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Weather for tomorrow continues to be sunny in Central, however the evening will bring along some—
We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news. An explosion has just been reported at Central University. About ten minutes ago, there were reports of rumbling and the sound of an explosion from the School of Medicine, and the faculty building has collapsed. Although there were few occupants within the building, owing to today’s public holiday, those within the building at the time of the incident have yet to be accounted for. Five people in the surrounding vicinity at the time have been reported dead.
Military forces are en route.
There was dust in the air, and the acrid smell of smoke floating through the car window. Roy knew it as intimately as the scent of a lover, and memories floated unbidden to the top of the cesspool of his churning heart right now: sand, smoke and of course, the dead.
It was shameful, it was horrible, but Roy found himself thinking that as long as Ed wasn’t one of them, then it was all right.
“How does Fullmetal manage to get himself into these situations anyway?” Roy growled. “You’d think that for once in his life, he could try to be in an area that would not make more trouble for me.”
Hawkeye didn’t comment. Both of them knew that Roy had to be angry, had to be an irritated superior officer because if he even for a moment let himself be otherwise, he wouldn’t be any use to anyone. She had been there throughout his every rise and fall, through every trial that had forged him. So it had only taken her a single look before she had designated herself as driver, no arguments.
And Roy was grateful, because shaking hands and trembling heart was certainly not going to make his horrendous driving better. Ed always ejected him from the driver’s seat whenever the opportunity presented itself, because Edward wasn’t Edward unless he was making fun of Roy in whatever way possible.
Maybe that’s what this was. A huge practical joke. Sending in an emergency call about a building exploding, the building where Roy had sent Ed, would be hilarious, right? He’d get there to find that bricks were still intact, and that blond brat standing outside laughing.
Really, Mustang, you were worried? That’s kinda cute. I like that.
Ed’s razor sharp smile flashed through Roy’s mind, and his heart skipped a beat at the thought that he might never—
“We’re here, sir.”
Roy refocussed on the landscape outside. It most certainly was not any kind of laughing matter, and he didn’t know what it said about him that his only reaction was fatigue, not horror.
The building had most certainly been destroyed, as had several others around it. Very thoroughly, and Roy’s heart plummeted even further at how complete the destruction was. Where the building housing the university’s School of Medicine had stood, ten storeys high, there was now nothing but rubble strewn in every direction. Their car tyres crunched over the wreckage, and Hawkeye stopped where a space had been cleared to allow vehicles through.
Stepping out of the car, Roy kicked what looked like a charred piece of piping. The grounds were chaos, the squealing of sirens mingling with the distinct bark of military voices, all too loud in the eerie silence of a building that should’ve been bustling with young voices and curiosity. There were soldiers crawling like ants all over the site, and the wreckage extended so far that Roy could barely even see where it ended.
Too quiet, was all Roy could think. Too quiet, because he’d half-expected—had desperately hoped—that upon opening the door, he would hear that familiar voice screaming insults and orders and complaints. But it wasn’t there, amongst all the din, and the silence was damning in Roy’s ears, twisting the knot in his stomach ever tighter, clogging the choked breath in his lungs.
Keep it together, Mustang. It would be no good, he told himself, to simply tear through the rubble with his bare hands. Efficiency dictated that he direct and take control, maintain order amongst the troops, but efficiency could be damned when Ed was somewhere beneath all of this. He must’ve been in the lecture, chasing after the murder suspect that had been giving a speech, suspected crimes hidden beneath the fame of scientific awards and accolades.
The lecture theatre had been on the ground floor, and the screaming and grating of Roy’s nerves increased tenfold when he remembered that. All ten storeys of the building had come crashing down on it, and somewhere beneath layers and layers and layers of concrete, was Ed.
But there was so much of it. Rocks and dust and rubble, and Ed could be anywhere in this vast wasteland, how could he even hope to begin? Where should be begin? Over there, where there was what looked like the wrecked remains of a doorway? Or off to his right, where the teams had already started digging, alchemists pulling up piles of concrete? If Roy started there, and Ed couldn’t be found, then it would just be wasted time, and maybe he should start elsewhere. That would surely be quicker, if he started looking somewhere else—who knew how long Ed had spent under there, how much air he had, if he was even—
“General!” Brown eyes beneath furrowed brows, their disapproving glare directed at him.
Roy cleared his throat. “Colonel Hawkeye.”
“The excavation teams that you were assigned to co-ordinate are ready, sir,” she told him. “Perhaps we should see to them first?”
Roy swallowed, forced his feet to move and his fingers to unclench. “Right.” As always, work to be done, never mind the battlefield spread at Roy’s feet and ripping at his heart. It was a distraction though. Having Hawkeye drag him to bark out orders at the forest of blue and gold helped push the raging, rising helplessness from his mind, if only a little. The thoughts were gone, but if only the images would leave too. Pictures of Ed, hurt and bleeding and broken, gasping for his last breath as he ran out of air while Roy stood uselessly above, blond hair spread around his lifeless form.
Barely ten minutes passed since their arrival, when they found it.
“General Mustang!” A soldier rushed over, panting. “General, there’s something—you need to see—we think—alchemy.”
“Slow down…Lieutenant,” Roy said, glancing at the stars on her shoulder. “What do you need?”
The Lieutenant gulped in some air. “Sir, we think—underneath a lot of the rubble, sir, there’s a shelter. We can only really see a wall now, we don’t know what it is, but it definitely isn’t a part of the building. It looks like alchemy.”
Ed.
It was Ed, it had to be, there couldn’t be anyone else.
Roy needed it not to be anyone else.
“Show me.” There was no way that anyone missed the desperation in his voice, and it was a close thing not grab the Lieutenant and shake her for answers she didn’t have.
The Lieutenant’s salute was sloppy as she straightened. “Yes, sir.”
For all intents and purposes, it was a wall.
Concrete, solid, cold beneath Roy’s hands as he inspected it, picking up the tell-tale streaks of alchemy. He had been assured that the original designs of this section of the university did not have such a wall in place, and least of all one that seemed to stretch up and arc across as a dome. The top of the structure was still invisible, mixed amongst burst pipes and rubble.
Next to him, Hawkeye was pounding on the concrete with her fist, calling for anyone to respond, but there was nothing.
“I think it might be too thick for us to get through, sir,”
“Right.” Roy produced his stub of chalk and started to sketch on the rough surface, hands surprisingly steady. There wasn’t any other choice, he needed to keep it together because Ed was here. Ed had to be behind here.
And what if it wasn’t Ed, but Ed’s body that he found back there? A mere shell, a golden house for a soul so big, a heart so loving, but eyes blank and wide and—
“Everyone, stay back.”
He could feel the bumps and furrows in the concrete even through his gloves, and then light flashed, though dimmed by bright sunlight. The transmutation stripped through the concrete, peeling it back, opening up a dark tunnel. The entrance was narrow; Roy didn’t know how stable Ed had managed to make this structure, and he wasn’t going to risk undoing whatever work the little spitfire had done to keep others safe.
Hawkeye had been right; it was deep, and even with the warning, Roy had to hold the transmutation longer than he expected.
But then—he was through.
It took everything Roy had, every thread of discipline that he’d trained over decades, Hawkeye’s hand steady on his arm, not to simply dash inside. Instead, he forced himself to wait and tell the others that he’d made it through, although he wasn’t entirely sure that his words made sense. He felt his lips forming words, but all he could think was Ed, all he could feel was the rapid clenching of his heart at the hope that it might not have to be broken.
And when he stepped through, announced his name and rank, he thought he might very well buckle with relief when he heard, “we’re safe guys, that’s my useless fuckin’ boyfriend.”
It was weak, barely a croak.
But Roy knew that voice in every permutation: ecstasy, sorrow, pleasure, and the achingly familiar sound of Ed in pain.
“Ed,” he breathed, and then the torches of those behind him joined them. Faces were lit up, and the light revealed figures sitting on the ground. Gradually, a building mumble of questions and conversation began.
And on the floor, scowling ferociously at the sudden light, was Edward Elric.
“Can you point that somewhere else?” He was lying on his side, someone’s jumper pillowed beneath his head, and of course there was blood on his face. Roy might’ve been exasperated if he wasn’t too busy rushing to Ed’s side and falling to his knees.
“Ed, where are you hurt?”
It was impressive, really, how Ed managed to shrug while he was lying on the ground. “M’not, not really. Something weird happened with my foot, and I kinda, uh, tripped. Kinda hurt.”
Roy’s heart skipped a beat. “Hurt where?”
“He hit his head,” someone said. Roy turned to see a woman kneel next to him, dust and dirt streaking dark cheeks and hair in disarray. “Put this up,” she said, gesturing at their shelter. “But then he went back out, got knocked out cold before we dragged him back in.”
“Now why would you construct a shelter only to abandon it?” Roy had to keep his voice light, tried to smile as he ran his fingers gently over Ed’s hands, covered in grime. Though his attention was still on Ed, he waved one of the medical staff over.
“Was someone out there, Roy,” Ed muttered. “Had to get them.”
Roy squeezed the hand in his. “Of course you did,” he said fondly, though he was still trembling. “Maybe next time you can try do that without any risk of death?”
“Nah, s’fun in that?”
“I think he’s concussed,” the woman said. “Not sure, but you probably want to get it checked out.”
“M’not concussed,” Ed protested. “Or maybe just a little bit.”
“Well, I’m still worried even if you are just a ‘little bit’ concussed, Edward,” Roy said. “You’ll still need to go to the hospital.”
Ed scowled. “Don’t wanna.”
Any further argument was stalled by the arrival of the medical staff, and Roy stepped back reluctantly to let them work.
“You might have a hard time getting him to listen,” the woman said as they watched. “It took me a lot of work making sure he didn’t start running around as soon as he woke up.”
“Well, I’m used to it,” Roy sighed. “Thanks for looking after him…?”
“Jess,” she said with a little smile. “I’m a medical student here. We were in the lecture and then…” She hesitated, watching as people streamed by, soldiers at their sides with comforting words. “We didn’t even know what was going on, not until the room started crumbling, and even then it was just, what’s happening? Ed really saved us,” she said quietly, watching Ed, who still lay on the floor, pouting as he answered the medic’s questions.
“He does that,” Roy said. “It seems to be a skill of his.” One to which Roy owed his life, many times over.
“General Mustang.” One of the medics came over. “It appears the only person injured is Colonel Elric; he fractured his ankle and he has a concussion, but he should be able to make a full recovery. We’ve given him something to ease the pain for the moment.”
Roy didn’t know which was stronger: the relief that washed over him at the news that Ed probably wasn’t going to die, or the dread at the thought of having Edward Elric cooped up in the house for weeks.
“Thank you, Doctor. I assume we’ll have to transport him to the hospital immediately?”
“Yes, sir, although he isn’t very…co-operative in that area.”
Roy sighed. “I’ll talk to him. Jess, if you follow the soldiers outside, they’ll be able to help you with anything you need. And thank you for taking care of Fullmetal,” he added. “It probably wasn’t easy.”
Jess laughed. “He stopped the building from collapsing on us, I think he was worth the trouble. But no problem. I’ll leave you to take care of him now.”
Not an easy task, Roy thought tiredly, watching her leave. But one which he was used to, and which he would gladly take on if it meant one less moment of hurt for Ed, who even now was gritting his teeth as the medical staff set a make-shift support around his broken foot. Someone had helped him sit upright, propping him up against the wall.
“Fuck,” Ed gasped, and then he glared at Roy. “And you wonder why I don’t wanna go to the hospital, where you got more shit like this waitin’ for me.”
“Ed, you’ve broken your ankle, of course you need to go to the hospital.” His tone was firm, but Roy took Ed’s hand gently, though his fingers were quickly crushed when Ed squeezed them reflexively against the pain.
“Don’t wanna,” he said vehemently. “We got that fancy-ass manor and shit, and Al knows what he’s doin’, he can just camp with us for—”
“Fullmetal, you will be going to the hospital.”
The noise that came from Ed was almost a growl. “Don’t you fuckin’ pull rank on me now, Mustang, that’s a shit move.”
The adrenaline that had been pumping through Roy threatened to crack into anger, flicking whip-like from fear to rage. “Ed, I’m not ‘pulling rank’, I just need for once in your life for you to listen to me.”
“I don’t get why we gotta—”
“Just for a few hours,” Roy interrupted. Dregs of panic remained, though now the screaming anxiety had nowhere to go, and Roy inhaled deeply to dispel them as best he could. “Ed, you’re hurt, and just—I would feel much more comfortable if they checked over everything at the hospital.” It was a little too dim to make out Ed’s expression clearly, but from experience, Roy suspected that Ed was scowling. “Edward, please?” he asked softly.
Ed huffed out a breath. “Fine, fine.” He raised his arms like a petulant child, which wasn’t an inaccurate description. “Haul my ass to the pain hotel then.”
The laughter that came out of Roy was a bit forced, but he needed it both to distract Ed from the pain, and because he knew that if he didn’t laugh then he was going to end up crying. “You seem to check in there with far too much frequency for my liking.” Roy braced one arm around Ed and prepared to lift him up, and metal fingers curled around military braid as they stood, Ed balancing precariously on one foot.
“Yeah, well, who knew that serial murder suspects blow up buildings when you got State Alchemists questioning them, hey?”
“Who indeed,” Roy murmured. They made their way towards the entrance that Roy had tunnelled, Ed hopping and letting out little gasps the movement jarred his foot, Roy doing his best to take Ed’s weight and minimise his movement. Halfway over, Edward flopped alarmingly and Roy buckled under his weight.
“Shit,” Ed gasped as he accidentally bumped his foot against the uneven ground. “Think—I think the automail gave up.”
Roy didn’t even bother to sigh—he didn’t need to make Ed feel like a burden, not when Ed had an amazing ability to take care of that by himself anyway. Adjusting his grip, Roy swung down and lifted Ed in one swift, practiced motion, with only minimal protest from his cargo.
“Y’know, I’d complain, but I don’t think I can actually move right now,” Ed said.
“Good, just wave at all the lovely soldiers as we pass by, Edward,” Roy murmured as he quickly made his way outside into the sunlight.
More out of principle than anything, Ed groaned, trying to hide his face in Roy’s uniform. “Fuckin’ embarrassing, you’re carrying me like a kid.”
“It’s all right, love, you can admit you enjoy it.”
“You fuckin’ wish.”
Roy merely grunted; two steel limbs were heavy, and the work out was sapping up the energy he usually had reserved for, well, sap. Thankfully, an ambulance was advancing, although Roy still had to make his way through all the rubble to the slightly more clear space that the van could actually park in. Roy proceeded as fast as he could, though gentle, gentle, gentle, being all too aware of the way Ed stiffened every time Roy took a slightly jerkier step or stumbled over the uneven surface.
“Almost there, love,” Roy panted eventually, and then Hawkeye was by his side to guide him towards the stretcher they’d rolled out of the ambulance van. Then everything was lights and noise, people bustling around him and firing off medical terms. Now they were in the light, Roy could see that Ed’s face was covered in grime, and panic came afresh, tearing like a wound that never healed, at how much blood covered tanned skin.
There might’ve been some protest when Roy clambered into the back of the ambulance alongside the stretcher, but Roy’s mind, his heart, was too full of Ed to fully register what the words were. Instead, he just directed a stern glare in the general direction of the surrounding medical staff, and called out to Hawkeye.
“Colonel, I’ll leave this in your hands.” He probably shouldn’t. It was his responsibility, his assignment. After all, the doctors had said that Ed would be fine, and Roy going along for a ride in an ambulance, then to what he knew would be a long, anxious wait in a hospital, would do nothing for Ed.
But there was a vast difference between what General Mustang shouldn’t do, and that which Roy couldn’t.
“Yes, sir,” Hawkeye replied, voice firm.
“Don’t you got work to do, bastard?”
“Perhaps,” Roy said quietly. He moved aside for the medics, sitting a little away from Ed. Ed’s voice was weak, a little slurred now, where it was usually the sharp, constant crackle of a fireplace. Ed was light and a never-ending pool of energy, and although the situation wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, Roy hated it all the same.
“M’sorry.”
Roy frowned, unsure if this was serious, or pain-induced rambling. “What for?”
“M’sorry I didn’t get ‘er for you.”
It was important, probably, that a serial killer was still on the run, and now even more cautious with this botched operation having put her on the alert. But frankly, Roy couldn’t care less at the moment, because Ed was taking the blame, again, when it was Roy’s to take.
“You did well, Fullmetal,” Roy said. “You saved a lot of people today.”
“But she’s gonna—”
“That girl, Jess? Said you saved her life.”
Ed grunted. “Kinda had to.”
Roy shifted closer. “Not everyone would have. It sounded like you got to talk to her a bit while you were trapped. Tell me more about her?” One of the medics cast a disapproving look Roy’s way, and he shuffled back a little, but he wasn’t about to stop talking to Ed. Not when every slurred syllable meant that Roy didn’t have to constantly think about rearranging his life again, this time for the absence of a blond alchemist rather than the gift of a sudden presence.
Ed talked about the girl, though his words were slipping and slurring like oil slick under the haze of pain and painkillers and blood loss, his brow creasing in confusion every now and again. But he was alive, and from the murmurs of the medics on the ambulance, it sounded like it would stay that way.
Later. There would be time later for Roy to worry, and fail and fall, but right now he just…
He just needed Ed safe, so that he could feel whole again.
So Roy listened, prodding gently when Ed went silent for long enough to have Roy’s heart tripping, and the van carried on with the drunken words of Roy’s golden warrior, and his own heavy, heavy heart.
Roy was quiet.
Ed knew it had been brewing. The initial relief when Roy had found them in his make-shift cave thing had mellowed him out, had softened the sharp edges. The grinding of the whetstone in the hours since—having to clean up, the paperwork, the move from the hospital back to home—had honed them once more, and now they were razor sharp and deadly. But Ed knew that the danger wasn’t so much a risk to him as it was Roy. Even at the hospital waiting to be discharged, “Ed” and “love” had gradually become “Edward”, “Fullmetal”, and sentences clipped short and crisp as the clean press of Roy’s uniform on a Monday morning.
Ed had decided to let him stew, hoping that for once in his life, Roy would make things easy and just come out and say what he needed to, even though every piece of data up until that point indicated that the probability was ridiculously low. But that plan had lasted all of ten minutes—five of the car ride home, one working their way up the stairs, and four getting Ed settled into the lounge room—before Ed’s patience had run out.
Really, it was amazing that he had lasted that long, considering how much of this shit he put up with.
Though, he thought a little guiltily, it was kind of his fault. Only a little bit though; he hadn’t asked for the fracture. In fact, it was a pain in the ass. Didn’t Roy realise that? Moodily, Ed swung his leg (the uninjured, metal one) against the couch, but then he stared at it for a half a second when it didn’t respond, before remembering that the automail wasn’t working. It was, after all, why he had the fucking wheelchair sitting innocently next to him.
Well, if it was his fault, then he owed it to Mustang to pull him out of his funk. And even if he didn’t, well, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Ed hated to see Roy like this. He had long since learned that the man wasn’t invincible or inhuman, but it still ached to see Roy bent under any burden. The man had been through enough shit in his life that seeing more piled on top of the heap of political games and long-gone desert sand just…it hurt. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that, having your entire heart tied to another person’s soul, all too willing for them to tug and unravel it.
So it wasn’t that he owed it to Roy, or to himself, wasn’t any kind of equivalent exchange. Some things you just needed to give, chose to give, without any thought of what came in return.
“You gonna sulk much longer?”
Ed could almost hear Roy’s jaw clench.
“I had a rather stressful day today, Edward,” Roy said, tone overly polite, and smile way too pleasant. It made Ed want to punch him in the face. “I perhaps thought I deserved some time to relax before I have to continue cleaning up another one of your messes tomorrow morning.”
Ed gaped. “Mine? Ex-fucking-cuse me, but I saved all their little med kid asses, if I remember.”
“No, I don’t trust your memory at all, because in doing so you somehow managed to get yourself a concussion!”
“What, it’s my fault now?”
“No, that’s not what I was saying, and you know it, so don’t put words in my mouth,” Roy said furiously. Gradually, the shell was chipped away to reveal what was underneath, the heart and soul that Roy always had such a hard time showing when it was pain and hurt instead of laughter and love. “What I am saying is that I’m sick of seeing you injured.”
Ed had had enough practice to know what tools to use best, and when. Tonight wasn’t merely a stain that could be rubbed away with gentle touches and loving kisses. This was the rock-hard, stubborn-ass concrete wall that Roy had forged in the furnace of the desert sun and red lines on white cloth, a wall built high because its destruction meant Roy’s. But sometimes the man needed to break before he could be built back up. And tonight it needed a battering ram.
“You sent me there!”
With the same startling immediacy—and oh shit! moment—of a gun shot, Roy pushed himself off the couch and strode over to the window, staring outside.
“I did,” Roy said, and the words were like ice chips. “I apologise.”
“No, don’t you pull that cold-ass shit on me, Roy,” Ed said. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
Deliberately, Roy turned to look at Ed. “What do you want from me then, Edward?”
“Fuckin’ make it easy on both of us for once, instead of doing your dumbass bottling up shit.”
“Easy?” Roy snarled. “You want—you expect this to be easy for me? You run around, get stabbed, blown up, broken bones, every—you want this to be easy for me? You just said it yourself: you were hurt again, because of me.”
“Yeah, you sent me in; doesn’t mean it’s on you,” Ed growled back. “Don’t act like I don’t make my own fuckin’ decisions, Mustang. Like you’ve ever been able to make me do anything before.”
“I sent you there.” And the first cracks were coming now, Roy’s fingers swiping desperately at his hair. “You—there were—I should’ve acted differently, we knew that she was a risk, knew she was dangerous, but not once did I think it through and actually—”
“We have a team, and all of us had the same information. We all thought it’d be fine.”
“But it’s my team, it was my operation.”
“You’re human, Roy,” Ed said heatedly. “Truth knows you’re allowed to fuck up.”
“I don’t want to.” Roy’s hands fell to his sides, and finally, finally, the fear came crashing through, in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers clenched around his uniform. “I am terrified to, if it means losing you. Ed I just—I can’t.”
Fuck. Shit, he hated that he couldn’t walk right now. “Roy, c’mere.”
Roy shook his head. “I’m fine, just—”
“I thought I said no bottling up shit?” Ed tugged at his braid and sighed. “Roy, c’mon just…let me help.”
Roy hesitated another moment before he made his way back to the couch, collapsing on it. Ed grabbed his hand immediately, and Roy squeezed back with shaking fingers.
“Roy it’s…okay.” Shit, he wasn’t good with words. That was what Roy did, weave words that were warm and safe, and that was just…Ed wasn’t any good at that shit. “I’m all right, I’m back yeah? Stupid painkillers and everything, just like usual, yeah?”
To his absolute horror, Roy’s laugh sounded way too much like a sob.
“Shit, Roy—”
“Just like usual, but that’s the thing. I can’t do it anymore Ed,” Roy said, and Ed’s heart lurched.
“Can’t do what?”
There was a long, long silence, with Roy just gripping Ed’s hand as though his life depended on it. “I don’t know how to live without you,” Roy said eventually, quietly. “I just—it was half an hour, at most, between the call and finding you. And the whole time, all I could think was, how am I going to tell Alphonse? What would I do with your study? I’d have all those novelty mugs you bought, could I give those to someone? The bed’s too damn big if it’s just me, I’d have to sell it or something, get a new one, and just all this—”
He yanked at his hair again, sucked a breath through his teeth.
“—garbage in my head that won’t get out.”
“Roy.” Ed said his name gently, or well, as gentle as he could be. Yeah, he wasn’t much good at it, but years spent living, dealing, and putting up with this man had taught him enough. Taught him enough to know that Roy needed contact, to be soft, to be fucking human for once. So Ed shuffled in closer, as much as he could (it was hard when both legs were fucked up). Gently, he butted his head against Roy’s chin, resting his head on Roy’s shoulder so he could hear the harsh breaths as they burned the air, could feel the way that Roy’s body was heaving with the effort to contain and extinguish. “It’s okay.”
“It’s—it won’t get out of my head, because this won’t be the last time,” Roy said hoarsely. “Not the first, and not the last. And then to think that I was the one who put you there, that it’s only going to happen again? That’s all my legacy would be. That would be the only thing that came of me knowing you, because that’s all I amount to, just all this dreck and rot inside.”
“Roy, that’s not how it is,” Ed said, and he moved so he could look Roy in the eye. “Don’t—I, I chose to be here, right? You trust me on that, yeah?” Hesitantly, Roy nodded. “Then you gotta, I dunno, you gotta respect that I chose it, or some shit. I decided to stay, I decided to be with you, shit, I was the one who chose this shitty couch.” Roy had been the one to choose the colour, but Ed had picked the actual couch out, because reclining couches were the shit. He looked down to where their hands were intertwined, and gently brought Roy’s hand up to press his lips against it. The embarrassment would come later, but right now it was what Roy needed. “I chose all of it, all right? Including you, and including all the good and bad shit.”
Roy swallowed, tried to work up a shaky smile, but he failed miserably. “Seems like more bad than good, most days. Weeks. Months.”
“Nah, not from where I am,” Ed said confidently. “I know it feels that way to you, but you gotta trust me on this. All right?”
Headlights swung past outside as someone went on a midnight shopping trip, and Roy was looking at Ed as though his gaze alone could make sure Ed stayed in his life. Honestly, it probably could, because no way was Ed going anywhere, not when Roy looked at him like that.
Roy shifted, and Ed knew, with experience born from years of knowing the man, what it was he wanted, so he lifted an arm obligingly. Though Roy’s movements were gentle—careful not to cause Ed more pain, even now—there was still urgency and desperation as Roy tucked himself under Ed’s arm and buried his face in the crook of Ed’s neck.
They were quiet for a long time, because sometimes there really wasn’t anything to be done with words, especially not Ed’s shitty motivational speeches. Ed knew that sometimes, fuck all could actually make shit any better, and all you could do was just hang on until it was…less bad.
And sometimes the most you could ask for was to have someone hang on with you.
So he just let Roy hold him, held him back, with his back aching a little from how he was twisted to fit Roy close to him.
“Don’t really have a choice, do I?” Roy said eventually.
“Hmm?”
“To trust you.” Roy drew back a little and caught Ed’s eye with his own, and now there might’ve been the smallest, hatchling hints of a smile. “If you don’t know me, no one really does,” he said softly, and now his fingers were gentle as they worked Ed’s hair out of its braid. “Guess I have to trust your assessment.”
“Damn right,” Ed said, although the words didn’t come out with the bite that he’d wanted wanted them to, because he’d closed his eyes against the fucking awesome feeling of having Roy play with his hair.
“I still don’t quite understand why you stay,” Roy said quietly, once Ed’s hair was smoothed out and spilling in a gentle sheet down his back. “Not that I’m not incredibly grateful, but it seems—”
“Stop that.” Scowling, Ed’s poked Roy in the ribs—drawing forth a squawk that he would love to have recorded and played back to the other generals—and flopped down across his stupid boyfriend’s lap.
You get me more than anyone, and even then, you’re stupidly patient with me. You don’t nag me when I need space, you hold me when shit’s going down, even when I’m screaming and trying to sock you across the face. It’s your dumbass laugh. It’s that stupid dorky snort when you’ve made a really bad pun. It’s how you walk around thinking you can change the world and how shitty it can be, and honestly, you have enough to make me think that I could too.
Grin spreading across his face, Ed settled in to use Roy as a pillow. “If your stupid ass can’t figure it out, I’m not telling.”
The beginnings of a smile were coming; Roy could feel it unfurling inside him, just waiting for Ed’s light to draw it forth, because that was what Ed did. He blossomed, he grew, and each sprouting vine found cracks in Roy’s armour to break it down and let the light in.
And the miracle of it all? That Ed had chosen to do so, that he had seen every rusted, tarnished piece and set his heart on it.
Roy traced Ed’s lips with a gentle finger, and finally banked the ember and let the storm die down. “Keeping secrets from your superior? Insubordinate.” And Roy finally released a smile to match Ed’s own. He really had little say in the matter.
I love you, too.
Leaning forward, Roy pressed his lips to Ed’s forehead, letting the kiss linger, because he could. Today hadn’t been the end, and that was something to be grateful for.