Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 21

They were supposed to be watching the stretch of dune that served as a road between Posterim and Liore. That was what Alphonse had said when he'd climbed up here, but the boy seemed more interested in the evening breeze. He sat at the edge of the rooftop with his legs folded and his face turned into the breeze, breathing as if the experience was new to him.

"Do you think you might smell them as they come?" Ling mused.

Al's breath came out in a laugh. "Maybe. It doesn't hurt to try, right?" He breathed in again. "Mmm. First time I came here, I had no idea the desert had a scent," he reflected. "I knew the sand was hot, and I knew the night got cold, because my brother complained. But I had no idea that you can feel the heat of the sand at midday right through the soles of your shoes. I didn't know just how fast the temperature dropped when the sun set. I didn't know how sweet the water could taste after a day on the dunes."

Ling stayed silent. This was as open as the young alchemist had been with him.

"The second time I was here . . . I wasn't thinking about any of that. A friend of mine was killed . . . right inside me." That made Ling raise an eyebrow, but again he held his tongue. "And I couldn't protect her. Then so many more died—hundreds. And I couldn't stop it. I was right there, and I couldn't do anything. Then I had them all, and still—I couldn't protect them. I didn't even think to at first. They got hurt and used and I couldn't stop it. And in the end, I used them too. That makes me just as bad, doesn't it?"

This last he directed at Ling. The prince regarded the boy for a long moment. "I couldn't say. I suppose it depends on how you mean 'good' and 'bad'."

"How do you mean it?" Alphonse returned. "I was being selfish. I wasn't thinking of the greater good or some lofty ideals. I just couldn't stand to see my brother die. Death is a part of the natural order and if you interfere with it nothing good happens, I'd learned that already—but I couldn't let him die. So I selfishly used the energy that had been stolen and forced on me to pull him back."

"And that makes you no better than the one who killed them?"

"The man who killed them, the one who wiped out this town and the soldiers with it, was trying to protect people. His own people had been nearly wiped out by the military, and he was trying to keep it from happening again. If what he did was wrong because people died—then wasn't what I did wrong, because I used those deaths for selfish reasons?"

"You seem to have a very narrow definition of 'right' and 'wrong'."

Al gave him an odd smile. "Maybe. But I'm just a kid who was trying to fix a mistake. I wanted to protect those around me—not an entire people. Or rule a country. So you tell me what's right and wrong."

"Hm . . . are you asking me if I would have killed those soldiers?"

"Would you have?"

"I'd rather hear about how you brought your brother back from the dead."

"Almost dead. Don't change the subject."

"How you brought him back from almost-dead, then."

"You would have, wouldn't you. You would have killed all those people."

"I didn't say that!"

"You're not saying you wouldn't, either."

"It's not a simple question!" Ling sighed in exasperation. "Your persistence borders on annoying."

"So does yours."

He sighed again. "You can't expect me to answer that with so little."

"If that was the only way to keep your people safe?"

"The only way? Then yes, I suppose I would."

"To save a single person?"

"That . . . would depend on the person."

"It's not equivalent. Many lives for one."

"I'm not an alchemist."

He was saved from further questions when they spotted a plume of dust heading toward the town, barely visible in the fading light.

"Ah! You were right." Al bounced to his feet, straining to get a better look.

Ling nodded. "Better to come when no one will be looking."

"Looks like just one truck." He swung himself over the side of the roof and dropped to the ground.

Ling smiled to himself as he followed. This was starting to pay off already.

"Planning to listen in?" he said. "Why not make some of your automatons?"

"There's not much metal here. It doesn't work as well with other materials."

"So you need metal."

"Iron works best."

"Interesting."

The boy gave him a suspicious look. "Knowing this won't do you any good, you know. And I already told you—"

"—It's not immortality. I know." He shrugged. "It's still interesting."

Al eyed him for a moment more before turning.

"Did you really bring your brother back from the dead?"

"You can't bring a person back from the dead. It won't work." His tone was final. "I healed him."

"Healed his one life—with the many lives you say you had at your disposal? Is that equivalent?"

"No. It wasn't equivalent at all." He was quiet for a moment. Then he stated, "That's why it was selfish."

* * *

Roy lowered himself down onto the couch, his eye drawn to the liquor cabinet. Normally he would restrain himself. He didn't like to have two nights of drinking so close together, but after the day he'd had . . . after the week . . . who could blame him for a drink or two.

Ed was clattering around in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner. With Al out of town he'd picked up most of the chores, with only a fraction of his usual grumbling. Roy knew he wasn't doing his share, and he felt bad about that. He should go and offer to help, instead of sitting here contemplating a drink he knew he shouldn't have. But if he got up now, he had a feeling the liquor would win.

"It never helps, you know. Not really."

Roy jumped, and jerked his eye away from the liquor cabinet to find Ed standing in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel over one shoulder. "What would you know of it," he snapped. Then he immediately felt guilty.

Ed gave him a withering glare. "Don't give me that. I spent my time at the bottom of a bottle. All it did was leave me with a headache and make me feel ten times worse."

Roy leaned his head against his hand. He wanted to say, then you don't understand. You don't know what it's like to be crushed from all sides, when the only relief you get is to numb yourself for a few hours. When the thing you want to run from most is yourself. But even in his current state of mind he realized how unfair that was. It was a knee-jerk defensive reaction, and Ed deserved better than to have him lash out with accusations that were far from true.

He twitched when Ed's hand settled on the top of his head. It rested there for a moment, gently rubbing through his hair. He breathed in, and let himself relax.

"I'm sorry," he said, speaking more to the arm of the couch. "For snapping at you." For being useless. For dragging you down into this pit with me. For being so much less than you deserve.

Ed hummed an acknowledgement.

"I'm gonna go soak in the tub," he said as he withdrew his hand. "You coming, or what?"

An evening spent drinking himself into a stupor, against an evening relaxing in the bath with his lover in his arms?

Roy pushed himself up from the couch.

After they were upstairs he realized that he should have been watching Ed. His leg had been bothering him recently and the mention of a hot soak was a clue that Roy should have picked up on. He watched now as Ed bent to turn on the water, but any discomfort was be well hidden. Something the young man was far too practiced at.

"So, what is it?" Ed said without turning.

"What?"

He straightened up with a sigh. "Something's been eating at you ever since you got home. And don't try to tell me there isn't—you weren't like this this morning."

Roy stared. "I can't keep anything from you anymore, can I."

"You only could before because I was never around."

Roy frowned. He sincerely doubted that. Ed had been a sharp kid, but he'd been nave in certain areas so it had been relatively easy to slip things by him. And Roy had prided himself on his misdirection skills.

"So what is it, then?" Ed continued. "Something Grumman said? Or Mei?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, selfishly wishing that some of that navet was still present. "No . . . it's not connected to the embassy." He hesitated, but Ed didn't look like he was going to let this go. "There are . . . some records that appear to have been tampered with."

Ed flicked his fingers under the faucet, then set the plug. "And—? What records are they?"

Roy didn't immediately answer. This wasn't something he'd planned to share, not yet, but Ed would not appreciate being kept in the dark. He was watching him now with a certain grim stubbornness, as if the reticence had already confirmed his suspicions.

His hesitation was covered by the phone. Ed glared as if the thing had thwarted him on purpose. Roy knew it was petty, but he was grateful to be able to turn away and escape the inevitable confrontation.

A moment later he was wishing the phone hadn't rung.

* * *

The embassy grounds were in chaos. The MPs who'd been first on the scene and had already blocked off traffic and summoned emergency vehicles, but that was barely a start. Roy grabbed the nearest MP and demanded to know the situation in full.

"Incendiary bombs in three of the buildings, Sir. The extent of the casualties and damage is not yet known."

Several alkestrists were already combatting the fires, their art allowing them to work from a distance. Roy pulled on one of his gloves; extinguishing a flame was a lot harder than starting one, but he should be able to keep the fires from burning out of control.

"Suspects?"

"None yet, Sir. My men are working on it."

"Our priority is to get everyone safe and accounted for, but I need this followed as soon as possible."

"Understood, Sir."

The kitchens, one wing of sleeping quarters, and Mei's suite had been hit. If he were to pick three targets to create the most disruption, those would be the ones. But why? What could someone hope achieve by attacking the embassy?

As pressing as those questions were, he couldn't address them now. Not until he knew every last person here was safe. This happened on his watch; it was his responsibility. Every injury was on him.

The fires were the main problem, but the structural damage wasn't insignificant. Roy ordered everyone but the senior alkestrists to the sidewalk. Emergency personnel were arriving now who were better equipped to clear the buildings. He made sure the medical staff had enough room for triage, and looked for someone who could give him a head count, all the while constantly diverting his attention to the fires.

The nearest wall of the kitchens erupted in blue light—Ed. Because orders to get back were for other people. Before Roy could shout for him—not that he would have listened—the young man had already vanished inside. An instant and another transmutation later smoke burst out of the building, creating a local windstorm as more air rushed in behind it.

Bad news for containing the fires—but instead of flaring, the wall burned sluggishly. That had no doubt been Ed's initial transmutation. A knot of people staggered out of the building, with Ed close behind.

The night passed in a blur of constantly assessing and reassessing. Giving orders. Making sure everyone was accounted for and the wounded were being tended. Clearing the buildings. Those damnable fires. Whatever accelerant had been used was a persistent one.

At some point early on in the commotion Roy spotted his mother and cousin on the sidewalk, and it lifted a considerable weight from him. Worry over Ed's stubborn insistence on being in the center of the mess was still a constant, but that was nothing new.

Eventually the chaos quieted down. A number of people had been injured, but none critically. The target seemed to have been the buildings, rather than people. Roy was grateful for at least that small mercy, but it only made the incident even more perplexing.

Those with the worst injuries were already being taken to East City General, while paramedics were treating the more minor injuries. Mei was off to one side, speaking rapidly with several senior members of the embassy. She glared as Roy approached.

"Am I allowed to find those—" she said something in Xingian that was less than polite, "—who did this, or do I need an escort?"

His smile had little humor in it. "Princess, this attack was against Xingian people, on Xingian land. What you do about it is entirely up to your discretion. Just," he added, "try to be somewhat courteous of Amestrian laws. Dead bodies create a terrible amount of paperwork."

He did have some worry about turning her loose on his city, but on the other hand he was glad to turn over even a little of the responsibility. He would have his own people on this, of course, but with Mei out there he could be a little more free with his focus.

He dodged around emergency personnel and MPs until he located his mother. She was seated on the curb in a small group, out of the way.

"Are you all right?" Roy asked as he knelt down beside her. "Both of you. Were you injured?"

He could almost believe it was just the events of this night that made her hesitate, just slightly, before turning towards him. "We're—fine," she said, attempting a smile. "Just a bit of smoke. Neither of us was near the bombs."

He squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be making arrangements for everyone, but we have a spare room—it would put my mind at ease to know you were somewhere safe."

She hesitated before nodding. He'd like to believe it was his imagination, but he wasn't in the habit of fooling himself. For now, he filed it away as one of many things to be dealt with later.

Ed had materialized at some point, covered in soot and grime. Roy stood and tried to brush the worst of it from his hair. "Should I even ask how you are?"

Ed hunched his shoulders, but didn't pull away. "M'fine. The medical guys said everyone's out? Where's Mei?"

"Off seeking the individuals responsible."

There was a dangerous flash in his gold eyes. "Good."

With nothing more for them to do, Roy gave some last orders to the officers on site and then left for headquarters.

Ed sighed, slouching down in the passenger seat. "Does this really have to be done now?"

Roy glanced over. Ed was probably missing that hot bath even more than he was. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't take long."

Ed kicked a foot against the dash. "Fine."

The corner of his mouth pulled up at his lover's petulance, but it faded fast. "Something about this doesn't sit right," he muttered.

"Y'mean like how it seems to've been pointless?" He kicked the dash again. "'Course it doesn't fucking sit right." Ed sank down further with a grumble. "None of this sits right."

They pulled up to the curb and Roy switched the car off. "I keep feeling that I've missed something. This shouldn't have come out of nowhere."

Ed hesitated, watching him, but then must have thought better of whatever he'd been about to say. Instead he shoved the door open and got out to stretch on the sidewalk. "Get whatever y'need to get. I need some fuckin' air."

Roy had a feeling he knew what Ed had censured: he was not at the top of his game. Far from it. Grumman had seen it; Ed, of course, could see it. Who else?

Was someone trying to take advantage of it?

He nodded at the night guard as he went in, his mind in turmoil.

This was most likely a distraction. But a distraction from what—that was what he needed to figure out.

He jerked to a stop, snapped out of his thoughts by the man hurrying past him in the hallway. Tense shoulders, head down and eyes averted—"Sergeant-Major—"

The man flinched, and waited just a moment too long without turning to acknowledge a superior.

Roy grabbed his shoulder. "Sergeant—"

A shift in posture was all the warning Roy had before the man whipped around. He jerked back and brought his arm up—it wasn't enough. It knocked the man back but didn't keep the knife from biting deep into his abdomen.

Both men went down. Roy clutched at the wound, pain and adrenaline causing time to fragment into discrete, vivid flashes.

The knife, smeared in his blood, on the floor between them.

His assailant, face bloodied, shaking off his daze and reaching for the knife.

A sudden panic, unable to recall whether or not he'd removed his glove when he'd gotten in the car.

Then his own fingers rasping together, the spark and transmutation more hope and prayer and reflex than conscious thought.

Roy doubled over and vomited, the stench of burning flesh and hair and wool overwhelming in the confined space.

Blood.

He stared down at the mess, holding himself up on a shaking arm.

He'd vomited blood.

He pushed himself up, scrabbled at the wall for purchase, got to his feet out of sheer determination. He braced himself there, hunched over with both arms trying to staunch the wound.

Not here.

Not now.

Not like this.

Get to help. Outside. One step after another. Keep moving.

Footsteps raced toward him. But these were familiar footsteps, these meant safety. He looked up, and reached out as his legs collapsed. Got his hand on an arm as Ed dropped down beside him. The guard was behind him, but Ed was the one who mattered. "I couldn't—I'm sorry—"

"Roy? Roy, shit, don't do this—"

Ed pulled at him. Roy tried to stand, tried to pull himself up. His strength was gone. He could hear himself apologizing, babbling, as if from a distance.

Ed scooped him up. One arm under his knees and the other around his back. A laugh tried to bubble up as he thought, how romantic, but the world was starting to spin. Even Ed's frantic voice and the jostling as he ran were fading.

"Stay with me don't you dare fucking leave me—"

He fought for consciousness, one hand twisted in Ed's shirt. That Ed would think he would leave—could ever leave—when Ed was the very thing that gave him life— "Never . . . not ever. . . ."

The guard was shouting something; Ed was shouting back. He thought he should maybe tell the guard to give up. But then pain lanced through him as Ed dumped him none-too-gently in the car, and consciousness fled.