Mercy, but he didn't know from whom and it was all he wanted. He rolled over to his stomach and immediately regretted it; surging to his hands and knees quickly and regretting that as well. He left his forehead pressed where it was; among something soft at least and he didn't dare open his eyes for love or money. His automail reacted in a sluggish and jerky fashion, probably because every nerve he had was scrabbling for equilibrium and all he could think of was finding some way to escape his own skull.

The events preceding this painful awakening were fuzzy at best, missing at worst and he couldn't for the life of him figure out just where he was suppose to be exactly. A fine way to leave himself open he realized but then he also realized he didn't give a flying fuck and if someone wanted to come in here and take him out in his moment of weakness then let them come. Fuck all things in the world bright and light and sunlight, what the fuck time was it, and why the fuck did he care? He ground the tips of his flesh fingers into his temple and restrained his automail from leaping to do the same; although it seemed eager to follow suit.

He moved a few inches forward, forehead still firmly pressed in it's sunlight blocking position and he directly bumped into something barrier or another. He wasn't sure what it was so he let the automail lash out and grab it, not that he was going to be able to tell what it was that way, but if it had a precedent for biting or stinging or some other adverse reaction at least he wouldn't feel it.

What rewarded his hand saving efforts was a hearty groan and a shifting of the barrier in front of his determined slide across whatever surface he was currently on; there was also the sensation of the passage of air and a slight thumping near his head on said surface.

"Leggo," a voice whined, "you're puncturing my thigh! That's no way to treat your husband."

Oh great, not only was his head going to dissolve into a steamy puddle of organic gray mush, but he was in someone's bed and he didn't know who this someone was, but they thought he was someone he wasn't; that just added to the whole delighted mess this was surely to become. When his erstwhile and unknown bed partner came to full consciousness, he would realize the alchemist that was in his bed was three things; not who he thought it would be, not his wife and definitely not a girl. Peachy.

So to forgo the soon to be yelling and accusations and probably terminal embarrassment, Ed started to pat around for the edge of the bed. Primarily he could grab it and drag himself over the edge and onto the floor, then slither across it to the door and make a rather undignified but important escape. But the problem became there was suddenly a hand on his back. And not just his back, but his bare back, not his back through his shirt but actually touching his flesh. Ok, so where the fuck was his shirt? And the hand? It moved. It moved down his back and suddenly it was resting on his ass, and not just his ass, but his bare ass, like it belonged there or something. And that was not only weird because where the fuck were his pants, but that was definitely unacceptable.

"OY," he said loudly and did a half turn back toward the person laying hands on his person; he was ready to clap his automail into a blade and take the offending hand off at the wrist. But the person lying there with his hand on his ass looked pretty familiar despite the mass of wild and loose black hair all over the pillow and in the person's face.

"What is it my love?" Ling Yao sighed extravagantly, stretched and rubbed Ed's ass a little, "You really liked this when I did it last night."

Ed scooted forward, turned and sat on his ass; mostly to get Ling's hand off of it. Ling lifted his head, propping his elbow on the bed and rested his chin in his palm. He smiled at Ed, then used his other hand to push hair out of his face; but that seemed to be a losing battle.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ed growled lowly.

"About last night," Ling said with a sigh and a dreamy sort of smile, "it was the most wonderful night of my life. Just the two of us, the riviera of Aerguo, the resort, the abundance of food and drink..," Ling flopped back onto the pillow, stretching his arms above him and lacing his finger. "And then, you said yes, seriously Edward, I almost cried."

Ed tilted his head, which throbbed on cue and tried to summon up anything in regards of this supposed adventure Ling was talking about and what the connotation of saying 'yes' might have entailed. Yes could be the answer to a lot of things; in fact the sheer number of things yes could be associated with was, in essence, infinite. Yes, I'll have some of the shrimp scampi, yes I'll have another beer, yes I want to lounge on the beach, yes I want to wake up naked in bed with you; however, on review of the latter statement, Ed was pretty sure he would have been able to apply the 'no' response. He was pretty sure no was in his vocabulary, in fact, he knew on several occasions in which he had successfully used the word no. Without a doubt, no would have been the appropriate response. Now, to be fair, he did mention the possibility, in his own internal litany, that beer had been involved. In perchance, there was an involvement with a more beer than common sense ratio, then yes could have been confused with no, thus causing his current predicament. Yes instead of no was often associated with the lack of inhibition beer seemed to cause in his cognitive reasoning functions. So quite possibly, he did say yes, meaning no, and this wasn't entirely Ling's fault.

He just preferred that it would be, so he'd make that happen. But to be on the safe side, maybe he should find out just what he'd said 'yes' to, so he once again fixed his gaze on Ling.

"What the fuck could possibly make you cry just by me saying yes?" he hissed. "Oh fuck wait, it wasn't yes I'll pay for this resort or anything like that was it?"

"No," Ling sighed, "nothing as petty as that. Besides, you flashed your watch around a lot, the military is paying for the resort," Ling purred.

"Fuck and damn, why don't you watch me better?!" Ed cried, then squinted his eyes shut really hard until the echo in his head subsided. "Mustang is going to kick my ass from here to Briggs and then the Major General will kick it back again! LING, you promised AL you'd watch me!"

"I did watch you! You were magnificent, smiling, swaggering, getting off on being important. Really it's just glorious to watch you throw your authority around; everyone was suitably impressed," the prince grinned. "Imagine my profound gratitude and pride to have one such as you."

"Your own personal sugar daddy," Ed kept his eyes closed but his teeth bared, "all on the amestris' taxpayers cen. I think that someone a long time ago had a vision of you when they created the word shameless."

"Wife," Ling sighed again. "Well that would be the proper term, but don't think I'm going to hold you to that. I know the amestrian male sensibilities when it comes to labels. We'll come up with something appropriate, never fear."

Ed blinked his eyes open then, sensing somehow that something was off.

"Who's got a wife?" he questioned.

"I do," Ling said gleefully, "see?" And he held his hand out, displaying a simple silver band around the next to last finger.

Ed stared at it dully for a moment, as if trying to puzzle out exactly what it was; but then of course he did.

"NO, NO YOU DIDN'T! I TOLD YOU THAT SHOOTER GIRL WAS ONLY LETTING YOU STICK YOUR FACE THERE BECAUSE WE WERE TIPPING LIKE WE WERE ON SOMEONE ELSES CEN, AND ACTUALLY WE WERE, AND NOW I'M GOING TO GET BLAMED BECAUSE SOMEHOW THIS WILL FUCK UP ANCIENT XINGIAN BLOODLINES AND WHEN THEY WRITE ABOUT ME IN XINGIAN HISTORY BOOKS THEY'LL MAKE IT SOUND LIKE I FORCED YOU INTO IT OR SOMETHING," Ed got out, all in one breath. Ling looked suitably impressed.

"So you do remember something about last night," the prince grinned, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his folded arms. "That's good to know."

"It doesn't matter what I remember, what does she remember?! Was she drinking, too? Think Ling, think! Maybe we can get you out of this," Ed huffed, reaching up to rub his head.

"Who says I want out of it," the prince said slowly, "and as much as I adore you worrying about my virtue; I didn't marry a shooter girl."

"I'm sure you didn't find any spare princesses lying around in this place; no, wait, we're talking about you...," Ed said.

"Wrong again, I didn't marry a princess, either," Ling bent his knees and lifted his feet in the air, kicking them back and forth idly.

Ed leaned back on his hands, nakedness no longer seeming to matter to either of them, and snorted.

"Fine, so who did you marry?" he asked. "My head hurts to much for twenty questions."

Ling lifted his hand, curled all his fingers except his pointing finger and drew slow circles in the air for a moment before pointing his pointing finger at Ed.

Ed physically jumped and turned to look behind him, ready to dive for the blankets to hide his stuff, but there was no one there and he swung his head back around to look at Ling and regretted it because it felt that even though his neck had stopped his head kept swinging. He lifted his automail hand to stop it from spinning and bared his teeth at Ling. He didn't need this hangover, this prince, this over priced hotel room. What he did need was his clothes, some aspirin or a sledgehammer, either was fine, and a train ride out of this hellhole and back to Central; where of course he was likely to get reamed by both his commanding officer and his little brother. It was a no win situation as far as he was concerned. Waste more time with the Prince of Insipid or let his head explode on the train ride home.

"Why don't you look at your right hand," Ling encouraged, using the thumb on his ring hand to spin his ring around and round, sort of like what Ed's head was doing. "You are being exceedingly slow on the uptake this morning," the prince rolled over onto his back now, tilted his head back to look at Ed.

Ed lifted his automail hand and stared at it dully. He wasn't sure why he had to look at his right hand or just what the hell he had to be fast about. Fuck, his head was pounding but the Prince of Morons didn't seem to think that was any reason to cut him any slack in their non-stop game of verbal abuse. His hand looked pretty automail, as it usually did. Metal and bolts and what the fuck was this ring around his next to last finger, and speaking of next to last fingers....

'WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PINKY?! OH FUCK I LOST MY PINKY!," and Ed started to slap around the bed with his automail hand making the prince hastily roll to the side lest he get slapped, too. "I KNOW I HAD IT LAST NIGHT, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO IT, I'M DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME DEAD! I WAS TOLD IF THERE WAS ONE MORE REPAIR THAT WASN'T A ROUTINE REPAIR IT WOULD BE TRIPLE THE PRICE AND YOU KNOW I HAVE TO FUCKING GO ALL THE WAY TO RUSH VALLEY TO GET THIS SHIT FIXED AND I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE LEAVE BECAUSE OF YOU MR. PRINCE AMBASSADOR DEMADING BULLSHIT WHATEVER YOU ARE THAT MAKES THE BRASS GIVE IN AND MAKES ME ESCORT YOU TO PLACES I HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING IN WITH YOU BECAUSE IT ALWAYS ENDS UP AS TROUBLE! TROUBLE YOU STUPID FUCK HEAD, MY PINKY!"

"It was such a touching ceremony," the prince cooed. "We thought you were going to throw up, but in the end you didn't."

Ed did a very dramatic slow motion collapse onto the mattress. "My pinky," he moaned.

"There, there," the prince said. "Now that you're royalty you can have all the pinkies you want."