A/N: Warning for dark themes and graphic depictions of violence regarding the Ishvalan War. It starts near the end of the chapter. If that's something you'd rather not read, be forewarned.

Hero of Ishval

The first and only time Ed called Roy Mustang the Hero of Ishval, he regretted it immediately.

It all started with Mustang's strange insistence to accompany Ed on a mission out in the Eastern Area. Some small town or other had had reports of civil unrest and violence, mostly coming from the town's ghetto. For whatever reason, the bastard had decided to shove the mission off on Ed. And as if that weren't bad enough, he'd also decided to come with him.

"I don't need a babysitter!" Ed scowled at him from his seat on Mustang's couch. He was thirteen, dammit! Almost fourteen! "I'm not a child!"

Mustang eyed him from behind his desk, expression infuriatingly placid. "I'm sorry, all I heard was a bunch of prepubescent squeaking. Try again?"

Prepubescent-!

Ed launched himself out of the chair. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT-"

"In any case," Mustang continued, as though Ed's outburst held the same importance as an irritating mosquito buzzing about him, "there have been rumors about that town I would like to investigate for myself. Particularly since your reports tend not to be very detailed, Fullmetal."

"Maybe if you didn't keep throwing all these boring missions at me, I'd have something interesting to report!" Ed snapped. In the year, nearly two years, he'd been working for Mustang, he'd barely been given any leads towards getting Al's body back. Every ten missions, if he were lucky, held a potential lead. Ed was getting sick of it.

...Okay, maybe that was being unfair. Every five, maybe.

...Three?

Alright, fine. For all that Mustang claimed Ed was nothing but a dog of the military, the man didn't actually treat him like it that often. Usually he only gave Ed missions like this when the rest of his team was busy. Still, that didn't mean Ed had to be happy about the damn thing.

Mustang rolled his eyes and clearly decided to ignore Ed's last remark. "We'll be leaving at 0700 sharp tomorrow morning. You're dismissed, Fullmetal."

Ed glared, not moving. "Are you not even going to tell me why we're going there?"

"I've already told you," Mustang said. "There have been rumors of-"

"I heard you the first time, bastard," Ed snapped, "and I don't believe it any more the second time around. 'Rumors'? No rumor would get your lazy ass out of Eastern Command and onto the field. Tell me what's going on!"

Mustang's face was set and unreadable like a deadlocked door. "I believe that's below your pay-grade to know, Fullmetal."

"So there is something...I knew it! Now tell me!"

Ed shifted forward, staring at Mustang determinedly. This was another thing he'd become used to in the time he'd worked with the Colonel. Rarely, if ever, did the man give him any information other than the bare minimum to get the job done. Sometimes he wouldn't even give Ed that much, expecting him to figure it out on his own. It was infuriating. Ed was certain Mustang didn't treat any of his team like that, which meant Ed was different. Ed didn't belong.

Now, Ed didn't want to belong to the military. Far from it, in fact. He knew he didn't fit in there and was glad of it. But Mustang's insistence on treating him differently from his real team members - more than that, his insistence on never even telling Ed the bare minimum of pertinent information - that stung. It was patronizing, but more than that, it said that Mustang simply did not trust him. It said that Ed was not worthy of Mustang's trust, or regard, or even attention.

And maybe that wouldn't have mattered, except that the bastard, damn Hohenheim himself, had thought the exact same thing.

Back to reality, Mustang, the not-quite-so-bad bastard just stared at Ed, unmoved. After several seconds of this Mustang seemed to think he had won. "Oh, I should mention. Al will not be coming with us, either."

For once in his life, Edward Elric was rendered speechless. The idea of Mustang suggesting - no, commanding - that Al not come with him was so patently absurd it took him several long seconds to process it.

"I'm...sorry?"

"On the mission," Mustang said, as though Ed were stupid. Which he was not. "The last thing we need is to bring a hulking suit of armor into a town that already distrusts the military. Not to mention what would happen if they found out what your brother actually is."

"How dare you say that about my brother?!"

Mustang sighed. "Look, Fullmetal. I know there are many things you'd rather do than go on a mission like this without your brother and with your commanding officer as your only company-"

"Damn right-"

"But I'm not changing my mind. You will be coming with me and your brother will not. That's an order. Do you understand?"

Ed scowled. One look at the man confirmed what he'd said: Mustang would not budge. Ed had no choice but to grit his teeth and get through this. "Perfectly, Colonel Bastard."

He put extra emphasis on bastard, gave said bastard one last cutting glare, and stalked out of the room.

The town seemed pretty normal as far as Ed was concerned. It was bigger than Resembool - although what town wasn't, really - but still small enough not to give Ed the distinctly cramped feeling he got whenever he went to anything remotely as big as East City, or heaven forbid, Central City. Sure, the townsfolk gave more than their share of unwelcoming and wary stares to Ed and Mustang, but Ed figured it was just because Mustang was a colonel. People didn't tend to like the military in their homes.

Yet another reason Ed wished Mustang weren't here. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about that. Damn bastard colonel.

The initial investigations passed smoothly enough, not counting the stares boring into Ed's back that grew more and more unsettling the longer they went on. Once he and Mustang had gotten to their hotel room - yes, room, apparently the manager had charged such an exorbitant price Mustang had only been able to buy one - Ed finally snapped.

"What the hell is their problem!?"

"Whose problem?" Mustang inquired calmly, neatly folding his uniform and setting it down on a chair. He'd changed out of his street clothes, as had Ed. "I know your memory's rather short, but-

Ed growled. "I am not a grain of salt so small you can't even taste it!"

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Where do you even come up with these?"

"None of your business, you-"

"If you mean the townspeople," Mustang interrupted, sitting down on his bed - and thank God for small mercies that the room at least had two beds - "I rather think they don't like the military."

Ed stared at him. Mustang stared back.

Ed noted how odd it was to see Mustang out of his uniform. Instead, he was wearing...pajamas? That's what Ed guessed the black slacks and white shirt were supposed to be, but they looked more like everyday clothing than pajamas. Did the man not own actual pajamas?

"Seriously?"

"Mmm. I know it can be quite difficult for you to realize that some people might not like you-"

"No, not that, you bastard! I mean, why don't they like the military? What did we ever do to them?"

Mustang's eyes went cold. They went so cold, so quickly, that for the first time Ed saw how such a young man had risen so far up the ranks of the military. "The correct question, Fullmetal, is what haven't we done to them."

Ed stared at the colonel, confused. "What...what do you mean?"

Mustang opened his mouth but before he spoke, something shifted in his eyes. The cold seemed to melt out of them and just like that, he was Ed's infuriating superior once more. "Nothing important, Fullmetal. Nothing important. Now go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."

Ed went to speak, but for the second time in as many days, stopped. Mustang looked as unyielding as he had the day before, but something had changed. Now, he still looked unyielding. But more than that, he looked...

"Okay. Goodnight, Colonel."

He looked like Ed did every time he looked into a mirror.

Guilty.

"Goodnight, Fullmetal. See you in the morning."

The light flickered out and the room went dark. Ed curled into a ball on his bed and tried his best to bury the memories that Mustang's eyes had dredged up inside him.

He failed.

The next morning, Ed and Mustang headed over to the town's ghetto as soon as the sun rose, much to Ed's chagrin. He was a growing (not short) boy, he needed his beauty sleep! Mustang didn't even let him redo his customary braid, practically dragging him out of bed and shoving him out the door.

"Hey! I haven't even eaten breakfast!"

"Maybe if you'd woken up when I told you to, you would've had time to eat," Mustang said, smirking at him. "Unfortunately, it seems like you just aren't mature enough to wake up on your own."

"Say that again, you bastard! I dare you!"

Mustang rolled his eyes, straightening his coat collar as they strode down the steps of the hotel and into the street. "Come along, Fullmetal. We don't have all day."

Grumbling, Ed followed him, blinking blearily as the morning sun pierced the day with its usual unforgiving ferocity.

As the pair walked, Ed once again felt the townspeople's stares drill into him. They felt even worse than the day before: warier, even hostile. Ed's first instinct was to turn and scream at them, but one warning glare from Mustang stopped him. Instead, Ed was left to jam his hands into his coat pockets and glare fixedly ahead of him.

Several minutes passed. Ed watched as the pristine, neatly-kept buildings slowly became smaller, dilapidated, dirty. The streets became tiny and filled with refuse. Worst of all, the peoples' stares became angry. Ed swallowed after accidentally catching the eye of one of them. He looked to be around forty, slender but tall, and glared at Ed and Mustang as though he'd personally watched them kill his family.

His eyes, oddly, were a color Ed had never seen before. Red. Some kind of genetic mutation, maybe?

But then Ed looked around, and more and more the people around him had those same red eyes. Every pair of them held the same fury.

Ed shivered, dragging his gaze away from the townspeople. "Are...are we almost there, Colonel?"

Mustang's eyes flicked towards him. "What's the matter, Fullmetal? Not used to seeing the sins of the military?"

Ed would've snapped back, but something in Mustang's tone stopped him. He sounded...heavy. Like the sight of the street, the buildings, the people were physically weighing him down. Then the full meaning of Mustang's words hit him and Ed nearly stumbled.

"What do you mean, sins?"

Mustang's head turned towards him. His jaw was set, his mouth drawn. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow, controlled breath. "Not now. I'll tell you later."

In Ed's experience, "later" usually meant "never". He glared. He'd be damned if this were yet another piece of necessary information Mustang was keeping from him. "Tell me now, bastard!"

"Fullmetal-"

Ed stopped in his tracks. "I'm not moving until you tell me."

Mustang looked like he wanted to strangle Ed. When he spoke, his voice was furious but hushed. "Are you serious? You're going to stop in the middle of the street, in the middle of a mission, just to get some irrelevant information out of me? How childish are you!?"

"I'm sick of being left out of things!" Ed retorted hotly, just as quietly as Mustang. "You and your entire team refuse to stop treating me like a child! You never tell me what my missions are really about, you never give me any pertinent information - you didn't even tell me the real reason we're here!"

"Oh? The way you're acting right now, it seems I was right to do so! You're acting like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum!" Mustang grabbed him by the arm and started moving, dragging Ed with him. "This is not the right time to wrangle information out of me, Fullmetal. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"Well maybe if you'd tell me something for once in your miserable life, I would!"

Mustang turned his head to glare at him. "How stupid are you? We're out in the middle of a street, surrounded by people who are clearly hostile, and you want to talk about politics? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

Ed scoffed, digging his heels in. In his rage, he forgot to keep his voice down. "Dangerous? Since when have you ever cared about danger? Aren't you supposed to be the Hero of Ishval or whatever?"

Whatever response Ed had been expecting from Mustang - annoyance, frustration, fury - he didn't get. No. Mustang went bone-white and stopped walking. His eyes darted nervously from side to side.

"Fullmetal..."

"What? Don't tell me the famous Flame Alchemist is getting modest now," Ed scoffed. "You're supposed to be one of the most brilliant alchemists of our day!"

Mustang somehow went almost grey. The hand on Ed's arm loosened. "Edward."

The use of his first name - the first time Mustang had ever done so - stopped Ed. He asked, a little belligerently, "What?"

Mustang swallowed. "On my count, you run. Got it? Run and don't look back."

"Colonel, what on earth are you talking about? I'm not playing some demented game of hide-and-seek with you-"

"Fullmetal, look around."

For the first time in several minutes, Ed did.

"H-Hey! Get back! Get back, you creepy perverts! Why are you all so close!?"

"Is what the child said true? Are you the Flame?"

It was the forty-year-old man from earlier. He was barely five feet away now, his fiery eyes drilling into Mustang like he had a personal vendetta against the man. Around him stood a gathering group of red-eyed townspeople, all giving Mustang that same look.

Ed was hopelessly confused. Sure, he wasn't surprised the Colonel would've made enemies during his career - the man was a bastard, after all - but this many? Practically the entire ghetto looked ready to kill him!

...Kill him?

Ed looked back at Mustang. Had that been why Mustang had told him to run? Because he wanted to...?

No, of course not. That was insane. The man had never tried to protect him before, why would he start now? He probably just...uh. Exactly what other reason could he have for getting Ed away from there?

"Hey, uh, bastard," Ed hissed to Mustang, low enough the townspeople couldn't hear, "I don't know what the hell's their problem, but you should probably lie."

Mustang didn't respond. He just looked at the gathering crowd in silence. He'd let go of Ed at some point and now stood straight and tall. Defiant. Every muscle, every line in his body spoke of readiness to fight. Everything...

Ed's face scrunched in confusion.

Everything except for Mustang's eyes.

"I am."

As though the two calmly-spoken words had been an explosion, the entire crowd flinched backwards. Then they surged forward, hatred renewed in their eyes. Yet they did not lay hands on either alchemist.

"He's the Flame!" one of them shouted, waving an angry fist at Mustang. "The one who murdered my sister!"

"He killed my son!" an older woman yelled. "He wasn't even five!"

"He slaughtered my parents!"

Like a tidal wave broken forth, the mob surrounded the two alchemists. Every person, it seemed, had someone who had died: a mother, brother, father, sister, son, daughter, husband, wife, friend...the wave of fury and anguish was too much for Ed to comprehend. What was going on?

"HEY!" Ed screamed. The townspeople quieted a little, but not enough. "HEY, LISTEN UP ASSHOLES!"

The mob fell silent, or close enough to it. There was still an occasional sob or scream or discontented mumble, but Ed figured that was the best he could ask for.

"Listen," Ed said again, "I don't know what's going on, but you all need to calm down! This guy-" Ed jerked his thumb at Mustang, "-I know him, okay? He's a bastard, I'll give you that, but I know him! He's not a murderer. He would never do something like that."

"Fullmetal..." Mustang murmured, something far too emotional in his voice. Ed flushed and reminded himself to tell the man later that he'd just been trying to save his own skin.

"So whoever you think killed all those people, it's not him! Just leave us alone! We're just trying to do our jobs!"

An older woman - the one who'd accused Mustang of killing her son - stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "He admitted to being the Flame himself, boy. We know it was the Flame who killed them."

A scoff rang out from another direction. Ed turned to see a young man with the same red eyes and white hair as the rest of the crowd glaring at Ed. "And besides that, what do you mean by 'your jobs'? We've had enough experience with the military dogs just doing their jobs!"

A grumble of agreement rose in the crowd.

"They were 'just doing their jobs' when they slaughtered our families!" a man cried out.

"And they were 'just doing their jobs' when they forced the remainder of us into these slums and trapped us in them," came another voice. "What's next, you dogs? Have you come to finish the job you started?"

"Uh..." Ed was utterly, entirely lost. Damn the Colonel for keeping him in the dark about this - whatever this was! "I..."

"Please, listen." Mustang's tone was uncharacteristically soft, yet the people around still reacted as though he'd shouted - flinching backwards, covering their faces protectively, shielding their children. Ed suddenly realized why. Why they shouted with such fury, yet all kept their distance. Why none of them had even tried to lay a hand on Mustang.

They were afraid.

"I know you will not believe me. I have done nothing to earn it. But I did not come here to hurt any of you. I heard rumors that this town held a number of Ishvalan survivors. I came to see if the rumors were true, and, if possible, help you."

"Help us?" a man spat. "You've killed us! Why would you help us now?"

The crowd murmured agreement.

Mustang left that unanswered, although his eyes flickered. "Regardless of what you might be thinking, neither I nor my subordinate intend to cause any harm to you. However, if you lay hands on us, we will fight back. I think you remember exactly what my title of Flame means, yes?"

That was the wrong thing to say. A ripple of fear swept through the crowd. For a moment they were all still. Then the tidal wave crested and they surged forward as one, screaming, shouting, waving fists and pitchforks and clubs.

"Kill him!"

There was a snap, then a burst of brilliant flame flared up into the air. The people screamed.

"Fullmetal, run!"

Ed obeyed. He tore after Mustang, following closely on his heels as the man weaved through the mob, sending bursts of flame periodically into the air whenever someone got too close. None of the flames came anywhere close to burning anyone, but the people shrieked as though they'd been given third-degree burns. Ed followed Mustang's cue, creating pillars of stone to block a pitchfork or scythe from cutting off his or Mustang's head.

The two raced through the town, pelting back up the streets they'd casually strode down just minutes before. The mob followed.

Finally, Ed had had enough. At the intersection between two streets, Ed made up his mind. He stopped right at the spot the two streets joined and clapped. A wall of stone rose up right in front of pairs of shocked red eyes, blocking the street off entirely from the rest of the town.

"There!" Ed said proudly, barely able to hear the furious protests of the mob from behind the wall. "Finally, some peace and quiet."

"You do realize that isn't the only street that connects to this one," Mustang said dryly. He turned and began moving again, though now his pace had slowed to a brisk walk. "Still, this should buy us some time. Although you know I'll be taking the cost of repairs out of your paycheck, Fullmetal."

"What!? But this is to save our lives!"

"Regardless, it's still being taken out of your paycheck. It's not like you actually need that much money, anyway. Your salary's more than enough to support you and your brother."

"Well yeah, but it's the principal of the thing!"

Mustang rolled his eyes, not deigning to dignify that with a response. "Let's move. I doubt they've given up yet. We need to find a place to lay low until the tension dissipates somewhat."

"We can't just go back to the hotel?"

Mustang shook his head, increasing his pace. Ed grumbled, finding it hard to keep up with his sho- with Mustang's freakishly long legs. "We have no idea if they know where we're staying, and I'd rather not risk it. It'd be best to find some abandoned building on the outskirts of town and stay there for a while."

They had already passed the area their hotel had been in and were coming close to the opposite end of town from where they'd been. A few minutes more and they'd reach the outer edge of the town.

Ed occupied himself with wondering what had just happened. Mustang seemed, on the surface, as unperturbed as ever, but surely that was just a facade. Surely not even the Colonel could live through a mob screaming false accusations and swearing death threats to him and not be bothered.

They had a few near-misses with mob stragglers before finally reaching a building Mustang declared was going to be their hiding-place. The man motioned Ed to stay put while he entered the building and inspected it for any intruders. He came out a few minutes later with the all clear and motioned Ed in. And not a moment too soon; Ed saw several white-haired, tan-skinned townspeople rush by not long after.

"Hopefully this will all settle down before the evening, and we'll be able to get back to the hotel by tonight," Mustang said. Ed glanced out the window and frowned. It wasn't even midday. How had all this happened so quickly?

Mustang sat down on an old crate, running a hand through his hair. Now that they weren't on the run, he'd dropped his unperturbed facade and seemed tired, maybe even exhausted. He stared at the dusty, filthy floor with an expression of defeat.

Ed swallowed. He forced himself to take a cautious step towards him. "Colonel?"

"What is it, Fullmetal?"

Mustang sounded heavy, again; held that same heaviness he'd had earlier before Ed had so stupidly turned an entire mob on the two of them. Ed took another step closer.

"I...I wanted to..." The words weighed on his tongue. "I wanted to...apologize. Colonel."

Mustang looked up. He subjected Ed to that piercing stare of his but said nothing. He was clearly waiting for Ed to continue.

So, inwardly cursing the man for making him spell it out, Ed said, "I shouldn't have tried to force you to reveal information, especially when surrounded by potentially hostile people. And I definitely shouldn't have called you that."

Mustang was quiet for a moment. "Why?" he said at last.

Ed blinked. "Why what?"

"Why shouldn't you have called me-" Mustang broke off, his lip curling, "-the Hero of Ishval?"

Somehow, that title coming from its owner made it seem different. Maybe it was the disgust with which he spoke it. Maybe it was the self-incrimination in his eyes as he broke eye contact with Ed and looked away.

Ed, like he had been this entire day, was lost. He ventured, "Because it turned the mob on us and put you in danger?"

A small, bitter smile turned up Mustang's lips. "You think I care about being put in danger? No. I'll ask you this, then: why do you think I was given that title in the first place?"

Ed stared at the man, nonplussed. At any other time he probably would've started yelling about never being told anything, so how was he supposed to know? Instead, he said, "I don't know."

That bitter smile grew, then faded. "I'll tell you then. You should be happy, Fullmetal. You'll finally get some of that information you've been wanting for so long. Sit down, will you? This will take a while."

Ed dragged a crate over and sat across from Mustang. Looking at the man, he suddenly wondered if maybe he'd be better off not knowing whatever Mustang was about to tell him.

"What do you know of the Ishval Civil War?"

Ed considered for a moment. He didn't know much. He knew an Amestrian soldier had killed an Ishvalan, which sparked a rebellion that had gone on for years before finally being silenced by the Amestrian military. Given how close Resembool was to Ishval, he'd seen wounded soldiers and civilians occasionally seek aid from the villagers. When he was little, Ishvalans had bombed the town. That was the closest he'd ever gotten to the war itself.

He told Mustang that, who sighed. "You're correct in how it started. An Amestrian soldier did indeed kill an Ishvalan child. It's claimed to have been an accident, but no one will ever know for sure. I personally have my suspicions about that. Whatever the case, the Ishvalans were furious. They'd already been unhappy by being ruled by Amestris. According to their religion, alchemy is a violation of their sacred laws. Being ruled by a nation who supported alchemy was unacceptable. The revolt was just waiting to happen, and that child was just its catalyst."

Mustang shifted on his crate. His expression had darkened. He continued, "Over the next seven years, the rebellion only spread. The Amestrian military did their best to suppress it, but finally the Fuhrer decided it was time to put an end to it. With that in mind, he issued order #3066: a command that all state alchemists must join the front. And that commenced the Ishvalan War of Extermination."

The darkness in his voice sent a shiver down Ed's spine. Suddenly the man looked like he wasn't all there, like some part of him was back in Ishval, reliving his words.

"The war that Amestris had struggled to fight for seven years...with the help of the state alchemists, it was over in one. In the end it wasn't even a war. It was a massacre."

Ed's throat had gone dry. "Colonel? Were you...?"

"It was hell on earth," Mustang said as though Ed weren't even there. "No matter where you went, there was no escaping it: the screams of innocents, the bullets sinking into their flesh, the sand that soaked up their blood like a sponge. We rounded them up like cattle and slaughtered them like animals, day after day after day. I wondered if it would ever stop. I wasn't sure it would."

Mustang looked up. His eyes were haunted, as dead as the people he had killed. "No matter how much I throw up, I can't get the smell of burnt flesh out of my nose. I could practically taste it, Fullmetal. Some days when rations were low, I'd burn someone and...wonder. Wonder what it would actually taste like. Some of my worst days I'd look at a bloody, burned, dismembered leg and wonder if it would be comparable to a pig's leg."

He paused for a long moment. Revulsion lanced across his face. "So imagine coming back from that. Not being able to forget the face of any of the hundreds of people you'd killed. Not even being able to forget their smell. Imagine coming back from all that, and your Fuhrer welcomes you home and calls you a hero for butchering innocents like sheep. That is what the title Hero of Ishval means, Fullmetal."

Ed stared at Mustang and for a long, long moment wanted to throw up. He couldn't believe Mustang, the man he'd just defended against being a murderer, could ever have done that. He felt betrayed, disgusted, like being in Mustang's presence was vile. How could a man - any man - do something like that?

The disgust curdled in his stomach. But before it could come up, Ed remembered. He remembered feeling like this before: three years ago, in Resembool, that night. Then, he had felt that same disgust towards himself.

Ed let out a shuddering breath. How was tearing his brother's body away any different from butchering a man? How was creating an abomination different from killing an innocent? Ed had stolen life just like Mustang had. It was Ed's fault Al would never have a normal life, even if he got his body back. And how much worse was Ed for doing that to his own brother?

But it was different, another part of Ed protested. He had never actually killed anyone. Mustang had killed - by his own admission - hundreds of people. Mustang was worse, far worse, than Ed had ever been.

Yet...

Ed reached forward and gingerly laid a hand on top of one of the Colonel's gloved ones. Mustang looked up, shocked. "Fullmetal?"

Maybe what Mustang had done was far worse than what Ed had. But what did it matter? They had both destroyed. They had both hurt. They had both done the unforgivable - and whether that was human transmutation or murder, what did it really matter?

Ed remembered that day, three years ago, when Mustang had first learned of his crime. Ed had expected condemnation and had gotten something else. For years, Ed hadn't been able to decipher what Mustang had been offering, but now...

Now, looking at the haunted, guilty eyes of his superior, Ed realized. What Mustang had offered him was understanding. The very least Ed could do was offer him the same. After all, was that not Equivalent Exchange?

Ed very cautiously, very awkwardly squeezed Mustang's hand with his own. The only person he'd ever comforted before was his brother, and he'd certainly never had to do this for him.

"I understand," he said quietly. "And...I'm sorry."

Whether the apology was for his rash actions earlier that day, his use of a title that caused Mustang pain, or for the horrors of living through the Ishval Civil War, no one could tell. But Mustang met Ed's eyes and that same understanding that had passed between them three years ago passed between them once more.

Mustang nodded once. The haunted look in his eyes had dissipated slightly. "Thank you."

Ed withdrew his hand and backed away, fighting down a blush. Mustang stood up and went to the window. "I don't see any Ishvalans. I'd say it's safe to go back to the hotel now."

Ed stood. "Are you sure?"

"Are you questioning your commanding officer?" Mustang asked with a raised brow. "But yes, I'm sure. After all, I doubt they'd even notice you walking down the street."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?"

A/N: So...that was a doozy. When I set out to write this chapter, I was not expecting this monster. Rest assured, the next chapter will be lighter in theme and finally give y'all some actual parental!Roy like we've all been wanting since chapter one.

As a side-note: Roy absolutely, 100% owns actual pajamas. He just was too embarrassed to wear them around Ed - after all, what thirteen-year-old wouldn't mock a thirty-year-old for wearing flame-patterned shorts to bed?br /

As another side-note: the reason Roy and Ed were only able to afford one hotel room was for one of two reasons. Either A) the innkeeper was an Ishvalan sympathizer who overcharges any and all military personnel who come to stay, or B) Roy dated the innkeeper's sister/daughter and was charged an exorbitant price out of revenge. Pick your poison!

See you soon!