Gold and Charcoal

Gold and Charcoal
Chapter 12
Bonding

Even though it was deep into the night, the man walked without fear in this less-than-recommendable neighborhood. There were others roaming the streets at this hour, surely without any good intentions whatsoever. The dark man walked past several of them, giving everyone a smug smirk and disdainful look. He thought one of them would take offense and attack, but none did. Perhaps he was too well-known around here.

A block later, he found the address he was looking for. There were no locks on the apartment building’s door, nothing to keep unwanted scum outside. The entrance was deserted and his footsteps echoed in the stairwell all the way to the fourth and last level. There were four doors and it was to the last one at the left that he knocked. He did not have to wait long before somebody answered the door.

“Yes?” It was a young adult with short black hair and a reserved expression that shifted when he recognized the man at the door. It was with delight that he tried to call the visitor’s name, only to find a hand at his throat. He struggled a little, eyes wide and confused, but was out cold in a mere minute.

“Fury? Who is it?”

The visitor left the unconscious Fury slumped against the wall in the entrance and walked forward to reach the living room. “Hey,” he said, giving a salute with two fingers.

“Roy?” The man with glasses blinked, taken off guard, but was quick to recover and grin. “Well, well, would you look at that, the horse is back. I was starting to think I’d have to go get you myself, with a lasso.”

“What, missed me?”

“Missed your insanity? Never.”

“I can take my wild ride elsewhere if you insist,” purred Roy, advancing.

“As if anybody else could tolerate you. Don’t think so highly of yourself, Mustang.” Hughes gave a friendly shove to the other’s chest.

“I’m wounded.”

“I’m the wounded one,” replied Hughes, eyes sparkling. “All those pictures you missed! It’s going to take forever to catch up!” He caught Roy’s neck in a headlock and started to drag him to the couch and the large albums waiting there. “You’ll be pleased, I caught some of Lyra changing. She hasn’t learned to close her curtains yet.”

“I don’t really have time for pictures,” said Roy pleasantly, shoving his elbow into Hughes’ side. When the arm around his neck let go – to the sound of a ‘ow!’ - Roy turned and punched. His fist only met empty air, Hughes already crouched to the ground to kick his legs. Roy evaded with ease and grinned at the man who had retreated to stand several feet away, all joy gone from his face.

“Who the hell are you?”

“What, your memory is failing you? Roy Mustang, remember? Geez, I was just playing.”

The man rested a hand on the knife at his belt. “Don’t fuck with me. I’ve known that guy for over a decade. Mustang wouldn’t attack me out of nowhere,” Hughes adjusted his glasses, eying this poser closely. “ You’re grinning. Mustang can’t grin. You do look horribly like him though. I can’t see anything else. You’re his long lost evil twin or something?”

Roy shrugged. “Let’s skip the technicalities, shall we? I’m here to kill you. You’re welcome to put up whatever puny resistance you can, it’ll only be more fun.”

“Where’s Mustang?”

“What makes you think I know where he is?” The fake Roy grinned again, making Hughes shiver. That was not a face his friend ever bore either. “You shouldn’t care, really. It’s not like he wants to see you again. He wouldn’t have given me your address if he cared about you, would he?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The Roy look-alike flicked a folded piece of paper toward the man with glasses. “Look, I have pictures of my own.”

On the picture was a tall dark man with a collar hugging a small blondie. Hughes wasn’t impressed in the least. “Who says that’s not you on that picture?”

“I can’t both take the picture and be on it, can I? But here, have a few more.”

The next one had been taken through a window and showed Roy – if it was him – laying on a rich, pristine white carpet beside a bed in which you could barely make out two blond heads. His face was shadowed, but his body showed no sign of tension and he wasn\'t even tied down, like a good dog. The third and last one was a clear shot of a Roy with only a pair of pants on, facing the same blond he had been hugging on the first image. Their bright expressions indicated it was only practice, not a fight. On the man’s side you could see a scar, the only visible mark Roy had ever received in a fight. It was where a knife had slid along his ribs, cutting flesh like butter. Hughes remembered it well; he had been the one to try and stop the flow of blood while Fury was fetching an emergency kit. Sewing that wound had been a nightmare.

Hughes looked up, still not convinced, but doubts finally entered his mind when this fake Roy tugged his dark shirt up to show a perfect side. No marks there. Maes struggled to find a logical explanation, wondering if you could use make-up to recreate Roy\'s scar. His logic told him no, that the man on the pictures was the real thing. But...Roy? Getting along with his captors? Blondies? This was entirely too strange.

And who the hell was this, this guy who looked so much like Roy that even Hughes - who had always prided himself on being exceptionally clever - had been fooled. “Are you an alchemist?”

Fake Roy laughed. “Me? I’m nothing that common. I don’t use arrays. I’m not even human.” He gave a mock-yawn. “This chit-chat is boring me. I’m here to have fun. Now, either play along or die. Oh, well actually, you’re going to die anyway.”

Again, that horrible, sadistic grin. It made it easier for Hughes to convince himself to throw, although his heart did give an uncomfortable quiver when the knife caught ‘Roy’ in the forehead and made him snap back and collapse, dead.

Hughes shuddered, not willing to get close to that guy, even if he was dead. That had been entirely too creepy. As the silence stretched, he started to worry about his other friend. He called, “Fury? Hey, Fury, are you alright?”

“You should think about your own well-being first.”

Okay. A Roy look-alike had been creepy. The talking corpse of the Roy look-alike was twice as creepy. And there should have been a new word to describe the level of creepiness the situation fell into when the Roy look-alike reached to pluck the blade out of its forehead and stood up, licking the blood that dripped down to his lips. Hughes stared in horror.

\"You know,\" Roy\'s face screwed up in a frightening expression as he touched his forehead. \"That hurt. Do you know how much I *hate* pain? I\'m going to make you regret this.\"

There was a new voice then, coming from the hidden entrance. Both mongrels turned their head just a little to listen. “Hughes! Are you there? What’s going on?”

“Farman! How’s Fury?”

“He’s unconscious, but alive.”

“Take him and run! Now! There’s some psycho here who looks just like Mustang. He’s trying to kill us! I’ll meet you later! Go!”

“What?” Farman decided to just heed the warning and ask questions later. “ Understood!”

Hughes had not taken his eyes off Fake Roy, and he had trouble accepting what his eyes were telling him. The wound, the mortal wound that would have killed anybody else – had entirely disappeared, leaving only a trail of blood.

“It doesn’t matter if they run,” observed Fake Roy. “I like hunts. It’ll be interesting to find them. I think I’ll look like you when I meet up with them. I wonder if they’ll be bright enough to realize what’s going on?”

“Shut up. I’m not dead yet.”

“Of course, of course. Allow me to correct that.\"

With twin flicks of his wrists, Hughes summoned his pair of hidden daggers. “Let’s see who kills who.”

Hughes knew that even though Fake Roy didn’t have weapons, he was far from defenseless. The real Roy was good with his bare hands, there were no reason this guy wasn’t. He could apparently mimic the real thing fairly well.

Only, Hughes did not immediately realize the danger. He knew Roy and had seen him fight so often he was familiar with all his moves. It did not occur to him that this strange guy – whoever he was – might be able to do things Roy himself could not, or use moves that were not in Roy’s repertoire.

While the real Roy was fairly flexible, there was no way he could jump and flip over somebody’s head, kicking their back on his way down. Maes fell, stunned but not enough to waste time gaping, and slashed at the poser’s ankles. A normal person would have been seriously hindered by an ankle unable to support their weight anymore, but not this monster. Fake Roy only shook his foot in the air a moment, complaining about the pain and the blood in his shoe.

Hughes tried to use this to his advantage, pushing himself into his opponent with his daggers forward, but Fake Roy blocked, hands crushing Maes’ wrists. This was abnormal. Roy did not have such strength. Nobody could grip this tight and break bones like it was nothing. It was the right wrist that gave way, causing the taller man to groan between clenched teeth and a dagger to fall to the floor. It didn’t matter that it was the right one though; Hughes was perfectly ambidextrous with his weapons.

Maes used his weight to shove the poser back against the wall, gaining freedom. His broken hand held against his chest, he sliced away with the good one, tearing the shirt and drawing a bloody line across his enemy’s chest. Hughes then twisted his arm to bring the blade back and dive for the heart, only to be hit by a punch that broke his nose and sent his glasses flying.

\"That hurts, bitch! All right, I\'m really pissed.\" A hand gripped Hughes shoulder and a knee was driven into his stomach twice before his knees buckled and he hit the ground, dazed.

There was the sound of glass breaking, then a laugh. “Oh, oops. Were these your glasses? I hope you can still see without them. I’d be sad if you couldn’t see my face in the end.” A foot kicked him back flat on the floor and came to rest on his chest, just in case he still had energy to waste trying to stand up.

“Fuck you,” panted Hughes, unable to breathe through his nose and feeling blood in his mouth.

“Sore loser, are we? Well, it was interesting, but I do hate pain; you hurt me, so I’m going to repay you now.” Fake Roy lifted his feet and smashed it back down. Bones gave way, flesh was torn and organs were squished, drawing a high-pitched scream from Hughes.

Wheezing, Hughes spat blood to his right. Through hazy vision, he saw one of his fallen weapons. He snatched it and threw blindly, trusting his instincts, and caught the attacker’s neck.

Fake Roy gagged and coughed, doubling over in pain. It took the whole of two seconds for the psycho to reach and pull the dagger out, already recovering. “Would you stop doing that already? You can’t kill me and it hurts like a bitch!\" He stopped glowering and smiled, almost sweetly. \"Here, have your toy back.”

Fake Roy knelt and pressed the blade to the helpless man\'s throat. He pushed it in viciously, even giving it a twist before snatching it back out. Blood sprinkled on him, which lifted his mood some, making up a little for the pain he had received.

Hughes wasn\'t dead yet, hands clutching the gruesome wound. He was just human, he wasn\'t some sort of invincible freak able to heal such mortal hits. He would have screamed, but all that left his throat was a disgusting gurgle and a heavy wave of blood.

\"I almost feel better now,\" cheerfully said Fake Roy. \"Maybe I won\'t feel the need to dismember your little friends to make up for what you did.\" There was another gurgle of blood in answer, which made the crouched man laugh. \"Don\'t try to say anything, you\'re wasting your blood. I bet you said I\'m a bastard, right? Well guess what? I am. I like picking on humans, but I hate when they fight back. I. Really. Hate. It.\"

The bastard in question stood and kicked the convulsing body; Hughes rolled away, a hand blindly reaching toward a dagger that rested three feet in front of him. The hand never made it, falling back limp.

\"Eh?\" The attacker nudged Hughes with his foot. \"Aw man, already dead?\" The murderer sulked, kicking the fresh corpse. \"I need to keep my temper in check. Humans are way too frail. I wasn\'t done! Oh well. I\'ll play somewhere else.\"

Envy left behind a trail of blood, his crimson footsteps shifting halfway down the stairs. Coming out into the freshness of the night, he adjusted his glasses and smiled. One down, two to go.

-

“STOP!” Roy bolted up, wild and frightened eyes darting around with confusion. Bed, books, boy, what? This…this wasn’t home. No Hughes here. No Envy.

It had just been a bad dream. The man sank his face in his hand at the realization, wondering why he was so shaken. Was he really that concerned about the others? Apparently so.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Roy gave a shudder and the eyes he turned to Edward were still lost. “Nightmare,” the mongrel said, trying to either shrug or give a faint, self-mocking smile. Both failed and he just decided to ignore the blond, leaning on the backrest with his eyes closed. He breathed slowly, soothing his body. Everything was fine.

“You have nightmares?” There was surprise in that voice and Roy would have sneered if he’d been in his right mind. There was a faint shhing sound - probably Edward running his hand through his loose hair and throwing it over his shoulder - and the voice rose again, “Nightmare about what?”

Something in the way it was said spoke of guilt. It intrigued Roy enough to make him pry his eyes open and glance wonderingly at the blond. Edward was also sitting up, his one arm curled around his raised legs and chin resting on his knee. His eyes were bloodshot - as if he hadn’t been able to sleep at all - and his hair seemed damp.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Roy to avoid the question. “My shout should have woken him up, he’s a light sleeper.”

“He didn’t even move when I went to the bathroom for a shower,” answered Ed, thus explaining why his hair was wet. “He’s drained. What happened while I was gone?\" He kept his voice hushed, unwilling to risk disturbing Alphonse\'s rest, but hardened his tone. \"Don’t try to lie. He did something.”

“That’s my fault,” admitted the mongrel, going for his usual blunt honesty. “Clara was confident I was about to kick the bucket and my chances were nonexistent. Your brother decided he was perfectly capable of handling healing alchemy. He did, but it was hard on him. I hope he will recover fine.”

The boy was gazing away, silent for a few moments. “Healing alchemy? For what, mere broken bones?”

“The broken bone tore my interiors. The bleeding was too heavy, it wouldn’t stop on its own. It would have required at least surgery, but Clara said she would not be allowed to treat me.”

“Guess not. Whatever they can do to piss us off, they\'ll do.\" The boy trailed off a little in a rant against all those \'jerks\' and \'bastards\' before focusing on the issue at hand again. \"So Al did it by alchemy? Heh. Of course there wasn’t a problem. He just needs his sleep then.”

It startled Roy; he had expected Ed to be angry at him for putting Al’s life at risk. Instead, the blond was grinning – barely, but it was a grin – with pride. Had Clara exaggerated the dangers because she was scared for the young alchemist? From what Roy knew - and judging from Edward\'s beaming pride - it was every bit as dangerous as the doctor had told him it was. How odd. This required investigation.

“You trust his skills that much? Wasn’t it dangerous?”

“Yeah, sure,” the boy shrugged, waving his hand a little. “But that’s Alphonse you’re talking about. He isn’t like me. He doesn’t jump into things if he doesn’t know he can pull them off. He knows how to use the truth better than me, too. He\'s smarter.” It was easy to guess Alphonse was the only person Edward would ever claim was better than him.

“He’s also taller.” It only occurred to Roy afterward that Edward had said something about ‘the truth’. The truth of what? Confusing statement. Did the blondie believe alchemy was \'the truth\'? Roy would have liked to call it silly, but it wasn’t all that ridiculous of an idea. Learning so much about alchemy had taught him to respect this mysterious art. Alchemy did focus on understand everything and anything after all.

“Shut up,” grumbled Ed moodily, closing his eyes instead of rising to the bait. He must have been too tired.

Ruffling his dark hair, the collared man thought it was about time he got a haircut. It was getting a little too long, the back extending past his neck and the bangs constantly swinging in his eyes. He felt good, only a little sore and sensitive where he had collected purple bruises of his own. There was nothing wrong in his insides, nothing feeling weird and nothing hurting. He doubted it was necessary to keep him grounded in bed for so little, but he didn’t care enough to bring it up with Alphonse. He could stand a few more days of pure laziness.

Edward on the other hand, did not look so good. Angry red lines were visible all over his upper body, the bruises were spreading over pale skin in ugly tones of purple and yellow, and there was coagulated blood all around the automail port. Adding to that the gaping hole of the missing right arm and the haunted eyes, Edward was quite the pitiful sight.

“Are you feeling ill?” inquired the mongrel, noting the unusual pallor of the blond’s skin even in the weak light. It would explain why they were able to sustain a sane conversation suddenly. Illness had a way to suck the fight out of you.

“I had nightmares too,” was the quiet answer. “About them.”

Ah. The piece of information was quickly collected and connections were made. There was the answer to the boy\'s earlier guilt. Edward’s nightmares were about the creatures who picked on him, the sins. There was a high probability Edward had actually just dreamt of the fight that had left him in this miserable state. From what Mustang understood, it was the first time the longhaired blond received a taste of his own medicine. A bitter taste, surely. And - illogical as always - Edward assumed that if he had bad dreams about the people who beat him up, Roy must do the same and have bad dreams about his violent owner. Of course, Ed\'s reasoning made no sense whatsoever. Roy Mustang, scared of Edward because he had almost killed him? As if. Death wasn’t scary at all to Roy. Though, the mongrel would be the first to admit he wasn\'t quite sane.

Telling himself he was taking the equivalent trade principle too seriously - and snapping back it was actually a strategic peace offering - Roy nevertheless gave away his own secret, “I have a few friends out there. Envy knows them, somehow.”

“He threatened to rip their limbs off and dance on their corpse, didn’t he?” Edward hissed and added, lowly, “He likes to do that. Bastard.”

Roy did not miss the revealing quick look sent toward the couch. “He threatened your brother?”

“Yeah well, I know he can’t do anything right now, but if the bastard decides to let them loose on us so we can’t spill their little secrets… \" Edward refused to keep going on that dark trail, covering with a snarl, \"But I won’t let them touch him.”

Secrets? This was both an answer and a question. So this was why the boys felt permanently threatened and were watched so closely by Envy and company. They knew something the sins did not want the public to know. Roy didn’t have a clue what it could be. It couldn’t be knowledge of the sins’ weak point – assuming they had one - or Edward would already had been using it against them.

On the other side of the coin, if these little secrets the boys knew of were so delicate, why were they still alive? It couldn’t be that hard to camouflage their deaths and the sins had proved they were stronger. Lust could have killed Edward instead of simply taking his coat away. The coat…the sign…did it have anything to do with these secrets, or was it only to destroy their morale? The sins seemed to be playing a game of intimidation, using fear to keep the Elrics quiet and relatively cooperative. They wanted Edward and Alphonse alive, then. But why? In what purpose?

Perhaps it was that very question that had been nagging at Edward’s mind for so long. It was enough to drive anybody out of their mind and make them paranoid.

Roy tried to find back his way to their subject. They had been talking about the creep. “Envy likes to be feared, doesn\'t he?\"

“Oh, he’s not all talk. He actually likes to do what he says, as long as his prey is weak enough not to fight back too much. But he’ll settle for toying until he’s allowed to do more.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“What, you want me to tell you the monster doesn’t have a backbone?”

The man couldn’t help but sigh. “I wouldn’t have believed you. He seems quite eager to carry out his threats, as long as they sound amusing enough.”

Wasn’t this interesting. It was the longest conversation they had ever had – it could almost be called bonding - and it had to be about Envy’s death threats on the people they held dearest. Perhaps the old maxim did apply. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Oh, they certainly could never be friends, but they could, perhaps, be allies. Neither seemed interested to have to watch their back against the other anymore, considering all the other enemies they had to worry about. So, it was a truce.

Roy thought he was being childish, but needed to ask anyway, “Are they immortal? Would a knife to the head stop Envy?”

The answer, served on a grim tone, was of no comfort. Instead, it made the man\'s blood run cold. “If you ask me, Envy would pull it out and laugh at you.”

“The sun is coming up,” noted Roy, wishing to end the discussion before he started thinking his dream had been a premonition. It was just a coincidence his dream had been so realistic, nothing more. Anybody could guess Envy was knife-proof and deeply sadistic, right? “We should try to fall back asleep before it gets in our eyes.”

“I guess.”

Roy slept uneasily, but his slumber was devoid of nightmares this time.

-

It was still early – much too early, even in Roy’s opinion – when they received new visitors. Ed glared daggers at the newcomers, a pair of blond boys who appeared to be brothers like the Elrics, only these had more than a year between them.

Alphonse wasn’t very welcoming either. “What do you want, Russell?”

“I’m here to take down the sign on the wall.”

“What are the chances we’re going to let you do that?”

“Alphonse,” said the one called Russell, standing a few inches above the Elric boy. “It’s a direct order. From the fuhrer.”

Al stilled at those words, tilting his head toward the bed. “I see…Niisan?”

Edward turned around, presenting his back to the rest of the room and his closed eyes to Roy. “I don’t care.”

The mongrel didn’t miss anything of the scene. Russell drew an array on the wall with chalk and used both his hands to activate it, looking up at what he was trying to transmute. Soon the Flamel wavered, the paint shifting into something more…circular. It was with high interest that Roy recognized the new form as the ouroboros sign. How spiteful of them. Edward didn’t open his eyes, but the fact he didn’t stop twitching hinted that he was aware of the reaction. If you knew what it was, the faint energy’s crackle sound was a good pointer.

The paint stopped moving, settled into its new form. It wasn’t perfect; it appeared to be a little squished on the top - making the ouroboros a little more oval than round - and the snake’s head was shaped like a bead. Roy figured it was because Russell was not exactly familiar with this sign. The telltale glow of the alchemical reaction died down and the chalk array was rubbed off the blue wall.

“I’m done.”

Edward didn’t move at those words, eyelids still down. Only a crack of gold became visible when Russell’s little brother spoke to his turn. “I’m sorry…we have to bring back the coat, too.”

Alphonse glared down at the smaller boy but finally took the garment off and handed it over. “Whatever. Leave.”

Edward closed his eyes at this moment. He didn’t twitch anymore, just lying in silence. It did not suit him, reflected Roy, feeling the urge to call Edward small just to see him spazz or move in some way or other. One would almost have thought the boy was dead.

The youngest and smallest boy present repeated, “I’m sorry.” He was ignored.

Russell paused by the bed, addressing Edward. “Should I expect you to work tomorrow?” He waited but there were no answers forthcoming. He nodded, “I see. Come on, Fletcher.”

Alphonse sat back in his nest, gazing up at the new sign with a blank expression. Nothing else but the sign’s form had changed, but somehow it had shifted the whole apartment’s atmosphere. It was…colder. Edward shivered and buried himself under the covers, eyes tightly shut. Roy wondered if it was to stop the tears of rage.

-

Alphonse’s first move once he recovered from his depressed musing – which took a few hours - was to order Roy and Ed not to dare to leave the bed for anything else than bathroom business. They had toast and jam for dinner, and deemed themselves lucky they were only a little scorched. In an effort to gain something more substantial for the next meal, Roy gave Alphonse very precise instructions about how to make grilled cheese. Nobody could mess up grilled cheese, right? Maybe the bread would be a little burnt, but it would be edible.

Roy didn’t think twice before investigating the books behind Edward. He plucked a few out and settled to read. Ed gave a snort, but five minutes later he was sitting opposite to Roy against the other backrest with his own pile of books. The silence was comfortable, and for once they were not on edge from each other’s presence.

When Mustang caught the blondie gazing at the wall – gazing at the gloomy sign of the snake biting it’s own tail to be more precise - instead of reading, he left aside his leather-bound volume to risk a question.

“Are you going to restore the flamel?”

“No. They’d like that.” Edward blinked, golden gaze shifting to the man in front of him. “Wait, when did you learn its name?”

“Your brother told me while I was doing research about it.”

Ed crossed his arms and tilted his head curiously. “Oh? What, you were trying to understand what it means?”

“I tried.”

There was a definite sparkle of interest in Edward’s eyes and Roy wasn’t sure if he should be weary of it or not. “Really. Go on, tell me what you gathered.”

“The wings of the phoenix and the crown represent an ideal, the top and the end. The snake on the cross is a sacrifice to represent equivalent trade.” Roy’s voice was quiet, devoid of any smugness. Concerning alchemy, Edward knew much more than him. There was a chance the boy would spit on his theory and proceed to tell him just how terribly wrong and stupid he was. Which at least would provide Roy with a tangible answer, but it would still be insulting. “In whole, it symbolizes the quest for the perfect knowledge of alchemy and the sacrifices that have to be made to reach that goal.”

Ed almost grinned. “Not bad. You do catch on stuff quickly. But I don’t think you’re right.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Depends,” mused Edward, flipping pages of a book absently. “Technically, a snake on a cross means removing the poisonous element of mercury to make a medicinal elixir. You might have read something about ‘fixing the volatile’. Well, that’s what it’s about. But with a crown and wings…” The boy shrugged, now drumming his fingers on the book’s hardcover. “Nobody knows exactly. Especially since everything has different meanings, depending on the context and what you want it to mean. It’s part of the game I suppose, to figure it out. I think we used to think something like what you said before. Our belief shifted since then.”

Roy copied Edward’s attitude, casual and thoughtful. The blond boy seemed to enjoy talking about alchemy, so he was going to take advantage of this almost friendly moment. “Care to inform me of your own interpretation?”

The blond seemed pleased to, launching into an explanation immediately. “The snake on the cross represents death, the sacrifice of a life. Yet, crucifixion also means resurrection, and the phoenix is said to be reborn of his ashes, which is resurrection too. The phoenix is also the last stage of alchemy and the most powerful creature. The crown is indeed a symbol of the top, of accomplishment.” Here there was a small pause, the time for Ed to breathe before giving his conclusion. “ So it means that you can only reach the goal, the ultimate power, through death.”

That hardly made any sense, did it? “Is it saying there is no such thing as perfection in alchemy?” Roy thought of something deeper and managed not to feel foolish saying it. It seemed religion and alchemy did mix to a certain point. “Is it to say alchemy cannot do everything God can, and those who try to wander in his domain with human transmutation will perish?”

Edward actually seemed to consider Roy’s words seriously. Surprising on two sides: first because Ed was listening to something Roy said as if it had any sort of value, and second because the alchemist was far from the religious type. “I guess you could say it like that. Although trying human transmutation isn’t always fatal. It just comes with a price, and it is never perfect.”

“Maybe it would be perfect if you sacrificed your life for its accomplishment then?”

“I guess,” repeated Ed, noncommittally. “I see it as a warning that you must sacrifice your life to gain eternity and power. That, in this eternity, you will be reborn every time you die, like the phoenix. And although you have immortality and power, the cross shows that you will never stop suffering.”

“Isn’t that a little farfetched?” Roy objected with a slight frown, not catching why the blond would prefer something obscure over something clear cut. It didn’t seem to be his style. “ Not very practical.”

“You would think that.”

Again, that was not like Edward to leave things unspoken. Roy couldn’t make sense of this sudden change of behavior. Well, he could live with the sudden bonding over alchemy, but he would have liked some concise answers. Edward had answered his previous questions with good grace, so Roy tried to ask for more insight.

“What are you saying?”

The blond shrugged, twisting his human hand in his long hair. “There isn’t one good answer. You have yours, I have mine. Maybe eventually you’ll understand my views. Doesn’t matter.” His following words were low and bitter, certainly not meant to be heard. “None of it matters anymore.”

Edward glared at the ouroboros sign, and Roy was left to gnaw on those mysteries again. A snake biting it’s own tail, the sign of the inhuman creatures. The so-called seven sins. Roy wanted to know all about what the heck they were and what were their secrets. He realized it was a deadly game, but it was a game he was willing to play anyway. It wasn’t like backing up would do much difference at this point; he was already neck deep in it, with Envy on his case.

-

After earning a scolding and being told to take care of his automail port and the raw patches of skins around it, Edward had no choice but to learn to balance the bottle on a knee to dip his fingers into and seek the sensitive spots blindly. His shoulder seemed to finally start to truly hurt, an almost permanent scowl set on Ed’s face as he fought to ignore it and finish the job.

After the third time some of the oily substance splashed on the white sheets - accompanied by wild curses that disrupted the dark man’s concentration - Roy closed his book, put it away, and crawled forward to snatch the bottle from Edward’s knee.
“You’re making a mess, Shokun. Give me that.”

“Hey!”

Roy dipped his free hand’s fingers in the container and reached for the automail port. The blond gave a shudder at the first touch, but didn’t protest further, letting the man massage the oil along the metal for him. It didn’t look good; the skin was raw and of a slightly sick color. Hopefully that didn’t mean there was infection setting in. Every so often Ed would wince, informing Roy he should make his touch lighter.

When the mongrel was done, he reached the brush that rested on the bookshelf beside Edward and began to brush the boy’s hair without having been asked to.

“Hey, what are you-“

Roy batted Ed’s hand away, speaking with authority. “You hair is a mess too, Shokun. I don’t want it to stick into the lotion either. It won’t be long. Stay put.”

Brushing the long hair took longer than expected, but that might have been because Mustang over did it, running the brush in golden strands until there was not the smallest tangle in view. Roy loved long hair on ladies because it was soft and smelled good. It was just as interesting on a boy apparently; it was fun to run his fingers through it. He was just checking for tangles of course.

Roy had never braided hair, but he’d seen it done. It was just a question of separating the hair in three parts and weaving them together following a simple pattern. He set to it, reaching the end too soon for his taste. Instead of a hair band, Roy reached for one of the remaining threads of red from the coat, tying it neatly. He took the cable of hair and gave a light tug.

“How’s that?”

Edward snatched his braid and ran a hand down it, finally giving a small nod. “It’s alright.” He shifted to face the man. “So, what’s up with you? You want something?”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not difficult to get along with, despite what you seem to think. I’m just naturally such a gentleman.”

There was a twitch, announcing a potential anger fit. “Are you calling me a girl?”

“Are you calling me straight?”

That stopped the blond in his tracks. He frowned, looking for the trap. “What? You…uuh…you like girls! I saw you around Rose!”

“Can’t a man love beauty everywhere?” A little overdramatic, but unsettling Edward was too much fun.

“You’re into both?”

“I’m into pretty things.”

Ed started to pump up again, almost flailing his arm around (he had the good sense to remember there was a cracked bone in that shoulder). “So you are hitting on my brother, aren’t you?!”

Roy just had to rub his forehead. Trying to make sense out of this boy was almost painful. “You were under the impression I was straight, yet you attacked me under the excuse that I was trying to seduce your brother? Last time I checked, girls have breasts, which tend to be very noticeable, since they are sticking out. I don’t think your brother is female.”

“You could want to use him,” gritted Ed. “You know he’s into guys, you’d just be pretending.”

Roy leaned forward, lowering his head to be at the alchemist’s level. “Shokun, I’m only going to say it once more. You were the one claiming he’s smarter than you. Well it starts with him being able to keep his head cool and analyze situations. If I was up to anything, he’d have noticed by now.” Okay, Roy wasn’t exactly sure of that, but it was better not to show doubts and keep his damned pride low for once. “I’m tired of dealing with your childishness, and I’m sure your brother is as well, considering his current attitude.”

“What do you want then?” snarled Edward, confusion raising his temper. “It amuses you that I’m crippled and can’t do simple stuff on my own?”

“No.” Roy straightened, thinking. He wasn’t sure what to say. He just… well… something. “Your brother is attempting to deal with my job, I might as well try to do his, which seems to be to handle you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” explained the man. “ You’re so irrational you’re a danger on your own. Without saying what happens when you’re around others.” The sour look Mustang gave Edward’s automail port said enough.

“Oh shut up. I’m sorry about that, okay? Geez.”

Roy was about to give a sarcastic ‘you are?’, but for once managed to shut his mouth and keep his smirk toned down to what could almost be called a smile. “Okay.”