The Water Alchemist

Swallowed Fear

"I never knew my father," I admitted, clenching the fabric of my shorts. "I just recently remembered him. He... left when I was young."

"Then you're admitting that you are his child?" he asked, his tone restrained. I bit my lip, afraid to speak it out loud.

"Yes, I am," I conceded. Mustang sighed, almost triumphantly.

"Where is he now?" he asked. I hung my head.

"I don't know. He left a long time ago."

"Then, where did you get the journal?"

"Someone close to Carter gave it to me."

"Ah, so it is indeed yours?" he said.

I looked up at him frantically. Did I really just admit that?

"No, I meant—"

"So, then you were there the night of Maes Hughes's disappearance!" Mustang exclaimed suddenly, slamming his hands and the book down on the desk, startling me.

"What— what night?" I stuttered. Oh no, I thought, the air leaving my lungs slowly, painfully, like a deflating balloon.

"I found this at the scene a few days following his disappearance, and you just plainly admitted to me that this journal was at one point in your possession. I happen to know that you had gone missing for a brief period here in Central around the same time," he said, waving the journal around. His jaw clenched, and his tone grew harsher and more direct as he went on. "What were you doing at the crime scene?"

"I— I wasn't, I didn't—"

"Where did you go when you disappeared?"

"I—"

"Where is Maes Hughes!" he roared, slamming the book down again.

I shook in my seat. He panted as he leaned over the desk, awaiting my answer. He looked at me with such contempt, such certainty in his volition. He already had his culprit in his mind. I didn't even have time to curse myself, desperately thinking up how I would get myself out of this bind. I couldn't tell him about Hughes, not here, not at the heart of the military's headquarters. It would be a death sentence for Hughes. Panic swelled and subsided in waves inside of my chest as I battled myself, wondering what I could say to appease him. I wondered if I could even talk with him rationally. Then I realized something.

"Can you prove I was there?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. It was a long shot, but one I had to try.

"Excuse me?" he asked tersely— his eyes narrowing.

He was like a simmering pot about to spill over. I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat, felt it travel down into my gut, and settle there.

"Can you prove it," I repeated, my voice a little more even.

"I know you were there," he snarled.

"It's your word against mine," I contested. "And I say I wasn't there."

Mustang stared at me silently for a few moments, seemingly trying to process my words. It was clear I had tripped him up, even if just slightly, the way his eyes flashed over me. That's all I needed. It didn't matter when or where he found the journal; I was positive no one saw me that night.

"I know you know where he is," he said, his voice low.

"I've never even met him," I said, keeping my composure. I was playing with literal fire. I could only hope I wouldn't get burned.

"Then, where were you?" he asked, a vein in his forehead throbbing visibly. I thought for a moment.

"I... can't say."