Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Levitas Fragosus ❯ To lose what makes you special ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

To lose what makes you special

Fuhrer King Bradley watched through his one narrowed eye as two of his subordinates—one loyal and the other merely troublesome—bowed in tandem and then made their exit together; the door gently clicked shut behind them and their dual footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, the muffled sound slowly dissipating until only silence remained.

Bradley, though a homunculus and therefore lacking the ability to find any true sense of comfort, could most certainly appreciate the simple lack of all sound. Though he could not find solace in it, like most people, the Sin admittedly preferred it over the mundane babble of soldiers, civilians, mindless officials, and his own family—of which he was forced to endure every day. After all, there was only so long one semi-immortal being could tolerate the idiotic musings of the human race without becoming sick of it. And Bradley had long-ago reached that point.

However . . .

The homunculus sighed softly and leant forward onto his ornate desktop, supporting himself on crossed arms. Lacing his fingers together delicately, he bowed his dark head in thought.

However, Bradley had just listened to Mustang and Hakuro relay some rather interesting news to him, regarding the Fullmetal one; in fact, if the Fuhrer was being completely honest with himself, he had to say that the information the two seasoned officers had just handed him was one of the most perplexing and intriguing things he had heard in a long while . . . not to mention one of the most worrisome.

And so, with that in mind, Pride turned to his secretary—his homunculus sister—and, subduing the anxious feeling in his gut, softly commanded, “Call Master. Something went wrong.”

- + -

“I wonder what's up with the Colonel.”

At this comment, three heads lifted from their work and turned to regard the speaker with mild interest. Havoc was lounging backwards in his chair, tilting it as far back onto its rear legs as it would go without falling, and propping his feet up atop his own paperwork; he had an unlit cigarette in his mouth—thanks mostly to Lieutenant Hawkeye's new `no-smoking-in-the-office-Havoc-if-you-want-to-damage-your-lungs-and-risk-y our-health-then-do-it-on-your-own-time' rule—and was staring up at the ceiling in idle contemplation.

Fuery sat back and straightened his glasses, which had been sliding down his nose. “What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

The blonde man swiveled his bright blue eyes away from the chicken-shaped watermark on the ceiling to observe the youngest of the four seated there. “You mean you haven't noticed?” he inquired around his cigarette after a moment.

At Fuery's mild blush and tentative shake of the head, Havoc sighed and stated blandly, “Man, Fuery . . . for a genius, you sure are incredibly dense sometimes.”

The dark-haired man huffed indignantly.

Breda took this moment to chime in with his thoughts, simply because he wanted to put his two cents out there, too. “I know what you mean,” he said with a nod. “The Colonel's been acting kinda . . . weird.”

“Weird?” Fuery asked, looking over to the red-head seated across from Havoc.

“Yeah.” Breda nodded and reached up to relieve a tickle beneath his nose. “Like . . . depressed and stuff. He's been down for the past few weeks. You really haven't noticed?”

Fuery rolled his dark eyes upwards in thought for several seconds, then shook his head and looked back to the larger man. “No, can't say I have.”

Breda just frowned and shrugged mildly.

“The Colonel is depressed.” Fuery and Breda both turned their heads to Falman, who was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, as usual, stroking his chin in thought. “However, he also seems to be feeling guilt over something.”

“Guilt?” Havoc inquired, lifting his head from its reclined position to look at the warrant officer. “What would he have to be guilty over?”

Breda seemed to consider something a moment, before he smirked, snapped his fingers, and replied, “Heh. Maybe he knocked some poor girl up.”

Had Hawkeye been in the room, she might have put a stop to the conversation right then and there; however, seeing as how she was elsewhere in HQ, retrieving some more forms, Fuery was left only to pull a face and admonish, “How crude.”

The heavyset man just chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. Havoc sighed and let his head fall back again. “Well, it would certainly explain why he's been acting so strangely,” he admitted.

There was a moment of all-around silence, before Falman brought up a point: “What about Alphonse?”

All heads turned to him once again and Havoc frowned. “I didn't think that Alphonse could get pregnant . . .”

Breda snorted a laugh into his hand, but the youngest officer their immediately snapped, “You know what he means,” tossing a glare in his superior's direction; Havoc had the good sense to look sheepish.

Falman waited a brief moment, before coughing softly into his hand and continuing. “I meant that it may have been Alphonse's death that has caused this . . . upheaval in the Colonel's general attitude. I mean, he sees both of the Elric boys as sons . . . I think he would have taken young Alphonse's passing rather hard, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Havoc agreed slowly. “But . . . I dunno; it's seems to have gotten worse over these past few days . . .”

Breda let go of a sound that resembled a chuckle, but was not one. “Well, he did bust up his hand all to hell and back last week. Think that might have something to do with it?”

The blonde man shrugged and rolled his cigarette to the corner of his mouth.

“Well, technically, it was Ed that broke the Colonel's hand,” Fuery corrected softly, leaning his side against the table.

Havoc suddenly pulled his feet off the table and sat up, the chair falling back onto all fours with a clatter; the three others there turned their attention to him. “That's another thing I've noticed,” he said, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and resting it behind his ear. “Ed's been acting pretty strangely, too. I've never seen him like this . . . I mean, from what we've heard, he actually tried to kill the Colonel . . .”

Breda nodded soundly and sat back up as well. “Yeah. He probably would have succeeded, too, if his little alchemy thing would have worked right.” The man then brought his hands together before him with a clap to demonstrate Edward's rather unique technique.

Falman crossed his arms before him and inclined his head forward a bit. “It's highly unusual for Edward to want to do harm to anyone; I can't imagine what the Colonel must have said to make him want to do something like that to him.”

Fuery cocked a curious eyebrow at the statement and frowned. “What makes you think it's the Colonel's fault?” he asked the older man.

“Isn't it always?” Havoc and Breda chimed in unison, both grinning.

Rolling his eyes, the dark-haired technician sighed and stated solemnly, “The death of a family member can make people act very differently—and the fact that Ed was there when it happened . . . I mean, I'm not even that close to my brothers, but . . . I don't know what I'd do if either of them were killed and I was standing there, mere feet from where it happened . . . not able to do anything . . .”

The office went very silent then, each of the men shifting around awkwardly at Fuery's short, rather personal speech. Breda picked up his pen and began examining it carefully, as if he had never used it before in his life; Falman shuffled through his papers, tapping them on the table to straighten the stack, looking at them, but not really looking at them; Havoc was patting himself down for a cigarette, when he seemed to remember that he already had one behind his ear and so, reclaimed it.

After said cig was once again in his mouth, he looked over at his officemate and said simply, “I didn't know you had brothers.”

Fuery blinked and, feeling colour appearing in his cheeks—partly from his own rather uncharacteristic outburst and partly from the attention he was receiving for it—he went to respond to this; however, he was interrupted by the sound of quickly approaching footsteps. All eyes turned to the office door as it opened . . . and in walked the Colonel, followed closely by General Hakuro.

The table gulped in unison.

Brushing past Mustang—who had the good sense to wait until the older man's back was to him to glower—the General swept into the office like he was the fuhrer himself. The foursome at the large table cautiously watched the higher-ranking man as he walked deeper into the room, eyeing their workspace with barely-concealed disdain; he then casually strolled over to the Colonel's desk and depositing himself behind it.

Mustang frowned and huffed silently, closing the door before turning to fully face into his office; he glanced over at the large table—and got a wicked little thrill at the similar expressions of hostility on the faces there, all of them directed at the current invasion of their personal space. Luckily for them, Hakuro was busy examining something on his desk and didn't catch the looks; Roy smirked and cleared his throat loudly—causing the four officers to jump a bit and swing their heads back down to their work—and made his way over to his blonde second lieutenant.

When a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, Havoc glanced up from his papers to meet the Colonel's eye. The dark-haired man frowned and leant in to whisper into Havoc's ear:

“Go get Edward and bring him here. Now.”

- + -

Deep within the bowels of Central HQ's cramped military dorms, Edward Elric swallowed down the vomit-tinged bubble of anxiety that had welled up in the back of his throat and held his breath as his fingertips delicately pressed themselves to the array on his bedroom floor . . .

Yellow light pulsed and threw out graceful arcs of energy, jumping and casting dancing shadows into the corners and up onto the ceiling of the small bedroom. The array was simple, both in appearance and nature, and Ed didn't have to concentrate hard on morphing the shape of the hardwood planks beneath his hands into something more graceful and beautiful. The light eventually died down and the blonde youth sat back on his heels to examine his own work.

The small wooden horse sat innocently in the middle of the array; it looked slightly rough and worn, the finer details not as prominent as Ed would have liked them, and one of it's legs looked warped somehow. It wasn't perfect by any means . . . but it was there.

Ed sighed in relief.

I can still do alchemy.

“I had faith in you, Brother,” Al's voice said from the depths of his conscience. Edward felt the corners of his mouth pull up a bit. “Hm . . . so I guess that it's just your circle-less alchemy that was disrupted by the pregnancy.”

I guess, the blonde replied tentatively after a pause, sitting back on his butt and rearranging his legs. It still felt very weird—even three days after his visit to Dr. Antley's office—to think of himself as pregnant . . . however, upon reflection, he really could come up with no other logical explanation as to why he felt and was acting the way he was.

Not that the pregnancy theory was logical in any way, shape, or form.

It was just the only theory that fit.

After he had been dropped off at HQ after that fateful doctor's visit—and Mustang had been taken to the hospital to have his damaged hand tended to—Ed had shuffled back to his dorm room dejectedly, feeling confused, scared, and very much alone. Somehow or another, he had ended up before the mirror in his bathroom, staring at his own, pale reflection; it wasn't often that he actually took the time to examine himself in the mirror—when you lived like he did, basic hygiene was really the best you could do—and so, was very surprised when he had lifted up his shirt:

His abs were gone; his usually well-defined midriff was now soft to the touch and, upon turning to the side for a better examination, he had noted that his stomach was no longer flat. True, what was there couldn't really be considered a bump, per se . . . but Edward had still noticed the delicate swelling occurring there.

The blonde had taken it all in, then turned and vomited into the toilet.

Besides, Ed thought to himself, leaning back on his hands to get a better view of his alchemic creation, that's really the only way I can see losing my ability. I mean . . . I don't see why the Gate would have given me . . . this. . . in exchange for the knowledge it gave me all those years ago. But, it's the only thing I can think of. What about you, Al? Any ideas?

“Hm . . .” his brother's voice echoed.“Well, it could be that—”

Alphonse was interrupted from his explanation, however, by the sound of light knocking on Ed's door. The blonde sat up and frowned, then called out that it was open; Havoc stuck his head into the room soon afterwards. “Hey, Chief.” Edward sighed heavily and the blonde man flashed a small grin at him . . . before suddenly noticing the array on the bedroom floor. “Whatcha doin'?” he asked, indicating the circle with a sharp nod of his head.

The Elric didn't miss the nervous edge to the man's voice.

“Just seeing if I can still do alchemy,” replied Ed tiredly, running his hands over his face. “What do you want?”

Havoc seemed to let out a relieved breath, his gentle smile reappearing on his face. “The Colonel wants to see you in the office,” he mumbled, flinching somewhat as Ed glared out at him from between his fingers at the mention of their superior. “That's all,” the second lieutenant insisted, holding up his hands defensively.

“And what's he want?”

Ignoring the growl in Ed's voice, Havoc let his hands drop and shrugged one shoulder. “He didn't say,” the man stated honestly. “He just told me to come and get you. Sounded pretty serious about it . . . Oh, and the General is there, too.”

Edward let his hands drop down to the floor on either side of his thighs. “You mean Hakuro?”

At Havoc's slow nod, the younger blonde sighed and pushed himself up. Brushing past the older officer and out into the hallway, Ed felt the heavy weight of anxiety suddenly fold itself over his chest. Al's tinny voice spoke in his head. “Well . . . this can't be good.”

Edward couldn't say he disagreed.

- + -

Roy had been silently examining an invisible attrition on his sleeve whenever the office door had swung open. He glanced up to watch as two of his blonde subordinates entered, the third and final already seated at her desk, working fastidiously.

The older of the blondes made his way back to his own seat at the large table and deposited himself there, picking up his pen, but not really beginning his work again; the second blonde—the younger and higher-ranking of the two—walked into the office and stopped only as he reached the desk. Keeping his golden eyes glued to the man currently occupying his direct superior's seat—ignoring the dark-haired alchemist hovering nearby completely—Edward Elric growled out, “What do you want?”

Snorting in derision, the General cast a glare at Mustang, before quickly turning his brown eyes back to the major before him. “I see that Colonel Mustang has taught you even less in the area of courtesy and manners since my last visit here,” he said simply.

A frown pulled at the corners of Edward's mouth and Roy had to bite his tongue to keep from giving the boy a stern warning. Taking a deep breath, the Fullmetal straightened his stance and visibly swallowed down his retort; instead, he opted for the rather shocking response of:

“If you'll pardon me saying so, General, I'm not feeling very well at the moment. I'd like to go back to my room as soon as possible, sir, so if we could make this quick?”

The voice that had come from the blonde teen was just so un-Edward that Roy felt compelled to ask the doppelganger what he'd done with the real thing; the Flame glanced over at the other office-members, only to find each of them looking at the alchemist's back in mute fascination.

Hakuro considered the Elric for a moment, before nodding curtly. “I suppose that can be arranged. I really only have one question for you—it's not even a question really. More of a request . . .”

Edward's brow furrowed in an unasked question.

The General smirked and stated, “I've been told that you can no longer do your trademark alchemy . . .” Fiery, golden eyes flashed to meet black for the briefest of moments, then came back to rest on Hakuro. Roy Mustang dropped his gaze to the desktop—it may have only been for a mere second . . .

But the Flame had been burnt, nonetheless.

“That said,” Hakuro murmured, “I'd like for you to perform your alchemy for me.”

Ed blinked and asked in exhaustion, “Sir . . . how can I perform alchemy that I know that I can't do? I've practiced for the past three days . . . I can't do it anymore. What's the point?”

“Humour me,” the older man stated simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Mustang's desk.

The blonde alchemist regarded him for a long while, the other members of the office looking on in mild confusion at the General's request, before he finally sighed and brought his hands up. There was a clap and Edward pressed his palms flat against his superior's desktop; the General leaned away in alarm at his suddenly close proximity to the alchemist's hands.

However, his concern was all for naught. After a long minute of waiting—with no alchemic reaction—Ed finally withdrew his hands and let them fall limply to his sides once again. “See, sir? No alchemy. Well . . . no, that's not entirely true.” Both Roy and Hakuro leant in at this and Edward looked off to the side. “I can still do alchemy . . . but I need circles to perform it.”

“Can you prove this?” the tawny-haired general asked, folding his hands before him and looking piercingly at the blonde.

The young alchemist sighed and withdrew a stick of chalk from his pocket to demonstrate. There was gentle scratching on the floor, a quick press of hands, an explosion of yellow light, and Mustang's smooth, marble floor arched upwards into Ed's palm; he pulled the rough pike from the floor as though he were pulling a stick from the mud and held it out for the General to examine.

“Can I go back to my room now?” he inquired, his voice taking on an almost desperate edge to it.

Hakuro looked from the pike up to Ed's face, his hardened eyes glazing over a bit. With a sigh, he stood and turned to Roy, who snapped to attention. “Mustang, I'm going to give my report to the Fuhrer. You know what to do . . .”

The Flame Alchemist hesitated for short moment, his stoic mask cracking and slipping off of his face; pushing it back on with a soldier's perseverance, he snapped a salute and barked, “Yessir.”

The General nodded at him, then went around the desk—stopping momentarily to lay a hand on Edward's flesh shoulder—and then exited the office without another word. Ed watched him go, a frown forming on his face, before turning back to the desk. “What the hell was tha—”

Ed stopped.

The Colonel had once again taken up his seat behind his desk, looking authoritative and imposing, one of his hands outstretched towards the blonde, its palm up. Edward glanced from the gloved hand to the man's face, a scowl slowly forming as intuition kicked in and a feeling of dread implanted itself in his chest.

Roy Mustang heaved a breath. “Hand over your watch,” he said, his voice low. “Edward Elric, as of right now, you are no longer the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

- + -

What?

“What?”

“W-what?”

Edward stared with wide eyes across the desk at Mustang's serene expression, feeling numbness spreading across his body as the shock slowly kicked in. The office behind him had gone deathly silent at the man's pronouncement—even the quiet shuffling of papers had ceased.

“Your watch,” Mustang repeated softly, moving his fingers ever so slightly for emphasis. This drew Ed's attention back to the outstretched hand—noting that it was the Bastard's undamaged one—and he suddenly wanted nothing more than the break each and every one of the man's fingers . . .

Instead, he settled on slamming his hands down onto the desktop, making damn sure he caused a dent with his automail; he took great satisfaction in the ever-so-slight flinch in Mustang's posture at the sound.

“You bastard,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “You can't do this! How am I supposed to get the information I need without the military backing me up? How am I supposed to continue with my research? How do I get Alphonse back?”

Edward looked up into Mustang's dark eyes and immediately regretted it: because the man looked genuinely sorry and genuinely concerned . . .

Ed didn't want that.

He wanted Mustang to be wrong and for him to be the bad guy.

He wanted it to be his fucking fault!

“Please,” Edward whispered desperately, hating himself even as the words left his mouth. “Please don't do this . . .”

The Colonel's eyes softened. “I'm sorry,” he said just as quietly. “I have no choice.”

“But I can still do alchemy. You saw!”

Roy Mustang shook his head slowly. “But you lost what made you a state alchemist in the first place—you lost what made you a prodigy. What made you . . . special . . .”

Everything.

Edward bowed his head, letting his bangs shelter his face from his superior's critical, concerned gaze, and pushed himself away from the desk fiercely; the alchemist turned on his heel, his red coat slapping angrily at his leather-clad legs, as he marched heavily towards the door.

“Edward!”

The blonde stopped.

“Your watch.”

He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling his own fingernails digging crescent moon-shaped impressions into the insides of his glove's fingers. “Fine,” he hissed. His automail hand groped roughly at the chain attached to his belt, ripping it free, and yanking the silver pocketwatch from his deep pocket. “You want it? Fine!”

Spinning, Edward hurled the watch across the office towards Mustang, half-hoping it would strike the bastard squarely between the eyes; instead, the silver-plated missile went whizzing past the stunned man's head, missing by scant inches, and crashing through the window behind him.

As the entire office lost its breath in unison, Ed panted in fury, his teeth bared in rage.

“Why don't you go fetch it? Like a good dog.”

And with that final statement, Edward Elric turned and exited the Colonel's office.