Title: Salve Regina

Author: Daeleniel Shadowphyre

Feedback: darkone2813 at mindspring dot com

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Angst, Action/Adventure, Romance

Rating: R

Pairing: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang (Het; genderswitch)

Summary: It was understood that Colonel Mustang was ambitious. Just how ambitious was carefully not spoken of among those who knew. The whys of that ambition were spoken of even less. Edward Elric has a habit of uncovering secrets, whether he means to or not.

Warnings: Standard Shadowphyre Warnings apply. Het, genderswitch, profanity, some eventual sexual content, nudity, and don't expect me to be apologetic about any of it.

Disclaimer:FullMetal Alchemist and related characters and themes belong to Arakawa Hiromu, Square Enix, and Funimation. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

Notes: Once upon a time, on the twenty-eighth of September, Asha tossed down the gauntlet of challenge in the steelandsparks LJ community. On the seventh of November, unable to resist a challenge even in the face of an already daunting number of works in progress, I picked the gauntlet up again and accepted the challenge. The guidelines were simple: well-written, beta'ed, well developed, and serious... genderswitch. On Mustang only. And Edward Elric must find out. -sweatdrops- Er, did I say those guidelines were simple? -clears throat- The title is Latin, meaning, "Hail to the Queen!"

Dedication: To Asha-- equivalent exchange.

Distribution: Ask, and ye shall receive.

-I-

HIS LEFT HAND was cold.

In the fuzzy blankness enshrouding his mind, Edward Elric wondered what had happened to his gloves. He always wore them, always, anywhere people could see him. It wasn't vanity, he told himself forcefully, not really; incidental that the plain white gloves - his only real concession to the military's leash beyond the silver pocket watch, he told himself - hid his automail right hand from view, diverting the looks of pity and morbid curiosity. Ed had yet to decide which of those looks was worse, but it didn't matter. The gloves were practical, keeping his flesh hand warm and--

--granite, calcium, quartz, silicon, lichen, plant matter, carbon, soot, iron--

--protected from the cold winds that blew through Central this time of year that no amount of soaking up desert warmth beforehand could protect him from. His hand spasmed briefly, fingers scraping against the pavement. Stifling a groan, he shifted and levered himself up from the ground. Pain sliced through his head and the groan broke free as an agonised whimper.

'Brother!'

The voice was loud, echoing and high. Ed flinched from the sound even as he reached out and caught hold of--

--iron, titanium, oil, iron oxides--

--Alphonse's plate-armour arm.

'M'alright, Al,' he mumbled, clutching at his brother's arm in an effort to haul himself upright. He couldn't feel anything from his right arm, which did not bode well for the condition of his automail. Winry was going to murder him.

'I want to murder you myself!' Al said indignantly from right above him. 'You really scared me this time, Brother.' The huge gauntlet hands were at odds with the scolding tone, gently lifting and helping Ed to sit slowly upright. Ed grit his teeth in a parody of his more usual manic grin as he fought for control of his roiling stomach. When he was reasonably sure his lunch would obey his commands to stay down, he tentatively cracked open one eye to look around.

He caught a brief glimpse of the alley, the smouldering remains of a warehouse, several blue-uniformed military personnel, and his own leather-clad legs before his vision swam. He clenched his eyes shut, unable to suppress a moan as he reflexively let go of Al to bring his hand up to--

--fibrine, albumen, nitrogen, phosphorus, sulphur, saline, potassium, iron, soot--

--the sluggishly bleeding gash over his left eye. Damn, he owed Mustang now, though he couldn't decide if he owed his bastard colonel a sucker punch to the jaw or a debt of gratitude. Not that he'd admit to the latter. Fuck, his head was hurting.

'Did we win?' he choked out. 'The hostages... Al, was anyone hurt or--'

'Brother, you're bleeding!' Al interrupted, his voice rising with alarm. Ed flinched.

'Not so loud!' he complained. He really didn't want to attract attention right now, not when his head felt like it was being split apart and his vision was faulty and his automail useless... and, damn it, he had no idea what had happened beyond a really spectacular explosion he doubted he was responsible for but would probably get blamed and raked over the coals for anyway. The measured rhythm of booted feet approaching told Ed all he needed to know about his chances of going unnoticed any longer and he slumped in Al's hold.

'Fullmetal, what's your status?' the aforementioned bastard colonel asked as he reached them.

In a shitload of pain, asshole, what the hell to you think my fucking status is? Ed thought with a snarl. He vaguely heard Al stammer out an apology of some kind. Why was Al apologising? Ed was the one who'd fucked up and gotten hurt.

'I have been able to overlook Fullmetal's insubordination when he isn't injured,' Mustang interrupted dryly. 'Although it can't be too bad if he is still insulting me.'

'Don't feel too special, bastard, it's probably reflex by now,' Ed gritted, forcing his eyes open enough to glare at his commanding officer. Despite his best efforts, the edges of his vision began to grey out and he let his eyes fall shut again.

'Fullmetal! Status!' Mustang barked. Ed tried to scowl, but that hurt too much.

'One. Big. Bruise,' he bit out tightly. 'Head trauma, concussion, um... can't tell if the cut's still bleeding.' He hesitated, then added reluctantly, 'Automail arm is disconnected and unresponsive.'

'It's shattered, Brother,' Al confirmed. Ed groaned.

'Winry is going to kill me!' he said with certainty.

'It is equally likely that Miss Rockbell will kill me,' Mustang remarked. The rustle of stiff fabric indicated he had crouched down next to Ed and Al, and a moment later Ed felt a warm hand on his shoulder where flesh met metal. The unexpected contact made him flinch, but both Al's and Mustang's hands kept him still. 'It appears that your arm was struck rather forcefully by flying shrapnel from the explosion. Shrapnel is also likely the cause of your concussion.'

It had to be Ed's imagination that Mustang was sounding guilty. Still...

'That'll teach me to duck better,' Ed grumbled. Then, because he wanted to get away from that topic and Al hadn't answered him earlier, he asked, 'What about the hostages?'

'Six of them have been accounted for,' Mustang said. 'We're still looking for the last three.'

Ed had to remind himself to breathe. 'I see.' His hand was clenched against his thigh; he relaxed it deliberately, keeping his palm facing up. Thinking hurt - everything hurt, really - but he made himself concentrate. 'Al, could you find Hughes? He needs to know what I learned while I was in there.'

'Are you sure, Brother?' Al asked worriedly. 'You're injured, surely it can wait...' Ed cracked an eye open and tilted his head to look up into the visor of the helmet that served as his brother's head, forcing his lips to stretch into something closer to a smile.

'Sooner the better, eh?' he said with a flippancy he didn't feel. 'C'mon, go get Hughes. Colonel Bastard here can make himself useful.' He let his eye fall shut again as his brother blurred and greyed. With his eyes shut, he couldn't see the looks he knew were being exchanged between his brother and his commanding officer, but he felt it when Al's cool armour arm shifted and was replaced by Mustang's smaller but no less sturdy flesh arm.

'I'll be right back, Brother,' Al assured him, gauntlet brushing tentatively light against Ed's shoulder. Then he was up and moving, the quiet clank and rattle of armour echoing off the walls of the alley as he moved away. Ed waited until he could barely hear the metal footsteps against the pavement before he rolled his head in Mustang's direction.

'Sir,' he said soberly, ignoring the way Mustang's body tensed against his at the professional address. 'Two of the hostages are dead. A man and a woman. The man was killed in front of us to make a point. The woman--' He stopped, bile rising in his throat again. This time, the nausea would not be quelled, and he barely managed to roll himself over and away from Mustang before his stomach heaved.

Strong, warm arms wrapped around his torso, supporting him up away from the pavement without confining him. The heaving and the change in angle made his head throb and he felt weak and unsteady. It was all he could do to keep from going limp in Mustang's arms, and he really didn't want that humiliation on top of this one. He breathed harshly, spit to clear his mouth, and coughed.

'She screamed for a long time before they finally shot her,' he said, his voice scratchy and hollow in his ringing ears. 'They took turns. And made the rest of us watch.'

The arms around his chest tightened convulsively, making Ed want to squirm. The action didn't feel bad, really, but the feelings it implied from Mustang - concern, protectiveness, and a wish to comfort - made Ed uncertain. The idea that Mustang had a certain interest in the well being of those under his command, particularly Ed and his brother, was not a new one as anyone in Mustang's unit could attest to. He was not, however, demonstrative about it in any sort of overt fashion-- out of a sense of dignity, Ed thought, both for his staff and himself. Wanting to move past this bit of awkwardness, he said quickly, 'Everyone else was still alive when all hell broke loose.'

To his relief, the statement did the trick. Mustang's arms loosened around him, allowing Ed the room to roll himself back to his previous sitting position. Oh. Damn. Bad move, he thought as his head began to throb again.

'How are you really feeling, Fullmetal?' Mustang asked dryly. Ed snorted softly, not daring to make the sound more pronounced for fear of what it would do to his head.

'Like my head wants to contest Major Armstrong for his fucking alchemist title, and like I might fall off the damn world if I open my eyes,' he admitted acerbically, 'and if you tell Al that, I'll transmute you into a fucking paperweight.'

'Oh, spare me, anything but that!' Mustang snorted. 'If I offer you a hand, could you stand up?'

'Don't put yourself out on my account, bastard,' Ed mock-simpered, opening his eyes to look up at Mustang. He was startled at how close the other man was to him, but had to squeeze his eyes shut again as the world chose to move without him. 'Slowly,' his said grudgingly, low-voiced.

'Try to get your feet as far under you as you can when I lift,' Mustang murmured, reaching out to take--

--dihydrogen monoxide, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, ammonia, calcium, adenosine, nitrogen, phosphorus, sulphur, potassium, iron, sodium chloride, copper, zinc, magnesium, cobalt, iodine, testosterone, estrogen--

--Ed's bare left hand in his own bare right hand. Ed's eyes flew open involuntarily to look--

--magnesium, calcium sulphate, albumens, sodium, lipids, dihydrogen monoxide, white blood cells, potassium, chloride bicarbonate, fibrinogen, amino acids, haemoglobin, glucose, protein chains, globulins, iron, oxygen--

--up into Mustang's face. The colonel's eyes widened, startled, not having expected--

--deoxyribonucleic acid, adenine, glucose, cytosine, thymine, sodium ions, guanine, phosphate, potassium ions, phospholipids--

--for Ed to look at him. He was still pulling Ed up and Ed had to fight around the dizziness and confusion and--

--estrogen, chromosomes, oxyhaemoglobin, iron, carbon dioxide, testosterone, ribonucleic acid--

--pain raging through his head in order to get his feet somewhat under him. His ears were ringing. As his vision began to fade and tunnel, he could hear--

--XY chromosomes, XX chromosomes, protein chains, XX, XX, XY, XX, XY, XY, XX--

--Mustang as if from a great distance, calling his name, yelling for Ed to stay with him.

Yes, ma'am, Ed thought giddily as blackness overtook him and he descended into the dark silence of unconsciousness.