Title: After The War
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: RoyEd
Words: 638
Rating: T
Warnings: Language, minor Angst, Fluff
Summary: Ed's still readjusting to life away from the front - one step at a time.

A/N: In a vain attempt to make myself look productive I'll be adding some of the prompts and drabbles from my tumblr. A semi-follow-up to my RoyEd fic Incubus.

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or the characters, only the writing is mine.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa

Mustang set a plate laden with scrambled eggs down in front of Ed. To his credit, the blonde waited for the older man to retract his hand before he dove in to his breakfast with gusto. Fitting as many pieces of egg on his fork as it could hold, he took a bite. Then another and another.

Roy chuckled to himself, shook his head and sat down to his own breakfast at the small, round kitchen table.

After his fifth mouthful of egg, the young alchemist went still, staring at his plate as if it were an archaic array whose purpose he could not fathom.

"Something wrong?" Roy asked. Sudden apprehension made his muscles tense and a litany of doubtful whispers filled every corner of his head. Perhaps, after last night, Ed had changed his mind about them? "Are my culinary skills that deplorable?"

"What?" Ed blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "Oh...no! They're great. I mean this is..." he waved the hand holding the fork out between them. Roy wasn't sure if the motion was meant for the food or if he was trying to encompass the space between them in a metaphorical representation of their situation.

Seeming to be at a loss for words, Ed played with his food, moving it about his plate. Beneath the table his right leg bounced up and down against the tile, repeatedly. "They're not powdered."

Oh—Roy's muscles relaxed—so that was the crux of it.

Mustang smiled grimly. He felt the bittersweet decent of nostalgia as he recalled coming home from Ishval years ago and having to endure the reawakening of his taste-buds to food that wasn't powdered, preserved or cured in salt. It had taken him awhile to acclimate to real eggs—among other things— again.

It was only logical that Fullmetal, still so fresh from combat, would not be immune to the bland reminder on his palate telling him that he'd spent the last ten months as a soldier of war. Roy desperately hoped—both selfishly and for his lover's sake—that it would be the only memento Ed carried home from the front.

All the same, he felt the quick coil of anxiety that had constricted his heart melt away.

"If I would have known you enjoyed them so much, Edward, I would have stocked some in the pantry for you,"

"Don't be a bastard," Ed glared daggers across the table at the raven haired man. "That imitation shit's disgusting." He pantomimed retching up the aforementioned powdered eggs.

Roy tried his best to look chastised and failed. He hid his smirk in his coffee cup.

"It's just...during—" Ed's voiced sobered. Roy looked up from his coffee and could visibly see the muscles in Ed's jaw working. "I never thought I'd get to eat real eggs again."

His aurelian eyes found Roy's starless beryls: neither looked away. Ed swallowed hard and licked his lips. "That we'd get to—"

He swiftly broke eye contact.

Ducking his head, the blonde hid his eyes behind the fringe of his hair and jabbed his fork angrily at his food. Spearing a fluffy, yellow piece of egg on the silver tines, he chewed it mercilessly. 'Stupid, stupid.'

Roy reached across the table and laid his hand over the fist Ed had clenched on the tabletop. He squeezed it feeling the reassuring flex of muscles and bones, the comforting warmth of flesh beneath his palm. How many times during those ten months had he had to reassure himself that the young man before him was still there? Still alive?

And Ed felt ashamed because he'd voiced part of his own fears?

Oh Ed.

Rubbing his thumb in a slow soothing circle across the back of Edward's hand he said. "You're not the only one."

End.