![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
batsutousaiTitle: Come What May
Series: Part one of Our Sinner's Redemption
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Darius/Edward Elric/Heinkel, pre-Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, spoilers for FMA:B ending, canon-typical violence, pile 'o OCs, survivor's guilt, angst, original character death, slow build (btwn Ed & Roy), referenced underage relationships, off-screen violence against women
Summary: After the Promised Day, with his alchemy still intact thanks to Hohenheim's sacrifice, Ed finds himself and his chimera team getting dragged into the shadowy world of military secrets in an attempt to keep Bradley's legacy from causing a civil war.
A/N: Okay, so, update on chapter 12, since it's supposed to go up while I'm at con: It'll go up at FFN fine, no problem, because I can do that from my mobile. Because of some crazy last-minute planning that went down this week, I'll have my computer with me (I hadn't intended to take it), so, as long as I can get someone to give me the info for our room's wifi, that chapter will go up everywhere on Saturday, but I honestly can't promise when I'll have it up. (It may actually end up being more of an 'early Sunday morning' thing. ^.^")
Either way, chapter 13 will be going up once I get home on Monday, and 12 will go up at the same time if I couldn't get it up somewhere while at con.
I had an hour of freetime, so you're getting 11 & 12 right now. 13 on Monday. (No one comes here, why does it matter? XP)
In other news, if anyone's attending Katsucon this weekend, lemme know and maybe we can find each other? I love the chance to meet people!
Chapter Eleven
-0-
Ed woke when the bed shifted beneath him, Darius getting up with an aggravated, "Who the fuck's it this early?"
The toilet flushed. "I've got it," Heinkel offered before the door of their room was unlocked and opened. "Brigadier General Mustang?" he recognised.
Ed winced and burrowed a little deeper into his blankets. Whoops. Forgot to mention that to them. Actually, he'd forgotten to mention pretty much everything that had happened the day before.
Mustang sighed. "I assume Fullmetal forgot to mention I would be coming by this morning."
"He went to bed almost as soon as he got in," Heinkel said, and it wasn't quite a lie, because Ed had been in a bed not too long after he'd walked in, he just hadn't been alone, and sleep hadn't been a priority.
"I can understand that," Mustang allowed, and Ed could hear an edge of exhaustion in his voice, like whatever sleep he'd managed to get had done little to push back the stress of the past few days.
"Ed's still asleep," Heinkel offered, and Mustang must have made some sort of non-verbal response, because Heinkel ordered, "Wake him," as the door closed.
"But I had to wake him last time," Darius complained, and it was for the best that Ed was facing away from the door, because there was no way his wide grin could have been hidden behind the blankets.
"Darius," Heinkel said, "go wake him."
Darius let out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. "Ed," he called, as if that had ever worked. "Come on, Ed. Your CO wants you to get up."
Ed bit back a snicker; like that would get him up.
Darius let out another dramatic sigh, then the bed shifted as he knelt on it.
The minute his hand connected with Ed's shoulder, he turned, catching it and yanking hard enough to unbalance the chimera. As Darius hit the mattress with an irritated, "Dammit!" Ed freed himself from his blankets and caught both of the man's wrists, pinning them to the small of his back as he settled on Darius' back.
"You're not even trying any more," he complained.
Darius turned his head to the side and glared up at Ed through one eye. "Not here for your entertainment," he grumbled into the mattress.
Ed grinned and was about to refute that, when Havoc called, from the direction of the door, "Holy shit, Boss. That looks like it hurt."
Ed blinked down at Darius, whose visible eye had taken a certain victorious glint, then glanced back towards the door, finding Mustang and Havoc both standing there with Heinkel, who was smiling like he'd fucking won something. "You two are fucking arseholes," Ed declared as he slipped off Darius and to the floor next to the bed.
He had about half a second to be grateful that someone had put boxers on him last night, after he'd fallen asleep, before Mustang called, "Fullmetal," a note of concern in his voice. When Ed glanced up at him, he touched a hand to the dark fabric of his formal uniform, over the same general spot where Ed had been impaled.
"Ah." Ed glanced down at the scar on his abdomen, which looked at least twice as bad as the one on his back, since the latter had been a cleaner fix, while the former had been reopened by both the doctor and an impatient Ed. "Yeah. It kind of did hurt," he offered to Havoc, before shrugging. "Right. Mustang, that's Heinkel Potez, and this arsehole's Darius Wright. Arseholes, the bastard."
Havoc started laughing, while Mustang sighed and the two chimeras let out snorts that sounded a bit like they were resigned to him.
Ed rolled his eyes. "Where the fuck'd my jacket end up?"
Darius finally got off the bed, gently catching Ed's shoulders and turning him towards the table and chairs set. One of them – Ed would bet Heinkel; Darius tended to be only a little less messy than Ed – had hung his uniform over the back of one of the chairs. The items he usually kept in his pockets – pocket watch, lighter, a handful of diamonds, and whatever change he had for payphones – had been dropped onto the table with his gloves, in front of his closed suitcase. Darius' suitcase was next to his, and a quick glance towards the bed Heinkel had slept in found his.
"Awesome." Ed stepped forward and pulled out the paper with the pro-Bradley group's message on it out of the inner pocket of the long jacket, then held it back to Darius, since he was closest. "Terrorists' statement. Old man Grumman said he'll give us everything he's got, so you're both free to come to the memorial, if you want to chance the press."
"And miss out on watching you give it to the vultures in person?" Darius returned as he opened the paper, Heinkel walking over to join him as he did.
"Fuck you," Ed shot back, before turning to collect clothing to change into. "When's the service supposed to start?"
"We have almost three hours," Mustang supplied, his voice that forced-even that meant he was hiding something, and Ed glanced over at him with a frown. Mustang smirked. "I assumed you would need the wakeup call."
"Fuck you," Ed shot back as he brushed past him and Havoc for the bathroom.
"Fullmetal," Mustang called before Ed could shut the door, and he stopped to frown back at him. "If you give yourself time to meet with the reporters before the service, you'll have a ready excuse to escape."
'And you won't have the lingering mood of the service hanging over your head,' Mustang didn't say, didn't have to say.
Ed nodded and closed the door so he could get ready for the day.
Heinkel traded with him when he was done. Mustang was standing next to the table, eyeing one of Ed's diamonds thoughtfully. As Ed passed where Darius was sharing stories with Havoc, the former held out the paper with the message from the pro-Bradley group, which Ed took.
"Figured out what they're for yet?" Ed teased as he stopped next to Mustang, reaching forward to open his suitcase.
"I cheated," Mustang admitted.
Ed glanced back towards Havoc, who was laughing at the story of what they'd done the only time Briggs made the bad life choice to use the cover of an evening thunderstorm to sneak up on them. (It turned out that two chimeras and an alchemist who could transmute anything with just a clap were not fun to face when your footing and visibility were both for shit.) "Never should have showed him," he muttered, before turning back to his suitcase and clapping his hands together, envisioning the special-made array he needed to open the secret pocket inside the top of the suitcase, then touched the spot just above the lock on the inside. The inside of his suitcase came loose and he freed it just enough to slip the paper in there.
"Interesting," Mustang commented, only the faintest hint of appreciation in his otherwise dry voice.
Ed glanced at him as he clapped again and returned the pocket back to its usual invisible position. "It's come in handy," he offered, forcing his tone to remain bland. He dropped the lid of his suitcase, leaving it unlatched – no one was going to be finding his hiding place, and he suspected people searched objects that it were easier to get into less thoroughly; he knew he did, needed to work on that – before starting to slip his things into his pockets.
"Ed," Heinkel called as he traded with Darius, and Ed glanced back at him. "The car should get here today."
Ed sighed and nodded. "Old man Grumman won't give me that information until Monday, I suspect." He snorted and added, jerking a thumb at Mustang, "Even if he did only specify waiting for this bastard to show up."
Heinkel raised his eyebrows at him and Ed shrugged; he'd fill his team in that night. Heinkel nodded. "We should stop past your mechanic."
Ed grimaced, recalling his earlier realisation that he'd grown. "Yeah. Adjustments," he added, catching the glint in Havoc's eyes.
"You haven't broken it yet?" Havoc returned. "Will wonders never cease."
"Fuck you," Ed snapped, picking up his jacket to slip it on. "I need to talk to her, anyway. Tell her to keep her head down."
The others' expressions turned grim at that, and Ed turned away from them to pick up his black sash.
"Ed," Heinkel said, before a hand carefully tugged out his hair tie.
Ed rolled his eyes. "You're a pain in my arse," he muttered, but didn't stop him from pulling his bangs back into a ponytail. When Heinkel stepped back, Ed ordered, "Shut up, Havoc," before turning around.
Mustang's expression was carefully blank – Ed had expected that, honestly, even if he was a little disappointed at not surprising him enough for a reaction – but Havoc blinked, his expression twisting from something comically shocked to something more honestly surprised.
"Shut. Up," Ed insisted as the man opened his mouth. "I got the 'fucking weird' comment yesterday."
"Still holds true today," Darius pointed out.
Ed snorted and grabbed his gloves from the table and his hat from the seat of the chair his uniform had been hung over. "Are you ready, or are you too busy being an arsehole?"
Heinkel picked up both his and Darius' hats while Darius quickly attached his funeral sash, so they were able to head out shortly after.
They stopped to get something to go on their way, then made their way to the community centre where the memorial would be held.
Outside the building were a few haggard-looking soldiers trying to corral a small group of reporters, who seemed intent on asking questions of the civilians who were trying to make their way inside. Ed scowled at that and sped up, ignoring Mustang's sigh. "Hey! You lot!" he called ahead. "You wanna harass someone, harass me!"
The reporters were quick to take that offer, meeting him halfway. They'd probably have crowded him, but Darius and Heinkel had caught him up and taken positions behind him, Darius at least half a head taller than the tallest, and both of them very obviously more muscular than anyone there. (Though, as Ed was always happy to prove, hulking muscles did not the best fighter make.)
"Lieutenant Colonel Elric," a beady-eyed man started out, "what is your reaction to the allegations that the train bombing was your doing?"
"Bullshit," Ed snapped, glaring at the man, who shifted like he was going to step back, but managed to stop himself. Ed forced himself to take a deep breath, remember he needed to watch his language, and coolly stated, "I don't remember telling anyone to stick a bomb on a train, and I refuse to take responsibility for the actions of this terrorist group." Easier said than done. "They got a beef with me, they can say it to my face, rather than running around like a pack of cowards."
"Brave words," a sallow-skinned man said, meeting Ed's stare with hatred as he turned to him, "for a kid who got away scot-free."
"Brian," someone standing behind the man, who Ed couldn't see, hissed.
"Scot-free?" Ed repeated, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. "I had friends on that train, friends who had nothing to do with my hunting those bastards down, friends who are dead."
"Ed," Heinkel murmured behind him.
Ed closed his eyes, forced himself to take another deep breath, then looked up at the sallow-skinned man again, who looked more sad than angry, now. "I get that you're hurt," he said, and his voice came out quieter than he'd intended, but the reporters were still enough, he was certain he was still audible, "but you're not the only one. You can stand there and hate me all day, for all I care, but what's that going to get you?" He held his hands out to his sides, recalling his own thoughts from yesterday. "Look at me. I'm a kid playing dress-up; I'm an easy scapegoat because everyone's heard my name, because there's a whole fu– freaking heap of dirt anyone can dig up on me with very little effort, and I'll be the first one to tell you I'm no saint.
"I'm not the one you want to blame – I never have been, not for this – but if it makes you feel better, if you can sleep a little better tonight, go for it. I'm not afraid of your hate and I won't hide from it; I'll take it with me, and when I find the fuck-shits who set that bomb, I'll punch them once for you." Then he held out his hand to the man, meeting his wide-eyed stare evenly. "Deal?"
The man swallowed and slipped his pen under his thumb, held tight against the page of his notebook, and took Ed's hand. "Deal," he whispered.
A different man, wearing a lurid purple button-up, asked, "So you're still planning to go after this group, the Bradley's Avengers?"
Ed grimaced at the name as he dropped the sallow-skinned man's hand and turned to the new guy. "Did you expect I wouldn't?" he asked, and another reporter let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like it was covering a laugh. Ed snorted. "No, I'm sorry, but unless their intention, with this shi– with their actions was to make me even more determined to see every last one of them behind bars, they've failed."
"Behind bars?" a woman asked as she pushed her glasses up her nose.
"I'm sorry?"
"You said you want them 'behind bars'. Not dead?"
Ed took a deep breath, gave himself a moment to think of how to word this. "I don't kill people," he settled on, staring at the reflection of light that hid the woman's eyes behind her glasses. "I have never once, in my whole life, killed a human being." Well, Hohenheim, but he wasn't getting into that kettle of fish with anyone, let alone a pack of – what had Darius called them? Vultures? "Seriously injured, sure, but never killed, and my team follows that." He couldn't resist a sigh, adding, "With some complaints."
Judging by the choked laughter that followed, Ed would guess Darius had made some sort of affirming motion.
"But me, for my part, for the part of my team and those soldiers from West Command and Briggs that have lent their hand, I have a no kill-shots order, and they've been respecting that. All of them, even Briggs. We've only had to drag out one body, and that was ruled a suicide."
"Was it?" the woman asked.
Ed shrugged. "I wasn't there when they pulled him out." He glanced over his shoulder at Heinkel, who had been with the group who'd found the apparent suicide.
Heinkel frowned. "He was in a cupboard that was locked from the inside. We'd overlooked it on our first pass, didn't go back to check until we heard a gunshot. By the time we got the door open, he was already dead, holding a gun that had been recently fired. If it was anything but a suicide, someone went to great lengths to stage it."
Ed shrugged again, commenting, "It's almost funny, a bit, when you think about it."
"What is?" Lurid Purple Button-up asked.
Ed glanced up at him. "You've seen the message they left?"
"Yes," he said, while the other reporters all nodded, a few grimacing in distaste.
"Then you know they called me a terrorist. For supporting Führer Grumman, given, not– I dunno, I suppose you could call it taking their people hostage, but it's not like we cart them around with us. For one, they wouldn't fit in the car."
Someone let out an amused snort, while the beady-eyed man – clearly having regained his balls – said, "No, you hand them over to the military."
"Or the civilian police," Ed corrected, "whoever's closer. I mean, these groups have been attacking and raiding military compounds, sure, but they've also been stealing from civilian storehouses, and a lot of people up in the mountains died last winter because of that, because there just wasn't the food to go around, and by the time word made it back to the military and they got through the snowed-in passes with the needed aid, it was too late; this has never been military-focussed terrorism on their part, no matter what anyone might want you to believe.
"So, and here's the thing, they're calling me a terrorist for supporting Grumman, but they're the ones killing people – killing civilians – and halting nationwide commerce. And they're doing it in Bradley's name!" And giving Ed an easy way to undermine them, if he could manage the lie. "Bradley, who fuc– sorry, freaking loved this country and her people. If he were still alive, I think he'd be horrified. Or, well, okay." Ed snorted, shaking his head and trying not to let on how disgusted he was at talking up Bradley's praises. "Let's be honest here: If King Bradley was still alive, he'd walk into their headquarters himself and kill them all for using his name for their own agenda."
"You really think Bradley would have been that extreme?" Lurid Purple Button-up asked with a scoff.
Oh, Ed wasn't sure he was capable of tackling that one without marking himself as anti-Bradley, but then he recalled an incident where the fucker had done something similar.
"Yeah," he agreed, matching the man's mocking smile with one that had teeth, "I do. Because, you know, a few years ago, when Al and I were down south, we came across this group of discontent former soldiers–" well, the original Greed's chimeras had been former soldiers, even if they hadn't actively been after the military "–and we got into a fight. Bradley showed up while I was taking on their leader, ordered us out for medical attention, and went after the fleeing group by himself. He was the only person to walk out of their hideout alive, after us." Simplified, but more than enough, judging by the shocked silence.
Ed scoffed. "Seriously. This is the same man who miraculously survived a bridge giving out under his train, made it back to Central in one piece, and the first thing he did was nullify a Briggs tank. And you think he wouldn't take out a group of terrorists threatening his people in his own name?"
"Fullmetal," Mustang called into the continued silence.
Ed got up on his toes to look past the reporters at where Mustang and Havoc had moved behind them. Lois and a couple members of his squad had joined them, and Ed nodded in understanding before turning his attention back on the reporters. "Right, I'm done. You want to go back to trying to get quotes from people going to the memorial, I can't stop you, but have some decency, yeah? Not everyone who's lost someone is gonna wanna talk to you." Then he knocked a hand back against Darius' chest. "Let's go."
The reporters moved out of their way with murmured thanks or acknowledgements, and Ed walked past them without a word, instead offering a crooked smile for his squad. "Hey." Then he nodded to Mustang as his squad returned their own greetings, and the bastard nodded back before taking the lead on the way to the centre. Ed's squad fell in around him, while Darius and Heinkel brought up the rear.
Once they'd got a few steps from the reporters, Lois leant in and drily commented, "You know, for a minute there, I almost believed you actually liked Bradley."
"Respecting his skills with a blade is not the same as liking him," Ed retorted.
"You know what I mean."
Ed sighed and shrugged. "It's amazing, the lengths we'll go to to protect what we care about."
Lois watched him for a moment, until Ed met her stare, then turned a pointed look on Mustang's back. "What you care about, Ed?" she asked quietly.
"Don't," Ed hissed through clenched teeth because, fuck her, she'd figured something out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what.
She looked back at him, her eyes too sharp, too knowing. "I won't," she promised. "But be careful."
As if Ed didn't already know that.
They joined the queue into the centre, civilians standing back to let the large group of military personnel pass. As at the funeral, there was a clear division between military officers and everyone else, and as soon as Ben Grahame, who was standing on Ed's other side from Lois, pointed towards the rest of their squad, Ed called ahead, "Mustang."
The man stopped and looked back at him, his best and most irritating 'I'm more important than you so you're going to keep out of my way' face on. "Fullmetal."
"I'm staying with my squad."
Mustang's mouth twitched like he'd suppressed a smile. "I'm aware. Havoc."
"Yes, sir," Havoc acknowledged, and when Mustang turned to continue his way to where the other officers were gathered, Havoc stayed behind.
"What are you, my nanny?" Ed muttered when Havoc traded places with Ben at his side as they turned towards his squad.
"Suggesting you need one, Boss?"
"Fuck off."
There was an unfamiliar second lieutenant with Taylor and those who hadn't waited for Ed outside, and he saluted as soon as he saw them. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric, Second Lieutenant Hansa. I'm Morgan Lewis; I headed Squad A after you."
"Good to meet you," Ed replied, very pointedly holding out a hand for a shake. "Call me Ed." Next to him, Havoc laughed, while most of his squad managed fond smiles.
Morgan's stance eased and he smiled tiredly as he caught Ed's hand. "Morgan," he offered, and Ed caught himself grinning. "Sorry I couldn't meet you at the funeral," he added as he shook hands with Lois, who looked honestly entertained that Morgan had so quickly given in to Ed's particularities. "I got in late last night. Stationed out by Youswell."
"My sympathies," Lois offered, sounding way too sorry about that, and Ed suspected the military was no more welcome out there than it had been when he'd visited years ago.
Ed snorted. "Tell Halling hi for me." Since his squad didn't seem to have any issues with Morgan, and he'd dropped the military attitude fairly quick, Ed figured giving him an in with the Youswell miners was a fair exchange.
Morgan blinked. "The mayor?"
"Yup."
"I...will," Morgan agreed, sounding vaguely confused.
Ed caught a couple people eyeing his guests, so he quickly introduced, "Second Lieutenants Heinkel Potez and Darius Wright, my team, and Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, retired."
"Honourably discharged," Havoc corrected.
Ed shot him a flat look. "Bullshit. You got the offer to return, same as me, don't even lie."
"But I refused it," Havoc pointed out. "It's still an honourable discharge, Boss."
"Fucking military and your fucking labels," Ed muttered to himself while his squad introduced themselves to Ed's guests, and Havoc patted his shoulder.
"Hey, Ed," Stephan called, "did you ask?"
Ed couldn't keep from clenching his jaw, and his squad tensed. "Yeah," he got out, his voice way too tight, and he sensed Morgan and Havoc both shifting uncertainly just out of his periphery vision. "No survivor benefits for parents or siblings."
"What?" about half of the privates exclaimed, while the rest let out quiet curses.
"That's bullshit." Lois declared.
"I know," Ed admitted, and it was an honest struggle to keep from snarling the words. "And we can make a stink about it all we want – fuck, I will make a stink about it – but it's going to take months to get through the brass, because they're greedy fucks, and they're not going to backdate it, you know they won't; nothing we do through the military's going to help the Halberstadts."
"So what then?" Sabine Hamilcar asked, her voice too sharp.
Ed looked around at them, at their expressions – caught between fury and pain – saw the same on Morgan's face, and held out a fist in front of himself. "I'm going to the bank on Monday."
Stephan was the first to step forward and cover Ed's fist with his own hand. "I'm coming with you," he insisted.
Everyone crowded in after that, piling their hands on top of Ed's, their eyes burning with purpose, and Ed's smile felt too sharp on his face.
"One thing," he told them, his voice as hard as his State Alchemist title. "Lois, Taylor, Morgan, you lot are welcome to put some of your monthly pay towards them, but the rest of you won't."
"The fuck, Ed?" Greg Gabardini demanded.
"You get a couple promotions under your belts, start making enough you can afford to start saving up for something stupid, we'll talk again. But, right now, you really think Nick would want you tightening your belts for his family?" Ed shot back, and a few of the privates looked away. "Come with us to the bank as a show of support, sure, I'm good with that, but no one in this squad is going to be forced to struggle for the sake of another. Clear?"
His squad made tired sounds of agreement.
Ed looked at Taylor, Lois, and Morgan, and all three nodded.
"Are they here?" Morgan asked, looking around at everyone. "Nick's family, does anyone know? We should let them know."
They all turned to look; Nick had been pestered into showing around an old picture of his family, once, old enough that his father, who had died three years before, had still been alive for it, so they had a general idea of what they looked like.
"There," Sabine called, pointing towards the front of the crowd, near where the podium had been set up. Ed looked over and saw a haggard-looking woman who looked very little like the kind-hearted, smiling woman in Nick's picture. She had two teenaged girls with her, the elder holding tight to a boy (the younger brother, Ed guessed) sat in her lap, like he was the only thing keeping her together, while the younger was slumped down in her chair, her face in her hands.
"Shit," Stephan breathed, and Ed clenched his jaw to keep from adding his own curses because, fuck, this wasn't fair.
A heavyset man in dark robes – a civilian leader of some form, Ed guessed – stepped up to the podium and called for everyone to take seats.
"After," Lois murmured, ushering their group into the two rows that already had a few of their things on it. "We'll talk to them after."
The man at the podium waited until everyone had found seats and settled down, then introduced himself as Minister Dwight – Ed very carefully didn't grimace; just because he had no use for religious leaders didn't mean that other people didn't find comfort in them – then requested a moment of silence for the victims.
After the silence, Grumman got up to offer his condolences – he had on his best apologetic face, and Ed was only vaguely surprised to find no signs of it being fake – and promise the military would be working together with the civilian police to up security on all train lines, and they would be wasting no effort in hunting down and apprehending the culprits. (Ed pretended he didn't feel his squad turning to look at him, didn't react to the Führer's comment at all.)
After Grumman had sat down, Dwight came back to the podium and explained that he would be reading off the names of all the victims, and if any family or friends present wished to say something for them, they were welcome to come up and do so.
The list was way too fucking long, and Ed had to close his eyes after the first time someone got up to speak and had to leave partway through because they'd started crying too hard to continue. Because, fuck, he felt sick and guilty and it didn't fucking matter if this wasn't his fault, he still bore some of the blame. He did.
When Dwight read out Rebecca's name, there was a long silence, into which Lisa Coanda whispered, "They didn't come."
Rebecca's no-good father, Ed knew she meant, just as fucking bad as Hohenheim, and he reached past Lois and Evan, grabbing Lisa's clenched hand. "Come on," he murmured, and when he stood, she stood with him, her jaw held stiff and eyes bright with the tears she was very determinedly holding back. Because she and Rebecca had been the best of friends, and Ed wasn't going to let his squad member be forgotten in silence because she had a no-good bastard for a father.
Dwight stepped back as they made it to the front of the room, clearing the podium for them. When Ed motioned for her to take the microphone, Lisa glanced over at him with some trepidation, and it occurred to him that she was only a year older than him, and she'd had some confidence issues when they'd first got to the academy – helping her with that was a large part of what had made her and Rebecca so close – so he touched her arm and promised, "I'm right behind you."
She took a deep breath, nodded, and straightened before stepping up to the microphone. "Rebecca Flanders," she said quietly, "was my best friend. I come from a family of mild-tempered bakers, so the military academy was kind of a...a shock, I guess. I wasn't flexible enough, I wasn't strong enough to lift my own weight, I was too shy; I wasn't at all ready for the military, I guess, but my whole squad, they pitched in to make me better, and Rebecca, she got on me about the shy thing. She was–" Lisa cut herself off, took a shuddering breath, and Ed stepped forward to rest a hand on her shoulder.
She shot him a grateful smile, then turned back to the microphone. "Rebecca Flanders didn't take crap from anyone. She never yelled back at any of the trainers at the academy, not after the first time, but you knew she always wanted to. She would always make me stand up in the middle of the floor in our barracks in the evenings, insisted neither of us were gonna get any work done until I could stand up straight and recite, loudly, part of our lessons for the day. And when I managed it, she'd laugh and hug me and share whatever treat she'd managed to sneak out of the mess after dinner. Because she was tough, when you needed it, but when one of the other women in our barracks got really bad news, she sat up with her for hours and tucked her in when she fell asleep, because she was kind, too.
"Rebecca, she wanted to change the world. She was always saying she wanted to live in a world where she would be proud to wear her uniform, rather than just using it as an escape from her family. And that last night, before we all left for our assignments, she told me she felt a little better about her uniform, because she knew a lot of good soldiers, and some even better commanders. And we, her and me and Sabine, we all joked about how each of us were going to be the first one to serve under one of our squad commanders. Rebecca said she was going to aim for Ed–" Ed closed his eyes and drew in a careful breath that shuddered, because of course she had "–because he didn't care if you yelled back at him, and she figured she was gonna be really sick of always biting her tongue by the time she talked him into letting her transfer. And we all laughed, and Rebecca was laughing so hard she actually bit her tongue and that just made us laugh harder and that–"
Lisa drew in a breath that ended on a sob and Ed squeezed her shoulder. "That's," she continued, her voice shaking, "how I want to remember her. Laughing at the world." Then she reached up and grabbed Ed's hand, squeezing back, and Ed had about half a second to feel worried before she said, her voice growing stronger, "If Rebecca was here, she'd tell you this: Every one of you out there who's buying into that crap about Ed, you're part of the problem, you're the whole reason those terrorists bombed that train!"
"Lisa," Ed tried.
"No!" She shot him a glare, tears shining on her cheeks, and Ed pressed his lips together, frowning, but didn't stop her from turning back to the microphone and adding, "If you wanna change the world, Rebecca'd say, you have to get up and do it. Stop pointing fingers and just–" she slumped, clearly running out of angry energy "–just do something. Just–"
"Come on," Ed murmured, and she let him draw her away from the podium.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, as they started down the aisle, her head bowed against the weight of the crowd's stares.
"I know," Ed promised, turning a hard stare on the people staring at them, and a number of them looked away. The rest turned away when Dwight stepped back up to the microphone and called out the next name.
When they got back to their rows, Ed sent her back to her seat a few down from his, smiling when he saw his squad had rearranged slightly so Sabine could sit next to Lisa. 'You got her?' he mouthed at her as Lisa turned to hide her face against Sabine's shoulder, and Sabine nodded, wrapping her arms around Lisa while Evan reached over and started rubbing her back in halting motions, like he wasn't certain of the mechanics, but he was damn well going to try.
Ed settled into his own seat at the end of the row and sat up straight, in defiance of the eyes he could sometimes feel on him.
"Elric!" someone called once the memorial had ended and everyone was getting up.
"Oh, great," Lois muttered, peering over Ed's shoulder, "it's Mr Bradley himself."
Ed snorted and ordered, "Go catch the Halberstadts," before turning to face Lawrence Wackett. "Wackett," he called in return.
Wackett stopped in front of him, looked uncertain for a moment, then reached out and, telegraphing the whole time, lightly punched his fist against Ed's chest, right where his funeral sash crossed in front of the flap of his jacket. Under the sound of moving bodies, Ed caught the sound of paper crinkling, felt something slip carefully under the flap of his jacket. "Give them hell," Wackett said, his face twisted with fury and grief, and Ed suspected he'd lost more than two squad members on that train.
"I'll give them justice," Ed returned evenly.
Wackett scoffed and withdrew. "Pretty words for a dog."
Ed flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "I never said my bark was worse than my bite, did I?"
Wackett flashed him an equally sharp smile in return, then turned and marched away.
"That," Evan Beardmore said, "was weird."
Ed touched the spot Wackett had punched, felt the unfamiliar give of the fabric now there was paper beneath it, and dropped his hand. "Yes, it was," he agreed quietly, turning towards the front of the centre. He spotted Lois after a moment, and was just about to start over, when there was a break in the leaving crowd and he saw her hand, held behind her back, forming the signal for 'stay back'. "Hm," he said, before turning to Evan. "Fuck, I'm so out of the loop; where are you posted? Your father's here, right? And your brothers–"
"Are in South City and East City," Evan agreed quietly. "Yeah. I got posted to North City."
Ed snorted. "Wow. Almost a full set, there."
Evan sighed. "Yeah. And Father's already pushing Kenny to start preparing for the academy. I feel really bad about leaving him there, since now he's the centre of Father's focus."
"Your mum's not helping?" Ben Grahame asked as he leant against Evan's shoulder (because he was ridiculously tall and liked to show off). "I thought she's the reason you got out of that...that whatsit."
"Young Officer Program," Ed said, because Evan's father, Major General Beardmore, had been one of those intent on taking advantage of Bradley's program to fast-track military kids through the system.
Evan shook his head. "She's trying, I guess, but Father's been pushing harder since Bradley died. Said the military needed more soldiers they could count on. Worried about how many died, I guess."
"The casualties were pretty high," Ed admitted, because they'd lost almost half of the Central troops, between Briggs and the mindless dolls, and many more were honourably discharged because of their wounds. He turned to Ben. "Where are you posted, then?"
"Oh, is that how you got talking about Evan's fucked up fami–"
"Oiy!"
Ben patted Evan on the back and stopped leaning on him. "I'm in Marrien," he offered to Ed.
Ed nodded; that was in the central area, he knew, and was the transfer point for trains going along the southern part of the west area. "So close to Taylor, but so far," he teased, and Ben flailed a punch in his direction that Ed didn't even pretend to duck.
"Grow up, kids," Lois ordered as she joined them.
"How'd it go?" Ed asked as the rest of their squad broke away from their smaller conversations and crowded around. (And Ed felt a little bad for how much of the aisle they were blocking, but most of the people who were desperate to leave already had.)
Lois sighed. "She is not one of your fans," she told Ed and he shrugged; he was used to people disliking him without knowing him. "I had to tell her we promised Nick we'd take care of them if anything happened to him, figured she wouldn't accept the help otherwise."
"Yeah, she didn't sound like the sort to want a helping hand," Greg Gabardini said, because as tired as she'd looked, Mrs Halberstadt had worn a brave face when she'd had her turn at the podium.
Lois nodded. "I don't know that she'll use the money, but it'll be there if times get hard, and his sister, the oldest?"
"Iris," Ed supplied.
"Her, she was listening pretty intently, so I think she'll use the money if they need it, even if her mum won't. But–" she knocked a hand against Ed's shoulder "–we should probably keep your name off the account, if at all possible."
Ed nodded. "We'll ask at the bank. And put Iris and Amy's names on there, too, so they can withdraw the money without having to convince their mum they need it."
"Yeah," Stephan agreed, while others made noises of approval.
Lois snorted and knocked her hand against Ed's shoulder again. "Also, your CO left, I guess? Told me to pass on that he got talked into a double date with someone named Georgina tonight and you're the second."
"Georgina," Ed heard himself repeat, his tone flat (because the bastard going on a date wasn't a surprise, but dragging Ed into a double date sounded like bullshit), while Omar whistled. As Sabine and Greg both turned to hit Omar, Ed's mind connected 'Georgina' with the name Chris always used for Grumman, 'George', and he scowled. "Fucking Mustang and his fucking dick," he snarled, and a couple members of his squad let out choked laughs.
And then, because he was an arsehole, Darius sang out from behind him, "Ed's got a date with a gi~irl!"
Ed felt his right eye start to twitch. "Excuse me," he told his squad, "but I need to go find a place to pummel a member of my team where no one will find the body."
"Bank tomorrow!" Taylor reminded him as Ed turned and shoved Darius hard enough to make the chimera stumble backwards a couple steps, his squad letting out laughs that were varying levels of tired.
"Yup!" Ed called back as the two chimeras and Havoc fell in around him.
"Ugh," Havoc complained as they stepped out of the centre, "it is so utterly not fair, Boss. The chief never set any of the rest of us up on dates."
"Then you're lucky," Ed replied, scanning the lingering crowd for any sign of Mustang and not finding him. He was probably already at the Hugheses', then, or had other business to attend to.
"Are you going?" Heinkel asked.
"Yes."
Darius let out a disbelieving sound. "Really? You're going on a date with a woman?"
Ed glanced back at him, smirking at his stare. "No."
"Conflicting answers, Boss."
"Yes, I'm going," Ed clarified, "but it's not a date with a woman."
"With a girl?" Darius suggested, and Ed shook his head. He sighed. "Dammit, Ed."
Havoc glanced around at the largely empty streets, then shot Ed a sharp look, lowering his voice to say, "The chief gave us all female names for undercover ops."
Ed smiled at that. "Imagine that."
Havoc gave a sharp nod and turned back to looking ahead of them. "Enjoy your 'date'."
Ed sighed. "I hate Mustang," he muttered, and the other three laughed.
Ed finally got the chance to see what Wackett had passed him while he was watching Elicia chase Heinkel and Darius around the park, ostensibly guarding their jackets, since Havoc had offered to take Gracia to the grocery while Elicia had a babysitter.
The paper turned out to be a label-free map of – he realised after turning it the correct direction – the area southeast of Lake Kauroy, east of Dublith. (Which made sense, when he thought of it, since Wackett had been posted in Dublith.) There was a circle drawn over a spot about half a day's walk southeast of the lake's southern banks, if Ed was judging distance correctly, and he frowned at it for a moment before recalling Wackett's comment: 'Give them hell.'
"Shit," he whispered, staring down at the map. Wackett had given him one of the pro-Bradley group's hideouts. And, given how remote it was, it was almost assuredly one of their larger bases, like the one they'd taken out in the west when Ed had first arrived. Which meant there was a good chance it was the base of the train bombers. Which meant Ed had them.
He'd still wait for Grumman's information because, if they were going to be in the south any way, they might as well tackle any other murmurs, just to lessen the chance of any of the other groups banding together and trying another bombing.
He folded the map back up and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then leant back against the park bench and stared up through the trees at the bright blue of the sky, feeling so much better about the future. In spite of his 'dinner date' with Mustang and Grumman.
Mustang never made it over to the Hugheses' – at least, Ed never saw him – but he did find a way to pass on directions to Gracia, so, after he'd dropped back by his hotel to change out of his formal uniform, Ed found himself slipping into the back garden of what he suspected was Grumman's townhouse. It was suspiciously dark, past the reach of the occasional lamp out in the alley, and Ed crouched in a shadowy corner, staring into what appeared, at night, to be an overgrown garden. "Bastard?" he called quietly.
Someone stepped out onto the path and gloved hands motioned him forward. A crack in the wooden slats of the fence just above Ed's head let in just enough light to highlight the familiar red circles against white, and he let out a quiet breath of relief as he stepped forward.
Mustang led them in through a back door and waited for Ed to close it behind himself before quietly directing, "Lock it." And, once Ed had done so, "This way." He led Ed through to another room, stopping a few steps in and snapping to light two candles sitting in the centre of a round table that was set for three people, each of the plates covered with a warming dish. Grumman was nowhere in sight, but the use of alchemy did a lot to ease the strain that had been building up in Ed's shoulders.
Ed sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "I hate shadow games," he muttered.
Mustang shot him a sympathetic smile, but it was Grumman who said, as he stepped into the room through another doorway, "Get used to it, Elric. The military is full of ears listening for scraps that can be used for promotion; the more careful you are, the longer you'll survive."
"I have a noted preference for the theory of 'the harder you hit, the longer you'll survive'," Ed retorted.
"Politics involve less straightforward rules, I'm afraid," Mustang offered, motioning for Ed to take a seat, while Grumman joined them at the table.
"Politics can go fuck themselves," Ed muttered, and Grumman let out his really fucking obnoxious laugh. "You can go fuck yourself, too. Sir," he added as he took a seat.
"It really is a pity you're so hopelessly loyal to Mustang," Grumman commented as he and Mustang took their own seats. "Your particular brand of recalcitrance would be a refreshing change in my office."
"Truly, sir, fuck off."
"As entertaining as this exchange is," Mustang interrupted flatly, "I expect you asked us here for a reason, sir."
"So I did," Grumman agreed, sounding tired, before motioning at the covered plates. "Please feel free to eat; my housekeeper makes a most excellent roast. Not quite to my late wife's standards, but still quite good."
Ed glanced at Mustang, who sighed, shrugged, then uncovered his plate, setting free some truly mouth-watering scents.
Ed barely waited long enough to get his own covering off before tackling his food. He didn't even care that Grumman laughed obnoxiously again.
"Sir," Mustang prompted before taking a polite bite of his own roast.
Grumman sighed, the sound disappointed. "Yes." He pulled off his own cover, stating, "You're both aware, by now, that this 'Bradley's Avengers'–" if Ed's mouth weren't full, he'd have requested they do away with that name "–have a mole in the military. A fairly high-placed mole, given everything they've been passing on."
"It's been more than just the names of those soldiers who have helped Fullmetal hunt them, then," Mustang assumed.
Grumman nodded and glanced at Ed. "You reported a couple of near misses in May, as I recall."
Ed swallowed his mouthful and nodded. "Yeah. Four while we were in the west, and another three after we took out that lot up north."
Grumman's expression was grim. "I had hoped moving you north would change that, but it wasn't until after I started having your reports delivered to me at home, rather than the office, that it did."
Ed stiffened, because that suggested their mole was someone either in the Führer's office, or someone who had easy access to it. "But you wouldn't have got my reports until at least a week after the events I covered in them," he pointed out.
"If they had a record of where you'd been and what rumours you had access to, they could extrapolate," Mustang returned, and Ed realised that was probably also how Chris and Armstrong's people had always known where to catch him with his post. Mustang turned to Grumman. "You believe it's someone in your office?"
Grumman shook his head. "No." When Mustang raised an eyebrow at him, the Führer snapped, "Do not question the trust I put in my team, Mustang, and I won't question yours. Which, might I remind you, is currently scattered."
Very true, Ed realised, hiding a grimace with another bite of food; Falman was up at Briggs, and he'd told Ed that Fuery was currently in Central, on loan to the Communications department, while Havoc had gone civilian in East City, and Ed himself was wandering all over the country. Not that Ed believed a single one of them wouldn't immediately jump back in line behind Mustang if the bastard needed them, but it still looked like a group who were slowly falling apart, to anyone on the outside.
"Then who?" Mustang asked, his voice tight. "How many people have access to your post? Or do you suspect the madam's employees, now?"
Grumman narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I should. Women are not beyond corruption."
"Shall I pass that on to your granddaughter, sir?"
"Holy shit," Ed interrupted. "Are you sure you bastards are old enough to be leading this country?" They both turned glares on him, and Ed rolled his eyes, long immune to the glares of commanding officers. "Look, old man Grumman says it's not his staff, and unless whoever Chris had passing post has been completely denied access to my reports since he switched where they've been being delivered, we can rule that out." He focussed on Grumman, whose expression had eased slightly. "So, who else has unquestioned access to your office when you're not in there? Anyone?" Because that didn't sound right, not for the Führer's office, not when they all knew there was a mole.
"Or the authority to stop whoever's delivering your post in Command," Mustang realised, straightening.
"Captain Rosemary Sachsen," Grumman said, and Ed glanced at Mustang, who was frowning. "She was in command of the post room under Bradley and is the only person allowed to handle the post of anyone above colonel. I vetted her myself before I allowed her to keep her position."
Mustang shook his head. "I don't know her," he admitted, and Ed bit back a shocked sound; this wasn't the time. "It's possible something's changed for her in the past year."
Grumman sighed and nodded. "I'll have some people look into it. I'll also put a watch on the post room, in case someone else is sneaking looks at post. For the moment, I'll continue to have delicate documents delivered directly to my home." He looked at Ed. "If something important comes up, you have my home number."
Ed gave a tight nod; he'd kept Grumman's note as a just in case, though he didn't anticipate needing it.
Grumman looked at Mustang. "You said something about getting a line out to Ishval?"
Mustang put on his most obnoxious smirk. "Ah, yes. About that; I'm going to be requiring Warrant Officer Fuery, if you can spare him."
Grumman snorted, his smile knowing. "Take your spy back, Mustang."
"Harsh, sir."
Grumman snorted again and turned back to Ed. "Speaking of spies, how much do you trust your academy squad, Elric?"
Ed stiffened, the direction of that question obvious, and very carefully set his fork and knife down before saying, "I don't want them involved."
Grumman's smile was far from kind. "They're already involved."
"Well, then... Uninvolve them!"
"Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted.
"No!" Ed snapped, pointing a finger that shook at first Mustang, then Grumman. "Fuck you both, no. Leave my fucking squad alone. Haven't they suffered enough shit in this stupid fucking shadow war?" Because this work was dangerous, and it was bad enough they were marked for being on good terms with Ed; the last thing he wanted was to drag them further into the path of the fucking terrorists and whatever enemies were watching for one of them to fuck up.
"Edward," Mustang said, his boot knocking very obviously against the side of Ed's right leg under the table and holding there, and Ed turned to glare at him. He gentled his tone to say, "No one's saying they have to go out into the field any more than they will as soldiers, but you have nine possible informants covering four capitals and scattered out over the rest of the country. They're going to see or hear things, but they're not likely to pass that on or realise they might be in danger unless you tell them."
Ed closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath that was only a little tight; he couldn't look at Mustang when he was being all logical but nice like that. Dammit. Damn him and his not-really-a-bastard face.
"Can you direct them to listen for specific information?" Grumman asked. "Do you trust them to pass you good information? Without letting anyone else know what you're looking for?"
Ed clenched his jaw. He could say no, keep his squad out of this, he knew it, but... Fuck. His life – the survival of both him and his team – had come to depend on what information he could gather. Chris had an excellent handle on Central, and Armstrong's intelligence network had proved invaluable up north (on those occasions when he'd dared to use them and give Briggs a clear target), but having direct lines to the west, south, and east, having a line in North City that didn't depend on Armstrong, that would make a huge difference in how he gathered intel. Fuck, he could find out, while in the west, that there were whisperings of a larger group forming somewhere in the east, hunt them down before some delusional fuck-shit decided to blow another train, or whatever horrors they designed next.
Shit. His squad would never forgive him if he refused them the opportunity to fight back, not now, not with them knowing what he was doing. And he'd never be able to forgive himself if he could have stopped another bombing with information one of them overheard, not to mention the chance that they'd overhear something and get themselves killed trying to do something about it, because they didn't know they could just pass it on to him and he'd handle it.
"I'll talk to them," he got out, somehow, the words tasting like blood on his tongue, and Mustang's pushed a little harder against his leg before pulling away. (Stupid, protective bastard; of course he'd already figured out Ed's triggers and taken steps to help him avoid an attack.)
"How much do you trust them, Elric?" Grumman demanded.
Ed shot him his best glare. "I do. That's all that should matter to you."
Grumman's mouth thinned into a line of disapproval. "You know what's on the line."
Ed clenched his hands into fists, redirected his stress into anger, and snarled, "I can't wait until you retire, sir, because I'm going to punch you in the fucking face, and no one'll be able to do a fucking thing about it."
Mustang let out a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"Then you had best hope I live to see my retirement."
Ed put on his meanest smile. "Oh, I'll punch your corpse if that's my only option. It won't be nearly as satisfying, but I'll survive."
"Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted, and when Ed looked over at him, he caught a glint of resigned amusement in his eyes. "Please refrain from threatening the Führer while he retains his seat."
Grumman chuckled and started in on his food at last. "I do so enjoy productive dinner dates. We should do this again."
Mustang sighed. "I don't intend to remain in Central that long."
"Seconded," Ed was quick to add, before pointing at Grumman. "Look, see, Mustang came; that means you owe me information and then I'm gone."
Grumman let out an obnoxious put-upon sigh. "You'll have to come by Command for it in the morning."
"Because you suck, yeah, I figured."
Grumman gave him an amused look as he reached for his water. "I'm sure you'll be back through soon enough, Elric. We'll have dinner again."
Ed waited until their bastard of a Führer had taken a sip, then deadpanned, "You're way too old for my tastes, sir."
The spit take was absolutely worth the mental image his own brain had supplied.
"I should hope so," Mustang muttered, looking vaguely disturbed, from behind his own water glass.
Ed made a face at him and Mustang's eyes glinted in the candlelight.
"It's good, then, Elric," Grumman said, his tone dry, as he mopped up the water with his napkin, "that you won't be having dinner with me, but with Georgina's young niece, Gloria."
"Who I'm sure is very lovely and a fine conversationalist for the occasional dinner," Ed returned, matching Grumman's tone, "but you'll find I'm far more interested in her brother."
"...you're gay," Mustang realised, surprised enough that it actually showed on his face.
"Bisexual with an extreme preference for males," Ed corrected before looking at Grumman. "Which my team and parts of my squad are aware of." Well, Lois was the only one who he'd ever actually told flat out that he preferred his own gender, but it's not like he'd ever gone to pains to hide it, nor did he intend to in future; if Grumman wanted to set up secret meetings disguised as a standing date, he was going to have to be the one to bend his story a bit.
Grumman hummed. "Brother it is. Grant?"
Ed blinked, then snorted. "I notice a preference for names starting with the letter 'g'."
"If only my lovely Ginger had held to that," Grumman agreed with a sad tone. (Ed knew him well enough, he was fairly certain the crazy old bastard was putting on a show.)
'Daughter,' Mustang mouthed.
"If only she hadn't married that alchemist boy," Grumman continued, appearing, for all the world, like he was lost in the past. "I warned her that men whose names start with 'b' are terrible influences."
Ed rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I don't really care what we're calling my imaginary–" He stopped, realising what he was just about to say: 'Boyfriend'. Fuck him sideways, Greed was laughing at him from the other side of the Gate, he knew it.
"Boyfriend, Fullmetal," Mustang supplied for him. When Ed glared at him, he put on that punch-worthy smirk of his before looking at Grumman. "I don't know, sir. Fullmetal may be a little too young for a dedicated relationship."
"Look who's fucking talking," Ed muttered, even if... Yeah, well, not too young, really, just unprepared to settle. Or even to pretend to settle. Especially not if he was hunting down a group that posed a threat to anyone close to him.
He straightened. "No." He cast a stare between the two men. "It doesn't matter if it's a boyfriend or friend with benefits–" Mustang let out a choked noise and Grumman raised his eyebrows "–there's no fucking way I'd even think of seeing anyone new, not now, not while I'm making myself a target for terrorists." He focussed on Grumman. "Your son-in-law was an alchemist?"
Grumman glanced towards Mustang, who sighed and agreed, "My teacher."
Ed blinked at that. Huh, he hadn't realised there was that much of a connection between Grumman and Mustang. He shrugged the thought away. "I'd be willing to tutor Georgina's niece and/or nephew in alchemy on those occasions I'm in Central."
"Gloria," Mustang decided. "You're right, she was lovely, and you got to talking alchemy." He snorted. "Expectedly, Georgina was not impressed with the topic taking over dinner conversation."
Ed snorted. "She shouldn't have invited two alchemists to dinner, then."
Grumman sighed, and Ed suspected he, in fact, wouldn't have been impressed if their conversation had turned to alchemy; something Ed might have to remember for future. "Very well," he allowed. "Elric, if someone passes on that Gloria was hoping for those alchemy lessons you mentioned, come here that evening; the back door will be unlocked for you."
Ed sighed. "Yeah, fine." Joy.
Come What May Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 || 06 || 07 || 08 || 09 || 10
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
.
