Mirrorworld ch. 39 pt. 2
He caught a glimpse of Al that morning, as they were leaving. Al didn't pay any attention to him, which was so normal it made Alfons worried. He didn't believe for a moment that Al was unaffected by the revelation.
The daily fight into the courtroom was already a common occurrence, considering that it had been going on since the start of the trial, over a month ago. The only difference was that today the reporters were clamoring to get at Alfons, too. He followed everybody else's lead, pushed his way in silently, but for a “no comment” tossed off every so often.
When Edward came in, Alfons scrutinized him for any change, and concluded that he looked a bit better. Only the tiniest shift was visible, but it was enough to encourage Alfons. A little. Alfons had by now pretty much stopped watching Edward during the trial, since he didn't react to much. Mostly, he sat with his head down, chained arms in his lap, his face unreadable.
More encouraging was the fact that the trial was going well. Harris had been calling witnesses for the past few days, and was doing an amazing job. It was growing increasingly clear that the prosecution had a spurious case at best.
On cross-examination, Harris proved that none of the prosecution's witnesses had any hard evidence that Edward had actually been involved in the Lior incident, though everybody knew he had been stationed in the vicinity at the time.
Then Harris had started calling witnesses, and it was beautiful to watch. A seemingly endless parade of people - both military and civilian - talked about how Edward had warned against entering Lior. There was written documentation from Mustang which corroborated said warning.
To further strengthen his case, that there was no way Edward Elric would ever be involved in mass murder, Harris also presented a series of character witnesses. Plenty of people were willing to testify about how Edward had helped them out in various heroic ways, some of them with familiar faces. That morning, to Alfons' surprise, Russel was called to the witness stand. Harris' questioning went off without a hitch, but Alfons was already dreading the cross-examination. Thus far, the prosecutor had managed to twist nearly everybody's testimony. He only hoped that it would be different in Russel's case, but he was afraid to be overly optimistic.
Prosecutor Roscoe began. “Under what circumstances did you meet?”
Russel seemed pretty calm, and Alfons just hoped he wouldn't let down his guard too much.
"We got into a fight, because he found out I had been impersonating him to do research.”
"Did he seem to take it in stride?”
Alfons wished Russel hadn't said anything about a fight.
"He was pretty pissed off, but I wasn't exactly helping the issue....” Realizing this could be taken badly, Russel added, “I did impersonate him, after all. It's not surprising he was angry.”
"How exactly did this 'pissed off' emotion manifest itself?” Roscoe asked.
"We got into a bit of a fight, like I said...” Russel grinned a bit nervously. “But I was the one who started it, I was teasing him about his height.”
"Would you say this reaction is fairly standard for him, when his height is remarked on?”
"Objection!” Harris burst in. “Leading question.”
Roscoe didn't miss a beat. “Rephrase. In your experience, how does Mr. Elric usually react to his height being remarked upon?”
"Um... pissed off, I guess...” Russel shifted his feet. “It does make sense,” he added hopefully.
Alfons sighed. No, this wasn't going to go well, either.
"And does this emotion manifest itself in the same way?”
Russel was now trying very hard not to look to Harris for help. “Mostly, I think...”
Roscoe swooped in for the attack. “Would you consider Mr. Elric a violent sort of person overall?”
"Objection!” Harris practically shouted, almost before he had finished talking.
Alfons buried his face in his hands. It was like that every time - Roscoe consistently managed to paint Edward as hot-headed, prone to violence, short-tempered, insubordinate, and possessive of a distinct criminal bent. It was enough to make Alfons want to bang his head against the wall, and simultaneously thank his lucky stars he wasn't made to testify.
Worrisome was the fact that even in the face of all this, Edward didn't react.
Still. Harris had been hired to show that Edward hadn't killed anybody in Lior, not to save him from character assassination, as he commented to Mustang once.
"Nobody cares if he committed fraud,” Harris had snapped in exasperation. “And none of his fans give a damn if he punched some idiots for calling him short. Hell, those selfsame idiots are probably proud nowadays to have been personally punched by the Fullmetal Alchemist. Please let me do my job.”
In the afternoon, the prosecution began presenting expert witnesses to discuss the type of alchemist who would be able to do a transmutation on the scale of Lior. No real conclusion was reached, but the end of that day left Alfons feeling more optimistic than usual - optimism which vanished the moment he stepped out the doors of the courthouse, and a hundred photographers snapped pictures of him and Al side by side.
Immediately upon returning to the hotel, Alfons grabbed the nearest soldier and went to a barber, before he could think twice. He left his fringe longer, the way he normally wore it, but got the rest cut severely short. Afterwards, Alfons stood in the bathroom and stared at his reflection dolefully.
He ran his fingers through his hair, the feel of air on his scalp strange, and felt a twinge in his chest, reminded of Edward's fingers carding through it only yesterday.
Cutting it had been pointless, because he still looked like Al. Nothing he did would change that, because they were the same person.
-
It was now two days after Alfons had come out, and mostly, there had been no backlash. Painful as it was, people ignoring him wasn't as bad as what he had feared the reactions would be. True, several newspapers had written snide articles about how unsurprising it was that somebody as disturbed and violent as Edward would be homosexual as well. But when 'homosexual' was the least of the names being tacked on Edward, it was hard to be too worried about it.
Even so, the glee with which newspapers played with the alliteration of “homicidal” and “homosexual” got old. It wasn't even good alliteration, for God's sake.
As for himself, he felt sort of dumb complaining, even if only to himself, about not getting enough attention. Almost everybody, even people who had been friendly with him before, now showed signs of discomfort whenever he drew near. He spent his evenings alone in his room, read books, and told himself it was nice to have peace and quiet.
That morning he brushed his teeth with more intensity than usual, tried to keep his eyes off his reflection, while images of last night's dream ran through his head - wandering the streets of Munich, vivid details contrasting with blurs of forgetfulness.
Court that day was mostly a continuation of the day before, dealing with trying to prove that Edward had been responsible for Lior by virtue of his capabilities. Witnesses cited research that had been done on alchemists, in which Edward had participated, that ranked him among the most powerful alchemists in Amestris, and possibly even in the surrounding countries. All the experts agreed that it would take an alchemist approximating that calibre to manage destruction on such a scale, and Edward was the only one known to have been in the vicinity at the time.
Harris pointed out that said research had actually found Edward's data unreliable, and had removed him from the statistical results in the conclusion, because the data had been “nonsensical”. (He didn't mention what Mustang had said the night before, that Edward's results had been off the charts.) Therefore, that research was an unreliable measure of Edward's alchemical ability.
Furthermore, just because Edward was capable of doing disastrous alchemy didn't mean he was responsible for Lior. It was circumstantial evidence at best, and didn't hold up in the least, especially in light of all the evidence previously presented about how Edward had been actually trying to save the soldiers in his vicinity.
Throughout the day nobody mentioned the Philosopher's Stone even once. Alfons wondered if they didn't know about it, or if it was deemed information too dangerous to be exposed so publicly.
Afterwards, Harris sent him to the prison to see Edward again, but didn't accompany him. He took a few moments to explain to Alfons that with the trial reaching its conclusion, he couldn't spare even that much time, but to call if anything went wrong. Alfons nodded, and went.
The prison guards were even more obnoxious this time around, exchanging knowing glances with each other and sniggering behind his back. It was all very juvenile.
Alfons worried that they would confiscate the hairbrush he had brought, but after several minutes of discussion, they decided to allow it in. Two guards led him away from the checkpoint, and down corridors which were becoming unhappily familiar.
Once away from the others, they exchanged a glance.
"So,” the one on his right said, “we might be willing to be fifteen or so minutes late getting you out.”
Alfons looked up sharply, but couldn't read anything on the man's round features. A glance at the dark-skinned one on his left was no more helpful. He decided to go for caution. “That would be nice.”
Both guards looked pleased. “Nothing's free, though,” the dark one warned. “Give us a hand, and we'll turn a blind eye.”
Alfons was starting to feel uncomfortable. “What do you want?”
"Just answer a question.”
"Which is?”
"You're the girl, right?” the right-hand one asked.
"What?” Alfons stopped walking and stared.
"You know, when you fuck. You're the one who takes it up the ass, yes?”
Alfons's eyes darted between the two of them, bewildered. “Why?” he managed. What business of it was theirs? But on the other hand, to get fifteen more minutes for Edward... how far would he go? Could he go?
"Morgan's got fifty cenz riding on it,” the dark one said, pointing at the other with his thumb. “I'm just corroboration.”
They were taking bets on how Edward and Alfons had sex. Alfons' stomach roiled, and he stormed ahead. If he told them, it would probably be barely an hour until news of their habits spread to the newspapers.
It didn't help that they were still discussing it behind him.
"Did you see how embarrassed he was? He's got to be the bottom.”
"I don't know, I still think Fullmetal's got sort of girly looks. What the fuck's up with his hair, you tell me?”
"Yo, Boyfriend, you sure you won't talk?”
Alfons ignored them, albeit with difficulty.
Once again, he arrived first, though he didn't have as long to wait as the last time. Surprisingly, Edward was escorted in by a female soldier with short, dark hair, who he was actually talking to.
She gave Alfons an encouraging smile before leaving.
"Who was that?” Alfons asked. Edward came over to him, hardly hesitating at all before he took Alfons' hand. Was it because Edward felt more comfortable now, or because it was what he thought Alfons wanted?
"Maria Ross,” he said. “I knew her, before. I have no idea how Mustang sneaked her in.” He shook his head in admiration. “She smuggled me in some chocolate.”
Just for that, Alfons was prepared to like her. “I'm glad.” Alfons allowed himself to hug Edward close. See, Edward was holding him, too, nobody had forced him to-
"Hey, Edward, give me your back. I brought you something.”
"What is it?” As he spoke, Edward shifted around, sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of Alfons.
"Brush,” said Alfons. He would have brought a razor to shave Edward properly, but there was no way the guards would have let that through, so he would make do with this. He slid the tie out of Edward's hair, letting it fall down his back. He had long ago learned the proper way to brush Edward's hair - starting from the bottom and working his way up.
"You're amazing,” Edward said, sighing in an unmistakably happy way. As Alfons worked out the tangles, he slowly relaxed, occasionally arching into Alfons' hands when they touched his scalp and neck.
"There.” Alfons set aside the brush, and ran his fingers through the golden waves of Edward's hair in satisfaction. It still wasn't the cleanest, but at least the knots were gone. “How do you want it? A ponytail or a braid?”
Edward shifted, and the tips of his ears turned red. “However you like it best,” he said, trying hard not to be self-conscious.
Alfons smiled, but then it faded. If Edward was ignoring his own will in favor of Alfons'-
This was crap. Edward loved him, and liked it when Alfons found him attractive. That was it.
He tied Edward's hair up, kissed the now-exposed nape of his neck, and watched it turn red, too.
"Are we going to sleep?” Edward asked, turning towards him a bit, checking how his hair had turned out with his flesh hand.
"Yeah.” He was so beautiful.
Edward snorted in reply. “Then wasn't it kind of stupid to fix my hair up now? It'll just get mussed again.”
"I'll do it again when we wake up, if you want.”
"Not if it's like last time, and the guards have to wake us up.”
Alfons sighed. “Next time I'll bring an alarm clock, is there anything else you want? A piano maybe?”
He immediately regretted it, and opened his mouth to apologize, but-
"Great idea,” said Edward. “Yeah, I want a piano.” And he was actually smiling.
"It wouldn't fit in here,” Alfons said. “Do you have a better impractical idea?”
Edward thought a moment. “I could poke you, and you could make piano sounds.”
It was so stupid, but God, he had missed this. He didn't even bother trying to wipe the silly smile off his face.
"It would probably end badly for the windows,” Alfons said. Edward was so close to him, his mouth was right there, and he looked happy. Maybe nobody else was letting him joke around.
"If there were any, here.” The smile was faded around the edges, now.
Alfons decided to take a risk. “The interior design here is so pretty, they don't need windows.”
Edward snorted.
"The upholstery is especially nice-” Alfons was cut off by a kiss. A proper one, full on the mouth, and that was enough to make him forget that when Edward kissed him he always, always went for the hair-
Edward pulled away, scuffed his fingers through Alfons' short hair, then let go of the back of his head. Nervousness choked Alfons.
"You cut it,” Edward said. He looked hurt. “I understand,” he added. “I know it annoys you, I wouldn't have asked you to-”
"It's not that!” Alfons cut him off, and squeezed his hand, in lieu of meeting his eyes. “It doesn't have anything to do with that. I did want to keep it...” He trailed off, because he didn't know what else to say.
Edward's eyebrows pulled together. “So why did you cut it?”
There was no answer he could give to that. Alfons looked away, though he knew Edward couldn't see.
"Alfons,” Edward said gently, seriously. His tone made Alfons look up. “What's wrong?”
It only made Alfons feel worse. “Nothing.” He wouldn't burden Edward with his troubles. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and Edward would only end up hurt.
Edward always seemed to end up hurt.
"That's bullshit.”
"I'm fine.” He was getting tired of repeating the words.
Edward's sightless eyes roved for a moment, trying in vain to pinpoint Alfons. He gave up, and slammed his automail fist into the mattress. “You know what's worse than you telling me what's wrong? You and everybody else fucking hinting about it all the time!”
"Maybe it's because you always react like this.” Alfons crossed his arms stubbornly. “You think I'm going to give you something else to blame yourself for?”
"So letting me imagine all sorts of things is better?” Edward shouted, waving his arms in frustration.
"You should be thinking about yourself, not worrying about me.” The words were futile, he knew. His lover would always worry about him, first. All he could do was try and do the same, put Edward's needs before his own. He wasn't very good at it, though.
Edward lowered his arms slowly. “But I do worry about you.”
See?
Alfons decided to try a different tack. “Edward, even if something was wrong - which I'm not saying it is - you can't really do much about it. If we focus on getting you out of here, it will solve everything.”
Apparently Edward only listened to the first half of the sentence, because he wilted, the fight draining from him. Only his automail fist remained clenched, maybe unconsciously.
"I know I can't help,” he said sadly.
Alfons' heart twisted, and he couldn't help but pull Edward to him. “Come on, Edward, don't start with this again...” he murmured into his neck. Edward stiffened, affronted.
"What do you mean 'again'?”
Crap. There was no way out of it, now. “Remember when we first got to America, and you were making a fuss about-”
"That was a year ago!”
Alfons tried to find a way to phrase it delicately. “You really haven't changed all that much.”
Going by Edward's huff, he hadn't managed.
Edward grabbed his shoulder, his automail grip painful. “You want to talk about America? We can fucking talk about America. At least there I could leave you half a gold mine!”
"Could you stop acting like your death is inevitable?” Alfons snapped.
The grip on his shoulder loosened, and Edward took several calming breaths. Alfons should have known better than to mention death.
"I don't think it's inevitable,” Edward forced out. “But it could damn well happen.”
"You're being pessimistic.”
"I'm being realistic.” Edward touched him again, his fingers impossibly light on Alfons' arm. His expression softened, and Alfons hated himself for always making trouble. “I don't even have any money to leave you. What little I had is going to pay for the trial.” Edward ran his flesh fingers down Alfons' forearm, wrapped them around his wrist. “It wasn't supposed to be like this.”
No, it wasn't. It should have been less complicated, less painful.
"Look at the bright side,” Alfons said, going for a light tone. “Nobody thinks we're crazy, right?”
For a split second - almost too fast to catch - Edward looked stricken. Then the expression was gone, leaving Alfons to wonder. Edward thought for a moment, his face carefully blank. Alfons searched his mind, but could find nothing to say.
Seeming to come to a decision, Edward got up on his knees, and hugged Alfons hard. His arms wrapped around Alfons' neck, even the automail one, he pressed his cheek to Alfons', and one knee nudged at Alfons' hips. This sort of thing was rare from Edward, and Alfons knew it was all for him. Here was one thing Edward could give him.
And in the face of that, Alfons' doubts were momentarily silenced. Edward wanted to make him happy. Their situation now was really no different than it had been before, and he of all people should know that Edward was anything but fickle. He would do his part by not allowing himself to lose faith.
Finally Edward pulled away.
"Shall we get some sleep?” Alfons asked, his voice a bit gruff. At Edward's nod they lay down, wrapped up in each other.
"You're such a sap,” Edward murmured, his eyes already half shut.
Alfons brushed his hair away from his face. If it made Edward happy..... “Yeah,” he replied.
-
The nice soldier - Maria, Alfons remembered, came to wake them up a few minutes before they had to leave, to give them time to prepare. Alfons was liking her more and more.
He used the time to brush Edward's hair again, fuss over him, and make a nuisance of himself until Edward told him to stop.
According to Alfons' borrowed watch, they still had two minutes left.
"Don't worry about me,” Edward said. “Harris said I'll get to see Al tomorrow.” A smile spread across his face, wide and honest.
Alfons debated with himself, then finally blurted, “You might want to be... gentle if you mention us to him.”
"Huh? Why?”
Edward was utterly clueless. This could end badly.
"Because it's probably a bit surprising for him, you know?” Alfons hedged.
Standing up and stretching, Edward looked profoundly unworried about things like brothers and doubles. “Al's going to be fine,” he said. “We're brothers, aren't we?”
Alfons sighed. That was exactly the problem.
-
The next day turned out to not only be a visiting day for Al, but also the last real day of the trial. There were no more witnesses to be called, no more evidence to be presented. To Alfons, it all seemed unreal, but this was it - Roscoe and Harris were giving their closing statements, and the judges announced that they would reconvene again when it was time for the verdict. Nervousness that Alfons had managed to push aside returned full force, especially in light of Edward's words yesterday.
It had been going on for a month and a half, but were they really ready? Had they presented all the arguments, had Harris spoken convincingly enough? If only they could have one more day, just to make sure....
"Don't worry.”
Alfons looked aside to see that Harris had paused beside him on his way out of the courtroom, to give him an encouraging, if perfunctory, pat on the back.
"The prosecution hardly has a case,” he said. “Even with the politics surrounding this trial, the court will be forced to acquit. In any other situation, the prosecution would have been thrown out of court for lack of evidence.”
He walked off before Alfons could answer. Still, Alfons was encouraged by the words, delivered in his father's calming voice. He swallowed, and rejoined the tide of people leaving the room.
He could hardly keep his mind on anything for the rest of the day, and ended up staying up late, staring at a book. As it turned out, he was around to see Al come in after his visit.
Al didn't say anything to him, didn't even look at him. Alfons watched him out of the corner of his eye, then decided to speak.
"How was it?” He had to pitch his voice loudly to carry across the room. At least nobody was around.
Al stiffened, and Alfons wasn't sure if he would answer.
"As nice as a prison visit can be,” Al finally said. He added, more quietly, “I wish I could break him out.”
"The trial's almost over, and then he'll be free.” Hey, it kept Alfons going, it might work for Al. He set his book aside, and leaned back in the chair.
"Yeah.”
Alfons wondered what they would do, then. What Edward wanted to do. Al probably wouldn't be pleased with Edward hanging around to build airplanes with Alfons. And frankly, Alfons was no longer sure that would satisfy Edward.
It probably depended a lot on whether or not Edward got his sight and alchemy back.
Al wasn't saying anything, but he wasn't leaving either, and the question Alfons was dying to ask finally escaped. “Did Edward say anything about us-”
"Shut up!” Al shouted, whirling to look at him. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes were fierce. “You're lying, you bastard, and maybe everybody else believes you, but you can't fool me! It's not true!”
Taken aback, Alfons stared at him in silence.
"I heard the guards - they're lying, I heard what they said you do to Brother -”
Oh crap. Oh God.
"I don't care, because it's not true! Brother will be free, and this whole business will end!”
"You didn't say this to Edward...” Alfons trailed off, aghast.
Al gave him a scornful look. “I'm not daft.” And left.
-
The next day, a tabloid featured an extremely graphic “interview” with Alfons about his and Edward's relationship.
Well, that explained the looks he had been getting all morning. Alfons stormed away, wishing he hadn't left his room that morning. Or his bed. He holed up in one of the unused briefing rooms and ate the junk there for lunch, not that he was particularly hungry.
He hated this. He really, really hated this. This was something he would never be able to shake off. Hell, even if he did reinvent the airplane, here, the newspapers would probably all be writing about how Fullmetal's Boyfriend Actually Has A Brain, Who Knew? He might as well get his name changed and be done with it.
The door creaked open, and Alfons was on his feet before he knew it. “It's not true!” he shouted at a surprised Winry. “I didn't say any of that!”
She closed the door carefully behind her. “I didn't think you had,” she said. “There wasn't enough stammering, for one.”
The attempt at teasing fell flat.
Alfons didn't really look at her as she navigated her way across the room to pull up a chair near him.
"I don't think anybody thinks that's a real interview,” she said, her tone firm.
"Half the city probably thinks it.” Alfons' stomach rolled over at the thought. He slumped in his chair, and sort of wished she would go.
Winifred had been his friend, but Winry didn't really seem to be. The risk of slipping up and forgetting was too great.
"You aren't taking this very well,” she observed quietly, the weight of her gaze heavy.
Alfons' eyes snapped up to meet hers. “In America, if anybody had found out about me and Edward we would have been put in jail,” he said. “How do you expect me to take it?”
She was silent, then, and the expression on her face was something like pity, which Alfons didn't like either.
"I didn't even know Edward was wanted!” Alfons continued, though he wasn't sure why. “I don't think even Edward knew he was. I didn't know there was almost a war happening here. And I didn't think nobody would want to talk to me.” He cut himself off before he could continue with the self-pitying trend, but the damage had already been done.
Now she was looking at him with unmistakable pity. Great.
"I think that nobody really knows what to do with you,” Winry said. “It's clear that Ed cares about you a lot, but we don't see that, you know? If Ed were around, he'd poke and prod everybody until they treated you the way he wants them to.”
The mental image raised by her words made a smile twitch at his mouth. Edward would probably have gone far beyond poking and prodding, more into shouting and throwing things territory.
"The truth is, I'm kind of lonely here, myself. I haven't been able to see most of my friends in Central, and of course Rose and Grandma are back in Resembool. So, let's talk.”
Alfons narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her sudden friendliness.
"I thought you also liked Edward,” he said, and then thought about how stupid it was to bring that up, especially when she was trying to be nice.
Winry sighed and shifted in her chair, but didn't leave. “I did like him,” she admitted. “But I haven't seen him for four years, and for a while I thought he was dead. I moved on with my life. Is it fair to hold a grudge because he did, too?”
Her words were gracious, but Alfons could see that she didn't believe them completely. The hurt was still there, no matter the rationalization, but he appreciated her effort.
"Ed deserves somebody who never gave up on him.” The admission cost her.
"I, er,” Alfons said awkwardly. Winry shook herself, and noticing Alfons' discomfort, let out a slightly forced laugh and changed the subject.
"So why not tell me about yourself?” she said, a bit more brightly than was convincing. “We've got plenty of time.”
"Where should I start?” He wasn't used to giving out his life's story.
"That country you come from, what did you say it was called? Jer-something?”
"Germany. But we called it Deustchland.” He really didn't know what to say. His life was so boring compared to what everybody here had been through.
"Oh, that's in that language you speak with Ed?”
"Yes. But Edward also speaks Russian - but he learned that from the Gate.” He remembered Edward's recent slips, and concern momentarily dampened his mood. At her confused look, he added, “He didn't learn it, whenever he got drunk he would speak it. It was part of the knowledge the Gate dropped in his head.”
"I guess I never heard it because the automail always kept him from getting drunk,” she mused. “So what was Germany like?”
Alfons paused to organize his thoughts. It was strange to be thinking about Germany consciously; normally he did his best to relegate it to the back of his mind. He began to speak, and she listened, occasionally asking questions. He didn't know whether she was really as interested as she looked, but he appreciated the effort.
-
A week passed, like that. A week where Al still pretended nothing was going on, where Alfons visited Edward as often as possible, and watched him grow increasingly nervous and pretend he was fine.
Completely fine. Totally fine, Alfons. He was not fucking worried, okay, did Alfons know how much longer until the verdict? Was he sure? ...How about now?
On the bright side, Winry seemed to have warmed to him significantly. She had even started telling him about automail construction, and was excited to learn just how technically inclined Alfons was.
Mustang, however, was growing increasingly harried. The streets of Central were still full of protesters, as were the rest of the major cities of Amestris. There were no riots, not yet, but he was beginning to worry about what would happen if the verdict should be unfavorable. Troops were moving, both in Central and elsewhere, politicians were lobbying frantically. When the week was up, Mustang irritably asked Harris how much longer it would take; people were clamoring for resolution.
The second week, the newspapers joined in. Some speculated that the court was going to hold out on purpose, keeping everybody occupied, thus allowing Drachma to attack unhindered. Angry letters poured in from civilians, saying how it was obvious Fullmetal was innocent, why was this farce still continuing? Mustang didn't have to forward them to the courthouse; they were receiving their fair share.
Harris explained, repeatedly, that two weeks was not a very long time to wait for a verdict on a trial this important. That didn't keep him from going to the courthouse practically every day. He stopped short of actually telling the judges to hurry up, because that would have been very inadvisable.
Amestris was a powder keg waiting to explode, and finally the judges noticed. The verdict would be announced on Wednesday.
On Monday, Edward was so nervous he couldn't sleep, even though Alfons tried every trick he knew (which wasn't that many. He was much better at keeping Edward awake). Alfons himself wasn't in much better shape. Afterwards, he had few recollections of what they had talked about, though he knew they must have talked a lot, given the state of his throat. All he remembered was quoting Die Lorelei for Edward, and the subsequent discussion of how drowning was a pretty nasty way to die. It was all very morbid, and might have completely ruined the poem for him.
Almost before he knew it, it was the night before. The worry was palpable, though for a change it didn't express itself in irritability. Everybody was uncharacteristically quiet, and even Al forgot to snipe at Alfons.
Surprisingly, Alfons did manage to sleep that night, and wished he hadn't. His dreams were unpleasant.
The mob outside the court building was larger than usual. They sat in quiet groups today, though their slogan-bearing banners were as ubiquitous as ever. Knots formed around the loudspeakers, already anticipating the beginning. Alfons wondered how many people in the country - the world - were waiting similarly, glued to a radio transmitter.
This was the last day. Alfons straightened up, looked ahead, and squared his shoulders.
It would be a good one.
-
Still, there was protocol to get through. Alfons could hardly pretend to listen, and focusing on deciphering the complicated English was rather beyond him at the moment. He contented himself with watching Edward. It wasn't his imagination - he was looking better. His posture was stronger, and he was actually making an effort at holding his head up, instead of allowing it to droop forward like he normally did. His hair was done up more carefully than usual, Alfons was almost certain of it.
Alfons wished they would get on with it.
Winry suddenly squeezed his arm, hard, and Alfons jerked his attention back to the proceedings, terrified he had missed something.
Justice Tsamis was speaking. “-by virtue of lack of evidence linking Mr. Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, to the destruction of Lior, and the many arguments presented by the defense-”
Alfons' heart was pounding so he could hardly think. If his lungs betrayed him now, he would never forgive them. He tried to regulate his breathing.
"-This court hereby finds Mr. Elric not guilty-”
Alfons didn't hear any more. He couldn't, because he was on his feet and people around him were cheering - a roar could be heard from outside - and Winry was practically jumping up and down, tears in her eyes, and Al looked like he might hug Mustang, who was grinning widely. And Edward - he was smiling, just a little, because he surely couldn't believe his good fortune, but it was enough. They would have all the time in the world for Edward to internalize that he was free.
Justice Tsamis broke off and motioned for silence, which was mostly ignored. When the bailiffs started throwing people out of the room, though, everyone quieted down.
The judge was now giving all sorts of details which Alfons really couldn't follow, about Paragraph This and Subsection That and the Law of Whatever, but Alfons didn't care. He was too happy.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, he caught the slightly tense look on Harris' face, and that was enough to cut through the haze in his mind. If he hadn't known his father so well he probably wouldn't have noticed it, but the expression was the same, and that meant something wasn't right.
There was silence, then, and Alfons could see worry starting to creep onto the faces around him. Justice Tsamis exchanged a look with the other judges, then spoke again.
"Though this is highly irregular, the court regrets that Mr. Elric will have to be kept in custody.”
Murmurs broke out, and Alfons felt cold sweat on his forehead. This was it.
"The prosecution has presented the court with new evidence, of a crime so terrible we cannot overlook it. Regrettably, this evidence is far more compelling than what was presented in the attempt to link Mr. Elric to the destruction of Lior.”
Not again. He couldn't tear his eyes from the judge's face, but could easily imagine the look of horror that must be growing on Edward's.
"According to findings presented to this court, Mr. Elric is hereby accused of having performed Human Transmutation in February of the year 1910. Counsel, we will see you in chambers.”
Back to part 1