Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Snake in the Playpen ❯ Part 4: Arrays ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

SNAKE IN THE PLAYPEN
A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic With Lemon
Written in Response to Challenges #2 (“The Audience,”) #15 (“The Bordello, or Dude Looks Like a Lady of the Night”) and #30 (“The Playroom, or, Wow, Santa Never Brought Me *That* Kind of Toy!") on the 30_Lemons Community

By Sailor Mac

PART FOUR -- ARRAYS

Russell awoke first the next morning. He looked at the clock, then rolled over and kissed Ed.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have a job to do this morning?”

Ed mumbled, reached for the blankets with his flesh hand and pulled them further over his head.

“You have to break into Madame Marie’s office, remember? The reason why you’re here?”

Another mumble.

“Ed, if we don’t get enough evidence now, it might be harder later, and then we won’t be able to catch her before the deadline . . .”

“No way in hell!” Ed sat up. “No way in hell am I being a *real* prostitute!”

Russell kissed him. “Good morning,” he said.

“Yeah, whatever.” Ed yawned and stretched. “Guess I gotta get dressed and find Maggie.”

“And I’ll go home for awhile while you do that,” Russell said, getting out of the bed and picking up his clothes.

He watched the other boy drag himself out from under the blankets and make his way across to the closet, looking for casual clothes. He was gorgeous, despite the sleepy eyes, despite the grumpy face.

And he *loved* Russell. Last night, when they both had confessed their feelings . . .

It had made everything that had happened on this assignment worthwhile. Hell, it made up for all the times they were separated from each other.

The suit pants and business shirt and jacket felt even *more* confining today than they had last night. He didn’t even bother with the tie, just tucked it in his pocket. And, dammit, he felt *incomplete* without his suspenders.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” he told Ed, walking over to his lover and kissing his lips quickly. “You’ll probably want to go to breakfast here to meet up with this Maggie.”

“I’m sure I’ll have the goods by the time you get back, Russ,” Ed said, leaning over to tie his boots. “Then we can tell Mustang and get the hell out of this place.”

“Think you’ll have enough time to find what you need?” Russell said.

“Russ, you’re looking at *professional* here,” Ed said, standing up and reaching for a hairbrush. “I can spot an alchemic code in two seconds flat. If she’s hiding *anything* in there, it’s not going to stay hidden for long.”

“Bet I could spot the code even *faster,” Russell said, teasingly, handing Ed his hair elastic from the nightstand.

Ed flashed him a scowl. “*You* wanna wear that leather thing?”

“Point taken,” Russell said. “But you *do* look hot in it.”

“It’s *hot*, all right.” Ed finished tying his ponytail and yanked the door open. “I *roast* in that thing.”

Russell smiled to himself. He didn’t think he’d be able to convince Ed to take the garment with him. He’d just have to enjoy his lover wearing it while he could.

* * *

Ed saw Russell to the top of the stairs (he didn’t want to be seen escorting his customer downstairs without the dreaded *work clothes* on, it wasn’t worth putting them on just for two minutes), then went off to look for Maggie. The lounge was empty -- he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t imagine there were a lot of people up and about after that party.

He was about to head down toward breakfast when he saw Maggie come out of a room around the corner from his. Her hair was brushed flat today, instead of being up in pigtails, and she wore a ruffly, knee-length white skirt and a pale pink scoop-necked shirt.

“Hi, Tom!” she said. “I’m so glad I ran into you, I’m just about ready to head out.” She walked over to him, holding out a key on a plain leather keychain. “This is her office key. You can go down and start working in about a half hour, that’s the time she usually goes to town.”

Ed frowned. “Hey, aren’t you afraid you’re going to run into her?”

Maggie waved a hand dismissively. “I know the kind of places she goes to, I’ve heard her talk about them. They’re too *expensive* for anyone who isn’t her -- or one of her pets. We won’t even be in the same part of town.”

“All right,” Ed said. “How long do you think I’ll have to do it?”

‘Bout two hours,” she said. “It’s not a big job. Most of her stuff is stashed away in her filing cabinet, you just have to dust it.”

*And the cabinet is probably locked tighter than a drum,* he thought. Not a problem for him at all.

“All right,” he said. “Now remember, you owe me a favor back.”

“Don’t suppose I could take that cute customer off your hands for a few hours, could I?” she said as she headed for the stairs.

Ed’s eyes flashed fire. “OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

Maggie turned to him with a sly smile. “Don’t blame you there. If I had a sugar daddy who paid that much, I wouldn’t want him slipping away, either.” She gave him a wave and rushed down the steps.

Ed looked at the key in his hand, then in the direction of the steps. Half an hour. He had time to kill, and then . . .

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted up to him from downstairs. His stomach reacted, loudly.

He knew how he was going to spend that half-hour.

* * *

He was sitting at the table in the near-deserted dining room, finishing the last of his breakfast, when Madame Marie peeked in, dressed in a well-tailored, fur-trimmed coat that was much too warm for the season and was obviously for show.

“If anyone sees Maggie,” she said, “remind her that she has office cleaning duty today,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Ed replied.

He looked around at the other people in the room -- one of the two male prostitutes they’d watched at work, a platinum blonde he couldn’t remember seeing before. Both were deep into their food, not conversing with each other or him.

*Probably too hung over,* he thought. They definitely wouldn't notice him slipping away to the madame’s office.

With a last swallow of coffee, he got up and headed down the hall, reaching for the key in his pocket. There was nobody around as he reached the door and unlocked it.

He slipped into the office, his eyes scanning the room through the light that poured in through the window. It was much simpler than one would expect, given her expensive taste in other things. A forest green carpet on the floor, a dark wood desk with a blotter the same color as the rug and several pens in a holder, a few shelves with some books on them -- business manuals mainly, he noted, nothing suspicious or salacious. There were a couple of milk glasses with silk flowers in them placed here and there on the shelf.

And then, there were the filing cabinets against the far wall, standing at attention like a regiment of soldiers guarding her secrets.

“First things first,” he said. He clapped his hands and slammed them to the floor, causing alchemical energy to spark and crackle over the entire room. Any traces of dust collected into a solid, gray brick, which dropped at Ed’s feet -- easy for him to carry away later. The room gleamed as if it were freshly polished.

“And now that the *cleaning* is done . . .” He walked to the cabinets, clapped again and touched his hands to the top. The locks holding the drawers closed opened all at once.

“Okay, Madame Marie,” he said, sliding the first drawer open. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, he sat on the floor, head in his hands, looking through yet another ledger.

Nothing. Nothing at all that even *hinted* it could be an alchemical equation, an array in disguise. There were neat columns of numbers, but they were nothing but listings of income and expenses. There were some notes on the lives of her customers -- but they were mainly listings of who was married, who was not, what time of day they were likely to come, and of course, how much they *paid.*

He thought he’d found something when he discovered a page of doodles. Upon closer examination, they turned out to be just that -- *doodles*.

The only thing that Madame Marie seemed to be hiding is she wasn’t *quite* as generous with the split of the profits as her workers thought she was, and that some employees were, indeed, getting bigger cuts than others -- he assumed they were the “pets.”

“Dammit!” he said, smacking the ledger in frustration. He was so *sure* he’d find what he was looking for, that he’d be able to get Madame Marie arrested that afternoon, that he’d be home with Al tonight . . .

*There has to be something else,* he thought. *Some hidden compartment somewhere in this room where she’d hide the *real* stuff.*

He put the ledger back and reached to the very back of the filing cabinet drawer, feeling for a hidden compartment. Nothing. He checked the other drawers, same thing.

The desk? He resealed the locks on the cabinets and headed across the room. The drawers were nearly empty -- just some plain pads of paper, a dictionary, a telephone directory. And no indication of hidden compartments here, either.

It was beginning to look more and more apparent that Madame Marie was *not* keeping classified information on politicians and the military, or any formulas for an ultraweapon, in her office.

And he was running out of time. Marie would be back any minute.

He slammed the last drawer shut and stormed toward the door, nearly slamming it as well.

Suddenly, the possibility of them not being able to find enough evidence before his allotted time was up became *real* for the first time, and he shuddered.

* * *

Ed headed up the stairs, key in hand, teeth set. One of the other workers had delivered a message to him that Russell would be there in an hour and a half.

He wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news of his failure to find anything.

*Might as well see if Maggie is back yet,* he thought. He raised his hand to rap on the door -- no answer.

He was turning to leave when he caught a faint whiff of a familiar smell. It was acrid, bitter . . . definitely *not* the type of thing one expected to be smelling in a bordello.

In fact, it was more like the kind of thing he was used to smelling in a lab.

His curiosity piqued, he glanced around the hall to see if anyone was looking -- which they weren’t -- then clapped his hands, bringing them to the lock. There was a crackle of energy, and he was able to open the door.

Peering in, he noticed that Maggie’s room was slightly bigger than his. It looked very much like his own, except for one thing . . .

Her room had a desk. And on top of it was a beaker on a Bunsen burner, slowly simmering.

Ed walked over to it, examining the color, breathing in the odor, trying to analyze what was in it.

*Now I know why it smelled familiar,* he thought. *This seems to be similar to the megaweapon that Russell and I made.*

He looked at the desk itself -- it was fairly standard, with three drawers on the side and one in the center. He pulled the top drawer, and it opened without resistance.

There were several notebooks lying there. He knew what was going to be in them before he even opened them up. His hand went to his pocket to get the notebook in which he’d intended to copy Madame Marie’s records.

*Gotta work fast,* he thought. He had no idea when she was going to be back.

He copied down a few arrays, some formulas, large chunks of what appeared to be some kind of code, his hand fairly flying across the page.

This was *definitely* not the work of someone just playing around with alchemy. The arrays had a complexity he couldn’t remember seeing outside the highest-level texts in the library in Central.

Once he had a few pages filled, he replaced the book carefully, slipped out of the room and resealed the lock, quickly retreating to his own quarters.

Not five minutes later, as he was starting to analyze what he’d found, he heard footsteps outside his door. He looked out, and saw Maggie heading for her room, key in hand. Pulling Madame Marie’s key out of his pocket, he followed her, quietly.

Just as she was unlocking her door and starting to push it open, he said, “Maggie?”

She jumped, startled, and whirled around, quickly pulling the door shut behind her. As she turned, her skirt flipped up, and Ed saw something high up on her thigh . . .

A tattoo. A curve with intertwined lines above it, looking suspiciously like the bottom of an alchemic array.

“Oh, Tom!” she said. “Did you finish in time?”

“I did,” he said. “Here’s the key back. Have a good time?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “A great time. But, I have to get ready now, my client is coming in less than an hour.”

“Same here,” Ed said, wondering quietly what she did with her little alchemic experiment when her client was there -- he suspected she stashed it in the closet and covered the smell with perfume. “By the way, I couldn’t help but notice your tattoo -- is that an alchemy symbol of some sort?”

“Oh, that?” Her hand came down to her thigh as if she were holding a wound closed. “I used to date an alchemist. I got it for him.” He noticed she was backing up against the door, almost protectively.

“Hey, same here, that’s how I know what it is,” he said, casually. “Okay, I’m going. You owe me one now!”

“I do, don’t I?” she said, still not budging from her spot. “I’ll see you later!”

Ed walked back to his room, keeping his ears peeled for the sound of Maggie going into her door. He heard nothing -- not until his own door closed behind him.

His suspicions were confirmed. Apparently, Madame Marie’s number one “pet” wasn’t who they’d thought it was.

* * *

Russell fully expected that when he arrived, Ed would lead him right to the bathroom. So it didn’t surprise him at all when his lover said, for the benefit of anyone who might have been peeking in, “You look tense. Come on, I’ll give you a bath and a massage.”

The boys went into the other room, and Ed turned on the taps, reaching into his pocket.

“You found something in her office?” Russell said.

“Not in Madame Marie’s office,” Ed said. “She’s sneaky. She’s got someone in here working with her who’s the *real* keeper of all the information, and it’s not even one of her so-called *pets.* Hell, it’s the person who complained about her pets the most!”

“Coverup,” Russell said. “It makes sense -- she has a bunch of ‘pets,’ but her partner is part of the common herd so she won’t attract suspicion.”

“And furthermore” -- Ed handed Russell the notebook -- “the partner’s an alchemist, and a damn talented one. Take a look at her arrays.”

Russell scanned the pages, his eyes moving over the intricate diagram. “This looks like some kind of explosive,” he said.

“Bingo,” Ed replied. “And she’s got code, too. Looks like a description of a tennis match, but . . .”

Russell looked up. “Can I take this with me?” he said. “I’ll have Al and Fletcher help me with the code.”

“That’s what I got it for,” Ed said, a slight smirk running across his face. “We have the goods on *both* of them now. You can take the code right to Mustang . . .”

“*If* it shows anything we can use,” Russell said.

“Hey, how can it *not*?” Ed replied. “She’s *guilty*, Russell. She’s even got an array of some sort on her thigh.”

Russell frowned. “You’d better be careful around her. If she suspects . . .”

“She’s not gonna suspect anything,” Ed said, reaching for Russell’s shirt buttons. “And, hey, you think I can’t take care of myself?”

“Well, I *do* know firsthand what you’re capable of in a fight,” Russell said, reaching for the fastening of Ed’s leather corset.

“Damn right,” Ed said, pushing Russell’s shirt off. “And I kicked your ass.”

“You left that lab with a *very* swollen face, I remember,” Russell replied, dropping the garment to the floor.

“Eh, just a bump,” Ed said, pushing his leather corset down and off, followed by his boots and bikini pants. He stepped into the water, holding a hand out to Russell.

“So you meant it about the bath and massage?” Russell said, shedding his own remaining clothing.

“Hey, we gotta stay in here for awhile anyway, right?” Ed said as Russell climbed into the water with him.

“I think you’re going to miss this place when we leave,” Russell said, teasingly, picking up Ed’s flesh foot, which was stretched next to him. He started to massage it tenderly, tickling the sole a little, which made Ed jump.

“Miss it?” Ed leaned back in the water. “Hell, no! You think I *like* this atmosphere?”

“You like that bed. And this tub. And the things that were in the rack by the bed.” Russell’s fingers moved up Ed’s calf, gently caressing.

“You liked them, too!” Ed said. He trailed the fingers of his flesh hand over the surface of the water. “I want to go home. I miss Al.”

“He misses you, too, I can tell you that,” Russell said, moving up to his lover’s thigh.

“I think this is the first mission he didn’t come with me,” Ed said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Feels strange. He and I have always been together, except for . . .” He looked away. “No way was I having him in here.”

“Don’t want him seeing you in the leather corset?” Russell said, slyly. That earned him a kick from the foot he’d been caressing, a splash in the face and a bar of soap shoved toward him.

“Shut up and wash, Russell!” Ed said.

Fortunately, Russell was able to win Ed’s favor back when they were both standing up, washing their bodies, and he lathered his hands, beginning to wash the older boy’s back with long, gentle strokes, moving from his neck to his hipbones, then back up again, rubbing in circles, making him give a small moan of pleasure.

“Damn, Russ . . . you do that so well . . .”

“You know I love touching you, baby,” Russell whispered.

“Don’t call me baby,” Ed murmured, but leaned back into Russell’s caresses, letting out an “mmmm” sound as Russell’s fingers kneaded up and down, back and forth.

“So are you going to give me a massage, like you said?”

“If you want,” Ed said, his voice a near-purr.

“Oh, I want,” Russell said. “I *really* want.”

They rinsed off and stepped out of the water, reaching for large bath sheets to towel themselves off. Russell did Ed’s hair, carefully, then reached for a comb on the sink to untangle and smooth out the long strands.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready to see your hidden massage skills.”

“You’d be surprised at how many skills I have,” Ed said with a smirk.

Ed led Russell over to the massage table, located at the far end of the bathroom. “All right,” he said. “Lie on your stomach . . .”

Russell complied. “I’ve never really had a massage,” he said.

“I’ve never *given* one,” Ed said, reaching for the bottle of oil that was in a holder at the side of the table.

*Hey, how hard can it be, right?* he thought.

Right away, though, he realized a problem. The massage oil would gunk up his automail. He needed every last circuit and joint functioning perfectly -- he had no doubt that a fight was in his very near future.

Searching in the storage bin next to where the oil was, he found tissues, a couple of soft cloths, and . . .

“Ha!” he said aloud. “Problem solved!”

Russell raised his head. “What?” he said, his hair seeming to fall even further into his eyes.

Ed was holding up a couple of packages of condoms. “Okay, so they’re not going to protect what they were *meant* to . . .” he said, tearing them open. He lay them on the table next to Russell, clapped his hands, then touched the rolled-up pieces of rubber. They stretched, elongated and formed into a glove.

“There!” he said, holding it up triumphantly. He poured the oil onto his hands and leaned over, kissing Russell’s neck as he started to rub across his shoulders, then down his back. Russell let out a loud purr, and Ed said, in a soft voice, “You like that, huh?”

“That feels good,” Russell murmured. “So good . . .”

“Hey, I aim to please,” Ed said, his hands sliding down to his lover’s hips, up over his back, rubbing in circles on his shoulders.

His flesh hand stroked slowly, slowly over the oil-slicked flesh, squeezing, caressing, and he heard Russell let out a deep sigh as he brought a hand up to his mouth.

“Keep going,” he whispered.

Ed knew exactly what it was he meant. He paused, oiling his flesh hand again . . .

Then, he brought it to Russell’s ass, that delicious, perfect, compact bottom, running it over the curve, his fingers exploring it gently.

“Your ass is sexy,” he said in a low voice. “I love touching it so much . . .”

Russell was flat-out moaning now, arching his bottom upward, pulling up on his knees a bit. “Ed . . .” he gasped.

Ed let his fingers slide between the cleft, up and down, teasing, and he heard Russell’s whimper of frustration. “Baby, don’t tease me,” he said, raggedly.

But Ed *wanted* to tease. And he pulled his finger out, making sure it was oiled extra-well, before pushing it back in again, stopping when it was *just* touching his entrance.

“Ohhh . . . ohhh . . . “ Russell groaned, writhing beneath him, his hips bucking upward, trying to impale himself on Ed’s finger.

“What is it you want me to do?” Ed whispered.

“I want it in me,” Russell panted.

Ed pulled his finger away. “Nah, I don’t think so,” he said.

Russell suddenly sat up, turning around. “Dammit, Ed!”

Ed smiled with satisfaction when he saw the full erection that was revealed. “Maybe I’d rather play with this,” he said, gently stroking his manhood -- which made Russell let out a yelp.

“Either.” he moaned. “Both. Ed . .. “

“Both?” Ed said. He couldn’t easily do that with an automail hand, but . . .

“Be right back,” he said. He headed back into the main bedroom, finding what he was looking for on the stand next to the bed.

When he returned, he told Russell, “Okay, lay back, and close your eyes.”

Once Russell obeyed, he poured lube from the bottle he’d brought with him over the other object he held, then onto his flesh fingers.

“Spread your legs . . .”

Russell raised his hips, opening his legs wide, and Ed slid a finger in, moaning at the feel of the tightness and heat closing around him. For a moment, he considered just dropping his plan, oiling his own manhood and taking him.

But that would bring a swift end to things, and he wanted to prolong the pleasure for both of them.

He slid the finger out, lubed it and a second again, then pushed them in, Russell’s soft cry going to the very core of him. He moved in and out, feeling his lover’s hips move in time to what he was doing, looking at Russell's beautiful face, eyes tightly closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed, hand clutching at the covering of the massage table.

“So beautiful . . .” Ed said as he picked up the toy with his automail hand, bringing it to Russell’s entrance. His flesh hand lightly grasped the younger boy’s erection, teasing it lightly with stroking fingers.

He began to push the dildo in, and heard Russell gasp. His other hand tightened a little, starting to move a bit faster.

“This is so good,” Russell moaned. “Deeper . . .”

“You like this, don’t you?” Ed said, pushing the toy in further.

“Yes!” Russell said in a hoarse whisper.

“Good -- ‘cause I like watching you like this,” Ed said. And he started to thrust it, a rapid in-and-out motion, as his flesh hand stroked faster, fingers tickling the base, sliding over the shaft before twirling around on the head.

Russell arched off the table, his body moving in almost a wavelike motion, head tipped back, blond hair softly whispering against the fabric of the table cover as he tossed it back and forth.

Ed found a rhythm -- thrust the toy in, slide his hand downward, pull it out, slide up . . . His fingers glided over skin that was both rough and smooth, hot as hell, and wet, so wet from the precum that his fingers spread from top to bottom every time he went up to the head, teasing the satiny mushroom, tickling the sensitive spot just under it . . .

“AAAHHH!!!” Russell cried, suddenly, and his body arced upward sharply, like a sea creature breaching the water. Hot seed flowed from his cock, which Ed kept stroking, and stroking more, until the boy finally sagged to the table, sated.

Ed slid out the toy, bending over to kiss Russell’s lips. “Mmmm,” he said.

“Incredible,” Russell mumbled.

“Hey, what can I say? I *am* a prodigy,” Ed said, teasingly.

“Didn’t think you were a prodigy in *that*,” Russell said, sitting up. “Okay . . . now I want *you* to lie down and spread your legs.” He got off the table, gesturing for Ed to replace him.

Ed complied, wondering what the hell Russell had planned. He wasn’t going to take him, since he’d just come himself, and if he was going to use the toy . . . well, he’d better *clean* it first!

Russell leaned over, his lips claiming Ed’s, and Ed kissed back hungrily, his tongue probing his lover’s mouth. He could hear the squish of the tube . . .

Their lips parted, and Russell moved down to Ed’s nipples, starting to kiss and lick and suck as his finger probed Ed’s entrance. Ed spread his legs wider, thinking this was the prelude to something else . . .

Then, Russell’s finger started to stroke, and move around from place to place, making Ed shudder deliciously. He knew what Russell was doing now . . .

And when Russell hit his goal, his finger connecting right with Ed’s sweet spot, Ed yelped as stars burst behind his eyes, pleasure shooting over every bit of his body in sharp tingles.

“Ohhh, yes, *there!* he cried, and then Russell’s finger was *massaging* him, kneading that spot gently, so gently, making a sensation like hot honey shoot from his channel to his aching cock and out to his whole body, until he felt it in his toenails.

Russell moved up enough to kiss Ed’s lips, his fingers never leaving that spot, then he whispered, “Love you.”

Then he moved down and took Ed’s erection in his mouth, and Ed almost screamed.

Hot wetness on his cock, surrounding, sucking, the pleasure moving down and mixing with the *unbelievable* feelings from where Russell’s finger was still stroking, massaging . ..

Ed thought he was being driven mad bit by bit, and it was the most wonderful feeling ever.

He panted and moaned and gasped, he writhed and thrust, as Russell took him deep, over and over, then slid him out and licked him, then sucked him *hard*, as the massaging went faster, faster . . .

Pleasure was swelling in him, swelling like air in a balloon, and he was ready to explode . . . Russell was *pressing* on his prostate, oh no, that was too much, but so good, so good, sooo .. .

Ed screamed Russell’s name, and his whole body shook with electric pulses, shaking him to the very core, his hips moving again and again, Russell’s mouth never leaving him, drinking in every drop he had to give . . .

When Ed sank to the table, Russell’s lips were on his, his hands stroking his face. “Ed . . .” he whispered.

Ed wasn’t sure if he’d be able to form coherent words. He managed to get out an “uuuhh.”

Ed turned, wrapping his arms around his lover, burying his face in his chest. Hell, yes, he wanted the code cracked, he wanted out of this damn place . . .

“Come on, let’s go into the bedroom and lie down a couple of minutes. Then I want to take this notebook home. The sooner we can crack the code, the better.”

But he also wanted to savor this moment for just a bit longer. And that was just what he was going to do.

* * *

They walked to the door together, careful not to touch each other, make too much eye contact . . . make it apparent to anyone looking that they meant more to each other than just prostitute and client.

“I have to go to that horrid family thing,” Russell said, making sure it was just loud enough for everyone to hear. “But I’ll be back tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Ed said.

He watched Russell head down the walk, the more-valuable-than-gold notebook in his pocket. He knew that the next time his lover returned, it would probably be with the military, and it would be over for Madame Marie and Maggie.

*And I’ll be able to wear *clothes* all day again,* he thought, heading back through the parlor, toward the stairs . . .

“Thomas?” a familiar voice said around the corner. He turned, to see Madame Marie emerging from her office.

*Great,* he thought, *the last person I want to see.* “Oh, hi there,” he said, trying to sound sincere. “How’s it going?”

“Your client is *very* pleased with you, Thomas,” she said. “Mr. Hawthorne has been spending quite a bit of time here. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

*You wouldn’t be so happy if you knew *why* he was here all the time,* he thought. “Yeah, well, I’m making sure he gets his money’s worth!” he said.

“I am very much looking forward to having you in general circulation,” she said. “If you produce the way I think you will, there may be . . . perks involved.”

“Really?” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “What kind of perks?”

“Oh, special accommodations . . . more days off . . . and assignments to the highest-paying clients. Plus access to areas of this house that are off-limits to everyone else.”

“Hmm.” Ed raised his eyebrows. “Sounds nice . . . what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” she said. “Just occasional favors now and then.”

*She probably still has the pets feeding her info,* he thought, *even though Maggie’s her main partner. Unless there’s *other* members of their group hidden in here . . .*

“Hey, that sounds great,” he said, putting on a cheerful voice. “Thanks for the offer . . . I’m not gonna let you down.”

“I don’t think you will, Thomas,” she said. She patted his shoulder with a jewel-heavy hand and headed for the parlor.

Ed bolted for the stairs. This was a small amount of information, to be sure, but it was still information, and it may prove useful . . .

And in the meantime, he was bound and determined to get out of this outfit. Hopefully, he’d never have to wear it again.

____________

Fullmetal Alchemist is property of Hiromu Arakawa, Square Enix and Studio BONES. No profit is being made from this fanfic.