Chapter Text
Ed's tired footsteps echoed around him as he walked along the corridors of Central Command. At this time of night the place was relatively peaceful, and those few people he came across spared nothing more than a curious glance at his travel-worn appearance. He had called the office yesterday to let them know he was on his way back from his latest assignment, and his orders were simple. He was to report to Mustang as soon as he returned. No arguments. He wished he could feign ignorance, but he was no idiot. Ed knew too well that Mustang was always fully informed of what happened on his stupid missions.
'If the bastard's so great then why doesn't he do his own dirty work?' he muttered to himself, scuffing absently at the floor. All he wanted was to get back to Al, to make sure his little brother had been all right without him and preferably forget about everything that had happened in the past month. Instead he was going to have to stand in front of Mustang's desk and listen to another lecture on the responsibility of being a State Alchemist.
The worst thing though, the very worst thing, was the tiny, fragile flutter of something other than anger in the pit of his stomach, as if a part of him were actually happy at the thought of attention from the smug git. To start with Ed had not noticed anything different. It had been so subtle that he had not realised that the helpless rage and frustration was taking on another edge of heat, and before he knew it, it was too late. Every bit of contact, every glance or word seemed to stoke the strange new feeling until it was a living thing beneath his ribs, as much a part of him as his lungs or heart or automail.
As if his life had not been fucked up enough, he had to go and get a stupid crush on his male superior officer. His body had finally woken up to the whole concept of sex and decided that – no, actually – girls were just baffling and weird and kind of disturbing. What it wanted was that: pale skin and dark hair, smooth, hard lines of muscle. What it wanted was Roy.
And that was fine with Ed because no one, not even Al, ever had to know. He could just pretend that nothing had changed. He could stand in front of Mustang's desk and carry on trying so damn hard to hate him because that was all he was allowed.
As if Roy with all his women would ever even look at him twice. Even if it weren't for the automail and the scars, he was still just a brat who kept screwing things up. As long as Mustang never found out the truth, never realised that there was so much more bite in Ed's words these days because of what he was trying to hide, then everything would be fine.
It had to be.
Blinking stupidly, he realised that he was standing outside the office door, staring blankly at the wood as though he had forgotten how to use the handle. Clumsily, he pushed it open and glanced around before stepping over the threshold. The desks were littered with half-complete paperwork, as if every occupant had simply jumped to their feet and run home at the end of the day. That was probably, more or less, exactly what had happened. Havoc's ashtray was full to the brim, and crumb-littered plates were stacked by Breda's chair. An eviscerated radio spilled its wires over Kain's workspace, non-functioning and silent. Only Hawkeye's desk was neat and tidy. Every file was stacked and every pen put in its place, as if the woman thought she could control her life through organisation.
It was tempting just to dump his report and leave, but he had never been a coward. Besides, he couldn't avoid Mustang forever. The sooner he went in the sooner it would be over. Roy would bitch as usual, and Ed would snarl and shout. Then he could storm out and pretend that the flush on his face was anger and not some stomach-churning combination of shame and sheer want.
Taking a deep breath, Ed knocked on the inner office door, not bothering to wait for a response before he barged in. A fire crackled in the grate, but at first glance that was the only sign of life. The chair was empty, a brooding, dark shape behind the paper-cluttered desk. Ink had dripped from the pen onto one of the many documents as if it had just been abandoned, and Ed felt a prickle of unease work its way up his spine.
The room was neat enough, or at least as presentable as it ever was. A few papers littered the floor, screwed up and pitched in the general direction of the fire in disgust. There was no blood or singe-marks or any sign of a struggle. The windows were unbroken, and there was no kick marks or signs of damage on the door. No one had forced their way in here, so where was the bastard? Not attacked and probably not kidnapped, so had he just got fed up of waiting and buggered off?
It seemed like the mostly likely explanation and, with a heavy sigh, Ed dropped his report on top of a stack of files and turned towards the fire. He’d better put it out, although it would serve the idiot right if he left it lit and a stray spark burned the command building down. That would put a real crimp in Mustang’s promotion prospects for a while.
The soft, thick pile of the carpet muffled Ed’s footsteps as he approached the hearth, sweat prickling along his hairline in response to the heat belting out into the room. Yellow and orange tongues of flame lapped at the wood, white hot at their heart. What kind of freak lit the fire in the middle of summer anyway? It wasn’t even like it was cold.
A dark shape moved in the corner of his vision, and he spun around, almost losing his balance as he stared at the sofa. It was facing the grate, which explained why he had not seen Mustang to begin with. His long body was curled up into a tight ball on the couch, a thick, black military coat wrapped around him like a blanket. Underneath he was wearing his uniform, jacket and all; Ed could make out the glint of gold braid near the line of Roy’s neck. How was he not baking to death?
Quietly Ed shifted closer, trying not to notice how much more human and approachable Roy looked when he slept. Every trace of superiority had been wiped clean from his face. There was no smirk or cold, arrogant distance. He looked younger like that, as if all the sins that tainted his expression during his waking hours were wiped clean by the blessing of slumber. The only things that marred the blissful image were two flags of high colour on his cheekbones.
Tugging off his glove, Ed reached out with his left hand, cautiously feeling Mustang’s forehead. Roy’s skin was smooth beneath the roughness of his palm, but it was burning with a rough-edged heat. It could just be from the fire but, as he watched, Mustang pulled back from his touch with a shiver, curling himself tighter and burying his nose into the folds of the coat.
A fever then, and Ed struggled to remember his childhood. Al hadn’t been ill in years. He hadn’t had a body, and the worst thing that happened to the armour was rust. Even in the months since getting him back from the gate he had not suffered more than a cold. As for Ed, he couldn’t even really remember what it felt like to be ill. What was he meant to do? Should he wake him up or let him sleep?
Unwelcome worry made anger prickle through him, and he whacked Mustang’s shoulder with a growl. ‘Wake up, bastard. If you’re ill then you should go home, not stay here and spread your germs around.’
There wasn’t much in the way of a response. It was not until Ed splayed the cool fingers of his automail hand across Mustang’s brow that he jerked awake, yanking himself away from the chilly touch of metal as if it were physically painful.
Roy’s eyes were glazed as he squinted in the flickering firelight, and he gave a hoarse groan of misery, batting Ed’s hand away. ‘What time is it?’ he rasped, letting his head fall back to the sofa cushions as if he did not have the strength to hold it up.
‘Late. What’s wrong with you? You look like shit.’
With shaking hands Mustang clutched the coat closer around him, trembling visibly now that he was awake. ‘I’m fine,' he mumbled stubbornly, mustering up a weak glare when Ed just raised a doubtful eyebrow.
‘Yeah, right. Look, just tell me what’s wrong so I can work out what to do with your sorry arse.’
‘Just go home, Fullmetal. I can look after myself.’ If Roy knew he was being childish then he didn’t show any sign of remorse. Instead he watched Ed closely. When he blinked it was incredibly slow, as if he could not find the strength to move his eyelids properly, and after a few seconds his eyes narrowed to sleepy slits, turning unfocussed.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Ed snatched the coat away, holding it out of Mustang’s reach as he snatched for it feebly. ‘Get up. Come on, you can still walk, can’t you?’ When Roy made no effort to move and instead huddled himself further back into the couch cushions, Ed turned towards the fire, snuffing the flames out with a simple clap. Instantly the room began to cool, and he heard Mustang make a harsh sound at the loss of heat.
‘Brat,’ Roy croaked, his skin even more pale now that the room was only lit by the streetlamps shining in through the windows. ‘It’s ‘flu, that’s all.’
‘So what were you going to do?’ Ed asked incredulously. ‘Lie in your office until someone found you on Monday? Why didn’t you go home?’
He saw Roy’s eyes close again and felt a tiny pang of guilt. It was difficult to stay irritated when Mustang was so obviously, earnestly suffering. He had seen the man’s pathetic attempts at getting Hawkeye to let him off work before, but this was different. He was not even trying to be stoic, and he could have gone home hours ago. Instead he was slumped here as if he did not have the strength to stand.
‘Come on,’ he said more gently, leaning down and awkwardly nudging Roy back towards wakefulness. ‘Don’t go back to sleep. We need to get you home. Where do you live, anyway?’
‘Carlton Street,’ Roy managed, his voice breaking as a cough rattled in his chest. Ed waited impatiently for the fit to pass before he pushed and bullied and shoved him to his feet. ‘Get me to a car.’
‘And whose gunna drive?’ Ed asked, not missing the way that Mustang swayed unsteadily. ‘You’d crash into the nearest wall, and I don’t know how.’
There was a moment of silence, as if Roy was trying very hard to think of the right words. Eventually, with just the edge of a smirk in his voice, he said, ‘Probably couldn’t reach the pedals, anyway.’
‘Fuck you,’ Ed snapped, barely resisting the urge to hit him. ‘I should just leave you here to rot.’ He grabbed the coat and threw it around Mustang’s shoulders, yanking it closed hard enough to rock the man on his feet and wishing he could just throttle him. Even when he was ill, he was still a total shit.
‘Why don’t you?’
Perhaps Mustang had meant the question to be scathing, but it came out as something more open and vulnerable, as if he honestly could not understand a simple act of human kindness when it came from Ed. Did he really think of him as such a selfish kid that he would leave someone so ill to fend for themselves?
‘Equivalent exchange,’ he muttered, doing up Roy’s coat as if he were a little boy who needed wrapping up against the cold. ‘I’m not an idiot; I know you look out for me and Al.’ Ed shrugged. ‘Now I’m looking out for you.’ He fastened the last button with a jerk and scowled up at Mustang’s confused gaze. ‘Don’t get used to it, though. I’m not a bloody nursemaid.’
After a few seconds Roy’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, hunched and pitiful in his coat. Dark shadows bruised under his eyes, and every step was a slow, careful movement. By the time they were back in the corridor, Ed realised that they weren’t going to get anywhere in any hurry. Without a word he hooked his automail arm around Roy’s waist, letting him lean on him as he walked. He seemed too weary to even consider his dignity, and when they eventually reached the front doors Ed was beginning to think it would be quicker to just knock the bastard out and drag him.
The night air was warm and humid, but Mustang continued to shiver, his lips pinched in a tight line as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Carlton Street was two blocks away, and more than once Ed suggested that they stop, but Roy was having none of it. Ed couldn’t believe everyone thought he was the stubborn one.
‘Should just take you to Hawkeye,’ Ed muttered. When Mustang looked at him with a puzzled expression he added, ‘At least she could shoot you and put you out of your fucking misery. You can stop and get your breath back, you know. What do you think I’m gunna do, leave you behind?’
‘Not stopping,’ Roy managed to grind out, but Ed couldn’t ignore the fact that he was getting heavier and leaning more and more of his weight on him. The firm, hard body beneath his automail was shuddering sporadically. They probably didn’t have long before Mustang just dropped. No matter how much his mind fought against the illness, he could not keep going like this indefinitely.
It was the longest walk of Ed’s life, but he knew that it had to seem ten times as bad to Roy. By the time they staggered up the steps to his front door every breath was hitching in his throat, and his eyelids were fluttering closed out of sheer, irrefutable exhaustion. Ed’s muscles panged from bearing most of Roy’s weight, and he carefully propped the older man against the wall, holding him up by the shoulders.
‘Where are your keys?’
‘Hmmm?’ Roy mumbled sleepily, his head lolling back against the brickwork.
‘Keys. Where are they?’
‘Pocket.’
‘Get them then.’
Mustang’s clumsy attempts were almost painful to watch, and after a few minutes he shook his head. ‘Can’t.’
‘Don’t piss about,’ Ed snapped, closing his eyes in disbelief when Roy just slumped a little lower down the wall. He simply didn’t have the energy left to even lift his arms anymore. He was verging on unconsciousness, eyes closed and every breath an uneven hiss between his lips.
A faint flush flared in Ed’s cheeks as he considered his options. He could either grope through Roy’s pockets or he could transmute the door open - except that would mean letting go of Mustang, and Ed was pretty sure that he was the only thing holding him up right now.
‘Pervert,’ he snarled. ‘You’re doing this deliberately. I should just leave you on the doorstep.’
Roughly, he pressed Roy back into the wall with his right hand and skimmed his left down Mustang’s side. He didn’t even know whether the keys were in his coat pocket or one of the many that adorned his uniform. After a few heartbeats of embarrassed patting he sensed a jagged lump at Roy’s right hip.
Ed swallowed tightly. He had faced down chimeras and insane alchemists without flinching. He was not afraid of this. Besides, he had a reason to have his hand in his commanding officer’s trousers. ‘You’d better not remember this,’ he muttered quietly, pressing his body closer to Roy’s to help keep him upright before slipping his hand under the coat and jacket.
This close he could feel the solid, steady beat of Roy’s heart in his chest. Every breath Ed took was fragranced with the spice of Mustang’s cologne and the fainter, addictive scent of his skin, and Ed’s nerves buzzed and thrilled in response. His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips as he tried to concentrate on what he was doing. There was so much heat, and it seemed to be spreading from Roy’s body to his own, a flickering fire that danced across his skin.
Clearing his throat, he stared blindly at the blank darkness of the military coat in front of his face, feeling his way along the chain of Roy’s watch until he found the folds of his pocket. Ed’s fingertips skimmed the hard plane of Roy’s thigh through the thin fabric, and he felt the muscle tremble. It was just the fever, he told himself, nothing more. Roy was shivering because he was ill, not because of Ed’s inadvertent touch.
Grabbing the keys, Ed pulled them free of their confines. The blush strengthened, becoming a thudding warmth in his cheeks as he realised Roy was watching him through half-closed eyes, something bright and unmasked burning in their depths. Ed gritted his teeth, forcing himself to be logical. Roy was probably delusional. He probably didn’t even know who Ed was right now, and reading anything at all into this situation was just plain stupid.
The keys jangled together in his shaking hand, and he tore himself free of Roy’s gaze with a jerk, furious at himself for feeling this way. It was time to get out of here. He would make sure that Roy was safe inside his own home and then leave. He’d get back to Al and forget all of this had ever happened. Better that than to stay and risk doing something terminally embarrassing - like kissing the bastard.
Shoving the door open he grabbed Mustang and pushed him inside, automatically searching the strange territory for any threat. He did not know what he had expected, had never really given any thought as to what Roy’s personal space would look like, but he had not thought he would feel this: a subtle sense of home.
‘What’s wrong?’ Roy’s rasping question broke into his thoughts, and Ed scowled to himself as he realised he’d been staring around like an idiot.
‘Nothing.’ The house was surprisingly big, and Ed looked around in confusion before asking, ‘Where’s your bedroom?’
‘Upstairs.’
He gave Roy a dark, sarcastic look. ‘No shit. Where upstairs? I’m not dragging you around while I look for it.’
The answer took a surprisingly long time in coming, and when it did it was nothing more than a cracked whisper. ‘First door on the left.’
It was a short flight of stairs, but Ed knew it might as well be a mountain for Mustang to climb. Every movement the man made was jarringly pained, and his heart was beating hard and fast underneath Ed’s steadying hands. More than once he thought Roy would just sink to his knees and give up, but in the end they managed to make it to the top.
The bedroom door swung open on quiet hinges, and Ed flicked on the light before guiding Roy to the edge of the mattress, dumping him with unceremonious care on top of the blankets. Mustang didn’t move, he just let out a sigh of shivering relief, still trembling as if the air was freezing rather than almost stifling.
‘You’re pathetic when you’re ill,’ Ed said, watching the slow blink of Roy’s eyes. He probably had less than five minutes before the bastard fell asleep, and it was blatantly obvious that Mustang could not look after himself.
Biting his lip, Ed glanced around the room, trying to work out what he should do. There was no way he was going to help Mustang get undressed, but he couldn’t just leave him like that. Eventually he settled on the fairly neutral territory of Roy’s boots, undoing the laces with sharp yanks and tugging them off of his feet. The coat came next, and it took endless pushing and poking to get Roy to relinquish the thick, warm wool and the thinner comfort of his uniform jacket.
When he was finally down to his shirt and trousers, Ed gave up. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. At least Roy wouldn’t overheat like that. Moving more carefully, he tugged and twitched the covers up around Mustang’s shoulders, allowing himself a faint smile as Roy’s fingers curled around them, clinging on even as he sank into sleep.
Ed wasn’t even sure whether he should call a doctor - was half-inclined to grab the phone and get someone else to deal with this whole problem, but he’d come this far. If he left now it kind of felt like giving up. Besides, now that he was asleep Roy didn’t look nearly so bad. His breathing seemed easier, and at least he looked peaceful.
The house was silent, locked in the tight peace of the night, and Ed looked around the bedroom with uncontrolled curiosity. So this was where the magic happened. He rolled his eyes at the thought, but he had to admit that it was not exactly boudoir material. It looked normal: no kinky sex toys lying around the place and no notches in the bedpost. There were books though, lined up neatly in an oak bookcase, and Ed could not resist their call.
He let his fingers walk over the spines, not surprised that most of them were about fire alchemy. There were a couple that caught his eye, and with a quick glance back at the bed he pulled one free and flicked open the pages, settling on the floor as he began to read. It was easy to immerse himself in the theories and thoughts, forgetting all about where he was and why he was there, and it wasn’t until a soft, tight noise broke the quiet that he looked up, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders and neck. For a second he couldn’t remember where he was, but the sound came again, forcing him to set the book aside and get clumsily to his feet.
Roy was still lying in the bed, but his sleep was no longer deep and undisturbed. The man’s face was a mask of something like pain, and there was no mistaking the crystal glimmer of tears in the corners of his closed eyes. His hands were knotted into white-knuckled fists, twisting in the sheets as if he were trying to tear himself free from the cage of his bed.
Ed hovered at his side, paralysed by indecision until a hoarse, choked off scream made him move forward, climbing onto the wide mattress as he clutched at Roy’s shoulder. ‘Hey, wake up. It’s just a dream.’ Without really thinking he cuffed a tear away from Roy’s cheek and made soft shushing noises like he used to do for Al when they were little. ‘Roy? What’re you –?’
He jerked from sleep like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water, gulping in air like he had forgotten how to breathe. Ed could see the nightmare lingering around him, from the wildness in his eyes to the soul-deep shaking that was borne of fear, not fever.
Clumsily, he brushed the sweat-damp hair out of Roy’s eyes, not taking his right hand off of his shoulder as he tried to make Roy realise that this was what was real. With a soft nudge Ed pushed him back into the pillows as he murmured, ‘It was just a dream, that’s all. You’re at home in Central. You’re safe.’ He hesitated, not missing the lingering signs of ill exhaustion that had branded themselves across Roy’s features. ‘Have you got painkillers?’ he asked, feeling a flutter of relief as Roy managed to nod.
‘In the bathroom.’
Shuffling off the bed, Ed walked quickly out into the corridor, trying to ignore the feeling of dark eyes watching every move until he was out of sight. He opened doors at random until he finally found the bathroom: a world of white porcelain and gleaming taps. Either Mustang was as finicky as Al when it came to keeping the place tidy or he hired a cleaner. A mirrored cabinet revealed what he was looking for, and he grabbed a glass of water before popping the painkillers from their packet. If nothing else they would keep Roy’s temperature steady for a while and help him get the sleep he needed.
He made his way back to the bedroom slowly, holding the glass with almost childish care. He was not going to give Mustang any more reason to bitch at him, like ruining his carpets with spills. He expected Roy to have gone back to sleep in the few minutes he had been gone, but the man was nestled in the blankets, blearily watching the door for his return.
Ed perched on the edge of the mattress, watching Roy closely as he took the pills without a word. Even though he was still shaking fitfully, he seemed more alert than he had before. His body seemed drained, but the sharp mind he knew so well seemed to be recovering at least a fraction of its usual capacity. After a few sips, Mustang seemed to run out of strength, and he put the glass on the bedside table before slumping back down onto the mattress with a quiet groan.
Getting to his feet, Ed twitched in surprise when Roy’s fingers locked around his wrist. It was not a strong grip, and Ed could have prised himself free easily, but there was something desperate in Mustang’s expression, as though he could not bear to be left alone. There were no masks or walls or barriers, just vulnerability. Shakily, his fingers tangled in Ed’s, tugging him down with weak persistence. ‘Please stay?’
Ed hesitated, knowing that it would be best to pull away. Roy was only asking him because the tatters of the nightmare still lingered in the room, and he felt too ill and weak to deal with them alone. In the morning he would think differently. He’d find Ed’s presence nothing more than an alarming intrusion. Besides, it was getting too easy to pretend that here, with Roy, was where he belonged.
He opened his lips to say no, but the word choked and died in his throat. Finally, after what felt like hours of standing at the bedside, he gave a weak nod and sat on the bed, stretching out a safe distance from Roy’s side. ‘Someone’s got to look after you,’ he said gruffly by way of explanation, hoping Roy wouldn’t over-think his reasons for doing as he asked. ‘Go to sleep, or I’ll tell Hawkeye you’re faking it and let her deal with you.’
It was an empty threat, but it seemed to do the trick. Roy’s eyes were already drifting closed, and Ed let himself relax a fraction. Moonlight flooded in through the open curtains. The silver mixed with the warm gold glow from the lamp, giving the room a soft, ethereal appearance. It bleached out the flush in Roy’s cheeks, and Ed could almost pretend that this was real and permanent, rather than just one night born of circumstances.
The top buttons of Roy’s shirt had wrenched themselves undone in his dream-state struggles, and Ed could see the thrum of his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat. He watched, transfixed by the fluttering motion, and he didn’t even notice Roy’s hand move until fingers brushed against his chin, tugging gently until he was forced to meet his gaze.
In this light, Roy’s eyes were impossibly dark, almost black, and he was staring at Ed with a strange, focussed intensity. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his fingers moved along Ed’s jaw until his palm was cradling the side of his face tenderly.
‘God, you’re beautiful, Ed.’
It was little more than a murmur: a few words caught up in one breath, and almost as soon as they were said Roy’s eyes drifted closed. It was as if he had been hanging onto wakefulness to impart those vital words and now, his job done, he could rest.
Ed swallowed, his lips parted as his mind went blank. His heart was hammering beneath his ribs, clenched and crushed by hope and doubt as he stared at Roy’s sleeping face.
It didn’t mean anything; it didn’t, no matter how much Ed wished otherwise. Roy was sick and probably had no clue what he was saying. When he woke up tomorrow he would just be the same old smug bastard he always was.
And Ed knew with a sore, sick certainty that, when morning came, Roy would not remember a word of what he had said.