A/N: A long time coming, but here it is! Holy shit! I'm not dead!
Fever Pitch
Edward startled awake, stifling his own gasp, too fearful the breath. Flickers of light illuminated the damp walls of his tent. Quivers of bass followed, sending bolts of anxiety through his body. No panicked shouts or smells of smoke wafted through, and he finally allowed himself a shuddering exhalation. He shifted to a seated position, listening closely. He could hear no other sounds of stirring outside his canvas quarters aside from the contented singing of frogs and insects from a nearby wetland. He was the only one awakened by the distant storm.
In basic, he didn't recall the puptents being so small, or having to hunch his body to sit within them. Even curled upon himself, he could feel his head grazing the fabric. With a grimace, he peeled his sodden shirt from his skin with a damn sucking sound. He couldn't tell if the sweat cooling on his skin was more from fear or the stifling air within the tent. Regardless, the claustrophobia was starting to get the better of him, and he slipped from his tent as silently as possible, weaving amongst the few other shelters standing in the shelter of the trees.
At the treeline he curled his bare toes in the mossy soil with pleasure, letting his childhood flow over him for a fraction of a second. He was happy to see the stormclouds did not appear to be any immediate threat, the towering structures distant inkblots devoid of stars. Sometimes, brief flashes filled the clouds with fire. He stood there for his own eternity, chewing his lip in contemplation and enjoy brief snatches of breeze that carried petrichor across the valleys. This Drachma seemed a totally different reality than that of the road, or even the cold spring or sweltering days. If it weren't for the very real risk of being sniped down if he left the trees, he could easily let himself relax into memories of Amestris, of those many nights camping with Alphonse.
Absently, he scratched an automail finger against the tree he leaned on, scraping it down to the green, pulpy xylem and releasing the sugary smell of butterscotch. Unconsciously, he tipped back his head to take in the scent and his eyes take in the whole of the sky. It was late, far closer to dawn than to dusk, the milky way still arching over the sky. Across the land below them, he could make out the silver ripple of water that came to curl at the base of their hill. When he an Al had been trapped on Izumi's island, and unable to sleep because of the then unnamed monster, the would tend to their traps, instead of lying idle. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot as he played the idea out in his mind. It would maybe be 100 yards to the water, and it might be even farther to an eddy deep enough for fish. That distance was plenty far to be dangerous alone. He struggled to recall how long they had been there now. No Drachman had crackled across their radio and there had been so signs of search parties. In fact, it seemed they were the only people left alive on the planet.
They were also starving, he'd seen the pained clench of Roy's fist when other men asked for more rations and he had stonily refused. Yesterday, Edward himself had a trio who had been muttering mutinously scattering in terror. He had barely been able to control the rage that had swept over him when they accused the general of eating the food himself. If anything, the man had stopped eating, his usually round face more gaunt than ever. Ed suspected he himself was receiving more than his fair share, Roy knowing the drain on the body that automail creates.
Stilling his breath he gazed across the field, listening intently for any breaking branches. He contemplated going back to find his jacket to hide the shine of his metal arm in the dark but settles with pulling the limb farther into the sleeve. His flesh hand rechecked the gun at his hip, something he had started carrying at Mustang's insistence, and began to walk the treeline cautiously, all senses searching for signs of water.
On his walk down there, he found several signs of small animal trails, deeply traveled. Unable to resist the chance of bringing back fatty meat he set traps. The rope had been laughably simple to alchemize from the cellulose of saplings and grass. When stranded on Izumi's island , Ed and Al's main energy expenditure had been braiding and rubbing rope. It was almost enjoyable using these skills again, and he caught himself grinning with satisfaction as he laid long grass over one noose, perfectly masking it. Though he had done plenty already, he was still thrumming with energy and the night was still falling even darker as the stars sunk lower in the sky. A secret pleasure surged through hom, knowing this was act of flagrant disobedience, and he smirked at the thought of Roy going red in the face as he yelled. It felt good, normal; like he was once more a snot-nosed brat and Roy his superior officer, yammering on about military regulation.
"What the fuck? You gonna write me up for pissing in a non-regulation stance next?" He had snarled, slapping his automail hand on the desk. The ridge of his palm had still been visible at the time of their deployment. Roy had leaned in close, breathlessly threatening, their noses nearly touching. The shock on the then boys face at the blatant intrusion was something he would forever deny.
"If the military develops a standard for when, where, and how to take a shit, I damn well expect you to follow it," he snarled in return. The baritone of his voice dropped one more menacing octave. Part of his mind, then and now, danced with delight at Mustang's crudeness, but it had also been frightening, startling him into uncharacteristic obedience.
Through the trees he could see a broad glimmer of water, and hear the rush if he sat still and quiet. His approach was cautious, racing heart pulsing in his throat. Once on the bank he would be completely exposed and there was always a change that he would not be the only one entertaining a nocturnal reconnaissance. But no strange shadows moved on the rocky banks, nor were there any glimmers from the opposing trees. The only sound was the wind picking up, rattling the trees as the breeze funneled into the little valley.
The water before him was black, gently swirling eddies reflecting on the surface. He could only guess at its depth, but it looked more ideal for swimming or casual fishing. The gentle bow of the river wasn't right for what he had in mind. Just downstream he found what he wanted, where the river narrowed to a brook, peppered by larger rocks. He chose to refrain from alchemy, the bright crackling of energy to obvious in the dead of darkness. Instead he contented himself with collecting sticks before shucking his boots and rolling up the legs of his pants.
It was bracing, making his jaw clench and spine tingle as he waded in a short ways. It was shallow, barely cresting his ankles, but it felt like ice. Distantly, he realized that this river was probably fed by mountain snow melt. Once he had shuffled cautiously to his chosen location, two large rocks forming a natural channel in the deeper water at the center, he began to drive in the sticks like a fence, forming a V that fed and narrowed the mouth. The easy part done, he shuffled to the other side of his trap.
It was hard to see, but his flesh foot could feel a natural depression from the rushing water, but it would still need to be deepened to hold any lured fish. He brace himself, and grimaced at the ugly necessities of survival before plunging in both arms to scoop away the mud and sand. He bit back a yelp, his flesh arm prickling and numb, the steel one chilled and sending shocks of pain to his port that reminded his horribly of winter. He hurried, but the sky was beginning to lighten faintly by the time he had finished. His work was efficient, broken only by the occasional startled glance into the dark woods, at the sound of breaking branches. No other sounds or voices carried, so he merely shrugged it off, carrying on building up the edges. Finally, he dug in his pockets with numb and trembling fingers for bits of hard tac and pemmican that he had been unable to stomach, and sacrificed it as bait to the nearly still waters of the fish trap.
Shivering and with his ports throbbing he waded back to shore, where the sharp rocks added insult to injury, his flesh foot tingling and discolored from it's long submersion. He allowed himself the pleasure of flopping tot eh ground, a bit fatigued from his work and not overly thrilled at the prospect of a long walk back. Idly he gazed at his feet and was startled to see a noticeable difference in the length between the two. Perhaps an inch or more. Curious he held out his arms and saw the disparity. No wonder he'd been having tripping lately. He entertained the thought or punching his automail toes straight through the general's teeth as payback for laughing at him.
He had only begun to bemoan the difficulties of such good fortune as a growth spurt when the loud snapping of twigs startled him to stillness. Slowly, he reached for his boot, stuffing it onto his flesh foot as more crunching steps followed in the familiar rhythm of footsteps. They were close and right by his seated position on the bank. There was no chance of fleeing, they would certainly see his movement or hear if he ran for the woods. Trembling, he fumbling with the thrice damned laces, cold fingers still uncooperative as the stomping became nauseatingly loud, his empty stomach churning bile.
Then, rather anticlimactically, a very disheveled Roy Mustang lurched from the trees. Edward almost wanted to laugh with relief and amusement at the man's appearance. He had never seen him so uncollected, even when half dead in the medical tent. The white undershirt was blatantly stained to a point that would make any respectable soldier weep. Between the noticeable shadow of a beard, disheveled hair, and ever yellowing pitstains, he had the distinct air of a layabout. The general blinked as his eyes adjusted. When those dark, narrow eyes settled on him, he realized that he was in more danger than if Drachman's had found him.
"You insubordinate little brat!" He hissed eerily loud above the rising breeze and charged towards the blonde with enough fury that he began to stagger to his feet. The staggering quickly turned to frantic scurrying when Mustang managed to land a successful punch across Fullmetal's cheek that dropped him. Any illusion of weakness that the young solider had about his commanding officer dissipated along with the stars that sparkled across his vision. The cursing continued as Edward pulled himself to his feet once more, bare automail foot unsteady on the rocky shore, trying to brace himself.
"Do you have any idea why could have happened?!" What were supposed to be screams were restrained to hisses, but the full effect was made in his dark eyes that smoldered and the shaking of his clenched fists. "If you were caught! If anyone else saw you leave!" Somewhere, distantly, Edward understood, but his cheek was still throbbing, the pain radiating through his neck and head. He really wanted a fair shot back. So he took it.
His flesh hand successfully returned the favor on the General's opposing cheek and the man stumbled backwards, not wasting a second to lunge back at his subordinate. The force of it sent them rolling, both trying to land blows in the heat of the moment, but all of them lacked force and focus. Roy pinned Edward's legs and forced him onto his back.
"I was just trying to fucking help! We're fucking starving you stupid bastard!" It came out more a shout than he meant. The General's eyes narrowed further, upper lip curling to a snarl. Ed was pleased to see a fine trickle of blood coming from that perfect nose, and the corner of his split lip. Roy slapped him. It was hard and sharp, snapping his head to the side, and made him see stars again.
"There is more to our situation than you, Fullmetal. Do you have any idea what everyone would say if they caught you sneaking off in the middle of the night?!" His voice rose against his will. "They already suspect me of sabotage! If you are accused of being a spy, I cannot protect you! They will kill both of us!" Edward stared at the river, in a daze, worried for a moment that something had been knocked loose in his mind. Strong arms yanked at the front of his shirt, forcing him partially upright. He let his head tip back though, staring at the sky. The older man was silent, angry breaths hissing between his teeth as he waited for a response. The stars. The arrays. His eyes went wide as he took it all in. Roy's arm relaxed some at the man's continued silence.
"Edward?" He breathed, letting the boy rest fully on the ground, but not moving from the safe position straddling his hips.
"Roy," Edward whispered, his face lit with the thrill of understanding. "I know what those arrays to, I know what it all means.