Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
Content Warning: Tearjerk warning. Anyone with an emotional attachment to this arc needs to take this one seriously.
- x -
"Falman takes good care of him," Russell murmured in an undertone as they exited into the staging room. Vato was, in fact, just outside the main door, but Al was reasonably certain Russ wasn't speaking loudly enough for it to carry. "I wouldn't leave him otherwise."
Al just nodded, taking one last look behind them. Fletcher was oblivious to their departure, stretched out on the small cot with his angry, puckered red arm hanging off the side of the bed. And even though Al knew damn well that three skin layers below the surface fresh, unscathed tissue was forming, mainly because he and Russ had just spent an hour on it, it still looked terrible.
It had stopped smelling, which was a plus, and as they repaired the damage to the muscle below Fletcher's pain had become much more manageable. Even so, Russ wouldn't leave him until he'd not only taken his daily regimen of meds but had actually fallen asleep. He insisted it was because Fletcher wasn't allowed to have the bottle, as the military was afraid he'd overdose, but Al knew better.
He also knew better than to say a damn word about it. "All the tests have been run at this point, right?"
Russ nodded and pulled open the main door, ushering Al through before ever so quietly closing it behind them. Falman was exactly where they'd left him, at parade rest by the door, and he gave them both a surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eye. Al grinned at the silver-haired soldier, and though he didn't twitch a muscle he seemed to relax. He, too, knew that Russ wouldn't set foot outside that cell if there was anything amiss with the prisoner inside.
For his part, Fletch's older brother snorted. "They've taken half his blood by now, I swear. A bone biopsy, heart rate, metabolism - there was this thick orange sludge they made him drink to test his 'kidneys' and I'm still finding it in his system so thick I could strain it out with cheesecloth. I'm pretty sure it was designed to give him diarrhea for a month."
Al winced. "That's a lovely mental image, Russ, thanks."
The other boy shrugged a shoulder, giving Vato a pat on the shoulder as they started the long, somewhat creepy journey to the elevator and exit. "I don't see how they can keep him much longer. Even if Sorn never admits to it . . ." He trailed off, coming to a stop, and Al glanced at him, then further up the hall.
There had been an increased military presence in front of Sorn's cell of late, and tonight was no exception. No fewer than four soldiers were standing around it in the hallway, and on the far end of the hall they could see a long white coat almost to the far door. Al glared as soon as he realized who it was, and Russ chuckled under his breath. "Let's wait for the next one, shall we?"
He almost protested - a few minutes in relative seclusion with the physician that had nearly drugged him into a coma to prevent him from finding out about Edward's 'execution' might be just what the doctor ordered. He knew full well he was getting increasingly tense and stressed, and normally he would spar - and usually beat the crap out of - Ed to work it out. Now and for the foreseeable future, that was off the table. Somehow a gym had less appeal, and while Russell was very good at street fighting, he probably wasn't the right opponent for that sort of aggression to be channeled onto.
Then again, if the parade grounds were empty, he could think of a nice, strong target-
"Stop looking so murderous. You're too much like Ed when you do that."
Al narrowed his eyes, but it was mostly playful. "Nice going. Calm me down by calling me my brother."
Russ broke into a grin. He'd been doing it a lot more lately, now that Fletcher was obviously on the mend, and it brightened Al's spirits a bit. "Hey, I'm surprised you haven't taken a swing at me yet. Don't know who to find you as a sparring partner, until Fullmetal's back on his feet. Ever played with Morris?"
Al shook his head, leaning against the wall as they waited, just to make sure Dr. Murly was well and truly up the elevator and Hakuro's headache once again. "No. Not sure I want that kinda fight, though."
Russ nodded amicably, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and Al hesitated. "I know . . . what you've said, and what it means, but I'm no healer. Yeah, I'm learning," he added as Russ tried to protest, "and you're a great teacher, both of you, but nii-san won't let me lay a hand on him anymore. Even though now I know what I'm looking for . . . how bad is it? Really?"
Russell took his time in answering, watching the four soldiers gossiping a few cells down. "He had a heart attack, no doubt about it. Nerve damage is rampant from the electricity, the wrists will probably scar just like your IV line did." He indicated Al's long-healed forearm, bearing a mark where he'd ripped it out trying to stop Russell from performing human transmutation on what they'd thought was Fletcher's corpse. "You know from Fletch what nerve damage is like, but he won't be paralyzed. More likely he just won't hurt as bad the next time he does something stupid."
"Not that pain was really a deterrent before," Al grumbled, and Russ chuckled again.
"But his heart . . . well, you know this already. The automail he had growing up was bad enough for it, but having a serious cardiac event at this point in his life, and complicating it with everything else . . . it's hard to say. He'll probably die of heart failure if he survives his own stupidity that long, but I wouldn't expect to start worrying about that for a couple decades." He added it hastily, and tempered it with a small smile. "He's otherwise in excellent condition, and with . . . the changes to his body recently, that'll help some. The biggest thing you can do for him right now is prevent him from doing anything for about six months."
Al indicated with his eyes what he thought of that recommendation, and Russ laughed outright. "Tall order, I know, but you asked. He'll make it, Al. Probably took a good four or five years off his lifespan, but he'll be himself again in a year's time. You'll see."
Al stared at the four guards while he thought. Shortened his lifespan, but they knew the automail had done that, Pinako had told them that when they were boys.
Pinako. They'd already had that conversation, with Fletcher as much a part of it as Russell. It was just as risky as it sounded, and even if they used safe healing alchemy, and treated the internal bleeding and anemia, at her age even in her best condition her chances of surviving a highly invasive surgery were terrible. The way in which her pelvis had been cracked, and the length of the incision needed to reach all of it-
He glanced down the hall toward Patterson's cell, only then noting that there were no guards in front of it. Simple math told him that the two extra near Sorn's must be Patterson's, but why would they have left him alone . . . ?
"Hey," Al called, pushing off the wall, and the four soldiers glanced his way, then saluted.
"Lieutenant Colonel, sir!"
He waved them down. "Why aren't you at your post?"
Two of the soldiers refused to come to parade rest - obviously the guilty parties. "Apologies, sir! The prisoner asked for a few moments to bathe, sir."
He considered that for a moment - it wasn't at all like soldiers to grant a request like that for someone who had tried to kill the Prime Minister, and Al didn't know these soldiers very well. However, clearly both he and Russ were recognized, and one of them looked pained and saluted sharply.
"Sorry, sirs! Won't happen again!"
Al shook his head. "That's fine-" But they had both about-faced and were returning to their posts, and Al was quite conscious of Russell, who had turned his head slightly to listen to the conversation but looked decidedly neutral about the whole thing. Everyone who knew the situation with Patterson would probably be a little more sympathetic, and he was probably the most well-behaved prisoner they'd ever had, but nothing could change the fact that he'd killed Fletcher Tringum. They hadn't really talked about it, and though Fletcher had obviously forgiven him, Russell was another story altogether.
In his place he wasn't sure how he'd feel.
Russ raised an eyebrow at the obvious scrutiny. "Something you wanna say?"
Al shook his head mutely and returned to his position on the wall, and the other two guards stood in a stiff parade rest. He was pretty sure they wouldn't answer, but they still had time to kill until they were sure Murly was gone and Russ was still giving him a rather expectant look. Perhaps jonesing for a fight himself.
"Why has there been additional staff around this cell, sergeant?"
The identified officer saluted. "That information is classified, lieutenant colonel."
And a doctor . . . had the interrogations gotten serious enough to warrant roughing Sorn up? Or had the kid somehow injured himself? Either way he could probably get the information fro. . .m Mustang . . . Al unclenched his teeth as soon as his jaw started to ache.
Sooner or later he'd have to deal with him, and that situation.
"Easy, Al. It's not the guy's fault," Russ pointed out reasonably, and Al shook his head.
"It's not you. Thank you, sergeant," he clarified, stepping off the wall again. "Think we've given Murly enough time to get out of here. Let's go."
Russ gave him an inquiring glance of his own, but Al ignored it, and the two proceeded pretty much shoulder to shoulder down the narrow hall. "You ever find out what those alchemists did?"
Tringum jerked his chin at the door at the end of the hall. "You mean the guys in there?" The second hall, between them and the elevator, was a prison, and currently had two occupants that Mustang had revealed to them were alchemists incarcerated since Bradley's time. He'd heard nothing else, but with so much personnel in and out of here lately, who knew what Russ might have overheard. "Sorry, not much. I'm surprised you were willing to take Winry past them, though."
"She insisted." They hadn't made a sound, not even with a pretty girl walking by, and that in itself had been creepier than their usual bright stares. He'd never heard them so much as shift their chains when anyone had passed by them, and the possible explanations for their silence grew progressively dark the longer he considered them.
They were on top of Patterson's cell when one of the guards burst out of it, sprinting for the same door. The second one appeared at the cell door a second later. The urgency with which they moved was hard to ignore.
"Sergeant?"
"Please help us call a doctor, sir! There's been an accident!"
It was too late for them to catch the doctor at the elevator, he was sure, and Al wasted no time in shouldering past the stuttering guard. Unfortunately there was still a wall between the staging room and the cell room, and even once it was no longer an issue he found himself at a loss.
The sink was running, though no steam rose from the basin - prisoners didn't get the luxury of hot water. Patterson had clearly either finished or was waiting in vain for it to get warm, leaning against the opposite wall. He'd moved the cot so that it was between the cell door and him, and what little of him was visible seemed pale but perfectly fine. His eyes were closed, and he was sprawled comfortably with his legs outstretched and almost halfway into the tiny cell.
"Doc." The guards had left the cell door slightly ajar, and Al grabbed the bars, sliding it back. "Patterson."
He looped the cot, finding the shirtless doctor far more pale than he'd originally thought. He slouched against the cinderblock wall in only his boxers, and the hollow body of a black pen jammed deep and high into his left thigh channeled spurting, bright blood directly into the floor drain.
"Doc!"
"Shit," Russell growled, hurrying past him and kicking the cot out of the way. Al left the pen where it was, capping it off with a thumb as they both tried to get a look at the injury. Femoral artery, and the presence of such a useful conduit was not helping it clot. Despite the pressure, blood started to well around the base of the pen, and Al cursed as he realized why Patterson had left the water running.
This was obviously no accident. The doctor had left the water running so he wouldn't be found until it was too late, and every drop of blood that had already left his body had been carried into the pipes, out of alchemy's reach.
They couldn't put the blood back.
"Pull it, Al."
He responded instantly to the authority in the tone, and Russell clapped his hands as an alarming amount of blood escaped Patterson's leg.
"Can we tie the leg off?"
Russell's expression was grim as his hands glowed. "No. He got the blood vessel all the way into his groin."
If they couldn't put the blood back in, they needed to find a replacement. Instantly. Patterson was barely breathing, and even with the pressure Russell was putting on the blood vessel it was still sluggishly throbbing to his fading pulse.
"Sugar and iron-"
"I don't have enough down here. Hold this." And then Russell was gone, sprinting from the cell, and Al followed the blood vessel as far into the doctor as he could, pressing hard. It had slowed to a trickle before Russ returned, sliding on the concrete floor as he deposited three small sacks between the doctor's legs. Without explanation he hurried back out, and Al grabbed the loosely tied sacks, dumping them onto the concrete.
Iron, sugar, salt. Water was available in the drain. Potassium was available in the concrete.
He released the jaggedly torn blood vessel only to clap his hands, and he used the body of the pen to funnel the created solution back into circulation. It wouldn't carry oxygen, but it would replace fluids and keep his blood pressure up, allowing what little blood he had left to continue circulating around the body. Al kept tight pressure on the wound, though despite his efforts it continued to sluggishly bleed.
He transmuted until he was out of salt, then brought his right hand to his left wrist and tried to congeal the blood on the surface. Russ had been right; he felt the skin of the doctor's thigh start to puff as the blood escaped internally through the badly damaged artery, and then Patterson groaned softly, his head falling forward.
Al grit his teeth, watching the doctor's eyelids twitch. Dull eyes, his mother's eyes finally opened, and then Patterson moaned.
"You with me, doc?" He hadn't replaced enough fluid, and there was too much blood loss. Russ wasn't going to get back in time, not with the internal bleeding continuing.
They weren't going to make it.
Patterson picked up his head slightly, pain tightening slack facial muscles, and two precious tears slid onto his face. "No . . . no." His uninjured leg moved feebly, and Al knelt on it, hard.
"Doc, stop-"
"Leggo. Let me go." He picked up his arms weakly, trying to push Al away, and beneath his hand the muscles of the doctor's left leg crawled. Patterson was trying to move, to encourage circulation.
He was trying to bleed faster.
"Dammit, Patterson, stop! You're going to kill yourself!"
He had no strength left to sob, but tears poured down his pale face. "What . . . will I see?"
Al stared at him helplessly, and Patterson's unfocused eyes lifted. "I'm . . . so scared, Alphonse."
"Dammit, doc . . . why?" He was very close to him now, checking him with his shoulder as the doctor continued to struggle ineffectually. "Why?"
His blank eyes reflected the terror the rest of him was too weak to. "So he wouldn't have to. Can't . . . do this again," he admitted shakily. "I can feel . . . everything. Oh . . . god, Al, it hurts."
Al pressed hard into the wound, almost wincing himself as Patterson cried out. "I'm sorry, doc, but it's not time to go yet." Come on, Russ. Salt and sugar packets from food trays. Anything.
"Past time. I . . . died a long time ago." A small whimper. "Please stop, Al. It's too late."
He growled, lowering his head so he could be sure Patterson could see his face. "Why did you do this?"
The blank eyes closed, but faint hiccups gave away the doctor's consciousness. "It's . . . not meaningless. God, I'm such a coward. I . . . I always have been. I'm . . . going to Hell, aren't I." His face crumpled slightly and he took a shuddering breath. "Al, please . . . tell me what I'll see."
The sergeant shifted helplessly outside the cell, the uniform fabric deafening in the thick silence, and Al swallowed hard, grabbing one of Patterson's hands tightly. "You'll see the Gate, doc. Two big doors, lots of gaudy statuary. It'll be light, yellow light, but you won't see where it's coming from."
"What's . . . inside? For me? Those th-things?"
Al blinked the tears out of his eyes. "The Gate beings. Yes. The doors will open, and you'll see a brilliant light like the sun."
Beneath him, the doctor's relaxing form shuddered, and he gasped when Al shifted his weight. "Then what?"
"Then you'll walk in. They won't hurt you, doc. They'll welcome you. Your family will be there, if they were waiting for you."
The doc swallowed stickily, trembling as his body continued to weaken. "I'm a murderer. They w-won't . . . dad will be so disappointed-"
"That's not true and you know it," Al snapped back, voice thick, and he squeezed the doctor's limp hand tightly enough to hurt. "You're a good man, doc. Listen to me. Listen. We all forgive you. Me, nii-san, Russ and Fletch - we forgive you."
"I . . . can't forgive myself."
"You did what you had to! You have to listen to me, doc. I've been there. They'll be there smiling, glad to see that you survived, you grew up . . . you became a brilliant doctor. You saved lives, doc. You saved mine. You saved nii-san's. Kain and Heymans . . . you did so much good in this life-"
The doc cried out again weakly, jerking convulsively beneath him, and Al pressed his temple hard into Patterson's forehead. "Listen to me! They'll disappear down this bright corridor, and you'll follow them. You'll have to pick. One of them will lead back to the town, where Blane never came. All your friends from childhood will be there, it'll be like nothing ever changed."
". . . Lily . . ."
"She's fine, doc. She forgives you." He knew it was a lie and he didn't care. "There are no demons for you, Patterson. There's no Hell for people like you. Good people. You're a good man, doc, and we love you. We'll see you again." Silent tears poured down his face. "Believe me, doc. You're a good man. We forgive you."
Patterson said nothing, and Al pressed his fingers in harder, pressed his forehead in harder. He chafed the limp, cooling hand in his own. "I'm still here, doc. I'm right here. You're not alone. It'll be okay, don't be afraid. You're going to see the Gate, do you hear me? The doors will open. You'll walk in, and you'll see them again. Everyone will be happy to see you. They forgive you, doc. They forgive you."
Patterson wasn't trembling anymore, and Al dug his fingers in harder still, unable to discern another pulse above his own.
"I'm here. I won't leave. It's going to be fine. You're a good man, and we'll miss you, but we'll see you again. You're a good friend, doc. You're a good doctor. You saved lives. You made a difference."
He repeated it, over and over, until he felt the leg beneath his fingers grow heavier, the skull resting against his heavier. Al leaned back slightly, holding the doctor up with his shoulder as the body slumped forward, and he finally let go of the man's leg. Blood seeped from the wound but not as it had before, and steadily, without pattern. He confirmed with a bloody hand, wiping the stain from the man's white throat when he was done.
Russell had re-entered the cell at some point, had let a old faucet and various salt and coffee sweetener packets fall uselessly to the cot, and now he just stood there at the dead man's feet, breathing hard. Al smiled up at him as strongly as he could.
"Thank you."
Russ gave a short nod, turning to scrub his face quickly, and they both jumped at a gunshot.
Al hesitated before laying the doctor's hand gently on his lap, and Russ and the sergeant were already to the staging room door when Al saw the flash of alchemic light. Tringum was through before Al could even get out of the cell, and he heard a startled "Franklin-!" before a clap and someone hitting the wall.
Sorn . . .? How the hell had he gotten out? How did he know?
In the time it took him to cross the cell room to the staging room door he heard a massive transmutation, and he saw Sorn and Russell, who had him pinned to the wall by his wrists, sink through the wall as if it wasn't there. It wasn't - it disintegrated behind them, and Tringum tripped, off-balance and trying not to trample Sorn. The kid used it to his advantage; he fell backwards on purpose, pulling Russ, then slid between his legs, grabbing the backs of Tringum's knees to scoot forward. It threw off Russ's balance completely and he fell, and then the teen was scrambling to his feet, and his head came up, and he saw-
He was frantic. His eyes were white-ringed and wild, and despite obviously poor coordination - he'd been in that damn chair too long - he moved like a man on fire. Al didn't bother to prepare a transmutation; he knew he wouldn't need one.
"Sorn, stop!"
The boy brought his hands together, still rushing forward full-tilt and probably not in control of his own inertia, and Al obligingly gave ground, falling back into the cell room. He waited until Sorn had to correct his path to get through the door, then caught his upper right arm, letting his own momentum swing him face first into the back wall. He grabbed Franklin's left arm as he completed the turn, preventing him from getting a hand on the wall, and before he knew it Sorn was pinned, his arms behind him, unable to touch himself or Al.
He was breathing hard, far more flustered than Al had ever seen him, and he shook with adrenaline and effort.
"Franklin, what the hell-"
The familiar shock of alchemical energy flashed through Al's upper body, tingling from the joint of his hands and Sorn's arms. Al froze for a moment, completely shocked, waiting for pain that never came. Instead, the wall Franklin's face was pressed to vanished, exactly as it had when he'd been pinned by Russell.
A transmutation of concrete wouldn't have touched him - too little in common, and it was clear Sorn was transmuting all the concrete, not just one element of it. So that wasn't the transmutation Sorn had prepared previously. He'd just completed an array using the circuit created by Al himself. He'd used another alchemist.
No wonder Russ hadn't seen it coming.
The boy threw himself forward, and hadn't disintegrated enough of the wall for Al to follow, and Alphonse grimly braced a foot against the lip of the damage, nearly losing hold of the sweat-slicked teen before he was able to wrench him back.
"Let me go!" Sorn screamed, but Al didn't pay attention. He swung the boy by his upper right arm directly into his outstretched leg, taking his feet out from under him, and drove them both to the ground. Though it pinned Franklin's left hand under him, his right was still behind his back, and that way there was no circle forming, either by the traditional method or by using another alchemist to serve as the other half.
The teenager fought him hard, nearly getting his left hand out from beneath him, and Alphonse leaned more heavily on the smaller body beneath him, hating the familiar tone of the whole situation. Sorn's struggles became more frantic still, but he never stopped screaming.
"Get off me! Let me go! Let me go!"
"Knock it off!" he snapped in the boy's ear, though it had little effect. "What do you think you're doing!?"
Franklin made another concerted effort to free his left hand, then broke it off, gasping. "I can fix it, let me go-"
Al followed the young man's gaze beneath the cot, where most of Patterson's slumped profile was visible. Sorn was staring at it wild-eyed, and when he realized that Al knew what he was talking about, his tone changed. "There's still time, let me do it-"
He shook the body underneath his as hard as he dared. "You don't have a Stone, you idiot! It won't work without one-"
Sorn swallowed another gasp. "I'll make it work! You want him back, don't you?!" When he got no response, he tried again. "You want to kill me yourself, don't you?! Let me go!"
He knew. He knew he wouldn't survive this human transmutation and he wanted to do it anyway.
Al almost headbutted the teen. "Even if you get his soul back, his body can't support it. It -" He caught himself. "It's meaningless."
"NO!" Another frantic, ultimately pointless and much shorter struggle. "No! Tringum is a healing alchemist! He can repair his body-"
"I wouldn't be able to get the amount of blood necessary for a successful transfusion in time." Russ sounded quite a bit calmer than Al felt, and Al didn't look up at him as the other alchemist entered the room. "It won't work, Franklin. Besides, what's to say he won't just kill himself again?"
The boy panted beneath him, still staring at the body. "I . . . this is the only one I can undo-"
"You can't." Russell's voice was hard. "You can't undo death. Not like this. Where's Falman?"
Alphonse stared up at Russell in surprise, finding him not alone. The sergeant was behind him, craning his neck to make sure the prisoner was well and truly captured.
Of course. If Franklin had gotten out of his cell, he must have overpowered his own guards, and all the guards in the hall. Blane's guards, Patterson's, and Fletcher's. "Are they-"
"Everyone's found but Falman," Russ answered shortly. "What did you do to the white-haired one, Sorn?"
The boy gasped beneath him, still struggling.
"Did you kill him? Did you kill someone just to get here?"
The boy shook. "No! I didn't . . . they're fine, I didn't see a white-haired man-"
Al grimaced. "He went to tell Mustang. Sergeant, check the phone by the elevator."
The soldier dashed off to do so, and Russell looked slightly mollified, stepping around them back toward the cell. Al followed him curiously with his eyes as he took a step into the cell, reaching for the foot of the cot, where his ingredients had been discarded-
And he slid a small sheaf of papers out from under them.
"Please let me try." Sorn's voice was much softer, much less demanding. "Please, I can't- I have to fix this, it's all I can do-"
"You can't." Russ's voice was uncompromising. "He's dead, Franklin. There's nothing we can do."
"What if I'd had that attitude towards Fletcher?!" Al felt his eyes widen and he tightened his grip on the teen. Franklin ignored the warning. "Then he'd still be dead! You don't know I can't do it-"
"As you are now, you're worthless. You'd be torn apart without a Stone to offer the Gate, and even if it worked, Patterson would just die again as soon as his soul was bound." There was no pity at all in his voice, and the papers were folding fearfully in his clenching fist.
"No!" The boy started sobbing, but he muffled it valiantly. "Let me try-"
"I think letting one person commit suicide today is enough, thank you," Al snapped, before Russ could answer. "If it could be done, someone that cared about him would have done it, don't you think?"
Franklin shook his head, coating his left cheek in grey dust and tears. "Let me go-"
"Not gonna happen." He focused on Russell. "What are those?"
"Letters." Russell's voice was still tight. He flipped through two or three of the sheets before he stopped, and Al followed his flickering eyes.
"Russ?"
The man suddenly folded up that sheet, tucking it into his shirt. "It's for Fletcher." He cleared his throat. "One for Mustang, too-" and he kept flipping pages as footsteps sounded in the staging room. "Not a suicide note, it's-"
"I'll take those into evidence, if you would, Major."
Al couldn't stop a humorless grin at the smooth voice, and General Hakuro entered the cell, flanked by several guards who immediately secured both the room and the cell's deceased occupant. Given the appearance and attitude of the grey-dusted men, apparently Sorn had spent a lot of time moving concrete and stone, but then again he'd have had little else to use and had been in far too great a hurry to construct anything along his usual lines. Several guns were leveled his way, though obviously on Sorn, and Al gave the men what he hoped was a reasonably sincere smile.
"General," he greeted civilly. "With your permission I'll escort him back to his cell."
Sorn's sobs had broken off at the entrance of the general, and Hakuro stared down at him a brief moment before giving Alphonse a short nod. "The evidence, Major Tringum?"
Al climbed to his feet, still keeping a firm grip on Franklin, and the general stepped around them. There was no way to restrain him without acting again as a circuit for the young man's alchemy - how the hell had he done it? - but somehow he was more subdued, and while a sob or two still escaped him he didn't speak again, keeping his eyes on the floor. It took Al a moment to realize that he was afraid.
He was afraid of the general.
He wasn't afraid of the alchemists, he wasn't even afraid to die, but he was afraid of the general. Hakuro didn't miss it, eyeing the boy even as he took the papers from Russ and rifled through them. He didn't say anything about the letter Russ had stuffed away, either he hadn't been close enough to overhear or he thought it was still in the pile.
"Dr. Murly has cleared the suspect for interrogation. Sergeant, please escort the lieutenant colonel and his prisoner back and . . ." He trailed off, more attention now for the papers than Sorn, and Al paused, unsure if he should wait for the general to finish giving orders and damn certain he wanted to know what was on the those pages. Russ wasn't looking his way, obviously concerned about the fact that Falman had left Fletch unattended, even for a moment. He had eyes only for the door, and when they widened Al turned back for the door himself.
Of course. It stood to reason that if Falman had indeed gone to call Mustang, he wouldn't be long.
The Prime Minister, flanked by Hawkeye, entered the crowded cell room. He glanced into the cell, taking everything in before turning not to Sorn or to him but to Russell. Russ shook his head.
"We were too late."
Mustang looked towards the body again, and something clicked in Al's mind.
'So he wouldn't have to.'
Patterson had meant Mustang. He'd killed himself so Mustang wouldn't have to order him executed.
"I see your network is just as good as mine," the general observed, though his tone was less biting than usual. He held out one of the sheets of paper. "This appears to be addressed to you."
Mustang accepted it, staring at Patterson a moment more before glancing down at the letter. Al watched his face, ever impassive, before he discarded the paper with an irritated flick of his wrist. A snap burned it to ash in midair, and the wind from the brief flame disbursed the few still-glowing bits into the concrete dust.
The general didn't look surprised. "Do you wish to dispose of the rest of the evidence as well, Prime Minister?"
Roy didn't look at him, and his tone was dangerously neutral. "I saw no reason to keep a record of such nonsense, General. I look forward to your summary of the remaining documents within the hour."
Hakuro inclined his head sharply, and then his steely gaze fell on Alphonse. "Escort him to his cell, lieutenant colonel. Determine how he was able to escape and suggest an alternate restraint method. Until then he will be placed under full sedation."
Sorn actually jumped beneath Al's hands, but he never looked up, not at the general, not at Mustang. Al glanced at Mustang, keeping his expression mild, and he got the same impassive look in return. He waited only long enough for Roy to contradict those orders, which he didn't do, and then he propelled the weak-kneed boy from the cell room.
The march back to his cell seemed to take years, and twice the teen stumbled. Al shook his head at the sergeant following them once he entered Sorn's cell room, and the soldier obediently waited by the door.
Franklin had started to shake again, but he didn't resist, actually walking under his own power to the alchemist's chair. He sat gingerly, staring at his lap, and Al sighed. The cuffs were gone, just ingredients on the floor, so obviously he'd used alchemy. If he could complete a circle using someone else's body-
Or maybe just an alchemist's body? Was it sort of like fighting over the same ingredients, and if he'd resisted, Franklin wouldn't have been able to do it?
"How'd you get out?"
Sorn was silent for a long time. "I used my foot."
So he also successfully completed a circle using his hand and foot. Which should have been manacled as well, but he could see both the ankle locks were still intact.
"Why weren't your feet bound?"
"The doctor forgot after they put me back," was the inflectionless answer.
For some reason, the change in him infuriated Al, and he acted instinctively. All his stress and frustration bubbled out of him and he stepped forward and slapped the boy, hard. Franklin accepted the blow, not turning his face back though his head had hit the back of the chair sharply, and the guard at the door stepped forward.
"L-lieutenant colonel, you can't-"
"Live with it!" he snarled at the teen. "The doc took the wrong way out, do you hear me? You want to fix things? You want to make it right? Then you stop dwelling on what you've done and you do something about it! Stop others from doing what you did! Save lives instead of taking them!"
Sorn remained frozen in the chair, and that only made him angrier. "You have an obligation to those people, Franklin, and only a coward would run from it. You're an alchemist. Start acting like one."
By the time he got ahold of his anger, the teen had dropped his head slightly and started to shake again. "I'm sorry. About Edward."
Al turned away from him in disgust, clapping his hands and reforming the manacles around the teen's unresisting wrists. "You'll be sorrier when he gets ahold of you."
The boy's breath caught, and Al was afraid he'd gotten the bindings a little too tight when Franklin looked at him, met his eyes directly. "You . . . you don't know . . .?"
Al hesitated, registering the entry of several other people to the room without looking at them. Sorn was staring at him in surprise, but also dread. What could he have possibly overheard . . .? He'd left Ed and Win only a couple hours ago, nii-san was fine-
Al stepped back and allowed the soldiers entry into the cell, and Dr. Murly himself passed him without so much as an apologetic look, a loaded syringe in his hand.
"You're going to feel a brief sting, my boy, but it will fade quickly."
Franklin flinched at the shot, but didn't stop staring at Alphonse. "He . . . he was shot. He's dead."
Al frowned at the teen as the doctor stepped back, looking curiously between the two of them. "Lieutenant colonel, you really shouldn't be in here-"
"Edward's fine," Al interrupted quietly. "Havoc just winged him. He's fine."
Something unreadable crossed Sorn's face, but the drug acted quickly, and in moments his eyelids had slid closed and his head was nodding forward. Al ignored the doctor's continuing protests, approaching Sorn to secure the ankle braces, and then he exited the cell.
The sergeant and two other soldiers were standing in the door, all clearly uncomfortable, and he focused on the one that had followed them down the hall.
"Are you one of the guards assigned to Sorn?"
The sergeant swallowed. "Yessir! But, sir-"
"How did he find out about Patterson?"
The sergeant hesitated, and the corporal beside him took a step forward. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must follow me at once!"
"Answer the question. How did the suspect hear about Patterson's injury?"
"Sir! Please follow me to the General!"
Still irritated, and vaguely rattled, he impatiently gestured for them to move. Oddly, the sergeant and the other soldier waited from him to pass before flanking him, and they didn't change their positions for the march back to Patterson's cell. Hakuro was still there, and the corporal walked right up to him and saluted.
"General, sir!"
Hakuro was watching another doctor Al didn't recognize examining the body, and while Mustang was nowhere to be seen, Hawkeye was still in the cell. She gave Al a soft look, and he gave her a quiet nod. He really did need to apologize to her, it was probably on Mustang's order she'd tried to get him out of there like that, and he knew she meant well and cared a great deal about them both.
But now was obviously not the time.
The general gave first the corporal, then him, a sharp look. "Yes?"
The corporal hesitated. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric struck the suspect while returning him to his cell, sir!"
Al raised his eyebrow - was that what this was about? And if so, why bring it directly to the general's attention-
Hakuro's expression closed off. "I see. Lieutenant colonel, is this true?"
Al considered, then nodded. "Yes sir."
"Corporal, you are dismissed. I want this room cleared. Lieutenant colonel, a word."
Al watched the room empty quickly at the general's order, even the colonel. She looked troubled, closing the door behind her, and Al stared at the general, confused. Of all the people to get bent out of shape over a slap-
"I've given you pretty free rein down here," Hakuro started, voice controlled. "Surely you noticed the activity around Sorn's cell of late?"
He didn't see where it was going - technically Mustang was the one giving him rein, but he nodded.
"The suspect was treated improperly by his original guard. Abusing suspects or prisoners is a very serious offense."
Al blinked, digesting that, and the general looked at him squarely.
"Is he a suicide risk?"
Completely nonplussed, Al stuttered. "Uh-well, sir, I-"
"Why did you hit him?"
He exhaled sharply. "He escaped to help Dr. Patterson, I'm sure-"
"Alphonse, you are looking at a dishonorable discharge and a decade in prison. Please answer me plainly."
Hakuro didn't look or sound angry, but he was deadly serious, and Al fought to find the words least likely to make things harder on the teen. ". . . yes. He's a suicide risk. I hit him because he just tried to kill himself performing human transmutation on Dr. Patterson."
The general pursed his lips, glancing back into the cell. "Would he have succeeded if you and Major Tringum had let him?"
Which was the same as admitting he was an expert on the subject, but somehow Al knew better than to hedge. "Probably not Patterson lost too much blood. It might have been effective for a few moments, but in the end he would have died again."
"And this effort would certainly have killed Sorn?"
"Absolutely."
Hakuro sighed, and Al realized he no longer was holding the papers Patterson had left behind. "Your actions make it impossible for me to interrogate the suspect until he has been re-evaluated by a military physician. Hawkeye gave the boy her personal assurances that it wouldn't happen again. Is he aware of the reason you struck him?"
If he remembered, after that overdose-happy Murly was done with him. "I verbally expressed my disappointment with him."
The general's mouth quirked in a smile. "An Elric answer if ever I heard one." He was silent, thinking things over, and something clicked.
"If you meant to interrogate him, why did you order him put under full sedation? He escaped only because the physician didn't secure him properly in the alchemist's chair."
The general's smile returned, a bit wider. "As perceptive as your brother. Though I suppose Fullmetal would have hit him more than once." Hakuro turned back to him. "Do you think your talk did him any good? Can I expect another attempt to take his own life?"
That was something he didn't feel qualified to say. "I don't know. I hope not. I doubt he'll use Patterson's method if he does, but he obviously regrets what he's done." Not that he expected simple regret was going to give Franklin any sort of defense in his upcoming trial.
The general nodded. "You are relieved of your duties until further notice. You are restricted to your home and the HQ hospital, your travelling papers are henceforth suspended, and you will make yourself available to the MPs at any time for questioning. An inquiry board will be set up to determine your punishment within the week. Dismissed."
Al brought his heels together and saluted, letting nothing else give away his irritation, and it dissolved completely into confusion when the general's smile hadn't disappeared.
"And Alphonse? Thank you."
- x -
Author's Notes: Well, now we have a problem, don't we? Mustang's plan to get them out is obviously not going to work. Patterson left something behind, and Hakuro's being even more sneaky than usual. Al is now directly in trouble with Hakuro, and with Ed's own court martial and possibly soon-to-be-discovered intact arm and leg . . . okay, I'll stop teasing.. ; ) Next chapter will answer pretty much all those questions - what Hakuro's really up to, what Patterson left in the letters, and maybe even some resolution between Mustang and Al.
If you notice any typos, please let me know! You can throw bricks now. ; \