Chapter Text
“Don’t look so surprised, I’m your fuckin’ back-up."
If there was anything Brigadier General Roy Mustang hated more than rain, it was military inspections. Yet both the rain and his own irritation pounded at Roy’s head as he walked the ornate steps of the First National Bank.
“If the Major doesn’t let me go home after this, I give you permission to shoot me,” Mustang quipped to Captain Jean Havoc, who raised a faux salute as he followed along behind him.
“Then who’s gonna put me out of my misery? You up to it, Breda?” Havoc snorted as he turned to the third member of their party, who just shook his head in response. “Let’s leave the sharpshooting to Hawkeye. Hopefully she’ll have enough rounds for all of us.”
It was their third military inspection this month, with Fuhrer Grumman ordering Mustang and his team to complete a report on Central City’s financial institutions, hoping that the money misplaced by the Bradley administration could be recovered in short order. Inspect the gold, review the books, and send word to HQ about anything below board. Third and Second National had turned up empty, with no trace of the missing 300m Cenz. If Mustang could so much as recover a dossier with a decimal out of place, maybe it could lead them somewhere. Anywhere. But as he was struck by the stale and aristocratic air of First National, he knew the enormity of the scandal would make solving the mystery that much harder.
Approaching the front desk with Havoc and Breda in tow, Mustang skipped right past the pleasantries with the attending bank clerk. “Afternoon. I’m here to speak with Executive Director Lowell. I’m expected.”
The stout attendant adjusted her red glasses and took in the general’s appearance. “General Mustang, thank you for your dedication to public service. The Director will be with you shortly. Please, feel free to have a seat as you wait for him. Would you care for any tea or coffee?”
It took as much good faith as Mustang had in him to not automatically count tea or coffee as suspicious. “No thank you. I expect that he will be along soon?”
“Yes, sir. Please make yourself comfortable,” the clerk spoke in a mollifying, professional tone as she gestured to some open seats in the foyer. Despite Mustang’s clear reluctance to make himself comfortable, the clerk walked through the double doors to retrieve her superior.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Mustang groaned as looked up at the clock on the wall. “If I’m here on the Fuhrer’s orders, you shouldn’t make me wait in the lobby.”
“Cool it, Chief,” Havoc retorted. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting a big head. They probably just got sidetracked. Not every day that the top brass wants an inspection.”
“Maybe they’re hiding the evidence?” Breda mused quietly, knowing that Mustang surely wanted to barge in and get the damn inspection over and done with.
“Not funny, Breda,” Roy added dryly.
As it grew later in the afternoon, bank patrons continued to go about their business, at first starstruck at seeing the famous Flame Alchemist in their midst, then reacclimating themselves to their deposits and withdrawals and money orders. A half hour had gone by, and the General was growing beyond impatient.
“This is getting ridiculous. Maybe you were on the money, Breda. And I mean that literally,” Mustang surveyed the foyer and found no sign of the attendant from earlier. Even her kiosk where they were standing had no sign of her. She hadn’t come back to so much as check on them. “So much for tea and coffee.”
“Weird that it’s taking so long. I wonder if everything’s alright?” Havoc asked, looking around for anything that felt out of place. But just as he was about to comment on the peculiarity of two characters who were standing in the back of the foyer, the double doors of the offices swung open. Director Lowell finally came out to meet them, with an automail gun pressed firmly to his temple.
As the patrons of the bank looked up to see what was going on, they recoiled immediately into a panic. Two large men in black coats stood in front of the exit, handguns held up as a clear sign that nobody was going anywhere.
The Director surveyed the room quickly with frenzied eyes, finally landing on Mustang and his team.
Mustang nodded briskly yet almost imperceptibly at him, as small a gesture he could manage to communicate that everyone would get out of this safely.
The burly man who had taken the Director as a hostage seemed to notice Mustang’s demeanor and held his other arm tighter around his captive. “Alright! Nobody move! Hands where I can see them. If you stand up, you’re dead. If you run, you’re dead. If you keep your head down and shut the fuck up, you’ll probably get to live.”
Mustang was reticent to admit that he’d never seen this group before, but by now they all looked the same. Without even hearing about their motive, it was already crystal clear to him. Blue armbands adorned the shoulders of each of the criminals, and Mustang knew already that they were terrorists.
It had been three years since the fall of King Bradley, and in recent months his sympathizers had grown bolder and daring. A train station had been abortively held hostage several months ago, but the general knew that it was only a matter of time before they got their shit together.
Mustang weighed his options carefully in his mind, knowing that no matter how quickly he pulled on his ignition gloves he couldn’t guarantee that nobody would be hurt. His decision was seemingly made for him not a moment later.
“And you three, you’re military,” the chief attacker called briskly out to them. “Guns on the floor, hands behind your head. Heroics right now is the perfect way for everyone in this room to die.”
Mustang shared a look with Havoc and Breda, who were waiting for confirmation to do as they were told. With a stiff nod, Mustang took his gun out of its holster and placed it on the floor. Havoc and Breda did the same.
As their captor was about to open his mouth to speak, another voice cut in from behind him.
“Baker, don’t forget about our special guest,” a woman reprimanded politely as she walked through the same double doors. It was the clerk, the stout woman with red glasses, now toting around a revolver and the eyes of a killer. “The general should be apprised of his situation.”
The woman eyed Mustang with some blend of scorn and satisfaction, gun held out towards the bank patrons at large. “And the ignition gloves, General. I know you have that pair and a spare in your pocket. Put them on the ground with your gun and I won’t have to do anything ugly.”
Mustang clicked his tongue as he did as he was told. The woman nodded curtly and continued with her diatribe. “Now then, general. You just sit back and maybe I won’t blow your brains out. You,” she turned to Breda. “You’re one of Mustang’s men? You’re going to go right out the door and inform the military of what’s happening here. Tell them exactly what we’re after. A full report on the Bradley assassination, along with the names of those responsible, and the release of the political prisoners in 2nd Prison. We’re the Blue Dawn and we’ll kill hostages if deemed appropriate.” She paused, cracking a wry smile as Breda was led to his feet by one of her compatriots. “Got all of that? And do have some tea or coffee on your way out. I’ll take good care of your general,” she sneered as she eyed Mustang with ravenous bloodlust. “As long as he takes good care of me.”
Roy looked back at Breda as he was escorted out of the bank, hoping beyond hope that Hawkeye would be able to figure a way out of this. As he turned from Breda, his eyes landed on one of the hostages: a grandmother opening a savings account with her grandson. She held the boy close as her eyes pled with him silently, please, help us. Roy shared a sympathetic look and turned back towards his captors.
“Aritzia, headcount,” another of her men said as he approached. “We have 28 hostages, including the general and his adjutant.”
“Thank you. Now then, Starmer, restrain the general. I’m not taking any chances with the Flame Alchemist carving an array on the tile.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” a tall man transmuted the floor in short order to bind Mustang’s arms, doing the same to Havoc.
“Baker, put the Director with the rest of the hostages. You’ll be focusing on our general.”
“Ma’am,” Baker said as he tossed Lowell towards a small crowd of crouched hostages. The director, hands tied up behind his back, hit his face artlessly to the tiled ground.
“Let me be clear,” Aritzia called out to the hostages. “Our grievances are not with the common man, but with the corruption that has robbed us all of liberty. Think of the freedoms stolen from us in the night by this corrupt parliament, set up by the traitorous Grumman. Democracy is a fraud that only serves the elites and their interests. Don’t be fooled by the adulations of a charlatan! Our nation will be made strong again, no matter the cost!”
The hostages only held their children closer, only sank further to the ground, desperate and afraid.
A terrorist with a gun who promised freedom? A paradox in motion, thought General Mustang.
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To the military’s credit, they were already on active alert when Breda marched out the front doors of First National.
Major Hawkeye was quickly at his side, her own stoic demeanor unshaken by the current circumstances. She was relieved to find Breda unharmed, save for some nervous sweat that had crept off his brow during his march out of the bank. It was always the most difficult to walk with a gun shoved to your back.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Major.” Breda took a steadying breath and briefed her on the current situation.
“So it’s Blue Dawn again,” said Hawkeye almost to herself. “They’ve certainly scaled-up their operation.” She looked up at the windows of the bank, relieved for a moment that nobody had yet been harmed. “I’d say there’s at least twenty people inside. You said there were four combatants?”
“That’s right. And they knew who we were, too. They knew the general and made him surrender his ignition gloves. Both pairs.”
“One step ahead of us, this time,” Hawkeye held a pensive hand to her lips as she calculated their response. It was impossible to go in to retrieve the hostages without risking civilian casualties. Perhaps it was time to hear from the terrorists in their own words. “Sergeant Koda,” Hawkeye called to a young man behind her.
“Sir!”
“Get me a phone. I’m going to give the Blue Dawn a call and hear their demands myself. That can at least buy us some more time.” She turned curtly to Breda and filled him in on her end of the ordeal. “I’ve informed the Fuhrer of a potential hostage situation, and he’s freeing up a few more men to send in case we need back up. And once he hears that it’s the Blue Dawn causing trouble, I have no doubt he’ll bring more than enough troops to take them out. It’s just the hostages we need to worry about.”
“And the general?” Breda asked.
Hawkeye could barely contain her amusement. “You know by now it’ll take more than a few rogues to snuff out our Flame. He’ll be fine in there. As long as he doesn’t do anything reckless…”
“Sir, the telephone,” Koda said as he approached Hawkeye with a phone line.
“Excellent. And Lieutenant Fuery?”
“The Lieutenant will be arriving shortly. Shall I send for anyone else?”
“Have Captain Falman check in with emergency personnel. We’ll need to secure medical for all of the hostages.”
“Sir!”
Steeling herself, Riza dialed the number posted to the top of the telephone, knowing that the Blue Dawn would jump at the chance to share their vitriolic message with anyone who’d care to listen. How they’d gone from a failed train hijacking to a full-scale hostage situation in a matter of months gave her pause. Still, she knew that they were no match for her team.
The line came to life as a woman’s voice reverberated in her ear. [This is Aritzia of the Blue Dawn. Are you the military?]
“Affirmative. I am Major Riza Hawkeye. I take it you have some demands for me?”
[I’ve heard about you, Hawkeye. You were a hero to our people in Ishval. A shame you’ve taken to serving these neophyte vermin.]
Hawkeye gave an expectant pause, hoping that the woman on the line would get to the point. [I take it you aren’t a fan of revisiting old battlegrounds? No matter, then. Here are my demands, just in case the other dog failed to relay them accurately. I want a full investigation of the Bradley assassination, a list of names of those responsible, and the release of the Blue Dawn’s members from 2nd Prison. I told your associate that we’re more than willing to resort to bloodshed if you don’t comply with our demands. Is that understood?]
“I take it then that the hostages are unharmed?” Hawkeye replied with cool composure. She gestured for Breda to look at the hostages and take stock of any visible casualties.
[Affirmative, Major. I’m a professional and I don’t intend to kill anyone unless you force me to.]
“Will you permit me to speak to General Mustang?”
[Sorry, Major, but I can’t allow that. You should be able to see from the window that the general, like the other hostages, is unharmed. Save for a few scratches at being detained. I’m more than willing to return him, that is…]
“I will speak with my superiors and relay your demands. If anyone is harmed, I cannot promise anything. Understood?”
[You have thirty minutes to decide before the first hostage dies. And I think General Mustang is as good a fit as anyone to be first.] At her haughty declaration, the phone call abruptly ended with a ring in the Major’s ear.
“Major?”
“We have thirty minutes until they kill the first hostage. We’ll have to work quickly.” Hawkeye called out to the men at her back, “I want the perimeter evacuated! Give me five city blocks, and do it quickly!”
“Sir!”
“Breda,” Hawkeye said, turning towards the Captain. “What do you make of this? Have we overlooked something?”
“Well, I’m still wondering how they managed to escalate so quickly. Their guns weren’t exactly scrap metal, either. Someone’s funding them…”
“Maybe Grumman wasn’t thorough enough when he cleaned house. I’ll have to speak to the general about another inquiry. If there are any Bradley supporters left in the military, it’ll only get worse from here.”
“Sir, a telephone call for you,” Koda reappeared at Hawkeye’s back.
“Is it our friends at the bank, again?”
“No, sir. It’s Fuhrer Grumman.”
Hawkeye was relieved that he responded to her request so quickly. It was still difficult getting used to having a leader who took national security seriously. “Thank you, Sergeant. Please inform me when you hear back from Captain Falman.”
“Sir!”
Hawkeye answered the Fuhrer’s call. “Sir, I appreciate your swift leadership. Your orders?”
[Major, I’m glad to have your no-nonsense demeanor with us today, it’s invaluable. I take it no one has been harmed yet?]
“No, sir. As we suspected, it’s Blue Dawn. I spoke with their leader. They’re demanding—”
[Pardon me, Major, but I doubt we’ll have to worry about their demands. Special Operations returned from their assignment in the North, so I’ve sent my top man to assist you. That upstart should be infiltrating the bank as we speak. Now, is there anything else you can tell me about the hostages? Anyone particular among them?]
Hawkeye was quiet at the mention of Special Operations. She herself had never worked with them in the three years since Grumman had ordered its inception. While it was known vaguely that the group was made up of highly trained intelligence officers and combatants, she couldn’t recall ever being introduced.
“Yes sir. It appears that the terrorist cell planned this attack to coincide with General Mustang’s inspection. The General and Captain Jean Havoc are among the hostages, as well as the bank’s director. Captain Haynes Breda was released to inform the military of the cell’s demands. About 30 hostages are being held in the foyer.”
The Fuhrer’s amused chuckle threw her off balance. [So the general’s in the bank? That makes things interesting. Thank you, Major. Please do as you can to placate the Blue Dawn until Special Ops is in place. I imagine you’ll have an opportunity soon to free the hostages.] And without any further dialogue, Grumman abruptly ended the call.
Hawkeye looked incredulously at the phone as Breda asked for an update. “Anything from Grumman?”
“Well, as luck would have it, Special Ops is back in Central.”
“Holy shit,” Breda could barely contain his surprise. “I knew the big guy was taking Bradley sympathizers seriously, but I didn’t think—” Breda paused as though searching for the words. “Those guys are no joke. Scary dudes. I hear they were behind the regime change in Drachma.”
“I heard that too,” Fuery piped up behind them, finally on the scene. “Guess they’re called the ‘Fuhrer’s Attack Dogs’ for a reason…”
“Thank you for joining us, Lieutenant. Apologies for summoning you on your day off. I’ll have the general apologize to your wife in person.”
Fuery let out a weak chuckle at Hawkeye’s suggestion. “It’s no trouble, sir. We might have time for dinner yet if the general doesn’t get himself killed.”
“And if Special Ops are here…” Breda started.
“Who knows what’ll happen.”
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Roy was beginning to feel delirious at the constant preaching of his captor.
“Amestris will rise again, my friends! And the scourge of Ishval will be erased! And that crooked parliament will fall!”
As badly as Roy wanted to crack a joke about tough crowds, there wasn’t anything funny enough to risk getting somebody killed. The man with the automail arm had its gun pointed squarely at his head. He wasn’t in the position to take any risks.
Unprompted, the burly man spoke quietly. “A shame I have to treat a hero like this.”
Roy looked around, realizing that the man, Baker, was speaking to him directly. As if asking permission, Roy spoke quietly in response. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re…” Baker paused. “The Hero of Ishval. You did more than any of us could to secure our homeland…”
The words seemed to take the breath right from his lungs. These people weren’t just Bradley sympathizers… They wanted to finish a genocide.
“And that’s what you want? More bloodshed?” Roy bit back. He knew it was stupid to speak that way with a gun to his head, but he couldn’t stop the words as they came out. How anyone could yearn to return to that hell was truly beyond him.
“You’ll understand someday, Mustang. You understood it then. When duty calls, you answer.”
“Baker!” Aritzia barked. “Enough fraternizing. You can get an autograph from the war hero later. Bradley’s will comes first.” And without missing a beat, the woman continued her dizzying sermon, one that spoke proudly of blood and soil and a truly united Amestris.
With how loudly Aritzia was making her declarations, and with how their captor seemed to have some respect for him, Roy chanced a whisper to Jean. “Havoc, how long’s it been?”
“25 minutes, sir. Five minutes to go.”
“If things do go south, I’m the first one to go. I won’t have someone else dying because of this.”
Jean’s face reflected the weight of those words, and without so much as a retort, the blond nodded.
“But that’s if, not when. Hawkeye’s got something up her sleeve, I’m sure.”
“It’s not like her to run out the clock, Chief. You think Grumman’s working something out?”
“I don’t know…”
“And I say to you, my fellow Amestrians! Take up arms against the corruption! The military has grown weak in its fealty to cenz! It’s worship of sickness! It’s celebration of the degenerate! We will rise again!”
Roy was almost thankful for the woman’s blowhard dogmatism, as it gave him good range to scope out the other hostages. So far everyone was unharmed, but as he saw children growing antsy and parents watching the clock, he knew the grip of fear was coiling ever tighter around them.
Come on, Hawkeye… Pull through… Just… get these people out of here…!
As if responding to his plea, the spark of alchemy lit up the room. Walls of stone emerged from the ground and partitioned off the groups of hostages from their assailants.
Aritzia was cut from her proselytizing as the ground below her feet shook. “What—Alchemy?”
Roy’s entire line of vision was cut off from his captors by the alchemical barricade that surrounded them. He and Havoc shared a startled glance as proud footsteps echoed into the room. From the precision of the transmutation, the intensity of it, Roy understood that whoever had come to their rescue was a professional. Just who did they send up here?
“Who—I told those dogs that I’d kill them! I’ll kill all the hostages if you take another step!” Roy could hear her distress clearly in her voice as she raised her gun, realizing too late that none of the prisoners were in her line of fire. “Baker! Starmer! Hurry up and—”
A clap and another flash, and Aritzia was restrained by the imposing ground that quaked beneath her. As the ground shifted to imprison her, Roy and Havoc were freed from their restraints. Roy stood up quickly, ready to assist whoever had come to their aid. Walking out from underneath the makeshift barricade, Roy’s eyes landed on a figure in black who stood before the Blue Dawn, a helmet obscuring his identity. Printed on the crown were thickly stenciled letters, SPEC. OPS. To say that Roy was stunned would be an understatement.
He’d been briefed by the Fuhrer on Special Operations’ mission to Drachma with a singular goal in mind: topple its dictator. Whether the country fell to civil war or democracy was out of their hands, but in only a few short weeks, they had succeeded in their goal without so much as a name leaking into the press. This guy was a professional, alright.
Aritzia, struggling against her stone restraints, let out an indignant cry. “How dare you—Amestris will rise again! And in King Bradley’s name we will reclaim our homeland for—"
“Shut the fuck up, already,” came his venomous reply. Retrieving the terrorist’s gun from the ruined ground, the special ops agent surveyed the hostages. “Putting all these people in danger for some bullshit like that? Get some new material.”
The special agent turned to Roy without prompting, giving orders quickly. “Secure the hostages, general.”
That voice… It couldn’t be…
Mustang couldn’t help it as he gaped, trying to figure out if he was imagining things or if it really was—
“Don’t look so surprised, I’m your fuckin’ back-up. Got a problem with that, Mustang?”
And it was the way that the word came out of his mouth, Mustang, the timbre, and the tone of it, that gave Roy all the proof he needed.
The word was off his tongue less as a question and more as a pronouncement. After three years of total silence, could it really be him?
“…Fullmetal?”
The special agent clicked his tongue and gave a fiery response, “Didn’t I ask you to secure the hostages, Mustang? Or are you gonna stand around and be fuckin’ useless? Bad enough civilians are involved in this shit and now I’m here.”
Roy was taken aback at his tone, annoyed and nonchalant. Like he was late for work, waiting for the train, voice irritated yet mundane despite the trying circumstances. Roy understood quickly that his was dire work, and that the young man who may or may not be the Fullmetal Alchemist must have seen his share of close calls. Mustang was pulled out of his musings and worked quickly to begin escorting the hostages out of the building.
The Agent walked briskly to each of the four assailants and secured their weapons. “I take it you fucks are with the Blue Dawn? You need a new hobby.” After the special agent was satisfied with his work, he turned to his fellow soldiers. “Medical should be ready for them. Havoc, take care of it. Mustang, anyone critically injured?”
“None. Everyone is unharmed,” Roy conjured up his professional tone as he gave his reply, still turning around the idea in his head that the man before him was indeed Fullmetal.
After three years of silence from the Elric Brothers, Roy had assumed they were out of the military for good, and better for it. Never did he imagine that Ed of all people would report directly to the top.
“Good. Now we can focus on these guys,” Ed said as he turned towards the glass doors of the bank. “Grumman wants them brought in for interrogation. I’ll work on getting them cuffed if you could brief Hawkeye. I’ll need an armored car for transport.”
Sir, would have been Roy’s response to someone who sounded so jaded and professional, barking out orders as easily as breathing. But his suspicions were clouding his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to focus until he knew, one way or another, who was behind that helmet. “Got it,” was all Roy could manage.
But as Roy turned to leave, the sound of crumbling rock rang out from behind them, and one of the terrorists had managed to get himself free. Baker aimed his automail gun at the Special Agent, who unholstered his own weapon in a flash. “Bad idea, shithead!” And in an instant, four bullet holes scoured the flesh of the man called Baker. The agent turned to the remaining three and posed, “anyone else?” The three remaining members of Blue Dawn just stayed still, eyes downcast and defeated as the special agent made to properly handcuff them. Roy did as he was told and requested an armored car.
A crowd of civilians were standing at the periphery of the military blockade surrounding the bank, bystanders checking to see if their loved ones had made it out of the hostage situation safely. As the freed hostages were escorted into a waiting ambulance to ensure that they were uninjured, Roy walked out of the bank shortly behind them. His eyes immediately landed on Hawkeye, who stood at attention the moment he appeared. Despite her resolute stance, Roy could still see that glimmer of relief in her eyes. “A job well done, sir,” she said as he approached. “What happened in there?”
“Well, I’m not really sure myself,” Roy admitted. “One minute I’m transmuted to the floor with a gun to my head, and the next, well… Did you know about him?” Roy asked as he gestured vaguely to the young man who stood by the door, gathering up his prisoners.
Riza’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched the young special agent go about his work. “Grumman himself ordered Special Ops on the scene. They apparently just returned from a mission in the north.”
Roy turned to observe the young man as the special agent meticulously cuffed each of the remaining assailants, not a glance spared for the deceased Baker, whose automail arm was now spattered with his own blood. The young man gathered up his prisoners and led them out into the waiting transport.
Just as he emerged from the bank, raucous applause filled the street. The special agent led the three terrorists into the armored car in handcuffs, turning towards Havoc with a curt whisper. Roy could barely hear what he was saying over the crowd, but he picked up something about ‘retrieving the weapons’ from the scene. Havoc saluted the young man uncertainly as he returned inside to gather them.
The rest of Roy’s team stood back in something close to amazement, beguiled at the young man sent by the Fuhrer himself.
“Is it true, sir? He’s one of them?” asked Lieutenant Fuery.
Roy nodded vacantly, searching the youth for any signs of familiarity, of any hint that his hunch was correct. The glint of automail, traces of blond hair, anything.
With a clang, the doors of the armored truck closed.
“Mustang!” the agent called out as the car holding the prisoners drove off. “Grumman wants you in his office in 30 minutes. Don’t ask me what it’s about, just bring your men over and don’t think about being late.”
An unmarked car drove up beside him, and the youth got inside and left without another word.
Mustang shared a terse look with Hawkeye, knowing full well that they were both struck uneasy about an impromptu meeting with the Fuhrer himself. Roy surveyed his team and found that they felt the same.
Still, they did as they were told. Team Mustang found themselves shifting around uncertainly outside of Fuhrer Grumman’s door. Mustang kept his cool demeanor while Hawkeye stood patiently beside him. Havoc and Breda exchanged glances as Falman and Fuery just stood in silence.
Finally, the familiar voice of the Fuhrer summoned them inside. “You can come in.”
“Sir!” The six members of Mustang’s squad stood in front of Grumman’s desk and saluted.
“At ease. I wanted to thank you all personally for the smooth operation today. Every single hostage was rescued without harm, and all four of their assailants apprehended or dispatched. I’m pleased to know that you’re all fitting into your new roles splendidly.”
“Thank you, sir,” Roy started. “But it wouldn’t have been possible without your leadership. The forces you sent in were instrumental to our success.”
“So he was, was he?” Grumman remarked with a laugh. “Told you he was my top man. Why don’t I introduce you?” The Fuhrer stood from his desk and pressed a button on his intercom. “Send him in,” he ordered quietly.
Fuery tensed at the prospect, and by the silence that seemed to grow thick around him, Roy surmised that none of them had ever met Special Ops before.
After a few moments passed, the shielded visage of the Special Agent returned. Grumman smiled fondly at the young man as he crossed the threshold.
“Nice to see you again. You’re looking well,” Grumman remarked with a knowing glance.
“Be nice if I could get a fuckin’ break,” the agent barked. “You send me all the way to the tundra and the day I get home I have to bail out some sorry asshole,” the young man paused, as though gathering himself. “Anyway, thanks for the compliment… sir.”
With a pleased grin, Grumman continued with his introduction. “General, this is my top man, Lieutenant Colonel— Well, why don’t you take off that helmet already. We’re in good company.”
The young man hesitated for a moment, before muttering a polite “sir,” hands resting at the base of his helmet. With a swift motion, he removed his headgear, revealing a familiar vision of gold. Only Roy had even suspected the identity of the masked agent, and the rest of his team was left speechless at the revelation.
“Allow me to reintroduce you,” Grumman said as though trying to stay composed. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, head of Special Operations.”
“Boss?!” Havoc called out, a snicker on his lips. “Holy—Didn’t think I’d see you again!”
Ed grinned shallowly at Havoc, “A welcome surprise, I hope.”
As the rest of the team begun to get their reintroductions out of the way, Roy was struck immediately by what had changed about him. His hair was longer, and he had certainly grown taller, but there were differences that went far beyond appearances. He knew at a glance that Ed had indeed changed, not just the curve of his jaw or the way his shoulders had begun to fill out. His eyes were starkly different. Distant, forlorn… something in Ed was drastically changed. It unsettled Roy to his core, and he hoped he’d get to figure out what it was.
Grumman picked at his moustache, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll have you know that Ed joined back up with the military two years ago. And the moment I saw his paperwork for reenlistment, I decided he’d be a perfect fit to come work for me. I couldn’t let him get shipped off someplace like Eastern Command, not when his invaluable talent could make a huge impact on this country. So, I dragged him up here and decided to look after him for a while.”
“With due respect, sir,” Roy started hesitatingly, “Why was no one informed of this? I had no idea Fullmetal had even considered returning at all.”
“Well, Mustang. You know that Special Ops can’t very well have their names and faces everywhere, hm? And Ed being retired to the eastern countryside was the perfect cover to avoid any suspicions about his involvement.”
“You think this helmet’s for show, Mustang? You almost blew my cover back there!” Ed’s temper flared in a way at Mustang that made him quietly nostalgic. He noticed how some things did, indeed, remain the same. The way his eyes lit up with fire and passion, the click of his tongue when he was annoyed, the furrow of his brows when he was judging someone for acting stupidly.
“Nice to see you’re as moody as ever, Fullmetal,” Roy quipped, pleasantly surprised that some of the old Ed seemed to be intact.
Yet at the familiar way Roy spoke to him, Ed averted his gaze. Quick to change the subject, he faced Fuhrer Grumman, asking impatiently, “So what’s this about, Grumman? I’ve not seen a proper bed in eight fuckin’ months so I’d really like to get out of here.”
That was something else different. Ed always had some contempt for authority when he was under Roy’s command. He’d been impetuous and caustic, yet full of brilliance just underneath the surface. His temper was always fleeting, rarely ever sincere. He’d be pissed or annoyed or irritated but rarely ever angry.
This Ed felt truly, incredibly angry.
But Grumman didn’t seem to mind Ed’s demeanor. In fact, it seemed that the old man was used to it, like Ed had been this way for a long time.
“About that, Edward. I have your next assignment.”
Ed’s mouth gaped in disbelief as he fought the urge to slam an automail hand down on the table.
“What?!” Ed shouted. “I’m in Central for five minutes and I have to bail this fucker out, and now that I have the chance to clean the snowflakes off my balls you want me off on assignment again?”
The Fuhrer just gave an amused grin at Ed’s mercurial charm, waiting to see if he’d put another dent in his desk. “I agree that you need your rest, so I’m keeping you in Central for a while.”
Grumman shifted his tone for the room at large, “As you all know, multiple cells of Bradley sympathizers have grown more active throughout the city. It’s only a matter of time before they discover the truth… the matter of who killed him.” Grumman eyed them carefully. “If anyone from the Blue Dawn were to discover that Mustang is the man responsible, there’s no telling just how hard they’d try to bring him down. And Mustang, you know they’re not above using hostages to get what they want.”
“I’m not sure that I follow, sir,” Roy replied.
“To put it bluntly, general, I want the Blue Dawn dispatched. They’re a threat that we can’t ignore any longer. Democracy is like catching lightning in a bottle, and they’re the worst thing that can happen to it. Your orders, general, are to hunt them down and bring them to justice.”
Ed, growing more impatient by the minute, spoke out in a hurried tone. “So what the fuck does that have to do with me… Sir?” That was something else new, Roy thought. Ed calling anyone sir, even as an afterthought, was beyond belief. Not a week after he’d officially enlisted, the best he could get out of him was ‘Colonel Bastard.” But his musings on this new and improved Ed Elric thudded to a halt at the Fuhrer’s next words.
“Elric,” Grumman commanded, “you’re hereby ordered to guard the Brigadier General with your life.”
The color drained from Ed’s face, as surprise morphed into shock, and finally into a deeply set chagrin.
“You’re… fucking joking!” Ed barked out around his gritting, angry teeth. “You want me to work for this bastard… again?”
“On the contrary, Elric, you’ll be working for me as normal. And as you report directly to the Fuhrer, you have carte blanche to do whatever necessary to protect Mustang,” Grumman corrected.
“So what, I get to kick his ass if he puts himself in danger? Is that my new fucking job description?” Ed’s rage was like a gunshot ringing out, and his head cocked right to Mustang, eyes piercing and distant far unlike how Roy had ever seen him. At least, not since Nina Tucker’s body was discovered…
Ed looked like he wanted to say more, to add onto a lengthy diatribe, but Grumman cut him off before another word could be spoken.
“Not quite, but maybe we all could use a kick in the pants sometime,” the Fuhrer mused. “But Elric, allow me to be serious. I intend to be the last Fuhrer of Amestris. The stabilization of our democracy and our parliament are coming along in short order, and if I have my way, we’ll elect a president by the end of my term. But if for whatever reason that vision cannot yet be realized, I intend for that role to fall to General Mustang.” Grumman eyed the general with great sincerity, and Roy met his gaze with a grave nod of affirmation.
Grumman continued. “There’s nobody else I trust to look after this country. And as far as looking after him, there’s nobody I trust more than you, Elric. You more than proved yourself in Drachma.”
Even Roy was caught off guard by the Fuhrer’s opinion. While he knew that Ed was always dependable as a soldier (despite some hiccups along the way), the way Grumman spoke of him meant that he’d grown exponentially—as a soldier, as a professional, and as a man. The Fuhrer, all dirty jokes and crisp grins, was never one to hand out undeserved words. Roy understood that he was a wholly sincere leader.
And as soon as he met Ed’s troubled gaze, he knew that the young alchemist understood it, too.
“I… God dammit…!” Ed recoiled as he burst out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Havoc and the others watched him as he left, sharing worrying looks among themselves.
Words seemed to come alive and die right on their tongues, one after another, and the air grew dense with the weight of unanswered questions.
It was finally Riza who cut through the silence. “Sir…” Hawkeye started, uncertain. “You said he’s been back in the military for two years. Why… Why would he want to come back?”
Grumman took pause at her question, lowering his eyes as he took off his glasses, polishing them to proper clarity. “Perhaps you should ask him yourself. Talented as he is, I do fret over him. The youngest State Alchemist in history, now the youngest Lieutenant Colonel… I know it isn’t age that makes a man, but he’s been through more than most. More than anyone his age should… But you know about that already, right Mustang?”
“I do, sir.”
It was true. Nobody really knew the Elrics better than he did. The horror they created in their basement, the house they burned down… the years they spent searching for the Philosopher’s Stone… they’d already lived through more than most soldiers in their whole careers. Ed was only 19 now. And Alphonse…
The thought battered him with a sudden ferocity. “Sir, another question. How… does Alphonse feel about all this?”
The Fuhrer paused his ministrations as he stared at the lenses in his grasp. His eyes leered towards the door where Ed was surely sulking. A wistful smile approached his lips as he answered. “Perhaps… that’s also best left to Ed. Just don’t ask him about these things all at once. A lot… A lot has happened since you’ve seen him last.”
“He seems a little…” Breda trailed off, lips pursed as he thought over his feeling, “angry. Well, angrier.”
“It’s been some time since you’ve seen him… You may need to reacclimate yourselves with him. But rest assured it’s the same Ed Elric underneath that shiny new helmet.” The Fuhrer stood from his chair, walking out towards the door. “But it’s getting late, isn’t it? We’ll have plenty of time to touch base later. You’re all dismissed for today. Please report back here at 0800 hours. We’re gonna take down the Blue Dawn and I’ll need all of you in top form to do it!”
Grumman opened the door to find Ed slumped over on the foyer couch. Rather than the intensely angry stare that he had in the Fuhrer’s office, his spirit had dulled into thoughtful displeasure.
“Elric? I’m afraid that you won’t be able to complete your assignment from the military dorms. You’ll be staying in Mustang’s residence for the time being. Do what you can to secure the building in case the Blue Dawn tries anything. But above all else,” Grumman said, surveying the exhausted looking young man, “get some rest. A proper bed will suit you quite right.”
“… Yes, sir,” came Ed’s reply.
“General?" Grumman turned towards Roy. “I take it you don’t mind my charge using your spare bedroom for a time? I’m willing to allow you to remain at your home so long as the threat is at bay and Ed is around to aid you, but the moment that situation changes you understand that I will make new arrangements. Do you understand?”
Roy turned a thoughtful eye to Ed, nodding vacantly as he gave his reply. “Of course, sir. I’m always happy to accommodate Fullmetal.”
“I have a safe house ready for your use should the situation become precarious. But for now, go about your business as normal. Think of Ed as more of an escort, really. You could also use it as a chance to… catch up? It’s been a while since you two have seen each other.”
“Ain’t that a bowl of fuckin’ cherries,” Ed scoffed, turning out towards the window that revealed a melancholy nightfall.
Roy, perceptive as he was, caught Fuhrer Grumman’s eyes as they wandered back to Ed. Rather than contempt or irritation at his disrespectful behavior, the old fuhrer’s eyes were full of little else besides a deep, thoughtful worry. As though Grumman sensed that he was being observed, his eyes traveled up to Roy. After a moment, he nodded affirmatively as though to say, ‘Please, look after him.’ Roy wasn’t sure that he understood, but he was always the man who’d look after his own.
“It’s getting rather late, you should take your leave while you have the chance! Unless you’d like to march back to finish your inspection?” The Fuhrer gave a full-bellied laugh as he turned to walk past the threshold and into the hall.
“I’m heading out, sir,” said Riza with a salute. “Edward… it’s nice to see you again.”
Ed, in response, nodded absently, as though a tempest of thoughts were still swirling about in his brain. The rest of the team filtered out, one after the next, and soon only Roy and Ed were left. Roy didn’t dare to sit down on the couch next to him, didn’t dare take a step out of the room, worried somehow that he’d unbalance the delicate equilibrium of the moment. He had so many questions for the young alchemist and wanted to at least get something out of him now. Restive yet composed, the general turned to Ed at last.
“This… was a surprise, Fullmetal. I never realized…” He paused thoughtfully, as though searching for just the right words. The problem was, however, that Roy still didn’t even know what to say. What he wanted to say. What questions he wanted answered. He just wanted to talk to Ed and figure out what in the world had changed in three years. The fiery yet good-natured Edward Elric of yesteryear seemed almost like a dream. Three years truly didn’t feel like such a long time, but by the changes to Ed’s eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to carry even heavier burdens, and his now acerbic disposition… It must have been a long time, indeed.
Roy eventually found the words he felt fit the moment. “I was twenty-five when I made lieutenant colonel. Glad that you’re still blowing my records out of the water.”
Keep it to military, Roy thought. Don’t ask any questions, not yet. This is Ed, so don’t pry too deep. “How… have you been? I’ve heard Special Ops isn’t an easy role.”
Ed still didn’t meet the young general’s gaze, still either lost entirely in thought or downright ignoring his niceties.
Roy left Ed to think for a moment, hoping that he’d be able to at least get something out of him before they left. It would be far less awkward on assignment together if they could get along.
But try as he might to walk this polite tightrope, nothing in Ed seemed to give. He almost wanted to throw his hands up and ask his onetime subordinate just what in the hell he was thinking, joining back with the military. And the Ed he knew, the one so earnest and compassionate as to see a suit of armor as a human being, traveling all around the country just for the sake of his brother… That Ed never had the eyes of a killer. But seeing the helmed Fullmetal Alchemist put four bullets into a man as fast as he could blink was… a stark departure from what he knew about Ed Elric. And for him to do it almost without blinking, without recoiling at the blood as it stained up automail, told Roy that Ed had been through even more. More. The thought was dizzying to Roy. For someone to lose their mother, to commit the ultimate taboo, to sacrifice their own arm, to then be plunged even deeper into the depths of life’s cruelty, was far beyond words.
And as Roy realized, truly realized, just how long it had been since they had a real conversation, the fog was finally swept away. “Ed.”
And as though that one word was the spark to light up the dusk, steel met flame in bitter conflict. “I don’t wanna hear it, Mustang!” Ed stood as though ready to fight, a defensive stance with clenched fists and an unwavering grimace. “I don’t give a shit what you think, okay? I went three years without hearing a peep out of you and I don’t mind keeping it that way. So… if you wanna give me shit for my fucked-up choices, you can just keep it to yourself!”
Roy felt his professionalism slip off like a garment as Ed jabbed his finger at him. Roy raised a hand to force it away. “I wasn’t thinking any of that, first of all. I was hoping to figure out just what the hell happened to you, Fullmetal.” As Roy’s tone grew fiercer and more combative to match Ed’s own, he remembered again Fullmetal’s talent for making anyone angry. “Here I thought you were retired to Risembool with your little brother and making up for lost time, and now I find out that you’ve been busy toppling a dictator?” Roy saw Ed bristle at his words, and did his best to calm his nerves. “Why would you ever come back, Ed? Aren’t you done fighting?” Roy knew that Ed’s caustic nature was contagious, and he found himself caught between the young alchemist’s contemptuous rage and his own, oppressive worry. He steadied his tone as he pressed on. “And what does Alphonse think about all this? Of you risking your life like this?”
Ed was always expressive in a way that was noticeable even from far away, with bright and golden eyes displaying a depth and complexity unlike anyone he’d ever met.
And at once, Ed’s eyes lit up with an emotion Roy had seen on the young man countless times before.
A deep, irrepressible sadness.
“Fuck off, Mustang. I don’t have time for this.” Ed’s words were low and hard, weathered by complex feelings shut off from his tightening mouth.
Ed made to get past him, but Roy put a gloved hand to his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Roy turned to face him, searching golden eyes for a refutation of the dread that had begun to creep up on them. “Ed? Where is Alphonse…?”
Ed bucked the general’s hand from him, walking resolutely forward to the doorway. Without so much as turning his head, he answered. “He’s gone, Mustang. I failed.”
“Failed? What do you—”
“He’s fucking gone, okay?” Ed looked suddenly on the verge of tears, like the crafted mask was finally beginning to crack. “I tried to bring him back and I failed. I don’t know if he’s dead or in the Gate or in fucking Aerugo, okay? I just…” Ed paused, taking a breath, and in that moment, Roy took in just how exhausted he was. “I need to sleep. I can’t do this right now. I’ve been in Drachma for so fucking long and I just want to get out of here…”
Roy was taken aback by Ed’s sudden frankness, as though he thought the serious and angry special agent was all that was left of him. But as things change, things truly do stay the same. It was a reality that Roy was still getting used to, but as he saw a desperate and worn-down Edward Elric, someone barely recognizable from that child who sat immobile in his wheelchair, Roy started to understand Fuhrer Grumman’s wordless plea. ‘Please, look after him.’
“I’m sorry, Ed. I… didn’t mean to pry,” Roy ventured as he walked past the youth. “But you’re right. It’s about time you got settled in. My home is close by, and the housekeeper just changed the sheets in the guest bed.” Roy chanced a wry grin as he looked back at Ed. “I take it you don’t mind Xingese cotton?”
And Ed, despite his tempestuous mood, met Roy's grin with his own. His voice marred only a little by the tears that hadn’t quite fallen, Ed finally gave his reply. “Sure beats what I’ve been sleeping on…”
The pair made their way into the night of Central City, exchanging few words as they silently tried to reacclimate themselves to one another. After minutes of silent walking, Ed let out a breathy laugh. “You ever get frostbite, Mustang? Drachma’s fucking cold… too cold for human habitation.”
“Can’t say I have. I hope you’re not speaking from experience,” Roy said.
“Had a close call or two with the automail,” Ed replied as he tapped his shoulder thoughtfully. “But you’d be surprised how many people get it right on the balls.”
Roy stopped dead in his tracks and looked incredulously at Ed, whose grin was as wide as it had been the first time he’d ever set foot in Central.
“You’re joking. You have to be joking.”
“Wish I was, general. Wish… I… Was…”