NaNoWriMo - Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic - Chapter 13

[kashiwrites]

(See Chapter 12)


When Elysia had been put to bed that evening, and Maes settled with Gracia on the couch in front of the fireplace, he decided he’d had a pretty productive day, even if he’d ended up staying home instead of going in to work. He’d called the office to let his investigators know there would be some extra police patrols starting tonight, and they’d caught him up on any news they had (which wasn’t much). He’d managed one call to Roy’s place, where Breda told him that things seemed to be fine there and mentioned that Roy himself had been doing a lot of work over the phone. This was reconfirmed later on in the afternoon, when Maes had called again a couple of times and found the line occupied.

After lunch, he’d laid down to nap with Elysia again, and this time both of them had slept. They’d had a fun afternoon of playing, in between a few more work-related phone calls.

All in all, it had been a good day. And now Gracia snuggled against him, in the curve of one arm, and each of them was just starting to get engrossed in a book for the evening. He reflected that life just couldn’t get much better than this.

But when the phone rang for what must have been the twentieth time that day, Maes sighed. “Not again,” he complained. “Can’t we have just one uninterrupted evening?”

“Let me get it, dear,” said Gracia, starting to get up.

“No, it’ll be for me, you know that.” Maes touched his wife’s shoulder, pressing her back onto the couch. “Stay here and read, and I’ll be back in a minute,” he added, hoping he was right.

He stepped into the kitchen doorway and reached around for the phone. “Hughes here,” he said.

He was to remember that as the last calm, relatively happy moment he would have for a long, long time.

“Hughes! You have to come – it’s another fire!”

He recognized the voice immediately. “Breda? What’s going on?”

“I told you, there’s another warehouse burning.”

“But – but – “ In his shock, Maes couldn’t seem to think. “It’s not the middle of the night,” he finally managed, stupidly.

“Yeah, well, tell that to the arsonist. He’s changed his schedule. And something else changed today too – the order came just before suppertime. The guard at Mustang’s house was cancelled.”

“What?” Maes yelled. A movement at his side alerted him to the fact that Gracia had joined him, frowning in worry. “Breda – please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope. Mustang did it himself, just after you called. He phoned Hakuro’s office and talked to the general for a long time, and by the time he was done, he persuaded Hakuro to rescind the original orders.”

“That stupid – dammit, Roy!” Maes exclaimed, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Where is he now? Is he all right?”

“He’s home. Hawkeye’s just gone to get him now.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll yell at him later, after we’ve got this building under control. Give me the address and I’ll get over there.” When Maes slammed the receiver down, he burst out, “I don’t know what in the world is going on in that head of his, but I’m gonna kill him if he pulls this sort of thing again. He got Hakuro to rescind the order putting guards on him, Gracia. What’s the matter with him?? Does he have a death wish or something?”

His wife touched his arm. “So there’s another fire? I’ll get your coat, honey, and you put on your shoes. I don’t understand Roy either, but you were right – you have to get the fire taken care of first. Then you can try to figure out what’s really wrong with him.”

He did up his shoes, threw on the coat that Gracia brought to him, and, giving her another apologetic kiss, dashed out of the house. One of these days, they might get back to a way of life that didn’t involve him running out of the house in the middle of the night any more. Though at the moment, it felt like they were caught in a nightmare that looped around and around, constantly repeating itself.

Except for tonight, he thought as he quickly drove through the dark streets toward the building Breda had indicated. The guy had been right: tonight was another change in the arsonist’s pattern. This was the first time a building had been set ablaze in mid-evening rather than in the middle of the night. And he had no idea what this particular change might signify. The new mystery simply added to the tension and frustration of the whole case.

Maes didn’t really need Breda’s directions; the night had gotten overcast, and the angry red of the flames reflected off the cloud cover above the city. Long before he got there, he could tell that at least one pattern hadn’t been changed: this new fire followed the spiral leading gradually to Roy’s house.

Damn the man! As Maes stopped the car at the end of the block and got out, running, he vowed that this time he’d get orders from the Fuhrer himself, and threaten Roy with literal confinement if he wouldn’t cooperate. Enough was enough.

‘Then you can try to figure out what’s really wrong with him,’ Gracia had said. She was right, Maes thought grimly. There was much more going on with Roy than just tension and uncertainty from being under threat for so long. Last night had demonstrated that, pretty clearly. They were bloody well going to get to the bottom of Roy’s problem, and soon, if it was the last thing Maes ever did.

But he had no more time to think about that, just now. He saw Havoc near the side of the two-storey building, waving in a water tank truck, and ran up to join him.

The attempts to put out the fire were well underway. This warehouse was unusual compared to most of the others: it only had two floors, and was more of a long rectangle than a square. Havoc was guiding the tanks and pumps along one of the long sides, shouting directions at two trucks while a couple of others backed out in preparation for getting more water. There was much hollering over the roaring of the fire, and a lot of rushing around by people clearing away used hoses and making room for the new ones to be unfurled. Apparently, Breda was doing the same thing as Havoc, on the other side of the building. And there were bucket brigades on the two shorter ends, with Fuery and Falman in charge of those.

It struck Maes, suddenly, that it always seemed to be Roy’s people who were first called to these fires. It was probably logical, since they knew Roy’s methods so well, and by now were expert at holding down the fort until he arrived. They seemed to sense where to direct the jets and thrown buckets of water, to make sure the fire didn’t spread too badly before he got there, and prepare the building for him. But they must be mentally and physically exhausted by now.

And picking the right spots to direct the water was more difficult with this one than with some of the earlier buildings. Previous fires tended to concentrate in a few spots inside the warehouses, but this blaze seemed to be burning all along the inside of every wall. Each window was a square of orange outlined in black, with billows of black smoke funneling steadily from the top edge. So far the outer brickwork was holding, and the frame seemed to be maintaining. But this meant that the best they could do was try to direct the water in through the windows. The tank truck personnel were using their ladders to hit the windows on the upper floor, hoping they might douse the flames there and drown the fire from the top down. It didn’t seem to be working too well, though.

For a while, Maes joined one of the bucket brigades that seemed a little thin on personnel, and his consciousness was reduced to nothing more than grab-balance-pass, grab-balance-pass, sending the water toward the front of the line as quickly as possible. He threw off his coat almost immediately, working only in shirtsleeves as the heat of the fire made it feel like he was standing in front of an oven.

Not long after he joined the line of buckets, he sensed a pause in the steady movement along the line, as a series of bangs resounded over the deep voice of the fire. He looked up at the building, and another couple of bangs boomed through the air. There was the slightest tremor in the ground under his feet.

He whirled around to everyone in line behind him, yelling, “Get back, get back!” Waving his arms at them, he leapt ahead to start pulling back the people ahead of him. “Come on, move! I think something is collapsing in there!”

He waited just long enough to see that everyone in the lines at his end was backing away, and then he sprinted around to the longer side of the building. He saw Havoc, halfway down, already waving people away from the wall, with two tank trucks trying to back up just as two others had begun to draw close.

With a sound like the world cracking, the roof of the building caved in, making the ground shudder. Billowing clouds of black smoke exploded out from the tops of the walls as chunks of brick fell from the upper storey, smashing on the driveways and sidewalk all around the building. The fire inside wavered momentarily, hampered by the smothering material from the roof. But then the fresh oxygen rushed in behind it, and the flames seemed to pause before roaring hungrily back to life, surging high up into the air with renewed strength.

Maes took a breath to shout for a fresh deluge of water, but a sharp sound distracted him – a sound he’d learned to hear over any kind of other noise, even gunfire – the sound of fingers snapping.

Roy stood in his uniform in front of the traffic jam of water wagons, right arm raised over his head, frowning in fierce concentration at the wall above him. Hawkeye stood at his side, feet braced, watching him. Maes felt a whooshing sensation, as though a wind had rushed in, feeling for a few seconds as though a blanket had descended, flattening his hair and deadening the air. He gasped for breath as the oxygen thinned, watching Roy snap the fingers of his other hand, aiming for the windows. He must be trying to smother the flames from above and below simultaneously. He snapped again, both hands at once, and the flames above him seemed to writhe in protest, twisting, reaching upward with thin, desperately mangled fingers.

The arrays glowing blood red on the backs of his gloves, Roy clenched his left hand, and the brightness in almost all the windows went out abruptly. A few of the flames remained alive on the upper floor, struggling upward for fresh oxygen. Roy allowed them to live just a little longer, moving his fingers to make them dance for him, streaking against the heavy sky overlooking the walls. He flicked a couple of fingers, and the fire split into fine tendrils, then as he moved both hands, they twirled about each other, braiding together in streaks of red and gold.

All movement ceased below the walls of the building. Maes saw them all – the firefighters, the military personnel, police, the civilians who’d been manning the buckets or stopping as spectators – every single one of them stopped in their tracks, faces turned upward, watching the delicate ribbons of fire flaring out like tree branches, dancing around each other, twining together in increasingly ornate designs. The streaks of flame twirled upward and upward, some exploding at their tips into starbursts like fireworks, others shaping themselves into birds, flying into the clouds and vanishing, and still others remaining earthbound, to wind together and bow to each other in their intricate waltz.

Maes fought down the lump in his throat, as the wonder seemed to coalesce inside him. He’d never seen anything like this. Never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

He dragged his eyes away and looked at Roy, fighting an unexpected onslaught of tears. Hawkeye remained at her colonel’s side, watching his face and the movements of his hands, her own face almost expressionless, which made the tears streaking her face all the more incongruous. Roy’s expression had softened, the frown now gone, his lips parted, eyes raptly following the enchanting movements of the flame as he worked his magic. He was truly the master of fire.

He loves it, Maes thought.

And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

The fire snuffed out abruptly, the spell broken, and now whatever Investigations people there were around the building rushed to light lamps and torches, so they could see what they were doing in the aftermath of the fire. Maes began to call out to the other workers and spectators, the habits of duty and procedure reasserting themselves automatically, “Try not to disturb anything! We need to look for evidence in the building as soon as it cools down!”

He walked over to Roy and touched him on the arm. Roy blinked as though he’d been daydreaming, and turned a weary smile on his friend. “Hi there,” he said. “Cleared up another one.”

“Were you home when Hawkeye got there?” Maes demanded. “Or were you out somewhere, enjoying your new-won freedom?”

Roy sighed, his eyes sliding off his friend’s face. “Can you yell at me later, Maes? I was home, being good.”

“He was, sir,” Hawkeye nodded. She had wiped her face dry, and now gave no sign that anything had moved her to tears. “He was sleeping when I got there.”

“I went back to bed after Breda left,” Roy amplified. “I was still tired after last night.”

He’d been in bed. Sleeping. Maes felt the inexplicable knot in his stomach loosen, very slightly. “Well,” he said grimly, “we’re going to talk all about Breda leaving, but I’ll save it for tomorrow. Meanwhile, I don’t care what Hakuro said, I’m putting people around your house again tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” Roy agreed, waving his hand in that maddeningly dismissive way he had. “Do what you like tonight. I’m too tired to argue.”

Maes bit his tongue. That’s what he’d said this morning, too, about staying home and not going in to work. And then had proceeded to work rather hard, it seemed, undermining his friend’s plans to keep him safe. Maes wanted to smack him across the face.

Time for that later. “Stick around,” he said tersely, “in case there are still hot spots.”

“Don’t I always?” Roy drawled.

Investigations was another department that was always called automatically when these fires started, so there were plenty of Maes’s own people to start looking for clues right away. They couldn’t go inside until things cooled down, but while the fire marshals were directing the water wagons to try to achieve that, the investigators could at least look around the perimeter of the building.

Maes knew that the main search couldn’t really start until daylight, and that was farther away this time than usual. So when he saw the police chief coming around a corner of the warehouse, he immediately approached him.

“Sorry we didn’t catch this,” the chief said soberly.

“Don’t worry about it; you hardly had time to set up,” Maes told him.

“Well, we did have patrols right around this block, so I’d have thought…but anyway,” the man shrugged. “We haven’t talked to all our people yet; we need to find the ones who are still somewhere in this crowd. Maybe someone saw something you can use.”

“Meanwhile,” Maes said, “can we station guards around the building to keep it untouched until morning? I have some guys to spare, and I wondered if we could make it a joint effort.”

“Of course. I’ll get right on it.”

As the chief headed off to round up some officers, Maes directed a few of his own people to take up positions along the walls as well. He thought, fleetingly, of Ed and Al, and wished they were there to start looking for any signs of alchemy.

A young woman who had recently joined the Investigations team walked up to him. “I don’t know if this means anything, sir,” she said, “but I managed to get into one of the doors and found this on the floor.” She opened her hand and revealed a small, round, blackened object. He pulled her over to a nearby streetlight, and peered at it. One edge had been rubbed a little, revealing some kind of yellowish metal.

“Looks like a button. Good catch, sergeant. I’ll have our guys look it over; it might tell us something.” He pulled out a handkerchief, held it out for her to drop the button into, and slipped it into his pocket.

Then he returned to where Roy was standing to one side, out of the middle of the action. Havoc and Breda had joined him and Hawkeye, and the four of them were talking about the firefighting efforts. Or rather, Roy’s subordinates were talking about it while he stood with them, arms folded and eyes half-closed as though his fatigue were about to fell him completely.

He seemed to be following the conversation, though, because as Maes approached he heard his friend say, “Right, then. Havoc, Breda – go check on what Fuery and Falman are doing, and if the police and Investigations have everything in hand, go home and get a good night’s sleep. You’ve worked hard enough tonight.”

“I’m still fresh, boss, a lot fresher than you, from the look of things,” Havoc chuckled. “I slept most of the day already. I was supposed to be spending the night at your place again, remember?”

“Well, now you’re free, aren’t you?” Roy smiled. “Call someone up and go see a movie or something.”

Havoc and Breda left, and Maes took their place. “Well,” he sighed, “we probably can’t do much good here until the sun comes up. I suppose you should go home, Roy, and get some more sleep.”

“I might just do – “ Roy paused at the sight of the police chief returning, walking toward them with heavy steps, his face dark.

“Uh oh, this doesn’t look good,” Maes muttered, and stepped forward to meet him. “Chief. What’s wrong? Have you found something?”

“It looks like it,” the man answered grimly. “It looks like one of our patrolmen might have seen something after all.”

“He saw the arsonist?” Maes said eagerly. “Can I talk to him?”

“He might have – but we’ll never know. We found him just inside the building, in a hall near one of the doors. It looks like he’d gone into the building for some reason, and couldn’t get out because the fire blocked his way. I’m sorry, Maes – he’s dead.”

“No!!”

Roy’s cry matched the horror that had exploded across his face. He stared at the police chief, his face impossibly white, his mouth open in disbelief.

Maes stepped toward him. “Roy, are you – “

“It can’t be!” Roy cried raggedly, fists clenched at his sides. “There can’t have been anyone in there! He – he always picks empty buildings!”

“I wish it was a mistake,” the chief said soberly. “But his hat was under his body, and was shielded from most of the fire. We recognized the crest.”

“That’s not – it can’t be – “ Roy shook his head, unable to accept what he was hearing. His whole body had begun to tremble, and Maes wondered if he was going to faint. “There – there can’t – “ Roy faltered. “It can’t be true – there – there’s never anybody inside!”

“Sir – please – “ Hawkeye began, but as she reached for his arm he shrank away, eyes wild in his white face.

“Don’t touch me – I can’t – just don’t – “ He whirled around and tried to get away, but his legs appeared to give out on him and he fell to his hands and knees. And began to vomit, retching so violently it seemed he might choke up his bones.

“Dammit – Roy – “ Heart pounding in alarm, Maes tried to go to his aid, but Hawkeye stepped into his path, arms spread open to keep him back.

“Hughes – just leave him for a minute – give him time – “

“He needs help!”

“I know, but – give him a chance – let him try to get himself together – please, Maes, just give him a minute!”

Maes stared at her face, pale and distressed, and the knot in his stomach tightened again, almost unbearably. He could hardly breathe. “How can you – Roy needs me,” he rasped.

“You can’t help him. Please – just finish up here, and then – then maybe you can do something. Please.”

He met her eyes, and the fear inside was so tangible he felt as though he could start vomiting too. But he forced himself to turn back to the police chief.

He was hardly aware of what he did for the next few minutes, as he followed the chief to view the charred body of the police patrolman. He issued instructions to his forensics officers almost automatically, without thinking about it. In a very distant part of his mind, he was grateful that the people in Investigations were so professional that they would have known what to do no matter what he said. At least he managed to be coherent.

After he’d sent someone to the coroner’s office, he left the chief to continue making his own arrangements, and found his steps leading him back to where Roy’s men had formed a wall of protection to keep anyone from getting near. Behind the four men, Hawkeye had knelt beside her superior officer, to his left. Roy had finally sat up, head bowed, but Maes noted in that same distant part of his mind that the woman still didn’t seem to have touched him. Did she not dare, for some reason, or was there another problem?

Havoc and Falman separated to let him through, their faces sober and a little frightened. Havoc whispered, “Maes, what happened to him? He seemed fine...”

Maes put a hand on his shoulder and merely shook his head. He walked toward the kneeling pair, his feet dragging as though they were made of lead. He stopped to Roy’s right, and looked down.

“Roy,” he said softly. “Let me help you. What can I do?”

After a long silence, Roy stirred. “What...?” he whispered vaguely, as though he hadn’t really heard.

“Roy. Please let me take care of you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Roy looked up, slowly, his face still deathly white, dark eyes flooded with a deep, encompassing grief. “Maes...?” he said. “I...can’t...” He lifted a shaky gloved hand to sweep the hair out of his eyes.

Maes stood absolutely still, watching him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He looked beyond his friend, to find Hawkeye looking up at him, an unexpected sadness in her own eyes. They looked at each other for a long time until at last her shoulders slumped and she turned her face away.

Maes cleared his throat. “Take him home, Riza,” he said quietly. “Keep him there, and don’t let anyone into the house until I get there. All right?”

She looked up at him again. “All right,” she nodded. With surprising gentleness, at last she set a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Come with me, Roy. We’re going home.”

He bowed his head, nodding wordlessly.

Maes turned back to the other four men, once again putting a hand on Havoc’s shoulder, and managing to smile at the group. “All right, everyone,” he said. “Roy was right – you’ve done more than enough for tonight. I’m pulling rank on all of you and telling you to get home and get a good night’s sleep, okay?”

“But sir,” Fuery began to protest, looking past him to where Hawkeye had helped Roy to his feet and begun to lead him back toward the car they’d come in.

“But nothing,” Maes said firmly. “After last night, this was too much for him. He’s just overtaxed, that’s all. So don’t worry. Get some sleep, and we’ll get everything figured out in the morning. All right?”

It took a little more persuading, but finally they did what he’d told them, and headed home. Havoc turned back for a moment, after the others had gone out of ear shot. “Maes,” he murmured soberly. “It isn’t really the flu. Is it?”

Maes closed his eyes. “No. It’s not the flu.”

He still had to consult with his Investigations squad, and make sure the building would be secure overnight. And he needed to have another word with the police chief, to tell him how sorry – how awfully, awfully sorry he was – about his dead officer. About everything.

But finally he’d fulfilled all his obligations, including getting someone to call Gracia for him, to tell her he wouldn’t be home tonight. When he’d done all he was required to do here, at last he climbed back into his car.

He sat there for a long moment, head bent, forehead pressed to the top of the steering wheel. “Oh, Roy,” he whispered. Then, wiping his eyes, he started the car.

As expected, there were no guards outside, but as he stepped onto the porch, the door opened. Riza had obviously been watching for him.

He stepped into the doorway and asked, “Well? How is he?”

“A little better, but...” she shrugged. “He’s in the kitchen. Come on.”

But he took hold of her arm as she turned, stopping her from going further. “No, Riza,” he said softly. “You go home now.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m not leaving him,” she shook her head firmly. “He needs me.”

“Riza.” Maes squeezed her arm to make her look at him. He watched her eyes widen as she recognized the resolve on his face. “This time,” he told her, “you’re not staying. There is no longer anything you can do.”

“Maes – please – “

“No. It’s out of your hands now. I mean it. This is not for you to deal with, not any more. Go home.”

He had never thought to see such fear on her face. Finally, she truly understood why he was here. For a moment he thought she might refuse, might actually try to fight him on this. But at last she seemed to realize that it would be no use this time.

“Maes,” she whispered. “Please be kind to him.”

He took her shoulders and brought her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I will, my dear.”

After she’d gone, he leaned back against the closed door, staring down the long, dark hallway toward the light in the kitchen doorway. Again he wondered if he might be sick, but he didn’t think he could get rid of the rock of dread in his stomach that way. He didn’t know if he’d ever be rid of it.

It was probably the longest walk he’d ever taken in his life. He moved slowly down the hall toward the light, limbs trembling, and finally came to the kitchen entrance. He paused in the opening, looking at the still, silent figure sitting at the table, an opened bottle of scotch and two filled glasses already prepared. He and Roy looked at each other without a word, for a long time.

I'm sorry, Ed, Maes thought. Then he stepped over to the table and, digging in his pocket, pulled out the blackened button and dropped it beside the bottle.

Roy pushed a glass across the table to him, reaching with his right hand, the ripped spot where a button should be glaring like a beacon on the cuff of his uniform jacket.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered. 
 

(See Chapter 14)

(And yes -- I know. They don't have buttons on their cuffs. I only checked this morning. But the button's been such a major part of the story since I conceived it that I left it in. When I retool the story to post on FF.net, I'll figure out a different clue. But for now, with the rush of NaNo, it has to stay.)

Comments

[mithluin.livejournal.com]

"Took you long enough."

Oh, Roy....

Maes does have some guts, though, going into this without Riza or Ed as backup. I'm not sure I trust Roy to go gently into that good night.

Oh, and I think Gracia won't be surprised when she hears.

Let's see, who figured this out in what order?

Kimbley first. Profiler chick was certainly putting two and two together. Ed, who suspected and was hoping for Kimbley instead. Riza (although I don't know when she knew, she certainly had no doubts tonight). And...finally...Maes.

[kashicat.livejournal.com]

Yes, I think Kimbley actually knew first, though Ed suspected it sooner.

The chapter was getting too long (and I really want to get the final two chapters done asap), so I didn't stick Vanova near the end of this one as I'd been contemplating. When I revise the story, I think I'll do it, though. I was thinking of having Maes have to persuade her not to alert anyone and get someone sent to Roy's house right away.

If she hadn't definitively figured it out before this event, she'd have known for sure once this fire started.

[eranith.livejournal.com]

Bwahaha, Roy cancelled the guard and another fire spurted up - what a coincidence!

And Roy's so upset about the guy dying because not only is it someone dead, but it's someone that he, effectively killed. Poor fellah.

I'm surprised a little by Riza and her protectiveness of him at that point. Sure, she's usually protective, but that, in combination with the fact that she was crying when he was dampening the flames makes me wonder if she a) knew all along, b) found out recently or c) suspects it was Roy. "He met her eyes, and the fear inside was so tangible he felt as though he could start vomiting too." However or whenever she found out, she does know.

"(And yes -- I know. They don't have buttons on their cuffs. I only checked this morning. But the button's been such a major part of the story since I conceived it that I left it in. When I retool the story to post on FF.net, I'll figure out a different clue. But for now, with the rush of NaNo, it has to stay.)" As to that, you could have some of that lovely tasselling left behind. Well, they're not tassels, exactly, but you know that embroidered sort of rope that's on their uniform jacket? I don't remember whether it's on the normal uniform or just on the formal one, but it'd be bound to catch on something.

[kashicat.livejournal.com]

That's a really good idea! Thanks so much, I hadn't even thought of that! And it's on the normal uniform, because I was admiring it when I checked the picture today. ("Doesn't that just look snazzy.") So that's what I'll change it to, when I edit later.

*mwah!* Thanks!

[havocmangawip.livejournal.com]

The tasseling would burn.

What about his insignia on the collar? That would probably be either sewn on or a "tack pin" like US Military medals/insignia.

And at the end of last chapter it dawned on me... and I felt sick.

Well written.

[kashiwrites.livejournal.com]

Yes, once I had time (!!) I was going to come back here with that exact same observation: unless it had something fall on it or was otherwise protected, the tasseling would burn too. So I think I might indeed have to find something on the collar or somewhere else. Something that would look fairly generic, but that Maes could recognize if he saw it missing on Roy's own uniform.

[eranith.livejournal.com]

The little medal sort of things on the left breast? I don't know what they're made of, but I'm pretty sure they're pinned to the suit, rather than sewn on, so they're more likely to be metal.