Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ By Firelight ❯ The Flames are Lit ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Bones, Sony, Funimation, and all kinds of other entities and corporations that aren't me. I'm just playing with them.

 

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This really wasn't how she'd pictured the day turning out. If someone had asked at breakfast she'd have predicted a boring day of work, dinner with some of her coworkers at some restaurant that suited their limited income, and then a quiet night in the barracks. Yes. She should be at home, curled up under warm, dry blankets. Safe.

 

She definitely would not have predicted explosions. There was a reason she had asked to be stationed in Central - there was a lot to be said for its distinct lack of explosions, generally. Especially at Headquarters. If she'd been asked this morning if she'd ever see HQ burn, she'd have laughed and indicated that this was pure impossibility. But now she could see the light of the flames reflected on the buildings in front of her. She did not look back to watch; she just ran, not caring where she was going, so long as it was a direction that could be considered “away.” Not everyone joined the military for the danger or the excitement. She'd joined to please her parents, who hadn't been happy with her as Sarah Aldridge but seemed quite thrilled with Private Sarah Aldridge. She was perfectly content being a switchboard operator in the huge building's basement. It was safe. Dull. Until now, at least.

 

Sarah was already breathing hard. She'd barely made it through basic training when she had enlisted, and sitting in a chair all day every day since hadn't helped. She pushed on into the night, feet pounding the wet pavement, driven by the power of fear and adrenaline. Suddenly some sense began to break through the haze of panic, however, and she began to berate herself silently, even as she continued to run. Maybe she wasn't much of a soldier, but she still had a…a duty. Right? Those were her coworkers back there! Her friends! And it wasn't as if she wasn't armed - she could feel her standard issue handgun thumping against the small of her back with every step. A flush of shame rose to her cheeks, but was lost in the general redness of her exertion.

 

Finally Sarah forced herself to stop - and immediately doubled over, her hands on her knees, sucking in great lungfuls of air. She would go back. She would do her duty. But first…no one could blame her for catching her breath first, right? The evening's precipitation - somewhere between a mist and a drizzle - was making her black bangs stick to her forehead, and she pushed at them in irritation, swiping them back to clump in with the rest of her hair. But the moisture in the air was doing nothing to stop the raging fire behind her, judging by the bright orange light glittering off of the damp ground.

 

Suddenly there was a crash behind her and she spun around to see part of HQ's topmost floor collapse in on itself. It seemed that almost the entire building was engulfed in the flames now. She stood there for a moment, frozen by the sight of so much destruction, and then reluctantly began her jog back. She unholstered her gun as she went and held it against her chest, cupping her left hand around the barrel. It felt awkward, holding it, and she doubted she'd be able to hit much with the way her hands were shaking, but at least she'd be as ready as she could be if…if one of the enemy came at her. Whoever they were. It had all happened so fast that she really wasn't sure.

 

Out of the corner of her eye Sarah noticed a blob of red cloth crumpled up against a wall. It wasn't until she'd nearly passed that she did a double take and realized that it was a body. She dropped to her knees in front of it, hurriedly stuffing her gun back in its holster, and felt the neck for a pulse. The skin was slick with blood, but it was warm, and the pulse underneath was strong. A person, then - not just a body. A person who needed her help. She cast a quick glance at HQ and silently acknowledged the fact that she was rather glad this person who needed her help was not currently in the middle of a battle or an inferno. Of course, this thought was quickly followed by a flash of shame for thinking such things, and she hastily turned back to the figure slumped against the wall.

 

It was a boy, probably younger than her, and definitely shorter. He was unconscious; blood stained his blonde hair, beginning above and behind his ear and flooding down the side of his head. She reached for it immediately, but was relieved to find that the blood was already sticky and beginning to congeal. At the source there was swelling, but no fracture. She sighed with relief; he was going to be alright. He was just - suddenly Sarah froze, her eyes on the wall behind him. He was just leaning against a huge smear of blood.

 

The blood started about three and a half feet up. It looked quite thick at the top, but then became much thinner as it went down, as if he'd been leaning against the wall for a few minutes before collapsing. She hadn't seen it at first - the wall was dark red brick, and the firelight reflected in the blood hadn't looked all that different from the way the ubiquitous moisture was glistening off of everything tonight. The realization that she had overlooked the blood there made her look more closely at his clothing - she knew black and red hid bloodstains, so why hadn't she looked closer? There - a stab wound, in his torso. The blade had been thin, but it had gone straight through. She bit her lip, cursing herself for missing it.

 

Blood loss. And lots of it. She had to get him on his back, raise his feet, make sure that the blood that was left was going to his brain. She eased him away from the wall, lifting him out of his coat at the same time. Extra clothing would only get in the way; it would go to much better use tucked under his feet. He groaned as his back met the pavement, his eyelids fluttering briefly. “Don't worry; you're going to be OK,” Sarah said, though she wasn't sure he could hear. “I'm certified in field medicine.” This was true; getting that certification had been her first achievement after enlisting. It was only later that she'd realized that the more certifications you had in field anything, the more likely commanders were to send you there. Of course, in the classes she'd had a kit. No such luck tonight.

 

She stripped off her jacket, thinking to rip it apart for bandages, until, after a few seconds effort, she realized that her puny upper body strength was not going to get anywhere with heavy wool. She glanced up the street, then down the other way. This was the warehouse district, and despite all the activity towards the HQ end of the street - or really, because of it - there was no one else around. She found herself hunching over all the same as she quickly stripped her shirt off and put her jacket back on. She had a habit of buying the cheapest undershirts she could find and then wearing them to death, so the thin cotton ripped easily as she tore the shirt in half. One wad of shirt and one hand were pressed over the wound in his front; she then wormed the other under his back to apply pressure there, trying to stop the bleeding from both sides. The boy groaned again and Sarah glanced at his face, abruptly realizing that his gold eyes were focused on her. Before she could repeat her reassurances he spoke, his voice tiny and pitiful. “Al…”

 

Sarah opened her mouth, quite blank on how to respond, but before she could form words his eyes drifted closed again. She silently stared at his face for a long moment. She was worried - no, she was scared for him. She wanted to take care of him; she wanted him to be okay. But at the same time, she was now a little bit miffed. Sure, she had short hair, and it was probably plastered against her skull now in a very unflattering way. But surely she wasn't that boyish? She leaned down and looked the again unconscious boy square in his closed eyes. “I don't look like an Al.”

 

As the minutes passed she grew more and more nervous. The wads of shirt were quickly getting soaked through. He needed more help then she could give, but she couldn't leave him and she couldn't move him. Suddenly she realized she was hearing footsteps, in the distance, but closing fast. She straightened up, wondering if she should go for her gun, but was relieved to see that it was military blue heading her way. “I have wounded here!” she shouted, managing a volume that surprised her. “Get help!” She was relieved to see the figure wave, then do a quick about face and head back the way he came. “Right,” she sighed, turning back to the boy. “Don't you worry. Everything's going to be fine.” The crash of collapsing masonry echoed through the street as if to mock her ability to make such promises. Sarah turned towards HQ and watched it burn.

 

 

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Author's note: This is my very first fanfic, so please: be gentle, but tell me exactly how I suck. I need to know. The next chapter has been outlined, so this really won't be a one shot after all! …I know, I know, I'm sorry. ;)