ILLUSORY

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CHAPTER FOUR • Missing

"Has he spoken?"

The question, loud in the silence of the living room, cut into the pops and cracks of the fire and startled Pinako terribly. The cup of tea in her skilled hands clattered against its saucer as she fought to steady it, losing a few warm drops in the process. Once it was more or less steady, she released her aggravation in a loud, annoyed sigh.

"Is it really a great idea to sneak up on women of my age?" Pinako asked in a huff. "That could be dangerous, I'll have you know."

"Right, sorry," Havoc apologised as he took the armchair opposite. "I wasn't thinking. But is there any news on Ed?"

Pinako's mouth set into a thin, tight line. "Winry got him out of his room at lunchtime. First time since yesterday morning."

"That's an improvement, right?" the soldier probed hopefully.

"Hm," she grunted, neither a yes nor a no. "There's no way to tell. Last time… he was like this for almost five weeks. This is only the second day, and," the corner of her lip quirked upwards sardonically, "that boy follows his own schedule. He'll come back eventually."

"So…" Havoc frowned and leaned his elbows on his thighs in order to prop up his head. "He's—"

"He's just sulking." Shaking her head, Pinako let out another sigh. Her tea, when she raised it to her mouth, was cold, and she set it down on the coffee table with a grimace. "Did you say something to him?"

"No!" Jean flew back from his pensive position until he hit the armchair. His eyes were wide at the accusation. His expression was noticeably dumb. "No, of course I didn't!"

"Very well. Did he say something to you?"

"…No." He shook his head and returned, cautiously, to his previous position. Though Pinako seemed to believe him, it was better to be safe than sorry. "And even if he did say something unusual… I wouldn't know. I don't know him well enough."

"Yet," Pinako added with a voice of stone. Her eyes matched the tone, and Havoc had difficultly meeting their gaze. "That's what you want to say, isn't it?" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, continuing much more quietly. "You damn military men. Just how long will Mustang keep you here?"

"He was planning to call soon," Havoc answered. "Might even be today. You can ask him then."

"Humph," Pinako directed her gaze towards the fire until the flames flickered in her glasses. "That man has no sense of propriety… And what of you, Mr Soldier?"

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Will you really be taking my grandson away from me?"

His first instinct made itself very clear; it wanted to refuse her disguised accusation, to grin and laugh and say 'of course I couldn't do that!' But… weren't they his orders? He was, after all, there to assess Edward's skill. If that skill was enough to disregard the boy's obvious lack of years… then yes. Yes, he would be taking her grandson.

"I, uh…" he attempted that laugh he so wanted to do. It didn't work, and only birthed a heavy weight deep in his gut. Guilt. Guilt he shouldn't be feeling; he was just under orders. "I wouldn't put it exactly like that. We'd be offering him a, uh, a… Resources. A secure future, ma'am."

"He's twelve, Havoc. He's not five foot tall, and he has the attention span of a flea. I'll never understand why you'd want a child in your military, let alone this one. No matter how many times I make you explain." She sighed, and her next words came out quieter. "Why should he need resources or a secure future so young?"

"It might be better if you asked the lieutenant colonel, ma'am," he said, trying to catch her eye. He wasn't willing to talk any further, and hoped that, by getting her to look at him, she would realise this. It was a sore subject for the both of them—for different reasons.

But she didn't look at him. Pinako continued to glare at the fire for several long moments, then she muttered, "None of this will be important if we can't break him out of his sulk. We're not sure what caused this one; that's the problem."

Havoc nodded in agreement. "If you knew what was wrong, could you fix it?"

"That boy's more complex than an automail head, Mr Soldier," she replied sardonically. "It's impossible to understand all those wires and connections."

"Have you made an automail head?" Havoc asked with a tiny, daring smile.

Pinako matched his expression perfectly. "Now who would be needing an automail head?"

"Someone with really bad luck," he guessed. "Though they'd probably be dead by the time it was attached."

"Probably?" Pinako echoed with amused incredulity. "I'm flattered you think so highly of my surgical skills, Mr Havoc, but even I couldn't perform such a miracle. You can talk to Edward; he tried."

"Tried what, ma'am?"

"He tried to perform a miracle."

XxX

We made a promise.

A promise?

A promise.

What promise?

What type of promise?

Yes, what type of promise.

A strong promise. A damning promise.

What was the promise?

Terrible. Terrible.

What was the promise?

Never leave. Never abandon. We left.

We abandoned.

Alphonse.

Al. We left Al?

No. No. We promised.

Promised?

Promised we'd get him back.

From where?

They took him.

Where?

White. Everywhere.

The Gate. The Promise.

Yes. The Promise.

'I'll do whatever it takes to get your body back.'

XxX

Beneath the rumble of the storm outside, the phone was barely audible. It was honestly a miracle that it worked at all, given the strength of the wind; that telephone pole was rickety at best, and dangerous at worst. Pinako supposed she should probably look into getting it fixed before it flattened their house. The creaks and groans she could hear just made her wish she had done it sooner. Perhaps Havoc might do it once the sky cleared?

That musing brought her attention to the man facing her on the opposite armchair, a question in his eyes. No, not a question: a request. Ha. That was to be expected from a soldier; he was so reliant on authority. Not a single thought bloomed from within his head through his own seed—all were planted there by a careful hand.

Before her lip could curl in resentment, Pinako sighed and returned her glare to the fire. "Go ahead," she granted him permission. "I can tell you've been waiting for his call." Why else would he spend more than two hours in her company? She wasn't particularly trying to be unpleasant, but an old woman can't be blamed for her irritability.

Havoc sent her a tiny, grateful smile, then stood and crossed the room in one fluid motion. Oh, despite her reservations, she did miss being so graceful. To move with so little effort…

"Rockbell residence, Jean speaking."

Briefly, Pinako considered shuffling closer, just to listen to the Lt. Colonel's reply. Because it would no doubt be smarmy and distasteful, just like the man himself, and she had no qualms in saying that she wanted to see her unwelcome guest squirm under that intensity. But she merely shut her eyes against that temptation, retrieved her pipe from her lap, where it had been lying for quite some time, and rested it against her lips.

"I know, sir, the weather's not great at the moment." Warrant Officer Havoc apologised sharply. Pinako caught him glance over to her, perhaps to see if she bought his 'diligent soldier' act, and had to suppress a smirk. The man looked severely uncomfortable, as if he had taken the expression 'to have a stick up one's ass' and made it a painful reality.

"Yes, sir." He inclined his head, again as if the telephone line could somehow transmit action as well as sound. The Lt. Colonel said something in reply, and Havoc's posture loosened in an instant. "I did better though," he said with a slight chuckle. Pinako raised an eyebrow. "What? You teasin' me, boss? I'll have you know that I've been doin' my homework each night… That journal! Ask Hawkeye if… I can hear something, is she there? Tell her she can't shoot me over the telephone wire, no matter how hard she tries… Well then make sure her gun's empty when I come back! …No, I, ah…" At this point, the grin slipped from Havoc's face and he sent Pinako a nervous glance. "I think it might be better if you talk to Mrs Rockbell. She has a better idea of what's going on."

"That's damn right." Pinako chose that moment to push herself up from the armchair, every fibre of her body protesting the motion. She placed her pipe on the wooden coffee table with a quiet clunk. "Let me talk, soldier. I'll fill the bastard in."

Havoc hesitated, then shot her a wry smile. As Pinako shuffled over to the wall, she extended one gnarled hand and beckoned for the telephone. It fell, smooth and heavy, into her palm, and she gave him a tight-lipped smile. Neither of them were particularly looking forward to the coming conversation. Even the satisfaction of knowing that the cocky Lt. Colonel would be displeased didn't warm her heart as it generally would. She was worried.

"Lt. Colonel Mustang," Pinako greeted coolly once the phone was settled comfortably against her ear. "The last time you called it was to invite one of your lackeys to my home. I was expecting another."

"You did agree to the intrusion, Mrs Rockbell," he replied in a voice that was just a touch too polite to be sincere.

"I did," she recognised with a slight dip of the head. "But for how long did I agree to this?"

There was a creak on the other side of the phone as Mustang shifted in his chair. "That's up to you, Mrs Rockbell. You're under no legal obligation to let us stay." His voice quietened. "This is just for Edward."

Pinako huffed, but allowed the corner of her mouth to quirk upwards nonetheless. The bastard knew just what to say in any situation—or that was what he thought. "I'm not sure your soldier's visit was such a bright idea, Mustang. It hasn't done Edward much good."

The silence on the other phone was extremely enjoyable, despite the topic of discussion. Each second it deepened; each second it grew more satisfying. But it had to finish, eventually. "Has Havoc done something to offend you?"

"Hmm." She hummed as if deep thought. "It could be. But Edward's always been a stubborn brat; there's a high chance your man was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

When Mustang spoke, it was sharp and fast. "What happened?"

"Well, Lt. Colonel, I can at least assure you that your cover isn't blown. In fact, even if your Warrant Officer waltzed into his bedroom wearing full uniform, I doubt Edward would react."

"What does that mean?"

Pinako smirked at the frustration in the calm man's voice. Oh, this shouldn't be so pleasing. "I mean that Edward has fallen back into a stupor of sorts."

"Like the one he was in when we first met?"

"Exactly. We first noticed yesterday morning."

There came a heavy exhale from Mustang's end, and a long pause, then he said, "You're awfully calm for a woman whose grandson is almost comatose."

"Oh? Does it seem so?"

"It does."

"That's because I know my Edward," she said shortly. "And so I know he'll come back to us. Eventually. It's just a question of how long and whether you're willing to wait for an uncertainty."

"And why would it be an uncertainty?"

"Because you should know by now, Mustang, that I'm gonna fight to keep him here. There are no guarantees that you'll ever have control over him, even if he wakes right now. Besides, do you really want control over a boy who lapses into states such as these with no prior warning? He sounds more like a danger than an asset."

"I assure you, Mrs Rockbell, that twelve-year-olds with his penchant for alchemy are rare. He would be a valuable asset despite any dangers."

"But this is a strong danger, isn't it?" The silence on the other side of the line provided Pinako with suitable answer. "This child will never pass any mental examinations, I can tell you that now. Your lackey will tell you the same, if he's honest. You bring him to a battlefield, and he won't be able to fight. He'll freeze up and watch as you and your team are killed."

"That's a fairly harsh judgment, Mrs Rockbell."

"This boy has been through a lot," she continued grimly. "But it hasn't made him stronger, that's for sure. If he sees one more corpse, he'll snap beyond repair."

"Then we'll put him in theoretical alchemy. All he wants is—"

"He's twelve. I'm not having this conversation again, Mustang. He doesn't know what he's doing, let alone what he wants. What he needs," she said forcefully, "is to have a relatively normal childhood here, with what little remains of his family."

"I understand that, Mrs Rockbell, but—"

"And so I need to know: how long will there be a soldier under my roof?"

Mustang exhaled loudly on the other side of the line and took a few moments to compose himself. The storm outside seemed to grow in intensity as the silence lengthened.

"That is entirely up to you, Mrs Rockbell. If you really want, throw him out now."

"I was under the impression that you cared about your men, Lt. Colonel." Pinako paused to catch her guest's eye. "Would you really let me leave him outside in this weather? He'd catch his death before the first train arrived."

There followed another heavy silence. The connection crackled angrily. Pinako waited. It was again the Lt. Colonel who first spoke.

"I'd consider this call finished, wouldn't you?" he said rather curtly. "I truly hope that your grandson makes a full recovery."

"Of course you'd hope for that."

"It was a pleasant talk. Please send my man back whenever you feel is safe."

"I will be sure to do so, Mustang. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

The connection died. For a few moments, she held the ungainly contraption to her ear, but soon replaced it in its cradle. There was a slight clink as the metal touched, much the same as the sound Edward made when walking barefoot on stone. Oh, she felt so drained. Maintaining such a calm façade was dreadfully wearisome.

"Havoc," she tried to bark strictly—because his sudden flinches seemed to give her a sadistic joy. It didn't work, however, and when she turned, all she was met with was concern. Concern for her wellbeing? Ridiculous. "I'm going to lay down for a while. If Winry comes to find me, tell her I won't be disturbed. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Havoc inclined his head slightly and Pinako breathed out a sigh of relief. Those piteous eyes of his made her feel weak and old. How horrid.

"I should be back in time for dinner, but if not, tell her we have all the ingredients for some sort of meat pie." Pinako started down the hallway as soon as Havoc looked up at her. The cold was an awful ache deep within her bones, but she refused to let her discomfort outwardly manifest in a humiliating limp. "Good afternoon, Mr Soldier."

She tuned out his reply.

XxX

Tentatively, Winry raised one oil-smeared fist and rapped on the door before her. There was no reply. She laid the tray on the floor before trying again—but still no reply came from the other side. The first curls of frustration bloomed within her. She tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

"Ed!" Winry called through the thick wood, knowing he would be able to hear if he was alert. And he must be somewhat alert, right? He'd had enough sense to lock the door, though she had no idea of whom he was trying to lock out. "Edward Elric! If you don't open this door in the next ten seconds, I'm getting the tool kit! Ed! Edward!" She punctuated each call with a knock so fearsome it rattled the frame.

And then it opened. She really hadn't expected that, but it happened. For too long, she was unable to do much more than blink dumbly. Then sense returned and she stuck a foot into the small gap—would he really slam it closed with her in the way? She thought not, but nevertheless made short work of gathering up the tray and pushing inside.

Edward was seated on the bed and, if she had not known that he had just opened the door, she might have assumed he hadn't moved at since she last left. He was still curled up with his knees against his chest and his back pressed into the wall. The expression on his face was neither sad nor melancholy, nor anything Winry may have expected from her moody foster-cousin—no, it was a careful blank. The gold of his eyes was dulled to a caramel brown; his lips were only slightly downturned; and he didn't appear able to see her.

Winry stood awkwardly in the threshold, somehow feeling very much an intruder despite living in this house her entire life. This was Edward's space. He shared it with Alphonse, he said, so the second bed was completely necessary. Wasn't it amazing how neat Alphonse was able to make the bed each morning? It was almost as if he had never slept there at all.

"I… I brought drinks," Winry said before her thoughts could get much deeper. Edward barely stirred. "Hot chocolate."

His deadened gaze flickered to her, then, and Winry fought the urge to step back. Instead, she walked forward and sat on Al's bed. Edward watched dispassionately as she placed the tray on the quilt, cautious not to spill a drop.

"Is there milk in it?"

"Only a little," Winry replied. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably—was he truly waking up, or was this merely a minor lapse in his numb state? "You won't be able to taste it."

Ed stared at the steaming mugs, deciding. When a decision was reached, he tightened his grasp on himself and shrunk so far into the wall it was a miracle he didn't go through it. "No thanks," he muttered.

Winry's pretty face screwed up in a scowl. "You need to eat something, Edward!"

"I can't eat it," he protested bitterly. "It's a liquid."

"Ugh!" she slammed her feet against the carpeted ground, but didn't stand. "You're insufferable!" It was a new word she had been anxious to try. Edward remained quiet. She watched. The last time Ed was like this, it lasted for what seemed forever—that wouldn't happen again, would it? No. No. She was determined to break him out of this before it went too far. Too far. If it went too far, she'd never bring him back.

She didn't even notice her tears until they fell onto her clenched fists. "Ed…" Winry's voice hitched and she waited for her heart to stop clambering about in her chest before continuing. "Ed, please come down. I'd like some help making dinner. E… Ed? Please, I'm making stew."

Ed shivered. "You can make it, can't you?"

"Are you cold?" Ignoring that he could merely drink his milk to regain some warmth, Winry chose the more merciful approach and simply hurried over to the cupboard. The spare blankets were on the floor where Edward could reach them late at night. Selecting a bright red one of which she knew he would approve, she calmly returned to his side. There, she paused.

Ed was talking—muttering to himself. It became audible as she approached, though no words were distinguishable. They all melted into one constant stream of vowels and consonants, each no different from the other. And so quiet. His voice was decibels below that of a whisper—but with every second it grew.

His shivers had evolved into shudders and then into large, wracking shakes. It was so sudden. The entirety of Winry's extensive medical knowledge immediately packed its bags and departed, leaving her standing dumbly beside her childhood friend with a useless blanket in her grasp.

Granny. She had to find Granny.

XxX

There was blood a-all over the floor. Surely that small cut he had carved into their fingers wasn't enough to cause all of this? It was everywhere! Walls, floor, books, paraphernalia—even himself. It was warm, but he felt cold. He felt so cold.

And where was Al?

Ed tried to push himself away from the sticky, stone ground, but his body wouldn't cooperate. It was overbalanced and he was dizzy. Where was Al? Damn it—he couldn't see! Everything was so dark! Shadows danced before his unsteady vision mockingly. "We can move," they jeered, "Pathetic boy. Get up and find your dearest little brother."

No—no! Alphonse wasn't here! That breathing in the circle, it was too deep, too guttural to belong to a ten-year-old boy! What was it? What was in here with him? And where was Alphonse?

He was so cold.

XxX

"S-something's wrong," Winry blurted with no prior warning. Havoc blinked and closed his novel softly. "I need Granny."

"Sorry?"

Winry sucked in a heaving breath, as though she had been running for miles. Her complexion was somehow simultaneously pale and blotchy with colour. "I need Granny. I-is she outside?"

"She asked not to be disturbed." Havoc frowned and instinctively got to his feet. "Is there something wrong with Ed?"

Winry, unable to speak, answered with a tearful nod, and soon they were speeding up the stairs. Havoc took them two at a time in his haste. If something terrible happened to the boy on his watch, he would forever be blamed—not just by the Rockbell's, but by himself and possibly several of his team. Oh, even if it were for purely selfish reasons, he wanted the boy to be all right!

But he wasn't. That much was clear as soon as he came into earshot. Beneath the storm outside, Edward's gibberish was simply that—gibberish.

"Hey, hey," Havoc said in an attempt to hush the boy. He rushed over to the bed and stopped just out of Edward's reach. "Ed, can you hear me?"

A flood of noises and sounds poured from Ed's lips, but none made any sense. A frightening blue tinge washed over the child's skin as he continued to talk without pause for breath, so Jean reached out to shake him out of the stupor. At least, that is what he would tell himself later. In truth, the sight was just too much for him to watch statically—he had to act.

A piercing scream interrupted Edward's words as soon as Havoc's hands made contact with his shoulders, and Havoc flinched away as if burnt. He glanced over to the doorway where Winry hovered uncertainly, her eyes still brimming with unfallen tears. Ed had regressed back into his unnerving mutters. But now there were words dispersed throughout the disorder.

"Did…" Winry licked her lips nervously as he gaze shifted from her friend to the guest. "Did he just say…"

"Al," Havoc breathed at the same time as Ed. Ed, however, didn't make sense of this breakthrough and merely carried on as he had previously. Turning to Winry, he asked, "Al is his brother, isn't he?"

Winry nodded solemnly. "Was."

An idea forming, Havoc returned his attention to the boy in front of him. Determination and a confidence he didn't feel swelling in his tone, he said one thing: "Alphonse."

Ed's gaze cleared almost unnoticeably; it was a start.

"He's reacting." Winry came to stand beside him, worrying her bottom lip. "Should you… try it again?"

"Edward." The soldier waited until his patient looked up at him with an unfocused gaze; it was darting all over the room, as if searching. Maybe he was. "Where's Alphonse? Is he doing this?"

"Alphonse isn't—" Winry began, but Havoc hushed her gently. He knew exactly what Alphonse wasn't. Alphonse wasn't real.

Somehow, saying that aloud didn't seem like the best idea.

Edward was blinking, long and hard, like he was trying to clear his vision. The automail was clenched around his flesh knee so hard that it was certain to leave an imprint and an ugly bruise, but he didn't notice. Slowly, the onslaught of nonsense words stopped, but that vague disconnection in Ed's gaze barely faded. His jaw, still hanging ajar, moved slightly. "Alphonse?"

"Yes—Alphonse. Have you seen him, Ed?"

The boy's throat worked frantically and a quiet whine escaped. He didn't speak.

"We can't find him, Ed," Havoc lied, ignoring Winry's incredulous warning glare. He was starting to understand the problem; he couldn't stop here. "Can you help us?"

"I don't know where he's gone," Edward whispered. To his credit, though, none of the tears collecting in his eyes fell over. "I don't know where he went."

"We want to find—"

"Why?"

Jean found himself stumped at that. Why? He hadn't expected to know why. Wasn't it enough for the boy to know that there was a competent, caring adult ready to search those tall places he couldn't reach? He was going to lose him! And all because his stupid brain couldn't come up with a better answer than, "Uh… Why what?"

Ed didn't consider this strange, apparently. The boy's breathing was heavy and he was leaning forward when he asked, "Why would you want to find Al? He hates you."

"He's your—"

"But why do you want to find him?" Ed repeated, his voice growing louder. It really was miraculous that Mrs Rockbell hadn't awoken with all of this drama just down the hall. Or maybe, Jean considered with a twinge of irritation, she was awake and merely listening to see how it turned out. "It's your fault he's gone in the first place! Wh-what if he falls, a-and the blood seal gets d-damaged? I promised him I'd get him back!"

Just when Havoc thought Ed's yelling was going to break the windows, he froze, then sank back against the wall. This time, when he looked into the soldier's eyes, his own were clear and full of comprehension. This child—this twelve-year-old boy—was so weary already. Could he honestly cope with the troubles of the military on top of his own dreadful history? No, that didn't seem fair. Havoc didn't want to oppose Mustang's judgement, but it was hard to do anything else.

"I…" Edward said, dragging Havoc's attention back immediately. "I'm fine now."

Havoc stayed silent. In his peripheral vision, Winry shifted uncomfortably. Both knew that the source of their anxiety was lying. It was written plainly in the tautness of his mismatched shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he had on his automail leg. His mouth was bitten to shreds and his face was abnormally pale, but he tried a smile nonetheless.

Winry took a step forward, reaching out to touch him, but he moved away. "Ed—"

"I'm fine, Winry." Stiffly, Edward uncurled and set a metal foot on the floor. "I had time to think; I know where Al is. We fought." He tried another placating smile, but Winry's frown just deepened. "He'll be at the river. He always goes there when we fight."

A burst of thunder rattled the windows. Ed paid it no mind. There was a blankness in his expression and the manner in which he was moving around the room, collecting shoes and a jacket in some sort of trance. Jean only realised that he had been caught up in it, too, when Winry darted over and frantically tugged on his sleeve.

"You can't let him go out there!" she cried. "The automail—he'll get hit by lightning!"

"Oh. Oh! Ed?"

Ed turned, and the dark circles above his cheeks were the first thing Havoc noticed. He didn't talk, but it was obvious that he was waiting.

"I know you wanna go find Alphonse, but if you know where he is, then what's the rush?"

Ed frowned. "I need to know that he's okay."

Damn—that had the opposite effect of what he had planned. So Havoc fixed on his most convincing grin and began to fix his mess. "Your brother's strong, though. If you go out in this weather, you'll get sick and he'll worry." The frown was growing—was that a good sign? Jean sighed. "Look, chief, I'll make you a deal. If you can lie down for ten minutes without falling asleep, I'll go out with you to look for Alphonse. Is that a deal?"

Nine and a half minutes later, Edward Elric was asleep.

XxX

15 June 1911 — Day 3 at Rockbell Residence

Honestly, Mustang, it's all gone to shit. If you plan on submitting this as a report, you might want to black out that part. Ed hadn't spoken since yesterday morning (as I heard Mrs Rockbell tell you) but just then I walked in on him having some sort of psychotic episode. I'm seriously reconsidering my initial verdict. This may be too much for me, sir.

The girl, Winry Rockbell, thought I may have been able to placate Ed in place of his grandmother, but really, I have no idea how that went. As soon as he stopped spouting nonsense, he fell asleep. That was about two hours ago, sir. Mrs Rockbell has woken and her granddaughter informed her of the afternoon's events, but it's still rather uncomfortable. This woman could make the Fuhrer cry.

Edward is really worrying me, Mustang. I'm beginning to think Mrs Rockbell is right—he could become a liability if he joins the military. He's just so young and the loss of his brother has affected him more than I can say. Hell, he still thinks Alphonse is alive! I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but it might be worth listening to the boy's grandmother. Because, honestly, sir… I don't know what's happening.

XxX

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