Author's Notes: This got so much longer than I anticipated that I'm not even sorry anymore. The moment I started writing about Ed and his thoughts concerning the mission and the team, the chapter ran away from me. This is way more parental!Royed than Royai, which will be focused on in the next two (and possibly last) chapters for this story arc, but I really enjoyed writing about Ed seeing Roy in a new and shocking light. I knew where I wanted to go with this, but couldn't think of a word for this letter – until I realized that I'm binge-watching a show tilted the perfect word for this chapter. Really, this chapter is inspired by that show. For references, this chapter is connected with G is for Generous, H is for Hero, and I is for Incendiary. Warning for violence! I wouldn't say it's graphic, but just in case.

J is for Justified

The hunt for the gunrunners that were supplying the Auregon insurgents started out painfully sluggish. Ed was forced to stand back as Mustang took the brunt of the verbal punishment from General Moore in those first few days. To be honest, it was kind of shocking. Besides Hawkeye chiding him every so often, Ed had never seen anyone treat Mustang the way that Moore treated him, so belittling and rude. How could anyone be right in treating someone in such a way? At first, it reminded him of the way that Mustang behaved with him sometimes, but then, he noticed that there was something lacking.

Ed wasn't going to say respect, but…

Mustang could be a total bastard and had a particular gift in pissing Ed off, but he was never downright cruel. He was an asshole, but he wasn't mean about it. Even when Ed knew that the man had to be angry with him for one reason or another, like when Ed exploded during the mission debriefing, Mustang did not treat him badly. Distant, sure, and maybe even cold, but there was no rage or disgust. Mustang teased and mocked and dismissed him, but there was always a silver lining of understanding that belied their interactions with one another.

Not like with Moore and Mustang. Moore clearly loathed Mustang in a way that made Ed realize that he honestly didn't. It was a disgruntling realization. When immediate results weren't produced, Moore had called Mustang out and yelled at him in front of everyone. It was painfully awkward, most of them looking away and Colonel Branson watching uneasily and waiting his turn. Ed was certain that Mustang would blow a gasket, considering no one talked to him like that, especially in front of others, but was surprised when Mustang silently stood there, a blank expression on his face, and just took it. Didn't even flinch or blink. When Moore was over, Mustang actually apologised.

Who in the hell was this guy? Because it certainly wasn't Colonel Bastard.

By the time day three rolled around, they had only managed to round of two small-time arms dealers and put them in custody. It was progress, but not at the speed that Moore desired. It had a terrible trickle-down result. The slower the progress, the angrier Moore became; the angrier Moore became, the more he took his rage out on Mustang; the more Mustang was harassed, the harder he pressed the team; the harder the team was pressed, the more tired and flustered they became; and the longer they felt like that with no relief in sight, the more they fought with one another. All of which helped produce smaller results in the mission.

Ed was irritated, exhausted, and hungry – but he was finally able to see that the fire Mustang was lighting under their asses to get the job done was nothing compared to what was under his.

Seeing Mustang in a new way was an interesting development that Ed honestly hadn't expected. On some level, he knew that his superior officer had to be good at his job to get where he was, not just a talented alchemist, but he had never seen how Mustang operated at work. Mostly Ed saw the man behind the desk, a smug smirk tugging at his lips, his aura so confident that it was almost suffocating. Now he was able to see the man in the field: an unflappable air hung around him that forced people to work, his face was set in a stoic manner that suggested he was serious, and perhaps there was an almost…dangerous glint in his eyes. Ed couldn't be sure. It varied during the day, made him want to shiver when he caught sight of it despite them being in the blistering sun.

It wasn't just Mustang that changed though. His team were surprising in themselves. They didn't change as much as Mustang did, but whereas Ed used to sometimes think of them as lackeys or careless, he saw that they were very much a team. Even when the pressure was on and they bit at one another, they still worked together.

Havoc was almost always the first person through every building they searched, sweeping through it as diligently as Hawkeye. Breda was tough and unrelenting when it came to interrogating the arms dealers or any suspects, twice working so long that he forgot to each lunch. Fuery rushed around at full speed to relay new information when it popped up, not even bothering to say hello. Ed didn't see Falman for almost two days until he stumbled across the man barely awake, an astounding pile of reports in front of him. Havoc cracked jokes still and Breda scarfed down his food and Fuery smiled and Falman rattled off random bits of knowledge – but the change was still there, like these new sides of them that Ed saw now were their shadows.

Out of everyone, Ed thought that Hawkeye changed the least. She was consistent in her behavior, in and out of the field. Whether she was at Mustang's side at HQ or out in the field with the team, she was hardworking and always there when she was needed. Ed thought maybe she was a little more stoic, keeping to herself a little more, but she still offered him a smile when they had a moment to breathe and she made sure to ask how his automail felt and if the sand was affecting Alphonse's movements any. He couldn't say why, but Hawkeye's consistency made him feel a little relieved. He didn't know what he'd do if she suddenly did a 180 like Mustang.

Probably explode, like Mustang looked fit to do right now, if not for the Hawkeye's hand on his elbow.

"If we go in guns blazing without a single clue about what's waiting for us on the inside, then someone is going to get killed," Mustang ground out with just barely manageable restraint. He had taken verbal beating after verbal beating for the past three days with remarkable calmness, but everyone had their breaking points. Ed hung behind him, arms folded, and watched as Hawkeye pulled her hand away from Mustang's elbow the second Moore turned back around to glare at him.

"This dragging your shoes routine is wearing thin, Mustang," Moore snapped, advancing on him. "Your man Fuery was able to corroborate Colonel Branson's intel. Felix Sarcozi is in there. According to the information Breda was able to gain from the two other dealers and evidence drawn out by Falman, he is at the top of the gun smuggling ring you were so desperate to topple." He stood just a foot in front of Mustang, practically towering over him. Nearly as tall as Major Armstrong, he would've cut an intimidating figure if Ed gave a damn. "This is your gambit, remember?"

"I remember, sir," Mustang barely managed to say. That dangerous glint was back in his eyes again. Moore must've been an even bigger idiot than Ed thought earlier to miss it. Even Ed felt the desire to take a step back, although he didn't. The day he was afraid of Mustang was the day he gave up on helping restore Alphonse back to his body. Never gonna happen.

Sensing trouble brewing, Colonel Branson stepped up, although he didn't look ecstatic at throwing himself into the middle of a fight between two very temperamental wolves. "The problem, sir, is that we don't know how many people are in there with Sarcozi. We only know of his cousin, Dupont, who just entered. This isn't some warehouse on the outskirts of town; it's his home in a residential area. We're more than likely going to step into a situation where innocent civilians are in the way. I think we'd all like to avoid as much collateral damage as possible."

Collateral damage. Ed grinded his teeth. These were people that they were talking about! How could anyone talk about humans so callously? Like they were debris that could be discarded?

"Anyone involved with a man like Sarcozi isn't innocent," Moore declared.

"Even his children?" Mustang countered. "The man has a boy and a girl. What if they're in there? His wife, brother, father? Are you suggesting that they should be condemned to death for the simple fact that they're related to him?"

Dust settled around them as the wind came to a foreboding halt. Everyone stood stock still as Moore and Mustang glared at one another. Branson rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down at the ground. Hawkeye kept her eyes on Mustang, as if her gaze alone could keep him from coming apart at the seams.

"Either you get the job done now, Mustang," Moore told him in a low voice, "or you're out and I can assure you that not only will you never make it past Colonel, but I'll see you demoted if it's the last thing I do and have your entire team transferred, Hawkeye and Fullmetal included."

When Mustang grinned, there was not a drop of humor in it. Instead, it cut across his face, sharp and terrifying like a shark's grin, and since after the first time meeting him, Ed didn't recognize Mustang at all. "I'm sure you'd like that, sir, but I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." His eyes were absolutely cold and dark and Ed found himself preferring the times when Mustang's eyes were filled with a hint of fire. "The job will get done, but don't threaten me with my team again or this mission will be the least of your worries."

Before Moore could even bluster at having just been threatened, Mustang strode away from him. Ed caught Hawkeye taking a quick breath, her eyes closed, before she followed him. Not wanting to be around Moore for any longer than he had to be, he connected eyes with the man briefly before shuttering away as quickly as possible. They had their places, after all, and if this gun runner's extraction was about to be carried out, he wasn't supposed to be near Moore anyways.

No, his place was with Mustang, another surprising and irritating twist.

So far in this trip, every time they ventured out of HQ and made a bust, Ed was always required to be with Mustang. He had no clue why the man was keeping him on such a tight damn leash, but he never had the time to question it. The moment he opened his mouth to complain or protest, Mustang dismissed him or left. For keeping Ed so close, Mustang was acting extremely distant. It was weird as hell.

As he squatted and watched the suspect's house, Ed hoped Al was having more fun than him back at South HQ. He was silently grateful that his brother hadn't been allowed to join him, although jealous of the fact at the same time. Al wasn't the State Alchemist though. He was just a child, according to the military, whereas Ed was a soldier. He didn't feel like a soldier - had so far even avoided being put in a uniform like Moore wanted - but he wasn't a kid anymore either. He thought about the suspect's children, a boy of six and a girl of three.

What if they were in that house?

Glancing up at Mustang, Ed noted his clenched jaw, his fists hanging at his sides. They were both gloved with his special ignition gloves, although one held his service weapon. Out of everyone, Ed was the only person not carrying a weapon. When Moore had tried to force one on him the first day, it had taken everything in him to not punch the man and storm back to the train station. Hawkeye said that one should only ever point a weapon at someone if they intend to shoot – and there was no way in hell he was going to shoot anyone. Only Mustang pointing out that it would be more dangerous to give Ed a gun, since he'd never gone to the firing range or attended the Academy, had gotten Moore off his back, even if it had given Moore ammunition to tell Mustang off even more.

"Do you have a visual on Sarcozi?" Hawkeye asked, the radio in her free hand.

"Negative," came the soft voice of Branson's adjutant, First Lieutenant Rivers, over the radio. Unlike normally, she was acting as the sniper in this mission, while Hawkeye and Havoc were on the ground. That had thrown Ed off slightly. He knew that Hawkeye was a sniper and that was the position she was normally given, but much like Ed, Hawkeye remained at Mustang's side at all times. "There is movement inside though. The curtains are drawn, but I see two figures in the living room area on the left side of the house, fifteen feet from the front door."

"Anyone else?" Branson questioned over the radio from his position behind the house.

"Not that I can see, but again, all the curtains are closed and I don't have a view of the bedrooms from this angle."

"Should've had another sniper set up," Mustang grumbled under his breath, mainly to himself. He had fought for that as well, but Moore had wanted every available man on the ground for the bust. "Damn that asshole."

Ed could honestly say that he had never heard Mustang curse once before this trip to South City, but now he seemed to be catching Mustang swear on a regular basis.

Taking the radio from Hawkeye, Mustang announced, "We're a go on the signal from Rivers – and remember, refrain from gunfire as much as possible. We need Sarcozi alive and I don't want any casualties. If we start firing, chances are they will too and people are likely to get caught in the crossfire."

The warning didn't need to be said, but it seemed to give a little peace to Mustang, even if he was as tense as a rubber band pulled to full capacity. Seconds of silence descended on them, Ed squirming in his position, Hawkeye focusing on the house, and– Did Mustang glance at him quickly or did he imagine it? A gentle beep over the radio later and Ed didn't have time to think about it as they rushed on the building simultaneously from multiple angles.

Ed's heart was hammering in his chest by the time they rushed up the stairs and burst into the house. Hawkeye kicked the front door open and swept inside, gun drawn first, just as Havoc came in through the back with Branson and one of his men. Shouts of, "Hands on your head!" and "Get down on the ground!" could be heard throughout the house as soldiers rushed inside.

Even though he remembered what he'd been told to do, Ed really didn't know what he was supposed to do. He had never been involved in a military mission like this before. Normally he just did things his own way and he always had Al to watch his back should things get messy. This was organized, clean cut, and clinical. It wasn't his world and he felt adrift in it as he moved through the house behind Mustang. Even though he had his ignition gloves, Mustang was choosing to use his gun, holding it out in front of him as naturally as Hawkeye.

Things went…well, all things considered. Having gotten the drop on them, none of the people in the house resisted arrest, choosing to comply quickly with the orders being shouted. There were three men lying face first on the ground in the living room when Ed stepped inside with Mustang and Hawkeye. Their guns sat innocently on the coffee table, out of their reach.

"Where is Sarcozi?" Mustang demanded. When none of them answered, he pressed a foot down on one man's hand, though not hard enough to hurt him. "Where is he?"

"He's not here!" the man exclaimed.

"That's a lie and we both know it." Mustang jammed his foot down hard on the man's hand, making him howl in pain, and asked again, "Where is he?"

Ed jumped forward, going to grab Mustang and pull him off, but Hawkeye stopped him. "What the hell, Mustang? You're gonna break his hand!"

"I haven't – not yet," Mustang replied coldly.

When Mustang lifted his foot up, moving to slam it down harder, the man exclaimed, "In the cellar! There's a trap door in the back room under the bed!" Instead of Mustang's foot did not land on the man's hand, it landed gently on the ground near his fingers. Ed stared at Mustang in horror as the man swept out of the room and then jerked out of Hawkeye's grip. She looked at him like she knew something that he didn't, a glimmer of apology on her face, but he ignored it and followed Mustang to make sure he didn't hurt anyone else.

Who was this guy?

They broke into the cellar, calling out those same warnings from earlier, only to find their suspect, Sarcozi, holding a gun to a small boy's head. The child was crying. Ed froze, eyes wide, nearly stumbling on the last step. It was Sarcozi's own son.

"Put the gun down, Sarcozi!" Mustang ordered, pointing his own weapon.

Sarcozi shook his head. The boy cried more, pleading with his papa, asking what he did wrong. "Get out! Leave! I'm not going in! I can't! They'll kill me if they even think I talked!"

"Who will kill you?" Mustang questioned. He took a step forward, but halted when Sarcozi's gun clicked. "Put the gun down. We can offer you protection. There is still a way out of this."

The boy's words bounced around in Ed's head. He didn't know what to do. Why was Sarcozi doing this? Why was he using his own child as a shield, threatening his life in order to save his own? That wasn't what parents did. Parents protected their children, loved them, held them. That was what their mother had done. And…hadn't Mustang been trying to protect Ed through all of this? Ed could vaguely see it now – the way Mustang shielded him from certain things, kept a close eye on him, made sure he was never put in a position that went against his personal beliefs.

"You bastard!" Ed shouted. "He's your son! Let him go! He's innocent!"

"You're right; he is innocent," Sarcozi said. "It is better we die now than later."

He raised his gun, pointing it directly at Ed.

Too many things happened at once. Even though he knew it would be too late, Ed clapped his hands together and went to create a wall in between him and Sarcozi. Two gunshots rang in the air. Before Ed could even complete his alchemy transmutation, someone plowed into him, knocking him into the ground. In the confusion, the lamp giving light was kicked over and darkness enveloped the room. There was scuffling, grunting, and another gunshot, wood debris and dust falling over top of him.

However, as Ed pulled himself to his feet, he felt someone roughly grab him from behind and jerk him back. When he went to complain and pull away, the person changed their hold on him, lifting him entirely off the ground, so that he couldn't bring his hands together, and he knew that the person holding him wasn't on the same side.

"Sir! Lieutenant!" Havoc yelled down at them. Light flooded the room again as more people rushed down. He skidded to a halt when he moved the light to where Ed was being held.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Ed couldn't stop himself from blinking and flinching away from the bright light as he grumbled, "Damnit, Havoc, move that thing to the side."

"Let Sarcozi go," the man holding him captive demanded. He pressed something cold and metal against Ed's temple. Ed tried not to keep his breathing steady. In all his time with the military so far, he'd never had a gun pointed at him before, much less one pressed right up against him. "Or the kid gets a bullet to the brain."

It looked like something out of a movie. In front of him was a mess of people. Hawkeye was in the forefront, her gun aimed in their direction, a deadly serious look on her face. Could she shoot this guy while he was hiding behind Ed and holding him hostage? Would she? Havoc also had his gun trained on him after putting his flashlight on the ground. Breda and one of Branson's men had hold of Sarcozi, who was bleeding from a gunshot to his arm, while Branson protectively held Sarcozi's son against his chest.

And then there was Mustang standing completely still, his gun at his side. A bit of blood trickled from the side of his head and Ed realized suddenly that it was Mustang that had thrown himself in Ed and knocked him out of the way. The bullet must've grazed him.

"You can't possibly think you or Sarcozi are getting out of this," Mustang said in a strangely detached voice. Ed tried to read the emotions in the older alchemist's eyes, but he had a difficult time with all the flashlights pointing at him. Mustang looked more like a demon than a person in this moment, his figure dark and foreboding, like he could crawl out of the shadows. Ed couldn't see well, but he knew that dangerous glint was back in Mustang's eyes now, this time full blown. "The question is what state you'll be in when you're taken out of the house."

"What do you mean?" the man questioned.

Mustang tilted his head slightly. "We need Sarcozi alive. We don't need you."

"I'll kill him!"

"And then we kill you. It'd be foolish to throw away your only bargaining chip like that."

Ed squirmed, glaring back down at Mustang. He better not kill anyone! Ed didn't care if it was his life in danger. He didn't want anyone dying because of him.

"So what'll it be?" Mustang asked.

The man licked his lips. "Back off" – his gun clicked, putting a bullet in the chamber – "or I'll kill–"

It was almost casual – the way Mustang lifted his gun and shot the man right in the head.

Ed sputtered as warm blood splattered on his side, falling down in shock as the man's grip slackened on him. He staggered when his feet hit the ground, toppling forward, and only didn't collapse because of Hawkeye rushing to catch him. Her hands on him were solid and comforting, nothing at all like that asshole's, but he felt the urge to pull away from her as he watched her holster her weapon.

People moved around them as the scene was cleared. Hawkeye led Ed out of the basement, never letting go of him, m

Did that man really have to die in order for Ed to live? Was it right? Was it wrong?

Ed found himself sitting down on the couch as soldiers walked around and ignored him. They let him sit down and do nothing while they did all the work. He hollowly noticed Rivers and Havoc walking out a woman and two children, but said nothing, couldn't barely think of anything. He thought about Sarcozi's son. The gun pressed to his head. The gun pressed to Ed's head. The bullet going through his captor's head.

Hawkeye swam back into his vision, sitting down next to him and pressing a wet towel against him. He noted the white towel slowly turning red as she washed the blood off of him. "Edward?"

She didn't ask him if he was okay, didn't ask how he felt, merely prompted him to speak – but he didn't know what to say, didn't even know how he felt or if he was okay. He was okay, wasn't he? He wasn't hurt. People had tried to hurt him before, even kill him, and he always bounced back quickly. Never really bothered him before. Some people were just plain bad.

When Mustang stepped into the room though, Ed locked eyes onto him. "You shot him," he said, his throat feeling raw, like the words were choking him. Mustang stopped, didn't say anything, just looked back at him. The dangerous look in his eyes was gone, replaced with a coldly distant look that Ed had come to associate with him over the past few days. "You killed him."

"The shooting was justified," Mustang said, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. Ed didn't know that anyone could sound like that.

"Justified? Justified?" Ed took a ragged breath and then leaped to his feet. "How can killing anyone be justifiable? It's murder, is what it is!"

Mustang didn't back down. Ed expected a dark look to come over his face, a flash of anger in his eyes, but nothing like that happened. He was as blank as stone. "Then I'm a murderer, I suppose." His black eyes remained locked on Ed's golden ones. He didn't seem ashamed at all for what he'd done, but Ed couldn't imagine that he didn't feel at least a tiny bit of regret. How could he follow a man that didn't feel guilty over ending a life?

"I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hero," Ed snarled, fists forming at his sides. Mustang had saved his life, hadn't he? But at the cost of another's. It was like a bastardized version equivalent exchange. No, no, it couldn't be. That man's life in return for his own… No, equivalent exchange didn't work like that - it couldn't. Ed refused to believe that. Surely, as an alchemist, Mustang couldn't either.

"I'm not a hero," Roy snapped, the first hint of emotion hitching in his voice. Anger, yes, Ed knew anger. He definitely understood Mustang when his anger was directed at him. And yet, Ed didn't get the feeling that Mustang was mad at him, more like himself. "I'm a soldier and I've been in war, Fullmetal. Like it or not, I don't have the luxury of having clean hands like you. Hate me all you want – I don't give a damn – but if I have to bloody my hands a little bit more to keep it that way, I will."

Ed found himself out a complete loss. This had to be the most honest that Mustang had ever been with him, even if it was convoluted and filtered through layers of masks that he wore. He closed his mouth and sat back down on the couch with Hawkeye, feeling like a scolded child. He hated that feeling, but didn't know what else to do.

"Next time, do as you're told and stay in your damn position behind me," Mustang said before turning on his heels and all but stomping out of the room. Ed's eyes dropped to the ground. He had no clue how to react to any of this. He knew Mustang – the man was a lazy, cocky, manipulative bastard – but this was not the Mustang that he knew. With such a constant in his life changing so drastically before his eyes, it felt like his entire world was off-kilter, and he didn't like it. Someone like Mustang shouldn't be able to get under his skin like this. What was going on?

Hawkeye laid a gentle hand on his arm. "You scared him."

"I scared him?" Ed asked incredulously. "He…he shot a man right next to me."

"He was going to kill you."

"How do you know?" Ed looked up at her with wild eyes. There may have been a film of tears. He'd deny it with his last breath. "He could've dropped the gun, given himself up, let me go. He didn't have to… Mustang didn't have to…"

The look on Hawkeye's face was so understanding that it was painful to look at. "He couldn't take that chance. A few sleepless nights and nightmares are worth saving your life."

"A few sleepless nights?" Ed shook his head. "It looked like he didn't even give a damn."

Hawkeye's smile was sad. "Not all armor is visible."

Ed wiped his face and rubbed his eyes, definitely didn't sniff. "How do you know though? How can you be so sure?"

"Because," Hawkeye told him simply, "I would've done the exact same in his position."

It wasn't exactly a comforting thought and yet it made him feel a bit better, like he saw a piece to a puzzle that he hadn't seen before.