The dumbass incarnate stared across the room, taking in the sight of the trees blowing in the wind against the dark backdrop of the night's sky; Elric's cognizant blanked in and out as he watched. He imagined giving himself a swift kick in the rear with his automail leg or stealing Winry's largest wrench so he could knock himself out over his raging stupidity. With enough force, perhaps the self-inflicted violence would make his new situation miraculously disappear. It wouldn't be the first time a fierce crack to the head solved some sort of problem…
Yet deep down, Edward knew it was a done deal. He was attached to some stranger and there was nothing his assholery could do about it. He could practically hear karma giggling over the whole thing.
With a sigh, the young man looked down at his left hand—the message was still missing in action. On the not so bright side, the area in which he scribbled the lame, "Hey?" still burned. Perfect.
The blond closed his smoldering, lust-filled, golden eyes and dropped his sweaty forehead onto his palm. Elric inhaled a deep breath, then slowly exhaled it. He repeated the exercise in hopes that it would calm his incinerated nerves, which were still crackling in the warm afterglow of (literally) life-changing pleasure. Sucking in another breath of unjustified self-pity, Ed opened an eye to chance a peek at the back of his hand. Nothing. Apparently the message had no intention of returning. The realization caused a childlike whine to bubble past his clenched teeth. "Fuck," he quietly mumbled as a torrent of questions ricocheted through his thick skull.
Why was he such an idiot? What the hell was he thinking? Why was Alphonse always right? How was his body still reacting to the mind-blowing sex he didn't partake in? What was he hoping to accomplish by using the cursed pen? Well, if he were to be completely honest with himself in spite of the pretty little lies whispering in his ear, Edward knew his reasoning behind that inquiry. His manly pride and the need to prove Al wrong forced his burning curiosity—which never failed to land him in trouble—into action. Thanks to those desires, he was in deep shit. Again. Now he had a brand new best friend. Would he ever learn to listen to his little brother? Probably not.
Wallowing in stupidity, the older Elric pushed himself off the floor. He dragged his feet toward the bed and haphazardly flopped onto his stomach. The pillow he considered suffocating himself with muffled his loud groan. After a few more colorful curses screamed into the innocent bedding, the young man flipped over and stared up at the ceiling. He closed eyes in hopes of drifting off into the land of slumber.
He didn't.
Rather than sleep, the poor soul tossed and turned the entire night. Ed repeatedly wrote inappropriate messages on his right hand; now battered and abused. He switched to his other arm and sketched on its fist. At one point, Edward briefly admired his drawings; he was pretty sure his crude artwork could make even Teacher blush. The mere thought made him inordinately proud. That emotion quickly evaporated once he acknowledged the ass kicking he would undoubtedly receive. Nevertheless, the lack of positive outcomes aggravated him. Yet, in spite of the negative results, Elric continued to fiddle with the writing utensil. He spent hours alternating between extremities, even going as far as scribbling on different parts of his body. Edward did discover something during his acts of desperation: the pen worked mighty fucking fine on the papers now graffitied with arrays. That convenient, little detail pissed him off. It heightened the craving to shove his automail foot up his ass and throw punches. He dearly hoped that whatever bullshit, mystical powers that were behind the yellow pen's ability would spontaneously combust.
Alongside the need to instigate brute force at whatever stood in his way, the whole ordeal left the poor fool in an unfortunate situation. Or rather, his newfound love life bound him to someone who had an impressive amount of stamina. That left Edward annoyed. And sexually frustrated. He had quite the headache, too. Thus, the oddly sore and defeated Edward Elric laid in bed with his ankles crossed, stuck between a rock and a very...hard place. Obviously comedic karma was his new pal seeing as the crotch-constricting dilemma refused to subside; his attempts to handle it yielded nothing. The virginal blond was sure of one thing, though: his soulmate needed to get themselves together before it was time to roll out of bed. He wasn't in the mood to answer a slew of awkward questions.
Elric's seemingly endless, painfully aroused state didn't help his migraine, either. During the night, the burning aftertaste of alcohol had settled in his mouth. It was now early morning and Edward could still taste what he believed to be scotch sticking to his tongue. Thanks to that lovely flavor combined with the bright sunlight filtering in from the window, he was experiencing the most powerful, skull-crushing, alcohol induced agony in all of Amestris.
As he endured the consequences of indirect overindulgence on top of his soulmate's sexual prowess, Edward concluded that he was a horny, hungover-by-proxy, little—no, fully grown—idiot. Whoever this person was, he decided he was going to murder the son of a bitch for leaving him in such a way. At the very least, the young blond would flip him the bird. The man deserved it.
Paying no mind to the soulmate-identifying clue bouncing around in his subconscious, Edward quickly threw the blanket off his legs, then swung them over the bed. Rather than standing, the sheet intertwined with his lower limbs sent him tumbling to the floor. He rolled over and banged his right knee against the bedpost, forcing a painful groan to burst past his clenched teeth. "What the fuck!" hissed Elric, cradling his leg and bruised ego. Damn it! Not only was he in an undisclosed relationship, he was becoming well acquainted with the carpet. At the rate his luck was going, the blond wouldn't be surprised if the floor was the person who supposedly was his one true love.
Grumbling, the moron extraordinaire slowly propped himself into a sitting position, then carefully stood. Once Ed was sure his vicarious, spirits-related illness and wobbly leg wouldn't reunite him with the floor, he bent down and dusted off his black pajama pants. In doing so, he noticed that his pent-up, sexual frustration had finally decided to take a hike. He had that going for him, at least.
Straightening up, the former state alchemist raised his arms above his head, letting out a loud yawn as he languidly stretched. A few vertebrae popped back into place and his stiff shoulders cracked before his upper limbs dropped to his sides. Yawning yet again, the blond took a step forward and approached his bedroom door. When he placed his hand on the metal doorknob and turned it, he let out a harsh breath of air; the angry, red flesh of his abused extremity hadn't appreciated the action in the slightest. Ed glanced down at it and winced. He needed to figure out a way to conceal his little secret. If his prior hard-on wouldn't have given him away, his hand sure would.
With a click of his tongue Elric turned around and scanned the room in hopes of finding something to hide the problem. His amber eyes zeroed in on the gloves conveniently situated on his bag by the wooden dresser. He quickly hobbled toward the luggage and snatched up the gloves before heading out the door and limping down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. Edward rounded the corner and found Winry at the stove flipping pancakes and frying bacon. The usually heavenly, mouth watering aromas made his stomach churn.
Ed went over to the table and pulled out a chair. The sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor forced him to close his eyes. His headache wouldn't be thanking him later. "Happy birthday, Winry," the oldest blond groaned as he plopped down on the seat. He slapped his hands on the table to prevent himself from tipping to the side. The movement caused a faint dizzy spell to wash over him. Once again, he silently told his unknown other half to fuck off.
Winry nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden address of her person. Smiling, she peered over her shoulder at the older Elric seated at the kitchen table. Upon seeing him, her cheerful grin was swiftly replaced with a sympathetic grimace. The young man, in her opinion, looked terrible. There were dark bags beneath his eyes and his tan skin was a ghostly shade of white with the tiniest hue of green dusting his sweaty pallor. His sunny tresses were rumpled and tangled into a high ponytail. "Are you alright, Ed?" she asked, frowning. "You look a bit sick."
Hungover, more like. Edward glanced up at the blonde mechanic. "Yeah, I'm alright, Win," he lied, swallowing down the nausea turning in his belly. "Didn't get much sleep." Understatement of the year. He leaned forward to the platter piled high with bacon and chose an extra crispy slice, then hesitantly took a bite. A soft sigh of relief escaped him when his stomach didn't immediately reject the sacred food.
Rockbell narrowed her blue eyes at the fibbing young man. Seeing as she had her own worries (namely Alphonse) at the moment, Winry chose not to comment any further on the former alchemist's words. She turned her focus on the pancake in the pan, then scooped it up and flipped it in the air before catching it on the plate containing the other flapjacks.
"Where's Granny?" questioned Ed, slowly chewing on another piece of bacon.
"She's not home yet," responded Rockbell. She poured the last of the batter into the skillet, which quickly began to bubble.
"What the hell is the old woman doing?"
"I'm telling you; she has a boyfriend," the automail mechanic sighed, flipping the hotcake.
"So gross," muttered Ed. After the words left his mouth, a gagging sound caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if his body was repelling the food or if the nightmarish idea of Granny Pinako having a sex life made the noise arise. He prayed to the deity he didn't believe in that it was the latter. The blond wasn't quite sure how long he would last if he had to give up bacon—or worse, stew. The mere thought almost sent him into a panic.
Winry rolled her eyes. Using the spatula, she scooped up the last pancake and put it on the plate. She picked it up and walked over to the kitchen table. "You know" she began, putting the platter down, "it's perfectly fine for Granny to have—" The young woman paused and cocked her head to the side, her brows furrowing in thought. Goosebumps prickled along her skin. She suddenly felt...suspicious? Or was it anxiety? "Huh," she squeaked. How strange.
"'Huh'?" echoed Edward, watching the young woman stare blankly at who the hell knew what. "Winry?"
The blonde rapidly blinked away the random sensation and shook her head. "Sorry, what were you saying?" asked Winry as she absently rubbed her forearms.
"Y'kinda zoned out on me."
"Don't worry, it's nothing," assured Rockbell. Catching sight of a head full of blond hair poke from around the corner, she turned to face the other boy. "Good morning, Al. There's pancakes and bacon over here if you're hungry." She pulled out a chair and sat down, then began serving herself breakfast.
"Happy birthday, Winry," congratulated Alphonse with a quick wave. Receiving a shy, but bright smile in reply, a grin of his own appeared and the tips of his ears tinged a light pink of their own accord.
"C'mon Al, take a seat," urged Ed, pushing out the chair next to him. Upon hearing the horrendous and unnecessarily loud noise of wood scraping against wood, he firmly squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to stifle a groan of agony. He truly wished his headache would take a hike. Why couldn't it torture the fucking asshole who gave it to him instead?
The blushing blond remained standing in the doorway. "Brother...I need to talk to you," he said, shuffling his feet from side to side while he scratched at his hand.
Edward cast a fleeting glance at his sibling, then did a double take. The kid was nervously fidgeting and his sparkling, enthusiastic golden eyes were unusually dull and subdued. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Are you okay?"
"Heh, yeah. I just really, really need to talk to you," Alphonse insisted. He gestured behind his back with his thumb, silently telling the other that he would prefer to speak in private. "Please," he mouthed.
An irrationally angry and fed up Winry, who was observing the entire exchange, slammed down her utensils with a bang, causing the plates and glasses to rattle against the dining table. A powerful surge of overwhelming and protective need to defend Alphonse overcame her. "Go help your little brother, Edward!" she snapped.
Seconds after the spoken command left her lips, Ed whipped his head in her direction with such fierce velocity, she was quite frankly surprised it hadn't popped off. The former alchemist slowly tilted his head to the side, and what she swore were purple storm clouds misted around his entire form. A maniacal smile spread along his reddening cheeks and white sparks of fury blazed behind his darkening glare. Rockbell braced herself for the older boy's impending ego-deflating outburst.
"After all these years," growled the undeniably shorter Elric, his voice loud and feral, "am I still so SMALL, you can't see who you're talking to? Hm?!"
"Brother—" interjected the taller boy.
"—If it helps, I'm right here," offered the elder blond sarcastically. He emphasized his location by pointing a finger over his head, which had visible steam hissing out of its ears.
"Brother!"
"Whaddya want Al?!" snapped Edward, seething at the one who should've been pint-sized.
"I'm pretty sure she was talking about me!" exclaimed Al, throwing his arms in the air.
"Oh," the psychotic Elric murmured. To the others' immense relief, the violet clouds above his head parted and a heavenly light shined down upon him, highlighting his now angelic persona. Ed glanced over at Rockbell and flashed her a dazzling, pearly-white grin. "Sorry, Winry," he apologized, happily wiggling his fingers at the automail mechanic. The girl simply gaped at him.
Before Edward could say another word and end up on the receiving end of Winry's wrench, Alphonse snatched the fool up by his shirt and tugged him out of the chair, then proceeded to drag him down the hall toward his bedroom before practically tossing him inside. The boy gently closed the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.
"Okay, what's the problem?" asked Ed, rubbing the sore skin brought on by the shirt's collar chaffing his neck.
Anxiously chewing on his lower lip, Alphonse turned around to face his older brother. "Well…" he began, scratching the back of his head.
The older Elric placed a hand on his hip. "Are ya gonna tell me?" he asked, tapping his automail foot.
Figuring that actions speak louder than words—or in his case, drawings—Alphonse approached Edward and shoved his hand in the other's face; he just about punched him in the nose. "When I woke up, this was on here!" he exclaimed, his face flushing a painful shade of scarlet.
Taking hold of his sibling's hand, Ed squinted at the artwork riddled with scratch marks. "Maybe you were sleep-doodling?" he postulated. He ran a gloved finger across the irritated skin. "Sorry," he murmured when he felt Al flinch.
"No I was not 'sleep-doodling'," huffed Al with a roll of his eyes. "And if I were to draw anything, don't you think I would've drawn a cat or Xiao-Mei?"
Edward tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. Hmph. True. The kid had a point; he loved kittens in an almost obsessive way. He had lost count as to how many he had found hidden in the various nooks and crannies in their apartment. "Did you try washing it off?"
"No, Ed. I just love having mysterious writing on me," mocked Alphonse. "Of course I did, you idiot. I tried scrubbing it off with soap and hot water. I even tried alchemy. It won't go away!"
"What do you think it is?"
"How am I supposed to know?!"
"Well, this one kinda looks like a smiley face and a…" the older Elric paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. And the other...a tool—a wrench, maybe? Who would draw something like that? Whoever did, he silently thought, definitely needed to take a few art lessons; the picture was ugly as hell.
"Brother...I-I think it might be the pen dad left me," whispered Al.
Frowning, Edward looked up at Alphonse. "But you said you didn't use it."
"I didn't! I mean, what if somebody used their soulmate pen and now we're connected?"
Ed let go of his brother's wrist. "Then I guess ya gotta soulmate," he concluded. Thanks to Al's mysterious person, they were in the same boat, now. However, unlike his brother, Edward's seat was bought in gratitude to his Class A dumbass status.
"I thought you didn't believe in it?"
"Uh, I don't," lied Ed, absently waving the question away. Catching sight of the younger Elric's questioning gaze, his cheeks heated beneath the scrutiny. The color darkened when he noticed that Alphonse was watching his flailing hand. He swiftly dropped his arm, letting it hang limply at his side.
"Why are you wearing gloves, brother?"
The silence that settled between them was deafening. For a brief moment, Edward could've sworn he heard the cosmic universe laughing at him within the creepy shadows, whispering, "not so fast, buddy" into his ear. He, on the other hand, wasn't fucking amused. The shorter blond blinked innocently. "Huh, what gloves?"
"I don't know. Maybe the gloves that're on your hands!" mused Al, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Oh, these ol' things?" squeaked Ed, nonchalantly looking at the clothing accessories. "My hands are cold."
"It's summer. Before we left Central, you were complaining like a baby about how hot it is outside. How can your hands be cold?" Alphonse stared at the older boy, whose sizzling cheeks were slowly draining of color. "You look guilty," he accused, cocking a brow at his fidgeting sibling.
"Nah, I'm good," hummed Edward, his voice scaling an octave.
"What did you do?" asked the younger blond, crossing his arms.
"Nothin'!"
"Then take off the gloves," suggested Alphonse.
"Why? There's nothing to see," countered the more stubborn of the two Elric brothers. He shot the brat a glare of his own, warning him to shut his trap. It didn't work.
A slow, menacing smile—one that appeared to be angelic and tooth-rottingly sweet to the average, ignorant bystander—curved the corners of Alphonse's lips, his amber gazed boring into Edward's soul. It was a look that frightened even General Mustang when the situation called for it. "Take. Them. Off," he demanded through clenched teeth, his hands fisting at his sides.
"Y'know what? I think I just heard Granny come home," said Edward, motioning a hand at the door. "We should go say 'hi'." He moved to step around the younger blond. He retreated with such speed, his long hair whipped the taller boy in the face.
Before the fibber could take another step toward the bedroom exit, Al swiftly turned around and lunged at his brother. He snatched him up by his ponytail, then firmly pulled on the sunny-colored locks. The strength at which he did so caused the former alchemist to be yanked back against his torso which such force, it sent them both crashing onto the floor with a chorus of painful 'hmphs'.
Quickly recovering from the near backbreaking impact, Al reached for the gloves. "Give them to me!" he hissed.
"Get off me!" growled Edward, childishly batting his brother away. To his dismay, the younger Elric somehow managed to roll on top of him and pin him firmly to the ground. Well, that wrestling match didn't last long. Unfortunately for Ed, their new position allowed Al to grab onto his wrist and remove the glove. He huffed out a frustrated breath of air over his secret's demise as he felt the white material run along his skin.
Alphonse's eyes widened in shock. "You used the pen," he surmised, staring at the irritated skin. He pushed himself off the other and sat back on his heels. "What happened?"
Groaning, Ed propped himself up. "Uh...I was kinda bored and I figured what the hell? So I used it," he admitted, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.
"And?" prodded the taller boy.
"Um...it burned a bit, then disappeared," replied Ed. He decided that Alphonse didn't need to know the embarrassingly sultry—yet delightfully pleasurable—details of the connection establishing, nor the now subsided headache. Its disappearance was a plus.
"Did you feel anything?"
Great. "Nope," he answered, shrugging a shoulder with much more enthusiasm than necessary.
"Neither did I," agreed Al. "At least I don't think so. Maybe it's too early to tell." Letting out a heavy sigh, he stood and held out a hand. "What do we do now?"
"How the fuck should I know?" grumbled Edward, grunting as he was pulled up from the floor.
"I guess—"
"—Good morning, Granny!" came the muffled sound of Winry's voice floating down the hallway.
Pinako's reply was inaudible, but her following question was loud and clear: "Where's Alphonse and the shrimp?"
Fuming, the former Fullmetal Alchemist stomped toward the door and flung it open; it hit the wall with a resounding bang, causing the picture frames on the dressers to tip over. "Who the hell are ya callin' 'shrimp' ya pint-sized, old hag?!" he barked at the top of his lungs as he sprinted in the direction of the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Alphonse followed after his hot-headed brother.
Later in the evening, while he nursed the alcohol-related headache he knew he deserved, Mustang strolled throughout Central Command, stealthily avoiding a particular Lieutenant who adamantly insisted that he return to his desk and promptly complete the growing stack of files that required his attention. Unfortunately, that very person rounded the corner into the hallway in which he walked. On a luckier note, Roy just so happened to pass a men's restroom at that moment. Shielding his face with a gloved hand, he turned around and slipped through the door. Hopefully he entered unseen—unlike the time where he was hunted down by Riza Hawkeye, who held no compunctions when she entered the water closet, nor did she bat an eyelash as she scolded him while his pants were down for shirking on his duties. He exhaled a pent-up sigh of relief when the door didn't burst open.
Squinting against the painfully bright lights in the latrine, the General let out another breath and approached the nearest sink. He placed both hands on either side of the porcelain bowl and peered at himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked rather terrible. His smooth, ivory skin held a ghostly pallor, donned with purplish-black bags beneath his dull eyes; beads of cold sweat dotted his hairline. Roy was grateful that his subordinates hadn't questioned his appearance or the reasoning behind it, though he suspected Riza was aware of the situation. A part of him was ashamed that someone could see such a weak side of him.
The Flame Alchemist took off his white gloves, then placed them on a shelf next to the sink before proceeding to turn on the cold tap water. He leaned down and splashed the liquid onto his face. After another douse of the icy fluid, he turned off the water. He reached into the pocket of his uniform coat and retrieved a gray handkerchief. As Roy utilized it to dry off his chilled skin, he looked into the mirror. Suddenly, the cloth fell from his fingers.
Seconds after he saw its reflection, Mustang flipped his left hand around. "What the hell?" he quietly muttered.
"Hmm...Won't you look at that! I'd know that terrible handwriting anywhere!"
Gasping, Roy jumped at the intruding voice and firmly closed his eyes; the sudden movement caused a nauseating sense of dizziness to swim within his veiled vision. He took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled it through his nose. The raven-haired man thickly swallowed down the lump lodged in his throat. "Go away."
"Aw, c'mon, Roy. Are you really gonna talk to your old pal that way?"
The General slowly opened his eyes. In the mirror, stood the phantasmic reflection of his closest and deceased friend standing behind him—the former Colonel Maes Hughes.
"Go away," insisted Roy. You're not real; you're dead. He silently repeated the mantra. It was one that never worked.
"I haven't seen you for a while," pointed out Hughes. He pushed up his glasses, which allowed the lights to refract against the lenses. "But don't worry about me. It looks like you have a new problem."
"And that would be?" asked Roy, picking up the damp handkerchief with trembling hands. As soon as the words left his mouth, he grimaced. He mentally cursed himself for indulging in his hallucinations. He shoved the cloth into his pocket.
Maes looked over Roy's shoulder. "Well, if you look at your hand…" he urged with a smirk. "You know, I'd bet every picture of my darling Elicia—who is the absolutely cutest thing you've ever seen!—that little blondie is your problem."
The Flame Alchemist turned on the water and began scrubbing the graffitied flesh. "I believe Lieutenant Hawkeye would be unappreciative of your nickname."
"Nice try. Don't play coy with me Roy," he chuckled. "Judging by the handwriting—which we've both seen numerous times—you know exactly who your new sweetheart is."
"You're a figment of my fractured mental health and somehow you still manage to be an annoying pest," grumbled Mustang.
"And you should've believed me when I told you how I found my gorgeous Gracia. I'm the one who's always right when it comes to the matters of the heart." Hughes watched as the General flinched during his brazen effort to remove the message from his abused skin. "It's not going anywhere, so you might as well stop." He flashed Roy a sparkling grin. "You have a soulmate."
"It's a child's tale. I really don't know how you believe in such nonsense," murmured Mustang. He paused, then cleared his throat. "Used to believe." Flushing a bright red at his mistake, he turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel to begin drying his hands.
"If it is, then why won't your darling's message go away, hmm?" asked the nerve grinding romantic. When the other man failed to answer the question, Hughes' smirk widened. "That's what I thought."
"Shut up."
Maes put a hand on his hip, and tapped the fingers of the other against his chin. "I wonder what he'll say when he finds out."
"He'll say nothing because he'll never find out!" snapped Roy. Judging by the hearts bubbling above the imaginative figure's head, his words went in one ear and out the other.
Hughes clasped his hands together and pressed them against his cheek. "Roy Mustang and Edward Elric: soulmates," he gushed.
Choking down a gag, Roy rolled up the soiled, brown paper, then tossed it into a bin before putting on his white gloves. "Leave me be. I don't need you whispering in my ear for the rest of the evening," he said with one last look in the mirror. Turning away, he approached the door and opened it before exiting the restroom and walking down the hallway toward his office.
"You can't leave me hangin'! What am I supposed to do while you're pretending to fill out paperwork?" whined Hughes, trailing after the alchemist.
"You can always disappear," suggested the General, his voice significantly louder than he intended. A fellow soldier, whose name he couldn't recall, shot him an odd look as he passed by. Roy nearly flushed. Once again, he scolded himself for encouraging the projection imitating his inner voice.
"I'll be quiet, I promise," whispered Colonel Hughes. "They won't even know I'm there!"
Mustang was not amused.
To his immense relief, Roy's personified illusion managed to keep its mouth shut while he entered his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Maes sit down on one of the couches. He quietly closed the door behind him, then strolled over to his desk and sat in the leather seat.
Before General Mustang could pick up his pen, his office door opened. Lieutenant Hawkeye entered the room, carrying a large stack of files. Roy winced when the items were dropped onto his desk with an audible thump. He had to consciously prevent himself from leaning away from the hovering blonde.
"Where did you manage to procure yet another pile, Lieutenant?" he asked cautiously.
"I found them behind your radiator, sir. Judging by the date on the top sheet, I assume these are overdue and require your attention."
"Thank you for your diligence, Lieutenant Hawkeye," uttered Roy.
"Don't mention it, sir," Riza replied with a salute. She shot him a covert glare, one that told him that it told him to complete his work, or risk being at the receiving end of her gun barrel.
The Flame Alchemist glanced at the pile. With a defeated sigh, he grabbed the first folder and opened it. As he read its contents, he picked up his pen with one hand while he absently reached for his coffee mug with the other. He proceeded to take a sip, and when the brew failed to reach his lips, he frowned. Empty again. However, that frown turned into a sly smirk. The lack of available caffeine—which Roy reasoned was required in order to work at full potential—presented the opportunity to escape. If he planned ahead the most optimal way to do so, perhaps he could stash the ridiculous paperwork behind the bookcase in the corner of his office.
"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant Hawkeye," he began, standing up with the coffee mug in hand. Refusing to allow the blonde a chance to condemn him for his actions, he sped toward the door, practically leaving dust in his wake. When he was feet away from the exit, it flew open.
"General Mustang, sir!" saluted Jean Havoc.
"Second Lieutenant," greeted Mustang. "Is there a problem?"
"Chief, I gotta call from Fuery. He didn't tell me anything, but he said we gotta go downtown where he's waiting for us."
"Alright then, you and Hawkeye—with me," ordered Roy. He put the mug on a nearby table, then marched down the hallway with his subordinates in tow. Thankfully, Hughes stayed behind.
Accompanied by Havoc and Hawkeye, General Mustang stepped out of the black, military issued vehicle and walked toward Kain Fuery, who waited by the corner of an alleyway. The young man transferred the brown grocery bag, as well as Black Hayate's leash, into his left hand, then saluted his superiors with the other, all of whom returned the gesture in kind.
"Good evening, sir!" said the Sergeant Major. "Thank you for coming."
"What's the emergency you called into Command?" asked Roy.
"It's...not pleasant," informed Fuery, turning around and beckoned for the others to follow down the alley, his shoes splashing against the cobblestone covered in puddles. "I'm not sure how long its been here. If Black Hayate hadn't sniffed it out, I would've passed on by. I called you from the bar around the corner after I saw it."
The General regarded Riza's dog, who trotted by Fuery's side, and briefly wondered why he was accompanying the bespectacled boy.
"What is it?" questioned Havoc, his unlit cigarette bobbing in his mouth. "To be honest, you sounded a bit scared." A flashed an apologetic smile when Kain looked at him over his shoulder, his expression shy and cheeks pink. "Sorry," he mouthed to the other.
A few silent moments later, Fuery stopped. Without further explanation, he stepped aside to allow his superiors to take in the scene, gesturing at the corner with his free hand.
"What the hell…?" the Second Lieutenant's baffled words trailed off into a muttered whisper. His curiosity getting the better of him, Jean made a move to close the distance between he and the corner.
"Don't step any closer, Havoc," ordered Roy. He pointed at the ground, bringing attention to the large transmutation circle that slightly glimmered against the orange glow of the setting sun. "That is still active." Mindful of his footsteps, he cautiously passed by the apologetic blond. Mustang kneeled to the ground and placed the palms of his hands on the edge of the circle; it deactivated with a flash of light. "Now you may approach," he said, gazing up Jean with raised eyebrows, "without worrying about losing any body parts in the process."
The four military personnel approached the victim; a harsh silence settled between them as they each got a close look at the deceased before them. Roy felt the tight knots in his stomach frantically twist and turn.
On a wooden box sat a little boy posing with one leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped up by the knee and his chin cradled in the palm of his hand. Spread along his cheeks was what one might assume was a fashioned, amused smile. His red eyes stared blankly into the dusk and his dark skin glistened against the light. The whole thing reminded Kain of a porcelain doll, whose face was peppered with runes he was unable to identify. And on its forehead were written the words, "Flame Alchemist." The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could hear the soft sound of Hayate growling next to him.
"S-sir," stuttered Fuery, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "Do you think someone is targeting—"
"—Hawkeye, when we return to command," interrupted Roy, "have Sheska contact the Elric brothers. I believe their assistance will prove valuable."
"I can't believe the bastard called us back here already," huffed Ed. He put his elbow on the workbench and observed his sibling, who was outlining a transmutation circle.
"To be fair, Sheska insisted that he said 'please', and was very nice about it," replied Alphonse. He completed the circle, then proceeded to draw the appropriate runes within it.
The older blond mentally rolled his eyes. The smug asshole nice? Ha. He would believe that load of bullshit when the sun rises in the West and sets in the East.
"At least it doesn't seem like busy work this time," pointed out the younger of the two. Finishing up the transmutation circle, he put the chalk in a little container and put it off to the side. Al held out the palm of his hand, silently asking for the largest sample in the petri dish. He put it in the middle of the circle.
Before the former alchemist was able to provide a comment, the sound of heavy footsteps slapping against the lab's laminate floor approached them. Edward turned his head in the direction of the incoming thorn in his side.
Al leaned back and looked past his brother. "Good evening, General Mustang."
"And you, Alphonse," replied Roy. Once he was a foot away from the older Elric, he stopped and glanced down at him. "Fullmetal."
Edward scowled at the smirking asshole, whose scrutinizing, dark gaze was sparkling with amusement. There was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, one that taunted Ed with the idea that maybe the old man knew something he didn't. In addition to the wary suspicion provided by Mustang, his presence caused an odd sensation to wash over Elric; it was a feeling he was unaccustomed to and couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. That pissed him off. But then again, the Flame Alchemist's mere existence tended to piss him off on a daily basis. "General Bastard," replied Ed. He watched as the dark-haired man's smirk widened into an unnecessary flirty smile that was probably supposed to make him swoon. Dream on, pervert.
"Do you have anything to report in regard to the samples that were delivered to your lab?" Roy asked.
"It's better that we show you," piped up Al. He waved a hand, beckoning Mustang to stand alongside him.
Following the boy's actions, Roy watched intently as he placed his fingertips on the rim of the transmutation circle and activated it. As it's gathering energy began to glow, he could see the petri dish within its center rapidly spin. Once the circle was deactivated, the General noticed that the microscope slides at each triangle point filled with different materials that undoubtedly were separated from the previous sample. Roy looked from one young man to the other, raising his eyebrows in question.
Ed sighed. "This right here," he said, pointing at a particular slide, "is a flexible polymer—plastic or resin—that originally had traces of blood and tissue attached to it." He stared up at Roy, his golden eyes blazing. "I'm gonna guess this was shoved down someone's throat and used to suffocate them?"
"And what of the other slides?" the older man asked, ignoring Edward's own question. He heard the undeniable sound of teeth clicking and grinding.
"The last ones contain skin samples," began Alphonse, his cheeks draining of color. "They're not the same. One is tainted with a preservation fluid, while the other is simply skin…"
"Alchemy was used to stitch them together. The preserved section overlapped the other. Kinda like a casing. The top layer could've been used to change the appearance of the bottom," continued Edward. "The victim that's most likely in the morgue is one body, but the other sample indicates either someone was a donor, or they're dead since alchemy was used to create the casing."
Taking a step back, Roy took a moment to digest the disturbing findings. He swallowed down the gag lodged in his throat. "Is that all?"
"Yeah...that's it," answered Edward, his brow furrowing at the nonchalant tone in the General's voice.
"Thank you gentlemen. If there are any else arises, I would appreciate your assistance. Enjoy the rest of the day," Roy said, nodding his head. Turning around, he walked away from the brothers.
Edward's jaw practically clattered to the floor. "Seriously?" he quietly muttered in annoyance. He hopped off the chair, then jogged after the Flame Alchemist.
"Mustang! Will ya wait a second!"
Roy quickly turned around, which caused Elric to nearly run him over. "Is there something you need?"
"Uh, yeah. This is some serious stuff you have us looking at. If you want our help, I kinda wanna know what the deal is."
"You may have agreed to willingly partake in any situation where your involvement would be beneficial, but that doesn't mean it's necessary for you to know everything down to the last detail," Roy clarified.
Seething, Edward angrily pointed at the other's chest. "Listen here, you bastard," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I did everything you asked me for years without question. Are you ever gonna stop playing these stupid little games and for once, just tell me what's going on?!"
Before the fuming blond had the chance to say another word, he found himself pressed against the wall. Next to his head, Mustang slapped his palm on the white plaster; the loud sound caused him to unwillingly flinch. Elric gazed up at the older man, his golden eyes blazing with fury as he watched Roy lean down, which left very few precious inches between them. Apparently the fucker had no idea what "personal space" meant. "What are you doing?" he growled.
The General looked him up and down in a predatory way; the action forced butterflies to annoyingly flutter—which pissed him off to no end—in his stomach. "Hmm…" hummed Roy. The sound was low, and in Edward's opinion, creepily and attractively sultry. He hated it. "I'm surprised you haven't figure it out, yet."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," muttered Ed, his hands fisting at his sides; he was amazed that the knuckles didn't break off. But then again, they might be needed to knock some lights out.
"You and I have been playing a dangerous game for quite some time, now," the alchemist pointed out.
Mustang tilted his head to the side and breathed into his ear, the warm air tickling its shell. To his annoyance, Edward's face immediately flushed of its own accord a scarlet so deep, it could've scorched the sun. It was a wonder as to how the heat protruding from his cheeks didn't singe the geriatric pervert's hair.
"Do you even know what you're getting at? If you're having trouble, there is help for old people," offered Ed, inadvertently whispering into the General's ear. Feeling the curve of the other's skin against his own told him that the asshole was smiling. The soft contact caused his searing cheeks to tingle. Whatever the hell was happening, Elric truly preferred it go bother someone else.
"Perhaps now the relevant question is: who will make the final move?" Mustang murmured. Deciding he was done with the taunting antics, he leaned back and smirked at the blond who was—to his ego-boosting and playboy delight—blushing from head to toe.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"My dear Fullmetal," muttered Roy, practically purring the young man's prior title in an almost endearing way. "I believe it's your turn." He stepped away, and with what he believed was his most charming grin, winked at Edward just for the hell of it. "Enjoy your evening." And without another dirty hint, he turned around and strolled down the hallway toward his office.
Edward stood there, gaping at whatever the fuck just happened. In all his fury, he whipped around and stomped in the lab's direction.
"Brother, what happened?" asked Alphonse, holding back a wince as a red-faced Ed stampeded through the swinging door.
"Get your stuff, Al," ordered the shorter blond.
"...are we going somewhere?"
"Yeah," replied Edward. "We're gonna go break into the old bastard's office."
"We're what?!"
