Three Wise Monkeys

Hey! pale-blue11 here!

I'm so exhausted '-.- had the busiest day—which explains why this is about five hours late. And this is the first time I've been on the internet for almost a week, barring homework. So... so much homework. Sorry about the delay. Please stick with the story—I promise it improves! I really like the last half, personally.

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

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

CHAPTER FOUR • The Second Saturday

It was disheartening when every day began with, 'maybe I'll do something today'. It was Saturday, and Ed had had this thought every morning since Thursday. While that was only three days, they were three days of fearful waiting, forever worried that Colt might spot him. There was nowhere to hide on Seaview Road, and he only thought to wear a disguise on Friday. Friday was spent constantly looking over his shoulder, anxious that Colt had seen him the previous day.

So while he was still in high alert, Edward was slightly more relaxed.

Colt hadn't woken up yet. It was early morning—much earlier than Ed had any business being awake for—but Ed found the dormitories suddenly suffocating. The grout in between his bathroom tiles were still discoloured, no matter how many times he scrubbed them. Blood is just like bad memories. Neither will disappear easily.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and Ed was bored. He played with his black hair, transformed part of the footpath into tiny, humanoid shapes, and still the sky remained dark. It was frustrating.

He had change in his pockets, and a phone behind him. Before even half of the sun made an appearance, Ed was turning the dial in a familiar pattern.

As expected, Al was the one to pick up.

"Hello?" he said quietly.

Ed smiled. He really had wanted to hear his brother's voice. "Hey, Al."

"Brother?" Al confirmed, then his tone became annoyed. "Why're you calling now? You could've woken Granny! Or Winry!"

Chuckling, Ed leant against the side of the phone box. "I had nothing else to do."

There was a long, suspicious silence on the other end. Then, "Why're you awake so early?"

"I'm still doing detective work."

"Oh, so you've found some evidence?"

"Eh..." Ed rubbed the back of his head. "Not quite. I'm getting there."

"What's taking so long? Should I come back?"

Ed hesitated. Logic and emotion battled, just as they had the last time Al asked that. They reluctantly came up with the same answer. "I'll be fine. You stay with Granny and Winry."

"How long do I have to stay here, brother?" Al whined.

Ed laughed. He knew what Al meant, but it still sounded incredibly impatient. Maybe he and Al were more alike than he'd thought. "You'll be bored here, Al. Mustang's got me staking out some guy's house—" a total lie, but Al couldn't know that "—until we find something out. There's no research or anything—this is the worst!"

"Okay, brother," Al said with a bit of mirth in his tinny voice. "But I'm coming back in a week, alright?"

"Great!" Maybe a week would be enough time to scrub the bathroom again. "You can help me beat some sense into Mustang."

Al giggled quietly, and Ed had to remind himself that it was early morning in Risembool, too. "Good luck with that, brother."

Someone knocked on the outside of the phone booth and Ed waved a dismissive hand at them. "Thanks. I'll see you—"

The knocking grew louder, the glass starting to rattle. Ed growled and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Hang on, Al. There's some asshole wanting the phone."

Ignoring Al's reprimand of "Brother, don't call people that", Ed turned to the only other idiot awake at that godforsaken hour.

The phone almost slipped from his grip when he looked up into that face. "You—" he began, but the door was quickly opened and a checked handkerchief shoved into his face.

Ed stumbled back, hitting the phone monitor and letting the hand piece fall to the ground with a crack! The rag was still smothering him; some parts snuck into his mouth, tasting like chemicals. The world was going hazy, all his strength fading. Al's voice was frantic, and he wanted to comfort him, but Ed couldn't think. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see.

Everything was black.

XxX

Waking up hurt nearly as much falling 'asleep' had. Ed could feel rope tight against his right ankle and left wrist—and he had no idea where his automail went. The empty ports ached.

The room was eerily normal. A single bed had been propped up against the wall to his left, opposite the door. Its grotty mattress matched the peeling wallpaper, a fading floral pattern. By turning his head, Ed could see a lamp—minus the shade—on a chipped antique bedside table.

He seemed to be lying on a desk of some sorts, with his bare foot—

Where the hell were his shoes?

—hanging off the edge. It creaked when he moved, but gave a sense of strength beyond its appearance. The small table was in the very centre of the room; the only oddity in a room of averages.

But there was another peculiarity Ed had yet to add to his list. He couldn't open his mouth. At all. There was something constricting him, wrapped around the back of his head and locking his jaw in place.

Ed was determined not to panic, but that determination was running out fast.

That bastard had done it again. And how? How had Colt managed to one-up the People's Alchemist twice? Not once, but two separate times? Ed tackled with the idea that maybe Colt was smarter, but it was hard to tell for sure when he'd only seen the man for such a limited time.

He probably wouldn't have to wait long to find out. Already, he could hear footsteps echoing down the corridor. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, Colt would leave. But maybe, he would kill him instead. Could he take that risk?

In the time it took Edward to analyse his options, they had been lost to him. The doorknob rattled as it unlocked, then Colt stepped in.

He was wearing casuals—dark pants and a ratty shirt—beneath a long, plastic-covered apron. Ed's eyes went wide and he instinctively shrunk back as far as he could. He had seen Barry the Chopper's soul transmuted into armour, but the glee in Colt's eyes made him believe that it had moved again.

It just wasn't fair. Not even sixteen, Edward had been held in similar positions by two crazed killers. At least.

Colt gave him a quick smile and Ed tried to ignore how that turned his insides into something representing overcooked spaghetti. He didn't know what Colt would do to him if he threw up.

Lacking a chair, Colt stood by the desk and examined Ed from above. Ed had an excellent view up his kidnapper's nose, but was unable to tear his gaze away from Colt's dark eyes.

"You're marvellous, you know that?"

The admiring words caused Ed's breath to quicken, whistling in and out of his nose and from forcibly clenched teeth.

"I killed you, didn't I?" Colt continued. "Yet here you are. There's not even a scratch on you." He leant in close. So close that Ed could smell stale cigarettes. "Isn't that... marvellous?"

Ed was getting dizzy, Colt's face wavering in front of him. But his words still cut through the fog in Ed's mind. It was like... falling asleep and hearing a loud noise outside. Alarming, but not so much that it drags you out of dreamland.

"But that doesn't really matter, now, does it? I don't think so."

The pop of opening locks woke Ed. His chest was heaving, convulsing for breath, but Colt paid this no mind and simply—gently—pressed him back to the table.

"Shh…" he comforted, only raising Ed's hysteria. He had passed the panic he wanted to avoid, and entered something nameless. "It's okay, Fullmetal. You can't die, can you? And even if w—I got something wrong... Well," Ed saw him shrugged through blackened vision, "then you were useless to me from the start.

"But," Colt paused, considering, "maybe it would be better if you could speak. Would you like that?"

Ed didn't think he would be able to nod, so he conveyed all his feeling into his watering eyes.

Please, take this off.

Colt smiled once again and reached down to untie the bond around Ed's head. As soon as the smallest amount of air reached his blue-tinged lips, Ed gasped for more. He felt like he'd been underwater for weeks.

Colt waited patiently while Ed panted and coughed, spit flying down his chin in his need for air. His heart was pounding.

All the care he'd taken—scoping out the place, playing it safe—had lead to his capture. Perhaps it would have been better to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing. That approach certainly suited him better.

After what seemed like a second and an age, Ed was finally calm enough to lie quietly. His face was cold, covered by a thin sheen of sweat.

He met Colt's gaze unwaveringly, trying to act braver than he was. He almost passed out.

When several moments passed by in silence, Ed raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

He was strapped to a table in a spare bedroom, missing half his limbs, but Ed would be damned if he appeared meek and frightened to his kidnapper.

Colt, thankfully, gave a small laugh. "Well what? I've already told you everything, have I not?"

"The hell you have," Ed spat back. He was carefully monitoring Colt's expression, painfully aware of his position. "What am I even doing here?"

Another smile stretched up his face. "You tell me. You were watching me, weren't you?"

Ed didn't say anything. "Answer my question first."

Colt straightened up and propped his chin up with his hand. "I need practice. I'm guessing my pieces aren't good enough if only you are sent to capture me."

Edward glared at him, struggling to understand the answer. It was like a riddle—understand one part, and the rest falls into place.

"What do you mean..." he started slowly, unsure, "'practice?'"

Colt shook his head and pursed his lips. "You've used up your free question. If I'm to answer any more, I'll need compensation. As the person in power, I can do that."

"What the hell?" Ed exploded, lurching up. The rope chafed against his wrist, pulling him down again. "Answer my questions, damn you! If you're gonna keep me here, I need to know why!"

"No, not really." Colt just shrugged at Ed's perplexed expression. "If I'm honest, you don't have a choice in what I'll do, but I'll give you one anyway. How does that sound?"

"Fuck you."

"So, first choice." Colt raised the bandages that had once surrounded Ed's head. "This thing—on or off?"

Oh, how Ed wished he had the ability to kill with looks alone. "Off," he growled.

"Very good." The bind was placed over the bedside table. "I assume that means you'll behave?"

Ed stared up at him with a twisted type of curiosity. "Be... Behave?"

"Mm." Colt nodded. "I have neighbours, understand. We wouldn't want them to hear anything, right?"

His throat suddenly dry, Ed licked his lips before speaking. "Why's that necessary?"

"Why's that necessary, sir."

"No way."

Colt disappeared from Ed's sight, and when he returned, he was holding a briefcase. Ed's pulse quickened immediately. He recognised that briefcase. It was at the bar.

"Then I guess you'll find out what I mean the hard way."

Ed's fingers started to shake, no matter how hard he clenched his fist.

"Won't you?"

XxX

The bind was back—somehow even tighter than before. Ed hadn't been able to avoid it. After close to twenty minutes of that knife digging in and out of his flesh, Ed couldn't contain the scream that bubbled up. It was either that or go insane. At the time, screaming seemed the lesser of two evils.

But Colt's 'practice' had continued for another hour regardless. The only difference being that Ed then couldn't breathe. It was just the first day, and Ed was really considering insanity as a new career path.

He could go to a nice, padded room, be strapped into a straitjacket, and have people watch his every move. Just the thought of giving in that easily made him laugh. Inaudibly, of course. The most he could manage was a muffled panting.

He hated it.

His chest, arm, and leg were sticky with blood, as was the table. Whenever he tried to shift his weight, it would make a horrible noise. For that reason, Ed hadn't moved a muscle in the past three hours. He was instead intently scrutinising the room, searching for a way out. Unless he found a way to perform alchemy and escape the rope around his wrist and ankle, it was hopeless.

There was a knock, and Colt entered straight after. He was clean of blood, wearing new clothes, and dragging a kitchen chair behind him. Ed pointedly turned away, scowling at a bricked-up window.

The chair clattered against wooden floorboards as Colt sat down then drew it forward with a scrape. He seized Ed's blond locks and pulled until defiant gold met gloating brown.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" he said with a kind smile. Ed glared at him, unable to answer. Especially not to say what he really thought. Colt threw his hands up, releasing Ed. "Don't look at me like that! You're not hurt, are you? Not even a scratch." He leant in, eyes glowing. "How'd you do that? I mean, I have my own theories, but it would be good to hear it from the source. If I take the bond off, will you tell me?"

'Fuck no', Ed wanted to say. He settled for angry silence.

"Well it's a bit after seven in the evening, and none of your friends have come knocking. Does that mean I'm safe?" His kind smile morphed into something ugly. Something Ed saw all too often in his line of work. "Does that mean no one's coming for you?"

Ed rolled his eyes. Why would Colt ask so many questions? Didn't he see the way Ed's teeth wanted to grind together?

But Colt's questions were really worrying—mainly because he was right on topic. Ed had done the research in secret. Not even Mustang knew what he was doing. They wouldn't find him. He'd have to find a way out himself.

Somehow.

And... Seven in the evening... He hadn't eaten all day! That wasn't healthy—he was a growing boy! He needed food! Nutrients! Protein!

Unable to articulate this, Ed's stomach let out a miserable growl.

Colt was silent for a few seconds before he let out a bark of laughter. It was so loud, Ed felt tiny flecks of spit land on his bare arm. Colt had cut away the sleeve for 'better access'.

"Are you hungry, boy-who-never-dies?" he said between laughs.

Ed didn't have to answer. It seemed his stomach was doing all the talking.

Colt pretended to wipe tears away before talking. "Unfortunately, I can barely afford food for myself. It's the life of a future actor, I fear."

'Then let me go', Ed tried. It came out as a series of grunts.

"But this'll be interesting," Colt continued as if Ed hadn't made a sound. "I wonder what'll happen to you? Will you just wither away, or will you be resurrected at full health again?"

Ed wanted him to leave. He wanted to be left alone almost as much as he wanted to escape. One day without food? Bad. More than one? That was worse.

Colt hummed thoughtfully and leant back. "Well," he said, slapping his knees. "I just wanted to say goodnight. Be good, now."

Ed's lips pulled into a snarl as Colt patted his shoulder and left. The light left with him; he pulled the cord on the way out the door, leaving Ed in darkness.

Edward sighed heavily. His warm breath heated the bandages around his mouth for several seconds. At least that was warm. The blood he was lying in had cooled after a couple of hours, and the tatters of his clothing did nothing to preserve his body temperature. Ed didn't know if it was the cold or shock that made him shake so much.

The cold, he told himself angrily. A little pain doesn't worry me.

That thought alone transformed his shakes to shudders.

XxX

Alphonse caught the first train back to Central. It left in the middle of the day, leaving him jumpy for most of the morning.

Winry was worried. She wanted him to tell her what was going on, and when that didn't work, she wanted to call Ed. When no one in Central headquarters had see him, neither Al nor Winry were surprised. Thankfully, for different reasons. Al knew that both he and Ed hated it when Winry cried, but Ed was particularly adamant that it would never happen again. Not tears of sorrow, in any case.

Even on the train, Alphonse couldn't keep still. The carriage was fairly empty, and the three other passengers grew used to his constant clanking and anxious shuffling. One of them—a young girl—suggested he use the bathroom, but Al politely declined. As if that would help.

He really wanted his brother.

The train ride was excruciatingly slow. Al would have dozed, if that were possible, but instead he stared out the window for hours on end. Hours after hours of constant fidgeting.

By the time Central appeared on the horizon, Al was ready to jump out the window and sprint there. Surely, that would be faster than waiting for the train to reach it itself. Logic said 'no', yet that didn't make his impatience lessen by even half a degree.

Mustang was expecting him, but none of his men were waiting at the station when Al arrived. They were off looking for Ed, after Al's hasty explanation of their phone call. Mustang had promised that no phone box would be left unchecked before the end of the weekend.

Al doubted that. Almost every street had its own, so to check them all would take weeks. There was another, easier way, and he was determined to find it.

Bursting into Mustang's office, the colonel looked up with a tired smirk.

"You've learnt that from Fullmetal, have you?" he said wryly, nodding towards the battered doors. His desk was piled high with paperwork, but Riza's gun was hidden. Scattered across its surface were much more important sheets of paper: reports of Ed's previous and current tasks, accounts from all of the soldiers in the dormitories, and hypotheses as to his whereabouts. Al took them all in, immediately choosing the witness reports to study first.

He took them to the couch and collapsed into it with a clank! They were all very vague, but ordinary.

'I saw him at dinner last night.'

'He was in the corridors yesterday morning, but I didn't see him after that.'

'I think I heard him yelling during dinner."

They were similar, and ultimately useless. Only one caught his eye. Lieutenant Rupert Chaise had written:

'I saw him leaving early this morning, around the time I left for my shift."

Al brought it over to the colonel and placed it over Ed's mission reports.

"Did you see this?" he asked.

Mustang nodded and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. "Of course I did. It's a part of my job."

"But did you find out what time this was?" Al was getting louder, more excited. It was small, but it was a clue.

"Half past four, roughly." Roy gave a large yawn and Al glanced at him guiltily. He may not have been tired, but it was well past midnight. Both Roy and Riza looked dead on their feet.

"Do you wanna sleep, colonel?" Al prompted softly. "I can look through all this and have it ready for you tomorrow."

"That," Roy stood immediately, "would be great."

Without hesitation, he wobbled over to the couch and collapsed, face-first. The sound of his snores filled the office soon after.

Al jumped as Riza sighed, then gave him a sad, tired smile. "We'll find him, Alphonse," she said in reply to his unspoken question. "Edward's strong enough to wait for us."

The suit of armour nodded. "I know. Thanks, Lieutenant. Hopefully it won't... be too long."

Riza didn't reply. She walked over to the doors, placed her hand over the wood, and paused. Without looking back at him, she said quietly, "Hopefully it won't be too late."

Alphonse didn't know if she meant for him to hear, but her honesty made the following silence heavy with words.

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