FMA oneshot - "Afterburn"
May. 24th, 2005 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aquabeanTitle: Afterburn
Author: Rune
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
karotsamused, because her Ed made my Roy who he is today -- that and the fact that a fair portion of Ed’s dialogue is actually hers. Thanks babe. For ranalore too, who somehow manages to make everything I write turn out twice as long as I originally intend. Beta'd by these two as well. Set sometime after ch. 15 of the manga or ep. 25 of the Anime. (Xposted from one side of The Gate to the other.)
Summary: Memory is a dish best served hot.
It’s a small restaurant, just a few booths inside, three tables outside for when the weather is warmer. The menu is extensive, but Roy doesn’t bother to look. Chicken curry as hot as they can make it is the only thing he ever orders. Hughes had called him a creature of habit.
Hughes had called him a lot of things.
“Why do you do this?” Hughes lowered himself into the seat across from Roy, who didn’t bother to look up.
“What? I’m just eating.”
Raising an eyebrow, Hughes eyed the tears leaking slowly down Roy’s face, wincing as his friend took another bite of his meal, following it with a swig of water. Hottest thing on the menu, every time. Hughes didn’t sigh, not exactly. Instead he reached across the table, prying chopsticks from between fingers gone slack with surprise.
“Hey!”
“You think,” Hughes winced again as his own eyes began to water, “you think I’m going to let you have all the fun?”
The soft clink of china being set down brings Roy back to himself and he stares for a long moment at the empty plate across from him, an extra for sharing, ordered out of habit. Fading sunlight reflects dully off the white enamel, the dark red origami folded napkin isn’t much for conversation. He leaves it on the plate, the second pair of chopsticks too. Hughes always kept the pair he stole, forcing Roy to ask for an extra pair because damned if he was going to let Hughes feed him. Or ask Hughes to.
When his order comes Roy lowers his head and eats with looking at the plate. The waiter returns, refills his glass and quietly asks if he should take away the extra plate. Roy blinks.
“No, no. I...just leave it.” And he smiles, though it feels wet, even to him. There is a kind of sympathy in the waiter’s eyes that he doesn’t want and so he looks away, swallowing hard to keep the food in, words in. The tears running down his face are too salty, ruining the taste of everything. He takes a shallow breath, trying to clear the back of his throat because Xianian food is supposed to clear your sinuses, not fill them, but it’s too thick to swallow so he drinks more water, making the burn worse.
There is a small pot of tea that he has been ignoring since the waiter brought it with his plate, but now it provides a welcome distraction. The ceramic mug is small, but he fills it to the brim, focusing his mind on the warmth of the porcelain and the exact shade of yellow-green that has steeped into the water. His first sip is too big and too hot and the burn on his tongue makes him squeeze his eyes shut. It’s the kind of burn that will make it hard to eat for days, but better that than the lingering taste of spices.
“So what are we eatin’?” It’s the last voice he’s expecting and certainly the last body he would have imagined dropping itself unceremoniously into the seat across from him. No matter. He fits his usual smirk into place as best he can around the moisture on his face and looks up.
“Why, Fullmetal, it’s awfully generous of you to offer to buy me lunch. Thank you.”
“What? You--” Ed huffs, but doesn’t argue further, and Roy is unnerved to think that maybe he looks worse than he suspected. He wipes his face on his own napkin and drops it back into his lap, before forcing himself to look Edward in eye.
“Excellent. So, outside of finally giving your superior officer the respect he should have been afforded all long, is there anything in particular to which I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Ed only rolls his eyes. “I brought you my report.”
“Good enough. Any particular reason you felt it couldn’t wait until later? Shor--low on patience were you?”
Ed growls at the rather obviously aborted insult, and Roy feels something in him calm at the simple normalcy of the exchange.
“To see you? No. Lieutenant Hawkeye said I should find you.” And for a moment Ed’s expression becomes frankly appraising, laced with something Roy would call concern were it anyone other than Fullmetal looking at him.
“What’d you want the report for so bad anyway?”
“Considering that its arrival means I’m going to have to write up an expense report for the steps of the courthouse in Heinz?” And Roy takes some small satisfaction in the fact that Ed has the good grace to look at least slightly sheepish. “I’d have to be honest and say I was hoping that your report could wait until tomorrow.”
“Huh. Well, fine.” But Ed doesn’t look particularly put out about the whole thing and simply slouches more comfortably in his seat. “’S that curry?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
Roy’s chopsticks travel in a swift arch, a trained response that neatly parries and catches Ed’s own utensils before they make far enough to steal even a bite.
“Geez. If you didn’t want to share you could have just said so.” Ed’s affronted look fades rather quickly, and Roy swallows hard against the nausea and memory that threaten to overwhelm him. Silently he sets his chopsticks on the tabletop and pushes the half empty plate towards Edward, forcing a different outcome on a ritual his body remembers even with the most vital ingredient missing.
“Uh. Thanks.” Ed eats like he hasn’t seen food in years, breathing open-mouthed, his eyes moist, tears threatening to spill over at the corners. He grins at Roy around another huge bite. “Oh, man, this is the good stuff.”
He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing tears down his cheeks and Roy is struck by the irrational and desperate urge to yank the plate back to stop the boy from doing this to himself. Disconcerted by the effect a crying Edward has on him, Roy instead steals back a mouthful of his own meal, chewing it swiftly and chasing it with a large swallow of water. He doesn’t cough, but his throat burns and ruthlessly he forces himself to take another drink.
“...You shouldn’t drink water with spicy food.” Ed’s eyes are trained on Roy’s face and it takes all of Roy’s willpower not to close his eyes and look away. When Ed speaks again his voice is almost hushed. “It only makes it worse.”
“I know.”
Ed gives a dry laugh. “Masochist.”
Something in the way that Ed doesn’t grow soft on him allows Roy to meet his eyes again, and his smirk feels almost genuine. “Well, I do keep you around, now don’t I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed snorts, but he looks almost relieved, an overtly emotional Colonel seemingly as disturbing to him as to Roy himself.
“It isn’t as though you’ve ever tried to make things any easier for me.”
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”
“And drowned in paperwork.”
“I’m just looking out for your penmanship. If you didn’t want--” Ed speaks around a mouthful of food, but stops, face twisting before swallowing hard. He looks as though he wants to cough, but his mouth remains shut in a thin line. Silently Roy pushes the glass of water towards him.
“Nuh.” Ed, jerking his head once in a gesture of rejection, finally swallows again before rasping out, “Wa-water only makes it worse.”
Silence, broken only by the murmur of conversation at neighboring tables, settles over them and Roy focuses on the moisture beading on the outside of the glass next to his hand. Ed coughs once, a small choked sound, and Roy looks up. Something in Ed’s eyes changes suddenly, and he reaches for the glass, gulping down half its contents, his eyes never leaving Roy’s. The glass hits the table hard and Ed is panting.
“Not one to follow your own advice I see.” The smirk feels wet and brittle, but Roy keeps it resolutely in place.
“Always was one to go about things the hard way.”
Roy’s mouth twitches up a bit more. “That much has always been glaringly obvious.”
Rolling his eyes, Ed pushes the glass away again. “You offered the water, I watched you.”
“True.” Roy sounds almost thoughtful. “You always have been better about following suggestions rather than direct orders.”
“You’ve never really been good at direct orders anyway.”
“Perhaps I simply know what method works best with each individual?”
“Lot of good it did you. Made it worse.” And then, more softly, “Today at least.”
Roy blinks, frozen for a split second, before lifting the glass and draining it the rest of the way. Unable to bring himself to look at Ed, he speaks to the glass, eyes trained on the sheen of water on his fingers. “It usually does.”
But this is all too much; Roy feels raw and exposed. Shaking his head once, he fights against the vertigo of a situation both familiar and completely disconcerting. He can feel the tension on his own face, but if his eyes water it can be blamed on the food, certainly.
“I thought you were hungry.” Gesturing towards the nearly empty plate, Roy raises an eyebrow. “Though for the life of me I can’t figure out where all that food goes. Certainly not up.”
“Who you calling so short he has to use toothpicks for chopsticks!” Ed clamors to sit up straighter in his chair, but makes no comment on the almost relieved quality to his commander’s nearly inaudible snicker. “Besides, I want dessert.”
“Dessert?” It’s not something that’s occurred to Roy before this and he doesn’t quite manage to keep the surprise from his voice.
“Yeah. You know, DE-SSERT. The best part of every meal.”
“The best part?” Roy’s amusement isn’t feigned and Ed rolls his eyes again.
“You eat the dinner part because you have to. Because it’s supposed to be good for you. Dessert is the part that you get for yourself, because you want it.” Ed’s eyes narrow for a moment before he shakes his head in disgust. “You never get dessert, do you?”
“As a general rule, no.”
“No wonder you’re such a mess.”
Grimly amused, Roy quirks one eyebrow. “How does my having some form of self-restraint make me a mess?”
“Only bad kids never got dessert.”
“I’m hardly a child, Edward.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re good though, does it?” There’s a challenge to Ed’s voice that gives Roy pause.
“Well, you know what they say about how sweet sin is, Edward. But since you’re the one treating us both today I suppose I might indulge.” Roy’s grin widens as he pauses deliberately. “In another kind of sweetness.”
Looking for an instant as though he might protest, Ed instead just glares, somehow managing to seem pleased with himself in spite of it.
“Fine, but only so you don’t steal mine.”
“I’m not the one who ate half of someone else’s meal.”
Ed’s grin is unrepentant. “What? I was helping you out. You didn’t want to finish it anyway.”
“A convenient excuse, I’m sure, Edward.” But the dryness of Roy’s voice is belied by the fact that he is already flagging down the waiter for a new menu.
Author: Rune
Notes: Written for
karotsamused, because her Ed made my Roy who he is today -- that and the fact that a fair portion of Ed’s dialogue is actually hers. Thanks babe. For ranalore too, who somehow manages to make everything I write turn out twice as long as I originally intend. Beta'd by these two as well. Set sometime after ch. 15 of the manga or ep. 25 of the Anime. (Xposted from one side of The Gate to the other.)Summary: Memory is a dish best served hot.
It’s a small restaurant, just a few booths inside, three tables outside for when the weather is warmer. The menu is extensive, but Roy doesn’t bother to look. Chicken curry as hot as they can make it is the only thing he ever orders. Hughes had called him a creature of habit.
Hughes had called him a lot of things.
“Why do you do this?” Hughes lowered himself into the seat across from Roy, who didn’t bother to look up.
“What? I’m just eating.”
Raising an eyebrow, Hughes eyed the tears leaking slowly down Roy’s face, wincing as his friend took another bite of his meal, following it with a swig of water. Hottest thing on the menu, every time. Hughes didn’t sigh, not exactly. Instead he reached across the table, prying chopsticks from between fingers gone slack with surprise.
“Hey!”
“You think,” Hughes winced again as his own eyes began to water, “you think I’m going to let you have all the fun?”
The soft clink of china being set down brings Roy back to himself and he stares for a long moment at the empty plate across from him, an extra for sharing, ordered out of habit. Fading sunlight reflects dully off the white enamel, the dark red origami folded napkin isn’t much for conversation. He leaves it on the plate, the second pair of chopsticks too. Hughes always kept the pair he stole, forcing Roy to ask for an extra pair because damned if he was going to let Hughes feed him. Or ask Hughes to.
When his order comes Roy lowers his head and eats with looking at the plate. The waiter returns, refills his glass and quietly asks if he should take away the extra plate. Roy blinks.
“No, no. I...just leave it.” And he smiles, though it feels wet, even to him. There is a kind of sympathy in the waiter’s eyes that he doesn’t want and so he looks away, swallowing hard to keep the food in, words in. The tears running down his face are too salty, ruining the taste of everything. He takes a shallow breath, trying to clear the back of his throat because Xianian food is supposed to clear your sinuses, not fill them, but it’s too thick to swallow so he drinks more water, making the burn worse.
There is a small pot of tea that he has been ignoring since the waiter brought it with his plate, but now it provides a welcome distraction. The ceramic mug is small, but he fills it to the brim, focusing his mind on the warmth of the porcelain and the exact shade of yellow-green that has steeped into the water. His first sip is too big and too hot and the burn on his tongue makes him squeeze his eyes shut. It’s the kind of burn that will make it hard to eat for days, but better that than the lingering taste of spices.
“So what are we eatin’?” It’s the last voice he’s expecting and certainly the last body he would have imagined dropping itself unceremoniously into the seat across from him. No matter. He fits his usual smirk into place as best he can around the moisture on his face and looks up.
“Why, Fullmetal, it’s awfully generous of you to offer to buy me lunch. Thank you.”
“What? You--” Ed huffs, but doesn’t argue further, and Roy is unnerved to think that maybe he looks worse than he suspected. He wipes his face on his own napkin and drops it back into his lap, before forcing himself to look Edward in eye.
“Excellent. So, outside of finally giving your superior officer the respect he should have been afforded all long, is there anything in particular to which I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Ed only rolls his eyes. “I brought you my report.”
“Good enough. Any particular reason you felt it couldn’t wait until later? Shor--low on patience were you?”
Ed growls at the rather obviously aborted insult, and Roy feels something in him calm at the simple normalcy of the exchange.
“To see you? No. Lieutenant Hawkeye said I should find you.” And for a moment Ed’s expression becomes frankly appraising, laced with something Roy would call concern were it anyone other than Fullmetal looking at him.
“What’d you want the report for so bad anyway?”
“Considering that its arrival means I’m going to have to write up an expense report for the steps of the courthouse in Heinz?” And Roy takes some small satisfaction in the fact that Ed has the good grace to look at least slightly sheepish. “I’d have to be honest and say I was hoping that your report could wait until tomorrow.”
“Huh. Well, fine.” But Ed doesn’t look particularly put out about the whole thing and simply slouches more comfortably in his seat. “’S that curry?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
Roy’s chopsticks travel in a swift arch, a trained response that neatly parries and catches Ed’s own utensils before they make far enough to steal even a bite.
“Geez. If you didn’t want to share you could have just said so.” Ed’s affronted look fades rather quickly, and Roy swallows hard against the nausea and memory that threaten to overwhelm him. Silently he sets his chopsticks on the tabletop and pushes the half empty plate towards Edward, forcing a different outcome on a ritual his body remembers even with the most vital ingredient missing.
“Uh. Thanks.” Ed eats like he hasn’t seen food in years, breathing open-mouthed, his eyes moist, tears threatening to spill over at the corners. He grins at Roy around another huge bite. “Oh, man, this is the good stuff.”
He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing tears down his cheeks and Roy is struck by the irrational and desperate urge to yank the plate back to stop the boy from doing this to himself. Disconcerted by the effect a crying Edward has on him, Roy instead steals back a mouthful of his own meal, chewing it swiftly and chasing it with a large swallow of water. He doesn’t cough, but his throat burns and ruthlessly he forces himself to take another drink.
“...You shouldn’t drink water with spicy food.” Ed’s eyes are trained on Roy’s face and it takes all of Roy’s willpower not to close his eyes and look away. When Ed speaks again his voice is almost hushed. “It only makes it worse.”
“I know.”
Ed gives a dry laugh. “Masochist.”
Something in the way that Ed doesn’t grow soft on him allows Roy to meet his eyes again, and his smirk feels almost genuine. “Well, I do keep you around, now don’t I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed snorts, but he looks almost relieved, an overtly emotional Colonel seemingly as disturbing to him as to Roy himself.
“It isn’t as though you’ve ever tried to make things any easier for me.”
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”
“And drowned in paperwork.”
“I’m just looking out for your penmanship. If you didn’t want--” Ed speaks around a mouthful of food, but stops, face twisting before swallowing hard. He looks as though he wants to cough, but his mouth remains shut in a thin line. Silently Roy pushes the glass of water towards him.
“Nuh.” Ed, jerking his head once in a gesture of rejection, finally swallows again before rasping out, “Wa-water only makes it worse.”
Silence, broken only by the murmur of conversation at neighboring tables, settles over them and Roy focuses on the moisture beading on the outside of the glass next to his hand. Ed coughs once, a small choked sound, and Roy looks up. Something in Ed’s eyes changes suddenly, and he reaches for the glass, gulping down half its contents, his eyes never leaving Roy’s. The glass hits the table hard and Ed is panting.
“Not one to follow your own advice I see.” The smirk feels wet and brittle, but Roy keeps it resolutely in place.
“Always was one to go about things the hard way.”
Roy’s mouth twitches up a bit more. “That much has always been glaringly obvious.”
Rolling his eyes, Ed pushes the glass away again. “You offered the water, I watched you.”
“True.” Roy sounds almost thoughtful. “You always have been better about following suggestions rather than direct orders.”
“You’ve never really been good at direct orders anyway.”
“Perhaps I simply know what method works best with each individual?”
“Lot of good it did you. Made it worse.” And then, more softly, “Today at least.”
Roy blinks, frozen for a split second, before lifting the glass and draining it the rest of the way. Unable to bring himself to look at Ed, he speaks to the glass, eyes trained on the sheen of water on his fingers. “It usually does.”
But this is all too much; Roy feels raw and exposed. Shaking his head once, he fights against the vertigo of a situation both familiar and completely disconcerting. He can feel the tension on his own face, but if his eyes water it can be blamed on the food, certainly.
“I thought you were hungry.” Gesturing towards the nearly empty plate, Roy raises an eyebrow. “Though for the life of me I can’t figure out where all that food goes. Certainly not up.”
“Who you calling so short he has to use toothpicks for chopsticks!” Ed clamors to sit up straighter in his chair, but makes no comment on the almost relieved quality to his commander’s nearly inaudible snicker. “Besides, I want dessert.”
“Dessert?” It’s not something that’s occurred to Roy before this and he doesn’t quite manage to keep the surprise from his voice.
“Yeah. You know, DE-SSERT. The best part of every meal.”
“The best part?” Roy’s amusement isn’t feigned and Ed rolls his eyes again.
“You eat the dinner part because you have to. Because it’s supposed to be good for you. Dessert is the part that you get for yourself, because you want it.” Ed’s eyes narrow for a moment before he shakes his head in disgust. “You never get dessert, do you?”
“As a general rule, no.”
“No wonder you’re such a mess.”
Grimly amused, Roy quirks one eyebrow. “How does my having some form of self-restraint make me a mess?”
“Only bad kids never got dessert.”
“I’m hardly a child, Edward.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re good though, does it?” There’s a challenge to Ed’s voice that gives Roy pause.
“Well, you know what they say about how sweet sin is, Edward. But since you’re the one treating us both today I suppose I might indulge.” Roy’s grin widens as he pauses deliberately. “In another kind of sweetness.”
Looking for an instant as though he might protest, Ed instead just glares, somehow managing to seem pleased with himself in spite of it.
“Fine, but only so you don’t steal mine.”
“I’m not the one who ate half of someone else’s meal.”
Ed’s grin is unrepentant. “What? I was helping you out. You didn’t want to finish it anyway.”
“A convenient excuse, I’m sure, Edward.” But the dryness of Roy’s voice is belied by the fact that he is already flagging down the waiter for a new menu.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 07:20 am (UTC)I approve. Very tearily and with much protestation of "yes it's happy ended but that's the *only* happy part, dammit, how can you do this!!"
and absolutely no content to this comment whatsoever.
*clings* Consider it an effective success and let me snuggle for a little, kay? ^_~
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 09:16 am (UTC)I mean, if you can't do this, how on Earth will you make through the stuff I still have planned? *G*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 05:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 07:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 07:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 01:13 pm (UTC)Typo: allows Roy too meet his eyes again
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 09:10 am (UTC)And really? I think Hughes would be sorely disappointed if these two didn't end up together after all the time and effort he'd put in. ^__^
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 11:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 02:37 pm (UTC)Seriously though. He's totally all about the, "Ed's really focused right now. You should play with my daughter." Hehe.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 02:46 pm (UTC)I love Hughes. So much. My favorite characters are always the ones that bite it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 02:54 pm (UTC)Yeah, Hughes is just--I mean, how could you not love Hughes? I don't think that's even possible.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 03:42 pm (UTC)Also? Metaphor aside, I agree with Ed's dessert theory.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 09:12 am (UTC)Ed is a tasty little treat, it's true... *G*
*please note that even after being given soup Roy would not be forced to animate anything, so the world at large suffers under no greater risk than usual.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 03:52 pm (UTC)toothpicks for chopsticks!!!
Awww. Best kind of sweetness. *happy sigh*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 09:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 09:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-26 09:15 am (UTC)...dude. Jellybeans. XD