The Consequences of a Lack of Foresight

Hawkeye was there when Mustang woke up the next morning. He expected Ed to be there and felt a bit stupid for expecting that and being disappointed that he wasn’t.

“What’s the damage?”

“The suspect was apprehended thanks to your efforts. Five injuries, including yourself. No deaths. The damage to the city was minimal.”

“What about you, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Me?”

“Gunshot wound to the left arm, it nicked a vein. You collapsed from blood lose; running around after being shot did not help matters. You’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I’ve got work to do. I doubt Ed wants to cover that much for me.” Hawkeye shifted nervously. “What is it?”

“Edward’s been sedated. He’s suffering from a mental breakdown. You being injured and he not being able to prevent it triggered it.”

“Damn it.” He blamed himself. He should have worked harder at alleviating Ed’s feelings of impotence. “Is it horrible that I want to just go to sleep and not see Ed?”

“Not if you have to ask the question.”

“I should have been more careful.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, I mean with him. I knew. I knew how fragile he was.”

“What more could you have done for him?”

“I should have at least suggested a doctor. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Would he have gone? Ed doesn’t seem the type.”

“He came to me for help; I think he would have gone if I thought it would help him. He trusts me. It’s not quite shell shock, but I could have sent him to a military doctor.”

“Well, he’s not listening to them. I think he’s too worried about you.”

“You knew at a glance what I was thinking; do you have to talk to Ed to tell me what he’s thinking?”

“I’d say he was in love with you, but he’s so confused and lost right now, I don’t think either of you can really trust his feelings at the moment.”

“When will I be discharged tomorrow?”

“Probably around noon.”

“Can’t you make it tonight?”

“No.”

“Alright, but I’m not expected in at all tomorrow, right?”

“No, you’ll have the rest of the day to deal with Edward.”

“You might as well go home or back to the office. I’ll go see Ed when the doctors let me.”

That was three hours later. After a few pints of blood, there was some color in Mustang’s cheeks and his pallor did not seem so ghoulish. Ed’s door was open and Mustang stopped in the hall to gage Ed’s state. Ed was awake, but clearly not happy. His eyes were dull with the sedative and his braid was frayed.

“Edward?”

Ed turned toward him, but he was under enough that there was no real change in his expression except something lit in his eyes.

“Roy? You’re alright?” Ed’s voice was slightly slurred.

“Just a flesh wound.”

“Oh. You looked dead last night.”

“I appreciate your concern, but this is a bit much,” he said with a wave of a hand.

“I haven’t felt that helpless since Scar destroyed my automail arm. Thinking about that, I remembered you were the one who showed up and saved by life.”

“But it was raining and I ended up on my ass.”

“But you turned his attention away from me. He would have killed me in that street. I don’t remember if I ever thanked you. Thinking of that all that and that I never thanked you, made me lose it, thinking I’d never have that chance because I’m so useless.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You said I was selfless and wanted to protect everyone else, but I can’t do that anymore. I just wanted to protect you. I . . .”

Mustang’s lungs froze. Though Mustang was expecting one answer, and hoping for it, another suggested itself. I see you as a replacement for my brother, someone to protect. Mustang knew that’s not what Ed was thinking, but part of him still did not want to start a relationship with a boy nearly half his age.

“I’m tired.” Mustang could continue breathing.

“You should sleep the drugs off. I’m being discharged tomorrow; try to be ready to come home by then.”

-----

Mustang was up before dawn, as usual. He was sitting up, arms crossed, and decidedly the angry, no coffee, intimidating Brigadier General when the various hospital staff came in to bring him breakfast, change his IV, clean out the trash . . . Finally, his doctor stepped in to discharge him and was gone as quickly. Mustang was dressed in full uniform within five minutes and looked all spit and polish except for the bloodstains all over his sleeve and a burnt hole where he was shot.

He was so used to Hawkeye’s supernatural powers that he didn’t think he had to ask her to pick up an extra shirt and jacket for him. She’s not your nursemaid. Or your wife. But he thought she would have more forethought with Ed; seeing Mustang with a bloodied jacket may not be the best thing for his mental health.

To his surprise, Ed wasn’t just awake and undrugged, he was dressed and ready to leave.

“They’ll letting you go?”

“I told them I was your subordinate. They seem to be very hands off with you and your people.”

“I think it’s more because we had this place overrun four years ago. I think they’ll do anything to keep us out of here.”

Mustang led them outside. “No car.”

“Lost without Hawkeye, huh?”

“I’m too used to her always being ahead of me.”

A minute of trying to figure out what to do and a car pulled up. Hawkeye with a spare shirt and jacket.

“Sorry general. I didn’t think they’d discharge you so quickly.”

They got in. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

“Sorry to worry you, sir.”

“Take us home.” Mustang caught a smile on Hawkeye’s face in the rearview mirror.

-----

Mustang and Ed exited Hawkeye’s car; Hawkeye called Mustang back. Ed waited patiently in front of Mustang’s door. “In case you were wondering, I never got a chance to conduct that interview we were talking about yesterday.”

It took a second for Mustang to catch her drift. “Oh, that’s fine; it’s been a hectic few days.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

Mustang let them in as Hawkeye drove back to Headquarters. Ed didn’t go much further than the door.

“I should go. I’ve been a burden.”

“You’ve been a godsend.”

“I can’t impose on you anymore.”

“Where will you go? Are you just going to run from your problem and bottle it up until your brother comes home?”

Mustang’s words stung. His father had accused him running away when he and Al burned down their home. Was he doing it again? But he didn’t intend to run away from his problems—he didn’t think that was possible—he thought he might go see his master. But he did feel like he was running. Running from what?

Mustang waited for a response, but got none. “I don’t want you to go,” he finally said.

Ed looked up at him. Oh, yeah, that. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.” Mustang wanted to reach out to him, but he remembered what Hawkeye said, Ed was vulnerable and confused; he didn’t want to take advantage of the boy.

“Roy . . . I . . .”

“I don’t think you should say anything so soon after . . .”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks, Roy. Are you going into headquarters today?”

“No. The benefit of getting shot is you get a day off,” Mustang said with a smirk.

“How are you? I’m mean . . .”

“It doesn’t even hurt much. The bullet singed the skin, but I’m used to burns. Doesn’t hurt otherwise.”

“It’s just, I want to do something. Maybe I can clean out that spare bedroom you were mentioning.”

“I shouldn’t use my arm too much, but I can supervise.”

“That’s all you officers are capable of anyway. Leave the real work to the grunts.”

At least Ed was beginning to recover his good humor. But Mustang wouldn’t let himself forget how fragile the boy was again.

-----

Ed collapsed on the spare bed when they were done. Mustang’s arm was stitched and he could fell them stretching when he moved too much so Ed—with false annoyance—did most of the work.

Mustang retired to the living room to read. Really he was just holding a book in front of him to stare at while he thought. What did he really feel about Ed? What were his true feelings? He knew how Ed felt, he knew it, but as Hawkeye said, he may not really feel that way, merely latching onto someone strong while he’s feeling vulnerable. Could he afford to be in a relationship with a boy nearly half his age with his ambition? It wasn’t just his ambition, others were depending on him.

But what good is ambition if you’re lonely and unhappy? And regretting not reaching out to grab something within reach that you desire this much?

Mustang closed his book and reached for the phone. Hawkeye answered.

“Could it ruin me?” was all he said.

“Maybe. He is rather young. But he’s not a child. People who know him know that. But then there’s the fact he’s male. You want my advice? Do what you both want to do. If you’re not very obvious, we can keep it quite. I think most people respect or fear you enough to keep a lid on gossip. I think you’ll survive. We all still have your back, general.”

“Thank you, Riza.”

Hawkeye’s eyebrow raised. “You’re welcome . . . sir.”

He looked in on Ed. It was two hours until sunset and Ed was still sprawled on his back. When he first collapsed, he was open mouthed and amusing, not attractive. But now he was in a deep sleep and he looked young and beautiful. Mustang felt a pang. A thirteen year age difference. Mustang stared at the boy and felt inevitable depression sink into his shoulders. Ed was too young. Or he was too old.

Mustang went bed early and didn’t want to get up in the morning. He suddenly wanted Ed out of his life for good. He was suffering having something he desired within his grasp, but knowing he should never reach for it.