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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
- 5
- 6
"I need any information we might have on her," Roy said. "Anything at all. If she had a parking citation, I want to know."
"How far back would you like me to check, General?"
"As far back as the information goes. I want to know everything."
There was an exhausted sense of excitement in finding a viable suspect—the only viable suspect. After days of dead ends, the case was finally moving, the earlier feeling of helplessness disappearing.
It was about damn time.
"I'll have the report sent to your office the moment it's ready," the intelligence officer promised.
"No, no," Roy said. "Call. I'm at home, and I'll be there the rest of the night. No matter the time, call. This is a very time sensitive matter, Sergeant."
Ed didn't look at him when Roy hung up the phone, humming triumphantly. He stayed right where he was, slumped over the kitchen table, one hand clutching the handle of his coffee mug, the other serving as an improvised pillow.
"If she's done anything," Roy said, taking his seat across from Ed, "we'll know."
"I bet nothing turns up," Ed said dully. "I bet she's one of those people who everyone says 'she was so nice and quiet'! You know, like all the serial killers."
"I've never met a nice, quiet serial killer," Roy said pensively. "It would certainly be a nice change."
Ed stared at him for a moment, incredulous, before letting out an abrupt laugh. "I dunno, Roy. Scar was pretty quiet—when he wasn't bellowing about Ishvara and eternal damnation."
"Don't talk about him at my dinner table," Roy said crossly. Then he frowned, leaning his elbows on the table. "Are you all right?"
"Tired," Ed answer, "but yeah, I'm good." He didn't look good. He looked—it was difficult to place. Roy hated those moments when Ed's mind shut tight, completely unreadable. It was an abrupt thing, never with any obvious lead-ins. One moment, Ed would be Ed, would be exactly as he should be, and the next, there would be a strange air about him, as though he'd remembered something sad and couldn't bring himself to admit it aloud.
Roy, more than anything else, hated those moments.
"It'll be over soon," Roy said quickly, his mind instructing him to distract, distract, keep him with you. "The case."
"Yeah," Ed said, quiet. "I know. I guess I'll be spending another long day on a train again soon."
And just like that, the excitement warming Roy dropped straight through his stomach, now an uncomfortable burn. "That's right," he said. "You'll be leaving."
Suddenly, Ed's melancholy made much more sense. The case would be over soon, there was no denying it. The question, then, would be what next? Ed would leave—would it be another three months before he saw Ed again? Another six, another twelve?
This wasn't what he should be thinking about, Roy told himself fiercely. It was a moment in the future—no sense in worrying for it now.
"Don't worry about it. It's only a matter of time until you're transferred," Roy promised. Ed gave him look, another of those damned unreadable expressions, before breaking into a smile.
"You're an idiot," he informed Roy, lifting his mug. "Here's for getting this damned case done with—no more dead kids."
Roy, despite feeling somewhat flummoxed, lifted his mug. The coffee smell drifting toward him was heavenly. "No more dead kids," he agreed.

*

The heavy mood from the day before followed Roy all the way to the office the next morning, straight through rain-drenched streets. By the time he'd navigated the flood of morning traffic and escaped the chaos of the motor pool, he felt so tightly wound that the only course of action his mind seemed to jump to was burn everything.
It was fortunate that Hawkeye was the first one in the office—and the one to hand him the report he'd requested.
"Is there a reason this wasn't reported to me when it was requested, oh, last night?" Roy asked crabbily, pulling his wet jacket off and laying it on the back of his chair.
"There's coffee on your desk," was his lieutenant's pointed response. "And it wouldn't have mattered, sir."
"Wouldn't have mattered?" Roy took his seat and smelled the coffee and hell, had he needed that. The mood at home had been too dismal—the idea of sitting in the kitchen and waiting for a pot to brew with Ed sulking and emitting waves of depression was too much.
One look at the report, consisting of a single page only half-filled with type, told him that no, it wouldn't have mattered. Abigail Law, thirty years old, never so much as a traffic violation or even a detention during her school days. "Married young," Roy read aloud, "excelled in school, never attended university… Oh, wonderful. She's never even toed the line once in her life."
"She married a man from Drachma," Hawkeye said, sifting through the piles of paperwork that had accumulated from the start of the case.
"Unwittingly, if her son's word is anything to go by," Roy corrected. "And something tells me she'd be very defensive about that."
Hawkeye finished straightening the piles. "Perhaps you should ask her?"
"Hm. I think I'll speak with the victims' families again. See if they knew about Angel."
"If you wait an hour," Hawkeye said, "I'll go with you. There's an interdepartmental meeting in about," a quick glance at her watch, "five minutes. I won't be available until it's over."
Roy, holding his coffee and scowling, replied, "Does it look like I'm going anywhere?"
"Mind your tongue, sir," Hawkeye said sternly. Roy had the grace to look sheepish. "I'll send for a car on my way back." She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway to add, "You can get started on all that paperwork until I get back," before disappearing.
Roy looked at the various piles stacked across his desk, a hesitant hand reaching for a pen, before he stopped. When had the windows been last cleaned…? They were looking awfully dirty. The paperwork would have to wait. Roy just couldn't stand messes.
"Oh," he said, "and I have no cleaning supplies. Hm, pity. I'll have to go all the way to the supply building."
"…Sir," Havoc called from the outer office, "are you talking to yourself?"
"Mind your business, Lieutenant!"
"Yeah, all right," Havoc said. "But I have a call for you, in case you're interested."
Roy paused his mental listing of the best cleaning supplies the base carried. "Who is it?" he asked. "If it's General Hakuro, tell him I've gone to lunch!"
"It's nine in the morning, Colonel," Breda informed him.
"Breakfast, then," Roy corrected himself.
But instead of laughing, Havoc said, "it's Ed," and Roy quickly returned to his desk and snapped up the phone.
"Hello?"
"What are you doing today?"
"I saw you less than an hour ago," Roy said. "I'm going to see the families again, as I told you."
"I just got a call." There was something uneasy in Ed's voice.
"From who?"
"An officer up North," Ed's voice said, the words dragging. "I have two days left."
"They—what?" Roy gripped the phone so hard he heard the plastic creak. "They can't put a time limit on a case! Especially not one like this—"
"Something's going on up there. They said they need me ASAP, and you know damn well I can't tell them no."
"Don't tell them no. Just—ask, Ed, you have to at least try."
"I'm asking," Ed said, "I'm asking you to hurry the hell up with all this. I don't need those shits up North breathin' down my neck again." Before Roy could break in with some other excuse, Ed added, quiet and reluctant, "Please."
Roy's stomach flopped. "Two days. Right." Two days meant overtime, unless a miracle happened. They might be close, but that didn't mean they were done. Hawkeye had only just gone to the meeting, which meant there was still an hour before she got out, before they could kick the day into motion. Insides burning, Roy took a slow, deep breath, and said, "Would you like to come?"
"Come? Where?"
"The families," Roy clarified. "I have to go speak with them, and if we're so short on time, I can't bring Lieutenant Hawkeye." Passing Havoc a command to investigate the scene of the second murder for any possible witnesses, Roy made his way to the motor pool.
It might be selfish, but he would take time with Ed where he could. Lieutenant Hawkeye would understand.

*

Ed was waiting in front of the house when Roy pulled up. "No driver?" he joked, climbing into the passenger's seat. "What, Havoc finally wised up?"
"I just thought we might enjoy some time together," Roy said, simple and to the point. Ed stared at him, shaking his head and laughing for the first time since they'd gotten home the night before.
"You're seriously warped if you consider this a date."
"I take what I can get."
"And don't I know it," Ed grinned. "Mind if we go by the lab first? It's where I was planning to go—before."
At Ed's sudden mellowing tone, Roy was hasty to say, "Of course. I'm sure that poor researcher will be thrilled to see you again."
"Sanders?" Ed snorted. "Guy's all right. Kind of a tool, though."
"I have no doubt he has something equally flattering to say about you."
Roy waited in the car while Ed ran into the lab, disappearing through the doorway. Two days, he thought, allowing the moroseness he'd felt earlier to breach the surface. They had two days to finish the case and bask in each others’ company, then it was back to hours and hundreds of miles between them, phone calls and suspicious superiors and all the rest of the mess they'd landed themselves in. It didn't seem fair that this is all they should get.
He snapped himself out of it the moment a hint of gold made its way through the doorway, Ed appearing once more with a book of some sort under his arm. He was talking to someone back in the lab, and judging by the overtly amused look on his face, it was likely that researcher.
"He's going to try to poison you if you keep aggravating him," Roy warned as Ed buckled himself back in. "Alchemical researchers aren't known for their stability in this country."
"That comment better be pointed at him and not me," Ed said. "Because I am completely stable. Hey, fuck you," he added, grumbling, when Roy let out a rather undignified snort.
It was getting very tiring, the drive from headquarters, to one of the families, to home, and back again. As Roy steered the car into the Brays' driveway, He shook off the feeling of déjà vu with the thought, of course I've done this before.
"At least," he said, slamming the door, "we don't have to explain any new deaths."
"That's always a plus," Ed agreed. "I mean, how many times have you even had to do that now?"
"Just the two," Roy said, and knocked on the front door.
Mrs. Bray answered, pulling the door open just enough to peek out. "Oh," she said, surprised, "General Mustang?"
Roy elbowed Ed, and nodded. "I'm sorry to bother you again, ma'am, but I'm afraid we have a few more questions." She stared for a moment before opening the door, gesturing them inside.
"What can I help you with?" She looked tense, the lines in her face much more pronounced than the first time Roy saw her. She led them into the same sitting room after offering them tea, which was quickly rejected.
She looked, for lack of a better word, burnt out, like it was simply too much to feel anything anymore.
"Just a few questions," Roy promised. "But first, have you done much to Samson's room?"
"His bedroom, you mean?" She shook her head, pushing her dark hair behind her ear. "No, I've just—I can't bring myself to," she said faintly.
"I understand. Ed, why don't you go look it over?"
Mrs. Bray looked alarmed when Ed stood. "Look it over? Why?"
"We're still investigating," Ed said, tone suggesting the answer should have been obvious. "Where is it?"
Roy jabbed the back of Ed's leg discreetly with the toe of his boot. It wasn't the time to be rough with the woman. Ed could be so willfully oblivious sometimes.
"It's just—down the hall," Mrs. Bray pointed. "The only door that's closed."
With a last look at Roy, Ed huffed, then directed a thank you at the strained woman.
"I apologize, ma'am. Major Elric can be rough, at times…" Roy's voice filtered down the hall after Ed. Of course the bastard would feel the need to butter Mrs. Bray up. He was such a charmer, and at the dumbest times.
The room was, indeed, the only closed door in the hall. Ed pushed it open with trepidation, only to find that it looked no different than any other child's room would: clothes scattered across the floor, the laundry hamper empty and neglected, books on the bed, a deck of cards scattered over the nightstand, the lampshade covered in a thick accumulation of dust. At first glance, there was nothing strange at all.
Ed stood in the doorway, face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. He'd never spent a whole lot of time as a child thinking of places to hide things. By the time he'd found himself with a need for secrecy, the only adult around had been Pinako, and even then, he and Al had had the run of the house. He'd never needed a place to hide things, not really. So where to begin?
Under the bed brought out nothing. The closet was just a jumble of old books and toys that hadn't seen use in well over a year; and the bed was simply a bed, a mess of sheets and pillows. At the crime scene, Samson had had his book bag. One of the investigators had found it laying a few yards away from the playground area. There hadn't been anything useful there, either.
"…no, doesn't sound familiar…" Out in the sitting room, Ed could still hear Roy and Samson's mother, the woman's voice occasionally pitching higher when she spoke. Wondering just how long he had, exactly, Ed finally dropped to the floor, scrambling through the clothes strewn carelessly about. As he rifled through the pockets of a pair of jeans, he felt something, like cardstock paper. It was a ticket to some performance. Ed had a vague recollection of a performance troupe coming through from Xing, but he knew very little about it himself. The ticket was very worn, obviously handled quite a lot. It was dated roughly two weeks before the murder. There was nothing odd about it - until Ed turned the ticket over.
On the back were various sketches of transmutation circles – and each of them was similar to the one that had, in the end, killed Samson.
"Huh," Ed said blankly, because what the hell was the kid even doing with that? His mind scrambled to make sense of it, filtering through the evidence they'd found so far, but there was just—
Hm.
Ed tucked the ticket into his pocket and stepped back out into the sitting room where Roy was listening the woman babble on about something involving Samson and sports, a tolerant look on his face that Ed knew well. It was the one that said, I may look like I care, but do not be deceived. I'm pretending I'm asleep right now. He used to get that look from Roy a lot.
"Mrs. Bray," Ed interrupted, lips twitching to a smile at the relieved look on Roy's face. "What did your son do? Outside of sports," he added quickly.
"What else? Well, he was… just very involved in things," she said.
Things, Ed assumed, meant that she had no fucking idea what her kid did most of the time. "Did he ever talk about alchemy?"
Roy's head snapped up. Mrs. Bray, however, didn't seem perturbed. "Oh, not that I'm aware of. He thought it was interesting. A bit like magic, I think."
"Magic," Ed echoed dryly. "Then I'm gonna just say he didn't know anything about alchemy."
"I don't see how he would," Mrs. Bray said. "Where would he learn it?"
A very good question, Ed thought. "That's all I needed," he said, looking at Roy. Can we get the hell out of here?
Roy had always been good at reading Ed's mind. "I think we're finished here," he said, standing.
Mrs. Bray stood as well, puzzled. "That was all? Well, if you need anything else…"
"We'll be sure to contact you," Roy promised. Mrs. Bray walked them to the door, still in that same daze she'd first greeted them in. As they walked to the car, Roy gave Ed a sidelong glance. "You found something."
"I think," Ed said, nodding. "A ticket."
"A ticket?"
Ed tapped his door impatiently until Roy got the hint and unlocked it. After he climbed in, Ed continued, "Remember that performance troupe that came through a few weeks back? The one from Xing?"
Roy closed the door, stuck the key in the ignition. "Yes," he said. "There was an announcement on a bulletin board outside the school when Havoc and I went. Why?"
Wordlessly, Ed pulled the ticket from his pocket and handed it to Roy, who took one look at the crumpled front, frowned, and turned it over. His eyebrows went nearly to his hairline as he took in the scrawled circles. "What the hell? You found this—"
"In the kid's room," Ed confirmed. "It had to be his, too, 'cause it was in his pants."
"Well, aren't you thorough?" Roy murmured, still focused on the back of the ticket.
"He had to be there with someone," Ed pointed out. "No kid just goes somewhere like that on his own."
"Elijah?" Roy asked, starting the car and pulling back onto the road.
"Maybe. Him, or that Angel kid."
"His mother has all those books." Roy sighed. "Two days—"
"There's no point in saying that," Ed cut him off. "Let's just get this done." His words were terse, the reminder unpleasant. Roy felt a surge of anger bubble up. Why should Ed be the only one to feel something about this? He might be the one leaving, but Roy was the one who had to stay behind, who had to sleep every night in their bed—
Two days wasn't long enough for the case, or for them to fight. Roy let his hands relax on the steering wheel, his mind refocus. This was them, and this was how things were. He wouldn't let the weight of it crush them.

*

It was the legwork that made the investigation so intolerable. Roy was used to being the man behind the desk, controlling the pawns running frantically about gathering evidence. That he suddenly had become one of those pawns didn't escape his notice.
Local investigations, Roy thought disgustedly, and attempted another knock on the Sterns' door.
"Are they even home?" Ed asked irritably. "We've been standin' out here for damn ten minutes!"
"They probably aren't," Roy said, willing away the frustrating pain building in his temples. Every wasted second only increased the pounding, egging it on until he wanted to lash out from sheer irritation.
"Should we leave?" Ed asked.
"Not just yet, you shouldn't." Behind them, Elijah's father was making his way up the walkway, cane jabbing sharply into the ground with each forward step.
"Mr. Stern," Roy said. "This is Major Elric—"
"I read the papers," Stern said. "What do you want?"
Well. Ed and Roy exchanged a glance, and Ed, for once, decided to step back on this.
"We have a few more questions about your son," Roy explained.
Mr. Stern looked them, then shrugged. He shoved past them to unlock the door. He kicked it open and walked inside, not even pausing as he called back, "Come in, then."
"Nice guy," Ed muttered.
"Given the circumstances…" Roy closed the door behind them before following Mr. Stern into the kitchen. The man was still hobbling along, digging through the cabinets for something or other.
"What is it?" he asked, not bothering to look at either of them.
"Are you familiar with the name Angel Law?" Roy asked.
"Law," the man said, pausing to think. "Dunno. Who was he?"
"A classmate of your son's," Roy said. "He was young. His father was from Drachma."
"Hah!" Mr. Stern stood straight, pushing the knuckles of his free hand into his lower back. "Yeah, I remember Eli mentioning that. Weird kid. Said he didn't belong."
The word themselves were neutral enough. It was Mr. Stern's tone that made the hair on the back of Roy's neck stand on end.
"Did you ever meet Angel Law?" Roy continued.
"Hell, no," the man scoffed. "A Drachman? I'm not dealing with that."
"He was born in this country," Ed said, mouth moving before mind.
"He is what he is," Mr. Stern said.
"Regardless," Roy continued, placing a careful hand on Ed's shoulder, able to feel the sudden and indignant rage radiating off his partner, "what else did you know about the boy?"
"Why?" Stern asked, straightening up. "You think he did it? You think he killed Eli?"
That was a can of worms Roy wasn't about to open, not for anything. "No, sir," he answered. "We're simply investigating."
"You let me know if that Drachman kid did it," Stern said, simple as anything. He certainly didn't mince words.
Roy took a calming breath. "I'm sure you'll find out as soon as we do."

*

"What a fucking waste!" Ed had started ranting the moment they got in the car, waving his hands and looking furious at the world at large. "That fucking—what's wrong with people!?"
"A lot of things, I imagine." Roy tapped on the wheel, stopping at an empty intersection. "We'll head back to the base."
Ed frowned. "We still have things to do."
"I want to check in with Havoc and Hawkeye. I sent them to investigate the second scene." Roy sighed. "Maybe we'll get lucky."
"With this case?" Ed scoffed. "Yeah, right. I've never had so many dead ends in a single investigation."
"Cases like this," Roy said, nodding fervently, "are why I hate locals. I despise them."
"No kidding," Ed grumbled.
"The only thing we have is a single suspect, and even that doesn’t mean anything without any definitive proof."
"We can at least confirm that all the boys knew each other," Ed said. "And the ticket…"
"The ticket is odd," Roy agreed. "But unless we can place Angel's mother at one of the scenes…"
"We can’t do shit." Ed rolled his eyes. "I love the law."
"But really," Roy argued, "all we have is a few touched books. That's—flimsy. That's nothing."
"Yeah?" Ed said. "Well, that nothing is all we have."
"Please—don't remind me."

*

Ed certainly hadn't expected anything out of Havoc and Hawkeye, so he was rather pleasantly surprised when Havoc came bounding into the office, looking terribly pleased with himself, Hawkeye in tow.
"Boss!" Havoc said, grinning. "I think I can make your day a lot better."
Roy looked up from his desk, eyes wide with hope. Ed very much agreed. "Yeah? How's that?"
"Your suspect," Hawkeye cut in smoothly, "was seen in the area of the murder, roughly in the time frame it occurred."
"You can actually put her there?" Roy gaped at them. "How? Where's the witness?"
"A man living in the house next door to the Bray's," she said, "directly across from the alley. He claims to have seen a woman fitting her description roughly between the hours of six and seven."
"Which is when the murder took place," Roy said. "That's—excellent news, actually." He leaned back in his chair.
"What about the first murder?" Ed asked. "Anything there?"
"We don't need it," Havoc said. "It's the same MO, same everything. If we nail her for one, she's as good as convicted for the other!"
Something about that was unsettling to Ed. "So what now?" he asked. "You're just going to arrest her?"
"It's probable cause," Hawkeye said. "We have every reason to bring her into custody."
"But why did she do it?" Ed argued. "There are too many gaps!"
"Which is why," Roy began, already on his feet again and ready to go, "we're going to bring her in. With the proper persuasion, I'm sure Mrs. Law will be more than willing to fill the holes in the story."
Ed couldn't reason it out, and that, most likely, was his biggest concern. Sitting in the back of the car, two other military vehicles behind them, Ed was willing to admit it was possible—likely, even. He'd come up with Abigail Law as a suspect in the first place. Had she simply gotten sick of her son being tormented? If that was the case, why kill Samson, the one friend her son had? Was there something deeper than just a mother's love gone wrong?
They parked down the road. Roy gave the orders to be discreet, for the back-up officers to remain around the perimeter. For an alchemist, the military could spare plenty of back-up.
"I'm going to go look around," Ed muttered, stepping away from the group. Roy waved his acknowledgement before returning to his men, barking out commands and looking generally pleased.
What was missing?
Ed toyed with the chain of his watch, walking the sidewalk opposite the Laws' home, glancing at the poor area around him. He needed answers, damnit, and he wasn't getting them here—
"Young man? Officer!"
Ed stopped dead, looking around in a daze. An old woman was walking quickly across the street toward him, waving her hand high in the air, lilac handbag dangling precariously at her wrist. She had on entirely too much makeup, and for a few brief moments, Ed couldn't look past the heavily painted-on rouge on her cheeks to respond.
Mind clicking back into reality, Ed blinked, worked his mouth, and finally said, "Yes?"
"You're in the military?" she asked.
"Major Elric," Ed said.
"Oh, I thought so," she squealed, sounding entirely too pleased. "I saw your watch glinting from my front porch and thought, why, that young man must be one of the nice officers I've seen around so often lately!"
The old woman looked entirely too pleased to be speaking to, as she put it, an esteemed member of our glorious military!
Ed tried to put on a pleasant face, tried to think of how Roy would respond, but all he could get was, "Er, I, uh. Thanks?"
"So what's happening?" she asked in a stage whisper. "All these military men have been poking about for days!"
"The murders," Ed said. "You have heard about those, haven't you?"
The old woman waved a hand dismissively. "Who hasn't?"
"We're just investigating," he explained. "It's nothing worth mentioning." She was staring at him like he was a celebrity. Ed normally ate that shit up, but she was just sort of creepy, eyes filled with wonder and adulation. For a moment, he was so afraid the little old woman was about to hug him that he physically flinched when she stepped closer.
"Can I help?" she asked. "I know everything about this area! I've lived here for, hm, forty-seven years," she said cheerfully.
Ed—managed a smile, but only barely. "I don't suppose you could tell me about the Laws?"
"Abby? Oh, she's lovely. Very odd sometimes, but lovely."
"Odd?" Ed asked.
"She keeps strange hours," the woman said. "I'm not the sleeper I used to be, you see. My arthritis kicks in and I'm awake for good!"
Oh hell, Ed thought.
"So," the old woman continued, oblivious to Ed's agony, "I'm up all night, some nights! I was even the first on the street to see the papers that morning!"
Ed was having trouble following her train of thought. "What morning?"
"Why, the morning the Bray boy's body was found," she said. "He was an awfully nice boy. Around the Laws' a lot, as well."
"Is that so?" Ed murmured, mind turning.
"Oh yes. But as I was saying, I was up all that night before, because my knees were all swollen!"
Ed made a vaguely horrified face and choked out an, oh, really?
"Awful pain," the old woman said. "So I was up, just sitting in my living room all the night, and I must have seen her go in and out a dozen times!"
Ed's mind stopped. "The night the Bray boy was meant to be murdered? You saw her?"
She gave him a strange look. "Yes, dear boy, didn't you hear me? I remember thinking that night, how often do plants need to be watered? And in the morning—oh, poor Abby. She was so fond of Samson. I doubt she slept much the next night, either."
"I see," Ed said.
So Abby was at home? If she was home the night Samson was murdered—they could only pin the one murder on her. But that didn't make any sense. It was the same array, the same pattern, and she'd been seen leaving the second murder.
What was he missing?
"Dear?" The old woman was speaking again, somehow much closer. "Are you quite well? I think I lost you for a moment."
"Ah, thanks for all that," Ed said, rushed. "I have to go finish the—er, investigating. Things."
She waved cheerfully at him as Ed took off down the road.
Roy was already walking up the Laws' front steps by the time Ed made it to the house. He should say something, he really should, but something was stopping him. There would be no more discoveries, he knew. Not without some cooperation. Feeling oddly heavy, Ed joined Roy at the front door, listening to the thud of a fist on wood with something akin to guilt.
When Angel's mother answered the door, she didn't look surprised to them.
"Abby," Roy said, looking about as pleasant as he could, given the situation. "We need to speak." There were three military police officers standing down by the road, arms crossed and staring up at them.
Abby looked to the police, to Ed, to Roy, and nodded, stepping back. "Come in."
"You don't look surprised to us," Roy said as she closed to the door. "Why might that be?"
Abby gave them a dry look. "What can I do for you?"
"Where were you, the night Elijah Stern was murdered?" Roy asked, point blank. "You claimed you were here, but a witness saw you leaving the house after dark, closer to nine. They didn't recall you returning."
Abby said nothing.
"Your books," Ed said, clearing his throat. "When was the last time they were used?"
She looked at the ground.
"You don't seem to have much to say to us." Roy watched her, taking in the slight tremor in her hands. "Any reason?"
"There's no need for this," Abby said, quiet. She swallowed. "Just come out and say what you're going to say."
"If that's what you like. You're under arrest for the murders of Samson Bray and Elijah Stern."
Ed watched Roy motion in the officers outside, watched them cuff the woman and lead her away.
Her son stood at the end of the hallway, head peeking out and eyes wide.
And suddenly, the pieces began to fall together.

*

"It was too simple," Ed said for fifth time, watching Abby through the observation window. "Come on, you know it!"
"Simple isn't always bad," Roy said. "I quite like simple."
"This isn't done yet," Ed insisted. "I just—I think we should look closer."
Roy finally looked away from the window, staring at Ed incredulously. "How can you want to keep going?"
"How can you not?" Ed demanded. "If it's not right, then it's not right. Just wanting to wash your hands of this isn't enough."
A long, plaintive sigh, "You have the rest of the day, Edward."
"Thank you," Ed said, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "I'll—I just have to check something out. It's there, I know it is."
Roy turned back to the window, a clear and uncharacteristic dismissal. "I'll just have to trust you, then."
There was so little time. Ed hurried from the room without a backward glance, his stomach tight with worry. He'd apologize to Roy later. They'd have time, soon, but now, he had one last thing to take care of.

*

It took the better part of two hours to figure out just where the government had shuffled Angel off to, and even then, it took another hour just to convince the social worker in charge of his case that it was necessary to speak with the boy.
The room was small, an empty square—far too similar to an interrogation room for Ed's liking. Nevertheless, he took a seat at the single table in the center and waited, careful to keep his expression neutral when the door opened and Angel stumbled in, wary.
"Hey, kid," Ed greeted as Angel took the other chair. He stared back, eyes wide, before choosing instead to focus on his hands. "How are you?"
"Terrible," Angel muttered, speaking to the floor.
"I bet," Ed tutted. "It's been a shit few weeks for you, huh?"
Angel looked up sharply at the language, then back down, giving Ed only the tiniest look at his eyes, dejected and flat. "Yeah," he said. "I guess."
"Your mom," Ed began, aware of Angel inhaling sharply, "isn't havin' a much better time." Kid's looking at the floor so hard it might catch fire, Ed noted.
"Can I see her?" Angel asked, voice dropping to a whisper.
Ed shook his head. "Sorry, kid. She's in custody. She'll be tried, which'll go fast, and then she'll get sent to jail—" A pause. "If she isn't executed." Had Roy been there, he would have gone upside Ed's head, but Angel needed to hear the truth.
"Executed?" the boy asked faintly.
"Yep," Ed confirmed. "It's pretty typical with alchemical crimes." He should know. "Especially violent ones."
"So she's going to die," Angel said, quiet.
There was no point in lying to the kid, not about this. "Yeah," Ed agreed. "Probably so." He waited, watching indecision war on Angel's face. Ed wasn't stupid. He knew what had happened - or rather, he knew enough to make a pretty close guess. It was all in Angel's hands.
"I wish she didn't have to," the boy said at last, and Ed's stomach plummeted.
"That's it?" Ed asked. "That's all you wanna say?"
Angel looked up finally, meeting Ed's eyes, and said, "Mom always knows what she's doing," like that was just that. Something in the back of Ed's mind just broke.
"Then what's she doing?" he asked. "Why'd she do it? It doesn't even make sense! She killed two kids—one of them, your best friend. Is that just fine with you?"
Angel was still looking at him, gaze dead on. He nodded. "Mom knows what she's doing," he said again, and that was all Ed could get out of him.
As he left, Ed felt an idea forming, the single piece of the whole that he'd been missing clicking into place.

*

The interrogations office was a mess when Ed got there. Apparently, Roy and his men had had even less success than Ed had with Angel. Abby Law refused to speak, no matter what she was threatened with. Half the time, according to one of the officers, she didn't even open her eyes.
"She just doesn't care," Roy said, still standing at the observation window.
"She does," Ed said. "She cares more than any of us know."
Roy looked over, one eyebrow raised. "You know something?"
"Maybe," Ed said. "I wanna talk to her, though." He looked at Roy. "Off the record, okay?"
"Off the—Ed, we're trying to convict her!"
"Trust me," Ed said. "You will. Just—do this for me, all right?" If he was right—well, if he was right, there was no telling what he'd have to do.
Roy got everyone out of the observation room, turning off the speaker system as Ed opened the door and took the seat the interrogator had been stationed in before his arrival. Abby didn't so much as look at him, her arms cross tight over her chest and her eyes shut even tighter.
"Abby," Ed said. "I just spoke to Angel." He waited. She didn't respond. "I think you're not telling me everything," he continued. "I think there's another part to this completely missing."
She still said nothing. Ed, at the very end of his patience, leaned forward on the table and said, in a tone barely above a whisper, "You didn't kill the first boy."
That got her attention. Abby's eyes snapped open. "I did," she said. "I signed that stupid notice—you have my confession!"
"I do," Ed said. "But you and I both know that's not what really happened."
"You don't know anything," she said, looking away.
"The night Samson was killed," Ed smacked the surface of the table, metal on metal clanging loudly and jarring the woman into meeting his gaze, "you weren't home."
"I know that," she bit out. "You think I don't know where I—"
"You really underestimate the neighborhood watch," Ed said, dry. Abby went quiet. "That little old lady next door to you," he said. "You know her, right? Real nosy. She couldn't wait to talk to me when I made the rounds, y'know."
Abby leaned back in the chair, the cuffs on her hands slapping a screech against the table.
"She kept goin' on about stupid shit, though, like how she never slept anymore. I guess it's just the way old people get."
"Is there a point?" she asked finally. "Or are you just wasting time?"
"She was awake," Ed said at last. "The night Samson was murdered. She was awake, and she saw you outside." Abby froze, the sneer slipping off her lips. "In fact, she mentioned it twice. You watered the plants on your back porch once at sundown, and once at about ten at night. You must have some damn weird plants if you're watering them at night, I just have to say it."
The rebellious will fled her then, and Abby looked wildly toward the window, seeing Roy standing with a look of bemusement, staring back at her.
"Oh, he can't hear you," Ed said. "This is all off the record."
Finally, finally, she was looking at Ed, as though seeing him for the first time. "You know," she said, the words breathy.
Ed nodded. "I do."
"Angel told you."
"No," Ed shook his head. "I wish he had. But whatever you did, whatever you said to that kid, he's clammed up real tight."
Abby leaned forward, bracing her restrained hands on the table. "Please," she said. "You have to understand." She spoke in a hushed, hurried tone. "It was an accident!"
"Tell me, then," Ed said. "I can guess well enough, but if you don't tell me—"
"He was just trying to impress his friend!" Abby cried. "Angel is so—he doesn't see things like everyone else. He's so smart, just like his father was." She trailed off, looking to the side. "And Sam was the only kid who ever saw that. It was that—that stupid performance. The school was selling tickets, and I'd bought a pair for the boys. They were so impressed with it."
"But how did that lead to the first murder?"
"Don't call it a murder," Abby snapped. "It was a mistake! I should have paid closer attention. It is my fault, Major, even if it wasn't by my hand. Angel's been going through my old alchemy books since he could read. There wasn't any other way for him to learn, and he had such talent!" The pride in her voice was so sincere, a familiar echo.
"A real genius," Ed muttered.
"You just don't understand. If someone had been there to—to show him how it was meant to be done, this would have never happened. I should have tried. I wasn't—talented," she practically spat the word, "not like you. But I could have shown him the difference between the array he needed and the one he chose in the end."
"It was a variation from one of those books, wasn't it?"
Abby nodded. "Most of the texts I had were geared toward alchemy as it was taught to soldiers back in the old days."
"So Angel had the talent," Ed surmised, "but not the experience." As he'd guessed earlier, it had been the work of an amateur.
"It just went wrong," Abby said, her whole body sagging. "And—he had to watch Sam die, you know. He came home straight after, a complete mess. He told me everything."
"And what did you do?"
"I had him draw me the array," she said. "And then I had him destroy the clothes he was wearing and go to bed."
"Just like that?" Ed asked.
"Just like that," she repeated. "He's my son. What else was there to do?"
"You had to know someone would find out," Ed argued. "If you'd told—it was an accident. No one could have convicted him—"
"If Elijah Stern had killed Sam, that would have been an accident. With my son, it would have become a national incident."
"Because of his father?" Ed asked, incredulous. "You don't really believe—"
"That's all you people ever see," she accused. "Even of me—the first thing the bastard interrogating me asked was how my Drachman husband was doing."
And what could he say to that? "Then what about Elijah Stern?" Ed asked. "What did he have to do with this?"
"He knew," Abby said. "Somehow, he knew. The night after, he came to the house—I heard him talking to Angel, real quiet. He said he wasn't going to let Angel get away with it."
"And then?"
"And then he left," Abby said. "What the hell do you think?"
"You killed him." It wasn't a question.
"He would have told."
"You couldn't think of a single thing to do," Ed demanded, "other than kill the kid?"
"He would have told," Abby repeated. "And then Angel would have been the one sitting here. He's my son, Major," like that explained everything. And maybe it did. Ed tried to think back to his own mother, of what she would have done for him. Take the blame for a murder for him? Kill for him? Kill another child for him? It was—overwhelming to consider. The violence in Abby's words was difficult—impossible, really—to imagine in his own mother, but even so—
Perhaps it was selfish, childish to think, but Ed liked to think that his mother would have gladly sat in Abby Law's place for him, regardless of whether he would have let her.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, voice breaking. "You aren't going to—to tell. Are you? He's just a boy—"
"According to the law," Ed droned, "any person capable of using alchemy with malicious intent—"
"It wasn't malicious!" she shrieked. "It was an accident!"
"—is old enough and capable enough of being tried for their crime. As it stands…" He thought of the tiny boy in that chair in the social worker's office, of the dead look in his eyes.
Was this where he could have ended up, had Roy not intervened when he did? Was this what he could have become, had he not had Izumi to guide him? Ed had made enough mistakes in his life as it was.
"As it stands," he continued, "the law and I have had a few disagreements over the years."
Abby stared. "Please," she said. "You mean it? You won't—"
"You killed that kid in cold blood," Ed interrupted. "You're fucked. You know that."
Looking down, Abby nodded, said in a small voice, "Yes."
"And the way things've been spun, if Angel gets brought in, he won't look much better. You know that if you take both of these deaths on your shoulders, you're dead. They're going to execute you."
Again, a nod. "Yes," she said, voice wavering. "I know. I know. But. He's my son." It was all the explanation she needed. Abby's voice steeled, and she looked up, meeting Ed's eyes. "I would do anything for him. He'd never—he'll never do this again," she promised. "He never meant to."
"But he'll have to live with it," Ed said. "Samson, Elijah—and you. He'll take your death, too."
Guilt was a terrible thing. Ed had lived all his life with no small amount of it hanging around his neck, a noose waiting to be tightened. He shouldn't be the one to make this decision. The boy's life was in his hands, and no matter what decision he made, the kid would suffer.
"At least," Abby said, "he'll be alive and safe. That's all I want. From there, he can handle the rest." She had so much faith in her son. Ed didn't understand it, not really.
But somehow, he knew, the choice had already been made.

*

Every major paper in Central—and likely beyond—was printing the story, the mother who used alchemy to kill her son's classmates. Ed had been rather impressed with the spin they'd put on Angel, how he'd been tormented his entire life. Some of the articles had a rather sympathetic edge to them.
Ed just wanted to know where that sympathy had been hiding all this time.
"This was a very unsatisfying ending," Roy said, eyes still riveted to the front page of The Upper Central Herald.
"Not everything turns out well," Ed grumbled.
"You're a jaded cynic," Roy said. "I would think that should my place."
"Not you," Ed said, and snapped the paper straight. "She'll be executed tomorrow morning…"
Roy cocked his head to the side, chin resting on the palm of his hand. "Do you regret it?"
"Letting her—do this?" Ed folded the paper in half and put it on the table. "Ask me in a month," he said. "It's—hard to process." Should he feel guilty for handing Abby a death sentence in exchange for her son's freedom? Maybe, maybe not.
"Still," Roy said, "they moved a lot quicker than I'd expected. Normally there's a two week period before an execution."
"Alchemical crimes," Ed said, and that settled that.
They'd spent their last day chasing down an end to a case—an end that mattered very little in the scheme of things. As ever, the thing that brought them together kept them apart the most. Ed wanted to apologize, wanted to reach across the table and take Roy's hand and tell him that he was happy, that even though they'd simply fallen into bed, he was fine. Waking up with Roy's hair in his face, Roy's body warm against his own, was worth a million orgasms, in Ed's mind.
"When does your train leave?" Roy asked finally, and Ed gave in, stretched his hand out and laced his fingers through Roy's.
"Ten," Ed said. "I tried to ask for an off-hour, or something late, but—you know how it is."
Roy hummed. "They said they needed you."
"They always say that! They probably just need someone to clear the snow, lazy bastards," Ed groused. "Before they had an alchemist, they did it just fine on their own."
"I hope they haven't forgotten the old way just yet," Roy said, and Ed's heart squeezed, a pleasant warmth.
"Bastards better not have," he joked. "When my ass is gone, I don't want them callin' down here for favors."
They'd woken late. Loathe as Roy was to admit it, the morning was rushed, not nearly the time available to enjoy themselves. The minutes slipped by through their clasped fingers, and suddenly it was half-past nine, Ed's suitcase sitting at the door and the man himself slinging his travelling coat over his shoulders.
Roy stood by the door, mouth a hard line, and reminded himself, this is not forever.
It only felt like it was.

*

The train station was empty, apart from themselves. Roy felt free to take Ed's hand as the two of them walked slowly down the platform to the single steaming train waiting at the end.
"Sorry," Ed said when Roy's fingers tightened around his own. "I would've stayed longer."
"I know. It's hardly your fault." Roy's smile was lopsided, lips uncooperative. Why was it, he wanted to know, that in moments like these, one was expected to be happy? When he stopped, facing Ed, the train looming next to them as an unpleasant reminder, Ed reached up, a hand on Roy's face, and said, "S'not forever though, yeah?"
It wasn't. "No."
"You'll work on that transfer?"
Roy put his hand over Ed's trying to suck in every bit of warmth from that hand, leaning into Ed's palm. "Yes. I will. I'll aggravate Hakuro until he agrees to support it."
"I know how you like aggravating that old bastard," Ed laughed, and the smile on his face felt real. "Just—don't—I dunno, don't get weird while I'm gone."
"Weird?" Roy's brows went straight up. "What's weird? When am I ever weird?"
The train whistled, causing them both to start, Ed looking behind the column of steam above Roy's shoulder with a dismal expression. He let his hand slip down, fingers clutching tight to Roy's, and said, "You know what I mean. You're a freak, you're always weird!"
Roy hummed. "I have no idea what you mean," and Ed just rolled his eyes.
"Be safe," Ed said. "Listen to Hawkeye. She knows what's good for you."
"What is this, you think you're my mother now?" Roy asked, incredulous.
Ed laughed. "Nah, and good thing, too." When the train whistled again, long and insistent, Ed's face shadowed, the smile sagging at the edges. "That's me," he said.
Roy took a step, closing the space between them. "Yeah."
"I'll call when I get there," Ed promised, looking up.
When they kissed, it was brief: not at all the sort of send-off one expected of soldiers and their loved ones. Roy brushed a hand through Ed's hair, tossing the ponytail off his shoulder, and pressed one final, firm kiss to Ed's forehead. ‘I love you's were just another set of words, not always necessary. Their hands spoke love so much better, the sincerity real.
In the end, when Ed disappeared on the train, pausing only briefly on the steps to wave back at Roy, it still hurt to watch him go, still made Roy's heart squeeze, knowing he would go to bed alone that night and for many for to follow. But as he watched the train disappear down the tracks, fading into the distance until only a faint towering of steam was left to signify that it had been there at all, Roy comforted himself with the thought that it wasn't the end, not really.
They had all the time in the world.

End.
- 5
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From Childhood's Hour