Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 20

Ling watched Ran Fan pick at one of the greasy meat buns Alphonse had been kind enough to buy for them the last time the food cart came by. Now that he wasn't trying to drag them onto the opposite train the young man was being almost friendly, but something was still bothering the bodyguard. He waited; if it had importance, she would say something.

Eventually, she spoke up: "‹Why did you tell him that?›"

Ling was stuffing the last bit of his bun—his third or maybe fourth, but who was counting?—into his mouth. "Mm?"

She sighed, and continued to fidget. Al had insisted she ride inside the train car and remove her mask, claiming she was making the other passengers nervous. "‹What you said about the trade between our countries. Why tell him that?›"

"Mmm—nn." Ling swallowed, then clarified, "‹Because it's something he'd believe.›" He shrugged. "‹Does it matter? It's true enough.›"

Ran Fan lowered her eyes without responding.

"‹Anything that gets him to let us stay,›" he continued. "‹There's more to learn here, I'm certain of it.›"

Alphonse was frowning at them from the opposite bench, as if sheer force of will could make their conversation intelligible. "You realize that's rude."

The prince flashed him a grin. "Sorry, sorry! We don't mean to be rude. Your language is not so easy sometimes."

The boy sighed and leaned back in the bench. "I'm going to have to learn Xingian, aren't I."

"The spoken language is not so hard," Ling assured him. "But the written one . . . well . . . it is very different from yours."

Al waved that off. "It's just another code. I want to learn your alchemy and I don't like the thought of relying on translators."

"But your alchemy here is so powerful—why would you want to learn ours?"

"Power isn't everything." Al narrowed his eyes. "If you really want to help your country instead of just ruling over it you should keep that in mind. That is what you want to do, isn't it?"

Ling frowned. That was an odd turn for the conversation.

"I've met a few power-hungry people," the young man continued with a shrug. "You don't fit the type."

The prince gave him his best grin. "Are you sure? I could be hiding it well."

Al snorted and shook his head. "You couldn't hide it that well. A person's nature always comes through in the little things. You're an irritating, entitled ass, but you're not the bad kind."

Ran Fan pressed her lips together and turned away, but not before he caught the smile.

"Well," Ling muttered, glaring at his bodyguard, "I thank you for that, I guess."

Al's grin suddenly looked dangerous. "You should. If I thought you were one of the dangerous ones we'd've been done a long time ago."

"That sounds like a warning."

"No. Not a warning." The train slowed, and finally screeched and squealed to a stop. Al stood, stretching out his legs while they waited for the handful of other passengers to disembark. "That's just a fact."

"‹I think I was just threatened,›" the prince mused.

Ran Fan's hand was on her weapons. "‹Sire, should I—?›"

Ling waved her down. "‹No, no, not now when we're just starting to get somewhere. Besides, I'm starting to like this kid.›"

"‹Sire, he . . . I'm not sure he's really a child. It's. . . .›"

Ling shrugged as they followed Alphonse from the train. "‹His qi is off. I know.›" He grinned. "‹Why do you think I'm so certain he knows more than he's telling us?›"

A tall man with blond hair and a cigarette in one corner of his mouth met them on the train platform, greeting Alphonse by hooking an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair. "Hey you! Missed you in East—where were you?"

The young man squirmed free and smoothed down his hair. "Ask him," he said with a wave in Ling's direction. "You didn't need to come all the way out to meet us, Havoc."

"Are you kidding?" He took a drag and then waved the cigarette out toward the desert. "After that telegram you sent, it was all I could do to keep Armstrong from coming out here himself. These two with you?"

"Yeah. They—it's—I'll explain on the way."

"Anything I should know now?"

"Well—" Al glanced around the platform. "Just—watch for anyone else who heads for Liore, okay? I'll explain on the way," Al repeated before Havoc could voice the question he obviously wanted to ask.

"Yeah . . . okay." The man sounded dubious, but he shrugged and gestured to the edge of the platform. "Truck's over there—where's your bags?"

The young man sighed. "We . . . don't have any." Ling turned up his empty hands in agreement. "It's a long story."

"Isn't it always, with you Elrics?" Havoc mussed Al's hair again and pulled him toward the truck. "Good thing it's a long drive."

* * *

True to his word, Alphonse gave Havoc a brief run-down as they drove out into the desert. He left out any mention of immortality or the Stone, but something in what he said was making the soldier give them suspicious looks in the rearview mirror. Or that might have been because Ran Fan was wearing her mask again.

"So you think someone's trying to undermine Mustang," Havoc clarified, "but you're not sure how or why?"

"No. But I had a thought," Al said. "The upcoming trials. Is there any way they could . . . make Liore look bad? Or . . . make it look like Roy has an agenda for supporting them."

"Eh . . . probably," he hedged. "You'd do better to ask Armstrong that, he knows more of the particulars. But if these guys planted the right kind of evidence . . . yeah. Yeah, it could hurt."

"Hurt the trial," Ling interjected, "or hurt your friend specifically?"

Havoc squinted at him in the mirror. "And who are you again?"

"Twelfth son of the Emperor of Xing."

"He didn't come here with the embassy," Alphonse muttered.

"Is that so. . . ." Havoc looked over at the young man sitting next to him. The significance of the non-verbal exchange was not completely lost on Ling, despite the fact that he couldn't see Alphonse. The soldier had just been warned that they weren't completely trustworthy. "What's your part in this, then? I can't see why Xing would care about some legal dispute over here."

Ling folded his arms, leaning back as much as the cramped seat would allow. "Generally speaking, no, we wouldn't. But . . . right now it helps me to help you."

Havoc glanced at Al again, who sighed. "He wants something. He's hoping to get it from me by being nice."

Ran Fan tensed, but Ling guffawed. "Guilty! But it's no bother to me to help you out a bit. Call it an apology for frightening your friend's mother."

Havoc shot him an alarmed look over his shoulder. "You—what?"

"Never mind that," Al insisted. "I don't know the details of the case—would it be hard for them to plant something?"

"Um. . . ." Havoc rubbed his forehead. "You really ought to talk to Armstrong, I'm just gathering witnesses. But—well, the problem is testimony is really all we have. Everything got wiped out when—well, you know. If they somehow make it look like Hakuro and his men had good reason for how they acted, or—shit—make it look like Mustang is trying to twist things—"

"There's no way they could get anyone from Liore to turn, though."

"If they were clever enough, they would not need to," Ling offered. "But I am only guessing. I could guess better if I knew what happened. . . ."

"Forget it," Alphonse snapped.

Havoc gave him a long stare. "Why do you want to know about that?" To the boy in the seat next to him, he added, "Is that what he's trying to get out of you?"

"More or less."

"Listen, pal, a lot of good men and women died that day, and we're not about to let that happen again—"

Ling held up his hands. "I'm not looking to kill anyone!" he insisted. "I'm not planning to hurt anyone, if I can help it."

"For what it's worth, I believe he means that," Al admitted. "But intentions only count for so much."

"It is interesting," Ling mused, "that you are so very against this."

* * *

Armstrong turned out to be a tower of muscle and booming voice, who greeting Alphonse by sweeping him into a crushing embrace and pontificating about family and the bonds of friendship. Al took it all with a grin and some good-natured squirming. As soon as he was released he turned to introduce Ling and Ran Fan. For a brief moment Ling was afraid he would try to give them the same welcome, but instead the huge man extended a hand and some kind of traditional greeting that had been passed down in his family for generations—Ling lost the thread of his speech about halfway through but accepted the hand and returned the greeting with good cheer.

Their arrival had drawn a little gaggle of children, standing now at the edge of an imagined perimeter and exclaiming over Ran Fan and her mask. In Xing a royal bodyguard is understood and usually goes unremarked, blending into the background by tacit understanding. Under this unaccustomed scrutiny his companion had gone tense, unsure how to react. Ling solved this by making faces at the children until they burst out laughing.

The children were herded away by a young woman with pink in her hair. "You'll have to forgive them! We don't get many visitors here."

Ling grinned. "They are only being children. I'm sure we're quite a strange sight to them."

Armstrong put one massive arm around the woman's shoulders. "Allow me to introduce Ros Thomas, head of the orphanage and valued member of the city council. She's been instrumental in putting this city back on its feet after the tragedies suffered four years ago."

Alphonse cleared his throat. "Speaking of, I think we should get to why we're here." He shot Ling a pointed glare. "Why some of us are here, anyway."

"Then let us retire to the council chamber," Armstrong suggested. "I confess I am eager to hear you elaborate on the contents of your telegram."

Once in the privacy and the relatively cool air of the council chamber, Alphonse again ran through what through what Ling had overheard on the train. Ling tuned him out, and instead watched the rest of the group as the boy spoke. Until now he had only observed from a distance or interacted with the young alchemist one on one. He looked to be no more than fourteen or fifteen, easily the youngest in the room, but none of them treated him as junior. Havoc's affectionate teasing of earlier had switched to deference and Armstrong spoke to him a an equal. Interesting.

The residents of Liore showed little surprise at what Alphonse told them. They looked more resigned than anything. A man in his forties rubbed a hand over his face and glanced out at the low angle of the sun. "Well, if they haven't gotten here by now, we likely won't see them until tomorrow. That gives us a little time to get the word out."

"What do you plan to do?" Alphonse asked.

"Nothing, unless we catch them at something," the man replied. "Doesn't mean we have to be hospitable. Many of us don't want to be dealing with this trial at all, let alone these underhanded parts."

"Turning our backs won't make it go away," Ros said, with perhaps a little more force than necessary. She had been watching Ling and Ran Fan and only now turned to the others. "If we don't walk through this, some other town will be made to."

"I know, I—I didn't mean—"

Armstrong stood. "The weasel gets the eggs when the bird leaves the nest. We will guard our nest with diligence. Never fear! I will employ the investigation techniques passed down in the Armstrong family for generations and track this pestilence back down to its source—"

"Yes! Thank you," Al interrupted. "We really need to do that. I don't think this is the end of it."

"Indeed not. I have been anticipating something like this ever since Brigadier General Mustang's demotion was reversed, and even more so once we started laying the foundations for the upcoming trial. If we are not diligent, Liore may once again become a pawn in someone else's scheme."

"It's not gonna come to that."

The brief meeting concluded soon afterwards. Ros approached Ling and Ran Fan as Alphonse and Armstrong left to talk strategy. "I suppose you and your—friend—will be needing lodgings?"

"Do you have any with room service?" Ling ventured.

"Room—uh. No. Sorry."

"Pity."

She gave him a flat look. "You'll forgive me, but—Ling, is it?—I don't quite remember what Al said your part in all this was?"

"I overheard the conversation on the train."

She scrutinized him, her expression guarded. "Well . . . I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, for Al's sake. But if you're here to bring harm to this town or her people—" Ros cut herself off, her lips pressed together. After taking a deep breath, she continued in a quieter voice. "Well . . . maybe just remember . . . the desert has a way of swallowing things up."

* * *

Ed caught himself rubbing his arms and deliberately tucked his hands under his elbows. It was stupid—he knew it was psychosomatic—but after using so much alchemy the day before his skin was crawling.

Sometimes he wondered if it was all in his head; after that many trips through the Gate, maybe his sanity had a few nicks and scratches. Maybe he only heard the echos because he expected to hear them. Because he knew the truth of the energy he was using.

"I see you've appointed yourself Mei's babysitter?"

Ed snapped out of his reverie and glanced over at Roy's mother. She had accompanied Mei to Eastern Headquarters, but had hung back while the princess and Roy had retreated to the privacy of the meeting room, lurking around the edge of the front hall like a shadow. This was the first she'd acknowledged Ed's presence.

"Someone's got to." Ed shoved his hands in his pockets. "If she's gonna run off half-cocked and boiling mad like yesterday."

She gave him an unreadable look. "From what I've heard, that sort of exploit was your specialty."

Ed's answering grin was less than friendly. "Sure was. That's why I know the shit-load of trouble it can cause." He scoffed. "The only reason I'm not dead is I had some really good people watching my back. Wish I could say the same for those caught in my wake. . . ."

He drifted off, his eyes on the conference room door but his mind elsewhere. The ghosts of Liore were never far, but recent events had brought them right back to the forefront. "I grew up," he continued. "Learned the hard way that some things are bigger than me and my self-centered goals." Watching the woman out of the corner of his eye, he added, "Doesn't seem like Mei can say the same."

"Well! That's presumptuous of you. You know little of Mei's goals and even less of her life. Your assumption is pure arrogance."

He smirked, feeling a bit of spiteful glee at breaking through her faade. "Doesn't mean I'm not right."

She glared at him, tight-lipped, and Ed couldn't suppress another grin. It was petty of him, he knew it was, but after the last two days he didn't care.

"Is that the secret, then?" Her voice was quiet, harsh. "Certainty that you're in the right?"

Ed hesitated; that didn't seem like they were on the same topic anymore. He turned to get a better look at her—and startled, suddenly noticing the grey-haired man standing a few feet behind them. "General Grumman!"

Grumman raised a hand in greeting, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Oh, please, don't stop on my account. I was finding this very enlightening."

"What are you doing here?"

Yu roll her eyes at his blunt question but Ed ignored her.

"Well, it's been a good half a year or so now, so I came to see how Mustang was holding up. I hear you've had some excitement recently."

Ed shrugged. "I guess. It's just been a lot of bullsh—um, noise, really. Nothing big."

"We'll see what comes of it, I suppose. The East has never been a quiet region."

"Yeah, but it's not like—" He broke off when the conference room door opened.

Mei exited first. The princess was still fuming, but it was now a slow burn instead of an explosion. Ed took in her stubborn determination, then shifted his gaze to the man behind her.

Roy met his eyes briefly before turning to greet Grumman. Four years ago, Ed might have dismissed it as the Colonel being a cold and distant bastard, but now he recognized the careful control for the shield it was. Roy seemed tired, and the stress was clearly wearing on him, but he was holding himself less rigidly than yesterday. Ed took this as a good sign.

"All right, alchemist," Mei snapped, pulling Ed's attention back. "Since I can't be rid of you, you're going to be useful. We're going to talk theory."

Ed shrugged and affected a careless grin. "Sure. Want to go back to the basics?"

Yu huffed and turned on her heel. "If you two don't limit your destruction there will be nowhere left to have a discussion."

Ed narrowed his eyes as he watched her leave. Mother and son hadn't exchanged so much as a nod of greeting.

* * *

Roy escorted Grumman to his office, shutting the door on international tensions and wary subordinates.

"Seems I left you with a bit of a mess, son."

Roy shook his head, with a polite smile that he hoped hid how close to the mark his former superior's statement was. "Not at all. Things have been pretty calm compared to what we had four years ago."

Grumman scoffed. "Wars; mercenaries; inhuman monsters mucking things up—what, did you think I hadn't known about that?—those things are no walk in the park, but you know who your enemy is. You know your target and you know your teammates. This. . . ." He waved toward the main room. "My boy, do you even know who's friend or foe out there?"

Roy sank down onto the opposite couch, concealing a sigh as he settled himself in. "If you asked them the same about me," he said, carefully, "how do you think they would respond? Or if you asked my superiors in Central?"

"You've given them reason to doubt, there's no denying that," the older man admitted. "But this mess—the heart of it—would be here with you or without you."

He nodded. "The military is still finding its footing. I haven't had much time for reading case files since I've been back, but I've gotten the gist of it."

"Your demotion four years ago was only the start of the shake-up—Bradley left us with the makings of a disaster. Between the old guard still clinging to their power, the new idealists trying to seize their chance, and Parliament stuck in the middle trying to keep the peace. . . ."

"No one knows who to trust," Roy finished.

"And you're a tempting target."

He sighed, his gaze dropping to his folded hands. "I fear I have not been doing much to lessen that."

"That's why I'm concerned." Grumman shook his head. "But from you, I would hardly expect anything else. You've never been the type to duck your head and let things flow on by. But are you sure you have a handle on what you're stirring up this time?"

He laughed under his breath. "I would like to say 'yes.' I would like to proclaim that I am more than a match for any unease and office politics. But I have a feeling you would call me on that."

"To be honest, son, you're looking a little raw around the edges already."

"I'll manage. There have been some . . . personal things that have come up recently."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that woman out front who looks remarkably like you, would it? She and young Elric were having a bit of a tense conversation when I walked up. Family problems, then? How did she take you having a boyfriend?"

Roy smiled. Grumman's ready acceptance of them had done a lot to smooth things over when he took the position here. "Not as badly as I had feared. No, I'm afraid it's . . . to tell you the truth. . . ." He faltered, looked down at his hands again. "Mother has been living in Xing for a while. During Ishval, and . . . more recent events . . . the trial. . . . She only heard what news managed to cross the desert."

"And you didn't always tell her everything." Grumman finished. "Heavens. Why would you? No one likes to share those kinds of details. Has she . . . learned something that didn't sit too well?"

Roy closed his single eye, suppressing a sigh.

"You're in a hard spot. I wish I knew how to help, but with my family . . . well, this sort of thing wasn't as much of an issue."

"No, I imagine not. But . . . my family problems aside, you're right about things being . . . unsettled." He gestured to the outer office. "You walked by most of my immediate command on the way in here. How did they seem to you?"

"Divided," he answered promptly. "Uneasy. Quite a contrast to the office you had here as a colonel."

"I was lucky, back then. I had found some good people, people I knew would stand with me. Now . . . now, I have more standing against me than with me, and I'm not even certain which is which. I can't put faces to those who would be my enemies. Not all of them."

"That bad, is it? I can see the lot out there isn't a very cohesive unit, but what you're implying sounds more sinister."

"Someone has been trying to plant suspicion. Clumsily, so far. But with tensions what they are, and so many here distrustful of me, I'm having some difficulty sussing out the culprit. Or culprits."

Grumman nodded. "From the look of it, having the embassy here has been more of a hinderance than a help."

"In some ways. But perhaps not entirely. The parties in question seem to be acting in haste because of the embassy's presence. It's made them sloppy."

"If anyone could take advantage of that, it's you." Grumman eased himself off the couch, stretching his legs. "I do think the military's headed in the right direction, finally. But it won't be without some stumbling."

Roy stood to see him out. "I agree. And I'm prepared for that."

"Let's hope so. I'd hate to see you get caught in one of its sinkholes. Not again." He paused at the doorway. "I don't need to tell you that this isn't a game you should play when your head's not in it."

"No, it isn't," he agreed.

After his former commander was gone, Roy leaned against the office door, barely stopping himself from sliding down to the carpet. To say his head wasn't in the game would be a gross understatement. It galled him just how poorly he was handling the current situation—simple office politics and scheming shouldn't be laying him out like this.

Through the window he could see Ed and Mei, bright gold and inky black making a sharp contrast as they shouted back and forth and all but came to blows as they argued. For the sake of the city and his own workload he hoped they contained themselves a little better than yesterday. Though he had to admit, a small part of him was sorry he'd missed the show. Seeing Ed in action was a treat he hadn't gotten much of lately.

His mother was nowhere in sight. Roy didn't know if he should be worried or relieved, and was still too numb to care.

He kept seeing his mother's face, her look of absolute terror when he'd blocked off the train with his flames. If she hadn't thought he was a monster before, she certainly must now.

So be it. The mantle wasn't a new one.

A sharp rap on the door at his back made him jump. He froze, holding himself away from the door and silently counting the number of steps it would have taken to walk from the desk, using the time to compose himself and get his mask into place. Only when he was sure of his control did he turn and open the door.

"Sir." Second Lieutenant Marcus looked like he was chewing on something unpleasant. His eyes darted to the side and he gripped the folder in his hands as if he was wary of the outer office. Roy studied him for a moment before stepping back. "Sorry—to bother you, Sir," the aid started as he accepted silent invitation. He cleared his throat, waiting until his commander had shut the door before continuing. "I was . . . as my duties permitted . . . doing some looking into the records. I realize you assigned Samuels and Peters to help Chaffee, but I thought . . . I wanted to have my own look."

"I appreciate the initiative. Please, continue."

Marcus sized him up. At another time, Roy might have been bothered, but right now he couldn't muster up enough energy to care. His aid's opinion of him was the furthest thing from his mind.

With obvious reluctance, Marcus held out the folder. "Chaffee will be coming to you later with a list of files that were missing or out of place. But this . . . these. . . ." He grimaced. "These are not the documents that were in this folder when I transferred here two years ago."

He took the folder. "You're certain of this?"

"I had some . . . interest in that incident. So I read those files closely. As did Lieutenant-Colonel Phillips, if you wish to verify what I'm saying."

"Mm."

Roy let the folder fall open on the desk, staring at the city named on the top page. He knew he should be reacting somehow—outrange, foreboding, irritation at the very least—but all he felt was dull resignation.