Archer raised a single eyebrow, a serpentine smile splitting his face, apparently amused at finding Roy's disheveled, unkempt state. "Have I come at a bad time?"
Roy's surprise burned away in the wake of pure, unadulterated loathing. "I'm afraid so, Colonel Archer. Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"I'll make my inspection brief, then," he said, raising a paper to Roy's face. It only took a second for Roy to understand what it was.
A search warrant. The Fuhrer's seal glittered on the bottom, official as far as Roy could tell.
Archer pushed the document into his startled hands, shouldering past Roy and into the entryway. He stomped snow from his boots on the rug like any gentleman. "Rumor has it that you're housing a ward of the state. I came to investigate for myself."
"Ward of the state?" Roy demanded. "What are you talking about, Archer?"
The smile Archer turned on him was cold and smug and screamed of victory. "Why, Edward Elric, of course."
He turned his head, locking frigid blue eyes on Ed.
Edward froze in his place by the entryway. His eyes were widened, hands holding the blanket around him like a shield at his throat. "What are you talking about." It wasn't a question. It was more of a denial, his genius' brain running the gamut of possibilities faster than Roy's was, reaching some sort of horrible conclusion Roy hadn't grasped yet. What was it?
"Ah, Elric," Archer purred, stalking closer to him, making some deep, paternal instinct in Roy's mind roar to life, and it was all he could do to smother it. He had to remain in control. Anything he did could be used against him and Ed. He needed a cool head now more than ever. "I thought I'd find you here."
"You've known he was here," Roy snapped, stepping between the two. He didn't like Archer's eyes on the child. He had the eyes of a monster. "What do you want?"
Archer eyed Ed over Roy's shoulder like one might a piece of meat. "Very simple, Colonel. In the military, Edward Elric was subordinate to you, making you his legal guardian." His smile widened and he locked eyes with Roy, a predator with its prey secured. "Now, he is no longer military, and he has no parents to speak of. This makes him a ward of the state. This child is state property now."
Roy's insides went cold, his heart and lungs stopping long enough for him to see red.
Terrible implications circled in his head, images and thoughts and fears all clamoring in his mind's eye like the waters of a turbulent sea; Ed locked away and forgotten, drugged and confused and all alone in some dusty wing of an institution for "troubled children." Ed being relinquished to psychiatrists and medication and blind and scared and out of his mind and far from Roy's reach.
No.
No.
"Get out."
The words were soft and quiet. Roy wanted to scream them.
Archer frowned. "I have a warrant—"
"That's a warrant to search. You've searched. Now get out."
Archer's gaze flattened, his head pulling back like an angry cat. "Very well, Colonel. I'll come back when I have the proper documentation. Don't worry, though. Edward will have a fine life at the orphanage. There's even a mental patient floor, should he need there services. I've heard he's had a particularly difficult time—"
"If you're not off my property in the next minute, I will kill you." There was no particular inflection the statement. Just a quiet, frozen promise.
Archer's smugness sobered almost instantly. "I'm sure General Hakuro will be interested to hear of the way you handled this. Your threats will not go ignored." And with that, he turned and left.
Roy slammed the door shut behind him, letting it rattle the frame and vent his fury. His fists quivered and rage searing through his veins.
They couldn't do this.
Not to Ed. Not after everything.
They couldn't.
He took a few shuddery breathes, glancing at Edward as he tried to get himself under control.
Ed was gone.
Rage quickly converted into panic. Roy tore into the living room, eyes searching, looking for a flash of brilliant blond, a human figure, something, but Ed wasn't in the living room.
How long had Roy been standing there? He couldn't have gotten far! "Ed? Edward, answer me!"
A thump sounded upstairs.
Roy took the steps two at a time, an irrational fear forcing urgency into his gait. He rounded the corner and stopped at the closed bathroom door. He tried the handle. It was locked.
"Edward, open this door right now." He tried to keep his voice calm, but it came out shaky and strangled.
There was no reply.
Roy dug in his pockets, coming out with a broken stub of chalk. He scratched a hasty circle on the wood and with a force of will and a flash of light, it clicked open.
Ed was curled up in the bathtub, the blanket completely obscuring him from view, but just the sight of the boy's form was enough to quell the frenzied panic that had bubbled up inside his chest. Roy wasn't sure what he was so afraid of, but he collapsed on the side of the tub and breathed in undeniable relief.
He watched the blanket move up and down with Ed's trembling breathes.
"Edward?"
The form flinched, but didn't respond.
He sighed, his heart rate finally levelling out into something normal. "Edward, it's going to be okay. We'll figure this out."
Nothing.
"Ed, talk to me."
When he still received no response, Roy placed a tentative hand on the corner of the blanket and pulled it back.
Ed was staring ahead, face frozen in shock. Tears made glistening tracks down his face and his lips moved, some silent mantra that repeated over and over again that Roy couldn't make sense of.
"Edward," Roy breathed, brushing golden hair out of the boy's face. He flinched, which Roy found reassuring, but he kept right on mumbling. Roy leaned in close to hear, trying to catch a hint of what was going on in his tortured mind, but no breath passed over the boy's lips, just endless movement of half-formed thoughts.
What should he do? What was this . . . some sort of dissociative episode? Roy had seen him do something similar, but only when he was dealing with flashbacks and panic attacks on his own. Now it was like he was completely ignoring the outside world, retreating far into himself where not even Roy could reach him.
Not wanting to leave Ed alone, but not knowing what else to do, Roy decided he'd call Silas.
He made to get up, but a pale hand stopped him.
Roy glanced down at his wrist in surprise. Ed's flesh hand was wrapped around it, the feather light grip holding him in place as effectively as iron shackles. Roy looked to the boy's eyes, but they remained unchanged: still glued to the porcelain wall and blank, but his lips had stopped moving.
Roy carefully, gently lowered himself back to his seat. "Ed?" he asked softy, afraid of jarring him back into whatever trance he'd managed to escape.
Ed's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I . . ." he whispered before taking a shallow breath. "I can't . . . I can't . . ."
"Edward, if you can hear me, tell me so."
Ed's hand tightened around Roy's wrist, then he gave a tiny, near-imperceptible nod.
"We'll figure this out, Ed. I promise we'll figure it out." Roy swallowed thickly, the words wanting to stick in his throat. "Do you trust me?"
Ed trembled, curled in on himself and around Roy's arm then squeezed his eyes shut and nodded once.
"I'm going to have to make some phone calls. Do you want to come?"
Again, the silent, desperate nod. Roy got to his feet, his arm still held captive in Ed's. When Ed didn't seem willing to separate or to follow by his own power, Roy gently scooped him up and held his shivering body against his chest. Ed flailed for only a moment before securing a grip on Roy's shirt. The boy weighed nothing, but Roy didn't want to take him downstairs to the scene of his most recent trauma. He carried him to Roy's own room, placing him on top of the comforter and against a pillow Roy hadn't used in over a week.
Ed curled in on himself, hands still gripping Roy's pale blue shirt, and as soon as Roy sat down at the edge of the bed, Ed folded himself so that his shoulder touched Roy's side, his flesh hand grabbing a more convenient fistful of Roy's sleeve while the other held his blanket to his neck.
Roy dialed the phone and put his free hand on Ed's blond head, patting down disheveled locks in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.
A secretary answered on the other end of the line. Roy gave her the proper code and soon his Lieutenant's voice reached him.
"Hawkeye, dinner at my place. Bring everyone."
XxXxX
Ed had known something was wrong.
He just couldn't figure out what.
When Mustang had started the turntable, Ed had been deeply moved. That Mustang would think of something like that, something so innocuous but with so much meaning . . . Ed was struck by just how much Mustang had actually done. It was a turning point for Ed, the day the flashbacks and panic attacks had eased just a bit, and life became just a little more bearable, and it was because of Mustang.
Because Mustang hadn't gone back on his promise.
Ed had made a fool of himself, though. Crying and clinging like some kind of toddler . . . if he'd been any more himself, he would have been unbearably humiliated by the display, but as of late, it wasn't terribly extreme for his behavior.
But then . . . Mustang had pushed him away. He'd barely spoken three sentences to him the rest of the evening. He'd slept on the floor, far from Ed's reach, like he couldn't stand to be near him anymore.
And Ed couldn't help but wonder what he'd done wrong. Or maybe . . . did Mustang see this as a sign of Ed's improvement?
Was he finished with Ed?
If he was finished . . . if this was as far as Mustang was going to take him, what now? Was everything over? Would he throw him out, send him away to fend for himself?
Ed knew that he was nowhere near ready for the outside world. He couldn't make it on his own, but maybe Mustang had reached his goal and was willing to go no further. If Mustang kicked him out . . .
Well, if Mustang kicked him out, sleeping would have been the least of his problems.
In a last desperate act, Ed had decided that he would do his best to not need Mustang's help for much of anything. He wanted to prove to Mustang that he could be less trouble, that Mustang could live his life with little interference from Ed. That Ed wouldn't always be a heavy burden.
Anything to not be kicked out.
And, if nothing else, it was good practice for having to somehow survive on his own until Alphonse came back.
If Alphonse came back.
Those awful thoughts had chased through his head all night long, running through his head and haunting him even into sleep. When Ed had finally drifted off, he kept seeing himself in the basement while Alphonse and Mustang walked away.
Ed should never have trusted Mustang. He should never have let his guard down. Ed had suspected that this was all a ruse, something to either assuage Mustang's misplaced guilt or perhaps to meet some sort of Equivalent Exchange. Ed had known that once the scales were balanced, he would be sent away.
And now that it was happening, he would have done anything to stop it.
But as usual, it seemed that life had a way of yanking even the slimmest threads of hopes and dreams right out of Ed's hands.
Archer showed up. He showed up, and Ed recognized it for what it was: this was Mustang's chance. No one would question it if he gave Ed up to the orphanage. No one would even bat an eye. He had to follow the law, right? Upholding the law was his job. There was no reason for him to stick his neck out that far for Ed. No one would expect it of him, and no one would blame him.
And then Mustang could have the freedom he wanted, and Ed would be out of his way.
So Ed did the only thing he could think of to do: He locked himself in the bathroom and curled up in the bathtub, mind a numb haze of disbelief. How could this be happening? Things had been going so well. Ed was getting better! He was, how had this happened? How and why, and where was Alphonse?
He needed Alphonse. He needed him and he would give his other limbs just to have him beside him.
He was vaguely aware of the door being alchemically forced open and someone sitting on the tub wall over him. A deep baritone voice murmured something, maybe his name.
Ed wasn't really listening, though. He needed his little brother.
The voice spoke again, worried and thick, and Ed faintly thought that he should listen, should revel in not being alone now, because he was about to be shipped off to a padded room to live in solitude for the rest of his life.
But then the man moved, and Ed knew the man was Mustang, and before another conscious thought could form in his mind, Ed's hand shot out and grabbed him, locking around the older man's wrist.
After a long, terrifying pause in that Ed prayed Mustang wouldn't pull away and leave, he slowly lowered himself back down. "Ed?"
How could he explain? How could he explain anything? Any wrong word could send Mustang away for good, and it terrified Ed more than he could describe. He tried several times to speak, only to have his voice hide and fail him until he managed a faint sound. "I . . ." He couldn't explain. He couldn't. "I can't . . . I can't . . ."
Mustang shifted, like he was nervous or afraid or wanting to leave. Ed didn't want him to leave. "Edward, if you can hear me, tell me so."
Ed's grip tightened.
Please don't leave. Please.
He couldn't speak, so he nodded.
"We'll figure this out, Ed. I promise we'll figure it out," Mustang said. "Do you trust me?"
He couldn't trust him, and yet his body betrayed him, curling around Mustang's arm with a small nod.
Tell him what he wants to hear. Make him happy and he won't leave.
"I'm going to have to make some phone calls. Do you want to come?"
This time, all of Ed went into the nod, needing desperately to not be abandoned right now. Anything to not end up alone.
Because without sight, he was trapped in his head, and to be there alone was the worst nightmare Ed could think of.
Mustang moved, but Ed could not release him, hands locked around the older man's arm in a death grip. After some more shifting, Ed felt the older man slip his free hand underneath Ed's back, then pulled his arm free from Ed's grip to slide under his knees. Ed grabbed his shirt and held on tightly while Mustang carried him.
Ed didn't pay any attention to where they were going. Only when Mustang tried to set him down again did Ed find it in him to react, immediately grabbing whatever bit of Mustang's shirt he could find when the man tried to back away. Mustang sat beside him, and Ed soothed himself by holding onto both Mustang and his blanket.
Would that be all he was left with? Just his blanket to keep himself sane while the world placed him in a corner to rot away? Or maybe even that small comfort would be taken from him.
He knew he deserved it, knew that this was his punishment for flying too close to the sun.
It didn't make it easier.
Mustang spoke, but Ed couldn't listen anymore. He shivered and held on and cried silent tears and desperately wished for light.
But perhaps for a sinner such as himself, the dark was more fitting.
Don't hate me :'D
Face it, things were going just a little too well.
I had no idea how to write this chapter, because both of their perspectives were important in this moment . . . maybe it could have been done better, but I couldn't think of a way at the time. Hope it wasn't too redundant :'D
I'm sick. I need to go to sleep for about a week. Or maybe the rest of the semester. Work just got way too stressful all of the sudden o_O
In other news, "Lobotomy" was taken down by the site. Turns out it's against the rules for readers to give prompts, even though I still don't think it exactly defied the guidelines, as they were written, since it was more of a "reader suggests prompt" than anything . . . not really all that interactive. I just wish they would have told me to fix it before they just went and took it down -.- It could have been easily remedied without any sort of major changes. Oh, well, I'll re-upload it so that it fits in with the rulesies later, when I have another chapter to post to it. It'll still be a one-shot collection, but maybe I'll rename it or something and it won't be exactly what it was, if that makes any sort of sense xD
I've almost gotten that Silas one-shot finished :D I have no self-control when it comes to Silas. None whatsoever. I doodle him all over the place (still need to post some of those to dA) and I loves him c: I have no remorse.
Weeeell, how are we going to pull a happy ending out of this?
Answer: Puppies. It's a cure-all.
Hope you enjoyed reading! If you have the time, drop a review, and I'll see you next chappy c:
God Bless,
-RainFlame
