Fullmetal Alchemist/Supernatural - Miles Apart [1] [RoyEd]

Title: Miles Apart [1/5]
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist, Supernatural
AU: Mashup
Characters/Pairing: Roy/Ed, Al
Rating: M
Length: 5823
Summary: Ed hates faeries. (And they hate him right back.)

( Read more... )

Al had the kid slung up on his elbow, her tiny arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder; she was too frozen by fear to move. Ed snarled, swiped the blood out of his eye with the back of his hand holding the flashlight. "Which way did that fucking thing go?"

"I don't know," Al said. He might have chastised Ed for his language in front of a child, but he was more concerned with getting the little girl out of this warehouse alive than with her hearing Ed's colorfully vulgar vocabulary. He held his gun in his left hand, his off-hand while shooting. Fortunately, his skill with his off-hand far surpassed the average person's skill shooting with their good hand.

The weapon was loaded with the bullets that Ed and Al had painstakingly drawn protective symbols on the night before; he'd already squeezed off several shots and if he was counting right he only had four bullets in his gun. Al had another clip of the enchanted bullets but he'd have to put the girl down to dig the clip out of his pocket, and with the way her tiny fingers dug into his neck he didn't want to let her go. "It's too small and fast, and it's too dark in here-"

"I know, I know!" Ed yelled, covering the room with the gun and his flashlight settled atop each other. The girl gave a muffled sob into Al's shoulder and he squeezed her tighter to him. Ed didn't look over at them, but his mouth was set in a hard line as he swept the room with his flashlight. Small warehouse room, plenty of hiding spots and thank god that Al had his back to the wall because the creature could jump out at them from anywhere. "Come out, come out you fucking faerie," Ed growled. "We've got a pot of gold for you, right here!"

Both Ed and Al held a particular dislike for the fair folk, because while some were just troublemakers and meant no ill will to people, there were others who were downright malicious - and invariably you didn't know which you were dealing with until it was almost too late. Most of their encounters with the supernatural didn't have much to do with either type of faerie, but in the nature of their jobs they'd run up against the Unseelie court all the same. Al supposed that he would hate fae just as much as Ed did if it had been him stuck as a girl for a fortnight.

"Clurichaun don't care about gold, Ed," Al said as Ed kicked aside a small pile of debris. "Their currency is wine." They both heard a clatter off to one side, and they turned carefully that way - Al with his gun held out and Ed sweeping the area with his flashlight. Before he could say more, a small dark form darted through the beam of Ed's flashlight as it swept over a metal table. "There it is!"

"I see it!" Ed shot at the clurichaun with stunning accuracy. Al's shot went a little further wide but they both served to herd the faerie away from them. The clurichaun, a tiny thing with ugly features that Al was grateful he only caught a glimpse of ducked under the table as the enchanted bullets ricocheted off and bolted for the exit. "Oh no you don't!" Ed yelled, giving chase.

"Ed!" Al shouted after him. It was a bad idea; the thing was probably trying to split them up. "Ed, wait!" Ed ignored his brother, kicking through the door that slammed behind the clurichaun, gun out and ready.

#

Ed stumbled through the door and nearly fell. It was as if someone had removed the exit stairs, and a straight drop of about three feet surprised him and sent jolts of pain up his legs as he landed. Ed didn't fall though, catching himself on a wall. The daylight hit him like a slap in the face. He stood a moment, fixed, his gun and flashlight still out but the clurichaun was long gone.

Or maybe it wasn't. There was some rustling about halfway down the alley from him, and Ed edged in that direction. Before he could get close enough, the alley cat shot out from under the bagged garbage with a yowl. Ed swore and kicked the bag of garbage. That disturbed a few other smaller stray cats who weren't pleased and Ed stood there and watched them all flee the scene. He sighed, the clurichaun had gotten away. Ed thumbed the safety on his gun and tucked it into the back of jeans for safe-keeping before pulling his shirt down over it to hide the weapon from curious eyes. He clicked the flashlight off and then turned to go get Al.

The alley was a dead end, literally. There was no door that he had exited from; the brick was smooth and unbroken. Ed ran his hands over the brick and then swore again, louder, and slammed his hands flat against the wall as if it would produce a door at his whim. "Al!"

Nothing. Not that he had really expected a response, after all. With one hand on the wall like he expected it too to vanish, Ed gripped his flashlight in his teeth and fished his cell phone from his pocket. When he flipped it open he groaned. No signal on that, all the bars were gone and even the clock was out. Wherever he was, it was a serious dead zone. No clue where he was, no way to contact Al - "Fuckin' hate faerie folk," Ed muttered out loud. He'd have to find a pay phone and hope that Al still allowed for collect calls to his cell. Nothing would get done with him just standing here and besides, with the way his luck went the clurichaun probably magicked him to Ireland.

That would explain at least the time difference. When he and Al had parked outside the warehouse the sun was just disappearing behind the derelict buildings of a long-defunct business district. This sun was the hazy warm morning light, bright in a way afternoon light didn't seem to hold. The alley was cast completely in shadow, but the street beyond that was bathed in sunlight, with a handful of early-morning pedestrians making their way along the boulevard.

Ed sighed, pocketing his cell phone. Fuck, how was he going to get back in the country? He was supposed to be dead, after all. That would light up the FBI's grid like a goddamned Christmas tree. Why did things just have to be so difficult?

Not a single person on the street gave him a second glance; his mode of dress was not entirely out of place. Ed glanced around, and then frowned. There were only a handful of cars on the street, and their make and model was not only unfamiliar, but they looked positively ancient, even by his admittedly biased standards. Trying not to panic, Ed looked closer at the mode of dress of the people on the street. It seemed just a touch old-fashioned, not so much that a few individuals would stand out in the streets of New York, but that everyone dressed that way...?

"Fuck," Ed said again because it bore repeating.

#

Panicking got him nowhere, so the first order of business was to figure out where, exactly, the clurichaun had teleported him to. Ed walked along the road and was surprised that the street vendor signs were all in English. At least, he was assuming it was English, given his ability to read them.

It was because had his head craned back and was trying to read a sign as he walked under it that facilitated the fact that he didn't see the man until he walked right into him. The guy was tall – very tall, Ed was no midget and he barely came up to this guy's shoulder. Their shoulders caught solidly and Ed rebounded back, and the guy he walked in to staggered back against his buddies. Ed stopped, irritated, as the guy snapped at him. "Watch where you're fucking going!"

Ed was not in the mood. "Maybe if you didn't take up the whole fucking sidewalk people wouldn't walk into you," he retorted, unwilling to back down. He realized as he looked at them that these three men were wearing some kind of uniform he that he didn't recognize, and that they were, all three of them, drunk. "Okay, I know it's five o'clock somewhere, but shit," Ed said. "It's a little early to be plastered off your asses, isn't it?"

The big ape of a man that Ed had walked into took the first swing at him. Ed ducked, shifted his grip on the flashlight in his right hand and swung upwards. The head of the flashlight caught the man under his chin and snapped his jaw shut and head back in one smooth motion. Ed felt the impact up to his shoulder and was once again glad that Al had insisted on buying some good quality, solid flashlights this time.

People had scattered back as the other two moved around their friend, who caught himself on the wall, somehow still on his feet. Ed grinned, holding the flashlight loosely. He logically knew that this was a really bad idea, they outnumbered him, he had no idea where he was and really shouldn't be stirring the shit just yet. But he was pissed as hell, the clurichaun was long gone and it was too small to punch even if Ed had been able to lay his hands on it. At the very least, this was going to be cathartic.

Ed looked between the two buddies of the larger man. They both had dark hair, worn short in a military cut. Ed pointed at the first one. "Heckle," he said. Then he pointed the flashlight at the second one. "Jeckle."

Apparently neither of them liked the nicknames Ed had just given them. Heckle came at Ed first, but got the flashlight across the temple for his troubles. The man grabbed his wrist as he went down, twisting it back at an angle that made Ed drop the flashlight with a hiss. Ed's left cross made him let Ed's wrist go, and at the same time Ed kicked, trying to prevent Jeckle from getting a good grip on his lower half. Ed turned and stomped, the tread of his boot catching Jeckle in the shoulder and getting snarled in the gold aiguillette that hung from his epaulette. Now on one leg Ed looked as the shadow of the larger guy crossed his vision. He was able to wrench his head as he saw the guy's fist coming, the blow glanced off the side of his head instead of hitting full to the face.

It was still enough to put him down, off-balance as he was. Ed hit the ground hard enough to have the wind knocked out of him. Jeckle shed his jacket expertly and rolled out of the way as the first beast of a man kicked Ed hard below the ribs. That hurt, quite a bit. Ed rolled onto his side and curled in to protect himself.

Before the man could kick Ed again, someone shouted something he couldn't distinguish. The sharp click of military boots on concrete overwhelmed his hearing as other ran up. Ed was tasting bile in his mouth and trying not to throw up – the guy had reinforcements? He was well and truly fucked if that was the case. Someone grabbed Ed by the back of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet. The men surrounding them were dressed in similar uniforms to his opponents but they were black and not dark blue – not reinforcements. This knowledge told him all he needed, and the moment Ed was fully upright he threw himself at the first guy. He managed halfway into a full tackle before more hands grabbed him back and restrained him.

Heckle was lying on the ground, both hands on his head where Ed hit him with the flashlight. "Shit," he said as the men in dark uniforms hoisted him to his feet as well, before shoving his hands behind his back and cuffing him. He hung his head and groaned; the bruise already apparent above his eye. "Not again."

#

Roy Mustang yawned, propped one elbow on his desk as he rubbed his eye wearily with that same hand. It was insufferably hot in his office, the sun giving little ground and cooking him from behind quite thoroughly. It was a Saturday, he had too much built up paperwork he'd been avoiding throughout the week and the reports all had to be in by Monday. Roy eyed the stack of papers from under his hand and willed them to immolate.

Hawkeye opened the door to his office, and then stood in the outer office a moment, fanning some of the hot air aside with the folders in her arms. "Good morning, Colonel," she said, propping his door open. "Glad to see that you arrived promptly today."

There was no mistaking the undercurrent of threat to her voice. "Good morning, Lieutenant," Roy responded with an overworked sigh. "More reports that need to be in by Monday?" How had he managed to miss this much work? He was beginning to feel like a delinquent schoolboy held for detention on a pretty afternoon.

"Not quite." She laid the majority of the stack of folders to the side of his desk, things to be dealt with on Monday proper. Roy exhaled in relief, but then she slid a clipboard in front of him.

Roy looked down at the clipboard with a frown, then back up at Hawkeye. "Arrest reports?"

"There was a small brawl outside one of the popular bars that the night shift soldiers frequent," she said. Roy looked up at her, unsure how she managed to not look like she was about to dissolve into a puddle of sweat at the oven that his office had become.

"You have the authority to sign off on those, Lieutenant," Roy said, clearly confused by this change in protocol. He tapped his pen against the side of his jaw and felt no mercy. "Let the miscreants cools their heels in the brig for the weekend."

He only caught the flicker in her expression in his peripheral vision. "You should look a little closer at the arrest report, Colonel," Hawkeye said instead, leaning to sort through the reports that Roy had dropped messily into a completed pile.

Roy frowned, looked at the expression on Hawkeye's face and then skimmed over the information in the report. He stopped near the bottom of the page as a name jumped out at him. "Fullmetal was the instigator?" It wasn't unusual that Edward would instigate such a thing; it was in fact quite a common occurrence. The MPs knew him on sight and usually the warden would give him a call personally every time Edward got picked up for fighting. This time, however…

"I sent Fullmetal to Richvania out past West City two weeks ago," Roy mused out loud. He had just talked to Alphonse not two days ago – Edward would not put down his book to report in and didn't want to talk to 'that bastard colonel' as he shouted in the background - Alphonse dutifully relaying a much-cleansed version of the diatribe that Roy could clearly hear anyway. "The last I heard, they were still there."

In truth, Roy had sent Edward as far west as he could, trailing after several cases that were long cold. However Edward had picked up the leads and seen something there, his eyes had widened with barely-contained excitement and he only just remembered to open the door before bolting out of Roy's office, waving the orders over his head at Alphonse. Roy was trying to remember what exactly those old cases contained, it hadn't seemed anything significant, but Elrics were so well trained to think outside the box there was no point in trying to parse it. So they'd lit out west like a fire was set under them, and Roy could … relax.

He knew the betting pool existed but had ignored it because of how long it had existed. Roy had no interest in little boys, and Edward was just so beautifully infuriating that there seemed to be a special level of hell assigned just for him to be screamed at over his desk, sulked at, growled at. He'd even had the (now artificial, the real one died of neglect years ago) plant he kept on the low table thrown at him once.

Lately, something had changed in Edward's gait. It was subtle but it was in the way he carried himself. He had added a few inches, and it wasn't in the boots that had thick soles to give him extra height. He was still unmistakably short, but there was something different in his eyes. When he caught Roy's eye over his desk Roy had felt his breath catch in his throat. Wild, untamed, so undeniably Edward that Roy couldn't take it and quickly found assignments that would keep Edward out of his office and thus, keep Roy's eyes from falling out of his head when he watched Edward's ass in those leather pants that left little to the imagination. The last thing he needed was anyone in the office to catch on to … whatever it was that Roy was failing to deal with.

In fact, he was afraid that Hawkeye was going to catch on to him right now by the way she was looking at him. He set the clipboard down and folded his hands in front of his face, trying to ignore the sweat that was now tracing its way down the back of his collar as he thought. "If it were truly Fullmetal," Roy murmured. "Alphonse would have been in my office by now."

"I agree," Hawkeye said. "Someone who gave Edward's name when he was arrested."

Roy exhaled through his hands. "If it's that Tringham brat again…" He let the threat trail off, he couldn't think of something threatening enough to do that Edward hadn't already described in great detail in the past. "I suppose I ought to go see who we've got incarcerated then, if it isn't our delinquent State Alchemist."

They both glanced at the pile of paperwork that remained on his desk. Roy sighed and reached for another paper to sign without reading it. Hawkeye plucked it out of his hands, though. "If you're just going to sign it without reading it," she said. "I can see to that." Roy looked at her in surprise, but Hawkeye picked up the stack of paperwork. "Don't dawdle, I expect to see you back here soon, Colonel." Roy pulled on his uniform jacket and fastened it, then pocketed his gloves as Hawkeye retreated to the cooler outer office.

Recess.

#

Roy wasn't entirely sure who he was expecting to see in the cell. Some impostor, surely – but who in their right mind gave Fullmetal's name? He was partially expecting the thin willow Tringham boy; entirely dissimilar to Edward but used to weaseling his way about impersonating him and using the military funding for his own alchemical research. Roy had thought numerous times on dumping the boy in the brig for his misappropriating of military funds for civilian use; but Edward was oddly fond of him. Roy was beginning to learn that Edward showed his fondness in yelling how much he hated someone and wanted them to fucking die in a ditch. Edward didn't have many friends, after all, and while he wasn't exactly chummy with Tringham they did work well off of each other.

Under that frame of reference, reworking in his title of "bastard Colonel…" Roy smiled to himself as he stood in front of the attendant's desk. He signed off on the paperwork that the bored attendant held out for him. "Thank you, Colonel Mustang," he said, turning away from his desk and filing right there. "He's been nothing but a pain in the ass since they brought him in – if you don't mind me saying so, sir," the attendant tacked on quickly at Roy's carefully neutral expression. "He keeps bothering everyone for a ball to toss, and keeps calling himself "The Cooler King," whatever that means."

"I see," Roy murmured.

The attendant slid a tray across the desk to Roy. "These are the personal effects he had on him," he said.

A ball formed in the pit of Roy's stomach. A wallet, hard leather and thin. Unfamiliar currency – wasn't cenz, and didn't look like any of the neighboring country's currency either. The IDs were strange, hard plastic and the tiny pictures on them looked enough like Edward that this person clearly did their research. He closed the wallet and looked at the gun on the tray as well. It was familiar, a Colt, much like most of the military carried. The safety was on and the clip ejected, but most of the bullets were gone. The few that remained had strange, small black symbols drawn on them. Several knives of varying size all lay on the tray as well. Whoever this person was, it looked like they were prepared to carry out a one-man war.

The attendant was watching Roy's expression carefully, but he was apt to be disappointed, he didn't let the mask slip an inch. "Where is he?"

"Last cell," the attendant nodded at the row of empty holding cells.

"Where are the soldiers who initiated the scuffle?" Roy asked, surveying the row. "I didn't sign any release paperwork."

"No, their XO came in and posted their bail." The attendant looked down at the paperwork. "Nothing had come through to keep them any further, and no charges were filed."

"Thank you," Roy said. He left the tray on the attendant's desk, and the man slid it aside but didn't remove it, on the off chance the MPs would bring in more people before Roy was done here.

He relished the sharp click of the military boots on the concrete floor, even if it must have alerted the prisoner to his presence, but he was still sitting with his back to the cool wall out of the sunlight, at the far side of the cell. Roy stopped before the bars that crossed one side of the cell in its entirety. Gold eyes, catching the light like a wolf's, tracked his progress and an eyebrow cocked up in recognition. "Okay," Edward Elric said; his elbows on his knees as he looked Roy up and down with an unsettling familiarity, "Now I know I'm in Westworld."

Roy's throat tightened in confusion. There was a stain of brown blood in Edward's fair hair, and dried blood caked the side of his face. He had been wounded and no one had bothered to look at him. No wonder he thought he was in West City, he had a head wound. "Fullmetal," Roy said carefully. "What are you doing here?"

He snorted at Roy. "Yeah, that's what I'd like to know too. Fuckin' fae, that's what." He stood up carefully, winced only a little. "What are you doing wearing one of those ridiculous uniform skirts, Mustang, is this all part of you plan to fuck entirely with my head? Because, just for the record, it's working." He crossed the cell and leaned against the bars, hanging his hands out through the gaps and grinning, easy and open, for Roy.

Now Roy knew he couldn't keep the confusion off of his face. Because, leaning against the bars of the cell comfortably, he was looking directly into Edward's eyes. Not down, no platform in his boots, the man was flatfoot on the ground. "What the hell did you call me, anyway? Fullmetal? That's a new one." He pointed at Roy. "You better not be referring to the Impala, she's my baby and doesn't need any of your fruity naming shit."

This man – because, as Roy swallowed and fought the overwhelming urge to take a step back – was like looking into a mirror of the future. Edward's eyes, sharp as ever, brilliant gold like a wolf's but set more in his face; older, wiser. Lines around his eyes, a crooked comfortable grin that was beginning to vanish as he realized that something was wrong. Broad shoulders, and two arms, whole flesh and not metal, draped out over the bars of the cell. "Roy? What's wrong?" The smile quickly disappeared and settled into something else, worry. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

More unsettled than he'd been in his entire life, Roy still managed to keep the mask on, the shield of military authority. "Who the hell are you?" How do you know who I am, why were you looking at me with that relief in your eyes?

The impostor-Edward's brow furrowed as he studied Roy, unable to understand his reaction. He looked down at the ground and exhaled, then straightened, slapping the palms of his hands against the bars. "You don't know who I am." He rubbed his jaw and let out a short, bitter laugh. "Guess I should be grateful, it's better than everyone wanting a piece of me, but fuck, Roy. You don't even recognize me at all?"

Yes I do, Roy wanted to say but he really didn't. This close to the impostor-Edward he could see that the man needed a shave, stubble slightly darker than the brilliant hair on his head decorated his cheeks and chin. "Who are you, then?"

Impostor-Edward crossed his arms over his chest. He was clearly considering it, glancing about the walls of his cell as if that was going to provide the best answer. "Before I answer that, could you tell me where I am?"

"That's a curious request."

"Humor me, Mustang; I've had a bad day."

Roy raised an eyebrow; he'd had a bad day? But it was a fair question and there was little to gain from withholding the truth. "You pick a fight and you don't even know where you are?"

"I'll hear it from Al, I don't have to hear it from you too," impostor-Edward was good, Roy had to give him that.

"You're in the military brig in Central City," Roy said smoothly.

"Central City?" The man laughed, shook his head. "Well, shit, call me Barry fuckin' Allen, then. Central City," he repeated, clearly amused by this revelation.

"So your name is Barry Allen?"

"What? No, no that's the Flash. He was based out of Central City." At Roy's expression he shrugged his shoulders. "A comic book character. He runs really, really fast."

"I don't understand."

"Comic books? You know, sequential art that's used to tell a story, even you can't be that fucking dense-"

Roy's jaw tightened. "I know what a comic book is, Fullmetal."

The impostor-Edward sat down on the bench that was little more than a wooden plank held to the wall with old chain. "There's that name again," he murmured. "But, you answered my question, so I'll answer yours. Fair trade." Equivalent exchange. He flashed a cocky grin that Roy recognized without fail. "The name's Ed Elric."

"That would be an easier lie for you to pass off if he wasn't part of my command already," Roy said coldly. "I'll ask you again. Who are you?"

There was the start of anger in the impostor-Edward's eyes. "Th' fuck? You asked for my name and I gave it, Ed Elric. Ain't my fault if you don't believe me." He waved a hand in the air. "S'not like two people can't have the same name."

Except, not in Amestris. Roy had made a point of looking it up; before he had even visited them that first time - the Elrics carried their mother's name and she had been an only child. "Augh," the impostor-Ed said, rubbing his hand through his hair gingerly and leaning his head back against the wall. "It's been a long fucking day, and I'm not even in Kansas anymore." A frown. "Well, we were in Colorado, but whatever."

He looked it, too. The fatigue pinched around his eyes, the blood on his face, the scruff – he had clearly been through a lot. And Roy couldn't believe he was actually thinking this, but – he looked far too much like, and acted far too much like Edward for this to be a sheer coincidence. "So you think you're actually Edward Elric."

"Ah, would you just go away, Mustang?" Impostor-Edward waved a hand at him. "You're not gonna believe me and I've got bigger fish to fry than going around and convincing everyone that I'm the ~real deal~." At the silence from Roy, he looked back over. "Guess your name's not Mustang. Sorry, random military shithead, you just look an awful lot like a guy I know."

More and more. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang of the Amestris Military," Roy said officiously. "I would appreciate that you at least address me formally."

"Bull-fucking-shit, Mustang. You won't even accept that my name's Ed and you want me to fawn over you? Oh Colonel~" and the mocking, breathy tone that impostor-Edward, that Ed used actually seized in his stomach. Ed got up and stalked the bars of the cell and rattled them. "You can't keep me in here, I haven't done anything wrong."

"You assaulted a military officer."

"Who didn't press charges because they were fucking drunk, an' it was their fault anyway."

"You are impersonating a State Alchemist."

"I'm – what?" The expression that crossed this Ed's face was priceless. "Like, an alchemist-alchemist? Or that new age-y occultist bullshit?"

Now it was Roy's turn to be confused. "What?"

"Like Aleister Crowley alchemist or like Nicholas Flamel alchemist?"

This conversation was quickly becoming too surreal for Roy. "What difference could it possibly make?"

"What difference? Summoning demons is a hell of a lot different than transmuting lead to gold."" Ed smacked the bars of his cell. "Look, can I just have my shit and go? I can boy-scout promise that I won't assault any more of your military officers, I just want to get home."

"Where is your home, then?"

Ed gave him a long look. "You'll think I'm mental."

"How could it possibly be any worse than you claiming to be a fifteen-year-old alchemist?"

There goes that expression again. This Ed was just as carefree with how the emotions crossed his face. "How old? You let fifteen-year-olds join the army? What kind of freaks are you here?"

"Fullmetal was a special exception," Roy murmured. "He actually joined when he was twelve."

Whatever train of thought this Ed had apparently ground to a halt at that, he leaned against the bars of the cell, mouth open. "Twelve? What about, what about Al? Don't tell me you let him in the army too, I'll have to break some arms, oh my fucking god-" He pressed a hand to his forehead, ran his fingers through his shorter bangs and then exhaled. "Fucking fae, never do any fucking good," he muttered. "Well, you guys have some kind of magic here, maybe I'll be able to get myself home in no time at all and I won't have to deal with this freaky mirror-world that long."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Told you, you'd think I was mental."

"I don't think there's a single thing you could tell me that would make me think you're crazier than you already are."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ed muttered, "But I think I'm from another world, kinda a … mirror world? Because there's a Roy Mustang where I'm from, who looks almost exactly like you, except –" Peered at Roy's face, they were far too close even with the bars of the cell separating them. "Except older, probably a few years older."

He was right; Roy did think he was crazy. "How did you get here?"

"Fuckin' clurichaun, that's how. I almost put a bullet through its tiny evil skull but it got away and apparently zapped me further than I originally thought."

"Well," Roy said cautiously. "I have heard of stranger things. Rather, I have heard of Fullmetal causing stranger things, so let's say I'm inclined to believe you. What are you planning to do?"

"Get my ass home, that's what I'm planning to do," Ed said. "We have a war on; I can't just duck out on faerie-induced holiday for however long I want. That could …" he hesitated then, the shadow of emotion cutting across his face Roy didn't recognize. Then he met Roy's eye and was surprised by the expression there. "It could mean the end of the world."

"Apparently your talent for hyperbole only deepens with age," Roy said. "You're military?"

"I wish it was hyperbole," Ed muttered. "It would make life so much easier. And, no. Thou' my dad was, for a while. He fought in 'Nam." The words meant nothing to Roy. "Look, could you just let me out of here? I can find my own way, I just gotta get back as quickly as possible."

"If you really are Fullmetal from another world, then your capacity for destruction is quite immense," Roy said. "I wouldn't feel comfortable releasing back out on the streets unattended."

"So, what, you gonna assign me a babysitter?"

"Given the uniqueness of your situation, I am rather accustomed to making provisions for wayward Elrics." He smiled coldly. "I'm willing to bet you have some talents that could provide useful to the military while we try to find you your way home."

"I ain't joining your military," Ed said firmly.

"A partnership, then. As it is on a temporary basis, after all."

Ed studied him. "Mustang, you haven't changed one bit." He mirrored Roy's cold grin. "You use me, I use you, and we both get what we want. Fair's fair, as long as I don't have to sleep here."

"I'm sure that something can be arranged," Roy said.