Chapter Text
Roy did his best to ignore the first two rings blaring from his landline, stuffing his head beneath a pillow and screwing his eyes shut.
Really, he tried.
But the tinny shrieking had already woken him.
On the fourth, he groaned and dragged himself out of bed, glaring at the phone from across the room. A glance to his clock informed him that it was three in the goddamn morning.
Right. It’s legal to killed someone for interrupting sleep, isn’t it? He’d happily do the time if it meant a single night of peace. Roy’s head was still misty with drowsiness as he picked up the cursed receiver with a gravelly huff.
“What?” He growled.
“Someone’s been murdered.”
His haze-ridden brain took it’s sweet time buffering, slowly processing the words and the panic soaking through the speaker.
That… was Ed.
He’d been off on an assignment. Away in some lethargic little village where Roy remembered some young cadets with matching red hair getting sent away to act as military police, a Captain to watch over them.
(It hadn’t been too long ago, only a few years. Something about the town not having any real law enforcement…)
The one he’d conversed with Hughes about because the files were a bit more muddied than they should be.
He shook himself, still gripped by listlessness. Why was Ed calling this early? Wait a moment did he just say murdered—
“Fullmetal?” He shook his head, trying to shoo away the sleepiness pouring over him. Roy’s eyes still felt heavy, like there were bricks hanging from his lashes and whispering that he should absolutely just pass out so he didn’t have to deal with this.
“Colonel! You need to get your shit together and wake the hell up cause I just found a body.” Ed certainly isn’t supposed to sound so frantic. Or afraid. It wasn’t right. In an inexpressible way the sound was completely alien from his subordinate’s usual tone.
Ed was a raging fire that didn’t slow for wind or rain; since when does he ever sound afraid?
Roy blinked hard, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to regain his bearings. There was a sharp crackle from the line, distorting Ed’s voice into a static infused whisper.
“…east two people are dead…” Roy stiffed and fully slapped himself across the face. The words were fizzling in and out of coherency but Ed was racing onwards.
“Fullmetal!” He snapped. The speaker dulled to a hum. Roy drew in a breath, once again trying to understand the information being thrown at him whilst the sun was still snoozing below the horizon. “Slow down. I can only half hear you.”
“I don’t really have time to slow down,” Ed hissed. There was a clatter and the sound of fabric catching against wood. Like the kid was tearing open a wall or ripping up hardwood.
“Then explain it again!” The creaking of splinters against grain continued and Roy might’ve asked Ed what the hell he was doing if he didn’t seem to have been set off into a panic. There was another stiff crack and Ed’s voice returned, sounding a bit less unsure.
“Two people are dead. I saw it. In the fields. There were—Colonel, something is wrong with this place.” He stressed through the metallic drone of shitty connection.
“Wrong? Wrong how?” Roy was still working on the sleepy lilting in his voice, struggling to correct his syllables as they fell gracelessly from his lips. Memories of all the conflicting evidence about Ed’s assignment reared up in the back of him mind and barreling through him with the force of a typhoon.
The other line sparked as Ed’s voice rose to a soft shout. “Did you miss the part about there being corpses?!”
“Aside from that.”
Slower. He needs to be slower. Calm him down.
His talent at distracting was revving, readily talking hold of what he was saying so that the kid on the phone would stop talking in ciphered circles.
“I—“ Roy heard him take a deep breath and felt a small stir of victory. He really needed Ed to slow down. “There’s something bad underneath this town. It was missing from all the...”
A sharp snapping sound cracked through the phone. “…ink and the—the aqueducts,”
That was the same thing he’d mentioned a few days back when he’d called to tell the younger of a new lead he’d dug up and Roy realized with a small start that Ed was deliberately keeping his voice lowered, refraining from an outright shouting match.
Which could be chalked up to the fact that it was the dead of night, though Roy began to suspect it had less to do with that and more to do with the clear nervousness that Ed was openly throwing into his voice. “Okay, back up. Where’d you see the bodies? Was anyone else there?”
“Yeah. It was... shit. Wait, shit—“
The phone crackled. “Fullmetal?”
“It’s literally und…” Roy physically pulled away at the loud, clipped jolt that rang through the line. “…listen—!”
Snip.
Then… static
Roy tensed. He knew what a cord being cut sounded like and that was definitely it. There was no mistaking the hollowed trilling and electric clip. He was suddenly wide awake and his throat tight.
Ed never called. No more than once or twice in two years of service had he deliberately phoned in unless it was demanded by Roy himself, or Hawkeye on occasion. Even then, it was a gamble and the young alchemist would only follow through if the coin he flipped landed on the rim instead of heads or tails.
Literally one in a million.
Ed didn’t call for help, and most certainly not Roy, of all people.
Time slipped away and his mind tripped to keep up. How long he sat there, blinking down at the phone, Roy couldn’t say. But once he managed to pull himself from the daze, he snapped into action. He rapidly scrambled to call the number back, assuming it had come from the inn Ed had crashed in.
Roy kicked himself mentally. He should’ve listened to Hughes. He shouldn’t have put off calling the kid till morning. The conversation had only been a few hours earlier and his friend’s words resounded in his skull.
Roy, please. It’s not worth it.
It hadn’t been worth it. He grit his teeth and listened to the harsh tone of the phone line.
The ringing went on for two minutes before it was picked up with a click. “What the hell—“ Roy started, but was cut off by a soft, cheery voice.
“We thank you for your call. Who are you looking for in Blackwell Springs?” A young voice asked, far too chipper for someone still awake and on the clock at a quarter after three.
Roy breathed out an irritated huff. “Edward Elric.”
“One moment.” There came the soft plinks of a board being needled with cords, communications being flipped and smoothed by the operator.
“There’s no resident with that name.” The voice told him, tone still carrying a smile with it.
“He’d be at the inn.” He tried, but the operator spoke over him before the words fully left his throat.
“We apologize for any inconvenience, but that name is unable to be reached.”
The fog was fading and Roy started to fumble for a piece of paper. They’d changed their statement after all, and hell, maybe that meant something.
Roy knew full well that Ed could handle himself just fine, but the fact that it appears his communications had not only gone dead, but cut clean off…
It made him feel antsy.
You’re going to be the death of me, kid.
“Why not?” He asked, still scrawling the mundane switch in diction as thought it actually mattered and trying to remember what it was the younger alchemist had told him.
Bodies found in a field.
Murdered, not simply dead.
And… and…?
“We apologize for any inconvenience, but that name is unable to be reached.” They repeated. Roy frowned as they continued. “If you wish to be connected to the local military police, please stay on the line.”
A tape clicked into place and oh for fucks sake had they really put him on hold?
Roy took a blissful moment to consider abusing his rank but the ants that had started to crawl under his skin made him hesitate. The pre-recorded music warbled into the air, it’s childish melody sounding heavy.
In the hills, there was a well. And that well, there was a hand. On that hand, there was a ring—
He sat back and waited with a grimace.
Ed glared down at the folder in his hand.
Maybe he should burn it. No, no… that would set off the fire alarm.
Out the window, then! Wouldn’t that be nice. Ed sighed and, quite valiantly, refrained from crumpling the darling assignment underfoot.
The front was printed out in big, neat, utterly obnoxious letters: Blackwell Springs Inspection.
He’d skimmed the papers roughly ten thousand time during the two day—that’s right, folks, two fucking day—train trip. He would’ve slept through most of it had the conductor not been so damn trigger happy with the whistle.
Ed was absolutely pissed because there was exactly no reason for him to be here. This town was infamous for being picture perfect and was closing in on a forty year streak of good harvests. Which was absolutely unheard of, even in the most lush and bountiful areas in Amestris.
Yet here he was, doing a land inspection.
Even Mustang had been a bit sympathetic to Ed’s plight.
Mustang. The smuggest prick in all the land, had actually offered up his condolences.
“When was the last time they even needed an inspection?” Ed had asked.
“That’s the problem. They’ve been blowing it off for a few years now.” Mustang replied. Ed grumbled and sunk lower into the battered couch, arms crossed stubbornly. Mustang eyed him and it was simply wrong that the man wasn’t teasing the daylights out of the younger. Normally he would, but apparently even Colonel Snappy-Snap had the decency not to mock the upcoming week of wasted time and boredom. Right after Ed had taken some time off no less!
It was the reason Al was missing from his side as well. Resembool had once again become the victim of some nasty flooding, waves reaching right up to the scraggily trunks of shore-resting trees. It swept away a good deal of canoes and one or two wooden docks before Al had decided to stay behind and help.
Ed legally couldn’t.
Now, to say that Ed was a law respecting citizen—hell, even a law abiding citizen—was a slice of heresy the size of Central itself, but he also didn’t want a pissed off Hawkeye dragging him by the ankle back to Eastern Command.
Mustang had fixed him with an odd look, sliding the files over his desk whilst Ed scowled. “Oh come on, Fullmetal. It’ll only take a few days.” Had that been reassurance in Mustang’s voice? Hell froze over and pigs were flying. Ed wanted to punch a wall (right arm, of course) just to let out some of the frustration.
“The last guy liked it there so much that he resigned from the military and moved his whole family.” Mustang offered, like that was supposed to make him feel better.
“Yikes.”
Upon arrival, Ed discovered that Blackwell Springs doesn’t actually have a train station. It’s one of those tight-knit gated communities. Which meant he, with his bench-bruised everything and general frustration at being there in the first place, would have to walk from the station. For three miles.
He threw his head to one side, hissing at the chorus of pops that creaked out, wringing out the cricks that had worked into his body like a spent towel. Ed started to walk, inching closer to committing a jailable offence as he slung his luggage over his shoulder and vowed to drive his foot directly through Mustang’s precious new office door.
He trudged along, sun overhead, the dirt road merrily casting his shoes with a coat of mud. At the very least it allowed him to kick around stray stones as he went. Something dense and grey come into view as Ed drew closer to where the village was meant to stand.
With a small, incredulous start, Ed realized that the wedge of stone was the village.
It’s a gated community.
“Tax dollars at work.” He muttered to himself.
At the edge of the road, right before it vanished behind the wall, there stood two people with their hands clasped behind their backs and smiling kindly. Both of them looked like they’d been pulled straight off a postcard: round-faced and rosy up to their ears like sun-bleached land pirates.
“Mister Elric?” One asked. He looked to be in his twenties, tall and thin with a bright look about his face. Ed raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
The older man gave a polite bow. “Welcome to Blackwell Springs! We’re very excited to have you.”
They two introduced themselves as the Tellers. Father and son.
“Most call me by our family name, Teller.” The father said with a grin. “Though you’re free to call me Alistair.”
Ed wouldn’t most certainly not be doing that. Teller would work just fine. He hoped he wouldn’t even be here long enough to remember their names beyond his time spent here. The younger offered Ed his hand and gave his name anyways. Marcel, he'd said, and proceeded to almost start going on about the meaning before Ed had cut him off with a cough.
Despite the differences in appearances—the older built like a smiling teapot and the younger resembling a very, very sad scarecrow—Ed could tell they were related. He could see it in the way they walked and spoke like they were advertising for farmland with tones sharp like auctioneers.
It gave him mental whiplash when they switch between the mile-a-minute rambles and slower-than-molasses drawling. They circled around part of the wall and Ed couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched, though the only two souls within eyeshot were the ones leading the way with chipper smalltalk.
It was probably just a misconstrued mix of annoyance and sleep deprivation.
Dozens of birds stood at attention along the stone hedge, chipping and squeaking all through their approach and calling after them as they left in a high pitched chorus. Teller chuckled about how they were like guard dogs.
He listened to them babble on about the history as he was brought through a heavy iron gate. Ed held in a mild sense of awe looking at the pitch black twists of metal vines, it’s hinges hissing out a low groan as it swung open.
“The walls are made special,” Marcel explained.
Ed frowned. “Why?”
“We had some problems with the livestock getting torn up by wild animals on the far west side. So we shooed ‘em out of the woods in our county.” He replied, pointing to a stretch of trees peaking out from behind troweled soil.
That barely answered his question, but the interest Ed had in the history of what looked like a brick wall was non-existent. He hummed and eyed the streaks of dark, rain-soaked earth. For a place so far to the east, the land seemed rich. Which would probably explain the absurd and insultingly good yield they kept having.
The two chattered on and Ed tired desperately to tamper down his aggravation.
They were honestly being quite nice. It was a better reception than he’s gotten in most places—ranging from casual indifference to literal pitchforks before he even stepped foot into the town—and it was a bit unfair to be so clipped with them.
But Ed was never all that graceful with his frustrations, was he?
“There’s where the cattle stay.” They told him cheerily. It was a tone Ed was slowly getting sick of.
Be nice, asshole!
“The fences are a bit wobbly after storms, so sometimes we gotta haul ‘em back.”
Teller chuckled and patted his side. A length of braided leather rope was hanging from his belt. “Can’t leave home without this anymore. Those devils insist on causing trouble.”
He silently suffered through a tale about when the gate broke off and the two had ran around with lassos and probably stretching the truth thin enough to poke it through with a pencil. Ed didn’t have the energy nor did he have the interest in ruining their fun. He just listened and upheld his silence, making little effort to scrub away the displeasure pulling him lips into a frown.
They showed him to the cluster of buildings coloured with wicker roofs and cobblestone walkways, Ed felt himself grow just a little more on edgy seeing people peaking out of storefronts, sneaking glances from between the shutters as though he couldn’t see them.
He gave the prying eyes a sharp glare and they looked away. He could almost feel them coming back within moments
“Most folk live out by their plots of land, but this is the main square. The inn is over that way—“ Marcel gestured to a pale yellow building. “—and the MPs station is a few blocks down.” He whirled to Ed, hands resting on his hips with a patient smile.
The manners that had been pounded directly into Ed’s skull (thanks Izumi!) we’re wailing at him to be cordial. God, did he try. Like, really really hard. The cards just weren’t right, but Ed painted on a half smile. He might’ve gratefully thanked them and excused himself to pitch a fit in the privacy of a hotel room, but suddenly there a small horde of kids were swarming their ankles.
Particularly, they were swarming Teller.
“Mister Mayor!” This children pranced around the man while he smiled down, hands being grasped and tugged on. A small boy used his shirt like a jungle gym and sat himself right on top of the man’s shoulder, arms folded over his head and smiling.
Ed’s eyebrow shot up. He glanced over. “Mayor?” He asked. There weren’t supposed to be any town leaders—that still fell under the responsibility of each town’s military police—so how’d this guy get saddled with such a title?
He was waved off. “A nickname, really. I’ve been handling the finances and crops for years.”
“Oh. Alright.”
Ed felt a bit out of place in the scene and started to creep back step by step.The children started to circle Marcel as well, chanting his name like a bunch of bright-eyed hellions. “Can you do the thing?”
Carefully… one foot at a time… watch for twigs…
Marcel crouched down and cleared his throat. The kids leaned in, positively beaming and bouncing on their heels. Ed was tempted to book it away while his two escorts were distracted, but the young man opened his mouth and Ed halted his retreat because of the sound that came out.
He was doing a damn near perfect imitation of the bird flock resting by the gates. The pack of children cheered and squealed. “Do it again!”
“Sorry, I’ve got to finish showing out guest around.” He told them, gesturing to Ed. The thought of slipping away was slowly fading because a dozen tiny faces were peering up at him in wonder.
So maybe he has a bit of a soft spot for kids. Sue him.
(He technically wasn’t too different from them. A couple years older and having been slapped with a double amputation before he’d even lost all his baby teeth with a rucksack of trauma slung over his shoulder. Rephrase… he could’ve been similar to them. Maybe that’s why his tempter would ebb while someone young glanced his way. Or maybe they just remind him too much of Al.)
Ed looked to Teller, more impressed than he cared to let show. “Where’d he learn to do that?”
“Family tradition, I suppose,”
A young girl was practically handing off Marcel’s sleeve, swaying while she looked to Ed curiously. He gave her a quick smile and received a giggle in turn.
“Will he be joining us? In the fields?” She asked the older men.
Teller shook his head. “No, no. Mister Elric will only be with us for a little while.”
“Aw!” The kids pouted. “But he’ll miss out on our games.”
Whines and protests rose up but Marcel quieted them with a strict hand held up.
“Mister Elric is very busy!” He explained. Ed cringed at the honorific. “He has lots to do.”
“Just Ed is fine. Calling me Mister is just making me feel old.” The group took to the the nickname like ducks to water and he had half a mind to warn them not to wear it out.
The kids backed off after a few more minutes of questions. The little girl from before asked if he could do magic. He replied that he could do something close and clapped. The little stone daisy he made was clutched between his tiny fists as she curried off, waving and almost tripping over her own feet.
Both Marcel and his father turned to him, looking apologetic. “Now I know you’re probably tired from the ride in, but there are a few things I’ll need to go over with you first.”
“Shoot.”
“Well…” Marcel fidgeted and looked to the older for assistance. He did exactly nothing and gestured for him to continue. “I hope this isn’t too much of an inconvenience, but the weather’s been bad for a bit and our workers are behind schedule. Would you mind waiting a day or so before the actual inspection? It get’s pretty hectic out there and we don’t want to be getting under each other’s feet.”
His improved mood immediately nosedived back into the pits and Ed sighed. What was worse? Getting on these people’s bad sides and trampling through their hard work or waiting another day?
Decisions, decisions…
Ed sighed. “One day?” They nodded in response. His shoulders slumped. “Fine. Was there anything else?”
“Yes. See, uh… below the fields, there’s an old aqueduct.” Ed cocked his head to the side with a questioning look. Marcel hurried to explain. “Way back we had a lot of droughts. It runs in between the crops, just thought we ought to warn you. It’s been decommissioned, but we don’t have the means to fill it in.”
Ed’s hand drifted to his suitcase where the file was stashed and frowned. Had there been mention of that in the reports? He didn’t think there was… he had read the stupid thing over dozens of times and there would’ve been mention of such a thing, right?
“Is it on record?” Ed asked.
“Yeah. We’ve got the papers down in the library archives. It was a while back though, before the MPs started handling that sort of thing.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
Teller stepped forward, pen in hand and scribbling something out on a piece of paper. “Here’s my address,” He handed the slip to Ed, “if you find the time, please drop in. I mean… a real State Alchemist! It’s rare anyone so accomplished comes through Blackwell. Of course, don’t feel like you’re meant to or nothing. Just if you’re in need of company or are having any issues. You come talk to us, yeah?”
“Uh,” Ed glanced down at the writing, feeling more baffled than anything else. Since when do small towns like the military? They were in the east, after all. Most people held held onto grudges like a anchor in a tornado, fiercer then the grip of a soldiers hand over a trigger and almost as deadly. Maybe they their walls had kept them sheltered from the scores of ruin left by war. It could mean some sort of ulterior motive or collective short term memory.
Or, maybe they were just really, really nice and Ed was swiftly flying into the land of overthinking like the overly-suspicious, petulant nutcase he is.
“Thanks.”
He skimmed the writing, in all its hard black lines and thick strokes. The ink wasn’t even level on the page; it had a sticky looking shine. “Nice pen.” Ed commented absently.
Teller clasped his hands proudly. “Heirloom.”
The pair left soon after and Ed skipped his way into the inn and miserably flopped into bed. He pried off his boots as dramatically as possible to an audience of exactly two houseflies and stubbornly shut his eyes.
It wasn’t night, but like hell that would stop him from sleeping until the next day.
No, the time wouldn’t be a deterrent, but the strange feeling in his stomach that made his hands twitch just might. For two solid hours, he refused to move out of both genuine exhaustion and spite. When the tugging in his gut and voices in his ear got just a little too loud, Ed ground and swung himself upright. The moon was crawling into centre stage, the sky growing a little dim, and Ed went poking about the room he’d been put up in.
The clerk had been friendly, but nervous. It was possible most of the little village had been anticipating his arrival, but that might be a little presumptuous. The stammer in their words was clear as day and they only met Ed’s eyes upon handing him the keys.
“This is stupid.” He whispered to himself as he went, snooping around the room. He poked at the cracks in the plaster and ran his hands along the trimming, shifting the phone resting atop a side table to mindlessly search for something. Anything that could justify the stupid, nagging voice in his head that sang turmoil to his exhaustion.
Ed put a finger to the mirror in the restroom and confirmed that no, it wasn’t double sided. The window was locked and it’s curtains drawn shut. The unease didn’t settle, instead it stabbed little pinpricks onto the back of his neck and left goosebumps over his skin.
When the thought of pulling up a floorboard or two crossed his mind, Ed threw up his hands. “And there’s my cue to go to sleep.”
The night had patiently waited for him to fall back into his rightful place amid pillows and dusty sheets but sleep danced right into the lap of unrest with duel middle fingers soaring.
He groaned and buried himself under a quilt doggedly.
By the next morning there was still a sour taste in the air and Ed started to brush it off as simple loneliness. He was so used to having Al, or at the very least one of Mustang’s men along for missions. He hadn’t even tried to drive his hooks into Havoc or Fuery this time, as there was absolutely no way he could spin it to justify their presence.
Blackwell Springs was the national capital for peace and unending monotony. He wasn’t sure if they even knew what crime was.
The MPs would be lucky if they caught a loiterer. It made sense that he’d be feeling a bit isolated and unsettled. All through the morning, the bizarreness grew and grew.
“Good morning Ed!” A florist called from her booth. He waved back, bewildered and frankly, a little put off.
A pack of kids scurried past him and shouted his name like they owned it. His brow furrowed and Ed continued on to where Marcel said the library was.
He swung by a little cafe to guzzle some motor oil ascent coffee and the kid on cash looked him up and down. “What can I get for you Mister E—uhh…” He trailed off with a sheepish smile. “What’ll it be?” It was like he was self-editing the words just before they left his lips. Ed pretended not to notice and hoped the caffeine would make the world feel less crazy.
He was informed by a mousey young librarian that, to access the archives, he needed to have at least one MP with him. Ed flashed his watch and hoped to essentially verbally bludgeon her into letting him through.
“Sorry Ed. You need an MP.” The librarian said, head tilted and knuckles tapping against her workspace. There they go again using his name… it was fucking creepy. Had Teller gone around with fliers or something?
Ed glanced towards the coveted door, holding its boring, mundane-ass secretes just out of reach.
The door to the records might as well have been welded shut and he didn’t want to risk a little clapping action drawing too much attention. So he hung his head and dragged himself around the block to the small, almost friendly looking headquarters. He could see the place labeled at the police station, but it didn’t seem like it would pass proper regulations.
He’s not exactly versed in the subject, but Ed was reasonably sure that the words Military Police weren’t meant to painted pale blue in a cursive script.
Whatever fits the aesthetic, he supposed.
He poked his head in. “Uh, anyone here?” The lights were on, windows open, and obviously the door was unlocked. Ed wouldn’t have broken through the front if it had been, though. He’s not an amateur. He would’ve gone around back.
Ed pushed the door open and padded inside. Either this place was madly understaffed or exclusively manned by idiots.
He leaned against the front desk and knocked against the wood twice. “Hello..?”
“Hold on a moment!” Someone called from behind one of the doors dotted about the space beyond the desk. There were two voices murmuring and the shuffling of what sounded like freshly filed printed papers. There was a special, grating noise that came with the envelopes sliding against each other, even from this far away Ed could hear it and shivered.
“Sorry about that.” The same voice called. “We’ve been trying to clean things up around here for planting season."
Two people emerged from one of the other rooms. Ed caught the recognition flashing in their eyes and he was legitimately starting to wonder if there had been fliers passed around.
Or the more likely option that these were literally the only military personnel for a good few dozen miles and of course they’d be briefed on him. He was probably the most interesting thing to happen here since those walls were built.
The officers approached a little quicker once they caught sight of the silver chain looping from his pocket to his belt. They were both young men, dressed up in blue and with papers stuffed under their arms.
Pale eyes and hair as dark as the night sky.
“What can we do for you?”
Ed was, in fact, able to get access to the archives. But upon arrival, it was revealed that they used an incredibly outdated system for organizing. It left him to slog through texts, debilitatingly slow and feeling like a hyperactive hummingbird with a life-threatening patience deficiency. Not life-threatening for himself, obviously. It was more of a danger-to-others kind of situation.
The set of eyes looking over his shoulder the whole time didn’t help.
“Do you need anything?” The officer asked. For the third time, Ed nearly jumped out of his skin.
He settled for a startled flinch and turned to glare up at the young man.
“No I’m fine. You don’t have to stay here, you know.” He said. It was getting a bit uncomfortable having something looking over his shoulder and also taking a sledgehammer to his concentration. Every time he felt himself slipping into a decent flow of reading and annotations, pop! Magically appearing MP was there to ask the same question.
There were also only two of them, which felt like it shouldn’t be allowed. Wasn’t there some rule about the civilian to police ration way out in the rolling nothings?
Eh.
Admittedly, it was convenient to have someone who knew the archives well enough to retrieve things with a margin of error smaller than Ed’s own. Didn’t mean the trade off was worth it, though.
Intuition was bugging him relentlessly, telling him to turn around; to scan the area or glance over his shoulder. There were dull pins and needles prickling through his body, spiking from the inside out and slithering beneath his skin. It lodged between the joints of his hand and somehow the feeling wormed into his metal limbs as well.
Physically impossible, but it’s not like impossibilities have ever really hindered him before. Impossible things happen all the time.
Like military police who disappear at will.
The young man shrugged, smiling wanly. “I kinda can’t. We’re not supposed to let anyone in here without supervision.”
Ed suppressed a groan. The officer didn’t even try to sound apologetic, nudging Ed good-naturedly with his elbow. The younger considered snapping the appendage off because oh boy was he not in the mood. “You’d have a harder time finding things alone. Besides, we can’t let you figure out all our secrets!” He said with a light chuckle.
“Right. Cause you’re just bursting with ‘em.”
Once the afternoon started to grow hazy with heat and the fans overhead weren’t enough, Ed slammed both hands onto the table he’d been using and stood. His bones felt like they’d been casted in plaster and were cracking cheerily.
He, in a vain attempt to be less abrasive, offered to help put the materials away, but was waved off. “Like I said,” The officer gestured to the rows of files, “you’d have a hard time finding things.”
Ed tried to distract himself via wandering around town, hands stuffed in his pockets He ended up circling a single block four times over, with his freshly polished don’t talk to me look spread against his face. Apparently it needed some work because everyone was waving and shouting out well wishes. First name employed during each and every exchange.
In the end, he went back to the inn, head ducked low because having to keep up appearances was becoming taxing.
Al wasn’t even here to share his grievances. The traitor.
To Ed’s shock, and absolute chagrin, the phone stowed away in the corner of the room began to ring right as he’d been ready to go scavenge for food. He growled and snatched it up.
“What?” He snarled.
“Good afternoon to you too, Fullmetal.”
Ed sat down hard on the floor, fully ignoring the perfectly usable bed in favour of sulking on the carpet. “What do you want? And how did you know where I was staying?”
“There’s only one inn.”
“Damnit.”
He could hear the distinct clicking of a pen being fiddled with. So Mustang was slacking and using Ed as a scapegoat, hum? Minus five points for being uncreative. “As for my reason,” The man said, “You’re supposed to check in when you arrive.”
“Cut me some slack. It was a two day train ride with no breaks.”
“You had all of today, didn’t you?”
Ed scowled at the ground and desperately wished Mustang would kindly back the hell off before he took out each and every one of his frustrations out on him. “Fine. I got to Blackwell. Happy?”
“Thrilled.” Mustang drawled lazily.
Ed glowered as though the wall was the Colonel himself and fully present for Ed to rearrange his teeth. “You are the literal bane of my existence.”
“Anyways,” The older stressed, “I dug up a lead for you.”
“You’re kidding.”
“What?”
Ed’s frown deepened with an annoyed huff. “I’m still waiting on access to to the actual land.”
Mustang hummed in thought. “Would I be correct in assuming they’re in the middle of planting season?"
“Bullseye, Colonel. Why’d you have to send me here in spring.”
“If it’s any consolation, Havoc got dumped again.” There was a loud shrieking from Mustang’s end and the sound of laugher.
“It’s not.”
“Pity. Don’t burn the place down while you’re there.”
“A flood, then?” Ed suggested with snark lighting up his tongue like fireworks.
The Colonel sighed heavily and there came a metallic crack. Ed sincerely hoped his pen had just broken from overuse. Karma’s a bitch and Mustang was purposely trying to start a fight. Serves him right to get ink all over his precious ignition gloves.
“You’re absolutely insufferable.”
“You’re the one who called!” He shot back. Mustang promptly hung up and Ed grinned to himself.