Chapter Text
The emptiness of the room set Roy's teeth on edge. It should not have been this way. The lively office should have never been rid of the owner’s belongings, only the default furniture remaining. Artificial light seemed blinding; air was stifling, and silence deafening. At such a late — or, to say better, early — hour, adjacent rooms were deserted, all but adding to the sense of void growing inside Roy's chest. The pit tugged at his lungs, his sternum aching, and a reflex demanded Roy to grab the fabric of his uniform lapel. A jammed breath hitched in his throat. Not a sob yet, but dangerously close.
He would cry if his tears hadn't dried out six years ago when he'd lain in a tent, covering his ears with his hands to block out the bawls of the injured. Grief and devastation weren't enough to bring the tears back; nor was dull sadness. Eating at him was a mixture of feelings, but all of them dimmed in the light of determination and rage. While a part of Roy wanted to crawl back to his newly rented flat and sink into a bottle for a week or two, another part couldn't let him sit down and waver. He craved the knowledge; he wanted to look the person in the eye, to ask why, why, what piece of information had Maes found so that he had to be taken out of the picture. How could a single man be such a threat to someone so high in rank that he had to die? Was their plan this depending on something Maes had learned? Or was it that they — whoever they were — killed Maes so that he wouldn't reach Mustang in time and tell him? Did they see not Maes himself as a threat, but Roy? Were Hughes' wife and daughter in danger now, too? Would they try to dispose of anyone else?
Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, migraine crawling up his nape. He had asked these questions too many times now, but no answers wanted to show up.
He placed his palm on the varnished surface of the table, swiping the few dust particles that had formed in the recent days. Soon enough, someone would get this office and bring their stuff and people here. Now, however, Roy had time at his disposal to stay there, breathing in the empty, odourless air, and reminiscing about the days that seemed so old now, even if it had been barely more than a week.
Their last conversation Roy could not remember. When he received the call, he was annoyed, thinking that Maes just wanted to brag on and on about his family — but after a few seconds of silence, he knew something was wrong. Those seconds of complete soundlessness were imprinted in his brain. Yet he could not recollect what their last proper conversation had been about or when it had happened. It was grievous enough that one could never know what time they saw someone was the last — but Roy couldn't even recall it. Was it an accidental meeting somewhere, or did they arrange it? He wished he knew.
He would have to move on; all of them had to, but he didn't know if he could. There was a long way up the chain, and with no Maes by his side, Roy felt the steps underneath him crumble. Whether he would fall — and, if he would, how low — into the abyss below him depended on Roy now. His group, of course, would try grabbing him by his hands and pulling up. But with the stairs falling apart and becoming dust, he didn't know if that would help, and he didn't want them to follow him down.
Roy thought for a moment once or twice that week if he should distance himself from his team. Maes' murder showed that whoever they were trying to unearth would not hesitate to kill. Even if they cared enough to leave the colonel alive, mere lieutenants or sergeants would not matter much. Everything that was supposed to happen next depended on whether or not their opponents were up to open confrontation. The thing Roy wanted the least of all was to see his team killed over some piece of data that they hadn't even acquired. Although, there was no way he'd just say, ‘Well, now I'm going to investigate Maes' death on my own, and you all just gotta sit still.’ It would be to no avail. As if Hawkeye wouldn't perform a sweep and grab him back.
So, they had to lay low.
But with him being transferred to Central, it would be harder than may seem. Documentation processing was complete, and yesterday, Roy, along with his unit — thanks to Grumman — were officially assigned to the Central Command, everyone already settling in the city. Their near future was probably going to be anxiety inducing, for whatever they wanted to do next was a mystery. Perhaps they would not make a step at all. Being kept in the dark was tiresome, but at the moment Roy had no chance to shed any light without drawing unwanted attention.
Then there were the Elrics. Tonight, Roy learnt it was their lead that Maes took. That meant they were in the focus, too, but the brothers, especially the elder, would make it a pain to keep an eye on them. Major Armstrong said they had left Central in pursuit of the philosopher's stone once more. Of course, why else would they go anywhere? The idea of Roy having to tell them about Maes when they came back sent chills down his spine; it would be no simple task. They had to find out sooner or later, yes, but it would be so much easier if someone else told them—
Roy sighed and turned around on his heels. The sun was about to rise, and he wouldn't be surprised to see Hawkeye at the office already. They both didn't get much sleep lately, anyway, so Roy thought of putting his insomnia to good use and doing some digging, but for that, he needed a way to slack off.
The upcoming autumn chilled the morning air, and Roy buttoned up his coat in expectation that he would stop shuddering. Was it lack of sleep, distress still fresh from Maes' death, apprehension about the upcoming days, or him possibly falling ill after spending way too much time outside while copping out of work, he didn't know. Maybe it was all combined.
He wouldn't be dumbfounded if his irregular sleep schedule eventually caused him to hallucinate; even that Roy considered to be better than going back to his dreams. They dumped him back into Ishval, the tips of his fingers sore from constant snapping, air stinging with the smells of blood and burnt flesh, pillars of fire rising high into the acid-turquoise sky. The eyes of men, women, and children he killed—but straightforward murder would be a better option, a quicker one. His alchemy burnt people who were still alive, and their last seconds, sometimes minutes, were pure agony. Roy knew if he had ever not turned away or if the flames had ever died out too soon, he would have seen their blood boiling, their faces and bodies melting into one indistinct mass, dripping from the bones, and then evaporating. He knew because his dreams showed him exactly that. The tips of his fingers bled from all the snapping; more and more people surrounded him in the middle of a desert, their red eyes looking at him in hope he would spare their lives. Roy wanted to stop, to let these people go, to take off his bloodied gloves and shove them aside. Yet, his hands kept doing the devil's work against his will, vaporising people around him, but after one died, two new came. None of them ever reached him. Roy drowned in a shrill, not knowing if it was theirs or his own.
‘Against his will.’
That, if only partially, was not a lie. No one in a sound mind would enjoy or want what happened in Ishval. However, it was not a vindication. Roy did what he did, as did everyone who took part in Ishvalan Extermination, and them not wanting to take part was not an excuse. The blood was right there, on his hands, and no number of unshed tears would wash it away.
The problem was, why did the nightmares come back? They did so sometimes, sure, but rarely were they this intense, making Roy wake up from his own scream in cold sweat, nails digging deep into his palms, leaving marks. After the last night, however, he understood why; when eventually his fingers couldn't move anymore, and Ishvalans grabbed on his white cloak, tugging him down. He sank into sand with them; unwilling, unable to resist. Their hands touched every part of his body, as if searching for an answer, ‘Why?’
‘Why were we meant to die? Why did you take everything from us? What did we do to deserve this? Why do you sleep at night at all? Why did you not fire a bullet into your skull when you had a chance, when you wanted to? Why are you still alive?’
And then, when they got no answer except a weak sob, Roy saw himself standing in a Central City street, his dark coat hanging down his shoulders, face wet from wretched tears hidden behind his hands. In front of him was Maes, lying in a phone booth. Covered in his own blood. Eyes empty, chest not moving.
It was not supposed to be this way. Hughes was supposed to be alive, breathing, and bragging about his family—
‘Him, but not us? How is he different? Better?’
Right. After causing the death of so many people, it was not like Roy had any right to mourn his friend who died because of his own curiosity and because he was too smart for his own good. But it hurt like hell, and knowing it was only fair for Roy to suffer did not help. Equivalent exchange and all, but it still did hurt.
Roy's steps were loud in the silence of the square; it was too early even for the larks to come to work, but at least no one would distract him from his self-loathing antics.
He'd never tried to justify his or anybody else's actions in Ishval. Whatever he said about deserters was far from what he thought; he knew many were jealous of people who avoided the hell-hole that was Ishval, whether it was by applying to office positions or deserting. Both were better choices than seeing faces in front of you change one into another, not being able to memorise their names before they would disappear in flames or sand. So many people died on both sides, all for some weird ambition of the Führer, and it didn't matter if he was willing to finally end the seven year long war, or just plain racist. People still died, and for most of them, for no reason.
The fact that Hughes' death was what returned Roy to the pool of such thoughts wasn't all that surprising. During the war, he was quite sure they both would die; but they didn't, they survived and went home, to try and keep on with their lives, as if after seeing what they did, just living would be easy. On one occasion, Hughes came into Mustang's room only to see him sitting on the bed, a gun in his hand, face devoid of any emotion. Had he had more guts, he would have been dead by the time Hughes opened the door — but he just sat there, staring into cold nothingness, voices of war screaming in his mind. ‘How is one supposed to live after this?’ he wanted to ask, but never did.
‘Disobeying orders is the smartest way to get away from this damn battlefield,’ rang Maes' distant voice in his memories. Alex suffered from shell shock; Mustang sometimes wondered why he didn't. Maybe his psyche was just blunter. And then, sitting in his room, with Maes trying to talk to him but getting no response, he realised that the shock was simply delayed. It came after him right when he finally found a more or less peaceful life, when the sound of bombardment disappeared, and no one around him wailed at night.
For Roy and everyone around him, Maes' death was just as senseless as the deaths of thousands of Ishvalan people. It was a cold murder, and even if they knew the exact reason, it would change nothing.
To his surprise, the office was empty. Maybe everyone decided to get at least some sleep after interrogating Barry.
Roy turned on the lights and wandered around, examining the room for what seemed like the first time since they moved from East City. All the paperwork was stacked into neat piles, waiting to be processed. Some tiny personal belongings began to take their places on the tables and probably in the drawers. Soon enough, the new office would gain a lived-in feeling, but now it felt rather alien and almost desolate, never mind all the clutter. Roy walked up to his desk and stared exasperatedly at the piles and piles of red tape. He had promised Hawkeye that they would transfer with no missed deadlines and with all reports filed accordingly — and he did finish everything on time, but it seemed like there was no way to get rid of the stacks of reports that no one really needed but still demanded. They came to Central empty-handed, but it only took half a day for mountains to form on his table.
Annoyed, he sat down and took the first folder. Why would they have to deal with filing the documents of the previous colonel, anyway? Wasn't it the archivists' job? Roy sighed and started dividing papers into different stacks, depending on priority. He could hand over the oh-so-thrilling experience of reviewing and archiving old documents to some of his subordinates, but one could never know if somewhere in this mound was anything of importance.
When at the very bottom of one of the bundles he saw an order with an ‘urgent’ imprint, Roy snorted, wondering if it was meant to have been done ‘by tomorrow’ or ‘by yesterday’. He opened the folder and skimmed over the printed text.
A few soldiers were killed in Ermutigo in a, to say so, peculiar way. One murder — or, as the report stated, massacre — happened not far from a military base southern from the town. Five soldiers who had a day-off were believed to have been surrounded and asphyxiated. Their skin had a bluish hue to it, fingers greyish purple, as if they were suffocated — but there were no signs of strangulation. Then, in a bar in Ermutigo, three soldiers fell victim in the same way, but the idea of numerous murderers broke here; the witnesses claimed there was only one killer, a tall man in a hooded coat. Every other patron and employee were sent outside, the doors closing behind them. How could a person asphyxiate three trained soldiers in a closed room in a short period of time, leaving no trace? Two of them had guns in their clenched hands, but there was no blood in the room, and no one besides the servicemembers was killed. After that, a lieutenant was found dead on the road, his horse nowhere to be seen. He was suffocated, too. Roy looked at the dates mentioned in reports; they only told when the bodies were found. It seemed that whoever killed the soldiers was moving northbound but did it slowly. They obviously aimed at Amestrian soldiers, and the rank didn't seem to matter. Ermutigo was close enough to the Aerugo border, and Roy couldn't dismiss the official suspicion that the killer was from Aerugo right away, but something told him he should. An Aerugonian assassin wouldn't waste time on mere troops or sergeants; if they were capable of killing three people at once, they surely could aim for someone higher to weaken Amestris' army at the border. Something didn't add up.
An idea occurred to him; what if the murders were committed by higher command in order to further push the war with Aerugo? To send more and more troops there? Aerugonians infiltrating Amestris and killing soldiers, wouldn't that be a substantial reason to respond in the most aggressive way? However, Roy couldn't file a report that said, ‘It's us.’ They waited for him to go there and conduct a proper investigation. His head hurt just from the thought.
He put the paper aside and skimmed through some of the others. One of them mentioned a traveller healing people who suffered from an epidemic that was thought incurable; it happened in the villages a few kilometres to the west from Flus. There was no name and no portrait; not even a detailed description. Roy didn't have any data on what kind of epidemic spread around the South, so that would require checking the archive; he wondered if he should bother. The paper mentioned some witness reports, but none were attached. Roy's eyebrow twitched. He was not the best at paperwork, yet even he knew to attach a copy of something he referred to. The biggest issue was, he wouldn't get the info until someone from the archives came to work. Unless…
Roy looked at the clock. People would start arriving soon enough, but at six fifty in the morning, it was unlikely he would meet anyone in the records department. He rose up. Sheska was going to tell him off for breaking in — as much as subordination let her, but he preferred going into the archive without anyone knowing.
An epidemic thought to be incurable, treated by an unknown traveller; that looked like something the Elrics would like to look into, but he needed to see the testimonies first. Mustang didn't know when the brothers were supposed to be back, it was the most unpredictable variable, so he decided to get prepared as soon as he could.
Just as Roy thought, the records department was void of life. Tearing a sheet out of his notebook, he thought of how convenient it would be to be able to perform alchemy without an array, like Fullmetal did. However, deep inside, he felt it was related to the boy having attempted human transmutation and didn't think it was worth it. Carefully, he drew a basic array and placed it over the lock of the needed office. He could just break the lock, but that would be too suspicious; so, he needed to actually open it. Roy placed the tip of his pen inside the lock and turned it as much as he could. Activating the array, he cautiously changed the air pressure inside the lock until he heard a click, and then shifted his attention to the next pin. It took him some time, but eventually the door opened, and he swiftly entered, hiding the pen and the array in his pockets.
Looking for the needed documents was easy enough, thanks to Sheska who actually arranged them in a convenient way, unlike they had been placed before. Opening the first folder, he was met with the word ‘miracle’ shouting at him from the page. One of the witnesses just couldn't control his excitement over his daughter's miraculous recovery. Then, one word caught his attention. ‘Hypoxia.’ He quickly took the folder with the information on the epidemic. ‘An outbreak of an infectious disease that causes severe anaemia, hypoxia, loss of consciousness, ability to perform basic actions, and, eventually, death,’ it read. There was no cure, people's bodies just rapidly withered due to the lack of oxygen. Roy frowned. Flus was to the east of Ermutigo, the latter being the last train station of the Central-Southbound line. The soldiers in Ermutigo died from hypoxia, and almost at the same time, people in the Flus area were treated for a disease that causes hypoxia. Too much of a coincidence, if anyone asked him.
Roy turned back to the testimonies.
‘He just clasped his hands and put them on my daughter's chest. There was a light — and her face relaxed. After an hour, she wasn't as pale anymore.’
‘This man… He was so tall, and his face was hidden. I thought he was going to attack us. To get money or something. But he took out a notebook and showed me a page. It said he was there to look at the ill. So, I took him to my husband—he was almost blue, he couldn't stand or even sit—and this man, he saved my husband. There was a red light, and I thought something was wrong… Until Davide opened his eyes, and I saw they were finally clear. The man left, not saying anything or taking any remuneration.’
‘He is tall and mute, and never showed us his face…’
‘...Clasped his hands and touched my chest, and I felt my mind clearing.’
Both of the original reports were placed on his table because there was a suspicion that alchemists were responsible, and strong ones; whoever did that was correct, Roy saw it now. However, they probably didn't put two and two together. Most likely, different departments handed over the papers. Still, he probably had to go to Ermutigo and look for the murderer. He wondered why. Were there not enough people in the South? Why pull him all the way from Central just to find a murderer?
He put the files back and rushed out of the archive, not bothering to lock the door. That ‘urgent’ imprint hung in his mind once more. Was it them trying to distract him? Roy had no way of knowing for sure, so the only choice now would be to reach the Elrics and call them back to Central. If there was red light during the ‘healing’, that could be the philosopher's stone, even if not a perfect one. Did brothers know how the stones were created? Would they stop looking for one if they did?
When he opened the door to his office, he almost collided with Hawkeye, who looked up at him in surprise.
‘Colonel.’
‘Good morning, lieutenant. I need to reach the Elric brothers somehow,’ he said, getting around her and walking up to his desk. She was probably about to leave the office to fetch some coffee, but a short talk wouldn't keep her for long.
‘Are you not feeling well?’ Riza asked, obviously referring to him actually working, especially at this time of day.
‘Good joke, but I might actually be falling ill.’
‘You need to get more sleep.’
‘Yeah, as if I can,’ Roy sat down and rubbed his forehead. Migraine would kill him sooner than sleep deprivation. He was surprised he could still think with the sharp pain never leaving. ‘So… Is there any way to get in touch with Fullmetal?’
‘Is it urgent?’ Hawkeye followed him, her steps slow and quiet.
‘Kind of,’ he raised the file with the red stamp. ‘Do you know at least where they were headed?’
She shook her head. ‘Second Lieutenant Ross or Sergeant Brosh might know. They've been the brothers' guards until lately.’
‘They are under Major Armstrong, right? I'd like to talk to them… Or rather, you might just ask where the brothers were headed.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I'll have this finished by tonight, I hope,’ Roy gestured over the mounds on his table. ‘I'll need help from everyone, though, as I need to depart soon,’ he tapped his finger at the ‘urgent’ stamp.
‘Are you sure you're feeling alright?’ Riza asked, now concerned.
‘Yes, why?’
She sighed and went to her desk. Roy stared at her for a long moment. She probably thought he had some ulterior motive to work hard that day; maybe that he was trying to distract himself. It wasn't too far from the truth. The sooner he filled his mind with thought about anything but Maes, the sooner he would fall asleep. At least, Roy hoped so.
The day went on. His team gathered an hour later in the office, all but unhappy to see Mustang handing them piles of paper. People from other departments would occasionally come and hand in more documents, but at least none required immediate procession, so Roy put them into a separate stack. At around noon, Hawkeye left the office, only to return half an hour later.
‘Sir, I've contacted Second Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh.’
‘And?’ he didn't raise his head from a report he did not really care about but had to work on anyway.
‘Second Lieutenant Ross doesn't know, however Sergeant Brosh… suspects the Elrics went south.’
‘Oh? Where exactly?’
‘He mentioned Dublith and Rush Valley.’
‘Hm,’ Roy finally looked at her, a knuckle held against his lips. ‘I can actually reach them there so that they don't waste time going here and back, but we need to tell them to stay there first, in case they decide to come to Central while I'm on the way.’
‘We can contact the local MP.’
‘It might work. The boys stand out quite a lot. Please do so, lieutenant.’
Riza nodded, and Mustang, sending her a tired smile, returned to work. It distracted him well enough to at least forget how much his head hurt. The entire case might have been thrown at him just so that he wouldn't dig into Maes' death, like someone throws a bone to a dog that won't shut up. He was willing to take it. First, that would show them what they wanted to see. Second, he could ask the Elrics about what they had found out. Third, he could watch over them, at least for some time. It was easy enough to justify why he wanted them working on this case, as Fullmetal was under him, so that wouldn't draw too much attention. However…
If they still didn't know about Maes, should he tell them? Edward would probably blame himself, for Maes was following their lead, trying to help them. Wouldn't the news distract them from their current goal? They had faced loss before, yes, but one can never learn to just deal with it. Mustang, of all people, knew that too well.
In the evening, having finished everything he had to and filing the needed detached duty documentation, Roy left half an hour early to get ready for departure. Hawkeye had told him that she contacted the Rush Valley MP, and they had confirmed that the Elrics were still there. She asked the MP to pass the colonel's order to the brothers, so there was a chance they would actually stay there, waiting. Riza had tried to insist the team — or, at least, her — should follow Mustang, but he shook her off. At first. Although, imagining himself alone on the train with Fullmetal and his brother, he sighed and told her to order two tickets. She would ease the atmosphere.
The night Southbound train was rather empty, and Roy took the entire bench for himself, staring at the ceiling, his bag acting as a pillow, and his legs hanging down, toes touching the floor. Riza sat at the opposite seat, looking out the window flatly. Black Hayate curled up nearby her. The sound of wheels was lulling, and soon enough Roy closed his eyes.
His feet sank in the sand, but he kept running, covered in sweat and thirsty. He knew people were following him, and he tried to shout at them to go away, but his throat was too sore. They were getting closer, more used to moving over the sand. Their hands grabbed his white cloak, trying to pull him back, but he broke away. He had to keep going. There was a city he could see even from this far away. Someone was waiting for him there. So he kept running.
Once or twice he almost fell, catching his own foot, and the hands were quick to grab him, but he snapped his fingers, not turning around. The screams washed over him, but he ran and ran until they were silenced by the sheer distance.
Eventually, he reached the city; it was empty, and he circled around the streets, looking for the man waiting for him. He was nowhere to be found, and anxiety grew inside Mustang. Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder, trying to turn him around, and Roy reflectively snapped.
Before the pillar of fire rose, he saw the olive eyes behind the rectangular glasses.
‘Colonel!’
Riza was above him, holding his shoulders and shaking him slightly. The worried look on her face made Roy squint. ‘It's okay. Just a nightmare,’ he sat up, making her straighten. She frowned.
‘How often do you scream after just a nightmare?’
‘I have no way of telling, as I live alone.’
Riza crossed her arms and sat down. ‘I had no idea they were so severe.’
He smirked bitterly. ‘Why do you think I sleep this much lately?’
‘Much,’ she repeated, obviously not enjoying the irony in Roy's voice. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Ever since.’
She looked at Mustang in silence, her expression softening, and arms falling down by her sides, and sighed. Great, now he would have to deal with worried Hawkeye, too. She was right, however. It was one thing to have a bad dream, entirely other was to wake up screaming.
‘I was thinking of taking sleeping aid, or just drinking myself into a stupor. But I don't know if it will help, because if I don't wake up, the dream will just go on,’ Roy met her attentive glance, probably looking like a beaten up dog. For a moment, he looked at Black Hayate, who stared back in worry. Even the pup could sense something was out of place. ‘I know it's stupid, but I prefer not sleeping at all over seeing that.’ He knew she wanted to ask what exactly happened in his dreams but didn't dare. The reason, he didn't know. ‘I…’ he started but couldn't finish. He released a breath he didn't realise he held and lowered his head to stare at his shivering hands. ‘I am back at Ishval. It's different in detail each time, but eventually I kill Hughes.’
Roy heard the shift of fabric but didn't look up. When he felt warmth near him, he closed his eyes. Riza accurately placed her hand on his back and pulled him closer, making his head fall sluggishly on her shoulder.
‘Colonel,’ she said quietly.
‘I know.’
Stirring, Roy was surprised to see the sun already up. In his sleep, he moved slightly away from Hawkeye to rest his head against the back of the seat. When he did so, she apparently moved back to her place, as now he could see her hugging Black Hayate, who sat in her lap.
‘Morning,’ Mustang said, his throat a tad sore. At least, his head hurt much less, only a dull tugging sensation left.
Riza looked at him. ‘Good morning. No nightmares, I hope?’
He groaned. ‘I think there was something, but I don't really remember.’
‘Good enough.’
She had changed from her uniform and sat now in a plain white shirt and brown trousers, a coat folded neatly on the seat. Roy should probably do the same. It was an official detached duty, but the less attention they drew, the better. Besides, when they moved further south, they would have to look for a person who hunted the military, and to find them, it would be safer to wear civvies. Of course, uniform could be used as bait, but for now civilian clothes would do.
He went to the lavatory to change and wash up. Looking in the mirror, he saw that dark circles under his eyes had faded a bit, and overall, he looked slightly better. He didn't know if the trick with Hawkeye would work again, but she definitely was not going to risk him not sleeping again. Fastening the holster, he noticed his usual fit felt a bit loose. As if losing weight was what he needed right now…
A few minutes after he had come back to the cabin, the train stopped. Roy threw a jacket over his shoulders to hide the holster; Riza did the same, hooking up Hayate's leash. Roy wondered if she was actually allowed to take the dog in the carriage with her, but not like it mattered.
Outside was hot, the air dry and almost ringing with warmth rising from the ground. His luggage at once felt too heavy.
They moved towards the station exit but stopped soon, noticing a figure near the door.
‘Good morning, colonel, lieutenant,’ Alphonse waved at them.
‘Alphonse,’ Riza said with a smile, offering her hand. ‘It's nice of you to pick us up.’
‘No, no, how could I just abandon you here?’ he laughed bashfully and shook her hand. Then Alphonse hesitated for a moment, and Roy was quick enough to offer his hand, too. The boy shook it in excitement, and then, noticing Hayate, kneeled to pet him. ‘Colonel, may I ask what the reason you asked us to stay is?’
‘It would be better to tell that to both of you, Fullmetal present,’ Mustang hummed. ‘But I can brief you. I was sent on an investigation to Ermutigo, and I think it might interest you.’
‘Huh?’ Alphonse stood up and tilted his head to the side, as if thinking. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I'll give you a summary of the reports when we settle.’
‘Ah, of course,’ he threw his hands up, as if lost, and then saw Riza's luggage. ‘I may carry that for you.’
‘You're too kind,’ she smiled and pulled slightly at the leash to draw Hayate's attention. ‘There's no need, I don't take any extras with me,’ and she looked at Mustang, expression hidden behind a polite smile but quite readable for him.
‘Yeah, sure, bully me now,’ he mouthed silently at Hawkeye and shuffled his arms a bit, repositioning the bag handle on his shoulder to hang more comfortably. Before Alphonse could offer Roy to carry his luggage instead, he hummed, ‘Let's go.’
As they passed the already busy streets, Roy noticed the number of people with or working on automails. It wasn't too much of a common sight in either Central or East City, so he was curious enough to keep looking just out of the corner of his eye. Automail mechanics surely had a drastic increase in profits after the war. The thought of how many people exactly lost their limbs in the war had never occurred to him before, and he was a tad surprised. If he were honest, he didn't have the slightest idea how automail worked or what it was like to live with one — not like he had any first-hand experience or even was acquainted closely enough to someone who did. Roy looked at Alphonse unwillingly. Edward Elric had been using automail for four years now; a short period, sure, but that had already been more than a quarter of his life. What was it like for a child to have automail installed, and not just one unit but two? Was it painful? Did it hurt all the time? Mustang wouldn't be surprised if it did, but, thinking again, many people wouldn't use it then. Not everyone was so eager to take on the challenge as Fullmetal was.
They walked in silence for some time, and when it became a bit uncomfortable, Alphonse asked, ‘So, how's everyone in East City?’
Roy, remembering the brothers didn't know he and his team were transferred, smiled, anticipating Fullmetal's reaction. ‘I've been transferred to Central this week. Hawkeye, Fuery, Falman, Breda, and Havoc went with me. We're already settling down.’
‘Such a change must be nice and stressful at the same time,’ Alphonse mused. ‘But at least you're closer to lieutenant colonel Hughes now. How is he doing?’
Sharp pain pricked at Roy's lungs, and he looked helplessly at Riza. She was not looking back, walking slower now, as if thinking about what to answer. Roy inhaled deeply, almost choking on his shaken breath. ‘He's gone.’
‘Huh?’
He wanted to hide his hands, but the damn bag would fall from his shoulder if he did, so he grabbed at the handle. ‘He moved back to the countryside. Things have been so dangerous in Central lately, so he—’
‘Colonel,’ Hawkeye said quietly when his voice started to sound too cold with all the masks he tried to put on one over another. Alphonse looked at them in question, stopping on his way. Great.
Roy stopped, too, and so did Riza, both looking at each other. Her glance wasn't the one of approval. ‘Then you tell him,’ Mustang thought, hoping his face would tell her enough. ‘And Fullmetal, too.’
They didn't need to know yet. They had to move forward, and Maes' death would be an obstacle—
‘I apologise, Alphonse. I'll explain it to you and Edward later,’ Hawkeye said softly, gesturing for the boy to proceed on his way. After a few seconds of silence, Alphonse nodded and started walking again. Now he knew something was wrong.
Soon they arrived at a small shop that read Atelier Garfiel. Alphonse invited them to sit down and went to fetch his brother. Riza sat on a small chair, Black Hayate lying down near her feet; Roy put his bag down but remained standing.
‘Why are you treating him like a child all of a sudden?’
All the stupid arguments Mustang had been trying to build tumbled down when he looked at her. He could lie to himself, but she would see right through that. ‘Because he is,’ he answered simply. ‘I'm too soft, am I not?’ he asked with a mirthless chuckle. Hawkeye didn't reply.
‘What's he even doing here?’ came an annoyed voice. The back door opened, and Fullmetal entered the shop, and with him only wearing a tank top, the first thing Roy noticed was that the boy had no right hand. It wasn't the first time, of course, but how was Edward so insistent on getting his automail hand destroyed? He went to Resembool to have it fixed, what, a month ago? The dates suddenly were confused in Roy's mind, but not like it mattered.
‘Hello, Fullmetal.’
‘Yeah, yeah, cut to the chase.’
Roy sighed and opened his bag. ‘I was assigned an investigation. Weird murders happened in Ermutigo, and an alchemist is under suspicion. All the soldiers were asphyxiated, but there were no signs of strangulation.’
‘What do we have to do with that? Or did you just stop by to say hi?’
Instead of answering, Mustang handed him the copies of witnesses' testimonies. Fullmetal took it with his flesh hand, a questioning look on his face finally replacing the wry expression. As the boy skimmed through the notes, Roy spoke. ‘I believe these healings and the murders are connected. In other words, there is one alchemist in the South who helps the infected and kills the soldiers. And from the reports, I can surmise that—’
‘They have a philosopher's stone?’ interrupted Fullmetal.
‘Exactly.’
‘I don't care,’ Edward threw the folder at Mustang, who caught it and looked at the boy in surprise. ‘It's too far-fetched, and…’
He obviously wanted to say something else but didn't and only glared at Roy.
‘You know how they're made, right?’ Mustang asked quietly. Fullmetal nodded. ‘And you're going to give up?’
‘I'm not—’ he shouted in exasperation, his fist clenched. ‘I'm not giving up. I just don't want to use the stone.’
‘We don't want to use the suffering of others for our own benefit. That would be wrong,’ Alphonse added. ‘We are trying to fix our own mistakes, and using the stone for that is just… wrong.’
‘I see,’ Roy let out a sigh. ‘Still, I want you to go with me.’
‘Well, I—’
‘It's an order. I'm not going there alone. Besides, whether or not that alchemist uses the stone, they obviously know a lot about healing and the human body. They might have information you can find useful.’
Irritated, Fullmetal moved his hand as if he was going to cross his arms, but, to his chagrin, he couldn't do so. That pissed him off even more, and he spat, ‘Fine. Just let me get my arm fixed.’
‘Sure. We still need to buy the tickets to South City, and from there we'll go to Ermutigo.’
‘Colonel,’ Alphonse started, his voice weak. Oh, no. ‘You were saying…’
Roy held a breath and sat down, hands lying flat on the table. He thought he would have mustered some courage by the time he was asked again, but he failed. Looking at the two boys, he couldn't find the right words — any words. Alphonse didn't really have a face, but Roy could guess what expression he would have if he did, and Edward just had a questioning look, not darkened by the topic yet.
They had given up on the stone already. Would they not stumble even more at the news? They knew the truth behind the philosopher's stones, and evidently would be able to guess why Maes was murdered. And it wouldn't be just a wild guess. Hughes had followed their lead, found out too much, and was killed. Wouldn't that give the boys a guilt-trip?
The silence stretched, and the expression on Fullmetal's face shifted into worry, even though just a bit yet. Roy closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers pressing onto the table, trying to form the thoughts into comprehensible words. Something to make the news lighter? Yeah, sure, have a ten minute long monologue about life and death, as if the brothers were five.
There was only so much Roy could protect them from.
He opened his eyes and looked at Edward.
‘Hughes is dead.’