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‘You’re a stupid shit, you know that?’
Those are the first seven words Roy Mustang hears upon waking. The first thing he can smell is the overclean, antiseptic burn of a hospital ward, and the taste on his tongue is that of overused saliva and the faintest hint of metal. The first thing he sees is the white of a ceiling, but then that quickly gives way to a wave of gold as someone crashes against his chest with a little more force than is probably necessary, and someone’s arms cling tight around his neck.
The first thing he feels is Edward Elric’s breath on his ear, and the love in his soul.
Though that is quickly followed by the realisation that there is dull yet insistent agony swimming through what feels like every bone in his body, most noticeably tearing through his lower left leg.
It takes a moment to register that Ed is cursing him with everything he seems to be able to contain in his perfectly normal-sized body, and Roy tunes in to:
‘ –ral Bastard drama queen who can’t even go on a diplomatic trip without stuff turning to shit and breaking a leg.’ Roy makes a valiant attempt not to chuckle considering the apparent gravity of the situation, and clears his throat.
‘You would hate it if I lost my tendency for drama and flair,’ he rasp-murmurs against Ed’s hair still splayed across his face. ‘You would despair.’
‘Nope. Your ‘tendencies’ are overrated. I’m ignoring you until you extricate that shit with one of these creepy knife things they have lying around here.’
‘I believe those are scalpels you’re referring to.’
‘I’m ignoring you, and can’t hear you being a smug little shithead even when you’re lying in a frickin hospital bed with your leg all wrapped up and shit.’
‘Edward my dear,’ Roy says with all the feeling in his heart. ‘Talking to my neck rather than looking me in the eye does not count as ignoring me.’
There’s that light-full feeling sitting in his heart that only Ed brings, and Roy lets himself smile at the ceiling. Nice ceiling. There’s a weird crack thing that looks vaguely like that vein Ed has running do – the pain has perhaps made Roy slightly delirious. Has Ed called someone yet? Roy hopes so; there’s only so long his golden-haired idol can distract him from the ever-growing ache in his leg.
Another firm yet slightly desperate squeeze around his neck, and Roy drags one tired arm up to wrap around Ed to return the gesture. After a moment longer, Ed finally eases back.
‘I,’ he declares solemnly. ‘Am ignoring the shit out of you.’
A nurse chooses that moment to bustle into the room, asks him the questions that he is unfortunately too used to hearing, either when he’s the patient himself or when Ed has one too many terrifying run ins with terrifying people. With a reluctant grimace, Ed releases his hold of Roy.
Even as Roy answers the queries on autopilot – no, he’s not dizzy, yes his leg does hurt and painkillers would be lovely, thank you, water would also be appreciated – he keeps his eyes on Ed, who’s sunk back into the creaky chair next to the bed. The scowl gets more pronounced the longer the nurse takes, and Roy can almost see the initial relief washing away to give way to the formation of a dark cloud of ten thousand fears.
After what seems like an eternity, a few tablets, and far too long spent checking the consistency and quantity of his pillows (just making sure you’re comfortable, Major General), the nurse makes a brisk exist, and Roy is left with Ed and his tired eyes, Ed and his dusty uniform, Ed and the grime in his hair and the terror in his soul.
Ed scoots closer, crosses his arms, and stares out the window. In contrast to how he was barely ten minutes ago, he says nothing, and when Ed is silent, he’s either asleep, blissfully enjoying being cuddled, or there’s sadness, blackness, sticking in his soul that he can’t find the words to cover up anymore.
Roy wishes hard that the latter wasn’t the blindingly obvious option here.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says after the silence has gone on a bit too long. And he means it. Of all the people that Ed could’ve chosen, for some inexplicable reason he set his sights on Roy, Roy who can only cause him more hurt even if it’s for good.
Ed stops scowling at the greenery outside and sets his glare on Roy instead.
‘Don’t be sorry, just don’t fucking do it again.’ And Roy can actually hear the fear now, can hear how Ed’s voice gets slightly desperate as he grits out the last word. Roy leans forward, ignores the ache in his ribs, and tucks a grimy piece of hair behind Ed’s ear. Obstinately, it springs back. Roy just sets himself to running a thumb gently over Ed’s cheek.
‘Ed, I would never choose to leave you,’ he says softly. ‘If you believe nothing else, believe that. You are the best of me, I wouldn’t –”
‘No, but you chose to go,’ Ed says, cutting him off, batting away the hand on his cheek angrily but still so gently and Roy loves him all the more for it.
‘You chose to run in there without anyone to back you up, you chose to go after a fucking alchemist knowing that they had your array, did you even stop to think about what the fuck you were doing? Did you stop to think for a moment about what could happen, who you’d end up leav–’
Ed is shouting now, before he clamps down his teeth and clenches his fists and glares at the ceiling, blinking furiously.
And now, Ed’s not playfully relieved, or angrily concerned. Now, Ed is hurting.
No, Ed was always hurting, had probably been hurting for days and days and Roy hadn’t been awake to notice. Had probably been pacing and sinking into the chair, restless and listless in turns as Roy knows him to be when he’s anxious and worried.
And Roy knows by now that even with all his good intentions, he can’t spare Ed that pain. With all the power that he has, he can’t do that. Feeling helpless, he reaches out one hand to grasp gently at Ed’s wrist. Actions always soothed Ed more than words to start with. Ed is trembling, and Roy’s core shakes with him. Gradually, Ed seems to deflate, shoulders drooping, and Roy judges it safe to make a gentle request.
‘Come here, please?’ he asks hoarsely, fumbling a little as he lifts up the corner of a blanket. Ed looks at him with so much fear, before shrugging off the military jacket and carefully slipping in under the covers, that all Roy can do is cradle him close and love him with all he has.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, stroking Ed’s hair. ‘I will do my utmost best not to charge after stupid shitty alchemists again. I’ll remember to bring backup. I’ll take spare gloves, I’ll keep that tiny little lighter from Havoc on me at all times. Just Edward, I wouldn’t –’
He has to stop, because he’s been on the receiving end enough times to know, to remember the endless pacing, the interminable waiting, the constant sound of what if what if what if. Of trying to imagine life going on, but all that’s drawn up is a big, aggressive blank. He knows what it’s like to be terrified of losing what it is they have, and the thought that he put Ed through that chokes him.
‘I wouldn’t leave you,’ he manages to force out. ‘I promise Ed, the last thing I thought of before I blacked out was you, getting back to you. That’s all I wanted.’
Ed’s voice also sounds suspiciously choked up, and the rage is gone, both the fire and ice of it. He seems so incredibly fragile curled up like this against Roy’s chest, and he is soft in Roy’s arms and Roy just wants him to be happy.
‘I know it’s just – two days felt like forever Roy, and…’ He trails off, and Roy can feel the panicked flutters of Ed’s breath against his collarbone and his fingers clenching the horrendous green hospital gown.
‘I’m sorry,’ Roy whispers again, holding him closer.
They stay like that for a while, just taking comfort in knowing that they’re together. Roy gently works tangles out of golden hair, and Ed is propped up against the beat of his heart. When Ed finally breaks the silence, his voice is steadier.
‘…you really going to carry around Havoc’s lighter?’ Roy tries to regret saying it, but he must accept his fate now.
‘I hardly seem to have a choice now, hm?’
‘And ten thousand pairs of gloves?’
‘If it would make you happy, love, then yes.’
‘Fucking elastic.’
‘I believe you’ll find the word is ecstatic.’
‘Too many letters.’
‘…hmm.’
‘I’m not short you bastard.’
‘I said nothing.’
‘I’m not talking to you.’ And funny, isn’t it, how at that Roy knows he’s now been forgiven?
‘That’s perfectly fine with me,’ he says. Gently, he leans forward, eases that blonde head up, and covers Ed’s mouth with his.
*****
When Roy is finally discharged, and has awkwardly manoeuvred the way up his front steps with a lot of snickering from a certain blonde-haired Major carrying a wheelchair, the first thing he does is to crutch-hop his way to his closet. Once he’s located his coat, into the pocket he tucks a bright yellow lighter stamped with the words CHIEF MAJOR GENERAL, and a spare pair of gloves.