A/N: Life's crazy. Thank you so much for everyone's dedication! Writer's block really sucks but I've been working through a book on the psychology of war which is super interesting. :) Love you all! Wish this was better but it's all I could choke out.
Chapter 18
At the first gasps of dawn, Roy sent two of the men to investigate the camp, blatantly ignoring the plain disdain on Edward's face. The tension became palpable as they disappeared into the forest, wide green backs sifting into the shadows. Sunrise didn't do anything to soothe the nerves of the survivors. The radio was still painfully silent and the heat soon beat down on them, driving them to the fringes for shade, taking turns in the radio tent and carrying around the antennae. Edward stayed away from them as much as he could, especially Connely's uneasy smiling. No one talked about what happened, which was the only saving grace of the situation.
Edward meanwhile sought refuge in the crotch a large sprawling oak, opposite the field. The now much more worn leather book sprawling across his increasingly threadbare lap, he sat, puzzling over codes and scrawling in a very tattered notebook. Occasionally, sounds spilling from the surrounding woods would startle him from his contemplations and his gold eyes sharply search the underbrush. Across the field he watched as an enterprising private gathered the rare small, dry stick to act as kindling for the the surprisingly cold night ahead.
From here, Edward could almost swear that the field belonged to Risembool, and the tent of burning and screaming men seemed ever farther away than last night. The field filled with monkshood lured him to calmness reminding him of a night many years ago. It was one of the few memories he still had of Hoenheim, seated on the edge of Ed's bed as he read to him and Al and old Amestrian fairytale about a girl in a red cloak being deceived by a wolf who had followed her through fields rather similar to these. Al had turned his face into the pillow and began to cry his golden eyes out as his father described the woodsman, having following the girl while gathering wood to the cottage, cutting open the wolf and filling him with stones. Al didn't like seeing anyone hurt, even then. Edward had only learned that men with weapon's ruled the world.
A dark-haired figure waded the tall grasses towards him, Roy stripped down to his white undershit which clung to his thin frame with humidity.
"I don't recall saying this was a holiday, Fullmetal," he said disapprovingly.
"I'm working," the young man replied, calmly scrawling something, connecting the dots. The Colonel was silent below him, shielding his eyes against the light filtering green through the trees.
"As important as that may seem to you, there's too much more to be done. Come help us sort the supplies. We're only staying on more night before we pack up and move on," Roy said almost mockingly gently. Edward didn't look at him, only leveling his gaze ahead, tracing the rough patterns on the bark. "Fullmetal," he said again coaxingly, feeling like he was trying to sooth a cat back down out of a tree.
"Mn," the younger man made a sound of acknowledgement, distracted as little links began connection in his mind, flipping back several pages, double checking a diagram. Roy stood patiently below the tree, looking casual and ragged in a sweat-soaked t-shit and uniform pants. Ed's lips pressed into a thin line, brow furrowed.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he muttered, slamming the book shut with a sort of malice.
Edward was already prone to hating menial chores. Despite his love of organization, the actual process of sorting and filing was more what Al would find pleasurable. Roy, Ed, and another private with shaggy black hair eerily similar to Roy's, were on their knees in the shade, soring through several moldy packs. First aid in one pile, clothes and survival gear in another, food in a last and depressingly meager stack.
The blonde curiously picked up a flint striker, turning the shiny metal over in his hands before pulling the hammer and watching sparks spit out the end. He tossed it casually to the side, quickly bored. Roy was silent as he looked over everything and he quietly began to do the math, ticking off the days until they began to run out of supplies. His eyes fell to Edward who had developed a sullen expression as he dug and sorted. His automail arm glinted in the bright sun, white shirt hanging off his lanky frame. Ash smeared the young man's golden skin, and his hair was barely held in his trademark braid, fraying around him in a haphazard halo. Roy suspected he didn't look much better.
"We should get the tents up unless we want to be eaten alive again," Roy declared, bare hands slapping the dirty legs of his uniform. The welts still itched all over his arms from where he had sprawled in the field the previous night. He was speculating how to diplomatically divvy up the housing, but was surprised to see them begin to pair off. Last night was still fresh in their minds and they didn't want to be alone. The young alchemist wandered off with his own lumpy bundle, not keen on sharing. Away from everyone else he laid the tent on the ground and assembled it with alchemy, the other watching discreetly between sheets of cloth and posts. With a sigh, the older man pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to alleviate the pressure there, and set about assembling his own quarters.
The other did not return until after dusk and their faces were grim in the low firelight. The Colonel had been correct in his assumptions that the camp would be ransacked for all available supplies, and their packs were empty. Their voices were soft outside of Ed's tent, Roy's low urgent tones punctuating their mild voices.
"There may be other's like us," one said, strangely hopeful. "I heard something on our way back, it didn't sound like an animal."
"Yeah, it was probably a Drachman following us back," someone else chimed derisively. They agreed amongst themselves before fading away into the nocturnal sounds of crickets and the gentle thud of insects against his tent. Ed saw their shadows shifting and huddling.
"We will leave in the morning, and find a more secure location." He clipped, sending them away to find tents. Grass crackled under their heavy, tired boots. Ed tried again to sleep as the countries equivalent to silence settled in once more.
Every time he closed his eyes, circles flashed before them as the secrets of the journal slowly unfolded, the stars shifting and connecting. he wished more than anything that Al was there, but he was happy knowing that he was safe in Risembool. In his last letter he mentioned meeting some pretty young thing in town. He pictured them going to the summer fair together and sharing icecream, her green eyes flashing with happiness. He tried to remember their summer's together, running on the banks of the Rain River.
A rock formed at the pit of his stomach at the strange disconnect he felt. How could he ever have been that boy? His past wasn't his own anymore. He wondered if Roy felt the same. The man in his photos and the man than stood stoney and sweaty outside were so different he couldn't believe they had ever occupied the same body. It was like their lives had been blocked in by brackets. Wearied from his mind running in circles, his body began to relax into sleep, where he knew the war would also follow.