Mirrorworld 38
Title: Trial
Author: ketita
Rating: R
Words: 11,290
Summary: Ed found a way to prove he was truly from a parallel universe, and Alfons finds himself captive in Ed's dream of opening the Gate.
Previous chapters can be found here.
Notes: I swear, I think this fic gets more difficult with each chapter. Thanks, as always, to the betas: cryogenia, yixsh, and naatz.
-
Harris said nothing to him the entire way back, for which Alfons was thankful. It allowed him to pretend that the past half hour of his life hadn't happened. For a time, Germany superimposed itself on the reality of Central, blurring reality with memory. The soldiers in the streets were the Kaiser's, and he was fourteen again, taking one last walk with his father before he would be lost to the war. He could remember the admonitions his father had left him with - to take care of his mother, to always be true to himself and his country, though he couldn't remember the exact phrases. The cadence of his father's voice was still clear to him, though the words were lost.
Sometimes he felt guilty that he couldn't really remember what had turned out to be his father's last words to him, but he had always felt that a lifetime spent together had more significance than just a few moments.
He curled his hands in his pockets, feeling the cold acutely through his sweater. Right now he welcomed the cold, felt it numb him to reality. Thinking about the cold was better than thinking about what had happened.
Still, he didn't regret leaving Edward his coat. He had given Edward his life, what was a coat, compared to that?
Central was Central once again, and Harris' silence was angry. For an instant, Alfons saw in him his father's disappointment in how Alfons had turned out; in love with another man, having abandoned his entire world just for the opportunity to be with him.
Returning to the hotel felt nothing like a homecoming. It was an unfamiliar building, full of people he didn't really know, who were all living a life he wasn't really part of. He climbed the steps with feet as heavy as lead. Several soldiers recognized him and waved, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge them.
He would have headed straight for the stairs that led to his room, but Harris' voice stopped him.
"Wait.”
Alfons paused and turned around, couldn't meet his eyes.
Harris spoke impersonally. “What was all that about?”
"It's not your business.”
"Anything that is related to this trial is my business.”
"This is not related to the trial.”
"Anything which affects my client two days before his trial is my business,” Harris said, coldly. “What did you talk about?”
Alfons didn't have the strength to fight. “He asked me how I am doing. I told him. Then he told me to leave. I left.”
He could tell that his answer didn't satisfy Harris in the least, but it was the best he could do right now. Before the lawyer could come up with another question, Alfons fled.
-
Upstairs, he headed straight for his room, the one place he could be reasonably sure he wouldn't be bothered. His own words echoed in his head. He told me to leave. I left.
Alfons sat down on the bed, rested his pounding head in his hands. He closed his eyes. In the dark silence, he could feel all the more acutely the strange loss inside him, as if some part of him had been cut away.
What had he done wrong?
The conversation played out in his head, and now he could clearly see all the wrong turns he had taken. He should have listened to Edward in the first place, he should have demanded to know why, he shouldn't have mentioned so many things that just made the situation worse. He should have been more understanding, he should have been kinder -
But every single time it ended with Edward telling him to manage on his own.
This was the part where he would have gone to find Edward and told him that he couldn't be gotten rid of so easily. He would have demanded to know where he was mistaken, would have promised to do anything to fix it. If necessary, he would have begged, he would have-
Edward was out of his reach, though. Alfons had left without a thought, not realizing that he could never return. The words of apology would go unsaid.
"I'm sorry,” he told the air, instead. He fell backwards, staring up at the ceiling, but hardly saw it. The bed was solid beneath him, but he felt like he was tumbling, had lost his grip on the world. One presence had grounded him, and somehow his own stupidity had lost him even that. “God, I-”
Time passed.
The looped conversation in his mind dulled to a murmur, then to silence. Emptiness yawned inside him, pushed at his eardrums and eyes until he thought he would go crazy. With a harsh wrench he forced himself upright and stood, swaying. This room was his, wholly his, had never belonged to Edward.
It was unbearable.
He stormed out, his heart beating too fast, his breath coming too short. He needed to get away.
Voices in the corridors were meaningless, belonging to unfamiliar, faceless figures. The colors of the carpets stung his vision, twisting like snakes as they led him out. Golden flashes of doorknobs, lamps, uniform buttons, caught his eyes, and each one reminded him of Edward.
Now his throat felt tight.
He hardly knew where he was going until his feet led him to a door outside - not the front, where he usually exited, but some other door he hadn't even really been aware of. Nobody accompanied him out, this time, and to Alfons it was only another sign of his disgrace.
In the street, he felt even more off-kilter than before. He didn't want to be alone among the swarms of people, but kept walking nonetheless. The noise of the street drowned out the silence in his head, at least for now. Here and there rays of late afternoon sunlight penetrated the clouds, making the day slightly less dreary. There might be snow again, tonight. To his left, up ahead, a sign caught his eye, and he headed towards it. Drinking at this hour was irregular, but he didn't care.
There was something familiar about the pub, but then, there was something familiar about all pubs. It was decently clean, not yet smoky because it was still early for the regulars to arrive. Too unhappy to care about the look the barman was giving him, Alfons slid into a seat by the bar.
Self-consciously, he pulled out the small coin purse Winry had lent him and looked at its meagre contents. “How much is a pint?”
The barman raised a bushy eyebrow. “Thirty five cenz.”
Alfons counted his coins, then counted again to make sure, heart sinking. “I only have thirty three,” he said, wishing the floor would swallow him up. God, he couldn't even get a drink in this world. He was so pathetic.
"Then we'll just manage with thirty three,” the man said. Alfons smiled in thanks, and watched as he filled a tankard to the brim. He hadn't had beer since Germany, now that he thought about it, and he hadn't gone drinking alone since he had hooked up with Edward. He swallowed.
"You look like you need it,” the man said as he slid the mug over to him with one large hand. Alfons avoided his gaze by burying his face in the tankard. He sipped at it, knowing he had better make it last.
For a few minutes, he allowed himself to be distracted by the flavor of the beer. Of course it was not nearly as good as the beer in Germany, but it was quite decent, and certainly better than nothing. Or vodka.
"Thank you,” he said, half a glass later. Edward used to pretend he was drunk, unable to do the real thing. He wondered if he dared do it as well, and whether or not it would help at all.
The barman's curiosity was practically rolling off him in waves, and he had been nice about the beer, so Alfons decided to share. It wasn't like he would ever see the man again.
"I think I was just broken up with,” he mumbled. Hearing the words spoken shocked him into taking another long draught, as if he could wash them away. He didn't even really know if that was what Edward had intended; Edward had never told him to leave with such finality, before. He wasn't delusional enough to just insist that it wasn't true, though.
"Ah, girls are like that,” the barman said, shaking his head. “You look like a nice guy, you'll find someone better-”
"I don't want someone better!” Alfons slammed his tankard down on the bar. “There isn't someone better.” He lifted it again to his mouth, to avoid the barman's understanding look. The beer was gone, and he wondered when that had happened.
One pint wasn't even enough to get him tipsy, let alone drown his unhappiness.
"Got it bad, huh?”
Alfons didn't move as the tankard was taken away. Maybe he could sit here for a bit longer, maybe the alcohol fumes would enter his bloodstream and allow him a semblance of forgetfulness.
When the mug was set before him, full to the brim, he jerked in surprise.
"I can't-”
"It's on the house. The place is dead right now, anyway. Drink up.”
Alfons did, wondering if all people in Amestris were this nice (fat chance, this was the same country where Edward had been drugged and kidnapped out of Winry's home), and where his luck had come from.
"What's she like?”
Alfons shifted on the stool uncomfortably. He would rather have not answered, the risk of saying something irretrievable was too high, but he figured he owed it. He was getting free beer, after all.
“Brilliant,” he said, keeping his eyes on his drink, speaking half into the mug. “Beautiful.” Each word brought with it a corresponding image of Edward, vivid and painful.
He wanted Edward back. The mistakes he had made were so stupid, so elementary. If he only got another chance, he was sure he wouldn't repeat them.
Edward couldn't have meant it when he said Alfons should manage on his own. Edward loved him.
"She any, y'know, good?”
Alfons choked, started coughing, which set off his lungs, and spent the next few minutes trying not to hack one of them out, or cough up a worm. The bartender was contrite, pounding on the back (which really wasn't helping, but Alfons didn't have enough air to tell him so), and apologizing.
He got his breath back, wiped his streaming eyes on his sleeve, and decided that he'd probably had enough beer. God, just the thought of answering a question like that about Edward - he didn't think he had mistaken the innuendo - was enough to make his ears burn and tie his tongue in knots.
"I should go,” he managed. The fact that people were starting to trickle in, and darkness had fallen outside the windows only strengthened his need to get out of there. “I - thank you,” he managed, remembering to be polite.
The bartender answered - something about things working out, confessing his feelings - but Alfons wasn't listening at that point. He hung around a while longer, nodding vaguely when the occasion warranted it, until he could leave without seeming impolite.
It was his first time seeing Central in darkness. Normally he was back before sunset, and spent the long evenings reading, or listening to Harris talking about law and trying to follow, or sitting with some of the soldiers spinning yarns. Now he was cold, the chill wind biting at him through his sweater. He pulled it tighter around himself, crossed his arms against his body to keep in some heat, and hunched his shoulders to hide his neck. For a moment he was disoriented. The streets were lit up and strange, and he couldn't tell which way was Mustang's base. He had been afraid of drawing attention, but there were a surprising number of people milling around. Harris had said something about people rallying to Central to demonstrate, and he wondered where they all slept.
A few minutes of wandering later, and suddenly the hotel was up ahead. He wondered how he hadn't recognized the area earlier. He couldn't be drunk; three beers was hardly enough to get him buzzed.
He really didn't want to go back, but there wasn't anywhere else for him to go. Barely half a block away from the hotel he suddenly found himself surrounded by soldiers, and nearly panicked before he recognized their colors as Mustang's.
"We've found him!” somebody shouted. “Ryan, run tell them to call off the search.”
Mustang's soldiers were disciplined; there was minimum of fuss, people were dispatched, and Alfons found himself escorted back by three others.
"Are you okay?” one asked him, looking him up and down. “You're not hurt?”
Alfons shook his head. Had they truly been that worried about him? He had a horrible vision of people spending hours searching for him, and felt ill.
Being escorted in by soldiers made the hotel seem even less hospitable. Almost immediately upon entry he was pounced on by Mustang, who gave him the same once-over the soldiers had. Upon realizing that Alfons was fine, he frowned.
"Where were you?” Mustang demanded.
Alfons looked away, scuffed his foot along the floor. “Nowhere.”
This only served to fuel Mustang's rage. He took a step forward. Alfons was mildly amused to notice that he was actually a bit taller than Mustang, which sort of ruined the intimidation tactic.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you. What were you doing?”
"Nothing,” Alfons snapped. He didn't owe Mustang any answers. Right now, he didn't care that he was behaving childishly, he was just sick of getting pushed around, of having to report to a whole host of people who knew nothing about him.
"Answer me.” Mustang was practically shaking with anger. Alfons was sort of surprised to notice that he didn't really care.
"I tried to get drunk.” Maybe he had sort of succeeded.
Mustang's expression of disbelief managed to penetrate his strange mood, just a little. A twinge of shame at his own behavior only intensified at Mustang's next words, which were nearly shouted.
"You could have jeopardized everything we are working for! What possessed you to take such a risk?”
"I didn't tell anybody who I am,” Alfons said, only a little bit defensively. He wasn't completely stupid.
"What is wrong with you? I hadn't pegged you as this irresponsible. Do you realize how many people, all of whom have much better things with their time, have just spent over an hour looking for you, only to find that you ran off to get drunk? And this is after you spent the morning picking a fight with Fullmetal-”
Alfons didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence, and stormed off.
"Get back here,” Mustang bellowed, chasing him. Alfons walked faster.
"I said-” Mustang grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backwards. Alfons stumbled, and his lungs, which had already been protesting the speed of his walk, decided they had had enough. He doubled over coughing, reminding him painfully of the as-yet-unhealed bullet wound in his chest.
Mustang backed off, gave him some room. The moment Alfons had recovered his breath, he fled. This time, nobody came after him.
He trudged upstairs, occasionally pausing to lean on the wall and gasp. He was a little dizzy, and didn't know how much of it was from lack of oxygen, and how much was the effect of the alcohol. At some point along the way he overbalanced and ran into Winry - literally.
Eyes flashing, she opened her mouth to berate him, but stopped.
"Are you drunk?” she asked incredulously.
Her words drove home how utterly pathetic he was right now. He didn't answer, dropped his eyes to the floor, and headed for his room.
-
Nobody bothered to check up on Alfons the following morning. Not that they ever did. It was ironic that the one day when Alfons might have actually appreciated being paid attention to, even if it was only to chew him out, was the day before Edward's trial. At breakfast he was ignored, and the few words exchanged between the unfamiliar soldiers sharing the room with him were clipped and harsh. Winry rushed past at some point in the morning, not even seeing him. Occasionally he heard Mustang around the base, bellowing orders louder than usual. At one point he caught Al in a corner with a sheaf of papers, memorizing something.
It all served to drive home rather forcefully the fact that there wasn't any way for Alfons to help prepare for the upcoming trial.
By now, it was obvious that pretty much everybody had heard about his fight with Edward, and nobody was pleased. The most obvious expression of it was from Al, unsurprisingly. At some point Al dashed past him and around a corner - then came back and looked up at Alfons with a sneer.
“If you weren't such a weakling, I would punch your lights out,” he said coldly, and ran off once again.
Alfons was left in the corridor, gazing after him. Much as he wanted to be liked, to find a niche in this world, everybody's disapproval paled in the face of Edward's rejection.
Harris - during the few seconds Alfons glimpsed him at some point during the day - seemed much tenser than usual, but he didn't know how much of it might be because of what he had supposedly done to Edward. He hoped Edward was okay, then wondered if it wasn't terribly self-centered to think that he could have caused him not to be.
The thought that maybe Edward didn't care hurt more than he would have believed possible.
He mostly tried to avoid everybody else, but morbid curiosity prevented him from just holing up in his room the entire day. He had to watch the preparations, had to know that even if there was nothing he could do for Edward, everybody else was doing their best.
If their success was dependent on people running around with grim looks on their faces, they would win with no problem at all.
At one point, Mustang grabbed him for briefing on the trial. It basically included orders not to talk to the press, not to get in trouble, try not to talk period, not to pull another vanishing act - all of which had an underlying current of annoyance at Alfons' very existence. Especially in this place and time. He escaped as soon as he could.
The end of the day came as a relief. Finally, a legitimate excuse to get back into bed and forget the world for a few hours, though he doubted he would actually get any sleep.
Tomorrow was the first day of the trial. He rolled over, punched the pillow, and tried to get comfortable. Rationally, he knew that probably nothing would happen. Gossip prepared him for the fact that the first few days, maybe weeks, would be spent on technicalities. It would take a while before they would have anything immediate to worry about.
Edward was probably terrified. Eyes open, Alfons stared into darkness and thought of what Edward must be going through. Remembered his own insensitivity with a pang, and Edward forcing out the words that had cut Alfons adrift.
Just like that, something snapped in his mind, and when Edward's words replayed themselves he realized he was being an absolute dolt.
Why, exactly, had he gone in expecting Edward to be at all rational? He was treating Edward's words as if they had been said with complete conviction, the result of a calm conversation over tea and cake. He should know better than anybody that if there was one thing Edward was really bad at, it was coping.
Any residual anger and pain drained out of him.
He still didn't know what was wrong with Edward. He didn't know what had happened to him to make him conclude that he had to send Alfons away, but he knew that it hadn't been because Edward's feelings had changed.
And that made all the difference in the world.
He sat up in bed, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Fear of death came to mind first - he knew that was one of Edward's greatest, almost-unspoken terrors. If the trial went wrong - well, of course they would break Edward out, because he wasn't going to let Edward die, but that wouldn't stop Edward's nightmares. Speaking of nightmares, he shuddered to think of what Edward's nights were like. Never an easy sleeper, if even Alfons was having difficulties sleeping, what was Edward going through?
Somewhere, among all the things that were wrong, was what had tipped the scales to the point where Edward was no longer seeking help. That was what scared him, if he was honest with himself. That Edward would reach some mental point of no return, beyond which even Alfons wouldn't be able to put him back together.
They weren't there yet, though, Alfons told himself. He would get back in to see Edward, show him they hadn't reached rock bottom yet.
He just had no idea how to do it.
-
The courtroom was impressive - at least, to Alfons, who had never been in one before. It was spacious, probably the biggest in Amestris, with wood paneling up the walls, and wrought iron light fixtures. Everything looked new, and there was still a faint smell of fresh wood.
Then they were properly inside, pushing their way among the throngs of people here for the trial. At the back of the room they passed a bunch of people setting up radio equipment, ready to broadcast the trial to the whole country. Further in were soldiers and politicians, some of whom greeted Mustang, some of whom shot him dirty looks. Nobody paid the slightest attention to Alfons, not even Al and Winry.
They were probably still angry at him.
Trailing slightly behind everyone else meant that he was left with the last seat in their row, right up against the aisle, which opened to his left. The first row had been saved for them, right behind where Harris and Edward would soon be sitting. Alfons stared at the empty seats and swallowed. He tugged at his collar, and wished he wasn't so jittery. Despite his dreams of building rockets, he had never actually come close to making history - yet here he was now, in another world, completely by accident. There was nothing exciting or glamorous about it.
Harris entered, then, and went to his seat quickly. He set down several folders and stacks of papers in front of him, and started scanning them. Alfons watched him, the need to go talk to him now almost overpowering. He had to find some way to get back in to see Edward.
What kept him in his seat, aside from the fact that now was really not the time, was the fact that he had no clue what explanation he would give this time, to convince Harris it was necessary. He slumped back in his seat, and traced the woodgrain in the low barrier in front of him.
A sudden hush descended, and his thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the judges entered. As Harris had said, there were three of them: An old, slightly bent man with white hair and mustache neatly trimmed, a large woman whose long black hair was pulled back severely into a long braid which nearly reached her knees, and the third, a man who looked to be in his fifties with the stiff demeanor of soldier.
He leaned over to Winry, who was sitting on his right, slightly embarrassed at not having picked it up on his own. “Who's who?”
"Shhh,” she said, but answered anyway. “The woman is Justice Laura Morana Castillo from Aerugo. The older one is Justice Nikolas Tsamis of Creta, and the last one is Justice Karelin Mikhail Aleksandrovich from Drachma.”
There was no way Alfons would remember their names, and he wondered vaguely how Winry had managed. He scrutinized their faces, hoping for some sort of insight into the personalities of the people who would be sealing Edward's fate. Everybody said Drachma wouldn't be helpful, so their only hope was from Creta and Aerugo. He felt cold.
Frankly, he had no clue. Both judges looked grim and serious, but how else would he have expected them to look at the start of a trial?
Before him, Harris rearranged his stacks of papers for the third time, the only outward sign he might be nervous.
Alfons bounced his left knee in a rapid tempo. Where was Edward, where was Edward-
A murmur started at the back of the crowd, and Alfons immediately turned to look. Edward was being led into the room, surrounded by four large guards. His movements were slow, hampered by chains around his arms, legs, and neck. He was still wearing his ugly prison uniform, with Alfons' coat on top, partially buttoned. Alfons' stomach twisted, and he could hardly bear to look at him.
He looked even worse than Alfons had imagined, and it was probably at least partially his fault. The accusing eyes of Al and Winry bore into the back of his head, and he looked down at his feet, ill once again.
Edward was seated, so close yet right out of Alfons' reach. He thought of calling out to him, but didn't dare risk being thrown out of the courtroom.
The court clerk stood up to announce the start of the trial, but before he could speak, Justice Castillo was on her feet.
"This is preposterous,” she announced in a carrying voice, her Amestrian tinged with a slightly melodic accent. “This is a court of justice, not a hospital. Why does the accused look like the aftermath of a brawl?”
The tense silence turned awkward. Around Edward, the guards exchanged looks, and finally one of them stepped forward when it became clear the judge wasn't going to withdraw her challenge.
"The prisoner resisted,” he said, too loudly. Alfons clenched his fists and resisted the urge to punch him. To his right, he could see Al doing the same.
"The prisoner doesn't look capable of resisting,” the judge said dryly. “Are Amestrian guards so incompetent they cannot discipline a chained man without resorting to this sort of violence?” When the guard didn't answer, she continued. “If Mr. Elric is uncooperative, there are other methods of discipline, such as isolation.”
"Your Honor.” Harris stood up. “My client is already being held in isolation. It was deemed too dangerous to keep him with the rest of the inmates.” Alfons noticed how elegantly Harris refrained from mentioning who it was dangerous for.
Castillo narrowed her eyes, but rallied quickly. “And cutting the defendant's rations?”
"Mr. Elric has both an arm and leg of automail. As it is he is not fed enough to stay healthy.” The crowd murmured in anger at this. A quick glance to the side showed that while both Al and Winry looked furious, they didn't seem surprised. Apparently this was just another thing they had neglected to tell Alfons.
Harris continued. “Removing his automail would be a risk, and since he is blind, would probably lower significantly his ability to function at all.”
Alfons couldn't move his eyes from Edward's still form. He thought he might have detected a flinch at Harris' words, but wasn't sure. If there was anything Edward hated, it was advertising his disability; even to Alfons, he had never been completely comfortable admitting to things he couldn't do. Alfons wished Edward didn't have to be present for the humiliation.
Now the other two judges were murmuring, looking rather shocked. Castillo leaned down to confer with them for a moment, before straightening up again.
"At this rate, Mr. Elric will be unfit to stand trial.” She paused, then shook her head in disgust. “Court is adjourned for today. We will reconvene tomorrow. I expect to see Mr. Elric cleaned up and alert. Councilors, see me in conference.”
Shocked murmurs broke out. It took Alfons a few minutes to realize that it was actually over for the day, and nothing would be happening. Edward was already being hurried out of court, his gait painful to watch. When he looked to see how everybody else was reacting, he was taken aback at the fierce smile on Mustang's face.
"This is the break we've been waiting for,” he said, his voice pitched not to carry. “Now we can get a court order to ease up on him - more food, blankets, visiting hours.”
Harris didn't look so pleased. “We're going to need it,” he said. Al made a questioning sound, but Harris gave him a warning look. “Not here.”
Alfons followed them out of the courtroom, preoccupied by the fact that nobody else seemed to notice how little interest Edward had taken in the proceedings.
Outside, they milled around for a while, until Harris came back out. Alfons watched the people camped in front of the courthouse, behind the picketing the police had set up. There were so many of them, interspersed here and there with large slogan-bearing signs. Now he could also see where loudspeakers had been set up, probably to broadcast the trial.
He felt lost among the crowd, and quickly looked around to make sure Al and Winry were still in sight. He stood close to them, and was a bit startled when Winry turned to him.
"He's a wreck,” she said accusingly. “If you hadn't been so-”
"How do you know it's all my fault?” Alfons cut her off. “How can you be sure that his situation would be so different if I hadn't talked to him? You don't know what happened.”
She clenched her fists. “Because you're not telling!”
Both of them were speaking loudly, trying to overcome the noise of the crowd. People around them could probably hear what they were saying, but Alfons couldn't bring himself to be quiet.
"It wouldn't help.” Confessing would serve no purpose, he told himself.
Winry turned away from him, muttering under her breath. Having failed at getting the information she wanted, she had no more use for him.
-
All the way back, while everybody else mostly discussed the trial's start (or lack thereof) and ignored Alfons, he was left alone to mull over Edward's situation. Somebody had to.
If he was going to get Edward to open up about what was really wrong with him, he would first have to deal with everything else. Edward definitely wasn't sleeping enough. Nobody else knew that Edward had died, and how the fact that he was now threatened with execution must have him nigh terrified. Combine his lack of sleep with terror, loneliness, and boredom, and it was a sure recipe for disaster.
Moreover, Alfons was starting to understand that the way Edward used to talk to him was not normal for him at all. Getting him to open up again would take careful coaxing.
The problem was, Alfons couldn't really come up with a way to get Edward to sleep - even if only for an hour or so. Drugs would not improve his emotional situation, and he would probably refuse to take them anyway.
He relegated the problem to the back of his mind, hoping inspiration would strike.
-
Harris gathered everybody in one of the conference rooms. Al tried to close the door in Alfons' face, and pretended innocence when Alfons glared at him. Nobody else seemed to notice.
"The good news is,” Harris began, “we've now got up to three visiting hours a day. And we can bring him food and other things, subject to thorough inspection by the guards.”
Alfons brightened, but then remembered that the bad news was forthcoming, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
"The truth is,” Harris said, “we could probably arrange more visits if he had a girlfriend, or if Winry would be willing to present herself as such.”
Alfons nearly choked, and was unspeakably relieved when Winry shook her head slightly.
"I told you already, it wouldn't be fair to him,” she said softly.
Oh God, if Winry had announced herself as Edward's girlfriend, it would be a complete disaster. His heart thudded, and a totally irrational anger pulsed through his veins at the thought, but before he could work himself up, Harris' next words cut into his thoughts.
"However, Edward is posing a serious problem. He's refusing to talk to me.”
Just like that, Alfons forgot his jealousy.
"What do you mean?” Winry asked, after a beat.
Harris shook his head. “At first I thought this might be some ploy by the guards, but it's legit. He told me himself that he doesn't want to talk to me, and asked me to leave him alone. If the prosecution hears of this, we could be in serious trouble.” He paused to glance at them, then elaborated.
"In the event that the defendant refuses to cooperate with their attorney, the court is authorized to nominate somebody else. The ANP would certainly be interested in replacing me with a less able defense.”
Alfons shifted in his chair, abruptly aware that Mustang had fixed him with an intent look. He refused to acknowledge it, so Mustang gave up and turned to Harris.
"How long has this been going on?”
"Since last night.”
See, it's not just me, Alfons thought. All of these were symptoms, they had to get at the root of the issue. Visits for a girlfriend echoed in his thoughts, to be followed up later.
Harris sighed, and clasped his hands. “I want to bring Al in to talk to him. We can't afford this sort of risk.”
Al nodded once, abruptly.
"I could-” Alfons began, almost without thinking.
"I think you've done enough,” Harris said. His father's voice, cold and disapproving, was enough to silence Alfons. He didn't say anything more.
Part two
Author: ketita
Rating: R
Words: 11,290
Summary: Ed found a way to prove he was truly from a parallel universe, and Alfons finds himself captive in Ed's dream of opening the Gate.
Previous chapters can be found here.
Notes: I swear, I think this fic gets more difficult with each chapter. Thanks, as always, to the betas: cryogenia, yixsh, and naatz.
-
Harris said nothing to him the entire way back, for which Alfons was thankful. It allowed him to pretend that the past half hour of his life hadn't happened. For a time, Germany superimposed itself on the reality of Central, blurring reality with memory. The soldiers in the streets were the Kaiser's, and he was fourteen again, taking one last walk with his father before he would be lost to the war. He could remember the admonitions his father had left him with - to take care of his mother, to always be true to himself and his country, though he couldn't remember the exact phrases. The cadence of his father's voice was still clear to him, though the words were lost.
Sometimes he felt guilty that he couldn't really remember what had turned out to be his father's last words to him, but he had always felt that a lifetime spent together had more significance than just a few moments.
He curled his hands in his pockets, feeling the cold acutely through his sweater. Right now he welcomed the cold, felt it numb him to reality. Thinking about the cold was better than thinking about what had happened.
Still, he didn't regret leaving Edward his coat. He had given Edward his life, what was a coat, compared to that?
Central was Central once again, and Harris' silence was angry. For an instant, Alfons saw in him his father's disappointment in how Alfons had turned out; in love with another man, having abandoned his entire world just for the opportunity to be with him.
Returning to the hotel felt nothing like a homecoming. It was an unfamiliar building, full of people he didn't really know, who were all living a life he wasn't really part of. He climbed the steps with feet as heavy as lead. Several soldiers recognized him and waved, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge them.
He would have headed straight for the stairs that led to his room, but Harris' voice stopped him.
"Wait.”
Alfons paused and turned around, couldn't meet his eyes.
Harris spoke impersonally. “What was all that about?”
"It's not your business.”
"Anything that is related to this trial is my business.”
"This is not related to the trial.”
"Anything which affects my client two days before his trial is my business,” Harris said, coldly. “What did you talk about?”
Alfons didn't have the strength to fight. “He asked me how I am doing. I told him. Then he told me to leave. I left.”
He could tell that his answer didn't satisfy Harris in the least, but it was the best he could do right now. Before the lawyer could come up with another question, Alfons fled.
-
Upstairs, he headed straight for his room, the one place he could be reasonably sure he wouldn't be bothered. His own words echoed in his head. He told me to leave. I left.
Alfons sat down on the bed, rested his pounding head in his hands. He closed his eyes. In the dark silence, he could feel all the more acutely the strange loss inside him, as if some part of him had been cut away.
What had he done wrong?
The conversation played out in his head, and now he could clearly see all the wrong turns he had taken. He should have listened to Edward in the first place, he should have demanded to know why, he shouldn't have mentioned so many things that just made the situation worse. He should have been more understanding, he should have been kinder -
But every single time it ended with Edward telling him to manage on his own.
This was the part where he would have gone to find Edward and told him that he couldn't be gotten rid of so easily. He would have demanded to know where he was mistaken, would have promised to do anything to fix it. If necessary, he would have begged, he would have-
Edward was out of his reach, though. Alfons had left without a thought, not realizing that he could never return. The words of apology would go unsaid.
"I'm sorry,” he told the air, instead. He fell backwards, staring up at the ceiling, but hardly saw it. The bed was solid beneath him, but he felt like he was tumbling, had lost his grip on the world. One presence had grounded him, and somehow his own stupidity had lost him even that. “God, I-”
Time passed.
The looped conversation in his mind dulled to a murmur, then to silence. Emptiness yawned inside him, pushed at his eardrums and eyes until he thought he would go crazy. With a harsh wrench he forced himself upright and stood, swaying. This room was his, wholly his, had never belonged to Edward.
It was unbearable.
He stormed out, his heart beating too fast, his breath coming too short. He needed to get away.
Voices in the corridors were meaningless, belonging to unfamiliar, faceless figures. The colors of the carpets stung his vision, twisting like snakes as they led him out. Golden flashes of doorknobs, lamps, uniform buttons, caught his eyes, and each one reminded him of Edward.
Now his throat felt tight.
He hardly knew where he was going until his feet led him to a door outside - not the front, where he usually exited, but some other door he hadn't even really been aware of. Nobody accompanied him out, this time, and to Alfons it was only another sign of his disgrace.
In the street, he felt even more off-kilter than before. He didn't want to be alone among the swarms of people, but kept walking nonetheless. The noise of the street drowned out the silence in his head, at least for now. Here and there rays of late afternoon sunlight penetrated the clouds, making the day slightly less dreary. There might be snow again, tonight. To his left, up ahead, a sign caught his eye, and he headed towards it. Drinking at this hour was irregular, but he didn't care.
There was something familiar about the pub, but then, there was something familiar about all pubs. It was decently clean, not yet smoky because it was still early for the regulars to arrive. Too unhappy to care about the look the barman was giving him, Alfons slid into a seat by the bar.
Self-consciously, he pulled out the small coin purse Winry had lent him and looked at its meagre contents. “How much is a pint?”
The barman raised a bushy eyebrow. “Thirty five cenz.”
Alfons counted his coins, then counted again to make sure, heart sinking. “I only have thirty three,” he said, wishing the floor would swallow him up. God, he couldn't even get a drink in this world. He was so pathetic.
"Then we'll just manage with thirty three,” the man said. Alfons smiled in thanks, and watched as he filled a tankard to the brim. He hadn't had beer since Germany, now that he thought about it, and he hadn't gone drinking alone since he had hooked up with Edward. He swallowed.
"You look like you need it,” the man said as he slid the mug over to him with one large hand. Alfons avoided his gaze by burying his face in the tankard. He sipped at it, knowing he had better make it last.
For a few minutes, he allowed himself to be distracted by the flavor of the beer. Of course it was not nearly as good as the beer in Germany, but it was quite decent, and certainly better than nothing. Or vodka.
"Thank you,” he said, half a glass later. Edward used to pretend he was drunk, unable to do the real thing. He wondered if he dared do it as well, and whether or not it would help at all.
The barman's curiosity was practically rolling off him in waves, and he had been nice about the beer, so Alfons decided to share. It wasn't like he would ever see the man again.
"I think I was just broken up with,” he mumbled. Hearing the words spoken shocked him into taking another long draught, as if he could wash them away. He didn't even really know if that was what Edward had intended; Edward had never told him to leave with such finality, before. He wasn't delusional enough to just insist that it wasn't true, though.
"Ah, girls are like that,” the barman said, shaking his head. “You look like a nice guy, you'll find someone better-”
"I don't want someone better!” Alfons slammed his tankard down on the bar. “There isn't someone better.” He lifted it again to his mouth, to avoid the barman's understanding look. The beer was gone, and he wondered when that had happened.
One pint wasn't even enough to get him tipsy, let alone drown his unhappiness.
"Got it bad, huh?”
Alfons didn't move as the tankard was taken away. Maybe he could sit here for a bit longer, maybe the alcohol fumes would enter his bloodstream and allow him a semblance of forgetfulness.
When the mug was set before him, full to the brim, he jerked in surprise.
"I can't-”
"It's on the house. The place is dead right now, anyway. Drink up.”
Alfons did, wondering if all people in Amestris were this nice (fat chance, this was the same country where Edward had been drugged and kidnapped out of Winry's home), and where his luck had come from.
"What's she like?”
Alfons shifted on the stool uncomfortably. He would rather have not answered, the risk of saying something irretrievable was too high, but he figured he owed it. He was getting free beer, after all.
“Brilliant,” he said, keeping his eyes on his drink, speaking half into the mug. “Beautiful.” Each word brought with it a corresponding image of Edward, vivid and painful.
He wanted Edward back. The mistakes he had made were so stupid, so elementary. If he only got another chance, he was sure he wouldn't repeat them.
Edward couldn't have meant it when he said Alfons should manage on his own. Edward loved him.
"She any, y'know, good?”
Alfons choked, started coughing, which set off his lungs, and spent the next few minutes trying not to hack one of them out, or cough up a worm. The bartender was contrite, pounding on the back (which really wasn't helping, but Alfons didn't have enough air to tell him so), and apologizing.
He got his breath back, wiped his streaming eyes on his sleeve, and decided that he'd probably had enough beer. God, just the thought of answering a question like that about Edward - he didn't think he had mistaken the innuendo - was enough to make his ears burn and tie his tongue in knots.
"I should go,” he managed. The fact that people were starting to trickle in, and darkness had fallen outside the windows only strengthened his need to get out of there. “I - thank you,” he managed, remembering to be polite.
The bartender answered - something about things working out, confessing his feelings - but Alfons wasn't listening at that point. He hung around a while longer, nodding vaguely when the occasion warranted it, until he could leave without seeming impolite.
It was his first time seeing Central in darkness. Normally he was back before sunset, and spent the long evenings reading, or listening to Harris talking about law and trying to follow, or sitting with some of the soldiers spinning yarns. Now he was cold, the chill wind biting at him through his sweater. He pulled it tighter around himself, crossed his arms against his body to keep in some heat, and hunched his shoulders to hide his neck. For a moment he was disoriented. The streets were lit up and strange, and he couldn't tell which way was Mustang's base. He had been afraid of drawing attention, but there were a surprising number of people milling around. Harris had said something about people rallying to Central to demonstrate, and he wondered where they all slept.
A few minutes of wandering later, and suddenly the hotel was up ahead. He wondered how he hadn't recognized the area earlier. He couldn't be drunk; three beers was hardly enough to get him buzzed.
He really didn't want to go back, but there wasn't anywhere else for him to go. Barely half a block away from the hotel he suddenly found himself surrounded by soldiers, and nearly panicked before he recognized their colors as Mustang's.
"We've found him!” somebody shouted. “Ryan, run tell them to call off the search.”
Mustang's soldiers were disciplined; there was minimum of fuss, people were dispatched, and Alfons found himself escorted back by three others.
"Are you okay?” one asked him, looking him up and down. “You're not hurt?”
Alfons shook his head. Had they truly been that worried about him? He had a horrible vision of people spending hours searching for him, and felt ill.
Being escorted in by soldiers made the hotel seem even less hospitable. Almost immediately upon entry he was pounced on by Mustang, who gave him the same once-over the soldiers had. Upon realizing that Alfons was fine, he frowned.
"Where were you?” Mustang demanded.
Alfons looked away, scuffed his foot along the floor. “Nowhere.”
This only served to fuel Mustang's rage. He took a step forward. Alfons was mildly amused to notice that he was actually a bit taller than Mustang, which sort of ruined the intimidation tactic.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you. What were you doing?”
"Nothing,” Alfons snapped. He didn't owe Mustang any answers. Right now, he didn't care that he was behaving childishly, he was just sick of getting pushed around, of having to report to a whole host of people who knew nothing about him.
"Answer me.” Mustang was practically shaking with anger. Alfons was sort of surprised to notice that he didn't really care.
"I tried to get drunk.” Maybe he had sort of succeeded.
Mustang's expression of disbelief managed to penetrate his strange mood, just a little. A twinge of shame at his own behavior only intensified at Mustang's next words, which were nearly shouted.
"You could have jeopardized everything we are working for! What possessed you to take such a risk?”
"I didn't tell anybody who I am,” Alfons said, only a little bit defensively. He wasn't completely stupid.
"What is wrong with you? I hadn't pegged you as this irresponsible. Do you realize how many people, all of whom have much better things with their time, have just spent over an hour looking for you, only to find that you ran off to get drunk? And this is after you spent the morning picking a fight with Fullmetal-”
Alfons didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence, and stormed off.
"Get back here,” Mustang bellowed, chasing him. Alfons walked faster.
"I said-” Mustang grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backwards. Alfons stumbled, and his lungs, which had already been protesting the speed of his walk, decided they had had enough. He doubled over coughing, reminding him painfully of the as-yet-unhealed bullet wound in his chest.
Mustang backed off, gave him some room. The moment Alfons had recovered his breath, he fled. This time, nobody came after him.
He trudged upstairs, occasionally pausing to lean on the wall and gasp. He was a little dizzy, and didn't know how much of it was from lack of oxygen, and how much was the effect of the alcohol. At some point along the way he overbalanced and ran into Winry - literally.
Eyes flashing, she opened her mouth to berate him, but stopped.
"Are you drunk?” she asked incredulously.
Her words drove home how utterly pathetic he was right now. He didn't answer, dropped his eyes to the floor, and headed for his room.
-
Nobody bothered to check up on Alfons the following morning. Not that they ever did. It was ironic that the one day when Alfons might have actually appreciated being paid attention to, even if it was only to chew him out, was the day before Edward's trial. At breakfast he was ignored, and the few words exchanged between the unfamiliar soldiers sharing the room with him were clipped and harsh. Winry rushed past at some point in the morning, not even seeing him. Occasionally he heard Mustang around the base, bellowing orders louder than usual. At one point he caught Al in a corner with a sheaf of papers, memorizing something.
It all served to drive home rather forcefully the fact that there wasn't any way for Alfons to help prepare for the upcoming trial.
By now, it was obvious that pretty much everybody had heard about his fight with Edward, and nobody was pleased. The most obvious expression of it was from Al, unsurprisingly. At some point Al dashed past him and around a corner - then came back and looked up at Alfons with a sneer.
“If you weren't such a weakling, I would punch your lights out,” he said coldly, and ran off once again.
Alfons was left in the corridor, gazing after him. Much as he wanted to be liked, to find a niche in this world, everybody's disapproval paled in the face of Edward's rejection.
Harris - during the few seconds Alfons glimpsed him at some point during the day - seemed much tenser than usual, but he didn't know how much of it might be because of what he had supposedly done to Edward. He hoped Edward was okay, then wondered if it wasn't terribly self-centered to think that he could have caused him not to be.
The thought that maybe Edward didn't care hurt more than he would have believed possible.
He mostly tried to avoid everybody else, but morbid curiosity prevented him from just holing up in his room the entire day. He had to watch the preparations, had to know that even if there was nothing he could do for Edward, everybody else was doing their best.
If their success was dependent on people running around with grim looks on their faces, they would win with no problem at all.
At one point, Mustang grabbed him for briefing on the trial. It basically included orders not to talk to the press, not to get in trouble, try not to talk period, not to pull another vanishing act - all of which had an underlying current of annoyance at Alfons' very existence. Especially in this place and time. He escaped as soon as he could.
The end of the day came as a relief. Finally, a legitimate excuse to get back into bed and forget the world for a few hours, though he doubted he would actually get any sleep.
Tomorrow was the first day of the trial. He rolled over, punched the pillow, and tried to get comfortable. Rationally, he knew that probably nothing would happen. Gossip prepared him for the fact that the first few days, maybe weeks, would be spent on technicalities. It would take a while before they would have anything immediate to worry about.
Edward was probably terrified. Eyes open, Alfons stared into darkness and thought of what Edward must be going through. Remembered his own insensitivity with a pang, and Edward forcing out the words that had cut Alfons adrift.
Just like that, something snapped in his mind, and when Edward's words replayed themselves he realized he was being an absolute dolt.
Why, exactly, had he gone in expecting Edward to be at all rational? He was treating Edward's words as if they had been said with complete conviction, the result of a calm conversation over tea and cake. He should know better than anybody that if there was one thing Edward was really bad at, it was coping.
Any residual anger and pain drained out of him.
He still didn't know what was wrong with Edward. He didn't know what had happened to him to make him conclude that he had to send Alfons away, but he knew that it hadn't been because Edward's feelings had changed.
And that made all the difference in the world.
He sat up in bed, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Fear of death came to mind first - he knew that was one of Edward's greatest, almost-unspoken terrors. If the trial went wrong - well, of course they would break Edward out, because he wasn't going to let Edward die, but that wouldn't stop Edward's nightmares. Speaking of nightmares, he shuddered to think of what Edward's nights were like. Never an easy sleeper, if even Alfons was having difficulties sleeping, what was Edward going through?
Somewhere, among all the things that were wrong, was what had tipped the scales to the point where Edward was no longer seeking help. That was what scared him, if he was honest with himself. That Edward would reach some mental point of no return, beyond which even Alfons wouldn't be able to put him back together.
They weren't there yet, though, Alfons told himself. He would get back in to see Edward, show him they hadn't reached rock bottom yet.
He just had no idea how to do it.
-
The courtroom was impressive - at least, to Alfons, who had never been in one before. It was spacious, probably the biggest in Amestris, with wood paneling up the walls, and wrought iron light fixtures. Everything looked new, and there was still a faint smell of fresh wood.
Then they were properly inside, pushing their way among the throngs of people here for the trial. At the back of the room they passed a bunch of people setting up radio equipment, ready to broadcast the trial to the whole country. Further in were soldiers and politicians, some of whom greeted Mustang, some of whom shot him dirty looks. Nobody paid the slightest attention to Alfons, not even Al and Winry.
They were probably still angry at him.
Trailing slightly behind everyone else meant that he was left with the last seat in their row, right up against the aisle, which opened to his left. The first row had been saved for them, right behind where Harris and Edward would soon be sitting. Alfons stared at the empty seats and swallowed. He tugged at his collar, and wished he wasn't so jittery. Despite his dreams of building rockets, he had never actually come close to making history - yet here he was now, in another world, completely by accident. There was nothing exciting or glamorous about it.
Harris entered, then, and went to his seat quickly. He set down several folders and stacks of papers in front of him, and started scanning them. Alfons watched him, the need to go talk to him now almost overpowering. He had to find some way to get back in to see Edward.
What kept him in his seat, aside from the fact that now was really not the time, was the fact that he had no clue what explanation he would give this time, to convince Harris it was necessary. He slumped back in his seat, and traced the woodgrain in the low barrier in front of him.
A sudden hush descended, and his thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the judges entered. As Harris had said, there were three of them: An old, slightly bent man with white hair and mustache neatly trimmed, a large woman whose long black hair was pulled back severely into a long braid which nearly reached her knees, and the third, a man who looked to be in his fifties with the stiff demeanor of soldier.
He leaned over to Winry, who was sitting on his right, slightly embarrassed at not having picked it up on his own. “Who's who?”
"Shhh,” she said, but answered anyway. “The woman is Justice Laura Morana Castillo from Aerugo. The older one is Justice Nikolas Tsamis of Creta, and the last one is Justice Karelin Mikhail Aleksandrovich from Drachma.”
There was no way Alfons would remember their names, and he wondered vaguely how Winry had managed. He scrutinized their faces, hoping for some sort of insight into the personalities of the people who would be sealing Edward's fate. Everybody said Drachma wouldn't be helpful, so their only hope was from Creta and Aerugo. He felt cold.
Frankly, he had no clue. Both judges looked grim and serious, but how else would he have expected them to look at the start of a trial?
Before him, Harris rearranged his stacks of papers for the third time, the only outward sign he might be nervous.
Alfons bounced his left knee in a rapid tempo. Where was Edward, where was Edward-
A murmur started at the back of the crowd, and Alfons immediately turned to look. Edward was being led into the room, surrounded by four large guards. His movements were slow, hampered by chains around his arms, legs, and neck. He was still wearing his ugly prison uniform, with Alfons' coat on top, partially buttoned. Alfons' stomach twisted, and he could hardly bear to look at him.
He looked even worse than Alfons had imagined, and it was probably at least partially his fault. The accusing eyes of Al and Winry bore into the back of his head, and he looked down at his feet, ill once again.
Edward was seated, so close yet right out of Alfons' reach. He thought of calling out to him, but didn't dare risk being thrown out of the courtroom.
The court clerk stood up to announce the start of the trial, but before he could speak, Justice Castillo was on her feet.
"This is preposterous,” she announced in a carrying voice, her Amestrian tinged with a slightly melodic accent. “This is a court of justice, not a hospital. Why does the accused look like the aftermath of a brawl?”
The tense silence turned awkward. Around Edward, the guards exchanged looks, and finally one of them stepped forward when it became clear the judge wasn't going to withdraw her challenge.
"The prisoner resisted,” he said, too loudly. Alfons clenched his fists and resisted the urge to punch him. To his right, he could see Al doing the same.
"The prisoner doesn't look capable of resisting,” the judge said dryly. “Are Amestrian guards so incompetent they cannot discipline a chained man without resorting to this sort of violence?” When the guard didn't answer, she continued. “If Mr. Elric is uncooperative, there are other methods of discipline, such as isolation.”
"Your Honor.” Harris stood up. “My client is already being held in isolation. It was deemed too dangerous to keep him with the rest of the inmates.” Alfons noticed how elegantly Harris refrained from mentioning who it was dangerous for.
Castillo narrowed her eyes, but rallied quickly. “And cutting the defendant's rations?”
"Mr. Elric has both an arm and leg of automail. As it is he is not fed enough to stay healthy.” The crowd murmured in anger at this. A quick glance to the side showed that while both Al and Winry looked furious, they didn't seem surprised. Apparently this was just another thing they had neglected to tell Alfons.
Harris continued. “Removing his automail would be a risk, and since he is blind, would probably lower significantly his ability to function at all.”
Alfons couldn't move his eyes from Edward's still form. He thought he might have detected a flinch at Harris' words, but wasn't sure. If there was anything Edward hated, it was advertising his disability; even to Alfons, he had never been completely comfortable admitting to things he couldn't do. Alfons wished Edward didn't have to be present for the humiliation.
Now the other two judges were murmuring, looking rather shocked. Castillo leaned down to confer with them for a moment, before straightening up again.
"At this rate, Mr. Elric will be unfit to stand trial.” She paused, then shook her head in disgust. “Court is adjourned for today. We will reconvene tomorrow. I expect to see Mr. Elric cleaned up and alert. Councilors, see me in conference.”
Shocked murmurs broke out. It took Alfons a few minutes to realize that it was actually over for the day, and nothing would be happening. Edward was already being hurried out of court, his gait painful to watch. When he looked to see how everybody else was reacting, he was taken aback at the fierce smile on Mustang's face.
"This is the break we've been waiting for,” he said, his voice pitched not to carry. “Now we can get a court order to ease up on him - more food, blankets, visiting hours.”
Harris didn't look so pleased. “We're going to need it,” he said. Al made a questioning sound, but Harris gave him a warning look. “Not here.”
Alfons followed them out of the courtroom, preoccupied by the fact that nobody else seemed to notice how little interest Edward had taken in the proceedings.
Outside, they milled around for a while, until Harris came back out. Alfons watched the people camped in front of the courthouse, behind the picketing the police had set up. There were so many of them, interspersed here and there with large slogan-bearing signs. Now he could also see where loudspeakers had been set up, probably to broadcast the trial.
He felt lost among the crowd, and quickly looked around to make sure Al and Winry were still in sight. He stood close to them, and was a bit startled when Winry turned to him.
"He's a wreck,” she said accusingly. “If you hadn't been so-”
"How do you know it's all my fault?” Alfons cut her off. “How can you be sure that his situation would be so different if I hadn't talked to him? You don't know what happened.”
She clenched her fists. “Because you're not telling!”
Both of them were speaking loudly, trying to overcome the noise of the crowd. People around them could probably hear what they were saying, but Alfons couldn't bring himself to be quiet.
"It wouldn't help.” Confessing would serve no purpose, he told himself.
Winry turned away from him, muttering under her breath. Having failed at getting the information she wanted, she had no more use for him.
-
All the way back, while everybody else mostly discussed the trial's start (or lack thereof) and ignored Alfons, he was left alone to mull over Edward's situation. Somebody had to.
If he was going to get Edward to open up about what was really wrong with him, he would first have to deal with everything else. Edward definitely wasn't sleeping enough. Nobody else knew that Edward had died, and how the fact that he was now threatened with execution must have him nigh terrified. Combine his lack of sleep with terror, loneliness, and boredom, and it was a sure recipe for disaster.
Moreover, Alfons was starting to understand that the way Edward used to talk to him was not normal for him at all. Getting him to open up again would take careful coaxing.
The problem was, Alfons couldn't really come up with a way to get Edward to sleep - even if only for an hour or so. Drugs would not improve his emotional situation, and he would probably refuse to take them anyway.
He relegated the problem to the back of his mind, hoping inspiration would strike.
-
Harris gathered everybody in one of the conference rooms. Al tried to close the door in Alfons' face, and pretended innocence when Alfons glared at him. Nobody else seemed to notice.
"The good news is,” Harris began, “we've now got up to three visiting hours a day. And we can bring him food and other things, subject to thorough inspection by the guards.”
Alfons brightened, but then remembered that the bad news was forthcoming, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
"The truth is,” Harris said, “we could probably arrange more visits if he had a girlfriend, or if Winry would be willing to present herself as such.”
Alfons nearly choked, and was unspeakably relieved when Winry shook her head slightly.
"I told you already, it wouldn't be fair to him,” she said softly.
Oh God, if Winry had announced herself as Edward's girlfriend, it would be a complete disaster. His heart thudded, and a totally irrational anger pulsed through his veins at the thought, but before he could work himself up, Harris' next words cut into his thoughts.
"However, Edward is posing a serious problem. He's refusing to talk to me.”
Just like that, Alfons forgot his jealousy.
"What do you mean?” Winry asked, after a beat.
Harris shook his head. “At first I thought this might be some ploy by the guards, but it's legit. He told me himself that he doesn't want to talk to me, and asked me to leave him alone. If the prosecution hears of this, we could be in serious trouble.” He paused to glance at them, then elaborated.
"In the event that the defendant refuses to cooperate with their attorney, the court is authorized to nominate somebody else. The ANP would certainly be interested in replacing me with a less able defense.”
Alfons shifted in his chair, abruptly aware that Mustang had fixed him with an intent look. He refused to acknowledge it, so Mustang gave up and turned to Harris.
"How long has this been going on?”
"Since last night.”
See, it's not just me, Alfons thought. All of these were symptoms, they had to get at the root of the issue. Visits for a girlfriend echoed in his thoughts, to be followed up later.
Harris sighed, and clasped his hands. “I want to bring Al in to talk to him. We can't afford this sort of risk.”
Al nodded once, abruptly.
"I could-” Alfons began, almost without thinking.
"I think you've done enough,” Harris said. His father's voice, cold and disapproving, was enough to silence Alfons. He didn't say anything more.
Part two