Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
- x -
He could have been stepping off the train in Resembool.
There were certain differences, of course. The station was differently shaped, with a shorter platform and a larger office, and this platform's overhang actually had a belt system rigged to turn a series of ceiling fans, making the already pleasant mid-morning even more so. There were few insects, mostly buzzing gently around the petunias and geraniums that surrounded the platform, and through the office glass he could see directly down the center of the main street.
This was Jannai.
He and nii-san had never had a reason to travel to the city, which wasn't quite as far south as Resembool, and was more east. It wasn't a direct trip, either; he'd had to transfer twice, and the second train he'd caught by the seat of his pants. If he'd missed it, the next didn't run until three pm.
As it was, everything had worked out exactly right, and he was standing in Franklin Sorn's hometown a little more than four hours after he'd left Central.
Alphonse Elric moved along the platform with the few other passengers that had disembarked, noting smiling faces and simple clothes in brilliant solids. The office yielded all manner of surprises for such a small town – an automated piano was playing hymns in the corner, being pumped by a footpedal that was actually being run on the same belt and pulley system that was powering the ceiling fans both inside and out. Every bent and graying teller had their own typewriter, a design he'd not seen before, and possibly the most shocking, a small box in the corner that accepted coins and dispensed transfer tickets.
Central had just installed such a system of 'vending machine.'
Al grinned. It looked like finding people familiar with the Mechanical Alchemist was going to be refreshingly easy.
Finding the alchemist himself might prove a bit trickier.
Al exited the station office without hesitation, getting a brief lay of the land before heading towards the nearest café. Technically, it wasn't a café, since this wasn't France or even Europe and they didn't have such things, but the reality was, it was a small store that sold a limited variety of cooked and chilled foods and drinks, and it would be both affordable and an excellent place to gather a little information.
He was going in nearly blind. Thanks to military investigations still underway regarding the reported brief appearance and disappearance of the Full Metal Alchemist earlier that evening, the library was still staffed, and he was able to get the file he needed. The Academy probably had a copy, but the First Library was closer and he was hoping it would have something a little more complete.
He'd been disappointed in that area. Outside of Sorn's application for his certification and proof of citizenship, one that looked as though it had been drafted explicitly for the government and not the one issued when he was born, there wasn't much else to find. His parents had died prior to his application, and he'd listed no guardians.
Nor had any of his recommendations hinted at who his teacher might have been. Then again, he doubted any of theirs had indicated Izumi Curtis was their sensei. He certainly didn't recall putting that information on any forms.
She would have killed them.
Perhaps Franklin was in the same predicament.
He was unlikely to be in the small restaurant Al walked into, but perhaps he would get lucky. If nothing else, at least he would get lunch.
A beaming twenty-something brunette stood behind a gracefully curving glass cabinet, displaying all manner of individual fruit tarts and pastries. Somewhere, an egg frittata was cooking, and the sound of a knife being sharpened rang out from the back.
"Good morning, sweetie." Her voice was perky and friendly, and he smiled back at her. "What can I get you?"
Al pursed his lips and set down his bag, scanning the rows of confections. "I don't suppose you have anything like a bun with meat baked inside?" It was unlikely they had Hamburgers, because they obviously didn't have a Hamburg, but meat wrapped in dough was a fairly common lunch item of such places in Central, and he knew he was in luck when she flashed him a quick grin.
"I'll go see if they're ready. You got here just a mite early."
He inclined his head, but she'd already flounced into the back, and Al quietly scanned the rest of the interior space. There were a few tables, mostly with only two chairs apiece, and only one of the tables was occupied. It was a pair of elderly gentlemen, as you'd find on any porch in any small town in Amestris. He imagined their wives were busy with laundry or other chores and simply hadn't wanted them underfoot anymore. Both of them were staring at him openly, so he gave them a smile and a nod.
One of the old men grunted, either in disgust or in greeting. It was hard to tell. The other blindly but accurately reached for his coffee mug and continued staring.
Al turned his attention back to the counter in front of him. Okay, so maybe not quite like Resembool.
He had been hoping that the nice young lady would make a timely reappearance with some food so he could pay and engage her in conversation, but unfortunately it didn't happen. The sounds of the knife being sharpened had stopped, so clearly something was going on back there, but second after second ticked by with a suddenly awkward silence.
Oh, well. When in Rome . . .
Of course, there was no Rome here. But the adage still rang true enough.
He turned back towards the older men, and the one that had grunted was wearing a smug expression. "Don't see many of your kind 'round these parts."
Your kind . . . ? Al blinked at him a moment before realizing the pocketwatch chain must be visible, dangling beneath his vest hem. He glanced down, fingering the lengths of silver for a moment. This was either his ticket to finding Sorn, or it was going to interfere a good deal. Even after all these years, many people still didn't want much to do with alchemists, Elrics or not. These gentlemen were old indeed. They'd remember the damage done under Bradley over the reforms Mustang had been making.
"My hometown didn't much, either," he said after a moment, dropping the chain to meet the older man's faded blue eyes. "Doesn't seem like you folks have much need for one."
"Naw," the second man suddenly spoke, his voice a little high-pitched and reedy. "Red Edward fixed us up pretty good."
. . . no way.
"Red Edward?"
The first man was looking positively gleeful. "Yep. Second youngest feller to get one of them watches of yours."
Alphonse found himself suddenly struggling with a smirk that was just dying to come out. "I see. So you're familiar with Franklin Sorn?" That the town would nickname the redhead after the 'Alchemist of the People' made complete sense, given the level of mechanical technology he'd already seen. Franklin was no doubt responsible for the belt and pulley system, the vending machines, possibly even the piece of glass in the cabinet in front of him. And none of them could argue that he wasn't a child genius.
But 'Red Edward'? Had Mustang known the boy was called that?
Probably.
"Where'd you say you were from again?"
He hadn't, but he'd invited the question. It was hard to tell if these men were giving him information as a test or because they simply liked to talk, but he was betting the former over the latter. If they were half as protective of Franklin as Resembool had been of nii-san and him, a strange alchemist showing up one morning out of the blue would be treated with cautious respect.
"I grew up in Resembool. It's a little town south of here."
The first of the two men nodded, but the second looked slightly chagrined. "You don't say."
Sometimes it was nice to be recognized. Even if they were more familiar with the Full Metal Alchemist than the Binding Life Alchemist.
Soft-soled shoes whispered on the tile floor, and Al turned to find the brunette standing behind the counter, offering a steaming golden bun on a plate. "Just came out," she chirped. "That'll be a hundred cenz."
He fished the money out of his pocket, unfolding two bills and placing them on the counter. "Thank you."
"My pleasure!" She grinned at him again, and Al had the distinct impression he was being flirted with. "What brings you to our little town? We don't get many visitors. I see almost all of them, so I know," she added by way of explanation.
"This young man's looking for Red Edward," the first old man observed.
Her eyebrows rose. "Well, isn't that interesting!" She seemed to be staring past his shoulder, and Al followed her gaze to a simple wood-framed timepiece on the wall. "You've got about ten minutes, then."
Her voice was still friendly.
Al turned back to her, mildly confused. Was she telling him to get out of town . . . ? "Er . . ."
"You'll need to catch the very next train," she supplied helpfully. "It goes back to the transfer point to Central."
"He knows, Rachel," the second old man piped up. "He knows all about that school, too."
Al carefully didn't change his expression, and he took a small nibble off the bun. She'd literally just taken it out of the oven, and it was still too hot to eat. "This is wonderful."
She beamed at his comment. "Oh, thank you! It was my mother's recipe." There was little catch to her voice, but Al didn't miss it. He set the bun back down on the plate to cool, but remained standing beside the counter.
The bru-Rachel was studying him closely. "But, sir, if you're looking for little Frank Sorn, and you already know where he is-"
How much to tell them without alarming them? If these old men were regulars – they were on a first-name basis with Rachel, at any rate – and she saw all the traffic coming from the platform . . . but then again, Franklin's car was missing. He could have driven as easily as taken the train. "I'm one of his professors," he said kindly. "Franklin's been looking a little peaked lately, and has missed some classes."
Her expression didn't become overly concerned, so he continued. "His application lists his parents as deceased, but I was wondering if he had any legal guardians that could come up and stay with him for a while? He's young, and I'm afraid he's not taking care of himself as well as he should."
Rachel's lips were pressed together thoughtfully, but the first old man spoke up before she had a chance to reply. "He's a tough kid. He can take care of himself."
The second man, however, tapped his coffee mug on the table, silencing his friend. "You sure that's why you're here?" His tone was much less reedy, and much more serious, and Al focused on him.
"I'm worried about him."
The old man considered his words for some time before he replied. "Frank's parents died when Rachel's did," he finally muttered. "Kid's got nobody but Avram Blane."
His elderly friend nodded in agreement, and Al took another nibble off the bun, lest he appear too interested. "Do you know where I can find this Avram?"
The first old man shook his head. "He left when Red did. Moved up north somewhere. Nothin' tying him here anymore, I guess." His tone was sober, and he suddenly became very interested in his coffee.
Al glanced at the second man, who offered no more information, then turned back to Rachel. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents."
She nodded. "It's okay. There were a lot of us, so . . . we were able to support each other. And of course, there were always nice young men like Bert and Zack to help us along." She sent the two old men a very playful grin, and the first ignored her while the second one grunted. "Don't let them fool you. Hearts of gold, these two."
Bert – or possibly Zack – snorted indelicately. "You're getting that silver tongue from Arei. Watch that boy, young lady. He'll talk you out of your knickers if you aren't careful."
She sucked in a quick, angry breath in the same manner of women worlds over. "How-Zack!" she admonished, turning bright red. "That was just plumb mean!"
Alphonse stuffed his mouth full of his lunch, trying to hide a sudden grin as the second old man winked at him. "Don't want me saying so in front of company, eh, Rachel?"
"Forget what I said," she snarled. "They're just cranky old men with one thing on their minds."
Al found himself inhaling rather than swallowing his next bite, and Rachel had looped the counter by the time he managed to clear his airways.
"Goodness! Honey, you okay?"
Al tried to swallow and nod at the same time, which didn't really work out, and suddenly a cool, smooth glass was being pressed into his hand. He drank gratefully – water was the same as in Resembool, too, maybe from the some underground aquifer? – and it was only a moment more before he had his composure.
They were pretty frank, too. Just like Resembool.
So Avram Blane was somewhere in the north. That wasn't very helpful, but it was a start. He could probably call Central and have him tracked down by tax record . . . of course, nii-san should have been covering his classes, so he'd be tied up. His next most likely target was Sheska – but he wasn't supposed to be talking about this assignment with anyone but Mustang and Hawkeye. Obviously he couldn't ask the colonel to do his legwork for him, but surely he hadn't come all the way here just to have to run back to Central for a record . . . ?
"Gave me quite a fright! You just have a seat there and drink your water."
He was led to one of the empty tables the way a fussy parent might escort their child, and in no time he found himself neatly arranged with the other half of his lunch and his glass of water in front of him. She was hovering and twisting her hands, so he gave her a reassuring smile, but it didn't have quite the effect it used to.
"Oh, I'll have to change the recipe!" she wailed, and turned suddenly, hurrying back around the counter into the back.
What . . . ?
Zach came to his rescue. "A month ago tomorrow Leah choked to death right here in the store," he muttered. "Eatin' one of them buns. Her mum passed after making a batch, but of course it had nothing to do with that. She's just a superstitious soul is all."
"Her courtin' Arei is the problem," Bert confirmed, a little darkly. "He's no help at all."
Al looked back down at the bun a moment. Outside of having a slightly crustier breading around the meat, it was the same as any other. His had been less of a problem with chewing and more a problem with the topic of conversation.
"And Leah should have known better," Zach continued. "Always after the bread, and with no tongue it waren't no surprise."
Bert nodded in agreement. "Sweet girl, though."
"Excuse me. Did you say she had no tongue?" He supposed it was rude to ask, but having never encountered a tongueless person before, hearing about two in less than a year was a little bizarre. But of course it couldn't be the same girl, since nii-san said he had killed her. Hadn't he said her name was Cassie?
Zach nodded carefully, still keeping his cracking voice low. "The Ishbalans did it. Killed the whole lot of 'em during some pagan festival out in the east woods about two years back now."
"She was the only one to survive it." Bert's lips were thin. "They bit out her tongue so she couldn't call out, but she got away from 'em. Ran into a couple of local boys before the red-eyes could catch her. Saved her life, them boys did."
Al gaped at them. Ishbalans? Attacking a group of citizens this far into Amestris, as recently as the last two years? That was . . . borderline ridiculous. Parliament had repaired ties with the Ishbalans half a decade ago.
The old men misinterpreted his expression. "They're vicious," Zach growled, casting a cautious eye on the door to ensure Rachel wasn't returning yet. "She was so scared, she never spoke at all after telling them who done it to her. Lived in a house by herself after that. Avram fixed her up best he could, but there waren't nothing he could do."
"That . . . how did she tell you who it was, if she couldn't speak? Did she write it down?"
Bert shook his head. "Naw. She couldn't write. Wasn't a local, see. They'd just come through for the festival, about forty or so of 'em. What you call drifters. We weren't too happy havin' 'em in town, truth be told. Some crops might go missing occasionally when they were around."
They sounded just like nii-san's gypsies, Al thought sadly. For the first time in a long time, he wondered how Noah was faring. If the Nazis ever got hold of her, she could expect worse than getting her tongue cut out.
"She just said something that sounded like it. Least that's what the boys said. She never spoke of it again."
"Did you contact the authorities?" Was there some record of this? Had anyone been questioned regarding it?
The old men nodded, but turned interested eyes to their coffee when the hiss of slippered feet carried across the tiles. Rachel came into view a scant second later, bright smiles again.
"I'm so sorry," she gushed instantly, folding her hands nervously on top of the glass counter. "It's just, we had a customer-"
Al stalled her by holding up a hand. If she was that disturbed about it, there was no point in making her explain it. Though it would be good to get someone else's point of view.
"It's okay. It's really an excellent bun. I think you should keep making them this way."
Pagan ritual or no, even one taking Ishbala's name in vain, he could not imagine Scar biting someone's tongue out. The man was a murderer, which was already against the teachings of Ishbala, and while he had been vengeful and ruthless, he hadn't been unnecessarily cruel. Not like that.
And he'd claimed he was the worst of his kind. Marauding Ishbalans killing villagers . . .
He blinked. Two years ago.
That would have put Franklin at thirteen.
Could that be why . . .? Did he want a Stone so he could resurrect the villagers that had been killed? But if they were strangers, why would he be so driven?
They said Avram Blane had seen the girl, at least. Maybe it was worth checking into this as well, while he was here. He could take the train back out, research both topics –
But it was such a huge waste of time. Particularly if Franklin Sorn was wandering around with Incomplete Stone. Or worse, the prisoner of someone else who was.
"The woods," he started, then almost grimaced. How to word this without upsetting Rachel . . . "I don't suppose you could point me in the right direction?"
The old men glanced at each other through their thick white brows, and Zach took a swig of lukewarm coffee.
"I reckon Arei could show you. Don't know why you'd want to see the place, though. It was investigated and all, even by one of you folks. Nothin' came of it."
Al nodded, downing the rest of the bun and chasing it with the water. "Is there some way I can find him?"
"Just wait here. He usually comes by to shamelessly flirt in the afternoons."
"Zachariah Bindlow!"
The old man ducked, as if he expected something to be thrown at him, and a glance showed that Rachel was definitely considering casting around for a missile. "Takes one to know one, you know!"
"If you won't behave I'll ring up your missus-"
"Oo! Below the belt, girl! Show your elder some respect."
Al raised his hand tentatively. "Ah," he interrupted, and when he had their attention, he continued. "Do you know where I can find a phone?" It wasn't . . . exactly in line with Mustang's gag order, but he was pretty sure he'd just come up with a way to get his information without having to leave town.
With any luck, he'd know where Avram Blane lived by the time he returned with this 'Arei' from the attack site.
- x -
"And how are we feeling this morning?"
The man who had just entered the office glanced down, his usual Thursday morning scowl in place, and he softened it with the traditional effort.
"I'm fine. You?"
"Very well, thank you." He was carrying four unlabeled envelopes, so she offered him a hand and, per their normal routine, he surrendered them. The envelopes held the weeks' test scores, to be posted to the board the following morning. Professor Elric believed very much in public triumph – or humiliation.
Usually it was humiliation.
Pasie Dueys would normally now say something offhand about his schedule, or changes therein, but considering the sergeant now posted in the corner like some kind of excessively poorly-designed coatrack, she felt that would be an error. If the professor wanted to hide later, discussing his schedule now would only add difficulty to the cowardly attempt.
However, his schedule was quite a bit different from the usual one. He could need reminding. He was never late for a class, even if he was covering for his brother.
"How is it that we are the one injured, yet our brother is the one absent?"
Professor Elric gave an irritated huff, staring at the silent soldier a moment before turning back to her. "You know Al. Distracted by every shiny thing he sees. Go ahead and cancel his ten o'clock class, would you? I won't be able to cover it."
That was odd. Edward didn't teach a ten o'clock on Thursdays.
She consulted her class scheduler just to be sure, but there it was, plain as day. Edward Elric had a one hour break between 'Behavior of Atmospheric Gases' and 'Basic Alchemical Principles.' Alphonse Elric, on the other hand, had classes straight through on Thursdays, beginning at eight am with 'Elements and their Properties' and ending at two pm with the same. His ten o'clock was the very popular 'Basic Arrays.' It was one of the few classes required for the physicists, and had been given to Alphonse Elric for the very simple reason that he was actually willing to demonstrate the arrays, rather than merely explain their principles.
Perhaps there was a reason Edward Elric was conveniently finding something else to do during that time frame.
She gave him a sideways look and he frowned at her. "I'll be at the HQ hospital if anything . . . interesting happens." For his part, the professor gave the soldier another dark look and then spun on his heels, heading back out of the office.
Pasie inclined her head politely, though she knew he couldn't see it. He thought it would only take one hour to treat his injuries? "I would be happy to. Do be careful," she called after him, and then the door closed, effectively isolating the office from the bustle of passing scientists.
For a moment, the administrative offices were quite silent, and Pasie consulted her calendar again. Alphonse's ten o'clock was normally held in a large lecture hall, so all she'd have to do was post a notice on the four doors leading in to effectively cancel the class. Easily done.
Mira Bansk scuttled up to her desk, intent on one of the four unmarked envelopes. It was her job to take the copy of the master score list and copy it yet again for their permanent records before allowing the first copy to be taken to the student library on the second floor, where any student could peruse the records of every physicist and alchemist that had ever attended the Academy. As it had been open less than a year, the current student body was the only one, but five or six years from now, such record-keeping could save the administrative staff a good deal of time.
That they would undoubtedly spend doing exactly what they were doing now. Trying to see if Mira could guess the right envelope. They were all the same thickness, so one never knew which envelope held which piece of information until they were open. Mira was fancying herself a bit of a psychic, however, so this was a Thursday ritual designed to test how much more 'attuned' she was to the 'natural energies' that flowed around whatever item she was concentrating upon.
Mira sighed lightly, her stubby fingers waving over the envelopes as if the one she wanted would give a twitch or a puff of heat to give itself away. "You drag your feet much longer, and the opportunity will be gone."
Mira was whispering so the new 'furniture' wouldn't hear. Of all the places to permanently station an officer, their office had to be the most boring. The most inconvenient all around, really.
"I know," Paise answered softly, and watched Mira pluck up the second of the four envelopes.
- x -
The stump-like woman behind the round Admitting desk gave him an approving sort of look.
"I wondered when we'd see you again."
She might not even know his name; the first and only two times he'd been an official patient in the hospital he'd been admitted while unconscious. And he had no doubt he wasn't the only automail-bearing patient they had. True, he was the only State Alchemist that was also an automail user, but he hadn't had to flash that credential. He'd simply asked to see Dr. Patterson.
That was probably a clue, though. Doc Patterson had been keeping the alchemists under a close eye, and while usually Ed simply bypassed Admitting altogether and went to the doctor's office directly, he knew better than to do so unannounced. It would be rude, and he was here to ask a favor, not to get stuck with another needle full of 'vitamins and something else I cooked up in medical school.'
Though that was probably going to be unavoidable. Payment for the favor; the doc was learning all about 'equivalent exchange' and he was starting to apply what he'd learned.
She was looking him up and down, but he knew for a fact the only damage she could see was what appeared to be a slight sunburn on his face. He was wearing gloves, and his slightly shorter hair was still managing to do a decent job of hiding the blisters on his ears. Outside of what appeared to be trimmed eyebrows, he probably looked completely fine.
Of course, he was completely fine. Outside of a little headache and a lot of cussing in the shower, he was relatively unscathed. He'd lived through worse at half this age. At least Ms. Dueys hadn't ladled out the concern in front of that soldier; Hakuro was probably pissed enough that he still hadn't reported to give his account of the event last night.
Hadn't had time. He'd fallen asleep at Franklin's, and had woken with just enough time to hire a cab home, shower, throw on some clothes, and squeak into his nine o'clock class. He doubted the younger alchemist had been home while he'd slept, though; after Al had left he'd set a series of silent little traps throughout the house. An intruder wasn't likely to notice an index card falling to the floor behind them, but Ed would see the evidence. He'd done it as a precautionary measure in case he'd run out of time in the morning, but when he'd woken they'd all still been set.
They'd also let him know if Franklin – or someone else – had made a trip through the house while he was here or taking care of covering their classes.
"I'll need you to sign the following forms." Her voice brought him back from his musings, and a short, round arm offered a clipboard that was trembling under the weight of the solidified wood pulp clamped in its overstuffed metal clip.
Edward just stared at it. "I'm not checking in."
She didn't lower the clipboard, but her expression became slightly less friendly. "This is from the last two visits. Some of the forms are duplicates, in which case we only need one copy-"
The State had paid for his health care both times, and he'd just assumed they'd completed the required forms as well. Apparently not. And that she'd had it all together, waiting for him-
"I'll pick them up on my way out."
She gave him a toady smile. "I'm afraid Dr. Patterson is going to be indisposed until these forms have been signed."
Pushy broad.
He shrugged, hiding the wince that scraping his still-sore skin on the fabric of his shirt caused, and walked past her into the hospital proper. He could hear her picking up the phone, but she didn't follow him.
It wasn't the same building as it had been when he'd been a child. This wasn't necessarily a new building, either; if he had to guess he'd say it had once been administrative offices that had been renovated. The four story structure was quite nice, with wide, airy hallways and windows wherever they could be squeezed in. Medical advances in the last six or so years had certain been a driving factor in the changes. Some of the German hospitals had been much like this one, though it was obvious Europe was still far ahead, as far as the science of health was concerned.
There were more people, after all. And many more legal experiments performed to tell them the limits of the human body and mind-
With a frown he stepped into the elevator, pressing the thick, black button marked '3' in silver lettering. Just the reminder of where he was going shot an ache through his right shoulder, and he shifted it absently within the armor. It would probably hurt him for years to come. The scars on his back now were minimal, a testament to the doctor's skill, but there was nothing more he could do about the bone damage Ed had suffered at the hands of Craege Irving.
There wasn't much Patterson could do about the other, either. Despite the various solutions the doc had injected into him or made him swallow, the tightness he felt while transmuting hadn't changed. Whether it was an inner Gate or not, it seemed to be far out of the reach of Amestrian medicine.
And that was fine.
The doors parted on the third floor and he stepped out. Because Patterson had been only a first year when he'd originally been given the dubious task of assessing the unknown injuries of a highly classified patient, the fact that he'd almost instantly become the Full Metal Alchemist's physician of choice had given the doctor no small amount of fame. That had been compounded when he'd been allowed to treat the Prime Minister, mostly because the two of them had been brought into the clinic at the same time. Now he was officially the Prime Minister's personal physician as well, and as such, times when he could be caught cooling his heels in his office were long past.
Without getting the okay from the lovely woman in Admitting, Ed was risking knocking on the door and interrupting a meeting with who knew who. He doubted the doctor would disapprove of the interruption, but if he was meeting with one of the generals . . .
Well, then he'd be pulled into a debrief, free time or not. He couldn't avoid it forever, and there wasn't much reason to; Edward was as curious to read their findings as the military would be to hear how he'd found the dead chimeras. He just didn't want to be late for his next class, and a debriefing would definitely delay him. Hours.
Then again, that was assuming they actually could debrief him. Since he wasn't technically ranked anymore, but was still a State Alchemist, he wasn't sure whether he was a civilian or not.
"Good god!"
Ed glanced to his right, and then rolled his eyes at the dark-haired speaker, who had clapped a hand to his chest and thoroughly alarmed the nurse beside him.
Looked like the doc was easier to find than he'd hoped.
"Sandy, get me a chair! And some smelling salts! And a calendar, too – we need to write this down."
Edward scowled at the good-natured teasing, wandering over to the young doctor and shaking his hand when within an appropriate distance.
"I figured I'd be seeing you last night, after your brother clubbed you over the head to bring you here," Patterson noted, his bright eyes taking Edward in from eyebrows to toes. "You've looked worse."
"Thanks," Ed drawled, preferring to watch the curious nurse, who inexplicably began to blush hotly and suddenly found something down the hall very interesting. He followed her retreat as the man in front of him chuckled.
"They rarely see you conscious with good color. Who should I thank for ordering you in today?"
Momentarily distracted, Ed refocused on the doctor. "No one. I'm not here for a checkup, actually. I need to ask you a favor."
"Well aren't you in luck!" the doctor cried amiably, fishing the dreaded tiny flashlight out of his coat pocket. "We're having a two for one sale. You will be receiving both!"
Edward glared death at him, but as usual, Patterson seemed oblivious. Somewhat against his will, Edward was taken by the arm and propelled down the hall, away from the patients' ward and towards the physician offices. "Really, I'm fine-"
"I can see that," the doctor admitted in a lower tone. "But I'm dying for an excuse to get away from Chamber Speaker Durnd, and it's more than partially your fault. Tell me if I'm hurting you."
It took Edward a second to realize the doctor was referring to his grip on his flesh arm. "It's fine."
In no time the two men were settling into the familiar leather armchairs in the large, comfortable office of Timothy Patterson, M.D. Not that anyone Ed knew, even Heymans, called Patterson by anything other than, well, Patterson. Or Doc. Or sometimes just 'P.' He'd never even known the man's first name until he'd come to the offices for the mandatory 'supplements' and read it on the brass plate adorning the large pine desk.
"So, how can I help you? Must be serious to bring you voluntarily to a place like this."
"Do you remember Pinako Rockbell?"
He watched Patterson's eyes shift to the right sightlessly as he searched his memory. ". . . Rockbell, but not Winry . . . I'm afraid not. Is she related?"
Edward nodded. "Pinako is Winry's grandmother." Patterson leaned onto his elbows, silently encouraging Ed to continue. "She's . . . old." It was so odd to say, when he was leaving off the hag or shrimp. Because then it was serious. Then it became an accurate description of the 'Panthress of Resembool.' "Gotta be in her seventies by now. She fell, I don't really know how, but it was weeks ago. Winry says she's still limping heavily, and thinks she may have broken her hip or her leg."
The doctor was nodding, but when Edward didn't continue, he looked a little confused. "And she was seen, so they know which one she broke . . .?"
Ed grimaced, and Patterson stared at him flatly.
"They couldn't figure it out?" Then he amended himself. "Well, it's a small town, Ed, it's not that unusual that the local physician might be a bit overwhelmed with a compound fracture."
"She wasn't seen by the local physician." He decided not to mention why Pinako had no faith in Resembool's doctor.
Patterson cocked his head to the side, slightly, like a curious child. "May I ask why? Surely with Winry stuffing you into new armor every so often they're buried in cash."
"She isn't impressed with the local guy. I was hoping you would agree to make a house call."
He watched the doctor take a deep breath, and when it was released, it was doubtlessly a sigh. "I'd be honored to," he started regretfully, "but I can't. Durnd is due in surgery tomorrow, and I need to be here for a couple days post-op to keep an eye on him."
Edward kept his protests to himself. In a hospital full of doctors, he couldn't give a single patient to someone else . . .? But Ed knew it was selfish; the logic worked both ways. In a whole city, he couldn't have asked any other doctor?
"And if it's already been weeks, if there are bone fragments . . . she needs to be seen immediately, Edward."
Ed just nodded, keeping his disappointment off his face with a small smile. "I know."
The doctor averted his eyes, grabbing a pad of paper off the corner of his desk and rooting around in the large chest pocket of his coat for a pen. "However, there's certainly something we can do about the pain . . ." He trailed off thoughtfully, then abruptly stood.
"Would you be so kind as to follow me?"
The doctor was already circling the desk, so Edward picked himself up out of the chair and followed. He noted Patterson's appraising look as he did so; the doctor was watching how he moved. Even now, trying to assess whether he'd been more badly injured in the explosion than he was letting on.
He was a good doctor, and someone Edward thought of as a friend. If he said he couldn't go, he couldn't.
"I can't go myself, and once we're talking about someone in their seventies, with trauma inflicted such a long time ago –" The doctor was almost babbling to himself. "Of course, his bedside manner is crap, and he made half the fellows cry their first rotation with him. But you'll like him."
Ah. He must be talking about another doctor.
Ed wondered if there was an insult hidden in the insinuation that he would like someone with a terrible bedside manner.
"He really is quite an ass," Patterson continued in a low voice, hurrying them down the hallway to the stairwell. They quickly tramped down one floor, coming out on two and heading back towards the administrative offices. "If he's keeping the same schedule he did two years ago, he should be in his office."
"You studied under this guy?"
The doctor glanced at him over his shoulder, and there was something much like a smirk playing across his mouth. "He's the reason I went into automail as a specialty. He knows his stuff." Patterson started paying attention to room numbers. "Winry's grandmother isn't otherwise frail, is she?"
Now it was Edward's turn to smirk. "No. She still makes automail, and she still scares me."
"Ah," the doctor murmured. "That's excellent, then. Here we are."
He knocked twice, very politely, on the wooden door and then turned the knob and entered. The room beyond appeared dark; the blinds had been drawn and the only light spilled from a small but surprisingly powerful desk lamp. Just behind it was a pair of whitish, perfectly round eyes, spaced exactly the same as the chimera's bad been-
And then the doctor's head shifted, and his glasses were no longer catching the reflection of the lamplight.
"What." There was the briefest of pauses as the doctor they'd just disturbed looked them over. "I thought you graduated already. Not that I would have passed you, if it were up to me," he grumbled as an afterthought.
Patterson seemed to fall back just a bit, but his voice was slightly louder than usual to make up for it. "Good morning, Dr. Ackernath. I'd like to introduce you to a former patient of mine, Edward Elric."
"The automail alchemist," the elderly doctor muttered, and then he stood. He was even shorter than Ed was, by almost a head, and had to be close to seventy himself. His fingers were thick and knotted with age, but absolutely steady as he put down the piece of film he'd been examining. "Sliced to a bone he shouldn't have, if I recall."
Patterson had the good grace to grimace, and Ed tried not to look at him. So much for secrecy with the 'automail' . . .
"Er, yes, doctor." Patterson's voice was meek.
"Tell me, son, how's the shoulder?" There wasn't a single drop of sincere concern in the voice. He might as well have been complaining about the types of vinegar the cafeteria stocked.
"It's fine," Ed replied in much the same tone, and beside him, he was almost sure he'd heard Patterson groan quietly.
"So why's he here?"
"He has a . . . well, not really a relative, per se-"
"Is this not relative here?"
Patterson took a tentative step forward. "No, actually, that's why we're-"
"Then it's a waste of time and you know it. You want a consult, you bring me a broken bone."
"I was hoping you'd go and see the patient yourself."
"What?" The old man barked out a laugh. "Are you mad?"
"She may be badly injured, and given the description I don't think we should put her on a train to Central-"
"She's not even in the city?" Another laugh, a bit sharper and shorter. "You'd have me out in the sticks, using . . . what, a rock to diagnose my patient? I don't suppose she can pay for it, either-"
"Of course she can, I just need someone to diagnose her-"
"Then do it yourself," the old man snapped, turning back to his film.
Dr. Patterson visibly held back another sigh, and Edward decided to speak. Patterson was relatively easy to railroad, after all; they'd all done it to him at some point. Obviously this former teacher had long ago learned how to verbally assault his peers.
"I'll pay you twice your usual fee." He said it in an offhand manner, as if the deal was already done. If Patterson was going to brave this kind of personality, this old man was probably very good in his field. And if he'd taught Patterson about automail, or at least pointed him at the specialty-
"She's an automail mechanic in Resembool," he continued, and noticed that the old doctor's eyes were no longer moving across his piece of film. "She had a pretty bad fall a few weeks ago, and the doctor in town's worthless."
Ackernath made a dismissive noise in his throat, but he was no longer focused on the film. After another second he dropped it on the desk with a growl.
"Symptoms."
Ed hesitated, casting his mind back to Winry's letter. "Er-limping-"
"Of course she's limping!" the man snapped, then sighed and scrubbed his face vigorously. "Nevermind. An automail mechanic, you say?"
Edward held up his right hand. "Made the first set I ever wore."
"What'd the quack who saw her diagnose her with?"
Hmm. With this kind of attitude, he probably would be more attracted to the truth than a lie. "Wasn't seen. Isn't complaining about it, either. I heard about it through a letter from her granddaughter."
Ackernath looked up sharply, studying his face in the dim. "Not treated at all?" He scoffed. "She's fine. No woman would lug around a broken bone for weeks without getting something for the pain."
"This one would."
The old doctor seemed to mull that over for a minute. "Resembool, you say?" he barked suddenly.
So he had been listening.
Edward nodded.
"Twice the fee. Done. If it's bad she'll need to come back here, no refusals. Acceptable?" If it didn't sound like he'd just made a deal with a butcher for the delivery of fifty racks of lamb, it might have brought a smile to Ed's lips. As it was . . . but no. If they sent her a doctor, particularly one as blunt as this guy, surely Granny Pinako would realize she needed to come in for surgery. He and Al could go down and physically insist, if they had to.
Ed inclined his head. "You'll be heading out tomorrow?"
Ackernath glanced at his desk clock, whose back was to Edward. "No need. Train heading south leaves in a few hours. Patterson, since you're not doing anything useful, take this." He handed over the piece of film, which looked totally black to Ed's eyes. "It better be reduced to a hairline when I return."
Patterson accepted the film, seeming at a loss for words. "Don't you want a patient history-"
"Automail mechanic for the Full Metal Alchemist. How many of them can there be in a no-name town like Resembool?"
It wasn't such a no-name town, as two famous alchemists had grown up there, but he let it slide. "I'll phone ahead and let them know you're on your way."
"I like beef stews," he replied, and without another word he strode past them firmly, like a man no older than fifty, wrenching open his own office door. "Get out. I need to pack."
Edward obeyed, and the very second Patterson, who followed, had cleared the doorjamb, it slammed. Patterson laughed aloud, sounded delighted.
"Well, that's excellent. She'll be in great hands, Edward."
Edward contemplated their first meeting, and mirrored the doctor's smile. If only those hands knew what they were getting themselves into. Particularly if the old man showed up demanding stew.
- x -
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, guys! Work is beating me to death with a broken shovel. But look at the length and quality! No explosions, but I needed to lay a little groundwork. Next chapter I need to lay a little more. It'll be more interesting than this was. Of course, three or so chapters from now it'll pick up in a big way, and then I'll have to quiz you guys to see if anyone noticed the clues . . .
As usual, posted without a beta. I apologize in advance for the typos! I found what I could on a read-through, and didn't find much, so it's just riddled. If you notice anything, please let me know!