Fun Fact: I have a new haircut that I don't like.
Sincerest Apologies From The Procrastinating Jackass: I know, I know. A thousand and one years since I last updated this, but I've finally got my Plot Bunnies into gear with this story, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy and motivated! Yaaaay!
Disclaimer: Arakawa-sensei still owns Fullmetal Alchemist. Since I am not Arakawa-sensei, that would mean I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. On the plus side, I do own this really, really cool pair of pants that attach to my wrists via chains. They do make it difficult to go to the bathroom but, y'know, can't have everything.
Edward tried not to think as he slowly made his way back to the warehouse that had housed him for longer than he wished to recall. His steps were small, his back hunched as he attempted to cause his aching and bruised body as little pain as possible, though he had deciphered it useless within seconds as the sharp twinges in the lower half of his body became slightly more than that, and he had to fight the urge to allow himself to collapse ungracefully to his knees.
He noticed several confused stares from passers-by as they caught sight of his multiple injuries and stained clothing, but rather than giving them an opportunity to question him, he simply hung his head to stare firmly at the sidewalk, and quickened his pace to more than he knew his injuries could withstand. He was pallid and shaking when he eventually found himself on the outskirts of town, and he raised his flesh hand to wipe the thin sheen of sweat that he formed on his forehead. His consciousness would not last much longer.
Drawing the remainder of his strength, he slammed his shoulder against the door that hung limply from its hinges, and staggered into the room beyond, managing with some difficulty to remain upright, despite how his vision was becoming blurred, and darkening towards the edges. He caught that distinct, cruel laugh from the adjoining room, the one that caused the entirety of his body to tense, and had to force back a panicked whimper as he realized his weakness would have to be contained, yet again. It wasn't out of pride, God, he wished it was, rather because every single weakness he possessed, Frank Archer took great pleasure in exploiting it, intensifying it, and Edward knew he wouldn't be able to hold his silence. Not today.
"Edward?" came the taunting voice he did not even have enough energy to loathe. "Where the Hell have you been? Get in here."
Gritting his teeth, Edward straightened up, doing his utmost to ignore the sharp twinge of pain it caused him, and exhaled slowly as though in preparation of whatever he would have to endure this time. He forced back the agony and sorrow that ached to make itself known, ensuring his expression was that well-practiced indifference he had become more than proficient at feigning, and walked into the room despite everything within him that was telling him to run.
He stared at his boots the entire walk, recalling a night several weeks ago when Frank had been in a particularly foul mood, and Edward had found himself crumpled and bruised upon the cold, stone floor for so much as meeting his gaze, and came to a halt several feet from the couch where he knew him to be seated. Even with his hollow eyes fixed determinedly upon the ground, he could still feel that malicious smirk burning into him, and he flinched beneath the weight of it.
"Edward," he said sharply. "We have a guest."
The Edward of several months ago would have seen that as a perfect opportunity to snarl, "You have friends?"in response, complete with a smirk eerily reminiscent of the affectionately known Colonel Bastard. The current Edward missed him. He wanted him to come back, so he didn't have to be the one to glance up, almost deliberately slowly, and reveal the vicious purple bruises upon his face to this stranger. He was more intelligent than that, apparently, because he had locked himself away, deep in the confines of his own mind, and allowed this timid, docile creature to take his place. Were it not for fear of losing his fragile amount of remaining sanity, Edward would have cursed him.
Sensing the unspoken command however, he simply mumbled, "S'a pleasure." and turned so as to inspect this honored guest of his tormentor's. Were his exhaustion any less, he might have reacted. However, his energy was being rapidly drained by the exertion of standing, so he only managed to stare blankly into the mocking eyes of Zolf Kimbley, who was reclining in the moth-eaten chair with a certain air of pride that made the young blond nauseous.
"You've certainly got him tame." he observed approvingly. "He won't even look at you."
Frank gave an arrogant smirk, before raising a hand, and flicking his index finger towards the ceiling. Kimbley arched a brow at the gesture, which was barely noticeable unless one had been watching him, and his confused expression intensified as the young blond flinched as though he had struck him, and instantly moved across the room to take a seat at the edge of the couch, his head hung ashamedly.
"He will if I tell him to," he said softly, grasping a handful of his long, blond hair, and tilting his head back sharply, forcing their gazes to meet. An unnatural compassion in his eyes, he gently stroked his cheek with his other hand, causing his eyes to flicker closed. "A little unresponsive..." he turned back to Kimbley with a shrug. "But you can't have everything."
Kimbley laughed lightly, his eyebrows raised. "So what'd you do?" at Frank's questioning expression, he continued, "I'm guessing he isn't here by choice."
Edward's eyes widened, and he held Frank's gaze, frantically shaking his head as though in denial of the Crimson Alchemist's words. Frank smiled gently, though both other occupants of the room caught the unspoken threat that was almost completely disguised within it. In response, the blond dropped his gaze as much as Frank's grasp would allow, and allowed a sigh to silently pass his lips. This, like everything else, was out of his control.
"He came to me," Frank said simply, turning once again to the man sitting across from him, the faintest of smirks playing about his lips. "Kid's a bit of a masochist. But I guess you found that out for yourself."
"Calm, docile," Kimbley agreed, with a small nod. "But not exactly of much use to you, is he?"
Two pairs of eyes focused upon him, and the difference between them was stunning. The pair belonging to the elder man were crystal, a light blue that could almost be an unnerving white color. They were cold, impassive, with the faintest hint of intrigue. The blond's were that familiar amber hue, burning with a terror he did not even attempt to hide, and flickering nervously between the two men. Kimbley couldn't help it. He had to laugh.
"Oh?" Frank raised an eyebrow. "You have an idea?"
Reaching for the glass on the upturned box beside the chair he was sitting on, Kimbley took a sip, surveying the two over the rim of it, and with a cruel smirk, sealed the blond's fate. "I have an idea."
--
Roy had been half-heartedly attacking his Cornflakes for almost an hour now, and was becoming increasingly irritated with the whole situation. His morning routine did not usually involve the assassination of his breakfast food, you understand. Matter of fact, the only thing he normally had the energy for at such an hour was coffee, and a quick examination of every single cupboard in his small kitchen had informed him that he had exhausted his caffeine supply with his chronic insomnia. That could explain why he was in such a foul mood this particular morning.
He grunted quietly, and threw down his spoon in disgust. Those pathetic little flakes wouldn't even react any more. They simply yielded beneath the spoon, as though exhausted with the constant beating. Roy stiffened slightly, before falling back in his chair, and covering his face with both of his hands. This was ridiculous. When the day came that a bowl of soggy Cornflakes could remind him of Edward, he would have officially lost his mind.
He caught the familiar sound of jingling keys, a moment before the door opened and a voice called, "Are you awake? I've got coffee!" He peered between his splayed fingers, his brain only managing to register the word "coffee", and as Frank entered the room, swinging a plastic bag from his index finger, he grinned at his companion's wide eyes, and hopeful expression. Rifling inside the bag, he handed the jar of coffee to him, which he stared at for a moment, as though unable to comprehend what it contained.
Frank shook his head in desperation. "You are the worst morning person I have ever met."
"Sh'tup," he responded dully, dropping his hands to the table. "Can' sleep. Paperwork..."
"Paperwork?" the less exhausted figure arched an eyebrow, and turned to the set of cupboards on the opposite wall. He pulled down a mug from one of them, and proceeded to heat the kettle atop the cooker. "Roy, you would never lose your precious sleep over a bunch of papers," he turned around once again, and folded his arms across his chest. "What's really bothering you? Edward again?"
Silently cursing his transparency, Roy nodded slowly, and gave a small yawn. "I saw him, Frank. 'Bout two weeks ago."
"Yeah?" he failed to notice the cold glint in the other man's eyes, or how he averted his gaze in order to disguise it. "How's he taking his discharge?"
Roy groaned. "I don't know. I don't remember. I just woke up and he was there and...he told me he was sorry...like he wanted me to think he'd taken advantage of me..." he bit down hard on his lower lip. "But...he was lying."
"I'm sure he had his reasons," Frank replied, without the faintest trace of emotion. Even the Colonel caught that, and he stared at him blankly as he stirred the coffee into his mug. "Or maybe he was telling the truth."
"No," Roy firmly shook his head. "No. He's a bad liar. I think...someone's been hurting him," he hesitated, having finally spoken what had been plaguing him since their meeting. "And he hasn't been fighting back."
He blinked sharply, as there came a sudden noise from Frank's direction that almost sounded as though he had slammed his fist down on the counter. The mug he had been pouring sugar into a moment ago jumped very slightly to the right, and teetered dangerously as it did so, seeming to contemplate whether or not to torture the sleep-deprived man by falling to the ground. Frank whipped around, and there was a certain fire flickering behind his eyes that led Roy to the conclusion that he actually had attacked the counter. The question was why?
His expression didn't alter in the slightest as he crossed the small room, and his hand shot out to grasp Roy's jaw, turning it sharply and forcing their eyes to meet. He stooped down, and crashed his lips to his without any compassion, or regard to the other man's confusion at the gesture. No, as he forced his tongue into his mouth, there was nothing present but a battle for dominance, a wordless command that the Colonel was to shut his mouth.
Before Roy could respond (though, he wasn't certain what he was going to do anyway) Frank pulled away once again, and had turned back to the coffee he was preparing without giving Roy a chance to identify his expression. The onyx-eyed Colonel stared, bewildered at the man's back, all too aware that it was not him he was seeing. In his mind, there was nothing but a kiss eerily familiar to the one had had just endured, and it was a small blond relenting, a haunting look in his eyes that made his stomach churn.
"You should think about showering," Frank said, almost coldly. "You're due at HQ in less than an hour, and Riza gave you a whole new stack of paperwork yesterday."
He placed the mug of steaming coffee on the table in front of the Colonel, and watched him, almost expectantly. Roy didn't seem to have noticed the motion, as he simply stared at his companion, his brow furrowed, and something in his eyes that perhaps resembled disgust. Frank made to question, but without a word, Roy got to his feet so rapidly that his chair fell over backwards in his haste, and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a silence that was more than uncomfortable.
Edward Elric was a lot of things. A stubborn, arrogant little brat, most definitely, but Roy had always considered him to be truthful, especially to him. Up until his discharge, (Until you dropped an alleyway on him, his conscience interjected smoothly) there had even been a mutual respect between them that almost bordered on friendship. As Roy stepped into the scalding shower, his flesh turning scarlet in an instant, he realized two things. He was a sick, depraved drunkard, and Edward was a liar.