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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: Our mystery father and son duo return for their second and final (from the son's PoV) scene at the end of this chapter. Anyone wanna make any guesses who the son is? XD (Admittedly, after a read-through, I'm not 100% certain there's enough about the four possibilities for you lot to actually figure it out. *shifty*) It'll be a fair-few chapters before you find out for sure.
Related, I didn't expect the first of these to sound like the son was going to betray Ed, but some of the reviewers sounded like they took it that way? Whoops~
Chapter Twelve
-0-
Dinner didn't last much longer once everything had been sorted, and Ed and Mustang left out the back garden together.
"I'll still go into Resembool once a week," Mustang murmured once they were a few houses down from Grumman's. "There's one call I won't trust to military lines right now."
Ed nodded in understanding; better not to chance pointing the military or the terrorists at the Hugheses. "How long should it take for the phone line to be connected? Do you know?"
"No more than three weeks."
"I'll ring Marie for the number in three weeks, then."
Which, talking about getting numbers and trusting military lines, he was going to need to find a way to keep in contact with his squad. He wasn't even sure exactly where half of them were posted – he'd have to get that information from them tomorrow – but the best way to handle it would be to have one of them collect any news and Ed could call them each week. Someone who it wouldn't be weird for them to be taking emergency calls in the middle of the day, preferably on a civilian line.
Or someone who had access to a civilian that Ed knew would sooner cut off their own hand than sell information to the military, a civilian that was unlikely to be traced back to Ed. A civilian like Halling in Youswell, where Morgan was posted. But would he be willing? Ed hadn't spoken to him since he'd left after handing over the deed of the town, for all that he'd told Morgan to say hi from him. What had Halling taken from the recent press?
Ed should ring him. Before he decided if he was a viable go-between. "Payphone," he murmured.
Mustang glanced at him, then raised his head to scan the empty streets ahead of them. They were still in a residential district, part of Central that Ed only knew from maps, so he had to trust the bastard when he motioned for them to take the next turn.
It didn't take them long to come across a payphone – at least one of them knew this side of the city, and Ed should probably fix his own knowledge, if he was going to end up getting dragged out for secret dinner meetings – and Mustang leant against the outside wall as Ed stepped inside and picked up the receiver with one hand, pulling out a handful of change and diamonds from his pocket with the other. Since he couldn't even begin to guess what the Youswell Inn's number was, he rang the city switchboard and had them put him through.
"Youswell Inn," a familiar young voice picked up.
Ed allowed a smile to cross his face. "Is your dad there, Khayal?" he asked Halling's son.
"Yeah, hold on," Khayal agreed, before muffling the receiver and shouting, "Dad! Phone!"
"This is Mayor Halling Rowley," Halling said as he picked up.
Ed felt his smile widening into a grin at the title; it sounded good on him. "Hey, Halling. It's Ed Elric."
"Oh-ho! Our favourite State Alchemist." A roar of laughter and hooting came through from his end and Ed rolled his eyes. "Imagine hearing from you, instead of about you, for once. You really supporting Grumman?"
"Until he fucks up," Ed agreed.
Halling chortled. "Fair enough." There came the sound of something shutting from his end, and the bar noise deadened. "Military's been behaving themselves here, if you're worried about that," he offered, his tone going serious.
"I trust you to handle any problems that arise," Ed admitted. "I was actually hoping you could tell me what you know about a new addition? Second Lieutenant Lewis."
Halling let out a thoughtful noise. "He wasn't here for long. Got off the train, reported in, dropped his packs, then he was running right back out on one of the military cars, looking a bit like the world had just ended. Captain Hawker didn't look particularly pleased, but he ordered one of his soldiers to go with him. Said he needed Lewis to get to Central in one piece."
Ed swallowed and nodded; he'd sort of expected something like that, as tired as Morgan had looked that morning. "You heard about the train bomb?"
"Everyone's heard about that cursed–" Halling started before cutting himself off with a whispered, "Shit. He knew someone, didn't he?"
"We both did, same people," Ed admitted, and Halling cursed again.
"I'm sorry, kid. And with those jackarses blaming you, too."
Ed glanced out past the glass of the phone booth. "About that: I know some people who are collecting information for me, but I don't have a good way for them to pass it on to me."
"Still can't stay still?" Halling guessed, tone teasing.
Ed scoffed.
Halling's tone went serious, "You want to use me as your between guy."
"I want to use Morgan Lewis as my between guy," Ed corrected, because the last thing he wanted was to drag Halling and his family into some sort of military conspiracy any more than he already was, using their line as their point of contact, "but I'm developing a particular paranoia about military-controlled lines; I need a civilian line that someone can call at any hour, and I need someone on that line that I trust, but who can't be easily traced back to me."
Halling was quiet for a long moment. "You're making me tear up here, kid."
Ed looked down at his handful of coins and diamonds and rubbed his gloved thumb against one of the latter. "If this goes to shit, there's a chance you'll take some of the heat," he warned quietly.
"Kid," Halling replied just as quietly, "after everything you did for us – after running that jack-shit Yoki out of town – there isn't a man or woman in this town that wouldn't walk through a fire for you, me doubly so."
Ed squeezed his fist closed around his handful. "Now I'm going to start tearing up," he warned, and Halling boomed out a laugh. "I haven't asked Morgan yet," he said once Halling had shut up. "Figured I'd best sort things with you, first."
" 'Preciate that," Halling agreed, before, quietly, asking, "You trust him, this Lewis?"
"I don't know, yet," Ed admitted, finally slipping his hand back into his pocket, letting the coins and diamonds fall from his fingers. "But we've some mutual friends that seem to like him, and he didn't baulk when I insisted on a handshake rather than a salute–" Halling chuckled. "Shut up. So I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"You want us to watch him?"
Ed snorted. "You really need me to tell you to watch the military?" Halling chuckled again. "I just need you to let him in the front door once a week, for now. If you wanna drag his life story out of him, that's your prerogative."
"Fair enough. What if he doesn't agree to be your between guy? Could always happen."
"I know that," Ed admitted, sighing; honestly, if Morgan was smart, he'd say no and walk away. "I dunno."
"I'll take your calls, kid," Halling promised, and a lump formed in Ed's throat. "With him or without him, we'll be here."
"Dammit, Halling," Ed heard himself complain, the words catching at his throat.
"But you gotta promise to come through town again sometime."
"Why? So you can overcharge me for sleeping accommodations?" Ed retorted, the words coming easier, and Halling roared with laughter. "Yeah," he agreed, "next time I'm out east, I'll find an excuse to get out there. Wrong train, probably."
"We'll keep a chair warm for you," Halling promised, and Ed swallowed before another lump could take root in his throat. "You take care, kid."
"Likewise. And let me know if I need to rush out there and beat anyone into line."
"Or bribe with vanishing gold?" Halling suggested.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Halling hung up while he was still chuckling.
Ed collected the coin the payphone spat back out at him and slipped it away as he joined Mustang in walking back to their hotels. "I don't like using my friends like this," he admitted, quiet enough that Mustang could ignore him.
"Don't think of it as using them," Mustang replied nearly as quietly, and when Ed glanced over at him, he found the man watching him with tired eyes, "think of it as asking for their help."
Asking for help? Isn't that one of those things that Darius had joked he needed to work on? "Semantics," he muttered.
Mustang shrugged. "Maybe. But that squad of yours is loyal; I saw it back in March, and they showed it again this weekend. Whether you asked or not, they'd find a way to involve themselves."
"I know that."
"It's an especially irritating trait, isn't it?"
Ed glanced over and found Mustang staring pointedly at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and returned to staring straight ahead, trying to ignore how hot his face felt. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Five hundred twenty cenz is not equivalent to 'hopelessly loyal'," Mustang pointed out, his voice muted.
Fuck Grumman for putting it like that, anyway. "So you owe me more money."
Mustang caught his arm and stopped him in the middle of the pavement. "Ed," he said.
Ed scowled up at the bastard. "What do you want from me?"
"I'll settle for the truth, for once."
"Here?" Ed demanded, motioning around at the near-empty streets; it was late enough on a Sunday night that most people had retreated to their beds or the bars and shadier businesses, but they weren't the only people out.
Mustang shoved him backwards, into a dark alley, and Ed barely managed to keep his balance.
"You're fucking insane," Ed snarled, yanking his arm from Mustang's grip. "Fine. It's not about the money. It's never been about the fucking money." Because that had just been a way to declare his support of Mustang's goals, that he would be willing to see the bastard sitting at the top of the country. But this... How could Ed even begin to explain something that had taken him years to realise?
"Six years ago," he heard himself say, realising it was true even as he spoke, "you gave me a future."
"I gave you a path straight to hell!" Mustang hissed, the words as fervent as if he'd shouted them.
"No." Ed met the man's dark eyes, looking past the reflection of a streetlamp to find that same old pain from all those months ago on the train staring back at him, the one that said he knew the price of watching someone you'd decided to protect suffer your bad choices. "I forged my own path to hell, and I dragged Al with me. I'd hit the bottom and I was going to fucking stay there, but you wouldn't let me. You didn't even fucking know me–"
"I saw a tool!" Mustang insisted, and it was only because Ed was watching him so closely that he saw how much those words hurt. "I saw a quick jump to another promotion! As talented as you were–"
"You think I thought better of you?" Ed demanded, shoving a finger against Mustang's chest. "We both used each other, Mu– Roy!" Changing the name that came out at the last minute, hoping it would drive his point home. "So fucking what? You thought Al and I never cottoned on that you were only helping us because it helped you? It was equivalent!"
"And now? What are you getting out of this?" Mustang motioned at the alley around them, and Ed knew he meant the whole fucking situation, not just the pile of debris that the city rubbish collection hadn't got to yet. "Alphonse is in Xing, whole and healthy; you don't need to be putting your life on the line for the military's whim any more."
Ed looked down at his hands, unclenched them and pressed them tightly together in front of him. "You asked me, in Resembool," he said quietly, forcing the words out, "if this was because of Hohenheim."
Mustang held very, very still.
Ed drew his hands apart, looked at his gloved palms, wondered – again, always, a thousand times over like a whispered mantra he'd never been able to fully ignore, not for long – how it was that he had always been the only one to bleed for his greatest sins. "You're not the only one who wants to fix this country," he whispered, dropping his hands back to his sides and looking up into those tired, dark eyes again. "We've both got our sins; mine just happened to have been the cause behind four hundred years of Amestris history."
"You're not responsible for the actions of Father, Ed," Mustang insisted.
Ed tilted his head to the side. "And you're not responsible for the Ishvalan War of Extermination."
"Someone had to fix it."
"Yes," Ed agreed, "they do." Present tense, to Mustang's past.
Mustang narrowed his eyes.
Ed smiled at him, and it pulled at all the wrong muscles, ached all the way to his soul. "I think we can both agree I'd make a shit Führer, so I'm going to have to settle for dragging your depressed arse out of bed the next time you realise how much work this is going to be."
"Be quiet."
Ed reached out and pressed his hand against the black sash Mustang was still wearing over the formal uniform he'd never changed out of. "Here's my equivalence," he admitted. "You're not the only one who needs to be saved from himself, sometimes. And, you're right, Al's in Xing."
"What about Miss Rockbell or your team?" Mustang asked, sounding uncomfortable.
Ed's smile twisted. "Darius and Heinkel both have too much animal in them, and Winry..." He shrugged. "You're the one who came."
And then Ed realised what he was doing and snatched his hand back, taking a quick step away from the bastard. "Enough," he insisted, turning towards the head of the alley and hoping he'd covered the reason for his embarrassment quickly enough. "I'm done with the touchy-feely shit."
Mustang snorted and fell into step with him as he left the alley. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"
Ed shrugged. "Bank, meeting with my squad, saying my goodbyes to Elicia and Gracia, dropping by Command and insulting old man Grumman–"
Mustang let out a sharp laugh that set someone's dogs in one of the flats above them barking.
"Fuck you," Ed told him, trying to ignore the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at getting such an honest response from his CO in public. "After that, leaving, yeah." He sighed and curled his shoulders inward. "Hope I get to these fuckers before they try again."
Mustang let out a quiet sigh of his own and they finished their walk in grim silence.
Ed had spent an hour that night catching his team up, passing along the map Wackett had slipped him and making vague plans for tackling that base. They were all pretty much in agreement that they didn't want to involve the military, in case this group had ears to the ground, listening for noises of retaliation, but Darius and Heinkel wanted someone. So Ed had suggested asking Teacher and the two chimeras had traded smiles that probably would have terrified anyone else who saw them, then agreed.
In the morning, Ed dressed in his normal uniform, complaining all the way – when Darius laughed at him, Ed informed him he'd be coming with to Command, since he seemed to enjoy the uniforms so much, which had changed the laughing to whining, and Heinkel had shaken his head at both of them – then left for the bank, trusting the two chimeras to get all their stuff down to the car and check them out.
"I thought you hated the uniform," Lois said when Ed found her, Lisa, and Sabine outside the bank.
"I have to go into Command to get the paperwork old man Grumman's holding over my head."
Sabine snorted. "So you're going in uniform like a good soldier?"
Ed scowled. "Fuck no. I don't wear a uniform out in the field, and Grumman was fine with that, so long as I wear one any time I have to visit one of the city commands." Then he snorted. "Anyway, no one looks at you twice if you're in uniform."
"That's true," Lois admitted. "You just blend right in while you're wearing the uniform."
"I...guess so," Lisa agreed uncertainly.
"You'll see," Lois promised. "Give it a couple weeks."
"Yeah," Sabine said tiredly, waving her bandaged hand at Lisa. "We didn't really have a normal first week."
"Sabine," Ed murmured as a thought occurred to him, "are you sticking it out in the south?"
She clenched her wounded hand into a fist and firmly stated, "You better fucking believe it." Then she dropped her hand back to her side and met his eyes tiredly. "Any chance I'll see you down there? I'm in South City."
"Maybe," Ed hedged, because he couldn't really promise where Grumman's information and whatever leads he got out of this first group would send him. She slumped slightly and he touched her shoulder. "Hey. That's not a no, I just can't tell you if I'm gonna end up anywhere near the capital. But...did you want a ride down? There's room in the car for an extra person."
Sabine blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. When are you leaving? Today?"
"Yup."
"I'll have to get my stuff from the dorm, but sure, I'd love a ride." She offered him a tired smile. "Anything to avoid the train."
Ed smiled back, and it felt just as tired. "I know." He straightened and glanced down the street in the direction of the dorms. "If the guys ever get here."
Lois snorted. "Evan and Ben were waiting in the lobby of their dorm, so I told them to go get everyone else up and meet us over here."
"When'd you get here?"
"About ten minutes before you?" Lisa guessed, and the other two nodded.
Ed snorted. "So we've probably got another fifteen minutes or so," he decided and the women laughed. "So, Sabine's in South, Lois is in East, and Evan's in North. Who's in West City?"
"Me," Lisa offered.
"Ed?" Lois asked, lowering her voice so it barely reached him, clearly knowing him way too well to assume he was asking just to make conversation. "What are you thinking?"
Ed glanced at her, then put on his best smile. "My sister believes ice cream is the best follow-up for having to do something that sucks. What say we all get ice cream in the park once we're done here? The whole squad."
All three women sent him sharp looks, and Ed just widened his smile in response.
"Okay," Lois said for all of them, still staring at him. "Ice cream it is."
Ed nodded. "Awesome. And then Sabine can go collect her things while I go insult old man Grumman."
"Yeah, no way I want to be involved in that," Sabine muttered.
Ed rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure he knows better than to expect a perfect soldier, by now."
"Pretty sure everyone knows better than to expect you to play the perfect soldier, by now," Lois retorted. "Even with you in uniform."
Ed quickly took off his jacket and draped it over his arm, leaving him in his white button up, the black vest showing through as darker patches underneath. "Better?" he demanded.
"Little bit."
Ed rolled his eyes and quickly set about describing good places to eat in West and South City, for Lisa and Sabine, which managed to devolve into him and Lois debating which diner in East City was better, before the men finally showed up.
"Man, and I call Mustang a lazy bastard," Ed complained, taking the chance to change the subject as it presented itself.
"Shut up," Omar ordered, before draping himself over Ed's back and letting out a loud snore in his ear.
Ed rolled his eyes. "I will drop you," he warned.
"Don't tempt someone who can kick your arse, even on a bad day," Taylor suggested when Omar drew in a breath to retort.
Notably, Omar let Ed go and took a careful step back.
Taylor snorted. "Let's do this, then."
"Oh!" Lois called before they could do more that turn towards the doors of the bank. "Ed's gonna treat everyone to ice cream after, so stick around."
You know, Ed didn't remember making that particular promise, but given how everyone's face lit up at the announcement, he knew he was going to be paying for them all.
Oh well. He'd been thinking he should probably pull out some more cash while he was at the bank, since they didn't always end up places where they could leave a letter of credit.
The teller they got was young, and clearly a little in awe of serving the Fullmetal Alchemist – Ed pointedly ignored Lois prodding him in the side – but was plenty happy to set up the account for the Halberstadts and keep Ed's name off it. He'd also been ridiculously happy to get some cash for Ed, and when he brought back the requested amount, Lois poked Ed hard in the side. "How expensive do you think we are?" she muttered.
"You're not the only arseholes I have to feed," Ed retorted as he slipped the money away.
As they stepped away from the window and started back to where their squad was waiting outside, Lois offered, "Sorry. I shouldn't have said you'd pay for ice cream."
"Can you not?" Taylor asked.
Ed rolled his eyes. "Please. I knew how to request reimbursement for travel costs before I turned in my first report to Mustang. I can pay for ice cream."
"You can't get reimbursement for ice cream," Taylor insisted as they stepped outside to join the privates.
"Ed's getting reimbursement for buying us ice cream?" Omar asked, putting on a comically wounded expression. "No fair!"
Ed could probably put in for reimbursement for the ice cream, since he was using it as a lure to discuss military business, but since he didn't really want their mole to mark this meeting... "No," he told them all, "I'm not getting reimbursed for buying you arseholes ice cream. I get reimbursed for buying Darius and Heinkel lunch while we're travelling. Well, partially." He grimaced. "Treasury gets snarly when I hand them a massive stack of receipts because I've been travelling for months."
"Do they start crying when they see you approach?" Omar joked.
Ed snorted. "Come on. Next person who makes a joke at my expense is buying their own ice cream."
"Harsh," Morgan told him over the sound of Omar, Ben, and Greg making pathetic noises.
Ed just rolled his eyes, resigned that he had a few children in his squad.
Getting ice cream for ten adults, plus himself, proved to be a chore and a half, and Ed muttered, at least twice, "I am never complaining about getting ice cream with Elicia again."
Thankfully, Lois nudged Taylor and Morgan, and the three second lieutenants managed to corral the privates and get them to sit around a couple picnic benches they'd dragged together while Ed was squaring up with the laughing owner.
He managed to swallow a whole spoonful before Lois said, "What do you need from us?"
Completely contrary to expectations, given the amount of sugar they all had in front of them, Ed found himself faced with ten serious faces, some of them sitting straight, others leaning forward to see him around their neighbours. Whether they'd guessed something was up before she'd spoken, or it was just something in Lois' tone that had caught their attention, it was clear that his entire squad knew this was more than just a group of friends enjoying ice cream together.
Ed set his plastic spoon back into his bowl and sighed. "I need ears to the ground, listening for whispers," he explained, looking over them. "When one of these groups starts become a regular topic of conversation, they're already big enough to start doing things like thinking they can take on Briggs, or bomb passenger trains."
"Take on Briggs?" Stephan repeated, eyes going wide.
Ed offered him a tired smile. "They were a bit ahead of themselves," he offered, and a couple of them let out subdued chuckles. Ed rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes. "Where is everyone posted?"
They went around and rattled off their postings while Ed marked each one on his mental map. Which was... Shit. They had pretty damn good coverage in both the west and east, and he suspected the same would have held true of the south, if not for the bombing, plus all four outer commands. Both Taylor and Ben were posted in the south part of the central area, but their postings were at cities that served as transfer points from the outer central circle and main lines out east and west, which meant they'd get a lot of rumours from other areas around central from travellers.
"...Did someone plan this?" Morgan asked after a moment of silence, clearly seeing the same mental map Ed had just formed.
Ed sighed. "Fucking manipulative bastard," he muttered, and someone choked on a laugh. He opened his eyes and looked around at them. "Mostly, I'm looking for signs that one of these groups is getting particularly active and where they are, but there's also a chance that members of the military are involved, and I really need to know about that."
"You think that's possible?" Greg asked quietly, looking more than a little worried. "Soldiers who are in one of these groups?"
Ed hid his hands under the table, where he could clench them in peace, because there had to be someone in Central Command with ties to the group, given their experience with the reports he'd sent Grumman. "Yes."
They all traded looks, some horrified, some sickened.
He sighed. "These groups, they're being drawn together with a mix of pro-Bradley and anti-Grumman propaganda, but not everyone who supports Bradley and talks shit about old man Grumman are terrorists, nor are they looking to be. Most of the members of one of the groups I've picked up had no fucking clue what they were getting themselves into before they joined up. Others were just looking for an excuse to cause a little vandalism, or go shoot up a military compound as revenge for someone who ended up getting taken out by a soldier for one reason or another."
"So, what are we listening for?" Lois asked.
Ed took a deep breath and shook his head. "Look. This is... Everything with these groups, they're not fucking around. You get caught poking your noses around, or passing on information, there's a good chance you'll get hurt. More than just–" He shook his head and picked up his discarded uniform jacket from the seat next to him to wave at them. As he dropped it back down, looking at their firm stares, he swallowed. "If you want to walk away, do it. Now. I won't blame you. Because as soon as you let yourself get dragged into this mess, this– these shadows, that's it. You're in it, for good or ill."
Sabine stretched out her arm and thumped her fist down in the middle of the table, her bandages almost seeming to shine where the sun broke through the surrounding trees and lit them. "Then I'm in it. For Nick and Rebecca and everyone else on that fucking train that didn't get lucky." She met his eyes, her own determined. "And I'm in it for you, you stupid shit; you think I'm gonna accept a ride from someone who just challenged a bunch of insane terrorists if I wasn't willing to walk through hell with him?"
"All of that," Lois said as she extended her fist to the centre of the table.
"Except the riding with you bit," Omar insisted as he followed suit. "But only 'cause you're going the wrong way."
"And the walking through hell part," Ben added drily as he stretched out his fist. "Some of us don't believe in that nonsense."
"Some of us do," Greg pointed out as he extended his fist.
"You two are going to shut it before I beat you both around the head," Taylor threatened as he added his fist to the centre of the table, knocking it hard between Ben and Greg's fists as he did so.
"I'm in," Morgan offered before anyone else could start bickering, his fist hitting firm against the wood of the table. "I'm not afraid of a little danger, and I didn't need to hear this lot's stories to know sitting at your side's worth it."
"Rebecca would never forgive me if I walked away now," Lisa whispered, her own fist touching the table lightly, but her expression showing every inch of her determination.
"I'd never forgive myself," Stephan insisted, and he reached right past the middle of the table to cover the hand Ed had left on the table after he'd dropped his jacket. "I know who got me posted less than an hour from my sisters."
Evan was the last one to put his fist in the middle, his expression tight. "I'm in," he said, "because you told me I could leave."
"That's not–" Ed started, his throat tight.
Evan met his slightly wild stare with eyes that burned with determination. "Like hell I'm going to walk away from the first person who's cared enough to let me pick what I want to do."
"That's shit," Omar said. When Evan turned a glare on him, he held up the hand that wasn't in the middle of the table. "The part where Ed's the first person to give you a choice! I'm not judging you, Evan. God."
Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tried to remember what Mustang had said about thinking of this as asking for help. "Okay," he said, looking back up around at them. "Okay," he said again, stronger, "but no unnecessary risks."
"Says the idiot who let Parnall punch him in the face," Lois muttered.
"Shut up," Ed ordered, and something about his tone had her snapping her mouth shut and straightening. He fisted the hand that was still under the table, let the ache centre him a bit. "Mustang's getting a line put out to Ishval, no more than three weeks. Soon as you see the number, you fucking memorise it. And if you ever see or hear something implicating a member of the military – private or lieutenant fucking general – I don't care if you think they saw you or not, you get the fuck out and you find a pay phone and call Mustang, and then you find somewhere to lay low. He'll know how to get a hold of me, and I will be there.
"Same if you happen across one of their hideouts. I don't care how you found it, I don't care how safe you think it would be to snoop around and make sure, you get word to me and you leave it the fuck alone. Don't report it to your commanding officer, don't start thinking your command can handle it, none of that shit. Your only duty is to let me know, and then you either dig yourself a fucking hole and stay there until I come find you, or you forget what you saw and stick with other people until I let you know it's safe. Am I fucking clear?"
Some of them were grudging, but everyone nodded.
"Why not send in a local team?" Morgan asked, his tone suggesting he was asking for clarification, rather than trying to find fault with Ed's orders.
"Three reasons," Ed said, gently dislodging Stephan so he could tick off his reasons on his fingers. "One, I'm not killing anyone; everyone involved is going to trial, and it's up to the legal system to decide if they meant harm or were blackmailed into their position. Two, as soon as someone unexpected enters that hideout, guns will start firing, and there's a good chance whoever's at the lead is going to take a hit; Darius, Heinkel, and I know how to enter under a hail of bullets, but I'm going to bet none of you do." They all shook their heads, some of them grimacing. "It's not military training," he offered with a shrug, before continuing, "Three, one of these groups got their hands on bombs, and others have managed to booby-trap what appears, from the outside, to be the front door; if you don't have an alchemist capable of facing down whatever crazy shit these fuckers set, you're very likely to end up in hot water."
"Literally?" Greg asked, sounding like he couldn't help himself.
Ed sent him a flat look. "We got lucky; they hadn't been expecting visitors, so the water wasn't boiling." Actually, that had been one of their near misses, and the idiots had cut the power before they'd fled, so the heating element under the water had been dead for almost an hour before he and his team had broken in and got tepid water dumped on them. They'd learnt to watch for booby-traps after that, and it had saved their lives from a particularly vicious kitchen knife trap.
"...I am never entering one of these buildings," Greg decided, and Ben and Omar both let out slightly strained snickers.
"What are we listening for?" Lois asked.
"For hideouts, you're listening for news of military caravans or outposts being attacked. You're also listening for word of missing food from the smaller towns' storehouses, or people's houses being broken into and unusual items – blankets or clothing, most commonly – being stolen. The stealing from civilians will probably come first, but you're all placed in good-sized cities, save Morgan, so you're not likely to hear about the smaller crimes. But you'll hear about attacks on the military, and those will usually be accompanied by reports of the direction the group was heading. They might even have an idea of where the hideout is, though I can guarantee that's a false lead to distract the military, so ignore it. All I need is where they attacked and which direction they ran.
"For military personal, use your best judgement, I guess?" He gave a helpless shrug. "Being pro-Bradley isn't a crime, and even members of the military are allowed to complain about old man Grumman behind closed doors."
"Exhibit A," Ben commented, motioning toward Ed.
Ed rolled his eyes. "If they mention a group they're in and attach it to pro-Bradley sentiments, or they're talking about something that could constitute mutiny, or if you hear them saying to avoid an area and then that area is attacked..." They all nodded in understanding. "Anything that you overhear that sets your skin crawling, get out and let me handle it."
"Even if they outrank you?" Evan asked quietly.
Ed smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "Even then," he agreed, because he could ring up Grumman somewhere along the road and get his permission to act in his stead. Or, if he had to, get his forgiveness retroactively. (Or just tell him to go fuck himself; Grumman hadn't set him on this bullshit mission because Ed cared about rank or followed orders, he did it because Ed would handle it by any means necessary.)
"Ed?" Lisa asked. "What if something happens and we can't reach Mustang?"
Ed smiled. "Contacting Mustang is only in case of an emergency," he offered. "And if he's not there, talk to Captain Hawkeye, instead." He waited until they'd all nodded before he picked up his jacket and pulled out the number of the Youswell Inn from the inner pocket. "For everything else, you're going to be calling the Youswell Inn."
"Wait, what?" Morgan called, straightening.
Ed's smile widened as he set the paper he'd written the number on down on the table. "Mayor Halling's willing to take messages at any hour, and I trust him as much as I trust any of you." He clapped his hands together, envisioned the array he wanted, then touched the paper in front of him, cutting it into ten equal pieces, each with the number copied over faithfully. "If his son answers the phone, ask for one of his parents – Halling or Piper – then tell them you're calling for me. They'll take your information and, one day a week, your pick–" he said, looking straight at Morgan.
"Uh, Tuesdays?"
Ed shrugged and nodded; he could make that work. "You be in the inn between nineteen and twenty-one hundred and I'll ring through. Get there a bit early, maybe, to sort through everyone's reports, so you can pass on the ones that sound more in need of attention first." He eyed him. "Can you do that?"
Morgan straightened. "Yes, sir."
Ed pointed a finger at him. "Don't call me 'sir'."
Someone muffled a laugh.
Morgan's mouth twisted with a helpless sort of smile and he slumped. "I'll work on that."
"Good man." Ed tapped the papers. "Everyone take one, this is the number you need. I'd prefer you memorise it, but it's not as vital as you knowing the Ishval line off the top of your head, so do what you can." He watched everyone take one of the papers and slip them away. "One last thing, though you'll probably figure this out pretty quickly, if you don't know it already: Military lines have a bad habit of being bugged. Sometimes it's to get one up on someone else, sometimes it's because intelligence is full of suspicious fuckers, who knows."
"Use civilian lines?" Lois guessed drily.
Ed grinned at her. "Always. Find a payphone, or get friendly with the owners of the bakery or coffee house you visit all the time, or just make a habit of calling from your parents' house, for those of you close to home. Anything civilian. The only time I'll forgive you using a military line, is if you're ringing Mustang because of an emergency and the military phone is your only safe option." He looked them over. "Anything else?"
"But what if we have an emergency and can't get through to Mustang? Or his captain?" Lisa asked, slightly more insistent this time.
Ed frowned, then shook his head. "Call old man Grumman." Not the best option, given they suspected there was a mole close to him – and if Grumman's line wasn't bugged, someone was seriously failing at life – but if something went down before Mustang could take calls, Grumman was the only other one who would have the means of getting a hold of Ed. (And by means, he meant Chris' information network, which he knew kept tabs on him, if only because he'd always got his post on Friday or Saturday while in the west, same as with Armstrong's people in the north.)
"Call the Führer?" Lisa squeaked, and Evan patted her shoulder.
Ed met her wide stare. "Yes."
"Or, if it's before nineteen hundred on Tuesday, call Youswell," Morgan pointed out, before turning to Ed. "Fair?"
"Fair. Though," he added with a shrug, "I'd still rather you try Mustang first. Not because I think Morgan can't handle it, but because Mustang has access to other resources, people who can protect you until it's safe." He waited for everyone to nod, then repeated, "Anything else?"
They traded looks and shook their heads.
"Awesome." Ed clapped his hands together, envisioned the necessary array, then refroze his melted ice cream and settled in to eat it while his squad laughed at him.
He still felt a bit like he was using them, but at least he had given them the means to keep themselves safe while they were snooping through shadows. That was something.
(It would have to be.)
Since Heinkel and Darius had agreed to meet him over at the Hugheses', Ed led Sabine over there once they'd parted from the others, joking, "I suppose I'll trust you with my sister."
Sabine snorted. "Four older brothers. Sure that's wise?"
"I'll take the chance," he decided before knocking on the door.
"Elicia!" someone called from inside just before the door was pulled open, and Elicia beamed up at him.
Ed rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to let your mum open the door," he reminded her, before calling into the flat, "It's me!"
"But I know your knock," Elicia insisted in that disgruntled tone of voice that meant she was pouting, as she wrapped her arms around his leg.
"Princess," Mustang said on a sigh before he pulled open the door the rest of the way. His eyes skipped past Ed to where Sabine drew in a surprised breath behind him, then focussed back on Ed, one eyebrow raising.
Ed sighed. Somehow, it hadn't even occurred to him that Mustang would be over. Well. "That cat's out of the bag," he muttered and Mustang's mouth quirked, while Elicia let out a confused noise. He shook his head and gently ruffled her hair. "Elicia, this is my friend, Sabine," he introduced, and Elicia let him go to peer behind him. "Sabine, my favourite little sister."
Sabine crouched down and offered Elicia an uncertain smile. "Hi."
Elicia, because she was precious, put on a wide smile and declared, "Your name's really pretty!"
Sabine blinked, clearly thrown, before she smiled far more honestly. "Thank you. My mum got it from an Aerugonian saint."
"A-e-ru-go-ni-an," Elicia repeated carefully. "What's that?"
Ed left that to Sabine to manage, stepping closer to Mustang and quietly offering, "Sorry. I offered her a ride back to South City, since it's not that far out of our way."
Mustang shrugged. "Given Second Lieutenant Hansa already knows of my relationship with Elicia and Gracia, I expected it was only a matter of time before the rest of your squad also became aware."
"True enough," Ed admitted, shaking his head. "Is my team here? I didn't see the car out front." Though he knew there was parking behind the building, so he hadn't been too concerned by that.
Mustang's mouth twitched. "They were in the middle of a tea party."
Ed, having seen his team suffer one of Elicia's tea parties before – the cups were actually too small for Darius to comfortably hold the handles or saucers of, so Elicia let him use one of her extra teapots – couldn't stop from bursting out into laughter. A lot of the stress that had built up since he'd got up that morning left him with the laughter, and he leant forward, pressing his forehead against Mustang's chest.
Mustang was still just long enough for Ed to notice it, before his hand came up to rest on Ed's back, warm and comfortable in a way that really should have set off alarm bells in Ed's head. "Feeling better?" he murmured.
"Yeah," Ed admitted before straightening and taking a step back. "Ugh, I hate you," he added, mostly because he needed that little bit of space the words afforded him.
"Of course you do," Mustang agreed, before calling, "Elicia. You left your tea guests alone."
Elicia's eyes went wide and she shot Ed a horrified look. "Oh no! Mr Gorilla said he'd drink all the tea if I did that again!"
Ed covered his grin. "If Mr Gorilla drinks all your tea, let me or your Uncle Roy know and we'll set him straight."
Elicia relaxed and grinned. "Okay!" she chirped, before tugging on Sabine's sleeve. "Would you like some tea?"
Sabine glanced up at Ed, who shrugged and mouthed 'It's imaginary,' then offered Elicia a smile. "I'd love some tea," she agreed.
"Yay! Big Brother and Uncle Roy, too," Elicia insisted as Sabine got up to follow her into the flat.
"I wanna say hi to your mum, first," Ed replied.
"And I'm full," Mustang was quick to add.
"Awww..." Elicia complained.
"Weak," Ed coughed into his hand, and Mustang turned a narrow-eyed look on him.
"Let's leave Ed and the brigadier general," Sabine suggested, looking vaguely concerned. "We have to go stop Mr Gorilla, right?" (And Ed was really glad that Al had bought those stuffed animals, now, because there was a ready explanation for the names Elicia used for his team, which didn't have to involve the fact they were chimeras.)
"Oh!" And then Elicia was rushing past Mustang into the flat.
Sabine shot Ed a flat look before hurrying after her, and Ed knew he was going to be explaining this one to her later. (He should probably explain it to his whole squad, at this point; Mustang was right, they were going to find out that he and Ed were equally attached to the Hugheses.)
"I have pictures of you taking part in a tea party, you know," Ed pointed out as he stepped inside.
"Which you can keep hidden away," Mustang returned flatly, "unless you want me asking your team for embarrassing stories."
Given that his team had seen him as a bad patient, drunk, and various levels of debauched, Ed grimaced and cleared his throat. "Right. I'll just burn those pictures, then."
Mustang, because he was an absolute bastard, laughed.
Ed huffed at him and made for the kitchen where, unsurprisingly, he found Gracia. "Hi."
"Hello, Ed," she replied with a fond smile, holding out an arm for a hug, which Ed didn't even pretend to avoid. "I heard an extra person?"
Ed nodded and leant against the worktop a little ways down from where she was kneading some dough. "One of my squad, Sabine Hamilcar. She's posted down south, so I offered her a ride. Figured she might appreciate an excuse to avoid the train for a bit longer."
Gracia nodded in understanding. "Have you seen the paper?"
"Paper?" Ed repeated, just before today's paper was held out to him by Mustang. "Thanks," he murmured, straightening and unfolding the paper over the worktop. Unsurprisingly, the front page article covered the memorial, with a list of the deceased acting in place of a photo. At the bottom were a list of related articles, one of which was titled 'Fullmetal Alchemist Responds to Terrorist Statement'. "Ho boy," Ed said as he turned to the relevant page.
Someone had taken a picture of him and Lisa standing at the podium, Ed's hand on her shoulder. Lisa looked heartbroken, while Ed thought he looked more tired than anything else, but his stance was more one of protection and support than overly familiar, so there was that. Also, "I am never letting Heinkel put my hair back again," he muttered as he looked at the photo caption: 'Lieutenant Colonel Elric stands with subordinate in remembrance of Private Rebecca Flanders.'
"I think you look handsome with your hair back," Gracia told him, brushing a hand against his bangs.
"I look like Hohenheim," Ed retorted.
"Your father," Mustang murmured, and Gracia let out a noise of understanding. "We'll have to take your word for it."
Ed grimaced. "Yeah, he was a series-of-words-I'm-not-allowed-to-say." Gracia laughed. "Consider yourselves lucky. Well," he amended, glancing at Mustang, "somewhat. You still had to listen to him."
"Not that you mention it," Mustang retorted, "I do see the resemblance. Figuratively."
'Fuck off,' Ed mouthed at him.
"Both of you, stop it," Gracia ordered with a laugh.
Ed snorted and turned back to the article. It was surprisingly true to both the interview and Lisa's speech, and he suspected someone'd had an excellent memory. That, or had been writing a lot faster than Ed thought they had. The article painted him in a sympathetic light, which had him grimacing, but it was better than talking shit about him, he supposed.
"They've changed their tune," he commented as he closed the paper and checked which one it was. "Pretty sure they weren't half so complimentary about me a week ago."
"Don't go judging a whole paper by one journalist," Gracia suggested. "That one man just–" She tutted.
"Really, truly, hugely hates my face?" Ed suggested and Mustang snorted.
"Stop borrowing my daughter's phrasings."
Ed grinned at her. "But she always giggles when I do."
Gracia rolled her eyes and wiped her hands off on her apron. "I swear she comes up with new ones just for you," she muttered, and Ed laughed at that, because it wouldn't surprise him in the least. She opened a drawer and pulled out a key, which she then held out to Ed. "Here. It's past time you had one."
Ed blinked at it for a moment, thrown, then met her smile with a stare that felt a little wild. "I–what?" A key? He'd never had any use for them, before, beyond the keys for the car or hotel or dorm room keys, but those were...completely different. Not...this was like...
Granny always kept a spare key on a hook under a loose board of the front porch, and Mum had kept one under the welcome mat on the stoop. Most people in Resembool kept keys outside a door, and Ed knew at least a half dozen of the hiding places, even after years away, because no one actually bothered to keep a key on them; the only real reason to lock doors was to keep animals out or, during the war, desperate soldiers or Ishvalans. (And, even then, you let those in as often as not, sat them down and gave them a hot meal, a soft place to sleep for the night, because you could always tell from the sound of their knock if they meant you harm or just needed somewhere safe for a night, and there had been far too many kind people in Resembool.)
Even Teacher had never bothered giving Ed or Al keys, had just taught them an array to unlock doors without turning the lock completely useless. (Which Ed and Al had been foolish enough to use that night on Teacher and Sig's bedroom door, and had sworn each other to secrecy once they'd been able to speak past the trauma. Not that it stopped Teacher from kicking both their arses for it the next morning.)
"It's to the flat," Gracia offered, looking a little uncertain.
"I don't– I've never really...had one," Ed managed, put on his best smile and clapped his hands together. "Alchemy. No use for keys."
Mustang sighed and reached past him to take the key, then slipped it into Ed's right pocket, left hand bracing Ed's shoulder when he started at the contact. "Right?" he asked.
Ed swallowed and nodded because, yeah, that key settled in comfortably with his pocket watch ('Don't forget 3.Oct.11') and lighter, like a collection of the things he was fighting for.
Mustang patted his shoulder. "Don't alchemise the front door, you'll ruin the lock."
Ed turned a flat look on him, grasping for the stability of familiar insults, and asked, "Did your alchemy master teach you anything other than how to light candles?"
Mustang narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I need paper and a pen," Ed decided, turning back to Gracia, who was watching them with laughter-bright eyes. "He's an embarrassment to alchemists everywhere."
"Go have tea with Elicia," Mustang ordered. "You already have a pupil, leave me out of it."
Rather than having to explain that particular cover to Gracia, Ed obediently made his escape.
(He did slip a paper with the array to unlock something without damaging it into Mustang's pocket during lunch, however, because Ed could attest to that being a useful one to know.)
He followed his father into his office after dinner, standing at attention in front of his desk while the man sat, his chair creaking, and turned to stare up at him. "Your mother says you went out, today."
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
Did it really matter? You'd think, him having joined the military, he'd be free to come and go without having his actions questioned. "The bank, sir."
His father raised both eyebrows at him. "The bank," he repeated flatly. "And why were you at the bank?"
"My academy squad wanted to start an account for the family of Ni– of Private Halberstadt, since the military doesn't pay survivor benefits to parents or siblings."
His father scoffed. "As well we don't. Do you know how many stupid young privates get killed at the borders every year? The treasury would be broke within a month!"
He clenched his jaw and stared past his father, didn't trust himself to meet his eyes and keep from saying something that would get him whipped.
His father snorted and the leather of his chair creaked. "I do hope you didn't try adding any money to that account."
"No, sir," he admitted, didn't mention that Ed wouldn't let any of the new privates add any money, and for far more altruistic reasons than his father.
His father nodded, as though he'd expected as much; it was as close to pride as he ever showed. "Good. Was that everything? You were out longer than I would have expected a trip to the bank to take."
He was being timed now? Or had he been followed? "E– Lieutenant Colonel Elric treated us all to ice cream, as a sort of 'thanks for coming' thing."
His father scoffed again. "Elric is too soft."
Soft?
"Well, I suppose he is Mustang's dog."
Dog? Ed wasn't– He was–
He bit the inside of his cheek, let the flash of pain push back his anger and hoped his father hadn't noticed.
"Fine." He hadn't. "Did you talk at all?"
"Yes, sir," he agreed, because it wouldn't be hard for his father to verify they'd sat together for a while.
"About?"
It occurred to him, then, that he had a choice: He could bow down to the loyalty that had been beat into him his whole life, follow the man sitting before him. This man, who didn't care a smidge that families could be struggling to make ends meet while mourning their son or daughter, who couldn't even remember the name of his own daughter, who had died the night after his son had been born. This man, who, reportedly, hadn't flinched at sending his subordinates out into a hail of bullets on the battlefield, while he stood behind a barrier, who scoffed at the sacrifice of soldiers of the military he'd dedicated his life to. This man, who called a national hero a dog.
Or he could give his loyalty to Ed. Who had never once asked for it, had seemed honestly surprised that he had it. Who had once taken a punch for Rebecca without flinching, had sent money to the Halberstadts, even when Nick's mum hadn't wanted anything from him. Ed, who had looked as wrecked as any of them at the funeral and the memorial, had made sure someone had spoken for Rebecca, had remembered the names of Nick's sisters. Ed, who had warned them again and again to be careful while getting information for him, to get the hell out if they thought they were in trouble, to let him know and he would be there.
He met his father's stare evenly and stated, "Memories, sir. We never really had the chance, after the funeral or the memorial, to talk about Privates Halberstadt and Flanders."
It hadn't been a hard choice.
His father held his stare for a long moment, then sighed. "Nothing about Elric and Mustang visiting Grumman at his house last night?"
He blinked. But, he'd thought Ed and Mustang were supposed to be on a double date last night? Unless... Had that been some sort of code?
"No, sir," he told his father, perfectly honest. Though he could guess, now, where Ed had picked up the idea to ask them to be his information network. Or, more likely, been pushed into it.
His father nodded. "No," he allowed, "I suspect Elric was warned against sharing anything with you privates." He opened one of the drawers of his desk. "You're dismissed."
He saluted. "Yes, sir!"
Then he went upstairs to write a note to pass on to Morgan before they returned to their posts; Ed would want to know someone had noticed him and Mustang visiting the Führer's place, and he'd know best how to pass that on to his commanders.
Come What May Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 || 06 || 07 || 08 || 09 || 10
11 ||
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
.
