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scriveynerTitle: Finality
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
AU: Reverse'verse
Characters/Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: T
Length: 1106
Summary: "What, exactly, what your relationship with General Mustang?"
A steady rain drizzled from the heavens, beating a careless pattern against the glass. Edward Elric sat at the window, his automail arm propped in the sill and his chin in his hand as he watched the late winter weather without actually seeing it.
In the distance sat the military cemetery, a line of cars stretching past the wrought-iron gates. Black umbrellas lined the procession, like dark mushrooms they sprouted from the sides of vehicles. It was melancholy weather, all the better for a somber farewell. Edward made a scornful noise in the back of his throat - every funeral he had been to had bright blue skies burned into his memory. He felt the burn beginning behind his eyes and swallowed, focusing instead on the rainwater as it traced patterns down the outside of the window.
It had only been a few months.
“Lieutenant Colonel?"
Edward looked up at the voice. The rank still didn’t fit him well, but at least now he responded when someone addressed him. He straightened a bit, turning toward the speaker. The nurse smiled at him, patronizingly but Edward had gotten used to that. So many people still treated him like he was made of glass. Let them mollycoddle him, he didn’t care anymore. there were other, more important things to do. "The doctor is ready for you,” she said, clutching her clipboard to her chest and indicating the direction they would be going in.
Getting to his feet - both figuratively and literally - was taking far longer than what he had anticipated. He had lost a lot of valuable time locked within his own head; he was very fortunate to have General Grumman step in and sponsor him. The old man was very influential and was one of Mustang’s own allies. The military might have just dumped him as another causality otherwise.
On the other front though, Edward was used to quick fixes. If his automail misbehaved, Winry would have him up and running in a matter of days. A broken leg - especially one as badly broken as his had been - took a lot longer to heal. Even now he still had to use a cane on most days, a concession he did not like to make.
The nurse waited patiently, thankfully silent as Edward struggled painfully to his feet. The cast had been off for a while, but it would be longer yet before he would be back to full working order. The doctors too didn’t seem to believe that Edward would be running around like he used to, but if there was one thing Edward was good at it was understanding his own body. However, the military mandated these check-ups, and there was no good way to get out of them.
“Awfully convenient to have the cemetery so close to the hospital,” Edward muttered darkly as he followed the nurse, limping only slightly and trying not to show how much he was leaning on the cane.
The nurse pursed her lips, clearly unappreciative of the observation. “That is an awfully morbid thought, Lieutenant Colonel,” she said tersely. Edward quirked an eyebrow, amused at himself for irritating her. He had never liked nurses, or hospitals for that matter.
He was shown to an actual office, not an examination room. Edward stood inside the room as the nurse shut the door behind him, and glanced around with mild interest. It was a different turn of events, to be certain. The doctor was not in his office, and Edward stumped to a chair, slinging himself down with a relieved sigh, glad to be off his feet again.
While the automail meant that he didn’t have to wheel himself around in a wheelchair while stuck in a cast, it also inhibited his healing a lot more than he realized. It was a frustrating, slow, agonizing process and if he ever had to go through it again he might just ask to have the leg chopped off and replaced.
When the door to the office opened again he glanced back, to see a bespectacled doctor in a white coat walk in with a clipboard. It wasn’t his usual physician, and Edward had the feeling he had been bamboozled. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel,” the man said breezily, glancing down at his clipboard. “May I call you Ed?”
“My rank is fine,” Edward said, all of his hackles up. He didn’t usually care what people called him, but his defenses were up, and he was legally an adult now. He could get in a lot of trouble for just punching people, no matter how justified he was. “Who are you? Where’s Doctor Kelley?”
“Doctor Kelley’s out for the week,” the man said, sitting down while still studying his clipboard. He set the wooden board at his desk and smiled at Edward, and Edward had the overwhelming urge to punch this man anyway. “Call me Doctor Dee, if we’re going by titles.”
Edward sat back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. This man was too bright, too artificially cheerful. “You’re not a regular physician here,” Edward said sharply. “You’ve been brought in here specifically to handle me, haven’t you?”
Dee raised his eyebrows innocently. “What makes you say that, Lieutenant Colonel?”
Edward folded his hands in front of his face, elbows propped on the armrests. “Because I sent the last head doctor out of the room screaming within twenty minutes,” he said, smirking slightly at the memory. “Care to make a wager on how long you’ll last?”
“I think you mistake my intentions,” the man said calmly, looking down at his clipboard. “This isn’t a mental evaluation. You passed all of those with flying colors - traumatizing the psychiatrist notwithstanding."
It was hard not letting the frown out, but Edward managed to keep the worst of it from his face. He didn’t usually misjudge a situation so blatantly, so either this doctor was lying to him or there was something else going on. "Then what sort of appointment is this?”
The man met Edward’s eye, and asked the question point-blank. “What exactly was your relationship with the late General Mustang?”
Edward’s heart stopped beating.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
AU: Reverse'verse
Characters/Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: T
Length: 1106
Summary: "What, exactly, what your relationship with General Mustang?"
A steady rain drizzled from the heavens, beating a careless pattern against the glass. Edward Elric sat at the window, his automail arm propped in the sill and his chin in his hand as he watched the late winter weather without actually seeing it.
In the distance sat the military cemetery, a line of cars stretching past the wrought-iron gates. Black umbrellas lined the procession, like dark mushrooms they sprouted from the sides of vehicles. It was melancholy weather, all the better for a somber farewell. Edward made a scornful noise in the back of his throat - every funeral he had been to had bright blue skies burned into his memory. He felt the burn beginning behind his eyes and swallowed, focusing instead on the rainwater as it traced patterns down the outside of the window.
It had only been a few months.
“Lieutenant Colonel?"
Edward looked up at the voice. The rank still didn’t fit him well, but at least now he responded when someone addressed him. He straightened a bit, turning toward the speaker. The nurse smiled at him, patronizingly but Edward had gotten used to that. So many people still treated him like he was made of glass. Let them mollycoddle him, he didn’t care anymore. there were other, more important things to do. "The doctor is ready for you,” she said, clutching her clipboard to her chest and indicating the direction they would be going in.
Getting to his feet - both figuratively and literally - was taking far longer than what he had anticipated. He had lost a lot of valuable time locked within his own head; he was very fortunate to have General Grumman step in and sponsor him. The old man was very influential and was one of Mustang’s own allies. The military might have just dumped him as another causality otherwise.
On the other front though, Edward was used to quick fixes. If his automail misbehaved, Winry would have him up and running in a matter of days. A broken leg - especially one as badly broken as his had been - took a lot longer to heal. Even now he still had to use a cane on most days, a concession he did not like to make.
The nurse waited patiently, thankfully silent as Edward struggled painfully to his feet. The cast had been off for a while, but it would be longer yet before he would be back to full working order. The doctors too didn’t seem to believe that Edward would be running around like he used to, but if there was one thing Edward was good at it was understanding his own body. However, the military mandated these check-ups, and there was no good way to get out of them.
“Awfully convenient to have the cemetery so close to the hospital,” Edward muttered darkly as he followed the nurse, limping only slightly and trying not to show how much he was leaning on the cane.
The nurse pursed her lips, clearly unappreciative of the observation. “That is an awfully morbid thought, Lieutenant Colonel,” she said tersely. Edward quirked an eyebrow, amused at himself for irritating her. He had never liked nurses, or hospitals for that matter.
He was shown to an actual office, not an examination room. Edward stood inside the room as the nurse shut the door behind him, and glanced around with mild interest. It was a different turn of events, to be certain. The doctor was not in his office, and Edward stumped to a chair, slinging himself down with a relieved sigh, glad to be off his feet again.
While the automail meant that he didn’t have to wheel himself around in a wheelchair while stuck in a cast, it also inhibited his healing a lot more than he realized. It was a frustrating, slow, agonizing process and if he ever had to go through it again he might just ask to have the leg chopped off and replaced.
When the door to the office opened again he glanced back, to see a bespectacled doctor in a white coat walk in with a clipboard. It wasn’t his usual physician, and Edward had the feeling he had been bamboozled. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel,” the man said breezily, glancing down at his clipboard. “May I call you Ed?”
“My rank is fine,” Edward said, all of his hackles up. He didn’t usually care what people called him, but his defenses were up, and he was legally an adult now. He could get in a lot of trouble for just punching people, no matter how justified he was. “Who are you? Where’s Doctor Kelley?”
“Doctor Kelley’s out for the week,” the man said, sitting down while still studying his clipboard. He set the wooden board at his desk and smiled at Edward, and Edward had the overwhelming urge to punch this man anyway. “Call me Doctor Dee, if we’re going by titles.”
Edward sat back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. This man was too bright, too artificially cheerful. “You’re not a regular physician here,” Edward said sharply. “You’ve been brought in here specifically to handle me, haven’t you?”
Dee raised his eyebrows innocently. “What makes you say that, Lieutenant Colonel?”
Edward folded his hands in front of his face, elbows propped on the armrests. “Because I sent the last head doctor out of the room screaming within twenty minutes,” he said, smirking slightly at the memory. “Care to make a wager on how long you’ll last?”
“I think you mistake my intentions,” the man said calmly, looking down at his clipboard. “This isn’t a mental evaluation. You passed all of those with flying colors - traumatizing the psychiatrist notwithstanding."
It was hard not letting the frown out, but Edward managed to keep the worst of it from his face. He didn’t usually misjudge a situation so blatantly, so either this doctor was lying to him or there was something else going on. "Then what sort of appointment is this?”
The man met Edward’s eye, and asked the question point-blank. “What exactly was your relationship with the late General Mustang?”
Edward’s heart stopped beating.
