A/N: Tyndall's back driving an ambulance, so look out New Orleans and , here comes inspiration and too much free time. Also, photo's of my "sexy" military-ish uniform may find it's way to my lj. Lastly, anyone know of betas that would be interested in giving me a hand?
P.S. Y'all's reviews mean a lot too me and constructive criticism is always very much appreciated. If you read it and liked it, let me know! It really helps drive the creative process and encourages me to set aside time for writing. :)
Chapter 16
It didn't take long to sink back into the honeyed ritual of the camp. Wake, eat, paperwork, drills, eat, meetings, eat again, and finally sleep. It was monotonous as the seasons moved smoothly and swiftly into summer. At some point, Edward received a package, and Roy watched smugly as he opened it, perched on his cot with his legs neatly crossed in a muddied uniform, with his MRE box resting primly on his lap. His hands rested languidly in his lap as well, despite the anxiety fluttering in his stomach.
Edward tugged at the twine bow atop the neat brown package, and hurriedly unfurled the paper. His fingers traced around the simple maple box that shone with lacquer in the dim light coming through their open tent flap. Hesitantly, he opening it, and saw the gleam of polished steel and the dim ivory of a bristle brush.
"It's a proper razor for a young man," Roy beamed, taking a bite of a rock hard piece of bread. Edward ran a flesh finger down the handle, admiring the smoothness, and a slow reddening spread across the bridge of his nose and dotted his cheeks.
"I...thank you, Colonel bastard," he muttering, struggling to maintain dignity and nonchalance in the face of this unexpected generosity.
"When you don't have your nose in that book, you can shave without slitting your pretty little throat," he prodded. The immediate narrowing of the boy's eyes and hardening of his jaw caused smirk to grace Roy's own unshaven face. He snapped the lid shut and shoved it pointedly to the floor before turning back to his journal and meal sitting beside him on the bed, drawing up a leg to balance them throat. He had spent every waking moment like this since returning from that eerie dwelling in the forest, scribbling notes on any available scrap like a man possessed.
"Are you getting close?" Roy pried curiously, opening a letter from Hawkeye detailing the goings on in Central with one free hand.
"Very," Edward clipped, obviously still annoyed.
"Fullmetal?"
"Hm?"
"Is that a pimple?" Roy queried with incredulous amusement, not longer preoccupied with Riza's neat scrawl. His dark, tired eyes were instead focussed on the small blemish forming on the boy's cheek. A panicked look broke out across the Major's face.
"No, it's razor burn!" He sniped, raising a hand to cover it.
"Really? it looked like a zit to me. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you're just becoming even more a man." Edward grimaced, still holding his hand over the spot while Roy bent over, gingerly picking up the wooden box and placing it on Edward's moldering ruck sack. It wouldn't be long until the lovingly varnished box even succumbed to the moisture. Already, the silent killer crept up the sides of their tent in a powdery black and green blanket and into the rations of his men.
Alone in his office, Roy liked to build little altars to his failures. They were lined along the edge of his desk in neat little piles. One pile held body release forms for the remains to be sent home, most killed by the flu. Another were requests and denials for more rations, so he wouldn't have to tell his men to go hungry in the face of their already extreme hardships. He had never recalled paperwork being so grim. Being back in the valley, the same heavy heat of summer he and Edward had felt through a rainstorm settled heavily on the camp, bringing with it furious black storms of gnats that waiting to jump out at passing soldiers from moist shadows. Many men were reduced to running between buildings, opting to sit and sweat unmolested, and making using the bathroom and showering only matters of great urgency.
During the winter, nights had passed through brief, frozen moments of consciousness. Now it seemed to linger between the brackish air and ever rising chorus of frogs from hidden pools about the forest at night and the dawn chorus of dicky birds. The sleeplessness did nothing for the waning morale. When the fruit trees shed their petals in pink and white blizzards, Roy had lost count of the empty tents. He finally decided to put Edward on the task of breaking down the tents and burning them or soaking them in bleach for days. It left Roy more time to sit at his desk, wondering where he'd gone wrong and stare at the correspondence that came faithfully every two weeks. Hold your position. He felt like he was leading a tribe of lost and forgotten boys. The brass no longer contacted him over radio. There had been no inspection in two months and mail dwindled to a trickle. Finally, his worst fears were confirmed when the shelling started at dawn with a bang.