"Calm your nuts. You staged a goddamn coup. You'll survive this." "I know. But back then there were no tens of TV broadcasters live-reporting us." "Actually, Sir, there will be only thirteen TV broadcasters covering the whole ceremony. The rest of them are, with their respective numbers, forty-five radio stations, ninety-seven news—" "I know, Vato."

"Listen again, Boss. If you really, and by that I meant really really really want to cancel the whole thing, you will just have to give me these signs..."

Havoc proceeded to wink at him three times before grabbing his own chest in a dramatic manner, likely to give everyone the impression of him getting a sudden heart attack. Which, obviously, would only gain him a futile result—his contorted face screamed 'malingering!' more than Mustang's sorry excuse of stomachaches everytime Hawkeye brought in another pile of paperworks requiring his review. That alone already spoke volumes.

"It would be too telling, Havo."

The two men spun their head to see Breda entering the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Boss will only have to accidentally slip his hand and make one of the rings—or both, just in case—fall onto the floor, then pick it up and hide it before anybody noticed. The ceremony will definitely be postponed shall we lose at least one of the things required for the rite. It will provide plenty space of time for the Boss to ad lib an exit strategy appropriate to the current circumstance."

A snort came from the blond. "You're entitled to your strategies, Heymans. But it is me who got the experience of actually bringing a wedding ceremony into a halt—"

"Gentlemen, please. Save it for another time." Roy rubbed his temple, suddenly aware of the pain slowly building up there. He turned to the bulky man. "And no. I am not cancelling anything just because of some stupid pre-wedding jitters. Status report."

"As well as can be expected," he replied, "Everything had been put into places. Closest family and friends are seated on the first and second row. VVIP guests such as representatives of the congress, ambassadors to other countries, and several military generals are on the next two rows. All according to the protocol, yadda yadda. Same old song."

"And?"

"The only thing you should take note of would be that General Armstrong is seated at the west side of the aisle. It's only been half an hour of speeches—for formality's sake, really—and she already looked bored to death. Your ceremony won't take place in less than sixty minutes, and who knows how much worse her mood can be by that time. I suggest you avoid looking at that particular area during the procession. Better safe than getting your nerve wrecked by her wake."

"…I'll consider," came his reply, "Thank you. Is that all?"

He nodded.

Jean squished his cigarette butt onto the ashtray, ready to curse whichever uncultured swine let the cigarette remainings and ash piled up instead of emptying it halfway. He refrained from it, though, as he remembered he was the only one using said ashtray since they finished dressing him up (really, they technically only wore their formal military blue—why on earth did they require stylists for that?)

"How's Ri?" He asked instead.

A loud boof sound was heard as Breda plopped down on the armchair. "Would've known any better if only your girlfriend didn't make it clear; Ladies only. Men getting past this point must be ready to give their masculinity up—I'll let you choose, by my knee or my leg?"

"Oh… yikes."

"I can always sabotage the communication devices available there, Sir,"

Fuery chimed in from where he was seated—at the corner of the room, hunched over yet another weird instrument he was working on. It didn't matter whether he was in charge of wiretapping a terrorist group, or accompanying a certain Fuhrer with some 'stupid pre-wedding jitters'. The kid had always had anything to tinker. Anywhere, anytime. "We can hear what's happening over there using the cable phone in this room."

"For the sake of avoiding unnecessary commotion, Fuery, don't."

Breda straightened his back, patting his uniform a bit. "You're awfully quiet, Sir. Is something the matter?"

"How is that a problem?"

"I expected you to be more giddy at times like this."

"Experience taught us that keeping our emotion in check under any situation would almost always give us better outcomes."

"Yeah, yeah, said by the one who cried when he was the one who proposed."

Havoc merely sneered when Roy gave him a sharp look. Fortunately, Breda still got enough courtesy to hide his laughter under the disguise of a cough.

Roy slumped indignantly in his seat. "Let's drop the subject for now," he remarked, cursing how did this bastard find out under his breath.

There was silence for a moment, long enough for Roy to try calming his nerves.

It wasn't like he hadn't imagined walking down the aisle, her hand in his. Or spending the rest of his life with her—which was exactly what they had been doing all this time, frankly speaking, but then again, it would be different. They were not a foreign concept to him. After all, he had had planned everything the day he went to take the State Alchemist examination. Get your certification. Go back. Confess to her. Give her the happy life she deserves—all while using your knowledge for the good.

(But then the war happened. And things got complicated afterwards.)

Sadly, mentally preparing himself did not make him actually prepared for this moment. He had been calm as a cucumber for months, juggling between his new job as the Fuhrer (mostly) and making necessary arrangements for the big day (occasionally). He gave himself credits for that, at least. Yet, sixty minutes into it, and his mind started acting up like crazy—with a lot of what if's popping up out of nowhere.

Putting up a collected exterior was the most effective way for him to keep them under control. Roy guiltily admitted that he half-wished his mentor would be there, giving him free advices like he always did—not as a (former) superior officer, but as an old man who once lived a married life. Alas, said man was more interested in bragging about his granddaughter's wedding, as if there were not enough announcement regarding that already. Roy couldn't blame him, though.

His mother had helped him a lot in this, that was for sure. Yet he couldn't help but to wish for a man-to-man talk, for someone who would relate to him. The other man he thought he could ask for advices couldn't even see his daughter being the flower girl to Roy's wedding.

And then there was Ed. But a particular shrimp chastising him on what to do and what not to do was the last thing he needed. He stopped his train of thought there.

"Bring me some wine," he asked, fiddling with the medals on his chest absent-mindedly (poor stylists would have to fix them later), his gaze fell on something faraway beyond the window.

"No," Havoc tried his best not to laugh at the groom's scowling face. "As your best man, I don't want you to get tipsy during the whole procession. Unless you want to blabber your drunk thoughts instead of reciting your vow, that is."

"Ha. Very funny."

Breda shuffled in his seat lazily. "Calm your nuts. You staged a goddamn coup. You'll survive this."

"I know. But back then there were no tens of TV broadcasters live-reporting us."

A knock on the door, and Vato Falman excused himself in before neither of them said anything. "Actually, Sir, there will be only thirteen TV broadcasters covering the whole ceremony. The rest of them are, with their respective numbers, forty-five radio stations, ninety-seven news—"

"I know, Vato."

The lieutenant suppressed a smile and saluted, "Your Excellency, Sir, representatives from The Amestris Post have requested to meet you for an interview. Currently their crews are gathering in the smaller hall, waiting for your approval."

"Would be nice for appearances, Sir," Breda suggested, "The Amestris Post has been dominating newspaper circulation in Amestris for the last few years, especially in big cities like Central and South. They have quite the reputation. Good credibility, too."

"What a chance to be missed." If Roy tried to fake enthusiasm, he had failed miserably. "Breda, you go."

He didn't need to be told twice before standing up from his seat and left the room with Vato.

"Jean, give me one of those."

"Wha—oh, this?" he held up his cigarette pack. Plucking out one for himself, he offered it to his commanding officer. "I don't remember the last time you smoked, Boss."

"Something to relieve the anxiety. You guys won't let me have my booze anyway." Roy fiddled with his cigarette for a while, tapping its butt three times against his armrest. He glared at Havoc after getting no response from him. "You think I'm a walking matchstick?"

Jean Havoc snickered as he handed him his matches.

"Sir, uh, I guess the Major—Riza won't be pleased if she found out you smoke right before the ceremony."

Roy blew out the smoke. He seemed to cough a little, muttering this tastes terrible to himself. (Havoc was not amused.) "Chill down, Kain, it's not like she will bring any of her firearms beneath her dress white." Fuery shot him an incredulous look. "…won't she?" He added, as an afterthought.

He turned to face the taller man, "I assume Catalina is sane enough not to allow her otherwise?"

"Dunno, Boss. My guess is no better than yours."

There was yet another knock on the door before a man's voice called, "Your Excellency, Sir. There is someone proclaiming himself as Edward Elric requesting to see you. He—"

"Tell him to come back later," Roy cut in. "I still got things to—"

"NOW HOLD A SECOND!"

Mustang never get to finish his excuse as the door slammed open, revealing someone he was no stranger of.

Roy let out a heavy sigh, dismissing the security guards beginning to pry over the boy—man, he corrected himself—outside the door treshold. Here goes nothing.

Edward Elric made his unceremonious entrance. "I didn't hop into the train from Liore—in a literal sense, thanks to Alphonse for telling me the wrong departure hour—just to get shooed by you, Colonel Bastard." He plopped down on the armchair previously occupied by Breda. "You already look like shit. Don't try to also smell like one. Put that thing off."

"I would still look better in rags compared to you in your suit, thank you very much." He put off his halfway-burnt cigar on the ashtray.

"Aren't you a little too old for a marriage anxiety, Mustang? Last time I checked, you two already seemed to be married for a long time in every possible means. Sans legally."

"If you are here just to give me 'advices', or rubbing your marriage life off my face, Fullmetal, the security guards are more than willing to drag you out."

"Cut the bullshit," he retorted, "been there done that. You need this right now. I'm planning to travel to Creta at some point after my kid's been born. I don't really care with the military whatsoever, but I wouldn't like the press there making Amestris their laugh stock just because its dumb Fuhrer fainted indignantly in his own wedding."

"I already have my groomsmen for that," he gestured to the other two men present in the room.

Fuery and Havoc exchanged a look, as if they were silently arguing who would point out the elephant in the room to their boss. Havoc won this round. Fuery sighed.

"Your Excellency, umm, actually…" he looked back to Jean who gave him a pointed look—then to Ed, only to receive a scowl—then back to Roy, "I think Edward is right. You look like you need a proper talk on this, and neither I nor the Captain know exactly what to say. But Ed had been through this, Sir. He can help."

Edward's triumphant sneer was met by Roy's disapproving face.

"Mm'kay then, Boss," Havoc stood up from where he was sitting, "I'm gonna wait for you outside. Let me know if you need anything. Ready or not, we'll have to be at the altar in half an hour. Come on, Kain."

The bespectacled man considered bringing his devices along, but failed to do so since Havoc had practically dragged him out by his sleeve.

The door was shut, giving the two men a semblance of privacy.

"What brought you here, exactly?"

"I met Mrs. Gracia and she asked me to come here and calm you down, because that's what Mr. Hughes would do." He said. And because I know how nerve-wrecking this shit is and I want to make sure you old man won't die from it, he didn't say.

"He totally would," Roy snorted. "He surely missed a lot of things. That idiot."

"Uh-huh," Ed replied, quite unsure of what to say next. "Got your vow memorized?"

The older man gave him an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look, "To keep up with what my current job demands, I can memorize various speeches in one night—"

"No," he cut in. "You and your military ceremonial speeches are the last thing I'm concerned of. For this time only, Colonel Crap, don't be so full of yourself. How many times have you rehearsed it?"

Roy tried his best to hide his embarrassment—he doesn't have to, really. It's useless, Ed thought—"Every night before I fall asleep. For three months straight. Sometimes after waking up, I do it too, just in case." He said in a low voice.

"Excellent." Ed seemed satisfied with his response. Then he flashed the most annoying grin Roy had seen in a while, "I only did it for a month and half. Cry for your loss, Mustang."

"Shut up. At least your wedding were not covered by thirteen TV broadcasters, forty-five radio stations, and other ninety-seven news agencies—sixty-seven locals, thirty from the neighboring countries. Give me some credits, you Pipsqueak."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING MICROSCOPIC BIOTA THAT YOU NEED TO USE A HIGH-POWERED MICROSCOPE TO SEE IT—"

Mustang had to convince the security guards that'd barged in there, poising their guns, that the kid meant no harm to him.

"Really," Ed complained as the fuss had been cleared. "How could you live in such a tight security it's almost suffocating?"

"Necessary measures. More people tend to aim their crosshair at your head when you're here on the top."

"Attention-seeker," the blond muttered.

"Not gonna break a habit of a lifetime."

"Regardless," Ed tried to direct their conversation back to the right track, "media coverage or not, this too will eventually pass. It might looks enormous and frightening now. But it will end before even you knew it."

Roy spared him an incredulous glance, "are you trying to offer me encouragement now, Fullmetal?"

"You fucktard, just take it or leave it. I won't be kind enough to give you another."

Ed swore he would had choked his former commanding officer along with his irritating laughter were it not for the security guards surrounding the room they were in.

"That Winry girl sure had knocked some sense into your head. I assume she has taken her seat by now?"

"Of course. Alphonse is with her right now. She's very pregnant, but she's fine."

"The earth will be an interesting place with not one, not two, but three of your devil spawns, just you wait."

"Shut up." Edward crossed his metal leg. "How's Major—uh, Riza—doing, anyway?" Well, it was rather weird for him not to refer to her by her rank anymore, but it couldn't be helped. She had resigned from the military several weeks prior, and insisted him to call her 'just Riza' since.

His face softened at the mention of her name, Ed noticed.

"I… don't know. I hope she's doing better than me. She always did."

"…you don't know?"

"Pardon me, but I've got a conference at Aerugo to attend since last week, and somebody had to stay behind for the preparation. I just arrived here last night and hadn't seen her since, because a certain old man insisted that it was a taboo for the groom and bride to see each others on the day of their marriage before the procession took place. Old wives' tales." He paused for a moment. "I did make a phonecall before I depart for here, though. She insisted that she was fine… I hope it was really the case."

The elder Elric couldn't help but to make a face. "It looks hard when your life is not only yours to live."

"It does," he sounded really convincing, "but we knew what we signed up for. Couldn't ask for more, honestly."

"Yep." Ed looked at the clock, then straightened his suit. He only intended to give the man a brief visit, but it was as if the time passed quicker in that room relative to the rest of the world. "So you hadn't seen her since, what, last week?"

"So it seems."

"Beware, Mustang," he lowered his voice for the sake of sounding more dramatic, "Let alone not seeing her for a week—when she's there, in her dress white, make sure to keep your head level or you'll be thrown off your seat. I'm serious—I don't know the history behind women and their dress white but the moment they wear it, you're done for."

Roy let out a crisp laugh. "You think I didn't see your dumb face when Winry walked down the aisle?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's see which one of us makes the dumber face—I'm gonna bet for your glorious defeat, of course. Oh, look at the time. Better get going now."

Ed stood up and made some necessary adjustments to keep his appearance neat. Winry had made it clear that she wanted him to look proper for the day. He couldn't help but to compel.

Mustang looked at him for a moment in silence. The boy looked like he was thinking of something thoroughly. The furrow of his brows, the way his fists clenched—some things just never changed, after all. (Just like the way he called him Colonel Bastard, despite all the promotions he had achieved.)

"One more thing, Colonel Bastard. Take note because I won't say it again." he finally said, the word had been hanging at the tip of his tongue for quite a while.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Be happy, the two of you. I don't pretend to know the bad things you had gone through. And I won't even testify for your innocence should anything bad happen but… please. Even you deserve it. Make her happy. And if anything bad happened to her, I swear, not even these—" he gestured to their surroundings. Roy assumed he was referring to his security guards at the other side of the walls. "—guys can stop me from kicking you in the ass. With my metal leg. Mark my words."

Roy gaped at his sermon for a moment, but he quickly gathered his composure back. A genuine smile graced his expression, "Please do, Edward."

The knock on the door was a blessing for Edward Elric because, really, he didn't know what kind of expression he should wear after saying all those things to Roy. He seldom showed the man his emotions openly, and he was not about to change that fact.

"Oh, Chief, you're still here? We're about to start." Havoc appeared from behind the door. The stylists certainly did an amazing job at concealing the fact that he had been smoking there for hours.

He turned to face his commanding officer, offering a hand to help him getting on his feet. Roy took a deep breath.

"C'mon, Boss. Ready or not, here we go."

Fic took place in the same setting as my other two fics Monologues and Do you even have to ask?

Currently torn between posting a second chapter and keeping this a one-shot. Should I...?

Thank you for reading! Reviews would be highly appreciated XD