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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Lieutenant Hawkeye arrived at the front door not ten minutes after calling, two throw-away cups of coffee in hand as she banged the door with her knee.
"Is Ed awake?" she asked, stepping in and handing the first cup over. "It might benefit him to see the scene undisturbed."
Roy looked up at the ceiling. "He wasn't awake when I—" a quick glance at the lieutenant, an awkward pause. "I'll go check." It very likely would benefit Ed to see it, but Roy still felt the same reluctance to bring him, despite the fact that Ed had seen plenty, that Ed was no longer a boy of twelve.
Up the stairs and in the bedroom, Ed was awake and staring at the door. Roy paused just in the doorway, and there was an odd moment where their eyes met and Ed just sighed, rolling out of the bed and to his feet, saying, "Another one?" before Roy could even open his mouth.
He was naked still, naked and bent over, digging through the pile of clothes that never failed to accumulate whenever Ed was in town. Roy was sure he could have appreciated the moment a great deal more without the lingering thought of dead kid hanging over him. Ed looked over his shoulder at Roy, frowning. Back straightening, he sniffed a shirt, eyed it critically, and finally shrugged and tugged it over his head. "What?"
Roy shook his head. "Nothing. It's just—too early."
Ed cast a sideways glance at the clock and made a disparaging noise. "No kidding. So what's this one?"
"This one…?" Roy's mind had to process the moment, the words, because he was still too damn tired, like his body was somewhere in the future and the rest of him, the intangible parts, were swimming against the current trying to catch up.
"There was another murder?" Ed suggested. "I heard you get up for the phone, and then Hawkeye's voice. That's what happened, yeah?"
"My witness," Roy said. "Elijah Stern."
Ed winced. "Shitty luck," he muttered. "I'm surprised they identified him so quick, if they only just found the body. The first kid took, what, a day? Two?"
"Nearly two," Roy agreed. "But I honestly don't know any more about this one than you do right now."
"Guess we better go find out, then." Ed walked around the bed, still buttoning his pants and squinting against the light pouring in from the hall. "Hawkeye's driving?"
"Mm. And she's waiting," Roy said. "Come on."
"You could've woken me up before, you know," Ed called after him, hurrying out of the room with his boots in hand.
"I wasn't really anticipating this," Roy called back, then, seeing the lieutenant standing in the entryway, "he's up. He's—"
"Right here, damn it." Ed was making his way down the stairs in an awkward one-foot hop, the other foot partially stuck in his boot while he bent his back trying to do the laces up.
"Good morning, Edward," Hawkeye didn't bother trying to hide her amusement. "I trust you slept well?"
"I would've," Ed insisted, "if I'd gotten the chance."
"Maybe next time," she said, turning to open the door, a hand on the knob. "If you're both ready…"
It felt a bit like old times, the three of them in the car together, Ed sitting in the back, arms crossed over his chest and feet kicking the back of Roy's seat, Roy barely awake and staring at himself in the side-view mirrors, and Hawkeye intent on the road before them. It felt, in fact, enough like old times that Roy had a fleeting moment of déjà vu where he suddenly questioned whether they were about to do something illegal.
But then he caught Ed staring back at him in the mirror, older and surer, a glint of a silver chain hanging out of his simple black coat, and Roy's mind jumped some fourteen odd years back into the present, able to breathe easy once more.
Ed leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of Roy's seat. "So what time did it get called in?"
"Around three, I believe," Hawkeye said. "There was some miscommunication between the patrol and headquarters, and the report was originally given to Intelligence rather than us."
"I wish Intelligence had kept it," Roy cut in. "I've never liked all the legwork involved in local investigations."
"If this is too much for you, then you really must be getting old!" Ed grinned. Roy scowled, but whatever retort he was about throw back in Ed's face was interrupted by a muffled snort from the lieutenant, who covered her mouth a moment too late to hide it.
"My age has nothing to do with it," Roy said defensively. "It's just tedious."
Hawkeye cleared her throat loudly, giving Ed a warning look in the rearview mirror. "I'm going to park at the road here. We'll have to walk the rest of the way." "
Why's that?" Ed asked.
"The murder was in an alley, one that led between two houses just across the street from the Brays'," she explained, pulling the car to the curb. "We've been asked to be as discreet about this as possible."
"Figures," Ed said disgustedly.
"And by discreet…" Roy began.
"We're to be out of the way by eight," Hawkeye said. "So I'm sure you both can understand the need to hurry."
Discreet was already down the drain by the time they made their way to the scene. It might have been only half past four in the morning, but Roy could clearly see people poking their heads out their windows, trying to get a better look at what all the activity was about. Two military cars were parked right at the mouth of the alleyway, and several officers were standing guard just inside the narrow path, breaking their statuesque poses for only the barest moment to give Ed and Hawkeye curt nods, a salute to Roy.
"They aren't messing around, are they?" Ed whistled low. "Were there this many officers at the first scene?"
"No," Roy said grimly. "But then, the first scene sat overnight."
"They've upped patrols since then," Hawkeye added. "The chief of the military police is expecting the worse."
"And what's the worst?" Ed asked, glancing down the end of the alley to the huddle of officers. Roy followed his gaze.
"A serial killer, I expect," he answered, resting a hand on Ed's shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze before sliding past him. "Just a moment. Let me make sure the misunderstanding earlier has been cleared up."
The officers already on the scene were more than willing to turn it over, giving Roy their apologies and excuses before bowing out. Roy managed to get a few of them to hang around on the off chance something might happen, but for the most part, the alleyway cleared out quickly after their arrival. Raising a hand to wave his subordinates over, Roy went to greet the sight—the boy, the body charred but still recognizable, and an array scribbled hastily on the wall.
"This is different," Ed said, stepping up to his side.
"It doesn't even look like the same murderer." Roy pointed at the array on the ground, much smaller than the first one. "The only thing still the same is the array."
"Even that's not entirely the same." Ed squatted down, resting his hands just over the array. "It's smaller—maybe a foot in diameter? And the lines," he ran his finger along the outside edge of the circle, "are straight. It's like—"
Roy paused, but Ed's mouth snapped shut. "Like?" he prompted.
"Dunno," Ed said vaguely, but Roy could see something building in his mind, the wheel turning rapidly. "This is the kid, then?" Ed asked, abruptly switching gears. "What was his name?"
"Elijah Stern." Hawkeye handed a notepad over to Ed, the one from the meeting with Mrs. Bray.
"Has the family been notified?" Roy asked.
"I'm afraid you're not that lucky, sir."
Roy cursed. "Of course. Locate the family for me, Lieutenant. We'll head straight there once we've finished here."
Hawkeye saluted and stepped away. "I'll send a call in to Havoc, sir. He should be able to get the information."
When Roy turned back to the body, Ed was still crouched down, staring wistfully at the array, glancing at the body every so often with the same unreadable expression. "What?"
As though startled, Ed looked up sharply. "Nothing. I have to finish those tests today, is all."
"You're not telling me something," Roy said, and Ed laughed, a short bark, and said, "Is that right?"
As the sun began bleeding soft light into the early morning darkness, Roy caught sight of doors opening, of old women still in their dressing gowns stepping out to get a closer look.
He could tell already. It was going to another long, tiresome day.

*

Ed left Roy at the scene about two hours after arriving, his pockets jammed full of paper after paper, all scrawled over with notes and sketches and theories. Something was coming together in his head, something just out of reach, but it was there.
When he got to the second lab, the entire building reeked of meat. Pork, in fact, Ed noted happily. Sanders was lugging bag after bag of pork rounds into the test site they'd used the day before, blood splattered from the bag and all over his once pristine lab coat. Ed came into the room with a grin, slapping Sanders on the back and standing next to him. He had to be radiating joy, because Sanders kept looking from the raw meat to Ed with a look on his face that made it seem that the man wanted nothing more than to run screaming.
"Sanders," Ed said gleefully.
"Major Elric," Sanders said, flat-toned. "Your rounds." He gestured at the meat. "If that's all…?"
Ed waved a hand at the door. "Yeah, for this. I need you to do some observation. Get one of the others, too. Fuck, what were their names?"
"I'll just get right on that," Sanders said, and left the room grumbling. Ed didn't care. Let the man complain, he figured. So long as everyone did their jobs, they could say whatever the fuck they wanted.
The difference in the array from the two scenes was the key. Ed was sure of it. He just had to figure out why.
He sketched the array on the floor twice, giving about five feet of leeway between them. The first one, much larger at three feet in diameter, the lines unsteady at the edges, and then the second version, only a foot in diameter and much surer. He had the lab report from the first boy, Samson, who weighed one-hundred-twenty-six pounds at the time of death. Elijah's corpse was still sitting in the alley when he'd left, but Ed could estimate that he was roughly three inches shorter than Samson, if the information from the first report was correct.
For the first array, he dragged the equivalent of Samson's weight in pork, and did the same for Elijah on the second array.
"Are you guys ready?" Ed called to the observation window. Sanders leaned forward to the speaker system, coughing.
"We're all ready," his voice sparked, a mechanical crackle. Next to Sanders, a younger assistant, someone not part of the first tests, was standing, staring at Ed with something close to awe in his eyes.
Ed turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. "Right," he said. "The, uh, first array is a replication of the first scene. Samson Bray, age thirteen," he glanced down at one of the papers he'd brought along, "one-hundred-twenty-six pounds, 5'6. He was completely obliterated by the effects of the array—"
"Wasn't it just fireworks?" Sanders asked, skeptical. "How did an array for fireworks cause any damage?"
"That," Ed began, "was my question as well. But when I went to see the second scene, there was an obvious difference between the first body—what was left of it—and the second."
"And that was?"
"I'm getting there, damn it, stop rushing me!" Ed scowled at the observation window, narrowing his eyes at an unrepentant Sanders. "The second body was completely intact, just burnt up. I'm willing to bet that once Knox gets a look at it, he'll see the insides got the most of the damage."
"And how's that possible?"
"The first array was large, remember?" Ed gestured to the first circle. "It was large and unstable, and, looking at the second scene, I think the major difference between the two was power. Whoever's behind it did the first transmutation with no restraint."
"And you're sure about this?" Sanders asked. "Maybe the arrays you've found aren't even the ones the murder used!"
"That," Ed said, "is what we're about to find out. I'll start with array one."
The meat was all piled up on top of the array. When Ed knelt down and placed his hands on the outer line, the fluids dripping out of the pork stained the tips of his gloves. "Ready?" he asked once more.
"Go ahead," came the answer.
With one last deep breath, Ed closed his eyes. There was likely a big gap between his own idea of 'unrestrained' and that of the unknown alchemist. If Ed let loose completely, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd take the building out as well, not to mention himself and everyone in the lab. No, he'd simply have to exert the necessary force to overpower the array and completely skew its original purpose, then halve that power for the second array.
When the blue light crackled from his hands and into the lines of the array, Ed was quick to push off his feet and backwards—just in time. Rather than the original display of colored, sparking lights, there was a violent, red flare, and a series of popping sounds, like meat being overcooked in grease. He barely had time to cover his eyes against the glare before the popping turned to an earsplitting crack, the pile of pork exploded.
And then it was silent. Ed wiped the splatter of hot meat off his arms, quite thankful he'd covered his face. "Well," the speaker system squeaked to life, "I see you were correct."
Grimly, Ed nodded. "Looks that way." It couldn't have been a pleasant way to die. There'd been a space of about ten seconds before the meat actually blew, which could very well have meant that Samson Bray literally cooked alive for ten seconds before the damage caught up to him.
"Array number two," Ed said abruptly, shutting the thought away. He had to focus. There wasn't time to pity a boy who'd been dead for days, not when the murderer was still out in the city. "The difference in power is the main aspect of this murder," he began, "as well as the size. The decrease in diameter adjusted the possible output of energy. If I'm correct," and at that point, Ed didn't see how he couldn't be, "then the second murder proves one thing."
"Which is?" Sanders asked.
Ed knelt down, hands on the circle. "That the alchemist had no idea what he was doing the first time around. Ready?"
A pause, then, "Ready when you are."
When Ed activated the array, the differences were already noticeable. The damage was instantaneous. Rather than exploding, the meat seared and emitted a cloud of smoke —and the light was much dimmer, less obvious.
The pork sitting on the array was still in place once the transmutation ended, the outside of it charred. Ed stared down at it for a moment before clapping his hands, his automail arm shifting into a blade. Reaching down, he sliced the top of the first round open, pushing the meat apart. A blast of steam hit his face, causing him to stumble back and flinch. "Fuck," Ed cursed, rubbing at his eyes with his flesh arm. When the burning ceased, he stepped closer again, cautiously this time, and looked down.
As he'd thought, the meat had been completely roasted on the inside, the red of it so dark that it appeared almost black, as opposed to the overall leathery red of the outside.
"How is it?" Sanders asked over the speaker.
Ed looked over his shoulder and called, "Burnt on the inside, leather on the outside. Mark it, will you?"
That something that had been just out of reach before was rapidly clearing in Ed's mind, a picture forming from the fragments. Roy, he thought, staring down at the piles of meat, would want to hear about this.

*

Elijah Stern's parents lived on the opposite side of town from the Brays', the school sitting almost directly in the middle. Roy figured the kid must not have even gone home after school—or after the game he supposedly took part in.
"All these damn sporting events," Roy grumbled, resting his head back on the seat, eyes closed, as Hawkeye drove them to the Sterns' house. "When I'm Fuhrer—"
"Sir," Hawkeye sighed.
"No, no," Roy said. "This is important! When I'm Fuhrer," he ignored her second exasperated sigh, "I'm going to issue an edict! No sporting events for anyone below the age of twenty-five."
"I'm not sure that would settle well with the people, sir," Hawkeye said. "In fact, I know it won't. Perhaps you should keep your delusions of grandeur to yourself, in this case."
"I have no delusions, Lieutenant," Roy assured her. "Only grand aspirations."
"I find they're usually the same with you," she muttered under her breath.
There were lights on in the Sterns' house when Hawkeye pulled up onto the curb and parked. From his view of the kitchen window, Roy could see a woman flitting back and forth, her hands at her mouth, her hair unkempt.
He wondered if she would know before they said anything, just like Samson's mother. Which was easier? Being the bearer of such tragic news, or being the confirmer of a mother's worst fears?
Nausea bubbled up in his gut as Roy walked up the driveway, Hawkeye matching his brisk pace with an expression just as stiff. It was the necessary mask, the I'm sorry for your loss expression that chipped away at Roy's insides with every word that spilled from his mouth.
Hawkeye was the one to knock, and when a woman answered the door, her eyes riveting on Roy's uniform before she could probably greet them, Hawkeye was the one to speak first. "Mrs. Stern?"
"Yes," Mrs. Stern said faintly, one hand at her neck, worrying the skin. "How can I help you?" Her voice broke in the middle of the sentence, a short catch of her breath.
Roy glanced at his lieutenant. "We're here to speak with you about your son—Elijah Stern?"
"Elijah?" she asked. "What's he done?" Mrs. Stern held the door open for them, stepping aside. "Is this about Samson? That poor boy—his parents must be beside themselves!"
The faint nausea churning in Roy's gut abruptly took hold of his stomach, squeezing and pulling. He swallowed, took a breath, and said, "It does involve the Bray murder," as he stepped past her, Lieutenant Hawkeye a foot behind him.
Mrs. Stern closed the door and joined them in the kitchen, gesturing to the chairs around the large wood table as she took a seat. "What can I do? I feel so badly for them—"
"Mrs. Stern," Roy had to interrupt her, get her to stop talking. The woman—how could she not know? Her son never came the night before, had he? "Where was Elijah last night?"
She glanced at Hawkeye, obviously looking for a break in her blank expression for some indication as to what the visit was about. "He stayed the night out," she said. "He had a game, you see, and it's an awfully long way to walk at night, especially with—you know. He was staying with a teammate after the game."
"Did he say who?" Roy asked.
Mrs. Stern shook her head, frowning. "No. He usually stayed with Samson, but—well, that's obviously not where he was." She sat up straighter, the frown deepening. "What is this about?"
"Mrs. Stern," Hawkeye began, "early this morning, your son was found about two blocks away from the Brays' house."
"Found where?" the woman asked. "Doing what?"
God, she just wasn't getting it. Roy looked at Hawkeye, searching for any indication of frustration. His lieutenant was as impassive as ever, though, and thankfully so. They would need to remain calm for this.
"He was found dead," Hawkeye replied, and the result was instantaneous, as though time had simply stopped. Mrs. Stern's indignant expression froze, her hand still resting just below her neck, and Roy had the vaguest notion that even her blood had frozen in her veins. When life went roaring back into her, Mrs. Stern's face blotched red, her mouth dropping open and snapping shut in rapid succession.
"Dead," she echoed. "Dead? He—he can't—there must be some mistake," she insisted. "I just saw him—just yesterday! I sent him off to school and—you can't have found the right boy."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Roy said, and he couldn't have been any more sincere for the ache he was feeling. "We believe his death is connected to Samson's."
Mrs. Stern was still staring at him with the same look, eyes wide and wild, mouth a tight line. Her eyes kept darting from Roy to Hawkeye to Roy to Hawkeye, so fast that Roy couldn't follow. This was what panic looked like, the incomprehension of having the world ripped out from under you.
When she finally spoke, it was a parody of her earlier voice, just a croaked, "why?" before she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Roy could offer his condolences, could promise a resolution to Elijah's murder, but her son was still dead. Meeting his lieutenant's eyes, Roy could see his thoughts mirrored in her own.
It never, never got any easier.

*

Roy had almost been afraid to leave Elijah's mother alone, but fortunately, the boy's father arrived not long after they broke the news. He walked with a cane, his left leg twisted oddly, dragging uselessly behind him.
"He's dead," the man said, blank-faced. Mr. Stern didn't even sit down with them, just stood in the kitchen and didn't meet anyone's eyes. Vaguely, Roy wondered how many times he was going to have to do this.
"I'm sorry," Roy said again. "But if there's anything you feel we should know—" "There's not," the man said shortly.
"Sir, if you have any idea of where your son was meant to be staying last night, it would be very helpful," Hawkeye said. "We're working to do all we can to—"
"Does it matter?" Mr. Stern said, a crack marring the blank expression he'd thrown up the moment he'd received the news. "He's not coming back. That's—it's done." He thumped his cane on the ground, neck jerking to the side, an abrupt motion to hide whatever emotion was bleeding across his face and into his eyes.
No matter what I say, he's still dead, Roy recalled Elijah saying, his father's words neatly mirroring his own. He could remember full well the desperate, quiet pain in Angel's eyes, the boy an outcast, his only friend taken too soon.
"While I can't bring your son back," Roy said, "I can promise some sort of resolution. To you, and to Samson's family."
Elijah's father looked at him, then to his wife, the woman still unable to see straight for her grief. "Good luck," he said, still short. "I hope you kill the bastard."
Roy certainly hoped someone did, and altogether unfamiliar feeling welled up in him—the thought that this time, he wouldn't mind ending a life.
"We'll keep you both updated," he said, rising. Hawkeye stood as well, nodding to Mr. Stern and giving his wife a brief, hesitant pat on her shoulder.
They didn't speak again until they were safely in the car, speeding down the residential road back to the city. "I would very much like it, sir, if we didn't have to do that again," Hawkeye said, quiet.
"I know what you mean." Roy pushed his hair off his face in agitation, the restlessness of being unable to act getting to him. "We need to—find something. Anything, at this point, would be better than nothing."
"A pattern?" Hawkeye suggested. "Perhaps, if you can find the next victim—"
"Before the killer," Roy finished. "It's possible, but then, what do we have to go on? Boys on the same sports team, aged thirteen?"
"Perhaps there's some connection between the two boys? They were close."
Roy sighed and leaned against the window, wishing for all the world he could just go to sleep, close his eyes against the whole business. "We need to find out if Ed found anything."
"The tests," Hawkeye said, remembering. "That's right—shall I drop you near the labs?"
"Thanks."
Considering the way his day started, Roy wasn't surprised that Ed wasn't even in the lab—hadn't been for about an hour, according to an older man who claimed to be the younger alchemist's assistant.
"He ran off," the man said, waving out the door. "Said he had to go run a theory by someone. And he left us here to clean up his mess."
His mess? "The experiments," Roy said. "For the case?"
The man nodded. "You involved in the case, General?"
"Yes. If the test room hasn't been cleared yet, I'd like to see it."
"This way, sir."
"I don't think I've ever seen one of the labs this empty," Roy observed, following the older man.
"Major Elric demanded it," the old man said, a wry twist to his words. "Not to be insubordinate, but that little guy's awfully bossy."
Roy cleared his throat, looking to the side. It wouldn't do to let the man see the smirk stealing over his face. Ed was bossy, incredibly so—not that he'd ever own up to it. "I've been told that before," Roy reassured the man. "I can hardly object to your opinion."
The old man just snorted. He stopped, pushing open a door and holding it for Roy. "This is the test room, General. And—watch your step. There's a reason it's not yet been cleaned."
Roy walked in the room, the door left open behind him. It reeked of burnt meat. Ed had clearly been busy, if the arrays drawn all over the ground were any indication. There were four in total, two that looked faded and covered in splattered meat, and a second set, both of which were loaded up with piles of meat, burnt well.
"Interesting," he murmured, crouching down to get a better look at the fresher of the two. "This is the one he did this morning?"
The man nodded, still lingering in the doorway. "He left straight after."
"Did he say anything?" Roy stood.
"Just that he needed to speak with someone." The old man shrugged. "The major isn't very chatty."
Interesting. "Thank you," Roy said, dipping his head to the man as he stepped back into the main hall.
"You want me to pass on a message, sir?"
"That won't be necessary. I have no doubt I'll run into Fullmetal soon enough."
"G'bye then, sir." Roy spared a moment to flick open his pocket watch and glance at the time before hurrying toward the office. How it was only just before eleven, he had no idea. Roy felt like he'd been awake for damn forever, and he had the sneaking suspicion that come five o'clock, he'd barely be conscious. Did the days always drag on like this, or was the stress just getting to him? Either way, a vacation sounded nice. Possibly a vacation of nothing but sleep, hours and hours of lazing the day away in bed.
Breda looked surprised when Roy walked into the office. "General? What are you doing here?"
"Has Ed stopped by?" The office was empty, just Breda sitting at his desk, working away on some assignment or other. The lieutenant shrugged, glancing around.
"Nope, it's just been me all day. Havoc stopped in for a bit, but he's still straightening out the incident with the investigation."
"Incident?" Roy asked. "The mix up?"
Breda nodded, tossing a paper into one of the many boxes lined up across the end of his desk. "Yeah. Apparently, Intelligence is still bitching."
"I'm shocked," Roy deadpanned. "You'd think Archer was still alive, the way they run things over there." Of course Intelligence would get their panties in a knot over something as ridiculous as a misplaced call. "Well then, unless you need something, I'll be going."
Breda shook his head, dropping yet another paper into one of the boxes and grabbing for a third. "Nah, I'm just filing our expenses. You've probably got more exciting things you could be doing, sir."
"Too right," Roy muttered.
Of course Ed would disappear the moment Roy went looking for him. It took roughly twenty minutes to determine that Ed was nowhere on the base, at least not in any of his old haunts. It was unusual, to say the least. And given the circumstances—
Said he needed to run a theory by someone… A trickle of cold ran down Roy's spine. When Ed left the scene that morning, it had seemed like something had occurred to him, some important idea. And the man in the lab—he'd insinuated that Ed had figured out something.
Elijah, Roy remembered numbly, had remembered something important, too.
Perhaps it was irrational. Ed could take care of himself better than anyone Roy knew, and yet—there were too many unknown variables.
Frustrated and verging on panic, Roy finally broke down and decided to call home, rushing back to the office, where Breda greeted him with a distracted wave before Roy disappeared into his personal office, kicking the door closed behind him and collapsing into his chair. He couldn't even appreciate the relief of finally being able to rest his feet. He was too on edge, too damn tense. Roy had to force his hand steady as grabbed the phone and dialed the number.
The phone rang—and rang, and rang, and Roy finally closed his eyes and willed away the memory of another phone call, years before, that had come to a dead end in more ways than one.
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From Childhood's Hour