Title: Causality, Part 1/3
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist (manga)
Pairing: Ling/Ed, eventually.
Warning: Spoilers for Chapter 51 in the manga.
Summary: cau·sal·i·ty : the relation of cause and effect. Things go a little differently in Gluttony's stomach, and the end result changes everything.
Credits: My best friend Celeste very kindly beta'd this for me. Also, huge chunks of the dialogue in here are from Viz's translation of the manga, because it happens in the middle of the manga. Yup.

Part I – Effect.

i.

There are simply some things in this world that even a man such as the Fuhrer President of all Amestris, a man who is not really a man, cannot quite figure out in the instant they happen.

This is one of these things, King Bradley decides, as he carefully sheathes his sword and steps down off of the table.

The teacups are in ruins, shattered into a thousand pieces, and there is tea staining the carpet. What a shame. He does hope it can be cleaned. The chair he had been seated in is also destroyed, reduced to a number of sharp splinters discarded carelessly over the floor. The table too has seen better days, but it's still standing. The window now sports a brand new hole in the corner of it, though most of the glass went with the intruder on his way out.

Most interestingly is Colonel Roy Mustang, still seated in his chair, teacup still in his ungloved right hand. His face is rather pale and he seems unnaturally tight lipped as he sits stiffly in his chair, giving Bradley a baffled look.

Bradley has no time to explain, nor would he, because he isn't entirely sure of what just happened himself. Before either of them can say a word, the door bursts open again. Bradley watches in some distress as the doorknob imbeds itself into the wall.

Alphonse Elric is standing behind the door, his massive right hand stretched out in front of him and the clear instigator of the door shove that had put another hole in the wall. His posture is harried, as though something has slipped out of his grip, such as a parent who has lost his child in the park—or more accurately, a younger brother who has just lost his elder brother.

Bradley's hand is still on the hilt of his sword, but Alphonse just looks at them in what appears to be bewilderment.

"Er, have you seen Brother?" he asks, his voice catching just a little higher than normal, and still sounding odd coming out of such a huge suit of armor.

Mustang and Bradley turn in unison and point to the broken window.

Alphonse dashes to the window and sticks his head out the hole that is perfectly sized for the Fullmetal Alchemist to have leapt through. He looks around frantically for a moment before pulling his head back within the room. His shoulders are slumped and he looks for all the world like someone who has given up on something very precious.

"Oh," is all he says.

Since he had lost the Elrics during the fight with Scar and those aggravating Xingese children, Bradley had been unaware of the brothers' whereabouts. It would seem, he thinks, considering the window, that they have been delving in things they should not have.

Oh, well. They are unharmed—mostly. And it won't be hard to track Fullmetal, at any rate. Bradley wonders what Father was planning with this move; certainly, this isn't it. Well, it isn't exactly his position to ask questions. He just hopes he isn't the one who gets to deal with the clean up. That would be...obnoxious.

In the meantime, though, he might as well use this to his advantage.

"Alphonse," he says, his voice calm and chipper, as though he had not just been attacked within his own Central Headquarters.

"Y-yessir!" Alphonse is clearly unnerved, judging from the way his posture snaps upright.

"I seem to have broken my chair." Bradley gestures absently to the pile of wood scraps scattered across the floor. "Would you mind fixing it for me?"

Mustang shoots him a glance, which he ignores. Instead, he walks around to the door. Alphonse hesitates for a moment, looking at the Colonel for direction. Mustang doesn't really respond, and the boy starts gathering the pieces of the chair together.

There is an unconscious guard outside the door. How...aggravating. Bradley frowns intently, fighting down an urge to stab the man for simply being not what he needs him to be. It of course isn't his fault that an overenthusiastic Alphonse Elric has just knocked him silly. The Wrath within him doesn't care about who is at fault. But practicality must win out this round. Bradley ignores the man and peers around. Surely someone is around.

When he finally sees someone, he is at first confused. He isn't sure he's ever seen this man, but the way he walks suggest familiarity and some urgency. The man doesn't salute his Fuhrer. How annoying. Bradley's gaze narrows slightly...and then he understands.

"Envy," he comments offhandedly, too quiet for the two alchemists behind him to hear.

Envy smirks, that familiar smile a little unnerving on that unfamiliar face. Bradley says nothing more for a moment. Envy may come in handy, though he's not terribly good at following orders. Well, it doesn't matter. Bradley has a plan for rounding up Fullmetal, and that's most likely what Envy is trying to do, judging from his motions.

"Bring the Rockbell girl here," Bradley says lowly, his gaze one of heavy importance. "And keep her room under heavy surveillance. I want to know the minute someone gets anywhere close to it."

Envy looks just a touch resentful, but he is in disguise as one of Bradley's men. This is what he gets. "Yes sir," he retorts, saluting, before running off.

He had said this all loud enough for Alphonse and Mustang to hear, so he isn't surprised by the baleful aura in the room exuded by his two guests when he turns back around. He raises one eyebrow. "Did you want to say something?"

"Why are you getting Winry involved?" Alphonse's voice is resentful, surly, and scared as hell, all in one. Bradley is somewhat impressed.

"It's very simple, really," Bradley responds, kneeling down and picking something up off the carpet, an item he had not previously noticed. It is a long, thin piece of metal casing, about the length of Bradley's hand. One side of it is smooth and tapered, with a tiny lip at the bottom. The other side is sheered clean off, edges sharp. It looks as though something had sliced through the metal as though it was nothing more than a piece of fruit.

Alphonse lets out a tiny gasp, and Mustang's eyes narrow as they both realize what it is at the same time.

"You want to see your brother again, right?" Bradley asks, his single eye flashing. "I have a feeling he won't be getting very far without his mechanic."

ii.

Time never passes as slowly as when you are thrown over someone's shoulder, listening to your broken ribs scrape against each other with each step taken.

Ling is about finished feeling anything but pain, and even that is kind of hazy in his mind. He keeps conscious by counting the droplets of blood marking the trail behind him. His arms dangle uselessly out in front of him. He wonders absently if this is how Ran Fan felt while Ling had carried her, dizzily following the trail of blood behind them and feeling somewhat useless.

Something pricks at the edge of his consciousness. He frowns. "More ahead. Go...go right," he says.

The footsteps falter slightly, and then there's the sound of an explosion. Air rushes past him, and then they are turning right, through the new hole in the wall and into another tunnel.

This tunnel looks the same as the previous eight million tunnels they've wandered through. This place is truly a labyrinth, and despite Ling's ability to sense life around them, at the range they're at, all he can feel is the presence of groups of "guardians" awaiting their lunches. There is nothing to indicate which way the outside is.

"You're alive, still?" the low, gravelly voice asks.

"Wouldn't have honored my promise very well if I'd...died en route," Ling replies, though his voice is strained.

Ling is shifted slightly on the man's shoulder. The pain crashes over him like a wave, and he nearly blacks out. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is that man, and so he forces them open again. Stupid Ed, he thinks. This is all your fault.

"I have heard about Xingese honor and promises, but I wasn't aware that they could trump death."

Ling is pretty sure making a promise about telling a sociopathic mass murderer about who started the war that destroyed his life isn't really keeping him alive. In fact, he's fairly certain it might end up making his life a little shorter in the long run.

He closes his eyes for a moment and then snaps them open again. No. He is not going to pass out now. At this stage, unconsciousness is no better than death. He may be on a one way trip to hell, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop fighting now. How would that be fair to Fuu, on his way back from Xing after helping that nice young lady? How would that be fair to Ran Fan, bandaged and broken in a bed in an unfamiliar house?

Ling's vision fades slightly. Ran Fan...

He wonders if she's okay, if she even survived the trip to Dr. Knox's home. What if Bradley had intercepted them? What if she had gotten some sort of an infection? What if...

No. Ran Fan is strong. Like I must be. This situation is not the end of all things. He just has to survive, nothing more, and nothing less. This is his only objective right now. Ran Fan would have died to make it so, and he will not betray her promise by dying.

And then, suddenly, improbably, he feels something. Something that isn't a monster. Something human.

"Stop a minute," he calls, head swimming. "Stop, I feel...something."

Obediently, the giant Ishbalan slows to a stop. This is somewhat surprising to Ling, but he won't complain. Instead, he concentrates. If he has any chance of survival, he needs to find this person. "Southwest of here," he says. "It's a person. One person. Not a monster."

"A human? Down here?"

"Yeah. There are...I think there are chimeras with him, but he's definitely human," Ling responds. A lightning bug in a night devoid of any light, that is what it feels like, flickering, barely visible, but definitely there. Ling has no doubt of his senses. He had been trained too well for that.

The man called Scar moves, and the further they go, the surer Ling is. He gives brief instructions—"further right," "still a ways to go"—and he wonders if he's making a big mistake. Whoever this person is, meeting up with this Ishbalan murderer isn't usually the best way to survive. Perhaps he's a prisoner, or perhaps he's a guard and knows where the exit is.

In the end, the former turns out to be correct, though they never actually are able to find him. Instead, they are found by him. Even while Ling is muttering, "...ought to be right here," a voice wafts up from beneath them.

"Who's there! Is someone there?"

They pull to a stop. Of course it's beneath them. How had Ling missed that? He is very tired.

The floor is a metal grate. Scar kneels down on it, and Ling can't see through, his vision obscured by Scar's foot, but he can feel the man's presence. What little of the room under them he can see through the grate seems bare and looks just like the hallway they are in.

"Are you a civilian?" Scar's voice is level, but Ling imagines he is as confused as Ling is.

The man doesn't answer. Instead, he has some questions of his own. "Are you from the outside? How did you get in here?"

"First tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

Scar shifts again, and Ling groans. He feels like he is underwater, like everything is moving slowly and purposefully. It is getting very difficult to breathe.

"Are you injured? I'm a doctor," the man calls. "My name is Dr. Mauro. Please. I can help."

Ling doesn't really believe in or worship any one particular god, but right now, he is thanking all of them. Now, if only Scar will let him down there. There are definitely some chimeras down there, but they're not attacking Mauro, so maybe they'll be spared too. Besides, it isn't like Scar can't take care of them fairly easily.

"I want to know what's going on outside. Please come down. I can treat your wounds," Mauro insists, pleads, almost. "The guard won't be coming around for a while. Don't worry."

Scar hesitates for only a moment longer. Then he moves again, stepping back so he can remove the metal grating covering Mauro's prison. And then Ling experiences a sort of strange vertigo as Scar jumps down the hole. When he lands, it's like a shockwave of pain rippling through him. He lets out a choking gasp and is unable to make a sound other than that.

"Lay him down on the cot—careful now, he's badly hurt," Mauro says, and Ling feels himself being shifted into a horizontal position. It's both a relief and worse somehow, and he feels himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Ling doesn't hear Mauro's diagnosis, which is actually okay with him. He would rather not know how many of his ribs have been reduced to fragments, honestly. He remembers a cool hand on his forehead and a tired voice telling him he is very lucky to have made it this far.

Ling is pretty sure whatever he has isn't luck.

Mauro is holding a jar of some variety. The reddish material in it looks very familiar to him, sloshing around in sort of a half-liquid, half-gel form. Mauro pulls the cork out of the bottle and lets the substance inside slide into his hand, and Ling realizes what it is immediately.

He remembers very clearly the last time he saw one of these, as it was merely a few hours ago. It had also been held over the top of him in much the same manner as Envy's claw pinned him to the ground, sliding in that man's hand, dripping over the edge, just above the open wound on his cheek—

Mauro has different plans, though. He doesn't let it slide out of his hand. Instead, he puts his other hand on Ling's chest. Blue light surrounds them, centered on Ling's chest, and Ling inhales sharply. It would have been a mistake to try five minutes ago, and Ling winces in anticipation of the pain that would accompany it, but none comes. He blinks. There is no pain whatsoever, not anywhere.

Mauro has used his philosopher's stone...to heal Ling?

Ling sits up. It is the best feeling in the world.

Dr. Mauro is his new favorite person ever. He would hug the man if spontaneous hugging was acceptable in this country. Neither Mauro nor Scar seem like they really want a hug right now, though, and Ling is honestly a little more interested in that red almost-liquid in Mauro's hand.

With Ling no longer in any immediate danger, Scar has decided to interrogate Mauro. "Just who are you, and why are they keeping you here?" he demands.

Mauro looks at Scar for the first time, and his eyes widen as he sees the scar over the Ishbalan's forehead. "You—you're the one," he murmurs, his hands shaking as he puts away the stone, "the Ishbalan who kills state alchemists. You're...Scar?"

"So they call me," Scar says flatly.

Ling frowns. This Mauro, he is clearly an alchemist, and one of some renown, if he has a philosopher's stone in his possession. And the sweat gathering on the man's forehead combined with his obvious alchemical prowess tells Ling one thing: he is a state alchemist. Ling wonders to himself how long it will take for Scar to put together this truth as well and finds himself hoping it will be later rather than sooner. Ling does owe the man his life at this point, but he doesn't really feel like tempting fate and taking on Scar either. Besides, Scar rescued him too.

What a conundrum.

"You're being detained? What do they want with a doctor?" Scar asks. Ling wonders if he doesn't recognize the man's name, of if Mauro is using a fake name. The latter seems more likely.

"They're—they're forcing me to cooperate," Mauro manages. "And they're going to use me even more. They control the country from the shadows. Their power is overwhelming, their methods a mystery. I...I hate myself for letting them take me without even putting up a fight!"

"Then fight, Mauro," Ling puts in as he pulls his feet up to side cross-legged on the cot. The sooner he is out of here, the better. "We'll take you out with us, and then you can tell everyone what they're up to." And get you away from the crazy Ishbalan before he figures out who you are.

"I can't do that!" Mauro puts in, and his eyes look like those of a battered prey before it gives in to the predator. "An—an entire village is being held hostage!"

The last of the mystery falls into place in Ling's mind. It is, he now realizes, more than a bit strange that a state alchemist in possession of a philosopher's stone would be detained so easily. But if the lives of everyone in a village were at stake, well, that explains a lot.

"Last time I tried to run from them, I took refuge in a small eastern village with a new name," Mauro explains, hands shaking badly. "That's how they are able to pressure me like this. They have vowed that if I try to escape or even kill myself, they will destroy the entire village." He slumps to the floor, his face in his hands. "It's not just a threat. I have no doubt that they would. So don't take me outside..."

Scar's voice, when it comes, is harder and even less forgiving than normal. "My people have been all but wiped out," he responds icily. "Do you honestly think that I would feel pity over a story like that?"

No, Ling supposes, the sob story isn't very effective on a man like Scar. He frowns, crossing his arms and waiting for the outcome.

"I know," Mauro says, his hands coming down from his face to rest in his lap. He swallows once, and when he looks up again, it seems to Ling that he has made a decision. "You must truly hate us. That's why I have a favor to ask of you."

Ling is on his feet with his hand on his sword before Mauro can even ask. He knows, instinctively, what the doctor is going to say.

"I want you to kill me."

Scar doesn't react right away, just staring in that obstreperous way of his.

Mauro continues. "My real name is Tim Marcoh. I am the alchemist that created the philosopher's stone that lead to the destruction of your people."

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Ling's mind is reeling at this—Mauro, no, Marcoh had created a philosopher's stone on top of having one in his possession. If he could rescue Marcoh somehow, get him the hell out of here, bring him back to Xing with him...but first he will have to get past Scar.

"My research has taken the lives of countless Ishbalans. I am your nemesis," Marcoh continues while Scar just stands there, staring at him, massive hands clenched into fists. "Were I to refuse to cooperate with the homunculi or take my own life, the village will be destroyed. They need me alive to help with their plans—to make me a 'sacrifice' of some sort. If I'm killed by an outside source, the village will be saved, and my captors' plans will at least be delayed for a little while."

Marcoh's eyes are empty and terrified when he looks up at Scar. "So please kill me, Scar! I will atone for my sins with my life!"

Scar moves. He is incredibly fast for such a colossal man. Ling has his sword out, but he has enough self preservation not to get between a sociopath with that look in his eye and his prey. Scar's right hand is big enough to engulf Marcoh's face, and he shoves the doctor into the ground mercilessly.

Ling moves forward, sword inches from Scar's face. Scar doesn't even see him, and Ling wonders if the key to immortality, his only chance for him to become emperor, the philosopher's stone, will slip out of his grasp for the second time that day.

But miraculously, although Ling is fully aware of what Scar's right hand is capable of, Marcoh is not dead. He is just lying there on the ground, eyes wide as he stares up at Scar.

This might be Ling's only chance. There is nothing that can assuage Scar's anger at this point, but Ling might be able to redirect it. "You're going after the wrong guy, Scar—I know the real reason and start of the Ishbal War," he calls lowly.

Scar's red eyes are on him suddenly, and he ducks under a swipe of the Ishbalan's left hand. "You, stay out of this," he bellows. Ling hops backwards, away from the man. So much for that idea.

Scar's attention is now on Marcoh again, but once again, Scar doesn't kill him. "You're going to tell me everything about the war, Marcoh. You're going to tell me everything—tell me, before my right hand destroys you!"

iii.

The train schedule is a mess.

After talking with the attendant for an extra hour and trying to figure out a way she can get back to Rush Valley without taking a detour to West City that will cost her an extra day of traveling, Winry has decided that she'll just go back to the hotel and wait for the Southern Express train to finish its emergency repairs. There had apparently been quite the snowstorm up north, taking out some of the tracks. This meant that, when the southbound train had broken down, there weren't enough trains in Central to properly reroute those headed south.

Suitcase clutched in her right hand, Winry makes her way out of the train station, searching for a payphone. Mr. Garfiel is expecting her back tomorrow morning, and there's no way it's going to happen. She needs to let him know.

She spots a payphone about a half block down and heads that direction. It only takes a few minutes for the Central switchboard to patch her through to Mr. Garfiel's shop, and he answers on the second ring, his voice falsetto and cheerful as he thanks her for calling.

"It's Winry, Mr. Garfiel," she sighs, leaning her shoulder against the side of the booth.

"Winry! How good to hear from you! Has your train left yet? I have a lot of angry people waiting for your expertise, darling."

"Yes, about that," Winry murmurs, and then turns her head to the side. She could have sworn someone was watching her, but she sees no one. "My train has been delayed—something about the engine burning out or something, I'm not sure. They don't know when it'll be running again."

Mr. Garfiel makes distressed noises and Winry assures him that she has done everything in her power to find an alternative route. Again, she feels like she's being watched, but no one is even glancing at her as they walk by the phone both. How strange.

"I promise I'll get back as soon as I can, Mr. Garfiel," she swears for the third time before he lets her finally hang up the phone. "Tell my clients how sorry I am, will you?"

She leaves the booth and glances around. She's already checked out of her hotel room, but she'll head back there anyway. She will have to call Ed, she supposes, since he was paying for her hotel room in the first place. He won't mind a few more nights. The hotel staff knows both of them; she's sure they'll let her in, even if she can't get a hold of Ed right away.

Stupid Ed, who didn't return to his room last night! He's probably out getting himself all beat up and ruining his automail again. What else would he be doing? She scowls, swinging her suitcase to the side and trying to remember which direction the hotel is in. Before she can start walking, though, she feels once again like someone is watching her.

This is beginning to make her nervous. She's about to slip into the crowd and just start walking when she hears her name.

"Winry."

It's a voice she knows, but it sounds...off for some reason. She almost doesn't recognize it at first, but when she does, she blinks in surprise as she turns. "Ed?"

Ed doesn't answer, but she sees him a moment later, standing in the shadows of a large brick building. He is gesturing to her from the alley there, and she follows his gestures into the alley. He's gotten rid of the red coat he always wears and is just wearing a button down black shirt and black pants, which is why he had been hard to see. "What are you doing? Where were you last night?" she demands, her free hand on her hip. "And here I thought you and Al would at least see me off to the train."

But Ed doesn't respond, not with words, anyway. He presses one finger to his lips and then glances out of the alley again. Winry frowns. Is he being followed? Is she being followed? She looks with him, but she sees nothing out of the ordinary, just the typical flow of people.

A moment later, he seems satisfied and delves further into the alley. Winry follows him, curious and a little bit worried. Ed seems like he's always getting himself into messes.

Once they are a good bit away from the entrance to the alley, he finally turns to her. There's something strange about his eyes, she thinks. They seem darker than normal, but it's hard to see in the alley. "What's going on?" she asks softly, worried.

"I need your help."

There it is—some odd quality about Ed's voice, like it isn't Ed at all, just someone else using his mouth. There's a strangeness to his voice that Winry doesn't understand, one that she's never heard from Ed's mouth ever before. She gives him a strange look, unsure of how to reply.

And then he starts unbuttoning his shirt using only his left hand. Winry knows exactly what he's going to show her before he can get the shirt off, and she's scowling at him.

"Did you break your automail again?" she demands, setting down her suitcase and folding her arms over her chest. "I don't think you realize how much hard work I put into making this for you, Ed! Can we at least wait until we get back to the hotel room?"

"You can't go back there," Ed says, his hand pausing at the buttons. Winry notices for the first time that there's something on his hand. It's too dark to see what it is. "The military is swarming the place, looking for you."

Winry blinks. That doesn't make any sense. Why in the world would the military be after her? "What? They're looking for me? Why?"

"Who knows? Maybe they're hoping you know where I am." Ed smiles, and Winry shivers suddenly, feeling as though someone had just opened some proverbial door and let in an icy gust of wind. Somewhere in the back of her mind, somehow, Winry feels as though she isn't actually talking to Ed at all, and the thought chills her.

The mark on his hand, the color of his eyes, that feral grin...

Winry takes a step backwards, away from him. "...who are you?" she finally manages. She isn't sure of many things right now; why she's here, what this person wants from her, any of that. But she is sure of one thing—this isn't Ed.

"Ah, I thought you'd never ask," the man who isn't Ed says, smiling that strange smile again. He holds up his hand, his left hand, and Winry sees that the mark on it is circular in design, a dragon of sorts curling around to chase after its own tail. There is a six-point star in the center and two wings on top, closer to his wrist. From the angle she's looking at it, the way he is holding his hand up, it appears upside down. It looks familiar; she's seen it somewhere, but she can't remember where.

And then he bows to her slightly, somewhat awkwardly since his right arm doesn't appear to be mobile at all. "My name is Greed."