The Value of Perspective

Part 5 from Bragging Rights and Other Stories


Chapter One: A Nail...


Disclaimer: I do not own part or parcel of Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter, or any of their affiliated companies.


Roy Mustang can no longer count the number of times over the years he has been awoken in the middle of the night - unjustly, he might add. His slumber has been interrupted so often that now, at the gentle age of 29 years, he can no longer allow himself to end the evening with a proper nightcap. It is an absolute tragedy, but waking up insensate is too much of a hindrance.

Perhaps, if he charged an after-hours service fee, Roy would be on his way to an early retirement - wealthy enough to purchase his own piece of private coastline somewhere. Or - at least he would gain a wealth of sleep if not funds, because surely people would stop buggering him at all hours if they had to pay him for the pleasure.

Well - he may not be retiring to any private beaches soon, but his salary as a Colonel does well enough. He'll take the sleep, thank you very much. He rolls over, pressing the pillow over his head in an attempt to muffle the noises from downstairs and wishing half-heartedly that doing so would suffocate himself into somnolence. Roy refuses to dignify his alarm clock with a single glance; it was obnoxiously late when he'd finally clawed his way out from beneath the teetering piles of files and correspondence and paperwork in his downstairs office, and it's even later now.

There's not a shred of luck to be had, of course. Not only has the heavy fist pounding on his front door continued to do so, but now it's accompanied by the nuisance leaning on his doorbell so long Roy fears they may have put their whole hand through the mechanism. With a long groan of exasperation he rolls over, snapping on the bedside lamp.

"I'm coming!" Roy shouts in the direction of his front-facing bedroom window. He grinds his teeth while doing up his trousers and donning a thick pullover he'd left hanging over the footboard of the bed. The weather has been dreadful all week: the rainy season may last longer up in Central, but down in East City the rain comes harder, and the winds tend to rattle the windows no matter what charms he throws at them. He has absolutely no intention of catching a cold just from answering his door at all hours - whoever it is, they can damn well wait for Roy to put on a pair of socks.

If he gains some small, petty revenge by taking his own sweet time in actually answering the door - well.

Roy keeps one gloved hand in his trouser pocket just in case, as he finally stalks irritatedly down the stairs and through his pokey front hall. The knocking has started up again, more insistent than ever.

"Coming!" he calls once more. Roy snaps back the bolt without preamble, unlocks the door and throws it wide. The dim light that spills out from the hallway illuminates the shadowed visitors standing on his from steps in the storm. Roy can just make out Edward Elric - bedraggled and pale, long since soaked through by the rain. Alphonse looms behind his older brother, shifting in nervous agitation while drops of water ping hollowly off his metal plating. The waterlogged horsetail threaded through his helm hangs limp, sticking to his back. And… there is something bundled tightly in Edward's arms; it's wrapped securely in his red cloak to keep off the rain and held too close to the boy's chest to be visible, but whatever his burden is, it's large. Some substance appears to be smeared on Ed's cheek, but in the dim lighting Roy cannot discern whether it's blood or of less nefarious origin.

He swallows.


Roy wished, fervently, that he had never uttered the words.

There had been no shortage of opportunities to turn right back around from this recruiting venture. They should have stopped and headed back to East City when he'd first heard that the Elrics - a pair of brothers who had, from time to time, turned up on Eastern Headquarters' radar as a talent in a far-flung border town - were children. Of course, that only piqued his curiosity at the time; and after all, they were nearly in Risembool anyway. They'd already traveled more than a day's journey - why not just have a look? If these Elric brothers were so talented that they were beginning to gain some local renown as children, perhaps it would be worth his time to speak to their parents - maybe make an offer to sponsor the boys' higher education when they were old enough…

They'd come upon the house within the hour and knocked on the door. Twice. But it was clear no one was home - hadn't been home in several days. Roy didn't have to nose around further. He could have left then, and given the entire endeavor up as a bad job. Only… just a peek in the window, once. To double-check. The curtain was parted a bit - just there, see? What harm would it do to look? He'd craned his neck and caught a glimpse of a streak of blackened blood smeared on the floorboards just beyond the edge of innocent linen cross stitched in soft greens and purples.

Of course, Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye had to conduct a perfunctory investigation inside the house at that point.

All of these tiny decisions. The poking and prodding - the constant choice of 'just a little bit more' or 'just a little bit further' - had brought Roy Mustang to this point. Still, though - he had had a choice.

Now here he was, having barreled his way into the local healer's surgery. He'd looked at these two little boys - or, not so little, really. Not after what they'd torn themselves apart trying to accomplish. Roy was no slouch, he could comprehend the intent woven into that disastrous array in the abandoned basement, even if biology wasn't his chosen field of study. He coolly assayed the facts, the ruin they'd made of themselves - or tried to.

However, Roy could not find it within himself to remain aloof or anything approaching impartial. In the hopeless, hollow gaze of Edward Elric he could not help but see his own nephew Harry. Harry - who for the longest time would only fall asleep if Roy held him while reciting the periodic table by rote on nights when Maes had been called away for work. Harry was five years old now; clever, playful, and desperately curious. The little boy had been endlessly delighted when his uncle had begun patiently guiding him through a simple study of chemical reactions. They'd made homemade sparklers in the small yard of the townhouse Roy had purchased in East City. The Hughes's had paid him a house-warming visit, now that Roy had something better than the small flat he'd initially let upon first moving for his transfer to Eastern Command. Gracia had been tickled, and Maes had developed an entire new photobook from that single afternoon.

Harry was five. Presumably, that was how old these children had been when their mother had passed away - and when the gaping wound left in her absence presented Edward and Alphonse Elric with the impetus for… this.

If it had been Harry - but he wouldn't have. Roy would have been there. Maes had, point of fact, been in just the right place when Harry had needed someone. Somebody would be capable of stepping in now, if the unthinkable were to happen - multiple someones. Trying to imagine his nephew ever being driven to that depth of desperation turned Roy's stomach.

And so, he'd done it. Before he could think better of it - before he could reign in his own tongue - the offer Roy had only ever intended to make to a pair of established adults slipped from between his teeth and was made to a pair of orphaned minors instead.

"State Alchemist."

Roy could have kicked himself. Catching Riza's eye from the corner of his own, he was certain his Lieutenant would do exactly that once they'd left. It was too late however. He'd stoked a fire behind Edward Elric's gaze. Drive. Purpose, hope - Roy could almost perceive the sparks of thought which leapt to thought and grew into a white-hot blaze as the idea took hold. After years of practice, Roy was nothing if not capable of setting fire to things.

Even so - even if it was too late to reclaim his earlier proposition, Roy still extracted his business card and a pen from the pockets of his coat. He scratched out the address to his townhouse in East City on the back and held the card out to the younger brother after a moment's deliberation. The older boy was too absorbed in his thoughts, and the elderly surgeon, Roy suspected, was as like to throw the card out as not. He did think, though, that Alphonse might keep track of it.

"Take this - that's my personal address. Even if you decide against joining with the State, you are both welcome to stay here. I intend to assist you however I can."

Alphonse had been somewhat taken aback at the offer, but had nodded and murmured polite thank you's nonetheless. After that, Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye had politely excused themselves. They'd left the old healer's shop without fanfare and that had been the end of their encounter.

A little over ten months later, the Elrics had turned up together on his front steps, unannounced. It was a weekend - Roy hadn't planned for any visitors. Frankly, after not having heard a peep from either of the boys in nearly a year expressing interest in his offer one way or the other, he had since given up wondering if they would ever reach out at all. Now, here they were - nervous, determined, and carrying what Roy was sure was one very illicitly charmed suitcase between them. Roy stood in his doorway blinking down at his unanticipated guests. He still had one finger sandwiched between the pages of the book he'd been skimming when the doorbell had rung. There had been a twinge near his temples then - the budding pressure of a tension headache that later he would swear presaged exactly how much of a pain keeping tabs on Edward and Alphonse Elric would be.


"You… you never knock."

Any rude, annoyed greeting he would have made died a swift death in the back of his throat as soon as he saw who was on his front steps. Roy really ought to stop expecting these nighttime interruptions to be anything other than an emergency.

"I -" Ed swallows. "You… You have to invite us in. But not - I mean, you don't -" He stops himself, and glances briefly down at whatever he's carrying in his arms; looks back up at Roy, determined.

"Please Roy," the boy's voice cracks, "Please grant us shelter under your roof."

Well. If that's not a Request with a capital 'R'. The phrasing bears the ring of ritual intent and Roy shivers. Alarmingly, he feels as if they are being watched by some weighted gaze. Edward's face is wan and desperate in the thin light as he continues to clutch his burden close. If he were a cruel man - if Roy truly demanded it of him, right now, he thinks that this boy would actually beg on bended knee in this deluge. The very notion burns down the back of his throat like bile and Roy pays almost no mind to the dissipation of that measuring gaze as he hurriedly moves out of the doorway to allow the Elrics entry.

"Quick, get inside before you freeze." Both boys' shoulders sag visibly with relief and Edward rushes past him and into the hallway with a tight nod as thanks.

"Thank you, Colonel." Alphonse says feelingly, his voice a tinny sigh full of relief. He nods to Roy as he follows his brother into the home.

Roy trails after them down the hall, making a valiant effort to not wince over the dark trail of water blossoming in their wake as they hurry to the sitting room. Al begins switching on various lamps as his brother cuts a swift path towards the sofa and sets down whatever it is that Roy is not yet asking about. Or thinking about.

Before he can summon the presence of mind to do so himself, Edward turns and with negligent ease begins vanishing the sopping trail of water silently. Instead of staring exasperatedly as the boy employs a charm that he only learned in the past year with the ease of an adult, Roy turns to light the fireplace. Magic or no, Roy has had four years time to become accustomed to this Elric brand of improbable feats.

A sharp clap behind him, proceeded by the flare of alchemical energy while Roy is tending his hearth - followed closely by another swift clapped transmutation - and the boys are dried off by the time Roy has turned back around. The air in the room is now thick and humid as the lingering steam dissipates slowly. The cheerful blaze will hopefully put paid to the dampness soon. With the sitting room now properly lit, Roy can see that what he'd first feared was a smear of blood on Ed's face is instead a dreadful bruise darkening around his eye. It begins just above the left cheek and reaches out towards the bridge of the teen's nose. Roy suppresses the flare of concern for the moment; questioning Edward immediately about his injuries only puts his young subordinate on the defensive. For now, Roy leads with what he hopes is a much more innocuous question.

"Out of curiosity, why didn't you use a drying charm on yourselves as well?"

Ed shrugs one tired shoulder as he tucks his wand away, having taken it out again to place what he suspects is a warming charm around the sofa. The subject of which Roy is still not going to ask about yet.

Nope.

"S'really just meant for surfaces - doesn't always get in and around the seams of my automail or between the pieces of Al's armor unless you overpower the spell. The last time I tried that, I dried up the motor oil, so…"

Al snorts, apparently remembering the occasion. Roy just nods in acceptance. He has some inkling of what the boy's mechanic likely had to say on the topic - she is a rather formidable young woman, that Miss Rockbell…

While Roy's been woolgathering, Ed has started pacing agitatedly back and forth across the worn rug in front of the fireplace. Alphonse waits off to the side, unsure whether he should get between them or not, and - well. Whatever this fresh disaster is, it can't be good. Edward preempts any more of Roy's questions when he finally turns to look at the man, tugging on the roots of his fringe with one hand, and flinging out the other in frustration.

"Look. I've never asked you for anything, all right?" He bursts out.

All things considered, Roy feels he does a very good job of not pointing out that that statement is factually correct only because all the evidence shows that Edward Elric simply does things however he likes, whenever he likes. Without asking. And, despite what everyone else in the office, including Riza, - who bloody well ought to know better - seems to think, Alphonse 'Whoops Don't Worry Sir, I'll Clean Up That Potion Spill' Elric is not any better. Please refer to the itemized list of every single occasion in which Roy Mustang has arrived home after a long, dreadful day of shuffling paper across his desk, only to find his kitchen overrun by two teenaged boys - one clearing out the shelves of his icebox and pantry while the other tries to manage some bubbling mystery concoction on his poor, abused cooker. The days in which Harry 'Oh I Know Where He's Been Hiding the Good Biscuits' Hughes is added into the domestic chaos are… best not to think about those days, either.

Nope.

Clearly, some of Roy's thoughts must have been reflected on his face, because Ed rushes to clarify.

"I mean - I've never asked for a day off, or refused a mission, or called out sick, or anything…"

Roy cannot stop himself from lifting one eyebrow at that. Apparently, mandatory hospital recovery time does not count as a sick day - that's news to him. The boy steamrolls on, either not noticing or simply choosing to disregard his C.O.'s sardonic expression.

"…So I - I just. Please? I'm asking now and I promise I won't - well, I won't promise not to ask you stuff ever, because that's stupid, but… I promise I'll try not to ask for any big favors, just…" Edward sighs and looks up at Roy with beseeching eyes. "We really didn't know who else to go to. Please, we nee-"

"Big brother…?" A small, unsteady voice from the sofa sleepily interrupts Ed's nervous non-explanation.

Ed turns whiplash quick and immediately rushes to the sofa where Roy finally catches sight of what - or whom, rather - was hidden beneath that red cloak. A little girl sits up slowly as Edward settles carefully next to her and Alphonse hovers worriedly nearby. She scrubs the sleep from her eyes and in doing so, the cloak which concealed her slips down low enough to reveal one heavily bandaged forearm that's inexpertly wrapped.

A very familiar little girl.

Her auburn hair hangs loose and tangled around her, rather than in the two thick braids she tends to favor. Roy watches somewhat bemusedly as the boys fuss over the nervous child. Ed does up the fastenings on the cloak properly and casts another warming charm over her almost absently while Alphonse snatches the quilt off of the back of one armchair and tucks it gently around the girl's shoulders.

Now that she is properly awake though, her bottom lip is starting to wobble dangerously. Finally, the child's eyes begin to fill and rapidly spill over with tears.

"Ed - Edward…" she hiccups and begins sobbing in earnest. Ed scoops her up onto his lap, blanket and all - mindful of her arm - and attempts to soothe her.

"Shhhhh… It's all right, Nina. We're not there anymore. You're safe. Shhhh - I promise you're safe here. Soooo safe - look, big brother Al is here too, see?"

Somehow, Alphonse's hulking physical presence as he crouches down by the arm of the sofa exudes warmth and expansive comfort. He waves genially for the tearful little girl's benefit. She sniffles and reaches out to clasp his large gauntlet with her own two small hands, tears still streaming steadily down her face. Roy finally snaps out of his stupor.

"Fullmetal."

The tableau of comfort goes still.

"Why is Shou Tucker's daughter here in my sitting room in the middle of the night?"

They turn as one to look at the Colonel. Ed and Nina's eyes have grown wide as saucers. The brothers whisper hoarsely, nearly in unison.

"Um…"

Roy feels the migraine flaring at the base of his skull and he tries very hard not to grit his teeth.


Author's Notes: Originally, this story was only going to be about 2,000 words long.

And then it grew about 30 pages past that point.

Please Read and review - and stay tuned!