He was okay with working with anyone.
Anyone except for the man sitting across the table from him. Anyone except for this golden-eyed devil with a snake for a tongue and a god for his features. He was beautiful. On the outside. His inside was rotten as sin, shriveled like a burnt log. Any religious official would say he had come straight from the nine circles of hell.
And Roy Mustang was alright with working with Satan himself if it meant he did not have to deal with this rotten-to-the-core angel.
"Alright, you bastard," the angel hissed, leaning over the table with all the grace of a tiger-in-waiting. Roy swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to rock back in his chair. He wasn't quite sure whether to be afraid or annoyed. He opted for the latter just so he wouldn't be walked all over. "What'd you do to get me assigned to you and how the fuck are you going to fix it before your time runs out?"
He blinked. "I rather thought you would be the one to tell me."
The angel wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Those fuckers never tell me anything. Hold the shit while I ask for sure. Damn, why can't they just hand me a sheet of paper or something?"
As the man leaned down, digging out a cell phone that seemed so incredibly unlike something any angel should have, Roy couldn't help to stare at him in a little more detail. He had a strong, chiseled jaw, smooth and free of the stray hairs that constantly plagued Roy himself. His hair was long and thick, done up in a high ponytail. It was golden. That was the only way to explain it and the angel's eyes. In fact, it was really the only thing that gave away the fact that this man was not human. His wings, he had said upon very rudely introducing himself, were not visible on earth for the sake of anonymity among humans. Like that was even an issue. This angel would have stood out regardless of whether he had wings sitting on his back or not. He looked almost ethereal.
Too bad his mannerisms were atrocious.
". . . Wait, what the fuck, really? Three? Why not just one? Why is he so damn special? I . . . yeah, yeah, okay, I'll tone it down. Pretty sure he'd already be fuckin' scared but he's just staring at me like I'm a damn god or something. Pretty sure the real one would take offense—alright, Ling, I got it. Yeah. See you soon."
Wait. Ling? What sort of angelic name was that? Roy was expecting Rafael, Castiel, anything of the sort . . . but no. Ling? "Are you sure you're really an angel?" he asked bluntly. He knew he was supposed to greet one, but this . . .
"What'd you fucking expect, halos and poetic analogies? Dream on, old man." Those golden eyes rolled in exasperation.
"What's your name, then?"
"Edward. Call me Ed." He raised an eyebrow. "Got a problem with that? Not all angels just popped up one day to do God's good deeds. Some of us were human once. And have human names. So deal with it or scram and deal with the consequences."
"No," Roy said hastily, placing his palm on the table. "Tell me what the stipulations are. Please."
The angel—Edward—leaned back in his chair, suddenly all business. Roy was almost grateful. "First things first, pops. I want to hear from your own mouth what you're doing here. We all know it. But I want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Not that you really have a damn choice."
"I would appreciate it if you didn't keep poking fun at my age . . . considering I'm not actually that old in the first place."
"And I'd appreciate it if you'd cut this short."
Roy pursed his lips. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this guy anytime soon, so the most he could do was give him what he wanted for now and he'd find something to get back at him for later. He'd looked a little short walking up earlier . . . perhaps that . . .
"I am here," he said slowly, "because a man I worked for performed a ritual summoning a demon that required a soul. The soul he used was mine. Someone—I am not sure who—took it upon themselves to partially reverse the summons and retrieved the soul. But . . ."
"It's been too long. You don't have a body to go home to." Edward waved his hand around the room they were in. A restaurant. But neither of them had been served. Because neither of them could be seen. "You're just a wandering soul."
Roy sank down a little in the seat and nodded. No one could see him. He'd gone into work once he'd woken up, thinking nothing had happened. Only people had walked right through him, and there was a morose atmosphere to the room. He'd figured out pretty quickly that they thought he was dead. It hurt. Nothing had ever hurt like that before. And nothing had ever made him feel so alone before.
"And they offered you a free ride up to the great blue sky," Edward continued on, uncaring. He probably dealt with situations like these on a regular basis. "But you want a way to come back to life. You wanna make things fucking complicated. That's why I'm here. Would've been easier to carry you off into the sunset or some shit. You seem the romantic type."
"And what is wrong with that?" Roy demanded, affronted. Romance was not dead in his heart by any means. He took great pride in being a perfect gentleman, thank you very much.
"You're fucking cheesy," Ed answered without hesitation.
"You little—"
"I am not little!"
Ah. Found the sore spot.
"Anyway," the angel hissed, golden-eyed glare locked on Roy. "Here's the deal. You complete the three tasks the archangels have assigned you, you get your body back. Well, kinda. You'll just be sort of visible to people again. Hate to say it but your body's probably already smelly and rotten. Wouldn't want that back anyway."
"And the tasks are?"
Edward held up one very silvery arm; Roy noticed for the first time that the arm itself was made of metal. Didn't angels sort of get healed or something once they died? Wasn't that how it worked? But a quick glance up told him that, angel or not, Ed's skin still had scars where the metal limb attached to his shoulder. What in the world . . .
"If you're done staring, you fucker, I'll tell you."
The voice was understandably defensive. This was another sore spot for the angel, but one that Roy would not dare explore. Injuries like this were nothing to joke or fight over. Something had happened there. Something he wanted no part in hurting further. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat again with a slow nod. "Go ahead."
One metal finger rose. "First. You must be present at a moment of grief over your own person. In other words, people still need to be missing your shitty face. Boo hoo, I wish you were still here, gosh I can't believe it's been this long already, any of that sappy shit. At that moment you will appear to that particular person. You can't move on to the second task until the first has been accomplished."
"Can you say a single sentence without insulting someone?"
"Nah, shit's not fun that way."
Roy seriously hoped someone would cry for him soon. Or he might start crying for his own sanity.
"Second." Another finger joined the first. "You must find two things that you regret the most about your life. And you must find a way to correct each of them using the one person that you have managed to show your beautiful face to."
Somehow hearing the word beautiful come out of his mouth just made it feel even more like an insult. This wasn't even fair at this point.
"Lastly?" he sighed.
"Yeah, yeah." Ed leaned forward. "Listen close, 'cause we've had a whopping total of five cases where they've made it through all three steps. If you want to make it six, this is the hardest step. You need to commit an act of incredible sacrifice. You need to give something up of yourself that you find more important than anything else. And you can't do it just to do it, either. You can't be all 'oh, well you can have my eyes because I'm a vain bastard and my vanity will get the best of me one of these days'. Nah. It has to be for someone. And you have to fucking mean it, because that's what gets everyone. You can't just do it because you have to do it."
Ah. There was . . . There was the kicker. Because Roy Mustang had nothing like that. He didn't have anyone like that. He didn't know a single person in his life who deserved that much out of him, and at this point, in the state he was in, he seriously doubted he'd find someone in the span of time that he had. He sighed, running his fingers through his dark locks. "What happens if I fail?"
The angel's expression changed in a flash. "If you fail," he said slowly, "then you will be sent into service to save the person who cried for you. And they will be imprisoned. So don't fail."
Was that anguish lurking in those eyes? Roy had never seen such an expression before. An expression like that . . . was one that someone could give something up for. An expression like that was one he hoped he wouldn't find when he went searching for the one who cared enough about him to cry over him. This was worse. Something had happened to this angel.
And suddenly, Roy's perception of what was holy and right changed, because this was not righteousness. Whatever had happened to the angel sitting before him had been punishment.
He could read all this simply by that one second of utter sorrow he caught on Edward's face.
He suddenly, impulsively, wanted to wipe that look of sorrow away for good.
"How long do I have?"
"One month. And I hope and pray to God you don't take that long because listen, old bastard, I got way better things to do then babysit you all day long."
Roy blinked. "It is seriously a rollercoaster with you, isn't it?" One moment he felt sympathetic for the creature, and the next minute . . . he most certainly didn't. But who would, with insults like those? Time to roll out the big guns and put the guy in his place. "I can see you have a very short temper."
The murderous look in the angel's eyes was probably supposed to be terrifying, yet Roy couldn't help but to push him more and more. Something about this angel and his gorgeous yet dangerous eyes compelled him to get to know him more. To stir him up, to make him remember him. How many men like him were there in the world? How many people had Edward tried to show the way? At least five. Obviously more than five. Maybe many more than five. He imagined they all blurred together after a while. And dammit, he didn't want to be one of those many.
He was Roy fucking Mustang, and he'd been caught up in something he hadn't wanted to be a part of. And he was going to be remembered by everyone. Including self-righteous bratty angels like the one sitting across from him at this table.
Roy straightened up in his chair and stared the other man down, ignoring the dirty look. "So do you poof and then yell bingo at me or something when I get something right?"
"God, I wish." Ed huffed, his bangs flying momentarily out of his face when he did. Roy should not have found that the least bit attractive. He did. "You're stuck with me for the duration of your journey. I get to trail you and make sure you don't fuck yourself over and wind up in purgatory for all of eternity. Pretty sure hell's better. At least the devil has a sense of humor. The guy in charge of purgatory doesn't even blink when you try to blow his balls off."
"That's . . . pleasant," Roy managed. "Just what would I have to do to wind up there?"
"Manipulating one of the steps or attempting to manipulate me into doing something for you. Just F.Y.I., I am not gonna sob my guts out for you, even if you are an attractive old geezer."
"Like I'd want someone as short as you to cry for me. You might shrink if you lose some tears."
Ed growled. "You're lucky you're already dead right now."
And Roy, for once, had the audacity to be slightly frightened by this threat. After all, he wasn't the one with a metal arm.
Tragically, he couldn't rid himself of the obnoxious angel even in his own house. As he stood in front of it, wondering why there wasn't a For Sale sign up yet, Edward stood behind him, arms crossed nonchalantly.
"Nice place," he commented.
"Is that a compliment I hear?"
"Don't take it for granted."
Roy smiled wistfully. No, of course it wasn't something he would say on a normal basis. Besides, Roy's house was nice. He'd saved for a long time to get this townhouse. Two stories, fully furnished, elegant fixtures all throughout. It was expensive. It was worth it. And now he was dead and he wouldn't get to keep it. Except . . . "Has it already been sold?"
"My boss bought it."
Roy whirled around, eyes wide. "What?!"
The angel shrugged. "It's for your benefit. That's how these things work. If you make it past all five steps, you'll get it back untouched. Unless you wanted some rich snob to buy it and move in while you were busy being kindly saved by us?"
Okay. Okay, that did make sense. At least this way no one could take his belongings until he was back. Because he would be back. He was determined to come back to the land of the living. He had things left undone that needed to be done. And he had people here that he never wanted to leave. Even if they wouldn't cry for him. Even if they didn't miss him. He needed them. "What happens if I don't make it? To my house, I mean."
"I could swear you're more concerned about this stupid house than you are about yourself."
Roy resisted pouting at the statement because it was sort of true. "I spent my life savings on it."
Ed wrinkled his nose. "Welp. Found one of your life's regrets. Too bad you can't fix that one since you don't even own your house anymore."
"I don't regret this house, thank you very much," Roy huffed. "Do you have the key?"
"Nope. Forgot it."
"What the fu—"
"You're way too fucking easy to piss off," Ed laughed, the sound a rich ringing tenor. Roy wanted to mentally beat himself up over the sound. It was way too attractive for the angel's own good. He watched with simpering anger and awakening hormones (damn them) while the other man stepped up to the door, one silver hand reaching out to slip the key into the lock. The door opened soundlessly.
The scent of Roy's home washed over him, and he fought the urge to let a couple tears sprinkle out. This was where he should have gone after a long day's work. This was where he should have been, next to his fire drinking brandy and reading a book. But no, Bradley had decided to summon the demon called Homunculus from hell, using Roy's life as a sacrifice. His manager of all people. Why had he used him specifically? He didn't know. He would never know, for Homunculus took Bradley's life on top of his own. Roy was just the unfortunate soul caught in the mix. He'd been given a second chance.
And even if the angel assigned to him was lousy and had a mouth on him, he wasn't going to let that mess up this chance.
"So the first thing," he said slowly, fingers brushing against his coat rack, his little table, his closet door. "I need to make someone cry for me."
"You aren't making someone cry for you. That'd be stupid. God. No, you're looking for someone you think would cry for you. Someone you can trust more than anyone else. Chances are, it's actually someone you would least expect to cry for you. Someone so sturdy you can't imagine them crying."
"Are you supposed to be helping me?"
"This is usually the easy step so who the fuck cares? The last step is the kicker, like I said. No matter how much I help you, you won't get anywhere. That shit's up to you."
"Thanks for the encouragement." Roy sighed; there was no need to finger his things like this was the last time he'd see them. He was going to do this, and do it well. And he was going to get his house back in the state it was in. It was already his again. Even if no one could see him. At least he could still touch his possessions.
"Tomorrow," he proclaimed, deciding to head upstairs and get ready for bed, "we're going to work again."
It had been hard to come in that first day and see half of his team missing. He worked for the city police department. He was an officer and damn proud of it, too. He'd helped solve cases no one else could handle. His passion for helping those in need helped him to go the extra mile. And his team . . . he trusted them. And they had trusted him. Half of them had been out the day he'd stepped into the office, calling them greetings that they never heard. The other half were red-eyed and barely said a word. It had taken five simple words for his world to come crashing down.
For him to figure out what had happened.
"I can't believe he's gone," Kain Fuery had cried, the words choking in this throat.
That was when it had all come rushing back to him. The bag over his eyes, coming awake to find himself in the middle of an elaborately chalked out circle while his boss chanted over him. He remembered Homunculus coming up, leaning over him, reaching a hand out and taking the breath right out of him. And in his final moment, he stared through glossy eyes as he conversed with Bradley . . . then took his life as well. He hadn't understood what was going on, not then. He still sort of didn't. But he did know that he was incredibly lucky to have been awarded a second chance.
"If those of us who get this second chance are the ones that deserve it, then why don't you just give us our lives back instead of making us go through these tasks?" he asked finally as he climbed the stairs to his bathroom.
"It doesn't work that way," Ed answered, in a manner that made it clear the question had been asked before. Quite a bit. "We don't have the power to flat out bring you back to life. These are the stipulations the powers that be made before they finished creating humans. And that's why most people don't make it through all three steps. Because they don't see the world through the eyes that they intended it to be."
"That was . . . strangely poetic, coming from you. I thought angels weren't as poetic as they were rumored to be?" Roy turned around on his step, staring at the man that was following closely behind. Ed looked a little startled, then a little pleased, like Roy had started pushing on the right sort of buttons. That was always a good sign.
Of course, the only thing that came out of the angel's mouth was "Shut your fucking trap, Roy Mustang, or I'll shut it for you."
But Roy felt he'd scored a victory in that regard. He thought he might be starting to get the hang of how this guy worked. How he would be sure to make this man remember him. This angel. Even if he didn't make it all the way through, he would have the satisfaction of knowing that one person on this earth remembered him for who he was: a fighter.
"So what's with your arm?" he decided to ask as he turned back around, stepping upstairs. "It doesn't look like something I'd associate with an angel."
"No can do, old bastard. This isn't about me. I'm just your babysitter."
Ah. Sensitive topic. "I'm sorry if I offended you," he managed, covering for himself. How many others had asked that of Edward? How many others had offended him before? It was a stupid thing to have asked. He shook his head and found his bedroom, pushing the door open to sigh in relief. "I just find it very unique and wondered if you perhaps had chosen to add it on."
He really liked it either way, whether something had happened to him or he just found it aesthetically pleasing. Judging by his response, however, Ed had not chosen to have it. He sounded mildly disgusted by it. He couldn't see why. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, attached to him and working as it was. He turned around again, deciding to be bold. Perhaps that would cool down the angel's snooty attitude.
"I find it attractive," he stated, deadpan, staring into those defensive golden eyes.
And Ed . . . stuttered, froze in place like that was the absolute last thing he was expecting to hear. Unsurprisingly, he recovered quickly, offering up a grin the devil himself would have had a hard time contending with. "Are you trying to have homosexual relations with an angel, Roy Mustang? Because that's probably the first time anyone has ever tried that magic number."
"I . . ." That was true, wasn't it? He wasn't trying to flirt with just anyone. He was trying to flirt with an angel, and a male angel on top of that. Should he regret what he'd just said? Probably. But the look in Edward's eyes told him that maybe he actually had a chance with this. "Yes?" he finally managed.
And Edward laughed. Not cynically, not haughtily, but genuinely laughed. His tone was rich and warm, and Roy may or may not have fallen for him a little more just hearing that. Whatever past Edward may have gone through, it was clear that he needed someone to cheer him up. And Roy was only going to be around for a month, but something made him want to somehow cheer this beautiful angel up and make his life a little easier.
"You're certainly an interesting one," the angel finally stated, leaning against the doorframe to Roy's room. "I've never been flirted with before, much less told my artificial limb is attractive. Most of my clients are disgusted by it."
"Because of the scarring?" Roy guessed.
Ed glanced down at his shoulder with a grimace. It was clear he still wasn't willing to talk about what had happened, but at least he was warming up a little. "Yeah. Fuckers think it's disgusting. Like they haven't ever seen a scar before. Most of the people I get are entitled little shits or unfortunate people who just get randomly mixed up in the circle. Even they're just sympathetic." His lips pulled into a frown. "Why aren't you that way?"
Roy gave a small, bittersweet smile at the question. "My soul apparently is flawless, but my body certainly wasn't. I had an accident at my first job." He held out his hands. "Royally messed up my hands. There were scars through both palms where the machinery I was working on got me. So I know about scars. And I've taught myself to believe they are just another part of me. Just like they must be for you."
He was met with silence, and when he lifted his gaze from his unflawed hands, he found Edward watching him silently, appraisingly. The look in those golden eyes was no longer defensive and resentful. In fact it was a little . . . grateful. Relieved. Roy wasn't sure why, but he'd definitely just done something good. Something that would make him be remembered. And honestly, at the end of the day, that was what mattered to him. "Edward?" he asked finally.
"You're different," the young man said finally, raising his gaze to meet Roy's full-on. "And I think I might like that. And the fact that you don't know that you aren't supposed to flirt with a fucking angel of all things. I think I'll give you a shot, old man. If anyone can get through the three steps, you might just be able to do it. Considering you just managed to get me on your good side."
Roy blinked. And blinked again.
"For real?"
"Go take a shower. You stink."
"I do not stink."
"You do. You smell like old bastard soul."
And Roy found this angel attractive how, exactly?
The next day found Roy in front of his old office. He'd been "alive" again for about a month, but he'd done nothing but wander the streets aimlessly with no way of returning to his home. He couldn't go back into the place he'd worked. Not after remembering. And now, he was unsure if his team still worked here. If he'd still find them. He was sure they'd heard some sort of story about Bradley by this point. Some sort of story about his murder. How much of it was true was something he could only guess. As far as the world knew, there was no such thing as demon summoning and ghosts and souls wandering around. In fact, Riza Hawkeye would have scoffed in the face of any supposed "ghost" they came across. No, she'd probably shoot the damn soul.
"I don't have to go to the basement or anything, right?" he asked cautiously, glancing back at the angel that had followed him down the street this morning. Edward was oddly silent, often gazing up at the sky or down at his feet. Roy couldn't help but to wonder if something was wrong, but he seriously thought it wasn't his place to ask, considering the way he'd been rejected over the arm explanation last night.
"Unless you just have a burning desire to see the place you died, no, you don't have to," Edward answered curtly. He'd stopped looking at nothing by this point, staring at the building in front of them with one raised eyebrow. "You were a police officer?"
"Head of a team too. God a problem with that? It was nice money and I got to keep shitty guys like my boss off the streets." Roy scowled. "Too bad I couldn't see the signs about him until it was already too late." Because there had certainly been signs, now that he thought back on it. From the way Bradley had looked at him when they passed in the halls—like he was meat come to a slaughter. From the way he had made certain comments to him about how he would like to see a particular criminal chopped up like their victims. At the time, Roy had agreed. Now, not so much. Because a couple of their criminals had disappeared shortly afterwards, and now Roy could see where Bradley might have actually done what he'd said he would like to do.
God, how could he have been so blind about the situation? How could any of them have been?
"You know we don't have all day, right?" Ed drawled at his ear. Or, well, below it, but still. "Well, we do, but we're still on a pretty strict time limit if you ever want to get back to protecting the streets of Central or whatever shit it is you do."
"Oh, like you would understand," he griped in reply, reluctantly heading for the front door. The cars were out back, or he would have skimmed to see if his team was there at all before going in. But he figured he might as well get this over with. He didn't think it would be all that hard. The calendar above his dresser stated that it had been one month exactly since his death. That was a milestone of sorts, right? Someone would remember that. He just had to witness someone crying over him.
He pushed open the door to the police department and stepped inside.
The atmosphere was immediately different. He didn't know if it was something he could sense as a dead person, or if it was just that poignant, but there used to be an air of importance in here. Of confidence, of feeling like they were good at their jobs and they were proud of who they were. This . . . was different. This was a sense of desperation and weariness. He could feel the negativity as he walked inside. He hesitated there, hoping now that his team was nowhere inside. Hoping that they had not returned to work for whoever had replaced Bradley, because this was probably even damn worse than whatever Bradley had done. He may have been an evil bastard in the end, but he'd known how to run an office and he knew how to lead his people.
"Well, isn't this the cheerful hangout?" Ed stated, far too loudly in the quiet hallway.
"Shhhh!" Roy managed after a moment of staring at the man in blatant horror.
And Ed . . . laughed. Again. Uninhibited. God, why was that so hot? "Did you forget no one can see or hear us?"
Oh. Right. He had, in fact, forgotten. Not that he was about to admit that. Instead he pointedly cleared his throat, threw up his head, and marched off towards the main office where his team had been located.
But then he stopped in the open doorway, staring at the scene inside. They were still there, alright. Every last one of them. And he shouldn't have been surprised; they were a close knit group, probably couldn't bear to quit and never see each other again. There was Riza, her blonde hair done up in a tight and professional bun as she wrote on some papers. Nearby was Kain Fuery, his back to Roy, typing frantically on his laptop. Jean Havoc, face down on his desk and looking like he was about to fall asleep. Typical. Breda, Falman, they were there too. Roy felt a knot in his heart loosen ever so slightly at the sight of them there. They were still hanging on. Still together, working hard. Whether he was gone or not, the rest of them had maintained their friendships. That was all he could ever ask for, even if he didn't make it through the month.
But there was still something wrong with this atmosphere. None of them were talking. There was no lively chatter in the room like there used to be, no friendly jabs back and forth. They were all leaning silently over their work (or in Havoc's case, his desk). Was it because he was gone? He didn't think so, if they were all still together like this then they would have been talking amongst themselves.
And then the inner door opened, the one to the Chief's office, and Roy immediately understood why.
"Kimblee," he seethed angrily, half expecting the man to feel his murderous aura from the other side of the room. He didn't. The man's dull, snake-like eyes slid right past the entranceway to the workers kneeling over their desks.
"Havoc!" he barked, a sick grin sliding across his face. Kimblee loved to catch people slacking. They'd heard horror stories about the last station he had run. The overall department loved him, because he always got the job done . . . no matter what.
But in truth, Kimblee was a nightmare. He kept his team members working constantly without breaks, not letting them stop long enough to smoke a cigar or really even take a piss if they really had to. He reported them for any slight misdemeanor. He wouldn't fire them. He'd just torture them in any way he could possibly think of. There was no question why the atmosphere in the room was so low. His team was miserable.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
"I already know one thing I regret," he whispered angrily as he watched Havoc jerk upright in his seat, an unlit cigarette still sitting in his mouth.
"Save it for when they cry for you," Edward answered impassively, but it was clear by the expression on his face that he was likely just as disgusted.
Kimblee stalked up to Havoc, circling his desk like some sort of vulture getting ready to eat roadkill. In fact, Roy thought a vulture was probably an apt description of the man. A vulture or a snake. "This is the second time this week," the man practically purred, his voice silky sweet. Sickly sweet more like. "It makes one wonder just what you've been up to aside from work."
"More work," Breda mumbled under his breath. Kimblee seemed a little annoyed by the words, but for the moment, he took no notice of it.
"Ain't had time to sleep," Havoc drawled pointedly, giving a huge yawn. Roy had to hand it to his former teammate; Havoc had absolutely no problem showing his opposition to someone he didn't like. Even if it might possibly cost him his job. And probably, at that point, he might have preferred to get fired. They all might have. But Kimblee kept them there. He wouldn't fire them. And they were all too stubborn to resign of their own free will.
Basically, they were stuck, and Roy had left them that way.
He turned away, not willing to watch the rest of the verbal abuse his friend was about to receive. Edward, however, watched on as Kimblee tore Havoc down step by step until he reduced him to a silent and somber figure. Someone Havoc absolutely was not.
"They would sooner cry about their situation than about me," Roy sighed softly, turning back to watch them as Kimblee returned to the inner office. "I would too. I think I've already failed. No one else would ever shed a tear for someone like me. They were the only friends I really had."
"Sucks to be you," Ed grunted quietly. "You don't know they won't sob their damn guts out over you leaving them. They just definitely won't do it while that fucker's in his office. Wonder if he takes a break."
The angel sauntered off towards the office door and Roy panicked, only to remember once again that no, they couldn't see them. They were fine to sneak around.
And then, of course, Ed had to walk through the damn door. Through it.
He wasn't gone long, appearing just moments later with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Good news," he announced like everything was fine and he hadn't just walked straight through a wall, "he does take a break. Bad news is there's a couple hours til then. So the question is, do you wanna stay here and rot even more waiting for them to somehow suddenly start bawling, or do you wanna sneak off and haunt some shitters until noon?"
Roy squared his jaw and planted his ass on the edge of Riza Hawkeye's desk. "The first thing I do when someone cries for me," he stated with a sense of conviction he hadn't had a moment before, because fuck Kimblee, "I am going to make that man regret that he ever tried to turn his vile tongue on my team. One way or another, I will make sure he ends up in a ditch the next time he wakes up."
"I know I'm supposed to be all spiritual and shit," Ed answered, leaning against the opposite desk with his golden locks falling over one shoulder in a way that made Roy want to jump him (that was odd). "But this sounds incredibly entertaining."
"Why aren't you?" Roy decided to ask. "All spiritual, I mean. I've never heard of an angel that curses like a sailor, yet I think you could win a contest against the best sailor if someone put you up to it."
"Remember what I said? I was human once. And I wasn't exactly a saint when I was. Didn't see why I needed to change it after this happened." Ed made a face of disgust. "When your entire livelihood gets uprooted like it did for me you do kind of resent this for a long time. The way I see it, it's my right to say what I want if I need to live like this."
This was new information, as far as Roy was concerned. Yes, he knew Ed said that he had been human at one point, but . . . "So you're saying that you didn't want to become an angel?"
"Doesn't take a genius to figure out I don't exactly like this job, Mustang." Ed cracked a small sardonic smile. "D'you think I actually want to babysit you while you're conked out snoring in your bed?"
"I don't snore," Roy answered immediately in defense.
"You do. Like a fucking train. Or a car motor. Either way it's seriously annoying. No wonder you died single. You did die single, right? Sucks to be the person who did wind up sleeping with you if you weren't. Granted, considering you hit on me after knowing me for all of three hours, I'm not entirely surprised you're a little sex depri—"
"Anyway," Roy huffed before he could jump across the little space and strangle him. And wouldn't that be something, killing his only chance of returning to life? That was, if angels could be killed to begin with. And he doubted it, considering Edward Elric was still alive and kicking in spite of the insults he liked to dole out on a regular basis. "If you were once a human and you're now like this against your will, then what made you so special? Or rather, what are the requirements for getting that position? Obviously not saintliness as we always thought."
"None of your business," Ed was quick to answer.
Of course. Because if Ed told him that, then he would find out something about the angel himself. And he seemed very much against Roy knowing a single thing about him other than the fact that he was, in fact, an angel.
"Alright," he sighed, running his fingers through his black hair in frustration. Scratch that attempt. "What can you tell me about yourself?" He looked over at Riza curiously but her face was impassively blank as she signed off on another form. Ah. Papers. That had always been his job. At least she was probably glad that the papers got signed on time if she was doing them herself. Not that . . . she looked incredibly thrilled to be doing them. She probably derived more fun out of picking on him for not doing them fast enough.
Edward had shifted against the desk he was currently perusing, fingers paused against a document or other type of paper. The scowl was evident on his face again, the one that said he was thinking too hard about something. Funny how Roy could read him like an open book in spite of having just met him. But at least if he was thinking, then he was contemplating telling him something. Right?
Alas.
"I'm blonde and I have a metal arm," was the reply he finally got.
"Eloquent," Roy answered dryly.
"Ah. I almost forgot. I have a wicked temper too." Ed's flesh hand returned to rooting through papers.
Roy raised an eyebrow as he watched. "Won't they notice you doing that?"
"Duh."
And sure enough, a moment later, Falman nudged Kain, and pointed towards Edward. Of course, it wasn't him they were seeing; it was the papers rising and falling of their own accord. Searching through their documents like he was scrutinizing them all.
"There's no wind," Kain whispered, eyes glancing nervously towards Kimblee's door.
"Suppose we got a ghost in here?" Falman answered.
"You don't think . . ."
"Roy . . .?"
"Or Bradley."
They both shuddered at the same time. But there were no tears, only a subtle tightening around Riza's eyes. Roy supposed it was a longshot anyway. And in any case, Ed definitely hadn't been trying to help him. He'd already said he couldn't do that sort of thing. Not purposely, anyway.
By the time the clock struck twelve, Roy was bored out of his mind, but he perked up when he felt the atmosphere in the room rise perceptively the closer they got. At noon exactly, Kimblee's door opened and he announced abruptly, "Lunch break. When I'm back, I'd better see some progress on this latest case." His lips curled into a derisive sneer. "If not, who knows what I might dig up for you to work on next."
"God, he's a real joy to work with," Edward stated, climbing off of the desk he'd decided to lay all over and nap on. His shirt and hair were rumpled, strands of golden hair falling out of its simple tie, and Roy wanted so badly to touch it.
"Can you eat?" Roy asked. "Can I eat?"
"That's a stupid question. Of course we can eat. It just won't make us fat or shit. 'S great really."
"Then will you go to dinner with me? Correction. May I take you to dinner?"
The angel smirked at the thought. "And how exactly do you propose we order food once we get there?"
Roy shrugged. "I was sort of thinking we could go after hours and cook something in the kitchen ourselves."
He snorted. "Sounds like my kind of dinner. Alright, old man. But no second chances if you're a shit cook." Ed jerked his head to the side. "But if I were you, I'd stop ogling men younger than you and start waiting for your besties to cry all over their papers."
Hawkeye had put her pen down on top of the paper she was working on, biting her lip.
"Can we arrest him for labor law violations?" Havoc drawled in annoyance.
"If only," Kain sighed, leaning back in his seat. Roy was extremely glad to see that they were, indeed, still good friends in spite of Kimblee's negative attributes. They had all relaxed considerably even with the threat of punishment if they didn't keep working. And Roy knew his team well enough to know they were great at getting more work done in ten minutes than they ever would with someone breathing down their necks in a day.
"Roy would probably set him on fire if he knew," Breda chuckled sadly.
"If Roy were here, we wouldn't need to worry about Kimblee. Bradley's better than this guy."
"It's been a month."
Four heads swiveled to look at Riza, who hadn't said a word the entire day. At least, not since Roy and the angel had made their entrance. It was unusual, considering she was one who enjoyed giving orders more than Roy himself did.
"One month today," she elaborated. "Since we found his body."
Oh God. They'd found him, that was right. They'd found him and what was left of Bradley. Bradley had been torn to pieces by Homunculus. Roy's body was simply pale and devoid of life. He remembered it himself. He remembered he'd wanted to throw up. Only he wasn't alive anymore, so nothing ever came up.
"You're so strong," he whispered to his team, "to keep coming into work in the very same place your friend was murdered."
They didn't hear him, of course, but he meant every word anyway. He wanted to cry himself, not that it would do any good.
"I still miss him," Kain said quietly, lip trembling. Edward leaned forward on the other desk, glancing between him and Roy with one raised eyebrow. Close already? Well, Fuery wasn't exactly his first choice but there was no way he was going to get picky . . .
But then across the room, Havoc loudly sniffed, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. "He was gonna be the Chief one day. He wanted to get to Bradley's position and all. Now he'll never get there."
"He was a good man," Falman choked out.
"If only he would just walk in here now," Breda followed, and Riza nodded despairingly.
"D'you think . . ."
"He wouldn't want us to cry," Riza reminded them softly.
Roy's mouth dropped open. Oh God, this was not going to go down how he hoped—
"But I don't think I can hold it back this time, ya know?" Havoc managed. "His birthday was in two weeks too. His thirtieth. We . . . we were gonna hook him up and everything."
And then all at once, they started bawling. Even Riza, stoic as ever, had one tear roll down her face.
Then five heads jerked over to them at once as Ed shifted on the desk, looking understandably shocked.
"R-Roy?"
"Oh my God, he really . . ."
"Chief!"
"Well," the angel drawled dramatically, arms crossed over his chest, "this is an unexpected development."