This is it, folks! It took me a little while, and honestly, I've really just giving up and just posting it. I've rewritten the final scene so many times, and for weeks, by this point; I finally had it somewhere good this afternoon, and then, of course, we lost the GODDAMN POWER. At that point, it just became a lost battle. I can't fight with it anymore. Regardless of the final scene's state, this has been a fun ride for me to write, and the response I've gotten has really made me happy! I mostly hang around fandoms for long complete shows nowadays, which normally means a very small audience, so any reviews or hits that I get always make me very happy :) Thanks, all of you!

That being said, I'm not sure if I'll be hanging around much in the future. I'm an aspiring novelist, so what I write really does need to be my novel, not fanfiction; the only reason this burst of FMA fics happened at all is because my muse demanded it and I learned a long time ago it's easier not to fight her. As always, if she demands something in the future, then something will likely happen- but I think I've finally worked my way out of this two month long need to write about Roy. So this is most likely sayonara, for now :) Hope you enjoy!

Ed woke up gasping.

Hands were on his shoulders before he realized he'd tried to sit up, before he'd realized he was swaying unsteadily, before he'd even realized he was awake, really, and they were talking at him many seconds before he could even comprehend words.

"...you need to take it easy!"

"Everything's okay, and I'm fine, too, Brother, I promise!"

"Relax, Ed, you're in a- Ed, are you listening to me? Ed, can you hear me?!"

"Brother!"

He blinked at last, the blinding white finally fading into the blurred color of reality. Ed put a hand to his head, wincing, and blinked again until his vision righted itself, and he could see Hughes and Al.

The both of them stood in front of him, each holding onto one of his shoulders and staring at him in an outright concern. He managed a weak grin, just trying to put them both at ease, and nodded once, shoulders shaking. "I'm- I'm good. I'm good now. Promise."

Hughes and Al looked at each other, seeming a little uncertain, then cautiously released him and took a step back.

His body swayed traitorously nearly instantly, and the pair were right back on him.

"Oi, like I said, take it easy, Ed!" Hughes told him, unceremoniously pushing him to lie down on his back, while Al scolded and worried as well, shaking his head at him.

"Brother, you were hit in the head a lot! You have a really bad concussion, so you need to stay still!"

"Wha..." he grumbled, rubbing his head again, then narrowed his eyes. "Oh. Landslide."

Hughes's expression darkened, and the man nodded once. "Yeah. You remember him?"

Ed nodded as well, then regretted it when, even lying down, it left him dizzy. "I- yeah... he... what happened to him?" A flicker of memories hit him; the rumble of earth, the unsteadiness of ground beneath his feet, the glow of a transmutation necklace- and the swelling of the man's face, even as his hand came down for another punch.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Hughes scowled faintly, folding his arms and taking a step back. "The bastard was barely alive, by the time the backup worked their way around to dealing with him. Last I heard, he's being led through a rush trial to get slated for execution. ...Sixteen people died in that crash, and the military's none too happy with him."

Ed sighed. His own opinions on the death penalty aside, after everything he'd gone through because of the bastard, he wasn't about to say a word in his defense. He leaned back for a moment, rubbing his eyes, and tried to force his pounding head to sift through more memories of the crash. He didn't remember transmuting Al back into a whole suit of armor again, but he clearly must have, because there was just no way his brother had escaped the collapse unscathed-

The collapse.

Mustang.

Ed jerked upright once more, and this time talked straight through the vertigo that hit him and Hughes and Al exclaiming for him to lie still.

"What happened to Mustang?!"

Hughes abruptly stilled, the very question looking as if it had stricken him. Almost terrified now, Ed turned to Al, who spoke through his own unease to appease him but still was unable to meet his eyes. "He's alive, Brother, don't worry, but..."

"But what?!"

Recovering himself, Hughes moved to intercede. Still drawn and pale, the man sat back down, interlacing his fingers, and looked at him seriously for a long moment. He looked awful, like he had barely slept at all and spent entire nights up worrying, and Ed's heart sank even lower before the man had even started to talk. "Ed, it's a long story, and you're probably not going to like what we have to tell you. You want to hear it anyway?"

Ed didn't have to devote even a fraction of a second to thinking about that answer.

"What the hell did that bastard do, Hughes?"

The investigator sighed deeply.

Then, with no more attempts at preamble, he began.

"When Roy tried to attack Landslide, the explosion rebounded. He managed to blow up Landslide, yes- but he also set off one inside the train car. Looks like he shielded his head and face with his arms, so it didn't kill him, but both his arms... well, you saw the damage, Ed."

"It was really bad, Brother," Al said softly, looking away towards the door and bowing his head. "The explosion blew him back into me and he hit his head, so he was out of it for a few minutes, and I managed to use his jacket to put out the fires on him, but... it didn't matter. It was too late. When he finally came to, he just... he just stared screaming."

Ed swallowed, a chill running down his spine. The hellish sight of the colonel's burned arms hit him again like a sucker punch to the gut, and the unearthly howling of agony returned to him with it, echoing in his mind as the only proof that Mustang had survived, and he shivered, struggling to block it out.

In the moment, it had been one of the best things he'd ever heard in his life.

Now, he wished he had never even heard it.

Al shifted as well, seeming to feel just as he did. "When he woke up, the fire was really bad and it was just going to get worse. I don't know how he did it, but he somehow managed to concentrate enough, and he just started trying to draw out a transmutation circle. It was awful, Brother, he only had the ash and his own blood to work with, and he could barely even stay conscious- and I didn't recognize some of the symbols; I didn't even know what he was trying to do, but it wasn't like I could stop him!"

"Wait- what?" Ed broke in, surprised. "A transmutation circle?" What had happened to the great Flame Alchemist being unable to put out fires, then? What on earth had he been trying to transmute?

Al nodded. "Yeah. I didn't even know what he'd done until we got back to Central and I could do some research... he thinned the oxygen, Brother. He pushed away all the oxygen that he could as far as he could get it. That was why he couldn't breathe- it wasn't the smoke; he made the air so thin he couldn't even breathe it."

Hughes tsked judgmentally and turned away, folding his arms with a huff. It clearly wasn't his first time hearing the story, and Ed sat back limply in shock, just watching as the investigator went off. "Daring plan, I'll give Roy that; fire needs oxygen, after all. He pushed away the fire and kept himself alive long enough for you two to get him out. And I'll never know how he managed to concentrate when he'd already been burned so badly, but... damn it, Roy, if you could just not take such dangerous risks, that'd really be great."

"He didn't really have a choice, Hughes..."

Ed shook his head slowly, rubbing his temples with one hand. Unbelievable. The bastard whined at him for taking risks and then pulled something like this...

Hughes sighed again, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as he turned back to face them. "Right. Well, when we got Roy out of the train car, Hawkeye grabbed him immediately and took him back to Central. I stayed with you and we dug Al out; military showed up a few minutes after you transmuted him back, Ed."

"Er, mostly," Al piped up, raising his hand and waving it. Ed started at the sight of only two fingers, and then found himself being forced back down on the bed by both of them again.

"I just need to-"

"No!" they ordered him together, Hughes shaking his head and his brother glowering, and after a long moment of glaring, Ed fell back in defeat with a huff.

"It would only take a second," he muttered sullenly, but Al shook his head again.

"No! I'm fine for now, Brother. But you were seriously hurt! I'm not going to let you try and transmute anything for me until Winry gets up here to fix your leg next week, okay?"

Ed winced, glancing at the empty spot under the sheet where his leg should've been. They'd taken out his shabby replacement, then. Honestly, he was glad; it had hurt so much no leg at all was better, and the little mobility it had provided him had been so clunky and unnatural compared to his automail it just wasn't worth it. Winry was still going to murder him, at any rate, so at least he'd spend his last week alive not in excruciating pain.

Slowly, his small smile fading, Ed dropped his hand back down to feel at the empty sockets of his leg. The short moment of what could barely qualify as mirth had passed already, in its place settling a very uncomfortable silence. "...Mustang, then?" he prodded at last, unwilling to be the one to break it but simply unable to stand it anymore, and Hughes sighed.

"We headed back to Central after him. It was the closest city with a hospital that could treat him," he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms, face still serious. "That was two days ago. You passed out sometime during the car ride back; like Al said, you had- have- a serious head injury." He scowled then, mouth twitching as he looked him over again. "Do you even realize how badly you were injured, Ed? Just against Landslide- your shoulder was dislocated, fracture in your tibia, yesterday I could barely recognize you, your face was so badly bruised- he broke four of your ribs, Ed! You can die from that! And do you realize how dangerous what you did with your leg was?! You could've given yourself nerve damage! You dislocated what's left of your femur!"

Ed blinked, nonplussed, and found himself reaching down to feel the empty sockets. He'd honestly had no idea it had been so bad... not that it mattered much, he thought with a scowl. "Didn't exactly have much a choice, Hughes," he grumbled under his breath, again looking towards his legs, one missing, one in a plaster cast. "Unless you're going to tell me I should've just run away, like Mustang told me to?"

".,.Roy said that?"

"Yeah," he grumbled again, glowering at the memory. "Idiot decided that was in my best interests. Apparently didn't care much that that meant he'd burn to death... although I guess maybe that's what he was after, given how things turned up."

Ed had expected chastisement from his brother for that one, and he got it, Al exclaiming his name with the tone of a scolding; he'd also expected that to be the end of that. Al had given up long ago trying to get him to play nice with Mustang.

Except, this time, Al just kept going.

"Brother, you would've died if he hadn't helped you! That's why he did it! I couldn't help you, there was nothing I could do, you were about to get killed! Y-you..." Al broke off for a moment, massive hands clenched so tight around the bedrail that metal groaned in protest. "Colonel Mustang was just as terrified as I was... he didn't have a choice! You... you were going to get killed if he didn't do something..."

He gritted his teeth in response, glaring blackly at the bedsheets. Like he hadn't already known that in the first place.

It was just a lot easier to go about this thinking that explosion had been because Mustang was an idiot bastard pyromaniac, and not...

Not to save me.

A lot easier.

Hughes at last cleared his throat uncomfortably in the silence, looking cautiously between him and Al. The tension in the air was so thick Ed could've cut it with a butter knife, but Hughes had never been one to be silenced by something like that. "So, ah... regardless of how it happened..." he ventured, clearly trying to diffuse the stiff silence between them. "The both of you will be okay in the long run. Ed, now that you're awake, someone's probably going to want to look at your leg- you did a lot of damage, with taking out your own automail then trying to make your own, so they want to make sure everything's healing well. As for Roy, the doctors are being cautious; he's okay, for now, but the danger with burns is infection. If something happens, then, amputation will be a possibility, but... that's only if things go wrong. If things stay as they are now, then both of you will be fine, Ed."

The investigator waited another few moments, gaze moving between the two of them again. When neither said anything, Hughes sighed, tugging on his collar. "I think I'll just... go check on Roy again," he said lamely, fooling absolutely no one, and backed swiftly out of the room. He clearly wanted to give them a chance to talk.

Which, normally, would've been appreciated, but this time, Ed just couldn't vocalize internal turmoil into words, and, more importantly, he really did not want to even try.

At last, he simply turned away from Al and glared at the opposite wall, flexing his bruised hand beneath the sheets. He just couldn't deal with this now. Could not. Did not want to. Whatever.

Fuck Mustang.

Metal creaked behind him, his brother shifting uneasily. "Are you okay, Brother?" he asked at last, voice unsure.

"...No," he said, and shut his eyes.

Heat.

Heat... everywhere.

So much... my god...

It's everywhere-

I can't-

It HURTS-

"Roy?"

Roy... Roy. My name. You know me? Do you know me?

Can you help me?

Please...

"H... h...ot..."

Please, cool me down, knock me out, please, whatever you need to do, please, please, please

"You're hot? I know. I'm sorry; there's nothing I can give you for it. Don't try and move your arms, Roy."

His arms? God, his arms. His arms. Heat emanated from them both like they were no longer skin at all but just a bed of lit coals; moving them? He couldn't even grasp the idea that those things were a part of him at all, never mind move them.

"Hot," he rasped again, voice scratchy like death's rattle, and forced himself to blink in the darkness. "Hot. Water. Water."

"You got it. Hold your horses."

Roy gasped again, feeling his eyes water, and blinked again until a fuzzy blur reappeared above him. "Ice chips. Best you're going to get, for now. ...Your throat's sore because of the smoke inhalation. Your stunt thinning the air didn't help, either."

The blessed feeling of wet cold slid down his throat, and he weakly licked his lips, begging without words for more, until the blur stepped back and no more was given. He blinked a few more times, vision slowly clearing, until at last the figure took form. "...Maes?" he coughed, and the man nodded.

"Welcome back, partner."

He coughed again, feeling his entire body shake, and squinted. "...Look awful," was all of eloquence that came out of his mouth, the host of questions hovering somewhere in the midst of a medicated fog all too busy fighting each other for superiority to come out first.

Maes didn't even crack a smile. "Perhaps because up all night for days worrying about you. What you did was dammed stupid, Roy, I hope you know that."

The words flickered gently in his memory like the flames of a candle, licking against a more vicious and oppressive heat than the one smothering him now, and he remembered the flash of light, the hot expansion of air, the slam of body against metal and the woosh of air from his lungs. "We're whispering," he whispered, voice muted only to follow Maes' example, and because he didn't quite have the strength to speak up louder. The why got lost somewhere in his throat, but Maes didn't need it.

With a knowing look, the investigator raised a finger to his lips, then looked towards his right. Turning his head took just a little more effort than Roy wanted to give right now, but he made himself anyway, and the sight waiting for him made pain flare again, this time coupled with regret.

Riza was fast asleep next to him. Out of uniform, hair released from its tight clip, head sagging onto her chest in a display of outright exhaustion... never mind Maes' appearance; the woman looked terrible. Like she'd barely slept in weeks, with dark purple shadows carved in under her eyes and her face drained of color...

"She's been scared to death. Hasn't left your side since we got you back to Central. ...You remember anything about that, Roy? Why you're back in Central?"

The heat stirred memories again, the glow of fire and the heat of burning metal hissing behind his eyes, and he made himself nod again, tasting air that was filled with smoke.

Maes sighed, some of his worried pallor lifting, and he rubbed a hand over his face, clearly relieved. "Good. Makes things a little easier, then."

Swallowing dryly, Roy felt his gaze be dragged of his closest friend again, once more landing on Riza. The sight of her made him flinch as much as an exhausted and burning body could, and he stared at her, sluggish mind tumbling over the questions whose answers he wasn't sure he wanted to face. How long has she been here? Is she okay?

And, then, even more uncertain than that- how long have I been here? ...Am I okay?

"Time?" he managed hoarsely, simply incapable right now of putting so much into words.

Maes, thankfully, understood he was asking for more than could be given by a watch.

"Been a week and a half, since we reached Central. We've only been allowed to actually see you the past three days, though." His gaze darkened for a moment, and the investigator swiftly broke his gaze, pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes in fatigue. "You... you burned your arms. Here to here, both of them." Maes drew lines on his own arm, circling his shoulder and then again circling his knuckles. Roy was simply in too much pain to feel shock, and Maes looked back at him for a moment, clearly troubled. "We think you tried to cover your head and face with your arms. If that's the case, you probably saved your life, but it's going to take you a few more weeks in this room to regrow the skin that you even can."

A few weeks? This one alone had passed in the blink of eye. Given the fog of medications currently swamping through his brain, though, he had little doubt as to how he'd managed to sleep through such impossible heat, such indescribable agony. The next few weeks probably wouldn't pass as easily for him... he knew from experience how reluctantly burns healed.

A morbid chuckle found its way into his throat. The Flame Alchemist, burned. He was sure Ed, at least, would find the irony in it.

The chuckle died before it started, and the uneasy beat of hot agony in his arms flared again.

"E-Ed..."

Ed...!

"M-Maes- Ed, he, h-h-he-"

"Roy, relax. Roy, Roy, look at me- hey, relax, Roy!" Two hands grabbed his face, forcing him to focus, Maes's green eyes abruptly directly in front of his own and making him hold his stare. The sound of his own panicked breaths still screeched in his ears but Maes didn't back away, refusing to retreat and instead simply standing there and making him concentrate.

"Roy. Ed is fine. Al is too. They're both alive, Roy."

Oh.

Oh.

"Th...thank... god..."

The sight of Ed, down, and the enemy standing above him, ready for one final strike remained with him, flickering behind his eyes, and the feel of a frantic snap of shaking fingertips remained. The terror of the idea of being too late, the screeching howl of Ed's scream, the horror in Al's eyes, the torture of simply not knowing-

I was worried he was... dead...

Maes's touched two fingers to his forehead, feeling his temperature, then sighed. "Your fever's a little lower, but it's not gone. You should try and sleep some more."

Sleep sounded enticing, beautiful, even, and the knowledge about Ed and Al's safety had been the last thing he'd needed before he could truly calm down. He glanced exhaustedly in his lieutenant's direction, then back at Maes, struggling to work up enough iron will to give an order. "Tell Riza... to go home- sleep..."

Maes eyed him for a moment, frowning. "You can tell her yourself, Roy. In fact, you will have to, because she won't listen to any orders I've given her. Yours are the only ones she'll follow, right now. I told you, she's been scared to death. Whatever your reasons were, Roy, that, this- it's not okay."

"Just trying to k-keep Ed... safe..."

Maes sighed again. "You can explain yourself later. Right now just stop trying to pretend it doesn't hurt and go to sleep, Roy."

Go to sleep...

The heat puled even behind closed eyes, but it was a little less when he gave in to the exhaustion surrounding him, and before he knew it his self control was fading and sleep was only seconds away.

Thank every deity that he didn't believe in that Ed and Al were okay, because he really hated it to realize it, but he'd been scared, and... and they were okay...

The days before Winry arrived were downright awful.

Automail leg gone and fracture in his flesh leg left him unable to go anywhere except in a wheelchair, which sucked, first of all, and second of all reminded him too much of when he'd first lost his leg in the first place, to the point that he preferred staying in bed over using the dammed thing. Which was fine, for the first few days, when he still hurt all over, but by the end of the week he was about to lose his mind.

Hughes had stopped hovering after the beginning of the week, although he still came by once a day, and he'd already made it clear that once Winry had fitted him out with new automail, his guest room was theirs. The offer was not just an invitation, of course; quite simply, he and Al were going to be staying at Hughes's place, until the man deemed him recovered enough to be on his own.

Normally, Ed would've groused a bit about it and tried to protest it, but now, he just really didn't have it in him.

After all, normally, his first instinct upon finally being released from the hospital was to march straight to Mustang's office and demand his next mission. The Stone was most important, after all. They couldn't stop running, not until they found it; as much as he liked Hughes, there'd be time for really getting to know his family once he and Al finally had their bodies back.

Now, though, he couldn't go to Mustang's office.

There was always the option of just requesting a temporary transfer to another's command, for the time being; in fact, it would probably happen anyway, at some point. Mustang was going to be out of commission for a lot longer than him, and there was no logical reason for him to just wait around until the colonel was back at work to go on his next mission.

But right now, after what the bastard had done for him- no matter how fucking angry he was about it, Mustang had saved his life at the near expense of his own. He just couldn't stomach the idea of going to request getting another CO, even if it would be just for temporary convenience.

He couldn't leave on his next mission, then, because fuck him, it was already decided: the moment Mustang was recovered enough to not die from a punch to the face, he was getting one.

Unfortunately, that was looking like it was going to take a while.

His clavicle had been completely shattered in the train crash, taking one arm out of commission, several of his ribs had been broken, and he'd managed to garner a head injury of his own. Al had been with him when Hawkeye had told them, and been surprised; apparently all Mustang had said was that something was wrong with his shoulder, and all the bastard had said to him was that he couldn't move his arm- the injuries should've been severe enough to have him laid out screaming, not still crawling around in the ash to try and find other survivors. Ed had just scowled a little and looked away at that one. Sure, he'd give in and pay the man a compliment- if admitting to his endurance could even count as that- just as soon as the colonel quit calling him shrimp.

However, those injuries were far from the worst of it.

The burns were what had put his life in danger, and they were the reason he would be in the hospital for likely weeks after Ed had left it. Medical alchemy was still progressing, but unless they had Marcoh and his philosopher's stone handy, burns remained beyond them. Healing burns meant creating human skin.

That wasn't possible.

There were also a few less severe burns along Mustang's chest and his face, left behind from Al's armor that had been heated beyond what human skin could withstand when his brother had had to lift the colonel to get him out of the train car. Al had been horrified to see them, and promptly spent the next hour apologizing nonstop to Hawkeye for them no matter how adamantly she'd told him it was not necessary.

Ed only knew because Hawkeye had told him, afterwards, that he should talk to his brother about it- he had refused to see Mustang, and still had yet to take even one step into his room.

The bastard was out of it, anyway, he told himself stubbornly. He'd been kept heavily sedated until just recently, the doctors saying the pain would be too much for him to handle if awake. Hughes had told them only yesterday that Mustang had revisited consciousness, but it was only briefly, and coherency had been questionable at best. There was no point in seeing standing there to watch him sleep or listen to him be delirious.

Saying that did nothing to quiet the uneasy thoughts that muttered at him that it was more than that.

Seeing Mustang like that...

Ed couldn't put the exact feeling into words, really, but he just knew he didn't want to. He didn't want to see Mustang hurt like that, nor did he want to admit it was really possible. This wasn't something minor that would heal in a few days; he couldn't look at the bastard and point and make fun this time. It was funny, when Mustang would snarl at him and swear that the moment he had his gloves back, he was going to be incinerated- and now-

It wasn't funny.

The fact of the matter was, Mustang could've died. Had come very close to it- as close as Ed had come, the day he'd lost his limbs. And there was something about that that was not okay. Mustang was supposed to be safe, god damn him, sitting up all high and mighty in his stupid office, ordering others but not actually in danger himself. The only one person Ed could accept being in danger was his brother, and that was only because Al had made him realize this journey was one they had to go at together, not alone.

But he didn't want to even think about the idea of anyone else in danger of getting killed.

They'd already lost their mother and their bodies, never had a father to begin with... they already had precious little left to lose, and each loss was more painful than the last.

He supposed that was bothering him, really.

The fact that Mustang had somehow managed to worm his way onto that minuscully short list of people he couldn't stand to lose.

Three and a half weeks after their return to Central, Ed finally gave into his brother's cajoling, Hughes's expectant prodding, and Hawkeye's unbelievably sad, absolute killer of a one liner: He'd really like to see you, you know...

It should've been criminal, how sadly she'd looked at him when she'd said that.

But, brutally unfair guilt trips being the reason or not (he knew damn well the bastard had said nothing of the sort), somehow, Ed found himself standing at the door to Mustang's room, arms folded stubbornly, and heart pounding far faster than he would ever admit to even himself.

Licking his dry lips, Ed shifted from one foot to the other, glaring at the ground, and waited for Mustang to break the silence. When he did not, grimacing even deeper now, Ed made himself clear his throat and speak up.

"...Hey, Colonel."

No response.

When the silence had at last dragged on long enough, his curiosity grew too strong to control, and his eyes flicked up no matter how strongly he wished to keep them fixated on the floor.

Annnnd, of course.

The bastard wasn't even awake.

Normally, Ed would've taken the moment to cheer and skip backwards out of the room, rejoicing that the conversation he'd been dreading for weeks had just been postponed another day at the very least. Unfortunately for his future of yet another sleepless night, though, this was also the first time he'd seen Mustang since the train crash, and the sight of him left him rooted to the spot and shocked beyond words.

...

Okay, it really wasn't as bad as he'd imagined it would be.

Unlike Ed, Mustang hadn't been used as a punching bag, so there was no sign of the bruises or discoloration that had needled at Ed every time he looked in a mirror (nearly a month later and still two bruises had yet to fade, screw Landslide). His face wasn't actually all that bad, really, so much as it was just really, really, tired, unshaven skin a sickly sort of pale and eyes sunken, hair a greasy, lank mess, dark circles under his eyes like'd he barely slept in weeks.

His face, while not all that bad, was easily the worst of it, because all the rest of the damage, he couldn't see.

His arms had been bandaged carefully from knuckles to shoulder, and it was the same for the few burns on his chest, leaving thankfully nothing for Ed to goggle at. The only thing he could even see was the uncomfortable looking brace on one shoulder, and that was nothing, compared to what it could've been, to what he'd been imaging all this time, and...

Ed's metal foot, still frozen in a half-step back out the door, slowly lowered back down to the floor and moved forward again.

Yes, right now, he could very easily back right out, tell all the others fine, he'd visited, happy now?, and never have to actually deal with this.

The anxiety twisting deep in his gut was definitely cheering for that option.

And yet, he just couldn't.

Slowly, heart clenching with every step, Ed forced himself the few feet to the nearest chair, dropped down to sit in a slump, and began to wait.

"Ah... Fullmetal. Glorious. Tell me, to what do I owe this displeasure?"

"Shut up," Ed grunted back without missing a beat.

To be fair, he'd had plenty of warning the bastard was waking up; moaning and groaning for a few minutes, then the annoying clearing of his throat, and then the low intake of breath that had to have meant Mustang had seen him. He'd just let the colonel get the first word in, mostly because he still didn't really want to look at the bastard, and besides, he'd waited for at least an hour on his procrastinating ass. Now it was his turn to be a little lazy.

"I see your manners have yet to improve."

Ed rolled his eyes, now staring at the foot of Mustang's bed rather than the man himself. "And you're still an asshole; not much has changed." He chewed on the inside of his lip, twisting the fingers of his human hand together into one nervous knot. This was a lot harder from this side of the bed; now he had to be one to make conversation, and he sucked at it. "I... how're you feeling?"

"Like complete shit," the colonel returned without pause, and Ed managed to grin at that one.

"Yeah. I imagine."

Another few awkward seconds ticked by, the only sounds those of the hospital, neither one of them knowing what to say. Ed was staring at the wallpaper now, blinking at some unidentifiable stain. Really? This was a hospital, there was a sign right outside the room that said sterile, couldn't they be bothered to clean once in a while-

"How's Al doing?"

He blinked, shifting a little. "Oh. Al's, ah, great, actually. I tracked down another suit of armor for him, transmuted all the parts he was missing. Now he's going a little insane, actually, cause Gracia feels really bad for us both, and she keeps cooking really great stuff that he can smell but, obviously, can't eat. He's already added her cooking about ten times to the list of what he's going to do once he gets his body back."

Mustang chuckled softly at that; Ed continued to look at the stain. "Actually, I can sympathize with Al on this one. Maes keeps bringing what Al's not eating as his lunch and terrorizing me with it. He knows damn well I can't eat yet; he's already said he's doing it to punish me for blowing up the train car."

The words doused what spirit he'd managed to regain talking about Al, and he clenched his fists, staring even harder at the wall. Damn him, speaking about what he'd done so casually, damn him, sounding like he was annoyed at Hughes for something stupid like hogging his professional line for Elicia stories and not something far more deserved, damn him because the words that he had been a fucking idiot were still stuck in his throat and- "Oi, there's nothing wrong with your face, why can't you eat yet?"

There was a pause, and Ed's neck prickled. He could almost feel the withering stare the colonel was using on him now, the effect not nullified even by the stain on the wall.

"I can't move my arms, Fullmetal," Mustang grumbled, and oh, yeah, that stain on the wall was definitely more interesting than looking at him.

"...Oh," he said back.

Another short, uncomfortable silence.

Then:

"If your refusal to look at me is some new, indirect way you've come up with to tell me that my face is ugly, then stop being such an ass about it, Fullmetal. I already know my level of charm has unfortunately dropped in recent days, just give me a few weeks to recover it after I was blown up two times. Although you don't have any room to talk even now, because I've still got more charm than you, midget."

"Bastard! I don't give a damn about your stupid games with your stupid women, yes your face is ugly, it always has been and it always will be, you're the ass, and I'm not fucking short!"

Mustang smirked, and Ed, still seething, lowered the finger point he'd shoved in the bastard's face in victory.

Then he jerked, realizing it wasn't a victory after all, because Mustang hadn't been trying to insult him, he'd been trying to outwit him into looking away from the wall.

And he'd succeeded.

(Fucking bastard.)

It was the first time Ed had looked him in the eye since he'd yanked him out of the train car. And it was a real testament to how bad off he'd been back then that holding his gaze now did manage to be slightly less of a jarring experience, because while he looked downright awful now, back then, lips blue, eyes red and unfocused, face strained in the panic of suffocation-

"Your face actually is ugly, you know," Ed managed to say at last, just bursting out with the first thing to come to his mind to stop that last train of thought from reaching its destination. His voice remained a little too weak for his tastes, but Mustang scowled at him all the same.

"Yeah? Tell that to the nurses. Three phone numbers. Now mine. ...Don't know how they expect me to call them like this, but, still- that's three more phone numbers than you, Fullmetal."

"Hmph." Ed sat back, folding his arms with a stubborn huff. "Already said I don't care about your stupid games with your stupid women." He waited a few moments, metal foot tapping in nervous energy against the floor. "I bet Hawkeye wasn't too pleased about you flirting with other women in front of her."

Mustang's face fell a little, and he looked away, gaze wandering over to the window. He was silent for a few moments, eyes hooded, then said at last, "Lieutenant Hawkeye's actually not talking to me, at the moment. ...She scolded me at first, but now she's just giving me the cold shoulder. I can't tell if it's because she's too upset with me to talk to me or she's just trying to punish me, like Maes." He paused again, still looking out the window rather than at Ed. "Even Al's mad at me. I didn't know he could be mad at someone, other than you. ...I guess that's why you're here, isn't it. You're also going to tell me my strategy was a bad one?"

It wasn't the words so much as the blasé attitude. The words he'd been expecting, and he was used to it from Mustang, anyway, but the very calm, unconcerned way the bastard was looking at him now- that was what bothered him.

Because it confirmed what he'd really known all along: Mustang had known exactly what he was doing when he'd attacked Landslide. Mustang had known his chances of not causing a secondary explosion were slim to none. And he'd known his chances of surviving that explosion were even lower.

And he'd done it anyway.

"...Don't call it a strategy, bastard," he muttered, forcibly having to wrench his metal hand away from the armrest before it clenched so tight it broke the plaster. "Suicide is not a strategy."

Mustang just sighed at him, clearly vexed, clearly still completely unbothered by what he'd done. "If that's why you're here, then you can show yourself out, Fullmetal. I've already heard it from three different people; I get it, you guys aren't fans of what I did. Your opinion isn't going to be so groundbreaking I need to hear it, too."

Ed bit back his angry snap of a response, just barely finding the will to restrain himself but knowing it would get him nowhere. No matter how much he craved the normalcy of an argument with the bastard right now, Ed knew this time, there were things that had to be said. He wasn't going to waste this chance just to shout at him, because right now there were things that were more important that.

When he at last could make himself speak calmly, he did.

"Yes, well, unfortunately for you, bastard, you can't exactly throw me out right now, or get up to walk away. Your precious gloves aren't an option, either. So looks like you're just gonna have to listen to me."

...All right, so, maybe an argument was out of the question, but he couldn't resist a little jab or too. His next chance at seeing Mustang so helpless was probably never, and besides, the black fire of irritation that lit in the colonel's eyes at the statement did make him feel better. It felt far more normal than the earlier stare of blank impassivity, anyway.

"Just don't forget you're talking to your superior officer, Fullmetal," Mustang warned, eyes still flashing, and once again Ed had to resist the urge to chuck his silver watch at the bastard's head; show him how much he cared for rank and military formality.

"I'm sure you're not gonna like what I have to say, Colonel; go ahead, court martial me." He pulled at his braid, loosening the tight band, then rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to clear his head. He already knew what information he wanted out of the bastard; it was just finding the right way to ask it.

Because, whether or not Mustang would even answer him, Ed knew he just couldn't bring himself to snarl so, would you kill yourself for any one of your subordinates, or does that particularly brand of stupidity only apply when we're talking about me? He was the reason the bastard was here, and with that in mind, being a jerk to him now was just too difficult to stomach.

"Cat got your tongue, Fullmetal?" Mustang taunted, when the silence had evidently stretched on too long for his tastes, and Ed scowled, folding his arms again. Okay, screw kid gloves approach, then. Mustang didn't need it and was also being too much of an ass for Ed to be nice much longer.

"No, but looks like one got your arms."

It was Mustang's turn to scowl. "How... tactful of you."

"Military's not known for its tact, bastard. But, anyways." Ed took a breath, clearing his throat, and he saw Mustang's eye narrow and jaw tighten with tension, the colonel evidently realizing the shift in the conversation from back and forth banter to serious discussion and not liking it one bit, but not in a position to stop him. Ed was hardly eager to bring it up either, but he knew it had to be done, and so with nothing more than an extra breath to prepare himself, he forged right on to dive straight in.

"What you did, when you attacked Landslide, Mustang. ...Why did you do it? ...Mustang... Why did you take that risk?"

The colonel just looked at him.

Black eyes flat, stare suddenly piercing with its weight, expression blank of any emotion whatsoever; the colonel met his gaze now with a look cold as ice, and when he spoke, his voice was the same; frigid in its certainty and painful in its lack of regret. "Need I remind you, Fullmetal, you were going to die."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Don't waste your time protesting. I already know what you're going to say, Fullmetal-"

"Oh, I doubt it!"

"Do not interrupt me!" Mustang snapped, eyes flashing again. He didn't wait to see his command would be followed, either, just continued forging on ahead as if he'd never stopped at all. "You're upset with me for risking myself for you. Ignoring the fact that I am your superior and can act as I damn well please: why do you think you can judge what I did when, if that situation had been reversed, and it had been you trapped and watching Al about to get killed, you would not pick him every single time?"

"That's different!"

"Oh? Then, how, exactly?"

"Because Al's my brother!" Ed gasping, fuming, fist swinging down to slam against his metal knee in a crushing blow. "Al's my brother, not yours! He's my younger brother, I'd never let a damn thing happen to him, but you- I'm just your subordinate, and he's not even that! You don't get to care about us or, or make some bullshit sacrifice, or- you don't get to fucking die for us, Mustang!"

If it was possible for Mustang's face to look even worse than it already did, Ed's words were all that was needed to do the trick.

Because now, the colonel looked stricken.

It was only for a heartbeat and then it was gone, carefully replaced by pale impassivity, but Ed had seen it all the same, and Mustang knew he had, too, by the way his gaze turned cold and he looked away again. He looked like he'd just swallowed something very unpleasant, black eyes now appearing inordinately focused on some corner of the room the way Ed had been staring at the wall before, dead silent.

When he finally did speak again, his voice was carefully flat in an unfeeling monotone that he didn't believe for a section, obviously structured as such only to hide the emotion that lurked behind every word.

"If you feel that you are just my subordinate, then that is that, Fullmetal. ...But I meant what I just told you. I would risk my life to save you or Al, no matter the situation. And in case you forgot, Major Elric, I'm a colonel. Nearly the entire military are my subordinates. As callous as it sounds, no, Fullmetal, I would not just blow myself up to help any soldier that was below me in rank. ...I did it, because it was you. That's all, you little shit. I do not give one flying fuck about how many stars you have on your midget shoulders; all I cared about was that it was you."

A beat of pregnant silence, and then:

"In addition, if you ever disobey my direct order to remove yourself from a dangerous situation again, I will personally rip off those stars off your shoulders and serve up fried shrimp for dinner."

And, that was that.

"Skewer you if you tried, bastard," Ed muttered, reflexive threat prompted by insult without him really thinking, mouth running without input from his brain. His head was currently still stuck, frozen in place, grappling to ignore and deny everything that Mustang had just said.

Because it was exactly what he'd been afraid of.

Because, really, it would've been much easier to deal with if Mustang had just been acting as he would for any subordinate.

Even though Ed had never really believed that from the start, and it was just hearing the words out of the bastard's mouth that confirmed it.

Human knee trembling, and automail one still aching, Ed wrenched himself to his feet. He curled his arms around himself and paced away to glare out the window, letting his stubborn grimace fall the moment Mustang could no longer see it.

Dragging himself kicking and screaming along the way, Ed had finally made himself admit through gritted teeth that Colonel Bastard, never god dammed mind how, had carved himself a place alongside the vanishingly small list of people that he could not stand to lose. Those agonizingly few that he would risk his life, and by default, his brother's, for. And now, right from Mustang's mouth, came the confirmation that the colonel felt the same way.

And that was not okay.

Mustang wasn't supposed to care about him. The people who cared about him and Al were back in Risembool. The military was different; the military was temporary and something he only bore with gritted teeth, and Mustang was no different; smug, arrogant asshole that took every opportunity to rag on him and mock him- getting rid of Mustang once and for all was supposed to be just another reason to keep on fighting to get their bodies back.

Mustang was not supposed to care about him, and he was definitely not supposed to care about Mustang.

Except, somehow, it had happened, and Ed already knew from experience no matter how hard he tried to fight it, it was too late now. The one and only thing that Hohenheim had taught him was that abandonment was wrong. Turning to run for the hills was not right, pretending he just didn't care was wrong as well, and Ed had sworn long ago he would never let himself turn his back on those that cared about him. He knew what it felt like, to be on the other side of it.

He could never inflict it on someone else.

Which meant, of course, he had no choice but to accept this, and then fight like hell to make sure he never had to stand over Mustang and watch him struggle not to die again.

And, accepting that, Ed finally was able to find his voice again."

"Oi, Mustang." He stood still for a moment, still not turning around, struggling to find his words. "...If I asked you to promise me something... not as a colonel, I don't care that you're my stupid superior, just, man to man... would you do it?"

"Man to man?" Mustang drawled. "Well, yes, but if that's what you want, I'm afraid we're one man short..."

Ed glared over his shoulder, just barely keeping his mouth short at the jab. Mustang kept up his deceptively lighthearted facade for a moment, holding his gaze, but when he saw he wasn't about to get a response or annoy his way out of this, he sighed deeply, eyes cooling. "It would depend on what you asked me," he said warily at length, eyes unreadable.

"...Next time your choice is between helping me and blowing yourself up, you find another option."

"No," Mustang said back, without even the slightest hint of hesitation or care. "I will not, Ed."

Ed sighed.

He was hardly surprised, but, well, at least he'd tried.

"Could've guessed that," he said softly, shaking his head at himself and knowing that argument was not worth it. Mustang wouldn't change his mind, and all it would do was get them both mad and shouting. There just wasn't a point in that.

He made himself turn fully again, shifting to find Mustang still looking him dead on, black eyes held in an serious stare that did not waver even once. This time Ed didn't break his gaze, meeting it instead without flinching. "I'm only going to say this once, bastard," he warned, "so listen up. ...Mustang... thank you."

There was surely an insult Mustang could've inserted there, but he did not, instead just watching him silently, dark eyes unreadable. Exhaling a deep sigh, Ed tried to stop his hands from fidgeting as he struggled to find the words. "There... there's just not a lot of people who would do what you did for me or Al. Our mom would've, but, our father," he ground the word out in severe distaste, "he- well, let's just say he wouldn't and leave it at that. So... thanks for doing it, Mustang."

Mustang looked at him for a moment, as unreadable as before. "You deserve better than your, and I use the term quite loosely, father," he said quietly at last, and Ed had to wonder just how much the man knew about his family that he hadn't said.

"Er, yeah," he grunted uneasily. "He... whatever. Anyway. I just... when I figured out what you'd done, Mustang, I... you really scared me, okay? And I just don't want to feel like that again. So don't make me. ...Please."

Black eyes widened in the slightest hint of surprise, the sharp wit of sarcasm he was so used to finding there now entirely absent, all he found waiting there just open sincerity. "Then I will try to ensure this circumstance does not repeat in the future," the colonel replied at last. "...As I've said, though, no promises."

And that was probably the best he was going to get.

Ed still found himself sighing with the relief of it, feeling as if a huge weight had finally been lifted off his chest. He hadn't exactly gotten the answer that he had came here for, but one way or another, everything had been resolved. Everything was fine again, and for what felt like the first time in weeks, he was able to really smile and not remember back to the heat of crackling fire.

Yep... everything was finally going well.

Until Mustang managed to ruin the dammed moment, of course.

"But oh, my, Fullmetal... is that your way of saying that you actually care?"

For the love of god-

"You were the one being all mushy a second ago, you, not me! You were the one giving the passionate, girly speech about feelings and shit, don't turn this around on me you rotten bastard!"

"I had no idea you could be so kind-"

"I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Mustang's smirk widened, and for a split second, Ed seriously considered tossing the bastard out the window. Second floor, bushes down below, he probably would survive...

Growling, he shook his head at himself and jabbed his finger in an angry point at the bastard. "Go to hell, Colonel. I'm going to find Al- he's the one who forced me down here today anyway. Maybe he'll be able to talk to you without wanting to murder you."

Mustang gave a short laugh. "As if you could pull it off," he said loftily. But, he was smiling, and even though Ed rolled his eyes at him when he turned towards the door to leave, he wasn't able to stop himself from smiling, either.