Fullmetal Alchemist: Blood Ties (7/14: Uncertain)

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Blood Ties (7/14: Uncertain)
Author: jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: PG for fantasy violence and blood.
Characters: A whopping big ensemble across two worlds, although the strongest focus is on Ed.
Setting: First anime. Same timeframe as CoS, two years after the end of the series.
Summary: Alternative to Conqueror of Shamballa. An old enemy plunges Ed into the dark secrets of his new world, linked to the alchemy he thought lost to him—while in Amestris, Al faces a life-or-death choice. Will the nightmare Ed is drawn into provide the key to both their fates?
Disclaimer: They belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I’m just playing with them.



“It’s a pretty nice day out here,” Mason observed absently, with a stretch of his strong muscles, as he walked along the main street in Dublith at Winry’s side.

The past two days had been like an awful waking dream for Winry. She moved through them with a dazed slowness, dragging the sorrow in her heart like a solid weight, even as she desperately tried to put on a cheerful face for Al—knowing she would soon see his smile for the last time. If he survived his impending transmutation attempt at all, his soul would be imprisoned once more in cold steel.

Aware as Al was of the fact that his body would soon be gone, he still chose to spend much of his time in the armor. It was the only way he could leave his bed, and he wanted to do more than simply lie there while he had Winry’s company. When he did withdraw into his languishing flesh, it was to indulge his senses, trying to burn into his memory all the sensations that would shortly be lost to him forever. As well as he was able, he stuffed himself with his favorite foods, and he also asked for various objects to be brought to him: simple things, like fragrant flowers and rough stones, that he could smell and touch. It was a heartbreaking process to watch.

In her own stoically shielded heartache, Izumi had even relaxed her rules against keeping pets in the house. As a special pleasure for Al while he could still feel softness and warmth, the gray cat Winry saw the other day had been borrowed from his young owner. His name was Cobie, and now he could always be found purring on Al’s lap, as if he knew exactly where he was needed.

Winry did her best to be brave, for Al’s sake. She cooked for him and read to him while he was in his body, and when he chose to go roaming in the armor, she would join him on walks or in romps with the neighborhood children. There was no fear in him that she could see, and she tried to live up to his courage.

Still, there were moments when her pretense came close to falling apart… and at each of those moments, it was Mason who held her together. When he saw her on the brink, his intervention could be as simple as a quick squeeze of her arm to bolster her nerves, or as complex as coming up with some casual excuse to take her away from Al for a little while.

Then he would guide her to some private place, and hold her while she wept.

This stroll down the street began as one of those occasions, with a good hard cry against his chest on the Curtises’ back porch. He would usually let her go back to Al after her tears were spent; but this time, rather shyly, he had asked if she would take a walk with him.

His bland observation was true enough. The weather was nice, sunny and breezy, with just the slightest hint of crispness in the air. Winry liked the temperate climate in Dublith. It was much drier than Resembool, where heavy storms had frightened her since she was a little girl.

To this day, storms still reminded her of that night, when she and Pinako had found a nightmare of blood and steel on their doorstep.

To this day, she wished it was a nightmare she could wake up from.

“So… how’s your apprenticeship with Dominic going?” Mason asked tentatively at her side.

The mechanic blinked and glanced up at him. It was a subject they had touched on the day she arrived, during their walk from the train station, but not in any detail.

“It’s been really good. I’ve learned a lot of things I never could have back in Resembool—and Dominic even put me completely in charge of the work for a couple of his best customers. He won’t say it, but I know how much it means, coming from him.”

“That’s no surprise to anybody. You’re the best there is.” Mason gave her a curious sidelong glance. “It sounds like… maybe, by now, you’ve even learned about as much as he has to teach.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Winry admitted. “I don’t think I’ll ever have the genius he has, but… I’ve wondered if it’s time to go back home.”

“Have you ever thought about setting up shop for yourself?”

Surprised, Winry frowned. “I… don’t know. I guess I’ve always thought I’d just keep working with Granny, until someday I take over for her.”

“There’s places with more business than Resembool. Places that need your talent more, too.” Mason stopped walking and turned to her. “Take Dublith. We’ve got a lot of old soldiers and people like that who have automail, or who don’t have it and could use it—but we don’t even have a full-time automail mechanic in town now. Anybody who wants some decent work has to go all the way to Rush Valley.”

Winry’s eyes widened. “You think I should go to work here?”

“Just look at this.” Mason pointed to the building they had stopped alongside, a few blocks down from the Curtis household. It was a prim little storefront with a red brick façade, striped awnings, and small flowerbeds nestled beneath large plate-glass windows. A For Sale sign hung on the front door.

“I’ve been… you know. Kind of thinking,” Mason murmured haltingly, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Ever since the last owner moved out. Seems to me like some automail designs would look pretty nice in those windows. And it’s just down the street from our place, and… well. I mean. If you were interested, I’d like to… I mean, I could… sort of help. Or—more than sort of. A lot.”

Really, he was adorable when he was bashful.

“Oh, Mason,” Winry breathed, feeling her heart flutter oddly, and found herself almost as lost for words as he was. “Are you saying… I mean, are you asking…”

He smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I… yeah. I guess I am.”

A swell of confused emotions blossomed in Winry’s chest. She felt excited, and bewildered, and terrified, and altogether overwhelmed—but it wasn’t such a bad feeling. It was kind of nice, in fact.

She glanced back at the storefront. It was a perfect place for a shop, and not beyond her means. She had saved up her earnings from her work with Dominic, and Granny would want to help her, and the Curtises might too; and if business was half as good as Mason suggested, she was certain she could quickly pay back anything she borrowed.

And Mason—

It would be fun to become the teacher for a change, and train him to work with automail. He was strong, and clever, and sweet… and he wanted her near him.

And she could be close to Al too, if…

If.

Something clamped down cold and hard on the warmth that had arisen within her, and she felt a little sick as she remembered the realities of the present. It made her feel suddenly, horribly guilty to even consider her future, when Alphonse might not have a future at all.

“What’s wrong?” Mason asked, watching her face anxiously.

“I just…” A mist of tears welled up in Winry’s eyes, and she shook her head. “I’m not ready to think about all this yet. Not until…”

Mason’s eyes darkened, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”



Speaking little, the two walked slowly back to the Curtis home, and Mason went to take over for his uncle in the shop. Winry herself returned to the house, trying not to think too hard about their conversation, or about anything but the immediate situation.

When she stepped inside, the first sight to meet her was a slender blonde woman who sat on the living room sofa… and Winry’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized Riza Hawkeye, dressed uncharacteristically in civilian clothes.

For a moment, Hawkeye almost looked a little unprepared to see her as well. She rose quickly, with a flash of uncertainty in her henna-colored eyes.

“Miss Rockbell… Hello.”

“Oh…” Winry murmured, and swallowed hard, cursing the sudden awkwardness and anxiety she felt. She liked this woman, and always had… but in her mind, Hawkeye was inseparably linked to one man, and a history too terrible to think of.

And if she was here, then…

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Winry almost whispered, too shaken to return the greeting with proper politeness.

Hawkeye’s gaze darkened. “Mrs. Curtis didn’t tell you?”

Winry shook her head dumbly, but she realized it wasn’t Izumi’s fault. Although the teacher could be terrifyingly prescient about many things, even she didn’t know what this meant to Winry. She would have had no particular reason to warn her of other impending houseguests.

“I see.” Hawkeye hesitated for a moment. Then her shoulders stiffened with a dutiful, dispassionate poise, and at last she nodded.

“Yes… The General is upstairs, visiting with Alphonse.” Another pause. “It was Al’s own request that brought us here. He doesn’t remember the things that happened before, but—”

“But the General has done everything he could for Al in the last two years. I know that.” Winry breathed deeply, trying to look calmer than she felt. “Then you’re going to be here until…?”

“Yes—discreetly. If the human transmutation Al is planning should ever come to light somehow… obviously, we can’t let it be known that the commander of the entire State Alchemy Corps had any connection with it.” Hawkeye’s expression grew gentle. “Even so, nothing would have stopped him from being here.”

The words were sobering, and Winry felt her insides twist a little. The General’s risk was no surprise to her; she was well aware of how much he cared for the Elrics. It simply reminded her of how complicated and painful her own feelings were.

“I think…” She faltered, rubbing her arms nervously. “Would it be alright if I… if I talk to him, just for a minute?”

It wouldn’t be easy. She didn’t even know what she would say—but if they were going to spend the next few days under the same roof, one of them had to do something to put them on level ground for the duration. She wanted to ensure that herself before the Curtises, their gracious yet unknowing hosts, sensed anything amiss.

For only a second, Hawkeye looked slightly startled. Then she nodded solemnly.

Winry glanced at the stairs, and after a long moment, she began to move leadenly toward them.

This would be no easier for General Mustang than it was for her.



In the wake of the coup against Füehrer Bradley, Roy Mustang took power himself for all of two months: time enough to sweep away the entire regime that had been manipulated by the homunculi, and to set in place the leaders of a new government that was intended to serve the people. Then, just as suddenly, he announced he was stepping down to take charge of the military’s State Alchemists. So soon after the upheaval that had already taken place, his resignation confounded his supporters and enemies alike—but it paled in comparison to the shockwaves when he named Alex Louis Armstrong his successor.

Few people could understand his choices as well as Winry felt she did. To her, it all made perfect sense.

Mustang had accomplished everything he set out to do. He had wrested the country from powers bent on destruction… and incidentally, in the process, he had achieved some measure of vengeance for the death of Maes Hughes. Once that work was done, he was not the man to heal the people’s wounds, and he knew it. He could best serve Amestris by commanding the State Alchemists, and working to ensure that such evil was never created by alchemy again.

And as for the man he chose to be Füehrer in his place, Winry thought there was a certain beauty to the selection. Gentle-hearted Armstrong’s sentimentality belied the true wisdom he possessed. He would never tolerate injustice or harm, never be the aggressor in any conflict; but if his people were threatened, no one knew better how to defend them. Furthermore, as an alchemist, he too understood the need for eternal vigilance against powers that could reshape the nation or the world.

The political pandemonium came and went… but far from Central, in unchanging Resembool, no one paid it any attention at the Rockbell home. A more personal confusion and heartache took root there, as they contended with Al’s return to a ten-year-old body and mind—and with their futile efforts to find Edward. For Al and Winry and Pinako, even for Izumi and Sig, the troubles of an entire country were insignificant compared to the absence of one cherished life.

Yet it was their own concerns that unwittingly helped shape those affairs of state, almost exactly forty-eight hours before Mustang announced his resignation as Füehrer. That was the night he appeared at the Rockbells’ door, alone, without even Hawkeye to lean on.

It had been raining that night, too.

Upon reaching the upstairs landing, Winry saw that Al’s bedroom door was closed, but the door to the balcony was half-open. With growing trepidation, she crept toward it, and glimpsed Roy Mustang standing at the parapet.

The commander of the Amestrian State Alchemy Corps was gazing down upon the quiet street. His back was turned to the doorway, but Winry could see that he too was out of uniform, wearing somber black instead of familiar military blues. She also saw the clench of his fists, the weary curve of his spine… and she knew the crushing weight he felt on his shoulders.

He had seen Alphonse.

Winry spent a long moment gathering her courage, while Mustang stood motionless. At last she pulled the door open the rest of the way and stepped out, hesitantly edging toward him. She expected him to see her from the corner of his eye, but she was almost at his left side before he turned with a startled flinch—his ungloved fingers instinctively pressing together for a snap.

For a few seconds, every fiber of her being turned to ice, and she watched the color drain from his face as his hand fell swiftly to his side.

“Miss Rockbell…”

His voice came as a hoarse half-whisper. He cleared his throat, with the distinctive sound of a lump of emotion being forced down, and failed to meet her gaze.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The words weren’t right somehow, but they were the first ones that came into Winry’s head.

“I’m sorry. It’s…” Somewhat awkwardly, Mustang’s left hand touched his temple, and he cleared his throat again. “My eye was damaged when I fought with the homunculus that called itself Füehrer Bradley. You couldn’t tell by looking at it now, but—I’ve lost part of my range of vision in it.”

The revelation took Winry by surprise. She had known or at least guessed the true fate of Bradley, having previously been told what he was by Ed and Al; but she never did guess the price Mustang paid for that battle. He hadn’t even let a sign of it slip the last time she saw him… on that torrential night back home.

“I’m sorry,” she said impulsively, but she meant it. “I didn’t know.”

If it was possible, she thought Mustang turned a shade paler, but he smiled emptily and made a wiping-away motion with one hand. “It isn’t the kind of weakness I want to advertise. What just happened is… it’s why Major Hawkeye always stands at my left side now.”

Winry answered with a vague nod, but the ache in her heart shifted painfully.

It was a far greater weakness she and her grandmother had been privileged to see on that night two years past. It was a gaunt scarecrow of a man who stood on their doorstep, soaked through to the skin; a man shaking from more than the chill of the storm, his face wet with more than the rain. It was a man whose fulfilled vows had freed him at last to come before them, to pour out his years of guilt and beg their judgment.

He had offered them nothing less than his life, by way of a trial for war crimes and the inevitable verdict of guilty. At their word, he would turn himself over to the military authorities, confessing to every despicable order he had carried out in Ishbal—and in that event, the soon-to-be Füehrer Armstrong would not interfere. That was Mustang’s one stipulation to him.

But such a thing would be superfluous, because the punishment Mustang carried inside himself was far greater than anything law or vendetta could ever mete out.

Instead, Winry had passed a different sentence on him. She delivered it in the form of two simple words: Find Edward.

The plea was impulsive and fierce, but when she looked back on it later, in the cold light of day, she felt no regret. She could never bear to be responsible for someone’s death, and Mustang could never return her parents’ lives by dying; but alive, as a powerful influence in the military, he could see to it that nothing was left undone in the search for Ed.

Of course he would do that anyway, and already had—but that wasn’t really the point.

In any case, Mustang accepted her words as a mandate. Winry knew it was no small part of the reason he took charge of the State Alchemists. Under his leadership, they would never stop searching for one of their own who was lost.

If it was alchemy that had stolen Ed away, perhaps it was only alchemy that could bring him home again.

“We’re still trying to find him.”

The words eerily echoed Winry’s thoughts, wrenching her back to the present. Mustang had turned to lean on the parapet once more, looking up at the swift-moving white clouds in the sky.

“I know,” Winry said faintly. She leaned beside him at arm’s length, but her own gaze turned downward. “And I know you did everything you could to find him in time to save Al.”

The muscles in Mustang’s jaw tightened, and he turned his face away, his fists tightening.

“I’ve failed them both.” The edge of a terrible, bitter smile was just visible at the corner of his mouth. “When we do find him, and he sees what kind of care I’ve taken of his brother… Fullmetal is going to kill me.”

Winry’s eyes widened. Even now, Mustang was still saying when—not if.

“You really believe… he’s still alive?”

Mustang turned to her, studying her face thoughtfully for a long moment. It surprised her that she felt no urge to look away from his eyes.

“…Yes,” he whispered, and she realized he meant it.

Further words failed Winry. She knew Ed had meant more to Mustang than he would ever admit to, but she had never imagined he could still have such faith in the brilliant, broken boy who never was a soldier in his eyes.

Not a soldier at all… but something far more than that.

The silence stretched taut. Winry bowed her head, feeling hot tears begin to fall again.

General Mustang hesitated for a long moment at her side. Then, uncertainly and very gently, his hand came to rest between her shoulders.

It was a hand she would never be able to hate—and she wasn’t sorry for that.

---

© 2011 Jordanna Morgan


Chapters: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: Epilogue ::