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Chapter 9 - Goodbye

It was a beautiful day.

Part of him felt that that was wrong; that it shouldn't be so pretty. Part of him was adamantly sure that it should have been grey, dark, stormy, pouring rain, nature venting the frustration and grief he'd kept bottled up inside ever since he heard the news. It should have been raining.

But the sky was clear and brilliantly blue, with not a cloud in sight, and the air crisp and cool. The perfect January morning. Nature was carrying on as if nothing was wrong, as if it didn't matter at all that Maes Hughes was dead. Mocking them, in their somber attire, as they proceeded through the cemetery. The grass was springy and wet with morning dew, the sunlight bright on the bleached stone grave markers.

They'd had a very good turnout, and Roy supposed that was a good thing. It was probably some sort of commentary on the life of a dead man; the number and quality of people that came to his funeral. Most of them were military, of course. Hughes had always had a knack for making friends. In addition to Roy and his staff (Hawkeye, Havoc, Farman, Breda, little Fury) there were a number of blue uniforms in the crowd. Some Roy knew, some he didn't. Some he didn't even know Hughes knew, like Frank Archer. Roy saw him standing near, looking as solemn as he always did. Strange. Roy had never known Archer to be close to anyone, especially not a gregarious, outgoing man like Hughes.

But then, Hughes had that effect on people. He came into your life, and - he changed you. For better or for worse, whether he meant to or not, whether you wanted him to or not - none of it mattered. The people who knew Hughes had been changed for good. It was as simple as that. He wasn't the sort of man you could overlook or forget, he was too bright to just fade from your memory.

Roy wouldn't forget him. Ever. Even if he tried, he couldn't forget Maes Hughes. And he knew every other person there felt the same way. If the philosophers were correct and a man did not truly die until everyone he knew had forgotten him . . . then perhaps Hughes would outlive them all.

And that thought was of some small comfort to Roy as they put his best friend in the ground.

***

Alphonse knew it was good manners to stand at a funeral service, but if he'd stood, half the people behind him wouldn't have been able to see. And he flatly refused to stand at the back. Not unless his brother came too. And Ed would not be moved.

So Al sat in the grass by the open grave, watching without really seeing as they lowered the black coffin into it. But he wasn't really thinking about the here and the now. His mind was on other things, on the before, and the then, and the never-coming-back.

Mister Hughes had always been so kind to him . . . to both of them. He'd always been friendly and open and generous, and he'd opened up his home to them whenever they'd needed it. Most importantly, to Alphonse at least: when he'd found out what Al was . . . when he'd realized that there was no boy inside that suit of armor, nothing but a ghost and a smear of brother's blood . . . nothing had changed. Somehow Hughes had still treated him exactly the same as he had before. As if he hadn't found Alphonse any harder to love, knowing what he was. As if Alphonse was still human to him.

Bodies are funny things. Alphonse had studied quite a few biology texts, and he knew that emotions were the work of glands and hormones and endorphins and chemicals in the brain. Without these, you couldn't have feelings. And yet . . . and yet, even though he didn't have a physical brain or glands or even a heart, Alphonse felt that his was breaking, just the same.

***

Gracia Hughes had always believed in the value of composure, of calm collection, of grace and courage in the face of adversity. It was how she'd been raised. It was what she'd always believed. There had been many opportunities in her life to test that philosophy. And she'd always tried to adhere to it, to maintain the quality she was named for: Grace above all else.

But - it had never - been this hard before . . .

People would say later (either to her or to themselves) that she had conducted herself wonderfully; that her courage and grace and calm were nothing short of extraordinary. "That Gracia Hughes," they would say, "Lost her husband at such a young age, and with two little girls to take care of . . . she's one hell of a woman. How strong she must be."
?Gracia had never thought of herself as a strong woman. She had simply done what had to be done. And now, she had to keep it together. For the sake of all the people watching; for Nina and Elysia, who clung to her hands and sniffled, close to tears themselves; for Maes. He wouldn't have wanted her to cry. He'd have kissed her and held her and told her not to worry, that it would all be all right, everything was going to be just fine, she'd see . . . and she'd have believed him. She really would have . . .

She felt that traitorous heat building in her eyes, and she swallowed hard, squeezing her daughters' hands. She musn't break down. She mustn't cry. Not now . . . not now. Because if she started crying now - she'd never be able to stop. And someone had to be brave, someone had to take care of Nina and Elysia, someone had to . . . she swallowed again and forced herself to stay together.

Grace. Stability. Courage. Steady like a river. Cool and implacable like the glaciers her name evoked. The lessons learned at her mother's knee rang back to her, clear and cold and relentless. Be strong. Be brave. Be courageous, because goddamnit, somebody has to. Somebody has to . . .

***

Nina held onto Mama's hand, squeezing tightly. On Mama's other side was Elysia. Her eyes were wide, not really comprehending. She was too young to really understand what was happening.

But Nina understood. Maes Papa was dead. He was gone, and he wasn't coming back. Nina knew what dead was. Knew what it meant. Meant never seeing his face or hearing his voice again. Never getting to hug him or make him laugh or have another good-night kiss, that made her giggle because his chin was so rough and stubbly. Never again.

But Elysia didn't understand that. She thought Papa was just at work, or on vacation, or on a business trip . . . little kids were so stupid Nina thought angrily. They just didn't understand.

But Nina understood. She understood now what it meant. When a parent never came home ever again. She used to be like Elysia. She used to believe grownups when they said Mommy had just gone away, or that they didn't know where Papa had gone to, but they'd try and find him . . . why couldn't grownups ever tell the truth? Why couldn't they just say it when someone was dead? When someone wasn't ever coming back . . .

"Stupid grownups," she whimpered, starting to cry quietly, tears streaking down her round, unhappy face. "I hate - hate stupid grownups . . ." She turned away and buried her face in Gracia's skirt as they lowered the coffin into the ground.

***

There was someone else there, watching. He stood off to the side, away from the crowd. No one even noticed him. But all his focus was on the funeral procession - more specifically, on the little blue-eyed girl walking behind the coffin, beside the widow. Anyone close to him would have heard him whisper, in a child's voice. "Nina . . ."

***

Tucker had been asleep when Envy came to see him. He'd woken up to see Envy sitting on the foot of the bed, and that alone had been enough to make him very, very awake. He'd sat up at once and pressed himself to the wall, staring at the Homunculus with wide eyes. "Wh-what do you want, E-Envy?" he'd ask, utterly failing to sound demanding or threatening.

Envy had given him a serpentine smile, looking up from something he held in his hands; it was too dark for Tucker to tell what it was. "Just wanted to congratulate you, Shorty," he'd said calmly, almost purring. "I knew you'd figure out what went wrong . . . you just needed a little - " in a flash Envy was inches away from Tucker's face, close enough for him to feel the Homunculus' hot breath, and something sharp and jagged had pressed against his cheek. " - Incentive."

Tucker had frozen, not daring to breathe, much less speak, not with Envy this close and what felt like a dagger touching the side of his face. But a few moments later Envy grinned broadly and sat back, laughing. "Man, Shorty, you shoulda seen your face . . ." he snickered, tossing the little knife into the air, where it glinted in the dim light coming through the window. Tucker's eyes were drawn to it - it looked awfully familiar.

"Mission was a total drag, by the way," Envy drawled, "Thanks so much for asking. Old geezer didn't know shit, and we had to kill him when it was over, or else he'd go off telling people about us," he sneered, "And of course we can't have that . . ."

Tucker's eyes still followed the knife, and he found himself speaking softly. "Wh-where did you get that?"

Envy sneered. "Oh, that's real nice. No 'welcome back, Envy', no 'I missed you', no 'did you have a good trip', just 'whadja bring me, whadja bring me'. You're like a fucking child, honestly." He cocked back his wrist and threw the knife before Tucker could react - it stuck in the wall a few inches from his face.

"Oops," Envy smirked, "Missed."

Tucker had ignored him, reached up to pull the little knife out of the wall. Short, wide, saw-bladed . . . he knew he'd seen this before, but how could Envy have . . .

"Pretty little knife, isn't it?" The quality of Envy's voice changed midsentence, becoming deeper, familiar. "There was a military boy, showed up right after we got there - so of course we had to deal with him . . . he got me in the face with one of those things before we took him down. Bastard."

Tucker looked at Envy, and his eyes widened. "Hughes . . ."

Envy smirked, narrowing stolen hazel eyes, speaking in that stolen voice. "Oh? You knew him? Old friend of yours?"

Tucker swallowed and nodded, still not brave enough to lie to Envy. "y-yes . . . I knew him . . ."

Envy smirked. "Well, then I'll leave his personal effects in your care. Since you two're such good friends and all." He reached into some pocket or other and dumped a small stack of papers and other pocket detritus on the bed.

He started heading towards the door, still wearing Hughes' body. But he paused to run fingers playfully through Tucker's hair, as if petting a dog. "Good work, Shorty. You keep this up, and maybe I won't have to discipline you again. Maybe." He smiled wickedly, bending to hiss in Tucker's ear. "If you're very, very good."

Once Envy was gone, Tucker flicked on the lights and crawled forward to the little pile on the bed. "Maes . . ." He hadn't known Maes Hughes too well, but he had known him, and since Tucker had never been a very social man (men with secrets rarely are) but Hughes had always been friendly and open since the beginning, and Tucker had even thought they might have been friends. Back when things were simple. And now . . . now Hughes was dead. Because of Envy. Or - if Tucker were to be honest with himself - because of himself. Because he'd screwed up the Stone. Hughes was dead, as was the doctor he'd been visiting . . . because of him.

He started paging through the junk Envy'd left on the bed. What was Envy playing at, leaving this stuff with him? Envy never did anything without an ulterior motive . . . a military ID card . . . a set of house keys . . . what looked like a shopping list, with 'film' on top of the list . . . photographs.

Tucker started flipping through them, and then his heart stopped.

***

It hadn't been easy to slip away from the Homunculi. They didn't like to let him out of their sight, ever. And if he were caught coming back, Envy would most certainly want to punish him again . . . Tucker shivered, and tried not to think about that.

He'd taken an awful risk coming out here. But he had to. After what he'd found out . . . he had to do it.

He looked back down at the photo in his hand. Two little girls sitting side by side. One, the smaller, with blond hair and green eyes and her father's irrepressible grin. And the other . . . the other was his Nina.

He watched her now from across the cemetery, watched them both as they clung to Hughes' widow. There was no mistaking her, even from here. His little girl, not quite as little as she used to be, deprived of a parent once again. Because of him.

God, if there was an award for worst parent in the universe, he'd be it, he thought. No contest. He'd taken Nina's mother away. Then, in a fit of desperation, he'd almost taken Nina's humanity away. Now he'd taken her father away. He figured there was only so low a man could sink before people started throwing bolts of lightning at him. But then . . . this body, this situation, Envy . . . they were all pretty big thunderbolts, he supposed.

Twisted as it might have seemed to other people, had they known, Tucker still loved his daughter. He'd never stopped loving her. Despite his weakness at a time when he felt he had no hope, he even loved her then. And now he loved her more than ever. And the more he loved her, the more he hated himself. God, he wanted so much to give her something, to try to make up for all he'd taken from her. But what could he possibly do?

He heaved a sigh and put his hands in the pockets of the large overcoat he used to hide his arm and tattoo. A warm current flowed up his fingers, to his surprise. Then he remembered: He'd stuffed some of the red stone in his pocket, to save it from going down Gluttony's gullet. He curled his fingers around the warm, smooth stones, watching his daughter. Maybe . . . maybe.

Then his gaze started drifting over the others in attendance. There were some that he knew, if only casually; Roy Mustang, for instance. And then he saw a face that made his eyes go wide: His face. A few years older, and his hair was longer, and the clothes were different, but - it was his own face.

Or rather, it was Edward Elric's face, now.

Tucker knew then for certain that he couldn't linger. Couldn't take a chance on getting any closer to Nina. Not if there was even a chance of Edward catching him. Envy might be cruel to him, but Edward would kill him. To say nothing of the military, who would kill him again when Edward was through with him.

He turned to go. But he didn't head straight back to the hideout. Instead he took a slight . . . detour.

***

Edward had first met Maes Hughes on the train to Central. Back before the accident. Back when Ed had one arm and one leg and long blond hair and didn't have to shave regularly yet. Back when things were - well, if not /normal/, then at least a little more familiar.

The train ride hadn't gone as planned. There'd been kidnappers on the train, who'd taken it over. When trying to reach the front car, Ed had fallen off the top of the train. He would have died, if Hughes hadn't caught him. And that pretty much described their whole relationship from that day forward: Ed would start to stumble, start to fall, and Hughes would catch him. Always. It had annoyed him sometimes. He wanted to prove he didn't need someone always taking care of him. Especially not a crazy man like Hughes.

He'd have given anything to take that back now. But it was too late . . . much too late to change anything.

When Mustang had told them what happened, Ed had gotten on the next train for Central. He'd have walked if he had to. He just had to get back here. He had to say good-bye . . . somehow.

But he couldn't say it here, not with all these people around, all of them saying good-bye in their own private way . . . so he sat down in the grass next to Al, not caring if he messed up the nice suit he was wearing (it wasn't his, anyway, and Hughes had never been one for over-propriety.) He leaned against his little brother, felt a heavy metal arm being put gently around his shoulders.

Ed had promised himself he wouldn't cry, if only because Al couldn't. But as they started filling in the grave, shoveling dirt into the hole - burying the person Ed loved in so many ways . . . he started crying enough for both of them, tears falling silently but ceaselessly.

"I loved him . . ." Ed said softly.

"I know, Brother," Al replied, tightening his hold on his brother's shoulders. "I did, too. We all did."

Ed shook his head, but didn't say anything. Al didn't understand. No one understood. And Ed just didn't have the energy to explain. So he just watched silently as the grave was filled, and cried.

***

The grave was filled, and the guests began to dissipate. The sun began to set, and they left. The wind became cold, and they left. The insects began to chirp, and the night chilled deep and the moon rose and the stars began to glow, and one by one the family and comrades and lovers and friends left, for the comfort and warmth of their own homes and their own lives, after spending an afternoon in the company of death.

But Ed stayed. And Roy stayed. And Al stayed. And Gracia and her daughters stayed. Even Elysia didn't make a sound, despite the lateness of the hour and her usual high energy. She just held her mother's hand and stood watching the grave, silently, like the rest of them, for all the world as if she really did understand what it meant.

For the longest time, no one said a thing.

When someone did speak, it was Gracia, in quiet, tired tones, telling the girls that it was time to go. She could have stayed longer. She would have. She wanted to. But she knew Maes wouldn't have thanked her if the girls had caught cold from waiting up all night, standing in the middle of a graveyard.

Silly girl/, she could almost hear him say, /I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about me. But if Elysia gets sick you'll all be miserable for days. And that makes me sad, to see you like that. You know that, sweetheart.

"Yes, Maes," she said softly. "I know."

***

As Gracia and her girls disappeared down the hill, Roy stepped forward, so that he was standing next to Edward and Al. Looking down, he saw something shining on the other man's face. Ed saw him looking and turned away. "It's raining," he mumbled, looking at the ground.

There still wasn't a cloud in the sky, and both of them knew it. Roy hesitated, considered putting a hand on Ed's shoulder, find some way to be comforting. But that had always been Maes' great skill, not Roy's, and they both knew that, too. So he just put his hands behind his back and nodded. "Yes . . . it's raining hard."

After a while Ed sat back and wrapped his arms around his knees. ". . . How did he die?"

Roy looked straight at the grave, speaking in level, even voice. "The forensic information shows that he was shot. Doctor Tim Marcoh was found there also. He appeared to have been stabbed to death. He was also found holding the gun that shot Maes."

"Who's Tim Marcoh?"

"The Crystal Alchemist. He spent his life studying the Philosopher's Stone. And the red stones. Red stones like were found at the scene of the alchemical murders in Central."

"You think he went to Marco because he wanted to ask about the Stone?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Edward. Marcoh's been in hiding since the war in Ishbal. According to the military's records, he and his research never existed."

"Of course not," Ed said coolly. "And if they did exist, which they don't, what would his research say?"

"Again, Edward, I don't know. I am not, for instance, in a position to know that he collected all he knew about the Philosopher's Stone in a very detailed report. And I would have no clue that Maes was researching this report shortly before he left to speak with Marcoh. Who does not exist."

Ed's face contorted into something like a snarl. "So Maes Hughes killed and then was killed by a man who doesn't exist?"

Roy nodded slowly. "Yes. That is apparently what happened."

Ed nodded too. "But you don't believe it."

"I'm sure it doesn't matter what I believe, Edward." Edward was silent. Roy went on. "For instance, it certainly doesn't matter that the stab wounds Marcoh died of went straight through his body, and were much too deep to be caused by the spade-knives Maes carries - " he stopped, and started again. "carried around with him. Or that the bullet wounds were apparently inflicted after Marcoh had died. And it certainly doesn't matter that Maes pockets were empty. No keys. No return ticket." His eyes flicked to Edward. "No photographs."

Ed looked up in startlement; so did Alphonse, who up to this point had been quietly contemplating the grave. "No photographs? But that - "

"-doesn't sound like Hughes at all," Edward finished. "But like the Colonel said . . ." he met Roy's eyes, "that doesn't matter."

"No," Roy said, nodding. "It doesn't. And so it wouldn't matter if I decided to investigate the matter further."

Ed couldn't keep a small, vicious smile off his face. "No. It wouldn't matter at all. In fact, it would matter so little, I won't even bother telling anyone."

"Because it doesn't matter," Roy said.

"Yeah." Ed said. "It doesn't matter."

They all lapsed into silence again. Finally Roy shook himself and turned to Ed and Al. "You two should get home. I'm sure Gracia is waiting up to make sure you get in safely."

"Yeah . . . " Ed said. "She probably is."

"She's so good to us," Al said softly.

"Yeah . . . it would be a shame to waste it." Ed stood slowly, still looking at the headstone. "And she deserves better than that."

Al stood too, with much clanking and muffled crashing of metal. He nodded at Mustang, who returned the gesture. Ed gave him a look as well as they turned to go.

"Colonel . . ." he turned around a moment later, looking back at Roy. "Al and I . . . we want to investigate the people in black. The ones we told you about the other day. We want to focus on looking into that."

Roy nodded, slowly, no hesitation and no hurry. "Yes, Edward. You may do that."

He turned back to the grave as the Elrics' footsteps faded away. "I've got an investigation of my own to conduct . . ." He moved forward and knelt, reaching out to rest a hand on the cool headstone. "Don't I, old friend?"

***

They all slept late the next morning. Nina was the first one to wake. Sunlight streamed through the window, and her bed was warm and soft, but the house felt so silent, and so empty.

She got up and checked Elysia's room. Elysia was still there, curled up in her own bed, sleeping soundly.

She went to the guest room. Ed-papa was asleep, too, sprawled untidily over the bed. Uncle Alphonse sat in the corner, apparently sleeping as well.

She went to Gracia-mama's room.

Gracia-mama slept alone. Maes-papa was dead. They put him in the ground yesterday. Nina remembered suddenly, and remembering, knew why things felt so wrong. She turned to go, walking down the hallway and back to her bed.

She didn't have to be alone. She could have cuddled up with Elysia, or Gracia-mama, or Ed-papa, and they probably would have held her tight and made her feel warm and loved. But they weren't the ones she missed. They weren't the ones she wanted to hold her like that. They were /here/. Papa wasn't. Papa was gone.

Well, Ed-papa was here. But Maes-papa was gone. Forever. And there was still papa-papa. She didn't have a clue where he was. Her memories of him were hazy at best. But three papas . . . that was a lot more than most people got, she knew that. Most people got one papa; some didn't even have that. And she'd already lost two. She'd have to hold on extra hard to the last one.

She got back out of bed. Maybe she would go cuddle up with Ed-papa. She didn't want to be alone.

On the way out, though, this time she noticed the envelope. It sat on her bedside table, and it had her name on it. She hadn't noticed it last night when they came home. But last night she'd been so tired . . . she could very well have missed it.

She picked it up and opened it. Inside there was a letter - and a necklace. Gracia-mama always said it was polite to read the card before you open the present. But Nina couldn't resist taking out the necklace and holding it up to the light. On a plain silver chain hung a smooth, round stone, bright red and shining. It was wonderfully pretty, and when she touched it, it made her fingers all warm and tingly.

Then she opened the letter, and read it slowly and carefully.

Nina,

I probably won't be able to talk to you for a long time. I'm sorry, I know it's wrong, and I wish I could see you more. You're growing up so beautifully. This necklace is a present for you - a very special present. Take good care of it. And don't show it to anyone. Or they'll take it away from you. And I really want you to have this. I love you, Nina.

Love, Papa

And Nina had not even the faintest idea what to think about that.

End of Chapter 9