Roy propped his elbow on his desk and cradled his head in his hand, trying to massage away the headache growing behind his left eye.
He was just about at his wit's end and still had no idea what he was going to do.
"Sir?"
He glanced up between a veil of fingers to see Hawkeye standing at the door, a stack of paperwork tucked under one arm. He suppressed a groan as she walked in and deposited the load on his desk.
"For me? You shouldn't have," he said with a weary sigh, sliding it over to add to the pile of work he'd accurately labeled 'Things That Will Never Get Done in His Lifetime.'
She didn't dignify that with a response. "You seem especially unproductive today, sir," she commented with thinly veiled displeasure, eyes drifting to the aforementioned pile. Three months ago it had only taken up a small corner of his desk, but as of late, it had grown, slowly eating away at his work area like spreading mold, growing and mutating into an unconquerable beast.
If he were being honest, he preferred mold.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with those boys, Hawkeye," he muttered, closing his eyes. "They have to be out of the dorms by tomorrow, but where else can they go? They need people to look out for them, so they need to be here in Central or back in Resembool. I could send them home, but they don't have the health professionals Ed needs right now."
"Even if he has no intentions of seeing any more?" the Lieutenant asked with a wry smile.
Roy scowled. "He's going to see one whether he likes it or not. But for that, he needs to be here in Central. They can't get an apartment or a house. The only reason I let them stay in the dorms was because Feury and Fallman were right down the hall."
"Then I guess you have no choice," she commented, turning to leave. "They'll just have to stay with you."
Roy blanched.
She walked out the door.
"Wait a minute!" he called, scrambling from his desk and stalking to the front office. "I can't do that!"
His whole team looked up at him with various expressions of surprise. Hawkeye ignored him and took her seat at her desk.
"Can't do what?" Havoc asked, kicking back in his chair, willing to take any excuse to not do his work.
"I can't take those boys in my house!" Roy protested, crossing his arms to give Hawkeye a challenging look. Since she was practically ignoring him, though, he turned his attention to the rest of his crew. "She thinks I can just take them in!"
Havoc and Breda frowned. Fallman looked contemplative, and Feury just looked like he'd rather not have this conversation.
Breda leaned over his desk to prop his head on his hands. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, why not?"
Roy's eyes widened. Why not?! Did no one else see the imminent disaster in that plan? "Because! Because they're . . . and I'm . . . I can't. . ."
"What he's trying to say," Hawkeye said absently, frowning at a document she was currently perusing, "is that he doesn't have a good reason."
"Don't put words in my mouth, Lieutenant!" he huffed, hands clenching. And she was still ignoring him! Fine, then. He turned back to the men around him. Surely they would understand. "Edward hates me on the best of days. And he's a complete brat. We'll probably kill one another by the end of the week!"
Havoc gave him a bored look, picking up an unlit, half-chewed cigarette from his desk and placing it between his lips. "That's your reason?"
Roy blinked. "What more reason do I need? He's not even my responsibility anymore!" he said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. What a cruel, heartless thing to say. As if he weren't directly responsible for Ed being in the military. As if he didn't send the boy on a mission far too close to Drachma for a boy's safety. As if he weren't indirectly responsible for Ed's state. "I can't," he insisted, voice a bit weaker this time. He forced some steel into it. "I just can't!"
"Well, sir," Feury mumbled shyly from around his radio, "if they didn't stay with you, where else could they go?"
"I don't know!" he said, now completely exasperated. Feury visibly cowered from his obvious frustration, but Roy didn't bother to soften his tone. "That's why I put my team on it, but so far you've turned up less than nothing!"
Havoc and Breda looked completely unabashed. Hawkeye and Falman had returned to their paperwork. Feury looked like he was trying to sink under his desk.
A load of help they were.
"Well, since there's obviously no other option," Havoc said around his cancer stick, "Maybe you should just take them in until you can figure something else out."
Roy's jaw worked up and down for a moment. "But I can't—"
"Yeah, it's not like they have to stay with you forever, right?" Breda asked, smiling wryly. "Just until Ed gets back on his feet, so to speak. Then they'll be out of your hair."
"But Ed will—"
"Alphonse will make sure Ed doesn't kill you," Havoc supplied helpfully.
"Sir. Just for a little while," Hawkeye said, finally looking up at him with a soft smile.
Roy looked around the room. They all exchanged knowing looks.
"You knew this from the beginning. You knew this would happen," he said accusingly, feeling somewhat miffed and a bit betrayed.
Hawkeye turned back to her paperwork and told him, "Of course, sir. It was inevitable."
He scowled. He hated how they could always see things he couldn't.
But maybe that's why he put them on his team. Someone had to cover his blind spots. And where the Elrics were concerned, Roy had plenty of those.
With a scowl and a defeated sigh, Roy spun on his heel and marched back into his office, slamming the door shut.
If he was going to move the Elrics into his home tomorrow, he had some preparations to make.
Al sighed in exasperation. "Are you honestly going to argue about this?" he asked, gathering the small stack of clothing from the dresser and neatly packing it in their suitcase.
Ed scowled from his seat on the ground against the wall, his preferred spot next to being at Al's side. "I don't want to be in that Idiot Colonel's house. We don't need his help."
This had been Ed's excuse ever since Al had proposed it. He claimed it was because it was completely unnecessary and the Colonel was a pain, but Al knew there was more to it than that.
Before the whole incident, Ed used to be very easy going. He didn't mind dropping the day's plans to go sit in the park and read, or following Al to the market to window shop, if Al could drag him from the library. He wasn't dependent on anyone's schedule but his own, and was very flexible with it.
Now, though, all that had changed. He had no perception of night or day or the passage of time, so he relied heavily on Alphonse telling him when he was supposed to do things, like eat and shower and dress, and he had become almost addicted to the routine and order. Though he tried to hide it, Al noticed that any minor change caused him an undue amount of stress, so Alphonse did his best to eliminate any and all surprises that he could.
In the wake of his discharge, though, all predictability was on the verge of being torn apart. Since Ed had found out he would have to leave the dorm, he was becoming more and more anxious, fear of not knowing where they would be in three days slowly eating away at him. Alphonse hated that. After all the uncertainty and the fear of being blind and what lead to it, now he had this to go through.
They had discussed renting an apartment on the cheaper side of town, now that their income had been reduced to almost nothing, but that terrified Al. Sure they needed some more time to figure out what they were going to do now and to tie up some lose ends in Central (and, though Ed denied it, more medical treatment) but that side of town was dangerous, and with Ed in his current state, Al wasn't sure it was a good idea. He would never want to leave his brother alone for more than a moment, and he didn't trust himself to do all of the right things.
They had been taking care of each other for years, in their own way, but Ed was the protector. He was the strong one, the one that made the big decisions and spurred them forward. No matter how discouraging the world became or how bleak the future looked, he was the burning beacon, the light that lead them on.
But things were different now. Ed was different now. For the third time, Al felt like their world had been ripped apart.
And, if he were truly being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if they would make it this time.
He felt out of his league, drowning under the flood of responsibilities he wasn't equipped to handle. He had no idea what he was doing, and he was scared.
So when the Colonel called the day before with the proposition to have them stay with him for a while, Alphonse didn't even bother consulting with Ed. He jumped at the opportunity, eagerly and wholeheartedly, almost melting with relief. Just the thought of a capable adult taking charge took a load off his shoulders. It meant he didn't have to take care of Ed by himself.
It meant that Ed wouldn't have to be alone when Al left to find a way to heal him.
"Brother, it's cheaper than getting an apartment," Alphonse pointed out, clearing out the last drawer and moving on to the book shelf. "We don't have a lot of money at our disposal right now."
"I have my disability pension." Ed spat 'disability' as if it were the vilest word ever conceived. "It should cover rent on the other side of town, as cheap as those dumps are. And besides, I have plenty of money stashed away," he insisted, hugging the blanket tighter around himself. To most people it would look like he was just cold, but Al knew his brother and the mannerisms he had begun developing lately. He did that when he was feeling particularly uncomfortable or scared, as if it were some kind of shield instead of a swath of fabric. Something about going to the Colonel's house was really bothering him.
"A lot of that is going to pay off your hospital stay, and we'll need even more to cover your therapy and the psychiatrist—"
"Which I will not be seeing. There. Money saved."
"—and besides, we could really use the help right now."
Al knew his brother almost better than he knew himself. Ed was prideful, almost to a fault. He didn't accept charity or help that he felt like he hadn't earned somehow, believing it violated the laws of Equivalent Exchange. That he was about to be indebted to a man he had butted heads with and competed against for years was something that would be hard for his pride to swallow. Even harder for him would be for him to show his obvious weakness and need to someone he admired and looked up to.
Though he would never admit that part aloud, of course.
But if Ed was prideful, he was every ounce just as selfless when it came to Alphonse, and though Al felt ashamed to use it against his brother, he would if it meant Ed would be better off. "Besides, I would feel better if we stayed with someone we knew." He said it quietly, almost afraid Ed would still refuse.
Ed didn't say anything. Al finally chanced a glance at him to see his eyes closed, mouth flat in a tight line. "Alright, fine," he muttered. "We can stay at the stupid Colonel's house, but just for a little while."
It was the best Al could hope for, and he was grateful Ed would allow it at all. "Thank you, Brother."
Ed grunted, sinking deeper into his blanket.
Al wished this wasn't so stressful for him.
"The Colonel will be here in a minute," Al said, glancing at the alarm clock before adding it to the depressingly sparse suitcase. That was the last of it.
Ed made no response.
A quiet rap on the door made his brother gasp, blind eyes widening. His hand clutched his throat.
Al recognized his flash backs easily now, usually following a sudden sound, the bark of a dog on the grounds outside, or immediately upon wakening. Sometimes all it took was a gentle voice to wake him from it, but sometimes Al had to wait for it to pass on its own, doing all in his power to keep Ed from hurting himself. "Brother, it's okay. It's just the door," he explained softly. He carefully walked beside him, and when he didn't snap out of it, Al placed a gentle gauntlet on his shoulder.
Ed hissed, flinching away from his touch as if he'd been burned. Without his other arm to catch himself, though, he fell back against the floor. He curled up on himself with a pathetic whimper, completely hidden under the blanket except for several stray strands of golden hair.
No matter how many times Ed quailed from his touch, no matter how often Al told himself it wasn't on purpose, Al felt his soul shatter for the millionth time.
The door clicked open, gliding slowly agape to reveal Colonel Mustang, dark eyes narrowed in apprehension. "Alphonse?" he asked, unable to see Ed from his vantage point.
Al was about to reply when Ed gasped, no longer hyperventilating, but breathing hard as if waking from a nightmare. "Al?" he asked, voice small and scared. "Alphonse?"
"Brother, I'm here," he said softly, kneeling at his brother's side and touching his shoulder again.
This time Ed didn't cower away, but leaned into the touch, his only hand sliding out from under the blanket to wrap around Al's large fingers. "Sorry," he apologized breathlessly, face still hidden under his blanket.
The Colonel came around the corner, concern shining in those onyx eyes. "Everything alright?"
Ed flinched, but Al gently uncovered him, finally bringing his pallid face into view. "We're okay, Colonel," Al assured him, lifting his other hand to carefully wipe Ed's bangs from his sweat-soaked forehead.
Ed gazed up at the space to the right of Al's head, making Al's nonexistent heart tighten. He missed his brother's eyes, their molten gold depths once so sharp and expressive, now flat and milky and swimming with demons.
The Colonel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, are you boys ready?"
"Yes, Colonel," Al murmured, gathering Ed inside his blanket and lifting him his arms like a drowned cat.
Ed made a sound of protest, the frown flitting across his face making Alphonse's soul smile with relief. "I can walk by myself!" he objected, voice still thin but more like himself.
Al knew that, and he knew Ed would be happier if he could, but Al doubted he would make it very far. Since his rescue, Ed had never been out of the hospital and the dorm while conscious, and though he could usually walk around alright in the tight space of the dorm, Al was afraid he would fall on his malfunctioning automail, or something would scare him badly enough that he would hurt himself or some innocent bystander.
No, he felt a lot better with his brother in his arms, regardless of how Ed's pride felt about it. That didn't mean he could be insensitive about it, though. "It's okay, Ed. I don't want you to strain yourself. You haven't even started therapy yet."
Mustang nodded at Al approvingly. "You need to take it easy, Ed," he agreed. As if Ed would be amiable about it just because the Colonel liked it.
Ed scowled. "I'm not going to wear myself out walking to the parking lot!" he insisted, but that's as far as he pressed as the Colonel picked up their suitcase and they left the dorm. Ed must have had his own reservations about walking, or he would have been shrieking all the way out to the car.
But that was the Ed over three months ago. Not the timid, trembling shadow of a brother Alphonse now held in his arms.
Thankfully there was no one in the corridor as Al and Mustang made their way through the building. Ed's breathing accelerated steadily the longer they walked, making Mustang throw concerned glances his way.
"What's wrong, Fullmetal?" the Colonel finally asked.
Ed seemed to relax a bit in Al's arms, his hand loosening its tight hold on the blanket just a bit. "Nothing," he responded, his voice relieved, as if just the sound of a voice reassured him that everything was alright.
Al had noticed that; sometimes Ed asked for Al to just talk or hum, usually when it was especially quiet or he couldn't sleep. Ed had told him that it made him feel connected and kept his mind from drifting to the past. He didn't have to specify what that past was.
So Al struck up a conversation. "How did you talk the Lieutenant into letting you take off work early today?" he asked Mustang, keeping his tone light and nonchalant.
Mustang smirked. "I didn't. I sent her to deliver an inquiry four floors up, then ran for it."
Al giggled a bit, and was pleased to see that Ed's lip quirked in response. "Figures," Ed muttered. "You're just inviting us in so you can slack off."
"And so far, it's working perfectly," Mustang assured them, opening the door wide for Alphonse to slip past.
A rush of winter air swept in. Ed went rigid like a deer caught in the headlights, jaw slack and eyes wide. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.
Al's phantom heart jumped to his throat.
"ED!" Alphonse shouted, staring in terror at the lifeless body of his brother in his arms.
Mustang was immediately by their side, sliding a gloved hand under Ed's jaw for a pulse. "He's alright, Alphonse," Mustang assured him, his voice tight. "He just fainted."
"But . . . why would he faint?" he demanded, his own voice trembling with emotion. If he had possessed a body, he doubted he would still be standing.
Roy shook his head. "Sometimes with posttraumatic stress disorder, some sensations remind you so much of the incident that the only way the mind can protect itself is to shut down." There was something odd about the way he said it, as if reciting a textbook he had read a dozen times. "It was cold up north."
Al gazed down at his brother, feeling overwhelmed and lost. How was he supposed to help Ed fight this when it was a war for his mind?
"Come on, Al," Mustang encouraged, some warmth and concern seeping back into his voice. "Let's get moving before he wakes up." With a tenderness Al had only seen him exhibit with Ed in the hospital over a week ago, the older man pulled the blanket tighter around Ed, covering everything but his face. Then he opened the door and Al followed him out into the winter day to his car.
Ed frowned, glaring down at the object in his hand, as if trying to stare past the blindness. He could sense it right there, the smooth leather of the cover, the barely discernible texture of writing on slick pages, the comforting scent of paper and ink and dust. He could hear the pages flipping, feel the passage of air caress his face with every turn.
But no matter how long he held it in his hand, breathed its sent and heard its whispers, the knowledge contained within it remained locked away, just out of his reach.
And no matter how silly he knew it was, he couldn't help but feel his gut twist with betrayal and icy rejection.
Books had been his oldest friends, ever since he was old enough to hold the picture ones his mother used to read to him. They were gateways to secrets and ideas of the past and present, to knowledge and power and answers to unasked questions. If Ed was ever unsure of something, he knew he could find answers within their pages.
But now, when he was more unsure than ever, they were silent. It hurt more than it should.
"Ed?"
Ed flinched as his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts. He shoved the book aside, listening to it glide across the wood of Mustang's kitchen table. Al had seen him have at least two flashback and faint, all in one day. He didn't need his brother to see him lose it over some stupid books, too. "What?"
As if to further Ed's point, Al asked hesitantly, "Are you okay?"
Would people ever stop asking him that? Wasn't it obvious? "Fine, Al."
He could almost hear Al's hesitancy as he went back to his book across the table. He could hear Mustang from the chair beside him go back to whatever work material he was reading through, too, once again leaving Ed alone with his thoughts. He wished he could see what Al was reading. He wished he could help.
Al had told Ed he was going to keep researching the Philosopher's Stone, so whenever Ed was ready, they could keep searching for it. But Alphonse was not a good liar. In fact, he was a very bad one, and Ed saw through it immediately. He knew he was looking for a cure, but just didn't want Ed to get his hopes up in case he didn't find anything.
Well, Ed had been keeping hope at bay with a twenty-foot pole these days. He knew a hopeless cause when he saw one.
Ha. Saw one.
Was it stupid that his heart twinged at such a pathetic joke?
"What time is it?" he asked, not liking the emptiness he heard in his own voice.
"It's late," Mustang's baritone supplied from the chair to Ed's left, only a couple of feet away. "It's about time to turn in."
Ed gritted his teeth. "I'll go to bed whenever I feel like it," he growled, pulling the blanket he loathed so much tighter around him. Like a two year old with a blanky. It was sickening, but sometimes it was the only thing he could comfort himself with when he started drifting, like an anchor to reality. There were no blankets in that basement, and he could sometimes tell if he was awake or not by its softness pulled tightly around him. He was pushing his luck by actually sitting in a chair, something so unstable with so much air around it. He didn't think he'd be able to keep his mind in the present without the familiar fabric over his shoulders.
He could almost see Mustang throwing up his hands in exasperation. Good. Served him right, trying to boss him around like he was his father or something. "Fine," he relented. Ed could hear the rustle of movement and feel the table jolt as the Colonel stood up. "I'm going to go lay out some towels and check the guest bedroom."
"Do you need some help?" Al asked.
"Nah. You can help Ed with a shower while I fix things up, if he wants."
Ed felt his cheeks burn and ducked his head. "Shut up. I can take my own shower."
That was a lie. Ed had to have Alphonse right there on the other side of the curtain the whole time, lest he have a flashback to being sprayed with a water hose down in that freezing basement for the sake of 'keeping him clean.' He could hear their footsteps coming down the hallway outside, the slither of the hose dragging behind them.
The wolves shifted restlessly somewhere on the far side of the basement. He was pretty sure he broke one of their noses the day before, so they had stayed away from him today.
They weren't the problem right now, though.
There were at least two of them, as usual. He could hear their rough voices speaking in Drachman. The coarse language sent shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The collar around his throat chafed painfully as he pressed himself into the corner, choking and trying not to breath at the same time.
The door swung open on heavy hinges and he squeezed his sightless eyes shut, making himself as small of a target as possible.
Wolves snarled cautiously, echoing his own feelings about their captors.
They stopped at the top of the stairs. One of the men said something that Ed just knew was some kind of cruel jib about him. The other brayed at his joke, then Ed heard the water hose flip on and the deafening rush of powerful liquid.
It hit like an icy whip, lashing across his bare skin and causing hot and cold agony at the same time. Though he tried to protect his face, the water found its way there, forcing its way up his nose and into his mouth, choking him. He coughed, trying to expel the fluid from his lungs, but when he gasped for air, he only found more water.
He was going to die this time. They weren't taking the water away, and he was going to drown.
Then, something was there, blocking the water with a hand. He clearly felt the weight of it on his shoulder, despite the pounding of the water.
Yeah, well, they were going to pay for that mistake.
He lashed out with his foot and a snarl. His flesh limb hit something solid and he heard a voice cry out before he was falling.
He knew that voice . . . didn't he?
He hit the floor hard, sharp pain making him gasp. At least he couldn't hear the water anymore. He shivered, skin rippling with gooseflesh in the wake of the freezing shower.
He was tangled in something, and couldn't move. Did they tie him up when he was so disoriented?
With another snarl, he jerked around, trying to wrestle himself lose with only one arm to work with.
"EDWARD ELRIC!"
He froze.
He wasn't tied up. It was his blanket. The man he had just kicked wasn't one of his tormentors, it was Mustang. The floor wasn't concrete, it was tile. He smelled kitchen spices and wood, not must and dog. He wasn't soaked. He had just had another flashback.
In front of Al. In front of Mustang. Another one.
All of the energy left him in a rush. He didn't even have it in him to wrestle the blanket away. What was the point? Mustang had already seen him flailing around like a lunatic and crying out and choking on nothing but his imagination. There was no way he could make a bigger fool of himself.
He just closed his eyes and put his forehead against the cool tile.
He was such an idiot.
"Ed?" Al's voice murmured carefully from seven feet above his head.
He might as well have been seven miles given how alone Ed felt now, isolated and trapped in the repeating nightmares of his head.
"I'm fine, Al," he said quietly. "I'm fine."
I'm lost. I'm alone and I'm drowning in my own personal purgatory.
How was he supposed to get Al's body back like this? How was he supposed to do anything like this? It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't. Mustang could spout all of his "getting through this" crap that he wanted to, but it didn't change things. It didn't give him back his sight. It didn't give him back his mind. It was just a veil of false hope and empty promises, gossamer dreams to keep his fragile mind from going off the deep end.
It was far too late for that, though. He was already in the deep end and sinking fast.
Then he felt warm hands through the fabric around him, gently untangling his limbs. "If you were drop-dead tired, you should have said so," Mustang said lightly, pulling his arm from the blanket. "I could have made the guest bed hours ago." His voice was almost teasing, but the concern there was too warm, too pervasive for Ed to get upset or more embarrassed. "Alphonse, would you mind turning the covers down? We'll be there in a minute."
"Sure," Al said uncertainly, as if wanting Ed's permission before leaving. Ed didn't move, though, so he walked off, his footsteps clanking out of the kitchen, through the living area and up the stairs.
Mustang finally got his automail leg untangled, pulling the blanket out of a gear jutting from the lose paneling. "Stop it," he said.
Ed frowned. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."
"For a second there, you gave up. So stop it." Mustang's hand slipped into his, warm and strong and safe. With minimal effort, he hoisted Ed to his feet.
Ed swayed, disoriented and head spinning with the sudden motion, but Mustang was right there, that same steadying hand under his arm and guiding him forward.
"We already talked about this," Mustang continued. "You have your orders. I expect you to obey them." His tone left little room for argument, but Ed was gifted in such areas.
"I'm not military anymore. You can't boss me around. Jerk," he growled, but even to himself his voice sounded lifeless.
He couldn't help but wonder if Mustang meant what he had said. If he truly believed there was a way through this, a way that didn't end with Ed locked away in a padded cell or dying of loneliness or insanity.
Ed wasn't sure, though.
In some ways, Mustang reminded him of Hoenheim. He was strong, smart, reassuring. When he stepped into a room, people looked, drawn to the quiet power he possessed.
When Ed was little, he believed that his father could do no wrong, that he would be there until the very end, guiding and protecting him, Al and his mother like a father should. He was infallible, invincible, immovable, the gentle leader and the strong protector, the safe haven in an unforgiving world.
But his Father taught him the most important lesson he had ever learned about humanity; people let you down.
And if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he was afraid Mustang would, too.
But despite that, despite how he warned himself against it, he still hoped.
Mustang was here, guiding and protecting, offering his support as if Ed wasn't an inconvenience at all. Not at all like a commanding officer, but almost as a father might. He felt safe when Mustang was near, like no matter how bad things got, he would still be there, the rock in the storm.
But Ed saw his father's back, turning, disappearing out the door and he could see Mustang following him out.
It was foolish to hope, but his heart wanted it all the same.
Pathetic.
"Don't care," Mustang said, guiding him forward though his house. Ed knew his way around the floor ground relatively well from former visits, but that didn't seem to factor in. Mustang guided him past the tile to the carpeted living area.
"That's not an argument," Ed pointed out, wincing when his real leg grazed what Ed remembered was the coffee table, but Mustang didn't let him fall.
"Take it as an order from a superior being."
"Ha. Superiorly stupid."
"That's very witty, Fullmetal," Mustang said, pulling him to the left and up the stairs. "Did you get that from a book?"
Ed snorted even as he mentally counted the stairs. "Why? Is that where you go for your come backs?" Thirteen steps.
Mustang pulled him to the right. In the times Ed had visited his house, he had never gone upstairs. He was regretting that now, and his footsteps became uncertain, but Mustang's grip on his arm tightened and as if reading his mind, he launched into an explanation. "Straight hall ahead, about twenty paces. We're passing the first door on your left. That's the first guest room. The door after that is a linen closet. Across from that is the bathroom. Next door to that is my room. Across from that is the guest bedroom you'll be in. It's bigger than the first."
And closer so I can hear you if something goes wrong, he didn't have to add.
"Close to your room. So I can listen to you snore all night long," Ed muttered.
"I don't snore," Mustang sniffed.
"Why don't you ask anyone who's ever stumbled into your office around two o'clock?"
"Why don't you shut your mouth and go to bed already? Insufferable brat," Mustang growled, but there was no heat to it. He picked up Ed's arm, holding it out so he could feel the doorframe. He could hear Alphonse inside, the armor creaking as he moved to the door. "Here's your room. The bed is straight ahead, the night stand is right next to it on your left. To your right is a dresser, but I see that Alphonse already has your suitcase unpacked into it."
"I hope that's okay . . ." Al said, as polite as ever.
"It's fine, Alphonse," Mustang said gently with a smile in his voice. "Just make yourselves at home. I'll be up at five, so I'll have some breakfast made for you then, if you want it. See you boys tomorrow."
Ed reached out and found Al's sturdy armor right in front of him. He latched onto it and Mustang let him go. He heard the door click shut behind him, then the whisper of Mustang's footsteps as he crossed the hallway into his own room.
But despite his physical absence, his quiet strength remained, reassuring Ed even though he was out of reach; reminding him of his orders, of the faith he promised he had in him.
And Ed hoped Mustang was right.
Long chapter is long. Long long long lol. But I couldn't find a decent place to stop it, so I just kept going :'D Consider this an apology for what will probably be a really long delay in the next update haha. I shall explain momentarily.
So, with Ed's flashback, I know most people italicize those, but since we were in Ed's POV, I wanted to illustrate how fluid they were and how they sometimes just blended in with his reality. If it's too confusing, would you mind letting me know so I can just italicize it anyways? Lol I don't wanna be confusing xD
Okay, replies to reviews from the last chapter are going to take me a while this time. I may get to them tomorrow, it may not be until this weekend, but I want you guys to know that I love your feedback. Reviews are my crack. Never doubt this xD Thanks to all of you guys that read/fav/review! Even you anonymous guys that I don't get to personally thank, thank you! You guys always make me want to write more C:
As some of you know, I just got hired to teach music. This means I need to make some lesson plans and attend a butt-load of mind-numbing meetings before school starts, and to top it all off, I'm going out of town next week. This means writing and art are being put on the back burner until I can get things sort of in order lol. I'm going to try to update next week, but I make no promises lol :'D
Hope you have a great week!
God Bless,
-RainFlame
