Three Wise Monkeys

Hey! pale-blue11 here!

First of all—happy 18th to Meghan! I hope you have a wonderful day :) Secondly, I need to explain something about the chapters. I wrote the first few on a train, so they're fairly short. After this one, though, they reach a more acceptable length and I won't feel as bad about the week-long updates (I just finished the last chapter and it's close to 10 000 words :D). That being said, if I'd be happy to upload chapter four this coming Wednesday if I reach 14 reviews }:) Most of the chapters are split according to the dates in the story, but this is both Wednesday and Thursday, so I'll make sure to differentiate between the two.

WARNINGS: Character death, blood, language. More will be added as necessary.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters.

CHAPTER THREE • The First Wednesday

Jeremy Colt lived at 32 Seaview Road, Central. Ed didn't know where the name came from—no one in Central had a sea view. Maybe a group of wishful thinkers, or simply a bunch of idiots.

Either way, that didn't matter.

Whether it was the king of a lost nation or a beggar passing through who christened Seaview Road, it was really just a street and a name. Something to attach to a greeting card.

But 32 Seaview Road was different. At least for Ed. Behind the unkempt garden and yellowing door lurked the person who haunted his thoughts in both wakeful and sleeping hours—no matter how many times he cast him away. A pale, weak man with nothing but a sharpened kitchen knife and some luck.

But if Colt was lucky to have killed Edward, then what could Ed's subsequent resurrection have been called? Luckier? A miracle?

No. None of those words fit.

It was... unnatural.

And it wouldn't happen again. Ed refused to let anyone beat him twice—even once was a blow to his pride! Colt had seen his chance, and taken it.

It was the only chance Ed would allow him.

Really, since he knew exactly who the killer was, the mission was simple. It could be narrowed down into two main points:

1. Find enough evidence to appease Mustang.

2. Put Colt behind bars.

It may have seemed an easy punishment for a serial killer—after all the lives Colt had ruined, shouldn't his own life be offered in exchange?—but the way Ed saw it, if Colt was thrown in gaol, they would need someone to question him.

Ed's fist would do nicely.

He would throw all his confusion—all his anger—into Colt's face. It was all Colt's fault. Ed's new... abilities... Before that night, he had been normal. Well, close enough. As close as a fifteen-year-old state alchemist could be.

Being merely a child prodigy paled in comparison to a self-healing freak who just couldn't die.

Sometimes, Ed wished his life could be simple. School, friends, whatever was left of a family. Was that too much to ask for?

Yet he knew that ship had sailed as soon as he uttered those few, fateful words.

"Let's bring her back..."

Even so many years later, the emotions in that sentence twisted his stomach and made him queasy. When he was younger, he attributed that nausea to excitement. The prospect of seeing their mother again. But, as a child who grew up too fast, Ed knew what it was.

Fear.

The same fear he felt when anything struck the back of his brother's neck. The same fear he felt when the chance that he and Al might fail snuck into his mind. The same fear he felt when he glanced up at 32 Seaview Road.

Ed didn't think he had died before—unless his visit to the Gate was a type of death—so the idea of knowing one man could kill him was daunting to say the least. Especially a man as... average as Colt.

That, more than anything, was what made him pause at the end of the street. It was lined with half-dying trees and rickety fences; everything that screamed: "Warning! Unsafe!" It was the type of neighbourhood the police would have a field day with. The phone box he stood beside appeared to be the newest thing in sight, so Ed wasn't about to move. Unless it was away, that is.

He had come to find evidence, but Edward found himself suddenly unwilling. It wasn't that he didn't want to prove that cocky colonel wrong, nor that he didn't want to see Colt punished. No, it was much less complicated.

Ed was scared. For the first time in his life, a thorough plan seemed the best idea. He didn't know if he could be killed, and he wasn't willing to find out.

So he wouldn't continue. He wouldn't keep going past the phone box. It wasn't safe.

Stepping back, Ed pulled his black coat tighter around his shoulders. A cloud had passed over the morning sun, casting him into shadow. He resisted the urge to look around as he walked off.

Everything was different. Life and death were no longer defined by strict guidelines, and the Fullmetal alchemist was running away from a fight.

He wanted Al.

The First Thursday

It was Thursday, and copies of Colt's letter had made to every major newspaper in the city. He had collected each one, placing them in an empty kitchen drawer until a more permanent option was found.

They must be looking for him. The police, detectives—maybe even the military, if they found it important enough. He had killed one of their own, in the end. Revenge, justice, whatever. If Colt was one of them, he'd want to do something. He still wanted to do something. His hands itched with thrilling paranoia, causing him to check the windows periodically. There was always a chance.

Someone could be out there.

That thought—the thought he might finally have been important enough for so much commotion—was illogical, but he couldn't help but feel exhilarated nonetheless. It was almost impossible that they had discovered his identity through that one letter. He had been careful—writing with his left hand and waiting until darkness before leaving the note on Central Daily's doorstep. He'd even dug out his old thesaurus, to make himself seem more educated. It was ingenious, if he said so himself.

But it was just about time for his half-hourly check. And after that, he had another audition. With his confidence brimming, Colt was certain he would ace the part. It was finally the day.

Shrugging on his old coat and grabbing his briefcase, Colt paused by the front window to survey the street outside. The curtain was tattered and transparent in some places. Once, he was sure, the fabric had a pattern. But the only patterns left were stains.

He twitched it away from the widow as carefully as possible. If he did have a peeping-tom, there was no point in alerting him.

And he did. Have one, that is. A peeping-tom.

He was a short boy, with blond hair. Colt couldn't distinguish any other features, but there wasn't any mistaking the boy's reason to be there. Not noticing his target in the window, that boy kept an unwavering eye on the front door.

Had they found him?

The boy sat at the end of the street, leaning against the side of the phone booth. Colt squinted, suddenly wishing he had taken his doctor's advice and bought glasses. Because what he was seeing just wasn't possible.

There was no way the Fullmetal alchemist could be lurking outside his house.

Maybe it had finally happened. All the death had gotten to him and rotted his mind. He was seeing things. Hallucinating. What was next? Would his older brother walk around the corner?

Fearing that might actually happen, Colt eased himself away from the window. His legs were rubber, bowing beneath his weight. Impossible. Impossible. It was all impossible.

People don't come back from the dead.

But neither do they become state alchemists at age twelve. It was all starting to click.

Colt had heard about Fullmetal's arm and leg—who hadn't?—the product of a childhood accident. That had never made much sense to him. What accident could do that to a child?

It wasn't an accident. Fullmetal had traded his arm and leg for his position, and possibly immortality, too.

Yes... Some demon had taken Fullmetal's limbs, and gifted him immortality and inhuman abilities as compensation. Colt had never believed in the supernatural, but he was starting to change his mind.

Was he angry? Or maybe he was there to make sure his secret stayed safe? If Colt was in Fullmetal's position, that was exactly what he'd do. It was a shameful secret.

And one that Colt could use.

Surprise was his greatest weapon.

"What're you thinking about?"

Colt stumbled back from the window, giving his guest a nervous glance. "N-nothing really… Just…"

The monster raised an eyebrow in bored anticipation. "Just what?"

"It was…" He licked his lips. There was no telling how his news would be received. "It was Fullmetal that we killed on Friday, wasn't it?"

A flash of rage passed over the other's face so quickly that Colt almost missed it. But he did catch it, and his legs went weak in sympathy.

"I told you not to mention that," the creature warned, his voice a low hiss. "As far as you know—as far as anyone knows—we had nothing to do with that."

"I-I know, but…" Colt hesitated, perhaps waiting to be interrupted before he could finish. "I can… I can see him outside."

His guest stalked over to the window and impatiently pushed Colt aside. When he caught sight of the boy, he grinned. There was no happiness in the action. "I get it," he murmured, then turned to Colt with a sadistic gleam in his oddly-coloured eyes. "Let's have some fun, hm?"

Bye bye!