Ed felt like a coward.
Actually, he was probably worse than a coward.
"Ed, are we seriously going to do this again?" Mustang asked from the other side of the bathroom door. He sounded tired and old, and Ed hated that he was the reason for it. He honestly still wasn't sure why Mustang put up with him. "Come on, Fullmetal, they're going to be here any minute! At least come down and say hi. They're bringing you dinner, anyways."
Ed burrowed deeper into his blanket, resting his head on the bathtub wall. "I'll wait up here."
Mustang sighed. "Ed, come on, you haven't been around another human being besides Hawkeye, Winry and Silas for weeks."
Ed felt the beginnings of anger stirring in his gut. "And I'm completely fine with that. I already told you I'd . . . I'll give my report. I don't need to socialize before that."
He couldn't handle it; all those people staring at him, milling around, trying to listen and keep track of everything . . . just thinking about it made his head hurt and his heart hammer in his chest.
And he didn't need eyes to know that he looked like something out of one of those horror flickers they showed down at the theater. Just thinking about how they were going to stare . . . he didn't look like Edward Elric. He looked like a corpse. What would they think of him, seeing him that way?
"They've missed you, you know," Mustang murmured gently.
Ed scowled. He knew Mustang was trying to be soothing, but Ed was not in the mood. "And I've missed being able to see, Mustang. I'll wait here until the others are gone."
That seemed to settle it for the Colonel. He sighed and his footsteps faded away, thumping down the stairs. Not long afterward the doorbell rang and a new voice sounded down below. He couldn't help the thrill of fear that fluttered in his gut at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in so long it was almost unfamiliar. Fuery and the Colonel exchanged words, and Ed was able to pick out every other one or so before the doorbell rang again.
He listened until he had identified Hawkeye, Falman, Armstrong, Breda and Havoc as well. Six people he had once known, but now felt like strangers, milling down just below him.
He was such coward. Hiding out from people he had considered, if not friends, then close acquaintances, and in a bathtub, of all places! Was this really what he had come to?
He curled tighter into himself, burrowing deeper into the blanket.
Are you going to let this beat you?
With an angry grunt, Ed pushed himself up. He would prove to himself and to Mustang that he could do it. He could go down there and say hello.
Then he could come right back up.
He felt his way to the door and eased it open, allowing him to hear the conversation below unhindered.
"—to hear!" Armstrong was saying, his voice booming through the living area below. "Tell me, where is the lad, then?"
"Upstairs," Mustang said. "He's had a pretty rough day, so he's resting it off." Ed wasn't sure why, but he was a bit touched by the way Mustang was covering for him. It didn't make him sound nearly as pathetic as he actually was.
"A shame," Armstrong rumbled.
Ed could now clearly make out the sharp scent of spicy food and the smell of people. He heard them moving, heard dull thumps, the clang of utensils, and sliding sounds as food was probably passed around the small dining room table. He crept to the edge of the wall and stopped, unable to summon the will to move further.
He just wasn't quite ready yet.
"How's he been doing?" Breda asked around a mouthful of something. Probably Xingese food, by the smell of it.
There was a pause, but Ed didn't know if it was thoughtful, or if Mustang's mouth was just full. "Honestly, I don't know. Since Alphonse left, it's been all uphill. I'd like to think he's made some headway, but I'm just not sure."
That was a very respectful, polite way of saying Edward was hopeless.
And despite having known that logically all along, he felt a tiny flame of hope he hadn't even realized existed flicker and die inside of him.
He suddenly lost the will to go downstairs after all and quietly returned to his bathtub.
For if anything was worse than them staring at him, it was them staring at him like they knew he would never be okay again.
XxXxXxX
Roy put the box of takeout aside with a contented sigh. It was nice being surrounded by friends and comrades again. It was nice not to feel so alone.
If only Ed would come down and enjoy it with him . . .
Roy shut that out of his mind. Now wasn't the time for that. They had important matters to discuss, and Roy had no room to let emotions come in and cloud his judgment. He couldn't mess this up, too.
"Alright, what do we have?" he asked as Falman and Fuery cleared the rest of the food from the table and Hawkeye produced a number of manila folders from her bag. Armstrong spread a map across the tabletop and Breda quickly pulled his box of noodles out from under it before it could be blanketed in Xing hill country.
"We know that on the twenty-fourth of August, Fuhrer King Bradley issued the order for Major Edward Elric to investigate a string of robberies in Amestrian military storage facilities just north of North City," Hawkeye said, producing a set of documents outlining Ed's orders at the time. "He was to locate and apprehend the perpetrators."
"Havoc, did you ever find anything on what was actually stolen?" Roy asked. "Or even what was being held in the facilities?"
Havoc shook his head, accepting a folder Hawkeye passed to him. "No luck, Boss. Short of going up there and breaking in myself, there's no way I'm going to find out what's up there. They keep throwing around words like 'classified' and 'need-to-know.'" He frowned, flipping open the file. "Nothing but dead ends."
"Falman, any leads on who filed the initial complaint about the thefts?" Roy asked.
"Yes, sir," the older man said, coming to sit directly in front of Roy between Armstrong and Fuery. He thumbed through the stack of files Hawkeye had placed in the middle of the table and finally selected one, pulling out a leaf of paper and passing it to Roy. "The complaint was filed by a Lieutenant Colonel Bearden, but further investigation into the soldier in question determined he was killed in action four days after we lost contact with Major Elric."
"Well, isn't that convenient," Breda grumbled around a mouthful of noodles.
"It could be a coincidence," Fuery said, self-consciously adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Roy frowned at the document Falman had given him. "There's no such thing as coincidence, Fuery." He perused the file on Bearden, noting he was killed in a skirmish on the border. "Were there any survivors? Witnesses to Bearden's death?"
"None that I have been able to track down," Falman reported.
"Very suspicious," Armstrong rumbled, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I may be able to uncover something on the matter, given time. My sister might be able to help us."
That wasn't a bad idea. "Look into it," Roy said. "I don't need to tell you to be discreet."
Armstrong nodded. "Of course."
"Fuery?"
The smaller man fiddled with the papers in front of him. "I've managed to get a bug on all lines from North City and the surrounding towns. I've been recording all calls and screening them as time allows. So far the most interesting conversation was between a man calling the Fuhrer about reporting in. He never stated his name and seemed to be purposely vague."
"The Fuhrer?" Havoc asked in discomfort, chewing an unlit cigarette nervously. "You think he's somehow involved?"
"I'm not ruling out anyone until I have all the intel," Roy informed brusquely. The thought of this being something so high up the chain of command was unsettling, to be sure, but Roy wasn't going to let that stand in the way. "Do you have the transcript?"
Fuery slid a file across the table and Roy picked it up, quickly scanning it. Observing nothing more unusual than Fuery's note of them being too vague, he set it aside for further study. "Good work, Fuery. Breda?"
Breda quickly swallowed a mouthful of noodles. "My buddy up North says he'll get the files on recent crimes sent down as soon as he can. Apparently they're having the same problems we are; paperwork missing, red tape, the whole shebang. In the meantime, I took the liberty of doing a bit of snooping into the crime scene." He put his box down and picked up a folder.
"We've already been over those photos a hundred times, Breda," Havoc pointed out, voice laced with a frustration they all felt. "What could we possibly have missed?"
"Well, nothing that's obvious," he said, sliding a page to Roy. "I managed to find some info on the previous owner of that shack, though. Turns out, he's retired military."
"Who?" Roy asked.
"A former Brigadier General Sherman."
Something clicked in the back of Roy's mind. He knew that name from somewhere . . . He scanned the paper Breda gave him, eyes resting on the small square photo clipped to the top. It was an older man, probably in his sixties, with severe features, gray cropped hair, and scowling gray eyes. To say he looked like a grumpy old man would have been an understatement.
"Sir?" Hawkeye asked. "Do you recognize him?"
Roy stared harder. "I think so . . . I'm not sure where I've seen him though. How did you come up with this, Breda?"
"Well, the paper trail was almost nonexistent, but a local electrician still had his name on a receipt for some repairs from over ten years ago."
Havoc whistled. "Wow, who holds on to paperwork that long?"
"Just be thankful he did, or we'd be looking at another dead end." Roy continued to stare at the photo. This could be the breakthrough they needed to finally get moving in the right direction. "Good work, Breda. Starting tomorrow, I want you and Falman to use all of your free time finding out more about Sherman. I want his whole life's story, right down to his shoe size, understand?"
"Sir!" both responded.
The rest of their meeting didn't last long. Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door, and Roy rose to answer it.
Silas stood on the darkened porch, wrapped in an oversized coat with a red scarf around his neck and a grin on his face. "Ah, Roy! I hope I'm not early? I seem to walk so much faster in the cold!" He stepped in, stomping snow off of his boots on the rug and putting his medical bag down by the door as he babbled. "That's something nice about the cold: you certainly don't dilly dally. Ah, look! You have guests!" Before Roy could get a word in edgewise, the slight man hanged his coat up and snatched his bag back up, headed for Havoc. The blond had followed Roy to the living room, and now stood in the middle, chewing his cigarette absently.
"Jean! So good to see you again!" Silas exclaimed, taking Havoc's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "Not heeding my advice on that smoking habit of yours, I see. Ah, well, good for business!" he winked.
"That's me: job security," Havoc grinned around his cigarette. "Good to see you, Doc."
Silas turned to see the rest of Roy's team at the table. "Ah, good evening! Riza, you're looking well! Oh, I don't think any of the rest of us have been introduced—"
Roy decided to curtail the man's enthusiasm before he befriended every one of them and invited them all to his next polka festival. "Jim, if you want to head on up to see Ed, I'll dismiss down here and be there in a moment." Ed seemed to get along very well with the young doctor, all things considered, and Roy wasn't too concerned about monitoring the boy with Silas around.
"Excellent idea!" Silas agreed, hefting his bag over his shoulder. "We'll just go ahead and get started, then. Where can I find him?"
"The upstairs bathroom."
"Very good!" Silas turned and jaunted up the stairs, whistling all the way.
Roy turned back to his team to find that, with the exception of Hawkeye, they were looking at him with a mixture of concern and bemusement.
"What?"
Breda's frown deepened. "I thought you said Ed was just tired and resting."
"He is," Roy said dismissively. Though he didn't make it a habit of lying to his subordinates, one thing Ed didn't need was Roy airing his shortcomings to the people he cared about. His pride might have been damaged, but it was still intact, and the information was not Roy's to share.
"Then why is he hiding in the bathroom?" Havoc asked.
"Who says he's hiding?" Roy asked, voice wavering between irritated and uncomfortable. Havoc would see for himself soon enough, and though the others had an idea of that state Ed was in, the less they knew, the better. "Anyhow, that's not something we need to discuss. Does everyone understand their orders?"
A chorus of "sirs" sounded around the table.
"Good. Well, then, that's all for tonight. Dismissed."
Roy saw each one of them out the door, until only Havoc and Hawkeye were left standing in the entryway. "Where do you want us to set up, Boss?" Havoc asked, picking up a pair of messenger bags from underneath the coat rack.
"We can use the spare bedroom. The one Ed's not using." It was the same place Ed had endured his automail attachment. It wouldn't give him any comfort during the debriefing, but it would help keep his fears localized to one room instead of giving him negative associations all over the house. "Give me a minute to make sure Ed is prepared before you come up." Roy left them in the living room and mounted the stairs.
He heard Silas babbling cheerily from Ed's bedroom before he made it all the way up.
"Tell me, have you ever looked into the subject?" he was asking. Roy walked in to see Ed sitting on the bed, shirt absent but blanket still draping his thin shoulders as the young doctor examined his still-healing torso.
Ed was shifting around in discomfort, obviously struggling with being touched in such vulnerable areas in such an exposed state, but Roy knew well by now that Silas' enthusiastic conversation was a tool of distraction, and did much to ease the boy's fears. "No," he responded. "We had a piano, but none of us knew how to play it."
"A shame, you really should pick up the art." Silas stripped away another bandage. "I hear you're quite the genius. I doubt you would have any trouble at all!"
Ed froze, tilting his head to the side. Roy knew he'd been heard. "Who's there?" he asked, instinctively pulling the blanket around himself.
"Just me," Roy announced, walking in and shutting the door behind them. That would give them enough privacy for Hawkeye and Havoc to set up in the other room and not disturb Ed too much.
Ed looked embarrassed . . . no, that wasn't quite right, he looked ashamed, as if he thought he'd done something wrong and now Roy would find out about it. He curled in himself, and it was all Silas could do to coax him to sit up a little straighter. "Ah, Roy!" Silas said, voice deceptively cheery as he frowned down at his patient. "Yes, we'll be needing another sandwich, if you don't mind. With plenty of mayo."
Roy sighed. "His weight's still down?"
"If he didn't have those metal limbs, your ventilation system might blow him away," Silas said absently, glancing at an open chart on the bed beside Ed.
Ed's blank gaze hardened just a bit. "I'm not small," he announced, straightening just a bit.
"Of course," Silas relented with a small smile. "I'm going to pull the blanket back just a bit now." Ed's fingers tightened their hold, then wearily he let Silas pull the fabric back to expose a metal shoulder. Silas examined it closely. "Tell me, how has your automail felt? Sore at all? Any pain?"
Ed shifted. "Some," he admitted quietly. "Just around the ports, though. Not phantom limb pain or anything."
"That's what I'm a bit concerned about," Silas said, poking where flesh joined metal. "If you don't start gaining weight soon, I'm afraid your body won't be able to support the automail anymore. The arm is especially vulnerable, since gravity is constantly pulling it down, putting extra stress on what's left of your shoulder socket. You might start to experience automail rejection, and though I'm no expert on the subject, I do know the signs. The skin here is a bit red, which is never a good thing."
Ed seemed to pale a bit at the news. "I . . . I can't lose my arm," he said weakly, clutching it to him like a beloved stuffed animal. Then his eyes shifted and Roy knew they were losing him. "I can't lose it again, I can't I won't let you take it!" he snarled, pulling back. "That's right, you just try! I'll mop the floor with your faces!"
The very last thing Roy needed was a blind, scared Ed transmuting his arm into a weapon. "Edward," he said softly.
Ed stopped moving entirely, eyes widening. Then he began to tremble. He ducked his head, hiding his face in his hands, and took a shuddering breath.
Almost like he was crying . . .
"I'll go check on that sandwich," Silas said gently, giving Roy a knowing look as he turned for the door. "I'll be back in a moment."
Roy stood and watched the boy for a second, uncertain as to what he was supposed to do. Then, he crossed the room, sitting down on the bed beside him. "Edward?"
"I did it . . . I did it again . . ." He sniffed, definitely crying now. "I can't seem to stop, Mustang, but . . ."
Then he stopped. He looked up, and he gave Roy the most imploring, heartbreaking look a blind boy could possibly muster. "Mustang, I am getting better, right?" he whispered, voice desperate and pained. "Right? I need to be getting better, Mustang, don't tell me that I'm not. I am," he said, the last punctuated by a sob. "I am . . . I am . . ." The rest of it was lost in his tears as he shrank in on himself, hiding his bare, scarred body underneath the blanket and a tide of loose golden hair.
"Ed," Roy breathed, pulling the child into his arms. Ed allowed it, clinging to him with the same desperation he had clung to Alphonse and sobbing into his shoulder. It felt like hugging a skeleton. "Ed, of course you're getting better. You've made a lot of progress," Roy assured him, stroking his back in soothing circles. "Of course you're getting better."
Against him, Ed shook his head. "You didn't say . . . that's not what you told them," he whimpered.
Roy tried to keep himself from stiffening in surprise. "You were listening?"
Ed nodded into his shirt. "You don't believe it, but I am, Mustang." He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone. "I am getting better. I have to be, I can't live like this, Colonel. How can anyone live like this?!"
Roy tried to control the way his breath caught then. Anytime Ed broached the subject of living, it sent a thrill of fear through Roy's insides, because with the state of mind he was in, to think he was having thoughts of suicide wouldn't have been a stretch. It would be so childishly easy for Ed to just end his life. All he had to do was throw himself off the landing, or slit his wrist on a shard of mirror. It would be nothing difficult, and Roy wanted his mind as far away from such things as possible.
The boy continued to sob brokenly into his shirt, and Roy rocked him back and forth the way he had seen Hughes do for little Elysia when she was scared or hurt. "Edward, you know better than that," he said with a sigh. Ed stiffened a bit in his arms. "You of all people know that just because things aren't getting better now doesn't mean they won't."
"I can't keep doing this. I can't be like this anymore, Colonel," he said, fisting Roy's shirt in a hopeless, anxious way. "I'm tired of it. I'm just tired." And he sounded it. He sounded like an old man trapped in a child's body, and it made Roy's heart break.
"If this is about tonight, Ed, we don't have to do it now," Roy soothed. "I won't force you, not until you feel up to it."
Ed shook. "No. No, I'm tired of being afraid more than anything. I'm tired of being a coward."
Roy's grip tightened. "Don't talk like that," he ordered, his own voice starting to quiver the faintest bit. "You're not a coward, Ed. You're the farthest thing from a coward."
"I'm going to do it," he said, as if not hearing what Roy was saying. "I have to. I have to do this tonight."
"Ed, you don't have to prove anything. If that's the whole reason for this, I won't allow it."
"I have to prove it to myself. If I can't get through this . . . if I can't handle this, then maybe I don't deserve to get better. Equivalent Exchange. I've screwed up too much, and Al's lost so much. It's not fair for me to have so much when he has so little."
"Fullmetal, stop that right now," Roy hissed in his ear, making the boy stiffen once again, as if he were afraid Roy was going to do something to him. Roy just held him tighter to himself, like he could physically banish all of the pain and self-loathing and fear in the boy's mind. "There is nothing 'equivalent' about what's been done to you. Absolutely nothing. I won't have you talking like that."
Ed curled into Roy, but Roy wasn't sure if he was seeking comfort or trying to hide from the admonishment. "You don't know that, Mustang," he sniffed.
"Kid—"
"I'm doing it tonight," he said, pulling back. Roy reluctantly let him go and watched as he ran a hand down his face, wiping away tear tracks and misery. "If I don't do it tonight, I don't think I'll be able to do it."
"Ed, please don't let it be about what I said," Roy murmured, begged. He couldn't watch this shred the child apart just because he thought he had something to prove to Roy. Emotion made his voice thick and the words he tried to get out next failed and died in his throat.
Ed seemed to notice, his gaze more focused again and he tilted his head to the side, listening. "Mustang?" he asked.
Roy took a shuddering breath.
He was tired, too.
"Ed—"
The knock on the door forestalled Roy's words, and made Ed jump just a bit closer to Roy. Silas poked his head in, gaze sweeping over the both of them to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything. Which he was, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
"I brought the sandwich!" he announced, holding his culinary creation before him on a napkin like an idol on an altar. "I hope you like cheese and ham. I was going to put cheese on tuna, but Jean claimed people aren't supposed to like that sort of thing . . . your Second Lieutenant might be a bit closed-minded, Roy," he informed with a grin, placing the meal on Ed's lap.
Ed turned a bit green. "I can't eat that right now," he said weakly, gingerly feeling for it with an automail hand before relocating it to Roy's hand. "I'll eat later."
Silas frowned. "Ed, do you feel ill?" he asked, moving to his medical bag and rummaging through it.
"I'm fine," he answered. "Let's just do this before I lose it, okay?" He felt around beside him and, with no small amount of reluctance, Roy pushed his shirt to the searching hand.
Ed pulled his shirt on over his collection of fresh bandages and Silas ceased his search for whatever he'd been looking for. "Alright," he relented. "Well, I'm going to write you a prescription. Something to give you a bit of an appetite, hopefully. In all honesty, Ed, this can't go on. Have you been getting knots in your shoulder and thigh?"
Ed grimaced as he slowly buttoned his shirt. The buttons weren't aligned, but Roy didn't point it out. "Some."
"Getting worse?"
"Some."
"Thought so," Silas sighed. "I'll also get you something to rub in after showers. Should help to relax the muscles, with some stretching. You might also try massaging them, Roy," he suggested, scribbling on a pad of paper. "That and putting on some weight will help more than anything."
Ed scowled. "No thanks," he muttered. "I think I can handle that on my own."
"And if you're ready for it, we'll get a specialized physical therapist to start visiting," he continued as if he hadn't heard Ed at all, still engrossed in his writing. "I think it'll do wonders for your self-confidence if we can get you more independent, don't you think?"
Ed blushed but didn't otherwise respond to the question. "Are we done?" he asked.
"That should take care of it!" Silas announced, tearing the prescriptions from his tablet and handing them to Roy before shoving the rest of his belongings into his bag. Then he eyed the sandwich on the nightstand with a thoughtful sort of look. "Shame to waste such a lovely sandwich. I'll see if Jean wants it and meet you next door!" He grabbed his things and the food and bounded from the room with more energy than Roy thought should have been reasonable.
His eyes wondered back to Ed as the boy tried to stand. Roy put an arm under his elbow to steady him. "Are you sure, Ed?" he asked softly. He didn't look ready.
Roy wasn't ready.
But the flicker of self-doubt in the boy's scarred eyes died, and then there was nothing but resolve in its wake.
For a second, Roy saw the Fullmetal Alchemist standing before him.
"Let's go."
This was actually updated in a reasonable amount of time :D Be proud.
Hope all the plotting and planning wasn't too boring. Team Mustang needed to start this thing rolling, though, so there we go xD But the end . . . Edo's got some fire back :D Good for him!
Prepare yourself for the angst-fest next time xD I think I know how I'm going to do it now, so thanks for all the ideas/prompts! They really got my brain rolling on this!
I'm glad Silas is here for comedic relief. I hope he doesn't get too annoying, though. Mustang doesn't always understand his enthusiasm xD I don't think Silas even understands his enthusiasm.
So my dinner thing went off really well! :D No food poisoning or anything! I call this success. They even complimented me on the food, so IRON CHEF HERE I COME.
Ahem. well, in other news, my house is relatively clean. I thought everyone would be proud to know that C: And remember I said my friends were wanting to get me a bunny? I may have one by the end of the day xD I'm so excited *flails around* So since it's been years since I've had a bunny, if you've had rabbits, send me your advice! :D I think it'll be a Netherland Dwarf if I get one today. If cuteness could kill, baby bunnies would rule the world. Scientific hypothetical fact right there, guys.
I will leave you alone now. Thank you guys so much for every fav/review/view! Your support really means so much to me, so thank you! If you have the time, drop a review and I'll see you next time :)
God Bless,
-RainFlame
