Chapter 15: To Be a Father
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The monotonous plunk of falling water in the dark cause Edward to twitch. He was unsure how long it had been since he had seen his mother. Everything was a messy swirl of colors, light, and perpetual darkness. Even in the light, there was darkness. Darkness was everywhere. He could not open his eyes. Was his mother in the next room preparing stew? Was a thick-set man bringing water to quench his undying thirst? Questions spun through his brain, causing the room to spin. All Edward knew was that his throat was dry.
The dripping continued. It never stopped.
Edward flinched as a grotesquely contorted grey hand reached for him and flopped in the growing puddle of blood.
No. No. No. NO. NO! It's happening again!
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Edward felt like wailing. He knew he had forgotten something, something important. Mustang's body slumped against the wall of a small dim room lit by a single bulb on a string, and the ashen form of a body created by human transmutation lay in the center. Blood was pooling outward toward Mustang's boots. The room reeked of ozone and iron.
Why is Mustang here? I haven't met him yet. No. No. No…. I don't meet him until… But how do I know that then?
Edward tried to rock back and forth. Al's pained screams shredded Edward's ears as both of them were torn apart and pulled into the gate by thin, winding hands.
No. No. No. NO. NO! I have to save him. I have to…
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Edward tried to open his eyes, but there was no difference between waking and sleeping. It made no difference if he opened his eyes or closed them.
Casper brought water… wait, who's he? Why did he need to bring water? I'm thirsty, but – but I want the dripping to stop.
This time when Edward opened his eyes, he saw a pinprick of light.
Edward gasped. His breath stuttered and caught in his throat, and Damien watched on in silence. Damien had left hours ago, slept the night away, and was now here to see Edward's condition before he brought the Drachma soldiers to see him. The drugs were beginning to wear off. Damien's eyes skimmed over the small form still tightly restrained to the tabletop.
Edward was pale, sweat dripping down his brow. His breathing was hoarse, and his twitching and thrashing had caused deep bruising under the restraints.
Damien's gaze shifted to the dripping saline which flowed down the thin line to Edward's only flesh arm. The doctor had insisted that the drip was needed when he came in that morning. Damien could almost hear the saline drip down through the thin tube in the deafening silence of the room.
When Edward's eyes opened, Damien saw that his pupils were mere pinpricks focused on the light coming from the hallway outside the door. Edward's eyes roved about the room but noticed nothing.
Damien nodded and then left the room. Still unaware in his half-awakened state, Edward only noted the pinprick of light disappear. And so, when the door closed, Damien heard a thin wail as Edward was plunged into darkness, and images of white rooms, charcoal-grey corpses, and blood came unbidden to the forefront of his mind once more.
As soon as Damien entered the cell of a room, Mustang stood. Mustang had plenty of time to consider what Damien had told him and his subsequent discussions with Casper.
He swayed slightly, dizzy and exhausted.
Damien met Mustang's gaze, and while he felt he had adequately prepared Edward to become a weapon at his disposal, he still hoped that once reunited with Mustang, Edward's condition would cajole Mustang to cement the process. Damien's eyes roved over Mustang's appearance: his thinning body, unfocused eyes, and ashen face from the lack of sun. Yet, despite it, Mustang still stood far taller than Damien hoped. Damien needed Mustang to further Edward's fragile state by continuing to act on the "fatherly" emotions that seem to be rising to the surface.
For all his loathing of anything parental, or the sight of anything to do with fathers and family, he wanted, no, needed to use it. Damien looked forward to the eventual parting where Fullmetal would be kept with them, and Mustang would be dragged off to Drachma. He believed that by destroying that little bit of something, he would put an end to the unsettling tightness that settled in his chest at the sight of the two of them together.
Yet, a foreboding feeling overcame him. Despite everything, Mustang stood. Despite everything, Mustang still looked like he might be able to take on the entire rebel group himself if provoked.
He should be weak from hunger and thirst. Why?
Neither Damien's nor Mustang's gaze wavered. Instead, the same irritation that had surfaced in Damien's chest when facing Mustang surfaced again. Damien saw the look of confusion and concern on his mother's face after she discovered that he had torn off the wings of the butterfly. Damien saw the looks of shock and horror as he broke the neck of the small dying dog. He saw the anger on his father's face after he pushed his sister.
He had been in control. In each situation, he was the one in control, but no one, no one understood. So, it had to be okay. What problem was there with taking the mesmerizing wings of the bluish-purple butterfly? What problem was there with ending the life of an already dying dog? What problem was there with removing any obstacle from his path? If he had to shove them over, then fine. But no one understood. No one would condone his actions. But now, he had his desired security at the top of this little rebellion.
And yet, Mustang looked at Damien with defiance. It made Damien want to crush him all the more, like tearing the wings off a bug. It made him want to ship him off to Drachma so as never to see him again. It didn't matter what they did with him, so long as he never had to see the conviction in those eyes again.
It would be so much better if he did not have to see this Mustang look at Fullmetal as if he cared. Especially when those looks were so long forgotten, those soft looks his parents gave him often before that one fateful day with the butterfly. When the villagers' faces turned away, condescending. The looks turned sour, deteriorating with so many other instances besides the butterfly and dog until the incident with his sister, and then nothing was left.
The image of his father passed before his eyes again- the anger, the rejection- the hand still raised in the air to strike him and cast him out of the house. It was the last time he ever saw either parent again – alive, that is.
Damien jerked out of his thoughts, Mustang had the same look, but Damien was stronger than he was in the past. He could fight back. He wouldn't lose this time. That time his father, his own father, banished him from the house. The fear in his mother's eyes cut him to the core. How could they not understand? The little thing had annoyed him, and when she hit him in the arm with those tiny fists in her frustration, he had only hit back. What was it to him if she stumbled, fell, and hit her head?
Emotions made people weak. They made fathers wrap five-year-old girls in their arms while banishing seventeen-year-old sons. Decisions should be made and kept to for the sake of expediency. Plans, not feeling, would rule his day. Mere emotion made people weak and easy to manipulate.
So, what was that look that Mustang gave Edward? What was that look Damien's father had given his mother and sister but was so lost from his eyes when he looked at Damien?
Was this thing what caused Mustang to stand when, according to logic, he should barely be alive?
Mustang's eyes narrowed as Damien continued to stare, lost in his thoughts. Mustang almost started when Damien abruptly turned and said, "I'll be back to introduce you to my colleagues."
Once outside the cell, Damien strode down the hall, anger simmering in his chest.
Just wait. I'll rip this sense of camaraderie to shreds as you are shipped off to Drachma. What kind of expression will you make then, Flame? What then?
Damien and the Drachma soldiers sat around the conference table as Damien explained how they had come upon the alchemists and what had transpired since.
"We've discovered the younger one doesn't like being alone in the dark. It seems his demons rear their heads then, especially when restrained. I want to keep him, but I need him malleable enough to use."
Damien leaned back.
"As for the older one, we ensured he received a suitable punishment for escaping. We didn't want it to happen again. So far, it seems that they will not attempt another escape. Although, I'd be surprised if they could do so in their conditions."
"That is good, but we need to know who alchemists are if we are to seal the deal." The Drachma leader was growing impatient with Damien's boasting, especially since Damien had admitted to their previous escape.
Damien glanced at the Drachma leader from the corner of his eye, noting the man's increasingly notable sense of impatience.
Damien stood slowly and deliberately, "Well then, shall we meet the first and oldest of the two?"
The gleam of greed in their eyes was unmasked as Damien turned from the soldiers and left the room, thus hiding an imperceptible smile on his face.
Mustang visibly paled as five men in dark uniforms followed Damien into the room. So far, as far as Mustang was concerned, the report of Drachma soldiers working with the rebels was unfounded, but now, he knew better.
The image of Damien bringing in the head of Bone and mentioning friends having helped them flitted across his mind, and he felt his pulse quicken.
Not good.
Then, one of the Drachma soldier's eyes lit up with recognition, and Mustang's pulse quickened all the more. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.
Really not good.
"Ahh, the elusive and renowned Flame Alchemist. You have caught good one in your trap, friend Damien."
Mustang's eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his next breath as his heart continued to pound.
Really, really not good.
Mustang took a deep breath through his nose to control his reaction and attempt to slow his heartbeat. Then, Mustang turned his attention to Damien, who was keenly observing everyone in the room.
Damien's hand gestured toward Mustang, "what do you think? Is he a worthy prize for Drachma's resources and effort to help us?"
Mustang's eyes fixed on Damien, and Damien observed the color drain from Mustang's face in satisfaction.
The Drachma soldier grinned, and Mustang had to take another deep breath and clench his fist as he realized Damien planned on handing him over to the enemy nation as a bargaining chip. Something cold began to creep through his veins.
"The Flame Alchemist is more than enough to guarantee Drachma's aid."
Damien turned to Mustang but still addressed the Drachma soldiers, "we gave the younger alchemist a small dose of that hallucinogen I mentioned earlier and left his restrained in a room nearby. Flame here, as you know, would recognize it." Damien's eyes narrowed, and he continued to meet Mustang's gaze. Mustang's gaze sharpened, teeth grinding together.
Then Damien turned to the Drachma soldiers once more, "would you like to meet him?"
Barely contained exhilaration overtook the Drachma soldiers' faces.
"With this prize, the other must be just as valuable. Otherwise, you would have taken us to him first, no?"
Mustang noted the slightest trace of a smile pass over Damien's face as he turned again to watch Mustang's reaction.
"You remember that the younger one will remain here, right?"
Mustang blinked, and his eyes widened at the implication. Damien was taunting him, goading him, and Mustang knew it.
The Drachma soldier's face fell, "we understand, yet he will still be of use, so long as you don't lose him."
The snide remark did nothing to Damien.
Mustang's eyes dropped for a moment as he considered the implications of the rebels separating them by giving one of them, namely him, to Drachma. He considered the implications of Drachma and Damien working together.
The soldiers turned to the door.
"Let's go meet the other once, shall we?" Damien gestured to the door.
Mustang's head shot up to look at Damien once more. No! Don't take them to him!
Mustang wanted to scream, but doing so would only endanger Edward more. Moreover, Drachma soldiers were not known to be caring, and giving them any ammunition would be a death sentence for both himself and Edward.
As the last soldier left and the door was shut, ice settled into the pit of Mustang's stomach, and his heart had finally found its way into his throat, almost choking him.
Everyone could hear the small soft whimpers as the door to the room containing Edward opened. The Drachma leader's eyes widened.
"You did find weakness."
"Yes, I found the right method – darkness and solitude – to begin to whittle away at the boy." Damien glanced at the soldiers from the corner of his eye and then turned his attention back to Edward. "The Amestrian government will want this prodigy back hence, why he will stay here. If you have Flame, we will have a second layer of reassurance through him."
"One soldier can be very valuable, but even Flame may not be enough. So, they will try to crush us regardless."
"Maybe," Damien shrugged, "but we have their two best Alchemists."
Damien turned to the soldier, "shall we reunite the two before they are separated? It may do Flame some good to be yanked away from his youngest once you return after trying to help him after this… episode. After seeing the boy's current state then being escorted away, knowing the boy could be hurt if he resists.… Well, it could be useful…, don't you think?"
The dark and gleeful expression on the face of the Drachma leader was more than enough to convince Damien he had hooked his fish. So, Damien stepped forward and, undoing the bonds restraining the young alchemist, gestured to the soldiers.
"Would you like to do the honor of delivering the boy to him?"
Mustang nearly jumped when the door opened once more. Mustang stood as his eyes were drawn to a twitching and shuttering Edward. Edward's eyes were wide, and he was whimpering.
Moments before, Edward had felt some relief when he felt the bonds being released. He felt some measure of hope when he saw the light through the doorway.
He had barely registered Damien standing by him, and he vaguely recognized the uniform of the other men there. But then hands, hands gripped his arms. The hands in dark gloves that took hold of him reminded him of gates and white, endless expanses. They lifted him to a standing position, taking him to the much-desired light. Yet, it was so bright and so much like entering the place where the gate hung suspended – that suddenly he was back-peddling, but the hands pressed him forward, and there was nothing he could do.
Then they reached the light and were walking down a hall. Edward sighed when he realized he was not in the room with Truth and the gate, but now he had to remember where he was. Those holding him had paused briefly. Edward heard indistinct voices and felt a tug on his right shoulder. Yet, the feeling of hands on his arms and shoulders and the blinding brightness of the hall distracted him from a brief flash of familiar pain that he could not quite place. They then moved on to another door that opened. It was then that Edward was sure he was hallucinating again because Mustang was there, and Edward knew it could not be true because Mustang was dead.
And their eyes met.
If Edward's state was not enough to scare Mustang, the sight of euphoria on the Drachma soldiers' faces who herded Edward into the room, and the look of aloof indifference on Damien's as he watched the Drachma soldiers like a predator, truly did frighten him.
Edward was shoved to the floor by Mustang, and Mustang held still as Damien reattached the chain to Edward's ankle. Mustang's eyes shifted between Damien and the soldiers behind him, purposefully resisting the urge to look at Edward until the men were gone. Once done, Damien stood and stepped back, and Mustang sank to the ground next to Edward, eyes still fixed on the men. Mustang would have preferred to continue standing with so many hostile faces nearby, but the groping hand of Edward's one arm that tugged at his pant leg pulled him down.
Shit, they took his arm. When did they do that?
Damien grinned as Edward unconsciously curled into Mustang's side once Mustang was sitting. Mustang felt Edward flinch as his fingers tangled into his shirt. Edward's breathing hitched, and his nose brushed Mustang's side as he looked up at the man he now sat beside.
Edward's eyes widened as he felt the heat coming from Mustang seep into his cold fingers. The hallucinations generally had no feeling to them. Then, not ready to fully believe it was Mustang, he buried his head once more in the man's side.
Damien then addressed the Drachma soldiers, "Let's leave them to it, shall we?"
And so, the soldiers began to file out, all the while glancing back hungrily at the two alchemists. The Drachma leader noted that Mustang subconsciously positioned himself in the most appropriate stance, even when sitting, to best protect his young charge while they left the room.
However, Damien paused by the door, and Mustang glared at the man.
"You know, we didn't do much to him compared to what we did to you."
Mustang grunted.
"Gave him one kick for getting mouthy and then gave him the hallucinogen once. Although, with his… smaller stature and lack of limbs, it seems to be taking longer to leave his system."
Even if they had not done as much to Edward as Roy, the mere fact that Edward was still a shivering mess made Mustang want to tear out someone's throat.
Icy cold pinpricks ran up Mustang's spine and arms culminating in a single sharp shiver that wracked his frame. He knew what he saw under the influence of that drug. Yet, when he considered Edward's past, Mustang did not want to imagine what Ed had seen.
Mustang gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from Damien, looking at the small figure curled into his side. Edward's flesh hand curled into Mustang's shirt, face pressed into his side, almost buried in the crook of his shoulder – shivering, still.
He wants me to take care of Edward to make the later separation harder. He knows it'll make it easier to use Edward against me and me against him now. Dammit, I can't just leave the kid in this state just so I can avoid doing what Damien wants.
Mustang slipped one arm around Edward but glared at Damien out of the corner of his eye and watched as the door slowly closed behind the man. Once the door was closed, Mustang wrapped his arms more securely around the vibrating bundle. One hand pulled Edward in closer, and the second gently stroked the back of the kid's head.
I'm the one who brought the kid into the military. I'm the one who knows the Elrics' secret. And I'm the one who sends the boy out on missions to keep him busy and away from the brass. I'm the one who was in charge of this mission to the north. In all of this, it's my responsibility to take care of the kid – no one else's.
Mustang sighed, letting his head drop, so his forehead rested on the crown of Edward's head. Edward only knew he felt warmth. Something that, right now, felt foreign.
"It will be alright, I promise," Mustang murmured as he squeezed Edward closer. When Mustang saw the bruising around Edward's wrist, it made his stomach twist to think about how violently Edward must have struggled against the restraints for them to deepen to such a dark purplish-black. At Mustang's whispered promise, Edward clutched Mustang's shirt tighter, twisting the fabric until Mustang was sure it would rip, as Edward sobbed because the hallucinations had never made promises.
Both alchemists sat there until Edward drifted off to sleep.
As the noonday sun hit its zenith, two teams of Amestrian soldiers left for the military train set to head to North City. They had a direct route to the city and would be given priority. They would stop once to pick up the third team from North Command. With no worries about additional train traffic and the trains moving at the fastest safe speed, they would be in the northern city of Yoxeqa by the following evening.
The Fuhrer wanted the rebel group that had taken two-state alchemists and killed the second team of soldiers, routed yesterday.
Hawkeye almost lost her calm at the order. She had pointed out the issue weeks ago, and now the higher-ups thought they had no time.
Apparently, one of the men who had been with the second team had escaped death, was able to verify the Drachma presence and found the base, but had reported back to the north, knowing he could not take on the rebels alone.
Hawkeye sat by Havoc as the train began to move. No one spoke. Everyone's gaze was sharp, looking forward, and if Hawkeye already had one hand on the gun at her hip, no one thought anything about it.
Elsewhere, darkness had filled the office of the Fuhrer once more.
"What did I say…" the cold voice said.
The Fuhrer hummed, "Tucker is a fool and an unexpected inconvenience. Without his interference, they would not have been discovered, and everything would have gone to plan. The rebels would be routed, and Tucker would become our safety net."
"And?" The cold voice growled.
The Fuhrer continued to look toward the darkened window, ignoring the slitted eyes and jagged teeth that decorated the darkened walls and windows sinisterly.
"Tucker is still of use to us. With his chimera research, which will most undoubtedly fail, we can maintain the notion that such alchemy is impossible. He can still be our scapegoat, acting as a cover for our successful attempts."
"And yet, once candidate and one potential candidate are nearly lost."
The Fuhrer turned and glared at the center of the empty room. "Envy will take care of it – just as he gave Tucker a chance to be successful enough to gain his license, he was able to locate the base of the rebels while with the second team. He confirmed the sacrifice and potential sacrifice were intact. We'll retrieve them and maintain our progress toward the Promised Day."
The narrow eyes would have pierced anyone else, but after a slight huff, the room brightened, and the Fuhrer sat at his desk again. The man's hands interlaced as he began to think of contingencies to tie the leash tighter on a dog he suspected one day might try to bite its owner.
When Mustang woke, his head slowly turned to look at the child leaning against his shoulder. As the last vestiges of the dream dissipated, his pulse slowed with the realization that the kid was, in fact, back and not a mangled, burnt corpse in the corner of some Ishvalan home. Mustang ran a hand through the blond locks and passed the other through his own, grimacing as it brushed the slowly healing bruise at his temple. Even sitting, Mustang still felt dizzy.
Looking over once more, Mustang could see the drying tear tracks that traced their way down Edward's cheeks. He grimaced again.
Awe dammit! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I only asked Hughes how to deal with the kid on a mission, about how to consider his age and status as a soldier. I'm not sure I can do this. What am I supposed to do now that the brash, cocky teen was crying? Ignore it? I wouldn't have wanted someone to notice or say anything.
Mustang's hand slid from his head to pinch the bridge of his nose while the other moved to rub small circles on Edward's back. In response, Edward murmured and shifted closer.
Mustang gave a half-smile.
Do you really think of me as some father figure? God, I hope not.
Mustang thought back to Casper's words from the previous day.
Edward doesn't just see me as a commanding officer? I guess I could be something like a role model. Not that they've had one. But I doubt Edward would ever admit it to me, or maybe even to himself. So even if it's just his subconscious, I can't let him down now.
His imagination conjured up images of a distraught Edward, not even noticing the danger of the approaching Drachma soldiers. Mustang was sure that Edward was not in the right state of mind to note that the soldiers who brought him back were from Drachma. Mustang had to stay awake. He had to be the one to be alert.
He is a soldier, but honestly, I, of all people, know I never really thought to treat him completely like one. I will bend over backward to prevent anyone from sending him anywhere near the front lines – if it ever came to that. He doesn't want to kill. I don't want him to have to use his alchemy to kill. God, I can't … he needs to be a soldier, but not a soldier all at the same time.
Mustang snorted, hand covering his face, "and I had the audacity to tell Casper that he shouldn't be treated like a kid."
Mustang wrapped his arm a little tighter around Edward at the thought and felt Edward squirm.
Edward was waking up and could feel the warmth at his side. His initial reaction was to jerk away, but then he heard a voice he recognized but could not quite place.
Mustang started when Edward suddenly pushed at his side to get away and loosened his hold ever so slightly while calling his name.
Edward squirmed again but realized that the arm around his was not restraining like the hands from Truth's gate. This time, he could escape if he wanted – but it was warm, and the voice he could not place sounded concerned rather than mocking.
Mustang called Edward's name once more, and Edward's eyes flickered open.
"Mustang?"
"Yeah, I'm here." Then, remembering Damien's taunts, he added, "I'm alive."
Edward hummed, and his eyes drifted closed once more as he fell into a more secure slumber than he had felt in what seemed like ages.
Mustang's shoulders slumped slightly. He did not have the heart to wake the sleeping alchemist. They would need all the rest they could get, and the dark circles under Edward's eyes clearly indicated he had not slept well since he was taken.
Mustang's mind was still contemplating what he should do next when the door to their cell opened once more. This time, Casper slipped into the room, a tray with two glasses of water held in one hand.
However, Casper was barely paying attention to the room's occupants as he cautiously watched the hall as he closed the door. He did not want anyone to know exactly when he entered the cell.
When Casper turned to face the two alchemists in the room, his eyes met Mustang's but quickly moved to take in Edward's sleeping form. Casper sighed.
Mustang eyed the water, "Every day, right?"
Casper almost jumped in surprise, "yes, the two of you get water every day now. The last time I brought the water, it was morning yesterday. It's mid-afternoon now, but," Casper paused, breaking eye contact, "things were happening."
Mustang only grunted at the understatement.
Casper met Mustang's gaze again, "no one brought any yet, I assume?"
Mustang shook his head, and Casper sighed in relief.
Mustang quirked an eyebrow, and Casper gave a wane smile. "If anyone had brought you water, I'd be seriously questioned for bringing you more."
Casper moved closer, sitting down and setting the tray between them. Casper fumbled as he pulled a wrapping from his back pocket. "Despite that, I did sneak in food but don't mention that if anyone asks. That would hurt your cause more than mine."
Mustang nodded, took the proffered wrap, and looked to Edward.
Casper nodded nervously, "I'll be here for a bit. I don't think anyone saw me, and considering the various tasks everyone has to do, no one should be able to pinpoint exactly when I came. So, we have some time."
Mustang merely undid the wrap and placed the bread on the tray, all the while watching Caper out of the corner of his narrowed eyes, his brows slightly drawing together at Casper's words and mannerisms.
If Damien has put him up to this in his attempt to manipulate Edward…
Casper continued, "there are issues with our government, and it needs to be changed, but I'm willing to place my bets on you." Mustang's only outward reaction to Casper was to blink. Casper rambled on, "If you can convince me working in the government, rather than overthrowing it, is worth the effort, then I and two others may be willing to… well, I'm not making any promises."
Mustang sighed, "it still may come down to a revolution, even if I would like to avoid that."
Casper just nodded, "but if not, if there is another way, then that would be best. I don't want to see any more kids end up like Simon." Casper looked at Edward, "how is the kid... I mean…"
Mustang waived a hand to cut Casper off, "not now. Fullmetal is fine."
Casper nodded but looked unsure. Then he looked where Edward's automail arm should have been, a thought forming in his mind. He had heard that one of the Drachma soldiers knew how to handle automail.
It was then that Edward gave a slight twitch. The noise from the two men talking, while quiet, was enough to disrupt his sleep.
Mustang turned back to Casper, "Look, I don't trust you. For all I know, you're with Damien and helping him with his plans for us, and this is all an act."
Casper jerked and frowned at Mustang, but Mustang leveled him with a glare that had Casper shirking back and wishing he could disappear.
"Look, I want to change this nation too, but I need proof from you that you're willing to help us. But, unfortunately, there is no way to verify anything you say, especially since you are working with Damien."
"That was a mistake…" Casper grumbled.
Mustang merely quirked an eyebrow, "but I do know that I need to get the… get Fullmetal out of here. I have no intention of being used in Damien and Drachma's schemes."
Caper nodded, almost furiously, "We, I mean Maria, Logan, and I don't like having Drachma involved. Wouldn't being taken to Drachma be a death sentence for any Amestrian, especially a State Alchemist like you?"
Mustang took a deep breath, "not necessarily so much for a State Alchemist. It would mean being… forcefully required to help the Drachma army develop their alchemy, if possible. Failure to comply would result in them applying forceful motivation."
Mustang gave Casper a hard look, glanced at Edward, and then met Casper's gaze once more, quirking an eyebrow once again.
Casper looked at Mustang blankly for a moment, and then his eyes grew wide as it dawned on Casper exactly what Mustang was implying. Casper grimaced. If he did not like the Drachma soldiers before, now he really didn't.
How did I miss that? Casper inwardly berated himself.
Mustang watched Casper's reaction, "While the general populace knows that Drachma is hostile to Amestris, they are not fully aware of the full extent to which Drachma would treat any soldier, especially State Alchemists from our nation."
Mustang sighed, "the constant threat of war wears on everyone. I'm sure you know many soldiers left the service after the Ishvalan war. While some remained because they agreed, others stayed because they did not. We don't want another war either. One of my goals is to ensure that Fullmetal never has to go to war. He has his reason for being in the military – that, though, is his story to share. All I'll tell you is that he has people to protect. However, I plan to help him achieve his goal as soon as possible to minimize his chance of serving in a war. Hell, if given a chance, I'd kick him out, if need be, to keep him from the front lines. He'd hate my guts, but he'd be alive. I can't have your rebellion starting a war with Drachma involved."
Casper looked down toward the tray that still held the water and rolls. "I was so angry about Simon that I just couldn't think of anything else. But I can't take someone else kid away from them just because of my grief. As for me and this whole rebellion, it's becoming something I never intended it to become." Casper paused and then looked up, "Also, you should know, the Drachma soldiers are leaving tonight."
Mustang jerked at the revelation, "wait, what?"
"They're going to get back up." Casper bit his lip, and Mustang took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"For me, right?"
Casper merely nodded, "and also to give us reinforcements," Casper grimaced.
At the moment, both men were distracted by Edward shifting again. They turned their attention to Edward as he blinked owlishly and looked around. Once he realized he was leaning up against Mustang, Edward scrambled backward.
"Wait… wait… what? Why am I?"
Edward came to a sudden halt as he flinched against the pain in his side, overbalanced due to his missing arm, and came to the end of the chain around his ankle all at the same time.
Edward looked to where his arm should have been, and shocked anger flared across his face.
"Welcome back," Mustang quipped. He smiled, noting that the last effects of the drugs seemed to have worn off.
Edward looked at Mustang, his attention diverted from his missing appendage in surprise.
Casper suppressed a laugh, "Well, do you want your water and bread now? I'd prefer you eat the bread sooner rather than later, just in case someone comes in; technically, you're not due for food yet."
When Edward saw the bread on the tray, he lunged forward, wincing as he forgot the pain momentarily as he snatched up the rolls. Mustang plucked one out of Edward's hand and took a bite before Edward could protest.
"Hey!"
Mustang swallowed, "I need food too, brat."
"You didn't have any earlier?"
"No, I was waiting for you."
"That's not my fault."
Casper watched the exchange silently and shook his head, amused as the two alchemists devoured the rolls.
"Well, drink up, and I'll be back tomorrow." Casper's gaze turned serious as he met Mustang's gaze, "I'll talk to the others tonight, then I'll come back tomorrow with a decision and hopefully proof."
Mustang merely raised an eyebrow and took his glass while handing the other to Edward. Once done, he placed both glasses back on the tray and gave Casper a stern look.
"I'll see you then."
When Casper left, both alchemists sat silently for a time. Mustang could see Edward glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as Edward tried to decide what to say.
"You're real, right?"
At Edward's question, Mustang looked at him quizzically but sighed. He still remembered the hallucinations produced by the drug while it rampaged through his own system.
"Yes, the drug doesn't do anyone any favors, though."
"So, this time, you're not a hallucination?"
Mustang shook his head and placed a hand on Edward's shoulder, "Does this feel like a hallucination?"
Edward's eyes narrowed, "You're acting funny."
Mustang merely gave Edward a stern glare, "unfortunately, things have taken a turn for the worse, but we might have a way out."
"What do you mean?"
"Drachma was here. The rebels plan to use us as bargaining chips to gain favor with Drachma and against Amestris."
Edward scowled in true Edward fashion but then perked up, "Oh yeah, and Casper decided to help us?"
Mustang's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"What?" Edward gave Mustang an incredulous glare, "he fed us."
Mustang's jaw dropped, "so he feeds us off schedule, and that makes him okay to trust?"
"What do you mean?"
Mustang shook his head, "and if it's a trap?"
"You're a cynical old man. He gave us food."
Teenagers and their food. The drugs must still be clouding his judgment.
Mustang slowly massaged his temples. "Don't think that just because someone feeds you, they're okay. But yes, despite his past actions, it seems that Caper is honest about wanting to help us. After all, he is not the best at hiding or controlling his emotions, just like a certain squirt I know."
"Hey!"
"Kid, you remember the Drachma soldiers are here, right?" Mustang gave Edward a serious look, remembering Edward's state when he was brought back to the room.
"You weren't completely aware when you came in, were you?"
Edward didn't meet Mustang's gaze, "I wondered if you were real… if that's what you meant."
Mustang merely hummed, "Again, I know the drugs don't do anyone any favors. But right now, I need you to trust that I'm real. We need to plan. The short version is that the Drachmen plan to take me back to Drachma with them, and Damien plans to keep you here."
Edward's eyes widened. He knew enough to begin to imagine what might happen to Mustang if taken to Drachma, at the very least.
"But then why did he bring me here? Wouldn't it be better to keep us, you know…?"
"He wants us to see each other so that we know exactly what can be done to the other if we're uncooperative, and having us separated by a border if Drachma takes me, will mean we can't help each other."
"You're the only one who needs help, bastard," Edward grumbled.
Mustang almost rolled his eyes but pulled Edward in to lean against his side, and while Edward initially protested, he subconsciously leaned into the touch while maintaining his stubborn scowl.
"Kid, Damien told me you called me…, well when Damien pretended to shoot…."
Edward looked up at Mustang with a curious look but shuddered when Mustang mentioned Damien shooting the blank.
Mustang stopped as he felt the shudder pass through Edward.
Mustang sighed, might as well not say that. He'll just get mad.
Instead, Mustang asked, "What do you remember?"
"I don't remember much. I just know Damien shot, well, I guess he pretended to shoot you, and they took me to this room, but everything else is hazy."
Edward glanced at his missing arm, "I think they took that on the way here – I was out of it, but I remember walking down the hall, stopping and feeling the sensation of it being removed. I just didn't realize it was the hallway at the time and couldn't place the feeling of them removing the automail."
Mustang nodded, "Okay. Well, they want to use us, and there isn't much we can do right now until Casper comes tomorrow. We have some time since the Drachma soldiers are leaving to get back up first."
Edward's head shot up at the announcement, "why?"
"They want to be able to leave some soldiers here to help the rebels, and they want more people to help escort me back."
Edward smirked, "really, they think you're that good? Don't they know you're a useless bastard?"
Mustang gave Edward a wry grin, "honestly." His smile sobered, and Edward tensed as Mustang continued. "Anyway, now that you know, get some more rest. We'll make a plan tomorrow after Casper comes back."
"He's coming back tomorrow?"
Mustang nodded, realizing Edward was not awake earlier, "Ah, right. So, they decided to give us water every day now."
"Really?"
"Really."
Edward was silent for a moment, "I thought you were dead for real this time," he whispered.
"I know, Damien told me. I'm sorry."
Edward punched Mustang's side but at the same time leaned into it even more, "shut up. You're a bastard."
Mustang just smiled as Edward sighed. The two alchemist's conversation petered out, and they both sat contemplating what had happened. Eventually, Edward slumped against Mustang as he fell asleep.
Mustang chuckled and sat, eyes half-closed but intently watching the door for any movement, always ready.
God, if this is what being a father feels like, it's a miracle that Hughes's hair isn't grey yet. Because I'm sure, I have way more grey hairs now than I did before.
The Drachma soldiers stood by the side entrance. It was the very same door from which Mustang and Edward had escaped. Damien and the leader exchanged a few last words, and then they headed out. The Drachmen would send three more groups in stages. The first would transport the Flame Alchemist to Drachma, and the other two would remain in Amestris to help the rebels with their plans.
The Drachma soldiers trudged away, and once out of earshot, one of the soldiers turned to his leader.
"He claims to prepare them, but won't Flame fight more once taken from the boy?"
The Drachma leader looked at his subordinate and grinned knowingly, "He might, but not if he thinks our men still with the rebels might harm him. Friend Damien has shown the boy does not need to be in good condition to be used. Fullmetal can be used against Flame." Then his expression darkened, "but if friend Damien damages beyond necessary, he will pay for losing our alchemist."
Still standing in the doorway to the compound, Damien straightened as the Drachma soldiers disappeared into the night, believing he was one step closer to his goal.
So things are starting to move!
Constructive criticism is always welcome.