ILLUSORY

Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

CHAPTER THREE • Uncharacteristic

He looked nervous. Much more than the night before—especially when compared to how Edward had first greeted Havoc with what Pinako assumed to be enthusiasm. But perhaps he had decided, overnight, that a stranger in his routine was not something to be welcomed? Now Pinako felt the first stirrings of anxiety, like a parasitic being shuddering to life within her stomach. Just like the doctors, she knew this was not a good idea.

But what else could she do? If Edward ever found out that she had destroyed his ambition, he would estrange himself from her and chase his goal regardless. Wasn't this the best way?

Still, the parasite gnawed on her gut.

At least she wasn't being pressured to eat, as no one seemed to own an appetite. Even Edward had only inhaled one plate, and the pace was so subdued to be almost civilised! If asked, Pinako would have said that was the first warning.

The second was the small, covert glances that Edward was sending at their visitor. Once she noticed, Pinako's flicker of anxiety caught flame, tearing up into her throat and causing her breath to catch. Did he know? Did Edward know that Jean Havoc was military? He must have at least suspected it! Her grandson was no idiot—that was for sure. How could he be oblivious to the presence of a soldier at his breakfast table?

But no. The fire burnt away her fears just as it had created them, then subsided graciously. Edward was not watching Havoc because he was trying to emulate him, to learn his behaviours, but to build an opinion. He was a young boy presented with an unknown adult for unknown reasons—it was natural for him to be wary, or even cautious, of a strange man. Heaven knows he had very little experience with father figures.

"Granny?" he asked quietly, startling his grandmother out of her thoughts. "Where's Winry?"

"Upstairs, Edward."

"Has she had breakfast?"

"I don't know. Why don't you go ask her?"

It was only after the request that Pinako realised she had condemned herself to a suffocating breakfast with an uncomfortable soldier. How wonderful.

XxX

Edward was uncomfortable. Even though their guest's gaze remained fixed on his own breakfast, Ed knew the Jean's attention was on him. It was heavy and searching, making goosebumps appear up and down his arms from the intensity. His seat felt too hard, the toast felt too dry in his mouth, the eggs felt like the river slime he used to sling at Alphonse. It was terrible.

So when the opportunity arose, he jumped on it. Quite literally. He sprung off his chair with such vigour it clattered to the floor and he had to run back to fix it. But nothing would stop him, and within the second he was bounding up the stairs and down the hallway. Al clanked after him, having to maintain a slower pace, and calling for Ed to slow down, Brother!

Winry let out a growl of frustration as Edward burst through the door, disrupting her delicate work. It was a familiar routine, though not one that she had any love for. He knew just which buttons to press, or rather, screws to loosen, to bring her temper to the surface.

"Watch it, idiot!" she warned as Ed walked in and made himself at home on her bed. He bounced up and down on it on his back, as if it were designed for that purpose exactly. The boy couldn't help but notice his childhood friend's irritation. This was much better than that stuffy breakfast had been, even if there wasn't any food.

"Morning, Winry," he greeted just as she opened her mouth for an explanation of his presence. "Have you eaten yet?"

Winry huffed through her nose and returned her attention to the piece of machinery in front of her. "Give me a few minutes."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Huh?"

Ed rolled onto his side and fixed her with a mirthful gaze. "Al said that you shouldn't hurry—that man's still here."

Winry cocked an eyebrow. "What do you have against Mr Havoc?"

"Nothing." Ed shrugged. "I dunno. Al says we shouldn't trust him. He's new; we don't know anything about him yet."

"And you decided this overnight?" Winry rolled her eyes—though the gesture was lost beneath her magnifying goggles—and picked up a rag to wipe her hands on. "I thought you liked him. He did help with your hand."

Ed, reminded of his unjust bandaging, scowled. "I do think he's okay, but we've only known him for less than a day! Besides, Al says he doesn't like him. You know how great a judge of character Al is!"

Winry shoved the heel of her palm into her eyes and made a low noise of annoyance. "This is just like the doctor!"

"How is this like the doctor?" Ed cried in indignation. He sat up straight on the bed.

"You were just like this when those doctors came!" she accused. "Meeting new people won't kill you, Ed! They were trying to help!"

Ed parted his lips to form a word, but before they could, his head whipped around to the door, almost in surprise. His mouth fell open and brows rose, then he spun towards Winry and those brows dropped menacingly. "He's not another doctor, is he?"

"Gosh, Ed!" Winry lurched to her feet, pointing at the door. "Either stop being so paranoid, or leave me alone!"

"But Granny sent me!"

"I don't care, just—"

"What's going on in here?" The door flew open so quickly it slammed against the opposite wall. Pinako stood in the gap, all four feet of her, and it was enough for both children to shut up and shrink back. Her glasses seemed to flash.

"Granny," Winry started. "Ed—"

"No, don't!" Pinako held up a finger to silence them. "I don't wanna hear it. I don't wanna hear anything from you two. Is that understood? All you've done since Mr Havoc arrived is bicker and argue and I'm sick of it. It's only been half a day! Is this really the impression you want to give? Edward?"

Ed flinched under her scrutiny and shook his head. He couldn't lift his gaze from the ground.

"Winry?"

The girl also gave the floor an excessive amount of attention. "It wasn't my fault," she muttered bitterly, her voice gaining strength when Pinako didn't reprimand her. "It was fine until Ed came in."

"That doesn't matter." Pinako pointed to the hallway. "Edward, I want you to leave Winry alone. Winry, you need to eat. It's almost ten and all the food's cold now.

Winry trekked off immediately, pointedly ignoring the intruder in her bedroom. The intruder didn't move. Neither did his adopted grandmother. As Winry's footsteps grew fainter, Edward's scowl deepened. Al stood off to the side of the room with his metal arms crossed and glowing eyes narrowed in defiance. "That's not fair," Ed heard him say. "She called us paranoid. All you wanted was to ask if she'd had breakfast."

Ed nodded at his brother's indignation. "I know. It's stupid."

"It's time to get out, Edward," Pinako warned, and though her voice was kinder, the tone increased Ed's frustration. He didn't want her to be gentle, damn it! It was too hard to be mad at her!

Al's armour creaked as he turned towards the bed where Edward was still seated. "If you want her to be mad," he advised, "Just make her mad."

XxX

Havoc found him just where she'd said—in the graveyard in front of his brother's grave. As he approached, the writing on a second headstone a metre away from the boy became visible. Trisha Elric. Her son was buried not four feet away, and not six years later. The family was all together—some above the ground and some below—and it couldn't have been a more horrific reunion. Horrific because Pinako had warned Havoc about the armoured Alphonse that crouched, invisible and imagined, at Edward's side. Could the illusion see the inscription on his own grave?

Ed couldn't. When Havoc's shadow fell on the words, they became darker and somehow menacing in the mid-morning light. Alphonse Elric 1900-1910. Ten years. The pitiful number made the soldier's gut twist. In his profession, it wasn't unusual to see death—but everyone knew what they were getting into when they signed those official military documents, and none were as young as ten! Havoc though he was deserved his nausea.

Edward's back stiffened, his shoulders drawing into himself and his knees pressing tighter against his chest. He was curled up, hunched over, like a child that knew he was going to be disciplined. In Havoc's childhood, that meant a harsh slap or even—if his crime was particularly terrible—his father's belt. But Jean hesitated to do either. He wanted to earn Edward's trust, so that he might just discover why Pinako was so bothered by his imaginary friend. He needed to know more about Alphonse, the steel giant. He needed to talk to Ed. But how, when simply his shadow caused him to seize up?

Deciding it was the safest approach, Havoc sat. The grass was slightly damp in spite of the pleasant sun, and its chill seeped through the seat of his jeans. He wasn't welcome; one glance at Edward's stony face told him so.

"What're you doing here?" he asked. His face barely moved. His eyes didn't wander from his brother's name.

Havoc drew his knees up so that he could balance his elbows on them, allowing his lower arms to flop lazily. He, like Edward, stared at the writing. "Pinako sent me. She told me what you did."

Ed's expression tightened in anger. "It wasn't my fault," he muttered, starting to pull at the grass. "It wasn't my idea. I always get blamed."

"You spilt Winry's bolts all over the floor." Havoc allowed himself a small smile—one that he knew Ed wouldn't see.

"It wasn't my idea," he persisted, as if the idea, and not the act, was what determined guilt. "I told you that. But Granny always gets mad at me."

"Who else would she be mad at?" Havoc dared to ask.

"Al. But he never gets in trouble. What?" His glare shot over to the left, away from Jean. "It's true!"

Havoc looked to the same space as Ed, but was unable to see the younger brother. It was a tiny hope—a minuscule hope—that he held; that Alphonse would actually be standing there, shining in the morning light, and arguing with his disagreeable sibling. But… the armour was just an imaginary friend, right? An imaginary brother? Why was Havoc's disappointment so great when Edward proved his delusion once again? Perhaps he was hoping that Ed would hide, at least subconsciously, his strange ties to his childhood. It would be difficult to accept a child in the military; accepting a child who still held an imaginary friend would be harder.

Yes, that must have been the problem. It couldn't possibly be anything else.

"Why doesn't Al get in trouble, Ed?" Havoc inquired, simply for the sake of conversation. After less than a day in the Rockbell household, he had decided that the idea of Alphonse made him uncomfortable. A ten-year-old boy encased in steel? The mere thought that Edward had created such a morbid continuation of his brother's life caused Jean's stomach to roil.

"Because!" Ed offered in way of explanation. "No one ever believes me when I say he wanted me to do it." At that revelation, he paused, and returned his state to the gravestone. His expression, and his voice, sounded both guilty and sorrowful when he said, "But he's changed since… there was an accident. It's why he's in the armour. He's different."

Havoc had to restrain himself—he wanted to lean forward in interest, like a good dog at the scent of some delicious morsel. In this case, the morsel was whatever information Ed was willing to offer. "Different how?"

Ed flinched at the question and seemed to shrink away. "I don't wanna say."

"Will Alphonse tell me?"

"He doesn't wanna say, either." Ed licked his lips nervously and rubbed at his arms as if caught by a chill. "He says we shouldn't—I-I mean, we don't know you. Why're you being so nosy?"

Havoc raised an eyebrow and started rooting around in his jacket for a cigarette. "You want to know me?" Finding it, he placed his prize between his lips. "I'll tell you. I'm Jean Havoc, twenty-one, and a farmer. Lived in the east my whole life, and just recently came through here to learn more about our country."

Ed looked up at him dubiously. "That's pretty generic," he said, forcing Havoc to grin around his unlit cigarette. "You barely told us anything about you."

"That's because I'm not interesting," he attempted to deflect the question.

But Ed continued to stare at him with that same displeased mistrust. "Mother told us everyone has a story."

"I have plenty of stories," Havoc countered. He searched his pockets, almost frantically, for his lighter. This conversation was drifting off-course and he needed to relax. "Just none suitable for children."

"I'm not a child!" Ed snapped.

Havoc took a deep breath of his cigarette. "Then maybe I'll tell you some later. How good are you at cards?"

Ed's face crinkled in curiosity. "Cards?"

"Come on." Havoc drew a packet out and placed it on the ground in front of them. "Al can play, too. Wanna try 'Bullshit'?"

Ed watched him carefully for a few long moments, carefully scanning him until Havoc felt it was he being considered for the military. He didn't notice his mistake until Ed—loud little twelve-year-old Ed—carefully, tentatively, tried out the new word. "Bull… shit?" It sounded odd and uncertain, and soon after Edward turned towards his brother for confirmation that he had accurately copied the curse.

Havoc laughed nervously once his blunder had been uncovered. "Hey, uh… How 'bout we just stick to 'Cheat', huh?"

"Is it much harder?" Edward asked reluctantly; he didn't seem to understand.

The soldier shook his head briefly. "It's the same game. But we need three players for this to work. Are you sure Al won't play?"

"He doesn't like things like this." His lower lip stuck out just the slightest amount as he glared at empty space. "He can't hold things like that properly."

It was then that Havoc decided the glare was not intended for him—neither was it for his imaginary friend, or the deck of cards lying on the grass between them. His anger seemed to have no source, or at least, none that was visible. None that was apparent.

Ed looked down. "Can we…" he trailed off, then his expression sharpened into an unreadable determination. "Do we really need three players? 'Cause I'm sure that… Al? Will you play?"

Havoc waited patiently while Edward quietly argued, insisted, and commanded. Evidently, it wasn't working, and Ed came back to face him with flushed cheeks and an irate tilt to his eyebrows.

"Al's being an idiot," he said, as if that explained everything. Upon seeing Havoc's baffled expression, he elaborated, "He says he doesn't want me to play with you either." Ed spun suddenly. "Shut up! I'll tell him whatever I want, idiot. You could talk to him if you wanted… Because! I'm not here to be your translator, stupid."

"It's alright if he doesn't wanna play, chief," Havoc interrupted, afraid that Edward would start throwing punches at plain air. While that might not have any physical effect, it wasn't something he wished to see. "Lets find another game. You got any?"

Ed shook his head, but he seemed to relax.

The soldier smiled gently. He was dredging up any memory from his younger years for guidance in this strange situation. Anything—anything—would help! "Does Al have an idea?"

Ed froze; he was listening. "Al says 'Snap'."

Of course. 'Snap'. It was a game tried and tested by generations upon generations of children in even the most remote country town and bustling city. Easy, too—Jean knew the rules almost through some primitive instinct.

"Alright," he agreed, and started to deal. But, no sooner than he had placed Ed's portion on the grass before him, Ed had lost interest. Havoc's upturned ace of clubs remained solitary between them, while the opposite pile hadn't been touched. "Is something wrong? Didn't I deal properly?"

Ed shook his head mutely from side to side, then said, in a voice hushed with reluctance, "Won't Granny be mad?"

"Mad?" Jean echoed. "Mad about what?"

"This." He gestured towards the ace. "I thought she sent you here to punish me."

Havoc chuckled even while a lead weight settled in his stomach. "I don't think that's appropriate, Ed. It wouldn't be right for me to punish you—and if your granny really thinks you need punishment, she can do it herself."

Ed met his eyes hesitantly. "But why are you here?"

"I'm here to play some cards." Havoc tapped his pile twice for emphasis and then started a new cigarette. "Maybe I'll get to know you better, too."

The boy's uncertain expression fell—with so much force it seemed audible—into mistrust and suspicion. Havoc imagined it to be somewhat similar to a drawbridge slamming into place—a drawbridge guarded by a seven-foot suit of armour. He could imagine that armour lifting one leather hand, and waving tauntingly. "He's just a child," it said, and its voice merged with that of Pinako Rockbell's. "You can't take him to the military. You can't take him away from me."

So when Ed spoke, Havoc barely suppressed the urge to flinch in surprise. Though it was still mid-morning, he was cold.

"Are you another doctor?" the child asked softly. Softly, like stone on steel, slowly, quietly, sharpening a blade as long as his forearm. "Winry said something about doctors today. You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"What makes you think I'm a doctor?" Havoc tried the smirk that the Lt Colonel often sent those who had asked what was, in his opinion, a dumb question. A slight lift at the corner of his mouth, and a quirk of the eyebrow—that was the recipe for mockery so subtle it often went undetected. "Did someone else say that?"

"Al did," Ed admitted, then he ducked as if a heavy fist was nearing his head. The swift movement disrupted his neat stack of cards.

"And what do you think?" Havoc interrupted before the boy could start yelling at his shadow once again. The question seemed to capture Ed's attention. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of his lips, and his expression became just a little less guarded.

"Me?" he asked, almost hopefully. Then his mouth twisted into a wry grin; it suited him. "I think you're not so bad."

"Thanks, chief." Havoc chuckled. Maybe the situation wasn't quite as simple as he had first predicted, but… "You're not so bad, either."

XxX

13 June 1911 — Day 1 at Rockbell Residence

Today was much more informative, boss. I guess it's lucky the kid lives out in the middle of nowhere, because if he did have to go to school every day, that could be a problem. As it is, only Miss Rockbell is attending school at the moment. Mrs Rockbell is keeping Ed home on account of his automail surgery last year, and Ed doesn't seem too unhappy about that. He seems like a smart kid, Lt Colonel—there are huge books all over the house, and I'm told they don't belong to either Rockbell—if you really had to choose a twelve-year-old boy to join the state, you chose a good one.

Except for one thing. His brother.

I know Mrs Rockbell asked you if you'd seen a suit of armour walking around on your last visit—that was pretty much all the information I got out of you, and I can imagine your damn smirk from here. I saw it this evening (after the children went to sleep), in the basement of the Elric household, and Mrs Rockbell is right; it really hasn't moved, not for almost a year. She left it on the ground because it was too heavy to lift that night when she found Edward, and nothing's happened to it since. It's pretty much fused to the ground.

And that brings me to this morning, somehow. I probably should've started with the morning, but that armour is fresh in my mind. So this morning, just after breakfast, Ed ran off and I was sent after him on Mrs Rockbell's request. It was the most bizarre situation, Lt Colonel. I went through an entire pack of cigarettes in less than two hours. Edward was in the graveyard when I found him, sitting in front of a pair of gravestones. And that was where it got weird. It was like Ed couldn't see the writing on the gravestone (it was his brother's—Alphonse Elric's). I don't mean that he was ignoring it; I mean that he quite literally could not see anything.

I don't know how to write this next part. I'm sure you can see in the margins the tears from where I had to rip out pages—that was because of this part. Even after all of these attempts, I know there is no way I can put into words what really happened; it's just too difficult. Edward was arguing with Alphonse. And when I say 'Alphonse', I mean nothing. He was arguing with nothing, Lt Colonel, and it was quite… surreal. Mrs Rockbell told me he had been seeing Alphonse ever since the accident—I'm starting to doubt whether it's really just an imaginary friend.

I know, I know, how can I change my mind so soon? It was that card game—no, actually, it was the conversation during the card game. Stop laughing at me, Mustang, because I swear you'd believe me if you saw. Alphonse, the imaginary friend, seems to scare Ed a little, though he'd never admit it. Talking to Ed was like talking to a Xingese ambassador (not that I've ever done that). It felt like he was hearing what I said, sending it to his brother, and then relaying Al's words back to me. This'll sound weird, too, but I feel that Alphonse—yes, the imaginary friend—doesn't like me. We'll have to wait and see what happens in that aspect.

So, Mustang, now that I've provided you amusement, I'll be catching a few hours of sleep. Just promise me one thing: when I give you this journal, promise to read it in your private office. I don't want to hear you laughing, especially not if this turns out to be nothing.

Let's hope for the best.

XxX

The house was quiet, and the country around it was even quieter. Occasionally, the calm lowing of a cow would echo faintly over the tall grass, and the odd bird would let out a startling call, but that was all familiar to Ed. He barely noticed it anymore. The sound of soft clinking downstairs, however—that was new. It only ever happened when the Rockbell household welcomed a guest—which was strange considering Havoc's arrival the day before—or on the anniversary of the night that Winry heard of her parents' death. Said clinking was the noise of glass hitting glass in the barest of touches, and evoked in Ed's mind images of an amber liquid Granny wouldn't let him taste, not even a little.

That was a good sign, then, right? The atmosphere this evening was much lighter than the one before; Ed had seen the beginnings of a reluctant smile on his grandmother's lips, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. And now she was drinking with Jean Havoc, a farmer from the east, and when she had called him their 'guest', the word had not been accompanied by a displeased twist of the lips.

Ed knew, and maybe Pinako had realised, that Havoc was not so unpleasant. His cigarettes smelt and he had a terrible habit of mentioning Ed's pitiful height, but Ed decided that he could look past that, as long as the man continued to be such good company. Imagine that—Edward Elric getting along with an adult. It seemed unheard of, and was certainly unprecedented.

"You like him, then?" Alphonse asked as Ed stripped out of his shirt. Undoing the buttons was difficult with his automail bandaged, but he didn't dare take the wrappings off.

"Mm," Edward mumbled in agreement, then he let out a large yawn. Al was perched upon the edge of his bed, as if he were waiting for his brother to lie down before he could feign sleep. "He's pretty cool, for an old guy."

"He's not that old, Brother."

"No, not that old." He sat on his own bed and tugged off his boots, staring at them critically for a moment, then tossing them in the general direction of the door. They made satisfying thuds on the wooden floorboards. "Not like Granny—but Granny's ancient!"

It was as he changed his shorts into pants more suited to sleeping that Ed noticed Alphonse hadn't reprimanded him yet—not for being disrespectful, nor throwing his shoes around the place. The red lights in his brother's helmet were dim, even in the near-darkness of their shared bedroom, and it seemed as if he was in some sort of deep contemplation.

Ed studied him for a moment before asking, "Are you okay there, Al? You're really quiet."

"Hm?"

"Is… something wrong? Did I do something?"

Al hesitated for just one second too long before he answered, "It's not you, Brother, really."

"Then it's…?"

"Mr Havoc," he confessed, and Ed knew, if he had a face, Al would be grimacing. As it was, the helmet remained stubbornly tilted towards the floor. "I'm not sure we should talk to him. We don't really know him and that… introduction he gave us wasn't very informative. I don't think it's—"

"Al." Ed waited until Al looked over at him. "It's fine, alright? He's not staying long."

"I know, but—"

"Al, drop it. You're being ridiculous."

When Edward awoke the next morning, Alphonse was gone.

XxX

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