Chapter 4 - The Sucking-Life Alchemist
"Don't go!" Roy pleaded, pulling on her sleeve. What had started like another complaint from a spoiled brat was becoming heart-breaking. "Don't leave me," Roy whispered helplessly, "please."
Riza frowned sorrily. She knelt down and he seized his chance to throw himself at her in a possessive hug. "I have to; it's a very important meeting," she told him like she already had.
It was a meeting where the Colonel would have attended, they all knew. The question as to how much she had already revealed to Roy about his future hovered over the team's heads in bold letters.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise." She patted his head, detaching him with difficulty – and an emotional struggle that was plainly visible on her usually ironed-out features. "You'll be safe here."
She stood, throwing the others one last glance before exiting the office. Havoc wasn't quick enough to give her an encouraging smile before she disappeared. He didn't dare exhale in relief yet, watching the little boy stand there in front of the shut double doors.
"But I have to protect you…" Roy breathed, his voice trembling.
Fuery sniffling with sympathy brought Havoc back to the present.
He got up to collect Hawkeye's documents off the Colonel's desk, placing them on her own. If anyone walked in, there could be no traces of their 'missing' superior officer.
It gave Roy some time to think of what he wanted to do; handle his feelings.
He didn't succeed in the former, but when Havoc came to stand next to him, his chin had stopped quivering. Tears still stood in his eyes as he stared at the door.
"Wanna help me with my work? I could use a kick of morale if you know what I mean." Havoc jerked his head at the small pile of papers with which Roy had slapped his arm.
No reply.
Havoc crouched down. "Why don't we prepare her a surprise?" he suggested instead. Finally, Roy spared him a glance with those shimmering eyes full of uncertainty. "I'm pretty sure I saw her admire your little drawing of Hayate there." He tried again with the nod towards the desk.
It was more than strange to be helping his superior officer into the chair and hand him coloured pens for drawing cartoon dogs.
"When will she be back?" Roy asked while colouring what looked like a car.
"Aw, shucks, that might take a while," Havoc honestly said. He cringed when Breda grimaced, having seen the quiver of Roy's chin return. "But, hey, I'm sure she'll be all the more motivated to get things wrapped up when she sees your drawing," he lamely tried.
"Is she going to work even after coming back? Can't I help her be done earlier?" Roy looked up at them with big eyes. Big, teary eyes. Oh boy, this was going to be harder than imagined.
"Sorry, but I don't think…" Havoc faded out, fearing that with every word he spoke, he only made things worse. "Well, you can… tidy up her desk," he chanced. A stupid idea, he knew – Hawkeye's desk wasn't simply spotless at all times, she had a system. "Or mine – here," he tried, but Roy didn't budge.
"Is she going to take me home sooner when your desk is tidy?" He narrowed his eyes like he had that morning.
Breda snickered. "You lost this one," he laughed.
"Shut up, Braidykins."
"Why don't you empty her punch?" Fuery suggested. The others nodded approvingly, Havoc retrieving the hole puncher at once from a drawer under her desk. They all exhaled in relief when Roy took it to the bin. He examined it for minutes, trying to figure out how to open it. Until it did, bursting with tiny round pieces of paper everywhere. Havoc adapted Breda's grimace from before.
"These invoices still need to be alphabetised for the auditor," Falman piped up, heaving a stack of lists. "Do you know the alphabet?" Falman asked once Roy was seated again.
Roy nodded sternly. "All letters," he proclaimed. Breda started scribbling a cheat-sheet anyway, just to be sure.
Roy blinked at his considerable pile of work. It's impact on the desk alone had made his hair flutter slightly, and he had to kneel upright and stretch on his seat to reach the uppermost sheet. Falman told him what information had to be heeded, but the longer he explained, the more everyone thought it wasn't such a good idea after all. Still, worst case scenario, Hawkeye would have to do it all again – as originally intended.
Havoc had only just found back his rhythm amongst his own paperwork when Roy tugged on his sleeve. "Hm?" He rolled his unlit cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. Roy tugged again. "What up?" Havoc glanced to the side. Four pages done, then put aside to continue drawing.
"How do you write 'Riza'?" Roy asked.
Havoc couldn't help a small smile. "With a 'z' – here." He demonstrated with his pen in the air.
Roy nodded seriously, going back to his drawing of Hayate just as earnestly. Havoc frowned when nothing happened, so he pretended to go back to his own work. Once feeling unwatched, Roy turned the page over. Havoc's clandestine smile only grew when he realised how his kid-turned superior was attempting to write a whole letter. He wordlessly notified the others. Fuery nearly gave them away with an aww.
No one laughed, but instead joined in with the praises Havoc gave from time to time – concerning the not-so-surreptitious drawing of course, not the letter – trying desperately to keep Roy from succumbing to crying.
He was tough, Havoc had to admit. Bearing in mind that his mother was dead – and seemingly recently – he was putting on quite the brave face.
Havoc's own face drained a little off colour when steps thundered down the hall a good two hours later. Hawkeye's voice was just barely audible. Submissive, she was drowned out by angry accusations.
The double doors burst open. Captain Lockheed. Lean, a receding hairline, a thin moustache that made him look ten years older. His eyes travelled the room but he never graced any of the men with a single glance. He strode in, straight over to the windows without ever truly gazing out. Riza remained in the doorway. She was tense from the roots of her hair to the very tips of her toes. Her fists clenched behind her back, jaw tight in agitation.
Captain Lockheed stepped behind the Colonel's desk. Luckily, it was cleared out and unrevealing. Riza swallowed when Lockheed grabbed Mustang's chair, wrenching it backwards. Her hand flinched. Lockheed narrowed his eyes at the empty space beneath the desk. He let out a sharp breath, then pretended again to be interested in the window. Anything to nose around the Colonel's space.
Havoc's eyes grew for the split of a second when he noticed how Riza had put her hand over her gun holster, now unsuspiciously letting her arm sink.
Lockheed rounded the desk, taking the route past and behind the couch to take his leave – another test. His eyes were eating up the room like a starving chimera.
"Fine weekend," he snapped on the way out. The arrogant bastard; merely surpassing her by one puny rank and using it to his full advantage to search the office for their 'missing' superior.
He slammed the doors shut. Riza briefly closed her eyes with the pressure of the door rocking her where she stood. Lockheed could be heard outside, barking orders as he stomped back down the hallway, calling for his men to check all train departures before their own return to Central. At least they'd be rid of him, Havoc thought.
Half a minute ticked by.
Riza didn't dare sigh in relief yet. In fact, she seemed to still be holding her breath altogether, her shoulders, her entire body drawn like a marionette on strings.
When there were no more noises outside the office, she moved. Rigidly, hastily, she crossed over to Roy's desk. Where Lockheed had glared down with disappointment, she stared at the empty space with sheer anxiety.
Havoc scooted backwards.
From beneath his desk, cramped between his feet, Roy scrambled out. Riza gave a light gasp. She hurried to meet him halfway, dropping to her knees where he rushed her with a hug.
"You did so well." She deflated, somewhat liquifying above him with gladness.
"I wasn't scared," he lied.
She squeezed him tightly. "I was. I was very scared he'd find you."
Roy peeled away enough to look at her, eyes big with astonishment.
She smiled softly. "You've always been the braver one of us." She stroked his head. Whether to reassure him or herself, they weren't sure.
Havoc wondered if she was still aware of who that boy was; whose hair she was combing so affectionately.
The question returned when later that evening, after Roy had become grumpy and querulous again, she carried him wherever she went. He was tired, but with her getting up frequently to gather the needed paperwork, he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to either; he wanted to go home. Eat dinner. Take a bath – something that made Havoc raise both brows, but Riza pretended he didn't exist.
No matter how often they asked and made it tempting for him, Roy didn't want to draw or explore – he wanted to stay with Riza.
She looked every bit as tired as him. The sun had set over an hour ago, but with her working for two now – and unable to leave headquarters with anyone still there – she kept on working. Restless, she hunched over the desk rather than sitting properly. It wasn't long until she returned to the filing cabinet.
Falman and Fuery had already called it a night, keeping up the illusion of the Mustang Unit behaving as usual by going home.
Breda rose from his seat when Riza struggled to leaf through a report while at the same time balancing a sleepy Roy on her hip.
"You do remember who that is, right?" Havoc couldn't help himself anymore.
"He's taking the girls by storm as always," Breda chuckled, watching with amusement how Roy was lazily occupying himself with her hair. They'd speculated that grown-up Roy kept staring at her because she was growing it out, and this neither confirmed, nor debunked that theory.
Riza let out a breath. "How could I not?" She didn't look at Havoc. Quietly thanking Breda for the required form, she skimmed its contents.
"Who are they talking about?" Roy asked, his voice slurring.
"I'll tell you tonight, okay?"
He nodded, eyes waking slightly. "Is it another secret?" he asked.
Breda eyes sparked with curiosity. Havoc set down his pen, ears perked. Riza gave Roy a stern look – which was about all she did to scold him.
"I didn't say what it was!" he tried to defend himself.
She didn't comment any further. When she didn't seem to be needing help anymore, Breda went back to the desks. He stopped at hers next to Havoc, leaning against it, crossing his arms.
Havoc cupped a hand to his mouth, lowering his voice, "She told him they're secretly married."
"Definitely."
"We're not married," Riza growled. The two snickered anyway.
"So then you have a boyfriend?" Roy asked, encouraged by the thumbs up Havoc gave him. "Does the guy from yesterday know?"
Riza pursed her lips when Breda whistled lowly.
"Uuh, Hawkeye." Havoc wiggled his brows. "The things we never knew about you."
"What would the Colonel say?" Breda mocked a disappointed shaking of his head.
"He'd know to handle such information like a grown man, unlike you two," Riza tsked. She slid the file she had been reading back into the stack, then hoisted Roy up on her hip. "And no, the man on the telephone was him," she told Roy, indicating Havoc. "You see, the one who's working the night shift."
"Am not." Havoc sat up straight, affronted.
"You are now." She dumped the entire stack of files on his desk.
Roy giggled.
"Look at you all cocky," Havoc huffed. "Aren't you a little too old to be carried around like that?"
"You're just jealous." Roy stuck out his tongue. Riza gave him a look but said nothing, especially not when Havoc mumbled something affirmative, making Roy grin. "Can we go home now?" he begged.
"No, not yet." Riza's eyes overshadowed. "There's one more thing I need to do."
"And then we're going home?"
"Yes, we are."
"And make chocolate cake?" His voice lit up.
She fixed him with another glare, but it was too tender to be anywhere near reprimanding. Shaking her head, she had to smile. "What's up with you and chocolate cake?"
Her smile fell right away. Breda caught her serious gaze, nodding. He waited by the door until she had safely left Roy with Havoc. They didn't speak a word as they made their way along the abandoned corridors, down to the basement and into the dungeon. Down to see the man Havoc dubbed the Sucking‑Life Alchemist.
The hallways of Eastern Headquarters were abandoned. The first and only soldiers they saw on their way down were those guarding the high-security wing in the basement. Armed to the teeth and tired-looking, they saluted the two lieutenants.
Fortunately, Riza and Breda outranked them – it spared them any questions.
The man was but a shadow in his cell. Huddled in the far corner, between the cot and chamber pot, he merged with the wall. His hair was greying, thin and greasy where it reached his stubble-littered jawline. The way he cowered with his knees drawn to his chest didn't hide his size; he was intimidatingly tall. His neck curved forward unhealthily, and when Breda flicked on the light right outside the cell, the man's eyes seemed to glow a pale green.
Most disturbingly, those eyes looked dead to the world; a complete maniac, ruined by the morbid obsession of alchemy research. Too far gone to feel any happiness about his ground-breaking discoveries.
Riza shivered involuntarily at how much he reminded her of her father.
"You're here for the Flame Alchemist," the man croaked in a hoarse voice.
Breda glanced at Riza. She was frozen, her eyes hard with fury – perhaps at the nonchalance ringing in the alchemist's tone, or perhaps merely at the use of Roy's title from his mouth.
"Took you long enough. I will get straight to the point." He lifted his hand, his wide sleeve falling back.
Riza's eyes widened at the four phials between the man's fingers. Two of them were empty, two of them full with a ruby-red coloured liquid.
He was wearing thick leather gloves to prevent him from biting his fingers and drawing transmutation circles with his own blood, wrists secured by movement-restricting shackles. Still, how had the guards not found those phials?
"Four men gave their lives to me," he said as if they had done so voluntarily; grovelled at his feet like he was their god. "Two of their souls reside within me." He flicked the empty glasses one by one. Breda grimaced in horror. "But alas, they failed to return my youth. See for yourselves." He rose with a laborious grunt. His long, tattered robes swished, his hair falling into his eyes. The way they peered at Riza from behind the veil of his fringe made her nauseous.
Breda jumped out of his skin. His hand flew up to stop the alchemist, too late.
He had uncorked the third phial with his teeth, poured its contents into his mouth. He retched, shuddering. When he shook his head, scarlet droplets soared from his tongue, lost in the dust of the musty cell. The liquid hissed, then evaporated. The fraction of a human soul, discarded like drop of rain.
The alchemist reared his hunched back, towering them from behind the bars of his cell. He was puzzlingly massive and gaunt at the same time. His face looked the same – sunken in eyes, wrinkled pallid skin, but a strong jaw. He retched and coughed.
"This one, however," the alchemist cawed, revealing a fifth phial from his other sleeve. It wasn't full like the others, about three quarters taken up by the ruby liquid. "This one survived – it has a body to return to. The Flame Alchemist. My ultimate triumph," he said, his eyes as dead recounting the highlight of his career as they had been retelling his failures. "Proof that rejuvenation – however flawed – is possible through alchemy.
"And I am willing to return his soul to him, if… you do as I say."
"We could also just shoot you and take it." Breda crossed his arms.
"And return his soul to him how, exactly?" the alchemist sneered. "Unless, that is, you are a master of alchemy yourself and familiar with my research. Or I could just…" He opened his fingers. The phial fell. Riza's heart shot into her throat. The man caught the phial a mere centimetre above the ground, leather gloves scraping across the stone floor. "Drop it."
"Your conditions?" she asked, quiet enough for the guards outside not to overhear.
"Speak of this to no one," the alchemist said. "It will remain our secret until the day of my examination." So then he hadn't told the military anything, meaning Roy was safe and the team not found out as traitors.
"Examination?" Breda frowned.
"First," the alchemist ignored the question, "I need you to erase all traces of the transmutation circle that I used to create these." He held up the phials. Riza stared at the one with the parts of Roy's soul, her stomach twisting. "If you succeed, you will be rewarded. Betray me and…" He twirled the phial of Roy's soul from one finger to the next as if it were a coin.
"We accept," Riza hastily said. "But if you damage or drop that phial in any way," she took a step towards the bars of the cell, her voice lowering into a growl, "you will pay the price." Tortured to death, her eyes said, a slow, agonising death.
She cooled down somewhat on the way back up to the office, but her shoulders never untensed and her jaw never unclenched. It only did when Roy greeted her with an impatient hug around her leg. He held his arms up demandingly, and she didn't hesitate to pick him up.
Riza didn't speak a word in the car. Roy tilted his head questioningly when she parked – not in front of her apartment building, but a different one. They walked down the street, turning a corner. He held her hand up the few steps to the front door of a cramped, semi-detached house. She produced a key from a secret inside pocket of her trousers.
The entrance was dark and silent. She closed the door behind them, never turning on the lights. He kept holding her hand as she guided him inside. A kitchen to the left, a sparsely furnished living room to the right. They passed a door she didn't open, entering the one up ahead. A bedroom. A big double bed, half-heartedly made, a crumpled dress shirt at the foot of the mattress.
"Why are we here?" Roy asked. "Is this the secret? Is this your boyfriend's place?" He tugged on her hand.
Riza crouched down next to Roy. She confused him by wrapping an arm around him, as if to console him. She had that look again – the one with which she watched him constantly during the day. Pity. And for some strange reason, it seemed to be directed at herself rather than him.
"Yes, this is the secret," she finally said. Her voice retreated to just above a whisper. "I should have told you from the start – you of all people have a right to know."
Cars drove by outside. A clock somewhere in another room ticked quietly.
Roy nudged Riza when she didn't go on immediately.
She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. "Roy," Riza's lips were a tight line, "today is the 17th of October, 1912. And this place – it's yours."