A/N: Hello lovelies. So, urmph, this is the mind child of a 2 o'clock in the AM watching of Fullmetal Alchemist, after killing oneself with Torchwood feels. Enjoy.
Also, gracias my lovely beta: ForeverisGone13. Luff you, and your patience. Review please? I want to continue, and I need a touch of motivation. (Also, if you have any plot suggestions, I am all ears. I have a very hazy idea of what's to come. I will try to update every... let's say Saturday night. c: )
Roy Mustang sat in the corner of the seedy bar, alone and drunk. His head was spinning a bit. A lot. It was working too hard to combat the cathartic numbness that weighed down his veins. He didn't want to combat it though – he wanted to embrace it. His body just didn't agree. He needed...
"'Nuther," The bartender looked at him, a concerned light in his eyes. The man was drinking straight vodka- and the bartender had lost count what shot he was on. Empty glasses sat on the counter surrounding him. The bartender was about to pour the dark haired man another shot, against his better judgment, when another voice interrupted him.
"Stop. He's had enough." The bartender looked up at the newcomer with thinly veiled relief. Although paying customers were great, he didn't run this bar to get people so dangerously drunk that they could probably get themselves killed walking home. The new man was blonde and looked tired, but stone cold sober and solid enough that he should be able to get his friend home.
"-Fulm'l. 'M fine. Go way," The dark haired man's speech was slurred, and he was staring at his hand, which was lying on the counter, as if confused. The blonde man glared at the one sitting on the barstool.
"Like fuck I'm going away, bastard. You never..." The blonde passed a hand over his face, a tense and sharp breath of air escaping his lips. "Get up, I'm taking you home."
The drunk man looked up at him with an air of childish innocence. He meekly obeyed, not registering in his alcohol dazed mind that he was the one who could give orders.
Edward looked at the man in front of him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and his utterly glazed look. Fuck. Something was wrong- and it wasn't just the normal things. He wasn't drinking over Maes's death, because that was always characterized by a small picture, barely visible, tucked into his pocket. He wasn't drinking over Ishbal, because Mustang had sworn to himself that the massacre there was the one thing he would never let himself forget.
Roy's mouth opened, hesitantly, attracting Ed's attention. His gaze seemed more focused for a second.
"Ed... sorry," His careful words sent a jolt through Edward's frame. Mustang closed his eyes. That was all the warning Ed had before the Flame Alchemist collapsed. The other man was lucky that Ed's reflexes were trained to the point where he reacted immediately, for Ed's arms had caught Mustang before he could hit the floor and had saved him a possible concussion.
The bartender looked on in awe. The blonde, who couldn't have been more than 5'6, had successfully picked up and then maneuvered the much taller man's unconscious form onto his back for easier carrying. He wasn't even struggling with the extra weight.
Adjusting the dark haired man's limbs so he wouldn't fall, the blonde gave a tired smile to the bartender.
"Feel free to charge his drinks to my military account. Fullmetal Alchemist. I would give you my watch, but my hands are occupied, so..." The burly man at the counter blanched just a tad when he heard who the blonde was. This little guy was the legendary Fullmetal, Hero of the People? He knew that his doubt showed on his face when the younger man growled softly.
"Fine," The man on Fullmetal's back was adjusted further, to free one arm. He got his watch from his pocket and thrust it at the bartender, who nodded hastily as soon as he had verified that the accessory was real.
Edward turned to go, letting his hand hold up one of Mustang's legs again, which were wrapped around his waist. He tried not to think about that – the man was unconscious, and Ed had manipulated his body's position. Dirty thoughts would not help anything.
"Wait, Mr. Elric," The blonde turned his head back, sharp gold eyes focusing on the bartender, who had spoken. "If you're the 'Ed' he's been talking about, then he's been saying sorry to you for a few hours. Just... thought you should know," The man looked slightly abashed, rubbing his neck under the younger man's blank scrutiny.
Finally, the alchemist turned around again and walked towards the door.
"Thanks." The word was quiet, tossed over Edward's shoulder but audible to the bartender all the same. The burly man relaxed and nodded as the two men walked out of his bar- he hoped everything would turn out alright for them.
Ed glared around the street, looking for any evidence of Mustang's typical form of transport. He had walked here himself after Hawkeye had called him, unusually worried about their commanding officer. However, walking half a mile and walking half a mile with 160 pounds of Mustang on his back were two different things.
A breath of relief left Ed's lips when he spotted the telltale dark hood parked at the street corner. He had hoped that his commanding officer hadn't walked here.
Luckily, he had learned to drive from Hawkeye last year. When he had complained, saying that he would never need it, she had just said that as a military officer he would appear incompetent and juvenile should he choose not to learn such a basic skill. He left that conversation feeling smaller than he normally did, which he was loathe to admit. He wasn't small. Fun sized. Besides- he was now a respectable 5'6.
After he had fished the keys out of Mustang's back pant pocket and unlocked the doors, Ed maneuvered Mustang into a lying position in the back seat.
Fullmetal slid into the driver's seat of the car with a hassled sigh. It was a cinch for him to start up the engine, which purred to life with a sound like a pleased cat.
"Guess there's a reason everyone wants a damn military car," He mused out loud: the car Hawkeye drove was her own, and wheezed to life more than purred.
Driving to Ed's small town house took only a few minutes, and parking in the near-empty street took even less. No-one was out at this hour; it was nearly two in the morning, and most of his neighbors had their own garages. He did too, now that he thought of it, but it was filled with books.
Quietly, Ed slid out of the car and opened Mustang's side door. The older man was still unconscious, his eyes rapidly flickering beneath his eyelids. A gentle smile played across the blonde's mouth as he saw Mustang's sprawling form.
He knew, logically, that this sleep was alcohol induced and probably far from pleasant. It wasn't a sign of trust that Mustang was sleeping in front of him, whether his brain wanted to say so or not.
"C'mon now then," Carefully, Ed leaned in and slipped his automail arm behind Mustang's back, easing him up into a sitting position so he could scoop the bigger man into his arms.
Bridal position was really a horrible way to carry anyone, Edward thought to himself even as he picked the other man up. It put all the stress on your forearms if you did it wrong, and one could only keep that up for a few seconds. He only had to keep it up for a few seconds though, and his automail gave him a distinct advantage over most people, as it didn't tire.
Mustang's feet were dropped onto the ground so Edward could snake one arm back inside the driver's door and lock the car. Once the door was locked, Edward picked Mustang up again, wrapping the dark haired man's arms around his neck for better balance. He reeked of alcohol.
"Mmhhhumm," Mustang curled closer to Ed, his face moving from his shoulder to the crook of his neck. Ed couldn't help a little shiver as warm breath tickled across his skin; his thoughts short circuiting for a fraction of a second.
Shaking off the heat that had rushed through him, Ed made a beeline for the front door. Tendons in his arms stood out and trembled from the strain of carrying the Brigadier-General.
When he reached the door, Ed didn't even bother with the lock, just kicked it in. He would fix it in a second, and his arms were full. A small dilemma rose in his mind as he burst into his split-level foyer.
"Bed or couch?" The couch was upstairs and the bed was downstairs. After a few moments, his muscles decided for him – bed it was. After all, going down stairs with dead weight was much easier than going up stairs.
Soon, Ed had Brigadier-General Roy Mustang lying in his bed, haphazardly strewn from where the blonde alchemist had unceremoniously dumped him. The view was enticing, but Ed didn't give himself time to enjoy it as the door still had to be fixed.
It took Ed a matter of seconds to repair the damage he had done to the door. He then realized that he had not fixed the lock, at which point he smashed the door again for good measure and fixed the whole thing. Correctly this time, and growling slightly.
"What will the neighbors think..." He muttered, pushing his bangs forcefully back from his face. Edward didn't want them calling the police because they thought someone was breaking into his house. Sighing, he reached for the mail that was piled up next to the door. He would bring it upstairs when he went to get some water for Mustang.
A piercing scream resonated from downstairs, jolting Ed's heart with adrenaline. He knew that voice, although he had rarely heard it screaming. The mail was quickly dropped in favor of a threat. His feet followed the noise faster than his mind, flying down the short staircase and into the room where he had left Mustang.
The cool and calm part of his mind noted that any threat was in Mustang's mind, but his thoughts still clamored as he saw the man writhing on his bed, as if fighting something.
Before he could think about how stupid it was to get within hitting distance of someone under the influence of a nightmare, Edward rushed forward and grasped Mustang's shoulder. He gave it a firm shake, getting clipped by limbs a few times in the process.
Unfocused midnight blue eyes snapped open, unseeing, and the older man's breath hitched in his throat. "No." The short word rasped in his scream-roughened throat.
"No what?" Edward asked softly, keeping his hand on Mustang's shoulder.
"No. No. No! NO! NO!" Every time Mustang spoke, he got louder and more agitated, thrashing against Edward's restraining automail arm. The blonde kept it there despite the limbs thrashing his side. He was going to have bruises later, but he was afraid that if he let the Brigadier General go, he would cause harm to himself.
"MUSTANG! Wake up!" Edward shouted over the other man's litany of 'no', leaning in towards the other's face and getting an elbow to the cheek for his efforts. Suddenly, all motion froze. Those dark eyes found a focus – Edward's face. Relief shone through them, and a childlike happiness.
"Ed," The Brigadier General slurred his name, then his eyes dropped closed once again and sleep overtook him. However much Ed was loathe to let the man sleep after that last episode, this seemed to be a much more peaceful kind of sleep. The muscles underneath Fullmetal's hands, once tense and straining, were quickly falling into the boneless relaxation of true sleep.
Edward stood there like a fool for a few seconds, his heart thrumming like a hummingbird against his ribcage. Good god.
"What the fuck?" His voice was a whisper, barely even audible, as he collapsed in the armchair near his bed, relinquishing his hold on Mustang's arms. He hated alcohol, but right now he needed a stiff drink.
His commanding officer had never seemed so unhinged, so vulnerable, as he had just then. Edward didn't think that he had ever seen him without some sort of mask – even if it was a mask of what he was actually feeling, Mustang always concealed his true reactions. It normally pissed him off to no end –being unable to elicit a desired response. Now he was finding the lack of that famous Mustang control unsettling.
Ed reminded himself that the other man was so sloshed that he would probably have a hard time tomorrow even remembering where he got drunk, let alone his nightmare and the fact that Edward had seen it. He rested his head in his mismatched hands. Should he tell Mustang that he had witnessed his nightmare? Fuck- if he did, would Mustang hate him for it? What if he didn't want Ed to know whatever was on his mind?
A bitter smirk played across Fullmetal's mouth. Of course Mustang wouldn't want to let Ed in – it wasn't like they had a particularly deep bond. In HQ, they were famous for endlessly pissing each other off. Who would want to confide in someone like that?
Carefully, Ed got up and walked over to Mustang. His superior officer was passed out in full uniform, and he knew from experience that sleeping in the ensemble for any length of time was irritating at best.
Gently, so as not to wake the man, Ed unlaced and slipped off the boots, then slowly shifted Mustang's body so he could ease the military jacket off of him as well. The Brigadier General didn't so much as twitch at these intrusions to his person.
Ed tossed the clothing items onto the night table that sat right next to his bed. He then slipped his hand underneath the waist of the man sleeping on his bed to unfasten the long uniform half skirt and wiggled the heavy fabric out from under the body. There. Mustang was now as comfortable as he was going to be.
The blankets on the bed were buried under Mustang's form, and Ed decided that it wasn't worth the effort to try and get him underneath them. Instead, he went to his linen closet and pulled out a few extra blankets.
Working with extreme care, Ed arranged blankets around the Brigadier General to keep him warm. When he lifted the other man's head to place it under a pillow, he was startled at the way Mustang's head turned to get closer to his skin.
As he lowered Mustang's head onto the soft pillow, Ed couldn't help but notice the softness of his hair and the way the strands tickled his skin.
A few hours found him perching on the armchair next to his bed, half dozing. It was a comfortable chair, but not bed caliber. Ed's own bed being currently occupied, however, meant said chair would have to do. Edward cat-napped for awhile, keeping himself half-awake in case Mustang woke up and needed assistance.
Ed had made sure to turn the dark-haired man's head to the side so his airway was free should he need to vomit. Now all he could do was wait for his guest to wake up from his alcohol induced stupor.
Idly, Fullmetal decided to wait a bit before confronting Mustang on his nightmare. He wanted to make sure that said nightmare was a recurring thing – he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was- before he tried to invade the Flame Alchemist's personal life. His eyes drifted shut once again.
I hope he won't hate me.