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Brosh hears things. He might be a sergeant, a blip on the radar of higher-ups who whisper among themselves, but he hears things. He keeps his ears open and his eyes wide. How else could he have secured a partnership with Second Lieutenant Maria Ross? How else could he have been entrusted with a job like bodyguarding the Elric brothers? Brosh hears things, and he’s not above jumping on certain opportunities. He scavenges and uses what he finds, because you don’t get far in the military by being too oblivious, too honest. You’ve got to sniff below the surface.
It makes it to his ears pretty quick that Ross is suspected of the Brigadier General’s murder. He hears the secret passed down from a harsh-eyed colonel, and he knows it was never meant for him. But he cradles it like a precious gem, like a vein of lapis lazuli. Blue like Ross’s eyes; innocent eyes, and he would defend that with his life. As soon as he hears it, he knows it’s not true. But no one would gossip about this – no, this is something deeper and more sinister. Brosh knows it’s possible, it’s viable, it’s probable , even. You can’t keep your ears as open as his are in the military without learning a few things you wish you hadn’t.
Brosh isn’t the type to grieve. He isn’t the type to let himself be set back. He thinks maybe he learned that from Ross herself. She moves forward no matter what, and so does he. He knows there’s something bubbling below the surface. He knows , and maybe that’s what killed the Brigadier General. He knows, and maybe that information is going to kill Ross. But he doesn’t let it engulf him. So while he campaigns in Ross’s defense, offering alibis and testimony while knowing he has only days before Ross is maybe killed by the very country she protects, he starts planning. He is far too aware of the sea monsters below, and maybe it could get him hurt one day, but right now, all he cares about is keeping Ross safe. And he’ll do it cleanly, before the very military that means to kill her, or he’ll do it dirty. He’ll break her out of jail himself, if he’s got to.
He doesn’t get the chance. The same day Ross is convicted and sent to a penitentiary, she’s broken out. Brosh will listen just enough later to hear that it was the suit of armour from the 5th Laboratory that saved her; isn’t life funny like that? But Ross doesn’t make it far before she’s caught by a State Alchemist, and well – the order that went out was shoot to kill. No one thinks to tell Brosh, even though she was his partner. He hears through the grapevine that it was Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. And oh, that one hurts a bit. He knows Mustang. He’s met him a fair few times, and Ross had too. He was a cold-eyed man, but he had a warmth about him. He was a friend of the Elric brothers. He was supposed to be a good man.
But Brosh isn’t the type to grieve. He doesn’t mourn the loss of the person he thought Mustang was. Instead, he hates . It’s a hatred that claws at his heart and bruises his soul. Of course Ross would meet her end with Mustang. He’s vicious, an alchemist . Disgustingly loyal to the cesspool that called itself a military. And he was the sort of man Ross would have hated. Ross was so strong, so determined. She held herself with such honour, and she was fiercely protective of anyone she thought she could save. Mustang was weak; violence is weakness, Brosh thinks. And Ross would never be so arrogant to tamper with the laws of nature. She would never be an alchemist.
For a few days, Brosh finds himself repulsed by alchemy. And he’s not the type to grieve, so he doesn’t cry when he’s finally shown Ross’s autopsy photographs, but he does vomit. They had to use dental records to identify her corpse. And for a few days, Brosh is so sick that he can’t come to work. He’d known it was possible. He’d never, ever put it past the military to employ a man like Mustang. But it’s so much more real now, and Brosh is sick with the realisation. He doesn’t grieve, but he allows himself a few days to process. And while he processes, he gives himself grace to miss Ross.
Ross was a lot of things Brosh wasn’t. She was smarter than him, more courageous, more active. For all his anger, for all his hatred, Brosh doesn’t do anything. And for all his efforts to save Ross, she’s still dead. He misses her, and he knows in his heart of hearts that she wouldn’t want him to stumble because of this, but he can’t help it. He gives himself a few days grace, and then he’s back on track. He’s back, and he’s determined, and even if he still misses Ross, still sees her when he closes his eyes, he drowns it in everything else. If he’s scared, he runs right into what scares him. He lets the anger bubble and fester, and he nourishes it by continuing to go to work. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he’s going to do something . And though Brosh doesn’t grieve, this is what he calls his healing process.
Brosh isn’t good at hiding what hurts him; he’s never been good at it. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he cries easily, and he can’t handle criticism. Ross always poked at him for this, and it always made his heart flutter a bit, and Ross would ask why he blushed so much. Brosh doesn’t hide his emotions well, but he can learn to. And as he does, he can’t help but feel as if he’s losing a part of himself. You lose a lot of pieces of yourself in the military. Sometimes you lose everything (like Ross) but Brosh doesn’t grieve his loss (he didn’t grieve Ross.) He drops parts of himself, he becomes cold-eyed, he stops letting himself feel things. If he was a blip on the radar before, he’s not on it now, and maybe that’s better. Maybe that’s better (but he feels so empty.)
He’s running on empty, though. But instead of slowing down, he keeps on running, faster still. He doesn’t grieve, and he is determined to move forward. He falls asleep at his desk, among endless papers, and wakes up with them stuck to his face. For all his trying to move forward, past Ross and onto the military’s corruption as a whole, he still has dreams about her. And he never works by candlelight. He can’t bring himself to look at fire anymore. His apartment is unkempt; hell, he is unkempt. He’s running, and he isn’t getting anywhere.
Whatever Ross knew is what killed her. He’s convinced it was an inside job. The Brigadier General knew something, so they killed him. And Ross knew something too, so they framed her for his murder, and then they killed her too. Two birds with one stone. Brosh keeps listening, but it’s as if everyone’s gone radio silent. He doesn’t learn anything about Ross, about Mustang, about whatever’s going on in Amestris. He’s off the radar. Ground Control to Major Tom, your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong.
Brosh hits dead end after dead end. Locked door after locked door. Even loose-lipped secretaries won’t tell him more than what he already knows. And he scrabbles beneath the surface, frantically searching for information on the Philosopher’s Stone, the Elric brothers, the Brigadier General, anything . But he doesn’t find it. He’s forced to come to a grinding halt. It’s all so much bigger and more hidden than he could have imagined. It runs through the cities and towns, through the lakes and streams. It’s all around him, and yet it’s nowhere .
He feels like he must be dying. He’s so empty, and he’s completely, painfully alone . He still dreams about Ross, but it’s no longer nightmares. It’s just her smile, or a glint in her eyes, or her slightly shaky hands. It’s just her, as she was alive. Brosh doesn’t grieve, but he finds a photograph of the two of them in one of his drawers, and he hugs to his chest while sobbing. His resolve is fizzling out, and all that will be left is hurt. All that will be left is so much pain, built up over time, that it might kill him.
So Brosh does the only thing he can think of: he takes a break. It’s true that the guilt hurts, but he can’t help but feel that Ross would want this for him. Even if she’d want him to eventually keep going, keep searching, she’d want this break for him. She’d want him to give himself grace, as she always did for him. And he’s too tired to be angry, too tired to be horrified or determined. He goes back home to the countryside, and gives himself the grace to mourn his friend. And as he does, he finds himself thinking that maybe one day, he’ll sit in the sun, and things won’t feel so bad.
He dreams about Ross a lot. It hurts, but it doesn’t destroy him. And he’s still confused and angry and scared, but he doesn’t force his hurt out of himself. He lets himself feel it, lets himself grieve. He can’t help but feel that Ross might be proud of him. She’d want him to let his wound heal, if only a little, before throwing himself back into battle.
And he’s back in Central before too long. He hasn’t given up; he’ll never give up, not as long as he lives. But he’s made a tiny bit of peace with himself, and that’s all that matters. He’s accepted his own loss, his own pain. But he’ll never accept what happened to Ross, so he’s back at it again in no time, digging miles below the surface in hopes of finding something. And that’s the difference: this time, he allows himself hope.