Warning: Ed's language, adult situations, and same gender pairing.

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Chapter 3

White. White. WHITE. Contrary to popular belief, Ed had nothing against the color white. He only wore black and leather because it was practical, easy…functional. He never had to worry about changing his clothes to look 'presentable' after spending an hour running around after his latest 'mission.'

Black was great at hiding dirt and stains and sweat. He liked his pants tight not because he held some delusion over showing off his figure, but because it didn't get in the way when he moved.

When he was sixteen he finally decided to stop wearing his typical ruby-colored flamel jacket. It wasn't because he no longer found it useful, but because he no longer wanted to hide behind a symbol or a title. Its been years since Ed had considered himself a child, but it was time for him to grow up. He was now slower to anger, slower to pass judgment and used his brain more than his fists.

But he still wore black. It was the complete opposite of white. White left stains and showed dirt. It was easy to see blood on a white vest, which was a natural outcome of Ed's daily activities.

If only Mustang knew how many times Ed had stood in front of his desk while hiding a cut here or there under his black clothing.

Black was nice. Black he could live with.

What he could not live with was white. White would drive him insane…and that is just what was currently happening.

Ed was walking. He had been walking in this fucking hell hole that the Gate tossed him in for what felt like the past seven hours.

At first he was surrounded by a blinding white that hurt his eyes. Then it dimmed to a semi-annoying white, and now it was almost tolerable but still white!

Stopping, Ed put his hands on his hips and turned around. If he had any doubts of where he was, it was solved when he had tried to perform alchemy. He had clapped and nothing happened. After the third or fourth time he had given up. He didn't even feel the tell-tale sign of alchemic power.

That meant he was no longer in the world he knew, but it also meant we was not in the other world he remembered. In simple terms, it appeared as though he was stuck. He didn't feel pain; he didn't need to eat or drink or apparently sleep.

What he did feel was annoyed.

What he did need was a way out.

To make it worse, he thought he was going insane. Not from the white, which surely wasn't helping, but now, standing still like he was, he swore he heard voices.

Nothing he could make out. It was like a jumble of words with no meaning.

What unnerved him even more was when he closed his eyes. He couldn't even escape the white behind the privacy of his own eye lids. But when he closed his eyes and tried to relax, he could catch glimpses of shadows.

Moving shadows.

Like people.

"Fucking fantastic."

"If you could turn your head this way Colonel Mustang, I can finish my examination."

Roy complied with the doctor's order, but his scowl was still in place. He had more important things to be doing than sitting here having a doctor poke at him.

"Honestly Sir. With the way you are acting I would think you hated doctors just as much as Edward!"

Hawkeye's comment snapped Roy's attention from his own thoughts back to her. She had insisted on accompanying him into his exam room. He knew it was just to make sure he sat still and did what he was told instead of running off to pursue new leads.

Roy's sharp glance in her direction must have conveyed more than he was expecting for Hawkeye to utter an "I apologize, Sir" turn around, and leave the room.

It wasn't her he was upset at. He was upset at himself for not getting to Ed in time. He was upset for sitting here, in a hospital, when he could be out there looking for anything that might help the current situation. It certainly was a 'situation.' He had a missing Major, said major's brother unconscious down the hall, an underground city to cover up, and tracks to cover so he didn't lose his job and get his team in danger.

Frankly, after what happen between himself and Fuhrer Bradley, Roy was amazed he still had the freedom to move around without handcuffs.

"It would appear, Colonel Mustang, that my original diagnosis was correct." Roy sat still and waited for the grey-haired doctor to continue. "The main source of damage is centered on your macula, and as such, you have lost the majority of your eye sight in your left eye….70 percent to be exact. I would recommend…"

Roy tuned out the monotone voice next to him. He knew he was scarred. He knew he would never have his full eyesight back. There was once a time, when the mere thought of something marring his features would send him into depression. Not because he was an egotistical narcissus as most believed, but because to show a physical imperfection was to show weakness. In his position, he could not afford to show weakness.

He was not like Edward who could run in, head first, and get the job done with no respect for a uniform or rules. Most of the time Edward covered his metal arm, but if it was discovered, he showed no fear. Edward used his imperfections to make himself perfect, and to Roy, Ed was perfect.

Roy was not like Ed. Roy was not born with the strength to stare at someone with his one eye without flinching.

But he would have to be.

Roy would not give up. If Edward ever found out that Roy had given up, he was positive Ed would punch him with his automail fist.

"…I am prescribing you a mild pain killer, Colonel. I would also highly recommend you wear these." Roy accepted the package of eye patches he was handed. It will allow slight air flow to the wound for healing and also prevent further injury. You will have to adjust to your new depth perception, of course."

Yes, Roy would need to practice his alchemy with only one good eye. It will be hard, but he would do it. He needed to.

Once outside the room, Roy gazed back and forth along the deserted hallway. His team was able to secure a section of the fourth floor for himself and Alphonse. It would do little good to have people asking unnecessary questions.

Roy turned to his right and began walking down the white marble hallway. Roy did not care for the color white. It was too sterile for him. He preferred darker hues.

Even if he didn't know which room Alphonse was situated in, the figure of Havoc standing at the end of the corridor gave away his position. Havoc's deep military blues and dirty-blond hair seemed out of place against the plain wall.

"How's he doing Havoc?"

Responding with a salute, Havoc weakly smiled, "Still knocked out Chief. Docs say he seems to be a healthy seventeen-year-old kid. Should come around soon though. Boss finally did it."

Sending a sharp nod towards Havoc, Roy inhaled the sterile air of the hospital and pushed open the door.

There, lying on a bed, pushed to the far side of the room, was Alphonse.

He looked different. In the large suite of armor, Alphonse looked unbeatable, but now…Alphonse looked fragile.

Coming to stand by the side of the bed, Roy gently rested his right hand on the boy's arm. Havoc had said he was seventeen. That meant that not only did Ed get Alphonse's body back, but he was restored to his intended teenage self. Edward would be happy.

Roy was unaware of the single tear moving down his face until it rested along the curvature of his upper lip. Reaching up, Roy slowly brushed it away.

As he turned to leave, a shimmer of gold at the foot of the bed caught his eye. When he turned back, it was gone.

He would not mourn. Not yet.