Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Rain ❯ Part Three ( Chapter 3 )

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Rain: Part Three

 

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A Full Metal Alchemist fanfic by L.A. Mason.

Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought.

 

 

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for the generous praise. Your reviews have been a treat. Warnings this chapter for a different flavor of angst, and once again for no beta-ing. You're getting raw first draft again. I hope it will continue to live up to your expectations.

 

LibraryCat

 

 

*************

 

Leave it to Full Metal to think up new and interesting ways to torment his former commander. And, Roy reflected, the worst part of it was that it was probably completely unintentional.

 

The problem was that Edward was the least body-conscious person that the older alchemist had ever met. Roy felt like blowing his brains out for an entirely new reason as a result.

 

There were a lot of reasons for the military rule against fraternization, and most of them the ex-officer even had to admit that he agreed with. That was why on the rare occasion that he had allowed himself to be really involved with anyone, he had made a point of choosing individuals who were of another unit, and preferably of equal rank to himself, so that there could be no claims of undue influence being exerted. The manner in which he'd dated his way through Central's secretarial pool didn't count, as he considered that to be under the heading of gathering counter-intelligence. And, besides, he'd made damned sure that the relationships had remained casual.

 

The blond alchemist was proving to be a whole `nother kettle of fish, as the saying went.

 

The first part of his problem involved what Roy was coming to refer to as “That Damned Bed,” and, more specifically, sleeping in it. At some point during the period immediately following Armstrong's death - a memory that made Roy wince - the stubborn pain in the ass had chivvied Roy upstairs, out of his clothes, and into a warm nest of blankets. And then joined him. Given that the only other choices for places to keep vigil were the hard, straight-backed chair that Hawkeye had once used for that purpose, or the bare floor itself, the bed wasn't such a crazy idea. But, dammit, it was a single, and Edward had continued to come back, night after night. When Roy complained, the boy had groused, “ `M tired… this way I'll wake up if you try anything.”

 

It was on the tip of the former Colonel's tongue to point out that since Edward had already destroyed his service-issue side-arm, and found and neutralized the small revolver that he'd kept as a backup, shooting himself had ceased to be an option. But, and he bit his tongue this time, there was the fact that they were both alchemists, and the young man lying at his back was well-aware that either of them could transmute a weapon if it were necessary. Likewise, it would do no good to explain that attempting suicide had been a spur of the moment thing… not when Roy had to admit to himself that he'd been down that path before, during the subjugation of Ishbal.

 

So Roy kept his mouth shut, and put up with having a constant bedmate.

 

But it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore someone who radiated heat like a blast furnace on one side, and was pleasantly cool to the touch on the other… especially given that that person turned out to be a snuggler. If Edward had been awake, no question but it was a heinous plot. But with the boy asleep, what was Roy supposed to think? Curled loosely onto his side, the dark haired alchemist stared at the stars just visible through a crack in the closed curtains, and tried to ignore the living arm looped carelessly around his middle. Ed's cheek was pressed to Roy's back, just between his shoulder blades, and each exhalation was a pleasant warmth through the fabric of his pajamas. Then, finally, the boy flopped over onto his back, releasing his hostage. Roy breathed a quiet sigh of relief that he had again dodged having to explain things to his housemate.

 

The whole situation represented a problem that he hadn't expected to have to ever deal with. During the four years that Full Metal had been Roy's responsibility - `subordinate' not being a term that worked particularly well - he had been willful, obstinate, disobedient, argumentative…. as well as frighteningly perceptive and even occasionally wise. But still a child. As commanding officer, Roy had done his best to shield both of the Elrics from the worst aspects of the military, while still giving them a chance to move forward toward their goals. It had not been an easy balancing act, when his instincts insisted that it was the role of adults to guide and protect the children, not to let them go alone into danger. And definitely not to think about them as physically attractive.

 

Adults did not (if they were normal, moral individuals) harbor those kinds of thoughts about the youngsters entrusted to them. Period. End of statement.

 

But was Edward still a child? Ignoring the blond alchemist's mutterings about the relative passage of time, and how that might account for some of the differences between the two worlds separated by the Gate, the senior Elric was now past his eighteenth birthday, and ought to be considered as a young adult, not as a kid. But a calendar was no guarantor of adulthood.

 

Behavior was. And, measured by that ruler, Full Metal had grown in maturity even if he had not in size. The meager inches of physical growth was nothing compared to the importance of learning to think and act judiciously. Isolated from his brother and the regulated structure of the military, Edward had been forced to fend - and think - for himself, and had apparently even reached the point of getting along with his father. From Roy's standpoint, that was the most significant indicator: Hohenheim had gone from being the idolized, god-like father of a young child, to being a demonic bastard who had abandoned his family, to finally being simply a man like any other.

 

Like his son.

 

And maybe, Roy thought sourly, he ought to go back to drinking himself into a blind stupor every night, because thoughts like that were bringing him full circle to being aware of how good it felt to have someone warm and alive pressed against him. And, dammit, it wasn't even as if said someone had ever shown any interest.

 

Sighing, he decided that he might as well get up and begin fixing breakfast. The stars had drowned in a sky gone the electric shade of pre-dawn blue, and if there was one thing that his years in the military had done, it was to cure him of being able to sleep past sunrise. Roy wormed his way out from under the covers and scrambled down the length of the bed and over the foot board. The slight figure that he left behind cocooned in the blankets growled possessively and promptly took the middle of the single bed - while still soundly asleep. As he collected a change of clothing, the older man shook his head in renewed good humor; today, he would put that telephone to good use and arrange for the purchase and delivery of some new furniture. And since it didn't seem likely that he would be getting to have the bed to himself any time soon, a double mattress and frame were at the top of the list.

 

 

**************

 

 

Not too surprisingly, the other half of the household came shambling downstairs just as the coffee finished boiling and the aroma hit its peak. Roy automatically poured a cup for the groggy blond and slid it across the cluttered table without comment. A plate loaded with scrambled eggs, a thick slab of toast, and a hash of left-over ham and potatoes from the night before followed. Edward grunted something that might have been a thanks and went to work while the former officer leaned back to watch with an amused smirk.

 

One side-effect of having Full Metal show up on his doorstep in a rain storm had been being forced to share his clothing with the smaller man. Today was no exception. Edward wore yet another of Roy's too-big white cotton shirts, sleeves rolled up to reveal one muscular forearm, and an equally strong metal one. He'd given up and transmuted a pair of black trousers to a better fit, but balked at doing the same with the rest of his outfit… something confusing to do with the source of the power to drive an alchemical reaction, and how it was inappropriate to use it for trivial purposes now that he knew. Roy had intended to back Full Metal into a verbal corner and demand an explanation about that, but the latent pain in the honey eyes had prevented the inquisition.

 

But it wouldn't hold Roy back forever.

 

He slouched comfortably in his own chair, and studied the younger man. Completely oblivious to the intent examination, Edward methodically shoveled food into his mouth with one hand while the other turned the pages of a book that lay open in front of him. It was rather amusing that it had only taken a half cup of scalding coffee to wake him up enough for the need to read to kick in, but a side advantage was that it let Roy stare with impunity.

 

Edward had scrapped his spun-gold hair into a messy pony tail, blissfully ignorant of the many women in the world who would kill to have such lovely hair. Roy snickered. It was so typical of the driven alchemist that he didn't even notice the effect he had on the people around him. The officers that had made up Roy's command staff had even had a pool going as to what the first person to successfully seduce the young blond would be like. Most of the bettors had been in agreement that whoever it was would need a two-by-four to get Edward Elric's attention first, before any progress could be made. The memory hardened the ex-Colonel's remaining black eye as the familiar rush of mingled guilt and sorrow gave way to a new emotion: to cold rage. Those for whom the outcome of the wager would no longer matter did not deserve to be forgotten, nor to have their service to Amestior relegated to obscurity.

 

Edward picked that exact moment to glance up from his reading. Taken aback by the murderous expression on the Flame Alchemist's face, he blinked uneasily. “Um… Colonel? Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

 

The wariness in the younger man's tone startled Roy out of his black introspection, back into the present, and he favored Edward with an evil grin. Teasingly, he asked, “You mean to tell me that you don't know…?”

 

The worry transmuted into an instant flash of temper as Edward bridled. “Damned jerk! Would I be asking if I had any idea what went on in that twisted brain of yours?”

 

Gauntlet thrown, challenge accepted, Roy opened his mouth to escalate the confrontation, when the clang of the mail flap in the front door threw him off his verbal stride. There was seldom much of anything delivered to the house; he could go for days without the postman even mounting the steps of the front porch. The skittering slap of letters hitting the floor and promptly scattering, followed by a heavy, retreating tread across the plank floor of the porch, had the dark haired alchemist out of his seat in an instant. He hurried into the hall, just on the off chance that today was the day that their letter to Edward's master bore fruit. Behind him, Full Metal shouted “Oy! I wasn't done yet!” but Roy ignored him, excitement sending a shiver up his spine as he dropped to one knee to pick up the mail.

 

There were only four envelopes, after all. Impatiently, he dismissed the statement from his grocer as irrelevant, although he supposed he ought to consider increasing the quantity a hair on a few things; who knew that someone as small as Elric could eat so much? A note on cream parchment from an old soldiers' home soliciting donations joined the grocer's bill. Likewise, the invitation to speak to the Right Honorable Daughters of the 87th Regiment could go into the fireplace as tinder. He had no intention of praising the glories of war in front of a bunch of over-bred cretins. If he told them what he really thought, not a one of them would understand, anyway.

 

That left one, addressed in a looping scrawl that he didn't recognize.

 

Tucking the rejects absently under his arm, Roy rose to his feet. The return address scribbled across the envelope's flap was illegible, but the postmark seemed to be a small town in the south… near Dublith. Anticipation sped up his heartbeat, sending a tingling surge through his veins. He strode quickly as he returned to the parlor and snatched up the butter knife from his plate, intent on slitting open his prize. The unwanted letters fluttered unheeded to the floor.

 

At that small sound they made hitting the carpet, Edward mumbled an interrogative around a mouthful of eggs. Roy held up one hand, effectively forestalling any questions as he quickly skimmed the beginning of the letter. Then, chuckling, he began to read aloud: “ `Dear Cousin, we were overjoyed to receive your recent letter. My foster son sends his greetings to you and to his favorite relative...' ”

 

“Give me that!” shouted Edward, lunging across the table to snatch the sheet from Roy's fingers. He scanned the text rapidly, muttering, “This is my master's handwriting… `He excels in his studies, but more importantly, his generous and kind nature make him loved by one and all.' Al! She's talking about Al!” the younger man whooped, then restrained himself enough to continue reading. “ `He's full of impatience to be reunited with his true family, but understands that circumstances sometimes do not allow it as quickly as we would like. For now, I've persuaded him to turn his studies into new avenues in hopes of keeping him occupied safely. On other news, dear cousin, we've recently found two young men who oversee our every need. It's possible that you might know them, as they come from an agency that you once employed, yourself. The elder of them is named Batteau, and sends his greetings in case you remember him.' ” The smaller alchemist's brilliant eyes flicked up, full of confusion. “Oy, Colonel… What does she mean by that last bit?”

 

A broad, genuine smile stretched Roy's face, feeling awkward and unfamiliar, but wonderful none the less. He reached for the china coffee pot sitting between them, and casually poured a cup for himself as he drawled, “A certain intelligence officer who used to be a part of my staff goes by that name…?” He glanced up in time to see Edward's growing annoyance transmuted into open delight.

 

“Falman! Master's got Falman.” He leapt out of his chair and began pacing in rapid strides between the wall of book cases and the windows, absently stepping over a pile of recent acquisitions that had yet to find a home on the over-flowing shelves. Abruptly, he stopped and whirled back to the table, exclaiming, “Two - she said `two.' So, who's the other one?”

 

“I have no idea.” Roy replied calmly, hiding a growing smirk of his own behind the rim of his cup. “You grabbed the letter before I could read that far.”

 

The impatient blond replied with a growled curse, and turned his attention back to the sheet clutched in his hand. “ `… the other is a skinny little serpent.' Okay, that doesn't ring any bells for me.”

 

Cup met saucer with sufficient force to break the former in two. Roy stared at his shaking hand for a moment, then deliberately uncurled his fingers from the coffee cup's handle. His voice was low, and full of anger as he carefully enunciated each word, “Your master is telling us that two people from the military have been assigned to keep tabs on them. One, with whom she has been in contact, is Warrant Officer Falman, who is apparently still sympathetic to us. That's our good fortune. The other, however, is no friend. Archer had an aide that Falman was fond of referring to as `that skinny little snake in the grass.' I would conclude that he's the second one.”

 

“So…” Edward dropped into his seat, slouching down till the back of his skull bumped on the carved wood. He addressed the ceiling overhead. “They assigned Falman because he knows Al, and would have some idea how to interpret what he sees. But because they don't trust the Warrant Officer, they assigned another watchdog to keep an eye on him.”

 

“Yes.” Cold fury settled into the pit of his stomach.

 

A look of concentration settled onto Ed's features, causing his amber eyes to go vague and unfocused. Roy found his anger shifting to amused fondness at the well-remembered fugue state; once he got like that, the younger man could chew on a problem for hours while oblivious to everything that went on around him. A long time ago, when the boys had been relatively new to Central, Al had gone so far as to smuggle a cat into their room in the dorms. Then he'd given in to the temptation to take the creature out of his chest and play with it, and his elder brother had still been none the wiser. Lieutenant Ross had been frankly incredulous, but Roy had understood very well how easy it was to lose oneself in a puzzle.

 

A slow grin stole across Ed's face, and he murmured, “Al's doing okay, isn't he?”

 

“Yes.” Warmth replaced the chill in Roy's stomach. That was an affirmative that he was happy to be able to give. It was surprising that seeing his unexpected houseguest happy could make him feel that way. But he was getting used to thinking in terms of `us,' rather than just `me,' and it was a nice change, all around.

 

Metal and flesh fingers carefully folded the letter, smoothing the creases lovingly, then suspiciously bright eyes flicked up, briefly meeting Roy's, only to look away again. “Do you… Do you think that I'll be able to see him soon?”

 

“Maybe. But don't get your hopes up too high. It might take some time. It should be enough that Al is well, and that he's in good hands.” Honesty hurt, but he'd learned that with the senior of the Elric brothers, it was definitely a good policy. It had taken Edward a long time to really forgive and forget that it had been Colonel Mustang's decision to withhold information concerning Maas Hughes' death, and that wasn't a reaction that Roy was eager to see demonstrated again any time soon. The kids had just seemed so damned young, that shielding them was a given, even though it quickly proved to be a bad decision on his part.

 

Those boys hadn't wanted him to protect them.

 

Carefully nonchalant, he said, “I'm going to go out to do a bit of shopping today. If you can have a reply ready, I'll mail it on my way.”

 

Edward opened his mouth, thought better of it, and clenched it shut. It was obvious that eagerness to get a letter off into the mail was warring with a stubborn reluctance to let his old commander out of his sight. If he gave in, it would be the first time since coming home with the news of Armstrong's death that Roy hadn't been where the fiercely protective youth could check up on him. But there was no way that Ed could go along, and keep his presence in Central a secret. It was a minor miracle that they had been lucky this long, and it would be a waste to throw that advantage away, not without getting something in return. `Equivalent trade,' the Flame Alchemist thought, and had to school his face to reflect only mild interest combined with a surety that nothing bad could possibly happen.

 

“Fine. Whatever.” Scowling, Edward threw his hands in the air and spun on his heel so that he didn't have to see defeat coming. But, almost inaudibly, he whispered, “Just… don't do anything stupid. Okay?”

 

The raw worry made Roy flinch, and without even thinking about what he was doing, or why, he rose and circled the table to stand behind the young man's rigid back. His hand hovered indecisively over Edward's shoulder, before falling, empty, to hang at his side. It wasn't the sort of situation that being a commander in the military could prepare a person for. And so it was the steel alchemist who shocked Roy speechless by whirling, and wrapping his arms around the older man's middle. The cool hardness of metal through his cotton shirt raised goose pimples up the backs of Roy's thighs. Ed's voice was muffled against his front, buried in the soft white fabric of a dress shirt that hadn't seen starch or an iron in months: “If you get hurt, I'll kick your ass from here to the Eastern frontier, myself. And don't think I won't, Colonel.”

 

Colonel. Trust and loyalty, old insults and defiance. A slow smile wormed its way out of hiding and plastered itself crookedly across Roy's face. He said gravely, “I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Full Metal.”

 

The shorter man jerked back, gold hawk's eyes full of suspicion clashing with Roy's dark, bland gaze. Then it dawned on him that he was hugging the stuffing out of the very same person who had been his nemesis throughout his career as a certified State Alchemist. Flushing, the boy was abruptly several feet away, his back to the older man like an offended cat. Roy clamped down on the temptation to see if he could get an even better rise out of the flustered teen by leaning down and intimately murmuring `Boo!' in his ear; it wouldn't be right, no matter how much fun it might be.

 

And just where had that idea sprung from?

 

The moment passed while Roy mulled over whether or not living in isolation had truly driven him around the bend: Edward was pulling books, seemingly at random, from the packed shelves, and if his voice was a little higher than usual, he seemed determined to ignore it. “I was thinking that the perfect way to let Al know where I was would be through the euphemisms used in alchemy. Since I can't use my personal code - With Al having lost his memories, he doesn't know it any more - I was thinking about these. Master Izumi probably started Al off with works by these authors.” A stack of volumes hit the table with a thump.

 

Returning to his seat and his now-cold breakfast, the former officer had to nod. There was sound logic behind Elric's conclusions. Alchemists had couched their discoveries in obscure terminology and metaphor for centuries, dating back to the days of the witch burnings. And each one used a subtly different language of his or her own devising. Knowing which books Al would most likely be studying from his own days with Izumi Cooper, Edward could readily communicate, but a non-alchemist would find it difficult to spot the secondary meanings in any letters exchanged by the supposed `cousins.'

 

The blond shoved his abandoned breakfast reading to the side, together with a litter of dirty plates and cups, and pulled a pad of paper over in front of him. Swift, neat symbols and words began to fill the page as he flipped through his first book. The long case clock on the wall ticked loudly in counter point to the scritch of pen on paper as Roy remembered that watching someone else hot on the trail of a discovery was nowhere near as much fun as doing it himself. He picked a slice of cold toast apart into smaller and smaller crumbs, but Edward was already oblivious to his presence.

 

“I think I'll go take a shower and get changed. Do you think you'll have that ready in an hour?” he asked. Edward grunted. The first book was closed, and dropped onto the floor beside his chair, and a replacement selected from the stack in front of him. Roy coughed and hid a smile behind his hand. In precisely the same tone, he said, “Would you like to join me? I could wash your back.”

 

“Uh, huh…” Distracted, Elric fumbled for a scrap of paper to mark his place, and reached for another volume, propping it absently against the nearly empty china coffee pot to serve as a comparison to his notes. He mumbled, “….sounds good… Hand me that dictionary, would you?”

 

The coffee pot toppled, spilling a stream of cold, near-black liquid across the scarred wood of the table when Roy burst into laughter.

 

 

*************

 

The former officer was no longer snickering when he quietly let the front door close behind him and stood with sagging shoulders in the silent entry way. Oh, mailing Full Metal's letter to his brother had gone well enough. There was a busy branch of the post office along Roy's preferred route to the veteran's facilities, and the ringer had been dropped down the chute tucked between a couple of legitimate envelopes. If the watchers dogging the forcibly retired man were paranoid enough to wade through the mountains of mail, all that they should see would be a payment to his grocer's, and an order to the outfitter's for four new, white dress shirts, all in Roy's usual size. Certainly nothing to arouse suspicion. No, things hadn't gone awry until he'd reach military headquarters.

 

Roy didn't think of himself as a fool. Or at least not when it came to practicing day-to-day discretion. There had been no point in attempting to reach the offices of the serving alchemists, such as he had once been, so, outwardly docile, he'd gone directly to Veterans' Affairs and taken care of some of his long-neglected paperwork. Only afterwards had the man clad in mundane civilian garb turned his feet toward the canteen, just like any other noob picking up a quick bite of lunch. Nothing suspicious, as even certified alchemists who had turned in their watches were allowed walk through those doors. No, the reason for the sour, acid burn at the back of his throat hadn't come until he'd seen a familiar face at the crowded tables.

 

Under the guise of checking the big mess hall for a vacant seat, Roy had casually scanned the sea of blue uniforms, realizing with a sinking feeling just how few and far between were the officers that he could honestly say that he knew as more than just a name. A two years' absence, coming on the heels of the failed coup, had wiped from the ranks pretty nearly everyone that he had once counted on as an ally. He'd been on the verge of giving up when a glum face topped with rumpled hair as black as his own caught his eye: Sergeant Major Fury.

 

The communications officer was seated alone at one end of a long table, leaning his cheek into one hand as he pushed the remains of his stew around on his plate. He'd failed to so much as glance up when Roy stopped beside him, but the sound of his old commander's voice asking politely “Is this seat taken?” jerked him out of his slumped pose. Warm brown eyes, always wide and earnest behind the clunky glasses became even wider, before a cold barrier of hurt and betrayal slammed down over them. Roy hadn't been able to so much as open his mouth, let alone say anything, before the smaller man had rocketed out of his seat and scurried away down the crowded aisle, leaving his abandoned lunch behind.

 

And, worst of all, Roy hadn't dared to follow him.

 

Obviously, something had happened to move Roy from the category of `beloved superior' to that of `shoot down on sight.'

 

And, to be completely honest, he could make a few guesses as to what it had been.

 

Too gentle for service on the front lines, Cain Fury had surprised the then much younger Flame Alchemist by volunteering for his command staff. At the time, Major Mustang had had some serious doubts, but not only had the diminutive comm expert proven to be first rate in his field, he had more than once displayed real courage by screwing up his nerve and doing what had to be done, even when it was readily apparent that he'd rather not have. He'd proven to be loyal beyond any shadow of doubt, choosing to follow the path Roy blazed without hesitation, right down to its end in the bloody trenches of the northern outpost. It had been hard watching Havoc die in front of those anguished brown eyes, and harder still to watch from the ranks during the mustering out ceremony when his Colonel had publicly turned in both his insignia of rank, and his silver pocket watch. Said former commanding officer felt a twinge of very real guilt that he had never once in the intervening time tried to get in contact with the younger man, not tried to say “I'm sorry.”

 

It was no wonder that Fury wanted nothing to do with him, now.

 

Roy tucked his coat neatly into the closet beneath the front stairs, and frowned at the mirror hanging there. It was decidedly odd to see his own, familiar features staring back, and to discover that there was hardly a trace of the events that had led him to the isolation of a government-issue cottage in a quiet neighborhood. The shadows beneath the inscrutable, slanted black eye and the matching black patch were a little deeper, and the hollowing of his cheeks and jaw a hair more pronounced, but the lines of pain that had once bracketed his mouth had faded in the two months since Edward had come. Since Roy had stopped just marking time, and started living again.

 

But, for once, thinking of the foul-tempered little alchemist failed to summon him, and inexplicable worry seized Roy. For the first time in a very long time indeed, he longed for one of his gloves: Full Metal was too smart now to have voluntarily left his sanctuary, which could only mean that something else had gone wrong.

 

The cane that Hawkeye had gifted him with, back when she had still been sure that Roy's self-exile wouldn't last, was propped in the corner of the cramped closet, and seeing it turned the man's normally bland expression feral. Riza Hawkeye, practical as always, had chosen a cane less appropriate for a healing invalid and more for the person her former master had been. There was a thin sword of top-grade steel concealed within.

 

He was more used to the heft of a military saber, but while the delicate blade might seem less lethal, it really wasn't. Roy had no qualms that if it came to that, that he could take down just about any opponent that he might go up against. Considering that his old second in command had had an array etched into the steel, and mounted a flint in its hilt, it would take someone on the level of the Fuhrer to come close to defeating the Flame Alchemist in a duel like that. And the Fuhrer was already dead.

 

It was a bit of a let-down to cautiously slide open the door to his parlor, only to find a perfectly safe Edward asleep with his head pillowed on a mess of crumpled notes.

 

The rumble of the heavy door on its track as Roy shoved it the rest of the way open made his houseguest blink and rub at bleary eyes. It amused the older man that even three-quarters zoned, Ed could remember to use his off hand, rather than his metal right. Snorting, Roy sheathed the sword.

 

“What's so funny, you damned pervert?” the younger man demanded grumpily.

 

“Oooh, somebody wakes up cranky.” Roy dropped the cane onto the table and headed for the kitchen. The chair scraped faintly on the worn carpet as Edward got up to follow him, still muttering complaints.

 

“For a guy with your reputation, you'd think you'd have some decent furniture… But noooo, you've got the worst bachelor's bed I've ever seen. What did you do, stay over at your girlfriends' places all the time?” His footsteps became hollow, and harder as he crossed from rug to bare wood, catching up to Roy just as he was about to add more water to the used coffee grounds from breakfast. Edward snatched the enameled pot from his hands, snarling, “Give me that! No wonder your coffee always tastes like crap!”

 

Eyebrows shooting for his hairline, the former officer surrendered and got out of his companion's way. Interfering when Edward was stomping around in a fit of temper, even without his heavy boots, was asking for bruised toes. He said mildly, “I had a staff to take care of things like that. And besides, it isn't as if you're being forced to drink it.”

 

Edward favored him with a golden glare, up through surprisingly long lashes. But there was nothing coy about the look; it was simply a non-verbal continuation of their spat, and that by itself told the older man volumes: the blond had been worried about letting him go out alone, and was going to make Roy pay for the discomforting feeling. Testily, Full Metal added, “Well? Don't just stand there. Go get another can of beans from the pantry.” as he turned to dump the old grounds into the trash.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Roy murmured. But he went, smothering a tiny grin.

 

The small domestic noises coming from his kitchen were soothing, and almost enough to make him forget the fiasco of seeing the comm specialist at the officer's mess. But Ed deserved to know at least the bare bones of the encounter, so he casually called out, “I saw Sergeant Major Fury at Central Headquarters a little while ago.” The rattle of dishes in the sink paused as the younger alchemist considered the implications of that comment.

 

“So…” he offered cautiously, “I guess that means that he's off of the big shots' shit list?”

 

“Possibly.” admitted Roy. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead, adding, “He wasn't too happy to see me, however.”

 

The light spilling into the pantry from the kitchen was blocked and the officer glanced over his shoulder to find Elric leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. The level gaze was challenging as he said bluntly, “Why not?”

 

Roy braced both hands on the narrow counter and stared down at his whitened knuckles. It took all his will-power to whisper, “I fucked up. I left him hanging out there, instead of backing him up when the shit hit the fan.”

 

“Huh.” The unaccustomed swearing coming from Roy didn't particularly throw him. Instead, the agile mind behind the uncanny eyes turned the problem around, examining it from all angles. Then Edward pushed off from the wall and headed back into the kitchen proper, intent on finishing his cleaning. Off-handedly, he remarked, “You didn't do anything wrong. It doesn't look to me like there was a whole hell of a lot you could do, once the Fuhrer was out of the picture and those politicians got into it, so quit beating yourself up over it. If Fury can't see that, that's his loss, not yours.”

 

Under his breath, Roy replied, “Out of the mouth of babes…” and summoned a wry smirk. Having Full Metal living in the house was definitely proving to be rough on his self-esteem. On the one hand, the young man obviously believed that his former superior had done the best he could under difficult circumstances, but on the other, Edward didn't seem to think that it was enough out of the ordinary to be deserving of praise. It was humbling - and enlightening - all at the same time. Still, he couldn't resist poking at Edward and his linear way of thinking, and whined, “Don't I deserve some thanks for defeating the homunculus threat? At great personal risk, I might add?” The blond made a rude noise and threw a dish-towel in the Hero of the Rebellion's face.

 

“Yeah, yeah. You were great. Now, get to work on those dishes. You think they're going to put themselves away?”

 

Neither of them said anything more until the last cup was dried and put away, and a fresh pot of coffee steamed gently on the stove. Under the metal alchemist's critical eye, the brew came out perfect, and a look of bliss crossed the younger man's face as he inhaled deeply. “Now that,” he remarked, “Is the way it should smell.” Looking pleased with himself, he poured the heavenly brown liquid into its china server and headed back for the parlor and his research. Shaking his head, Roy had no choice but to follow if there was to be any hope of getting a cup if it for himself.

 

Edward waited until the dark haired alchemist had settled into his usual spot and taken a restorative swallow of scalding coffee before announcing, “I've been thinking.”

 

“And this is unusual, how?” Roy slid the cup and saucer away and leaned back in his chair, to all intents relaxed. But Edward taking the time to draw attention to the fact that he had been thinking something through was out of the ordinary enough to bring the older man's internal defenses to full alert status. He'd gotten caught flat-footed more times than he liked to admit underestimating his reluctant subordinate, and while Ed officially no longer answered to anyone, only an idiot would fail to take precautions when the leopard bared its fangs.

 

Sure enough, feline-gold eyes speared Mustang with the kind of look normally reserved for rabbits that were too stupid to catch on to their imminent staring roll as dinner's main course. Impatiently, Elric snapped, “Politics. We're going into politics. If the military isn't the way to go, anymore, we'll find another way.”

 

“Politics?” The dark haired man responded with a laugh that was less bitter than he had expected to hear from himself. “Before all that-- ” He waved a hand vaguely, inclusively, in the direction of the past. “Maybe. Now? Not a chance. One person, alone, hasn't got a chance.”

 

It finally got a rise out of the younger alchemist, who glared. “There is no `you,' and no `me' anymore. It's `we.' And `we' are a team that can do anything. Got that?”

 

Startled, Roy pulled up short and closed his mouth. Oddly enough, he did. A slow, genuine smile lit his countenance as he finally repeated his new partner's words. “Yeah. We. I get it.”

 

***************

 

To be continued