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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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The Intelligence Department was on the third floor of the right wing of Central Headquarters, which made sense, in a twisted way. It was the single most irritating place to find, because everything around it was always moving—always something happening, offices exploding with paperwork, and employees rioting. It was easy to lose the little office in the midst of all that activity. The location had been Hughes' idea, evident in the fact that it was both incredibly cunning and extremely annoying.
"I need to—are you even listening to me?" Ed slammed his hands down on the receptionist's desk, lip curled.
The receptionist gave him a look and actually—Ed couldn't even fucking believe it—put a finger to her lips before going right back to the typewriter.
Tolerance was not in Ed's vocabulary, not the sort that this situation required.
Ed leaned across the desk until his braid fell over his shoulder and right on the keys of the typewriter, snarling, "Hey, think you can give a soldier a hand, here?"
The woman shot back, startled, a hand to her chest like she hadn't even known he was there. Ed rolled back on the balls of his feet, shrugging his shoulders so the chain of his silver watch rattled and drew her attention.
"Mister…"
"Major Elric," Ed said blandly. "The Fullmetal alchemist."
Lips a silent 'O', the receptionist scooted her chair forward and smiled sheepishly. "How can I help you, Major?"
"I need one of the labs cleared out in," Ed paused, "ten minutes. Three personnel can hang around as well. I might need some help."
"Ten minutes? I—sir, it might take a bit longer than ten minutes—"
"Then you have eleven minutes," Ed said with every bit of vindictiveness he could muster. "Lab, say, two? I'll go ahead down. I'm sure you can handle it." Giving her desk a friendly pat, he turned on his heel and strode from the room self-importantly.
It was damn eight in the morning, and Ed hadn't been up and about long enough to take shit from anyone.
Lab two was the smallest lab with the least personnel at any given time. Before Ed got shipped off to freezing temperatures and ice year round, he'd worked almost exclusively in it. He was fairly certain the main test area was still charred from the last experiment he'd run—unsupervised.
The higher-ups in North rarely gave Ed the freedom to exercise any alchemical whims, as they called it, so by the time Ed tromped across the parade grounds to the lab building, he was jittery with excitement. Even given the circumstances that necessitated the experiment, Ed couldn't think of a single thing he'd rather be doing.
He grinned. Roy, stuck with a building full of schoolteachers and shit for brains brats, probably couldn't say the same.

*

"Have I mentioned that I can think of about a million places I'd rather be?"
Havoc shook his hand out, spitting a torn-off bit of fingernail out. "Only about a thousand times, chief. Say, mind if I just head outside right quick to—"
"I also hate suffering alone, Lieutenant." Roy flashed a charming smile. "I'm sure you understand."
"I understand," Havoc said darkly. "I understand that you're a complete—"
"I'm so sorry to have kept you both waiting!" A woman was jogging toward them frantically, one hand clutching the bottom of her skirt to keep it pulled tight against her legs, the other hand pressed down on her head in a vain attempt to keep the precariously perched bun of loosely raveled brown hair in place as she made her way down the hall. Her face was bright red from exertion.
"Not at all," Roy said, taking her hand. Beside him, Havoc continued muttering. Roy discretely stamped on his subordinate's toes. "You're Mrs. Patton?"
"Ms. Patton, actually." The woman batted her lashes, chin tilted delicately upward. The flush bleeding over her forehead ruined the effect as it slowly spread down her cheeks, her neck, some stress making it impossible for her to calm. Roy could feel her pulse through her hand, her heart beating entirely too fast.
"Ms. Patton," Roy corrected himself. "My name is—"
"General Mustang," she finished for him. "I've seen you in the papers! You look just as handsome in real life."
"I'm flattered that you think so." Roy glanced back at Havoc, giving an imperceptible nod before returning his attention to the young woman. "If you don't mind, we have a few questions we'd like to ask."
"About—Samson?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Ms. Patton sighed and opened the classroom door. "It's awful. That boy was so tolerant. I can't imagine!" She led them in, closing the door behind them, and gestured at a round table in the back of the room.
"The death of a child is never pleasant," Roy agreed, taking a seat. Havoc quickly followed suit, already scribbling something down on the notepad. Roy leaned over just enough to catch a look of it—Havoc's name, apparently. Shooting his lieutenant a stern look, Roy returned to Ms. Patton, resting his arms on the table. "Why don't you tell me about Samson Bray?"
"Samson got alone with everyone," Ms. Patton began, and Roy barely resisted the unprofessional urge to roll his eyes. How many times was he going to hear that? If Samson got along with everyone and never caused any trouble, he must have been an exceptionally boring child. "He, well, he played sports…"
"Were you particularly close to him?"
Ms. Patton looked abashed. She stared down at her lap. "No, I wasn't. He was much closer to Paul—Coach Devins," she clarified. "He was never very active in class. Paul always said he came alive on the field."
"Would you say he was an introverted child, then?"
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "He just wasn't," a slight hesitation, "academically inclined. Not to say he wasn't intelligent! He just didn't care for school. Or that's what it seemed like to me, anyway."
Havoc was writing rapidly, so Roy paused for a moment, allowing him to catch up, before continuing with, "Why would you say that?"
"He only kept his grades up enough to stay on the team," Ms. Patton said. "Which is a shame, because the boy was bright when he put forth the effort. He slept in class a great deal. He was rarely all here, if you know what I mean."
"Mm." A quick glance at the notepad, then, "Is there anyone you'd say Samson got along with exceptionally well?"
"He got along with most everyone," she began, "but he was very close with Elijah Stern."
"And what's Elijah—"
"Oh!" Havoc startled, dragging a long line across the notepad when the teacher abruptly sat up straighter.
"Oh?" Roy prompted.
"He was also close to that other boy," she said. "Angel Law. He's not in my class. He's in class 8-B next door, but I used to see them together on the school green during lunch. Like I said," she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Samson was very tolerant."
Roy and Havoc shared a look, but before they could carry on with that particular line of questioning, the bell rang, the piercing sound followed quickly by the thundering of footsteps as students were allowed into the building. "And that'll be my call," Ms. Patton said wearily. "If there's anything else I can do—"
"We'll find you," Roy assured her. "Thank you for your time."
"Is there a reason we're leaving?" Havoc hissed in his ear as they navigated through the flood of students in the hall. "We could have—"
"She would have censored herself around the kids," Roy explained. "It wouldn't have done us any good."
"Hm. I guess," Havoc said. "Where next?"
"Coach Devins, she said his name was? It sounds like he may have been the closest to Samson. Then I want to get a look at the students."
"First time we ever heard of that Angel kid."
Roy frowned. "Samson's mother didn't say a word about him."
"What do you think she meant by tolerant?" Havoc asked.
Roy shrugged. "We'll have to find out," he said. There was a sign to their right with the word GYM in bold letters. "I believe this is us," Roy said, holding the door for Havoc. "Shall we?"
"I didn't realize we had a choice," Havoc muttered. Roy, snickering, followed him inside.

*

The lab wasn't opened for him until half an hour after Ed arrived, no doubt the handiwork of that damn receptionist. Ed stood against the wall of the main office, scowling at the researchers as they scrambled to put everything to a standstill and get the hell out of his way.
"How many assistants will you need?"
"Three'll be fine," Ed said. The director of the lab, an older man whose name Ed could never remember, nodded, and called out three names. Three men, all of whom were at least twice Ed's age, stopped what they were doing and came over.
"You'll be with Major Elric until further notice," the director instructed. "He's in the middle of investigating an alchemic murder."
"Sounds exciting," one of the men said.
"Depends on your type of excitement," Ed returned. "Personally, killing little kids doesn't do it for me."
"You'll have to excuse them," the director said dryly. "We aren't let out very often, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Explains a lot," Ed muttered. "All right, first thing's first. You," he pointed to the oldest of the three assistants, "your name?"
"Ah, Sanders," the man said, "Frank San—"
"Okay, great, go to the butcher's."
"The… butcher's?" Sanders looked confused. "But—"
"And get me some meat. Uh, fuck, what is it—a round! Get about eight of them. Pork, not beef, don't fuckin' bring me back beef." Ed pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to the bemused man. "Tell them to take it out of my research budget. S'not like I ever get to use any of it, anyway."
"Pork rounds," Sanders said, took the paper and shook his head. "All right."
"Until he gets back, we'll start on the preliminary test," Ed continued briskly. "Test site four should work fine. Both of you, come with me."
Test site four had been Ed's favorite. It was a wide-open space, much more like a warehouse than a simple laboratory testing area. Ed led the way, the two remaining assistants walking quickly behind him.
After directing them to stay at the observation window, Ed entered the open area and pulled a second paper from his pocket, a little folded up square. He opened it and examined the two arrays: the one from the scene and Kimbley's favored array.
The speaker system crackled to life, the initial ear-splitting shriek breaking into the sound of one of the assistant's voice: "What should we be looking for, exactly, Major?"
"For now, stick to observation and comparison—I'm going to draw and activate two arrays at the same level of energy output," he explained. "I want you to provide an objective viewpoint."
Without the pork rounds, the results might be skewed, Ed knew. But Kimbley's array wouldn't be affected by the lack of a target. The real question was whether the unknown alchemist's array would be.
Feeling only the slightest sting of guilt, Ed sketched Kimbley's array on the ground, exactly three feet in diameter—the same as the array at the crime scene. Five feet to the right of it, he sketched the mystery array with the same proportions, careful to give it the same waver as it had at the scene.
"Ready?" he called. At the window, the two assistants gave him the thumbs-up. "I'm going to activate the array on the left first," he began, kneeling down in front of Kimbley's array. To the best of his knowledge, Kimbley's array was dangerous regardless of size. He'd have to be careful not to take the building—and all of its inhabitants—down with the explosion. Touching his hands to the edge of the array, blue light sparked out for barely a second before the ground blew, cement floor and the under layer of earth shooting up in the air and blowing Ed back onto his ass.
At the window, the assistants did a marvelous job of not caring. When Ed managed to get back to his feet, they were both writing rapidly, not even giving him a second glace.
Rubbing his lower back, Ed called over to them, "Ready for array number two?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm going to activate it with the exact level of energy as the previous," Ed reminded them. "Take special note of the potential for destruction as compared to array one. Ready?"
After confirming that his assistants were prepared, Ed knelt down before the second array. With Kimbley's array, he'd known what to expect. Part of Ed was quivering at the thought of what this array might do. He knew well enough it was some sort of explosives-based array, but explosives based on what? What fed it? With his luck, it would be some sort of twisted suicide array.
Swallowing, Ed braced himself and touched his hands to the lower edge, closing his eyes as he pushed energy into the array, expecting the worst when—
A spark of blue light, followed by red light, green, orange, and on. Ed stared, mouth open, hands still pressed to the array. "There is no fucking way."
"Sir," one of his assistants spoke through the speaker system, "why, exactly, are we observing the potential for destruction on an array for fireworks?"
Ed, still blinking rapidly, just shook his head. "Honestly? I have no fucking clue."

*

"Wow," Havoc said as he and Roy walked very, very quickly from the coach's office. "Did we really just spend two hours listening to that guy?"
Roy gave his pocket watch a brief, irritated glance. "We did," he confirmed. "I wasn't aware one person could expound like that for so long. How many times do you think he said sports are great?"
"There's really no telling. Chief," Havoc grabbed Roy's shoulder and leaned close to him, eyes wide and full of despair, "please, please, just let me take a smoke break. A small one. I'm begging you, I'm going out of my mind—"
"Breaking the habit wouldn't kill you," Roy grumbled, and Havoc, looking just as stubborn, said, "I bet you it will!"
"Fine," Roy relented. "I wouldn't mind some fresh air, anyway. This building is getting to me."
"Feels a bit like a prison," Havoc agreed. "I never did like school."
"Shall I pretend to be shocked?" Roy gave him a dry look.
"Nice, chief."
They stood just outside the door that let out onto the school green. Roy pointedly ignored Havoc while the lieutenant smoked, instead giving the community bulletin posted on the outer wall beside the doors a look-over.
"Anything interesting?" Havoc asked, taking another drag in with a look of pure bliss. "Damn, that's good."
"Most of this looks outdated," Roy said, tapping the board. "A sporting event last month, the performance troupe from Xing that came through two weeks ago—I doubt anyone much pays attention to this."
"That was an interesting show."
"What was?"
"That show," Havoc said, "the performers from Xing. I took a date to it. Pretty neat stuff."
Roy hmphed. "If I wanted to see a fancy light show, I'd just snap my fingers. How much did you pay? I'm sure they overcharged—"
"Killjoy," Havoc laughed. "You'd have taken the boss, if he'd asked."
"Only because he wouldn't have left a choice," Roy returned. "That type of show is for children, Lieutenant. There's a reason it was advertised at a grade school." He looked over his shoulder at his subordinate. "Are you nearly done? We're in the middle of an investigation, in case you weren't aware."
"Yeah, yeah." Havoc dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the heel of his boot. "Let's get going."
They were barely in the doors again when a boy whose face looked quite familiar to Roy stopped them. "Hey," the boy called, "are you them? Are you the ones talking to people about Samson?"
"We are," Roy confirmed, scrutinizing the boy. "And you are… Elijah Stern?"
Elijah looked surprised. "How did you know?"
"Samson's mother showed me a picture of the two of you," Roy said. "I'm glad you found us. I was hoping to talk to you."
Elijah didn't look overly excited by the prospect of talking to two military men. In fact, the kid looked downright depressed, his face sagging, his posture loose and dejected. Elijah shrugged. "Why bother?" he asked. "No matter what I say, Samson's still dead."
There was something chilling about hearing those words out of a child's mouth. Roy could relate to the boy's misery though—in fact, he could recall feeling that way, completely spent, like nothing he did would make a difference. Maes had died in much the same manner, after all. Roy knew there was little anyone could say that would make the death of a brother, biological or otherwise, sting any less.
"But you could have a hand in putting his death right," Roy said. "We're looking for the person responsible. Don't you think whoever did it deserves to be punished?"
Something in Elijah's eyes lit up. "Yes," he said quite clearly. "I do. I do think that."
Havoc was silent at his side. Roy heard him flipping pages on the notepad. "What can you tell me about the last day Samson was alive?"
"It was the same as any other day," the boy said, nose scrunched as he stared at the floor.
"Did you know he would be at the park?" Roy tried. "He was meant to be here, wasn't he?"
At that, Elijah started, looking up at Roy with an unreadable expression. "He was supposed to be here," the boy echoed. "That's right, he was. He went to the park though?"
"That's where he was found," Roy confirmed. Something about what he'd said had clicked in the boy's mind, Roy could tell. Elijah's brow furrowed and he shook his head, as though trying to make sense of something.
"But that's not what…" The boy trailed off to a mutter before adding, louder, "I think, maybe, I—"
"Eli!" All three of them turned to see the coach coming down the hall. "Practice, remember?" the man called.
Elijah nodded reluctantly and turned to go, but at the last moment, he looked back at Roy. "I have to go to ball practice," he said quickly, darting a nervous look back at the coach, who was standing at the end of the hall, tapping his foot impatiently. "Tomorrow, will you come back?"
"Tomorrow?" Roy asked. "We could wait—"
Elijah shook his head. "I have a game tonight," he said. "Samson wouldn't—I can't tonight," he finished. "Tomorrow, come here tomorrow?"
And what else could Roy do, but agree? When Elijah went down the hall to meet the coach, he turned to Havoc. "He knows something."
"No doubt about it," Havoc agreed, tucking the notepad away. "I don't think he knew that he knew it, though."
"Something I said triggered his memory." Roy glanced back down the hall, watching Elijah and the coach disappear in the direction of the gym. "I wonder what?"
It was definitely a step in the right direction. The only trouble was that Roy didn't actually feel any closer to the answer than he'd been that morning.
"So what now?" Havoc asked.
"I want to check with the other boy. Angel something?"
Havoc pulled the notepad back out. "Law," he said. "Angel Law, class 8-B."
It took them the better part of an hour to work out where class 8-B was in the school. Apparently, switching classes was the norm. Students could be anywhere at any given time. It was closing in on noon by the time one of the teachers helpfully pointed out that the students would be at lunch, and why didn't they check the green?
"Samson's teacher said it," Havoc reminded as they made their way to the open field behind the building. "About how Samson and this Angel kid ate out here, remember?"
Roy searched through the students spread out across the green, all of them in different groups, eating and laughing. He approached a particularly large group of students, clearing his throat loudly to get their attention. All of them stopped dead, staring at Roy in his uniform like they'd never seen a soldier before. "Sorry to bother you," Roy began graciously, "but would any of you happen to know where Angel Law is?"
One of the students, a girl, scoffed and pointed toward a large tree at the far edge of the green. "That guy? He sits over there."
"Alone?" Roy asked.
"Who'd want to eat with him?" the girl answered.
Ah. Roy nodded his thanks, walking back over to where Havoc was standing, eyebrows raised.
"Guess Angel isn't all that popular?"
"Apparently not," Roy said. "That wasn't quite what I was expecting."
Angel was, indeed, eating alone by the tree. The boy was so small that he was nearly invisible where he was tucked between two large roots, holding a sandwich and staring dismally at the grass around him.
Another look at Havoc, and Roy stepped closer. "Angel Law?" he asked.
The boy started violently, dropping his food. "Uh," Angel coughed, "Yeah."
"I'm General Mustang," Roy introduced himself, "and this is Lieutenant Havoc. I have a few questions about your friend Samson."
Angel stared at them, expression hard and eyes guarded, before saying, "Sam."
"Excuse me?"
"He didn't like being called Samson," Angel said quietly. "He only liked being called Sam."
"Sam, then," Roy said, giving Havoc a look that quite clearly said, you'd better be writing this all down! "What can you tell me about him?"
Angel wouldn't meet Roy's eyes, looking actually rather frightened. "He was nice," he said, the words so slow it sounded like Angel was literally having to drag them from his mind. "He was the only one who was nice to me when I came here."
"Where did you come here from?" Roy asked, kneeling down in front of the boy.
"I've always been here," Angel explained, "but I skipped up."
"Skipped up?" Roy repeated. "What does that mean?"
"I'm eleven," Angel clarified. "The teachers skipped me up to eighth grade."
"You must be very smart," Roy said.
"Only sometimes," Angel replied.
"Tell me more about Samson. Why do you say he was the only one nice to you?"
"You don't know?" Angel look concerned. "I thought everyone knew. Everyone says the government watches us because of it."
That wasn't what Roy was expecting to hear. "Humor me, then," Roy said. "Why should we be watching you?"
"Because of my father," Angel said. "He was from Drachma. My mom didn't know, though," he quickly clarified. "She thought he was normal. She didn't know until after she had me. He left when she found out."
What a mess, Roy thought. "I can assure you that you're not in trouble for having a Drachman father," Roy promised. The boy looked skeptical, like he was expecting Roy to pop out a pair of handcuffs and arrest him at any moment.
"Drachmans are all evil," Angel informed them. "Everyone says."
"Evil has very little to do with race, Angel," Roy assured him. "Every person has the ability to do what would be considered evil. You aren't simply born that way."
Angel didn't look like he really believed him. "If you say so," he said glumly.
"Samson—ah, Sam didn't think so, did he?"
"No," Angel said after a moment of quiet consideration. "He didn't. But he's dead now."
"He is," Roy said softly. "I'm very sorry about your friend."
Angel picked his sandwich up off the ground, voice barely above a whisper. "Me too."

*

The experimentation had ended rather abruptly after Sanders had returned, explaining that it would take a day to have the meat readied for them. "Butchers don't just have eight pork rounds waiting in the back room," the man said, exasperated. "Did you really think they would?"
"In a perfect world, they would have," Ed said darkly.
"Welcome to Amestris," Sanders returned.
Ed had returned home after that, still reeling from the results of the array. How had fireworks done such damage? It was possible that the array required some sort of target to be effective, but Ed had a hard time believing that its default was fireworks.
"This makes no sense," he groaned, sinking into the comfortable armchair in Roy's living room and staring dolefully at the paper with the arrays on it. "How in the hell do you blow a person up with an array for fireworks?"
He'd spent the remainder of the day after leaving the lab trying to puzzle it out, but by five o'clock, Ed didn't feel any closer to an answer than he had when he'd first triggered the array. When Roy finally came home, Ed had worked himself into a state of such great agitation that it took several long minutes to get him to coherently explain.
"Really?" Roy asked, surprised. "Fireworks? That's what the array did?"
Ed, slumped so far down in the chair that his chin was resting on his chest, sighed plaintively. "Yeah."
"That's—very odd," Roy offered. "Are you continuing with any tests?"
"I have something set up for tomorrow," Ed said. "We'll see. What about you?"
"I think I might have something," Roy said. "One of Samson's friends, Elijah, seems to know something, but he refused to tell us at the school. Said he had practice and a game to deal with."
"Kids," Ed snorted. "No sense of priorities."
"You're not nearly old enough to be complaining about thirteen year old boys," Roy pointed out.
"Sure I can," Ed said. "I'm twice their age!"
As he and Ed dragged themselves through making dinner and clearing the kitchen without killing one another over who had to do the dishes (Ed, always Ed), Roy reflected on how nice it would be to come home not feeling exhausted. When his back hit the bed, all his mind wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep, possibly for the next week. Screw the case, his mind said.
His lower half, unfortunately, was of a different mind.
"That's sort of pathetic," Ed observed when Roy rolled over, trying to drag Ed over him. "You act like a feeble old man sometimes, did you know?"
"I'm tired," Roy complained.
"Then sleep?" Ed suggested. He rolled on top of Roy, pushing his hips against the man's thigh. "I can always take care of this myself."
"I don't think I'm all right with that." Roy's hands rested on Ed's back.
"Positive?" Ed asked. "Really, I'm used to my hand by now—"
"You're a cock tease," Roy said darkly.
Ed responded by leaning back and shoving Roy's legs apart before situating himself between them again, grinning wickedly. "Keep talking like that and I won't take care of you."
"I'll just keep my mouth closed," Roy promised, shifting his hips up. "Honest."
"Sounds like a plan."
As comfortable as it was now, Roy could still remember a time when Ed's body didn't fit so perfectly into his own, when he wouldn't have allowed the younger man to have control like this.
What had he been thinking?
Ed's mouth was at his neck, his shoulder, automail hand gripping the bed next to Roy's body carefully so as not to damage anything. "Hand's nothing like this," he mumbled into Roy's skin.
"Very few things can compare to me," Roy assured him, arching his neck for better access and stretching his arm out to the bedside table to open the drawer and rummage blindly for the lube. He left it on the bed next to Ed.
Ed looked over at the tube after a pointed nudge from Roy's open, crooked knees. "Ah," he said, sitting back.
"Sorry," Roy said. "As enamored as I am of the idea of being ravaged, I might fall asleep in the middle."
Ed squirted a generous amount into his hand, snorting. "And to think, you always said I was the unromantic one."
"One of these days," Roy said, voice catching when Ed slid two fingers between his cheeks and worked them inside, "we're going to be able to lie in bed and fuck each other senseless without worrying about time."
"Sounds nice," Ed said, pulling his fingers free and guiding himself, slowly, inside Roy. With his free hand, he slung one of Roy's legs over his shoulders and, without warning, abruptly slid all the way in. Roy's back went taut, his head snapping back against the mattress. "I'm okay though," Ed said, voice a ragged panting, "with this."
It was always so quick when they finally got to see each other, the months apart wearing down on their control. Ed fucked him fast, holding Roy open with his automail hand as he grabbed Roy's cock with the other, jerking him in time with each snap forward snap of his hips. The pace deteriorated rapidly, the tenuous thread of control Ed had slipping into a mad rut. Roy felt like he was being bent in half, felt like he was melting, felt like a thousand different things as his entire world narrowed to one thing, to Ed.
There wasn't a better feeling, no matter how he looked at it. When it was over, and Ed was lying next to him, sweaty skin pressed to Roy's beneath the sheets, Roy couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face.
It didn't matter how many years went by—every touch still felt brand new.

*

When Roy woke up, the first thing he noted was that it felt too fucking early for his eyes to be open. The second thing was that Ed was still asleep, and third—the phone was ringing. Loudly and insistently, and whoever was on the other end was going to die a painful death.
A quick glance at the clock told him that it was just after four in the morning.
Make that a painful, fiery death.
Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, Roy grabbed the robe closest to him and stumbled out the door, down the stairs. It was Ed's robe, he noted blearily, because the damn thing barely came down to his knees, and the sleeves were more quarter-length than long sleeves. He very likely looked like an idiot.
The phone was still ringing off the hook when he stepped into the kitchen, flipping the lights on and nearly blinding himself. Grabbing the phone, Roy rubbed his eyes and muttered, "Mustang."
"I'm sorry to bother you so late, sir."
"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"
"Yes, sir." She didn’t sound very happy. Roy gripped the phone tighter, cleared his throat.
"What's happening?"
"A second victim was found a half hour ago," she said, "less than a mile from the Bray's house. Another boy."
"Another boy." A pattern, Roy thought. "Has he been identified?"
"Yes, sir," Hawkeye said, and Roy could hear the reluctance in her voice. "The boy was identified as Elijah Stern."
Roy's stomach dropped. "That boy—he knew something."
"Lieutenant Havoc told me," she said. "Whatever he knew, sir—"
"Has very likely killed him," Roy finished grimly.
"I'm on my way to the scene. Would you like me to pick you up?"
"Yes, thank you, Lieutenant." Roy hung up the phone, eyes closed. The boy had known something. Roy had seen it on his face.
It was unfortunate that he hadn't been the only one to see it.
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From Childhood's Hour