Stairway to Paradise- Ch18- FMA Fan Fiction

Of all the days for it to snow, it had to be the day Ed had to get out in it.

Roy stared outside the window, watching fat, fluffy flakes drift down to join their brethren in a hostile takeover of his backyard. The world was already dusted in the stuff, with only the tallest of grass blades able to reach up from beneath it, but soon even those would be gone, and it would be completely white outside.

He hated the snow. He hated the wind, he hated the wet, he hated the cold, and he hated the snow.

And now, after what Ed had been through, Roy was fairly certain he shared his sentiments, and possibly surpassed them.

He glanced over at his charge, the blond boy sitting quietly at the table as he alternated between poking at his breakfast and massaging his head. Roy winced at that. It had been difficult to wake him up that morning, the tranquilizers unwilling to relinquish their hold on his small system, and it seemed to be causing him headaches. Regardless of that, after a phone call to Silas, Roy had plans to slip another mild sedative into his lunch right before his appointment. Despite the potential of making him less coherent, Silas hoped that it would make the experience of leaving the house and meeting strangers much less stressful, and therefore more likely to succeed.

"Ed?" Roy asked.

Despite the boy knowing very well that Roy was close, he drew back, inhaling sharply at the nearness of Roy's voice. Since last night, he seemed to be blatantly mistrusting of Roy, tensing up when he came too close, as if afraid Roy now walked around with tranquilizers in his pocket, just waiting for the opportunity to strike. Of course, still under the influence of the drugs, his reactions seemed to be less intense fear and more reflexive response than anything.

"Stay away from me," he demanded flatly, going back to cradling his head in his prosthetic hand.

Roy studied him with a frown. "Is there a reason you're so jumpy this morning?" he asked casually, wondering if Ed would give him a straight answer.

The boy stared sullenly at nothing, silver fingers clawing around his bangs. "You . . . you stabbed me."

"That is a gross exaggeration, Fullmetal," Roy informed, but he was bemused nevertheless. Normally, Roy would expect him to be terrified, if that was how he had perceived the event, but perhaps the drugs were truly numbing all of those intense emotions. "Besides, it was necessary."

Ed looked visibly upset at this, the metal spoon in his automail bending almost imperceptibly in his inhuman grip. Roy winced for his cutlery. "Ed?"

"I'm not—" his voice caught, and he blinked quickly and inhaled before continuing. "I'm not a dumb animal that you can just knock out whenever you feel like it. I'm not, Mustang!" he turned as if to look Roy in the eye but falling miserably short. As if realizing this, he turned back to the table in disgust, shoulders ridged as he initiated a blind glaring contest with his scrambled eggs.

This was new . . . strange, even. Edward demanding things wasn't new in itself, but there was something different about this. Ed in the past would be stubborn and make his wants and needs known loudly and in the most abrasive manner imaginable. This 'demand,' though, was different. It was as if he knew good and well he wasn't capable of being a threat anymore. He was expressing his displeasure with his treatment, but the threats and self-righteous anger were heartbreakingly absent. It was the way a child tells you it doesn't like something, all the while knowing that something would happen regardless of its preferences. Roy didn't like the way he just assumed he was going to lose.

Before this mess, Roy wouldn't have believed it to be within his personality to assume defeat. Had he fallen so far that so little was left? Was part of this somehow Roy's doing? It was as if one small needle had set him back miles, shattering his every illusion of safety as effectively as if Roy had put a gun to his head.

"Edward," Roy began carefully. "You know I didn't do it just because I could. I did it so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

Ed looked like he was trying very hard not to break something, his frustration a visible force that tightened his shoulders and jaw like coiled springs. "That's right," he hissed, voice dripping with malice and hatred that made Roy's blood freeze. Where had that come from? "I'm out of my head, so just dart me until it passes. Or why don't you just tie me down?" His voice was gaining momentum as he spoke, words tumbling out like an overflowing river. "You could chain me to the wall. It's harder to hurt yourself that way, isn't it? I would know—I couldn't manage to kill myself in three months. Wouldn't it be so much easier that way? You wouldn't even have to watch me; just go to work and live your life like before I showed up! Is that what you want?!" he snarled. "Is it?! Who's stopping you? It's certainly not me! You can do whatever you want to me and there's not a thing I can do about it, so go ahead and chain me up like a dog! Go ahead! I didn't ask for your help, Mustang, so just do whatever you want!"

Roy wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. Maybe he was just deprived of sleep, or under too much stress, or perhaps so angry that he had lost all sense of reason.

Or maybe he just couldn't stand the stark reality of it all being thrown in his face.

Either way, his quivering fists slammed down on the table. The clap echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot and Ed froze like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide in panic. He didn't know what the sound was, and Roy didn't have the patience to tell him. "That's enough, Fullmetal," Roy hissed, his voice shaking as much as his fists. How could he? How could the boy dare insinuate such a thing? Roy knew he wasn't perfect, and he knew he made plenty of mistakes and would make plenty more, but he was trying! He was doing the best he could!

But maybe, just maybe, he felt a bit guilty. A small voice in the back of his head quietly reminded him that it was his fault Ed was in the state he was, and Ed had every right to hate him. Roy just didn't think he could stand it if he did.

Roy turned and stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He didn't bother to say a word to Ed, driven by a single-minded desire to get out of the room before he did something he regretted.

His jaw felt like it would snap under the tension. Emotions were raging inside of him like they hadn't in a long time. Anger and guilt fought for dominance, and instead of either, he just ended up feeling repulsed. He stormed into his room and slammed the door shut behind him, brutishly satisfied with the heavy clap that reverberated through the house. It might have been juvenile, but he didn't care. He didn't care because at this point, what else could he possibly screw up?

He sank to his bed as his adrenaline faded, burning his anger off with it and leaving him feeling tired and empty. He sighed, laying back into the down comforter and staring blankly at the ceiling. What was he supposed to do? What more could he do? It seemed like everything he did made things worse for Ed; like he simply couldn't win for loosing.

He wished Alphonse hadn't left. Logically, he knew that if there was any chance at all that he could find a way to fix Ed's eyes, then of course he had to take it, but Roy was drowning. He was burned out and felt exhausted and confused and incapable. And none of it was Ed's fault.

Yes . . . none of it was Ed's fault and he had just snapped at him. Snapped at him like he was well and whole and had nothing to complain about.

Edward had everything to complain about. If there was anyone who deserved to be able to drown in self-pity, it was Ed.

And yet, he wasn't drowning. Despite everything, he was fighting it. Yes, it was passive-aggressively, not at all the way Ed usually fought, but he wasn't quitting. He had some weak moments, but everyone did. In his mind, his trust had been betrayed, and that was Roy's fault.

Roy massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands. He was such an idiot.

He cast a weary gaze at the analogue clock. He still had a few hours until Ed's appointment. That was plenty of time to make a phone call.

He picked up the phone by his bedside, tired fingers clumsily dialing the number, and he had to hang up and retry to get the numbers entered properly before the phone was ringing. A painfully chipper secretary picked up, took his code and forwarded him.

"First Lieutenant Hawkeye," came the strong, detached voice.

Roy could almost feel some of the tension drain away at the sound. Something about her voice always took the edge off. Her voice promised strength and stability, and he found himself latching onto it like a drowning man to a life raft.

He didn't know what he would do without her.

"Hello?" she said again, this time sounding a bit more focused and a bit annoyed, and Roy realized he had let the silence stretch for just a moment longer than acceptable.

"Riza," he greeted, sounding weak and worn and the complete opposite of his Lieutenant. If he had possessed the energy, he might have been surprised at the way her first name had so effortlessly rolled off his lips, but as it was, he merely noted the fact with a numb sort of interest.

"Colonel," she responded, not acknowledging the break in protocol at all. "Did you forget your paperwork?"

A faint smirk lifted his lips. "No, I think I have everything. I was just calling to check in on the office. How's the team?"

"You've been gone just over a day, sir," Hawkeye said patiently, in the same tone of voice one uses to point out the obvious.

He rubbed a hand over his face again. "I know that," he said with some resignation. Just over a day here by himself and he was already making a mess of things. At least under Hawkeye's watch, the team would be managing just fine without him.

"And how is Edward?"

Roy took a moment to gather his thoughts, the confession stalling in his throat before he finally forced it out. "I . . . I don't know, Riza. I really messed up yesterday."

She didn't sound surprised, but he wasn't offended because she never did. "What happened?" she asked, voice more gentle than Roy felt he warranted.

Roy told her what had happened, and she listened quietly until he finished.

"Apologize."

Roy blinked. "That's it? That's all you have for me?"

"You crossed a line. You admitted it yourself."

"Yes, but I don't think apologizing is just going to make this all go away."

"You'd be surprised," she said wryly. He could almost hear the subtext: men are idiots. "He needs to know that you understand you were wrong."

"Riza, I don't—"

"I have to go now," she said quickly, the barest trace of longsuffering entering her voice. "It seems that First Lieutenants Havoc and Breda have set fire to something. I'll stop by later this evening." And before he could get another word in, she hung up.

He listened to the dial tone for a moment, then set the phone back in its cradle, eyes wondering warily to the closed door.

He wasn't ready to leave the sanctuary of his room. He wasn't ready to have to face Ed, to try to help him only to get that cold demeanor, the one that was foreign and painful to Roy. It reminded him that he deserved Ed's hate. He deserved the boy's scorn and distrust. There was nothing he could do to make it better, no matter what Hawkeye said.

On the other hand . . . well, women usually had a second sense about these things, right? It couldn't hurt, anyway. And maybe she was right; maybe it would help.

He had nothing to lose except his pride, and it was high time he lost some of that.

With a tired exhale, Roy got up and left his room, ready to head downstairs with an ill-formed apology on his lips. His body felt like it was full of sand, dread and anticipation making it hard to convince it to move anywhere, much less toward the source if his anxiety. All of that was forgotten when he found Ed, though.

He almost tripped over him before he saw him. He was curled up near the top of the stairs against the wall, as if he had made to follow Roy but something sent him to his knees before he had actually found him. He had his face buried in his blanket like it was some kind of shield, and he was whispering something past broken sobs into its softness.

All of Roy's anxiety crumbled away. He immediately knelt down on the top stair, near the boy's face. "Edward?" he asked gently. "Can you hear me?"

The sobbing tapered off, only a few little gasps reminding Roy that he had heard it at all. Other than that, Ed made no move or sound to acknowledge Roy's presence.

Now what?

Deciding that this could take a while, Roy maneuvered himself into a sitting position, his back protesting and reminding him sullenly of how he had fallen asleep in an awkward sprawl across the couch the other night. "I guess you're not speaking to me," Roy said mildly, leaning to rest his shoulder against the wall. "I guess that's alright, though. I probably deserve it."

Ed made no reaction, and Hawkeye's advice suddenly replayed in Roy's mind. "I . . ." the words stalled, and Roy had to shoulder past a wall of uncertainty to get them out. "About last night . . . I think that you should know—"

"I'm sorry."

"—that what I did was . . ." It took Roy's brain a long, painful second to catch up. "Wait, what?"

Ed hadn't moved a muscle, but Roy was certain that he had heard him speak. He waited until he was sure that he was imagining things, and was about to continue on with his speech, but then he heard the tiny voice again and bent forward to better hear.

"I'm sorry, Colonel . . . I'm sorry," he whispered into the blanket, voice rough from tears. The sudden apology startled the words from Roy's mind. Why was he apologizing? What on earth did he have to apologize for?

"I know . . . I know it's not your fault," Ed continued, still not raising his head. There was a distinctive numbness to the child's voice, the scientists' side of his brain trying desperately to put distance between himself and something that was probably very difficult to say. "None of this is your fault, especially Al . . . especially Al leaving, and even last night. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. You shouldn't have to put up with me anyway. You could kick me to the curb, and . . . and after all the crap I do and say to you, I wouldn't blame you . . . I wouldn't blame you.

"But . . ." the word hung in the air, heavy and hopeful. "But if you can just be patient with me . . . just a little longer, I would appreciate it, because . . . because I need you."

Roy stared.

Ed needed him?

Edward Elric needed him?

If only Ed knew how condemning those words were. If only Ed knew what had put him in this situation in the first place. It was Roy's fault. It was entirely Roy's fault, and here Ed was, apologizing to him, saying he needed him. It was like a lamb relying on a wolf for protection, and it made Roy's insides twist in self-loathing.

But Roy knew something that Ed didn't.

Roy was selfish. Roy had screwed up in unimaginable ways, but still, he wanted Ed close, as if he could somehow atone for himself. As if fulfilling the promise he had made to Alphonse would erase his sins completely.

Roy knew that he wasn't just helping Edward for Edward's sake.

And before Roy could even fully process it, his eyes were brimming with bitter tears and they were spilling down his face and he was unable to stop it.

Edward was still speaking, but he slowly trailed off. Roy hadn't even been listening, but he noticed the pause. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was closed and he couldn't get anything but a halting breath out. "Colonel?" Ed asked, uncertain. He finally picked up his head, and through Roy's blurred and burning vision, he could see the concern on the boy's tearstained face.

Edward had gone to the depths of purgatory and back, and he still showed Roy concern. Roy Mustang, the Idiot Colonel the boy claimed to hate, and Roy wished he would. Roy didn't deserve Ed's concern. He didn't deserve the child to show him even the barest glimpse of trust or compassion or kindness.

Slowly, Ed reached out a frail hand. Roy watched the indistinct form move across the carpeted stairs, beside him, sliding to the side until it bumped up against his hand. Then it hesitantly patted Roy's in an awkward but gentle, supportive gesture, and Roy lost it completely.

A tortured sob wrenched his chest. He felt his self-hatred like a hot iron in his gut and it burned. It was too much, much too much and he wished that he was a different human being all together. One as strong and pure as Edward or Alphonse, or someone as faithful and patient as Hawkeye, or even one as gentle and kind as Feury. Anything but the monster he was, bloodstained hands that burned everything they touched and laid waste to all that dared come close.

He didn't have the right to take care of Ed. He didn't have the right to become Fuhrer. He deserved nothing but scorn and hatred. He wasn't even a decent enough man to reject Ed's comfort. He was undeserving, but he couldn't push the hand away, no matter how much he tried, the need for redemption overriding any other sense of responsibility he should have had.

"Colonel, what's wrong?" Ed asked, and there was something in his voice that Roy hadn't heard in a long, long time: confidence. It was diminished, but it was there, and Roy barely stopped the confession from spilling from his lips at the command.

That's right; Edward had practically ordered Roy to tell him what was wrong.

Edward slowly took his hand back, then positioned it under his body and carefully lifted himself up. He didn't bother getting to his feet, but he crawled to the top step beside Roy and sat down next to him, blanket shrouding him like a cape.

He sat beside him, not close enough to touch, but close enough for Roy to feel his presence. He didn't ask anything else, and Roy didn't volunteer anything else. They just sat at the top of the stairs until Roy had finished, and it reminded Roy of that night in Ed's dorm when Ed had found out he was being discharged, except now their roles were reversed and Ed was the strong one. Edward was the strength that Roy didn't have, and Roy couldn't even find it in himself to feel as horrified as he probably should have.

It seemed like a long time before Roy got himself under control. He wiped his bare hand across his face, trying to clear the tracks of moisture away. A small, sad sort of laugh slipped past his lips and Ed gave him a questioning look aimed somewhere over his head. "Pretty pathetic, aren't we?" Roy asked into the empty living room below.

Tears were still drying on the boy's own face, but his lips quirked the barest bit. "Speak for yourself, old man."

Roy laughed again with a bit more mirth this time. Then he sobered. "Ed, you have nothing to apologize for." He opened his mouth to say more, but stopped. He wasn't ready for everything yet . . . not yet . . . small steps first.

"What I did to you last night . . . what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. It should have been a last resort, and there are other things I could have done first. I was just . . . scared and worried, I guess. I just wanted you to calm down and I was wrong, and . . . I'm sorry."

Ed seemed a bit surprised by the confession. He didn't say anything for a moment, sightless eyes staring at the ground as he seemed to be considering something. "I . . . I understand if you want to drug me . . ." he said hesitantly, and Roy noticed the fear lacing his voice at the mention of it. He was willing to do it, even if it scared him, because being on his own was even more frightening than being in the disoriented haze that Roy had subjected him to. "I know I'm probably a lot easier to handle that way . . . so if you want to—"

Roy tried to ignore the feeling of a knife twisting in his gut. "Absolutely not. It's a last resort, like I said."

Ed let out a tense breath in relief, bending his forehead to rest on his knees. "Okay. Thank you."

Roy wasn't sure how, but his arm soon found its way around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close in a protective embrace. Ed started in surprise, but finally relented, relaxing into the hug and letting his head rest on Roy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Roy murmured again, the words coming unbidden. "But . . . if you'll be patient with me just a little while longer . . . I'd appreciate it."

Because . . . I need you, too.

As if hearing what Roy couldn't voice, Ed smiled. It was the first real smile Roy had seen in months.

Roy's responding smile quivered and crumbled.