I'm totally not writing fanfic again..
Ok, so maybe I am. Also, I'm putting way too much research into this..
Untitled Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic.
He had retired early, men were still murmuring outside of their tent, huddling around fire barrels filled with precious scraps of wood and lice-filled blankets. In Roy's cot, there slept a stranger; a temporary place keeper while Roy was sent to the backlines to ride out the last of his Trench Fever. Their breathing was heavy and unfamiliar, absent of the rasping desperation that punctuated Roy's slumber. But sleep evaded him, even as the shivering outside chatter drifted to tents. He sighed heavily, lungs full of pins and needles. It would only be a matter of time before the birds began singing and before he knew it, dim sunlight began to fill the tent, turning in murky, grey, and miserable. His bunkmate coughed and rolled over, sliding soggy socks into his boots. Briefly the interior came into focus as he slipped out the flaps. Edward groaned, flexing stiff fingers as he sat up. His limbs felt at fuzzy as his mind from sleep deprivation. He had barely slept since Roy left.
***
Eating had lost its pleasure. He went through the motions of chewing, trying to break down the hard tack down into something less like glue and ignore the slimy sickly texture of whatever today's canned meat rations were. He cursed to himself quietly that with the alchemy available today that they couldn't come up with something that didn't taste like it had been left out in the sun for weeks. He watched as men milled around, waiting to be sent to battle. They were nearing the Drachman trenches and the radio crackled with reports of reconnaissance troops creeping through the now dense and darkened woods. Nervous energy crackled through the men as they finished their morning meals. Edward snorted. Seriously, as if you could even call them meals. He knew he would enjoy the same meal for lunch and dinner. If he was lucky maybe someone would trade their canned fish for the small stash of cigarettes and alcohol he'd saved from his rations. Without Roy around, he had no one trade with. He didn't like talking with the other men. Something about their eyes made his skin crawl inside his great coat. Behind his perch on a log a tree limb cracked and everyone jumped. There was a din of clicking as weapons were pulled to the ready and the alchemists help out their hands waiting, rings glimmering in the early morning. A squirrel skittered down the tree and away, prints crisp where the snow had refrozen overnight. A young specialist to Edward's left laughed high and tinny with hysteria, lowering his weapon. Several others joined, but the tension did not leave. Taking pity, Edward drew his flask from his breast and offered it to the young specialist. The boys brown eyes were over bright and bloodshot. He hoped his didn't look the same.
"Keep it," he murmured. , walking away. His gait was uneven and hitched in the cold.
***
Roy was back. That was what the enlisted were murmuring. At last they would be saved, the Flame Alchemist would lead them to victory. Edward sniffed at their optimism. How appropriate that it would rain today, much like the day before. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen sunlight. Part of him almost missed the dry frigid winter to this mucky misery but his ports ached at the thought of the nights that he and Roy had spent spooned into one cot against the cold. He had almost jumped straight from his skin the first night the Colonel Bastard had slipped into his cot. Roy's hot breath shuddered on his neck, drowning out the wind that seeped under the edges of their less than glamorous officer's tent.
"Been too long since you seen a skirt or something, Colonel Bastard?" He'd said bitterly, pulling away and rolling over with something akin to fury, but Roy's large gloved hands held him against his body.
"Don't flatter yourself, I'm tired of being cold." He'd whispered, pressing his face to the blonde warmth of Edward's hair. His own sense of obstinacy told him to leap from the bed and claim Roy's cot as his own, but he heard the hitching breaths behind him and that, combined with the aching cries of his automail told him to stay, so he did.
Now he wound his way through the cramped circular tents to their own which stood alone, a luxury of Roy's rank. He wanted to see him with his own eyes. A wave of warmth and the weak smell of instant coffee hit him and there, thin and pale on the bed was Roy, his great coat hanging limp and unstarched over the trunk at the foot of his bed.
"So the medics weren't able to fucking kill ya, huh bastard?" Edward forced himself to sneer as his eyes roamed the small stove that seemed to make the tent boil. He was sure the mixture of joy and curiosity was plastered across his face, but he didn't care, it was warm. Quickly he let the doorway fall before others could discover their secret. Roy slowly sipped his drink which was little more than colored water with sugar to give it flavor.
"Fortunately for you, no," he answered with a wet cough. "Otherwise, how would you enjoy the benefits of my rank?" Ed didn't see the hesitant smirk that curled the corner of Roy's mouth, too distracted walking circles around the marvelous device.
"How the fuck did you get your hands on this?" He whispered, peeling the coat from his shoulders for the first time in weeks.
"Fullmetal," Roy cautioned.
"Sorry, how the fuck, sir?" He mocked, sitting on his own cot with a squeak. Roy sipped his drink again with an inelegant slurp.
"Between my illness and my gloves I convinced them it was a necessity should they want their dog of war in working order." His reply was cool and carefully even. Edward made an appropriate noise of astonishment, feeling heat finally working its way into his frozen joints. He watched his right hand flex, appreciating the unusual smoothness of the motion. "Enjoy it while you can, Fullmetal." Edward's golden eyes looked up at him in askance before his stomach twisted and sank. With their commanding officer back in working order, the push would begin anew.
"Tomorrow we're taking the trenches."
Untitled Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic.
He had retired early, men were still murmuring outside of their tent, huddling around fire barrels filled with precious scraps of wood and lice-filled blankets. In Roy's cot, there slept a stranger; a temporary place keeper while Roy was sent to the backlines to ride out the last of his Trench Fever. Their breathing was heavy and unfamiliar, absent of the rasping desperation that punctuated Roy's slumber. But sleep evaded him, even as the shivering outside chatter drifted to tents. He sighed heavily, lungs full of pins and needles. It would only be a matter of time before the birds began singing and before he knew it, dim sunlight began to fill the tent, turning in murky, grey, and miserable. His bunkmate coughed and rolled over, sliding soggy socks into his boots. Briefly the interior came into focus as he slipped out the flaps. Edward groaned, flexing stiff fingers as he sat up. His limbs felt at fuzzy as his mind from sleep deprivation. He had barely slept since Roy left.
***
Eating had lost its pleasure. He went through the motions of chewing, trying to break down the hard tack down into something less like glue and ignore the slimy sickly texture of whatever today's canned meat rations were. He cursed to himself quietly that with the alchemy available today that they couldn't come up with something that didn't taste like it had been left out in the sun for weeks. He watched as men milled around, waiting to be sent to battle. They were nearing the Drachman trenches and the radio crackled with reports of reconnaissance troops creeping through the now dense and darkened woods. Nervous energy crackled through the men as they finished their morning meals. Edward snorted. Seriously, as if you could even call them meals. He knew he would enjoy the same meal for lunch and dinner. If he was lucky maybe someone would trade their canned fish for the small stash of cigarettes and alcohol he'd saved from his rations. Without Roy around, he had no one trade with. He didn't like talking with the other men. Something about their eyes made his skin crawl inside his great coat. Behind his perch on a log a tree limb cracked and everyone jumped. There was a din of clicking as weapons were pulled to the ready and the alchemists help out their hands waiting, rings glimmering in the early morning. A squirrel skittered down the tree and away, prints crisp where the snow had refrozen overnight. A young specialist to Edward's left laughed high and tinny with hysteria, lowering his weapon. Several others joined, but the tension did not leave. Taking pity, Edward drew his flask from his breast and offered it to the young specialist. The boys brown eyes were over bright and bloodshot. He hoped his didn't look the same.
"Keep it," he murmured. , walking away. His gait was uneven and hitched in the cold.
***
Roy was back. That was what the enlisted were murmuring. At last they would be saved, the Flame Alchemist would lead them to victory. Edward sniffed at their optimism. How appropriate that it would rain today, much like the day before. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen sunlight. Part of him almost missed the dry frigid winter to this mucky misery but his ports ached at the thought of the nights that he and Roy had spent spooned into one cot against the cold. He had almost jumped straight from his skin the first night the Colonel Bastard had slipped into his cot. Roy's hot breath shuddered on his neck, drowning out the wind that seeped under the edges of their less than glamorous officer's tent.
"Been too long since you seen a skirt or something, Colonel Bastard?" He'd said bitterly, pulling away and rolling over with something akin to fury, but Roy's large gloved hands held him against his body.
"Don't flatter yourself, I'm tired of being cold." He'd whispered, pressing his face to the blonde warmth of Edward's hair. His own sense of obstinacy told him to leap from the bed and claim Roy's cot as his own, but he heard the hitching breaths behind him and that, combined with the aching cries of his automail told him to stay, so he did.
Now he wound his way through the cramped circular tents to their own which stood alone, a luxury of Roy's rank. He wanted to see him with his own eyes. A wave of warmth and the weak smell of instant coffee hit him and there, thin and pale on the bed was Roy, his great coat hanging limp and unstarched over the trunk at the foot of his bed.
"So the medics weren't able to fucking kill ya, huh bastard?" Edward forced himself to sneer as his eyes roamed the small stove that seemed to make the tent boil. He was sure the mixture of joy and curiosity was plastered across his face, but he didn't care, it was warm. Quickly he let the doorway fall before others could discover their secret. Roy slowly sipped his drink which was little more than colored water with sugar to give it flavor.
"Fortunately for you, no," he answered with a wet cough. "Otherwise, how would you enjoy the benefits of my rank?" Ed didn't see the hesitant smirk that curled the corner of Roy's mouth, too distracted walking circles around the marvelous device.
"How the fuck did you get your hands on this?" He whispered, peeling the coat from his shoulders for the first time in weeks.
"Fullmetal," Roy cautioned.
"Sorry, how the fuck, sir?" He mocked, sitting on his own cot with a squeak. Roy sipped his drink again with an inelegant slurp.
"Between my illness and my gloves I convinced them it was a necessity should they want their dog of war in working order." His reply was cool and carefully even. Edward made an appropriate noise of astonishment, feeling heat finally working its way into his frozen joints. He watched his right hand flex, appreciating the unusual smoothness of the motion. "Enjoy it while you can, Fullmetal." Edward's golden eyes looked up at him in askance before his stomach twisted and sank. With their commanding officer back in working order, the push would begin anew.
"Tomorrow we're taking the trenches."