Set in one of those vague AUs where it's post-series, but Ed's still got his alchemy and automail. Because I need Ed to have his automail, I need it to be a party at the Fuhrer's- and just no way was I giving Bradley a party. Whatever, it's not a plot-heavy fic, so I'm okay with being a little loose with the setting. And! Crack fic. Shameless crack fic. This has been written for forever, put off posting it because I was hoping to make myself take it seriously, but... I just can't. So. Crack fic. Threeshot, updates weekly. Enjoy! (I'm also verrrrryyyy close to start posting an angst disaster, so, keep an eye out for that one as well!)
"I hereby declare that Edward Elric is no longer allowed to partake in alcohol. Any at all. Ever. Aiding him in deviation of this ruling is punishable by death. Edward, if you somehow break this law without any assistance, then I will remove your arm and beat you over the head with it until you are unconscious. That is all."
"Fuck you you're not even Fuhrer yet YOU CAN'T MAKE ANY LAWS I HOPE YOU DIE IN A DITCH YOU ROTTEN SON OF A-"
"The new law has been recorded, sir," Hawkeye responded calmly, writing away on the folder in her lap to set the new ordinance into stone. "Is there anything else?"
"What?!" Ed screeched. "You, too, Hawkeye?! Come on, isn't this an abuse of power?! Why don't you shoot him for this?!"
She gave him an incredulous look, as if the statement was simply ludicrous. "Because he's already been shot, Edward. Being shot more than once would be unfairly punitive."
"More than once..." the bastard whined, clutching at his heart. "More than once, she says. Why is just once okay? Come on, Hawkeye; must you be so cruel? Can't you take pity on me for this? Just this once?"
"Because you've already used the just this once excuse to get out of paperwork, sir. Three times. This past week."
Ed chortled, and Mustang let his head droop, crestfallen. Beaming in satisfaction, he sat back and tucked an arm behind his head, settling in comfortably. "So, since we can all agree that one's full of shit, then-"
"Absolutely not, Edward," Hawkeye interrupted, not even needing for him to finish that sentence. "His law still stands."
"What?!"
"Oh, I agree with her, Brother," Al piped up from his corner, completely betraying him, just like that, and all with an innocent smile. "Given how this turned out, I think it's safest if we just follow what General Mustang says."
Ed stared at him in horror, valiantly ignoring the smug chuckle that came from his left. "Okay, things may have gotten a little out of hand-" he began, trying to sound persuasive and convincing.
"You're both in hospital beds, Brother."
"...Okay, a lot out of hand- but it's still entirely his fault! HIS! Not mine, HIS! He does not get to blame me, not this time!"
"MY fault?! You're the one who-"
"Gentlemen, please," Hawkeye reprimanded stiffly, her eye twitching in annoyance. "We've already gotten complaints twice that the entire floor can hear you."
Ed huffed, forced to only have the out of glaring furiously at the bastard, wishing he had the benefit of being close enough to punch him. Mustang returned the glare in kind, fingers twitching like he wanted to snap, and Ed decided that the moment Hawkeye and Al were gone, the jerk was getting a pillow to the face.
Al spoke up again, though Ed could tell by his voice that he wanted to postpone the upcoming fight just as much as find out the answer to his question. "I still don't really understand how all this happened, though. I mean... just..." He paused for a moment, struggling to put his incredulity into words. He gestured between the two of them, still looking somewhat stunned. "What exactly... how much went wrong for you two... in what way did you two screw up so badly to... I mean... just, how."
The both of them looked between each other, glaring daggers the moment their eyes met, and Ed reluctantly had to concede his brother had a very, very good point.
He knew he had a reputation for attracting insanity and chaos, but really, this was beyond even his standards.
Next to him, Mustang raised a hand, and Ed could tell without even looking at him that he was smirking. "Well, that's simple, Al. It all started four years ago, when your brother decided to become a pain in my ass and-"
"I meant what happened a couple days ago, sir."
He smirked again. "As I said, it's simple. It all started four years ago-"
"Oh my god, just shut the fuck up and let me tell it, bastard."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because," Ed growled, gritting his teeth in irritation, "if you don't, I'll kill you."
"...So, it all started four years ago-"
"I'll tell Hawkeye the thing you told me not to!"
Finally, that woke him up.
Mustang stared at him, eyes suddenly blazing. He ground his teeth and seethed silently at him, and Ed just smirked victoriously all the while, knowing he had won. At last he sat back with an enraged huff, folding his arms stiffly and looking annoyed enough to kill someone. "Kindly go and jump into an active volcano, Fullmetal," he snarled, and, beaming, Ed turned away from him and began to explain how everything had gone wrong.
"All right. This all started when the bastard over there turned into General Idiot..."
Edward Elric, legendary the People's Alchemist, youngest State Alchemist in the history of Amestris, world renowned Fullmetal extraordinaire, had a plan.
It was a perfect plan, absolutely foolproof and flawless to every last detail. He knew it would work, work so well Colonel Bastard would never even know the difference. It was perfect.
He was going to get a drink. And he was going to get it, because Mustang was going to give it to him.
And it had all started because Colonel Bastard was an absolute bastard.
"Are you joking, Fullmetal? I'm not buying you alcohol. You're SIXTEEN."
"Yeah, yeah, we literally overthrew the government. I'm supposed to believe you care that much about breaking the law you won't even buy me a drink? I just want to taste it, hell."
"What? No, it's not the law I'm concerned about. It'd be irresponsible of me, Ed. I'm not buying a kid, especially one your size, alcohol."
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL ONE DROP OF BOOZE WOULD KILL HIM?!"
"That would be you."
Right.
Like he'd said.
Bastard.
And, all because of that, Ed had stuffed himself into formal wear, reluctantly combed his hair, and, groaning all the while, sat glumly in a taxi and asked to be driven to Fuhrer Grumman's estate.
It was the antique's birthday. Ed had been a little surprised when the invitation had turned up in his mailbox, having long since retired from the military and never having even met him. But, he and Mustang were the faces of the government revolution that had happened on the Promised Day, Al had explained; it only made sense the new Fuhrer would try to stay on good terms with the both of them.
He'd not been planning to go at all, absolutely nothing about a military function appealing to him more than a night in the library.
The prospect of getting back at Mustang had changed his mind.
Currently, Ed stood near the back of the ballroom, in phase one of his plan. Grumman had yet to make his entrance, allowing his guests to mingle- Ed had dodged attempts at conversation from three generals and one already drunk colonel so far- and lingered in a corner, his eyes on his target. Mustang was right in the thick of things, cheerily talking up high ranking officials- the bastard hated small talk as much as he did, but he sucked it up to climb the political ladder- and very best of all, his full wine glass was in hand.
Ed snickered, rubbing his hands together.
Time to initiate phase two.
Phase two being Catherine Armstrong.
Catherine approached, smiling very sweetly, and Ed moved just close enough to eavesdrop, grinning all the while. He pretended to be fussing with a tablecloth, remaining out of Mustang's sight, but he couldn't stop a chuckle when Catherine finally made contact.
"Oh, General Mustang! How nice to see you here!" Flutter of eyelashes, faint flush of shyness...
"Miss Armstrong! I didn't realize you were here, as well. How have you been?" Hook, line, and...
"Quite well, General. Actually, sir, I was wondering... would you care to dance?" Cute flush again, small, charming smile for good measure.
Mustang chuckled. "Dance to no music, Miss?"
"Of course. Dancing without music is an art passed down through the Armstrong family for generations, General!"
Ed faltered, wincing a bit. Right. Even cute, she was still an Armstrong.
Mustang seemed to have had a similar reaction, turning away to cover his mouth with one hand, shuddering. "You really are your brother's sister," he said weakly, but Catherine did not give him the time to recover from being reminded of Alex Louis.
"Thank you kindly for the compliment, General." She held out a hand then, smiling so sweetly again. "But you wouldn't leave a lady waiting, would you?"
"I... well, of course not, Miss Armstrong." He took the proffered hand in his, then left his wine glass down on a nearby table with a flourish, taking her away from the table with a twirl.
Ed nearly burst out laughing.
He'd been right: the lecher couldn't resist a young, pretty woman flirting with him- even if he looked like a complete idiot right now, dancing through a crowd of staring generals without a beat of music and Armstrong's sister in his arms.
"Pervert," he muttered under his breath, snickering, then turned his attention towards the wine glass left abandoned on the table. Time for phase three.
Fuhrer Grumman's entire estate was over an anti-alchemy array, an ingenious beauty of equations that managed to perfectly match any alchemic energy produced within it and cancel it out. It had made planning a little more difficult, but Ed wasn't a genius for nothing, after all. Alchemy wasn't his only recourse. Ed swiftly picked up Mustang's glass, replacing it with his own water, then dunked in the red food coloring. It mixed in after a few swirls, and with another surreptitious glance across the room to check on Mustang, he added a few shakes of the salt on the table.
After all, he couldn't very leave the substitute tasting like water. Mustang would notice. The fact that it'd leave the bastard coughing up salt water was just a bonus.
Wine now in hand, Ed stood back to observe his victory, grinning all the while. He looked across the ballroom for Mustang, searching for any sign of his pervert general amongst all the others- but there was nothing. Where'd that bastard get off to?
"Fullmetal?"
Ed nearly spilled his ill-gotten goods all over the carpet.
"M-Mustang!" he stammered, whirling back around to find general standing directly behind him. "How'd you- ...what the hell happened to you?"
The general grimaced bitterly, rubbing the bright red, perfectly formed handprint on his face. "Olivier Armstrong happened," he groused, picking up the red salt water from the table without a second glance. "She saw me dancing with her younger sister and was... displeased."
"Serves you right, lecher."
"Catherine's the one who approached me!" Mustang sputtered indignantly, rubbing at the slap again. "I didn't- I'm ten years her senior, for god's sake! She just- whatever. I'm just glad to have gotten away with my skin." He raised the glass to his lips, then blinked, looking at him closer. "...So, you scammed someone into getting you a drink after all."
Ed snickered again. "Something like that. What, you still going to try and be responsible and take it from me?"
Mustang shrugged unconcernedly, one eyebrow raised in outright amusement. "No. Now I'm not being irresponsible, whichever general that gave you the drink is." He looked out over the rim of his glass, mouth twitching in a restrained smile. "Well, Ed? You going to partake in your ill-gotten goods or just stare at it?"
"...You're looking at me weird."
The general's grin broadened. "Yes. I'm currently trying to decide how much liquor your pipsqueak body can handle. The first time a kid drinks is always amusing, after all... I'm going to have to stick close to you throughout the evening to enjoy myself to the fullest."
Another smirk.
Should've poisoned his glass, damn it.
"I'm. Not. A. Kid." And, that said, Ed gave the general another vicious look of irritation and tossed back a gulp of wine.
Then promptly had to lock his teeth together to stop himself from spitting it right back out again.
"Something wrong, Fullmetal?" Mustang prodded smugly, eyes glinting in amusement, and it took about everything he had not to gag.
It was fucking vile.
Somehow shaking his head, Ed gritted his teeth and swallowed the mouthful, shuddering violently as it went down. And fuck, the aftertaste was even worse. It tasted like straight liquid medicine, for god's sake. This was horrid.
Mustang chuckled quietly, eyes bright. "I see your taste buds haven't matured enough to enjoy the taste of a fine wine, Fullmetal. Not to worry. It is an adult drink, after all; I couldn't expect a child to be able to enjoy it." Nodding sagely, Mustang tilted his own drink before reaching out a hand to take Ed's.
He jerked back, flesh hand clenching around it and metal fist clenching with the urge to punch the smug smirk straight off his face. "Don't know what the hell you're talking about, bastard," he snapped, and took another sip. "S... see? I l-love... it."
"Really."
Another forced, disgusting mouthful. "Yep. Really."
"...Edward, you really expect me to believe- oh, come on."
...
"Ed, there's no need-!"
...
"Ed, come on!"
...
"God, you're going to make yourself sick."
Ed met Mustang's flat, incredulous stare without flinching, swallowed the last mouthful, shuddered, then let the now empty glass drop down to the table. "S... s... see?" he snapped when he could talk again, wincing at the downright sickening taste in his mouth, and found himself fighting the urge to cough. Or vomit. "T-totally... loved it."
"I can see that," Mustang said, smirking again, and Ed swallowed back bile that tried to rise at the repulsive aftertaste.
The general rolled his eyes, shaking his head at him. "Just don't come crying to me when you feel like shit about ten minutes from now." He drank from his own glass, then stopped short the moment he got the first taste, pulling a face. It looked like it was just as hard for him to swallow as it had been for Ed, and the displeasure on his face was just about the only thing that could've made him feel better in that moment.
"Never tasted wine like that before," Mustang said, face still set in a grimace, and delicately set the almost untouched drink back down on the table. "I take back what I said earlier, Fullmetal. This is terrible, whether you're a kid or not."
Ed raised an eyebrow, barely able to stop a victorious grin. "Oh, you don't like it, General? I thought it was a drink for adults. Guess I'm just more grown up than you!"
Mustang looked close- so close- to rising to the challenge and guzzling salt water. Ed was almost bouncing with anticipation when Mustang raised the glass again, but one sip later and the general shook his head, making another face and putting it back down for good.
"I'm sorry, nothing is worth that. Enjoy your wine, Fullmetal."
Ed got the feeling Mustang would've tipped his hat if he had had one, the general bidding his farewell before inserting himself directly back into conversation with the other mingling officials. Ed watched him for a moment, still smirking victoriously, then coughed and went to go hunt for food.
The next time Roy saw Ed, the kid was staring out into space.
Which wasn't that concerning, but, five minutes later, when Roy exited his conversation with a southern general and found that Ed still hadn't moved an inch, he worried something could be wrong.
He glanced at his pocket watch, frowning. Twenty minutes since their last interaction. Given Ed's small stature, and that it was his first drink in his life, Roy would've expected him to be showing something by now- he certainly would've expected something besides blankly staring at nothing.
Extricating himself from another budding conversation, Roy slid between the crowd of people and approached his former subordinate, trying to meet his glazed stare. Ed showed no sign he could even see him, and Roy bit his lip, trying not to worry.
"Fullmetal," he called quietly, and when that didn't elicit a single change in his condition, Roy stepped forward again, standing directly in front of him. "Hey. Ed."
Golden eyes blinked slowly, but his blank expression didn't waver at all. He swayed a little, obviously unsteady, and Roy's hand shot out to grip his shoulder, holding him in place. The contact made him blink again, but his eyes remained empty of recognition, and Roy grimaced, mind racing. What was going on? He wasn't drunk, and one glass of wine wouldn't have gotten him there, anyway. But he'd really seemed fine just twenty minutes ago...
At a loss, Roy both put his hands on the boy's shoulders and shook him firmly again, still trying to not attract any attention. "Edward! Edward!"
Ed blinked again, a hazy, confused look filtering into bleary eyes. His mouth moved silently before he blinked again, and this time, Ed met his stare.
"Ge... General?" he mumbled, sounding unbelievably confused, and he blinked uncertainly again. "I..."
Roy bit his lip, concern still rising. "Ed," he pressed, lowering his voice belatedly at an uncertain look from a nearby colonel. "Ed, are you all right?"
"...'M really... tired..."
Tired? The kid was more than tired, Roy knew that just looking at him- but the lack of real coherency was worrisome. He glanced around the ballroom for a few moments, nervous, then tightened his grip on Ed's shoulder, leaning down so they were eye to eye. "Okay, Edward, do you think you can walk?"
A long silence followed, very little comprehension in Ed's gaze, and then a mumbled, "Yeah..."
He pursed his lips. "Okay. We're going to go for a little walk, then. Just outside; some fresh air. All right, come with me, Ed, come on- woah, steady, now!" He gripped Ed's shoulder even tighter when the kid's legs almost crumpled, struggling to both keep him upright and stop the others around him from realizing something was wrong. "Come on, Ed, this way... "
Ed was barely on his feet by this point; Roy had to lead him from behind, both hands on his shoulders and pushing him as quickly as he could without causing the kid to topple. Roy went for the nearest door that he could, the exit to the balcony all the way across the room and he wasn't about to try and get Ed that far with all these people watching. Right now his primary concern was just to get the kid away from the party; once out of the room, then he could take a closer look and see what was really going on.
The closest exit took him to a small servant's room, and he roughly yanked the door shut behind him without care, tugging his subordinate over to a window. He unlatched and opened it before pulling Ed even closer, trying to get him to feel the cold draft blowing in from outside. "Ed, come on, focus. Try and wake up a little."
Ed shook himself a little in the cold blast of wind, but not nearly as much as he should have. "'M fine, Col- General," he slurred tiredly, then tried to shake the hands off his shoulders. "What're you d-doing, pervert?"
Roy grimaced, still keeping a cautious hand on Ed's shoulder in case he started to fall. "Trying to help you," he muttered under his breath, then reached up to feel his temperature and pulse. No fever, his heartbeat seemed normal... "Ed, look at me. Hey! Edward!"
"...What?"
Really concerned now, Roy impatiently palmed Ed's chin, forcing him to turn around then holding him still, searching for more symptoms. Dilated, distracted eyes met his, and Roy stared.
"...Ed, did you take something?!"
Ed blinked, the biting irritation in his voice and the cold, fresh air finally enough to rouse him a bit. "Wha... like, drugs? No!"
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Mustang!"
Roy grimaced again. "How much did you have to drink?" he pressed, and Ed's bleary glare intensified.
"Nothing! Just... just your wine..."
"But that doesn't make any sense. Just one glass wouldn't- wait, my wine?"
Ed blinked again, mumbling something unintelligible. He raised a heavy arm to rub his eyes, fingers fumbling and missing their target a few times, then sighed in resignation. "Yeah. The wine was yours. ...I switched our glasses."
...
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unbelievable.
"Ed, what the hell-"
"Leave me alone, bastard," the kid groused, batting off his hand. "I'm sixteen, can drink if I... if I want."
"From my glass?!" Roy stared at him disbelievingly, but at the still glazed stare that was his only response, he took a step back and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, taking a breath. Priorities, Mustang, he reminded himself. There'd be plenty of time to chastise the kid for this later, when Ed wasn't sick.
Sick in a way that made no sense, he remembered, looking him over again. Twenty minutes ago, Ed had been perfectly fine, and the only thing that had happened in the interim was the addition of a single glass of wine. A single glass of wine meant for him.
Roy groaned.
And, there it was.
"Damn thing was probably poisoned," he muttered, fist clenching. As a highly ranked military officer with many enemies with just as many stars on their shoulders, assassination attempts were not terribly uncommon. After the Promised Day, it had gotten worse, generals still loyal to Bradley lurking in the military and going after him as the face of the coup d'etat that had taken place that day.
And Ed, because of course this was how things would turn out, had stolen the poisoned drink meant for him.
"You are the unluckiest kid in the world, you know that?" he muttered, taking Ed by the arm and turning him around. "Come on. We've got to get you out of here."
Ed hummed at him disinterestedly at him and swayed, seeming to be zoned out again, and Roy groaned, chewing nervously at the quick of his thumb. This was not good. He paced quickly back to the door to the ballroom, still holding his former subordinate upright, and paused stiffly, searching through the window for the quickest beeline to the exit.
What he saw instead made him curse.
The exit was directly across the room, about as far away from them as it could be. And in between them and freedom were all six generals, himself excluded, all ten of Central's colonels, the Fuhrer himself, and...
Two men, dressed as security and not party guests, were walking steadily right towards him. Both were reaching, not so subtlety, for their sidearms.
...Shit.
"Edward?" he prodded quietly, waiting in nervous tension until the kid gave a mumbled sort of recognition at him to continue on. "Remember when you said you could walk?"
"Y... Yeah..."
"Well, you think you can give me the same answer if I asked you about running?"
...
"Uh, Edward?"
His belated answer came in a muted thump from behind him and a heavy tug on his arm, and a look over his shoulder saw that Ed's legs had given out on him, and now he sat crumpled on the floor, blinking hazily and trying to swallow a yawn.
"Yeah," he mumbled tiredly after a moment, still staring at the floor. "Yeah... I think I could run..."
"You've got to be kidding me. You can't even stand!"
"...Mmm..."
Rolling his eyes, Roy turned back to look through the door and found the two men were still headed their way. He had less than a minute now- and was very woefully unarmed. His ignition gloves were worthless on the entire estate, his gun was locked away at home, and Ed, normally a veritable force of nature, was currently nearly asleep and drooling on his shoe.
"Damn it, Fullmetal, this is all your fault. Somehow, some dammed way, this has got to be your fault." He knelt down in front of him, tugging insistently on his arm. "Come on! You were awake enough to walk over here; you're awake enough to get on my back!"
"Wha- pervert!"
Roy scowled. Figured; that would wake him up. "I'm going to need my hands, Fullmetal. I can't carry you. I don't like it any more than you, now get on my back, and you damn well better hang on, because if you fall off I'm not coming back for you!"
"Oh, go to hell, you old bastard!" But two arms did- reluctantly- wind around his neck, even with the added jab by his ear. "You breathe a word of this to anyone, and you... I'll... uh..."
Roy rose with a grunt, hefting Ed more securely onto his back. He glanced worriedly around the room then staunchly set off in a random direction, headed anywhere that was not towards his armed pursuers, gritting his teeth with the effort. "Quite eloquent, Fullmetal."
"Shut up. My brain's broken."
Taking another breath, Roy headed down the hallway as fast as he could with a lanky sixteen year old draped across his back. He slipped through another doorway just at the sound of a door slamming open behind him and picked up the pace, gritting his teeth. How the hell had it come to this?!
Of course, it wasn't really a question. Take a nice night of dancing with fine women and drinking fine wine, add a dash of Edward Elric, stir thoroughly, and voila. Complete disaster in the making.
Roy darted through another door, groaning when he found yet another hallway and still nothing to point him to the exit. There was another slam behind it, instantly followed by a shout of, "General Mustang, wait!"
"Yeah, so you can shoot me this time? Don't think so." Panting, he turned down another hallway, already struggling to keep up his initial pace. Ed weighed heavier and heavier on his back by the second, metal leg clunking against his back and metal arm achingly heavy on his chest. He swerved into the nearest side room with another gasp, stumbling against the wall to make even an attempt at catching his breath.
"Out of shape, are you?"
He scowled between gasps, fists clenching. "Maybe if you didn't weigh twice as much as someone your tiny size should..."
"Who are you calling so short they'd drown in one stepstool to get out of bed?!"
"...What?"
There was a second of uncertainty, then the added weight of Ed's head dropped onto his shoulder, coupled with a groan. "My brain's turning off, Mustang," he mumbled tiredly, and the flesh hand curled subtly to grip his collar. "Seriously. Hurry up."
There was a low quaver in Ed's voice then, a tremble so faint he almost missed it, but it was there. It gave him pause, stilling shoulders that had started to shake under the weight. The kid was clearly scared... trying to hide it, but still, scared. Not of their nameless, second-rate pursuers, but the poison itself. Ed was aware enough to realize something was wrong with him, and for a genius, to have his own mind fail him had to be one of the most frightening things that could happen.
Right. Number one priority isn't to outrun these people, it's to get Ed to a hospital.
He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing in a single deep breath before squeezing the human hand resting on his shoulder. "Hang in there, Ed," he muttered, muting the worry that tried to surface. "Just give me a few more minutes... hang in there."
Being given a piggyback ride by Mustang.
So far from his finest moment.
At least he was in too much of a haze to really be bothered by it, he reflected lethargically, watching the hallway spin around him in a dizzying mess of color. He thought he could hear Mustang speaking to him, saying something, but for the life of him Ed had no idea what it was. Not like it mattered. It was probably insults, anyway. Shortstack and pipsqueak and so tiny you need a ladder to climb stairs.
Mustang swerved left, huffing and puffing the whole while, and everything flipped as the general abruptly lowered him to the ground. Ed shut his eyes, groaning; his stomach clenched and he curled tighter against the wall in hopes the nausea settling inside him wasn't about to become the newest symptom.
The general stood in front of him again, at least, he assumed the black and white blur speaking urgently to him was Mustang. Once again the words passed straight over his head, and he just watched the head bob amusedly, making up the words as they blurred and slurred out of his mouth. ...and you're more amazing than I'll ever be, metal is so much cooler than fire, I've actually been lying all these years, you're taller than me, you're a giant and I'm a shrimp...
"Yeah," Ed mumbled, chuckling, "you got it."
The hand withdrew from his shoulder and then Mustang was gone. Without any reason to still try and pay attention, Ed just let his head drop, leaning it against his knees and breathing hard, trying to stop himself from throwing up. Shit, he felt like shit, god he was going to get sick all over the dammed expensive suit, and never would Mustang let him hear the end of it...
By some miracle, keeping his head down and just breathing finally managed to cool the nausea into something controllable. At last he managed to look up from his knees, squinting as the room spun again. He could see a blurry Mustang standing a few feet away from him, hands held up in surrender, the general talking at someone that stood by the door. Ed took a moment to consider the situation, then shook his head tiredly and leaned it back against the wall. He was fine. He was probably fine.
Another few blinks later, and Mustang was on the floor, wrestling wildly with his assailant. The sight perked him up a little, clearing the fuzz from his head enough for him to lean forward and shake a fist. "Hey! You! Your poison sucks!"
"Oh, now's when you decide to chime in?! Not when he- ow!- shot at me; no, now?!"
Ed scowled, glaring at the general. Asshole. He didn't really know why; nothing the bastard had said was that bad, but, asshole.
When one of Mustang's kicks came perilously close to taking his head off, Ed decided it would be best to try and get out of arm's reach. His head felt like it was still floating around a hundred miles away; walking just wasn't gonna happen, and he slumped into a stomach crawl, pulling himself weakly along the floor. When he reached the open exit he fumbled for the doorknob, struggling to swing it shut so he could have something to lean against, then shifted back to watch the fight.
Which was, unfortunately, over rather quickly.
Ed only got to see Mustang sock the guy in the face and that was that. Nameless assailant slumped in an unconscious faceplant, now dead to the world, and the general, after kneeling there on the floor for a few breathless moments, punched on a limp shoulder again. "That's for trying to break my nose." Another hit. "That's for shooting at me." And then a third hit, this time to the back of the head. "And that's for poisoning my subordinate!"
"Former subordinate," Ed supplied breezily, tongue heavy.
"And once again, you choose to chime in at the most opportune moment. Really, it's been a pleasure to spend this little misadventure with you, as always, Fullmetal." The general kicked the man's gun away from him before reaching into his suit pocket, withdrawing a pair of handcuffs.
Ed blinked at the sight of Mustang cuffing the man's hands behinds his back. It took him a few moments to realize why it looked so odd, and he cursed his fuzzy head again, suddenly wishing Mustang had gotten in another punch for his poor brain's sake. "Why do you have handcuffs with you? You're not working tonight."
The general didn't look at him, still focusing on securing the would-be assassin. "Well," he said after a moment, "I may or may not have had plans with a lady to meet in her bedroom after this. And said lady may or may not have asked me to bring them."
...Yeah. He was definitely going to throw up.
"Ew, ew ew ew, ewwwww, god mind bleach, give me some fucking mind bleach, those mental images ewwwwww-"
"I'm going to not take offense that you apparently find me so hideous you want to retch," Mustang muttered, giving the man one final look before raising his head to meet his gaze, "and... what."
"What?"
"...What the hell, Fullmetal?!"
Ed stared at him, completely at a loss. "What?" he pressed again, annoyed, blinking as the general abruptly rose and pointed wildly at the door behind him, eyes wide.
"Why the hell is the door shut?! Why'd you close the fucking door?!"
"What's your problem?!" Ed shot back, head still spinning. He leaned back, hissing through gritted teeth, and reached up for the knob again. "It bothers you so much, just open... hey, why's it not opening?"
Mustang cursed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Because it locks from the outside, pipsqueak! Which I told you! I told you to leave the door open! That was literally all you had to do!"
"What?! You never told me that!"
"Yes. I. Did! When I put you down! I told you to leave the door open! And you said yeah, got it! What the actual hell, Fullmetal?! That door is solid steel! I can't break it down! For fuck's sake, we're stuck here now! With this idiot!" He kicked the limp body on the floor in aggravation and turned away again, rubbing his face with one hand.
Ed's gut chose that moment to clench with nausea again, and he had to struggle very hard not to throw up.
When he managed to finally turn his attention back outward again, nausea and lethargy still struggling to sweep him under, Mustang had turned back to face him, the general looking calmer now but still clearly struggling not to snap at him. "...fine," he was saying, "Captain Hawkeye is here tonight; she'll find us. That woman's got a sixth sense when it comes to me being in trouble, I swear. We'll just have to wait a little longer." He ran a hand over his face again, shaking his head, before darkly concerned eyes returned to him, gaze looking him up and down in careful, critical examination. "...Can you wait that long, Ed?"
Ed struggled to contemplate the honest question, head still spinning. Could he? It was hard to see, even harder to keep himself grounded in the room and the present conversation. His limbs felt so far away, so heavy, his head like it was stuffed full of cotton, and he had the very distinct feeling that he was going to be able to stop himself from throwing up for much longer.
"...Yeah," he mumbled tiredly, the words sounding distant and far away. "Yeah, I can wait."
Because even if he said no, there wasn't really anything the general could do about it.
Mustang sighed, watching him worriedly for a few moments longer before he gave in with a resigned nod, grimacing. "Okay. But if you start to feel worse, you've got to tell me."
"Mmm," Ed mumbled noncommittally, tired gaze wandering over the general's form again before it froze, zeroing in on what he hadn't expected to find. "Uh... General?"
"Yes?"
"You said the guy shot at you, right?"
The general shrugged in disinterest, tugging at his collar to loosen his tie while watching the slumped, unconscious criminal on the floor. "Yeah, so?"
"...You're bleeding, Mustang."
Mustang blinked, turning to look back at him, then following his finger point to stare downwards at his own leg. There, high up on his thigh, was a small bullet hole.
The small blood stain, almost missed against the black fabric, was spreading.
"Oh," Mustang said vacantly after a moment. He tilted his head to the side, staring at the wound as if he didn't quite understand it, then smiled pleasantly. "So I am."
Then the general hit the floor.
