Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Descent ❯ Apples ( Chapter 7 )

-

 

Descent

-

Chapter Seven

-

 

Apples

 

-

 

Ed woke to the sound of pans clanging and something frying. From the smell he thought it might be potatoes. Normally he'd be famished this time of the morning, but now he only felt a nauseating feeling in his stomach.

 

He didn't want to eat; didn't feel like it…

 

More clanging then, “aaahh! Dammit! Ouch! Mother fucking piece of shit!”

 

Ed raised an eyebrow; he'd have to remember that the next time the Colonel got on his case about swearing.

 

The Colonel…

 

The young alchemist could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment as he thought about what had happened during the night. He could still feel Mustang's strong hold on his body; could still feel the breath from the man as he spoke softly to him. His heart began beating faster just from the memory.

 

But then… he had been crying, crying from the nightmare, crying for Al…

 

How embarrassing…

 

Ed covered his eyes as if to block out the memory. The Colonel must think he was such a child. He was sure he'd never live it down, even if Mustang had been… tender… with him, even if the man had held him and rocked him…

 

Ed's blush deepened.

 

The sound of scraping, then the sound of plates being set down, sounded from the kitchen, then he heard Mustang come up behind him. Ed was lying with his face toward the back of the couch, but that wouldn't hide the fact that he was awake; lying there, the way he was, with his hands pressed flat against his eyes. He just hoped the dark haired man wouldn't notice how red his face and neck must be.

 

There was a moment of silence, then, “Time to get up Fullmetal.”

 

“No. Go away.” Ed said automatically, wishing his face would cool down. He didn't want to face the Colonel, didn't want to face the inevitable questions that would come.

 

There was a sound of exasperation from behind him, then, “Breakfast is ready.”

 

“I'm not hungry.” He mumbled.

 

“You're not hungry…?” Mustang asked doubtfully. “You didn't eat last night either…”

 

Ed shifted uncomfortably at the sound of concern in Mustang's voice. It felt strange thinking that his commanding officer was concerned about him. He didn't dare hope that the man could possibly care for him.

 

“You know… sometimes people just aren't hungry…” Ed mumbled in response.

 

“Not you.” In his mind, Ed could see Mustang shaking his head.

 

Ed sighed. The Colonel was right…. But he just didn't want to eat. He wasn't hungry.

 

“With your metabolism, I'm afraid you'd die in a couple of days if you didn't eat.” Mustang said with a slightly amused tone.

 

“I wish I would…” The words came out before he could stop them and almost instantly he felt the dark eyed man grab his arm and wrench him around to face him. The force of the Mustang pulling him around drew his hand away from one of his eyes; Ed's other hand dropping down to steady his position on the couch. His gaze fixed on Mustang's black eyes and the intensity in them scared Ed more than he would admit.

 

“Don't you say that!” The older man hissed.

 

Ed's eyebrows scrunched together as tears threatened to come again.

 

“Why?” Ed whispered, voice quivering. “Why do you care if I live or die?”

 

He watched as the other man's eyes twitched slightly at the question. Dark eyebrows knit together and the black orbs moved slightly as they studied Ed's face. Then suddenly Roy looked away and said, in a forced light tone, “Well it wouldn't do to have one of my subordinates die, especially when it isn't in battle. It looks bad on my evaluation report.”

 

Ed felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. Suddenly rage, pain, and disappointment all mixed together inside him. He pushed against Mustang as hard as he could and jumped to his feet. The room swam as tears flooded his vision.

 

I hate you! I hate you... you... you...fucking bastard! Ed thought savagely.

 

It wasn't as if he'd had any sort of … anything… with the other man, but he wanted it so much. He'd wanted Mustang to say, `I don't want you to die because I care about you.' But, no… That bastard was just thinking about his next promotion!

 

He ran, not knowing exactly where he was going. He only knew he had to get away from the other man; had to get away before he couldn't hold back the tears. When he saw a door, he ran toward it, fumbled with the doorknob before he could get it open, then flung himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

 

;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

Roy watched as the short alchemist ran around the corner and into the bathroom, then sat heavily on the floor. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair then winced. He had forgotten about the burn from cooking breakfast…

 

Why did I say that...? He asked himself.

 

Of course the question was an unnecessary one, and he knew it. He'd said it because he'd gotten scared… scared of what he had seen in Ed's eyes. He rubbed his face with his hand, the one that wasn't burnt.

 

A sound caught his attention and he looked up toward the bathroom. The sound was that of something breaking… The mirror, he guessed. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of crying; faint at first, but quickly becoming sobs.

 

Ed wasn't one to just start crying. He had always been strong, but Roy had seen, or heard, the young alchemist cry more since he picked him up off the street than the whole time he'd known him. It was confusing, in a way, to see the blond so emotional and distraught.

 

The whole thing just made him feel terrible; terrible for being the one to start the flow of tears again… and terrible for missing his chance. It had been there, in his eyes… he had wanted Roy to say something to make him feel wanted; cared for.

 

And wasn't that just the chance of a lifetime? Didn't he want to get closer to Ed? Of course he did… but at that moment… at that moment he'd gotten scared. What if he'd misread the boy? What if Ed found out the reason, the real reason, why Roy was being so kind? What if he was disgusted? What if he told someone? What would happen to his career? The military didn't exactly look kindly on soldiers whose sexual preference were men …

 

Frustrated and angry with himself, Roy got up and headed for the kitchen. He passed the potatoes he'd cooked. He wasn't too bad of a cook, but he didn't do it very often. Since Roy usually ate at the cafeteria or ordered take out, his supply of actual food was rather sparse. He had potatoes, tea, coffee, a few cans of soup and various containers containing leftovers from previous meals…

 

And liquor.

 

He opened a cupboard and let his eyes wander over the assortment of bottles that could have been labeled a mini liquor store. He really needed a drink; needed something to dull the ache inside of him. He reached out his hand...

 

`Roy, the answer to life's problems won't be found at the bottom of a bottle.'

 

He let his hand drop.

 

Maes...

 

Roy squeezed his eyes shut. How long ago had that been...? Quite a few years… After he had gotten back from the front lines in Ishbal, after he had killed so many people… Back then he'd spent most of his time either drinking, wishing he was dead or studying human transmutation.

 

Usually all three at the same time.

 

But Maes Hughes, and Roy's new ambition to become Fuhrer, had helped him through it. He'd gotten past the insane desire to find a way to bring the dead back, and it was only after flashbacks or nightmares that he thought of suicide. Even the constant, desperate, heavy drinking had slowed.

 

Slowed…

 

But not stopped.

 

Not completely.

 

Not a day went by that he didn't think about drowning himself in alcohol; to giving into the urge to feel numb to the daily problems of life. He wanted to make sure that nothing like Ishbal ever happened again, but to do that he needed to be in charge, and to do that… to become Fuhrer… sometimes he had to do things he found particularly despicable.

 

He'd often been called a `bootlicker' by other soldiers and been despised in their eyes, but he tried to bear it the best he could, since even he despised himself for it. Usually he survived by overworking himself until he collapsed. It kept his job performance high.

 

And it kept him from drinking too much. Not that he had a problem anymore… just once in a while he would drink a little more than what he should… but it wasn't often…

 

Normally he did just fine… really, he did… he was able to just have one glass without giving into the desire to have more.

 

Roy raised his head. The sobbing from the other room had quieted. He sighed and shook his head, not knowing what to do. Dark eyes moved over the bottles one more time, hoping they really might have the answer.

 

Maybe just one drink... he thought. He could just have one drink…

 

Really…

 

;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

Winry stared at the mess surrounding Al's bed. Stacks of alchemy books dotted the floor at intervals. A small bucket of black paint sat on the floor, half empty, and a thin paintbrush was sticking out of the thick liquid. Papers were scattered around, different arrays painted on each of them. Two buckets of wash water, now murky, sat quietly off to the side. But strangest of all were the two small piles of non-descript dolls. One pile contained normal enough looking dolls, but the other held dolls that were mutilated or destroyed in some way.

 

She looked at the sleeping teenager on the bed. Even in his sleep he looked tired. An arm dotted with flecks of black paint lay on the covers. When her eyes rested on his hand she gasped involuntarily.

 

Faint ghosts of small transmutation circles could be seen on his palms, as if he had drawn them there, then washed them away, then drawn something different.

 

She looked from Al to the small pile of mangled dolls feeling concern and fear well up within her.

 

;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

Ed sat on the floor, back to the bathtub staring at the shards from the mirror. He supposed it was a stupid, foolish thing to do; taking his anger out on the glass…even dumber to do it with his real hand.

 

Blood dripped from the cuts and gashes in his knuckles. In the beginning, the red liquid had made small splatter patterns on the floor, but now each drop just added to a rapidly growing puddle in front of him.

 

He had taken to letting some of the drops hit the gray sweat pants and the white tee-shirt. Maybe Mustang would be more concerned about him if he was covered in blood… His lips pulled down into a deep frown. Then again maybe not…

 

He'll probably just get mad... Ed thought. He supposed that wasn't a bad thing… It would help him stay mad at the other man; help him not to think about how desperately he wanted the Colonel to put his arms around him again.

 

I don't deserve it... don't deserve someone caring about me... not after what I did to Al... At the thought of his brother, tears welled up in his eyes again. How could he have done such a thing? Was Al even okay? He didn't know, and couldn't bring himself to place the phone call to find out.

 

What if he was dead? What if Ed had killed him? Killed him just like…

 

Ed shook his head violently and squeezed his injured hand. The physical pain helped him to forget the mental anguish of what he had done, and he watched as fresh blood flowed from his wounds.

 

He looked over at some of the larger pieces of the mirror; sharp edges gleamed wickedly in the artificial light. His gaze moved to his arm and wrist at the soft blue lines that were his veins.

 

Maybe I could...

 

But he knew he couldn't. He had tried to end his life before, right after he'd left Rizembool, but he had been too scared.

 

Too cowardly.

 

He had hoped that if he wandered Central long enough, Scar would find him and do the work for him. But that… that… bastard… had found him instead. He should just leave. After all, he was just going to resign from the military anyway. The Colonel was just wasting his time.

 

But… if he retired from the military… Scar would have no reason to go after him…

 

Ed hung his head, letting his blond hair fall around his face and squeezed his eyes shut letting a single tear trickle down his face.

 

;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

Roy poured himself another glass of applejack(1). He'd just have one more. This was only his fourth glass, and he could handle quite a bit more than that. He looked at the more than half empty bottle and frowned. It had been full when he'd pulled it out of the cupboard…

 

His eyes went back to the glass. It did seem a bit more… full … than it was supposed to be… Maybe he'd been pouring himself too much…?

 

In any case, he was feeling better than he had been. Even his hand didn't hurt as much. He lifted the injured hand up to get a better look. Well… maybe he should put something on it… but he'd do that later.

 

Dropping the hand, Roy used his other one to pick up the glass. He drained half the liquid before setting it back down, then moved his gaze in the bathroom's general direction. Ed had been in there for a long time. The sounds of crying had ceased and now no sound at all came from the restroom.

 

The Colonel's brow crinkled. It was a little… too… quiet in there. Maybe he should go check on him…

 

Besides that, Fullmetal just happened to be occupying the only bathroom, and after drinking over half a bottle of applejack he had to point the pink pistol at the porcelain firing range, and soon.

 

Roy stood up, a bit unsteadily at first as the world seemed to shift. When the room stopped tilting he moved to go to the bathroom when he remembered the glass of alcohol. Without a second thought he picked it up and drank the rest. Can't have good liquor go to waste…

 

Again he was about to go, but thought he should put the bottle away. After all, he thought as he gently placed the bottle back among its companions, couldn't have Ed seeing how much he had drunk… not like he really cared… really… it wasn't as if he really had a problem anymore anyway. He'd just felt like drinking a bit more than usual this time… that's all…

 

When Roy finally made it to the bathroom, he tried the knob only to find it locked. He let his head rest against the door as he stared down at the antique looking knob.

 

What to do what to do what to do…

 

Finally he lifted his head up, raised a fist and knocked.

 

No answer.

 

He knocked again, this time with a firm, “Fullmetal!”

 

Again, no answer.

 

Roy was becoming more than a little concerned. He tried again and finally got an answer.

 

“Go screw yourself, you bastard!” Was shouted loudly from the other side of the door.

 

Concern changed rapidly to irritation.

 

He was going to get into the bathroom one way or another…

 

;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

Ed's body jumped when the door to the bathroom burst in and became little splinters, some of them turning into ashes from the flames before they even touched the floor. Shock at what had just happened kept his body ridged as a man dressed in baggy dark gray sweats and a white tee-shirt, with one gloved hand raised, stepped through the door way.

 

The first thing that Ed's brain processed was the fact that he and the Colonel were dressed almost in exactly the same clothes. He hadn't really noticed what Mustang had been wearing when he had run off. He felt two conflicting feelings over this, the first being that of irritation. Didn't the stupid old man have anything else to wear? The second, more underlying, feeling was that of confused attraction…

 

The dark haired man dropped his hand and walked toward him, a dark menacing look in his eyes. Ed sat still, refusing; he hated to think unable, to move. When the Colonel was almost in front of him, the man turned his back to him and walked toward the toilet.

 

Ed blinked.

 

When the sound of the other man relieving himself began, the blond teenager blinked again then felt a crazy urge to laugh well up inside of him. It was just so fucking strange; something he hadn't expected. Finally he couldn't hold it back and laughter bubbled out of him. He closed his eyes, the sound of the insane laughter filling his ears; as if it were from someone other than him.

 

When he finally was able to begin pulling himself together Mustang was applying some sort of cream on his hand and looking at him warily. Ed's eyes fixed on the cream and he thought, Maybe he really will screw himself. I wonder if he'll do that right in front of me too!

 

That thought made him start laughing again. He wanted to stop, his side hurt and tears were streaming down his face, but he couldn't.

 

I've snapped. Ed thought as he continued to laugh hysterically. I've totally lost my fucking mind. They're going to put me in one of those places where there are padded walls and they put you in one of those white coats so your arms are tied down, and they'll spoon feed me... applesauce... He thought as his nose caught the sent of apples.

 

“Fullmetal!” The sound seemed far away through the uncontrollable laughter.

 

Suddenly the laughter was cut off when he felt a stinging sensation in his cheek. For a moment he was too stunned to think of what could have happened, but then his brain registered the sensation as a slap and his eyes turned to look at the man crouched in front of him.

 

Ed stared at Mustang's unreadable face for almost a full minute as his breathing slowed, then he said, almost meekly, the only thing he could think of.

 

“You smell like apples…”

 

 

1) A strong alcoholic beverage produced from apples. It is slightly sweet, and tastes, and usually smells, of apples. Commercially produced applejack may be composed of apple brandy diluted with grain spirits, but what Mustang is drinking is pure applejack.

-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Thanks to:

MasamuneReforged for being my beta.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-