A/N: I initially intended the previous chapter to be a oneshot, but I'm feeling lots of inspiration in this authoritarian Amestris. There are more challenges for our favorites to go through yet.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A prisoner is at the mercy of his captors.
Roy doesn't feel safe taking Ed back to the barracks, or headquarters, or even the military hospital—Grumman's men are everywhere, sniffing out weakness. As fast as he can, he lugs the kid to his own apartment, Hawkeye and a hysterical Alphonse in tow. Alphonse somehow summons the Rockbell girl, who's at his door before Roy can even lay Ed stomach-first on the kitchen table. She knows emergency medicine better than any field doctor Roy's seen, and is a flurry of action by Ed's side, though she wipes a veil of tears from her eyes.
Roy for his part can't bear to watch. Ed's back looks like a piece of raw meat, minced and shredded and glistening red and white. Either Winry's given him something or he's passed out from the pain, but the kid's unconscious and Roy is thankful for that. Instead, Roy leaves Alphonse by the kid's side and takes up pacing back and forth across his parlor, letting darkness settle in the room as the day fades to dusk. Hawkeye sits on the sofa, silent, unmoving.
My work. My marks along the kid's back. Didn't he swear never to hurt a member of his team? To protect them with his life? Roy agonizes over the scene again and again, trying to think if there was another way, a better way. Roy doesn't know what the kid Ed jumped in front of did to earn the whipping post, but he'll bet his life it wasn't warranted. Ed is just too noble, too kind—his moral outrage will be ripped out from him and thrown back with blood, until he breaks or he's killed. Roy knows which is likely to come first. Ed could never turn a blind eye to injustice, not even for his own safety. Especially not for his own safety.
And Roy, for his part, wonders how much longer he can keep playing the game of loyalty, before it no longer protects his people. No longer, his mind is hissing. It no longer protects your people. He hears a whimper of pain from the kitchen, hears Winry offering low words of comfort, snapping orders to Al, hears Ed moan again, this time louder, more pained—
Grumman's regime is making bold strides to reshape the corrupt governance of Amestris, to 'rip out the weeds and drown the rats,' as the pamphlets put it. As a Colonel under Bradley, as an alchemist in the Ishbalan War, Roy is a weed. He's clung weakly to his post since the Promised Day; he's done all he could to keep his team intact and safe. But Grumman's regime has launched a brutal investigation, and now the military tribunals are beginning, and Roy knows he won't last long.
Roy knows that Grumman is not a ruthless man. He chose the path most conducive to taking power, sold out all his old alliances and condemned the military's every move since Bradley's reign. Roy can tell that Grumman loves the power. Really, he could always tell, could always see that calculating glint in the man's eye, and Roy was a fool if he ever thought he could call the man an ally, or a friend. The grey-haired bastard on the other side of the chess table was too much like himself.
Roy also knows that Grumman's powerful new syndicates will not hesitate to be ruthless, and that Grumman has given them too much power to retain control over them. He suspects that his ties to Riza are all that are keeping him from a cell in Central Prison, or even the firing squad. But Grumman will bend eventually, bend to the monster he's created. Roy's only glimpsed the man in press conferences, but he seems different—like a shadow is weighing over him.
The room is fully dark now, but Roy can't bear to turn on a light. His mind is screaming paranoia. Instead, he pads back to the kitchen.
Ed's back is swathed in bandages. A bucket of water stained bright red is sitting by the table. Winry is wiping the blood from between the strips of gauze with a rag, another hand resting on the nape of Ed's neck, curling into his gold hair, dull in the sterile lights of Roy's kitchen. Roy's gut clenches. Ed's face is turned towards him, eyes closed, breath hitching raggedly.
"Thank you," Roy tells Winry quietly.
She stops her work, looks up at him, and her eyes are cold. Roy knows Alphonse has told her what happened. I had to do it, he wants to tell her. For his sake. I had to. But he says nothing, doesn't let his face betray emotion. He knows she hates him more for that.
He turns back to the parlor.
Alphonse has followed him, his newly restored body looking especially thin and fragile in the half-light spilling from the kitchen.
"I tried to explain, Colonel," Al says hesitantly. "She's just upset. She hates see him hurt."
As do I. Guilt and loathing surge forward, and Roy feels like a monster.
"Alphonse, I'm—"
"You don't have to apologize sir," Al says glumly. "I know why you did it. I know you had to."
Roy can't help but glance toward the window—can't help his paranoia—before he leans in closely.
"The military isn't safe for Ed anymore. As alchemists, we're Grumman's enemies. They'll come for me soon, and when they do, I can't protect him anymore. Hell, I can't protect him now."
"What do we do?" Al asks. Without the metallic ring of the armor, his voice sounds too young, like a child. Roy shakes his head, his throat tightening.
"I'll get you out of Amestris," Roy promises. "I'll find a way to send your brother on a mission out of the country—to Xing maybe, he's got friends there. Take Miss Rockbell too and get out while you can."
He has no idea how he'll pull this off with the regime watching him so closely, but he'll have to try.
"What about you? And Lieutenant Hawkeye? You'll leave too?"
After all he's been through, Roy can't believe Al's naiveté. Hawkeye looks up from the couch, meeting his eyes. No. Roy will not give up so easily.
"You're going to leave, right?" Al persists.
Roy is saved the trouble of answering. There's a knock on the door, and Roy feels a thrill of fear. It can't be. Not yet.
"Are you going to answer?" Riza asks quietly. Roy's mouth goes dry. They can't come for him yet, not when he's been obedient, not when he's shredded the skin of Edward's back just to retain their favor. Al has noticed his unease; the boy looks fearfully between him and the lieutenant.
The knock comes again, more insistent.
"Amestrian Military Police, open up in the name of the Furor!"
"Colonel, don't," Al whispers. Winry appears from the kitchen, still holding her rag, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise.
Roy opens the door.
The Military Police are waiting, in their blinding white uniforms. Riza is off of the couch, at Roy's shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he sees her hand travel to the back of her waistband, where he knows a gun is deftly tucked.
"Roy Mustang, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity during the Ishbalan War of Extermination, for the abuse of alchemy as a weapon of war, for conspiring with the denounced King Bradley."
Riza's in front of him before he can stop her.
"If you take him, you take me too."
Roy places a hand on her shoulder. "No. I still need you, Lieutenant. And not in prison."
"Let's go, Mustang," one of the officers snaps. He holds a pair of cuffs in his gloved hands. Is now the time to abandon loyalty? Is now the time to cleanly resist. The Military Police officers are armed to the teeth, but Roy has his ignition gloves in his pocket, and he can whip them on faster than these fuckers can cock a gun. They expect him to resist. There's probably more backup hidden in the alleys around his apartment.
No. If he fights, anyone who has ever befriended him will be punished. Fullmetal would resist, and look where that resistance landed the kid. Roy knows when he has the upper hand, and when he doesn't. He will not allow any more of his people to suffer on his behalf. A prisoner is at the mercy of his captors.
"Carry on without me, Lieutenant."
And he allows himself to be taken.
A/N: nooo Roy! You can expect one or two more chapters in this verse. I want to see it through. Next up another Ed POV, featuring Al and Winry, dealing with Mustang's imprisonment. Thanks for reading.
-JR
