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The sun was setting over Central as Ed walked towards headquarters. The summer had been particularly oppressive, and even at six in the evening, Ed could still feel the heat rising from the pavement and see it flickering in hazy sheets over the rooftops. His left leg was a leaden furnace. He was just glad, as he dragged a sweaty hand across his dripping forehead, that his fingers weren’t metal anymore. The damn uniform didn’t help any either; heavy around his shoulders, the dark blue wool in summer was asking for trouble. He ambled along, desperate to get out of the heat but too worn out to rush.
God, why was he even out here? Stupid idea really, with the heat pressing down and sunbeams assaulting his eyeballs. He could’ve just left it. Could’ve gone home to Al and an iced coffee, even suffered the fuck-ton of cats. He didn’t need to check into headquarters.
But he had figured out the stupid fucking array just past five thirty, and he reasoned that the sooner he got word to the bastard the better. No, he hadn’t written his report yet, but the Colonel was always going on about how ‘Major Elric’ never checked in and never kept him updated, so even though the sun had been setting he’d avoided going home and headed deeper into the city instead. And anyway, he’d been cooped up inside all day, and he needed a little bit of sunlight and time to stretch his legs. These days, most of what he did was research, and going to that from destroying buildings (for the greater good) had been…difficult. He needed action, or to get outside at least, so it was perfectly reasonable to take a walk, thank you very much. And –
And –
Ed let out a sigh as he kicked a stray rock irritably. And he knew when he was making excuses. Or perhaps more accurately, he hadn’t always known, but he’d damn well figured out – after half a year of doing so – when he was just making up excuses to see Mustang.
Mustang.
They’d passed into something more amicable these days than when Ed’s temper was easy kindling to be lit and Mustang had all too readily supplied the ignition. Their infamous shouting matches still happened, and Ed almost revelled in them because Mustang was glorious when he was angry. But it was a rare occasion that they would really get into each other, most of the time it had evolved into snarky banter that was just…comfortable. Easy.
And to be quite honest, Mustang was actually kinda cute when he was distractedly reading Ed’s reports and absentmindedly making bastardly remarks.
Ed groaned at the thought, garnering a couple of questioning looks from others bustling to get home from the heat. Had he really descended into that? Become this stupid, mushy, pile of…goo? It was disgusting, and ten thousand kinds of gross, but it wasn’t like he could help it. He’d never really gotten what the whole love business was, had always kinda wanted to throw up whenever Al and Win got all cutesy.
Now look at him.
But Roy was just – ugh. Occasionally they went to Gracia’s with Al and the rest of the team and Mustang would magically turn into Roy, would laugh easier and stronger. And Ed was desperate to know him, desperate to be the one who made him laugh, desperate to see more Roy. More of Roy happy. Somehow, Mustang had become a man and not just a uniform behind a desk, had become warmer in his joking and more genuine when he smiled. Somewhere along the way he’d turned into something that made Ed's stupid heart do that stupid thing where it felt like it was about to fly out of his chest every time the bastard so much as got near him, and made his face heat up even as he pretended to be all casual whenever their hands brushed over a document. Or Roy offered some stupid backhanded compliment about Ed’s ‘intelligence’ or some shit.
And it wasn’t just the physical, the stupid heart attacks and the simmering heat. It was that Ed seemed to notice more, saw how Roy would sometimes come in with shadows under his eyes, like he had this past week. Saw the occasional flash of anger upon reading a form given to him by some general, only to be incinerated and then reported as ‘misplaced, Lieutenant, I swear’ when questioned.
And he just – just wanted to smooth it all away. Hold the bastard close until he forgot about the stupid, ignorant brass and their stupid, ignorant ways.
He’d almost done it, the past couple of times when Roy had caught his eye over the post-work drinks, caught his heart with that warm smile as though he was sharing something private, something good with Ed. But even though the words were almost tripping over the tip of his tongue every day, the middle of a crowded bar hardly seemed to be the place to confess to this awkward mess of feelings. Not with Roy’s cool and terrifying mother watching with that knowing gleam in her eye (Ed finally figured out where Roy had learned to smirk), not with Al sighing and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘just kiss him already’.
He just needed a moment alone. But that was the fucking thing, they were hardly ever alone, or at least not long enough for Ed to work his way past ten thousand second thoughts to get the words out. With all the work and the steady climb upwards, there was barely time to report, check in, before Hawkeye would come in with another pile of work and Major Elric would be dismissed.
So. End result: long-ass internal monologues, way too much brain power spent thinking about the bastard, and stupid excuses for an unnecessary visit to HQ in the middle of a heatwave.
On another sigh, Ed paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the main building. Maybe tonight there’d be time, enough time for Ed to stand there agonising for long enough that the words just exploded out of him. Because that’s all he needed: a single moment of courage to get it out there. Mentally, he kicked himself. He’d faced down chimeras, death, and using up years of his own life with less trepidation. Surely he could do this?
And what if he doesn’t want you?
Better than not knowing, he growled back at that voice in his head, the one that had always said you’ll never get Al’s body back and what would your mother think?
Steeling his nerves – ha – Ed straightened his shoulders and walked up the stairs of Central HQ.
Breath coming in ragged gasps through gritted teeth, the vicious beat in his head telling him to calm down calm down calm danger danger danger –
Get to work, Flame Alchemist.
Screams and shouts, the blinding glow of sun hitting sand. Funny, wasn’t it, how the sun that had risen over Ishval and carnage and genocide was floating so innocently over this city, so far away from it all.
It had been going so well, and it was the heat that had pushed him. He knew that, he knew he knew he knew. But hadn’t he been dealing? Hadn’t he pushed right back, tried to ignore the tight knot in his chest that had been sitting there as the days grew hotter and the sun ever brighter? Hadn’t he tried to forget, wipe it from his mind even when he flinched every time Hawkeye turned her back, even as he sat and procrastinated because he had no willpower to bring pen to paper and when he tried his mind strayed to hazy desert and the smell of gunpowder, even as the sun reached its peak and beat down and burnt as he had burnt –
Fire and screaming and a spark –
Don’t ever forget them, because I promise they won’t forget you.
He hadn’t forgotten, he knew that he needed to remember so that it would never happen again. But god, on nights like these, he wished he could.
The office was empty, but it hadn’t been locked and Mustang’s door was still closed; bastard was in. Paper fans were scattered across the desks outside, speaking of the overwhelming heat that had clearly conquered the brave military heroes. The ashtray perched on Havoc’s desk was emptier than usual, and there was a deconstructed fan sitting on Fuery’s desk, rotor blades sitting in a heap next to a screwdriver. Hawkeye’s station was neat as always, everything put away in draws except for a stack of paper with a note that merely read Colonel Mustang with tomorrow’s date.
Ed had heard nothing from Mustang’s office yet, which meant that he was either asleep or slacking off. He usually entered the Colonel’s office with a little more decorum than he had in the past; it was harder to get away with breaking doors when you were twenty with no alchemy to fix it than as a fifteen-year-old who could repair the hinges with a clap. But…
Doing him a favour, Ed thought. No way was Mustang going to get around to tomorrow’s work if he was asleep and lazing about now. And he did love seeing that irritated scowl whenever he came in with a bang.
Grinning, Ed slammed the door open.
Blood on a phone –
Riza – where where where?
Target –
Snap.
Wait – wait, wait – spun gold, not snow; topaz not ruby –
Ed’s terrified face –
Ed –
‘What the fuck Mustang?’ Ed snarled, heart galloping as he picked himself up from where he’d fallen over in the mad scramble backwards. He’d had barely any time to react, had actually fucking clapped – that doesn’t work anymore – before stumbling backwards, crashing into the still open door and then bruising his ass on the floor.
Not that it would’ve done him any good; the only reason he wasn’t burnt to a crisp right now was because Mustang had pulled the flames back just in time, so close that Ed could still feel the heat raking his skin, the fucker. Showing off just to make a point. Maybe Ed deserved a fucking lecture but –
‘You didn’t have to try to fry my ass, you bastard. We’re in the middle of a fucking heatwave in case you hadn’t noticed, or did you wanna send the building up in flames? What the flying fuck are you doing with your gloves on in your office anyway, you expecting someone to come try to kill…’ Ed trailed off. Mustang hadn’t moved, frozen in place with his arm still raised. He had a glassy look in his eyes, and even in the dimming light Ed could see that he was sheet white.
Heart racing, Ed talking, Ed’s mouth was moving but even now all he could hear was harsh desert wind and the screams of the dying.
‘Oi, Mustang.’ Brow creased in concern, Ed took a step closer, and his approach (enemy, target, kill) brought Roy out of his reverie. He blinked, then sucked in a shuddering breath.
‘Fullmetal,’ he said, desperately trying to iron out the tremor in his voice. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his arm. He wanted to tuck it in his pocket, but the throbbing in his head was yelling danger danger danger and refused to let him disarm himself.
‘I wasn’t expecting you. I could hardly stand by while an unexpected guest burst in the room now could I?’ Eyes still narrowed in suspicion, Ed dragged the chair back from the desk and flopped down in it, wood scraping against wood (groans of pain, the rumble of trucks over sand).
‘Reporting in, Colonel Bastard, so you wouldn’t whine that I didn’t check in.’ Roy raised an eyebrow, and fervently hoped that it looked normal.
‘That’s very…thoughtful of you. Go ahead then.’ His heart was still galloping and the dampness on the back of his neck wasn’t all from the heat. But he could do this. All he had to do was ignore the sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, just focus on Ed – the yellow in his eyes (sand whipping around his face, in his eyes, his mouth), golden hair (sun beating down and the light of a thousand funeral pyres). Just had to ignore the vicious ache in his head, plaster on a smirk as Ed started to talk. He wasn’t taking in a single word that was being said, but god, as long as he looked it, as long as Ed didn’t realise he was weak, didn’t realise that he was always only a step or two from the edge, then it was all right. Ed’s voiced washed over him, and he almost had himself convinced that he was fine, and he turned to the window –
Shifting waves of heat over the city, the sun reflecting red on blood, lowering on another day of slaughter, bloodshed –
Don’t ever forget them –
He whipped around, and there was someone there – in the shadows – he raised his hand again –
‘–ang. Hey, Mustang!’ His frantic gaze darted around to find the sound.
Ed. Ed. Ed was in danger, his eyes flicked back to the figure – had to protect, had to – Ed. His eyes scanned the room desperately, focussed on –
Ed’s shadow. The bastard was staring at Ed’s shadow, cast long and dark by the brilliant orange bathing the room through the window, as though it was going to leap up and attack him.
‘Mustang.’ His voice was low, quiet. He didn’t move, too aware of the way Roy’s hand was once again raised, arm outstretched towards his fucking shadow. His breath caught in his throat at the wild, ragged fear that was plastered across Roy’s features. He could almost see the desperate scramble for control, but it was a losing battle and Roy was staring at Ed’s shadow like his life depended on it.
‘Roy.’ A desperate gasp of air was dragged into Roy’s lungs, but still he didn’t move.
‘Hey, Roy, come on.’ He kept his tone soft, soothing, and he forced himself to relax despite the rapid galloping of his heart. He’d seen what that single raised hand could do, the destruction that could be brought about by a clever mind and red lines on white cloth. ‘Roy, come on. Just – just put your hand down ok?’
‘I – I can’t,’ Roy said, and the sound that crawled out of his throat was only the barest approximation of his voice. ‘I – I –’
‘Ok, ok that’s fine,’ Ed said, not liking the way Roy’s voice had been trembling and rising in panic. ‘Just, just listen to me ok? It’s Ed.’
And Ed had no clue what to do when this was Roy Mustang looking terrified, looking sick and lost with fear, because since when had Mustang ever been afraid? Ed had so rarely seen him actually scared. Once when black arms had pulled him through the Gate and he’d heard broken horror in a terrified Fullmetal! Once when Roy himself had been forced through and that split second of realisation of what he’d paid. But that had been quickly covered up, and when Ed had next seen Roy, he had been the Colonel standing strong and still fighting with the help of his Lieutenant.
So no, Ed had no fucking clue what to do with a Roy whose eyes were blown wide in terror, whose trembling hand was a moment away from murder. But he had seen that helpless, hopeless, terrified expression on his little brother’s face before.
‘…Al got a new cat today.’
No, he had no idea what to do with Roy, but he knew what Al needed, when his little brother got that distant look in his eye. Al always needed soft comfort, gentle nothing words to release the tension of deafening silence. Honestly, Ed felt like an idiot – it wasn’t exactly the smoothest segue ever, but it would have to do.
‘Named the furball Augustine. I suggested Scarface because the bastard’s got this little white line of fluff that runs down through one eye, but Al just kinda gave me his brother are you stupid look and ignored me. And then he had to run off to go to class, so I got stuck looking after the damn thing and I had to feed it milk.’ He tried to remember what it was like when his mum had held him close after Winry told him ghost stories when they were little, the feeling of her voice weaving safety and love. And as much of that as he could remember, he tried to give it to Roy.
‘So that’s another one to add to the five we already got, plus the tiny dog he found in the street the other day. Did I tell you how we found it?’ Ed forced out a relaxed grin at this, tried to find hope in the way that Roy’s breath seemed to be coming slower now and his gaze were less desperately focussed on Ed’s shadow and more just drifting in the middle distance. Still, he kept his voice pitched low, the rhythm meandering and gentle.
‘I tripped over it on the way here. ‘Stead of helping, Al yells at me, cuffs me upside over the head for hurting the damn thing, and then takes it home where it happened to get priority over the shower. So there’s family for you. It’s really freaking small, you should see it, but Al swears it’s going to get a lot bigger, though if it does, we’re gonna be in a bit of trouble cause I’m not sure our apartment can handle that much fur.’
Talking about cats in the middle of the office was maybe one of the more surreal situations Ed had been in – and he’d punched a demi-god/immortal being/evil mastermind of the apocalypse in the face. Still, it seemed to be doing something; Roy’s breath was coming easier now, though he was still frozen in place with his arm raised and ready to strike.
Still, Ed judged it safe enough to try to get the gloves off; he didn’t know if Roy would stay calm for all that long. But because Ed, too, knew what it was like to see danger at every corner, to see monsters in children and death in the shadows, he kept very still as he voiced his next sentence.
‘Is it all right if I come closer to help you take your gloves off? It’s just me.’ Now Roy looked at him, mask still in complete tatters, expression broken and jaw clenched. Ed swallowed, hoping that it would work, because if it didn’t then they could be in for a very long night. ‘Just Ed.’
Slowly, though hand still upraised, Roy nodded his assent. Equally slowly, Ed stepped towards Roy, careful to keep his actions predictable and gentle.
‘I’m going to touch your hand now, ok?’ Again, Roy’s nod, and there was a plea in his eyes and Ed could make out a sound that was almost a whimper. Heart in his throat, Ed raised his own hand to take Roy’s, and took the murderer’s weapon from his hand.
Ed’s hand was on his, and Ed’s voice soft in the air had managed to collect the glass shards of panic that had been darting around, wrap them up, and tuck them gently back into Roy’s hollow chest. Ever present, but now more manageable.
Feeling gentle fingers peel the cloth back from his hand, he let his arm fall to rest in Ed’s grasp, closed his eyes and just tried to breathe, still not yet trusting his voice to manage any intelligible sounds past the deflating lump in his throat.
Distantly, he was aware that Ed was still talking, but he’d gone back to keeping up a constant stream of narration about his brother’s antics so Roy just focused on breathing, on letting the sounds wash over him, on trying to keep that desperate keen in his throat from actually sounding. Maes had done this for him when they’d first gotten back, had stripped back the cloth and brought him back down –
And the thought of his best friend –
Ex-best? Ex-friend? Either way he wasn’t here anymore –
Sent another bolt of panic through him –
No, Roy, just breathe. Riza had been there two nights ago, though it hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as this.
And slowly, slowly he came back to himself, became more aware that Ed’s hand was running gentle comfort up and down his arm, that he was now in the middle of a dramatic retelling of How We Got Fuzzface #4.
‘–nestly we’re going to all end up in quarantine eventually, because for some reason he only seems to pick up strays.’ Roy cleared his throat.
‘I’m ok,’ he managed, quietly, hoping that Ed couldn’t hear the broken glass that still crawled in his throat. The hand paused, merely stayed as grounding pressure on his bicep. Cautiously, Ed tilted his head, golden eyes looking up at him.
‘Yeah?’ Roy considered for a moment. The shaking was still there, he could feel his limbs trembling lightly, and the grating buzz of warning was still in the back of his mind. But it wasn’t pulsing fear anymore, and he could feel himself breathing, shallow as it was.
‘Yeah.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Ed took his hand off Roy’s arm (no, put it back) and tucked it back into his pocket. Roy cleared his throat, feeling slightly awkward, too self-conscious. What Ed must think of him.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be all right now.’ Ed looked up at him, golden eyes scrutinising.
‘You need sleep. You going home now?’ Roy huffed out something that might have been able to pass as a laugh, and tried to turn up the corners of his mouth despite the fact that it was still trembling.
‘No, I don’t think I’m in any state to drive right now.’ A quirked eyebrow.
‘So what, you’re just going to sleep here?’ A half-hearted shrug.
‘Maybe. I’ll be fine.’ That was a lie, and Roy knew it – he would wander around the halls aimlessly, maybe sign a paper or two, and just wait and wait and wait for the sun to rise again.
Going by the way that Ed’s raised eyebrow dipped down into a scowl, Ed knew it was a lie too.
‘Mustang,’ he growled. ‘You need to sleep.’ And the embers of irritation, annoyance at the futility of the world that had been simmering all damn week, ignited once more.
‘I will, I can take care of myself without meddling subordinates, thank you.’
‘Oh sure,’ Ed said scathingly. ‘And that’s why I find you here with your gloves on and shadows under your eyes that that I could hide in –’
‘It’s none of your concern, Fullmetal –’
‘I’ve told you before, don’t call me Fullmetal.’ And Ed’s eyes are hard, voice heated with rage. ‘And it is my fucking concern when you’re holed up in here killing yourself, you think I don’t see it? You think I can’t tell that you’re staying late and talking shit when people ask –’
‘God, Ed, why do you care so much?’ Roy snapped. ‘You never fucking cared before –’
‘Oh right, cause I just hang around in the military for fun because it’s my dream job!’
‘I never asked you to!’ And Roy’s anger bloomed, and how dare Ed blame him? ‘I never asked you to follow me, I never demanded that you stay!’ His fingers itched for the rough cloth again, but of course, Ed had it. Panting, Roy waited for the retort, but it didn’t come – Ed, as if suddenly aware of how close he’d gotten, took a step back with something like guilt flashing across his features. There was a beat of awkward silence, before Ed looked away.
‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘You shouldn’t – just – of course I care, you dipshit.’ On a sigh, Ed ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the golden locks that fell loose of the braid.
‘Can we try to get you some sleep? Nap on the couch or whatever, and then we’ll go from there?’ Roy wanted to refuse, anger still burning. Wanted to tell him that he was the superior officer, thank you very much. But Ed’s concern was clear, and Roy’s rage simmered down. And with it gone, Roy felt bone weary, exhausted to the very core of his being.
He went to refute the idea, but his mind was foggy with exhaustion and he knew that he needed have some semblance of functionality the next day. Right now he couldn’t care less, but there was a part of him that knew that it should matter, and that he should rest. And he knew that what Ed was saying was right. He had enough self-awareness to know that he’d been pushed right up to the edge and was scrambling for that last inch of room.
But he couldn’t be alone here, couldn’t have deafening silence and darkness to wake to. The voice in his head was saying burden, failure, disaster of a broken thing but – Ed was here, wasn’t he? And then fatigue and the ever-present sickly fear crawling in his mind had the next question shoving it’s way out of his throat before he could have a second thought.
‘Could you stay?’
Ed looked up cautiously at that, and Roy couldn’t find it in himself to regret the momentary weakness. All the same, he hoped that it had come out casually, hoped that he hadn’t sounded how he felt: desperate, broken, wrecked through, and rotten to the core.
‘I –’ Deep breath, bury the fear, quirk half a smile. ‘I don’t think I can be alone right now.’ Ed’s eyes were searching, expression neutral and Roy hoped that Ed didn’t think less of him. The younger man considered the request a moment longer before he took a step towards Roy.
‘If it’ll help you sleep, Colonel Bastard,’ he said on a shrug. He grabbed Roy’s hand, and it took Roy a moment to realise that Ed was gently tugging him towards the couch.
‘I can walk by myself, Ed,’ he said, even as he felt his hand tingle in Ed’s grasp and the hope that he’d never let go spring to life.
Not even deigning to reply, Ed released Roy’s hand as he came to a halt in front of the couch, shrugged off his jacket, and folded it into a makeshift pillow with the medals tucked safely inside and out of the way.
‘Go on,’ Ed said after he’d deposited the package on the couch. ‘Cosy little Mustang nest.’ Roy raised an eyebrow.
‘Thank you, I think.’ Still feeling entirely too self-conscious, he toed off his boots and collapsed onto the soft leather. Though his eyelids were drooping, the constant thrumming of his nerves had him bolting up to prop himself up against the armrest when Ed walked away.
‘Where are you going?’ He was acting like a damn child, but the humming anxiety crawling over his skin had long ago abandoned dignity as a lost cause. But then Ed was right back, one arm hooked around the chair he’d collapsed into earlier, the other cradling a thick tome that Roy recognised as one of his own.
‘I’m not going anywhere, but hell if I’m just going to watch you sleep for a couple of hours.’ Scowl back in place, Ed dumped the chair next to the couch, so that he was sitting by Roy’s head. Flopping down, Ed flipped the book open, but he didn’t start reading. His eyes were still trained on Roy, and Roy realised that he was still in his awkward half lying down position, arm propping him up. Forcing himself to relax, he lowered himself back down onto the leather, tried to ignore the humming in his veins, the beating drum in his chest cavity, and the wreckage clawing up his throat.
‘Try to sleep, Roy,’ came a murmur, and there, with another presence beside him, someone he could trust, Roy closed his eyes as he settled into Ed’s jacket. He didn’t know how long thoughts whirled around his brain, how many times he opened his eyes again to see that blonde head looking down, lamp flickering gently, before he once again shut his eyes, reassured.
It wasn’t as though the constant buzzing was gone, or even dulled that much. But knowing that there was someone there was – just comforting. Safe.
Knowing, trusting that Ed would be there when he opened his eyes again, Roy fell off into the dark to the sound of an occasional, calming flick of a page turned, the gentle shuffle of calloused fingers over paper, and Ed’s steady breathing.