Thanks so much for reviewing! Sorry my updates take so long sometimes. I'm not such a consistent writer... And there are time problems...
To ssadropout: Yeah, thanks! That was my intent in the first place... I do like dashing Roy.
To Wolfbog007: I told you I like to see characters suffer...
To My-name-is-foxglove: Read on and see!
Chapter Five
"I'm sure he's all right." Havoc said from the back of the compartment. "It's the Colonel Mustang we're talking about, right?"
Around the time Roy Mustang had escaped from the cafe, a weary group of soldiers were boarding a train in a freezing station of the north. It was the closest place Olivier Armstrong had been able to find for them on such short notice.
Riza Hawkeye shivered and passed her hand through her hair. Her breath came out in white clouds of moisture in the freezing air. She wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible - there were too many horrible memories that came into her mind at the just the sight of snow. As she stepped onto the empty train she thought back to the cold cave she'd spent the past six months in, as a prisoner. This rickety old train was as good as heaven compared to that place... Definately.
"Finally, I can see fresh grass again! Grass and flowers!" Havoc sang, sounding like a child on his birthday. "Sunlight - and warmth - "
"You're embarressing us, Havoc. Shut up," Breda grumbled, hugging his coat closer too himself, teeth chattering.
"What're you talkin' about?" Havoc scoffed. "There's no one around here, except for the conductor and him." He nodded to the silent, lanky young man who had been ordered to escort them to the train - a boy of Olivier.
Riza barely heard any of this as she stepped onto the train and chose a window seat across from Breda. Havoc and Falman were carrying a stretcher that Fuery was lying in. The poor young man had succumbed to the cold and bad conditions - he'd heated up with a fever. Luckily they'd been rescued by Olivier Armstrong soon afterwards; Fuery would be fine if they returned to Central on schedule. Right now he was just asleep, according to Falman - he was no longer burning hot like a few days ago.
The car was completely empty. Understandable, for there were nearly no passengers on this particular line. After all, who would want to go to the northen areas, where there was nothing to see but snow and ice? Even soldiers were reluctant to come up here... that was where everything had started.
They'd known Colonel Roy Mustang to be an incredibly ambitious man, who'd stop at nothing to climb up the ranks of the military. He was the ideal commander for their purposes. 'They' were the higher-ranked men who were too lazy to do anything for themselves - which was why they'd chosen Roy to lead that mission to the north.
The objective had been simple. Roy was to capture a gang of criminals and bring them back to Central. They were big-time robbers who'd stolen incredible amounts of money and goods from the Amestris government. Oh, how deceptively easy it had seemed. Mustang, who had been promised a promotion if he succeeded, accepted, although he'd seemed reluctant. Riza knew that her commander was no fool. He'd been aware of the difficulties of the job he'd taken. It was snowy up there - although Roy had operated in plenty of other conditions, such as the harsh Ishbalan desert, snow and ice was something he wasn't so familiar with. That might mar his alchemy, as well as vision and hearing. The temperature... None of Roy's subordinates could admit that they'd ever been freezing cold before. Even Riza hadn't experienced anything below the mild winters of Central and the East.
Nevertheless, Roy had agreed to go. Riza, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery, too, had been prepared to push beyond their limits if it was for the promotion of their Colonel. They set off in relatively high spirits, convinced that the mission couldn't possibly be that difficult.
Things changed when they arrived at the designated point.
The weather was unearthly. In the north, it was always winter. On their first night camping out, temperatures dropped to thirty-five below zero, and the wind picked up. By the end of the week every single member of Mustang's team, including Roy himself, had experienced at least one case of mild frostbite. Nature showed them no mercy, kicking up blizzards and snowstorms every day, making their operation very nearly impossible.
However, a stroke of luck had led Mustang to the hideout of the criminals. He'd developed a careful plan of driving them out of their cave and ambushing them - however it required that not one member of the team made a single error.
It had been just too much...
Mustang's team had ended up as prisoners of those who they'd been assigned to capture; the Colonel himself had simply... vanished. No one had any idea where he might be; the robbers, obviously, had refused to tell them anything. They probably had no idea anyways..
"Do you think the Colonel's... well, Lieutenant?" Breda's quiet voice interrupted Riza's grim thoughts. "I mean... You know..."
"I don't know..." Riza answered truthfully. "But if he wasn't captured like the rest of us..." He'd either have escaped back to Central, or...
"I'm sure he's all right." Havoc said from the back of the compartment. "It's the Colonel Mustang we're talking about, right?"
"I hope so," Riza murmured, trying not to let her rather dark imagination run too wild.
She couldn't wait until she got back to Central. She hoped Roy was waiting for them there.
Tom Matthews stared in horror at his cafe. Huge flames were visible from outside the windows; the screams of policemen were clearly audible. He didn't really give a damn about the building or the stupid authorities. Jane. Jane Krowehill was still inside. He hadn't seen her with the rest of the customers that came rushing out a few minutes ago. What was going on? Did the man who was supposed to be Roy Mustang have her as a hostage? Or worse, could she possibly be working with the man?
Tom dismissed that idea as rubbish. It just wasn't logical. Jane was a smart young woman who had no reason to be with a criminal. Or so he told himself.
It was then the policemen came staggering out, gasping, choking, covered in soot. Tom recognized one as Richards, who seemed terrified and hysterical. The one that had been waiting outside with the vans came forward to help his comrades. "What happened? Did we get him?" He demanded to Richards.
"The bastard uses magic, goddammit - he set the place on fire! He made the floor come alive! I couldn't see anything - think I managed to shoot him, though - he was using fire as a shield - controlling it - "
"Don't be ridiculous. You must've been imagining things."
"No!" Richards choked. "He was! He was - fire came out of nowhere!"
The other officer turned back to a man with a clipboard behind him. "I'll take that as a failure... Damn it. We've lost him again. I assume Mustang's attempted to commit suicide." He remarked, rubbing his chin. "Or he's just plain bonkers."
"But Jane - Jane's inside - " Tom tried to go forward, but some more men restrained him.
"Please, sir, don't intrude on the scene of crime. And the fire's still there."
"We have to get her out - "
"I'm very sorry, sir, but there's no way - "
"Goddamn you bastards!" Tom snapped. He felt the rage boiling up inside him like molten lava. "You fucking bastards!"
They made no attempt to rescue the cafe or Jane. They'd called the fire department, but obviously the bad traffic was preventing them from coming. Tom had never felt such anger before, just watching his beloved store burn, with Jane inside... It felt like hours and hours...
In fact, it had been burning for a long time. But oddly enough, there didn't seem to be any signs of the fire spreading or the building collapsing - as if the flames were just staying in one spot. How was that possible? The police began to murmur amongst themselves, showing signs of doubt and unease. It was about another fifteen minutes later when the fire, suddenly, impossibly, vanished.
Everyone stared in amazement for a moment at the now-silent shot. Tom saw that the inside was scorched and black, but it was decidedly undamaged. Before the police could stop him, he ran forward and inside.
A rather odd sight greeted him. Half the cafe was sooty and dark; the other half was... perfectly unharmed and clean. The line between the two was clear and straight. As if a wall had been there. And under the table in the corner was -
"Jane!" Tom ran to Jane, who was crouched in a tight ball between the table legs. It was really her. Safe, uninjured, alive.
"Tom?" She looked up, and burst into fresh tears. "Oh, God - I thought I'd die - I was so afraid - "
"What happened?" Tom helped her up. "Are you all right?"
Some shouts came from behind. "She's alive! The lady's fine!" The policemen. Tom wanted to hit them again.
"How... The place was burning, wasn't it?"
"No... He made a wall with the fire..." Krowehill whispered - suddenly her eyes widened. "Mr. Mustang - where is he? Is he alive?"
"We don't know, Miss," an officer said. "He's escaped again, but he might be bleeding to death in the streets right now - we'll be giving chase - "
Jane turned even paler than she already was. She looked down; so did Tom. There were some considerable stains on the floor of what looked a lot like blood.
"Oh, God..."
Roy lay as still as he could in his bed, eyes closed, once again thinking of his failed mission that had also been his final one. He didn't remember much from it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd tried so hard to forget everything to do with it. But if there were a few things he couldn't drive away from his memory. The shouts of his subordinates, asking for help, for orders, for anything. The white snow, stained with crimson drops. The biting, brutal cold - and lastly, the sensation of falling. Probably, if he hadn't been knocked off his feet and straight off a cliff by that stupid robber, he wouldn't have been seperated from his squad, and he could've helped them, or at least, died with them. Instead, he'd just broken a few bones, his fall cushioned by the thick snow, and some time later, he was discovered by some locals, who soon reported him to the military, seeing his uniform. The next thing he knew - he was in a hospital in Central, his subordinates pronounced missing and their mission failed. He'd gone begging for a search for his squad as soon as he'd recovered; a Major General had halfheartedly agreed. The search party returned only a week later, claiming that Roy's subordinates could not be found.
They were deemed dead a day afterwards.
Roy, trembling with anger and sorrow, had only seen their funeral from a distance. Five of them. He'd lost all five of them. Riza, Fuery, Havoc, Falman and Breda. All five of them. They'd work so hard for him. They'd trusted him with their lives. Roy had been determined to repay them all with a new Amestris. Instead, he'd accepted an impossible mission for his own selfish needs, and gotten them killed like worthless vermin.
And the military. Roy knew that they'd barely bothered to search for his subordinates. After all, five soldiers didn't make much difference, did they? That's what they thought. Roy knew that his team was probably far more intelligent and courageous than that circle of generals. He also knew he was next to helpless without their help in his work. The new squad he'd been given was pathetic. Drunken young men who hadn't seen a single battle, and didn't seem to intend to. They infuriated Roy beyond reasoning.
This, combined with everything else - the rage, grief, the hopelessness - had been enough to make Roy quit. He abandoned his rank - it hadn't been so hard when he had nothing left - and began his dark vandetta by burning down a crucial warehouse that kept guns and bombs. The destruction had been immense. He'd immediately landed himself on the 'wanted' list. He didn't care.
Roy opened his eyes and stared at the peeling ceiling. He shifted under his covers, and winced, as his side gave a painful twinge. The bullet hadn't hit anything vital, fortunately, but it still hurt like the devil. Somehow Roy had managed to raid a pharmacy for medicine and bandages before he'd weakened further; he'd extracted the slug himself, using whiskey as both painkiller and disinfectant. Treating his own injuries became a second nature. Scratches, sprained limbs, cracked bones... Roy had done it all before. Still, he'd nearly passed out as he probed around with the tweezers and scalpel. It hadn't exactly been neat, either, and now Roy had to figure out an explanation for the blood-soaked towels that had been used in his little operation. Ah, well. He doubted the owner would care.
But the man would care about this week's rent. Roy was out of money; most of it had gone to food and clothes. Of course, he'd go out to find himself some more, if it weren't for the fact that he was burning with a fever, faint from exhaustion and blood loss. He wondered what to do, near desperate. If he didn't pay, he'd be thrown out - that wouldn't do much good for his current state. Where would he get the money? He could barely walk without feeling the urge to vomit... Perhaps if he had enough medicine, Roy could improve his condition for a little while - long enough to pick a few pockets?
Seeing no other option, he settled on this plan. Roy decided that he'd wait until at least his fever went down. Another day's rest would be sufficient, he hoped.
God, he hated this life.
TBC
