Braiding the Noose with Indian Rope
Disclaimer: Again, if you didn't already guess… I don't own the characters of FMA, the landmarks and cities that were beautifully created in FMA, or the cute little kitties that Al likes to carry around in FMA… to sum it up I OWN NOTHING IN, PERTAINING TO, OR HAVING ANYTHING TO DO WITH FMA!! All the credit goes, of course, to Hiromu Arakawa… but I still like to play with it…. he he…
JUST A REMINDER: Rated for the three M's: Murder, Mutilation, and general Mayhem…. And one L: Language.
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Chapter 4: Of Kidnappings and Tense Happenings
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November 22, 1919--1:40 PM, Central Headquarters
"Alphonse, slow down, I can hardly understand what you're saying," the raven-haired Fuhrer said, having a hard time interpreting the slurs of the younger man, and not entirely sure that Al was completely sober at the moment.
"It's brother… He left las' night and didn't come home. I donno where he s'at, Is he there?" The man on the line all but pleaded.
Mustang furrowed his brows in confusion. "He didn't go home? Well, he's not on vacation time anymore, but I didn't expect him at the office. I thought he'd be sleeping after he finished his work. Are you positive he's not there? You could have missed him if he fell through the cracks of the couch…" A dashing smirk appeared on Mustang's ivory face when he heard a small, reluctant chuckle from the receiver.
"Don't worry Alphonse, he's probably picked up a lead on the case and forgot to call. You know he doesn't pay attention to anything else when he's focused on something. He'll most likely come home any minute asking for food." Mustang heard an uncertain agreement from the bronze-haired boy followed by an apologetic farewell. He hung up the phone and looked at the work to be done by the end of the day.
The dark-eyed man frowned and heaved a sigh, looking at the big stack of paperwork splayed across the deep mahogany of his desk. He didn't mind Alphonse calling if it meant escaping a couple minutes of the tedious work that sat before him. And it would be just his luck if Hawkeye came in to deliver even more work for him to sign. As if a higher power, set out to destroy any relaxing moments he could enjoy in the day, granted the demented, twisted, hellish wish of an enemy, he heard the small creak of a neglected door turning on its hinges.
"Sir, I have more paperwork for you to sign," the commanding voice of his lover announced.
He quickly bit back a groan when he caught sight of the gun resting against her hip. I bet I could get away with not doing paperwork if that monster wasn't there, laughing at me from her hip… or if nothing was on her hips… His head fell onto his hand as a lazy smile spread over his face while he allowed his thoughts to escape from the confines of the office to the warm cuddling on a cold winter day, the hot, sweaty nights when Riza would gasp his name, the-
The movement was almost so fast that he didn't catch it. He just saw a flash of black and felt three shots fly passed him in quick succession, one barely missing the sensitive cartilage of his ear.
"Damn it Hawkeye! You could have hit me!" He growled, only to see the steely smile of the red-eyed woman standing across from him.
"You're right, I could have. Besides, I saw that smile, you think I don't know what you're thinking about?" She said strictly, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "You know we can't let anyone know about this, about us, yet. They'd probably have us both fired if they thought we were doing something besides working, and then how would you 'change the country for the better and help the people' when you won't even be able to get a decent job?"
"But we are working, that's all we do," Mustang scowled.
"Well, the other officers wouldn't think so, those perverts, they'd probably get us on something," she said sternly.
Mustang frowned and looked away… She was right, but he didn't have to be happy about it. I'll just have to be more careful with my daydreaming, he thought hotly, about to let a leer cross his handsome features, but wisely thinking better after taking a furtive glance at the gun still held in the blond woman's hand.
They both jumped when a timid knock was heard from the door leading to the outside corridor. Hawkeye raised one eyebrow and gave the man sitting at the desk a significant look of 'See, I always know what's best' with her red eyes before leaving the room to let the person into the office.
Mustang couldn't help but grudgingly agree with Hawkeye's logic as he heard two feminine voices greeting each other in the grand hallway. He sat straighter in his chair and tried to appear professional as he heard the voices approach.
Riza arrived at the door leading Scieszka into the room, and the mousy woman gave a quick bow to the Fuhrer, whipping her thin brown hair into the air in the process.
"Hello, Mr. Fuhrer, sir, I just came by to drop off some reports that you asked for," Scieszka replied, embarrassed and not fully meeting the Fuhrer's eyes.
"Oh, yes, thank you Miss Scieszka," Roy said firmly, but awkwardly, still not completely used to the title.
Roy waved his hand in dismissal and she gave another quick bow, and scampered away. He looked at the documents in his hands. York and Davis, what a disappointment, he thought, annoyed. He had been angry to hear that they were of no help. They didn't do their job and they made him look incompetent.
Mustang grimaced and pushed their files under the immense load of paperwork already towering on the desk. He would deal with them later. He looked up when he heard the floorboards protest and saw Hawkeye already exiting the room.
"Hawkeye," she paused in the doorway. "It's probably nothing, but Alphonse says Edward didn't show up at home this morning."
"Maybe he just found something on the case. If you're worried I can go call some-"
Mustang put his hand up to silence her interrupting her train of thought.
"That's what I told Alphonse, but I don't think he would leave without telling anyone. And I wouldn't do anything unless he's gone for a couple of days," he added regretfully.
"He can take care of himself, sir," Hawkeye said, seeing that even Roy Mustang needed reassurance sometimes.
Roy let a quick smile pass over his features, "You're right, he's probably in the mess hall now. Thank you Hawkeye."
She turned to go, but looked back at the Fuhrer one last time, seeing that he was already turned toward the window, looking out at the bright sky.
Daydreaming already… she thought, aggravated. She reached for her gun, but rolled her eyes instead, thinking the dark-eyed man had to deal with enough stress for today.
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November 22, 1919--2:30 PM, Central Headquarters
The phone trilled again, vibrating the desk, until the blond-haired woman picked it up.
"Hello, Fuhrer's office," she answered automatically.
"Hey, this is Chief Wilcore, I need to speak with the Fuhrer, it's an emergency, it's about Fullmetal," was the desperate reply.
Hawkeye felt her stomach fill with dread, like some icy, unpleasant liquid blocking the path to her veins, leaving her body numb. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. Edward hadn't been missing for long; he had dealt with murderers and psychos before, there was no way that he could…
"One moment please," she whispered into the phone, and then stood, put the telephone on the table and walked down the long hallway to the Fuhrer's office.
She gave three firm knocks on the door. The blond woman heard the affirmative for her to come in and, before the door was fully open, stated, "There's a phone call for you from Chief Wilcore, and it sounds urgent."
He nodded and picked up the metal device on his desk while waving her out into the hall.
She walked slowly back down the intricate carpet, not seeing the details, not thinking of the waste of funds that had been paid for it, her only thoughts were on the blond boy she had grown to care for over the years.
She sat at her desk and picked up the telephone, about to hang it up, but instead deciding to place it against her ear.
"What do you mean you lost him," came Roy's scathing reply.
"The kid saw something and just ran off, Angsley and I tried following after him, but he was too fast. Then we heard glass breaking, but we couldn't find him," said Wilcore, trying to justify himself.
"When was it?" Roy asked, still furious.
"Around three in the morning," Dan stated, trying to stay professional, but clearly nervous of the Fuhrer's wrath.
"What! What the hell took you so long? Why didn't you call sooner?" Mustang snarled quietly, trying to keep Hawkeye from hearing him down the hall.
"We just wanted to be absolutely sure that we checked everywhere before we called," Dan said after a long pause.
She heard Roy take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
"Thank you for calling, I appreciate that you spent the time looking for him, but I'll take over from here," Mustang said tiredly.
Riza pulled the phone away from her ear and gently hung it up. She inhaled, trying to calm her shot nerves. So he wasn't dead… At least, not yet…
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November 22, 1919-- 1:40 PMCentral Vantish Apartment Buildings
The silver-eyed boy placed the phone in its rightful place on the small table. He pulled his knees up on the fluffy couch, so he could rest his throbbing head on them, and then wrapped his tan arms around himself. Brother would have at least called if he were going to stay out all day. He thought fretfully.
The hastily scrawled note left on the floor telling that his brother would be back soon was not at all able to pacify the worried, hung over boy.
The sound of two high voices and the delicious smell of breakfast were leaking from the kitchen. I'll go see what they're talking about once the room stops spinning. Al thought, wondering how the women just a couple feet away had escaped from the painful grip of the aftereffects of the alcohol.
"Al! Come in here, your food'll get cold," he heard Winry's cry drifting out of the kitchen to the russet-haired man's ears.
Alphonse painfully got up from the couch, each bone in his back protesting with a small crack. Sleeping on the floor last night was not a good idea, he thought staring at the thick carpet under his feet with a small pout. He shuffled into the kitchen, noticing the warm fabric of the carpet turning to the hard, cold tile.
"Al, you don't look so good," Paninya joked as Al flopped into his chair at the table.
Alphonse crossed his arms and scowled, saying, "I don't get how you guys are completely normal? How come I'm the only one who has a hang over?" He whined, clutching his head when a sharp pain erupted behind his eyes. He was never going drink again.
"We've had more experience with beer, Al," Winry chirped, then felt bad when Al scrunched his eyes in agony. "And besides, you were out of your body for a long time and now it has to get used to all these new things," the lemon-haired girl said and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"And who says we aren't hung over?" Paninya chimed in stretching her hands over her head. Winry and Alphonse grimaced in empathy when small pops came from her spine and echoed through the room. Al looked at Paninya as the dark-skinned girl's lean body was bent over the chair in her enormous stretch. He blushed and quickly looked down at his plate.
A pair of enormous yellow eyes stared wide-eyed up at him while the plate's bacon mouth grinned at him mockingly. He broke the plate man's pupils and watched the eyes slowly begin to well up, and then a fat stream of yolk tears began oozing slowly down its face until the plate was covered in a thick yellow liquid.
Alphonse pushed the crying slab of glass away from him and stood up. He felt sick. The bronze-haired boy didn't know if it was from the hangover or from worry. He hoped it was the former. But, then, the breakfast felt like a bad omen, he felt as if something were about to swoop down on his head and snatch everything away from him.
Al pushed his chair out and stood up, clutching his head to keep the dull throb under control. "I'm going out to the balcony," he announced unsteadily, trying to keep himself from vomiting on the tabletop.
He walked through the apartment and stopped before a transparent wall of glass. He slid it open and stepped out into the sun's rays. The crisp air whistled through the thin black poles on the balcony, then wrapped itself around his lean form and ran it's chilly fingers through his brown hair. I feel better already, he thought as he took a deep breath, filling his sinuses and alcohol-muddled brain with clean air.
He looked onto the great expanse of Central and began to let his worry dissipate. His brother would be back. His brother had to come back. Edward wouldn't leave Alphonse all alone. Never.
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November 21, 1919-- 2:10 PM,Central Vantish Apartment Buildings
Winry and Paninya watched him go, concern etched into their features.
"Maybe I should go out and talk to him," Winry said hesitantly.
"No, you eat, I'll go talk to him, you cooked breakfast, so I'll take over," Paninya said quickly. Winry looked surprised but soon recovered and a small smile began to form on her face.
Paninya could feel splotches of red coloring her cheeks, I never was very dainty at blushing, oh what the hell am I saying, I'm not very dainty, period, she thought with a snort and rushed out of the room, shouting over her shoulder, "really Winry, it's nothing, he's probably just worried. I'll be back in a sec."
She sprinted to the sliding glass, desperately trying to hide the growing redness on her face, when she looked out of the window at Alphonse. His reddish hair was dancing in the breeze and had turned a soft golden color in the bright sunshine. His head was turned while he looked toward Central's towering buildings, giving the dark-eyed woman the perfect view of his intense, sterling gaze and strong, defined jaw.
Paninya felt her heart start pounding in her ears as she fought the urge to pounce on the man and devour him with kisses. She shook her head and tried to think of anything to get her mind off the muscular young man standing within right within her reach. Hmm… That time I caught Garfiel making out with that customer outta work… I've been trying to get that out of my head for years, but at least I have a use for it now, she thought, shuddering at the memory… that definitely had it's desired affect, she took a deep breath, completely filling her lungs, let it out slowly, and slid the glass open.
"Hey, I was wondering if you're feeling alright… you left in a hurry back there. Winry's cooking isn't that bad, is it?" She joked, joining Alphonse on the platform.
Alphonse jumped and looked around, then scratched the back of his head and laughed, "No, it's okay most of the time, I just don't feel like eating."
Al made room for her by the railings and they both sat down, sliding their legs through the widely spaced rungs, letting them dangle freely in the cold wind. Paninya looked down through the bars and blanched slightly when she noticed how alarmingly high they were off of the ground.
"So, are you okay?" Paninya asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling shy.
"Yeah, I'll be all right… I just have to get over this hangover," Al said sheepishly.
"Oh… Ya know, you shouldn't be worried about him, I'm sure he's fine," she ventured. Alphonse looked at her in surprise, and then looked towards Central again, his expression growing troubled.
"Everyone's been saying that, 'I'm sure he's fine'," he huffed angrily, clearly getting annoyed.
"Because it's probably true, and if you get all worried over nothing than that's a huge waste of energy," the dark-eyed girl said earnestly. Besides, she thought, I could think of a much better way to use that energy. Her head quickly filled with ways of keeping the younger alchemist busy and worry free. She caught herself, then turned away hastily from Al to regain her composure.
"I guess you're right. It's just not like brother to leave for hours and not tell anyone where he went. But you're right, brother'll probably walk through the door right… about… now", Paninya faced him again just as he was straitening up and obviously listening hard to hear the creak of their apartment door and the deep voice of his brother.
When there was no sign of Edward coming, Alphonse propped his head on his hand and cast his eyes downward. "It doesn't mean I can't still worry though."
They both looked up when they heard the ringing of the telephone coming from inside the apartment.
"That's probably him now," Paninya said confidently, grinning like a maniac and elbowing Al in the ribs, thoroughly enjoying their closeness.
The duo sitting on the balcony heard Winry sing out a greeting into the device. They listened as she exchanged pleasantries with the person on the other line. Then they heard her next sentence get interrupted by a low, urgent male voice.
"What?! What do you mean 'missing'? We have to find him," the dark-haired girl and the bronze-haired boy heard Winry gasp in a small, panicked tone. They sprang out of their relaxing positions and darted into the room to find Winry clutching the phone and looking entirely lost.
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November 22, 1919-- Central City
Mmm… my head… hurts… I shouldn't drink so much… next time…
The man's senses slowly returned to him. Something smelled awful, and the only thing he could hear was a steady stream of drip…drip…drip, each splatter pounding into his head like a sledgehammer, making the agony of his throbbing skull worse with each strike.
He opened his tawny eyes slowly, trying to keep the vertigo at bay. Two heavily made up, lifeless green eyes met his and he jumped back with a yell, only to find his hands manacled to each arm of an old leather armchair, preventing him from touching his palms together. He looked around the small, blood-splattered concrete room, avoiding the woman's dead stare… well; this definitely wasn't in his apartment.
He peered through the dim lighting again at the dead girl resting on a raised wooden table and tried to move his wrists out of the steel restraints, dread pooling in his stomach when they firmly stayed in place. He tried to stand, but the ancient chair wouldn't budge. I guess it's been attached to the ground, he lamented, letting a small whine claw its way out of his throat.
"I see you've met my pretty pet," a scratchy voice echoed out of the darkness. The golden-haired man could hear the footsteps of the strange man resound throughout the windowless room, but the figure stopped just before he entered the light, forming an even darker silhouette than the blackness surrounding him.
"Then again, you've already met once in the alley, but how very rude of me, I must formally introduce the two of you," the figure said playfully. The obscured man reached his hand into the light and placed it on the corpses head. He ran his fingers gently through her long brown hair and leaned next to her ear whispering loud enough for the alchemist to hear, "Sarah, this is Edward, he'll be my new playmate for a while, and so I don't really need you anymore."
Edward took a better look at the girl and saw that the steady dripping noise had been her blood, leaking out of her middle to form a puddle, which had been consistently splattering the floor with more gore. The man patted her cheek carefully then put his hands under her stomach and dumped her onto the floor. Edward heard the sharp crack of her skull breaking when she made contact with the hard ground.
"Why do you want me?" Ed questioned angrily. "You've only been going after girls. I don't understand."
The figure took a step into the light so Edward could half of his pale, ghostly face. "Because you're such a handsome boy and I would love to take that away from you. You see, I've been searching for you for a long time, and now that I've finally found you, I can stop playing with these other little girls," the man said mockingly, and then started walking slowly toward Ed, each step bringing him closer to the angry blond.
"You still haven't said why you wanted me," gasped the incapacitated boy, trying to play for time.
"Oh, Edward, I can't tell you now, that would ruin the fun… Besides I can't let you in on any of my secrets, well, not yet."
The honey-haired man growled warningly as the silhouetted man came nearer to the leather chair, his cloak catching the light, making the blackness of the fabric look like a frenzied demon ready to strike. He entered the light fully and Edward saw that the man was wearing an intricately designed mask, which was almost as white as his face, the porcelain of the cover concealing half of his skull.
"Get away," Ed snarled, snapping his teeth at the man.
The phantom man stepped close to Edward and bent down to meet his eyes. "And don't worry, I'm sure I'll find something to keep us entertained so you won't die, well, at least not of boredom anyway," he chortle viciously.
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I just know I'm gonna run out of titles for the chapters soon… oh dear… : (
Sorry it took so long, I just have too much to do lately…
Alcohol plus Sleep deprivation plus Sleeping on the floor equals Cranky Alphonse!
And Reviews equals LOVE!!
(Happy Valentines Day! I'll send extra love to reviewers!… whatever that means)