FMA fic: Transient (part 5)
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: Overall, PG. PG-13 on this part, just to be safe.
Category: Gen
Approximate length: 60,000
Summary: With Ed suffering from what he thinks is the seasonal flu the Elric brothers track a rogue alchemist in a small town outside of East City.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Spoilers: This story takes place about a year before the boys go to Lior. Anything that happened before that is fair game.
Notes/warnings on this part: Plot + automail angst. Very slight hints of sexuality.
I had a horrible time trying to post this. I apologize for any mistakes that may have been caused by my frustration with Livejournal and my internet provider.
Please enjoy.
PART 5
Ed let Al handle the next two transmutations as well. His brother drew neat arrays on Mr. Fisk’s roof and the Frays’ foundation to fix the damage that the rogue alchemist had caused. Under the clean lines of the arrays that Al drew Ed could still make out the faint outline of the runes that Leon Mueller had used. Just like the remains of the array that they’d seen on the Clebolds’ chimney, these were sort of oblong and flawed, obviously drawn by an unpracticed hand.
Although much of the town seemed less than sympathetic towards alchemists and the military, not to mention state alchemists, the Frays had family in East city and were familiar with stories about the Fullmetal Alchemist. So while they showered Ed’s little brother with misguided praise Ed sat and stewed quietly in a corner and said NOT ONE WORD. All he did was sip the tea that he was offered, say “thank you” and stare intently at Al in a look how good I’m being even though it might make my skull explode kind of way.
They didn’t learn anything from the Frays or Mr. Frisk that they didn’t already know, and after listening to the Frays spew admiration all over his little brother for half an hour Ed’s mood was in a downward spiral. They’d spent the entire morning fixing what the rogue alchemist had broken and they still had no serious leads.
“We’re wasting our time. This guy’s not a threat. He’s just an idiot. He can’t even transmute without looking at a drawing in a textbook first!” Ed said, his voice rising. The exclamation took more breath than Ed had. He pressed his automail hand to the center of his chest, trying to dispel the ache that he felt there.
“It doesn’t sound like he’s had any kind of formal alchemy training. If he keeps going like this he might seriously hurt someone.”
“Yeah, I know,” agreed Ed. “This guy’s such a pain in the ass. He’s not even worth our time.”
“We don’t know why he’s doing this. He must have a reason.”
“It had better be damn good one.”
The path back into the main part of Rhuel took Ed and Al over a narrow bridge that traversed a wide, shallow river, the town’s primary source of fresh water. The bridge was barely wide enough to accommodate one automobile, and had probably been built with only foot traffic in mind. The pillars were discolored near bottom, faded chalk-white by the seasonal rise and fall of the water level.
Chalk white.
Ed bolted to the side of the road, forgoing the bridge, and scrambling down the embankment. Al hurried to follow.
Despite the recent rain the water level was still low enough to leave several boulders exposed. Ed leapt from one to the other until he reached one of the bridge supports near the deepest part of the river.
“Careful, Al, it’s slippery.” Ed called over the roaring sound of the water rushing past. Al’s arms pin wheeled but he stayed upright. Despite the lack of traction his longer legs made traversing the boulders an easier task than it had been for Ed.
“Look at this,” Ed said, running his gloved fingers over the splintered surface of the pillar.
“I don’t see anything. What is it?”
Then Al became quiet and focused, leaning over his shoulder, and Ed knew that Al could see it too.
Ed could barely make out it himself, but the longer he looked, the more he was certain: what had at first glance appeared to be no more than random scratches on the pillar there were actually alchemic runes etched shallowly into the water-softened surface of the wood. There were even still traces of chalk imbedded in the grooves.
“What was he trying to do?” Ed asked himself.
Al was the one who noticed. “These boulders have been moved.”
Ed turned his attention to the stone surface under his feet. It was dark on one side, like something freshly dug from the earth, and light on the other, bleached from sun exposure and running vertically through the middle of the stone, bisecting it neatly, was a water line.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ed agreed. “I think we found the cause of the earthquake. All of these rocks shifting at once must have caused the tremors.”
“Do you think he was trying to repair the bridge?”
“Maybe…” Ed said. He circled around the pillar closest to him, and then hopped to the next stone, looking up at the dark underside of the bridge. “This thing looks pretty solid to me. Judging by the rest of Leon’s transmutations it should be a pile of splinters by now.”
“Maybe he got lucky,” Al suggested.
“I don’t know,” Ed said, bending closer to inspect Leon’s array. The recent rain had washed away most of the chalk outline. What Ed could make out was sort of ovular and amateurish, like the arrays they’d seen at the Clebolds’, the Frays’ and at Mr. Fisk’s place. The actual symbols, the details that determined what the array was capable of, had been all but wiped out by the elements. Ed couldn’t tell if Leon had been trying to fix this bridge, destroy it, or turn it into a statue of an elephant.
“Dammit!” he exclaimed in frustration.
Ed’s boot chose that moment to slip down the rounded surface of the boulder on which he was crouched, dunking his leg up to the knee in the freezing river.
“Careful, brother!” Al shouted. He reached a hand out with the intention of helping, but instead nearly became unbalanced himself. Only the swift flailing of his arms saved him. Ed meanwhile had clawed his way back onto the boulder and was bemoaning the fact that it was his right foot and not his automail foot that he had managed to soak.
Once they were safely on solid ground on the other side of the river Al said, “We should tell the sheriff what we found here.”
“Yeah, we need to get him close the bridge until we can figure out what Leon was trying to do.”
Shivering, Ed stomp-squelched his way back into town, hoping that the sheriff would still have his stove going this late in the day so that Ed could warm up, or at the very least enjoy having a dry sock on his flesh foot.
No such luck.
The stove was cold when they got to the sheriff’s office. Ed stood close to it, holding his wet sock and boot, half-hoping that some residual heat still clung to the metal. If there was, he couldn’t feel it. Normally Ed would just use alchemy to warm himself and dry his sock but he was still feeling the effects of his last transmutation, and Mrs. Bosch’s… cure. He was afraid that he might accidentally set his sock on fire.
With a sigh Ed stumped toward the front door to wring out his sock. When he was finished he came back inside and slumped into a chair across from the sheriff’s desk. While Al explained to Mason and the sheriff what they’d found at the bridge Ed tugged his boot back on and hunched into his coat, staring forlornly at the cold stove. Too late Ed realized that he’d stuck his automail hand into the pocket that contained the Zelda’s cinnamon roll. The icing was going to be a nightmare to clean out of the joints.
The sheriff listened to Al’s story and then immediately placed a phone call to the town’s building inspector. “He’s going to bring an engineer with him and have a look at the bridge,” Biggs said, pulling his jacket on. “You boys stay here. I’m going to meet them.”
Ed was lost in a haze made up of thoughts about this case and his own physical misery. He barely heard what the sheriff was saying. “Ed,” Al said, drawing his attention back to the present.
“Huh?”
“I should go with the sheriff. Someone has to show them what we’re talking about.”
“I’ll go too,” Ed volunteered. But when he told his body to move it ignored him completely. He may have been fine while he was up and moving around but now that his momentum was broken he was going to have a hell of a time shifting back into gear.
“No, brother. You stay here.” Al didn’t give him any more reason than that. “Mason, is there someplace that my brother can rest?”
Mason looked surprised and reluctant at first and who could blame him? Ed made enemies more quickly than he made friends but he hadn’t met a person yet who could say ‘no’ to his little brother.
“Sure, Alphonse,” Mason agreed.
Ed wasn’t expecting a civil conversation after Al was out the door, so he was a little taken aback when Mason asked him, “Are you hungry?”
It was early afternoon. Ed and Al had been out for hours, but the thought of food held no appeal.
“No… thank you,” Ed said, looking at the floor. The last of his energy, or at least the will to pretend he still had some, had vanished with Al.
And speaking of food…
Ed flexed the fingers of his automail hand in his pocket, feely the spongy give of Zelda’s cinnamon roll. “I could use a place to wash up, though.”
Indoor plumbing was still something of a luxury in rural areas, even in a small town like this. The sheriff’s office had a working tap and toilet. Ed supposed that he could have made do with a sponge bath, but the idea of putting cold water on his skin made his insides ache and his skin break out in goose bumps. Fortunately there was a bathhouse located on the street behind the sheriff’s office. Mason showed him the way and Ed hauled himself and his suitcase, with his only change of clothes, through the alley and up the back steps.
The rooms at the bathhouse were semi-private, which was better than nothing. There were separate sides for the men and women and curtains draped between each of the tubs that divided the bathing areas from one another. At least there were individual tubs instead of large baths, so there was less chance that Ed would be noticed. At communal baths Ed’s missing limbs always drew unwanted attention. If he had a choice Ed would rather forgo bathing altogether than have to deal with the pitiful stares and awkward questions that he automail solicited. He and Al had been on the road for several weeks, though, and Ed worried that if he put off bathing for much longer he was going to start attracting flies.
As usual Ed found a way to draw unwanted attention no matter what he did.
Ed was obviously younger than the bathhouse’s usual clientele. Looking around the waiting area it seemed as if every festivalgoer in Rhuel had been struck by the burning desire for a hot bath this afternoon. Every chair in the waiting area was filled and grimy rock hounds milled about, talking loudly to be heard over the din. Ed took one look and was just about to give up and dunk his sticky automail hand in a rainwater barrel outside when one of the bathhouse attendants called him to the side.
The attendant was young, maybe Mason’s age, maybe a little older. It was tough to tell with girls, especially girls who wore makeup. She smiled at him in a friendly, almost conspiratorial way. He got that look from girls sometimes, mostly the older ones. Younger girls or girls his own age either ignored him or seemed to be scared of him. Maybe it was the automail.
“I have some free tubs in my section, if you don’t mind bathing on the womens’ side,” she offered.
“Uh, no thanks,” Ed replied automatically, adding silently, I’m a man.
There was a nametag pinned to her blouse, a tiny gold rectangle with her name etched into the surface. It read “Samantha”. Ed stared at it wearily. It was really a nice piece of work, no doubt crafted by one of Rhuel’s jewelry makers. It even had tiny flecks of amethyst set into the corners.
“Up here, dear.” Samantha said, tilting his chin up with two fingers. Her cheeks were flushed. Ed imagined that his were too.
“There aren’t any customers on the womens’ side right now,” Samantha pointed out, “and if there were, I doubt that they’d mind.”
Ed thought that they would mind a lot. He’d heard happened at the military dorms every time that a male officer tried to set foot in the womens’ locker room, accidentally or otherwise. The mystery of how Lieutenant Hawkeye was able to conceal a pistol in the shower was the talk of Eastern Headquarters.
“Come on, the tubs are cleaner and they smell better.”
Looking at the group of dusty rock hounds that filled the waiting room and the row of muddy boots lining the wall, Ed couldn’t argue with that.
“No bubbles or flowery-smelling soap, okay?”
“I do whatever it takes to keep my customers happy,” she said, and smiled, unfazed by Ed’s prickly attitude.
Samantha was right. Not only were they cleaner than any public baths that he’d seen but also the womens’ side was better kept. Girls were just neater that way he supposed.
Ed undressed down to his shorts but stayed carefully out of sight, watching from behind a curtain in the dressing area as Samantha filled the tub and set out soap and towels for him. He was captivated by the care and attention that she put into those tasks, and he wondered if she treated all of her customers this well, or just him. Before now the only person who would have gone to such trouble just so that he would be comfortable had been his mother.
Ed was still thinking when she passed by him on the way out. “Be careful. The water is very hot,” she said. “I can have your clothes washed while you soak.”
Ed considered his travel-stained garments, which he’d shoved into one of the cubbies that lined the walls. He could use alchemy to clean his clothes. Alchemy was actually better than washing because Ed could remove sweat and stains from the fabric without damaging the integrity of his clothes, but there was just something about having his clothes washed the old fashioned way that made the cloth feel cleaner and softer, more organic… more human.
Alchemy was easy, but things created by hand through hard work and practical skill, even the things that seemed so small and insignificant to everyone else, were fascinating to Ed. The way that most people felt about alchemy was the way that Ed felt about the ability to cultivate a beautiful garden or bake delicious bread. It was magic.
Ed untangled his watch from his clothes and dropped it into one of his boots, then covered the boots with his pants and belt. The rest of his clothing he folded neatly and handed to Samantha through the curtain. “Thanks,” he said, realizing too late that he’d used his right arm to hand her the clothes.
Through the thin cloth of the curtain he could only see her shadow on the cloth. If she wore the same appalled expression that he’d seen a thousand times before on the faces of strangers, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was better that way.
Samantha took the stack of clothes from him, one hand covering the top of the stack, the other reaching from underneath to support it. Ed could feel the pressure of her hand on his automail, even if he couldn’t actually feel her skin. “Ring the bell if you need anything,” she said softly. Then she withdrew, taking Ed’s clothes, leaving Ed’s arm hanging in space.
The bath water was wonderfully hot, almost painful on Ed’s chilled skin, and he shivered despite the heat. Seeing his own mechanical limbs under the surface of the water reminded him that Al would need a cleaning when they got back to East City. Even if he wasn’t flesh and blood his body still required attention, not so much maintenance as… housekeeping. Ed had made it a habit after each of their missions to inspect Al’s joints and seams and make sure that they were free of debris. Dirt had a tendency to collect in Al’s legs and Ed would have to rinse and carefully dry and oil each piece of the armor so that Al wouldn’t rust. Ed found the routine somewhat soothing, a way to calm down after being on the road. He never once looked on it as a chore.
Thinking about cleaning Al’s armor made Ed think about East City, and it reminded him that he hadn’t called the colonel yet to let him know where they were. He could fix that once he got back to the sheriff’s office, but the colonel had the ability to predict every move that they were going to make before they made it. Ed had no doubt Mustang had already figured out where they’d gone. After all, he’d been the one who had dangled this idiotic mission in front of them in the first place. The colonel couldn’t possibly be shocked that Ed had taken the bait, but Ed wouldn’t mind giving the colonel an earful on the subject of this wild goose chase, if he could work up enough breath to do it.
Ed had hoped that the steam from the water would loosen the congestion in his chest and help him breathe a little easier. So far it didn’t seem to be working. He felt like there was a weight on his chest. His coughs had become sharp and rattling, but all of his effort produced nothing and only made the stabbing pain worse. Ed was grateful for the privacy that the bathhouse provided at least. He could cough and try to clear his lungs in the humid air without having to worry that Al would see.
Al. Ed should be with him right now, not relaxing in a bathtub while his brother completed the mission that he had been assigned.
What was Leon Mueller’s game, anyway? Did he have a plan or was he really as incompetent as he seemed? The arrays that he’d drawn, what was left of them at least, had been sloppy and too general to support the repairs that Leon had supposedly been trying to complete. Leon had made no modifications to the patterns to address the scope of the projects or the specific composition of the elements involved in the transmutations. To Ed the patterns had literally looked like they had been copied from a book, with no hint of practice or theory behind them.
And why would Leon Mueller choose to impersonate a state alchemist in a town that was prejudiced against the military? Granted, there were a lot of places that had little affection for the state, but if Leon was looking for respect or notoriety there were easier ways to get it than by repairing porches and chimneys.
Ed wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting here, marinating with his thoughts, but it had been long enough for the water to become murky and begin to cool. He was surprised to see that his fingertips were even starting to wrinkle. Looking at them Ed was suddenly irritated at himself for wasting so much time. With a grunt, he planted his hands on either side of the tub and stood, intending to swing his automail leg over the side of the tub.
Ed’s body had other ideas. His head wasn’t happy about the change in altitude and the heat from the water had loosened his limbs and leached away his strength. Ed’s automail leg felt like what it was: a heavy metal weight attached to a weak flesh stump. As Ed tried to step out of the tub he found that he couldn’t lift his foot high enough. His toes caught on the rim and his knee folded forward. Ed groped desperately for a way to right himself but everything was slick with water and he couldn’t get a grip with his automail hand.
On his way down Ed upset the stack of towels that Samantha had set near the head of the tub, along with the little brass bell that she’d placed on top.
Ed hit the ground with a wet slap of skin, a metallic clang of automail and a light tinkling of a small brass bell.
He didn’t pass out.
He didn’t, okay?
But there was a hazy period of time between the sound of the bell hitting the ground and the moment that Ed realized that he was lying semi-naked on the bathhouse floor during which he couldn't make himself move or speak.
“Edward?”
He was lying on someone's lap.
"Edward?"
After several repetitions Ed recognized the word as his name and the lap as Samantha’s.
Ed obeyed his first instinct.
“Hey, don’t sit up!” she warned him.
But Ed had already heaved himself into a sitting position with his back propped against the tub and black dots swimming in his vision. He was less comfortable here, but also less prone. The air in the bathhouse was warm and humid, but Ed was shivering. Samantha draped a towel around his head and shoulders. He was grateful not only for the relief from the cold, but because although he wasn’t entirely naked his shorts were clinging to…things that he’d rather they not cling to.
Samantha left his side for a moment and returned with a cup of water.
“Thank you,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.
“This happens sometimes,” she explained. “If the water is too hot or you’re tired or dehydrated you can get dizzy. You should put your head between your knees for a few minutes.”
He could be that cooperative, Ed decided. It would help him hide his embarrassment at least. “Sorry, this stuff gets overheated easy,” he said, raising his right arm a little. “I guess I forgot about that.”
“It’s okay.”
Sure it was okay, Ed thought bitterly. She wasn’t the one who just fainted like a wrinkled old man getting out of the bathtub.
He should be used to feeling older than his years by now, Ed thought bitterly. His automail was useful and powerful, but it came at a price. The weight of the metal dragged on his joints, pinched his flesh and made his muscles sore from overcompensating. Physical training helped with the pain, but as busy as he and Al were with their studies and with the missions that Mustang assigned them he didn’t always have the luxury. After more than three years Ed was becoming used to living in constant discomfort. Ed’s back ached from regularly sitting on hard train benches and sleeping on floors or in doorways. The long hours he spent poring over textbooks in dusty libraries made his eyes itch and his head pound.
“Textbooks.”
“What was that?”
Ed hadn’t realized that he’d spoken out loud.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry. You’re awfully kind for looking after me like this. I bet you get good tips.”
Samantha smiled in a way that said he’d guessed right.
They sat in silence for a while.
“You still look a little shaky. Where are you staying? I can have someone walk you back.”
“Oh, you don’t need to, really. It’s not far. I’m staying with the sheriff.”
Ed was wary of what her reaction might be. The people in this town didn’t like military, and they seemed to be pretty well informed about their neighbors. Ed wasn’t sure whether or not he’d just given up his cover. He braced himself for a barrage of questions or criticism but Samantha just smiled pleasantly at him and asked, “Oh, are you a friend of Mason’s?”
“More or less,” Ed told her. “Planned on staying at an inn actually, but everything was booked up.”
He waited for Samantha to press the subject, to ask how he knew Mason Biggs and his father the way that any curious person would, but Samantha only said mildly, “It’s that time of year I’m afraid. It’s great for business, though. You couldn’t have come here at a more exciting time.”
“Sure seems that way.”
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, thanks.”
“Your hair will dry more quickly by the stove.”
At her prompt Ed levered himself up off the floor, still dizzy, still weak. Samantha moved wordlessly to support him. Ed knew that his weight was probably too much for her, so he walked on his own, only using her body for balance, grateful (though he would never admit it out loud) that he was roughly the same height as she was.
Even seated near the stove Ed still felt chilled, like there was a source of cold inside of him that all of the hot water and warm air in the world could not melt. While Ed’s skin was almost uncomfortably warm, Ed’s lungs ached like they were full of ice water.
“I’m going to check on your clothes for you. Are you okay by yourself for a moment?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation he added, “And thanks for, you know, not asking,” he said. Ed had been resting his elbows on his knees. Now he bent his right arm up to indicate what he was thanking her for. He formed a fist with his right hand and looked at her over the top of the automail appendage. “You’re not curious?”
She regarded him silently for a moment. It looked to Ed as if she were evaluating the situation, considering her words carefully. Finally she said, “Of course I am, but I spend so much time dealing with people that I know when someone doesn’t want to be asked. I can also tell when I’m better off not knowing the answer.”
It was a diplomatic reply, and Ed had to give her credit for that.
Ed finished drying out by the stove. He braided his hair, fished his wallet out of his boot and left a generous tip for Samantha in his borrowed cubby. He never really warmed up, not all the way through anyway, but being clean helped.
Samantha returned with a stack of his clothes, cleaned and pressed and neatly folded. The first thing that Ed noticed was the red-and-white-checkered napkin -Zelda’s napkin- on top. He groaned in embarrassment for having made Samantha clean the squashy mess out of his pocket. Then he remembered that his medicine had been in his coat pocket as well, and a quick search revealed that it hadn’t been returned with his clothes. Ed hazarded a guess that Samantha had mistaken the paper bag for a piece of trash and thrown in away along with the cinnamon roll. Al was going to kill him, but Ed supposed that there was no helping it now, unless he felt like digging through a trash heap, or worse yet, making some poor bathhouse girl do it.
“Is something wrong?” Samantha asked.
“No,” he said, realizing that his thoughts must have shown on his face. “It’s nothing. Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
Ed stood, and another thought occurred to him. “Earlier when I, uh,” -passed out, swooned, fainted like a girl- “when you came in here, how did you know my name?”
She gave him a perfectly innocent smile. “It’s stitched into your under shorts.”
Ed stared at her for a moment, and then gave an embarrassed laugh. Samantha laughed too, covering her mouth with her hand.
Ed was half way to the sheriff’s office when he realized that he’d never removed his under shorts and he had to pause in the alley before entering the sheriff’s station to give his face time to return to a normal color.
To be continued... part 6
Thank you for reading. Feedback is welcome.
Further notes on this part: About Samantha: Yes, she looked.
Rating: Overall, PG. PG-13 on this part, just to be safe.
Category: Gen
Approximate length: 60,000
Summary: With Ed suffering from what he thinks is the seasonal flu the Elric brothers track a rogue alchemist in a small town outside of East City.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Spoilers: This story takes place about a year before the boys go to Lior. Anything that happened before that is fair game.
Notes/warnings on this part: Plot + automail angst. Very slight hints of sexuality.
I had a horrible time trying to post this. I apologize for any mistakes that may have been caused by my frustration with Livejournal and my internet provider.
Please enjoy.
PART 5
Ed let Al handle the next two transmutations as well. His brother drew neat arrays on Mr. Fisk’s roof and the Frays’ foundation to fix the damage that the rogue alchemist had caused. Under the clean lines of the arrays that Al drew Ed could still make out the faint outline of the runes that Leon Mueller had used. Just like the remains of the array that they’d seen on the Clebolds’ chimney, these were sort of oblong and flawed, obviously drawn by an unpracticed hand.
Although much of the town seemed less than sympathetic towards alchemists and the military, not to mention state alchemists, the Frays had family in East city and were familiar with stories about the Fullmetal Alchemist. So while they showered Ed’s little brother with misguided praise Ed sat and stewed quietly in a corner and said NOT ONE WORD. All he did was sip the tea that he was offered, say “thank you” and stare intently at Al in a look how good I’m being even though it might make my skull explode kind of way.
They didn’t learn anything from the Frays or Mr. Frisk that they didn’t already know, and after listening to the Frays spew admiration all over his little brother for half an hour Ed’s mood was in a downward spiral. They’d spent the entire morning fixing what the rogue alchemist had broken and they still had no serious leads.
“We’re wasting our time. This guy’s not a threat. He’s just an idiot. He can’t even transmute without looking at a drawing in a textbook first!” Ed said, his voice rising. The exclamation took more breath than Ed had. He pressed his automail hand to the center of his chest, trying to dispel the ache that he felt there.
“It doesn’t sound like he’s had any kind of formal alchemy training. If he keeps going like this he might seriously hurt someone.”
“Yeah, I know,” agreed Ed. “This guy’s such a pain in the ass. He’s not even worth our time.”
“We don’t know why he’s doing this. He must have a reason.”
“It had better be damn good one.”
The path back into the main part of Rhuel took Ed and Al over a narrow bridge that traversed a wide, shallow river, the town’s primary source of fresh water. The bridge was barely wide enough to accommodate one automobile, and had probably been built with only foot traffic in mind. The pillars were discolored near bottom, faded chalk-white by the seasonal rise and fall of the water level.
Chalk white.
Ed bolted to the side of the road, forgoing the bridge, and scrambling down the embankment. Al hurried to follow.
Despite the recent rain the water level was still low enough to leave several boulders exposed. Ed leapt from one to the other until he reached one of the bridge supports near the deepest part of the river.
“Careful, Al, it’s slippery.” Ed called over the roaring sound of the water rushing past. Al’s arms pin wheeled but he stayed upright. Despite the lack of traction his longer legs made traversing the boulders an easier task than it had been for Ed.
“Look at this,” Ed said, running his gloved fingers over the splintered surface of the pillar.
“I don’t see anything. What is it?”
Then Al became quiet and focused, leaning over his shoulder, and Ed knew that Al could see it too.
Ed could barely make out it himself, but the longer he looked, the more he was certain: what had at first glance appeared to be no more than random scratches on the pillar there were actually alchemic runes etched shallowly into the water-softened surface of the wood. There were even still traces of chalk imbedded in the grooves.
“What was he trying to do?” Ed asked himself.
Al was the one who noticed. “These boulders have been moved.”
Ed turned his attention to the stone surface under his feet. It was dark on one side, like something freshly dug from the earth, and light on the other, bleached from sun exposure and running vertically through the middle of the stone, bisecting it neatly, was a water line.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ed agreed. “I think we found the cause of the earthquake. All of these rocks shifting at once must have caused the tremors.”
“Do you think he was trying to repair the bridge?”
“Maybe…” Ed said. He circled around the pillar closest to him, and then hopped to the next stone, looking up at the dark underside of the bridge. “This thing looks pretty solid to me. Judging by the rest of Leon’s transmutations it should be a pile of splinters by now.”
“Maybe he got lucky,” Al suggested.
“I don’t know,” Ed said, bending closer to inspect Leon’s array. The recent rain had washed away most of the chalk outline. What Ed could make out was sort of ovular and amateurish, like the arrays they’d seen at the Clebolds’, the Frays’ and at Mr. Fisk’s place. The actual symbols, the details that determined what the array was capable of, had been all but wiped out by the elements. Ed couldn’t tell if Leon had been trying to fix this bridge, destroy it, or turn it into a statue of an elephant.
“Dammit!” he exclaimed in frustration.
Ed’s boot chose that moment to slip down the rounded surface of the boulder on which he was crouched, dunking his leg up to the knee in the freezing river.
“Careful, brother!” Al shouted. He reached a hand out with the intention of helping, but instead nearly became unbalanced himself. Only the swift flailing of his arms saved him. Ed meanwhile had clawed his way back onto the boulder and was bemoaning the fact that it was his right foot and not his automail foot that he had managed to soak.
Once they were safely on solid ground on the other side of the river Al said, “We should tell the sheriff what we found here.”
“Yeah, we need to get him close the bridge until we can figure out what Leon was trying to do.”
Shivering, Ed stomp-squelched his way back into town, hoping that the sheriff would still have his stove going this late in the day so that Ed could warm up, or at the very least enjoy having a dry sock on his flesh foot.
No such luck.
The stove was cold when they got to the sheriff’s office. Ed stood close to it, holding his wet sock and boot, half-hoping that some residual heat still clung to the metal. If there was, he couldn’t feel it. Normally Ed would just use alchemy to warm himself and dry his sock but he was still feeling the effects of his last transmutation, and Mrs. Bosch’s… cure. He was afraid that he might accidentally set his sock on fire.
With a sigh Ed stumped toward the front door to wring out his sock. When he was finished he came back inside and slumped into a chair across from the sheriff’s desk. While Al explained to Mason and the sheriff what they’d found at the bridge Ed tugged his boot back on and hunched into his coat, staring forlornly at the cold stove. Too late Ed realized that he’d stuck his automail hand into the pocket that contained the Zelda’s cinnamon roll. The icing was going to be a nightmare to clean out of the joints.
The sheriff listened to Al’s story and then immediately placed a phone call to the town’s building inspector. “He’s going to bring an engineer with him and have a look at the bridge,” Biggs said, pulling his jacket on. “You boys stay here. I’m going to meet them.”
Ed was lost in a haze made up of thoughts about this case and his own physical misery. He barely heard what the sheriff was saying. “Ed,” Al said, drawing his attention back to the present.
“Huh?”
“I should go with the sheriff. Someone has to show them what we’re talking about.”
“I’ll go too,” Ed volunteered. But when he told his body to move it ignored him completely. He may have been fine while he was up and moving around but now that his momentum was broken he was going to have a hell of a time shifting back into gear.
“No, brother. You stay here.” Al didn’t give him any more reason than that. “Mason, is there someplace that my brother can rest?”
Mason looked surprised and reluctant at first and who could blame him? Ed made enemies more quickly than he made friends but he hadn’t met a person yet who could say ‘no’ to his little brother.
“Sure, Alphonse,” Mason agreed.
Ed wasn’t expecting a civil conversation after Al was out the door, so he was a little taken aback when Mason asked him, “Are you hungry?”
It was early afternoon. Ed and Al had been out for hours, but the thought of food held no appeal.
“No… thank you,” Ed said, looking at the floor. The last of his energy, or at least the will to pretend he still had some, had vanished with Al.
And speaking of food…
Ed flexed the fingers of his automail hand in his pocket, feely the spongy give of Zelda’s cinnamon roll. “I could use a place to wash up, though.”
Indoor plumbing was still something of a luxury in rural areas, even in a small town like this. The sheriff’s office had a working tap and toilet. Ed supposed that he could have made do with a sponge bath, but the idea of putting cold water on his skin made his insides ache and his skin break out in goose bumps. Fortunately there was a bathhouse located on the street behind the sheriff’s office. Mason showed him the way and Ed hauled himself and his suitcase, with his only change of clothes, through the alley and up the back steps.
The rooms at the bathhouse were semi-private, which was better than nothing. There were separate sides for the men and women and curtains draped between each of the tubs that divided the bathing areas from one another. At least there were individual tubs instead of large baths, so there was less chance that Ed would be noticed. At communal baths Ed’s missing limbs always drew unwanted attention. If he had a choice Ed would rather forgo bathing altogether than have to deal with the pitiful stares and awkward questions that he automail solicited. He and Al had been on the road for several weeks, though, and Ed worried that if he put off bathing for much longer he was going to start attracting flies.
As usual Ed found a way to draw unwanted attention no matter what he did.
Ed was obviously younger than the bathhouse’s usual clientele. Looking around the waiting area it seemed as if every festivalgoer in Rhuel had been struck by the burning desire for a hot bath this afternoon. Every chair in the waiting area was filled and grimy rock hounds milled about, talking loudly to be heard over the din. Ed took one look and was just about to give up and dunk his sticky automail hand in a rainwater barrel outside when one of the bathhouse attendants called him to the side.
The attendant was young, maybe Mason’s age, maybe a little older. It was tough to tell with girls, especially girls who wore makeup. She smiled at him in a friendly, almost conspiratorial way. He got that look from girls sometimes, mostly the older ones. Younger girls or girls his own age either ignored him or seemed to be scared of him. Maybe it was the automail.
“I have some free tubs in my section, if you don’t mind bathing on the womens’ side,” she offered.
“Uh, no thanks,” Ed replied automatically, adding silently, I’m a man.
There was a nametag pinned to her blouse, a tiny gold rectangle with her name etched into the surface. It read “Samantha”. Ed stared at it wearily. It was really a nice piece of work, no doubt crafted by one of Rhuel’s jewelry makers. It even had tiny flecks of amethyst set into the corners.
“Up here, dear.” Samantha said, tilting his chin up with two fingers. Her cheeks were flushed. Ed imagined that his were too.
“There aren’t any customers on the womens’ side right now,” Samantha pointed out, “and if there were, I doubt that they’d mind.”
Ed thought that they would mind a lot. He’d heard happened at the military dorms every time that a male officer tried to set foot in the womens’ locker room, accidentally or otherwise. The mystery of how Lieutenant Hawkeye was able to conceal a pistol in the shower was the talk of Eastern Headquarters.
“Come on, the tubs are cleaner and they smell better.”
Looking at the group of dusty rock hounds that filled the waiting room and the row of muddy boots lining the wall, Ed couldn’t argue with that.
“No bubbles or flowery-smelling soap, okay?”
“I do whatever it takes to keep my customers happy,” she said, and smiled, unfazed by Ed’s prickly attitude.
Samantha was right. Not only were they cleaner than any public baths that he’d seen but also the womens’ side was better kept. Girls were just neater that way he supposed.
Ed undressed down to his shorts but stayed carefully out of sight, watching from behind a curtain in the dressing area as Samantha filled the tub and set out soap and towels for him. He was captivated by the care and attention that she put into those tasks, and he wondered if she treated all of her customers this well, or just him. Before now the only person who would have gone to such trouble just so that he would be comfortable had been his mother.
Ed was still thinking when she passed by him on the way out. “Be careful. The water is very hot,” she said. “I can have your clothes washed while you soak.”
Ed considered his travel-stained garments, which he’d shoved into one of the cubbies that lined the walls. He could use alchemy to clean his clothes. Alchemy was actually better than washing because Ed could remove sweat and stains from the fabric without damaging the integrity of his clothes, but there was just something about having his clothes washed the old fashioned way that made the cloth feel cleaner and softer, more organic… more human.
Alchemy was easy, but things created by hand through hard work and practical skill, even the things that seemed so small and insignificant to everyone else, were fascinating to Ed. The way that most people felt about alchemy was the way that Ed felt about the ability to cultivate a beautiful garden or bake delicious bread. It was magic.
Ed untangled his watch from his clothes and dropped it into one of his boots, then covered the boots with his pants and belt. The rest of his clothing he folded neatly and handed to Samantha through the curtain. “Thanks,” he said, realizing too late that he’d used his right arm to hand her the clothes.
Through the thin cloth of the curtain he could only see her shadow on the cloth. If she wore the same appalled expression that he’d seen a thousand times before on the faces of strangers, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was better that way.
Samantha took the stack of clothes from him, one hand covering the top of the stack, the other reaching from underneath to support it. Ed could feel the pressure of her hand on his automail, even if he couldn’t actually feel her skin. “Ring the bell if you need anything,” she said softly. Then she withdrew, taking Ed’s clothes, leaving Ed’s arm hanging in space.
The bath water was wonderfully hot, almost painful on Ed’s chilled skin, and he shivered despite the heat. Seeing his own mechanical limbs under the surface of the water reminded him that Al would need a cleaning when they got back to East City. Even if he wasn’t flesh and blood his body still required attention, not so much maintenance as… housekeeping. Ed had made it a habit after each of their missions to inspect Al’s joints and seams and make sure that they were free of debris. Dirt had a tendency to collect in Al’s legs and Ed would have to rinse and carefully dry and oil each piece of the armor so that Al wouldn’t rust. Ed found the routine somewhat soothing, a way to calm down after being on the road. He never once looked on it as a chore.
Thinking about cleaning Al’s armor made Ed think about East City, and it reminded him that he hadn’t called the colonel yet to let him know where they were. He could fix that once he got back to the sheriff’s office, but the colonel had the ability to predict every move that they were going to make before they made it. Ed had no doubt Mustang had already figured out where they’d gone. After all, he’d been the one who had dangled this idiotic mission in front of them in the first place. The colonel couldn’t possibly be shocked that Ed had taken the bait, but Ed wouldn’t mind giving the colonel an earful on the subject of this wild goose chase, if he could work up enough breath to do it.
Ed had hoped that the steam from the water would loosen the congestion in his chest and help him breathe a little easier. So far it didn’t seem to be working. He felt like there was a weight on his chest. His coughs had become sharp and rattling, but all of his effort produced nothing and only made the stabbing pain worse. Ed was grateful for the privacy that the bathhouse provided at least. He could cough and try to clear his lungs in the humid air without having to worry that Al would see.
Al. Ed should be with him right now, not relaxing in a bathtub while his brother completed the mission that he had been assigned.
What was Leon Mueller’s game, anyway? Did he have a plan or was he really as incompetent as he seemed? The arrays that he’d drawn, what was left of them at least, had been sloppy and too general to support the repairs that Leon had supposedly been trying to complete. Leon had made no modifications to the patterns to address the scope of the projects or the specific composition of the elements involved in the transmutations. To Ed the patterns had literally looked like they had been copied from a book, with no hint of practice or theory behind them.
And why would Leon Mueller choose to impersonate a state alchemist in a town that was prejudiced against the military? Granted, there were a lot of places that had little affection for the state, but if Leon was looking for respect or notoriety there were easier ways to get it than by repairing porches and chimneys.
Ed wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting here, marinating with his thoughts, but it had been long enough for the water to become murky and begin to cool. He was surprised to see that his fingertips were even starting to wrinkle. Looking at them Ed was suddenly irritated at himself for wasting so much time. With a grunt, he planted his hands on either side of the tub and stood, intending to swing his automail leg over the side of the tub.
Ed’s body had other ideas. His head wasn’t happy about the change in altitude and the heat from the water had loosened his limbs and leached away his strength. Ed’s automail leg felt like what it was: a heavy metal weight attached to a weak flesh stump. As Ed tried to step out of the tub he found that he couldn’t lift his foot high enough. His toes caught on the rim and his knee folded forward. Ed groped desperately for a way to right himself but everything was slick with water and he couldn’t get a grip with his automail hand.
On his way down Ed upset the stack of towels that Samantha had set near the head of the tub, along with the little brass bell that she’d placed on top.
Ed hit the ground with a wet slap of skin, a metallic clang of automail and a light tinkling of a small brass bell.
He didn’t pass out.
He didn’t, okay?
But there was a hazy period of time between the sound of the bell hitting the ground and the moment that Ed realized that he was lying semi-naked on the bathhouse floor during which he couldn't make himself move or speak.
“Edward?”
He was lying on someone's lap.
"Edward?"
After several repetitions Ed recognized the word as his name and the lap as Samantha’s.
Ed obeyed his first instinct.
“Hey, don’t sit up!” she warned him.
But Ed had already heaved himself into a sitting position with his back propped against the tub and black dots swimming in his vision. He was less comfortable here, but also less prone. The air in the bathhouse was warm and humid, but Ed was shivering. Samantha draped a towel around his head and shoulders. He was grateful not only for the relief from the cold, but because although he wasn’t entirely naked his shorts were clinging to…things that he’d rather they not cling to.
Samantha left his side for a moment and returned with a cup of water.
“Thank you,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.
“This happens sometimes,” she explained. “If the water is too hot or you’re tired or dehydrated you can get dizzy. You should put your head between your knees for a few minutes.”
He could be that cooperative, Ed decided. It would help him hide his embarrassment at least. “Sorry, this stuff gets overheated easy,” he said, raising his right arm a little. “I guess I forgot about that.”
“It’s okay.”
Sure it was okay, Ed thought bitterly. She wasn’t the one who just fainted like a wrinkled old man getting out of the bathtub.
He should be used to feeling older than his years by now, Ed thought bitterly. His automail was useful and powerful, but it came at a price. The weight of the metal dragged on his joints, pinched his flesh and made his muscles sore from overcompensating. Physical training helped with the pain, but as busy as he and Al were with their studies and with the missions that Mustang assigned them he didn’t always have the luxury. After more than three years Ed was becoming used to living in constant discomfort. Ed’s back ached from regularly sitting on hard train benches and sleeping on floors or in doorways. The long hours he spent poring over textbooks in dusty libraries made his eyes itch and his head pound.
“Textbooks.”
“What was that?”
Ed hadn’t realized that he’d spoken out loud.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry. You’re awfully kind for looking after me like this. I bet you get good tips.”
Samantha smiled in a way that said he’d guessed right.
They sat in silence for a while.
“You still look a little shaky. Where are you staying? I can have someone walk you back.”
“Oh, you don’t need to, really. It’s not far. I’m staying with the sheriff.”
Ed was wary of what her reaction might be. The people in this town didn’t like military, and they seemed to be pretty well informed about their neighbors. Ed wasn’t sure whether or not he’d just given up his cover. He braced himself for a barrage of questions or criticism but Samantha just smiled pleasantly at him and asked, “Oh, are you a friend of Mason’s?”
“More or less,” Ed told her. “Planned on staying at an inn actually, but everything was booked up.”
He waited for Samantha to press the subject, to ask how he knew Mason Biggs and his father the way that any curious person would, but Samantha only said mildly, “It’s that time of year I’m afraid. It’s great for business, though. You couldn’t have come here at a more exciting time.”
“Sure seems that way.”
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, thanks.”
“Your hair will dry more quickly by the stove.”
At her prompt Ed levered himself up off the floor, still dizzy, still weak. Samantha moved wordlessly to support him. Ed knew that his weight was probably too much for her, so he walked on his own, only using her body for balance, grateful (though he would never admit it out loud) that he was roughly the same height as she was.
Even seated near the stove Ed still felt chilled, like there was a source of cold inside of him that all of the hot water and warm air in the world could not melt. While Ed’s skin was almost uncomfortably warm, Ed’s lungs ached like they were full of ice water.
“I’m going to check on your clothes for you. Are you okay by yourself for a moment?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation he added, “And thanks for, you know, not asking,” he said. Ed had been resting his elbows on his knees. Now he bent his right arm up to indicate what he was thanking her for. He formed a fist with his right hand and looked at her over the top of the automail appendage. “You’re not curious?”
She regarded him silently for a moment. It looked to Ed as if she were evaluating the situation, considering her words carefully. Finally she said, “Of course I am, but I spend so much time dealing with people that I know when someone doesn’t want to be asked. I can also tell when I’m better off not knowing the answer.”
It was a diplomatic reply, and Ed had to give her credit for that.
Ed finished drying out by the stove. He braided his hair, fished his wallet out of his boot and left a generous tip for Samantha in his borrowed cubby. He never really warmed up, not all the way through anyway, but being clean helped.
Samantha returned with a stack of his clothes, cleaned and pressed and neatly folded. The first thing that Ed noticed was the red-and-white-checkered napkin -Zelda’s napkin- on top. He groaned in embarrassment for having made Samantha clean the squashy mess out of his pocket. Then he remembered that his medicine had been in his coat pocket as well, and a quick search revealed that it hadn’t been returned with his clothes. Ed hazarded a guess that Samantha had mistaken the paper bag for a piece of trash and thrown in away along with the cinnamon roll. Al was going to kill him, but Ed supposed that there was no helping it now, unless he felt like digging through a trash heap, or worse yet, making some poor bathhouse girl do it.
“Is something wrong?” Samantha asked.
“No,” he said, realizing that his thoughts must have shown on his face. “It’s nothing. Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
Ed stood, and another thought occurred to him. “Earlier when I, uh,” -passed out, swooned, fainted like a girl- “when you came in here, how did you know my name?”
She gave him a perfectly innocent smile. “It’s stitched into your under shorts.”
Ed stared at her for a moment, and then gave an embarrassed laugh. Samantha laughed too, covering her mouth with her hand.
Ed was half way to the sheriff’s office when he realized that he’d never removed his under shorts and he had to pause in the alley before entering the sheriff’s station to give his face time to return to a normal color.
To be continued... part 6
Thank you for reading. Feedback is welcome.
Further notes on this part: About Samantha: Yes, she looked.