Post-manga AU in the sense that Ed still has both his automail and alchemy. All right, this is part one of six of a birthday fic written for a-big-apple! The rest is currently in the wrapping up/editing process with my beta, bob_fish, so posting will take place every five days. The next posting date will be 23 May (because I posted this on my livejournal already and forget to add it here, d'oh! ^^;)

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He'd left the letter open on his desk. The ink needed to dry. Roy had a terrible habit of forgetting himself, of folding letters closed about thirty seconds before they were ready. He was forever receiving irate letters in return, demanding to know why he'd even bothered posting a mess of inky blots.

For a moment, his eyes fell on the text, his own fine cursive, in response to threats from, and at the very bottom, even after his name, I'm sorry.

He shouldn't have bothered. The words, whether written or spoken, were empty. They had no power to change what was and what must be.

A knock on the door. Roy closed his eyes, taking a brief moment to just breathe, to remind himself that the world would keep on turning. "Come in."

Ed let the door swing open, kicking it closed behind him as he strolled in, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. "This is different," he observed. "You callin' me in here. Is this a date?" Ed was laughing, was smiling and happy and –

Roy couldn't meet his eyes, leaving his gaze to settle on Ed's chin, a safe distance from the center of emotional expression. "Fullmetal Alchemist," he began, and couldn't keep himself from looking up and taking notice of the change on Ed's face, the smile morphing into something measured and neutral. "There's an order for you," please, god, just don't make me have to say it, don't make me have to voice it, "on the desk." His voice sounded strained, and Ed was beginning to look alarmed. "Go take a look."

A slight hesitation before, "Sir," and Ed crossing the room, grabbing the paper and holding it carefully at the far edges so he could read without disrupting the ink. "In accordance with your contract," Ed began aloud, "and in response to threats from Drachma—" He went silent, his eyes flickering rapidly over the paper. Roy knew he shouldn't look at him, but the masochistic urge was impossible to deny, like a god-sent punishment. "You're," Ed cleared his throat, obviously trying to remove the note of disbelief from his voice, "stationing me."

"The war has taken a turn for the worse." No explanation was good enough for this. "There's no other choice. You'll be leading a team in."

Ed was gripping the paper so hard Roy could see the fast-forming crinkles all the way across the room. "When?" He swallowed loudly, and Roy followed the bobbing motion of his throat.

His heart feeling like someone was crunching it in their fist, Roy answered, "Four days. The train leaves at eight Monday morning."

There was silence for a moment. Roy waited, anticipating the eruption, when instead, Ed closed his eyes and asked in a tiny voice, "How long have you known about this?"

The words were a blade, slid cleanly into Roy's chest. "Two weeks."

Ed, very calmly, very slowly, put the paper back down on Roy's desk. "I'll see you at home," he said, voice eerily blank, and left the room. He didn't look back.

When the door closed behind Ed, Roy walked wearily to his desk, sat down in his chair, and dropped his face into his hands.

Loving someone meant protecting them, meant holding them close to your heart and fighting away all the pain and injustice the world so often presented. Roy held that romantic ideal to be a known truth. Ed was – was still young. Twenty-five wasyoung, especially given he'd never really lived in the first place. Roy stared at his reflection in the side mirror, at the sparse gray infiltrating his dark hair, at the fine lines creeping from the corner of his eyes, and wondered why the world refused to cooperate with him.

"You told him." Havoc kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. It wasn't a question.

"I did," Roy confirmed.

"It didn't go well."

"Not at all." Ed had reacted as expected – and Roy knew he hadn't seen the worst of it yet. "It's my fault."

"Not really a point in thinking that," Havoc said. "This is it, you know."

Roy looked over, raising an eyebrow. "What is?"

"He's leaving soon," Havoc said. "So if I was you, not sayin' I'd ever want that, but I'd try and be real nice."

"You make this too simple."

"You make it too hard," Havoc returned.

Maybe he did, and maybe that was the problem. Roy hardly had the time to worry about that, because Havoc had cut the engine, and the door was open, and Roy's feet were carrying him up the walkway and in the front door like this day was no different from any other before it.

That it quite clearly wasdifferent didn't seem to change anything.

Ed was in the study, standing in front of the bookshelf on his toes, stretching up to the very top of it where he'd for some reason stacked several books. Roy could hear him muttering curses under his breath from the doorway.

Walking forward, Roy stood directly behind Ed and, reaching up quite calmly, pulled the stack of three books down and held them steady. Ed remained facing away for just a moment before turning, slowly, and staring somewhere over Roy's shoulder.

"Hi," Roy said. The word didn't seem enough to bear the horrible weight of awkward anxiety between them.

Ed raised a brow and took the books. "Hi." His expression said, is that the best you have?

Well, yes, actually, it was. What does one say, in a situation like this? What could Roy possibly do? But admitting that he didn't know was worse, he supposed, than winging it. "You left."

"Did I really?" Ed asked, the words heavy with sarcasm. "Can you think of why?"

"I didn't lie to you."

"You've known for two weeks, right?" Ed met Roy's gaze, too intense. "Where was this assignment when we were—were eating together? Where was it when we were fucking? What, were you too worried that I'd get up and run? Roy, you fucking ass—"

It felt too much like the early days, distrust ringing too clearly in Ed's eyes. They were equals, and Roy believed that with every fiber of his being. He and Ed were equals, and no military titles or positions of power had anything to do with them – but even so…

Roy grabbed Ed's shoulders when he tried to walk away, the books tumbling from Ed's hands at the sharp movement. "You won't even listen? Just like that, you're writing me off?"

"I'm fucking pissed," Ed said, voice strained with anger. "You know how hard it is not to hit you? Get your hands off me."

The quiet way Ed said it, the forced calm, sent a shiver straight through Roy's body. But he didn't move. Instead, he smoothed his hands down Ed's shoulders, his arms, and to his hands, lacing their fingers. "I've been trying to fight it."

"You don't get it," Ed said, but he didn't move. "I don't care—you can't stop things from happening, I don't care who you fucking are. You should've toldme. I don't care what happens."

Roy tightened his fingers. "I don't want you to go."

"It's not your choice."

"But I thought it would be," Roy said quietly, and Ed finally lookedat him.

"Don't be stupid," he said, giving Roy's hands a return squeeze. "I don't care where I am, right? But you do this all the time!"

"Do what?" Roy demanded.

"Try and protect me," Ed said easily, "when I don't need it."

Roy thought of Ishval, of war and violence and blood. He thought of Ed's life up until the moment he stepped into Roy's arms. He couldn't stop himself from saying, "If I can keep you here, I will."

"You run the country. You can't put a war on hold to keep me home," Ed said roughly. "It's my job. I signed on for this, even if—if I'd prefer not to do it."

If they could just stay there, just like that, Roy knew they'd be fine. If he could just stop the clock from turning so tomorrow never came –

But no. It was foolish to entertain such thoughts. In a few days, he would send Ed off to god knew what, and he would stay behind his desk, signing papers and fighting a war from the safest place in Amestris.

It didn't feel fair.

Roy's mind was full of his own uselessness, the very thing he'd been sure he could escape by reaching the top. For a brief, dark moment, he wondered if his goal had been worthless after all. If he couldn't protect Ed as the Fuhrer, as the goddamned leader of the country, then what good was he?

"Stop that," Ed snapped, shaking his hands from Roy's grip. "I can fuckin' see your wheels turning. Just—let it go, right?"

Letting it go – if only he could. Roy let his arms hang at his sides, hands feeling too empty without Ed's to hold onto. "I'm sorry."

Ed gave him a look, the one that said, I know you. "It's fine."

Roy's eyebrows shot up. "Fine? You're not angry?"

"I'm livid," Ed corrected him.

"Dinner," Roy suggested, desperate to break the strained quiet, to return some semblance of emotion beyond anger to Ed's eyes. "What would you like?"

"Whatever we have. Order in, if you'd like. I could eat anything." It wasn't forgiveness, not even close. Roy didn't think he could even call the tone of Ed's voice a truce. He was simply shutting Roy out.

"All right." Roy took a backwards step. "I'll just—send out for something."

"Okay." Ed stooped down to grab the books.

"I'll be back in just a minute."

"I'll be here."

When Roy left the room, it felt like losing.

Ed didn't speak to him over dinner that night. He simply took his share of the food and disappeared back into the office. Roy was afraid to go see him – the door would very likely be locked.

Roy went to bed alone that night. By the next morning, Ed's temper hadn't smoothed, so Roy went into the office as he would have on any other day. It was only through the strained expression on his face and the way his hands constantly faltered as he worked that his staff knew to step lightly.

"Sir?" Hawkeye stepped into his office, closing the door behind her – never a good sign. Roy dropped his pen and stretched his arms over his head.

"Yes?"

"I have Edward's team." She handed him a thicket of files. "He selected them this morning."

"That was quick," Roy muttered. He picked through personnel files. "Several of them have no real combat experience."

"Major Benson and Major Vaughn were only accepted into the alchemy program within the last two years," she said. "Major Enreich has a fair amount of experience."

"At least their specialties match the circumstances," Roy conceded. "And the others…"

"Second Lieutenant Levesque and First Lieutenant Sharpe are both combat specialists. I've worked with them," she added.

Another glance through the files, then Roy asked, "You've given your approval?"

"The team only needs yours," she confirmed.

Roy signed the document resting at the front of the files and handed it over to her. "See that a thorough background check is done."

"Already taken care of, sir."

Roy was home late that night. He saw no reason in hurrying, and in any case, he had quite the load of work sitting on his shoulders. Wars required a lotof paperwork, which was reason enough to avoid them. Ed was already there, sitting in the kitchen, his reading glasses hugging the end of his nose as he pored over some archaic text or other.

"I'm home," Roy said. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

"I see," Ed said, a hint of that earlier anger still wrapped up in his words. But when he looked up, he was smiling – albeit a bit strained. "There's food." He waved over toward the counter where a sandwich was piled messily onto a plate, a glass of something sitting next to it.

Roy found himself unable to keep the relieved smile off his face. "How—" It possibly wasn't the best time to ask, and Roy knew this, cleared his throat, and kept going: "how are you?"

"Eat your dinner," Ed said. Then he pulled off his glasses and laid them aside. "I'm still pissed, you know."

"I do."

"But it's," Ed hesitated, "you're a dick. I knowyou are, and I knew it when I—when we decided to stick together." Which was a very interesting way of referring to their relationship. Roy snorted.

"I am sorry," he said.

"I know you are. But I'm gonna be an adult here," Ed looked faintly pleased with himself, "and I'm gonna say let's deal with this later."

"Later?" Roy frowned. "What's later?"

"When I'm not goin' off to war," Ed said.

Roy took a seat at the table and set the sandwich down. His appetite suddenly didn't seem quite as strong.

Sunday night came far too quickly. Between the rushed preparations to send the special ops group off and the various diplomats Roy had to curry support with, it felt those few days had melded into a single one.

They'd both taken the day off. By the time evening rolled around, the strain in the atmosphere was overwhelming. Conversation over dinner, something once effortless, felt like the most impossible thing they could do. Every time Ed laughed, Roy felt his heart squeeze, felt like something was terribly wrong.

Even in bed – Ed's face planted between Roy's neck and shoulder, Roy gently pulling Ed's hair from its tight braid – the sense of normalcy, of content that Roy knewshould be between them simply wasn't there.

"How are you?" Ed asked, the words a vibration against Roy's skin.

"Fine." I should be asking you.

"I wish you wouldn't get like this," Ed said, lifting his head and propping himself up on his elbows. "You get so fuckin' stupid."

Brushing away the anger that began to bubble up at Ed's words, Roy dropped the younger man's hair, raising his hands to rub the heels of his palms against his tired eyes. "I know."

"Then don't do it!" Ed shoved Roy's shoulder with his elbow – the left one, thankfully. The motion was a subtle way of saying he wasn't holding this against Roy.

"I thought I could change it." Roy rolled onto his side, facing Ed.

"You aren't supposed to get this involved," Ed reminded him. "I said, didn't I? When you got to be Fuhrer—"

"I know. I know." Ed had said it, loudly and at great length. He'd been certain that the moment Roy achieved his goal, he would be even less capable of stepping out of the line of fire and sending his loved ones to risk themselves.

The Fuhrer can't fight a battle, Roy reminded himself. Only the Fuhrer's men can.

Sleek metal fingers threaded through Roy's hair, pushing it off his forehead. Ed's automail hand felt good, cool against the warmth of the bedroom and the thick sheets.

"You're so stubborn," Ed said, almost in wonder.

"I really don't think you have room to talk," Roy huffed. Ed laughed.

"Maybe." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the sharp line of Roy's jaw. "We really gonna waste the night like this?"

Roy hummed. "Waste?"

"My last night here," Ed said mildly, one hand already under the sheets and creeping down the smooth plane of Roy's stomach, "and you're not gonna put out? Shame on you, Fuhrer Mustang."

"Oh," Roy said, and quite happily let Ed roll on top of him.

Apparently, he wasn't as angry as Roy had thought.

Ed was to lead a team into the central part of the warzone: alchemists and combat specialists, all of whom were prepared to lay their lives down for their Fuhrer. After a rushed morning, most of which Roy spent trying not to search for a last minute cure to their impending separation, he left himself at home, fixing his face into something neutral and intimidating, uniform prepared and speech rehearsed.

It was time to address the troops, to prepare them for a battle that very well might end up as their last.

The railway platform was empty, save for the six men heading North, accompanied by their families, and the Fuhrer and his entourage. Roy stood proudly before the line of men, meeting Ed's eyes for every word that he spoke.

"You have my appreciation," Roy could hear himself saying, "and that of Amestris. Regardless of what happens from this point forward…."

It was just words, endless, stupid, senseless words. He was sending them off to war, to death, to violence and pain and suffering. It was the very thing he'd vowed never to do –

Ed's eyes cut off the endless tirade of guilt in Roy's mind, the message remaining steady: you can't change this.

Roy unclenched the fists at his side, tried to let his body relax, to stop the constant vibration of tension running through him. "Good luck," he said at last, and of all the words he could have said, these were the ones that rang truest.

He shook hands with each of the men as they boarded, and when he finally came to Ed, he couldn't help but lean forward, pressing a harsh kiss to Ed's cheek. "You'll come back," he said, the words rushed.

Ed leaned into Roy for a few unfulfilling seconds and said, "I promise I'll come back."

Roy watched the train disappear, standing shoulder to shoulder with the family members being left behind, and thought, I can do this.

Train rides weren't the same without Al. Two days into the journey, and Ed had never felt more aware of his brother's absence. He found himself wishing for Al, for Winry, for Resembool and home and – all sorts of things, really, and none of them made any more sense than the last.

"Colonel Elric?" One of the men under him, the newest addition to the State Alchemist program, spoke up. He was the only one remaining in the compartment, the rest of the men wandering the train out of sheer boredom.

Ed scrambled for his name, but settled for the poor guy's rank. "Major?"

"Have you," the younger man fidgeted, his anxiety evident. "Have you ever been in a war?"

Ed was barely older than the other alchemist, rank aside, but in terms of experience, he was ages ahead. He remembered his name finally: Major Bensen, the Spark Alchemist, renowned for his ability to use electricity and metals in his alchemy in a way that had never been done before. "Yes," Ed said honestly. "I have."

His war had been different – immortal alchemical monsters, the Philosopher's Stone … There was hardly anything to compare.

"What was it like?" Bensen asked.

"Terrible," Ed said, looking down at his hands. "The worst thing I ever did."

Not much was said after that.

Ed looked out the window, at the snow and endless white, and found himself feeling guilty for wishing the three hours left between them and their destination would hurry and tick by.

After a week, Ed's absence was still a palpable pain. Roy continued as normal, devouring any and all news of the situation up north with an eagerness that bordered on mania. The people seemed pleased with his decisions, his reactions.

He was apparently the only one finding fault in himself. It was a new and different situation, that was for certain.

The radio stayed on at all times in the office, whether he was at Central HQ or in his home office. Its constant low murmur kept him calm somehow, even though the news consisted of things he'd not only already heard, but also had approved for public distribution himself.

"…troops began moving closer to the border, skirmishes breaking out just outside of the town of…"

He'd drafted Ed three letters already, each of his earlier attempts now resting in the bottom of his waste bin.

He'd balled up the first draft the moment he finished writing Dear Ed. The second draft managed a first sentence. Dear Ed, I hope you deal better with cold than I dealt with heat the first time I went to Ishval, but that would have been depressing, so it got trashed as well. The third draft skipped the introduction and went straight to, It's been a week, and I still can't handle sleeping alone.

That was even more depressing than the previous attempt, so he'd quickly crumpled it and shoved it in the bin.

Ed, he began, the introduction neutral enough, yet still personal. I hope all is well— he scratched that out, replacing it with, I hope the train ride wasn't too unbearable. That wasn't bad. Bland, of course, but it wasn't depressing or ridiculously redundant.

I miss you. He'd write a page full of just that if he could, a million I miss you's that still wouldn't be enough to express what he was feeling. Roy rested his elbow on his desk, cradling his chin in one hand as he tapped his pen against the wood, desperately trying to think of something to say. If Ed had been right there, right in front of him, Roy would have so much to say he wouldn't have been able to so much as imagine closing his mouth. But put a few days between them, and suddenly his mind was blank.

Once upon a time, a girlfriend had told Roy that misery became him. He'd thought it poetic, at first, but now he couldn't see the sense in the words.

I'm doing everything I can on my end, he continued. I'll get you home as quickly as I can, you and all the soldiers stationed out there. You just hold up your end. Ed would understand that best of all.

He scribbled out a few more lines, doodling an image of Black Hayate holding Hawkeye's gun in his mouth for a bit of levity. When he folded the letter and stamped it with the official seal of the Fuhrer, he felt certain there was so much more he could have said.

Putting it down on his desk, he grabbed up the phone, drumming his fingers while he waited for his assistant to pick up the other line.

"Sir?" the woman finally answered.

"I have a letter," Roy said. "One that needs to be sent out immediately."

A brief pause, then, "I'll be right in, sir," and the line clicked, the call ended.

Roy set down the receiver and closed his eyes, the room dissolving into the low murmur of the radio. "…civilian deaths at an all-time low…"

Ed pulled his coat tighter against his throat, crouched down low behind a boulder as he motioned for his men to follow. Bensen was right at his back, breathing heavily. Ed could practically feel him shaking.

"We're nearly at the rendezvous point," Ed said, each word punctuated with a harsh, panted breath. "We just need to get further—"

"But we don't know where he is," Bensen cried, panicked. "We have no clue! And he has all of our—"

"This isn't the time for that," Ed cut him off. Behind Bensen, Enreich let out a whistling, pained breath. The man didn't have much time left, and they'd already lost one man. Ed didn't want to think of losing him as well. If Enreich died, it would just be him and Bensen and Levesque. Just the three of them wouldn't be a match for –

The ground three feet away from them exploded in a shower of snow and earth. Bensen let out a shriek, mirrored by a faraway voice which was quickly followed by a second thundering boom.

"They're here," Levesque said, voice almost drowning in the sea of explosions. "We have to move!"

Ed thought, and thought, and thought. There was simply no way.

They couldn't make it, not all of them, and Enreich was fading fast, his each pained breath harder for Ed to hear. They would not all leave this place alive.

For now, they were safe in the shelter of the rocky area Levesque had created - but it wouldn't last forever.

The ache of days of running, of battle, seemed to soak through Ed's body. He found himself at an end.

"Take Enreich," he instructed Bensen, watching the younger soldier's eyes widen.

"You—"

"I can distract them for a bit," Ed continued.

"We'll all be dead if you leave!" Levesque argued.

"Don't be stupid," Ed snapped, still completely on guard. "You're panicking—an opening is all you need!"

"I'm fucked," Enreich said, "just go on, I'm dead anyway—"

"This is my fault," Ed said, calm despite the storm rising in his mind – there was clearly only one way out of this. "I didn't see the signs. If I'd paid any attention, he wouldn't have been able to do this."

"Colonel—"

"That's an order," Ed barked, watching the men fall into line despite themselves. "Get Enreich, and get out. I'll take care of the rest."

"Is there—anything else?" Levesque asked hesitantly, as he and Bensen each taking one of Enreich's arms.

"Tell the Fuhrer," Ed said, "that I'm sorry I couldn't keep our promise." The men looked confused, but he didn't expect them to understand his words – just to repeat them to the right man.

Turning away, Ed pressed his palms together.