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“Midnight in a city that knows how to keep its secrets. On the third floor of the Grumman Building, a single light shines late into the evening to ward away the oppressive darkness, and one man tries to find the answers to Central City’s persistent questions. Roy Mustang, Private Eye.”
Jazz music swells. Maes cuts the narration. On the other side of the recording booth’s glass, Riza gives the cue to come in.
Roy leans into the microphone.
“It was an unseasonably warm evening in November,” he croons. “I was heading to my favorite dive after a long night at the office, hoping to indulge in a ninety-five vintage I’d been eyeing. There’s nothing like a mid-range bottle of whiskey to boost the spirits without draining the coin purse.
“Around me, Central’s citizens were enjoying the rare opportunity to have a night out on the town without three layers of coats on. The gals were dressed to the nines, and the gents… Well, let’s just say there was beauty at every turn. And I was among them. I had on my favorite three piece suit and the silk cravat my aunt had given me for my birthday. It brings out my eyes, makes me look less exhausted, she said. I’m not sure that was a compliment.”
He smirks a little, leaning into the dry wit his listeners so adore.
“I was feeling more than a little handsome, and more than a little brave. Perhaps I’d try the ninety-four vintage, instead.”
He pauses there, allowing space for his listeners to laugh. And he knows they will. They love him. They eat it all up like a five star meal and ask for dessert.
“I arrived at Chet Christmas and held the door open for a lovely couple before ducking in myself.”
Jean makes a whooshing noise and jingles a bell into his microphone. Maes supplies the couple’s “thank you.”
“I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts,” Roy continues, “that I didn’t stop to take it all in until it was too late. That was my first mistake. Sitting at the bar, in my favorite spot, no less, talking to the barkeep, was Honey. Honey looked drop-dead gorgeous and just as dangerous as every other time we’d met. He brought to mind long nights spent entangled together in silk sheets. By the way he looked at me as I walked up, he hadn’t forgotten our previous rendezvous, either.”
Next to him, Ed inhales inaudibly, puts his lips almost to his microphone, and drawls, “Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Detective Mustang himself. Out on the prowl tonight? Or are you just here to stir up trouble?”
Ed’s eyes flick to his and away as they start their usual flirty banter. When they’re like this—in the recording booth, playing their parts—it’s easy to forget how volatile their real relationship is. It’s easy to find himself captivated by Ed’s gaze and the way his mouth moves, the way his throat works as he acts. It’s really too bad they don’t see eye to eye. Roy bets their chemistry off-set would be just as explosive as on.
“And yet here I find you sitting in my seat, Honey,” Roy replies smoothly. “Did you miss me that much?”
Ed scoffs. Jean holds up a glass of ice he had on hand and stirs it gently to evoke the sound of Honey taking a sip of his drink.
“Miss you? I haven’t had time to miss you, with the way you keep showing up everywhere. Tonight I’m here on business.”
“What’ll it be?” Heymans interrupts.
Roy switches into narration again. “I glanced away from Honey, impossible though it seemed with the gleam of the low light on his golden hair. I’ll have a glass of the ninety-five, I said. The barkeep gave me a look that clearly demonstrated he thought my taste in drink was average at best.”
“Your taste in drink is terrible, as usual,” Ed says, laying it on thick.
“Unfortunately, so was my taste in men,” Roy narrates. He leaves space for laughter. “Business?” he asks Ed.
“Yeah,” Ed says. “Business. Someone’s been poking around in my past, and I don’t like it. That got anything to do with you?”
“Although I had done a fair amount of poking around Honey myself”—Roy pauses again for the euphemism to sink in—“I was good at covering my tracks. Aside from which, I hadn’t gone looking recently. I knew Honey intimately. There wasn’t much mystery left between us, although if Honey knew that, he never let on. And if he knew how much I truly pined after him, he didn’t let on about that, either.”
“Here’s your drink,” Heymans says into the pause. Jeans stirs his cup of ice again.
“Thank you. To Honey I said, Not this time, I’m afraid. If someone’s giving you trouble, I’ll handle it.”
“I can handle myself,” Ed says.
“And boy could he,” Roy says.
“I just thought I’d ask if you’d heard anything about it,” Ed says. “I’m worried it could be Greed’s cronies trying to come after me again. Or worse.”
“I haven’t,” Roy says. “But I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything for you, darling.”
Ed rolls his eyes a little. “Don’t you start that with me, Detective. You know how it ends.”
“I did, and despite having made that mistake more than enough times to learn my lesson, I wanted to make it again,” Roy says. “If I start something, will you finish it?”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Ed husks into the microphone.
Their background music rises to signal the scene transitioning. After about five seconds, it fades again and Riza gives Roy his cue.
“I left Honey’s flat well before dawn. His warm embrace called to me, but I had a job to do. Something about Honey’s suspicions seemed off to me. Lucky for me, my intuition had been honed by years of stumbling into some truly incomprehensible situations and somehow managing to talk—or fight—my way out of them. Right now, my senses were screaming at me to get up and pound the pavement, and I was helpless but to do as they commanded. And it didn’t take long for Honey’s troubles to find me.”
Jean disengages the safety on their prop pistol and says, “Hold it right there, Detective. Boss wants a word with you about your sweet little side piece.”
“Does he now? And who would that be?” Roy asks. “Of course, I knew the answer. The man’s employer must be none other than Greed the Avaricious himself. I was led at gunpoint to their hideout in south Central. It was a seedy bar I’d normally never deign to step foot in, but for Honey I’d do a lot. I bet they were counting on that.”
“If it isn’t Detective Mustang himself,” Maes says, darkening his tone. “It’s about time you graced us with your esteemed presence.”
“I sat down at the bar stool Greed indicated with a jerk of his head. He went around the counter and began pouring me a drink,” Roy says.
Cue Jean’s collections of utensils and glassware.
“What do you want with Honey? I asked Greed as he whipped up something too fruity for my liking. Greed grinned at me before answering.”
“He’s a bombshell, ain’t he? What’s it like? Must be dynamite.”
“I refrained from answering. I was a gentleman, after all,” Roy says.
Maes leers a little to sell his tone of voice, which almost makes Jean break into laughter. He has to slap a palm over his mouth and turn away from his mic.
“Maybe I’ll have a taste. After all, I’ll own him after tonight,” Maes says.
“I felt the blood drain from my face. What do you mean? I asked. Green nodded past me at the door. I whirled around. There, in the doorway, stood Honey with a grim look on his face and a gun pointed to his temple. I made to stand, but Greed clicked his tongue at me.”
Maes tsks. “Now, now, Detective. Let’s not be hasty. Honey is here of his own free will, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”
“The man threatening Honey nudged him forward and dropped his gun. Honey’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a gleam in his eyes like he was trying to tell me something,” Roy narrates. “Honey, what are you doing here?”
“You must have figured it out by now, Mustang,” Ed says, voice trembling slightly. “You’re a smart fella. I know you know how much debt I’m in. Or did you think I wouldn’t know you’d investigated me?”
“It’s my job, Honey,” Roy says.
“Just like it’s my job now to get rid of you,” Ed says. He and Roy are holding eye contact. The rest of the studio seems to fade away.
“No,” Roy gasps.
“Greed says if I do this, he’ll take care of all my debts. I’ll be free, Mustang. Don’t you see that?”
“You’ll never be free, not if you make this deal.” Roy takes a shuddering breath and switches back to narration. “One of Greed’s henchmen handed Honey a gun. After a moment of hesitation, Honey took it and raised the barrel right at me. He smiled sadly.”
“Sorry, darling,” Ed says, using a rare pet name for the Detective to really lean into the betrayal. “It’s you or me, and frankly I just love me more.”
“Do it,” Roy says. “Maybe I love you more, too.”
“I doubt it,” Ed says. “You’re like me. You don’t love anybody but yourself. Goodbye, Detective Mustang.”
The jazz softly playing in the background gets louder again while Maes repeats the intro to close out this week’s segment. Ed and Roy stare at each other, hardly breathing. Roy knows it’s because they need to be silent as their mics fade out, but he’s not so into the habit of lying to himself that he’ll claim it isn’t also partially because every time Ed makes eye contact with him, he feels like he’s drowning.
He wonders if Ed feels the same way.
“Midnight in a city that knows how to keep its secrets. On the third floor of the Grumman Building, a single light shines late into the evening to ward away the oppressive darkness, and one man tries to find the answers to Central City’s persistent questions. Roy Mustang, Private Eye.”
Roy remembers to introduce the cast as the music reaches its peak, and he finally pulls his gaze away from Ed’s. “Edward Elric, Maes Hughes, Heymans Breda, Jean Havoc, and as always, I’m Roy Mustang. Thank you and goodnight.”
Riza counts them out and the red light up in the corner of the booth shuts off.
Roy leans back on his stool and glances at his co-star again.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” Ed huffs. He scrubs a hand down his face, letting ‘Honey’ fall away. “Sorry I was late.”
It’s rare for Ed to apologize for anything, which instantly puts Roy on alert.
“It’s fine. You made it just in time.” The rest of their little radio crew starts packing up gear and scripts and various noise-making implements. Neither Ed nor Roy make any move to follow. “Would you like a ride home?” Roy finally asks.
Roy always asks. Usually, Ed declines.
Usually.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Roy barely resists the urge to say, “Good Lord, something must really be the matter.” Instead he slips off his stool and reaches for his bag.
Ed trails after him quietly, only saying goodbye to Riza on their way out the door. She’ll lock up after everyone has gone home for the night. Tomorrow it will be up to Fuery and Falman to do any post production and editing the segment needs before they can sell copies of tonight’s broadcast, and on Monday, Riza, Maes, and Jean will write the new script. Until next Saturday, however, Roy’s work is done.
Once they’ve left the studio, Ed falls into step with him, and their shoulders brush every so often in a way that sends shivers dancing down Roy’s spine. Maybe in another life they could find common ground—learn to live with each other, to love each other—but as co-stars it seemed impossible.
Roy’s car is in the building’s underground parking lot in an assigned spot that the station had given him upon signing his contract. It’s a big step up from their last gig. Recording episodes of their previous mystery serial in Maes’ kitchen had been character building, to say the least, and it had helped them all land this deal, but Roy did not miss the cramped quarters and penny pinching and early morning broadcasts.
Now they’re big timers. They have the seven o’clock segment, which is peak listening hours. Roy has an assigned parking spot. People stop him on the street to ask for autographs.
Now Ed is here.
“We need a love interest,” Maes had insisted. “It could make or break the show. Everyone wants to see you romance someone—or listen to it, that is. What about that up-and-comer? Elric. He’s got star power.”
“He’s so blond,” Jean had said, scrunching his nose up a little. “I like that in a woman, but—”
And Riza had elbowed him so hard he had a bruise for a week.
They reach Roy’s car and Ed stops just shy of opening the passenger side door.
“Roy,” he says softly. His tone startles Roy a little. Ed never sounds anything but sure of himself unless he’s playing a part.
It looks like he’s about to say something else, and Roy holds his breath, but then Ed looks over his shoulder, eyes going wide—
Something heavy hits the back of Roy’s knee and his leg buckles. Before he can recover, something else hits his head.
His vision goes black before he even hits the ground.
+
Roy wakes up later with a very sore throat and an even sorer head. He’s definitely got a lump forming there. Good thing he’s a radio star and doesn’t need his face to be flawless all the time. Although, he’s fairly sure he’s handsome enough that a little scar will just make him look more rugged and manly.
He groans as memory flits back to him like moths crowding a lamp. And then he remembers he wasn’t alone.
“Ed.”
“I’m right here, Bastard.”
Roy opens his eyes, turns his head, and—
Ed’s face is extremely close, so close their noses brush. Roy rears back a little, but finds he can’t get very far. When he looks down, he discovers he and Ed are tied together, and Roy’s right wrist is handcuffed to Ed’s left wrist for good measure.
“Oh dear,” he says.
Ed snorts.
Roy glares at Ed and then looks around. They’re being held in a basement somewhere. He takes stock of its contents, although there isn’t much that might help them at present. A few boxes and an extra chair are shoved off into one corner. All the windows set high on the walls have been covered by boards, and there is a single lightbulb hanging on a chain from the cobwebbed ceiling.
“Are you alright?” Roy asks.
“Peachy,” Ed says. “You?”
“Fine, all things considered. Do you know where we are?”
“No. I just woke up. Fucker hit me hard.”
“Why didn’t you fight back? Surely he didn’t overpower you.” Ed scowls and looks away. He mumbles something Roy can’t quite make out. “Pardon?”
“I said,” Ed hisses, refusing to look at him, “I was too worried about checking whether or not you were still breathing.”
“That’s—”
“I know what it is. It’s bullshit. I should have just left you and run for it, but I’m a fucking idiot who—”
The door at the top of the stairs to the basement opens, spilling light in a bright beam all the way to their feet. A man Roy has never seen before steps in its path and closes the door behind him, plunging them back into dimness again. He walks down the stairs, and when he gets close enough, Roy can see there’s a wide smile on his face.
“You’re awake! Excellent.”
Ed strains at the rope binding them like he wants to bite the guy. Roy doesn’t blame him.
Their captor pulls over the extra chair and sits in front of them, hands rubbing his thighs eagerly. He’s about Roy’s age, maybe a little older, with sandy blonde hair and a clean-shaven face.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Sorry about the rude hello. I didn’t know how else to get you both here.”
“You might have tried asking nicely,” Roy says. Ed scoffs.
“Oh no.” Their kidnapper waves his hands in the air. “I couldn’t impose.”
“And this isn’t fuckin’ imposing?” Ed asks.
“Well, I guess it is a little.” The guy laughs lightly, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m a little shy. I’m a big fan, you see, but I get tongue tied in public. It’s easier this way. No one else will interrupt us!”
He says it like it’s the best idea he’s ever had, and like Ed and Roy are both supposed to agree with it.
Roy nods slowly. “It’s always nice to meet a fan,” he says carefully.
Ed elbows him to the best of his restrained ability while the kidnapper says, “See? I knew you’d understand. It’s such an honor—really. I’ve always wanted to meet you one-on-one, Detective. I’ve come to your live shows and signings. I’ve been to every single one! I listen to your episodes on repeat. My favorite was the episode about the runaway train. That’s the one where you meet Honey for the first time.”
“You have fine taste,” Roy says. While he wracks his brain for a way to get them both out of this in one piece, it won’t hurt to flatter their captor. Roy has never met a situation he couldn’t sweet talk his way out of, after all.
“You must look back on that memory fondly. It makes for a great story. All your adventures do! And Honey—” The kidnapper turns to Ed, expression eager. “It must have been love at first sight.”
“Uh…”
When Ed doesn’t answer right away, the man chuckles delightedly.
“Classic Honey—you’re always so coy! No need to keep up the ruse now. We all know you’re head over heels for Detective Mustang! You just haven’t admitted it yet. But don’t you worry—that’s why we’re here.”
“What?” Ed asks.
It seems to occur to both Roy and Ed at the same time that their kidnapper is under the mistaken assumption that, not only is ‘Roy Mustang, Private Eye’ based in truth, but that Ed actually is Honey and Roy actually is Detective Mustang.
When Ed continues, his voice is shaky. “My name isn’t Honey. It’s Ed. Edward Elric. I’m an actor.”
“We’re both actors,” Roy says. “We appreciate your love for the show, but that’s all it is—a show. A fictional show. None of those stories are true. However, if you let us go, we’d be more than happy to autograph any memorabilia you might own.”
The kidnapper throws his hands in the air, clearly becoming frustrated with them. He points at each of them in turn as he refutes their claim.
“You’re Honey, Detective Mustang’s true love, and you are Roy Mustang, Private Eye,” the man says, doing an impression of the way Maes says ‘Private Eye’ at the beginning and end of the radio play.
Roy keeps his voice calm. “That’s my name, but I’m not a detective. I’m an actor playing a detective. I used to play a colonel in the military on my last show, ‘The Flame Alchemist, The Story of Colonel Mustang.’ You might have heard of it—”
“But you’re Roy Mustang! Roy Mustang, Private Eye!” the kidnapper cries. He looks legitimately upset.
“That’s not even my real name!” Roy finally says desperately, and Ed hisses, “I knew it!” under his breath.
“It’s a stage name,” Roy continues, ignoring Ed’s low but triumphant laughter completely. “An alias. Have you ever met another person named ‘Mustang?’”
“Well…” The kidnapper shrugs. “I’ve heard weirder ones. Maybe it’s your mother’s maiden name. You’re not from around here, are you?” He narrows his eyes at Roy.
“Excuse me,” Roy says. “Are you insinuating something about my heritage, sir? I’m as Amestrian as you or Ed.”
“Are you sure?” The man looks skeptical. “Maybe you weren’t born here.”
Roy would very much like to light this man on fire—for many more reasons than one now. Too bad he considers himself too dignified to resort to arson. And too bad he doesn’t have any matches on him.
“You wanna say something fucking racist to his face? I’ve got a mean right hook with your name on it, asshole,” Ed growls. “Try it. I dare you.”
The kidnapper looks at Ed like he doubts Ed would actually hit him, most likely because Honey isn’t a fighter in their radio play, but Roy knows that Ed trains hard in his free time. He’s seen him take Jean down during a friendly spar. If it were him, he would not dare Ed to hit him for any amount of money.
Roy is all for watching Ed take this guy down, too, but right now they’re tied too tightly together for Ed to take a swing without swinging Roy right along with him.
He decides attempting to deescalate the situation would be wise.
“Maybe we can come up with a compromise. Ed and I will play Honey and Detective Mustang tonight. Would that be acceptable? Consider it an exclusive performance.”
The man runs a hand back through salt and pepper blond hair as he considers.
“I guess so. Agree to disagree, right?” he says, grinning again. “I’ve been waiting too long to let this opportunity go to waste over some petty discourse.”
“And may I ask what opportunity that is?”
Ed butts in with a, “Yeah, asshole, tell us why you decided to fucking kidnap us instead of sending us fanmail like a normal person.”
A wistful expression crosses the man’s face. “I just can’t stand seeing you two like this—lovers scorned, on the brink of betrayal, about to make a mistake that will cost all of us your happy ending! I thought if I could get you two together, you’d finally have a chance to see eye to eye and work it out—for the good of everyone.”
“You planned this?” Roy asks, dumbfounded.
“Yes! I guessed the twist weeks ago. I knew Honey would betray Detective Mustang. As soon as I had my confirmation, I came to get you. I’ve been ready.”
“That’s…freaky,” Ed says.
“How did you know Honey would betray Mustang?” Roy asks. Ed tries his best to elbow him and glares, but Roy’s really very curious.
Their kidnapper grins and tilts his head, looking rather proud of himself. “The hero is always betrayed by the gorgeous blonde with the dark and mysterious past. Obviously.”
Obviously. Roy remembers arguing with Maes about how tropey and predictable the choice was, but Maes said audiences eat that kind of thing up. He was, apparently, not wrong.
“Right. Of course.”
“But now that you’re here, you can make up! You can atone for your past mistakes, kiss, and live happily ever after.”
The word “kiss” seems to render both of them equally speechless.
“Excuse me,” Ed finally says. “But what the fuck?”
Their kidnapper scoots his chair forward eagerly to speak directly to Ed. “I’m giving you the chance to apologize for betraying the Detective. I know if you two just talked it out, you could come to an understanding. Realize the error of your ways. You don’t have to make a deal with Greed after all.” He clasps his hands together. “And Mustang can finally tell you how he really feels! Oh, this is an exciting opportunity. I’ve dreamt about this for weeks now.”
Well, at least they know this…superfan, for lack of a better term, will probably not kill them hastily, if at all. If anything, he’s likely to draw it out as he has the perfect captive audience for his fantasies. If they cooperate, maybe Roy and Ed can just waltz out of here, hand in metaphorical—and handcuffed—hand.
“I see,” Roy says. He’s a little at a loss for what to say next.
Superfan gestures at Ed. “Honey, you go first. Mustang won’t forgive you if you never apologize.”
“My name is Ed,” Ed hisses again, not that it will make much difference. “And I’m not apologizing for anything.”
Superfan frowns. He leans back in his chair and, after a moment where he looks back and forth between the two of them, sighs feelingly.
“Of course this wouldn’t be that easy. You’re both stubborn. I like that about you, but darn, sometimes I really wish you’d just kiss already.”
Roy refrains from pointing out that, if one were to read between the lines, Detective Mustang and Honey have been fucking on the regular for weeks now. He’s not sure how an adult could miss the poorly hidden subtext. They try to keep things kid-friendly, but for goodness sake, this evening’s segment literally included the Detective sneaking out of Honey’s apartment after they had sex.
Ed’s mouth is hanging open, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.
“If we kiss, will you let us go?” Roy asks.
That makes Ed sputter.
Superfan considers that for a moment. “It’s a start,” he finally decides, face turning cautiously gleeful and then more enthusiastic. “Yes, that’s brilliant! A passionate kiss in the moment that will lead you both to confess your true feelings and finally see eye to eye! Make it romantic, though. I’ve been very patient, you know!”
Roy shuffles around a little in his seat to face Ed as best he can. Ed squirms, trying to get away. Roy can’t decide if the look on Ed’s face promises murder for him or their kidnapper first.
“You heard the man, Honey,” Roy says. “True love’s kiss.”
“You’re the worst,” Ed mutters, scowling. Roy must really be loopy from his head injury, however, because he swears Ed’s cheeks are getting a little pink.
“You always did know how to sweet talk me, darling,” Roy says.
His eyes flicker down to Ed’s lips. He inhales and leans forward while Ed screws his eyes shut and lets it happen. He’s frowning, his bottom lip full and pouty.
They peck each other’s lips as briefly as they can and pull away. It’s more of a tap than anything—barely a kiss, really. Ed looks away quickly and hides his face behind his hair.
“Wow,” Superfan breathes, starry-eyed. Then he frowns. “That wasn’t very believable. Maybe you should kiss again.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ed snarls.
“Now, now,” Roy says. “We’re professional actors, Ed. We should get the emotion right. Come on, let’s do another take.”
“You will regret this for the rest of your life,” Ed promises, but he turns his face towards Roy’s again obediently. His cheeks are absolutely pink now. “Let’s get this over with, Mustang.”
Well, second time’s the charm, isn’t it? If they ever make it to a third kiss, Roy would really rather it be under better circumstances—for example, in private, perhaps with a nice dinner and a bottle of wine and a much more agreeable Ed.
Roy leans in before Ed can rethink it and captures Ed’s bottom lip with his teeth before pressing in further to seal their lips together. He sweeps his tongue in, heedless of the way Ed jolts in surprise and gasps.
This time it’s a real kiss. It is everything a passionate, romantic, heat-of-the-moment kiss should be.
Roy wishes it was because Ed really wanted it.
He would like to use his hands. He’d sweep one up the lovely column of Ed’s neck and the other would tangle in Ed’s gorgeous hair to hold him in place while Roy ravaged his mouth. He would leave Ed wanting, no, begging for more. He would make sure Ed knew who he belonged to. He would convince Ed that Roy’s was the last kiss he’d ever desire.
Instead his arms are tied and the only thing he can do is twist the hand cuffed to Ed’s around so their fingers can intertwine.
A wrecked little moan slips from between Ed’s lips and hangs between them, and when Roy lets his eyes flutter open for a moment, he sees Ed staring back, gaze molten honey and sparkling.
Ed is a very good actor.
Superfan claps loudly, and Roy and Ed part in surprise, both breathing heavily.
“That’s much better! Oh, that was so intense! I could tell you both really meant that,” Superfan says.
“Great,” Ed gets out between gritted teeth. “Can we go now?”
“You still have to tell each other how you feel. That’s non-negotiable!”
“Fucking shit on a stick. Okay. Okay!” Ed turns back to Roy. “Bastard—I love you.”
He knows it isn’t real, but Roy still feels warmth clutch at his heart hearing Ed say it.
“Ed—” Superfan clears his throat, so Roy starts over properly. “Honey, I love you, too.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Superfan asks. “Don’t you both feel better? I do.”
Roy can’t bring himself to look away from Ed. There is something about the way Ed’s head is tilted ever so slightly that makes Roy wonder if there isn’t some truth in all this, regardless of the circumstance.
They’re still holding hands, so Roy squeezes Ed’s fingers.
A sudden commotion upstairs makes all three men look towards the basement door in surprise.
“Expecting company?” Roy asks.
“Well, kind of,” Superfan says, sounding nervous. He stands and begins inching towards the far wall of the basement. “I left a ransom note. I thought it would take longer for anyone to notice you were missing, though.”
“What kind of ransom note?” Ed asks. “Is that what you really want? Fucking money? Fake fan,” he spits.
Superfan looks horrified. “Of course not! I didn’t ask for anything! But I couldn’t leave you two locked up here forever, or else how would the rest of my comrades hear all about your happy ending? No, no—I was going to let you go so you could get back to the studio and tell everyone about your wild adventure! I figured someone would come pick you up eventually. It’s a long walk back to Central.” He tries to smile. “I even left snacks for you upstairs.”
Ed is completely lost for words, which is a first for him, Roy thinks fondly.
“I wouldn’t mind if you mentioned me, though,” Superfan continues. “When you air this episode. Make me look cool, you know?”
“You are not cool,” Ed finally croaks. “You are so not cool.”
Wood cracks underneath the force of someone’s boot, and Jean is the first one through the door and down the stairs. He holds what is unmistakably one of their prop guns up in front of him like he’s a police officer.
“Freeze!” he says. “Hands in the air!”
Behind him, Riza and Maes appear. Riza is carrying their other prop gun, while Maes whacks Elicia’s child-sized, pink baseball bat lightly against his palm in a hilariously threatening manner.
Superfan squeaks and raises both hands. He starts rambling almost faster than Roy can understand him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was going to let them go, I swear! Just as soon as they made up. I couldn’t just let Honey betray Detective Mustang and break his heart. Anyone would have done the same! I—”
Riza moves past Jean once they’ve reached the basement floor and hurries to untie Roy and Ed, while Jean and Maes back Superfan into a corner.
“Thank god the cavalry is here,” Roy says to her. “How did you know where to find us?”
“You’ve been held hostage by the world’s most unserious kidnapper. He left us a note on your dashboard window with the address and an apology. Frankly, I’m surprised he managed to take you in the first place. Did you even try to fight back?” The quirk to her eyebrow makes Roy want to cower a little.
“Can you please just find the keys to these?” Roy asks, holding his and Ed’s cuffed wrists aloft. “Save the lecture for later.”
As soon as they’re free, Ed takes a hasty step away. He shakes his wrist out and then massages it, looking everywhere but at Roy.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—surely—but Roy has been vulnerable when it comes to Ed for a long, long time.
“Ed—”
“I called the cops!” Kain shouts at them from upstairs.
Held tightly between Jean and Maes, Superfan seems to deflate even further. They begin leading him upstairs, and Riza, Ed, and Roy follow, the latter two dragging their weary feet.
“Okay, but can you really blame me?” Superfan says to his two captors. He doesn’t even try to struggle free. “They just needed to kiss already!”
Maes shakes his head and replies, “No, we really can’t.”
Roy decides to pretend like he didn’t hear that.
+
It takes a while for the police to do their jobs. In their radio play, they always gloss over the messy, bureaucratic parts of it. Detective Mustang simply cuffs the bad guys and then rides off into the sunset. It’s far more romantic that way.
In reality, Roy and Ed give statement after statement, until their voices are rough from use and Roy feels bone tired. Outside, the first hint of a rising sun casts long fingers across the floor of the kitchen in Superfan’s house. Someone makes a coffee run, which Roy is exceptionally grateful for.
But he wishes he could steal Ed away and just…talk about it—to him, and not a bunch of nosy police officers, who have asked, somewhat starstruck, for Roy to describe the kiss multiple times.
And now that they have kissed, Roy can’t let it go. He knows what he felt. There’s something there.
Eventually Hawkeye manages to free them, and Roy and Ed pile into her car gratefully. And, despite the fact that last time they were in the garage underneath the building that houses their recording studio he and Ed had been kidnapped, their whole team bids them goodnight and leaves them entirely alone to sort out the inevitably awkward aftermath. It feels a little like deja vu standing by Roy’s car again, as if the entire night never happened.
“Well, I’ll see ya, Mustang,” Ed says, after a beat of silence where the two of them stare each other down. He turns his back, waving lazily.
“Ed, wait,” Roy says, reaching for him.
“What?” Ed asks. He doesn’t turn around, and his shoulders rise towards his ears as he huddles in on himself, but now that Roy has kissed him once, he refuses to let that become the only time.
“Look at me.”
It takes a moment. Ed releases a breath in a slow exhale before finally turning towards Roy, customary scowl set firmly in place. There’s only one way they’ll get through this, and it’s if, for once, Roy keeps his expression completely unguarded, completely open, unerringly honest. There’s only one way they’ll both get what they want, and it’s if Roy goes all in right here, right now.
“I wanted it to be real,” he confesses.
“You wanted what to be real?” Ed asks, stubborn as usual. He folds his arms across his chest.
“Everything. The kiss. Us. How you feel about me,” Roy says.
Ed stares at him for what feels like an excruciatingly long time. “Are you serious?”
“Deathly,” Roy says.
That makes Ed snort, but it also makes him drop his arms and relax slightly. “Well, alright.”
Roy blinks at him. “Alright?” Well, that seemed too easy, but…
“Yeah.” Ed smiles a little. “Guess that’d be okay.”
It’s not exactly the sweeping declaration Roy was hoping for, but it is very Ed, and that makes it perfect. When Roy holds out his hand, Ed takes it and threads their fingers together. He also stands on tiptoe to steal a quick kiss.
It turns out the third time really is the charm. Fancy that.
“You hungry?” Ed asks, smile growing along with his blush.
“Starving. Shall we go to that diner on Fifth?”
“Do you think it’s early enough that they’re serving breakfast? I could go for some pancakes.”
“I’m sure they’d be happy to serve you a short stack,” Roy says, already grinning as he waits for the inevitable explosion.
Ed, as always, does not disappoint.
+
“Honey, darling, I knew you’d never truly betray me, I said, taking Honey into my arms and threading a hand into his long, golden hair. He had the loveliest hair in Central bar none, and I was planning on appreciating that fact for a very long time.”
“I was banking on it,” Ed says. “Glad you didn’t freak out when I threatened to shoot you, Detective.”
Roy glances over at Ed and gives him the trademark smirk. “Nobody could shoot a pretty face like mine,” he croons into the microphone.
“It would be a damn shame,” Ed agrees, allowing a hint of laughter into his voice. As always, Ed is fantastic at what he does. His performances are always nuanced and dynamic, and Roy feels the immense thrill that comes with acting opposite him every single time.
“I leaned in,” Roy narrates, “and sealed our lips together in a sweet kiss—one of those kisses that you read about in romance novels, or see at the end of a moving picture. The kind of kiss that’s like a promise. I had finally found a partner who was my equal. After years prowling the streets in my solitary vigil, a man apart, set on his mission to keep the fair citizens of Central safe from the darkest of threats, I no longer had to walk alone.”
He pauses, inhales, exhales slowly, and says, “Thus concludes the tales of Roy Mustang, Private Eye.”
Maes starts on the outro, and Roy looks over at Ed and smiles. Ed grins right back. Roy can’t wait to take him out tonight to celebrate.
And he really can’t wait to see what’s in store for them next—both in the studio and out. Maes has been thinking science fiction, or maybe a western—or perhaps even a tale about a mermaid swept ashore into the arms of a handsome prince. Whatever it is, Roy knows it will be damn good with Ed by his side.
“Midnight in a city that knows how to keep its secrets. On the third floor of the Grumman Building, a single light shines late into the evening to ward away the oppressive darkness, and one man tries to find the answers to Central City’s persistent questions. Roy Mustang, Private Eye.”
Jazz music swells. The broadcast light goes dark.
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