Title: Arduus Ad Solem (Striving Towards The Sun)

Author: Nagi Kokuyo

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, however much I may wish otherwise

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003 anime)

Pairing(s): RoyxEd, AlxWinry, EdxHei, hints of RoyxRiza

Rating: T (for now. I'll tell you if that changes, or if you want a lemon, tell me in a review or PM)

Warnings: Guy/Guy, so click that BACK button if that isn't your thing, violence, cursing (it's Ed, so there will be naughty language), and a possible lemon later

Summary: After five years gone, Ed shows up beaten, bloody, and half dead in Central. As his body slowly heals, Ed falls deeper into depression. Can Roy save him before Ed does something drastic? Ed/Roy slash

MOVIE SPOILERS FOR CONQUERER OF SHAMBALLA (also, I disregard most of the movie, so maybe not so many spoilers)

XXXXXX

I'm going to die here. The realization was a cold, slippery tentacle that crawled up his spine and settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd known it for days, somewhere in the back of his mind, but for some reason, it only sank in now. Before, it was only an idea, but now…now it was real. He was going to die in this hellhole. He would never see the light of day again, never breathe fresh air or eat real food, or drink untainted water. The cell they'd tossed him in was cold and black as the coffee he drank—used to drink—to get through a long night of studying, and the stone floor was frigid against his bare skin. Blood was spattered across the floor; it was dried by now, he was sure, but he couldn't see or concentrate well enough to tell.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd been here. Was it mere days, or had it been weeks, months, since he'd arrived? At first, it had been brutal, beatings that kept him unconscious for long periods of time. Then, they'd "expanded" their horizons, using new ways to torture or bring him searing, debilitating agony each time. Honestly, the human ability to be senselessly cruel amazed him, even after everything he'd seen.

He winced as he cradled the empty, damaged socket where his automail had once been. His arm had been brutally torn from its place, and it still throbbed, though not as harshly as it had at first. He silently thanked his lucky stars that they hadn't done the same to his leg; it was damaged beyond repair, a mangled mess of metal shards and tangled wires, but the socket hadn't been messed with. A feeling of self-loathing swelled up in him, as if his automail was the reason he'd been taken, before he squashed it. There was a war going on—the Second World War, he'd seen the newspapers call it—and given half a chance, anyone was liable to be taken away and locked up.

That was what had happened to him, and he prayed that Alfons had been spared, that he hadn't been subjected to the same horrors as him. Ed could handle anything these soldiers threw at him, and he could take any punishment they dealt out, but Alfons wasn't him; he wouldn't survive, not as sick as he was, and he was no fighter. At the thought of his fellow scientist, homesickness swept over him. He'd been so close he could almost smell the telltale scent of transmutation; he was positive that he'd found a way home, back to his Al, back to Winry and Pinako and Resembool…back to Mustang.

His mind was fuzzy, a haze of pain and drugs settled over his brain and slowing his thought process to a sluggish crawl. The cell they'd thrown him in was black as pitch; he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and he'd been in the dark so long he couldn't tell when his eyes were open or closed. His whole body ached and throbbed, never-ceasing waves of pain pulsing through him. He was battered inside and out, and each shift of his body hurt in new places; his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, and he could taste blood—the metallic copper tang familiar—coating his tongue and teeth.

Moving his hand gingerly from the empty socket, he ran his fingers through short, grimy hair; the soldiers that had abducted him had hacked off his long ponytail, and he wondered at the feeling of weightlessness and the lack of hair against his neck. His hand came away wet, and when he brought it to his nose and inhaled, the metallic scent confirmed his suspicions that it was blood.

Blood… That gave him an idea. A crazy, absurd, risky, possibly fatal and certainly insane idea, but if it weren't, it would probably never work. It also brought something else to his attention—he hadn't been paying attention to how much blood he'd lost, was still losing, and dizziness swept through him. His stomach twisted, as if it was trying to digest itself, and he fought to keep down the meager meal of stale bread, a slice of filmy meat, and lukewarm water he'd had earlier. He couldn't afford to deprive his already weak and deteriorating body the few nutrients it provided.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been at the camp—it could have been weeks or months, or maybe mere days, and he wouldn't know the difference. Ever so often, a German soldier would come for him, and each time, he would shudder at what was coming. They would blindfold him and take him to a lad straight out of a horror book, complete with serious lack of hygiene, bloodstained operating equipment, and a sadistic mad (mad crazy, not mad angry, though he did seem to have anger issues when Ed was involved) scientist with a razor-sharp scalpel.

He shifted, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and he decided that if he was going to try this crazy idea, he would have to do it quickly. He didn't know if his body could take much more abuse. He couldn't forget that he wasn't alone, and if he wasn't gone before they arrived at his cell, he had the feeling that he wouldn't live long enough to try it again. They were getting tired of using him as their punching bag and stress reliever, and he knew his time was almost up. He had to use this brief window before it closed, and the deadline was approaching much quicker than he'd have liked.

He lifted a hand to his head again, and dragged his human fingers across the concrete floor. The footsteps were almost on top of him, and as he pressed his hand palm down against the array, he heard the click of the lock and the creak of the door opening. Light was thrown across the filthy floor, and he closed his eyes as pain exploded behind his eyes. He dug deep within himself, gathering up every last shred of energy and wrapping it up into a tight little ball. He felt the soldier entering the cell, and he let the energy go in one last desperate attempt to save himself. It exploded through his body, running down his arm and out through his palm.

And just as the hands were reaching for him, and just as Edward lost consciousness, the lines started to glow.

XXXXXX

Beep-beep-beep-beep. The string of blips on the screen was taunting him, and if the circumstances had been different, General Roy Mustang might have incinerated the damned thing. But instead, he simply gave silent thanks that the beeping had finally evened out.

It had been a week since the prone, broken, and bleeding body had appeared on the floor of his new office. The smell of transmutation had filled the air and the lines of a strange alchemic array started glowing just before a flash of light that temporarily blinded him. When the spots cleared and the light faded, Roy had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, because what was before him was a scene straight from his darkest nightmares.

Crumpled on the floor at the center of the circle was a very naked young man, lying in a pool of blood. Roy couldn't see his face—it was concealed by choppy hair—but he didn't need to in order to identify him; the destroyed automail port where his right arm should have been and the crushed remainder of his left leg did the identifying. Ignoring any concern for his uniform, Roy knelt down next to the infamous alchemist. After five years missing, Edward looked like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. If not for the violent shaking of his emaciated and under-clothed body, the Flame Alchemist might have mistaken him for dead. He was almost unrecognizable, but Roy had seen Ed bloody and bruised more times that he would have liked. He'd seen broken bones and concussions, cuts and scrapes and bruises. But this…this was an entirely new ballgame.

Roy gingerly brushed Ed's hair—he distantly noted that someone had hacked off his ponytail hastily and done a crappy job of it—back from his face for absolute confirmation, and his heart sank. His eyes were half-open, glazed over and staring at nothing. Precious lifeblood from a head wound had coated the side of his face, and matted his hair. Blood seeped from the crushed arm port; the metal was pulling away and crusted over where it attached to his chest. The younger alchemist's body was mottled with bruises of varying size and age, and littered with cuts and wounds. There was a nasty gash in his left side that had been amateurishly stitched in a half-assed attempt to close it and looked like it had gone septic, swollen shiny red and oozing a thick, yellowish-green puss. Roy's body filled with anger and his vision went red. How could someone do this to a boy just out of his teens? He still had a soft spot at the back of his head, for God's sake!

Shoving his fury to the back burner and locking it in a box until later, Roy shrugged off his jacket and gathered the injured man up in his arms, calling for Riza to get the car as he started sprinting through the halls.

Six days later, and Edward still hadn't woken up. Roy had barely left his side, and when he had, either Riza or one of the others from the old crew stayed in the room as a guard. Maybe against his better judgment, Mustang hadn't called Resembool yet. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to tell the Rockbells and Alphonse that Ed had returned, but something was stopping him. He wasn't sure if it was nerves, worry that Ed wouldn't make it, or just a healthy fear of the Rockbell women, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to dial the number.

He brushed a chunk of hair back off of Edward's forehead, careful of the stitches. "What happened to you, Fullmetal? Where've you been for the past five years?" he whispered.

Roy Mustang had done some regrettable things in his life—taking part in the Ishbalan War as a human weapon, murdering the Rockbell girl's parents—but the thing he regretted most of all was letting this damned blond breach his defenses. Roy had spent his whole life keeping people at arms' length or farther, not even letting his aunt or Riza get too close. He built his walls up and made them impenetrable, and he kept people away with arrogance, cynicism, and obnoxious superiority.

And yet, all of that preparation did nothing to deter that hotheaded blond alchemist with the unstoppable, single-minded determination to give his brother back his life and the unnerving ability to get under Roy's skin. He plowed through all Mustang's carefully prepared defenses like they were tissue paper, him with his familiar scarlet coat and the molten gold eyes, and offensively loud voice and the attitude twice his size.

When he and Riza had gone to Resembool on that fake tip, the first time he'd met the Elric brothers, he'd taken one look at little Edward sitting in the wheelchair, bandaged up and looking like shit, and he would have never guessed that Edward would become one of the greatest alchemists he would ever meet. He would have never guessed that he would come to care about those boys like they were family, or that he would beat himself up every day for five years thinking Fullmetal was dead because Edward had disappeared without a trace. He'd watched them grow into incredible, strong young men; he'd watched them face down death, watched them chase impossible dreams and accomplish impossible things.

Then Edward looked up at him with those damn eyes of his, and Roy knew that someday, that kid would break his heart. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

XXXXXX

Ta-da! And that is the first chapter of my first FMA fanfiction, so be nice to me please! On that note, please review! Point out any mistakes, because this wasn't beta'd by anyone, and I hate mistakes. This was written as a very long one-shot, but I decided to split it up into several short chapters instead.

I hope you guys like this! Please, please, PLEASE review! It'll motivate me to post more often! *shameless bribery attempt*

Also, at this point, I'm not planning to write a lemon, but if enough people ask nicely or request one, I'll include it with a warning at the top.

~Nagi Kokuyo