Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ In Memory ( Chapter 22 )

 

 

A/N: Alright, I need to say this first… EDWARD ELRIC IS NOT A MARY SUE! (coughcough). Well… I almost committed the heinous crime of making him one, by killing him off in this chapter. That was the original plan, after all. But I decided it wasn't a good idea, and he could have the same “impact” on life support. Sorry guys, but considering that in cannon, the red water is pretty nasty stuff to normal people, and remembering just how Edward reacted when he just stepped in a big puddle of it in episode 22 “Created Human”, logically, there was no way he was going to come out of that fall unscathed.

 

I want to give kudos to metgear5 for the song title and lyrics. He doesn't know it yet, but his timing is impeccable!

 

In Memory

 

Some of the ugliest things took the longest time to make; And some of the easiest habits are the hardest ones to break; And I'm not asking for value nor the pain but I am asking

For a way out of this lie - Shinedown

 

0o0o0

 

The chessboard was a bloody massacre. He'd always hated playing white, because his opponent had the advantage of seeing his first move, and planning his attacks well in advance. It always left him devastated. But he always kept a pawn in the shadows. Always.

 

Others might consider the pawn the most disposable piece of the game, frequently ignored. But he felt a genuine affection for them. They were so understated, but so… useful.

 

He scowled only slightly when he lost his rook. He was more annoyed that the attack came out of nowhere; or, he amended, while he was paying more attention to other pieces. His scowl deepened when his opponent gloated, though. It was just like him to think that loosing such a blunt, inelegant piece would hurt… much.

 

He sighed. `Yes,' he thought, `depressingly straightforward, and lacking in subtlety. But you do have power.'

 

“Not only did I nicely capture your rook,” his opponent said, “but your bishop and knight are in danger of being lost.” A long boney finger pointed at the knight and said, “See? He's even a threat to your queen. Perhaps you should just concede now, and save yourself the humiliation of loosing to me… again.”

 

He moved his bishop closer to his queen, and even though he knew the position didn't take her completely out of harm's way, it was sufficient. His opponent wasn't the only one who could think several moves ahead.

 

He smirked, and said nothing, but cast a brief, fond glance at the solitary… oh-so-ignored pawn that was inching ever closer to the other side of the board. There was still a chance he could recover and come to a draw. Or at least not be completely destroyed.

 

0o0o0

 

A single, monotonous sound was all that broke the silence. But that tone grew louder and louder, until it washed him in deep crimson. Even his vision was tinted with dark red… the color of blood. The color of rage. He was covered in it. His hands, his clothes. He could smell the sharp metallic tang so strongly he tasted it, and it fed the red filter of fury he saw through.

 

His feet moved of their own volition, and someone called his name from the far end of a very long tunnel. He shook the iron grip off his arm with a snarl, and kept moving; where, he didn't know.

 

He turned a corner into another room. Muted light that made the red deeper, edged with black. A small figure under white bolted up, and stared at him with wide, terrified green eyes as he flew at her, pain and injuries blocked by the need for revenge; and yanked her out of the bed. He slammed her against the wall so hard her eyes lost focus, but the light never went out of them. She said nothing as he pinned her by her slender throat with one bloodied hand, and slapped her with the other. An angry red smudge remained; livid on pale flesh. It should have been enough. But oh God it wasn't. When her eyes came back to him, they held no remorse, no grief. Only fear. Selfish fear for herself.

 

He clamped his free hand across her face, pinching the hinges in her jaw tightly, forcing her lips open. “His blood is on your hands, you whore,” he hissed, spraying at her. He pressed the palm of his hand hard onto her mouth, forcing the blood on it into her nose, and past her lips. “Taste it. You should love it; you've spilled so goddamn much of it.” When she struggled to turn her head away, he pressed harder. “Taste it! This is your goddamn reward. It's yours!” She kept trying to get away, and was clawing at him, tearing at the wrist that held her very slender and oh-so-fragile throat. It would just take a little twist of that wrist, and it would be done with.

 

A force ripped him away from the thing he desired most, and he felt himself pinned. Burning eyes, the color of fury bored into him, and a deeply accented voice pierced the monotonous tone in his ears. “This is not the time or place, Spiegel.”

 

“Fuck you, Scar. You want her dead, too.”

 

“Serve your vengeance cold,” Scar said. “Not with the heat of rage. And not here.”

 

Spike felt something cold hiss at his neck; then a deep, unearthly growl ripped from his throat, and chased him down to oblivion.

 

0o0o0

 

Mustang stepped off the turbo lift outside surgery in time to see Hughes fall back against the wall, and slide down to the deck with a hand over his eyes. Even from this distance, he could see the man was openly crying, and it filled Mustang's veins with ice. His stride lengthened, but he didn't run. Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, never ran. No matter how much his heart screamed for him to do so.

 

Just as he reached the doorway, he was shoved aside by a bloodied, wild-eyed man that he didn't realize was Spike, until he was out of reach. What he saw when he entered was a scene lifted straight from a Bosch painting of Hell. The colors were rich, and deep, and muted; and at the center of it all was the broad back of a Klingon, standing ram-rod straight, and still as a statue at the foot of a bed blanketed in dark red.

 

His hands shook, and his legs felt like they wanted to disappear from under him, as he stepped further in and around the Klingon. He didn't look down at the bed, but turned his face up to the stony mask with an intense, far-away stare. He didn't acknowledge him, but registered his presence all the same. The deep, sonorous voice said, “He is a warrior.”

 

Mustang swallowed, and forced his eyes to turn to the small, still form on the bed. He felt the mask begin to crack at the sight of pale child… and Dear God; he was only a child… naked from the waist up; exposing the scars where the automail fused to his shoulder…

 

Had he ever looked so vulnerable? No. Not even in the aftermath of the tragedy that lost his limbs. Not even when he laid sweating, and crying in a bed, bandages soaked in blood. Even then, there was still hope. Still… life. Because even then, his eyes sparked with an intensity that swept over you.

 

…The gold hair and skin was stained red; his life soaked the sheet beneath him. This was no longer Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. No longer a force of nature. It was nothing more than a shell, still attached to the tools these people had used to try and save him.

 

From far away, he heard fighting, and the Doctor telling Deanna that Alphonse and Havoc had just arrived in the shuttle bay. Then a chilling, hollow growl emanated from somewhere else.

 

His vision blurred and his throat snapped shut, as he turned and silently started to walk back out. He couldn't be here when Alphonse arrived. If he had to witness the boy breaking down, it would drive him over the edge.

 

But the Doctor stopped him, concern etching her face. “Colonel Mustang, I understand you're officially responsible?”

 

“Re…?”

 

“Are you the person responsible for deciding how long we leave him on life support?”

 

Mustang choked, and it was only by sheer force of will that he stayed upright. “He… he's not dead?”

 

He felt small, but incredibly strong hands on him, and stared down incredulously at Deanna as he allowed himself to be guided to a seat. Crusher set next to him, and placed her hands over his; her gentle warmth and pressure stilling the trembling. Her looks was intent, almost grim. “Roy, he is still alive. But not without help. We're using our technology to keep his organs working, and we're replacing his blood as quickly as we can replicate it. I don't dare give him any more coagulants to thicken it right now. His body couldn't take it.”

 

She took a deep breath, and then plowed on, “Some cultures have a prohibition against using artificial means to keep someone alive.”

 

“I'm not a religious man, Doctor,” he whispered. He didn't dare try to speak above that. He knew his voice would be too thick, too ready to crack. “Neither is Full— is Edward. If there's a chance…”

 

Her lips pressed together in a tight, straight line. “I can't tell you how much of a chance he has, to be honest. Not without more information about this red water contamination.” She bent her head down, and rubbed her forehead. “It was only because I was able to get thorough bioscans of both you and Edward that enabled me to do this much. And I'll be honest with you…” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I can't guarantee what condition he'll be in if we can pull him through this.”

 

Mustang stared off at the still form on the table. He watched as he was being transferred to a clean bed, and taken into another room. “What about his mind, Doctor?”

 

“For now? His brain is functioning as well as can be expected.”

 

Mustang nodded. That wasn't what he'd asked, but he'd take it.

 

The sound of metal banging rapidly up the corridor stopped any other questions Mustang might have; and he came to his feet to meet Alphonse at the door. He was nearly run over by the suit of armor, and he was certain that had Jet and Hughes not each grabbed hold of the boy's arms, he would have been.

 

“Nii-san! Let me go! I have to get to Brother! Nii-san!”

 

“Alphonse!” Mustang shouted. “Look at me!”

 

But it was too late. He saw where the boy's soul lights fell, and braced himself for the fallout.

 

Instead, the armor became frighteningly silent.

 

It started so subtly, that Mustang didn't notice it at first, even with his hands flat against the chest plate. But soon the shaking became a powerful vibration, and then Alphonse slowly sunk down to his knees, taking Mustang with him.

 

In his current state, Alphonse Elric couldn't cry real tears, but the sound that softly filtered out of the hollow armor was as close to grief anyone around had ever heard.

 

Mustang never wanted to hear the sound of hope dying, and a heart breaking.

 

Al's heavy metal head fell on the Colonel's shoulder, and the huge, strong arms wrapped around him. He was caught. Unable to move from that grip, and teetering between a self-conscious need to retain control, and the desire to just hold the boy. He blinked uncontrollably trying to clear his vision, but it stayed blurred. Without thinking about it, he laid his forehead on the cool metal shoulder, near the collar. Slowly, his arms came up, and wrapped around the large metal body as far as they'd go.

 

Al's shaking didn't stop, and Mustang was caught up in it… Or maybe it was his own; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that his voice cracked thickly, and sounded odd to his own ears, when he was finally able to find enough strength to say, “Alphonse, Edward is in a bad way; but he's still alive. Dr. Crusher is making sure of that.”

 

0o0o0

 

 

Data watched in fascination as the child rapidly broke security code after security code; digging deeper into the retrieved files from the complex. He had no doubt that he could match her in the process, but only by virtue of his positronic brain, and inhuman speed. He would go through all possible codes logically. Edward Wong Hau Pepalu Tivrosky IV did not use any logic that he could ascertain with mere observation. Her method appeared to be simply… intuitive.

 

Had he not been needed elsewhere earlier, he would have been the one to `hack' the security codes. Instead, she had jumped right in, and Geordi allowed her. The engineer had apparently been working on intuition, as well, Data thought. The results were acceptable. The files were being opened for analysis.

 

Unfortunately, none of the information was what they needed at this time. More than once, the child blurted out in wordless anguish, and then complained in her unique sing-song, nonsensical manner about diaries, recipes, and other various bytes of personal information. Were Data capable of feeling frustration, he might have joined her in her tirades.

 

Instead, he took the files she opened, and spent his energy attempting to break those codes. And there was no doubt that the diaries and recipes were code. There was no other logical explanation for such tight security of files of personal information such as this. But for what, he did not know yet. What Data needed, was a key. A Rosetta Stone. However, none appeared to be forthcoming at the moment.

 

He did not need a key to be able to read the child's body language, though. He had been around other humans long enough that he was becoming quite adept at understanding the range of communication that could remain unspoken; but eloquently revealed by the set of a jaw, the straightness of a back, the narrowing of the eyes. Ever since word came down to engineering about the condition of Fullmetal, Edward had been more determined to break the codes. Perhaps more desperate.

 

Data was not the only one concerned. Geordi had tried to convince the child that she needed to get some rest, take a break, and get away from the data crawling across her screen. He was rewarded with a feral growl, as she hunched protectively over the panel she had been playing for the past few hours. The engineer jumped back with his hands up. But his shock wore off quickly, and he covered an escaping laugh with a cough. Edward, for her part, didn't even notice. She was already on another mental track with another file.

 

She suddenly and rhythmically started to thump her head on the panel, and Data stopped what he was doing instantly. This was not something he was familiar with, and wondered if this was a result of the child pushing herself to hard. “Edward?”

 

Geordi had been in the process of handling his other duties as Chief Engineer, and had his back to the two of them. When he heard Data, he spun, and his brows climbed up his forehead. He came up to the child, and gently pulled her away, as he said, “Alright, Ed. I don't want that panel broken.”

 

She leaned back, and groaned, then slid bonelessly out of the chair, and onto the deck. She sat cross-legged, with her head nearly in her lap, and her hands tangled in the unruly mop of red hair.

 

Data took his cue from Geordi, and didn't call on sickbay. Apparently this was just another aspect of human frustration.

 

“More recipes!” she wailed, and threw herself back onto the deck, legs and arms spread, her eyes squeezed shut, and her teeth grinding. “I don't want food! I want alchemy!” Her stomach instantly and very loudly protested that statement.

 

“Alchemy?” Geordi said, and looked at Data.

 

The android could not see the man's eyes, but he knew that the same thought was very likely going through his mind, as well. He blinked, and a minute shift of perspective occurred. “Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps that is why I have not succeeded in breaking the codes. I have been searching via a scientific perspective, rather than a mystical one.”

 

“But, to Fullmetal and Mustang, alchemy is a science,” Geordi finished for him.

 

“It is,” Data said. “And it is highly evolved in comparison to `alchemy' in this universe. They follow all the rules for science with research, experimentation, and application.”

 

Edward sat bolt upright suddenly and a grin far too wide for a face that size spread. “Alchemy was started in the kitchen!” she shouted, and jumped to her feet. She leaned over Data's shoulder and peered at the recipe dominating his screen. After a moment, she gasped, and pointed at one line. “There!”

 

Data saw what she did an instant before, and was already at work translating. “The key,” he said.

 

Without warning, she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, and he was silently grateful at that moment that he was not human, because he was certain he would have been strangled then. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and darted out of engineering singing nonsense about alchemy and cooking.