Happy holidays to all, whichever holiday you happen to celebrate this December. This extra long chapter is my gift to you, I hope you all enjoy it!
A big thank you to xxdarknessxfallsxx, mebh, and camudeku for your lovely reviews! Keep 'em comin' they make my day!
...And as always, a warm and special thanks to beta reader and story advisor extraordinar, ZonkieTheGreat! She has a new chapter of 'An Alchemic Reaction' up, so if you haven't already, go read it!
.o0o.o0o.o0o..o0o.o0o.
Chapter 5
So Close
Harper sat frozen like that for several seconds, before realizing the shot had not hit him. Opening his eyes, he found that the man beneath him lay dead. His empty eyes were still open, and on his lips, remained the last vestiges of that grin, Harper had fully expected, to be the last thing he ever saw. A small clean hole in the right side of his forehead, was clearly the cause of death, and a glance over his right shoulder, left no doubt as to where the bullet had come from...
.o0o.
Lazily, a ribbon of smoke curled from the barrel of Mustang's borrowed pistol. He drew a shuddering breath, then his arms fell to his sides, gun hanging precariously from his lax grip. A moment later his knees gave way, and he sat with an unceremonious thump.
"I couldn't let it happen, not again..." He whispered.
A vision of Maes, laying pale and so still, drifted unbidden through his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head, in an attempt to eradicate it.
"You speak German."
Confusion clouded Mustang's already shock addled mind, and he felt his eyebrows draw together in an outward display of it. What a strange thing for a man who'd just nearly had his head blown off, to say...
"You understood what he said to you, you spoke to him..."
Still intensely confused by the line this conversation (if you could call it that) was taking, Mustang could only nod...
Motion at the edge of his vision finally drew his gaze away from the young man who's life he'd just saved.
Winry.
How could he have forgotten... Not trusting his legs to hold him, he crawled to her, leaving the gun behind.
"Are you alright?" He asked gently, lifting her face in his hands.
Her eyes were wide and glassy, as she nodded. She was hugging her knees, and had unconsciously begun to rock slightly back and forth. He settled next to her, and rested his hand between her shoulder blades, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. She was trembling.
"I'm sorry Winry, this was my fault. I never should have left you alone..."
Winry was starring out and down, at nothing in particular. Then she took a shuddering breath, and began to speak...
"I thought he was you at first... I heard someone behind me, and I thought it was you... I tried to run..."
Sounding very far away, she looked down.
"You did good, Winry..." Said Harper, who had risen unnoticed, and was now standing over them.
Mustang's head was beginning to clear, and suddenly the obvious question struck him.
"Harper what are you doing here?"
He gave a weak smile, and shrugged.
"I saw the signal" He said mysteriously, plopping down on the other side of Winry.
Mustang felt his hard won clarity slip back into the fog of confusion.
"Signal?"
Harper gestured vaguely in the general direction of the fire.
"The Steam... I told Winry, if she ever got into trouble up here while we were gone, to douse the fire. Then, if we saw steam, we'd know something was wrong..."
In seeming response to this exchange, Winry began to speak again.
"When I turned around and saw him standing there, I ran, but then I saw the wash water sitting there, and I remembered what Harper had said, so I kicked it into the fire. I guess it was a good thing too, 'cause he was fast. I didn't even make it out of the clearing, before he caught me... The things he was saying,... He was going to..."
She fell silent for a moment, looking at the ground, as a strong tremor went through her. Absently, he began to rub circles between her shoulder blades, in an attempt to comfort her from the memory of the ordeal. Suddenly she turned to him, eyes intense.
"Then you came..."
He stiffened, drawing his hand away, unsure if it was in anger or gratitude. Unaware of his worry, she leaned against his shoulder, drew a shaky breath, and closed her eyes.
"I was so relieved when I saw you step out of those trees" Her voice was barely audible, but grateful, and sincere.
Warily, haltingly, he allowed the arm that had been rubbing her back, to drape itself around her shoulders. She didn't tense, or move away from the contact, instead she moved into it, letting her head droop until it rested on his shoulder. So finally he allowed himself to release the breath, he suddenly realized he'd been holding, and forced his body to relax. After a few minutes her trembling began to subside.
To his credit, Harper had seen the look of surprised awe on Mustang's face, and had, with only the slightest of self satisfied smirks, developed a sudden, rapt fascination with the moss on a tree across the clearing. Mustang, for his part, quietly sat there, holding her, comforting her, until, after a while, she gently pulled away with a sigh.
The situation reminded him of their encounter beside the array three years ago, yet another painful experience he'd failed to prevent... He bowed his head, and unbidden, felt the words spill from his lips, the ones that crossed his mind a thousand times a day, because he had always been better at picking up the pieces than catching them before they broke
"This was my fault, I'm sorry I failed you"
Incredulous, Harper's mouth fell open, preparing to remind Mustang that his shot was the only reason he was still breathing, but Winry spoke before he could give voice to that thought. Putting a hand on his knee to draw his attention.
"Sometimes, when bad things happen, Roy, they just happen. They aren't anyone's fault-" She said quietly, looking at him with serious eyes, but he cut her off.
"I left you alone, Winry! I should have known better, but I walked right out of camp, and left you here for him to do as he pleased... And when I finally get a shot, I hesitate... I could have ended it, but I hesitated! Don't you see? If Harper hadn't come along, I would be dead and you would be at that bastard's mercy..."
"I sent you off to get water, Roy, and when did you have a shot? He spent most of his time hiding behind me, and when he threw me down, Harper tackled him... If you'd fired then, you might have hit him instead. You did what you could, Roy... You took the shot when you needed to, and we're all alive and safe because of it... That's the only thing that matters."
He wished, for all the world, that he could believe that, but he couldn't. The only thing he was thankful for, was that it hadn't happened again, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why it had...
Opting to stay quiet, Harper stood and went to check over the dead intruder's body. He found little other than the gun, and the man's dog tag, which he snapped in half.
"Even bastards like you have a mother..." He muttered, then put the other half in his own pocket, before covering the body with one of the blankets.
His task finished, he walked over to where Mustang was still sitting.
"I have to get back. I didn't have permission to leave in the first place, but I think Carter'll understand, once I explain what happened..."
He handed Roy the dead man's pistol.
"Something has to be done with the body, or it'll start to draw animals... I'll try to send one or two of the boys back up here to help, if we can spare them, but I need you to start the grave, in case we can't. Can you do that?" He asked, looking apologetic.
Mustang nodded mutely, then rose to his feet, and followed Harper to the small pile of supplies the men had left in camp to lighten their load. After rooting through it for a moment, Harper produced a small folding shovel, and handed it to him, then glanced over at the lifeless form shrouded by the blanket,
"Sorry to have to leave you with this," Harper said contritely. "I'll send someone as soon as I can..."
Then with a nod to Winry, he hurried out of the camp.
Mustang watched after him for a moment, then glanced back at the body.
Might as well get started...
He could hardly dig the grave here in camp, so he was going to have to move the body. He figured the best way to do that, was to wrap it in the blanket, and drag it to a better location.
He neither expected, nor wanted Winry's help with this particular operation, so he sent her to retrieve the canteens. He knew it would take her a minute to locate where he'd dropped them, and she wouldn't be entirely out of sight along that part of the trail, which made him feel more comfortable about having her do it. So as soon as she was out of the clearing, he rolled the body over, so that it was now laying on top of the blanket that had been covering it.
The action gave him a good look at his own handiwork. The man's face had been clean, but the back of his head was nothing but a sticky, soft, black-red crater. Because of his hesitation, it'd almost been Harper laying there.
It was so close...
Shaking his head, he tried to force that thought from his mind, as he kicked dust over the large pool of blood and brain matter that had collected under the body. Satisfied that it was sufficiently covered, he flipped the remainder of the blanket over the body, to obscure it from view. A moment later, Winry returned, both canteens in hand.
Without a word, he grasped the corners of the blanket, and gave it an experimental tug. Satisfied that it would hold, he gently lowered it back to the ground. She had stopped at the edge of camp
"What are you doing?"
Her tone, a bit more timid than usual, unnerved him. He straightened. and walked towards the pile of supplies.
"Getting ready to bury him" He answered in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, as he began to fish through the pile.
"Do you want me to help?"
He shook his head, as he found what he was looking for and drew the small bundle out, then walked back to where he'd left Carter's pistol, and crouched to pick it up.
"Do I have to stay here?" She said in a voice, suddenly too small and frightened.
He stood and turned, again shaking his head .
"No" He said, as he walked to her, holding out the bundle and Carter's pistol for her to take "I won't leave you alone again."
Taking them. she gave him a curious look.
"What is this for?" She said, holding up the bundle.
"It's going to take me a while to dig the grave, I thought you would like something to keep you busy..."
Her eyebrows drew together, but before she could ask any further questions, he turned and walked back to the body, so she followed. He reached down, taking the corners of the blanket, then indicated she should lead the way
"Where do you want to go?"
He nodded his head in the direction Harper had gone.
"Edge of the tree line, the roots won't be as bad there"
With out another word, she walked ahead of him in the direction of the field. They reached it quickly, despite his burden, and she took a seat on the trunk of a fallen tree he'd pointed out, once they found a suitable location.
He unfolded the shovel, and began his task. She, in turn, unrolled the bundle he'd given her back in camp... It was a gun cleaning kit. She was about to ask him how they were supposed to defend themselves, if she dismantled the pistol, but then spotted the dead man's gun, tucked into Mustang's waistband, so instead, she set to work.
.o0o.
The ground was hard, and the going was slow, but Mustang didn't mind. It helped keep his mind off of the thing laying to the left of him, that used to be a man, and who that man had nearly been... It was nearly an hour before Hanson appeared.
"So it's true..." Hanson said quietly, as he stole a quick glance under the blanket. "Must'a been one of the guards"
Mustang gave him a grim nod. At this point he was nearly done, so quietly, he suggested that Hanson take Winry back to camp, while he finished up. Hanson gave no argument, and was about to do just that, when they first heard the faint rumble of engines.
They turned just in time to see a jeep crest the top of a ridge in the distance. It was followed by an identical looking jeep, and two canvas covered trucks, each emblazoned with a red cross on a field of white.
"Well it's about fuckin' time." Hanson muttered.
Then, glancing back at Mustang, he jerked his head in the direction of the field.
"Leave that fer now and follow me, you too Winry... An' hand me that pistol, don't want anyone gettin' the wrong idea..."
As Mustang climbed out of the trench he'd spent the better part of the last hour digging, Winry walked over to Hanson, holding out both the freshly cleaned pistol and the cleaning kit. He grinned and shook his head, as he took the gun and indicated she should leave the kit there
"Carter won' even recognize it..." He said, looking the weapon over. "Where'd you learn to do that so good?"
Winry, glowing at the praise, shot Mustang a meaningful glance, then answered simply.
"Hawkeye"
He felt the corner of his lips curl into a half smile.
Should have known...
Hanson gave her a quizzical look, but when she did not elaborate, he shrugged and let it lay.
Without another word, he turned and headed off across the field, with the unspoken, but clearly implied intention, to intercept the small convoy. They followed quickly after him, but after a few steps Mustang remembered the other pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.
Quickening his pace to catch up with Hanson, who was a few strides ahead of him, he pressed the dead man's gun into his hands. Hanson stopped short, giving him a bewildered look.
"Where'd this come from?" He asked, his bewilderment tempered by the slightest hint of suspicion.
"It was the guard's," Mustang said, nodding in the direction of the corpse behind them. "Harper told me to hang onto it, that's why I let Winry take Carter's apart..."
The suspicion lingered in Hanson's eyes a moment longer, but seeing no deception in Mustangs face, it drained away.
"Oh..." Shrugging again, he muttered "Everyone's entitled to a souvenir, I guess..."
He put it with the one he'd taken from Winry.
"OK, let's go"
Together, they trudged across the field. Hanson held up a hand, as the convoy drew near, it came to a lumbering stop at the top of the hill.
"What I can do for you, Corporal-?" An older man in the passenger seat of the lead jeep said, as they got close enough for him to be heard over the engines.
"Hanson, Sir" He said saluting the man "Would I be correct in assumin' that you're our relief?" Hanson continued, after the man had returned the salute.
"You with Carter's squad?"
Hanson nodded.
"Well then, that we are, son, that we are... How far to the camp?"
"Just over that ridge" Hanson said, jerking his head to indicate the direction.
As the exchange continued, Mustang noted that the man's uniform was almost pristine, and neatly pressed, despite the presumably long trek by jeep. It showed none of the fading or wear he would have expected... In fact, it seemed almost as if the man only wore it on special occasions, though this occasion hardly seemed to merit that description.
"Been any sign of the guards?" The man asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.
"Just one sir" Hanson answered.
"SS?"
Hanson gave a sharp nod to the affirmative.
"And where is he?" The man asked, looking eagerly about, as though he expected to spot the villain in the general vicinity
"Dead sir, killed this morning" He said, indicating the direction of the grave with a finger.
Hanson's answer seemed to deflate the man a bit, as he noted unfinished grave, and shrouded form laying beside it, there near the treeline.
"And who do we have to thank for that?"
Hanson stepped back and looked to Mustang.
"What's this now, a civilian?" The man said, glancing quickly to Mustang, then quizzically at Hanson, who shrugged then elaborated.
"Mustang's kind of a special case, you'll have have to ask Carter..."
Seemingly reinvigorated, the man echoed the shrug, then piped up.
"Well, be that as it may, congratulations are in order... maybe even a reward!"
Mustang felt his stomach twist, as the man smiled, and took his hand, shaking it with gusto.
"I had no choice, he would have killed-"
Shaking his head, the man cut him off.
"There's no need for explanations, my boy..." He all but shouted. "In my book the only good Nazi's a dead Nazi."
Mustang felt sick. While he knew he had been justified in killing the guard, this man's demeanor reminded him just a little to much, of another such as he, in another place and time... and killings that had been far less justified. Either not noticing, or more likely, plainly disregarding Mustangs discomfort, the man returned his attention to Hanson.
"So, where can I find this Carter?"
Once more looking expectantly about.
"At the camp sir" Hanson replied, the slightest touch of exasperation coloring his voice, as he jerked his head in the appropriate direction.
"Very good, soldier, carry on." The man said, tapping the dash twice, then as Hanson stepped back, the convoy rumbled back to life.
Setting a somewhat brisk pace, they started back toward the treeline with Hanson in the lead, after the last truck had passed, Mustang and Winry in close pursuit. A few steps on, he looked back toward the convoy slowly lumbering out of sight, and began to shake his head.
"War must be just about over, if one of them is willing to come out in the field..." He muttered, more to himself, than to them, but Winry's curiosity was piqued.
"Them?" She asked.
Not stopping, he glanced back at her, one eyebrow cocked.
"Pencil pushers" He answered, grinning impishly. "...That, my dear lady," He elaborated, gesturing in the direction of the vanishing convoy. "...Was a dyed in the wool bureaucrat... All propaganda, no sense."
He punctuated the remark by rapping the side of his head with the knuckles of his free hand, to illustrate his meaning. Then, turning back to the treeline, he added under his breath.
"Heard nothin' short of an all out truce, could drag them from their cozy desk chairs..."
It had been barely loud enough for Mustang to hear, but it made him smile... For though his final assignment as an adviser to the new government, had involved a fair amount of administrative paperwork, he'd never developed an appreciation for it.
Given a choice of the office or the field, he'd always chosen the field, sometimes to the point of near dereliction of duty. And while the long suffering Riza Hawkeye had, more than once, berated him for it, he knew deep down, she'd respected him for it more...
He'd begun to smile at the thought of her, but then caught him self. She was lost to him now... It all was, his plans, his friends, his life... He'd finally gone far enough afield, that returning now was unlikely. Riza was just another addition to the list of regrets that paved his path through life...
.o0o.
He was coming undone... He'd been doing his level best to keep it together, for her sake, but he was beginning to unravel.
Nearly getting both Winry, and Harper killed...
The scent that drifted towards them every time the wind shifted to the northwest, keeping memories best left buried, close to the surface...
Her understandably mercurial mood swings...
The loss of his power...
The supreme screw up that had left her, the very one he'd been trying to save, trapped here in mortal danger...
Each in their turn, glommed on, some redundantly, to that same old ugly but familiar, lump of hopelessness, horror, and despair. It was growing, unchecked, toward critical mass in the dark pit that used to be his soul, and it lacked only a trigger... Some comment, or action that might not ordinarily have bothered him to such a degree.
In the current context, though, it would become the flashpoint of a hell worthy firestorm within his mind... And it would, without mercy, vaporize every mask, every defense, the entirety of his carefully kept veneer of wellbeing, to reveal the empty, shattered remains of his true self...
That trigger came in the form of a relatively innocent and understandable comment made by one of the men...
It was later that evening, and the topic of conversation after dinner, had naturally turned to the morning's intruder.
"I say he got what was comin' to him... Men, women, children, they slaughter them all with out remorse. Poisoning them with gas, or even burning them alive... Then when we catch the cowardly bastards, they have the nerve to say, it isn't their fault, they were 'just following orders'!"
Those words echoed bitterly in Roy's skull, louder and louder, ricocheting around until they had completely shattered his carefully cultivated self control... He felt he bile rising in his throat, threatening to overflow.
Blindly, he shot to his feet, and stumbled off into the trees. He wasn't sure how far he'd gotten before the urge overtook him. He doubled over convulsively, and with one hand braced against the gnarled foot of an ancient oak, vomited. Again and again, his body heaved violently, unable to stop until long after everything was gone.
Gasping, he tried to straighten and walk, but only made it two or three steps before he faltered, collapsing onto his side, and curling in on himself. He was sobbing, he realized, but it didn't really seem to matter, as he saw the events of that night play out in his mind's eye again and again. Their faces swam before him, angry and accusing. he wanted to beg their forgiveness, but knew he could never be worthy of it.
Out of habit, his body cried out for even the slightest drop of the amber poison that kept them at bay on the worst nights. Maes had been the one to call it that, insisting it was just another attempt at suicide... And he hadn't felt it's absence, as keenly as he did now, since his friend had been killed... But he knew, as much then, as now, just a drop would never suffice, not even after all these years.
Then she was there. The sadness and concern plain on her face, was painful to him. He looked away in shame... He wasn't worthy of that either
.o0o.
Initially, she'd assumed he just needed a moment alone... Then she'd heard him retch. Concerned, her head shot up and she glanced around at the men around the fire, sure they'd heard it too.
They'd all gone silent, and none but Harper would even meet her eye, but even though he gave her a look of sympathy, nothing in his actions indicated he'd do anything more. Though it made no sense at all to her, they all seemed equally intent to pretend nothing had happened and act accordingly.
In that instant, her mind was made up... Standing, she quickly gathered a few things, then set off into the woods. She knew she was probably the last person he needed to see right then, but he had been there for her when she needed him, and she'd be damned if she was going to turn her back and leave him out there alone.
It took her some time to find him in the dark, even though she'd seen what direction he'd gone, and it was a sorry state he was in, when she finally managed to track him down...
.o0o.
"You shouldn't worry about me, Winry, I'm not worth it. Go back to camp." He muttered almost angrily.
She didn't heed, instead she reached out.
He cringed, some small part of his mind, certain her touch would surly burn him...
Taking hold of his shoulder, she helped pull him into a sitting position, then drew back for a moment, before crouching down in front of him, holding out a rag and her canteen.
He forced himself to look at her, as he took them. Expecting, and perhaps even hoping to find the hatred, anger, or bitterness he deserved, in her eyes. Instead, she met his gaze with only a look of sorrowful concern.
He dropped his gaze, and wiped his mouth before taking a few sips of cool water. That helped to wash away the acidic bitterness that permeated his mouth, as he regained a bit of his composure. With a clean portion of the rag, he wiped the lip of the canteen, then recapped it and handed it back to her.
"Thank you" He said quietly, chancing another quick glance at her face.
The sadness and worry still marred it.
"Head on back to camp, Winry it's getting cold. Don't worry about me, I'll be alright"
She didn't move.
Her gaze was unwavering, and made him feel skinless, yet it held no questions or expectations.
"You think about them a lot..." She stated quietly, with a sadness in her tone.
.o0o.
Hollow... That was the only way she could have described the sight, when she found him, and it left her with a most deep seated feelings of guilt. Yes, he'd hurt her first, but she was equally guilty of hurting him, more so, honestly... She was the one who had done this to him...
.o0o.
Her eyes had gone shiny with unshed tears, but still no questions or expectations waited in them. From a dark, deep place inside, he felt something long buried, splinter and give way. Then the memories, and sorrow, and regret were surging outward, swirling into every corner, threatening to drown him, but he did not resist.
Realizing that the cold, uncaring facade he affected, simply for the sake of survival, had surly led her to believe his actions didn't bother him.
Nothing could be farther from the truth...
That he regretted what he had done... That, while their killer still walked free, he had not gone unpunished... These were things she deserved, and possibly even needed to know... It was her right, and his conscience demanded it.
In a painfully ragged voice, he answered.
"Every hour of every day,..."
.o0o.
She was his demon. It was their faces he saw, but she had been the one to torment him, and he had excepted with grateful, quiet composure, every slice, stab, and strike she deigned to dole out. Until now, never letting on how deep the cracks went or how wide they had become... Even when they'd reached his very foundations...
.o0o.
He swallowed in an attempt to relieve some of the tightness in his throat.
"I'm so sorry, Winry... I wish I could undo it, I'd give anything to bring them back to you, lord knows I tried..."
She winced at this, clearly understanding the implications.
"But I can't bring them back... I was too naive to refuse, when I knew in my heart it was wrong, and too cowardly to take my own life, when that, at least, might have brought you some justice..."
In despair, his voice trailed off. His gaze fell away, as he took a few fortifying breaths.
"There is one thing I want you to know..."
He took a deep breath, summoning with it, the courage to tell her.
"I want you to know the truth about what happened that night..."
She looked away from him for the first time since this encounter had begun, and it almost made him lose his nerve, but he persevered, knowing this might well be his only chance to tell her.
"I didn't burn them... That I killed them, is a burden I will bear for the rest of my life, but I need you to know they didn't suffer..."
She was silent, and so still she seemed carved from stone. Then a single tear began to make its way down her cheek, and he finally found the courage to ask the question, whose answer he feared the most...
"Do you hate me, Winry?"
"No"
"Why not?"
.o0o.
It was absurd and disturbing, really, the macabre joy they'd both drawn from this sadomasochistic dance. Now, though, she barely recognized the person she'd been, even a few days ago.
The ease with which she'd been able to forget the good in him, and the wanton, spiteful, cruelty displayed therein, were frightening... It was a masterpiece of her own angered self indulgence, and occasional, though it might have been, it sickened her now. Her parents would be ashamed.
In her sorrow, she felt what remained of her anger towards him, drain away. He was not the only one who was in need of making amends. It was time to give him what he needed most, but would never ask for...
.o0o.
For a long time she was silent, and he'd begun to think she wouldn't answer at all, then she began to speak.
"Because it benefits no one." She looked up into his eyes. "The truth is rarely ever black and white... I was angry at you, so very angry... And, for a very long time, I thought I did hate you, but I'm not six anymore, and age brings to light things a child just can't see..."
This time, it was he who turned away, unable to take the scorch of her burning eyes anymore.
"I murdered them." He whispered.
"No," Her voice quiet, but bitter. "The military murdered my parents, you just happened to the instrument they used to do it"
He bowed his head in anguish.
"Following orders does not make me innocent!" He cried, his face full of agonized self contempt.
She drew closer to him now. Placing a hand on his chest, she looked up into his shadowed face. Hers held a sad smile, but her eyes were intense.
"No it doesn't, but my parents would still be dead... They were warned what the consequences would be, but they wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, because they took an oath to end suffering when ever possible, where ever they found it. That principal was more important to them, than life it self... More important even, than me..."
There was a touch of bitterness, that marred the sorrow on her, now tear soaked, face, and she drew a long shuddering breath, before continuing.
"The hardest thing to come to grips with, was that if it hadn't been you it, would have been someone else... Who knows if that person could have done what you've done... Who knows if they would have cared enough to even try...?"
Now, reaching forward, she cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. He wasn't sure what he had expected to find there, but he saw only a soft sincerity.
"But you did care...You made it right. You made them answer for their crimes, not just for what they did to my parents, but for what happened in Ishbal, and Lior too... You made sure that the deaths weren't in vain..." She stroked his cheek with her thumb, then gave a weak smile. "That was justice enough for me"
This last, came almost as a whisper, then her eyes took on a new intensity.
"You're not a bad person, Roy. It might have been easier for me, if you were, but you're not... You're a good man who was forced to make a terrible choice, but I know now that you felt no malice toward them... It is truly the hardest thing I've ever done, but the choices you made afterward, are what made me able to forgive you... Anything less, would be an affront to their memory... And I believe in my heart, that they would have forgiven you too... So please stop torturing yourself, it's not what they would have wanted"
She drew his face to hers. Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, she looked deeply into his eyes
"I forgive you Roy, you repaid your debt... Its time you forgave your self..."
But he didn't know if he was ready, or even capable of accepting her forgiveness, let alone forgiving him self. Gently he pulled away from her.
"I didn't mean to drag you here with me..."
He lifted his eyes to meet hers, the look in them painfully genuine.
"I was trying to get Ed and Al back, I only wanted you to be happy again, but it seems I'm destined to hurt you, no matter what my intentions... I know nothing I say will ever really make up for what's happened, but I'll get you home, I swear. For once I'm not going to fail you... Not this time... " His voice trailed off. Clenching his jaw, he looked away, unable to bear her gaze any longer.
Suddenly, she surged forward, twining her arms around him. For a moment, he stiffened, not sure how to react. This, was quite literally, the last thing he had expected. Then, with a groan, he surrendered. Clutching her to him, like a man drowning, he buried his face in her hair.
"I am so very, very sorry..." He murmured into it.
"I know" Came her soft, sad,voice. It carried no anger.
They stayed like that for a long time, not moving, not speaking, then, finally she began to shiver. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her.
"You should go back" He said gently. "It's getting cold, and I know you're tired."
After a moment, she nodded and stood, but instead of walking back toward camp, she held out her hand to him.
"Only if you come back with me."
The look in her eyes left no room for argument, so reluctantly he nodded. Taking her hand, he rose shakily to his feet...
.o0o.
"Mustang?" Harper softly inquired.
They hadn't spoken since sundown, when he and the rest of the men, aside from Carter, had returned to camp. Now, as the fire died, it was down to just he and Harper again.
"What was he saying this morning?"
Mustang looked down. Inwardly, he was relieved that the subject of discussion, was not his recent foray into the woods. The few who had been awake when they returned, had abjectly ignored the incident, seeming to assume that his show of weakness had been due, in some way, to the discussion about the camp on the other side of the hill... Though that was not entirely correct, he had gladly let it stand, but he still wasn't feeling particularly social after what had happened. He answered only because he did not wish to be rude.
Staring into the fire for a long moment, Mustang finally laid out a brief summary of the madman's words. When he had finished, Harper gave a low whistle, then after digesting it for a moment, he pinned Mustang with a sage look, and said quietly...
"You almost lost her this morning, how long will you wait to tell her how you feel about her...?"
Mustang gave a sarcastic grunt, that fell somewhere between a laugh and a growl.
"Forever."
Harper, for his part, released a sigh, but refused to let up.
"You are a fool then... And mores the pity, because she feels the same way about you..."
Mustang gave a disgruntled laugh.
"You sound like Maes, always badgering me to settle down..."
Harper shook his head, and smiled.
"This Maes sounds like a wise man... Honestly, you don't know what your missing... My wife is the best thing that ever happened to me... And then there's our little girl... She's almost two now, smart as a whip and cute as a button... Hey, you wanna see a picture?"
Harper's face resembled that of an excited puppy, but instead of finding it humorous, Mustang felt his heart give an unexpected twist at the familiarity of it... It must have shown on his face, because Harper suddenly looked concerned, then began to back peddle.
"What's wrong? You don't have to look if you don't want to, I know it can be annoy-"
Mustang held up a hand to stop him.
"It's alright Harper," He said, flashing a weak smile. "You just reminded me of someone is all..."
And how very much he did remind him... Quick to laugh, with an easy smile and disarmingly carefree manner that could put even the most battle weary at ease. Underneath it all, though, he was a caring, hard working individual, who, as Mustang had witnessed for himself on several occasions, could be quite serious when the time warranted it... Till this very moment, he hadn't realized just how much he missed his friend... Suddenly he remembered all those times Maes had babbled on about his wife or his little girl, and regretted every time he had cut him off, or hung up...
If only I had known.
"What are you waiting for," He said walking over to Harper, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Let's see that picture..."
As much as he might wish to refute it, Harper's revelations of the last few days, had been keeping him up long after Harper himself, had gone to sleep.
Just hours ago, fully in the grip of a terrible fugue, he had promised her he would get her home. Now, in the strange clarity of this night, he came to understand how very unlikely that actually was...
To his knowledge, Ed was the only one to have successfully completed a transmutation on this side of the gate... And he had yet to find any evidence of he, or his brother's whereabouts, or if they even still lived. Things were hardly going according to plan...
He certainly hadn't expected to be dropped into the middle of an active war zone, but from the moment she had appeared in the circle, nothing had gone anywhere near according to plan.
He had expected for alchemy to be difficult, but not impossible, to use. After all, Edward had able to use it, but as of yet, he hadn't managed to flare up so much as a single spark.
He suspected there might be some other force at play, or perhaps he just wasn't strong enough, but either way, he was doing them both a disservice, if he continued to delude himself that this, in any way, changed their increasingly slim odds of getting home. With or without Ed and Al. In that vein, he realized, he hadn't been entirely honest with himself, or her...
He'd recognized from the start, that this might be a fool's errand, and he well understood there was a great deal more at stake now, but continuing to do as he had been doing, would only set him up to hurt her again, and that was something he refused to do.
She was different now, even from the person she had been just a few days ago. So was he.
This place was changing them. Unknowingly he'd left his powers behind at the gate between worlds, and from that time on, he'd been leaving other little bits of his identity along the wayside... His gloves, his uniform, his status, even the masks he wore to hide the pain, all were gone... But the loss of all things familiar, had finally helped to get everything out in the open... Now it was time to give her a promise he could keep, and hope that would be enough.
As the sky began to change from black, to the steely gray of predawn, he resolved to speak candidly with her about his concerns.
He roused himself, and took a seat on a stump not far from the fire. There he waited through the breaking of dawn, as the camp stirred slowly to life. Soon, she too stirred, but still he did not move... Instead, he waited until most every one had left the camp, before going to stand beside her...
It was likely to be one of the hardest conversations he might ever have, on par with the one he and Gracia had shared following the funeral, but it needed to be done. Swallowing he steeled himself to begin.
"Winry, there are some things I need to tell you... Difficult things... But I hope you will hear me out."
He paused for a moment, to gauge her reaction, but she simply nodded, her features remaining neutral and difficult to read. So, with another fortifying breath, he began to explain their situation. He elected not to soften his conclusions, and for the first time, was completely honest with her, not only about his fears, but also about the loss of his alchemy.
Though it was the first time he had admitted the loss, outright, to her, her reaction to the news, led him to believe that she had suspected this fact for some time, and had simply been too kind to mention it.
He felt sheepish for having attempted to keep something so obvious from her, and even more so for having believed he'd succeeded.
"...So that is where things stand for now. I'll do my best to get you established some place safe, but once that's done, if you want me to leave, I'll understand..."
"Why,would I want you to leave?"
"Well I-"
"Unless you want to go, I'd rather you stayed. You're the only person I know here, and even if that weren't the case, I think I'd still want you to."
Mustang felt a twinge deep within his chest as she spoke these words. He'd been prepared for a very different response, and hadn't thought it would mean so much to him... Now, he searched for a way to express how grateful he was... words hardly seemed enough...
He wanted to promise her, that he would never stop looking for Ed and Al, that he would stay with her until it was within his power to do so...
He took a breath, and opened his mouth to to say so, but another voice cut through from somewhere outside the camp. Whoever it was, was still some distance away. He tried again to say the words, but once more the voice cut between them.
"MUSTANG!"
Annoyed, he ignored the voice, and tried to force the words, but this time, it was she who cut him off. Shaking her head, she patted his arm twice, then stood and walked across the camp, calling out to the person inquiring after him.
"HE'S HERE!"
She reached the edge of the trees just as Hicks emerged from the forest. She greeted him, then stepped aside, pointing in Mustangs direction. He tipped his nonexistent hat to her, then made a B-line for his query.
"Mustang, Harper wants you down at the camp ASAP. He sent me to stay with miz Winry while you're gone, so you wouldn't have to worry."
But he was worried, none the less. He'd never forgotten how Hicks had reacted to Winry during that first encounter, and part of him wondered if Harper had even sent him.
"Did Harper say why he wanted?"
"Oh, yes sir. He said it was on account of your bein' able to speak Kraut"
Sensing his hesitation, Hicks stepped closer.
"Look, I know you ain't trusted me 'round her since that first day, and I understand... I hardly acted the gentlemen, and I'm sorry. That's not the way my mother raised me." He said quietly. "The Sargent was right to set me straight..."
Mustang still wasn't entirely convinced. It must have shown, because after casting a worried glance in the direction of the camp, Hicks entreated him once more.
"Please, I'd never let anything happen to her, she'll be safe with me, honestly! They really do need your help down there to talk to the survivors."
Throughout this speech, he had looked quite penitent, and there had been no further incidents since the first. He shot a pensive look toward her, but she looked unconcerned, so finally, he nodded his assent.
"Apparently, some sort of secret project was being conducted near here. Buxton hopes to learn the identity of the project's engineers... He needs to question the labor camp survivors, but no one here speaks enough English to be of any help, and none of the squad speak enough German to be any help either... That's where you come in" Carter said, as he led Mustang down the hall of the main building, and stopped before what looked to be an office door. "I've already stuck my neck out for you, as it is, but Harper says you speak kraut real good, so I'll do it again... Just remember, it's not just me, Harper's vouching for you too, don't make us regret it..."
With that, he opened the door into the office. Mustang had assumed he would meet with Buxton, before going to talk with the survivors, but the room he entered had been converted into an isolation room. Buxton was already there, hovering over the bed of a nearly skeletal man. Without further instruction, Carter went to the other side of the bed, so Mustang moved joined him.
Barely acknowledging them, Buxton, with little preamble, held a small photograph up, close to the sickly man's face. Across from him, on the opposite side of the bed, Mustang could not make out the features of the photo, due to the glare of sunlight through the window, and he wasn't sure the man lying in the cot could either. He was about to mention this, but Buxton cut him off, directing him to ask if the man in the picture had been one of the men in charge. Mustang leaned in close by the man to ask, then began to lean back, but at once, the nearly skeletal wreck before him, gripped his arm more tightly than he would have thought possible, pulling himself upright... Extremely agitated, the man began to shake violently, as he gasped out his reply.
"He didn't do this! He was a good man- Good to us- Never looked at us, or treated us the way they did- He didn't want to help them at all- They came too quickly, he couldn't escape- They threatened his family- For a while he cooperated- But when he found out what they were doing- Even their threats weren't enough anymore- He flatly refused them- It was a dark day for us all, when they dragged him away- He and his brother..."
Mustang did his best to translate, while also attempting to calm the man, so he didn't harm himself further, but the man wasn't finished. When he had recovered sufficiently, he began anew.
"It was months before we saw him again- We never saw his brother after that, but they threatened to kill him, if he didn't help them- For a while, it seemed they had broken him- But he was still defying them- Soon they started to accuse him of sabotage- It wasn't long before he was dragged away again- That time for good- He was a good man..."
Finally finished, chest heaving, he released Mustangs arm, and collapsed back into the pillows he'd been propped up with. Now murmuring, he repeated 'a good man' again under his breath several times, until his eyes closed, and exhaustion forced him into unconsciousness.
As Mustang was assuring himself that the man was still breathing, he finished the translation of the man's second outburst.
Glowing, Colonel Buxton tucked the photo back into his attache case. Then in a moment of bureaucratic weakness, he began to gloat...
"Ha ha! I knew it, I knew it! The moment we intercepted those drawings... The engineers said they were a stroke of genius, they didn't understand how such mechanical wizardry could coexist with such seemingly amateur 'mistakes' ... Sabotage!... That's how!... So, not only is he brilliant beyond belief, he's not even loyal! What more could you ask for!"
Whistling happily to himself, he picked up his case, and abruptly exited the room, leaving the rest of them scrambling to follow. When they caught up to him in the hallway, he began to speak. "Well staf-"
"Sargent, sir, just Sargent" Carter politely corrected him.
"Hmm...? Oh yes, how stupid of me..." He said, coming to an abrupt halt, as he began to root around in his bag. "Ahh yes there they are... For valorous conduct and blah blah blah etc., you are hereby promoted to the rank of staff Sargent."
With that, the man dragged his hand from the depths of the attache case. Carter held out his own, to offer it in kind, but instead of a hearty handshake, the man unceremoniously dumped in a pair of chevron shaped patches, which Carter only barely managed to catch, as the man turned away to continue down the hall.
"Now then, where was I...oh yes. The additional medical support should be here in the morning, at which time, I want you and your men to go help reenforce the camp northeast of here. I'm going on ahead by jeep, I will expect you there mid day tomorrow, my clerk will give you the coordinates"
"Yes, sir"
"That will be all." He said, dismissing them abruptly.
With out another word, he entered another door, this one still leading to an office, and closed it swiftly behind him. Now left standing alone in the corridor, Carter gave Mustang an appraising glance.
"What?" Mustang asked after a moment, feeling ever so slightly selfconscious under the scrutiny.
"You weren't anything like that as a Colonel, were you?"
Relieved it wasn't anything more serious, Mustang couldn't help but grin, as he shook his head.
"No"
Carter gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
"Thank god, wouldn't like to think I'd misjudged you that badly."
At this, Mustang threw back his head and laughed. Carter joined in, clapping him on the shoulder, as they continued down the hallway.
True to his word, Buxton had gone ahead by jeep the night before. It might have been more comfortable and expedient to go by truck, but Mustang was glad for the extra time walking took, because the refugee camp, the place where they would have to part ways with Carter's squad, was near by, and he would be sorry to see them go. Most of all, he would miss the camaraderie that had developed between them, especially the friendship between he and Harper...
They arrived there just before mid day, and were saying their goodbyes, when a runner, apparently from the camp Carter's men were headed to, dashed up.
Carter pulled him aside after identifying himself, and they quietly conferred, then with a nod Carter rejoined the rest of the group. The man remained where he was, waiting somewhat impatiently, as Carter explained what was going on.
"Seems you've made an impression, Mustang. Buxton wants to see you, to quote the impatient man over there, 'the moment he arrives'"
He nodded, but wondered what exactly had earned him this dubious honor.
"Hicks, you and he stay here, and help get Winry settled in, then you can meet back up with us at the camp" Carter said, indicating he and the runner with a wave of his hand.
Hicks nodded, and as he held out his hand to her, Mustang whispered to Winry that he would be back as soon as he could and flashed her a smile. Then looking back over her shoulder, she and the two men disappeared through the gate with what few things they possessed.
The rest continued on down the road, and soon reached their destination. As they passed through the gate, he saw Hanson elbow Bailey and point to some wooden crates behind what appeared to be the mess hall.
"Hey, you see what I see?" He said from the corner of his mouth.
Bailey did a double take, then snatched the hat off his pumpkin colored head, and clutched it to his chest in an overly dramatic fashion.
"5 in 1's? Tell me I'm not seeing things, Hanson... Cripes, that Buxton fella has pull..."
"I'll say... Hope we're in time for dinner!"
They grinned at each other, and Bailey gave Hanson a sideways shove.
"It's always about food with you." He said, as Hanson recovered quickly and laughingly shoved him back, then they both hurried to catch up with the rest of the group.
For the most part, this exchange had been a bit confusing to Mustang. He assumed that '5 in 1' referred to food rations, and judging by their reaction, to better food rations than they had been eating, which wasn't too hard...
What was clear, was the lightness that had returned to the squad. The wave of general relief, that had washed over Carter and his men when the medical aid trucks had rolled into sight that morning, had been almost palpable. The levity had begun to return shortly there after, seeming to grow in direct proportion to each step they put between them, and the horrors of that blighted place. No one had laughed, really laughed, since they'd crested that hill three days ago, and the loss had weighed heavily on everyone...
"Mustang!"
He started. Lost in thought, he'd ground to a halt, as he stared at the crates. Now he turned, and hurried to catch up with Harper, who stood letting the rest of the men pass, as he waited for Roy to catch up.
"You looked miles away just then... Bet I can guess what you were thinking about..." He said, with a mischievous glint in his eye, as Mustang reached him. "Don't worry, we'll get you back to her in no time"
Mustang shot him a scathing look, but immune to it, Harper only returned an impish grin.
.o0o.
Despite the insistence that he report immediately, Buxton himself, took hours to appear. They had eaten (the food was better), and were sitting out on the steps of the mess hall, enjoying the last of the afternoon sun, when he finally graced them with his presence. He wasted no time with pleasantries.
"Staff Sargent, your duty roster... This Heinrich Vogler, he's one of yours?"
He indicated a name on the top sheet of the clipboard he'd just handed Carter.
"Yes sir, one of my best." Carter stated clearly, looking up at his superior officer.
Though it remained unspoken, Carter's tone and expression clearly asked where this was going. An expression he shared with the rest of the men sitting there. They needn't wait long to find out...
"You trust him?" Buxton asked, sounding incredulous, and unabashedly blunt.
From the corner of his eye, mustang cast a sidelong glance at the man in question. He saw Harry stiffen, and though he made not a sound, his hand drew into a fist beside him, as his jaw tightened perceptibly in a show of anger, disgust, or both.
"With my life, sir!" Carter answered without hesitation, his tone both genuine, and a touch exasperated.
Buxton only shook his head in disbelieving amusement, before adding insult to injury.
"A Krout fighting Krouts, well don't that beat all!" He laughed.
The men did not share in it. Harry, having had more than enough, stood and walked briskly away, seemingly unnoticed by Buxton, though not by the rest, who's eyes followed his retreating form with a mixture of sympathy and outrage. Oblivious to this, Buxton continued on undaunted.
"Most of your men will have the night off, but I took the liberty of adding a few to this evening's rotations, the rest will be included, once tomorrow's cycle begins..." He said.
Then turning to Roy, he clapped him on the shoulder.
"Mr. Mustang, glad you could make it, you see I've requested a translator, but he won't be here for some time, and since you did such a crack job for us before, I hoped you could help us out again."
He began to ramble on about fine accommodations, and all the rest of the false promises bureaucrats like him offered, when you had something they valued, but Mustang was no longer fully listening... Carter, who was sitting on the step above the one he was, had set the roster on his lap, and begun to flip through the pages clipped to it.
Cutting Buxton off mid sentence, Mustang quickly excused himself, asking to pick this back up with him at a later time. Buxton, unaccustomed to such a brush off, was struck temporarily speechless by it, and left to stand gaping after the quickly retreating man. It was a fact that would have made Roy smile had he noticed, but his attention was decidedly elsewhere.
It had been hours since mustang left with Carter to go meet Buxton, and she was beginning to feel much the way she had when Carter had dragged him into that farmhouse on the first day... but unlike that day, there were few distractions here to find comfort in.
She'd settled in as best she could, but that only served to be a minor distraction. As there wasn't much unpacking to do. She only had a few blankets, a canteen, and a couple more boxes of those awful rations. So it really wasn't enough to keep her from her fears for long... And the people here pretty much kept to themselves.
They'd hardly rolled out the welcome wagon for her... In fact, they'd barely paid any attention to her at all. Though she suspected this was pretty much the case with all newcomers, it was probably even more so with her, considering the company she had arrived in. Even so, the lack of company soon meant there was nothing at all left to stave off the worry, who's seed had been sown when that runner had met them at the gates as they arrived.
The aforementioned runner had departed the moment she was squared away in her tent. Hicks, on the other hand, had stayed on for far longer than he probably should have, waiting with her until the sun had dipped low in the west.
Finally, not wanting to get him into trouble, she had told him to go, insisting she would be fine, but it had been a lie. Now, with hour upon hour passing, and still no sign of Mustang, that seed had grown into a boulder sized knot of tangling, strangling vines, as she sat alone upon an army issue cot in her new canvas abode.
Still as a statue she remained, while the twin tendrils of fear and despair encircled her heart and soul, choking out optimism and replacing it with dread.
As it grew dark, lanterns were lit by neighboring tenants, then in time extinguished one by one, until all the sounds of the camp had dwindled to the solitary crunching footfalls of patrolling sentries. it was then in the near silent darkness, when the sum of her fears achieved a crushing weight, that the tears came.
She hadn't cried, really cried, since that first night, but cry now, she did, for the fear that she had lost him... The tears hadn't come out of simple loneliness though, or even fear of abandonment, because in truth she feared losing him as a protector far less now, than she feared losing him as her companion. up until now, he had been the one thing left she could rely on. The one constant in her tumbled down life, and the prospect of losing him now, of losing that one remaining bit of stability, left her gasping. just how many losses could one heart take, before there simply weren't enough pieces left to put it back together again... As the coming hours of darkness stretched out as endless miles before her, that question remained on her mind, and she truly feared the answers she might find.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.
A/N: Ok folks, for those of you who were wondering...
The reason for Mustang's hesitation in the last chapter, was all a matter of where the gun was pointed. The SS guard inadvertently saved himself, at least for a moment, by pointing the gun at Roy instead of Winry... Mustang would not hesitate to protect the people he cares about or deems 'innocents' when they are directly threatened (as we see just a moment later, when the gun is pointed at Harper), but he finds it a bit more difficult to do the same for himself (he was speaking from personal experience, when he talked about Winry not actively seeking death, but not actively avoiding it either). In the instant the gun was pointed at him, the big picture lost focus, because, in the defense of his own life, his actions are no longer instant or instinctual, it came down to a fraction of a second's semiconscious vacillation between, whether or not it was worth taking another life to preserve his own. Had he had more time (more than a split second), he would have overcome it, but Harper charged in, and the SS officer didn't make the right decision the second time... The rest, as they say, is history.
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