A Sailboat to Cross a Puddle

"I'm getting wet."

Roy glances down and Ed proffers a damp sleeve, complete with a blaming scowl. Shifting the umbrella, Roy moves closer. "Better now?"

"No. Why can't I hold the umbrella?"

"Because it would be awkward. You'd have to walk on your tip-toes to cover me." Roy smiles and braces himself for the outburst.

"WHO'S SO SHORT HE NEEDS A SAILBOAT TO CROSS A PUDDLE!?"

A few people stare and Roy mildly considers waving to them. He can't help but chuckle at the mental image Ed's provided him and Ed stomps forward, out of the umbrella's arcing protection.

Roy catches the young alchemist's coat, tugging him back. "You come up with worse jokes than anyone could dare to make about you."

"You provoked me."

"You're easily provoked," responds Roy.

"Give me the umbrella."

Roy relents, passing the umbrella to a surprised Ed. Then, with a smirk, Roy curls his fingers in Ed's belt loops and hoists him over a puddle. "Wouldn't want to lose you," he laughs, moving out of range.

Ed growls and flings the umbrella back at Roy, who catches it easily. They stare each other down for a moment, Ed's expression full of danger and Roy's of quiet amusement. Rain drips off the boy's nose and finally Ed gives in, moving back to the safety that is Roy and his umbrella.

"I'm cold," he grumbles.

"How about a hot bath when we get home?" suggests Roy, enjoying the sultry grin Ed tosses him.

A shivering mass of a man stops in front of them and, as they attempt to step around, unearths a gun. Roy's hand is on Ed's shoulder instantly, clutching fabric and dragging the young boy back.

"Give me your wallet." The man's voice is shaky, and so are his hands. The gun jitters in his grasp—it considers Roy before settling on Ed, hovering in a chest-bound trajectory.

Ed is unhesitating; he rips the umbrella from his lover's hand, catching the Roy's hair and taking strands with it. Roy puts a hand to the tender patch but he's distracted from the pain by the brilliant and ridiculous scene that is Ed beating a would-be mugger with an open umbrella.

The man is sprawled across the ground in seconds, gun abandoned in the search for safety; he covers his head with his hands, shielding himself from Ed's vicious sweeps. Roy considers stopping the young alchemist, but Ed seems to be enjoying himself so he lets Ed carry on for a few minutes until the wet stickiness of his clothes becomes annoying.

"Full Metal, let him be."

Ed is positively joyous, wielding the destroyed umbrella like a sword. He grins at Roy, too much like a modern warrior, all wet hair and careless attitude. Roy shrugs in the rain and bends down to retrieve the gun; sensing a chance for freedom, the mugger surges to his feet, knocking Roy to the pavement. Ed is on him in seconds. A metal cage leaps from the ground, encasing the startled thief.

"That bath is looking better by the moment, huh?"

Roy grasps Ed's outstretched hand, hoisting himself from the puddle. He hates how Ed can look so happy when he's soaked through and freezing cold. Wrapping an arm around Ed's shoulder, Roy leads him in the direction of home.

"What about the guy?"

Roy's tone carries no sympathy. "Leave him."

Home is relief; they shed their second skins in the doorway, leaving sopping lumps of shirts and socks on the tiled foyer. They sit face-to-face in the tub, letting the hot water fill in around them. It burns their frozen skin; Ed monitors the taps, slowly raising the temperature until they've defrosted.

Roy finds himself brooding; he sits in silence, tracing the lines of Ed's chest as the young alchemist slicks shampoo into his hair. He likes the feel of Ed's hands, both of them, from the curves of Ed's nails to the smoothness of his metal fingers. Ed brushes over the tender spot and Roy thinks about the man, the potential for danger, and Ed's flippant attitude in the situation. He thinks about how it could have all gone wrong, how he could have lost those mismatched hands forever. A complaint rises, demanding its right to be voiced.

Ed dumps a cupful of water over Roy's head as he tries to speak. His words come out a garbled mess as he splutters, his mouth screwing up in disgust from the soap.

"Keep your eyes closed!" orders Ed, hurriedly washing more water over Roy's head.

Roy swipes a hand across his mouth, then across his eyes; he peers uncertainly through wet bangs. Ed is scowling at him, spiking up Roy's bangs with his hand. "Idiot."

"You're the idiot," snarls Roy, and Ed looks him, confused and bristling. "He had a gun!"

The confusion melts into surprise, then amusement. "This is why you've been brooding?"

"I haven't," says Roy, and he can still taste the soap on his tongue, mocking him. Ed doesn't reply. He's smirking, and Roy feels ridiculous but holds fast to his words because under the anger is justified fear.

Ed knows this in the way that Ed knows all irritating things about people that they never wish to share. He senses these things and collects them, and only sometimes respects them. Ed runs hot water into the cooling bath. "Jeez, you don't trust me at all."

"Trust has nothing to do with it," grumbles Roy, stroking the skin over Ed's heart. "It was a gun, damnit."

"Shut up," says Ed, grabbing Roy's hair in his fist and pulling the older man's face to his. "Shut up," he repeats, softer, and there's understanding in his voice and apology in his kiss.

Roy wonders how he can forgive Ed without Ed even saying sorry. But, he thinks, biting Ed's lip in rebuke, this is his sorry and so he lets it go. When Ed leans back, he's wearing a scowl at Roy's use of teeth; he scoffs, releasing Roy's hair and grabbing the conditioner.

"Keep your damn mouth shut this time," he orders, and Roy smiles because irritation means that Ed is happy.

"You owe me a new umbrella," he quips, enjoying the annoyance that flitters across Ed's face. And he knows how this will pan out: Ed will hotly refuse, but Roy will come home to a new umbrella by the coat rack and Ed's grumbles and neither of them will mention it.

It will stay between them, an amusing secret and warning reminder about sailboats crossing puddles and the remarkable versatility of an umbrella.