AN: A little bending of the technological timeline in this chapter. Also the chapter that changes the rating from 'T' to 'M'.
The day was turning out to be simply beautiful. Snow blanketed everything and there wasn't a soul in sight. The railroad tracks were completely frozen over and the sun itself seemed to be encased in a shell of ice. Everything was preserved perfectly and the abnormally still winter air gave the sense of being suspended in time. It was the perfect beginning to forever. The wait would finally be over. They could be together forever and always. And after tonight, no one could ever change that.
The shapely brunette smiled as she stepped back from her window. She'd been preparing all day, and now…now, she was almost perfect. Her nails were trimmed and polished, her skin, soft and sensuous, glowing with its own natural copper. Her hair was carefully curled and arranged to frame her face. Her mouth was coated with red paint, shining in the weak sunlight and giving her an innocent, pouting expression. Her chestnut eyes were accented with the slightest hint of mascara, her cheeks brightened with a light brush of rouge. It was time for the last few touches. She had to be perfect tonight, after all. For her Eddie, she would become the breath-taking woman he had fallen in love with. She would become his fantasy. She would remind him of everything he had forgotten in their long separation. She must be perfect.
She fluttered around her bedroom, making sure she had everything ready for her trip to see Eddie, and spun to a stop in front of the dress. It was a beautiful confection of black lace and white satin. The fitted corset was covered in ebony floral embellishments that crept down the gown at an artistic angle. The sleeveless work of art was set off by a sable flower that would rest just above her right breast while the full skirt floated effortlessly away from the small, hidden waistline.
She lifted it reverently from its rest across her bed and trailed her fingers lightly over the intricate garden of black lace, smiling contently. She'd been so happy when Eddie had asked her to wear her mother's dress on their special day. He knew just how much it meant to her that he would allow such a thing. He was so thoughtful and kind. Her Eddie would do anything for her. And she for him.
She draped the gown over her bed once more and undid the soft belt of her bathrobe. She let the warm garment fall to the floor, revealing a body that curved in all the right places. Her muscles were lean and well-toned- almost feline in build- and her skin was pulled taut over the slight curve of her stomach. Stepping away from the small bundle, she picked the gorgeous dress up once again.
She slipped into it, enjoying the smooth, slick glide of satin against her bare body. She hadn't bothered to put on underclothes of any type. They would only get in the way later. Besides, she wasn't sure if her Eddie would be up to the challenge of waiting when he saw how beautiful she was. Yes, underclothes would just get in the way.
She shivered in anticipation. Her lower stomach was already smoldering, skin tight and flushed as she felt the familiar ache of loneliness and love. Tonight she could finally act on that desperate, burning need. She would take her precious Eddie to the peak of passion and they would both be quenched. She reveled in her body's feverish need for release. She treasured each moment her blood seared through her veins, begging for mercy. Tonight. Tonight it would all end. Tonight was the start of forever.
With such thoughts spurring her on, she finished fastening the row of tiny black buttons that marched up her back. She reached for the long, white silk gloves that were arranged carefully on her dresser. She pulled them on gently, pausing every now and then to straighten the seam, until each finger was in its proper place. She then tugged on a pair of knee-length white supple boots. She drew the lacing tight and wove the remaining ribbon back down the boots before tying it all off with a simple bow at the base of her ankle. She straightened up and seemed to dance over to her window. It was time to add the pièce de résistance.
She leaned forward slightly and grasped the bottom of her windowpane and heaved. The glass opened with a sharp crack of broken ice. A gloved hand reached out and meticulously shifted through the snow-filled window box just outside. Finally, she found her hidden treasure. Her left hand joined her right in lifting a perfect, frozen white dahlia out of its prison. Each petal was flawlessly preserved, the thin film of ice enclosing it only intensifying its impeccable beauty.
Her gloves slid over the glassy surface as she glided over to her dresser once more. Looking carefully in the mirror on the wall, she nestled the frozen blossom into the curls on the left side of her head. She held it in place with one hand and with the other, shoved a waiting pin through the already thawing stem and into her hair. She wrapped a ribbon around the pin and into ringlets, ensuring that the dahlia would stay in place, no matter what. She let go of her prize and observed herself in the mirror, twirling a few times to get the full effect. Now. Now she was perfect. It was time to greet her love and begin their life together. Together forever and always.
She spun around the room, unable to contain her glee. She flounced over to her bed and grabbed a large metal tub filled with anything and everything they could possibly need. She carried it into her living room and set it next to the beckoning door. She snatched a long black coat from the rack and forced her arms through the sleeves. Not wanting to be apart from her sweet Eddie any longer than absolutely necessary, she didn't bother buttoning it up but instead jerked the door open, retrieved the tub of supplies and set off, kicking the door shut behind her.
Edward wasn't quite sure when he'd gone to sleep, but he knew he had. He must have. His consciousness was adrift in a sea of dark apathy, his thoughts unfocused and unbearably slow. This had never happened before. Even in his dreams, his thoughts had always been like quicksilver, rushing through his mind in a torrent of information, ever ready to change course. This feeling of numbness that surrounded him was new, and for some reason, slightly disturbing. But he couldn't imagine how this new sensation could be bad. In fact, the more he thought about it- as slow as that process was- the more he decided he liked it. This paralysis of mind gave him something he hadn't had in a long time: peace. He was free to just be, and at the moment, that was more than enough.
He let himself float in the depths of his own mind, passively enjoying the lazy circulation of disjointed thoughts. He was vaguely pleased when a feminine voice intruded on his hazy existence. Maybe the voice would tell him what was going on. Maybe it was just an old, half-forgotten memory. He couldn't bring himself to care either way.
He felt a distant tug on what he thought might be his neck, and a damp softness he hadn't been aware of was removed. Almost immediately, the mental fog that held him captive began to fade away.
The voice grew steadily louder and he could almost understand what it was saying. Almost, but not quite. He wanted to demand that the voice start speaking Amestrian and tell him why his brain was so hazy when several realizations took him by surprise.
He realized he could feel his body again. He also realized that it felt like he'd been hit by a train- or perhaps an emotional Armstrong. His torso felt like one massive bruise and was throbbing gently to the rhythm of his abnormally slow heartbeat. The skin on his neck felt blistered and swollen, making each sluggish breath a struggle. His head was threatening to split in two, and over it all was a nauseating turbulence that emanated from his sore middle. It wasn't until this overwhelming need to vomit made itself known that the true extent of his current predicament became evident.
There was something in his mouth. Something that felt suspiciously like a gag. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move his arms to take it out.
No. No freakin' way. There is *no way* I'm going to choke on my own puke. That bastard! That absolute *bastard*! He's dead. I'll kill him. I'll kill him! I'll rip his feet off and cram 'em down his throat and sink him in the river where no one can hear him scream. And then I'll-
This enjoyable train of thought was cut short when sudden, involuntary movement left him with a spinning head and an increasingly irritable stomach that demanded his complete and immediate attention. As it was, even with his considerable willpower and outright refusal to drown in sick, he was just barely able to keep control of himself.
Meanwhile, the feminine voice was keeping up a constant stream of incomprehensible words and cooing noises. The occasional word found its way through a mental barrier of extreme concentration, and soon he would have done just about anything to find out what was really going on here. She couldn't really be talking about what he thought she was…could she? As soon as his head stopped swimming, he devoted the freed sliver of his mind to answering a list of questions that went something like this:
Where was he? How did he get here? What was going on? Where were Al and Winry? Where was the bastard that had done this to him? And speaking of bastards, where was the Number One Bastard Colonel when you needed him?
Without a second thought, he decided the Bastard Colonel was off being a bastard and slacking off. Obviously, he wouldn't be any help. Stupid bastard.
Now things got much trickier. He searched through his most recent memories, hoping to find some sort of clue, but all he found were more questions.
The last thing he remembered was taking a walk down by the river with Winry and Den. Al was...Al was with Granny Pinako, helping with dinner. They were supposed to return to Central tomor- But tomorrow must have already come, so... They were supposed to return to Central today- or yesterday- or something. But they'd visited Mom's grave...And it was getting dark. They were walking back home…and…and…that was all he could remember.
He ground his teeth together in frustration. If his memory was reliable, something had happened while he was still in Resembool. The bastards must have caught him from behind. And since they'd been together, Winry had probably been caught as well. Perfect. Now he had to worry about Winry's safety on top of everything else. But, if his memory was faulty…well, there was nothing he could do about it. He could only work with the information he did have. Either way, Alphonse was probably worried sick. He might even be looking for them by now. Edward sighed internally and shut off that line of thought. He couldn't- wouldn't- rely on anyone else to get Winry and himself out of this mess.
He spent several more minutes chasing his thoughts in ever-widening circles, his mind spitting out half-thought plans that grew more ridiculous by the second. He finally managed to choke off that fruitless exercise when he realized his latest scheme featured a heroic climb to the top of the building with Winry on his back while fighting off an unknown number of assailants and demolishing the entire complex, culminating in a dramatic jump from the roof at the last possible instant to escape untouched. And that was simply impossible. He couldn't fight off more than one or two men with Winry on his back in his best day- it would be too easy for her to get hit. Then again, he didn't know for sure that his captors were actually competent. Actually, they all seemed like complete idiots. What moron would leave him alone with an unarmed maid as a guard? He might be able to pull off...something. He just needed real-time information. It was time to stop feigning sleep and find out as much as he could- hopefully without alerting his captors.
Still fighting down nausea, Edward pried open his eyes. He immediately regretted it, a blurred, over-bright, and gently rocking room decorated with flecks of vague emptiness greeted him. He slammed his eyelids shut and gritted his teeth as he worked to subdue his heaving, squirming insides. When he was sure the unhappy organ was under control once more, he cracked his amber eyes open again. He watched through squinting eyes, ready for the moment when the dizzying spectacle of the incandescent room and the unnerving specks of nothing would force him to shut the teary orbs and recompose himself.
He couldn't make out much, but he was pretty sure he was in a warehouse. Everything looked strange through his bleary vision, but he thought the large cubes around him must be boxes of some sort. Across the room, a vaguely feminine shape was moving around and sprinkling small white somethings around a heap of squarish fabric- blankets and a few lumps he thought might be pillows. A sense of strong foreboding engulfed him, and he swallowed hard. Half a second later, eyes watering and mentally cursing his inflamed neck, Edward choked back a groan of pain. He had to keep quiet. He needed any possible edge he could get, and the longer he could keep his conscious state a secret from the humming female, the better.
Speaking of the woman, she'd finished with her business around the distant tangle of bedding and begun setting up what he thought might be a video camera on a tripod. While her back was turned, he surveyed as much of the room as he could without moving. He appeared to be propped against the back wall of an enormous storage room. Tall stacks of fuzzy crates and towering piles made up of indiscernible shapes were scattered all around. He cast his scrutinizing gaze over every patch of wall he could see, but was forced to admit that there really wasn't a door to take advantage of. Instead, his sight wavered on a scene he couldn't quite make sense of.
The floor was...missing. Just there, against a portion of the distant wall. He tried to make it out more clearly, but his head was still swimming. He hadn't seen any other way out, so the 'hole' in the floor must be a staircase of some sort- maybe even a tunnel, though he thought that was unlikely.
There's our way out. Now all I have to do is get these stupid ropes off, take out the old lady, find Winry, and get her out of here *fast*. I don't think I'll be able to put up much of a fight, but if I can buy enough time for her to get Al…That's our only option. I just hope I've got enough in me to take care of everyone before they can sound the alarm…
It was at that precise moment that the humming female finished adjusting the camera and turned around. Edward shut his eyes quickly, swearing mentally and hoping beyond hope that she hadn't noticed that he was awake yet. His hopes were dashed when he heard a delighted giggle and the rapid clicking of heels on wood.
"Eddie! I know you're awake, Eddie. Don't you want to see me? I got all dressed up, just for you. Don't you know what today is? Open your eyes, honey. I'll be upset if you don't. Come on. Open them!"
He exhaled slowly, knowing that it would be pointless to refuse, and opened his eyes. A copper face with large brown eyes and bright red pouting lips filled his vision. He flinched in surprise, beginning yet another internal battle of wills. She broke into a grin and straightened up before twirling for him, still chattering away.
"I have so much to tell you, Eddie! So much has happened since you left, I simply don't know where to begin! But we'll have forever together, so don't worry. I'll tell you absolutely everything! Oh, I'm so glad you're back! I know you said that you'd always come back, no matter what, but I didn't believe you after that terrible accident...But now you're here, and we can be together forever, just like we always wanted. Oh, Eddie, I know you might not remember much, but I'm sure it'll all come back to you. Don't worry if it doesn't make much sense right now, I'll explain everything after we finally get married. But we can't get married with you all tied up, can we? I thought you would have made more progress by now. Don't move, I'll be right back!"
The nameless brunette flitted across the room and down the mysterious hole in the floor, leaving a thoroughly shocked Edward behind her.
She's crazy. Absolutely nuts. I have no idea who she is, and she wants to get *married*? This is insane! She's got to be almost twenty years older than me! I'm only sixteen! I can't get *married*! Who does she think she is? Who does she think *I* am? And where's Winry? Oh crap...Winry! She'll blow a gasket if she finds out I'm getting married to some psycho! ...Wait a minute...What if...? No. No, no, no. Crap! Winry, I'm coming! Don't you *dare* get yourself married to some wack job before I get there to save you!
Luckily, the pretty female came tripping back up the steps at that very moment. Ed waited impatiently for her to cross the large room and cut him free so he could knock her out and go save Winry from...whatever this was. His stomach was still in knots, his vision was next to useless, and his head was throbbing in unison with the rest of his body, perfectly in time with the slowed heartbeat that made everything so much more difficult. But no matter what, he was going to get Winry out of here. No way was he going to let some crazy bastard do anything to her.
He'd provide a distraction and tell her to run. He'd claim that she would only get in his way and that the best thing she could do was go find Al and get help. She'd believe him. It was mostly the truth, after all. And then, when she was safely away, he'd take it all. He'd accept whatever the insane bastards chose to do to him. Equivalent exchange. His pain for her safety.
While he'd been formulating this new plan, the curvy woman had been busily sawing away at his bindings with a sharp kitchen knife. She cut through the last rope across his torso and began removing the troublesome gag. As soon as she turned her attention to his face, Edward tried to bring his arms up in a sudden blow to her middle, hoping to knock her out with one hit. Instead, something very different happened.
Edward couldn't move. He tried again, only to have the same result: a vague twitch from his flesh arm and a metallic click as his automail fingers curled slightly inward. His eyes widened in panic at the awful realization. He couldn't save Winry. He couldn't save one of the two people that meant everything in the world to him.
He'd promised himself that he'd save her, no matter what...but just like so many other times before, so many other promises made to people he loved, this one was broken. Mother...Alphonse...Nina...and now Winry, too...How pathetic. All his years of training, his extensive knowledge of alchemy, his strong body and stronger automail...He had every advantage in the world and he still couldn't save anyone...not even himself.
How useless. How weak. How predictable.
His will to fight drained away as the hated gag was finally removed from his mouth. He promptly gave in to his body's desperate need and vomited all over the strange white coat he'd been dressed in. He resigned himself to whatever hell this woman decided to put him through. He deserved it. Equivalent exchange. His pain for hers. His heart for hers. He would even give his life for her, his very soul- but it wasn't his to give. His body and soul belonged to Alphonse. He owed it to him. He could only hope that, whatever happened, he could stay alive long enough to get Al's body back. Even if it meant sacrificing whatever pathetic remnant of his existence was left. For Alphonse...for Winry...he would give it all.
These sobering thoughts echoed through his mind in a continuous loop, pulling his consciousness into a swirling current of guilt and resolve. It no longer mattered what his captives did to him. He would stay alive. He would keep his heart beating long enough to fulfill his promise. It was the least he could do. After that, he didn't care what happened to him.
Caught up in his own thoughts, Edward didn't pay any attention to the brunette's amused rebukes as she maneuvered his limp body out of the freshly soiled coat. In fact, he wasn't aware that he was being moved at all until his arms were lifted to shoulder height and pulled, creating a sharp pain in his ribs that took what little breath he had away. He folded nearly in half as the hands that gripped his arms let go, and a high-pitched, strangled cry tore from his distended neck. His torso screamed in pain, begging him to change positions as his heart pounded weakly, slightly faster in response to the new, unexpected stress.
He immediately shut out the complaints of his twisted body, trapping the pain in a fragile bubble of concentration where it could wait to be dealt with, and set the rest of his being to work on the near impossible task of inhaling. Eyes widened slightly, eyebrows puckered, lips slightly parted, he struggled to suck in the life-giving air. His task was made even more difficult when two deceptively strong arms snaked their way around his chest. They tightened, pushing out what little breath remained in his lungs, and began to drag him across the room. Although he wasn't fighting the weight of his own body anymore, the constrictive hold served just as much of a problem. He was close to passing out, his distressed heart pumping oxygen deprived blood faster, faster, faster through his system- when he was finally released from the stranglehold and left to slump against another crate.
His chest heaved, filling him with sweet breath. Adrenaline surged through his veins, battling the effects of the drug he'd been given, but also increasing the stress on his heart. His airflow became a rasping, shallow collection of frantic inhalations. Automail rattled and muscles twitched, his nerves reacting to the potent chemical that was complicating his existence even further. Edward groaned quietly, desperately trying to regulate his breathing before his body could spin any further out of his control. He forced himself to stay calm and focused on taking slow, deep breaths.
A warm tangle of fabric and flesh settled suddenly on the floor beside him. Arms drew him in once more, pressing him close against a delicately rounded form. He stiffened for a moment before his breath quickened and his heart fluttered wildly. What little control he'd regained over his body shattered, and with that loss of concentration the thin membrane holding back the pain from his cracked ribs burst open.
An avalanche of suppressed agony slammed into his consciousness, forcing his eyes even wider in shock. The flecks of nothing that had once danced teasingly across his vision expanded rapidly until all was darkness interrupted only by an occasional explosion of sickly color. A flood of uncomfortable warmth spread through his aching, trembling body as a hand he couldn't see twined into his hair and guided his head to rest between what could only be her breasts. Something tickled the side of his face and hot, moist air against his ear sent shivers down his spine and further fragmented his already muddled thoughts.
"Smile for the camera, honey. I want us to remember this day forever. Are you ready? Ready for our life together to finally begin? I know I am. In fact…I can't wait one minute longer."
Abrupt movement. A rush of air. The sudden, terrible sensation of falling. Brilliant paroxysms of noxious yellow. Stabs of radiating agony. The slight pressure of another body pressed close against his back. A clenched fist around his burning lungs. Rustling paper, so quiet against the deafening thunder of his frenzied heartbeat. More movement. …And sweet relief.
A hand, wrapped around his own, holding a thin tube and forming curiously familiar looping gestures. The tube is gone and his hand is forcibly closed, while his thumb is pushed back to a painful degree. Damp, sticky liquid coats the pad of his thumb, dripping slowly down his hand. Firm pressure, a soft crinkling noise, still drowned out by his racing pulse, and the soft sensation of silk against his skin disappears. Long minutes pass, marked only by the faint crackle of paper and swift, shuddering inhalations. Confused splinters of thought careen in the chaos that was once called his mind, matching the kaleidoscope of nauseating yellows and lurid greens that undulate in the strange, too hot world he exists in.
And then, a low, breathy giggle. Unexpected weight. Dull, throbbing misery, growing stronger with each moment of unwelcome pressure against his battered torso. The silk-clad hands return briefly to shove a cold sheath of metal around his finger and vanish again. The ticklish sensation against his face returns once more and quick gasps of breath mingle with his own in the still air. Another sudden rush of movement and something is pressed against his mouth, sucking hungrily at his loose bottom lip, raking it roughly over a row of hard ivory. He chokes in surprise, addled mind unable to process what is happening. Arms clutch tightly around him and pull him up, lifting him into the air with titanic effort while a slimy thing invades his cavity. His stomach writhes as he is swung through the air, body swaying as the arms supporting him lower before tossing him upwards with stunning force, ripping apart lips, teeth, and tongue in explosive separation.
The eerie weightlessness returns and the heart-stopping feeling of falling lasts for an unbearable length of time before his limp body crashes into the unforgiving floor below, thin layers of blankets, pillows, and flower petals doing nothing to cushion his landing. Air rips out of his lungs and everything is horrifyingly still for an indeterminable length of time. And then his heart is pounding furiously, trying to rip its way out of his chest. His throat is a conflagration of stinging agony. Muscles shriek their displeasure as his body twitches against the floor, desperately sucking in oxygen, only to expend it again in a quavering moan. But much too soon that horrible weight and its wet appendage is back. It caresses his face, tracing the stubborn curve of his chin before flicking away. The heavy pressure shifts and a quiet gasp of pleasure slides into his stupefied mind.
"Mmm…you taste so good, Eddie. Even sweeter than I remember. We did it, honey. We're finally married. So why don't we skip the party and head straight to the honeymoon, hmm? Mmm. Honeymoon….that sounds absolutely delightful."
Eager hands tear at his clothes fumbling, grasping, ripping them off his petite form. He is left exposed and helpless amidst the tangle of bedding and discarded clothes. Unnaturally cold air surrounds him, embracing his skin, teasing it into stiff tautness, tricking his body. He can't possibly be cold. He's in hell. His thick searing blood, the constant varying degrees of pain, the agony of having no control over anything-even his own thoughts-, the unmentionable tortures that were just beginning...They proved where he was without a doubt. Yes, he was in hell.
Somewhere, somehow, he'd failed. He couldn't quite remember why this was such a devastating concept, this idea of failure. But it was. And that alone made him welcome every instant of inflicted harm. He deserved this. No, he needed this. He had to atone for his failure. And he would do it in the only way he knew. He welcomed every pang of agony, each invasive touch, the hot feelings of guilt and shame. This was the price he had to pay. And he would pay it gladly.
He opened himself to this thing that called herself his wife. Allowed her complete access to his trembling body without a fight. And she accepted his surrender whole-heartedly.
Hands newly freed of their silken second skin trail down his bruised body, nails leaving a stark trail of stinging ridges in their wake. Teeth nibble along his jawline as her agile tongue tastes his flesh. Strands of hair prick the raw skin of his throat, delivering new lancing sensations of exquisite pain with every minuscule shift of either of their bodies. Her lower half moves slowly but powerfully, grinding smoothly against his naked form, smashing herself against him and forcing the breath out of his suffering lungs once more.
She works herself into a frenzy, seeming to enjoy every moment of his torment. Her hands stop tracing his muscles abruptly, instead choosing to divide and conquer. One grabs a fistful of hair and yanks his head back as she kisses him aggressively, tongue dominating his oral cavity, exploring every inch of his small orifice. The other shakes with need as she paws her skirt away, finally ready to quench the smoldering fires of her passion. All barriers between them are finally removed and she moves roughly atop him, eager to sate her desires. She quickly grows frustrated with the motionless body underneath her and moves her hand to support the small of his back. She pulls, forcing his slight body to arc into the air. Satisfied with this new method of release, she worked against him vigorously, ignoring his raspy moans and pain-filled gasps as he fought to pull sweet air into his aching lungs.
With each agonizing moment, every humiliating instant of twisted pleasure, Edward desperately held to the one scrap of knowledge that remained in the writhing turmoil of his mind. He deserved this. He needed this. It was his fault. He failed. He deserved this. The familiar litany rang through his troubled consciousness long after she ceased her harsh movements and collapsed in a pleased, sweating heap beside him, drifting into lust-filled dreams. The words echoed in his mind as his erratic pulse finally diminished to a slow, pounding rhythm. They haunted him as the torturous process of dragging air into his sore chest became easier, steadier, calmer- the choked, shallow, sucking pants that wracked his entire frame finally ceasing. They ghosted through his mind as he finally gave in to the siren call of exhausted oblivion. They were the words that followed him through his dreams, turning each moment of his anticipated rest into a never-ending nightmare.
Failure. Deserve this. Need this. My fault. Deserve this. Deserve worse. Deserve hell.
She woke gently, smiling with sleepy pleasure as she stretched luxuriously. She sighed with contentment and turned to see her beautiful husband sleeping peacefully beside her. Her smile widened and she propped herself up on her arm before leaning carefully over him, kissing him tenderly in his sleep. She pulled away and watched as his brow crinkled and his lips moved slightly. She beamed and put her ear inches away from his mouth, hoping to catch her name on his lips as he dreamed.
"…Rhee…no…don'…stop…"
She froze, not breathing as his faint, slurred words painted a horrifying picture in her mind, jolting her into complete wakefulness. The hand supporting her weight curled into a tight fist as she finally drew in a shuddering breath. Her eyes narrowed in hurt and absolute fury and she raised her trembling free hand. She drew it back slowly, a tear running down her crimson cheek. With a loud crack, skin met skin, whipping the pale face around forcefully as amber eyes flew open, panicked and unfocused.
Her stinging hand grabbed his throbbing jaw and wrenched, forcing him to meet her livid gaze. She leaned in until she could feel his uneven breath against her heated face. Tears crawled sluggishly down her face, but she ignored them, completely intent on the expression of the face before her. Her voice was low and deceptively calm, not shaking once to betray the violent emotions within. Wide golden eyes stared uncomprehendingly up at her, as she waited impatiently for him to answer her question. She clenched her teeth, unable to wait any longer, and screamed at him. Daring him, begging him, commanding him to answer her.
"Who. Is. Rhee. Answer me. Who is she?"
Edward had a wide selection of nightmares to choose from. His mother's death. The near loss of his brother. The failed transmutation. Nina's transformation and death. Being attacked by Scar. Needles. The list went on and on, each terrifying in its own way. He expected to have bad dreams. The fear and anxiety they gave him was familiar, perhaps even comforting in some perverted way. But this…this vision was something entirely new. Something that shook him to his core and added a new dimension to the word 'nightmare.' This was real. It was happening right now. And he was powerless to stop it.
The room was dark and gloomy. Dust swirled through the air, dancing gracefully downwards, unaware that the music it whirled to so blissfully was the clanking of chains, the sobbing screams of a young woman, the desperate words of a boy who could do nothing to help, the guttural tones of an animal masquerading as a man. Ignorant that its playful twirls were so disturbingly wrong in this cold, uncaring place. Not knowing that while it frolicked, Edward's whole world was crashing down. The dust danced on.
He begged the man to stop. Pleaded with him to leave Winry alone and do something-anything, to him instead. He deserved it, not her.
No more. Please. Leave her. Take me. Do everything you want to me. Just don't hurt her. I can take it. Please...just stop.
But his pleas fell on deaf ears. The man didn't stop. And Winry was crying, screaming for him to do something, begging him to save her, shrieking her hate for him as he did nothing but struggle against his chains, pleading for his precious friend's life. Watching as her innocence was taken before his very eyes.
A sudden flash of white. A resounding smack. Sharp, throbbing, aching pain. And all memory of the terrible dream was gone, replaced by a confusing tangle of blurred colors and shapes. A firm hand crushed his already sore jaw and jerked his head around to meet molten brown eyes. Hot liquid dripped onto his face, distracting him momentarily from the too close, too large, too quiet figure in front of him. His eyes flicked downwards, focusing unsteadily on the lips forming words too quietly for him to hear despite their unsettling closeness. The mouth stopped its silent movement and he re-focused blearily on the large eyes so close to his own, wishing that the ringing in his ears would cease.
He watched the face above him contort into a stormy visage, placidly wondering if the impassioned expression had anything to do with the many aches and pains that covered his body. Perhaps he'd done something to anger her. Maybe she was just upset that he couldn't hear her. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. Or maybe he simply didn't care. She wasn't important right now. He returned to his sluggish thoughts.
Where was Winry? He had the most disturbing feeling that there was something wrong with her. But that couldn't be right. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. She was fine. As soon as the room finished swaying and the livid features that filled his vision stopped blurring together, he would ask Al where she was. Al always knew the answers to those kinds of questions. He was such a good younger brother. But...where was Al? He seemed to remember something about him not being here. That didn't make any sense. He and Al were always together. Always.
A deafening shout startled him out of his protective stupor and into the unmistakable present.
"Who. Is. Rhee." She said each word through clenched teeth, emphasizing each syllable with steadily growing anger. "Answer me!" This part she screamed at him, spittle flying into his face as he flinched way from the furious woman he now knew was his wife. "Who is she?" This she demanded, eyes gleaming with a frightening emotion, mouth twisting into an ugly sneer.
Edward blinked slowly, unsure that he'd heard her correctly, though she'd screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Rhee? He didn't know a Rhee. At least, he didn't think he knew a Rhee. He cast through his memories, searching for anyone with that name. And he drew a complete blank. He looked up tiredly, positive that his wife wasn't going to like his answer. He took a slow breath, fortifying himself for the new pains and injuries to come, before slurring a raspy, halting reply.
"Don'...know...who..." A hard slap across his face interrupted him, bursting open his bottom lip as his jaw began to swell. Her fingers dug into his skin, small wells of blood seeping into her nails before dripping down his chest and back. He bit back a yelp as he was hauled upwards roughly, skin around his right shoulder stretching painfully, almost tearing, while a shooting pain reminded him of his injured ribcage. With unexpected strength, she flung him against a nearby crate and stood threateningly over him.
"Tell the truth. Who is this slut? Who was so special that you went and forgot all about us? Tell me!"
With every other word a swift backhand sent him reeling, teeth clashing together jarringly as crimson spattered against either side of him. He took the beating silently,biting back an irrational desire to laugh in the crazed woman's face. Answer her? Tell her? He already had. It wasn't his fault if she didn't believe him. The impulse only strengthened when he realized that even if he did try to speak, he'd only bite his own tongue off. The stupid woman was making her own order an impossibility.
The blows slowed before stopping completely. She stood over him, chest heaving, hands decorated with a sprinkling of his blood, eyes bulging with extreme emotion. Brown met amber, and he couldn't help himself. Couldn't resist the temptation any longer. Those comically popping eyes finally took him over the edge. Despite the fact that he was being beaten for information about someone he didn't know, not caring about the fluid that dribbled and bubbled from his sagging mouth, ignoring the aftershocks of force that still traveled along his misshapen jaw and formed tears in the corners of his eyes...Edward giggled.
It began slowly, quietly, unnoticeable to anyone but himself. It merely looked like he was having trouble breathing again. And that was probably because he was. Having a laughing fit right after having the air knocked out of him a few times, especially when he'd had such trouble breathing earlier, really wasn't his best idea. But he didn't care. He grew louder, hysterical peals erupting from deep within his chest and echoing ominously around the room, crates, piles of baggage, and high walls magnifying it many times over. He convulsed as his mouth twitched upwards into the slightest of smirks, tears rolling down his battered face. And though his ribs begged for rest, though his body sang with unbearable tension as it heaved and twitched, Edward only laughed harder.
It was a terrible thing to behold, this unreasonable outbreak of glee. He gurgled and choked, hollow bursts of dark amusement spewing wetly from his mouth, leaving rust-colored reminders dripping from his lips to coat his blistered neck. Wide, over-bright orbs glinted as they bore into the molten eyes that were finally at his level. Nails already soaked with blood punctured through the thin clots forming on his torso and dug in deeper than before, widening the freshly oozing holes in his skin. And a voice, cold, steady, and cruel. A voice that pierced through his jumbled mind and silenced his harsh guffaws. A voice that promised indescribable pain. A voice beyond reason. A voice that belonged to his wife.
"So. You think something's funny, Eddie? Care to let me in on the joke? But, oh...I've just remembered. I am the joke. Poor, stupid Arabela. Staying faithful, waiting for her true love to return to her for fourteen years. Ignorant, heartbroken Arabela. She didn't know that her love had been lying to her all along. That he'd been living with a hussy, having the time of his life, while she...she was all alone.
"What a riot. What a delightful game to play. You like games, don't you, Eddie. I do too. So why don't we play one, hmm? And since I know you have such a bad memory, I'll make sure you never forget me again. Yes. Let's play a memory game. We'll have such fun, Eddie. It'll be an absolute scream."
She pulled her fingers out of him with a sickening squelch, watching with cold indifference as Edward toppled onto his side, whimpering slightly as the force of the fall drove the automail into his side, printing its design in bright red against his skin. She left him there, trying to curl into himself and racking his brain desperately for a way out. He couldn't think of anything, couldn't move well enough to escape, didn't have the strength to fight back, and he was running out of time.
Think faster, think harder, figure it out, hurry, hurry, think, something, anything, too late, no, no, no!
She dropped a box full of metal tools in front of him, taking the time to pull out each and every object as she explained the rules to their little game.
"Are you ready to have some fun, honey? Let's see. I suppose I'll have to explain the rules, now won't I. It's very simple, Eddie. I ask you a question and you answer. If you get it wrong or don't answer at all, you'll get a point. If you do manage to get the question right, I get a point. See these, Eddie? They're our points. I only found five of them, but I think that they'll be just enough to use in our game. There will be four questions and a tie-breaker, if necessary. Somehow, I don't think it will be. The person with the fewest points wins the 'grand prize'. Good luck, honey. You'll need it."
She pulled the first 'point' out of the small pile in front of her, rolling it between her palms as she thought of the first question. She paused and tilted her head with a razor smile.
"Let's start with something simple, hmm? Pay attention, I'm only going to ask once. What's my name? My name. None of this 'Mrs. Edison Curtis' business. You have one minute to think it over. Hurry, Eddie. The clock's ticking."
Edward closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to remember her name. He knew he'd heard it before. She'd just said it, not so long ago...What was it? Come on...think. He knew this. He had to know this. It was 'Ar' something...Ara...Arabelle...No, that wasn't it. Close, but not it...Arabela! He sagged with relief and opened his eyes before gasping out her name. She stopped twirling the sharp length of rusty metal between her palms and searched his face, as if she was expecting something more. Edward eyed the spike uneasily, fervently hoping that his answer was correct. She smiled and reached for the five pound sledgehammer. Edward paled.
"Sorry, Eddie. I gave you enough time to finish that answer, but since you didn't...you've earned yourself a point. But before we get to that, I suppose I'll have to remind you what my name is. Arabela Curtis. Really, Eddie. We are married, after all. Do try to keep up. Hold still, now. We don't want anything...unfortunate to happen."
She grabbed his automail arm in an iron grip and pulled him roughly into a sitting position. She trapped his metal bicep against the crate with her hip as she looked for the best place to deliver his 'point'. Edward struggled weakly, cursing his inability to put up a good fight, before Arabela smacked his temple with the butt end of the hammer. He went limp for a moment and she took full advantage of the opening. She held the large nail against his elbow, tilted at just the right angle to pass through the tough, flexible casing and out its back on the opposite side, completely missing the protective metal plating. As soon as she was sure of her angle, she raised the sledgehammer over her head and brought it down with crushing force.
A screeching howl exploded from Edward's raw throat as he slid to the ground, writhing in agony as the spike tore into his arm, ripping apart the casing with an appalling crunch. Black liquid erupted from the puncture wound as he fought to get himself upright again, desperate to take the unbelievable strain off the impaled limb. The skin around his port bled sluggishly, torn open by the unyielding metal during his violent struggle. He heaved, vomiting on himself for the second time that day, and pushed himself clumsily upwards, finally managing to get back into a sitting position.
His nerve endings screamed as they broadcast the state of the many complex wires that made up his arm. The hot oil had partially melted the thin rubber coating from the wires closest to the lubrication vein, rendering several of his finer motor skills useless and transmitting a loop of searing pain. Other wires were loose or sparking and emitting an extremely unpleasant prickling, numbing sensation. And with the insulating fluid spatter coating his inner circuitry, each and every compromised wire would be a real problem. If he so much as twitched the wrong way, he'd short out his entire arm by electrocution. He might even lose a few nerves in the process, something that could prevent him from using automail ever again. He ground out a curse, panting from exertion and nearly incoherent with pain. He slumped and clenched his teeth, breath hitching as he tried to keep from making any movements that could compromise his arm further. Head lolling against the crate, he gazed wearily at the smug brunette.
"So, Eddie. How do you like our little game so far? Having fun yet? You know...you look a little upset. Are you tired of playing already? Oh, now that's just too bad. We're just getting started. Well, there's no use dragging this out since you're so eager to finish up. Here comes question number two. This one's a bit tougher, so listen up. How did we first meet?"
Edward stared at her dully. There was no way he could give her the answer she wanted. He couldn't even think of a plausible lie to tell her. So he settled on the truth. Might as well accept his punishment and move on to a question he might actually have a chance at guessing. He spoke slowly, pausing for breath between every few syllables, steeling himself for the pain to come and reinforcing his resolve to stay still, no matter what.
"I woke up...and you...were there."
She scowled and picked up another rusty nail.
"Not quite. Must I tell you everything? Our fathers introduced us shortly after I moved to this country. Remember now? No? Hmm. What a pity. Have another point, honey."
She took his flesh arm and felt carefully along his forearm, searching for the hollow that existed between his bones. After a moment or two, she smiled in cruel satisfaction and marked her place with a slow kiss, leaving a bright ring of red. She stretched his arm to its full length. Her mouth tightened with concentration as she positioned him just so, twitching into a satisfied smirk when she'd arranged him to her liking. She thrust her hip into the crook of his elbow, thoroughly pinning his limb, before placing the old, discolored stake in the center of her target. She adjusted her grip on the sledgehammer and swung at the nail.
Edward clamped his eyes shut and tensed, waiting for the wave of unbearable pain he knew was coming. Instead, there was a quiet snicker. He peeked out from under his eyelids before staring incredulously at Arabela. She'd stopped the hammer just before it drove the spike deep into his skin and was pulling faces at him. Breaking into another round of mocking laughter, she playfully twirled her weapon.
"You should have seen your face, Eddie! Oh, that was absolutely marvelous! Who knew you could have this much fun playing a memory game. You're just too much, honey. In fact, I've almost decided to let us keep you after all. Hold still now, this one's for real."
She spoke the last sentence quickly, and before Edward could prepare himself, she smashed the rusty spike through his arm. He threw his head back and shrieked, fighting to keep himself completely still as dark crimson sprayed from his arm, spattering across white satin and dripping from the hammer head in the most macabre of ways.
Pulsating blackness crept across his vision, every ounce of his being craving the refuge of insensibility. But he didn't dare give in to that most enticing of states. He forced his eyes open as he held to consciousness by a thread. He inhaled harshly through his mouth, air scraping past his parched throat to inflate exhausted lungs. His head was a throbbing mass of useless matter, overwhelmed with too many signals, too much pain.
He couldn't see, couldn't hear over the pounding tattoo of his heart and wavering shrills, but his other senses worked far too well. The tang of copper and acidic bile lingered on his tongue. The metallic odor of fresh blood, the greasy smell of cooling oil, the repulsive stench of unwashed human and half-digested food. But the things he felt! That alone was enough to make anyone long for oblivion. The uneven grain and needle-like slivers of wood, poking sharply against exposed flesh. The stickiness of drying gore caked over his neck, his chin, here and there on his chest, pulling the skin painfully tight in the suddenly much colder air. The aching tautness of bruises just beginning to show. Powerful vibrations traveling along his arm, splintering bone and ravaging muscle. The icy wrongness of roughened metal chafing exposed membranes. Blood rushing through his veins and past the foreign object, some sloshing out around its edges, the rest carrying loose flakes of corroded iron away to wreak havoc on his weakening body.
In an unconscious effort to push away his pain, he found himself adding to the unmanageable tangle of his perceptions. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he bit down savagely with a fleshy crunch. And then, the unexpected. A brief moment of relative clarity. He worked his jaw back and forth, grinding ivory further into his lip, widening the stream of warm fluid that snaked down his body to merge with a growing pool of liquid below him. He nearly sobbed with relief as the jumble of sensations faded into a hazy fog, masked by his newest hurt but ever ready to overtake him.
The room gradually came back into focus, darkness receding as Edward continued to pulverize his bottom lip. He blinked listlessly, eyes wandering for several moments before they registered the striking figure of the woman crouching in front of him and locked on to her form. Or perhaps more accurately, her starkly contrasting apparel. So captivating, so hauntingly beautiful. Twisting vines of ebony, stretching away from the perfect sable flower resting against her breast, blooming against pale white, a bewitching maze that led his drooping eyes downwards. And there, a stunning pattern of vivid color climbing the threads of smooth satin where they so softly touched the floor. He watched the brilliant shade of cherry spread upwards, mesmerized by its ever-changing pigment, always losing intensity. Cherry faded to scarlet, scarlet dulled to crimson, crimson dimmed to burgundy, and that too tarnished. What once dazzled his eye with resplendent color now repelled him, reminding him only of rust and ruin.
Edward let his head fall forward and closed his eyes, feeling tired, so very tired. Sleep...sounded so welcoming. But it was an impossibility. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. But he would take what rest he could get, enjoy this reprieve while it lasted. Because he knew with a terrible certainty that the games were just beginning.
Just beginning...perhaps that was an exaggeration. Four questions, she'd said. How many had he answered so far? ...Two. Only two. But at least...at least it was halfway over. And if he failed to answer the next question correctly-a very real possibility-maybe, just maybe, she would end the game early. He could make it through one more question. He could...He had to. Cool fingers tipped his face gently upwards, and a voice, soft with what he could almost imagine was compassion, called him.
"Eddie? I tire of this game and you look...well, frankly you look terrible. It's time for your third question, honey. Please...for all our sakes...answer it. Eddie...who is Rhee?"
He opened his eyes and searched his wife's subdued face. Drops of his blood flecked her face, making her truly terrible to behold. Her hair had lost its curl and hung limply around her face while the flower she'd been so proud of dangled precariously from its ribbon. Ruby lips trembled as tears filled chestnut eyes.
He thought carefully, taking full advantage of the fact that he hadn't been given a time limit. Rhee. Why did she have to come up again? She'd started all this. Why couldn't Arablela just accept that he didn't know this girl? He'd search his memories again, but if he couldn't remember anything new, he'd just have to make something up.
He probed through his foggy mind, trying his best to name every female he'd ever known...his mother, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Teacher, Granny Pinako, Rose, Win...Ugh, he was such an idiot! Rhee, Rhee was Winry. She had to be. That was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.
He stared into his wife's eyes with grim curiosity. Why did she want to know about Winry? She didn't honestly expect him to betray one of his closest friends, did she? There was no way that was going to happen. But wait...if she was asking him about Winry...She might be safe after all. Good. All he had to do was make sure she stayed that way. It was time for some evasive answers. Edward took a shuddering breath as he opened his mouth just a crack, wincing as his teeth slid out of the ever-widening gashes on his lips with an eruption of blood, jaw throbbing in protest.
"Jus'...my 'chanic...No'...impor'ant."
Arabela's eyes narrowed, a tear slipping down her face, smearing blood and rouge. Her voice was quiet and bitter as she reached for another point.
"You're lying. You love her. I can tell. I told you not to lie to me. Why didn't you listen to me? Now look what you've done. I have to give you another point. Sorry, Eddie. But maybe...maybe now you won't lie to me anymore."
She stood and backed away a few steps before laying her sledgehammer and the third point on the ground. She straightened once more and returned to Edward, stopping just in front of his splayed legs. She stooped and grabbed his ankles before backing up, forcing his legs to fully extend straight out in front of him. She dropped his heavy left leg and reached just behind her, grabbing the corroded spike once more. Twisting his right foot to the side, fully exposing his ankle, she placed the tip of the large nail in the hollow just behind the knobby bone. She released her hold on his lower leg and twisted to retrieve the hammer. She knelt before him, dripping hammer resting against the head of the spike, pressing it painfully into his tender skin. She drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes, allowing more salty drops to smear the mixture of reds on her cheeks before falling to splatter across flesh, satin, and wood.
Edward watched as she flung her arm into the air, waited for it to descend, resigned himself to the debilitating agony. He thought he could handle the pain, hoped he could, was determined to push through it, just as he had with every other injury so far. The hammer fell. Edward had been convinced he could handle it. Now he knew that he'd been dead wrong.
The nail punched through his skin with a fleshy crunch, just as expected. Splintered bone, ripped apart skin and membrane, just as expected. But it also did some very unexpected things. A deafening snap resonated through the room and Edward's leg thrashed against the metal spike, setting off a chain reaction he never could have prepared for.
Wounds just beginning to clot were torn open, spewing gore onto the floor, spreading outwards to drip...splash far below him. Shock-waves of movement flowed up his flailing lower limb, provoking his torso into a complex set of paroxysms. Violent movements jostled his automail, causing two loose wires to brush together in one sudden, sparking moment. Electricity jumped from wire to wire, melting away the rest of the flimsy rubber and causing the dark lubricant coating his circuitry to burst explosively into flames. The outer shell of his arm soaked in the heat, effectively creating a make-shift oven that roasted the skin surrounding his port. The electrical surge died out, unable to spread to the rest of his body due to the insulating yet extremely flammable oil. His other arm joined in the convulsions of his body, widening the hole around the rusted spike, shredding the flesh of his blood-encrusted forearm.
He thrashed and heaved, body a seething mass of suffering beyond comprehension. Everything was a terrifying reddish hue, closing in on him, cornering him, leaving him in torment alone-all alone. There was an ungodly noise piercing his ears, threatening to rupture his eardrums. A chilling screech that couldn't possibly have come from a human throat. A terrifying shriek that echoed around the room, growing louder, louder, louder, higher, higher, higher, until it broke, the tortured throat that gave it life unable to sustain it any longer. And with one last shuddering jerk, Edward knew no more.