Title: Undercover Blues
Author: S J Smith
Rating: Gen
Summary: Ed's still not sure about these clothes.
Disclaimer: These are Hiromu Arakawa's characters, not mine. Drat it.
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Packing to leave the hospital took very little time, considering. Relief flooded Ed at the release – he'd come to hate those pale green walls, and guards outside the door. He wished Al could've walked out of the building, but even with a pair of crutches and someone to steady him, he was too weak for a long walk, so he rode a wheelchair. Getting him from the train station to the Rockbell house wasn't something Ed really wanted to contemplate. What if he got recognized? What if Al did? Right now, he felt edgy with the need to get out of Central City, to get back to that yellow house on the hill, where maybe he could take a few deep breaths.
If no one recognized them.
"It's easy, Ed, just wear a hat. Tuck your hair down the collar of your shirt when we get to Rezembool." Winry's common sense approach made him twitch – but Mustang shoved a hat on his head and that was that. "I told Granny we'd need someone to pick us up at the station, so she arranged for the Nedobeck's to bring their dogcart for Al."
Another similarity – the Nedobecks raised sheep, like most of Rezembool, back home. And it'd be a two and a half day trip by train to get from Central to Rezembool. At least Mustang – or Hawkeye, someone – had arranged for a private room on the train. Ed knew Al wasn't up to sitting on a bench for the entire trip, and Winry'd always complained about her butt falling asleep.
Hawkeye'd only assigned Mustang as a guard, and he was dressed in civilian clothing, but that huge-assed eyepatch made him stand out anywhere. Maybe people would notice him, instead of Al in a wheelchair. Ed wondered if Dr. Marcoh could repair however much damage that patch covered, and decided maybe he shouldn't ask. Instead, he'd wonder at how polite Winry and Mustang were to each other. Winry was always polite to people older than her, well, to almost anyone who wasn't an Elric, or a stupid Xingese prince, or a little pickpocket from Rush Valley. But even Ed could feel a tension between them.
One more weird thing to puzzle over. Maybe he'd set Al on it, to find out just how Winry knew Mustang, and why they acted the way they did. Al'd be good at it. Who could look at those huge eyes and not spill their guts?
Ed wrinkled his nose. No, no gut-spilling, even in the most figurative sense of the word. He'd had enough of that in Bashool.
"Are you done dressing yet?"
Mustang's voice cut into his thoughts, and Ed nearly flashed him an obscene gesture – but they had a train to make. Tugging the hat down a little further over his eyes, he took one last look around the room. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready to go." Reaching over, he bumped his fist against Al's shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
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