![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
batsutousaiTitle: From the Worst of Times
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, canon-typical violence, pile 'o OCs, background original character death, Roy is actually kind of emotionally stunted
Summary: "From the worst of times," someone had once told a young Roy Mustang, "always come the greatest of gifts." There were times in his life that was all he had to cling to, but it always seemed to hold true, one way or the other.
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: It is 100% Winds of Water's fault that I'm mucking about in this fandom (again). And even though this is none of the fic ideas we've tossed back and forth over the years, half joking, I'm still blaming this whole thing on her.
A version of the saying Roy's got popped into my head while I was trying to drag myself out of bed, and the rest of the beginning sort of wrote itself somewhere between the loo and breakfast. (Tmi, I'm sure.) So, you know, the first scene sort of wrote itself, and the second scene followed along politely. And then things got complicated and I honestly have no idea what happened.
I went into this determined to keep it a one-shot, but my muse is an arse, so it's a fucking long one-shot. Like 'I should have cut this into chapters 7K words ago' long, bloody fucking hell. (Someone shoot me. Or shoot my muse; I'm not gonna be picky.)
You can also read this at Archive of Our Own, tumblr, or Fanfiction.Net.
"From the worst of times," someone had once told a young Roy Mustang, "always come the greatest of gifts." They were the words that had got him through Ishval, as much as Maes' broken smile and Riza's grim stare. They had almost failed him while he stood over his best friend's grave, before the voice that had spoken them took on Maes' laughing tones, preserving his voice even when Roy had started to forget the turn of his smile when he started in on how he needed a wife already.
In Maes' voice, those accursed words had sheltered him as he stumbled towards the Promised Day, had kept his spine straight and his arm unshaking as Riza whispered angles and directions in his ear, clapping and snapping to set aflame a monster that he couldn't see.
He balanced between Maes' voice and his team's support as he relearnt how to see, as he returned to Ishval and stood tall under hard stares and broke his back rebuilding a city with the same sweat and tears that he'd once used to tear it down. He found the promise of gifts in the red eyes of a young girl when she brought him water, in the smiles on his back when he finally allowed himself to be ordered back to Central.
Saw it written across the notice of promotion sat on the desk between himself and Führer Grumman as he said, "I need my successor here."
But then–
Three months after his return, Central Command exploded.
"From the worst of times–"
"Shut up, Maes," Roy hissed at the figment of his imagination, hands pressed tight against the field bandage he'd made from his dusty uniform and wrapped around Riza's forehead. They'd been in one of the centre hallways when everything had come crashing down around them, and while Roy's panicked clap may have kept them from being buried, it hadn't saved them, not really. He couldn't risk digging them out, not when the attempt could endanger other soldiers trapped above and around them, not when a single shifted stone could set the whole building resettling.
And he couldn't even use flame alchemy to make sure Maes hadn't suddenly come back as a ghost to haunt him, because they needed that oxygen just in case...
"–come the greatest–" Maes continued, as undeterred by Roy's anger as ever.
"I will kill you if you don't shut up!"
Maes was quiet for a moment, and Roy couldn't relax, knew–
"You realise I'm already dead."
Roy closed his eyes and touched the tender spot at the back of his head, where Riza's revolver had hit him when she'd collapsed onto him. Because as soon as he'd knelt to set off the array that had saved their lives, she'd leant over him, taking the one piece of ceiling that he'd missed to the head, so the transmutation hadn't failed half-finished.
He drew in a careful breath, tasting dust and stale air, heralds of the end. "Why are you here?" he asked, and he was almost assuredly going insane, but it had been a constant decline since Ishval; finding true madness buried under the rubble of the old regime while slowly suffocating to death seemed quite poetic, actually.
"You're not going to die," Maes insisted, like he could read his mind. (He probably could, when Roy thought about it. In life, Maes Hughes had been able to read Roy's body language and the tone of his voice better than anyone, save his aunt; in death, what's to say he hadn't graduated to mind-reading.) "I told you–"
Roy waved one hand around him at the absolute darkness, a reminder of months being blind. "What sort of gifts am I supposed to find at the bottom of Central's–"
The coughing fit caught him off guard, and he curled over Riza's prone form in an attempt to keep the pressure on her wound as he tried to get the blockage of dust out of his throat, tried to keep breathing without breathing too much.
Maes was quiet as Roy caught his breath, as he swallowed down the scrape of powdered stone and closed his eyes against the burn of his throat, the sympathetic burn of his eyes.
And then:
"Listen."
Roy drew in a careful breath, held it for as long as he could, and just before he had to let it out, he heard it, a distant voice calling for survivors. A voice that was just as familiar and out of place as Maes', because that voice was supposed to be mangling Cretan, not–
Roy took a careful breath, barely kept from coughing, and it was all too familiar to shout, "Fullmetal!"
There was a brief silence, then Edward's voice came again, shouting for shovels, for them to put their backs into it, for someone to "Get Armstrong, you assholes are fucking useless!"
It was good to hear his voice again, even if it was just another hallucination.
"Don't waste this, Roy," Maes whispered in his ear as Roy gave in to the grasping darkness that went hand-in-hand with too-thin air.
(As if he wasn't already trapped in absolute darkness.)
It was probably the voices that woke him, a quiet murmur just loud enough to serve as the figurative bee in his ear. He opened his eyes, expecting utter blackness – always expecting it; six years of sight hadn't been enough to wipe away the certainty of blindness, he doubted any amount of time would be enough – and having to slam his eyes closed when the whiteness around him nearly undid all of Marcoh's hard work and made the headache he almost hadn't noticed roar its displeasure.
He wasn't sure if he'd let out the groan he'd tried swallowing down, or if the movement of his eyes had caught their attention, but the voices immediately went quiet. Footsteps moved closer, and it was months of blindness that let him recognise Breda, and Fuery's steps. There was another set, too, slightly uneven and with the hint of a drag, but he didn't have time to wonder over it before the person had stopped moving and Breda was asking, "Sir? Are you awake?"
Roy swallowed, grimacing at the rough scrape of his abused throat. As much as he wanted water, he could remember the darkness that had come before, which had reminded him so strongly of his brush with blindness, and who he'd been trapped in there with. "Hawkeye?" he rasped.
"She's sleeping in the bed next to you," Breda was quick to reassure him, and Roy felt like something heavy had just eased the press against his chest.
"She woke up about an hour ago," Fuery added. "Started bossing us around first thing; Jean ran to go check on Black Hayate, and now he and Vato are managing things at Command."
Roy nodded. "Rescue effort?" he guessed. And, yeah, he could really do with some water, probably, but Central Command had just come down around all their heads and– "You're all okay?" he managed to get out without a grimace (barely) at the drag of his throat, turning towards where his subordinates' voices had been coming from.
The third pair of footsteps – the uneven set with a hint of a drag; why was the sound familiar? Why couldn't he place the owner? – suddenly started up again and Fuery let out a startled, "Ed!" as the gleam of too-bright lights behind Roy's eyelids vanished.
Roy took a chance and squinted one eye open. Upon finding the room's lights off – there was a hint of early evening light coming through the closed blinds behind him, just enough to see by – he opened both his eyes fully and found himself faced with two very dusty subordinates and an even dustier Edward Elric, who was leaning back against the wall next to the door, his usual golden gleam muted by the low lights and the covering of dust, looking somewhere between disgusted and amused.
"Water's next to you, bastard," Ed said, and the insult was a taste of something that Roy hadn't even realised he'd been missing until it had slotted easily into an empty space in his chest. "You're making my damn throat hurt, and you're not so much an invalid that you can't lift a fucking glass."
Roy flashed him a grin that was probably a little too honest, a little too relieved, but he didn't care. "Not an hallucination," he realised before turning to find the mentioned glass.
There was a beat of silence, then the floor lit with a triangle of light for a brief moment, and when Roy looked back up, Ed was gone. He turned a frown on Fuery and Breda.
The two men traded uncertain frowns, then Breda shrugged and shook his head. "Kain was off-site, handling that faulty relay," he offered, and Roy nodded as he shifted so he could actually get a drink from the glass of water, remembering the request that had been sent through that morning about the telephone relay down by the station that had been acting up since the night before. "I was over in Investigations, having a...lively debate–" Roy couldn't resist a snort, and Breda flashed him a quick grin "–with Colonel Fokker about that one incident last month."
Roy nodded, showing he remembered the particular mess that had set Breda and Fokker at each other's throats, and understood the unspoken reminder that some things should not be spoken of in depth in an unsecured hospital room. That said, if the colonel had survived the explosion, Roy expected he would find another strongly worded complaint about his subordinate's inability to respect rank in his next batch of paperwork. (He liked to claim it was all Edward's fault, but he knew it was more due to everything his team had suffered at the whims of Bradley and Father.)
"Jean and Vato had come to, ah, collect me for lunch," Breda continued, staunchly ignoring Fuery's knowing cough, "when the explosions started."
"Sorry," Roy managed, his throat greatly soothed by the slow sips of water he'd been taking during Breda's report, "explosions? Plural?" And now he could spot the hint of too-white bandaging around Breda's left upper arm, a sure sign of a recently treated wound; he suspected that, were they there, he would find similar signs of minor wounds on Havoc and Falman. Fuery was fine, had been practically on the other side of the city when the explosions would have gone off. Still, it was a relief to know that his team were all okay before he realised the danger they'd been in.
Breda's expression turned grim and he managed a nod before the door of the room opened and a doctor stepped in, the light from the hallways silhouetting him. The doctor paused in the doorway, and when he reached for the light switch just inside the room, a hand shot out from behind him and covered it. "You need light, someone can open the blinds," Edward said, his tone so completely cool and no-nonsense, Roy almost didn't recognise it for a moment.
He had about half a minute to be grateful for Ed's unexpected thoughtfulness, before the young man added, "You turn them on, you're gonna wake up Hawkeye, and she's got her gun under her pillow."
The doctor's head very obviously turned towards the bed beyond Roy's for a moment and he swallowed audibly before nodding. "Right." He stepped more fully into the room and the light from the blinds painted lines of shadow across his face and chest, giving Roy the chance to make out eyes that were honed to observe everything about a patient, and stubble that spoke to a long shift in the hospital. "How are you feeling, Führer Mustang?" he asked, his tone no-nonsense.
"I'm–" Roy started before what the doctor had called him sank in. "What?"
"Shit," he heard Breda whisper.
Fuery cleared his throat and his expression was tight when Roy turned to him, feeling a little lost. "The initial explosion was in Führer Grumman's office. There's been no sign that he survived, so–"
Roy nodded, closing his eyes and barely resisting the urge to rub at the growing ache of his headache. Hell. "I'm fine," he declared, setting the glass back on the table and reaching to push his blankets off; he needed to be at Central Command, seeing to the rescue efforts, showing people that their new Führer cared, that he was willing to get his hands dirty. "Discharge me."
"Sir, I really should insist–" the doctor started, frowning, and it really must have been a long shift for him, because Roy could hear weariness in his tone, now, winning against the no-nonsense tone he'd opened with.
"Do I have a concussion?"
"No, sir, but–"
"Am I bleeding profusely from anywhere?"
"No, sir, however–"
Roy pinned him with an icy look and the man shut up.
And then, Roy wasn't staring at the doctor, but Edward, who had clearly gone through a growth spurt, because he was a lot taller than Roy remembered, and had his eyes always been that stunning shade of gold? No matter the physical changes, he was as disrespectful as ever, one hand coming up and shoving hard against Roy's chest, sending him back onto his pillows with enough force that he bounced a bit. "Lay down, shut the fuck up, and stay put before I put another lump on your head, you stupid bastard," Ed ordered.
Roy was aware of Breda and Fuery discreetly leading the gaping doctor from the room, even as he focussed his best glare on his former subordinate. "Excuse me, Fullmetal, but–"
Edward clapped his hands together and Roy couldn't help but flinch, the reaction automatic after years watching that particular motion precede destruction. The blond flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "Look at that," he said, amusement colouring his voice, even though his golden eyes were as icy as Briggs, "no alchemy. Can't be the Fullmetal Alchemist, can I?"
Roy resisted the urge to wince at the reminder. "Edward–" he tried, going for cajoling, because orders had never worked on Edward Elric.
"Führer Bastard," Edward returned, and Roy could actually see the moment he got stuck with that title for the rest of his life because Ed liked the sound of it. "Huh."
Roy closed his eyes. "I do not require medical attention–"
"You weren't breathing when we found you," Edward informed him, and Roy opened his eyes to find his former subordinate wearing a cool expression that didn't suit him, didn't match that hint of a tremor that he hadn't managed to keep out of his voice.
Roy swallowed and forced himself to appear unruffled. "And I am now, as you can–"
Gold eyes flashed with a familiar spark of anger before it was quickly hidden away. "You sound like you swallowed gravel, your earlier reaction to the light suggests–"
"That I'd been sleeping and just woke up!" Roy snapped, shoving Edward back just enough that he had the space to get out on the other side of the bed. "My eyes are sensitive to light because of the–" he waved his hand in the air "–that." Edward would know what he meant; those of them who had seen the Gate always knew.
"It's probably the only part of you that is sensitive," Ed muttered, quiet enough that Roy could pretend he hadn't heard him.
Roy stood from the bed, closing his eyes against the rush of dizziness that he'd known would come – okay, so the headache meant he probably shouldn't be going out and pushing it, but he wasn't going to be a Führer who sat back and watched; Maes would never forgive him – and once it had passed, he started around the bed, casting about for any clothing that wasn't the too-thin hospital clothes he was wearing.
Edward had retreated to the wall next to the light switch again, leaning back against it with a closed expression. "The second explosion went off in your office," he announced, a bomb all of his own to set Roy's life reeling. And then he turned the lights on.
Roy grabbed for the end of his bed, slamming his eyes shut against the flare of pain in his head. "Edward," he snarled.
"You get back in bed, I turn the light back off," Edward offered, sounding almost apologetic, nothing like the smugness Roy had expected.
"Sir," said a cold voice from behind Roy, and he couldn't help but flinch at the level of restrained murder in it, "get in bed."
Roy quickly felt his way back into bed. "Lovely to hear your voice, Colonel," he offered as the room light turned back off again.
"Likewise, sir," Riza replied, and her no-nonsense tone – so familiar after years hearing it in the office and at his side while they were working to rebuild Ishval – was far more soothing than it had any right to be. "Edward, sit down before you damage your leg more than you already have."
Roy turned to watch as Ed grimaced and obediently brought a chair over to the side of Roy's bed – between Roy and the door – and settled into it. And Roy didn't know how he'd missed how stiffly Ed was moving his automail leg, not even trying to bend it. Well, at least now he knew what the dragging noise had been. "What did you do?" he demanded.
Ed stared at him for a moment, his expression – always so open before – blank. Finally, he shrugged, a neat little roll of his shoulders that looked lopsided, like he still wasn't used to having two complete arms, even after six years. "I kicked a boulder," he said, and something flickered in his eyes, something so utterly familiar, Roy didn't need but that brief glimpse to know he was only getting – at most – a quarter of the story.
He didn't push it, couldn't read Ed well enough to know if he'd be jabbing into an old wound or opening the way for a humorous tale. "Well," he said instead, "at least that answers why you're back in Amestris. Should I ask why you're in Central? Last I heard, Miss Rockbell was in Rush Valley."
Ed snorted, and he was suddenly an open book again, his eyes glinting with good humour and his mouth curling up into a smirk that he must have stolen from Roy. "My train from the border got in this morning, and when I saw Kain at the station, I decided to come say hi. And we got to talking, and he invited me to lunch with everyone, and I agreed, because, honestly? I'm not looking forward to having a wrench thrown at my head."
"If you'd write–" Roy started, because he'd heard enough griping through the grapevine to know that half of the young Miss Rockbell's problem with her childhood friend was that he didn't bother keeping in contact while he was on the road.
"You have no idea how fucking hard it is to post shit to Amestris when all our neighbours are waiting for us to start declaring war again," Ed re-joined with a completely unnecessary amount of cheer. "I admit, I was tempted to try my luck when I came across a someone selling a sense of responsibility in Drachma, though."
Roy sighed. "Thank you for your consideration, Full–Edward," he replied drily, barely catching his slip.
The smile Ed flashed him was very much him as a teenager, standing on the other side of Roy's desk and poking at a weak spot and knowing he'd hit his mark, even as Roy struggled to keep his cool. "Anyway," he continued, and his smile vanished, "I was just finishing helping Kain pack up his tools for lunch when the explosions started. We made our way to Command as soon as we could, and they'd only just decided it should be safe to start shifting rubble when we got in."
The door to the room opened and Falman and Havoc stepped in, both looking exhausted and dusty. "We got spelled," Havoc offered to the curious frowns sent their way. "Sent Heymans and Kain out to take our places." He dragged a chair over next to Ed and slumped into it backwards. "Good to see you up, Chief. Had us all a bit panicked when the boss and Alex pulled you two out."
"So I've been given to understand," Roy replied drily, before turning to Falman, who looked just as tired as Havoc, but was standing stiffly by the door. "Vato, sit down. And one of you fill me in."
Havoc looked uncertain, while Falman hid his discomfort by taking his time fetching the last chair against the wall and dragging it over to sit between Riza and Roy's beds. "How much did Heymans tell you?" Havoc asked, thoughtlessly digging out his pack of cigarettes and tapping one out.
"The first explosion was in Grumman's office–" Roy sidled a glance towards Riza, and when she didn't react, he guessed she'd been warned when she was awake earlier about her grandfather's status "–and he is MIA, presumed dead, leaving me his position. The second explosion was my office."
Havoc shot Ed a betrayed look and he shrugged, unapologetic. "He tried leaving."
Havoc sighed and nodded, rolling his cigarette between his fingers, close enough to his face that he would be able to smell the tobacco; it was one of the signs that he had some particularly shitty news and needed a smoke to calm his nerves, but knew he couldn't. "There were six explosions in all, each about a minute apart," he reported tiredly. "Führer Grumman's office, yours, General Bess's office, two in the mess, and one in the dorms."
Roy closed his eyes and gave into the urge to rub at the inner corners, unbothered at showing the minor weakness to his team. Robert Bess was, according to the gossips, the next in line for the Führership after Roy himself, something which both Roy and Bess had laughed over, because Bess didn't want to be Führer. "Casualties," he requested quietly, not sure he wanted to know, because it had been the beginning of the regular lunch break; hell, he and Riza had been heading for the officer's mess above the general mess when the explosion had gone off.
There was a momentary silence, and then Falman grimly reported, "When we left, we had confirmed four casualties and twenty-three wounded, six of whom are critical. However, there are still over fifty men and women unaccounted for, most of whom are expected to be in the mess. Of the brass, General Bess and Major General Colt are both in critical condition and currently in surgery, Lieutenant General Peabody and Major General Vickers are both dead, and Brigadier Generals Hashim and Lee are both among the wounded, though only Lee is still in hospital."
Counting himself, that was nearly everyone above the rank of Colonel currently stationed in Central off their feet or, in Grumman's case, missing. "Lieutenant General Spencer?" he requested.
"He was taking a personal day to help with his son, who's ill," Falman reported. "He's currently leading the rescue efforts."
Roy nodded; Mark Spencer was a good man, very focussed on his family and reasonable to the men under his control. He and Roy got on fairly well, though Spencer had some beliefs regarding Ishvalans that he'd taken from Bradley's administration, and they'd long agreed to disagree about the matter. He'd been stationed in West City during the Promised Day, and had been one of the three members of the brass who hadn't complained when Grumman dragged Roy and his team up from Ishval and promoted him three ranks, the other two being Bess and Olivier Armstrong. "Have they reached the officer mess?"
"Yes, sir," Falman agreed, and Roy guessed that most of the brass had been in there, save those of them that had been in the halls or their office.
"Alex was returning to help clear the way to the mess when we left," Havoc offered, the words slightly slurred, and Roy looked over to find the man had stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and had clearly already been chewing on it. Havoc offered him a tired smile. "He got ordered to take a break, but he just went over to the dorms for an hour and helped out over there."
Roy felt his mouth quirk with a half-smile; if he and Riza weren't stuck in hospital, he had no doubt that his team and himself would have been avoiding rest right along with Alex.
His smile fell as his mind turned to everything that lay before them. "As soon as they've reached the mess and cleared it, we need to know where the explosion there originated, same for in the dorms. Extraction takes priority, but we need to start figuring out who was behind this. Tell Heymans to start working on that as soon as he can, and to grab as many Investigations people as he can to assist."
"Sir!" Falman replied, standing from his chair. He was out the door before Roy could say anything more. Which, well, that had been the important thing, so...
"Sir," Hawkeye called, and Roy looked over at her. "You were a direct target; until we have the culprit or culprits in hand, you need to remain with at least two of us." She gingerly reached up and touched the large bandage covering her forehead. "I'm not sure I should count."
Roy frowned. "Is your aim unduly impaired?"
Riza considered that for a moment, then pulled out her gun – Ed had been telling the truth, it was under her pillow, not that Roy had ever doubted – and pointed at the far side of the room. The light switch was taken out with a single bullet, and Havoc let out a muffled snort of amusement. Roy looked back at Riza to find her considering her handiwork for a moment before shaking her head. "No, sir, but I do report a headache, which may serve as a distraction, and I'm told I have a concussion."
Roy resisted the urge to rub at his forehead and chance giving away his own headache. "Jean, find an empty bed, you and Vato can take shifts."
"Fuck that," Ed interrupted, leaning forward and grabbing something out from under Roy's pillow. "Jean, get Falman and both of you find somewhere to crash. Anyone tries anything, I'm still capable of kicking them in the face while Hawkeye shoots them." Then he tossed one of Roy's ignition gloves in his face. "Couldn't find the other one."
Roy quickly pulled his glove on, feeling far better at the familiar weight of it. "You heard him, Lieutenant Colonel. Get out of here," he ordered.
Havoc looked past Roy, towards Riza, and he resisted the urge to sigh at the reminder that he didn't, actually, have any control over his adjunct or his men. "Edward," Riza started, "your leg–"
"Is at about eighty percent," Ed cut in, rolling his eyes. "Hawkeye, seriously, everyone's dead on their feet from shifting rubble, and I'm not allowed to help any more because the rubble is unsteady or some shit and if I trip it's a liability suit or whatever that fucking colonel with a stick shoved up his ass was bitching about. Winry's already agreed to come here, so I might as well be useful while I wait for her."
Riza sighed. "Get some rest, Jean," she decided, and Havoc ran for it before she could change her mind.
Ed's victory smile was all teeth, and he pushed his chair across the floor until he could see both Roy and the door. "So, other than exploding buildings and you getting back to Central, what have I missed?"
They spent a while catching Ed up on things. It was clear he'd heard some of it from Fuery and possibly Miss Rockbell, because he nodded knowingly at a few things, and he didn't pursue mentions of his brother or the Rockbells. Ed did seem interested in hearing about Gracia and Elicia, and since Roy had taken to keeping tabs on them in the name of his best friend, he was happy to update the young man.
He was just in the middle of telling Ed about Elicia's most recent birthday party, which had been shortly after his return to Central, when there was a commotion in the hallway. Edward was on his feet and standing between Roy and the doorway before the handle even twitched, and Roy was surprised at the speed of his reaction, even though his own fingers were poised to snap, the array on the back of his glove warming with the heat of ready activation. It was just hard, sometimes, to remember exactly how quickly Edward could move when he cared, especially since Roy hadn't seen him since before he'd lost the automail arm and its added weight.
It was Fuery who stepped into the room, his eyes bright behind his glasses, which looked to have been hurriedly wiped clean recently. Roy felt his shoulders slump with relief and heard Riza's own quiet sound of relief behind him. As Ed settled carefully back in his chair, Fuery stepped forward and gave a respectful nod to Roy. "Führer Grumman's been found, alive," he announced, and Roy closed his eyes, grateful, even as he knew the news couldn't be all good, not with how long it had taken to find the man.
"He was down near the mess when the explosions started and he's in a bit of a bad way," Fuery continued. "They're taking him off to surgery now, and while the doctor I spoke to seems to think he'll survive, he can't promise when the Führer will be able to return to duty, if ever." Without any prompting, unless Riza or Ed had made a motion, Fuery explained, "His right arm from his elbow down and most of his right leg got pinned under a large piece of the ceiling. The doctor said they'll try to save his arm and leg, but he expects they'll have to amputate at least one of them."
Which meant that Roy was very likely stuck as Führer. He'd reached his dream position, but this was hardly the way he'd expected to do so, and the new rank left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I see. Do you have an update on the casualties?" he requested, finally opening his eyes and looking at Fuery again.
Fuery's expression was grim, no longer lit by the relief in his eyes. "Yes, sir. General Bess is out of surgery and is expected to make a full recovery, though the doctors warn he'll very likely be required to remain in bed for the first month, and be restricted to light duties for a month or more after that."
Roy grimaced and nodded; he and Bess had been the only two full generals in the military, part of Grumman's plan to scale back the military's influence, which meant he was going to be doing the work of three people for a while. "Noted."
Fuery took a deep breath, then reported, "Major General Colt died about twenty minutes ago. Current count has twenty-two casualties, nine of which are a major or above; seventy-eight wounded, fifteen of which are critical, including the Führer; and we still have approximately thirty people unaccounted for."
God, it was the Promised Day all over again. He turned to his adjunct. "Riza," he said, knowing he didn't need to say more, that she'd understand his request, even if she'd hate it.
Riza closed her eyes, her expression tight. "You were a target, sir," she said, but her tone suggested she'd already given in, that she was just trying to figure out how to lessen the danger.
"I know," he replied, because he did, because he knew that he was very likely still a target, but with Grumman in surgery and Bess trapped in bed for an extended period, he needed to show the country and the military both that they weren't flailing in the wind.
Riza took a deep breath. "Captain," she started, and Fuery came to attention so fast, Roy expected to hear something crack, "please find the Führer's doctor and have him come here, then drag Havoc out of bed and collect a couple soldiers who are loitering to serve as a guard." Fuery saluted and Riza turned to Roy as the other man left. "You will stay with at least one member of our team and at least two other soldiers at all times. I find out you've disobeyed, I'll shoot both your legs and you'll be trapped in bed."
Roy grimaced, knowing that wasn't an idle threat. "Understood."
"Edward," Riza continued, turning to the last member of the room and gentling her voice, "it's your choice–"
"I made a promise," Ed said quietly. "I'll keep him alive until I can pay him back."
Roy started – he'd forgotten about that conversation – and held out a hand. "I'm Führer now, Ed. Pay up."
"Only technically," Edward replied with a flash of a smirk, there and gone. "I'll pay you back at the swearing in ceremony," he added, perfectly serious.
Roy withdrew his hand, offering a smile in response. "Understood."
He was still smiling when the doctor rushed in, looking harried. The man scowled at the broken light switch, but didn't even bother complaining, beyond shooting Riza a quick disapproving look. By the way the doctor paled, Roy wouldn't have been surprised to find that Riza had pointed her gun at the man, but he didn't bother checking, instead announcing, "I'm discharging myself."
The doctor let out a disgusted sound and turned to Edward, who was calmly returning chairs to where they'd been taken from against the wall. "You're not going to stop him this time?"
Ed gave a roll of his shoulders, that same uneven shrug, and didn't bother looking up from the chair he was carrying. "Nope. Stubborn bastard wants to go get himself killed, that's his prerogative."
"If he starts feeling unwell," Riza offered coolly, "Acting Führer Mustang will return to hospital immediately."
Roy bit back a sigh. "As Colonel Hawkeye says," he agreed, even though it would probably prove to be a lie; he had no interest in returning to hospital while Central Command lay in ruins.
The doctor sighed, apparently smart enough to know when he was beaten. "Very well. I'll have one of the nurses bring you a uniform. If that's all?"
Roy cleared his throat. "Do you know anything about Führer Grumman's status?"
The doctor shook his head, expression turning apologetic. "Not yet. I can put you on the list to be notified as soon as he's out of surgery, though."
Roy shook his head. "Have Colonel Hawkeye notified," he ordered, then turned to Riza. "I'll leave Fuery here with you, and Falman can spell him once he's awake. Whatever the news, send them to me."
Riza inclined her head, hiding any sign of relief that she might have felt at the assurance that she be kept in the loop. "Yes, sir."
Roy turned back to the doctor. "Thank you, that will be all."
The doctor sighed, but inclined his head and left them.
"I think you're actually more of a pompous bastard than you were when I left," Ed commented cheerfully.
Roy climbed out of the bed, relieved when the rush of dizziness was briefer that time. "Yes, Ed, that's what happens when I no longer have a subordinate determined to poke tiny holes in my ego," he offered, glancing at the young man from behind his bangs.
Edward blinked. "Was that a reference to my height, old man?"
Roy put on a thoughtful frown. "Was it? I suppose it could be construed as such."
"Oh, fuck you. Why couldn't you have been in your office when that bomb went off?" Ed complained, though it was clear he didn't mean it.
Havoc stepped into the room, looking ruffled and only a little better for his brief nap. "Kain says you're heading out to Command?"
Roy nodded. "You, Edward, and whoever else Kain managed to round up will be going with me. Could you have Kain come in? He'll be remaining with Riza until Vato wakes up."
Ed touched Havoc's shoulder before he could leave. "I'll go; Hawkeye's probably got orders for you." Then he flashed a bright smile and was gone.
Roy would have groaned, but a pretty brunette nurse had taken the closing door from Edward, and he brought up his most charming smile instead. Once he'd collected the replacement uniform from her – his had likely been too much a mess for the hospital staff to consider saving, and they would have had to hunt down an extra set of stars, anyway; even if it was only temporary, he needed to wear his new rank – he relocated to the toilet, leaving Riza to order his team around to her heart's content.
He felt much better once back in uniform, even if it wasn't one of his well-worn sets. Someone had kindly supplied him with an extra glove, and while it was a normal glove, it wouldn't be hard to borrow a couple matches off of a soldier so he could transmute the ignition cloth. The circle wasn't a necessity any more, but it was easier to have it, so he carefully pulled free a few loose threads from his uniform and, with a quick clap, had them forming the shape of his preferred array on the back of the glove, which he then pulled on.
When he stepped back into the room, Havoc, Fuery, Riza, and the three soldiers Fuery had scrounged up – a lance corporal and two privates – were all quick to salute him.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ed complained while Roy saluted them back. "Are you done primping? Can we go?"
"Patience, Edward," Roy retorted easily, while the three unfamiliar soldiers shot the only civilian disbelieving looks. "Well," Roy added as he very obviously fixed his cuffs, "that's assuming you actually have any."
Edward, rather than losing his temper like Roy had hoped, simply rolled his eyes. "If you'd rather be back in bed, Führer Bastard..."
One of the privates let out an angry sound, and Roy realised it was time to go, before Edward proved that, while his temper may have calmed, he was still a master of pissing everyone else off. "Colonel, Captain," he called to Riza and Fuery in parting as he ushered Ed out the door ahead of him, leaving everyone else to follow on their own time, and trying not to cringe at the bright lights of the hallway. "Please don't tempt anyone to shoot you," he murmured to Ed as the others hurried to catch up.
"I'll consider it," Edward promised, which was really just a variation of 'fuck you' in Edward Elric-speak, but Roy didn't have the energy or time to beat diplomacy into his former subordinate's head, so he had to make do with that.
Soldiers sat slumped in chairs and benches along the halls, every one of them covered in a fine layer of dust. White bandages, very rarely stained with blood, were wrapped around heads and arms and even a couple legs. Nurses and doctors bustled around them, some checking on those in the halls, some walking briskly along on their way to one patient or another. Everyone showed signs of exhaustion, and Roy hurt to know that they would very likely all continue to look so for a few days yet, as the military struggled to recover from the explosions and soldiers who been staying in the dorms struggled to recover whatever was left of their possessions and, until they could repair the dorms, found places to stay.
Still, as exhausted as everyone looked, people perked up as he walked through the halls, taking care to match Edward's slightly slower than usual pace. Soldiers saluted him, some smiling, all of them looking relieved, and Roy knew he'd made the right choice in insisting he be released. He couldn't stop to converse with anyone, needing to get to Central Command, but he did nod in response to most of the salutes.
Once they were outside, the three soldiers formed up around him, leaving Ed to cover his right side, where he'd been walking the whole time, while Havoc took the lead. The hospital was close enough to the main gate that they walked to it, and Roy was grateful for the chance to gather himself before diving into the mess of rescue efforts.
They took one of the lifts up, and passed the other one going down on the way. It was full to capacity with wounded, while a few straggling men and women made their careful ways down the stairs to either side. At the top, the clearing between the covered path down to the street and the gates had been turned into a staging area for wounded, and merrily burning braziers on poles lit the space at regular intervals, while a large bonfire at either end marked the walls overlooking the moat.
They'd gone unnoticed on the lifts, with the poor lighting of the tunnel, but they only made it about halfway to the open gate before someone called, "Is that Mustang?"
And then, from near the first person, someone else exclaimed, "Führer Mustang!"
"Here we go," Roy thought he heard Ed mutter, but people were already moving closer, eyes wide and hopeful as they tried to recognise him past the flickering firelight.
Roy snapped his fingers, calling a bright flame to his right hand, and held it up to light his face. He offered his best smile and the air practically dripped with relief as someone said, "Thank God."
"I'm looking for Lieutenant General Spencer," he called.
A corporal wearing the red patch of a field medic stepped forward, stopping just next to the tense private on Roy's left. "Sir, I'm happy to lead you to him."
Roy inclined his head. "Please do, Corporal."
She smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I say, sir, it's an honest relief to see you on your feet."
"It an honest relief to be on my feet," Roy admitted, and a couple people chuckled. "If you would, Corporal?"
She saluted him, then joined Havoc at the head of the group, taking his place as the leader. The crowd stepped back to let them through, and Roy let his flame go as they moved.
"Showy bastard," Ed muttered.
Roy flashed him a smirk. "Problem, Fu-Edward?"
Ed snorted and glanced at him, his eyes flickering with the motions of the flame around them. "On the contrary, it's almost a relief to know you're never going to change."
Roy almost asked if it bothered the former alchemist, watching other people do what he no longer could, but he bit the words back; Edward Elric had never appreciated anyone making note of his weak points, and this was hardly the time or place to be asking personal questions.
They found Central Command's parade ground almost as well-lit as the main gate platform had been, with massive bonfires placed along the pavement at intervals, and more fire-filled braziers on poles set in the grass and placed carefully among the ruins of the building. Only the wings that sat nearly flush with the east and west walls were still standing, and even they were crumbling around the edges, floors open to the city night air, an occasional desk or bookcase nosing out over the destruction.
A group of tents had been set up to the left of the main gate on a triangle of grass, gas lanterns serving as a far steadier light within, and it was to there that the corporal led them.
They found Spencer in the tent closest to the ruins, sitting tiredly at a desk, his jacket hung carelessly over the back of his chair, and covered in dust and old sweat trails. He had a pile of papers in front of him and was staring down at them as though he wasn't even sure he was awake enough to read, but knowing he needed to. He didn't look up at their approach, only offering a tired, "I told you to rest, Lieutenant Colonel," when Havoc called his name.
Roy stepped calmly through his guard and moved Havoc out of the way with a light hand on his shoulder before touching Spencer's shoulder. "Mark," he said gently.
Spencer's head snapped up and he stared at Roy for a long moment, like he wasn't sure he wasn't hallucinating, and then he slumped back in his chair. "Mustang, God. When I heard where the explosions had gone off..." He shook his head and offered Roy an exhausted smile. "The last thing I wanted was to get stuck with the Führership."
Roy resisted the urge to grimace at the idea of Spencer leading Amestris, given his distaste for the Ishvalans. "It looks like we both got lucky, this time," he allowed before shaking his head. "Give me your report on the situation and then go home."
Spencer frowned uncertainly. "Sir, aren't you supposed to be in hospital?"
"I was released," Roy replied with a careless shrug, then he pinned the other man with his best 'I'm your superior and you need to explain yourself' stare, which he'd perfected on Edward, for all that the young man had always been immune to it. "Report, Lieutenant General."
Spencer straightened in his chair and quickly set about updating Roy. A lot of it he'd already heard from his own people, though the number of missing personal had gone down, as soldiers who had been avoiding work or didn't have a surviving CO to explain away their absence reported in. They'd cleared out everyone they'd found in the mess, all of the main departmental offices, and all of the offices that included members known for their habit of eating at their desks. Clearing out hallways was proving to be a much harder task, given the narrow confines of those spaces and the uncertainty of where people might have been when they couldn't respond to calls for survivors.
"Once the sun went down," Spencer added tiredly, "we had to halt active excavation, because it just got too dark to keep digging randomly. I sent home everyone who had been working from the start and sent a few remaining men out to pick spots around the rubble and listen for any survivors waking up and calling for help."
Roy nodded; that was probably what he would have done at that point. "Do you have a report about the dorms?" They weren't inside the walls but, rather, out in the city, on the back side of Command. There was a tunnel from them that went under the street and up to the back side of Central Command, serving as a quick way to replenish troops or serve as an escape route in case of a siege, but also an easy passage to block off. It was that passage, Roy knew, that the Briggs troops and the Curtises had taken to get into the building during the Promised Day, Izumi Curtis serving as their tunneler through the defensive blockage.
Spencer sighed and filled Roy in with what little he knew; with both buildings destroyed, there was no quick passage between the dorms and Command, and setting up a phone relay hadn't been a priority, so Spencer had ordered his two highest ranking officers, and then Brigadier General Hashim, once she'd been cleared for duty, down to manage that clean-up, and they sent up reports every few hours, when there was something to report. Like with Command, they'd had to call a halt to the shifting of rubble once the sun had set, and they were as hopeful about finding more survivors as the men and women who had been clearing Command. Which was to say, not very.
Roy nodded once Spencer fell quiet. "Very well. Go home, Mark, and check on your son, then get some sleep; I don't want to see you back here again for at least ten hours. I'll send someone to spell Hashim and your men, as well, and send them home."
Spencer tiredly pushed himself up from the chair. "Thank you, sir."
Roy shook his head and rested a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder. "No, thank you; you kept things from falling completely apart while Führer Grumman, General Bess, and I were indisposed."
Spencer shook his head. "The rescue efforts were already well underway when I made it up here, sir," he admitted before pointing tiredly past Roy, at where Edward was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. "You have that young man to thank for taking command of everyone and getting them moving. Also, for finding you."
Ah, so Edward had left some things out in his retelling of his and Fuery's parts in the rescue effort. Somehow, Roy wasn't surprised; he knew how little Ed liked being praised as a hero. "Yes, getting people moving is something of a talent of his. Although," Roy couldn't help but muse, "usually he's the reason buildings fall down."
"I should have left you under there, bastard!" Ed snapped, and Spencer's eyes widened in disbelief. Judging from the sounds of the three soldiers who had accompanied Roy from the hospital, they weren't too pleased with the blond's response, either.
Roy barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You wouldn't have done that to Colonel Hawkeye."
Ed snorted. "True. Pity you were a package deal."
Havoc barked out a laugh before anyone could start acting even more offended by Ed's usual charm. "Boss, I missed you."
Roy glanced back to see the wide grin splitting Ed's face. "I missed you too, Jean."
Roy turned back to Spencer, failing to completely hide the fond smile that had made its way to his face. "Go home, Mark," he ordered.
Spencer shook his head. "Yes, sir," he agreed before turning and walking away, and Roy wondered if the man was going to think this entire conversation had been a dream, come morning.
With a quiet sigh, Roy turned back to the matter at hand and turned to the men behind him. "Private," he said to the nearest one, "I need you to find me two reasonably fresh officers who are a major or above."
The man saluted. "Yes, sir."
As the soldier left, Roy turned to Havoc. "Find Breda and have him report to me, then see if you can't scrounge up a few Communications people; we can't go hunting through the rubble right now, but we don't need daylight to get phone lines set up."
Havoc nodded. "You got it, Chief." He glanced at the remaining private and lance corporal, while Edward stepped past Roy to go digging in the desk drawers. "You two, remain here with the Führer unless you're spelled."
"Sir!" they called, both saluting.
Havoc clapped a friendly hand on Roy's shoulder. "Get rid of them and the first phone call on the new lines will be to Hawkeye," he promised with a wide grin, then hurried off to find the men Roy had requested.
Roy sighed and barely resisted the urge to rub at the lingering headache. Instead, he turned towards Ed and found him considering the stack of papers on the desk, a sort of distant look to his eyes that Roy knew meant he was stuck somewhere in his own head. "Edward, what are you doing?"
"I need paper," Ed admitted absently.
Roy blinked, then shrugged and stepped around the desk. "Let me see if any of these files are useless," he offered, and Edward let out a snort of amusement.
It didn't take Roy long to find an report that had an extra, mostly blank sheet tacked on, and he held it up to his former subordinate, who had taken to half-sitting on the edge of the desk, staring towards the ruins of Command. "Ed. Do you need more than the one sheet, or...?"
"One should do," Ed allowed and turned around to crouch over the part of the desk his butt had been occupying, pulling out a pencil from who knew where to start sketching a circle on the paper.
Roy frowned at him, uncertain what was going through the young man's mind, but was distracted from trying to get an answer by Breda's arrival. The man offered a lazy salute as he slouched to a stop in front of the desk. "You sure you should be out of bed, sir?"
"Not an invalid, Lieutenant Colonel," Roy informed him drily, and felt an unexpected sense of regret when he didn't get a reaction from Ed.
Breda shrugged, his mouth twisting with a knowing smile. "If you say so, sir," he allowed, and Roy shot a disgusted look towards the focussed Edward, blaming the easy insult on the blond. "You asked for me?"
Roy gave a sharp nod. "What have you discovered about the explosions?"
Breda nodded. "We found the remains of what we think was some sort of bomb in the remains of the mess. The blast pattern suggests that the bomb had been placed near the food line, under where Führer Grumman would have sat, had he been in the officer's mess. The initial explosion set off a secondary explosion from the kitchen, which was believed to have been the cooker back there. Whether it was intentional or not, it did a lot in the way of hiding the cause of the initial explosion. Survivors say the explosion definitely originated in the mess, not the officer's mess, but we're getting conflicting reports about whether it was in the ceiling or the floor."
Roy resisted the urge to sigh. "Either way, the target seems fairly clear; a second attempt to take out the Führer and his closest supporters, in case any of the original explosions missed their marks."
"It does seem that way," Breda admitted. "I've got a few people trying to sort out pieces of the bombs used in the offices, but because of how the building collapsed, a lot has been strewn around, and the rescue efforts have caused things to shift and get lost in alchemical remodelling."
Roy brought up a hand to cover his involuntary smile at the thought of what sculptures Alex had very likely left behind during his part in the rescue efforts. "I see. Do what you can and remove what pieces you find from the rubble; when we can finally start rebuilding the building, the last thing I want to do is accidentally rebuild the bombs."
"I hear you," Breda agreed tiredly.
"Anything found in the dorms, yet?" Roy asked, spotting the private he'd sent out leading two officers over to them.
"Not yet," Breda admitted. "Reports say the explosion was pretty central, and likely intended to bring the building down, rather than as an aim towards more casualties."
"A distraction?" Roy asked, frowning.
"Or a way to keep everyone tired and stretch us thin," Breda replied, his expression grim.
Roy closed his eyes and forced back a string of swear words. "Spell half of your people," he ordered, "and keep me updated."
Breda saluted, far more firmly than his initial salute. "Sir!" he barked, then turned to follow his orders.
With Breda out of the way, the private approached with the two officers he'd found. "Sir," he offered with a salute, the officers following his lead. The officers both looked pleased to see him, and while they had both clearly taken part in the rescue efforts, and the lieutenant colonel had a dirt-covered bandage wrapped around his left forearm, they both looked fairly fresh.
Roy nodded at them. "Thank you, Private." He focussed on the two officers. "Colonel Metford, Lieutenant Colonel..." he trailed off, realising that, while he recognised the man, he couldn't recall his name.
"Benet, sir," the man offered. "Owen Benet."
Roy offered a faint smile. "Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Benet. I need you two to head down to the work on the dorms and spell Brigadier General Hashim and the officers working with her. Also, if there are any Communications members down there, please have them report up to me so we can get phone lines installed."
Metford let out a snort. "About time," she said. "I mean, I get that unburying people is important, but it's been hell to keep everyone updated."
"Quite," Roy agreed drily.
Metford winced. "Nothing against Lieutenant General Spencer and all, sir, he's a good commander, but–"
"I understand, Colonel," Roy assured her. "Sometimes we get so caught up looking at the big issue, we forget about the little issues, and exhaustion only makes that worse; much to our chagrin, even generals need sleep to function." When he smiled at her, Metford smiled back, clearly relieved that her complaint hadn't been taken as insubordination. "If you would both head for the dorms?" he requested.
"Sir!" they replied, saluting before turning and hurrying towards the east gate.
Roy glanced towards Edward, and realised he was working on an array. "Ed? What are you doing?"
"Thinking," Edward said from around the pencil he'd been chewing on the end of. "Shut up and let me."
Roy frowned and tilted his head, trying to see if he could figure out what the array was for, but Edward's alchemical knowledge was so far beyond him, he couldn't hope to figure it out without some help. Especially since he was quickly interrupted by Havoc's return, six Communications men and women trailing behind him.
.
