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Amestris, Continental Calendar July 8, 1919 — Twenty Minutes After Winry's Disappearance
Russell peeled his eyes from the abomination scorched on the ground to look at his surroundings. Stars were already decorating the sky. He pressed his lips into a thin line and crossed his arms in front of his chest returning to the unceremonious stance he adopted right after Winry disappeared into thin air.
His feet urged him to walk around the perimeter of the transmutation circle as if the act itself held the key to deciphering what had transpired before his eyes. Winry's shrill still rose goosebumps on his skin.
The increasing tightening in his chest alerted him of an incoming a panic attack. He needed to calm the hell down because Winry needed him. A few minutes of deep breathing greatly improved his situation. Not only did the breathing exercise helped him regain his composure, the boost of oxygen offered clarity of mind. With his control in check, Russell crouched in front of the ghastly array; the tips of his right hand became moist with dew collected on the grass blades.
Russell looked over his shoulder and noticed the sun was about to tuck in. He drew in another deep breath and got to work before the sunlight completely vanished. He lowered to his knees. Leaning over the array, he touched the scorched surface.
"What the—" Russell uttered in complete disbelief. He sat on his haunches and brought his hand to his chin. The plant matter should've crumbled to the touch but it turned out to be as fresh as the rest of the grass carpeting the hill. The bizarre phenomenon sparked a thought: what if the alchemical reaction somehow altered the chemical composition of the chlorophyll in the blades that were part of the array? He made a mental note to acquire samples of the area in question to corroborate his suspicion.
After much scrutiny of the grass and soil, Russell finally stood up. He took two long steps back, and with hands on hips, he began studying the overall design of the array before it blended into the dark landscape.
The large transmutation circle comprised of two interposed triangles covering the entirety of the space. These triangles, equilateral in nature, formed a six-point star to the likes he'd never seen before. The four basic symbols needed for alchemical processes cross-crossed the shape; the sun and the moon slashed across it from top to bottom. Russell's brows slowly knitted together. If the symbols for the sun and the moon were present, it meant that the array was designed to perform some kind of human transmutation—
"But the way it's rendered…" Russell shook his head. "It's all wrong."
While considering other explanations, the ground beneath his feet began rumbling violently. His back had already hit the ground before he had a chance to realize what was happening. Russell stayed on the ground—wide-eyed—struggling to make sense of the chaos surrounding him. He caught sight of the eerie blue light that tore Winry from his side. Rolling on to his stomach, he tried to pull his legs under him in a kneeling position, but this proved to be a difficult task with all the shaking.
Transmutation circles, once activated, are quite a stunning sight to see; this monstrosity was not different. The electric discharge made Russell's hairs stand on end. He watched in awe as the alchemical reaction finished running its course. A part of him feared being taken by the same light that stole Winry, but the other part, the one that was crazy-in-love with the automail engineer, wanted the array to send him straight to her.
The transmutation lit the night sky then it flickered to nothingness, just like the first time, then the ground calmed. It took a few seconds for the haze from the alchemical reaction to clear.
A spark of hope ignited in Russell's chest and determination rose him to his feet. He stumbled forward after losing his footing so he closed his eyes and stood still waiting for the vertigo induced by the earthquake to subside. Once back in control, Russell approached the circle, only to gasp as his eyes caught sight of a dark figure laying still in the center of the array.
"Winry!" Russell called out, relief washing over him.
But the celebration was short-lived; a shiver of dread shot through him when she didn't respond.
After the red water incident in Xenotime, and especially after the attack to Central Headquarters, Russell swore to himself to be more cautious. Under normal circumstances he would've followed his own advice, but his fiancée wasn't responding to being called.
Russell entered the transmutation circle. As he approached Winry, he noticed she was laying sideways and with her back towards him. His stomach turned to ice when he saw honey brown hair crowning her head instead of blonde. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if the twilight was playing tricks on him.
Russell knelt next to Winry and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Winry," he called out to her again. When she didn't respond, he shook her shoulder. As he rocked her, Russell caught sight of a red blouse peeking from behind the white collar. A shuddering breath escaped his lungs recalling that Winry had been scantly dressed (with just his shirt and lace underwear) by the time of her disappearance. He jerked his hand away as if touching her burned; the woman laying unconscious before him was not Winry Rockbell.
Russell's breathing grew shallow as his pulse quickened. The panic he had worked so hard to keep restrained burst open from its cage. A soft moan snapped him out of his trance. Silver eyes widened in horror when he realized he'd been applying too much pressure to the stranger's shoulder.
He loosened his grip but he didn't remove his hand. After swallowing back a wave of foreboding, Russell rolled the woman onto her back.
"What—!" His mouth slacked in dismayed shock.
That woman…her face…the semblance to Winry was uncanny!
Russell looked over his shoulder expecting to find the fiend responsible for such vile trickery standing behind him, but only fireflies, and their phantasmagorical glow, were the only spectators in the area.
He turned to the doppelgänger. "Who are you?" The question would remain unanswered as long as the woman remained unconscious.
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The night had already fallen over Resembool. Without a proper light source, it wasn't safe to stay out in the open. Russell needed to make sure that the woman wasn't hurt since she hasn't regained consciousness yet.
He gathered the woman up into his arms. On a closer inspection, he noticed that Winry's double wasn't young. The woman looked like she was in her mid-to-late thirties. "Incredible…" he mumbled, fascinated by the surreal quality of the moment.
A strong light bounced off the stranger's face; Russell traced it to the right field. His body tensed. He'd been so distracted admiring the woman's beauty that he forgot to watch his own back. Russell deposited the look-alike back on the soft grass. It was at times like this when he regretted not having his alchemy arrays tattooed on his hands; he was left with no choice but to put all his faith on his combat skills.
In the back of his mind Russell wished for the attackers to be amateur alchemists so he could at least have the physical advantage in the fight, but that transmutation circle was really something. He let out a cynical snort before clenching his hands into tight fists. Beating these people into a bloody pulp would most certainly be therapeutic.
"Is that you, Russell?"
A wave of relief washed over him when he recognized farmer William calling out to him.
"Yeah…" He said, sounding almost apologetic. The old coot didn't know how close he'd been to being pummeled to the ground.
The farmer lowered his lamp once he got closer. "Are you two ok?"
Russell cursed under his breath. There was no way of stopping the man from getting caught up in this mess.
Farmer William almost dropped the lamp on the field when he saw the gigantic transmutation circle. His shock was soon replaced with suspicion once he caught sight of the doppelgänger. He flashed angry eyes at Russell.
"Boy, where's Winry?"
Farmer William's outrage was understandable. The man had been Winry's overseer after Pinako left this world. Him, being caught shirtless, and in the company of a total stranger, was reason enough to raise suspicion. But there's no time for explanations!
Russell steeled himself, determined not to let the man intimidate him.
"Let's talk later, Will." He said, meeting the farmer's gaze and holding it for a brief moment. He then turned his attention back to the unconscious woman. "I think she might be hurt." His eyes slid back to the older man. "Please help me carry her inside."
The farmer raised his eyebrows, stunned by the young man's audacity. His brows came down and settled into a deep frown, but other than that, there was no complaint.
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Central City, nighttime
Roy admitted to himself that he had a good day. His apartment was throughly clean, he'd made both lunch and dinner (and lunch bags for the first half of the week), paraded the streets of Central in neatly-pressed civilian clothes, and even had a chance to catch the afternoon matinee. Now, he was back home, feeling the exhaustion of the busy day in his bones.
After tossing the keys next to the telephone, he started to take his shoes off. As he bent to pick up the expensive pair, the telephone rattled into life. Roy's face screwed into an expression of annoyance.
Leaving his shoes on the hardwood floor, he straightened up and curled his hand around the receiver. He let out an exasperated sigh, hating everything about that telephone.
Roy pressed the receiver to his ear, his face settling into his usual hard expression.
"Brigadier General Mustang, speaking." He might as well answer the call like he was at work; nowadays, all house calls were work-related.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour, sir."
Riza's chiding made Roy crack a rueful smile. He closed his good eye and smirked, then said, "I was on a date, Major."
A few beats later she replied, "You don't date anymore."
"An excellent observation." Roy couldn't hold back the dry humor; her words had been as sharp as her shooting. He barely concealed his wistful sigh.
As much as he hated to admit it, Major Riza Hawkeye was a killjoy. Why couldn't she let this one slide?
Roy's thoughts drifted to the past where the good ol' days resided. He particularly remembered his little black book, the one bursting with ladies names. Fuery had acted as his personal secretary so he wouldn't mix the names of his dates. He raised a hand to his face and touched his eye patch. A frown darkened his face. What woman in her right mind would want to date a disfigured man?
"What happened?" He asked, turning his back to the past and focusing on the present.
"At 2134 hours East City's National Earthquake Information Center relayed a message to Central Headquarters. They reported that an earthquake with a magnitude of 4.5, and a depth of 3.25 clicks, had been recorded in the Resembool region. (1)"
Something out of the ordinary must've occurred for the Major to have taken the liberty of contacting him for this on his day off (2). "Go on."
"At 2159 an aftershock of the same magnitude and depth affected the region."
An interesting detail. "Any casualties, collateral damage?"
"None have been reported yet, but the bulletin mention a strange phenomenon occurring during both quakes. A bright blue light illuminated the parcel owned by the Rockbell's—"
"As in Rockbell Automail?" Roy interrupted.
"Correct, sir."
Roy gritted his teeth, his ulcer reacting to the disconcerting news. He placed a hand flat against his stomach and concentrated on his breathing, but the notion of a neighboring country testing unknown weaponry on Amestrian soil kept breaking his concentration.
"We might be dealing with a new type of technology, sir."
Riza's comment validated his suspicions.
"I need the telephone number for Rockbell Automail, Major. Right now, the Emerald Alchemist is staying with his fiancée. He can inform us of what actually happened."
"Understood, sir."
Roy sighed as he set the telephone in its cradle. He leaned against the wall, waiting for Riza to call him back with the telephone number. A sharp sensation began poking his bad eye—as if the storm in unleashed his stomach wasn't bad enough. Roy's mouth curled into a sour frown. The discomfort, he could handle, what was happening in Resembool, not as much.
Amestris enemies, after the fall of the Bradley regime, had been waiting around like vultures for the government to keel over so they can feast on its fetid carcass. What happened in Resembool sounded like someone was getting impatient and wanted to speed up the process by unleashing terror among unsuspecting citizens.
The telephone shrieked like a banshee; Roy snagged the receiver from the cradle. "Took you long enough." The thought of coming off as boorish crossed his mind but his wretched mood made him not care.
"This is the Emerald Alchemist reporting from Resembool."
Roy's brows drew together in mild confusion. Wasn't Riza supposed to call him? He shrugged his shoulders; either way worked for him.
"It is safe to assume that you already know what happened here?"
Russell centered him. As his mouth got ready to supply a answer, he remembered that the line was unsecured. "Emerald, give me your phone number. I'll call you back in five," he offered instead.
There was a brief pause, then Russell said, "It's 78-720-9990-12."
Roy heard the line disconnect. He pressed the reset button then dialed headquarters where a military operator established a secure line for him. Four clicks later, he heard the line ringing.
"Was it a terrorist attack?" Roy went straight to the point once Major Tringham picked up the telephone.
Russell contemplated the doppelgänger lying on the maintenance chair. "I'm not sure, sir."
"I was informed that a blue light illuminated the night sky following each earthquake."
Russell scowled, remembering how the ground decided to shake him like the wind shakes a leaf. He put the upsetting thought on hold, and said, "Correct. It happened close to Rockbell Automail."
Roy switched the receiver to his other ear. "Where you present during the phenomena, and was it alchemy related?"
Russell's brow creased as an image of a shrieking Winry came to life in his mind. "Yes, sir. The earth shook first, then a transmutation circle drew itself on the field right under Winry's feet." His free hand clenched into a tight fist. "The blue light grew from the array, engulfing her. When the light vanished, so did Winry."
Roy couldn't believe what he just heard. He and the Major had been right about the deployment of unknown weaponry. But how is Miss Rockbell connected to all of this? That part Roy couldn't decipher yet. "Your fiancée is still nowhere to be found?"
"That is correct." Russell paused a moment to gather his thoughts; a lot had happened in one night. "The aftershock occurred while I was inspecting the transmutation circle. The quake reactivated the array, and the blue light engulfed the circle like before—" His gaze snapped back to Winry's look-alike. "When everything was over, I found an unresponsive female lying in the center of the array." Russell sighed, after a slight pause, he said, "The woman is not Winry, sir."
Roy was thinking of stories in which a transmutation circle was used to swap bodies when his head snapped up. Could it be human transmutation? An intense sense of dread pooled in his stomach; the Elric's account of the Gate of Truth came rushing to the front of his mind.
"Is this woman an exact replica of your fiancée?" He needed to find out if his subordinate was dealing with a homunculus.
For several beats, static was the only sound heard across the line. Panic urged Roy to say something but then Russell spoke.
"She's not a carbon copy of Winry. Her features are the strikingly similar but her coloring is different. And she's also several years older."
Roy thanked his lucky stars; at least they weren't dealing with another immortal abomination. As he let out a sigh, he remembered Riza mentioning the sighting of a strange blue light.
"Emerald, has someone else seen this woman?" The sharp breath heard across the line answered that question. Roy pinched the bridge of his nose then said, "I'll take take of it tomorrow after my arrival."
"You're coming over?" Russell asked, a strain of disbelief lacing his voice.
"Just be prepared to hand me a detailed report of what has happened so far. I will need a list of all witnesses and their possible link to the transmutation circle."
Roy was well aware of the huge burden he loaded on his subordinate's shoulders, especially when the blond was still dealing with what happened to his fiancé, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He'll make it up to the boy after the incident in Resembool is resolved.
"Will do, sir. Is there anything else you need me to do?" Russell's tone was understandably snappish.
"That is all for now."
Roy gingerly placed the receiver back in its cradle after the phone call ended. His thoughts drifted as he ran a hand through his hair. There was a theory he couldn't share with neither the Major or Emerald, not without a proper investigation. He hoped to be wrong, because if he wasn't, then it meant he'd failed sealing the passageway connecting to the world the Elric brothers now called 'home'.
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Earth, January 22, 1940 A.D.
One try, two tries—Edward still couldn't unscrew the cap of his favorite brand of brandy. He scoffed. The house staff had suggested multiple times to ditch the bottles in favor of more elegant decanters, but he was content with the original packaging. "The challenge makes the alcohol taste even sweeter!" has always been his favorite answer.
Red-rimmed, glassy eyes contemplated the finely-crafted glassware. The tumbler had been a simple gift Alphonse gave him to celebrate their first anniversary together on Earth. He snorted loudly, the irony of the moment too good to let pass by. His baby brother had no fucking clue about how deep his vices ran. Lesson learned, he supposed.
Edward finally managed to open the bottle. He poured not two but four fingers of brandy into the glass. His unsteady hand curled around his favorite old fashioned tumbler. He swirled the amber liquid around and grinned. The tumbler was magnificent. Alphonse told him it was made of the finest blown glass anyone could find in the economic-ravaged Munich. A large flammel, the legacy of their teacher was cut into the smooth surface. The flammel used to stand as a symbol of hope, now it was the crutch Edward needed for moving about on Earth. He chugged the liquid balm to keep his nagging brain on check. As a preventive measure, he poured himself another. With the drink on hand he staggered back to his desk.
The elegant desk commanded space in his private room the same way the large banquet table did in the dining hall. Edward chuckled amused by the comparison, knowing that his ridiculousness meant he was close to passing out.
"About time too—" He hiccuped as he went around the desk and plopped into the leather chair.
Brandy splashed on his shirt; Edward chuckled some more. One more stain wouldn't make a difference, he'd been wearing the same clothes for days on end.
Edward put the tumbler on the table and pushed it away from the edge of the desk. Because it would be a damn shame it if broke. His eyes slid to the item sitting close to the glass. He wouldn't mind breaking the engagement ring beaming a bright smile at him.
A sneer creased his face. Edward picked up the tumbler with the intention of erasing the lines of contempt with the brandy. He tried to chug down what didn't spill on his shirt but he had become too clumsy and ended drenching his scruff as he downed the amber liquid. While mumbling expletives that would make his own mother turn on what was left of her grave, Edward whined about not filling the tumbler to the rim. Once again, his conscience was catching up to him so he set the tumbler down and picked up the ring instead.
Front view, side view, back view; the ring looked vulgar no matter the angle Edward turned his hand at.
"Whoever gave Winry this ring is a fucking idiot," he uttered, his eyes narrowing in disdain.
Winry was special. She was not the type of woman who would like gold set with a princess-cut diamond.
"You," he said to the ring, "Needed to be a platinum band of the purest quality. Simple in design, because your owner is an automail engineer, one of the best there is." His eyebrows huddled together, considering. "Maybe a diamond ring would suit her just fine but it needs to recede into the band, that way it won't interfere with her work."
Edward's eyes became distant. The last time he saw Winry had been inside the Underground City. He'd been expecting to see the same girl he left behind but found a stunning woman instead. As if the shimmer in her eyes capturing his heart wasn't bad enough, her kind expression took everything else, leaving him breathless.
Nostalgia coiled around his heart, giving him the same aching embrace it did back then.
Edward remembered wishing for a moment suspended in time, so he could talk to Winry and catch up on their lives—to say what was never spoken but felt between the two of them. Instead, he had to resign with spending their awaited reunion on a rushed automail job.
The old memory painted a wry smile on his face. Who was he trying to fool? Those minutes spent with Winry had been a true blessing. The unhinged pain he experienced from automail reattachment had felt like a gentle caress; he had her gentle smile to thank for that.
Edward couldn't hold his smile for long, the memories that followed turned it into a deep scowl.
Although seventeen years had passed by, he still could recall with cristal clarity the exact moment he'd decided to kill a part of himself. His loved ones always told him he had a flair for the dramatic so severing the airship wing after Mustang and his brother went across it seemed like a befitting end. His transmutation flawlessly sliced through metals of varied size and thickness, and it also sliced clean through his heart and soul. The sense of finality that came along with the decision of leaving all behind still echoed within.
"But what about Winry! She misses you too!" His brother's bellowing plea did too.
Edward picked up the tumbler to take another swig of brandy forgetting it was as empty, like his soul. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth. "What about Winry?" He scoffed, hating every fiber in his body for the callous answer he'd given him.
Alphonse's heartbreak almost made him falter. The truth he spoke sparked to life what he'd avoided most of his life. His brother had made him yearn for Winry's warm embrace.
"I had no choice," Edward croaked before his throat clogged.
A glint coming off the diamond brought him back to the bitter present then sent him straight to the night of the teleportation experiment. Everyone in the facility witnessed what can be considered a miracle but he and Alphonse knew it as Equivalent Exchange. Wendy accomplished what he couldn't—to travel back home—and Winry was proof positive her success.
Alphonse peeked into the study. "Brother?" His eyes searched the area until they found Edward sitting at his desk, his face lost in deep thought.
A stab of worry pierced his gut. He'd been absent for days trying to cover up the incident at The Annex. Now that he had a chance to come home, he finds his older brother looking haggard and disheveled, and absolutely miserable. Edward was in far worse shape that was expecting.
"How are you doing?" Alphonse said as he let himself in.
He was beyond exhausted but he knew Edward needed him at the moment. After all, his brother's world had been turned upside down by the whims of fate once again.
As he approached Edward, Alphonse noticed something shining in his natural hand. Sympathy transformed into frustration when he recognized the article in question.
"Edward, what is the matter with you?" He stormed the rest of the way to the desk to try and snatch Winry's engagement ring from Edward's hand but his brother proved too fast for him.
"Dammit, Ed, that's not yours—" He began, but then the foul mix of alcohol and sweat careened all thought. "My God you're ripe!" Alphonse cried out as he stepped away.
Edward kept his glazed stare trained on his brother for a few beats. His hand clammed up around the ring then taunted Alphonse with a petulant snicker.
"Well of course it's not mine, Al. I don't have bad taste."
If this conversation had taken place under other circumstances Alphonse would've played along. At the moment his brother's banter was infuriating. Hazel eyes noticed the damn tumbler he'd given Edward was keeping him company.
"How much did you have to drink?" He chided, taking stock of his brother's drunken state.
But Edward chose to remain silent. He opened his hand and pinched Winry's engagement ring between two mechanical fingers, and glared at it like he was doing way before Alphonse entered the room.
"For Christ sake, Ed! You can't keep doing this!" Alphonse roared.
When he lunged forward, Edward drew back his automail arm, thinking that his brother was trying to snag the ring again, but Alphonse went for the tumbler instead.
The seething anger his on younger brother's face was disconcerting. Edward took a deep breath, deciding to change the subject before the tension between them escalated.
"How's she doing?" He asked, his words slipped out in a croaked whisper.
Alphonse scoffed in utter frustration, despising the way Edward avoided talking about his drinking problem. He looked away for a moment and considered the question; a profound sense of impotence creased his brow. Turning his gaze back to his brother, he said, "She's still unresponsive."
Silence fell between them. Alphonse took the opportunity to return the tumbler to the liquor cabinet. He didn't look at his brother's face when he left his side, Edward's grief was burned deep in his mind.
Alphonse reached the cabinet. When he opened the door, his face paled with dismay. The inside of the cabinet looked as if it'd been ransacked; half of the liquor bottles were gone and the ones that still remain were almost empty. His grip on the tumbler became tighter. Alphonse forced his fingers to relax otherwise he was going to end up with glass shards buried deep in the palm of his hand. Grumbling to himself, Alphonse stuck the tumbler inside the cabinet. The flammel etched to its surface mocked him as he pulled his hand away. He considered right then, like he'd done many times before, to break the yoke driving his brother towards a path of self-destruction.
"Thirteen days," Edward muttered, steering Alphonse back to the present moment.
As Alphonse turned to his brother, he encountered misery and despair. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "It's been fifteen days, Ed, but you wouldn't know this because you've been hammered this whole time."
Edward squeezed Winry's ring tight in his mechanical hand as he searched for the sense of shame he knew he should feel. But his thoughts derailed, and a vague expression of concern shadowed his face. "You think she'll ever wake up?"
Alphonse lifted his eyebrows before setting them into a worried frown. "I sure hope so."
Edward became pensive, considering his younger brother's words. A beat passed by, then two. Edward tucked the engagement ring in his pant pocket then pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up. He made damn sure to steady his gait as he circled around the desk. His hands curled around the edge of the desktop as he leaned on the desktop. After another pause, Edward said, "Then we need to start working on a way to send her back to Amestris."
Eyes wide, mouth slowly gaping, Alphonse stared back at his brother. "I don't get you, Ed." He forced himself to bite back a sharp retort. "Don't you want Winry to wake up from her coma?"
The sturdy mahogany creaked, succumbing to the cruel grip of automail. Edward glared at Alphonse. Under normal circumstances he would've made sure that his face was the first thing Winry saw when she regained consciousness, but that wasn't the card that fate dealt him. Edward smoothed his expression free of all emotion. "Al, you know well the answer to that question."
"I can't believe you!" Alphonse's nostrils flared in outrage. "You're so selfish!" He hissed those three words in utter contempt.
"I didn't ask for your goddamn opinion!" Edward snapped back, allowing his control to finally slip. He brushed off the filthy fringe stuck to the sides of his face, and added, "If a coma is all it takes to keep her safe then so be it!"
Jaw tight, teeth clenched, Alphonse hissed, "Not this again!" Edward was lucky that they were related by blood otherwise he would've socked him square in the face. "Edward, you might be wrong about the Gate." He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was fighting off a headache.
"Don't you dare feign ignorance, Alphonse!" Edward roared. "You fucking saw it. You told me yourself!"
Alphonse, let out an exasperated sigh. "Okay, fine. I saw the memory of this world(3) when I crossed over." He shook his head. "Ed, what Truth showed us might not even happen." He met his brother's gaze and saw him lost in the machinations of his troubled mind.
"I had to see it twice!" Edward raised two angry fingers. "Twice goddammit! The message is fucking clear." He stopped his rant and pondered for a moment. It has to be, otherwise— The mahogany crunched in his automail grip.
Edward lifted his hand away and saw the damage inflicted on the desk. Crushed and damaged, he saw himself reflected in the wood. Edward cradled his automail hand with his natural hand. His shoulders slouched as he fell back into silence.
Alphonse's mouth flattened into a grim line; baring witness to Edward's self destruction wasn't easy. After so many failed attempts at fixing his brother, he realized that all he could ever do for Edward was to help him find his footing after every fall.
Alphonse walked across the room and leaned on the desk right next to his brother.
"Brother—" He began but became distracted by Edward's stench. Determined to withstand the body odor, Alphonse steeled himself, because his brother's wellbeing was above all else. He laid a hand on Edward's shoulder. "You know well that the future is composed of multiple outcomes playing out at the same time(4)." Squeezing his shoulder, he added, "I know you mean well, Ed, but for the love of all that is good and right, can you please stop beating yourself up and wait to see how things play out?" Alphonse searched Edward's face, his expression hopeful. "Please?"
Edward turned his attention to the carpeted floor beneath his feet. "Fine," he grumbled then pursed his lips in a hard line.
Alphonse smiled, but behind his smile hid worry. Becoming lost in his thoughts, he wondered how Winry's sudden appearance on Earth was going to affect them all. He shook his head not wanting to know the answer to that question.
"I'm heading off to take a shower." Alphonse announced and pushed himself away from the desk. He stopped midway to cast a quick glance at Edward. "You should take one too." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "You wouldn't want Winry waking up because of your revolting stench, now do you?"
He left the private study before Edward had a chance to retaliate.
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The Following Day
Edward combed through his lustrous locks one more time before tying it up in a ponytail. Fresh notes of bergamot and lavender filled the air around him, making the pungent smell of alcohol and sweat seem like a bad memory. He dabbed more perfume on his neck and the sides of his face just in case something unpleasant still lingered about him. Alphonse was right, he needed to look his best in case Winry came out of her coma.
Two strong knocks on the door caught Edward's attention.
"Master Edward, are you decent?"
Edward smirked, recognizing the housekeeper's velvety voice. He combed through the ponytail one last time before walking to the door.
"Good morning, Mavis," he greeted and cracked a smile upon inhaling the invigorating aroma of coffee.
Edward stepped aside to let Mavis in.
Ample hips swayed back-and-forth mimicking ocean waves as Mavis sauntered about the room to the coffee table tucked by the large window pane in the master bedroom. "French roast coffee straight from Louisiana(5), black and strong, just the way you like it," she said with a gorgeous smile framing her rounded face.
Edward returned the smile. "Did you make it yourself?"
Mavis placed the tray on the table. "Yessir!" Her voice was as melodious as a birdsong.
She picked up the coffee pot and poured the hot beverage in the ornate porcelain cup. After setting the pot to the side, Mavis dropped four sugar cubes into the coffee and dissolved them with a silver spoon. "Master Alphonse said that you needed a pick-me-up." Mavis added as she handed Edward his coffee.
"Thanks, Mavis." Edward took a sip, wincing slightly as his lips came into contact with the hot liquid.
"You're welcome." The housekeeper's wide smile brightened the entire room.
Mavis bowed her head then made her way to the door, stopping shy from opening it. "Master Edward?" She called as she turned around.
Edward looked up from behind the coffee cup. "Yes?"
Mavis gestured at combing a beard. "You're looking mighty fine if you don't mind me saying."
Edward felt his cheeks burning. "Are you flirting again, Mavis?"
"Always, Master Edward." She winked at him then turned to leave.
After Mavis was gone, Edward brought a hand to his face. He'd always preferred a clean-shaven face over having facial hair, but since his beard had grown like weed in the past weeks, he decided to keep it. This appearance will be much easier on her.
Winry's smile kept Edward company while he finished his coffee. He left the empty cup on the tray then went to the nightstand where he'd left her engagement ring. His eyes narrowed into angry slits when they settled on the bejeweled ring.
"Well, at least you give me an excuse to visit her," he said to the ring as he picked it up.
Edward stashed the band into his pant pocket. He'll visit Winry after taking care of some important matters.
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Time tends to fly by when in good company. Edward's conversation with Petru, the gardener, couldn't have come at a better time. He'd decided to take a break from searching through archived materials, a task he commenced right after his brief meeting with the house staff. When he sat in the courtyard, he thought he would turn to ash. The noon sun was shining strong, a rare treat for that time of the year. Petru had been pruning the bushes when Edward spotted him.
He'd asked the old Corsican to join him for some hot coffee, which Mavis at the time was about to bring.
Petru's stories about his homeland always interested Edward, but it was the tales about Napoleon what he always look forward to. Out of all the historical figures Edward studied over the years, Napoleon was by far his favorite. And Petru didn't disappoint. His narration was so vivid that Edward felt like he was listening to one of his radio shows. The Corsican had a streak of mischief running in him, though. He loved telling stories but had a passion for a good banter. His favorite quip was telling Edward how there was no cure for 'Napoleon Complex'. And of course, Edward laughed—just barely.
The warm sun, an excellent cup of coffee and the jocose exchange did wonders to improve Edward's mood. He felt more energized and with a positive attitude about the future.
After going back inside, Edward headed the private study. There was still some time to kill before visiting Winry in the blue room. When he opened the door, he found Alphonse siting by his desk, with arms folded and a deep scowl scrunching up his face.
"Brother, where are all the family pictures?" He spoke before Edward a chance to do so.
Edward's muscles tensed; Alphonse responded to his reaction with a glower.
Knowing that there was no way of escaping his younger brother's scrutiny, he said, "I told the house staff to take everything down." Then watched Alphonse's reaction.
Frowning at the lack of emotion in his brother's voice, Alphonse sucked in a breath, and grumbled, "Edward, you promised me that you weren't going to do anything stupid!"
Edward blinked at him, like an owl. It was a rare treat to see Alphonse lose control two times in a row. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at his brother. "And I've kept my promise, Al. I haven't had a single drop of alcohol and I smell like fresh cut spring flowers—hell—I even tried a new look. Do you like it?" He quipped, knowing that no matter what he said or did, he already won his brother's contempt.
Alphonse bared teeth. "Cut the clown act, asshole!"
His face stunned, Edward stared at his brother. "I'm looking out after Winry's best interests." He answered, his demeanor turning sullen.
"And you're accomplishing this by leaving your beard, and by keeping the existence of your wife and children a secret. Wow! Good call." Alphonse sneered sarcastically.
Edward supposed this was what he deserved for being a jerk.
But Alphonse seemed to have forgotten that he was talking to his big brother.
Instead of approaching the desk, Edward went to the leather sofa and plopped into it. He stretched both arms across the back, then crossed his natural leg over his automail knee.
"What'd you think will happen when Winry wakes up?" More than a reprimand, his question was meant to make Alphonse stagger. "I'll tell you," he continued, "She'll freak out when she realizes that she's in a strange place surrounded by complete strangers."
Staring at his brother, Alphonse considered several responses to his answer. He settled on the simplest one. "We're not strangers, Ed."
Edward's eyes slightly narrowed. "Are you sure about that?"
Alphonse shifted uncomfortably in his chair; Edward knew he hit more than a nerve with the question. He continued with caution.
"Seventeen years have passed for us, Al. We've lived almost half of our lives without her—shit—we hardly even resemble our younger selves." Edward paused for a moment, then added, "The last time I checked myself in the mirror I saw thirty-four year old man staring back at me. And you're no spring chicken neither." His thoughts went to Winry. "Think about the psychological impact our current appearance can have on her."
Alphonse averted his gaze to the old journals sitting on the desktop. "I didn't look at it that way," he muttered.
"Well fortunately I did," Edward replied.
The image of Winry laying unconscious on the bed of the medical ward suddenly became vivid in his mind. He frowned.
"How will Winry feel after meeting my children?"
When Alphonse raised his eyes to Edward, he in turn, looked down at the floral carpet under his feet. Crestfallen, he said, "Patricia looks so much like her…and Benjamin is a spitting image of Urey."
Edward looked up and met his brother's own dejected expression. Swallowing hard, he added, "That's how our children most likely would've looked like if we had gotten married."
Alphonse's eyes moistened; he understood all too well the burden his brother bears.
Edward eyes remained as dry as an abandoned well, but the scars in his heart—like his stumps—always ached and hurt. His demons were becoming anxious, he got up and headed to the door before they had a chance to torment him some more.
He stopped at the threshold and turned around to meet his brother's gaze. He said, "I promise to tell Winry about my kids and about Wendy when she wakes up, given that she wakes up at all."
Alphonse offered Edward a small smile then nodded once. "And I'll be there to support you, Brother."
Edward returned the smile with one of his own, though his was as empty as his soul.
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Edward rapped on the door and waited for the nurse-in-turn to open. The blue room was the largest guest room available in the Rockwell estate. Wendy told him once that this room had belonged to her great grandfather, a lieutenant who fought at Balls Bluff(6) during the Civil War. The Confederate's had won that particular battle, thanks to the small contribution he'd made, although little credit had been given to him for helping the cause.
Some ruffling was heard on the other side of the door. Lithe strides followed, and soon after, Edward met nurse McCarty's crinkling face.
"Good afternoon, Von Elric, sir." The nurse greeted as she let Edward inside.
"Good afternoon, nurse McCarty," Edward replied with a light nod, then entered. "How's the patient doing?"
"Sleeping Beauty is doing just fine."
A wide grin slid across her face, her expression that somehow reminded Edward of Aunty Pinako.
"Im glad to hear that." He offered her a tense smile in turn.
After the unsavory exchange with Alphonse, Edward didn't feel like talking, and nurse McCarty looked like she didn't like partaking in small talk, so they both descended into awkward silence.
Not wasting another moment, the nurse looked at her watch and said, "Do you mind if I step out for a cigarette break?"
"Not at all." Edward was relieved that she'd taken the initiative. He stepped to the side to let nurse McCarty through.
"Thank you, sir." She said as she exited the room.
Just as Edward was about to close the door, the nurse reappeared. "I forgot to tell you that I gave the girl a sponge bath, and nurse Williams was in charge of today's exercises(7)."
Edward held up a smile. "Thank you for letting me know."
The older woman returned the smile then left.
His smile fell the moment he closed the door. He turned around and settled his eyes upon Winry, who laid motionless in the middle of the bed. Her peaceful expression drove a dagger into his chest.
Winry looked well for being in deep coma for over two weeks. He'd told Alphonse the day before that he preferred to keep Winry in that state but that've been a lie. The last thing he wished upon his childhood sweetheart was for her to suffer.
Edward took seat on the chair closest to the bed. A fond smile appeared on his face while he contemplated her gentle features.
"You sure look like a fairy tale princess…"
A jolt of yearning shook through him.
Edward got up and sat on the edge of the bed taking great care not to disturb Winry's slumber with the shift in weight. As he settled, it occurred to him that he was playing the part of the prince. Would capturing her rosy lips in a kiss wake her from her deep sleep? Shaking his head, Edward couldn't help but to laugh at his own absurdity. No kiss would ever wake Winry—and he definitely was no prince. He stroked her cheek gently with his natural hand, eyebrows slowly pulling together in contemplation. Winry looked so young, like she'd been whisked away from Amestris minutes after he'd abandoned her. But Winry Rockbell arrived on Earth scantly dressed.
After sneaking the unconscious blonde out of the Test Site he'd ordered the house staff to hand over all of her few belongings. The inferno he lit in the private study got rid of all evidence linking Winry to their home world. It was a shame that the fire wasn't strong enough to destroy her engagement ring. He'd poured whiskey on his favorite tumbler and sat down in front of the fireplace to watch the fire dance. The schmuck getting into Winry's panties was in the military, the proof had been carved in the buttons of the dress shirt.
"Why would you do that?" He searched her face. "Didn't you have enough already?" The silence he got in return made his chest ache.
Edward fished out the engagement ring out of his pocket. An expression of bitter contempt curled his lips. He wanted to crush that stupid ring but couldn't. Pushing away his frustration, he decided to focus on the slow rise and fall of her chest.
"Winry…" Why did things had to end the way it did? He shut his eyes against the painful sensation of wanting what he could never have. "It should've been me who'd given you this ring," Edward choked out.
Regret, if not remorse, crept up on him. He cursed himself for the direction of his emotions.
Edward took Winry's hand in his. "I'm so sorry, Winry—for everything." He muttered while sliding the ring on her finger.
Squeezing his eyes hard, he fought bravely against the ache of tears in his throat.
Edward began breathing slowly trying to regain full control of his emotions. As he breathed, he felt a soft squeeze of the hand. Edward snapped his eyes open. Blue eyes, as clear as a summer sky, were staring back at his.
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References:
(1) Terminology taken from USGS website.
(2) July 8, 1919 landed on a Tuesday. The original chapter the date was June 8 which was a Sunday.
(3) A loose reference to Schrodinger's Cat.
(4) Loose reference to Carl Jung's human collective unconscious.
(5) Reference to the coffee served at Café Du Monde in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
(6) A decisive battle during the American Civil War were the Confederate's won.
(7) Comatose patients are given exercises to help keep some muscle tone in the effort to help the patient against the debilitating effects of being confined to a bed.