Well, here's the moment you've been waiting for...

Chapter 11

Edward shifted his grip on the handle of his suitcase and scowled at the single passenger car. It was connected almost as an afterthought to a freight train that would soon be pulling out of Central Station and heading to Ishval. So far, nothing about this sudden disruption in his plans boded well.

Just the previous morning, he was sitting at breakfast with his host, Professor Abercrombie, an eminent scholar of alchemy, when one of his daughters—the ditzy one—let out a loud squeal. This was met with the professor's usual roll of the eyes. His middle daughter's head was stuffed with celebrity gossip and other related nonsense. This particular morning, she was glued to the pages of one of her favorite gossip sheets called The Delver (or as her father liked to call it, The Nosepicker). This time, however, the news was not about the latest escapades of one of the current matinee idols, but about someone who had, until now, avoided notoriety.

Bettina hopped up from her seat and ran to her father's chair at the head of the table. She shoved the paper into his face.

"Look, Pop!" she practically shrieked. "Would you believe it?"

The professor let out a sigh of long-suffering patience and gently pushed the girl's hands down. "I'm right here, Betty," he said in a kind but firm tone. "I have an advanced degree, but I'm not of advanced years. I'm neither blind nor deaf. And to answer your question, no, I probably wouldn't believe it."

Bettina gave a little stomp of her feet. "But Pop—"

"Betty, please, I'm not—"

Ed caught a glance of the paper and nearly had to spit his coffee back into his cup. "Wait! Let me see that!" he cried, thrusting out his hand.

Both the professor and his daughter gave a start and turned to stare at him. Bettina recovered first and scooted quickly around her father's chair.

She held out the paper. "See? I'll bet you'd want to know about this!"

Ed took the paper from her and stared at the two pictures. He hadn't been prepared for it. His heart pounded and his stomach tied into a cold knot, simply out of habit. He quickly scanned the article, which was of very little use, being mostly concerned with the photographer's exploits and some vague speculations. The picture of the wanted poster was of little consequence other than to stir people's memories. The somewhat muddled photo beside it was a different story. Ed would never forget that profile or that bearing, no matter how bad the quality of the reproduction. The caption echoed what was ringing through his head. Is this Scar? Ed had no doubt.

He stood up. "Can I use your telephone, Professor?"

"Yes, of course, Edward," the professor replied, a little perplexed. "Use the one in my office."

"Thanks! Excuse me!" Ed said quickly and left for the office.

He let the phone ring at least a dozen times before it was picked up.

"Rockbell Automail!" Pinako's slightly harried voice announced. "This had better be good!"

"Granny! It's Ed!"

"Oh! Dear Lord, Ed!" Pinako tempered the grouchiness of her tone. She chuckled a little. "You caught me in the middle of chasing the biggest pack rat I've ever seen out of the tool shed. Den nearly caught it, but it was a little too fast—"

"That's great, Granny!" Ed cut in. "Can I talk to Winry?"

"Well, not unless I can put this phone on a train or you can make your voice carry across the country."

Ed stared blankly at the telephone, the knot in his stomach pulling tighter. "What?"

"She caught that wandering spirit from you boys and she took herself a holiday," Pinako explained.

"She…she's not there? Did she go back to Rush Valley?"

"Nope. She's gone off to Ishval, of all places."

Ed's mouth fell open but nothing came out for a few moments. Finally, he cried out, "Ishval?"

"Dang it, Ed! Don't shout!"

"When did she leave?" Ed demanded.

"Oh, I'd say about three weeks ago now."

"Three—" Ed thrust his fingers into his hair and tried to collect his frantic thoughts. He forced himself to calm down. "Is she okay?"

"Well, she sent me a post card just after she got there, saying she'd found a place to stay," Pinako replied. "She also said they didn't have telephones out there yet, but she'd write me as soon as she could. I haven't gotten anything from her yet, so she must be too busy having a good time."

"Or she's—" Ed clamped his mouth closed. He didn't want Pinako to worry. He wasn't even sure why he was so desperately worried himself. It was just a gut feeling. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"What was it you needed her for?" Pinako gave another chuckle. "Are you getting ready to set a date?"

"Uh…no…I just…needed some maintenance on my leg," Ed replied. It was sort of true. His leg was feeling a little stiff, and he had been neglecting it lately.

"Then why don't you just go on out there," Pinako suggested. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

Ed's features set with grim determination. "Yeah. I think I'll do that."

The next day he stood in the train station in Central City with a train ticket in his hand that he was lucky to get. The clerk at the ticket window had informed him that the fellow just before him had bought the last ticket for that day's train to Ishval. Normally, he was told, he could pretty much have his pick of any seat on the train, not that any of them were better than any other. After two years they ought to have put on a newer car or—

Ed had to stop the man in mid-ramble. "Look, I really have to get to Ishval as soon as possible! It's…a family emergency!"

The clerk pushed his cap forward and scratched his head. "I dunno…there's regulations, you see…"

This wasn't something he liked to do much anymore, since his alchemy was now stricly theoretical, but he pulled out his silver pocket watch. He thrust it in the clerk's face. "Listen! I'm a state alchemist and I need to head off a national crisis! I don't care if I have to stand! You have to let me on that train!"

The clerk stared at the watch and dithered for a moment. "Oh…well…I guess…I suppose…if it's that important…"

"It is!" Edward pocketed his watch. "You'd be performing an act of patriotism."

The clerk gave a nod. "All right then, young man." He stamped a ticket and handed it to Ed. "But if you get injured because you're not properly seated, don't sue the railroad and don't blame me."

Ed handed him several bills. "I'll take my chances."

From outside, the car already looked full beyond its capacity, but Ed strode forward and mounted the steps. Inside, the train was packed with men and a few women in a variety of attire; some wore suits, either rumpled or stylish, some wore hiking outfits and stout shoes, some were simply dressed casually. Many of them had cameras either around their necks or in cases hanging from their shoulders. Others had fat, well-thumbed notebooks in their hands. They all jostled with each other to get suitcases up on the luggage racks or to get into seats and the noise level was high. There were also very few seats left and several of the passengers were already making for them.

Ed lost no further time and he quickly squeezed between two men who stood in the middle of the aisle discussing camera lenses. Just behind them was an empty spot on a seat next to a fellow who was dozing off, his hat over his face. Ed slung his suitcase onto the overhead rack and slipped onto the seat, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of relief.

His feeling of relief was short-lived, or at best, tainted by returning memories. His dealings with Scar had started out as pretty straightforward. They hated each other guts. Scar had made it his single-minded mission to kill him, and although Ed had no desire either kill anyone or see them get killed, he had certainly wanted Scar caught and brought to justice. What they did with him after that he didn't really want to know. Once it was discovered that they had a common goal, however, their relationship became less and less straightforward. They became allies who would gladly see each other's backs once their goal was achieved.

What really complicated things was Winry. Ed could eventually get over someone trying to kill him over what could possibly be considered a misunderstanding. But what Scar did to Winry and her family was unforgivable. Maybe Uncle Urey and Aunt Sarah knew what they were getting into. Maybe they anticipated possibly getting caught in the crossfire. But for them to be killed by one of their own patients spoke of an evil mind at worst, an unbalanced mind at best.

Maybe Winry had finally come to terms with her grief. Maybe finally being able to confront Scar was the closure she needed, even though that bastard's reply to her was evasive and half-assed. If they hadn't ended up needing him so badly, Ed would have been just as happy if he had bled to death. He stirred uncomfortably in his seat and rubbed his forehead. He would like to think he would be just as happy. Then again, he didn't even want to see Kimblee get shot. When it was suggested that Scar had died during the final battle, Ed's mind clamped onto that idea as an entirely fitting conclusion. The Ishvalan had given his life to save the people he hated. Ed could totally live with that.

Now it was possible that the man was still alive. Ed would never again be easy in his mind unless he found out if this was true. But if it was, what then?

"Hey, kid! What rag are you from?"

Ed opened his eyes and looked around, frowning. He realized the man sitting across from him was regarding him with mild interest.

"Sorry?"

The man looked slightly bored, slightly amused. "I said what paper are you from? I've been in this business for years, and you don't look familiar." He jerked his chin in Ed's direction. "I didn't think any editor would send a cub on a story like this."

Ed shook his head. "I'm not from a paper."

The man's brows rose. His neighbor sat up and took notice of him. "What? You're going out to Isvhal for fun?"

"No." Ed scowled a little. "I'm going for personal reasons."

The dozing man next to Ed pushed his hat up and turned in his seat to get a better look at Ed's face. He poked his finger at him. "Hey! I know you! You're…aw, damn!" He snapped his fingers a couple of times, then grinned, pointing at Ed again. "You're that Elric kid! The watchacallit Alchemist!"

"Fullmetal!" the man across from him said, eyeing Ed with interest. "I'll say you've got personal reasons, but they're probably the same as ours." He pulled a notebook and a pencil out of his coat pocket. "I'll bet you're going out to see if you can get a gander at that Scar fellow." He opened up the notebook, his pencil poised over it. "You've had a few scraps with him, as I recall. Do you see this as a way to even the score?"

The other reporters had eagerly flipped their notebooks open. "Are you on a personal crusade to see that justice is finally done?" one of them demanded.

"Are you going out there to beat the crap out of him?" the other wanted to know.

Ed stared at them with disbelief and a growing feeling of loathing. There was a time when he rather liked being a media darling and the center of attention, but that was back in more innocent days. On top of the burden of grief he had already been carrying, he had since learned things he wished he could forget. Ultimately, events had turned out for the best. They had won. He supposed he could be considered a hero for the part he played. Then again, he had to admit, so could Scar. Whatever lay between the two of them was strictly between the two of them.

Then there was still Winry, and the last thing Ed wanted to do was get into that with these rabid newshounds.

He sat back in his seat with his arms stubbornly folded and gave the men his best forbidding look. "No comment!"

The trip was torture. After a few more attempts to get him to talk, the reporters finally dismissed him as useless, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Matters were made worse when the train stopped in Resembool to take on more freight. Many of the reporters, who appeared to all be big city types, made a number of disparaging comments about what a dumpy little backwater the place was. A few crude comments were made about sheep and those who kept them, which caused a great deal of hilarity. Ed was hard pressed to keep his mouth shut.

It was nearly noon when the train finally pulled into Ishval station. If the reporters thought Resembool was a backwater, the remoteness of Ishval rendered many of them momentarily quiet. The veterans among them who had covered the war here were grimly silent as well, but for their own reasons.

The train pulled to a stop with a loud hiss, and the passengers began to scramble for their belongings and to exit the train. Being considered dead weight by now, Ed was jostled, elbowed, jabbed, and nearly knocked to the floor, where he could easily see himself getting trampled. He started jostling and shoving right back and managed to get his suitcase and climb down from the train without getting killed.

The arrivals were met by a mixed group of soldiers and Ishvalans, all of whom stared back at them with astonishment. The reporters quickly began going about their business. The photographers started snapping pictures and the reporters advanced on the inhabitants, firing out questions and waving copies of The Delver.

"Have you seen this man?"

"Is it true that Scar is alive and well and living in Ishval?"

"Is he being harbored here as a fugitive?"

Before anyone could stammer out a reply, one of the soldiers, a corporal, raised his voice. "Excuse me, gentlemen!" he called out over the clamor. "We're here to get this train unloaded and it's on a schedule, so if you wouldn't mind, would you get out of the way and let us do our jobs? Thanks!"

Taking their cue from the corporal, the soldiers and Ishvalans set about transferring freight from the train to the waiting transport trucks, some of them even elbowing the reporters out of the way. Some of them obligingly took a moment to glance at the photo in The Delver, but they shook their heads and went back to their work.

Ed skirted around the work crews and the reporters, who were darting about like bees, and he looked around to get his bearings. The station seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but off in the distance, he could see a rather incongruous sight. He was sure he could see a group of red and white striped circus tents, their top pennants rippling in the desert wind. While he stood squinting at this sight and wondering if it was some sort of mirage, he felt a hand drop onto his shoulder.

"Geez, Fullmetal! What the hell are you doing here?"

Ed jumped and spun around to find himself facing Jean Havoc. The shock of seeing a familiar face left him speechless for a moment. Then he managed a stammer. "I…I'm…what…what are you doing here?"

"Me?" the blond ex-soldier grinned. "I live here! I run a shop in Kanda!" He gave Ed's shoulder a good-natured shove. "I even got married! Can you believe it?" His grin faded and he looked around at the mob of reporters. "What a bunch of vultures!" he muttered. He looked back at Ed. "You came in with those guys?"

"I didn't have much choice," Ed replied. He gripped Havoc's arm and met his eyes grimly. Lowering his voice, he muttered, "Is it true?"

"Hey, you there!" One of the reports strode up to where they stood, and he was soon followed by others. The first one held out his copy of The Delver in a frustrated gesture. "Have you seen this guy?" he demanded.

"Hmm, well, let me get a closer look at that!" Havoc took the paper and frowned with concentration at it. He turned it at an angle and tilted his head in the opposite direction. "Damn, what a mug!" he remarked.

"Tell me about it!" the reporter snapped back. "Have you seen him?"

"Seen who?" Havoc replied distractedly, now covering one eye while squinting at the paper with the other.

The reported jabbed his finger on the grainy photograph. "This guy, you moron!" he practically shouted. "Scar! The Alchemist Killer! Whoever took this says they saw him here!"

Havoc turned the paper over to look at the front page. He let out a loud laugh. "Aw, geez! You actually read this thing? I wouldn't even use this in the latrine!" He handed the paper back. "Sorry, fellas. Can't help you." He turned back to Ed. "Tell you what. You help me get my stock loaded and I'll give you a lift into town."

On hearing this, the reporters seemed to suddenly realize that they had a fresh dilemma. "Hey, buddy!" one of them called to Havoc. "Can I hitch a ride with you?"

"Yeah! Me, too!" another one joined in. "I'll make it worth your while!"

Havoc waved his hand as he pushed past them toward the train. "Sorry, no can do! I've got a government contract and I can't take on civilian passengers. Too many liability issues."

Another reporter pointed at Ed. "You're giving him a ride!"

"That's because he's a State Alchemist," Havoc shot back. He looked over his shoulder and nodded to Ed. "Show 'em your watch!"

Ed groaned inwardly and pulled his silver watch out of his pocket, dangling it from his fingers. Havoc jerked his head toward it. "See that? That allows him to commandeer supplies and transport." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Sorry, but I have no choice. Come on, Ed. Let's get cracking!"

Havoc strode purposefully away toward the train while the rest of the reporters started to make attempts to cadge rides from the soldiers. Their efforts were just as fruitless. Ed caught up with Havoc and kept close to his side. "Answer my question!" he hissed.

"Not now!" Havoc whispered back. In a loud cheerful voice he went on. "It's great to see you again, Fullmetal! You're gonna like it here! The food's great and the women are gorgeous! Of course, I ought to warn you that my little bride is way up at the top as far as looks are concerned. And she's got a great head for figures, too. She just jumped right in and started keeping my books for me. And speaking of figures" –he let out a long whistle—"hers just doesn't quit! You're really gonna like her, but keep your hands to yourself!"

While Havoc was rambling on, he started shoving boxes into Ed's arms, which he had to juggle with his suitcase. Havoc kept a stream of general but carefully evasive conversation going as they went back and forth from the train to his truck, and Ed couldn't help noticing how quickly the man was working. He decided he would have to follow suit for now, as much as the former lieutenant's behavior left him bewildered.

Finally, they both climbed into the cab and Havoc started up the engine. As they drove away, Ed turned to him with the intent of demanding information, but Havoc took the microphone from a bulky radio that sat on the seat between them. He flipped a couple of switches and held the microphone to his mouth.

"Silver Hawk One, this is Blondie. Do you copy? Over!"

The radio crackled for a moment, then a voice came out of the small speaker. "This is Silver Hawk One. Go ahead, Blondie."

"Inform the colonel that we've got a whole trainload of newspaper guys converging on God's Own Country."

There were a few moments of just static. Then the voice spoke again. "Newspaper guys? Reporters?"

"That's what I said. The colonel might want to get a welcoming committee together or something."

"Understood!"

Havoc replaced the microphone onto its holder and increased his speed. He glanced over at Ed, who was giving him a golden-eyed glare.

"What's on your mind, Fullmetal?" he asked cheerfully.

"Would you please explain to me what the hell is going on here?" Ed growled, his words slow and deliberate.

"Oh, yeah. That." Havoc brightened. "Oh, by the way, your girl has been making quite a name for herself here. You'd really be proud of her."

Ed realized with a flush of shame that he had nearly forgotten about Winry. "Oh, shit!" he gasped. "Is she okay?"

Havoc grimaced at him. "Of course she's okay! Why wouldn't she be okay?"

Ed clutched at his head. "Because…because if Scar's still alive and if he's here then she's gonna be…she's gonna be…"

"Miffed?" Havoc suggested as Ed struggled to communicate.

"Is it true?"

Havoc winced and jerked his head away. "For cryin' out loud, Ed! I'm right here! Geez!"

Ed punched him in the arm. "Goddamnit! Answer my question!"

"Yes! Yes! It's true! Okay?" Havoc frowned at him. "And don't hit me."

"Why didn't anybody tell me?" Ed demanded furiously.

"I dunno. It sure wasn't my call. You'll have to ask the brigadier. Or you can ask the man himself."

"Ask the—" Ed sat back in his seat and shook his head. "So he's alive?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Really?"

"Yup."

"And that's…" Ed suddenly sat up and stared out through the windshield as they passed closer to the tents he had seen in the distance. "Are those…is that a…"

"Circus? Yup," Havoc replied. He laughed and shook his head. "You know, if it wasn't for those lousy reporters, I'd really be looking forward to all this!"