Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 17

The afternoon was getting late, and Yu had to dodge around groups of children and youths coming home from school. She found it oddly reassuring to see signs of ordinary, every day life in the neighborhood her son called home. At the same time she couldn't help but wonder what these families had thought when such an . . . unusual household moved in. Roy had implied that they received few, if any, negative remarks, but neighborhoods had other, more subtle ways to make someone feel unwelcome.

Outwardly, the house didn't look much different than any other on the street. The grass might be in need of trimming, but the citrus tree out front looked recently pruned, and the rose bushes along the front wall seemed to have been hacked back some months before and were just now starting to drop their blooms. Yu suspected Alphonse's hand in most of this, Roy had never cared for gardening and Edward didn't seem the type.

Edward was just exiting the front door as she came up on the house and she paused at the edge of the lawn. He set off down the walk, his face set in a preoccupied frown, then startled to a stop with his hand on the door of his car as he caught sight of her.

"Oh, uh—hi," he stuttered. "Roy's still at work. . . ."

"I know. I thought I would wait for him."

"Oh—sure. Uh—" he glanced back at the porch. "The door's unlocked, if you want to go in—I f'got to lock it. Roy's always getting on my case about that."

She smiled, studying him surreptitiously. The poor boy was so obvious in his moods. "You grew up in the country, is that right? I imagine there's much less need for locks there."

A grin flashed on his face, there and then gone. "Yeah. Not sure our door even had one. . . ." He unlatched the car door, but then hesitated, frowning down at his reflection in the window. "Say, um—" He turned to her, adjusting his glasses with a nervous sort of gesture. "That book that—that talked about the flamel—"

"'Flamel'?"

He gestured to the symbol on his coat. "The snake-and-cross thing. Flamel's cross. Do you . . . d'you know who wrote it? The book, I mean."

"Oh! I'm not sure." She brought her hand to her mouth as she thought. What an odd thing to ask about. "Someone had collected materials from a number of sources, and the original authors weren't always noted. I might know the name if I heard it, but it's been ages since I've looked at that book. Is it important?"

"Oh—nah, it's nothing." He grinned again, the expression thin and brittle. "Just a thought I had."

"If I may ask, where are you headed?"

"Library. It's—there's something I wanted to research. Nothing important."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No—no. It's nothing. I, uh, I'm not sure when Roy's gonna be home. Sometimes he's late. . . ."

"I don't mind waiting."

"Yeah, okay." He hesitated a moment more, looking like he wanted to ask something else. In the end, he shook his head and swung the car door open. "Dunno how long I'll be, either, but there's food—I think—and Al should be home soon."

She smiled and shooed him off, torn between amusement and concern. "I'll manage, I'm sure."

Yu watched as Ed's beat-up old car sped off down the block, surely going over the legal limit. She wondered if it was a mistake not to press him about what was bothering him, but he clearly hadn't wanted to tell her. He and his brother both seemed so naturally honest and open—Ed in particular had a terrible time hiding his emotions. It was odd that they were so reticent about certain things. While in contrast her own son tended to clam up over the most minor of things. Getting information out of him had always been a delicate game, ever since he was a boy.

She sighed, and shook her head as she stepped up to the porch. She was not at all looking forward to this particular round of prying. She let herself into the house, pausing a moment to simply observe. A lot could be told about a person from the way they made their home, but this was the first moment she'd had to really take in her son's living space.

The front room was neat if not a little sparse. But there were pictures on the mantle, and two overflowing bookshelves that made the space inviting. She eased open one of the two doors at the far end of the room and found a small study: a utilitarian desk that was nearly buried beneath uneven piles of paper and notebooks, a narrow bookshelf that held just as many loose papers as books, and—she noticed with a smile—remnants of chalk marks on nearly every available surface. This was the room Edward had retreated to after his quarrel with Winry, and she could see now that it was his private space, his area to withdraw from the world. She felt uneasy intruding on him any further and gently shut the door.

The second door revealed a library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, most of them overstuffed, a couple small tables with chairs, and not much else. Hardly surprising for a house with three alchemists. She recognized some of the books Roy had inherited from his teacher and some that she had given him. She wondered how many of the other books belonged to the Elrics. A few rare, old titles caught her eye and she felt a bit envious. It was tempting to settle in here to wait, but she knew herself and knew how easily she could get absorbed and forget the matter at hand. As much as she wanted to do just that, it would not serve her purpose in the long run.

Crossing the living room, she hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Curiosity finally won over her sense of propriety and she jogged up the steps. A peek wouldn't hurt.

The first bedroom off the stairs was the master suite. She nudged the door open and scanned the room from the doorway. The room was neat, for the most part. She had a good guess which side of the bed was Edward's based on the state of the nightstand. She suspected the pile of clothes that was almost in the hamper was mostly Edward's as well, though she wouldn't be surprised if a few of Roy's items were in there as well. He tended to like things neat, but wasn't above bouts of laziness. She suspected Roy was behind the neatly made bed and the tidy dresser tops, though.

She pulled the door back to its original position and then headed to the stairs, deciding that she'd invaded enough.

Yu poked around in the kitchen until she found a box of tea. It was western tea, dark and harsh and meant to be mixed with milk, but it was tea. Coffee would not have been kind to her nerves. When the water had boiled, she took the mug into the living room and set it on the coffee table to steep.

The photo album Roy had shown her a few days ago was peeking out from beneath the coffee table. She slid it off the shelf and set it on her lap, letting it fall open toward the beginning.

The first picture she saw made her smile. A teen-aged Edward face down on the couch, sound asleep, while a little girl of maybe two perched on his back and industriously decorated his hair with barrettes and ribbons. She imagined Maes Hughes behind the camera, snapping away and going on about how brilliant his daughter was. Maes had written her many times over the years. His letters had often filled in some of the gaps left in Roy's, but she 'd also been treated to a number of baby pictures, first-steps pictures, first tricycle—up through Elysia's third year.

In his last letter before he had been sent to the north Roy had spoken of Maes' death. It had been a depressing and distressing letter in general, but that part had stood out. She could only imagine how much harder it had hit her son. And the Elrics, now that she thought about it; Maes had obviously been close to them.

The album had only a few more pages of the older photographs. Ed in a black outfit and a red coat like Al wore now, Al in that huge suit of armor. A handful of pictures showed Roy with his office staff. She recognized Breda, and the young blonde woman could only be Riza Hawkeye. Roy had been young to be given a commanding rank and she had worried about him, but he seemed to have found a niche and a set of staff that suited him well, and had thrived—for a while.

The photos jumped forward in time from one page to the next. Ed, now grown, slumped at a table with Al and Winry and two boys she didn't recognize. Everyone was hovering around Ed, who looked a little worse for wear. The smile he was giving his brother seemed weary and a bit brittle, but he was tolerantly letting Winry examine his arm, which looked like a much cruder model of automail than the one he used now.

The next couple pages looked like a mid-winter party. The snowy house could have been on the outskirts of a city, maybe Central. The photos showed the office staff out of uniform and several people she didn't know, surrounded by drinks, food and plenty of laughter. But the image that stopped her was one of Roy and Ed on the ground outside. Roy was sprawled out leaning back on his hands, while Ed was kneeling over his lap holding a snowball. Both of them were covered in snow and grinning up at the camera. At first she couldn't figure out why she found the picture so startling, but then she realized—she couldn't remember the last time she had seen her son so . . . jubilant. They looked like a pair of children caught in some bit of mischief. Looking at this photo of a thirty-year-old man with a patch covering half his face, she saw the little boy she had raised.

Her fingers hovered over the glossy surface, as if she could reach through the image to touch the figures inside. This was what she had been looking for, what she had feared was lost ever since Ishval. Roy had become so withdrawn, so—so contained. Anything that came to the surface was calculated and measured. It had worried her, but she'd been at a loss for how to help. She could only do so much if he wouldn't let her in. Now it seemed that Edward had succeeded where she had not. She had only herself to blame: she had gone back home and left her son on his own. She'd had reasons—there were always reasons—but that didn't change the fact that she'd left. Given up.

Yu gently closed the album and placed it back beneath the coffee table. She could lose herself in might have and should haves all evening and be no closer to her current goal. She picked up her tea, cradling the mug between her hands as she sat back in the couch, settling in to wait.

Roy was hiding more than just pieces of his personality. It was past time she got to know her son, and to do that—she needed to know just what he was capable of.

* * *

Ed finally tracked Olivia down in the children's section. He thought about asking one of the other librarians, but he didn't want to deal with the glazed-over look he got whenever he mentioned alchemy. He didn't want to waste time explaining any more than he had to.

Ed leaned over a cart full of picture books. "I need to—what the hell are those?" he interrupted himself. Something disturbingly familiar was staring back at him from the far end of the short shelves.

"Hm?" Olivia looked up from the floor behind the book cart, then followed his horrified gaze. Sitting between a potted plant and a display of fairy tales were a pair of plush dolls, one with blond hair and a red coat, the other grey and stitched to look like armor. "You've never seen those?"

"No I've never seen them! Where the hell did those come from?"

She slid a book onto the shelf and picked another off the cart. "One of our patrons made them, a couple years ago. The kids love them."

"Why would—someone make—" Ed stuttered off and finally waved his finger at the caricatures.

Olivia glanced at him over the rim of her glasses. "You're kidding, right? I told you you were our pride." She checked the spine of the book, then scanned the shelf. "And of course everyone was fascinated by Alphonse-kun and his armor."

"That doesn't explain why—why that—"

"Why not? You were already an icon. Then you up and disappeared, so . . . damn, I lost my alphabet," she added in an undertone as she frowned at the shelf.

Ed shoved a hand through his bangs and shook his head. "Fuck, never mind." Leaning over the cart, he snatched the book from her hands and dropped it on top of the others. "Look, I need to check on something. A—a figure from Xing's history. I've got some stuff coming but I don't want to wait that long."

"All right, all right." Olivia pulled herself up with the shelf and shook her legs out. "This historical figure have a name? Xing has a lot of history."

"Uh . . . um, well, the myths called him the 'Sage of the West,' I think."

She paused in the middle of pushing the cart out of the way. "So do you want history or mythology?"

"Um . . . both? I think?"

The librarian pulled a face as she maneuvered the cart to the end of the shelf. "They're kind of at opposite ends of the stacks."

"Fuck. Uh. . . ." Ed rubbed his forehead. Why couldn't that old bastard be something simple for a change? "Um, mythology. I think. He was a real person but the things he did were turned into myths and legends and stuff."

"All right, we'll start there." She started toward a part of the shelves Ed wasn't all that familiar with. The books he looked for were usually several rows farther in. "This have anything to do with alchemy?"

"Yeah. I think this sage guy taught them a bunch of alchemy or something—are you really the only librarian who knows about alchemy here?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "No, not really. But it intimidates them, I guess. So when I'm on shift, as soon as someone says 'alchemy' they get sent to me. Here we are." She pushed her glasses into place and ran her finger over the weathered spines. "Let's see, eastern folklore would be over here . . . here's Xing."

"Sciezka—um, a friend of mine, used to work at Central's First Branch—said some were in collections of myths from different areas."

"I think we have a couple of those . . . here." She pulled two more books off the shelf and handed them to Ed. "Most of the folklore books are in the children's section but I don't think those are going to have what you want. These'll have more detail." She considered the books in her arms, and added two more to the pile.

"How much of these deal with alchemy? Or what sounds like alchemy?"

She smiled as she led him to one of the study tables. "Xing doesn't really separate their alchemy out from the rest of life. Especially ancient Xing. The flow of life is the flow in the veins of the dragon is the flow of the seasons—stuff like that. It's fascinating, but it can make it hard to find something specific."

"Wonderful," Ed grumbled as he dropped into the chair. "Fucking insane system, it's a wonder their science progressed at all." He ignored her amused snort as he skimmed the first book's the table of contents then flipped to the back in hope of an index. "How about 'gold'?" he said after a moment. "They also called this guy 'the Golden Man'."

"That might be a little easier to find." Olivia sat down and pulled a couple of the books toward her, muttering, "What the hell, it's a slow day."

"Anything that talks about the 'Sage' or the 'Golden Man'," Ed emphasized, grateful for the second pair of eyes. Normally he would have dragged Al along with him, but his brother was nowhere to be found. "If it has a description of him, that's even better."

"I'm sorry our collection isn't as big as Central's, there's not much call for Xingian folklore and myths here."

Ed grunted. "I don't think there's much call for them over there, either. I doubt they replaced the ones that were lost when the First Branch burned."

Olivia sighed and muttered something about the tragedy of lost books.

A quick skim of the first book revealed nothing useful. It had a few mentions of what was probably alchemy and he made a mental note to come back to those later, but nothing on the Sage of the West. The second book had a couple of oblique references, but it only went so far as to describe him as a "master over form and matter" who could "impose his will with a thought." Intriguing, but not concrete enough.

He was midway through scanning the third book when Olivia waved a hand in front of his face. He startled, looking up with a frown. "Wow, you really do mono-focus," she commented. Just as he opened his mouth to retort she dropped a book on top of his. "Here. 'The Dragon Emperor speaks with the Sage of the West'. It's the only mention I could find."

"Finally." Ed straightened and set the other book on the table, giving this one his full attention. "Figures he'd be impossible to find. Reclusive old bastard."

The story seemed to be an allegory told in the form of a conversation. It did talk about alchemy, or the eastern version of alchemy, underneath the literal meaning of the words. It was actually a pretty fascinating comparison of eastern and western theory and Ed had to fight himself to keep on task and not get absorbed by it. So far it was too general; the Sage could be any reasonably-skilled alchemist.

That was, until the very end of the fable.

The Emperor entreated the Sage to share the source of his great wisdom, and the Sage declined, stating, "no man would wish to be swallowed by truth and spit back out, if he but knew the price."

"Shit." Ed sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes.

"Problem?"

He pointed to the book. "Does the end of that story mean anything to you?"

Olivia rotated the text and frowned at the page. "You mean this 'swallowed by truth' bit? I figured that was some metaphor that got lost in the translation. Maybe something to show that the Sage was a wiser man than the Emperor. It would hardly be the first bit of folklore that sounds like nonsense."

Ed shook his head. He wanted to believe that. But the terrified eleven-year-old boy in his head was too loud to ignore.

Olivia sighed. "Why do I get the feeling you're not going to explain?"

Ed grimaced and pushed his hand through his bangs. "It's nothing—nothing you want to know about. Trust me."

"But it makes sense to you," she said slowly. "It's more than nonsense or metaphor."

He stood, flipping the books shut and stacking them on the edge of the table. "I got what I needed. Thanks for the help."

"Of course. Here, I'll get those."

She shot him a concerned look over her glasses as she picked up the books, and Ed wondered just how much was showing on his face. Not for the first time he wished for just a bit of Roy's opaque exterior.

Those thoughts were sitting heavily on his mind as he turned for the exit, preoccupying him so much that he didn't see the woman waiting at the end of the stacks until she stepped directly into his path. He stopped just short of running into her and fell back a step, but his scowl lost some of its edge when he recognized who it was. "Li Xue? What're you doing here?"

"Sorry." She bowed politely. "I did not wish to interrupt your studies."

"Just how long have you been there?"

She made a vague gesture. "Not long." Ed narrowed his eyes. "Your brother left in quite a fit this morning, and the princess is very concerned. She sent me to find him."

"Well good luck, I haven't seen him since lunch," Ed admitted. "I thought he had a late shift at the bookstore but he wasn't there."

She nodded. "Yes, I did try there first." She hesitated. "But Princess Mei is concerned for you both."

"You mean she's concerned we won't give her what she wants," he shot back.

Li Xue's smile reminded him a little of Roy. "She is concerned for many reasons. But it is not my place to question."

"Whatever." Ed pushed past her. "I'll let Al know next time I see him."

She fell into step beside him. "I am also concerned—about my aunt and my cousin. And also for the princess, I fear she is hunting for dangerous things."

He shot her a sideways glance. "Oh yeah? What makes you think that?"

"Maybe you can tell me," she offered. "And maybe I can tell you about the Sage of the West."

* * *

Yu was halfway through her second cup of tea when the front door opened. Roy paused in the doorway for only a moment, nodding a greeting before closing the door and shedding his coat. If he was bothered at all by her being there, he didn't show it. But then, why would he be? He wouldn't know why she was there. "Edward let me in before he left," she said as she placed her mug on the coffee table. "I hope it isn't a problem."

"Of course not." He hung his coat behind the door. "Did Ed say where he was going?"

"The library, I believe. He said something about research."

His lips twitched into a fond smile, but he seemed distracted. As he took a seat in the recliner his gaze was on some midpoint between the chair and the coffee table. "I should have known. He likely won't emerge until he gets hungry."

"The library must close eventually."

"And he's been shooed out at closing more than once." He paused, considering her. Yu kept silent. "Is something on your mind then, Mother? This doesn't seem like a social visit."

"It—no. You're right in that." She glanced down at her hands. "It's been . . . it's been quite a day."

Roy seemed to be waiting for something more. Of course she couldn't expect him to make this easy. But now that she was here she hardly knew how to proceed.

"Alphonse exchanged some . . . heated words with Princess Mei this morning," she started.

He made a noncommittal noise. "I can't say that's entirely unexpected."

She glanced up. "Oh? He seems like such an even-tempered boy."

He lifted a hand in acknowledgement. "Yes and no. Al's temper is buried deeper but it runs just as hot as Edward's. Given what the princess seems to be digging into I have been half expecting one or the other of them to reach his limit."

Yu raised an eyebrow. "Well. It sounds as if you know more about her plans than even I do."

The smile he gave her had very little warmth. "I doubt that. This was one puzzle that was fairly easy to piece together. The biggest question on my mind was how far she would be willing to go."

Yu sat back and regarded her son as coolly as he was regarding her. "I see." That raised a number of questions. But only one she was particularly interested in right now: "And just how far are you willing to go?"

"That depends."

"Does it? We all have an upper limit to our actions, regardless of the motivations."

"The motivations make all the difference. As do the consequences." He paused, then added, "But my actions are not the problem here. How many lives is she willing to risk?"

"How many—?"

"Because it's never just one. No, it takes much more than that. Mei might be tempted to think the price was worth it—others have thought that before her—but would she be as willing if she knew it was a false hope?"

Yu let out a frustrated sigh and stood. "I am so tired of everyone talking around this!" she said as she started to pace. "You've made it clear you know what she came here to chase. Alphonse obviously knows. I am sure Edward does, too. So let us just say it: the Stone. Mei came here to chase rumors of the Philosopher's Stone. Now can we please move on from there?"

"Indeed." Roy stood and crossed to the liquor cabinet. "I still had some small hope I was wrong," he added in an undertone.

"Denial can be such a comfortable illusion," she muttered. She folded her arms as she watched her son pour himself a small measure of some amber liquid. "Mei is neither stupid nor heartless. If the stone is as bad as you have been hinting—"

"It's a good deal worse." He downed the alcohol and set the glass on top of the cabinet. "Alphonse would never have told you the true price. Whatever you're imagining—it's worse."

"Tell me, please."

"No."

"If I can explain to the princess—"

"No." His voice hardly rose, but something in his face stopped her cold. "This isn't knowledge to toss around lightly." In a quieter voice, he continued, "That knowledge has wounded this country more than you know."

"You're right, I don't know," she said, softly. "I don't know because you won't tell me."

He turned back to the cabinet. "You don't need to know."

"Need to—?" She stepped forward and took his arm. "I need to know because you're my son."

Roy turned, and the look on his face almost made her back up. "This goes beyond me, Mother. Well beyond."

"I'm asking about you," she pressed. "What happened four years ago that caused so many rumors? What was your part in it? Why were you demoted and sent north?"

"Does it matter? The military reversed its decision."

"Why? What had you done? Why did it take three years for you to contest it?"

He smiled, though there was little humor in it. "You must have been told the gossip already. General Johansen always did have a soft spot for you." He turned away, toward the unlit fireplace.

"Is that what you would have me believe?" she shot back. "Petty gossip and rumor?"

"Believe what you will."

"I will not!" she snapped. "I am asking for the truth. What happened that day?"

"Why, Mother?" His voice was tight, controlled. "Are you planning to turn me in for another court martial?"

"I couldn't care less about the military's laws—"

"Then why? What are you getting at?"

"I am asking if my son is a murderer!"

Silence. Yu could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Roy stared at her, his head turned to see around his blind side, his expression closed. After a long, tense moment, he finally spoke.

"I've been a murderer since Ishval."

She shook her head. "Orders—"

"That doesn't make the people I killed any less dead." He turned to face her. "It doesn't change the fact that I killed them."

"There's a difference!"

"Maybe there shouldn't be."

"It's—you are—diverting the topic. Roy Mustang, did you kill Fuhrer Bradley! Did you go to that man's house that night and kill him!"

"Yes. I killed him."

The quiet statement seemed to suck the air out of the room.

"I went to the Fuhrer's mansion that night with the express purpose of killing him," he went on. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Yu shook her head, words caught up in her throat.

"Did you want to hear about how he was waiting for me? About the cellar that burned around us as he dodged my flames again and again? The way his sword felt as he dragged it through my shoulder?" His voice steadily increased in intensity as he spoke. "Or did you want to hear about how I killed him—and killed him, and killed him and killed him and killed him until he finally stayed dead. Or about the child—" Roy's voice caught, disgust and several other emotions tightening the lines around his one visible eye before he turned away, his face obscured by the eye patch. "Well. I had my reasons, but it ultimately makes no difference." He stared at the cold fireplace for a long moment before adding in a quiet, tight voice, "I believe you have your answer. Yes, I'm a murderer."

Yu shook her head again, trying to force the world back into some sort of sense. "Roy—" she choked out, not sure what she could say.

"That's what the military trained me for, after all. To kill."

She pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away, shaking her head once more.

"Maybe you should tell the princess to keep that in mind."

* * *

Ed flicked on the light and tossed his coat over the back of the recliner. With a groan, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. He'd been hoping someone would be home by now. His mind was over-full and he was in desperate need of a sounding board.

The ornate wall clock Roy liked so much chimed the hour, and Ed peered at it through his fingers. He hadn't realized it was that late. He raised his head and took a better look around the room. Even when Roy worked over he never stayed at the office this late. And come to think of it, where was Al?

Maow!

Ed leaned over and peeked into the kitchen. Magpie was planted on the floor in front of the cabinets where his evening dish of canned food was usually set. "Hasn't Al fed you yet?"

Maowaow!

"Guess not."

Ed set about getting the cat food ready as Magpie wound around his legs, his mind was elsewhere. More than once he nearly ended up kicking the demanding feline when his attention drifted.

A bottle of whiskey and a glass on top of the liquor cabinet proved that Roy had been home, but the house had been completely dark. Neither Roy's coat nor Al's was hanging behind the door and they were both meticulous about such things. Al never would have let the cat go this long without being fed, and Roy would have put food down just to shut the thing up.

"Where the hell is everybody?" Ed asked as he set the dish down. The little grey cat ignored him in favor of gulping down some food. "I know, I know—if it isn't 'food' or 'play' it's beneath your notice." He absently scratched the cat's neck, then stood. He scratched a hand through his own hair, knocking his glasses askew and getting the nose piece tangled. He jerked the glasses free as he poked through the bottom floor of the house, looking for a hint as to where his brother and his lover might have gone.

The young man's eyes fell onto the empty mug on the coffee table, then slid to once again the whiskey bottle. That's right, Roy's mom had been by earlier. He hadn't thought to ask why, but thinking back now, she might have seemed a little . . . unsettled.

Ed sighed and grabbed his coat.

* * *

Ed had been hoping to be wrong. This wasn't Roy's usual place to drink, not when things were going well. This bar, this bar stool had some significance Ed didn't know, but whatever it was wasn't pleasant. He'd only come here twice over the past year, on days that were exceptionally bad, when he'd wanted to simply drown out the world for a while. That didn't speak well of how the evening had gone.

Ed grimaced and crossed the floor, ignoring the pointed not-stares from the bar's patrons. Everyone in East City knew who they were and what they were to each other, Roy's position was too visible for them to go unnoticed. Few were stupid enough to say anything outright, but the disapproval in places like this was palpable. He could usually brush it off, but tonight he just wasn't up to it.

Ed stopped just short of where Roy was slumped at the bar. "No. You don't get another 'day'."

Roy moved his head only enough to acknowledge the young man's presence, his focus on the amber liquid in his glass. "I wasn't aware we had a limit."

"Well, there is," he declared. "Or there should be. What the hell happened, Roy?"

Roy sighed audibly, and knocked back the last of his drink. To Ed's relief he shook his head at the bar tender as he pushed the empty glass across the bar. "I wish I knew." His speech was careful, but still clear. Drunk then, but not terribly. "Too much has gotten out of hand . . . too much I never wanted to deal with."

Ed sighed. He stepped up behind his lover and put his hands on his shoulders, trying to offer some small support. "C'mon," he said in a gentler tone. "I hope you weren't planning to drive yourself home after all this drinking."

The older man leaned back against his chest and sighed. "Mm. I hadn't thought that far."

"I can see that." Ed glared death at a man down the bar who was giving them a sour look. "Come on, idiot. It's fucking late and I'm tired."

"Tell me. . . ."

He turned back, startled by the defeated tone. "What?"

Roy shook his head against Ed's collar bone. "What should you do . . . after telling your mother . . . that you're a monster."

Ed closed his eyes and leaned in to the top of his head for a moment. So that was how things went. He sighed, and squeezed the other man's shoulders. "We should go," was all he could think to say.

"Mm." Roy pulled away and pushed himself to his feet, steady perhaps out of stubbornness but steady nonetheless. Ed waited while he paid his tab, then led the way out to the car, silently promising pain to anyone who looked at them sideways. It wasn't improving his already sour mood. By the time they got to the car the young man was almost itching for a target.

"Anyone who makes a 'wife' crack over this is getting flattened," Ed grumbled as he dropped into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "Then I'm coming after you."

"Mm-hm."

Ed kneaded the steering wheel while Roy got himself settled, trying to get his temper under control. Normally his lover weathered his outbursts with finesse and humor, whether he was the cause of them or not, but when he got like this all their normal rhythms were off. The last thing Ed wanted was to make this worse—neither of them needed another 'bad day.'

"You would make a poor housewife," Roy muttered, breaking the silence. "You never remember the cleaning."

Ed stared at Roy's dark profile. The older man's head was tilted back against the seat, his posture weary, but he wasn't crumpled in on himself like Ed had feared he would be. Not quite. The blond let out a small, relieved sigh as he started the car. "That's 'cause it's your job."

"Mm?"

"The remembering of it, I mean."

"Mm."

If Roy was willing to joke with him, however half-hearted, then he wasn't completely lost to this black mood.

They made the drive home in silence. Neither of them was the kind to force conversation. If Roy wanted to talk about what was bothering him then he would in his own time, Ed wasn't going to pry.

The only lights on in the house were the ones Ed had turned on. Magpie glared at them from the back of the couch, irritated in this disruption in his routine. It was rare that he didn't have at least one person to curl up with and pester in the evening. Ed sighed, and mentally promised to make it up to the cat tomorrow. Not that the cat would understand that and not that he should care if the cat cared, but it still bothered him. Al must be rubbing off on him.

Ed frowned as he followed his lover up the stairs. It wasn't like Al to be out this late, certainly not without leaving a note. He knew his little brother could more than take care of himself, but he also knew better than most just what sort of nastiness could be lurking out there.

But there was little he could do about that right now. He shoved those thoughts aside as they got to the bedroom, and turned his full attention to the man in front of him.

Roy started to fumble with his jacket, but Ed gently pushed his hands aside and unfastened the uniform for him. The older man wasn't so drunk that he couldn't take care of himself, but that wasn't the point. Ed touched his cheek and held his gaze for a moment. He was never good at putting this sort of thing into words.

Roy sagged, and sank onto the bed with a sigh, gratefully turning himself over to his lover's ministrations. Ed undressed him with care, giving his skin little caresses as it was exposed, nothing more than a light brush of fingers against a shoulder, hip, or calf. Mute offerings of comfort. Roy leaned into his touch, shifting to lift and arm or a leg when needed, letting himself be directed. Ed kissed his thigh as he knelt to pull on his pajamas, a gesture that on some other day might have been suggestive. Tonight, Roy only sighed, and covered the younger man's hand with his own when it slid against his hip, a silent thank-you. Ed kissed his fingers before standing to wrap the pajama shirt around his shoulders.

Roy's fingers tangled with his as he finished with the buttons and he paused, taking in the mute request. He braced a knee against the mattress and slid an arm around his shoulders as the other man leaned into him, his face pressed into his neck. Ed sighed and ran his fingers through the short, dark hair, wishing there was some platitude he could offer that would make things better. But he knew that useless, empty words would be little consolation so he kept quiet.

When Roy finally pulled away, Ed stroked his hair one more time, catching his fingers under the strap and sliding the eye patch away. He pressed a kiss over his ruined eye, lingering there for a moment before moving to turn down the bedclothes. He waited while Roy settled himself down, then tucked the covers around him with uncharacteristic tenderness.

Ed sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on Roy's shoulder, as the older man sighed and curled himself around his lover, turning his head and to peer up at him in in the dim light. Ed rubbed his arm and waited.

"You know . . ." Roy started, his voice quiet and just a bit slurred. "You know the worst of me, and you still. . . ."

Ed squeezed his shoulder. "'Course I do. Now go to sleep, idiot."

He studied the younger man like he was trying to piece together just how this could be. Eventually he sighed and turned into the pillow, his hand resting on Ed's hip as if to verify his presence.

No matter how hard Ed tried to stop it, anger kept welling up inside him. How dare she knock him down like this. Roy had worked so hard to pull himself out of the black mire he'd spent three years living in, she had no right to push him back into it. His own mother.

Ed pinched the bridge of his nose as he continued to rub Roy's shoulder. The small, reasonable voice that he so often ignored was reminding him that he didn't know the whole story. He might not have known Yu long, but he knew her well enough to believe she wouldn't deliberately hurt her son. To be fair Roy could sabotage himself just fine given the right prompting. But sitting here with lover miserable and drunk, it was very hard not to get angry.

The cacophony of the phone shattered the quiet and Ed jumped. He dove for the nightstand and snatched the receiver, cutting the thing off in mid-ring. "What??" he hissed.

"Nii-san? Where have you been all evening?"

Ed froze off-balance and bent over the bedside table. "Al? Where—" Roy shifted behind him and he stopped, sliding off the bed and moving as far away as the phone cord would allow. "Where the hell are you?" he continued in a hiss.

"Um . . . well. . . ." He could picture his brother fidgeting. "Most of the way to New Optain, I think."

"What?!" Ed glanced back to the bed and dropped his voice again. "What the fuck are you doing out there?"

"Chasing Ling." Al let out an exasperated sigh. "He's determined to go to Liore. I'm trying to keep him from causing trouble but whenever the train stops he vanishes before I can drag him to the line back to East City."

"Fuck." Ed dropped his head into his hand. "What a fucking wonderful night."

"Sorry, Nii-san."

"Just . . . just do what you can. Throw Armstrong at him if you have to."

"I might anyway."

"Good."

"Is everything okay there?"

"It's. . . ."

"It's not, its it."

Ed grimaced behind his hand. "We'll manage. You worry about Ling. The last thing we need is another mess."

After a few more exchanges Ed hung up the phone. He closed his eyes and took a breath. There could only be one reason the _Xingian prince would want to go to Liore, and the thought of the people of Liore having to deal with—that—again. . . . Al would keep it from happening if anyone could, but he didn't like the thought of his little brother having that burden—again.

The sheets rustled. "Ed? Something wrong?"

Ed sighed and stepped back to the bed. "Not really." He sat down and brushed the other man's hair back. "Al's out babysitting Ling, that's all. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Mm. . . ."

"Go to sleep. You're going to feel shitty enough in the morning as it is."

Ed continued to stroke his hair as Roy sighed and turned back into the pillow. Gradually his body relaxed, and his breathing deepened.

Ed bent to rest his head on his lover's shoulder, encircling him in a protective sort of frame with his arms. Everything had been going so well in the past year or so that he'd been back on this side of the Gate. All he wanted to do now was pull them away from the world and pretend nothing was wrong. Too bad life didn't work that way.

"We'll manage," he murmured to the sleeping form beneath him. "That's what we always do."