Fullmetal Alchemist: Roughing It (7/7)

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Roughing It (7/7: It’s All Done With Mirrors)
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.



With the danger of discovery looming over Maes and Roy, every moment they spent outside felt like a moment too long. Once Maes had collected two spare tires from the cars, and Roy had pried the reflecting glass out of three rear-view mirrors, they both decided they had pushed their luck far enough for the moment. They took the materials and crept back up to the cabin, where Roy tapped a soft signal knock on the door before they let themselves in.

Edward and Alphonse had evidently been busy in the interim. Ranold, Ferdy, and the hideously swollen-faced Bosh were still unconscious—or perhaps again rather than still, because Ranold had a bruise over his eye that Maes didn’t remember seeing earlier. In addition, the three men were quite thoroughly trussed up in multiple tight loops of rope and elaborate knots. Maes hoped the boys hadn’t cut off any of the prisoners’ circulation… but he could only bring himself to care about that thought for a brief moment.

“Any problems while we were gone?” Roy asked Ed.

The boy’s smirk practically confirmed that he had gotten to vent some frustration on Ranold’s cranium. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he said with a faint trace of smugness, and promptly moved in on the mirrors and spare tires the men had brought in. “Yeah, this oughta do it…”

With that, Ed dropped down cross-legged in front of his raw materials—and to all appearances, he tuned out everything else around him as he set to work. Maes watched with interest, and over the next few minutes, his vague idea about the purpose of the project was confirmed. Ed first divided the mirrors into several smaller pieces, which seemed to be of very particular sizes and shapes; then he transmuted the tire rubber into a long, flexible tube, a few inches in diameter, and affixed the carefully-angled mirrors at specific points inside it.

“A periscope,” Roy mused in fascination, as Ed peered through one end of the rubber tube and made an adjustment.

“Right. If we drop the end of this down the chimney next door, we should be able to see where Gracia and Elicia are. Then we can separate them from Cale’s goons.” Ed smiled crookedly, with a tinge of reminiscence. “Back in Resembool, I used to make things like this all the time to peek in on Mrs. Hoff.”

Roy gaped at that remark—and if it wasn’t Maes’ imagination, his cheeks even flushed a little. “Why, Ed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Umm… I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” Al fidgeted noisily. “Old Mrs. Hoff was the math teacher three grades ahead of us.”

If it was possible, Roy’s jaw sagged even farther at that.

Maes choked back a laugh. “What did you expect, Roy? This is Ed we’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you’re all hilarious, but I’m trying to work here,” Ed muttered, completely deadpan, with one eye pressed to the end of his periscope. “Maybe one of you can do something useful, too—like hit Ferdy over the head before he gets that knot untied.”

“What… Oh!”

By the time Ferdy was rather ungently prompted to resume his nap, and tied with a few more coils of rope for good measure, Ed seemed to have decided the periscope was finished. He stood up, clutching the end of it in his automail hand. “I’m ready when the rest of you are.”

Roy frowned thoughtfully at the refractor-equipped rubber tube that snaked over the floor. “Assuming this thing works, are you sure you can isolate Hughes’ family fast enough to keep them out of harm’s way?”

“It will work—and of course I’m fast enough. As long as nobody’s standing right next to them, I can drop a wall in front of them before Cale and his lackeys have a clue what’s going on.” Ed glowered at Mustang. “What about you? Any practice with a gun since your Academy days, or are you really useless without your precious gloves?”

The Colonel bristled. “You’re not the only alchemist who can improvise, Edward. All I need is a spark and the right array.”

“And you’re going to make a spark how, exactly? Cale took all the matches.”

For answer, Roy strode over to the table where Ed had spent long hours studying the artifacts. Bending, he picked up one of the warped pieces of flint Cale had experimented with, which still lay in a small pile on the floor.

“Alphonse?”

Ever attentive, the armored boy stepped forward with the beginnings of a polite query—only to be rudely interrupted by a sharp clang, as Roy struck the edge of the flint against his chestplate. A distinct spark was produced by the friction, and Roy smiled complacently.

Ed, on the other hand, choked on a snarl of indignant rage.

“What’re you doing? That’s my brother!”

Al merely let out a good-natured chuckle. “It’s okay, Ed. I’m glad if I can help him.” He traced a leather finger curiously over the spot Roy had struck. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to hurt me by doing that.”

Ed was mollified little by Al’s easygoing words. He glared back at Roy with a huff, and finally stomped away to make another examination of his periscope, muttering half to himself. “Yeah, but I’m the one who has to fix the dings in your armor…”

“I promise I’ll be gentle with him, Fullmetal,” Roy said, with a mocking sweetness. Then he turned to eye his best friend, somewhat doubtfully. “Are you alright, Maes?”

“Uh…” With some effort, Maes blinked himself out of a dazed blankness. “Sorry. It’s just… now that I know the truth, it’s a little weird to hear the three of you go on about—things like this—as if it was normal.”

“It is normal for us, Major. At least for now.” Ed looked back at Maes steadily, and his left hand made a discreet movement to clasp his automail arm. “Someday, we are going to get our bodies back the way they were… but until then, we have to work with what we’ve got.”

The quiet, matter-of-fact determination in Ed’s voice left Maes wanting to say something heartfelt: that the Elrics were the bravest, strongest boys he would ever know, or that few adults he knew—if any at all—could have endured such burdens with the grace the brothers did. But he suspected his sentiment would not have been welcome under the circumstances, so he remained silent.

After that, their remaining preparations did not take long.

Roy scavenged a fountain pen from among their former captors’ personal articles, and used its ink to draw his fire array on the back of his left hand. This would allow him to manipulate the sparks he could strike off of Al’s armor. Compared to his usual technique that relied on ignition-cloth gloves, it was slow and clumsy, but still a valuable weapon to have. In addition, Ferdy’s revolver was still tucked into his belt.

Maes revisited the arsenal collected from the three captured thugs, to arm himself with a forty-five automatic and a knife that was well-balanced for throwing. As the only non-alchemist on this rescue mission, he needed weapons he could rely on.

The Elrics declined to partake of the guns and knives, and Maes was not surprised. He knew their fighting styles well—perhaps more clearly than ever now. Alchemy and his own automail were all Edward needed to create spectacular destruction, and while Al’s gentle nature tended to make people forget what he was capable of… well, on the rare occasions when he wanted to be, he was a weapon unto himself.

Just once they had a scare, at the sound of a voice shouting outside. For a moment, the two soldiers and the two young brothers were frozen where they stood, fearful that their freedom had been discovered—but the tone of the shouts was not that of a warning. Maes’ wary glimpse out the window spied Tegan next to one of the cars, rummaging in the back seat and yelling questions to someone on the porch of the enemy cabin. When he found what he was looking for, both figures retreated inside once more. It was a false alarm… but it spurred Maes and Roy and the Elrics to work even more quickly.

In an abundance of caution, Roy and Maes examined the captive thugs one more time. All three of them were still unconscious, and it seemed there would be no possible way for them to escape their bonds now; but just in case, Roy asked Ed to transmute Ranold’s shotgun and the few other unclaimed weapons into useless, misshapen lumps of metal. Cale’s lesson in preparedness for almost any eventuality was well learned. If the prisoners did manage to slip the ropes and come to their leader’s aid, they would at least join the party unarmed.

At last, when all was in readiness and Ed was gathering up his neatly-coiled periscope, Roy stepped in front of the door and looked back at his three companions.

“Alright,” he said grimly. “We all know what the plan is, so there’s no need to go over it again. Just be careful. And Al—stay close to me.”

“Yes sir,” Al assented with a nod, and Maes briefly let himself marvel. It must have been an extraordinary thing for the boy, knowing the enemy could do almost nothing to harm him—yet there was no doubt he still felt a different kind of fear, for his brother and Elicia and the rest of his vulnerable flesh companions. Even so, beneath its metallic echo, his childlike voice was as grave and steady as that of any young soldier Maes had ever heard.

Roy returned the nod. Then he glanced at Maes, with the hard, joyless smile his best friend had seen many times before, in moments that had witnessed the best and the worst in them both.

“We’re going to get them back, Maes.”

“I know.”

That quiet assurance was the end of discussion. Roy turned to the door, cracking it open to scan swiftly for any dangers that might lie between themselves and the next cabin. Then he slipped out into the night, and the others followed.



As far as Edward was concerned, this was going to be easy.

Leave it to city-dwelling desk-sitters like Mustang and Hughes to make a job more complicated than it was. Ed and Al had been doing real work in the rough-and-tumble of Amestris’ far reaches for two years now; they had faced worse than this. He had no doubt they could have rescued Hughes’ family all by themselves, and probably in their sleep. (If Al did sleep, of course. Which he didn’t.)

Not that Ed expected the enemy to go down without a fight. Cale’s thugs might not be much of a problem if they could be caught off-guard, but if the mastermind was crazy enough to try his unskilled alchemy in the close quarters of the cabin… then things could get ugly.

In the darkness outside, the four would-be rescuers hurried to cross the distance between the cabin they had left and the one where Hughes’ family was held. They melted into the shadows of the structure, creeping around to the back. The night was even blacker there, and nothing lay beyond that side of the cabin but deep woods.

Ed looped his coiled periscope over his shoulder, freeing his hands for a soft clap. At his touch, the outer surface of the cabin’s wooden wall sprouted ladder rungs, and he motioned Mustang and Hughes toward it with an absurdly magnanimous after-you gesture.

Mustang—the jealous jerk—shot Ed a gratuitous dirty look before the two men climbed up. Unaffected, Ed rather smugly went up after them, and Al followed as stealthily as the friction of his armor would allow. His three years of practice at maneuvering his steel bulk served him well: when he needed to be, he was much quieter than one might expect.

Keeping low to the gently sloped surface of the roof, Ed crawled over to the hewn-stone chimney. He was relieved to see no smoke drifting up from beneath the metal cover that shielded it from rain. Carefully he stood up, examined the screws by which the cover was attached, and then turned to Hughes and Mustang as they edged closer.

“Can you get this thing off quietly?” he whispered. “If I use alchemy on it, the flash might carry down to the fireplace.”

Hughes immediately withdrew his pocketknife, unfolded a tool, and started in on the screws. Mustang followed suit. They had to work against the metal’s rust-coated age, but after a few minutes, the screws surrendered to their efforts and loosened.

Unlike the two men, a glance was the only cue Al needed from his older brother. He moved forward to lift the disconnected cover from the top of the chimney, and Ed leaned over the chest-high stone rim, looking down into the fireplace below. There wasn’t much to see, only an uneven shaft of light that fell across a few pieces of unlit kindling.

“Here goes,” Ed muttered, and began to uncoil the periscope, dropping its business end down the chimney.

To his mind, this would be the most challenging part of the entire job: lowering the end of the periscope far enough to see into the room below, without letting anyone there catch a glimpse of it. He watched its progress as it descended, and when he had fed nearly its full length down the chimney, he pressed one eye to its upper end to gauge its final position with greater care.

Only darkness, at first. He leaned forward, letting the periscope sink just a few inches lower… and was gratified when light from the room below suddenly struck his eye. It had been necessary to do a lot of guesswork in calculating the height of the chimney and the angles of the mirrors’ refraction, so he was pleased to see that his math was nearly perfect.

As his vision adjusted to the light, the interior of the cabin came dimly into focus. His roughshod creation hardly gave him a pristine view, but it was good enough.

The first thing he made out was the torso of a man, standing alarmingly near the fireplace—but turned away from it, fortunately. From the size of him, it could only be Grund. The behemoth blocked part of the view, but when Ed turned his periscope a few degrees to the left, he saw Dex sprawling listlessly on a bunk. Another turn of the device located Tegan on a chair near the door, with his gun in his lap.

A moving figure came into view, and Ed’s hackles rose when he recognized Cale. As the mastermind crossed the room, he turned the periscope in the other direction to follow his movements—only to be thwarted again by Grund’s bulk.

“Do you see…?” Hughes whispered anxiously, but he cut the question short when Ed made a silencing gesture, straining to listen.

It was Cale’s voice that drifted up faintly from below. “You should stop playing with the girl, Mar. You’re going to get too attached to her.”

Mingled gladness and dread welled up in Ed’s heart. At least now he knew what part of the room Hughes’ family was in, but the ominous tone of Cale’s voice made him wonder if the man had ever intended to let Elicia live at all.

When Mareen responded, he voice was a little unsteady, and Ed could barely hear it. “Cale, can’t we just—?”

“The boys will be wanting some coffee.” Cale’s interruption was coldly peremptory. “I’ll go next door with you when it’s ready. I’d like to see if our little alchemist took my advice to heart when I told him to pick up the pace.”

Ed bristled reflexively at the term little alchemist, his shoulders stiffening as he choked back a snarl—and it was that outrage that made him a second too slow to react when Mareen loomed into view, on a direct course for the fireplace.

She suddenly froze in her steps, and Ed’s heart sprang into his throat. He yanked up the periscope instantly, but in the split second before he did, he could have sworn the woman was looking straight at it.

“Mar?” said Cale down below, in a tone of inconsequential curiosity.

Silence, for a moment. And then, rather brusquely: “Nothing.”

Perhaps she hadn’t seen the black rubber device against the dark recesses of the fireplace. But if she was going to light a fire… Ed ground his teeth together, realizing he might have done all the spying he would have a chance to. Smoke from a fire would blind the periscope, and the heat might even begin to melt it. Perhaps they would have no choice, after all, but to simply burst in and hope they were fast enough to get Hughes’ family out of harm’s way.

He took his eye away from the now-futile periscope. Mustang leaned close with a questioning gesture, and Ed waved a hand at him to wait, still listening intently as he looked down the chimney.

Some shuffling noises ensued below, and a shadow moved against the visible wedge of light, proving that someone was very near the hearth. Then came the dull, muted thump of some object falling over, and Mareen let out a small hiss of vexation.

“I spilled water on the matches.” A nervous hesitation. “Grund… would you get me the other box? It’s over there.”

“You got ’em wet. Get it yourself.”

“Grund.” Cale’s voice was sharp and stern, like a parent addressing a rebellious child. “That’s no way to address a lady. Do as she asks.”

The sound that responded was an animal growl, but it was followed by heavy footsteps as Grund obeyed.

And then…

“Now,” Mareen said, in an outwardly casual tone, but with a strangely deliberate clearness that gripped Ed’s instincts.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but some urgent impulse compelled him to drop the periscope the rest of the way again, to steal one more swift glance. He saw Grund skulking across the cabin to retrieve the matches—which meant the giant’s bulk no longer obscured his view of the rest of the room. At last he was able to see Gracia huddled fearfully in the corner, with Elicia on her lap.

This time, as Ed jerked the periscope back up the chimney, he was sure Mareen was watching it… and he was as grateful for her presence as he had ever been through the entire ordeal.

“Now,” he snarled, repeating her signal, and Al and Mustang and Hughes braced themselves as his sharp clap jarred the night air.

Ed slammed his hands down on the surface of the roof, and it melted beneath his fingers in a blaze of light. Transmuted wood ripped away with a groan from the nails that held it place, flowing almost like water: the raw substance of it dissolving and re-gelling into one semi-solid mass that surged downward, to meet and meld with the floorboards ten feet below.

By the time Gracia’s startled shriek made its way from her brain to her lips, the sound was muffled behind the thick shielding wall that morphed into existence in front of her, sealing off her corner from the rest of the room.

As for Cale, he was left staring at a crudely rendered face that stuck its tongue out at him from the wall—and for just one moment, as Ed looked down through the newly made hole in the roof, he savored the mastermind’s expression of utter disbelief.

His companions did not pause for artistic appreciation of his handiwork. Before the glow of the alchemy had died away, Mustang and Hughes leaped down through the hole to engage the enemy. Al followed quickly, in a loud crash of metal, and Ed plunged after him with a savage grace: he stepped off the edge of the chasm with a clap, touching his automail arm to transmute a blade as he hit the floor in a crouch.

Somewhere to his left, he heard a clunk of flint against Al’s armor, and a gout of flame burst in midair in the middle of the room. The terrified cry in response sounded like Tegan, the Ishbal veteran who knew such fire all too well. For a second Ed saw the orange light of flames reflecting on his brother’s steel, as Al advanced alongside Mustang.

Then someone pushed Ed roughly aside. He stumbled, righted himself, and turned to see Hughes in exactly the spot where he had just been standing—trying to wrestle away the enormous knife Grund had meant to plunge into the teenager’s back.

Ed rushed forward, to return the favor and aid Hughes, but a slim figure with a much smaller and quicker blade interjected itself in front of him. He lifted his own razor-edged automail weapon just in time to deflect the switchblade, and fell back a step as Dex sprang at him again.

Vaguely he heard Mareen shouting her cousin’s name, away by the far wall, but Dex didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were wide and panicked, as he saw the plans of the leader he had put his faith in falling apart around him. He struck against Ed’s blade with heavy, frantic blows that his little knife would not hold up to for much longer.

“Dex… enough!” Ed shoved hard against the boy who, although older and taller than him, was not nearly as well conditioned. The push sent Dex stumbling back a few paces; but rather than press his advantage, Ed only braced himself where he stood, seeking Dex’s gaze. “It’s not too late to make a different choice!”

On the brink of another lunge, Dex faltered and froze. He stared at Ed like a cornered animal, terrified and unsure… but when Mareen cried out his name again, his hands drew back, fingers slowly opening to let the knife clatter to the floor.

Lowering his own blade, Ed watched as Mareen edged into his view along the wall, just beyond the fringes of the fire and combat that filled the room. She seized Dex by the hand and pulled him against her, and the boy did not resist.

With a grim smile and a nod of gratitude to Mareen, Ed turned to find some new part of the fray to dive into.

He flinched as a shot rang out, coupled with the not-unfamiliar ting of a bullet deflecting off of Al’s armor. Through a haze of smoke and heat-distortion, he saw his brother and Mustang trying to corner and disarm the wild-eyed Tegan. Nearer, Hughes and Grund circled each other with their knives like back-alley street fighters, each seeking an opening to strike.

Then, through the chaos of warring bodies and white-hot firebursts, Ed caught a glimpse of Cale. He was crouching at the far side of the room. His back was half-turned, shoulders moving jerkily, as if in the act of hurriedly doing something with his hands.

Ed growled between his teeth and sprang toward the mastermind—and almost too late, he saw the transmutation circle under Cale’s fingers.

Alchemic light flared. The floorboards erupted into a massive, inelegant spear of wood, and Ed spun sideways as the projection shot up toward his chest. He hissed in pain when its sharp point grazed his left shoulder, tearing through his shirtsleeve, leaving a long shallow gouge in the flesh underneath.

The sudden dodge had turned him around. By the time he recovered his bearings, it was Cale who was on the attack.

Even if the amateur alchemist would have dared any more transmutations, there was no time to draw the arrays—but he had already proven his ability to fight by other means. In his left hand was something black and heavy, like a crowbar or a fireplace poker. Ed parried the violent blow of the weapon, and felt the dent it bestowed on his automail arm. He shoved back against it, only to be forced to twist away from the knife that appeared in Cale’s right hand, flashing toward his ribs.

Edward wrenched himself backward, but the retreat was barely enough to let him brace for a second onslaught. Cale struck with a ferocity that gave him no chance to use his own alchemy. He sidestepped, blocked another swing that left a new mark on his automail, gritted his teeth and coiled his muscles to push back against the force bearing down on him…

Then a fresh burst of Mustang’s fireworks blossomed across the room, more powerful than any he had previously unleashed.

Afterward, Ed would be forever convinced that Mustang’s clumsy improvised fire alchemy got away from him that time, causing a much bigger and less fully-controlled fireball than he intended—although the Colonel would certainly never admit to such a thing. Whatever the reason may have been, the heat was so intense that it brought a momentary distraction to Ed and Cale’s battle. It forced them both to recoil instinctively… and it was Ed who recovered his senses first.

A clap resounded. Ed smacked the wall, and a large wooden fist burst out of it, connecting with the side of Cale’s head as solidly as a club.

The mastermind crumpled to the floor without uttering a sound.

Turning breathlessly to look for his comrades, Ed realized the light and heat of flames had died away. Mustang and Al must have overcome Tegan with that last conflagration. Then a clatter of steel drew his gaze to his brother, as Al’s attentions shifted to the last remaining theater of their minor war: Hughes and Grund. Both appeared to have lost their knives, and had resorted to wrestling hand-to-hand.

However valiant a fight the Major had been putting up, he was visibly losing ground against Grund’s tremendous physical power. The raging giant almost had him backed against the wall…

At least, until the younger Elric reached them in two strides, and physically picked Grund up by the neck.

“I don’t like you,” Al informed him succinctly, and put him out with one short punch before carelessly dropping him.

For a moment that felt much longer than it really was, complete silence gripped the room. Edward stood braced alertly, not quite sure he could believe the fight was over; but at last it began to sink in that his allies were the only ones left standing. Mareen was crouching in the far corner, still holding onto Dex, while Cale and Grund and Tegan all lay unmoving on the floor.

“…Are we done?” Ed murmured skeptically.

Slowly, a crooked smile worked its way across Mustang’s lips. “I think we are.” He wiped his sweat-beaded brow with the back of his hand—apparently forgetting the array he had drawn there, and leaving a smudge of ink on his right temple as a result. Ed was far too amused to point out that fact to his fastidious superior.

Then Mustang’s gaze shifted to Hughes, who Ed suddenly realized was clutching his bleeding right forearm. “Maes—”

“I’m fine. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks.” Hughes rather absently allowed Mustang to examine the injury. “What did you do to Tegan?”

“He’s only a little singed. It was all we could do to take him down without hurting him worse. I think he went off on a posttraumatic flashback.” Mustang had turned to seize a sheet from one of the bunks and tear off a makeshift bandage, but he paused to smile up faintly at Al. “I owe you one, kid. You’re the reason he didn’t put a bullet in me.”

The armored boy fidgeted and ducked his helmet, in a gesture of shy pleasure that was unmistakable to Ed. “No problem, sir.”

“What about them?” Hughes asked quietly, nodding toward Mareen and Dex. They had not moved from their sheltered position in the corner, and both seemed resigned to submit to the victors of the battle. The teenager was glowering resentfully, but Mareen simply hugged him a little tighter, and dropped her gaze.

When Mustang frowned at them, Ed drew a breath to launch a protest in their favor—but the Colonel quickly silenced him with a meaningful look. “We’ll work something out.”

Satisfied for the moment, Ed gave Mustang a curt nod. Then he turned to Hughes, who was studying Mustang’s wrappings on his arm, and smiled wryly. “Should I let Gracia and Elicia out now?”

An eager grin broke out on Hughes’ face. “Yes!”

In response, Ed retracted his blade and stepped over to the wall he had transmuted around Hughes’ family. He felt a twinge of belated remorse then, thinking of how terrifying it must have been for them: to be suddenly closed up in a small, dark space, hearing the sounds of battle that had raged outside their bubble of safety. However, he knew the scare was not in vain. The wall had kept them safe, and also spared them from witnessing the ugliness of the fight.

He clapped his hands and touched the thick wood surface, opening a simple doorway—but he took care to leave the mocking face on the wall intact, at least for the present. Police and military investigators would doubtless be crawling all over the scene shortly, and he rather liked the idea of letting the authorities see his signature on this victory.

Hughes didn’t wait for his family to emerge. The moment the doorway was big enough to squeeze through, he rushed into the darkness on the other side. Soft cries of joy and relief issued forth as he was reunited with his wife and daughter.

A deep feeling of satisfaction washed over the remaining tension in Ed. He smiled at Al, stepping forward to give his brother’s chestplate a noisy, steel-knuckled congratulatory bump. Then he raised his eyes to Mustang, unable to suppress a smirk. The Colonel had his hand on the revolver in his belt, keeping one eye on Mareen and Dex, but his subordinate’s smug expression was not lost upon him.

“Not bad, Fullmetal.” Mustang smiled grimly, looking from Ed to Cale’s sprawled figure and back again—but the smile faded as he took note of the red-stained tear in Ed’s left sleeve. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Ed glanced at the dully throbbing gash he had all but forgotten, clasping automail fingers over it. He nodded toward the wooden spear that projected out of the floor. “Just a scratch from Cale’s last gasp of alchemy.”

From the corner, with Dex still clutched tightly to her, Mareen was staring emptily at Cale; the man she loved, and yet had helped them defeat. At last she spoke up, without taking her eyes away from him.

“What’s going to happen to Cale?”

Mustang paused in collecting the stray weapons that littered the room, and scowled down at the unconscious criminal.

“He’ll face the same consequences as the rest of them: a trial for murder, kidnapping, and grand larceny.” The Colonel softened his expression, just a little, as he met Mareen’s eyes. “We know you and Dex didn’t take part in the killings, and your helping us will be in your favor. But for Cale and the others… there’s really only one outcome to expect.”

The thought of that outcome was enough to sober Ed, in spite of himself. Amestrian justice was swift and unflinching. With the heavy weight of the evidence against them, Cale and his gang would receive prompt guilty verdicts, followed by execution at the end of a hangman’s noose or a firing squad’s rifles.

The mastermind’s lover also understood. Tears filled her eyes, and she hung her head.

Oblivious to that somber note, Hughes exuberantly emerged, with Elicia in his arms and Gracia clinging to him. He was nattering happily at his daughter, who seemed remarkably composed for her ordeal—but her eyes grew big as she saw the unconscious kidnappers on the floor.

“Daddy! Are the bad men hurt?”

“Aw, of course they’re not, Sweetie. We just made them take a little nap.” Hughes hugged her tighter and stroked her cheek—deftly turning her head away from the aftermath of the battle, and toward Mustang and the brothers instead. “See? Uncle Roy and the boys are fine too.”

Instantly cheered, Elicia made a happy cooing noise and stretched out her arms to the Elrics. Ed blushed and rubbed his neck, but Al chuckled, patting the child’s head.

As Elicia entertained herself by playing with Al’s big leather fingers, Mustang stepped closer, scrutinizing Gracia. There was great strain in her face, and she was almost certainly going to have a good cry at the earliest opportunity, but she appeared to have no obvious injuries.

“Okay?” the Colonel asked her, curtly encapsulating several questions that were too terrible to put into words… and Gracia sighed and nodded slowly, running an unsteady hand through her hair.

Faint relief passed over Mustang’s face. He nodded, and turned to Hughes.

“Better get them out of here, Maes. Use one of those cars outside to take them back to the lodge—and then you can send help. The boys and I can hold down the fort until backup gets here.”

Conflict briefly played across Hughes’ expression. He looked at Mustang, at the Elrics, and then at his family, clearly torn between taking his girls away himself and staying to help his comrades; but at last the former duty won out, and he nodded.

“Alright—but I’m coming back here with that backup myself, as soon as I can. Sit tight.”

Hughes quickly ushered Gracia and Elicia out of the cabin. Mustang followed them to the door and watched their departure, revolver in hand—just in case one of the thugs imprisoned in the other cabin had gotten loose. Ed listened as a car engine started outside, and the vehicle’s noise receded along the access road that led back to civilization.

“They’re off.” Mustang turned from the door, slipping the revolver back into his belt. “Al, take care of Ed’s arm. Then you can both help me get our charming hosts tied up.”

Ed waved a dismissive steel hand, glancing at his flesh wound. “I’m fine. It’s not even bleeding anymore. The dings are worse than that…” He glared at the dents on his automail arm, clapped, and alchemically smoothed out the metal. Then he stepped forward to join Mustang in the task of binding their prisoners.

“Still sorry you got dragged along on this trip?” Mustang asked wryly. “If we hadn’t been around, the gang could have gotten away with the artifacts—and who knows what might have happened to Hughes and his family when they crossed paths.”

The teenager grunted. “If we hadn’t been around, Bosh wouldn’t have seen me using alchemy, and these bozos wouldn’t have had a reason to kidnap them. None of this would have happened in the first place. And Hughes…” He grimaced and looked away. “He shouldn’t have to know what he knows now, Mustang.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” There was a peculiarly soft note in the Colonel’s voice. “He’s the right man to trust, Ed.”

“…I know.”

Mustang did not reply, and Ed sighed, unwillingly remembering the tightness of Hughes’ arms around him a short while earlier; and before that, in the forest, the way he had so impulsively referred to the Elrics as his kids.

He didn’t have to care. Maybe he was even a fool to care. Yet he did care, so genuinely and unselfishly that Ed didn’t quite understand it.

If Ed and Al could have had a father like Hughes…

With a will, Ed shook off that thought. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind, and reached out for a sheet from one of the bunks to alchemize some binding ropes.

“Brother—!”

Al’s sharp cry spurred Ed to pivot on his heel and face the room, instinctively lifting his hands for a clap.

Unobserved by the brothers or Mustang, Cale had suddenly pushed himself to his feet. His hand was rising swiftly from the vicinity of his right ankle, with something dark and deadly in his grip. It was a small pistol, drawn from his boot—and as he took aim at Ed, whose mind and skills had achieved the unthinkable feat of besting him, there was a blaze of vengeful fury in his eyes.

Many things happened then, all at the same moment.

Colonel Mustang reached for his gun, and Al surged forward to shield his brother.

Mareen launched herself from the floor. Crying out Cale’s name, she seized her lover’s left arm to push him back.

A shot ripped the air as Cale’s finger tightened on the trigger—but the force of Mareen’s simultaneous collision with him caused the bullet to go wide of its mark. The small-caliber projectile thudded harmlessly into the cabin’s rear wall, several feet behind and to the left of Ed.

At the same time, Cale was unbalanced by Mareen’s push. He stumbled backward, clawing the air in a futile attempt to steady himself… and by a horrific twist of chance, the spear he had transmuted out of the floorboards was waiting to meet him.

Mareen let out an agonized scream, and somehow Ed found he was watching her face instead of Cale when it happened.

He would never be sure if that was better or worse.

For a few seconds, there was utter stillness. Then a soft clatter of something heavy striking the floor; Cale’s pistol, as it fell from numb fingers. Ed didn’t turn his head at the sound. He only watched Mareen as she staggered forward, hands outstretched in a horrified plea.

“Cale…”

Edward looked then. At Cale on the floor, his hands clutching the broken-off length of bloodied spear that protruded through his chest. At his expression of shock and betrayal, when he stared up at Mareen for one last long moment. At his eyes, as the brilliant, corrupt soul behind them faded out.

…It was all such a waste.

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, Mareen fell to her knees beside Cale. Her face was white, her eyes large and tear-filled and staring in blank, naked horror; but she didn’t make a sound. She only reached out, not quite touching his bloody hands that had fallen limp on his chest, as her lips passed silently over his name.

Strangely, that was the moment when Ed fully realized he was alright. He could have been a breath away from oblivion… but he wasn’t shot.

That sudden awareness was like a punch to the gut. He sagged gracelessly to his own knees, shaking from a black, giddy gladness that made him sick in the face of the grief he was watching with such detachment. Al knelt at his side in concern, reaching out to search him for injury, but Ed only shook his head dumbly and pushed his brother’s hands away.

When Mareen began to sob at last, even that sound was quiet.

Mustang hesitated for a long moment, shifted his weight, and finally stepped toward Mareen—but Dex beat him to her side. The teenager bent down next to his cousin, and as he put one arm around her, he seemed nothing at all like the frightened, angry boy he had been just a little while earlier.

“You know it’s better this way, Mar. He couldn’t stand for them to take him. They can’t touch him now… It’s over.”

Very slowly, Mareen drew back from Cale’s body. Clutching Dex’s hands that rested on her shoulders, she stumbled to her feet, and tore her gaze away from the dead mastermind. Her brimming eyes searched the faces of Mustang and Ed and Al.

“He… he never killed anyone himself,” she breathed through her tears. There was a halting, unsteady urgency in her tone, as if she needed to make that fact clear to them. “Even after all he’d done, I… I couldn’t let him…”

A moment’s silence held. Then Mustang stepped forward, looking gravely into Mareen’s stricken face.

“You were never here,” he declared, in a low, firm voice. He tilted his head toward the door. “Go. Forget what’s happened, and find something better for yourselves.”

Dex started and gaped. “What—?”

“I don’t give second chances lightly.” Mustang seized the boy’s shoulder in a solid grip, fixing an equally hard gaze on him. “So I expect you to make the most of it. Take your cousin and get out of here, and straighten up your lives… and don’t ever cross the path of a State Alchemist again.”

Mareen stared uncomprehendingly at the Colonel, but Dex’s instincts for self-preservation did not fail him. He pulled hard at her arm. “Come on, Mar.”

It took a moment, but Mareen finally did move. With one last broken glance at Cale’s body, she turned, letting Dex hurry her out into the night. Presently a car engine roared outside—and then they were gone.

When silence prevailed once more, Mustang faced the Elric brothers. Neither Ed nor Al had moved or made a sound, as they each took in what had happened.

“They made a run for it while we were trying to get the gun away from Cale,” Mustang stated flatly. “I was the one who pushed Cale onto that spear. Understood?”

On top of the overwhelming emotions of the last few minutes, Ed felt something else. A bemused sort of wonder, perhaps, and deep down… could it even have been a strange flicker of respect for the Flame Alchemist?

“Yes sir,” Al replied quietly, and moved to resume the task of tying up Grund and Tegan, almost as if no disruption had ever occurred. His steel features were as unrevealing as ever, but Ed knew his little brother was as shaken as he was. It was only that Al had learned, out of necessity, to deal with things so much more calmly; and at the moment, Ed envied him for that.

“What are you going to tell Hughes?” Ed asked. Having tried and failed to muster any kind of tone in his voice, he heard it as if it was someone else’s: faint, slightly rough, but surprisingly not unsteady.

In the last two years, maybe he had learned something about being a soldier, after all.

Mustang answered with a somber shake of his head, his expression just a little less than a sad smile. “I won’t need to tell him anything.”

Edward didn’t doubt that in the least.

Mentally and then physically, Ed pulled himself up off the floor, and moved to help Al and Mustang bind their surviving prisoners. He avoided looking at Cale’s lifeless body—but his glance passed over the crude, vindictive face that leered out from the wall he had made. With a sudden snort of disgust, he clapped and touched the wall, and the face melted back into the wood.

He no longer took pride in claiming any part of what had happened here.

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© 2012 Jordanna Morgan


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