Dreaming in Red and Gold

by Batsutousai

When Drachma agrees to meet for peace talks at Briggs Fortress, General Roy Mustang is the one sent to represent Amestris. It just so happens that the Drachmans have their own Amestrisan, who is far too skilled at turning the most tedious of discussions into an exciting time.

4. Chapter 4

Title: Dreaming in Red and Gold
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, canon-typical violence, pile 'o OCs, minor battering of female OC, female-specific slurs, off-screen torture of prisoners, suggestion of past abusive sexual encounters, sexual discussions (including consent-related)
Summary: When Drachma agrees to meet for peace talks at Briggs Fortress, General Roy Mustang is the one sent to represent Amestris. It just so happens that the Drachmans have their own Amestrisan, who is far too skilled at turning the most tedious of discussions into an exciting time.

A/N: Ah~ I'm so glad people seem to like Anya! :D

Not sure how I feel about Ed and Roy's little get together scene, after a reread, but I'm kind of too lazy to try and figure out how to rewrite it, so... This is what you get. (Related: I've mentioned, I'm sure, that these two boys are fucking idiots. *rolls eyes*)

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Chapter Four
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He found Riza in the smaller mess set aside for them, huddled over a mug of coffee. She straightened when he stepped through the door, took a quick look at him, and raised both of her eyebrows. "You've been outside, sir?"

Roy gave a careless roll of his shoulders and walked over to the carafe for some coffee. "Tsesarevna Anastasia wanted to see the battlements, and I agreed to accompany her to ease any of Lieutenant General Armstrong's concerns."

Riza let out a thoughtful hum. "I see." Her mug tapped once as she returned it to the table, and Roy glanced back to see her staring towards the door to the hall, which had been left open. "I saw Edward as I left my room. The major had apparently agreed to let him borrow the typewriter he hadn't got around to returning. I expect he won't bother to move it far."

Roy nodded. "We'll be returning to Central sooner than expected," he offered, tapping his left leg in an idle motion. "The Tsesarevna gracefully accepted my invitation to see our capital."

"Understood. I'll see when the next supply train is, and let the Führer's office know."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'll go see if I need to call Miss Rockbell for Ed," he said before starting for the door, bracing his hands around his mug, in case his current escort wanted to take him outside again.

"Try not to distract him too much, sir; just because you don't have paperwork right now doesn't mean he's free."

"Noted," Roy called back as he stepped into the hall. "West wing, please, Private," he said to his escort, and the man saluted him before leading the way.

Roy checked in on Havoc first, opening the door just enough to peek in when he got no answer to his knock. He found Havoc sitting on the edge of his bed in his undergarments, only appearing to be half-awake. "Chief," he mumbled, blinking blearily in the direction of the door.

Roy shook his head and stepped towards the bed, holding out his half-drank mug of coffee. "I've had more than enough of this," he declared. "Drink it, go get some food, then report back to me."

"You're the best, sir!" Havoc called after him as Roy stepped from his room, and Roy let out a quiet snort.

He knocked at Falman's door next, and the major was quick to open his door. "General," he offered.

Roy inclined his head. "Colonel Hawkeye is currently calling about the next supply train and we'll be heading back to Central at the earliest opportunity with the Drachmans; Tsesarevna Anastasia had an interest in sightseeing."

Falman blinked. "I see you had a productive morning, sir."

"Somehow," Roy agreed. "The colonel said Edward was down here about the typewriter?"

Falman gave a sharp nod. "He was. He took it and left, but I believe he's still on the hall somewhere; I heard a door close not long after he'd left, and as it was unlikely to be either the colonel returning or the lieutenant colonel leaving, I assumed it to be either yourself or Edward."

Roy allowed a faint smile. "Good. Have you eaten yet?"

"No, sir."

"See if you can't finish dragging Lieutenant Colonel Havoc out of bed, then head down to the mess."

"Yes, sir."

Roy left Falman to it, turning to consider the doors on their hallway. A quick test of the one nearest Falman's room, which didn't have a name plate on it, showed the door to be locked, and while Roy suspected Ed was more than capable of learning how to pick locks, he doubted he'd bother doing so when his hands were full of a typewriter, which left Riza's room, and his own.

Roy gave himself a second to debate his options, then shook his head and pushed quietly into his loaned room.

The sound of typewriter keys being hit rhythmically reached his ears, and Roy quietly closed the door behind himself as he took in the sight of Ed sat on his bed, his real leg folded up under him while the automail one hung over the edge of the bed. His coat had been thrown over the trousers that Roy had slept in, on the back of the chair, leaving him in a dark brown jumper and black trousers. He'd borrowed Roy's suitcase to use as a base for the typewriter, and had spread the copy of the treaty out over the made bed next to it.

Ed's hands paused, his eyes staring firmly at the typewriter. "That took longer than I expected," he said, tone bland, and Roy remembered how he'd gone red at whatever Anastasia had said to him, before making a quick escape; Ed had known that leaving Roy alone with the Tsesarevna would result in that conversation.

"I was cross-examined and dragged to the battlements," Roy returned in the same tone. "I suspect the wrong answer would have seen me thrown over the edge."

"Possibly," Ed agreed, flexing his fingers. "What was your answer?"

Roy debated how best to answer that as he pulled off his gloves and shoved them in his coat pockets, then tossed the coat on top of Ed's. "In slightly more words than I gave the Tsesarevna," he settled on, "every time someone has suggested that you might have become romantically attached sometime over the past six years, I found it hard to breathe." He looked up and met the startled gold eyes that were finally looking at him. "I see two small problems."

Ed tensed. "What?" he practically snarled.

Roy offered a faint smile. "Riza suggested something grievous might occur if I distracted you, and there seems to be a typewriter and paper in the way."

Amusement glinted in Ed's eyes as they warmed with something close to fondness. "You wouldn't want to upset the colonel," he pointed out.

"Not particularly," Roy agreed as he stepped up to the side of the bed. "Though she did suggest I could distract you a little bit, if I had to," he added, leaning forward.

Ed met him halfway, crashing his mouth against Roy's in a hungry, desperate manner that completely threw all suggestions of decorum off the battlements. It was hot and slick and addictive; nothing at all like the controlled kisses that Roy had so often shared with lovers over the years. Hands grabbed for his shoulders, one catching around the braid of his uniform, and yanked him closer. Roy barely had the presence of mind to catch himself with the hand that hadn't somehow ended up between Ed's hair band and his scalp, threaded through gold strands.

Roy pulled away when he couldn't hold his breath any longer, lips feeling bruised and both of them gasping for the air that slipped into the minimal space between their mouths. "Gun," he whispered. "Shooting."

Ed let out a breathless laugh and Roy felt the hand that had been tangled in the braid of his uniform brush up, along the curve of his jaw, before threading into his hair. "I should get this finished," he admitted, sounding honestly regretful. "When are we leaving for Central?"

Roy sighed and forced himself to pull back fully. He drew in a breath that didn't taste like Ed and it curled like a stone in his lungs. "Riza is checking when the next supply run is. Have you called Miss Rockbell to let her know the change?"

Ed responded with a look before turning back to the typewriter.

Roy watched him for a moment, taking in the bruising of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, and the disarray of his hair. When Ed glanced up at him, a knowing tilt to his mouth, Roy gave himself a mental shake and announced, "Phone," before leaving the room to the sound of Ed's quiet laughter.

Sergeant Vought was back at the end of the hall, and he was more than happy to lead Roy to the break room their escorts were using and the phone there. He had to pull out his little notebook with phone numbers in it, because while he'd memorised the number to her home in Resembool, he hadn't had to call her often enough at her shop in Rush Valley to have done the same with that number. As he was dialling, he realised that his hand and the sleeve of his military jacket had developed a hint of colour, similar to how Ed's food had done in the mess, and he stared down at his palm, in equal parts amused and resigned while he waited for the line to connect.

"Atelier Garfiel-Rockbell," a familiar male voice answered when the line picked up.

Roy felt his mouth trying to curve with a smile and let it. "Alphonse."

"General!" Al recognised, sounding honestly delighted on the other end. "Wow, this is a surprise! You don't usually call. Is there– Wait." Worry filled his voice. "Is Brother–?"

"Edward is fine," Roy promised, and Al let out a relieved breath. "He's working on something, so I said I'd call to let Miss Rockbell know there's a slight change of plans."

"Oh? Is he going to try avoiding Winry after all?" Al asked, and it was clear he disapproved. "Please don't help him find an excuse, sir. No matter how fine he says his leg is–"

"Alphonse," Roy interrupted, trying not to sound like he was barely suppressing his laughter. "It's not an avoidance tactic. You're aware he's visiting as part of the Drachman peace delegation?"

"He mentioned something along those lines," Al agreed, sounding a little upset that Roy hadn't let him continue complaining. "I figured I'd get the full story out of him while he's only got one leg and can't run away."

"A well thought-out strategy," Roy praised and Al snorted. "The primary member of the delegation was interested in visiting Central, and she said she wouldn't be adverse to meeting Edward's family, so I suggested you and Miss Rockbell could come up to Central, if you're amenable."

"Let me check," Al replied, and Roy could hear the sounds of the receiver being placed down, then Al moving away a distance and having a garbled conversation with a higher-pitched voice. After a short conversation, he picked the phone back up and agreed, "We can come up, certainly. When should you be back?"

Roy heard footsteps out in the hallway and glanced towards the doorway in time to see Riza walk by. "One moment, Alphonse," he murmured before covering the mouth piece and calling, "Colonel!"

Riza stepped calmly into the open doorway, nodding to the uncertain salutes from the men around the table, who had all put down their hands and set about cleaning their guns or picking lint out of their uniforms as soon as they became aware that Roy wasn't just poking his head in again, as though he really cared that they were sitting around with cards. "General," she replied. "The next supply train isn't for almost another week, but there's a civilian train leaving tonight, and the station manager said they have a military compartment car on an unused track that they can attach at our request."

Roy had promised a military supply train to Ed, but he really didn't want to be stuck up north for a week, and if they had a compartment car to attach... He closed his eyes and turned back to the phone. "Alphonse?"

"Still here."

"There's a train out tonight that I'll see if we can't get on. If that doesn't work out, I'll ring you back and let you know."

"Okay. The next train to Central isn't for another two days, anyway," Al offered.

"That's fine. Thank you, Alphonse."

"Thank you, sir. If you hadn't called me, I wouldn't have heard from Brother until after he was in Central."

Roy snorted. "If you were lucky."

"Exactly," Al agreed with a laugh. "We'll see you soon, sir."

"I look forward to it," Roy promised and hung up. "Thank you, gentlemen," he offered to the soldiers as he stepped around them, joining Riza in the doorway.

Riza stepped out of his way, then fell in next to him as he walked back to his room. When they stepped inside, Ed glanced up from his typing, blinked at Riza's addition, then sat back with a sigh and the sound of his back popping. "Edward," she offered in greeting, and Roy wondered what she was garnering from Ed's slightly rumpled appearance. (Probably the truth; Riza knew them both far too well, and her earlier comments suggested she had expected something to happen. Which should probably concern him more, but Roy had grown used to Riza's uncanny ability to read him years ago.)

"Colonel," Ed replied with a smile. "The bastard said you were checking train times?"

Riza inclined her head. "There's a civilian train leaving tonight, or we can wait a week for the next supply train."

A sort of grim pall came over Ed's features, and before he could say anything, Roy offered, "The station manager says they have a compartment car held in reserve, which they can attach. I assume it's the one we came up on–" he looked at Riza, who shrugged and nodded; she couldn't say for certain, but since the compartment car wasn't standard, it was a likely scenario that it had been left for Roy and his party's return "–so it'll serve the same as if we were to take a supply train, just with more stops and some civilians on board."

Ed blinked at that, then snorted. "Winry threatened you with something," he assumed.

"I didn't even speak to her," Roy replied honestly. "But I don't have any interest in begging on Olivier's hospitality any longer than we have to."

"And," Riza helpfully added, "the longer we're away from Central City, the higher the stack of backlog paperwork."

Roy didn't groan, but it was a near thing. From Ed's burst of laughter and the suggestion of a smile around Riza's mouth, they were plenty aware. "Ed? We can wait for the supply train if you'd prefer," he offered.

Ed looked down at the paperwork he was working on and sighed. "I know, but I'm not much for cooling our heels at Briggs for a week, either." He quirked a half smile towards Roy and Riza. "Been there, done that." He shook his head. "I'm fine with the civilian train, trust you lot to do your part." Then he tapped the typewriter. "I want to get as much of this finished as I can." He looked up, met Roy's gaze. "Anya should be willing to pack my case for me, if you'll let her know about the plans?"

"Of course," Roy agreed. "I'll go down there myself once Jean and Vato return."

Ed nodded. "If I'm not done fifteen minutes before we need to leave, stop me."

"Noted," Riza agreed, and Ed's expression took on a distinctly worried cast.

Roy straightened and started towards the pile of coats. "Colonel, call down to the station and tell them to couple that car, then see if you can't hunt down the Kozlovas and sort out their plans, find out when we'll need to leave to make the train. If you see her first, please tell Lieutenant General Armstrong our plans and ascertain whether she's willing to hold Vickers while our guests are in Central."

"And Blenheim?" Riza requested.

Roy grimaced; they'd have to take Blenheim back for a proper tribunal, given his only crime was one of not reporting the instability of his commanding officer, but they didn't have the man power to march him down to Central while they were also serving as a guard for the Drachman party. "If she doesn't want to hold him until we can send up a team to drag him back to Central, we'll take him down to North City lock-up."

"Sir," Riza replied before the door opened and closed.

"Blenheim?" Edward requested, slipping nimbly off of Roy's bed.

"Vickers' adjunct," Roy offered, watching Ed stretch. "His crimes are military oriented."

Ed shrugged. "Fair enough." He cast Roy a piercing look. "You know Anya only demanded Vickers be given to Drachma to see how far you were willing to go for the treaty."

Roy shook his head. "I had assumed as much," he admitted, "but either way, it doesn't change my response; if Drachma wants him, he's theirs."

"Grumman won't care?"

Roy snorted. "I'm very likely in for a formal reprimand, but given his actions could well have caused an all-out war, I'm more likely to be handed another medal than knocked down a rank."

Ed considered that for a moment, then stepped across the space separating them. "Good," he decided, catching the fingers of his left hand in Roy's braid again, his right hand coming to rest over the bars that signified his many honours. Two of them, Roy knew, Ed had received his own copies of, for his part in the Promised Day, though he expected they'd either been purposefully lost, or left in a box of debris in Resembool.

Ed frowned slightly, his eyes caught on Roy's collar, and Roy was just opening his mouth to ask him what was wrong when Ed said, "I have a...question for you."

Roy blinked at the downturned gaze, half-hidden behind his bangs, vaguely surprised to realise that Ed was no more than two inches shorter than him. "Go ahead."

Ed glanced up, then, hair shifting out of the way so he could meet his eyes. "When it was agreed that both Anya and Natalia would come, Tsar Ivan insisted that everyone in the party be of similar height and build, with coats that would hide subtle differences; how did you know who I was this morning?"

"The lack of an escort was telling," Roy commented drily, even as his mind screeched to a halt over admitting the truth; no one knew about his colour-blindness, not even his aunt or Riza (though it was possible Riza suspected something, and just never asked). When Marcoh had returned his vision, it had been fine, hadn't been affected by a dream for almost a year. And, by then, they'd been in Ishval and Roy had been far too caught up in the back-breaking work of rebuilding to worry about his vision going strange for a week or so, and since it fixed itself – since it always fixed itself – he'd just never mentioned it to anyone.

Ed's expression tightened. "Don't fuck with me," he snapped. "You don't know enough about any of the others to assume they wouldn't have pulled the exact same shit. You weren't guessing, you knew, and I need to know what gave me away, because if someone can tell me apart when I'm just fucking standing there, back to you, then someone might be able to tell Anya apart."

Roy wondered if he would ever stop being surprised at how seriously Ed took his duties when they actually mattered to him on a personal level. He swallowed and carefully caught the hand that had been pressing against his honours, warming his chest over his heart with the very real heat of a returned limb. "No," he said quietly, holding Ed's angry gaze, "no one else would be able to tell you apart, not even my team. Not even me, most days."

"Mustang," Ed snarled.

Roy shook his head. "When I was blind," he said, and the words rubbed like sandpaper as they scraped up his throat and into the air between them, "I always had the same dreams, flashes of two colours: Red and gold." Ed's eyes widened, but he didn't speak, leaving Roy to fight with the rest of his words. "After... I forgot about them, but sometimes they come back, on the days around the anniversary, and they always..." He shook his head. "Afterwards, for a few days, my colour vision is...extremely limited. Greyscale, mostly, but the right shades of gold or red, I see them too." He tapped the braid of his uniform, though he very much doubted Ed needed to be told which shades he meant. "Last night, I had the dream, so I'm not–" The words caught in his throat and he shook his head.

"My hair was covered," Ed pointed out, his words careful, but there was a haunting sort of understanding in his eyes.

"Yes," Roy agreed.

Ed moved the hand caught in Roy's uniform braid up to press against the corner of his right eye. "I'm in colour for you, aren't I? Not just...not just my hair, or my eyes, but all of me."

"Yes." Roy glanced down at their joined hands, the purity of the colour of Ed's skin against the muted tones of his own.

Ed let out an irritated noise. "Stupid, fucking Gate," he complained.

Roy surprised himself by letting out a laugh, a little bitter around the edges, but fond, too, because Ed had come to the exact same conclusion he had; Anastasia had been very right about them sharing some of the same darkness. And then, because Roy kind of couldn't resist, he said, "You're always as colourful as your language."

"Oh, fuck you," Ed snapped, and the hand touching the corner of Roy's eye went behind his neck and tugged. "Not an offer," he added against Roy's mouth, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Roy groaned as most of his sense fled south. "Call it a promise," he suggested before wrapping his free arm around Ed and pulling him in close, tilting his head and diving into Ed's mouth, tasting the broken noise the blond let out as nails scraped at his nape. He lapped at Ed's tongue, traced along his teeth, learnt the inside of his mouth the same way he already knew so well the colour of his eyes and hair.

Roy was beginning to suspect that Ed should be a controlled substance, because they'd only kissed twice and he was so far beyond addicted, it probably should have terrified him.

Ed was the one to pull away that time, mouthing near-silent profanities against Roy's lips as they tried to remember how to breathe again. "Who knows?" he asked at last.

"You," Roy admitted.

Gold eyes opened, so close to Roy's own that they overlapped, turned into one perfect eye, watching him like he wasn't certain how to respond to that. "Thank you," Ed settled on, "for telling me."

"You deserved to know." And, god, Ed was like an array that demanded truth, impossible to avoid; how had Roy ever managed to keep so much from him in those early years?

Ed's eyes – eye, still too close – lit with the sort of happiness that Roy saw in his dreams, that had always been reserved for Al and maybe Miss Rockbell. He pulled back slowly, just enough that his face straightened itself out, became more human. "I'm supposed to be translating," he said, but his right hand didn't move from Roy's and the his fingers of his left hand still brushed gently against the hair at Roy's nape. "You have no idea how hard it is to translate between Amestrisan and Drachman."

"I don't," Roy agreed. "Maybe I'll have you teach me."

Mischief glinted gold. "That would be one way to show me how talented your tongue is," Ed agreed.

Roy smirked. "I can think of ways that involve less talking."

"Pervert," Ed returned before finally pulling away, his hands going back to yank out the tie holding up his hair. "It might be good for you to pick a few languages other than Amestrisan; harder for assholes to fuck you over if you know what shit they're whispering to each other," he added, his attention clearly turning to combing through his hair with his fingers, trying to make it presentable.

Roy shrugged and said, in slightly rusty Cretan, "My aunt said the same thing."

Ed's head came up so fast, Roy expected to hear his neck crack. "Okay," he said, his own Cretan far more polished, rolling off his tongue like a lover's caress, "I'll admit that I didn't expect that."

Roy smirked. "I would like to think I still have some secrets." He shook his head and returned to speaking his native language. "I'm afraid I spent too much time in the east to really practise. Should I ask how many languages you speak, now?"

Ed shrugged. "Counting Drachman dialects and Amestrisan? Six."

Roy was duly impressed.

Ed flashed him his most obnoxious grin and returned to tying back his hair. "I also have a basic understanding of the written form of Xerxesian, and Ling taught me some basic phrases in Xingan, before." He didn't specify, didn't have to. "Al would probably be better served for learning Xingan from, if you were interested in it, but I can teach you the dialect of Drachman they speak in the Imperial City – you'll get the most use out of that – and Aerugonian, if you really want."

"I would appreciate that," Roy admitted, "at least for so long as you're in Central."

Ed tensed and dropped his hands to his sides. "For so long as I'm in Central," he repeated, and he didn't say it like a question, but the need for an explanation was in every line of his body all the same.

Roy let his hands fold together behind his back. "Please don't lie and say you're intending to settle down," he requested, keeping his voice quiet.

Ed swallowed, the movement of his throat suggesting it was a struggle. "No," he agreed before meeting Roy's stare, trepidation darkening the gold of his eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"I'm not going to lie and say I'm happy about it," Roy replied, still quiet, but unflinching under that uncertain gaze, "but I've known you too long to expect anything else." He tightened his fingers together, the ache of them a sort of settling agent. "I'm used to waiting for you."

Ed let out a broken sort of laugh, his head going down, eyes hidden behind those bangs that he'd never let grow out. "Yeah, I guess you are," he agreed. "Sorry."

Roy stepped forward and caught Ed's chin, forced him to look up so he could meet those familiar gold eyes, dark with something that was aimed wholly within. "Edward," he murmured, the words coming surprisingly easy, "you're worth waiting for."

Ed's eyes went wide and pink dusted along his cheekbones. He tugged quickly back, out of Roy's reach, and snapped, "Fuck you!" Because he dealt with commitment about as well as Roy ever had.

"Promises," Roy warned him, and Ed's blush intensified.

Ed spun around and stalked back to the bed and the typewriter. "Go distract someone else, you bastard," he ordered the far wall.

Roy allowed himself a quiet chuckle as he picked up his coat and fished his gloves out of the pockets to put on. "I'll have someone bring you lunch in a few hours," he promised as he turned to leave.

"Yeah, fine."

"And if you finish with the translation before I come to get you, please put my trousers in my suitcase," Roy added over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob.

"It's not my fucking job to clean up after you, Mustang," Ed snapped.

Roy shrugged. "You're the one who abducted my suitcase," he pointed out before swiftly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door on Ed's response.

He spent the rest of the wait for Havoc and Falman's return chatting with Sergeant Vought, probing for information about Briggs and North City. Vought was more than happy to pass on rumours from North City, but he was expectedly closemouthed about Briggs. Thankfully, he didn't seem to take insult to Roy's questions, and Roy personally respected his loyalty to his posting and commander; if Vought had actually told him anything, he'd have warned Olivier that she should transfer him out.

It didn't take him long to update Falman and Havoc, and he already knew what he wanted them doing between now and when they left: "Lieutenant Colonel, I need you to keep charge of Ed; if he starts raging for more paper or the typewriter gives him trouble, handle it for him, so he doesn't have to prove he's still capable of large scale destruction."

Havoc snorted around his unlit cigarette. "You got it, Chief. Want me to make sure he eats lunch, too?"

Roy nodded. "See if he wants to come with you to the mess. If not, bring him something back and stand over him until he finishes it, please."

Havoc shot him a knowing grin. "Nah. Just got get him started eating; he'll finish it no problem once he's started."

Roy shrugged – that was actually fairly accurate – and turned to Falman, lowering his voice to keep the soldiers down the hall from hearing. "You have permission, so do some wandering for me."

Falman raised an eyebrow. "You suspect trouble?" he murmured, also keeping his voice down.

"Not from Armstrong," Roy admitted, because he did trust Olivier. But, just as Olivier had her spies in North City and Miles was almost certainly feeding her information from Ishval, other members of the brass would be trying to get an ear in Briggs, and Roy liked to know who was keeping an eye on his allies. With Falman's nearly photographic memory and previous familiarity with Briggs and her staff, he would be the most likely to spot any moles.

Falman nodded. "I'd like to see if anything in the fort has changed in six years, catch up with a few people, if you don't have anything else for me to do, sir?" he offered, just loud enough that curious ears would hear. Because he was far from the sort of undercover operative that Riza and Havoc were, but he'd learnt his share of tricks during his time at Briggs and after the Promised Day.

Roy sighed and shrugged. "Yes, fine," he allowed. "Just make sure your belongings are packed before you get caught up reminiscing."

Havoc snorted and hurried to his own room where, Roy suspected, he could burst out laughing in peace.

"Sir," Falman agreed before turning to his room to make sure he was packed.

Which left Roy to collect Vought and make his way to the other side of Briggs. The sergeant was kind enough to not force him to take the outdoor path this time, and Roy requested a brief stop by the mess, to ensure none of the Drachman party was there – they weren't – before finishing the journey.

They were stopped at the end of the Drachmans' hall, next to the signs warning soldiers to stay out, and one of the Briggs guards stationed there went for Anastasia at Roy's request.

"Roy," she called cheerfully as she approached. He saw her glancing behind him and knew who she was looking for.

"Anya," he returned with an incline of his head. "Edward is currently working on translating the treaty back in the west wing; he asked me to update yourself and your party on our current travel plans."

Anastasia blinked once, then sighed. "He is going to make me pack his things," she guessed.

Roy very firmly didn't smile. "He did mention something along those lines, I'm afraid."

Anastasia rolled her eyes and curled a finger at him. "Come. I will collect everyone for your update, then you will help me snoop through his things."

"Given he's turned my room into his office," Roy returned drily as he followed her, "that seems a fair trade."

The Tsesarevna's laughter was actually quite lovely, and had the added bonus of bringing Natalia to peek out of her door. She asked something in Drachman, and Anastasia answered, "Ed," which seemed to be more than sufficient, because Natalia snorted and rolled her eyes. Anastasia rattled off some more Drachman and Natalia nodded before stepping out into the hallway.

With Natalia's help, it didn't take them long to collect the men, and Anastasia was happy to play translator as Roy explained their current plans.

Once the others had disbanded to pack up their belongings, Anastasia led the way to what was apparently Ed's room. The familiar, battered suitcase was left open on the bed, clothing and journals strewn about, and Roy realised he hadn't seen it when they'd first met downstairs; either it had been disguised for conformity's sake, or Ed's presence had distracted him from a lot more than he'd thought.

"Some things," Roy commented, "never change."

Anastasia laughed. "He has always been messy?"

"According to his brother, yes," Roy agreed, looking over the scattered journals and picking out one that had a photo peeking out of the top. He marked the page with his finger, unwilling to actually read any of Ed's notes without his permission, and drew out a photo of Elicia climbing Al's armour, the girl grinning widely at whatever Al must have been saying.

"The figure you made him," Anastasia realised, peering around his arm. "Natalia said that his brother once wore it?"

Roy nodded as he slipped the photo back into its place. "Yes. Everyone always assumed Alphonse was the Fullmetal Alchemist, since he wore that armour, and it...irritated Edward." Which was a nice way of saying that the reactions had been as likely to send him into a rage as bringing up how short he was.

"Why did Alphonse not do away with the armour? The way Ed speaks of him, he is kind."

Roy touched the edge of the photo that stuck up from the pages and shook his head. "He had his reasons," he offered.

Anastasia sighed and picked up another journal, flipping absently to a picture of Elicia sleeping with a stuffed dog that, Roy suspected, Ed and Al had bought for her, because Maes had always made a habit of sending people pictures of his daughter with the gifts they had given her, as though to prove that she honestly loved them. "Did you speak to him?" she asked.

Roy met her stare head-on. "Yes."

Anastasia stared at him for a long moment in silence, reading who knew what from his expression, before giving a brief nod. "Good," she decided as she returned to packing Ed's suitcase.

They snooped through the pictures in a few other of Ed's journals. Most of them were of Elicia and either one of the Elric brothers or Gracia, but a couple had very clearly been sent by the Rockbells over the years that Ed and Al had travelled Amestris. One picture was of the brothers and Miss Rockbell, taken before they left to travel the rest of the world, which Roy recognised from Gracia's collection of photos (it had been a gift from Miss Rockbell), and Anastasia confided, "When he is settled in to stay for a few months, he puts this picture out in his room."

Roy made a mental note of that, in case he needed some way to soothe Miss Rockbell or Al; it wasn't a letter or a phone call, but it was proof that Ed had kept them close, in his own way.

Even with their snooping, it didn't take them long to get through Ed's belongings, given that he always packed light. "Did you want to take it back to him?" Anastasia asked as they latched it closed.

Roy shook his head. "I have a couple of other errands I need to run before I even think about going back to the west wing." And then, because Anastasia could probably guess as much, he admitted, "If he's going to finish that translation before we leave, I need to stay away."

The gold specks in Anastasia's eye brightened and she picked up the suitcase. "I should be more impressed that you can distract him from his focus, I think, but it is a boring document he is translating, yes?"

"Yes," Roy agreed, amused.

Anastasia tapped her pointer finger and thumb together in his direction. "It is a little less impressed."

"Impressive," Roy heard himself correcting. Then he winced. "Sorry."

She waved a negligent hand at him. "My Amestrisan is not perfect, I know this. Ed is a good teacher, but there is a point when he cannot pre-empt my mistakes." She sighed. "He takes joy, sometimes, in correcting me, I think. I would wish that I could correct him back, but his Drachman was flawless before we had ever met."

"That doesn't surprise me," Roy admitted, because Ed had always soaked up knowledge like a sponge, had been quick to turn it around and prove his immediate comprehension. "He's promised to teach me Drachman, and you're welcome to correct my certain failures."

Anastasia laughed, leading the way back out into the hallway. "I may just," she agreed before shooting him a speculative glance. "If your errands have ceased by lunch, I could perhaps teach you some? You might impress him."

"I would be honoured," Roy replied, inclining his head.

"Hah! You say now," was Anastasia's parting comment before she vanished into her own room.

With that vaguely concerning promise ringing in his ears, Roy went to find his escort so he could hunt down Olivier and make sure everything was sorted for their trip to Central on her side. After that, he should probably report back to Grumman, though he wasn't looking forward to the fanfare that would await them in Central if they were expected.

-0-

Anastasia, it turned out, was a hard teacher. But, while Roy was no Edward Elric when it came to assimilating new knowledge, he wasn't quite the hopeless case that he liked to project. Of course, he wasn't alone in his lessons, which seemed to help as much as it hindered: Andrea and Francine had both settled in to practise their spoken Drachman, while Natalia had joined them to watch and help a bit, and Riza had stayed at Roy's side and listened and watched with an intent expression. (Knowing his adjunct, she had no interest in learning how to speak Drachman, but wouldn't mind developing the Kozlovas' skill in understanding it when others spoke.)

Roy had managed to figure out the most basic grammar and had picked up a smattering of basic vocabulary by the time he needed to go drag Ed away from his typewriter, so the groups separated to gather their belongings and any absent members, with Andrea walking with Roy and Riza, while Francine joined the Drachmans.

"We'll have to take three cars," Andrea pointed out after they'd been walking for a ways.

Roy nodded. "I already asked Lieutenant General Armstrong, and she's willing to lend us one of Briggs' extra vehicles, so long as I can promise it'll be brought back up during the next supply run from North City. I'll have Major Falman drive the third car."

Andrea snorted. "Fair enough. Have him in the middle of the convoy so Ci-Ci can honk a warning if he starts drifting out into the minefield."

"Unlikely, but a fair caution," Roy allowed, nodding to the guard at the end of their hallway. "Given he's the only one of you who doesn't understand Drachman, he'll have to be the one driving Edward and Tsesarevna Anastasia."

Andrea shot him a sharp look, though he could tell she understood the sense in setting their only non-Drachman driver with the one Drachman visitor who was fluent in Amestrisan. "Who do I get?"

Roy considered her as he stopped outside the door to his room, shifting quickly through his mental list of half-decided car groups. "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc, Tsarevna Natalia, and Orlov. Colonel Hawkeye will be with Major Kozlova, Ambassador Kuznetsov, and Lagunov." Because no one could argue with him for putting the two alchemists in their party with the two Tsarevnas, and giving Francine a female ally seemed only fair.

Both women saluted him, so Roy stepped into his room, the sound of steady typing immediately audible.

"Ed," Roy called as he closed the door behind him.

"Two more sentences," Ed mumbled, not looking up.

Roy sighed, but figured he could allow the blond that; they were planning to leave early enough that they could stop for some take-out at Andrea and Francine's favourite restaurant in North City, since the train was departing so close to dinner time. If they had to skip the non-train food, it wouldn't hurt any of them.

Because this was Ed, of course, two sentences didn't take long, and he pulled the last sheet of paper from the paper table with a quiet breath of relief and waved it through the air a few times to help it dry as he glanced up at where Roy had leant back against the wall next to the door. "We're heading out soon?"

Roy nodded and pushed away from the wall. "As soon as that's all packed away," he agreed.

Ed grimaced down at the mess of papers. He'd managed to keep them clean of food-covered fingerprints – an accomplishment, Roy knew – but they had been spread out along the bed, in some sort of order that could have only made sense to a very focussed Ed. "Right. I'm going to have to straighten this out on the train," he decided as he checked the ink on his last page. Satisfied, he began gathering all of the papers together in a messy pile while Roy collected the typewriter to carry over to the table next to the door; they could have one of the Briggs soldiers return it to whichever secretary Falman had borrowed it from.

"Can I put these in your case?" Ed asked.

Roy nodded and turned to collect his trousers from under Ed's coat. "There's plenty of room," he admitted, because he hadn't packed for a long trip.

He heard Ed unlatching the suitcase and started over as he pulled it open, one gold eyebrow arching at the two sets of clean underthings, one set of dirty underthings, and an extra white button-up. "I see that," he offered drily.

"Not all of us live out of a suitcase," Roy returned, tossing Ed's coat on the blond's head so he could fold up his trousers and slip them away.

"There's nothing wrong with living out of a suitcase," Ed muttered. "It's a good suitcase."

"It's certainly seen its share of the world," Roy agreed, reaching out and brushing his gloved fingers along Ed's jaw, because he could and he wanted to touch him, even if his gloves were in the way. "I'm surprised it's survived some of your adventures."

Ed glanced up at him, something secretive glinting in his eyes. "I may have added a little something to it shortly after I got it."

"Of course you did."

A knock on the door interrupted them, and they both glanced over as Riza called, "You have two minutes before I come in there."

Roy sighed at the proof that she knew there was something between himself and Ed, because she usually didn't give warnings before bursting in on him. "Gun," he reminded Ed.

Ed snorted and used Roy as a steadying object as he jumped from the bed, leaving behind a warm handprint against Roy's shoulder as he pulled away. "You know, for someone who can snap and make flames appear–"

"Be quiet, Edward," Roy ordered, snapping his suitcase shut. "You're terrified of her too."

"I'm not sure 'terrified' is the right–"

"Be quiet," Roy repeated, grabbing his suitcase and shoving Ed towards the door.

His team was waiting for him, and they fell in around him and Ed as if the blond's addition were natural as they followed Andrea to the lift. It was reassuring to Roy, this proof that no time away could ever erase Ed's place among his people.

Olivier, Francine, and the Drachmans were waiting by the exit, and Ed wasted no time in joining Anastasia, taking his suitcase from her without a hint of shame and murmuring assurances to his party; Roy could only assume he was promising that the treaty translation was finished.

Roy turned to Olivier. "Lieutenant General."

"General," was her cool response, before she motioned towards Francine. "Major Kozlova will accompany you back to Central."

Roy nodded his understanding, didn't ask if Welrod had approved that, given he was, officially, Francine's commanding officer. To Francine, he asked, "Will we need to make a stop past your lodgings to collect anything?"

She shrugged. "I've already called down and requested for someone to meet us at the station with what I'll need."

"Good." Roy turned back to Olivier. "Führer Grumman promised there will be a team of military police to take Blenheim into custody with the next supply train."

Olivier snorted, unimpressed. "Tell Grumman he'd best send up something special for my men, making us put up with traitors."

"Ring him and demand it yourself," Roy shot back.

Olivier's mouth curved with a hint of an approving smirk and she straightened to salute him. "Mustang."

Roy returned the salute. "Armstrong." Then he turned to the soldier who stood at the winch for the door. "At your leisure, Sergeant Major."

"Sir!" the man called before heaving on the mechanism.

Roy quickly ensured he was as secured against the cold as he was going to get, aware of the Drachmans and his own team bundling up as well, then motioned for the Kozlovas to lead them out into the chill of the late afternoon.

Once they were all moving, it was clear to see why Ed had specified his lack of movement as being an important factor in why Roy shouldn't have recognised him that morning: It was remarkably easy to tell the difference between the Drachman party by the way they walked. Ed was the most obvious difference, with his automail leg giving him a faint hitch in his stride, which could never quite be called a limp, but was distinctive all the same. The two women were obvious simply because of the difference between men's and women's bodies, and while the coats certainly helped hide the sway of their hips, they both possessed an added grace that, Roy suspected, was due to their royal upbringing.

Of the three men, the two bodyguards had that particular economy of movement that most well-trained hand-to-hand fighters developed, which told Roy a lot more about their strengths than anything else could have, and Kuznetsov had the sort of lagging pace that developed in those who spent more time sitting in an office than getting out in the field.

With their different strides and the fact that Ed, Lagunov, and Orlov always stuck very obviously next to the same people, Roy had no trouble divvying them up between the vehicles, without having to double-check who was who.

Once they were past the barbed wire fence and out on the main road, Anastasia undid her hood just enough that she could be understood, then said, "Major Kozlova suggested we would be stopping in your North City to get food?"

Roy nodded, glancing up towards where Ed had claimed the front seat and was peeking back at them. "As I'm sure Ed will be happy to tell you, Amestris train fare isn't the most appetising option."

"It's not that bad," Ed insisted.

Roy nodded. "Which is why you always turned in reimbursement forms for station food vendors," he agreed.

"Shut up, bastard," Ed ordered over Anastasia's quiet laughter. "I said it wasn't bad, not that I wanted to live on it."

"An important distinction," Roy agreed, and Ed proceeded to tell him exactly where he could shove his smart remarks, much to Falman's apparent horror and Roy and Anastasia's shared amusement.

"Edward," Falman finally tried, "please."

"Loosen up," Ed returned, but obediently changed tracks, "What are we having, then?"

"I have no idea," Roy admitted. "Stardust told me it was good and everyone should be able to find something to eat, so I expect it's Drachman fare of some variation. Given that the Kozlovas have the greatest familiarity with North City, I opted to bow to their greater knowledge."

Ed shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Tell me about your Central City," Anastasia requested. "Something that is not how impressive the libraries are." She cast a vaguely irritated look towards Ed who shrugged, unapologetic.

Roy snorted and settled in to tell her about Central, with Falman's occasional input.

.