FMA BigBang - Closer to the Edge - Chapter 2 (2/2)
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Edward returned to the base only just in time as several of the interviewees milled around in the waiting area outside the main room. Edward managed to ignore them - and very few of them gave him a second look as he passed. He was looking for Hawkeye, but instead found Sheska manning the desk.
She was doing about three things at the same time and moving quickly into the realm of overwhelmed; trying to sign-in the interviewees, answering questions and, spotting Edward, immediately stuttering to a halt mid-sentence. He gave her a peculiar look as she tried to find her place again and finish answering the man's sentence.
The other alchemist signed in, Sheska shooed them away from her desk and sighed in relief. "Where have you been?" she asked Edward. "General Howard has been at my desk every five minutes wanting to know where you were."
"General Howard can-" Edward started to say, but Sheska grabbed his jacket and tugged it. Edward looked at her, surprised, as she straightened it, and just then Edward realized the door out of his vision had opened.
"Colonel Elric," General Howard's voice was deep and threatening. "I'm glad you could join us today."
Edward bit the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting as he'd liked. "Sorry to inconvenience you," he said instead, waiting just long enough for Howard to start to stew as he added on the, "sir."
Sheska gave him a look that Hawkeye had to have taught her, and handed him the folders she'd had on her desk. She looked over her list and frowned before handing it to him as well. "Two no-shows," she told him. "What do you want me to do if they turn up late?"
"Tell them to wait," Edward said. "If I still feel like it after this circus is done for the night we'll take'em late, otherwise they can sit next year." He tucked the folders under his arm and headed for the door where General Howard stood, glowering at him. That was strange, yesterday Howard had already seated himself at the table, jockeying for the center spot despite Edward's job leading the interview.
"Oh," Sheska said. "I almost forgot, the acting-Fuhrer sent his replacement."
"His replacement?" Edward repeated as Howard stepped aside to allow Edward entrance into the meeting room. The room was set up exactly the same as yesterday, a long table for them to sit at and a single chair in the center of the room specifically designed to throw the alchemists off guard and make them nervous.
There was someone already in the center chair, the one that Edward had decided was his seat (and the one that he had childishly and silently fought with Howard over yesterday). A single ice-blue eye flicked up to meet his entrance, the other hidden behind a sheet of cold blonde hair.
"Fullmetal," Major-General Olivier Mira Armstrong said. "You're late."
"Aw, fuck," Edward said illustratively, as Howard closed the door behind them.
* * *
It was long after dark by the time the last of the alchemists was dismissed, tail tucked firmly between his legs. Edward was used to having one glowering presence on one side attempting to intimidate the prospective State Alchemists - but Major General Armstrong was a terrifying force all of her own.
Fortunately, she at least bowed to Edward's superior knowledge of the candidate's alchemical skills, and rarely asked questions directly to them. Howard, on the other hand, grilled the subjects so mercilessly that Edward wondered if he got off on it.
Some promising candidates in the batch, and Edward wanted to see the practical demonstration of their skills. A few duds, but Howard didn't try to pull rank on him in order to bully in the candidates that he liked despite their lack of useful attributes to the military. That was probably due to Major-General Armstrong's presence. Howard was as afraid of her as Edward was - and despite the fact that Edward was not entirely pleased to see her there he knew that he could tentatively consider her an ally.
Howard she would squash under the heel of her boot given half the chance.
And as much as Edward would enjoy throwing Howard into Armstrong's direct path, right now that would just create more work for him overall.
Of course, Armstrong's presence here was odd. He'd had no warning whatsoever that she was in town; Major-General Armstrong held court in the north, keeping strong the border between Amestris and Drachma. If she had planned for a trip to Central City, somewhere along the line someone would have given Edward a heads-up. He'd had to grill Havoc about that later.
But now he was freed. The interviews took place in a designated area off-base - it was an older building annexed to, unsurprisingly, the library. It was the old hall of records, renovated to their purposes when the newer storage facilities were built. Edward waited, of course - Major-General Armstrong left first, her car driven by the half-Ishbalan soldier Miles. Edward tossed a wave off to him, but Miles simply gave him a brief salute. General Howard stood around talking to two of the candidates that Edward had failed - and Sheska lingered still at the desk, deeply engrossed in her chosen book.
Edward couldn't eavesdrop on Howard's conversation without being completely obvious, so instead he leaned against the desk Sheska was seated at, put both hands on the desk and stood on his tip-toes, trying to read the book pages upside-down. However deeply engrossed Sheska was, the fact that he was blocking out her light made her look up in irritation, and she squeaked in surprise at Edward's proximity. "Oh my gosh, are you guys done alrea- what TIME is it?"
"Late," Edward said. "What are you still doing here?" Sheska looked at the book in her hands, and then back up at Edward. Edward snorted. "Look, some of the guys and I were going to meet up at the Red Lion tonight, want to join us?"
Sheska blinked at Edward. "Go.. out? To a pub?"
"Yeah." Edward straightened a bit, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who was still chatting amiably away. "Maybe get some work done, too," he murmured.
To his surprise, Sheska nearly leaped out of her seat. "I'd love to, Ed," she said. "When? Now? I mean, I'm in my uniform still-"
Edward paused in his scrutiny of Howard, then looked back at Sheska in confusion. "We're all gonna be in our uniforms," he said. "It's a military bar, Sheska..."
"Oh," she said, still grinning from ear to ear. "Are we going now? I'll fetch my coat!" She left her book abandoned on the desk and bolted off, leaving a bewildered Edward in her wake. He scratched the top of his head and sighed, and looked toward the exit again.
The two failed recruits were gone, leaving just Howard watching Edward with cold, calculating eyes. Edward stiffened under the gaze, locking eyes with Howard and refusing to give an inch of ground. After a long, silent moment, Howard broke off the contest with a snort, glancing back to the door. "The military prohibits fraternization," was all Howard said, as his driver opened the door and stuck his head in the room.
Edward didn't respond, watched Howard leave with narrowed eyes. Sheska returned then, pulling on a long, light brown coat. "Ed, what's wrong?" she asked at his expression.
He shook it off, forced a smile for Sheska. "Nothing," he said. "Thanks for helping out tonight, you've been great."
Sheska smiled almost shyly back. "I'm thinking about putting in for a permanent transfer to Central City," she told him. "I like it here."
"Well if you do, let me know," Edward said. "Or, probably Hawkeye. She loves having you around as an assistant, we can always use the spare hands."
Sheska beamed as Edward held the door open for her. Last out of the building, Edward locked the door behind them, and they started down the street toward the pub, The Red Lion.
* * *
The Red Lion was a fairly popular hang-out, with its location not too far from base. It was a known military bar - the blue uniform was so ubiquitous that if you WEREN'T in some form of one you stood out. There was some protocol there - officers ignored their soldiers and vice versa; if the military jacket with the epaulets was off military etiquette was ignored. It wasn't a haunt that was frequented often by the upper echelon of the military, on a usual night Ed might be one of the highest ranked officers there.
He held the door for Sheska, who looked a little unsure of this, but entered warily. Edward steered her toward the usual corner, where Havoc sat slumped in a booth, his face a picture of complete rejection. Cushler, who had been sitting across from Havoc, jumped up and looked like he was about to salute when he saw Edward, and Edward gave him a dirty look so he stopped.
"It's so cute how your subordinates are afraid of you," Sheska laughed as Cushler forced Havoc inwards so they could slide into the booth across from them. "I don't even think I want to know what you did to instill such fear."
"I'm not afraid of Colonel Elric," Cushler said defensively.
Edward arched an eyebrow and he shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. Sheska and Edward laughed as Cushler looked furiously at the table.
"What happened to Havoc?" Edward asked Cushler. "Did the waitress reject his attempts at flirting again?"
"Worse," Cushler said. "She called him old."
"Oh, burn," Edward said. Sheska reached forward and patted Havoc's hand that was limply cradling his beer. "Sorry, man. Is this the same one, or a different one?"
"Different one, Colonel," the familiar waitress said, putting two more beers on the table. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Been busy," Edward said. He glanced to Sheska. "I didn't even ask, do you drink beer?"
"I don't know," Sheska said, hesitantly taking one of the tankards. "Guess I'll find out?" She sniffed the booze delicately and took a small sip of it, grimacing only slightly.
"I think he's gone catatonic," Cushler said, nudging Havoc. "He's been like this all night."
"Leave him be, it'll be nice to have the silence," Edward said. "Usually once you get a beer or three into him he won't shut up."
"That's not very nice," Sheska said, shooting Edward a look. "I'm sure there's a nice girl out there for you somewhere, Havoc."
"Any idea when Bailey's gonna be back?" Edward asked Cushler while Sheska consoled Havoc. "It feels weird to only see one of you."
* * *
Havoc came out of his "catatonic trance" thanks to Sheska nattering on about the latest series of fantasy novels she'd been reading between actually doing the work that she was getting paid for. Edward in turns listened to that, bitched about the inaccurate alchemy those novels tended to use, and then got into a long argument about the value of fantasy versus realism when it came to alchemy with Sheska. Cushler interjected a point, surprising both of them and Havoc laughed as the discussion then turned to the State Alchemist candidates. Havoc started describing one of the "smoking hot girls" he saw today with hand gestures.
Edward leaned forward, smacking Havoc's head illustratively. As Havoc sulked, Cushler excused himself and they watched the soldier leave. "Well, he finally seems to be coming out of his shell a little," Edward said thoughtfully, chin in his hand.
Havoc scratched the side of his jaw. "Uh, boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Cushler likes you."
"Bullshit he does, he's fuckin' scared of me," Edward said, swilling the remainders of his booze in the bottom of his tankard. "Surprised he hasn't combusted from all the stammering he does."
Sheska giggled as Havoc sighed. "No, boss. He likes you."
Edward looked at Sheska, then at Havoc. "What?"
"Like," Havoc waved his hands in the air. "God, I'm not having this discussion with you boss, you tell him, Sheska!"
Sheska nodded her head and patted Edward's shoulder. "Cushler is sweet on you, Ed."
"Sweet on- wait, what, what the fuck-" He looked back to Havoc. "You're joking."
Havoc shook his head. "You'd have to be blind not to see it."
Elbow on the table, forehead in hand Edward groaned. "I do not need to be dealing with this right now."
"It's cute," Sheska said.
"Yeah," Havoc echoed. "Cute."
Edward gave them both a look. "My subordinate has a crush on me and you both call it cute," he said. "Wonderful." He looked at his woefully empty tankard and sighed. "Not enough booze for this."
"What's the matter with Cushler?" Havoc asked.
Edward opened his mouth and almost said it - He's not Roy. He realized that Havoc's eyes were unusually clear and sober and he snorted instead. "I'm getting another drink," he said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar, leaving Sheska and Havoc alone.
He really didn't need this right now. Edward wove around the packed crowd and made it up to the bar. It seemed like he was getting it from all sides now - although there was always the chance that Havoc was pulling one over on him. Which, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. What better way to alleviate his own sorrows than to watch Edward make a dick of himself to his direct subordinate?
Edward glared over his shoulder at the booth, and Havoc waved cheerfully. Cushler had reappeared in Edward's absence. Edward sighed and waved down the bartender.
"You look like you're having fun," Russell Tringham said from directly to his left.
Edward glanced at Russell. "I was, until you showed up."
Russell shrugged. He was sitting at the bar, hands around his own tankard of ale. "That's my job, ruining all your fun," he said. "Had an interesting day, I take it?"
"So when were you going to tell me about Fletcher sitting for the State Alchemist exams?" Edward asked.
"Need to know information," Russell murmured.
"Well, I'm going to be taking it to "need to punch" levels soon," Edward returned. "And that's your only warning, by the way." He took the tankard back from the bartender, thanking him. "Fletcher didn't show."
"What?"
Russell actually looked surprised. That wasn't the response Edward was expecting. "What do you mean, Fletcher didn't show?"
"I mean," Edward said. "He was one of two no-shows for the interviews today. I don't know how to make that much clearer." He paused. "I didn't take Fletcher as the sort to skip out on important things like that."
Russell stood up, the noise of the bar stool sliding backwards lost in the general din of the pub. "He's not," Russell said.
Edward watched Russell nearly bolt out of the pub, a concerned frown on his face. Russell didn't rabbit often. He was still wearing his concerned face when he sat back down at the booth, to Cushler doing a spot-on impersonation of Hawkeye, to the eternal hilarity of Havoc and Sheska.
He wasn't good at hiding his discomfiture when even slightly inebriated, or perhaps Sheska was more apt to picking up on it. Either way, she was pretty much ready to call it a night, so Edward offered to walk her home. Havoc was well on his way to singing bar ballads at the top of his lungs, arm in arm with Cushler, who seemed to have shed his earlier nervousness. The beer probably helped with that.
Edward wasn't sure what time it was, and didn't bother to fish out his pocket watch to check. Sheska was quietly worried and covered that with incessant chatter about anything and everything that came to mind. Edward was grateful for her running dialogue because he didn't have to speak.
They made it to the military dorm that Sheska was staying at - the same one the State Alchemist candidates had taken over. There was a cluster of them standing outside smoking - most, Edward realized, had already failed the initial written exam and were waiting on friends to either pass or fail to catch the same train.
He caught Sheska looking at him oddly expectantly. "I had fun," Sheska said with a grin. Then she hugged him and trotted up the stairs and into the military dorm.
Edward stood on the sidewalk a little confused by this display, the alcohol still buzzing in the back of his mind. He realized that the smokers were watching him and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers before sauntering down the sidewalk and heading back toward the part of town where his flat was located. It had been an eventful night, and he'd barely had any rest. At least he'd sleep like a log before the all-day interviews on Saturday that would wrap up the second part of the State Alchemist examinations. With a stifled yawn, he made his way home.
* * *
It had cooled off as the sun had set. Rian sat on that bench in the park and just watched the ducks, and the few people who walked by, until it got too late and he started getting looks. He didn't want to go back to the dorm and sleep, what purpose would that serve?
What purpose did any of it serve, really?
He ambled about town, hands shoved in his pockets. He hadn't counted on Anthony showing up. His brother's abrupt appearance shouldn't have thrown a wrench in his plans and yet it had, shattering Rian's convictions in one fell blow. How was he supposed to head off to die tomorrow morning when he knew his brother was on base himself, preparing for the military academy? Would he be connected back to Anthony? Did he tell the recruiter he had a family member taking the examinations? Rian groaned and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating on the sidewalk.
It was a Friday night, the city was buzzing with activity. People were everywhere, in groups. Store fronts were open, bright with light. Bars and pubs with the doors flapping open, showing people happily carousing and greeting the weekend with shouts and laughter. Rian stalked past all of these, lost in his own little world.
He wanted Howard dead. He was certain of that, at least. And this interview was his best bet at it, his chance to get close to the man, get in close quarters when he was unguarded and kill him. Rian's plan was to make it as messy as possible, the less of him that was left the harder it would be to identify the purpose of the attack, as well as the harder it would be to identify him. But, but, but.
Suddenly he wasn't sure that he could go through with it.
There had to be other ways to take his revenge. Howard had other weaknesses, other times that Rian could use against him. Hell, he'd even made a plan B just in case Howard decided at the last minute he wasn't going to sit in the interviews. But that contingency was in place because it was something Rian couldn't control.
What was he supposed to do if his resolve collapsed around his ears?
He found a stoop to sit on, and buried his head in his hands as his thoughts chased around in senseless circles. Why did stupid Anthony have to show up? Fuck, it ruined everything-
"Hey, you all right?"
Rian blinked, looked up. He looked around in confusion a moment - he had ended up across the street from the train station several blocks away from the main military base that dominated the center of the city - and he really wasn't sure how he'd ended up here.
A tall man in a tan trench coat and trilby had stopped in front of him. He had a suitcase slung over his shoulder and a newspaper tucked under his other arm.
"I'm fine," Rian responded. "Just ... thinking about how stupid brothers are."
The man snorted. "I could write a book." He gave Rian a considering look. "You sure you're all right?"
The look that the man was giving him was making Rian strangely uncomfortable. He shifted under the gaze. "I'm fine," he insisted, getting to his feet. "I have to go."
He could feel the stranger's eyes on him as he took off down the street at a steady trot. Rian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket - it might be early spring but it was still nippy at night - and sighed. He had no idea what to do now. The sigh turned into a yawn, which surprised him.
Maybe that bed in the military dorm wasn't such a bad idea after all.
**
Fletcher sneezed himself awake, dirt and dust getting up his nose. He was lying on his side in the most uncomfortable position, face pressed to the ground. He groaned, the sneezing that woke him served to catapult a raging headache to the forefront as he tried to figure out what had happened to him.
The last time Fletcher had woken up like this, he and Russell had been on the bad end of a wronged throng of villagers who couldn't be easily placated by Russell's attempts at smooth talking. To Russell's credit at least the reason the villagers were enraged had nothing to do with his older brother's many con jobs - for once they had honestly walked into a mess that wasn't their doing - but they had been mobbed and thrown into a tiny jail to await a messy execution.
They had escaped handily, by transmuting some dummies to hide under the straw blankets and getting themselves out of the jail, but Fletcher remembered all too well that painful discombobulation of waking from mild-to-serious head trauma. The room was wobbling around the edges - fortunately for him it wasn't particularly well lit.
His shoulders were sore, and it quickly became apparent why - his wrists were tied together. He rubbed his wrists a minute, gauging the material to be thick cord or rope. It wasn't entirely coarse, but it was thick and tied so tightly there was no way he'd easily slip these knots. If his captors had used handcuffs he would have had a better chance at freeing himself.
Fletcher's cheek was pressed to the cold tile floor. It was dusty and dirty in here, but with the dim light there was no telling where he was. No windows, just some wan light that streamed in from under the door. Occasional shadows would pass in front of it - people, obviously. Wherever he was, it was busy.
He shifted his legs. They hadn't been bound, thankfully. He hurt all over, his head most of all. The Drachmians were all terrorists, all of them. Even Ioana. He closed his eyes guiltily, cheek still pressed against the tile. He knew Russell kinda suspected them but Russell really didn't have any solid proof to go on yet, or any idea when they were planning on acting. For all he knew, they were planning on doing something during the practical examinations, not now during the relatively boring interview process. He was the only one who knew what was going on, and he had to warn somebody.
Fletcher rolled onto his back. He still felt woozy, but he had no time for that. With some effort he maneuvered himself into a sitting position and stayed that way a while, waiting for the rushing sound to stop in his ears. Then up on his knees and staggering to his feet, barely able to keep his balance as he stumbled into shelves against a wall. There was a clatter and Fletcher heard various bric-a-brac hit the floor. He was in a supply closet of some kind.
The door would more than likely be locked - not that Fletcher was in any way capable of opening it with his hands bound like they were. He could always turn around and back against the door, fumble for the knob with his bound hands, but that would alert a lot of attention to the fact that he was up and about.
For the first time, Fletcher hesitated. Why was he still alive? The Drachmians were clearly about to pull off a terrorist plot that would end in death and destruction, so why not kill him and dump his body into the river? What benefit was there to keeping him alive?
He heard voices outside the door as they passed, conversing in loud tones. Neither was accented with Drachmian - they both spoke Amestrian with faint rural accents. Soldiers.
What was going on?
* * *
Edward hesitated on his doorstep a second, then opened the front door carefully, key in the lock. Something felt uncomfortable and off, and a freshly-honed danger sense overrode the faint buzz of alcohol nicely.
He closed the door behind him carefully, automail leading, and turned the corner into the den from the small foyer.
Alphonse sat on the couch, bare feet on his coffee table, a large book open in his lap and a mug of coffee in his hand. "Took you long enough, brother."
Edward relaxed in the doorway. "Just make yourself at home, why don'tcha," he grumbled, then turned to kick his boots off in the foyer.
"Thanks, I will." Alphonse turned a page in the book. "There's coffee on in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure where you'd end up, although I suppose it would have been awkward if you'd brought Sheska back here."
Edward paused, halfway into the kitchen. "Why would I bring Sheska back here?"
Alphonse raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you on a date?"
The look of abject horror that crossed Edward's face Alphonse found objectively hilarious. Edward sputtered a moment, and then his face actually turned a deep shade of crimson as everything came together. Alphonse stretched his arms over his head and closed his book. "You're just now figuring this out? I think Hawkeye deserves your rank more than you, brother."
"I, she- WHAT IS GOING ON TONIGHT?" Edward shouted. Alphonse clapped his shoulder and moved him out of the space between the rooms, moving into the kitchen to pour his brother some much-needed coffee. "First Cushler, now SHESKA? Is there something in the water?"
"I keep telling you, you need to put yourse-" Alphonse paused. "Cushler?"
"My, one of the junior members of the garrison," Edward said, shoving stuff off of the chair at the small kitchen table and then collapsing in it, leaning back against the wall. "Apparently has developed some sort of infatuation with me per Havoc."
"I know who Cushler is, brother," Alphonse said. "Is Havoc fucking with you?"
"I haven't had time to check yet," Edward said. "Sheska likes me? Is this why you sent her suddenly to start working with Hawkeye, because if you are trying to set us up so help me I will break your nose, Alphonse."
Alphonse put the coffee cup in front of Edward's face and sighed. "Ed, do we have to do this right now? I'm not here to play matchmaker."
"Good, because I don't need your help. I'm fine by myself." He looked at the coffee cup in front of him and scowled.
"Yeah, you're doing wonderfully, living with a ghost."
"Hey, fuck you." Edward's tone was venomous.
"Brother," Alphonse said sharply. "Roy is dead. He's been dead for five years. You need to move on."
Edward started visibly at the words, and his face rearranged into a wordless snarl. Alphonse simply looked at his brother calmly, a little sadly as Edward sputtered. "Get out of my house, Al."
Alphonse said, very firmly and evenly, "No."
"Don't you - get out, I fucking mean it."
"The next train back to East City isn't until tomorrow evening, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me until then." Alphonse leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, his posture the very definition of "make me." "Besides," Alphonse said. "I'm here until the end of the interviews. The practical examinations are going to be supervised by acting-Fuhrer Dalton and because of an inspection that just came up, have been moved a week and a half out. So, next train tomorrow evening you are coming with me back to East City because you are going to explain to Winry why I had to come all the way out here to kick your ass."
"I told you not to come," Edward said. "And it had nothing to do with me and every thing to do with this goddamn mess that's going on around the edges of everything." Edward waved his arms in the air illustratively. "Stupid, espionage and Intelligence and terrorists and Drachmians and I am fucking fed the fuck up with it all, I don't get paid enough to put up with all this shit-" Edward stopped mid-sentence and pointed at Alphonse. "An' you still need to get the fuck out."
"At least you've gotten to the point where you can juggle more on your one-track mind," Alphonse murmured. "I know it hurts you to hear it, brother, but Roy is dead and gone. Everyone else has accepted it. It's time you did too."
Edward snarled but it was without the same venom as earlier. He stared down into the coffee in his hands. "You put milk in this," he accused Alphonse instead.
Alphonse scruffed a hand in his hair and sighed.
Crosspost: FF.N ||| AO3
Chapter 3
Edward returned to the base only just in time as several of the interviewees milled around in the waiting area outside the main room. Edward managed to ignore them - and very few of them gave him a second look as he passed. He was looking for Hawkeye, but instead found Sheska manning the desk.
She was doing about three things at the same time and moving quickly into the realm of overwhelmed; trying to sign-in the interviewees, answering questions and, spotting Edward, immediately stuttering to a halt mid-sentence. He gave her a peculiar look as she tried to find her place again and finish answering the man's sentence.
The other alchemist signed in, Sheska shooed them away from her desk and sighed in relief. "Where have you been?" she asked Edward. "General Howard has been at my desk every five minutes wanting to know where you were."
"General Howard can-" Edward started to say, but Sheska grabbed his jacket and tugged it. Edward looked at her, surprised, as she straightened it, and just then Edward realized the door out of his vision had opened.
"Colonel Elric," General Howard's voice was deep and threatening. "I'm glad you could join us today."
Edward bit the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting as he'd liked. "Sorry to inconvenience you," he said instead, waiting just long enough for Howard to start to stew as he added on the, "sir."
Sheska gave him a look that Hawkeye had to have taught her, and handed him the folders she'd had on her desk. She looked over her list and frowned before handing it to him as well. "Two no-shows," she told him. "What do you want me to do if they turn up late?"
"Tell them to wait," Edward said. "If I still feel like it after this circus is done for the night we'll take'em late, otherwise they can sit next year." He tucked the folders under his arm and headed for the door where General Howard stood, glowering at him. That was strange, yesterday Howard had already seated himself at the table, jockeying for the center spot despite Edward's job leading the interview.
"Oh," Sheska said. "I almost forgot, the acting-Fuhrer sent his replacement."
"His replacement?" Edward repeated as Howard stepped aside to allow Edward entrance into the meeting room. The room was set up exactly the same as yesterday, a long table for them to sit at and a single chair in the center of the room specifically designed to throw the alchemists off guard and make them nervous.
There was someone already in the center chair, the one that Edward had decided was his seat (and the one that he had childishly and silently fought with Howard over yesterday). A single ice-blue eye flicked up to meet his entrance, the other hidden behind a sheet of cold blonde hair.
"Fullmetal," Major-General Olivier Mira Armstrong said. "You're late."
"Aw, fuck," Edward said illustratively, as Howard closed the door behind them.
* * *
It was long after dark by the time the last of the alchemists was dismissed, tail tucked firmly between his legs. Edward was used to having one glowering presence on one side attempting to intimidate the prospective State Alchemists - but Major General Armstrong was a terrifying force all of her own.
Fortunately, she at least bowed to Edward's superior knowledge of the candidate's alchemical skills, and rarely asked questions directly to them. Howard, on the other hand, grilled the subjects so mercilessly that Edward wondered if he got off on it.
Some promising candidates in the batch, and Edward wanted to see the practical demonstration of their skills. A few duds, but Howard didn't try to pull rank on him in order to bully in the candidates that he liked despite their lack of useful attributes to the military. That was probably due to Major-General Armstrong's presence. Howard was as afraid of her as Edward was - and despite the fact that Edward was not entirely pleased to see her there he knew that he could tentatively consider her an ally.
Howard she would squash under the heel of her boot given half the chance.
And as much as Edward would enjoy throwing Howard into Armstrong's direct path, right now that would just create more work for him overall.
Of course, Armstrong's presence here was odd. He'd had no warning whatsoever that she was in town; Major-General Armstrong held court in the north, keeping strong the border between Amestris and Drachma. If she had planned for a trip to Central City, somewhere along the line someone would have given Edward a heads-up. He'd had to grill Havoc about that later.
But now he was freed. The interviews took place in a designated area off-base - it was an older building annexed to, unsurprisingly, the library. It was the old hall of records, renovated to their purposes when the newer storage facilities were built. Edward waited, of course - Major-General Armstrong left first, her car driven by the half-Ishbalan soldier Miles. Edward tossed a wave off to him, but Miles simply gave him a brief salute. General Howard stood around talking to two of the candidates that Edward had failed - and Sheska lingered still at the desk, deeply engrossed in her chosen book.
Edward couldn't eavesdrop on Howard's conversation without being completely obvious, so instead he leaned against the desk Sheska was seated at, put both hands on the desk and stood on his tip-toes, trying to read the book pages upside-down. However deeply engrossed Sheska was, the fact that he was blocking out her light made her look up in irritation, and she squeaked in surprise at Edward's proximity. "Oh my gosh, are you guys done alrea- what TIME is it?"
"Late," Edward said. "What are you still doing here?" Sheska looked at the book in her hands, and then back up at Edward. Edward snorted. "Look, some of the guys and I were going to meet up at the Red Lion tonight, want to join us?"
Sheska blinked at Edward. "Go.. out? To a pub?"
"Yeah." Edward straightened a bit, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who was still chatting amiably away. "Maybe get some work done, too," he murmured.
To his surprise, Sheska nearly leaped out of her seat. "I'd love to, Ed," she said. "When? Now? I mean, I'm in my uniform still-"
Edward paused in his scrutiny of Howard, then looked back at Sheska in confusion. "We're all gonna be in our uniforms," he said. "It's a military bar, Sheska..."
"Oh," she said, still grinning from ear to ear. "Are we going now? I'll fetch my coat!" She left her book abandoned on the desk and bolted off, leaving a bewildered Edward in her wake. He scratched the top of his head and sighed, and looked toward the exit again.
The two failed recruits were gone, leaving just Howard watching Edward with cold, calculating eyes. Edward stiffened under the gaze, locking eyes with Howard and refusing to give an inch of ground. After a long, silent moment, Howard broke off the contest with a snort, glancing back to the door. "The military prohibits fraternization," was all Howard said, as his driver opened the door and stuck his head in the room.
Edward didn't respond, watched Howard leave with narrowed eyes. Sheska returned then, pulling on a long, light brown coat. "Ed, what's wrong?" she asked at his expression.
He shook it off, forced a smile for Sheska. "Nothing," he said. "Thanks for helping out tonight, you've been great."
Sheska smiled almost shyly back. "I'm thinking about putting in for a permanent transfer to Central City," she told him. "I like it here."
"Well if you do, let me know," Edward said. "Or, probably Hawkeye. She loves having you around as an assistant, we can always use the spare hands."
Sheska beamed as Edward held the door open for her. Last out of the building, Edward locked the door behind them, and they started down the street toward the pub, The Red Lion.
* * *
The Red Lion was a fairly popular hang-out, with its location not too far from base. It was a known military bar - the blue uniform was so ubiquitous that if you WEREN'T in some form of one you stood out. There was some protocol there - officers ignored their soldiers and vice versa; if the military jacket with the epaulets was off military etiquette was ignored. It wasn't a haunt that was frequented often by the upper echelon of the military, on a usual night Ed might be one of the highest ranked officers there.
He held the door for Sheska, who looked a little unsure of this, but entered warily. Edward steered her toward the usual corner, where Havoc sat slumped in a booth, his face a picture of complete rejection. Cushler, who had been sitting across from Havoc, jumped up and looked like he was about to salute when he saw Edward, and Edward gave him a dirty look so he stopped.
"It's so cute how your subordinates are afraid of you," Sheska laughed as Cushler forced Havoc inwards so they could slide into the booth across from them. "I don't even think I want to know what you did to instill such fear."
"I'm not afraid of Colonel Elric," Cushler said defensively.
Edward arched an eyebrow and he shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. Sheska and Edward laughed as Cushler looked furiously at the table.
"What happened to Havoc?" Edward asked Cushler. "Did the waitress reject his attempts at flirting again?"
"Worse," Cushler said. "She called him old."
"Oh, burn," Edward said. Sheska reached forward and patted Havoc's hand that was limply cradling his beer. "Sorry, man. Is this the same one, or a different one?"
"Different one, Colonel," the familiar waitress said, putting two more beers on the table. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Been busy," Edward said. He glanced to Sheska. "I didn't even ask, do you drink beer?"
"I don't know," Sheska said, hesitantly taking one of the tankards. "Guess I'll find out?" She sniffed the booze delicately and took a small sip of it, grimacing only slightly.
"I think he's gone catatonic," Cushler said, nudging Havoc. "He's been like this all night."
"Leave him be, it'll be nice to have the silence," Edward said. "Usually once you get a beer or three into him he won't shut up."
"That's not very nice," Sheska said, shooting Edward a look. "I'm sure there's a nice girl out there for you somewhere, Havoc."
"Any idea when Bailey's gonna be back?" Edward asked Cushler while Sheska consoled Havoc. "It feels weird to only see one of you."
* * *
Havoc came out of his "catatonic trance" thanks to Sheska nattering on about the latest series of fantasy novels she'd been reading between actually doing the work that she was getting paid for. Edward in turns listened to that, bitched about the inaccurate alchemy those novels tended to use, and then got into a long argument about the value of fantasy versus realism when it came to alchemy with Sheska. Cushler interjected a point, surprising both of them and Havoc laughed as the discussion then turned to the State Alchemist candidates. Havoc started describing one of the "smoking hot girls" he saw today with hand gestures.
Edward leaned forward, smacking Havoc's head illustratively. As Havoc sulked, Cushler excused himself and they watched the soldier leave. "Well, he finally seems to be coming out of his shell a little," Edward said thoughtfully, chin in his hand.
Havoc scratched the side of his jaw. "Uh, boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Cushler likes you."
"Bullshit he does, he's fuckin' scared of me," Edward said, swilling the remainders of his booze in the bottom of his tankard. "Surprised he hasn't combusted from all the stammering he does."
Sheska giggled as Havoc sighed. "No, boss. He likes you."
Edward looked at Sheska, then at Havoc. "What?"
"Like," Havoc waved his hands in the air. "God, I'm not having this discussion with you boss, you tell him, Sheska!"
Sheska nodded her head and patted Edward's shoulder. "Cushler is sweet on you, Ed."
"Sweet on- wait, what, what the fuck-" He looked back to Havoc. "You're joking."
Havoc shook his head. "You'd have to be blind not to see it."
Elbow on the table, forehead in hand Edward groaned. "I do not need to be dealing with this right now."
"It's cute," Sheska said.
"Yeah," Havoc echoed. "Cute."
Edward gave them both a look. "My subordinate has a crush on me and you both call it cute," he said. "Wonderful." He looked at his woefully empty tankard and sighed. "Not enough booze for this."
"What's the matter with Cushler?" Havoc asked.
Edward opened his mouth and almost said it - He's not Roy. He realized that Havoc's eyes were unusually clear and sober and he snorted instead. "I'm getting another drink," he said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar, leaving Sheska and Havoc alone.
He really didn't need this right now. Edward wove around the packed crowd and made it up to the bar. It seemed like he was getting it from all sides now - although there was always the chance that Havoc was pulling one over on him. Which, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. What better way to alleviate his own sorrows than to watch Edward make a dick of himself to his direct subordinate?
Edward glared over his shoulder at the booth, and Havoc waved cheerfully. Cushler had reappeared in Edward's absence. Edward sighed and waved down the bartender.
"You look like you're having fun," Russell Tringham said from directly to his left.
Edward glanced at Russell. "I was, until you showed up."
Russell shrugged. He was sitting at the bar, hands around his own tankard of ale. "That's my job, ruining all your fun," he said. "Had an interesting day, I take it?"
"So when were you going to tell me about Fletcher sitting for the State Alchemist exams?" Edward asked.
"Need to know information," Russell murmured.
"Well, I'm going to be taking it to "need to punch" levels soon," Edward returned. "And that's your only warning, by the way." He took the tankard back from the bartender, thanking him. "Fletcher didn't show."
"What?"
Russell actually looked surprised. That wasn't the response Edward was expecting. "What do you mean, Fletcher didn't show?"
"I mean," Edward said. "He was one of two no-shows for the interviews today. I don't know how to make that much clearer." He paused. "I didn't take Fletcher as the sort to skip out on important things like that."
Russell stood up, the noise of the bar stool sliding backwards lost in the general din of the pub. "He's not," Russell said.
Edward watched Russell nearly bolt out of the pub, a concerned frown on his face. Russell didn't rabbit often. He was still wearing his concerned face when he sat back down at the booth, to Cushler doing a spot-on impersonation of Hawkeye, to the eternal hilarity of Havoc and Sheska.
He wasn't good at hiding his discomfiture when even slightly inebriated, or perhaps Sheska was more apt to picking up on it. Either way, she was pretty much ready to call it a night, so Edward offered to walk her home. Havoc was well on his way to singing bar ballads at the top of his lungs, arm in arm with Cushler, who seemed to have shed his earlier nervousness. The beer probably helped with that.
Edward wasn't sure what time it was, and didn't bother to fish out his pocket watch to check. Sheska was quietly worried and covered that with incessant chatter about anything and everything that came to mind. Edward was grateful for her running dialogue because he didn't have to speak.
They made it to the military dorm that Sheska was staying at - the same one the State Alchemist candidates had taken over. There was a cluster of them standing outside smoking - most, Edward realized, had already failed the initial written exam and were waiting on friends to either pass or fail to catch the same train.
He caught Sheska looking at him oddly expectantly. "I had fun," Sheska said with a grin. Then she hugged him and trotted up the stairs and into the military dorm.
Edward stood on the sidewalk a little confused by this display, the alcohol still buzzing in the back of his mind. He realized that the smokers were watching him and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers before sauntering down the sidewalk and heading back toward the part of town where his flat was located. It had been an eventful night, and he'd barely had any rest. At least he'd sleep like a log before the all-day interviews on Saturday that would wrap up the second part of the State Alchemist examinations. With a stifled yawn, he made his way home.
* * *
It had cooled off as the sun had set. Rian sat on that bench in the park and just watched the ducks, and the few people who walked by, until it got too late and he started getting looks. He didn't want to go back to the dorm and sleep, what purpose would that serve?
What purpose did any of it serve, really?
He ambled about town, hands shoved in his pockets. He hadn't counted on Anthony showing up. His brother's abrupt appearance shouldn't have thrown a wrench in his plans and yet it had, shattering Rian's convictions in one fell blow. How was he supposed to head off to die tomorrow morning when he knew his brother was on base himself, preparing for the military academy? Would he be connected back to Anthony? Did he tell the recruiter he had a family member taking the examinations? Rian groaned and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating on the sidewalk.
It was a Friday night, the city was buzzing with activity. People were everywhere, in groups. Store fronts were open, bright with light. Bars and pubs with the doors flapping open, showing people happily carousing and greeting the weekend with shouts and laughter. Rian stalked past all of these, lost in his own little world.
He wanted Howard dead. He was certain of that, at least. And this interview was his best bet at it, his chance to get close to the man, get in close quarters when he was unguarded and kill him. Rian's plan was to make it as messy as possible, the less of him that was left the harder it would be to identify the purpose of the attack, as well as the harder it would be to identify him. But, but, but.
Suddenly he wasn't sure that he could go through with it.
There had to be other ways to take his revenge. Howard had other weaknesses, other times that Rian could use against him. Hell, he'd even made a plan B just in case Howard decided at the last minute he wasn't going to sit in the interviews. But that contingency was in place because it was something Rian couldn't control.
What was he supposed to do if his resolve collapsed around his ears?
He found a stoop to sit on, and buried his head in his hands as his thoughts chased around in senseless circles. Why did stupid Anthony have to show up? Fuck, it ruined everything-
"Hey, you all right?"
Rian blinked, looked up. He looked around in confusion a moment - he had ended up across the street from the train station several blocks away from the main military base that dominated the center of the city - and he really wasn't sure how he'd ended up here.
A tall man in a tan trench coat and trilby had stopped in front of him. He had a suitcase slung over his shoulder and a newspaper tucked under his other arm.
"I'm fine," Rian responded. "Just ... thinking about how stupid brothers are."
The man snorted. "I could write a book." He gave Rian a considering look. "You sure you're all right?"
The look that the man was giving him was making Rian strangely uncomfortable. He shifted under the gaze. "I'm fine," he insisted, getting to his feet. "I have to go."
He could feel the stranger's eyes on him as he took off down the street at a steady trot. Rian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket - it might be early spring but it was still nippy at night - and sighed. He had no idea what to do now. The sigh turned into a yawn, which surprised him.
Maybe that bed in the military dorm wasn't such a bad idea after all.
**
Fletcher sneezed himself awake, dirt and dust getting up his nose. He was lying on his side in the most uncomfortable position, face pressed to the ground. He groaned, the sneezing that woke him served to catapult a raging headache to the forefront as he tried to figure out what had happened to him.
The last time Fletcher had woken up like this, he and Russell had been on the bad end of a wronged throng of villagers who couldn't be easily placated by Russell's attempts at smooth talking. To Russell's credit at least the reason the villagers were enraged had nothing to do with his older brother's many con jobs - for once they had honestly walked into a mess that wasn't their doing - but they had been mobbed and thrown into a tiny jail to await a messy execution.
They had escaped handily, by transmuting some dummies to hide under the straw blankets and getting themselves out of the jail, but Fletcher remembered all too well that painful discombobulation of waking from mild-to-serious head trauma. The room was wobbling around the edges - fortunately for him it wasn't particularly well lit.
His shoulders were sore, and it quickly became apparent why - his wrists were tied together. He rubbed his wrists a minute, gauging the material to be thick cord or rope. It wasn't entirely coarse, but it was thick and tied so tightly there was no way he'd easily slip these knots. If his captors had used handcuffs he would have had a better chance at freeing himself.
Fletcher's cheek was pressed to the cold tile floor. It was dusty and dirty in here, but with the dim light there was no telling where he was. No windows, just some wan light that streamed in from under the door. Occasional shadows would pass in front of it - people, obviously. Wherever he was, it was busy.
He shifted his legs. They hadn't been bound, thankfully. He hurt all over, his head most of all. The Drachmians were all terrorists, all of them. Even Ioana. He closed his eyes guiltily, cheek still pressed against the tile. He knew Russell kinda suspected them but Russell really didn't have any solid proof to go on yet, or any idea when they were planning on acting. For all he knew, they were planning on doing something during the practical examinations, not now during the relatively boring interview process. He was the only one who knew what was going on, and he had to warn somebody.
Fletcher rolled onto his back. He still felt woozy, but he had no time for that. With some effort he maneuvered himself into a sitting position and stayed that way a while, waiting for the rushing sound to stop in his ears. Then up on his knees and staggering to his feet, barely able to keep his balance as he stumbled into shelves against a wall. There was a clatter and Fletcher heard various bric-a-brac hit the floor. He was in a supply closet of some kind.
The door would more than likely be locked - not that Fletcher was in any way capable of opening it with his hands bound like they were. He could always turn around and back against the door, fumble for the knob with his bound hands, but that would alert a lot of attention to the fact that he was up and about.
For the first time, Fletcher hesitated. Why was he still alive? The Drachmians were clearly about to pull off a terrorist plot that would end in death and destruction, so why not kill him and dump his body into the river? What benefit was there to keeping him alive?
He heard voices outside the door as they passed, conversing in loud tones. Neither was accented with Drachmian - they both spoke Amestrian with faint rural accents. Soldiers.
What was going on?
* * *
Edward hesitated on his doorstep a second, then opened the front door carefully, key in the lock. Something felt uncomfortable and off, and a freshly-honed danger sense overrode the faint buzz of alcohol nicely.
He closed the door behind him carefully, automail leading, and turned the corner into the den from the small foyer.
Alphonse sat on the couch, bare feet on his coffee table, a large book open in his lap and a mug of coffee in his hand. "Took you long enough, brother."
Edward relaxed in the doorway. "Just make yourself at home, why don'tcha," he grumbled, then turned to kick his boots off in the foyer.
"Thanks, I will." Alphonse turned a page in the book. "There's coffee on in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure where you'd end up, although I suppose it would have been awkward if you'd brought Sheska back here."
Edward paused, halfway into the kitchen. "Why would I bring Sheska back here?"
Alphonse raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you on a date?"
The look of abject horror that crossed Edward's face Alphonse found objectively hilarious. Edward sputtered a moment, and then his face actually turned a deep shade of crimson as everything came together. Alphonse stretched his arms over his head and closed his book. "You're just now figuring this out? I think Hawkeye deserves your rank more than you, brother."
"I, she- WHAT IS GOING ON TONIGHT?" Edward shouted. Alphonse clapped his shoulder and moved him out of the space between the rooms, moving into the kitchen to pour his brother some much-needed coffee. "First Cushler, now SHESKA? Is there something in the water?"
"I keep telling you, you need to put yourse-" Alphonse paused. "Cushler?"
"My, one of the junior members of the garrison," Edward said, shoving stuff off of the chair at the small kitchen table and then collapsing in it, leaning back against the wall. "Apparently has developed some sort of infatuation with me per Havoc."
"I know who Cushler is, brother," Alphonse said. "Is Havoc fucking with you?"
"I haven't had time to check yet," Edward said. "Sheska likes me? Is this why you sent her suddenly to start working with Hawkeye, because if you are trying to set us up so help me I will break your nose, Alphonse."
Alphonse put the coffee cup in front of Edward's face and sighed. "Ed, do we have to do this right now? I'm not here to play matchmaker."
"Good, because I don't need your help. I'm fine by myself." He looked at the coffee cup in front of him and scowled.
"Yeah, you're doing wonderfully, living with a ghost."
"Hey, fuck you." Edward's tone was venomous.
"Brother," Alphonse said sharply. "Roy is dead. He's been dead for five years. You need to move on."
Edward started visibly at the words, and his face rearranged into a wordless snarl. Alphonse simply looked at his brother calmly, a little sadly as Edward sputtered. "Get out of my house, Al."
Alphonse said, very firmly and evenly, "No."
"Don't you - get out, I fucking mean it."
"The next train back to East City isn't until tomorrow evening, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me until then." Alphonse leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, his posture the very definition of "make me." "Besides," Alphonse said. "I'm here until the end of the interviews. The practical examinations are going to be supervised by acting-Fuhrer Dalton and because of an inspection that just came up, have been moved a week and a half out. So, next train tomorrow evening you are coming with me back to East City because you are going to explain to Winry why I had to come all the way out here to kick your ass."
"I told you not to come," Edward said. "And it had nothing to do with me and every thing to do with this goddamn mess that's going on around the edges of everything." Edward waved his arms in the air illustratively. "Stupid, espionage and Intelligence and terrorists and Drachmians and I am fucking fed the fuck up with it all, I don't get paid enough to put up with all this shit-" Edward stopped mid-sentence and pointed at Alphonse. "An' you still need to get the fuck out."
"At least you've gotten to the point where you can juggle more on your one-track mind," Alphonse murmured. "I know it hurts you to hear it, brother, but Roy is dead and gone. Everyone else has accepted it. It's time you did too."
Edward snarled but it was without the same venom as earlier. He stared down into the coffee in his hands. "You put milk in this," he accused Alphonse instead.
Alphonse scruffed a hand in his hair and sighed.
Crosspost: FF.N ||| AO3
Chapter 3