A/N: And now I'm back with the second chapter of this novel of a story! I want to thank everyone who took the time to alert/favorite/review. It's always heartening to know people are enjoying your work, especially when you venture into a new fandom.
Now, without further ado, I present to you the second chapter of Fugazi.
January 3rd 1907
The first time Elisa visited Central City was for the wedding. Maes had managed to get his ideal posting to HQ barely two months after graduation which was great for his career, less so for his relationship.
Her parents had discussed the idea of having a shorter courtship so that Gracia could move out with Maes to Central. After all, they'd known each other for 4 years by the time of his proposal, had been dating for almost 3 of those years, there was no question they were well and truly committed.
In the end, however, it had actually been Maes that had shut the idea down. With him working in intelligence Gracia would need to undergo an entire background check before she was allowed to live with him, something that could take months. Maes had figured that it'd be better for her to spend that time with her family, planning the wedding she wanted.
So the two love birds had gone long-distance, having to resort to letters and monthly visitations.
It took 3 months for Gracia's clearance to come through, but then–with very suspicious timing, Elisa would note–Maes had been given some sort of undercover assignment that was way above their clearance level. An undercover assignment that lasted a year.
Gracia had handled the whole situation with more grace and poise than Elisa ever would have. Claiming that she and Maes had spoken about the realities of his job plenty of times, and, okay, with an ongoing Civil War it probably was very important to make sure your partner was aware they could be left alone for months on end. Still sort of pissed Elisa off, though.
Not so much at Maes, the situation had to have been killing him too, but more so that she was certain Maes had been given his mission because he wasn't–technically–married, yet.
At least it resulted in a promotion for Maes, he was now 'First Lieutenant Hughes'. From a practical perspective it meant more pay, and had allowed Maes to put a downpayment on his and Gracia's new home. So, it wasn't a total waste.
But, yeah, with the amount of setbacks the two had been facing it was quickly decided that they should get married as soon as Maes' returned. And that they should get married in Central to ensure that all of Maes' coworkers and superiors could attend. That way they'd all think twice before giving him an extended undercover assignment, again.
So Elisa found herself in Central for the first time, for the wedding. The wedding also doubled as the first time she'd seen Roy since he'd become a State Alchemist.
She'd kept up with the man via letters over the months. But they'd grown scarce over time. At first he'd been busy trying to help Riza host a funeral for her dad–Elisa had tried to attend but an ill-timed landslide had prevented the train from making the journey–then he'd been busy trying to decode Mr. Hawkeye's notes. Then he'd been busy studying for the state alchemy exams, then busy taking them. And then he'd started getting assignments that took him all over the country, but somehow never near her town, and his writing that had been scarce all year all but stopped entirely.
Honestly, Elisa had more consistent communication with Riza who had been in basic training at the time. Elisa knew each time Riza had gotten promoted, and while Riza had been careful to never use the term 'sniper', she'd also been aware when Riza had been eyeing a specialization based on her marksmanship scores. Yet she'd heard nothing from Roy since September.
Elisa vaguelly thought that Roy might just be avoiding her, although she couldn't fathom why. But Roy had undergone the same sort of alchemical training as her, so she knew that whatever he was doing, he was doing it for a reason.
So she'd resolved not to take his avoidance personally. Not when they'd be working closely together today to make this wedding go off without a hitch. After all, it was very probable that Roy was avoiding her for her sake, trying to keep the eyes of the military off another talented alchemist.
She'd wait to pass judgment until she knew for sure.
~::~
Roy was a horrible bastard.
No, really, he was scum.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. When he'd left to become a State Alchemist with the newfound awareness that Elisa was someone he could build a life with, he'd resolved to bury that thought. After all, he would no longer be in her presence and he'd have his whole career to focus on, it shouldn't be too hard to mentally relegate her to a childhood friend.
Except, Roy had made one major miscalculation. Elisa was–beyond a doubt–a writer. Which meant that, against all odds, she was frustratingly more charming over letters!
So he'd used the fact that he was traveling and so never in one place for long, to justify stopping the letter writing. But then Elisa had gone and used the money from her book publishing to establish a landline at their bakery and suddenly even that excuse was gone.
And that was another complication, the girl having written a successful novel that showed up everywhere Roy went. It was a hit with all the women he'd met, a story about a young Xingese girl who'd cut her hair and joined the army despite the laws preventing it, all to protect her family. It was rare to have a female lead in a story that was less about romance and more about action. And setting it in Xing was inspired as it allowed her to critique their government without ever upsetting anyone in Amestris.
Still, it did nothing to help Roy's constant attempts to get her out of his mind. Especially knowing that each book held pages of hidden alchemical knowledge. So he'd suffered and he'd ghosted and then he'd been plopped down right in front of Elisa, 19 months after leaving, fully expecting to be torn to shreds.
But she'd just…let it go.
Worse, she'd cornered Roy after the reception to ask if cutting contact had worked. If the powers that be had stopped looking her way as a possible recruit.
And Roy was a horrible bastard so he'd taken the out, agreed to exchange numbers, and left feeling somehow worse than if he'd just let her scream at him.
In the end he'd decided that if avoiding her was going to lead to so much turmoil then it wasn't the right strategy to employ. Besides, he was fine, the wedding was a brutal reminder that in truth it didn't really matter how he felt. Elisa's feelings for him were painfully, obviously, platonic. So, since nothing would come of it, it wouldn't really hurt to give her a call when he got back home. After all, he was trying to build up that womanizer persona. It wouldn't do for people to question the list of women's names in his book.
April 25, 1907
Elisa's twentieth birthday passed with little fanfare. True to the boys' predictions the military had long-since abandoned their Northern academy to focus their attention East. Sugar and butter became extremely scarce as rationing became an everyday fact of life. Elisa's book sales helped bolster them in the beginning but in time the cost of printing a book overtook the cost of selling one.
It also didn't help that citizens from the East were spreading out throughout the rest of the country.
Elisa had never properly understood the ramifications of a civil war before. She'd known about the Ishvalen extermination, about the mass loss of life. But she'd sort of assumed it had been an extermination similar to that of Nazi Germany. That Amestris had just decided to choose evil one day and the Ishvalens were the unfortunate result of that choice.
She was wrong.
For all that she'd never support the mass extermination of a people, Elisa was beginning to understand why the general opinion hadn't turned against Fuhrer Bradly with his choice.
In the beginning sides had been split, there were those who had visited Ishval, those who were friends with Ishvalens. People who knew of the teachings of Ishvala and would argue that if the military just stopped the people would lay down their arms. But that was back when it was a David-and-Goliath story. Back when the idea of a big government like Amestris turning its sights on a small region like Ishval just sat wrong with people.
As time passed and the war continued on, however, opinions started to change. After all, it was all fine and good to support the underdogs but when it was your son coming home in a body bag it was suddenly much more real. The Ishvalens had resorted to guerrilla warfare the likes of which Amestris had never seen. And since Aerugo was secretly supplying them arms the war just kept going.
What had originally been contained to just Ishval had spread to encompass all of Eastern Amestris. People from Liore were making their way through Elisa's town in the North and word from her friends was that the same could be seen all over.
Elisa wasn't surprised the Rockbells would leave to join the fray; they must have seen hundreds of refugees pass through Resembool in an attempt to flee the fighting.
And an influx of refugees with the rationing that was already occurring had led to even more tension. People were falling into an us and them mindset, where refugees were just seen as people taking food that should be going to us.
All that to say that the Frey family was not in a position to spend any money. So Elisa's twentieth birthday passed with a phone call from her sister, one from Roy, and a rice cake from her parents.
October 13th 1907
Things reached an all time low that Autumn. In a poor break of luck a blight had spread through all of the crops in the South East, severely depleting Amestris stores months before winter was set to begin.
The Ishavelns held that this was divine retribution from Ishvala set to protect his people and punish those who had done them harm.
Which only convinced the rest of Amestris that they'd sunk so low as to poison an entire country's food source, before winter.
The fighting did slow as supplies to the front dwindled, the entire country facing a famine. But that only meant that when it resumed it was with a sort of vicious anger that hadn't been present before.
Elisa had spent most of that Autumn traveling around the north, offering to apply insulating arrays for cuts of meat. She'd created the array when running the heater had proven too expensive. It was a simple matter to use her solar array to absorb the heat from the sun during the day and have it disperse through the house at night.
She'd taken care to explain that the array only worked if the sun was out that morning, but people would rather have half-a-fix than nothing, and since she only asked for payment in meat–something they could afford to part with–it had been a happy transaction for everyone.
She'd then cured the meat in a technique passed down to her in a different life. Setting it up to last them through the months of winter. She'd mailed some care packages out to her sister, Roy, Riza, aware that they were likely facing the worst of the food shortage.
It wasn't much, but as the war dragged on and Elisa stayed out of it even as her friends were thrust into it, it was at least something.
It didn't do much to offset her guilt at not enlisting, though.
February 3rd, 1908
When the order came it was both expected and painfully out of nowhere.
Part of Elisa had known it was on the horizon, after all, Maes and Riza had received promotions that had sent them out to the front-line back in September. Riza was now a Master Sergeant after finishing her 'specialized training' and had immediately been tapped to put that training to use. And Maes, as a Captain, was now perfectly set to lead squadrons from the field.
Elisa had known that with the two of them going it wouldn't be too long before Roy followed. But she spoke to Roy on the phone every Friday, and his tone was not that of a soldier expecting impending orders. So Elisa had allowed herself to relax, allowed herself to believe there was still more time.
She had forgotten, however, that just because a soldier wasn't expecting orders didn't mean they wouldn't be issued.
She should have seen it coming, what with the way the famine had played out–the Ishvalens had made a lot of ground that winter. Yet, it had been seven years since this mess had started. After seven years it wasn't hard to imagine that the fighting would continue for several more years.
So in the end she was still shocked when Roy said he'd been called to the war front.
More shocked when he asked her to hide that she was an alchemist for the next few months.
It was the first time that Roy had ever hinted that being scouted for the State Alchemy program could be a bad thing. And it was that more than anything that shook Elisa.
She didn't want to go to war. She didn't want to have to murder innocent people at the hands of the state. But she also didn't want her friends to go to war. She'd never properly thought about it, so focused on avoiding the military herself. But when Roy's voice had hitched when warning her, she'd suddenly been hit with the reality of what he was being called to do.
"You can–" leave, is what she wanted to say. What she would have said, if she wasn't certain there was some intelligence officer tapped into their call.
"–I really can't." A shaky breath, "but you haven't changed your mind, right? To the moon and back?"
And Elisa could hear the vulnerability in that question. Could hear the very real fear that what Roy was about to do would force Elisa to turn her back on him, to withdraw her support. And while everything in Elisa was against this order, she also knew that in the grand scheme of things how she felt would always pale in comparison to how her friend must be feeling. Elisa was so afraid of death that she'd chosen to sit at home while her three closest friends walked into an active warzone. She had no place to judge them. And it was important that Roy knew that.
"Of course. And, just, when you're out there, try to remember what you told me–" things will get better, they always do.
"–right. Well, I just wanted to make sure you weren't waiting around for my call next Friday," a forced chuckle. "And that you'll take care of yourself with everyone so busy."
Elisa's hands clutched tight around the receiver, sensing their conversation was drawing to a close and desperately trying to cling to this voice. The voice of a man, her friend, free from the weight of having taken a life. "Of course, and R-roy? I'm going to write you, okay? And I need you to write me back. Even if it's just one word, even if it's just that you're alive. I can't imagine how hard it'll–I just need something, okay?"
It was the first reference Elisa had made to that time that Roy had ghosted her and she hoped it was enough to guilt him into complying. She wasn't sure if writing would actually help. But if he was going to write her back then he'd need to read her letters. And maybe they'd do nothing, maybe they wouldn't help at all. But maybe they'd remind Roy that there was a life outside of the desert.
"...okay."
And since she was too much of a coward to follow her friends into hell, the least she could do was remind them that they weren't the devils.
No, that title belonged to Fuhrer Bradly, and those men who supported his plans.
Elisa wasn't sure what she could do to help Roy bring down his regime. But she knew she'd be doing something, she doubted this self-disgust would ever go away, otherwise.
~::~
03.09.1908
Morning R—
Well, it likely won't be morning when you read this letter. But you can tuck that salutation away until after a particularly hard night's sleep. If I was there with you and M— and Ri— I'd make sure to greet you guys every morning. Maybe not with a "good" morning, I can imagine that wouldn't go over well. But at least with a reminder that you'd made it through another day.
So, morning!
Things on our end have started to look up. True to my promise I've put my previous money-making occupation on hold. Although I've several ideas to run by you the next time you're in the north! But prices for ink and paper have been steadily dropping so I've taken to writing a new story, even got the publishing house to give me an advance and everything! I know you never read my first novel but I figured that even you can't be picky about reading material now. So I've sent you the first few chapters of the book. Feel free to pass them around your camp. I'm sure several people could use the escape a good book provides.
And I've got the originals with me, so don't worry if they get lost or torn or anything. Or if you need to torch them when you're done, I won't mind.
Anyway, write to let me know you're still alive.
Your friendly neighborhood author,
E—
~::~
04.02.1908
Dear E—
I wish I could pretend that my nights are restful enough for one of them to be ranked "particularly hard." Instead I find myself re-reading your letter every morning, while thanking whatever god or devil exists that you aren't here to say that greeting in person. It is my greatest regret that I can't pack M— and Ri— up and send them your way. I've always thought you were a genius but staying out of this mess is perhaps the smartest thing you've ever done.
I'm glad things are looking up, I've shared your work amongst those who would appreciate it. I've got to say, the idea of a secret world of magic users is rather fantastical. I've always thought you had a peculiar mind but I suppose that's just the mark of an artist? I've nothing I can, and even less that I care to, report. So I'm afraid I'll have to end things here.
R—
PS - please don't mention 'torching' again.
~::~
05.07.1908
R—,
I'm glad you think it smart of me, because I can't help but feel guilty that I'm here safe while you're all fighting for your lives.
G—– moved back home last week, I think she needed to be doing something to take her mind off of everything. Mom and Dad have given her full run of the bakery for as long as she'd like. You didn't hear this from me, but I think she's going to convince M— to start trying for a baby as soon as he gets back. That way she'll never truly be left alone, again.
I mean, yes, I suppose the idea of magic would be foreign to your logic-inclined brain. But I'd argue that to the layperson reading my books, magic doesn't look too different from Alchemy. And what young orphan doesn't dream of being whisked away from their life to something better? Besides, I've included some true alchemical lore in this story, as you'll see in these chapters. Something to peak the interest of logic-leaning thinkers, such as yourself. Go ahead and read it and give me your opinion. If you've nothing to say of reality, at least say something of fiction.
Yours,
E—
P.S. I'm an idiot. Don't worry, I've learned my lesson.
~::~
06.04.1908
Dear E—,
Don't.
Don't feel guilty. Very few things bring me comfort these days. The knowledge that you are as far as possible from this hell-hole is one of them. I know M— feels the same about G—–. And you should know you're the only person Ri— writes to, if you were here she'd have no connection to the outside world.
As for your story, I hardly think including references to the Philosopher's Stone makes it any less fantastical. Although I suppose from a marketing perspective, it's brilliant. Many a young alchemist would pick it up based on the title alone. That being said, it's also caught the eye of some of my fellow State Alchemists. So I might suggest a title change lest you have to field several questions on the topic.
Yours,
R—
~::~
07.01.1908
R—,
Fine. I can't promise I won't feel guilty. But I do promise to constantly remind myself that this is the outcome you'd prefer. If we can't have my prefered outcome of all of us in M— and G—–'s living room happily catching up over tea, then I guess I can settle for the world in which G—– and I stay as far away from bullet-fire as possible.
Ri— has offered to watch your back, anyway, and I know I could never compete with that woman. Honestly, I hope I live long enough to see her settle down. She'd make the most badass working mom!
I've taken your notes under advisement. I suppose I can settle for the "sorcerer's stone" although there's less history behind it. Still, you're right that I don't actually want to field questions. Especially when I don't even have answers. Here are the next few chapters. Thoughts?
Yours,
E—
~::~
08.17.1908
E—,
We're making headway. Base has moved from — to —, which is further East. I don't dare hope about anything anymore, but it's possible they may actually surrender soon. I can't imagine them continuing to fight now that momentum's back on our side.
What's the general opinion back home? We only know what comes down the wire and that's often diluted and twisted to fit the narrative. If you have any insight I'm open to hear it? Story's good, as per usual, I think he's getting into too much for an eleven year old, though. There can't possibly be a child with that much bad luck out there, right? Anyway, write soon.
Eagerly awaiting news,
R—
~::~
09.03.1908
R—,
I'm only telling you this because you asked. And because I made that comment a lifetime-ago about it being better to know the truth and worry, than be blindsided. But, well, the general opinion back home is that you're a hero. Everyone's talking about how you and the State Alchemists are drawing this war to a close.
No one is acknowledging how you're doing so, but people are mentioning you by name as a war hero. And I know, I know, but it's going to have to be another shackle you bare. The goal you've set doesn't afford you the chance to turn down good publicity. It's the only reason I bite my tongue every time I overhear.
I'm afraid I don't have any better news on the view of the war, either. We know the fighting has moved further East but I don't like how bloodthirsty everyone's become. The famine is still fresh on people's minds and they want their pound of flesh.
I think it's easy for Central, West and South to overlook the true cost of this war. They're not seeing the refugees fleeing. And I think it's much easier to ask for blood when you're not the one drawing it. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe my pessimism is just acting up. But I can't shake the thought that this war is going to get worse before it gets better.
As to the antics of eleven year old boys I can only say that I know without a shadow of a doubt that there are boys in Amestris right now capable of attracting as much, if not more, trouble. Anyway, these are the last few chapters. I tried to keep the ending open for a sequel, or more. Really depends how Amestris takes to the genre, I suppose. Hoping for your safe return!
Yours,
E—
~::~
10.12.1908
E—
You weren't wrong.
R—
~::~
11.08.1908
R—
You've mentioned before that your information is censored. So I'm not sure if you know this, but someone managed to smuggle out pictures of the war and it's begun to change public opinion. Specifically they caught that priest who r— a wh— f—– but was then sh— d—–. Turns out people are much less willing to support a massacre than a war. People from Eastern and Northern towns, who've been taking in refugees, have also started to speak up.
Stories are coming out, and they're not pretty. There are always those who support the military and I imagine they'll never stop singing your praises. But it will probably take years of work to improve your image in the North and East. Just a thought if you ever have a choice as to where you're stationed.
I've finished editing the book and the publishers think it should hit the shelves in the new year. If you're back by then would you consider attending a book reading with me? I've been giving it a lot of thought, and I think this is the best way I can support you. After all, how scary a soldier can you be if you read and edit childrens' books in your spare time?
I know it's probably the last thing you want to do, but you're always saying I'm smart. So please trust my intelligence when I say surrounding yourself with innocents could be very good for you. And, if it's too much, I'll let you make your escape, no questions asked. So, what do you say?
E—
~::~
12.16.1908
I'm coming home.
R—
January 31st, 1909
The second time Elisa visited Central City was to attend Roy's award ceremony. All of her friends had received a promotion for 'services in the war'. But Roy, along with select other State Alchemists, was to be publicly acknowledged for his war efforts. And as she'd yet to see any of her friends except Maes–who'd stopped by on his way to HQ to pick up Gracia–she'd been quick to accept Roy's invitation.
After all, she'd promised to support him. And knowing what she did about his feelings on the subject she knew he needed that support.
The ceremony was actually very nice, all things considered. Whoever wrote the speeches was very cognizant of the divide amongst the Amestrian people. The words "Ishval" or "Ishvalan" were never once uttered, instead it was always "the War" or "the Conflict." When it got time to praise the Alchemists they stuck with statistics related only to Amestrian soldiers.
"Ensured 100 men returned home safely."
"Helped secure the town where we'd lost 500 men to date."
"Was pivotal in bringing the Conflict to a close, saving inumerable Amestrian lives in the process."
It was masterful in how well it avoided mentioning the cost of this victory. And even more masterful in how it continued to sow the narrative that 'they' were not Amestrian. And while Elisa had known that a competent military state wouldn't just stand up and admit the war they'd been waging for the last eight years was wrong. She'd still sort of hoped they'd fail at making it all sound so justified.
Still, it was well decorated and moved at a fast pace. It wasn't too long until the soldiers were dismissed to their friends and family, and not long after that until they were all able to head out and retire at Maes' and Gracia's living room.
So, all-in-all, it wasn't the worst it could have been.
Something Elisa enumerated, at length, to Roy and Riza over her third glass of tequila.
It had been a last-minute decision on Elisa's part, to turn their mandatory attendance for the ceremony into a proper welcome home party. She'd gone to Maes first, to secure permission to bring alcohol into their home. And Maes, poor naive Maes, was quick to prove that for all he loved and worshiped Gracia, there were still things about her that he didn't know.
"I mean, if Gracia's fine with it. But I can't imagine she'd want you drinking alcohol."
So she went to Gracia next, her older sister who just needed reminding that—1. she couldn't drink once pregnant and 2. she likely wouldn't drink once a mother, to offer to pick up the liquor herself.
Riza had been both easier and harder to convince than Elisa had expected.
On the one hand, it turned out that for all that war forged relationships of steel it didn't necessarily lend one to being comfortable with drinking in the presence of her superiors. (Elisa was quick to point out that neither Maes nor Roy were her C.O. yet.) On the other hand, Riza had turned eighteen on the front, was nineteen now, and had never had an opportunity to experience that aspect of adulthood.
In the end it took Elisa promising to alchemically lock away their firearms before they touched a drop of alcohol to get Riza to agree. Although Riza would later reveal, once she was several drinks deep herself, that she was always going to agree. That Elisa was her closest girlfriend and she had been ecstatic at the invite. (Elisa would be quick to return the sentiment, crawling over several people on the couch to get to Riza and wrap her in a big hug.)
Which just left Roy.
Roy, who, for all that he liked to wear the persona of a party boy, was actually painfully, annoyingly, responsible. At least as far as Elisa was concerned. If she had to guess it had something to do with how their friendship had formed.
Roy had met her when she'd been fourteen years old and by virtue of Maes' fixating on Gracia, he had long-since taken it on himself to protect her.
It's why he'd gotten her that Alchemy internship, why he'd never mentioned her to his superiors, and why, she assumed, he'd always steered her away from any bars.
It wasn't like Elisa was an alcoholic, in fact she pretty much never drank. Her only experience with alcohol in this life had been some late-night experimentation with her sister after Maes had proposed and Gracia had realized she'd gotten engaged before she'd gotten drunk.
She didn't try to drag Roy to those places so she could drink. Rather, it was born from an intense desire to see Roy drunk. To see Roy, the man who was painfully in control of himself, truly let-loose. There weren't too many times the two of them had been in the same town since she'd turned eighteen, Elisa could think of maybe four, but the few times it worked out she'd tried to drag Roy along only to have the man always redirect them.
It had gotten so obvious that Elisa had called Madame Chris trying to make sure she hadn't accidentally stumbled onto some sort of trauma she didn't know about. After all, she didn't want to keep bringing up the possibility if it was hurting Roy. But his Aunt had just laughed and confirmed that Roy definitely drank and she assumed the issue was more about him not wanting her in a bar.
Which, yeah, okay, Elisa could see how it wasn't very 'done' for women of this time period to go to bars. Still, while he might be more receptive to them drinking if it was at her sister's house she wasn't going to risk him turning her down. Not after she'd gotten so far. Which was why she dealt with Roy by not telling Roy.
Instead, she walked him into the living room, locked the door and demanded he hand his firearm over to Riza.
"What?"
"She needs to disarm it so I can lock it away."
"...am I getting some sort of intervention?"
Elisa's answering smirk was not comforting. "No. But I am getting drunk. So no guns in the room. Them's the rules."
Roy locked eyes with Maes who just smirked, and knew he was not getting out of this one. "Fine," he grumbled, unholstering his gun and disarming it himself before handing it to Elisa, "now, where's the liquor? I need a drink."
Roy pretended not to notice Elisa's answering smile. He already knew he was screwed, no need to make matters worse for himself.
~::~
Roy was in hell.
A different sort of hell from the past year, to be sure. But still hell.
He'd known what to expect. Gracia had lamented to Maes years ago that her sister only ever cuddled her when drunk. So Roy had always known to avoid the combination of Elisa and alcohol. And, to his credit, he'd been rather successful there for a while.
But even he wasn't enough of a bastard to walk out of a party she'd planned because he was afraid of cuddling.
Well, lesson learned. Next time he'd walk out.
It had started out innocently enough.
She'd mainly been content to snuggle with Gracia and give Maes a high-five for being "the world's coolest future-dad." One memorable moment had her climbing over Roy to give Riza a hug, which had startled him, but had happened too quickly for him to give it much thought. But then Maes had apparently decided it was time for him and his wife to excuse themselves but couldn't think of a good way to remove Elisa from her sister. And, while Gracia had inadvertently warned Roy that Elisa was a tactile drunk, no one had warned him that Gracia was a mischievous drunk.
For that little minx had looked her sister dead in the eye and whispered, "hey, do you think all that flame alchemy means Roy runs hotter than most people?" And before he could fully register the connotation Elisa had stuck her hands under his shirt and begun feeling him up.
"You are warm." She'd muttered, headless of the blush spreading across his face. He'd shot a desperate look at Maes but he was already pulling Gracia towards their bedroom. And Gracia had the nerve to send him a wink. So he'd turned to Riza who seemed to be enjoying his discomfort a little too much. But was at least kind enough to jump in when Elisa made a move to settle across his lap.
"Elisa, didn't you once tell me that a girl should also never assume she has permission to touch a guy?"
Elisa pulled her hands back as if burned. Wide green eyes locked with Roy's with far too little distance between them. "I'm sorry, Roy," she whispered, "I shoulda asked." A single hand hovered over his abs. "Can I touch you?"
I'm in hell.
Riza burst out laughing which was thankfully enough to distract Elisa. "Riza! You're happy!" She tackled the blond in another hug, "I'm glad. Oh, we should play a game!"
And Roy would have agreed to anything if it kept Elisa distracted and on the other side of the couch. Which it did, right until Elisa had apparently reached her limit and had made the executive decision that Roy's lap was the ideal place to rest her head.
And while Roy knew it was just the alcohol and that Elisa hadn't treated him any differently than she had Gracia or Riza, his heart still leapt. And his hand moved to stroke her hair, almost without thought.
"She used to write about this, you know?"
Roy shot Riza a surprised look. They'd never actually talked about the contents of their letters. He knew Elisa wrote Riza just as Riza knew Elisa wrote him, but beyond the chapters of her book he'd never offered up a word of what Elisa had written. It had seemed too personal, in a way, too sacred. As if, by speaking the words aloud, that would somehow sully them. Even Maes, for all that he loved to talk about his wife, never gave them more than vague updates of home.
Riza continued, heedless of Roy's surprise, "this was her greatest desire, I think, the five of us in this room, together." And Roy did remember a reference to something of the sort. Still it sounded like Elisa went far more in depth with Riza.
"She told you her dreams?"
Riza startled out of her thoughts, eyes jumping up to meet Roy's. She contemplated him for a second before taking in his hand, still running through Elisa'a hair, and nodding to herself. "She did. My only family was fighting in the war and I'd never met her family, talk of home didn't make sense for us."
"So you spoke about the future."
"She spoke about the future. I couldn't see one past—" Riza closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I could rarely bring myself to respond, but she never stopped writing. She spoke of a time when the five of us would all be together. Of a future where she'd introduce me to her sister. Of a world where that sister bore a little girl that we would all cherish." Riza smirked, "she promised to buy me a dog if I hadn't gotten one by the time I turned twenty-five."
It was at that moment that Roy made a startling realization.
He had always known, intellectually, that Riza was younger than Elisa–had stood beside her when the girl was sixteen and newly orphaned. But he'd watched Elisa play the part of the younger sister for nearly a decade and had gone to war with Riza. One did not watch the Hawk's Eye in action and think of her as anything short of an adult. So he'd never bothered to question their relationship, he'd known it had bloomed over two years of living together, but had never really thought about the dynamic that had formed. If he'd had to make a guess he would have assumed that Riza took the role she always did, the silent support, the sniper keeping an eye out for danger.
But now he was seeing their relationship in a new light. For all that he'd seen Elisa grow up it was Elisa who'd watched Riza grow up. It was Elisa who'd supported her when she'd made the decision to join the military. Elisa who she would have told about doing well-enough in marksmanship training to become a sniper. And it was Elisa who had written to Riza, even when she refused to respond, to constantly remind her of the future they were fighting for. In that moment it was painfully obvious that while Roy looked at Elisa and saw several things, Riza looked at her and saw a big sister.
"She spoke about you too."
Roy jolted out of his thoughts.
"She spoke about a world where you achieved your dreams and everyone was the better for it." He froze. "I responded to that one, sent a scathing reply. Told her she couldn't talk since she wasn't there to see what you were…what we were doing. I was certain I'd just destroyed our friendship. That was the day I went and confronted you."
"...what did she write back?" Because Roy knew her well enough to know that she did write back.
Riza smiled sadly, "she said that it's because of what we were doing that she was so certain of the future. That no one could walk through the hell we'd seen and come out unchanged. That you would take all that pain and suffering and turn it into a promise, a promise to be better. She said that we had traded in our innocence and would never again be able to miss the face of injustice. Really, it was quite moving," Riza's face remained as stoic as normal, but Roy watched as her eyes twinkled with mischief, "you should definitely have her write your opening address."
Roy's eyes drifted down to the girl in his lap. "What did I do to deserve her faith?"
"No, the question is what will you do to deserve it?"
Roy looked up and Riza watched his eyes fill with the same fire she'd seen at the cemetary a lifetime ago. "Everything."
"And I'll be right there,' Riza thought, taking the two of them in, "watching your back, just like I promised her."
March 25th, 1909
Roy didn't expect a gift. Technically it was his birthday, yes, but the reason he took a long weekend was to fulfill his promise to accompany Elisa to her first book reading.
And, it's not like they'd ever exchanged gifts before. The closest to a gift Roy had ever gotten Elisa had been her Alchemy apprenticeship–which had barely cost him a phone call.
So, Roy didn't expect a gift.
Elisa gave him one anyway.
"I call it a blacklight." She explained, showing him the array she'd drawn on the side of his state-issued flashlight. "I use alchemy to change the visible light of the flashlight to harmless ultraviolet light."
Roy furrowed his brow, "...and this useful, because?"
Smiling Elisa turned the lights off in her living room, before shining the 'blacklight' against a page of her newly printed book. Roy watched in astonishment as everywhere the light touched words flourished into existence only to disappear as soon as the light moved away.
"What? How?!"
"Fluorescence."
Roy furrowed his brow. He'd heard the term before, in reference to some alchemist somewhere making a tonic water glow blue. But he'd never properly studied it, didn't know there was a practical use for it.
"Fluorescence?"
"Yes, this ink absorbs the high energy waves of the blacklight which causes an electron to excite to a new energy state, then when it falls back down to the ground state it releases energy as a lower energy wave. In this case as visual-light so you can see the writing glow!"
Roy's lack of comprehension must have been clear in his silence because Elisa immediately turned the lights back on and reached for a paper to start drawing a diagram.
"See, this is the different energy levels of the—"
"—it's fine," he was quick to reassure her, "you don't have to explain. Just seeing it in use is amazing enough."
Now it was Elisa's turn to look confused. "But if I don't explain the theory behind it, how are you going to learn to draw the array?"
Roy's brain short-circuited.
"I mean, I suppose you don't really have to understand fluorescence to convert visible light to ultraviolet light. But you'd always only know half of the puzzle."
"Wait. You want to teach me how to draw this array. This," he held up his flashlight, "array?"
"...yes? That's my birthday gift to you."
Roy looked from the array to Elisa and back again, "...isn't this how you've coded your notes?!"
She nodded.
"Elisa! You, I can't–" he ran a hand through his hair, "–why now?!" Because, for all that Elisa trusted and supported Roy she never showed him her notes. Barely touched on the theory behind any of her arrays. Side-stepped all of his questions on the topic. That had been the basis of their relationship for years.
"Riza told me that you're going to be the last Flame Alchemist."
Roy froze.
"Since you've finally learned how to keep a secret, I figured I could let you in on one of mine."
"One?"
She shot him a smirk, "you've still got to make Brigadier General before I tell you the rest. Now, let me teach you this," she drew a circle, "so, you start by using the tectonic energy to pull in double your need amount of photons, then you—"
"—what's a photon?"
Elisa looked up at Roy in surprise and then cursed, reaching for another blank piece of paper. "Right. So a few years ago this guy wrote a paper on light where he talked about quanta which is really just another word for…"
Roy listened as Elisa broke down the science of her array. Listened as she explained a theory she claimed had been published in 1905, even as Roy knew she'd been coding her notes in this manner since 1904. He listened as she took a concept that was so cutting edge that it should be all but impossible to understand and broke it down into terms a teenager could grasp. He listened, and listened, and listened and in the end, he learned.
Learned how to create the array, but also learned that Elisa hadn't been paranoid in keeping her knowledge from him for all these years.
Roy didn't know how she knew these things, didn't buy for a second that she'd obtained it by reading articles like the rest of them. But he did know that no one could figure out how deep her knowledge went.
A fact Elisa had clearly always been cognizant of.
Which added a layer of meaning to this gift that Roy wasn't sure he liked.
"Why."
"Huh?"
"Before I asked 'why now', but now I want to know why you taught me this."
Elisa shot him a sad smile.
"I plan to release this array on my death so everyone can read my notes posthumously. But tomorrow's never promised, so I thought it was a good idea to have a back-up plan."
"You are not allowed to die." Roy shot out, tone as serious as Elisa had ever heard it.
She chuckled nervously to break the tension, "I'm not planning to die. No worries. Still happy living my life as a civilian." And it was true that Elisa wasn't planning to die, still strongly feared death. But she also worried about the fact that 'Elisa Frey' had never really existed in the original story.
It could be nothing but paranoia, perhaps she'd pass the next few years in peace–as it should be. But on the off chance she was onto something, she wanted to leave some sort of mark on the world. Some proof that she had existed. Not that she could explain this to Roy without coming across as psychotic.
"Good." Roy grumbled voice gruff. "Now, come on, I commited to watching you read a book to children for several hours."
Elisa got up to follow Roy out the door, thinking that maybe she'd been a little nihilistic. After all, she'd definitely left a mark on her friends' lives.
Right?
November 19th, 1909
It was her mother who brought it up first.
Elisa's latest novel had been a smashing success and she was halfway through the first draft of the sequel. From a financial standpoint she was set, and yet, her parents worried.
They weren't worried that Elisa wasn't dating, Mrs. Margaret Frey knew better than to worry about her in that regard. She'd had a sister who'd never married and was perfectly happy, and knew Elisa would be too, if she did end up that way. Although she was rather certain Elisa had a military man of her own in the future. No, it wasn't her love-life that worried Elisa's mother, it was the rest of her life.
Gracia was out in Central finally making a life with her husband, constantly ringing them to talk about all the things she had experienced. That Mustang boy was in the East living his own life, building connections, traveling through work. And Elisa was still at home, living vicariously through stories and phone calls.
She had always been a peculiar child, everyone says that the second child is always the handful. Your first child is calm enough to convince you that you can handle another one, and then your second child is wild enough to make you regret your hubris. Elisa was never wild, she was quiet and kind and content to follow after her sister in everything, but she was still a handful. Too smart by half and too proud to match, with an aversion to hugs that Gracia took personally. It was obvious from the day she could talk that their little girl would be wasted on the bakery.
So Margaret and Tomás discussed their options and ended up deciding to take a loan out–store as collateral–to send their daughters to complete all of their education. It was all of three days before Elisa's teachers confirmed what her parents always knew; their daughter was a genius. But for all that she was a genius Elisa had always been content to spend her days with her family, blissfully unaware of her potential.
Margaret had been a little skeptical when that Mustang boy had introduced her daughter to alchemy. Relatively certain that this would be another topic she would breeze through with no effort and then promptly place on the shelf to be forgotten. But, instead, it had piqued their daughter's interest, and Margaret and Tomás had been ecstatic to watch their youngest finally find her passion. It was why they had fully supported Gracia's idea to send Elisa to her apprenticeship when she turned sixteen. They knew Elisa wasn't the kind of person to leave on such a journey on her own.
And now she was twenty-two and still stuck at home with her parents.
They'd been grateful for the help in the beginning, with the war straining their finances and then with the famine. Having Elisa there to solve problems with her alchemy had been a huge boon. But the war had been over for a year now and their daughter showed no signs of starting to live her life.
So Margaret had brought it up, the idea that Elisa should go traveling.
"I've been told that's typically the next step for your field. First you're an apprentice learning from a master, then you're a journeyman learning from the world, and one day you settle down to teach."
"I have journeyed," Elisa was quick to point out, "remember? I used to go out to the homes of the neighboring towns during the famine."
"Bah, more towns in the North, that's not a journey! Why not go East to visit your friends? You have a steady income, you can afford to travel."
"But you and dad–"
"–are not so old that we can't enjoy a house to ourselves."
Elisa blushed scarlet but ultimately agreed with her mother. Only, Riza had been quick to answer her call and inform her that Roy and she have had to travel all across Amestris to recruit new Alchemists for the program. What with most of their Alchemists resigning following the end of the war. An assignment that was likely to last another year.
And Elisa could have used that as an excuse to stay home. But with that statement from Riza she knew the world would soon be thrust into turmoil, again. If ever there was a time to travel, now was it.
So she told her parents she'd call them when she reached her first town, packed a drawstring bag with the essentials, and headed off to the first eastern town her train would hit.
Perhaps nothing would come of this journey, but she had money and time, surely there was someone she could help?
May 5th, 1910
"Help, please, I need help!" A voice desperately screamed out along the courtyard. Elisa looked up from her work to see a young Ishvalan woman pleading with people to give her aid. Elisa glanced at the well she'd been trying to fix all morning–it had collapsed the night before and the innkeeper agreed to waive her room fee if she could fix it–and then looked back at the woman.
In the end it wasn't much of a choice, the well could keep. Besides, it was hours of work away from being functional.
"Hi, miss," she called, waving a hand, "what's the problem?"
The lady locked on Elisa and immediately ran over. "My son," she answered, leading Elisa away in a brisk jog, "he was out playing and hadn't returned for lunch so I went to fetch him. He'd collapsed! He'd collapsed and no one had told me, he's been out in the sun for hours and I–" she choked back a sob.
Elisa cursed as she stumbled across the boy, maybe five years old. They were about fifteen minutes from the slums in an area that was more desert than city, there was no way he'd led himself out here. Pushing that thought aside she focused on the boy, dropping to the floor to look him over. She was no doctor but her first life had been in the tropics so she knew enough to diagnose heat stroke. And one look at his face showed he was already dangerously dehydrated.
"He needs water," Elisa called to the woman, cursing the fact that she had emptied the last of her flask ten minutes ago. Truly, he needed ice.
"I sent my husband to the well, but he wasn't there when I retrieved you…?"
"The well collapsed, it's drawing up nothing but silt, if he heard then he must have left to ask around. Is your home nearby? He needs to be moved out of the heat."
The woman shook her head in distress. "We don't have a home here. We arrived today. I left my son to play with the other children while I asked around for work, I—" Elisa stood up to hug the weeping woman trying to offer her some comfort.
"The inn I'm staying at should have enough water to spare," Elisa consoled, "your husband should have some success if he tries there. And your son can recover in my room."
The woman froze in her hug before pulling back to shoot Elisa a look of true despair. "They would never allow him inside, they think it a disgrace to even acknowledge our existence."
Elisa faltered, eyes shooting down to the small child desperatly panting. She wanted to deny this mother's words, wanted to claim that surely people wouldn't be so cruel. But people didn't make statements like that without having experienced it themselves, several times over. Which meant that bringing the boy to the inn wouldn't work, and it was unlikely his father would have success begging for water.
And time was of the essence when it came to heatstroke.
"There is something I can do," Elisa began haltingly, aware of exactly what she was about to offer. "Your son needs to cool down and rehydrate, and I can make both water and ice."
"You can?! Please! Do so!"
"I can," Elisa agreed, reaching for her pocketbook, "but it would require me utilizing this," she turned the page to show the mother the array.
The mother's eyes widened before looking at her suffering son and hardening. "Do it." She whispered. "Please."
Elisa nodded and began sketching out a new array with her pen. She'd theorized about freezing water-vapor back when she'd first learned alchemy but now it seemed she'd actually be attempting it. In theory it shouldn't be too hard, but the air around them wasn't exactly humid. Honestly, it likely would have been simpler for Elisa to shed some blood and transmute that into water–since it would have been some 60% water, anyway–but she doubted that would fly with this woman.
So engulfed in her calculations was Elisa that she failed to hear the boy's father arrive, failed to hear the heated debate the two parents broke into. But she definitely heard the loud "No!" that seemed to stretch across the shifting sands.
"No, my wife," the man repeated, reaching for the crying woman. "We can't rely on such blasphemy," he shot a glare at Elisa, "it is forbidden."
Elisa looked down at the half drawn circle in her book, then looked at the small child, now shivering. She turned to the father and asked in the most non-confrontational voice she could muster, "do your scriptures truly forbid you from drinking water formed through alchemy?" Her eyes flickered back to the child. "At the cost of your life? That is one of Ishvala's commandments?"
Elisa was banking on the fact that it wasn't. Banking on the idea that this issue with Alchemy was due to the political lense with which their most recent religious leaders had been interpreting their texts. Or born as a word-of-mouth cautionary tale following the fall of the neighboring desert kingdom of Xerxes. But if she was wrong, if Alchemy had really been outlawed in their books, then she knew she'd be forced to watch this young boy die.
The mother turned to give her husband a pleading look and Elisa watched as he pushed through his anger to truly consider her question.
"...it is not a commandment, no. But that does not mean it is permitted, either. That is for an Elder to decide, for we are not trained to interpret the scripts of Ishvala."
"Then, can you get an Elder?"
"I am here," a calm voice carried over the wind. Elisa quickly turned to see an old man walking towards them. "I heard talk of two new wanderers in need of help, and have come to offer my services." Elisa was calmed to see the small smile he sent her way. This man, she knew, would at least be open to talking with her. His eyes flickered to her half-drawn array then back to Elisa, a single brow raised.
She wasted no time explaining.
"He has heat stroke and is severely dehydrated, he needs water and ice and he needs it now. Your nearest well just collapsed, and it could take hours to clear. But I can form ice and water right here." She motioned to her array.
"You know it is the way of Ishvala to reject Alchemy as a sign of pride. It is considered blasphemous to believe that we could create a form better than that which the Creator has designed."
"I'm not changing any forms," Elisa pleaded, hoping to get through, "the water is already in the air. I'm just using alchemy to gather it all together. If I gather it tightly enough that's just ice. But ice is still water."
The Elder continued to look at her, seemingly in thought.
"Does your religion not have a clause for preserving life?" She pleaded, taking a stab in the dark. "Something about life being precious or the sanctity of life?"
"Live by the statutes, do not die by them." The Elder murmured looking at Elisa with new eyes. "Very well, save the boy. For all we know it is Ishvala who has led you to his side."
Not needing to be told twice Elisa was quick to sketch her array on her flask before activating it and drawing water vapor in from the air. The air around everyone grew noticeably drier but red eyes were just fixated on a flask slowly filling.
"Here," she called, handing the flask to the Mother who shot her a wobbly smile before immediately feeding it to her son.
Without pausing Elisa then drew another array in her notebook and started pulling in the water molecules, packing them in as tightly as they would go. She handed the ice to the father who knew what to do. Elisa continued to form ice as they walked towards the Elder's tent, constantly handing it off to replace the blocks that had already melted.
An hour later when the boy had returned to a normal hue Elisa finally stopped her transmuting, dropping to the tent-floor in exhaustion. She was suddenly very glad she'd never gone into surgery, having to concentrate for an hour straight lest a young child die was already too much for Elisa. Having to do that for several hours would have destroyed her.
The Elder studied the array the young girl had left casually opened with a furrowed brow.
"Your work, it does not look like that which plagued our homeland." He spoke, grabbing her attention. "This image in particular," he pointed to the character controlling the energy-input, "while not quite right, almost resembles a holy symbol in our texts."
Elisa stared at the 日 kanji she'd adapted as a symbol for solar energy all those years ago. "It means 'sun' or 'day'," she began slowly, trying to be courteous to the Elder, "I ask for energy from the sun to power my work, where most Amestrians rely on energy from the Earth." It was the simplest way she could think to explain it. And it must have been right, because the Elder's face broke into a smile.
"Ah, then Ishvala truly is working through you." At her look of confusion he motioned to her circle, "your symbol shares more than just a passing look with our own. Ishvala is the Creator of all things. And he pulls from life, the sun, Viam, to create those things." Elisa nodded, taking in his words.
"...you know, the scriptures did speak of a child of the sun appearing when our need was greatest."
Elisa's eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. "That's not me, sorry, I'm not a savior or a prophet, or whatever!"
"I never told you they were a prophet."
"...they're always a prophet. Sometimes minor, sometimes major, but always a prophet."
"Hmm," the Elder hummed before continuing. "Then, can you swear on this boy's life that you do not come with knowledge of the future?"
And, really, what could she say to that.
"...I can swear that it would make me the worst type of prophet to have foreseen the tragedies that awaited your people, and done nothing to end it."
Elisa dropped her eyes to the floor, very aware of the gazes on her back.
"I'm afraid I disagree," the Elder continued as if Elisa hadn't just subtly confirmed knowledge of the future. "I believe that would merely mean you are at the beginning of your journey. You have seen what innaction has wrought and, as such, have now been compelled by Ishvala to take action."
"...I am not a prophet." Elisa insisted, voice growing slightly hysterical. She wasn't a prophet. She couldn't be.
"Perhaps," the Elder conceded with a smile that did nothing to calm her nerves. "But you dropped everything to help a child in need. You asked permission of both the boy's mother and myself before employing your alchemy out of dereference to our beliefs. You successfully argued theology without belittling our views. And you have not once pressed for any of our names. You may not have come to prophesy of the future, but as I gaze upon you, I still see the future."
Elisa kept her eyes locked on the floor, even as a blush spread across her cheeks. "...I thank you for your kind words."
"Where do you plan to journey next, my child?"
She shrugged.
"I've not really been following a plan. I just want to help, so wherever needs me next, I suppose."
"Would you be opposed to staying here? Settling in amongst us?"
Elisa's eyes widened in surprise. "Your people wouldn't mind?" There had been, perhaps, twenty pairs of red eyes that had looked at her as she'd made her way through the slums. None of the looks had been particularly positive.
"Oh, I'm certain they'd be opposed. That's why I asked. I think your presence could go a long way in easing long-term opposition. Something that I'm sure you could see the virtue of, even if you are 'not a prophet,' as you say."
Elisa balefully glared at the Elder because she could see the virtue of improving Ishvalan-Amestrian relations, especially if the future ended up the same as before with Roy and the Amestrians trying to help rebuild Ishval. And maybe trying to smooth the anger and pain of a recently displaced people hadn't been her intention when setting out, but maybe that Elder also had a point about being compelled to action.
"...alright. If you really think it's for the best, I'll stay."
"Wonderful, I can't wait to see the works Ishvala will accomplish through you!"
Elisa gave a strained smile, painfully aware that this man definitely still thought she was a prophet.
February 12th, 1911
The first few months of living with the Ishvalan refugees was hard. Elisa hadn't realized just how reliant she'd become on Alchemy until she suddenly wasn't allowed to use it. There were several life skills from hand-washing clothes to darnishing socks that she'd never bothered picking up after Roy had given her that first textbook.
And it didn't help that she still wasn't completely sold on the idea that Alchemy actually stood in conflict with the teachings of Ishvala. Elisa could see how it would be arrogant to a group of believers to say, "I don't need to ask my God for a bowl, I can make one myself!" But if a potter is allowed to make a beautiful bowl and exclaim, "praise be to God!" then it followed that an Alchemist should be allowed the same–as long as they gave credit to Ishvala in the end. Not that Elisa brought this up with anyone but the Elder, who was more than willing to debate theology with her for hours.
Still, she had agreed to live amongst their people and they had so little of their culture left that Elisa would not be the one to challenge things. Especially not when her very presence had been a challenge.
So, yes, the first few months were hard. But, over time, it became easier. She made friends, picked up bits-and-pieces of their language, and helped set them up as best she could. With the way the laws were set up it wasn't actually possible for anyone to claw their way out of the slums. Ishvalans were technically Amestrian citizens, when their kingdom had been annexed fifty years ago they'd been naturalized. But in order to work in Amestris you had to prove you were a citizen. And while one look at the white hair and red eyes of an Ishvalan should have been enough, employers were within their rights to ask for paperwork.
The kind of paperwork that didn't survive fleeing an active warzone.
In theory you should be able to just apply for that paperwork in Central. But when Elisa had called Maes to ask about it, he'd confirmed her fear that they'd just demand to see other paperwork, first. A birth certificate being the chief amongst them. So they couldn't be hired into new jobs, couldn't apply for a business permit to start their own jobs, and couldn't buy property even if they did accrue wealth.
Elisa was at least able to help on the job front. While most employers would demand citizenship paperwork under the guise of "protecting their interests" it wasn't actually a legal requirement. So Elisa was able to secure businesses in her own name and then hire Ishvalans to run them for her. She wanted to do the same for housing, buy an apartment building and then rent rooms to the refugees at no profit. But Elisa was just one person and while her book sales had been lucrative they had not been that lucrative. Perhaps in time, if she continued to put out sequels and if interest in her work spread, perhaps one day she could make that a reality.
But for now she had to content herself with what she had already accomplished. And, for all that it was hard work Elisa was content. It was a very different life than she'd imagined when she'd set off from home, but it was a really fulfilling life too. One she could see herself fully embracing.
Elisa had never given much thought to what she would do after the story. After she told Roy the full truth behind her past. But she was starting to see a vision of it, an image of Roy and her working side-by-side to try and give back to these people, who had lost so much and could still find it within themselves to smile.
So, yes, Elisa was content. Which, of course, meant everything had to go wrong.
It had crept up unexpectedly. There had been a mild stomach bug going around the slums. Plenty of people weren't infected so Elisa had thought nothing of it. Then one of the children had taken an extreme turn for the worst. Elisa wasn't a doctor, had tried–and failed–to get a doctor to visit, but she wasn't a doctor. She had no idea what to do to help the child, could only stress the importance of rehydrating her as she was losing fluids rapidly through her diarrhea.
In the end there was nothing to be done.
When the next person fell severely ill, Elisa wasted no time in reaching out to Roy. She explained the situation as best as she could and begged him to send medical aid. He'd said he'd try and call in some favors and Elisa had thanked him before rushing back to her 'patients.' The members of the community forced her to take breaks often, all-but force feeding her water and making her step out frequently to get breaths of fresh air. Elisa hadn't been worried about getting infected, there were several people who hadn't contracted the bug even in its mild form, and Elisa knew enough about germs to avoid contracting them.
But, Elisa wasn't a doctor.
If she was she would have recognised the disease for what it was and never drank the water she had been offered. As it stood, however, Elisa realized she'd messed up right around the time she collapsed to the floor.
Vaguely, she could hear people yelling and could sort of sense that her body was being moved. But it was a realization completely void from Elisa's mind which had immediately slipped into darkness.
Time passed in a blur after that.
Elisa would have bouts of clarity; blurry images of worried-filled red eyes peering at her, the vague recollection of the Elder praying in the corner, and, then, darkness.
Around the fifth time this had happened, Elisa had a thought.
Is this how I die?
Her thoughts were far from lucid, and pain made everything hard to grasp, but the idea took root.
Her seventh time coming to consciousness she could no longer open her eyes.
It makes sense. Elicia. Elisa and Gracia. Sis would name her daughter after me if I died. Or Maes would.
She lost count how much time passed before the next time she regained consciousness long enough to think. Only noted that sounds had started to dampen.
And Riza, codename Elizabeth–Elisa and Beth. She chose to carry my names with her.
The final time she awoke it was to a fleeting touch on her forehead. No sounds, no sight, but the barest of pressures. And a single, resounding thought.
…Roy. Sorry, I know you said I couldn't die. Still, we had fun, right?
And then her thoughts stopped.
.
.
.
Darkness remained.
A/N: And that's the Ishvalan Civil War! I tried my best to paint a socioeconomic landscape that would explain why people supported Amestris even as their Fuhrer ordered a genocide. I honestly believe that very few soldiers knew what they were getting into when they arrived at Ishval.
Anyway, with this we've officially arrived at the cannon timeline! It'll be interesting to see what changes Elisa has caused unconciously.
Guest Replies
chumpatrol2 -Thank you so much! I was actually inspired to write this fic entirely due to the shortage of SI-OC stories in FMA that do not involve some 14-16 y/o girl tagging along with the Elric brothers. I hope you found this chapter equally enjoyable!