To Find Peace

By: Song

Summary: Edward sees his old commanding officer enjoying a downpour.

A/U: I read a fic about Mustang only being able to cry in the rain. Coupled with a song written for Remembrance day, and the fact that one of my best friends enlisted... well...

A/U 2: Its really funny how after writing a fic you gain better understanding of cannon.

Thunder roared as the heavens opened to pour torrential rain down on the city of Central. Edward set down his quill, abandoning the most recent set of alchemic theories to lean back in his chair. Even though it had been years since the Promised Day- years since he got his arm, and Al his body back, it all seemed... unreal. Phantom pain from a no longer phantom limb still pained him. The arm had never regained it's previous strength and probably never would, but if that was the price to pay for Al's body, so be it.

Al was doing well. He had snagged a job as an Ambassador to Xing; they wouldn't even be in Central, were it not for Al and a planned trip to the homeland of his girlfriend.

Ed yawned, stretching as another crash of thunder and it's accompanying mistress of lightning broke through the storm to illuminate warring clouds- and a silhouette against the dark sky.

With a slight yelp he fell backwards scattering the papers on the desk, spilling the ink and managing to just miss hitting his head against the heater. Grumbling slightly as he picked himself off from the floor he deposited the now ruined papers in the waste bin.

Turning he saw a figure on the roof. It was hard to see through the water cascading down the glass, but Edward was fairly sure he recognized the man.

It took a moment to muster up the courage, but he quickly tore the jacket off the hook by the door, yelling a "I'm going out Al!" before his little brother had a chance to ask.

The roof access was not particularly hard to find, just hard to open. The wind was pushing against the door, howling like some kind of beast intent on keeping him inside.

Between gusts he was able to force though the gale, though he immediately wished he hadn't. It was cold and the chill factor from the driving rain coupled with the wind was truly astounding. He pulled the jacket tighter around his frame -even though he could already feel it beginning to soak through.

The man's legs were hanging over the side of the building, white gloves clinging to his hands as he clutched the cool stone and relaxed into the wind.

A pale face turned to the young man, dark eyes widening marginally as he recognized the blond civilian. "Edward, what are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, sir."

He snorted. "Sir?"

Edward scowled. "You've earned my respect Mustang. You earned my respect when you stood by my side to fight Father- and I can't exactly call you 'Colonel' now anymore can I?"

The ghost of a smile graced his lips. "You're a civilian, Ed, you don't have to call me anything anymore."

It was then Ed noticed that his eyes were red. "Have you been ...crying?" The incredulous question escaped past his lips before he could stop them.

"You know I hate the rain." Mustang had always been an untouchable, unreachable figure. Strong, proud and motivated.

"That doesn't mean you should cry about it." It seemed... wrong, that he should be brought down to something so human as crying.

"It's the only place that I can cry." He stated in softly.

Breath left his lungs barely forming the word "...oh."

The driving rain had begun to let up, seemingly no longer intent on drowning every living thing under it's cloudy shadow.

After a moment of thought (that wasn't really much of a thought really, but he couldn't let Mustang think he had gone soft since he was discharged) he sat down next to the drenched and wilted man.

"Hiding in plain sight?"

The once Colonel nodded.

Waiting for the answer to his implied question that would never come, Ed took the prerogative and spoke. "I don't get it. The battle has been fought, the war has been won- and you're the next in line for becoming the Fuhrer. What can you possibly be sad about?"

Dark, smoldering eyes met his. "You know not of what you speak."

In that moment Edward saw the old Mustang back- the Mustang that constantly belittled him and put his younger self in place. The Mustang that fought by his side on the Promised Day.

And suddenly he felt like he was twelve years old again. Young, stupid, and walking with the men who were like gods among mere mortals. Still arrogant enough to believe, at least subconsciously, that he was one of them... and that they were above the rest.

Edward thanked God, or Truth, or Natural Law (or whatever it was, he still wasn't entirely sure) that his gate had been closed. There were many things that needed to happen for him to move from childhood to adulthood, but that had been the final piece to him growing up. Having that... ability, alchemy, which had up until that point been his life, stripped away- forcing him to walk among mankind... once again as one of them, the way it had always been intended.

But that didn't explain Mustang's actions. Mustang had been disabused of that juvenile notion (if he had guessed correctly, and he was fairly sure that he had) some time during or immediately after the Ishball Massacre.

"My apologies, Edward," he spoke breaking the younger man's internal musings. "I was too harsh. It is not your fault that you do not understand the woes of an old soldier." (In that moment he seemed far older than even the man who sired him- having lived and died a thousand life times in less than half a century of his existence.)

Taunted by the prospect of new knowledge- a new piece of the puzzle- and unable to resist, Edward urged the older man to speak. "Then help me understand."

Mustang looked from the images that only he could see, to the young man beside him, and down to the sodden ground.

"The war's not done for me," he admitted slowly, eyes glazing over in memories of long ago.

The only sound was the soft pitter-patter of a storm coming to a close. In the distance the turbulent clouds broiled lighting up as thunder split the sky.

The far side of Central could even be seen as the rain had cleared the smog from the air. The world smelled fresh, the air tasted clean- and even though he was soaked to the bone (or metal in the case of his leg) and he was shivering half frozen on the roof- Ed was grateful to be alive.

Fin