A/N: Has it been almost a month already? Yikes...where does the time go? Well, to make up for it, watch for 'Asylum' and 'Remember When' updates in the next few days. Thanks again to my absolutely amazing reviewers/readers. You guys kick so much ass!
This one-shot could technically be considered a continuation of the last one.
I do now own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of its characters. This story is purely for entertainment purposes.
Blood and Immortality
A normal person might have been frightened by the noises floating past the Colonel's open office door. The sharp sound of bullets, of brawling, and of high, excited voices, all coming from one area, suggested that there was nothing short of a one-room war going on in there.
It was extremely indicative of the typical atmosphere of the Colonel's command that not one of his subordinates found this fact alarming, or even unusual. Nor would they have been surprised to discover that such a large amount of sound was coming from a single person of such tiny stature (although they might have ducked for cover if the word 'tiny' was ever uttered out loud).
Inside the Colonel's office, Edward Elric was doing everything but a shuffle hop to truthfully reenact the mission he'd just returned from. It was ironic that Ed willfully sucked at any sort of subterfuge, but would eagerly participate in a little improv acting in order to keep his baby brother up to date on his solo missions. Al was dutifully entertained as Ed ran around the room like a maniac, attempting to enact every role at once. Even Mustang, who wasn't really watching, because of course he had better things to do, couldn't hide his amused smirk as he observed from underneath his eyelashes.
"So we walk into this warehouse, right? And for a second they don't know who we are, and they're acting all confused. Then this big guy spots the silver chains swinging from our pockets, and suddenly everything's going to hell in a hand basket, and I'm dragging this idiot's oblivious ass behind a dumpster before these thugs blow another hole in it."
Ed dramatized their dumpster dive by spinning in some sort of graceful circle on the carpet, a circle that Mustang might have likened to a pirouette, if he didn't think Ed would punch him for the analogy.
"That's a bit far-fetched, isn't it?" he said, giving his nose an idle scratch.
"What?" Ed asked, pausing in his not-pirouette to face his superior.
"That lie that you just told." Mustang signed a document, the very picture of breezy nonchalance. "If I remember correctly, you shouted something along the lines of 'In the fight between bullets and human flesh, I SHALL PREVAIL!', and I was forced to drag you away by that ridiculous coat you wear before they could prove you wrong."
Ed reached out a heavy boot and gave Mustang's desk a single, bad-tempered kick.
"Whatever. Don't interrupt my story, Bastard."
"Hmmm. My apologies."
Ed maintained his fierce scowl for another fifteen seconds, supposedly to intimidate the Colonel into submission (Mustang had to physically fight back a snort of laughter), and then it disappeared as the blonde dove back into his storytelling with enthusiastic aplomb. He used the couch in the Colonel's office to simulate the dumpster the pair had used as an impromptu hiding place-
"What an interesting memory you have, Fullmetal. I certainly don't recall cowering at your back and begging you to protect me."
-rolled across the carpet to reenact dodging the first fresh wave of bullets-
"Oh, please, as if your attention span is large enough for that to have been your plan."
-and executed a rather impressive display of martial arts to illustrate just how he and Mustang had wrapped the bad guys up.
"What an entertaining story, Fullmetal. How unfortunate that I can't put it in the report, but then, the Furher does prefer reading actual information."
By the end of Ed's routine, Al was torn between very real concern for his brother's safety, and wanting to laugh at Mustang's continued commentary. He compromised, and allowed himself one carefully concealed snicker, before he turned to his brother, who had flopped triumphantly on the couch immediately following the completion of his performance.
"Brother," he said, letting the laughter fade and the worry creep in. "Don't you think you acted a little recklessly? You said that they had guns."
Ed gave a negligent stretch.
"Nah. The Bastard and I had it handled." The blonde bared his teeth at the older man. "Even if I did spend most of my time making sure his pasty ass didn't get blown away."
Mustang rolled his eyes without ever looking away from his paperwork.
"But Brother, what if they-"
Ed gave an impatient wiggle against the couch cushions, and bounced to his feet.
"Come on, Al!" he cried, giving his brother a playful sock on his metal arm. "This is me we're talking about, remember? It was a total snap!"
Al brought his armored hand to where Ed's knuckles had touched him.
"I guess you're right, Brother," he said, and the concern had all but vanished from his voice. "It is you. I know you'll always win."
Ed grinned.
"Right," he agreed. He gave another restless bounce, and then made a sudden dash for the office door.
"Brother?" Al called after him, confused by Ed's sudden shift in direction.
"Gotta pee!" Ed shot over his shoulder, grinning cheerfully as Mustang's subordinates in the outer office rolled their eyes at his announcement.
Ed bounced all the way to the bathroom. He continued to smile, at the personnel he passed in the hall (they eyed him with great suspicion and all but pressed against the walls to avoid his presence), at the secretaries seated at the main desk (the veteran secretary gave him a weary glance, the brand new one turned as red as a sun baked rock and giggled into her sleeve), and at the man exiting the bathroom before him (the man swallowed hard as he realized just who was grinning at him, and held the door politely). Ed smiled, continued to smile, until the door was locked at his back.
And then he proceeded to fall apart.
All the energy he'd used on bouncing, and smiling, and giving Al an impassioned performance, suddenly shifted, turned into the reaction he'd been fighting for hours now. His hands, flesh and automail alike, wrapped themselves around his upper arms, his back hunched, forcing his forehead towards his knees, and his body began to quiver. Hard, desperate, adrenaline-soaked shakes that he was helpless to stop now that they were loose.
There was a bullet hole in the back of his coat.
He'd fixed it, of course, as soon as he'd noticed. It would have caused Al nothing but panic and pain to see it. But fixing the fabric didn't change the fact that some nameless thug had come dangerously close to taking Ed away from Al. For good, this time.
He'd known, of course he'd known, that along with the perks of joining the military came some potentially deadly drawbacks. If the Furher decided to yank his leash, he had no choice but to play the obedient puppy, and follow. That didn't stop the hot fingers of panic from clawing at his throat. It didn't change the fact that one bad mission, one simple misstep, could be the thing to finally force the brothers apart.
At the thought of Al, alone and lost and forever stuck inside an armored body, the shivers coursing through Ed's body became violent, all but ripping him apart. Unable to stand against them, he sank slowly to the floor, bracing his back against the door and resting his forehead on his knees.
Ed gritted his teeth, and struggled not to heave all over his boots. Hot waves of sick lingered at the back of his throat. His body was still quivering, quick and vicious shudders. He hated this. He hated the fact that this reaction was completely beyond his control, and that it was becoming more and more common with every mission he went on. He ground his forehead against his knees, and fought to breathe, to calm, to keep himself from breaking apart.
He couldn't. He couldn't leave Al alone. He was his brother's only hope, and so dying was simply not an option.
It is you. I know you'll always win.
Ed didn't want to live forever. But for now, he had to be immortal for his brother's sake.
….
Ed bounced back to the Colonel's office a short time later. He was beaming smiles again, but they faded a little once he entered the room, and realized that it was missing a certain seven-foot tall occupant.
"Hey, Bastard," he said, shooting a baffled look at Mustang, who was now in the outer office and leaning against Hawkeye's desk. "Where's Al?"
"Breda sent him to the Mess, since Al can bring back the most snacks in one trip," Havoc said. He shifted in his chair, his green eyes losing the light of laughter. "You okay there, Boss?"
Ed was about to ask what he meant, to brush off Havoc's concern with a laugh and a smile and a bounce. But then he noticed that every single set of eyes in the office was regarding him solemnly. The weight of their stares stopped Ed's bouncing, and put him firmly on his feet again.
He could read it on their faces, plain as day. They all knew exactly what had happened inside that bathroom.
Crap. Oh, crap. What if they told Al? He'd be so worried, so upset. They couldn't do this, they couldn't. How were they supposed to move forward when-
A hand appeared in front of Edward's face, brandishing a white handkerchief. Ed blinked at it, his mental train effectively derailed.
"Sir," Hawkeye said quietly.
Edward took the white cloth. After a moment of hesitant confusion, he wiped it experimentally across his face. The cloth came back wet and red.
Oh, damn. In his quest to quell his shivers, he'd bitten his tongue again, enough to dribble blood on his chin.
If Al had been in the office when he'd come back…if he'd seen the stain on Edward's chin…
Ed buried his face in the handkerchief again to hide his suddenly widened eyes. He scrubbed the cloth vigorously across his skin, and refused to acknowledge that he was suddenly wiping away wetness other than blood.
The sound of heavy, crashing footsteps filled the hallway, and the handkerchief suddenly disappeared from Ed's hands. He blinked as Hawkeye tucked it away with unruffled and efficient hands, as Havoc and Breda lapsed into an easy, everyday argument, as Fuery busied himself at the switchboard, as Falman turned his attention back to paperwork.
"Better put your smile back on," Roy suggested. He was smirking, but his eyes were dark with knowledge. With understanding.
By the time Al bounced back into the room, his heavy arms stuffed with snacks, Ed's smile had not only returned, but had actually brightened into something sort of genuine.