A wise author named Kleshae taught me that suns are happy (because they're bright and beam) and rainclouds are sad (because they cry). That's the reason for this chapter's title.

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Chapter 15

Rainclouds on a sunny day

Edward woke up to bright sunlight filling in through the living room window. He relished the warm shine it provided for a while before wondering why it looked like it was already noon. Today was Friday, meaning a work day. Did he sleep in? No, he had an alarm clock called Colonel Bastard that would poke him until he was awake, so it was impossible that he had slept in. Unless Mustang slept in, too.

He sat up, debating whether he should knock on the colonel's bedroom door, when he realised that his silver pocket watch had been placed on the coffee table next to the couch. Once again it had been utilised as a paperweight. Rolling his eyes good-naturedly he took the note that was clamped underneath it and unfolded the paper.

I slept in so much that Hawkeye will shoot me, so because of damage control I can't wait for you to get ready too. Make yourself some breakfast whenever you wake up, but please don't burn down the house while cooking. The bastards from the insurance company already charge me enough because they consider me a fire hazard, I don't even want to imagine what they would want me to pay if there really was a fire in my apartment. Anyway, when you're done with breakfast and getting ready call the office for someone to pick you up.

Sincerely,

Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, probably shot dead by now

Ed couldn't help but grin a bit. The idiot colonel didn't have time to wake him up but took the time to write a note? He couldn't have been more obvious about letting Ed sleep in on purpose. He was a bit grumpy that the colonel thought he was such a kid that he needed his ten hours of sleep every night, but on the other hand he appreciated Mustang's subtle ways of concern. As long as the colonel was still caring for him, Edward knew that even though he had screwed up a lot (especially recently), there was still hope for him to get better.

So, Ed put the note with the others in his journal and started to get ready. He made himself breakfast without burning the house down, and then walked over to the phone on Mustang's desk. He knew the number of the office by heart but when he started to dial, he paused. Why should he bother Mustang and his team to send someone to pick him up? Mustang and he usually walk to the office in the morning and the weather was just fine, so why not walk now, too? He placed the phone back down, grabbed his things and set off.

Edward walked down the streets to Central HQ, though after he had walked half of the way, he frowned. There was a group of MPs running over to an alley not far away. A single MP was already standing at the entrance of the alley, waving for the others to come over fast. Ed pondered whether he should ask what was going on. They were shutting off the alley like they did with crime scenes. Maybe he should go and try to help them out somehow? His curiosity took over so he walked over and flashed his silver pocket watch to them.

He should have stopped when he saw how green their faces were. He should have stopped when they only very reluctantly let him pass. But he was stupid and ignored the signs. Now he was standing in front of a corpse. A corpse left behind by the serial killer. A corpse that looked very much like the results of human transmutation. His stomach churned.

"Sir?" one of the MPs carefully asked.

Edward ignored him. He swayed and stumbled backwards. Eventually he just dropped to the ground. Then he knelt there, staring at the remains of a face that was twisted in pain. He had the feeling those dead eyes stared right back at him. Would this have been the pain-filled, desperate look Al and his mother would have given him had they had the chance to, had he not transmuted their eyes into those inhuman, red glowing things?

Panic welled up in him, but he forcefully pushed it down. If only one tiny bit of his despair made it through his defences now he would snap. Ed knew that, so he gave everything he had to keep it down. But with all his energy used to hold up his shield of numbness there was nothing left to think about how he could get away from everything. So he just knelt, still and unmoving, waiting for whatever would happen with him.

Someone lifted him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. He still didn't dare let his shield crumble though. Whoever carried him turned away from the corpse, breaking the eye contact of it with Ed, but the boy still didn't dare relax. He felt the chest he was leaning against vibrate as the voice spoke orders. Now he knew who had picked him up. And he knew it had happened before.

Edward had sometimes briefly wondered how he had moved from the basement, where he had transmuted Al, to Risembool where he first started to become aware of things again. But it had always hurt too much to think about, so he had ignored the nagging question. Now though he knew the answer. He had been sitting there, oblivious to the world, just like now, until someone who was all the way yelling orders to his subordinates to stop them from coming down there had picked him up. And when his foggy mind had registered who it was he had only said two words.

"Burn it."

"Not today, Edward," Mustang said calmly. "This is not Al."

Edward nodded against the blue uniform jacket. Yes, this wasn't Al.

Al was now in the urn Mustang had brought to Risembool together with Ed.

The memories crashed down onto him and he tried to curl up in himself, almost causing Mustang to drop him. Edward couldn't care less; he probably would have welcomed the pain of falling down on the hard concrete. It would surly distract him from all the other pain that threatened to tear his chest apart. The colonel leaned forward to place Ed in the car just like he had done back then before he walked back down into the basement to grant Ed's wish and burn the corpse, bringing back an urn transmuted from the remains of the armour and filled with the ashes of what should have been Al's new body if the damned transmutation had worked out.

"I'll be back in a moment. Hawkeye, look after him," he had said then and said so now. And Ed frantically shook his head, grabbing his sleeve. If the colonel left now it would be like a setback in time and he knew he wouldn't survive that. His heart constricted painfully and he couldn't breathe. Then there were hands on his shoulders and black eyes staring into his golden ones.

"Count to ten," Mustang said, calmly and reassuringly.

And Ed focused on counting. He knew it would help, otherwise Mustang wouldn't have asked him to do so, right?

"Now do it again. Try to count slow and breathe in time with it."

And Ed did. The first two intakes of breath were a struggle, but then it started working out.

"Again."

He counted, his brain regaining the ability to think logically enough to understand that Mustang hadn't left, that there was a difference between now and then. It was not the same day, he would not have to see that urn again, and he would not have to frantically try to be somewhere else with his mind whilst they buried it next to his mother.

"Good. Now close your eyes and count to one hundred."

He could feel Mustang's hands vanish from his shoulders and knew the colonel was rushing over to the crime scene to have a look at it as he needed to. He clenched his fists but didn't panic again. As long as Mustang was back when his eyes opened again he would be all right. He knew that the colonel knew this. He had to, because his hands were back on Ed's shoulders at ninety-nine. Now they could both pretend he had never needed to go back and look at the corpse.

"Can you breathe right now?" the older alchemist asked. The younger nodded.

"Good. You think you can take it if we go back to HQ instead of the apartment?"

Ed nodded again. He knew the colonel was needed with the military now and he couldn't keep him all to himself. And he wouldn't want to. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if more people had to die in this gruesome way because he kept Mustang from investigating. So he shut all thinking down, intending to wait for his turn to get the colonel's attention.

The whole team was assembled in Mustang's private office. They all tried to get Ed out off his shell first thing when they entered, but Ed ignored them all. They needed to think about their current case. So he stayed alert in case they said something about the murder that might lead to him thinking of something helpful, but every other thought process or sign that he was someone with a mind and a soul simply didn't exist. For one, the others wouldn't stop bugging him if there was a sign that he might react to them, and second he just couldn't bear all the pain he knew was to come, right now. He needed time and help. But neither was available at the moment.

"I think he put the murder as our first priority," Mustang finally understood and said, combing his fingers through his hair with a sigh after watching every one of his subordinates fail in their attempts to get Ed to participate in life again. It was rare for him to display defeat like that while on duty and therefore unusual enough to make it through Ed's bubble and surprise the boy. Did the others think of him as their priority right now? Couldn't be, he was a dog, a tool, he shouldn't be more important than their work. They should know that, they were tools themselves, used and tossed around to the higher ups contends.

"Anyway, I'll handle it later. Right now it seems like we can't do anything but our jobs." Mustang straightened his back, falling back into the behaviour of the seemingly invincible commanding officer with practised ease. "As you all know I made a phone call to someone I know from a safe line the day before yesterday. Fuery, you already know what I talked about with this person so please go and make sure no one is eavesdropping."

"Yes, sir." Fuery vanished out the door.

Mustang waited a moment, and then began. "I called the state alchemist who has been asked to research the book. This information must not get out." He paused to let the importance of this information sink in. "He was the only one of us state alchemists smart enough not to follow orders and run away before they used him as a weapon. His name was Marcoh and he is listed as a deserter. If they find him they'll probably shoot him. So keep your mouth shut."

He waited for the others to salute and give a "Yes, sir!" before continuing. "He spoke with four alchemists about that book. Major Armstrong and I gained the same amount of information because we talked to him at the same time. Then there was the Freezing Alchemist Isaac McDougal who was killed by Führer Bradley, and the Crimson Lotus Alchemist Zolf Kimbley who is in prison right now."

There was some silence. "Not exactly helpful, is it?" Havoc finally asked.

"Well, unless Major Armstrong or I have developed a split personality or McDougal came back from the dead or Kimbley broke out, no I think it isn't helpful. Though I'll have someone from investigations check Kimbley nonetheless. He is crazy but not stupid and unlike Garber he likes to kill."

"Shall I see to it that someone will be sent to investigate?" Hawkeye asked, ever the efficient worker.

"Give me a minute and I'll set up a paper with the order and some fake story about why I think it could be Kimbley."

"Yes, sir." Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged a look that said that both of them wished they would finally get the whole case done before Mustang dismissed his team to go do whatever they were supposed to be doing. The colonel reached for some form and began filling it, halting thoughtfully for a moment as he thought about an explanation that would not involve Marcoh. When he finished, he grabbed the paper and left the private office. He came back without the paper but with two mugs filled with steaming liquid and set those on the small table in front of the couch before taking a seat next to Ed.

"Case meeting is done. Will you stop bottling everything up inside now?" he inquired, sounding almost hopefully. Ed looked up to meet his eyes. The colonel just stared back for a while, reading what was offered to him. Then he leaned his head back against the couch and sighed. "I'm probably a hypocrite to talk like this... but one day keeping it all inside will be more painful than letting it out now. I recommend you speak with more than just a look."

Ed stared into the air as he, strangely detached from everything, thought about Mustang's words. Should he really just let it go for once? Risk shattering? But then again, what was there that wasn't shattered already? The colonel next to him moved and took one of the cups on the small table. Edward watched him drink from his coffee as he patiently waited for Ed to decide, and the boy came to his conclusion; Even if he shattered, he had someone to pick up the shards afterwards.

So he finally let the pain of loss take him and started to cry and sob and scream and let the world know just how unfair it was.