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Spitfire

Summary:

Mustang has had a lot to deal with today. Between having his tires slashed, running to catch a taxi, getting soaked, arriving late to work, and being scolded by a General, he was almost ready to combust—not unlike the very air he has manipulated countless times. He’s at his boiling point—and an attitude-filled report with an achy Fullmetal Alchemist is what finally tips him over.

Notes:

Hi yes hello this is anonymous because all my other fics are a different fandom and I’m afraid of disappointing my subs with a change in direction like this 😅 but it’ll be taken off maybe in the future if I work up the courage.

Also— this was posted in honor of c_c_cherry’s birthday!! She’s an amazing whump author, and an even greater friend.

I hope you all enjoy!

Edit: okay I’m taking this off anon 🥺 people who sub to me for jojo stuff please don’t be mad,, I promise I’m not abandoning jojo, I’m sorry for the wait but I needed a break and I promise I’ll get back to it soon. I just need to get some of these Fullmetal alchemist ideas out of my head 😭 sorry and thank you in advance

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: A Slip of the Tongue

Chapter Text

Wind and rain battered the office windows with so much ferocity, Roy felt jealous. 

He hated the rain. Everyone knew that—but today, he not only hated it, he envied it.

The storm outside was angry and strong, sending loud booms that startled anyone who heard. Nobody was capable of hiding from the intimidating thunder that roared through the sky, nor the constant cry of the bullets of moisture that readily pelted every outside surface.

Everyone in East City subconsciously bowed and respected nature’s rage, they couldn’t help it. All of the citizens were forced to listen, no matter how it made them feel. The dark sky above them could freely vent all of its frustrations upon the world, could scream without restraint, and there wasn’t a person on the earth capable of ordering it to do otherwise. Nobody could tell the clouds to shut up and focus on paperwork, nor tell nature that it had to be mature about its emotions like an adult.

Another rumble threatened Mustang’s office. He sighed, checking the small clock on his desk.

“Checking the clock won't make it move faster, Colonel,” Hawkeye spoke from her own desk in the corner of the room, not even looking up.

Roy held back the growl that nearly snuck into his tone. “It seemed to move pretty fast during the drive here,” he huffed. Being late to work was one of many things that had set off his mood this morning.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that now,” Riza shuffled her papers with a bored look, “—so just focus on your work. Unless you want to receive another lecture from a General today.”

Roy clenched his teeth at the reminder. “Lieutenant,” he hissed, not in the mood for their typical banter.

“Sir.” Riza nodded quietly, understanding.

Mustang took a breath, looking back out at the gloomy city with tired eyes. He honestly couldn’t have helped being late this morning. 


Roy stood in the pouring early-morning rain, tightly clenching his fists at the sight of his car’s tires. 

They were slashed.

“Bastards!” Mustang quietly hissed towards the long gone assailants, as he checked his watch. It was 6:48 in the morning. He really didn’t have time for this. 

The night’s storm continued to rage on, like an omen. Roy winced. The rolling thunder had kept him awake all last night, providing valuable fuel for his brain to incorporate into his nightmares. 

It was exhausting how effortlessly his mind could manipulate the loud booms and howling winds into ear-splitting canonfire and agonized screams, banishing any chance of a restful night’s sleep. Just thinking about it made the bags under his eyes feel even heavier.

‘And I was planning to arrive early today,’ the Colonel reminded himself. ‘Fat chance of that now, though.’

Without the ownership of a complete set of spare tires, nor the proper time and materials to transmute any, the Colonel was forced to come up with an alternative solution. 

Ten minutes of running in the rain, twenty minutes standing by the road, and thirty additional soaking wet minutes later, he stepped out of a taxi in front of East Headquarters. 

After a sloppy about-face that couldn’t possibly belong to a Colonel, Mustang tipped the driver with extra cash, as an apology for the freshly-soaked car seats. Despite the generous tip, the man didn’t seem very pleased.

“Wet dog,” the taxi-driver spat instead, driving off rather quickly. A boom of thunder punctuated the remark.

“...Thank you for your service,” Roy muttered, addressing nobody but the harsh rain, and the smell of car exhaust. 

Feeling his boots squelch with every step, he walked to the front of the building. The wind chilled him to the bone as it swept through his dripping uniform, making the man grit his teeth. 

Bringing up his wrist, he squinted through the heavy water droplets on the watch’s face in order to make out the time. 

7:48 AM. Nearly twenty minutes late.

He stepped through the door, a complete mess. The thick fabric of his uniform weighed him down, soaked by the heavy precipitation, drooping with a dark navy color, rather than a proud blue. Water dripped from the edges of his coat like a faucet, and his hair was unprofessionally flattened against his head. 

He ignored the burning in his cheeks as he walked through the entrance with shame. 

“—And what do we have here? It reeks of wet dog,” The shadow’s condescending voice spoke in front of him. 

Roy looked up from the floor, feeling heavy dread pool in his stomach like a weight. 

The man before him was tall and built, with thick gold stripes on the shoulders of his uniform—a trio of stars decorating each one. 

A General. 

‘General Ayden, from Central,’ his thoughts reminded him. He wanted to scream in frustration. 

He had completely forgotten—Hawkeye had told him that a General would be here to inspect the personnel of East Headquarters this week. 

Which meant today. Right now. In front of him. 

Hawkeye was sure to put a bullet between his eyes for being caught off guard like this. 

Quickly snapping himself into a tall salute, Mustang cringed as he nearly lost his balance during the motion. The hasty movement squeezed a few extra droplets from his coat, and onto the floor.

He winced at the sound, before flattening out his expression and speaking with a clear tone. “Good morning, General.”

It came out more hoarsely than intended. 

The other man merely scoffed. “Good morning? It’s nearly 8 AM. You’re thirty minutes late, Colonel. Is that good to you? Because it’s certainly not good enough for the Fuhrer.”

Roy gulped, the pit in his stomach sinking further. 

There was no pleasure evident on the General’s face. “—You will speak when I address you, Colonel. I can’t afford to waste my time, unlike how you clearly can. So...?” Ayden raised an eyebrow. 

Roy sputtered, before internally cringing at his pathetic performance in front of a superior. “—Ah—No, General—you’re entirely correct. My late arrival this morning was not good at all. It is completely unacceptable. You have my sincerest apologies—I will be better next time.” It was a battle to prevent any amount of smugness into his voice.

“Sure you will, Colonel,” Ayden said with a mixture of venom and boredom. “—But how ‘bout instead of blabbering about ‘next time,’ you go and make yourself useful now?”

“And how would you like me to do that, General? Do you have a request for me?” Roy failed to reply without the smallest dash of attitude. 

General Ayden suppressed a sneer. “Why yes, I do.” 

Mustang nearly flinched when the General quickly leaned forward with an expression that promised nothing but pure misery.

“When I saw that the ever-popular Roy Mustang was running late, I took the liberty of assigning some extra paperwork, from Central.” Ayden grinned.

Mustang’s eye twitched.

“—For a Colonel climbing up the ranks as fast as you are, you must be extremely confident in your time management skills, yes? If my assumption is correct, this little favor shouldn’t be too much extra strain on your workload.” The man looked at him with narrow, daring eyes.

With a swallow, Roy cleared his heavy throat. “Well, with all due respect, General, I—”

“That’s enough, Colonel. If you truly respect me, you’ll go do your work, and you’ll do it now. No excuses. Understood?”

I want to burn that confident grin right off your face, you cocky bastard. “...Understood,” Mustang replied.

General Ayden scoffed in weak satisfaction, before he returned a mocking salute, and walked off. 

Good riddance. 

Mustang glared at the man’s back as he returned to ease. Waiting until the General finally left the room, he silently started to walk to his office. Miserable squelches followed his every step down the hall.

He could still feel the omen of the storm rattling the building loom from above. 


“—Colonel. Why don’t you take a break?” Hawkeye’s voice pulled him from his work.

He would have laughed at the irony if he wasn’t still feeling so miserable. Instead, he mindlessly signed his name on the current page of a thick stack in front of him, before turning to the next. 

“Oh? And why is that?” The man asked without looking up.

“You look like you need it,” Riza uncharacteristically admitted.

Flicking his eyes upwards, he met her gaze.

“You’ve been at it for a while now.” She explained, her large brown eyes looking into his with concerned consideration, scanning him up and down. “You’re clearly uncomfortable, haven’t eaten breakfast, nor have you gotten a good night’s rest.”

“What gave it away?” Roy scoffed, unimpressed.

The Lieutenant didn't flinch. “Colonel. Your posture is hunched, and your eyes have dark bags underneath them. Your stomach has been growling this whole time, yet you’ve been so focused on your work, you haven’t even noticed. Additionally, your hands are shaking—whether it be from fatigue, or from the fact that you've been cold and soaked since you came in. Regardless, it isn’t healthy,” she listed. 

Roy’s eyes widened slightly, looking at his hands, then his work. He could see that his signature and writing had grown more sloppy, as he compared his work to when he had started this morning.

“—Also, just as a reminder, you have a meeting coming up soon as well,” Riza added. 

“I do? With who?” Mustang’s brain had been so tired and focused on his assignments that he had completely forgotten any other plans for the day. Thankfully, Hawkeye was always there to remind him of his schedule.

“The Fullmetal Alchemist, sir. He has a report to make.”

Nevermind. He was no longer thankful. 

Mustang couldn’t hold back his groan, sinking into his chair. 

Fullmetal’s reports. He always dreaded them. “—When is he scheduled to come in?” Mustang asked, unenthusiastic.

“In about twenty minutes, sir,” Hawkeye replied.

Right. Okay. He had twenty minutes to get himself together, or else he was going to explode.

“Understood.” Mustang huffed, rising from his chair. The rush of air on his wet clothes made a chill run down his spine. “Does he know about the General being in for inspection today?”

“That depends on whether or not he cared to remember. However, Alphonse knows, and so he will probably try to keep Edward in line. He seems to be the only one who can, after all.”

Mustang hummed, barely listening. Internally, his dread had hardly faded. 

Fullmetal’s reports were rarely a pleasant experience. Granted, they weren’t always awful either, but more often than not, it meant additional paperwork, accompanied by a childish argument. And a headache.

Giving a glare at the paperwork pile he had barely made a dent in, Mustang sighed, deciding to take Hawkeye’s advice. He walked to the door, his boots still as squelchy as ever. “I’m going to go clean myself up. If Fullmetal gets here before I return, make sure he doesn’t destroy my office,” he ordered without eye contact.

“Sir.” Hawkeye nodded. 


Edward Elric dragged himself through the front doors of East HQ, absolutely miserable. He knew that everyone liked to joke that there was no such thing as a good Monday, but this was just awful. 

The storm was still sending strong aches of pain straight to his automail ports, and it hadn’t let up for hours. No matter how deeply he massaged and rubbed at where soft flesh tenderly met hard metal, the intense internal aching just wouldn’t let it up. 

It was as if he had a really bad itch in a place he couldn't reach by himself—but instead of a bad itch, it was a throbbing ache that made him want to curl up in his own bed. And sleep for a full day. Maybe longer than a full day. 

...He really just wanted to sleep. But nooooo. The Colonel needed his report. 

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Ed didn’t even have Al to rant to. Ranting to his little brother always kept Ed’s frustration at tolerable levels, but that was just another luxury that this Monday had to rob him of. 

This morning, Ed had discovered that Al was gone from their dorm, and had left a note in his absence. 

The note explained that a river had been at risk of overflowing by a nearby farm town, and spare alchemists were needed to help redirect the flooding. Al wrote that since he had nothing better to do, he decided that he’d put himself to use. 

Of course his little brother would rather help people whenever he could, instead of just sitting around in the dorm until morning. That’s just how Alphonse was. It’s how he’s always been. 

Ed’s chest flared with a small spark of proud admiration at the thought, before it was weighed back down by reluctant loneliness. 

Only Alphonse could make a bad day less agonizing. 

Thankfully, the town was only an hour away, and Al wrote that he’d be back soon—possibly even in time to meet his older brother at HQ after the report. 

But until then, Ed was here alone. Soaked, aching, and impatient. He looked up at the building’s entrance. 

Bursting into Eastern Command, Edward pushed open the doors with an attitude that screamed “I don’t want to be here,” and turned to walk down the hallway leading to Mustang’s office. Well, at least, he tried to. 

As soon as he turned the corner, his front collided with a large blue mass, forcefully sending him to the ground with a sharp gasp. 

His vision went white for a moment, sore automail ports none-too-happy about the rough treatment against the hard floor. 

Trying not to let a pitiful noise escape from his throat, the boy took a couple deep breaths, slowly forcing the pain away with each exhale. The cold dampness clinging to his clothes countered his efforts, making the aches radiate with additional discomfort. 

After taking a few disoriented blinks to clear his vision, Ed tried not to growl at the tall blue figure looming over him. He hated when people did that. 

Shakily pulling himself up to stand, he groaned, mustering a weak glare. “Can’t you watch where you’re—?”

Finally able to see who he was looking at, Ed clamped on his tongue with his teeth. He didn’t actually recognize the man’s face at all, but he certainly recognized the shining pins on each of his shoulders. Three of them—golden stars. 

A General. Shit. 

Hawkeye’s stern face popped into Edward’s mind—her gentle, yet incredibly serious voice repeating instructions from shortly after he joined the military in the first place.

(“Remember, Edward. I know that you and the Colonel like to butt heads, but if you ever come across another higher ranking officer, especially one that’s not familiar, please behave properly. 

“Regrettably, the military isn’t all one big friendly team. If you give some people the smallest reason to dislike you, they will go digging for things that can hurt you, to get you out of their way. You understand what I’m getting at, right? 

“I know you do. So please, remember this advice, okay? We don’t want anyone to go digging. Not against you, and not against anyone else on the team, either. Keep your career safe. Keep the team safe. Keep Alphonse safe.”)

Staring at the unfamiliar superior officer currently in front of him, Ed sputtered, his attitude undergoing a complete reversal. 

After all, this man was in ownership of the rank directly below the Fuhrer. So what the hell was he doing here?

“—Uh, I mean—S-Sorry, General. Sir,” Ed squeaked. He knew he had a stupid look on his face. 

The other man knew too. He clearly wasn’t impressed, and seemed to be waiting for something. 

Ed’s eyes widened in realization before he snapped into a hasty salute. Violently protesting the sudden movement, his shoulder sent a stab of agony down his right side. In an effort not to yelp, Ed sank his teeth into the inside of his lip, hoping the General wouldn’t notice. If the man did notice, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“...And who might you be, young man?” General Ayden glared instead, clearly unhappy. 

Whether it be from Ed bumping into him, or because of the off-chance someone pissed in his coffee this morning, the young alchemist could tell that this guy could really use some happiness in his life. The man was clearly struggling with a deficiency. 

“—Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Sir.”

Cold green eyes widened, before narrowing. “Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard of you. You’re one of Mustang’s, aren’t you?” he grumbled, as if revealing a pet peeve. “That explains your pitiful composure. Worthless Colonel.”  

Ed began to feel annoyance start to grow within him. 

This General clearly had some sort of beef with Mustang—not unlike a lot of high ranked officers, which the young alchemist already knew about. A lot of them seemed to envy Mustang’s tendency to play hopscotch through the rankings, making it look easy in the process. 

But, to be honest, Ed didn’t care. He could curse Colonel Bastard on his own schedule. The Fullmetal Alchemist didn’t need this cranky General to waste precious time doing it for him. 

With another deep ache through his ports acting as a signal, Ed made blank eye contact with the General, and adjusted his posture. The movement caused his port to bristle again, against his wishes. His still-saluting metal arm started to tremble under his gloves as they strained to stay in position. 

“—Is that all you needed me for, Sir?” Ed asked, almost impatiently. 

The man looked him up and down. 

“...Are you in some sort of hurry?” General Ayden questioned. 

Ed didn’t miss the subtle mocking tone laced in the man’s voice. “Yes, sir. I have a report to make.” He watched the other man’s expression carefully. 

“...Very well,” The General responded boredly, clearly ready to wrap but this unfortunate interaction. He gave a lazy salute, allowing Ed to drop his arm to his side. 

Edward nearly moaned at the temporary relief, but the throbbing ache returned only a moment later. After relaxing his arm, drops of water slid from his sleeves onto the floor. His soaked clothes had been steadily dripping this whole time. He didn’t notice General Ayden’s annoyance towards it.

“—Hey kid, some quick advice. Next time you come in, dry yourself off first, would’ya? You and that Colonel, I swear—didn’t your mother ever teach you not to track water into the house? Tch—”

Edward froze. 

“—Although from what I hear, you’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you. So I shouldn’t be all that surprised—“

The blond’s aches seemed to quadruple, as the General refused to shut his mouth. Additional shivers plagued Ed’s body, born from a growing blaze of rage, rather than the cold and wet dampness clinging to his skin. 

General Ayden suddenly barked a laugh. “—But if I’m being honest, as long as you’re under Mustang, I don’t mind at all. Continue to cause trouble—it’d be a real help. You get what I’m saying?” The man continued to chuckle as he clapped a hand onto Ed’s shoulder, before finally leaving. 

The boy slowly released a breath from his nose.

He’s gone. He’s finally gone. 

If the General hadn’t left that instant, Ed wasn’t sure if he would’ve let the man do it alive. 

Don’t turn around. Don’t say anything. It’s not worth it. 

The boy shook in the same place he’d been standing ever since he confronted the General. His teeth were firmly pressing against each other, jaw aching at the pressure, the taste of blood oozing against his tongue. He didn’t even notice that he had bitten through his lip from trying not to say something he’d regret. 

Looking down, Ed saw an inconsistent wet-spot on the carpet, slowly being filled out from the water droplets running down his form. It was like a depressing splatter painting. 

‘Didn't your mother ever teach you not to track water in the house?’ his thoughts repeated,  tormenting him. ‘You’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you.’

Mom...

Thunder boomed. His shoulder and thigh sent another dagger of agony through his nerves, uncomfortable memories accompanying it this time. He swallowed thickly.

Shaking his head while cursing, Ed stormed off towards Mustang’s office. 

A burning urge to escape crept up his spine. He just wanted to leave—and the sooner he could dump his stupid report at the Colonel’s desk, the sooner he could do that. Then, he could go back to his dorm, and finally escape the growing negativity that was further soiling his mood. 

As he walked down the hall, Ed became irritably aware of the small wet spots on the carpet, forming a trail behind him. 

Now, it was really bothering him. 

But why? 

It was just water. Dripping water on carpet was hardly making a mess. It’s water. Not to mention, Ed noticed several other wet trails that weren’t his. He wasn’t the only one at fault here. After all, it was pouring outside. Of course people are going to be tracking water around. It was inevitable. 

So why did it make him feel so shameful?

“Honestly Fullmetal, you’re always making a mess of things. Don't you realize that if you don’t clean up the mess yourself, someone else has to clean it up for you?” Mustang taunted once, after a mission had gotten messy. “I’ll never understand how Alphonse does it…” the Colonel had added under his breath.

(Ed had decided to stay up as late as he could with Al that night, as an unspoken thank-you for all of the things he’s made his little brother put up with.)

Alphonse…

Blinking away a forbidden wetness in his eyes, the blond swallowed again, and shook his head. This was pointless. 

He didn’t come here to sulk, he came here to get something over with. There was no point to dwelling on that stupid General, nor what he had said. 


Pushing open the door to Mustang’s office, he trudged inside the room. The Colonel’s desk was empty, besides two seperate stacks of paperwork on top of it. One stack was ridiculously taller than the other—clearly the “to-do” pile. 

When golden eyes came across the leather couch in the middle of the room, Ed nearly melted in relief. 

Remembering the fact that the Colonel wasn’t here, Ed proceeded to shamelessly limp over to the comfortable furniture (powering through the agony of his screaming automail ports) and let himself sit down with a loud sigh. 

The couch accepted his body like a warm hug, cradling his tired muscles in its plump cushions. 

Closing his eyes, Ed slipped his left hand under the neck of his shirt, and gently rubbed at his shoulder, at the place where cold steel met with sore flesh. As he tended to his aches, he lost himself in the atmosphere of the room.

It was rather quiet. He could tell that the room's lighting was more dim than usual, due to the lack of natural light that would normally pour in through the windows. Instead, the room was filled with the white noise of rain. 

Until, a rumble of thunder made his aches rage in protest—his neglected thigh, especially. 

With another sigh, Edward removed his flesh arm from under his shirt, and placed it right above the port in his knee. He carefully kneaded at the soft muscle with his flesh hand, letting out a shaky breath at the mixture of pain and relief that flared from the contact. 

“—Ed?”

The boy yelped in surprise as he quickly removed his hands from his leg and forced them at his sides, straightening up in his seat. He whipped his head towards the questioning voice. 

Hawkeye’s concerned eyes met his, scanning him up and down, before looking up to his face again.“...You’re early.” 

Processing that it wasn't Mustang, Ed relaxed slightly, leaning back against the couch. It was just the Lieutenant.

“I figured that if I got here sooner, I could leave sooner. That’s all,” he explained honestly, resting his eyes as he leaned against the couch. 

“...Are you alright?” Hawkeye asked, concerned. 

“—Fine. Why do you ask?” Ed questioned back, a bit too quickly. He silently prayed she hadn’t seen him rubbing at his stumps. 

Sharp brown irises hardened in thought for a moment, as if sorting through several answers already in her mind, before picking one. “You’re soaked.” 

His face pinched in annoyance at the reminder, and Ed suddenly stood up from the couch. 

Hawkeye seemed taken aback as if she had said something wrong. “Edward, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just—“

The words were interrupted with a bored clap, before the young alchemist gently pressed his palms to his chest. 

With a flash and a hiss, his clothes released their moisture into the air, increasing the humidity of the room. After his clothes were completely dry, he repeated the action again, this time against the couch he had unknowingly dampened as well. The darkened spot on the furniture dissipated as the blue sparks of alchemy crackled to a stop. 

Taking a deep breath at the refreshing feeling of dry clothes against his skin, Ed sank back against the freshly dried cushions. An amused huff of air left through his nose, before he looked at the Lieutenant with a shy smile. “Y’know, if you hadn’t said anything, I honestly would’ve sat here, soaked to the bone the entire time. Thanks.” He chucked.

Hawkeye’s lips pulled away from her previous concerned appearance, gently shifting into a slight smile as she nodded her head. “Of course.”

A quiet moment passed. 

Ed looked around, noticing Mustang’s empty desk again. “Where is he?” 

She straightened up. “Well, you know him,” she shook her head sympathetically, “...the Colonel had a bit of a struggle with the rain, this morning. It made him a mess, in more ways than one. His greatest weakness,” she scoffed. “ —And on a Monday too, nonetheless.” Hawkeye’s eyes shined in a mixture of pity and amusement. “He left to go clean himself up a few minutes ago, so he should be back soon.” 

Ed hummed, staring at the floor. He seemed amused as well, if not distracted. “...Yeah. This isn’t the happiest Monday of my life either, that’s for sure,” the alchemist sympathized. 

“Oh?” Hawkeye asked, her honey-brown eyes expertly encouraging him to elaborate. “Did something happen?”

He thought for a moment, his eyes darkening. 

“Didn't your mother ever teach you—?”

Shutting down the thought with a clenched jaw, he looked away. “—No, nothing notable. Just a typical, rainy day,” Ed stated simply, ignoring the heaviness in his heart.

Thunder crackled, and he winced. The Lieutenant's gaze was burning through his skin. 

“...Ed,” Hawkeye started with a careful tone. 

He didn’t turn to meet her eyes. 

Riza’s face softened. “...You know that you can always—“

Before she could continue, the sound of the office door swinging open swiftly cut her off.

Behind the door, an impatient Roy Mustang stood tall.


Pushing open the door to his own office, Mustang was shocked to see Fullmetal already there. 

The boy had taken eager residence on the couch, sitting reclined against the cushions. His hair was still heavy with water, yet his clothes were suspiciously dry. No doubt from his circleless alchemy. 

‘Ungrateful prodigy,’ the nasty voice at the back of Mustang’s head supplied. He ignored it. 

Quietly, the Colonel strolled to his desk and pulled out the seat, sitting down with a bored attitude. Deep down, he was still irritable from the day’s early events, all while further dreading what else the Monday had in store. 

Fullmetal looked up at him from the couch with a tense expression. In return, Roy crossed his arms, unamused. 

“You’re early today. Are you really that eager to see your favorite Colonel, Fullmetal?” he sassed, too exhausted to add the typical sly smile to his face. 

“—You wish, soggy campfire,” Ed huffed, “I’m here early so I can get out of here as soon as possible.”

The Colonel felt the irritation squirm within him. Normally he didn’t put much stock into Ed’s typical banter, but after all that’s happened this morning, his impenetrable ego had some cracks in it. Edward’s refusal to take him seriously sent a bubbling irritation to somewhere in his stomach. He couldn’t hold back his retort. 

“How funny. Usually, when you come in here, you have no problem wasting as much of my time as you can,” Mustang remarked, looking Ed in the eye. 

Hawkeye’s judging gaze tried to meet with his own, but he didn’t budge. 

Absently picking at his right glove, Ed spoke without missing a beat. “Tch. The feeling’s mutual, you wet matchstick. You’re mistaken if you think I ever want to come here at all. Now, whaddaya want,” the boy asked, waving his left hand impatiently, in a “hurry up” motion. 

“You know what I want, Fullmetal. Quit acting moronic. I don’t know why you’d bother asking me what I want. It’s the reason you’re here, one of the only reasons you ever curse my office with your presence. The report.”

Ed smirked. “Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to make it easier for you. Everybody knows how much you like to boss your subordinates around, so why not give you an easy pitch? I thought it’d cheer up that mopey look on your face. Giving you a wide open opportunity to tell me what to do, like I’m your personal errand boy. I know you love to do it. So go ahead. I’m waiting.”

Mustang felt his eye twitch. “First, you wanted to get out of here as fast as possible, but now you’re spending time egging me on to give you a redundant order?” Cold onyx bore deep into molten gold, clashing with a heavy spark of resentment from both sides. The tension was palpable. 

“Boys,” Hawkeye’s voice interrupted sternly. She didn’t like the current atmosphere that was building inside the room. 

The eye contact between superior and subordinate was instantly broken. They both quickly looked away like scolded children, shrouding the room in a brief silence, before the elder took a breath. 

“...I see that Alphonse isn’t here,” Roy changed the subject. 

This time, Edward’s eye was the one to twitch. “So?” he quickly interjected. “He went to go—“

“—Help people in a nearby town, correct?” 

Ed gave him a shocked look. 

The dark-haired alchemist continued. “He went to help the townspeople against the flooding. I know,” he drank in how Edward’s brow pinched in uncomfortable irritation, how it always did when the Colonel seemed to know everything. “—Believe it or not, some people actually have the maturity to inform those responsible for them about their whereabouts.”

If looks could kill, Roy Mustang would be in a mass grave right now. The earlier tension that Hawkeye tried so hard to banish had returned without a beat. 

“Now, your report?” the Colonel pressed on. 

The Fullmetal Alchemist growled, digging through his pocket before revealing a folded piece of paper. It drooped in the boy’s grasp, clearly soggy. Edward pushed himself up to stand. 

Roy missed the wince that flashed on the aggravated teen’s face. 

Hawkeye didn’t. Her eyebrows pinched in slight concern. 

“Here.” Ed carelessly tossed the paper onto the desk. “Enjoy the bedtime story. You look like you need it,” he hissed. 

“Watch it, Elric,” Mustang spat, his tone turning venomous again. “I already had a superior officer tear into my appearance this morning. I don’t need a prepubescent subordinate to do it again for me.”

Ed ignored the unoriginal insult, rolling his eyes instead. “That’s what this is about? You’re acting all pissy just because the General didn’t kiss up to you, like everyone else does? What a sob story,” he mocked. 

“You’re one to talk. Why the hell do you think you’re with the military in the first place?” Mustang challenged. 

Riza straightened up. “Colonel. That’s enough.”

Again, Mustang ignored her, never breaking eye contact with Edward. “—It’s become clear that General Ayden had a talk with you this morning as well, Fullmetal. That’s what must’ve put you in this childish mood of yours. What’d he do, call you short like everyone else does? How insulting—”

“—Shut the fuck up, worthless bastard!” Ed screamed. 

Mustang’s eyebrows raised in surprise, before relaxing with a horrific calm rage. 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about!” the blond continued, fists clenched. “A bastard like you would never understand...” he trailed off quietly, a slight shakiness at the end. 

“I’ve had enough of this.” Mustang had just about snapped. “I don’t need to hear any more childish excuses for your insufferable attitude, Elric.”

He was done. He refused to let a moody, rash, hot-headed, bad-mannered, immature, ungrateful teenager speak to him like this. 

No, this conversation was completely over. 

Yet, despite his overflowing frustration, Mustang suddenly found himself chucking. Before he knew it, the words from the nasty voice in the back of his mind had already slithered past his lips. 

“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.”

The room went dead silent, aside from the rain. 

Hawkeye stared at the Colonel like he had just burned down a hospital. Her expression was a mixture of shock and horror, before her attention whipped over to the elephant in the room. 

And Ed, Ed…

He was completely still, head down, eyes hidden. Mustang watched carefully as his teenage subordinate opened his mouth, only to close it again. The boy looked as if his air was stuck in his throat. 

An uneasy weight began to pull down on Mustang’s gut. The silence slowly grew more and more suffocating. 

Slowly, Edward relaxed. Every tension in his body seemed to melt with an eerie calmness. His jaw, his neck, his shoulders, everything. He stood relaxed, face remaining invisible, clearly apathetic towards the two pairs of eyes watching his every move. 

Then, he turned around, and faced towards the exit of the room. 

Unable to see the boy’s face, Mustang watched in shock as the young prodigy casually walked to the door and placed his left hand over the handle. 

“—Ed, wait,” Hawkeye spoke with urgent caution. 

The boy’s hand hesitated. Gloved flesh gently held the knob with immeasurable care, giving the slightest opportunity for intervention. 

Before either of them could gather themselves and take advantage of the pause, Ed twisted the handle down and pulled open the door, slipping through without a sound. They had missed their chance. 

For the first time in Mustang’s career, the wooden barrier of his office closed behind the Fullmetal Alchemist with a soft click. 

Chapter 2: Slow Steps

Summary:

Ed has run off. Mustang is guilty. Hawkeye is furious. Winry is frustrated. Al isnt back yet. All of these circumstances mix together in an angsty vortex of a chapter.

Notes:

Hi yes I’m back with a chapter I wrote mostly while stuck in a car for over 15 hours with my family + a sore throat. Hopefully it’s legible. Enjoy!

(Warning for very brief vomit mentions.)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Mustang noticed his vision had whipped to the side before he even felt the growing sting of the slap. 

“Roy,” Hawkeye growled out, her voice dangerously low, drowned in a tone of disappointment and anger. Sharp, brown eyes pierced into his with deadly, practiced precision. 

Gone was their dynamic of commanding officer and subordinate. In its place, their secrets and vows of loyalty and protection. Their promise to keep each other in line, no matter the cost. 

Slowly and carefully, he moved to face her again. 

Riza stood tall, trembling, her furious expression sending chills down his spine. Her eyes burned.  

“Do you even know what you did?” Hawkeye spat. “The line you just crossed?” 

(“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.”)

His cheek felt like it was on fire. “I…” 

“—No. You don’t,” Riza quickly shut him up. “You don’t know anything.”

He swallowed, speechless. The resulting silence emphasized the soft patter of forgotten rain, currently pelting the windows. In front of him, his Lieutenant continued to stare into his soul with intense judgement, waiting for him to say something. Anything. 

“You don’t know anything.” The sentence wouldn’t stop echoing inside of his head.

An apology was in order.

Looking down in shame, Mustang swallowed, hesitant. “Could you look after my paperwork for a while? I’m gonna go—“

“No.” she shut him down. 

Mustang looked up in shock. Hawkeye had her arms crossed, already decided. 

“Please, Riza. I realize that I spoke out of turn, and he deserves an apology—before he storms off somewhere I won’t find him.” A desperate tone invaded his plea. 

“No.”

Frustration snuck into his voice. “—Then can you go find him and bring him back here? I promise that I’m going to fix this, but I need him back here as soon as possible. Don’t force me to make it an order.” 

“No.”

“—Why not?!” Mustang growled, his irritation bubbling over. His fists clenched, the knuckles as white as the gloves that hid them. 

Hawkeye said nothing. She looked him up and down, from his enraged eyes, to his tapping foot, back to his eyes.

Her face clenched in anger, before it became disappointment, relaxing in a flash. “...Did you even notice?” her voice hissed softly. It was nearly inaudible. 

He froze. “...Notice what?” 

“Ed.” Hawkeye’s eyes looked distracted, and worried. “He...was in pain.”

“...He was?” 

She nodded solemnly. Her eyes were tightly shut, as if opening them would cause her last attempts of remaining control to break free. The woman’s patience was astounding, even during a time like this. 

Mustang paused to think, as the room sank into the rhythm of the rain on the windows. 

Ed, acting hurt. It was strange to think about. 

If Hawkeye said it happened, then it definitely did. Riza had the impressive ability of picking up even the most minute, quick details. It was a useful skill—deadly even, if she happened to be looking behind a scope. 

Mustang closed his eyes, focusing. 

Edward, in pain…

His mind sorted through the memory of the past five minutes, but he found nothing other than clashing insults. He was at a loss. 

Had Ed been hiding it? Why was he hurt in the first place? Had he gotten hurt on his mission?

A blinding flash of lightning suddenly tore through the sky, thunder shaking the building, rattling the windows. The two soldiers flinched, their hearts racing in unison at the violent interruption. The rain poured even harder against the walls. 

“I have to go.” the Lieutenant sighed and shook her head, abandoning the previous topic. “You’re staying here—I’ll go find Ed.”

Roy opened his mouth to protest, before quietly shutting it again. Feeling trapped, frustration and impatience settled in his gut, and his foot tapped faster. 

He knew Hawkeye noticed the nervous tick. She always did. 

“Roy,” she spoke. 

He glanced up at her. 

“I know you want to talk to Ed. But now is not the time. He wants distance, not more conversation. Besides, you can’t afford to waste time with General Ayden breathing down your neck. So please, let me take care of this, alright?” The blonde somehow stared at him with a gaze that was pleading, yet refusing to ask permission. 

Mustang took in a deep breath, before letting it go. “You’re going to talk to him first, then?”

“No, I’m not.” Riza glared. 

His eyebrows pinched in confusion. “But—didn’t you just say you’d—?”

“I’m not going to bring anything up,” Riza explained, irritation seeping into her tone. “I’m just going to escort him to the dorms. That’s probably where he’s headed anyways, and it’s probably best that he isn't alone. It’s a mess out there.”

A crackle of lightning and thunder punctuated her statement. 

“...Oh.” Mustang said. “...When will you be back?” he asked, feeling childish with his curiosity. 

“I’m not sure. But I should probably leave right away.”

“Alright. I’ll...stay here, I suppose,” Roy spoke, trying to hold back the helplessness he was feeling. “Call me if you need anything, Lieutenant.” 

“Of course, Sir,” she nodded, turning around and moving towards the door. “No slacking off,” Hawkeye added under her breath.

Roy almost flinched at her tone. She was still very upset with him, and he could tell. It hurt, even if he clearly deserved it.  

“Of course,” Mustang sighed, “...drive safe.”

Instead of an answer, his Lieutenant shut the door behind herself, leaving the Colonel alone in his office. 

Unaccompanied, he stared at his desk in shameful silence, mind reeling.

“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth,” his own voice echoed in his head. 

Something heavy churned in his stomach. 

Why did he say it? What was the purpose? The reason? 

He had been miserable, and needed to let it go, somehow.

That “somehow” had involved ruthlessly insulting his injured subordinate (how hadn’t he noticed that Ed was in pain? Was he really that blind with rage?) and throwing Ed’s most sensitive history right into his face. 

How mature. 

“You don’t know anything!” Ed’s voice echoed, angry and betrayed.

He rolled the thought around in his mind, like a child searching for every last drop of flavor in a piece of hard candy. 

“You don’t know anything,” his Lieutenant’s voice joined, cold and disappointed.

And it was true, in a way.

Edward never spoke a word about his mother. The only thing Mustang knew about Trisha Elric, was that Edward and Alphonse’s attempt at human transmutation was because of her. They had wanted her back. “To see her smile again,” they had murmured in that house, utterly defeated. Two broken children. 

While that information was more than most people knew, it was still essentially nothing. Yet,  it was also enough to know that the topic was strictly off limits. 

And Roy had just disregarded the limit. Broke it. Shattered it. Spat upon it. 

He...he fucked up. 

Across the room, the sight of the shut door made the current situation all the more present in his mind. 

He really fucked up. 

In his mind, the way Edward had gone silent and left the office continued to loop. Mustang’s jaw ached at the pressure of his teeth clenching together. 

He needed to fix this. To apologize. To regain his subordinates’ trust back, and their respect back. Both of them. Edward, and Riza. 

But for now, as painful as it was…

…he could do nothing but wait. 

The clock on his desk ticked in mockery, and the stack of paperwork sat patiently. He glared at them with intense hatred.

Thunder rumbled, and he picked up his pen. 


Hawkeye cared about Edward. 

The boy was smart, determined, and quick-thinking. 

But he wasn’t invincible. 

She could see it clearly—the way rain would make him slouch, the way thunder would make him flinch. The way lightning would give him that lost look in his eyes. Today, especially. 

Ed’s visible shock when she had entered the office, moving his hands to his sides with a tense look on his face. His reluctance to open up. 

Edward was hurting in more ways than one. It had been so clear to her. 

“—You know something, Fullmetal? If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth.” 

But not to Roy.

Ed’s rigid posture, his inability to speak. The look of betrayal and guilt that flashed in his golden eyes, before dulling. His defeated limp to the door. 

Only when her hand had struck Roy’s face, did she believe that the man could finally understand the weight of his words. 

By the strike of a palm, she had watered the seed of guilt that Roy had planted in his own stomach.

The rest would be up to him. Roy would have plenty of time, alone in his office, to think about how to handle what he had just doomed himself to reap. 

Because that was his job to fix. She would not do it for him, couldn’t do it for him—it wouldn’t be right. They both knew that.

She huffed.

Hawkeye’s eyes were sharp as she scanned the hallway outside of the Colonel’s office. There were no signs of Edward. 

Hurrying to the secondary office down the hall, she found the rest of the team working rather diligently. However, as she looked closer, she saw the lines of stress, and even some of the annoyance that plagued their expressions. 

Feury scrambled to write on various sorted piles of paperwork on his desk, as Havoc would hesitantly add more papers to them. Falman worked on his own stack of paperwork, sweat was visible on his forehead. Breda was giving them each a fresh cup of coffee, to which they took without a word, sipping in unison. 

The General must be giving them a hard time. 

“Excuse me,” she started,  “...but have any of you—“

Havoc nearly choked on his coffee as the others looked up at her with similar fearful surprise. Noticing that it was just her, the rest of them relaxed slightly as Havoc continued to cough. 

“S-Sorry, Lieutenant. We didn’t notice you come in,” Feury rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Can we help you?”

“That’s alright, Sergeant. I understand that you are all rather...occupied, today.” She offered a brief sympathetic smile.  “But I came to ask, have any of you seen Fullmetal around?”

Havoc finished his coughing, just in time to answer. “Yeah, I did. Even without Alphonse, he’s hard to miss. That red coat of his is a dead giveaway.” He cleared his throat. “Chief went down the hall and towards the entrance, not even a minute ago. You just missed him. Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if he was already headed for the dorms or not. I just wanted to be certain.”

“I’d hate to walk to the dorms in this weather,” Breda scoffed. “That poor beansprout is gonna drown at this rate.”

Even if Breda’s comment held no genuine insult, it still made Hawkeye tense for a moment, before she shook it off. “That’s why I intend on driving him to the dorms myself, to save him the trouble,” she explained. 

“Well, I’d hurry up before he gets too far. Good luck, Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it—I know I would,” Breda said. 

“—Y-Yeah, good luck!” Fuery added. 

Havoc offered a wave, and Falman nodded while remaining focused. 

She hummed in appreciation, giving a sharp nod of her own before leaving the room and continuing down the hallway. 

The long hallway was plain and empty, in front of her. The cream-colored walls offered no features other than a potted plant, the restrooms, and some more offices up ahead. 

Ed had left Mustang’s office only a minute or two before she did. She should have caught him by now, if he had really headed this way—yet he wasn’t here, which means he must still be ahead, somehow. 

That was, unless...

As if on cue, the door to the men’s restroom opened with a sharp squeak from its hinges. Stumbling through the doorway, even paler than before, was the Fullmetal Alchemist himself. 

Hawkeye froze as Edward walked right in front of her and turned, moving down the hall without a word. At that moment, she noticed that eyes were pained and glassy, and he had a sheen of sweat on his face. 

Ed didn’t even give notice to Hawkeye’s presence. Whether it was intentional or not, it only further stirred her concern. 

“Edward,” she walked quickly to catch up, putting a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. His right shoulder. 

Ed tensed and let out a burning hiss, while Hawkeye pulled away as if she was the one who had been pained. 

She cursed herself for her carelessness. 

“—Sorry, Ed, I didn’t mean—“

“I know, I know,” he growled quietly, walking again. When Hawkeye moved to walk beside him, he said nothing. But he didn’t look at her, either. 

It was silent for a short while. The hall echoed with Ed’s slightly-uneven steps, Hawkeye’s own steady pace, and the occasional rumble from outside. 

“How long are we gonna walk until you eventually force me to turn around, Lieutenant?” Ed growled quietly, again. “I’m not stupid. I know that Bastard sent you,” he added. 

Riza tried to look at him, but he still refused to meet her eyes. She chose her next words carefully.

“You’d be wrong, then,” she answered simply. “I left on my own terms.”

“—Sure,” Ed huffed, voice weak. “So you left on your own terms, to drag me back? What a difference.”

“I’m not dragging you back.”

That one made him pause. Slowly, he met her gaze. “...Then why are you here?” he asked, hoarse. 

Hawkeye noted the redness of his eyes, and the irritation surrounding them. As if he had rubbed them very hard. His irises were dulled from their usual fire, but she could see the small sparks beneath—like a phoenix ready to burst from the ashes. 

“Same reason as you.” She smiled tensely. “I think we’re both a little angry with the Colonel, at the moment.”

Ed looked at her closely for any signs of deceit, before his gaze finally softened. He looked tired. “A little angry, huh?” The boy chuckled humorlessly. 

“Yes. But despite your anger, you knew when to stop. You were right to leave, Edward,” she supported, softly. “It was very mature of you.”

Ed remained quiet, clearly unsure how to handle the praise. It made him feel warm, but it also made his chest ache for something long-lost. The conflicting emotions settled into confusion. “...Aren’t you supposed to be on Mustang’s side?” Ed asked. 

“I am on Mustang’s side,” she answered strongly. “The problem is, sometimes he loses sight of what his own side is supposed to be.” 

Ed gave her a curious look. 

“Please understand, I’m not here to apologize for him. That’s his problem.” Her eyes burned into his. “—But, I want you to understand that you made the right decision, leaving his office like that. Knowing when to leave is a very good skill to have.”

“I…” he trailed off, lost. “It was nothing. I just...I didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Hawkeye frowned at the sad, honest tone of Edward’s voice. It was heartachingly young. 

“That’s okay. You still made a very mature choice.”

The boy merely hummed in response. 

She hesitated, wondering if it was appropriate to say the words that still remained in her mind. Looking over at Ed, his eyes had returned to the ground, with a vulnerable expression on his face. 

She took a breath, before smiling softly. “I’m proud of you, Edward,” Riza whispered, a rush of satisfaction filling her from letting the words free.  

Ed looked away. His head made a slight shaky movement that she thought might be a nod, but was hard to tell. 

From her angle, she couldn’t see the tear that was sliding down his cheek. 

Another period of silence washed over them, as they walked together. Ed’s pace was actually quite slow, and Hawkeye worried if he still intended to go to the dorms on his own, like this—if that was even his destination. 

“Ed, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you going?”

“...Dorms,” he huffed out. Despite his slight improvement in mood, he didn’t appear any less pained. 

“In that case, would you let me drive you there?” she asked carefully. 

Ed shook his head. “You don’t have to do that for me, Lieutenant. I can walk.”

Riza hummed, approaching this carefully. She didn’t want Ed to feel weak or incapable, but she also didn’t want him to walk alone in the rain, already hurt. 

“I know you can walk, Edward. I just want to save you the trouble of doing it in the rain,” she tried, before an even better idea struck her. “—and besides, if I drive you, that gives me extra time before I’m forced to return to the Colonel.”

Ed considered this, as Riza continued. 

“You don’t want to send me back there so soon, do you? I’m still very upset with him, so I ask that you reconsider your choice. It’s for his own safety,” she stated with a smile. “So, will you allow me to drive you to your dorm?”

“...his own safety,” Ed repeated softly, in what almost sounded like a chuckle. He lightly shook his head, before letting out a breath. “Alright, Hawkeye,” he sighed, “I guess I’ll buy you some extra time,” he replied hoarsely. 

Bullseye. 


Ed’s dorm was a lot more bland than Riza had been anticipating. 

For a boy with such a passionate preference in clothing, his dorm room lacked any noticeable flash of color, or decor. In addition, despite being occupied by teenage boys, the room was clean enough—the only “mess” being a collection of papers and books sprawled out on a large desk by the window. A suitcase rested on the floor, which was recognizable as Ed’s. 

There were two beds. One of them looked like it was fitfully slept in, pillows and blankets haphazardly strewn across the mattress. The other was untouched, not a thread out of place. 

Something about the sight made a twinge of sadness bloom in Riza’s chest. She didn’t know why. 

Entering behind her, Ed was breathing heavily. It wasn’t exactly a short walk from the parking lot to his dorm, but his fatigue was still concerning. His limp also sounded worse, noticeable against the thin layer of carpet on the floor. 

Hawkeye frowned. “Are you alright?”

“M’fine. Thanks.” Ed waved off. “Bye, Lieutenant...”

Hawkeye didn’t budge. 

Originally, she really did plan to simply drive Ed to the dorms, and then immediately return to the office. Ed probably needed some time to himself after all that’s happened today, and he probably didn’t want her to see him in his currently state for long, she’d figured. 

But that was before she observed the full extent of his condition. 

Ed’s eyes were still hazy with pain, and his walk was horrible. Every step looked like he was walking barefoot on glass. He was pale, sweaty, and Riza was pretty sure he was even starting to develop a slur to his speech. 

“I’m not leaving just yet, Ed. You’re sick.”

Ed groaned, limping over to sit on his bed with a wince. “...’m not sick,” he insisted, taking off his red coat. “But ‘m definitely gettin’ sick of ev’ryone’s…” he was cut by a bright flash followed by a crack of thunder, forcing him to abandon the effort of his previous ramble, wincing instead.

“I’m not sick,” he settled on, repeating it as strongly as he could. 

Hawkeye sighed. “What’s your explanation then?”

“...’m not sick, I promise,” Ed stubbornly repeated. 

Hawkeye quickly strode up and pressed her palm to his forehead, before he could react. 

Ed’s pale skin was hot and clammy against her hand, to no surprise. He had a fever. 

“Hey…” Ed whined like a little kid. 

Hawkeye shook her head. “There’s no use pretending, Ed. You have a fever. You’re sick.”

“No, no...‘m not sick, y’don’t understand…”

“You threw up. That’s why you were in the restroom before I came across you in the hall,” Hawkeye stated, as the realization came together in her mind. 

Ed looked at her with a gaze so utterly exhausted, she wanted to tuck him into bed right then and there. He truly looked awful, even when he moved his gaze downwards, and his bangs obscured his face. 

A flash, another roll of thunder. For a split second, she could see the growing dullness  in Ed’s eyes.

“...I didn’ throw up...from bein’ sick. Tha’s not why...not why…” 

“Ed?”

“...not why…”

“Ed!”


Ed was in absolute agony. 

Images of his mother—happy and disappointed, alive and dead, whole and disfigured—they each flickered behind his eyelids like a rapid slideshow as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the men’s room that was down the hall from Mustang’s office. 

His head throbbed in unison with his automail ports, as if they had all been freshly severed. 

His mind raced with his pulse—

He was a brat who only caused trouble, just like the General said. He was an unruly, foul-mouthed piece of work, just like the Colonel said. It circled in his mind, over and over, like his fruitless chase to restore his brother. Over and over, without any reward, nothing but the cruel truth. He caused trouble for all that looked after him. 

His dad. Left. 

His mom. Dead. 

His brother. Trapped. 

His superior officer. Fed up. 

“—Although from what I hear, you’re a hotheaded brat who seems to enjoy causing trouble for whoever looks after you.”

He was so sorry...so sorry…

Heaving gasps over the toilet, with nothing left to throw up, Ed wiped his lips with some toilet paper. That, too, was thrown into the porcelain bowl, like a garnish of shameful weakness. He stood up, and looked away as he flushed it with his boot. 

Sniffling, he furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, convincing himself that they were from the scent of stomach acid in the air, and not from his own failure. 


Hawkeye caught Edward before he could fall off the bed. 

She had a hunch he would faint, as soon as he had started to trail off. That empty look in her eye, she had seen it before. 

Being careful not to jostle him too much, she steadied Edward on edge of the bed, holding him from under his arms. His eyes were closed, oblivious to being moved. 

“Ed. Ed. Are you with me?” she shook him gently, but urgently. 

Ed groaned, letting out a slurred mumble. “...’ll do better, m’sorry mom…’m so sorry, so sorry...”

Riza’s stomach sank, and she shook Ed again, even more urgent. “Edward, please stay with me. You need to tell me what’s wrong, so I can help!”

“...’s my fault…” he mumbled, delirious.

Hawkeye could feel the heat radiating from him. 

Accepting the fact that Ed wouldn’t be capable of holding himself up anytime soon, Riza moved to reposition him on the bed. 

After fixing up the sheets and blankets that had previously been thrown about the mattress, she gently set Ed on top, with his head resting on a pillow. She watched as his chest rose up and down with labored breaths, underneath his black jacket.

His mumbling had stopped.

A loud shrill noise startled her, snapping her attention towards the wall. 

The phone. 

She hesitated, looking to Ed for a moment, but he was still unconscious. 

Letting out a short sigh, Riza picked up the phone, and pressed it to her ear. 

“Edward Elric!” A scolding, young girl’s voice yelled across the line. “Don’t think I haven’t heard of the horrible storm hitting East City! You know what happens to automail patients during storms, so I swear, you not better be carelessly messing around, too stubborn to give yourself a break for once in your stupid little—!”

“Winry?” Hawkeye cut her off, still digesting the wall of loud words that had just blindsided her.

“—Huh? Who is this? And why are you answering Ed’s phone? ” 

She hesitated. “...It’s storming. I drove Edward to the dorms, so he wouldn’t have to walk from Eastern Headquarters. This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Can you put Ed on the phone, then? It’s important.” Winry switched gears quickly, catching the Lieutenant off guard.

“I’m sorry, Winry. But Ed’s actually asleep right now. He’s...” 

Passed out? In pain? Shivering? Delirious?  

“He’s sick,” she settled for. 

The other line went silent for a moment, before a sigh was heard. “That absolute moron. I’m gonna kill him,” Winry mumbled. 

“What?”

“Forgive me, Lieu—Riza,” the girl corrected herself, remembering their first meeting,“—but Ed’s not actually sick. He’s just being a stubborn idiot.”

Hawkeye’s brow furrowed at that. Sparing a glance towards Ed, his feverish appearance was unmistakable. He sure looked sick. 

“—Can you tell me exactly how bad he looks? And no sugarcoating it, either. I get enough of that from Ed already,” Winry asked, sounding exasperated. 

Hawkeye hummed in understanding, giving her report. “He was limping all day, from what I saw. There was a lot of wincing too, and he never looked comfortable. I’m pretty certain he threw up around an hour ago, and he currently has a fever. He passed out while talking to me a few minutes ago, and I laid him on his bed. He’s still asleep.” 

Another sigh across the line. “Oh Ed, what am I going to do with you…” Winry whispered with concerned disappointment. 

“What’s the problem? Can you tell me?” Hawkeye asked eagerly. She wanted to help as soon as she could, and Winry seemed to have all the answers. 

“Yeah, I can tell you what’s wrong.”

Riza listened in. “Go ahead.”

“It’s his automail ports,” Winry revealed. “The pressure from the storm is causing him pain. He’s gonna need to have the prosthetics removed.”

Notes:

Don’t worry, Hawkeye will be filled in about all the juicy details of Ed’s automail soon. Meanwhile, Alphonse isnt forgotten, Mustang is boiling in his own guilt, and don’t forget that the General is still around!

Kudos are highly appreciated!! Please comment what you think of this chapter! Tell me what I did well, what you wanna see happen, your favorite scene, if you cried, your favorite color, I don’t care! I treasure each and every comment regardless, even if I suck at responding!

See you next chapter!

Chapter 3: Juggling Priorities

Summary:

A new visitor into Mustang’s office, Winry and Riza practice teamwork over the phone, all as a deep asleep continues to Edward drift in his unconsciousness.

Notes:

Hi, I’m back, sorry it’s been a while. A lot has happened lol. A lot is still happening, too. Luckily I found a pocket of motivation and time to squeeze this out. I hope you enjoy! ❤️

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Mustang heard the knock at the door, his heart rate quickly skyrocketed.

After the agonizingly slow passage of a few seconds, his anxiety simmered down to irritated annoyance as he grit his teeth. 

“Come in.”

The door was slowly pushed open, metal footsteps softly thudding against the carpet. A familiar suit of armor waved politely.

“Good afternoon Colonel,” Al said shyly, looking around. “…is Brother here?”

Roy mentally stumbled backward, and his throat tightened. 

Edward’s little brother was not who he was expecting, and certainly not who he necessarily wanted to talk to at the moment, either. 

This was all such a mess. 

“Ah, hello, Alphonse,” the Colonel said, recomposing himself with a slightly awkward look on his face. “What brings you here? Everything alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I just got back. I was wondering if Ed came here yet.” Al reassured, taking a few more steps into the room. “Anytime I’m not there to rush Brother out the door for his report, he’s usually late. Since his report was due nearly ten minutes ago, I was hoping to catch him here…” he murmured, sounding pensive. 

Meanwhile, Ed’s foggy, empty golden eyes flashed in Roy’s mind, causing another cringe to strike his face. “—You, uh, you actually just missed him. He came in early today,” the Colonel managed to say.

“Early?” Alphonse repeated incredulously. “That’s strange. With the weather outside, it’s honestly a shock he even came at all.”

Mustang’s eyebrow raised, sensing that there was something deeper to what Alphonse had just said. “What do you mean?”

Alphonse froze, as if he accidentally revealed someone’s secret, before giving a nervous laugh. “Oh! Nothing. He just, uh,” thick leather gauntlets began fiddling, “Brother doesn’t like to walk in the rain. That’s all.”

“Oh. That uh, makes sense,” Mustang supposed aloud. Deep down, he still felt like there was something that Al was hiding about Ed. The kid was an anxious wreck. 

The room went quiet for a moment, besides the rain against the window. 

“—Colonel. Can I ask you something?” Alphonse suddenly asked. He continued to fidget as he spoke, “Was Ed…okay today?”

‘Surely not after what I said to him,’ his mind drawled. “What do you mean?” he settled for. 

The younger Elric brother hesitated immensely, looking around the office, metal hands rubbing the back of his helmet. “Ah, he really wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but…”

So he was right. There was more to this than he thought.  

Alphonse let go of a deep breath. “You see, Ed doesn’t just hate storms. It’s more than that. They um…they’re really hard on him. Like, his body,” the boy revealed. “—He doesn’t like people knowing about this—but large storms like this cause him a lot of pain in his stumps, but he hates telling people because…he thinks it makes him look weak and useless—but you’re in charge of us and I don’t think it’s right for Ed to hide things like this when it would be more safe for people to know and you’re his commanding officer so I think if there is anyone who should know it should be you even if Ed doesn't want—“

“Alphonse! Calm down,” Mustang interrupted, trying to soak everything in.

The boy stopped, looking very guilty. 

Roy kept his voice steady. “Everything’s okay, you’re doing the right thing by telling me this. But, can you slow down a little? Start from the beginning.”

“Right. Uh,” Alphonse hesitated. He looked at Mustang. 

Roy nodded seriously. 

Al nodded back. “—Okay. So, when it rains really hard, or storms, the changes in pressure cause Ed’s stumps to ache really bad. Sometimes, Brother tries to push through it, and that only makes everything worse. Winry gets really mad at him when he does that,” he chuckled nervously, seemingly reminiscing old memories, before souring. “But…he does it because he doesn't want anyone to feel bad for him, especially me. Brother thinks he has to be so strong all the time—like he deserves to feel pain, or that he isn’t allowed to rest, just because I can’t. But—but I’m honestly getting sick of it!”  

Even though Al had raised his voice, Roy could tell that the boy wasn’t angry. No, Alphonse sounded mournful, and disappointed. 

“—Ed is the smartest person I know, but he is also just so stupid sometimes. I wish he could see that he’s allowed to take a break every once in a while. He’s in pain a lot more often than he lets on, and it only ends up hurting him even more, since he never tells people what he’s actually dealing with.”

Mustang didn’t reply. Instead, he sat quietly, the weight of his argument with Ed sitting heavily at the pit of his stomach. 

Alphonse looked at him, misunderstanding the tense look on his face. “Oh…I didn’t mean to start rambling. Sorry, Colonel—“

“No, it’s alright,” Mustang politely cut him off. “Thank you, Alphonse.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The two were enveloped into a strange silence one more. Mustang hardly noticed, as he was occupied in the tangles of his own mind. 

Everything made sense to him now. 

Hawkeye’s insistence that Fullmetal was in pain. The kid’s more noticeable limp. Fullmetal’s nasty attitude, too. 

Not that yours was much better.’

Roy’s guilt had only quadrupled. Fullmetal was already suffering from the mistakes of his past, and then he had to go and rub salt in the wound. 

‘But it’s like Alphonse said—Fullmetal doesn’t open up about his problems, and it only ends up causing him more pain.’

Roy shook his head. 

‘No. Even if that’s true, it’s not an excuse. Fullmetal still deserves a sincere apology. But where to start? How does someone apologize to a person as blunt and stubborn as Fullmetal?’

Hawkeye’s voice echoed in his mind, unimpressed. “Edward’s brother is right in front of you, sir. Why don’t you just ask him?”

Mustang swallowed. “…Say, Alphonse?” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward on his desk. “Have you ever…made Ed really mad, before?”

Al chuckled awkwardly at the sudden change of tone. “We’re brothers, Colonel. Of course I have.”

“…H-How—“ another swallow, “…how did you apologize to him?” Mustang asked quietly. 

Alphonse went eerily silent, as Roy felt the temperature drop a few degrees. 

The younger Elric’s sharp red eyes pierced into his soul. “Tell me how bad.”

“It was pretty bad, Alphonse.”

Al patiently waited. 

Roy hesitated, before he carefully and regretfully revealed the vile words that had left his mouth less than an hour ago.

With each word that came from his lips, Roy felt more and more intimidated by the hulking mass of armor that was staring at him. The pounds upon pounds of cold steel that could effortlessly grab him off the ground and snap his neck like a twig if it wanted to. 

The world was extremely fortunate that Alphonse was a kind soul. 

Speaking of, the boy had not said a word. Mustang could only swallow in guilt—his face felt hot, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. 

When the disembodied soul straightened up in a series of metallic creaks, the man was positive his heart had gone into cardiac arrest. He lowered his head in preparation. 

The boy just sighed. “…That was cruel, Colonel.” Alphonse spoke softly. 

Too softly. Roy wishes he’d just scream. 

Cruel. 

Cruel. 

Cruel. 

The word echoed in his head for what felt like hours. Sure, it was nothing he didn’t already know—but hearing the word softly whispered from Alphonse Elric, the kindest soul in all of Amestris, carried an entirely different kind of weight. 

“What did Ed do after you said…that?” Al continued, solemn. 

A short intake of breath. An open mouth. A defeated limp. The soft shutting of a door. 

“Nothing. He just got quiet and left.” Mustang admitted, ashamed. 

“That’s…not good.” Alphonse shook his head with an unidentifiable emotion. “…Where is Brother now?”

“Ri—Lieutenant Hawkeye escorted him back to the dorms.” Roy replied carefully. “She, uh, isn’t too happy with me either, right now,” he half-joked, for some stupid reason—like a guilty child who didn’t know what else to do. 

Alphonse didn’t give a reaction to it, thankfully. 

“You want to know how to apologize to Ed, right?”

“Please,” Mustang breathed. 

Al sighed.

Here we go. 

“Colonel, I won’t spare your feelings—you said something awful to Ed. It was probably the most awful thing anyone has ever said to him, other than his own nightmares.” Al murmured, making Roy want  to snap himself into ash. “—You won’t be able to just stroll up and apologize to him—not until he cools off. Once he cools off, he will come to you, and that will be your opportunity,” the boy explained, offering a serious look. “If he can bring himself to face you, only then can he bring himself to accept your apology.”


“The pressure from the storm is causing him pain. He’s gonna need to have the prosthetics removed.”

Riza froze, the phone still glued to her ears. “Removed?” she echoed, glancing at Ed’s limp form. 

His breathing was short and pained, coming out in quiet huffs. 

Winry sighed over the line. “Yes, unfortunately. Would you be comfortable with doing that?”

“…Do you think I’m capable?” Riza asked, worried. 

Don’t get her wrong—she was by no means inexperienced when it came to mechanical parts. Hell, she could deconstruct and reassemble numerous firearm models with her eyes closed. But…

This was different. This was Ed. His limbs.  

Riza had heard about automail being directly connected to nerves, and being incredibly sensitive to mess with—she wasn’t sure if she had the expertise to do it correctly. 

“Anyone can remove automail with the proper tools and care. I trust you. It's not very hard, and it’s much less sensitive than docking. The sooner we can remove it, the better. I can talk you through it.” Winry reassured her. “You see, automail is biologically powered. That's why—if you’ve ever noticed—Ed remains tiny despite eating like a gluttonous pig. His body requires the extra energy to power his automail. But, anytime he gets sick or seriously injured, it’s best to remove the automail altogether. If it’s not removed, it will just drain energy that his body could've used for healing.”

“Okay, got it,” Hawkeye replied, feeling slightly better. “Where do I start?”

“First off, you need the proper size torque wrench to loosen and remove the docking bolts. Ed should have a spare one in his room, maybe by his bed or in his suitcase.”

Riza kept the phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder as she quickly scanned the room, eyes settling on Ed’s suitcase by the desk. 

“I’m looking for it now,” Riza said, pulling out the suitcase and laying it flat on the floor. Thankfully, the latches were unlocked, and she effortlessly flipped it open. 

Loose papers, some books, spare clothes, and a few writing utensils greeted her as she gently searched through the suitcase, looking for a glint of silver or a dull shade of—

Oh.  

A small, delicate photo slipped out of the endless papers she had been casually flicking through. 

It was clearly years old, but still shiny with the gloss of careful keeping and love—or perhaps the lack of an oily flesh hand to fade the color. 

In the picture, two young beaming boys each stood at opposite sides of a young woman, whose light chestnut hair tenderly cascaded down her shoulders. The kneeling woman’s fair skin and soft blue eyes glimmered in the sun as she ruffled the heads of golden hair at her hips, the three of them all laughing together. Crumbs, along with what appeared to be jelly, were both smeared all over the children’s cheeks. 

The rolling green hills of Resembool were visible in the background, underneath the deep blue sky and billowing clouds. A home-knit blanket sat on the grass beneath them. There was elegant cursive that labeled the bottom border of the photo. 

“Edward’s 5th Birthday Picnic!”

Riza’s eyes stung as she absorbed every detail. 

The boy on the left was someone she had never actually seen in the flesh, but could somehow recognize instantly. Alphonse Elric had hair and eyes that were the exact same golden hue as his older brother’s. His face had a distinct youthful chubbiness to it that could make any adult’s heart melt with ease. 

The boy on the right had a distinctly familiar grin, and soft, gleeful eyes. Posture entirely carefree, his right arm was tightly hugging the women at his side. It was the happiest face she has ever seen on Edward.

“—Did you find the wrench?” Winry’s voice interrupted. 

Riza snapped out of her daze, carefully snuck the photo back into the papers where she had found it. Flipping through the rest of the suitcase, she finally found the tool, a torque wrench. 

“Y-Yes, I’ve got it,” she reported, walking back over to Ed. 

The photo was burned into her vision, no matter how much she tried to focus on the task at hand. 

Winry drew a breath. “—Okay, so there are five bolts in total that we need to remove first. Three that connect his arm, and two for his leg. We’re gonna start with the arm, but before that, you’re gonna have to remove any clothing that’s in the way of the docking bolts.”

Setting down the torque wrench, Hawkeye carefully rearranged Ed’s limp form into more of a sitting position against the headboard. 

Carefully, she removed Ed’s jacket and tossed it to the side. Next, she lifted up the boy’s black tank top, extra cautious to avoid putting any pressure on his automail as she did so. 

The entirety of his shoulder port now visible, she tried not to cringe at the swollen redness that plagued where soft skin met cold metal. The skin radiated an uncomfortable warmth, visibly pale and clammy.

“The skin near his automail looks bad, Winry,” Riza told her with worry.

“That’s expected. After we remove his arm, you'll want to put a warm rag on that area to help with the swelling.” Winry noted aloud. “But first, the detachment. There’s three bolts that connect his arm—the first bolt is on his collarbone, and the other two are on his back, by his shoulders.”  

“Which do I do first?”

“The order doesn’t matter, so just loosen the bolt that's easiest to access, first.”

Riza looked over to the bed. Ed was still sitting up against the pillow and the headboard, making the bolt on his collarbone the most accessible. She grabbed the wrench, moving closer to Ed, before fitting the tool over the thick bolt. 

Slow and steady, Hawkeye spun the wrench to the left in a continuous circle, until the bolt was removed. The process was easier than she thought, and Ed had hardly reacted besides a small twitch in his face. 

She placed the bolt on the bedside table.

“Okay, one down. That wasn’t so bad,” Riza sighed in relief.

“Great. The others should be just as easy,” Winry encouraged.

Riza hummed in agreement, turning Ed away from her in order to face the two bolts on his back shoulder. With a newly-practiced hand, she removed the two bolts, careful not to tug on the sensitive skin under the plating. The thick bits of metal joined their other friend on the bedside table. 

“Okay, all the bolts are out,” she reported. 

“That’s great.The only thing left to do is to pull the switch under his shoulder plating. The panel should be loose now that you removed the bolts. Do you see it?” Winry asked. 

Feeling with her hands, Riza found the loose piece of plating, flipping it up. Underneath was a shallow hollow pocket that contained some sort of lever.  

“Underneath, there’s a lever that looks like a small door handle. Is that right?”

Winry hummed in confirmation. “Mmhmm. That’s the release lever. Use one hand to grip his arm, and use the other hand to squeeze the release lever upwards. His arm will instantly detach, and you will need to pull it from the port.”

Riza trapped the phone under her shoulder for the two-handed job, ignoring the flare of frustration she felt as the cord pulled from the wall.

Her left hand warily dug into the pocket beneath the plating, two fingers scooping under the small lever, and her right arm twisted around Ed’s automail to get a good grip on it. 

She took a breath, before giving a quick tug on the lever. 

A sharp mechanical hiss sounded, and Riza’s right arm suddenly found itself struggling to stabilize all the weight of Ed’s automail. 

Stumbling slightly, she got a better hold of the metal prosthetic and slid it completely from the port, onto the bed. 

Has he been carrying this weight the whole time? 

Ed suddenly let out a short moan, his body spasming for a brief full-body shiver. 

Riza panicked slightly, her voice rising over the phone. “What’s happening? Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you didn’t hurt him.” Winry chuckled, throwing Riza off guard. “Detachment just feels really strange to automail patients. Imagine if your whole arm suddenly lost all feeling with a pull of a switch. That’s what it feels like on his end—gives him a chill every time, too,” she giggled. 

Hawkeye’s curious gaze met Ed again, looking closely for any sign of pain, before she sighed in relief at the blank expression on his face. 

A few minutes later, Edward’s automail leg had also been removed with ease, the teen currently asleep in nothing but his pale blue boxer shorts, as warm towels were wrapped around his ports. 

“Thank you for walking me through this, Winry. You called at the perfect time. If you hadn’t, I would have been at a loss for what to do.” Riza said with genuine appreciation.

“It’s not a problem, Lieu—Riza. Thanks for helping Ed. We all know he needs it,” Winry huffed with reluctant amusement at the end. “I’ll have to make a trip over there in a few days to reattach his limbs. If he whines or gets impatient, tell him it’s a punishment for disrespecting my automail.”

Hawkeye chuckled. “You got it, Winry. Take your time.”

The other girl gave a shy goodbye before the line clicked, and Hawkeye hung up the phone. 

Rain bathed the window, creating a soft white noise. Riza pulled over a chair and sat next to Edward’s bed.  

Thankfully, the boy appeared to be sleeping peacefully, besides an occasional face twitch. 

She wondered what he was dreaming about. 


Everything was melting. 

Clashes of colors splattered against his vision in an incoherent mess. Someone was snapping wildly, as another soft voice was singing a lullaby he couldn’t remember. 

He was lying on his back, unable to move. 

It was cold. 

An indiscriminate shape crawled on top of him, breathing in his face. 

His nose stung like quiche. 

What was happening?

The shadows pulled at his fingers. His toes. His arms. His legs. His head. 

He still couldn’t move, so he tried to will them away. 

They still got his arm and leg. They always did. 

He shivered. 

His mind was scrambled. Everything was slipping. 

He just wanted to wake up. He wanted to be okay. He wanted to go home. 

The shadows pushed and pulled on his skin, but he didn’t know what they wanted. He hoped they’d just leave him alone. 

Somewhere in the distance, a person was yelling. 

At him?

Probably. He didn’t know what for, but chances are, he deserves it.

The shadows pulled him deeper and deeper into a place he didn’t even understand. All he felt was a never-ending sinking sensation. 

His body heated up. 

It was too hot, now. 

Someone grabbed his remaining hand. 

He begged for them to pull him up. 

Notes:

Please tell me what you think in the comments, below!!! Nothing motivates me more, if I’m being honest.

This might be my least favorite chapter so far? I don’t know, I’m a bit cranky rn as I post this. I just don’t like the flow of it, and it was hard to write. I’ll probably go back and edit it later if I still don’t like it by tomorrow, lol.

What do YOU guys think? Honesty is appreciated, especially about characterization n stuff ❤️🤓

Chapter 4: Unwanted Company

Summary:

Mustang isn’t feeling better, and neither is Ed. They both have their own respective visitors, and their own respective arguments.

Notes:

We’re starting to get into sickfic territory, but don’t worry—the angst is still here to stay, of course.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Mustang’s head felt dizzy. The heavy dampness from the rain may have dried from his clothes, but it remained in his chest, weighing him down.  

Alphonse had left the office a few minutes ago, which had caused a wave of relief to crash over his sore body, creating a slightly-peaceful moment—only for a wave of suffocating stress to knock him back on his ass. 

Roy was behind on so many things, so many things. Together, they were all haunting him like the devil—an endless circle of paperwork pulled at his wrist until it felt like it was gonna give out. 

He yearned for nothing more than to start the day over. It was disheartening to think about the amount of things he could have done differently. 

He could have pulled his car in, last night. 

He could have popped a sleeping pill, and gotten more than two hours of intermittent rest. 

He could have walked into work on time. 

He could have kept his temper with General Ayden, and Fullmetal. 

He could have told Fullmetal to go home and take care of himself, rather than drag himself here for an unnecessary report neither of them really even cared about. 

He could have skipped insulting Fullmetal’s relationship with his late mother. 

He could have avoided Riza’s harsh slap, and even harsher words. 

He could have avoided his tense conversation with Alphonse. 

He could have avoided sitting here, right now, brooding like he was, with a migraine to end all migraines. 

But instead, Roy sighed, flipping to his next page of paperwork. The biggest enemy of them all, he mused. 

It was insulting, staring at the paper. Mindless words littered the page, nothing he cared about, yet all he was allowed to pay attention to. It was a cruel mockery of the other things he could be doing to occupy his time. 

Even while staring at the paper, all Roy could see in his mind was Alphonse’s unmoving metal face staring back at him. 

He shivered. 

The possessed helmet itself never changed—it was constantly stuck in the same expressionless position, yet Roy could still feel the true expression behind it. The way the boy’s disappointed eyes peeled under his skin and squeezed his chest.

“…That was cruel, Colonel.”

Roy’s been called “cruel” for a large portion of his life. The word has been spewed at him by men, women, elderly, children, and everything between. To be honest, it was only fair. Ishval had been nothing but cruelty, and he had been a pivotal factor within the conflict. 

Yet, somehow, of all the times he’d been called “cruel,” this one had hurt the most. 

It was almost funny, actually. He, Roy Mustang, the almighty Flame Alchemist, got his feelings hurt by a twelve year-old. 

Thunder boomed. Roy dropped his pen and sighed aloud. 

As if on queue, the door squeaked open. Mustang narrowed his eyes and watched. 

A tall, broad, and regrettably-familiar figure slipped through the door. The three stars on his shoulder gleamed like the gaze of a predator. 

Great. This was just great. Today was the best day of his life. 

“How’s everyone’s favorite Colonel doing? Working extra hard, I expect!” the General bellowed, a troublesome glint in his eye as he saluted.

Roy managed to avoid gritting his teeth, but he could not stop the images of flames and hellfire that enveloped his mind as he saluted in response. 

Why couldn’t Ayden just fuck off?

After all that had happened today, he thought he had calmed down—but no. No, he was still very much in a horrendous mood. Earlier, when Roy had been caught off guard, he had the self-control to appear at least somewhat subordinate to Ayden. But, now? Here? He didn’t know anymore. 

“—I’ve got to say, Mustang, it’s truly a wonder how you’ve got such a nice team on your hands. Eastern Command hands you everything, don’t they?” the man remarked with venom, lowering his right hand. 

Mustang kept a bored expression as he lowered his salute as well, flipping the paper on his desk with a nonchalant look. “My men work hard. I’m grateful to have them.” And they’ll never be yours.

Ayden scoffed, crossing his arms with a glare. “Yes, yes, whatever you say—Although, that one runt of yours could use some work.”

Roy stopped writing, carefully placing his pen down on the desk. 

“He was quite the embarrassment to witness this morning. Shuffling around like a drunk, making a mess of the floor,” Ayden grumbled. 

“With all due respect, General, whether or not the Fullmetal Alchemist treats the floor like royalty is beyond my interest.” Roy said cooly. “As long as he continues to ace his missions and boost the military’s reputation, I don’t care. And I certainly don’t think anyone else does, either. Now, will that be all?” He crossed his arms. 

Ayden glared at him, and Roy could hear the thoughts inside that old head. The damned General probably wanted nothing more to court martial Roy and the rest of his team out of the military—but thankfully, that was realistically impossible.

Colonel Mustang and his team were all far too valuable, and the other higher ups wouldn’t hear of it. Everyone knew about Roy’s smug attitude, but nobody dared to punish the Flame Alchemist for something so harmless. 

But, surprisingly enough, it seemed like Ayden wasn’t done putting up his own attitude in retaliation. 

“—You know, for a superior officer with such an attitude, I’m surprised that your little runt couldn’t handle much. All it took was one light tease, and he looked about ready to burst into tears,” Ayden barked a laugh. “You must be going soft, Flame.”

Mustang paused at that, trying not to visibly frown. 

Ed? Ready to burst into tears? He’s gotta be joking. 

The General only laughed at his visible disbelief. “You should have seen the boy! Biting through his lip, quaking in his boots. Like a little lost pup without his mama.”

If Ayden was trying to get under his nerves, it was working. Roy looked deeply into the old geezer’s eyes, wondering if the older man could see the growing fire behind his cold black irises. “I’m sure the Fuhrer will be eager to recognize your talent for bullying orphans, General,” he drawled. 

Not that the General already knew that Ed was an orphan, nor that he probably cared. 

To Roy’s surprise though, Ayden seemed to falter a little bit at that. Nothing monumental, just a miniscule shifting of the eyes, a sign of surprise and uncertainty. Recalculation. Then, they narrowed coldly.  

“Figures,” he spat. “I should have guessed that the brat is an orphan. They never have any manners, do they, Colonel Mustang?” A sneer tugged the old, dry lips upward. 

Roy snapped to his feet in an instant. 

General Ayden quickly flinched back in response, inhaling for a shout—

…Only for Roy to simply grab the steaming coffee mug from the small table on his right, and innocently plop back down into his seat. Then, he brought the cup to his smirking lips, taking a long slow sip, raising his eyebrows at the gaping man across from him. 

Made you flinch. 

Ayden’s face quickly heated up like a child. 

Roy relished in it. He made it a point to let out a satisfied sigh as he removed the warm coffee from his lips, and put the mug down on the table. “Will that be all, Sir?”

“Get back to work,” Ayden growled, before promptly storming off, out of the room. 

The door shut with a bang. 

“My pleasure…” Roy chuckled to himself. 

Glad that’s over with.

There was nothing more thrilling than making a grown General feel like a powerless Private. The shocked gapes and sputtering red faces were like fuel for his ego. It felt good. Like he finally had some control, again.

However, as quickly as that satisfaction came, it died as Roy replayed the recent conversation in his head, his stomach sinking with concern. 

Ayden had interacted with Fullmetal.

Roy knew that already. The kid had practically told him himself. But, he hadn’t really thought about it in depth.

The older Elric brother had practically no restraint around other military men, whether they be superiors or not. If anyone had called him short, or some other type of insult to set the kid off, Roy would receive a concerned phone call from an exasperated coworker in no time. 

Hence why it had only happened a handful of times—everyone in Eastern Command quickly learned to avoid insulting The Fullmetal Alchemist at all costs, unless they craved an automail fist to the jaw.

Yet, General Ayden mentioned nothing about any sort of conflict or altercation—only that the kid was extremely upset.

“...I’m surprised that your little runt couldn’t handle much. All it took was one light tease, and he looked about ready to burst into tears…

“...You should have seen the boy! Biting through his lip, quaking in his boots. Like a little lost pup without his mama...”

It was clear that the General was embellishing. The old bag was trying to make Ed seem weak and helpless, an embarrassment to have as a subordinate. 

He scoffed. 

That wasn’t true, and it would never be true. 

But…

Why didn’t Ed go ballistic? And what did Ayden even say to him in the first place?

The only time Ed hadn’t gone ballistic after being personally insulted was…

Oh, no. 

The pieces fell into place in Roy’s mind, and suddenly, he wished that the bastard General was back in his room, just so he could be torched into ash. 

“Like a little lost pup without his mama...”

Mustang hands snatched the phone off his desk, feeling the hard plastic squeak in his hands as he squeezed it tightly, dialing a familiar phone number.

A few rings, then a click. 

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes speaking.”

“Hughes,” Roy spoke, wasting no time. “How much dirt do you have on General Ayden?” he said coldly, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice. 

There was a tense silence, then a sigh across the line. “…I’ll go grab my shovel.” 


Alphonse didn’t know how to feel. 

He should probably feel angry—that would be the expectation, right?

But when he dug around in his soul to look, like someone blindly reaching inside a tight space, he couldn’t find much anger inside of him. Just a little bit, maybe. But he wasn’t sure. 

Did it count as anger when he had to dig around to feel it? When the anger was buried under other emotions?

Because, mostly…Al just felt worried.  

It had been storming badly for over twenty-four hours now. And the storm was bad . Which meant that Ed’s phantom pains would only mirror that intensity, and for just as long. 

Not to mention, with what the Colonel had said to him…

Thunder rumbled ominously, while Al resisted the urge to facepalm as he walked. 

He never should have left Ed alone with the weather like this. 

The thought echoed in his head, guilt and worry swirling within his soul, as the rain pelted the ground like a shower of bullets. 

Ed always became sulky anytime the weather got like this. Al knew this. 

When the skies cried and the wind howled in agony, Ed would toss in turn in his sheets, doing the same. He has watched it happen time and time again. 

But this time, Al had left him alone. 

He didn’t mean to, honestly. The storm wasn’t supposed to get this bad. But it was too late, now. 

Ed’s suffering had already reached its peak, and Al hadn’t been there. Instead, he was helping people he didn’t even know, out in another town. Just because he was bored. 

He never should have left.

Now, Al could only feel guilty about the pain Ed had suffered from today—because Ed had suffered it alone. And that was something his brother didn’t deserve to go through.

Ed was never good at being alone. 

Al remembered a time, a long long time ago, when Mom had sent Ed to the grocery store to get some medicine. Mom was sick—not the illness that took her away, but one strong enough to knock her off her feet, nonetheless. 

The store wasn’t too far, just a mile stroll down the dirt path. Once Ed had been asked if he could do it, he had put a hand across his heart and marched out of the house like a soldier. 

Yet, when he returned, he had been shaking like a newborn foal. 

As independent as Ed liked to appear, he hated being alone. He needed support. Otherwise, he would get irritable, scared, or shut down. Sometimes a combination. 

Like today. 

“He just got quiet and left,” Mustang’s voice echoed.  

Al shook his helmet, walking faster. There was no time. 

He needed to get to Ed. His brother needed him. 

And he needed his brother. 


Riza’s eyes creased in worry. 

In the past few minutes, Edward’s sleep had gone from mildly peaceful to downright laborious. 

Breath left Ed’s lips in uneven pants, as his eyes were scrunched shut in discomfort. The sheen of sweat had never left his twitching skin, and the Lieutenant was starting to worry about dehydration. 

“Ed. Can you hear me?” she tried softly. 

The boy’s left hand only gave a brief twitch against the sweat-soaked covers. 

It was heartbreaking, seeing him like this. 

Riza knew that Ed prided himself with appearing strong at all times, but she nearly forgot that even he could have moments of weakness. 

Ed was coiled like a spring under the covers. The sheets themselves rippled with tension, the thin fabric covered with angry straight lines, like waves, that led straight to the boy’s clenched fist. With noticeable dips where an arm and leg should be, the boy looked smaller than ever. Ed’s face shifted into something desperate, as his remaining hand tensed up again. 

Riza watched closely, feeling her chest burn with something instinctual. She wouldn’t let Ed suffer alone. 

Hesitantly, she slid her hand into his, squeezing it tight. She felt the warm clamminess contaminate her palm, but she didn’t care. 

The effect was immediate. 

Ed’s face softened slightly, as Riza swore she felt the smallest of squeezes against her hand in response. Part of her mind wondered if it was just her imagination, but she quickly shushed that thought. 

“Edward…?” she called quietly, hesitantly giving his hand another squeeze. 

To her surprise, Ed groaned, his eyes flickering open. 

His croak sounded dry and raspy, urging Riza to reluctantly let go of his hand, before moving to the bathroom and filling a glass of water. 

When she returned, she found Ed struggling to sit upright. 

The shivering boy tried to lean forward, before suddenly falling onto his right side with a moan, clearly not accounting for the sudden lack of automail. 

“Ed!” 

She set the glass on the table, before quickly helping him sit up. 

Ed hissed at the motion, his chest heaving. “Wh—“ he broke into a shuddering cough, making Riza wince. 

“Don’t talk, Ed. Just drink this,” she said, bringing the glass from the table to his lips. 

Ed didn’t respond, immediately trying his hardest to sip on the cool liquid. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until the water soothed his throat on the way down, settling in his uneasy stomach. 

A sudden burst of thunder made him yelp, as water continued to pour down his throat. Panic overthrew thirst, as he choked and sputtered against the glass. 

Hawkeye cursed, pulling the glass away. “Are you alright?”

Ed shook some sort of way, but she couldn’t tell if it was a yes, a no, or just another cough-induced tremble. 

“—A-Al,” he gasped, eyes unfocused. 

Riza shushed him gently, wiping his face. “It’s just me. Al’s not here.”

Ed gulped, breathing heavily. “…Mom?” he whispered. 

Riza winced, before steadying herself with a deep breath. “…Ed, it’s me, Riza. I took you back to your dorm, remember?”

Ed didn’t say anything. Instead, he continued to stare at the ceiling. 

Riza frowned with concern. 

“Ev’ryth’n ’s f’zzy…” Ed mumbled to himself. “…hurts,” he huffed. 

“Do you want anything?” she asked. 

Ed breathed heavily, not answering for a few seconds. 

As soon as Riza opened her mouth to ask again, Ed cut her off with a groan. 

“…Al. Where’s…Al?”

“Ed, I told you. It’s just me here. Do you understand me?” Riza repeated. “Alphonse left a while ago. I don’t know when he’s—“

“…left,” Ed murmured. Then, he chuckled to himself. 

Something crawled up Riza’s spine at the noise. “…Ed?”

Ed just laughed again, a little louder this time. “Al left.”

She hesitated. “Yes, Edward. But he’ll—“

Ed only huffed another laugh. “I knew it.”

The teen’s tone sent ice through the woman’s blood. It sounded devastated and hopeless. 

“Al left, he finally left…” the boy continued with a snicker. “It was only a matter of time, I knew it…”

“—Ed, he just went to help a village with flooding.” Hawkeye cut him off, squeezing his shoulders. “Please, calm down. You aren’t acting like yourself.”

The boy laughed as if he didn’t hear her, or he just didn’t care. “He hates me. I know he does. That’s why he left…”

The boy was losing himself. Mumbling and muttering, making hitched noises that Riza couldn’t identify between sobs and giggles. It was unnerving to witness, and she had to stop it. 

So, she squeezed his shoulders even tighter, leaning forward with a dead-serious gaze. “Ed, calm down. You’re in a lot of pain, and you’re only gonna make yourself feel worse if you worry like this—“

“Who cares…” Ed huffed weakly. “Quit pretendin’ t’care about me. I’m sick ‘f everyone pretendin’…”

Riza Hawkeye’s serious expression hardened to stone. “Edward.”

Ed stopped mumbling. 

“Look at me.”

Slowly, the boy’s dull golden eyes slid over to hers. 

She could see the pain and doubt clouding his irises with a heavy haze. It was a familiar sight, and she could almost picture the same cloudy haze over a pair of cold black irises, instead of burning gold. 

Her determination only grew stronger. 

“—I am not pretending to care about you. You’re smart enough know I’m not pretending, but you're not thinking straight since you’re sick—“

“‘I’m not sick…”

She glared at him, and his mouth shut with a click. 

“—You’re not feeling well, and it’s making your emotions not feel well either,” she said carefully, before her face softened. “Please, Ed. If I didn’t care about you, I would’ve just let you drag yourself here by yourself.”

Ed’s eyes shimmered with doubtful uncertainty. “I thought you just wanted to get away from Mustang…”

Riza shook her head. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out on the street on the way to the dorms, Ed. Because I care,” she finished. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds. 

Ed’s eyes went half-lidded in an attempt to narrow with suspicion, but he honestly just looked tired. “…whatever,” he mumbled weakly, huffing.  

Riza sighed.  She’d consider Ed’s surrender as a partial success—for now, at least. Although, these thoughts slipping out of the boy’s lips were no laughing matter. She would have to bring them up again, later. 

“Come on, you need to drink more water. Then, we’ll get something in your stomach. It should help you feel better,” Riza switched topics as she removed her arms from Edward’s shoulders, and grabbed the empty glass by his side. 

Ed hummed indifferently, before another flash of thunder made him wince. “Damn rain…” he grumbled under his breath.

As worried as she was, Riza couldn’t help but smile to herself from that comment.

“You boys…” she sighed herself, shaking her head. They didn’t know how similar they really were. 

Luckily for Ed, she knew how to deal with it. 

Notes:

Agh, Ed is just struggling and being pulled from all sides, isnt he??? But we all love it.

I know this is a bit of a weird sudden cutoff, but it’s a good stopping point before next chapter, which will be a lot more Ed-focused.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to tell my your favorite part of the chapter below! ❤️ see you next time!

Notes:

This is my first FMA/FMAB fic ever! Let me know how it turned out. I haven’t written in a while, so I’m a bit worried 😅 Comments are greatly appreciated. See you next time!

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