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Changed For Good

Chapter Twelve - All Over But the Crying

It was getting dark.

Not that the time of day meant much lately. Since Hawkeye's murder, Tucker had been expressly forbidden from leaving the hotel, for any reason. As the only human witness to what had actually happened that night, Envy, Lust, and the others were especially watchful, in case he suddenly discovered his altruistic side. He could have told them they were wasting their energy: He was even more reluctant to run to the military than he was to continue to live under the watchful eye of his inhuman captors: At least they had a use for him alive. But he didn't bother arguing, just quietly obeyed. It was never, ever worth fighting Envy, on any subject. The arguments always ended the same way, and varied only in how painful the aftermath was.

But while Tucker was forced to remain in the tired and dilapidated hotel they'd set up as their base of operations, Envy came and went frequently, keeping track of the trial. It was most discouraging to Shou that, without access to newspapers or radio broadcasts or conversation, he had no way of knowing how the trial was progressing - save, of course, for asking Envy for news. Which as far as he was concerned, wasn't an option at all.

And so it was that he lay in his bed on the third floor yet again, not because he was tired, but because there was nothing else to do/. Outside in the hall, he could hear shuffling footsteps moving back and forth. He could just picture the scene: Gluttony shambling up and down the hall, while Lust leaned against the wall across from Tucker's door, ears alert for any sounds that might indicate an attempted escape. He sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes. He knew it didn't really matter anymore, but he couldn't help wishing he knew what was happening out there; to Nina, and, by a degree of separation, to himself. Or rather, to his body, which, though he hadn't inhabited it once in the past eight years, he still considered /his/. What would he do if they executed Edward? Cut off his head or riddled him with bullets? Left his body in a hole in the ground? What would happen then? Over the past eight years, Shou had hoped -- somewhere in the back of his mind - that somehow, someday, it would get better. That as long as his body was still out there, somewhere, there was a chance that he could get it back. And then - he was never very sure /how -- everything would get better. He could escape from the military, escape from Envy, escape from everything he was afraid of. But if Edward were killed... if his body was destroyed... what would Shou have to rely on then? Sometimes that hope - distant and dim and foolish, but a hope, nonetheless - was all that kept him going.

He suddenly realized that the footsteps in the hall had stopped. Hushed voices floated into the room and he groaned softly. Envy was back... and he was dismissing Lust and Gluttony.

Shou shut his eyes and burrowed under the covers. Maybe, if he pretended to be asleep, Envy would leave him alone tonight...

The door creaked open, spilling light from the hall onto Shou's closed eyelids. Then it closed again, and hope flickered in his chest. Maybe Envy was gone? Shou hadn't heard anyone come in...

But then he felt a weight settling over him, a strong but slender body, lips pressed against his ear and long hair brushing his cheek. "Wake up, Shorty," Envy purred, and Shou knew there'd be no peace tonight. No point fighting it; he'd learned that rather painful lesson a long time ago. So he just opened his borrowed golden eyes and looked up at Envy resignedly -

And gasped.

Envy wasn't Envy anymore; well, that much was nothing new. But what he was/, was - /him. Tucker. Edward, as he must look now, after a month of imprisonment. Envy looked thin, pale, starved, and seemed not to have shaved for weeks. His cheekbones stood out more prominently than Shou remembered, and there were dark circles under those too-familiar blue eyes. Unbound hair the color of rust fell into Envy's - Edward's - his face.

Shou opened his mouth - to say something, to cry out, even he wasn't sure - but then Envy kissed him hard, pushing him down into the mattress and stifling all sound. Tucker's eyes were very wide, but he was too frozen with shock to struggle against the transformed Homunculus.

Envy held the kiss for so long that when he finally broke away, Shou gasped for air, his heart pounding fearfully. He saw thin lips curl into a cruel smirk. "Trial ended today, Shorty," Envy said, in what the alchemist still thought of as his voice, and Tucker suddenly went very still. The Homunculus leaned in to breathe the words against Shou's cheek. "And dear old Full Metal's dead."

- - - - -

Edward was dead.

A part of Alphonse knew this. He'd heard the sentence as it was handed down, he'd seen the guards lead his brother away. The military took care of these things quickly, and without fail; that was common knowledge. Edward was dead. Alphonse would never see him again. He was dead.

Alphonse knew this... and yet, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't accept it. Edward, dead? Not Edward. Not the only person in his life who had been there, always, constant and sure. Who hadn't left and hadn't gone away and hadn't been forgotten. Who had /been there/. How could he be gone? Surely there must be some mistake. Alphonse must be wrong. He must have misheard, or perhaps the judge misspoke, or - or /something/. There was just no way he could accept that his brother was dead.

Except... that he /was/.

None of them said anything, on the way home. Elysia cried, but silently, pressing her face into her mother's neck. Gracia looked straight ahead and said nothing. The soldiers who accompanied them were as silent and expressionless as stone.

Nina wasn't there. She hadn't come back after running out of the courtroom. Technically, Al was no longer under house arrest; the guards that drove them home were little more than a formality, and a subtle reminder that the military planned to keep a close on eye on him, and on Gracia, even if the trial had ended. But the guards were unnecessary, really. He wasn't going anywhere.

He just sat in the back of the black military car, face down-turned, hands on his knees, eyes unseeing, as a single thought circled in his mind, chasing itself over and over through his head. He can't be gone. He can't be dead. He can't have been taken away from me. Not after all we've been through. He can't be.

But he is.

- - - - -

When they reached the Hughes home, the three of them got out, all without a word. The soldiers walked beside them until they were all inside, then shut the door behind them with a decisive click. Once inside, Al just stopped. He stood still, right in the front hall, and did not move. Gracia looked up at him, biting her lower lip hard enough to taste blood. But she said nothing to him. What could she possibly say that would be of any comfort, that wouldn't sound disgustingly false and contrived? Words were not meant for times like this.

Elysia, who had finally cried herself into a state of near-unconsciousness, was eight years old, and getting too big to be carried. But Gracia shouldered the sleeping child's weight, and carried her upstairs. She would put her younger daughter to bed, then go out to look for her elder. She would not allow anyone, military or otherwise, to stop her. And only when she'd fond Nina - only when what remained of her family was safe and sound at home - only then would she allow herself to cry.

- - - - -

Gracia would not have to wait long. Mere minutes after her family had left the courthouse, Nina had come running home, and she arrived panting and flushed, her knees shaking and her heart pounding.

Al was still standing in the front hall, his back to the door. He did not look up when she came in; he didn't move at all. Gracia heard her, though, and came running downstairs to hug the girl tightly, not sure whether to scold her or just be glad she was all right. But Nina didn't give her a chance to do either; she just ran straight for Alphonse.

"Uncle Al!" she shouted, tugging at his gauntlet. "Al! Al, wake up! Listen to me!"

Gracia frowned. "Nina, leave him alone, he -"

"Wake up, Al!" She started pounding on his arm, the hollow metallic sound echoing. "Wake /up/!"

"Nina!" Gracia narrowed her eyes. "You stop that right now, or -"

But Nina ignored her. "Listen to me, Al! Ed-papa's alive!"

The silence that followed that statement was deafening. Gracia opened her mouth to break it, but a metallic creaking cut her off. Slowly, Al turned his head to regard the little girl, his attention focusing on her as he came back to earth.

"...Alive?"

- - - - -

Jean Havoc chewed his tongue, in lieu of a cigarette, and looked around him. To his right, Fury huddled where he sat, shoulders hunched and head bowed, curled in on himself. To his left was a wall that separated the rear section of the truck from the cabin. Below him, the rumble of the wheels as they sped away from the court-house; all around him, blank grey metal, illuminated only by a window cut into the wide doors at the rear of the truck. Across from him, Breda and Farman sat on a bench identical to the one he and Fury occupied. Farman sat up straight and gazed stonily ahead. Breda slumped against the wall, looking sullen and irritated, as if being sentenced to life in prison was little more than a temporary annoyance.

But Havoc knew better. He knew Breda was terrified. They all were; they just knew how to hide it. Farman did so with silence and dignity, Breda with resentment, Havoc with the knowledge that someone had to lead, had to be strong, now that Hawkeye... now that Mustang... someone had to be the leader, and that was all there was to it. Someone had to hold them together.

But Fury... Fury didn't know how to hide it. The poor kid had never been so scared in his life; he'd never expected anything like this. None of them had, of course; but Fury was just a kid. He was only twenty-two, for God's sake; there were men Havoc still thought of as kid brothers who were older than Fury.

True enough, they'd known signing on with Mustang was a dangerous undertaking. But damn it, Havoc thought, Fury didn't deserve this. He was a good kid, sweet and thoughtful and shy, and how anyone could possibly believe that the Cain Fury he knew - the Fury who rescued wet puppies probably couldn't hurt anyone if he tried - how anyone could possibly think he had killed Maes Hughes simply boggled Havoc's mind.

He sighed, half-closing his eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd considered the possibility of punishment, of prison - of execution, even. But he'd always figured that before that happened, he'd have done something to actually deserve it. Mustang had hinted at revolution, at changing things for the better, and that had been all well and good - and now...

And now, just like that, Mustang was gone. Hawkeye was gone. All Jean's plans, all his comfort, his job and his family and /everything/, it was all gone. He was left with nothing. But the others still needed someone to believe in. They needed a leader.

It wasn't fair, Havoc thought to himself, bitterly. He was just as uncertain as the rest of them. What gave them any right to believe in him?

Beside Havoc, Fury stirred, and slowly looked up at him. His round, young face was pale and drawn, his eyes red and puffy. When he spoke, it was in the smallest of small voices, as if he feared punishment at any moment. "What's going to happen to us?"

No, Havoc's inner self agreed, it wasn't fair. But then was there anything about all this that /was/?. He smiled gently, comfortingly. "I don't know," he murmured, "But whatever happens, we're gonna stick together, all right? You're not gonna be alone. Right, guys?" Havoc looked up, his blue eyes sweeping over the other two men. They both nodded; Farman even cracked a small smile.

"See?" Havoc turned back to Fury. "It's gonna be fine, you'll see."

Fury swallowed hard, and nodded.

None of them spoke again for some time, each man lost in his own thoughts. But a sudden, jerking stop brought them all crashing back to earth, and a moment later the doors were thrown open and late afternoon sunlight was spilling in and a harsh, authoritative voice was yelling at them to get on their feet, and get out there, now/, this was the Third damn Prison and they would do as they were damn /told around here.

Fury was trembling as he stood; he looked as though he was about to start crying again. Havoc couldn't really blame him, but to show weakness here, now, would be a dangerous thing indeed. He lifted his cuffed hands and touched Fury's arm, offered him a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay," he whispered. Then he straightened up, and stepped forward to lead them out of the truck and into the sun-drenched prison yard.

Before all this, Havoc had never really believed that Hawkeye or Mustang could die. Part of him still didn't believe it, and that would have to be faced eventually, and dealt with. But later. He would mourn later.

Right now, he had a job to do.

- - - - -

And at the same time, another black truck was rumbling through Central. It had left the courthouse hours ago, and at first one might have assumed it to be lost. But in face, the turns it took and the pauses it made and the circles it drove in were deliberate, and specifically engineered to leave anyone who might be following, either in a vehicle or on foot, in the dust.

It wasn't until after sunset that the truck finally pulled into an empty garage, the steel door rolling shut behind it. But that wasn't the end. There was a ramp leading underground, cut out of the solid stone floor, and the truck rolled down it and into the dark, damp tunnel beyond. Another steel door shut in its wake, and the garage was silent once more.

In the dark, the truck kept rumbling along, through a tunnel that was only barely tall enough and wide enough to accommodate it. It followed a route the driver must have known by heart, because the truck's lights barely served to penetrate the thick, cloying blackness.

After a while the tunnel began to expand, like a narrow channel fanning out into a delta, until the truck finally rolled to a halt in the middle of a large room, dimly lit by flickering electric lamps. Aside from the tunnel the truck arrived by, the only way in or out seemed to be a single door built into the wall. It opened, and a man stepped through. He was tall, skinny, what little hair he possessed composing a wispy grey fringe around the back of his head. His lips were thin, he was pale and bony and somehow starved-looking; he looked as if he had not seen the sun in a very long time.

He walked briskly over to the truck's cabin, and a red-faced man with a fussy black mustache and a matching white coat climbed out. "Doctor Hart," he said, nodding to the tall man.

"Doctor Sang." Doctor Hart nodded back as the shorter man came to stand beside him. "They're both in there?"

"Yes," Sang nodded, "I followed Bradley's instructions; they were right where he said they'd be."

"Excellent," Hart said, eyes sweeping over the black truck. "And no one saw you?"

Sang snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

Hart smirked. "...Now, of course," he murmured, "we have to divide them up."

Sang whipped his head around to look at the taller man, frowning. "What? We can't share?"

Now it was Hart's turn to snort. "Don't be ridiculous. You know very well we can't do that. I need my subjects to be as healthy and as fit as possible; your experiments tend to require them to be just the opposite."

Sang wrinkled his nose distastefully, but he conceded Hart's point.

"I want Flame," Hart stated, and then, before his companion could protest, added, "Be reasonable, Sang. Flame is younger, fitter, healthier; he's much better suited to my experiments than Full Metal. Besides," he added, smirking. "They say Full Metal can do alchemy without a circle. He became a State Alchemist at age twelve; shortly after he managed an unprecedented transfer of consciousness with that Sewing Life rodent - you remember old Tucker, don't you?" Hart chuckled. "Aren't you the least bit curious about finding out how all that works, Sang? Finding out what makes Full Metal tick?"

Sang smiled. It was not a pleasant sight.

"And when you're done," Hart added, "When you're all finished with him, we can always use him for one of those things Gran developed... those tin-can monstrosities."

Sang gave an especially derisive snort. "You're hardly one to talk about 'monstrosities', Hart."

Hart just chuckled. The sound echoed wetly in the room. "Well, then," he murmured. "I suppose we should go and welcome them to their new home..."

- - - - -

Shou tensed and arched up off the bed, crying out as he came in Envy's hand. He fell back against the sheets, panting, sweating everywhere that wasn't metal. Envy just chuckled. He carded the fingers of one hand through Shou's messy, black-dyed hair, and pressed the fingers of the other, wet and sticky, to the alchemist's lips. Shou shuddered, closed his eyes, and started to lick the Homunculus's hand clean.

Envy chuckled again and stroked Shou's cheek; a playful, almost affectionate gesture. "You know, Shorty," he murmured, "Between your wife, your kid... that tattooist, the automail mechanic... that Hughes woman, her kid... your friend Mustang, that Hawkeye bitch, Mustang's subordinates... little Alphonse, and of course dearly departed Edward..." Envy punctuated that last name with a quick thrust of his hips, making Shou whimper against his captor's fingers. "...Yeah, you've wreaked some real havoc on a lot of people's lives. Ruined them, you might say."

Tucker whimpered and looked away, biting his tongue. Envy just smirked, pulled out, and rose off the bed. As soon as the Homunculus's weight was off him, Tucker curled on his side, wrapping his arms around himself and pressing his cheek into the sweaty sheets, sore and miserable and ashamed.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he heard Envy say. "The damage one little monster can do..." Warm fingertips trailed through Tucker's hair, and the alchemist shuddered, curling in tighter.

"You should be proud of yourself, Shorty." The words were whispered so close to Shou's ear that he could feel the Homunculus's breath against his skin. But when he opened his eyes a second later, Envy was gone.

End of Chapter Twelve