Thank you all for reviewing! Like I promised, an early update! Somehow. I've pretty much been sidelined with the flu or something until yesterday. It was getting pretty close to being no update at all this week :/ Regardless... hope you enjoy this one, and I'll see you on Saturday!
Ed got better.
To a limited degree.
A very, very limited degree.
His behavior the day after the removal of his automail continued. He remained quiet, withdrawn, sullen. He finally started answering questions when Roy asked them, and looked more nervous than angry, shaken than upset. But the fire that been in him before, the fire that simply was Ed- that was gone, too.
It was a relief, at first, to not have to brace himself for not-so-accidental shoves to his side whenever Ed passed him by or listen to almost nonstop you piece of shit, I hate you, burn in hell... but then, nothing replaced it. Before, Ed would've glared or hit or yelled at him- and now?
He did nothing.
He didn't talk to Roy, not that that was any different than before. He avoided him still, now spending more time in his room rather than out on the couch or kitchen table glaring at him, and whenever Roy coaxed him out he avoided his gaze like the plague. He was hesitant, always clutching a blanket or oversized jacket around his shoulders to hide the empty spot where his arm and leg were meant to be, and would still lash out and tell him to go fuck himself if provoked enough but- it was hollow, somehow. Like he was trying to force himself to be something he wasn't. To be angry when he didn't feel it.
It reminded him, most closely, of the two years he'd spent in the north.
Not living. Not grieving.
Just... existing.
Roy didn't much like to think about that time of his life, but seeing it in Ed hurt far more than it had ever been when he'd been living it himself.
Then there was the fact that he was jumpy, terrified; without his automail blade there as a weapon, he was undeniably vulnerable and painfully aware of it. It was the first time he hadn't been ready to protect himself; he didn't have his blade, he didn't have his clap alchemy, and it was very obvious he didn't feel safe here without them... even though Roy had never so much as raised a hand against him.
Roy, try as he might, had no idea what to make of it.
While Ed still hadn't told him what the hell had happened to him, he couldn't help but try and draw parallels from his return to the weeks and months after Ishval. The nightmares were similar, the violent lashing out was almost identical, the hypervigiliance, the need to be armed at all times... but something about it didn't feel right.
It wasn't that Ed was afraid of or angry at everyone (though, since he couldn't be seen by anyone but Roy, it was impossible to tell). No... it felt as if Ed was specifically afraid of him.
He'd not yet found the right way to ask him about it.
But, the lashing out had continued, and somehow, the nightmares had gotten even worse. Roy continued to go to work with bruises, hiding them under his eyepatch and high collar when he could, telling his men it wasn't their business when not. Ed was violent when being woken up from tossing and turning, and being reduced to one arm hadn't made his punches any weaker. Roy could've pinned him down, sure, but when Ed was like that, terrified and almost screaming, he just didn't have it in him to frighten him worse. He let him do whatever he had to, and if that meant treating his face as a punching bag until he realized where he was and that he was safe, then so be it.
Ed still seemed dedicated to trying to piss him off, even more so than before; almost desperate now- though desperate for what, exactly, he had no clue. Whenever Roy managed to provoke an argument out of him, it was a vitriolic tirade; murdering monster, useless fuck-up, killer. The second day after removing his automail, when Roy's old injuries had stopped paining him enough to let him walk on his own again, Ed had promptly stolen his cane and transmuted it into a crutch for himself. When Roy had realized what he'd done, Ed had just sat there and looked at him, unspoken challenge and fear equal parts gleaming in his eyes, as if daring him to speak up and say something.
Roy had just shaken his head and left Ed sitting at the kitchen table alone, still seething and waiting for a reaction.
The longer Ed stayed, the more and more the despairing, heavy cloud of depression that lived at the back of his mind inched further and further to the forefront. And the harder it got to be for him to find enough feeling in him to give Ed the fight he so seemed to want.
The weeks passed, and it became apparent this was Ed's new normal; somewhere between so depressed it was a fight to get him out of bed and so unstable and angry he was half expecting the alchemist to try and murder him in his sleep. Roy let him do whatever he wanted to, and steadily ignored the increasing worry that that was only making things worse. He didn't dare bring up Al. He thought every day about calling the Rockbells, Izumi Curtis, someone else to take charge since he was so woefully unprepared and inadequate...
Until one day, he actually did.
He waited until the work day was officially over, and he'd already given all his paperwork to Hawkeye, so there'd be no reason to interrupt. Then, his office door shut, he fished out the number for the Curtis's, gave it a very long, hard look- and dialed his phone.
Ed had forbidden him from calling the Rockbells- and, quite simply, Roy didn't want to call them, not until he knew more- but he hadn't mentioned his old alchemy teacher, he reasoned. And if Ed wasn't going to cooperate with him...
God, he could only hope he'd cooperate with her, because he was quickly running out of options.
"Sig Curtis, Curtis Butcher Shop."
Roy sat forward in his chair, giving his shut door a hard look as if he could see his men eavesdropping through it. "Mr. Curtis. This is General Mustang; is your wife home? I have some news for her."
His answer, however, was not a promising one.
Sig Curtis gave him a heavy sigh, and in that sound alone he heard the prediction of how this conversation was going to go. "She's not feeling well today, General. Either leave a message, or you'll just have to wait."
"...Oh."
Not feeling well, when in relation to Izumi Curtis, was not code for a cold, the flu, or anything else at all minor.
Well, this was just the cherry on top of his shit sundae of a week, wasn't it.
There was exactly nothing he could do concerning her now. That would be one very painful message to just off-handedly pass over the phone to her regardless, but it became unimaginably cruel to do so while she wasn't well. Yes, remember those two students of yours that you cared about so much? Been missing five years? Well, one's dead, and I'm pretty sure the other one was tortured. Call me back? Just- no. He couldn't think of doing that to her.
Then again, wasn't that what this would amount to, regardless? Carelessly passing on this information over the phone when she was in Dublith, and couldn't even do anything except agonize over it? And if she was ill again, that meant she was in no condition for a train ride to Central. Even though he doubted Izumi would agree with that assessment, and would see no problem with a long train ride while vomiting blood, it was true. She'd have to wait a week or more before even attempting the long trip, and even then, just what was she supposed to do, when she got here? Just join him as another witness into Ed's despair? It wasn't as if he was naive enough to think seeing another figure from his past would just snap him out of it. He'd probably feel even more miserable, and then Izumi would feel horrible herself, and then...
God, what was wrong with him? Who was he really doing this for, anyway- Ed, or himself? Selfishly calling Izumi like this, trying to thrust this responsibility onto her even when he knew Ed didn't want her or anyone else to see him like this- and what was he expecting from her, the ailing woman to hop on the next train, rush off to his side, and fix everything? Sig was tight-lipped about it, but Roy had his suspicions that Izumi was dying, and had been for a while. He couldn't involve her- not like this. It wasn't right. Even if he'd called her up on a day when she'd been in perfect health, rarer and rarer, these days, it still wouldn't have been right. It would've been unimaginably selfish, to even think of getting her involved.
Selfish, that's right... worthless as always...
"General?"
"...I'm sorry. Sorry for bothering you," he groaned, dropping his face into his hand. This was a wreck. "This call was premature, I don't think I'm quite ready to talk with her."
There was another moment of uncertainty on the other line, a long pause that was all it took to make Roy regret calling in the first place. Then: "General Mustang, what exactly is this regarding?"
Because, he really would have only called the Curtis's concerning one thing.
"...We do have a lead on the Elric brothers. A tentative one. But, like I said, this call was premature- I wouldn't recommend you pass this along to your wife just yet. If this ends up being a false trail- there's really no need to get her hopes up. Just... just give me a couple weeks, to find out how good this information is."
Between letting Izumi Curtis learn that Alphonse was dead, and seeing Edward like this... or just letting her continue to believe the brothers were dead?
As they said, ignorance was bliss.
If I really can't get anywhere with Ed at all, then, perhaps it really would be kinder to let her die without seeing what he's become.
Roy swallowed tightly, his chest twisting in despairing grief and misery.
How had things ever come to this?
"I understand. I won't tell her just yet- no good would come of it now. But... General, it's been so many years... do you really think there's a chance? Last we spoke, even the Rockbells thought..."
"...I do, Mr. Curtis. I do believe there's a chance."
Except, Roy reflected-
That was a lie.
They exchanged goodbyes, and Roy set his phone down, and buried his face in his hands.
He didn't believe there was a chance.
Al was dead.
And Ed...
He was starting to believe there was no chance of him getting Ed back, either.
At last, Roy just dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the tired old ache in his many scars and the dull throb through his eye. As always, there was simply nothing for him to do but return home, and keep Ed alive for yet another day. Onwards and existing.
That really was all he could do, no matter how fucking pathetic it was.
"Goodnight, Major, Captain," he called offhandedly, quietly, raising a hand to the last two of his soldiers in the office but not his gaze, dragging himself forward to the door. "Have a good weekend."
"Actually- General? A moment, please?"
God, what now? What now?
He did not have enough in him to get through anything but sitting through a ride home, then sitting there to watch Ed slowly fall apart. Just let him go home, already. Enough with this day from hell.
"...Make it quick, Hawkeye," he started to grumble, stiffly turning himself around- then stopped, upon beholding the sight that waited for him.
Hawkeye and Havoc were the only ones left, which was not unusual, given the time. But, looking now, he saw their desks were cleared completely of work; in fact, they looked to have finished some time ago. And neither looked like this meeting had any relation to work.
They were both nervous. Hawkeye, exemplary at hiding it, only betrayed herself by the tense furrow of her brow; Havoc was fidgeting in his seat and held his gaze only, it seemed, with great effort, very obviously uncomfortable.
He did not have it in him for this.
"What," he began cautiously, one eye moving between his two subordinates, "is this about?"
"General." Hawkeye gave him one of her looks, one that told him he was going to take his medicine and he was either going to like it, or shut up about it. "Why don't you sit down?" She gestured at Breda's empty desk, and anxious nerves twisted in his stomach further. What the hell was this?
"I'm afraid I have somewhere to be, Major. You're going to have to make this quick." He pointedly remained standing near the door, not at all interested in entertaining this- whatever it was. He cleared his throat, glancing between the two of them again, and folded his arms in a show of impatience. Even if he didn't have Ed to hurry home to, this wasn't something he wanted to put up with.
Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged a tense look, one that screamed subtext and pretense, none of which were good things for him. Then, with nothing more than a sigh, Hawkeye frowned back at him, meeting his stubbornness toe to toe, and spoke. "Very well, sir... this will go as quick as you allow it to." Another look, this one that made him feel as if he was already outmatched. "The men and I have been concerned, about your recent behavior. You've been distracted, exhausted, and moody for weeks. You're skipping meals again, and avoiding us."
"You haven't gone out with us in months, sir," Havoc pointed out quietly, and in that moment looked like nothing more than a sympathetic friend. "Everyone's concerned that you... well..."
For god's sake. Roy glared at them both, shoulders tensing with the instinct to back the hell out of here. Damn, damn.
Hawkeye wasn't the only one of his staff to have taken it upon themselves to watch him, ensure he never screwed up like he had seven years ago. The others all did, as well. At least once a week, there was a poker game or dinner or even, on one very ill-fated occasion, a group speed dating session- never again- always something without alcohol, and always for his benefit. Always a scheme to get him out of his house, force him to spend the night doing something other than burying himself in bed to never come out. Some weeks, it was barely a nuisance, and he only complained because he knew his men expected him to; he actually got some enjoyment out of it. Some weeks, it took everything he had to drag himself out and he did nothing but sit quietly and depress the rest of the group like the fucking drain that he was. And some, he couldn't even find it in him to go out at all.
Apparently, they had all decided that skipping this many was not acceptable.
"I'm... fine." Roy left his arms folded, wondering if he should be appreciative they all cared enough to notice something like this, or pissed off that he was a grown man and about to be lectured like a misbehaving child. "Whatever you all are thinking, it's not that. There's just been some personal matters that I've needed to attend to lately. That's all."
"We're all going out next Tuesday," Havoc countered without missing a beat. "It's Heymans' birthday. What time are you free? We can-"
"I can't make it. Pass on my apologies, but I'm afraid I'll be busy that night."
"And every night in the foreseeable future, I presume," Hawkeye murmured unhappily.
She was not pleased.
Roy sighed.
This would be so much simpler if he could just tell them the truth. That he just couldn't leave Ed alone for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. It wasn't that he thought Ed might hurt himself- he had been worried, at first, but it had been long enough now that if Ed really had such plans, he would've carried them out by now. But that didn't mean he felt right about just leaving the traumatized, half-crippled kid alone for hours on end just so he could go and try to relax with some of his friends.
Besides, Ed was having enough trouble trusting him right now... if he broke what little he'd been given, in telling others about his return, and Ed found out, the kid would be gone. He had no doubts about this. Even without his limbs, no money or friends to speak of, even with the small progress he'd finally begun to make, if he told anyone in the military about this and Ed found out, he'd run. He'd be gone before sunrise, and Roy would never see him again.
He'd...
Oh, who are you god damn kidding? Ed's just your excuse. Ed doesn't need you home every night, he doesn't need you at all. He doesn't even LIKE you. You're just using him as an excuse to continue to be this fucking waste, so you can just crawl home every night and not have to try and put up a front like you're okay. That's all anyone ever is to you, a nuisance or someone to use and use and use until they're used up. Fucking waste... fucking worthless...
"Sir," Hawkeye said again, eyes taking on a gentler light, looking at him like- god, he couldn't stand it. Like he was something to be fixed or made right again. "We can't help you if you're not willing to let us," and he hated it-
"I'm fine. How many ways must I spell it out? Am I not allowed to have a life outside of work anymore?" He took a step back, just wanting to get the hell out of that room and away from the both of them. "Both of you, this is out of line. I don't need-"
"You've been using your cane more, General. And coming to work with bruises. Bruises, sir." As if to illustrate her point, she raised a hand, pointing; he just barely stopped himself from smoothing over his hair to hide the faint, almost faded mark on his brow. "General, what is going on?"
She sounded worried, now. The pretense of sternness had been dropped, just like that, and now- now, she sounded and looked as worried as Havoc- who was next, and he'd never been able to disguise his concern for anything but as he leaned forward, staring at him with naked upset. "Whatever's going on, we'll help you, but- you have to tell us, sir. Who's been hurting you?"
...
Oh, for the love of god.
"...Is this... an intervention?"
Oh, for the love of god.
Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged another uncomfortable look, clearly thrown by his suddenly blank stare- and, for the first time all day, possibly all week, Roy had found himself struck with the very strange urge to laugh.
Unbelievable.
"This is an intervention." He looked between his two subordinates, and then, even though it'd accomplish nothing except making them then he was even more crazy than normal, gave in and let a startled, amazed laugh slip out. "That's what this is."
"Sir," Havoc tried, almost desperately, "we're worried about you-"
Hawkeye, less shaken than him, because she was Hawkeye and nothing could shake her- "This is hardly a laughing matter, General-"
Roy held up his hand to stop them, then nearly choked on another laugh. For fuck's sake. "That's enough. I... oh. All right. Listen. I- I'm just-" Unable to stop grinning now, Roy took a step backwards through the door, barely battling the startled, shaken laughter growing in his chest. He couldn't put a finger on just why he suddenly couldn't stop laughing, because it wasn't all that funny- but his choices were between feeling either utterly ridiculous and gutwrenchingly shameful, so he was just going to have to go with ridiculous. "I'm just going to... go. Forget this ever happened."
"This conversation isn't done!"
"It is. Believe me, it is."
Havoc was already halfway to his feet, reaching out to him like he might need his help to so much as walk down the hallway. "Mustang, don't be ridiculous; at least let me drive you home, it's-"
"Actually, I think I'll walk today." He swallowed back an extremely unmanly giggle and took another step back, now just focusing on making it outside before he lost it entirely. "Have a good night, you two," and that had to be the most cheerful he'd sounded in weeks, and Roy had barely made it out into the hallway before he burst out laughing.
This was how pathetic he was, now. He had become a bruised, startled housewife, for his friends to ambush, coddle, and protect. Oh, god, he was pathetic. He knew he wasn't the man he'd used to be, but- this? He was still Roy Mustang, General Roy Mustang, soldier, the Flame Alchemist even he'd given up his state certification years ago. Who did they take him for? Did they actually think he was so helpless? He was pathetic but had he really become such a doormat that- what? What did Hawkeye and Havoc and, apparently, all the rest of his staff even think? He went around getting into bar fights at night? Or, even worse, they had so little confidence in him that they thought he'd let himself be abused?
For god's sake, they'd just held an intervention at him like he was some frail, helpless, abused military wife!
Being a general, and a handicapped one at that, Roy didn't walk home. With his eye, he wasn't allowed to drive, but even in fair weather, there was just no point in straining his leg and risking being bedridden the next day. It had been years since he'd had the luxury of walking past the on hand staff of privates ready to chauffeur their superiors around the city. But today was one for firsts, because, clutching his sides, laughing and grinning more than he had in months, Roy strolled past the military garage and turned down the street to walk home.
If only he could tell them the truth. They'd see how ridiculous they were being. The very idea of what they were suggesting- and between him and Ed, no less...! Roy laughed again, so hard other passerbys stared at him and his sides hurt. Him and Ed...
What was it between him and Ed, anyway? If he told Hawkeye the truth, what would she make of it? And, now that he actually thought about it- why did he let Ed continue to act this way? It wasn't like him. If anyone else treated him like this, he certainly wouldn't tolerate it. He most definitely wouldn't have let him continue to stay in his house, nowhere else to go or not.
But Ed...
He wasn't scared of Ed; the thought was laughable. It wasn't out of fear. It wasn't a misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation. It wasn't because he believed he deserved it, or some other such nonsense.
He allowed it to help Ed. That was all.
Sure, he could stop Ed if he wanted to. But fighting Ed, restraining him, hitting him back? After what he'd been through, that was unthinkable. Hawkeye would surely think otherwise, but she just... she wouldn't understand how important it was he treat this gently; that was all...
Even though he'd been treating this gently for weeks, and gotten nowhere.
Roy shook his head at himself violently, rubbing a hand over his face and trying not to derail himself thinking of how passively letting Ed do what he had to had only made things this much worse. Never mind his motivation- what about Ed's? After all, it wasn't all accidents. Some of the blows and screams he could blame on nightmares and flashbacks, but not all. Some of the lashing out he could blame on the trauma, but- this was not normal. What was Ed after here, anyway? What was he even trying to accomplish with all of this? His goal seemed to be to make him angry, but to what end was there? The only time Roy had tried returning to their old, inherently argumentative dynamic, the day he'd called Ed short, had been an unmitigated disaster. That wasn't what Ed wanted.
So, then, what...?
Only several moments of pondering that question, standing there quietly at the crosswalk, arms folded, and head down- and Roy had his answer.
Ed was back in his room, when he made it home.
By the looks of it, he'd not left it all day.
He didn't even raise his head to glare at him, still huddled there at the head of the bed, one hand turning listlessly through the alchemy book he must've read dozens of times. A blanket was draped haphazardly around his shoulders, drowning in Roy's nightshirt that he hadn't even bothered to alchemize to fit. His long, uneven hair and downcast gaze hid his hollow eyes, and for one long moment, Roy just stood there and looked at him, taking in all the signs that screamed defeat.
Then, calmly, he cleared his throat.
"Ed."
The young alchemist dully turned another page. "I'm fine."
He paused, leaning quietly against the doorjamb and folding his arms to simply stand there and watch him. He weighed the question on his mind for a moment, determining how best to broach this topic.
Then, he just decided to take off the kid gloves and dive in.
Treating Ed with kid gloves was what had created this mess in the first place. It was time to stop.
"Why do you want me to throw you out, Ed?"
Ed's shoulder stiffened. He went still, then jerked up a little, but the look in his eyes was nothing more than a guarded, wary confusion, and he did not speak. It was plain the blunt question had taken him by surprise, and he had no answer ready to give- so Roy began to walk a few steps into the room and spoke again. "That's what you're after, isn't it? All of this that you've been doing... you want me to throw you out. That's what you've wanted ever since you've shown up here."
Ed tensed again, eyes still wary and suspicious, every bit of him drawn away almost as if he expected to be struck. "Leave me alone." As if by reflex alone he jerked his hand up, gripping his empty shoulder like a vulnerable animal covering a wound. His gaze went stubbornly back down to the book in an unspoken I'm ignoring you now look, but Roy wasn't having it this time.
"No, Ed. You've had more than enough time. I'm not going to leave you alone and just watch you stay on this path to self-destruction anymore." He sat firmly on the edge of the bed, holding still even when the alchemist flinched back to press himself to the wall, still gripping his empty shoulder. "Explain yourself. Why are you trying to make me get rid of you? You don't need me; you can just leave on your own if that's what you want! But you're specifically trying to get me angry enough to get rid of you myself. Why? Why are you doing this, Ed? If you want to make me miserable, get back at me for whatever it is I did- well, you succeeded weeks ago. And I think I'm done letting you do it."
Ed's gaze hardened, the alchemist still pulled away but glare taking on a less fearful quality now, wariness fading away in favor of anger. "Yeah?" he challenged, a near hiss. "You're done with me now, then? You're finally sick of me?"
"Ed, stop. Just stop."
But Ed yanked away, balanced precariously on the very edge of the mattress now, eyes lit with sudden desperation. "You said it yourself, I'm making you miserable! You want me gone, admit it! You hate me! You're-"
"Stop." He grabbed for Ed's hand when he lashed out, stopping it from glancing off him to pin it to the sheets. "You're making a fool of yourself. I don't hate you, you know that- the only one who seems to hate you is you. Is that it; you want me to hate you as much as do? Do you think Al would be proud of this? Do you think Al would like how you're acting?"
As predicted, this did not elicit anything positive.
It was why he'd said it, after all. Al was the line. Al was the line that was not to be crossed. Al was the one thing that, after all this time, had remained forbidden.
And it had become abundantly clear that if Roy wanted answers out of him, then he was going to have to break all the rules to get it.
First, Ed just gaped. He just stared at him as if Roy had just slapped him across the face. He looked so stunned it was like the words had just turned his brain straight off. He blinked for several seconds, eyes wide- and then, for just a heartbeat, he looked so honestly betrayed that Roy almost regretted the whole thing.
And then, betrayal and hurt morphed into sheer, unadulterated rage.
"Don't you even fucking talk about him. Don't you dare to even say his name."
The right move, then.
He just needed to persist- no matter how much it hurt Ed.
Or himself.
"Say his name? Why? Is his name sacred now, Ed?" He cautiously began to loosen his hold on his wrist, but the moment Ed started to jerk it up like he was about to hit him pinned it right back down again. "He's dead. Al's dead, Edward. He's been dead for weeks. You blame me for it, when I had nothing to do with it? You want me to hate you, throw you out? Or do just blame and hate yourself so much you think it'd be easier if I did it, too?"
Roy was not surprised in the slightest when Ed's next move was to try and punch him in the face.
Ed was surprised, when Roy stopped him.
"Shut up- shut up!" Ed tugged violently at his restrained hand, with such desperate need he nearly overpowered Roy. "You don't have a fucking clue- don't talk like you know anything about this, about him! You have no idea, you shit! You- you- MÖRDER! LET ME GO!"
"Ed, no. Stop this."
"YOU KILLED HIM!" He threw himself away, yanking to free his arm, desperately trying to gain his freedom; Roy refused to yield, not even so much as an inch- and, with a scream, Ed lunged.
As mismatched of a fight as this was, it was also no holds barred- for Ed. Roy had his limits and refused to hurt him; Ed, like always, didn't care what he had to do so long as he got free. He kicked and bit and scratched, writhing like a wild animal, but all Roy could do was try and avoid, block, and defend. He pinned his kicking leg down with his own and batted away the flailing hand, but when Ed threw himself forward to try and bite the restraining hand he was so shocked he let go.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Ed!" He jerked back to shake out his hand, stunned. Ed was biting him now? What the hell? "Will you calm down already?! You're losing it over nothing! Ed-"
But once again, Roy found himself grappling with a crippled, terrified alchemist half his size, desperately trying to restrain him and stop him from hurting himself in his hysteria. Ed kicked and fought, flailing, and in the chaos he felt three more bruises be hammered into his skin and there was the shattering of glass before he finally managed to wrench the arm up and slam it against his wall, pinning it and with it, him.
Well. It seemed this approach had been a wild miscalculation, then.
Ed gasped and heaved in his grip, straining, but now that he was standing he couldn't use his leg against him and Roy had him trapped. He shouted still, yelling incoherently, screaming desperate insults and terror, and as he was used to, Roy simply held Ed still, and waited it out.
While Ed struggled, Roy looked away, the anguish contorting his face too painful for him to bear, to glance uncertainly around at the damage their fight had done to his room. The blankets were disheveled from their struggle; he didn't even know where the book had ended up. Ed's fighting had torn a button or two off his nightshirt, and the flailing had knocked off the picture on his nightstand- the earlier sound of shattering glass...
He'd known this wasn't going to be easy, but a reaction of this magnitude was disheartening to say the least.
Ed gave another valiant try at freeing his arm, and when that got him nowhere howled his distress in an earsplitting scream right in his face. He stumbled desperately, trembling on his one leg and hopping backwards for balance; Roy heard his foot land on the fallen picture again, cracking the glass to ruin- and at the tiny, shocked cry that came from him, wounding his foot as well. The sound and sudden injury did have their good side, though- they made Ed jump again, finally dragging him out of this screaming, violent fit. He slowed down, still gasping but no longer fighting to get free like his life depended on it. His panicked eyes flicked down, searching in confusion for the source of the wound as he reeled back, struggling to balance himself on something other than the bleeding bottom of his foot.
He stumbled to a stop, and stared vacantly down at the smashed picture frame.
He looked back up at Roy.
His face slowly stretched into a smile. A manic, enthused, crazed smile.
And, holding his gaze the entire time, Ed brought his foot back down onto the picture, no longer protected by its shattered frame, and calmly wrinkled it until it tore, and blood had been smeared directly over Hughes' face.
It was the one picture Roy had of him. The one of the two of them together, standing together on graduation day. Roy the perfect, stoic soldier, and Hughes, already shameless, grinning his ass off.
And now it was wrinkled, torn, and ruined with blood.
Slowly, cautiously, Roy tilted his head up to look at Ed again. His heart skipped a beat, squeezing in his chest, and he stared at Ed, mind stunned into a blank slate of nothingness. He stared from Ed to the bloody picture, then back to Ed.
And Ed just looked at him... clearly bracing himself to be hit...
And looking forward to it.
He wanted Roy to hit him.
Roy lowered his hand.
"Are you proud of yourself?" he asked, very quietly. He took a step back, folding his arms tightly over his chest- mostly to restrain himself from doing something he would regret. He clenched his fists around his shirt, held very, very still, and stared. "Do you think Al would be proud of you, Edward? Is this what you want to be?"
The hope- because, yes, it was hope in his desperate eyes, hope that Roy would finally lash out and hurt him back- froze. Ed stared. And then, that hope morphed, bit by bit into a terrified, anguished hatred that burned so desperately in his eyes, Roy almost couldn't bear to look.
"You... what?" Ed shook his head once, still shaking, pressed back against the wall as if to disappear into it. His voice had become very, very small, sounding almost confused more than pained or frightened. "What are you... you're supposed to- to get mad. You... c-can't..."
"Can't what, Ed? Can't be a decent human being and not hurt you?"
Ed just shook his head again, eyes going wider and wider like by his refusal to give in, Roy had just stabbed him in the heart. "You can't do this!" he finally shouted. "You can't be this way! You- get mad at me, fight back, fucking do something! How could you do it to Al and not me?! I'm giving you every reason to so just- just fight back, you piece of shit! FIGHT BACK!"
"No."
And this, it seemed, was the last straw.
With a wordless howl, Ed pushed past him, lurching and dragging himself away in a stumbling and horrified panic. Roy stared after him for a heartbeat, just too disheartened and drained to bring himself to move, but then, with a momentous effort, wrenched himself after him.
"For god's sake, Ed, you're not going anywhere. Calm down before you hurt yourself-"
"SHUT UP!"
"Edward-"
Ed lashed back at the restraining hand on his shoulder, shoving and fighting with all his dying strength. He pushed away and swung his crutch like a bat, first going for his head and then his leg-
And, ow.
Ah.
Pain.
Hello again, my old friend.
Ow.
Roy was only dimly aware of his world tilting, swimming nauseatingly to land on its side. He didn't feel it when he fell, only barely realizing it on the back of his mind at the feel of cool, wood floors under his cheek. Pulsating waves of pain rolled outwards with each and every tortured breath that he took, and each and every one sent him rocking into a spasm induced nightmare. White stars burst behind his eye, overtaking his blurring vision until all he could see was the haze of agony, and his whole existence narrowed down to a single pinpoint in his leg.
In that moment, Roy's world consisted only of the pain.
Ed, either by accident or design, had hit him directly in the center of the deepest wound on his leg. Where Bradley's saber had sliced so deep he had severed nerves, muscle fibers, and even scarred the bone itself. It, more often than not, was the wound that disabled him, leaving him sitting on the sidelines with a cane and painkillers like he was seventy years old or bedridden and shaking as Hawkeye sat next to him, holding his hand and promising the pain would pass.
It was not his worst wound from that night, far from it, but it was one of the most humiliating... and Ed knew exactly where it was.
This, like everything else, had been no accident.
Unlike every night before, Roy was now in no shape to stop Ed. He could barely see, and couldn't comprehend anything beyond the pain rocking through him now from head to toe. He couldn't walk. He couldn't even stand. He couldn't do anything but lie there and spasm on the floor of his own home.
The only thing in his power, in that moment, was desperately trying to keep the anguished scream still locked in his throat.
He wasn't even sure if he succeeded or not.
Roy couldn't put a number on how long he laid there, twitching and gasping like an invalid. It had been years since he'd an attack this bad, and it could've been minutes or hours, for all he knew. He was only aware of the passage of time through each hard fought, ragged breath and every wave of pain. All he was sure of was that it had been long enough for Ed to be long gone, when his head finally cleared enough for him to get a grip on himself, and then, with another deep, painful gasp, open his eye.
It took a few moments for his vision to right itself, the nauseating, blurred image righting itself into a sideways view of his hallway floor. Another anguished gasp wrenched itself past his clenched teeth and Roy held himself still, freezing like the pain was a predator and would find him again if he dared even twitch. Tightly controlled gasps shook through him still, and, very carefully, Roy let his eye rove about the hallway, searching for the boy he had promised everything for and delivered nothing.
When he finally found Ed's foot, standing just at the edge of his peripheral vision, he was too exhausted, drained, and in pain to even feel relief.
"Well," he finally said, voice hoarse and rough. He could barely even talk. "You've got what you wanted, Ed. I can't stop you anymore. If you run out right know, I won't be able to do anything but watch you go. You could be halfway to Xing before I'd even managed to crawl to the phone." Cautiously, he tilted his head, moving just enough to bring his gaze up to meet Ed's. The kid look startled, shocked; not triumphant or apologetic. He didn't even look angry anymore. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Go on. Run off if that's what you really want. Apparently, I have no say in the matter anymore. ...Do whatever the hell you want."
Ed didn't move.
His shocked stare didn't even waver.
"...I hurt you," he managed at last, in a murmur that was nothing but a shaking whisper. He limped a step back to lean against the wall, and even with this view, he could see the kid was shaking. "I ruined your picture and I hurt you. Aren't you... aren't you going to... do something?"
Roy sighed.
"No, Ed." He leaned his head back a careful inch, just enough to meet his eyes with his own. "I'm not. I'm not in any shape to do anything right now, and even if I was, I wouldn't. I care about you. You're important to me. That means I'm not going to hurt you, or throw you out, or want you gone no matter what you do to me or how mad you might make me. My door is always open for you, no matter what you've done. I'm sorry that that is so repulsive to you."
For several long moments, Ed didn't respond at all. He just stared down at him wordlessly, eyes wide and shocked, indescribable pain and sorrow tearing his features and previously fisted hand limp by his side, the hate finally gone from his eyes only to be replaced by anguish. Then, still without words, he just dropped down to his knee, and huddled himself back against the wall in a tiny, shaking ball. He squeezed his eyes shut, breaths tiny and hitched, and in that moment, the only word Roy had for him was defeated.
Roy lay his head back down on floor, curled up as much as his abused leg would allow, and remained silent.
For a long minute, neither spoke. Roy just lay there, and Ed pulled away from him and shook, head buried and hidden in his knee. His long hair hid everything from view again, enough so that when Ed finally raised his head up an inch, it still shadowed his empty eyes, enough so that Roy didn't realize the change that had come over him until he spoke, voice haunted, pained, cold... but ringing with finality.
"It was Rainart Mustang."
"...What?"
"Rainart Mustang." Ed moved just enough to look him in the eye, and the cold, old pain in there pierced him through to his soul. "He's the one who killed my brother."
No more false starts, everyone. Next chapter we finally get to hear everything that happened to Ed :) See you on Saturday!
