Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Ironic ❯ Ironic ( One-Shot )

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of the characters, setting, whatever else you can come up with to sue me. I merely have too much time on my hands.

 

Ironic

 

`The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.'

 

The day had begun, with the sun shining and the birds chirping and the promise of an enjoyable time in the outdoor world. However as the day had worn on and the sun had progressed across the sky so too had the clouds. Beginning as wisps of smoky white fluff occasionally causing a shadow on the hills, until by early afternoon dark grey clouds, threatening and gloomy had settled across the once blue sky, and caused people to retreat into their houses.

 

He noticed the sudden absence of people milling about him and looked around casually in hidden curiosity before turning his eyes to the sky and realizing the reason for the thinning crowds and the feeling that it was much too dark for that time of day. As a streak of bright lightning forked across the sky he drew his dark heavy cloak tighter around himself, and quickened his pace. A great thunder filled the sky shortly after, and he sighed as the skies opened up.

 

With no shelter in sight he trudged on, pocketing his hands and lowering his head. Cars passed by him, their wheels leaving temporary tracks in the wet streets and their headlights blinding him for an instant. He pulled a hand out from his jacket and covered his eye, the other already sheltered by a stark black eye patch, as he squinted at a sign in the distance, hurrying himself towards the building.

 

The door opened and a bell rang out alerting the owner that he was there. He ruffled his hair to stop it sticking to his head and when he lowered a hand a woman stood in the foyer. “You're drenched dearie.” She said kindly, ushering him further in, not noticing the reserved surprise on his face. “Will you be wanting a room?” She asked, and he mumbled a small `yes thank-you' in return. “Single?” and he nodded again. She smiled kindly at him. “Wait here, I'll get the room key, and some dry clothing for you.” Before he could say anything, she was gone.

 

The sound of laughter and music drifted down to him from the rooms above and he rocked back and forward on his heels, his face frowning in thought. He'd met many people that day, who looked and acted like people he already knew. He'd gone from person to person, seeking information, and had finally been pushed in this direction.

 

So, on the word of many, he'd hitchhiked a lift to the grand city of Munich. Another flash of lightning and roar of thunder threw him out of his musings, and he pulled a silver watch from his pocket. “Oh,” He looked up at the exclamation after he'd shut the watch. A curious glance and an unspoken question were asked of the woman who'd returned. She smiled apologetically and opened the door behind her in welcoming. “Sorry if I startled you,” she began, as he started squelching towards her, “a friend of mine had a watch like that…it just reminded me of him. He was a traveller too; perhaps you passed the same way.”

 

She handed him the dry clothing and took his wet cloak and boots, returning once he had changed for the rest of the outfit. “You needn't do that.” He said. “I can take care of it.” She shook her head and smiled.

 

“Its fine, you just relax, and get warm.” And indeed it was chilly; the rain didn't help much, so he finally sat in front of the open fire and warmed his hands and feet enjoying the feel of the dry fabric against his skin. “I'll show you your room when you're ready.” She said, taking a seat next to him.

 

“I'd like to sit here for a bit longer, if that's alright.” He replied, glancing at her long enough to see a kind smile and a nod. “How much do I owe you?” he asked, twisting so he could see her better.

 

“Worry about that in the morning,” There was a familiar kindness in her voice, that reminded him even more of the woman he knew back home. The fire crackled away quietly and laughter drifted down the stairs again.

 

“You can't buy it.” The man said suddenly, not lifting his eyes from the fire. He missed the confused look she sent his way, and she opted instead for the vocal approach.

 

“Buy what?” She asked finally, but not unkindly.

 

“The watch,” he replied. “Sorry, should've been more specific, you can earn one, when you join our…organisation.” He looked up at her, smiling somewhat lopsidedly.

 

“That's alright, what organisation?” she asked.

 

He hesitated before answering. “The country I belong to has a special section of the military. The watch has the president's emblem imprinted on it.” He explained, pulling the watch out of his pocket and showing her the symbol. “Its proof, I suppose, that I belong to that section.”

 

“Military?” She questioned, tracing the outline of the design softly with her fingers. “That doesn't sound like something he would join.” The man grinned at her, something hidden behind it.

 

“Some join for reasons other than to fight. I know someone who did it for the accessibility to research material. But either way, it's a military group.” He said looking towards the door to the other room as the bell tinkled softly; however, she seemed not to hear. “In fact I'm looking for him.” He continued, yet any words he might've added on to that were lost as another man, complete in a dark uniform stepped into the room, and he could do nothing but stare. The man didn't miss this, and cocked his head curiously at the stranger.

 

“Edward would've been too young to join the military anyhow; he said he'd had the watch since he was much younger.” She said quietly, withdrawing her hand and looking up into the face of the man, whose shocked gaze she followed to the new guest. “Something wrong?” She asked as she turned, then stood up suddenly, brushing her clothes down as she did so when she spotted the officer. “Maes.” She stated, rather breathlessly. “I didn't hear you come in.”

 

“Gracia,” He acknowledged with a pleasant grin. The other man came out of his stupor as the officer dubbed `Maes', turned towards him again, and he reiterated the words Gracia had just said in his mind.

 

“Edward?” He questioned suddenly, ignoring completely the other man. “As in Edward Elric?” There was an underlying urgency in his voice and Gracia nodded. He let out a laugh of relief. “Finally, do you know where I could find him?” He took her hands, not noticing Maes take a step forward.

 

She nodded, somewhat hesitantly, and avoided his eyes. “Are you a friend of his?” Maes asked, noting the brief confusion on his face.

 

“You…you're not…of course.” The man muttered dismally, dropping Gracia's hands.

 

“Not what?” He asked, merely out of curiosity, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the man turned to look at him. He suppressed the desire to shudder, and withstood the scrutiny, locking his eyes with the one visible on the man's face.

 

The stranger looked away first. “A good friend of mine died a few years ago…” he answered sadly, “you look a lot like him…is all” He shook his head as though to shake the thoughts. “Where can I find Edward?” he asked instead. “It's rather important.”

 

Gracia lowered her head, and clasped her hands, and Officer Hughes looked away. A sinking feeling filled the man, and his face fell. “On the corner of the main road and Kent Street.” He looked up to where the voice had come from to see another had descended the stairs in the corner. At first he thought that he was Edward's younger brother, but knew it to be another look-a-like.

 

“Alphonse!” Gracia exclaimed softly, a hand lightly covering her heart. “You startled me.” He grinned, somewhat sadly.

 

“Sorry Gracia, Officer Hughes,” He nodded in Hughes's direction, and received a small wave in return.

 

“Which way!?” The stranger asked the urgency returning. Alphonse pointed left.

 

“About 3 or 4 streets down. He's on the hill, next to the large tree.” He had to call the last part as the man practically bolted for the door.

 

“Wait!” Gracia called, “The storm!” But the stranger paid no heed, he was already out the building and off down the street. Running as though it would change what he found when he got there, running to abolish the fear in his heart. He ran through the wet streets, soaking his clothes once again. He paid no heed to the stinging rain or freezing wind, suddenly stopping and skidding slightly on the wet footpath. He backtracked and read the street sign. `…the corner of main road and Kent Street.' Well he was on the main road, and here was Kent Street.

 

He looked up, and sure enough there was a hill, and a large tree, and despite the rain and the mist that had risen, the man could see a distinct structure. He stood, gasping for breath for a few moments before slowly making his way towards it. He opened the gate and heard a slight creak, and his bare feet left marks in the mud, soon washed away by rain. He wiped his hair out of his eyes and the dripping water off of his face, and as he got closer he sped up. He stopped by the tree on top of the hill, and after many a lightning strike, he had made out the writing carved on the small grave stone.

 

Here Lies

EDWARD ELRIC

1904-1924

 

And in small writing, that the man had to kneel down to see, it said:

 

`Twas a short fellow,

With a heart and soul of gold.

 

He let out a laugh that turned into a choked sob and he raised a hand to cover his mouth. His body shook, both from the bitter cold and the bitter truth. It was almost as though the world around him paused, the noise stopping for the shortest instant, then hitting him again as the realization did.

 

Yet, even over the roaring wind, the grumble of thunder, and the downpour of rain, he heard the footsteps approach, and though the guest did not say anything, he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then finally, the newcomer spoke, his voice strained from the effort of yelling over the storm. “I know he would've complained about the short comment, but I thought it should be there.”

 

The man let out another laugh, this one disparaging. “The date is wrong,” he finally yelled back. “1898, he was born 1898.” And though he did not see, he knew the other had nodded.

 

“There's already a dead Edward Elric born in 1898 in this world. (1)” He paused. “Are you from his world?” He asked, and continued without waiting for an answer. “He'd always go on about his world, and his brother.” The man stood up, recomposing himself and turning to face the other, recognizing him as the one who gave him directions there. “Are you him?” The man shook his head, and Alphons turned back to the grave. “Didn't think we looked much alike.”

 

“How?” The man asked, after a moment without words. Alphonse turned back to the soaked man, offering the umbrella he held as the water dripped off him. However, the man declined the offer, repeating his question.

 

“He spoke of a gate.” Al said at last. “When Eckhart tried to open it, and Ed went through in the rocket…something went wrong…and he died.” Alphonse studied the man in front of him, wondering about the eye patch, the dark hair and the exotic features. “If you're not his brother, who are you?” He asked, smiling slightly in surprise as the man saluted.

 

“Corporal Roy Mustang.” He answered stiffly. “Former commanding officer of Major Edward Elric.”

 

“Military man aye?” He replied his voice laced with humour. “Why `former' commanding officer?” He asked, mainly out of curiosity. However as the storm drew closer, and the rain poured harder, it became more difficult for the two of them to hear each other. Roy ignored his question, and asked his own instead.

 

“When?”

 

Alphonse smiled slightly, something that didn't go unnoticed, and Roy opened his mouth to ask again. “October 3rd.” Alphonse answered, before he had the chance, and Roy laughed dryly.

 

“Ironic…” he muttered.

 

“What?!” Al asked. Roy shook his head and Al dropped it disinterestedly. “You coming back now? I was supposed to be coming to get you.” But Roy shook his head again.

 

“I think, I'm just going to sit here, for a while.” he replied, and though Alphonse may not have heard him, his voice carried away by the wind, he understood, and after offering his umbrella once more, and once more being declined, he left the man at the grave. “Edward Elric…a heart and soul of gold…” Roy muttered.

 

And once again, he was left with the feeling of losing a good comrade, a good adversary, and a great friend. Once again, one by one, the tears slid down his face of their own accord and he hung his head, letting the rain wash over him. And while his body shook and his heart pained, no noise escaped him.

 

Eventually the rain eased up and he stood, slowly making his way back to the inn. The bell tingled softly as he entered, but he didn't hear, too lost in his own thoughts. Gracia stood as he entered, a concerned look covered her features, and he slowly raised his eyes to hers. “If it's alright, could you show me my room now?” He asked, after a moment of heavy silence.

 

“I'll take him,” Alphonse offered taking the key from the silent woman and leaving her and Hughes in the room alone. “You were there a while.” Al commented, and Roy could hear sobs coming from the room they'd just left. “Gracia's a very emotional woman, and the accident was only recently. Ed's the one who convinced Hughes to ask her out in the first place, so they're very grateful.” He explained unnecessarily, and Roy turned his eyes from the door. After leading him through the room with the fireplace and up the stairs, Al stopped in front of a wooden door with the metal number 19 stuck on it. “Here you are Roy, there's already dry clothing on the bed; we sort of expected you to be a little wet. I'm in room number 6 if you want anything, don't want to annoy Gracia at this time of night.” And with that he was gone.

 

Roy sighed and turned the doorknob, stepping into the small room. He changed again, into clothes he discovered to be his own, washed and still warm, and then he sat on the bed, lying down a moment later. He shut his eyes, without bothering to get under the covers, and let sleep take him.

 

+++

 

The next morning began much like the last had, although for Roy Mustang, lying on his bed, wide awake, this world had become much a darker place. He couldn't believe that the strong teenage boy he'd known could be gone, and he recalled a message the late Lieutenant Colonel Hughes had passed to him. `There's no way I'm dying before you, you morally bankrupt Colonel with a god complex.'

 

He could imagine the arrogant child saying it, and his younger brother sighing in exasperation, despite the fact he needed no air. He rolled onto his side as a knock on the door shook him out of his reverie. When the person knocked again, most likely believing he was still asleep, and after a moment's internal debate, he got up and answered it. Greeted by the face of the young man from last night, grinning cheerfully at him. He held out a hand. “We never really got introduced properly last night. I'm Alphonse Heiderich.” He said, shaking his hand briefly. “Did you want to come down for breakfast, the bar's closing soon.”

 

Roy followed him down the stairs to another room he hadn't seen before, complete with tables and chairs and a bar for gathering food. He followed Alphonse to the bar, grabbing some bacon and eggs, and sat down at the small table, picking at his food disinterestedly. Alphonse studied him again.

 

“I know you probably don't feel much like eating, but you've gotta keep your energy levels up. After sitting in the rain for so long last night, it'd surprise me more if you didn't get sick.” He said, taking a large bite of his own meal. Roy sighed, knowing he was right and followed his example, chewing and swallowing then food, only then realizing how hungry he was. “What'll you do now?” Al asked, and then smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn't pry-”

 

“It's alright.” Roy interrupted. “I suppose, I'll be heading home. I don't fancy delivering the news to the rest of them but…someone's got to.” He replied, cutting his bacon slowly.

 

“Considering how close Ed always said he and his brother were, I suppose he'll take it hardest.” Al commented, watching the dark-haired man. Roy shook his head.

 

“I won't have to tell him.” He replied, a hint of sadness in his voice. He answered Alphonse's question before he had the chance to ask it. “His brother died the same day. Ironic in more than one way. He fell ill, towards the end of September, died a week or so later. We thought it was the same thing their mother died of…but knowing those two…I'm beginning to doubt that. I came to tell Fullme-Edward.” He said, using his name instead of his alias. He pushed his empty plate away from him and waited for the other to say something.

 

Alphonse sat an unreadable expression on his face, something between sad humour and disbelief. “Why…why is it Ironic?” He asked at last, raising his eyes to meet the onyx ones of his companion.

 

Roy held his gaze. “Ever looked inside his pocket watch?” He asked, and Alphonse shook his head. “I did once, when he left it in my office. Etched on the inside is Don't forget 03 OCT 11.” He stood, cleared his plate and added it to the dishes trolley. Alphonse tagged along behind him, following him all the way to the front desk, where Gracia and Maes were speaking. Gracia giggled at something Maes said, and he smiled, looking up suddenly at the approaching pair, and backing away from the flushed woman, coughing slightly.

 

“Good morning.” He greeted his cheeks tinged with the slightest pink. Roy smirked and replied with a `good morning', as did Alphonse, a cheeky grin on his face, causing the both of them to flush.

 

“How much do I owe you?” Roy asked, pulling out his wallet. She shook her head and smiled.

 

“That's not necessary,” Roy sighed and pulled out 3 rather large coins, glinting golden in the sunlight from the window. He placed them in her palm.

 

“Take these.” He said, closing her hand over them, “They're pretty much worthless in my country.” He lied smoothly. She looked at him, stunned before nodding silently.

 

He made his way to the door before she stopped him, pressing a pocket watch into his own hands. “It's Edwards,” She explained. “His family would do better with it than we would.” Roy flipped open the cover and Alphonse caught the engraving on the cover. Gracia returned to Maes' side, and Roy took the one more step to the door. “My condolences,” She said quietly and he stopped, hand on the doorknob.

 

He turned and saluted them. “And to you. Take care.” He replied, bowing slightly. He twisted the doorknob as Hughes saluted him back, the soft ring of the bell echoing through the lobby again. “Thank-you.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk and walked away, sparing only the slightest glance backwards before turning the corner. And to them he was gone.

 

+++

 

He walked through the empty streets, his boots clicking and echoing throughout the empty city. Then suddenly they stopped, and he turned to the grand building he'd stopped at, admiring the giant structure. Then he began walking again, traveling through the ballroom; noticing once again, the large bloodstain. He walked to the elevator, and let it begin it's ascent to the surface. And as he avoided the hole in the bottom of the elevator, he looked out upon the great underground city.

 

Then he raised his gloved hand, and snapped, letting the gaping glowing gate in the distance come down in a fury of flames, smoke, light and noise. He ignored its destruction, turning his gaze from the city and focusing instead on the approaching light, on his entry to the surface.

 

The elevator stopped with a screeching lurch, and the doors squeaked open. He made his way into the Chapel, his eyes resting on the two sleeping blondes and once again he sighed. He sat in one of the pews, after fixing the girl's blankets and watched the sun rise through one of the broken windows.

 

The brothers had a bond so strong, not even death could separate them. Some would say it was an uncanny coincidence, but Roy Mustang did not believe in such coincidences, then again he didn't believe in such superstition either. He smirked at the thought. They had gone through hardships and anguish greater than any children, or adult for that matter, should ever have to face, and because of their undying determination and unrelenting bond, they'd come out on top. A victory to be celebrated, recognised. A victory…that perhaps had never been known by the two souls…trapped in separate worlds.

 

And before he knew it, a lump had risen in his throat and his vision clouded with unshed tears, but he blinked and swallowed them away, watching as the two women began to wake, and he stood. They saw him and Riza rose quickly, snapping to attention, while Winry drowsily rubbed her eyes and slowly stood. In silence the two followed him outside, to the sleek black car waiting.

 

He rapped on the window of the car, and heard the tell-tale sign of the doors unlocking, opening his own and smirking at the freshly woken Lieutenant Havoc. He woke quickly as he registered his face and started the car as Winry and Riza clambered into the back, pulling away from the curb.

 

“How long was I gone?” Roy asked, as they were driving through the empty streets of waking Grand Central.

 

“Four days, sir.” Riza replied curtly, and he smirked.

 

“You waited all that time?” He asked, then his smirk turned to a smile. “Thank-you.” They drove on in silence until Winry braved the question on Havoc and Riza's mind.

 

“Edward…” She said, noticing the slight downward movement his head made, causing his dark hair to effectively cover his remaining eye, despite the fact that they couldn't see his face anyhow. He shook his head, only slightly.

 

“'Twas a short fellow,” He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “With a heart and soul of gold.” At first, a shocked silence greeted him, until the words sunk in, and their meaning became clear.

 

Was…

 

“Dead..?” Winry chocked, a tear rolling down her face. And Roy nodded. She wept, Riza holding her comfortingly, despite the way her own shoulders shook. Roy didn't look towards Havoc, but could see in the corner of his eye, and knew, from the way his knuckles were white, and his hands shook ever so slightly, that he'd heard.

 

The car stopped in front of the familiar house and Gracia greeted them at the door, a sleepy girl in her arms, despite the fact she was getting too old to hold for long. Mustang stopped Winry as Riza and Havoc began moving towards the house, lifting Ed's pocket watch out of his pocket and handing it to her. “I was told that his family would do better with this.” He said quietly, and carried on to the house, followed shortly after by her. They filed past Gracia silently, only Winry's puffy red eyes locking with hers.

 

Fuery stood as they entered the room, and as the silence stretched he sat again, understanding the looks on their faces without words needing to be spoken. Breda and Falman also reclined into their chairs with the wordless news. Armstrong had no qualms about silently shedding his own tears, and hand over his eyes. And Scheiska ran forward to hug Winry. “When?” Winry finally chocked.

 

“October 3rd.” Roy replied, and gave the slightest smirk at Riza's comment.

 

“Ironic...”

 

(1) The other Ed from one of the last Episodes died henceforth: dead Edward Elric London I suppose. Hope I didn't spoil that for anyone, though I suppose it doesn't give that much away.

 

That was just a short One-Shot, the idea sprung into my head one day, it's sort of depressing, with a lovely touch of death added. I hope you liked it, please review, I'd appreciate it. Thanks. - DoThePieFace. I'm meant to be doing my English assignment right now. Must avoid further. *Shifty eyes*