[FIC] FMA: Rueful Fire (RoyEd) [complete]

syldana

steelandsparks

Stepping quietly through the doorway, Brigadier General Roy Mustang released a weary sigh and finally allowed his guard to relax. Home was one of the few places he could let himself go, to drop all masks and unwind stiffened muscles from the taxing burdens of the day. Setting his keys on the table, he tugged the long coat from his shoulders and tossed it carelessly over a chair. His house was pleasantly furnished, decorated with all the high-quality, dignified trimmings expected from one of his rank, and was kept spotlessly tidy, though not through any real effort of his own. The maid came three times a week, though always during work hours. He rarely saw the middle-aged woman he had hired, and that was how he preferred it. When he came home, he required a quiet sanctuary of peace.

Crossing over to the liquor cabinet, his fingers flicked open the buttons of his uniform and loosened the white collar beneath; then he poured himself a drink. It was almost a ritual for him these days, though he wouldn't go so far as to call it habitual. That would suggest a lack of control, and he was always in control, especially of his own self. He took a slow sip, savoring the harshness of the liquid as it burned its way gloriously down his throat, searing through the stale, dreary melancholy that had settled over his tongue throughout the course of the day. The argument with Fullmetal had been particularly tiresome.

When Fullmetal had turned up well and good and very much alive after having gone missing for so long, Roy had felt more than mere relief. The weight that had lifted from his heart… he hadn't realized just how somber he had become since the boy's troublesome disappearance. He had thought, at first, that it had been his own losses that had been bothering him — his dreams, his ambitions, his eye — yet none of that had mattered once Edward Elric had shown up out of the blue wearing that sharp, cheeky grin of his. He had felt so light upon seeing that grin; light, happy, completely suffused with joy and—

Roy took another drink, a longer one this time, and then downed the rest of it in a single gulp. Damn brat, why did he have to be so stubborn? He set the glass on the coffee table with a small clang, then made his way to the staircase. It was always the same stupid argument, or, at least, the same vexing theme. He would give Fullmetal his orders to which the blond alchemist would consistently find something wrong and would then proceed to expound upon the apparent idiocy of them in full, boisterous detail. Now, it was true that Roy participated in these arguments just as fully, though with perfectly calm composure, of course, and, yes, he might deliberately provoke Ed further because, well, it was extraordinarily fun at times to get the boy so worked up, still… when was Fullmetal ever going to learn to trust his judgment? To trust him?

The wooden stairs creaked beneath his feet as he slowly ascended them; then he made his way to the bedroom, tiredly rubbing the bridge above his nose. His head was beginning to hurt. Roy momentarily changed direction to that of the bathroom, pulling off his gloves to take a couple aspirin from the very ample supply kept there, and then continued on to his room. Shaking his head in exasperation, he pushed open the door and walked in, and then shrugged out of his uniform jacket and slung it across the bed. He could really do with a nice hot shower and about a twelve hour nap.

At the sound of the tiny, familiar click behind him, Roy instantly stilled. Ah… damn. His shoulders went painfully straight as the cool mask slid carefully into place.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, his tone calculatedly nonchalant, possible scenarios already flitting through his mind. His ignition gloves were currently tucked neatly in the pocket of his pants, his gun was downstairs, and the spare was in the top drawer of the night stand to his left. The gloves were closest, if he could manage to get them on. If not, he could try for the gun. Now, who was he dealing with? Old enemy? Jealous boyfriend? Slowly, cautiously, Roy raised his hands to the level of his shoulders and turned…

…and came face-to-face with a child. Roy's features were tightly schooled, yet the shock that rippled through his body could not be halted.

"Th-that's enough!" the boy hissed, fear and anxiety prominently displayed on his countenance, the gun in his hand shaking wildly. The boy looked to be about ten years old, maybe eleven at the most; his hair was short, dark and unkempt, his face specked with smudges. A young thief, then, and a dirty one at that. Amid his astonishment, Roy absently noted that the spare pistol was no longer in the night stand drawer.

"What can I do for you?" Roy repeated softly, calming his voice even further.

"Y-you… you're m-military." It was half statement, half panicked question, to which Roy nodded.

"I am."

The boy's eyes widened, his hand twitching dangerously. "Y-you armed?"

"You have my gun," Roy said mildly, gesturing toward the pistol with his chin.

"You could have m-more."

He wasn't stupid then. Pity that. "I could," he agreed, a gleam furtively sparking in his eye. "I can turn out my pockets for you, if you like." Even so, the boy was now dealing with him.

There was a moment's pause, and then a nod, short and jerky.

Now that was too easy. Ever-so slowly Roy lowered his hand to his pocket, reached in with his fingers and carefully pulled out the inner lining. "See? Nothing in this one." Then he switched hands, just as slowly, and dug into the other one, fingers closing around the rough surface of his gloves. His face betrayed nothing as he gingerly drew them out. "Nothing here but my gloves," he declared evenly, his expression the epitome of innocence.

"Now that we have that settled," Roy went on, casually bringing his hands together until both were touching the fabric, "why don't you tell me what you want."

"What d-do you think?" said the boy nervously. "Where do you keep your cash?"

"There in my jacket," Roy said, nodding toward the blue uniform on the bed. "Do you want me to get it?"

The boy thought a moment and then shook his head. "Move over there," he said, gesturing him away from the bed with the barrel of the gun.

Roy bowed his head slightly in acquiescence and slowly backed away, carefully slipping his hand into one of the gloves as he did so. As expected, the little thief didn't seem to mind, didn't view them as a threat at all. The boy merely eyeballed him as best he could as he rifled through the pockets of the jacket. It wasn't long before quivering fingers found his wallet and emptied it, the money vanishing quickly into stained, raggedy clothing.

"There, you have what want," Roy said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Why don't you take your leave now?" Yes, just go, foolish boy. Go now before you get yourself killed.

The boy didn't seem to be in any rush, however, as he backed away from the bed, inching toward the door. His eyes bore steadily into Roy, fear still openly glittering in their depths, the gun still tremulously pointed at his chest. When he reached the doorway he paused, indecision suddenly flickering across his youthful features.

No, just keep going.

Then all doubt evaporated and the gun was lifted higher, the shaking increasing, yet the aim clearly centering.

In an instant, Roy's fingers readied a snap, his array already aglow as the air itself shifted around the boy.

No!

Every molecule in his being suddenly cried out, screaming, screeching to him of wrongness, of sorrow, anguish, and memories aggrievously borne.

Not again.

The sound was deafening, booming like a thunderclap through the room. Light flared before his sight in all its familiar glory as the air ignited with the spark of the gun. The boy gave a squeal of terror and then flung the pistol away as his tattered sleeve caught fire. Frantically, the young thief began slapping his arm in a panicked attempt to extinguish the flame, his feet sending him sprinting out of the room. The flames faded almost as quickly as they'd appeared.

Please… anything… just never, ever again…

Roy's gaze dropped to the discarded weapon on the floor, relief coursing through him. With a slow, wavering step, he started toward it.

Stupid boy… almost making him… damn…

His feet shuffled slowly, falteringly, across the floor as the room began to warp and swirl ominously around him.

No, he was the stupid one… really, really stupid…

Pain ripped violently through his body, harrowing, excruciating, tearing away his breath and all the strength from his limbs. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, cushioned slightly by the thin rug spread near the foot of the bed and his own palms as he barely managed to catch himself. Liquid agony filled his eye, blurring his vision as he strove desperately to remain conscious.

Ah… Fullmetal was going to laugh… so damn hard…

His arms shuddered with the strain and then viciously betrayed, sliding treacherously out from under him. As his cheek struck the floor, pain once again slashed brutally across his middle, searing through his torso with white-hot lances of pure, unadulterated hell. His teeth clenched tightly over an anguished wail of protest.

This wasn't… not like this… not what he wanted…

He wasn't finished yet. There was more… so much more that he wanted to do. Death was not in the plan. He hadn't finished, hadn't succeeded, yet. He still had higher levels to reach… he was going to make a difference, damn it! He… owed it to them… it was the only way… he could atone…

Through the bitter, scourging pain, Roy could feel the blood seeping out beneath him, pooling on the rug. He knew the wound burrowed in his gut for what it was. Had he not seen enough injuries like it? Had he not inflicted enough injuries like it? Perhaps this was another way he could atone. Fate worked curiously like that sometimes. Even so, there was more.

He knew he was selfish; he didn't care. He wanted more. Hidden things. Secret things. Things he had spurned in the name of ambition. Things he'd dismissed out of pride and ideal. Halted and smothered by moral misgiving, buried so deep they were never confessed. Dreams and desires barely acknowledged, yet so often found tantalizing the soft inner core of his soul.

He called on them now as the pain intensified, becoming too terrible to withstand any longer. Withdrawing his mind from the losing battle, Roy slipped soundlessly into a world of hazy illusion, and in that world a pair of strong arms, one flesh and one steel, wrapped tightly around his shoulders and held him close. He submerged his nose in a mass of blond hair that teased and tickled as he inhaled its sweet scent, the identity of which strangely eluded him.

Because he didn't know it. He had never gotten close enough to find out.

Attempting to evade reality's cold intrusion, Roy drew the boy closer, though truth be told, Edward Elric could no longer be labeled a boy. Roy had tried so hard to ignore that fact, to disregard the patent evidence of Fullmetal's maturity. Ed had returned to them a full-fledged man in his own right, and Roy had done his best not to see it. For to note such an obvious truth would have meant that Roy would have had to deal with it, and to deal with Edward on equal footing… he had not been at all ready for that. What an impeccable coward he was. He was as afraid of Ed's acceptance as he was of his rejection, and because of that fear Roy would never really know how soft or how fragrant that golden hair was.

What a fool he was.

Perhaps if Fullmetal had given him any sign at all, even the smallest indication that he cared, that he even trusted him, maybe then Roy would have done something. Yet the only signals the young alchemist had given had been those of anger, annoyance, and arrant displeasure.

Shoving all that aside, Roy sank himself down, farther and deeper, into the bright, warm allure of delusion. For here Edward was his, no refusals, no regrets, and here Roy could have him, no denials, no disruptions. And the pangs of death would not be felt until the blanket of darkness finally descended.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Scowling visibly as he stalked down the sidewalk, Edward Elric grumbled angrily under his breath. Damn Mustang and damn his stupid, idiotic missions! There certainly hadn't been any improvements to them since he'd started doing the infernal things when he was twelve. They were always tedious, always boring — unless it was one of those real doozies that would go horribly, horribly wrong, of course, and Mustang probably knew they were going to beforehand. So the choice was either death by boredom, or escape from death by the skin of his teeth. Bastard.

The assignment that had been doled out today wasn't any different, either, so he had tried, yet again, to point out its obvious shortcomings. He was nineteen now, damn it! Hadn't he earned the right to take on a few of the more interesting cases? Yet Mustang still treated him like a child, even after everything they'd been through. He had really thought they'd made some sort of progress back before his final confrontation of Dante, yet when he had finally returned home from the other side of the Gate, their relationship had slid quickly back into the one-sided dictatorship it had been before, making Ed feel like he was twelve all over again. No matter how much he ranted and raved, Mustang would grant him nothing. And he was damn tired of it.

If Mustang wasn't going to give him the respect he deserved, then what was the point in working for him? When he had returned to Amestris, Ed had decided soon after to renew his certification. His reasoning had been sound. Alphonse didn't need him the way he once had. The gap his brother's independence had left in Ed's life had been surprisingly hard to deal with. Plus, the new government that was attempting to fill Fuhrer Bradley's authoritarian void was still young and vulnerable. War loomed all around them; it only seemed right to do what he could to help, since he had performed a minor role in Bradley's ultimate demise. Mustang had looked pleased enough about the idea at the time. However, if Ed had known that he would be playing errand boy to that smug bastard the same as he had before, he would have stayed with Al in Rizenbul. If Mustang didn't start seeing things his way, and fast, that was exactly what he intended to do.

Shooting a glare at the house before him, Edward stomped his way up the steps to the front door, then raised his hand and pounded—

Ed blinked in startlement as the door swung open with the force of his fist. Frowning darkly, he stepped inside.

"Hey, Mustang!" he called out into the empty living room, eyes darting curiously about. "You in there?" The General's dark coat was laying haphazardly over a chair, but that was the only visible evidence Ed could discern that the man might be home. "Mustang! I need to talk to you!" He was not putting this off another day.

Tromping further into the room, Ed took note of the imperiously elegant furniture and promptly rolled his eyes. Was there anything about the man that wasn't a carefully constructed facade? He had caught a few glimpses of the real Roy Mustang over the years, and this room definitely did not reflect him. Mustang kept him well hidden.

Sighing loudly, Ed moved toward one of the presumptuous leather couches. He would have to wait for him, then, because he wasn't leaving until things were settled between them once and for all. As he made to plop himself down, however, a scent reached his nostrils, one all-too familiar.

"Mustang?" he called out again. "You burning something?" Bloody Flame Alchemist… who knew what the guy might be up to? Probably practiced his alchemy on small, furry animals. Still, from the smell of things, Roy was somewhere upstairs.

"I'm coming up!" he bellowed in warning, before heading up the staircase. He shouted for him again upon reaching the top, then wandered down the hallway following his nose.

"Like a damned dog," he muttered to himself. "Always your damned dog."

Ed passed a couple of doors as he went, pausing momentarily to peek in each one, but then continued on. The telltale aroma of fire was getting stronger. "Where the hell are you?" he complained, irritation beginning to boil beneath his skin as he reached the last door. "Hey, Must—"

Ed didn't know how many precious seconds had passed before he came back to himself, before the wild pounding of his heart thundering in his ears finally jolted him out of the frozen state of shock — before his benumbed brain fully comprehended just what it was he was looking at.

Mustang.

Blood.

Everywhere.

His eyes were large and round as he stared, incredulous, at the figure of Roy Mustang lying motionless on the floor in a pool of dark blood that trailed halfway across the room, because it couldn't actually be real, because… because… the man looked dead. And Roy Mustang could never be dead. Such a thing was… was…

Then he was beside him, frantically turning him over, his hand shaking uncontrollably as he brought it to the man's neck, seeking a sign, any sign, that Mustang was alive. For he could not be dead. A breath was dragged forcefully, painfully, through empty lungs as they finally protested their lack of oxygen and as Edward found a weak pulse in the warm crease of Roy's neck.

Not dead.

Not yet.

Ed hung up the phone moments later, not quite sure how he'd gotten to it or what he'd said, but knowing that some form of help was on the way. Then he was back at Mustang's side, a thick wad of cloth pressed hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. No more. He couldn't allow any more blood to escape. There was already far too much out there.

His eyes gazed fearfully at the pale face beneath him, far too pale, Roy's dark lashes resting so still against his ashen cheek. Horror and paralyzed disbelief held him numbly, morbidly, transfixed.

This wasn't possible. What had happened? How had this happened?

His gaze flitted over the unconscious man, taking note of the arrayed gloves, one in his hand, one on his hand, and to the gun laying but a few feet away.

Had someone done this to Roy? Had it been an accident? Or… he wouldn't have done this to himself, would he? Not on purpose. Mustang was… he was… he was happy, wasn't he? He always seemed to be… at least, he always exuded an exorbitant amount of surety and contentment with the world. Was that also just part of the facade? He… well, Roy had everything. He was powerful, extremely intelligent, and devastatingly handsome — women virtually flocked to the man as if he was an irresistible candy they just had to taste for themselves. People were jealous of Roy Mustang. The idea that he was unhappy, that he was miserable enough to… it was absolutely absurd. So, then, who had done this to him? Who could have done this to him… especially when Roy had that glove on?

Whoever it was, he was going to kill them. He was going to personally strip the flesh from their bones. How dare they touch him! How dare they hurt him! He was—

Edward's quaking increased as he silently regarded him, eyes shaving anxiously over Roy's every feature, from the jagged mess of black hair, to the eye patch that covered far too much of his face, to his thin, bloodless lips. "Don't die," he whispered suddenly, fervently, into the stillness. "Don't you dare die on me, bastard."

His automail arm held the now blood-soaked cloth staunchly in place as his trembling human hand rose to brush a few stray hairs off of Roy's sweat-flecked brow. Where the hell was everybody? Why hadn't help arrived yet? He wished they'd hurry faster, damn it!

Roy's brow suddenly furrowed beneath his fingers causing Ed to halt instantly in place, his breath catching once more in his throat. Miraculously, the brow wrinkled further and Roy's mouth began to move in tiny, intermittent murmurs. Edward leaned instinctively closer, lowering his ear to Roy's lips in an attempt to capture the sporadic ramblings. At first, what he was saying made no sense, but every now and then a word was released that Ed would recognize. After all, it wasn't too difficult to recognize one's own name. Ed listened intently for a while until he knew for certain that Roy wasn't talking to him; the man probably wasn't aware he was even there. It took a while longer for him to figure out what Mustang was actually saying, and when he did, Ed could only blink in astonishment. Then his face began to burn.

Edward's head jerked back with a start, his eyes going extraordinarily wide, his cheeks aflame with the sting of prickly, mortified heat. Did he just say… did he really just say that… that… that? About him? Mustang? Roy Mustang? Roy wanted… wanted…

A low, strangled sound quavered in the back of Ed's throat as he gaped stupidly at the wounded man; and as he stared, completely and utterly dumbfounded, images began flashing before his eyes, full, graphic images spawned from the soft, provocative ravings still tumbling out of Roy's sensual lips. The scorching heat spread instantly, incredibly, to all corners of his being, followed closely thereafter by an overwhelming tidal wave of panic and dismay. His vision blurred with the chaos of emotions as they acutely blindsided him one after the other, leaving him tumultuously shaken in their wake and unable to react.

Roy wanted…

His automail hand was pressing steadfastly against the wound, striving desperately to hold in the precious remnants of life. Because Roy could not die.

And Roy wanted…

Ed didn't remember moving; he was just suddenly there, leaning in close once more, his lips brushing lightly, tenderly, against Roy's, the feel of them soft and smooth and so blessedly warm. His eyelids fell closed over wet, glistening anguish as a small, pitiful whimper rumbled through him. Then his mouth slid further over Roy's, sealing it completely within his own. Slowly, gingerly, he dipped his tongue into the treasured warmth, stealing a taste of the man that was part fire and part honey, yet was grievously tainted with the bittersweet tang of copper.

The tears broke from his eyes to gently bathe the pale visage below; and with their release Ed felt himself break, as well, pain and despair surging lavishly out through the tattered cracks of his soul. With a choked sob, he buried his face in the crook of Roy's neck, unable to halt the flood of emotion as it poured freely out from the core.

He couldn't lose him… he couldn't lose him… he couldn't lose the one thing he hadn't even known he wanted.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The air felt crisp and cold as he shivered alone in the waiting room. Ed truly despised hospitals; the stark, white, antiseptic atmosphere was always so damned uncomfortable. It was not helping his turbid state of mind at all. Only the knowledge that Roy still lived was keeping him relatively pulled together, but only just.

Within his quivering exterior, Ed was nothing more than a roiling mess of stunned confusion. The shock of finding Mustang there, lying face down in a pool of his own blood, had instantly shattered the universe as Ed knew it. The emotions that had sprung forth from that fractured ruin of reality had astonished him with their power and intensity, and he had yet to sort them out. All he knew was that seeing Roy like that, hurt, bleeding, teetering on the edge of death, had filled his whole being with a terror so vast, so profound, Ed had thought he might die along with him if Roy had fallen off of that edge. Especially when…

A jolt of sultry, sizzling heat abruptly shot through his body as the memory returned in vivid detail of Roy's low, fevered mutterings along with his own disconcerting response. He had kissed him. Kissed him. Roy Mustang. And the images the man had so effortlessly engendered with his words…

Edward's blush deepened. He was having quite a bit of difficulty getting them out of his head.

A tiny groan escaped him as his head dropped into his hands, metal and tremulous flesh digging painfully into his scalp. What the hell was wrong with him? When had he… when had these… feelings…? Ed groaned again, louder.

He had feelings for Roy. Strong, intense feelings. Feelings so powerful they veritably overwhelmed him with their severity. He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do? Roy… right now Roy was fighting for his life. When he recovered, would Mustang still want those things? From him? Did Roy really want him? Like that? What if—?

"Edward?"

Ed's head jerked up with a start, his eyes blinking rapidly before focusing in on the uniformed woman now standing in front of him. "Captain Hawkeye," he said weakly, his cheeks flushing hotter at the thoughts interrupted, yet feeling a great sense of relief that someone else was now there to distract him from them and share in the burden of Roy's predicament.

"What happened, Edward?" she asked tersely, and for a moment Ed flinched, as her words and tone seemed accusatory. But then he realized it was merely Hawkeye being Hawkeye, and that she was simply masking her own concern for the man lying injured somewhere in the hospital.

Ed wearily shook his head, attempting vainly to halt the tremors still vibrating through his body. "I don't know," he said, his voice sounding thick and unsteady even to his own ears. "I just… I just found him there."

"I see," she said, after a pause, a frown crinkling her brow. "You didn't see anything? Anyone?"

He shook his head again, bemused, inwardly reliving those dreadful feelings of helplessness and fear. "He was just there," he whispered. "Just him and the gun and all that blood."

Riza's eyes narrowed slightly with frustration and displeasure. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?"

At that, Ed had to retreat behind his bangs and hope she didn't notice the sudden burst of red upon his countenance. He shook his head negatively once more.

He heard a sigh hiss through her teeth and then she moved to sit beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice softening significantly.

Edward merely nodded, not trusting his own voice to answer aloud. Because it wasn't true. He was far from all right, yet he could not bring himself to reveal that to her, nor to anyone else. He was still having trouble admitting it to himself.

"You should go and get some rest," she said gently, perhaps sensing more of his inner turmoil than he would wish. "I'll stay with him here. I'll let you know if there's any change."

His head shook automatically. "I can't leave," he said, alarmed at the very idea. "I'm not tired… couldn't sleep even if I was."

"I realize that," she said. "However, you do have a train to catch in the morning. You should at least try."

"Train?" Was she joking? "I can't go now!" he protested, turning widened eyes on her.

"What do you mean?" she returned brusquely, her brow arching meaningfully. "You have an assignment. Of course you have to go."

"But I can't just leave him like this!" he cried, his voice breaking. "What if… what if he needs…"

"Edward," she called him sharply, sternly, her brown eyes piercing in their intensity. "There is nothing more you can do for him here. You've already done what could be done. So, please, just do what he has asked you to do."

Gaping at her in open dismay, Ed could feel the blood slowly drain from his face. Riza had neatly and effectively cut off any further objection. But…

"Get some rest, Edward," she repeated, firmly.

Numbly, detachedly, he felt himself rise in a strange haze of compliance and begin the trek down the hallway, unable to give her a convincing reason for him to stay. Because there was no valid reason. He just wanted to be there. He was the one who needed Roy, needed to know he was going to be all right, needed to be by his side, not the other way around. Riza was right; Roy wanted him to go on that mission — not that Ed could even vaguely recall what it was at the moment — therefore, on that mission he would go.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Edward blinked, not recollecting at all the journey out of the hospital. After making his way to the sidewalk, he paused to look back, anxiety flooding his senses, doubt chipping away at his heart. He knew he had no choice but to get on that train tomorrow, and yet…

And yet every fragment of his crumbling being was shrieking that he remain.

It was wrong. This was wrong. Every bloody thing was now totally, unbelievably, wrong.

His feet began to move, to run, faster and faster, the rhythmic clanking of automail ringing in his ears as he charged blindly into the still silence of the night.

Away. He had to get away. It was too much. All of it, too much.

He would get on that train. He would go on the damned mission.

And maybe… just maybe… everything would be right again when he returned.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Captain?"

He paused a moment, waiting for a reply. Then, "Captain?!"

When he was still greeted with nothing but silence, Roy grimaced in annoyance and shifted slightly on the bed, doing his best to ignore the twinge of pain that darted through his body as he did so. Great, Riza had left again, and he was getting kind of thirsty. The glass of water was all the way over on the night stand, too, which didn't seem very far, except it was going to hurt like all hell to push himself up to grab and drink it. Silently he weighed the degree of his thirst against the likely magnitude of pain, then heaved a sigh of frustration. Perhaps she'd be back soon.

At least he was finally out of the hospital. The round-the-clock nursing staff had been nice for a while, but by the start of the second week their starry-eyed fawning and giggling blushes had begun to get on his nerves. There was only so much of that even he could take at a time, which was actually the preponderance of the problem. They had rarely left him alone, giving him little time to himself to actually relax. He'd had to keep his composure fixed so long that by the time they finally released him, he was thoroughly exhausted. He was glad to be home in his own bed where he could finally relax properly and allow his body to heal.

He was lucky to be alive. Of course, that was what he'd thought the last time, as well. For Roy to live through two terrible, life-threatening injuries was moving into the realm of miraculous, and he had Fullmetal to thank for saving his life this time. How ironic, since the blond alchemist had cursed him furiously up one end and down the other just a few hours before the shooting. Thus an inconceivable miracle truly had occurred.

Releasing another sigh, Roy let his eye fall shut. He really hated being incapacitated like this. Besides the obvious drawbacks to his personal independence, he always found it to be so incredibly boring. Rest and relaxation on his own terms was one thing, forced R&R was quite another. There had to be something around here for him to do…

His eye opened and scanned the room for the hundredth time, deliberately bypassing the small pile of paperwork Hawkeye had seen fit to leave on the edge of the bed for him, and once again came up empty. Nothing at all to do. Nothing new to see. Only Edward lurking quietly in the shadows of the doorway.

Roy blinked in startlement, yet the peculiar image of a silent Edward remained. "Fullmetal?" he queried in bewilderment. And the figure moved.

Stepping almost hesitantly into the room, Edward's eyes swung immediately away from him to glance about his bedroom, appearing to take a careful and leisurely study of the furnishings. They paused momentarily on the floor at the foot of his bed and a dark frown arrested Ed's features. Then they slid back to where Roy lay wordlessly observing him, a glare of accusation glittering in their golden depths. That assured Roy instantly that this was indeed the real Edward Elric, the current lack of impudent bellowing notwithstanding.

Roy's countenance smoothed into place almost automatically. "Well, well, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, his mouth and his brow quirking up simultaneously in amusement. Perhaps the day wouldn't be an entire loss after all.

Edward's glare merely intensified.

"Does this mean your trip to Anston didn't go well, Fullmetal? I do hope you didn't get into any more trouble." A feeling of blithe satisfaction welled inside Roy as the boy's hands fisted tightly at his sides. "The town, at least, is still standing, I trust?"

Edward's glare grew positively murderous, and then he tossed his head away to the side. "It was boring as hell," he griped bitterly. "There's nothing in that bloody town to destroy. It was a complete waste of my time, as I knew it would be."

"Then the mayor—"

"You can read my damned report later!" he broke in with a snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Roy arched a brow. Something was not right. Edward was far too angry. "Did something happen?"

"I already told you—"

"No, I meant something else," Roy clarified with a dismissive wave. "You've complained many times about how dull your missions have been in the past, but I've never seen you quite this disturbed about one before. So, what is really bothering you, Fullmetal? Did something happen?"

Several different emotions flickered swiftly across Ed's patently readable features: surprise, dismay, disconcertion, along with a few others that were somewhat harder to discern. Those emotions appeared to be stronger, deeper, more intensely felt, yet seemed to be obscured by their very depth and an ostensible lack of distinction. Confusion reigned supreme over the boy's countenance for several long moments as his color shifted from red to white and back to red again, and then he vanished behind a refuge of blond tresses. For a moment, it looked as if he wasn't going to answer, but then his head shot up again and Roy found himself the recipient of two blazing eyes full of raw anger. Ed stepped closer, his jaw tightening with a fierce determination.

"Did something happen?" he repeated, his tone low and rife with disbelief. "Did something happen?! Are you kidding me? I walk in here and find your sorry ass passed out and bleeding all over the floor and you're asking me if something happened? You tell me, General!" he demanded loudly. "What the hell happened to you?!"

Roy blinked, completely taken aback. That's what was bothering him? That's why Ed was so angry? Roy supposed it must have been upsetting to have come across him in that condition, he just hadn't figured Fullmetal as one to get so worked up about him, especially considering how the younger man clearly felt about him.

"It's hardly a secret, Fullmetal," he said dryly. "I came home and interrupted a burgler—"

"A burglar who was able to shoot you, just like that?" Ed broke in tersely, skepticism rampant in his voice. "You were hit in the stomach, General, so you were obviously facing him when it happened. Plus, you had your glove on. So how the hell did the guy get the drop on you?" he questioned bluntly.

Keeping his expression remarkably impassive, Roy found himself inwardly impressed by Edward's keen powers of deduction, and at the same time felt a twinge of alarm shimmy up his spine. He had thought the investigation into his story to be over and done with. However, knowing that Ed had been the one to discover his injured body, Roy realized he should have seen this coming. He had truly underestimated Fullmetal's interest in the troublesome incident, and Edward was just about the last person he wanted to know the truth.

"I was in the process of removing my gloves," Roy lied eloquently. "I'm embarrassed to say he caught me off guard. I turned around just as he fired the gun."

Edward's mouth thinned to an even line. "So, you never even got off a single snap?" he asked, his tone flat.

"I never had the chance," he replied easily, mendaciously.

Golden eyes narrowed. "Liar," he spat softly, once again glaring venomous daggers. "It was the scent of your flames that drew me upstairs."

Roy met his stare without flinching. "If I did, then I don't recall doing so," he returned smoothly. "That reminds me, Fullmetal, just why were you there at my house that day?" The most basic of strategies: evade the question with a diversionary question.

Thankfully, and rather surprising, Edward fell for it like the naive child he had once been, and Roy felt a touch of disappointment along with a liberating wave of relief. As the boy's gaze danced evasively away, however, Roy suspected Ed's as-yet-unspoken reason might have something to do with his present lack of perception.

"I was getting pretty fed up with the assignments you've been giving me," Edward said after a pause.

"I would never have guessed it," Roy drawled, his inflection lightly peppered with sarcasm.

Ed frowned darkly and glanced back at him. "I wanted you to stop treating me like a child. I think I have earned the right by now to be taken seriously. That's what I came to tell you that night, and if you still weren't going to listen… if you weren't going to listen then I was planning to leave. I was going back to Rizenbul."

As Roy looked into those somber eyes, as he listened to those words drop like leaded rain from those perfect lips, he felt something cold and hollow bite deeply into his soul and begin to spread, leaving a dreadful numbness in its wake.

"I see," he murmured quietly, unable to keep the chill out of his voice. "You are quitting then?"

"That still depends on you," Ed replied. "I spent a lot of time thinking about things these past few weeks and I now know for certain that I can't stay here if things remain as they are. I am no longer a child," he declared vehemently, his expression tense and unyielding.

"I am well aware of that," Roy returned sharply, as the cold continued to expand.

"Are you?" Ed countered, slowly moving closer, his eyes acutely questioning, burning brightly with uncertainty. "Then why give me the same sort of assignments you did when I was twelve? Why always keep me in the dark? Why don't you ever trust me with more serious matters? Why don't you trust me with what really happened here? Why do you always, always shut me out?" He came to a halt beside the bed, gazing down at him with a hard, intensive scrutiny.

Despite all possible efforts, Roy felt himself shiver under that gaze, until he was all but trembling helplessly from the icy cold and from the terrible gleam in burnished gold. He didn't like it. Not one damned bit. Somehow, he had to regain the upper hand. Otherwise… he was far too vulnerable like this. If he didn't confront Fullmetal now, as his superior… if he didn't put the boy back in his place…

Heaving a deep, fortifying breath, Roy braced himself and then began pushing himself up, his teeth clamping down on a cry of pain as it tore through his body at the movement. And, suddenly, Edward was there on the bed, his hands clenching Roy's shoulders, pressing him insistently back against the pillow. Ed's visage was panicked and etched deeply with concern as he held him forcibly still.

"What are you doing, you idiot?!" Ed cried out in alarm. "Don't do that! You shouldn't be moving! You aren't healed yet!" Edward's hand, so very soft and warm, moved to gently cup his cheek.

And just like that he was defeated. Edward had him literally in the palm of his hand, ensnared by his warmth and the power of his gaze, though Ed didn't even know it. Roy shuddered from the lingering pain, from the fear being generated by Edward's careless touch, as he quietly lay gasping for air beneath him.

The concern began to fade from Ed's eyes as Roy's breathing slowly stabilized, then they flicked to the hand curved against his face and blinked in startlement. The hand jerked instantly away as Edward gasped in sudden realization at what he was doing. His gaze jumped back to Roy to anxiously inspect his features. Exactly what he found there, Roy did not know, but moments later the hand returned, Ed's fingers lightly, hesitantly, sweeping the hair from his brow, a red, heated blush staining his cheeks.

For a second, Roy stopped breathing under the spell of the tender caress that glided down the side of his face as Edward continued to search his expression for any averse signs. Then, with a painstaking slowness, Ed leaned down toward him, closer and closer, only to pause another moment to cautiously peruse his features again. Roy held himself completely frozen, hardly daring to believe and half afraid he might spook the boy if he made any movement at all. He simply waited without speaking as Edward slowly resumed his downward descent until his lips brushed gingerly against Roy's own.

Soft… so wondrously soft, like the finest satin imported from Xing, sliding warmly, silkenly, over his lips. Roy had to fight to suppress a moan of sheer pleasure as Edward's tongue slipped out to take a small, tentative lick, as if sampling the taste of him. Then all too quickly the divine pressure was gone, and Ed was once again studying his face to gauge his reaction. Struggling mightily to retain to his composure, Roy met his gaze with as serene a demeanor as possible.

The boy's eager young countenance immediately fell. The hand retreated from Roy's cheek as Ed self-consciously withdrew from him. Edward's head shook a moment later, in denial, in disbelief, his eyes abruptly filling with crystalline anguish.

"Even this," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Even at this you shut me out. Damn you for making me feel this way and then shoving me away."

Ed drew back further, then blindly reached for the chain on his belt and tugged the silver watch from his pocket. Blinking rapidly, Roy observed with dawning realization as Ed fumbled to unfasten it.

Edward had just offered him… everything. Everything he had ever imagined. Everything he had ever dreamed within the dark, hidden recesses of his mind. One time. One chance. There would be no others.

So what the hell was he doing? What was wrong with him? Wasn't this what he'd always secretly desired? So, then, now that fantasy had become reality, why was he so damned afraid?

He was losing him. He was losing Edward all over again, and this time it was happening right in front of him. The watch was now free in Ed's hand and was silently being presented to him. Edward's face was screwed up tautly as he attempted to govern his emotions, but was failing miserably. The boy had never been good at that.

Roy was utterly flabbergasted. When had Edward ever felt that way about him?

The watch was pressed into his hand by fingers of steel and Roy knew his time was up. Last chance. Now or never. His own fingers began to close around the familiar watch, and then closed completely over the metal hand holding it, as well.

"Wait," he choked out softly. "Fullmetal… Edward… please, wait."

For once, Edward did as he was told, though his expression was both wounded and wary as he waited for Roy to continue.

"This isn't… I'm sorry," Roy murmured haphazardly, "this sort of thing isn't easy for me. I just… I never expected…" his voice trailed off into oblivion as the words evaporated from his brain, his own emotions unexpectedly overwhelming him.

Releasing the watch he did not want, Roy reached up to entangle his fingers in the ponytail of the young man he did. Then he pulled Edward gently back down, grateful there was little resistance, and enveloped his mouth with his own.

This time he kissed Ed properly, putting forth every effort, calling on every known technique, to physically demonstrate everything he could not bring himself to vocalize. His arms coiled possessively around Ed's shoulders, holding him as close as he could without causing further harm to his injury. Slowly, leisurely, he delved into the warm, ambrosial depths of Edward's mouth, licking, teasing, tantalizing, and deftly pleading for more with every stroke of his tongue. And Edward gave him more, his strong, sinewy frame melting against him like a blanket of molten fire, his mouth responding with a whimpered groan and impassioned fervor.

With a purr of delight Roy continued the slow, sensual offensive, seducing and persuading, plundering and pleasuring, and oh… did it feel sublime. Better than any illusion. Better than every private fantasy. Then, realizing that the true taste and feel of Edward's sweet, heated flesh, moving, twining, writhing against his own, was so far beyond all expectation, Roy could only rumble a deep, hungry moan as he ardently devoured the youth in his arms.

Eventually the hunger, the need, grew far too intense to endure any longer, not when Roy's own body was in no condition at all to carry things further. With a sigh of profound regret, Roy released Ed's lips with a last, lingering suck, then reluctantly drew him back so he could peer into his face.

Edward's eyes were half-lidded and glazed, his complexion flushed and his lips slightly parted and swollen. The sight was enough to make Roy's breath hitch in his throat. Without saying a word, he drew Edward back into his embrace, and after maneuvering him carefully into place at his side, Roy buried his nose in the wealth of Ed's hair. Holding Edward snugly against him, Roy breathed in the blond's unique scent, absently committing it to memory as a small, satisfied smirk curled across his mouth.

"Is that open enough for you?" he asked the boy, his inflection tinged with amusement.

There was a significant pause, and then, "It's a start… definitely a very good start."

"What else do you want?"

"What will you give me?" Ed countered, his voice vibrating pleasantly against Roy's skin.

"Oh, I intend to give you quite a lot," he returned, his mouth curving wider. "You'll have to wait until I'm healed, though, I'm afraid, but then I have quite a long list of things I want to give you… a very long list, indeed."

Ed shifted slightly against him, squirming almost uncomfortably, and it took several moments for him to reply. "I think I know what some of those things are," he mumbled finally, and Roy could easily perceive his blush.

"No objections, I hope?" he said, pressing his lips to the top of Ed's head.

"No," Edward replied, his voice low and husky, "no objections. What will you give me now, though?"

"Greedy, are we?" he said with a chuckle. "Well, what would you like?"

"Everything."

Startled, Roy paused, his brow lifting in surprise. There had been no hesitation at all in that. Damn… he had been absolutely correct to be afraid. Edward was downright scary.

Roy let out a sigh and closed his eye. "It was a child," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

"The burglar," he clarified, "was just a child. That's why he got me first. I… have trouble when it comes to hurting children. Even if they're pointing a gun at me… or an automail blade… I have this habit of faltering."

He felt Ed go still beside him as his words sank in. "You mean that's why you… back then?"

"I told you then that the things I had seen in Ishbal were… not pleasant. Some of the things I have done… I don't want to do anything like that ever again."

"I see." Edward fell silent, appearing to mull things over before he spoke again. "Okay, I guess I can kind of understand that. However," he went on, his tone dropping half an octave, "if you ever do something that stupid again, I'm going to beat your ass to a bloody pulp. You got that? There's no crime in defending yourself, idiot."

Roy simply blinked at that, his mouth twisting into a small, rueful smile. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

His arms tightened momentarily around Edward's shoulders, his fingers combing gently, affectionately, through silky blond hair. Releasing another sigh, Roy let his lashes fall closed once more, feeling warm and content and gratifyingly weary.

At least the boy hadn't laughed.

The End