I've got a teaser for you all. I'm wondering if I should even bother writing it, so do please peruse and judge to your satisfaction, then 'Review' me your opinion, yeah?

Challenge: 2nd Person, Present Tense, EdxRoy (Honestly, second person, present tense written well is SO difficult to come by, and probably just as difficult to write!)

EDWARD

The price for you has always been high. Your desires always too great for a small sacrifice to suffice. What will you give this last time? You've nothing left to offer.

The all-seeing eye stares down at you, asking what it is you want and what you intend to give in return. You glare up at it, hating it even now, and murmur your promise of Equivalent Exchange. It accepts your terms and opens to you, allowing you to carry the child through the portal unharmed. As you walk, you feel those dark hands probing your mind, grasping at your memories, taking from you the knowledge it had first given you, leaving you with all but the simplest form of alchemy at your disposal. Unfortunately, you would have no knowledge of your potential. The last vestiges of memory flit away as you land with a bang into the world you never dreamed you'd see again. You hear the phantom remnant of a voice that is bitingly familiar, and the words bring with them a certain dread. Exactly why you have already forgotten.

So be it.

You awaken to find yourself surrounded by rubble from the explosion, laying on a cold stone floor beneath a church you recognise all too well. The memory stirs at the back of your mind. You know this place—you fought here, but you don't remember why. You sit up slowly, groaning as strained muscles are forced to move against their will. You scramble for the last bits of memory you can recall, checking your head for injuries. You were in the midst of that dog fight with the soldiers when you clapped instinctively—though you've no idea why—and suddenly appeared here. You look around you to see faint lines of what appears to be a circle—perhaps one used for this world's religious rituals; you'd forgotten what you used to know. It looks familiar, and yet you are certain you have never seen such an array in your life. Sudden panic seizes you as you realise your arms are empty. Surely you hadn't—!

Hearing a cry to your left, you turn to see Maria—still nestled in her blankets—laying but a metre away from you and relax. Hurriedly, you scoop her up into your arms, cooing to calm her as you pat her back gently. Your gold eyes scan the area for the bodies of the soldiers you'd been fighting with before appearing here. Seeing none of them and no other threats, you search about for a means of escape, and realise you are underground; the smell of old and musty stone tickling your nostrils. You spot the stairs and turn toward them, hesitating.

'Well, luv, what shall we do now?' You whisper to the child pressed tightly to you and wrack your thoughts for the answer to your own question. You remember enough of Amestris that you are certain you are beneath Central. Unless he had moved, your...previous lover should still live here. You could always ask him for help, but...four years is a long time. 'What do you think: will he still be single?'

Your thoughts begin to whorl as dark eyes and ebony hair framing pale, Xingan features come to mind. You'd been gone four years, but never once had you forgotten him. He lay always in the back of your mind, even as you worked and built a life for yourself in Munich. You still love him; and you are fully aware of your feelings as you walk out of the church and into the rain, roaming in the direction of his house—or where it used to be. The rain beats rhythmically on the pavement as you step in time with the melody of the storm raging above you, careful to protect the small child you fully intend to care for as your own.

You reach his property and note that the car is the same and the letterbox's nameplate hadn't been changed since you left. Upon reaching the porch, you stop, hesitating once again as your prayers of seeing him after all this time wither and die, reality biting harshly at your lonely heart. It had been four years since you'd left without any excuse, and now you regret coming to see him. It had been four years. Your lover—whatever he is now—is quite the catch, you know that; and it would not surprise you at all if he had found someone else during your extended absence. Charming, loving, and warm, and everything you'd ever wanted in a life-long partner...he could very well have his own family by now—one in which you would have no place. That thought nearly made you turn around to seek help elsewhere. Surely he had found someone else.

But...

You stand still before his door, eyeing the familiar wood you had been pressed into those late nights when you went to greet him after a long day's work, the passionate, dark-haired man deciding to kiss you senseless rather than let you speak. For all you know, he had spent the last four years just as you had—horribly alone and yearning constantly for your touch. Either way, whether he wanted you or not, you wouldn't have your answer if you merely stood there at his door, shivering in the cold as the water soaking your clothes dripped onto the cement beneath you, adding to the small puddle already formed as you had dithered on his doorstep. Shrugging your hopes and concerns aside, you raised your right fist, the metal a dark steel in the absence of the moon's light—hidden behind the clouds, and knocked decidedly on the painted wood, bracing yourself for whatever response you would be met with.

ROY

You eye the tumbler warily as the hall clock strikes two in the morning, knowing you shouldn't—any more and you will be quite useless in the case of an emergency—but your fingers curl around the small glass of their own accord and you sip it religiously, remembering that person you had resolved to wait for, that withered flame flares up again, eating away at the edges of your heart. The rain pounds heavily on your roof, shattering the would-be silence and your thoughts continue that endless, too-familiar circle. You recognise the emotion consuming you easily enough—it is one that often keeps you company many a night as you await his return: that bone-deep, aching loneliness. Your bed, once shared as he lay contented by your side, trading murmured assurances and whispered confessions, felt empty now—haunting.

The lack of that bright spirit in your home left you feeling constantly bereft. Even now, still, there were reminders of him everywhere. The closet held several articles of his clothes, his toothbrush still took up space in the cup beside the sink, and his favourite mug still sat in the cupboard above the stove. It is a kind of torture, you suppose—to constantly remind yourself what you lost in that last battle, yet your feelings...

You jerk out of your reprieve at a blunt knock at your door. It echoes faintly, as if the object hitting it were metal. The barrel of a gun—Hawkeye, perhaps—Alex's knuckles...a State Alchemist watch, even. Maybe Al had come to pay a visit. Though, you pause, if it was Al, he would at least have had the decency to call ahead, regardless of the hour. His brother wouldn't have, though. Perhaps...could it be...? No. As if that was even a possibility. You reprove yourself for even considering that he may have returned. As much as you live for that day, it had been four years already, and there was more and more of a chance as each year passed that he was never coming back to them. At that thought, your heart clenches painfully. You hate thinking about the likelihood of his death, and repress your emotions with a snarl directed internally. You have no reason to suppose he isn't living a perfectly fine life on the other side of that gate. And if he is happy, well...you could certainly make do somehow.

It was nights like these you missed him the most, and this kind of thing—this phantom knocking—was not exactly beyond the product of your weary mind and the compilation of your memories of him. Hearing no noise from the porch other than the constant pattering of rain, you check off all those impossibilities, dismissing it as a projection of your desperate wish. Suddenly, the knock sounds again, louder and more insistent this time, and you turn toward the door. One knock may well be the result of your fatigued heart—your sincere desire to see him safe with you, but a second? Hardly as likely. You begin to think about the possibilities again, even as you make your way to the door: any man from your unit would have—in the case of an emergency—burst in through the door once the first knock had gone unanswered, so you doubt it was any of them. You had neglected to date any women since he'd disappeared—something your men had duly noted—and Elysia and Gracia had moved to a city farther east, so that it was them was unlikely. And Maes...well; Maes was gone.

Still not having the slightest notion who could be standing outside you door, you open it carefully, one hand pressed to the wood where you had sketched a defensive array, hoping you wouldn't be forced to trigger it. You are in no condition to be trading blows with an opponent—even the worst would surely win with how drunk you are at the moment—besides, it is really too late to be caught up in any kind of scuffle. As the rose-coloured door swings inside, you get a good look at the person standing on your step. Your heart beat falters as you set eyes on the man you never thought you'd see again.

His hair, still a shimmering blonde, slithers in defiant locks over his shoulders, dripping rainwater onto the concrete in front of you door, and his clothes are completely soaked. He holds a small, fairly-dry bundle of cloth protectively against his chest, and you can't even spare a thought for what it must be. You are too captivated by his eyes, which seem to take in all of you, weighing your health by your appearance before settling on your face, softening as he realises your gaze is just as desperate and hopeful as his. He smiles at you, ever so tenderly, and you are very much aware of your body's state of shock. You gape, your mouth quite useless and dry as your hand slides off the array to hang nonchalantly by your side. Seeing you so helpless to speak, he goads you:

'Well? Going to let me in or not? I won't rust, but the wet is not good for my automail, you know.' And you notice he's shivering, though the tremors are slight, and you can see the tension in his muscles, betraying his uncertainty of how he will be received.

'Fullmetal...' Your voice cracks as you try to speak past the lump in your throat, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your pride is sufficiently smothered. For the first time in four years, you are overcome with a serene deep-set peace upon seeing him home, safe, and alive. Your hands move of their own accord again as they reach out to wrap around him and pull him into your embrace, hugging him tightly against your chest. You drop your head to his shoulder and murmur his name repeatedly—the mantra your heart cannot help but sound. You feel the shift of his muscles as he slides one arm up to tangle his hand in your hair, holding you in place and keeping you just as close.

'Edward.' If he feels the drops adding to his drenched cloak—testaments of your state of joy, he doesn't say anything, and you wouldn't mind even in he did, because now, in this one moment, everything is right in the world. Because now, after years of waiting—endlessly praying—your wish has been granted. Because here, on your step, soaked to the bone and beautiful as can be stands the one person you would have traded anything to have in your life again. Because tonight, your bed will no longer be a gaping, empty hole. Because somehow, of his own accord, Edward had found his way back to Amestris—

—back to you.

EDWARD

You start in surprise when Roy grabs hold of you and presses his face into the junction between your shoulder and neck, pulling you tightly to him. Whatever response you have been expecting, this was never what you'd imagined. All thoughts of Roy having found himself a wife in your absence fled at the faint feel of tears blending with the rainwater to better help wet your clothes. He murmurs your name reverently, almost as if he is afraid you will disappear on him again, and you simply must touch him. Minding the small body sheltered in your right arm, you reach up with your flesh hand to thread your fingers into your lover's dark, ebony locks, feeling an unexpected swelling of an emotion you have no name for. It catches in your throat as you hug him tightly, and a few tears escape your own eyes, unbidden though they are.

He pulls back, deeply inhaling your scent before he leans in to kiss you. His lips meet your waiting ones and, though you are desperate for his taste, you pull away almost immediately, realising the two of you are standing quite obviously on his doorstep. If anyone were to look out a window or pass by on the street, they would see you sharing affection, and this reunion was meant only for you and Mustang to witness. Roy looks confused, almost hurt and you shake your head reassuringly before pushing him gently into the house, locking the door securely behind you. Neither of you had any reason to be going out again tonight—not in this weather, and not in this circumstance.

In a quick movement, you have Roy pinned against the door and kiss him fiercely. He responds in kind, pulling you ever closer as he dips inside your mouth to taste you, causing you to shiver at the feel of his tongue wrestling with yours, pulling it into his mouth and sucking it gently. You moan quietly into the kiss and he wraps his arm around your waist to keep you there, secure and safe as he continues his ministrations, his hand on your waist burning through your thin shirt and setting your nerves on fire. The sensations—a mix of lust and gentleness—become overwhelming and you break the kiss with a gasp, lungs screaming for air. Roy hugs you tightly, not paying the bundle in your arms a smidgen of attention as he held you close.

'Roy...' You begin as a warning, but Mustang only tightens his arms around you. 'Roy!' And you hit him. He pulls back immediately, rubbing his head.

'What the hell was that for?' He demands, angered.

'You were squashing her.' You look down at the beautiful child to make sure she is still asleep, grateful that she is. Ignoring Roy for the moment, you walk inside and set the sleeping baby girl down on the couch near the fireplace before turning to face the dark-haired man. He looked confused now, seeing Maria swaddled in the thin material.

'Whose-?'

'Her name is Maria. Her mother was a gypsy who'd been bought into slavery. She—Noa—conceived... unexpectedly.'Your eyes narrow as you remember exactly how the dark girl had found herself with child. If you had been able to get your hands on that bastard before the law had, he would be more than dead. 'I was able to help her escape, but there were too many complications. I don't remember the circumstances, exactly, but Noa left her to me when she was killed.' You touch the little girl's forehead, feeling how cool it is and move toward the fire as Roy continues to try and wrest the story from you.

'Killed? Why would someone kill a gypsy? They are entertainers, aren't they?' You nod in response.

'I don't remember, unfortunately. But the soldiers didn't follow me into this world, so, hopefully, I've left the danger behind me this time.' You search the mantle for a match or flint, but find nothing. 'Where's the matches? I don't want her catching cold.' Roy smiles.

'Don't tell me you've already forgotten my speciality?' You watch as Roy moves toward the fireplace and sets his hand over a circle you'd thought was a decorative design. In a flash of red light, roaring flames appear out of nowhere, beginning their meal of burnt wood. You stare at it in amazement. How did Roy do that? When did he learn that power? And how did that fire just appear behind the grate? Unable to keep the questions inside, you force yourself to voice the most important.

'How did you do that?'

'How...? Honestly, Edward. Despite all your jokes about me being lazy, you are perhaps the only on left alive who knows how hard I worked for my title.'

'Title...?' You are tempted to scratch the back of your head in a confused gesture, but halt your hand in time.

'Major General Roy Mustang: Flame Alchemist. I've been promoted more than once these past few years.' He pointed to the glove's back. 'That array is one of the first I designed, though. And it's certainly been used well.'

'Array?'

'The circle. You know them. You use them, too, though far less than I. Always envied you, that, despite how you managed to gain that particular talent.' Roy paused, seeing only your confusion, and you see the reality hit him. 'Do you really not remember?' You shake your head in a negative response.

Something dawns on Roy's face as an idea surfaces. 'Touka koukan,' he mutters softly.

'What?' You strain your ears to hear him.

'Touka koukan. Equivalent Exchange. The law of all alchemy in this world. To gain something, you must surrender something of equal value.' He looks at you, still pondering his theory. 'It took your knowledge of alchemy from you, didn't it? The gate. As payment.' Something stirs at the back of your mind—an image of a large, brown door dripping with dense shadows. Was that the gate Roy meant?

'Perhaps. I can't remember.' Something darkens in Roy's expression, but you can't read it well enough to understand.

'We'll see about that.'