![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
batsutousaiTitle: Come What May
Series: Part one of Our Sinner's Redemption
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Darius/Edward Elric/Heinkel, pre-Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, spoilers for FMA:B ending, canon-typical violence, pile 'o OCs, survivor's guilt, angst, original character death, slow build (btwn Ed & Roy), referenced underage relationships, off-screen violence against women
Summary: After the Promised Day, with his alchemy still intact thanks to Hohenheim's sacrifice, Ed finds himself and his chimera team getting dragged into the shadowy world of military secrets in an attempt to keep Bradley's legacy from causing a civil war.
A/N: Finally getting to the training. Sorry about the rush of OCs this chapter. Most of them you'll never see again, while others will show up sporadically over the rest of the series, but I did have to fill in some names.
Just a reminder that most of this training is pulled from information found on Wikipedia and the U.S. Army OCS site. If you see something completely bass-ackward, erm, sorry? This is an alternate world, so shit goes down a bit different, yeah? (Also, Ed. He is 100% my defence for anything that doesn't seem military. XP)
I wrote the appearance of the academy off the top of my head, then was rewatching OVA 4 a few chapters later for something else and realised I could have based everything on that and just...so much face-palming, you have no idea. So, the academy in this fic doesn't match that canon, just a head's up.
Honestly, disguising himself as an incoming cadet had been as much a way to keep people from recognising him as the Fullmetal Alchemist, as it had been a way to avoid having to sit with the stuffy warrant officers that he'd be sharing most of his time with once they got to the fort. Given his age, people would just naturally assume he was a normal cadet, rather than a veteran there for the command training he'd never expected he'd agree to, which made his disguise that much more effective.
For much the same reason, he'd insisted no one see him off, which was why he'd had to go to the Hugheses', rather than having them meet him at the station, and why Al had only crawled out of bed long enough to hug him goodbye, then been allowed to go back to sleep. (The traitor. Well, Ed could forgive him, he supposed; he was heading out to the desert soon, and that was a strain on the system even when you didn't have metal limbs.)
He got to the station at about seven thirty and slipped into the gathering crowd, avoiding anyone he spotted with a rank piece on their shoulders. At seven forty-five, a colonel with a bad-tempered expression and a kind of impressive bellow ordered them into lines and they filed into the train in an orderly fashion.
Ed ended up sitting across from a guy who looked to be about his age – okay, most of these people looked his age, that was kind of the point of sitting with the incoming cadets – and had what appeared to be a permanently bouncy knee, judging by how it was going. Across the aisle from Ed was a woman with long black hair and a scar tracing the line of her jaw, which was clenched tight, making it stand out. Across from her was a young man who looked like he'd be obnoxiously tall if he was standing and had eyes that were the same shade of blue as the Armstrongs, which were super obvious against his heavy tan.
When the train started to move, Bouncy-Knee jumped and grabbed at the edge of his seat, looking more than a little like he was about to jump out of his skin.
"Whoa, whoa," Ed called, holding out a hand to him. "Deep breaths."
"I. Don't. Like. Trains," Bouncy-Knee gritted out, his knuckles going white against the seat.
Yeah, Ed could sort of see that. "And you joined the military?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Why not just pick up a job at a shop or something, never have to get on a train?"
Bouncy-Knee swallowed and closed his eyes. "Gotta send money home," he managed to get out. "Gotta feed my sisters and brother."
Ed had been there, in his way, though Granny had supported them after Mum died, and Al hadn't needed much in the way of monetary care while in the armour. Still, he knew filial duty, could relate, and he leant forward. "Tell me about your siblings," he suggested, because if Bouncy-Knee cared enough about his siblings to face something he clearly hated, he'd probably love talking about them.
He wasn't sure Bouncy-Knee heard him, at first, but he eventually started talking, telling Ed about his sisters – Iris and Amy – and his brother – Tim – and about his mum, who was struggling to support them all on what little money she could earn around their small town, and his dad, who had got caught up in one of the firefights between Amestris and Aerugo on his way home from work three years ago, and the last thing Bouncy-Knee had wanted to do was join the military, but a recruiter had come through their village last summer and had said something about how well the military paid and Bouncy-Knee had asked some of the soldiers stationed in his village and they'd agreed, so he'd joined up soon as he could.
He calmed down while he'd talked, and while his knee had never quite stopped jiggling, he wasn't clutching the seat any more by the time he realised how much he'd been talking and had flushed. "Sorry," he whispered, before holding out a hand. "Nick Halberstadt."
Uh, shit, last name. What could Ed possibly use? "Ed Curtis," he replied, accepting Nick's hand and hoping Teacher never found out. (Or, if she did, that she didn't mind.) "And don't worry about it, really." He offered a grin. "I'd never have shut up if someone gave me the chance to talk about my brother."
"Let's not, then," the woman across the aisle from Ed said, a faint curve to her mouth suggesting she didn't mean that in a nasty way. To Nick, she said, "Your sister and I have the same name; Aimee Knoller."
Nick let out a shaky laugh. "Amy hates it so much, that so many people have the same name as her."
Aimee snorted. "Must be a southern problem, that; I'm from North City and I'm the only one I know." And then she turned to the guy across from her. "How about you, blue-eyes?"
The man grimaced. "Frank Lübeck. I hail from the east."
"Hey, me too," Ed offered, flashing him a grin. "Resembool."
"Posterim," Frank replied.
Ed winced; that was right next to Liore. "Sorry about that."
Frank snorted, an amused light in his eyes. "Likewise. You're out near Ishval, aren't you?"
"Closest train stop," Ed admitted.
Given Amestris' war-torn history, Aimee was the only one of them without stories about living near a war zone, but even she whispered about the threat of Drachma and how freaking cool was Major General Armstrong, anyway. (Ed very carefully didn't mention that he'd met her, though he did agree that she was terrifying and amazing.)
Others in the seats around them joined in: Lois Hansa was from East City and had plenty of second-hand stories about the wars in Ishval and Liore from returning soldiers; Omar Hotspur was from near Wellesley, in the southern part of the west area, and he had plenty of old stories of the civil war that had broken out there over a century ago; Beck Roland was from Lali, the other side of Ishval, and while they hadn't suffered quite the damage to the land as Resembool, they'd been dragged into the madness just the same; and Janice Lohner, from up in the north-western part of the north area, near one of the passes through the mountains into Drachma, who had stories about minor skirmishes that had broken out and friends who died in the crossfire.
The war stories, as terrible as they were, did act to form a sort of shared experience that pushed right past their lack of familiarity and made them, if not friends, comrades. Which, well, Ed expected that was sort of the point of the academy, and it almost made him wish he'd joined up the normal way, rather than sidling in as an alchemist. (Almost; he'd never have got Al's body back if he'd waited to join the military the normal way. Then again, a lot of things would have been different if he'd joined the military the normal way, like the Dwarf in the Flask destroying everything in a fit of rage after Hohenheim's array freed all the Amestrisan souls, so.)
They had an early lunch on the train – officers brought around food packs, which were kind of gross, but free, and Ed had totally been willing to share the bread loaf he'd picked up on his way to the station, familiar with the joys of military food – and pulled in to Gamitz just before eleven thirty.
Ed felt a little bad, but he used the confusion of everyone gathering their things and filing off to sneak into the toilet and put his various pins and such back on. When he finally made it outside, the bellowing colonel from the station in Central was directing everyone to vehicles, and Ed quickly set off for the command set.
Much to his surprise, he found one of the people he'd been speaking to on the train, Lois Hansa, standing by that vehicle with five other men, all wearing the plain three stripes of warrant officers. Lois, when she saw him, straightened and breathed, "Holy shit. Sir."
Ed sighed. "Please don't," he complained.
"What's a major doing at command training?" one of the men said, his expression very clearly unimpressed. "Shouldn't you have done this already? Sir."
Ed tiredly pulled out his pocket watch.
There was a moment, then about half of them realised, "You're the Fullmetal Alchemist."
"Hi, joy to meet you, so on and so forth," Ed replied, shoving his watch back in his pocket. To the man who'd commented on his rank, he said, "No, I haven't attended any training, and I wouldn't be here now, except the Führer is a dick."
"Is that so, Major Elric?" a cold voice said from behind him, and Ed turned to find the bellowing colonel glaring down at him. And, oh, Ed could already tell this man and he were going to have issues. "Perhaps you'd like to walk to the fort?"
Ed took a moment to consider that threat, how much it would piss this man off if he just did, and then spot the track away from the station, which one of the regular cadet vehicles was already starting down. "Sure," he said and, after checking that his suitcase was securely closed, started off down the track. Because, honestly? He wasn't much interested in getting stuck in a vehicle with a bunch of stuffy military types when he could be enjoying the fresh air and stretching his legs a bit.
Behind him, someone let out a quickly-aborted laugh, and Ed grinned to himself; okay, maybe they weren't all stuffy.
The roadway to the fort was mostly dirt, and curved a few times, so Ed's easy travel pace got him there at about the same time as the last vehicle, and he fell in next to Lois as the bellowing colonel – Parnall, apparently – introduced himself and his aides, most of whom would be in charge of the regular cadets, then started directing groups towards the barracks.
One of the aides, a Captain Siemans, came over to the command group. "I'll be in charge of you seven." His eyes narrowed on Ed. "I expect obedience, no matter your rank. Will we have a problem, Major?"
Ed frowned. "No."
"No, sir," Siemans stressed.
Ed resisted the urge to start something and ground out, "No, sir."
"Good." Siemans turned away from them. "Follow me."
They were led into the building next to the barracks, up one floor to a hallway lined with – Ed did a quick count – ten doors, spaced evenly. Siemans quickly set about assigning them their rooms, then told them they had until he returned at seventeen hundred to settle in.
Ed pushed into his room with a sigh, already hating himself for going through with this. Fucking Grumman. Fucking Mustang.
The exercise clothing and class uniform were set on his military-issue bed, as well as a couple of papers that laid out the daily schedule, who to talk to if he required any toiletries, and so forth. Welcoming messages, mostly. Ed used alchemy to put the schedule up on the wall next to the door, then used the rest of the papers to fashion photo frames for the pictures of himself, Al, Elicia, and Gracia that he'd chosen to put out, which he lined up on the desk or – one of Elicia and Al – set on the table next to the bed. (He also had a photo of the four chimeras with himself and Al, which he'd probably put up eventually.)
He tackled his clothing next, putting everything away in the small wardrobe with drawers. Since he didn't have enough clothing to fill both drawers, he dumped his toiletries in the bottom one, called it done, and walked back to the desk to put out his writing implements.
Someone knocked on the doorframe of his door, which he hadn't bothered to close, and he looked up to find Lois standing there. "You realise," she said, her mouth curved with a smile, "that you're completely insane."
Ed shrugged and closed his empty suitcase. "Because I'm an insubordinate shit, or because I came here at all?" he asked as he set the suitcase down next to the desk.
Lois laughed. "I was going to say because you walked here, but the insubordination is pretty insane, too."
Ed rolled his eyes. "You military types care way too much about making a polite face. Old man Grumman knows what I think of him, and he doesn't care."
"You're a national hero, Major," a deep voice said out in the hall, and Lois turned to look over her shoulder just before a dark-skinned man with a serious expression came into view around the doorway. "Führer Grumman is going to let you slide on a lot of things."
Ed snorted and shook his head. "Fuck that. He didn't care when he was commander of East City and I was a constant source of shit blowing up, and he doesn't care now. Though," he allowed, grimacing, "pretty sure my fucking promotion is because of the hero bullshit."
The man gave a slow blink. "You have a foul mouth," he stated.
"It's part of my charm."
The man's eyes gleamed slightly, though his expression didn't change, and he held his hand up in a salute. "Warrant Officer Charlie Tugan."
Ed held out his hand for a handshake, one eyebrow raised. "Ed Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist."
Charlie's eyes seemed to dance as he obediently took Ed's hand and shook. "Pleasure."
"Likewise."
As everyone finished setting up their rooms, they all gathered together in the hall to sort of introduce themselves around. The man who'd commented on his rank at the very start – who, yes, was absolutely stuffy – was Lawrence Wackett, from South City. The man who Ed suspected had laughed when he'd chosen to walk – he'd winked as he introduced himself – was Oscar Pascale, from West City. Keith Piasecki – "Yes, I'm half-Cretan; I'd rather you use my first name than mangle my last" – was from out by the Cretan border. The last man, Taylor Bartel, hailed from the central area, and had burn scars on the left side of his face and down his neck under his collar.
"From the mess in Central," he offered when he caught Ed looking, raising his left hand to show more scars.
Ed felt his jaw tighten; burn scars immediately brought Mustang to mind, though he'd heard from multiple sources that he'd aimed to leave no more than first degree burns, which would have healed away to nothing, if properly treated. Mustang was good, but Ed knew quite well how hard it was to judge everything in a fight, especially when you were trying to judge just how much damage you couldn't do. (A well-known failure of Ed's.)
Taylor offered a lopsided smile. "Not what you're thinking," he offered. "I was on one of the machine guns and it jammed. Exploded before I even realised there was a problem."
Ed probably shouldn't have been as relieved about that as he was.
Taylor sighed. "Got carted off to the hospital right before Bradley showed back up, man. Did you see him at all?"
"His corpse," Ed bit out, and Taylor wasn't the only one to shoot him a sharp look at his tone.
"Don't tell me Bradley was cool with you mouthing off about him, too," Lois said. "I mean, I heard he knew how to have fun, but–"
"Bradley," Ed got out, and he couldn't modulate his voice to save his life, "had a habit of smiling while he used the people you cared about against you."
They all stared at him in silence, wearing stunned expressions.
Ed forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "As much as I want to punch old man Grumman in the face, I'd still rather a hundred of him to one of Bradley."
"Well," Oscar said at last, "I guess you're not a Bradley-supporter, then."
Ed flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "Not even a fucking little."
"What did you mean?" Taylor asked. When Ed frowned at him, he clarified, "When you said Bradley held people against you."
Ed glanced down, trying to figure out how best to explain things without getting into all the shit about the homunculi, since their existence hadn't been released to the public or most of the military, to protect Selim. "There was a moment when everyone dropped," he offered, "for no reason. Sort of like you fell asleep wherever you were, except when you were asleep–"
"That wasn't sleep," Oscar whispered, and there were remembered horrors in each of their eyes. Ed couldn't really relate – he'd escaped that fate – but he'd heard enough about it from Winry to know that it hadn't been pleasant.
"It was like falling forever in a void of agony," Keith added.
"That," Ed agreed quietly. "Bradley was supporting the man who set that up. Mustang and my brother and I found out about it way before, and to keep us all quiet, Bradley threatened to kill Al and my best friend, and Mustang's team if any of us talked."
"Oh my God," Oscar breathed, while Lois cursed under her breath and most of the others closed their eyes.
"You're lying," Lawrence declared, stepping forward and fairly towering over Ed, though he wasn't even a head taller. "Führer Bradley would never–"
Ed punched him in the gut hard enough to make him clutch at it, his expression turning pained, but not so hard as to chance rupturing anything. "Anyone fucking defends Bradley to me, I don't care about rank or who's watching, I will beat you bloody, so shut up. Right now," he ordered.
Lawrence glared at him, but backed down.
Things were a little awkward after that, and they all sort of retired back into their rooms until Siemans returned to collect them for dinner. Dinner was equally strained, the command candidates held apart from the normal cadets and their table in a position that they could easily be stared at.
Before they were dismissed for the evening, Colonel Parnall announced that the weekend would be filled with fitness tests, so they'd best get as much sleep as possible; they were going to need it.
Given that warning, when he got back to his room, Ed closed his door and set about adding the carbon fibre to his new clothing, then got ready for bed. He left his lighter, pocket watch, and a diamond in front of the picture of Elicia and Al on his bedside table, climbed into bed, and whispered a goodnight to the picture before turning over to get what was very likely to be the last good sleep for the next three months.
They were called to order before six the next morning, and Ed wasn't the only one stumbling through his morning ablutions. Breakfast followed, then they were all marched out to the track and firing range behind the fort. There, they were broken into three groups according to their last name, command candidates and cadets together, and told to warm up.
Ed ended up in the same group as Taylor and Lois, as well as Nick and Omar, from the train. As he started through his familiar limbering exercises, Nick sidled up to him and muttered, "Ed Curtis."
Ed shrugged, unapologetic. "You'd never have calmed down if you knew I was the Fullmetal Alchemist," he pointed out.
"Might have," Nick muttered.
"Wouldn't," Omar called from where he was doing a handstand. "Don't even lie, Nicky."
Nick let out a sigh that made it clear he'd already resigned himself to the nickname, and Ed ducked his head to hide a grin.
Once Parnall decided they'd all stretched enough, the groups were sent out to different sections to be tested. Ed's group got the track first, and were told they had to run it under the time limit.
Ed resisted the urge to ask what the record was and took the run at an easy pace, which still had him finishing before the rest of his group.
"I hate you," Lois gasped once she'd finished. "Did you even break a sweat?"
"Little one," Ed offered, trying not to grin; running was a lot easier with only one automail limb weighing him down, when he was used to compensating for two. (Most physical exercises were easier with only one automail limb, if he was being honest.) Anyway, this was a walk in the park, compared to Teacher's training. Fewer bruises, for one.
A few members of his group – all regular cadets – were warned that they had come in under the necessary time and that they had a week to get in better shape and try making that time again next weekend, or they would be sent home.
They all got the chance to cool down, even the stragglers, before Parnall ordered the groups to switch. Which put Ed's group at the firing range.
"Who here isn't familiar with firearms?" their trainer, a captain that Ed was fairly certain was called Boulton, asked.
Ed and two of the cadets raised their hands, and Omar whispered, "Seriously?"
Boulton nodded. "You three, with me. Everyone else, get a rifle and three rounds. Shoot all of them, then clear the chamber and wait for me to mark you." As everyone else moved to get guns, Ed and the cadets stepped up to Boulton, who was consulting a clipboard. "Names," he requested.
"Gabardini," the male cadet reported.
The female cadet whispered something that might have been her last name. When Boulton shot her a hard look, she cleared her throat and managed, louder, "Coanda."
"Elric."
Boulton made a quick mark on his clipboard, then set it aside. "Right. All of you get a rifle and I'll run you through the basics."
Gabardini and Coanda hurried for the rifles, but Ed folded his arms over his chest and said, "No."
Boulton turned hard eyes on Ed. "Excuse me?"
Ed stared him down, unflinching, because he had fucking lines and using guns were one of them. He'd made an exception once, because Hawkeye had asked, but he had no intention in doing so again, especially since that had done him no good, at the time. "I'm not getting a gun," he said, forcing his voice to remain even.
Before Boulton could find a response to that, they were interrupted by Parnall, who rumbled, "Is there a problem over here, Captain?" as he stopped next to them.
Boulton saluted. "Sir! Elric is refusing to get a gun."
Parnall turned to him, and there was something nasty in his eyes that immediately set Ed's hackles up. "Did you not understand the order, Elric?" he asked, his tone just shy of insulting.
Ed was really fucking glad his arms were folded over his chest, because it was easier to stop himself from punching the bastard in the face that way. "I understood perfectly," he said, and his voice came out far sharper than he'd intended. He tried to modulate it a bit as he added, "I'm not learning to shoot a gun."
Parnall took a step forward, and what the actual fuck was up with these arseholes and using their height to tower over Ed, anyway? "You will go and pick up a gun, Elric," he said, anger all-too-obvious in his voice.
"No."
"Get him a gun, Captain," Parnall told Boulton, and Ed tightened his biceps over his fists in an effort to keep from punching the man as Boulton ran to do as ordered.
"I am not learning to shoot a gun," Ed repeated. "I'm not going to fucking touch a gun."
Parnall accepted the gun that Boulton brought back and turned icy eyes on Ed. "You will take this gun, Elric, and you will learn how to use it, or I will shoot you myself."
"Try it," Ed suggested, and someone stifled a gasp behind him.
For a minute, Parnall looked like he was honestly considering doing just that, and Ed resettled his stance, freeing his hands so he could clap and drop to raise a barrier; punching the bastard would just see him court-martialled, but defending himself was totally fair.
But then Parnall smiled. "You honestly believe, Elric, that because you can do flashy things with some magic circles–"
"What circles?" Ed couldn't help but interrupt, before he clapped his hands together and dropped to transmute his familiar battle staff from the ground. "Yeah," he said over the whisper of voices behind him, while Parnall glared at him, "I'm an alchemist. That means I've got a way better weapon than any fucking gun." And then, because he was fairly certain it would piss Parnall off, he straightened, saluted, and barked, "Sir!"
Parnall's hands visibly tightened around the gun he was still holding before he snarled, "My office, Elric," and turned to lead the way.
Ed fell in behind him, an absent clap turning the staff into a fair match for his new knife. He slipped it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, uncertain enough about what Parnall had planned to want a weapon easy to hand. He had his carbon alchemy, sure, but he'd opted to go without gloves for the physical testing, since he doubted they'd be seen favourably – he'd honestly intended to avoid a fight today – which meant it wouldn't be at its most effective.
(Yeah, he was probably being paranoid – no way Parnall would actually try hurting him, not when so many people observed that argument, right? – but his paranoia had kept him alive on more than one occasion, so fuck it.)
Parnall led the way to an inner office in the upper floor of the main building. "Sit," he ordered, pointing at a chair in front of what was clearly his desk, then picking up the phone.
Ed settled in stiffly, and didn't relax when he realised Parnall was ringing Grumman. Which, well, actually made sense; Ed couldn't be kicked out of the training, on Grumman's order, and with his direct CO out of contact, that left it to the Führer to handle Ed's disobedience. And he had no fucking clue what Grumman would do.
"Führer Grumman, sir, this is Colonel Parnall," he said at last, clearly having reached the Führer. "Major Elric is proving to be a problem." He was quiet for a moment, waiting through Grumman's response, then answered, "He is absolutely refusing to so much as touch a gun, sir." Parnall was quiet for another moment before he held the handset out to Ed.
Ed took it with a frown. "Sir," he said, announcing he had the phone.
"Major," Grumman greeted, and Ed couldn't tell if he was amused or angry, and that actually freaked him out a little bit. "Please explain to me why you won't touch a gun."
Ed glanced at the rifle that Parnall had brought up with him, grabbing desperately for the best explanation he had. "I'm trained in hand-to-hand, and what little distance fighting I have to do, I manage fine with alchemy. In the time it would take me to pull out a gun and aim it, I could already have trapped my opponent, or covered the space between us and punched them." He swallowed, then added, probably a little too honestly, "I don't like guns, Grumman. It's too easy to kill with them."
Grumman let out a noise that could have been understanding. "Your team uses guns, do they not?" he asked.
Ed furrowed his brow, confused about where he was going with this. "They've both got one, yeah." More than one, actually, based on the invoice Havoc had passed on to him, but Ed wasn't about to pass that on over the phone. Or in any manner, really, because Grumman didn't really need to know that Ed's team were being supplied with black market arms, even if he could probably guess that it was happening, given that Havoc had helped supply Mustang's team during the Promised Day.
"If one of their guns broke in the field, it would be your duty to either get a replacement or, given your alchemy, fix it yourself. Are you currently capable of the latter?"
Ed blinked. Fix a gun? Well, not so it actually worked, not if he didn't know how it work– Ah. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm still not shooting them," he insisted.
Grumman chuckled. "You've made your case," he allowed. "While you would normally be expected to practise shooting, you will instead be taking apart different types of guns and putting them back together again, until you can transmute replacements that work. Hand me back to Colonel Parnall."
"Yes, sir," Ed said on a sigh, before holding the phone back out to the colonel.
Parnall's expression was a study in poorly concealed fury as he listened to Grumman for an extended period. At last, he stiffly said, "I understand, sir. Thank you, sir," and then very gently set the handset back onto its cradle, before picking the rifle up and turning to Ed. "Let me make something perfectly clear, Elric," he snarled, no longer bothering to hide how pissed off he was, which Ed thought was kind of unprofessional (yeah, like he could really talk). "The Führer may have to make nice with you for the public, but no one here will be doing the same. I can't fail you, but I can and will fail others in your place. Am I clear?"
Ed felt very much like someone had just dumped ice water over him. So, it would be threats to turn him into the good little soldier; he should have figured. "Crystal, sir," he gritted out, because what the fuck else could he do?
Fuck, he hated the military. Mustang need to climb his way to the top and fix it, already.
Parnall held the gun out towards him. "Get back to your squad."
Ed took the gun and stalked from the office and back out to the field. His group had moved on from the shooting range to the second half of the physical tests, which appeared to be using field equipment to test flexibility and muscle strength. He returned the gun to the range, then made his way over to the equipment.
"Good of you to finally join us, soldier," the captain there called from where he was marking something down on a clipboard. "Fall in line."
The cadet at the end of the line, Coanda, shot him a vaguely terrified look as Ed stepped up behind her, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm the fuck down; he wasn't angry with any of his group members, and if he punched the person he was angry with, they would be the ones punished.
When it was finally his turn, the captain droned, "Name."
"Elric."
"Any disabilities?"
Ed felt his jaw tighten and had to force out the words, "Automail leg." It wasn't a disability to him, not really, but he knew that's how other people saw it, and if he lied about something that was in his file, his group would get it.
The captain blinked and looked up at him while a couple members of his group started whispering. "I see. Are there any exercises you're incapable of performing?"
Ed already knew there weren't, but he still glanced over the equipment, just to make sure, then said, "No. May I?"
The captain waved him on, so Ed went through the set. He really would have preferred punching something or running to manage his anger, but the burn of well-used muscles was better than nothing.
Once Ed had finished, they were sent in for lunch, where they found that the tables had been rearranged by group or – as Parnall had called it in his office – squad. Once they'd all got their food and were seated, Parnall explained that they would be going in shifts that evening and the next day to run through an obstacle course with their squad, with Ed's squad – Squad A – going that afternoon. For everyone not running the course, there would be a tour of the facilities, and then free time.
"So, essentially, we've got tomorrow free?" Omar said hopefully.
"I wouldn't hold my breath," Taylor murmured.
Lois snapped her fingers in Ed's general direction until he looked up at her. "The hell were you thinking, going off on Parnall like that?"
Ed scowled. "I don't like guns."
"News flash! You're in the military!"
"Fine, I have no use for guns," Ed said, turning back to his food. "Alchemy's faster, and more dependable."
"More 'dependable'," Lois repeated. "The fuck, Elric."
"My alchemy has never jammed on me," Ed pointed out, before tossing Taylor an apologetic look. (Which, if he was being honest, wasn't really true, but he didn't count intervention of the Dwarf in the Flask as a 'jamming', especially since that would never happen again.)
Taylor sighed and waved his burned hand at him. "And you don't need circles, yeah? Makes it faster."
Ed snorted. "You want fast, you should see the Flame Alchemist. He snaps, things explode. That's fast." He shook his head, remembering how the man had been useless when his gloves got wet, and chose not to mention that. "But, yeah, not having to fuss about with arrays makes it a lot easier. Don't need a smooth surface to draw on, for one, and I'm not limited to what type of alchemy I can use, like someone with a pre-drawn array is."
"Could you just snap and things explode?" Nick asked.
Ed considered that as he chewed a mouthful. Could he use Mustang's alchemy? Sure. He knew the man's arrays, had seen and felt it in action enough times, and he already had the lighter to create a spark, but he also knew there was a level of finite control that he'd have to practise to achieve. "Probably," he settled on.
"Let's not find out right now," one of the women in the squad said. Ed was fairly certain her last name was Flanders, but he wasn't sure. And they should probably make a point to introduce themselves to each other at some point, since it seemed they'd be stuck together for a while.
"So, how'd you get out of Parnall's office without needing to pack your bags?" Taylor asked.
"And do you have to learn to shoot?" Lois added.
Ed stared down at his food, debating how much to tell them. On one hand, he didn't really want to make it public knowledge that he was getting special treatment because of who he was, and he really didn't want to tell them that any more fuck-ups on his part would hurt them; on the other hand, they knew who he was and the fact that he didn't have to learn to shoot was a clear show of his special treatment, and he'd already been down the path of not telling someone they were being used against him, and that had ended in having to entrust Winry's safety to Scar.
So, with a sigh, he explained, "Führer's not letting Parnall kick me out, for reasons you can probably guess."
"Lucky," someone muttered.
Ed smiled grimly. "He can't kick me to the kerb, but he can kick out others in my stead."
Lois got it first, breathing curses under her breath.
"You're saying," one of the other men hissed, "that if you don't get your act together, we're going to get kicked out?"
Ed met his glare. "Yes."
"Fuck you, you little shit," the man snarled, rising in his seat.
"Hey!" Lois snapped, while the guy's neighbour pushed on his shoulder and said, "Easy, man."
"Right, so," Taylor said, "one of us sees you about to do something we'll all regret, we step in. Sound good?" He looked around the table as everyone nodded, even the guy who'd just about jumped out of his seat. Taylor looked back at Ed. "Any other hang-ups we need to be aware of?"
"Other than my general inability to follow orders?" Ed returned drily, and Taylor winced.
"And your hatred of all things Bradley," Lois supplied, and Ed scowled. "So, seriously, what happened with the gun? You carried it back out, I saw."
Ed shook his head. "Parnall called old man Grumman–" someone whistled "–and he decided I don't have to shoot them, but I have to be able to take them apart and put them back together again. Gotta be able to fix it if one of my team breaks his while we're out in the field."
"Military training for alchemists," Flanders muttered. "Go figure."
Ed shrugged. "It made sense."
Topics moved, after that, to finding ways to improve those members of their squad who had failed parts of the testing. Taylor suggested they use part of their free time the next day to work on that, which the cadets all groaned about, but agreed to. Ed offered to help with the endurance, Lois said she'd help with the limberness, and Taylor chimed in about upper body strength. Lois also said she was happy to help anyone who wanted to improve their aim, while kicking Ed under the table. (He resisted the urge to start a food fight. Barely.)
After lunch was the obstacle course, which they had to run each on their own, first, then as a group, helping each other past obstacles that had given them trouble. They had to run it through twice each way, and it was already dark when they all trooped back inside, tired and sore and all of them covered in mud from the artificially created mire. The cadets all went straight to the barracks, while the three command candidates made for the showers on their hall.
"Looks like fun!" Oscar called after them from where he was sitting on his bed, playing with a cup-and-ball set.
"Let's see if he's still saying that tomorrow," Lois muttered, and Ed and Taylor both let out noises of agreement.
Ed took the longest in the shower, due entirely to how much of a sodding pain it was to get mud out of his automail. By the time he was done maintaining it – he was not dealing with Winry in a snit because he messed up his automail on top of not being able to ring her – everyone else was ready to go to dinner.
"So, did the water get cold ever?" Lois asked on their way down.
Ed shook his head. "Didn't seem to, no. Why?"
"The showers in the barracks have about five minutes of hot water; if ours don't have a limit, I'm not going to rush my showers any more."
Ed laughed at that and shook his head, then offered, "If it does go cold on you and I'm in the next stall, shout and I'll fix it."
"You can do that?" Oscar asked, looking worryingly gleeful.
Ed shrugged, because it was a fairly easy fix, one he'd occasionally had to use with the outdoor shower at Granny's and, on the rare occasion they stayed there, in the East City dorms. "Yeah."
"I'm always going to take showers with you from now on," Oscar decided.
Ed snorted. "In your own stall, please; I don't do free shows."
Oscar flushed, while most of the others laughed. Lois draped an arm around Ed's shoulders, wearing a smirk, and asked, "How much for a show, then?"
"I'll have to ask my manager," Ed retorted, and she laughed as she let him go.
That night, after dinner, when Ed was preparing to turn in for the night, he was stopped by a knock on his door, and he quickly pulled back on the shirt he'd just taken off. When he opened it, he found Lois, expression uncertain and holding what looked like a picture frame against her chest. He blinked at her, then stepped back to let her in.
Lois took a deep breath and, not moving out of the doorway, said, "I just needed to make sure you knew I was only joking, earlier, about the show. Which isn't to say you're not attractive, because you are, but–"
"Lois," Ed interrupted, bemused. "Thank you? I promise I didn't take you seriously."
She let out a gusty breath. "Oh." Then she flushed slightly. "It's just, well, you have this really easy-to-joke-with sort of personality, and the last time I did that with a guy, he took me seriously."
Ed shrugged. "One of my team likes to jokingly come on to me, and I got used to ignoring him. And, well–" he grimaced faintly "–nothing against you, but you're not really my type." Because he had slept with women, sure – Greed had seen to that – and he didn't mind them, but he'd discovered a definite preference for men. Which was one of those things that he really didn't want to explain to Al, but was probably the only way to put an end to the jokes about him and Winry getting together. (Darius, on the other hand, was well aware, and made the comments just to mess with him.)
Lois let out a quiet laugh and turned around the picture she was holding as she said, "Likewise."
The picture was of Lois in uniform, her red hair much longer than it currently was and lit from behind, so it looked like she was on fire, and another woman with dark skin, who was wearing a nurse's uniform. They had their arms wrapped around each other and looked ridiculously happy.
Ed blinked. "I know her," he realised of the nurse. "She works at the East City hospital, doesn't she?"
Lois nodded, smile turning a bit sad as she looked back down at the photo. "Yeah. Brittany. She usually sits the front desk in the military wing."
"She's nice," Ed remembered. "Let me in to see Fuery that time he nearly fried himself fixing a telephone pole, even though she wasn't supposed to."
Lois cast him an amused glance. "That sounds like something she'd do," she agreed, before something like mischief gleamed in her eyes. "I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours."
Ed blinked a few times before he realised what she meant, and he snorted and waved her in as he stepped over to his bedside table. "No one quite so worthy of wet dreams," he offered and she choked on a laugh. He flashed her a grin and held out the picture for her to see. "My brother, Al, and Elicia Hughes, who's sort of like a little sister to us."
"She looks precious," Lois said, smiling at him.
"She is." Ed stared down at their smiles and sighed. "She was absolutely miserable when we told her we both had to leave. Al's heading to Xing," he explained to her curious look, "and I'm here, of course."
"At least it's only three months?"
"That's an eternity to a four-year-old."
Lois winced. "I guess it is. Well, we'll work towards phone privileges, then you can ring her and I can ring Brittany and we'll both be happier."
Ed let out a short laugh as he turned and put the photo back. "Sounds like a plan," he allowed, and she laughed herself. "Good night, Lois."
"Night, Ed," she returned, and Ed saw her out before finally heading for bed.
Well, if nothing else, at least it seemed like he'd made a friend.
Finding the indoor gym during their tour the next morning went a long way towards easing Ed's irritation with Parnall's blackmail. Spending an hour breaking and repairing the punching bag had earned him some slightly terrified looks from the cadets who'd been in there, and Charlie Tugan, who'd been working with the weights, had drily suggested, "You might look into anger management classes," as Ed passed him on his way out.
"But this works so well," he'd insisted, and Charlie's eyes had glinted over his perpetual serious expression.
Monday, finally, set the standard for the next three months: they got up at way-too-fucking-early-in-the-morning, and Captain Siemans came through their hall to do a quick inspection of their living spaces (it took two days for Ed to figure out how he needed to make his bed, and even then, he'd had to ask for help). Following that, they had an hour to do whatever personal training they wanted, and Ed's squad spent the first week focussing on getting the lagging members up to scruff, before each settling in to do their own things (like Ed beating the living fuck out of the punching bag a couple times). A short clean-up and change before breakfast, and then it was off to classes or whatever fresh hell they had for the squads outside, with a brief break for lunch in the middle. Dinner was after, then free time, part of which Ed always spent in the gym, before retiring to his room to do any classwork.
His squad being aware that he had a problem with authority was surprisingly helpful during the forced marches, because Ed would always stick back with whoever was lagging and, when one of their trainers – Parnall, usually, and Ed was nearly certain the bastard was trying to push him into fucking up one of the others' careers – came back to try and yell them into hurrying up, Ed's first reaction was always to shout back, so his squad mates quickly learnt to smack him as soon as he opened his mouth and drown out any comment he didn't manage to bite back with a very loud, "Yes, sir!"
Most of the outdoor activities that didn't involve the obstacle course, or either running or marching them to death, Ed found to be boring. He knew how to read maps and navigate by them, he knew how to handle most difficult terrain, and he knew how to survive outdoors for days while living on limited rations. Fuck, he even knew how to hunt without military supplies, and move through enemy territory without being noticed. (Mostly. Greed had never been good about staying under the radar, but they'd managed to avoid the homunculi, military, and Mustang's spy network, so Ed assumed they'd done something right.)
Indoor classes with the command candidates proved both more interesting and tedious as fuck. The history of Amestris' military made him want to shove his pencil into his ears and ruin his hearing, and the ethics class was just military crap and nowhere near the level of his own moral code. Military intelligence, however, was an interesting look into the shadowy underbelly of the military that Ed had found himself thrust into, and the leadership and tactics courses had offered some intriguing ideas in regards to managing Darius and Heinkel while working on their current task.
Which, speaking of his missing team... Chris' woman, Maggie, had caught his attention their first full Friday as she served him some meatloaf at dinner, making a dry comment on how it probably wasn't fit for lions, which had been one of the code phrases Ed and Chris had set up before he'd left. (The other, of course, had involved gorillas, to be used if she was serving a non-meat product.) She'd slipped him a parcel as he dropped off his tray, and he'd wasted no time in returning with it to his room and closing his door.
The parcel had been the most recent report from Darius and Heinkel, as well as some reports passed on from other of Chris' contacts, some related newspaper articles, and a hand-written note from Grumman with the dressing-down he hadn't delivered over the phone, likely due to the sensitive information he'd used as key points. Other than the dressing-down, his weekly parcels tended to contain many of the same items, with an added package from Al the second week of the month, which included pictures of his trip – the camera was clearly getting a lot of use, and Ed was glad it was easy to find the necessary ingredients to transmute more photo stands – and commentary written in the code Al used for his alchemy notes.
Ed's own comments or – when Heinkel asked for permission to join the large pro-Bradley cell they'd found, which Ed had granted, after weighing the dangers and the potential benefits – responses were handed back to Maggie on Saturday morning as he passed her on his way to fill his plate. If his squad or the other command candidates noticed any of the parcels, none of them said anything to him, and he made a point to keep all of his paperwork hidden away in a compartment he'd made in the floor next to his wardrobe, where it wouldn't look odd if someone caught him kneeling down, so long as he had the bottom drawer open. (Fucking military intelligence class and all this shadow bullshit was making him paranoid as fuck.)
Between his squad's work to keep him in line, and Ed's own ease with most of the training, he had his phone privileges back by the middle of the third week. His first call – after double-checking the date in his head – had been to the Hugheses, and Elicia's delighted squeal had been totally worth Winry's irritation that he'd had to wait another day to ring her. (She'd been less cross with him when he admitted he'd called Elicia first, because she adored the girl as much as Ed and Al did.)
Keith Piasecki's comment about his multiple girlfriends had earned him a – very light, stop whining, you baby – punch to the arm, and Lois had just about laughed herself silly for some reason that she wouldn't share (though Ed had a pretty good guess, since she was the only one who knew his preferences).
On the seventeenth of February, over dinner, Ed warned, "I won't be here tomorrow."
Heads came up around the table, and Taylor asked, "Why?"
Rather than trying to explain his complicated relationship with the Hugheses, Ed said, "It's my little sister's birthday."
Lois perked up. "Elicia?" she guessed.
Ed nodded and told them all, "She's turning five. I've been informed that there will be snowman building in the courtyard, a tea party, and flower crowns for everyone, if her mum can find enough flowers."
They all laughed at that, and Ed was made to promise pictures.
After they'd parted from the cadets, Taylor asked, "So, how much pull do you have with the Führer, anyway? Because I have never once heard of anyone getting a day off for anything less than a funeral."
"You're going to a funeral, Ed?" Oscar asked as he caught them up.
Ed sighed. "No, a birthday." To Taylor, he offered, "Elicia's father was Brigadier General Hughes, who was killed while attempting to pass on critical information to Brigadier General Mustang almost two years ago. Pretty sure this is less about my 'pull' with Grumman and more about honouring a soldier and giving a little girl the chance to have as much of her family home for her birthday as possible."
"Shit, yeah," Taylor replied, an apologetic expression owning his face. "You said she's your sister, though?"
"Hughes and his wife took care of Al and me every time we came to Central, and we've known Elicia since she was a baby. She's the closest thing either of us have to a little sister, and since she calls us her big brothers..." He shrugged. "It's only her and her mum left, from what I understand, and Al's all I've got; seemed like a good match, right?"
"Yeah," Taylor agreed, squeezing Ed's shoulder. "Seems like an awesome match."
Ed offered him a tired smile, then they all parted to step into their personal rooms and go about their evening schedules. For Ed, that meant changing back into his exercise clothing and running down to murder the punching bag a few times before coming back up to take a shower, then get started on his class work.
As much trouble as he had restraining himself from actually hitting one of the officers, he'd found settling into this disciplined life surprisingly easy. Which, yeah, pretty fucking terrifying, and he was going to have to demolish a building as soon as he got out, just to make himself feel better.
Come What May Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 ||
11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16 || 17 || 18 || 19 || 20
Extras:
Ch 04 (Roy) || Ch 07 (Roy) || Ch 10 (Roy)
Ch 10 (Darius - NSFW) || Ch 16 (Ed - NSFW) || Ch 17 (Roy)
We All Need Saving Chapters:
Unposted
Dancing With the Devil Chapters:
Unposted
.
