I, like seemingly almost everyone else, seemed to have a little bit of trouble buying that Roy just believed he could be a blind Fuhrer without any prodding. That's why this happened. When I was watching the end of Brotherhood I thought of Havoc returning poke Mustang out of his funk, since that's what Mustang did for him, but my muse wanted Ed and so that's what she got. She also wanted a far longer fic than I intended to write, apparently :/ Hope you enjoy!

Warning- deals with depression, suicide

"Absolutely not, Lieutenant."

Rustle of sheets. Faint, annoyed puff of air. Aura of irritation radiating with such strength he could feel it even with his eyes closed.

Closed? Open? Does it matter?

"Sir, I do not think Madame Christmas was joking when she told you she'd knock you out if you hadn't gotten up before her next visit. Which is currently scheduled for tomorrow, sir."

Roy's scowl deepened.

Damn that onerous woman. Not giving him even a day for self pity, instead flicking him on the forehead and telling him she expected him back on his feet before the week was out. A sadly murmured, You do the Mustang name shame giving in like this, Roy-boy, and his cheeks had burned and his hands had shook.

I'm not a boy anymore, Madame, he'd wanted to say, but somehow the words had gotten lost in his throat, and all that had come out was silence.

Damn her.

"...You're still not well, Lieutenant-" he tried, but Hawkeye cut him off before he could even bring his pathetic excuse to an end.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

"The doctor cleared me to take short walks yesterday, sir."

Another short silence. Expectant.

"Short walk, sir."

Pushy. Pushy, pushy, pushy. That was his dear Riza, pushy pushy pushy. Even when he'd rather she didn't.

The expectant air was so strong it was suffocating.

Finally, he heaved a sigh in defeat and raised his hand, palm up. "Do as you wish," he muttered crisply, dismissively, blinking at what he hoped was the wall, not his stubborn lieutenant.

Popular culture and all of its ridiculous whims dictated that, with the robbery of his sight, he should've also grasped the gift of ears like a dog's. But, that was not how human anatomy worked, and Roy barely heard more than yet another rustle of sheets and the pad of a soft footstep before her fingers latched around his arm.

This annoyed him even more.

And, by god, he did not want to do this. He did not want to stumble out of bed like a useless cripple, he did not want to be seen hanging off his lieutenant's arm, he did not want to fumble in a pathetic walk around the floor and cheer for the accomplishment of not tripping over his own feet. He wanted to sit here, stew in the darkness, and do absolutely nothing. He wanted...

I want...

"...Sir?"

Irritation twitched through him from his fingers and his toes to the base of his spine. Of course. Pushy.

Hawkeye's silent expectancy heavy in the air was what forced him to move. Sitting stiffly upright and clumsily shifting his legs, he brought socked feet to gingerly touch the ground. Hawkeye said nothing again, simply waiting patiently as he stumbled his unsteady way to stand. The head rush nearly sent him to his knees, and would have, if his lieutenant hadn't grabbed him just in time.

"Sir, careful," she murmured, grip still tight around his arm. Unyielding. "You shouldn't move too quickly."

His cheeks burned again.

Don't treat me like a dammed child.

Don't TREAT me like a dammed CHILD!

But again, the words got lost, and he ended up saying nothing at all.

The stumbling journey out of the room was even worse than he'd imagined it be, ten times as difficult and a hundred times as humiliating. He considered more than once just taking his chances with Madame Christmas, because god knew she wouldn't actually kill him for disobeying her, but Hawkeye's hand on his arm stopped him. Besides, at this point she wouldn't take him back, and he was already too far to make it back on his own. "Turn left, sir," she told him, and after a few agonizingly slow steps forward came "Turn right, sir," and a whining creak of the door opening, and he felt so fucking miserable it took everything he had to just put one foot in front of the other.

There'd been days at work, and many more in Ishval, when he'd been just so dammed tired, so dammed done, that the floor, the desert floor, the whatever the fuck, had looked appealing enough to just lie down and not get back up.

That was how he felt now.

Just lie down, and not get back up.

"Sir, Major Armstrong and General Major Armstrong are on the floor above us. Would you like to visit them?"

No. He didn't. He really, really didn't.

Again, somehow, the words didn't quite make it to his mouth.

"Do as you wish, Lieutenant."

A step above the juvenile whatever that had been on his lips. Because he was still not a child, and he was sick of being treated like one.

Hawkeye must've wanted to see those two sibling monstrosities, Olivier a psychotic beast and Alex quite possibly the only thing in existence to make him glad he was blind, or possibly she just wanted to force more social contact on him again. Roy gritted his teeth in annoyance and said nothing.

I don't want fucking company.

"Stop," Hawkeye whispered to him, then tugged gently on his arm. "Turn around."

Turn this way. Turn that way. X many steps to the bed, Y many steps to the door, Z many steps to hell. Can I take Z many steps now?

His lip twitched in annoyance. He wasn't a damn child, but if Hawkeye or especially the Madame heard him talking like that, they'd be sure to tell him he was acting like one.

"Hold the elevator!

"Patient coming through!"

"Get out of our way, we've got to get this one to the ICU!"

The burst of noise was almost overwhelming and he stumbled a step away from it, prompting Hawkeye's fingers to tighten at his elbow. "Sorry, sir," she murmured, breath suddenly warm on his neck and ear. "We are now sharing the elevator with three doctors and a critical patient."

This whole venture had been a dammed ridiculous idea, and this only proved it. Roy scowled deeply, trying to ignore the way the music of life saving treatment and absolute urgency left him even more disoriented than the black silence. He was forced to do nothing but wait and trust in his lieutenant, and when the elevator dinged open and everyone started to move again, it kicked off the beginning of a chain of events he was absolutely helpless to stop.

Even when asked later, all Roy would be able to say was that they were somehow separated. He could say with complete confidence something had forced Hawkeye's hand off his arm, because in his current state she'd not relinquish her hold even if he was about to walk off a cliff. But regardless of how it had happened, in the chaos of the patient transfer Hawkeye somehow got forced off of him.

It took him a few long, confident seconds after her hand had vanished, and the doors dinged shut again, for the quiet sense of unease to grow into something more.

"Lieutenant," he said loudly, raising his hand again.

...

"Lieutenant," he ground out, even louder than before. "Respond."

...

"That's an order, Lieutenant!"

...

When the elevator dinged open again, he jumped at the break in the silence, and the realization came with achill that shot down his spine to flood his limbs with ice: the lieutenant wasn't there.

Suddenly, the darkness was a lot more intimidating, a lot more frightening, than before, and Roy's heart started pounding so fast he almost passed out.

Hawekeye hadn't been just forced off of him. She'd somehow been forced out of the elevator entirely.

And her absence was all that was needed to catapult him into panic, because without her, he suddenly could not even move.

A nasty voice in the back of his mind muttered disparagingly at him, needling at the abrupt sense of helplessness with such precision it hurt. Pathetic. You're a fucking child, Mustang. You rely on your lieutenant like a toddler on his mother. When she disappears you can't do anything but wait for her to come back. You're PATHETIC, Mustang!

But fear remained, absolute, quaking terror of the darkness around him, the very idea of venturing into it alone unfathomable and impossible. But in parallel with fear was the revulsion, the deep, gnawing sense of complete shame at the idea of standing here frozen, unable to even move until Hawkeye's hand found his arm again- the idea of remaining paralyzed and unable to take even a single step unless her hand was on her arm, just standing there frozen until she found him-

Mustang, you're PATHETIC!

He gritted his teeth, shoulders trembling in the face of denial.

His choices were to wait for her to find him again, or find his own way back. And in that moment, Roy realized that if he gave up now and simply stood here and shook until his lieutenant found him again, he would hate himself more than he could stand. No matter how terrifying it was to try and step out into what he could not see- he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he simply gave in now.

I am not that dammed pathetic.

I WILL fucking try- no! I won't fucking try, I WILL find my way back. Hell or fucking high water.

He'd lived through a war. He'd lived through the Gate. He'd lived through the Promised Day. He could damn well find his own way back.

That, and if Hawkeye finally returned to find that he'd been unable to move even an inch without her, he could kiss any respect she'd had for him, and any hope he'd had at regaining any sense of independence, goodbye.

When the elevator doors opened again, Roy proceeded forward without a second thought, hand molesting the wall at his side with every step he took.

Just keep walking. Just keep walking, and you'll find it. Just keep walking. Just keep walking, and you'll find it, and when you'll find it, you'll have your proof that this is not going to kill you. You'll have your proof you can somehow survive this.

That was all he could do, really. With no idea where he was, and no way to find out, his only option was to just keep walking.

He wasn't a dammed child. He was not going to sit here and just remain helpless. He was going to keep moving forward if it killed him.

The knock of his feet against stairs finally gave him just a bit of hope.

Ah, stairs. Lovely stairs. He hated them just as much as next person, but right now they were a dammed godsend. Mostly deserted, no danger of him walking straight into a wall- or another person- and, best of all, all he had to do was just put one foot in front of the other.

The fact that he'd was finally able to do just that, put one foot in front of the other without danger of smacking facefirst into concrete, made his heart lift for the first time in days, and when he realized just how small of a task it was taking to make him smile, depression hit him again like a punch to the gut.

And still, all he could do was just put one foot in front of the other.

So that was what he did.

I was on the second floor anyway. Going up is good. I'll just climb the first flight and be right as rain. Rain? Right? Did I hit my head or am I really just losing it?

Really losing it actually sounded rather appealing, at the moment. Even if the things he'd see wouldn't be real, at least he'd be able to see.

True to the word he'd promised to only himself, Roy struggled up only the first flight of stairs before he risked going for the door. He found it sooner than he'd expected, aching and trembling fingers managing to fumble their way around an exit, and confidence growing, Roy shouldered his way through it.

His room was right across from the stairs. He remembered Hawkeye telling him that. So, then, all he'd have to do was just walk straight forward. So easy a blind man could do it. Simple enough. Easy enough.

So easy he was confident.

So confident he didn't realize until twenty steps later that he really should've reached the other wall by now.

So confident, he didn't realize until two steps after that that he wasn't inside anymore.

So confident, he didn't realize the implications of that until a single step further, and he turned in a sudden rise of panic.

He was outside. He'd just walked from the stairs to outside.

He was on the roof.

He was on the roof, and he had no idea which way the door was.

The twisted and warped mental perception he'd been building of where he stood shattered, the uncertain, murky image of a hallway and his room shattering to reform as himself standing on the edge of the building. One more step, and he'd be in the air. Roy turned again, heart pounding, only for the picture to shift with it, and every direction that he faced had him an inch away from death.

"Oh my god-" he choked out, feet wanting to stumble a step back but head screaming at him any further step he took could send him off the roof. "Oh- oh my god-"

He was on the roof. He had no idea which way the door was. One wrong step would take him right off and kill him. And he was absolutely alone.

As confident as he had been, and as horrified as he now was, it took him far longer than it should have for him to accept what he'd just managed to royally fuck up.

He'd wanted to show his independence hadn't kicked the bucket yet. He'd wanted to show Hawkeye he wasn't a child, so damn well don't treat him like one and just let him stew alone in self pity if he wanted to. He'd wanted to manage on his own, and convince himself just as much as his lieutenant that he wasn't the absolute fucking failure that he felt like.

And now, his only choice was to fall to his knees, sit there on the dammed floor, and wait for someone to find him.

Roy's legs started shaking.

Ed didn't really know how he'd been roped into operation Search for Colonel Bastard.

But, with Hawkeye shaking and looking like she was about to cry- damn, the girl was unflappable in the face of flying bullets, but bring Mustang into it...- he'd found himself unable to say no. Hospitalized he may have been, but unlike Hawkeye, he was in good enough shape to at least take a few trips around the building. The lieutenant, bandages around her neck still stark white and glaring, her cheeks flush and her stride unsteady, had seemed only a few minutes away from passing out.

Blind or not, the colonel would surely snap him to hell for letting Hawkeye hurt herself.

Of course, though, his intentions didn't matter much, because Mustang was Mustang: as absolutely difficult as he could possibly be. Every logical place Ed had thought the man could be hiding, Riza had already checked- and, no Mustang.

Shaking his head at himself, Ed sat on a nearby bench and rubbed his right hand over his face, partly just for the sensation of skin and warmth instead of steel and cold. Riza had reached the same conclusion he already had: Mustang wouldn't have been able to get far. He had yet to even stand without someone by his side, and finding himself alone in the middle of the unfamiliar and separated from his lieutenant was hardly the ideal way for him to start trying to regain his independence. There was no way he'd gotten more than twenty feet without his lieutenant.

Yet, Riza had searched every floor near the elevators. She had come up empty handed.

Then there was the problem that Mustang was hardly at his best right now. He'd be stumbling around, obviously blind, lost, and injured. Nurses would pounce on him like vultures. If Mustang was out in the open, then he would've been found by now and taken back to his room.

Except Ed had checked back there three times already.

He wasn't there, either.

So just where the hell is he, then?

Ed frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He'd had his own number of irritating hospitalizations, and as such he'd grown rather versed in good hiding places to chill out for a while if he just wanted to be alone and avoid the doctors for a bit. If the weather was nice out, and today, it was, then generally, his first hideout would be on the roof.

Even if he didn't really have any idea how Mustang could've found it on his own, he'd already looked in all the likely places. It was time to start searching in the unlikely.

Grimacing, Ed rose to his feet and stretched before starting for the stairs. He started to climb them in no real hurry, trying to ignore the sense of unease in his gut, and his mind went back to when he'd first stumbled upon the distraught lieutenant by complete accident.

In her panic, Hawkeye had told him more than he'd needed to know. She'd said something about Mustang being withdrawn lately, refusing to talk to her or anyone else. She'd said she was worried. And then, looking at him, her face had brightened with recollection and she'd added on a confused he said something about needing to collect a debt you owe him- that there's not any point in waiting anymore.

While Mustang would whine and complain to high heaven about Ed owing him his life, his reputation, and everything in between- in this instance, he knew the mention of a debt didn't have anything to do with any of that imagined nonsense.

There was only one thing Mustang could've been speaking of.

520 cents, and a promise about living a long life.

"And after you accomplish that, I'll make you promise me something else. And I'll still hold on to this." He shook the handful of change before the colonel's face, listening to their reassuring clink and holding his gaze steady, waiting for the response.

Mustang laughed softly, a rare and surprisingly innocent sound, and one that finally put Ed's heart at ease. "It seems I'll be living a long life, then."

Ed's fists clenched, and the sense of unease deepened.

The next step, he took a little faster than before, and he tried very hard to ignore the voice in his head that muttered to him the roof wasn't just good for going to be alone to.

If Mustang was thinking of going back on his promise, the roof would also be a good place to break his word and die.

When Ed finally pushed through the door to the roof to find Mustang sitting near the edge, legs crossed, and head bowed, the anxiety that had been growing inside him all the while hit a brick wall to end without reaching climax or fall. It just sat there in his gut like a leaden weight, making him feel sick with uncertainty.

The creak of the door made Mustang jump like a frightened rabbit. His gasp was audible even from across the roof and the colonel scrambled around to stare towards him, face empty of any recognition or even comprehension. His glazed eyes stared at some spot several feet to the left, mired in uncertainty, and acidic guilt roiled in Ed's gut.

He let the man suffer for a few moments, knowing he was just as on edge as everyone else nowadays and the knowledge that someone stood in front of him, someone that he could not see and could not fight, would drive him nearly mad with helplessness. When Ed saw the colonel's hands begin to shift, however, fingers curling in a habitual snap, he decided it was time to speak up. The lack of gloves didn't matter; Mustang could cause an explosion without a transmutation circle now, and in the state he was in, he could very well set one off without first thinking through the consequences.

"It's me, Colonel."

Again Mustang jumped, head jerking after the noise. Again he ended up off the mark, sightless eyes now staring a little to his right, and Ed had to stop himself from stepping after it. It would accomplish nothing. Noting at all, except make it slightly less obvious Mustang couldn't see him.

There was no point in that.

"Fullmetal..." Mustang muttered, relaxing slowly in degrees, bandaged hands no longer on the verge of a snap. But the uneasiness remained- as did his proximity to the edge of the roof. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" There was something disturbingly innocent about the question, and Ed shook his head, wondering just how Mustang could bring himself to say it. He crossed the distance between them in an irritated trot and then walked straight past him, situating himself between Mustang and the edge. The colonel's head turned after him, eyes continuing to search, always searching, and again Ed had to ignore the guilt that hit him like a sucker punch. "What are you doing here, Mustang?" He stood there for a moment, fists shaking, the fraying thread that held his barely existent patience just about to snap. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Mustang just stared blankly in his direction, obviously at a loss. An intermittent tremor shook through the colonel's shoulders, him still on the ground and unmoving, and while Ed had expected- would've been glad for, even- some sort of sassy bullshit about rank and threats to court martial him for talking back to his superior officer, that wasn't what he got.

"What on earth are you talking about, Fullmetal?"

Oh, he was going to play innocent still, was that it? "Let me rephrase the question, Colonel Bastard. What the hell are you doing up here, and if you don't give me a damn good answer, then you're going to have to write me up for striking a superior officer."

He'd said it because he was mad. He'd said it because he really couldn't believe Mustang was doing this, that he'd ever even consider this, and that he had the damn gall to pretend like Ed didn't know. He'd said it because he hadn't wanted to think about how much pain he'd have to be in to be up here at all. He hadn't really expected it to get results, because if there was one thing he'd never managed to do, it was intimidate the colonel. Mustang was a hornet's nest. You poke a hornet's nest, and you don't get information. You get hornets.

And sure enough, rather than explain, rather than answer him, rather than say anything to explain why the hell he'd thought this course of action was acceptable, Mustang's face was overtaken with absolute irritation, and he spat out, "You even try it and I'll set you on fire and sit back as you fall off this dammed roof."

Unfortunately for Mustang, Ed had not been joking.

The colonel, with all of zilch ways to defend himself, didn't even realize to try and raise an arm to block, and Ed's fist crunched against the smirk that screamed smugness and sent the man flying.

Mustang hurtled backwards with a wild yelp, unable to brace his fall and landing sprawled on his back, gasping. Blood welled from a split lip and Ed howled in the same moment, wringing his hand out in the air and stomping his foot in frustration. "You bastard!" he cried, uninjured hand jerking up in an accusing finger point at the colonel. "You broke my finger! I just fucking got this hand back, and you broke it!"

"M- me?!" Mustang gasped, clumsily working himself off his back and pointing right back at him, bandaged hand trembling and at least a foot off the mark. "You broke your own dammed finger!" He spat out the blood welling in his mouth and glared furiously, actually shaking from pent up emotion, and his hand swung forward in a wild punch of his own that was closer to the floor than Ed. "Get the hell over here, Fullmetal! That's an order; get your pipsqueak ass over here!"

"What, so you can hit me back?! That's a bit pathetic, isn't it, asking your opponent to handicap himself so you can win? Not that it'd matter anyway; I can kick your ass close range any day, and as you are right now even a child could beat you!" It was mean, and a low blow, and they both knew it. Ed could see it on Mustang's face, the reflexive tension and the shortest flicker of hurt at the truth in his words. The hurt was what made him regret it, though not enough to backtrack- the hurt was also definitely what spawned Mustang's next move.

Because, rather than wither in pathetic defeat, rather than continue their argument that would go nowhere but in circles, Mustang took a breath, glowered, then snarled back a concise,"Go fuck yourself, runt. I'll find my own way back. Sooner fall down a flight of stairs then take your dammed arm." And for the first time since being forcefully shoved through the Gate, Roy Mustang stood on his own.

Even as angry as he was, the sight momentarily took his breath away, leaving him staring in silent surprise. After what Hawkeye had said, he'd expected to have to drag the unwilling bastard to his feet. But now, without him even having to really try, he'd provoked the colonel this far- and it was clear Mustang was still angry enough to keep on fighting him.

That was good. Anger was good. Anger meant he wasn't about to give up.

The colonel reached out blindly, hands reaching and feeling for walls that were over ten feet away. When his fingers found nothing but air, Ed caught a flicker of unease that was almost instantly hidden by determination. Whether the determination was real or simply a facade for his audience's benefit, Ed didn't know- but it was clear he intended to find his way to the door on his own. That intention, and the fact that Ed was still pissed the hell off, was what kept his mouth shut when the colonel started walking in the wrong direction.

He'd started just a few degrees off, not many but enough. When he finally did reach the wall, it wasn't close enough for him to realize the exit was just at his back. Ed watched silently as Mustang's expression twisted in frustration, and then, with another few uncertain, measured breaths, he began to feel his way along the wall.

Again, he was going the wrong way.

This time, however, that wrong way ended, if the colonel's obvious lack of balance remained, in a dive off the hospital roof.

There was something decidedly pitiful, about watching him fumble hopelessly to find the exit that was right in front of him, if only he knew to feel for it, and Ed swallowed, the anger the colonel had provoked just by being himself dropping out from under him and leaving him without the fire in him to even yell. Something about it reminded him of the fact that Mustang hadn't even wanted to try human transmutation, that he'd even managed to say no in the face of his lieutenant's impending death and it hadn't mattered at all- they'd just tied him down and forcibly shoved him through the Gate anyway.

It was brutally unfair, and Ed hated it.

The price he and Al had paid, while unimaginably high, had at least been given willingly. They had both known the risks before ever drawing out that circle, and they had proceeded forward anyway.

What had happened to Mustang...

The anger that had kept him going before now failed him magnificently. In its place came an empty, gnawing sense of sadness instead.

This time, he didn't have the heart not to say something.

"...Sir..." He broke off and swallowed, having to force himself not to look away. "You're... you're going the wrong way, sir."

Mustang froze in place, the steady hand trailing along the wall losing its confidence in an instant. The fierce glare vanished as well, sightless eyes fluttering shut, and his face fell. Rather than start moving backwards, he simply remained frozen, standing against the wall, hand shaking and head bowed.

At long length, he simply dropped where he stood.

His shoulders were trembling, and he looked disturbingly similar to when they'd all first discovered he was blind.

Once again, the anger from before was missed. With anger he could yell and react without thinking. The way he felt right now, Ed would've honestly preferred it if he could just shut his eyes, turn around, and go back to Al. God knew it would be easier than to try and kick the pieces back into shape of this broken shell of a man before him.

But turning his back, of course, was just not an option.

"Colonel," he said again, and this time, Mustang didn't even try to look after him. Ed paused, hands slowly unclenching from the fists that had been so eager up until now, then just took a breath and began to walk forward to crouch in front of him. "What are you doing up here?"

It lacked the hostility from before, the fury, the accusation. His voice was flat even to his own ears, something that Mustang couldn't respond to in anger as he had before. All this was was a question. And to the question, Mustang would need to answer.

Don't say what I'm thinking. Even if it would get me mad as hell again... don't you dare say it.

His face still utterly empty, Mustang at last raised it from his hands and tilted it back, blinking up at the sky. "I think there's been a misunderstanding," he muttered, voice a quiet and flat monotone in response to Ed's own. "You did not seem surprised to find me here. Why?"

Ed frowned at him. Misunderstanding? That's what bastard colonel called this, a misunderstanding? He was really going to make him say the horrible truth of it aloud?

Well, if that was his one demand, Ed would just have to comply.

"Hawkeye told me what happened. ...She also told me it was a fight to even get your sorry ass out of bed." He dropped to the roof across from him, crossing his legs and leaning back on his right arm. Ed briefly considered the scolding his words were probably going to get the lieutenant later, then just shook his head. She would understand. And, it was necessary. "Didn't say it outright to me, but she was worried about you. Worried you were going to- ...do something stupid. I was already headed to the roof anyway, and when I remembered what she said, I..." He glanced pointedly around the roof, fist twitching. "I got worried as well."

Mustang didn't respond for a few seconds, didn't seem to have even heard him, and that right there, that non-reaction- it was enough to provoke Ed's anger again.

Ah, hello old friend. I've missed you...

And anger made it possible for him to confront him, whereas before he'd found it impossible.

"You son of a bitch. She was right, wasn't she? She was right!"

Mustang blinked again, mouth slipping into a stubborn frown. "Fullmetal-"

"You look Havock in the eye and tell him he lost his legs for nothing before you come up here?!" he shouted, running right over the pathetic excuse before it could start. "You tell Elicia she lost her dad for nothing?! You tell Hawkeye all those years she devoted to you, they were for nothing as well?! Did you expect her to not blame herself?! I guess your tough act was just that, an act, Mustang! You're dammed lucky I don't want to break my new hand again or I'd have punched that stupid smirk off your face," and never dammed mind the look on his face was the farthest thing from a smirk he'd ever seen, "and if you don't have a damn good explanation your face'll meet concrete, Colonel Bastard!"

God help him, he meant it.

Especially so, when Mustang still showed absolutely no reaction.

"...Are you done?" the colonel asked quietly at last, and the utterly blank look on his face made Ed's hand tingle with eagerness again.

"Depends. Are you about to to give me an explanation or an excuse?!"

Mustang's mouth twitched, though whether it was in annoyance or guilt Ed couldn't tell. The colonel sighed, interlocking his fingers in his lap in a gesture Ed had noticed whenever he was ticked off- likely to try and prevent himself from snapping. The gesture said even more now, when he didn't even need his gloves to cause absolute destruction.

"When the lieutenant and I were separated, I decided to try and find my own way back. The stairs were nearby, and I thought we were on the first floor. ...Guess I was a little off." He laughed hollowly and gestured at the open roof, voice heavy with an ironic sort of misery. "Didn't realize I'd ended up outside until I was in the middle of the roof. ...Took me a few more minutes to realize what had happened. When I did, I just..." He shifted a little, bringing his knees up to his chest and dropping his bandaged hands to the roof again. "...I realized I had no idea how close I was to the edge. That I didn't even know what direction the edge was in. ...Fullmetal... I didn't come up here to kill myself. You can tell Hawkeye she's going to be reprimanded for even suspecting it." He looked away for a moment, entire body beginning to shake. "But when I realized I had no idea where I was other than the roof- no way to even find out which direction to try and go in- and she wasn't here... I..."

He abruptly cut off into silence, voice that had steadily risen in an undeniable, uncontrollable panic suddenly dropping into silence. His chest heaved and his fingers shook on the roof, reaching with need to constantly be in touch with the wall, the floor, something, and the panic that looked so absolutely wrong on the colonel only escalated further. "The only thing I could've done was crawl on my hands and knees to find the door. I'm not that dammed pathetic, Fullmetal, I am not that dammed pathetic!" Empty eyes flashed but instead of determination there was desperation, and each shuddering gasp bespoke only of absolute terror.

Hands searched again, scrabbling over the ground, and Ed found himself wondering with a morbid uncertainty what Mustang even thought he was reaching for. If he even had some sort of distorted mental picture of the roof or if he'd just given up trying all together.

"...I'm not that dammed pathetic..." he whispered then- and his hands were still shaking. This time, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not Ed. It also sounded like it wasn't working. "I'm... I'm not..." He shook his head slowly, eyes impossibly wide and still stubbornly unfocused, blinking at the floor. "I'm... not..."

Ed shut his eyes, repulsed and almost ill with disbelief.

The picture of the man before him made him want to scream.

He'd never once seen Mustang be afraid for his own sake. The hero of Ishval, the renowned Flame Alchemist- he'd seen the colonel fight homonculi without flinching, he'd seen the man burn himself in one of the most badass displays Ed had ever witnessed, he'd seen him march into battle without the slightest hint of hesitation. Fear and Mustang didn't belong even in the same sentence.

And right now, the simple state of being blind, being on a roof, and being alone, had utterly terrified him.

It was wrong.

And now, Ed understood, the way he'd tried to approach Mustang had been an absolute disaster.

Because for Mustang, it had to have been an absolutely crushing blow, a single strike to shatter any delusions of any grandeur or invincibility, to realize he had had absolutely no choice but to wait until someone else found their way to the roof and found him.

It definitely felt akin to a slap to the face for Ed, anyway.

It wasn't dammed fair, and it didn't even matter, because life had never once claimed to be fair.

"...Yeah, Colonel," Ed whispered at last, and he found it impossible to even look at him. "You're... you're not pathetic."

He'd meant it, for once, not as something to provoke an argument. Damn it, he'd been agreeing with the bastard. But, Roy Mustang was a disagreeable and difficult man. Therefore, of course, even when Ed was agreeing with him, Mustang had to abruptly change his tune and fight back.

"Not pathetic? Not pathetic, Fullmetal?! Look at me! I was too fucking terrified to take a single step before you showed up! On my knees like some kind of animal, unable to even stand without my lieutenant! That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard in my life! I was too damn scared, Fullmetal! Me! Scared! You don't call that pathetic?!"

And at last, Ed just snapped.

"No. No, sir, I don't!" His hand shot out to grab the colonel by his collar, yanking him away from the wall and leaving him grappling to grasp something solid again, panic and fury twisting his features that only further emboldened Ed to continue. "I call it normal! You're scared? So fucking what?! Last time I checked you were human, too! News flash, that means being scared sometimes! But you know what I do find pathetic, Colonel?" He tightened his grip on Mustang's shirt when the man tried to pull away angrily, refusing to let him back up. "This! This self-pity shit!"

Mustang's wild and infuriated stare stared straight through him, one fist rising to force Ed off of him. "Self-pity, shrimp?! This time, it's an order: go fuck yourself."

Ed shrugged. "You're not my CO anymore, Colonel. In case you forgot; can't really be a State Alchemist without alchemy. Face it, I'm not your lieutenant- you can't order me away just because you don't like what I'm saying."

Mustang's fists clenched, but he didn't have a retort. Ed's satisfied grin was shortlived, though; getting the upper hand on the bastard was a rare joy but not one he was going to get to enjoy now. He still needed to knock some sense into him, and unfortunately, a fist to the head probably wasn't going to be enough to cut it. "Colonel, you remember what I told you, when you were fighting Envy?"

Mustang scowled faintly, but Ed had purposefully drained the anger and hostility away from his voice, and the colonel responded in kind again, the steam they'd both needed to let off no longer interfering. "Which part?" he muttered, still blinking hazily, stare somewhere around his forehead.

"When I told you that wasn't the kind of face you could lead a country with." Ed paused, watching as the colonel flinched and folded his arms, clearly remembering it but too upset with how he'd acted that night to say so. "Well, I'm going to say the same to you again right now. This self-pity? You want to be Fuhrer, you want to make this country a democracy- that's sure as hell not going to be easy. And the way you looked when I got here? That's not someone I'd trust to be Fuhrer. That's not someone I'd trust to clean my shoes, sir."

He couldn't lie; it was intended to provoke him again, just a little. He wanted Mustang provoked. It kept him arguing. It kept him fighting.

That was why, when no such protests were forthcoming, Ed's heart sank a little more.

After a long moment, the colonel simply shook his head quietly, carefully and clumsily lowering himself down to sit on the roof again. Ed followed him without speaking, just waiting for his reply, and after a few uncertain, unsteady breaths, Mustang answered him. His voice lacked any of the strength or ire that had been there before, and that somehow made Ed feel even worse.

"Fuhrer, Fullmetal? ...A blind Fuhrer?" He shook his head again, mouth shifting into a miserable smile that bespoke of something broken. "You're not the only one who's not going to be in the military anymore, after this."

So, the bastard had intended on breaking his promise after all.

Not his one about living a long life, but the one to always climb to the top until he stood on the very summit itself.

Not as bad as he'd thought it was, but, still, bad.

Ed leaned forward, hands on his knees, wishing for a brief second he could simply glare the man into submission. "Let me ask you something, Colonel. Do you still want to change this country? Do you still want to right the wrongs we did to Ishval? Do you still want to see Amestris become a democracy?"

Mustang shrugged weakly, voice even more dead than before. "Does it matter what I want? It's impossible, Ed. I'm... I..." He shut his eyes, a tremor shuddering through his entire form to the very base of his spine. "I'm blind."

His voice cracked, and Ed had to give himself a moment before continuing on, nearly overwhelmed by the guilt and sympathy once again. Mustang didn't need guilt or sympathy. He needed someone to tell him that his ambition, hope, and dream was not dead yet.

"Yes, sir, you are. ...You're blind. And I'll admit it, a blind Fuhrer sounds like a completely impossible longshot." Ed reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around the colonel's wrist, both his hands still trapped in gauze. Mustang jumped again but didn't pull away, and Ed brought his hand down to rest it against his metal foot. "And a few years ago, I was an eleven year old kid who'd lost half his limbs. My future was a crippled farmer. I'd bet on a blind Fuhrer before I'd bet on that kid making State Alchemist. But I made it, Colonel. I made it because you showed up." Ed took another shuddering breath, forcing himself to remember back to the absolute worst days in his life, and Colonel Bastard looking at him and telling him hope was not lost was the only thing that had stopped him from giving up entirely. "You told me to stand up, pick up my feet, and move forward. You told me to go after what I wanted." Mustang tried to pull back but Ed clenched his hand tighter, holding the man in place and forcing him to still touch the automail. "You just said you still wanted to change this country. So go after it, Mustang!"

The look on his face still said no. The look on his face still said I can't. The look on his face still said stop, Ed, stop saying this, stop trying to make me confront something I'm not ready for.

"Ed," Mustang whispered, and in his voice Ed heard only the absolute defeat that his expression screamed at him. "Ed, I-"

"Did I say it'd be easy, Mustang?" he spat out in interruption, releasing his hand at last. "I spent years recovering after you showed your smug face in Risembool. But I still did it. I still stuck it out. And I spent even damn longer searching with Al to try and regain our bodies. It took years, Mustang! So, yeah, it's not going to be easy. It's going to be hard. It's going to hurt. You're going to want to give up, a lot. You're going to feel even worse than you do now. ...When that happens, you've got your lieutenant. You've got Havock, Breda, Falman, Fuery. They've supported you for years, Colonel, because they believed you would become Fuhrer some day. ...You want to give that up? Then you go tell each one of them that the years they gave you were wasted. You tell Havock he lost his legs for no reason; you tell Hawkeye she wasted her life on you, you go tell Gracia and Elicia that you're going to give up on what Hughes died for. You look at me and tell me you were a hypocrite when you told me to keep trying." He waited a few moments, sitting through the indecision and anxiety and agony on his superior's face. "You going to say it?" Ed pressed, pushing lightly at his shoulder. "Well, sir? Are you going to say it or not?!"

The dark, furious glare, whether it was focused on him or not, said quite clearly that Mustang didn't have a retort. The fact that he didn't have a retort meant that the bastard knew, whether he would admit it or not yet, that Ed was right.

That was okay, he figured. A good first step, and a necessary one. It had taken him a long while to really accept the truth too, really believe that he could set out from home with only half his limbs and his brother clinging to life through an empty suit of armor and someday come back as flesh and blood. Until they'd burned their home together, there had still been doubt. Until they'd both turned their backs and left, there had still been that tiny seed of doubt that said it was impossible.

In the same way, the colonel would need to see for himself that it was possible. And that could only be given with time- so as long as he didn't give up now and turn his back on the future he'd worked so hard for.

And that, it seemed, was what Ed had succeeded in stopping him from doing.

Grinning, Ed stood and took a few loud steps backwards. Mustang flinched again, hand jerking out to try and catch onto him, but Ed didn't let him. "Come on. Let's head back, sir- before Hawkeye has a heart attack." He headed for the door to the roof, counting his steps all the while, not stopping even at the sound of the colonel's hand smacking against plaster, cry tinged with desperation.

"Hey! Fullmetal!"

"Relax, bastard," he called casually over his shoulder, nudging the roof door open and turning to face him again. "Still here." He knocked loudly on the door a few times, directing the colonel's searching, unsure stare, and cleared his throat. "Wall's on your right, door's ten steps away. If you head the wrong way, I'll tell you."

The colonel blinked, the desperation slowly clearing when he realized that Ed was not about to simply leave him on the roof. Ed rolled his eyes in at the man's foolishness and stood at the door, just watching Mustang closely and waiting.

The colonel did still look annoyed for a few moments, annoyed and nervous, but he finally did slowly turn back to the wall, features creased in concentration. His bandaged hands fumbled over the plaster, searching uncertainly for the wall. When his fingers found their destination he grappled with it, breaths deep but unsteady, struggling to climb to his feet. When he made it he looked like he had half a mind to just sit back down and give up here and now, but Mustang had his pride, and the fact that his subordinate was there was apparently enough to keep him going. Ed saw his mouth move silently, counting the steps under his breath as he slowly made his way back to the door, and he grinned again.

He'd definitely kicked the bastard into shape, all right.

Mustang finally reached him, fingers sliding along the wall until they reached the doorframe, where he stopped and waited expectantly without needing to be told to. His lips had shifted into a smug grin, though, and Ed raised an eyebrow at it as he took the colonel's arm. "What're you smirking at, Mustang?"

"Nine steps."

He frowned again. "What?"

"Nine steps for an adult." His grin grew, a hesitant and nervous expression after what had almost been a mental breakdown but genuine all the same. "Ten steps for a flea-sized man-child that needs a step-stool to climb out of bed in the morning."

In that moment, Ed's eye twitched, and he had to suppress the very real urge to take the colonel by the wrist and toss him straight down the stairs.