Here we go, chapter six!
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Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Chapter Six
They got inside and Ed wasn't really sure what he had expected the house to be like. He had to say that the house seemed kind of sad, he guessed. There weren't any pictures lining the dark blue walls. All in all it looked kind of empty. As if it was waiting for someone to move in and claim the house for their own.
"How long have you lived here?" Ed found himself asking.
"For about five years, why do you ask?"
"It hardly looks like someone lives here."
"Well, it's got all we need, so make yourselves at home. The guest bedroom is upstairs, first door on the left."
"And where's the library?"
"In the cellar. I'll show you."
Ed followed the man over to a door in the middle of the hallway. Mustang opened up the door and flicked a switch. "Just be careful with the stairs and do not pick up my research journals, although I highly doubt that you'll be able to understand what they say anyway. So basically, everything from the bookshelves are fine, anything else is off limits. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good, I'll begin preparing dinner."
Ed went gingerly down the staircase, before he came upon a large number of bookshelves. They were stacked with volumes upon volumes of alchemy tomes. Ed picked up a random one just to have a place to start. Then he lay himself down on his stomach on the couch, reading about 150 pages when someone suddenly gripped his right ankle, startling Ed something badly, which resulted in his back aching like hell.
"Dinner," Mustang said.
"Dammit, Colonel!"
"You know, I've been standing here for at least a minute, calling your name. You didn't hear me and I want to eat while the food is still hot."
"You got a bookmark somewhere?"
The man sighed and moved away while Ed carefully sat himself up, cringing with the pain from his back. Fifteen seconds later Ed was handed a bookmark which he placed inside the book and then closed it.
Mustang eyed the book curiously.
"What?" Ed asked, annoyed.
"How many pages did you read?"
"About a-hundred-and-fifty."
"You read a-hundred-and-fifty pages in thirty minutes?"
"Guess so."
"You really are a prodigy, aren't you?" Mustang said with a sigh.
"Yup. But now: dinner."
And so Ed led the way up the stairs and followed his nose until he was inside the kitchen.
Looking around, Ed realised one thing. "Where's Al?"
"He said he wanted to take a walk to get to know the area."
"Oh."
Mustang placed a bowl in front of him, filled to the brim with stew. Ed had to say that even though Mom's would always be the best, it seemed that Roy Mustang was able to make a quite good one too. Ed ate with gusto, swallowing the stew in great gulps.
"I'll get you some more," Mustang said, filling his bowl again. "I suppose this means that you appreciate my cooking?"
"Don't get too full of yourself quite yet. It's only one meal after all."
"So good to feel appreciated," Mustang said sarcastically.
"So how are things gonna work with redressing my back and stuff?"
"We'll keep the doctor's schedule and change them in the mornings before we go to work. I suggest that to save some time that you shower in the evenings."
"I always do that. It takes a lot of time to dry off the automail."
"Right. I guess that you're going to need help with that too?"
Ed groaned. "Guess so," he mumbled. "But I shower and put on my boxers myself!" he suddenly added after a moment of horrifying mental images.
Mustang blinked twice, obviously just as horrified. "Believe me, I have no trouble with that."
"Good."
"Good indeed."
They shivered simultaneously.
"So, where's the bathroom?" Ed asked when he was done eating.
"Upstairs, second door on the right. Shout when you need help."
"You make me sound like a fucking kid, you know."
"I must be allowed to have some fun, now, don't I?"
"Smug bastard."
"As always."
Ed grunted and then headed upstairs.
He sat down in the tub, cringing as his back brushed against the side of the tub. When he was done gingerly washing himself, he got out and bit his lip as he pulled on his boxers. "ALRIGHT, COLONEL!"
Ed just wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground somewhere and forget that he ever had to do this.
Damn you, Schiff!
The man came in, surveying him slightly. "So do we wash your hair or dry off the automail first?"
"Automail first, better not let it rust."
"Alright." Mustang grabbed a clean towel and began drying the rest of him first before directing Ed to sit down on the lid of the toilet.
This felt freaking weird. He hadn't had anyone drying him off ever since Mom died. That's nine years ago now.
"So, how do I dry this thing?" Mustang said, kneeling down in front of his leg.
"Basically just make sure that every visible part of it gets dried completely."
And so he set to work and Ed had to say that if someone attacked him with a hammer and gave him amnesia, he would be happy indeed. He was familiar with the bastard Colonel. He had known him for two years now, but Roy Mustang outside the office? He had no idea how to act around him. Especially when he was looking after Ed as though he was a child.
Is that what I've been reduced to by this?
Then Ed began laughing loudly.
"What's so funny?"
"I think Schiff's failing pretty miserably. He's trying to harden me into a soldier, but instead he's making me into a fucking child that needs help to dry off his automail! I don't really think he was counting on you looking after your team despite me not officially being on it!"
"So this is fighting the system, is that what you're saying?"
"Yeah. But what he doesn't seem to get is that I'm not a child and I'm not a soldier, and I'm most definitely not his fucking subordinate! I'm Edward Elric, and all I am is Al's big brother! And so he won't break me, because I'm not in this for me in the first place! He can give me hell, but he can't touch Al, which makes me fucking invincible!"
Ed could have sworn that Mustang smiled for a brief moment.
"Keep thinking that way, but please don't give Schiff any more shiners. You don't need him to torture you more than necessary."
"But you have to say that it fit him, don't you?"
"Honestly, yes, but that's not the point. Don't let him provoke you. He's going to continue punishing you until he gets you to follow him out of fear."
"As if I'd ever fear that bastard!"
"That's the problem right there. Because he won't be able to break you, he will try to make your life hell until you do as you're told. You don't need that."
"Colonel, I almost lost it after a fucking day in that office. I need something to hold on to if I'm supposed to actually stay in there." Ed had spoken without thinking. he did not want to seem weak in front of the Colonel, but he also wanted him to stop telling him to behave.
"What's the problem?" Mustang sounded concerned.
"The rest of the team, they scare me, I guess. They will hardly talk, and when they do it's only to discuss tasks or whatever. They salute me because I have a higher rank than them. They're so stiff I almost think they'll break each time they stand up from their desks. They're fucking mindless dolls!"
"It can't be that bad?"
"Trust me, Colonel, it is. There's more life in a funeral home. And he wants me to do paperwork. When he hit my hand so that I couldn't write he found me a fucking typewriter. Being insubordinate is the only way I actually feel like me in that office." Ed suddenly grinned. "And it felt fucking great to hit him."
Mustang just grunted. "Well, I think your leg is done at least." He stood up and moved over to Ed's arm instead.
"How the hell do you actually manage to speak with officers like that?"
"Long training. And I have a goal that's keeping me going."
"You really want to be Führer that badly?"
"I want to change this country."
"All I heard is that you want to force all female workers to wear miniskirts. That's not a real goal, more of a sick fantasy. A sick fantasy that's gonna get you shot before you know it."
"I wouldn't be shot, I have Hawkeye looking out for me."
"Who do you think would shoot you?"
Mustang paused. "That's a valid point. I guess I will have to make certain exceptions."
"Sounds like a good idea, Colonel." Ed rolled his eyes. "You really are a womanising bastard."
"So you keep telling me."
"I'm trying to make you face reality."
Mustang grunted. "You know, you really should be a bit more polite, I am helping you after all."
"Don't you start that too, I've got enough with Schiff. Or are you too gonna hit me if I keep talking this way to you?" Ed said mockingly.
Mustang, however, stopped drying his arm and spoke with barely suppressed anger. "I don't hit my subordinates. And I especially don't flog children."
Ed was taken aback by the man's fierceness as he said it. He found some comfort in it, he supposed.
"Sounds like a good rule, you keep that one when you're Führer, and the military is going to be a better place." Ed spoke in a much more serious tone than necessary just to tease the man.
"Right, now's the hair. I suggest you lean over the bathtub."
"Yes, Sir," Ed said, mocking him. He kneeled down in front of the tub, removing the scrunchie from his plait. Hawkeye had been kind enough to do it for him now these last few days.
He leaned his head over the edge, letting his hair fall down in front of him, while Mustang picked up the showerhead. As he made sure that the temperature was right, he brought it over Ed's head, and he had to say that the man may be good at flame alchemy, but he was certainly no hairdresser. Ed had never got so much soap and water into his face ever in his life, but he didn't say anything about it. He couldn't really see how the man would actually have any experience with washing hair.
Ed just hoped he'd get better at it because he'd rather not get drowned once a day for the next two weeks.