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“Why do you always have to be such an egotistical bastard?”
Roy laughed, making Ed’s blood pressure spike. “Time was speaking like that to the Prime Minister would get you killed, or at least jailed.”
“This is not a joke, you asshole. We are talking about your life.”
Roy folded his hands, which looked strangely pale without his gloves. “No, we are talking about other people’s warped concepts of safety.”
Ed slammed his automail fist on the desk, and heard a sickly crack emanate from the wooden surface.
“That’s antique, Ed. Do I need to put away the good china too?”
“Would you shut up for two seconds?” Ed stared at the Prime Minister, using every scrap of self-control he possessed to keep from leaping over the desk and beating sense into him. “You are getting death threats on a daily basis. We are on the brink of civil war, and you want to do a meet and greet at the docks? Have you lost what little mind you have left?”
“I hired you to be my bodyguard, not my advisor. I have a whole Parliament for that.” Roy shrugged. “I’ve had a dangerous job my whole life. This isn’t new territory for me.”
“It is, but you’re too stupid to realize it!” Ed yanked on the collar of his short cape, feeling heat rise to his face. “You are not a colonel anymore. You’re a figurehead for thousands, and you’re supposed to be ushering in a new age for Amestris. Your death means the death of this country.”
Roy shook his head at him slowly. “I never thought I’d see the day: Edward Elric writing sonnets about his love for the State.”
“This isn’t about the State! This is about you—about keeping you alive long enough to finish what you started. All of us got on this train with you, you with your grand ideas of what Amestris could be. You made us believe it was possible. So forgive us if we’re not so inclined to let you go without a fight.” Ed thrust out his chin. “No press, no entourage, no way, no how.”
The Prime Minister rose to his feet, leaning across the desk to meet Ed’s gaze. “I’m not going to skulk around this country hiding behind curtains. Our people died in the streets because of secrets kept by—“
“A madman! A freak show!” Ed handicapped the odds of whether or not tearing his hair out would help, but it was looking particularly nice these days, so he decided to keep it. “You can’t compare yourself with him.”
“The people will.”
Ed snorted. “The people’s version of the truth is so watered down it’s an insult to call it truth at all. And that’s the way it should be. There is information people don’t need to have.”
Roy’s voice had taken on a dangerously quiet tone. “And who gets to decide that? You?”
Ed pulled a white glove out of his pocket and slipped it over his automail. “You hired me to protect you. I already cancelled the press conference. Deal with it.”
Even though Ed knew Roy was furious, the other man’s countenance didn’t falter for a moment. During their times together before the election, Roy’s mask would sometimes slip, which would often result in an outcry from his closest advisors. In recent days, however, the only face Roy wore was his poker face, and it was driving Ed to the brink of insanity.
The Prime Minister picked up a pen, scribbling notes on the ledger before him. “Fine. We’ll play by your rules for the moment.”
Ed crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. Winning an argument with Roy never really felt like winning, because he always left Ed with the vague notion that he’d merely been lulled into believing he won in the first place.
The scrape of Roy’s chair made him turn around. “I’m going to bed.”
Ed nodded, and moved to the doorway, checking the corridor for any stray sounds. There were two guards posted at the door, which was protocol, and every guard rotated throughout the manor had been handpicked by Ed himself. The process had driven Roy to drink, but the end result was a staff of guardsmen that Ed felt at least marginally confident about.
Two more guards flanked Roy’s bedroom, which Ed rotated every day. It seemed an outrageous measure to take, but until the State settled down, Ed took no chances. This day’s chamber of choice was the Wednesday room, which was decorated in hues of blue and gray, and featured an enormous curtain-draped canopy bed. Ed loathed the damned curtains, and made Roy tie them back, much to his dismay.
Roy stretched, taking off his fitted jacket and draping it over an overstuffed armchair. If there was one thing that Roy took to, it was having household staff. Ed had left the task of hiring them to Hughes, as Hughes had a special love of doing background checks on people. He might be Chief of Staff now, but his former life in military information still served him well.
Ed locked the door behind them, doing a perimeter sweep of the chamber. He’d done one earlier in the day, and set several protection arrays, which he checked as well. The chamber’s windows had also been treated with an alchemical agent that strengthened the glass significantly, enough to stop a bullet. So far, his efforts within the manor had been enough to stop any attacks from without, but he woke up in a cold sweat many nights at the thought of a minor miscalculation.
“Are we just giving each other the silent treatment tonight?” Roy stood before the mirror, ruffling through his hair.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Ed’s voice came out harsher than he meant it to.
“The worst part about hiring you is that you never leave work, Ed,” Roy said. “You’re always looking over your shoulder.”
“Have you met me? I look over my shoulder all the time. And for the record, when exactly do you leave work? You’re the fucking Prime Minister. You’re working in your sleep.”
Roy stripped down to his boxers, sighing. “It’s a fair point.” He padded barefoot into the bathroom, cursing after he dumped the tooth powder onto the tile.
Ed removed his short cape and jacket, emblazoned with the flame insignia of the Prime Minister. He took off the short sword on his left hip, which he wore mostly because it amused Roy than for any protection purposes. Slipping off his boots and tank top, he followed Roy into the bathroom. He dumped powder on his toothbrush, and stood in front of the mirror beside Roy.
The Prime Minister spat noisily into the sink, rinsing his mouth, and then stared at Ed. “Exactly how many sit-ups do you do these days?”
Ed shrugged, his mouth full of foam. “Dunno.”
“Liar.”
Ed spat. “Fine. Three hundred.” Ed took a lot of pride in his abs; when half your body was metal, it made you want the flesh parts to look as good as possible.
Roy scowled. “Show-off.”
A bemused smiled crept onto Ed’s face as he patted his stomach. “I’m not old enough to let myself go yet.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I just mean you’ve got bigger things on your mind than whether or not you’re getting a little bit of a gut. You are running a country, after all.”
“What the hell?” Roy grabbed Ed’s automail hand and slapped it against Roy’s stomach. “You feel this! This isn’t a gut!”
Ed fingers touched the warm planes of Roy’s abdomen. “You’re right. My mistake.” Roy had perfectly nice abs; he had perfectly nice everything, really. It was easy to mess with Roy’s mind, though, and Ed enjoyed doing it.
Roy shoved off his touch, pointing towards the door. “Get out. I have to piss.”
Ed shrugged. “Go ahead. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want you watching me. It freaks me out and I can’t go.”
Ed returned to the bed, curling up beneath the covers with schematics in his hands. Hughes had them delivered by private courier from the coast, and he still didn’t feel comfortable with them despite the hours he’d spent studying them.
“Are you still staring at those things?”
Ed stuck a pencil in his mouth, chewing on the eraser. “I can’t imagine being down on one of these things for more than a day. It would be like living in a sardine can.”
“You never lived in Bradley’s barracks.” Roy sniffed, crawling into bed.
He flipped onto his back, hands behind his head. “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog.”
“You don’t need a dog.”
“A guard dog. But one that could play dead, because how funny is that?”
Ed rolled his eyes, trying to burn every passage of the blueprints into his brain. “Submarines. Who would have ever thought…a boat that travels underwater?”
“They can’t stay underwater for extended periods of time. They have to surface to recharge their batteries.”
Ed stuck out his tongue. “Really? I’m so glad you told me, because I didn’t read the military report yet, you know, because that’s not my job or anything.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“That’s pretty much my job, too.”
Roy sighed, turning onto his side, letting his hair fall over his eyes. “Not that I don’t value your anal-retentive need to memorize every inch of the ship I’m going to be on for all of five minutes, but is there any possibility that you might be turning out the lights sometime in the next decade?”
Ed folded up the schematics, rubbing his eyes with his flesh hand. “At this point it’s either in my brain or it’s not.” He put the blueprints aside, reaching up to turn out the lamp.
“You worry too much. Like I said, five minutes at most. Maybe ten if they ask me nicely.”
Roy’s warm body drew closer, and he flinched before resting against Ed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know I’m a little cold.”
Roy’s skin felt fevered compared to Ed’s, which remained several degrees below normal thanks to his automail.
“You should try to get some rest tonight. I don’t think you’ve had a full night’s sleep for weeks.” Roy’s voice suddenly had real concern in it, and he reached beneath the blankets to take Ed’s right hand, rocking his automail thumb back and forth. “You should have Al check you over.”
Ed pulled his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I’m just saying I need you at your best, and I don’t want you sick on account of me working you to death.” Roy’s hand reached up to smooth over Ed’s hair.
He let him stroke his brow, finger the short hair around his face and ears. “I’m surprised you don’t know this already, but it takes a lot more than sleepless nights to kill me.”
Roy grunted. “Just promise me you’ll see Al sometime soon.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“He warned me you’d be stubborn about this.”
Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy, but he knew the darkness would hide his scowl. “Everyone is against me.”
“You’re just paranoid.” The feeling of Roy’s fingertips on his forehead was hypnotic. “You spent so much time trying to save his body…I suppose it’s only fair he keep working towards the same ends for your sake.”
Ed’s eyes flew open, all feelings of peace erased. “I never asked him to become a doctor. If he weren’t such a fucking genius, it never would have—“
“How can you resent him for loving you?” Roy’s body tensed. “He only wants to make you proud.”
“You know what makes me proud? The fact he’s not in a goddamn suit. That’s the only thing he needs to do to make me proud; walk around like any other human being.” Ed’s breath came in short bursts. “I don’t resent him. I resent the implication that I’m something he’s trying to fix.”
“He doesn’t want to fix you. He wants to repay you.”
“Al doesn’t owe me anything.”
“It doesn’t feel that way to him.”
Ed pulled away from Roy’s body, turning on his side. “Do you honestly think having this conversation with me right now is going to go a long way towards helping me sleep tonight?”
He felt Roy take a deep breath. “No.”
“You should sleep.”
Roy pressed a kiss to the back of his head, but Ed didn’t turn around to return the gesture. He waited until Roy was asleep.
***
Ed yawned, resting his arm across the back of the velvet seat of the Roadster. He sat across from Hughes and the Prime Minister, catching odd phrases and snippets of their quiet conversation. The Roadster whirred quietly along the empty road towards the sea, with only the sounds of the windshield wipers swiping at the drizzling rain at even intervals.
“Here, Ed,” Hughes said, lifting a handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket. “I forgot; Gracia made lemon pound cake last night. I figured you probably skipped breakfast.”
Ed stifled another yawn, and waved his hand. “You guys should split it. I’m fine, really.”
Roy shrugged. “In that case…” He plucked the cake from Hughes’ hand, gobbling it with less dignity than generally befit a head of State.
“You look pretty rough, Ed.” Hughes pushed up his glasses, looking at Ed critically.
“Didn’t sleep much last night.” Ed shrugged, careful not to let the Roadster’s gentle sway make him dozy. “I’ll feel better once this whole charade is over.”
“You’re honestly not interested to see the inside of these things?” Hughes shook his head, his hair falling in his face. “It’s history in the making. This is going to change the whole face of the nautical world.”
Ed frowned. “I’m not so much for enclosed spaces myself. Like I said, the sooner it’s over the better.”
Roy licked the last crumbs of pound cake from his fingertips. “These submarines might be more helpful than we know, if things really start to fall apart.”
“I’ve told you already. These are growing pains. I really don’t think Amestris wants war again.” Hughes rubbed his stubble with the back of a hand. “The people want stability and sanity.”
Roy looked out the window, watching the scenery race by. “If you say so.”
Silence reigned in the cabin for a time, and Ed reflected on his sleepless night. Things were getting complicated, far more complicated than he’d ever anticipated. It was one thing to be the Prime Minister’s bodyguard, which in itself came with its own set of dilemmas, but to be the Prime Minister’s lover as well meant a constant stream of worlds colliding.
They fought more now, and not even the sort of somewhat enjoyable rows they used to have. Lying in bed last night, Ed listened to Roy’s breathing. There was a time when that sound brought him comfort, had even soothed him to sleep, but now, it was a constant reminder of what was a stake if he failed for even one moment. The warmth of Roy’s body, the slight trembling of his muscles in slumber were enough to keep Ed up at night. The Colonel he had known could die, but the Prime Minister he served now could not. There was no reprieve, and the relentless anxiety was beginning to penetrate deep into him in ways he knew he’d eventually pay for.
The familiar sound of Roy’s breathing filled the cabin, the air whistling slightly through his nose as he dozed. The morning paper lay curled across his lap like a cat, and his head lolled over the back of the seat.
Hughes moved away from him, leaning across the space between the seats to whisper at Ed. “There was a time when I would not have been able to restrain myself from pulling a prank on him right now.” He flicked a glance back at the Prime Minister. “The bastard can sleep through anything.”
Ed sniffed. “Don’t I know it.”
“Listen, Ed,” Hughes began, using his good-cop voice that Ed had come to both loath and love in the last decade. It sounded vaguely like the voice a father would use, and though Ed nearly always resented what Hughes said, the tone always left him feeling oddly safe. “You’re working too many hours. There are times you’ll need to pass on your job to others.”
Ed scowled. “If I felt like any of the guards I hired were capable, I might agree with you, but they’re good at guarding rooms and doors, not a living, breathing man.”
“Mustang didn’t ask you because he wanted you to be on watch twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He asked you because he trusts you more than anyone.” Hughes’ glasses caught the light reflecting off the window, and flashed momentarily. “Even me.”
“I don’t believe that.” Ed crossed his arms over his chest.
“Believe what you want.” Hughes sighed, and then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a photograph. Hughes’ face softened as he stared at the picture for a moment. “The thing is, you can’t be there every second. In the beginning, you swear you’ll never miss one word, not one step, and then life gets more complicated. I promised to be there to protect her always.” His dreamy look faded. “And then one night, it was all nearly over for me. I know you know how that feels.”
Ed didn’t look at him, but gave him a barely perceptible nod.
“Sometimes the desire to protect someone is far greater than your ability to actually do it. All I’m saying is, you’re not the only one who wants to keep him safe.”
The Roadster struck a bump, and the entire cable jostled loudly, startling Roy from sleep. He blinked wide eyes at them both. “Are we still not there yet?”
Hughes rolled his eyes, tucking the photograph into his pocket once more. “You’re worse than Alicia.”
A mock argument ensued regarding the patience of State leaders as compared to children, and Ed watched the ease of their conversation with a tight feeling in his chest. This was the slightly sleepy, silly Roy that he saw less and less these days; that Roy had been replaced with a stern, stoic man, the one Ed had assumed was the only version of Roy available when they first met.
A hand dropped on Ed’s shoulder, stirring him. Ed flicked his eyes open, and then he gasped, heart racing. He’d fallen asleep like a toddler, and to his horror, his mouth was sticky with his own drool.
Roy’s eyes were uncommonly kind at they met his. “It’s okay. We’re here.”
Ed straightened up, smoothing back his braid as he took stock of the surroundings. It was still raining, but the morning had cleared a bit now that they were seaside. The Roadster’s tires crunched on shells and gravel, its engine purring quietly as they pulled up to the aluminum-sided building by the docks.
Ed got out first, as he always did, his sword lightly tapping his thigh. He scanned the perimeter, searching for any signs of stray movement. Other than the hangar, there was no cover for sniper fire, and an earlier team of guards had already swept through the building ahead of them. The only sounds were the slap of the waves against the rocks and the annoying bleat of seabirds as they fought for bits of crab on the beach.
He tapped on the window with his metal fist, and Hughes emerged next, one hand behind his back. Ed’s mouth threatened to curve into a smile; Hughes had more knives on him than a squadron of special ops. The Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff also wielded a gun, but Hughes had always been partial to his own more primitive weaponry.
The Prime Minister stepped out, the hem of his long duster billowing in the constant breeze coming off the sea. He looked every inch the part: dark hair freshly cut, his skin clean-shaven and youthful, yet his silhouette was lean and strong, his stride long and purposeful. He looked like a prince, except princes generally didn’t wear gloves that could bring a firestorm down on whomever he chose.
“Come on,” Roy said, speaking softly enough so only the two of them could hear. “Let’s find out what Bradley kept so quiet here in the water.”
***
It always amused Ed to watch people meet the Prime Minister for the first time. Some fawned, some came near to swooning—let’s face it, he was the most attractive leader the country had seen in a century at least—some were tongue-tied, while a very rare few spoke to him as an equal. Those were the ones that made Ed nervous.
“Dr. Phillipe Christopher,” said the tall man, extending a hand. Dr. Christopher looked to be in his mid-forties, his hair graying at the temples. “Pleasure to meet you in person. Welcome to Project 32 Down.”
The Prime Minister shook his hand. “Thank you. I’m interested to see what sort of progress you’ve been making here.”
Dr. Christopher smiled. “Truth be told, the former administration didn’t seem to give much thought to us. When we began four years ago, the funds were ample, but at time passed, our backing slowed to a trickle.”
“What sort of staff are you able to maintain?” Ed had told Roy the answer to this question from the hours of reading he’d done on the Project, but Roy always liked to make sure others’ answers matched what he’d been told.
“At the height of our productivity, we maintained sixty-four full-time engineers, scientists, and mechanics, but at present, we work on a skeleton crew of nineteen.” Dr. Christopher gestured further down inside the hangar. “Come.”
Hughes, Ed, and the Prime Minister followed the doctor, though Ed kept his gaze moving at all times, taking in every door, every pile of scrap, every desk littered with paper and photographs. The hangar had the cluttered sense of a place that had once bustled with great activity, and though the party was essentially over, no one had bothered to clean up. Ed let his gloved hand trail over a metal storage box, and looked down at the black streak of grease on his fingertip. If Dr. Christopher hoped to impress, he’d better hope his submarines were in much better condition than the place in which they’d been created.
The lights hummed overhead, too dim for Ed’s liking, but high windows around the top of the hangar let in supplementary light from outside. He took a breath, frowning at the scent of oil and dust in the stale air. He couldn’t imagine spending his days cooped up inside these aluminum walls, praying for a stray breeze only to be denied again and again.
“Ah, here we are.” Dr. Christopher opened a pressure-locked door, motioning them inside. Ed stepped through first, grateful for the rush of salt air that greeted his lungs. They were in the far end of the hangar now, which was built over a headland beside the ocean. It was like an indoor dock, where three dark, beastlike shapes floated just below the surface of the water. The submarines were bigger than Ed anticipated, though he knew enough of their interiors to know the size was deceiving. They looked rather like a metal cross between an enormous shark and a feral dog, a look that was enhanced by a cruel, sharp-toothed mouth someone had painted on the submarine’s nose. An unblinking, slanted eye lurked above the mouth, its pupil fixed on unseen prey.
Ed hated them immediately.
“We went through literally hundreds of designs, and more than five prototypes before we came up with this.” There was pride in the doctor’s voice. “Several other nations, as I’m sure you’re aware, have submarine vehicles in the works, and from all the data we’ve been able to acquire regarding theirs, ours has advanced capability to remain underwater longer and travel longer distances on less fuel.”
“When was the last time you were inspected by the State?” Roy asked, his gloved hand stroking his chin.
“We had routine visits every six months from one of the Fuhrer’s men, but they rarely stayed for more than a few minutes. The Fuhrer himself came during the first year of the project.” The doctor’s voice grew soft when he mentioned Bradley, as if the Fuhrer was an embarrassing member of the family that it wasn’t prudent to speak of.
“And the ships are fully operational?”
“Oh yes,” Dr. Christopher said, nodding. “Would you care to go inside?”
“Yes, I would.”
Hughes and the Prime Minister spoke several words that Ed couldn’t hear as they walked behind him.
“We’ll enter through this hatch, Prime Minister.” Dr. Christopher gestured towards a small set of steps leading down to the submarine.
“I’ll follow you,” Ed said brusquely, giving the doctor an even glance.
It took him a moment, but understanding finally bloomed in the doctor’s expression. “Ah. Yes. Of course.”
Ed climbed down the narrow hatch after Dr. Christopher, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dimmer lighting of the submarine’s interior. “Make sure everything is to your liking,” the doctor said, inclining his head.
He inspected the thin corridors, thankful for once to be of a smaller persuasion than most men. Lights seemed to blink in every corner, and a handful of crewmen worked at tiny screens, scrutinizing data and making adjustments to various panels of instruments. All of them had proper credentials and government clearance. Ed disliked the close quarters, but he could find nothing out of place.
After giving the all clear, the Prime Minister and Hughes climbed down, and to Ed’s surprise, he found a smile crossing Roy’s face.
“This is truly something,” he said, touching the walls with reverent hands. “How fast can she go?”
“Fast enough to give anything on land a run for its money,” the doctor said, clearly pleased at the Prime Minister’s reaction. “She maneuvers well, too.” They fell into a discussion of the various merits of undersea weaponry and technical facets of maintaining such ships while Ed stifled a yawn. The air was close and uncomfortably warm, smelling of vaguely of unwashed skin. Ed couldn’t wait until the moment came when Roy would step back, as he always did, and produce his pocket watch, shaking his head sadly at how the time was running away from him.
Roy, for his part, did nothing of the sort, and listened with rapt attention to the doctor’s explanation.
“Though all three ships are, for the most part, the same, this one in particular has several upgrades that mark her as the superior vessel.” The doctor started pointing out various measurements on dials and gauges. “She’s able to dive deeper and withstand levels of—“
An explosion sounded somewhere above them, and the entire ship shook violently. The doctor shouted, and he rushed back to the ladder leading up to the surface.
Ed was one step behind him, sure of foul play, when gunshots peppered the air above him. Nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight fell on him from above, and Ed lost his balance on the ladder, falling to the submarine floor.
Temporarily winded, Ed pushed the warm, wet weight of Dr. Christopher off of him, and narrowed his eyes when he saw the bullet wounds in the doctor’s skull, blood making a thin track down his face.
The smell of smoke started to drift down the hatch, and Ed leapt up, scrambling up the ladder to secure the door. For all he knew, there could be someone waiting at the top of the hatch with a loaded gun, ready to climb down into the sub. Ed saw the figure waiting at the top, and he managed to hook one arm through the ladder in order to clap before sending a blast of air up the hatch, knocking the man headlong. He could smell fire, and choking black smoke was already filling the hangar as he poked his head out long enough to grab the top of the hatch door.
He heard the shot as he started pulling down the door, and felt a screaming tear slice along his flesh forearm. “Fuck!” he shouted, spinning the handle closed on the hatch.
Holding his wounded arm close to his chest, he climbed ungracefully down to where Roy and Hughes were.
“Ed, you’ve been—“
“I know!” Ed inspected the wound, cursing the watery red light that lit the submarine’s interior. “It didn’t go in. It’s just superficial.” He tore off his short cape, and then clapped before changing his automail into a blade, cutting the fabric into strips. Hughes quickly fashioned a bandage for him, and Ed gritted his teeth as Hughes pulled the fabric tight against the wound.
“We can’t go up there,” Ed said, speaking more to Hughes than Roy. The sound of gunfire striking the side of the sub punctuated his words. “I don’t know how many are up there, but there’s a good chance the fire’s going to take the docks down with it.”
Before Hughes could respond, another explosion sounded, this one closer than the first, and before Ed could steady himself, the sub jerked under his feet, and he fell to the floor, cursing.
“Everyone all right?” Ed shouted over the din of emergency sirens, climbing unsteadily to his feet.
Roy helped him up, a trickle of blood forming at his hairline.
Ed felt his chest constrict. “Your head—“
“I hit it on the pipes.” He shook away Ed’s concern.
Hughes was already engaged in conversation with one of the crewmen, and then turned to face Ed. “There are five other men on board, but they think one died in the engine room. The engines are still operational, but the last blast struck the side of the sub, and it’s difficult to say how far it’ll be able to travel.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Roy said, blotting the blood on his forehead. “It’s our only way out.”
The narrow corridor, which had been silent only moments before, now rang with movement as the remaining crew jumped to the task of shoving off. Ed heard the sound of the engines groaning, finally coming to life. The ship lurched slowly forward, moving a bit like a drunk, staggering further into the sea.
“We’re taking in water on the starboard side!” Hughes cried, pointing down the corridor.
“You stay with the Prime Minister. I’ll check it out.”
Ed passed through the rounded rectangular doors, feeling his way along the walls. Covered light bulbs were strewn along the top of the corridor, but many of them flickered, sparking and sputtering like candles before an open window. Moments later, his boots touched water, and he heard the sound of rushing water. The explosion had blown a sizeable hole in the hull, and the sub was taking on water at great speed.
Like most of the strange situations he’d found himself in over the last decade, Ed was surprised at the lack of actual knowledge one had to have in order to fix strangely complex machinery. It all came back to basic science, whether you were talking about a car engine, a human body, or a submarine: you had to keep the fluid where it belonged.
His clap echoed in the watery space, and he pressed his hands against the wall, creating a metal patch over the hole. It was a temporary fix, he knew; they wouldn’t be able to make any sort of sustainable dive to any deep pressures, or the sea would burst his patch with little effort.
He returned to the main room, dripping but momentarily satisfied with his work. Someone had thoughtfully draped a tarpaulin over Dr. Christopher’s body, though blood still stained the floor around where he fell. Ed found Hughes and Roy standing behind the helmsman, their faces tight with worry.
“We’re patched for the moment,” Ed said quietly.
“Good.” Hughes wiped off the moisture that had already accumulated on his glasses. “We’ve made it clear of the hangar.”
Behind him, Ed heard a quiet groan, and he spun to see one crewman fall to the floor, the other two standing behind him, both armed.
At the same moment, Ed and Hughes both dropped into battle stances, a flash of silver in Hughes’ palm and Ed’s ready to strike each other.
Both crewmen had their pistols trained on the Prime Minister. “Death to the State!” one cried.
Hughes threw a knife. Ed stepped in front of Roy. Ed clapped his hands. Hughes threw another knife. The crewmen’s guns went off simultaneously.
The submarine’s engines sputtered. All five men lost their balance.
One knife struck the first crewman in the throat. The other knife struck the second crewman in the ribs. One bullet struck Ed in the chest. One bullet struck the wall of the submarine, bounced off the wall and into Roy’s side.
Ed, already caught off balance, collapsed to the ground, striking his head against the helmsman’s chair. The helmsman, for his part, let out a quiet scream, hiding behind the back of his seat. Ed closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. He’d been shot before, right? Stabbed an awful lot, beaten to a pulp on numerous occasions. He’d been shot not half an hour ago. Had it been that long already?
He heard Hughes speaking, heard the sound of tearing cloth. He opened his eyes to say something, but Hughes wasn’t hovering over him. Ed turned his head, surprised by how difficult the movement had become. There was blood on Hughes’ hands. Ed found it difficult to breathe. Not again! Not Hughes…
It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t Hughes’ blood at all. Roy now lay shirtless on the floor, only feet away from Ed, and blood streamed from a wound on his left side.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hughes said, using one of his throwing knives to tear apart Roy’s shirt. It was one of the tailored ones, very expensive.
“Did it,” Ed said, forcing his voice to get louder, “go through?”
Hughes threw him a look of such abject apology that it nearly stopped Ed’s heart. “I’ll help you in just a moment,” he said, his words soft and broken. Hughes lifted up Roy’s body, and Ed saw a matching hole streaming blood from his back.
It went through, Ed thought, a strange feeling of relief seeping through him.
Roy moaned, and Ed heard him cursing violently at Hughes.
“Hold still! Roy, stop!” Roy thrashed wildly, striking Hughes hard enough to bruise. Ed summoned his will, and then dragged his body closed to Roy’s, his automail hand reaching out to take hold of Roy’s shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Roy said, staring at Ed, his eyes widening.
“Let Hughes help you,” Ed said, now fully aware of the wash of blood that coated his shirt. It was sticky, strangely warm, yet its metallic tang didn’t surprise Ed in the least. He began thinking about the elemental compounds of human blood, of human flesh, began reciting them in his mind. He could hear Al’s voice then, recalled the way they’d spoken the words in unison so many times. Copper, iron, zinc…so many metals already inside of him, so much metal already a part of his body. How could a bullet, smaller than a single joint in his hand, cause this much damage?
His automail hand reached up, touched his chest, and he pressed metal fingers over the wound. So much blood…he closed his eyes again, thinking of Al. Another lecture from his baby brother. “People with automail will bleed to death much faster than people without it. They simply don’t have as much as normal people, much like children.” He’d gotten into a screaming match over Al’s use of the word ‘normal’, though not that he’d really ever considered himself so. What sort of normal person would have done what he did? Then again, considering his father, what chance did he have to be anything else?
Hands touched him now, pressing against his neck, his chest. “Ed?”
Ed gasped at the pain the hands were causing, biting back a scream.
“Ed, it’s okay.” Hughes’ face swam into his vision. “Roy’s stable for the moment. He’ll be all right until we make it to shore.”
Hughes’ hands continued their terrible ministrations, and Ed tried to keep his cries to a minimum. The fact he was able to cry aloud, he supposed as the pain grew worse, was actually a good thing, as it meant the bullet hadn’t hit one of his lungs. He could move his arms and legs, albeit feebly, so he knew his spine was still intact.
Someone designing the ship had helpfully installed a medical kit, which Hughes now rooted through with the delicacy of a truffling pig. He found a small glass jar, inspected the label, and then found a syringe, which he deftly filled. Flicking the tube to burst any bubbles, he used his free hand to pull down the waistband of Ed’s pants, sticking the needle in Ed’s flank.
The wash of painkiller struck him like an errant wave, and Ed finally floated back to the surface, his pain a distant version of its former self. “You should have given that to Roy,” he said, his voice sounding dreamy and hollow to his own ears.
“Roy is going to be fine.” Hughes had fashioned a makeshift bandage around Ed’s chest, wrapping it around his automail shoulder. He bent low to Ed’s ear, whispering an apology.
“If you’d helped me first,” Ed said, “I would have punched you in the face.”
The medicine made it hard for Ed to lift his head to see, but he could tell from the way his shirt clung to his body that Hughes’ bandage wasn’t enough to stop the flow of blood.
His vision started to blur, and Ed fought back, desperately clinging onto consciousness. “I can’t…don’t let…Roy please…” The words were falling out of his mouth like drops of rain, lost as soon as they struck the ground. “Tell Roy…tell Al…”
The red light swallowed him up, and he shouted, but there was no more sound, and then no more light.
***
The first thing he saw was the silhouette of the IV bottle hanging above him, and for a brief moment, he thought of Panako, and Winry, and wondered if indeed he was back in Rizenbool.
Except Panako was gone, and Winry lived on the other side of Amestris, and this place didn’t smell like their home at all. It smelled like cleanser, and medicine, and…Al.
The second silhouette he saw was tall and long-limbed. It was a man, and his shaggy hair hung in thick chunks to just above his shoulders. His hands were warm when they touched Ed’s throat, checking his pulse.
“I hoped you’d sleep through the night,” his brother said, brushing Ed’s hair from his forehead.
“I got shot,” he said, and then cursed himself for the stupidity of his own words.
“Yeah, I know,” Al said, leaning over to inspect the drip on his IV.
“Roy got shot too.” Ed’s chest seemed to close up as he spoke the words; his hands clenched the white sheets drawn up over him.
“I know about that too.” Al dropped a hand on his automail shoulder, giving him a smile. “He’s fine, Ed. The bullet didn’t hit anything major, and he’s going to be fine.”
Ed released a shuddering breath. Guilt still hung like a cape over his shoulders at Roy’s injury, but a small part of him reveled in the fact he’d taken the other bullet. Roy was still alive.
Al fell into a seat at Ed’s bedside, taking his flesh hand inside his own, and then leaned forward, pressing his forehead against their entwined hands. “I really thought you were dead. By the time you got here…it had been so long. I was sure we wouldn’t be able to…they wanted to stop, Ed, they wanted to give up. I wouldn’t stop. I was too afraid to let you go.”
His brother’s voice, now a man’s, still had beneath its tenor sound a quavering pitch, one that made Ed think of Al a decade ago. He recalled how the voice had hung inside the empty suit, the only physical manifestation of his brother’s soul.
“I thought I was dead,” Ed said quietly. “There wasn’t anything, no sound, no movement. I figured I was gone.”
Al looked up at him then, meeting his gaze. “We both know it’s not as simple as that.”
A moment of silence passed between them, until finally Al gave his hands a firm squeeze. “I know your life is complicated, Ed. You have too much responsibility for one man, and you think you’re alone. You always do. You’re not, though. And I think it might help for you to have me around a little more often.”
Ed sighed. “You have as much responsibility as I do. You’re the hospital’s newest prodigy.”
“I have some vacation time saved up,” Al said, the look in his eyes suggesting nothing in the way of flexibility. “I’m going to come back to the Manor with you both for a week or so to make sure you get better.”
“What about Riza?”
“She can do without me for a few days. She’s resourceful like that.”
“You’re sure?”
“I miss you, brother, and I haven’t made enough time for you lately.” Al shrugged, smiling at Ed. “We spent too much time together for me to really get used to not having you around. You have your job, and I have mine, but it’s not worth much if I can’t talk it over with you.” Al gave him a half-smile. “Besides, if you’re going to be Mustang’s bodyguard for the foreseeable future, you’re going to need someone to put you back together whenever you fall apart.”
Ed gave him a faint smile in return. “Just as long as we don’t have to share a bedroom anymore.”
Al laughed, his cheeks coloring. “Yeah, that would be really weird, especially now.” His brother slid off the chair, straightening his shoulders. “I promised Roy I’d bring him in if you were up to it.”
Ed nodded. “Please.”
Minutes later, Al wheeled another gurney into Ed’s room, and a pissed-looking, hospital-gown-wearing Roy sat up beneath several white blankets.
Al patted Roy’s shoulder before leaving the room. “I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes.”
Their gurneys were several inches apart, and Roy reached out to bridge the gap, Ed taking his hand. “This is some fucked up shit,” Roy said, sighing.
“That’s not really appropriate language for a Prime Minister, is it?”
“I am canceling that whole damn project. Anything with Bradley’s name on it is getting a pink slip in the mail on Monday morning.”
“It’s not the submarines’ fault.”
Roy shrugged. “How are you feeling?”
Ed smiled. “Not bad. I know I guy who works here, and he slipped me the good stuff. How about you?”
“Mostly feeling stupid now. I should be able to walk around in a day or two.”
“Hughes okay?”
Roy laughed, and then clutched his side. “Fuck, that hurts. Yes, he’s fine. Gracia was really upset about us, but secretly, I know she was glad it wasn’t him.”
Ed lay back, taking a deep breath, and felt his chest press against the swath of bandages around his torso. “Did they ever get the bullet out of me?”
“Yeah. They found it stuck in your shoulder, which was luckily the automail one.”
“That shit is expensive. Do you know I spent my first couple years’ military salary basically on automail repair?”
“Yes, I know, because you tell me all the time.”
“I’m just saying, it’s freaking expensive and you’d better make sure you have some money set aside somewhere to repair me if you decide to keep me on as your bodyguard.”
Roy shot him a strange look. “Why do you think I’d want anyone else?”
Ed turned away from him, closed his eyes for a moment. “You still got shot, you asshole. I didn’t save you from that.”
“You took a bullet to the chest on my account. What more could you have done exactly?”
Ed flung him an irritated glance. “I don’t know! Taken two bullets, maybe?”
“I told you before, you’re no good to me dead.”
“I’m not entirely sure how much good I am to you living, though.”
Roy pressed his free hand to his forehead. “We’re not going to have this conversation. That’s an order.”
“You’re not military anymore.”
“Well, fuck. Fine. I will make it a law that we will not have this conversation again. I will sign it into law right now. Someone bring me a pen and some paper.”
Ed sighed. “Fine. If you still want me—“
“That’s a stupid thing to say.”
Pointing up at the IV, Ed laughed in spite of himself. “I am jacked up on enough medication to put out a racehorse, so yes, I may say a few things that aren’t up to your standard of intelligence. Whatever that is. Asshole.”
Roy took his hand again. “I’m going to need to get you a bodyguard, because I’d rather have someone else take the bullet for you that is intended for me.”
“Or you could stop making people mad enough to shoot you.”
Roy nodded. “I suppose that’s always an avenue to consider.”
“When do we get to go home?”
“We’re at the mercy of your brother. You never can predict what an Elric will say.”
Ed smiled. “I’m glad to see you.”
“You too.”
“I would show you how glad I am to see you, but I have a feeling that I won’t be able to show you my gladness for a little while.”
“That’s an awfully tactful way of putting it.”
“Well, I don’t want to offend your sensibilities as the leader of our fair State.”
“You are high as a kite right now,” Roy said, lifting an eyebrow.
“Don’t I know it. They should really get you some of this.”
Roy patted his hand. “It’s probably not a good thing to do that, or otherwise I’ll have to put Hughes in charge.”
Ed burst into laughter, and then groaned. “Fuck, that hurts! Oh shit, can you imagine? ‘Everyone, look at my beautiful daughter! We’re going to be her picture on the money from now on! In Alicia We Trust!’”
“You seriously need to sleep. At least now you have no excuse.” Roy’s voice was bemused, but Ed could sense the concern beneath it.
“Yeah, I know.” Ed closed his eyes, felt the pull of the medication dragging him closer to slumber. “Just try not to get killed while I’m sleeping, okay?”
Roy’s voice grew softer as Ed fell into dreams. “I’ll see what I can do.”