Chapter Text
I wake up in a hospital.
At least, it feels like a hospital. The telltale blue glow from a healer’s water is replaced by a gross fluorescent wash of white, and the comforting tones of yellow, green, and brown from my home kingdom are replaced by faded wood and dusty white plaster. But I’m lying on my back against an uncomfortable mattress that feels like more springs than cotton, and the smell of bleach and antiseptic is flooding my now wrinkled nose. I’m wearing a flimsy cotton dress tied together in a barely modest excuse for clothing, and though they’ve left me in my underwear, the clothes I’d been wearing earlier are nowhere to be found. Definitely a hospital.
I groan and try to sit up, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.
“Hey, take it easy,” a smooth, authoritarian voice sounds from my left, and I turn to see a man gazing at me with a carefully neutral expression. He’s pale, with spiky black hair and slanted eyes that indicate possible Fire Nation descent, but his uniform is completely unknown to me. Gloves of a strange, almost silvery-white material cover his hands, and his arms and torso are covered by a dark blue coat with several colorful badges and buttons, probably indicating some sort of ranking system of this kingdom. I narrow my eyes at the various accessories, trying to gain some sort of idea as to where I’ve ended up, but nothing comes to mind. How far did the Spirit world take me?
“You’ve been injured, it’ll hurt less if you stay lying down,” the man says, and I scowl at his guarded tone. He, like me, is well-versed in the arts of manipulation, I can tell that much just by the way he hides his syllables. He’s trying to keep me here, but it’s not because he’s concerned for my safety. So why then?
“Where am I?” I ask, because it’s a perfectly logical question. I’ve never seen anything like this place, and when I last spoke to the Spirits… well, they’re never too keen on specifics.
“You’re at the hospital at Central Command,” the man says. “My name is Brigadier-General Roy Mustang, I’d like to ask you a few questions while we wait for the nurse to arrive.”
Ah, so he’s taking advantage of my disoriented state to interrogate me before I sober up from whatever drug must be running through my system. I know there’s a drug, because the horrible sluggish feeling that comes from most anesthetics is numbing most of my senses. I need to get out of here, fast. I hate hospitals.
“Go for it,” I say as neutrally as I can, shifting slightly in my seat. Something twinges at my hip, but it’s dulled by the effects of the painkillers. I manage to hide my grimace.
“First off, how are you feeling? You were caught in a pretty big blast,” Mustang asks, and my response slips out before I can decipher what he’s fishing for.
“I was?”
“Yes,” Mustang purses his lips. “Are you suffering from any memory loss? What was the last thing you remember?”
“I—” My response is cut short by the door on the opposite side of the room swinging open. A man in a long white coat strides in, carrying a clipboard and wearing a strange device around his neck. It looks like some sort of amulet, with three ends connected by thick black cords.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” the man with the amulet says. “I’m gonna check on your bandages and give you a quick screening to make sure nothing was damaged internally.”
“Wait, you’re the healer?” I ask. He looks nothing like the healers back home, in his crisp white uniform with his strange amulet and gloves that are blue and thin as skin. Where are his Water Tribe medallions? Why would he be wearing such clean white if he spends his days working with blood and guts? And why is he covering his hands with gloves? Won’t that affect his connection with the water?
“I’m your doctor, Doctor Angelou,” he says with a warm smile. By my side, Mustang stands up and walks around my bed to the healer—no, doctor. They call them doctors here, wherever here is.
“I think she may be suffering from some memory loss,” he reports. “I’d make sure there’s no additional head trauma that we might’ve missed on the first sweep.”
“Brigadier-General, all due respect, but I’d appreciate it if you and your men could wait a few minutes before interrogating my patient,” the doctor says in a pinched tone, ignoring Mustang’s comment. I don’t smother my smirk in time, and when Mustang sees it I catch a glint of frustration in his eye. “You can wait in the hall until I’ve deemed her fit for questioning.”
“Right, of course, apologies for any inconvenience I may have caused by being here,” Mustang says, and I don’t miss the coolness in his tone. “Miss,” he says to me, with a slight inclination of his head.
I glare at him in response.
He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then ducks out the door.
“Now, let’s check your heart rate, shall we?” the doctor suggests, and he pulls the amulet out from around his neck to settle two of the ends in his ears, holding the amulet end in one hand. “Take a deep breath in,” he instructs, and I do as he says, watching curiously as he presses the cold metal of the amulet against my sternum. He seems to be listening to something—my heart beat, I assume—though I can’t guess how he’d be doing it through this strange device. His ear is nowhere near my chest.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the amulet. His eyebrows shoot up in blatant surprise, and he points to it as well as if asking for clarification.
“This? It’s my stethoscope,” he explains, as if it were obvious. “I use it to listen to your heartbeat.”
“How?” I ask. I’m not afraid to speak plainly when I know I’m not being scrutinized like I had been with that slimy Brigadier-General.
The doctor smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as evidence of a lifetime of laughter and warmth. “Would you like to try it?”
I nod, and he goes to sanitize the ends that had gone in his ears and the cool surface of the amulet. Then he hands it to me and watches as I do as he’d done, placing the cold nubs into my ears and bringing the amulet up to my chest.
Instantly, a swell of sound floods up to my ears, in perfect sync with the steady thump of my heart.
“What the hell?” I exclaim, pulling the stethoscope away from me and shoving it into his hands. “How did it do that?!”
“This round part, it’s called the diaphragm. When it feels the vibrations from your heart, it shoots the acoustic energy from those vibrations up through these hollow tubes and into my ears.”
That’s strange. Healers had always just been able to hover healing water over peoples’ chests and feel if their heart was healthy. There was never any need to listen.
The healer continues the rest of his examination, using all sorts of other strange tools that I don’t recognize, but none are as foreign as the stethoscope. I don’t ask any more questions, but I do pay attention to everything he does, just in case it’s important later. I’m also mentally cataloguing all the places he checks extra carefully, namely a heavily bandaged section of my abdomen on my right side, and another on my left shoulder blade. He also adjusts some sort of splint on my ankle, and it twinges as if sprained but definitely not broken. The painkillers are numbing most of the pain, so I can’t exactly feel how bad any of my injuries are, but there’s a general feeling of unease and discomfort around my head, from the drugs or from some sort of injury is unclear.
Spirits, I hate hospitals.
“Well, everything looks to be in working order. You did get a scratch over your right eyebrow, and it’s gonna leave a scar, but I don’t see any signs of brain damage. I’m sure Brigadier-General Mustang will be thrilled.” The last part is said sarcastically, and I bite my lip to keep from giggling. I wonder how long Mustang has been haggling them to unlock my secrets.
I wonder how long I’ve been out in general. Hours? Days? I don’t like not being aware of time distortions. Sometimes I’ll get back from spending months in the Spirit World only to find that just a few days have passed in the real world, and it’s always terribly disorienting.
Doesn’t keep me from going back, though.
“We’ll have a nurse come in to redress your bandages, then I’m afraid I’ll need to let the Brigadier-General in to question you. You’re quite the mystery,” the doctor apologizes. “I hope the military is able to help you understand what’s happened.”
I notice how the doctor never asked for my name. I’m grateful for that, he’s clearly trying to do the opposite of what Mustang is after—he’s respecting my privacy, never asking more of me than he strictly requires for his practice. Maybe this military man needs some answers from me for his own job, but the way he’d spoken to me made me feel like there was more at hand. He’s searching for something in every word I speak, but two can play at that game.
A woman bustles in—the nurse, I assume—and gingerly peels back the bandage over my right eyebrow, then cleans it with alcohol and places another bandage firmly in place. Next she moves on to my back, and I wince as she cleans that one. I can’t see it, but it must be bad for me to feel it as much as I do through the haze of the drugs.
Though, I think they must be fading, since a steady throb from my head and abdomen is starting to swell up through my consciousness.
She moves on to the wound at my abdomen, and I feel myself go a little pale when she cuts away the old bandages. It’s a gaping red slash, about the length of my hand from the tip of my middle finger to the base of my palm, and about a hundred thick black strings hold the wound shut in neat little stitched rows. It looks like I was swept through by a dull meat cleaver, and doesn’t feel any better, either. When the nurse cleans the wound, I can’t stifle my little grunt of pain. She looks up at me apologetically.
“Sorry, the painkillers must be wearing off. I’ll prepare some more once I’m done here.”
“No,” I say, a bit louder than I’d intended. “I—it’s okay. I don’t react very well to heavy stuff.” It’s true, I’ve always hated the helpless feeling I get from intense painkillers, dulling my senses and slowing my reaction time, making me sluggish and sleepy. I’d rather have the sharpness of reality, even if it’s accompanied by the sharpness of pain.
“Are you sure? Your wounds are in pretty painful places, you’ll benefit from a few more doses.”
“Yes, I’m okay. I appreciate your concern,” I go a little heavy on the breeziness in my voice, but she doesn’t seem to catch on, instead shaking her head in exasperation before wrapping the wound on my abdomen back up and checking on the bandages of my foot. She doesn’t redress them, which proves my previous theory of it being a sprain rather than a cut or a break. A few minutes under healer’s hands could fix that right up, but for some reason they haven’t done it yet. Could be because official healers are in short supply here, but that doesn’t seem likely, seeing as it’s a big hospital. The window across the room from me gazes out onto a small courtyard, about three stories up, and the hospital is apparently in a place called ‘Central Command.’ It seems very official, which makes the lack of good healers even stranger.
The nurse gets up to leave, and I know that once she’s done the general will be allowed to come in, which I think I know I don’t want just yet.
“Wait,” I say, and the nurse turns away, a few strides from the door. She lifts a questioning brow at me, and it doesn’t look accusatory, but for some reason I don’t want to ask about the healers just yet. My instincts are telling me to keep my cards close to my chest, and if the doctor’s reaction to me not knowing about stethoscopes is anything to go by, there are a lot more unknowns about this situation than I previously thought.
“Uh, could I just get some water?” I can heal myself once I’m alone, I was trained under one of Avatar Korra’s very own pupils, so I know what I’m doing. Though, water has always been the hardest element for me to maintain, and everyone knows that self-healing is always more tedious than healing other people.
Whatever. I’ll figure it out.
“Of course,” the nurse smiles and steps over to a door on the other side of the room, reaching in and pulling out a bottle of clear water. “This is the bathroom, and there’s more water in here if you get thirsty and a nurse isn’t nearby. Once Brigadier-General Mustang is done with his questioning we can set you up with some crutches for that sprained ankle and start talking about physical therapy for you.” A sparkle of something giddy dances across the nurse’s cherub face at the mention of Mustang, and if the slight blush of her cheeks is anything to go by, I’d guess she admires him for something more than just his military status.
The nurse exits, and I reach for the water and take a quick sip to soothe my scratchy throat, making sure to leave enough for me to heal my foot properly. I hope it won’t be too much of a shock for them when I saunter out of bed with both feet good-as-new later today, but something tells me that’s just wishful thinking.
Mustang has enough class to wait a few minutes before barging back in, which gives me enough time to arrange myself into a carefully neutral sitting position, hiding my legs beneath the bedsheets and rolling my shoulders back, occupying my hands with the water bottle in front of me. My body language will be delicately unreadable like this, apart from my facial expressions, but I’ve always been good at fabricating those.
“Hello, Mustang.” I strike first, keeping my face warm and open in hopes of disarming any suspicious lances he might’ve prepared with the words behind his teeth. “The staff here speaks highly of you, I look forward to finding out what all the fuss is about.”
Mustang’s face flickers, the space between his brows crinkling for a split second as he absorbs the information—verbal and nonverbal—that I’ve given him. I’ve caught him off guard, but not by much. He smiles at me without any teeth, and moves to sit fluidly in a chair by my bedside.
“I appreciate that, though the real heroes are the doctors and nurses who tire away day and night to support those who need it most.” He smiles at me again, this time it’s half a quirk of his lips, and I have to fight to keep my laugh from bubbling up. Ouch, he’s both inserted himself as a modest worker for the people and made a jab at my current weakness in one incognito statement. This guy is good. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to really stretch my manipulating muscles like this, I’d be lying if I said I’m not excited.
“How humble of you,” I say with just enough drawl to be considered sarcastic by a close listener. Mustang definitely fits that bill. “What do you say we skip the pleasantries and dive straight into the interrogation? Believe me when I say I’m more lost than you.” The last statement needs no extra flair, I speak with complete honesty. While I don’t trust Mustang, I am eager to figure out just where the hell I am, and why I’ve woken up with wounds I don’t remember receiving.
“I’ll try to make this quick. My last intention is to make you feel more uncomfortable than you already are.” His words are honest, too, responding in kind to the slight vulnerability I’ve shown him. Perhaps he’s not as shady as I originally thought? Of course, that could be his goal—to lower my defenses. But he sounded genuine, and I’ve fine-tuned my lie detection skills to trust when I think I’m hearing the truth.
“I appreciate that, thank you.”
His eyes—greyish-blue so dark they could be mistaken for black—soften for a few moments, and I get a glimpse into the person behind the many masks he’s been wearing since I met him. He seems tired and confused and frustrated, and I’m able to empathize with that. I still don’t trust him, but I’m starting to understand him. But then his mask falls back into place and he straightens, slipping back into business mode.
“First off, could you tell me your name and where you’re from? I’m sure your family would like to know what’s happened to you.”
I try not to let my face harden at that, but I know I’ve failed once I see a faint twinge of surprise lift Mustang’s brow. My relationship with my family has always been a bit of an open wound.
“My name is Y/N Paeonia, from Hua Cheung,” I report. “But you won’t be needing to contact anyone for me, I take care of myself.”
“Hua Cheung? I can’t say I’ve heard of a city by that name, is it Xingese?” Mustang asks, thankfully skipping over the part about my lack of next of kin.
“No, Earth Kingdom. It’s behind the mountains north of Ba Sing Se, so it’s a little out of the way. I don’t doubt that you haven’t heard of it before.” My city is the most beautiful place on Earth, literally named the City of Flowers. I don’t try to hide the pride in my voice when I speak of it.
“That definitely sounds Xing. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the geography beyond Amestris.”
He should know something about Ba Sing Se, everyone knows about Ba Sing Se! I’d known that something was off about this place from the moment I’d woken up, but now I’m starting to think that the Spirits have sent me much farther than I originally thought. This is very, very wrong.
“Miss Paeonia, I’m just gonna cut to the chase. Last night, you were found in the very center of our headquarters, deep underground in a network of tunnels that are not available to the public. None of our sentries saw you, and there were no signs of forced entry anywhere around where you were found. The first we heard of you was the explosion that caused your injuries. Nobody else was hurt, but rumors of ambush and treason are running rampant as we try to understand exactly how you got in and what caused that explosion, and there are several officers who are eager to toss you into a cell and call it a day, but my men and I would prefer to understand exactly what happened so we can prevent it from happening again. Believe it or not, I’m one of the few people in this building who’s on your side. If you could explain to me everything you know as clearly as you can, we can help each other.” As Mustang speaks, he leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. His face remains still, but the glimpse of humanity I’d caught earlier is still fresh in my mind.
I take a deep breath. I know I should probably be keeping my secrets close, but I really, truly need to know what’s going on just as much as he does. The Spirits had been terribly vague, as they always are, which means I’m left with nothing but the assistance of other people. If what Mustang says about the other officers is true, I’ll need to put away my claws and start admitting to my vulnerability.
“Okay. I’ll help you, but on one condition,” I say, pointing an accusing finger at Mustang, who inclines his head to show he’s listening. “No more of this verbal back-and-forth. It’s fun, but not what we need right now. If I’m gonna open up to you, I want the same thing in return.”
Mustang’s face melts into a slow, easy smile, real and warm, and I can’t help but return it. “Sure. You can probably see through all of my tricks, anyways. I don’t think I’ve spoken to someone so well-versed in the arts of manipulation as you in years.”
“Thanks,” I say, grinning openly. “Same to you. If I’m not taken out of here in chains, I’d love to challenge you in a game of cards.”
“I can think of no better way to celebrate solving your case,” Mustang chuckles.
“Perfect.” My smile softens, and I take a moment to enjoy this temporary peace we’ve made before we begin treading the dangerous waters that make up this mystery. Then I huff a breath and look around, shifting a little in my seat. “I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?”
“That would make the most sense, I think.”
“Okay. So, I’m not just Y/N Paeonia from Hua Cheung.” I sigh. “I’m also the Avatar.”
I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. I’ve just barely finished my training, so I haven’t had the opportunity to tell the world about my existence. As far as most people know, the Avatar is some unknown entity born to some Earth Kingdom family who is still working on their training. I suppose now is as good a time as any for that ‘big reveal.’
“Avatar?” His eyebrows scrunch together in genuine confusion, and I huff out a mirthful laugh.
“I know, I’m supposed to look more Earth Kingdom, but my family is really weird.” Truthfully, I was born in probably the worst place for an Avatar to be born in the history of Avatars. To most parents, birthing an Avatar is one of the greatest honors imaginable. To mine… well, it wasn’t exactly a celebration when they found out.
“I’m sorry if I sound ignorant when I say this, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Uh, what? A nervous giggle rips from my lips, and I raise my eyebrows at his perfectly honest, confused face.
“Do you need proof or something? I can do some bending, but I’d prefer if you’d just take my word for it, buddy. I’m Avatar Y/N, and the Spirits are the reason I ended up in the middle of your fancy military compound.”
A flicker of understanding passes over his face, but it’s not the right kind of understanding. He looks like he’s just realized that he’s talking to a child. “Ah, yes, okay. I see. The spirits brought you here. And you’re… an avatar.”
“Not an Avatar, the Avatar. Pretty sure there can only be one at a time. Do you seriously not know what I’m talking about?”
“I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, but I’m afraid you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone else around here who can understand. What does the Avatar do?” He speaks as if he’s trying to communicate with one of those crazy junkies from the streets of Republic City, and my frustration is quickly spiking into panic. How far removed from my home am I that the Avatar is completely unheard of? I swallow the sharp nausea in my stomach and look away from Mustang’s condescending face.
“I… I can bend all four elements. Like this,” I hold my hand out over the opening of the water bottle on my lap and draw some water out, coaxing it around my head in a lazy swirl before letting it slip back into the bottle. “Waterbending, you know waterbending, right?” I ask, then curl my fingers into a fist and make a weak punching motion to summon a small burst of flame. It heats the air for a few seconds, a lance of gentle red fire about three feet long dies out before it hits the wall. “There’s firebending. I could do air and earth but I think you get the point.”
I look back up at Mustang, and his expression of placation has been replaced by abject astonishment. His face is pale, and he watches me with wide eyes.
“How did you do that?” He breathes.
“I told you, I’m the Avatar. It’s in the job description.” Finally, he’s starting to get it.
“But… but that’s impossible.” I try not to roll my eyes. I just showed him that it is possible, didn’t I? “You didn’t need to start a spark for that flame, and you just… moved the water, ignoring every law of gravity, physics, everything.”
“Well, duh. That’s kinda how waterbending works. And what do you mean, spark? I can make sparks, too, if you want?” I demonstrate, opening my palm and letting some colorful beads of light dance around at my fingertips in a little trick I’d learned from a firebending child back during my training.
Mustang stands up abruptly, and it almost looks like a retreat. His eyes are comically wide, and when he opens the door to speak to someone on the other side his voice is hushed and tight.
“Hey, where are you going?” I ask, but he ignores me.
“Hawkeye, find Fullmetal and Al and bring them here immediately.” Another voice on the other side of the door responds, but I can’t quite make it out from my bed. Mustang’s shoulders slump, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know. At first glance, yes, it looks like she might’ve, but some things just don’t add up. Even Ed couldn’t do the things she’s just shown me.”
“Mustang! What’s going on? What did I do?” He closes the door and walks back up to my bedside, face hard. Gone is the friendly banter we’d had earlier, now his face is clouded by suspicion and doubt.
“I’m not sure, but your… abilities… have only one possible explanation, and it’s not a good one.” He purses his lips, then seems to decide something as he turns back to the chair and sits down, back straight and arms folded. “Did you commit the taboo? Did you try to transmute a human?”
“ What?! Look, buddy. I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I’ve already explained how my abilities work, and why. I’m. The. Avatar. I didn’t do any fancy taboos or—or transform a person or any of that junk. I know I don’t exactly look like the Spirit’s chosen one, but nobody does! It just happens, alright?” Desperation is edging my voice, but I can’t stop it. This whole situation feels too familiar, me defending myself and pleading with the others to understand that I never chose this, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, begging for help and getting nothing but coldness in return.
Mustang heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his strangely gloved hands. “I’m… inclined to believe you, but just know that what you’ve just shown me is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. You may not think your abilities are all that spectacular, but science and logic argue otherwise.”
“Science and—?!” My exclamation is cut short when the door slams open to reveal a young man in a red coat, face wild and eyes bright.
“Mustang, I’m here. What’s going on?” His gaze swivels to land on me, and his golden eyes narrow. His skin is tan, but his hair is long and molten gold to match his glittering eyes. He’s short, in a plain grey vest and tight black leather pants that bunch up slightly at the ankles of his boots. Though, the most striking part of his appearance is definitely his right arm. It’s made of metal, a silver prosthetic attached to a scarred port at his shoulder. Behind him, another young man comes running in, chest heaving as if he’d sprinted after the first from across the base. They’re definitely brothers, or maybe very close cousins, due to the similarities in their features. The second is taller, and his hair is cut short while the first has his tied into a long, silken ponytail. The coloring of his eyes leans more towards green than yellow, and his skin is paler.
“Brother, what’s the big hurry—oh, are you the one they found underground?” The second asks, stepping into the room behind the first, shorter man. His face is more open, more kind, while the one with the red coat is regarding me like he’s waiting for a bomb to detonate. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes right back at him, raising a daring brow.
“Y/N, could you show them what you just showed me?” Mustang asks, pointing to the water bottle still on my lap.
“What, my bending?” I scoff. “Not if they’re gonna go berzerk, running around accusing me of taboos and rambling about science and reason like you did.”
Mustang’s face tightens and he sighs frustratedly through his nose. “Y/N, please. These two will understand your abilities better than I can.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, but seriously, if you think this is crazy, you should see me in the arena. You’d shit your pants.” The one in the red coat snorts.
I bend some water out of the bottle, and feel the room go still. Deciding to add a little flair this time around, I splash it up towards the ceiling and freeze it mid-splat, so it forms a frozen lattice over my head, before unfreezing it and coaxing it back through the neck of the bottle. I drop my bending hand and look back at the three men beside me, raising my eyebrows.
Mustang tilts his head, and I take that to mean that I should firebend a bit, to show that I’m really the Avatar and not just a strangely colored waterbender, so I open my palm and play around with the sparks for a little bit, then close my fist and send out a burst of true flame, a little more orange this time because I’m frustrated and don’t feel like holding back enough to make a colder flame.
“Boom. Avatar. What more do you want?” I huff. “I guess while I’m at it I might as well heal my foot, since you people clearly don’t have any half decent waterbenders around.” I pull the water from the bottle again and set to pushing my healing energy into it, turning it a glowing opaque blue and soothing my throbbing ankle. It’s a good distraction, keeps me from needing to look up at the faces of the three men who are probably looking at me like I shouldn’t exist.
This sucks. I don’t think Avatar Korra or Avatar Aang ever had to deal with this kind of stuff. I’d much rather be forced to fight for my life using brute strength than through convincing everyone around them that they’re not a monster. First my family, now apparently an entire city, maybe even a whole country? How is this fair?
“She—she made that fire, but I don’t see any gloves like yours, Mustang. She didn’t need a spark,” the boy with the shorter hair says. “That’s impossible.”
I roll my eyes.
“And the water, how—how did you do that?!” The other boy asks. I growl, deciding my foot is healed enough for me to walk on, and bend the now transparent water back into the bottle, ripping at the bandages and freeing my foot. I swing it over the edge of the bed and stand up, ignoring the way the wound on my side pulls and stings. It’ll require more focused healing if I want to do it correctly, so it’ll have to wait until I’m alone.
“I already told you, so many times, I’m the Avatar, I can waterbend, I can earthbend, I can firebend, I can airbend. Could all of you stop treating me like I’m about to blow up or something?! I’m not hurting anybody, so just leave me alone!” Alone. I’m always better alone. How many times have I been thrown out because I’m too different, too volatile? Even the Spirits didn’t want me, chucking me out of my home and into this stupid place that doesn’t want me either. I’ve learned my lesson! I get it, universe! Nobody is ever going to want me, I’ll keep to myself. Consider me a lone wolf from this point on!
That is, if I can get out of here.
“But—but—that doesn’t make any sense! There was no equivalent exchange with what she did there, she just did it!” The boy in the red coat fumes.
“I know, which is why I called you and Al here. She says she didn’t do human transmutation, but I could think of no other way that those kinds of abilities could exist,” Mustang explains, ignoring me. At least now I know which one is Al and which one is Fullmetal. What the hell kind of name is Fullmetal?
“Okay, look. I think I know what’s going on here,” I hold my hands out in a placating gesture, and watch as three pairs of eyes swivel over to me. “I think—I think I might’ve… teleported here? I don’t know how, but basically, where I’m from, I’m the only person who can do what I do too. But it’s not because I did… whatever human transmutation you’re talking about. It’s because the Spirits chose me to have these abilities. I’ve been the Avatar since I was born. And yesterday, I was chilling in the Spirit world, and I was told that my talents were needed elsewhere, and I woke up in this hospital. I think that the Spirits must’ve known that my world wasn’t in any immediate danger, so they sent me to a world that needed me. The Avatar exists to serve and protect the people, so that’s what I’ll do, for as long as I’m here. I don’t want to hurt anybody, I don’t want to blow up anything, I just want to help. Can I please just do that?”
The room is silent. I wait, forcing myself not to shift under their scrutiny. Fullmetal still looks angry, like I’m a puzzle refusing to be solved, and Mustang looks tired and distrustful. Al’s face is just open and curious, and I can tell he’s going to be my saving grace in this place.
“Brother, I know it sounds insane, but I think she’s telling the truth. We might not be able to explain it, but we can try to take advantage of it, right? I mean, stranger things have happened.” Al and Fullmetal share a look that speaks of deep understanding between the two of them. In an instant, they seem to have an entire conversation, and I bite down on the miserable jealousy bubbling up my throat. I’ve never had anyone who understood me like that, not even in the days before my family decided to cast me out.
“I don’t like it. There’s too much we don’t know.” Fullmetal crosses his arms, silver over flesh, and eyes me up and down. I look down at my flimsy hospital dress and blush, but don’t adjust my stance. His red jacket hangs from his flesh shoulder, and his arms aren’t looped through the sleeves, as if he’d grabbed it in a hurry just in case he needed it later.
An idea comes to mind, and I smirk as I sweep one foot out and flick my wrists up, then wind my arms back, airbending a blast of wind that shoots out around Fullmetal’s body, lifting the coat from his shoulder and into my outstretched hand. I smirk at their gobsmacked faces as I slip into the coat and wrap it around my body, testing out the fitting.
“Perfect! You can have this back when someone gets me some real clothes.”
“I’m guessing that was… airbending?” Al asks. I nod and smile.
“Yep! You’re catching on!”
“Wh—Hey! That’s mine!” Fullmetal snarls.
“Too bad! I’m not gonna sit here half naked while you people argue about things I’ve already explained!” I grab the water bottle from the bed just in case I need to slash anything (you never know, and I haven’t been allowed to use the water whip since I first learned it in training) and stalk over to the door, determined to find some proper clothes and maybe a bite to eat? Jesus, it’s like these people have never heard of hospitality.
“Uh, where do you think you’re going?” Mustang asks sharply, sticking his hand out to stop me.
“I want clothes, and I’m hungry, and I don’t like hospitals, and I’ve told you everything I know, so I’m taking off. Pleasure meeting you boys, Fullmetal, I’ll return your coat within the next—”
“You can’t leave,” Mustang orders. “You’re a key part of an ongoing investigation, we need to keep you here, at Central.”
“Uh, no way am I staying here, I’m not an invalid. You people can still keep tabs on me if I go to a shitty hotel somewhere close.” I look back at the hospital bed and shiver, remembering the fog of the drugs clouding my systems. Yeah, no hospitals.
“If the doctors say you’re stable enough to leave, you can stay at one of the dorms here at headquarters, but you're not being released from our care until we’ve deemed you not a threat.” Mustang’s eyes are unwavering as they bore into mine, and it takes all my self restraint not to just chuck him out the window with a spike of earth.
“Fine,” I growl. “But could I at least get some fucking clothes? Where did my old ones go?”
“They were destroyed in the blast,” a no-nonsense voice comes from the open door. I turn and see a tall woman with pale yellow hair tied into a folded bun behind her head, and cool, appraising brown eyes. Draped in her arms is what looks to be a set of thin blue cotton pants and a matching button-up shirt, and she carries a tray with some bread, meat, and vegetables on a plate. “The doctors have been alerted of your improved condition and are working on the paperwork to discharge you from the hospital. A room is being prepared for you in the military dorms, it will be ready by the time you’re free to go.”
“Thank you, Hawkeye,” Mustang lets out a relieved sigh, and the woman sets the tray onto my bedside table before shooting him a salute. She lays the bundle of clothes beside the tray, and I pick up the shirt, eyeing it warily. “We can set up more permanent accommodations for you once we get a better grip on what happened.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “I—okay. Alright.” I bite my lip. This is crazy—this is crazy! I’m in another world, where apparently my bending is impossible, and it’s not just because I’m the Avatar. What would Avatar Korra do in this situation? Or Aang or Ozai or any of the others? This has got to be a first in Avatar history. I can practically feel my past lives looking at me like, I don’t know, you handle this one!
Stupid Spirits, stupid military, stupid Y/N, stupid stupid stupid.
It’s fine. One step at a time, that’s all I can do. That’s how I’ve made it through life so far, just one step at a time. And right now, that means living in one of these weird dorms and hoping these people don’t decide I’m some sort of scientific miracle to be tested in a lab.
I shrug out of Fullmetal’s coat and, because I’m petty and bending always makes me feel better, I airbend it back to him, slamming him in the face with the bright red fabric. He sputters and yanks it off his head, glaring at me through static-charged strands of hair that have come out of his ponytail. Mustang’s lips quirk up into a smile that’s mostly amused but bordering on affectionate, but he smothers it before anyone else notices. Note to self: re-examine the relationship dynamic between these four. I’ll need to know as much as I can about them if I’m going to survive.
“We’ll give you your privacy,” Hawkeye says sternly, shooting a sharp look over at the three men. Al blushes and nods, walking out behind Hawkeye without another word, but Fullmetal and Mustang linger a little longer, Fullmetal eyeing me distrustfully and Mustang keeping his face carefully blank. I roll my eyes.
“Don’t worry, idiots. I won’t try to escape. Just go, you can wait outside if it’ll make you feel better, but if I catch you peeking through the window I’ll earthbend you to a pulp.” I smirk as Fullmetal’s face goes beet red and he snarls, stumbling back.
“Like I’d fucking peek at a mutant like you! Gravity-defying dumbass fucking glowing water shit…” he continues to growl profanities as he stomps out the door, and Mustang gives me a curt nod before following, closing the door behind him.
I let out a breath and force my shoulders to drop, easing out the tense knots already starting to form. One step at a time, that’s all you can do.
I untie the ribbons holding the hospital gown together and let it slip from my shoulders, wincing at the bandages coating my body. My back is definitely mottled with some sort of bruising, that’s got to be the reason why it aches so much rather than stings. A few minutes under healing hands will fix it right up, once I’m settled in the dorms I’ll make sure to tend to my injuries before anything else.
The clothes are simple, a pair of cotton trousers and a button-up shirt that’s entirely too big, especially around the sleeves. The ends dangle far past my fingertips, and the hem brushes my mid-thigh, almost to my knee. Almost comically large, for all intents and purposes it could be a dress! If I just had a belt to tie around the middle, maybe roll up the sleeves a few times…
I grin as a plan starts to form in my mind, reaching out for a drop or two of the water from the bottle to help me cut the fabric. With a quick flick of my hand, the water slices cleanly over the fabric of the trousers, and I use my hands to rip them the rest of the way until most of the length of the legs are removed to form makeshift shorts. I slip into them and tie the band to make sure it's secure, then move on to the legs, tearing off two long strips of fabric and using a small, precise blue flame to seal the ends together, forming a ribbon long enough for me to tie around my waist.
After trying to roll them up in a handful of different ways, I decide the sleeves are a lost cause and rip them off at the shoulder seam, creating a cute yet functional sleeveless button-up dress. I’m burning the scraps of ripped up fabric into ash when Fullmetal comes barging in, metal hand clamped over his eyes and mouth curled into a snarl.
“Alright lady, what’s the holdup? If you’re trying something I’ll—”
“Oh, stop it. You can look,” I roll my eyes and toss the ashes out the window, clapping my hands together a few times to get rid of the dust. It floats gently down the three stories, sprinkling over the fresh green leaves of a tree outside. Then I plop back down onto the bed and start tucking in to the prison food I’ve been given, watching carefully as Hawkeye, Al, Mustang, and a new man I don’t recognize come back in, standing in a line in front of me.
It’s hard not to feel like I’m being completely isolated like this, in a Me VS Them type situation. The band of heroes facing off against the elusive enemy.
“Y/N, this is Lieutenant Jean Havoc. He’ll be your escort for the foreseeable future, while we work on your case and get you settled.” Mustang motions to the unfamiliar man, who steps forward and offers a friendly smile. He’s tall, taller than the rest of the men in the room, with sandy blond hair cropped close to his scalp around the back and sides, with longer strands piled in an artfully messy tumble atop his head. His eyes are soft baby blue, and his jaw is sharp and well-structured. More than well-structured, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. He extends a large hand my way, and when I shake it his fingers wrap all the way around my hand in a firm grasp.
I very pointedly do not blush.
“Hi,” I say as coolly as I can. “Y/N Paeonia. Though, I’m sure these jackasses have already given you a full profile.”
“I’m aware of the circumstances, yes,” Havoc says with a rakish smile, and damn that should not be legal. As if I needed another complication to this situation, the Spirits have gone and given me this ?! “Though from what I hear, you’re a tough egg to crack.”
I shove down the temptation to make a lewd joke, instead shrugging my shoulders and going back to my now nearly empty plate.
Just then, the door opens and another nurse comes in, carrying a clipboard and a small kit with what definitely looks like needles and sedatives tucked neatly inside.
“Oh, good. You’ve eaten,” the nurse smiles and takes the plate, placing it on a table across the room before returning to my side, laying the needles out and beginning to fill them with various liquids.
“Wait, are those drugs for me? I told the other nurse no drugs,” I put a hand on her arm to still her, and she looks up, surprise and concern flitting over her features.
“Oh, but these aren’t too terribly strong, they’ll just help the pain, nothing else. You won’t be unconscious, just a little fuzzy.”
“No,” I shift in my seat, looking down at the needles. My stomach does a little flip, and I swallow a wave of queasiness. “It’s okay, I have a pretty high pain tolerance. This is nothing.”
The nurse purses her lips. “Miss, I’d really prefer if we gave you something, your injuries aren’t anything to laugh about. You almost didn’t make it out of that explosion.”
Well this is an interesting development.
“Whatever,” I smooth out the shake before it touches my voice, but not in time to keep my hand from trembling a little in its place on my lap. “I’m here now, and I feel fine. Look, my ankle’s all better, too!”
To emphasize my point, I stand up, bouncing a few times on the balls of my feet, ignoring the nurse’s appalled gasp.
“Miss, please, sit back down! You’ll open your stitches, or worsen your sprain!” She grabs my wrists and sets me back down onto the bed, and I roll my eyes.
“I told you, I’ve got a high pain tolerance! Don’t worry about it!” I force a toothy smile onto my face. “In fact, I think I’m about ready to get out of here! Are those discharge papers?” I snatch the clipboard out of the nurse’s hands and roll to the other side of the bed, leaping off and darting over to the opposite wall before she can react. I scan the contents of the paper pinned to the board, pleased to see that not only does this region write in the same language that I read, but they also use a similar system for releasing patients. “Great! Where do I sign? Oh, here. Can I borrow that? Thanks!” I close the distance between me and the sputtering nurse, plucking a pen from her breast pocket before retreating back to my wall and scribbling my signature on the lines indicated.
I press the clipboard back into the nurse’s chest, ignoring her cries of “wait!” and “the doctor still hasn’t cleared you!” I reach around her and grab the water bottle, tucking it under one arm and grabbing Havoc’s with the other. Even through the thick blue military uniform I can feel the swell of impressive muscles, and I roll my eyes while sending a silent curse to whatever Spirit constructed this beautiful nightmare.
“Well escort, looks like I’ve been discharged! Now you can escort me to my dorm and I can get started plotting my escape.” I hum pleasantly, moving to march out the door, but Havoc doesn’t budge, looking nervously over at Mustang.
“Uh, Boss?” He asks. Mustang shrugs, and I let out a longsuffering groan.
“Can I please just get out of here?” I whine, because I’m whining at this point, since nothing else has been working.
“She sounds like you, brother,” Al laughs, and Fullmetal lets out an indignant squawk.
“Hawkeye?” Mustang asks. Hawkeye thinks for a moment, then shrugs.
“The dorm will probably be ready by now, there’s not much to do with the lower-level bunks,” she explains. Mustang looks up and meets Havoc’s eyes, nodding minutely.
“Lieutenant, you may escort her to her dorm. You remember where it is?” Mustang asks with a sigh. Beside me, Havoc chuckles.
“How could I forget?” he quips. I narrow my eyes.
“We’re just letting her go?” Fullmetal hisses. “You saw what she did, she could be dangerous!”
“Only if you piss me off, pipsqueak,” I snap. Fullmetal’s face goes red with rage and he turns on me, mouth open wide to retort, but Al slides in front of him at the same time that Havoc finally steps out the door with me, and it closes before Fullmetal can unleash his full rage on me.
I take a deep breath, shoulders deflating with my exhale, and step away from Havoc’s side, reluctantly releasing his gigantic, beautiful arm. Finally out of that stupid room, I take a minute to survey my surroundings. The hospital appears to be a wing of a much bigger building, my room looking out into a courtyard surrounded by other wings of the building. I mentally catalogue each turn we take, every door we pass through, making note of possible exits just in case things get messy. We exit into a larger open foyer, with large staircases leading up to the balcony of the floor we’re walking, down to large wooden doors that I assume to be the building’s entrance. We go down a set of stairs to the second floor, crossing a balcony to the other side of the foyer before cutting down a hallway lined with big, important-looking doors.
“I have half a mind to blindfold you so you can’t see where we’re going, but Boss seems to think you’re not going to be a threat to us,” Havoc says suddenly, startling me out of my scrutinization.
“Kinky,” I mutter without thinking, then blush and shake my head, cursing my stupid idiot brain. Get it under control, Paeonia! “I mean—uh, I’m not. A threat, I mean. Despite being treated like a fucking hostage here I’m inclined to think you’re the good guys. I only fight bad guys.”
By my side, Havoc lets out a humorless laugh that’s more of a tired sigh. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. The military is a big place, it’s easy for bad guys to creep in here and hide in plain sight.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this your way of like, giving me a ten second warning before you turn around and attack me or something?”
Havoc laughs again, a real, full-bellied laugh, and it’s a nice sound. Rich, friendly, and warm. “No, no. I’m under orders to keep you safe unless you become dangerous. I’m just saying… I guess, don’t hand out your trust to anyone in a blue uniform. The Brigadier-General is working on fixing the system, but until that happens, keep your eyes open, yeah?”
I shrug and kick at the carpet at my feet. It’s so short it’s practically stone, and blood red. “I guess,” I mutter. So the military is corrupt, huh? Who woulda thought that an institution built on controlling people through brute force and violence would have some rotten spots? That’s perfect, just another problem for me to deal with.
I guess that’s why I was sent here, to deal with this world’s problems. I shouldn’t be so reluctant about it. If the Spirits think that this is where the Avatar is needed most, then I’ll do my best to be the Avatar they need.
“Ah, we’re here. Number 217,” Havoc stops in front of a plain-looking brown door, and I curse as I realize that while I’d been lost in my thoughts I’d completely lost track of where I am. The corridor we stand in now looks perfectly ordinary, with rows and rows of brown doors just like the one we’re standing at lined on each side of the hallway. Havoc opens the unlocked door, and inside I see the room is already lit by a few lamps and an open window letting in the white gold of the afternoon sunshine.
It’s cramped, with one tiny twin bed shoved up into a corner and beside it a dark wood nightstand with a small reading lamp looks like the joints holding the wood together are about to fall apart. Off to one side is a small kitchen area, with a handful of wooden cupboards and a tiny stove with a rusty kettle stationed atop one of the burners. There’s also a sink, and a few dishes set on a drying rack on the counter beside it. A rickety table with two chairs sits in front of an open door that leads into a small white-tiled bathroom with a shower, sink, and mirror, and a few towels stacked on the lid of the toilet. There’s also a dresser and a cloudy full-body mirror pressed into the corner opposite the bed, and I notice a few stacks of various plain articles of clothing arranged atop the dresser.
Overall, the whole space is probably as big as the one-automobile garage I’d rented from a family back in Hua Cheung, which means I’m not exactly accustomed to luxury, but still, it could definitely use some color. This sparsely decorated room isn’t going to know what hit it by the time I’m done with it.
“Well, here it is. Home sweet home. My dorm is just across the hall, so I can keep an easy eye on you. You’re free to do as you please while you're here, but if you get hungry or you want to explore the base, you’ll need to bring me with you. The doors are arrayed to alert me if you try to leave, so don’t do that. I’ll wake you up at dawn every morning for breakfast, and tonight I’m under orders to keep you in your room until dawn tomorrow.”
“What?!” I squawk, interrupting his speech. “So I’m on house arrest?”
“We’re still working on accommodations for you, and with this and… other outside situations coming into play… we need to keep you in one place while Mustang comes to a decision.” Havoc crosses his arms, giving me a look that tells me that this point is completely nonnegotiable. I growl and put my hands at my hips to keep myself from pouting like a child.
“Fine. But tomorrow I’ll be allowed to go do shit? I’m of no use to anybody cooped up in here.”
“I’m sure Mustang will arrange something,” Havoc says behind a gentle amused smile, and I quirk my brow. He notices my look and shakes his head, as if clearing a thought. “Sorry, you just… you really remind me of Boss sometimes. Ed, not Mustang.”
“Ed?” I ask. Havoc chuckles and scratches at the back of his head bashfully.
“The uh… the one you called ‘pipsqueak’ back there,” he grins. “You’re treading thin ice with those height jokes, especially since you’re half a foot shorter than he is.” I shrug.
“So Fullmetal isn’t his actual name? Shoulda known it was too weird,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
“Nah, that’s his title. Edward Elric, better known as the Fullmetal Alchemist,” Havoc rummages through his pockets for something, then procures a thin black cord with a golden key dangling from the end. “Oh, and here’s your key. Don’t lose it, it’s a pain in the ass to make copies.”
I take the key and loop the cord around my neck, tucking it under my shirt for safety. The metal presses cooly against my skin, and I suppress a shiver. “Alchemist? What’s that?”
“You don’t know what alchemy is?” he exclaims, blue eyes bugging wide. I shake my head.
“No, is that what you meant when you said the doors were ‘arrayed?’ Is that alchemy?” I hadn’t seen any trip wires or hidden latches that might indicate an alarm system when we’d walked in, but now, looking back, I notice a few carved circles by the doorknob. They’re complicated little drawings, with symbols I don’t recognize. They could be purely decorative, but who decorates the wood over a doorknob?
“Uh, yeah. It’s basically a science focused around transmutation. You take one thing and turn it into another using these drawings called transmutation circles. I’m the wrong person to ask about it, I’m more of a guns n’ combat type of guy. But Ed and Al, they’re the best alchemists around. I’m sure they could give you a crash course,” Havoc explains, still looking at me like I’m from a different dimension.
Oh wait, I probably am.
“Honestly, when I was briefed about you, they weren’t too specific. Just said you had some strange abilities and they wanted to keep an eye on you. I’d just assumed you were a unique alchemist like Ed and Al, but I guess that’s not the case.” He looks me up and down, as if trying to prise my secrets from my body just by looking. Maybe he’s searching for some of those transmutation circles, or metal limbs like that Edward guy.
“Did the Elrics try to do human transmutation? Is that why Ed has that prosthetic arm?” I ask, and judging by Havoc’s poorly suppressed flinch, I’d guess I’m right on. “Why is that so bad? If alchemy is just changing one thing to another, what’s the problem with doing it to a human?”
“It’s—that’s private information,” Havoc says in a rush, eyes darting to the still open door. He walks over to it, turning his head side to side to make sure the corridor is empty, before closing the door behind him and moving briskly back up to my side, voice hushed. “Look, human transmutation is risky business. Like I said, I don’t know any specifics, but it’s a big taboo in the world of alchemy. You just… you don’t mess with that kind of stuff. It’s too volatile, too powerful. If word got out that those two tried it, even if it was a long time ago, they’d be put against a wall and killed for it. I don’t know how you figured it out, but you need to keep quiet about it, okay?”
I blink, taking in Havoc’s intense expression. “Okay, I won’t say anything. ‘S not like I’ve got anybody to talk to about it besides people who already know.”
Havoc lets out a breath and nods. “Right. Okay. I guess I’ll… be across the hall. Let me know if you need anything.” He turns, making to walk out the door, but I reach out and catch his hand, stopping him.
“Wait,” I blurt out. What am I doing? I don’t know. It just hadn’t felt right for him to leave just yet, and I’d let my instincts do the talking rather than my logic. He raises a brow, and I flounder, racking my brain for something to say. Why had I stopped him? Something had told me I should, so I did.
“Um, I guess… thank you?” That’s a start. “Thanks for telling me. I can tell that wasn’t something you usually go around sharing willy-nilly.”
Something nags at the back of my mind, and by now I know what my conscience is trying to tell me, but I don’t like it.
“You’re welcome,” Havoc says with an easy smile. “Though it was mostly just to protect my Boss.”
“Right, but… still.” Spirits, this is hard. “I guess… I guess since I’ve already shown Al and Ed and Mustang, I can show you. Sorta like… I don’t know, and eye for an eye? I’ll tell you some sensitive information in return for yours.”
“Equivalent exchange,” Havoc nods. I tilt my head in confusion. “Oh, it’s sorta the base principle of alchemy. Every action has its equal and opposite reaction. You can’t have one thing without sacrificing something of equal value,” he explains, holding his hands out in the gesture of a scale. “Equivalent exchange.”
“Okay, yeah. Equivalent exchange.” I step back, breathing deeply as I search for something to do. I still have the water bottle tucked under my arm, and that had been enough to get Ed all feral and snarly, so I unscrew the lid, distantly aware of Havoc’s eyes trained diligently on me.
I’d mastered waterbending last, so it’s still fresh in my mind, but it had definitely been the most difficult for me to get the hang of. Earth came as naturally to me as breathing, as my home element. Fire had been a bit harder to learn simply because I was obsessed with making a lot of it, rather than focusing my energy into smaller, more controlled blasts. Air was like sprinting through a field after a long day of being stuck inside, exhilarating and bubbly. But water was always so… uncooperative. It’s heavy and sluggish, it flows where it wants, when it wants, unless you have a perfect grip on it at all times. Fire and air will eventually petter out if you’re finished using it, which means the hardest part is maintaining it. But water always just stays , and it slips around without warning, unlike the solid surety of earth.
Even now, after fully mastering the element and graduating from my training, I need to actually focus on what I’m doing, while with the other three elements I’m able to bend almost without thinking.
I drop the bottle, but keep my hand hovering over the water, watching as the now empty container falls to the floor with a quiet thunk, but the water remains swirling just under my palm. I bend it around my head, twirling and looping it in a lazy dance, sometimes splashing it up in an arc over my head that I freeze mid air, allowing tiny puffs of sparkling diamonds clatter over my head before unfreezing them and incorporating them back with the main body of the water.
I use the same finale as earlier, tossing it into the air to freeze in a snowflake shape on the ceiling and watching as the ice sparkles in the sun for a few moments before guiding it in a line back into the bottle, which I screw the lid back onto and leave on the ground.
When I finally decide to peek at Havoc’s face, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“I know, that should be impossible! What about the laws of physics?! Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before, so save your breath.” I know I’ve just stolen his easiest reaction by saying that, but I’m getting tired of hearing that something I’ve just done right in front of somebody is ‘impossible.’ Like, did you not see me? If it can be done, that means it’s not impossible.
“That… wasn’t alchemy, was it?” Havoc says at last, still staring at me wide-eyed and pale-faced. I shake my head.
“No, waterbending. I can do the same thing with earth, fire, and air. But where I’m from, everyone else can only do one. It’s not a science like your bending, it’s an art. And like any other art form, you’re either born good at it or you can’t do it at all.” I scuff at the carpet with my (still bare) feet in order to avoid looking at what I know is probably a distrustful glare. Everything had gone to shit once I did my bending. Mustang stopped treating me like a person and started treating me like a mutant, Ed and Al had rushed in like they’d received a bomb threat, and Havoc had been assigned to me as a 24/7 babysitter. Whatever tentative trust we’d built over the past few minutes has no doubt snapped like a gossamer strand of spider silk in the middle of a thunderstorm.
“Fascinating,” Havoc breathes, and my head snaps up. He’s not glaring at me, or backing away to go call Mustang. Instead, he’s gazing at me with open admiration, enough to make me flush red and look away. “So the water just floats where you tell it to? And you can freeze and unfreeze it just because you were born with that power? Not because of some hidden array?”
“Pretty much,” I giggle, because when you think about it, bending is pretty strange. Why should I be able to move water, earth, fire, and air, but nothing else? From a scientific standpoint, it really truly does seem impossible. But that’s only if your science never accounted for humanity’s connection to the Spirit world.
“Now I see why Mustang wants you on a short leash,” Havoc murmurs. “If the military got their hands on you, they’d stop at nothing to try and pull whatever part of you that makes that happen out and into their clutches.”
I snort. “Well I hope they know how to extract and contain my Spirit, because there’s nothing physical about my abilities. Bending is sewn into my soul.”
Havoc levels me with a grave stare. My heart stutters a beat, then picks up twice as fast to make up for lost time.
“Wait, hang on. The military can take a person’s Spirit? How?!” I cry.
“Alchemy,” Havoc replies lowly, shrugging a defeated shrug. I can see the horrors of some old memories behind the blue of his eyes, some war that was fought and barely won. I stagger back, slumping onto the bed as it creaks under my weight.
Numbly, I recognize a flair of understanding pass through my head. Maybe this is why I’ve been sent to help this world?
“Hey, don’t worry. You’ve got me to protect you, and Mustang and the Elrics and the rest of our unit. We wanna keep your bending a secret just as much as you do.” Havoc appears in front of me, and I have to crane my neck up to see his face. “We’ll keep an eye out for each other, okay? Equivalent exchange.”
“Equivalent exchange,” I murmur, taking the hand he extends in my direction and allowing him to pull me to my feet.
“Alright, over there’s the bathroom, and the kitchen, but you won’t find a lot of normal kitchen things in there. That’s what the cafeteria is for, you’ll see that tomorrow morning at breakfast. And here’s some extra clothes, I know most of it isn’t going to fit, but I’m sure we can work something out once we…”
“Figure out what to do with me, yeah, I got it,” I finish his sentence with a humorless chuckle, inspecting the clothes and already making mental notes for what alterations need to be made.
“Well then, I think that’s everything. Once again, I’ll be just across the hall if you need anything,” Havoc smiles, and I manage to return it through a halfhearted quirk of my lips, then return to the pile of clothes, separating it into tops, bottoms, and eventual scrap fabric. After a moment, I realize I haven’t heard the door open and close yet, so I look up, brows drawn together in confusion.
Havoc is standing by the door, hand on the doorknob, completely still. I feel my heart lurch into my throat as I instinctively bend into a defensive position, straining my ears for any sign of attack, but the dorm is silent. Finally Havoc sighs, and I straighten, watching closely as he turns to face me.
“Look, Miss Paeonia—”
“Y/N,” I correct him. “Just Y/N is fine.”
“Okay, Y/N, I just really want to reiterate that… that we’re on your side. I know this is an unfamiliar situation for you and everything, but just know that you can put your faith in my unit. I’ll be doing everything I can to keep you safe until we know for a fact that you don’t need it anymore, even if that takes weeks or months or even years, and my friends will be doing the same. I won’t let the military touch you.” His eyes are glittering with determination, his voice rich and firm, and under any other circumstances I’m sure I’d be going weak at the knees at the sight of a tall, broad, muscular man proclaiming his protectiveness over me.
But instead I just feel numb. And maybe a little sick.
Still, the words are comforting to hear, so I nod, and he takes that as and adequate response. Turning the handle of the doorknob, he slips into the corridor, and is gone.