Roy cradled his head in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He was hoping the caffeine would calm the splitting headache into something more manageable, but he was already two cups in, and it wasn't letting up. His mouth felt dry and everything was just sort of fuzzy around the edges, things not quite making as much sense as they should.

And now it seemed he was going through one of those "phases" in which he would be treated to his own personal horror show inside his head every night.

It always started with Ishval, like Roy had told Ed. He would be ordered to execute prisoners, one or two at a time, and he would be completely unable to resist. It always started with the Rockbells. Sometimes there would be an Ishvalan or two, a child or old woman, then someone he cared for. He had executed them all: Riza, Hughes, Elysia, Gracia, Havoc, Feury, Breda, Falman, Armstrong . . . all of them and more.

Last night, in his dreams, he had executed Edward.

He shuddered.

It had been Edward as he was now. He was blind and scared and asking Mustang what was wrong. Trusting that Roy would answer, would protect him, would be there.

Trusting Roy.

What poor judgment.

And sobbing and unable to stop himself, Roy had snapped his fingers and set the child on fire.

It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to run to the bathroom and throw his insides up when Ed had woken him up.

"Mustang?" Ed asked from across the table. He had his feet propped up on the chair again, his breakfast untouched before him. "What's wrong?"

Roy shivered again, remnants of his nightmares dancing behind his eyes.

He could not do this. He simply couldn't do this right now. Ed was scheduled to have his debriefing again that evening, and he hadn't showered since that first incident. There were things to take care of, medications to administer, and research to attempt. He had too much to do to have a breakdown.

Riza's words rang again in his mind.

This is eating away at you, and it's not going to stop until you forgive yourself.

The phone rang, making his headache sharpen, but providing an excellent distraction from Ed's question and his own destructive train of thought.

He crossed the kitchen and picked it up, thankfully silencing the shrill ring. "Mustang."

"Roy!" the voice greeted, much too loud for his liking. "Jim here!"

He winced. "Jim. What can I do for you?"

"This is just a courtesy call to let you know that I've taken the liberty of ordering you a piano."

Roy took a long, slow moment to process that.

His head must have been fuzzier than he thought.

"It's funny, Doctor," he said slowly, "but I could have sworn that you just said you've ordered me a piano."

Ed sent a curious look his way.

"Well, not you, specifically. It's for Edward!" Silas said, sounding pleased. "I figured it would do him some good. After all, the best way to heal the soul is through music, yes?"

"I'm sorry, you ordered a piano?"

"Didn't I mention that? Anyway, it's a fine instrument, and it should be arriving this afternoon around two. I think you'll be quite pleased . . .Oh, and the therapist that makes house calls? Yes, Doctor Asher, she'll be arriving on Monday! A fine young lady, I think Edward will make some excellent progress. Not only an adept psychologist, but her physical and emotional therapy are top notch. She's made some astounding breaches in the sciences!"

"You ordered a piano."

Silas hesitated. "Perhaps I should speak to Edward?" he suggested, sounding a bit concerned. "You seem to be having some trouble comprehending."

"Yes, because who goes around ordering pianos for other people?" he demanded. "Where am I supposed to put a piano, Silas?"

"I'll let you work out all of the details," he said dismissively. "Oh, there's my next appointment! I'll see you both this evening! Goodbye!"

The phone clicked.

Roy stared at it for a moment before hanging up.

"Mustang?"

Roy glanced up to see the boy sitting up just a bit straighter than before, his feet planted on the ground. "He ordered a piano," Roy said by way of explanation.

Ed didn't look surprised. "Go figure."

"Where am I supposed to put a piano, Fullmetal?" he asked, somewhat helplessly.

Ed frowned. Clearly this wasn't a question he'd thought he'd ever have to deal with. Frankly, Roy never thought he'd have to deal with it, either. "You're the one with the eyes, Mustang," he said, sounding just a bit out of his element. "You figure it out."

Roy massaged his throbbing temple with one hand and wondered how, exactly, this had happened.

"Mustang, are you okay?" Ed asked, sounding concerned. "You sound kind of . . . off."

"Silas ordered a piano," he said. "Who does that? Now I have to rearrange my entire living room."

Ed looked unsettled by that. "Can we . . . can we not rearrange it too much?"

Roy paused in his mental tirade to consider the boy. He pulled his blanket around him tighter, his prosthetic gripping the chair he sat in nervously. He was reacting to Roy's discomfort and negative thoughts, and no doubt the thought of furniture being rearranged. Ed could almost navigate the house without running into anything, unless Roy forgot to clean up his notes, or push in the chairs around the dinner table. For someone that depended on memory to get from one place to another, the thought of changes undoubtedly seemed disturbing.

With a long sigh, Roy decided that he was overreacting. So he would have to move some furniture and pay a few hundred cenz, it was worth it if it helped Ed at all. Even if Silas did just buy them a piano. "You know, I think we'll only have to move my armchair. We'll put it beside the loveseat, then put the piano in the corner."

Ed seemed like he was going over that in his head. "Okay. When did he say it was coming?"

"Maybe two."

He nodded, then went back to pushing his eggs around his plate with a spoon.

Roy went to the cabinet and found the ibuprofen. He popped a couple into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He needed his body at top notch today if they were going to get through it.

"Headache?" Ed asked.

It was strange, but Roy thought he might be even more perceptive blind than he ever had with both eyes.

Roy put the rattling bottle back up in the cabinet. "Silas ordered me a piano. I think it was a headache well-earned."

A faint, almost-smile pulled at Ed's lips before it disappeared.

Roy's headache eased just for a moment before the shadows crept back in.

XxXxX

Ed could hear Mustang scribbling away at something and hear his steady breathing as he worked from the other couch. Papers occasionally rustled and a pen clacked against the coffee table, but he barely noticed.

Coming from the corner of the room was a strange sort of sensation. It was like when someone walks in the room and freezes: you know they're there, even if they aren't moving and you haven't turned around to acknowledge them.

Ed could sense the piano there, taking up space, it's presence like some sort of alien life form. If he listened hard enough, he could swear that he heard the strings vibrating in the small draft, ringing a constant, clear tone.

It had taken them forever to get it in and set it up. He had listened for over an hour while strange men moved and tuned it while he had remained hidden safely in the bathtub upstairs.

When Mustang finally sent them away and brought him to the stairs, he could smell wood and ivory and the scent of other human beings, which was off-putting in itself, but then there was the actual change in the room. He had sensed its presence immediately, noting that the room seemed balanced differently. The change made him anxious for reasons he couldn't adequately describe, so he had retreated back upstairs, only coming down when Mustang assured him it was alright and agreed to not take him anywhere near it.

But it continued to grate on his senses, and now he was absorbed in it. The ringing was somehow soothing, captivating. Never since the basement had he been so focused on one thing. It fascinated him even as it frightened him. It was almost enough distraction to make him forget what he had to do later that day.

"You can go touch it, you know," Mustang suggested wryly, another paper flipping. "It's not going to bite you."

Ed felt his cheeks heat up. He wasn't afraid of a piano. That was stupid.

Except he sort of was.

"I know that," he said defensively. "It's just . . . it's different."

"Different isn't always bad."

Actually, it usually was, but Ed didn't say anything. His mind had drifted back to that entrancing ringing sound. He wondered what it would sound like if it were louder, if the tones varied, if someone were capable of organizing those sounds into music.

Mustang sighed, drawing him out of his trance once again. "Come on, Ed," he said, fabric and papers shifting as he got to his feet. "Your curiosity is about to kill you." Ed thought he detected a smile in the older man's voice.

Ed frowned. "It's ringing," he stated, as if that were some sort of defense.

"I don't hear anything. Come on," he said, approaching and gripping his metal elbow to leverage him off the couch.

Ed didn't fight getting to his feet. His curiosity really was starting to eat away at his fear, but for some stupid reason, he really didn't want to go near it alone. Perhaps he feared tripping over the foreign object, or maybe he was just afraid of change in general, but either way, he wanted to watch it cautiously with his own eyes, and having someone else watching it was the next best thing.

Mustang led him a few steps until he knew it was standing before them, thrumming with untapped power. The colonel picked up Ed's flesh hand and set it down on something smooth and cold.

He couldn't quite contain a gasp at the strange sensation. It was as cold as tile. He recalled what his mother's piano had looked like; it had been a small upright one of blonde wood, with sets of delicate ivory and black keys spaced evenly across. The scarred bronze pedals had gleamed dully near the floor and he recalled many occasions where he or Alphonse had sat on the bench and banged on the keys, drawing out horrid, tuneless explosions of sound while their mother looked on and laughed at their antics. He wondered if this one looked the same, or if maybe it was one of those long, glossy black ones his mother had always dreamed of owning.

When he had told Silas that none of them had been able to play it, he hadn't necessarily been truthful. His mother had played. Granted, she had played terribly, but it had made her laugh, and anything that made her laugh was worth holding on to.

Softly, hesitantly, Ed placed a pointer finger against the polished surface and pushed down on a single key.

A strong note sounded, a dozen other strings vibrating in sympathy with it, creating a web of intricate sound that Ed almost found himself lost in.

It was breathtaking.

He pushed another key, the resulting sound drowning his sense of hearing. He pushed two keys at the same time, listening to their tones clash, faintly jarring something in his teeth as he listened to their dissonance. He pressed two more, these sounding like they were made to fit together, and in his mind, he could see light.

He stopped.

"Ed?" Mustang asked cautiously.

Ed didn't respond. He pushed the same two notes, the light in his mind resolving into a night sky with burning stars. It was nothing like his memories, the brilliance of them fading like old photographs left in the sun. This image almost looked real— so real, so vivid to him that he felt his heart leap.

Slowly, the image receded, disappearing like a rock to the bottom of a murky lake. His mind, so long starved of such visual pleasures, craved them like he had craved food after being starved for so long. Fingers trembling with excitement, he pushed the keys again, and the image returned full-force. It was something from his memory, the night sky in Resmbool, but somehow the music was able to restore it as if he had just seen it the day before, as if he wasn't forgetting what it was to see.

He sensed that the notes needed to change, to go somewhere. If he could figure out where they were supposed to go, he could make the picture change.

He could see. With sound, he could see.

It was supposed to go higher, he knew. He reached his automail hand beside him until he found the bench, lowering his aching body to the smooth wooden surface, but he didn't dare take his other hand off the keys, lest he loose them. Lest he loose that image.

He held his hand there, and with his right, he reached over his real hand and tried to find the note he needed, the tone that would make it move. His automail slipped and clacked against the smooth surface, but he pushed a couple of keys, none of them sounding how he wanted. He searched a bit higher until he'd found the pitch.

He remembered sitting in the tall grass, watching the stars with Alphonse and Winry.

He played the same notes over and over again, and when the picture wasn't moving enough, he hunted out more notes.

A strange sensation suddenly tugged at his face. It felt unnatural, but pleasant, and it took him a long moment to realize he was smiling.

Though his eyes were still as blind as before, he had just seen light after months of darkness.

"Mustang," he breathed to the man right beside him. "I can see."

XxXxX

Roy had never seen anything quite like it.

Watching Ed at the piano was like watching a flower come into bloom. Ed had gone from tense and closed-off to content and focused all in the span of a few minutes. He sat at the bench, poking at the keys with uncertain hands, but with definite purpose. And was that a tune he was coming up with? It was . . . remarkable.

Then he had turned around and said he could see.

Roy wasn't sure what that had meant, but it had been months since he had seen that smile, the one that was pleased and contented and almost happy. Roy didn't care if he was breaking from reality. For Ed, any sort of break of the positive kind was welcomed.

Maybe Silas wasn't such a moron after all . . .

Slowly, Roy retreated back to his seat, careful not to break the trance, if that was what it was. Ed was actually doing something besides sitting there and looking anxious or terrified, and Roy wanted it to last as long as possible.

Unfortunately, life wasn't nearly that simple.

The doorbell rang, making Ed jump in his seat. The blanket that had slipped off of his shoulders and draped around his waist unnoticed was quickly gathered in his startled hands and wrapped tightly around him. "Mustang?" he asked, voice tight with blatant fear.

"It's okay, Ed," Roy assured him, quickly going to his side. He put a placating hand on the boy's shoulder, but Ed jumped at the contact, twisting away. His breathing took off, and Roy could only imagine what his heart was doing.

"It's not time . . . it can't be time, it's not time," Ed babbled, any last traces of peace shattering. "They can't be here."

"Edward, they're not due here for another couple of hours," Roy assured him, again putting his hand on Ed's shoulder. This time, Ed grabbed onto his sleeve and didn't let go. "It might just be something else having to do with the piano. Want to wait here while I see about it?"

Ed looked visibly torn from wanting to hide and wanting to stay next to Roy. Eventually he released Roy with trembling hands and nodded, one hand curling around his throat.

Roy turned and marched to the door. He wondered if it would be rude to completely incinerate whoever had interrupted Ed. For the first time in months, Ed had found something to enjoy, and now some idiot had scared him back into himself again!

He stopped at the door a moment to steady himself. His head was still trying to split itself apart and for some reason, he felt like he'd been hit with a train. He decided that the sleepless nights were starting to catch up with him. With some effort, he schooled his features into a fierce glare, then pulled open the door, a scolding on his lips. He stopped short.

Standing on the doorstep were two people dressed in comfortable travel attire. The one in the back was a man as big as a mountain. He had a prominent brow, his squared face rimmed with a thick black beard. His frame, though not fit and trim like Armstrong's, suggested unbelievable strength and power. In his bear-like hands he clutched a pair of suitcases, and his glare suggested that he'd rather rip Roy apart than look at him.

The one right before Roy was an older woman, probably late forties. She had severe features, with eyes so dark they looked black. Her hair was pulled back into dreadlocks, spilling behind her head like a horse's tail. Her bare arms were roped with muscle and her stance suggested that if the man didn't rip Roy apart, she'd be willing to have a go at it. And were those house shoes on her feet . . .?

"Colonel Roy Mustang?" the woman demanded, her tone the one of someone used to being answered and obeyed.

Roy could have sworn that he heard a little gasp from the living room behind him. He planted his feet and returned her stern gaze. "That's right. And may I ask who the two of you are?"

The woman exchanged a look with her partner before stepping closer.

"My name is Izumi Curtis and I'm here to see my idiot apprentice."

Bet, like, no one saw that coming xD

So this chappy may seem like it's out of nowhere, but I promise there are relevant things in here lol :'D And PROGRESS! Ed just made progress, guys! Get excited!

And what's up with Mustang? Get it together, dude.

So I signed up for jiu-jitsu classes. Yesterday I sparred with a guy that was two and a half feet taller than me. I am so sore I don't know what to do with myself o_O Oh my gosh, it was like trying to take down a dinosaur. He flipped me, like, a billion times. I feel like my spleen is broken.

You may be asking yourselves why I signed myself up for this torture. It was for a couple of reasons. Self-defense, exercise, and, you guessed it, writing.

The things I do for my hobby. But I wanted to get a feel for what actual combat was like. This is probably (ie: hopefully) the closest I'll ever get to such a thing.

On another note, I wanted to thank you guys formally, again, right here, because I think it's been a while. Thank you guys so much for all of your encouragement, your support, and your friendship. You guys are completely awesome, and I know I am blessed because of you guys. I only hope that in some small way I can be a blessing to you and repay you for all of your kindness.

If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next time!

I'm going to run off to rehearsal now, and pray that the dancing doesn't kill me. Because it's very possible right now o_- Ouchies.

God Bless,

-RainFlame