Fullmetal Alchemist: Roughing It (5/7)

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Roughing It (5/7: Cabin Fever)
Author: jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: Mild PG for some fantasy violence.
Characters: Primarily Edward, Alphonse, Mustang, and the Hughes family, as well as some villainous OCs.
Setting: First anime, but it’s mostly cross-compatible. Takes place when Ed is fourteen, Al is thirteen, and Elicia Hughes is two.
Summary: In an effort to learn more about the Elric brothers and Mustang’s connection to them, Hughes maneuvers the three into a camping trip with his family—but the fun and games end when they find themselves caught in the fallout of a deadly museum heist.
Disclaimer: If you know them, they belong to Hiromu Arakawa. Only the villains of the piece are mine.



It was after midnight when Cale left the cabin; but under the circumstances, sleep was entirely out of the question, and it quickly became clear that the thugs on watch would allow little conversation between their prisoners. Edward was only able to ask if Hughes was alright, and receive an affirmative answer from Mustang, before Tegan ordered him to shut up and get to work.

Ed’s first stalling tactic was to immediately ask for paper and pencil, in order to make notes about the artifacts he was expected to transmute. As no paper was on hand, it was necessary for Ferdy to go and check with Cale at the next cabin. For a few minutes, only Bosh and Tegan were left to guard three alchemists and one unconscious investigator—but the pair were much too watchful to be taken by surprise at that time. The wait was passed in tense silence, and soon Ferdy returned, to slap a notebook down on the table in front of Ed.

Although the notebook was unmarked, several pages had visibly been torn out. On a hunch, while pretending to sketch one of the artifacts, Ed lightly rubbed the pencil over the topmost remaining page. The impressions that emerged made his heart skip a beat: a neatly drawn diagram of the Central Museum of History, with meticulous notes about the placement of guards and security measures. This was Cale’s own notebook, used to plot his deadly crimes.

Viciously Ed tore out the page and crumpled it, and gathered his nerves for a long moment before turning to the artifacts.

His assertion that he needed to study them was more than a ruse. He would stretch out that process for as long as he could—but if that wasn’t enough time to find a chance of escape, he might be forced to play along still further, to actually begin transmuting the items as Cale wished. If it came to that, he wanted to be sure he could restore them properly later on. For that reason, when he began to examine the artifacts and make careful notations about every detail of them, he genuinely applied himself to the task.

Al and Mustang, meanwhile, were left with nothing to do. After settling Hughes on the bunk, they were made to sit in silence on the floor with their backs against the wall; but Ed knew they were watching their keepers every bit as carefully as the keepers watched them. If one of the men Cale left on guard made a single mistake, things could happen in a split second. Mindful of that fact, Ed remained intensely aware of the room around him as he worked.

Eventually, with a faint moan, Hughes began to awaken. He stirred restlessly on the bunk, his hand moving up to the bruise on his chin where Mustang had clipped him. Then he shot upright all at once, with a panicked urgency that caused Tegan and Ferdy’s guns to swivel toward him.

“Elicia!”

Watching his friend anxiously, Mustang moved to stand up—only to hesitate and glance at the guards. When there was no obvious objection, he completed the motion of rising, and edged over to kneel beside Hughes. By this time, the Major appeared to have remembered the situation and reined in his anxiety. He sat on the edge of the bunk, thin-lipped and breathing heavily, his hands fisted tightly into the sheets that covered the flimsy mattress.

“Are you alright?” Mustang asked quietly.

Without meeting the Colonel’s gaze, Hughes closed his eyes. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Maes—but you know I had to. You won’t help them by getting yourself killed.”

“I know that…” A slightly shaking hand rose to Hughes’ brow, and his head sank down a little. “I know. I just…”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tegan interrupted brusquely, and rose to step forward, gesturing at Mustang with his gun. “Get back over there. All of you, just sit quiet.”

Reluctantly, Mustang withdrew to his former position against the wall. Hughes remained seated on the edge of the bunk, his head resting in his hands, and Edward felt sympathy and worry mixed with anger. He knew what he would have felt in Hughes’ place, if Al had been the one who was taken away instead. It was only his good fortune that Cale had a vested interest in keeping him pacified, by leaving his brother safely in his presence.

Heaving a sigh, Ed returned his attention to his sketch of a clay jug with a garish face sculpted on it. His efforts were hardly artistic, but they were a record of cracks and chips in the clay that would be adequate for his future reference. Accustomed as he was to using alchemy to repair objects, the idea of having to recreate the artifacts’ time-scarred flaws instead was rather strange. He could only hope they would be able to keep things from ever reaching that point.

With the vital need to stall for time, he worked at a snail’s pace: obsessing minutely over each detail he committed to the paper, often erasing and redrawing them even when they were right. Between the few dozen separate artifacts there were to work on, he could easily have extended this task for days—but he knew there would be a limit to Cale’s patience at some point. Even with such a rudimentary knowledge of alchemy as Cale possessed, he would soon begin to recognize the difference between genuine study and mere delaying tactics. More than that, he would expect it from Ed. He was far too intelligent not to.

Shortly after Hughes awakened, there was a stomp of footsteps on the porch outside, and Grund skulked into the cabin. His limp was now less pronounced, and a fresh bandage was visible through the red-stained rent in the leg of his pants. Nevertheless, the ugly giant looked to be in a foul mood as he dropped himself in a chair, fondling his knife and glaring murderously at the captives.

Ferdy sniggered obscenely. “What’s the matter? Upset because the Boss wouldn’t let you get fresh with the new girlfriend?”

A small choked noise came from Hughes. Ed glanced across the room to see him braced on the bunk with every muscle rigid, plainly struggling with the urge to throw himself at Grund and tear him to pieces.

Mustang leaned forward with a warning look. Hughes did not acknowledge it, but Ed knew he felt the silent message, because he took a deep breath and slowly opened his fists.



Time dragged onward in the tense and mostly quiet room, as Ed continued to work slowly and observe.

It would have been encouraging if the keepers showed any sign of boredom and complacency: if one or two of them started a game of cards or dice, if they began to make small talk between themselves, or even if they moved about restlessly. However, it was clear to Ed by now that the followers Cale chose for himself were not average two-bit gunsels. They were experienced in violence, whether through criminal or apparently military backgrounds. For the most part, they had already proven to be intelligent and disciplined—and all too focused on the task of watching every move their captives made.

As Cale had indicated, the gang made Alphonse a particular subject of their scrutiny, and Ed didn’t like that one bit. Al sat hunched against the wall with his gauntlets folded over his knees, making only an occasional small movement as he pretended to stretch a cramped muscle; but his innocuous behavior didn’t spare him from receiving grim, suspicious looks. Although Cale had given the armor a pass for now, his underlings were not satisfied, and Ed was worried that they might eventually take their curiosity into their own hands.

Granted, it had occurred to him that the shock of being confronted by Al’s hollowness might throw the guards off for a moment, and create a chance for action… but that idea was one he wanted to reserve as a last resort. Hughes was still innocently unaware of Al’s true nature, and for the Major’s peace of mind, Ed wanted very much to keep it that way.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door scraped open again, and Mareen stepped into the cabin. She carried a coffeepot and several cups on a makeshift tray, and the thugs made noises of approval as she went about serving them. From the practiced, methodical way she handled the task, Ed suspected she had experience as a waitress. Perhaps that was how she had first met Cale.

In any case, Mareen’s presence failed to provide enough distraction for any strategic move. Dismayed, Ed reluctantly turned his attention back to the notes he was writing, but he looked up when a shadow fell across the table a moment later. The woman was standing in front of him.

“I guess you probably didn’t get much sleep before…” She trailed off uncomfortably, glancing over her shoulder toward the thugs. Then she set a cup on the table and poised the coffeepot over it, somewhat questioningly. “I thought this might help you work.”

Edward usually preferred tea, but coffee was tolerable—especially given the truth of Mareen’s words. He had essentially not slept at all before the kidnapping, and even though his mind and body were wired with fear and anger now, he knew fatigue would start to overtake him sooner or later. Raising an eyebrow, he murmured an assenting “Thanks,” and Mareen poured the hot liquid with a pale attempt at a smile.

After she had served him, Ed watched her move on to the other hostages. Mustang accepted a cup from her in silence, but as she filled it, his dark eyes intently searched her hard, troubled face.

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly, and Mareen froze, hesitating for a long moment before she spoke three faint words in reply.

“…I love him.”

Mareen moved away quickly then, before Mustang could say anything more to her, and Ed frowned. Him, of course, would mean Cale. The fact of their closeness had already been obvious from the way he treated her—but even with the mastermind’s talent for pushing the right buttons in people, Ed wondered how Mareen could stand by and watch her lover do all the wrong he had done. There must have been terrible things in her own past to have hardened her that much, to let her choose Cale over conscience.

Al declined the coffee with his eternal politeness, and Mareen went on to Hughes. He merely gave her a dark look as she poured a cup for him; but after setting the uninvited brew on the floor at his feet, she straightened to look up at him with softer eyes than before.

“I asked Cale… He let your wife write a note for you,” she said, and slipped her fingers into the breast pocket of her shirt, withdrawing a folded piece of paper. “I thought it might—”

Her words were cut off abruptly when Bosh stepped up behind her and seized her wrist. She made a small sound of pain as he twisted her hand back and plucked away the paper. He unfolded it with a dubious glower, ignoring the choice words she muttered at him, and read through the brief note before returning it with sudden and complete disinterest.

It intrigued Ed greatly that Bosh would treat his leader’s girl with such suspicion.

Reclaiming the note, Mareen gave the man with the sledgehammer a good hard glare. Then she turned back to Hughes, and gingerly held out the now-unfolded paper to him. “Here.”

Hughes’ hand didn’t tremble when he reached out and took the note, but Ed could see the edge of the paper quivering as he read it. His eyes passed over the hastily written words several times, and his breathing grew heavier with suppressed emotion.

“How is it?” Mustang asked him carefully.

The Major took a deep, shuddering breath. “…They’re alright.”

His voice was tense and pained, but he said it with certainty, and Ed figured he would know. If Gracia had been forced to write a lie about the well-being of herself and Elicia, Hughes surely could have read the truth between the lines of his wife’s words and handwriting.

At least that small glimmer of reassurance was something.



Having delivered the coffee and the note, Mareen left the cabin promptly, and Ed didn’t regret that. He suspected it was of far greater benefit to have her next door, keeping an eye on the treatment of Hughes’ family. The woman remained a puzzle to him, but at least for the moment, he still felt she was one of the most likely advantages the prisoners had.

For some time after that, the status quo of the tense situation remained unchanged: Ed worked, his fellow captives waited, and their keepers watched. The night crept slowly onward.

Since early the morning before, Ed had gotten no more sleep than his few moments’ drowsing off back at the camp, and his anxious fury was no longer enough to keep him from feeling his physical tiredness. However, when he did try to lay his head down on his arms and close his eyes, only a few minutes passed before Bosh rudely jerked him back to awareness with a snarled order to work.

“I’ve been awake almost twenty-four hours now,” Ed muttered through his teeth, refusing to straighten from the weary slouch he had slipped into in his chair. “You want me to start making mistakes in my calculations ’cause I can’t see straight?”

The remark was more bluff than sincerity. Ed was tired, but when he needed to, he could keep himself going for far longer. Part of the reason he really wanted a rest period was that it would be one more ploy to help stretch the captives’ time.

Bosh fingered the handle of his sledgehammer. “Take it up with Cale next time he checks in. Meantime, he didn’t say a thing about letting you take a break—so you’re not getting one. Not ’til he gives it the okay.”

Resigned, Ed sat up and continued his largely-feigned study of the artifacts.

It didn’t surprise the young alchemist that Hughes showed not the least sign of sleepiness, and merely sat with a dark, restless look on his face, fidgeting now and then. The man’s fear for his family would surely be enough to keep him awake for days, if it came to that. Mustang leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, but Ed was sure he wasn’t sleeping either. Although Al had grown more still than ever, his pretending to doze hardly made a difference in his case; unable to get a read on him through his armor, the guards never relaxed their scrutiny of him. The thugs themselves were still fresh and alert, and it was clear they were thoroughly used to nocturnal activity. Ed could only assume that some of the others—at least those not watching Hughes’ family—were now asleep in the next cabin, resting up for the day shift.

A few more hours must have passed before the morbid monotony was broken by Cale’s return. As he sauntered through the door, Ed caught a glimpse of the first gray morning light in the sky outside.

“And how is our wonder child progressing?” Cale inquired, with an obnoxious brightness that could only be deliberate.

Ed glared back at him. “Not as well as I would be if I had some rest. I tried telling your goombahs you wouldn’t be happy if I messed anything up.”

“Is that so?” Cale turned reproachfully to the thugs on duty, lowering one eyebrow. “You disappoint me, gentlemen. I did tell you to give the boy whatever he needed, didn’t I? And that includes enough sleep to keep his mind sharp. The work he’s doing for us is too delicate for error.” He turned back to Ed with a calm shrug. “You can take the next four hours to rest. After that, I’ll have food brought to you.”

“Don’t expect a thank-you,” Ed muttered.

“I don’t. I’m a practical man—and I appreciate your position.”

This man made Ed’s insides crawl. So genteel, so nearly generous… yet he knew beyond all doubt that Cale intended to see him dead, as soon as his usefulness was ended. Even more monstrous, Cale was fully aware that he knew, but expected him to fight for every last moment of life anyway. The mastermind would have wanted it no other way, because matching wits with human prey would mean more to someone like him than any profit his crimes could ever earn.

Edward could see it all too clearly. He also knew what it was to have a mind worth proving against anyone’s—and he hated the part of him that understood that pride, just as surely as he had when Shou Tucker called him on it once before.

Cale turned to leave then, but Bosh rose and moved toward him.

“Boss… What about that kid in the armor?”

The thug’s voice was low, but just clear enough for Ed to hear, and the words made him stiffen and catch his breath. He was sure the question of Al was going to be revisited at some point, but he had hoped it would take a little longer.

“What about him?” Cale asked mildly, if a little impatiently, in the same low tone.

Bosh hesitated, uneasily shifting his weight, and at last came out with what was on his mind. “Look, I agree with Grund. I don’t know what the idea is in letting the kid stay inside that thing, but it’s no good not to know what we’re dealing with in there. We oughta open him up.”

It made Ed very nervous to watch Cale contemplate that proposal for a long moment.

“I don’t believe there’s a need yet,” Cale finally stated, and gave Bosh a look that wryly took in the other man’s tall powerhouse of a physique. “However frightening that whimsy of his may look to a pair of big strong men like you and Grund, it’s obvious that he’s only a child. He’s been the least threatening of the group—and even if he’s been allowed to keep his own protection, he knows his brother and his friends will be the ones hurt if he acts up.”

“But—”

“Besides, what matters to one brother is sure to matter to the other.” Cale’s expression grew firmer. “Our little alchemist is cooperating for now, and I see no reason to spoil that yet. In fact, letting his brother keep the armor might be one more useful incentive later on, if he starts to get stubborn.” He glanced darkly toward Mustang and Hughes. “And if I were you, Bosh… instead of worrying about a child in a metal suit, I’d be much more concerned about what’s going on in the minds of two grown men who know how this is going to end.”

An icy shudder slipped down Ed’s spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, and did not open them again until he heard the sound of the door closing behind Cale.

In the leader’s wake, Bosh was left glaring disgustedly at Al, and that didn’t make Ed feel any better.

Ed couldn’t help wondering if, even subconsciously, Cale tolerated Al’s armor without question because it lent a wild card to his game: one small unknown factor that might or might not turn out to make things more interesting. Because so far, for Cale, it had all been too easy to give him the amusement of a real challenge.

Having been given permission to rest, Ed abandoned the work table, and went to stretch himself out on one of the lower bunks. He wasn’t sure he would even be able to sleep under the circumstances, but at least he could draw out another four hours of time—and perhaps the hostages’ pretending to sleep would cause the thugs to relax their guard a little.

Eventually he did manage to slip off into a tense and fitful twilight, disrupted often by heavy footsteps and other noises from the thugs. There was nothing very refreshing about it, but that wasn’t the most important thing right now. Each time he was roused to awareness, he lay still and took stock of the guards’ positions from beneath his lowered eyelids; yet still those professional criminals went on watching their prisoners too closely. Any move against them would still have had no chance.

Sometime in what must have been mid-morning—it was light outside, but with the windows covered, the sun’s position was difficult to judge—Ed was awakened by the sound of the door opening. Savory aromas reached his nose, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Mareen entering, with her self-proclaimed cousin Dex moodily trailing after her. They were both laden with trays of food: sausages, biscuits, more coffee.

“Feeding time at the zoo,” Dex grumbled, ignoring Mareen’s chiding look.

Although Ed went on feigning sleep, Ferdy ambled over to the bunk and shook his metal shoulder—none too gently, causing a small twinge of pain where the automail port joined with his flesh. “Come on, get up, kid. Your four hours are up anyway.”

With an ungrateful look, Ed pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bunk. He watched as Mareen and her visibly reluctant assistant first served the guards, and then came to feed the prisoners. This time, plates were provided to them as well as cups, but no utensils that might be used as potential tools or weapons. Ed was forced to admit to a grudging respect for the gang’s seemingly flawless caution.

“Get any sleep?” Mareen asked with a rather uneasy kindness, as she poured a cup of coffee for the young alchemist.

He shrugged and murmured, “A little. What time is it?—Not that it matters.”

“It’s… just after ten.” The woman’s eyes darkened, and she moved away from him quickly to serve his fellow captives, as if she was disquieted all over again by his last four words.

She knew where this was going, and it gave Ed a bit of hope to see it continuing to weigh on her.

Halfheartedly, he began to pick at his breakfast. The sausages and biscuits were plain, but solid and fortifying food. He doubted the prisoners would have been allowed to eat as heartily as the guards did, if Mareen had not been the one in charge of their feeding.

After a few moments, a shadow encroached, and Ed glanced up to find Dex looking down on him. His switchblade was not in sight then, but his hand rested tellingly near his back pocket. Ed considered ignoring him, but when the older teen rather pointedly continued to stare, he gave up the idea and raised his head with a scowl.

“What do you want?”

The juvenile delinquent gave a one-shouldered, flat-eyed shrug. “I was just wondering how smart you really are.”

It hardly sounded like a compliment, but Ed thought there truly was some kind of genuine curiosity behind the words. He straightened a little, his ill-tempered expression becoming more level.

“Smart enough to know you’re on the wrong road,” he muttered, in a voice low enough to avoid attracting attention from the guards. “If you keep hanging out with Cale’s crowd, you’re only going to wind up in prison—or dead.”

“I don’t think so. Not as long as Cale is calling the shots… because he doesn’t make mistakes.” Dex folded his arms. “But no matter what might happen someday, at least I’m surviving now. At least these guys let me stand for myself the only way I know how, and that’s a whole lot better than where I came from. You don’t know.” He studied Ed with eyes full of withering contempt. “But then, the smart ones like you never know. It all comes easy to you.”

Slowly, Edward lifted his automail hand between them, curling the lifeless metal fingers into a fist.

“You think so?”

Dex stared at the prosthetic with a visible flinch. His mouth opened in a gape of speechless uncertainty; but after a moment, his defensiveness slipped firmly back into place. His jaw snapped shut as his eyes hardened once more, and he turned to walk away.

“There’s more than one way of being smart,” Ed remarked quietly to Dex’s retreating back. “Sometimes all it takes… is a choice.”

The angry teenager paused in his steps for only a second. Then he went on, and the cabin door banged shut behind him as he left.

Ed couldn’t begin to guess whether this odd and unexpected encounter had gained any traction. Heaving a sigh, he turned his head to survey the other activity in the room—and he discovered Mareen had been watching the exchange. She stood a few steps away, her tray now empty, and she stared at him with glossy eyes and a strangely desperate expression on her face.

And Ed pitied her, because at that moment, she looked even more trapped than he felt.

Then she swallowed hard and blinked away the mistiness, and her shoulders hitched slightly as she forced a wan, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It’s just been hard for Dex ever since his mother d—”

“Mareen.”

It was Ferdy’s voice that spoke her name in a cold, hard tone of warning, and even though she must have had at least an inch on the little man, his goggle-eyed glare was enough to make her shrink back a little. She cleared her throat, tucked her tray beneath her arm, and quickly made her escape to the door.

When she was gone, Ed thought about Dex, and Mareen’s unfinished explanation that he could all too easily complete; and he glanced at Al, and even at Colonel Mustang, with a painful throb of gratitude squeezing his chest.

There but for the grace…

---

© 2012 Jordanna Morgan


:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: Epilogue ::