Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 16

He was missing something.

Roy narrowed his gaze and snapped, and a small burst of flame scorched one corner of the cinder blocks. Ed was right that this sort of practice could only go so far, but getting his precision back wasn't his goal today.

Another snap, another scorch mark.

He couldn't shake the feeling that if he just turned the right way he could expose whatever was lurking in his metaphorical blind spot.

Another snap.

If only things were that simple.

Roy pulled his hand in and snapped, keeping the flame dancing just above his fingers for a few moments before curling it around itself and letting it burn out. Simple, pointless exercises, but they cleared his mind and helped him focus.

Princess Mei and her entourage had an ulterior motive for coming here—he'd known that from the beginning. This Ling who was causing trouble was likely here for similar reasons. If those reasons involved the Stone as he suspected, then things could get ugly fast, and he needed to ensure that didn't happen. He pressed his lips together. Ultimately, it didn't matter if his mother was a part of it or not; he had an entire country to think about.

That much he knew already. He didn't know what they planned to do next, but all he could do was wait and see. The situation itself was not an unknown. His blind spot was elsewhere.

But if you spend too much time trying to see what's in your blind spot, you'll leave the rest of yourself vulnerable.

Roy smiled, letting a tongue of fire coil toward the ceiling as Ed's words from earlier that year came back to him. They had been sparring, and as was often the case the young man was combining the physical exercise with a lecture. Roy had to marvel at his ability to multitask.

"Your opponent is going to try to take advantage of your blind side," he'd said. Roy could have guessed that and might have said so, if he hadn't been busy trying to block strikes he could hardly see. His shoulder had already been feeling bruised from the younger man's automail. "But if you spend too much time trying to see what's in your blind spot—" Ed's left hand had struck his shoulder just as his foot had hooked behind his knee, and before he'd known what had hit him Roy had found himself staring up at the sky with the wind knocked out of him. "—you'll leave the rest of yourself vulnerable," the blond had finished as he'd dropped down to straddle his lover.

Ed had planted himself dangerously far down on the other man's midsection, and their sparring session devolved into a particularly enjoyable wrestling match. But later on that evening Roy had returned to the point, pointing out that he seemed to be postulating a no-win situation.

"Naaah." Ed had grinned at him in the mirror and leaned back against his chest. "I just mean you shouldn't go around trying to do what you know you can't do. We all got blind spots. The trick is to use what you do know—not just what you can see, but what you hear and what you feel—to figure out what you don't." He'd reached up to touch the eye patch, and then added with a sly grin, "I seem to remember you being pretty good at that kind of thing, once upon a time."

Roy shot a narrow jet of flame toward the cinder blocks. All right then, it was time to focus on what he did know.

A frantic knock on the door made him jump, scattering his thoughts before they had a chance to get organized. He gritted his teeth, as much in irritation at himself as at the interruption.

"Brigadier General, sir." Allensworth's voice had a nervous edge to it. "There's something you should see."

* * *

Yu leaned against the edge of the gate outside Eastern Headquarters and contemplated the building beyond. She'd set out without any clear goal in mind, only a desire to relieve some of her uneasiness by speaking with her son. But now that she was here she realized she had no idea what she would say.

She turned away, hugging her arms to herself as she walked along the outer wall. What could she say to him? She couldn't even pin down what was worrying her.

"�Why did I come here?�" she muttered, referring to more than her walk down to headquarters. For the princess, or for her son?

She paused and turned back toward the building, frowning. No; if she was to be honest her reasons were mostly selfish. She had come for her own peace of mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a portly soldier rounded the gate then stopped short when he caught sight of her. He stared for several seconds, before she finally raised an eyebrow and asked wryly, "Something I can help you with?"

The soldier blinked, and then grinned self-consciously. "Sorry Ma'am. But your name must be 'Mustang'."

She looked at him for a startled moment, then chuckled. "And you must know my son. I'm told there's a resemblance."

"A bit of one, yeah," he laughed and gave her a mock salute. "Heymans Breda, Ma'am. I was part of your son's office staff a few years ago."

"I see! From what I hear, that was an . . . interesting time."

"You could say that." He looked at her in consideration for a long moment, then nodded down the street. "I was on my way to pick up some coffee. Care to come along?"

"I believe I would, thank you."

* * *

The ring of the phone greeted Ed as he walked in the house. Grumbling, he tossed his coat toward the pegs behind the door and stalked over to the stand. The coat hit the wall and slid down to the floor, but he ignored it in favor of grabbing the phone and putting an end to that irritating noise. "Yeah?"

"Finally!" Winry's voice answered him. "You guys are never home!"

Ed blinked. "It's the middle of the goddam day!"

"Well I have to call between classes!" She huffed. "I should rig you up an audio recorder, I swear I should."

Ed shoved his fingers through his bangs and dropped into the chair, slumping down until his head hit the armrest. "So, what is it, then?"

"What's gotten up your back?"

He growled under his breath. "Mei. And Ling."

"Who's Ling?"

"Never mind. What is it?"

"Mei is actually why I'm calling, sort of. Since you're so bad about using the phone, I stopped by and chatted with Scieszka—"

"I told you why I didn't want to call her!"

"—and she said that there wasn't anything on Xingian alchemy, specifically, at the first branch when she worked there. There wasn't really much of anything on Xing, actually, except for some old travel logs that were pretty fanciful-sounding."

"You called to tell me that?"

"Let me finish!" She sighed, audibly. "But she said what there had been was myths."

"Myths?"

"Scattered here and there in different books, usually in collections of similar Cretan or Auregan myths. You know, like if someone was comparing the myths of different cultures."

"Uh . . . Okay?"

He swore he could hear her rolling her eyes. "And a lot of those myths talk about something that sounds like alchemy, you idiot."

Ed straightened. "Oh!"

"Most of them talk about people being healed, or revived—"

"'Revived'? Like, back from the dead, revived?"

"Well, they're myths, remember. Anyway, there was a lot about their wise men and the journeys they went through to become great sages—some of them are really detailed, but they all sounded allegorical, so I don't know how much you could take as literal fact. One called the process 'internal alchemy'—"

"'Internal'?"

"Remember these are all translated by different people, so the term might not be right, but it sounded like the process a sage has to go through before he can 'command and obey the energy lines.'"

"Well? What was it?"

"Calm down, I told Scieszka to transcribe anything that seemed relevant. She'll give you a call when she's done."

"Great!"

"But there's something else. People in ancient Xing put a lot of value on gold, not really as money but because they thought it was a 'pure' element. They thought it was connected somehow to longevity—"

"—And—let me guess—eternal life, right?"

"Yeah, but here's the thing. A couple of these myths mentioned some 'Sage of the West' who supposedly came from across the desert some four hundred years ago, and really gave their alchemy a big leap. Ed, they called him 'the Golden Man,' because of his coloring."

Ed sagged back into the chair. "Winry . . . you're not implying. . . ."

"One myth even got specific. It called him, 'a man of golden hair and golden eyes.'"

* * *

Roy surveyed the records room with increasing unease. Nothing was in obvious disarray, but many of the shelves were just a little off from the strict order kept by the base librarian.

"No one's touched anything, Sir," one of his lieutenants assured him. "This is how I found it."

He nodded and continued his slow circle of the room. "Any sign of forced entry?"

"The door was locked, Sir." The lieutenant—Samson? Samuels? The man hardly spoke most of the time—seemed to hesitate. Roy gave him a tight frown and he grimaced, but gestured toward the far wall. "Those cabinets, sir. They've been moved."

"Oh?" He turned to the indicated area.

"Not much, but, enough."

"'Enough'."

"To get at the wall, Sir. If that's what someone wanted to do."

"Mm."

Judging by the faded paint and the scratches on the hardwood, two of the cabinets had been moved apart by several inches. There was indeed just enough room for someone to get to the wall, if they so wanted.

Roy knelt to get a closer look, running his finger over a ding near the baseboard. "And what would be on the other side of this wall?"

"I'm—I'm not sure, Sir. A hallway, I think. But I believe it's against the courtyard."

"Hmm." He stood and gave the room one more look. "Bring me a copy of the blueprints. I want the three of you to go over the files in this room. Let me know what's been touched—and if anything is missing."

"Sir."

He looked once more at the exposed stretch of wall and the scratched floor before turning to the base librarian. The man had been standing to one side of the room looking quietly distressed. "When you're done I would also like an overview on what is kept here."

He nodded, his attention on his precious shelves and the inevitable mess the two soldiers were going to make of them.

Roy left the records room, then hesitated at the end of the hall, turning toward the inner part of the complex instead of back toward his office. The records were kept in an inside room for security; it didn't make them impervious, but it meant that if someone did break in they were likely to leave a trail. But as he inspected the hallway that ran behind the records room he didn't see anything that looked out of place or suspicious. He would check again when he had the blueprints, but he wasn't hoping for much. He knew what the lieutenant had been implying, but he couldn't see anything to suggest that someone had transmuted their way through the wall.

He gave the hallway one last scan before heading back to his office, left with the nagging question of who would want to disrupt the records room—and why.

* * *

"The coffee in that office is pretty horrible," the soldier explained as they accepted their drinks from the street-side cart. "I'm starting to wonder if there's something wrong with everyone's sense of taste."

"Maybe they've become numb to it," Yu suggested.

"It wouldn't surprise me." Breda chuckled. "I hear Mustang has his own private carafe and stash of grounds—I guess that's the perk of being in charge."

"Mm." Yu sipped her drink as they wandered back toward headquarters. "Speaking of, I understand you helped him clear his name and reclaim his rank."

"Mm?" He looked at her over the rim of his cup in surprise. "Oh, sure, we all did. It wasn't right to begin with. It's a shame it took him three years to contest it."

"I was told the tribunal's original decision was on shaky ground."

"Yep, no evidence." If she wasn't mistaken, for a moment the soldier looked just a bit smug. "The problem was, there wasn't any evidence either way. Couldn't prove that he did, couldn't prove that he didn't, so it came down to whichever side made the more compelling argument."

"And Roy wasn't arguing," she finished.

"Not back then, he wasn't." he took a sip. "Not until Ed came back and kicked him out of his funk."

"Funk?" she echoed. "You'll forgive me if I sound like I'm prying, but Roy hasn't been very forthcoming, and I worry."

He nodded. "Sure, sure. My mom's the same way."

"We wouldn't have to worry if you boys would actually talk to us," she pointed out.

He ran a hand over his short hair and laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, fair enough. But you have to understand, with the work we do we can't always be open about things."

"I do understand. But it's not like Roy to get so down for so long." She'd seen him like that only once before, and had chalked it up to the war in Ishval. He'd pulled himself out of it then; why had this time been so different?

"Well. . . ." Breda sipped his drink. "None of us were real sure what was going on in his head back then, to be honest. He didn't open up much. But when you focus on the same goal for a long time it can kinda become your foundation. Then when it's suddenly gone. . . ."

"So is the foundation. I see." Except that she didn't, not completely.

"And he took Ed vanishing like that pretty hard," he continued. "Especially so soon after losing Hughes."

She sighed. "Roy takes loss very personally. He always has."

He let out a huff of laugher. "He and Ed both. Maybe that's why they get on so well."

"Is that so? I was starting to think it was because they get off on arguing."

He sputtered and choked into his cup. "Uh." Breda glanced away as he wiped his mouth, red-faced. "I, um, don't speculate on that sort of thing. Ma'am."

Yu pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

He cleared his throat and shook coffee off his hand. "Like, uh, like I was saying, with Ed disappearing like that and with nothing to work towards anymore, I think . . . well, most of us had a bit of trouble figuring out what to do with ourselves, and Mustang had it worse."

"And Edward is the one who pulled him out of that?"

"Yeah. Being around Ed seems to do that to people." He grinned. "But with Mustang—well, you know, it's been a bit more personal. Now all that's missing is the flashy alchemy. Otherwise he's back to his old self."

"'Flashy.'" She smiled. "I have to confess, I have never seen him perform his alchemy. But he always was a bit of a show-off."

"Never seen it?" he looked at her in surprise. "You're not the one who taught him?"

"Oh, no. I use a very bastardized method and I wouldn't have wanted him to learn that. I left his instruction to a more capable teacher."

"Okay, I'm no alchemist, but how can you bastardize alchemy? I thought it either worked or it didn't."

"Sort of. But sometimes, one method will work were another failed. I guess you could say I had trouble accepting failure, so I found a workaround."

"So that's where he gets it from," he muttered. Aloud, he said, "Is that why you came here? For the alchemy?"

"Mm."

"So what's the difference? Between our alchemy and what you use in Xing, I mean. I heard it uses a different . . . energy source, or whatever you call it, but the results are the same, right?"

"Usually."

"Usually?"

They had come to the front gate, but Breda paused, seemingly intent on her answer.

"They have different . . . specialties, I suppose you could say. A different emphasis."

"How so?"

She sipped at her coffee to give herself time to organize her thoughts. Even most alchemists didn't ask for this. "Rentanjutsu—I'm sorry, you call it 'alkhestry'—is . . . more delicate. Think of it this way: strike a boulder with enough force and it will shatter. But a vine working its way into the tiny cracks will shatter it just as well. Similar results, but vastly different methods."

"So one's a precision strike and the other's . . . a sledge hammer?"

She chuckled. "In a sense. It's not a perfect analogy, but you get the idea."

"Huh."

"But I suppose the main difference is the focus of research. In Xing, most of the emphasis has been on medicine, and harmonizing energies. Here. . . ."

"The military," he supplied.

"Mm. Not to say it isn't used for . . . that sort of thing in Xing, but . . . the focus is different."

"I see."

Breda seemed to be scrutinizing her, watching for . . . something. But before she could figure out exactly what, he turned away, nodding toward the headquarters building. "I should be getting back. You want an escort in to the general's office?"

"I—no. Thank you." Yu folder her hands around her cup and shook her head. "Actually, I think it would be best if I caught him at home tonight. But thank you, I enjoyed our talk."

The lieutenant nodded, tapping a finger against his forehead. "It was a pleasure meeting you, ma'am."

* * *

Ling slumped, resting his chin against the edge of the roof. "�This is getting very boring.�"

"�Master?�"

He waved a hand at the figures on the street sidewalk below them. "�All this—this dithering. Why doesn't someone do something?�"

Ran Fan rocked back onto her heels where she was crouched in the shadow of the roof access. "�The Chang princess has good reason to be cautious—�"

"�She's being too cautious!�" He grimaced and shoved his hands through his hair. "�I was hoping someone would get shocked into action if I stirred things up, but still nothing.�" He sighed. "�That old woman isn't as easily intimidated as I'd hoped.�"

"�But it did get her speaking more candidly with Princess Mei. Isn't that what you wanted?�"

Ling groaned, straightening and throwing his hands into the air. "�Yes, but that hardly begins to get things done. They're still dancing around the Elric brothers. Those two are key and Mei knows it, but she's too afraid of scaring them off. At this rate the emperor will be dead before we even get the first hint of the Stone.�"

"�The Chang princess does not have the same deadline as you, Master,�" Ran Fan quietly reminded him. "�We may do better pursuing somewhere else.�"

The prince folded his arms, frowning as he watched the old woman turn away from the military headquarters and into the residential area. "�No. The Elrics are the strongest lead we've found. You heard how the younger one spoke of immortality.�"

The bodyguard sighed and rose from her crouch. "�I heard him quite firmly warning you away from it.�"

"�That's what I mean.�" Ling unfolded himself and rose into a stretch. "�No one would speak that way out of hand. It would be, 'impossible,' or, 'only in fairy-stories.' No one would call immortality a 'death trap' unless—�"

"�—Master.�"

The sharp hiss put him instantly on guard. Ling spun, hand on his sword, and scanned the rooftop for what had set his companion off. Ran Fan made a barely perceptible gesture toward a ventilation shaft less than ten feet away. Just visible behind the vent was a small figure, not more than a foot in height, crouched down like a child playing a game. It looked like a miniature suit of armor. Its metallic gleam let it blend in with the ventilation ducts, but Ling was certain it hadn't been there when they'd climbed on to this roof.

The tiny figure startled with a quiet but distinctly human sounding "Ah—!" Then it shuddered, and collapsed.

Ling cautiously approached the metal figure, prodding it with his sword. It shifted when he pushed it, like a discarded puppet, but remained inanimate. "�An automaton? Who—�"

Ran Fan had melted away, circling around to make use of the sparse cover the roof offered. If the puppet master was nearby Ling was confident his guard would find them, which left him free take a closer look at this thing. He turned the miniature armor over, looking for any marks or sigils, but the metal was pristine. It looked newly made, likely with alchemy.

Off to the side of the building there was a sharp clatter, and a shout. Ling looked up in time to see the younger of the Elrics leap onto the edge of the roof, followed closely by Ran Fan.

Ling sheathed his sword and grinned as Alphonse jumped down to the rooftop. "I should have known! In Xing, we have legends of—" he floundered for the right word in Amestrian, and finally gestured to the automaton. "Of things such as this, but they say only the greatest masters could create them." He strolled over to the boy, one hand resting on his sword. "I should have suspected you or your brother immediately."

Alphonse regarded him cooly, unaffected by the flattery. "I don't think I would care for a 'master' of that sort," He muttered. Then he sighed, and seemed to return to his age as he glanced off to one side and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry for spying on you, but . . . you've kinda been hard to find."

"That was the idea." He spread his arms. "But I'm glad you're here! Maybe we can get lunch and—"

"I've said all I'm going to say about immortality," the boy snapped. "So don't bother asking."

"Can we just get lunch?"

"No, I'm not feeding you."

Ling held up his hands and presented his best disarming smile. "All right, all right, fine. There's plenty more we can talk about here. Like," he pointed to the miniature armor, "maybe how you made that? It's very impressive.

"It's. . . ." He scratched the back of his neck and glanced to the armor. "It's sort of a side effect . . . it's complicated. It's not something that could be taught, exactly."

"You're sure? It would be very useful to me."

"Yes, I'm sure—and you're not an alchemist, you couldn't do it anyway."

He let his expression fall. "No? Ah, well." The prince contemplated the figure. "Still, it seems very useful. It even let you find me."

Alphonse shrugged. "Not really. I figured if I followed Yu-san, there was a good chance I'd find you nearby—what do you want with her?"

"It's . . . complicated," Ling echoed with a smile.

"It's always complicated!" He waved a hand in exasperation. "But she's family and I'm not going to let you hurt her or even frighten her again, so as long as you're here—well, just stay away from her! Better yet, stay away from everyone."

"Well, that doesn't seem fair. All right! All right." He held up a hand to ward off the boy's temper. "I don't mean her any harm. Really—I never did!"

Alphonse smiled wryly. "She's just conveniently placed, is that it? The princess, the brigadier-general, my brother and me—she's just caught in the middle, right? Why are you so set on stirring things up? What's your real goal?"

"I thought I told you. We had a long conversation about—"

"Not that. That's obviously just your interim goal."

"Inter . . . uh. . . ."

"What are you really looking for? What are you hoping to use immortality to achieve?"

"Oh, that. I didn't explain that?"

"No. You didn't."

"I was sure I'd mentioned. . . ." Ling propped the little suit of armor against the vent. "It's nothing really. Family politics. . . . It won't bother your country. Once we leave, you will likely never hear from us again."

"You can't guarantee—"

"So tell me. Is it . . . ah, what are the words . . . is it your soul you split, or your mind?"

"What?"

The prince gestured to the automaton and grinned. "You were spying on me, yes? That means your consciousness was here. So which part was it?"

"It's not that simple—"

"Then was it both? Just how long could you stay in something like this? I have heard rumors—"

Ling jumped back as Alphonse dove toward him. The boy slapped his hands against the vent, and the metal shaft erupted in a blue crackle of energy. The metal warped and twisted, engulfing the little automaton and reforming itself into a much larger suit of armor. It was almost life-size and intricate in its detail, with spiked shoulder guards and a fanciful helm that seemed designed more for intimidation than practicality.

Alphonse glared at them from behind the statue as he clapped his hands together. "You want a demonstration? For all the good it'll do," he said, then struck the metal.

A web of lines and sigils flickered over the armor, there and gone too fast to take in. Ling opened his mouth to ask if he could see that again—because it couldn't hurt to ask, right?—when the armor turned toward him, crouched, and leapt.

Ling leapt to one side, sword drawn, as Ran Fan darted in front of him and landed a kick to the armor's side. The automaton slid across the roof, falling down into a crouch and finally skidding to a stop several yards away. Ling kept his sword raised as he looked between the armor and the boy who'd made it, not sure which of them would make the next move.

Al shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "That material isn't ideal."

"—But you can see the potential, can't you?"

This came from the suit of armor halfway across the rooftop; the voice was tinny and echoed around the hollow metal, but it was distinctly Alphonse's. The armor straightened, and gestured to the sizable dent Ran Fan had left.

"This can be fixed easily. No bones to break, no blood to spill, no body to grow hungry or tired—it looks perfect, doesn't it?"

Ling shook his head as the automaton walked toward them. "And no body to age and die. But. . . ." He shifted his gaze back to the boy. "You're not completely there, are you?"

Alphonse shrugged again. "No. But I could be. That sort of thing is possible. But say I did bind myself permanently. What would you have me do with this body—" he jerked a thumb at his chest, "—while I'm imprisoned in that one?"

"Imprisoned—?"

"You didn't think it through, did you?" the armor snapped. "No one ever does." It raised its hands. "This body can't touch, can't smell, can't taste, can't sleep—it won't die but it's not alive. You can't imagine what kind of hell that is. But even if you did think it was worth that, it would still be useless to you—"

"—Because when the body died, the soul would die," the boy finished. "The soul can't survive without the body. Not in something like that."

Before Ling could respond, the armor shuddered, metal screeching against metal. He jumped back as the automaton collapsed into a heap.

"That's not the path to immortality," Al continued. "That's barely even living."

Ling eyed him in his peripheral vision. "And you won't tell me how you did this?"

"No."

"Not even a hint?"

"No! This isn't something you want to mess around with!"

The prince pulled a face as he sheathed his sword. "You two are so stingy! I'm not asking for much—"

"Just immortality!"

"Just the path to immortality!"

"You won't find that here—" he stabbed a finger toward the crumpled armor, "and I'm not going to stand by and let people get hurt just because some new maniac wants to live forever! You and Mei both need to just—just give it up and go home!"

"I would like to." Ling glanced over the city, toward the embassy. "I am sure she would, too. But right now . . . returning empty-handed would be worse than not returning at all. And I love my country and her people too much. . . ." Grinning suddenly, he threw his hands up in mock defeat. "But if you won't help, I guess I have no choice." He signaled to Ran Fan to follow, and jumped to the edge of the roof. "Someone in this country must have what I need."

"Hey! Wait!"

The boy's shout followed them as they leapt down the fire escape. Ling glanced up as they dropped from one floor to the next and was pleased to see that the boy himself had followed as well, swiftly climbing from one landing to next. "That city was in the east, yes?" he called up, just before dropping to the ground and sprinting for the end of the alley.

"Don't you dare bother the people of Liore!" Al shot back. "They've been through enough!"