you and Alphonse trying to play a trick on me?" she asked with a laugh, her smile making the ten year old feel strangely guilty and horribly empty at the same time.
His face fell downcast at the answer of his age, the light quickly fading from his eyes. Golden strands made their way politely back into place, the boy trying to hide the tears that were quickly brimming in his eyes.
The woman's face fell as well, recognizing the boy's sudden inconspicuous expression of sadness. She tilted her head to the side, cupping the child's chin in her hand.
"What's wrong, Ed?" Her voice was soft, quiet; exactly the way he remembered it. It soothed him to hear it but made him feel all the worse, his sullen exterior slowly deteriorating.
Before he knew it, the tears were spilling down his cheeks faster than he could control them, raining on the baby blue bedsheets below. As hard as he tried, he just couldn't restrain them anymore.
Without a word, she got up and sat down next to the boy, quietly wrapping her arms around his small body and pulling him close to her. She closed her eyes as stifled whimpers flooded through her hearing, smiling sadly as she felt the warmth of his tears on her chest.
She wouldn't complain, not at all. That was her Edward, emotions running through him faster than he could understand them. He'd probably never change.
"Why do I keep doing this?" the boy mumbled, squeezing the corners of the woman's white apron in his small hands. "Why?" he asked to no one in particular, taking in the scent of jasmine and wildflowers. And cinnamon, there was cinnamon there too.
More tears riveted down his cherubic face, Trisha taking them with ease. She pulled him closer, feeling the child's body quivering in her arms.
"Why do you keep doing what?" she asked, glancing down at him. She pushed some of the golden locks out of his face, revealing a disheveled and red-cheeked boy. "Talk to me, Ed."
He stared at her for a quick moment before hanging his head once again, shaking it. He muttered something inaudible, only to have the woman ask him to repeat it.
"You're not real," he stated honestly, still not able to meet her gaze. He tensed up immediately after speaking, not wanting another nightmare to spring about. Though luck, it seemed, was hardly ever on his side anymore.
"What?" She was definitely taken aback by his answer, not expecting those words to leave his mouth. "And just why would you think that, Edward?" She was giving off a hurt smile, but was still confused as to why he answered her question in the fashion that he did.
"You...and Al too, wherever he is. Both of you—you're not real," he answered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," the two and a half familiar words parted his lips, his tiny hands balling into fists. "I just don't understand." The boy's voice was on the edge of breaking, his head shaking underneath rivers of gold, twisting and turning with each movement. He covered his face quickly, embarrassed at the tears.
Trisha stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of her oldest son, appearing on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And for the life of her, she couldn't understand where the nonsense that was pouring out of his mouth was coming from.
"Edward, I don't know how bad the dream was that you had, but all I can say is that that's what's not real. I'm here, just like you are now," she stated, gazing down at him, trying her best to reassure the child.
He shook his head in response, knowing it was all just a lie. There was just no way he'd imagined all of that. It wasn't possible.
Almost reluctantly, he pushed away from her, not wanting to be fooled by his own naiveté. The quiet sigh that escaped her lips made its way into his ears, strangely drawing his attention away from his lap.
Slowly, he looked up at her, meeting her weary gaze. And for the very first time, he noticed how tired she truly looked. Exhausted, to be exact. His brow narrowed slightly as he saw the worry and pain hidden deep within her eyes, laying silently dormant. But through whatever pain that was currently possessing her body, she smiled; faintly, perhaps, but it was there nonetheless.
And the thought that quiet possibly, maybe it all had been a dream ran through his head. A hellish nightmare he was supposed to forget by the next day. But could it be true?
The longer he stared into her eyes, the more he was starting to believe it to be. After all, everything seemed so peaceful, so serene.
He could tell from the faint grayish light that was transcending through the window that the sun was apparently hiding behind clouds as large as his imagination, stretching across the sky for miles on end. But it was probably beautiful.
Probably.
"Do you still think you're dreaming?" Her voice struck him clear out of his contemplating thoughts, his eyes adjusting back to normal, letting her tired face come into view. He was silent, faintly anticipating the face of a ghost appearing before him, or worse.
"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head slightly, his voice a distant whisper as his gaze dropped to his lap once more. He shuddered, involuntarily albeit, as thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. The boy wrapped his arms around himself, afraid to move, afraid of what might happen next. But so far, nothing was.
"Why don't you come downstairs and I'll make you some hot chocolate, then you can join your brother in your father's room. If you're up to it, that is," she said with a smile, unable to keep her eyes off the boy. There was definitely something wrong with him; and the fact that he was questioning reality wasn't a good sign either, it wasn't like him.
Edward peered up at her once more, gazing at the strands of honey-brown hair that fell to just past her shoulders, the end of it tied in a loose ponytail. The color wasn't dull and dead as it had been in all his other dreams. It was bright, and shining, even in the din of the small room. And her smile, no matter how small it was, was lively and warm.
"Okay," he finally muttered, slowly sliding off the unmade bed and onto his feet. The fact that he had his arm and leg again should have sent him into a crazed stupor, but for some strange reason, it didn't. It was as though it should have been that way, and he knew it too. Humans weren't meant to have metal arms and legs, they were meant to be flesh and blood; alive. He couldn't help but make a fist, watching the tiny veins come into view, appearing blue underneath his skin.
His skin; it was real, and warm. Hell, it was there. It wasn't lost in the land beyond the gate; no, it was on him, and it belonged to him, as it should have.
The boy's mystified expression was slightly shaken as a soft gasp whispered through his ears, his head jerking in its direction. This was it, something bad was going to happen—he was sure of it. He couldn't help but close his eyes for a moment, waiting for something to strike or beat him down to the floor, but it didn't. Everything was still and quiet.
Slowly, he lifted his head, gazing through his bangs to the sight of his mother, leaning against the wall for support. Strands of her hair were hanging in her face, though he could still see the look of pain that graced her features.
"Mom?" the ten year old asked, his voice surprisingly somber and withdrawn. Something clicked inside his head as she glanced over at him, the look in her eyes oddly familiar. "Are you okay?" He saw this before, he knew he had.
"I'm fine," she replied instantaneously, pushing away from the wall and walking towards him. From the looks of things, he could tell she was still unsteady, a pained expression crossing her gentle visage.
"Are you sure?" he inquired, staring up at her, his golden eyes glimmering. Even though he was more than mischievous most of the time, the look on his face held an air of concern way beyond his ten year existence, and yet there was innocence there too. Haunted innocence.
"Edward." Her tone was firm but playful, doing her best to appear as though all was well. "You do remember who the parent is here, don't you?" she queried jokingly, placing a hand on the back of his head.
He was silent, unable to do anything but stare at her.
The parent—the mother. His mother. And she was alive.
Alive.
"Come on, before it gets cold," she urged him, guiding the boy towards the door.
"Wait, I thought you said you were going to make it," he stated, raising a curious eyebrow, his voice holding a serious tone, though there were traces of the faintest amount of happiness in it.
She grinned in response, leading him out of the room, not bothering to give a reply to the budding smartass.
Neither paid attention to the date on the calendar as they passed it, it marking the first of February, 1910.(1)
&&&&&
The room was dark, no moonlight able to shine through the windowless space. It was quiet as well, too quiet for the lonely suit of armor that was sitting patiently in the wooden chair, strategically placed next to his older brother's bed.
His soul-filled eyes still lit up the empty shell they possessed, the eleven year old not in his usual restless state when Edward normally slept. He didn't want his eyes to close for anything. He wanted to be aware when his older brother awoke, if he ever woke up, that is.
You can't think like that. He will wake up. He will!
Alphonse shifted slightly, his metal parts clanking ever so lightly, echoing throughout the tiny room. He jumped at the noise, afraid that it might disturb the sleeping boy; then again, he did want him to wake up. But at the moment, no amount of noise would able to do that.
Absolutely none.
They'd been in that room for over two weeks, and nothing had changed. Alphonse would just sit there, day after day, praying that his older brother would give some sort of sign that he was still there, but nothing happened. Edward had laid there still and unmoving ever since they had arrived, the sight slowly breaking the boy that awaited his return to the real world.
The drive to Central had been filled with more questions than he'd wanted to answer, coming at him from all three of the people that were trying to protect them. Of course, he knew they were worried, but the only thing he could think about at the time was Edward and if he'd be alright.
He'd managed to dodge most of their questioning, only letting a few answers escape his metallic shell here and there. It wasn't until they had arrived back at Central did the eleven year old finally tell them everything.
"I'm sorry," Alphonse apologized immediately, his guilt somehow emanating off the suit of armor. He hung his helmet, unable to look at the faces that were staring at him, worry lined deep within each of their faces.
"There's nothing to be sorry for, Alphonse," Hawkeye replied back just as quick, placing a gentle but firm hand on the boy's metallic thigh. "Just tell us what happened." She paused, keeping the authoritative expression on her face but softening the tone of her voice. "Do you know how the train derailed?"
The eleven year old's helmet jerked up instantly at the First Lt.'s words, taking it as an accusation.
"We didn't do it, I swear!" his voice rose as he raised his gauntlets defensively in front of him.
"We never said you did, we just want to know how it happened," Mustang interjected, his gaze never drifting away from the boy.
"I-I honestly don't know. We—Ed and I—we were on the back of the train when it happened. We weren't able to see a thing," he stated sadly, his helmet turning back towards his cloth-covered lap.
"After it was over, did you see anyone suspicious around? Anyone that didn't look like a passenger or part of the crew?" Hughes questioned, leaning forward in his chair, inwardly feeling sorry for the pre-teen, knowing he shouldn't have to be dealing with situations such as the one he and his brother were currently in.
"No," Al answered, shaking his head. "But to be honest, I really didn't look around. Ed was wounded pretty bad, and the only thing I could think of was getting him out of there and to a doctor. So, no, I didn't see anyone."
"Are you sure?" Hughes tried again, only to receive a nod from the younger boy. The hazel eyed man sat back in his seat, a sigh escaping his lips.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, everyone," the young alchemist blurted out, his voice shaking badly. He folded his gauntlets to keep them from shaking, but the harder he tried, the worse they shook. A whimper leaked out of the suit, making the whole scene look even more pitiful.
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Alphonse. You didn't do anything wrong," Riza tried to soothe the eleven year old, her gaze catching his out the corner of his eye.
"But I know Ed did! He shouldn't have lied like that! But he can't help it sometimes...Once he sets his mind on something, there's nothing I can do! And he wanted so badly to go to Kiase, just to see if we could find anything out about the Stone--" He cut himself short, his helmet hanging once more.
"How bad is it?" the quiet whisper escaped the boy's metal body. He glanced up, knowing it couldn't be good if they continued to be silent. "Is he—is he going to make it?" His voice broke at the words, whimpers leaving his metallic suit, his shoulder clanking noisily as they shook.
"Alphonse—Al," Riza started, letting a gentle smile pursue her lips. "How did Edward react when you two arrived in Renégauld? Did he act strangely before he lost consciousness?"
"Why? What's that got to do with anything?" the boy asked, almost defensively. He stared at the woman, fearful of what she was going to say.
"It might help us understand why he hasn't woken up yet. The doctors say that the only reason why he would be unconscious for so long would be due to severe trauma, more than likely, mental trauma," she explained, her tone serious but soft.
"He did act a little...weird, but I just thought it was because he was tired. He'd slept since we'd been gone, but it wasn't restful. He was hurt, and he had a fever. And Dr. Hocram said it was due to an infection in his leg. Why?" Alphonse inquired, lifting his helmet up once more. He tilted it to one side, afraid of what he was going to hear.
"Renégauld was the site of a fatal accident six years ago," Mustang stated, peering into the soul-filled eyes that were the only sign of life in the metal suit. "Toxic gas leaked from the mine and poisoned all the townspeople, killing them almost instantly. But before they died, it was believed that they suffered from severe and vivid hallucinations, caused by the gas, of course. If you say that Full Metal was acting out of sorts, then that's the probable reason as to why. I'm actually quite surprised he was conscious as long as you say he was," the dark haired man admitted, his voice sounding a little too casual for the eleven year old's liking.
Alphonse stared at the Lt. Colonel whose arms were folded across his chest, letting the words the man had just said settle in his soul. It was as though he was fully aware though completely dazed at the same time. Finally, it struck him.
"So you're saying that he...he almost died..." The boy's voice trailed off, disbelief heavy in his tone. He sat there quiet for a moment, eerily still, thoughts of fear and horror beginning to circulate through his mind. "No wonder I couldn't see her. That explains everything." His tone was solemn as he spoke more to himself that the officers in the room. Faintly, he could recall that they were there, but he was starting to lose the battle against his memory, thoughts of his older brother recoiling in fear from someone that wasn't truly there beginning to eat at him.
"See who, Alphonse?" Mustang inquired, his brow narrowing as the eleven year old's voice made it's way fitfully into his ears.
"Nina. He saw Nina," Al answered, his helmet hanging in solitude, obviously disturbed by the imagery that was forcing itself through his mind. Images of Edward scared to death of the little girl they tried to save flashed past his eyes, the boy wrenching visibly at the very thought.
"You mean Shou Tucker's little girl?" Hughes asked, nearly gapping at the idea. "But why?" He wasn't quite sure why he even asked the question, inwardly recalling how the four year old's death had affected the young alchemist.
Alphonse glanced at the hazel eyed man, ready to give a complete explanation but decided better. Those words were meant for he and Ed only, no one else.
"Yes," he answered simply, quietly; his gauntlets folded on his cloth-covered lap. "I'd like to go see him now. If that's alright." He steadied himself for immediate rejection, waiting for them to tell him that Edward was still too critical to have visitors yet, even if he couldn't exactly pass any germs to the boy.
He watched as Mustang nodded towards his subordinate, Hawkeye instantly standing to her feet. "I'll take you to him," she stated, glancing up into his soul-filled eyes momentarily before heading for the door, clipboard tucked neatly under her arm.
Alphonse quickly rose to his feet, thankful that the "interrogation" was finally over. "Thank you," the two words left his steel suit as he bowed slightly in Mustang and Hughes' direction.
"For what?" Maes asked, arching an eyebrow, obviously confused.
"For saving Ed. I don't know...what I would've done if you three hadn't shown up." The two men immediately picked up on the boy's guilt-drenched tone, silent sighs escaping both of their lips.
With a nod, Al turned, following Hawkeye through the various hallways and elevators and into the nearby hospital, military owned and operated. The eleven year old knew the moment he went through those doors, there was a great possibility that he might not be going back through them for quite awhile. But he knew that was the chance he and Ed had both taken, even if only one of them could actually be treated there.
His soul-filled eyes flickered as they moved silently past the rooms of other wounded soldiers and members of the military, his helmet turning sharply as pained screams echoed out of one of the rooms and out into the hallway.
'At least it wasn't Ed.'
He immediately chided himself on the thought, but he couldn't help it. He recalled the way his brother screamed the night they attempted the transmutation of their mother. And then there was the time Edward received his automail. Both moments he knew were filled with pain of the worst kind, and both times, there wasn't a damn thing he could've done to stop it.
The woman paused before coming to a stop at a room at the very end of the hallway, the eleven year old silently memorizing the numbers 606 that adorned the door.
"Before you go in, there's something I'd like to say," she stated, her tone deathly serious yet delicately soft. Slowly, her cinnamon colored eyes found his. "Whether or not you choose to believe it is up to you." She stared at him for a moment before continuing. "The Colonel—isn't as nonchalant about things as you think. Just remember, he's human too." And with that, she turned, leaving the boy to face his older brother alone.
With a breathless sigh, he entered the silently still room, though now it was slowly being filled with the sound of his armor clinking awkwardly as he tried to be as quiet as possible. Seemingly walking on his tiptoes, he made it to the left side of Ed's bed, taking in the sight of his damaged and broken older brother.
The twelve year old looked like a cracked porcelain doll. His childish visage held years of age that shouldn't have been there, and the dark circles that encased his closed golden eyes were obviously meant for someone three three times his age, time not being fair to the boy.
Light bruises colored his cheeks and forehead, Alphonse still not quite understanding how the twelve year old had obtained them.
And that was only what was visible. The rest of him lay underneath a plain white cotton sheet, bleached and washed to the point of being almost transparent, making the outline of the alchemist's body look even more disturbing.
The want to cry overtook the eleven year old, seeing Edward like that eating at the soul that was transfixed to the metal body he possessed.
The young blonde looked so helpless and incomplete, the usual look of determination and stubbornness replaced with an expression of silent pain, intricately drawn across his features in every bruise and crease.
"God, Ed, why'd you do this?"
At first, Alphonse was surprised at the sound of his voice. It shook with each word, slightly vibrating his steel exterior. He could feel the pain welling up, circulating through his soul. He'd never felt to miserable in his life.
His soul-filled eyes flickered across his older brother's body, taking note of how his left leg looked ungodly crooked and strangely out of place, and as he lifted up the sheet, he saw how twisted and broken the piece of metal was. The only thing keeping the leg together were wires that obviously served as nerves, inwardly noting how painful it was going to be when it had to be repaired.
"But how did this happen? I just don't understand. Oh great, now I'm talking to myself," he murmured embarrassedly, hanging his metal helmet in disbelief. "But it doesn't make sense. If he was hallucinating, then how could this have happened? There was nothing there..."
His voice trailed off, thoughts hurriedly jading his already corrupted mind. He stood there, clasping hold of the side of the bed, not realizing what he was doing until the door creaked open, a doctor quietly entering the room.
"You must be, Alphonse, I take it," the man stated, glancing up from his clipboard to the six foot tall plus suit of steel that seemingly took up most of the space in the tiny area. "I'm Dr. Locke. I was just checking up on Edward before I left." He smiled at the eleven year old, though the boy could already see the pity that made the corners of the man's mouth turn upwards.
Al nodded in reply, his voice suddenly hiding behind the heavy metal that shrouded him.
"It appears that your brother has suffered a great deal, physically and mentally. We're still running tests, but currently, we're still not a hundred percent sure as to why he hasn't woken up yet," the blonde haired man explained, his blue eyes seemingly getting lost as peered up into Al's soul-filled ones.
"I thought it was because of severe mental trauma," Al suggested, his tone sounding more and more despondent with each word that was spoken. He glanced over at the young looking doctor before turning back to Ed, guilt wrapping itself around him like a blanket.
"Though that is what seems likely, we're still not completely positive that's the reason. Of course, as you know, we couldn't find any signs of physical trauma to his head or the surrounding areas, but it is obvious he had many physical wounds over the majority of his body. The large wound on his leg, that was caused by the train derailment, correct?"
Al was quiet for a moment, getting lost in his thoughts once more.
"Mr. Elric?" Dr. Locke asked, glancing up from his clipboard. "Did the wound—did it come—"
"Yes," the quiet, affirmative answer emanated from the suit of armor, actually not caring that he'd cut the man off.
"Al-right. Well, then, there's also something else I'd like to ask. Your brother—when's the last time he a—"
The man was cut off again, though Al just couldn't seem to help it. Seeing Edward in that state was something he'd never wanted to see. And just the thought of losing him...
"When's he going to wake up?" His tone was quiet, hushed; though lying in its depths was anger, an emotion the boy hated to touch on, but in this instance, he couldn't help it. He wanted the truth and nothing else.
The young man hesitated in his response, giving away the fact that he truly had no clue. He sighed upon seeing Al's response, the boy's gaze coming close to detested.
"To be honest, I really don't know. It could be tomorrow, next week, or..."
"Or what?" The two words came out a little too sharply for the boy's liking, but he didn't care at the current moment.
"Or never," Dr. Locke finished, his blue eyes traveling to the floor. "I'm sorry," he conceded, immediately feeling bad for the eleven year old.
"If you'll excuse me, Doctor, I'd like to be alone with my brother now." And with that, he turned away from the man, drawing up the chair that would be his permanent resting place for the next few months.
He'd watched two weeks pass and nothing had changed. Edward hadn't even moved an inch from the moment the boy had first seen him.
Day after day, he sat there, watching, waiting, though nothing ever happened. Even though Edward didn't grow any worse, he still wasn't getting any better. And as much as Alphonse tried to remind himself of that fact, his disdain for the Stone grew worse and worse.
Maybe it's not really worth it. Maybe we'd be better off...But what about Ed? He doesn't deserve those fake limbs. He'll be my only reason though...
It took him over a month and a half to finally reach Winry, due to the pleasant hurricane-like storms that had decided to bring down all the phone lines in Risembool. And even then, it would another three weeks before she could actually make it there, the station having been closed in their hometown, apparently in need of repairs.
Before long, autumn had changed to winter, snow beginning its reign over the State, decorating it with its tiny white crystals.
But Edward still hadn't woken, Al's hope slowly draining away with each day that passed. Though the nightmare that Alphonse was living in, was nothing compared to the depths the youngest State Alchemist in the history of Amestris was about to descend into.
&&&&&
Days and months had passed in Edward's dreamlike state, just as they had in Al's, the boy reliving some of the best and the worst times of his life. He'd almost managed to forget about the world he thought he had so-calledly created in his mind.
Almost.
It was a memory that had made its way to the background of his mind, a dream that he had latched onto instead of forgetting.
There were times when he would see his younger brother as a suit of armor instead of a nine year old boy, though he insisted his mind was just playing tricks on him or he was just tired.
But he wasn't prepared for what would happen to him on that day in May. It was sunny, the sky clear for as far as the eye could see. In fact, he'd never seen it that color blue before. It was quite beautiful, something he felt he hadn't seen in ages, even though it hadn't rained in two weeks.
The wind blew carelessly through his hair as he ran, golden locks flying every which way except for where they were actually supposed to be. The warm breeze tugged at his clothes, the ten year old not even realizing or caring that one of his boots were untied. The only thing on his mind was beating Alphonse back to the house, holding the basket of vegetables close to his chest, careful not to spill them.
The boys' laughter floated through the air, neither realizing that would be the last bit of true happiness they would share for quite possibly, the rest of their lives.
Edward managed to keep his lead in front of his little brother, shouting something back to the younger boy about being "as slow as a snail," with which only propelled Alphonse to run faster, though he still couldn't catch up with Ed.
The ten year old made his way up the hill to their two-story house, bounding up the few stairs to the front door. It was the second his hand let go of the knob when the feeling of deja vu struck him plain across the face. The moment seemed to last for an eternity as the all too familiar sight of his mother strewn across the floor met his golden orbs, obviously horror struck.
His mouth dropped open as his eyes met hers, and that's when he saw that lost look in his mother's gaze, the one that stated she knew she probably wouldn't be around much longer.
Immediate dread filled the boy, visions of the future passing speedily through his mind, all the while knowing, his world as he knew it was about to end.
He heard the basket drop to the floor, not even realizing words were coming out of his mouth or that his feet were carrying him over to his mother, a soft moan emanating from her lips. Somewhere, Ed could vaguely hear his little brother emit a scream too and collapse to his knees with the ten year old.
It was only the beginning of the end. And somehow, Edward knew this to be true.
&&&&&
Night crept across Central, shrouding it in darkness, the light of the street lamps being the citizens only refuge. Though at the current time, there wasn't a person in sight, at least not from Mustang's vantage point.
Wind rattled against the large window that sat behind his desk, the man peering despondently out of it, clouded glass in hand.
Onyx eyes surveyed the city, taking in the brilliance of the city's electrical system and the light that it provided, dotting the many houses and few establishments that were still running, even at the midnight hour.
But none of that was any of his concern or in his thoughts, for that matter. The only thing he could think about was Edward, or Full Metal as he referred to him.
The office had been eerily quiet ever since they had arrived back in Central, hardly any spoken words passing through it except for "sir" or the causal hello and good-bye. And the reason for that silence was laying in a hospital bed not more than a hundred yards away.
And in just knowing that fact, it ate at the man who was quietly drinking down the bottle of Scotch that sat on his desk, the liquid level seemingly falling faster than the freezing temperatures outside.
The guilt that had managed to well up inside him and make its dwelling place in the pit of his stomach was a constant reminder that he had done the one thing he vowed wouldn't let happen; let Edward get into a situation he couldn't get himself out of.
The Lt. Colonel didn't even want to imagine whatever the hell it was Edward had conjured up in his mind that forced him into the state he was in now. But apparently, it was enough to make even one of the strongest people he knew break. No matter how much he badmouthed the boy, it was true.
He took a sip from the glass, emptying it for the fifth time that night, automatically reaching for the bottle, though his hand only caught air. He turned around abruptly, still managing to sustain the majority of his balance.
"You know, you could have at least invited me to the party, Roy. You're getting quite careless," Hughes remarked, quietly pouring himself a drink, the last of the bottle's contents falling into his almost over-filled glass. He took a sip, his hazel eyes never leaving the stare of the onyx ones that were now fixed on him.
"What a pleasant surprise, Maes. I figured you'd be home by now, nestled in bed with your wife and daughter. What grants me the the privilege of this visit?" the intoxicated man inquired, a smirk slipping across his visage.
The Major couldn't help but let a sad smile strike his face, though inwardly, he could hear the pain hidden away in the Flame Alchemist's voice. Obviously, the man still hadn't forgiven himself.
"Let's just say I had a long day. Which reminds me." He paused to take a drink of the brown liquid, catching the curious glance Mustang was sending him out of the corner of his eye. "There were some remains found a few weeks ago in shallow grave, a few miles south of the derailment site. Well, they were sent here for identification purposes, and it turns out that they were that of Ian Westin. I'm sure you recall his little 'reign of terror' a few years back."
"The alchemist who ran a muck transmuting anything he could get his hands on, including half the monuments and a few of the citizens in Central. Yes, I believe I can recollect, but what's he got to do with anything?" the question parted the Lt. Colonel's lips, an eyebrow arching with partial disinterest.
"Well, as it turns out, there were burns marks on the bottom of his boots, and also various pieces of material found on them as well. Someone put two and two together and samples taken from the derailment site were compared with the materials found on the man's remains. They were a match."
Hughes finished the glass, sitting it down on the table.
"So the whole incident was purely coincidental," Mustang stated, setting down his glass as well, relief hidden deep within his hardened features.
"Yep. So it seems. Wrong place at the wrong time," Maes replied, letting out a quiet sigh before meeting Roy's slightly dazed expression. "Hey, by the way, when's the last time you visited Edward? Alphonse tells me it's been a while."
Hughes last statement sent the other man out of his stupor, immediately avoiding the Major's gaze.
"I've been busy," he responded causally, reaching for his floor length trench coat, slipping it on as Maes watched, determined to break the facade his best friend was hiding behind.
"Right, well, I was going to check in on them tomorrow, and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me, if you had time, that is." Inwardly, he knew how the other man was going to reply to the invitation, but he couldn't help but try.
"I have a meeting with the Furher tomorrow, so I won't be able to engage in any activity other than that and whatever else he has planned." He continued to keep his far-off gaze one step ahead of Maes', it now on the floor as he crossed the room to the door. "Perhaps the day after." And with that, he exited the room, leaving the Major to himself and an empty bottle of Scotch.
And a whole night to prepare his little speech about how the Lt. Colonel wasn't going to be able to make it in to see Edward again.
(1) An estimated date that took place before Trisha fell ill. It has no real value. :)
Author's note : ...I can't believe I actually got thirty reviews for the last chapter. I just can't thank you all enough. You all are so wonderful to me, and I appreciate the support and reviews enormously.
I really hope this chapter lived up to any expectations you all had for it(even though there was ZERO action in it). I apologize for taking so long to update. For two weeks in a row, I was stuck working 50+hours per week, and I don't even want to know what's going to happen in the weeks to come.
Seriously though, thank you all for being so patient and listening to my rambling. Many, many THANKS goes to Twilight-Cullen, Roy-Fan-33, DarkAmber112, Arktos, Shatter Mirror01, Akamori-chan, queenstrudel, Legendary Chimera, iceprincess421, CrystalMind, JChrys, Hitokiri Musei, ssj2raider, totallyinlovewithed, Flashlight Maniac, Surien san, marufu-chan, BishiGirl, EagleBlaze, BlackHalliwell, Edshrimp, Mistress of Darkness, Aemila Rose, Karlykitten, Harryswoman, Bloody Sword Alchemist, XNightRoseX, Night Fox Hiten, ThePatheticWriter, Mistress of the Night5, and EVERY single one of you who has left a review or put me on a list. I deeply, deeply appreciate it. :D
And one more thing. I hate to say it, everyone, but I do believe this story only has a few chapters(if that) left. HOWEVER, there will be a sequel, that much I can say. And I'm indecisive about one factor; where it shall take place. I've already decided the main parts, and the fact that it will take place in the post-movie period; but I know how quite a few fans didn't quite care for the ending, especially how they wound up in our world. So, I'm asking all of you to leave in your review whether or not you'd want it set in Amestris anyway, or in our world. I'm willing to do both, so let me know. ;)
--Haunted Obsidian