Thanks for your reviews. They make me happy… it's a sad sad world. I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Brynn

Chapter 3: Party

"I brought him to you; that is a worse punishent than simply killing him."

Mustang takes it in stride; it might have worked for the first fifty times, but not anymore. It's alright with me; I don't insult him to hurt him. I insult him to make him remember who I am, and to make me feel better about it. It does work… a little.

"Yes, considering that he undertook an uncomfortable day-long train ride packed in your suitcase."

I suppressed the feral grin I felt was creeping on my face. Peripherally I noticed the man standing up and moving, but I don't pay him any attention right now. I contemplate Gutierrez. I wanted Gutierrez to suffer. To suffer badly. I want him to be eaten by his own conscience. It's pity there is no God, because I would wish the Hell upon people like Gutierrez.

If there is something that I do hate – this time I mean really hate, in the original meaning of that word – it is people who deilberately hurt children. I can't stand them. I could kill them, but I have ascertained on numerous occasions that I cannot kill. I simply am not capable of that.

I value life too much. It's shadow is worth one and half a body.

"You said they only took some organs to transplate to other children. That it's illegal," I'm saying quietly. There is a low thud as Mustang shuts the window and then a rustle as he closes the curtains. The room goes dark. The acting can be ceded. For a little, little while.

"It is," the Colonel says and I feel my eyes well as, unbidden, the images of what I saw come back to my mind. These are the harsher things down the path that I chose.

"Well, there was no stealing organs."

Mustang's face fell, I could tell just by the complete lack of sound. The time stilled; the room is suddenly a bubble out of it, with the two of us imprisoned in an everlasting moment. I don't see anything but a grey blur. He doesn't breath. How is it possible? How can a human stop breathing for a while just like that?

I do breath. It comes out as a quiet ragged sound, disturbing the silence, and I feel a bare – gloveless – hand on my jaw. I expect it to jerk, but it doesn't. It rather geently forces me to look into Mustang's face, and the man isn't smirking or raising eyebrows or spitting insults that don't cut. He's earnest and… maybe a little worried. I like his eyes like this. Earnest and deep and dark and pained.

"They arranged a supposed illness and death, took the child into hospital, had a doctor fill all the papers and dismantled it."

He gulps and the hand on my jaw quivers slightly; I know he's fighting his stomach right now. I know he will win, but that's not the point. The point is that someone used an alive innocent human being as a jigsaw.

"Edward-"

"Save it. I don't need patronising. I need a shower."

But the truth is that I don't want to go back to our living quarters. The shower is there, waiting for me, sure, but so is Al and the duty to act cheerful after a well done routine inspection. I want to stay in my bubble. Even if it is with Mustang.

He retrieves his hand and rubs his temples. I haven't seen him doing this before – he must be also tired to react this badly. Or he's going to have a migraine.

"You are on duty tonight, Hagane," he says feigning indifference. I stopped myself just as I was about to open my mouth to protest. I'm not going to argue. This it… the only thing he can do for me and he is doing it for me. I don't want to be grateful, but I am. Al will understand, and if I insert a few comments about Mustang's remarks to my height, he won't worry.

"Do not waste that time – I want you to do some resear-"

"Paperwork," I cut in. I don't want to go to the library. I can write the rest of my report here just as well. And Mustang is rushing off on a date anyway.

As if to confirm that, he looks at the watch again and shrugs.

"How many regulations did you break during the mission, Hagane?"

Biting absently into my left thumb, I count.

"At least thirteen different, at forty-seven ocassions." No point pretending I didn't. He knows anyway, with Hughes constantly stepping on our heels. I was reduced to humouring him with the precise count instead. It seems to be a pet-project of his.

"One more won't hurt all that much, then. And you can't use it as black-mail." Well, his pet-project does have useful (for him) side-effects. But you don't get to see the Colonel Roy Mustang encouraging breaking rules often.

"Do you drink wine?"

A

Alphonse is planning a fucking party.

I don't want a party. I like when Winry comes for a while, but I don't like being dragged on endless shopping trips and having to spend all our money on little (and not so little) presents for her. I don't like having to constantly be Edo-kun when I feel like Hagane.

I asked to be assigned on a mission, but Alphonse had gone to Mustang as first and already made sure that I would have a free weekend to 'properly celebrate'… since when does Alphonse use words like 'properly'? Ah… since always.

He's beaming at me and I have become a mirror, beaming at him.

"Sure, Al. I'd love to."

Since when do I say 'I'd love to'? But Al doesn't notice. He's already buying party-hats in his head. His eyes are shining and I don't know why, I'm smiling. He's happy.

"So, what do you want me to prepare?"

"Nothing! It's your party, brother! We will take care of everything!"

Who is 'we'?

A

I should have known, Colonel bloody Mustang, the second you said I'm on vacation.

But I never took you for a party person. For whatever reason you are here (like that a certain Maes Hughes forced you), I absolutely refuse to be fooled by your 'couldn't miss my subordinate's birthday' sorry excuse. You missed my last two birthdays and you couldn't be bothered.

But… Colonel Mustang has brought a bottle, and I have a very good idea what's in it. I'm sort of looking forward to when I find a while on my own, get lost, and… bluntly, get drunk. The world is like… million times nicer when you are drunk. Sometimes. Or million times uglier. I don't do this often – I've been drunk three times in my life, and it is two to one for the first option. I like it and it scares me.

"Brother-"

I'm looking up into a pair of shining eyes. I smile. Al is handing me a knife and I'm supposed to go and slice the cake.

I do it. I put a triangular piece on each nice white plate. They are Hughes'. This is their place. And it's got a familial atmosphere that I can't seem to fit in. All three of them get a piece, even Elysia-chan, who is still too little, or she would have gotten a cake on her own. She got a pile of presents, though.

The guests pass by and I barely notice the faces. Gracia and Elysia, Maes, Riza, Winry, Jean, someone unknown (result of having a joint party with Elysia-chan), Cain, another unknown… Al's standing next to me all the time, handing me empty plates. He won't eat. My fault.

It takes a while and when I'm finally holding the last two pieces in my hands, Maes has finished eating and does the usual – as soon as his mouth is empty he talks about Elysia. Having her here and her being the birthday girl causes her to become the centre of everybody's attention virtually anon. I'm glad. It means they'll leave me alone. Relatively alone.

"You don't like cake, Colonel?"

I flip down in the corner, obscured from the rests of the guests by an armchair occupied by Mustang, his knees, and a rododendron. It's just because I'm so small… it happens rarely, but I do enjoy being small sometimes.

"On the contrary," he says and smiles at someone I can't see. It goes two-ways, this hiding. Sheesh… I'm hiding.

"Let me guess; you have to watch your line."

He raises an eyebrow.

"As opposed to you, who has two helpings just for yourself."

Or one for me and one for you, if you got your head out of your arse and admitted you want it. Maybe I feel beneficial, since it's my birthday, too, because I drop the second plate into Mustang's lap. He gives me a scowl, but he doesn't mean it. Must be the atmosphere.

It's choking me. I'll have to escape soon.

"The cake is delicious, Gracia," Mustang says and I duck a bit lower. She doesn't notice me, laughs, says a few phrases and moves to the next stop on the circular tour of her living room.

The air is filled with sounds and smells and the people are so happy that it clenches my heart. The pressure gets worse.

I stand up, offering to take Mustang's empty plate. He gives it to me. At least he's not unnaturally cheerful. I plast a smile on my face and go to the kitchen, dump the two plates on the counter, and sneak – unnoticed – to the door.

"I'm going for a walk!" I call to everyone, but only Al seems to have noticed. He starts saying something, but I'm already outside.

The day is dreary, bleak, rainy and whatever other words there are to describe weather unfit for people to walk into. I don't give a damn. The tiny drops falling on my face are vexatious, but I don't care. I walk on… I'm already near the corner when I hear a door slamming and turn back.

Screw unnoticed. I knew he watches everything. I knew he listens. I knew he knows me.

What made me think that… oh, damn.

I walk on, rather quickly. It's a question of determination now. I'm not too determined to escape, if he's more determined to catch me, he will. I don't mind. He can talk to me. I can talk to him… well, as long as nobody's watching.

I have walked into some kind of park when he falls into stride next to me. I don't bother to smirk. He knows I don't feel like it ayway. I won't acknowledge him.

He catches my elbow and that's it.

"Ne, Colonel Bastard, what made you chase the escaped guest?"

He does not smirk. Why? Why does he not mock me? He doesn't answer, but his eyes stray to the leather bag he sometimes carries with him.

"Fine. Don't say."

I turn away and set out. Once again it's a matter of determination. It's not a game, so nobody wins and nobody loses, but it's his hand that catches my elbow again, in the middle of a small stone bridge. It might have been kind of a romantic site, but there are crows gathered around. I don't like them. They remind me of battlefields. And they like eyes. I need my eyes yet.

"What made the guest escape in the first place?"

"I don't want to play," I say, perfectly aware how uncharacteristical the statement is.

"You're depressed, Hagane. Worse than usually."

I stubbornly shake my head and try to break free, but damn Mustang is strong. He does not look it, but he is.

"Do you wish for another night on duty?"

I shake my head again. He leers, but not the usual way, there is something cruel in his eyes; he's going to be cruel to me – to a child. Strange. When it's me, I don't mind. I don't care.

"You're assigned to be my escort for the next twelve hours. Too bad – I'm tired and don't want to return to the party…"

He goes on and expects me to follow. I don't.

On the next juncture he stops and turns around.

"Don't be an ass, Hagane."

I notice how uncharacteristical that is for him. He… He's giving me a present. All I can do is accept. But I won't run.

I walk, following him through the City like an undersized shadow.