Maes Hughes, Kidnapper Extraordinaire

by Mepski

Summary:

"What Ed and Alphonse Elric did not realize, though, was just how much kidnapping experience Hughes had, and over how many years he had been perfecting the art. If they had had the time and inclination to investigate, they would have found not just two, not just three, but many data points throughout his past that would have shown how often Hughes had done this, and how he had honed his art over many years of trial, error, and careful study."

OR

A series of vignettes in which Hughes kidnaps people for their own good.

Notes:

This is my first work on AO3. I'm hoping that putting some chapters up as a WIP will help motivate me to keep writing :). I'm mainly just trying out the platform and hoping to have some fun. Hope you enjoy as well. I'll update this note when the work is done!

I haven't done a lot of background research on this fic (e.g., on the inner workings of the military). If I write about things that you happen to know more about, and I say something stupid, feel free to jump in and correct me! I may or may not update the fic, depending on how egregious the error and how much re-writing it will necessitate. But it will improve the next one :).

Same for tags - advice welcome :)

Chapter 1: Prologue

The first time the Elric brothers saw Maes Hughes kidnap someone, they didn’t think much of it. Sheska needed a job after all, and the lieutenant colonel needed someone to help him with his files promptly. So, maybe he pulled her out of the room a little vigorously, but that was just his eagerness to get started on the job quickly, surely.

The second time, it was a little harder to explain. Winry needed a place to stay, sure, but there wasn’t exactly a rush to get her settled anywhere, and it’s not like she was a major flight risk. (The Elrics themselves may have been a flight risk in a situation like that, but not Winry. She was too polite—to adults, anyway!--to disappear after having been clearly told to be somewhere at a certain time.) But Hughes just grabbed her and strode off towards his home, as quickly as Winry’s shorter legs could follow.

The third kidnapping they saw, they didn’t even realize was a kidnapping as such. And then, not long afterwards, Hughes died, and they all had bigger problems to worry about than his penchant for dragging people forcibly into his orbit.

What Ed and Alphonse Elric did not realize, though, was just how much kidnapping experience Hughes had, and over how many years he had been perfecting the art. If they had had the time and inclination to investigate, they would have found not just two, not just three, but many data points throughout his past that would have shown how often Hughes had done this, and how he had honed his art over many years of trial, error, and careful study.

Chapter 2: Kidnapping Subject 1: Alex Louis Armstrong (Lesson: Kidnapping works best on willing victims)

Maes Hughes grew up in Central City, and walked past the Armstrong residence every day on his way to school. One day, he saw a boy crying outside the gates.

Maes stopped and looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m—hic—fine! I just—hic—am practising my breathing exercises!”

“Your... breathing exercises.”

“Yes, my sister says that if I cry too much, I won’t be able to breathe enough, and then I won’t be able to fight with strength in battle! So I’m practising holding my breath while I cry!”

“Why don’t you just... not cry?”

“What do you know about it?! Go away!”

Maes left, and he didn’t speak again to the boy after that. But he saw the boy crying a few more times, and mentally kept coming back to the problem like wiggling a sore tooth. Why did they boy cry so much? Was his sister being mean to him? His parents? Maes thought he could remember something from school that teachers had mentioned, that sometimes children weren’t safe at home and had to go somewhere else. That must be it, he decided. He himself only cried when people were very mean to him, so this boy must be undergoing some truly heart-wrenching tortures to be crying like this.

Maes’ parents had often told him to look before he leapt, and think things through before he acted. So Maes did. He thought for a whole week about what he would need to do to get that poor boy out of his terrible home situation and into a nice place to live.

Then, the following Monday when his father was at work and he knew his mother had errands to run, Maes doubled back home after school. He took some money from the jar hidden in the kitchen, went to the hardware store, made a deposit to have someone come and build a bunk bed in his room, and then went to the Armstrong mansion.

After a brief tussle with the heavy iron gates, he bravely walked up to the door of the Armstrong family mansion, and knocked loudly.

A black-clad butler answered. “Yes?”

“I’m here to play with... um...” How on earth had he forgotten the minor detail of asking the boy for his name?

“Alex?” Thank goodness, there must be just one child here around Maes’ own age.

“Yes!”

“Let me inquire if he is at home.” The door shut inexorably, but opened again only a few moments later, as a couple of breathlessly laughing children burst out. The boy (Alex, Maes reminded himself), and a girl. The cruel sister?

“Who are you?” the girl demanded.

“Maes.”

“Why are you here?”

Maes looked up over the girl’s shoulder at Alex. Somehow this seemed much harder now in person, seeing Alex looking so happy and obviously comfortable in his sister’s company. But Maes was not a quitter.

“I’m here to take Alex away!” he said proudly. “I have a bunk bed now—or I will soon—so there will be lots of room at my house.”

The girl shrugged. “Oh, okay. See you tomorrow, Alex!”

“No, you don’t understand, he won’t be coming back. He can live with my family now.”

“Excuse me? Just what are you planning to do to my little brother? Of course he’s coming back!”

“Umm...”

“Mother! Father! This boy here is trying to kidnap Alex!”

***

In the end, the Armstrongs were quite understanding about the whole thing. And Alex confirmed to Maes, in a private room with no adults present, that honestly, he really did just cry quite easily from strong emotions, whether positive or negative, and his sister really was just raising some logistical concerns about the practicality thereof. And that really he loved his family and trusted they would always be there for him.

Maes’ parents were slightly less understanding. He was grounded for two weeks and had to pay back the carpenter out of his own allowance. It was six months before he could afford penny candy again.

Chapter 3: Kidnapping Subject 2: Squeakers (Lesson: A reputation as an upstanding citizen can be useful)

Notes:

Trigger warning for era-appropriate(ish) practices involving cruelty to animals. This is not intended to be a super angsty read or a deep examination of said practices, but their existence is kind of the foundation Maes' kidnapping escapades in this chapter. So, feel free to skip the chapter if the subject matter will be triggering.

After that first fiasco, Maes swore off kidnapping for several years. He did not kidnap any of the bullies in his 6^th grade class and lock them in an abandoned basement to teach them the errors of their ways, although he did fantasize about it often and developed a 17-point plan that could make it happen, just in case. But he settled for putting in a formal complaint to the teacher. In 8^th grade, Maes briefly considered kidnapping one of his classmates’ homework, when it became clear she had been stealing and copying the homework of more diligent students to increase her own grades, but he wasn’t sure that a piece of paper could consent to being kidnapped, and also that it might be considered stealing, which would be wrong. Instead, he held a meeting with the class’s other top students, and greatly enjoyed the aftermath the following week when every piece of copied homework the girl turned in was slightly incorrect in all respects, and the teacher had to book a special meeting with the kid’s parents about why her academic abilities had plummeted overnight.

Part of the reason for Maes’ abstention from kidnapping during this time was that he actually did like school and wanted to learn. The other students were as fascinating as the official course material. Why did Cas bring the same thing for lunch every day except Thursdays? Why did Jacob insist on having exactly five sharpened pencils on top of his desk at all times, in addition to the one in his hand? When would Erica realize that the boy behind her had a crush on her, and what would she do once she’d figured it out?

All this meant that Maes was a pretty good student, and that he noticed little things about his classmates. For instance, he was the first to notice that Vanessa, always a bit shy since she’d joined term halfway through after her family had moved to Central City, started seeming very distracted and withdrawn. When Maes pressed to find out why, she said she was worried about her mathematics grades. So when a test was coming up a few weeks later, Maes insisted that she stay after school with him and go through all the main math problem types until she was able to reliably solve them all. Vanessa seemed strangely reluctant, but eventually agreed.

They hadn’t quite finished when Vanessa’s brother arrived to take her home. He, too, was acting a bit strangely, eyes darting here and there, and then hustling Vanessa into the classroom’s adjoining vestibule to put on her jacket, tutting impatiently as she packed up her bag.

Tingling with curiosity, Maes made a point of packing his own books and writing supplies away in his classroom desk as slowly and methodically as he possibly could. After a moment, he was rewarded with the sound of rising whispers from the next room.

“...Don’t see why you care, Vanessa! It’s just a dog!” hissed the less familiar voice of the brother. (Maes put his pencils in his pencil-box one by one.)

“Don’t call Mr. Fuggles an ‘it’!” (Maes decided a couple were not sharp enough, and took them over to the classroom sharpener near the back of the room to deal with that.)

“That’s a stupid name and I never agreed to it. Besides, it doesn’t matter what we call him, I paid the most for him and I can do what I want with him.” (Maes stabbed one of the pencils against the interior brick wall, sighed to notice the broken tip, and bent diligently over the sharpener once more.)

“Come on, that’s not fair! You know how hard I worked to help get the money for Mr. Fuggles on the farm, he was supposed to be equally my dog! I should get to make decisions about him!” (Amazing how so much indignation could be packed into just a whisper. But despite being quite close to the vestibule, using the sharpener was making it too hard to hear properly. Maes walked back to his desk to put the now-perfect pencils away.)

“Yeah well, I get to make decisions too. And you’re complaining an awful lot for someone I just shared 5000 cenz with. Maybe next time I just won’t tell you, and I’ll keep all the money for myself.” (Maes’ hand paused over his pencil box. This was more serious than he’d thought. 5000 cenz could purchase schoolbooks for a whole year. Or worse things. Like a lot of alcohol. Or... or... he realized he didn’t know enough about the seedier side of life to even hazard a guess. Something to try to learn more about in the future maybe. Oh, but first he had to remember to keep busy like someone who wasn’t listening to any of this! Maes put the last pencil away and closed the box. He also decided the chalkboard at the front of the room looked a bit dusty, and pulled out the standard washbucket and cloth from the corner of the room.)

“I don’t care about the money, and you can’t just not tell me! Making animals fight each other is wrong!” (Ah yes, cleaning was the right choice. The board was at the opposite end of the room from the door, so it wouldn’t look like eavesdropping, and wiping up and down the whole board from right to left could take ages.)

“Hey, I’m not making that dog do anything, it’s in his nature to kill rats. Besides, I have to get money from somewhere, and if I have to work, a dumb dog can too.” (Seriously, what was this guy planning to buy?)

Vanessa’s voice started to get a bit louder. “But there are so many rats in those pits, it’s not the same as at the farm back home, he could really get hurt! If you’d just stop trying to impress those city guys by buying expensive stuff, you wouldn’t need—”

“—Shh! Isn’t that guy from your class still here? Do you want him to hear about all our family problems?”

The door to the vestibule creaked open a moment later, presumably so the brother could check if Maes had heard, but Maes’ back was firmly to the door as he continued diligently wiping down the chalkboard.

When Maes did turn around to leave, the siblings had already departed.

***

When he got home, Maes considered the situation carefully. He knew that Vanessa and her family, like so many other Amestrians, had moved up to Central City this year after the ongoing border war with Aerugo to the south had destroyed a lot of farmland. Presumably this Mr. Fuggles—and Maes had to agree with the unknown brother that “Mr. Fuggles” really was an unfortunate name—was a terrier or some such, and had been purchased for the usual reason, to keep the farm clear of rats. The dog was also probably bought partly as a family pet, since he’d come with them to Central City instead of being left down south with another farmer. But the news about rat-baiting was serious. While technically legal, the practice was facing a lot of criticism in the papers these days, and Maes knew it was not only cruel to the rats, but also bad for the dogs. It might be a foregone conclusion whether dogs or rats would win in a fight, but cornered animals fight fiercely, and ratting dogs had been known to be permanently blinded, or to get infected cuts from which they later died, in those fighting pits. And surely it would have some psychological damage to the dog as well? The dog couldn’t possibly remain safe to keep as a family pet if all its aggressive instincts were constantly being stimulated in this way.

Could he solve this by reporting the issue, like he had about the school bullies? No, Maes decided. Ratting was still technically legal, so there was nothing any authorities could do. And the boy’s parents were clearly unable, or unwilling, to control his activities. Same thing with Vanessa—she obviously disapproved, but for whatever reason, was powerless to stop the situation.

No, Maes’ course of action was clear. Kidnapping it had to be, and there was no time like the present.

***

The next day, Maes invited himself over to Vanessa’s house after school to help her with the math problems they hadn’t managed to finish the previous afternoon. He left satisfied with her ability to pass the upcoming test, as well as with his own ability to recognize the parents, brother (whose name he now knew to be Wilhelm), and dog if he saw them again. He also now knew the location of the house.

He decided, with some regret, that smuggling a dog out of the family home would be impossible. He would never be able to predict whether or when Vanessa’s parents would be home, and the house was in a nice enough district that even if the whole family was away for the day, the neighbours would probably inform the police if someone was seen breaking and entering. And while Mr. Fuggles seemed nice enough despite his presumed viciousness towards rats, Maes could place no reliance on him refraining from barking and drawing all kinds of attention. So the best way to kidnap the dog would probably be from whatever rat-baiting pit Wilhelm frequented. Those would be in the parts of town where everyone minded their own business, and where someone walking a dubiously-acquired terrier would not seem at all out of place.

So, Maes arrived at school next morning with a dreadful cough and a well-forged note from his father giving permission for him to be away from school until he got better. He left the school with dragging footsteps until he was out of view of all the windows, then promptly purchased a hat and jacket from a nearby shop (having a regular allowance was a truly beautiful thing!) and wandered the city in his moderate disguise until he could go home that evening at his usual time. Every morning following, he left the house early with his disguise in his backpack, donned it in a nearby alley, headed for Vanessa’s neighbourhood, waited for Wilhelm to emerge, and then began some careful tracking.

Maes lost track of Wilhelm a few times since he was focusing mainly on not getting caught, and sometimes had to enter shops or take alternate side-streets to avoid looking overtly suspicious—and for obvious reasons had to avoid the school grounds entirely—but he was nothing if not persistent. After a few days, Maes was able to follow Wilhelm to the ratting pit, and everything suddenly became quite simple. Maes just checked what name Wilhelm had registered himself and his fighting dog under, looked at the upcoming schedule, and examined the building. He took one more day off from school after that to buy some saltpeter, black dye, cotton balls, and a firework fuse (it finished off his allowance for the month but it would be worth it), and combined these with some supplies at home to create a “homework science project” which he finished in his room that evening. He then went back to school, fully recovered from his cold.

A few weeks later, on the night Mr. Fuggles (or “King Pied Piper,” as he was registered on the pit’s books—seriously, what was with this family and their animal-naming decisions?) was scheduled for his next ratting competition, Maes entered the pit viewing area along with the rest of the crowd, with a bulging sack in hand. He stationed himself as close to the dog-releasing gate as he could while still leaving himself some taller adult bodies to hide behind.

As soon as King Pied Piper and his competitor were released into the enclosure along with the rats, Maes pulled out his science project and a lighter, and introduced the two to each other. The crowd was so pressed against him he could hardly move, but so much the better to hide in. As black smoke began to billow out, he shouted “Fire! Fire!” and started elbowing and squirming as if to get away. Within no time at all, the people around him were also struggling to leave, and Maes was able to duck under their sharp elbows and jostling bodies to “accidentally” hook his leg around Wilhelm’s and dump him in the dirt. As Wilhelm struggled to get his bearings, Maes reached over and opened the dog gate. Anyone in the crowd still in doubt about whether one spot of localized smoke truly equated to a fire, had no doubt at all how they felt about hundreds of rats now swarming their way out of the pen. The crowd started pushing towards of the doors of the building, and as soon as the building doors were open, the rats began rushing outside, hotly pursued by the dogs. Maes pushed another crowd member into Wilhelm, who was showing signs of regaining his footing, and slithered out of the crowd, aided by his slender build and short height relative to the older men who made up the majority of the gamblers. He made for the door as quickly as he could, and caught a glimpse of a brown dog tail vanishing around a corner.

For the next hour or so, Maes exhasutively applied his new-found tracking skills, first to looking for Mr. Fuggles, and then keeping an eye on him as he chased one rat after another. There was no point approaching while the dog was in such an excited state. Finally, what felt like miles away from the ratting pit, the dog finally ran out of rats to chase, and sat on is haunches, panting, down the side alley where the last rat had vanished up a drainpipe. Maes carefully approached with treats in one hand and a leash in the other.

“Here, Mr. Fuggles,” he called softly. “Come here, boy. Would you like some nice treats? Come on now.” He crouched down and put a few treats on the ground, with the remainder held out enticingly in his hand.

After a few false starts, the dog finally approached him, ate one, two, three of the treats on the ground, and began nosing at Maes’ hand for the rest. He even let Maes pat his head gently. Maes smoothly pet the dog’s head and clipped the leash onto the back of his collar. After a few more pats, Maes stood up.

“Come on boy, we’re going home.”

***

If Maes’ parents had any doubts about how exactly he had “found” an abandoned dog on the street, they did not discuss it in front of Maes. They could see the dog had been bitten and scratched, and needed a good home, anyway.

When Maes confessed the truth to Vanessa, to ease her mind about her vanished dog, she was furious that she hadn’t been consulted or included, and wouldn’t speak to him for weeks. However, she did eventually forgive him enough to visit the household—ostensibly to continue getting math help, but mostly to visit the kidnappee. She even followed Maes’ lead in renaming the dog “Squeakers,” partly in honour of the dog’s admittedly great ratting skills, but mainly so that the dog would sound more like a cat if they ever discussed him at school. She resolutely would never admit that Squeakers was a much better name than Mr. Fuggles, but that was all right. Maes knew he was better at naming things, he didn’t need others to validate that for him.

Wilhelm was certain that Maes had had something to do with the dog’s disappearance, but the only thing he could do about it at school was to raise questions about why Maes had been absent for so long. And considering that Maes was such a diligent student, so capable, and got on so well with all the others, Maes’ teacher really didn’t see why he would have been keen to miss school for any reason other than illness. So the teacher declined to investigate further. The honesty of a student like Maes was really beyond question, and besides, it all happened almost a month ago, and he’d had that note from his father.

Notes:

So this chapter grew a bit as I was writing it, and I realized I don't actually know a lot about some of the topics I'm trying to cover here. I have done some basic research with Wikipedia + Google, but am open to corrections if you happen to know more about rat-baiting processes or buildings, or smoke bomb construction! For what it's worth, I got my idea for Maes' smoke bomb as a DIY project here: https://www.thoughtco.com/ultimate-colored-smoke-bomb-605967.

On a slightly different topic... original characters here were mainly because Central City is a big place, and I can't imagine that Maes would have associated exclusively with FMA characters throughout his childhood. But you can expect to see more of the traditional FMA characters in the next couple of chapters. Maes is almost old enough to leave for the military academy, after all! :)

Chapter 4: Kidnapping Subject 3: Roy Mustang (Lesson: It’s not the duration of the kidnapping that matters, it’s how you use the time you have.)

Notes:

Folks who have watched the Brotherhood anime bonus episodes may recognize the major events in this chapter from “Yet another man’s battlefield.” I’ve tried to add some originality by using the opportunity to elaborate more on Maes’ perspective and backstory, but can take less credit for plot ideas than usual. :) (And of course, as in all other chapters, the overall characters, setting, etc. are Hiromu Arakawa’s, I’m just borrowing them and adding some of my own spin for some fun.)

Trigger warning for in-canon racism/elistism. Similar to last chapter (and all other chapters in this fic), this fic doesn’t aim to delve too deeply into those issues, apart from to make clear that they are wrong and to use them as plot catalysts.

If anyone had asked Maes why he decided to join the military, he would have said he wanted to protect the people of Amestris. The statement wouldn’t be a lie. He did want to protect the people he cared about, and he couldn’t help caring, at least a little, about almost everyone he met. But in an ideal world, Maes would be helping people directly. He would have protected them by becoming a doctor who could heal people when they were sick, or a lawyer who could defend people’s rights in court. He wouldn’t be protecting them through abstract concepts like defending a border, or by offering to potentially kill the people of lands he had never even heard of.

However, Amestris was a militarized nation, and unless you had the money to attend a private university, or someone in a specialized trade was willing to take you on as an apprentice, the state-sponsored military academy was the only real place to gain higher-level knowledge. The academy, in addition to the basic training required of all cadets and a variety of specialized combat training programs, also boasted training programs for medicine, law, and even alchemy. Admittedly the focus of each of these less-violent training programs was still paramilitary in nature, such as field surgery, court-martial law, and transmutations to repair weapons in the field, but it was a place to start. The brass had been known to hand-pick some of the more promising cadets from these programs and send them for more advanced training at private institutions, all expenses paid. The corollary of this generosity was that any cadet sponsored in such a way was required to serve the military for at least five years following the training, but Maes thought he could handle it. And based on his school record so far, and natural charm, Maes was sure he could stand out to the higher-ups during basic training enough to be inducted into at least one of the paramilitary programs that could get him started down that path.

Three days into basic training, Maes was starting to question both assumptions. The pace set for physical training was gruelling (was this what it would be like in the military every day for five years of mandatory service?), and the instructors seemed resolutely incapable of being impressed by anyone or anything. At the same time, about half of the cadets seemed to come from elite military families, like the Armstrongs of his youth, the kind with Traditions of Excellence to be upheld, and the kind who would have received advanced training at home specifically to be able to later shine in this kind of environment. Maes did his best to be gregarious and friendly with everyone, and was rewarded when some of the elite upperclassmen invited him to sit with them once in a while, but it was hard not to be bitter about that kind of advantage. It didn’t help that all the other cadets in his cadre seemed equally exhausted, so it was hard to make any real friends to help each other through these hard times.

Ten days into basic training, Maes was exhausted and frustrated, not least by continually trying to paste on a smile through every slog through the mud, every push-up, and every shouted criticism. He was somewhat soothed by knowing he wasn’t the only one struggling; even some of the brightly-polished elite cadets in his year were starting to lose some of their poise. He also was sure it must get easier with practice; how else would all the upperclassmen even be here? He kept reminding himself of that as he headed towards the mess hall. Maybe tomorrow would be easier. Or the day after that. He just needed to find and appreciate enough small things along the way to be able to—was that the smell of quiche in the air?

He hurried into the mess hall, and it seemed that indeed his nose had not deceived him. There was a tray with pieces of spinach quiche, but they were vanishing quickly. He swooped in just in time to grab the last wedge. As he settled the quiche lovingly onto his tray in delighted victory, he realized that another cadet at the table had been reaching for that tray as well, and was now still stretching out his hand in midair, looking both extremely awkward and also ready to spit nails. Maes felt a bit guilty, but not guilty enough to give up the first good thing that had happened to him all week. “Sorry, pal,” he said, smiling to soften the blow. “Spinach quiche is my favourite. Just can’t resist it, you know?”

***

That small incident turned into a bigger deal than Maes thought it would. Suddenly, everywhere he turned, the other quiche-loving cadet seemed to be right there, apparently with the sole intention of trying to outdo Maes in every possible arena. In the mess hall (Maes still felt a bit bad about that first encounter, so he made a point of letting the other guy get to the serving tables first at least sometimes), in fitness training, in combat training, in classroom training. The guy’s family name was “Mustang,” Maes learned. A very Amestrian-sounding name for someone whose straight black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes marked him as at least part Xingan, but Maes didn’t ask about that—partly because he could already see that anyone in the academy whose differences got pointed out had a rougher go of things, but mostly because Mustang seemed to have absolutely no interest in talking to him.

In other circumstances, Maes might have tried harder to make friends with someone who seemed, like him, to be an outsider trying to find his feet in an unfamiliar environment. But Maes was physically and mentally quite beaten down by now, and knew that in this state he would never be able to handle the delicate dance of convincing a hostile audience to like him. He was much better off continuing to spend time with the upperclassmen who were willing to take him under their wings. And a small part of his brain recognized that Mustang’s unspoken enmity was actually working in both of their favours. Maes had never been one to refuse a challenge, so if Mustang decided to run extra laps for practice beyond the required ones, so as to do better in fitness training later, Maes would do the extra practice too, even if it killed him. And if Maes stayed late in the library studying, Mustang wouldn’t be far behind. Gradually, the two of them were rising to the top of every class.

Unfortunately, in the meantime, Maes was starting to have some doubts about some of the upperclassmen he’d been spending time with. They were still helpful and kind to him, and he’d seen them extend a helping hand to some other cadets as well, but if there was a pattern in who was receiving help and who was not, it didn’t seem to be based on level of need, personality type, or anything logical that Maes could identify. The only common characteristic that Maes could see, was that the cadets receiving help had, almost without exception, been born and raised in Central City. It could be coincidence, or it could be some kind of cultural brotherhood statement, or it could be something more intentionally cruel and exclusive of the cadets from the provinces, who were more likely to have rural, or occasionally, mixed-heritage backgrounds.

Maes was sitting in the mess hall after dinner one summer evening, musing whether he ought to bring the matter up with Clive as the ringleader of the upperclassmen cadre, and if so what the best approach would be, when he realized both that the mess hall had almost entirely emptied, and also that he hadn’t seen Mustang for a while.

Hopefully Mustang hadn’t gone and gotten a head start on practicing something else for class that would make Maes look bad in comparison in class the next day. Maes pushed back his chair quickly, and strode out of the mess hall, blinking in the late-day sunlight. A number of other cadets were lounging around, but as Maes had suspected, Mustang was not among them. At least Mustang was distinctive-looking, and likely to be noticed by bystanders. A quick question or two from one of the loungers indicated that Mustang had gone off into one of the quieter parts of the compound with a book in hand.

Maes was certain that he’d finished all the important reading for the rest of term at this point, but set off in the same general direction anyway. He was actually feeling a bit more with-it today. Maybe he was finally getting the hang of this whole military thing, and could try to have some real talk with Mustang, see if they couldn’t find a common ground of some kind.

His good mood was vanished, replaced by a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, when he heard the muffled sound of blows coming from around a corner between two buildings.

Maes drew a slightly shaky breath. Hard to know exactly what was going on, or how serious, until he rounded the corner, and by then it might be too late. He’d have to go in prepared to do anything, up to and including kidnapping. But if he wanted to be fully prepared, he’d need more than just his fists. And drawing a weapon on colleagues could be grounds for a court-martial, if it came to light.

Maes breathed out, hard. Dithering wouldn’t help. He might be over-reacting, but if it came right down to it, it would be more important to save a life than to avoid a court-martial. Maes drew his sidearm and strode into the opening of the passageway.

He stopped in shock when he realized the sounds were coming from Clive using a struggling Mustang, restrained by a second upperclassman, as a punching bag, while five others looked on. Well, that cleared up any questions Maes had had about that group’s moral calibre, and the future of their association, right there. The relative size of the group, compared to Mustang, also meant that arriving prepared for a kidnapping had definitely been the right call.

But how dare they! Mustang might be a pain in the ass, but he was a good cadet, and possibly a brilliant student, and he was Maes’ rival. No one else should be interfering with him. Was this because he was part Xingan? But that had never been confirmed, or at least wasn’t the subject of widespread discussion at the academy, and Xing wasn’t even at war with Amestris... Mustang thrashed once more, and behind him Maes saw another cadet, white-haired and kneeling on the ground. Ah, an Ishvalan. That would explain the situation, if Clive and the others had been bullying him and Mustang had tried to intervene.

Hoping that his brief pause would either have gone unnoticed or would seem like it had been for dramatic effect, Maes extended both arms with the gun decisively towards Mustang, exactly as they’d been shown in training. “All right, Mustang! Back down!” Fear for Mustang was colouring his voice, making it harsher and sharper than expected.

“Maes?” Clive looked over in surprise.

“What’s with the gun, Hughes?” asked Jojo, one of the other upperclassmen, who he’d thought might actually have been a fairly decent guy.

And oh, thank goodness for his well-known rivalry with Mustang to make a kidnapping like this believable. With as much venom and determination as he could muster, Maes said, “I’d like the seniors to keep quiet, please. I would prefer to handle this one on my own.” He paused briefly, and continued, “All right, Mustang. You and the Ishvalan step this way.”

Clive shrugged and released Mustang, and he and the other seniors stepped back to allow the two cadets to walk unobstructed towards Maes. They did so, very slowly. Maes couldn’t blame them for their reluctance. On the other hand, the fact that the seniors seemed willing to cooperate, infuriated Maes anew. He had literally pulled a gun on two other cadets, with seeming intention to kidnap them for an unknown purpose, and none of the seniors seemed interested in stopping this situation? Even if they had been willing to use Mustang, plus or minus the Ishvalan, as their personal punching bag, they should at least be drawing the line at potential murder, and should be sending someone to run for an officer by now.

Oh well. If they didn’t want to call in any officers, that would be their loss, and his gain.

Maes slowly rotated with his gun as Mustang and the Ishvalan approached, and at last stopped in, the mouth of the passageway. Maes looked past the barrel of his weapon to the two faces. The Ishvalan looked almost serene, while Mustang was the very picture of defiance, despite the bruises up and down his jaw, and the blood trickling from his mouth. Did Maes know how to pick quality kidnappees, or what?

He let out a satisfied “Hm,” then smirked and smoothly turned, arms with the gun still outstretched, until he was facing the upperclassmen. He cocked the pistol.

The seniors let out a collective gasp. “Wha-what are you doing, Hughes? We’re your friends!”

“You think so? You think that I’m friends with cruel bullies?” Months of stifled frustration and rage boiled over. “I hate people like you!”

Maes glanced over at Mustang, on whose face realization was starting to dawn. “The object is victory...” Maes began, quoting the military principle from their textbook.

Mustang’s face suddenly shifted into its own devious smirk. “...Focus on it,” he completed.

Their eyes met in a brief moment of perfect understanding, then Maes holstered his pistol—no need to make this an actual killing matter—and they rushed the opponents with their fists.

***

Two against five should not have been a successful battle, especially when outnumbered by upperclassmen, but Maes and Mustang had the element of surprise on their side, and at least the Ishvalan had the sense to run for an officer to help.

Before things had gotten too out of hand, the officer in charge of cadets had rounded them all up and started handing out disciplinary measures. Maes wasn’t sure exactly what the Ishvalan had told the officer, but he was fairly certain the gun never featured in the official explanation, since Maes’ punishment was exactly the same as everyone else’s. And none of Clive’s contingent said anything about the gun, whether for the sake of their own pride at being faked-out in such a way, or because they were too cowed by the officer in charge to volunteer any unasked-for information.

***

“...And so ends the briefest kidnapping of my life to date!” Maes exclaimed, as he heaved another shovelful of dirt out of the pointless trench they’d been tasked to build as part of their punishment.

“I asked why you pulled out a gun, not for the history of your kidnapping exploits,” muttered Mustang.

“Yes, but the hole is three feet deeper when I started the story. Wouldn’t you consider that a success, time-passing-wise, Mustang?”

Mustang took a deep breath, then clearly declined to answer that question, in favour of focusing on something else. “You know, under the circumstances, you probably call me Roy at this point.”

Maes felt a grin spreading helplessly across his face. It seemed like without even trying, he might have finally gained the real friend at the academy he so desperately needed. Or, potentially, two new friends? Maes paused for a moment, then looked over at the Ishvalan cadet. “You haven’t told us your name yet.”

“Heathcliff. Heathcliff Erbe.”

“Yeah, you kind of look like a Heathcliff,” Maes agreed.

Over the next few hours, they shared the kind of truths that could solidify friendships for life. Why they wanted to join the military (Heathcliff wanted to get to a position of power to fight the discrimination within Amestris against the Ishvalan people, while Roy wanted to protect Amestris from its land-hungry neighbours; Maes admitted that he just wanted to use the military as a stepping-stone to another career that would be rewarding and allow him to financially protect a potential future wife and family). What they hoped the future might bring in terms of love (okay, maybe only Maes really wanted to talk about that, but it didn’t hurt to plan ahead, did it?). What their actual, genuine favourite foods were (it turned out Roy didn’t even care that much about spinach quiche, he was just prickly about people taking away his options).

Yes, all in all, Maes would consider today’s 10-second kidnapping one of his more successful operations.

Notes:

Sooo anyone who has actually watched "Yet Another Man's Battlefield"* may notice that there are some parts of that episode that don't feature here. That's because I wanted to stay on the kidnapping theme to match the rest of this work, rather than doing a full retelling of the episode (which is honestly more about Maes' and Roy's relationship with Ishval than anything else) from Maes' point of view. You may also notice I fudged the ending a little bit with regards to Maes' motives for being in the military. But I'm hoping it reads as elaborating in a logical way on his motives, rather than changing them entirely.

*If you haven't seen the episode yet, I do strongly recommend it. But if my wording of "Maes' and Roy's relationship with Ishval" in the note above this doesn't make it sufficiently clear... Bring your kleenexes.

Chapter 5: Kidnapping Subject(s) 4: The Sommer children (Lesson: Don’t always call it kidnapping)

Notes:

Breaking my trend of increasingly long chapters, this one is quite short. Hope you enjoy anyway :). Think of it as an interlude between some more of the slightly more serious ones!

Trigger warnings for very brief allusions to alcoholism and sexism.

Maes had known Gracia Sommer for about 6 months, meeting as often as his time off-base from the military academy allowed (and oh, what a lovely change it made in this regard, being a third-year cadet!) before he kidnapped all her siblings. It started with a phone call, that went like this.

“Maes dear, I’d love to come on a date with you this evening, but something has come up and I’ll need to look after my siblings tonight.”

“That makes the fourth time this week. And you’re working during the day as well at that flower shop! You deserve a break once in a while, you know. You need a chance to live a little!”

“Father is away on business again, and you know Mother is unwell. Besides, you know I love all my brothers and sisters!”

Maes did know. He knew Gracia was working all possible hours to help pay for her siblings’ schooling, and was asking her employers to send paycheques directly to the school to ensure that her mother couldn’t use the money on drink. He knew that Gracia’s father had essentially given up on the household, and was doing his utmost to maintain the family business to make sure his sons would have good employment once they finished school. He knew that as a daughter of that house, Gracia’s only valued role was taking care of the younger siblings. He knew that Gracia did love her siblings and her parents too, and that they really were all doing their best to work through a challenging situation, even though some people’s “bests” were better than others at the moment. And he knew that every rare night off Gracia had, she was already spending with him.

“Okay, sweetheart. Enjoy your evening.”

When Mr. Sommers arrived home earlier than expected that evening, he found his house empty, and a short note on the table.

I have kidnapped Everett, Felicia, Joyce, and Leon. Enjoy your evening.

The police were quickly called, and investigation found all four children having a wonderful time at a nearby fairground, under the auspices of one Maes Hughes and his family’s dog. Gracia Sommers took a bit longer to track down, but was eventually found reading a book and finishing supper in the corner of one of the city’s more out-of-the-way restaurants with a view over the canal as it left the city.

The family agreed that the gesture was quite sweet, and Maes was even encouraged to do it again from time to time. But he always worded the notes more carefully in the future.

Notes:

I'm envisioning about 3 more chapters for this fic, but they may be a bit longer in coming, because I have to go back to work quite soon, and I'm still plotting those chapters out a bit. Once complete, I may also do a final edit to smooth out some of the variations in style/tone across chapters, but TBD.

Chapter 6: Kidnapping Subject 5: Riza Hawkeye (Lesson: Kidnapping can be complicated. Use with care.)

Notes:

This is the heaviest (emotions-wise) chapter in the fic. You know how the tags say kidnapping "usually" helps? Well, this is the one case where the ethics are a bit more complicated.

Trigger warning: Discussion of war and young soldiers' participation therein. ALSO, I probably made some errors regarding how a military actually works. Corrections on this stuff in the comments are welcome.

One of the many problems with wartime, Maes reflected, was that it took all the fun out of kidnapping. While he would never kidnap anyone as a mere prank, there had always been an element of mischief involved. These days, it just felt like choosing the lesser of two evils.

Take Riza Hawkeye, for example. The young cadet had been posted to the Ishvalan front for some live sharpshooting practice, and their fool of a commanding officer had been about to send her back to Eastern Command after the completion of her practical training, on the grounds that snipers were only moderately useful against the guerrilla tactics the Ishvalans were using. Well, it might be true that sniper rifles didn’t kill as many Ishvalans as machine guns, but they could sure as hell make a difference in keeping individual Amestrian soldiers alive. And anyone with eyes and a working brain could see that Hawkeye was skilled with a rifle, was improving daily, and—most importantly—was absolutely determined to keep every single soldier alive that she could.

Maes had been out here for more than two years now, and he had seen too many good men and women die.

For the first time since being posted to Ishval, he pulled rank while out of combat and collared Hawkeye. “Cadet, come with me. That’s an order.”

“Aye, sir.” She couldn’t be more than seventeen, but she bore herself with the gravity of a veteran.

Five minutes later, he was introducing the cadet to Brigadier General Fedor, sidestepping his immediate C.O.

One hour later, the cadet was demonstrating her shooting skills under the Brigadier General’s keen gaze.

By the end of the day, all five necessary forms had been signed in triplicate, and Cadet Hawkeye was replaced by Warrant Officer Hawkeye. Who would no doubt be replaced by Second Lieutenant Hawkeye in short order, as soon as someone died to make the promotion possible.

The new warrant officer was not assigned to Maes’ squad, for which he was grateful. Warrant Officer Hawkeye would no doubt be an asset to all the squads in the area, but he wasn’t sure he could face her eyes on a daily basis.

***

In his tent that night, Maes sank to the floor next to his cot and pulled his knees tightly to his chest so he could rest his forehead on them. He told himself that Hawkeye had been old enough to join the military, and that being part of the military came with certain obligations. He told himself that this is what Gracia would have wanted, for Maes and as many Amestrian soldiers as possible to come back alive.

Maes sighed, lifted his head, and reached up to the small table by his bed for a pen and the letter he’d started earlier this week. Mail collection would be tomorrow, he should finish it. Like all his letters to Gracia, it was a cheerful one. He could do this.

Since writing the above, darling, I should probably share one more piece of news. You’ll be pleased to hear that I finally took advantage of my lieutenant’s bars to do something more useful for my squad than to just fix their shoddy paperwork!

Remember how you used to love my tales of ill-advised kidnappings during my youth? Well, you’ve told me many times to never change, so

I tried a spot of recruitment today, and

When I told you I had to leave my investigations training in Central City to support the war effort out East, the only thing you asked of me was to come home alive. I’m still doing my best, and that’s why

Maes gave up. He’d have to copy the letter out again, given the mess he’d made with all that crossing-out, but he was so tired. Maybe he could just send a very short letter that only focused on the most important paragraph in the original, and tell Gracia the rest later.

My darling Gracia,

W hen I left Central City, the future looked so uncertain, I couldn’t bring myself to ask you for any promises. It’s been two years now, and unless something changes radically, I don’t know when this war will end. So that part's still uncertain. But I think I’ve gotten the hang of things out here at this point! I love you, and I miss you. If I swear to come home safely to you, will you promise to wait for me, and marry me when the war is over?

Yours always,

Maes

He looked at the re-copied, much-shortened letter. He thought about all the things he wasn’t saying. Then he folded it up and put it away.

He didn’t send the letter.

Chapter 7: Kidnapping Subjects 6-8: Alex Louis Armstrong, Riza Hawkeye, and Roy Mustang (again) (Lesson: The most effective kidnapping is one tailored to the kidnappee[s].)

Notes:

Contains references to drinking

Maes’ rationale for the acquisition of Riza Hawkeye proved to have been eerily prophetic. A mere few months later, all available State Alchemists were pulled into the fray, and snipers became critical to ensuring the survival of these human weapons, and the prompt ending of war.

Maes himself had mixed feelings about the state alchemists being brought in. As a soldier and an officer, he knew that the war would go on indefinitely unless someone stacked the deck one way or the other, and soon. As someone with legal training (if paramilitary, and incomplete), he couldn’t help feeling that a halfway-decent negotiation team could have stopped this whole civil war much earlier. As someone with past Ishvalan friends, he was horrified to learn that the reason for bringing in state alchemists was to advance a new policy of wiping out all Ishvalans, including civilians, from the region. And as someone with current state alchemist friends...

 

My darling Gracia,

Did I tell you Roy Mustang’s squad is stationed just down the line from mine now? We don’t get to work together directly, since he’s part of the state alchemist cadre, instead of one of us regular army lowlifes. But seeing him regularly has been a real treat! I’ve been telling him he needs to get started on finding a wife before all the good ones are gone, but he says he needs to stay focused on his job right now. I think he’s just being lazy. After all, you can’t work every hour of the day, and I’m pretty certain one of the lady snipers already has a crush on him. She’s hard to read, but she sure looks at him a lot. If he’d just put in a little effort, he could probably sort something out.

Oh, and Roy is here alongside no less a personage than Alex Louis Armstrong! Yes, the very one I tried to kidnap as a child... He hasn’t changed much, except in bulk. These days he towers over all of us. But he seems sensitive as I remember.

I’m a bit worried about both of them, to be honest. Their jobs are the hardest ones out here right now, but it seems to be all they can think about, and that can’t be good for them. But nothing I say seems to make much of an impact. There is still some beauty out here, if they could just be brought to see it. The desert sunsets are a sight to behold. And after rain, you get some truly extraordinary plant life. I wish I had a camera out here to show some of this to you properly, but for now you’ll have to make do with some of these pressed flowers, and your imagination.

Yours always,

Maes

 

Maes set down his pen and rubbed his chin. Hopefully he hadn’t put too much of his fears on the page. He'd eventually given in to his yearnings and asked Gracia to marry him, and while he was thrilled she had agreed, he was determined not to give her any reason to regret it. It was his job to worry about Gracia, not hers to worry about him. But he needed to talk to someone about this, at least a little. And the truth was, he was more than a little worried about Roy.

It had been a thrill at first, if a somewhat guilty one, to find Roy assigned to Ishval alongside him. They hadn’t had much time together since Roy had decided to trade in the lieutenant’s badge he’d earned in the field in Creta to join the state alchemist program. (Maes had never yet gotten a satisfactory answer as to where Roy’s sudden skills in flame alchemy had come from. Too bad that now that he finally had enough time with Roy to stage a good friendly interrogation, it would be indelicate to the point of cruelty to inquire.) Maes had been prepared to find in Roy his old comrade-in-arms, someone who he could trust to have his back on the battlefield and drink his sorrows away with after, someone he could play pranks on to while away the duller days, someone who would reassure him that they were doing the right thing here and that everything would be fine in the end and that he would be able to come home to his fiancée heart-whole and worthy, and that of course the fact that he was killing hundreds of civilians here was not turning him into a terrible person, and–-. This was not a useful line of thought.

In the event, Roy was in no condition to provide support to anyone. He was doing his duty on the battlefield, using his new skills in flame alchemy to incinerate thousands upon thousands of Ishvalans from the youngest child to the oldest monk, performing work that it would have taken hundreds of ordinary soldiers, and cost many Amestrian lives, to accomplish. And he was disappearing before Maes’ eyes. The night after they’d had to kill their old friend Heathcliffe Erbe, Maes had stood guard in Roy’s dim tent for hours, watching him stare dully into space, silent, and unmoving except for the occasional blink. Maes had genuinely wondered if Roy was ever going to get up again or if he had retreated somewhere so far inside that he was going to ossify like that and simply waste away, heedless of food or drink or friends or enemies. That particular reaction to killing had only happened the once, for which Maes was selfishly grateful—it had taken all his ingenuity to explain to the commanding officer why both he and Roy had turned up over 8 hours late for duty in B Sector, and also Maes really did need to get some sleep on his own account, thank you very much. But Roy seemed to be functioning increasingly on autopilot, waking or sleeping when he was told to wake or sleep, killing or maiming those he was instructed to kill or maim, eating the bare minimum to sustain himself, and ignoring all attempts at non-essential communication. Maes wasn’t even sure that Roy knew the names of his own squad members at this point. Maes himself was still occasionally able to get a rise out of Roy by resolutely following him around and waxing poetic about Gracia in a way that even he could tell was annoying, but he wasn’t sure that tactic would work forever. Maes was starting to wonder if Roy’s warmth and wit and curious spirit would ever emerge again.

Meanwhile, if Roy was locking himself away, the newly-minted Major Alex Louis Armstrong seemed to be falling apart in a more outwards-facing direction. Maes hadn’t had much to do with the man since that long-ago encounter as children, but he still had a somewhat proprietary interest in his welfare, and hearing from all the way across camp the man alternately shouting or sobbing over the unfairness of it all was both vicariously cathartic and increasingly concerning. Maes hadn’t yet approached the major but he felt he probably should soon. After all, he was getting lots of practice as Roy’s emotional support soldier, and it would be unfair to confine his efforts to just one state alchemist. Maybe the major would even be able and willing to listen to Maes complain for a while in return. It’s not like Maes could say anything the major wasn’t already clearly thinking. Then again, Maes had learned the hard way that his internal barometer for the appropriate and respectful wasn’t always the same as other people’s. Perhaps he would wait to see what Gracia said before obtruding himself on the major’s notice.

 

***

 

The wished-for letter arrived just two days later. Maes stewarded it to himself all day in anticipation, and opened it by the light of a lantern in his tent the evening, making himself as comfortable as possible on the rigid cot that was the only available seating, so he would have time to savour it. Stretched out on his stomach, head and too-long arms dangling down over the end of the cot, he read:

 

Maes dearest,

Thank you for the lovely flowers. I’ll take them down to the library with me next time I go, and see if I can find some more botanical information about them to send back with my next letter.

Regarding your friends... I don’t think I should give too much specific advice since I am not there with you and I don’t know the full context, or indeed everything that you or they are going through right now. But since when have you ever taken “no” for an answer when doing something you know to be right? Play to your strengths.

I’ll send you a longer letter with more news from home tomorrow. So you can look forward a second letter to open this week.

All my love,

Gracia

 

That was shorter than expected, but it would indeed be lovely to receive another letter later in the week. And so Gracia had picked up on the fact he wasn’t telling her everything. Ah well, her insightfulness was part of why Maes loved her. It still didn’t mean he had to burden her with some of the things he was seeing and hearing and doing out here, but perhaps he could be a little more forthcoming next time. Especially if he was able to report to her a successful gambit. Maes sat up, folded the letter decisively and stowed it in his pocket. If sweet, level-headed Gracia thought he should interfere in people’s lives, then who was he to say no? He pulled out a notebook and pen, plumped up his scanty army pillows as best he could, and settled in against them for a pleasant evening of scheming. Maybe he could find a way to help everyone, at least a little...

 

***

 

The next day, Maes walked up to Major Armstrong after dinner, as everyone was starting to disperse. The major was easy to spot even from across the compound, his height and bulk marking him out, even when somewhat hunched and despondent-looking, as now.

Maes paused as he approached the table, and saluted once Armstrong noticed him. “Good evening, major.”

“Captain?” Armstrong was polite but not enthusiastic.

“I apologize for my forwardness, sir. But if I might beg a moment of your time?”

“Yes, yes, of course, sit down!” Armstrong’s smile was more of a grimace, but he was clearly trying to be genial.

Well, if this worked, Armstrong would have something to take his mind off things for a while, and maybe gain some new friends to talk things over with in future. Maes made himself comfortable on the mess bench opposite, and leaned forward confidentially. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Maes Hughes... We, uh, met, once or twice as children—”

“Maes Hughes!” Armstrong’s booming laugh seemed more genuine than the smile of a moment ago. “My goodness, yes! My would-be kidnapper and saviour! You’ve grown quite a bit since then, I hardly would have recognized you!”

“Yes, well, I wanted to apologize for that. For trying to kidnap you, I mean. Especially without talking to you first. I don’t think I ever really did say sorry for that properly, and seeing as we’re in the same camp now, well, it was beginning to weigh on my mind.” Maes smiled self-deprecatingly. “I would be grateful for the opportunity to make amends, if you are willing.” (“When in doubt,” Gracia had told him on more than one past occasion when he’d been a bit too brash during his Intelligence internship before he got sent out here, “Start with an apology. It can’t hurt, and will certainly smooth the way for anything else you need to discuss.”)

“Think no more of it, Maes Hughes! No forgiveness is required! The story of my almost-kidnapping has beguiled many a long winter evening with family and guests in my home.”

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“No, no, Maes Hughes, I insist!” More quietly, but with a compelling sternness, he continued, “For many years now I have thought it was very kind and uncommonly thoughtful of you, to worry about a boy you didn’t know in such a way way... And then to go beyond worrying, to actually doing something about it... At such a young age, too! You should be proud. And I will hear no further apologies on this matter.”

Maes mentally filed that comment about “going from worrying to doing something” away for later consideration. But for now, the major was clearly diverted from whatever had been bothering him. The operation was on track.

“As you say, sir. In that case, perhaps... a drink, to celebrate our reunion? One of my friends here will be having a birthday in a couple of weeks. I’d planned to sneak him and another friend out to New Optain for the evening. Perhaps you’d care to join us?”

“Sneak? Another kidnapping, heh?”

“You could say so, sir."

“Hmm,” the major growled. “And I suppose you need passes to get out of camp? And are looking for a senior officer with family connections to make such a thing possible?” The major’s volume and sternness of tone increased as he spoke.

“As you say, sir.” He had done his homework first, he knew they were in a lull due to a changeover of generals, with no substantial action planned for the next few weeks, barring unanticipated guerilla attacks.

“An excellent idea!” The major was booming again. “Let me see what I can do!”

Maes' lips twitched. His instincts had not led him astray, it seemed. He thought he could get to like this grown-up version of Alex.

 

***

 

A few days later, Maes pounced on Roy as he was leaving his tent.

“Roy! You’ll never guess what I just got!” He waved a handful of papers under Roy’s nose.

“Urgh!” Roy batted his hands away. “More letters from Gracia, I suppose? I keep telling you, in the films, men who won’t shut up about their sweethearts are always the first ones to die. Fiction exists to share universal truths. You should really be learning from this.”

Maes struck a mock-offended pose. “I’ve been surviving here just fine for three years, I’ll have you know! And besides, Gracia isn’t just my sweetheart, she’s my fiancée now! She agreed by letter a month ago, I told you about this! Or haven’t you been listening to me?”

“You know I never listen to you, Maes. Besides, a fiancée is even worse for that kind of thing.”

“But—”

“—Well if those aren’t letters from Gracia, what are they, then?”

“Well, I did receive a lovely long letter from her today as well, with some fascinating details about some of our local plant life here. And an adorable photo of her in the park. Don’t you just love women in sundresses? I’ll have to show you later. But as for these papers. A certain friend of mine who shall remain nameless—”

“—Of course.”

“Yes, well, as I was saying, this friend managed to get me a couple of blank, signed two-day passes for leave from camp!”

“Well, I hope you have a nice time with your fiancée.” Roy’s tone was sharp but his face softened as he spoke. Roy was a romantic at heart, really, Maes knew. He just liked to speak in sarcasm.

“About that... She’s actually won’t be able to come meet me. Her mother had a relapse about a week ago and her father is away on business. Gracia won’t be able to leave the city for a while yet. And I can’t make it all the way to Central City and back in just two days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it is what it is. Besides, I said there were a couple of passes, not just one for me.”

“Oh, no...”

“Now Roy, I know you don’t like to leave camp or try to have a good time around here because it messes with your focus or”—Maes bit off adding ‘unnecessary self-punishment for being good at your job’—“or whatever, and I wouldn’t ask you, I really wouldn’t. But the thing is, I ran into Alex Armstrong the other day in camp, and I told him I’d take him out drinking as an apology for that time I tried to kidnap him as a kid.”

“As you do. Funny how no one else seems to have these problems.”

“Yes, well, you agree he’s owed some kind of apology.”

Roy just looked at him levelly.

“Yes, exactly. But, well, here’s the thing.” Maes shifted a bit shamefacedly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t fully take into account that New Optain is so far away and I’d have to spend two full days in his company just to take him out somewhere that isn’t in camp. What if I run out of things to say? The only thing we have in common is being in the army, and I’m sure neither of us wants to talk about that the whole time. I’m not an alchemist, it’s not like I can talk shop with him when things get dull...”

Roy just kept looking.

“...Is there any chance at all that you might go with him instead? I do have two passes, you’d get two full days off, it would be great, I’m sure he’d rather talk to you than me anyway...”

“So let me get this straight. For your apology to this man, you want to send him away for two days with me to get drinks?”

“Well, in a word, yes.”

“You know, just because I haven’t made any moves on Second Lieutenant Hawkeye, who let me remind you is only 18 and a subordinate officer, I’m not actually gay, right?”

“This isn’t a romantic setup, Roy! I just really need some help here!”

Roy rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Look. If you can find a way to have all three of us go out... I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I will come along for moral support. But I’m not going to handle this solo on your behalf, and that’s final.”

“Thank you so much, Roy! You’re a lifesaver! I mean it!” Maes seized his hand and pumped it up and down vigorously.

He got a rare laugh, and counted it as much a victory as the knowledge that he already had two more signed passes, obtained by Armstrong through arcane means that Maes fully intended to inquire into at the earliest opportunity, in the inner pocket of his jacket.

 

***

 

Finally, Maes cornered Second Lieutenant Hawkeye. He still felt some level of responsibility for her, and although she seemed preternaturally capable and confident, he knew she must be as exhausted and sick of all this as any of them. And besides, it was evident that she had a soft spot for Roy. She never neglected any of her duties, but she became particularly attentive whenever Roy’s safety seemed at risk, and he’d seen her speaking with him alone once or twice, which was more than anyone but Maes seemed able to manage. Someone like that was worth taking care of.

He’d spoken with her enough before to get her measure, so their conversation was very short.

“Lieutenant, I believe you would agree with me that Major Mustang works very hard and is effective in his duties?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied calmly, though she had to be wondering what this was about.

“Good. I’m going to be kidnapping him shortly, to make sure he takes a well-earned break and gets some new thoughts in his brain that aren’t just about this hellhole.” Not a blink from Hawkeye. “I’m guessing you’d prefer to be there to oversee Major Mustang’s safety?”

Maes thought he saw some appreciation ghost across her face, though he couldn’t be sure. “Yes, sir. Although a bodyguard detail might make it difficult for him to relax in the way you are proposing.”

“Agreed. You’ll have to come along in a different capacity, then.” Maes paused. “How about acting as Major Armstrong’s date?” he asked, mostly to see if he could get a bigger reaction.

“I’m not sure either of the majors would appreciate that, sir.” Maes grinned at Hawkeye’s continued poker face; if he was still working in Intelligence, he would have been tempted to pull a lot of strings to try to have her come work for him. If Roy didn’t ask her out when all this was over, he was a fool ten times over.

“True. How about if you come as our driver, but I’ll tell Roy I asked for you specially so you can be there for his moral support, and you can join us for drinks as well?”

“That would work, sir.”

“Excellent. Here’s a two-day pass. We leave on Thursday just before dawn, and should be in New Optain by mid-afternoon. That will give everyone some time to rest up before we go out in the evening. And no calling anyone ‘sir’ while we’re out, I want Roy to forget about all this for a while!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Roy thinks that this whole thing is for me to apologize to Major Armstrong about something I did when we were kids, but Major Armstrong thinks all this is for Roy’s birthday. So if you could wish Roy a happy birthday early on during the drive, so that Roy thinks that’s how the major knows about it, that would be great.”

“His birthday is this week, sir.”

“Mm. Oh, and if Roy tries to flee at any point, I may need you to help me keep him on board.”

“Not a problem, sir.”

“Good. See you Thursday. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Maes strolled away, pardonably pleased with himself. That was Armstrong, Roy, and Hawkeye all sorted. When you knew the right levers to pull, he reflected, people will essentially kidnap themselves. Major Armstrong had been a bit of a wild card but he’d fallen into line beautifully. And with Roy there thinking he needed to help Maes, and Hawkeye thinking she needed to help Roy... Well. With any luck, they’d be so intent on helping each other, they wouldn’t even notice they were having a good time until afterwards. At which point maybe everyone would have loosened up a little, and be on their way to developing some real friendships out here, with some things to talk about that weren’t all centred in self-loathing.

 

***

 

My darling Gracia, Maes wrote the following week.

Your advice was sound as ever, my dear.

Essentially I kidnapped the lot of them and took them out for drinks. It took Roy three-quarters of the way to New Optain to realize I’d dragged him out for a birthday celebration under false pretenses, which I count as a personal best. Or maybe it’s just a sign of how tired he’s been, I’m not sure. He would have turned around then and there if he could, but with his favourite lieutenant driving and refusing to stop the vehicle, he didn’t have much of a choice. Alex Armstrong wasn’t pleased with me either. He didn’t seem to mind me using his connections to an extent, but he didn’t like being kept in the dark on the full plan. Said something about “not being entirely stupid,” which I take to be a sore point for him. But mostly he stood up for Roy and said that although birthday celebrations were a fine and noble tradition in which Roy should be proud to partake, he shouldn’t have been duped in this way. Threatened me with bodily harm should I do anything like this again, and took off his shirt to show which muscles he could use to throw me out of the car, and everything. He was clearly both mortified and angry on Roy’s behalf. But while I can’t say I enjoyed having their hostility directed at me, it did give them something to bond over. By the time we’d arrived in New Optain I think Roy had told Alex every detail of the trouble he’d seen me get into since we met, both in the academy and out of it. Which eventually led to more general reminiscing about those two’s own childhood shenanigans. (By the way, I finally have an answer to the mysterious connection between Roy and Riza Hawkeye—it appears Roy had some kind of apprenticeship with her father before deciding to join the military, and they got up to all sorts of trouble together as children.) I suspect the lieutenant may have driven a bit slower than needed to make sure they’d get the ire out of their systems and onto more general topics before we arrived, to be frank. A quiet lady, but one to keep an eye on. Much like a certain wonderful fiancée of my acquaintance.

Anyway, by the time we arrived they had agreed that the original plan of going for drinks would still be all right, provided all the rounds were on me. (Which reminds me, I may have to ask you to forward some funds for me. You still have the access to my accounts that I set up on my last trip home, I hope? A bank draft for 4,820 cenz, sent to The White Lotus, New Optain, c/o Innkeeper Brosch, should do it. Thank you, love.)

I had originally planned that we should nap and stroll the promenade for a while to recover from the trip before getting down to business, but everyone was in a Mood by then. I was informed that since drinks were what I promised, drinks everyone must have. I personally suspect Alex Armstrong of trying to drink everyone else under the table, whether to take his revenge on my pocketbook or just to prove that he could, I’m not sure. But he certainly has quite a lot of capacity! And by a few drinks in, everyone was disposed to find the whole situation a lot funnier. Even Riza Hawkeye cracked a few jokes, which to be honest up till now I wasn’t quite sure she was capable of. And we did end up taking that walk, eventually, once the barkeep cut us off a little after midnight. We ended up accidentally wandering out of town, but we were mellow enough not to mind, and ended up flopping on a hillside somewhere and just looking up at the stars. I don’t think it would be right for me to share everything that came out then, there’s a bit of a sacred trust around things you say in the dark, isn’t there. (And these letters are never fully private, what with the censors and all; I know they mostly just skim them for information about military operations and then move on, but still.) But I will say that everyone was able to talk about some of the things that were bothering them, and things that are important to them, and what they hope for the future. And I think everyone was the better for it. Yes, including yours truly. Maybe this kidnapping was good for me as well.

I hope you are doing well, and that caring for your mother hasn’t got you too down. Remember to take time for yourself and to spend some time with your friends. As I was recently reminded, having true friends to confide in and to support one makes everything so much better—for the person needing support, and the person providing it. And does it really matter which person is which, between friends?

Yours always,

Maes