Vato was alone.
He sat in the dim, lonely void of their usually bustling office area with a single lamp to alleviate the darkness. As a general rule, Vato enjoyed solitude. It gave him the peace he needed to introspect on the days passed and plan for the days to come. Solitude allowed him to center himself. Being able to ensconce himself in that solitude was something he not only liked, but needed. That did not, however, mean he ever wanted his solitary life and his work life to collide.
He had always been a lonely child – too smart to play with the other children, too young to talk to the adults – and lacked the charisma required to break through those barriers. He grew up alone, made his way through the military academy alone, and assumed he would spend his professional career alone, too. It was Roy Mustang who showed him he could have friends that liked him without having to conform or dumb himself down.
While he was endeared to his solitude, he loved his friends. He never wanted to be in the office when everyone else was gone because it wasn't meant to be a solitary place. There should always be laughing and gossiping and at least one person shooting nervous glances towards Hawkeye after putting off their duties just a little too long. This hauntingly empty room was neither where he wanted to be nor where he should be.
He should have been outside of Edward's hospital room with the others, consoling chatting and using trivialities to take his mind off of the horrifying events that wouldn't quit flashing behind his eyelids. He wanted to be there.
He just didn't deserve to be there.
Edward was dying, and it was because Vato had made himself a distraction in the middle of a very important fight. If the blonde alchemist did die (please, God, no), then Vato had to know that he had spent every moment possible trying to find a way to fix things. Maybe not the things he wanted to fix, like Edward's health, but the things he could fix. Like their lack of preparedness.
The Führer was responsible for this. He had hurt Edward and no doubt intended for a dozen other people in the room to be maimed or killed. That was obvious, and obvious things rarely interested Vato. The subtleties were what captured his attention.
In a room full of enemies and precious distractions, the Führer had set loose three terribly strong chimeras. They could have decimated any number of people, especially with the majority of the room unarmed. The intent was clear, and that made it illegitimate. The Führer liked to play games, and all having a clear motive meant was that the motive was a smokescreen for something else.
A bullet.
Führer King Bradley, for whatever reason, wanted Edward gone. Not just hurt or out of the way. Gone.
The shooter was a wanted marksman that could give Hawkeye a run for her money. The gun had been powerful enough to blow a fist-wide hole in Edward's chest (and why it didn't was still a mystery). The distance had been so short that even Vato could have hit Edward. And then to release chimeras who were attracted by blood immediately afterwards?
It wasn't just overkill, it was a strict order not to take any chances.
So the Führer wanted Edward gone, and he wanted it to a desperate degree. What Vato didn't know was why. After all, as much as Edward was strong, he was still a kid. A sweet eighteen year old boy with (please, dear God, please) his whole life ahead of him. Someone who didn't deal in politics and didn't go after anyone who didn't go after him first. Not a major threat.
Bradley wasn't a whimsical man, and that meant he had targeted Edward for good reason. This wasn't about the ball or Central Command or some silly grudge match. Just because Vato didn't know what else it could be about didn't mean there wasn't some underlying cause.
So Vato was alone. He poured over everything he knew about, around, near, and speculated of the Führer, and he did it with purpose.
Vato was useless in the field, yes, but not all battles were physical. Whether or not Edward lived through this battle (please, God, please let him live), Vato would do everything in his power to tip the scales towards victory in the war.
Edward's sacrifice would not be in vain.
(***Intertwined***)
Alphonse expected Edward to get a lot of visitors. As much as his brother was abrasive and disconnected with nearly all forms of social niceties, he was also a kind. Maybe not in the general sense of sparing people's feelings and doing no harm, but in the meaningful sense of doing what was right. He stood by his morals and protected those weaker than himself. He was a hero in all ways that mattered.
So, after his Core energy levels stabilized, visitors coming to wish him well was a given.
Al expected Winry to stay by them as much as she could. He expected Maes – though Gracia and Elicia made themselves scarce – and he expected Namae and Elaine. He even expected Mustang's near-constant presence. Al and Winry hadn't been able to stand being in separate rooms for the first few days after bonding, and they were both perfectly safe. The pull for Mustang to stay near Edward had to be overwhelming.
Not that either of them gave any attention to the fact that the bonding had taken place. After muttering an off-handed "Thank you," Alphonse had barely bothered to acknowledge the Colonel's existence.
Maybe it was because if he did, he would have to admit (either to himself or the other man, he wasn't sure) that there was a chance his brother would have preferred death.
Part of him even expected Gerard to visit, but the questionably-close-to-Edward Homunculi never showed up.
The one person Alphonse neither expected nor wanted to show up was the Führer, yet there the man was. Winry was asleep in the next room over. Mustang had left to change and get Edward some new clothes, Maes had gone to check on his family, and Namae and Elaine were home for the night. That left Alphonse, alone with a defenseless Fullmetal Alchemist and Führer King Bradley.
"Get out."
The Führer's smile didn't waver and his steps toward Edward's bed didn't halt.
"I apologize for the late visit. I'm sure you were looking forward to a quiet, restful night, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't come at least once. Your brother saved us."
"He didn't save you. You're the one who did this to him!"
The Führer's lips drooped into a frown that made Alphonse momentarily question his lack of sincerity.
"I can see why you would feel that way, but I assure you I only wanted to honor your brother's achievements. I never meant for any harm to come to him – to any member of your family."
Alphonse saw red. His level-headed nature was lost to the fury of this monstrosity carelessly prodding wounds not yet healed, and position as Führer be damned, he was ready to fight. The temperature in the room went up ten degrees, and for a moment Al thought that Edward's Core had sensed his distress and reacted accordingly.
Then he saw Mustang is the doorway.
The Colonel – always calm, always collected – was livid. His posture was relaxed, his body language was respectful, but his eyes – Al never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look.
"Führer. I believe it's time you left."
"Colonel Mustang! As I'm sure you're aware, this chimera incident has shaken—"
"Alphonse doesn't want you anywhere near Edward. As both a leader and a family man, you should be able to empathize well enough to regard his wishes."
The Führer's face morphed into an expression of wary hurt again, but there was an underlying displeasure that hadn't existed before. He said, "Yes. Yes, I see that now. I was just trying to give my condolences to the lad and explain that I had no part in—"
"Regardless of the role you played in the Elrics' current predicament, they blame you. As such, your presence is causing them great strain. Strain which, as you've already noted from is severity of their situation, they cannot take. The most you can do for them is to leave."
The words were understanding. The tone was empathetic. The threat was clear.
Remove yourself before I remove you.
The two military officials stared each other down for a few seconds before the Führer conceded with a simple, "Of course. I wouldn't wish upon them any more misfortune than they've already experienced." He then turned to Alphonse and said, "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you." before placing a gentle hand on Edward's leg that had Alphonse up in arms and Mustang's fingers twitching to snap. Führer Bradley gave Edward's femur a single, gentle pat, nodded to Mustang, and left.
Alphonse immediately straightened the sheet where the Führer had touched as though he could wipe away the action. Mustang snarled as soon as the door was shut and returned to his spot by Edward's bed.
"How long was he here?"
"He showed up a few seconds before you did."
"Did he do anything?"
Mustang ran a gentle hand through Edward's bangs, worry and relief clear in both his eyes and posture.
"Nothing you didn't see."
Alphonse took a moment to watch the Colonel check over Edward, noting how he made sure to keep physical contact and seemed to lose all sense of his usual arrogant demeanor. Al wondered for a moment if Mustang was touching Edward so much now because he knew he was going to have to stop once the elder blonde woke up.
Guilt flushed Alphonse's system as he thought not for the first time that his brother might not be the only one to suffer from their impromptu bonding. Mustang would have to live with having a bond-mate (arguably the perfect bond-mate) who wanted nothing to do with him.
He just as quickly thrust the guilt from his system by remembering that if they hadn't bonded, Edward would be dead. There were no scenarios worse than that.
"Thank you. I don't… I don't know if I would have been able to make him leave on my own."
Mustang glanced up at Alphonse with a hard calculation that just wasn't there when looking at Edward.
"Don't thank me. I should have been here to make sure he never got into the room in the first place."
"Going home was necessary. You've got an image to upkeep, and Brother would be angry if he woke up and all he had to wear were hospital pants and a bloody military uniform."
Mustang hummed but gave no other response, his fingers still gently weaving themselves through Edward's hair.
Al swallowed the guilt down, and his apology went with it.
(***Intertwined***)
When Ed woke up, he felt warm.
Sometimes, he would fall asleep researching in front of the fireplace at Mustang's. Regardless of how long he was asleep or when he woke up, the fire was always lit by the time he opened his eyes.
He assumed this was one of those times.
That was why the sight of Mustang reading files beside of him wasn't startling. If anything, it was welcome – Ed so rarely had the opportunity to watch Mustang without the arrogant bastard knowing he was being watched. As much as Ed liked looking, it wasn't worth the ego-stroking that inevitably tagged along.
Now though, with Mustang's eyes glued to the papers in front of him, Ed could admire freely.
As much as Ed knew his superior officer was handsome, he had somehow never noticed the insane degree of handsomeness. Or maybe this was new. Surely Ed couldn't have missed the way Mustang's hair complimented his eyes or the perfect arch of his cheekbones. His lips were full and looked capable of doing more pleasurable things than spewing political, social bullshit while his strong jawline begged to be traced.
His uniform was perfect – an oddity, considering he was at home – and the broad chest beneath it seemed more inviting than any bed Ed had ever laid on. Large biceps tapered down to gloved hands and elegant fingers, and Ed suddenly envied the papers exposed to that beautifully casual touch.
Without warning, obsidian eyes raised to meet golden, and the warmth in Ed's chest brightened ten-fold. He didn't even think about stopping the lazy smile from taking over his lips.
"Edward—"
Whatever Mustang had to say seemed to die on his lips, and Ed raised a brow as amusement danced into his eyes.
"Yeah, Roy?"
Ed couldn't say which of them stilled faster.
Roy?
Why the fuck had he just called Mustang by his first name? He hadn't even thought about it. The name just slipped out. Naturally. Like the man in question wasn't a narcissistic asshole who lived to make Ed's life more complicated than necessary.
"Brother?"
Ed swung around to see Al, and he noticed for the first time that he wasn't in Mustang's living room. He was in a hospital. But there was no reason for him to be—
The promotion.
Memories of the speech and the fear and the chimeras rushed back with enough intensity to have Ed curling towards his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He remembered getting shot. He caught his shooter. Did his shooter stay caught? There were chimeras. Three of them. He encased everyone in diamond boxes and there was screaming. So much screaming. He felt weak, so he had to stop the bleeding.
How did he stop the bleeding?
Ed looked frantically to his chest to see it covered in fresh white bandages, but he could feel the wound beneath it.
Fire. He had used fire. Cauterized the wound and then there was a crash. One of the boxes? No, both of the remaining chimeras had been focused on him. A display case. It had been one of Mustang's men. He had been outside of the boxes for some reason and—
"Falman. Is he okay?"
Ed looked desperately between Mustang and Al, both of whom stared solemnly back.
"He's fine. You saved him."
That was good then. Mustang sounded thankful. Proud. The unspoken praise made contented butterflies blossom in Ed's chest, and it was through that unprecedented sense of happiness that Ed noticed the wrongness of it all. He had always liked it when Mustang thought well of him, but it was an off-handed like. Something easy to brush aside and ignore.
Ed only took three seconds to examine himself: one to notice the sheer power thrumming through his system, one to connect that familiar power to Mustang, and one to come to the only conclusion that made sense.
Ed jerked himself away from Mustang as though he had been burned and practically fell into Alphonse's arms as he went past the edge of the bed with no signs of stopping. His head felt dizzy with realization, his stomach was churning violently with truth, and his chest was still afloat with conflicting – constricting – happiness.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
"Why the fuck are we bonded?"
He felt Al's hands on his shoulders like lead and pulled himself away from that, too.
"Brother, please calm down. I know this isn't how you wanted it—"
"Not how I wanted it? It's not a matter of how! It's not even a matter of who! I didn't want it at all!"
"Fullmetal—"
Mustang stood up slowly, as though he was afraid quick movements would set Ed off (and somehow Ed's fear and fury stuttered for a moment to get lost in how devastatingly handsome the older man was before it all came crashing back) and Ed put a hand to his chest because he couldn't breathe.
"Brother!"
"Fullmetal!"
"We can't be bonded. We can't be..."
Ed trailed off as he pressed more heavily against his chest and felt the surgical scar in the middle of the burn. He silently begged for the discomfort to drag him from this nightmare but above the sharp pain was the nearness of Roy goddamn fucking Mustang, and the bliss of having him so close trumped all else. Like a plague.
"Brother, stop! You're re-opening your wound!"
"Why are we bonded?"
Ed was shouting – was shouting at Al – and he hated himself but he couldn't trudge through the panic quickly enough to make himself stop.
"Because you were going to die!"
The anxiety rushing through Ed's ears quieted to a deafening silence that allowed Ed to see the sorrow embedded in his brother's expression.
"Your Core was shutting down. You didn't—you didn't have enough energy to keep yourself alive. If he didn't bond with you then you were going to die, and I couldn't let that happen." Al swallowed thickly, tears painting his cheeks with two thin, parallel lines. "You're all I have, remember? I can't lose you."
Ed knew the decision must have been a hard one and that he would have done the same thing had Al been the one leaning into death's embrace. That didn't make it any easier to swallow.
Mustang took a tentative step forward, and Ed flinched violently back. A deep-set pain flashed across Mustang's face before it was hidden behind a calm mask, and Ed felt a knife carve itself into his chest cavity for being the one to hurt him.
"I'm sorry."
Sorry for what though? For panicking? For disliking that he had been forced to bond? There was nothing to apologize for, and they must have known it too because they were looking at him with so much pity that he was surprised they weren't drowning in it. He didn't need – didn't want – their pity, and redirected his apology to something he actually felt guilty about.
"Sorry for making you waste your bonding on me. It must have been..." Beautiful. Completing. Devastating. "hard."
Ed couldn't make himself look either man in the eyes and forced himself not to move away when Al approached him again.
"It's not like that. You were his intended anyway. He isn't—"
Ed's eyes snapped to Mustang at the same moment that the Colonel shouted "Alphonse!" but it was too late.
"Fullmetal, I didn't plan this. I wanted to bond with you, yes, but with your consent."
Ed took deep breaths to stave off the panic clawing at the edges of his senses.
He had been dying. Bonding was the only way to save him. Al had asked Mustang to do it. Mustang agreed, but he had wanted to bond anyway.
Everyone got what they wanted but Ed.
"Why couldn't you have just let me die?"
The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was saying them. Al froze next to him, so close that Ed could feel the way he trembled, but Ed refused to look away from Mustang.
They didn't understand. Neither of them understood. Al had the bond-mate he had been pining after for the majority of his life and Mustang had always been able to bond with whoever he wanted. Now he had Ed, and the week of bliss would start and end quicker than he could blink, leaving Ed cold and alone with a bond that ached for him to crawl to Mustang's feet and beg to be taken back.
"I need space. I need time to think."
"Brother..."
"Please. Please, Al."
Al looked like he was in pain but left anyhow. Mustang's expression gave away nothing of what he felt, but Ed somehow knew that the man was being dragged down by the despair of it all.
Could bond-mates sense each other's feelings?
Edward didn't allow himself to think on it as the Colonel nodded and left. All he could worry about, at least for that moment, was himself, and he needed air.
The (stupid, god-fucking, useless) window didn't open, and Ed wasted no time transmuting a hole in the wall. A fresh breeze flowed in, the chill of spring raising gooseflesh on his exposed arms, and Ed found he needed more. Somewhere open and clean. Somewhere without people to pity him or prod him or tell him how everything was going to be fine.
He jumped out of the hole in the wall and rolled to soften the landing, breaking out into a sprint less than a second afterwards. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. Thin hospital pants did nothing to protect him from the weather. The chill turned to a biting cold as he ran, but the crisp air filling his lungs only reinforced his need to keep moving.
When he finally slowed to a stop, he was somewhere in the woods. It would be miles back to town, no doubt, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Here, alone and able to sort out his feelings without that oppressive, bonding-induced happiness smothering his soul, he could breathe.
As long as he ignored the intense want to turn right back around and cuddle into Mustang's side for comfort, it could even be considered pleasant.
He filled his lungs to the brim, enjoying the burn that always came with running too fast for too long, and screamed. It was angry and desperate and fulfilled no purpose other than to let Ed throw his sorrows to the wind. He screamed until his throat felt raw, and then he took his frustrations out on the nearest tree. He pounded the bark until bark gave way to pulp and pulp cracked and gave way to gravity. His flesh knuckles were bloody and raw, and he couldn't find it in himself to care as he turned to the next tree.
Strong fingers curled around his wrist before he could land the first hit.
Ed tilted his head back to see who dared to stop his rampage and was genuinely surprised to see stormy grey eyes staring back.
"What do you want?"
"We've already had a quick spar. That leaves a good talk and a long fuck: your choice."
Ed jerked his hand forward, but Greeling's grip was unrelenting.
"I don't want to talk and I'll never want to fuck, so I guess you're shit out of luck."
"You're bonded. Why?"
Ed scoffed at the irony of being asked that question, and the girth of his bitter grin made his cheeks hurt.
"What? You don't buy us being madly in love?"
"I buy him being madly in love with you."
"And me?"
"You look like you'd rather be dead."
Ed's smile dropped as he remembered the harsh words he had used to scald Al and Mustang. This time when he pulled his arm away, Greeling let him go.
"Yeah? Well, death apparently isn't an option for me, so I guess that's too bad."
He reared a metal fist back to hit the tree only to have Greeling's fingers encase his wrist once more. Greeling's other arm wrapped around Ed's waist, and he was pulled back against a broad chest. Soft breaths warmed the nape of his neck as Greeling touched his forehead to Ed's hair.
"You're re-opening your wound."
"I don't care."
Ed made to struggle only to find that Greeling's hold wasn't something he could get out of. Days of not eating, intensive fights, over-using Core alchemy, running, and general stress were finally making themselves known, and after a few minutes of attempted thrashing, Ed allowed himself to relax into the strong yet gentle hold.
"Just un-bond with him."
"It isn't that simple."
"Because you have Fire Cores."
Ed attempted to tilt his head back and question how Greeling could possibly have known that, but the older man didn't allow it. Seeing no way out of the conversation, he sighed and said, "Yeah. Because we have Fire Cores."
"What if I told you there's a way?"
"A way to un-bond? You said it yourself. We can't—"
"But what if you could?"
This time when Ed made to turn his head, Greeling let him. Stormy grey eyes, normally crackling with mirth, were serious.
"Tell me."
"Not here. I'll tell you at my house, where it's safe. We'll get you food and re-bandage your wounds, and then we'll talk."
Ed's upper lip curled in a snarl. He could practically hear Mustang's voice in the back of his head telling him not to be so trusting, and it made his need for information take a cautious step back.
"What makes you think I want to be alone in a house with you?"
All too suddenly, Greeling released him and took a step back, leaving Ed to fumble for balance.
"I won't do anything to you that you don't want done."
Greeling offered a hand, much like he had when asking Ed to dance, and against all common sense, Ed accepted.
(***Intertwined***)
Greeling's house was just as ostentatious and gaudy as Ed remembered it being. He was led through a series of unfamiliar hallways before reaching a large, intricately carved door.
If Ed had any doubts about whose bedroom it was upon entering, they were put to rest when Greeling opened his second closet to show off way too many sets of relaxing clothes. Sweatpants, T-shirts, basketball shorts, cut-offs: he had them all, and he had them in spades.
"Pick whatever you like, but don't bother putting it on until we've changed your bandages." At Ed's odd look he added, "Unless you like thin, scratchy pants and showing off your abs? I'm not going to complain either way."
"How did you find me?"
Greeling hummed in lazy question.
"In the woods. I didn't even know where I was going and have no clue where the hell I ended up. So how did you find me?"
"I followed you."
"From where?"
"The hospital. All of your sweetsie pals were so busy holding your hand that they completely ignored any outside threats. I know Brad, and he doesn't have any qualms with kicking a guy while he's down." Greeling paused for a second, lips pursing in thought. "Not that I've got room to talk, mind you. Takes one to know one, I guess."
He shrugged uncaringly, and Ed found himself respecting that brash honesty.
"Brad ever show up?"
"Once, but Roy-boy was right behind him, so I let it be."
Ed nodded and muttered a quick "Thanks" which Greeling didn't acknowledge. Ed was thankful for that, too. Greeling then made his way back towards the hallway without glancing in Ed's direction, and Ed's heart did an awkward backflip that felt too close to the fear of being left alone for his comfort.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a first aid kit and some food. I assume you don't mind leftovers?"
"What? No personal chef?"
Greeling's lips quirked in a sardonic grin.
"Believe it or not, I'm not a fan of strangers wandering freely through my home."
He was gone before Ed could ask anything else.
The room, while far from bare, wasn't quite as lavish as the rest of the house. The bed was large and the pillows looked like they could be made of clouds, but the blankets were a dull brown. The walls were a muted blue and empty aside from a single oil painting of a cherry blossom tree on a hill. The lighting was dim, and as much as Ed found the rest of the house distasteful, this room was comfortable.
Ed perused through Greeling's closet with little to no real interest, eventually settling on a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. Seeing as there were no wounds on the lower half of his body, Edward went ahead and changed into the pants. They were luxuriously soft, probably the softest thing he'd ever worn, with a thick inner lining that the cool spring air would have a hell of a time getting through. Ed didn't even mind the way the pants' legs draped over his feet like too-long curtains. They were just so comfy.
Greeling re-entered the room with an armful of medical supplies and a plate of what looked like steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus.
"I like mine rare, but re-heating it made it medium."
He handed the plate to Ed, who wasted no time digging in. And dear sweet god, it was good. Could everyone cook but him?
Greeling watched him eat with a large, arrogant grin.
"I take it you like it?"
Ed swallowed with another forkful of steak halfway to his mouth, barely managing to pause and say "Being a good cook doesn't make you less of an asshole."
Greeling's grin stretched to show the amusement he found in Edward's particular brand of course humor, but he didn't say anything until Ed's plate was empty and on the nightstand.
"You know, I heard you had an appetite to suit an army, but that was astounding. Where does it go?"
Ed shrugged.
"I work out a lot. And it's only a theory, but I'm pretty sure Core strength is positively correlated with metabolism. Cores give us power and take stamina to use. It only makes sense that the use of our Cores draws off of calories like any other action. More powerful Cores burn more calories."
"And you've got a hell of a powerful Core."
Ed shrugged again, but the question was rhetorical so it didn't much matter.
"What are the chances I can get some more of that?"
"One hundred percent, after we change your dressings."
Ed lifted his arms to parallel the bed the moment he heard he could have more food, and Greeling went straight to cutting off the bandages. Once Ed was free, Greeling traced his newest scars. First he touched the lines from the original chimera attack, then trailed over the little punctures Ed assumed were teeth marks, next ghosted over his burn and bullet wound, and finally pressed a full hand to Ed's abs.
"You going re-bandage me or was this just a ploy to feel me up?"
"Why can't it be both?"
Ed scoffed but let the older man do as he pleased. After what felt like a rather thorough examination of his torso, automail included, Greeling picked up a wet washcloth and started wiping away the blood and old medicine. Despite Greeling's rough demeanor and general disregard for the worth of a life, his touch was gentle.
Maybe it was because he knew it would piss Mustang off or maybe he just wanted someone to touch him without dangling a bond – literal or familial or otherwise – over his head, but Ed's ever-racing, stress-addled mind lulled as he allowed himself to just enjoy the feeling of being taken care of.
When Greeling started applying god-only-knew-what medication, he was strictly professional, and that didn't fade when he moved on to the bandaging. Ed waited for the running commentary on how good he looked in the other man's clothes or how being able to feel Ed up made the whole injury part worth it, but it never came. By the time Greeling tied off the dressings for both his chest and newly injured fist and Ed slipped the too-long, too-wide shirt over his head, he was halfway to concerned.
"You okay there?"
"Asks the bleeding boy."
Ed scoffed good-naturedly.
"Where are your smart remarks about how you've finally got me in your bed?"
"You want that?"
"I want people to stop treating me like I'm going to break any fucking second."
"You think that's how I'm looking at you?" Greeling's brows rose to his hairline while his grin widened enough to make teeth shine like fangs. "I don't think you're breakable. I think you're invincible. I think it doesn't matter what I do to you because you'll find a way to bounce back better than you were before. The only reason I'm not asking you to bed with me is because I like my lovers to pass out from exhaustion, not blood loss."
Ed ignored the crude insinuation that somehow made him feel more comfortable instead of less.
"You've got t o be shitting me. What makes you think I'm invincible?"
"Lots of things. You freely spending your accumulated hero points to help others, for one."
"The fuck are hero points?"
"All that good karma shit adds up. For most people, their biggest hero points come from holding the door open for someone and patting sad people on the back when they need it. For you, it's saving lives. Hero points are meant to make your life better, yet you go and use them up on strangers. It's no wonder your life sucks."
Ed's lips tugged unamusedly downwards.
"So what? You want me to use them on you instead? And how the fuck would you even do that – direct your karma?" Ed's brows scrunched as he tried to discern whether hero points were metaphorical or not. "What do you do with your hero points?"
Greeling barked out a laugh.
"I don't have any hero points."
"Is that why you're here then? Is that why you stood guard at the hospital and why you're sitting across from me, patting me on the back?"
"Course not. I've got too many villain points to ever do enough good to accumulate hero points."
Ed rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of Greeling's explanation and asked, "Then why?"
"Because you're interesting, and it's been a long time since I've been genuinely interested in anything. Besides," Greeling leaned back languidly, practically oozing arrogance, "you need me."
Ed's face twisted in a fierce snarl.
"Like hell I do."
Greeling's responding laughter was obnoxiously condescending.
"You just got forced to bond to someone you barely considered an ally, and you're convinced it's permanent. You just had one of the most important decisions of your life ripped out from under you, and you can't even whine to the people closest to you because they're responsible for it."
"How do you—"
"You're here, aren't you?"
Ed stopped to assess Greeling more seriously, for once looking past the wild, adrenaline-seeking light whirling through stormy grey eyes to examine the sharp intelligence ready to pierce anyone or anything within range.
It was that intelligence – the invasive, unrelenting, familiar intelligence – that made Ed cave.
"It was supposed to be my choice. The one thing that no one could take from me because it could never affect anyone else. It was mine."
"And now it isn't."
Ed stared into grey eyes and watched the way Greeling watched him back. He was soaking in the information Ed gave him strictly for information's sake. To solve the puzzle.
"Now it isn't." Ed nodded. "They're going to expect me to go back there and attempt a relationship with Mustang, and maybe not today or tomorrow or even this year, but some day he's going to expect me to tell him that I love him. That I want to be with him forever. Fuck. I don't even know if I'm capable of loving someone like that. Friends, yeah. Family. But romantically? How can I..."
Ed curled his fingers into his bangs as he tried to find a way to phrase the turmoil he felt. Greeling saved him the trouble without ever breaking his hungry, obsessive stare.
"How can you promise them a world of tomorrows when you aren't even sure you'll make it through today?"
"Exactly."
Greeling got close enough for Ed to feel hot breath against his lips.
"You're a hypocrite."
"What?"
"You're terrified that someone's going to ask for undying love from your always-ready-to-die heart, so you run away, yet that's exactly what you want in return."
"I'm not asking for anyone's undying love."
Greeling's grin was unforgiving as he leaned back.
"You're a shit liar. If you didn't want monogamous love and unquestionable devotion, we'd have fucked by now."
Ed snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"That's the basis for your claim? The fact that we haven't fucked?"
"You think I'd be a bad partner?"
"No."
"You find me unattractive?"
"No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Ed opened his mouth only for the words You could never love me to die before coming to fruition. He turned to stare at the wall instead.
"What? So I'm doomed to be alone because I want love that I can't give?"
Silence stretched between them for too long to be considered natural, and Ed turned back to find Greeling observing him with (impossibly) more interest than before.
"No. I think you're doomed to torture yourself until you either admit that love doesn't have to be forever or accept that taking comfort in a like-minded, warm body is a fine way to go about life."
"And what? You'll be the best option no matter what path I choose?"
This time it was Greeling who scoffed.
"No. I can't love you. All I can do is learn how to make your body come undone in the most pleasurable way possible and proceed to do it over and over again until all the bad things melt into the background. Good talks. Quick spars. Long fucks. They're all I'm good for."
There was a certain emptiness in Greeling's voice that said he wasn't happy with the truth he was spouting. Ed reached forward to grab a handful of shirt and yank Greeling down to eye-level.
"That's bullshit, and all you believing it does is make you a fucking idiot. Not being able to love people doesn't reduce you to a fun night out. It just means you can't love people."
At that point, Ed wasn't sure which one of them he was defending. Greeling seemed to figure it out easily enough as his gaze softened into something fonder and he maneuvered his way out of Ed's grasp.
"I'm going to go make more food. You're going to stay in bed. When I come back, I'll explain how to un-bond."
And maybe that was why Ed felt comfortable around Greeling when he couldn't stand the touch of his beloved brother. He had a habit of making friends out of good people, and every one of those people would have been pitying and sympathetic to his plight while telling him that he was wrong. That he could love someone; he just hadn't yet.
Greeling, a self-centered, murdering, avaricious beast, just accepted his words and face value and moved on. He didn't care for the righteous, love-conquers-all morals that everyone else in Ed's life seemed to live by, and that meant he could understand why Ed couldn't measure up to that heavy, all-or-nothing thought process.
It was okay to be incapable of falling in love.
Greeling stood and got halfway to the door before Ed said, "I don't buy that bullshit about you being stocked up on villain points, you know. If there are hero points and villain points, there have to be neutral points, too. Sure, yours are probably chaotic fucking neutral, but they're still neutral. You aren't a bad guy."
Greeling hesitated for only a moment before tossing a dangerous grin over his shoulder and departing with a simple "We'll see about that."