Title: The Buried Life (yes people, this is a rewrite)
Author: Danielle Anderson
Pairing: Roy/Ed, Al/Winry
Rating: R
Summary: Ed and Roy have grown apart because of a terrible misunderstanding. Can anything be done to bring back the spark?
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings:Manga spoilers and genderswitch
A/N: I'm not sure how many people remember this fic. I started posting this back in 2007 when I was totally head-over-heels about FMA and Roy/Ed. Lost my interest eventually and took it down but after watching the new FMA series, I decided to rework this fic from a different angle. I hope you guys enjoy it :).
Say my name, say my name
If no one is around you, say baby I love you
If you ain't runnin' game
Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady, ain't callin' me baby
Why the sudden change?
Destiny's Child, "Say my name"
Edward Elric wakes up late this morning.
She would not have woken up at all if Mona hadn't knocked loudly on the door and "demanded" that she get up because the Fuhrer and his daughter had left about two hours ago and it was already a quarter past ten and the Fuhrer had left a list of things that she should look over.
She blinks and stretches, once again waking to a world of emptiness and loneliness, as opposed to solitude, a world where she does not know how to handle herself, a world where love has gone terribly wrong.
So this is what your life has become, she thinks bitterly as she looks into the mirror now. Devoid of love and passion, reduced to a housewife, having become a dog of Fuhrer Bastard himself. She turns off the tap and wipes his face on the sky blue towel that still smells like Roy and when he opens the door, Mona is standing there in her high-necked gown, looking prim and proper, more like a prison-warden than a housekeeper-cum-governess.
She eyes Ed warily and hands her a piece of paper, where Ed recognizes Roy's "magnificent" writing.
"His Excellency has left this for you, Mrs. Mustang," she informs the younger woman primly. "He wishes for you to get on them right away."
Gritting his teeth, Ed snatches the list out of her hands and stamped into the study. Someone left the window open the previous night and there are papers strewn all over the desk – where it all began – but she doesn't want to think of that now. She has more important tasks at hand. Like overseeing all the arrangements for tonight's party, picking up Sylvia from school (before that, she might drop by Roy's office, which is something she isn't looking forward to, but hell, she'll deal with that later). A rumbling in her stomach informs her that she is hungry but there is no time for breakfast and she is already late for work (not that she had much to do today). She looks at the list in her hand.
1) Confirm the three o'clock food delivery.
She starts rifling through the endless stacks of loose sheets because no one has told her what the caterer's phone number is.
"Where's the damn number?" she mutters irritably to herself. And then Mona magically appears and neatly picks up a small piece of paper and hands it to him as if she is about to announce the winner of a lottery. "Er...thanks," she smiles at her tightly, grudgingly and feels a little better when the other leaves the room. She is obviously not used to these kinds of responsibilities, having lived most of her life chasing a myth and, after her life with Roy began, the occasion to play the society wife never came up because she is not the most cordial woman and they have never had too many guests over.
Outside, she hears one of the maids telling Mona that Baker refuses to do anything. He is just sulking in the kitchen, wondering what use it is to be the Fuhrer's cook if he won't be allowed to prepare a feast for three-hundred-and-fifty people.
That's what I'd like to know, Ed wants to say, but someone on the other line has already picked up the phone and so she says, "Hello, this is Edwa - Mrs. Mustang. I'm calling to confirm the three o'clock delivery to the Fuhrer's estate today. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, got it."
Outside, Mona is standing at the door, as though she were eavesdropping on her conversation, not trusting her to be able to pull off something simple like confirming a catering order. Ed rightfully ignores her and then gets more annoyed when she remembers that this is Roy's fault.
"Let's see how you can pull this off," Roy smirked at her the other night during dinner. "You are, after all, the lady of the house."
It was one of the exceptional days that they were both free to eat together – of course, 'together' is no longer a word that Ed uses to describe what her disposition is with the older man – and she wasn't sleeping over at the lab. She has been doing that a lot recently, since she can't risk overlooking any kind of change that happens in the alchemic reactions and she wants to make sure that Zelda doesn't keep sneezing on the test tubes. Ed simply glared at him and used all her self control to keep from transmuting her spoon into a knife and jabbing it into the bastard's heart.
She asks one of the maids if there's anything left over from breakfast and she replies that Baker hasn't done much cooking today, he's too busy sulking in the pantry because the Fuhrer doesn't have enough faith in him. At breakfast, there was just coffee and toast, which Ed knows didn't bother Roy or Sylvia much. Roy likes to have just coffee and toast and Sylvia likes to sit on his knee and dip her toast in his coffee. He smiles at her then and caresses her long, silky black hair while she leans back against his chest, brown eyes brimming with adoration for her father. It is a touching sight and Ed often wishes, on days that she doesn't feel like bashing in Roy's face, that she could take a picture. Maybe Hughes or Riza would have done it...if they were still around.
She looks at the little calendar on the desk. It is October 14, 1923.
It would be seven months, two weeks and six days today since Roy last shared a bed with her, having moved out that terrible Saturday night when Edward accused him of cheating with that whore at the office and broken the vase that Riza had given to Roy on their wedding day.
These things should not matter now, couples fight and make up afterwards, (and Ed did put the vase back together) but there are some wounds that go too deep to be forgiven just like that.
She looks at the next task on the list.
2) Call the flower shop.
That should be easy enough. It is done in two minutes and this time, she finds the phone number herself.
3) Pick up Sylvia.
4) Come to see me.
Now she really does want to punch Roy in the face.
Grumbling inwardly, she throws on her jacket and rushes downstairs, crashing into another maid who was carrying a stack of bone china plates. The plates connect with her left hand and make a deep cut on her palm as they crash on the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
"Oh, shit," Ed curses, frowning. She looks at the maid, who looks at the broken plates and then at her bleeding hand. Her bottom lip is trembling like she's going to start crying. The heat rises in Ed's face. "I'll fix it."
"But, sir – " she begins but Ed ignores her and bends down. She claps her hands together – it makes the wound hurt more and she hisses – and places them over the broken bone china. There is a bright flash of light and soon, the pieces are put back together, good as new.
"There you go," she says comfortingly.
The maid gratefully gathers the plates in her arms and looks at Ed's hand again. "You're hurt, ma'am," she says anxiously.
"I – I know. I'll take care of it, don't worry." Ed stands and looks up to find Mona on top of the stairs, eyeing her in obvious disapproval and a part of her wants to scream. Riza was so much better at this, Mona must be thinking. Riza would not have woken up late. She would have not clumsily bumped into someone, causing this damage. She would have known exactly where their caterer's phone number was and she would have known how to handle herself as the lady of the house, unlike this boorish young woman, who can't even carry on a decent conversation with her own husband without yelling.
The yelling is a thing of the past. Ed doesn't care to remember it.
She goes to the pantry where Saunders seems to be weeping (how could anyone get so worked up just because they don't have to cook?) and decides to bandage her hand herself.
Now, she can go out.
As she steps outside, he is greeted by the autumn breeze, the sight of evergreen trees and the chauffer standing near the car, smoking.
The chauffeur quickly puts out the cigarette – something he doesn't usually do in front of Roy – but then again, Ed is after all, the lady of the house – and says, "Good day, Mrs. Mustang."
Mrs. Mustang. It makes Ed feel so old. She supposes she's become too used to people calling her "Fullmetal" or "Edward" or "pipsqueak" (which she has never been). She is only twenty-three, healthy (in body, because her emotional well-being could really use some help right now) and presumably living the life fit for a princess when in reality, she is simply the wife of the Fuhrer of Amestris, a life that many women at HQ would possibly kill for.
"Good afternoon, uh..." Ed looks at the chauffeur's nametag and remembers that his name is - "Smith."
She hardly uses the car, preferring to walk everywhere as she used to do before, but she knows that Roy wouldn't be very happy if she brought Sylvia back from school on foot. She gets into the car and instructs the chauffeur to take her to Lab 4, where she will check if the solution has turned green from pink, hoping that her assistant hasn't sneezed on it.
Smith drops her off in front of the lab building and helpfully says that he will be waiting in front of HQ when Ed is ready to go pick Sylvia up. She nods and waves before turning around and quickly walking up the steps.
The lab is quiet today though she can see some people at the far end in their lab coats examining something through a microscope. They were discussing something passionately before she came up and now they speak to each other in hushed voices because she is the Fuhrer's wife and avoiding her is their way of showing respect.
A petite bespectacled girl with mousy hair comes up with a runny nose and a clipboard in her hand and Ed tries to ignore the sense of doom that starts to awaken in her as the girl follows her to their section of the lab, which can be easily recognized by the little cages holding rats and lizards without tails.
"Back already, ma'am?" she says meekly.
"Yeah," Ed says, thinking that it is perhaps her paranoia that makes her think the girl's hiding something. "I just wanted to check up on this."
Zelda nods and this time, she really does look guilty.
Ed looks at her warily, and then she examines some of the solution beneath the microscope and blinks when she sees white spots swimming around. It doesn't take long for her to realize that these white spots are bacteria.
"Zelda!" she swivels his head, blond braid lashing against the side of her face. "Did you sneeze on the test tubes again?"
The girl takes a step back, looking positively frightened and she shakes her head, knuckles growing white as she grips the clipboard.
"That's the second time you've done that in three weeks!" Ed continues irritably. "If you're sick then why don't you take a leave?"
"I keep meaning to, Madam Fuhrer," she wails piteously. "But I can't risk the cut on my paycheck!"
Ed narrows her eyes. "What are you talking about? You can't take a sick leave?"
The girl, looking petrified, blows her nose on a dirty-looking handkerchief. Ed cringes but tries not to show it. "The Fuhrer introduced a new rule that any sick leave without proof of illness will result in a pay cut."
Ed rolls her eyes. Of course. Who else but Roy would make her life hell both at home and at work? "Do you realize that you've once again set us back on two days' progress?" she struggles to keep her cool because after all, it is not the girl's fault that she has a cold and can't take a sick leave because the Fuhrer makes up stupid rules.
"Yes, ma'am," Zelda apologizes. "I understand, ma'am and I am really, really sorry. I promise you it won't happen again."
Edward sighs and shakes her head. "It won't," she says firmly.
Zelda looks at Ed's set jaw and panics. "Are you firing me? Because I swear that I'll never sneeze on another test tube as long as I'm working here! I even got some medicine to help me get better – look." She starts searching her apron pockets and when she finds nothing there, she starts rummage through her handbag.
Ed sighs. "No, no, Zelda, I mean, I'm giving you the week off. I'd like you to get better so you can start working here again."
She gazes at Ed with watery blue eyes. "But Fuhrer Mustang..."
"Leave Mustang to me," Edward gives her a confident little smile. "You just go home and get some rest."
"Oh, thank you, Madam Fuhrer, thank you so much!" For a moment, she looks like she is going to come and kiss Ed's feet. She holds her breath. Thankfully, Zelda leaves.
She claps her hands together – the wound smarts again – and she does what she can to get rid of the bacteria. It changes back to its original green color and she takes a deep breath, realizing that she has to come back in two days to finish what she wanted to do today.
The secretary pool outside General Mustang's office is almost empty at this hour. Only Becky, a sharp-minded red-haired woman is present, munching a sandwich behind her desk. She quickly gets to her feet as Edward comes in.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mustang," she says politely.
Edward smiles sheepishly. "Oh, hey. Is the Fuhrer in?"
"Yes, but he's very busy," she warns.
Ed ignores her good-naturedly and opens the door to Roy's office anyway. "I promise I'll make it short."
Roy's new office is naturally larger and fancier than his old one. There is an expensive imported carpet on the floor and beautiful heavy curtains by the windows. Roy is sitting behind his broad oak desk, working diligently. On the desk were pictures of him and Riza Hawkeye at their wedding. She is smiling in the picture, her silky blond hair piled on top of her head, fashionable curls framing her pretty face. She is hanging onto Roy's arm and for a moment, Edward feels like a fish out of water. The secretary's desk beside Roy's is empty and she feels relieved.
"Can I help you, Fullmetal?" Roy asks calmly without looking up.
Fullmetal, he has said, instead of Edward, Ed, or love, as if they were back on impersonal, professional terms, as if they have never kissed, never stayed up all night discussing alchemy, never embraced each other between the sheets.
Ed wants to cry. He swallows instead.
Edward doesn't bother asking the older man how she knew it was her. Instead, the younger alchemist gets straight to the point. "You asked me to come by, remember?"
"Ah, yes." Roy nods. "Did you pick up Sylvia? I think I asked you to do that first."
"I came here first because I was at the lab."
"Well then, did you do all the other things I told you to? It wasn't a big list." The way he says the word "big" takes Ed back to all the times Roy would tease her about her height – before she became taller.
Ed glares at him. "Yeah." And then she demands, "I want to know why you're cutting pay checks for sick leaves."
"Why, are you ill?" Roy still doesn't look up. Edward watches him sign papers, annoyed.
"No," she gripes. "But one of my lab assistants is. She couldn't take a sick leave because she said there would be a pay cut. Why?"
"Well, Fullmetal," says Roy in a condescending tone, "in case you haven't noticed, many people pretend to be sick and then they just skip work. A lot of work doesn't get done when employees take sick leaves for no reason."
"I get that. But what if they're really sick?" she presses, scowling.
"All she has to do to give proof."
"She sneezed on my test tubes twice and hampered my research! I gave her the week off."
"Good for her." He continues writing.
"I don't want you to take it out on her pay check."
"I'll look into it." Roy doesn't sound like he will. "Will that be all?"
There used to be a time when Roy would look forward to these little visits at his office, Ed remembers, and they would talk or make out on the couch, or just sit in comfortable silence, satisfied to be in each other's company.
"Did you do all the things I told you to?"
"Yeah." She paused. "You didn't have to make that list. I'm not your dog."
"No, but you are my wife and as such, you do have certain responsibilities, certain wifely duties." Roy smirks.
Ed clenches her automail fist. "I carry out enough of my 'wifely' duties, I don't any need instructions from you!"
"If you carried them out the way you carried out your fieldwork, then I would definitely have enough reason to worry. The instructions are there to make your job easier, even though they may make you feel like a dog."
"You bastard – "
"This isn't the time to play the role of a stubborn teenager, Fullmetal. God knows you've done enough of that in the past. It's time you grew and started undertaking more mature responsibilities."
"That wouldn't be a problem, except you gave me girly things to do!"
"This isn't about being a man or a woman. It's about being responsible."
Ed glares at him. This is not the first time that she has truly hated the man but it's a beautiful day outside and she won't let this bastard ruin it.
"I have to pick Sylvia up." She spins around to leave when the Fuhrer's voice stops her.
"Edward."
She doesn't have to look to know that Roy's eyes are on her now. She can almost feel the his dark gaze burning into the back of her neck and she holds her breath, waiting to hear what Roy has to say.
Roy gestures at Ed with his pen. "What happened to your hand?" he inquires.
Ed glances at her bandaged hand. "Oh...I just cut myself this morning. It was an accident."
"I trust you weren't too hurt?"
The younger alchemist smiles bitterly at the irony of the question. Roy has hurt her more than a thousand glass pieces ever could. "It's not a big deal."
"I hope it heals soon, then." There's something in Roy's voice that sounds almost warm and caring but Ed sighs and closes her eyes, willing the pain to go away.
Don't pretend that you still love me.
She tries to ignore the tightening in her chest and hopes that she can keep the trembling out of her voice. "I'll see you tonight."
She walks out of the office and tries not to slam the door behind her. Perhaps if she'd looked back, she would have seen the anguish in Roy's eyes.
"Eddie!" Sylvia squeals in delight as she runs out of the school and towards the blonde, black pigtails flying the wind.
"Hey, angel." Ed scoops the girl up in her arms, grinning as she puts her small, round, childish hands about his neck and plants several warm kisses on her face. Ed chuckles.
"When did you get back?" Sylvia demands excitedly. "I'm so happy to see you! How long will you stay?"
"Woah, one question at a time, sweety," Ed smiles affectionately at her, carrying her back towards the black car waiting for them outside the gate. Sylvia waves at some of the little boys and girls, who are presumably her friends and Ed smiles briefly at them.
When they get inside the limo, the child refuses to let go. It is comforting to feel her pressed so affectionately against Ed, looking up at her with sparkling brown eyes, filled with both glee and concern. She snuggles happily against Ed's chest and Ed carefully places her automail arm around Sylvia's small, delicate shoulders. She looks so much like her father...and so much like her mother.
It is nice and ironic to know that she loves Ed almost as much as she loves her father, though as of late, her father and Ed haven't exactly been on the most loving terms with each other.
It doesn't matter, Ed thinks fiercely. Nothing would ever change the bond she shares with Roy's daughter.
"When did you come back, Eddie?" Sylvia asks again.
Ed has been looking out the window at the passing sights and she turns to look at the little girl now, amused that she is the only one who can call her Eddie and get away with it. "Really late last night," she flashes a genuine smile at her and pats her on the head, which makes her grin. "Sorry I didn't get to see you."
"That's okay," she says understandingly, brown eyes filled with profound wisdom. "I know you have a lot of work to do. Daddy says that's why you stay over at the lab so much."
"Does he?" she quirks an eyebrow, trying not to smirk. "Well, I'll be free for the next couple of days."
"Will you play with me when we get home?" the cherub asks, looking wistful all of a sudden. "I was so lonely without you and Daddy comes home so late... and you aren't even there to tuck me in."
Ed looks at her again, heart breaking. There is a longing in her voice and Ed is perfectly aware of what she's talking about, and Ed tightens her hold on her. "I'll play with you, Sylvia. There are just some things I need to do first. And speaking of your dad, I just went to see him."
"Uh-huh," she leans her head against Ed's chest again. "Is he too busy?"
"Sure looked like it."
After a moment, she says softly, "I missed you."
Ed's had a really hectic day. Convincing Baker to come out of the pantry and cook some lunch for them was a bitch. In the end she had to bar the cook in the kitchen with alchemy, refusing to let him out until he whipped up something decent to eat.
She made Sylvia shower and take a nap and while she rested, Ed oversaw the flower and light decorations outside, made sure that the marble floors were shining and the carpets were clean and the food delivered on time. At six o'clock, she finally had time to take a nice, long shower and now she wonders what she should wear. Roy isn't home yet. He left a message that he would shower at the office and dress there since he already had someone pick up his suit from the dry cleaner's. Ed hasn't seen the suit that Roy wants to wear for the party but she has a hunch that it will be black.
And so she decides to wear black.
She slips on a black gown, bell sleeves caressing her wrists. After her hair is dry enough, she brushes it carefully and then ties it back in a high ponytail that cascades perfectly down her spine.
Roy has always preferred her with a ponytail.
Of course in bed, Roy preferred to have her hair loose all over the pillow but that is another story that she doesn't want to get into.
Like the fact that she hasn't really talked to Al and Winry in the past two years.
Sylvia has gone to sleep a while ago after a quick supper and Ed is basically all alone now, waiting for the guests to arrive. It's already seven o'clock and she hears the bell ring. She comes out of the bedroom and down the stairs to find that her dear husband has returned home.
Roy is wearing a black three-piece suit, looking elegant and handsome (as if he ever doesn't) and his hair is brushed back, damp from a recent shower, his shoes polished.
They stand just a few feet away from each other, but the emotional distance is more than that, and they are looking at each other as if they were strangers. Roy makes no move to step forward and touch Ed or kiss her but she's used to that because there's been no such intimacy between them for eons, it seems.
Roy is the one who breaks the silence. "My, my," he looks her up and down, distant admiration evident in his tone. "You look quite the lady in that suit."
Ed smirks. "Let me guess: now you're going to say that you're really proud of me."
Roy smirks back. Coldly.
The guests start flocking in soon after, like sheep in a barn. There is soft, slow music playing in the background and waiters are going about serving drink and other appetizers. Ed herself has a glass in her hand and she is standing in a crowd of people she has never seen before in her life but Roy seems just fine because he is laughing at all the right jokes, smiling and carrying polite conversations.
The bastard always did like to be the center of attention.
Ed doesn't particularly like alcohol since she has trouble holding her drink – usually two or three glasses having her slurring her words like a maniac – but she feels like she could do with more than just a glass now.
Except that she hasn't finished the first one yet.
She takes a seat on one of the steps, sips a bit of her drink and makes a face. How can people stand this crap? Her knees are drawn close to her chest and she looks around, watching all these high government officials with their wives or dinner dates, putting up a facade for everyone, showing that they have the perfect relationship, the perfect life. It makes her want to throw up, the fakeness of it all.
Except that she and Roy are not so different from them.
There are some women who are casting looks at her, coveting her power and strength, which she finds oddly pleasing. And then there are men who shoot lustful glances at her, wishing nothing beyond the physical, which disgusts her, especially because the only man who she has been attracted to and who has shown her respect is Roy and she doesn't think there will be anyone one else for her.
Roy is standing near her, totally immersed in a conversation with a couple of bureaucrats about environmental accounting, something that Ed doesn't care to understand since she isn't interested in it all. And then one of these guys says, "What a marvelous party!" He probably says something more after that but Ed doesn't pay much attention; she is too busy with her brooding thoughts.
Roy smiles graciously, charmingly. "Thank you. It was actually my consort who arranged it all."
"Really?" another bureaucrat says, looking very interested. "I don't believe we've been introduced to him."
"She's a little shy," Roy explains politely and then he turns back, spots his young wife and beckons her over like a dog. Ed goes with her drink still in hand and she puts up a courteous smile instead of the glare that she'd rather fix on the older man. "This is my lovely wife, Edward."
"Pleased to meet you." The bureaucrats shake her hand and she just smiles at them because she doesn't know what to say, because she's afraid of what will come out if she opens her mouth.
On the other hand, Roy is smiling at her and as Ed looks up into her husband's dark eyes, she notices that Roy's smile does not reach them.
Ed is looking forward to going to sleep. Her bones are aching and his facial muscles hurt from smiling too much. She is about to lie down when there is a knock on the door. She groans. Who could it be at this hour? It is past midnight, the infernal party having lasted for about four hours and she really wants to go to sleep. She goes to open the door, part of her hoping that it isn't Roy, part of her hoping that it is.
It is the maid.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Mustang," she says. "But this came for you in the afternoon. I'm afraid I forgot to give it to you earlier." She hands Ed an envelope.
Ed nods and closes the door, eyebrows furrowed as she looks at the envelope. Her frown deepens when she sees that it is a letter from Al, who is still in Risembool. She is half-tempted to throw it in the wastebasket but then she decides to open it, out of curiosity.
Dear Sister, We haven't spoken in ages and I haven't heard from you since that night. I hope you're still not mad at me. I'm really, really sorry but I never meant for this to happen. Aunt Pinako was worried sick about you – we've all been worried. I don't want you to be angry with me, Sister, I just want your blessings. Winry and I are getting married next month
How've you been? I hope this letter has reached you because I only heard that you're married to Fuhrer Mustang now...is it true?
Edward throws the letter in the trashcan.
She takes a deep breath, shakes her head and slowly climbs into bed, beneath the sheets which still smell like Roy and if she concentrates hard enough, she can imagine him holding her.
So this is what your life has become, Roy thinks as he looks up at the ceiling, alone in the near-darkness and for a moment, he feels like he's lying six feet under. He wants to reach out to touch someone but there is no longer that familiar body, the silky golden hair at his fingertips, there is only emptiness.
The party was pleasant enough but he was more than relieved when it was over because then he got to go over to Sylvia's room and watch her sleep.
Outside the light decorations are still on, making the whole estate look beautiful, but as soon as he notices this, they start turning off, one by one, and eventually, the whole descends into darkness. Sylvia will be so sad that she didn't get to see the decorations. He wanted her to be able to see them but she falls asleep so early. Perhaps they could keep the decorations for another day or two.
Tomorrow is a Saturday. He is looking forward to spending more time with his daughter.
His body is tired but his mind is still awake and it becomes even more awake when he hears the uneven footfalls of Edward outside. Thump, clank, thump, clank, thump, clank... the beat has an almost regular kind of rhythm. It has become familiar to him over the past year, comforting and endearing despite that he is no longer close to the owner of these footfalls and as he turns on his side and attempts to go to sleep, he wonders when it was that Ed stopped loving him.