A/N: What is this? I have no idea. Blame my muse.
VI. The Gods of War and Glory
The clock had been striking Christmas for the last two hours, and still a small group lingered at the Eve party. Needless to say, Christmas was feeling rather jealous that Eve was still getting points.
It had not been much of party. Farman, Fury, Havoc, Ross had poked her head in but had the decency to leave before things became embarrassing. It was now very late, or very early, and most of the party goers had become party leavers. A sleeping Alicia Hughes was curled against her mother, who was sitting by the door. Gracia had been tapping her foot, but that was nearly thirty minutes ago. Lisa Hawkeye had now taken up Mrs. Hughes' post and was tapping away, her arms crossed over her chest as she stood by the door. Had she been feeling a little more insubordinate, she would have seized her superior by the collar and dragged him home, but it was, after all, the season of giving. And he looked like he was enjoying himself, which was just rare enough for her to let it slide.
Major Maes Hughes sat on a table in the break room, kicking his feet lazily. To his left, mimicking him unconsciously, was Roy Mustang, and leaning against a nearby counter top was Lieutenant Havoc, having lingered past the others with the excuse of driving Colonel Mustang home. However, he remained even after the prospect of driving was out of the question.
Lounging darkly on a bench against the wall, close enough to the raucous to be part of the party but far enough away to not be part of the raucous, was Edward Elric; meaning, the bench was occupied by Edward and his disproportionate shadow, a large suit of armor. Tucked on the bench next to elder Elric was a dozing young woman who was trying not to lean on Edward's shoulder. It had been made very clear back before it was Christmas that, for the record, this young woman was not Edward's girlfriend. Not. Not not not.
The life of the party, it seemed, was sitting on the counter top, observing the merriment detachedly, his infectious amber smile having caught on very quickly. Jack Daniels was his name, and he was pleased to see that the damage had been done. Thanks to him, everyone was having a grand old time… well, almost everyone.
At first, the cider had been gingerly spiked, but as the hours wore on, rations became less ginger and more liberal. Soon, the cider was forgotten.
"Don't you think you kids should be heading home?" Hughes asked of the collective Edward Elric, trying his hardest not to slur his words.
Edward belched. "Gimme a minute," he muttered. He then tossed his arm over the back of the bench and slumped forward.
"Hmm," Hughes murmured. "Maybe we shouldn't'a let him drink."
Mustang shrugged. "Let this be a learning experience for you, Fullmetal." He waved a finger in Edward's direction. "Drinking…" he paused rather dramatically. "Makes you drunk." Mustang nodded, pleased with his advice.
Havoc snorted while he was downing the last of his drink and began to cough.
"Thanks," muttered Edward.
"Thanks what?" Mustang turned an ear to the boy and waited.
Edward belched again. "I think I'm gonna be sick." He flopped to the side and leaned his head against Winry's shoulder. She eeped and suddenly seemed very awake.
"Exactly," replied Mustang, sounding satisfied.
From the door, a very sharp clearing of the throat was heard. All half-lidded eyes drifted toward the source: two rather irate looking women. Which one had cleared her throat was unclear.
"Sir," Hawkeye began tightly. "Don't you think you've had enough?"
"Ha ha! Perhaps by your meager standards!"
"Do you ever wish," Hughes interrupted, looking down into his glass wistfully. "Do you ever wish you were an alchemist?"
Mustang paused. His expression softened. He now appeared philosophical, a phenomenon only occurring when alcohol was involved. "Yeah."
"Honey." Gracia stood up and came to stand next to her husband. The term of endearment lacked any endearment. "This is ridiculous. We need to go home now."
Mustang began to laugh. "No, no, no," he said, interrupting no one in particular. "I've got your name, Maes." He paused to laugh before clapping his companion on the shoulder. "You're the Sleeping on the Couch Alchemist."
Hughes smirked. "It's better than the Sleeping Alone Anyway Alchemist." He elbowed Mustang who proceeded to frown and mellow considerably. Havoc guffawed.
"Brother," a small voice said from within the large suit of armor by the wall. "I want to go, too."
"Gimme a minute," was Edward's reply. He remained slouched against Winry.
"Maes," Gracia growled, successfully straightening her husband's posture. "Now."
"Gimme a minute," Edward repeated.
"I suppose," Hughes conceded. "But one last toast!" He raised his nearly empty glass. Mustang and Havoc joined him. Edward managed to lift his glass a few inches above his knee. Hughes cleared his throat. "To the gods of War and Glory that have brought us this far!" he declared triumphantly.
Mustang scoffed. "The god of War," he grumbled. "Brilliant Christmas toast, Maes. Why don't we toast the god of Rape while we're at it?"
"To the god of Rape!" cried Havoc, his eye very nearly closed. He began to laugh. "To the god of Plundering! Mer' Christmas!" He threw back his drink and promptly refilled it.
"To the god of Sacking!" chimed Hughes.
"The god of Ransacking!" Havoc added.
"To the god of Human Suffering!"
"To the god of Pillaging!"
"That's enough Maes. You've made your toast," interjected Gracia.
Mustang seemed to brighten in the light of this new game. "To the god of Money Laundering."
Havoc laughed and offered, "To the god of Public Indecency!"
"To the god of Public Drunkenness!" cried Hughes.
Hawkeye rubbed her eyes and forehead, where a headache was blooming with holiday joy.
Mustang thought for a moment, "To the god of Jay Walking!"
"To the god of Overdue Library Books," said Hughes, earning unimpressed expression from both Mustang and Havoc.
"Please," Mustang muttered. "Library books?"
Hughes shrugged. "You do better."
Again, Mustang pondered. His eyes landed on the Elric brothers, and he raised his glass with renewed vigor. "To the god of Childhood Trauma!"
"To the god of Adulthood Trauma!" exclaimed Havoc.
"To the god of Untimely Death!"
"The god of Death in General!"
"The god of War!"
"We already said that one."
"Oh, right. To the god of Excessive Drinking!"
"The god of Vice!"
"The god of Lust!"
"The god of Brothels!"
"MAES!"
"To Poverty!"
"To Pestilence!"
"To Obloquy!"
"To the god of Idiots and Hangovers," muttered Hawkeye.
Mustang waved his glass at her. "That's the spirit!" He turned to the children. "Fullmetal. Give us a toast," he commanded.
Edward looked up, his eyes drifting in different directions. He wavered for a moment before lifting his glass in the direction of his superiors. "Happy birthday, Jesus," he slurred.
"Happy birthday, Jesus!" chorused the others. There was the chiming sound of glasses clinking together followed by a long, collective swig. Winry slipped the glass out of Edward's hand before he could pour it down the front of his shirt.
"Wait a second," Hughes said, looking off for a moment as though trying to recall something. "I'm Jewish."
Mustang was pushed. Hughes was dragged. Edward was carried. Havoc… found his own was home. In the yellow light of the streetlamps, they all parted ways with lazy goodbyes and weary well wishes and silent promises to never mention the gods of War and Glory again.
Winry was not allowed into the barracks, so she and Alphonse carried Edward as far as she could go. They stopped at the entrance to the wing and swapped the inebriated alchemist over to his brother.
"Good night, Al… Ed," Winry said. Her crestfallen cadence was masked very well by her exhaustion, and she was grateful.
"Good night, Winry," Alphonse replied, shifting his brother slightly. He had to lean forward awkwardly to handle the boy.
"G'night, Winry," Edward muttered.
"I'll see you guys tomorrow," she offered.
Edward corrected her. "Later t'day."
Winry smiled. "Right, later today. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
Walking away, Winry noticed that she still had on Edward's coat. From one pool of lamplight to another, she hurried through the sleepy streets of East City. Winry decided, as she trudged back to her hotel, that Christmas was just another day, a span of twenty-four hours like any other. There was no reason to feel disappointed, no reason at all.
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Another A/N: (Sorry. I hate these things, too.) The last chapter was a bit of an experiment. If anyone has feedback on it, I would love to hear it.