Amidst the early morning hustle and bustle of the Central City Train Station, Alphonse stood at the platform waiting for Winry's train to arrive from Resembool. And his so-called brother—the soon-to-be late Edward Elric (may his soul Rest In Peace)—was nowhere to be found. How wonderful. Al could only imagine their childhood friend's reaction when she noticed that only he arrived to greet her. He decided Ed was on his own whenever the idiot finally made it back to their apartment.
He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally popping up on his toes to scan across the sea of heads roaming around the station in search of his older brother. But after minutes upon minutes of searching, Alphonse believed that he would be meeting Winry on his own. Alone. All by himself. Alone. By golly was he going to strangle Edward as soon as he got ahold of him! He completely understood why Winry felt the need to use deadly force on him. Come to think of it, Alphonse noticed that he had been itching to use some sort weapon on his older brother. He wondered if Winry would lend him one of her wrenches…
His internal thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a train whistling its arrival as it rolled into the station, the stacks of white steam trailing behind it. The brakes squealed to a stop and the conductor hopped off the train and began ushering people onto the platform. Alphonse weaved through the crowd to approach the train's exit, waving his arms above his head when he caught sight of their childhood friend stepping off the train.
"Winry," shouted Alphonse, "over here!" A bright grin appeared when Rockbell looked at him, her smile wide and blue eyes radiant. He could feel the tips of his ears warming, though he couldn't pinpoint why.
"Hey, Al!" Winry replied. She weaved through the throng of people with her bag at her side until she stopped in front of the other. Without warning, she dropped her luggage and lunged at Alphonse, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and practically strangling the poor soul; Elric let out a startled hmph! sound on impact. It was a surprisingly painful collision, but he embraced the girl all the same.
"Glad you made it!" Alphonse huffed out beneath the chokehold. "I hope the trip wasn't too much of a pain."
To his safety's immense relief, the young woman stepped back and dropped one arm while her free hand settled on his shoulder.
"I still don't know how you boys manage to ride those trains for days," Winry remarked, rubbing her sore bottom. "But, other than feeling like an old woman, it was fine. I didn't get much sleep, though."
The corner of Al's mouth twitched with amusement. "Well, when we get home, you can sleep all you like." He leaned down to grab her bag, then gazed at her after he stood. A sweet smile lit up his face, his golden eyes sparkling. "But that requires an apple pie in exchange!"
Laughing, Rockbell scoffed and playful slapped his arm. "Of course, silly! I plan on whipping up some beef stew for Ed—wait a second." Her brow scrunched up in confusion as she spun around, her blond hair flying over her shoulder. "Where is he!"
Oh, boy; here it comes. Whatever smile Alphonse had been donning swiftly dropped into something akin to unbridled horror.
The automail mechanic came to a stop and slowly turned her eyes, which were brimming with annoyance, to Alphonse. He prayed his gulp was inaudible over the other pedestrians, and the bead of sweat running down his forehead, unnoticeable.
"He made you come here by yourself, didn't he?" surmised Winry in a voice so loud, Al was amazed the birds on the platform hadn't flown away in fear. He sure wanted to.
"Nooo!" he insisted with a drawn out shake of his head. Elric reached into the back of his blond hair, and began scratching at its nape. "You know how brother can be when it comes to sleeping, Winry," he added.
Rockbell tilted her head and frowned in veiled agreement. "You're right. But, I'm still gonna kill him for making you come here while he sleeps like the lazy bum that he is."
"Deal!" exclaimed Al. Because he was going to murder his brother, too.
Then, without thought, Elric held out his hand; he failed to notice the light pink dusting the other's cheeks when she placed her hand in his. "Let's go meet him at home."
"Alright," agreed Winry.
Alphonse gently tugged on her arm, and began leading her through the crowd of travelers, weaving and ducking past luggage and people alike. And once they stepped out from beneath the train station's protection, the loud sound of thunder clashed overhead.
The blonde's blue eyes snapped upward; the sky had turned a shade of purple with the occasional bright flash of white light illuminating the darkening clouds. "Do you think we'll get back before it starts?"
"I sure hope so, because I didn't bring an umbrella."
Deciding that he'd rather stay dry and petrified versus drenched and petrified while dealing with a fuming Winry when Ed got back home, Alphonse hurried to the curb and hailed down a taxi. Thankfully, a black car quickly pulled to the side. He opened the vehicle's door and ushered in Winry before hopping in alongside her.
By time they arrived at the apartment building, rain had already began splattering on the taxi's windshield. If he wasn't so worried about his brother's idiocy, Al would've found the sound soothing to his nerves. Nevertheless, he quickly paid the driver (and left a modest tip), then opened the door and stepped out. With the bag in tow, he walked around to the other side and grabbed his childhood friend's hand, and briskly hauled her toward the building and up the stairs into their home.
Elric was moderately pleased that he wouldn't be soaked to the bone while he watched Winry pummel his older brother. He deserved it.
The roaring noise of thunder clapping jolted Edward from his sleep. His eyelashes slowly fluttered open, but instantly shut the moment luminescent lightning crackled and lit up the dark overcast sky. The white flashes seared his skin and the frightened chirps of fleeing birds ricocheted throughout his skull. And taking into consideration the phantom headache pounding behind his weary eyes, it pissed him the fuck off. Whoever designed the weather should've gone straight to Hell.
Ed gently rolled onto his other side, turning away from the window while he covered his face with his clammy hands. He pathetically groaned in award-winning agony—which according to Winry, was an overly dramatic rendition of a dying whale wrestling with an elephant. The girl's chiding didn't stop him from milking the moments in which it was called for, however. Particularly when he was gifted with beef stew or pie as a pick-me-up. But more than likely that thoughtfulness was done out of the need to shut him up. Edward never complained either way.
Yawning into his palms, Elric ran his hands down his face, then stretched, arching his back until it realigned and popped back into place. After another yawn, the blond twisted his body, glancing at the bedroom door through his eyelashes.
"Al?" he rasped, his voice saturated with sleep and his throat, dry.
His response came in the form of silence. So he tried, and was once again, greeted with nothing but the sounds of the storm raging outside.
Huffing, Ed shifted against the unusually silky sheets until he was facing the door. He cautiously opened one eye.
And his soul instantaneously died when he was greeted, not by his modest bedroom entrance, but by a pair of white gloves sitting on the nightstand. Edward could literally feel his departed essence being engulfed by the eternal flames of Hell when he saw a familiar red array patterned on each glove. He absently wondered if Alphonse would miss him. If he didn't murder him first, that is.
Without another moment to lose, Edward shot up into a sitting position. He immediately regretted it when his head began to swim. Closing his eyes, he carefully supported himself on one trembling arm while he brought his hand to settle against his temple before massaging it in gentle circles. The blond took several deep breaths, then looked from the nightstand to the wall, his gaze traversing the length of the cream-colored wall where it passed by navy curtains and various forms of furniture decorated with frames and other sentimental pieces. Edward stopped when he caught sight of a particular picture featuring a little girl with pigtails surrounded by baby ducks—Elicia.
If he wasn't dead before, Elric sure was now.
Sizzling from head to toe, Edward hesitantly peeked to the other side of the bed; a heavy sigh of relief escaped him when he found it unoccupied. That relief didn't last long when he realized he hadn't escaped Mustang's house before the man woke up to find him still hanging around—and in his bed, no less. But in his defense, the man did have a death grip on him throughout the night. In spite of the bruises and sore muscles that Ed knew he'd have to put up with for however long, the tight embrace did put an end to the screaming, at least.
Grimacing in lieu of his body's protests, Elric threw his legs over the side of the bed. He groaned and stretched his right shoulder, which was aching like a bitch thanks to the unforgiving storm. He dropped his arms, letting his palms slap against his thighs; he winced at the slight sting.
Edward sighed. He brushed his hair from face while he pondered his options in regard to his current—and seriously fucked up—situation. Should he stay at Roy's home, or should he go back to his apartment where he would surely meet his end?
For a split second he highly considered delaying his trip home. But, Ed knew that would only incur whatever wrath wasn't already brewing inside of Winry. And he also preferred not to be caught dead in the old bastard's house. Either way his figurative demise was sealed.
Hours after her arrival, Winry sat at the boys' quaint kitchen table, her attention bouncing back and forth between the red apples she was peeling, and Alphonse's tales regaling the letters he frequently received from May. The smitten tone lacing his words elicited an irrational sting of jealousy. That unexpected emotion resulted in a twinge of guilt as if she were betraying one of her best friends by using her pen and possibly ruining whatever he had hoped for in regard to his future. Biting her bottom lip, Winry gazed over at Alphonse, who was standing by the kitchen counter while he measured out flour for the pie dough. It was time for a change of topic.
"Hey, Al," she said, reaching for a new apple, "what does your pen look like? You never told me about it."
With an iridescent smile, the boy turned around and leaned against the counter, his hands covered with flour. Winry could see a smear of it across his right cheek. It was quite adorable.
"Well, my dad left it to me," Al replied. "It's a quill he used to write letters and notes about alchemy."
"That sounds fancy," commented Winry. She tossed the freshly peeled apple into a bowl and grabbed for another. "What does it look like?"
Alphonse tapped his chin, and Winry smiled at the white fingerprint the action left behind. "Hmm...it's pretty long with white feathers at the end of it. I actually have the inkwell and case he kept it in, too."
"It sounds beautiful," she marveled.
"Definitely."
Summoning the calmest of all nonchalant expressions, Winry tread into dangerous waters. "Have you tried using it?"
The young man cocked an eyebrow. "I've written a few letters with it," he answered, "but I haven't tried it on my hand, yet." Pausing, he ran a hand through his blond tresses in an effort to hide the pink blossoming on his cheeks; specks of flour settled in his hair. "I've been waiting for the right time."
He decided not to tell her about the surprise he had woken up to days ago. Thankfully, the drawing was barely visible, now. Alphonse wasn't keen on the idea of how excited Winry would get over the soulmate mark. Nor would he enjoy the teasing and cooing and maybe even a smack for keeping such a secret from her.
A somewhat disappointed frown tugged at the corner of Rockbell's lips. She could sense the other's anticipation and excitement, as well as his worry and anxiety. Looking away, Winry focused on the apple she was supposed to be peeling; it sat in her hand unnoticed, its red skin free from any cuts by her knife. She chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should say something—anything that would ease her apprehension. But before she could think of the words, Alphonse spoke.
"Winry?"
The automail mechanic's head snapped up, her long bangs falling across her forehead. She glanced into Alphonse's golden eyes, which were clouded with worry; she didn't need the bond to tell her that much, at least. Rockbell swallowed thickly, then quietly cleared her throat.
"Yes, Al?"
"What's wrong?"
Winry clumsily dropped the apple and watched it roll toward the edge of the table. She swiftly snatched it up before it toppled onto the floor. "Nothing!" squeaked Winry as she tossed the fruit into the bowl.
The expression on the other's face screamed at her, and through their link, she immediately knew he wasn't buying the lie. He was suspicious, as well as hurt at her refusal to confide in him.
She smiled softly. "I'm just worried about your stupid brother," she insisted, gently waving his worries away. And oddly enough, she felt the weight of Alphonse's emotions lift from her shoulders, only to be replaced by a soothing sense of agreement—and a desire for one of her wrenches.
"I'm sure he's fine."
"I still can't believe he didn't show up at the train station and made you wait by yourself! He should know better than to do that by now."
"That's true," acknowledged Al with an evil smile. "But, I won't stop him if you decide to smack him."
Winry's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips twitching with amusement. "Since when did you become so violent?"
At that precise moment, the two soulmates heard the telltale sign on the front door creaking open, obviously with the intent to conceal the jerk's late arrival to the party.
Winry shot up from the chair and flew from the kitchen, rounding the corner until she stood feet away from her possible victim.
"Edward Elric!" she howled.
Fuck. So much for a quiet entrance—and his hopes for a longer life. Ever so slowly, Edward twirled on his heel and faced the furious automail mechanic, who was standing by the living room couch with a wrench in her hand, one foot furiously tapping against the floor. A loud roar of thunder crashed outside and a bright flash of lightning exploded behind her, illuminating her fuming form. It was actually quite terrifying. He inwardly cursed.
"Uh...hey, Winry," greeted Ed, waving timidly. "How are ya doin'?" As he spoke, he covertly scanned the area for his sibling. Alphonse was nowhere to be found. That little punk.
In spite of her growling, the young woman's voice was eerily calm, "Where have you been, Edward? We've been worried sick."
Ed was briefly amused by the "we" part, seeing as the younger Elric apparently had no intention of rescuing him. "I had a sleepover with a friend," he said.
It wasn't a total lie, yet his cheeks warmed at the confession. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
Crossing her arms, Winry twirled the tool between her fingers. "A sleepover?" she huffed. "Until twelve o'clock in the afternoon?"
"Yup, mhmm!" Edward chirped, eagerly nodding his head, his ponytail bobbing up and down. At least that part was true. Not like that would matter to the woman or anything.
"And you couldn't call to tell us that you weren't lying in a ditch somewhere?"
To Edward's immense relief, his younger brother finally strolled in from the kitchen.
"He did call, Winry," he said. "You were asleep since you didn't get much on the train. It must've slipped my mind because I was feeling a bit sleepy myself. Late night research and all." Alphonse stepped behind the young woman and threw Ed a look that told him he wanted information in exchange for lying to their friend. He smiled a gorgeous smile; it was a threat.
Luckily, Winry nodded. Al was slightly surprised that she believed them so easily, though he did have a faint sense of skepticism bubbling in his gut, a feeling that wasn't his own. He mentally shrugged it off. Fortunately, there was no cause for further concern; he would find out what he need to know because he put his life on the line, being the good sibling that he was and all.
"Alright… well, I'll...uh go finish preparing the pie before I put it in the oven, then work on some things I'd like to add to your automail," stated Rockbell, her lips set in a firm line. She turned away and proceeded into the kitchen. Winry waved over her shoulder with a backward swish of her hand. "If you boys need me, you know where to find me."
Alphonse peered at the kitchen's entrance and waited for the sounds of the bowl filled with apples rattling against the table and a knife thumping against the cutting board, then he grabbed Edward by the arm and hauled him into his brother's bedroom. Once they were inside, he gently closed the door behind them with a soft click. Al walked to the other's bed and plopped down on its edge.
"Are you alright, brother?" he asked, taking in his appearance. "You seem off. Maybe even sick."
Rolling his eyes, Ed grinned. "Don't worry about me, Al." He shrugged off his drenched jacket and dropped it onto the floor before going to his dresser. After he unbuttoned his waistcoat, he got to work on his dress shirt; the soaked material clung to his chilled skin as he peeled it off. Leaning downward, he propped one foot on the chair next to his desk, then began unlacing his shoe.
"So…" came the intrusive voice behind him.
Edward paused and glanced over his shoulder at Al, who was looking much more angelic than he should if one were to consider the situation. His golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So…"
A slow Cheshire Cat-like grin curled the corners of the younger blond's lips. Edward swiftly felt the fight or flight response screaming at him to duck and run for cover. But, before the poor unfortunate soul had the chance to do so much as blink, Alphonse beat him to the punch.
"Did you kiss him?"
At his brother's words, the slippery sole of Ed's shoe slipped against the chair's smooth wood and he tipped forward, his unfortunately not automail shin slamming against the furniture's edge. A sharp hiss followed by a colorful string of expletives flew through his parted lips. And while he was enduring another round of agony, an impressive shade of scarlet blossomed in his cheeks and steam rolled off his searing skin in mocking puffs of billowing smoke.
An amused snort blurted behind his back. "Are you alright, brother?" asked the younger blond. "That looked like it kinda hurt."
Jerk.
Grumbling, Ed carefully twisted around and sat down on the chair. He lifted his leg and crossed it over the other so he could massage away the pain. He glared at Alphonse, his eyes narrowing at the sweet smile plastered on the other's face. Ed cocked an eyebrow. "Ya think?"
"I'm sure you'll survive," mused Al. He leaned back, supporting himself with his hands. "Well?"
"'Well' what?"
"Did you kiss him?"
Edward clicked his teeth, buying himself some time before coming up with the lamest feign of ignorance he had ever conjured. He wasn't proud of the slight hitch in his voice.
"Kissed who?"
Scoffing, Al lifted an arm and made some sort of vague gesture at nothing in particular; the movement reignited the nausea whirlpooling in Ed's stomach. "Oh, I don't know…" the younger blond taunted with a sarcastic smirk. "Maybe General Mustang?"
Edward threw his head back, his booming laugh loud and cackling, borderline maniacal to the point where he was almost convinced that he did, indeed, lose his mind. At the rate his life was going, he wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't already gone off the deep end and he simply existed to entertain the universe's amusement.
After a few moments of back-bending, tear-gathering laughter, Ed settled down and gazed at his sibling, wiping away the tears prickling the corners of his eyes.
"Are you done yet?" questioned Al, nearly growling in annoyance as he glared. It was a look that promised Ed a swift brotherly punch if he kept it up.
"Ha—yeah, I'm done," insisted Edward before letting out another chuckle; his breath blew his blond bangs from his forehead. He cleared his throat. "Alright, I'm done," he promised, the corner of his lips twitching.
Glowering, Alphonse straightened himself up and crossed his arms. "I don't know what's so funny about you liking the General."
If Edward thought the idea of kissing the General was hilarious, "liking" him was outrageous to the point where it struck him dumbfounded, speechless. And judging by the other's scowl transforming into a knowing grin, Edward wasn't the covert comedian he had thought himself to be after all these years. For a minute, he hated himself and his little brother, who apparently lived to torture him in ways that would earn a proud slap to the back by Teacher. Or, maybe even a high-five from Winry. The boy has been spending a lot of time in the presence of her conspiratorial ways, after all.
"I really don't know what you're talking about, Al," insisted Edward, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He tapped one foot against the floor, his shoes clacking against the wood; each impact left a wet imprint.
"Oh, come on, Edward!" exclaimed Alphonse. "You were with him all night; I know you were!"
Blushing furiously, Ed groaned. "Can you say it any louder?! For fuck's sake, Al, Winry's here! Do you want me to die?"
"I knew it!" squealed Al delightfully, and Ed thought the ear-splitting sound was creepily reminiscent of Winry's excited shrieks. It was off-putting. And most likely dangerous.
"Knew what?" snapped Ed, his hands clenching in his lap.
The younger blond bounced in his spot on the bed. "That you lov—"
"Don't you dare say it, Al. I mean it."
"Say what?" asked Alphonse, blinking sweetly. He leaned back on his hands and shouted, "That. You. Totally. Love. General—OW!"
His taunt was cut off by Edward's shoe planting in his face before it clattered onto the floor. The elder Elric smirked. The twerp deserved it.
Growling, Al swiftly reached back and grabbed the other's pillow and whipped it across the room where it smacked Ed in the head. Before the match could escalate to an all-out battle of the siblings—where Alphonse would undoubtedly prove victorious—there was a loud knock at the door. Both paused in their ready-to-pounce stances.
"Are you guys alright in there?" called Winry. She knocked, again. "I heard a loud noise."
"We're fine, Winry," responded Alphonse. He cast a sidelong glance at Edward, daring him to say a word.
"Hey, Winry," called Ed, "how long are you sticking around for by the way?"
"Until I get sick of you guys!"
"Great," both boys muttered.
"What did you guys say?" shouted Winry, her voice chirper, yet menacing.
"Nothing!"
"Alright, well, hurry up in there. I would like to go shopping! The hardware store won't be having that sale forever, you know," she informed them. Thankfully, her parting words were accompanied by the sound of receding footsteps.
Once they were in the clear, the young men peered at one another. Each settled down on their seats.
Frowning, Alphonse let out an exasperated sigh. "I just wish you'd admit it already, brother."
After what felt like eons filled with days of walking around Central, Edward was carrying yet another round of bags filled with random items he could care less about. He knew one thing for sure: the extra luggage frequently elicited cramps to run along his arms before settling in his shoulders. The whole ordeal made him grouchy enough to frighten any children who so much as looked at him.
Nevertheless, Ed trailed behind Alphonse and Winry, both of whom were talking animatedly about something or another; he wasn't paying the least amount of attention. It was hard to do so when he found his thoughts frequently wandering elsewhere, straying to a particular place—to someone he hadn't seen for days. And during that time, he began to feel a sense of loss that increased as time went on.
He had somehow managed to avoid the Flame Alchemist who shall not be named—General Roy Mustang—just like he had planned. However, he hadn't expected to feel as if something was missing, something that he actually long for. It was equal parts creepy and terrifying.
In the back of his mind, he constantly heard the whispers of a little voice telling him why he felt the things he did; why he dreamt of things he's never seen before; why he felt like shit in the mornings and drained at night. Edward was caught between wanting the answer and denying what he knew all along. He hated it. And him.
Clenching his teeth, Edward gazed down at the ground. The blond watched his feet take step after step forward while he listened to the bags pressed against his back swish from side to side. He was lost in the thoughts swirling in his mind. Then, he heard Alphonse shout.
"Hi, General Mustang!" called Al, enthusiastically waving an arm above his head.
Ed's eyes snapped up, and his stomach instantly plummeted to the sidewalk while his heart began to beat wildly in his chest. He fleetingly wondered if this was what Winry felt when she laid her sights on new automail models. The thought was gross, but he inadvertently blushed all the same. He decided to ignore the accompanying sense of relief, too.
"Good evening, Alphonse, Winry," greeted Roy as he approached the trio. He glanced at Edward, his gaze connecting with golden eyes that were unusually shy. "And you, Fullmetal."
Glowering, Edward merely grunted in response.
Winry whipped around with such momentum, the elder Elric was amazed she hadn't twirled down the street.
"Edward!" she hissed. "Will you be nice for once in your stubborn life?"
No. However, rather than voice that damning word, Ed muttered in a quiet, eerily robotic voice, "Hello, General. It's good to see you. I hope you're doing well this fine evening."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the automail mechanic's brow twitch in frustration. He mentally shrugged; she'll live. His life, on the other hand, was up for debate.
A slow smile spread across Mustang's pale cheeks as he gazed at Edward, his dark eyes sparkling. It was an expression that radiated evil, and was meant to taunt and rile him up. He could practically feel the checkmate move that would leave him floored before the old bastard breathed a word. The blond was right, and he hated the asshole's words more than he cared to admit.
"It is a beautiful evening, indeed," the General agreed, and Edward got the impression that he was speaking directly to him, and only him. "It's a wonderful night to meet an associate of mine."
To his dismay, Ed's heart skipped a beat; he was sure it was seconds away from falling out of his butt. The simple thought of Mustang having some sort of lame ass date brought forth an irrational sting of jealousy, and he desperately desired to roundhouse kick the smug look off the bastard's face. And besides, it's been quite awhile since he last exercised, anyway. It wouldn't be a bad way to relieve stress either. As far as Edward was concerned, it was a win-win situation.
Before he could stop it, he blanked out, barely processing the conversation going on between the others. The blond focused on the nightlife around them: the excited chatter, the cars passing by, the puddles that splashed up cold water each time someone stepped it one—anything other than the bragging undoubtedly spilling from the Flame Alchemist's lips.
Edward only came back when he felt a hard thump against his shoulder; it nearly send him tumbling forward. He looked to the side and found Alphonse staring down at him.
"Huh?" he blurted.
"The General said 'goodbye' to you, you know." He paused, then spoke in a whisper. "He just walked away if you want to go to him. He's not far behind us. I can keep Winry occupied."
Playing off his enthusiasm with an annoyed groan, Edward nonchalantly peeked over his shoulder. He was met with a pair of dark eyes boring into his; Roy was shamelessly staring at him, and didn't even bother to hide it. The blond could feel his cheeks warming while he stood there like a dumbass, waiting for something to happen or even will himself to flip the man the finger. Unfortunately, the opportunity to present the Flame Alchemist with a rude gesture passed by him.
With a final nod, Roy smirked and turned on his heel, leaving the young man behind. He willed himself to not look back. And as he strolled down the street, weaving between those milling about on the sidewalk, he felt a harsh tug of disappointment and longing, followed by a sense of loss and confusion—all of which were slithering through his bond with Edward.
In spite of himself, he considered looking over his shoulder in search of Ed, but shoved the thought aside when a voice whispered in his ear and a gentle touch brushed against his shoulder. Roy was grateful that his imagination hadn't affected his causal stride.
"Listen, Roy, I know what you're thinking; don't do it."
Humming, the General strolled up to Madam Christmas' brothel and walked through the entrance. He moved between the crowded room toward the bar, where a woman with long blond hair sat with a glass of wine. She swirled the alcohol in dainty circles; it was an undoubtedly sensual motion meant to capture every man's attention. It was too bad, really. Roy had no intention of seeking out a meaningless body. He had come here for a drink, after all. But, he did feel the tiniest bit guilty for tricking his soulmate into believing he had some sort of nefarious plan for whoever managed to lure him in tonight.
He walked along the length of the bar, and was mere footsteps away from his reserved barstool when a voice to the side vied for his attention. His aunt stood there, leaning against the table.
"Roy-Boy."
"Yes, Madam?" asked Roy.
The woman held out a receiver. "It's a call for you."
Politely taking the proffered telephone, Roy grinned. "Thank you, Madam." He put the phone to his ear and spoke, "General Mustang—Hawkeye."
Intently listening to the lieutenant speak, Roy pressed the receiver closer to his ear, thereby allowing her calm, yet urgent, message to drown out the crowd. His brow furrowed and he clicked his teeth together. After a swift and thorough report, Mustang nodded. "I'll meet you there, lieutenant."
"It appears that our evening will be cut short, Madam," said Roy, handing over the phone.
Madam Christmas made a noise, then gestured toward the exit with a manicured hand. "Get out of here. I'll see you later, Roy-Boy."
Flashing a grin, the General nodded and left the brothel before making his way to another crime scene.
In the lower levels of Command, General Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye marched through the halls, the white fluorescent lights refracting against the laminate, their black boots clacking against the tile floor. They walked in silence, rushing with dignified and solemn grace toward the morgue where Dr. Knox waited with two additional children that were found at another crime scene mere hours before. And when they finally made it to the double doors leading into the morgue, they cast a sidelong glance at one another before swinging the metallic door open.
Inside, Dr. Knox stood between two metal tables, each housing small bodies with a blue sheet draped over them—children who shouldn't be there.
Roy, followed by Hawkeye, approached Dr. Knox, who was filling out something on a clipboard. With the pen in hand, he swiftly scrawled across the bottom before looking at the two Amestrian Military officers.
"Well, General Mustang," he said, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you these two are just like the first."
"Have you found anything else?" asked Mustang, stopping just shy of one table. He looked down at the sheet-covered form and clicked his teeth.
"Compared to the new victims, the first is nearly perfect," replied Knox. He tossed the clipboard onto a nearby lab bench, then grabbed the top of one sheet and pulled it down to uncover the face, revealing a little girl with pale skin.
Roy stared at her face, his dark eyes pinned to the words etched onto her forehead—Fullmetal Alchemist.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Knox pull on gloves and stand on the other side of the table. Roy looked up at him.
"Now, if it wasn't for the patch of skin that was hidden in the hairline behind the ear of the first victim, we wouldn't have known that there is possibly a second body."
"And this?" asked Roy.
"The…work...is sloppy," Knox informed him. "We still have the appearance of a porcelain doll, red eyes, and long blond hair." He paused and took turns pointing at various places—each area containing different patches of dark skin melted into the contrasting pale. "As you can see, General, it's more of a patchwork pattern; almost ragdoll."
"And what of the other child?"
Knox lifted the sheet and covered the victim's head. "I can spare you the look," he offered. "The second is the same, but the patches are located in different areas." He watched Roy nod in acknowledgement. "Would you like another sample to take to the Elric's for confirmation?"
"Yes, thank you," answered Roy.
He watched as Dr. Knox quickly, yet efficiently obtained samples from both victims, placing them in Petri dishes. They were handed over, which Roy clasped them in a firm grip.
"Thank you, Dr. Knox," said Roy and behind him Hawkeye nodded her appreciation.
"I hope I don't see you back here, again, General," stated Knox. "No offense."
"None taken," replied Roy.
And with that, Roy and Hawkeye left the morgue and proceeded down the hallway.
"Should we warn the Elric brothers, sir?" asked Hawkeye.
"I believe we should hold off until we gather more information. This may have nothing to do with them, but rather a personal taunt against me."
"Should I gather the team, sir?"
Roy nodded. "We'll gather up what we have for now, then piece together on what action we should take next." He stopped at a junction in the hallway. "Meet me back at my office. I'll drop these off at the laboratory. Fullmetal or Alphonse are most likely there."
"Yes, sir," replied Hawkeye.
Loud footsteps thumped toward Edward, their noise flooding the empty lab where he on a bench, staring out the window. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. And when he did swiveled around on the seat, he came face-to-face with General Mustang.
"Good evening, Fullmetal." The greeting was drawled out in a way that grated on Elric's already frayed nerves. "You're looking worse for wear. Getting plenty of sleep? If you're done growing, that is."
The blond decided to ignore the taunt and avoid a possible prison sentence by honing in on the mysterious voice whispering in his ear, telling him that the bastard was trying to piss him off. It was working.
So, in an effort to not destroy Mustang with his left foot, Ed grinned sweetly and subconsciously channeled the flirting skills he knew he didn't actually possess.
"Whatcha doin' in this neck in the woods, hmm?" he hummed. "I know you can't get enough of me, but I didn't know creepy stalking was in General Roy Mustang's playbook."
The saccharine grin plastered on his face turned into a dark smirk at the sight of the 'oh so irresistible' Mustang's stumble. The jackass took it in stride, though. The one-up didn't last very long.
Elric rapidly wracked his newfound Casanova side, searching for some sort of ammunition to use against the Flame Alchemist. Before he could come up with any sort of firepower, however, Roy was standing before him. He grinned the most dazzling of smiles, and his mouth went dry. Blushing, he clicked his teeth together. Edward lost that round, and they both knew it. Bastard.
"So, what are you doing here?"
Roy's luminescent smirk widened. "It's as you said, my dear Fullmetal: to see you."
The crimson flooding Edward's cheeks seared his skin, and he was sure all of Amestris could see the fiery color. It was Mustang's fault. Regardless, Elric refused to allow the man another opportunity to woo him or whatever the hell he did to sweep people off their feet.
"Cut the shit."
"How poetic of you," drawled Roy, waving a hand in an all encompassing gesture.
Edward leaned backward, resting against the table. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, his blond bangs falling across his forehead.
"Actually, I've been working on a few pieces here and there," he offered with a smirk. "Would your old ass like to hear some?"
"I didn't peg you as one who enjoys dirty talk, Fullmetal," countered Mustang. "First, you express a desire to wrap your hands around my neck and strangle me. Now, you're trying to lure me into an ulterior—and most likely pleasurable—trap. I wonder if I should be insulted."
Boy oh boy did Edward hate the cocky sonofabitch. He knew exactly what plan he wanted to share with the Roy, but he managed (just barely) to rein in the flexing muscles beneath his dress shirt and silence his popping knuckles, all the while praying that he hadn't cracked a few teeth inside of his clenched jaw.
"You shouldn't put words in people's mouths," he retorted. "And the only place I'd lure you is a volcano or to a cliff that has spikes at the bottom."
"See? Poetry."
Rolling his golden eyes and quite frankly done with the asshole, Edward held out a hand. "Give it to me." He paused, then quickly amended his statement. "Whatever you want me to look at, I mean."
To Edward's delight, Roy made no further comment as he handed over two stacked Petri dishes and placed them in the palm of his hand. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Roy with a frown.
"More samples?" asked Edward as he turned around to face the table, putting his back to Roy. He moved the lamp next to him and shined its bright light upon the samples before inspecting them.
"We'd like additional confirmation, as well anything new you and Alphonse may come across."
Edward glanced over his shoulder, his eyes boring into Roy's. "Are they alive?" His response came in the form of the faintest shake of Roy's head. Sighing, he turned back to the items before him and began gather additional tools needed for dissection. "I'll call Al over. We'll get it done, General."
"Thank you, Edward," said Roy. "And please extend that to your brother."
Without another word, he walked out the door, leaving a stunned Edward—who was finally addressed by his name—behind to gawk at his retreating form.
Roy absentmindedly stared out the window, numb to the bone as he watched the storm that had been going on for days clash and roll with lightning. Regret washed over him, though he wasn't quite sure which plagued him more: Edward Elric or the guilt in knowing what the young man had ignorantly signed up for.
After seeing the children and conducting a spur of the moment meeting with his subordinates, he was doused with rounds of endless nightmares. And last night was no exception. He pondered on whether or not Edward had felt it, seen it, heard, it, and smelt it.
Swallowing thickly, Mustang cracked his neck. There was nothing he could do about Elric. Luckily, there was something he could do about the horrid pain that had settled in his right shoulder. He originally thought he had bumped it during the night when Edward had escorted him to the safety of his home, but it seemed as the harder the storm progressed, the more agonizing the pain became.
The sound of footsteps approaching his office door caught his attention. He whirled around and picked up a pen, and began filling out the paperwork that had been sitting on his workspace since the early afternoon. And just in time, too.
Hawkeye marched up his desk. He looked up to find another stack of files cradled in the Lieutenant's arms.
"Good evening, sir," she said, placing the cause behind his demise on the corner of the desk. A steaming hot cup of coffee was placed beneath his nose.
Roy sighed. "For me?"
"Yes, sir," answered Hawkeye. The blonde spared a minute to assess her commanding officer, her brown gaze roving over his pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"You look like hell, Roy."
The General rolled his eyes. "I appreciate your candor," he muttered.
"Are you getting enough rest?" she asked.
"Yes." A lie.
"Are you eating?"
Placing an elbow on his desk, Roy cradled his chin in the palm of his hand. "Yes," he drawled. Another lie.
Silence fell between them. Mustang picked up his coffee and took a sip.
"Does this have anything to do with Edward?".
And Roy nearly choked on the scalding liquid. He put down the mug, coughing while he tried to take in a few deep breaths. He cleared his throat, swallowing down whatever coffee was left behind.
"I'm unsure as to why you'd think he has anything to deal with whatever you're asking. Which is what exactly?"
The blonde didn't reply, but merely stared at him in silent communication before she relented to his stubbornness.
"You should reply to him, Roy," urged Hawkeye.
"I've barely seen him lately," he answered. "And I have nothing to reply to."
Riza leaned downward until they were eye-to-eye, gazes locked. "I was talking about your left hand."
Whatever color was left in Mustang's face was cascaded over by a ghastly white. It was a faint transformation, but Hawkeye saw it, nonetheless.
Of course she knew.
Ducking his head, Roy pulled the paperwork toward him and grabbed the pen, then began filling in the date of the topmost sheet.
"Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant," he said, dismissing her.
"And you, sir," replied Hawkeye. Then, she turned on her heel and walked toward the open door. She closed it behind her in a silent gesture of comfort.
Roy stared at the pages looking back at him, yet he saw nothing but the faintest movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Go away," he ordered, closing his eyes and rubbing them with the heel of his free hand.
"Now, why would I do that?"
Ignoring the voice, Roy reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of alcohol, unscrewing the cap and pouring some into his coffee.
"You need to stop, Roy."
The General glanced over to the corner of his desk where Hughes was leaning against it, his arms crossed and head bowed to the floor. The man's usually chipper demeanor was overshadowed by the seriousness that often brought Roy a sense of doom.
"What do you want, Hughes?"
Maes craned his head to the side, then pushed up his glasses; the room's bright light refracted against the lenses. "I want you to stop."
Ignoring the plea, Roy took a sip of coffee and savored the burn that ran down his throat. He absentmindedly cracked his neck and rolled his right shoulder in its socket.
"Does it hurt?" asked Hughes.
Roy shot him a confused looked, once again subconsciously stressing the joint. "What exactly is supposed to be hurting?"
After the question left his mouth, the coffee cup in his right hand began to shake, its contents spilling over the sides. Suddenly, his shoulder exploded in pain, searing through his muscles and incinerating his nerves as it traveled down to his trembling hand. He dropped the mug onto the desk, where it shattered and released the liquid spilling across the paperwork.
Gasping through clenched teeth, Roy squeezed his shoulder with his free hand. Beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead, sliding down his clammy skin where it mixed with the tears prickling his eyes. He pushed back the chair and swiveled to the side, and hunched over while he dry heaved through the pain.
"It'll be over soon."
Roy opened his eyes. His gaze flicked upward and found Hughes crouching before him. He swallowed thickly, then opened his mouth to speak; he gagged instead.
"I guess this is what Ed's feeling right about now."
"What—"
"You know, Ed's pain can't be helped," murmured Hughes. "But you, on the other hand...if you continue to pick up bottle after bottle, each and every night and every hour in between so you can drink yourself into oblivion, remember how you're feeling now. Because each time you take a sip of scotch or brandy or whatever's in arm's reach, you're dragging Ed to Hell with you."
With one last sharp intake of air, Roy managed to grab the waste bin from beneath his desk before he began to vomit, choking on the acidic taste of bile and alcohol. His stomach clenched and his throat burned alongside his shoulder; the pain and pressure forced him to blink away the threat of unconsciousness.
After catching his breath, Mustang swallowed and wiped his mouth. He shoved the bin to the side. Then, he inhaled a deep breath and exhaled a shuddering sigh through his nose.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough."
Roy forced himself to sit up straight, his chair creaking as he turned toward the door. He clasped his hands, which were noticeably shaking, and placed them on the table.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Fullmetal?"
"Cut the bullshit," snapped Ed. "You know exactly why I'm here."
A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Mustang's mouth. "On the contrary," he insisted and airily waved away the blond's words.
Leaning against the doorframe, Edward folded his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles. "Something's been on my mind lately."
"Care to enlighten me?"
"Well, I keep having some fucked up dreams about things I've never seen or heard." He paused and lifted up his right hand, the rubbed his middle finger and thumb together in gentle circles.
"One of dreams involve my recertification exam. You know the one where I almost kicked your ass?" He quietly snapped his fingers, and Roy thought it was the loudest noise in the room. "Anyway. I see myself, then suddenly I see a different boy. And before I know it—I wake up!" He raised his arm and snapped his fingers.
Roy's hands tightened, his knuckles cracking. "That is highly disturbing," he acknowledged.
Edward dropped his arm, letting it slap against his thigh. He shifted against the doorway until he was face-to-face with the other. Roy didn't miss the slight wince when the blond's right shoulder pressed against the frame.
"I've been dreamin' a lot about Brigadier General Hughes, too. So, I called Mrs. Hughes."
Mustang stared at Elric, whose dull golden eyes burned with accusation and spite. He considered saying something, but was at a loss for words.
"We chatted for awhile—she wants to see you, by the way—and she told me some fun things," he paused, waiting for the other to speak. When he received no comment, Edward continued. "Didja know the moment that you do something like...we'll say kissing...the stronger it gets? Since y'know, it's like an intimate step. And, the longer you're around the person, the bond strengthens; if you leave or never meet them, it weakens but doesn't really go way."
"Interesting, indeed," said Roy with a nod.
Ed pushed himself away from the door and walked toward Roy, stopping just shy of his desk. He peered down at the man and placed a hand on his hip.
"What you always carry with you is the blue and silver calligraphy pen Hughes used to write Mrs. Hughes letters. She read some to me. I gotta tell you, they're seriously sappy and grossly romantic," stated the blond, his nose scrunching.
"Anyway, he chose the calligraphy pen since the tip is pretty sharp. It was a backup weapon if he ever found himself short on knives."
Whatever color that was left in Roy's cheeks drained. "When did you figure it out?"
"After your drunk ass thought it was cute to put your lips on mine. Oh! And the constant headaches and nausea helped, too. Plus, the dreams and even Brigadier General Hughes."
"Hughes?"
Ed scoffed. "Yeah, Hughes."
Roy gritted his teeth together and shifted in his seat, mortified and ashamed. "I didn't think you'd be able to—"
"I don't see him or anything. I have dreams of phantom memories or whatever you wanna call them," offered Elric. He bit his bottom lip. "I guess they're...uh...conversations you've had since he's passed?"
Mustang nodded. "Then, there's a chance you may have another one soon."
"I expected as much." Ed tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "And Hughes is right, by the way."
Roy's eyebrows twitched in confusion. "You said you couldn't see him."
"I can't, but I think I can hear some radio static through you. Pretty weird."
"I agree."
An eerie silence fell between them. Suddenly, Roy was hit with a random burst of fury. He closed his eyes, then opened them to find Edward glaring at him, his jaw white from the clench of his teeth.
"Edward—"
"Like I said: Hughes is right. I'm only going to tell you once, so listen," ordered Ed. He took a step forward and leaned down, slapping his palms against the wooden desk. He seethed.
"I've already been to Hell," he murmured, "more times than I dare to count. So, stop being an asshole and get yourself the fuck together; I'm tired of feeling shitty." He straightened up. "When you're finally over yourself, write on your hand. Until then, stay the fuck away from me."
The blond turned to go, but stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "It's your move, General. We are playing a game, after all."