Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Committee's Findings ❯ III ( Chapter 3 )

They were on a train again. Elysia didn't like trains, but at least she wasn't being subjected to the repeated prodding of her previous journey. The conductors assumed she was the daughter of Mr. Elric and Ms. Rockbell, sit next to adult looking people and it's instantly taken that you're their child- not that it was nearly as much a bother as “so where are your parents, little lady?” repeated ad nauseum.

 

They were on a train, this didn't happen often- Winry had only been on trains when there was an errand to be run, to get parts, to see Ed in Central. The number of trips wasn't more than twenty. Trains were exciting and new for Winry- and this was, she thought, the first time she could remember being on a train where she got to sit next to Ed, at least, the first time without sharing a seat with someone who would smile knowingly, or go “awww” if she looked too long at Ed. Train rides were exciting, indeed.

 

They were on a train. So what? They were always on trains. Ed had been on every rail in the country, Riza had been on at least one railway in every European nation, nothing was new. Nothing at all, they were one of millions of people headed to one of thousands of destinations, and like every other person they had a handful of select troubles, people and places on their mind. Maes Hughes. The more than uncomfortable metal arm that Ed would need to get replaced soon. Elysia's welfare. Winry. Ed looked over at her, she looked back, they didn't say anything- just sat there.

 

Riza smiled knowingly, Elysia went “awww,” Winry and Ed groaned.

 

Elysia's optimism about the trip may not have been as great had she known how long the ride would be. The locomotive continued on and on across the unending landscape, the speed blurring the images outside the window into what might have passed for a brief work by Van Gogh or Monet. The train traveled on past houses farms and fields, passing trains that had no name and freight-yards full of old black men and the graveyards of rusted automobiles.

 

It was boring. Elysia tried to keep herself entertained, but it was hard, she drew pictures but still couldn't escape the monotony of the ride. The crossword (Riza had loaned her yesterday's paper) was too easy she had borrowed another discourse from a well-dressed gentleman who looked at her curiously and asked if she understood what she was reading. “The good majority of it,” she said. He laughed and smiled.

“Do you want to be a physicist?” His eyebrows wrinkled in the way of a smiling Santa Clause.

“No, I just want to know things.”
“What do you think of it?”

“I don't think any of them actually know what they're talking about, and that deep down they simply don't like cats.”

“Maybe. But, keep in mind, they're scientists, not technical writers they couldn't describe what's going on in their head if their life depended on it.”

“That's not true.”

“Okay, so maybe I am making excuses for them,” the man chuckled, “I have to, they're my colleagues,” Elysia laughed along.

“So, where are your par-“

“Dead.”

“I'm sorry.”

Silence.

“Hans, my son, died some time ago. I imagine it's not much consolation, but I know how you feel.”

“I'm sorry.”
Silence again.

“If not a physicist, what do you want to be?”

“Whatever knows how to get my arm back.”

“An alchemist?”

“Probably.”

“It doesn't really make much sense does it?”

“What doesn't?”

“Alchemy.”

“Why not?”

“Entropy”

“It's not a closed system. ”

“Where's the energy coming from?”

The silence this time was different. It was thoughtful, energetic, productive.

“You're right, it doesn't make sense.”

“You're very mature for your age, and clever, why is that?”

“I'm just lucky I guess.”

“I'm not sure I'd call it that.”

“Unlucky then?”
“Maybe.”

The other kind of silence returned, though not for long, the train reached a stop and the physicist got off, changing to a train headed for Leipzig to see a colleague. He left Elysia his address and told her to mail him sometime. On the same paper as the address he had scribbled “don't grow up too fast.” She stared at the letters for a while after he left the train car, then tore the paper up and discarded it. “If I'm not supposed to grow up so quickly, then you're a bad influence.”

She sat back down and returned to the paper, reading it this time instead of bothering with the crossword. Her eyes skimmed the headlines, stopping on “INEXPLICABLE SUICIDE INVESTIGATION CONTINUES” it wasn't a very long piece, and Elysia learned of her mother's death in only a few moments. She dropped the paper into a trashcan at the end of the coach. Returning to her seat, legs shaking, she found that, try as she might, she could not bring herself to cry. She gave up and stared straight ahead, beginning to see how uncertain her future really was.

Ed muttered in his sleep, what he said wasn't comprehensible but clearly he was going over something. Winry looked over at him in mild concern, Ed didn't usually slur his words even when sleeping. He coughed- or maybe snorted- once and his voice cleared. Winry chuckled and turned back to her reading. Ed muttered angles, volumes, measurements of fuel and steel, but what he meant by all of it was still as much of a mystery as it was when the words were hopelessly garbled.

 

From where Riza sat it looked, or rather sounded, as if Ed were trying to make one hell of an explosion, why he'd want to do that though was beyond her. The tons upon tons of steel and what he might be for she hadn't a clue.

 

Ed continued reliving that particular day. The one he came back, though he shouldn't have. It didn't make any sense afterward, he had been constructing a rocket, it was rather difficult. Times for science in general were hard and few people took interest about finding ways to reach outer space when the price of bread wouldn't stop rising. The county on the other side of the Gate called Germany was not doing well following the war. Times for new scientific exploits that aimed to send large objects very, very far away were even harder because, what was the practical worth of sending a lump of metal to the moon? There was no bread on the moon and they didn't sell cheap food there.

 

Still, Ed continued in his efforts and on that day he somehow got back home. He should have failed, probably should have burnt off his eyebrows, melted his forehead or something else revolting. Instead, somehow he had returned here to this world. It didn't quite add up, and he felt terribly guilty. For some reason, Al was not the same when he returned home, he had his body back, but behaved in the same sad way he had when he was the suit of armor. It was only a few months afterward that he killed himself. There was little evidence for a connection, but that didn't stop Ed from blaming himself. He didn't tell anyone his, correct, suspicions: that he hadn't succeed at all in coming back, but rather that Al had somehow found a way to barter emotions in equivalent exchange- as the memories they shared were erased from Al's mind when Ed performed the transmutation to bring him back and as a bonus he got his body back as well. Perhaps in that same way Al had exchanged his ability to be happy, or something of the like, for Ed's return.

 

A sharp turn of the track and Ed awoke.

“We there yet?” He asked as he looked up and rubbed his eyes.

“Nope” Riza replied without giving the slightest hint of diverting more than a fraction of her attention from her reading “three stops to go” She had the route memorized, so did Ed.

“Oh, great, go figure, I have to wake up when we're in Berlin.”

“Wong direction, three stops from Central the other way”

“Leipzig? Eh, could be worse.”

“Yup”

“Hm.” Ed looked out the window and waited for the train to start up again. He hoped they arrived soon, his leg had fallen asleep.