Bragging Rights

Part 3 from Bragging Rights and Other Stories

Disclaimer: I do not own part or parcel of Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter, or any of their affiliated companies.

Roy Mustang stumbled blearily from his bed trailing linens down the hall as he attempted to navigate the way to the telephone. He fumbled the receiver into his hands on the third try, and even managed to scrape out a croaking "Hello?" from the pit somewhere below his diaphragm.

"Roy? Pssssssssst! Roy…"

He blinked down at the receiver; looked up to the clock on the wall and stared blankly until the face of it blurred into comprehension. He goggled back down at the phone in his hand.

"Maes, it is two in the morning. Why are you whispering into my phone at two a.m.?"

"I need your held - hell? - help! I need your help!" A frisson of icy fear sizzled up and down Roy's spine as he became suddenly, painfully alert.

"Where are you Maes?"

"I didn't - I don't, I just… What do I do? He -"

Roy attempted to moderate the frustration in his tone. "Maes. Where are you -"

"He said 'Dada', Roy."

Roy's brain, already strenuously tripping along at half capacity from being woken in the middle of the night, came full-stop.

"What." He growled into the phone. "You jackass! It's two in the bloody morning, I've had exactly that many hours of sleep, so if you would please -"

"Harry said it, though. He called me 'Dada' and it's only been five weeks…"

Roy pressed his head into the cool plaster wall and groaned, because the voice on the other end of that line was unquestionably despondent.

"Oh…kay? So why are you whispering?"

"I don't want to wake him up, he's - heh - he's sleeping like a baby. Pffffffft. Are you still there? Roy? Are you listening?"

Sure, Roy was listening. He was also starting to notice the slurring. This bizarre phone call was beginning to make a (very little, piddling, in fact) bit more sense. He muttered, more to himself, "You're really drunk dialing me, Maes? Why are you drunk - how are you drunk? Since when do you keep anything in that flat of yours to even get you drunk?"

The slurring thickened like the plot in a pulp novel.

"S'a - S'a special occasion. S'pposed to be special, right?"

Roy straightened up from the wall and tried to inject a bit of command into his voice.

"Right. Stay where you are. Don't move from that spot. Hold on - you are actually at home, aren't you?"

He tapped on the curve of the receiver anxiously as Maes hummed on the other end of the line. "Pretty sure s'my flat - my sofa, at least. Still has that funny spot on the corner where you totally, accidentally, not-on-purpose set it on fire when -"

"Alright," Roy interrupted, "Do. Not. Move. From that spot. I'll be there in five minutes."

Maes murmured something like assent over the phone and Roy finally settled the receiver back on the cradle. He scavenged around the base of his bed for the trousers he'd heaped on the floor, tossed on a button-up and left it open over his sleep shirt, and hurried to the shoe stand by the front door. He fumbled his keys, wand, and wallet into his pockets and stamped bare feet into a pair of shoes he didn't bother tying up, spun haphazardly on one heel and hoped for the best as he disaparated.

Moments later there was a pop of displaced air, and Roy was suddenly trying to catch himself from tripping on his laces and falling nose first into Maes' hall closet door.

Attempting to keep his voice low - there was a sleeping toddler somewhere about - he hissed out for his friend until finally spotting him in the living room, seated cross-legged on the floor and leaning against the wall by the telephone. A bottle of amber liquid sat half-full on his left side, and an open shoebox full of photos was nestled in his lap. The man's glasses were pushed up into his hair, and his expression when he squinted up at Roy was both wretched and myopic.

Roy blew out a breath and drew one hand through his unkempt hair before striding over to slide down the wall and sit next to Maes. Plucking the bottle from the man's hands gave himself something to do with his own while attempting to sort out what to say and how to say it. He examined the label, did a double-take and actually read it, and whistled lowly in appreciation.

"Where'd you manage to get hold of something this nice?"

Maes smiled absently. "Was a Christmas present, if you know what I mean."

Roy snorted. "Of course she'd give you the good stuff…" Shrugging, he took a swallow off of the bottle. He blinked - took another swallow, because really, it wasn't fair that she'd give out the good stuff to his friends when she wouldn't give it to him, and finally set the bottle down on his other side - out of Maes' reach.

"Alright. Explain to me why, exactly, Harry calling you 'dad' has you cracking open a bottle of my Mother's favorite single malt."

Maes jabbed clumsily (painfully) at Roy's arm with one finger.

"Dada, Roy."

"Right… Dada, then." Roy paused for another pull of whisky. "Remember that in the morning Maes, because I'm never saying it again. She'll never forgive me for letting you drink this without a glass, by the way. Just so we're clear."

Maes only shrugged morosely. "All the ice melted in my glass, and then the icebox was too far away."

"Mmhm. So - I don't understand. You adopted him, right? So isn't it kind of expected that he'd probably call you that? Eventually?"

Maes sighed and knocked the back of his head against the wall (and Roy winced because the man was drunk and that had sounded a lot harder than the gesture generally called for).

"I've only had Harry for five weeks. He shouldn't - well. Oh!" Shooting forward suddenly, he began combing haphazardly through the box in his lap. "I've never shown you a picture of my cousin - here."

Roy nearly knocked his own head into the wall leaning back as Maes shoved a handful of pictures about a millimeter away from his nose. Taking them to examine at a proper distance and - oh.

"Oh." and then, because he couldn't stop himself from pointing out something so inane, "Kid's going to have a hell of a time with hair like that."

"He thinks I am his dad."

Roy leaned back against the wall, propping his elbows up on his knees as Maes continued.

"So. He's not even two yet. And one night something horrible happens to him and he wakes up the next morning in an unfamiliar place. He's just left there, and - oh god what if some part of him remembers?"

"And - and he's so smart! So smart - pretty soon he's going to ask about his mother. She was in the room with him when she was killed, you know? How do I explain that no, she can't come back, and that no, actually, your dad didn't come back, that I'm not him? What if I give him abandonment issues? What if he has abandonment issues already? He's so sweet - and so smart! Did I tell you? When we were at the park this weekend - oh! Hold on, I've got the pictures somewhere -"

Roy smacked his shoulder for attention when Maes began patting down his pajamas for more photos.

"Hey - show me tomorrow. You were trying to make a point, so let's hear that."

Maes blinked at him. "The point?"

Roy nodded.

"Oh…" Maes' shoulders sagged. "Right, so. He's James and Lily's son, right? But they're not here, and I'm not James, and I know Harry is going to be such a great kid, so - so I just. I can't help feeling guilty - it's as if I'm taking something away from his parents. You know? When he said that, I couldn't help but wonder…do I have the right to be proud of that? Textbook hubris right there, isn't it - as if I can just fill those shoes?"

Roy rolled his lips together between his teeth. He really wasn't equipped to deal with this situation - this was why he relied on Maes. He very nearly palmed his face, because 'what would Maes say to Maes' was an absurd train of thought that he was about to roll with anyway.

Roy spoke carefully at first. Drunk, depressed logic was circular, and there was a bit of a trick to thinking around it enough to pull another person out.

Roy would know. Maes and Riza had pulled him out of it often enough.

"So… do you want him?" It took his friend a moment to catch up to the question.

"What?"

"Do you. Want. Harry? Do you want the kid? Or is this going to be a deal breaker? I don't think anyone would blame you if it was too much, you know? You're young. Your career is pretty fresh, and maybe having a creche at the office helps, but you're not married, so it's not as if you have any spousal support either." Roy ticked his points off on his fingers.

"Yes." Maes breathed, as if Roy were mad, "Of course I want him Roy, how could you even ask me that?"

He smirked. "There you go, then."

Maes' brows drew together in confusion.

"Look - you're the one that wants him. Congratulations, Harry is your responsibility. You deserve every sticky, fluffy-headed bit of him, you see? This means you've got to be the one who, I don't know - teaches him things. How to shave, taking pictures, cactus gardening, whatever it is you think he should know, the kid will depend on you for that."

Maes snorted. "Cactus gardening, really?"

"Don't act like you've never met my mother - just. Look. I'm sure your cousin was brilliant and all, but as you've already pointed out - he's not here anymore. You're here. You're not taking anything away from either of his parents at this point. Your cousins probably had all sorts of dreams and plans and whatever else they wanted for Harry - but we can't know what those were and you can't recreate them anyway. And you shouldn't be trying. You don't have to be James, just be you."

Roy hummed in thought a moment. "Maybe… maybe don't think of it as deserving. Think of it as earning. You'll be doing all the hard work, you earn the right to brag about the results."

He chuckled. "Careful, you're going to start using alchemy analogies next."

"Well - sure!" Roy put in enthusiastically, "It's equivalent - you do everything you can so that he grows up into a decent human being, so you earn the bragging rights! That is equivalent exchange, right there! Probably. And… I don't think you're going to give him any kind of complex. He's little, small kids are supposed to be adaptable. And adoptable. Or…something." Roy clapped Maes on the shoulder.

Maes looked somewhat dubious at the poorly worded comfort but smiled anyway.

Roy jerked suddenly awake, head pounding as he gradually remembered that he'd tucked into Maes' sofa rather than splinching himself attempting to get home. He spent some moments blinking away the confusion of sleep, and only realized what must have woken him when intermittent childish giggles bubbled up from behind the arm of the sofa he'd propped his feet on.

The child giggled again, and Roy pressed his face into the cushion and groaned. It was so. Very. Tempting. Just the thought of picking the little mite up and tossing him onto Maes while the man was still in bed was immensely appealing…

"Arghh - alright! Come out, I know you're there." He grouched as he sat up, resigned to not getting anymore sleep. A flash of green eyes peaked shyly at him from beneath truly atrocious bedhead around the corner of the sofa arm before ducking back to hide.

Oh god, it was too early for squealing.

"Shhhh! Are you hungry? If you keep it down, I'll feed you." Surely Harry wasn't too young for bribery? Roy's sisters had bribed him into good behavior often enough as a child. Harry finally came fully out from his hiding spot and toddled over to tug insistently on the leg of Roy's rumpled trousers.

"Where is Dada?"

There was no way any one human being could possess an air of such wide-eyed curiosity and innocence and not understand the principles of negotiation at the least, let alone emotional manipulation, surely? Very likely, Maes would have called it cute. Roy winced, thinking of why Maes had called him in the middle of last night, drunk. But - perhaps…

"You're - you're Papa is sleeping." He only stumbled a little over the phrasing, and repeating it in his head, thought it would suit Maes well.

Harry tilted his head curiously, clearly disseminating this new piece of information. And wasn't that a terrifying thought, all on its' own? He shivered; if watching them think was this terrifying, Roy was determined never to procreate.

"…Dada..?" the boy asked slowly, hesitantly. Roy bent down and gingerly picked the toddler up, hands wrapped around his waist. He held him rather awkwardly at arms length and mustered up his most serious expression.

"Papa." He elongated the word for emphasis. "Your Papa." Harry blinked slowly at him, and after a thoughtful moment, grinned back at Roy in a way that was so eerily reminiscent of Maes' own cheeky one that there could be no doubt under who's roof this child belonged.

"Papa! Papa - Papa is shhhhhhh!" Roy grinned back.

This could definitely work.

Roy would admit that the hours he spent at the office, plus the hours he dedicated to the continuation of his esoteric and scientific studies, plus the time he dedicated to other, various pursuits had left little room in his schedule to devote to any culinary talent. But his cooking was not that terrible - only somewhat utilitarian.

"No!" Harry, captious little mite that he was, laughed at him, rather than eat one, single, spoonful of scrambled eggs. Roy threw up his hands in exasperation.

"No? No? You can't think to live on jam toast the rest of your life! At least one spoonful - you're already wearing most of it, you could do the decent thing and wear them on the inside as well." The spoonful of scramble was offered up once again, but the baby only threw up his arms, joyfully mimicking Roy's earlier posture. The flash of a camera caught them unawares.

He had been charitable enough to set a fresh pot of coffee to drip when the pipes began rattling from the direction of Maes' bedroom, but had been too focused on keeping the food off the walls and ceiling (and himself; Harry's aim was a bit wide) with the judicious use of cleaning charms, and actually trying to get food into Harry, and hadn't noticed when the water pipes had stilled. Maes was grinning mischievously from behind his camera in the doorway of the small kitchen.

"If that photo ever sees the light of day, I will set fire to every camera in your possession, don't think I won't."

Maes leaned on one shoulder in the doorway, smirking.

"But Roy, it's the only way I get the good gifts from your Mother."

Roy was about to toss back a pithy remark. At the sound of Maes' voice however, Harry turned halfway around in his highchair, wiggling delightedly.

"Papa! Papa here now!" he crowed and smacked his small palms on the table of his chair for emphasis. The effect was immediate; Maes looked like he'd been bowled over by a train. His face was melting into an altogether soppy expression and Roy wished he'd had a camera of his own.

"You heard the little martinet - don't just stand there, Papa."

"Papa!" Harry threw up his hands again and Roy had to dodge a bit of flying egg. Maes finally juddered into motion and quickly strode to Harry and kissed the crown of his head.

"Oh, Papa's here - my sweet boy! I'm so proud of you - did Uncle Roy teach you that?" The raw relief and gratitude in Maes' expression when he glanced across the table assured Roy that he'd done something right.

Author's Notes: Please read and review.