Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
Content Warning: Mild tearjerk warning.
- x -
The MP outside the room was her first indication that she'd found the right place.
Though honestly, the fact that he didn't have the door open was rather stupid. If she recalled correctly from the last time Edward was in this particular ward, there was a very large maple tree outside the windows on that side of the building, and as he'd demonstrated even as a boy, wood and plaster could be transmuted into just about anything.
Surely Patterson had already thought of that? It really wasn't like the doctor to use soldiers to keep his patients in line, and Ed was bound to protest.
Which meant-
Which meant the lead-headed lout had gotten himself into trouble with the military.
Again.
Winry Rockbell swallowed back her sigh, instead arranging a somewhat vapid smile on her face and approaching the unamused-looking soldier. "Excuse me, sir, but is this Edward Elric's room?"
Only his eyes moved; they took her in from head to toe, and while he never made an inappropriate comment or expression, she still had the urge to clobber him. "I'm afraid this room is off-limits to visitors."
Oh, it brought back such memories . . . "I'm not a visitor," she declared airily. "Please step aside."
Unlike the young doctor had once been, this MP was completely unfazed. "Are you a military officer?"
Oh yes. Definitely trouble with the military. Maybe it had to do with that court martial they'd been threatening him with since he got back. "I'm the Full Metal Alchemist's mechanic. I understand he was in a bit of a –"
The enlisted didn't even wait for her to finish. He smartly stepped aside.
Slightly surprised, Winry let her words trail off. She was dying to know what changed his mind, but she knew damn well asking would be pushing her luck, so she just gave him a little nod, which even more weirdly, he returned, and opened the door slightly.
The first thing she could see through the crack in the door was a blonde man with a blue hospital gown draped over his shoulders, using his slinged-up left arm to toy idly with heavy bandaging on his right. There was far too much facial hair for it to be Edward.
Both of them? Both of them were in the hospital?
Winry gave a gentle knock, pushing further into the room. On the far bed was the silhouette she was looking for – her armor looked more or less intact. The leg was folded with his real one, and his 'automail' arm was resting on his knee while his uncovered hand was picking at the hem of the sheet. He too was wearing a hospital gown, and the look on his face when he glanced up-
Confused, she turned back to Al. Sling, check. Bandaging, check. Bruises, check. He'd obviously gotten roughed up, but he certainly wasn't at death's door, so why-
"Come in," a female voice called from inside, and Winry glanced into the back corner of the room, previously hidden by the door.
There was a third blonde in the room, bare from the waist up, getting the finishing touches on bandages of his own by a dark-haired nurse. She looked very kind, and smiled sadly, and Winry gave her an uncertain smile in return before turning back to Edward.
The previous expression on his face was gone, replaced now by open concern. "Winry?"
"I heard you were here, Ed, but I didn't think you'd dragged Al and Russ down with you," she tried, a little lamely. Al's current body language, even as an adult human, reminded her so strongly of the armor it almost hurt. He looked exactly like he had when he'd been left out on the roof of the hospital, thinking that Ed didn't love him, or that he wasn't a real human.
He looked sad. Unfixably, unbearably sad.
Russell Tringum, sitting on a stool in the far corner, wasn't even looking up enough for her to see his face at all. Just his bangs. He hadn't moved a muscle, not even as the gauze was wound around what was apparently a broken rib or two.
The door clicked shut behind her, and while further inspection of the room revealed another MP, who was stationed just behind the door, there was no fourth blonde.
"Winry, what are you doing here?"
She turned back to Ed, trying for a grin. Judging by a slight change in his eyes, she didn't pull it off that well. What could have gotten the military so wound up that an MP was stationed both inside and outside the room? Had there been an accident? Had they witnessed something . . .?
The radios had said there was another assassination attempt, but they said it wasn't successful. Was this why . . . ? Were the soldiers there to provide protection or detention?
"I didn't think it was possible to find someone more caustic than you, Edward, but you certainly pulled it off. Dr. Ackernath confirmed my diagnosis, and managed to talk Granny into coming here." She suddenly had the urge to keep her voice down, and she twisted her fingers behind her so she didn't give away her shaking hands. The MP could see, but to hell with him. She'd never see him again. "However did you find someone so charming?"
"One of Patterson's old professors," he said quickly. "So, she really broke her hip . . . ?"
Winry kept the grin with effort. "More or less." There was no way she could tell them the truth, not now. Though Russ was in the room-
No. That news – and seeing if Russ and Fletch would help - could wait until they'd dealt with whatever had happened.
Obviously something else terrible.
"Are you going to tell me about it?" She headed for Edward, mainly for something to do with her hands. If the Elrics had been together and Al had gotten that beat up, Ed'd probably been using the armor like his old automail, and it wouldn't stand up to that kind of treatment.
Also, and she could admit it now, it was her crutch. And she damn well needed it. Looked like he did too.
Ed performed his version of a flinch, dropping his gaze to the right in a mannerism he'd used even as a little boy when he felt guilty. When he was hurt. And he was in the hospital, he was obviously hurt, but –
Without answering her, he uncurled his legs, and the armor extended with an odd sort of chucking sound. It still moved fluidly, but it was obviously out of adjustment. She glanced down at it a moment, then back at Edward. When he remained silent, she turned to the side, looking to Al.
Alphonse met her eyes hesitantly. "Winry . . ."
"Fletcher's dead." There was almost no emotion in Ed's voice. The figure on the stool remained absolutely still.
Winry didn't realize she'd covered her mouth until she felt her own hand shaking against her lips. "What? W-when? How?"
In the corner, she heard the nurse start talking. It was very quiet, and she couldn't make out the words, but the tone was compassionate. The elder Tringum didn't so much as twitch. He remained rigidly slumped, and he did not speak. It was like he didn't even know she was there.
"Some time this morning. Patterson thinks it was heart failure." Al's voice was soft. "We found him about half an hour ago."
. . . they found him?
She dropped her hand from her face, putting it on Ed's metal knee, and somewhere behind her, the doorhandle creaked.
- x -
This was going to be harder on him than he anticipated.
She couldn't help the thought as it flitted by, watching him stare at Tringum's face. It was obvious the autopsy hadn't even been started yet; Fletcher Tringum's exposed chest was intact, and sightless, frosted eyes reflected the overhead lights dully. Mustang studied the ghost of his expression for a long time.
"What have you found?" Roy's voice had recovered from the damage all those months ago, and was quiet and smooth. As if he wasn't really standing there, staring down so detachedly at a dead friend. While he and Fletcher Tringum had never been as close as Roy was to his unit or subordinates, the young man was a brilliant alchemist with a large heart. He had been pivotal in stopping Dante and the homunculi, in tandem with his brother Russell, and nearly a year ago he'd risked his life to save the life of Alphonse Elric. Five months later he'd repeated the act.
In fact, she was more than a little surprised that the aide hadn't pulled them out of Parliament with the news of the death of a civilian alchemist, and the disappearance of three of his own.
Who was she kidding. Roy counted Fletcher Tringum among his own, State certification or no. It was a truly unfortunate coincidence that the three to find Fletcher should have been the Elrics and his own elder brother. And even more unfortunate that even they could do nothing.
Dr. Patterson didn't beat around the bush. "My findings are still preliminary, of course." He gestured at the body. "Cause of death was likely heart failure. Note the discoloration of his lips and mucous membranes. It was very quick, onset would have been sudden and consciousness thereafter only thirty seconds at most. He might not have even known what hit him."
No. Given what was left of his final expression, he knew damn well what had hit him.
"Staff he was in contact with prior to his death reported him as looking a bit tired, but otherwise healthy. As to what caused the heart failure . . . I'll know more after the autopsy is completed."
"Do you have any theories?"
Riza Hawkeye watched Mustang turn to the doctor, not at all liking his grim look.
"This is the second previously healthy alchemist I've been presented with these symptoms. The first was Bren Durrell."
Bren Durrell . . . The Flint Alchemist. The man that had died attempting to decompose Johann Irving's amplifier through alchemy.
Which meant Patterson thought it was related to the feedback. To the fact that Fletcher Tringum had been exposed to the same amplifier.
"Was there evidence he was transmuting just before he died?" Obviously Roy was thinking along the same lines.
Riza shifted slightly in her position by the wall, a few feet behind both the Prime Minister and the physician. She had an excellent vantage of the entire morgue, its rows of gleaming metal tables and human-sized cabinets. The other examination tables were unoccupied, though there were two gurneys at the far end, and she'd already checked under the sheets to ensure that they were indeed dead bodies, and not assassins. As it turned out, they were both; two of the men they'd killed last night. Autopsies had been ordered to determine if they were carrying any pathogens that might have been made aerosol by the grenade. They had already been performed, and obviously not by Patterson.
She glanced back as the young doctor shook his head. "No. I've been through the apothecary with a fine-tooth comb, but everything's in place. However, I do know he was scheduled for and worked a cleanup shift this morning."
The implication being that now they had to worry not only about over-exerting the alchemists exposed to Johann Irving's amplifier on the spot, but that accrued exertion could also kill them over a longer period of time.
"When do you think you'll complete the autopsy?"
Pattterson uncharacteristically sighed. "I'm a bit more worried about my living patients," he admitted outright. "But I'll remain here this evening until it's finished."
Riza watched Mustang accept that announcement with a nod, giving Fletcher Tringum a last, long look before turning on his heels. "And how are your more fortunate patients?"
The doctor, too, lingered near the body for a moment before respectfully pulling up the blue sheet, covering Fletcher's chest and face. "All of them will recover. How much do you know?"
Mustang glanced to his left, to her. As one, the three of them began walking towards the door.
"Almost nothing. The Elrics were involved in some sort of incident involving the local police."
Specifically, the Elrics had gone to investigate a lead on Franklin Sorn. She knew from Alphonse's last report that Edward had started looking into Franklin on his own, which was how Al had located him after the explosion outside the prison. Since then, Alphonse had left and obviously returned from his trip to Sorn's hometown. The earliest he could have done so was this morning.
Which meant one of them had found something worth looking into. The question was what. Whether it had to do with Franklin, or possibly another alchemist that was involved in his disappearance.
"Then you know as much as I do. There was a . . . trap, Edward said, set up by an alchemist."
She didn't even glance; she knew Mustang would have kept his face impassive.
"A serious fall was involved, in any case. Edward came out of it in better condition, thanks to the armor," Patterson continued. "They both have concussions, and Alphonse's left shoulder was dislocated. That injury was then exacerbated in the struggle. And he ripped out his IV," Patterson said as an afterthought. "But none are permanent injuries. He looks worse than he really is."
Colonel Hawkeye glanced at the doctor. "Struggle?" If an IV had been involved, it meant the struggle had been at the hospital -
If someone had attacked them, she would have heard about it by now. So it was struggle among them . . . had one of them attempted it? Tried to bring Fletcher back?
The doctor grimaced. "Yes, about that. I'd like to ask a favor on the subject."
Roy used his neutral voice when he answered. "Name it."
"I came upon . . . a situation I might have misconstrued. Edward Elric had restrained Russell Tringum from approaching the body, but released him moments after I entered the room. He performed . . . alchemy of some kind. Obviously not human transmutation," he added hurriedly, as Mustang raised an eyebrow. "But given all three of their histories regarding the subject, as well as actions they took last year, I don't believe it would be wise to discharge Russell Tringum without supervision. At least for a few days."
Performed alchemy on the body . . . ? But if not an attempted resurrection, what on earth would Russell have been doing?
"Of course. Colonel, please see to it."
She merely inclined her head. Russell was familiar enough with their unit that a soldier stationed just outside wouldn't be too much of an intrusion. Then again, she supposed if Russell had all the ingredients necessary to construct an adult human body in his home, he might not actually need Fletcher's physical remains to attempt a resurrection. He wouldn't have to set foot outside, and any sentries posted would have no idea.
Which meant they needed to use someone who could gain entry without upsetting Russell any more than such a requirement already would.
"I'll assign First Lieutenant Ross immediately." Maria had been one of the officers that had freed the Tringums during their incarceration and ordered execution by Pride. Perhaps that would give her an in with Russell she wasn't finding with the Drachmans.
Not that anyone was succeeding where she had failed. The Drachman 'diplomats' were still spitting mad that they were being essentially held against their will in the Amestrian capitol, and Parliament was still debating what to do with them. Mustang had left them unsupervised in the midst of deliberating, and she was certain they'd still be at it when they returned. Not that they were totally being left to their own devices; she'd left Breda to babysit, knowing Hakuro wouldn't hesitate to make a move, thinking the major was still at least temporarily in his pocket.
Mustang grunted an approval, and they proceeded out the double swinging doors. Once they left the morgue, it was a short trip back to the elevator, which Goodman had secured. It really was impossible to trust him now, despite the fact he hadn't been the one to kill their only remaining prisoner. He worked too closely with Brooks. If one of them was truly an enemy, they were both a threat.
So, it had seemed the smartest thing to do would be to give Goodman the impression he was trusted, and permit him to see the Prime Minister in a vulnerable position. Not that Roy really was; it would take days before Fletcher Tringum's death really hit Mustang. He'd gone through several phases of distancing himself from his emotions after Maes, and then Edward Elric, had been removed from his life. In some ways, he still had never recovered, despite the relatively happy ending that was the Elrics.
Even now, as they waited for the lift to arrive on the second floor, he merely stared at the semi-reflective metal doors. His hands were relaxed at his sides, yet slightly curled. It had been a long time since she'd seen it; his time up north after Full Metal's disappearance had broken that habit. It was the Flame Alchemist's version of parade rest. Ready to arm himself in an instant. Even in his most drunken and relaxed moments in Ishbal, even when he was asleep, his hands had always looked like that.
She'd have to keep an eye on that, and determine if it was because of the nearly successful assassination attempt, or his desire to protect his own. Either way, she doubted he was aware of it.
The elevator ride to the second floor was uneventful, and they stepped out into a very sober hallway. There were two nurses at the station, both downcast despite a visit from their Prime Minister, and he murmured words of comfort he probably forgot by the time he was halfway to the Elrics' room.
"I put all three of them in Alphonse's room," Patterson was saying, in a quieter voice. "They're being supervised by several MPs."
That was readily obvious; an enlisted was stationed by the door, already saluting.
"They won't be necessary." Unfortunate, that Alphonse was in the room as well. They'd have to separate him, assuming Alphonse hadn't disobeyed them and filled his brother in on his assignment. Not that it was really relevant, at this point; Ed had endangered himself all on his own. Bringing him in now was unlikely to do anything more harmful to him than irritating Hakuro.
Though, given the upcoming court-marshal and the aggressiveness with which Hakuro had communicated Full Metal's new status, she supposed it would be a more serious hindrance than usual.
Patterson paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned surprisingly pleading eyes towards Mustang. "Please treat them gently, Minister." It was quiet enough that anyone standing just on the other side of the door would not have heard the request. "They've all had a bad day."
Mustang gave the doctor a curt nod, and Patterson pushed open the door.
- x -
He was tempted to put his hand over hers, just to make it stop shaking, but was immediately glad he hadn't when she tried to jump out of her skin.
Al's room had been a revolving door of people since they found Fletcher, and it was no surprise that Doc was followed this time by none other than Roy Mustang, the Prime Minister himself. He surveyed the room with one sweep of his dark, serious eye, and then proceeded without delay to Russell's corner. The nurse politely excused herself, making more room by vacating, and was just able to squeeze past Colonel Hawkeye.
Riza caught and met his eyes steadily, and Ed found it was exceedingly difficult to follow suit. He only did it for a second before looking back towards Winry.
"We'll come check in with Aunt Pinako soon," he promised, listening to his voice echo hollowly around the room. Mustang was standing beside Russ, but facing the window, and he'd laid his hand on Russ's right shoulder. He was talking, but Ed's own words had drowned out the soft voice. Whatever Roy was saying, it was for Russell and Russell alone.
Winry, too, was staring at the pair of them, eyes brimming with tears. She'd never been good at keeping them in, and he knew how close she and Fletcher had gotten, almost a year ago, working on a way to help Alphonse. They'd stayed in constant communication since then, probably because Winry had some mutant gene that allowed her to write meaningful letters apparently in her sleep.
He should have told her more gently.
"Yeah, do that," she replied, patting his knee again. She withdrew suddenly, her long blonde hair whipping around her shoulders as she turned towards Al, and despite the fact that he was wrapped up almost from head to toe she leaned in for a one-armed hug. Al squeezed her tightly, and then she was gone.
Ed exchanged a look with Al, then turned towards the Prime Minister.
Mustang was where he'd left him, still facing the window, still with a hand on Russ's shoulder. Tringum hadn't moved at all, hadn't said a word since Patterson had brought him back in. Hadn't flinched during the examination, the stitches, or the wrapping up of his busted ribs. Hadn't done anything.
Ed would eat the armor if Russ had even noticed the physical pain at all.
"What happened?"
Silence.
It wasn't his place to say. Honestly, he wasn't even sure. Wasn't sure why Russ had been so concerned about Fletcher's whereabouts to begin with. He said –
Edward closed his eyes, letting his face fall further towards the sheets. He'd said to the corpse that Fletcher had told him he was fine. Which meant Russell had asked him. Something must have caused Russell to ask him.
And something must have caused Fletcher, a perfectly healthy twenty year old, to have his heart fail.
He wasn't sure, but he had an idea.
One he wasn't going to voice. Not now.
It wasn't his turn.
Al felt the same way, obviously; he also said nothing, and they let the silence stretch on for what seemed like forever. Eventually Mustang inhaled, in preparation to speak again, but he was interrupted.
"Fletcher worked the early shift on grid thirty-two. I relieved him. He looked tired, I offered to take him to the library before I started work. He declined. He was supposed to go to the academy afterwards." Russell's voice was eerily calm. "Instead, he came here, and asked for Patterson. A nurse pointed him towards the apothecary. That's the last time anyone saw h-him alive."
Outside of one little stumble, it was delivered completely deadpan.
"Did you see him this morning, doctor?"
Patterson made a slightly startled noise. "I'm afraid not. I was in the apothecary this morning, but I left to care for Chamber Speaker Durnd a little after eight am. The nurses were in the middle of a shift meeting, which means it's likely they never noticed me leave. They did send him on to the place they thought I'd be."
Edward almost smiled. Trust Doc to make sure no blame would fall on his nurses.
"Had he been behaving differently in the past week?"
Ed hadn't really seen him, and couldn't say. If Al had noticed anything weird with Fletcher on the phone, he didn't offer it up. Russell eventually decided the question had been directed at him, and Ed heard his hair shift as he shook his head. "No. He seemed fine. Just tired." His voice was shaking slightly. "I wouldn't have let him go if I'd thought-"
"I know." Mustang remained silent, apparently in thought, and Ed didn't dare look up. Did he know . . . ? Did he know what had almost happened?
Because he didn't need to ask. It had crossed Al's mind, just like it had crossed his. If Fletch had still been warm, they would have tried it. There were so many ingredients in the apothecary, and with three of them-
But no. Just because they knew how to deal with the Gate now didn't mean it wouldn't up the price in retaliation. No one could bring back the dead. Once he'd seen the man was truly gone, Alphonse had done nothing. He'd done nothing.
What had Russell been thinking? He'd prepared a transmutation, but could they be absolutely sure it wasn't the transmutation he'd used? Was Mustang going to trust them? Could he?
"Dr. Patterson, please discharge Fullmetal. Edward, escort Russell home."
He wasn't sure if that constituted trust or insanity.
"Minister-" Patterson's voice was edging towards one of his strongest protest tones.
"He looks well." Mustang turned, and Edward clearly heard him pat Russell's shoulder, once. He also clearly heard the hitch in Russ's breathing.
After a beat, Edward raised his face, and saw that Mustang was giving him an inscrutable look.
Trust . . . ? Or an opportunity? He had to know Russ was thinking about it, because the heavens knew he would have been, if it was Al lying there, just as he'd thought it when he'd originally seen the amplifier in Craege Irving's belt -
"Yes, Edward has a habit of doing that," Patterson muttered. "He has a concussion, and I had meant to keep him for observation-"
"Is it absolutely necessary?" Ed was faintly surprised to hear what a casual onlooker might have assumed was the tiniest hint of worry in Mustang's voice. As if he wouldn't insist if Patterson told him it was.
But he would insist. He had to. It was either him or Al, and Al was in worse shape. Al really did need to stay in the hospital, at least overnight. He'd dealt with concussions before. He knew he'd be fine. It wasn't like either he or Russ was going to get a wink of sleep tonight anyway.
"It's fine," he said tonelessly, before Patterson could object. "It would be my honor."
Assuming Russ ever forgave him.
Patterson eventually relented, as they all knew he would. "Very well." It was stiff and obviously unhappy. "May I at least send staff to the residence to check up on them?" On to compromise. Equivalent exchange. He was dealing with a room full of alchemists, and Patterson well knew that Mustang would give him that.
That was fine, actually. All the better to have someone else in the house to force Russell to function. To realize the world hadn't stopped.
Even if his had.
"Of course." Mustang looked back at him, and Ed arranged his expression into something neutral. Was he really not going to ask about the trap . . . ? About Sorn?
"If you're ready, Edward, Russell?"
Of course. He was going to get it out of Al. But they were getting along fine, it wasn't like he had to worry. In fact, Al had been on the phone with Mustang the night he'd discovered the mining of the Incomplete Stone at Lab Five -
Son of a bitch.
They were up to something. Together.
Edward nodded, standing up and taking special care to make the gesture effortless. Patterson was barely able to hold himself still, and Ed could see the wheels turning. The less he worried Doc at this point, the better. Still . . . "The MPs said you had an interesting time last night." He kept his voice conversational.
Roy raised an eyebrow. "You hadn't heard?"
"No. I was holed up in Sorn's library." He stared at Roy steadily. "Funny Hakuro didn't mention it to me, though, when he dropped by."
In fact, Hakuro had to have known about the attack on Mustang and left that investigation to catch him at Sorn's place. Which would mean the general thought the two were equally important. Roy's gaze didn't even flicker, and in the corner by the door, Hawkeye was still.
So they weren't going to tell him.
Did they think Sorn's disappearance and the assassination attempts were related?
But that was asinine. How could Sorn be tied up both with Incomplete Stone and assassinating Roy Mustang? How did the two relate? If he wanted a Philosopher's Stone, and he truly had been mining the red substance for weeks, all Franklin really had to do now was knock off a couple dozen people, according to Lust and Envy. He didn't need Mustang out of the way to accomplish that. And no one actually needed a Philosopher's Stone to kill Mustang – a bullet would do. Still, he was more likely to aggressively try to track one down than Parliament as a whole.
After a moment, a slightly sharp look crossed Mustang's face. "That shouldn't be surprising at all, Fullmetal," he drawled. "I'm certain you were as forthcoming with him."
You bastard. You're really not going to tell me.
Ed's eyes narrowed slightly, but strangely, it was Russell who spoke next.
"What is it you all want to discuss so badly?"
Ed glanced back over at the Winding Tree Alchemist, surprised to see that he'd uncurled himself, and was even getting to his feet. Then again, hadn't Roy just told them both to scram?
"If it has to do with the investigations, I get it." His voice was still steady, still emotionless. "Just tell me one thing. Tell me why you called my brother yesterday, Al."
. . . why would Russell even think . . . ?
Alphonse, who had been staring at his feet, blinked in surprise, and met Russ's eyes squarely. "Ah, I was out of town, and I needed some info from an old State Alchemist's record. Ed was tied up, so I rang your place. I . . . was supposed to take a couple hours' worth of his cleanup in exchange for his legwork."
Edward kept his face impassive. It sounded quite innocent, but Ed knew damn well where Al had gone 'out of town.' He'd peripherally involved Fletcher in the search for Franklin Sorn. Not it really mattered at this point. It wasn't like heart failure was a symptom of an . . . argument . . .
Patterson had said that he didn't think Fletch had been transmuting before he died, but what if he had? What if he'd actually been fighting, and the evidence was already gone . . .? The apothecary door was so thick they could have been screaming at one another and no one would have heard them.
But that didn't make any sense either. What the hell would Sorn have been doing in the apothecary? And how would he have known that was where Fletcher would go? Surely the nurses would have seen him. Hell, half the military had to be searching for the kid by now.
Unless he'd gone to the hospital because he knew that was where he and Al would've been taken? And Fletcher just surprised him? An alchemic fight, followed by Fletch's heart attack-
It was all speculation at this point. And Ed doubted Russ would make the connection. The phrasing was slick. He'd seriously underestimated his brother's ability to fib.
"Speaking of which," Patterson cut in politely, "I don't want any of you performing alchemy until further notice. No cleanup shifts, no demonstrations in class. No private research, either," he added, trying to catch Russell's eyes. "I know you'll want to get your mind off things, but until I know what happened to your brother, it's too risky."
Russell's expression didn't change. He stood there a moment, staring first at the doctor, then at Mustang. Ed expected a protest, but Russ chose not to say anything, he simply started walking. Edward gave Roy another hard look, which he returned blandly, and then followed Tringum to the door.
No transmuting. Patterson was thinking along the same lines he was.
They all were.
Fletcher hadn't died from heart failure. He'd died from feedback. He'd died because he used that damned amplifier. Because he'd knocked himself out that morning, pushed it too hard, and none of them were talking about the pain in their chests because they all knew what it meant-
Maybe he hadn't even had to fight anyone. Maybe he'd simply felt ill and gone to find Patterson. Maybe this was the fate of all alchemists who'd used the amplifier, and it was only a matter of time.
He heard nothing as the door closed, and the MP gave them both a sharp salute. Neither returned it; Ed figured he was a civilian, and Russ probably hadn't noticed. His eyes were moving, shifting, but there was no doubt he wasn't seeing the hallway. Ed could only guess what was going on in his mind.
"Sorry, gotta make a quick stop," he said lightly, opening the door just past Al's. It was his original room, one he'd woken in only a little over an hour ago.
It seemed like days.
Russ stopped, but didn't enter, and Ed left the door open as he yanked his pants on under the blue hospital gown. In no time he was back in his regular clothes, and they were on their way again. No one stopped them as they crossed the lobby, and two enlisted actually escorted them to the parking lot, keeping three or four sharp-eared reporters from getting too close.
He'd have to write them a letter of appreciation when he was reinstated. The last thing Tringum needed right now was a bulb flash in his face.
He let Russell lead; he wasn't sure where the man's car was, and he didn't have the keys. Russ slid into the driver's seat, and Ed held his tongue. The alchemist was moving on automatic. He responded to traffic signals and other vehicles, but only with a sliver of his attention, and the silence was stifling. When they finally arrived at the Tringums' new home, Ed couldn't wait to get out of the car. It felt like he couldn't breathe.
But he said nothing. He knew damn well that there was nothing he could say. There were no magic words that would make this go away, and if he'd lost – if he lost – Al that way, he would want some time to think about it. Some time without sympathy and empty words and helpless actions.
Russell unlocked the door and opened it, and Ed watched him toss his keys into a glass plate on the hutch by the door. He stared around the house for a moment, then walked purposefully towards his lab.
Toward his work.
Exactly what Patterson had told them not to do.
Ed let him go.
Instead, he went into the kitchen, taking stock of what was there before putting a kettle on the stove to boil. He knew damn well Russ wouldn't eat tonight, and probably not the day after, but there was going to be a slew of people in and out of this house before all was said and done. Fletcher was immensely popular with the alchemists and people of Central alike. He'd helped so many, and for the Winding Tree Alchemist to lose his younger brother so suddenly . . . it was going to be a circus.
Someone needed to act as ringmaster. And that someone also needed to be able to recognize when Russ was going too far. There was a reason Mustang chose him.
Though he doubted it was because Roy knew he was a good cook.
In theory, all alchemists should have been. Alchemy was born in the kitchen, after all. And he was a genius with alchemic ingredients. They just weren't quite the same as edible ones. He'd had to cook for himself since he was eight, but that didn't mean he was any good at it. He made what he'd eat and he ate it. It hadn't been until he'd gone to Earth the first time that he'd really worried about feeding anyone else, and the second trip, with Al in a human body, made him realize that there was a big difference between 'palatable' and 'delicious.' And that while technically the same nutrients were going down his throat, preparing food properly and tastily did indeed have an effect on how much he enjoyed the food and how he felt after he'd consumed it.
Once he'd made that realization, food preparation had progressed markedly.
After forty-five minutes of single-minded and surprisingly calming focus, there was a pie and a casserole in the oven, and he cleaned up the counters, making a list of things he'd need to get someone to pick up. He was absolutely positive that Mustang would assign someone to the house besides him, someone to more permanently keep an eye on Russ, at least until they were certain he'd accepted Fletcher's death. He could probably con that person into picking things up for them.
He really hoped it ended up being a soldier Russ knew. Brosh and Ross came immediately to mind, and he knew they'd come to Hawkeye's. She was good that way, too; surprisingly thoughtful when it came to those kinds of things. Probably another reason she still put up with Mustang.
Ed wandered to the front of the house, peeking out the window, but he didn't see anyone there. No reporters, which was a miracle, but no one keeping an eye out, either. The silence was a little unnerving, and he frowned at the late afternoon sun for a few moments before a crash in the lab attracted his attention.
He let it go until it repeated.
The lab looked pretty much like it usually did, flasks and assorted plants and orderly shelves of journals containing notes. Russell was sitting on his stool, head in his hands, suspenders hanging off the sides of his trousers. He hadn't put them back up when they'd left the hospital, Ed recalled, and he wondered how much longer Patterson's wonderdrugs were going to effectively mask the pain.
For either of them. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow, and he didn't want to even think about Al's shoulder. Hopefully Patterson would think to contact one of the non-certified healing alchemists. They didn't do nearly as good a job as Fletch and Russ did, but really, healing had been Fletcher's forte. Without him, he wasn't sure Russ would ever perform their dual reactions solo.
Russell didn't move, and Ed leaned on the doorframe, eyeing the floor. There were a couple journals lying there, their pages now bent and wrinkled, and he resisted the urge to pick one up. Resisted the urge to look. It was easier to just assume rather than to see for himself what a genius like Russell Tringum could come up with in the few hours he'd had.
"You can leave now."
It was far more of an acknowledgement than he'd expected, and he sighed soundlessly. "Not yet."
Russ left his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on the bench. His back was to Ed, and it was slumped. "I said get out."
"Can't. Prime Minister's orders. Besides, I've got dinner cooking."
Russ sucked in a breath, but he didn't speak, and the seconds ticked by. Finally, "You really think I would've?"
"I know I would have."
Russell's hands shifted marginally. "You don't know it can't be done."
"Yeah, I do."
"You were TEN FUCKING YEARS OLD!" Suddenly Russ was on his feet, and Edward found he'd already leapt off the doorframe, already prepared for an incoming ball of fury that hadn't charged him, not yet. Russell was shaking, and his face –
No tears. Not yet.
"I was," Ed agreed, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice. "But that doesn't change anything-"
"You said it yourself, Al's body was in the Gate! Rose said it took you almost ten minutes to wake up, and longer to get her out of that church!"
"Al had a Philosopher's Stone, still in his possession, in the Gate." He wasn't good at gentle, not with Winry, not with Russell. "That's the only reason it worked. No one can -"
"YOU DID! YOU BOTH DID!"
"Did we?!" He couldn't help but raise his voice, and he found his hands were clenched at his sides. "Look around, Russ! Do you see our mom anywhere?!" He took a step forward. "Don't you think I would've done it if I could?! Don't you think Al would've?"
Russ was shaking his head, trembling from head to foot. "God dammit, after everything he did for you-"
"He would hate me if I let you kill yourself trying to bring him back! I don't know that Al's forgiven me yet!"
"His soul has to be intact until it's used! On the other side! You argued it yourself, their souls translate to our alchemic energy-"
And he and Al had once postulated that their souls had something to do with the Earth electrons being able to exist both as particles and waves.
"It's not the souls themselves! It's the energy that's released when the bond is broken, Russell! His soul has entered the Gate. It's gone. We can't summon it back, not you, not me, no matter what we trade. The beings in the Gate don't have it anymore!"
"You can't know that!"
"Did he have a Stone on him when he died, Russ? Did he have an amplifier? His body is here!" He cut the air with a swift wave of his hand. "He had nothing to pay with!"
Russell glared at him, anger radiating off him much like brooding silence had earlier, and Edward matched the look.
"You were a child." The words were ground out. "You even admit you didn't know what the hell you were doing. There's a chance, dammit, and the longer we wait-"
"There's no chance." He dropped his eyes to the floor, to Russell's feet. It would be enough of a clue that the taller man was going to take a swing at him. "There was time, but it was this morning. It was when he died. If we go to the Gate now, and look for him, you're going to sacrifice something and gain nothing in return but the knowledge that you made a mistake." Which would probably be worth whatever he paid for it, actually. Because he'd spend the rest of his life wondering.
There was no way Fletcher's soul was still intact, in the Gate. There was nothing he could have paid for the privilege with. His body was here. If he traded his mind or his soul, all they'd end up bringing back was a homunculus.
He was sure. He'd repeat it until he believed it. Until Russ believed it.
No one could bring back the dead.
"You . . you can't know. You can't."
Edward left his head bowed, and he stood there as Russ's anger ebbed away.
"I'm sorry, Russell."
The other man didn't say anything else, and after a moment, Edward turned and left the laboratory.
- x -
He was considering panicking when he realized there was a small strip of light beneath the bedroom door.
Alphonse Elric took a deep, slow breath, considering his options. He couldn't really knock on the door; his left arm was nicely slinged up and his right held a glass of water and several pills. He could use his feet, but kicking the door was just plain rude. Besides, it was nearly two in the morning, and there was every chance Russell Tringum had fallen asleep with the light on.
Then again, the door was closed. Just because the light was on didn't mean Russ was in there. The laboratory was proof enough of that.
Again, Al considered waking up his brother. Ed had crashed in the kitchen, his face plastered to the tabletop and remarkably peaceful-looking. He'd been quite busy since he'd left the hospital; the fridge was filled with food that simply needed to be either thrown in the oven or reheated on the stove. A list of ingredients had been made and stuck beneath a pie, which was untouched, and several sheets of paper bearing his normal encoded notes lay just beneath his armored hand.
He'd only glanced; they had to do with specifications on the trap Sorn had set. He hadn't gotten far, either, which indicated he'd fallen asleep soon after starting them.
The real question was when. If Russ really wasn't in that bedroom . . .
He knew he needed to wake nii-san up anyway, but he just looked so damn serene. It was a good look on him, and not one he had very often. His sleep was light enough that he'd shifted a little when Al had draped a throw over his shoulders, so he clearly wasn't in a coma. It was time for him to take some meds, but if the headache wasn't waking him, he didn't see any reason to do so in its place.
Russ, on the other hand, probably did need to be woken, if nothing else to take the pills he'd carried upstairs. Broken ribs hurt worse than just about anything else you could do to yourself besides burns, and once the pain got out of hand, it would take twice the amount of drugs to knock it back as it would just to maintain some semblance of pain management.
He was taking his own meds on the dot, according to his pocketwatch, and was going to continue to do so. There was no way he could fight with his arm. Not that he thought he'd been needing to, but Mustang hadn't taken him off investigative duties, either –
Al frowned, still hesitating in front of the bedroom door. Mustang hadn't done much of anything besides grill him for information. Hadn't offered him any in return. Nor new orders. Nor orders to continue with the previous ones, either, actually. Once he'd described his trip to first Jannai and then Rountal, his meeting with Avram Blane, and the trap they'd set off, he'd been told to rest. After a couple hours of hard-core nagging, he'd finally been allowed to leave, but Patterson had specifically delayed that discharge for hours, doubtlessly hoping he'd drift off and end up sleeping the whole night.
Not likely. Not with Russ and Ed both in the same house.
Not after what had happened in the apothecary.
He really wasn't sure what sort of reaction he was going to get. If nii-san and Russ had already had a discussion on human transmutation and why it was a bad idea. He'd seen Lieutenant Ross outside in an automobile when he'd arrived, and she'd waved, but he didn't know when she'd gotten there and didn't know if she'd checked up on either of them. None of the food nii-san had made appeared to have been eaten, so he suspected she hadn't.
So there wasn't much to do besides ask one of them. And nii-san was sleeping.
His frown deepening, Alphonse tapped on the door with the toe of his boot.
There was no answer.
Al tapped again, a little more loudly. No sound at all came from inside, not even clothing rustling. Carefully maneuvering his left arm, he got his hand on the doorknob, and luckily it turned without effort.
The room wasn't empty, but it wasn't exactly occupied, either.
It was what he'd expect out of Russ's bedroom; neat, and rather small, with a full bed in the center of the opposite wall, flanked by two old but sturdy-looking nightstands. A dresser sat just next to the door, on top of which perched a large photo of the brothers and a lamp wrought to look like ivy winding up iron. It was the only source of light in the room, and it brightly illuminated the form of Russell Tringum, curled over his stomach on the side of the bed.
He was a mess. Far more than Al had anticipated. His shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back like a second skin and accentuating the bandages still wound around his chest. He was clutching his abdomen as if it pained him, mouth slightly open but his breaths silent. Sweat – or tears – dripped from his lowered chin, and Al followed the man's gaze to the floor, where a small, round pattern of dirt caught his eye.
There were other pieces, clumped to the sides of Russell's shoes.
So he'd gone somewhere. And Ed had probably slept through it.
"Hey," he tried tentatively, taking a step into the room. "Doc sent me with some meds."
The figure on the bed flinched slightly, and when Russ looked up, Al was startled to see that he was smiling. It was self-deprecating, the kind you smiled when you were too tired to be angry but just realized you'd screwed up some paperwork two hours ago. Tears were pouring down his face, mingling with the sweat, and Al forced himself not to waver.
"Of course it's you." Russ shook his head with a chuckle. "Of course it is."
Unsure of how to proceed, Al hesitated near the door. "I see you went for a walk."
Russ blinked, his eyes shifting to the side, before dropping his head again. This time he wasn't looking at his feet; even as Al watched, Russ toyed with a crumpled piece of paper, previously hidden in his fist. "I was . . . looking."
The man let the piece of parchment fall, and Al could see a dark stain across his fingers.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" He barely managed it above a whisper. It was ink on his hand. It was ink from the parchment because he was sweating.
It was too cool outside for him to be sweating like this.
Al abandoned proper protocol, advancing on the other alchemist even as Russell chuckled again. As he got a better view of the huddled alchemist, he could see that his shirt was stained as well, more towards the right than anywhere else-
Some of the blood was old, but some of it was fresh.
"How could I? Your brother says there's nothing to find." The man shuddered, and hugged himself again. Al stopped just short of touching distance, still palming the pills. Outside of that one bloodstain, nothing appeared to be missing, no gaping wounds, but of course, depending on what he sacrificed, it might not be readily visible-
"You don't have to stay." The voice was bitter. "Those pills won't help."
"They'll help you sleep, Russ. You need to rest." There was no telling where he went, what he did . . . Al eyed the crumpled paper, debating flattening it out. Studying the array that was sure to be on it, seeing what the Winding Tree Alchemist had determined would be enough.
Or maybe he'd determined nothing would be.
Russ flinched again. "I can't sleep in here."
It was so quiet Al almost couldn't hear it, and he paused to give the room a quick once-over. There was nothing of interest on the end tables, and his gaze was drawn back to the dresser, studying the picture there. Russ was grinning widely, clutching his State Alchemist pocketwatch in one hand and trying to fend off his exuberant and plainly laughing brother with the other. Russ was in a suit, while Fletcher was dressed more casually, which meant it was probably the day Russell had been given the watch and the title of Winding Tree Alchemist.
There was no reason Russ would have a photo of himself getting his pocketwatch on his dresser, no matter how goofy a picture of Fletcher it was.
This wasn't Russell's bedroom. It was Fletcher's.
"Go home, Al." He coughed once, and a low moan escaped him. "And take Ed with you."
Instead, Al sank down on the mattress beside him. Russ tensed, but Al just offered him the glass of water. "I will, once you take these." He had no intentions of doing so, not until he was sure exactly what had happened, was sure that Russ was sleeping and it would be okay to leave him alone-
He mentally snorted at himself. Hell, he could have been sitting on top of Russell, and he doubted the man could have been more alone.
"Equivalent exchange to a fault, huh." Russ chuckled again, and sitting this close, Al realized it was really a sob. "God damn you, Alphonse Elric."
Al just held out the glass of water. His presence was probably not helping, he should have thought about it but he was just in such a hurry to get back there and make sure the two of them-
But obviously they'd already had that conversation. And since Russ had clearly had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted, perhaps he should be encouraged that the man was still alive enough to take it out on him.
"Take the pills, Russ."
"How can you sit there?" Russ was obviously too tired for any real anger. Maybe he'd already screamed his fill at nii-san. "How can you sit on this bed and tell me that there's nothing you can do."
He studied the other man for a moment. "Believe me, I know how you feel."
Another chuckle-sob. "I really can't deal with this tonight, Al."
"I thought the same thing you did, you know." Al stared at the glass of water, hoping Russ would take the hint. "If there was anything I could have done, anything any of us could have done-"
"Please shut up." Russ buried his chin in his chest. "Please don't say it."
Al hesitated, then closed his mouth. It was a long time before Russ spoke again.
"I thought it was him. On the stairs, just now. When you opened the door, I was thinking, I tracked mud all over the floor, and he was going to let me have it-" Russ shuddered out a sigh. "I trust you. I really do. But I just can't – I can't do this, Al."
Russell took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes angrily. "At least Ed was man enough to try. I can't even do that."
Something tense in Al's stomach relaxed slightly. So he hadn't tried to bring him back . . .? "Russell . . ."
"He died, Al." It was slow and deliberate, as if Russ was tasting it, wrapping his tongue around something scalding to see just how painful it really was. "My little brother is gone."
". . . I'm so sorry."
Russell moaned again, low in his throat. "I can say it and say it and it doesn't ch-change anything. I feel like he's about to wwalk up those s-stairs."
Al hesitated, then clamped the glass of water between his knees and laid his hand gently on Russell's back. "I know."
Russell cradled his stomach more tightly, and Al drew a soothing circular pattern on his sweat-soaked back. He waited until Russ's ragged breathing evened out a little before he spoke again.
"You'll see him again, Russ."
The other alchemist choked. "You don't believe in God."
"Nii-san doesn't believe in God. I . . ."
The other man turned towards him, and Al smiled sadly.
". . . I've seen things he hasn't."
". . . in the Gate?"
Al nodded, never stopping the motion of his hand. "When part of my soul was stuck there, I saw . . . lots of people. Thousands of people. Ancient people, farmers, soldiers, infants . . . sensei called it Hell, and nii-san called it Truth. I think in a way, they're both right. The Gate can lead to a specific place, if you're strong enough to ask."
Russ just stared at him, brokenly. " . . . but then why c-can't I . . .?"
"Because once you arrive at your destination . . . maybe you realize there's no reason to go back."
Russell's face crumpled slightly, and his voice sounded lost. ". . . there's me."
"He knows you'll get there when you're good and ready." Al swallowed around a suddenly tight throat. "On Earth, there was a poet named Edwin Arnold. He said, 'Farewell, yet not farewell, where I go, ye, too shall dwell. I am gone, before your face, a moment's time, a little space. When ye come where I have stepped ye will wonder why ye wept.'"
Russell turned away, a fresh set of tears tumbling down his cheeks. "I don't wonder," he whispered. "He died alone, Al. My little brother died alone."
Al wrapped his arm around the other alchemist's shoulder, pulling him close. "He wasn't alone, Russell. He knew you loved him. Trust me when I tell you it's more than enough."
Russ made a keening sound, low in his throat. "He . . . he'll still be gone when I wake up."
Al waited a moment, then he nodded. "Yes."
They sat there on the bed for a long time before Al removed his arm from the other man, and offered him the glass, one more time. The look the alchemist gave him almost broke his heart.
"I-I don't want to-"
To sleep. To awaken, knowing there would be a few seconds of peace before memory came crashing down again. "I know."
It took almost a half-hour to convince him to take the meds, and longer still before he seemed ready to leave Fletcher's room. He was asleep almost before his head hit his own pillow, and Al left the lamp on beside his bed, staring at the photograph there for a long time before he went to collect his own brother.
- x -
Author's Notes: Well, a great big boatload of nothing. Besides a very crafty escape for Patterson . . . sorry for the delay on the chapter, the next one should be coming up pretty soon. After all, what do mourning Elrics do but work . . . as usual, if you spot anything amiss, please let me know!
Also, I have an announcement. And this was by far the hardest choice, I went back to the original Perfect After All and really looked and counted and considered . . . and I think the reviewer that has really gone out of their way to follow this trilogy through its entire sordid history . . . is JChrys. For going so far above and beyond, it would be my honor to give her a fic of her choice (no, not another sequel. I draw the line. ; ) as a token of my gratitude. Any genre I write, any characters, any situation. PM or email me and I'll get started right away! It'll be good to have a deadline again. ; )