Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ Writing on the Wall ( Chapter 24 )

A/N: Sorry about the delay in updating. Unfortunately, the flu bug caught up with me, and I've discovered that Heathenesque does not write well under the influence of heavy cold meds.

 

Now, some of you might ask why everyone was brought together, then whisked away at the end of the chapter. Well, an explanation will be forthcoming. In the next chapter.

 

 

Writing on the Wall

 

Now I see the writing on the wall... Paranoia or perception? Put your faith in a liar's hands; Wanting to believe his words; But never knowing where he stands... There's too many misconceptions; In this game of consequence; When you're finding that your hero
Is just who you're up against… -- Blackmore's Night (Shadow of the Moon)

 

 

Alphonse sat silently on the deck near his brother's hospital bed. The only illumination in the room was from the bar that hovered over Fullmetal's still form as it passed from his head, to his feet, then back up in a slow, smooth motion. The soft blue light was from a steady beam aimed at his brother's body that was continually repairing the microscopic holes that kept forming in his organs and blood vessels. But even as each hole was repaired, more would appear to replace it. Even still, Edward Elric was loosing blood. Just not at the horrifying rate he was before.

 

Another machine was connected to the boy that was replicating, and replacing the blood that was being lost. It was a measure only meant to hold him steady, until the cure could be found.

 

Alphonse ached at the sight of his older brother. He had a machine breathing for him, another keeping his heart going, still another that was keeping his brain stimulated, and others keeping the rest of his organs functioning. It was hard to see the person that was connected to all those things.

 

And his brother looked even smaller without the automail. It had been removed to decontaminate it, and because the weight of it, and the way it was all connected to his nerves made his body work harder, and right now, they needed his body to spend its energy on healing. Or at least staying alive.

 

The automail arm and leg were now being held in a sterile case, shiny and clean. Al noticed that some of the dents Edward had collected recently had even been removed, and the metal had been buffed out. He couldn't help but think that when his brother woke up, he was going to be very pleased at the condition. And Alphonse kept telling himself that his brother would wake up. He would be healed.

 

He didn't dare think otherwise.

 

He looked down at his large gauntleted hands, and thought about how often those hands had been used to fight along side his brother, protecting him… sometimes even fighting with him. His own hands were capable of alchemy, too. Not on the scale of his brother, but good enough to have helped get them out of a jam on more than a few occasions.

 

This time though, Alphonse feared that it just wasn't enough.

 

He sensed, more than heard someone else in the small room, and looked up to see a shock of wild red hair appear just over the top of the bar. The light from the beam raining down on his brother was bright enough that Alphonse couldn't see her face, but he knew it was Edward.

 

If he could have, he would have smiled a little.

 

She crept softly around his brother's bed, looked at him a moment with huge gold eyes bright and wider than usual; her body nearly vibrated with suppressed emotion. It alarmed Alphonse, and he started to come to his feet. “Edward, is something wrong?”

 

She glanced at the still form on the bed, then back to Alphonse. She bit her lip, and seemed to be searching for the words. Then she crept closer, and looked up at him. “A pinch of Saffron. Three grams of niobium?”

 

Without thinking about it, Alphonse corrected her. “Three grams of tantalum.”

 

“Different weights, different groups—“

 

The armor rattled as his back straightened. “But always found together; and hard to tell apart.”

 

“Like the Saffron flower,” she said. “The stigma and the stamina get confused.”

 

“Only if you don't know how Saffron is harvested.” Al felt something growing inside, and thought it might be hope, but he didn't dare shine a light on it. Not yet.

 

Edward was difficult to decipher sometimes. At least for most people. Alphonse didn't have as much trouble as others; but he was used to thinking in code. It was part and parcel of the science.

 

She grinned and grabbed his hand. “Or if you don't know alchemy.”

 

“Edward, what are you saying?”

 

She stared over at the unconscious form on the bed, and whispered, “If you get one ingredient wrong in the recipe…”

 

“It ruins it,” Al finished for her, as he leaned closer. “You found something, didn't you?”

 

She looked up at him and nodded; then pulled him toward the door…

 

…And into the Ishballan temple.

 

Both of them froze, and looked around them. Edward's eyes narrowed and her shoulders hunched as she growled low. Alphonse looked back, and wished he hadn't. Where the door to his brother's room was, there was a solid wall with an ancient mural.

 

“Oh, no,” he whispered.

 

0o0o0

 

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was nearly dead on his feet. With all that had happened in just the past couple of days, he felt like he hadn't been to sleep in a week; and it was by sheer force of will that he made his way toward his quarters to change out of the pressure suit, and fall into bed for awhile.

 

He was grateful the computer could show him the way back to those quarters, too. He really didn't want to waste precious energy wandering through this huge ship. He barely paid any attention to the flashing directional indicators; it seemed his feet knew where to go. At least he hoped they did; because his eyes certainly weren't doing him much good.

 

So it was with some surprise that he suddenly found himself being yanked brutally off-course and into a dimly lit alcove; and it was with even more surprise when he was suddenly assaulted by a soft, warm form. The real shocker however… the thing that really brought him alert, was that the assault was centered somewhere near his face. More precisely, his lips.

 

All his soldier's training never taught him how to defend himself from a full-frontal attack of this magnitude. So he went with his instincts, and gave in to the assault. Not that it was all that difficult of a decision to make, since his assailant was the woman who'd turned him into a puddle previously.

 

When she finally let him up for air, he could only blurt, “Marie!”

 

She smiled seductively, and something almost predatory flashed in those bright green eyes of hers as she pinned him between her generous curves, and the unyielding bulkhead. “You remember.”

 

A short, sharp laugh escaped him, and he couldn't help but grin. “You're a little hard to forget.”

 

She purred at him, and teasingly ran the tip of her tongue along his lips. All thoughts of anything that even remotely resembled sleep waved a white flag, and immediately retreated. His arms found their way around her waist of their own volition, and he caught her tongue lightly between his teeth as his lips met hers in a kiss that threatened to cause his brain to come unhinged.

 

He became lost in the sensation of her mouth on his, hot and wet; the enticing scent of her, and the feel of her molding herself to his body, into his arms. He was becoming drunk off it, and it was only by virtue of a random ship-wide announcement of little importance, that prevented him from making a grievous error in judgment.

 

He pulled away with no small amount of reluctance, and stared down into her face. Both of them were panting at this point, but the hungry look she gave him caused his breath to hitch… just briefly. He couldn't remember the last time a woman looked at him quite like that.

 

He also couldn't remember what he was about to say, either. He knew that it had something to do with private activities in public places, and he was fairly certain that it was quite witty, but all he could stammer was, “Uh… your place, or mine?”

 

She purred again, and raked her nails up the inside of his thigh; coming dangerously close to parts of him that he ached for her to touch. Just… not at this moment. He moaned low, and thumped the back of his head against the bulkhead. “Marie…” he panted.

 

She stopped just short of the danger-zone, and Havoc wasn't sure if he was grateful, or disappointed. She chuckled low, and grasped his wrist, then yanked him out into the main corridor. “Your place is right around the corner.”

 

“Thank God,” he breathed, as he let her pull him along.

 

The door had barely slid open when he pushed her inside and against the wall next to the entrance. His mouth found hers instantly, and his tongue slipped between soft, yielding lips. One arm snaked around and down, to grasp the generous curve of her ass, and pull her hips tight against his. He tasted her wordless moan and shivered at the sensation. At that moment nothing else mattered, except their shared need.

 

She suddenly stiffened in his arms, and it took longer than usual for the signal to reach his brain that she was pushing him away. He blinked in confusion at the look of pure distress on her face, and it was only then that he heard someone conspicuously clearing his throat behind him.

 

He winced, and felt himself heating up from something other than desire; a sheepish grin and an apology already forming on his lips as he slowly turned, and prepared himself for an awkward confrontation between himself and his commanding officer…

 

…Which died a quick, but painful death when he realized that it wasn't just Mustang in the room. In fact, it wasn't even their guest quarters.

 

“Fuck,” he spat. Havoc looked around at the Ishballan temple, and all the people there; most of them either pretending they didn't see a thing, or attempting to hide snickers behind their hands. All of them from before, except Fullmetal, were together again. With one exception. He glanced down at Marie, who was staring wide-eyed at the bizarre change in environment.

 

Silently he wondered if there might be a hole nearby for him to dive into, because he really needed one at the moment.

 

“I'm sure that was the original plan,” Mustang said with a smirk. “But it appears that Q has other ideas.”

 

“Q?” Marie asked.

 

Havoc looked down at her and said, “Some entity, for lack of a better word, that gets off on playing games.”

 

She arched a brow at him. “Thanks for making that as clear as mud.”

 

Instead of answering her, Havoc faced Mustang. All embarrassment was gone in the shift into soldier-mode. “Colonel, any idea why Marie was dragged in this time?”

 

Mustang shook his head, and looked back over at Picard and Riker.

 

“Considering there wasn't enough space between the two of you to allow any daylight through, I would think you would know best,” Q said.

 

Havoc spun, and found the entity next to Marie, gripping her arm to prevent her from getting away. She was staring up at Q with a venomous look, and twisting her arm in an attempt to free it.

 

The look Q was giving her was warm and affectionate. “My, you are quite lovely. For a…” He glanced at Havoc, and smirked. “What is the word your people use for her kind?” His brows rose, and the smirk became a cruel smile. “Chimera, isn't it?”

 

Havoc felt his heart stop as shock, and a bit of revulsion surged through him. He stared at Marie. “Is this true?” he asked.

 

She kept her face neutral, and gave him a level stare. “If you mean, am I a product of genetic manipulation, yes. So?”

 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

 

The words were out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted them. Especially when the stung look flit across her face. It was followed instantly by righteous indignation. “I didn't know it was a goddamned prerequisite.”

 

Havoc felt Mustang's hand on his shoulder, and he glanced at the Colonel. “Jean,” he said, softly, “remember where we are. The rules are different, here.”

 

“Are they?” Q said. He dropped Marie's arm, and strode over to Picard. “What was the final disposition for the colony on Aureus Prime, Mon Capitan? Do you remember?”

 

Picard glanced at Marie, then back to Q. “The colony leaders were found guilty of genetically manipulating the population in an effort to create super soldiers. The records for the process were sealed, the colony disbanded, the labs destroyed, and the soldiers were placed in permanent stasis, because they were incapable of surviving in the rest of society.”

 

“Not all of them,” Marie said, hanging her head. “The children were assimilated… adopted; and most of us managed to become productive.” She looked back up at Picard. “You were there, weren't you? Twenty years ago.”

 

Picard nodded.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

Q rolled his eyes, and dramatically placed his hands over his heart. “Oh, what a touching reunion.” He strode across the vast room, and came to a stop in front of McKenna.

 

She was leaning against the wall, separate from the rest by more than just distance. She didn't seem to be listening to what was going on around her, as she stared down at the polished tiles, and kept her arms wrapped tightly across her chest.

 

Q cupped her chin, and forced her head up. “Silly sentimentality in the face of real science, isn't it?” he said.

 

She glared coldly at him, then spit in his face. Q smirked, as he wiped off the pink-tinged saliva. He looked down at his wet palm. “You're not feeling too well, are you?” He wiped his hand on the front of her tunic, then leaned in close. “How much longer did the good Doctor give you?”

 

“Does it matter?” she asked. “My death should satisfy a lot of people, shouldn't it?”

 

Q chuckled at that, and strode back to the center of the room. “Perhaps, perhaps. Just don't die before we determine your guilt, or…” he snorted derisively. “Innocence.”

 

He waved a hand, and the scene changed. They were still in the Ishballan temple, but an altar rose up behind an elaborate dais with a heavy throne on it. A simple, and uncomfortable-looking chair appeared in front of the dais, facing it. Off to either side of the chair and out of view for whoever would be in it, were small, slender stone podiums; and directly behind the chair, was a slightly raised platform; just large enough for one person to stand on. Next to the platform, was a stand with a black box on it.

 

Q surveyed his handiwork, and smiled. He waved a hand once more and Riker appeared at one podium, Jet and Mustang at the other. McKenna was in the chair facing the dais, and Scar was standing next to the throne, which Q was currently occupying. And everyone was dressed in formal Ishballan clothing. Including Havoc, who found himself suddenly on the platform behind McKenna. Of the rest, there was no sign.

 

“Court is now in session,” Q said.