Soldier Blues

II.

Roy rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what he should bring the kid. There was the standard ration, the standard ration, and oh, look, the standard ration. Might as well boil some rocks and sticks and call it jambalaya. The dark haired man heaved a heavy sigh and grabbed up a wrapped package from the stack, moving out of the mess tent to head back to his own. Maybe he’d get lucky and the brat would be gone, run away while he was alone. Roy’s eyes narrowed at his own thought, picking up his pace as if to prove to himself the kid wasn’t there at all, that he’d imagined the whole thing as some hallucination accompanying post-traumatic stress disorder so he could go rave at the company’s psychiatric doctor and get sent home.

Unfortunately for Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, the blonde brat was still lying on that cot, only instead of glaring hotly at the returning man, the boy was sound asleep again, curled somewhat on his side.

Roy fought not to jump when the tent flap brushed against his backside as it closed behind him. He tore his mind away from the thoughts rising up in his traitorous brain and moved to set the rations down on his makeshift desk. He studied the brat for a while before he moved to wake him up. Shaking didn’t do any good. So Roy did the next best thing. He braced his hands on the cot’s edge and lifted with all the strength he could muster. Lifted decently into the air, he let go, and watched with some sort of irritating glee as that cot bounced back onto the earth, jarring the blonde rebel awake. Perhaps Roy should have retreated after he’d let go, because he barely dodged the punch aimed at his face as the boy rolled with the bouncing cot’s momentum toward the raven-haired Lieutenant Colonel. Roy slid his hand beneath that rocketing fist and curled his fingers around the boy’s wrist, catching tight as he hauled him up and off that cot. The blonde resisted, but Roy had control of their momentum, so the boy kept going forward until his shoulder jerked and the fifteen-year-old fell back against the chest of his captor.

Roy’s free hand snaked around that blonde braid and tugged hard enough to rip a few strands of hair out at the root, forcing the kid’s head back. The Lieutenant Colonel bared his teeth in response to the boy’s snarl, and promptly swept the kid’s feet out from under him, leaving Roy as the only thing supporting him. And the position wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, which was what Roy had intended in the first place. Pain had an odd tendency to make people listen, but in the kid’s case, as Roy found out, it did the exact opposite. The kid’s legs drew up and, despite the increasing pain in his scalp and shoulder, those legs pistoned back into Roy’s shins, taking them both down.

Roy rolled, battling with the brat for the upper hand, and finally pinned the blonde to the floor of the tent, panting. The kid was glaring up at him, amber eyes dark with anger, teeth bared as if he were going to launch up and chew Roy’s throat out.
Roy lifted his head enough out of the way and knelt over the kid, hands pinning down his wrists, straddling his thighs to keep those legs from kicking. As if realizing the move, that horrible snarl grew sharper and something like a snarl escaped from the blonde.

“I was going to feed you,” Roy growled, “but it seems like you’d rather starve.”

“Screw you! Get the hell off me!”

“Not until you promise to behave.”

The blonde spat at him. Roy frowned and simply stared at the blonde until he fancied he saw cold sweat break out on the boy’s forehead. Calmly, too calmly, he lifted a hand and wiped the saliva from his cheek and casually wiped his glove clean on the boy’s dirty uniform and then cracked that same hand across the blonde’s cheek. Those honey eyes stared at him incredulously and Roy half expected the kid to cry. So Roy sat back, telling himself those gold eyes weren’t accusing him of something he didn’t want to do, and made sure the kid’s attention was on him.

“I’m going to let you up now. You’re going to eat and then we’re going to get you into a new uniform. A bath too, while we’re at it. If you disobey, if you misbehave, you will be reprimanded, got it?”

“What are you, my master?”

“For the sake of conversation, let’s say yes.”

The blonde frowned. “Shouldn’t masters know the names of their slaves?”

“For fuck’s sake, you little brat, I’m not your master.” Roy said hotly, biting the inside of his cheek when he noticed a satisfied smirk on the brat’s face. “Fine, you first.”

“Now who’s juvenile?”

“Answer the damn question.”

The brat rolled his eyes, but refrained from saying the obvious. “Edward. Edward Elric.”

Roy let out the breath he’d been holding. “Well, Edward Elric, you can call me Roy Mustang. On second thought, just call me Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.”

“Alright, Mustang.” Roy fought not to grind his teeth at the not-quite sneering tone. “Are you going to let me up now, or are you going to wait until my legs die from blood loss?”

Muttering, Roy rocked to his feet and grabbed the blonde by the front of his shirt, hauling him up. He shoved the kid toward one ration packet and grabbed up his own, digging into the thing and telling himself he’d won if only so he didn’t have to pretend not to see that smirk on Edward’s mouth.

They ate in silence, which suited the pair just fine, and when Edward was finished with his ration, Roy stood up to take hold of the kid. He said nothing, just dragged the blonde from the tent and hurried him toward a standing house, barely giving Ed time to look around and get his bearings.

Roy shoved Ed inside the house and closed the door behind them. Then he took hold of the kid again and led him to the bathroom, pushing him inside. Edward whirled, glaring at the man who stepped into the bathroom with him.

“I’m not getting naked in front of you,” Edward said, almost accusatory.

Roy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dumbass. I’m not staying. Listen, this is my superior’s place, so make it quick.”

“Afraid to get court-martialed by letting a captive use the private bathroom?”

“Afraid to get killed?” Roy countered, watching those wheat-coloured eyes widen slightly. “Look, just do it, and if I can manage it, I’ll get you sent home.”

“Promise?”

Roy stared at those eyes and felt his mouth go dry. Finally, he stammered out, “Y-yeah,” and fled the bathroom. He heard the lock snick closed behind him and pressed his forehead against the wall when he finally, blessedly, heard the water begin to run. If his superior didn’t kill him first, Roy knew a short blonde who would. He equated Edward to a cancer and gave himself the professional opinion that he only had a week left to live.

And that was being optimistic.

Of course, he had to pick up that optimism and toss it out the window by its scruff because an all too familiar voice wormed its way into his thoughts and Roy wanted to bang his head into the wall until it was little more than a pile of mush. The last thing in the world he needed had just walked through the front door of the house. So Roy took a deep breath, drew back from the wall and decided to make his death quick. Unfortunately, it seemed everything in the world hated him, for as Roy made his way to the stairs, someone was coming up them. This someone had short, slicked back black hair and sunglasses settled before black eyes that seemed to be calculating each movement someone else made. Of course, those eyes were uncovered now, the orbs widening at the sight of the Lieutenant Colonel standing like a deer at the top of the stairs. Slowly, the taller soldier straightened and grinned a grin that frightened Roy more than it really should have.

“Well, what do we have here?” Greed asked almost solemnly. “Making a date, Lieutenant?”

On reflex, Roy saluted. “Colonel, sir. Please excuse my rash actions.”

“For what? You have a girl hiding up there? She pretty?”

Roy took a step back as Greed suddenly launched forward into the stairs, rolling to avoid the rifle aimed for his skull. The Lieutenant Colonel swallowed as he stared at the other man on the stairs, trying hard not to let his fear become tactile.

“Greed, what did I say about keeping it in your pants?” Envy snarled, raising the rifle once more.

Greed only grinned. “You like it out of my pants.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Envy flicked his gaze to the officer still standing at the top of the stairs, that green head tilting to the side. “The hell are you doing here? Don’t you have underlings you’re supposed to be ordering around?”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” Roy said blandly, “all my underlings are back home in Central.”

“Oh, right. Good point. So explain what you’re doing in my house.” Envy said, backing off just a little so Greed could get to his feet, rubbing the lump that was forming on his skull.

Roy opened his mouth to answer his superior officer when a door opened. It was as though time seemed to slow then, as Edward made his way toward Roy, saying something about hearing extra voices. He froze at the top of the stairs beside Roy, golden eyes staring down at the green-haired Brigadier General who was staring back at the blonde. Roy supposed his first clue was Greed suddenly getting out of the way, but Roy reacted far too slowly to do much good for either party. Suddenly Ed was beside him, and suddenly Ed was launching himself backwards down the hall, avoiding Envy’s lunge. Roy made to catch his superior officer, but Greed’s hand fell on his shoulder to hold him in place.

“Better not to get involved,” Greed said, face no longer joking as he watched Envy and Edward. “Besides, Envy won’t kill him.”

“Why?”

“Because that little blonde shrimp is Envy’s kid brother.”