Fullmetal Alchemist: "The Spider's Web" (3/?)
Author: crazybeagle
Characters: Alphonse, Edward, Mustang, OC's
Genre: Suspense, Drama, H/C
Rating: T
Summary: Two weeks after the Promised Day, the largest organized crime family in Amestris kidnaps Alphonse, to punish the brothers for a double murder that they can't remember committing.
Disclaimer: But alas, not mine.
Al felt bile burn the back of his throat; his eyes watered. This woman, still looming above him with a gun angled at his chest, had just snapped both of his arms like twigs-with a twisted, practiced kind of precision, and without a second's hesitation.
And aside from the prick of an IV needle and a few vaccines he'd received in the past few weeks, this was the first actual pain he'd experienced in years. His eyes shuttered, and he willed himself not to be sick.
"Vivian." Marie's voice, floating somewhere above him, was quiet, disgusted.
Vivian snorted delicately. "Had to be done."
"Not like this." And suddenly Marie's voice was much closer-he felt a hand light on the side of his neck, his cheek. "You could've killed him just now from shock alone. Look at his arms."
Al was suddenly quite glad he couldn't see them. He kept his eyes shut tight.
"I thought you just wanted to bind them," Marie continued. "That'd have kept him from doing any alchemy just fine, right?"
"And bind them we will," Vivian said, impatiently, as though Marie had just said something spectacularly stupid. "Right now, in fact. And while we're at it," she added, thoughtfully, "may as well kill two birds with one stone and contact that brother of his."
Al's eyes shot open at that. Vivian was looking down at him, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. There were about a thousand things on the tip of his tongue at the moment-what do you want with him; if this is a hostage situation you're wasting your time; ransom money's no object if that's what you're after; if you lay a hand on him then so help me I will find a way to- but the stomach-turning pain that shot up both arms muddled his words before they even made it out of his mouth. Vivian was talking again.
"Pick him up, Maria," she said, with a light snap of her fingers. "Silas is waiting for us."
Al must've passed out in Marie's arms, because the next thing he knew he was in a different room altogether-more like a wide, round antechamber, windowless as his cell had been, with four hallways of dark brick splitting off from it. More fluorescent bulbs, brighter than those in the cell, hung above him, giving the whole scene a harsh, exposed cast.
He was on a chair-no, that wasn't right, it was too warm and uneven for that. He tried to wriggle around to get a look, but started when a pair of arms tightened around his middle. Instinctively, he reached down and tried to dislodge them, but cried out and let his hands drop as the pain reasserted itself.
"Keep still," a voice breathed in his ear. "Please." That was Marie.
It was all he could do to nod.
Vivian was sitting on a chair, legs crossed, a pair of reading glasses low on her nose as she flicked through a thick file folder that sat open on her lap. Next to her, an ancient-looking telephone box hung suspended half-off the wall by a collection of thick cords and wires. At the sound of Alphonse's yelp, her head snapped up.
She arched an eyebrow at the pair of them. "Whatever you're trying to tell him, Maria, don't waste your breath." She stood, clapped her hands. "Silas?" she called, her eyes searching a spot somewhere over Al and Marie's heads.
Another set of footsteps, behind them. Heavy, resounding, and horribly slow.
"Sometime today would be nice, Silas," Vivian snapped, turning towards the phone and picking up the receiver. She fished a slip of paper out of her pocket and glanced at it for a second before entering a number into the rotary dial with a finger that was now gloved in white leather.
And then a huge, close-shaven man wearing a tailored suit and an easy smile stepped into his line of vision, blocking his view of Vivian completely. In his hands was length of thin, bright yellow rope that Al guessed must be made out of some kind of twined plastic, and a tarnished cigarette lighter.
"I'm guessing you're Silas then?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded small-tired, scared, and cracked by pain. So much for a brave front, then. Ed was always better at that, anyways.
The man's grin broadened, and he inclined his head slightly. Marie's arms squeezed him tighter. He wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he took it that it wasn't a good sign.
"Get on with it, Silas," said Vivian between the click-click-click of the phone dial. "I'm nearly finished here."
Wordlessly, Silas knelt in front of Al, measuring out a length of the rope between the massive span of his arms, looking thoughtful. He smelled of sweat and cologne.
A second later, he'd caught hold of Al's forearms in his ham-like fists and was pressing them roughly together, and Al nearly fainted. Pinning one of his wrists to the inside of his opposite elbow while grabbing for the rope, Silas afforded Al a clear view of exactly the damage that had been done to his arms. It was easy to see, sans any substantial muscle or fat on arms that were rail-thin, the bowing of the bones where Vivian had stepped on them.
"Don't struggle," Marie whispered needlessly in his ear, and Al was struck with an odd, hysterical urge to laugh. He might have responded that he couldn't have anyways, if he hadn't thought that he'd vomit if he opened his mouth. His eyes burned.
Vivian, meanwhile, was apparently too engrossed in the telephone to take any heed of anything else happening in the room, her back to the rest of them and the receiver pressed to her hear. Her booted foot tapped the floor, a hand on her hip as she waited through the dial tone.
Silas tightened the first knot, and Al bit back a yell.
Vivian wheeled around suddenly, a chilling grin on her lips. "Edward Elric," she said into the receiver.
...
Thirty minutes later, Al was staring up at the ceiling of his cell, broken arms bound tight across chest with countless tight, fat knots of plastic rope. It was pointless to struggle against them; he'd have had better luck trying to free himself from iron shackles. He couldn't even work at the knots with his teeth, which had been his only idea before Silas had pulled out the lighter and melted the plastic around the knots just enough to fuse them together.
Marie had carried him back. She'd helped him use the cell's toilet, which he was far past the point of feeling embarrassment about, given him some water, and helped him lie down, tucking her coat around him again. She wouldn't meet his eyes the entire time, but she muttered something about bringing food and proper bedding for him, and painkillers if they'd allow it, later in the day. At the moment, she was sitting at the edge of his cot, head in her hands like she was fending off a migraine.
He knew he should be making her talk, get her to open up about who she was and just what the hell was going on here, but pain and dread kept him silent. He shivered, remembering Vivian's clipped, one-sided conversation with Edward.
Betterton, she'd said, every syllable crisp and clear as a bell, her accent notwithstanding. The boarded-up police station at Twenty-fifth and Rosen Avenue. You be here by midnight tomorrow, alone, or we wring his scrawny little neck.
So this was Betterton. He'd suspected as much-headquarters of Valera Steel, and the northernmost of the Southern industrial cities.
Vivian had held out the phone in his general direction after that bit-and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Ed had heard every strangled cry and yelp he'd failed to stifle while Silas was tying those knots. Anger seethed in his gut. They want him to think I'm being tortured…
She'd twirled the phone cord in her fingers, silver eyes sparkling with satisfaction.
Tell a soul about this and my people put a bullet through your commanding officer's brain. Am I clear?
At that, she'd hung up.
He hadn't noticed the tears-whether borne from anger, pain, or desperation, he didn't know-until Marie was swiping his cheek with a thumb. Her hair hung in her face; he couldn't see her expression.
"Why are you doing this?" Why did you take me away? Why are you helping these people?
She was silent for a long time.
Then, barely audibly, "Because you're a murderer."
tbc~