A/N: Chapter two is rather short, so I'm putting up 2 & 3 simultaneously. Thanks, y'all.
II. Family
Less than a block from HQ, three to five minutes walking depending on the weather, was the smallest bar still in business in Central. Tucked between a behemoth of law firm and what Mustang could only assume was another bar, the Merlion was exactly what an otherwise high-profile officer needed after work. This was perhaps the only reason why the Merlion still opened its door at noon and still threw out the drunks at two in the morning; most of the patronage were politicians or military with the occasional judge squeezed in around the hem. So, while the building was small, the brew selection was all right, and the hookers were catching wind of its existence, the government of Amestris could not afford to lose the Merlion. There, a prestigious man could be just another bum with immunity. In fact, the fragile social balance of the bar – often the mutual agreement that I will not blackmail you if you do not blackmail me – kept the owner, known only as Charlie, in perpetual business.
Edward had first been dragged into the bar already drunk, which later proved to be the best way to get him in. Only after much persuasion and a handful of Havoc's perfunctory guile did Edward enter the Merlion sober. Further convincing was required when a sleek looking young woman in a very snug dress approached Edward and said something low enough for only him to hear. Though Mustang and Havoc got a jolly kick out of watching Edward squirm, the youngest officer was supposed to be paying that evening, and they needed to keep him there.
Now, perched on the squeaky barstools that could make a quarter turn at best, Major Edward Elric, Brigadier General Roy Mustang, and First Lieutenant Jean Havoc sloughed the onuses of the day and tucked into the cheapest drink on tap; it was Havoc's night to pay.
Havoc took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, flipped open the top, and pulled one out with his teeth. While doing this one-handedly, Havoc, patted down his other pockets for his lighter, which he found and brandished gratefully. With a string of contented sounds, Havoc breathed the cherry into red-hot life then exhaled a curling puff of smoke toward the heavens. Mustang made a display of leaning away.
Havoc took a long drag off his cigarette and leaned toward Mustang. "Whhhaaat?" he asked, expelling a little stratosphere just for the General. Mustang scowled and waved a hand in front of his face before ordering a refill.
"So," Mustang began as casually as ever. "Why does Russell Tringham need to see you as soon as possible?"
Edward choked on the mouthful he was swallowing. "I appreciate your discretion," he sputtered, wiping his mouth.
"Don't be naïve," Mustang said. He turned to Havoc. "You knew that letter wasn't an invitation, right?"
"Right," Havoc chimed.
In unison, Havoc and Mustang swung their heads around to stare Edward down. "So, what's going on?" Mustang asked.
Edward glared at them both individually before turning back to his beer. "If it were any of your business, I'd tell you I don't know," he said.
"Really?" Mustang said, feigning surprise. "Then what would compel you to lie to Lieutenant Ross?"
"And Havoc," Havoc added, leaning forward to see past Mustang.
"He didn't lie to you. Well, he lied to you once. I'm implying the second lie, the one he told Ross," Mustang clarified, earning him a puzzled expression from Havoc. "You knew exactly what Russell and Fletcher Tringham were doing in that lab and why they were doing it," Mustang said smugly to Edward.
"And how do you know?" Edward asked accusingly.
Mustang smirked. "I know everything you do. I assumed that was understood."
"I don't know why I sit through this," Edward sighed.
"Like you have anything better to do," Havoc said, laughing.
"As a matter of fact—" Edward stopped suddenly and sat up very straight. "Shit, I forgot to call Winry," Edward put his flesh fist down hard on the bar. "She's gonna—" he cut himself short when he noticed the knowing looks both Mustang and Havoc were giving him, smiles crooked and eyebrows raised. "Shut up," Edward hissed.
Mustang put up his palms and turned back to the bar. "I said nothing."
Havoc snorted. "Sorry. Didn't realize I was thinking so loudly."
"You know," Edward began, artfully dodging his lapse. "I could ask you two the same thing. Don't you have a wife somewhere, Havoc?"
Havoc grinned and shrugged. "Somewhere. She's probably sleeping off an oxytocin and progesterone cocktail."
"A what?" Mustang asked, raising a brow.
"You know all the things that make women insane?" Havoc asked. "It gets worse when they're pregnant." He sounded rather subjugated, making Mustang chuckle. "Avoid it at all costs." While Havoc often made a show of his suffering at the hands of his very pregnant wife, it was generally understood that fatherhood would suit the man well. He certainly would never announce it in a bar, but Havoc got almost as many kicks from the idea of parenthood as his wife got from the fetus.
"Like the plague," Mustang added before taking a long draw off his drink. As he swallowed, he noticed Edward looking into the amber depths of his stein, red-faced and frowning. Since Edward had not been drinking nearly enough to be that florid, the opportunity was too great to miss. "That isn't a concern for you, is it, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked, snatching Edward's attention away from his drink.
Edward took a moment to register what Mustang was insinuating, and he gave his best scowl while still being embarrassed speechless.
"Unless your call to Miss Rockbell actually entails perhaps more than—"
"I don't know what you're implying, Mustang!" Edward yelped as soon as his voice returned. "Just 'cause I don't have to keep tabs on all my illegitimate children—"
Mustang put a hand to his chest. "You wound me; I've more poise than that." Havoc snickered loudly.
"He doesn't keep tabs on them. It's easier to just leave a stack of signed checks in the break room when child support is due," Havoc said, grinning. Edward laughed at that if only because it was a well-placed jab at his opponent; the subject of neglectful fathers was not one Edward found particularly humorous.
Mustang, ever the plucky participant, countered with, "Oh, well-played, Havoc. I was afraid my munificence would bother you since not only can you not afford to write checks of that nature, but you also are confident you don't have to."
Havoc's eyes narrowed as he scrambled for a retort. "Hey, I only see one married person here! And it's me!" With that, Havoc snapped his face back to his beer and glared holes in the polished wood of the bar. He silently willed Mustang to keep to himself the fact that marriage was in no way indicative of virility.
Mustang's only response was a deep, quiet chuckle, which, because it was Mustang, was refutation enough.
Edward glanced at both of his companions before letting out a long sigh. "Well, on that note, I'm off to gouge my eyes out with spoons. It's been fun."
After making sure he could pass Mustang's Are-You-Good-to-Drive Test, Havoc got into his car and drove out of the municipal parking lot and into the lamp-lit street. Edward, having gotten to work earlier than both Mustang and Havoc, was parked closer to the building, and therefore further from the sidewalk. In silent agreement, Mustang walked with Edward, though they passed Mustang's car on the way. Through pools of yellowy light, spilled across the cracked and painted pavement, the two walked, hands thrust deep in pockets and breaths steaming.
Edward knew Mustang had been anticipating a time when they were alone since first receiving the letter that morning. Even with Russell's curt and rather vague style, Mustang must have interpreted correctly. He already knew the only connection Edward had with the Tringhams, and, more importantly, Mustang was not an idiot; no one in their right mind would waste his time on a casual letter to Edward.
"I can't blame you, you know," Mustang said, not surprising Edward in the least.
"For what?" Edward asked evasively.
Mustang snorted. "Don't insult me, Edward. The letter was sent to me on purpose; were I you, I'd be suspicious, too."
"I can worry about that later," Edward said, dropping the ruse with a sigh. "Somehow, I think whatever the letter was about is more important."
"Red water, you assume?" Mustang asked.
"Shh!" Edward hissed, glancing around nervously. "Make it a public service announcement, why don't you?"
Mustang stopped in the middle of a puddle of light and turned around in a lazy circle, observing the vacant expanse of parking lot blandly. He then came to a stop facing Edward with a sardonic expression on his face. "I think it's safe."
Edward glared for a moment and started walking again. He let a moment of silence pass before he answered grudgingly, "It has to be about the red water. He wouldn't waste a letter otherwise." Mustang chuckled deep in his throat. "I think something's wrong," Ed added darkly.
"Why is that? He was ambiguous, certainly, but didn't imply one way or the other."
"He knows I'm not looking for the Philosopher's Stone, anymore. Plus, I thought he'd given up researching it. He'd only contact me if something out of the ordinary were going on. I'm guessing the townspeople are getting sick again."
With a short hum, Mustang began to pull at the collar of his shirt. "Whatever you find, record it in code and don't tell anyone."
"Don't need to remind me," Edward replied. "But that's funny coming from you." Mustang quirked a brow in response. "You practically climbed on the bar and shouted to the hills that something was going on."
A gloved hand waved at Edward dismissively. "That bar was filled with politicians and hookers. If anyone heard, they'll probably assume you're sleeping with Tringham." Mustang shrugged.
Even in the poor light, Mustang could see the blood rush to Edward's face. "Oh, thanks," he snapped.
"Unflattering, perhaps, but entirely legal. If red water is involved, you would have to report it."
Edward raised a mischievous brow. "Are you suggesting insubordination, General?"
"It's not insubordination until you're caught, Fullmetal," Mustang said as they approached Edward's car. Mustang turned and leaned against the driver side back door as Edward hunted through his pockets for his keys. "I do hope you're not in too much trouble with Miss Rockbell," Mustang said, smirking as Edward blushed once more, even darker.
Edward, frustrated now with both his keys and his capillaries, let out a short, sharp sigh. "Thanks for the sympathy, bastard."
"I think it might do you well to—"
"I don't want to hear it," Ed snapped and opened his car door quickly to punctuate.
"I was only suggesting perhaps some feminine attention to balance things out. Completely innocuous," Mustang finished.
"You couldn't be innocuous if you tried," grumbled Edward as he slid into the driver's seat.
Mustang laughed and thumped the roof of Edward's car. "Give the family my best."
That made Edward pause. He had never heard Mustang refer to Alphonse as the family. It was only when Edward understood that the General was including Winry in the bunch that he laughed and realized it was true. "Right," Edward said. "Later."
"G'night," Mustang replied and stepped back from the car. Edward closed the door loudly and started the engine. By the time he was pulling on to the street, Mustang was already in his car and turning the ignition.
While stopped at an intersection, Edward checked his watch. It was already seven-thirty-two. He rolled his eyes, shifted into first gear, and resigned himself to a tongue lashing from Winry and that stupid, disapproving face Alphonse made whenever Ed did something irresponsible. Beyond that, however, he still looked forward to seeing them both. As comfortable as he had trained himself to be while in uniform, there was nothing like being with his family – Edward decided that he liked that, referring to Winry and Alphonse collectively as the family.
With every passing block, Edward felt his shoulders relax a little. He never noticed the tension during the day; it had become routine to pull out his game face for work. Even when with Havoc and Mustang off-duty, he did not feel entirely candid. There was always that sensation of performing and restraint, though it did lessen marginally when alone with the General.
Edward did not realize he was counting down the blocks until he heard himself say, "Two down." He then laughed shortly and shook his head.
The familiar face of Memorial Parkway stretched out before him as Edward took a left onto the street. The lamplights, more sparse now that Edward was out of the heart of Central, cast wide, orange circles over the road and sidewalk. Edward made a point to park in the middle of a fall of light then locked his doors methodically.
When he thought about it, Edward did not think Winry's neighborhood was particularly dangerous. Perhaps the only reason he was so cautious there was because it was Winry's neighborhood, and the thought of her living all alone made him rather nervous. That never made much sense to him, so he did not think too hard on the subject often, but when he did, Edward had to remind himself that just because she was alone did not mean her neighborhood was any more perilous than his.
Pulling his coat close around him, Edward jogged across the street and up to barren stairs leading to Winry's door, flanked by dim, curtained windows. He unconsciously looked up at the swinging sign before trying the doorknob; as he expected, it was unlocked.
Edward let himself inside and was immediately struck by how warm the place was. Locking the front door, he shrugged easily out of his coat and cut a path through the darkened waiting room. He took a left down a hall that lead to the little break room kitchen and the bathroom. At the back of the kitchen, Ed tossed his coat over the railing and started up the stairs that lead to Winry's flat.
The door at the top of the stairs was unlocked as well, and Edward entered as quietly as he could. The squeak of the door must have been announcement enough because, from beyond the little foyer, Edward heard, "Thanks for calling, Ed!" announced ironically. He rolled his eyes and closed and locked the door behind him.
Winry's flat was quite possibly the most pathetically funny thing Edward had ever seen, and he usually made a point of telling her that. It was one large, irregularly shaped space with no partition between "rooms." Winry typically designed one space something and another space something else with the furniture or the flooring. She insisted that the back of the couch separated the "dining room" from the "parlor," but Edward was quick to counter logically: if he could see over the wall, it was the same room. This usually led to many a raucously affectionate short joke.
Perhaps the best part of having a one room apartment was the ease of lighting and how the atmosphere could be ubiquitous or isolated depending on what was going on in what "room." On this evening, the single incandescent lamp hanging over the dining table failed to fill to the corners of the room, instead casting soft yellow circle that illuminated the table and little else. The savory, salty smell of grilled cheese sandwiches was thick in the air with the musky undersmell of steamed broccoli, and beneath that, the sweet, downy aroma inherently Winry lingered in the curtains and furniture.
Winry turned in her seat on the couch and knelt on the cushions. She folded her arms on the back and asked, "What took you?"
"Top secret military business," Edward said as he threw his uniform coat at her head. Winry snatched the coat out of the air and threw it down on the couch next to her, revealing her frown.
"You're so irresponsible, sometimes," she complained.
"Hey, maybe I was saving the city from some virulent, alchemic threat. You don't know," Edward countered, leaning down toward her.
"You were drinking with the General and Havoc," Al called from the "kitchen" where he was making sandwiches with practiced ease. Edward snapped his focus toward Al, whose back was to him.
"Whose side are you on?" Edward asked over Winry's laughter.
Alphonse glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe I'd be more supportive if you'd come help us out at the church. The foreman doesn't mind us using alchemy, too. You could be a huge help, Brother."
Ed rolled his eyes. "Some of us have jobs."
"Did I tell you Ed came to visit me today?" Winry asked. She hopped over the back of the couch and trotted up to Alphonse's side where a plate waited, heavy with sandwiches. She batted Alphonse gently with her elbow and nodded toward Edward. "He showed up just as I was getting ready to leave."
"Oh, really?" Alphonse asked, turning an accusatory look on his brother. "So you managed to get down there?"
"I was on a case," Edward said in his defense, but Winry spoke over him.
"Not that he helped at all."
"Who drove you home?" Edward snapped, pointing at her.
Winry chose to ignore him. She put her hands on her hips and asked frankly, "What have you got against Letoism, anyway?" Alphonse dropped the last sandwich on the plate and turned off the stove while Winry picked up the platter and headed toward the table. "So people wanna worship the sun. Big deal."
"Same thing I've got against all those stupid, sanctimonious, fabricated—"
"I think it helps that Brother knew the man who brought Letoism to popularity," Alphonse interjected. "What was his name? Cornello?" Al gathered up the casserole filled with hunter green florets and went to join Winry at the table.
"The bastard," Edward muttered, coming to stand behind his chair.
"Cornello the Bastard? That's quite a title for a religious leader," Winry said.
"I'll show you a book about it some time," Edward said as he pulled out his chair and sat heavily. "You'll think twice about helping them build a church."
"They're not trying to convert anyone, you know?" Al said, taking his seat as well. "Seriously, Brother, a few claps of your hands could get as much work done in five minutes as the rest of the crew gets done in a day."
"Then who would protect our lovely city from the deadly alchemic threats that rear their ugly heads everyday?" Edward asked, as he screwed off the cap of the beer Winry placed before him.
"And how many alchemic threats were you valiantly fighting back today?" Winry asked, passing Alphonse a sweating brown bottle as well. She then sat down and started struggling with the cap to her drink.
Edward reached across the table and took the bottle from her, twisting off the cap with ease. "That is classified," he replied smugly before handing the bottle back. With narrowed eyes, Winry snatched back her drink.
Alphonse blew out an incredulous breath that ruffled his bangs. "Oh, right, Brother."
Edward found their teasing almost comforting enough to distract him from the weight of Russell Tringham's letter, which had cryptically instructed Ed to get in touch with Russell immediately, tucked cozily in his pocket. He was still trying to decide whether he should tell Alphonse about it. Even though, with Alphonse's migratory memories returning to roost more vividly everyday, Al might be able to offer some insight into the matter, Edward was not certain just how much of a true threat this very vague warning posed and thusly how much danger he would be exposing his little brother to by just informing him. Would Mustang's support and sagacity—a trait Edward begrudgingly recognized—be enough if the red water were flowing once more, Edward wondered. Had Winry not chosen that moment to clear her throat loudly, Ed could have continued pondering to exhaustion.
Both Alphonse and Winry waited with their drinks raised, prepared to carry out one more tradition borne between the three of them. As with most of their conventions, the source was not entirely clear, but the intent was. Edward smiled, pushing his more pressing concerns down, and raised his drink as well.
"You first," Winry said, gesturing to Edward.
"To…" Edward paused for a moment to consider. "Me, fighting back the alchemic evils that you are both blissfully ignorant of."
Alphonse rolled his eyes. "To us, encouraging diversity in the community."
Both brothers turned to Winry, waiting for her toast. She smiled at them and shook her head. "To you, drinking my beer and eating my food like the old days… well, minus the beer."
"Here, here!" Alphonse said as they clinked the glistening necks of their bottles together and tossed them back in unison.
Once their drinks were down, Winry began passing around the platters, each helping themselves to a serving. "Wow, grilled cheese," Edward said with feigned awe as he stacked golden-brown sandwiches high on his plate. "What's the occasion?"
Both Winry and Alphonse gave Edward identical glares, so identical, in fact, that Edward snorted while drinking, sending alcohol into his nose and making him curse colorfully.
