Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 14

Breda pulled a face as he watched his companion light up yet again. "Already? That's two just since we left the station. Isn't that a bit much, even for you?"

"They don't allow smoking in the buildings at HQ anymore," Havoc explained around the cigarette. "I'm trying to fortify myself."

"Does it actually work that way?"

The blond shrugged. "It beats doing without completely."

The corporal driving the car let out a discreet cough, and Havoc sheepishly lowered his window.

"I doubt Mustang would care if you smoked in his office," Breda pointed out. "He used to light the damn things for you."

"Yeah, but this comes from higher up. Some general got all prissy about it, next thing you know there's no smoking allowed anywhere in any military buildings. I dunno, something about air flow and the vents."

Breda just shook his head. He'd read the report when the new rule went into effect, and while the reasoning was sound, he thought it was a case of over-reacting, which was something the new administration tended to do about the oddest things. They wanted to craft an image of caring about their people, but did it mostly by latching onto mundane, insignificant issues, instead of the larger problems. Still, he'd rather deal with that than the madness they had had under Bradley.

"How long are you in East, again?" he asked.

"The train for Liore leaves tomorrow afternoon." He took a drag, and mumbled something behind his hand about being pulled into things. "We should grab a beer tonight, with Mustang and the boss . . . is Al old enough to go into a bar?"

"Has been for over a year, Havoc. You know that." He could sympathize with the question, though; even as a suit of armor Al had always come across as a little kid. They all tended to forget that he was legally an adult now. "Maybe if Al's there, those two will behave themselves," he muttered to himself.

Havoc chuckled. "He lives with them, he's probably seen it all by now—well, no, hopefully not everything, but you get what I mean."

Breda made a disgusted noise. "God, I hope not. Poor kid's probably traumatized."

"Oh, come on. They have some discretion."

"Not when they've been drinking," he pointed out. "Once Mustang's had a few, he starts trying to feel up Ed, and once Ed's had a few he starts letting him—" They both ignored the uncomfortable coughing coming from the front seat. "—I got no problem with them, but that doesn't mean I want to see it."

"Ever think that maybe they wouldn't be so touchy-feely if they didn't know it bugged you?" Havoc said with some good-natured snickering, as the car pulled past the gate into headquarters.

"You obviously didn't see them after they slipped away from the main party last Yule."

"What were you doing following them?"

"I was looking for the bathroom! They could've at least locked the damn door. . . ." Breda grimaced at the memory. "That was not an image I needed to have."

"You're just jealous because you didn't have a date."

They stopped in the designated stall in the garage. Their driver seemed to be trying to set a speed record for exiting the car, and Breda couldn't help but grin. He and Havoc got out much more leisurely.

"You're one to talk, Hav," he commented as he waited for the blond to stamp out his cigarette. "Your date left after, what, two hours?"

"She had a family thing."

"You go out with her after that?"

His shoulders drooped. "No."

"That's my point, then."

"Forget her, she's not even worth missing," he insisted as they headed for the stairs. "I got someone else on my mind now."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It's not—nothing's happened yet, all right? It probably won't come to anything."

"But there's someone you're going after, right? Come on, I want details."

"It's not like that! It's—look, forget I said anything, okay? It's probably nothing."

"Fine, but don't think you're getting off that easily."

He tossed the other soldier a wave as they parted, Havoc heading to Mustang's office, and Breda to Lieutenant Colonel Phillips' area.

East Headquarters hadn't changed much in the five years since he'd last been here. There might have been a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but the ceiling had the same cracks, and the doors had the same gouges. They had plastered over the old bullet holes, at least. (He wasn't sure why maintenance had made such a fuss over that, shooting at a dog was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.) Only the faces had changed. Mustang was now in Lieutenant General Grumman's old office, and Mustang's old space was occupied by Lieutenant Colonel Phillips.

And speaking of, it was time for Breda to get the man's measure.

* * *

"Hakuro's likely to find support from Raven and a couple of the others," Havoc summarized. "But you'll have O'Connel and Radcliff. Can't be sure where anyone else stands, most of them either don't care or are trying to be neutral."

"No surprises there," Roy muttered as he looked over the papers the lieutenant had given him. "I think most of the upper ranks still cling to the old regime. It's just that some of them are starting to realize they should be less vocal about it."

"How important is the support of the generals, sir? If there's enough evidence and testimony, they shouldn't be able to cover it up."

"They can make it messy, though. Drag it out. Even get the sentence lightened. Speaking of testimony, where are we with Hakuro's subordinates?"

Havoc tweaked a small bundle out of the stack and set it on top. "The top part are the ones we're sure of, the next group are the ones that are still iffy. I think about a third are ones you've spoken with personally. The last bunch are the ones who either won't talk to us or told us to shove it."

He nodded in appreciation as he flipped through the pages. The first two lists were significantly larger than he'd been expecting. "This many? I didn't think we were doing this well."

The blond chuckled. "Thank Fuery. He has this way of getting people to let down their guard and talk."

"Mm. Must be the baby-face." Roy smirked as he skimmed over the list. This many testimonies might lessen the amount they'll need from the townsfolk. "It depends on the quality of the information, though," he added under his breath.

"I wouldn't know about that. Fuery said most of them didn't want to get into details," Havoc said as he fidgeted with an unlit cigarette.

"Don't let my aide catch you with that. His contempt is legendary."

"It's not even lit—" he grumbled, but put it away. "I suppose you're missing Hawkeye, sir."

Roy tapped the papers back into their folder and sighed. "My nerves are grateful for the lack of gunshots."

Havoc snickered. "Yeah, you miss her. So how's the new office working out, anyway?"

He shrugged, setting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers. "I've been here barely six months. We're still . . . working out the kinks."

"Uh-huh. Well, good luck with that."

Roy leaned his forehead against his hands and smiled ruefully, not surprised that the other soldier didn't buy it. Havoc might play dumb, but he had been in the army long enough to tell when a situation was off. His short pass through the outer office had probably been enough to rouse his suspicions. "We work with what we have," he said without raising his head. "It's all any of us can do."

"Yeah, that's true. Just make sure you're not settling when you don't have to, sir."

* * *

Breda stood patiently in front of the desk while Phillips flipped through his file. He didn't doubt that the lieutenant colonel had already read it, but it was a formality.

"Well. Except for being involved in that suspected coup four years ago, your record is exemplary." Phillips remarked as he tapped the papers back into order.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." If Phillips had an opinion one way or the other about the coup, he was keeping to himself. Breda figured it was probably best to do the same.

"Welcome aboard, then, Lieutenant," the older man said. "I'm sure you'll be an asset to us here in the east."

"Thank you, sir."

"I understand you've served here before, under then-Colonel Mustang."

"Yes, sir. Almost four years."

"Off the record, what was he like as a commanding officer back then?"

"Unofficially?" Phillips was watching him closely, but without any apparent malice, so Breda decided to take a gamble. "He was a lazy bastard who had to be threatened at gunpoint before he got any work done."

The lieutenant colonel laughed, finally relaxing back in his chair. "Well, his current aide is more likely to fire scorn than bullets. I'm not sure that's a step up."

Breda chuckled. "Less repair work, at least. But seriously, sir, we knew we could count on him, and we always knew where we stood."

"Something that was all too rare, back then."

"Sir?"

He shook his head. "I've never made a habit of blinding myself. There were more than a few questionable practices under Bradley. A lot of us in the middle ranks and below were unhappy with the way things were. Mustang was just the only one fool enough to try doing something about it."

"Sir."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. I'm not about to ask you to compromise your old boss, and certainly not for something like that." He shrugged. "Frankly, it doesn't matter. Not now. But I'm sure you're aware that not everyone shares that opinion."

"Sir."

"This is completely off the record—but there are many in the upper ranks who weren't happy with the outcome of the court martial. They want to see Brigadier General Mustang fail, and might not be against giving it a helping hand. It's petty and vindictive and bordering on underhanded and has no place in a proper military," he concluded with what was almost a snarl.

"Sir?"

"I'm telling you this because you're the brigadier general's friend. You might appreciate knowing what he's up against."

"I—thank you, sir."

"Unfortunately, some of us have orders—" He sighed and shook his head. "But that's neither here nor there. I understand you're acquainted with the Elric brothers as well, Lieutenant."

Breda blinked, trying to reorient himself after the abrupt shift. "I've known them since they were kids, we all did—all of us on Mustang's staff at the time, that is."

"I never had the pleasure of meeting them back then. I understand Edward was a bit of a handful."

"Ah." He couldn't help but grin. "A bit more than a handful, actually. I'm sure you could find the expense reports. The Elrics were mostly on the road, though. We didn't see them too often."

"I always thought that a boy barely into his teens was an odd choice for a field agent, but I'm sure the fuhrer had his reasons."

"I wouldn't guess, sir. But I do know that Ed was extremely talented, even at twelve."

"I suppose it makes sense for the military to want to grab him before anyone else could. But he couldn't have enlisted in the regular military before he turned sixteen."

"No, sir. I don't think he ever had any plans to." He also disappeared before the military had a chance to draft him, but Breda wasn't going to mention that.

"I'm just trying to get a sense of him," Phillips explained. "He's around here quite a bit, what with his work as a contractor and his—" he cleared his throat, "—relationship with the brigadier general. I'm just trying to get a sense of who I'm dealing with."

"Has he caused trouble?"

Phillips' eyebrows rose. "Trouble? No, not really."

"In six months? He really has mellowed, then. Well, give it time."

"Should I expect trouble?"

Breda grinned at the tone. "Ed's always been a good kid," he allowed. "He's just never given more than a passing nod to rules and propriety. And his temper can be quite spectacular."

"Well, he did put his fist through the wall, but I'd say that was Private Jennings' fault. On the whole, Edward hasn't been anything but civil, at least around the base."

He shrugged. "I don't mean to sound like he starts trouble for no reason. He was just never one for holding back."

"It's probably good that he's not around here more often than he is," Phillips muttered. "Jennings isn't the only one who's too stupid to keep his mouth shut."

"Ah. . . ."

"I'm sure I don't have to elaborate. The men know I don't want that kind of gossip, but that doesn't stop them when I'm not in the room. Most of them have the sense not to say anything where the brigadier general can hear, but I'm sure he hears enough. Anyway, it's not him I'm concerned with. Mustang knows how to handle himself. But Elric has a reputation as a hot-head and I'd rather be prepared."

"Sir?"

Phillips waved a hand. "I'm just giving you a heads-up on the kind of atmosphere you can expect. That kind of thing can brew trouble, if one doesn't take care."

The lieutenant colonel's sharp gaze made it clear he wasn't just talking about the gossipers, or about Ed. "Understood, sir. If I may?" At Phillips' nod, he went on; "Ed and Mustang can both take care of themselves, and they're no strangers to rumor and gossip. I'm sure they're aware of it, and they're handling it the best way they see fit."

Phillips smiled. "You're probably right. Mustang's a cagy one. I don't mean that as an insult. He's a good soldier, and he knows how to play the game. He's a good man."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

It was just into evening, and the restaurant/bar was only beginning to see its nightly crowd. Ed sipped his beer and settled back in his chair, making a show of leaning against Roy. He wasn't usually fond of such displays in public, but the bar side of the restaurant was still mostly empty. Besides, it was worth it to watch Breda squirm. When Roy's hand disappeared under the table, the lieutenant looked like he wanted to drown himself in his beer mug. The hand was only resting on Ed's hip, but from across the table it could've easily been elsewhere.

"You know you're only encouraging them," Havoc commented around his cigarette.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Roy said with careful neutrality.

Ed smirked and rubbed his cheek on Roy's shoulder.

Breda groaned. "Honestly, aren't you two worried about . . . public reaction?"

The two lovers glanced at each other, and Ed snickered. "Not here." To answer the puzzled looks he jerked a nod at the bar, where two young women were exchanging a kiss goodbye.

The expressions on the lieutenants' faces when they twisted around were priceless. They were both startled, but while Havoc looked intrigued, Breda looked poleaxed.

"Please tell me this isn't some kind of a—a gay bar," the heavy-set soldier hissed as he turned back to the table.

Ed just snickered again while Roy chuckled. "Not as such," the older man admitted. "Just . . . accepting."

"The one working the bar is the owner's kid sister," Ed added. He waved as one of the girls left.

The other, a plump young woman with a dimpled smile, walked over to their table as she fussed with the ties of her apron. "Hi guys! Haven't seen you around here lately."

Ed bumped his head into Roy's shoulder. "Blame him, he's been working too much."

Roy pinched his side and he jumped, and Breda suddenly got very interested in the racks of lights hanging from the rafters. "As if you haven't been spending most of your time at the embassy," the dark-haired man said. He nodded to the two men across the table. "By the way, these are Lieutenants Heymans Breda and Jean Havoc. Breda, Havoc, this is Miss Emma Carter."

She smiled brightly. "Hi! Newly transfered, or just visiting?"

"I'm passing through, but he's transfered here," Havoc supplied. "So, that was your, uh, girlfriend, then?"

"Melanie? Yeah." She grinned again. "Isn't she something? She studies at East City U. I've taken a few classes, but I don't have the brains for it like she does. Oh—" she turned back to Roy, "—speaking of the embassy, I've been hearing the talk. Can their alchemy really blow things up at a distance?"

"They can transmute at a distance, yes," Roy confirmed. "If it's set up properly. To be honest, I've never been sure how it works."

"But isn't your mother from Xing? I've heard several people say your mom was in the embassy."

"Yes, but she uses Amestrian alchemy for the most part."

"What about—oh, shoot, I better get to work. I'll talk to you boys later." Emma waved over her shoulder as she went to tend to the customers who'd just sat down at the bar.

"So, how is that going?" Breda asked. "With your mom, I mean."

Roy made a noncommittal noise as he sipped his drink. "It's . . . going about as well as you'd probably expect."

Ed snorted, and bumped his head into his lover's shoulder again. "Meaning she at least doesn't hate me anymore."

"She never hated you."

"She didn't exactly like me, either."

Havoc gestured between them. "So is it the age difference, or the fact that you're a guy?"

Ed waved away the wisps of smoke and said, "Beats me," at the same time that Roy said, "Both."

"Really?" he glanced up. "She admitted to it?"

"She admitted you were not what she was expecting," Roy explained as rubbed the young man's side, while Breda coughed and tried not to look like he wasn't looking. "Both your age and gender were mentioned. Though I think the latter was more because I had never told her quite how broad my tastes were."

"I was wondering just how someone goes about telling their parents that kind of thing," Havoc mused.

Roy smiled wryly. "I'm probably not the best example. I handled it by not handling it, until I had to."

Ed snorted as he lowered his mug. "'Oh by the way, Mom, I'm dating a guy'? No wonder she wasn't expecting me."

He grimaced. "I was a little more tactful than that."

Breda chuckled. "Honestly, Boss, I don't think you're ever what people expect."

Ed snickered. "I dunno, should I be insulted by that?"

"It's only the truth, Love." Roy pressed a kiss to his hair.

Breda tried to block them out with his mug.

"By the way, Havoc," the black-haired man continued, "how long do you plan on making Gracia wait before you ask her out?"

Havoc jumped as if he'd been kicked. "How did you know about—"

Breda sputtered and thunked his mug to the table. "Gracia? That's who your 'mystery woman' is?"

"How do you think?" Roy smirked. "Elysia's her father's daughter, Jean. Not much gets past her."

"You're dating Gracia."

"We're not dating," Havoc protested. "We're not anything. I've just been helping her out, like with stuff that needs fixing and errands and stuff. We've never done anything of the dating sort and I don't—just what did Elysia say to you?"

"That you make her momma happy and she thinks you should ask her out."

Havoc looked dazed. "She said all that?"

"Well." Breda wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "You can't get a better endorsement than that."

"Yeah but. . . ." Havoc took a drag, and ran his free hand over his hair, looking off to the side for a moment. "I know how close they were—Hughes and Gracia, I mean—and maybe she hasn't gotten over him dying. Four years isn't that long. It's not like I can just go up and ask. If it's too soon for her . . . well, I don't want to hurt her, y'know?"

"Is she still wearing her ring?" Roy asked, obviously knowing the answer.

"Yeah, she's got in on a chain around her neck."

"So it's not on her finger anymore." Breda nodded. "Yeah, you're fine."

"She wouldn't take it off her finger if she wasn't ready to move on," Roy added.

"I dunno." Havoc ran a hand through his spiky hair again. "I still feel like I'm moving in on another man's territory."

"Maes would want his family taken care of," Roy stated quietly. "He'd want them to be happy."

Ed leaned against his lover and twisted his mug between his hands, feeling more than a little out of his element. His social life had never been anything approaching normal. He'd never cared, but it had left him without a frame of reference for things like this. He knew from Elysia that Gracia enjoyed Havoc's company quite a bit, and Havoc obviously liked Gracia, and Ed didn't see what the problem was. The hard truth was that Hughes was dead, he was never coming back. Didn't life have to go on?

* * *

Al double-checked that the door to the bookstore was locked before picking up his bag, thinking he should stop by home and stash these books in his room before meeting his brother and the others at the bar. It wasn't that he planned to keep the books, only to read them before putting them out for sale, but he brought enough books home that he was sure to be teased for it. He grinned to himself. As if his brother wouldn't be twice as bad.

Less than three blocks from the store, something off to the side made Al stop. He tensed as he turned toward the alley, though his instincts hadn't registered it as a threat—just out of place.

At the corner of the building, just out of the way of foot-traffic, a figure was slumped down on the concrete. The clothes were unmistakably Xingian. Wary but intrigued, Al walked over and crouched down a safe distance away. "Hello? Are you all right?"

"Hungry . . ." the figure moaned.

Al frowned. The person was male, maybe twenty, and not anyone he recognized. Aside from Princess Mei, most of the people who had come with the embassy were older. Al was fairly sure he would've remembered this person if he'd seen them before. "Did you lose your way to the embassy?"

"Uhhmm. . . ."

Al wasn't sure if he was genuinely confused or stalling. But before the stranger could articulate an answer his stomach growled, loudly. Al sighed, and figured there couldn't be any harm in taking pity.

A half-hour or so later, Al found himself sitting in a small diner watching the stranger finish off his third plate of food. The waitstaff didn't seem to quite know what to do, hovering nearby in case another order was placed. The few other customers there that night were staring outright.

The stranger set the empty plate with the others, then pressed his hands together, favoring Al with a radiant smile. "You have my eternal thanks, kind sir!" he said as he bowed his head over his hands. "I'd gotten lost, and if you hadn't happened by, I would have died of starvation."

"Um . . . you're welcome." Al fiddled with the knife of his place setting. He'd finished with his own food some time ago. "The embassy isn't that far away. I'm sure somebody could have pointed you in the right direction."

"Ah, yes, but when I get so hungry I often can't think." He settled back in his chair and grabbed a dinner roll.

"I see." Al studied the stranger. His posture was casual, but his balance was secure and his center was guarded. Even when he'd been eating the sword at his side had been within easy reach, and Al had no doubt he knew how to use it. His smile was friendly enough, but couldn't exactly be described as open. "What did you say your name was? I don't think I've seen you around the embassy."

"Oh—no, I doubt you would've noticed me, I've been . . . hanging back. Haven't wanted to get in the way, you know."

Al leaned back in his chair. "No, I'm sure I would've remembered you."

With a flick of his wrist, Al sent the knife flying over the table. If it had been a sharp implement instead of a table knife the stranger would've been in danger of serious injury, instead of just bruising. But with a blur of movement the stranger snatched the knife out of the air, catching it between two fingers. They locked eyes for a moment; the stranger's posture had gone from relaxed to on guard in an instant.

"I'm guessing you're this 'Ling' person who fought my brother the other night," Al reasoned.

The stranger shrugged, falling into an easy smile. "What can I say? There was a . . . misunderstanding."

"He seemed to think you were threatening someone."

"Nothing of the sort!" Ling calmly stuck the bread roll on the end of the knife. "I was merely illustrating a point. It was our unfortunate language barrier that caused the problem."

"The language barrier, or that sword you carry?"

"Eh, well." Ling shrugged again, taking a bite of the impaled bread. "The point is, there was no harm done. So no hard feelings, right?"

"I suppose." Though Al was pretty sure Ed still held some 'hard feelings'. "So what was it that got so 'misunderstood'?"

"It was nothing, really. It's just that now that I've come all this way, I find I need some help."

"Help? What kind of help?"

"Well, I'm not a . . . oh, what is the term you use here? Alchemist?"

Al blinked. "Alchemist? Why do you need an alchemist? Doesn't your country have a lot of . . . whatever you call them there?"

"Indeed, yes. But it's not a skill that I've been blessed with."

"But why do you need to come here?"

"For an alchemist!"

"But—" Al broke off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. You want an alchemist. Why do you want an alchemist?"

"Like I said. I'm not one."

"There are several with the embassy."

"There are," he acknowledged, slowly. "But I don't think they would be able to help me."

"Why not?"

"Ah . . . how to explain. . . ."

"Is it because you didn't come with the embassy?"

Silence, for a moment.

"You do know that entering the country without permission is illegal?"

"I had permission!"

"From the Amestrian government?"

"But I'm here now, so I might as well do what I can. Oh! Maybe you can help me!"

"Me? What could I do?"

"You're an alchemist!"

"But what—wait, how did you know that?"

"You're the alchemy brothers!" he said brightly. "Even in Xing we've heard of you."

"You—you have?"

"Of course! You are the ones who made that town in the desert disappear in an instant."

"We're not the ones who—" he broke off with a shake of his head. "Wait a minute, how did you know about that?"

"A town vanishes? That's not the kind of news you can keep within your country's borders."

"Oh . . . right. I guess not."

"So how did you do it?"

"We're not—why do you want to know that?"

"It's an impressive feat of alchemy. An alchemist would have to be very strong to do something like that."

"It wasn't us."

Ling paused, smile frozen on his face.

"Hundreds of people died that day." Al leaned forward, trying to impress the gravity upon this stranger. "We tried to stop it. We did everything we could to stop it. I don't know what you've heard about us, but my brother and I would never—never—do something so—so terrible."

They watched each other for moment. His words seemed to have had an impact, but Al didn't like the shrewd look in the other man's eye.

"But," Ling said eventually. "You know how it was done."

"Didn't you hear the part about people dying?" he snapped. "No, I don't know exactly how it was done, I wouldn't want to know! Why do you want to know how to kill people?"

"Ah, no, no!" Ling waved his hands, and offered a placating smile. "I don't want to kill people, that wouldn't be any good at all! What good is a ruler without people to rule?"

"Then what do you want!"

"Immortality!"

At some point, Al had risen, leaning his hands against the table. He fell back into his seat now, feeling like the air had just been knocked from his lungs. "What—?"

"I want to find the path to immortality!" Ling explained, cheerfully. "Life and death are linked, so something that caused so much death—"

"Forget it."

"—Huh?"

"I said forget it." Al stood, snatching his bag of books and walking to the counter to see about the bill.

"But I need to find the path to immortality to help my clan!" The man was all but whining as he hopped up to follow.

"You can't cheat death. If you try, it only brings more death, and it always catches up to you in the end." He turned and stalked out of the restaurant.

"That's fine, that's fine! All I want—"

"That's fine?" Al rounded on the foreigner and grabbed his collar. "It's 'fine' for people to die for—"

There was a blur in his peripheral vision and Al snapped a kick to the side before he'd even consciously registered the movement. The figure flowed around the strike, but before it could counter, Al twisted, and wrenched Ling into the attacker.

Al backed up several paces and dropped his bag, keeping his attention on Ling and the masked figure who seemed to have melted in from the shadows. The evening crowd had drawn back around them, leaving a cleared space on the sidewalk as people hurried away or stopped short. Good. Al didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt.

Ling spoke a few words in Xingian, and the other one voiced what seemed to be a protest. Then Ling stepped toward Al, all smiles and friendly gestures.

"Sorry! No harm meant, I assure you!"

Al narrowed his eyes, but didn't move away as Ling came within striking distance.

"I said something wrong," the Xingian man continued. "I don't want immortality itself, not really, but the path to immortality. Just the path! No one will die—"

"You don't get it." Al shook his head. "The entire thing is a death trap. It's a fool's errand. No good can come of it—believe me, I know. I've seen what happens to those who try."

Ling's face fell as he sighed. "That is unfortunate. Because I cannot go back empty-handed."

* * *

Roy brushed a hand against his lover's metal arm as they walked to the car. Automail wasn't as sensitive as flesh, but he knew his the young man would be aware of the gesture. "You got awfully quiet."

Ed shrugged. "Didn't have anything to say."

His lips twitched into a reflective smile as he unlocked the car. The difference in years between them was of no consequence, but every now and then he was reminded that there was something of an experience gap.

The young man was pensive as he dropped into the passenger's seat. "So do you really think, Havoc and Gracia-san . . .?"

"I think it's possible they could make each other happy," he said as he started the car. "I admit I was startled when Elysia first mentioned it, but Havoc's a good guy. Once one gets past his obsession with boobs, that is."

Ed barked a laugh. "Personally, I've never seen the appeal."

Roy smirked as he pulled out into the late-evening traffic. "Of course you haven't."

Ed poked his hip. "You're fucking lucky I don't and you know it."

"Oh, come now, liking one doesn't preclude liking the other. I can appreciate a pair of finely shaped breasts, for example. But I appreciate a man's physique equally as much."

"That's just 'cause you're a freak. Oi, you better not be appreciating any breasts while I'm around."

"I only have eyes for you, my love."

"Fuck, now you're getting sappy. Are you sure you're sober enough to drive?"

"By body weight, I drank much less than you did."

"Just who are you calling a fly so small he gets drunk off of one beer?"

"'Fly'? I never said 'fly.'"

"I can hold my drink just fine, bastard." He huffed and thumped himself back into the seat, but Roy hadn't missed the laughter hidden under the growl. "German beer is stronger than the watered-down shit we have here, anyway," he added in a mutter, before succumbing to a jaw-cracking yawn. "Fuuuck, I wore myself out wandering around town today. Can't believe how lazy I've gotten."

"Any luck?"

"Not really. A few people said they remembered seeing someone who looks like him, but that's all. Oh, it seems he's been trying to get away without paying for things. The guy at the deli was pretty pissed about it."

Roy grimaced. That was bound to reflect badly on the embassy.

"Al said he was looking forward to to seeing Havoc while he was in town, I wonder why he didn't join us," Ed mused. Drink tended to make his already over-active mind switch topics without warning, it was just something Roy had come to expect.

"He probably got caught up in something at the book store. He said something about expecting a donation in today." It wasn't unusual for the young man to stay after hours in the back to go through a box of books. Roy was mildly envious.

"Either books or the kittens—did you know they had kittens?"

"Kittens? No, I hadn't heard that. Though it's not surprising."

"It wasn't Al, if you can believe it." Ed chuckled. "The owner found a pregnant stray out in the alley. They've had her in the back of the shop for several weeks. I can't believe Al didn't let it slip before now."

"He was probably planning to wait until he could take one of the kittens home."

"Probably. As if one cat isn't enough."

Roy chuckled. He was really more of a dog person, but as long as nothing important got shredded or peed on and he didn't have to clean up any cat boxes, he didn't particularly mind—although their current pet's penchant for filching small items was a bit of a nuisance. "Whether it was books or kittens, I'm sure he'll be happy to tell us all about it once we get home."