If You're Ever in the East
ObsessiveDevil23
Chapter 1
For his fortieth birthday, Roy received a promotion and relocation papers. There were jokes around the office about being the Fuhrer's favourite; that Grumman would personally come into the West Wing of Central command and deliver them himself, simply because it was Roy's birthday – and fortunately for Roy, who was likely to become to but of even more jokes should his team know the truth of it, none of them knew how on the nose they were.
"Happy birthday, dear boy." The Fuhrer greeted as he hobbled into the office, leaning heavily on a stick but with his usual sly smile in place.
is hair had grown whiter in the last couple of years, and his glasses even thicker, and recently he hadn't been seen without the aide of a walking stick. People were beginning to become uneasy with how frail their head of state had become. Roy glanced at the papers in his hand as the ageing Fuhrer shuffled across the room to him, and stood from behind his desk, standing to attention and saluting. The papers were purely ceremonial; everything else for his transfer had been handled by Hawkeye months ago, but Grumman had wanted some pizazz, and no-one was in the habit of denying their head of state his few wants and requests. The man smiled his all-knowing smile and placed the file down on Mustang's desk, looking pleased that Roy had still stood and saluted, as if one day his favourite General might not do that.
"Thank you, sir." Roy replied, feeling a little ridiculous.
Forty was not an age he had been particularly looking forward to, and he didn't entirely enjoy the idea of the whole office knowing he was reaching a mile-stone. Still, if the packed boxes at his house were anything to live by, he wouldn't be around in Central long enough to have to deal with everyone teasing him for his age, and word hadn't yet spread to the rest of the office that he had reached another multiple of ten. Freya was probably loading them all into the moving van as he was speaking, and whilst most people would baulk at the idea of moving house on their birthday, Roy couldn't think of a better way to celebrate.
"Just sign there then, lad." The Fuhrer commanded, pointing a bony finger at an underlined section of the forms, and Roy dropped his salute to pick up his pen and autograph it. The pen should have felt weird under the scratchy material of his gloves, but he'd grown used to it over the years. "I've sorted out the transfer papers for the team you requested, as well." Grumman added, and Roy couldn't even be annoyed at him for taking the credit for something his granddaughter had personally overseen.
He was glad, at the very least, that Grumman had once more allowed him to hand-pick his team. Especially since the last time Roy had taken that request to Grumman it had been because he thought his chosen team were the best fit for overthrowing the Government and uprooting the Fuhrer. This time, of course, he had no want to do that. There was a general feeling amongst the public that they would be expecting the succession of a new head of state in months, rather than years, anyway – and for the first time in his life Roy was dreading that coming to pass. In his idle moments he found himself thinking that he could do with just a few more years of Grumman staying healthy enough to oversee the country – just a few more years to get his act together, to come up with a more concrete plan and enjoy being Roy Mustang, before he was shoved into another political bid.
He thanked the man again.
"I assume that wife of yours is spoiling you rotten later." Grumman asked, making the General wince.
"Not my wife." He reminded, which he had also grown used to having to say in the last couple of years.
Freya was certainly wife material. They had been dating for the last three years, and she had moved in with him two years ago, but Roy had never dropped down to one knee – despite pressures from all of his friends and colleagues, and her slightly overbearing parents. He couldn't explain to Grumman, however, that his relationship with Freya was barely past platonic, and the idea of marrying her sent tremors of regret running through his entire body.
"Well, just a few more things to get done here, and then you can be on your way. Captain Havoc has assured me he's getting the office all set up for you there, and that your team can't wait for your arrival."
Roy nodded his head at that, and waved jovially as Grumman made his excuses (oh, it's a very busy job being the fuhrer, papers to sign, babies to kiss and all that – you'll know all this one day Mustang, my boy!) and walked back out the office with Roy's newly signed transfer papers in his curled hands. Roy watched him go and took a deep breath, and then allowed himself a brief look around the office he'd been in for the last seven years, and wondered just how much of a step up his latest promotion would be. He had gone from the Lieutenant-General rank he had achieved three and a half years ago (a pity promotion if ever there was one, trying to quell the anger they had expected of Roy after his court-case, but Roy would take what was handed to him), to that of General, the highest rank one could assume in the army without being the Fuhrer himself, a few days ago. Alongside that raise in rank had been the transfer to a new city, a new job, and new responsibilities. He'd be overseeing the entirety of Eastern Command, and be reporting directly to Grumman. It had been a gruelling forty-two months, and he was excited to see the culmination of it.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should write to Ed.
He'd been avoiding doing so. They had exchanged a few letters a year over the years since Edward had left to return to East City and set up his life properly there, and Roy logically knew that big news like this meant he should be letting the other man know, but there was something stopping him. Every time he put pen to paper he couldn't find the words, and ended up screwing up the letter and snapping his fingers to burn the evidence of his attempt. Because three and a half years ago when Ed had hopped on a train to East City, they had promised each other that if Roy ever got relocated to the East then they would make a real try of dating. But then less than a year later, over pressures of trying to quell his public image to something mundane, Roy had met Freya.
Freya was perfect for rehabilitating his image, and he wasn't ashamed to admit he had originally only dated her to be seen with an unassuming, solid woman. She wore grey, floor-length skirts and turtle necks and had a neat, no-nonsense bob in a no-nonsense shade of brown, and had a steady job working as a primary school teacher and Makaton Sign tutor, so she was exactly the kind of woman you would bring home to your mother and ask to marry. Except Roy would never take her to his Aunt Chris, because Chris would take one look at her and probably make her cry, and he still hadn't popped the question. He hadn't broken up with her either. Originally it was because she was good for his image, and he assumed one day he would do exactly as Hawkeye advised and settle down with her, but then, from their falsified relationship grew a friendship.
And that's what they had, a friendship. He adored Freya for her gentle, kind nature and the way she always had dinner on the table when he got home, and she would tell him anecdotes about children in her class and not make him relive his usually very stressful day, but he didn't love her. He didn't even make love to her. They'd stopped that after a year of some rather awkward sex that had left both of them very unsatisfied. Roy had asked her once, why she didn't leave him – why she put up with a sexless relationship and how sometimes he was grumpy and mean to her, and she had just smiled and picked up their cat for a cuddle, because they didn't do much physical contact with each-other, and told him that she loved him. So he'd taken her out for a nice meal the next day and tried really hard to romance her and felt incredibly guilty because no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't make himself love her back.
That had been eight months ago, and now Freya was loading up the moving truck on his behalf, and, like the Fuhrer had suggested, probably planning a birthday surprise for that evening that would leave him dumbstruck with how thoughtful she could be.
And so he hadn't written to Ed, because even though sometimes he still woke up from dreams of rekindling that one night of passion he'd shared with the younger man, it wasn't fair on Freya to actually make something of it. He would move to East City because that was what his job demanded, and Edward might one day find out through word on the street that he was there, and would know that Roy had gone back on their promise because he would have been there for awhile and not sought Ed out. He would spend his days doing his job, his evenings with Freya, and pretend to be happy, without contacting the ray of sunshine that had left his life three and half years prior. It was as simple as that. It didn't matter that every time he thought about that familiar blonde head of hair, or received a letter in Fullmetal's familiar scrawl, his heart skipped a beat. Three and a half years had dulled his pining for Ed somewhat, and he was sure that with continued discipline over the subject of Edward Elric he would one day be able to hear the boy's name without breaking out in a sweat.
He collected the last vestiges from his desk and placed them in the ceremonial card-board box, and then jogged that into his arms and walked around into the main office, where Gyasi was chatting amicably with Weir. Roy had decided to leave both of them in Central, because Gyasi had recently found a partner and had been looking at wedding magazines, and because Weir was a good man to have a connection with in the Capital. Hawkeye was leaning against one of the desks, her hair down and wearing a red jumper over a tartan shirt, she looked incredibly casual for her status as a Major. She crinkled her nose at him as he joined her with his box. The blonde and red had his heart clenching painfully in his chest, but he pushed it to one side. Forty-two months, he reminded himself, with a handful of letters as his only correspondence – he should be over the combination of blonde and red by now.
He would be driving to East City early, with Riza at his side, so that he could set up properly in the new office and assert some authority around his new command centre, and Freya would meet them there that evening, with the moving truck and the muscles that would put their things in order in their new house. Roy was glad he would be driving the hours with Riza instead of his unassuming girlfriend, on a basis of there would likely be more to talk about – and then instantly felt guilty for feeling that way.
"Ready?" Hawkeye asked, rolling her shoulder back, and Roy nodded his head, and jostled his box into one hand to give a semi-formal salute to the two remaining members in the office.
"It's been a pleasure working with you." He told them.
It wasn't entirely a lie, they had had fun times – but Gyasi had all but stopped talking to him after the article came out about his date with Edward all those years ago, and Weir still clammed up whenever someone mentioned gay rights. Now, however, they both saluted him back and gave him pleasantries, sending him off on his way to his new life in Eastern Command. He supposed that they wouldn't want to part on bad terms – he was pretty much next in line for Fuhrership, after all.
He followed Riza out into the hall, down the stairs and towards the parking garage, where she'd parked a sleek black car with a metal grate in a prime location. He placed his office knick-knacks in the boot, amongst the overnight bag he'd packed and placed there that morning. He debated taking his gloves off and placing them there as well, but the thought of it had a lump forming in his throat, and he decided against it. It was a frosty November, so if anyone took him up on it he could tell them he was wearing them for the warmth. He knew, logically, no one was going to bring him up on it any more. He frowned at the boot, then slammed it closed and then joined her in the front, settling down in the passenger seat whilst she set up her mirrors.
"Forty and still can't drive." She sighed at him.
It would sting if it wasn't a yearly joke. Technically Roy could drive – he had a license, but people had mostly stopped trusting him behind the wheel the third time he'd wrapped his car around a lamppost, and it was generally safer for everyone if he employed other people to chauffeur him.
"That's why I have such good subordinates." He teased back.
She shot him a look, but she had put the car in reverse and their journey had begun, so her non-verbal teasing would have to wait for the hours it took to get to East City. Instead, she informed him on what he would be walking in to in Eastern Command, where Riza had been sorting out the transfer of his preferred team.
"Fallman arrived two days ago from Briggs, he says it's nice to be warm again. Fuery has already got the communications team wrapped around his little finger. Breda and Havoc are simply delighted to be on the same team again, and I would remind you once more that I advised against putting them together." She told him.
Roy grinned at the view outside the wind-shield, watching the dreary grey roads of Central whiz by him. Most people would be annoyed about being transferred back out to a wasteland like East City, but this particular transfer came with a huge promotion and solidified his bid for Fuhrer, so he couldn't complain. He couldn't wait to have his old team back again, and reminded himself that they had all been stationed in the East last time they were all together, before Bradley deliberately split them all up. He also reminded himself that Grumman had come into his Fuhrership from overseeing Eastern Command, and the thought of it had his stomach doing odd little cartwheels.
"Let them have their fun for a few days." He replied, "they'll soon realise that running a command centre wont leave them much time for office shenanigans."
"Yessir." Riza replied, eyes on the road. "Shall we talk about your public image?"
Roy could feel his excitement over the move dissipating quickly at her words. He shook his head, but she wasn't looking at him.
"I'd rather play Marry-Fuck-Kill." He told her, hoping falling back on their old stupid games would placate her. She shot him a quick, considering look, and he gave her a cheeky smile. "Humour me, it's my birthday." He said, which would only ever work once a year so he had to make use of it whilst he could.
Riza sighed, but nodded her head, looking out on to the Central streets as she drove and thought. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and chewed on her lips as she considered her options, and Roy marvelled that she felt comfortable enough around him to let him know her tells.
"Okay." She finally relented. "Me, Freya, and Edward Elric."
Roy winced from the second she had said the word 'me', but his stomach plummeted dramatically at her last suggestion. That was entirely unfair; he'd been looking for a way to deflect a discussion on his public image, and Riza had found a way to make them discuss it anyway, the sly witch.
"I'd kill you." He said in a heartbeat, although they both knew it wasn't true. She took her hand off the wheel to show him her middle finger anyway. "Then… I'd marry Freya, obviously."
"Which leaves you fucking Edward."
This is what they'd done three and half years ago, Roy remembered, the night Edward Elric had turned up in his life after six years like a god-damned tornado, and been put on his protection team when there had been a threat on his life. Roy had gone to Riza's for their weekly wine and chat, and Riza had niggled him into confessing that he would fuck his what felt like barely legal ex-subordinate. Now they were heading East, to a city where Edward lived with his family, and Riza seemed to once more be cajoling him into admitting his attraction for the boy. Forty-two months later and Roy wished he could tell her he was entirely over the Xerxian bombshell, but unfortunately he still woke from dreams of blonde hair and golden eyes that looked at him like he was deconstructing the matter of his clothing in his mind.
"I'd marry Freya." He repeated, trying to bring the Major back to the good things he was doing for his image.
He wondered, more often that not, why he hadn't just asked Riza to marry him. His relationship with Riza was probably more sex-charged than his relationship with Freya, and Hawkeye could hold her own more. She was, objectively, more Roy's type, and Hawkeye might even have some child-baring years left in her. Freya was forty-two and had admitted early on in their relationship that she couldn't have kids. The thing was, if he asked Riza would probably feel obligated to say yes, and Roy wouldn't know what to do with that.
"You haven't though." The Major commented. "People have noticed."
Roy rolled his eyes out the passenger door window. People noticed everything. People noticed if he hadn't cut his hair in a while, or if he forgot his pocket-watch one day. People noticed if he hadn't slept from the bags under his eyes. People noticed if he worked late at the office. His entire life was a litany of other people noticing things about him and drawing conclusions based off of little to no real evidence. His views on the subject mostly got summed up with the words 'screw people', and Riza knew it.
"We're as good as married anyway." He lied. They lived together, but he knew there was a lot more to a marriage than sleeping on opposite sides of the bed with the cat purring contentedly between them.
"Remember when the public thought she was a witch who'd put a spell on you?"
Roy remembered. When they first started dating the journalists were still obsessed with playboy Mustang, who fucked anything with a pulse and who had taken a few months out of the dating scene to nurse his broken heart after Edward Elric had chosen his children over him. They hadn't been entirely wrong. They had looked at plain, monochrome, no-nonsense Freya and run story after story that she wasn't pretty enough, or smart enough, or anything-enough for Mustang, and that he would soon grow tired of her. When he didn't, they accused her of voodoo and witch-craft.
"That was cruel." He sighed. Hawkeye nodded.
"They thought she was taking advantage of you or something." She elaborated, "but now she's packing up your flat and moving the both of you to East City, where she's moving away from her family and friends and she has to find a new job – and people's opinions are swaying. Now you're the one being shown in a bad light."
Roy ran a hand through his hair, and then flattened it back down because underneath his top layer there was a couple of greys springing up in badger stripes around his ears.
"Couples relocate all the time and every time one of them is going to come off worse." He supplied. Hawkeye nodded again, and it occurred to Roy that she was going for agreeable, trying not to work him up too much.
"But usually they're committed. People think you're scared of commitment, and that's why Freya isn't your wife." She explained. "Now, it's your turn for M – F – K."
Roy cursed under his breath as they left Central behind and headed East. He really needed to stop playing M – F – K with Riza, because there was actually a very obvious reason as to why Freya wasn't his wife, and he hated that his most loyal subordinate could see right through him.
"All the spots have cleared up completely, so I was thinking maybe I could bring them both over to yours soon – you know, give Mei an idea of what to expect when the baby comes along."
Alphonse's laughter on the other end of the phone was, and always had been, even when marred by the tinny metal of the armour Al had been trapped in for so long, music to Ed's ears. He could imagine his brother rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and up through his harvest gold hair in fond pride in how very pregnant his girlfriend was, and he kicked up his feet on to the desk in his study and grinned at the ceiling as he imagined it. He hadn't seen Al in weeks, thanks to the children coming down with chicken-pox, and all three of them were missing having Uncle Al around.
"Sounds great, brother. Just let me know when." He replied, and Ed made a mental note to check his diary, even though he knew making mental notes almost always lead to him forgetting. "I assume it will just be yourself, since you haven't mentioned Gretel since last Friday."
Ed's easy going grin slowly formed into a frown, staring at the swirls and jumps in the ceiling plaster, as Alphonse mentioned the latest in the string of unsuccessful dates. Gretel had been promising on paper – a fellow science professor at the university, only twenty-seven, and well-travelled. She was pretty to look at as well, with long dark hair and creamy skin, but when they'd gone for a drink whilst Sasha and Maesie were at Winry's, it had become clear quite quickly that they wouldn't be going on a second date. She had a five year old kid, which Ed knew shouldn't be a deal breaker considering he had two children of his own, but kind of was. Besides, she had beautiful dark eyes that looked at him across the bar-table as she explained a complex theory on the nature of time, and Ed couldn't help but be reminded of another dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned beauty, and he'd ended up cutting the date short in a bout of guilt.
Which was ridiculous, because he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty for. He also couldn't say as much to Alphonse, who would make disapproving sounds if he even had an inkling that the reason Ed wouldn't be seeing Gretel a second time was because of a stupid promise he'd made three and half years ago.
"She's got a kid." He said instead, and Al made a semi-understanding 'ah' sound. He was probably making a face like a frog as he thought of how to phrase his next sentence. Ed mouthed along to his next words, feeling vindicated that his brother was so predictable.
"Would that really be so bad?"
Ed rolled his eyes, yup, so predictable.
"It is." He insisted. "With… with Maesie." He cut himself off as his tone wobbled dangerously, quickly putting a hand over the receiver in case this ended with him sobbing loudly, and took a few deep breaths to waive off the worst of the now-familiar lump that formed in his throat. "I just… I just need to focus my efforts on her. I can't get distracted trying to form a bond with someone else's kid."
He had almost confessed that he had enough trouble trying to form a bond with his own kids, but it wouldn't do to scare Al like that three months before Mei was due to pop out their first-born. There was a non-committing grunt on the other end of the line, and Ed took his feet off the desk and sat up, looking through all the papers he still had to mark. The one on top was mostly covered in red already, but Ed was only half-way through with his corrections. He was already exhausted. He slipped a hand underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes, and then corrected the frames on his nose once he felt he had successfully dislodged the tiredness from his face.
"Daddy, Maesie's eating dog biscuits!"
Ed glanced towards the slightly ajar door to the study, and sighed, counting to three in his head. He placed the paper he had been glancing over back down on top of the pile and readjusted the phone on his shoulder.
"Look, Al, I gotta go. I'll get back to you with dates." He promised, hanging up just as Sasha called up the stairs again.
"Daddy!"
He made his way out into the landing, and leaned over the bannister, where he could see Sasha at the bottom of the stairs, looking more and more like Ed every day. If he ever grew out his hair then the both of them would be Hohenheim clones (which would be funny if Hohenheim hadn't actually been cloned). He was staring up at the landing with his arms crossed and a serious frown on his little face, and Ed was vividly reminded of himself at that age, where everything was the matter between life or death, or worse – boredom.
"How does she even have dog biscuits?" He asked, because as far as he knew, they didn't have a dog, and one had never been in the house.
He jogged down the stairs and followed Sasha into the kitchen, where, true to word, Maesie was on the floor, happily munching on bone-shaped wheat biscuits. Ed didn't imagine there was anything in them that could seriously harm her, and he had probably eaten far worse as a child, but he still couldn't see how she didn't stop on account of taste. He snatched them away from his daughter, sighing loudly.
"No." He told her firmly. "These are for dogs, they're bad for you!"
Maesie simply frowned at him, looking as if she might well up, and then crossed her arms and looked away, which was almost worse than tears. He waved the sandwich bag she had been munching on in Sasha's direction, ready to repeat his question, but Sasha answered it before he had to.
"Mum's got us a puppy for when we're at hers."
Ed rolled his eyes, and then felt bad for rolling his eyes over something Winry had done in front of her children, and so smiled and shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. It wasn't a competition, he told himself, which was good – because there was no way he could compete with a puppy.
Since the finalisation of their divorce three and half years ago, and his requisition of a steady, part-time, well paid job at East City University, the children had been living with him by court order. He had only been fighting for visitation rights, but the court had ruled Winry's work schedule to be too demanding and in need of her being fully flexible. According to the judge she couldn't be fully flexible for auto-mail surgery and for two needy children – but Ed could work part-time lecturing and still raise two kids, and so the duty of raising them had fallen to him, with visits every Saturday to their mother, and an overnight stay every other Friday. Ed wasn't complaining, but he had felt guilty about the outcome.
Winry hadn't spoken to him for a while, but they were building up a tentative friendship again now, and Edward wouldn't fuck it all up over a puppy.
"Both of you should be in bed." He grumbled, checking his watch. Both children looked suitably scandalised by the idea.
Maesie made an odd high-pitched yelping sound, turning her body back to Ed's, and then when Ed frowned at her she made the yelping sound again.
"I don't understand, where's your book?" Ed asked her, feeling suddenly exhausted. She screwed up her little face and pouted at him, and made another high-pitched sound, only this time it sounded angry.
"She wants to go to the park." Sasha informed him happily, and Ed glanced across to his son with a slightly exasperated expression, never truly understanding how Sasha seemed to understand Maesie's noises and inflections as if she was speaking perfect Amestrian. He nodded to the boy and then turned back to Maesie and crossed his arms over his chest. As he did so he realised where she had picked up the habit of crossing her arms and so quickly uncrossed his.
"It's almost eight-thirty, you can't go to the park." He told her.
Maesie screwed up her face, puffing out her cheeks, and made the high-pitched angry sound again, like a demented harrumph, Ed would call it, although he'd never say as much out loud.
"It's a school night." Edward told her, then remembered he was supposed to be using short, simple words to encourage her pronunciation, according to the Speech Therapist, despite the fact that Maesie understood him just fine even when he began waffling about theoretical alchemy. "Bed time."
She yelped again, face turning red from the concentrated effort of holding her breath in anguish, and her nostrils flared angrily.
Ed stared at her, and she stared right back, and Ed knew from experience that he wasn't going to win a battle of wills. He thought about the papers he still had to grade for the morning, and how if he started an argument with his youngest now he'd probably end up screaming nonsense at her until three in the morning, with the six year old sobbing uncontrollably. On the other hand, if he took them to the park they would run around for half an hour, wear themselves out and be snuggled up tight by nine-fifteen, and then he could get back to marking. Plus, it might make her forget that he had stolen her dog biscuits and had not bought her a puppy.
He could totally do this parenting thing.
"Fine," He relented. "Let's go find your coats."
Maesie instantly drew in a breath and sprinted off to find her coat, so Ed counted it as a win. Sasha looked at his dad for a long moment, and then, to Ed's utter astonishment, rolled his eyes.
"Push-over." He said in a tone of exasperation, before trailing off after his sister to find his own coat. Ed watched him go with his mouth hanging open, wondering when he'd become so soft as to take that kind of shit from a seven year old.
By the time he'd dragged himself to the front door his children were, for the first time in their lives, ready to go. Maesie was wearing her light-pink parka and some matching high-tops with white laces that she had tied herself and were a little skewed and Sasha had opted for some heavy black boots that reminded Edward of some he had owned in his childhood, and a pillar-box red winter coat.
Edward shrugged his battered old trainers on, slipped his old cream hoody over his shoulders and shoved his keys into his pocket. He opened the front door and caught both Sasha and Maesie's hands in his own as he walked them down the street to a small, fenced-in playground surrounded on all four sides by a measly patch of green and overlooked by houses in all directions. If any of the neighbours looked out and saw him taking his six and seven year old to the swings at half eight in the evening on a Tuesday, he would never hear the end of it at the school gates the next day.
He opened the gate and let his kids rush in, Sasha going straight for the slide and Maesie opting instead for the swings. Edward briefly wondered if rapidly rushing through the air directly after eating an indeterminate amount of dog biscuits would be good for her, but then decided that if she threw up it would only be dog biscuits and it was probably best to get them out of her system. He picked her up under the arms and walked around to the other side to that he could see Sasha on the slide before depositing her on the swing and getting her to hold on tight.
"Ready?" He asked. Maesie nodded. She could swing herself, in all honesty, and usually did, but Ed was hanging on to the last dregs of her baby-identity by insisting that he still push her.
Whilst he did he looked around the park, clocked Sasha running up the steps for another go on the slide, and glanced around the houses framing it on all sides. Most people had their curtains shut by that time, readying themselves down for a cold evening, but one house had the door wide open and a moving truck parked outside. Edward had been watching the house for a while, the way nosy neighbours do whenever a house in the area goes up for sale, and had noticed when a few weeks prior the sign outside had swapped from 'for sale' to 'sold'. Now every light in the house was on and there was a woman in a grey skirt and a cream turtle-neck carrying box after box through the front door with an assortment of muscled men helping her.
Then, as Ed watched, out from the front door came a new person – a man with dark hair and pale skin. He had slim shoulders and was wearing a white shirt with familiar blue trousers. Then he turned and grabbed a box from the truck, and Ed saw his face and forgot to catch the swing as Maesie came hurtling back towards him, and so was struck with the full force of the swing and his six year old daughter. Immediately, he fell flat on his ass.
"Daddy!" Sasha yelped, coming down the slide and rushing towards him. Maesie was still propelling backwards and forwards wildly, and so Ed rolled to the side, grabbed his son with his hands under the boys shoulders and swung him around so that he was out of the way of the swing. Sasha cupped Ed's face in his little hands and stared at him with concern, very far gone from the utter disdain he'd shown in the kitchen. "Are you okay?"
Maesie stilled the swing by herself and hopped down. Ed had knelt down with Sasha out of harms way of the pendulum motion of the swing, and Maesie ran over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, and then rested her forehead there. Edward wrapped his arms around them both and pulled them in for a group hug, revelling in their warmth and willingness to be held.
"Daddy's fine." He told them, just as the park gate swung open with an un-oiled creak, and their new neighbours came rushing at them.
"Are you okay? I saw you go flying." The man said, and then, as Edward looked up, the man registered who he was talking to and he took a big breath in and his breathing seemed to stop. Ed's did too, all the while cursing himself for his reaction. He let go of his children and stood so that at the very least he wasn't having to look up at his new neighbour.
"Roy." He greeted, and watched with something akin to victory as the other man clammed up and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.
He was wearing his gloves, Ed noticed, which he thought was a little odd for the time of night, but didn't give it too much thought since he had no idea what was currently going on in the man's life. Besides, Roy was still half in his uniform, so clearly hadn't been home all that long. He tried to discretely check the man out without it being obvious that he was. Roy was, as ever, ridiculously attractive, with his pale skin and dark eye-lashes and lean body. The last time Edward had actually seen him he'd still had the dredges of a bruise over his eye and a ghastly gunshot wound on his right shoulder. Now his face was back to it's former glory, and despite idly daydreaming about the man every time he'd received a chatty letter from him in the last three and half years, his imagination hadn't done the General justice. He suddenly felt very conscious of his beaten up trainers, of the wire frames on his nose, and the fact that his hair was a tangled mess, falling down his back. He tucked a strand behind his ear, and then felt stupid for doing it, and then felt more stupid for considering putting it back in front of his ear. He could at least blame any weird flush on his cheeks on the cold October weather.
Roy had moved out East. Roy had moved out East, and that information hadn't come to him in a letter – or at all – and that meant Roy was no longer interested in Ed, so Ed needed to get his flared up hormones under control. He glanced across at the lady in the grey skirt that had entered the park with Roy meaningfully, and the dark-haired man breathed out through his nose and then put an awkward hand on the woman's shoulder.
"Edward, this is Freya… Freya, Edward."
Freya put her hand out for a shake, and Edward took it numbly. There had been no additional information in that introduction, which told Edward two things – Freya was most likely Roy's girlfriend (not his wife, there wasn't a ring) and that Roy was feeling awkward about it. Ed remembered their promise from four years earlier, and suddenly felt very much on the back foot – because they had been exchanging a few letters a year since they'd last been in the same city, and Roy had never once mentioned having a significant other.
"Nice to meet you." He said to the grey-skirted lady, trying to sound polite and friendly, which he had a fair amount of practise with, being the only single dad at the school gates, and then, because Sasha was tugging on his jumper, "These are my children, Sasha and Maesie."
Sasha stuck out his hand for a handshake as well, which made Edward smirk, but Freya simply took it no problem and gave it a firm shake, bending down a little to be on his level. Maesie hid a little further behind Ed's leg. Edward kept his eyes on Roy, and the other man looked awkward and flushed by his scrutiny.
"Just moved here, huh?" He asked, and Roy nodded his head, looking anywhere but at Ed.
"I was going to write, let you know." He said, and it was such an obvious lie that Edward almost felt sorry for him. The blonde shrugged his shoulders in a move he hoped looked casual, and didn't miss how Roy's eyes honed in on the movement. Some things, it seemed, never changed. That at least had Ed feeling a bit better, knowing that at least to some degree, despite Roy clearly now being in a relationship, he was still, in a very real sense, attracted to Ed's muscles.
Ed hoped it wasn't showing on his face how glad he was that he'd never stopped his rigorous daily work-outs. Which had only become more difficult to fit in once the kids had come to live with him full-time, but at least doing push-ups with his daughter lying underneath him and kissing her tummy every time he lowered himself down made her giggle.
She wasn't giggling now though, and instead peeked out from behind his leg and pulled on his trousers material. She mumbled something intelligible and nuzzled her nose into the back of his leg, which would have been cute if she didn't have a mild cold and as such was currently running thick yellow snot from her nose, which was probably now smeared across the back of Ed's leg. He nodded, patting her head.
"Yeah, we'll go home." He told her, although he had no idea if that was what her mumbling had meant. He did know, however, that since starting school Maesie had become a painfully shy child and hated meeting new people, so she was likely wanting to escape a run-in with their new neighbours. "It's bed time."
He expected her to kick up a fuss about bed time, but she just snuggled further down into his trouser leg, and so he was forced to bend down and pick her up. The crick in his back as he did so reminded him that she wasn't tiny any more, and he wasn't a teenager any more either.
"Nice to meet you." He repeated to Freya, and shot Roy a look he hoped came across as nonchalant. "Welcome to the East."