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batsutousaiTitle: Forgiveness is a Gift
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, Lan Fan/Winry Rockbell
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, modern AU, pre-fic character deaths, alcoholism, hurt/comfort, angst, hot professor!Ed
Summary: The military is desperate to get their hands on renowned alchemy genius, Dr Edward Elric, but he's not too hot to sign his soul away to them for reasons no one can figure out. Enter Colonel Roy Mustang, the trump card the military hadn't known they had.
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: There I was, two nights ago, trying to go to bed, and my muse popped up – little fuck – and suggested something along the lines of 'Hot Professor!Ed + Colonel!Roy = smexy times!' Which, because this is me, devolved into 13K worth of some of attempts at bad humour and a fuck-tonne of angst. With eventual porn, yes. (And then more angst. Just because.)
I got a whole four hours of sleep over the course of writing this. It has not been edited. I have had a bit more sleep since finishing it, but not nearly enough, so I have zero on the sorry metre. You're welcome.
You can also read this at Archive of Our Own.
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Roy just sort of...stopped for a moment, when the kid – young man, really – who'd offered to play guide for him pointed at the infamous Dr Edward Elric, East University's newest Head of Alchemic Studies. The man had been lauded as a genius in his field, an opinion Roy had shared after reading just one of his published papers. The military had been trying to get their claws into Dr Elric since almost before he'd finished his PhD, but he'd never once responded to any attempt at communication, and seemed to have a talent for avoiding soldiers. When Roy had received the unenviable task of convincing Elric – Maes had started humming the funeral dirge over the phone when Roy'd rung him about it – he'd actually looked forward to the chance to talk to such a brilliant alchemist.
Of course, the last thing he'd expected was to find a gorgeous blond – no, that colour was gold – haired man who couldn't have been much older than twenty-five, and he cast the young man – hells, he was practically the same age as the man he'd pointed out – who'd led him over a disbelieving look.
The young man grinned. "Not playing you, I swear. That's Dr Ed."
"Thank you for your assistance," Roy offered, and the young man rolled his eyes and left.
The golden blond man was waving off a couple of what he assumed were students as Roy approached, and he waited until they'd finished their goodbyes – all calling him 'Dr Ed' – and were walking down the hall in a different direction from Roy, before he called, "Dr Elric?"
Elric turned toward him, and Roy found himself pinned by eyes that were as gold as his hair. Dear gods, the man was gorgeous, and a part of Roy's brain distracted itself with trying to figure out if it was against the law for him to take his target out to his favourite restaurant on the military's coin, then take him home and fuck him until they were both exhausted.
And then Elric snapped, "Who the fuck're you?"
South-eastern accent, Roy recognised. His language was a little crude, but he was still more then gorgeous enough to forgive that. (He did downgrade the choice of venue to his second favourite restaurant, however.) "Simply a fellow alchemist impressed by your work," he said with a slight bow and his most charming smile.
Elric looked down Roy's body and then back up again, and his pupils were noticeably dilated when he met Roy's eyes again. "Really," he said a bit flatly, but with a breathless edge.
Roy couldn't help a smirk at that little show of interest as he prowled closer. "Mm. Quite."
Elric sort of swayed toward him, eyes going half-mast, and Roy had about half a moment to mentally crow his victory, before he was suddenly yanked forward by his belt and Elric's expression was twisted with fury as he held up Roy's silver pocket watch between them, which he didn't even remember switching to these trousers, as much of an ingrained habit carrying it around had become. "You're just another dog," Elric snarled, venom lacing his words and ice fallen over his stunning eyes. "A fuckin' bitch in heat, lookin' to do anythin' for your masters."
Hands shoved against Roy's chest with a surprising amount of strength and he stumbled backward, his pocket watch slamming smartly against his kneecap. Somehow, he managed to keep his balance, but it was a near thing.
"Get out," Elric snarled, pointing past Roy, back the way he came. "You've got five minutes before I call fuckin' security on your arse. 'Cause I'll bet your masters'll be fuckin' ecstatic to hear 'bout you gettin' tossed out."
If Roy had learnt anything during his career, it was when to retreat.
Outside the gates, he pulled out his mobile and rang his best friend.
"Still alive?" Maes inquired. "I'm impressed. Unless you chickened out. In which case–"
"Hughes," Roy interrupted, "he's gorgeous. He also just threatened to call security on me and called me a bitch in heat."
Maes forwent the funeral dirge in favour of laughing his head off.
Some days, Roy wondered why they were still friends.
Ed let the door to their flat slam closed behind him as he called, "You'll never fuckin' believe what happened today!"
"Welcome home, Brother," Al called back.
Ed kicked off his boots in the general direction of the mat Al insisted they keep their shoes on, snarling, "They let some fuckin' military dog onto the campus. Prolly 'cause he was muckin' about in civilian wear, like that actually fuckin' hides what self-important pricks they all are."
"Mm-hm," Al said.
"Ugly bastard caught me right after my ten o'clock class, swannin' right on up to me with his droopy face and goin' on about how 'impressed' he was with my work." He stepped into the living room, where Al was sitting on the couch, a pile of books spread over the coffee table and his laptop opened on his lap, which he was squinting at in that way that always made Ed wonder if he needed glasses. He also had one cat flopped gracelessly over each leg, probably cutting off the circulation.
"Mm-hm," Al said.
"Fucker was wearin' that pretentious time piece they're all brain washed to think is cool or some shit, hangin' out like he thought I was fuckin' blind or some shit."
"Mm-hm," Al said.
Ed could feel his left eyebrow starting to twitch. "Threw him right fuckin' out. Pink and orange polka-dotted trousers and all."
"Mm-hm," Al said.
Ed leant over the back of the couch and covered his brother's eyes. "You haven't heard a fuckin' word I've said, you little shit."
Al's mouth turned with the sort of wicked smile that sent a vague whisper of uncertainty to Ed's animal-brain, then he said, "This unfairly hot guy came up to you today, sayin' he was interested in your work, except you spotted his pocket watch chain and realised he was a State Alchemist and had to throw him out to save face, even though you actually wanted to shag him." Al ducked the hand covering his eyes and grinned up at Ed. "Also, his trousers offended you because he was wearin' them."
Laughter echoed out from the kitchen.
Ed blinked at his brother in disbelief. "Who the fuck taught you to use that sorta language? I should wring their fuckin' neck."
Al ducked his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"And what the actual fuck is Winry doin' in the fuckin' kitchen?" he added, raising his voice.
"Making dinner!" Winry called back.
"Oh hell," Ed muttered.
"Sick bucket's already stashed under your bed," Al offered.
Ed made a show of shoving on his shoulder, like he was intending to push him off the couch. Except he wouldn't, both because of the laptop, and because they always ended up breaking furniture when they started rough-housing. And, contrary to Winry's belief, he was capable of learning from past mistakes.
Al put his hands to the keyboard, showing he was intending to get back to whatever work Ed had interrupted. (Probably his thesis or some last-minute paper or another; Ed wasn't so old he'd forgot what a joy the end of autumn term was like.) "Did you at least get the hot State Alchemist's name?"
"Fuck you. I have principles."
"Not sure what that has to do with a quick shag."
"Go wash your fuckin' mouth out. You're way too young to be usin' that kinda language."
Al looked up so Ed wouldn't miss him rolling his eyes – he was, in fact, only sixteen months younger than Ed, and even subtracting the time he was in the coma didn't take him under eighteen – then turned back to the computer. "Go check the fire alarm."
Given that they'd had to evacuate due to one of Winry's cooking attempts three years ago, Ed took that suggestion seriously and left his brother to his work.
Surprisingly, dinner resulted in neither a fire, nor any bouts of food poisoning, which was exactly the comment Ed made to Winry as they were cleaning up.
He had no regrets, even if he did end up with soapy dishwater splashed in his face.
Operation 'Get in to Edward Elric's Pants On the Military's Coin, Take Two', was halted before it could be put into effect, on account of one of the generals somehow finding out about Roy's failure and using it as proof that he was unsuited for this particular task – never mind that he'd got closer than anyone else – so he was pulled and it was handed off to someone else.
"How's hell looking, this time of year?" Maes asked as soon as Roy accepted the call. (Which he really only did to make the damn thing shut up. He'd just hit the ignore button, but previous experience said Maes would just keep calling until he answered, eventually involving the rest of his team. And the minute he involved Riza, Roy was dead. So it was really just self-preservation that had him answering the first time.)
"Depends how spectacularly Hakuro flops," Roy shot back, because Major General Hakuro had ended up with the task of wooing Elric, and Roy didn't doubt for a second that he was going to fail.
Maes snorted. "When are you going to make a second pass at your newest heartthrob?"
"How old are you, again?"
"I learnt it from Elicia! Which reminds me, I have new pictures! I'll have to text them to you later!"
"Spare me."
"Actually, I should probably email them, instead. There's quite a few..."
"Hughes, I swear I'll send you a virus to wipe your hard drive it if you send me another batch of three hundred photos of your daughter."
Maes made a noise which Roy was nearly certain was a raspberry blown directly into his mobile's speaker.
"Why are we friends, again?" Roy muttered, rubbing at his eyes.
"Probably because I can tell you things like which supermarket Elric shops at every Saturday evening, and the coffee shop he stumbles into each weekday morning."
Roy felt his mouth starting to widen into a grin and did his best to tamp down on it. "Ah," he said with no small hint of satisfaction, "now I remember."
"Please save your terrible flirting attempts for people who aren't happily married to the most wonderful and beautiful woman on the face of the planet."
Roy rolled his eyes. "No. Pictures."
"How about only...twenty-six?"
"Hughes."
"Ten? One for each year that Elicia has blessed my–"
"What's the smallest part of you that I can burn to a crisp to keep you from taking any more pictures?" Roy mused. Because threatening bodily harm had become his messed up way of agreeing to Maes' terms at some point during the war.
"See if I ever try to help you out again," Maes complained with a huff, before very pointedly hanging up.
Less than an hour later, Roy received an email with ten photos of Elicia posing in front of some papers, all of which had names of businesses in East City, with his and Maes' code for times of the week under each one.
Roy had to bury himself in paperwork to combat his victorious grin.
Saturday evenings were their perfect storm: It was the only night of the week that they could all be guaranteed to be in the house and not scrambling to complete work for the next day. Which, inevitably, had made it shopping night.
Of course, as with all events involving Ed and Winry, it either went completely to hell, or suspiciously smoothly. And given that particular Saturday had started with Winry's time-deaf girlfriend calling from Xing at arse o'clock, waking Ed less than two hours after he'd got to sleep, it was looking to be a 'gone completely to hell' sort of outing.
Thankfully, Al was aware of Ed's tendency to go from zero to murderous in approximately .03 seconds, and had split the grocery list into thirds by section, then sent them all off with their own trolleys to get what was on the list. He'd also rewritten the entire thing in his own handwriting, probably just to keep Ed or Winry from being spiteful and 'forgetting' something the other one had added to the list.
Al was wonderful and amazing and Ed was probably going to throttle him one day for getting in the way of his revenge.
Incidentally, Al's plan would have worked perfectly – Ed and Winry might even have calmed down a bit, after twenty minutes spent communing with food products – if it weren't for that obnoxiously handsome State Alchemist bastard running into Ed's trolley with such a fake surprised look, Ed knew he was fucking around.
"What part," Ed snarled, making a half-hearted swipe at the fucker's way-too-fucking-tight shirt – he doubted actually hurting a member of the military would end well for him, even if they'd deserve it, as long as they'd been harassing him – but missed completely when he dodged, "of 'fuck off' do you not fuckin' get?"
"The part where you actually said as much?" Really Hot State Alchemist Bastard replied with a...weirdly attractive uncertain smile.
Ed stopped, had to think about that for a second, before realising, yeah, actually, he'd never actually said 'fuck off', but: "It was strongly implied, moron. Or do murderers only obey direct orders?"
RHSAB actually flinched at that, something dark passing over his face and making Ed almost regret his words.
But then he recovered and tried a disarming sort of smile – fuck, his face was not fair – and held up his hands in a show of surrender. "I'm just here to shop for food, Dr Elric. It's my day off, and, honestly, even if it wasn't, I've been taken off your case."
"My case?" Ed repeated incredulously. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you people?! When're you gonna stop fuckin' stalkin' me?!" Because, seriously, this shit had been going on for almost three years, and no amount of 'no's seemed to make the military fuck off.
RHSAB leant against the handle of his trolley and looked contemplative for a second, then started raising his weirdly attractive fingers as he counted off, "A complete and utter change of regime, you being thrown in prison for doing something unforgivable, or you dying."
"Morbid, thanks," Ed deadpanned.
"And I'm not completely certain being in prison would stop them," RHSAB commented with a shrug that was belied by the shadows in his eyes. "It wouldn't the the first time someone the military had condemned for life turned up somewhere they shouldn't have been."
Ed almost made a comment about the military's long-standing habit of rewarding war crimes, but he managed to hold his tongue.
(See, Al? He was too capable of reading social cues.)
And then RHSAB was smiling again, but with a flirty edge, which went to just plain sultry as the fucker gave Ed a long look. "As I was saying, it's not my job to sweet-talk you into the military any more, but I'd love to sweet-talk you into my bed."
Ed couldn't help the way his eyes went wide and his face heated. "What the fuck!" he said in a completely normal tone of voice that was nowhere near the vicinity a girlish screech.
RHSAB's trolley gave a squeak of protest as he straightened and started past Ed. He paused just before they would have come even and leant in, his shoulder brushing Ed's. "The offer's open anytime, Dr Elric," he murmured, close enough Ed could feel the words fan out against his lips, and see that his eyes were actually a very dark blue, rather than the jet black they looked from a distance.
And then RHSAB straightened again and was moving away for real.
Ed turned to look after him and fuck, those jeans were way too tight. Being something of an expert on wearing too-tight trousers, Ed would bet good money the bastard wasn't wearing anything under them, and the thought was starting to make his trousers feel a bit too tight.
"Oh, man," Winry said from somewhere in the general vicinity of behind him, and therefore way less interesting than the unfairly sculpted arse that was just about to turn at the end of the aisle and move out of sight. "Talk about people you want to watch walk away. Bet I could make myself an automail penis."
Ed tore himself away from RHSAB's arse so he could shoot her a disbelieving look. "You have a girlfriend."
Winry blinked at him. "Were you just blushin'? Did I miss somethin' important?"
Ed tried very, very hard to make his face cool down, which included leaning over into her trolley to pick out a couple bags of frozen vegetables and holding them to his cheeks.
"Oh, shit. That was him, wasn't it? Your unfairly hot State Alchemist?"
"He's not my fuckin' anythin', you nosy hag."
"Uh-huh," Winry agreed, utterly unconvinced. "Get his name this time?"
Ed tossed the frozen vegetables back into her trolley. "The fuck'd I want his name for?"
"Uh, duh. So you can internet stalk him, then real life stalk him and get some in a back room somewhere."
Ed covered his face. "I can't believe I'm related to you."
Winry let out that sigh she always made when she was rolling her eyes at how incredibly dense he was. "Pretty sure fourth cousins don't count, short stuff."
Ed glared at her. "The fuck'd you just call me, you ugly witch?"
"Please," Al interrupted before they could really get going, "for the sake of my sanity, do not bring the supermarket down on our heads. We'll have to sell our souls to the military to pay for the damages."
"Oh, speakin' of the military–"
"Winry, I swear I will kill you," Ed snarled.
Winry just flashed him a sharp grin and swung her trolley around to block his attack as she told Al, "Ed ran into his dream man just now. And he didn't ask his name."
Al shot him a wounded look. "But, Brother, if you don't know his name, you can't internet stalk him."
"Not you, too!"
"And if you can't internet stalk him, you can't real life stalk him and sneak into his office to get questionable body fluids on whatever paperwork the military has on you."
"Why didn't I think of that?" Winry complained.
"Alphonse Elric!" Ed shouted, torn between horror and embarrassment.
Winry and Al traded looks, then both turned with their trolleys and ran for it.
Ed totally got his victory that night, though, when he managed to shove one of their bars of soap in Al's mouth.
Maes' notes had said half-past five, but Roy got to the coffee shop at five anyway, just to be safe, and grabbed a table right next to the self-serve coffee carafes.
He should have trusted Maes, clearly, because Elric stumbled through the door at five thirty-six, traded a handful of cenz for a cup, and made his way over to the carafes.
He'd finished filling his cup, taken a long sip – apparently without burning his tongue; Roy was duly impressed – and was fumbling for a lid when his eyes finally focussed on Roy. Whereupon he froze for a moment, then pointed at Roy with two lids stuck together and snapped, "Are you fuckin' followin' me?"
"Impossible," Roy returned mildly. "I've been here for half an hour."
"You've got someone followin' me for you," Elric assumed, before casting the room a suspicious look.
"Also impossible," Roy...lied a little bit; Elric didn't need to know that his best friend was tracking his movements via CCTV from Central. "I no longer have access to military funds or personnel to do so. I simply enjoy changing up my morning coffee venue at times."
Elric shot him a narrow-eyed glare as he finally managed to pull the lids apart one-handed and fit one over his cup without looking. "This is the wrong side of town for military douchebags," he said, deadpan.
Ouch. Elric really didn't like the military; not that Roy blamed him.
"That just means the coffee grounds aren't the military-grade shit that they're legally required to sell closer to base," Roy offered with his best winning smile.
Elric blinked once, then let out a laugh that sounded startled. "Holy shit," he said, expression twisted with disbelief. "I thought the military sucked all the fuckin' sense of humour out of you sort."
It was early enough, Roy thought he could be forgiven for his amused mask slipping for a moment as he muttered, "You're not far off."
He thought, for a moment, that he'd managed to keep quiet enough that Elric hadn't heard, but then he realised the man had just been taking a sip of his coffee, because as the cup lowered, his narrowed eyes landed back on Roy, staring at him like Roy might have done an array he'd never seen before.
"If you hate the military so much, why're you still dancin' to their tune?" Elric asked before taking another sip of his coffee.
Perhaps five thirty was too early for him to try and charm his way into a quick fuck with Elric, Roy decided as he stood. He couldn't leave without some sort of parting, but all he could dredge up was a flat, "Don't ever say yes to the military, Doctor. Once you do, you can never say no again."
Elric grabbed his arm before Roy could brush past him, and his grip was as hard and unyielding as steel. Or automail, Roy realised with some surprise; that hadn't been in their file on him.
"What's your name, Doom and Gloom?" Elric asked, his eyes intent, but a hint of colour shading his cheeks.
Roy was reminded of Elric's full-on blush in the supermarket, which had been an absolute treat, and while he'd love to see it again – trace how far down it travelled with his tongue, even – the little brushing of colour was... Charming was the word for it. He sort of wanted to brush a thumb along the edge of it, press a kiss against the point where pink faded back into Elric's tan, and that was...
New. Different. Weird. He didn't do absent romance for his own pleasure, only for the the sake of winning over his partner for that night.
Roy drew back, out of Elric's grip, and offered his hand for a shake. "Roy. Roy Mustang."
Gold eyes went wide in recognition – Roy couldn't even pretend to be surprised; his name might not be known by the civilian population in general, but no way a genius alchemist who kept having to dodge the military's attempts to win his loyalty wouldn't know him – and then his hand wrapped around Roy's, grip tight enough he couldn't quite keep from wincing.
(That was definitely automail.)
Elric leant in, something dark and horrible and too much like loss in his eyes, and he warned, "Stop followin' me, before I give in to the urge to break your fingers."
And then he let go, spun on one heel, and stalked from the coffee shop before Roy could finish shaking life back into his hand.
South-eastern accent, he remembered.
Shit.
Ed didn't slam the door when he made it home that night. He didn't kick off his boots, either, but took them off, one at a time, and set them gently down in the space left for them on the mat.
When he made it to the living room, Al was half out of the couch, expression twisted with concern, and Winry was standing in the doorway that led back to their bedrooms, staring at him like she was just waiting for him to implode.
"Brother–"
"It's Mustang," Ed said. That was it. He didn't need to say more.
Winry went white and she sank slowly to the floor, clutching at the wall the whole way down, like she thought it might hold her up. Al dropped heavily into the couch, covering his face with one hand, and making a vague, flopping motion toward Winry.
Ed didn't need that direction verbalised; as much as he and Al had lost in the out-of-control fire that had wiped what little had remained of Resembool off the map, they hadn't lost their entire family to it. (Their parents had already been gone long before the military brought their untrained dogs to a war that never should have happened at all.) Fuck, if it hadn't been for Ed and Al's alchemy teacher offering to take Winry in too, when they heard how bad the fighting had gotten while they were away training with her, Winry wouldn't have survived, either. Even just two days of delay would have left Ed and Al the only survivors of their town. And that...that haunted all of them.
He walked over to Winry and crouched down next to her, brushing her hair away from where it'd got caught in the stream of tears making its way silently down her cheek. "Hey," he whispered.
Winry flung herself into his arms, and it was only the excellent craftsmanship of the leg she'd made him, that let him keep his balance as he hugged her tight, letting her sob into his shirt.
It wasn't fair. For one, brief, impossible moment, Ed'd thought he might have found a member of the military who wasn't just a dumb fool following orders, someone he could have maybe called a friend, once they'd sorted out that stalking problem.
But, no. His life never worked that way. He never made the smart choice, never got the happy ending.
None of them did.
Edward Elric, according to every military or civilian record Roy or Maes could get their hands on, was a ghost. Before he'd started his PhD at East University nine years ago, he hadn't existed anywhere. No birth certificate on file, no family record, not even a note about someone looking for any survivors named 'Edward' after the war was over. Nothing. There wasn't even a record of his undergraduate or masters studies. If they were willing to chance hacking the East University database, they could probably find the information they needed there, but getting caught would get them both thrown in jail for the foreseeable future, and then Elric would probably come and kill him for snooping, or something.
"Could Elric be an assumed name?" Maes asked, frowning at Roy over video chat. (Or, well, frowning at the bottle Roy was making his steady way through, more likely; Maes had never approved of his drinking habit, but Roy didn't have anyone to come home to after a rough day at work, so he made do the same way his aunt had always taught him: Drink until you can't see straight and hope you threw it all up instead of dying of alcohol poisoning. Something like that.)
Roy shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" he demanded, making an effort not to slur his words. If he started slurring, Maes would ring Riza and ask her to come over and lock up all his alcohol, then order him to bed at gunpoint. "All I've got is an accent."
An accent, and a nightmare. A surprise attack from behind not even a heartbeat after he'd snapped, aiming to bring down a couple of fleeing Ishvalans. His focus shattering, alchemy going completely out of control and blazing into an inferno hungry for crops and homes and innocent lives, while he couldn't do anything more than struggle desperately against the three men trying to hold him down. Beat him senseless. Slit his throat.
He wished they'd succeeded.
"ROY!" Maes shouted, shattering the memory.
Roy shook his head and took a long swig of his drink, straight from the bottle.
On the other side of the screen, Maes said, "Riza, hi. Roy's drinking himself into a stupor again."
"Traitor," Roy muttered into his bottle.
"Thank you," Maes said into his mobile, before saying, clearly to Roy, "Stop pouting before your face sticks that way."
"I fucked it up!" Roy shouted. Or, well, tried to shout. Sounded a bit more like a wail, once it hit the air. He should have made the connection sooner. Should have given a false name, or just stopped at his first name, or...anything.
He could have slept with Elric, if he'd been smarter, then told him who he was. Or not told him. Ever.
Shit. Hadn't he maybe-probably-definitely ruined the kid's – young man's – life enough already? Why the hell would he ever want Elric to know who he was? Like, 'Oh, by the way, you just slept with the guy who probably ruined your life. Isn't that funny?'
No.
His front door opened and Riza let out that sigh that meant 'I can't believe I swore myself to this idiotic man-child', then said, "Sir, please don't make me take the bottle from you. Again."
Roy took a moment to debate that – he had a very fuzzy recollection of scotch going everywhere and Riza dumping him in the tub, turning on the cold water, and telling him to stay there until he either sobered up or died of hypothermia – while Maes said, "Oh, I am recording this."
"Good night, Lieutenant Colonel," Riza said flatly, before clicking the mouse to close the chat window.
Roy looked blearily up at her, squinting to try and get her face to come into focus, while she focussed on the computer.
At last, she turned to him, her face blurring and morphing into something not quite human, and said, "The bottle. Now."
Roy held it out to her and waited until she had a firm grip before letting go.
"Thank you," she said, a hint of relief in her voice.
"I'mma sh-shlee-heap. Here," Roy decided, letting himself tilt toward where he was fairly certain the couch cushions were.
Apparently, he was not, in fact, on the couch, because he fell off his perch and smashed his face against the extremely well-considered plush carpet. That was a good choice on his part. Excellent, even. It was very soft. Good carpet for face-smashing. Also probably for sleeping.
Riza made that sigh again, and then there were hands under his arms and the carpet was moving away under him.
Or he was moving. Being moved.
Riza was moving him.
In a series of really quite impressive moves that Roy only half followed, despite being involved in all of them, Riza got him into his bed, out of everything but his shorts, and under his covers. Then she vanished for a minute, and brought back two pills and a tumbler of water, the latter of which she made Roy drink, while the former were set on his bedside table, in front of the extremely loud alarm clock that he'd never been able to get rid of.
Once she returned with a refilled tumbler of water, she set it down next to the pills and informed him, "If you attempt to skip work tomorrow, sir, I will come over here and follow you around, banging a pot next to your ear, until you crawl out of the house. Do I make myself clear?"
"Traitor," Roy muttered to his pillow. Which was actually softer than the carpet. He needed to remember that.
Riza sighed again, but a different sigh, and leant over to kiss his forehead. The same way Auntie Chris'd always done when he wasn't feeling well. "Get some sleep, Roy," she murmured. "And try not to dream."
That was an idea Roy could get behind.
There was a man in his office. Which had been locked.
Said man was relaxing back in his chair, boots balanced carefully on the corner, so the soles hung over the bin. He was wearing a bright pink t-shirt that said '#1 DAD' – ballsy; Ed didn't know many men who would have worn that in public – and had rectangular glasses that were reflecting the light from the hallway, hiding his eyes.
"You know, I've got to hand it to you," Ballsy Dad said, not shifting from his position, despite Ed's best glare, "it's been a long time since it took me two weeks to find information on a person. It's no wonder the rest of the military's still scratching their arses and staring at the ceiling."
'The rest of the military'.
"Get out," Ed ordered, stepping to one side and pointing out the door. "Right fuckin' now. Before I call security."
Ballsy Dad's mouth curled up with a knowing smile. "You won't," he said, so fucking certain, Ed wanted to punch him in the face. "I might go straight to East Command and tell them all about you, Dr Curtis."
Ed's blood ran cold, freezing him stiff, for one long moment. How the fuck? The only fucking people who knew Ed'd changed his name from Curtis back to Elric when he entered East Uni's PhD program, were the East Uni dean and his family. And not a one of them would ever fucking tell that to a member of the military.
He managed to drudge up enough friction to slam his office door closed and flip the switches for both the overhead light, and the mobile jammer (which he'd installed when a student's confiscated mobile'd gone off three times in a row, completely ruining his concentration), finally getting a better look at his visitor as he squinted against the wash of light from right above his head. Heavy stubble, square jaw, green eyes, and that shirt really was a terrifying shade of pink. "The fuck d'you want?" he demanded. "Gonna fuckin' blackmail me?"
Ballsy Dad's smile was probably meant to be comforting or some shit, but all Ed could see were the teeth kept carefully hidden behind his lips. "Nothing of the sort," he promised.
(Lied. Ed would bet his life on that.)
"I just want to talk. You're lauded as a genius in alchemy, but I don't think anyone's realised exactly how clever you are with everything else, have they? Managing to hide your past like that, disguising your accent, hiding your arm."
Ed clenched his automail fist as tight as it could go and snarled, "Get to the point."
"The accent's what threw me off, at first, honestly," Ballsy Dad said, tone fucking conversational. "I mean, south-eastern. Not a lot of people around any more who have it, especially as strong as you're pretending. Suggests you're from down near Ishval, where so many records were destroyed. Easy to get lost down there, pretend you're one of the lucky ones who managed to escape."
Ed...blinked.
Wait.
This guy thought, what? That he was actually a Curtis? That he'd been born and raised in Dublith?
Did Teacher or Sig get some documents forged to protect them? Or, well, give them a history, an identity, more likely. Something they could pull on, sometime down the road, when not having their birth records would come back to haunt them.
Figured Teacher wouldn't have told them she had. She'd always been secretive, right up to the end.
"The automail gave me a bit of trouble, too," Ballsy Dad continued, apparently unaware that he'd screwed something up. "Accidents that require automail prostheses usually get mentioned in the paper, especially when there's a kid involved, because that always spooks people, the idea of kids going through that." He gave a little shudder, pressing one hand to the centre of his shirt.
"But there wasn't anything about an 'Edward' or an 'Ed' or any variation of male child having lost any part of their right arm before you popped up as Edward Elric. So I tried looking into transactions, because shops are required to keep records, but still nothing.
"So I took a little day trip out to Rush Valley, asked around about any black market deals involving minors. And, well, if there were any, I didn't hear about it, which was good, because I wasn't there to report on pain merchants."
Ed made a face; he'd heard his share of horror stories about the sorts of fuckers willing to give you automail on the cheap. They wouldn't use anaesthetic, sometimes connected shit wrong on purpose, either to get their 'customers' to come back again and again, or just because they enjoyed that shit in some fucked up way. One fuck-shit – who Ed may or may not have been involved in beating bloody and then turning in – would fucking stop in the middle of the surgery and get himself off listening to his victim's agony.
Ballsy Dad nodded, likely in response to Ed's expression. "There are some seriously sick people in this world. But I didn't hear about any of them. Did hear about this genius little blonde girl, though. A Winry Curtis–" Ed did his best not to react "–who'd apparently had a brother who needed automail. So she spent two years wandering around town, learning all the best tricks, and then vanished for a year. And when she got back, she was with her brother, who's right arm was automail." Ballsy Dad's expression darkened. "Your parents let your kid sister operate on you."
"Fuck you," Ed said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Friend of the family's a doctor; he came in and did the surgery. All Winry did was make my arm." And his leg, but fuck if Ed was going to mention that part when Ballsy Dad didn't seem to know about it.
"How'd it happen?"
Right. Because Ed was really going to tell a member of the military that he'd performed highly illegal alchemy at age eleven, put his brother in a coma for five years, lost his arm and leg, and terrified Winry to the point that she'd run away to Rush Valley for two years, trying to find a way to fix him because she'd blamed herself for talking them into it. "None of your fucking business."
Ballsy Dad's expression said he'd expected that response. "Traced you two back to Dublith, after that. Family of butchers, though word is your mum was a brilliant alchemist, so I guess that's where you got it." His expression softened, turned honest in a way that had Ed looking away. "I'm sorry to hear she died."
Ed shrugged. "It wasn't some fuckin' surprise," he muttered, because they'd all known, since well before the Curtises had adopted them, that Teacher didn't have long to live. That she'd managed to survive the hell Ed's bad choice had dragged them all through, kept going until Al'd woken up and recovered and got accepted at South Uni, had been nothing short of a miracle. Equally miraculous was that Sig hadn't just given up the ghost, yet. But, every time they rang him, asked how he was doing, his response was always the same, 'She'd want me to be here for you kids, so I am. And I will be.'
(They'd never deserved the Curtises. Any of them. Using 'Elric' again and moving back east had been the only way Ed'd been able to think of to protect them, because he'd just barely managed to avoid the military's gaze while getting his masters in alchemy as young as he had. Deciding to go for his PhD and teach, hopefully keep any other stupid kids from making his mistakes, he knew he'd never be able to keep under the radar. And with Teacher's declining health and Al just woken up, he couldn't lead the military back to them. And when Winry and Al'd joined him, well... He couldn't say he'd been surprised.)
"I did hear about your brother, though. Sickly as a child, your neighbours said. I assume he's the Alphonse Elric who's getting his biomedical masters here at East University."
"Yes," Ed allowed flatly. (After his coma, Al hadn't really wanted to think about alchemy for a while, so he'd gone looking into other sciences. When he'd settled on a mix of biology and medicine, Ed had been right behind him the whole way. Because, honestly, the further his brother stayed away from alchemy, the better he'd feel; only one of them needed to carry this sin, and Al hadn't come through with the same hellish knowledge Ed had.)
"Your sister seems to have disappeared, though," Ballsy Dad commented, clearly fishing.
Ed just stared at him. As much as he'd figured out already, it wouldn't take the guy long to realise there was a Winry living with him and Al, but fucked if he was gonna make it easy for him.
Ballsy Dad smiled. "You really are quite tight-lipped, aren't you?"
"I don't know who you are and I don't fuckin' know what you want with all this shit," Ed returned, narrowing his eyes. "Fuck, maybe I should just off you here. No one needs even know you swung by."
"What's to say no one does?" Ballsy Dad shot back, still smiling.
Ed smiled right back, showing teeth. "Keep it up, wise-arse. You military fucks've been pissin' me off for years, now. You gonna start threatenin' my family, I'll be happy to show you what a fuckin' genius-level alchemist is capable of." He peeled off his right glove, holding up his steel fist between them.
Ballsy Dad held his hands up in a show of peace. "No one's threatening your family, Doctor."
"It sure fuckin' sounds like you are, Mr I'm-Clearly-A-Dad-And-Proud-Of-It-But-Won't-Tell-You-My-Name."
"Ah, touché." Ballsy Dad finally dropped his feet to the floor, sitting up and holding his left hand out over Ed's desk. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes. My wife's name is Gracia and my daughter, Elicia, is ten. They're both back in Central, where I'm stationed."
Well, Ed was right about the ballsy.
He reached out and took Hughes' hand to shake, only to be yanked forward across his own desk, finding himself face-to-face with a man fully willing to commit murder. "My best friend, though, is here," he hissed, while Ed stared at him, off balance. "I think you've met: Roy Mustang."
Ed managed to yank himself away at that, snarling, "I shoulda fuckin' known." Not many people shook his right hand and found out about the automail, and Mustang'd been the only military person with that dubious pleasure.
"Shouldn't you have?" Hughes asked as he stood, easily towering over Ed, and no longer looking even a little bit like the friendly man he'd been while baring way too many of Ed's secrets. "After all, who else have you been torturing this past–"
"Me?!" Ed shouted, pointing to himself. "I'm not the self-assured little puppy who decided to go playin' with high-level alchemy and burnt down three fuckin' villages!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Hughes snapped. "I've spent the last seventeen years trying to hold him together after that! And you undid all my work in one day!"
"Good," Ed snarled. "Because while you were trying to keep a murderer from self-destructin', I spent seventeen years listenin' to my best friend cry out for her parents and grandmother every fuckin' night. I've spent seventeen years watchin' the kindest fuckin' couple in the whole of this rotten country bend over backwards to raise three kids who weren't their own.
" 'Cause my brother and Winry and me, we got lucky. We weren't in Resembool when your friend burnt it to the ground. We lost fuckin' everythin' that night, so you better fuckin' believe I'm good with Mustang sufferin'. He deserves it."
Hughes, Ed noted with a grim sort of amusement, had got progressively more pale the longer he'd spoken. Like he'd only just realised what his chum had done all those years ago.
Or, perhaps, he'd just realised he wouldn't be getting any fucking apologies from Ed, because he wasn't the one who needed to be giving them.
He pointed behind himself, at his door. "Get. Out," he ordered, low and furious.
Wisely, Hughes sidled out past him and left, the door closing softly behind him.
Ed gave himself about half a minute to fail to calm down, then let out the scream of rage/pain/loss and punched the top of his desk.
The desk split with a sharp 'crack' and the legs sort of flipped up to either side, sending books, paperwork, his computer, and fuck alone knew what-all else crashing to the floor.
He wasn't sure he cared.
Pieces of Me
Pray the Sun Will Rise
.
