Archive of Our Own ^beta

The fireplace crackled softly behind the couch, casting lazy light across his desk, but the comforting heat did nothing to make the paperwork any less tedious. He’d already re-read the same report twice, the ink long-dry and unremarkable beneath his pen, words blurring together as the hour stretched on. 

Late evening pressed in heavily, rendering the corridors beyond Roy’s office emptied and quiet for the night. Even the lamps in the outer office had been turned low, their amber glow stretching long shadows through the crack beneath his door. The building itself seemed to shrink inward against the storm– old beams creaking softly as the cold tried to worm its way inside.

Outside, the winter storm raged in earnest– wind howling against the building, snow hissing as it lashed the windows, piling higher on the sill with every passing minute.

Roy glanced toward the glass, already dreading the inevitable walk home through the cold. He’d missed his chance to call a driver and was now weighing the misery of a night spent twisted on the office couch against the prospect of stepping out into the storm. The idea of leaving the warmth and being thrown into that biting, relentless dark made his shoulders tense. Still, the fire offered warmth but no clarity, doing nothing to stave off his growing exhaustion or bring meaning to the bureaucratic nonsense spread across his desk.

Resigning himself at last to face the weather, Roy was just reaching for his coat when he heard the door to his office crack open. The movement was deliberate– handle turning, the unlatching slow and controlled, as though the person on the other side was hesitant in their afterhours visit. But the door opened only an inch, before stopping. No one came inside.

Roy froze, one arm still only halfway through his coat sleeve. He listened.

In the quiet of the room, over the intermittent popping of the logs, he heard heavy breathing. It came from beyond the door– ragged, uneven, dragged in through clenched teeth like whoever it belonged to was afraid of letting it get too loud. Wet. Shallow. A chill creeping up his spine, Roy reached into his pocket and quickly slipped his hand into an ignition glove.

“Hello?” he called, keeping his voice low.

Silence answered. The breathing halted abruptly like the intruder hadn’t anticipated the room being occupied. Then, after a tense moment, the door carefully creaked open. Roy raised his gloved hand, poised to snap–

Edward Elric slipped inside. 

The tension left Roy’s body at once: a quick, involuntary shiver that made the room’s warmth feel suddenly fragile. His unease, though, remained– shifting and settling heavy in his chest instead of disappearing entirely.

His first thought was that Edward somehow looked smaller… not that he’d voice the thought aloud. He was hunched– shoulders tight around his ears, his jacket fastened wrong like he’d dressed in a hurry or with shaking fingers. His braid hung loose over one shoulder, frayed at the end, and his face– usually sun kissed and warm enough to make you forget the cold– was now drawn and pale, sharp against the amber glow of the room.

Edward closed the door behind him before leaning heavily against the wood. His right arm was pinned awkwardly against his side, elbow locked, metal fingers curled in too tight to be natural.

Roy lowered his arm slowly as the latch clicked.

“Fullmetal,” he said. “It’s–”

“I know what time it is,” Ed cut in too fast, sharp with irritation. His voice cracked on the last word, breath hitching just enough that Roy could hear it from across the room. He swallowed and tried again. “I… just gimme a minute.”

Roy didn’t respond… didn’t ask questions. He didn’t comment on the fact that Edward (for once) hadn’t bothered with sarcasm, or that his eyes wouldn’t quite meet Roy’s. Edward rarely sought him out during the day, much less after hours, and the fact that he’d appeared here now made Roy uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite define. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more: what had gone wrong, or the fact that Edward had come to him anyway. 

He rounded his desk, stepping toward the door, eyes searching Ed for any sign of injury.

He was just barely an arm’s length away when he heard it properly.

The breathing wasn’t just ragged; it stuttered, as if something inside Ed kept cutting it short. Each inhale was shallow and quick, every exhale pushed through gritted teeth like letting go hurt.

Roy’s gaze dropped, following instinct more than thought.

Edward’s automail was trembling.

He wouldn’t have even noticed it had the arm been held at a normal angle. Locked against his side the way it was, he could see the faintest tremors ripple through the fabric of his coat. The shaking was barely pronounced… Just a fine, constant vibration running through the metal of his forearm, like a live wire humming under skin. Every few seconds, Ed’s fingers twitched, clenching tighter, and his shoulders flinched as if he’d been shocked.

“Ed…” Roy said quietly, and Edward sucked in a sharp breath upon hearing his name.

“Don’t,” he said immediately as Roy took another step toward him. “Please. Just– don’t start.”

Roy was close enough now to see the sweat beading at Ed’s hairline despite the cold. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, and when another tremor ripped through his arm, Ed bit down hard enough that Roy heard his teeth click.

“How long has it been doing that?” Roy asked, calm by force of habit.

Ed shook his head once. The motion made him sway slightly, before catching himself against the door again. “It’s… A little while now. I don’t know…” He faltered, breath stuttering again, and for a moment it looked like he might actually fold in on himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

Roy’s jaw tightened.

“You’re being electrocuted,” he said flatly.

Ed laughed… Or tried to. The sound that came out was thin and breathless and died halfway through. “Yeah. Noticed that too. You’ve got a real talent for stating the obvious, Mustang.”

Another shock hit him then. Ed gasped sharply, shoulders jerking as the automail arm spasmed. His knees buckled an inch before he caught himself on Roy’s arm, head dropping forward as he fought for air.

Roy was moving them before Ed could protest.

“Sit,” Roy ordered, practically dragging him across the room to his desk. “Now.”

Ed opened his mouth to argue. Another tremor tore through him, harsher this time, and the argument dissolved into a strangled sound instead as Roy guided him into the chair.

His hand stayed on Ed’s left shoulder as he crouched in front of him, eyes level with Ed’s bowed head.

“Where’s Al?” he asked.

Ed shook his head again, clumps of hair from his bangs staying stuck to his beading brow. “He– he doesn’t know. Don’t tell him. I just… Roy, I just need it to stop.”

‘Roy’.

That, more than anything, set off alarm bells in his head.

Whatever had happened to Edward Elric, it was bad enough that he’d come here alone, in the middle of the night, shaking and quiet and resigned. He had sought refuge here– in an office that, until now, had been the site of nothing but biting remarks and stubborn standoffs– and Roy wasn’t sure whether to be unsettled or honored by the trust implied in that choice.

He stayed crouched in front of him for a long moment, listening. The tremor in Ed’s automail hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was getting worse– little shivers rattling the metal in erratic bursts, each one answered by a hitch in Ed’s breath. His good hand was clenched in the fabric of his coat above the elbow, knuckles white, like if he wasn’t holding the arm together it would shatter into pieces.

“What happened?” Roy asked finally.

Ed’s shoulders tensed.

“It’s fine,” he said immediately, the words stacked too fast, too rehearsed. “Just a minor electrical issue. Could happen to anyone. It’ll–” His voice broke, sharp and involuntary, as another jolt ripped through his arm. He sucked in a breath that went nowhere, chest stuttering uselessly. “– it’ll be fine once it’s adjusted.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Fullmetal.”

Ed swallowed, golden eyes meeting Roy’s for a moment. His throat bobbed hard, and for a second Roy thought he might argue again– but then Ed’s gaze dropped to the floor, lashes fluttering as if he couldn’t quite keep them open.

“I stopped a wall from collapsing,” he muttered. “There was a building. Shit was falling everywhere n’needed to get people out. So…”

Roy exhaled slowly through his nose. “You blocked it with your automail.”

Ed didn’t answer. The silence was confirmation enough.

Another tremor passed through him, stronger than the last. Ed made a low, broken sound in the back of his throat and bent forward, forehead nearly touching his knees as he rode it out. Roy watched, helpless, as the metal fingers spasmed and knocked together, the vibration humming audibly now– a faint, awful whine breaking through the sound of the storm outside.

When it passed, Ed sagged.

“I called Winry,” he said hoarsely, as if he’d been saving the words for later and they were slipping out now whether he wanted them to or not. “She was packing ‘soon as I told her what it was doing, but…” He laughed weakly, breath shuddering. “Go figure, there’s a storm in the East. Trains are shut down. Everything’s buried.”

Roy’s chest tightened, dread curling in his lungs. He knew hardly anything about automail, but he knew this wasn’t something that could wait.

“How long until she could get here?” He asked carefully.

“Best case? A few days… Maybe longer if the lines don’t clear.”

“You can’t wait that long.” Roy said immediately.

“No shit.” Ed snapped and then winced as the sudden movement sent another shock racing up his arm. His teeth clenched hard, jaw trembling as he tried to fight it, eyes squeezing shut. When he spoke again, his voice was lower… stripped of bite. “That’s why I came here.”

Roy straightened slowly, waiting.

Ed took a breath… then another. Neither of them went all the way in.

“Some of the wires got severed, I think.” Ed said quietly. “I’ve broken shit before but not like this… It’s not clean. Every time I move, it sends feedback straight into the nerve ports.” His lips pulled back briefly, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. “If this keeps up for too long, it’ll fry the whole thing. Winry says if that happens… repairing the arm won’t even make a difference. The port’ll be shot. I’ll lose sensation… possibly control, too.”

Roy felt cold.

“And if that happens..?” he asked slowly, fearing the answer.

“If there’s no port… there’s no automail.” Ed admitted. “Probably need t’remove the whole thing and start fro–” He broke off as another shock hit, sharper, meaner than the last. This time he couldn’t hide it. A sharp cry tore out of him, breath shattering as his whole body jerked forward, good hand flying out to grab Roy’s sleeve in a blind, desperate reflex.

Roy was there instantly, steadying him.

“Easy,” Roy murmured, voice gentle. “I’ve got you.”

“I– I can’t–,” Ed shook his head, breath coming apart completely now. “It won’t stop.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit harder than any scream could have.

Roy glanced down at the automail arm and something ugly twisted in his chest. He’d known that automail was heavy… He’d known it was painful... He’d known it took a lifetime of maintenance and sacrifice.

But watching it hurt Edward like this– watching an invention meant to help its wearer punish him for existing– made the truth land with sickening clarity: automail wasn’t a tool. It was a constant burden. A risk Ed carried every day, bolted into his body, demanding endurance and silence and resilience no one should ever have to learn.

And he bore it anyway.

Ed lifted his head just enough to look at Roy, eyes glassy and unfocused. “You gotta call her.” He said, voice barely holding together. “Win… She’ll walk you through it. I can’t–,” he swallowed hard. “I can’t wait. Please.”

Roy didn’t hesitate. He snatched the phone from across the desk, only facing away from Edward for a moment to dial the number from memory before turning back around, placing the receiver to his ear. 

One ring. Two. Three.

Ed’s grip on his sleeve tightened when the line clicked, his fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room. Roy didn’t pull away. He shifted closer instead, bracing Ed’s shoulder with his free hand, trying to ground him further.

“Winry Rockbell,” she answered, breathless and tense, like she’d been waiting by the phone.

“It’s Mustang.” Roy said, foregoing his usual pleasantries. “I’m with Edward.”

There was a sharp, audible inhale on the other end of the line.

“How bad?” Winry demanded.

Roy glanced down.

Ed’s head was bowed again, forehead pressed lightly into Roy’s collarbone as though his hand on Edward’s shoulder had been all the permission he had needed to get closer. His breathing was a mess– broken, uneven, hitching every time another tremor tore through the automail. He was shaking openly now, bravado crumbling fast with the onslaught of pain.

“Bad,” Roy said quietly. “He’s being shocked continuously.”

There was silence on the line as Winry likely paused to recalibrate what “bad” by Elric standards translated to on a normal human scale. After a moment, she hummed.

“Is it grounding?” Winry asked.

“I’m… not sure,” he admitted, rifling through years of half-remembered technical jargon picked up from Fuery and coming up empty as Edward’s breath fanned hot against his neck. “He mentioned that some of the wires were probably severed, if that gives you any more information.”

Another pause over the phone. Roy could almost see the girl’s eyes closing, jaw setting in frustration.

“Okay,” she said, voice tight. “Okay. I can work with that. Ed, I– can he hear me?”

Ed groaned at his name, breath stuttering. Close as they were, his ear was practically touching the mouthpiece of the receiver, so he could probably make out the entire phone conversation without much trouble at all.

 “Yeah,” he rasped. “’M here.”

“‘Kay, Ed, I’m going to need you to be honest about if you start feeling worse or anything changes. It’s important, so try not to be an idiot about it per usual.” Ed grunted in response.

“Colonel,” Winry pivoted, “I hate to ask you to do this, but you’re going to need to do the repair for me. I can’t see what’s happening so you have to make sure to describe everything in detail for me. Try not to leave anything out… and listen to my instructions exactly as I give them.”

Roy’s jaw tightened, realizing his participation wasn’t being asked for, but required. “I understand.”

“Good,” she said. Then, softer, to Ed, “You really shouldn’t have waited this long, dummy.”

Ed huffed weakly, something like a laugh breaking apart in his chest. “You almost sound surprised.”

“Edward–”

Roy cut in gently. “Winry. I don’t mean to rush you here–”

“I know,” she snapped– and then her voice wavered, just a fraction. “I know. You’re going to need to stay very still, Ed. Okay?”

Ed didn’t answer right away.

Another surge ripped through his arm, violent enough that he yelped and buried his face against Roy’s shoulder, fingers spasming where they clutched his sleeve. Roy felt it: the full-body jolt, the way Ed’s weight sagged into him as if he’d lost the fight to remain upright.

Roy tightened his grip, one arm coming around Ed’s back without thinking, holding him there. He pulled the receiver away just enough that his voice reached Ed alone.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured. “In. Slow.”

Ed’s breath hitched again– and then, shakily, he followed.

He adjusted his hold just slightly, enough to support Ed’s weight without crowding him. Ed didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in further to where Roy could feel the feverish heat from his forehead begin to seep through the wool of his uniform jacket.

“Colonel,” Winry said, voice sharpening again as her professionalism slid into place. “You have to keep him as still as possible. I’m going to walk you through stabilizing the circuitry. It won’t be hard, but you need to be precise. It won’t fix everything, but it’ll be enough until I can get there in a few days.”

“Tell me what you need,” Roy responded.

“First, open the casing,” she instructed. “Slowly. If you rush it, the feedback will spike and he’ll get a nasty shock.”

Ed made a small, involuntary sound at that as his whole body seemed to tense. Roy shifted again, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Ed’s head, thumb pressing gently into the braid at his nape.

“Hey,” Roy murmured. “I won’t let it get worse. I swear.”

Ed’s breath shuddered.

“You’d better not,” he muttered weakly. “Or Winry’ll kill you.”

There was a shaky laugh on the other end of the line in response, and a bit of the tension in Edward’s shoulders lifted. But then Winry’s laugh broke into something more fragile and the levity in the room sobered once more.

 “Edward,” she said quietly, “I don’t have to tell you this won’t be a painless fix… if you pass out, that’s okay. Don’t fight it.”

Ed swallowed hard, fingers gripping tighter into Roy’s sleeve like a plea. “Don’t– don’t say that.”

Roy’s fingers held his nape just a bit tighter in a wordless promise. He glanced down at the trembling metal arm in Ed’s lap, humming with the misfiring current, and dragged his eyes up to where he knew the automail was bolted into the bones of his shoulder. This wasn’t some accessory he carried around with him. It was a part of his body. A limb like anyone else’s. And what Roy was about to help with was a surgery by any and all definition. It wouldn’t be painless.

He allowed his fingers to ghost over the sleeved forearm, feeling the thrum of electricity beneath the pads of his fingers. For a moment, the room was silent aside from Edward's heavy hitching breaths as he seemed to steel himself for the procedure.

Finally, with a huff, Edward’s grip on Roy’s sleeve broke free and his flesh hand disappeared into the pocket of his coat, reappearing with a small screwdriver, no larger than the palm of his hand. He silently shoved the tool into Roy’s hand before resuming his ironclad grip on Roy’s uniform. 

Roy looked down at the small screwdriver. Then, squaring his shoulders, he adjusted the phone against his ear, and said:

“All right, Winry. I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Winry said. “Colonel, I need you to roll up his sleeve and tell me exactly what you’re seeing before you touch anything.”

He hummed in affirmation before setting the receiver on the edge of his desk and turning it so Winry’s voice would carry, stripping his gloves off immediately. Gingerly, he rolled up the sleeve of Ed’s coat, revealing the damage beneath. With a shaky breath, Edward pulled away and sat back in the chair, allowing Roy to get a good look at the arm. His bangs were plastered to his forehead now, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. The pain was showing clearly on his face, no longer making any effort to hide it. 

Roy reached up to brush some of the hair away from his eyes, and Ed opened a single glassy eye to look at him at the unexpected touch.

“Edward,” Roy said quietly. “I need you to stay with me.” 

Ed nodded, halting and unsteady. His automail trembled continuously now, a faint vibration Roy could feel even without touching it.

“Yeah,” Ed whispered. “Just… don’t let me look at it.”

Roy immediately shifted his body, angling himself so Ed’s line of sight was blocked. “You won’t.”

Roy drew a careful breath and looked down at the arm, studying it for a moment. “Okay, Winry, I’ve got his sleeve rolled up now. The outer casing is intact, but looks like the metal is buckling inward about halfway up his arm near the elbow. There’s a pretty sizable dent about a quarter inch deep and extending the whole width of the top metal plate.”

“Okay that gives me a clear picture, thanks. Is it making any sort of noise? A whirring or a humming– anything like that?”

“The arm is vibrating. It started pretty minor, but the vibrating has gotten more noticeable since I got him to sit down. I can hear a low electrical hum. The fingers are locked and there’s a clicking noise that seems to be coming from that area.”

Winry didn’t respond immediately. Roy could almost hear her thinking.

“Sounds like partial grounding,” she said at last. “The feedback is cycling instead of discharging. Turn the arm over so his palm is up and open the underside of the casing on the seam. Slowly. If the hum spikes or the vibration worsens, stop immediately and tell me.”

Roy did as he was told, flipping the arm over as quickly as he dared. The underside of the forearm had much less detail than the top and he instantly located where she was referring to.

“Four screws, two on either side of the seam,” he described. “Small. Close together.”

“That’s right,” Winry said. “Start with loosening the ones near his wrist. First one will be the screw closest to the thumb, then the second will be the one right beside it. Keep going in a line. Quarter-turns only.”

Roy obeyed.

The moment the first screw loosened, Ed gasped sharply. The automail immediately shuddered and spasmed violently, fingers jerking as a surge ripped through him. He cried out, breath tearing out of him as he folded forward, his forehead knocking into Roy’s shoulder again. His good hand clutched blindly at Roy’s sleeve.

Roy caught him instantly, one arm firm around his back.

“I’m sorry,” Roy murmured, low and steady, pressing his palm between Ed’s shoulder blades. “I’ve got you. Breathe.”

Ed shook as he focused on following the instructions, hot breath breaking against Roy’s neckline. He didn’t pull away again. He simply stayed there, trusting Roy to hold him together while the pain passed.

Roy swallowed hard.

This– this was the place Edward never let anyone see. The interface where metal became nerve, where loss lived raw and exposed beneath stubborn endurance and biting words. Roy had known, for some time now, that his feelings for Edward had shifted into something deeper, something he carried carefully and never named aloud.

But being trusted like this– being allowed so close to the rawest part of Edward, to the fear, to the quiet vulnerability– was almost more than his heart could take.

“Colonel,” Winry said urgently over the line, “what happened?”

“I turned the screw only a quarter like you told me to.” Roy replied immediately. “I think something may have shifted and caused a spike in the vibration. The hum’s higher now. Ed’s in severe pain.” A hiss came from Edward that sounded distinctly like ‘‘m fine’, but Roy ignored it.

“Okay,” Winry said, voice still steady but tight. “That means you’re probably right on top of the damaged filaments. Carefully remove the rest of the screws and lift the casing away just enough to look inside. It should already be loose enough that it won’t cause him any more pain, but still be careful and go slow. Don’t touch anything yet.”

Roy slid his arm away from Edward’s back and did as instructed.

After placing the final screw on his desk, he lifted the casing carefully, steadily sliding a single finger beneath the ridge and raising it away from the bulk of the arm.

Peering into the gap, he took stock of the damage within: the buckling he had observed on the topside of the outer shell had resulted in the metal splitting on the inside, jagged edges of steel sawing through the layers of fine wiring within. Tiny arcs of electrical current sparked faintly between exposed filaments, indicating exactly how much of the wires’ insulation had been frayed by the sharp metal, some of it blackened along the edges. 

It was worse than Roy had expected.

Another shock tore through the arm, bright white electricity ripping through the open casing and causing Roy to jerk back in alarm. Ed cried out, a broken, involuntary sound that went straight through Roy’s chest. The pain had to be worse than anything Roy could possibly imagine and Ed was still somehow gritting his teeth and breathing through it.

“How bad is the damage?” Winry’s voice crackled over the line.

“I only managed a glance,” Roy said. “The wire shocked him again, but… it doesn’t look good.” He described what he’d seen in a subdued voice, one finger prying the gap open while his other hand moved in steady, calming strokes along Edward’s upper arm. Ed’s breathing had gone unnervingly precise– slow in, slow out– too controlled to be natural, as if he were counting every second, anchoring himself to the rhythm so the pain didn’t pull him under. Roy glanced into the casing again, eyes tracing along the seam, when a bright series of sparks caught his attention.

“I’m not certain, but the electrical discharge seems to be mainly coming from two wires near the elbow joint…”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line.

“That makes sense.” Winry hissed. “They’re thinner than the rest of the wires, right? Those are the ones that carry sensory feedback. If they’re damaged and their current gets interrupted, it would discharge the electricity straight into his nerves.”

Ed made a broken sound at that, fingers digging into Roy’s sleeve as another tremor tore through him.

Roy tightened his hold. “I’m here,” he said, for Ed alone.

“Colonel,” Winry continued, “you’re going to isolate those wires. You’ll need to separate them from the casing and from each other. If you rush and pull too hard, you’ll tear the nerve interface. If you’re too slow, the feedback will keep cycling and will eventually fry the port.”

Ed’s breath shuddered. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice barely there.

Roy leaned in, resting his forehead briefly against Ed’s temple.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “I promise.” He grit his teeth, inhaling through his nose as he tried not to think about how utterly overwhelmed he was. He had to believe he could do this. He couldn’t afford to make a single mistake, for Ed’s sake.

“Tell me how,” he said, directing his voice toward the phone.

Roy kept his hand steady on Ed’s back while Winry spoke, giving him the first line of instructions.

“Okay,” she said, “the arcing means the sensory filaments are still live. Unfortunately, in this case, you can’t just insulate them– that won’t stop the feedback. You’re going to have to disconnect the damaged ends in order to reroute the current through the secondary channel.”

“Colonel, once you disconnect those wires, the feedback will spike. Hard.” Roy’s stomach dropped.  “If you baby it, the pain will just last longer for him. You just have to be fast.”

Ed’s breath shuddered against his shoulder. He was shaking openly now, the fight gone out of him, forehead pressed into Roy’s collarbone like he was bracing for something inevitable.

Roy tightened his arm around him.

“I don’t–,” Roy broke off, swallowing hard. His voice wavered despite his effort to steady it. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

The line went quiet for a moment. After a pause, Winry exhaled slowly, a sound that carried far more than fatigue. 

“I know,” she said, gentle in a way that suggested she understood far more than he’d ever said aloud. “But if you don’t do this now, the nerves won’t stop burning. They’ll keep taking damage until there’s nothing left.”

Her voice lowered. “And soon… he won’t be able to use the automail at all. You know what that means for him…”

Losing his automail wouldn’t just cripple Edward– it would break him.

“I understand.” Roy said quietly, “Tell me what I need to do.”

“All right,” she replied. “You’re looking for two wires– bright blue, thinner than the rest. Tell me when you have them.”

Roy’s fingers hovered over the exposed wiring, reverent and careful. “I see them.”

“Good,” Winry said. “You’re going to separate them from the casing first. Use your fingers, not tools, but stop if you feel heat.”

He took a deep breath and did as instructed, steadily easing the wires free millimeter by millimeter. Ed shuddered with each movement, hand clenching rhythmically in time with Roy’s tugs, a low, broken sound escaping him despite his best efforts to hold it in.

When he reached the end where the wires were connected, he paused. 

“What now?”

“Now comes the tricky part.” Winry said, sounding deeply unhappy that she couldn’t be there to handle it herself. “Quickly but carefully, remember? Both wires route into the same channel through the black piece on the end tying them together, so you’ll just need to disconnect and reroute once.”

Her voice lowered gently, urgent. “Colonel, once you disconnect them, you need to reroute immediately. You can’t hesitate.”

Roy nodded once, more to himself than to her.

“All right,” he said.

“There’s a thin latch at the back of his elbow. When the wires are disconnected, you’ll hear it pop and release. It’s a failsafe. After you reroute, flip that lever back to insulate the wires and the feedback should stop immediately.” Instantly, Roy’s fingers moved along the back of Edward’s arm, feeling for the part she was referring to. It was flush with the rest of the metal making up the plates of his arm, but Roy still found it easily, fingertips tracing the piece as he focused on her instructions. Ed gave a small shiver and not for the first time that night, Roy wondered how much sensation the automail relayed to its wearer.

“Do you see an empty spot next to where the wires are connected now? It should be marked in red.”

“I see it, yes.”

“That’s the secondary channel. That’s where you’ll need to reconnect them. When you’re ready, you’ll unplug the wires from their current channel and then immediately reroute them into the secondary channel. Try to keep Edward as still as possible.”

He moved to cup his hand around Ed’s upper arm, intent on steadying him, when Edward gasped. A drop of sweat dripped from his brow onto Roy’s jacket, his face scrunching in pain.

“Roy…” Ed whispered, voice pleading.

Roy froze instantly.

“Ed,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to see his face.

Edward’s head lifted a fraction. He was pale, lashes damp and clumped together as he fought to stay present, his eyes unfocused but fixed on Roy with an intensity that made something in Roy’s chest ache.

“I need to do this,” Roy said. His voice stayed steady only because he forced it to. “I don’t want to hurt you. But you know there isn’t another way. If there was, I’d find it. I swear.”

Ed swallowed, his gaze dropping. His fingers tightened weakly in the sleeve of Roy’s uniform.

“I know,” he whispered.

Roy searched his face, as if he needed proof– needed permission.

Ed caught his eye and huffed out something that might have been a laugh on a better day. “Y’think I’d let just anyone do this?” he murmured. His voice trembled, the words spilling out too fast. “I came t’you ’cause I trust you. ’Cause I–”

He broke off with a sharp, wounded sound as another jolt tore through him. His breath hitched; his teeth clacked together hard enough that Roy flinched.

When the aftershocks faded, Ed dragged in a careful breath and lifted his eyes again.

“I chose you for a reason.”

The words settled between them: quiet, bare, devastatingly sincere.

Roy’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest. 

He drew Edward closer, the movement careful and intentional– partly to support Edward’s weight and keep him still as Winry’d requested, partly to steady his own nerves. His arm tightened around Ed’s shoulders, the pressure firm and anchoring as he braced himself fully for what was to come next.

“I’m going to perform the disconnection now,” he said in the direction of the receiver, his voice level and composed. Then he lowered it, just enough that only Edward could hear. His hand shifted, thumb pressing once at Ed’s shoulder in a quiet promise. “Stay with me,” he murmured. “Just a moment longer.”

Ed’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned fully into him, forehead settling against Roy’s shoulder. His weight followed, trust and tension together, bracing himself for the pain to come.

Roy inhaled slowly, deeply, the way he always did before using his alchemy– measured, deliberate, committing his body to stillness even as his pulse thundered beneath it. Carefully, he adjusted his grip. Two fingers slid into the narrow gap in the casing, steady despite the faint tremor in his hands, finding the insulated lengths of wire Winry had described.

For a moment, everything was still. Time felt suspended: fire crackling softly behind him, the snow-muted world outside holding its breath.

Then, Roy pulled the wires and the pain hit like a detonation.

Ed screamed– raw and unrestrained, the sound tearing out of him as his body arched violently against Roy’s hold. The automail spasmed hard, a sharp crack of sound snapping through the air as the current surged and rerouted. Roy held him through it, heart breaking, hands moving fast now, decisive, following Winry’s instructions without hesitation, locating the failsafe switch. 

“Quickly– reroute!” Winry said urgently.

Roy did, slotting the end of the wires into the secondary channel.

“Insulate– now!”

He flipped the lever. The hum cut off abruptly.

Edward went limp.

For one terrifying heartbeat, Roy thought he’d done something very wrong as Ed’s weight sagged fully into him. No tension. No resistance. Just stillness.

“Ed,” he said quietly.

Nothing. Cold slid down Roy’s spine.

His hand came up without conscious thought, fingers pressing lightly at Edward’s neck, counting faster than he meant to. There it was– faint but steady: a pulse. His chest loosened by a fraction, though his heart refused to slow.

Of course he’d passed out. The pain, the shock, the sheer effort of staying upright through it– Winry had warned him it was likely. Expected, even.

That knowledge did nothing to ease the tightness in Roy’s chest as he shifted his stance, careful and controlled, easing Edward fully into his arms before his knees had a chance to buckle. Ed was lighter than Roy expected– or maybe he’d always been this light, and Roy had just never noticed because Ed was usually vibrating with motion and noise and stubborn life. He guided him down onto the couch with deliberate gentleness, like one wrong move could shock him back awake.

Edward didn’t stir.

Roy knelt there for a long moment, one hand still braced at Ed’s shoulder, the other hovering uselessly near his face, unsure what to do now that there was nothing left to fix. He looked at him– at the slack lines of his face, the blessed quiet where pain had lived only moments ago– and leaned over to press his forehead briefly to Edward’s temple. After a few moments, he stood and walked back over to his desk where the phone sat, waiting.

“Feedback stopped,” Roy reported hoarsely. “He’s unconscious.”

Winry exhaled shakily. “Good. That’s good. That means it worked.”

Roy didn’t respond right away.

Relief hit him all at once, heavy and disorienting. His thoughts buzzed uselessly, overlapping and half-formed, adrenaline still roaring through his veins with nowhere left to go. He felt strangely distant from his own body, like he was watching the aftermath from the sidelines.

Winry’s voice came through the roar of his mind in fragments that he had to actively piece together. Gratitude was of course first: quiet, fervent thanks that carried the weight of knowing exactly what he’d just done. Then the practical reassurance, almost clinical in contrast. She mentioned Alphonse– how his fingers were simply too large for this kind of work, how there would have been no way for him to maneuver the wires without making matters worse. She then added, more softly, that Edward had begged her not to tell him when he’d called her initially. Not about this. Not about anything related to his arm and leg, if it could be helped. Al already carried too much guilt, and Ed had refused to add this to the pile.

Roy swallowed hard and kept listening.

More instructions followed, delivered out of habit as much as necessity: things to watch for, signs of residual damage, what parts not to touch under any circumstances. A promise, tight and unwavering, that she’d be on her way to Central in the morning, snowstorm and train schedules be damned.

Roy didn’t realize his hands were shaking until the call finally ended. He lowered the receiver back into its cradle with deliberate care, as if any sudden movement might unravel the calm following the chaos they’d just endured.

Only then did Roy let himself breathe.

“All right,” he murmured, the words meant for the spill of blond hair just visible over the back of the couch. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Roy grabbed the first aid kit from beneath his desk and returned to the sitting area, setting it down on the coffee table. He reached down and adjusted Edward with careful, slightly awkward movements, every shift in Ed’s posture broadcasting how rushed Roy had been to get him lying down in the first place. Once Ed lay in a more natural position, Roy pulled a roll of bandage from the kit and wrapped it around the loosened automail casing, temporarily securing it as Winry had instructed. He then eased off his boots, tugged a blanket up around him when the stillness began to feel wrong. Ed’s chest rose and fell– slow, shallow, steady– and Roy found his attention drawn back to it again and again, counting breaths without realizing he’d started.

He perched on the edge of the couch at first, eyes fixed on Edward’s face, searching for any sign of waking up. When his back began to protest the hunched position, he sank to the floor with his back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion so he could feel the faint warmth of Ed through the blanket. Finally, he took the chair nearby, his gaze never settling– flicking between the low fire in the hearth and the barely perceptible rise and fall of Edward’s chest.

He did not sleep.

Every hitch of Ed’s breathing jolted him to full alertness. Every quiet minute stretched impossibly thin with the memory of Ed’s pained scream, of the way he’d gone limp in Roy’s arms. Roy had seen battle. He’d witnessed plenty of people, soldiers and civilians alike, experience possibly the worst pain of their lives. He’d waited for hours– days even– by the side of wounded comrades and friends, anxiously awaiting their return to consciousness.

None of it had ever felt like this.

Morning light crept in slowly, pale and cold, as the last embers of the fire dimmed. Roy was halfway back to the chair with his third cup of terrible coffee when Ed stirred.

It was a small sound that grabbed Roy’s attention, something between a groan and a huff, and he glanced over in time to see Ed shift and turn onto his side. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, then sharpened as they found Roy standing a little too close.

“…You look like hell,” Ed said hoarsely.

Relief hit Roy so hard his knees almost buckled.

“Good morning to you too,” Roy said, the words coming out tighter than he intended, the residue of a sleepless night still clinging to his voice. He made it back to his chair and went to set his cup on the side table, misjudging the distance and sloshing coffee when it hit too hard.

Ed blinked, then frowned, clearly taking inventory of his surroundings. “Why am I–” He stopped, color flooding his face all at once. “Oh.”

Roy crossed his arms. “‘Oh’?”

Ed pushed himself upright too fast, winced, then waved it off immediately. “’S fine. I’m fine. You didn’t have to– y’know... hover.”

Roy stared at him.

“You nearly lost nerve function in your arm,” Roy said evenly. “You hid it. You waited. And then you walked into my office in the middle of the night with all the urgency as though you were asking for a glass of water.”

Ed scowled, ears red. “I had it under control.”

“You were being electrocuted.”

“Well– yeah– but–”

Roy cut him off. “‘But’ nothing. The only reason I’m not giving you more of an earful about this is because I’m sure Miss Rockbell has plans to lecture you plenty for the both of us. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been this reckless with your automail– with any part of your body– ever again. Am I understood?”

Ed opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

“... ‘Kay,” he muttered.

Roy exhaled slowly, then softened despite himself. “That being said,” he added, quieter, “thank you. For coming to me… and for trusting me with it.”

That got Ed’s attention.

His head snapped back around to look at Roy, visibly flustered now, shoulders hiked up to his ears. “I– ! Well, I mean… it wasn’t–” He grimaced. “You were close by, so– I just… Y’know…”

Roy waited.

Ed’s mouth opened again. Nothing came out.

His face went impossibly redder.

“Forget it,” Ed said quickly, pushing to his feet like staying still was a bad idea. “‘S not a big deal. I screwed up– again. Lucky for me you were being your lazy bastard self per usual and saved all your paperwork for after hours like a complete lunatic. That’s all this was.”

He bent down to pull on his boots, as if that closed the matter. 

Roy let out a small, knowing huff of a laugh. “You have a very specific way of thanking people,” he said mildly. Ed ignored him and was already halfway to the door when Roy continued conversationally, “If you wanted my attention that badly, you could’ve just knocked.”

Ed froze. Just for a second.

“Shut up,” Ed snapped, mortified, yanking the door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall. “You’re unbearable.”

He bolted, the door slamming shut after him.

Roy stared at it for a full three seconds, absolutely stunned into silence. Then he laughed– soft, incredulous, helplessly fond.

He was still smiling when the door flew open again.

Ed marched back in, face a shade to match his coat, eyes blazing with determination, mouth set in a pronounced frown. He crossed the room to Roy in ten quick strides, leaned in without any hesitation, and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to Roy’s cheek.

“Thanks. Idiot.” Ed muttered.

Then he spun on his heel and left again, the door staying firmly closed behind him this time.

Roy sat there, the stunned smile frozen on his face, heart in complete disarray.

He brought a hand up and touched his cheek slowly, feeling warmth begin to spread across his whole face from the spot where Ed’s lips had touched his skin.

“…Well,” he said to the empty office, still grinning.

And for the first time all night, he finally felt grounded.