Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Rain ❯ Part Eight ( Chapter 8 )

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Rain: Part Eight

by L.A. Mason

 

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Author's Note: This chapter has been done for a long time… has even been beta-ed for a couple of weeks now. If I had any clue why it hasn't gotten posted before now, perhaps I could think up a plausible excuse for it… *cringes.*

 

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That had been entirely too close of a call.

 

Hunched over his papers, Ed rapidly scribbled God-alone-knew-what, and resisted the temptation to beat his head on the table. The problem was, it had been… nice… snuggling up to the Colonel, and there was a thought that he'd been sure he'd never have, no matter how long he lived. Nice… Colonel… God. At this rate, he was going to get himself committed before he hit twenty.

 

But there was no denying that Edward had enjoyed laying his head in somebody's lap, and letting that somebody pet him. It had brought a warm, tingly feeling bubbling up into the pit of his stomach, and no, thank you very much, it had not been the comforting feeling of safety and love that he'd always gotten from his mom. Not even close. No, this was a damned-sight more hairy-chested and inclined to do something stupidly caveman-like… Up to and including the club over the head and drag the conquest off to the family cave kind of stupid. And regardless of what the pain-in-the-ass Mustang might say, the smaller alchemist didn't think that the man's interests quite extended to letting Ed do that…

 

Then again, he did say to stop running away…maybe he'd enjoy a fur loincloth? Ed resisted the temptation to fling the thick catalog in front of him across the room.

 

The poetry had been interesting, though. Had anyone asked him, Full Metal would have scoffed at the idea of alchemists writing sonnets, or what ever they were. But the rhythm and some of the images stuck with him none the less. As a seduction technique, it was down-right weird, but finding that he'd liked sharing the play of words almost as much as the snuggling was an eye-opener. Who'd have thought it? Not only was Roy good at reading out loud, but it had been enjoyable to listen. It almost, almost, made Ed wonder what else the older man knew how to do that he'd enjoy sampling.

 

But down that road lay damnation and defeat, and it wasn't as if this State Alchemist was ready to turn in his pride along with his watch. There was still time left before he had to make a decision about their contest, dammit, and Edward wasn't finished yet, not by a long shot. This does not constitute `running away' - just common sense. Satisfied, he nodded firmly and slammed the equipment catalog shut. In the morning, he'd get the former Colonel to fill out a requisition for some items - his connections to the military ought still to be good enough for that - and then Ed would be able to bury himself and his damned, over-active imagination in some old-fashioned hard work. At the rate the house was falling apart, it was about time to tackle some needed repairs, and with his reluctance to waste alchemy on the trivial, this was the best way. And it would also do his host good to focus on the work of his hands, rather than the ills of his mind.

 

Calmed half-way, he crumpled up and tossed the useless page of calculations vaguely in the direction of the fireplace - even though it gave him fits when the ex-Colonel did the same thing - and got his brain back on track where it belonged.

 

Non-alchemists had known the art of smelting and casting metals for centuries, and there was no reason that someone with the intellect of an Elric couldn't master it, too. The cracked hinge on the oven door could have been fixed in an instant using regular alchemy, but Ed had developed a desire to see it done the other way. He drew a fresh sheet toward him, sketching rapidly how he might use the remnants of the broken piece to create a mold in which to recast the part. It would require a little finesse to extrapolate for the missing fragments, but the two years he'd spent on the other side of the Gate had refined his mechanical skills… Edward's busy hands slowed, and stopped entirely as recollections of machining the gimbaled guidance system for a rocket came back to him. His first try had been crude - amateurish - but it had worked.

 

The pride in seeing a creation of his physical hands, rather than of alchemy, function so flawlessly had stolen his breath away. Ed had been speechless with awe.

 

It would be… nice… (that damned word again) to share that feeling with Mustang. To see if that single black eye would light with the glow of wonder and accomplishment, the same as the younger man's had. Suddenly, intensely, he wanted to tell the Flame Alchemist about his experiences, wanted to show Roy how wonderful it was to pull it off without an array…

 

Bemused, Ed blinked. Where the Hell did that come from? Absolutely not. There was no fu- his brain shied from the suggestive cuss word - freaking way he was going to explain that, not after having so narrowly dodged the bullet concerning what had happened in the sunken city, and subsequently, when he'd brought Al back and condemned himself to that other world. It had been only a combination of luck and the fact that a depressed Mustang was a Mustang whose nose for trouble was dulled, that had allowed Ed to avoid going into details about the last two years. If the Master Manipulator got wind of any of those events, he'd never manage to keep it under the rug. Forbidden alchemy was bad enough, but the revelation that there existed another universe in parallel with their own and that it was possible to go there would lead to nothing but trouble. It had been risky enough skirting the truth by telling the former soldier that alchemy cost life force, that the `equivalent trade' of which all the theorists were so certain in fact was ludicrously unequal. Ed had needed to go that far to justify his otherwise inexplicable refusal to use his gifts, but there was no way that he could tell everything. That much, at least, was his burden to carry alone.

 

Much though a part of him longed to again cross blades with the old Mustang - indolent, sarcastic, and unimaginably keen-witted - there was also a part of the steel alchemist that was relieved that loss and grief had dulled the man's instincts.

 

Dammit, he was letting the bastard's sly seduction distract him from what was really important; he needed to keep from getting executed for treason for his part in the last Fuhrer's demise, avoid getting tossed in jail for breaking every taboo in the book on human transformation, and still, somehow, get Al back. Counseling patience was one thing, but it was like being back under his command; the Colonel was so damned good at `now you see it, now you don't' hocus-pocus that he ought to have been running a sidewalk shell game and ripping off the tourists.

 

Well, Ed hadn't worked for the army for years for nothing. If Roy were out to con him, he'd find out that the Full Metal alchemist could con right back with the best of them. If it took getting Mustang a seat in Parliament to divert attention from the Elrics, then that was what Edward would devote himself to accomplishing. There were no other reasons for his involvement.

 

Then why was he remembering the feel of soft, callus-free fingers stroking his hair? Defeated, Ed allowed his forehead to thump onto the unforgiving, hard table.

 

 

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The words on the page might as well have been written in hieroglyphics for all the sense they made. Edward scowled, dark gold brows pulling together and rucking up the skin between them. His human hand was propping up one side of his jaw, and the fingers of the other hand made a hollow, ringing sound as he drummed them irritably on the parlor table's surface.

 

The issue wasn't that the book was boring - quite the contrary. He'd been waiting to snatch the new edition of the Alchemical Society Annual Proceedings, and had barely been able to restrain himself until the mailman was off the porch before dashing into the front hall. The problem was that no matter how fascinating the latest research trends were, he was distracted, plain and simple. His concentration was shot to Hell, and it was all that bastard Mustang's fault. Because the more the man smiled with genuine warmth, the more Ed got the feeling that lightning was about to strike out of the clear, blue sky.

 

And, worse still, some traitorous little part of the steel alchemist was looking forward to squaring off against the Colonel again.

 

No, Roy, dammit.

 

Throwing his hands up in mute surrender, the blond abandoned the parlor and stomped off to the kitchen. The couple of hours of sleep he'd managed to cadge on the tired old couch hadn't done him much good. He'd laid down resolved to not waver, intent on sticking to his plans, only to go right back to obsessing about Flame and their contest. So. When in doubt, the best thing to do was to eat… although getting a snack had its perils, too. There was a tin of cookies in one of the glass-fronted cabinets, a treat that his annoying host had pulled out of the last round of boxes from the grocer's like a magician producing a rabbit out of a hat. Cookies by themselves weren't a big deal - they'd had packages before - but these were spicy ginger snaps with a thin layer of sour lemon icing, and how could the ex-army man possibly know that they were Ed's favorite kind?

 

It wasn't as if Al were around to rat his older brother out. Even if he were in Central - which he wasn't - the junior of the Elrics no longer had a history of trust with the Colonel to make him want to spill his brother's secrets.

 

The rat-bastard Colonel no longer had any leverage.

 

But that weakness didn't stop the older man from confidently executing his campaign of slow subversion. Edward's stomach had succumbed and gone over to the enemy camp early on, upon discovering that kitchen wizardry was another of Mustang's areas of expertise. Say what he might, the older man was a genius at transmuting even the most unpalatable ingredients into something that made Ed's perpetually hungry middle sit up and take notice. Okay, maybe straight milk was still on the banned list, but even milk had snuck past the barricades a couple of times in the form of a creamed sauce. Add to that the favorable vote of Ed's scalp which even now, several hours after the fact, felt hot and tingly with pleasure from phantom fingers that combed through freed strands of gold.

 

And then there was a tightness that started at Ed's solar plexus, and rapidly spread to his entire chest, making his heart skip a beat whenever a certain, lone black eye slanted a teasing look his way.

 

Or the way a mellow baritone had said, mockingly, We've been sharing a bed for weeks. When are you going to give in and call me by my given name? I was `Roy' a lot longer than I was `Colonel,' you know. It didn't help that the taller alchemist had been carelessly blocking the escape route out of their bedroom. The sight of that lean, indolent figure slouched against the doorframe, white shirt hanging open, had robbed Ed's sharp tongue of its eloquence. Instead, he'd stared at the shadowed skin, until Roy pushed himself upright to take a step closer, and the long muscles had flexed, and…

 

Ed resisted the temptation to drown himself in the kitchen sink, biting down on a cookie as savagely as if he were ripping off Mustang's head. It was entirely unfair that what ought to be a catalog of the man's faults kept turning into subtle admiration.

 

Exasperated, he shoved thoughts of a thin, knowing smirk on an expressive mouth firmly out of his head, and dumped the last handful of cookies onto a clean plate. With luck, he had a good three to four hours of peace left, until his former superior got back from the day's expedition into the city's downtown shopping district, and Ed was planning to get through at least Poprich's essay on organic solvents before Roy demanded equal time with his book. A niggling idea that it might be worth digging up the author's rankings from the prior year's Certification Exams crossed his mind, and detoured his return route from the work table and his chair, to the shelves instead. Ed perched the plate on top of a box that held yellowing note cards, one hand absently reaching for a cookie while the other stretched upward toward a book on the highest shelf. If he were only a couple of inches taller…

 

A sharp rapping on the glass of the front door made him jump, and the dish crashed to the floor, shattering. Cookies scattered wildly across the carpet, bouncing together with shards of china, as the compact blond spun about.

 

Shit… the parlor's sliding door was still standing wide open, and anyone with luck or persistence on their side would be able to see obliquely into the room.

 

To see Ed.

 

Unnerved, he froze. The dark silhouette clearly visible against the glass was wearing a uniform; after so many years, the young man was sure he would recognize the cut of the shoulders, and the high collar anywhere. There was no outline of a cap, but that might just mean that whoever it was had removed it in anticipation of entering the house… The apparition raised a fist and knocked again, rattling the glass in its frame with an insistence that said, I heard a noise; I know you're in there… Ed cast a hunted look at the vast expanse of their work table, wondering if he could duck beneath it, and already knowing that it was futile. A sinking feeling in his gut confirmed it; he was so screwed.

 

Well… He and the former Colonel had both known that it was only a matter of time before the Full Metal alchemist's cover would be blown. They'd hoped to reveal his presence on their own terms, when it could do the most good for their political aspirations, but it couldn't be helped. The good reputation that the Elrics had enjoyed as `the People's Alchemists' was probably solid enough to weather attempts to discredit them that revolved around their disappearance, anyway. The worst charge that the opposition would dare to make publicly was dereliction of duty, and all Ed would have to do was to point to the fact that his watch had been left behind years ago.

 

The real danger lay in what the other side would try to do covertly.

 

But still… busted, was busted. The military silhouette pounded insistently on the door, and a voice demanded, “I know you're home. Open the door.” Ed took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

 

The short walk to the front door had to be one of the longest in his life, almost as long as the first time he'd walked on an automail limb up the hill from Auntie Pinako's to his mother's grave, to say good bye. That journey had led him far from Rizenpool, all the way to Central, and a National Alchemist's watch. But the longer Ed tarried, the louder the shouting would get, and it would do them no good to get the neighbors riled up, too. His metal hand grasped the knob, and he yanked the door open.

 

“F- Fury…?” Ed stammered, blinking. Wide, nervous eyes behind thick-lensed glasses blinked back, but no sound came out of the gaping mouth.

 

The rumble of a car approaching from down the quiet street finally broke Ed free of his paralysis, and he grabbed the warrant officer's sleeve to roughly jerk him into the safety of the house.

 

“Oh, my God…” Fury said weakly, “It really is you.”

 

“Who else would- ” The querulous complaint was smothered when the black haired officer folded Edward into a surprisingly hard hug. After a shocked pause, a tension he hadn't been aware of bled out of the steel alchemist, and he returned the embrace.

 

The last time they'd been in the same place had been just before Roy's desperate gamble. Back then, Fury hadn't known that he would be impersonating Riza Hawkeye, any more than Jean Havoc could have guessed that he would be going North in their commander's place. None of them had known that it would be the last time that they would all be together. Ed's arms tightened around the small man as a suspicious burning in his eyes made him sniffle. Fury squeezed him back, then held him at arms' length, blurting, “I can't believe it; you're finally taller than I am!”

 

“Hey! Who're you calling short?!” the blond mock-growled, drawing one fist back in preparation for a punch. Delighted, the army man laughed.

 

“Me, I guess!” But the humor faded, and his dark eyes roamed searchingly over Edward's face, taking in the changes that two years had wrought in the boy that he'd alternately treated with awe, and affection. Softly, Fury whispered, “When did you get back?”

 

“Almost two and a half months ago. I showed up here, and damned near broke the bastard's neck when he kept acting like I was a ghost.” A flicker of distress and guilt in the shorter man's expression stopped his explanation, and he stared thoughtfully. Fury had never been any good at hiding what was going on under his mop of black hair, and now was no exception. Ed accused him, “You're feeling bad about walking out on him, in the officer's mess, aren't you?”

 

“Eh… yeah. I guess.” Even with the heavy blue uniform to add bulk, the comm officer's narrow shoulders hunched in as he tried to shrink down and turn invisible. Miserable, Fury looked anywhere but at the younger alchemist. “I didn't mean to, it's just that I got so mad at him, for surviving when Jean didn't. I know it was Jean's choice to go, that the Colonel didn't force him, but I hated h-” Emotion choked the tentative voice as a small hand shoved Fury's glasses up his forehead, and scrubbed at reddening eyes. “I wish I hadn't been the one to come back.”

 

Slowly, Ed nodded. This was something he understood: the guilt of being the one left behind, alive, when others were gone. He cleared his throat. “Well… there's no point in standing around in the hall like this. How about some coffee? I broke the plate with the cookies, but there's some fresh bread and jam in the pantry.”

 

“Um, sure. If it's okay that I'm here while the Colonel is away?” The shorter officer trailed behind as the blond led the way to the kitchen. Absently, Ed reflected that at least he wasn't the only one who seemed to be having trouble remembering Roy's forced retirement; Fury had also called him by his old rank.

 

“Sure it is.” Pouring two cups of coffee, Ed shot him a covert glance, and added, “I'm living here, too.”

 

The effect the words had was interesting, to say the least. Already magnified by the strong lenses, the dark eyes widened comically as a painful blush crept up from under the military perfection of his tight collar. But it was the squeak of “You do?” that made the alchemist turn to fully face the officer, folding his arms aggressively across his chest.

 

“I do.” Ed repeated firmly. “Is that a problem?”

 

“Yes! I- I mean n- no!” Sputtering, Fury's blush reached the rims of his ears and the petit man waved his hands frantically. “It's just that I never expected you and Colonel Mustang to last two and a half months in the same city, let alone the same house. I mean, Central is still standing. I'd have bet a month's pay that there'd be nothing but smoking ruins by now.”

 

Annoyed, the younger man said stiffly, “He's not that bad to get along with. Actually…” An unbidden memory of holding a shaking Roy through the course of a nightmare popped into his head, and Ed's blush abruptly rivaled that of the communications expert. He glanced up to find Fury staring speculatively, and snapped, “What?”

 

“You mentioned bread and jam; in the pantry, right?” squeaked the hastily retreating blue-coat. Ed growled threateningly, but in the end, let it go.

 

For one thing, he really was happy to see Fury again. Timid and too gentle for the military, the diminutive warrant officer had always tended to provoke Edward to an exasperated desire to protect, even when it was Ed who was the short, smart-mouthed kid that Mustang's staff was looking out for. It had been kind of funny, back then. What had done it were the little things, like discovering that Caine Fury didn't like loud noises, and had to be coaxed into putting in time at the firing range - often by Lieutenant Hawkeye, who took that sort of thing very seriously. But unlike her methods when dealing with the rest of the men that had made up the Colonel's core group, she'd never used her pistol as persuasion when it came to the comm specialist.

 

And the Elrics had picked up on that, too.

 

Instinct said that Fury was still a friend, just as instinct also indicated that there was more going on than met the eye. When the uniformed figure turned about to return to the kitchen, the way was blocked by Edward's steel arm. “So, now that you've gotten over the shock of having me back, and me living in the Colonel's house, how about you tell me why you're here?”

 

Surprisingly, at that question the young army man paled and fiddled uncomfortably with the jam jar, before setting it back onto the pantry shelf. His voice was subdued as he said, “After… uh… you know… running into the Colonel, I phoned the Lieutenant—`Miss' Hawkeye, now. I didn't know what else to do. She told me to come check up on him. But I never expected to find out that you'd come back, Ed. Honest!” Fury's head jerked up, and there was fearful concern written across his round cheeks and sincere eyes. “What I can't believe is that you survived.”

 

“Oh.” Awkward in turn, the younger blond fidgeted. Well… It wasn't as if the admission was unexpected, after all. He'd gotten the impression from Roy that after Al had been restored to his true body and sent away to safety with their old teacher, that it had been assumed by those in the know that the Full Metal alchemist had perished in the process. At least that was the explanation for why Roy had acted as if he'd seen a ghost the first night. But the comm officer wasn't among those who'd been privy to all the secrets; it had been safer for all if he were able to plead ignorance with a clear conscience. According to the ex-Colonel, the public rumors going around had vacillated between the Elrics together deciding to quit the military as the wars wound down, and one that said that the price for Al's freedom had been his brother going deep under cover on some suicide mission that he never returned from.

 

“When you didn't come back, we chalked you up as another casualty of Mustang's War.” the little officer said apologetically.

 

Mustang's War?

 

Was that really how the man's faithful followers had seen it? That it was a war being fought for and by the charismatic officer, not that it was part and parcel of the fight to keep a corrupt government from destroying everything of importance? No wonder then that Fury had turned his back and walked off. Edward realized that he'd been thinking out loud when the bluecoat shuffled his feet, and mumbled, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put it like that.”

 

Not simply `I didn't mean it.' In his eyes, the sentiment was true, even if Fury regretted the phrasing. Helplessly, Edward said, “Roy's not like that. Nobody was supposed to-” But he couldn't complete the lie, couldn't tell a friend with pain in his eyes that no one was supposed to have died, not when they both knew that it had been a covert war, and that in wars, there were casualties.

 

“It's okay…” The specialist gave him a watery smile, laying a hand on Ed's shoulder. He and the alchemist were so nearly of a height now that it was kind of odd to have their roles reversed.

 

No more kindly Fury looking out for the kid; it was time for Ed to do something about the mess, himself. And, more over, to keep Fury's distress from causing one or the other of them to say something stupid. Ed shied instinctively from contemplating those who'd died, and the pain that would come with seeing Havoc, Armstrong, and the others in his mind. Far better to think about other things.

 

Resolutely, he shoved the dangerous thoughts away, reacting as he was supposed to, letting his annoyance at Mustang keep the rest at bay.

 

“That rat bastard!” Fuming, the steel alchemist forced himself to count to ten before he burst out, “Even when I'm dead, he's hogging all the credit!” More irritated than ever, the younger man drummed his fingers against his opposite elbow, and considered. Presumably, all this was part and parcel of why his former superior had shut himself up in his prison of a retirement cottage… If he was supposed to have fought a folly - and killed off his friends and supporters in the process - it would go a long way toward explaining his suicidal depressions… And it didn't bode particularly well for their chances in the political arena, either. If people saw Roy Mustang as a Jonas, then they would have a hard time getting together the ground-swell of popularity that was the key to winning, since place or show wasn't worth a damn in this particular horse race... Edward realized that he was staring fixedly at the increasingly anxious, round, bespectacled face of the answer to his problems. His re-emerging grin was disturbingly shark-like as he purred, “Fury, I've got a job for you…”

 

 

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Frankly, the hardest part of all this lay in containing his glee until his worried co-conspirator could report back. The knowledge that it could take literally days to track down and sound out the remaining survivors of Mustang's command was doing terrible things to Ed's supply of patience. Oh, it wasn't that he couldn't do patient - he'd persevered for years, seeking a way to restore Al and himself - but he'd be damned if he liked it. Dinner had been slammed onto the table to the accompaniment of the Colonel's delicately raised eyebrows, and the shorter man had positively growled when his old commander dared to ask if he was having a bad day.

 

And he couldn't even fess up and admit that he'd had a visit from Warrant Officer Fury.

 

Ed hunkered defensively down in his chair, and glowered at the inoffensive coffee pot as if the caffeinated brew were a part of his problems. Maybe it was? The good Lord knew that he couldn't make it turn out even half as well as the Bastard's did. When he made it, it tasted about as appealing as grade-A motor oil, and wasn't that a treat? Harsh and bitter with a rainbow sheen on the surface while it managed to take the paint off the roses that adorned the old china— The blond alchemist snarled over a vicious bite of pasta, and contemplated murder. Or suicide. Suicide was a good possibility, too.

 

Because it was killing him to admit it; for the first time since his return on a rainy night, it wasn't just him and Roy any more. Someone else had been to the house, someone who probably knew the ex-military man miles better than a washed-out alchemist who was afraid to use his only real gift in the world. Soon, there'd be others: Hawkeye, Sciezka—Okay, maybe Falman couldn't come, being as he was watching over Al, but that didn't change the fact that pretty soon, Roy wouldn't need Edward at all. His chest squeezed painfully tight.

 

Not at all.

 

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To be continued…