Chapter Text
Two years since the Promised Day and apparently that was too long to ask to go without alchemical disasters. Roy only regretted dragging Edward into this.
It had started out simple enough. The kid was back in town to finalise his long overdue discharge papers and celebrate his engagement to Winry. And Mustang’s promotion to ‘Brigadier General Bastard’, which had finally come through last month.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, when Fuhrer Grumman had personally ordered Roy to investigate recent disturbances under HQ, to ask Edward to have a look. Alchemy or not, Fullmetal was an expert. Nearly as good as Scar, who was busy in Ishval. The transmutation circles left behind by Bradley’s regime had proved difficult to track down and remove; concerns that a rogue alchemist would find a way to reactivate them weighed heavily on Roy. Having a poke through the sewers, with Edward, Hawkeye, Hayate, and a handful of MPs, had seemed like a good idea.
Until it really wasn’t.
“Fullmetal, look out!”
A rogue alchemist, all right – one of the remnants of the old research program who had somehow managed to evade arrest for two years. They’d cornered him quite by accident in one of the antechambers of Father’s old lair, and while Dr Siegert was as surprised as they were, Mustang’s team wasn’t prepared for a fight.
Edward leaped out of the way as Siegert sent alchemical lightning crackling towards him. It blasted a hole in the stone where the kid’s head had been. Roy, ducking behind a pillar to avoid the shrapnel, swore. Siegert’s transmutation circles were tattooed all up his forearms, and he had a maniacal light in his eye.
Hawkeye sent the old scientist running for cover with a few well-placed shots, while the MPs scrambled to cut his exits. Roy almost regretted ordering them to take Siegert alive. He doubted there would be much information to get out of the fanatic.
“Long live Fuhrer Bradley!” gasped Siegert, and laughed.
Roy rolled his eyes. He clapped his hands, leapt out of cover and sent a wave of stone underneath Siegert’s feet. He still wasn’t elegant with clap alchemy, but it had its uses – Siegert staggered; Edward leapt out of nowhere and dropped him with a knee to the head.
“Stay back, Fullmetal,” snapped Roy, jogging over. Damn that kid was flashy and reckless. “He’s dangerous.”
“Oh you’re welcome.” Edward threw up his hands, but stepped aside to let Roy clap once more and trap Siegert’s wrists in stone cuffs. Hayate trotted up, growling. Hawkeye followed.
“I trust this is the last time you’ll investigate a situation without proper intelligence, sir?”
Roy winced. “Yes, yes, alright, captain.”
Siegert groaned, opening his eyes. “Traitors, all of you,” he wheezed.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Edward. He picked up Siegert by the collar and heaved him to his feet. “Are we done, Mustang? You promised me a drink.”
Hawkeye took Siegert by the elbow, leading him to the relieved MPs. Roy eyed Edward regretfully.
“Aren’t you still a little young for that, Fullmetal?”
“I’m nearly nineteen, you prick!”
“Ah, right. But you ought to be careful, your alcohol tolerance must be so low, being so small …”
“Who are you calling so short that he – ”
Suddenly Hawkeye shouted, “Sergeant, careful!”
Roy spun, in time to see Siegert break free of his escorts and dive for the wall. He slammed his cuffed hands against the stone – a transmutation circle that Roy hadn’t even noticed lit up bright blue –
“We were the chosen ones!” shrieked Siegert, and there was a crack of lightning overhead – Roy looked up, and his heart went hollow. A massive circle, horrifically complicated, was flashing sparks on the ceiling directly over his head.
He barely had time to see Hawkeye’s horrified face before the world went white.
A rushing, falling sensation, like he was standing still and plummeting all at once. Burning light. A whirl of thoughts and information just beyond the edge of his senses. For a moment Roy was too shocked to feel anything at all, then horror overtook him – how could he be back here? What was he going to lose?
But the whiteness never solidified. For an instant he thought he saw the ghost of an awful, toothy smile – and then reality snapped back around him and he was standing in an unfamiliar alleyway.
Gravity came back with a jolt. The ground wavered underneath him and Roy found himself falling; he caught himself on his elbows and clutched at the cobblestones for a moment, reeling.
“What the fuck just happened?” he gasped aloud. His voice sounded normal, at least – nothing felt injured – he sat back on his heels, holding his forehead as his skull pounded. He felt nauseous, too; travel-sick.
Hawkeye, Edward, the MPs, were nowhere to be seen. Neither was anyone else. Roy’s first thought, that he’d been dropped on the streets of Central somewhere, couldn’t be right. These cobblestones were too smooth and regular – the alley too clean, too wide … the traffic noise was wrong somehow. Fear beginning to spike in his chest, Roy looked around properly.
At first glance this city could have been Central. But it was – off. There were ratty posters on the walls, but they were strange, printed in bright colours and showing oddly dressed people. A couple of bins nearby spilled bizarre things, like a big metal box with a glass front, and a pile of baffling wires, which looked like they were made of rubber … there was neon pink graffiti on the bricks.
Roy got slowly to his feet. His head had mostly stopped spinning, and he checked himself over quickly – he was still in his military uniform and black coat, and his ignition gloves were safe and dry in his pocket. He pulled them on, snapped carefully – a flame sparked in midair and was gone. Good. Thank God. The gun Hawkeye had given him for his last birthday was still holstered under his shoulder.
What the hell had been in that transmutation circle?
There was a crack like a gunshot from one end of the alley and Roy jumped. He couldn’t assume this place, wherever it was, was safe – he darted down the other end of the alley and around the corner, and out into a whirl of noise.
This was a busy city street, alright – cars like Roy had never seen roared past; pedestrians in all kinds of wild outfits moved between shops and cafes, massive buildings that lined every block. There were posters and billboards everywhere, and lights, so many lights – green and red ones on the road, orange ones flashing on the cars, even bright displays in the storefronts, although it was the middle of the day. Roy reeled with the smell of gasoline and smoke.
“It really should have been here,” said a plaintive voice in the alley behind him.
Roy narrowed his eyes. He pressed himself against the wall, straining his ears.
“Maybe the calculations were off again,” said a different voice. “I am detecting some kind of energy discharge, though.”
“Me, too. I guess that’s another fail, in the end.”
“Probably for the best – we should focus on getting the apparition to occur within the department, y’know?”
“Can you imagine if we really had opened a portal in the middle of muggle London?”
They both laughed. Roy risked a glance around the corner.
There were two figures in the alley, dressed in dark robes, wildly different from the pants and bright shirts everyone else here seemed to favour. They were both waving short sticks around where Roy had fallen – and orange light was flickering from them.
Alchemists? Roy rubbed his finger and thumb together. But he couldn’t see any sign of an array. They sounded like scientists, experimenters … but Roy also suspected they were enemies.
“We probably ought to speak to the obliviators if this keeps going on. Sooner or later some poor mook is going to see something and they’ll have to be dealt with.”
That settled it. Roy had no idea what these two were talking about but he wouldn’t risk showing himself.
“Reckon we have time for a drink before heading back? Leaky Cauldron’s a few blocks away.”
“We’re not supposed to be out here anyway, so what’s one more broken rule?”
They both laughed again, and headed towards Roy’s end of the alleyway. He jerked back and walked a little way down the pavement, trying to be inconspicuous. A couple of people were staring at him, but less in a suspicious way and more in a ‘strange man who is probably high’ way. He pulled his coat around his military uniform and shoved his hands in his pockets.
The two robed strangers appeared and headed in the other direction; Roy trailed them at a discrete distance. They were easy to follow, in their flowing robes; though he noticed other peoples’ eyes seemed to glance off them. Curious. The taller one was a woman, with straight auburn hair; her companion was a man with a brown crewcut. Both were pale skinned, dark eyed. They looked young. Junior, said the staff officer part of his brain. Irresponsible.
He snatched a newspaper out of a bin as he followed them. A cursory glance made his heart skip a beat – the date read 13 July 1995. For an awful second he thought he’d somehow fallen into the future – eighty-odd years, oh God – but no. This wasn’t Amestris, this wasn’t – this wasn’t even his world. London, those strangers had said – that word jumped off the front page a couple of times.
“Fuck,” snarled Roy under his breath. How the hell was he going to get back? How the hell had this happened?
The strangers led him to a run-down looking pub. He loitered a block away for a few minutes and then followed them inside.
This place was weird, in a different way to how the world outside was weird. Roy almost felt he’d stepped back into the Middle Ages – robes, odd hats, tankards and candles; there was even straw on the floor, for God’s sake.
“Hello? Can I help you?” The bartender was looking at him curiously. Roy realised abruptly that he had no money.
“Thank you, yes,” he said, smiling easily. He came up to the bar, brain whirring, ignoring the curious looks from some of the other patrons. “I’m a traveller from out of the country and I’m afraid I’m a little lost. Can you recommend somewhere to stay while I get my bearings?”
The barman nodded, looking Roy up and down. “From the continent, are you?” he said cordially.
“That’s right.”
“Thought so. You European wizards usually get a little turned around in London, eh?” The barman smiled, a good natured jibe, and resumed cleaning his glasses.
Roy valiantly didn’t choke on the ‘wizards’. So, I guess I’m from Europia for now. Wherever the hell that is.
“You don’t have any luggage?” the barman was saying, and this time there was a flicker of suspicion in his look.
Roy shrugged. “It’s coming on after me,” he said. That was suitably vague and unconcerned, and the barman seemed to buy it. I will have to see about getting some proper clothes. Though whether they should blend in with these people or the ones outside …
“Well, I’ve a couple rooms free,” said the barman. “Best rates in London, if you consider that we’re right by Diagon Alley.”
“Ah. That’s good,” said Roy, who gathered he was supposed to know what the hell that was.
He ordered a tonic – to go on his tab – and sat chatting with the bartender for some time. It was a tiring game. One he was experienced with, yes, but never with so many unknowns. At length – nearly 1600, according to his pocketwatch – he pleaded weariness and the bartender, Tom, took him up to his room. The two strangers Roy had followed here had finished their solitary drink and disappeared some time ago, but he was content to let them go. Establishing himself with a place to stay and some basic information was a higher priority.
The room was nice, if a little dingy. Roy locked the door, lit the candles with a snap of his fingers, and slid down to sit on the floor with a sigh. What he’d been able to gather from Tom hardly seemed worth believing. Wizards, magic, muggles … to think, just this morning he’d been at home in Amestris, with nothing more to worry about than his paperwork and Fullmetal’s stupid stag night.
Oh God, I am so sorry, Hawkeye. Poor Riza, poor Fullmetal. They’d have no idea what had happened to him. He clenched his fists and his jaw, tears stabbing. More than anything he wished he could go home; an awful, sick ache that reminded him of his first few days at the military academy and every night in Ishval, a horrible crying need to be back where he belonged, not here, not here. He knew that the feeling just had to be endured.
First things first. I need funds. He dug out his wallet – and thank God it had been a cold day in Central, that he’d worn his coat – and tipped a handful of coins into his palm. 980 cenz all up. His habit of barely carrying any change was finally useful; paper money would have been worthless, but with this …
Immoral, and not to mention highly illegal, but desperate times. Roy cast about for base material – there was a goddamn archaic fireplace and he grabbed a few pieces of the cut wood stacked beside it and tossed them on the desk. Changing the nature of a material was an incredibly difficult transmutation – if Roy hadn’t been able to do clap alchemy, he thought wryly, he might have been in trouble. He dropped one of the 100 cenz coins on top of the wood, took a deep breath, and clapped his hands.
Blue light crackled, and when Roy looked down there were a couple of uneven lumps of silver on the desk. Roy braced himself on the chair, suddenly feeling drained. Wood had been a stupid choice; next to impossible even with the template of the silver coin. Next time he’d find something metal, lead ideally; that would be a much easier transmutation.
Tomorrow he’d find somewhere to convert the raw silver into proper currency. For now, exhausted with everything and aching for the oblivion of sleep, he shrugged off his coat and uniform jacket and fell face-first into bed.