ILLUSORY

There really isn't much information on Havoc, so him being a Warrant Officer is just a guess. If anyone knows his real rank at this time, please let me know :)

Thanks for reading!

CHAPTER TWO • Waver

Warrant Officer Jean Havoc jolted awake when the train lurched to a stop with the screeching of mistreated brakes. Blinking wearily, he stared at the tiny station outside his window, desperately trying to remember what he was doing on a train in the first place. It was to do with work, of that much he was sure. The Lieutenant Colonel had caught Jean as soon as he walked into the office; Jean knew from the moment he saw his superior officer's over-enthusiastic grin that he wouldn't like his next mission.

That's right. He was on a mission.

Quickly, before he forgot again, Havoc dug through his coat for his packet of cigarettes. There were two notes jotted on the side, beneath the inscription that declared his chosen brand to be, 'The best of the best!':

Edward Elric, and Risembool.

He was in Risembool. That was the first step—second if one counted boarding the train back in East City. Next, he would have to find the Rockbell household, and see if the entire situation really was as strange as Mustang claimed.

Oh, it had been far too long since Havoc had been to the country. Several months, he guessed. It felt much longer. The city was incredible, imposing, with its tall, dark buildings and paved roads, but it lacked that simple purity that Jean had spent his entire childhood surrounded by. As he stepped onto the platform, he marvelled at the perfect azure of the sky, and wished that he some way of preserving that colour long enough to fix the skies of East City. He wished that the people of the city—all of the military men and women, the café owners, the street performers—would place flowers in their windowsills, as the few inhabitants of Risembool had done. He wished that there was more of the country in the suburbs.

But, he decided wryly as he approached the large map on the shelter's wall, he didn't miss the inconvenience of so many farms in one place. It seemed, as he traced his finger over the protective glass, that the Rockbell home was ridiculously far from the station. Mustang must have known this when he sent Havoc, and yet the bastard never warned him to pack light. His suitcase was going to be a nuisance—it was certain.

Jean grimaced and turned away; no amount of inspection would shorten the distance to his destination. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change that. The station was almost empty when he finally started the long trek to Rockbell Automail. At the very least, he wanted to get there before nightfall.

It was already midday.

XxX

Ten more minutes, Havoc promised himself. Ten more minutes and he'd turn back. He would return to the station an hour or so after sunset, and ask someone for directions the next morning. With his luck, it was dishearteningly likely that he had missed the turn-off several kilometres ago, when the sun was higher in the sky and his luggage didn't weigh a tonne.

Grumbling as he stumbled over yet another misplaced rock, the disgruntled soldier fished around the inside of his jacket for his second box of cigarettes. The first one was already finished; he would be in trouble if the assignment continued for too long.

No. He shook his head to clear it of the excess negativity. It was just a simple mission: find the candidate, and convince him to go. It wouldn't be difficult. It couldn't be difficult.

Yet he let out a heavy sigh nonetheless.

It was at that point that he lifted his gaze from the uneven road, running it through the lush grass, tracing the gnarled trees… settling on the old woman and the cemetery she guarded. For a moment, Havoc's steps faltered, and he had to consciously remind himself to lift his foot and bring it back down.

As he came closer, her head tilted upwards and she folded her arms. Disapproval seemed to bleed from her stiff posture, her tight mouth, her creased brow.

"Mustang's friend," she stated as he approached. "I presume."

Havoc gave a small laugh and fought against rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick he just couldn't drop. "That's me, ma'am. Warrant Officer Jean Havoc."

"Well, Warrant Officer—" her expression soured even more as she said his title, "—here, you will be going as Jean, d'you hear? If you really must stay, there will be no talk of the military." She waited for his nod of agreement before offering her hand. "Pinako Rockbell. I'm Edward's guardian."

"Guardian?"

"Edward's only twelve." Pinako's face softened into something that resembled smugness as she said, "Your superior didn't mention that, did he? You're here to brainwash a child, Jean Havoc." Her mouth twitched upwards, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture. "Now follow me, and you'll get to meet him. I wish you luck; he doesn't take too kindly to strangers."

XxX

It felt as if the day would never end.

The journey from the cemetery to Rockbell Automail wasn't long in terms of distance—but that entire distance was covered in silence. Whenever a question breached Havoc's mind, he would open his mouth to ask, then immediately close it upon further consideration. The Lt. Colonel had advised him to go into the situation as 'unbiased as possible'. That bastard. Jean was sure that the man simply didn't wish to help. It was out of his interests, apparently.

Or… perhaps the Lt. Colonel was as clueless as his subordinate.

"This is it," Pinako broke the quiet just as the sun tentatively stroked the horizon. "Rockbell Automail."

Havoc quickly inspected the double storey house in the fading light, tossing his guide a nervous grin. It was at the end of a wide path, bordered on one side by a stone wall. The lights were on in the lower half of the home, but the upper remained dark beyond its sturdy balcony. As he watched, a young boy threw open the front door, chattering happily and punctuating his exclamations with wild gestures.

"That's Edward," Pinako said, then urged Havoc forward with her cane. "And his younger brother, Alphonse."

"But…" Havoc squinted at the child, worrying that his eyesight was fading, as he could only see one boy. Perplexed, he turned to his elderly escort. She was smirking, and seemed oddly pleased.

"Good luck having him pass the mental examination, soldier."

"I get the feeling you don't want him joining us, ma'am," Havoc remarked dryly as he placed another smoke between his lips. Edward was still now, staring at the Warrant Officer and whispering harshly to empty space. An unknown sensation numbed Havoc's fingers so that he fumbled with the lighter.

"I don't," she stated simply. "I thought I'd made that clear earlier. But…" Jean didn't dare glance over as her voice softened into something unrecognisable. "If there's any way to help him, we'll do it."

Jean found that he could do no more than offer a nod; anything he might have said had to be silenced as the boy came into earshot, barrelling down the path to his grandmother's side.

"Granny?" he questioned, inflicting Havoc with large, wary golden eyes. His tiny fist wound itself deep in Pinako's stained apron, almost as if he thought he could offer her protection. "Who's this? I don't want another doctor."

Pinako shook her head and gently rubbed at a dirty mark on Edward's forehead. "He's not a doctor, Edward. We promised no more doctors, didn't we? This is Jean Havoc, a friend of the family. You'll be polite to him, understand?"

Edward huffed and pressed himself further into her shoulder, allowing his penetrating gaze to leave Havoc for a relief-filled second. Then he snorted, "You can, Al."

"Ed."

"Fine, Granny!" he griped, leaving her side as quickly as he had joined it. "I'll be polite." Seemingly reluctant, he held out his left hand for Havoc to shake. But instead of introducing himself—as Jean may have expected—the unpredictable child blurted out, "Al wants me to tell you that smoking will make all your fingers and toes drop off."

Pinako just gave a quiet growl before grasping her grandson by his upper arm and tugging him towards the house, abandoning a startled Havoc without a second thought. As the soldier once again picked up his luggage, he smiled at the conversation occurring up ahead.

"But he didn't answer, Granny!" Edward was whining. "What if he doesn't know? He—he could lose all his fingers and toes, Granny! … Exactly, Al! See, Granny? At least Al is worried about the guest!"

But the guest wasn't worried at all. Not about the smoking—no, that was only the equivalent of a sub-heading in his mental report. The real title was much less threatening. It was almost comforting in its normality; Mustang had been wrong to send him so far in order to gather such benign information. In his first letter to his superior, due to be written that evening, Jean would gleefully write:

Young boy has imaginary friend.

Yes. That summed it up quite nicely. Edward Elric had an imaginary friend—a phenomenon not uncommon in children. It wasn't detrimental to his health, and would surely vanish by the time Ed sat his State Alchemist exams. The two weeks Havoc was required to spend in Risembool would go past in a flash!

XxX

Dinner was a strangely silent affair.

Edward cast nervous eyes across the table, catching the uncomfortable gaze of his childhood friend before she quickly returned them to her meal. It was pasta, smothered in some type of tomato sauce, and it suddenly became incredibly interesting.

Al clanked, somewhere near the oven, and Ed froze, shooting a quick glance up at Pinako. But she didn't react. The frown that had both him and Winry cowering in their seats—and Al cowering beside the stove—didn't rise and settle on him. It rested firmly on her meal, only occasionally redirecting to their guest.

Edward felt sorry for him.

The man was understandably uneasy. Though Winry had piled his plate high, Havoc had barely touched it. Ed watched him out of his peripheral vision, but soon lost interest; all he did was move the pasta around, never once lifting the fork. That was a shame—Winry's food was really good, in Edward's opinion. And if he said it, she made more, so he made sure to say it often.

"How…" Ed's head shot up in surprise when Winry dared to speak, shaking his head in warning. "How long are you staying here… Mr Havoc?"

Edward stilled when Pinako sent him a sharp glare, a message to stop moving instantly. He did, immediately returning his attention to the pasta on his plate. Even though it had sat before him for almost half an hour, it was the warmest thing in that room.

Jean cleared his throat before offering Winry a small, uncomfortable smile. "I, um… Two weeks."

"Then where are you going?" Winry asked, dutifully ignoring both Pinako's admonishment and Ed's incredulity.

Havoc let out a slight chuckle and pushed his food around a bit more. "I dunno."

"You don't know?"

"Winry, that's enough," Pinako warned quietly. "Why don't you clear the plates?"

Winry fixed her grandmother with a confused blue stare. "But nobody's finished!"

"I don't think anyone's hungry, dear." The old woman slid her plate across the table. "Edward will help you clean up."

For once, Ed didn't argue. If Granny wanted them to wash the dishes, it meant she had something to say to their visitor. More importantly, it meant she was leaving, and that awful, heavy atmosphere would leave with her. Suddenly, Edward couldn't collect the plates fast enough.

Al's joints screeched as he clambered to his feet, having to stoop slightly to avoid the ceiling light. Edward weaved around him and ducked beneath his brother's metal elbow. Already, Winry had the tap turned to full, sending the old pipes into a panic and filling the kitchen with their howls.

"Winry," Ed gently shouldered her out of the way in order to place his unfinished meal beside the sink. A bottle of neglected dishwashing detergent sat beside their small window, partially stuck to the bench. "You forgot the soap again, bubble-head."

The young girl's mouth gaped open in shock at the insult, then her face screwed up and a pink tongue stretched dangerously close to Ed's nose. "I'm not a bubble-head, stupid!"

Edward ignored her jab at his intelligence, resolving instead to offer a tiny chuckle. It was sure to aggravate her. "I bet your head is even more emptier than Al's."

There was a rattle behind him, and then Alphonse's annoyed, "That was uncalled-for, Brother. My head's not empty, either."

"Well…" Ed poured a good half of the detergent into the sink, delighting in the foam that resulted. With his job complete, he twisted until Al was only just visible in the corner of his eye. "Technically, it is."

"Edward."

The boy in question flinched guiltily at the sound of his grandmother's voice, having believed her to be out of the room. "… Yeah, Granny?"

"Leave Winry alone and boil some water for tea," Pinako demanded with a warning in her gaze that was impossible to ignore. Ed felt his throat go dry, and he wondered if her bad mood would persist for the entire two weeks of Havoc's stay. "Mr Havoc and I will be on the top balcony, understand?"

Ed nodded mutely and hurried over to the stove.

Pinako stared at him for several long seconds; her attention raised goose bumps all over his arms. "Be careful with that water, y'hear?"

"I will."

"Good," she said with finality. Soon after, her heavy footsteps moved down the hall.

When the coast was clear, Edward frantically turned to his childhood friend. "I'll do the dishes if you take the tea up to her!"

"Nope."

"What if I do them tomorrow night, too?"

Winry shook her head, grinning in cruel victory.

"A week!" Ed tried in one last effort. When Winry once again refused, he spun to scowl at his innocent, giggling brother. "Oh, shut up, Al!"

"You'd better hurry up," Winry sang teasingly. "Or she's gonna be mad."

"She's already mad," Edward grumbled as he nudged her aside to fill their orange kettle. Winry let out one more giggle before falling silent, soapy water embracing her elbows and slopping down the front of her dress. She paid the mess no mind, even as it dripped onto the floor and spread in a small puddle. Edward stared at it once he'd successfully placed the kettle over the flame to boil, one eyebrow raised in question of how long it would take his companion to realise her socks were getting wet.

Winry glanced up to see him staring, and immediately grew a scowl. "Have you got the tealeaves yet?"

"Oh." Ed broke out of his stupor in an instant and rushed over to the cupboard. The tealeaves were kept in the back—out of his reach until the last month—so he took great pride in grabbing the ceramic pot himself. Now Al couldn't laugh at him.

Winry snorted at his proud expression. A trail of bubbles glistened below her eye; it was a wonder Pinako let her do the dishes on her own. Everything around her seemed to be soaked, or extremely lucky. Even the drying towels were dripping.

By the time he had set out two matching mugs, the kettle was whistling furiously. Steam poured out the spout in an angry white line, distorting when Edward lifted it off the heat. It was at times like this that the boy was thankful for his automail; he didn't need to worry about the temperature of the metal handle, because he couldn't feel it.

Setting the kettle down on a cool element, Ed pried the lid off of the pot and started coughing at the pungent smell of the tea. He'd never liked it. "Winry," he said in a bit of a whine. "Are you sure we can't swap?"

"I'm not swapping."

"But…" As the tealeaves soaked in the cooling water, Ed scrambled for any excuse to stay downstairs. "But my automail's all shaky, Win. I'll drop the tea."

Edward saw her roll her eyes in her reflection in the window. "My automail doesn't get shaky, Ed." She turned to send him a quick glare. "Stop being such a baby."

It was too late. The tea was ready, regardless of Ed's own trepidation. "I don't wanna, Winry!" he groaned, but placed the mugs on a tray anyway.

XxX

"I'm sure you've noticed all of his injuries," Pinako said bluntly, after spending more than two minutes in complete silence. Havoc had grown accustomed to the sound of his own breathing and that of the last birds falling asleep, but there was no way that he would admit to being startled by an old woman the size of a pea.

"I have."

"Good. I'd be worried about the future of our military if they weren't able to see a black eye on a twelve-year-old boy. That sort of thing isn't normal—especially not here. Before you ask, Mr Havoc," Pinako held up a hand to cut him off, "Let me assure you that Winry and I have nothing to do with it. We're not sure how they appear."

Havoc stared at the lush fields, turned a deep blue in the twilight. It had been a long time since such a view had greeted him. "Have you asked Edward?"

"Of course," she replied with disdain. "That was the first thing we tried."

"Then what did he say?"

"He said it was his brother."

Jean cocked an eyebrow and began rooting around his jacket for a cigarette. He needed one. "There isn't a third brother that they forgot to put on his file, is there?"

"No," she responded flatly, also bringing her pipe up to her mouth for a deep breath. "And I must say I'm a little… perturbed that you have a file about my grandson. All going well, he won't ever set foot in a military compound. To have a file at twelve seems a bit…"

"Necessary," Havoc insisted. "Even if Edward won't be accepted into the military after all this, he's obviously done something to earn the Lieutenant Colonel's interest."

Pinako huffed out a small laugh—one lacking in humour and blessed in bitterness. But she didn't speak.

Havoc let the smoke out of his lungs in a long, controlled motion, before casting a sidewards glance at his smoking partner. "You wouldn't be able to tell me what Edward did, would you?"

"No," Pinako spoke sharply, with no hint of uncertainty. "That's out of the question. If you really wanna know, ask the boy yourself. I'm not here to make your job easier, soldier."

Jean laughed slightly. "That's a shame, ma'am."

"Just behave yourself," she commanded as heavy footsteps—one metal and one flesh—tried their best to quieten on approach. Havoc fancied he saw a tiny smile on her wrinkled lips, perhaps born from her grandson's futile efforts. "You can come out, Edward."

The boy stepped out almost hesitantly, the two plain mugs on his tray rattling alarmingly. And the Lt. Colonel wanted this kid on his team? He could barely stand up to his grandmother!

But as Edward looked up, meeting his eyes boldly, Jean felt a smile of his own tug on his lips. The child wasn't hesitant; he wasn't scared in the least. There shone a bright curiosity on Ed's face, carefully masked against the stranger who was invading his home, and yet simultaneously fixated on him. Edward wore his thoughts on his sleeve; they were easy to see.

"Edward?" The old woman quickly crossed the balcony to take the tray and place it on the ground beside her. "Why are you shaking? Do you feel cold?"

"No, Granny. I'm not sick."

"Are you lying to me, Ed?"

"No."

"But you were shaki…"

As Pinako's voice faded into what could only be considered dumbfounded silence, Havoc crept up behind her to see whatever was so interesting it halted such an intelligent woman in her tracks. Everything appeared fine. There was no flush on Ed's cheeks, his posture was straight as a ruler, and even that strange antenna atop his head was sound. Even if a fever was just starting, there would be some sign.

"Is there—" Jean began, only to be cut off by a frustrated growl.

"Edward." Pinako ground out through gritted teeth. "What the hell happened to your hand?"

The child gaped up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Granny, did you just say—"

"No questions, Edward!" she barked. "Not until you tell me what happened! Why's it burnt?"

"… Are you okay, Granny?"

"Of course I'm bloody well okay! Havoc!"

The man's arm twitched violently as he suppressed a salute. "Yes?"

"Go ask Winry for the medical bag. There should be one in the kitchen, but if not tell her to use one from the surgical rooms. Quickly!"

"Granny, I—"

"Wait, no—come back, Havoc." Pinako roughly threw Edward's injured arm into Jean's grasp, and fixed him with a deadly stare. "You stay here with him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, understand?"

The soldier nodded, running his orders through his head. Ed grumbled below him—most probably about the strange, elevated position of his elbow. It was above his head, the hand dangling loosely, like a marionette with the strings cut. The way that he scowled at his grandmother's retreating back, yet made no move to disobey, gave Havoc a grudging respect for the grouchy woman.

Once Pinako was gone, however, that scowl shifted upwards, and Havoc found himself under the full focus of its scrutiny. Military training had nothing on this; only his experience with children allowed him to force a grin.

"So…" he tried, kneeling to look Ed in the angry, golden eye. Any military talk was off-limits, leaving him with very little to say. "You're Edward, are you?"

The boy's brows dropped further, almost meeting in the middle in his displeasure. "Just Ed."

"Alright, Ed." Jean came close to offering a handshake, but instead settled for dropping the one already in his grip. "If we're shortening names, you can call me Havoc."

"Okay."

Havoc nodded in acknowledgement of Ed's acknowledgement, before pointing at the injured palm. "Why don't you tell me what happened there, Ed?"

Ed's scowl reappeared. "Because nothing happened."

"Something obviously did happen," Jean said as he gently grabbed Ed's hand, palm up, and presented the burn to them both. "Look at that."

"What?" Edward pulled away and, after a slight pause, started to study the injury. He turned it in all angles, held it up to the light, squinted, but nevertheless seemed genuinely baffled when he next spoke. "Is there a scratch on my automail?" He frowned at it again. "I can't see a scratch."

Jean blinked, stunned. "You—"

"Granny said you did something to your hand!" Winry interrupted him accidentally. She was stepping onto the balcony, a damp towel over her shoulder and drying bubbles in her hair. A mocking smirk flickered on her young lips. "What's the problem?"

"It's nothing," Ed yelled in exasperation, dragging his healthy fingers through his hair. "The gears are stiff—that's all, Winry!"

Jean raised an eyebrow while the girl just snorted. "Gears," she muttered. "Whatever you want, Ed. Sit down."

Ed merely crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip. His gaze flicked up, and he appeared to be listening intently—to something—then he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine."

"Listen to Winry, Edward," Pinako snapped as she bustled through the door and pushed him into a metal seat overlooking their darkened view. Havoc retreated, staying out of their way, without going so far as to miss any of their conversation. "You know better than to do this; you're not five anymore!"

"Hot things burn, stupid."

"Winry, that's not helping. Get me the ointment."

"Granny!" Ed whined, tapping an erratic, distressed beat on the ground with his feet. "Granny, you're getting gunk in my automail! Stop!" He tried—in vain—to pull away. "It's gonna be all sticky and—"

"Shut up, squirt."

There was a breath of calm—a breath in which everyone seemed to freeze—then, "Who're you calling squirt!?"

Havoc fancied he saw a smirk on Pinako's wizened mouth, but the next moment it was hidden. She spoke bluntly, "You, runt."

Ed's jaw worked furiously, as if he were talking but nothing would come out, and his eyes bulged out of his head. Winry merely giggled, while Jean pressed his lips together to quell his laughter. It would do him no favours if the kid hated him from the first day.

Winry passed Pinako a roll of bandages, Ed's attention switched from his previous indignation to the current unjustified predicament he was unable to escape. The boy slumped down in the seat in an attempt to fall, but Pinako's hold on his wrist never loosened. He let out a little moan, as if her touch was painful, but she simply pressed firmer on the protective padding and told Winry to, "Hold this." Edward, seeing that all of his weak endeavours would get his nowhere, resorted once more to high-pitched verbal complaints.

"I don't see why I need this, Granny," he groaned, sagging in exhaustion. "I can't feel it, and-and you of all people should know metal can't be burnt!"

Jean raised an eyebrow and leant further against the balcony rail. The cigarette in his mouth was dangerously close to being finished, but he made no attempt to take it out. Briefly, his mind focused on the tray of tea going cold on the ground by the open doorway, and he marvelled that no one had kicked it over yet. If anyone accused him of being subject to distraction, he would counter their claim with the excuse of being aware of his surroundings. There was a difference, he was sure.

The old woman, when he looked back up, was deftly wrapping gauze around Ed's injury, seemingly deaf to his protests. When the glint of an automail foot captured Havoc's notice, he realised that this was definitely not the first time Edward had received Pinako's special brand of treatment.

"There," Pinako said, her voice carefully stern, once the wound was treated. Winry knelt beside her to pack away the first aid kit—she was an expert in medical care at the age of twelve. "Now you listen to me, Edward. No getting this wet, no lifting up the edges, and definitely no taking this off. Understand?"

Edward brought his wrapped hand up to his face and tried to make a fist. The bandages—and no doubt the stiffness of the burn—allowed him as far as an inch or so, but the tips of his fingers were not able to curl into his palm. He groaned and threw his head back. "It's useless now, Granny. What's the point of a new hand if I can't even move it?"

Edward continued to grumble for as long as it took Pinako to usher him into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. At that point, Havoc was well onto his third cigarette, and wondering where all of his expertise with children would help in Ed's case. Though he was unwilling to pass judgment so soon, he had to question why Mustang thought letting a child onto their team was a good idea.

It didn't seem so to him.

XxX

12th June 1911 — Day 1 at Rockbell Residence

Well here's my journal, sir. There really isn't much to write. I've been here for about five hours—it's nearing midnight right now—and Edward hasn't said much. His grandmother, Mrs Pinako Rockbell, is just as… protective as you warned me. She met me on the road, Lt. Colonel, just to tell me the 'rules' of my stay. But I understand that isn't what you want from me, so I'll get right to the point.

Edward is much more independent than the boy you met. He is able to walk with little difficultly, from what I've seen; the automail doesn't affect his ability to walk or run—again, as far as I can tell from my five hours of experience. Physically, he appears sound. With a few more months of recovery, I believe he would be back to full health. Mentally, however… I'm not sure, sir. I need more time.

When I first saw Edward, he was talking to himself. I don't mean babbling, sir, he seemed quite lucid. It was more like he was talking to someone we couldn't see. Of course, my first thought was that he had an imaginary friend. That's normal, right? Edward's a bit old, but after all he went through, it's a plausible theory. I really hope that's the case, Mustang, but I'm not sure anymore. There's a large burn on Edward's palm—and he can't feel it at all. Mrs Rockbell was hesitant, but she eventually told me that Edward believes his arm to be automail, just like his leg, and that he believes he lost that arm saving his brother. His imaginary friend. I wouldn't be bothered, sir, or be bothering you with such trivial detail, yet I can't convince myself to leave this out. This may be what Mrs Rockbell meant, telling you Edward wasn't fit for duty. I really wish you had given me more information before shipping me out here, you bastard. I'm not sure I'm the right person for this job.

Perhaps tomorrow's entry will be different. Maybe I'll have some facts tomorrow. I certainly hope so—guessing games aren't my strength, Lt. Colonel, and you know that.

Until next time.

P.S. Did you know that smoking causes your fingers and toes to fall off? Ed told me.