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He knew who he wanted to be when he was six years old. Knife in hand, his father stood over him with a smile carved across his face. He knew then, laying on the floor among shattered glass. Roy snarled back, and got the fuck back up.
He wants nobody to ever be on the ground like that again.
He had it carved into his skin, burned like a brand.
But Roy was six years old, and the only scary monsters were alcohol washed men. He still tossed the jackass outside because Roy was always good at fighting outside his weight class. You don’t just become a State Alchemist. He knew who he was going to be when he was six years old.
Roy grew up among prostitutes, among people who are considered to be the scum of the earth. He grew up among beggars and thieves. Those were his people. They were his .
“You’re awfully protective of your friends aren’t you?” Christmas asked.
He nodded. “If I protect them, and they protect others, then we might survive this life.”
“Hm.” They nod. Roy nods back.
He spends the next eight years of his life on the street, bruising people who look at the girls wrong, and gambling. So much gambling. He got better at not losing.
He gets into Alchemy, playing it loose and fast, acting like he just wants to be some bigshot Alchemist, forget all the little people.
“You know they will make you join up?” Christmas asks.
“Hm.”
He finds the Old Man. He meets Riza Hawkeye. She’s whip smart, and quick on the draw. He carefully marks her down in a folder of “scary, motherfucking scary, oh god, scary”, and leaves it at that. One day she’ll show him her tattoo.
This tiny woman with steal in her, from day one. As long as he lives, he never doubts her, never doubts that she’d shoot him dead, and there’s no little comfort in that. Some guys need to die. Maybe he’ll be one.
He’ll think that they’re not too different from each other, both inked in blood and violence. One of the worst things he’ll lose is how sweet she was from the start. But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. Her blood and pain. His sweat and tears. Barren ground.
He still becomes an alchemist. He still gets handed a watch, silver with the crest on it. He still gets shunted off to the military. Riza follows him, guarding her father’s secrets.
She has no magic in her fingers, no arrays to spell. She has a long-range, perfect gun, and bullets that will pierce nearly anything. For her, it’s enough. It’s more than enough. She’s never been one to deal with gods and alchemy. That’s not her.
Riza was four years old, peering around her father’s table. He smiles at her. She shakes her head, and goes back to the shadows. She still ends up with a tattoo. Riza never flinches from the needle when she’s sixteen. She already knows there may be bullets in her future. But she never predicted Roy Mustang, burning up from wanting to keep everybody safe.
And she’s one of the few who gets it, even from looking in from the outside of the whole experience: folks don’t just become State Alchemists. Not the way Roy does at least.
Snipers don’t get to distant themselves like soldiers do. They see their targets, they know who is going to die. Death isn’t a blur to them, isn’t an adrenaline fueled rage. Snipers kill themselves every day. Riza will not be one of them.
“I don’t think we’re on the right side of this,” Roy tells her, staring at the Isvalian city.
“Not up to us, boss.” She knocks her shoulder against his anyway.
“Yeah. There is that.”
Roy thinks a lot how they all wear white during the war. He threw up six times in his first day. He gets up the next and burns more people alive. And still he doesn’t get blood on his white coat. White, like a doctor, or a saint. And Roy knows that he’ll be condemned even if he becomes what he wants to become, even if he makes all the world safe, he’s going to hell for these years.
There’s a certain calmness in that.
Edward Elric isn’t who he expected. The boy sits calmly in a chair, not a sign of pain on his face. His brother is a suit of armor, and all Roy can think is that he gets it.
“Is he joining?”
“Yes.” Roy knows it down to his bones. Edward Elric will be in the military. People like that don’t run away from a fight, they don’t have enough give in them. Roy knew who he was gonna be when he was six. That kid, that kid in a wheelchair, knew who he was gonna be.
Years go by.
Roy fights his way to the top. He fights to get underestimated by everybody he meets. And he learns his way around the city, developing informats, spies, and allies. He knew who he was gonna be when he was six years old.
Edward Elric meets him again when he becomes a State Alchemist. Barely fourteen. Folk don’t just become State Alchemists, according to Hawkeye. Roy doesn’t pay it any attention. But he does call Elric “Fullmetal”, even years later because the kid earned his respect from a wheelchair with fire burning in his eyes.
“What happened in Ishval?” he’ll ask, because he’s never seen war, not like that.
Roy tosses back the rest of his shot, and looks at the kid. “Nothing good.”
Ed knocks shoulders with him.
Roy still has nightmares, will for the rest of his life. In some ways, he’s grateful for them. It keeps him from turning into something like Bradley, or his father. Even after all this time, he can’t tell which one was worse.
The second time they end up in a bar together is after Al gets his body back. Ed is plastered, falling over the bar. Roy calmly catches his shoulder, and steadies him upright.
“How do you live?”
“Huh?” Roy doesn’t get what the hell the kid is asking.
“My brother’s fine. He’s fine . How do you-” Ed waves his hand in a vague motion- “live after that?”
“I don’t know, Ed.”
“You called me Ed!”
Roy sighs into his water. Water because he’d known to be sober when Ed was like this. Sometimes all the military experience was helpful. At least Ed wasn’t starting fights like Havoc did. “Yes. You put one foot in front of the other, I suppose. You could travel or start a family or-”
Ed’s already shaking his head. “I’m damaged. Nobody’s going to-”
“Of the two of us,” Roy interrupts, suddenly wishing for a drink, anything to drown out the feelings. Who the fuck gave them feelings? “You have the better chance.”
“Huh?” Ed looks up at that, gaining some sobriety.
“I’m the next one to lead this country. You on the other hand, are free.” And it’s not something that Roy is grudging about. If you want something done right, you do it yourself after all.
Roy was many things, but not an overly trusting person.
“You sound like you don’t want to do it,” Ed still says because he knows his friend.
“I do. But some days I think I would’ve had a better life to not want to.”
Roy know who he was when he was six years old. At thirty-four, he still knows down to his bones. He’ll be what he wants to be, has to be, but never get what he wants. Whiskey and fire burned. He’s been that way since he was six years old.
Ed focuses enough to catch a decent look at his face. “You going to be okay?”
Roy knocks back the rest of his water. “You’re done in. Come on.” Roy hauls Ed back to Ed’s apartment, rolling the drunk into the bed. Ed grabs his arm. “Easy, easy.”
Ed shakes his head. “Bradley’s coming.”
“Hey, hey. He’s dead. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Roy’s has a lifetime of reassuring soldiers, and he figures out pretty quick that Ed’s not letting go of his hand any time soon.
“He’s gonna get Al,” Ed starts yelping, repeating the same line over and over, panicking, grabbing at Roy.
“Okay. Okay. Al’s upstairs, passed out. Let me go get him.” Roy was well versed in the Elric codependency show at this point. He knew damn well that was where Al was, probably heard them come in since he’d still be awake. Al was the one who’d appointed Roy to the job of getting Ed drunk enough to relax . . . . and maybe . . . . say a goddamn word about his PTSD.
“No. No. He’s gonna get you.”
By the stones above. Roy doesn’t groan, doesn’t sigh. “You want me to stay?” He’s already toeing off his shoes, not looking away from Ed’s face. Ed nods, trying to look away.
“He’s dead?”
“Yeah.” Roy carefully shifts Ed over. “But I’ll stay the night, just in case.” He flipped Ed into him. “Easy, easy.” The kid, he’s a fucking kid Roy, snuggled into his neck. “Shh, shh. I got you, I got you.” Ed quickly passed out. Roy didn’t allow himself that leassure.
Al sees himself in the morning. “He okay?”
Roy nods. “Yeah.” Ed’s currently drooling all over his shoulder and Roy wouldn’t move him for the world, but he’s never gotten what he wanted.
“You’re good with him, you know that?” Roy doesn’t let himself blink at that. “He’s been having a rough time of it. He’s been trying to live out in the country with me and Mei.”
“I know, I know.” Without thinking he rocks Ed closer to him. Ed relaxes into it. Al nods and leaves them to it. Al’s always been the quiet one, always tried to make himself less intimidating when he was eight feet tall.
Eventually Roy slips out. Havoc finds him staring at a full shot glass of vodka. Havoc steals it from under his nose and throws it back. He’s always been that asshole. Roy keeps himself from slumping on the table. “Riza send you?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You staying at her place.”
“Hm. She kicked me out this morning. After sex.”
“Uohhh,” Roy sympathizes.
“Nope. We’re not talking about my shit. I got told to get you.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m not drinking.”
“It’s 3am. You’ve been here for sixteen hours.”
“Hey now, I’ve moved from this seat.” But even he knows it’s a rough defense.
“Ed’s over eighteen. Hell, he’s twenty-four.”
Roy leaves the bar without saying another word, doing his best to ignore his friend who’s bobbing like a boey around him. Roy ignores him all the way back to the office, where he flicks a hand and his guards keep his friend out. Maes would’ve gotten through.
He knew who he was when he was six years old.
He grabs everybody close to him and holds the fuck on.
He doesn’t fucking rape kids. He doesn’t have sex with those he has power over. He’s spent his growing years knocking assholes who can’t take a “no” the hell down. He allows himself bitter humor over the irony of him becoming like the monsters he fights.
Riza lets him run for a couple days.
He burned her when they were twenty-four years old, covered in sand and blood. She knew who she was when she was was four years old. She thought she did anyway. She thought she knew who she was when she was twenty-two and shipped out. She thought she was on the right side.
She knew a good man when she saw one, took her awhile to let that sink into her soul. So, she let him have a few days to beat himself up over falling for a good man. Roy’s good at thrashing himself before she’s gotten the chance, made her job slightly easier for a few years before she worked out the full range of his stupidity.
“You gonna let me in?” she asks, knocking through the door like she doesn’t have keys for the front and back, like she doesn’t know where the spares are, like she couldn't pick a lock.
He opens the door like he doesn’t know all that, like they didn’t learn manipulation from each other. She waltzes on in, shutting the door behind her. She holds up the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.
“I don’t want to drink.”
“Yeah. Too bad. I’m not talking about your sex life sober.” They drink a fifth of the bottle before Riza starts talking. “You need to talk to him.”
“I don’t. It’s fine.”
“Ed thinks he did something wrong. You haven’t been over since you took him home.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I know that. He knows that. Al knows that.”
Roy drinks another three shots, thinking it’d be a lot simpler to use a mug. Riza lets him have a couple of minutes. Roy’s still not meeting her eyes, which yeah, she knows what that means. The last time they hit this block, it did not go well. She takes a deep breath and Roy flinches. He knows what’s a coming.
“You’re not-”
“I am exactly like him.” His voice cracks.
“If you were. I would’ve killed you.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. She touches his thigh. He tenses. “Hey, if you were, I’d have killed you and not felt a shred of remorse.”
“He’s a fucking kid, Riza.”
“He’s twenty-four. You’re thirty. He’s not a kid.”
Roy shakes his head. “Do you remember when we were twenty-four, we were fucking stupid kids.”
“You, the leader of the freed country, picked a fight with a lowlife criminal two days ago.”
“Yeah, but that’s-”
“It was raining .”
“I had it!”
“Havoc had to keep you from getting killed.”
“That’s an over-”
“You slipped and got stabbed.”
He waves it off.
“I loved him like a brother during the war, you know?”
“I know.”
“I should’ve died in that war.”
“Roy-”
“I would’ve if I didn’t have people counting on me.”
Well, Riza thought to herself, that answers the question of if Roy was truly drunk or not. Roy’d bitch about a papercut while bleeding out from getting stabbed. She’d seen it happen. He wouldn’t admit to thinking about killing himself without being three sheets in the wind.
“Ever try it?” she asks, idly wondering if she’d ever learn caution.
“Yeah. Once. I tried to light myself on fire. It rained on me.” He slumps over and rolled up his pants. “It’s how I got these scars,” he slurs. The burn scars raced up from his ankles to his knees. “It was after we got back from the East.”
“I remember,” she says quietly. “I visited you in the hospital. You said you were good, you bastard .” He takes another shot, shrugging.
“Yeah. I didn’t try again. We got sent on recruiting after that. And I fucking fell for a child .”
Riza groans and forces Roy to accept her hug. “Come on, it’s three am and I’m getting you to bed.” He didn’t fall for Ed then. She knew it. He probably knew it as well. Ed certainly knew it. Roy would’ve blown his head off if he believed himself.
“Yeah?” he asks with a devious look.
“Jean would kill me. Come on.” She bottles the alcohol back up. She hefts Roy off the couch and balances him up right to the bed, pouring him into it. She changes into spare pjs, and helps him change as well.
“Jean expecting you back?” he asks.
“Nah. Scoot over. I wanna be here for your hangover.” She smacks his chest lightly and crawls in.
“Jean’s not going to kill me?”
“Jean knew you’re gay before you knew. You’re safe.”
“I’ve dated women.”
“Hmm. You go with that.” He curls into her and passes out. The alcohol did its job at least. They don’t say anything about that night. It’s been that way for them too long for them to change now probably. She sees him off to work and goes to pay a visit to Al, along with Jean when they all know that Ed’s going to be out.
“You here about our idiots?”
“They’re both into each other so what the fuck’s the problem?” she grumbles. “Hi, Mei.”
“Roy thinks he’s too old. Ed thinks he’s too damaged,” Al explains.
Riza shakes her head. “Roy thinks he’s taking advantage.”
“What?!” Mei yelps. “Ed’s the one who-”
“You think I don’t know that? There’s a goddamn reason he’s wearing those tight pants these days, but Roy’s touchy about abuse.”
“Yeah?” Mei asks before Al taps her on the shoulder. He’s a lot more gentle than Mei can be, once you get to know her. Pot. Kettle.
Riza grits her teeth and shakes her head. She’d tell Ed. Maybe. Possibly. She sighs to herself because she’s definitely going to have to. Stones know Roy won’t talk about it. 95% of what she knows has been from guesswork, 4% from Jean and her’s conversations, and 1% from Roy getting wasted.
It’s feels like she’d be giving up hardwon information that she doesn’t have a right to.
“And Ed likes him?” she has to ask.
“Yeah,” Al says soft.
Al knew who he was when he was up in the North, buried in snow. He knew then. He was living armor but he was never a soldier, never been through a war until then.
He has a wanderer for a brother with a steady heart. He’s not much different. He’s got a steady heart and a kindness to him, along with an undying, unfaltering love for Mei. Sometimes you have to lose everything to know who you are.
“So, how are we going to set them up?”
“Roy’s house is going to get flooded,” Jean says calmly.
“Isn’t that a little-”
“Nope. Not extreme at all. Fucking deserves it.” Roy had been insufferable with his whining and whinging. Jean loved him and would make sure his possessions were safe, but fuck, Roy deserved a prank.
“Aug. That means they’re going to have sex here,” Al mumbles. Mei punches him. Hard.
Riza manages to keep from hitting her head against the table until that image goes away. Jean doesn’t have that strength. She listens to the dull thuds for a minute before snapping him out of it.
“And Jean and I will glare if he suggests camping out at ours.”
“He’s going to get a hotel,” Jean foresees.
Mei shakes her head. “He can’t, not with him running the government. He’s going to want to sleep without twenty people watching him take a-”
“That’s nice,” Al interrupts. “So they’ll stay here, and obviously Ed will keep them from sleeping in separate beds.”
“Yes. We can count on Ed to do that at least.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever come up with such a shit plan before.”
“We definitely have,” Jean protests.
Jean works out how to flood Roy’s place, definitely through talking the guards into thinking that Roy will be nicer if he gets laid. Roy ends up at the appropriate location. Ed ends up at the appropriate location.
Roy promptly has a panic attack, hyperventilating against a wall, sheets wrapped around him, all clothes still on, bundled up like they were in the North.
Ed is not panicking.
Riza spares a quick moment to be thankful for Ed having grace under fire, unlike her boss.
Ed’s not panicking because Ed does his fucking research, knows himself, knows Roy, knows them inside out. He’s picked up no small amount of common sense in his years in the East.
“I need you to kill me,” Roy tells her, not looking up when she slides down the wall.
She doesn’t say anything. Ed sits down across from them. Al’s sitting out in doorway, where Ed can see him (more for Al than for Ed) and Roy won’t think that Al’s threatening him. Roy doesn’t need more people to try and kill him. He’s got it well in hand.
“You said you would. I need you to shoot me. I know you’re carrying.”
“It’s not happening, sir.” She rests her shoulder against his. Ed’s watching them without trying to speak. She’d heard them shouting, mostly Ed, and Roy freaking the fuck out. Now if Ed was freaking out, Roy would have a case here.
If he took advantage of Ed, Roy would be dead, dead so nothing could be brought back. Riza would see to it herself.
“I hurt him. Don’t be sentimental.”
Riza nearly snorts. She’s never been accused of being sentimental, and certainly not by Roy before.
“You had a nightmare. I was on top of you. You tapped my jaw.” Ed didn’t press him by meeting his eyes. “Probably won’t even bruise.” Roy’s shaking increases. Riza presses closer to him.
“Ed, let’s get some tea,” Al calls. Roy’s staring at Ed’s face, waiting for the bruise to pop up. Al’s new goal is to fix that before Roy completely stops breathing all together.
In the last thirty minutes, more damage had been done to them than six months of war.
Riza tucks herself around Roy. “You got your gloves on you?” He nods. She takes them off him. She doesn’t try to move him.
“You going to try to talk to me about it?”
“You already know what I’m going to say.”
“Yeah, yeah I do. That I’m not him, that I’m better .” He’s bitter.
“Yeah, well, I’m always right.”
“Yeah.”
“I was wrong to force it.” Roy nods into her neck. He knows when he’s being manipulated. “You need to talk to him.” He shakes his head at that.
“Would let me get away with saying that I got a public image to maintain?”
“No. You don’t give a shit what other people think. You can be equally underestimated dating Ed as by pretending to be a womanizer.” Roy shrugs. “And instead of applauding your happiness, I get to place you on suicide watch.”
“I’m not-”
“Yeah, you are, and that’ll be okay. We’re just going to be cautious for a minute until you’re not struggling.”
“I-yeah, okay. Thank you.”
“It’s not just Ed is it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
They end up sleeping on the floor.
They used to know who they are, built down to their bones. They don’t know now. They’re working it out.
Ed grasps his hands around the tea mug. Both hands. Warmed by the tea. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asks more to find out what they think than for a true answer. Ed’s sharper than he used to be, but he has a kind heart and steady hands.
“He’s panicking over the age difference.”
“That’s not it,” Ed says firmly. Mai and Al blink. Ed blinks back and shakes his head. “Roy’s not panicking over that. He’s panicking because he’s reminding himself of his father, that he’s going to hurt me.” Ed smiles weakly into his tea. “I know that, and I damn well know better.”
Roy hadn’t told him. Riza hadn’t told him. There are some things that Ed just knows , perks of meeting Truth. Well, he wouldn’t say perks , more like unnecessary drama and pain that he now knows because the universe likes laughing at him , but same thing really.
“Does he know that?” Al asks, steering his brother back on track.
“Roy doesn’t trust words. Never has. He’ll believe me in three years when I’m still here.”
“You’re going to wait three years.”
Ed’s grin strengthens. “Six years total. I’d hoped he’d gotten over himself when I could drink legally. That was optimistic of me. He’ll come round.”
“And you’ll just wait?” Mei questions again.
Ed laughs. “I’m good at waiting and it’ll take him a minute to come fully around, but he’s getting better.”
Ed knew who he was when he had his world razed to the ground by his own working. He burned everything down to dirt and found a man who lights fires. He walked through fires, that was him. He walks through fires and pulls people out.
Roy was still on fire.
Ed makes another cup of tea. “It’ll be okay,” he tells Al and Mei. He slips back into the bedroom. Riza hands Roy over to him. He gives Roy tea and leans up against him.
“I can’t. I--I can’t tell you-” Roy stutters out.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to talk to me about anything. I’m just going to sit here, okay?” Roy leans hard into him. “That’s it, honey. That’s it.” Roy starts coughing, dry sobbing into his shoulder. Ed catches the tea and sets it down before hugging Roy. “Shhh, it’s okay, honey. That’s it. That’s it.”
Roy doesn’t say another word that night. Ed’s voice is gone by the time the sun peeks in through the curtains. Roy’s dozing on his shoulder. They haven’t moved. The tea’s gone cold, but Ed really couldn't care less.
They don’t know who they are right now. They don’t know.
Ed knows he pulls people out of fires and he’s got a man who lights them, who has a nasty habit of setting himself on fires. That’s more than enough to be going on with. Roy knows he’s got a wanderer with steady hands, quiet eyes, who he doesn’t need to talk for. He’s found his way on less.
They don’t know who they are right now. They’ve got time to figure it out.
finis.