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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: Brought Roy back, you're welcome. XD
For the anon on FFN who joked that Wackett told Parnall about Ed's weak spot... He would actually have had the chance, and he didn't need to; Ed's well enough known that it really isn't hard to guess what can be used against him, and (you'll find out in this chapter) Parnall knows Roy.
Chapter Six
-0-
Ed got up with the rest of his hall the morning of the eighteenth, yawning as he stepped out of his room so Siemans could inspect. Once the man was done, he dismissed them all to their personal physical training before calling, "Elric!"
Ed straightened and eyed him. "Sir?"
"You're to dress for your day out and report directly to the front gate; your ride is due within ten minutes."
"Yes, sir," Ed agreed, before returning to his room to dress.
He'd actually spent the night before debating his options. His usual civilian wear should suffice for a party, but given Elicia's comments on how much she liked him in blue – and her half-hopeful comments about it the last time he'd spoken to her on the phone – he'd realised, a bit helplessly, that he was going to the party in his uniform. Which, vaguely obnoxious, but it would make Elicia happy, which was what mattered, and he'd be less obvious leaving and returning to the fort in his military blue.
It didn't take him long to get dressed and put up his hair, then he hurried down to the front gate, waving his goodbye as his hall mates called after him.
A military-issue car was waiting for him at the entrance, Parnall standing next to the driver's side door and clearly having some sort of pissing contest with whoever had come to pick Ed up, and Ed raised an eyebrow at that even as he called, "Colonel."
Parnall turned to glare at him, and Ed felt his eyes widening as he caught sight of Mustang in the driver's seat, a suggestion of surprise in his own eyes as he looked at Ed. Of all the people Grumman could have sent to pick him up, Ed could admit that Mustang had never even figured onto the list.
And then Parnall was between them again, the familiar gleam in his eyes that meant he was going to push all of Ed's buttons. "Elric–" he started.
"Fullmetal!" Mustang barked, and Ed had to suppress a smirk when Parnall flinched. "Get over here before we miss the train!"
Ed gave Parnall a brief salute and offered an insincere, "Sorry, sir," before ducking past him and calling, "Hold your horses, bastard!"
Mustang snorted as Ed slid into the back seat. "It's almost reassuring to see you haven't changed," he admitted as he pulled away from the fort.
"It's the uniform, I know," Ed said, and Mustang's eyes gleamed at him in the rear-view mirror; he was wearing civilian clothing, though Ed knew he was on leave, so it was only to be expected. "I would have gone civilian, but Elicia was insistent."
Mustang shook his head. "Has you wrapped around her little finger, does she, Fullmetal?"
"Don't even start with me, Uncle Roy," Ed tossed back and Mustang smirked at him in the mirror. "Gracia said you spoil her just as much as Al and I do."
"Very likely," Mustang admitted before he gave a helpless little shrug. "She's distressingly like her father at his worst."
Ed snickered at that, because he was pretty sure by 'worst' Mustang meant every time Hughes had ever started in on his favourite topic ever: Elicia herself.
And it was nice, being able to laugh about Hughes without feeling like his guilt was going to choke him; seeing Elicia and Gracia smile so much had gone a long way to healing the ache that Hughes' murder had left behind.
Mustang parked the car next to the other military vehicles in the small car park next to the train station and, as they got out, ordered, "Get yourself some food," while pointing towards a bakery across the road.
"Did you want something?" Ed called back as he turned to do so, because while he was used to not eating for another hour, his stomach was already voicing its interest in the change of pace.
"I've eaten," Mustang responded.
So Ed, after looking over the bakery's selection and checking his (useless) mental checklist of all the things he'd seen Mustang eating instead of doing his work, got himself three fruit strudels of varying favours, then picked out a raisin strudel for Mustang before hurrying back to the station. "Shut up," he ordered as he handed over the strudel.
Mustang snorted. "You're developing a habit, Fullmetal."
"Seriously, shut up."
Mustang smirked at him, but kept any further comments to himself as he ate the strudel and they boarded the train. Once they'd found seats, he asked, "How's your brother?"
Ed snorted around his current bite and hurriedly swallowed before saying, "Really fucking sick of the desert, last I heard. Not as sick of it as Jerso is, of course, but he's done. Sent me some pretty cool pictures of Xerxes, though. How's Hawkeye and them?"
"Also sick of the desert," Mustang admitted and Ed laughed. "The captain and Lieutenant Colonel Miles are managing things while I'm away. If everything stays on schedule, we should be done with the rebuilding by this time next year."
"That'll be nice," Ed offered. "We gonna pull out then, or irritate them a little longer?"
Mustang shot him a tiredly amused look. "The Führer is pushing to extend the train route out to Ishval. Their council is a bit back-and-forth on the idea, but a recent skirmish with Aerugo about fifty miles down the border is tilting the vote in favour of agreeing."
Ed frowned. "Do they realise we're going to need to use alchemy to safely extend the tracks through the desert?" Because that had been in one of those books Mustang had him reading in hospital, and they all knew how the Ishvalans felt about alchemy.
Mustang's jaw tightened slightly and he shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, although that may be part of what's been holding them back; all of my contact with the council, so far, has been through Miles or that friend of ours."
Scar, Ed knew, understood quite well why Mustang didn't actually use his name – or, well, the name they had for him – in public. He shrugged and shook his head. "I mean, it makes sense, that they want to go through an intermediary with us, even if it sucks. At least Miles is– No." He snorted. "He's not going to take our side over them, is he?"
"I don't expect so," Mustang admitted, before letting out a near silent sigh and sitting back against his bench. "How much trouble are you having with Colonel Parnall?"
Ed was helpless against the scowl that crossed his face, and Mustang raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Fuck you," Ed snapped. "I can handle Parnall."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know what you fucking asked. I'm telling you–"
"Edward," Mustang interrupted, and Ed glared at him, but shut up. "I was in the academy with Parnall, and we didn't get on. Is he taking it out on you?"
Ed huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he slumped back against his bench. "How the fuck should I know? First time I met him, he overheard me calling Grumman a dick–"
"Of course you did," Mustang muttered, closing his eyes.
"Which he is," Ed insisted. "And when Parnall suggested I walk to the fort from the train station, I figured 'why not' and did."
Mustang just sort of shook his head, something that might have been a resigned smile tugging at his mouth.
"And then we had a, uh, discussion–"
"Argument," Mustang assumed.
"Okay, yeah, argument, about the fact that I wouldn't shoot a gun." Ed shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. "He called old man Grumman, I won, he's been on my case ever since."
Mustang watched him for a moment, then asked, "What aren't you telling me?"
Fucking Mustang. He sighed and closed his eyes. "He can't kick me out, so he's threatening to kick out a member of my squad if I act out."
"I see."
Ed opened his eyes and looked up to find Mustang staring out the window, the same tightness in his jaw that Ed had been suffering for the past month and a half. "I warned my squad," he admitted, and Mustang shot him a surprised look. "Figure they deserved to know, just like Winry did. They've been helping to keep me from mouthing off when Parnall goes after me."
"Regretfully, it's not uncommon for the officers of the academy to focus on one or two cadets they think need the extra attention," Mustang offered, "and there's nothing that can be done about that. The hostage situation, however, is a different matter; if you want to report it, I'll support you."
Ed clenched his jaw and turned to stare out the window; he hadn't needed to take the course on military history or sit through any rules and regulations lectures to know how slow the military was about getting internal matters like this handled. "And give him more reason to go after me while I wait for the bureaucratic bullshit to sort itself out? No, thanks. I've only got a bit over a month left; I can deal with fucking Parnall for that long."
Mustang was quiet for a long moment, before he pointed out, "You've only got a month and a half left, but those cadets in your squad have much longer."
Ed turned his head to stare at him so fast, he felt his neck pop. "You think he's going to fucking go after them?"
"I don't know," Mustang admitted. "I haven't had much to do with Parnall since the academy, but I know he was a bully then, and it doesn't sound like he's changed much. Think about it."
Ed turned to stare out the window again, not really seeing the scenery as it flew by. It had never occurred to him that Parnall would go after the others after he'd left, but if Ed managed to keep holding his temper with his squad's help, he might just lash out at them in a fit of rage. And that would be totally on Parnall, then, but that wouldn't be much comfort to whoever he kicked out. Worse, that wouldn't be much comfort to Ed when he eventually found out and realised he could have done something to stop the fucker, but he hadn't.
"You know," he muttered, "this whole being a commander with a conscience thing sucks."
"Yes, it does," Mustang agreed, and Ed caught his eyes – tired and filled with old pain – in the reflection of the window.
Ed swallowed, then straightened and turned to his CO. "Tell me what I need to do."
The flash of pride in Mustang's eyes shouldn't have felt as good as it did.
They ended up being the last to arrive to the party, since they'd swung by Command – and boy had it been weird, being the one in uniform while Mustang was in civilian clothing – so Ed could file his complaint, first. They'd gone straight to Grumman, who hadn't seemed surprised by Ed's explanation, and it occurred to him that, given the academy was his purview, it would have been foolish for Grumman not to have eyes and ears on the staff, just as Chris had her kitchen lady. Which meant he'd probably been aware of the problem since at least the second week of Ed's training, if not sooner, but hadn't been able to do anything about it unless Ed or one of his fellow squad members stepped forward. (And Mustang being the one sent down to get him made a lot more sense when you figured in what manipulative bastards both he and Grumman were. Ugh.)
So things were already in swing when Mustang let them in – Ed had coughed when he'd seen the key and Mustang had shot him a silencing look before unlocking the door – but it was clear from her expression before she caught sight of them, that Elicia was very much determined to not have any fun.
"Princess," Mustang called.
Elicia's head snapped up and her whole face lit up with delight as she spotted them, then she was off like a shot, running at them and shouting, "Uncle Roy! Big Brother!"
Mustang caught her with the same easy motion that Ed and Al had developed during the course of their regular visits, and Ed couldn't help but notice how the bastard's entire face changed, the usual guarded edge leaving his eyes and his expression shifting to one of such fondness, it actually physically hurt to look at.
"You wore the blue!" Elicia realised of Ed, clearly pleased about that.
Ed grinned at her. "What else was I going to do for your birthday?" he asked, and she giggled and reached for him. Once Mustang had handed her over, Ed kissed her cheek, then asked, "Where's your mum?"
"Kitchen," Elicia informed him before perking up. "Flowers! You have to fix the flowers!"
"I do, don't I? Are they in the kitchen, too?"
"Yup!"
Ed started in that direction while asking, "Do you wanna help me, or stay out here with your friends?"
Elicia looked towards where the other children were playing in the living room, supervised by a couple of parents who Ed knew lived in the building. "I want my crown," she decided.
Ed laughed and carried her into the kitchen, calling, "Hi, Gracia!" as he did.
Gracia smiled up at him. "Oh, good. I assume Roy is out there, looking slightly lost?"
From behind Ed, Mustang drily replied, "Roy is right here," and Ed glanced back to find him stepping into the kitchen, looking very obviously amused.
Mischief lit Gracia's eyes and she picked up her camera, which was sitting next to the cake she'd been working on. "Elicia, didn't you have something you were going to tell Uncle Roy?"
"Uh..." Elicia gave Ed an adorable confused look before her eyes lit up – and, holy shit, there was no way she didn't know exactly what was going on; her mum must have explained things – and she very matter-of-factly informed Mustang, "Big Brother Ed looks better in uniform than you do, Uncle Roy."
The wording was likely Gracia's, but the delivery was all Elicia, and Ed couldn't turn around, too afraid Mustang's expression would make him laugh.
Mustang was silent for a moment, until the click of the camera – two pictures in – clearly registered, for he complained – whined, Ed was going to treasure every moment of this – "Gracia!"
Gracia laughed and the two pictures she'd managed were slipped away into the pocket of her apron to develop safely. "I'm sorry, Roy," she said, and Ed knew she was lying, "but I couldn't resist."
"Fullmetal," Mustang growled.
Ed was becoming intimately familiar with the signs that he needed to retreat, so he said, "Flowers for the crowns?"
Gracia directed him to the section of worktop where all the flowers she'd bought had been set, and Ed carried Elicia over to get started. She picked out her favourite ones and Ed transmuted them into a proper princess crown, changing the strength of the stems a bit so they'd hold their shape, the flowers placed like gems. "Ah, one minute," he cautioned before Elicia could grab it up, and pulled one of the diamonds out of his pocket to deconstruct into miniature droplets, then sat the creation on her head once he was done. "Perfect," he told her, and Elicia squealed and ran back into the living room to show it off.
"A diamond, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked, coming up to join him at the worktop while Ed started on another crown, much simpler than Elicia's.
"Alchemy ingredients," Ed admitted. "Trick I picked up from Greed."
Mustang hummed in understanding, then commented, "I've never worked with plants before."
Ed glanced at him, then shrugged and, instead of turning his current batch of flowers onto a crown, had them form the array he was using, the opened blossoms forming the outer circle. As Mustang laughed, surprisingly open, Ed reached up and sat the creation on the man's head, since it looked enough like a crown from the sides and the centre had enough give that it wouldn't flop around on his head, and said, "Now you can say you have."
Mustang didn't respond until he'd made his first crown, looking almost as perfect as Ed's own, save for the slight drooping of a few petals he hadn't watched out for: "It seems so."
Ed laughed and got back to work, offering suggestions as he did.
Cake was handed out after the crowns, and the only boy who'd grumbled about having to wear flowers had shut up when he caught sight of the quasi-crown that Mustang hadn't yet taken off. Ed's own crown – which he hadn't even seen Mustang make and hadn't been allowed to take off long enough to get a look at – didn't seem to faze the kid, and Ed couldn't say if that was because he'd seen Ed in one of Elicia's handmade crowns before, or because of his long hair.
After cake were presents – Ed excused his lack of gift by insisting he'd done her crown; really, he just hadn't had the chance to get her anything – and then they all went downstairs to make snowmen, a quick use of alchemy turning the stomped down snow back into fluffy powder, much to the children's clear glee. Elicia had insisted on a snowman of Al, then made Ed pose with her for pictures next to it, and Ed knew his brother was going to be getting a lot of them.
After playing in the snow, most of the kids went home, save for two girls whom Gracia sometimes sat for their busy parents, and they all returned indoors for hot chocolate, followed by a fake tea party. And, yeah, watching Mustang sit there with the tiny tea cup, politely sipping nothing while Elicia and her friends chattered at them, was exactly as hilarious as Ed had expected it to be.
He made his excuses and escaped to the loo, where he could snicker to himself in peace. Also, get a look at his crown, which turned out to be made up of larger blue blossoms – he hadn't seen any among the selection, so Mustang must have changed the colour – alternated with smaller pale gold, which didn't quite vanish against his hair, but did leave the impression that the whole crown had grown from Ed's head fully formed. It was admittedly stunning, even after having wilted a bit from being out in the late-winter chill, and Ed found himself using alchemy to revive it with a smile, just as he'd done for Elicia's when they'd first got back inside.
A knock at the front door – probably one of the other girls' parents – finally brought Ed from the toilet. But, when he glanced down the hall at where Gracia was letting the visitor in, to see which of the children he should collect, he felt his eyes widening at the sight of them. "Old man Grumman?" he called, and heard a noise of surprise from Elicia's room, where Mustang was still playing with the girls.
Grumman smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Major Elric. Ah, good, Brigadier General Mustang. I was hoping to have a word with both of you." He turned to Gracia while Ed glanced back at where Mustang was standing just outside Elicia's room, wearing a frown that matched the one turning down the corners of Ed's own mouth. "I do apologise for the interruption to the festivities, Mrs Hughes, but I wanted to catch the major before he left to return to the fort."
"I understand," Gracia replied, and Ed knew she did; she'd been married to a military man, once, after all. "Please feel free to use the living room while I check on the girls."
Grumman followed Ed and Mustang into the living room, where they all sat down, Mustang and Ed taking the couch, while Grumman settled into one of the chairs across from them. Grumman leant forward slightly once they were all settled, his expression gone grim. "This issue with Colonel Parnall has the potential to turn quite nasty, if handled carelessly."
"You mean my squad's going to get all the sh– crap he can't do to me," Ed translated, barely remembering to censor himself while Elicia was in hearing range.
"That is a possibility," Grumman agreed. "However, there was a not-dissimilar case when I was a colonel, where the brigadier general abusing his station, upon learning his victim had reported him, attacked her." Ed clenched his jaw. "And I'm aware you're capable of protecting yourself, Elric, but I would rather avoid a bloodbath over this."
Ed could get behind that, even if all he really wanted to do was punch out all of Parnall's teeth. "You want me to stay in Central while this gets settled," he guessed. Which would completely fuck with his training, but the syllabus suggested a lot of what was left could be handled just fine off-site, save the physical exercises. If Grumman pushed the matter through, Ed could be back in time for the last-week tests and graduation, at the latest.
"No," Mustang murmured, "you want me to act as an oversight." Ed looked over at him, frowning; oversight? "I'm due back in Ishval in a week."
"And I'm willing to explain the situation to Captain Hawkeye when she gives me the weekly report," Grumman returned.
Ed stared at the Führer as he figured out what was going on: Grumman wanted Mustang to come out to the fort and serve as a very obvious guard against any form of backlash, whether that be violence against Ed himself, or punishment against his squad for imagined misbehaviour. It would mean cutting his leave short, leave that he was supposed to be spending with Elicia. "Mustang's on leave," he insisted.
"I can finish it after this is handled," Mustang said.
"No, you ca–" Ed started.
"Fullmetal," Mustang said by way of warning, and Ed shut up, but turned a glare on him. Quieter, meant to stay between them, Mustang said, "She'll understand."
Elicia understanding wasn't the point, but Ed clenched his jaw to keep that to himself; sometimes, the military had to come before their families, and he hated that he was beginning to understand that mentality.
Mustang turned back to Grumman, his expression that lazy, 'I'm only dealing with you because I have to' one that had always been as certain to make Ed explode as commenting on his height. "I expect you have orders to take back with me, unless you're intending to have Parnall ring you at home tonight," he drawled.
Grumman reacted to neither expression nor tone, which Ed thought was kind of unfair, but did pull a sheaf of papers out of a case he had with him, which he handed to Mustang. Then he pulled out another piece of paper. "This may be of interest to you, Elric," he offered with the paper.
Ed took it with a frown and glanced down to find a brief typed note on military stationary, which stated, 'Search ordered of Elric's belongings while he's off base. Nothing found. -Siemans'
Ed's first reaction, contrary to expectation, was resignation; he'd halfway expected something like this, which was why he'd taken such care in hiding everything he'd received from Chris, and why his alchemy journals were split between Granny's and the Hugheses' (Gracia had agreed to keep safe the few he'd had with him), save the barely-used one he'd slipped in with his class things. Following the resignation was surprise; he hadn't guessed that Captain Siemans was loyal to Grumman, not with how well he appeared to fit in with the rest of Parnall's staff.
At last, there was the anger, muted under everything else, and he muttered, "If they ruined any of my pictures, I'm going to do something unspeakable."
Grumman chuckled at that and, when Mustang glanced over in question, Ed handed him the paper. Mustang's mouth thinned and he glanced at Ed. After a moment of silence, he commented, "It seems your ability to respond to slights rationally has grown where you haven't, Fullmetal."
Oh, good, there was the flash of anger that he hadn't felt at the note, which he snatched back and mouthed, 'Fuck you,' at the bastard. Who responded by smirking at him in that way that made Ed really want to punch him in the face.
It was almost nice to return to the status quo, inexplicably as soothing as it was infuriating. And, fuck, his relationship with Mustang was never going to make any damn sense, was it?
And then his mind supplied, in Greed's smug tone, 'I bet the sex would be fantastic.'
Ed jumped to his feet, unable to face that particular line of thought right then, and hoped the two bastards would just assume he was reacting in anger to Mustang's bastardness. "If that's all?" he demanded of Grumman.
Grumman, looking far too amused, nodded and stood. "I believe so," he agreed, before putting on a thoughtful look. "Ah, there was one thing."
Ed crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, while Mustang stood next to him and politely requested, "Sir?"
Grumman focussed on Ed, his expression hardening. "An explanation for the risk Second Lieutenant Potez is taking."
Oh, Ed should have guessed he'd be questioned on his choice to allow Heinkel to join the pro-Bradley faction they'd found in the west. They'd been sending back some good intel on the plans of that faction – including getting a warning out to a nearby military outpost before the faction attacked it – and had determined locations of another couple splinters along the Drachman border, but the fact remained that Heinkel was sitting right in the middle of an enemy stronghold, and Ed had allowed it. Had allowed a couple of minor risks that he'd deemed worth it, actually. The only request Ed had refused was allowing them to capture a couple of the splinter cells, because he needed to be out there to cover their backs if shit went south.
Ed was never going to let himself be military enough to straighten and salute as he explained himself, but he did uncross his arms and modulate his tone to something that, for him, was respectful, as he said, "Heinkel knows what he's doing, and I trust him to do the smart thing and get out if things get too hot for him. And I trust Darius to cover him if necessary. But we need that intel, and if they just stayed out there, poking their noses in aimlessly like they were doing, something was going to explode in their faces. There's risk no matter how we cut it – it's not like they're actually on holiday – but this had the better reward."
Grumman held his stare for a long moment, giving nothing away, then nodded. "Good. I expect you to come by my office after graduation, then you can go join them."
He'd already intended to stop in Central before heading west, to visit Elicia and Gracia, and pick up any last-minute items Chris might have for him; adding a visit to Command wouldn't be too much trouble, though it did occur to him... "Is it possible for me to take them off leave while I'm there?"
Grumman gave a slow nod. "Given the circumstances, yes. If you can get a written note from both of them stating their change in status, that will assist in formalising the request."
He had a month before graduation, plenty of time for him to send out a message to them and get their paperwork back. "I'll have them when I drop by," he promised.
"Excellent." Grumman smiled at them. "That's all, then."
"I'll show you out," Mustang offered, and he and Grumman left the room.
Ed was left staring down at the half-crumpled note in his hand, a notice of the absolute violation of his privacy and possible leverage over a spy. "I'm so sick of shadows," Ed whispered, before clapping his hands and using his deconstruction alchemy to turn it into dust, letting it filter into the air, beyond even his own ability to reconstruct.
The end of March couldn't come soon enough; he seriously needed to blow some shit up.
Ed and Mustang stayed through dinner, before leaving to many tears on Elicia's part. "It never gets easier, does it?" he asked Mustang as they got into his car, fingering the edge of the stack of photos Gracia had given him. "Saying goodbye to her."
Mustang glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. "Not yet," he allowed, and Ed nodded in understanding; eventually, Elicia would be old enough to move past her fear that her family leaving for work meant they would never return. "I need to collect my things from my hotel and check out; is there anywhere you needed to go before we head out?"
Ed frowned, considering that, even as he asked, "We're not taking the train?"
Mustang shook his head. "There's one leaving in an hour, but I'd rather have my car on site, if I'm going to be there for an extended stay."
Ed bit back on the urge to apologise, certain the bastard wouldn't accept it. Instead, fingering the quick note he'd written at the Hugheses, just in case, he requested, "Madame Christmas." Because if he could drop off the request for Heinkel and Darius to send back their return to active duty paperwork on his way out of town, he wouldn't have to wait for it to make it back to Chris whenever her woman made the post drop.
Mustang met his eyes in the rear-view mirror again, his own sharp and a little searching. "Not in uniform, please."
Ed could see the sense in that, so he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in his vest and the button-up he'd got into the habit of wearing while on the run, as well as the butt cape, which he could remove at the hotel, and the trousers, which he could change the colour of without much trouble.
He did indeed finish disguising his uniform in the hotel car park, while Mustang collected his things and checked out. When the man returned, he glanced at Ed's trousers, then drily commented, "I'm sure there's a rule about altering your uniform, somewhere."
Ed scoffed. "Fuck 'em. I can change it back." Anyway, he'd already altered his uniform by adding the carbon, not that he was going to mention that to anyone outside his team and brother; as much as he trusted Mustang, he wasn't about to give up all his secrets.
Once they were on their way, Mustang asked, "Should I ask how you found the madam?"
"Grumman."
Mustang nodded, then glanced at Ed in the rear-view mirror, his eyes gleaming with humour. "I'm almost surprised you went in, Fullmetal. Though," he added, before Ed could reply, "I don't expect you really knew what you were walking into until it was too late."
"I know what a madam does, Mustang," Ed retorted, smirking when Mustang looked over his shoulder at him with a faintly disbelieving look. "And the neighbourhood kinda gave it away, so, sure, Al was kinda uncertain. That one lady who met us at the door, tried to spook us off, uh..." He rubbed his nose, searching back for her name. "Peggy?"
"Blonde, large breasts?" Mustang suggested, and Ed would bet good money he was hoping for a blush.
"That's her, yeah. She freaked Al out. Tried to hit on him."
Mustang snorted. "It could have been worse," he offered. "Dorothy could have been the one to meet you."
Ed had met Dorothy exactly once, and her giggling and obviously forced blushing had nearly given him hives. That said... "Nah. Al would have liked her, I think."
Mustang shot him a startled look. "Exactly how many times have you visited Madame Christmas, Fullmetal?" he demanded as he parked them a couple blocks over from the pub, where the streets were wide enough to easily allow it.
Ed shrugged and offered, "She's got good beer on tap," before climbing out.
Before he could close his door, he was fairly certain he heard Mustang mutter, "I am not having this conversation."
Ed grinned and gave himself a mental pat on the back for getting one over on his CO without leaving feeling guilty, for once.
The walk to the pub was silent, and Ed let Mustang lead the way in. While Mustang was almost immediately the centre of attention, two of the women on the floor coming over to greet him, Ed was able to slip past him and get over to the bar without anyone really noticing.
"Hello, Ed," Chris offered, flashing him a knowing smirk as Mustang let out a very loud, very fake laugh. "Aren't you supposed to be heading out soon?"
Ed shrugged and offered her a smile. "There's always time for a drink, Madame."
She snorted at him, but turned to get him his beer. When she returned with it, she held out a hand. "Pay up or no drink."
"I forgot to pay you once," Ed complained, because he and Al had never handed over money that first time, with all the back-and-forth. "Are you going to hold it over my head forever?"
"Yes."
Ed rolled his eyes and pulled out the bank notes he already had ready, his note for Darius and Heinkel hidden between them. "Fine."
Chris traded him the drink for his money and turned put it away and, he was certain, hide the note away to deal with later.
Mustang sighed as he sat down next to Ed. "Delinquent."
"Fuck off," Ed ordered over his glass. "No one likes you."
"Did you completely miss that display?" Mustang asked as Chris slid a tumbler filled with what looked like scotch across the bar to him. "Thank you, Madame."
"No fighting in my pub," Chris ordered, pointing between them.
Ed let out an agreeable noise into his drink, while Mustang put on an affronted looked and said, "You wound me, Madame."
"Drop the pretentious attitude, or I'll cut you off for the rest of the year, boy," Chris ordered.
It was an act of will to keep from spitting his drink everywhere. Fuck, he loved the women in Mustang's life who he couldn't make eyes at; they took none of his shit and took as much pleasure in fucking with him as Ed did.
Mustang sighed and drooped slightly. "Please don't. I'm going to need the alcohol when I get back in a couple weeks."
Chris raised an eyebrow at him. "Change in schedule?"
Mustang slumped further, the picture of misery. "Ed's having trouble with an old classmate of mine, so I got dragged into helping out."
Chris glanced towards Ed. "About time," she muttered.
"Shut up," Ed muttered back, and he really fucking hated how many people were keeping tabs on him.
Another patron further down the bar called Chris away, then, and she left them to their drinks. "Only one," Mustang warned into his tumbler.
Ed huffed, because he always kept it at just one alcoholic drink; he'd done the hangover and couldn't-remember-the-night-before shit once, and that was quite enough, thanks. And, yeah, he knew he could handle more than one drink without regretting it in the morning, but there was nothing wrong with setting limits for those times Greed had passed him something way stronger than a fucking beer. "I'm not a fucking drunk," he muttered.
"Current appearances–"
"Oh, go get fucked, bastard."
"I'm fairly certain we don't have the time for that."
Ed sighed and closed his eyes against the mental image that comment gave birth to; he really hated his brain, sometimes.
They finished their drinks without any further snarking, then waved to Chris and left.
As soon as he got in the car, Ed changed the colour of his trousers back, before he could forget, then settled back into the seat, not bothering to fuss about with getting redressed until they were closer to the fort.
They were both quiet for a long while. But, once they'd passed out of the reaching sprawl of Central, Mustang said, "I somehow missed that you'd gained a team."
Ed glanced at what he could see of the man's face in the rear-view mirror, dark as it was without the city lights. "Those two chimeras I was with before the Promised Day," he explained, "Darius Wright and Heinkel Potez. They apparently agreed to return to the military only if they could serve under me."
Mustang let out an acknowledging hum, then said, "And you're running them on a covert op while stuck in training."
Ed huffed. "Yeah. They were originally just gonna cool their heels in Central, but then Chris said she was having trouble getting a handle on what was going down in the west, so I asked if they wanted to go out there and handle it and they did. They send reports back to Chris and she passes them on to me and old man Grumman."
Mustang was quiet for a moment, the silence falling heavy between them, before he asked, "What, exactly, is the madam having trouble getting a handle on?"
"You don't know?" he murmured, disbelieving, and it occurred to him that, out in Ishval, Mustang probably didn't get much information about the disquiet plaguing the rest of the nation, unless Grumman or Gracia passed on word about it, and Ed was fairly certain that neither of them would.
Mustang pulled the car over and pulled the handbrake, then turned to Ed, the light of the nearest estate reflecting in his dark eyes. "What's going on, Fullmetal?"
Ed swallowed, because it was distinctly unsettling, knowing more than Mustang, for once; as much as he'd always dreamt of this moment as a kid, the reality was a heavy stone in his stomach. "Some of Bradley's supporters slipped through the cracks," he explained. "They're stirring up trouble; soon as I'm done with training, Grumman wants me to hunt them down."
The headlights of a vehicle going the opposite direction cast the angry lines of Mustang's expression into sharp relief. "When, exactly, was I going to be informed about this?" he demanded. "Or are you the Führer's man, now?"
"Of course I'm not fucking his!" Ed shouted, before digging into his pocket and pulling out the lighter to hold up between them. Mustang's eyes widened enough to be visible in the low light and Ed snarled, "You think I care what Grumman could do with me? You think this is just about him? They're talking just as much shit about you in the papers – you and Ishval – and it was your fucking aunt who put me onto this, not fucking Grumman."
Mustang's hand folded around Ed's, the lighter held between them, and Ed felt his breath hitch. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly.
Ed snatched his hand away, curling his fingers around the lighter tight enough to ache. "I thought you knew," he said, his voice coming out too fucking rough. "You always fucking know."
"Not this time," Mustang admitted, turning away and lowering the handbrake. "Fill me in," he suggested as he smoothly pulled back onto the roadway.
Ed forced his hand to loosen around the lighter and slipped it back into his pocket, then set about telling Mustang everything he'd found out since his meeting with Grumman upon returning to Central.
They stopped over in Gamitz so Mustang could change into his uniform and Ed could put his butt cape and jacket back on. Mustang had been quiet since Ed had finished filling him in, and Ed had left him to it; fuck knew he'd needed time to process everything himself, and he wasn't even one of the targets of the slander. Hell, from what Heinkel and Darius had reported, he wasn't even on that faction's radar, beyond an occasional comment about how, if Grumman was so much better than Bradley, where was the Fullmetal Alchemist? Because Ed returning to the military wasn't common knowledge, though he expected that would change once his promotion was official.
Once they were both back in the car and Mustang had turned them onto the dirt road out to the fort, he said, "You're to send me reports as soon as you finish here. Figure out a way."
A part of Ed wanted to tell Mustang where he could stuff his reports, but a much greater part of him understood; he had his own team he needed to keep tabs on, now, and it was clear no one was making keeping Mustang in the loop a priority. "I'll see if Marie isn't willing to serve as a go-between," he offered. He could send something for Chris to post to her in his next batch of reports, then maybe call her after he was certain she'd have got it for her answer.
Urgh. Now he was dragging his childhood neighbours into these shadow games. Fucking military.
"Marie?" Mustang repeated, the question clear.
Ed couldn't quite suppress a smile at the fact that the bastard hadn't already learnt the name of every woman in Resembool, though he suspected Mustang usually had far too much else on his mind when he went through. "The baker. Who has a husband and two kids, so don't even think about it."
Mustang snorted. "I know better than to start something with small village women, Fullmetal. Especially small village women who are loyal to you."
Ed wouldn't necessarily call the people of Resembool loyal to him, but he knew they'd side with him before anyone else in the military. "If Marie's unwilling," he continued, "I can probably talk Granny into passing on anything for me."
Mustang nodded, barely visible in the darkness. "I'll leave the specifics in your hands, then."
Ed snorted at that.
"Preferably with less destroyed buildings than is your usual," Mustang added.
"Shut up, bastard," Ed ordered, but he knew his amusement was obvious in his voice.
By the time they'd pulled into one of the suggestions of parking spaces in front of the fort and both got out, Parnall had appeared in the entrance. "You're late, Elric!" he bellowed.
Mustang caught his shoulder. "Straight to your room," he murmured. "Just keep walking."
Ed clenched his jaw and nodded; as much as he would have loved to rub shit in Parnall's face, the best thing he could do was ignore him, just like when he started in on him to get a reaction.
"Colonel Parnall," Mustang called ahead of them, and Parnall stiffened.
With the arsehole distracted by Mustang's approach, Ed was easily able to slip past him and into the fort. With a sigh, he made his way up to his hallway. It wasn't quite lights out, yet, but Ed wasn't surprised to see everyone's doors already closed.
He slipped into his room and quietly closed his own door before looking around. Nothing appeared to be out of place, at first glance, but a closer look showed the books on his desk far more neatly stacked than he usually left them, and the photo of Al and Elicia on his bedside table was turned too much towards the door. Little things, things he wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been looking for them, and he ground his teeth together as he stepped forward and gently turned the photo back towards the head of his bed.
The new stack of photos from Gracia were left on his desk, then Ed emptied his pockets onto his desk and bedside table before walking over to his wardrobe to change. While he was there, he did a quick check on his hiding place in the floor, feeling around it, first, for any signs of tampering, then alchemising it open and checking inside to be sure none of the papers had been more neatly stacked; for all that he was willing to trust Siemans when he said they hadn't found Ed's hiding place, he still felt better for checking. But everything was exactly as he'd left it, and he returned the cover to its previous state with a quiet sigh before turning in for the night.
His sleep was troubled that night, filled with vague images of shadowy figures stealing into his room and rifling through his things. His pictures and pocket watch and lighter all picked up and moved away from him before he could snatch them back.
When the early morning horn blared to wake them, Ed cursed himself out of bed. It wasn't until he reached down to make his bed that he realised that he'd grabbed the lighter at one point in the night and it was still clenched tightly in his hand. He stared down at it for a moment, before a noise out in the hallway had him rushing to finish his bed and throw on his shirt before stepping out into the hall to join his hall mates, the lighter still clenched tight in one hand.
Siemans was as efficient as ever in checking their rooms, and they were quickly dismissed for their physical training.
After everything that had happened the day before, followed by his rough night, Ed was honestly grateful for the chance to beat the ever-loving fuck out of his usual punching bag in the gym. Judging by the wide berth everyone afforded him, his ire was obvious, but he really didn't give enough of a fuck to ease up.
A shower eased what strain the punching bag hadn't, and when Ed joined Lois and Taylor to walk down to the mess, he felt much more like himself.
"So," Lois started, "how's your sister?"
Ed sighed. "Wishing she could make her birthday last longer so I'd stick around, I suspect," he admitted.
Lois winced. "Yeah, that sucks. Still, only a month left, right?"
"Right," Ed agreed, and he sounded a lot more cheerful than he felt; a month left of training, then he was off to the west to hunt down Bradley's supporters. So, still no extended time with Elicia, but, well, that was military life, he supposed.
Ed noticed Mustang right off, sitting in Parnall's usual seat at the commander's table, while Parnall himself had been left sitting next to him and looking so very cross about it. But neither Lois nor Taylor gave any sign they saw the change until after they'd all sat and Lois, who was perfectly positioned to see the change in seating, went very still and whispered, "Shit." She looked at Ed as everyone else in their squad turned to see what had caught her attention. "What did you do, Ed?"
"Who's the new guy?" one of the cadets, Ben Grahame, asked.
"And why's he sitting in the colonel's spot?" Lisa Coanda, another cadet, added.
"That's Brigadier General Mustang," Taylor supplied, also turning to Ed with wide eyes. "I thought he was out east."
Ed swallowed, then admitted, "I reported Parnall. Mustang's here to keep things from exploding."
"Holy shit," Lois said into the silence that fell over their table.
"Okay," Taylor finally said, "but why him? Out east. Ishval, right?"
Ed grimaced faintly and nodded. "Old man Grumman pulled him off leave to handle this."
"Aren't there rules against that?" Nick Halberstadt (of the bouncy knee) complained.
"Yeah," Ed admitted, before tiredly adding, "Mustang's my direct CO. Pretty sure old man Grumman was just looking for someone who could manage me."
Taylor choked. "Your CO?" he demanded, his expression disbelieving. "The one you often refer to as, and I quote, 'that smug bastard whose face needs to meet my fist'?"
Ed couldn't help it, he just started laughing; he kind of couldn't wait for his squad to see him and Mustang interacting.
Of course, since Ed was looking forward to it, he didn't see Mustang outside the mess for days. And it probably would have kept up, except on Tuesday evening, when he delivered the kick that broke the punching bag, he heard the familiar voice drily comment, "I'm fairly certain they didn't build that for automail, Fullmetal."
The gym wasn't empty, but nor was it as full as it would have been during their designated morning physical training time. Not that how full the place was would have stopped Ed from retorting, "Fuck off, bastard," as he reached up to unhook the broken punching bag from its stand; he could repair it while it was still hanging, but it was easier if he didn't need to fight against gravity to get the sand back in the bag, and putting the damn thing back up was good strength training.
Of course, just because Ed didn't care who heard him being an insubordinate shit, didn't mean that other people were okay with hearing it, as shown by Nick almost immediately saying, "I'm sorry about him, sir. He doesn't–"
"I'm used to Fullmetal, Cadet," Mustang interrupted, his tone dry, and Ed allowed himself a smirk as he clapped and fixed the punching bag. "That said, I appreciate that someone here respects the chain of command."
"I respect the chain of command," Ed retorted. "I am always respectful to Hawkeye." Then he picked up the repaired bag and lifted it back onto its hook while Mustang let out a wry laugh. Once it was up, he turned to face his CO, only to raise his eyebrows when he found the man in what looked suspiciously like exercise clothing. "Wait, you exercise?" he couldn't stop from asking. Even though he knew Mustang wasn't as lazy as he pretended, had seen him hold his own against the would-be-Bradleys under Central Command, resorting to hand-to-hand because they had been moving too quick to allow any of them time to transmute.
Mustang gave him a flat look. "Did you think I spent all my life behind a desk, doing paperwork?" he asked drily.
"Avoiding doing paperwork, Brigadier General Lazy Bastard."
Mustang sighed. "Please go back to abusing your punching bag instead of me."
Ed snorted, but did as requested, distantly aware of Mustang making his way through the exercise equipment, while Nick and the other cadets in the gym all followed suit, occasionally casting looks Ed or Mustang's way.
When he finished fixing the punching bag for the sixth time – usually as much abuse as he ever put it through – Ed turned to watch Mustang work with the weights, vaguely impressed with how much he was lifting.
"I cannot believe," Nick murmured as he stepped up next to Ed's side, "you just got away with that."
Ed shrugged. "It's habit, any more," he offered, before casting his squad member an apologetic look. "Sorry. I probably should have warned you lot that I actually insult Mustang to his face."
"You think? God, Ed, I just about had a heart attack back there. If that was Parnall, we'd all be in the stocks right now."
Ed grimaced. "If Parnall'd been the one to walk in here, I wouldn't have opened my mouth." He hoped. "Well, and I'd probably have received a dressing down for breaking the punching bag. As if I can't fix it."
Nick huffed, glancing towards the much-abused punching bag. "He's right, you know. That bag's not meant for what you put it through."
Ed shrugged. "If I had someone to spar with, I would. But I don't."
Nick frowned at him. "Like hand-to-hand? Don't Stephan and Sabine train with the Squad C leader? What's his name, Tugan?"
"Charlie Tugan, yeah." Ed grimaced, not sure how to explain that even Charlie was so far below his level, he'd have to hold back too much to make it worth it.
"I somehow suspect," Mustang offered as he sat up, ducking the bar of the weights, "that Warrant Officer Tugan isn't quite at Fullmetal's level."
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" Ed complained.
Mustang raised an eyebrow at him. "No. What did you do for the combat training?"
"Cried," Ed deadpanned, and Nick started laughing, because he'd been there for Ed's rant about how pathetic the military's expectations were in regards to the fitness of their soldiers, while Mustang's mouth twitched. Ed rolled his eyes. "I held back, of course. I am capable of fighting people weaker than me."
"Without bringing a building down on their head?" Mustang replied. "I'm impressed."
"Shut up. You people are way too fucking attached to your buildings."
"Not everyone desires to live out of a suitcase."
"I like my suitcase!"
Mustang's eyes gleamed in a way that immediately put Ed on guard. "Yes, I know. It's just your size: small."
"Who're you calling so tiny you couldn't see him under a microscope?!" Ed raged, and it was only years of having a desk in the way and Hawkeye in the next room that kept him from taking a swipe at the smug-as-fuck smirk the bastard put on.
"Did I say all that?" Mustang asked mildly, laughter in his voice. "You really should learn to move past that tiny issue of yours, Fullmetal."
Ed didn't even think about it, he just stepped forward and swung, aiming straight for Mustang's face for one glorious moment, before the bastard stepped neatly out of the way. The pivot was natural, and calculations sparked across his mind, pushing out the fury, as he spotted Mustang standing in a ready position. The realisation that he'd been goaded into an attack hit as he extended his left fist, and he shifted his stance as he connected with Mustang's crossed arms, pulling the punch, and snapped, "Do you have a fucking death wish?"
Mustang's expression was flat behind his guard. "Kick me with your left leg and you'll be spending your first month as a lieutenant colonel inspecting the moat around Central Command for faults," he replied.
So, not quite a death wish, but pretty damn close.
Still, it was a very Mustang sort of permission, and Ed had been itching for a proper fight since he and Parnall had butted heads over the gun. And he'd always wanted an excuse to punch the bastard in the face.
Still, Mustang wasn't Al or Teacher, so Ed stepped it back. Not as much as he would have against any of the other cadets or command candidates, because he knew Mustang wasn't that pathetic, but still. Urge to punch him in the face or no, Ed liked Mustang far too much to actually aim to hurt him.
Mustang just blocked the first few hits, before commenting, "This is pathetic, Fullmetal. Are you even trying?"
"Shut–" Ed snarled, adding just enough force behind his next punch to break through the bastard's guard, "–up!"
Except Mustang didn't block that hit; he ducked easily under it and aimed a punch at Ed's stomach.
Ed was going too strong to pull back, but he managed to get his right hand down to block the hit against his stomach, used Mustang's extended arm to help springboard himself over the bastard's head and flipped above him, just barely managing to keep his feet as he touched down and immediately spun around.
Mustang was standing there, dragging one hand through his hair and wearing that really fucking obnoxious smirk. "Are you done?" he asked, and his tone may have been careless, but the gleam in his eyes was pure challenge.
'Are you done holding back?' those eyes demanded.
Ed put on his sharpest grin, teeth bared, and stretched his fingers out in front of him, letting the sound of cracking knuckles fill the silence hanging over the gym. "Yup," he decided, before running straight at his CO, arm cocked to throw a punch, not even considering checking his speed.
Mustang was far closer to Ed's level than he'd anticipated, only took maybe a third of the attacks Ed aimed at him, and even managed to land a solid punch to Ed's shoulder when he'd had to check himself just before kicking out with his left leg.
Eventually, though, he spotted the signs of Mustang flagging, and knew he was heading towards his own limit – far too low after almost two months without anyone to spar with – so he caught Mustang's next kick and, instead of using his hold to toss the bastard, grabbed for his closest hand to balance him.
Mustang clasped his hand back, the grip of comrades instead of opponents, and Ed let his leg go.
"Pretty sure," Ed couldn't resist commenting, ignoring his own shortness of breath, "that you're getting too old to–"
"Be quiet, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered.
Ed grinned and withdrew his hand, vaguely surprised to realise neither of them had let go sooner. "You realise you have a habit of over-extending with your left," he said, to hide his surprise. And because, honestly, Mustang wasn't a bad fighter, and Ed had nothing against offering some pointers; as they'd already found, there wasn't always time to transmute.
Mustang's gaze flickered down to his left arm before returning to Ed. "No," he admitted.
Ed nodded and held up his own left fist between them. "You're overcompensating for it being your weaker side, throwing your punch harder and stretching too far. Tighten up a bit and I won't get half as many hits through." Because that particular weakness had been easy pickings.
Mustang's grimace was brief enough that Ed suspected he was the only one to have caught it, in spite of their rapt audience. "Right."
Ed flashed him his best 'I'm a shit' smile. "Other than that, you're decent."
Mustang's mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with the smile he'd suppressed. "High praise."
"Don't get used to it, bastard," Ed shot back, and it was an honest struggle to keep his amusement from showing; he should have known the easy manner of their verbal sparring (when Mustang kept his comments about Ed's perfectly normal height to himself) would translate to physical sparring.
And Ed yanked himself away from that line of thought before it could go any further, shoving a foot in the face of his mental Greed before he could start suggesting he should sleep with his CO again. "Right!" he called, knocking a light fist against Mustang's arm as he stepped past him, towards the door. "Not all of us can delegate our work, Brigadier General Lazy, so you'll have to excuse me."
Mustang snorted at that, but let him go, so Ed retreated under the heavy stares of the cadets in the gym, feeling so much lighter than he had in weeks.
Come What May Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 ||
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
.
