Conversations Over Coffee

ObsessiveDevil23

Chapter 6

The next day Roy woke to a splitting headache and fuzz on his tongue. The bed was a mess, and there was sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. He scraped his teeth along the fuzz on his tongue and winced, standing to his feet, swaying slightly and stumbling out of the bedroom to get to the bathroom across the hall. Once there he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and emptied what little of his stomach he hadn't emptied the night before. He gave a small, pathetic whine, screwing up his eyes against the burn in his throat, and spat out the last of the bile – rising more gingerly this time and slowly easing himself over to the sink to brush his teeth again.

He could only hope that would be the last time he puked up for awhile.

He spat out his toothpaste and all but jumped at a knock at the door.

"I made coffee."

Roy's heart, traitor that it was, began beating double time in his chest at the voice on the other side of the door. Ed's voice – the same voice that had soothed him off to sleep the night before when he had been paralytically drunk and had puked on the floor, so was in no way deserving of kindness. The same voice that was now telling him he had made coffee and was continuing to apparently smother Roy in niceties he didn't deserve. The dark haired man took a moment to remember the blonde's cool, muscled arms around his chest, and Edward's firm chest moulded into Roy's back. Despite being a complete disaster zone last night, Edward had still stayed with him – had comforted him, and never once blamed him.

The boy had been down-right loving in his sweet whispers and gentle encouragements towards sleep. That kind of man was definitely worth holding on to. Not that Roy had any right to try.

"Thanks." He heard himself say through the huskiness that came with just waking up and a massive hangover. "I'll be out in a minute."

He listened to the man's footsteps leading him away before even considering going for the door. He was still wearing his maroon shirt and boxers from the night before, and his shirt was crumpled and his boxers had ridden up during the night and half of his right ass-cheek was on full show. He was in desperate need of a shave, and his hair seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Adding all that to the litter of bruises and scrapes across his body, he was the unsexiest creature alive – save for perhaps a beluga whale. He knew, as well, that Ed would be sat at the table in the kitchen looking like he'd just walked out of Vogue magazine, and would most likely look at him with pity – especially after how he had acted the night before.

If he was going to face that, and unfortunately he would eventually have to face it, the least he could do was put on some fresh clothes. So he stole across the hall and changed into a clean shirt, some new underwear and some black levi's that were perhaps a little too small for him but fitted him very nicely around the rear. He had work later, but one set of uniform had been incinerated, and the other set was in tatters from the sniper attack a couple of days prior. He ran a brush through his hair, looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror hung on the door of his wardrobe, and frowned at the bruise on his eye. It was beginning to go an awful, sickly green. He sighed at it, then turned out of the bedroom and made his way towards the kitchen, where the strong smell of coffee was wafting to him.

"Morning." Ed greeted as he entered, two steaming mugs of coffee on the table – Ed's black and Roy's a little milky. True to expectation, the blonde looked only a tiny bit dishevelled, considering he had slept in his clothes and clearly had no provisions to clean himself up. His hair was coming loose from it's plait, and some sandy strands were framing the side of his face. There were slightly darkened bags under his eyes but the golden iris' themselves were sparkling.

Roy swept up the coffee Ed had made for him, and cradled it in his hands, taking a tentative sip, where he was met with the sweet taste of the spoonful of sugar he didn't allow himself at work.

"How did you -?" He began to ask, but Ed interrupted him.

"Intelligence came back that you had one spoonful in your morning coffee." He explained.

Roy bit his split lip. It wasn't as if he had forgotten Edward had been his bodyguard less than twenty-four hours previously – but had the boys intelligence really been so in depth that it had gone in to how he liked his coffee? It was a little odd to think about.

And now they were awkwardly discussing coffee habits and Roy had no idea how to even bring up his behaviour the night before, or how to apologise for it. Dejectedly, he sat down at the table opposite Ed and tried hard not to look like he was checking the man out – even though he really kind of was. How were you supposed to act after a night of being cuddled to sleep by the person sitting across from you? Roy had felt, for those few minutes when he was being wrapped up and settled into unconsciousness the previous night, how he imagined Edward's children must feel when they were comforted by the man. Safe. Secure. Like nothing could touch them.

He sighed.

"Shall we talk about it?" He said. Ed took a sip of his coffee. Roy wondered whether the boy would get yellow teeth in his old age, drinking his coffee so black.

"The cuddling?" He shot back. Roy chewed on his tongue.

"No." He commanded. "The crush you clearly had on me in your teenage years."

Which, when all was said and done, was not how Roy intended to start this conversation – but he couldn't deny the beginnings of a small flush on his ex-subordinate's cheeks wasn't deliciously worth it. Edward looked away from him.

"You're being arrogant." He accused. Roy smiled over the rim of his coffee cup. For the first time since Edward Elric had walked back into his life a few days prior, he almost felt like he'd found his footing again.

"People don't go from feeling nothing to 'I care about you so much I almost shot a man in the head because he dared to touch you' in a couple of days, Fullmetal."

Edward huffed angrily, still resolutely not looking at Roy. It was adorable.

"Aren't people supposed to not remember anything when they get black-out-drunk?" He asked. Roy smirked.

"When have either of us ever been that lucky?"

Edward squirmed in his seat, his ears stained red, and started playing with his hair. He twiddled the end of his braid so hard the band twisted out and the fine strands fell loose around his shoulders. His lips were sealed tight and his eyes were downcast towards his coffee cup, and it reminded Roy of when he would tease the boy as a teen and be met with silence and a heavy blush. Patiently, Roy sipped at his sugary, milky coffee and waited. Edward always broke in the end – a lot had changed, but by the looks of it, this hadn't.

Finally, the younger man sighed.

"It wasn't a crush." He muttered. "Or at least not one I recognised as a crush."

Roy hummed low in his throat. He rested his elbow on the table and looked at the boy for a moment. His crisp white shirt from the night before wasn't as crisp any more – the first two buttons had been undone and Roy could see the man's collarbones on show. His mouth somehow managed to go drier than it had already been, and he swallowed thickly.

"So what was it?" He asked. Edward clicked his tongue.

"I don't know. I didn't acknowledge my attraction to other men until I was in the Palace in Xing, and surrounded by Ling's concubines and catamites. Given all those horrible rumours and the sleazy men in the military, I was pretty against allowing myself to be attracted to men, but Ling was so open about his sexuality and how fluid it was. I thought about it a lot whilst I was there, until one evening I was waiting for him in his private quarters and he came tumbling into them with some barely legal boy completely naked and eager for it – and I couldn't take my eyes off them. Ling knew I was watching, of course – knew I was getting myself off in the corner as he fucked the catamite on the bed. Afterwards he sent the boy away, crooked his finger, and I came willingly." He explained. He shrugged his shoulders gently, and still refused to look at Roy. "I spent the next few months learning how to pleasure the Emperor of Xing, and cheating on the woman I had proposed to back home, and then I returned to Rush Valley with some serious thinking to do."

"About me?" Roy asked, awkward and a little hopeful. Edward glanced up at him, and then minutely shook his head.

"About Winry." He confirmed. "And Ling. You a little bit, but I was trying really hard not to think about you."

Ed sighed. Roy shot him a considered look but the other man wasn't looking at him.

"So how did you go from sleeping with the Emperor of Xing to being a family man?"

The blonde across from him took a very long inhale of the scents of his coffee and then a short sip. He looked incredibly domestic, with his hair down and the mug in his hands. Roy was wondering how often they had sat at this very kitchen table in the last few days, having conversations over coffee. It felt domestic too, and Roy was plagued by images of waking up every day to fresh coffee and conversations over the kitchen table.

"I didn't, did I? I went back to Xing, when Winry was pregnant with our first child, and I went straight back to Ling and straight back to fucking him on every surface it was possible to bend him over, and I convinced myself that the reason I was throwing myself at him was because I was in love with him or something – and that I was the victim." He huffed, angrily. "I told myself I was only cheating on Winry because it wasn't okay for me to show I was attracted to men outside of Palace walls, that I had to pretend to be straight, or something – but it was all bullshit."

Roy felt a pang of jealousy in his chest at the images Ed was conjuring up of the two young men, Edward and Ling Yao, romping about in Xing. He chided himself silently and tried to tell himself once more that his attraction to Ed was simply attraction, and not some world-shattering crush. Until a few days ago he hadn't even seen Edward for six years, and rarely thought of the boy – there was no need for amateur dramatics now. But still.

"Were you?" He asked. "In love with Ling Yao?"

Ed snorted into his coffee, and it sounded derisory. He glanced across at Roy once more and caught eye-contact; Oxford blue to gold, and, seemingly without thinking, brushed his tongue over his top lip. Mustang crossed his legs.

"No. I lusted after him, but I didn't love him. He's a good friend, and he's sensible enough to know what I needed then was never going to last forever." He confessed. "Even if he is a little shit who spent most of the time I was fucking him trying to goad me into calling out your name instead."

Roy couldn't help it, he felt himself blush. He'd been the object of affection of many people before, and many men before – but he'd never been told so brazenly, by anyone, that they were thinking of him whilst fucking someone else. It was equal parts obscene and flattering. Then there was the imagery itself – Roy had been to the Palace once or twice before himself, and he could imagine it vividly. Edward, bending Ling over that ornate desk the Emperor was so proud of, hands on the man's hips, slick with sweat and sliding in and out of the ruler of the most ancient and powerful country in the world – and wishing as he did so that he man underneath him was actually Roy.

"Why my name? You never exactly gave me the impression I was anything but a pain in your ass." Bad choice of words. "Was it just the rumours that put that thought in your head?"

Edward grimaced, and Roy felt like joining him. Instead, he pulled his milky, sweet coffee up to his lips and used it to hide his facial expressions. The blonde scratched distractedly at his chin.

"I mean, I guess those rumours did put the thought into my head originally, and hey, maybe Ling's right and I have some issues regarding father-figures, but honestly I couldn't tell you. I know that before Promised Day happened I was aware that you were not difficult to look at, but I figured that just meant I was growing more mature or something – and then Promised Day did happen, and I had a newly restored brother to worry about, and you were blind, and I was dealing with the guilt and the anger and all that." He rambled. "I guess, I'd spent some time with Ling before Promised Day – when Ling was Greed, and I guess he remembered some of the times I talked about you and put two and two together before I did."

"So it was a crush, you just didn't realise it. That's very like you."

Ed snorted into his drink again, which meant somehow Roy had managed to get away with the comment. He offered a small smile, and was blessed with an equally small one in return. Then, that blessing turned sour as the smile grew to a positively evil smirk.

"Tit for tat Roy 'I care about you too, I always have done' Mustang – you had a crush on my sweet teenage ass, or what?"

Mustang ducked his head, wishing he had long hair like Ed so he could more effectively hide his blush. Now more than ever he wished he had forgotten everything that had transpired the night before, but unfortunately he remembered in high definition how Edward had flipped him onto his back on the sofa and hovered over him between his legs; declaring his care for the older man, and Roy had realised that he wasn't as innocent of the horrid rumours going around about him as he'd like to think.

He buried his head in his hands, despite the fact that it aggravated the bruise over his eyes. He deserved a little pain.

"Yes." He confessed. "I suppose that's one way of putting it."

He peeked through his fingers to see the blonde gaping at him.

"Um, what?" He asked, and Roy sighed, running a hand through his hair and thinking he needed a shower. He looked up at the ceiling, then at the ticking clock on the kitchen wall, and realised in only a few minutes it would be time to leave for work.

He closed his eyes.

"I realised last night, that I… monopolised you when you were a child, and that my feelings towards you now were of a similar ilk. I wanted desperately to keep you under lock and key, and told myself that my keeping tabs on you, and shielding you as best I could from being transferred out of my command, was born out of necessity or duty – you were just a child, and a child breaking dozens of state laws on pretty much a daily basis. I thought I was being responsible – but in truth I was being selfish." He explained. "In truth, Edward, you are brilliant. You always have been. The day I met you, in Risembool, I saw in you the capacity for excellency, and every day after that you proved yourself nothing short of utter perfection. You were, and are, a talented genius; passionate and zealous in your quest for knowledge and justice – all things I admire greatly. I kept you close to me because I was incapable of not doing so. I cared about you, and how you thought and felt, and I wanted to be around you to experience all the things you experienced. I realised last night that those feelings hadn't seemed to actually change. I thought you'd jumped on a train and I realised that I still wasn't capable of letting you go. So now I've realised that maybe I'm not as innocent as I thought I was, because now those feelings are somehow accompanied by a need to be physical with you, and maybe the truth is I still want to monopolise you."

He stopped, taking a deep breath, and forced himself to not look away from the blonde. Edward's eyebrows had turned down in something like anger, but there was still fire in his eyes that had been there since the day Roy had first laid eyes on him when he was missing half his limbs and was just a tiny eleven year old. The older man swallowed thickly. There was a long, silent moment in which the two of them stared at each other; the table with their mugs resting on it acting as a kind of wall between them.

"I'm not sure if you realise this but six years have passed since I was under your command." Edward finally replied, twiddling his fingers between themselves. "I've grown up now, so your want to be physical isn't something to be worried about – you didn't want to touch me back then, right?"

Roy felt sick.

"Hell no." He breathed. Edward smirked.

"So basically you thought I was, what was it? Brilliant, genius, excellent, as a child – because lets be honest I was all of those things and more – and then I grew up." He explained. "I look different now. I'm taller, more muscular – I guess you're just into that."

Roy huffed. He was. He was super into that. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about how easy it was for Edward to pick him up and haul him about. He'd never felt unsafe around Fullmetal, so the strength the man had was reassuring and… sexy. What could he say – he liked a strong partner, always had done.

"I am." He confessed, looking down at the table. Edward smirked at him, and the expression was very attractive on his face. He sighed, feeling like he needed to get back some control. "To be fair I could easily change my mind – I'm really only running on an idea. You might be terrible in bed."

They hadn't even kissed, after all, thanks to Sasha Elric's untimely need for water.

Ed looked like he was about to vehemently protest the idea that he was anything but godlike in the sack, but Roy was saved a lecture by a knock at the door. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen counter and figured that the person knocking would be Ming-Yue, come to collect him for work. He highly doubted she had brought him breakfast, or that she would put her hand on his back to lead him through doorways.

"I'll get it." Edward said, but as he passed Roy grabbed his sleeve.

"You're not on my protection detail any more." He accused. "You don't need to do things for me."

Edward glanced down at him, where he was now stood over the older man. Roy rose an eyebrow. Edward licked his lips, and Roy's eyes flickered down to the movement of his tongue.

"I'm still on your protection detail." He announced, dislodging Roy's grip and then leaving the kitchen.

Roy knew he should go find some shoes, get ready to leave the house with Ming-Yue – but he stayed where he was at the table and tried not think about how yesterday he had fed the Elric's in this same room, and brushed Maesie's hair, and braided Ed's. He hadn't thought, twenty-four hours ago, that he would be hungover from attempting to drink away the memory of almost being raped in front of his ex-subordinate – or discussing how he was physically attracted to said ex-subordinate, who still felt barely legal. Although thankfully he was legal, and Roy reminded himself of that.

There were voices in his hallway. Ming-Yue and Edward stage whispering at each other in rapid fire Xingese and sounding aggravated. Then, Edward huffed back into the kitchen, Ming-Yue hot on his tail, and raised his voice so that he was all but shouting, still in Xingese. Roy put a vague amount of thought into how Edward was so fluent in the language, but was only plagued by images of the younger man and Ling Yao copulating all over the palace. Then the blonde picked up the mugs from the table, and took them over to the counter top as Ming-Yue was berating him, and he slammed them down on the counter, turning to the Xingese woman with a glare.

"It is my decision what I do, Sheng!" He snapped in Amestrian. It was the first time Roy had heard anyone use her last name, and as the usually angry and scary looking woman flinched at it, it occurred to Roy that perhaps she shared that last name with her father, and had all but disinherited it after the ceremony she had told Roy about. Before he knew it, he was on his feet.

"Edward." He warned gently, and it must have been enough because the boy looked at him with a shocked expression and then seemed to calm down somewhat. He turned his face to the kitchen floor, put his arms behind him with his palms on the counter-top, and leant back on them. He didn't say anything further, and whatever argument he and Ming-Yue were having seemed to dissipate. Roy breathed out a breath of relief, and turned to his bodyguard with a buzz-cut. His shoes and coat were in the hall and he had no uniform to change into – he'd have to apply for a new set. "We can go." He supplied, and turned on his heel, out of the kitchen and into the hall, where he collected his heavy black overcoat and some shiny black shoes.

He probably had a more professional outfit than too small levi's, but at this point he was desperate to distract from the bruises on his face, and if people were looking at how good his ass looked in jeans, then they weren't recoiling at his battered eye.

Ming-Yue followed him out into the hall and by-passed him, leading the way down to a car. Edward followed them out, having collected his blazer from the night before, and a hair tie – roughly shoving the blonde locks up into a haphazard ponytail. All three of them piled into a shiny black car, Ming-Yue in the drivers seat and Roy and Edward in the back, hands between them on the seat in a way that was reminiscent of the night before.

"Are you sure you want to go to work today?" Edward asked, and Roy nodded. There was no way he was going to allow Guttering and his sleazy, disgusting touches to keep him from doing his job.

"What will you be doing? You said you were still on my protection detail?" He asked, feeling foolish because he remembered Ming-Yue saying that Edward had taken himself off as lead, but she had never said he had taken himself off the assignment completely – Roy had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Edward shrugged his shoulders now, looking ahead and not at Roy.

"I'm going to be analysing the report that came back on possible bugs in your office, and going over the intelligence we received on your colleagues and friends and see if there is a leak that would have made the attack on Oslo Street more viable." He explained. "Basically… paperwork."

And Roy smiled, because the idea of Edward Elric doing paperwork was so far gone from the moody teen he had been six years ago.

Having Ming-Yue in the office was not as hectic as having Edward there. Ed had bid him farewell at the gate to Central Command, and hadn't given him any indication as to when or if they might see each other again, so Roy hadn't pushed it. Ming-Yue stood still as a statue in the same spot Fullmetal stood in, and to some extent Roy was very aware that Edward had been just as stoic in his duties – but Edward had come with baggage, and Roy's attraction, and then two small children who caused insanity wherever they went. Roy spent his morning fielding questions as to why he was out of uniform and what in heavens above had happened to his face, and then settled down to some paperwork which took him hours to sort through and properly deal with. As such, it was after lunch when there was a short knock on his office door and he looked up to see Havoc stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard and looking determined.

"No." Roy said, looking back down at his paperwork, then, when the chain-smoker made no move to leave, he added "dismissed, Lieutenant."

True to form, the lieutenant didn't even pretend to pay attention to the thinly veiled order to leave, and instead made his way into the office, shutting the door behind him and surveying his superior carefully.

"You don't even know why I'm here." He said. Roy rolled his eyes.

"You've come to convince me to press charges." He replied, and knew he had hit the nail on the head when Havoc pursed his lips and huffed through his nose. The lieutenant put his clipboard down on Roy's desk and the General could see the form clipped to it, which had space for Havoc to scribe out Roy's statement, and a box at the bottom for Roy to sign that proclaimed his wish for Investigations to bring the full force of their office down on Guttering. He turned his face away from it.

Havoc turned around and leant against Roy's desk, facing away from him, and crossed his arms over his chest. Roy could see the tenseness in his shoulders.

"You were pretty drunk last night." He reminded, and Roy leant back in his chair and sighed.

"I know." He responded. "I'm paying for it."

There was a short exhale which may have been a laugh, and then Havoc fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fiddled with it nervously.

"You went home with Edward." He said, and it was a statement, not an accusation, but it felt like one.

Roy looked at the ignition gloves on top of his desk. When he had arrived at the office that morning he had collected them from the drawer in his desk and put them on, and then felt stupid for his obvious attempt to make himself feel safer in the work place and taken them off again. He hadn't been brave enough to put them back in the drawer though, and had kept them in reachable distance.

"Edward came home with me." He corrected. "He was staying in my spare bedroom."

It wasn't technically a lie; Edward had stayed a night in Roy's spare bedroom. He had simply omitted that the night in question, last night, Edward had slept in Roy's bed with him, arms wrapped securely around his ex-CO and breath wet and hot against the back of Roy's neck.

Havoc hummed thoughtfully.

"I know I don't know how you felt yesterday." He began, "I can't even begin to understand how it feels to be hurt that way – but I'm pretty sure the way to deal with it is not to go get stupidly drunk."

Roy closed his eyes. Nor was it to attempt to jump your twenty-two year old ex-subordinate, or burn your uniform, or any of the other terrible coping mechanisms Roy was currently using. Getting drunk seemed like a great idea when compared with sitting himself in Edward's lap and then puking up over the carpet.

Gods, Edward had probably cleared that up when Roy was still asleep.

"That's nice." He said, instead of saying 'fuck you Havoc', which is what he desperately wanted to say. "I'm still not pressing charges."

Havoc sighed.

"Look, here's the thing; Frazer is taking this to court whether you want him to or not. He's pedalling it as a hate crime, and I think that's the truth, to some extent. Edward is going to get called to testify and whether your name is mentioned or not, it's not going to take a genius to figure out that you were involved. Not to mention if Guttering decides to mention your name there is little we can do to stop him. It will be scratched from court record but it's a public trial and retroactive omission doesn't stop people hearing it." He explained calmly. "Whether you press charges or not, by this time in a couple of weeks chances are people are going to know what Guttering did to you, and if Frazer manages to say the right words at the right moment, they'll know he did it because you're gay. Put simply, when this goes to trial you are going to become a poster boy for gay people all over the country, and that's going to put your face out there for a bunch more ass-holes to try their luck in attacking you. You already have a target on your back because of this stupid terrorist group, and this trial is just going to throw you into the spot-light, but you wont get any extra protection from Investigations because you chose not to press charges, and thus waived your rights to protection from us."

Roy stared at him, and Havoc took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, and then he turned around and tapped his fingers on the clipboard.

"Sign this. Press charges and not only will Investigations protect your right to privacy as much as we can, but we will give you a chance to have your say on what happened in that office." He said, leaning over so that he was a little more into Roy's face. The General tried to maintain eye-contact, but before he could stop himself his eyes had flickered away.

"I don't need protection." He attempted to protest, but Havoc sighed.

"Clearly, you do." He shot back, and then put his cigarette back in his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. "I know Guttering was attacking you half because it was convenient, and half because he's always had a stick up his ass about you being the same rank as him at twenty years his junior – but can you honestly tell me he didn't say anything to you that might have made you think he hated you simply because you swing both ways?"

Roy couldn't look at Havoc, so he studiously stared at his ignition gloves, lying haplessly on the desk. After a moment he picked them up and put them on to his hands, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the rough abrasive material fighting to make a spark, but not putting any energy into the rush of Alchemy that ran through him instinctively when that happened. He frowned down at the white and red on his hands and sighed. He remembered vividly everything Guttering had said when the other General's hands had been all over him, and at the Lieutenant's question one particular phrase had stood out.

Sissy faggot boy.

Roy had probably been called worse in his time, but the day before wasn't the first time he had been specifically called a faggot, and each time it cut deep that he knew the word was being used as an insult. They could have been using any word at all but the intention was to hurt him, and it was clear that Guttering was using that word to hurt him more. The attack had never been about sex, he told himself, reminded of Ming-Yue's words – it was about power, and violence, and Guttering had proved himself plenty violent, with the intention to hurt Roy. Whether it was about Roy specifically or gay people in general, Roy didn't know, but the use of that word had to make the man stop and think about whether Guttering had attacked him, at least in some part, because of his sexual orientation. Slowly, almost as if pained to admit it, Roy nodded his head at the Lieutenant.

Havoc tapped his fingers on the form again, and rose an eyebrow at Roy. The General sighed. He knew logically everything the chain-smoker said was correct, and he knew as well that the sexual assault had happened, and ignoring it would not make it cease to have happened, but he still hesitated at the idea of willingly allowing people to know he had been overpowered and dirtied so easily. He wasn't scared of their reactions, and he definitely wasn't scared of Guttering himself, but he was ashamed. It felt shameful to have been caught and abused in the first place.

He pulled the form towards him, noting the blank box where Havoc would need to write down his statement. Roy blanched at the idea of reliving each touch, and each bruise he had received. He hated the idea of speaking once more the pleas he had screamed at Guttering to Havoc, and he felt sick at having to explain to his friend how his one clear thought was to at least not let the rape happen in front of Edward – but all of it was important, and Havoc knew what questions to ask to get him to tell all.

The General cleared his throat.

"If I do this I'm basically admitting to my sexuality for the entire world to see. I'll be signing away my eligibility for Fuhrership because there's no way Amestris would accept a non-straight Fuhrer, and I'm signing up for a media frenzy and another target on my back." He assessed. "You're really not selling this."

Still, he had the pen in his hand. Havoc nodded his head, and his hand was in his pocket again, probably fiddling with his smokes.

"I know." He admitted. "But I want to see the man that hurt my friend rotting behind bars until the day he draws his last breath. I don't want there to be even the slightest chance of his release, and I want an example made of him so that this entire damn country understands that there is no tolerance towards dick-wipes who want to hurt people like you."

Roy balanced the pen over the signature box at the bottom of the form, and gulped nervously.

"People like me." He repeated gently, although he already knew Havoc meant gay people, the man just didn't know how to articulate that. The man's lips thinned as he attempted to think of the right phrasing.

"You know, men who are attracted to other men." He mumbled.

Roy thought back to his conversation with Edward that morning, about his denial of his attraction to other men until he had been in a safe place in Xing. He thought about the other man's reasoning, that men in the military had made him feel like he couldn't accept those parts of himself. He thought of the rumours that had been circulating whilst Edward was under Roy's command, and the confessions the boy had made that people in a position of power within the military had attempted to hurt Ed in the past. Roy had hated the idea of Edward witnessing his rape, but he felt dizzy with nausea at the idea of the tables being turned and Edward being the one who Guttering had tried to abuse. If Havoc's declaration was true, and Guttering was to be made an example of, then perhaps his pressing charges would go some way to making up for the horrible way Edward had been treated in the past.

He let out a long, steady breath, and signed his name.

"Don't make me regret this." He muttered, pushing the form back to Havoc. The chain-smoker looked shocked he had managed to convince his ex-CO into signing, and then heavily sat down in the chair across from Roy.

"R-right." He said, going for confident and falling short by a good mile. "Then, I'm… I'm going to need your statement."

Ming-Yue picked him up from work at four thirty, because if the Military forced you to work on a Saturday they were at least nice enough to let you go home a couple of hours early. She drove him home, she did the check, and bid him a charged 'goodnight' at his door, before swiftly leaving. He scuffed his foot along the skirting board in the corridor, entered the kitchen to see the mugs he and Edward had left that morning, and decided to skip dinner.

He had spent the entire afternoon hashing out his statement with Havoc, excusing himself regularly to get some air and calm down the jumping and twisting in his stomach as he purposefully remembered each word Guttering had said, each place he'd put his hands and each part of Roy the man had hungrily laid eyes on. By the time he was done Roy was feeling emotionally ragged and exhausted to the bone, and Havoc had surrendered three cigarette's to trying to keep the General calm. He had been glad to see the back of his friend when Havoc finally told him he had enough information and he would keep Roy updated on the case as it progressed. Roy had told him not to bother, but knew that Jean would anyway.

He sank down on to a leather sofa in the living room, and tilted his head back, staring at the swirls in the plaster of the ceiling. Edward had cleared up his puke puddle, and he needed to find a way to thank the man, but for now, if he stared for long enough at the ceiling, sometimes he could see faces in the jumps and curves, and he was just beginning to get into that mind-set when there was knock at the door.

His heart jumped up to his throat, and he glanced towards the entrance to his small corridor, nervously wondering what protocol was for guests. He wasn't expecting anybody, and there was a guard outside the door – surely they would call through and tell him it was okay if it was someone they recognised. Then he remembered Edward's assessment of the paperwork he would be doing that day – going through his colleagues and friends to see if anyone was a leak – so that meant that even if the guards did recognise whoever had knocked on the door, it did not mean that person was necessarily trustworthy.

He crept across the room and into the corridor just in time to see the handle rattle down and up again. It locked automatically on closing – you could open it from the inside but needed a key to open it from the outside, and whoever was outside his door was attempting to get into his house.

"Looks like nobodies home." Roy heard, and it wasn't a voice he recognised.

He stood still in the hallway, and then, as he heard some scuffling and something being inserted into the lock, he turned on his heel and crept through the house, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him softly. He tried to keep his breathing under control, listening to the sounds of the intruder, or intruders, and padded across the plush carpet in his room, to the bedside table where a small piece of paper held a scrawled out telephone number, next to a turn-dial phone. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, he punched in the numbers, and held his breath as it rang.

"Alverbank Hotel, how can I help?" asked a perky sounding assistant on the other end. Roy swallowed and spoke back in a whisper, straining his ears to see if the intruder had made it through the door yet.

"I need you to connect me to Edward Elric's room urgently." He explained. The assistant hummed, and Roy could hear the sounds of her flipping through a Rolodex, and then she made a triumphant sound.

"Connecting you now." She supplied cheerily, and then Roy was met with ringing again. He counted out the seconds in his head, but it was only two seconds before Edward's voice answered the phone.

"Hello?" He said, sounding vaguely confused. Roy closed his eyes as he tried to listen to what was going on in the hall.

"Edward." He whispered. "Someone is trying to enter my flat."

He could almost feel the shift of Edward moving from relaxed, probably reading a book in bed, to alert and back in work mode.

"Okay. I'm on my way. Find somewhere to hide and stay quiet." He ordered, and Roy was already nodding along. "Don't worry." Edward said. "Hang up now, and hide. I'll be there soon."

So Roy hung up the phone, and padded over to his wardrobe, nestling himself amongst the clothes and pulling the doors closed, settling down to wait for Edward. He still had his ignition gloves on from his interview with Havoc, where he had felt a little safer knowing he had a weapon on him, and he was glad of that now. He let out a shaky breath he was desperate to keep quiet, and clamped his lips shut, trying to breath gently through his nose. The wardrobe had slats on the door, and he wondered whether the intruders might see him through the slats, but then rationalised that the slats angled downwards, so it was very unlikely they would. He strained his ears to listen to footsteps or voices, and tried not to move or make any noise.

They wouldn't look for him, would they? They might assume he was out – it was a Saturday night after all, he usually made some excuse not to be in his apartment. He hadn't had any dinner, but he had left the light on in the living room – would that alert them that he was home? He had his gloves, but what if they had come prepared? These people were clearly part of the group after his head – they might know his weaknesses. Not to mention the fact that this was his own home; he'd have to be insanely precise in his aim lest he accidentally set his own flat on fire.

And it was a flat. His apartment was one in a block of apartments. There were countless other people in the other flats both above and below them, and if he wasn't clever and quick then the other people living here might suffer. He was technically on home ground, but at a massive disadvantage.

He rubbed his fingers together and held them prone in the position for clicking, and then tried to calm himself. He counted to ten in his head, and then again because it hadn't done the trick and he was still internally freaking out. He tried to remember everything Riza had told him about the group that had put targets on him and his, because being prepared would go some way to help him in combat should it come to that.

They were radicals, working on the idea that the military was fundamentally bad, and key figures involved in the events of the Promised Day were clearly the worst of the crop. They wanted to strike those figures down – and given the shooting in Oslo Street that clearly meant their plan was to assassinate those key people. They seemed like they had very little mercy, and given Roy had stupidly hidden in a wardrobe and effectively backed himself into a corner, he was in a bad place should they find him.

Okay, he told himself, counting to ten again, and then he held his breath as he heard footsteps down his hall and voices talking to each other and making no attempt to stay quiet.

"Hey, lights on. Looks like he's over the hill." Said the first voice, which sounded young. Roy felt his stomach clench painfully at the words. They'd instantly figured out he was in hiding.

"Guns up." Replied a deeper voice, more commanding.

"I'm running black." Said another. Military jargon, Roy realised. But there was no way these guys were Amestrian Military – they were specifically targeting the Military as being corrupt. Were they dissenters? He couldn't detect any accents which might suggest he was dealing with a special ops force from another country.

"Why the fuck would you tell us that now?" Said the voice Roy had first heard.

"Well this isn't exactly a -" The reply was cut short, and Roy could imagine their CO had put up a hand for silence.

"Use this one." The deep voice said, "then spread out and find him."

There was a chorus of 'yes sir's, and Roy tried to count the voices. Three, maybe four? Either way he was outnumbered. He just had to stay hidden until backup made it's way to him. Edward would have alerted Ming-Yue and the rest of the protection detail, and they would make quick work of these intruders. Roy just had to stay out of sight until then.

He realised how fruitless that was when heavy duty boots came stomping into his bedroom.

"Damn, look at these sheets. Bastard likes the finer things in life, eh?" Said the same young voice from the hall, and Roy could see through the slats a twenty something with dark hair and skin running his hands over Roy's bedspread. Despite his training, his hands began to shake a little.

"Not that you can talk, Ezra." Said another man, this one also coming into the room now. He was taller than his team-mate, paler and with shorter, greyer hair and bigger muscles. "You're a prissy bitch when it comes to that shit."

Ezra clearly didn't like the assessment, because he growled low in his throat.

"Go find the grid squares, Yeti."

Yeti, thought Roy, was that a call sign? These guys were definitely military of some kind, whether it was special forces or just a discharged faction of like-minded ass-holes. They walked and talked like they had training, and that put Roy at even more of a disadvantage. Fighting rouge civilians was one thing, but fighting a group of trained military men was going to be somewhat harder.

"Fuck you." Yeti replied, and then hesitated, his heavy black boots stopped in front of Roy's wardrobe. The man turned his back to the wardrobe and Roy began doing calculations in his head to transfer a flame from inside to outside the wardrobe doors and get the guy from behind. Yeti signalled something to his acquaintance, and then quickly turned around and threw open the doors to the wardrobe, revealing Roy inside, hands raised to click.

They stood for a second, ignition glove to raised rifle, and then Roy clicked and dived to the side.

Yeti was engulfed in flames instantly. Roy had channelled just enough heat to seriously incapacitate the man, but not enough to kill him. Nevertheless he shrieked something nasty, and in his pain his fingers pulled back on his trigger, shooting a bullet through the back of the wardrobe at the exact place Roy's head had been not two seconds before. Gasping for breath out of sheer worry, the General kicked out at the other wardrobe door, rolled out of the cupboard and somehow managed to avoid Ezra shooting erratically – but the noise had called the other men in the squad to the bedroom, and Roy was now facing off against four military trained men on his own.

He dived for the cover of the bed, and when he came up he had Ezra held securely with an arm behind his back, using him as a shield against the other two men. In that time one of the men had rushed into the bedroom to look over Yeti, and seemed to have assessed that he was still breathing. He was injured, but all the burns were surface burns. He might get a nasty infection if he wasn't treated right, but he could heal perfectly fine without even any real need to go to the hospital as a matter of urgency.

"Put your weapons on the ground!" Roy commanded, brandishing his poised fingers in some kind of threat and pulling the young dark skinned boy around harshly to show he meant business.

The two other men, stood in the doorway to his bedroom, were older as well. One a sandy blonde man in his fifties with a deep scar down one side of his angular face, and the other older still – hair and beard stark white, but the firm set of his broad shoulders and the posture of his back told Roy the man kept physically fit. There was a family resemblance between them, in the jut of their jaw and the straight edge of their nose. Roy wondered whether they might be father and son. Neither of them made any move to discard their weapons. Then the one with the scar laughed.

"Kill him then." He said in the deep voice Roy recognised from the hall, his tone so commanding that Roy almost did as asked on instinct. The young man in his hold made an indignant sound that told Roy that the kid had no intention of dying.

He pressed his fingers together and created a threatening spark, but didn't let it hurt anybody.

"Put your weapons down and nobody needs to get hurt." He tried, hoping he could bluff harder than the intruders.

Scar-face tilted up his nose and narrowed his eyes, and then calmly pointed his gun at Roy's head.

"You're not going to kill him General." He said levelly. "You might rough him up a bit, but you don't have it in you to kill him. We've done our research. We know you've gone soft. So don't waste our time."

Except Roy did have to waste time – if he couldn't wait it out for a rescue by hiding, then he had to keep these guys talking long enough not to kill him. He clicked again, and this time created a small flame above his fingers, which he held close to the dark skinned boy's face. The kid tried inching his head back to get away from the heat, but Roy followed him with it.

"Tell me who you are." He insisted. "What do you plan on achieving by this?"

Scar-face and white-beard exchanged a heavy look, and then the commanding man stepped a little closer to Roy, still not lowering his gun, and glared.

"What I achieve is killing you."

Roy tried not to let it show that he was shaking. He kept Ezra between himself and Scar-face like a human shield, reminding himself horridly of Guttering, and took a step back to be sightly further away from the attacker. He didn't have far to run before he hit a wall, and could only hope Edward would get there soon.

"Why?" He asked, stalling. "What have I ever done to you?"

Scar-face spat at the ground, and Roy watched in mild disgust as the great glob of phlegm landed on his plush carpet and sank into the shag. Scar-face didn't say anything else, but the man who had rushed in to check over Yeti cursed angrily, and Roy recognised his voice as the man who was running black. The General glanced his way and saw that this man had the same tanned skin as Ezra, but the same angular jaw and nose as scar-face and white-beard.

"You're a murdering dog! You deserve to die!" He cried.

"Enough, Josiah!" Scar-face hushed him. "I don't care if he dies not knowing why."

Josiah was young too, like Ezra – perhaps even younger. He didn't hold himself like the others; although he knew the jargon he hadn't thought to check his ammo, and he was clearly not a fighter. This boy wasn't military.

"This is about the Promised Day." Roy tried to keep them talking, struggling against Ezra who was trying to fight his way free. "I tried to stop that." He said, although he knew it was futile. Just enough details about that day had been published to the public for them to spin wild tales about it, and denying them would only fuel them more.

"You were right in the middle! If it wasn't for the Elric brother's you would have wiped out half of Central!" Josiah cried, clearly not heeding Scar-face's command's to hush. Roy had a weird urge to tell him that in actual fact they would have wiped out the entirety of Amestris, but he didn't think that would go down well. The young man opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a recognisable voice from the doorway.

"Did someone say my name?"

Oh thank goodness. Edward was standing in the doorway, his gun raised and pointed directly at Scar-face's head, and Ming-Yue had already outmanoeuvred white-beard and had him apprehended. With Roy having a fairly secure hold on Ezra, that meant the only free intruder was Josiah, who was clearly not military and therefore out of his league. Edward stalked into the room, but Scar-face still didn't lower his weapon.

"Give it up, ass-hole." Edward chided. "I'm a good shot, and you can't even get near Mustang without endangering one of your own. You know this is over."

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Scar-face sighed and held up his gun, showing his surrender. He opened his mouth, cleared his throat in preparation for admitting his defeat, and then said:

"Josiah, now!"

Then everything happened in slow motion. Josiah swept up his gun, where it was lying on the floor next to him, and aimed it at Roy, and squeezed the trigger. Roy had just enough time to realise his human-shield was being ignored, and so instinctively pushed the kid away, leaving himself wide open for the bullet. Which hit him squarely in the shoulder.

He was barrelled back with the force of it, into his bedroom wall, and it took some time for the pain to catch up and register with him. It was only when he looked down at his shoulder to see blood blossoming quickly over his shirt and down his sleeve, that it did, and he could do nothing but cry out helplessly. The blood was coming fast and wet, and his vision was already going blurry. He heard two more gunshots, but it could have been any number, and he thought he heard Edward calling his name, and then everything went black.