Author's Note: Here it is, the second chapter! Let the action commence! XD
Yep. Not much to say, really. I just want to thank everyone who reviewed, and encourage you to do it again! COMMENTS = LOVE.
Also, I've been getting a few questions about whether or not this will be a Roy/Ed story, and it will NOT. I, personally, have nothing against yaoi, but you will not find it here. This is purely a friendship fic.
So I'll stop rambling, and please enjoy! And Merry Vague Holiday!
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist still belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, not me.
- - -
2. O Ye Beneath Life's Crushing Load
The day was a stressful one. Edward hounded the Fuhrer's every step, not letting anyone get too close. Havoc and a few other trusted military personnel had been informed of the threat on Mustang's life, and they, too, were keeping their eyes open for anything suspicious.
Following Havoc's advice, Mustang stayed in his room for the majority of the afternoon, looking over paperwork and being guarded closely by Edward. Neither alchemist was too thrilled with this arrangement, but they couldn't deny that it was their safest option while still on the ship.
Edward lay sprawled out on Mustang's bed while the dark-haired man sat at the desk, perusing an old treaty that was up for reassessment. The blonde glanced at the clock on the nightstand; it was 7:40 PM. He heaved a sigh and turned over, tapping his automail fingers on the wooden nightstand in boredom. He managed to keep this up for a good three minutes or so before Mustang's eyebrow began to twitch.
"Fullmetal, I would appreciate it if you could not be annoying for at least five minutes," he growled. Edward flipped on the bed and glared at the Fuhrer.
"I can't help it if guarding you is one of the dullest things I've ever had to do," he retorted. Mustang rolled his eyes.
"That doesn't mean you have to punish me for it. After all, it is your job."
"I know that, Fuhrer Bastard, but that's not why I'm mad."
"You're mad?"
"Yeah, I'm pissed at you for dragging me away over Christmas!"
"I told you, Fullmetal, I had nothing to do with that."
"Bullshit, oh great Fuhrer," Edward said sarcastically. "You picked me to come with you. That was all you."
"Damnit, Edward, yes!" Mustang snapped. "But if you hate me so much, then by all means, don't trouble yourself any further!"
Edward was speechless for a moment. It wasn't like Mustang to be so easily riled; that was usually Edward's job.
"Sir, I –"
"You are dismissed, Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted, calm again.
"But it's not saf –"
"I have protected myself without your help for more years than I care to admit, Edward. Now I believe I told you that you are dismissed." The tone left no room for argument. Edward shoved himself off the bed and left without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was back in his own room, he threw himself down on the bed and tried to think about what had just happened. Something definitely wasn't right. Mustang did not throw tantrums. Havoc had said earlier that the man was stressed, but that was no excuse for him to just explode like that. If anyone could handle stress, it was Mustang.
"He knows something," Edward muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. Mustang always acted strange when he knew something he didn't want his subordinates to know, and it was usually something that would later end up putting the Flame Alchemist in some kind of peril.
Edward groaned and rose to a sitting position, running an exasperated hand through his blonde locks.
Stupid Fuhrer, he thought. I should probably go back soon so he doesn't end up getting himself killed. God knows Hawkeye will shoot me at first sight if he comes back with so much as a freaking paper-cut.
He had just reached for the doorknob when two sharp knocks sounded from the other side, just about making him jump out of his skin.
"Jeez, what?" he growled, opening the door with a bit too much force. The pageboy standing outside his room just stared at him in wide-eyed horror, so Edward sighed and calmed himself. "Yes?"
"Um, the F-Fuhrer t-told me to send the wine to your room," the boy stammered, still looking rather frightened. Edward narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but then remembered that he had, in fact, ordered wine almost a half hour ago, having charged it to Mustang's tab as retribution for the coffee incident that morning.
"Thanks, kid. Do I owe you anything?" Edward asked, taking the proffered bottle and glass. The pageboy shook his head.
"No, sir. Have a good night," he said before bolting down the hall like the very hounds of hell were behind him. Edward snickered and shut the door, shaking his head and wondering if he had ever been that easily flustered. He glanced at the bottle of wine and decided it couldn't hurt to have a glass before returning to guard duty.
His mind wandered while he poured. It was the twenty-fourth of December. That meant he had a week before New Years, when he had promised Alphonse he would return. Mustang had sworn he would be able to uphold that promise, but now it wasn't looking so good. The assassins – of course – complicated things. If Mustang managed to get to Xing still alive (Edward didn't dwell on the other option; with all the guards at their disposal, the Fuhrer was more than safe), the captain and first mate's involvement in the attempted murder would have to be taken into account, as would the assassin himself. And since the people who wanted the Fuhrer dead seemed to be from Xing, that was sure to prolong the meetings, and then…
Edward heaved a sigh. There was a good chance that this year he would be forced to miss both Christmas and New Years.
He took another sip of the wine, frowning slightly. He looked at the bottle again, trying to see what was off about the taste, but then he caught it. His eyes widened in realization and he threw the bottle across the room, where it shattered against the far wall, spraying dark glass everywhere and creating a red waterfall of wine that pooled on the floor below.
Edward crushed the wine glass in his automail hand and let the pieces fall. With barely a thought he stuffed his left pointer finger down his throat, making himself gag. He kept it up, eyes watering furiously, until at last he managed to empty his stomach, falling to his knees and heaving as acidic bile poured out of his mouth. It didn't take long to finish, seeing as he hadn't eaten anything all day, but Edward knew that would only make it worse. He could already feel himself getting dizzy, and it took a minute or two for him to stand again. He staggered for the door, intent upon finding Havoc or even Mustang to warn them, but he only made it two steps before collapsing.
The poison was spreading too fast. His vision was tunneling and the roaring in his ears was growing louder by the second.
"Damn," he rasped, desperately trying to cling to consciousness as explosions dotted his vision. "Mustang…"
Everything went black.
- - -
On deck, Havoc lit a cigarette, the flame from his lighter casting an orange glow over the bottom half of his face. He doused it with a flick of his wrist and took a drag from the cig, looking out over the chilly water. He sighed, blowing his smoke into the wind, and checked his watch by the dim light of the moon. Edward was still guarding Mustang; he had another five hours until his shift began.
Havoc sighed again and took another drag. An assassination attempt had been one of the last things on his mind when he had boarded the St. Emery. Sure, it was always a possibility – what with Mustang being the new Fuhrer and all – but he hadn't expected any trouble from Xing. They were meeting for peace talks, for goodness' sake!
He shook his head at the irony of it all and took one more drag from the cigarette before tossing it into the sea. The cold wind was becoming increasingly bitter, and he could see clouds forming on the horizon. It looked and felt like a storm was brewing, and Havoc wanted to be below deck when it came.
He walked inside, saluting a soldier who had been manning the door, and headed for Mustang's room, figuring he could keep Edward company during his watch. He smirked, knowing very well that the Fuhrer was neck-high in paperwork. Hawkeye would be proud.
Havoc felt the presence behind him before the strong hands grabbed him, one twisting his arm up behind his back, the other clamping over his mouth.
"You will be silent," a low voice said. "And you will come with me."
- - -
Edward jolted to wakefulness with a wordless cry.
The room was spinning horribly. Slurring curses, he stumbled to his feet and made for the door, knowing damn well that there was only one reason anyone on this particular boat would target him:
They wanted Mustang.
Edward wrenched the door open to reveal a pitch-black hallway. He stopped for a second, wondering vaguely what time it was, then determined it didn't really matter. He made a wobbly beeline for Mustang's room, ricocheting off the walls as he tried to walk faster than the poison would allow. All he could think of was Mustang, and how he had left him alone. Alone! When there was a known threat on his life!
Stupid, he thought furiously, almost falling as he rounded a corner. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He could be dead, already dead, and it's my fault, all my fault, stupid, stupid, stupid!
Edward burst through the Fuhrer's door without knocking and was unsurprised to find it empty. With a roar of frustration, he pounded his automail fist into the doorframe, leaving a rather impressive dent.
"MUSTANG!" he cried, shoving away from the empty room and heading for the deck even as his drugged mind tried to work out where they might have taken the Fuhrer.
He heard a voice outside, loud and mocking. It was coming from somewhere around the stern, so Edward went that direction first. He slipped and fell twice on the briny deck. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, forcing the ship through rougher waters and a dangerous winter storm, but Edward only vaguely noticed. His deluded mind was too focused on finding Mustang and keeping him alive.
What if he wasn't alive? What would Edward tell Havoc? That he had left Mustang in a tantrum, had some poisoned wine, and fallen into an intoxicated sleep?
Stupid, stupid, stupid! he thought again, repeating the word like a mantra.
There was more yelling up ahead, then raucous laughter. Edward staggered toward the noise, clutching at the heaving metal walls and ignoring the freezing salt spray soaking his clothes. He still couldn't see straight, and it felt like his mind was wandering outside of his body.
At long last he was able to make out two men, circling something at the stern of the ship. Or was it four men…? Edward blinked and realized his vision was doubling now. Were there two men? Four? No, there was only one. He shook his head rapidly in a futile attempt to clear his head, but it only worsened his situation.
"OY!" he yelled, lurching toward the man, who was now four men in the blonde's eyes. They all turned, completely unworried, to face him with matching leering grins.
"You are too late, Fullmetal Alchemist," they said in one voice, all raising identical guns and pointing them at a lone dark figure pinned against the back rail of the ship. Edward's head cleared as he registered the dark hair, the dark blue uniform, the eyepatch…
Mustang.
"NO!" Edward screamed, lunging forward just as the man pulled the trigger. Mustang's body jolted as the bullet hit him, then tipped over the rail as if in slow motion and was lost to the churning sea below.
All time seemed to stop.
Edward was frozen, halfway between the assassin who was no longer doubled and the place where his Fuhrer had just disappeared.
"Roy," he begged, golden eyes wide as he stared at the emptiness. His heart had stopped, his throat was clogged, he couldn't breathe.
Mustang was dead.
He had failed.
- - -
To be continued...
