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From Childhood's Hour	By : seatbeltdrivein Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male > Roy/Ed Views: 773 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist and do not profit from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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There were six soldiers stationed in various places around Central Park, all of them determinedly not looking at the array still scrawled across the ground, spattered with the last seconds of some yet-to-be-identified child's life. Ed wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, his glove soaking up the newest beads of sweat.
Ed hated summer.
"Nothing was touched?"
The guard stationed closest to the scene gave Ed a clumsy salute. "No, sir," he assured. "Everything is exactly the way it was—except for the body." Which was completely fine. Ed could stand not having to see a mess like that again.
"Have you seen anyone around?"
The guard looked surprised at the question. "No, people keep showing up around the edge," he waved to the long row of short bushes that separated the playground from the park green, "but that's just because they're curious, I think." The soldier glanced at Ed before quickly tossing on a, "sir!" at the end. He looked scared, and it took Ed a few moments of silent contemplation to realize that the soldier—a soldier, for fuck's sake—wasn't afraid of the scene, or the theorized killer alchemist that came along with it. He was afraid of the alchemist standing not five feet away from him.
Ed looked away. A few years ago, he would have found that hilarious. Now he just feels the same ache of that empty space between him and the rest of the world so keenly that it was like someone had scooped out his insides and left him walking around. People, Ed knew, were strange and fickle and completely ungrateful and unaware of just what it took to keep them safe. What did they think Ed did all day, sit around and experiment on whoever was unfortunate enough to walk into his lab? They probably did, the bastards.
Ignoring the fidgety soldier, Ed kneeled at the bottom edge of the array. He'd seen the photos of it, of course, but somehow, he was expecting it to be larger. The amount of damage it created was—intense, too much for such a small circle. Perhaps 'small' was a relative term, but an array roughly three feet in diameter should have left more of a body. Ed touched the edge of it, battling the passing urge to activate it for a better idea of how it worked. He knew what it did. He didn't need more than that, and if he activated it, there was no telling exactly how it would react. But still…
He turned his head toward the guard. The man had taken to watching Ed with blatant curiosity, standing at attention but completely ignoring the task at hand in favor of watching the investigation. "You got a pen?" Ed asked. "Something to write with, doesn't matter what."
"Oh, uh," the soldier patted his pockets frantically and pulled out a pencil, walking it over to Ed. "Here, sir."
"Thanks." Ed pulled the sheet of paper he'd gotten with the directions, turning it to the blank side and sketching out the array. He couldn't activate it here, but in a more controlled environment, he could. There was no better way to gain understanding than through practical experience, and Ed knew, as he always did, that it would only take once. Once he activated the array, he would know it inside and out, and what better way was there to understand the alchemist, than to understand his array? As far as Ed was concerned, there wasn't.
Double-checking his rendition against the actual array, Ed noted the differences between his own style. Back when he'd carefully sketched his arrays, he'd favored grand designs and power over simplicity. This alchemist's array was painfully simple, but the symbols he chose counteracted that. Had Ed not seen the damage it could cause, he would have brushed off the array as something drawn by an amateur. And it wasn't even carefully drawn. The main circle wobbled, causing the array to look as though it was literally shaking.
Remembering Knox's comparison, Ed desperately tried to recall if he'd ever seen Kimbley's array. Nothing came to mind. He decided to add checking the man's file to his mental list, and tucked the sheet of paper into his pocket.
"I don't want this touched," Ed said to the guard. "Don't let a single person near this, got it?"
"Yes, sir!" The soldier saluted. When Ed walked away, he swore he saw a glimpse of relief in his last look at the man's face.

*

When Hawkeye walked into the office, Roy took one look at her somber expression and put down General Hakuro's proposal on The Military's State of Financial Distress and How We Can Fix It. "Have you found something new, Lieutenant?"
"We've just received word on the boy's identity. Samson Bray, age thirteen." She passed a sheet of paper to him, and Roy recognized Knox's near-illegible scrawl immediately.
"Family?"
"A mother and father, both located in the downtown area. They reported him missing yesterday morning, about an hour after the—remains were found." The lieutenant barely stumbled over the words, more than Roy could have done himself.
"Have they been contacted?"
Hawkeye held his gaze. "I believe that's being left up to us, given that the investigation is under your jurisdiction."
Oh, fuck. "I see," Roy said, putting the paper down on his desk and moving Hakuro's paper over it.
"I've readied a car." There was no sign of obvious distress on her face, but Roy had known Hawkeye for the better portion of their lives. The tiny lines between her eyebrows, the forced neutrality of her expression—he could see the stress mounting.
He wondered, vaguely, if she could see it as clearly in him.
"I suppose that's that, then. Shall we?"
"One moment, sir." Hawkeye stepped out into the main office, returning with the morning's newspaper in hand. She closed the door behind her and handed Roy the paper. "Central Times got a hold of the story yesterday and printed this before we could issue a gag order."
Roy took one look at the headline. Suddenly, fuck was not a strong enough word. "Boy mutilated by alchemist," he read, voice strained with disbelief. "And no doubt, his parents have seen this."
"The crime scene itself isn't secluded," Hawkeye added. "They live close enough to walk to the park. They were likely already aware of what happened, but not in this detail."
"And they're probably holding out hope that this wasn't their son." Roy rubbed his eyes, pressure building in his head, creeping from a mild twinge to an insistent throbbing.
Hawkeye nodded, picking up the paper and tucking it under her arm. "It would be best that we left now, sir," she said gently.
They so rarely were given charge of any investigations. Roy couldn't recall a single time he'd been required to give notice of death to a family, not since Hughes' death. That time, it had been personal. He'd not questioned it, had simply walked to Gracia's door the moment he'd arrived in Central and let her put Elysia to bed and bury her face his chest and sob. This death, he couldn't claim. He couldn't promise the parents the boy hadn't suffered, not until Ed returned with more information. He couldn't promise vengeance, he couldn't allow them to see the remains—he couldn't actually do much at all. As he and Hawkeye pulled up to the house, a quaint looking two story townhome less than three minutes from the park, Roy felt like a hand was squeezing his heart. There was very little worse than feeling helpless in a situation like this, and if he felt so awful, Roy couldn't begin to imagine what Samson's parents would feel like.
Hawkeye knocked on the door while Roy affixed his expression to something impersonal, objective. His mask very nearly cracked when, the moment she opened the door, the woman he assumed was Mrs. Bray burst into tears.
"I knew it," she said between gasping breaths. Roy had led her into the sitting room as Hawkeye fetched tissues from somewhere in the house. "I—the m-moment we heard about—" Another sobbing breath as she gestured out the window, toward the park, "I knew that it was Samson. He never—he's such a good boy. He never stayed out late or—" She sounded like she was getting ready to hyperventilate. Hawkeye appeared then, a box of tissues and a glass of water at the ready.
She glanced at Roy and said, "Ma'am, I understand this is difficult. But we need to ask a few questions." Hawkeye could sound so gentle when she wanted, and Roy watched Mrs. Bray turn her eyes to his lieutenant, an immediate connection forming.
"All right," she said, wiping her eyes with the tissue, a line of heavy black mascara bleeding across her face. Her chin kept quivering, the struggle to maintain composure evident.
"Were you aware Samson was going to the park that day?" Roy asked.
"No," Mrs. Bray said, swallowing loudly. "He—he was meant to be at school late. There was something going on that day, some club activity. He was in a lot of clubs, you know. He was very active."
Hawkeye jotted something down on a notepad. "Has he mentioned anyone lately?" she asked. "Anyone new, or perhaps something unusual?"
Mrs. Bray paused, chewing on her bottom lip. She wiped away a new stream of tears as they welled up in her eyes and said, "No, he hasn't said anything. Everything's been so—normal. Nothing's changed." Then, her voice dropped to a whisper and she held a hand to her chest, leaning forward. "Do you think it was someone we knew?"
Roy shared a glance with Lieutenant Hawkeye. "There's no telling at this point, ma'am. We're just trying to gather all the facts."
"Was there anyone Samson was especially close to?" Hawkeye asked. "A friend at school who might know—anything else."
"Eli," Mrs. Bray said, sniffing into the wadded up tissue. "Elijah Stern is his full name. They've been friends since they were both in diapers."
Roy watched Hawkeye scribble the boy's name down. "Anyone else?"
"Samson was a quiet boy," Mrs. Bray murmured, grabbing a picture frame from the little table next to the couch. "He got along with everyone. Here," she handed the picture to Hawkeye. Roy leaned over to get a closer look. "Samson is the dark headed boy," she explained. "Eli is the other boy."
Samson looked tall for his age, Roy noted. Tall and broad. At thirteen, Roy had been just a stick, but this Samson looked like he could wallop someone who tried to attack him—or at the very least, get in a good hit or two. Dark hair, dark eyes, a friendly disposition—he looked like a regular thirteen year old, nothing special, nothing noticeable.
"He looks quite like you," Hawkeye said. Mrs. Bray burst into a fresh round of tears.
Roy glanced at a nearby clock as Mrs. Bray launched into a story about her son and his friend, suddenly feeling that they were going to be there for a good while.

*

"Was any of that actually helpful?" Roy asked as Hawkeye drove down the street, Mrs. Bray's home disappearing in their wake.
"For her, I'm certain it was," she said. "Mrs. Bray needed closure."
"And for us?"
"I think we should check with his friend," Hawkeye said. "Stern, wasn't it?"
"Elijah Stern," Roy confirmed, flipping through the notepad. "You think Samson was up to something he shouldn't have been?"
"Boys talk," Hawkeye said. "As much as Mrs. Bray believes her son to be the perfect child, parents rarely know everything. We have a better shot of learning something useful from this Eli boy."
"The father concerned me," Roy added.
"The father wasn't there."
"Which is my point," Roy said. "If Elysia had been missing and Hughes was still alive, he'd have never gone to work until she'd returned."
"Hughes would have been hunting her down," Hawkeye corrected, lips quirked up into a fond smile.
"Granted. But I would think a father would want to be there, if he couldn't do anything else."
"I suppose that depends on the father. I'll send someone to look him up."
"Thank—is that Ed?" Roy caught a glimpse of gold and black on the opposite side of the street. As they drove past, he craned his neck, looking out the back window.
"Would you like me to stop?"
"Just turn around," Roy instructed. "He must've just left the scene." Hawkeye made an abrupt u-turn, managing to both scatter the traffic around them and scare Roy witless. "When I said turn around," he began, strained, holding onto the edges of his seat with white knuckles, "I didn't mean immediately."
"Perhaps you should be more specific?" Hawkeye was still looking straight out the window, eyes on the street, but she was smiling in a way that suggested her mind was elsewhere.
"This is why I usually have Havoc drive," Roy grumbled. "Here, pull over here—gently, Lieutenant, if you don't mind!" As soon as the car was at the curb, Roy stepped out. He could still see Ed. The man obviously wasn't in much of a hurry.
"I'll head back to headquarters," Hawkeye said. "I'll have the Stern boy located—as well as the father."
"I'll be there as soon as I can," Roy promised, closing the door. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, calling Ed's name. The man didn't seem to hear him, so Roy, irritated, cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Fullmetal!" down the sidewalk. Ed stopped dead in his tracks, looking around wildly before catching sight of Roy.
"What are you yelling my title for!" Ed shouted back, jogging Roy's way. "I have a name, you know!"
"I tried that. You can hardly blame me for your inability to listen to anything that isn't a direct order!"
"Ooh, someone's snippy," Ed said. "I take it the day hasn't gone according to plan?"
"I met with the victim's mother, who cried the entire time. We spent two hours listening to stories about the boy's baseball team!"
"Sounds helpful," Ed snorted.
"Not for me, unfortunately. And then Lieutenant Hawkeye tried to kill me—"
"Oh, please!" Ed rolled his eyes.
"That woman," Roy said, "cannot drive. There's a reason Havoc drives me—"
"Because you're too damn lazy to drive yourself, that's why."
"Women can't drive," Roy said, pointedly ignoring Ed's comment. "All of them—completely insane."
"Best not let any women actually hear you say that." Ed pulled out his pocket watch, flipping the cover open. "It's, like, almost five? Seriously?" Ed let out a deep breath. "For fuck's sake, there aren't enough hours in a day."
"I've been saying that for years."
"Let's get something to eat. I got some ideas I want to run by you."
"About the case?" Roy asked. Ed nodded. "Then we'll eat in the mess hall. There's been enough exposure without the chance of being overheard."
"Well, then, by all means, let's get to walking," Ed said, linking his arm in Roy's and tugging him down the sidewalk. "And what do you mean, exposure?"
"The newspapers," Roy said, trying to pull free. Ed just grinned cheekily and tightened his grip. "There's already been a front-page article."
"Seriously?" Ed whistled. "They sure don't waste any time." He let his grip go slack so Roy could escape. Roy let his arm slip out, but not before giving Ed's hand a squeeze.
"Seriously," Roy confirmed. "And it would have been nice to have gotten the chance to speak with the family before the papers ran some sensationalist version of the truth."
The walk was nice after such a stressful day, Roy had to admit. Granted, it would have been nicer to have Ed around without a murder case looming over their heads, but he'd take what he could get. The pleasant mood died a horrible death the moment they walked into the mess hall. It was jam-packed—Ed took one look at the group of soldiers flooding the hall and began muttering darkly under his breath.
"You'd think you've never been in a mess hall at five 'o'clock before," Roy teased.
"In North," Ed informed him, "the mess hall is always empty because the food tastes like shit. You Central guys are pampered!"
"Ah," Roy said. "That sounds familiar. How is the Major General?"
"Terrifying," Ed said. "And a complete bitch."
"So she's no different than usual," Roy surmised. "How wonderful. I was beginning to wonder if you'd met her."
"She's not around a lot. She usually sticks to Briggs, but she occasionally comes by HQ to make sure we're all sufficiently miserable." The line was moving quickly, at least. Ed craned his neck to try and get a glimpse at the menu for the day, but he was still about six inches too short to see over the heads of the crowd in front of them, much to Roy's amusement.
"And are you?" Roy asked. "Sufficiently miserable, I mean."
Ed looked over at Roy, expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the menu. "Depends on the time of day," he said simply.
Roy didn't have time to ask for an explanation, because the line lurched forward, and it was their turn. Ed didn't look miserable. Roy could usually tell Ed's moods as easily as he could tell the time on a clock, but sometimes, he heard strange nuances in Ed's voice, saw these bizarre, fleeting expressions, and he wondered if he could really read the man half as well as he thought.
"You're making faces," Ed said as they carried their trays up to the office, walking slowly so as not to lose their dinners.
"Am I?"
"If thinking hurts so much, then you might want to give up on it."
Roy scoffed. "That's rich, coming from you." The door to the main office was thankfully open, so Roy was able to avoid the embarrassment of trying to open it with his foot. That never ended well.
His desk quickly became an impromptu dining table, Roy hastily clearing files out of the way while balancing his tray with the other hand. "So what's this that you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, finally setting his food down and taking a seat.
"Ah." Ed sat up off his chair a bit, giving himself room to rummage through his pocket. "This," he said, putting the paper on the table, "is the array from the scene."
Roy nodded. "I have seen it, you know."
"Yeah, well, so I was thinking. You knew Kimbley, right?"
"I knew him better than I liked to," Roy said. "We shared a tent for about two weeks in Ishval."
"Two weeks?" Ed's brows shot up. "That's it?"
"He was unstable," Roy began.
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning he terrified the ever living hell out of me," Roy said. "I was sure he was going to kill me in my sleep, so I—had it arranged that Kimbley received his own tent."
"How'd you manage that?"
Roy made a face. "I forced Hughes into sharing his with me."
"He didn't have a tent-mate already?"
"He did," Roy confirmed. "He had a tent-mate for about three days."
Ed shoveled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. "Then what?"
"Then the war," Roy said, and from the look on Ed's face, the man understood the implication.
"Right," Ed said. "But about Kimbley—you saw his array, right? The one he used the most?"
"He only ever used one," Roy said. "Had it tattooed on the palms of his hands."
"But you know it?" Ed persisted.
"Yes. Of course. You don't forget a thing like that."
Ed pushed the paper with the array from the scene across the table, rolling a pen along with it. "Draw it for me."
Roy picked up the pen but hesitated when the tip met the paper. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable drawing it, Ed."
"It's just for me," Ed said. "I need it. I think there might be some connection."
"Between the case and Kimbley? Ed, the man is dead!"
"I know, I know," Ed said. "But Knox said some things, and I got to thinking."
"You'll have to explain this to me, once you've puzzled it out," Roy said, sketching the array out just below the first one. It was unsettling, seeing Kimbley's array after so many years. Even though he was drawing it himself, the sight of it still left Roy cold. He handed it to Ed, adding, "Do not let anyone else have this. That array is one I don't mind seeing disappear."
"You have my word," Ed promised, folding the paper and tucking it back into his pocket. "But what about you? Come up with anything?"
"Not really," Roy admitted. "The mother had very little to say. We've figured a few people who would be worth speaking to, but on the whole, the day's not been all that eventful."
Ed hummed. "This case might drag on for a while."
"How long do you have here?" Roy asked, feeling an inappropriate hope welling in his mind.
"Till the case ends," Ed said. "It's an official thing, so I'm here as long as I'm needed." He laughed. "It almost makes me want to draw the damn thing out as long as I can. That's terrible, isn't it?"
"No." Roy couldn't fault Ed for voicing Roy's own thoughts. "Not really."
"One of these days, I'll get reassigned," Ed said. Then, to lighten the mood, "And if you don't manage to wrangle me down here, I swear I'm gonna kick your ass!"
"I'm working on it," Roy said, picking through his food.
"You'd better be." Ed managed to sound threatening even as he was stealing food off Roy's tray. "I'm damn sick of snow."
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, disappearing behind a line of buildings. Roy watched the reddish light cast a glow on Ed through the window and wondered how many more nights he'd have like this.

*

"I'm really sorry about this," Roy said as he rushed out the door early the next morning, leaving a groggy Ed at the kitchen table to be kept company only by the sound of the percolator brewing a fresh pot. "But the teachers at Samson's school arrive very early, and we need to surprise them so they don't have the chance to coordinate a story, in the case that any of them are involved."
Ed's forehead was stuck to the table, so Roy barely managed to translate the muffled noise coming out of his mouth to, "S'okay, have a nice day."
"I'll come find you for dinner," Roy promised. Outside, a car horn bleated, the noise a steady and unending disturbance. Roy cursed under his breath. Ed lifted his head from the table, glanced at the brewing coffee, and held out an arm to drag Roy into a semi-embrace and press a rather forceful kiss to his temple.
"Out," Ed said, "or the beeping is going to drive me to murder."
Roy didn't need to be told twice. When he ran flat-footed from the house, barely stopping to kick the front door shut behind him, Havoc was watching from the car window.
"It's what I've always liked about you, sir," Havoc said as Roy scrambled into the passenger seat. "Always so dignified."
"It's not even seven in the morning, Lieutenant," Roy grumbled. "And just so you're aware, I am wearing my gloves."
Havoc dropped the grin rather quickly after that, focusing instead on the road. "So," he began after a few moments of silence, "who're we making the surprise visit to?"
"Samson's teachers," Roy began, ticking names off a mental list, "Elijah Stern—the kid was very involved in school, according to his mother, so there's bound to be someone else he was close to. We need to piece together his last day. And for god's sake, put out that cigarette! You reek!"
Havoc chucked the half-smoked stick out the window, shooting his commanding officer a baleful look. "You've never minded before," he grumbled.
Roy looked out the window. "Ed's never liked the way it smells."
"Oh—oh, so Ed thinks it reeks," Havoc crowed. "I understand, I understand. A man's got to look good, but sir, I'm curious. When did Ed become your wife?"
Roy held up one hand, the array facing Havoc and his fingers held a hair's width apart. "What was that, Lieutenant?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all, sir!" Havoc shrunk against the car door as much as he could.
"That's what I thought," Roy said, satisfied.
The school was a public institution, a long brick building with as little personality as the man who ran it. The principal, a Mr. Reed, was just unlocking the front entrance as Havoc pulled in the parking lot. Roy watched the man glance back at the car, return his attention to the door, and then whip his neck around so violently his glasses went flying off his face. "I do believe he's figured out what we're here for," Roy said, watching the man begin frantically patting down his clothes in an effort to make himself as presentable as possible.
"Guy's sure eager to please," Havoc muttered as the man began waving them across the parking lot as though he'd planned on their arrival all along.
"It's bad publicity, a murdered kid." Roy tugged the edge of his glove. "Especially since the child in question was supposed to be at the school during the time of the murder. I doubt he wants the school's name being dragged into any of it."
"General Mustang," the principal greeted the moment they were in hearing range. "What an, ah, unexpected pleasure! And, this is…?"
"My subordinate," Roy said, gesturing to his side, "Lieutenant Havoc. I apologize for not calling ahead, but as I'm sure you know, we've been very busy."
"Of course, of course. It's a terrible matter, the boy's death, but it is a pleasure to see you." The man was sweating profusely, damp patches visible at his armpits even with both of his arms firmly by his sides. "Is there anything I can do?"
"We need to speak with Samson Bray's teacher," Roy said, trying not to let his exasperation at the man's rambling show too much. One look at Havoc's face told Roy that the lieutenant wasn't buying Reed's bullshit either. "And then, the coach he was meant to be with that day. It was a sporting even, if I'm correct?"
"Baseball practice," Mr. Reed said after some hesitation. "The boy's never missed practice before. The coach assumed he was ill—"
"As I'm certain the coach will tell us himself," Roy interrupted. "The door, if you will."
Another moment of hesitation passed before Mr. Reed unlocked the front door, waving them inside. "It's early," he explained. "I'm not entirely certain who's here yet. I've only just arrived myself, you see."
"Thank you," Roy said, gesturing for Havoc to follow. "We'll take it from here. I'll be sure to stop by your office before we leave, so keep your schedule open, Mr. Reed."
The man nodded nervously, not bothering to watch them walk away before he unlocked the front office and disappeared inside.
"He looked like a real mess." Havoc shook his head. "You don't think…?"
"No," Roy said. "Reed is a pompous ass at worst. I've had to deal with him once before, back when the school system was planning on incorporating alchemy into the curriculum."
"Right, right, I remember that. Flopped, didn't it?"
"Of course. Given the impression most people had of alchemy during Bradley's regime, most parents weren't too thrilled with the idea." He stopped, pointing to the end of the hall. "There's a light on in that room."
"Check it out?" Havoc suggested.
The classroom wasn't the one they were hoping for—it belonged to a sixth grade teacher who was helpful enough to point them to a room three halls over. The eighth grade hall was still completely dark. Even once Havoc flipped the lights on, there wasn't a whole lot to see.
"Hey, I think this is the room?" Havoc pointed to a doorway. "Class roster lists a 'Bray, Samson' and a 'Stern, Elijah'."
Roy joined him, glancing at the list. "The teacher is… a Ms. C. Patton." He pulled out his pocket watch. It was five minutes after seven. "Well, I suppose the only thing to do now is wait."
"Wonderful," Havoc said, absentmindedly patting the pack of cigarettes tucked away in his uniform jacket. "With our luck, she'll call out sick today." With the way things had gone so far, Roy wouldn't have been very surprised.
"Let's hope our luck changes, then," he said, and settled his back against the wall to wait.
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From Childhood's Hour