Author's Note: As you know I posted the Prompt for this story so I guess you kind of already know how it ends. I just couldn't stop thinking of it after I wrote the outline so now I am going to try and write it. It isn't going to be my main focus, as I have other stories open. But I hope to be posting a couple chapters at least to give the prompt a little more fluff.

Summary: Roy Mustang is a physicist who works on new inventions with his adopted daughter Winry as his mechanic. However, unfunded by the universities for his too advanced theories, he continues to run the plantation he inherited to make a living and fund his research. After one of his slave drivers, Kimblee, announces that one of his slaves passed away. Mustang needs to buy a replacement to keep his crop tended. Unbeknownst to him, his buy is going to prove more stressful yet more rewarding than he thought.

Sold

Chapter One

Sold

Roy was bent over his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand and a pen in the other. He yawned tiredly as he scratched more numbers down for the sake of his project. He had been spending his whole life on this and yet as the years crawled by he seemed to be getting nowhere. He sat back and took another drag of his coffee, lifting the pages in front of him to read. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He growled to himself as he slammed them down on the table. His fingers curled around the edges of the paper, crumbling his wasted time up into a ball. He threw it hopelessly into the garbage bin and inhaled the rest of his coffee. He spent the last week on that just to come up empty handed.

If only he had someone to double check his notes while he was writing them, then he wouldn't waste time on dead ends. But no one was interested in his ideas. A flying machine. Something that could revolutionize travel and scientific study, was nothing the university was looking to fund. He cursed silently to them as he stood up from his desk and kicked his chair in. It was because of them that he had to waste his time running his family's plantation to fund his own project. He could be spending more of his time on his calculations with his peers instead of worrying about his crops and labor.

"Agriculture's a bitch," he growled to himself as he stumbled out of the study to get himself cleaned up. He had to go over his budgets for that month and he wasn't looking forward to seeing how little the numbers were. However, he knew, one of these days when they get the machine up in the air, they wouldn't have to worry about digits anymore because they would be in the triples. If only he could finish it in time for the next World Fair then he could shove his success up the University's ass.

Roy was walking through the hallway of his house when he heard a loud knock on the front door. He looked up from where his mind was otherwise preoccupied and stumbled over to it. He opened it up for himself just to find the familiar face of his slave driver in the door way. He was cradling his hat in his hands with his head bowed and a solemn look on his face that never reached his eyes. Roy frowned as he studied the man. Kimblee was never someone he enjoyed to have around but since he began his employment their income has raised near double as before. He was an asset where the other drivers were not. Unfortunately his presence at his house usually meant that something went wrong down in the fields. Roy had grown accustomed to dealing with mishaps where Kimblee was involved. Roy motioned him to come in and the man glided through the doorway like a shadow in the sunlit hallway.

"What happened?" Roy asked, not liking how this day was starting out.

"Sir, I am afraid to inform you that Slave 22 has passed away. We don't have anyone now tending the last row of crop-"

"Passed away? I thought I just got him. What happened?" Roy demanded, wanting an answer to the loss of one of his workers.

"Some illness he had not informed us about apparently. He wasn't the most fit after all," the man replied a little too quickly for his taste. Roy growled to himself as he rubbed his jaw tiredly.

"You gave him a burial and a ceremony I suppose?" he asked him as he turned and started to make his way back into his study. Roy pushed his papers away from his desk and reached over to pull out his account books. He opened them up and rifled through the pages.

"Of course sir," Kimblee said hesitantly.

"It's important for their morale-"

"Of course, sir," Kimblee said more affirmatively. Roy rolled his eyes as he stopped on the last page of his budget. He cursed when he saw the numbers. It was the middle of the season and his funds were running low. They wouldn't have a large amount of income until the harvest came around. However he still needed workers in order to care for his crop or those damn bugs would get to them before they could grow. He needed to get a replacement but with how much he had, he didn't know what kinds of slaves were available on the cheap.

"Kimblee get your things ready and put them in the cart. I assume Winry finished the wheel by now and is working on some other project. We are going to have to go to the auction house today," Roy told him tiredly as he closed his book and put it back up on the shelf. Kimblee smiled at him, an expression that would have sent chills down anyone's spine. That was the only thing that Roy knew Kimblee felt emotionally. He watched the man leave to undoubtedly get the restraints he needed. New slaves tended to be aggressive, one nearly managed to kill Roy the first time he was naive enough to go to the auction house by himself. That was years ago, before he really knew how to run a farm by himself but Roy still couldn't take chances. All he needed was someone to tend the crop.

Walking out of the house, Roy went over to where the barn near the house where they kept their wagons and horses. He entered to the smell of hay and oil, the two oddest combinations. It was dimly lit inside however he could see a small lantern sitting on the floor. He walked in, nodding gently towards one of the slaves who were tending the horses, and bent down underneath the wagon to see a rather dirty figure up against the axle of the wheel with a wrench and mallet. Her dress was covered in loose straw, some of which was also standing out of her hair at odd angles because of her laying on the ground. She didn't seem to notice him as she finished tightening the bolts of the wagon wheel. It looked brand new, a fix that would have costed him a good deal, but instead just costed him pennies because of his daughter.

"Winry," he said just to accidentally startle her. The woman yelped at the sudden voice and sat up, unfortunately into the top of her wagon. She cursed lightly, rubbing out the sore bump she had on her head as she crawled out from under neath the wagon.

"Dad, you jerk!" she exclaimed as she walloped him his own goose egg with her wrench. He cursed as well and cradled his own wounds.

"What was that for?" he exclaimed as Winry got up and pulled her tools out from underneath the cart.

"You scared me! I thought you were still inside working on aerodynamics-"

"It was all scrap, like usual," he grumbled under his breath. "Kimblee and I are going to have to go into town. Is the wagon finished?"

"Just got done. I had to straighten out the axle so that took a bit of work but it should drive fine now," she told him. "That was the best project I had in a long time. We should break things more often-"

"Maybe after the harvest when we get more money-"

"Or when you take that flying contraption to the world fair," Winry egged him on.

"I don't think that is going to be anytime soon."

"Come on, Dad, all you need to do is finish those calculations, I will build it, and then we don't have to worry about all of this," she said motioning to… everything. "Maybe I could get my own workshop."

"I don't doubt you can, but until the neighbors warm up to your strange hobbies, the only place you will be building is here," Roy chuckled as he messed up his daughters hair. The girl pouted like she used to when she was only a toddler, her blue eyes glaring up at him stubbornly. They were eyes that if he had his own child he couldn't give but he was always amazed at how similar she was to him. They were both so stubborn. "Come on, after we leave you can continue your…. What were you working on again?"

"It's supposed to be a prosthetic hand, better than those damn wooden things you get on cheap. But like you, I have come to a dead end," she mumbled as she smeared some wheel grease on her face as she scratched her face curiously, pondering her latest dilemma. "Only problem is I don't have anyone to try it out on. I will never know if it works. And, like you said, no sensible man would trust a woman's invention."

"I never said that," Roy sharply replied making his daughter pout a little more. "Like me, they just aren't ready for you genius designs. I guess we both have to just push a little harder to get these things going."

"Take after the best," Winry grinned lightly as she punched him in the ribs lightly. Roy chuckled as she scurried off towards the back of the barn where they kept all of the scrap metal and parts that she used. She spent most of her time out in the barn working on one thing or another. It was like her second home. Roy frowned lightly thinking about that. Winry's 18th birthday was coming up. She would start being courted by the local boys whether she wanted it or not. Someday she would have to get married but like she had said previously, no sensible man would trust a woman mechanic. He just hoped that there was a man out there that would accept both Winry and her habit for gears.

"Sir," he heard Kimblee's slimy voice come from behind him. Roy turned to see the man carrying a few lengths of heavy iron shackles over his shoulder. He sighed as he motioned for the barn slave to hook up the horse to the newly fixed wagon. This was going to be a long day.

It was crowded, like usual. The auction house was full of buyers near and far who all needed new assets to tend their farms, their houses, and do any odd job they needed. Roy had to push his way through the crowd in order to find a view of the betting stage that the auctioneer was standing on. They had arrived bit late and saw that they were already bidding off a young girl. The large drivers wrangled her off the stage towards a rather large man who seemed a little too pleased with his buy. Roy shivered. He couldn't imagine being in the hands of that brute for long. Above the bicker and conversation, Roy heard Kimblee shout to him over his shoulder.

"Would you like me to get the line up?" he asked him. Roy shook his head.

"The first one I can afford we are getting. There is no point waiting forever for a sale I might miss," he told him.

"Ah, cheap as always, Mr. Mustang," a familiar voice chimed. Roy looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Raven, the owner of the auction house standing behind him. The man held the largest slave auctions in the state and even in the small town that Roy lived in, they weren't anything a normal person wanted to miss. However, Roy was no ordinary person. Mr. Raven looked him over with a judgmental eye and smirked. "The fact that you are here today means that you are in desperate need of a slave. Did one die or run away? With the lax way you tend to treat them I would have to guess run away. However, it doesn't matter, we are sure to have one for you here," the man chided. Roy felt his ears grow red however he took in a huge breath and smiled back.

"I hope you do or else you wouldn't be able to drain me of my money," he said back. Roy hated playing nice but with his reputation in the small town as the hopeless inventor, he needed all of the connections he could get. One time it actually came in handy when Raven gave him a discount on one of the slaves he was buying. He supposed it was to attract him to the auction house more often, however Roy didn't see himself going there for any other reason except out of desperation for another hand.

"Well, if you have any questions on one of the sales I will be right here. We have quite an arrangement today," Mr. Raven cheered, pretending that Roy didn't lightly insult him as a penny pincher. Roy returned his attention back up to the stage. The auctioneer was yelling numbers so quickly for the newest showing which was a large blond man who seemed like he could crush skulls with his bare hands. It seemed like everyone wanted him. The bid was going up too fast that Roy couldn't even keep up with it if he tried. He decided just to wait it out until there was a slow one. There was no point in wasting his voice. The noise and clutter continued for a while and Roy was beginning to wonder how long they had actually been there when everything suddenly went silent.

"Starting price $400 any takers? Any at all?" the auctioneer asked loudly but no one replied. No one was interested. Roy bent his head to look up at the young form on stage. It was a young man with long golden hair braided back behind him. His torso was bare, having been stripped to show his assets for the sale and Roy was rather curious as to why there had not been any offers as of yet. He was fairly built, strong enough to tend crop and possibly any other job someone would throw at him, with in a fair price range too. Roy was about to raise his hand to call an offer when he felt an arm stop his.

"Sir, I don't think you want that one. I have been talking to the auctioneers. They say this is his last bidding," Kimblee told him quietly as to not alert anyone else he was actually thinking of buying the young slave. Roy removed the man's slimy grip from his arm and glared at him curiously.

"What do you mean? What does that have to do with-"

"Why everything Mr. Mustang," Roy heard Mr. Raven call out to him. "That slave is notorious for running away and having a rather… bold personality. He had fought nearly three of my handlers her in the house alone! This is his tenth time up on the stage by his current master. After this one, I am afraid that is it."

"That's it? What do you mean that's it?" he questioned him, keeping his eyes on the slave currently on the stage. Now that he looked at him, the young man had a certain gleam in his eyes that an owner would never think of buying. Determination was an asset out in the field but it was deadly to own. Slaves with that much confidence, that much determination, never lasted long under one man's care, and for good reasons. Raven chuckled lightly, waving him off like he had a silly question. Roy felt his ears heat up a little as he was being treated like a child.

"After this auction, if he doesn't sell, the master is going to just hand him over to the Homunculus group for lynching. If he can't get rid of him for money, fair punishment for trying to run away would be enough for that man. You know how everyone in the square likes a good-"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Raven, I am afraid you must count me out of that general population. I don't think I very much have a stomach for it," Roy told him smoothly. Before he could fully catch the frown riding across the man's face Roy raised his hand to the auctioneer. "Four hundred!" he shouted out, lifting the man's spirit for a sale. A rather surprised look came upon the auctioneer before he started rattling off numbers for the rest of the crowd to join in. Roy caught that look duplicated across the slave who was standing on the stage. He appeared to be rather surprised for the buy at all and his eyes seemed to be searching the crowd for the voice who had met the offer. Roy grinned as he looked around the room, listening to the hollow numbers ring off. No one else in the crowd was raising their hands in competition with him, making it a rather quick and cheap buy.

"Sold, to the dark haired man here with a fiery determination to tame the tameless. Come to the end of the stage to receive slave 310," the auctioneer's cheery voice sounded out. Roy saw the men on the stage start to wrestle the slave from where he was chained. It seemed that the slave did not want to obey. Roy knew that was an issue with buying him, however it was something that could be corrected. As he made his way towards the end of the stage he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, I don't think that this particular slave is the one for you-"

"The thing is Kimblee," Roy huffed, not even looking back at the man. "We can't afford anyone else." The slave was brought to his knees at the bottom of the stairs. He looked rather angry at being man handled. Roy walked up to him and bent down, reading the paper number that was slung around his neck for the sake of the auction. He took it off and threw it carelessly aside, not caring if he was littering Mr. Raven's floors. He crouched down next to the slave, and looked him over carefully. He had to give it to the kid, he was in better shape that Roy had been his entire life. However, the only fault in his complexion was the many scars that riddled his back and his sides. He saw many different brandings on him, each a symbol from a different master. Larger plantations would often burn their emblem into their slaves to claim them should something happen. As many marks and scars that the slave had it was evident that he had a nasty habit of trying to run away, and another habit of getting caught. Roy looked up into the slave's eyes just to be struck with a burning gold. Slave 310 seemed rather startled by the motion of being looked at and faced directly and his eyes were wide, very confused. It wasn't normal for someone to talk to a slave directly but rather their masters. Roy however, didn't care for customs very much, especially when he had questions.

"Did you ever work in the field before?" Roy asked him curiously. He seemed rather hesitant on opening his mouth, his eyes darting around to the other large men that surrounded him first before returning to Roy's own.

"Many times," the young man's strong voice said quietly through the ruckus.

"Good," Roy exclaimed as he stood up and motioned for the men holding him down to release him. Where the men let go, Kimblee took their place and hoisted Slave 310 to his feet. Roy ignored how the slave struggled under Kimblee for if he were to be touched by that man he would struggle too. Roy reached down into his wallet and pulled out the few credits that he brought with him and paid the cost off to Mr. Raven who took it rather eagerly.

"I hope you do know, Mr. Mustang, if I were that slave's previous master I think he would sell well enough for only 100," the man smirked, excited that he got a sale from a listing that he thought was dead.

"Well it is a good think you weren't his previous master because you obviously are blind to what you have in front of you," Roy chided playfully with a smirk. The two men glared lightly at each other in good competition and Roy lead the way out of the auction house with tired feet. The outside air hit him like salvation from the high heavens as they were out of that dusty and cramped auction house. He took a deep breath in and started for the cart, looking only once over his shoulder to see Kimblee following closely with slave 310. It seemed that he was glad to get some fresh air as well. Where 310 was going he would surely get plenty of it that's for sure.

"You will start tomorrow. I have some clothes for you in the cart since you appear to be lacking some," Roy told the kid and rooted around in the back of the cart, trying to find where they put them. He brought out a set of one of his old white shirts and brown slacks. "Hope they fit." They had a few holes in them and since Winry or himself were seamstresses he was just going to give them to his workers. He tossed them to slave 310 who caught them haphazardly in his bound hands. The kid's eyes grew as he looked down at the clothes in front of him. He looked very confused, which to Roy was rather strange.

"Kimblee help him up into the cart and unbind his hands so he can get dressed on the way back," he ordered lightly as he hopped up in the rivers seat of the cart and picked up the reigns. The cart shifted with the new weight and Roy heard the clatter of shackles as the slave was temporarily freed. Looking back to see if they were ready he caught sight of the new young man practically swimming in his old clothes. His golden eyes were wide as he looked down at the cloth, a set of complex emotions washing through him. Roy couldn't even begin to imagine what 310 was thinking and he didn't frankly care. It didn't bother him.

Roy flicked the reigns and the horses started to pull them back down through the streets of town towards the outskirts and the fields. Buying slave 310 was a matter of money and labor, but he would soon realize that when buying that particular slave, it meant a whole lot more than that.

….