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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: This chapter has off-screen sexual relations between Ed and the chimeras. If you're feeling squicked... First off, how the hell'd you make it this far? Second off, it's off-screen, you'll live.
(You know, it sort of just occurred to me, but this world doesn't share our history, and being military-centric is not the same as being homophobic, despite how often in our world the two have been related. Which means I can make the Amestris military cool with homosexual relationships. XD)
There is another panic attack in this chapter, and Ed talks a bit about the very first one he had.
Unrelated: There's a scene in this chapter from an unknown PoV, which wrote itself and fit into the plot far too well to turn it into a side-story. You'll see. (Or maybe you won't. I dunno. XP)
There are two side-stories for this chapter, which can be found, as always, on Archive of Our Own or here on LiveJournal. One is Darius/Ed/Heinkel smut, but the other is a scene from Roy's PoV. (They are labelled to differentiate.) As a reminder, you may wish to read the whole chapter first, to avoid any confusion.
LAST! I've put together a guide for Ed's squad, which you can find here on Google Docs.
Chapter Ten
-0-
They got into Central in plenty of time to check into their preferred hotel before the funeral. Ed took a shower while Darius and Heinkel sorted out sleeping arrangements – the problem with having two annoyingly large team members, was that they didn't have enough people to request a second room, but the arseholes couldn't comfortably share a bed unless they were fucking, so Ed always ended up having to share with one of them – and he felt a bit more more like himself when he stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped loosely around his waist while he used another to dry his hair.
It was telling of the general mood that Darius didn't crack a joke about his half-naked state, and Ed sighed as he let his hair drop damply to his shoulders and turned to the formal uniform and funeral sash one of the Briggs soldiers had unearthed from the back of their vehicle when they'd stopped outside the hotel; clearly, Grumman wasn't the only one who'd had a hand in ensuring Ed could attend the funeral, given the fact that there was no way they could have got it from anywhere other than Briggs, with the tight timing.
Ugh, he didn't want to owe Armstrong any gratitude. Not after spending two and a half months dodging her soldiers.
Not even bothering to pretend modesty, Ed set about changing, quietly commenting, "I want intel."
"Both of us?" Heinkel asked. Briggs had unearthed formal uniforms for them, too, but neither had bothered to change yet; they knew him far too well.
"I have no interest in cooling our heels in Central," Ed replied. "We're leaving as soon as we have the car."
"Yes, sir," they chorused, and Ed could never not be grateful that they didn't question him.
That said... "You should visit the Hugheses before we leave," Darius pointed out. "Go after the funeral, detox on pie or something."
Ed clapped his hands together and touched his hair, drying it with a brief thought, then pulled it back into his usual ponytail. "Fine. I'll meet you back here after dinner."
Heinkel sighed and stepped up behind Ed. "Your hair might actually be long enough to pull it all back," he explained as he undid the tie and lightly combed his fingers through his hair, soothing out the tangles from the alchemic energy.
Ed huffed even as he closed his eyes, unable to help but lean back into the gentle touch. "Who fucking cares what my hair looks like?" he muttered.
"No one," Darius replied. "Shut up and let him fix it."
Ed huffed again, but it was for show; he wasn't certain he had a large enough store of energy right then to do more than go through the least of the motions of arguing about his 'unprofessional' bangs. (Parnall's phrase, not his team's, but the implication was the same.) Anyway, it felt nice; as few barriers as the three of them had in terms of what physical contact was or wasn't allowed, helping Ed manage his long hair had never figured in on either side.
(Swear to fuck, you sleep with someone once – okay, shut up, more than once – and you're suddenly finding comfort in their touch and craving it when you're stressed. Ugh. He really wished he had the energy to get angrier about that.)
When Heinkel finally stepped back, Ed had to reach up and touch his face, feeling strangely naked without the familiar brush of his bangs.
"Okay," Darius said as Ed headed for the bathroom, "I'm going to be the first to say it: You look fucking weird, Ed."
Staring at himself in the mirror, his face fully bare for the first time in...ages, Ed found himself looking at a slightly younger Dwarf in the Flask, as he'd looked after he'd swallowed 'god'.
'Or, more accurately,' Ed realised tiredly, 'I look like a young Hohenheim.'
Fuck, he really was his father's son, wasn't he? That was depressing.
Still, as wrong as it felt – as disturbing as he looked – he did look more professional with his hair all pulled back, and this was a formal affair, so he stepped back out the the bathroom without fussing with his hair and made for the darker formal jacket.
"Ed?" Heinkel asked.
Ed shook his head. "It's fine. Just for today."
He didn't need to look up at them to know the chimeras were trading looks over his head.
He fastened the black sash under his right shoulder marking, then picked up his hat. "I'm off," he offered as he settled the hat on top of his head, the fit almost too snug, with his ponytail.
"We'll walk you to the graveyard," Darius said.
Ed nodded, didn't even try lying to himself that he wouldn't appreciate the company, and they left the hotel together. (He was sure it was quite the picture, two hulking men in civilian clothing escorting a boy in military formal attire. Like he'd stolen someone's uniform and they were dragging him in to return it.
(Some days, it struck him: He really was far too young for the military.)
They left him at the gate, and Ed stepped easily past the two military guards standing to either side. It wasn't hard to find the group of mourners, a huddle of dark blue, interspersed with the black of their sashes and the dark suits and dresses of the few civilians. There was a clear structure among those in attendance, with ranking officers standing near the heads of the empty holes, while enlisted soldiers stood at the foot, civilians mixed in with the latter group.
"Ed?" someone called, and he looked up to find Lois and Taylor standing together with what was left of their squad in the enlisted section.
He moved towards them, half-grateful to know someone there, other than Grumman (who stood surrounded by grim-faced generals), half-wishing for the sea of silence he'd find among the officers. "Hi," he offered, and it came out flat.
They were all quiet for a moment, the two empty spaces in their circle like a bleeding wound.
And then Lisa Coanda stepped forward and hugged him. "We didn't think you'd come," she said, and her voice broke on the last word. Because she and Rebecca had been fast friends, and if Ed was hurting, he couldn't even begin to imagine how she must be feeling.
Ed hugged her back as tightly as he dared, squeezing his eyes closed. "Of course I came," he whispered.
"We weren't sure you'd heard," Taylor offered quietly as Lisa pulled away and wiped at her eyes. "I thought about ringing you to tell you, but I don't have a number for you, and there's no number on file for Brigadier General Mustang, either."
Ed shook his head. "They don't have a line out to Ishval," he replied, and he sounded a bit more like himself, even if he still felt slightly numb. "And I almost didn't, but Major General Armstrong managed to hunt us down. Got in about three hours ago."
A few people shifted, turned towards the building they would be bringing the coffins from, and Ed realised it was time.
"You three should be with the officers," Sabine Hamilcar whispered, and Ed noticed a strip of bandaging slapped over the left side of her face, covering her jaw, a portion of her cheek, and stretching under her chin. It was a fair guess that she'd been headed down south, too, had been one of the lucky ones. (Was it lucky? Ed knew enough about survivor's guilt to know 'lucky' was as much a curse as a blessing, in some ways.)
Ed traded looks with Lois and Taylor, and it was clear that both of them were as interested in standing on the other side of the graves as he was, but they would follow his lead. (Being the ranking officer really fucking sucked, sometimes.)
Ed turned and settled into parade rest, the stance strangely settling, as much as he'd chaffed at practising it at the academy. "We're already where we belong," he offered.
They were all quiet for a moment before falling in around him, Lois and Taylor to either side of him, the privates lining up behind them, everyone standing just far enough apart that anyone standing behind them would still be able to see. The formation was familiar, if slightly looser than they'd ever practised on the academy parade grounds, and everyone was clearly uncomfortable with filling the two empty spaces, so they remained.
They stood still through all seven funerals – only four had been recently graduated privates, two from their squad, two from squad C; one of the others had been heading back to his post after leave, while the other two had been returning from assignment in the west – unflinching at the bursts of gunfire or the sounds of a couple of the civilians around them crying.
When the last shovelful of dirt had fallen, they all circled around again, huddling together like it would ease the ache of absence.
"I'm intending to go to the memorial tomorrow, if anyone else wanted to come," Taylor offered.
The others all nodded, but Ed winced and offered, "If I'm still in town."
They all looked at him. "You're leaving so soon?" Omar Hotspur asked, his voice small.
"You're going to hunt them down, aren't you?" Lois guessed, and eyes widened around their squad.
"Good," Sabine snarled, holding up a loose fist between them, her hand wrapped in bandages that stood out, far too white, against the dark sleeve of her uniform. "You find them and you fucking make them pay, Elric."
Around them, their squad let out noises of agreement, loss making them vicious.
Ed pressed his lips together and gently pressed one gloved fist against hers.
"Lieutenant Colonel Elric," called a voice that Ed did not want to fucking deal with today.
Around him, his squad stiffened and saluted, a slightly disjointed chorus of, "Sir!"s greeting the Führer.
Ed spun around and snarled, "What?"
"Ed!" someone hissed.
Grumman's expression was disapproving, but instead of chastising Ed, he said, "Brigadier General Mustang asked that I pass on orders that you are not to leave Central City before he gets here."
"Fuck him," was Ed's immediate response, earning him a chorus of groans and gasps from his squad. But then the rest of the message registered and he frowned. "Wait, he's coming to Central?"
"That's what he said," Grumman agreed mildly.
Yeah, Ed was going to stick with his original reaction: "Fuck him. I'm not going to sit around and wait for his slow arse."
Grumman sighed. "He also suggested his resignation would be on my desk if you were missing," he offered.
Ed stiffened. That had to be a ploy by Grumman. Mustang wouldn't–
Would he? He'd almost given up once already, and Ed had had to drag him back. Ed said he'd support him, but if he disobeyed a direct order to stay put, would that be sufficient reason to disbelieve his promise? Would that be enough to throw Mustang back into depression? It shouldn't be – Ed was far from the centre of the bastard's universe – but...
Could Ed fucking chance it?
He tightened his fists at his sides enough to hurt and squeezed his eyes shut. "I understand, sir," he forced out, the words cutting their way past his lips like knives.
"Good. Take a few days, let your team relax," Grumman suggested, and Ed opened his eyes so he could glare at the bastard's placid tone. Grumman shrugged. "I'll have the information they're looking for ready for you once Mustang releases you."
In other words, behave and keep your head down, and I'll hand over everything you need to destroy this group.
Ed bit back the urge to tell Grumman he was a bastard, instead forcing out, "Yes, sir."
Grumman smiled, and Ed really fucking wanted to punch him. "Wonderful. I do so enjoy our chats, Lieutenant Colonel."
Oh, there was no way Ed was going to let that one go without a response. "Fuck you, sir."
"Edward!" someone hissed from behind him; Lois, he was fairly certain.
Grumman's smile widened. "Ah, I should probably warn you," he started, and Ed narrowed his eyes at him, "we were able to keep the press away from the funeral, but they'll be at the memorial. Do consider forming a response to their questions in advance, if you intend to attend."
Ed blinked. The press? Newspapers? Great, that was just what he needed in his life.
Or was it? Ed frowned, remembering the response to his pro-Grumman interview, how public opinion had fucking flipped overnight.
These fuck-shits had brought their shadow fight out into the public eye. They'd tried to drag Ed's name through the mud, tried to put this on his shoulders. And maybe he'd given them the push to step their terrorism up, but Darius was right: Ed hadn't been the one to plant that bomb. He hadn't been the one to decide terrifying the country and bringing everything to a standstill for a day was the proper response to Ed capturing – almost without fatality – their fellows.
Hadn't he said it himself? Sometime words were more powerful than alchemy, when it came to holding people together.
He focussed on Grumman again, whose eyes were gleaming behind his glasses, like he knew he had Ed exactly where he wanted him. "You're a manipulative bastard," Ed informed him, and Grumman's chuckle covered the noises his squad made. Ed held out his hand. "I need whatever their message was. The actual thing, not whatever bullshit you passed on to the media for them to focus on."
"They have the actual thing," Grumman replied, the way the skin around his eyes pulled tight suggesting that hadn't gone to plan, as he pulled a folded piece of paper out of the inner pocket of his dress jacket. "Copies were left at each of the main city newspaper offices shortly after the bomb exploded. They were, however, warned away from publishing it verbatim."
"And you wonder why everyone hates you," Ed muttered as he opened the paper to read it over. And, yeah, he could see pretty quickly why the military had squashed any exact printings, as it contained the names of Ed and his team, as well as the names of those soldiers who had helped him in both the west and the north. It was also heavy with language that was far from family-friendly – the sort that Ed regularly spewed – and some pretty graphic imagery of what they envisioned the train would look like after the explosion.
But the part that caught Ed's attention – the part that hadn't been in the article he'd read – was the line: 'The Fullmetal Alchemist calls us terrorists, but isn't HE the terrorist, supporting this Führer who won his position by standing on the shoulders of those who killed Bradley?'
"I love how I'm the terrorist instead of you," Ed muttered as his squad gave up on decorum and crowded around to read the message themselves. "And isn't it common knowledge that Bradley won the Führership after the mysterious death of his predecessor?"
"Please avoid opening any dialogues concerning how my seat is usually passed on, Lieutenant Colonel," Grumman replied, tone dry. "I'm not nearly so difficult to kill as our previous Führer was."
"Hm."
"Wait, how did Oscar get involved?" Lois asked, pointing at his name.
"He helped me out west," Ed explained, before tapping a finger against the list of names. "Most of these were one-off assistances," he added, glancing up at Grumman and raising his eyebrows; they had a mole, clearly. Which had been expected, and was pretty much the whole reason they'd been so careful with lines of communication, why he had never put in any of his written reports – save the one to Mustang – where his team was headed next.
Grumman shook his head; they hadn't been able to find the mole yet.
Well, that was worrisome. Ed refolded the message, ignoring a complaint from over his shoulder, and slipped it away. "Fine. Was that all?"
"Yes," Grumman decided. "I expect to see you at the memorial, Lieutenant Colonel."
Ed sighed. "Yes, sir."
Grumman nodded. "Second Lieutenants, Privates," he offered to Ed's squad, before stepping past them.
"Oh my god," Lois complained and her forehead thumped against Ed's shoulder.
"You're insane," Sabine informed him flatly, but there was a tired glimmer of amusement in her eyes when Ed glanced over at her, absently reaching back to pat Lois' arm.
Ed shrugged his free shoulder. "You knew that."
"I don't think my heart can take your causal relationship with your commanding officers," Taylor complained. "I need a drink. Anyone else?"
"Anyone other than Ed, you mean," Lois reminded them drily, straightening and patting Ed's arm back.
"You might be surprised how many people will serve me alcohol," Ed returned, and someone choked on a laugh. "But, no. I haven't seen Elicia in four months, so I'm gonna go over there."
His squad made noises of understanding, and Lois said, "Tell her hi for me, will you?"
"Yeah. I'll see you lot tomorrow?"
They all made noises of parting and Ed started towards the gate, leaving them to sort out their drinking plans without him. He hadn't got more than two feet away, however, when Stephan called, "Hey, Ed?"
"Yeah?"
"Your sister. Her dad served, right? Died in uniform?"
Ed couldn't help but look past the fresh graves, towards where he knew Hughes' grave sat. "Yeah. Why?"
"Can you ask about how the survivor benefits for family are?"
Ed wasn't the only one to shoot Stephan a sharp look; he and Nick had been of a pair, joining the military to provide for their families, and with Nick dead... "The Halberstadts?" he guessed.
Stephan's throat bobbed and he lifted his chin slightly, like he was facing down disapproval. "Yeah. I dunno if I can live with myself, if it turns out Nick's death left his family hanging."
Ed nodded. "I'll ask," he promised. Fuck, he'd happily send part of his own pay cheque their way. Even when he'd been constantly paying for his automail because he was always breaking it, he'd had too much money, what with his alchemic research account and his regular pay from the military, which was why he'd set up that trust account for Al. After his promotion, his pay cheque had only grown, and while he was still funnelling money into the account for Al – despite his brother's attempts to make him stop, given he wouldn't be able to touch it while in Xing – he was also sharing travel expenses with two other men, and they hadn't been paying for more than the basics for months now. He had the money, why not give it to someone who needed it, right?
Of course, judging by the expressions of his squad, if it turned out the military's survivor pay was for shit, Ed wasn't going to be the only one sending money to Nick's family (they'd probably have done the same for Rebecca's family, if she hadn't made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing more to do with her father and stepmother), and, fuck, how the hell had he got such an awesome squad? How, out of all the people who decided to go to the academy, had Ed ended up with this group?
And why, Ed couldn't help but think as he left the graveyard, would anyone want to hurt one of them?
If there was an answer to that, Ed didn't have it, didn't want it.
His mind turned to making plans for the fuck-shits who'd bombed the train – just because he had to wait for Mustang to show up so he could go, didn't mean he couldn't start planning now – debating what terrible things he'd do to them, and it probably should have concerned him, but he didn't care. He was tired of months of hunting down splinter cells, of shifting through rumours and half-truths for the chance to stop a group before they could hit another military instalment or civilian storehouse, of being constantly on the move because they were everywhere and he only had one team. He just wanted this to be done, so he didn't have to worry about another train blowing up, so he could finally get down to Ishval where he fucking belonged.
He wanted the chance to build something, instead of always tearing things down.
"Big brother Ed?" a voice called, and Ed's head jerked around, looking towards the source. He hadn't realised he'd made it to the park nearest the Hugheses' flat already, but clearly he had, because he was surrounded by polite green and the sounds of children screeching in glee. And there was Elicia, her face breaking out in the widest fucking smile as she clambered down the monkey bars she'd been climbing. "You're home!" she shouted as she hit the ground and ran towards him.
Ed's real knee buckled, and he let his automail leg lower him safely to the ground, catching her in a hug as she reached him. "Elicia," he whispered into her hair, his voice coming out choked, and he hadn't fucking realised how much he'd needed to see her, to hold her, because she was one of the few things in his life that wasn't wrapped up in the taint of the military and everything that was attached to that.
"Big brother?" Elicia whispered, her tone worried.
"I think," Gracia said as she knelt next to them on the dirt path and wrapped an arm around Ed's shoulders, squeezing the one farther from her gently, "that your big brother has had a long day."
More like a series of long months, really, but Ed swallowed and whispered, "Yeah. That." He loosened his hold a little bit and eyed Elicia's worried stare. "I think I want some ice cream. You with me?"
Her responding grin did a lot more for Ed's aching heart than he suspected the ice cream would. "Yeah! Big Brother needs ice cream, Mama! We have to!"
"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," Gracia agreed. "Go say goodbye to your friends."
"Kay!"
Ed let her go and watched after her as she dashed back towards the playground, calling out to the other kids she'd been playing with.
Gracia touched his elbow. "Can you stand?" she asked.
"Yeah." He started to get up, and while his real leg seemed like it would hold, he didn't complain when she helped him up and then stayed next to him, a pillar of strength, should he need it.
Gracia glanced at him – up, slightly, Ed realised with some surprise; he'd been growing again, and he wished he could draw up the proper glee at that – her eyes sad. "I recognise that uniform, even if Elicia doesn't," she offered quietly.
Ed swallowed and nodded, reaching up to touch the black sash over his chest. "Two members of my squad were on the train," he replied, just as quietly.
Gracia squeezed his arm. "That still doesn't make it your fault."
"I'm trying to remember that," Ed admitted.
Elicia ran back to them, so fantastically happy, and when she stopped next to Ed and held her arms up to be carried, there was no way he could have denied her. So he picked her up and followed after Gracia to the ice cream place Elicia preferred, letting her happy chatter as she filled him in on what he'd missed since he'd called on his birthday push away the lingering guilt and grief, at least for a little bit.
At least with Elicia he could still be happy.
Ed and Elicia were sitting on the couch, Ed reading from one of her favourite books, while Gracia started dinner in the kitchen, when someone delivered a pattern of knocks on the front door.
"Uncle Roy!" Elicia realised as a key turned in the lock. She scrambled off of the couch and ran out into the hallway, moving like her life depended on it.
Ed blinked, confused. Mustang was here? But, from the way Grumman had been speaking, he shouldn't show up for a couple days.
"Hello, Princess," Mustang greeted. And he sounded a little tired, but also as happy to see Elicia as Ed had been, because she was precious and Ed knew they'd both do anything for her smile.
Elicia, of course, started chattering happily about how glad she was to see him and did he know her big brother was here and so forth, and Ed felt a smile pull at his mouth as Mustang laughed.
Gracia appeared in the doorway that led into the kitchen, a stirring spoon in one hand. "Go see if he needs help," she said, not quite an order, but the intent was there.
Ed sighed and got up, setting the book aside, then stepped out into the hall as Gracia went back into the kitchen. He found Mustang still standing in the entrance hall, dressed in his uniform, which was surprisingly rumpled, his arms full of Elicia. The man looked tired, despite his fond smile, and it occurred to Ed that he'd had an even longer commute into Central than Ed had, unless he'd somehow managed to get someone to ignore Grumman's orders and get a train to run. (That was more something Ed would have done than Mustang, though; he usually obeyed rules from his superiors, unless they meant the death of someone he cared about, which wasn't the case here.)
Mustang glanced up and caught Ed's stare, his smile falling into something quieter, more obviously tired, a gleam of concern in his eyes. "Ed," he offered in greeting.
Ed blinked, momentarily thrown by the use of his nickname, before he realised what Mustang was offering him: The chance to leave the military outside the door, to be friends, instead of commander and subordinate, inside the Hugheses' flat. He swallowed down a confused lump in his throat. "Roy," he managed, before shaking his head and focussing on Elicia. "Hey, why don't we let your uncle get his boots off?"
Elicia sighed, but allowed herself to be set down by a clearly grateful Mustang. Of course, once on the ground, she spotted the suitcase that he must have set down when he'd picked her up, and started towards it. "Did you bring me anything?" she asked hopefully, and Ed would bet good money she was used to getting gifts when Mustang visited.
"There's a doll in there for you," Mustang agreed, and she gleefully set about opening it. "Also, a box for your brother."
Ed stiffened. "Wait, what?"
Mustang glanced up at him as he shrugged off his rumpled jacket, revealing an equally rumpled white button-up. "Jean told me to pass something on for him."
Ed frowned. "Havoc?" he translated – Mustang had stopped in East City long enough to drop by Havoc's? – before shaking his head. "I thought you weren't going to show up for a couple days."
Mustang sighed, but before he could respond, Elicia hurried over to Ed, her new doll clutched against her chest, while she held out a box that was about the size of Ed's fist. "What is it?" she pleaded as Ed crouched and took it from her.
Ed had a pretty good idea, given the size, so he tilted his head slightly and gave the box a gentle shake. The objects inside clicked and rattled around tellingly, and he offered her a vaguely confused look while she bounced in place hopefully. "I dunno," he offered, shaking the box a bit harder, now he knew for sure that it was safe.
"Open it!" Elicia ordered.
"You sure? What if it's roaches or something?"
Elicia shot him a look that said she knew he was messing with her, now.
Ed felt his mouth turn with a smile and he quickly opened the box, revealing the pile of small diamonds he'd expected.
"Pretty!" Elicia declared, staring into the box with the widest eyes, before looking up at Ed hopefully. "Can I have one?"
Ed pretended to think about that for a moment, before tilting the box back towards himself and shifting through until he found one that was heart-shaped – and, one of these days, he really needed to ask Havoc where he was getting them, because there had been some shaped ones in the first batch, too – then held it between them. "One," he promised and her whole face lit up. "But not by itself. Go ask your mum for a bit of chain or string and I'll make you a necklace."
Elicia darted past him with a gleeful shout, already calling out to Gracia about needing something for a necklace.
"More alchemy ingredients?" Mustang guessed as Ed stood up, slipping the diamond for Elicia into his right pocket.
He nodded as he picked out a couple of diamonds to drop in the left pocket of his formal trousers, then closed up the box; the diamonds had proven extremely useful, since it wasn't particularly comfortable to sleep in clothing that had carbon woven in, so Ed could sleep in unaltered clothing when they were camping out, and could quickly grab a handful of diamonds to use if trouble found them. (Which it had, often, while they were in the north, given Briggs' little games.) On the other hand, grabbing a handful in the middle of a fight meant he'd occasionally drop one or two, and they couldn't always find them after, so he'd rung Havoc up the month before and asked him to have some for Ed next time he could stop by.
"Seriously," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but it came out a little too flat, and he resisted a grimace as he continued, "I thought I was going to be stuck here for a week."
Mustang sighed again and motioned towards the doorway that led to the living room. "I'd like to sit down," he commented, and Ed huffed, but led the way into the living room, dropping heavily into the couch. Mustang settled tiredly into the armchair that he usually claimed, before saying, "Given that the train aren't expected to start running again until Monday, I expected the same, but Jean came down from East, said he was headed for Central and needed a second driver."
Ed scoffed. "Right. He went down to Ishval for a second driver."
"Resembool," Mustang corrected. "Marie and her husband came down to get me as soon as they heard about the bombing on the radio."
Ed's breath caught. "What?"
"You have some extremely loyal neighbours, Full–Ed," Mustang commented, a tired smile playing around his lips. "They were afraid you might get punished because the bombers were blaming you for their actions."
Ed shook his head. "Fu– No. Shi– Ugh." He dropped back against the couch; it was so difficult to be properly emphatic when he couldn't use half of his favourite words. "I hope you told them they were being stupid."
"I did assure them that the military couldn't pin any blame on you for the actions of others, no matter their reasons for violence."
"And then you came anyway? How reassuring," Ed muttered.
Mustang caught his glower with a gaze that was far too fucking understanding. "I knew you were thinking of doing something stupid."
"What the f– What's that supposed to mean?" Ed demanded, straightening and turning a proper glare on the bastard.
Mustang didn't let up on his stare, just calmly stated, "I recognised some of the names on the casualty list, Edward. Two in particular: Privates Flanders and Halberstadt."
"So?!" Ed shouted, the word tearing its way out.
Mustang didn't so much as twitch. "Revenge."
Ed flinched, looked away from Mustang. "Shut up. You don't get to– You–"
Ed didn't even hear him move, flinched back when Mustang settled carefully onto the couch next to him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "I'm returning a favour," he murmured, and Ed looked up into eyes that had seen loss, had blamed himself for his part in the death of someone he hadn't even realised was at risk. "Ed, don't. Don't become them. We've both seen what happens when you lose yourself to that."
Ed shook his head. "Then what?" he whispered, and his voice cracked. "Keep tossing them in prison in ones and twos? What happens when their person in the inside starts freeing them? What if they bomb–" His lungs stuttered warningly and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw; fuck him, he was not having a fucking attack in front of Mustang.
(Easier said than done; the mere thought of an incoming attack just strengthened it, and fighting against it to keep Mustang from finding out...Well. Ed should have known that was just going to make it worse.)
"Breathe, Ed," Mustang said, the words more a comfort than an order, his hands on Ed's shoulders two steadying points of contact. "What are the base elements of an adult human?"
The what?
But his mind was already forming the list for him, and his next breath came almost without his notice, as did the one after it, as though he'd just needed to focus on something else, let his body manage what his conscious mind was getting in the way of. "Oh," he breathed out.
"Some of my aunt's employees suffered from panic attacks," Mustang offered when Ed peeked up at him from behind his bangs, and he felt his eyes widen in surprise. "One, Elizabeth, got flustered particularly easy. I thought it was fun to rile her up, until the first time I pushed her too far and she started gasping; I think I was more terrified than she was." He offered a smile that was more self-deprecation than anything else and it was...oddly soothing, not quite a promise that the bastard wasn't going to hold this over Ed's head, but something similar. "I never riled her up again, but she taught me how to help if I was there when she had another attack."
Ed nodded, drew in a breath that shuddered all the way down; he could leave it at that, leave Mustang without an explanation, but... "I woke up, after Al and I lost each other," he offered. "Didn't know where I was, no sign of Al, I thought–" His abdomen had been a massive spot of agony, because his wound from the fallen beam – the doctor the chimeras had found had had to open it back up to fix the internal damage that Ed had missed in his desperate attempt to save his own life – had torn open at his sudden motion, and Al hadn't immediately told him off for whatever stupid stunt he'd pulled, and Ed had been hit with a crippling certainty that Al was gone, which had translated into an inability to breathe, like his body was shutting down in response to the fact that he was fucking alone in the world, because what the fuck did he have to live for without his brother?
"Heinkel," he choked out, grabbing Mustang's arms and using the twin points of contact to resettle himself in the present, drag himself away from that old terror, "he said his mum used to– used to get attacks. He calmed me down, explained what had happened." Explained where they were, how they'd got there, why they'd needed to go there. He'd filled in all the blanks, promised he and Darius would stay with Ed, at least until he was better. Which turned into 'until you find your brother', and then 'we're not leaving'.
"I really should meet your team one of these days," Mustang muttered.
Ed surprised himself by laughing, then lent forward and rested his head against Mustang's chest, impossibly comfortable. Like this was normal, like this almost-friendship wasn't still so new, Ed wasn't used to hearing Mustang call him anything but 'Fullmetal'. "Yeah," he agreed. And then, "Thanks."
Mustang squeezed his shoulders and didn't pull away.
"Roy?" Gracia called after a bit, her voice pitched low. "Is everything okay?"
"Ed?" Mustang murmured.
Ed pulled back and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired. "Yeah. Sorry. I–" He sighed and shook his head, glanced up towards Gracia's worried frown and winced. "Sorry."
"Give us a minute," Mustang requested, and Gracia inclined her head before stepping out of the living room. Ed turned back towards Mustang as he quietly said, "If you need mental health leave, take it," and Ed immediately shook his head; he wasn't that fucked up. Mustang sighed, his expression saying he'd expected that response, then he straightened and firmed his tone to say, "Fine, then listen:
"Nothing you do at this point will lessen the chance of another bombing." Ed squeezed his eyes shut. "Whether they liked the response they got, or if they felt the response wasn't severe enough, they're going to come up with an excuse to do it again, because, just like how Envy kept trying to get us to fight, they've got a taste and they're going to keep pushing until they tear this country apart. Killing them will only add more fuel to their fire, will paint you with the same brush that they've painted themselves with, and you'll hate yourself for it later.
"Yes, they're not unlike the homunculi: Removing a piece gets it out of the way for a moment, but it grows right back. We need their philosopher's stone, but we're not going to find it unless someone points us in the right direction, which means we have to keep pinning them to the wall, until one of them starts talking. It takes time and it's exhausting; if you need a break – for mental health or however you want to say it – take the leave. And if Grumman or anyone else among the brass give you trouble, ring me and I'll handle it."
Ed swallowed and shook his head. "You don't have a line out there," he pointed out.
"We will," Mustang promised.
Ed blinked, a puzzle slotting together in his mind, and he couldn't believe how long it had taken him to figure it out: Ishval was toxic, with the hatred being thrown at the military, he'd always known that. Most of the soldiers could take a weekend, drive out to East City and get drunk off their arses, but Mustang, as the commanding officer on site, couldn't leave without an official reason. A reason like no phone lines out in Ishval and needing to give weekly reports to the Führer. Once they had a line out, he had no excuse to leave any more. And maybe things were better, now, but that didn't mean escaping sometimes wasn't necessary.
"Don't go borrowing trouble," Mustang suggested, before Ed could come up with a way to word his response.
Ed scowled at him. "Shut up. I'm not the one making myself more accessible for the next time my extremely troublesome subordinate brings down a building."
Mustang snorted at that and stood. "I'll take my chances. Let's go see if Elicia found what you need to make her a necklace."
Ed closed his eyes. Fuck, Elicia. She was probably freaking out after his shouting and shit. Dammit.
"Come on, Ed," Mustang called back to him. "She's not going to come to you."
No, he didn't expect she would, after that display. Damn himself. "Coming," he agreed, and pushed himself off the couch to follow; he'd just have to do something amazing with that necklace as an apology.
Elicia, thankfully, hadn't taken long to forgive Ed for spooking her. Actually, it seemed she'd forgiven him before he even poked his head into her room and apologised, because she'd come right over and, when he'd picked her up, had hugged him tight and said, "You've had a long day." Which, well, yeah. But still.
Ed really didn't deserve Elicia. Or Gracia.
Over dinner, Gracia cautiously asked, "Are you going to the memorial tomorrow, Ed?"
Ed nodded. "Yeah." Then he sighed and sat down his fork. "Ugh. I still need to figure out what I'm going to say to the press."
Gracia and Mustang both frowned. "You're doing another interview?" Gracia asked, and Elicia perked up next to her.
Ed quickly shook his head. "No. Old man Grumman warned there'd probably be press waiting around. And, given my name's attached to all this..." He waved a helpless hand before using it to pick his fork back up. "Better to go in prepared than be caught surprised."
Gracia nodded in understanding. "Did you want us to come with you?" she offered.
"No!" Ed was quick to insist, even as Mustang murmured, "Better not." Then they looked at each other, sharing a silent agreement to keep the Hugheses out of the media's eye; given this group had set their eyes on Ed, anyone knowingly attached to him could be turned into a target, and Ed really needed to ring Winry and make sure she knew to watch herself.
"I'll come with you," Mustang told Ed, before glancing at Gracia, and she smiled in understanding.
"Mr Lion and Mr Gorilla'll be there, too," Ed added, glancing at Elicia.
She gave him a wide-eyed hopeful look. "Mr Lion and Mr Gorilla are here?"
"Yup. If your mum agrees, I'll bring them back with me tomorrow."
Elicia turned her wide-eyed hopeful look on Gracia, who laughed and agreed, "Of course they can come over."
Elicia was much cheered by that promise.
But thinking about the memorial reminded Ed of the question he'd promised to ask. There wasn't really a good time to bring it up, he knew, not if he wanted to keep the grim topic from Elicia, but Mustang might know anything Gracia didn't, and he wasn't likely to find a better time. So, taking a breath, he said, "I had a question, actually, about–" He grimaced and glanced between Gracia's concerned look and Mustang's faint frown. "One of my– Nick, he was going to send his pay cheques back to his family, his mum and siblings, and me – my squad and I – were wondering how– None of us have really had to deal with–"
"Survivor benefits," Gracia finished for him, and Ed managed a tight nod, couldn't even begin to guess what his expression was. She set her fork down and offered, "For me, it was enough money to remain here and be comfortable, without worrying about finding a job. I was told it would end after two years but, curiously, I still got a cheque this month." She looked over at Mustang.
Mustang shrugged. "A filing error, I'm sure," he offered.
Yeah, Ed bet it was a filing error; one perpetuated by Mustang. Sneaky bastard. (He wholeheartedly approved.)
"However," Mustang continued, turning to Ed with a grim expression, "the military doesn't provide survivor benefits for parents of soldiers, only spouses or civil partners and children."
"What?" Ed heard himself say, something very like rage climbing his oesophagus. "That's bull–!" He clamped his mouth closed around the rest of that, remembering Elicia just in time.
Mustang inclined his head. "It's one of the hold-overs from Bradley's administration. Given the mess we were left with, that particular issue wasn't given priority."
Ed made a mental note to bring that up with Grumman, because that was shit. How many other families had been forced to struggle with grief and the lack of money a child or sibling had been sending home at the same time? Nick and Stephan couldn't be the only people in the military who were providing for more than just their partner or kids. Fuck, Ed was a sole provider for his brother, even if Granny was technically their guardian until he turned eighteen in a year.
Still, "I'll go by the bank on Monday," he decided. And he fully expected he wouldn't be going alone, though he might try and talk the privates into letting him, Lois, and Taylor bear the cost themselves, since he didn't expect their starting salaries left a lot of extra to pass down the line.
Gracia reached across the table and patted his hand, her smile kind. "You're a good kid, Ed."
Ed felt his face heat up and ducked his head. "Yeah, whatever."
Mustang and Ed left after dinner, Ed grabbing the bastard's suitcase while he was still fighting with his boots. "Edward," he tried as Ed quickly stepped out of the door ahead of him, dodging the grab for the luggage.
"Shut up," Ed ordered, glancing back to check that the door had closed behind the other man, "bastard. You're staying at the same hotel as last time?"
Mustang sighed and nodded as he fell into step next to Ed, not bothering to try for his suitcase again. "The Rose. You're at the Star?" he guessed.
Ed rolled his eyes. "Always. The Rose is for pansies."
Mustang snorted. "I'll come to you in the morning, then. Save you the indignity of having to step foot inside."
"Appreciate that."
Ed caught Mustang looking over at him, the city lights illuminating the gleam of amusement in his eyes, throwing just the right shadows across his face to make him look–
And, fuck him, Ed had clearly been abstinent way too fucking long if Mustang's obnoxious face was getting to him this easily. Was it worth the effort and hush money to find someone, hope he paid enough extra so they wouldn't go spreading it around that the fucking Fullmetal Alchemist was paying for sex? Ugh. Maybe he should just give in and sleep with Darius or Heinkel. It was free, he already knew he could trust them to keep their mouths shut, and they were long past any awkwardness.
"Fullmetal," Mustang called, his tone making it clear he'd tried getting Ed's attention a couple times already.
Ed shot his obnoxious face a glare. "What?"
Mustang shook his head. "Do you need help coming up with a response to the reporters?"
Ed sighed and reached inside his jacket for the paper Grumman had handed over. "It really depends what they get hung up on. Figure I'll just wing it."
"How unlike you," Mustang muttered as he took the paper when Ed held it out and unfolded it. His steps slowed as he read it, and Ed followed suit, steering them both around a couple making out under a street lamp. Mustang hummed and handed it back once he'd finished. "They're well informed," he offered as Ed slipped the paper back away.
Ed couldn't keep from clenching his jaw as he nodded.
"And they'll definitely try this again," Mustang added, and Ed glanced over at him, trying to swallow down the sick that was climbing his throat. "Their descriptions," he offered. "Spending that much time on envisioning the outcome suggests they're not going to be satisfied with just one attack."
"Fucking shit," Ed snarled, tightening his hold on the handle of Mustang's suitcase. "What the actual fuck is wrong with them?"
"A great deal," Mustang offered, and he sounded tired. "I'm intrigued, however, that they didn't mention the significance of the date for you."
Ed stopped. Stopped walking, stopped breathing, stopped everything.
Shit. He hadn't– That hadn't even connected. That had been a birthday present?
Firm hands led him out of the light of streetlamps, caught his hat before it could fall off as he threw up. Fuck. Fuck.
"I thought you'd realised already," Mustang offered quietly by way of apology, one hand rubbing gentle circles over his back.
Ed shook his head, brought up one shaking hand wipe his mouth before bracing it against the alley wall. "No," he rasped, the word dragging itself across the raw remains of his throat. He closed his eyes and withdrew his hand so he could punch it against the wall, felt the impact all the way up to his shoulder, let it centre him. "Fuck. Damn them."
"They may not have been aware," Mustang said, still quiet, but more musing than apologetic. "Whoever's pulling the strings may have told them to do something on that date without explaining why it was important."
"Still. That was–"
"Aimed at you," Mustang finished, kindly didn't say what Ed was certain they were both thinking: If the mastermind knew enough to plan around Ed's birthday, what's to say they hadn't pointed out that particular train because people Ed cared about were on board. "It's not your fault, Ed."
Ed ground his teeth together. "I'm getting really fucking sick of people telling me that," he said, pulling away from the bastard, because it was that or lean into his touch, and Ed...couldn't. He didn't trust himself, wouldn't fuck up this weird almost-friendship, just because he was in a shit place.
"Maybe," Mustang said as Ed started back out into the street, "you should start listening."
Ed clenched his jaw and kept walking, didn't look over as Mustang caught him back up and fell easily into step next to him.
They both held their silences until they reached Mustang's hotel, which was slightly closer to the Hugheses', then Mustang sighed and caught Ed's shoulder hard enough that he had to stop, and he turned a glare on the man that felt far too weak. Mustang just sighed again and lightly set Ed's hat back on his head. "Go get some sleep, Ed," he suggested, before gently tugging his suitcase from Ed's grip.
"Likewise," Ed managed, and he sounded more tired than angry. "You look like shit."
Mustang's smile looked like it hurt. "I'll see you in the morning," he offered before stepping past Ed, into the warmly-lit lobby of the Central Rose.
Ed made his escape, speeding his steps to his hotel and barely slowing enough to keep from slamming the door as he pushed through it. He took the stairs two at a time, had to force himself not to bang on the room door.
It was opened by Heinkel, who immediately stepped back to let him in, his expression tightening with concern.
Darius stood as Ed brushed past Heinkel and stopped in the middle of the room, feeling... Fuck, he didn't even know any more. Like he'd been dragged over shattered glass and then stretched taut; sick and wrecked and too fucking young. "Ed?" Darius called, stepping towards him with all the caution of a man approaching a live bomb.
"Fuck me. Someone," Ed heard himself say, looked up and met Darius' worried gaze. "Please."
Darius glanced behind him, towards where Ed knew Heinkel had to be, then took the last step forward and reached up, cupped Ed's cheek. "Okay," he agreed, and Ed closed his eyes and just fucking let go.
He came to a stop in front of his father's desk with a salute that wouldn't be returned, stiffly at attention, as was expected.
"What did the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Führer talk about?" his father asked without preamble, had never been the sort of beat around the bush.
He let his arm fall back to his side, but remained at attention; he'd been whipped often enough as a child to know the rules. "Just, uhm, the Führer wanted to pass on Brigadier General Mustang's orders that Ed–"
His father coughed and glared.
He swallowed, struggled to recall the name he was supposed to be using for his squad leader. "Sorry, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Elric was to stay in Central until he arrives."
"Mustang is coming here?"
"I guess so, sir. The Führer made it sound like it would be a few days, though."
His father leant back in his chair, the familiar sound of aged leather creaking sounding almost ominous. "Yes, I don't expect he'll have an easy time, with the trains down. Fine. Anything else?"
"The Führer just warned E– Lieutenant Colonel Elric that the press will likely be at the memorial."
"I see. That's it?"
Should he mention the Führer handing over the copy of the terrorists' message? No. That wasn't important. "Yes, sir."
His father pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare, which he stared down without flinching; at least he had left the academy with that strength.
His father sighed. "Fine. Dismissed."
He saluted. "Yes, sir!" Escaped.
Tried to ignore the sick feeling crawling around his stomach.
Come What May Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 || 06 || 07 || 08 || 09 ||
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
.
