No One's Home, a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

Disclaimer: Ha. Ha. Ha.

Author's Note: Sick and twisted am I. I don't know how, but my cute little Elricest fic idea morphed into this.

Maybe I'll go back and write the cute little fic idea out later, but now I wanna work on this. Because I am sick and twisted. (Thus the circle of life is complete. X3)

Enjoy!

XXX

The brothers trip to Resembool was a sudden, unannounced, apparently pointless expenditure, and for that reason alone Mustang didn't question it. He simply nodded, indifferently flippant, as he signed the documents Hawkeye handed him and commented on how he was only giving Ed: a short leave of absence— "So don't waste it, Fullmetal."

In response, Edward had grunted, sneered in way of thanks, and spun away with a flourish of his scarlet coat. Beside him, his armored sibling bowed politely.

Then they were gone.

No One's Home

"We're getting married."

Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye knew exactly what to say to this. Rather than reply, they exchanged surprised glances, blinked owlishly, then returned to gaping at the couple before them. Ed, who had spoken, gazed steadily back. The girl beside him, on the other hand, grinned sheepishly, tightening her hold on Edward's hand.

"Hi, Colonel," she greeted, hesitant and embarrassed, but cheeks pink with delight. "Hi, Lieutenant. It's nice to see you again."

No one else spoke. A cough; a lick of lips.

"It's… it's nice to see you again, too, Winry," Hawkeye offered after another moment, apparently unsure of what else to say or do. After brief consideration, she offered a smile—confused, but genuine— as she extended her hand in invitation. The younger woman grasped it; they shared a warm handshake. "Congratulations…?"

Winry beamed, tilting her head cutely. "Thanks so much! And I'm sorry if Edward's bluntness startled you." She shot her fiancé a dry look, though her blue eyes were full of loving amusement. "You know how he is."

"Yes…" Mustang assented quietly, examining Ed with a peculiar gleam in his eyes. He seemed… oddly perplexed. "I do. Well, congratulations, Fullmetal, Winry. And if you need any help planning, let us know."

With murmurs of thanks, the couple politely excused themselves, talking excitedly in soft voices.

Mustang watched them go with narrowed eyes.

From years of experience, Mustang knew that subtlety was not a wise course of action when it came to dealing with Edward Elric. Of the other hand, neither was directness, which tended to startle Fullmetal into silence. Keeping all of this in mind, the colonel had concocted a risky plan; a plan which he would put into action…—yes, his office was clear—… now.

Standing, he briskly began handing the boy a stack of reports to study—

But refused to let them go.

Edward scowled, already annoyed and rapidly growing suspicious. "What?" he asked coldly, giving the papers a half-hearted tug. "You wanna do your own work yourself, for once?"

"How's Alphonse?"

No answer. The young man stared.

"How's Al?" Mustang said again, his tone deceptively casual. "I haven't seen him since you got back. Did he stay in Resembool?"

"He's not a puppy," Ed growled, somehow more menacing now that he was back in his standard military uniform. "He doesn't follow me everywhere I go. And we only got back yesterday."

"Not answering my question won't make me forget it, Fullmetal. Don't make me turn this into an order."

An old threat; Edward groaned, rolling his eyes. "Fine, whatever. You're right. He decided to stay in Resembool for a while, okay? Military life has never been Al's thing. He likes having a permanent home. So we decided he'd stay with Granny Pinako for a while."

Mustang arched an eyebrow, fingers loosening slightly. "It doesn't have anything to do with the wedding, does it? He doesn't feel…?"

The reports flew from the colonel's fingertips, swishing with fury and leaving three small paper cuts. "No," Ed snarled, exasperation bursting into life behind his amber eyes. "He feels fine about the wedding. You don't think I'd do something like this without his approval, do you?" He scoffed and whirled around, turning all of his attention to the files as he stormed out the door.

Watching him leave from the corner of his eye, Mustang sighed. "…So impulsive," he breathed, flexing his injured fingers.

They burnt.

"Been busy?"

"Hm?" Looking up from the soup she was stirring, Winry glanced towards the tools and screws and wires and bolts that lay in a scattered mess upon the table. Then she laughed, brushing a few blonde locks from her eyes. "Ah no, not in the way you're implying. I've had so much planning to do, what with the wedding and all… I haven't had a chance to work on any automail."

Mustang hummed his understanding, flipping through the book that lay beside a box of springs. Automail Basics. "Who's helping Pinako while you're away?" he asked conversationally, appraising the kitchen. It was a cute little room, painted blue and decorated with sunflower wallpaper. Bright. Cheerful. Obviously not Edward's handiwork, but this was his apartment, so… "She doesn't have any other assistants, does she?"

"Oh, she has Al," Winry replied dismissively, carefully pouring diced carrots into the pot on the stove. "He decided to stay with her for a while. I guess he was sick of traveling. Not that I blame him. I was sick of them traveling, too." She winked at the man from over her shoulder, as if sharing a private joke.

Mustang offered a grim smile in return. "I actually wanted to ask you about that," he said lightly, leaning against the counter opposite of the girl. "Al and his being sick. Is there any other reason he's not here? Apart from a sudden hatred of trains? Because the Alphonse I knew would've chosen a hundred thousand train rides over leaving Ed's side."

For a fleeting second, he thought he'd seen Winry's back stiffen. But then he blinked, and she was only shrugging. "They're growing up, I suppose," the girl murmured, blowing out her cheeks. "I mean, you didn't expect them to live together forever, did you? That wouldn't be natural. All kids grow up and apart and into adults; they each have their own paths to follow. Ed's may be here, but Al's isn't. He likes Resembool. And I think he should have a chance to live his own life."

She turned to face the colonel, brow raised and lips pursed. "Don't you?"

The colonel didn't answer; ocean-blue and ebony-black mixed and swirled in silence. Then Mustang nodded, looking away. "…of course. Sorry, it wasn't my place."

"It's fine," Winry bubbled, returning to her soup and pleasant nature with a whistle and a chirp. "It's perfectly fine. I'm sorry, too, I shouldn't have been so condescending. Can I make it up to you with dinner? I promise to make Ed behave."

This time, Mustang did chuckle. "Thanks, but no. I've got more work to do, and Hawkeye will kill me if I'm late on this next deadline." The girl snorted, nodding vaguely in agreement. "But…" he continued, sounding mildly apologetic, "before I go, would you mind if I borrowed your restroom?"

She waved a cheerful hand at him, as if wondering why he even bothered asking. "Of course not, Colonel. Go right ahead."

As he left, she turned her attention to the floor; a fluffy tabby cat was sauntering towards her, already purring, just having finished his nap in the living room.

He knew it was here somewhere. The question was, would he be able to find it in the time he'd borrowed?

Biting his bottom lip in a rare show of nerves, Mustang hastily shuffled through the assorted papers, books, notes, and official documents that lay on the wooden desk in Edward's bedroom. Not on the surface… not in the first drawer… not in the second… not in the third…

How about the shelves?

Sliding over to the bookcase, the colonel wordlessly searched, tearing through volume after volume on arrays and transmutations and theories and myths. Of course, there was a great deal on the Philosopher's Stone… but oddly, those seemed to be the books that were collecting the most dust.

Dammit, where was it?! It couldn't possibly be this hard to find—it wasn't exactly inconspicuous. It wasn't usually well-hidden, either; how many thousands of times had he seen it, lying around, unguarded? How many chances had he been given in the past to nab the thing? But no…

Wait—

There it was.

There were whispered voices in the kitchen.

And—God above— now he knew why.

Lowering the travel log with trembling fingers, Mustang swallowed harshly. He had it; he had proof. Proof of what he'd suspected all along.

"Colonel? You alive in there, or what?"

Ed's voice. Cursing his luck, Mustang threw the notes aside and stuffed his fists into his pockets. No one could see them shake in there… but his pale face wasn't as easy to mask. Before he could do anything about it, however, the door slammed open.

Narrowed golden eyes trapped him in place. "Colonel?" Fullmetal repeated, softer than normal— and it struck Mustang, in that moment, how very different this Edward was from the one he had all but raised. "What are you doing in here? Winry said—"

The young man cut himself off, tilting his head in a shrewd sort of way. "…what's wrong?" he asked abruptly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Lie.

He had to lie. Who knew what Edward would do if he found out what he'd discovered…?

But no. This was still Ed. Wasn't it? There had to be a good reason why. It couldn't possibly be what it appeared on the surface.

All the same, Mustang nearly choked on air. "…I thought…" he breathed, unable to keep his voice from cracking, "…I thought you hated what your father had done, Fullmetal."

Silence.

For an instant, the amber gaze widened, horrified—a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. But the innocent fear didn't remain… just as quickly as it arrived, it was gone; cold jewels replacing warm embers.

It was then that Mustang noticed the iron pan in Edward's trembling fist.

Too late.

"Ed?"

Edward didn't respond—he just continued walking, tossing something hard and metal aside as he went. He walked and walked and walked: in circles, in squares, grabbing random articles and tossing them into the suitcases near the door.

"Ed? Ed, what's wrong?" Winry repeated, puzzled and worried, as she grabbed her fiancé's arm and—

She gasped, fingers darting out to try and touch the blood that stained his chin. They didn't make it far; Ed encased her hand with his own, gently preventing her touch.

"Don't worry," he laughed listlessly—tired, weak. "It's not mine."

And she knew.

"Oh God…" The girl swallowed, tears welling in her eyes. "Ed, I… I shouldn't have… I'm so… !" Without warning, she released an angry hiss, brushing roughly at her cheeks. No, there was no time for this; she took a deep breath. Calming.

Decisive.

"…we had no choice…" she determined in a whisper. "Did we, Brother?"

"No," Edward agreed. "We didn't."

Not if we want to live.

It was with that knowledge that they fled, their little stove still blazing. Brightly… very brightly; brighter and brighter and brighter— until the flames had swallowed the room.

The building, like the brothers, vanished overnight.

The tears were hard to stop—nearly impossible, once they'd started—but she knew she had to tell them; she had to tell them what had happened.

Ring. Her fingers tightened around the receiver; she took a deep breath. What would she say when the old lady finally picked up? What could she say?

Ring. Should she ask to talk to Alphonse? That's where he was, right? But how could she tell him that his brother was most likely…?

Ring. No. Stay calm. Be professional. That's what Roy would have expected of h—

Ring. Oh, God, Roy…!

Ring. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Hawkeye shook her head, trying to clear it. No. Don't think about it!

Ring. Just tell them what happened…

Ring. Just tell them tell them…

Ring. Just…

Ring.

Irritated, Hawkeye pulled the phone away from her ear. What was going on? The Rockbells were busy, but never enough to ignore the telephone. Why was no one answering…?

Maybe no one was home.

XXX