Gold and Charcoal

Disclaimer: Applicable for the whole story, I own nothing pertaining to Fullmetal Alchemist, all rights to Square Enix and Arakawa Hiromu. I don’t own Ai No Kusabi either. No profit is made from this.

Notes: This is basically me taking the FMA setting/characters/world and putting it with the society order seen in Ai No Kusabi - but you don’t have to know it to understand. It just means two things, basically. Blondes equals leading cast. Black hair equals low of lows, they are called mongrels and treated like dirt. Everybody else(brown, white, etc) is the ‘normal’ or ‘common’ class. Also, some characters will seem a little OCC, because they have been brought up differently than in the anime/manga. I could write you an essay on the differences, but I\'ll settle for saying it\'s there, and more noticeable in Edward and Roy.

Warning: I focus on plot. The romance/sex is secondary. Mainly yaoi, but there is also some yuri and het on the side. If any of those will send you into a fit, try another fic. Also give up if you\'ll spazz over gay smut, implied mastubation, automail sex talk, casual sex, incest, Roy having sex with teens... I promise nothing but plot and boy love. If that\'s enough, carry on.

***Previously posted on ff.net, but I was asked to repost my fics here, so I shall attempt to keep up.***

Gold and Charcoal
Chapter 1
Don’t Call Him Short. Seriously.

The marketplace was as busy as ever, people walking up and down at various speed, seeking something specific or simply window-shopping. Most of them had dark hair, of various brown shades - or just black. There were also some grey and red, a little white even, but no blond. It wasn’t that blond hair didn’t exist here. It did. Only, those who were fortunate enough to be born with golden hair did not dwell out here, in the common market. Blonds, usually called blondies, were the leading cast of this country, and as such, they kept to themselves, well hidden between high walls in the so-called inner city. From there they ruled, themselves ruled by the Fuhrer. When the local residents did see a patch of golden hair, it was invariably matched with the blue uniform of the military and could only mean trouble.

However, there were a few race exceptions. Today, there were two uniform-less blond boys walking in the midst of the commoners, the sun shining on their pale hair. One had a red cloak and a braid, the other a green one and short, wild hair. The latter was also the taller of the two and it surprised many to hear him address the smaller teenager as ‘niisan’.

“What are you looking for?” whined the one with the long braid.

“Things.”

“What kind of ‘things’? Can’t you get them in the usual shops? Why come all the way out here?”

“I felt like it.”

Edward shrugged and concentrated on matching his brother’s pace, silently cursing Al’s longer legs. Which one of them was the older brother, damnit? He ignored the crowd, even though he was aware of the baffled looks sent their way. Alphonse eventually paused, touching his arm to get his attention before gesturing to an odd shop a few steps away. A shop which window’s was clogged with cages and books, and looked fairly dusty, as did everything else around here.

“I’m going there, Niisan. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll wait here. Not going in that dirty place.” Edward leaned against the wall with a bored expression, watching his brother’s back retreat. He sighed to himself, gazing at the passing crowd. Every now and then people would glance fearfully at his bright blond hair and then quickly avert their eyes when he glanced back. There were a few who held his gaze, but not for long.

There were way too many mongrels in this town, scowled Edward to himself. This was Central after all, there shouldn’t have been so many low level creatures rubbing elbows with them. But then again, he wouldn’t have to look at any mongrel at all if he were in the inner city, where only blondies and useful normal people were allowed. It was like Al, mused Edward, to prefer to shop out here without any valid reason. And, of course, Ed was not about to let his brother wander outside on his own.

Sure, Alphonse could defend himself, but it didn’t mean he would. Placed in a dangerous situation, that airhead would attempt to solve it without violence, or at least without harming anybody. Foolish. If anybody was stupid enough to attack a blondie, they deserved any harm that befell them. Al was too soft, often mused Ed. But at the same time, it was part of who he was and Edward liked his brother just fine like that. It was alright if Alphonse was a softy; Edward was there to do the ass-kicking if there was a need for it. Ed flexed his right hand, looking down at the glove and knowing there was no flesh underneath, only metal. This single arm, this weapon built into his flesh, was a warrant for safety. A scoundrel would have a very unpleasant surprise should he dare assault Edward Elric or his brother.

The short blond shifted, uncrossing his ankles and taking a few steps away from the wall. A shoe shop lay to at his right on the other side. It attracted his attention; he strode over, people scattering like leaves in the wind before him. He didn’t spare them a glance. Edward tilted his head at the window, staring at the boots displayed inside. Not bad for stuff made out here. He would need a new pair of shoes soon enough - maybe he should go in and try some, he reflected. He examined the height of the platforms on each pair of boots, wondering if he could get higher ones than what he currently wore without starting to look like a girl or putting himself in severe danger whenever he neared stairs. Given the height of the stairs back home, a fall could very easily be fatal. Or at least very, very painful. Looking a little taller wasn’t quite worth as much as keeping his body, and all the bones within, whole. Almost though.

There was a man a few feet away. He was backed up against the brick wall, eyes half-closed as he pulled on his cigarette and breathed out puffs of smoke. One might have presumed he was lost in his own thoughts. However, Edward knew that man was watching him, studying him. But, unlike everybody else, who did so with a measure of fear, this one showed absolutely no sign of tension. Edward scowled; a mere mongrel should have known better than to stare right out at a blondie. He stared back with narrowed golden eyes that clearly held a threat. ‘Behave yourself, dog’, was what that gaze said.

The man, and this was so unexpected Edward blinked several times to make sure he’d seen it right, smirked at him. His following words were like a bag of bricks to the head. “Indeed, you definitely could use higher boots. But you might also want to look for a ladder to climb into them.”

The blond gagged. His usual response to such taunts consisted of hardly coherent screams and vicious attempts to throttle the speaker. But these taunts usually came from his equals, people who were allowed to say what they pleased to him, given they were ready to deal with the consequences of their words (this being nearly a hundred pounds of angry Edward hurling itself at them with the clear intention of pulling their guts out and strangling the person with them).

But this… this low creature, this useless scum, this mongrel, dared not only to address him, but to insult him?! Impossible. Nobody was so reckless as to challenge one of this country’s leaders like this. Cautiously, Edward crossed the distance between them, the short blond boy clad in black under a red coat, and the taller dark-haired man in worn-out jeans and a jean coat open on a form-fitting black tank top. One representing the top of society and the ruling class, the other situated at the bottom of the social ladder and viewed as little more than dirt.

Edward planted himself firmly in front of the stranger, his scowl deepening as he realized just how short he looked beside this guy, and stared up. “What,” he began, slowly and dangerously, “did you say?”

The dark gaze didn’t waver. Even more shocking, a sparkle of amusement shone in it. “I believe I was making a comment on your need for higher shoes if you wish to avoid being trampled by the crowd. Kids should not wander out here without their mothers.”

Something snapped in Edward’s mind. His anger mutated into pure rage. He turned his left hand into a fist and punched, aiming for the jaw. The man was quick, quick enough to catch his fist. No matter. Ed threw his other, and this time when the man tried to block, his hand was driven back into the wall, painfully. Finally, the smug air left, replaced by a grimace of pain, which was in turn replaced by an alert and defiant look.

“Automail,” he remarked. “Very convincing. You wouldn’t find this quality down here. Lucky kid.”

“Who’re you calling a kid, mongrel? I’m going to make you regret this!”

“You’re welcome to try.”

Edward was already on him.

They struggled for several minutes, the stranger holding his own quite well for somebody born to the streets and without automail limbs. He was anticipating Ed’s moves nicely, able to duck the automail and block the flesh most of the time. He also returned a few cautious strikes, one of his fists enough to ring bells in Edward’s head. But the boy’s fury easily overlooked pain and dizziness; he lashed back like a vicious wild beast. A wild beast still sane enough to fight properly, leaving few openings. This kid had had some good training, it was easy to see – or feel, as the case might be. The dark-haired man switched to defense, retreating a few steps.

Edward finally gained the upper hand when he swept the man’s legs with his left one, which was also automail. The hard metal nearly broke the mongrel’s right leg in the process. At the same time, the blondie was able to land his metal hand around his opponent’s throat and smash him into the wall. It was terribly annoying, but his size was barely enough to allow him to hold up the man so only the tip of his shoes touched the ground. Edward would have needed another inch or two to have his defeated opponent’s feet clear off the ground. Damnit.

Still, it was pleasing enough that the man could barely breathe, even without Ed squeezing. The blond fought the urge to do just that, squeeze and snap this annoying creature’s neck. Daring to insult him, stand up to him, fight and injure him. The nerves! For starters, Edward snagged his opponent’s cigarette – how had he managed to keep a hold of it during the whole fight? - and stomped it the way he would have liked to stomp this man.

“You should have known better, mongrel.” Ed’s voice snapped in the air quite clearly. He then realized that everybody had frozen before their fight and were still staring. He turned his head at them to yell something, and felt his prey attempt to kick him. It hurt. In retaliation, Edward rammed his automail leg into the man’s knee, driving it out of its socket. This earned a howl that the black-haired man cut short by biting down on his lower lip. Furthermore, Ed lowered the man a little. This way the mongrel was forced to use his good leg to support his weight, preventing him from even thinking about kicking again.

The blondie turned his head again and snarled at the people watching; “Tend to your own business!” The people fled, parents urging their children onward as fast as possible.

The boy turned back his blazing yellow eyes on the man he held. Somehow, at this point, Edward was expecting the smug look. It just didn’t go away. This guy was clearly insane and had a wish for death. This belief was reinforced when the half-strangled man forced himself to speak. “Absolutely no manners. What did your mother teach you? Kids these da-“ The sentence ended on a sharp cry when Edward shoved the man back into the wall and clenched his hand.

“SHUT UP!”

It was at this point Roy began to worry he was going to be killed. He tried to think - something a little difficult when one’s brain is lacking air, and one’s back is throbbing in pure pain, without mentioning his dangling knee. One of his hands was clenched on the automail at his neck, but he couldn’t move it. This boy’s grip just couldn’t be broken. This thing wasn’t just an arm replacement: it was a weapon.

Weapon…? Wait, he had a weapon too! He tried to remember what Hughes had taught him, how to flick his wrist just the right way to make the knife strapped to his forearm slide down into his hand. He tried a few times without results, with odd gestures anybody would have interpreted as twitches of pain, and finally felt the knife sliding down. He cut himself a little on the blade, closing his hand too early in fear of missing the handle and losing his last defense.

Okay. He just had to strike out so the boy would let go, and then run for it after slamming his knee back in place. An easy plan. He lashed out, aiming for the throat, mainly because it was about all he could reach down to. It seemed the lack of oxygen had slowed down his movements: Edward felt the attack and raised his arm to block. He snatched Roy’s wrist, holding the knife away from his vulnerable neck.

Edward cursed. “You’re fucking crazy. Do you know what they’d do to you if you killed me?”

“Sorry. Wasn’t going for a kill. Would have aimed lower, but you’re too short.” Roy coughed and his body convulsed. Air damnit, he needed more air! He was suddenly granted it. Edward had let go of his throat, but only because he wanted to use both hands to punch Roy’s stomach. He did so viciously, and the sound of bones breaking echoed. Roy was too dizzy to defend himself anymore and he was mostly kept upright by the blows.

“Filthy… lowlife… useless… scum… I’ll make you regret ever looking at me!” Edward heaved with anger, looking entirely focused on the bag of flesh he was pounding. Roy prided himself on being unusually perceptive - and right now, he really did not like what he saw in Edward’s eyes. The boy was going to turn him into puree. They’d have to scrape his remains off the pavement and wall.

“Niisan!” Edward jerked back at that voice, snapping his head toward the shorthaired blond running up to him. “Niisan, stop that right now!”

Edward’s arms fell limp to his sides. Roy slowly sank to the ground. He couldn’t have held himself upright even a second. He was close to unconsciousness, only aware of the boys bickering right in front of him. A part of him was stubbornly recording and analyzing the scene.

“What did you do that for, Niisan?”

“He insulted me!”

“You got angry about your size again, didn’t you? Well it’s true, Niisan! You’re not very tall! You can’t go around killing people for noticing!”

“I’M NOT SHORT! And he’s not dead!”

“YES YOU ARE!!”

Edward almost hurled himself at his own brother, out of instincts. Roy saw the movement, saw it being repressed and saw the distress paint itself on the boy’s face. Everything indicated it was the first time the other – his brother - insulted him. Edward was shaking in anger, shock and Roy didn’t know what else.

Ed tried to justify himself; “He… he insulted our mother! He has no right to open his filthy mouth! He’s just a mongrel!”

“He’s human nonetheless and he has rights too!” Ignoring his brother’s attempt at answering, Alphonse put a knee to the ground, looking the man over. To Roy, it was mostly a large shadow covering his already hazy vision. It took time for him to understand what his eyes were showing him. “It looks like you broke several of his ribs. His throat is bruised. Breathing must be hard.”

“Broken ribs won’t stop him from walking home,” huffed Ed.

“His knee is out of its socket.”

“I can put it back no problem.”

Grey eyes shot a very irritated look up at the short blond. “You’re not qualified to do that. We’re bringing him back so we can have a real doctor fix him.”

“What? You want to bring that back home?”

“Yes. You did this to him, you’re going to make sure he survives it.”

“I don’t have to! I don’t see why I’d care! He got what he deserved!”

“Niisan… I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” was the cold reply. Edward went silent, looking as if angry Alphonse was not something he was used to deal with. He kicked a rock into the street and hunched over himself sulkily, his hands digging into the pockets of his red coat. “What do you expect me to do? I can’t carry him.”

“Exactly, because you’re too short.” Edward only shrank further. Alphonse stood up, glancing around. He noticed two brown-haired men who were trying to watch while pretending to talk to each other, and gestured imperatively to them. “You two, come here! You’re going to carry this man for us.” The men started, edging back a little at first, but they came forward. After that little show, they really did not want to upset any blondies.

Alphonse glanced back down at the injured man. “What’s your name?” Although the tone was gentle, it was spoken like a command.

Roy considered not answering, but then again this one seemed different. Kind enough to care and polite enough to ask. Might as well provide an answer. He wasn’t without manners. “Mustang,” he said around a cough. “Roy Mustang.” He closed his eyes and went limp, appearing out of it.

“He has a second name? How presumptuous,” snarled Edward. “Who does he think he is? Al, you’re crazy. That guy is practically asking for death. Not an ounce of self-preservation instincts.”

“Everybody deserves a name,” simply said Al, nodding the two men to their burden and turning away. Edward watched the two men carefully pick up ‘Roy Mustang’ and then he spun on his heels to follow his brother toward the inner city and their home.

A few seconds after being lifted in the air, Roy truly passed out. It was alright to faint now. It seemed he wouldn’t be killed, not right now.

-

When Roy regained consciousness, it was to the sound of yet more arguing. It wasn’t hard to identify the voice of the one who’d beaten him into the wall, quite literally.

“I hope you’re happy now, Al. Getting through the gates was a nightmare and now I need a friggin’ excuse to have him here! Mongrels can’t come in here damnit.”

“There have been a few exceptions before.” A calm, reasonable voice. The green-coated one. Al. Alphonse.

“Yea, because they were the sexiest mongrels ever. But that one doesn’t qualify for that.”

“You think? He looks good for a man living on the street.”

“Nothing exceptional.”

Roy might have been offended, but he wasn’t quite done reintegrating the world yet. He was just getting in touch with his body parts. There was a throbbing in his rib cage, but that was normal. In fact it probably should have hurt more. They must have drugged him a little. His knee felt awkward, a little stiff, but it seemed to have returned to its socket without much problems. His left hand, the one that had been rammed back into the wall, was apparently wrapped up. The back of it felt odd. It had probably bled some, although he had not had time to be concerned about it. It was minor compared to the rest. His throat felt odd too; he could still feel the automail hand clenching there, menacing to crush his spine.

The boys were still talking. Roy’s attention was brought back to them by a heavy sigh. “Just great. I can’t let him leave after all this fussing.”

“We could let him ‘escape’.” The emphasis in the word escape spoke volumes.

“No way. That’d be horrible for my reputation at this point. There’s no choice. I’ll have him marked as a pet. I can say… I’ll say it’s his spirit. It’s true it’ll be like a challenge to train this one.” A hiss of fury. “I’m going to enjoy breaking him.”

“Niisan…”

A door slid open. There was shifting, the boys presumably standing up.

“So, how long will it take for this weakling to heal, doc?”

Paper shuffling, as though the man was looking at his files. Roy didn’t care to try to open his eyes and find out right now. But he listened, wanting to know just how banged up he was. He felt okay overall, but the drugs prevented him from analyzing himself correctly. “He’s in good health and nearly thirty of age. On a normal person it would take four to six weeks. I expect two of his ribs to be fine in perhaps only three weeks, because they are cleanly broken, but the two others cracked on the length so I expect five to six weeks for them.” Oh, wait, that was a woman’s voice. Definitely a pretty one too, decided Roy, without even having to open his eyes.

“How long until he can move?”

“I recommend he keeps the bed for the full first week. Movement will be possible after that, although you must be careful. Breaking them again before they are fully healed could be critical. His breathing doesn’t seem too impaired; even the bruise at his throat will disappear in a day or two.”

“All right, all right. Thank you Clara.” A little snappy, obviously annoyed.

Roy tried to open his eyes, now that the world had stopped spinning and he easily understood what people were saying around him. He squinted up at the ceiling, blinded by the white light. Breathing not too impaired huh? Well he could breathe well, but it sure hurt. So okay, he could breathe, and he could stare up at the ceiling with minimal pain. What else could he do? Seeking to find out, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows. Here came the pain. He flopped back down with a groan, wanting to hold his lower chest with both arms and also afraid to.

“Stay still,” snapped Edward.

The injured man rolled his tongue around a few times before attempting to speak. “Af- afraid I’ll r-roll on you by accident?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Obviously, Ed wasn’t listening. With caution, the mongrel turned his head to figure out just what the boy was doing. An odd object was shoved into his face and then hands fastened it around his neck. It rested around his throat, heavy and cold, a cast of metal. Mustang raised an eyebrow at Edward, wondering.

“Welcome to your new life as Edward Elric’s lapdog, Roy Mustang,” grunted the blond. Somehow, the thought didn’t seem to amuse him much more than it did Roy.

The man couldn’t help himself. “Woof,” he dryly replied.

-

In truth, Roy kept only a fuzzy memory of the few next days. Most of the time he was off to happy land, drugged just enough to have trouble keeping touch with reality. From time to time somebody would come to check on him, and it was usually Al. The younger Elric had learned it wasn’t wise to let his older brother and this man alone in the same room. Inevitably, the mongrel would find something insulting to say, even in his drugged state, and drive Edward half up the walls. It was hard enough for Alphonse to keep his brother from launching himself at the injured man and finish him off. He tried to talk to his brother, to calm him down, but that had almost as much results as asking Roy to watch his mouth before Edward truly lost it. Mustang almost felt sorry for him, really.

But Roy was still amused at the lights of doubt in the pair of grey eyes as the younger brother wondered if his Niisan was right and whether the mongrel had a wish for death.

Today, Alphonse found the dark-haired man sitting up, head turned to gaze outside the window. He had a direct view on the garden of this small hospital, and, further, on a few more buildings standing along a high wall. Roy’s left arm twitched a little, presumably because he had a long needle in it, which just wasn’t very comfortable. The line ran up to the wall where a pack of a transparent substance hung, letting its content drip down the tube into the man’s arm. It was a light drug, nothing that would induce addiction.

One would have doubted Mustang saw anything; he looked like he was gazing into nothing, lost in his own thoughts. He had not missed Alphonse’s entrance however. “I won’t be allowed to leave, will I?”

Alphonse sighed, dropping himself in a chair. “Probably not.”

“And I reckon escaping would be tricky.”

“Have you ever heard of a pet escaping the inner city?” No answers were needed. The only pets who’d ever left on their own, had done so as cold corpses. Besides, Roy had often spent time observing the walls to the inner city, wondering what it was like inside, wondering if it would be possible to creep in. The conclusion had always been the same. With some luck, he might be able to get in there, sliding under the guards’ noses and avoiding the guardian chimeras, but expecting to come out again was unrealistic.

There weren’t only guards with deadly aim and fierce chimeras in there. It was the stronghold of blondies, the place from where they led this country. It was the one city with the highest concentration of alchemical power. Given he outran the beasts, given he ducked the gunshots, how would he ever escape people who could set the air itself on fire, who could make the ground betray you, open up and swallow you whole? Blondies had fantastic, god-like powers. No mongrel could compete against these.

Like if it wasn’t enough, they had technology unknown to commoners. Better, stronger weapons. Automail limbs as useful as real ones, if not more. Traps, well hidden and impossible to detect. No, truly, this was not a place one could escape from alive. And despite his rash words, Roy was not so bent on dying. Not unless it provided some sort of amusement.

“I realize you had good intentions, even if I don’t understand why, but I’m not exactly pleased. You should have left me there.”

“You would have liked to die?”

“I wouldn’t have died,” firmly replied the man.

“Who would have come?”

Roy’s gaze wandered over to where Al was sitting, gloved hands crossed in his lap as he observed the strange mongrel. He was amused by the fact the brothers – it didn’t take much brain power to realize they were related at first glance - dressed roughly the same; black boots, black leather pants, brown belt, black shirt, black top with a white clasp, a hooded coat hanging down behind their knees. Only their hair length, eye color and coat color were different. Oh, and Alphonse’s boots weren’t very high. He didn’t need such things. He was nor too short nor too susceptible, unlike a certain brother of his.

“I didn’t say anybody would have,” Roy answered, calmly.

“No, you didn’t. But I know that look. You have faith in somebody. You think he would have come for you.”

A faint smile danced on Roy’s lips as he good naturally admitted, “He would have.” His gaze wandered back to the window. “He must be looking for me.”

Alphonse stretched, stood up. He probably had other things to do than listen to a mongrel’s tale after all. But Roy looked at him again and asked, in a softer tone; “Would it be possible…to send a message?” If there was anybody he was willing to give the puppy eyes to, it was Alphonse. He was the only one who might bend after all. His face was blank, but his eyes begged for this one favor.

It was expected, but Alphonse scowled, if only lightly. “You’re going to get into much trouble if you keep behaving like that.”

“Like what? Like I’m your equal?” inquired Mustang.

Grey eyes softened a little in guilt. “Yes.”

“I believe I’ve already begun getting in trouble. I don’t see why I’d stop now.”

“Maybe to give your bones a chance to heal?”

“He’ll throttle me soon enough anyway. It might have been over with if you didn’t insist on restraining him,” observed Roy.

Alphonse looked somewhere between anger and despair. “My intention was to make sure nobody died.”

Mustang was a little taken aback. He wasn’t used to measuring his words, but for this boy, he felt he should. Good behavior should be encouraged, not punished. If there was one blondie in this world capable of feeling sorry for mongrels, that blondie should certainly not be pushed to get rid of this softness. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t feel bad for doing good deeds. You just picked the wrong dog to save.” After a little reflection, he offered; “I’ll attempt to behave myself until I’m strong enough to survive your brother’s assaults.”

Al turned to leave. “That would be in your best interest.”

“Your brother would be worried sick, wouldn’t he, if you suddenly disappeared?” asked Roy to Alphonse’s back.

And although the blondie left without acknowledging these words, green cloak whirling after him, Roy was presented with a pen and a sheet of paper an hour later. A red-haired man in uniform picked it up and left, probably to deliver it. The man didn’t bother telling Mustang about it. Still, he was fairly certain the message would make it home. Well, ex-home.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy and about to go back to happy land. “Sorry Maes. I’ll see you when I find a way out of this death trap…”

-

True to his word, Roy was unnaturally quiet the next few days. When Edward started to get smug, Mustang informed him his passiveness had nothing to do with him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not anywhere near trained yet. I’m just busy healing. I’ll be back up and commenting on your size any day now.”

Finally, they allowed him to get out of bed. Roy didn’t know if it was Alphonse or Edward who’d wanted this, but he’d been kept in bed nearly two weeks instead of one. Two weeks of thinking and staring at the white walls had been quite maddening. Perhaps it had been Ed’s idea after all, a ploy to break his mind a little. When he’d tried to get up, they’d resorted to binding his ankle to the bed. Mustang did his best not to be bothered by it, even though it gave him a cold sweat. After all, he had a feeling it was just a start.

The doctor, Clara, had indeed turned out to be a pretty woman, with short hair curling on a pretty face and an interesting bust. She bore her alchemy array on her chest and used it to quickly transform plants into medicinal powder - which she forced Roy to swallow. No, actually she didn’t have much forcing to do; he was more than happy to obey a beautiful lady. He told her so too and took amusement in her indecision. She seemed half pleased a handsome man complimented her, and half upset it was a mongrel.

She finally settled for a slightly haughty tone. “You have good taste, for a mongrel.”

“Oh, it doesn’t take a blondie to see and appreciate beauty.”

“Seems so,” agreed Clara, finishing her checkup. “Like I predicted, two of your ribs are healed already, but still a little weak. The two others are doing good. There shouldn’t be any sequels. Just don’t let Edward take you for a punching bag again any time soon.”

“Yes ma’am. Anything your beauty commands.” Watching her fight to hide a flush, Roy noted women were the same anywhere, regardless of their rank. A little flattery, an appreciative look, and they had a hard time not falling for him. He was just that sexy.

Roy’s drug dose was significantly lowered after that, so he did not phase out in happy land anymore. The pain was still bearable, given he did not try anything too demanding.

The collar still bothered him though. Roy didn’t know how he was supposed to stand this heavy lump of cold metal around his throat day and night. At first it had painfully brushed against his bruised throat. Now it was just plainly annoying. Every so often he felt the urge to tug on it, like to verify it wasn’t suffocating him. Mustang was also much distressed by the fact he could not figure out how to open it at all. He would never be able to go anywhere with this at his neck. First things first, he would have to find out how to get rid of it before anything else. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it somehow triggered traps too. The blondies seemed to have enough technology to do many wondrous things. Bastards.

Edward wasn’t long to show up after that last checkup. He handed Roy new clothes, which were similar to what he had been wearing when they’d met. A pair of shiny dark blue pants and a matching jacket that hung open on his chest. The collar was quite visible like this, telling everybody this man was a pet - the Elrics’ pet.

“Come on pet. We’re going home.”