And You Think You Have Problems

Rating: PG-13 for obvious language

•

A lazy grin spread across Ashton's lips as he leaned over slightly, watching Jean sleep. He would have thought that by now, as many times as he'd snuck in, the blonde would have actually had the sense to lock the door and window. One finger traced along Jean's jaw bone lightly. ''As pretty as you are asleep I can think of more entertaining circumstances...''

Jean murred in his sleep, trying to wave off whatever was crawling across his jaw. He curled tighter around his pillow.

Ashton just chuckled, leaning in closer. He let his tongue trace the shell of Jean's ear and tried again. ''Come on, now... I don't have all day to wait for Ed to come kick my ass for even being here... Let me enjoy it a little first...''

No one had ever accused Jean of being slow to wake up. Slow on the uptake, yes, but that was different. He somehow managed to sit bolt upright, send a flying punch in Ashton's vicinity, and scrub his ear at a near-simultaneous interval.

Ashton managed to avoid the hit – it seemed those months spent waking Ed up in a similar fashion had paid off – and he just grinned. ''Morning.''

Jean snarled and managed to launch himself in a truly impressive short-range rugby tackle that brought the both of them to the floor. Unfortunately (for Ashton, at any rate) the redhead took the brunt of the force.

Slightly dazed, Ashton blinked. That had been unexpected. Oh, right, pain, well that was nothing new, although it earned a wince and a near hiss due to the fact that he'd taken an impressive blow to the stomach from Ed just the other day. But pain of the physical kind wasn't so much to him. ''Would you have done that if Ed had pulled the same thing?''

Jean growled. His coffee maker had broken and now this silly ass had decided to wake him up from a nice, oblivious sleep. "He's smart enough to leave me alone when I'm pissed."

''You were asleep, how the hell would anybody know you were pissed?'' Ashton didn't make a move.

Jean's hands tightened painfully on Ashton's arms. "That bouncing ball of fucking lunacy that you like to call Lucifer was proclaiming very loudly earlier that my coffee maker had died," he hissed. "And it's his fucking fault that it did!"

''Want to borrow mine? I never use it now that Ed's rooming with you...'' The redhead couldn't help but grin at his own predicament, and at the way Jean hovered over him like a crazed animal. It was almost amusing.

The grin did not improve Jean's mood at all. "Get. Out," he snarled. He moved up, dragging Ashton with him.

''You know, no matter how many times you say that the result is never any different...'' Ashton, as usual, made no move to leave, prompted or not. As he'd always said before, he'd leave when he was damn well ready.

Anger sparked pure and clear in blue eyes. He grabbed Ashton's arm in a hard grip and hauled.

That look had Ashton pausing for thought. ''Ever think to ask nicely for a change?''

"I did!" was the growled answer.

'' 'Get out' is not asking nicely, Jean...''

"You never fucking pay attention to me when I do ask nicely, so what's the point?"

''Maybe it'll finally sink in?'' Ashton shrugged. ''Either way, could you please let go of my arm?''

Jean's hand just tightened and he resumed his trek to the door.

''You make yourself just as bad as me by ignoring when I ask nicely, you know...'' The redhead sighed, holding his ground despite the pain to his arm.

"Does it look like I care right now? You woke me up!" Jean's glare could rival a basilisk's for pure poison.

''Do you have any idea what that look does to me?'' Ashton nearly purred.

Jean just... stopped. He sent a glare Ashton's way, though confusion lessened its impact somewhat.

Neither of them heard the door open, and Ashton managed to free his arm, fingers brushing against Jean's cheek as he leaned in, lips briefly touching his. He closed his eyes at the sound of something falling to the floor and then glanced over. The look he saw in golden eyes could only mean one thing and he realized what he'd just played out, mentally cursing himself. It was just one more thing Ed could hate him for...

For a split second their entire surroundings had changed and Ed knew the place too well. The only difference was that now the killer had a face, and everything clicked into place. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, the look of shock on his face transforming into pure, seething hatred. ''It was you...''

Jean thumped to the floor, barely able to cope with everything. A disturbing memory had curled out of cold storage... he began to shiver uncontrollably.

''Get the fuck out of here!'' Ed hissed, pushing Ashton away from Jean and dropping to the floor to wrap his arms around the shivering man. Ashton turned and left by way of the still open door, closing it behind him. -Fucked up again, when will I ever learn to quit doing shit like that...-

"Well," Jean said gamely, trying to grin. "I guess you know now..."

''I've known him longer... I should have seen it before... That nightmare... I was too focused on you to notice that he was even there...'' Ed forced himself to get off that topic, pulling Jean closer. ''You going to be okay?''

"He didn't kill -you-," Jean reminded him faintly, face buried in Ed's shoulder.

''I know...'' was all Ed could think to say, holding Jean tight and gently stroking his hair. Jean sighed, curling closer.

''I should've seen it...'' Ed mumbled, resting his head against Jean's. ''I should kick his ass for that...''

"Don't. It's not worth it." Jean looked up, eyes hopeful. "Can you figure out how to fix the coffee machine?"

Ed smiled down at him. ''I'll see what I can do, and if I can't figure it out on my own, I'm sure there's a book that can tell me how.''

Jean hummed happily in response, but made no move to get up.

''Whenever you decide you want me to do that, then...'' The smaller blonde dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of Jean's head. ''Any other requests?''

"Mmph." Jean nuzzled Ed's neck drowsily.

''We should at least move to the bed, Jean... It'd be uncomfortable to fall asleep like this here on the floor...''

Jean gave a kittenish growl of displeasure, making a spirited crawl for his bed.

Ed sighed softly and went to help pull Jean up onto the bed. ''You silly...''

"Bastard woke me out of a sound sleep..." Jean said grouchily. He burrowed under the covers. "Wake me up at noon. I have class at two."

Ed checked his watch and set the alarm in case he dozed off reading. That aside, he crawled up alongside Jean with a book and got comfortable.

Jean shifted, wiggling over to lay snugly alongside Ed, one arm across the other man's hips and his face buried in his side.

''Sleep well...'' Ed smiled and couldn't resist ruffling Jean's hair just a bit before opening his book to where he'd left off.

•†•

Jean rested his chin on folded hands, staring levelly past the professor. There were chicken-scratch markings on the board, but he ignored the calculus. Other things were on his mind right then.

He had known for quite a while that Ashton (or Fawkes, or Deceit, or whoever the hell he had been) was the guilty party when he died.

There were other problems Jean had to deal with.

Item one: Deceit (as he should be called for clarity's sake; after all Ashton hadn't made a move to physically hurt him, which was a relief) had killed him. Twice. He remembered vaguely two fights, both of which had ended up with Jean with a bullet in his lung. So... was Ashton the same? Jean had seen the occasional flicker of insanity cross the redhead's features. But quite honestly, he wasn't sure about his own sanity.

Item two: He was beginning to remember things that... weren't exactly pleasant. War, for one. The nightmares that weren't his bothered him immensely. Well, they were his, but not. They were his in the sense that he could remember them and they touched hidden chords in his emotions, but they weren't his because he hadn't ever killed anybody.

Item three: He was remembering Things that had no connection to Ed. It was obvious that his life hadn't revolved solely around Ed. To even think that was stupid. But he knew that most of the more important events had involved Ed directly, or even indirectly.

He was also beginning to recognize – albeit vaguely – faces from his dreams. Some of them even had names now: Liza Hawkeye, Alphonse Elric, Lisa Delgardie, and other friends and acquaintances that were only halfway important.

Jean nibbled the tip of his pen. And the debacle earlier that day had not only reminded Ed of his/their deaths, but had reminded him of a shape-shifting something that was a complete and total bastard. His knees and shoulders still twinged from thinking about it.

One thing for sure: staying around Ed and Ashton was going to be utterly hair-raising.