notes
Ahh! Fullmetal Alchemist is scary to write; I'm been monofandomic (that's not a word. ;) for too long, it seems. Anyway, this is part of the many gift!ficlets I've been posting; this one is for the awesome Azremodehar. (I'd suggest checking her out 'round here, she rocks.)
Manymanymany thanks to Flamesword for lending me some pictures of the uniforms for this and beta'ing it, and Azremodehar for helping me out with rank decoration. She wins the fandom. XD
"Full uniform, Fullmetal," the Colonel had said firmly. "It's a formal event."
"I don't have time for this bureaucratic bullsh – "
The Colonel hadn't give him room to finish, holding up a hand as he turned to leave, his words cryptic as always. "It's an important dinner, and it wouldn't be wise to miss it."
Ed had given in – not as though he had much of a choice – and retreated to the hotel he and Al were staying in to get his uniform together. There he found himself, in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting all the straps and buttons on his jacket.
"What are you doing, big brother?"
Ed turned his head to look at Al as he fastened the end of his yellow cord over his breast and slipped it under his right shoulder strap. "I have a military dinner tonight," he said, his voice gaunt as he reached to the desk to his left, picking up one of the two pins waiting there; he looked at Al in the mirror while he put the pin in it's place at the strap on his shoulder. "It's going to be boring, and if that's not enough, I have to be bored while wearing this – ow!" Ed yanked his hand back, leaving the pin unfastened as he a droplet of blood blossomed on his thumb where he had pricked himself.
"Are you okay?" Al asked. Ed nodded, fixed on the wound. Something about seeing red blood surprised him – not because he wasn't accustomed to it, not for as often as he got hurt – but bleeding in a fight was different. Bleeding in a fight was filthy, smeared and mixed with dirt. Ed had almost forgotten that his blood wasn't just a gritty shade of black.
Looking around, Ed realized there wasn't a tissue he could wipe his finger off with, and he couldn't very well use his uniform. With a muted sigh he put his thumb in his mouth, making a face against the taste as he reached for the other pin with his right hand, getting it in without trouble. Metal against metal, no danger in that – then again, he'd rather prick his fingers a million times than think like that. The day he found satisfaction with his metal limbs was the day he'd lost the right to get his own flesh back. Ed pulled his thumb from his mouth, examining the small wound once again; the bleeding had all but stopped, a small speck of red hardly noticeable against his skin. "Victory… tastes like defeat," he mumbled to himself, licking his lips.
"What?"
"Nothing," Ed rushed out, clearing his throat and finishing with his pins – two at his collar – and looking himself over. Everything was in order, preened and ready for whatever the dinner would bring. "I hate this uniform," he moaned comically, trying to get himself out of his sudden funk. It wasn't a lie – it was itchy and gaudy and a staunch reminder that he was far from being a free man. Running his hands over his thighs to smooth out his pants, he turned to look at Al. "I'm going now."
"Okay." Ed was halfway to the door when Al stopped him: "Wait! Your pin is coming undone." How could he not have noticed – he had never fastened the pin on his right shoulder. With a nod and a wan smile he turned back to the mirror, leaning down to find the back of the pin. Sure enough, it was there on the floor.
Ed got it on without a problem.