NOTE: This chapter was published on the same day as Chapter 19, but an automagic email was not sent out at that time. This is the last chapter of the fic. Chapter 19 is explained in the Author's Notes.
Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
Special Plugs Time!
In case you missed them last chapter, silverfox2702 has created some wonderful art to accompany this fic, including Mustang, Riza, Ed, zeppelins (zeppelins! How cool is that?!) and Gateroses! Since I'm not smart enough to link here, hit triple w dot photobucket dot com and search jayamitai. You'll find an album with the art inside! Then, drop silverfox2702 a message to share the niftiness!
And because it got a very positive reception, and because I'm good at guilting people, inkydoo has turned her oneshot Between the Panels into a collection! Go check it out, and be sure to tell her I made you do it. (And try not to be consuming food or beverage when you read the second one. Little Edward will make you snarf your drink.)
- x -
He didn't look nervous at all.
In fact, if she hadn't touched him, she would have treated it like just another fund raiser, or banquet, or any of the other dozens of political functions he'd attended since being reinstated. If she hadn't touched him, she would have taken the quiet moment in his office to relax herself.
This really wasn't much different than any other speech, after all. All he had to do was accept the seat, say something reassuring to the people, and take off. She was reasonably sure that whoever wanted to kill him wouldn't stop after it, either. It would certainly be more shocking if he was murdered in front of the country on the day he took office, but killing him today or tomorrow didn't make that much difference in the grand scheme of things.
If someone managed to assassinate him, it would be pandemonium regardless of the exacts of when and where.
And he was somewhat used to people trying to kill him. So clearly that wasn't what was bugging him.
It was only a ceremony, but to him, it was the end of a journey that began a very long time ago, in a pool of blood. Now his goals had to be the goals of others, rather than the single-minded quest for his own advancement.
Maybe he was afraid he wouldn't hear them.
Clearly he was afraid he wasn't up for the task.
And Riza really wasn't sure throwing platitudes at him like she had was particularly helpful. It was hard to sidestep him when he asked such blunt questions.
This was one of those things she was going to have to let him do on his own.
She hadn't even read the speech.
Of course, that hardly mattered either. He hadn't written a one of the ones he'd read, and she was sure the same scriptwriter that prepared his other speeches had been called in to write this one. Parliament was bent on portraying him as something other than a glorified replacement of their previous military state system. Doubtlessly the speech told of how the people's government had changed, and in these times strong leaders needed to be chosen to guide the country to peace.
She doubted it would be any different than the speech they'd have written if they'd chosen Hakuro. Mustang was Prime Minister, but unlike the Fuhrer, he was going to have to play nice with Parliament, at least until they learned to trust him. They were lucky the House was still filled with earnest, well-meaning men, who were unlikely to oppose him for the sake of opposing. If they worked any more inefficiently than they already did, he would probably bring his gloves to work one day and that would be that.
He wasn't above bullying them, and she was certain they knew it. They had already balked at giving him complete control of the National Alchemists, and he could only control the military for forty-five days before they could overrule any military operation. Enough time for him to act to protect their borders, but not long enough for him to launch any serious aggressive action against their neighbors.
She was also pretty sure that was for their neighbors' sakes, not because they were afraid Roy was going to go on a border-expansion campaign.
Riza sharpened her gaze, making eye contact with every soldier they passed, confirming she personally recognized them. She still wasn't sure the assassins were Drachmans, and she was absolutely certain Hakuro wasn't behind it. He'd probably be on stage already, seated and waiting for the various members of the House to give their introduction speeches, their unilateral support.
He'd visited Mustang earlier that morning. She had no idea what they'd discussed.
She hoped it didn't involve a resignation. As much as he was a pain in the ass, he was a seasoned general, and they needed all the help they could get. If any of their neighbors began to cooperate, Amestris was in serious trouble indeed.
She came to a stop in the wide marble entrance to HQ, waiting for a head nod from the chief of communications to signal it was time for the Prime Minister to appear. Behind her, she could hear men mumbling their congratulations, and Mustang's soft answers. He'd almost been a politician half as long as he'd been a soldier, now.
She smiled to herself. Even if he lapsed a bit too far into their world from time to time, she had no doubt he'd not forgotten his standing order to her. To shoot him if he ever strayed. She supposed some notification of strayage was implicit, but she was pretty sure it was never going to be an issue.
Between Breda, Havoc, and the Elrics, there was no chance someone wouldn't clue him in.
A nod brought her out of her revere, and she stepped to the side with a quick salute. He didn't return it; he was now officially no longer a member of the military, for obvious reasons. He'd likely be reinstated at the end of his term if he wasn't re-elected, but from this moment on, he was the Prime Minister.
He just nodded to her, once, with that odd little smile on his face, and he strode out onto the platform.
Hawkeye stared after him a moment, then brought her eyes up to the grand branches of HQ, specifically the second turret on the right, well above the crowd. She didn't see him, but she knew he was watching, and she frowned slightly.
Mustang was up to something. Better to let Havoc know now.
The ovation was deafening; it shook the building. She stepped in line to join his party out of the doors, walking onto the platform to take her place near the back of the stage. As head of his security detail, she technically had a Parliamentary position, so despite her relatively low military title she had every right to remain on stage with the much more prestigious officers.
The position also gave her an excellent vantage from which to take out any threats that might actually be on the platform with them.
It took a while for the crowd to settle down, and he waited patiently. When the very last of the chatter died down, she clearly heard someone in the crowd shout the word 'fuehrer.'
She watched Mustang lean towards the microphone, and noted he hadn't taken his speech out of his pocket.
He hadn't intended to from the start.
"You're the second person today to say that," he responded to the speaker, and his amplified voice rang throughout the parade grounds. She saw him reach up with his left hand, and she realized he was adjusting his eyepatch. "I don't see the resemblance, myself."
His time with the politicians had taught him how to handle civilians deftly. After all, he couldn't very well call the man out. Any other response would only prove the civilian's point.
The crowd tittered, then settled down, and the catcaller didn't respond.
"But the young man brings up a good point," he continued. "Many of you have voiced concerns that this country is heading right back where it was six years ago. Entrenched in war. A military state with a puppet Parliament. Before I address that, I have something more important to discuss."
He gazed out over the crowd, pausing only a moment. "Two months ago today, Elysia Hughes turned ten years old."
This announcement was greeted with silence.
The seconds stretched on, but he said nothing else.
From somewhere near the front, in the vicinity of the military benches, a single clap rang out. It was followed by another, and within seconds she could see that the soldiers in the audience were joining the applause. It wasn't quite on par with the combined efforts of every civilian in Central, but it was much more enthusiastic, and when it finally died down, she saw Mustang take a deep breath.
"For those who have not served, Elysia and her mother Gracia are the family of the late Brigadier General Maes Hughes."
Hawkeye dimly heard a few shouts, but couldn't make out the words.
"Maes was a very good friend of mine. He died seven years ago, protecting his country and his family." Roy's voice was strong and sure. "He took it upon himself daily, if not more frequently, to remind us of them. I do not believe there is a single man or woman present in uniform that missed watching Maes Hughes' daughter grow up. And not for lack of trying," he added dryly.
There was some polite laughter, and more shouts. Probably from the enlisted.
"The late Brigadier General was also the man that taught all of us two very important things. The first was that the day to day struggles of having a family, and raising a child, were of the utmost priority. They took precedence over meetings, over paperwork, over battlefields."
Mustang paused, and she saw him shake his head before he spoke again. "The second was to always keep multiple copies of pictures of your child in your wallet, because new soldiers enlist every day."
That got a much more sincere response from the civilians, and Riza found herself smiling, a little sadly.
"Many of my critics have pointed out that I have not taken a wife, and I do not have a family of my own. They use this as evidence that I am too single-mindedly interested in military affairs, and will neglect domestic issues.
"I believe the response of your military today has proven, beyond mere words, that we have not forgotten why we wear these uniforms."
Tumultuous applause erupted at his words, and she relaxed slightly, taking her attention off the Prime Minister and unobtrusively continuing her observations of the people on the platform.
Mustang had successfully won the people. It didn't matter what he said now.
He had just bought some trust.
"But the reality of this great military, at least in this age, is that it is necessary." His tone was more serious. "Your Parliament placed me before you today because you have recognized the need for strong leadership. For better or worse, this young nation began in bloodshed. There were few opportunities for anyone outside of the Fuhrer himself to gain any greater understanding of the responsibilities of running a country."
Roy half-turned, indicating the neat rows of black-suited men and women behind him. "This Parliament has done an admirable job of taking on those responsibilities. Let them be recognized."
Most of the seated officials were just staring at Mustang, obviously surprised, but tried to take it in stride as the crowd demonstrated its appreciation.
"It is not in the heart of a military man to compromise with his enemy. Wars are fought for land, for resources, for pride, and there are no balances. The winner does not concede anything in a war.
"But we're not at war anymore. We have treaties and political ties to all our neighbors at this time, and you've voiced your desire to remain at peace."
Mustang indicated the House again with a wave of his arm. "These men and women have done well to broker and negotiate this peace. And as of today, I join their ranks, not as a Major General but as your representative."
Oddly, the crowd broke into a light applause.
"It is no secret that our current diplomatic ties with many of our neighbors are strained. A great deal of damage was done on both sides in the last fifty years of our history, and that damage is not going to disappear because we want it to." He paused to let that sink in.
"As of now, I am no longer a military man. What debts this country can settle with compromise, we will."
Riza kept her expression blank with effort. That was a very dangerous promise indeed.
"We will deal in the currencies of land, of gold, and of resources. We will issue apologies where they are due." This time he didn't give the murmuring crowd time to respond.
"But should these currencies be unacceptable to our neighbors, should they demand lives . . . they're not going to have them." He didn't raise his voice. He merely stated it as fact. "That is why your Parliament placed me in front of you today. Amestris does not want to return to a military dictatorship, and I have no interest in leading one.
"However, we cannot ignore or shrug off the consequences of our government's previous actions. The Parliament's tolerance of political aggression will continue, but any military aggression will be met with the will of an army that is united, through all their differences, by a desire to protect Elysia Hughes and her mother."
This time, the cheering continued for some time, and Riza sharpened her attention as the House took its feet to give him a standing ovation.
For his part, Mustang looked at home on the podium. He inclined his head, as he'd learned to do in the last four years of crowd-wrangling, and remained relatively still until the House Speaker came up to shake his hand and present him with a crest.
She'd assigned a corporal to keep an eye on the Speaker, and she actually knew him personally. He was no threat. Once the ceremonial pinning was done, the House slowly took their seats, and she saw no readily visible weapons.
Havoc had a slightly better angle on the House; if anyone had pulled or shown a weapon during the ovation and pinning, she had no doubt they would have been dropped. She was fairly sure she didn't need to look, but she switched her attention to the opposite side of the platform, and gave the National Alchemists a once-over
Armstrong and the Elrics would be on guard without her request, and she had no doubt the three of them could handle an alchemic threat better than any sharpshooter. Many of the State Alchemists appeared pleased, but the majority looked bored.
Of course, they'd known Mustang longer than the public did. He'd been an accomplished alchemist long before he'd even taken the exam.
The Prime Minister took his seat behind the podium as the Speaker went on to reiterate that no serious changes in current policy were being affected, and the Parliament was in unilateral support of the new Prime Minister and his stated policy of compromise before force. She tuned him out, having heard it before. It was no time before the ceremony was ended with a fanfare of brass, and she took her feet, waiting at attention for the Speaker and the Prime Minister to pass.
One battle down, one to go.
- x -
It was a ballroom.
Obviously it was going to be used as a large audience chamber, but even so, the space was enormous, and could easily have accommodated ten times the number of people filing in. Huge crystal chandeliers lit the great rectangular room, burning brightly and solidly illuminating the rich murals and cloth tapestries that covered the walls. The chair-rail and everything below was a marbled white, and suits of armor – not Thule, he noted – lined the wall at even intervals.
He hadn't been in a ballroom since the New Year's Eve party in the palace in Stuttgart. It had been nearly this large, and even the architecture of the space was similar.
It was sad, to think that Amestris was equivalent to that world's Germany. It had more in common with Berlin than it did with London, which was a truly pitiable thing.
London had been really neat.
"What's with the serious look?"
Al glanced over at his brother, a little surprised that he'd spoken. He'd been silent throughout the walk from the inauguration platform to the audience chamber, and Al had figured he was thinking along the same lines. Mustang had given a good speech, but he'd promised two things that seemed unlikely.
He'd promised to compromise with his neighbors, when he personally had accepted nothing but his own goals for possibly as long as he'd been alive. Then again, he was an alchemist, so the idea of equivalent exchange wasn't foreign. It was simply a question of whether he could afford to make those kinds of exchanges.
It was a question that lead directly to his second rash statement, a promise to protect Amestris. If even two of their neighboring countries became serious about marching on Central, or East . . . perhaps that was why the State Alchemists had been called to a special meeting immediately proceeding the inauguration.
Not that he thought Mustang would ever dare to put the National Alchemists on the front lines. He wouldn't send Ed to war. It didn't matter that four years had gone by since Al had really talked to the man. He trusted it in his gut.
This meeting was about something else. And the fact that the room was so large, and relatively secluded on the back of the main HQ campus, was a problem.
Al quickly wiped the brooding frown off his face and grinned at his brother. "I could ask you the same. Did you go talk to Winry?"
Rather than blush, which he'd rather expected, Ed continued to pin him with his eyes. "Don't change the subject."
He let his smile broaden. "I'm glad, brother," he replied, and he meant it. They'd both put on a magnificent show on the train, but asking Winry to come with them for a day to Central was not the same as trying to reconstruct a relationship with her. Their customer/mechanic relationship had been fraying before nii-san had been transmuted beyond the Gate the first time, and after his second disappearance . . .
Ed dropped his gaze for a second, and Al relented. Obviously they'd talked, and obviously the conversation had taken a pleasant turn. That was all he really needed to know.
"Al-"
"I'm sorry to trouble you again, but . . . there's something I'm not quite clear on."
Al glanced over his shoulder at the speaker, never happier to be interrupted. They were no longer at the reception, and he didn't have the crutch of name placards at every plate, but he recognized the alchemist as one that had been seated at the table with them. He was of medium height, with short-cropped, curly red hair and sharp green eyes, and his nose was rather large and bulbous.
"Ah . . . Franklin, wasn't it?"
The young man smiled and nodded, coming to stand beside the Elrics. "Yep. We actually met when we were boys, but I doubt you remember. In Lior, about four and a half years ago."
Al thought back, then shook his head politely. "I'm afraid I don't. Actually . . . were you one of the children Rose was looking after?" It seemed to him there had been a redhead running around the plaza giving Rose quite a headache, but if he had been one of her charges, it hadn't been for long . . .
That would make him a young State Alchemist indeed. He was only fifteen or sixteen at most.
The redhead grinned, and Al noted that his brother had finally glanced over at Franklin, eyeing him up and down before feigning disinterest in the conversation and turning his attention to the main doors.
"I used to play with them," the alchemist laughed, refocusing Al's attention. "My parents owned a donut shop just north of the main square."
Al smiled. That explained only the passing memory. "Honey glazed, if I recall."
The redhead nodded again. "Back at the reception, didn't you say that the Crimson Alchemist destroyed Scar's left arm?"
Ed's attention snapped back to them, and Al inclined his head. "Scar deconstructed it off his own body to prevent it from exploding." And thus performed human transmutation, the most taboo of all Grand Arcanum for the Ishbals, just prior to meeting his god Ishbala.
He still had mixed feelings about the warrior priest, but there was no doubt, at his core, Scar had been a good man, and a good brother. But he'd killed so many . . .
"And he transmuted the materials of his other arm into your armor body to reverse the effects of Kimblee's explosive transmutation."
He noticed Edward's head tilt ever so slightly, and he held back his smirk with effort. They'd hurriedly agreed on what to keep to themselves, but hadn't had time to get specific about the details before they'd been ushered into the reception, where they'd instantly been surrounded. Ed had slunk off before he'd gotten very far into the story, and so he'd had to improvise.
As far as he was concerned, it was up to Ed to figure out where he'd 'found' a Philosopher's Stone. They'd agreed that they would admit it had restored Al's body, but also agreed to fib a bit on the details.
Only it looked like someone was about to call them on it.
Finally.
"Once he'd decomposed his own arm, he'd realized how Kimblee was beginning the reactions," Al said quietly. "And thus he learned how to stop it." It wasn't as farfetched as it sounded, actually; if Scar had been more knowledgeable about alchemy, he might have been able to simply rearrange the armor without transmuting the incomplete Philosopher's Stone into it in the first place.
Of course, that might have resulted in the erasing of the blood seal, but technically it should have disappeared when that part of his armor had turned to incendiary material. He'd probably unconsciously spent some of the incomplete Stone just to keep his soul tied to his body during its change.
Franklin nodded. "And all this happened prior to the army advancing into the city."
Al pursed his lips, noting a few interested glances were being thrown their way. He didn't remember seeing many soldiers during Scar's fight with the Crimson Alchemist. In fact, he really didn't really recall seeing very many soldiers at all before –
Before the transmutation circle was activated.
When Scar died.
When his armor became the Philosopher's Stone.
"But then . . ." The young man frowned. "If he didn't have arms, how did he throw Kimblee's body off the wall?"
Al blinked.
That was not the question he'd been expecting.
"You know, I've wondered that." Al glanced up to see his brother studying him, his expression slightly confused. "It was Scar, not Lust, that threw Kimblee's body in view of the army."
All things considered, that must have looked weird. "He kicked it," Al replied. "Down the street. I don't actually know how he got it up the stairs. Lust must have helped him."
"Because she wanted him to transmute the Stone," the redhead concluded. "Which means it was transmuted. That's where you found the Stone, isn't it. You took it from the Homunculus."
Ah, there it was.
It was a statement, not a question, but clearly it was posed more towards the Fullmetal Alchemist than him. Al was silent, and didn't look at his brother.
Ed didn't reply.
Franklin turned back to him, his expression less than accusatory, but something close. "I don't get it. If you're both admitting to human transmutation, and say that a Philosopher's Stone is created by killing thousands of people, why not just admit that you took the Stone created during the destruction of Lior?"
"Are you looking for a Philosopher's Stone?" Ed asked him suddenly.
Franklin stared at Al instead of at Ed, and his green eyes never wavered. "If I were, it would seem you two would be the best people to ask, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know," Ed murmured. "I understand the Flame Alchemist became a veritable cesspool of knowledge on the subject."
Al couldn't help a sudden grin, and Franklin misinterpreted it to be poking fun of him.
"You two should know as well as I do that he isn't interested in helping anyone decipher that information," he growled. "And speaking of which, you shouldn't have entrusted your notes to him, Full Metal. Your travelogues make for interesting reading indeed."
Al glanced at his brother. Ed was looking over the teen again, this time a little more sharply. "We saw a lot of interesting things on our travels."
"I thought the most interesting thing was a sudden increase in the complexity of your coding immediately after finding the red water," he responded dryly. "I'm fairly confident you thereafter actually recorded the transmutation circle you used for the Stone."
Ed dropped his pleasant expression altogether, and he suddenly reminded Al of sensei so much it hurt. "Why do you need one so badly?"
The teen's eyes flickered for only a second. "I was just speaking hypothetically. I can't determine from your notes when you figured out the transmutation circle."
"You won't." Al was surprised when he heard his voice. "Most of the research on human transmutation circles was worked out by another alchemist, and those notes burned."
It was true. They didn't take Hohenheim's books with them when they burned the house. Of course, their father hadn't come up with the seven-cornered circle, either.
That information had come from nii-san's glimpse into the Gate.
And that was something they weren't going to tell Franklin. He had kept Gate explanations to the barest minimum, and most of the men at the table had rightly assumed it was something they didn't really want to see for themselves.
"They were in the First Library, then?"
That he had decoded enough of Ed's notes to realize there had been a section on red water was a little concerning, but then again, he was extremely young, and he was a State Alchemist. He was probably extraordinarily bright.
No wonder Ed had asked him why he needed a Stone.
"I burned them," Ed said shortly.
Franklin was about to say something more when the general level of conversation in the room dropped suddenly, and Al glanced to his left at motion near the door. Her back was to him, but there was no doubt it was Colonel Hawkeye.
Which meant Mustang wasn't far behind.
So the meeting was starting.
She scanned the room quickly, spending more time looking over the armor than she did the alchemists. But she made eye contact with each of them, including him. She didn't linger on any of them, which relaxed him slightly, and before she'd really finished checking the room to her liking, the familiar shape of the Prime Minister strode in.
The doors shut solidly behind him, and as the room came to a full silence Al clearly heard the deadbolts shoot home.
Not that locking a door would stop any of the alchemists in the room. That was clearly to give them their privacy.
It still unnerved him, and Al made a conscious effort to relax his hands at his sides.
The first thing Mustang did was unbutton his dark, stiff jacket, rolling his head in obvious relief. A few of the alchemists guffawed, and he gave them a dark look.
"I'd have complained, but I'm terrified of my seamstress."
That brought a round of laughs – the idea of the Flame Alchemist being afraid of a woman was laughable to them. Al couldn't help but glance at the colonel again, now standing at parade rest in front of the doors.
These alchemists just didn't know Roy Mustang very well at all.
Or maybe he didn't.
His time spent in conversation with Mustang had been extremely brief. After the Major General had nearly drowned Edward, he'd readily agreed to surrender his uniform to stop the bomb test and Al had taken off right then. When he'd returned, they'd been too concerned with getting Mustang out of the hospital and away from Ed. He still didn't know if they'd even spoken while he'd been absent, and he noted Ed was watching Mustang with a very strange look on his face.
Of course, he'd had a strange look on his face during the speech, but it had been a tiny little smile. He hadn't seen nii-san smile like that since Germany.
And that was why he was sure Ed had gone to talk to Winry.
But the look on his face now was serious, and a little calculating. Al honestly wasn't sure if Ed was still worrying over the now-silent redhead beside them, or he was just wary of what Mustang was going to ask them to do.
Once Mustang was a little more comfortable, and slightly less imposing, he addressed the room. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice." Of course, their notice had been given several weeks in advance of the actual results of Parliament's vote, which meant the other State Alchemists had only had two days to get the missive to appear here in Central and actually arrive. It explained why only sixty or so were present.
Or maybe that was all there were left.
"As most of you already know, Parliament has granted my request for full control of the State Alchemists. As of now, all of you answer to me."
So much for being less imposing.
Mustang clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the room in earnest. His eye stopped when he hit Edward, who Al imagined was probably glaring in return, and then flicked to him.
"Before we move onto policy and your new assignments, there's another order of business to be addressed," he said coolly. Al gave him his best blank look, and checked to make sure his fingers weren't curling.
"The first person in history to receive a posthumous National Alchemist certification is standing in this room," Roy noted dryly, his expression never changing. "He's also the first person to survive it."
Most of the men and women in the room chuckled, and Al forced himself to take a deep breath.
They'd treated him like this in the reception, too. He could understand Mustang and his subordinates avoiding the subject earlier, considering the importance of stopping the bomb test, but now –
"I believe everyone in the room is familiar with the name Alphonse Elric." Mustang glanced out over the assembled alchemists. "He passed the written exam at the age of eleven, but chose not to take the practical due to the rather unfortunate evidence that he had attempted human transmutation. Does anyone oppose his keeping the certification?"
There was only a brief pause. "Speaking of which," a grizzled old man called out, "do you plan to press charges, given the rather unfortunate evidence that he succeeded the second time around?"
A murmuring sprang up, and Al carefully didn't look towards his brother. That was another of the fake automail's perks; Edward wouldn't be discovered to have committed the same crime. He really doubted even Hakuro would go after them for their attempt to transmute their mother all those years ago, but there was no doubt Edward had pursued his certification with the sole purpose of transmuting a Philosopher's Stone to try the criminal act again.
And there was no doubt in anyone's mind that a Philosopher's Stone had been used to return Alphonse Elric to his human body. The doubt lay in which of the brothers had actually used it. Al was pretty sure he'd manipulated the story enough to absolve his brother of that particular crime.
Assuming he could convince his brother to keep his mouth shut if it came to that. Which probably wasn't going to happen.
Though, to his credit, Ed was remaining silent. Al didn't dare look at his expression, though. He was already pushing his luck. Taking the orders from First Lieutenant Ross on the train before Ed could, snapping in the car when Ed had mentioned Mustang's role in taking Eckhart's airship, and above all, the conversation they'd had just before they left Central -
"The reason human transmutation is banned," Roy stated in a deceptively quiet voice, "is because of the almost universally unpleasant results. I doubt anyone in this room knows them more intimately than the Elrics. I'd say Alphonse has suffered an equivalent amount to his transgression."
The room was silent for a moment.
"You're the boss," the old alchemist finally replied. It wasn't one that he recognized, and the man didn't sound particularly disappointed.
Al resisted the urge to shake his head. Would no one say it?
Would no one ask him to answer for his crime?
"Any other objections?"
The silence stretched on, second after second, and Al dared to scan the faces of the men and women nearest him. Most were looking at him, and some were smiling.
So the answer was no.
"I do," Al announced, taking a step forward to separate himself further from his brother. Colonel Hawkeye was giving him a sharp look, but he focused instead on Mustang, who cocked an eyebrow.
"On what grounds?"
"Two reasons, actually." Al half-smiled. "The first is my second name. Winry doesn't like it. Was it Parliament's first time naming an alchemist?"
To his surprise, Roy actually laughed. "It wasn't, but I see your point. What's your real objection?"
He'd rehearsed this a thousand times in his head, but now that he was there, under the surprised scrutiny of so many accomplished alchemists, he found himself hesitating.
He'd made nii-san leave it behind. He'd made him face the consequences.
It was time to face his own.
It was time to move forward.
"I can't figure out why you, of all people, would give me such an honor for killing thousands." He narrowed his focus to just Roy, studying his face and his visible eye for any hint of reaction. "I transmuted the gate that allowed the Thule Invasion to take place. Granted, they might have managed it without me, but I certainly facilitated their efforts. I fail to see why I should receive a reward for such a thing."
Mustang's face was impassive, though the response of the room was significantly more animated. Most of the comments he drew from the general din sounded shocked, which surprised him; he'd explained all this in the reception. He'd flatly stated that he had transmuted the gate using two Homunculi in order to give his brother a way to get home, and from that Gate had poured enemy airships.
He'd found his brother by transmuting a piece of his soul into an enemy's armor. He'd known full well that a powerful enemy was on the others side of that Gate, and he'd not taken a single second to consider the threat he had invited into the city.
He hadn't even considered that they could threaten his world. And if they did, that he wouldn't be able to stop them.
After around half a minute of deliberation, Mustang lifted a hand from behind his back to gesture for silence. Al was shocked to see that he'd donned an ignition glove at some point.
"Would you prefer to be treated as a war criminal?" Mustang asked him, once the murmuring had halted. "I believe you were thirteen at the time, so you likely wouldn't be facing much besides a few years' imprisonment."
"My age had nothing to do with it." He fought to keep anger out of his voice. Mustang, of all people, was going to try to rationalize this away? "I knew there was an enemy on the other side of that gate, I was there when they first appeared in Lior –"
"Ah, yes," Mustang interrupted thoughtfully. "Lior."
Al realized quite suddenly that Roy's expression wasn't blank after all. It was –
Disappointed.
"You've not been back long," he started slowly. "But I would have expected you to have been caught up on your history by now."
Al just held his gaze steadily.
"Did you transmute a gate in Lior, prior to the main invasion of Central?"
A few of the alchemists were whispering to one another, and both ignored them. "No."
"Was anyone killed by the advance force that attacked Lior that day?"
"No." Of course, that advance force was already dead, but they'd been animated and had weapons, so it was safe to assume they would have –
"Brigadier General Armstrong, I believe you were present at the event in question?"
Al resisted the urge to close his eyes. It was painfully obvious where Mustang was going with this.
No wonder he was disappointed.
"Yes, sir!" The large alchemist's voice boomed over the crowd. Other than receiving a bone-crushing hug as he'd entered the reception hall, he hadn't really had much interaction with the Strong Arm Alchemist since the hospital. But there was no doubt, listening to his tone, what he thought of this entire line of questioning.
"What happened to the advance force in Lior?"
"Alphonse Elric transmuted a tornado, gathering the soldiers into the air before they could leave the plaza."
Mustang cocked his head to the side consideringly. "A tornado. At age thirteen."
"Yes, sir!"
Mustang returned his gaze to Al, and his voice was positively acidic. "Impressive. Perhaps we shouldn't factor in your age after all." His visible eye was quite flat, and he looked hard at Al for several seconds before turning back to Armstrong. "Were any of the citizens in the plaza injured?"
"The tornado was tightly controlled, and only affected the enemy soldiers. I hypothesize the attempt was meant to steal air from their lungs and render them unconscious, but I believe they were dead before they became visible to us."
"I see," Mustang said quietly. "Thank you, Brigadier General."
A slightly more audible muttering began, and Mustang allowed it before turning back to Al. His expression had cooled significantly. "You've been missing for four years, Alphonse, yet everyone in this room knows who you are. Your name was well-known long before you disappeared from Central that day. No one died in Lior. Do you understand?"
Al realized, somewhere along the line, he'd let his hands curl up. It was his tell; he was going to have to work on it.
So Mustang had given him the honor for what he'd done in Lior, but made it a part of Central's ceremony simply because he knew Alphonse Elric, or at the very least Elric, was a name the average person might recognize.
Then it really wasn't about him at all. It had been done for the people.
Just like Mustang's reinstatement had been done for the people.
And Roy had accepted being brought back into the military at high rank, despite his feelings of failure.
Al finally dropped his eyes, then shook his head. "I understand, but I don't agree."
Mustang took a moment to consider his reply. "Duly noted. Your request for resignation is denied."
Al remained quite still, exactly where he was. He'd expected Mustang to drag his feet, but he hadn't expected –
No. He hadn't looked at it from that angle before.
He had saved lives in Lior.
But Lior was where he'd also attempted to follow those enemies directly through the Gate to the other world, in the stupid hope it would lead him to where his brother had gone. At the time he hadn't known anything about where they'd come from, just that they were alien. And so that event led directly to his standing beneath Central, watching Wrath being bitten in half by Gluttony.
It had led directly to that little girl, clinging to her teddy bear, dying not ten feet from where he and his brother had been standing. It had led to the existence of the airship that had dropped its load of explosive on that street, and two dozen just like it.
The gate Eckhart had been able to create was unstable, and the airships would never have passed through it if not for him.
Why was Mustang ignoring that?
"However, I suppose a posthumous award of this nature could be rescinded, seeing as the alchemist in question is still quite remarkably alive." Mustang's voice wasn't as smug as he'd expected. "You were very badly injured, Alphonse. Have you attempted transmutation since you returned?"
He locked eyes with Roy, but the man never so much as twitched. His expression was one of polite concern.
Was he testing him? Just to see if he'd admit to transmuting the uranium bomb to avoid giving the answer Mustang wanted to hear?
Not that he was even tempted. "No."
"Then I suppose a practical is in order. I believe there are enough National Alchemists present to meet the current quota."
Al took a deep, quiet breath. "I have no desire to be a State Alchemist."
"I don't recall asking," Mustang replied coldly. "A sixth of this city is still in ruin from that day. If you're so eager to take on guilt for that attack, perhaps you should consider indebting yourself to this country in a way that would be of most use."
Al almost flinched, but he wasn't sure anyone would see it but Ed. "I will do my utmost to repair the damage caused and seek the forgiveness of the victims' families, if there is any to be had." He fought to keep his voice steady. "But I will do so without a title I don't deserve." He'd fight to protect Amestris if it came to that, surely Mustang knew it wasn't necessary to put a leash around his neck.
Roy seemed to consider his next words carefully. "You are needed here, Alphonse. If you refuse to choose the method of your practical, I will choose it for you."
He'd been back for almost month. He'd stayed in Resembool because his brother had needed him. But now it was clear Ed was going to be okay. Once that responsibility was met, his second had always been to do what he could to repair the damage he'd caused.
He couldn't make things like they were before. But he could come close.
If he was a State Alchemist, he would be at the beck and call of the Prime Minister. He doubted Roy would waste his time with useless assignments, but that wasn't the point. His responsibilities as a Nation Alchemist would get in his way.
And he was already four years behind.
When he didn't respond, Mustang raised his right hand. His thumb was lightly balanced against the inside of his middle finger.
"Let's see if you're still capable of transmuting."
That was why the room was so big.
Mustang had predicted his objections from the start.
And it was pretty clear, if he acted to protect himself from the attack, he would simply be held to the previously awarded certificate. If Mustang could force him to transmute, he effectively won.
And Al was damn sure that he wasn't going to be Mustang's target. Neither would Ed; the most likely candidate was probably an alchemist nearby.
Probably Franklin. Young, smart – the kid probably reminded him of them.
Al shook his head, slowly. "You always were a bully."
He glanced around the room, noting the high but too-low ceiling. So much for another tornado; at least then he could prevent Mustang from concentrating oxygen with any accuracy. There were few materials in the room that would result in a flashy enough show of transmutation to impress so many alchemists.
So Mustang was even forcing the type of transmutation.
He had every right to be disappointed. The great Alphonse Elric hadn't managed to do a single unpredictable thing.
Al stepped to his left, approaching a suit of armor. It was not like the armor that had been in their basement, nor was it like the Thule's – it seemed to really be a ceremonial suit of armor, and nothing more. He clapped his hands together, completing the circle, then touched them to the armor's chestplate.
It was still frighteningly easy. All he had to do was relax, and a sudden flowing of something cool and liquid shot down his arm. Now that he knew where to pay attention, he could tell the sensation had started where his spine met his neck.
The place where Ed had affixed his soul. Possibly the very place where all human souls seemed to be attached.
The armor animated at once, and he watched it stump towards Mustang. The alchemist watched it approach impassively, though many of the other alchemists in the room were drawing back in amazement.
Ed hadn't managed to do more than tie with Mustang, when he'd fought him. Then again, Ed had been much younger, and he'd really had no idea what he was up against.
Al did. And he was better at hand to hand.
He watched his soul gradually get the idea of how the armor moved, and without a dead body gumming up the motion it was much easier to do than the last time. It still moved very ungracefully towards the Prime Minister, and when the armor was within a few yards of Mustang, it stopped.
For a moment, nothing happened. The armor remained still, and the alchemists in the room murmured.
Then Al smiled, and watched as the armor raised its arms, and clapped its hands together.
It extended the right one palm down towards the ground, and from beneath the carpeting came a stone cylinder. Even as it emerged, it began to narrow its shape into a long, curved sword with an exceptionally long hilt. His soul used carpet fiber to weave the hilt-wrap, and imitated the guard as best it could.
He didn't really want to give Hawkeye a heart attack, but he was rather pleased with the no-datchi. It looked exactly like the longer of the two katana the samurai they had met had been carrying.
General pandemonium greeted this development. Al had never really tried to get the things he transmuted his soul into to then transmute other objects, but the idea had come to him when he'd first sent the piece of his soul beyond the Gate. Since his soul carried his knowledge, it made sense that it would know enough to actually complete a transmutation circle and transmute other things itself.
Only in that world beyond the Gate, he couldn't use alchemy. So while he had thought he might be able to assist his brother with transmuting a way home, in the end he had only managed to recall that piece of his soul.
He also hadn't had the chance to try his theory during the Thule invasion, because the majority of the transmuting he was doing involved controlling the enemy armor. And it wasn't as though the piece of his soul necessary to animate that armor could thus transmute a piece of itself into something else. It would be spread to thin to move anything at that point. It could never become an infinitely cascading transmutation.
Mustang seemed to get the point, because he smiled slightly. Then he raised his right hand, even as the armor slowly readied the sword, and snapped his fingers.
Roy was only aiming to disarm the armor, possibly fearing that he could damage the piece of soul animating the armor if he completely destroyed it. His explosion caught both the slowly swinging sword and the right side of the armor, shattering the sword into several pieces and knocking the right arm from the armor.
Damn.
Of course, the katana – and the clumsy attack – were just the distraction.
Despite the fact that Al was certain Roy hadn't been expecting it, he still responded surprisingly nimbly to the suddenly agile and fast attack of the armor's left arm. The clap to transmute the sword had also altered the shape and fitting of the left arm, attaching it together much more securely. Roy was able to pull his body back from the sudden swing, but not his right hand.
It was caught within the left fist of the armor, effectively stopping his ability to create sparks.
However, with no right arm, it could no longer take advantage of disabling the alchemist, and he watched his soul contemplate flipping the Prime Minister before it decided that probably wasn't wise.
Better to let him save face.
"But I thought you knew better than to bully me," Al finished, noting that Hawkeye hadn't so much as twitched a finger throughout the attack.
Mustang was studying the armor closely, making no move to wrestle it or free his trapped hand. "It even has your eyes," he observed. "That's amazing."
On a whim, Al clapped his hands again, both relaxing and reaching out. He wasn't sure how, exactly; it felt a little like compressing the very bottom of his lungs and . . . needing something. The armor began to shake quite violently, but this time his soul made no attempt to cling to it. The suit of armor completely collapsed as a sudden glob of ice shot through Al's veins, and he took a deep, slow breath, quietly analyzing the images and sensations his soul had experienced while animating the armor.
The alchemists in the room were stunned into enough silence that the armor clanking into pieces sounded deafening. Mustang just tucked his freed right hand into his pocket and studied Al.
"I never liked your title either," he admitted. "Parliament has been naming alchemists by vote, but Fuhrer Bradley always seemed to come up with fitting names himself. Do you mind if I do the same?"
The disappointed look was gone as if it had never been, and Al wondered if that hadn't been affected from the start.
Damn. That smug bastard was still using him. As effortlessly as he had when they'd been kids.
"You're not going to let me out of this, are you." It was a statement, and he let his bitterness be reflected in his voice.
Roy glanced across the assembled alchemists. "Does anyone feel the practical was insufficient to warrant a certification?"
The room was completely silent.
"I'm afraid I can't afford to." For once, he did sound sincere. "This brings me to my next agenda, actually. Will all the alchemists that have formal training in the science of physics please step forward?"
Al just stared at him.
To his right, he noted motion, and he was surprised to see the young red-headed man step forward, so that he was just beside him. In front of Mustang, one of the few certified female alchemists stepped forward. Two more gentlemen across the room did the same.
Mustang's eyes flicked back in Al's direction, and he heard an irritated huff behind him.
Then a reluctant Ed came to stand at his left side.
"We all know the promises of the uranium bomb, and the end result," Roy began. "Obviously that science is still underdeveloped. This is partially the State's fault – we were funding alchemy at the expense of all other sciences. I have no doubt our neighbors are not making the same mistake."
Al blinked, and suddenly things started to click into place.
Of course. The Homunculus were using rumors of the Stone to draw alchemists not only from Amestris, but from other parts of the world. Amestris had the most feared alchemists because they had the largest organized number of talented ones. People like Huskisson could have turned to their neighbors for research funding.
And Mustang also knew the uranium bomb theory wasn't flawed.
Surely he wasn't going to encourage them to pursue that technology after they'd worked so hard to invalidate it . . . ?
"This country has many well-known physicists," Roy continued. "Few of them understand much about alchemy. And, I see few of you have a great understanding of physics. Therefore, the alchemists that have stepped forward – your assignment will be the cross-training of the State Alchemists and the physicists."
Al resisted the urge to look over at his brother. Ed had been silent throughout the entire exchange, and he was a little afraid to see nii-san's expression.
He was pretty sure Ed was going to disobey Winry's no-sparring rule the moment they were no longer in front of so many eyes.
Training the physicists in alchemy was actually an excellent idea. Physics could give them all manner of interesting things. Longer radio transmissions, flying vehicles – supervised inventions.
Nii-san could prevent these things from being turned to destruction. He could jump in, head-first, and prevent the weapons of that world from being developed here. They could take an active role in the industrial revolution that would follow, and they could moderate it.
"You six will remain in Central," he continued. "An academy will be set up, and every State Alchemist will be required to complete a certain number of hours of training per year to keep their certification. The same will be true of the physicists. Only those that complete alchemy training will be given State funds and be allowed to present their inventions to the State for consideration."
This announcement was met with mixed results.
"The physicists have no concept of equivalent exchange –"
"What's to prevent them from seeking funding elsewhere?"
"Physics is barely a science at all! What could possibly be gained-"
"The decision is made, ladies and gentlemen." Mustang's voice cut through the mutters effortlessly. "Outside of this mandatory education, assignments will be carried out like before. As for the past five years, the State Alchemists will have a lesser role in the state military. However, should any major city be about to fall to the enemy, I will expect you to carry out your duties to protect this country."
He remained where he was, hand in pocket, collar unbuttoned, looking for all the world like he had before. Like an alchemist. Like a Major General.
"I will approve all research topics, and I have Parliament's assurance that funding will continue as before. As with Fuhrer Bradley, I will require some proof that progress is being made in your areas of research, but your certification will not be based on that success or failure. I am equally concerned with the accrual of knowledge and its practical application."
He nodded to the gathered men and women. "Those assigned to cross-training, remain with Colonel Hawkeye, who will give you further instructions. Everyone else, thank you for coming. You'll receive more specific instructions via messenger in the next two weeks. Dismissed."
It took a long time for the room to empty, and Al made no move to approach the Colonel. She had tapped a short pattern on the door as Mustang had dismissed the audience, and someone on the outside had unbolted the doors. But she'd been content to stay beside them, and Mustang, as he spoke with the other alchemists. The young woman who had stepped forward gradually approached their little group, but the other two remained on the far end of the room, waiting for it to clear out.
Al realized any excuse to avoid talking to his brother was quickly evaporating, and he readied himself, then turned towards Ed.
His brother was leaning on the wall where the suit of armor he'd animated had been standing, his hands in his overcoat pockets. He was watching the alchemists file out, but he seemed to sense he was being stared at, and he shook his head.
"So that was the decision you made," he finally said, quietly. "Those were the consequences you were dealing with."
Al came to lean on the wall beside him, watching Franklin greet the woman.
"If we stay in Central, you can probably work on both," Ed noted.
Al just nodded.
It hadn't worked out quite the way he intended, but at least now he understood.
Mustang was right. He could be of most help here.
"So, do you want to train the alchemists, or the physicists?"
That was sort of like asking whether he wanted to teach the communists socialism, or the socialists communism.
"I think we need to figure out what everyone else knows, and choose subjects accordingly."
Ed was quiet for a long time. "Al?"
Al glanced at his brother, almost expecting a fist. Instead he saw a frown.
"You don't blame me for those deaths, but you blame yourself. Even though Wrath transmuted the gate."
That was an argument he'd been expecting. "Our father transmuted the gate on your end. You completed the circle because Eckhart was threatening other people's lives. No one was holding a gun to my head."
"I could right now if you'd like." Al picked up his head to see Colonel Hawkeye approaching them. Only a few steps behind was Mustang. "Did you mean to do that, Alphonse?"
He blinked, not sure what she was referring to. "Ah . . . do what?"
Roy joined their group, noting the other alchemists were slowly drifting towards them. "It's not bad," he said gruffly. "Let it go."
Al was stunned when he realized Mustang was talking to Hawkeye, and not to him. "What –"
Mustang's face never changed, but he pulled his right hand partially out of his pocket.
The white ignition glove was stained with blood.
Al only got a glimpse before Mustang surreptitiously stuffed it back into his pocket. "Ceremonial armor isn't as thick as battle armor," he stated simply. "You were expecting the metal to be thicker, and your plating edges to be more dull."
He'd cut him.
And given how much strength he would have been exerting to keep the man's fingers still, he'd probably cut him quite deeply.
Al started to open his mouth, to apologize, but Mustang cut him off with a look. The other alchemists had come over, and he realized Roy didn't want them to know.
Covering for his mistake.
Again.
Maybe things hadn't changed as much as he'd thought.
"By the way," the Prime Minister said conversationally, "I submitted a title suggestion with your test results to Parliament. It wasn't taken, but I think Winry will like it better."
Ed shoved off the wall, coming to stand directly beside his brother. "Oh? And what's that?"
"The Binding Life Alchemist."
The last alchemist to have 'life' in his name had been Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life Alchemist. He wasn't sure he wanted to be grouped into the same category as the man that had transmuted his own daughter and dog into a chimera to keep this status as a State Alchemist.
"I like it," Ed replied slowly. "About time someone had that title that deserved it."
And at least it didn't contain the world 'soul.'
Al chewed on that for a moment, then inclined his head.
Ironic that they would name someone who ended thousands of lives after someone who could fasten them back together again.
"Fullmetal, I'm putting you in charge of this project. I believe you're the most knowledgeable in both subjects."
That was probably true. Ed just snorted.
"Isn't that just like you. Delegate the work and take off."
Mustang took the ribbing surprisingly good-naturedly. "Show some respect. You're addressing your Prime Minister."
"I'm addressing the prime pain in my ass," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Roy took a step closer to him. "Oh, that's right. You're still not tall enough for your voice to carry up here."
Ed bared his teeth, and Al cut in. "Thank you, Prime Minister," he said smoothly, over his brother's grumblings. "Can I assume this is structured classtime, and anything outside of it can be used for our personal research?"
Roy just gave him a look. "You have three years," he said. "After that, I'll expect reports like the others." It was clear his next words were for the other alchemists standing there. "Are there any other questions?"
Unlike the Elrics, it was pretty clear these alchemists didn't have a personal relationship with Mustang. There was a series of thanks and headshakes, and it seemed only seconds before they were watching his retreating back.
Al secretly wondered if Hawkeye was hurrying him out so they could get him some stitches. He'd have to make his apologies later. It sort of saddened him that Riza had thought he might have actually done it on purpose, but then again, if it had been Edward –
"So." Ed was looking around at the other four alchemists. "Are all of you staying in the officer's palisade?"
There was a series of nods all around, including a grudging one from Franklin.
This worked out better than he'd originally thought. Maybe they could eventually get the kid to tell them why he needed a Stone so badly, when he appeared to be physically intact.
"Good." Ed glanced around, apparently making sure Mustang had really left. "Write up what you know. We'll meet at the mess tomorrow morning and sort out subjects."
The others accepted this without objection, and as a group they headed for the ballroom door.
"Come on." His brother nudged him in the side with his elbow. "Let's get out of here."
The walk down the hall was uneventful, and Al noticed that his brother was heading unerringly for Mustang's offices.
Surely he wasn't going to pick a fight now-
"I figure Winry's probably with Lieutenant Ross." Ed seemed to be talking almost to himself. "At least this time we can give her good news."
Good news . . . Al considered that as they were waved through a secured doorway. Ed finally had something to do, something that he enjoyed, that didn't revolve around the Philosopher's Stone. They were staying in Central for the foreseeable future. Relatively out of combat, actually, and free to continue their own research. Incidentally, into the subject they'd both studied for several years. He'd been given three years to devote towards repairing some of the damage he'd wrought getting his brother back, and his second name no longer contained the word 'soul'. Mustang had been sworn in and was still alive by the end of the day, and Winry and Ed had come to some kind of understanding.
Yes, he decided, it was good news.
It wasn't the way they'd intended it, but it wasn't bad. Things were going to work out.
They were going to be okay.
All of them.
- x -
Fin
- x -
Author's Notes: Look! The END!! You never thought it would come, but here it is! I know this chapter is ridiculously long, but Al really, really wanted a fight, so he got it. I believe it is all wrapped up! All plotholes fixed! All questions answered! All guilt dealt with!
I can't thank you guys enough for all the support. I'm so honored this fic has gotten this popular, and I'm just so excited and pleased that other people liked my neurosis and fixes for the anime. I've since read the manga (which is ridiculously good, by the way, and should be consumed like the anime, as quickly as possible) and it's really just excellent. It's no surprise FMA is so popular in Japan as well as abroad.
And so, they all live happily ever after.
Thank you again for reading!
The following chapter is really just my personal notes on the fic, but includes a bunch of half-started and deleted scenes, so if you want to see how I write and organize my thoughts, read on! You can totally skip the bottom if you're just in it for the outtakes and deleted/rewritten scenes.
If you enjoyed this story, you might be interested in checking out its sequels, Perfect After All: The Fusing Alchemist and Perfect After All: Price of the Past. Both can be found linked to my profile and in the FMA archives. There is also a collection of prequel drabbles that can be found under Perfect After All: Odds Without Ends.