Chapter 6
A/N And here we will switch to Roy's POV to give me a little change of pace. I'm sorry that this is a bit of a "YES, I'M ALIVE" post. I hope everyone is having a fabulous Yule.
SideNote: Dear Lord, why did I need to get back into GW fandom also? Wtf, Relena's pink town car?
Roy was certainly not a fan of the cold anymore than he was the rain. In fact, it took much deliberation before he had decided that he preferred the heat and expanses of sand of Ishbal to this endless bleakness. It was wet and unfamiliar, much like Edward in army blues. He had been standing awkwardly and alone, waiting for the train to Briggs. He pulled at the high collar, grimacing and teeth flashing as Alphonse attempted to placate him. The sight made his stomach turn. He had done his best to avoid this, to insist that Edward's research was too important to pull him to the frontlines. The Brass hadn't taken the bait, so Roy had done the only thing he could do. He insisted on taking Edward with him.
He hadn't been able to resist teasing the boy. It had been too good to be able to lighten the mood; to be able to drag his mind from what he was sure would be long months ahead. This time without Hughes to make the time go by faster. He was sure listening to Edward prattle on about alchemy that Roy would barely be able to grasp could only ease the morbidity of watching his face become thinner and thinner.
For the first few weeks, it had been hard to stay in his morbid mood. Edward's hysterics at having to share a tent had been enough to reduce Roy to a giggling fit on his cot. The boy had looked so incredulous and angry at Roy's laughter.
"What if I wanted to bring a girl back? I'm a growing boy after all?" Ed had shouted, indignant. Roy had not spent much of the day looking militaristic, snickering at every glance he had taken at his subordinate. But then, the days had gotten shorter and the winter deeper. Not even Hughe's would have been able to persevere through such conditions. Edward developed a limp, causing his non-regulation braid to beat an irregular rhythm against his regulation blues. It was slow and shuffling, his right arm hanging heavy at his side.
The child's discomfort weighed heavy on his mind, and sometimes he had nightmares about the metal pulling ruthlessly against frostbitten flesh. During his few solitary hours alone in the tent, he would draw arrays in his journal, trying to develop some sort of portable heat-source for the boy to wear against his flesh until the worst had passed. All in all, any attempts to protect the boy had been worse than failure. Not even his most charming smile was able to secure extra rations for the growing alchemist and when orders came in for a drive forward and into the trenches he had more or less immediately excused himself from the meeting, to promptly be sick, the sounds of his heaving loud in the cold, dry air of the latrines.
And then the wisteria started to bloom and so did the bruises across the boys small frame. Fullmetal always slept late now, and his face had grown lean with a mixture of hunger and age. Seeing anything inside the tent was akin to looking through frosted glass, cold and pale. Time passed and the weather warmed. Ed's bruises deepened to the color of hyacinths and the fire in his eyes had cooled and sharpened. The nights he sat up and watched the boy, he could see where shadows of hair were starting to make their presence known.